#tide and seek or TIED and seek

[lowkeyren]

OH MY GOD HE SO CUNTY IM GONNA LOSE IT

is he about to be sacraficed

[mosskissed]

i think mydei would love kids, but would never have any himself between the state of amphoreus and his immortality.

he's very hands-on with the children in okhema as a result — those left orphaned by the black tide or whose parents are alive but busy, working hard to provide for their kids and community. they all love him, no matter where they hail from originally.

he makes time to play with them as much as he can when he isn't tied up in his role; from hide-and-seek and chasing to tea parties and dolls, whatever they tug on his hand to come join.

he's on his way back to you one day when he passes a crying boy, maybe 7 years old, not far from your home. he's sniffling on the ground, hugging his knee to his chest after he must've fallen and grazed it.

mydei pulls him back to his feet when the boy tells him between sobs that his friends all ran off and left him, scowling in the direction the boy points at.

mydei takes him to your home to clean his knee, sitting him on the step at your front door so he can hear if his parents or friends come looking for him while mydei asks you for a damp washcloth. he doesn't coddle the kid while he cleans him up, but he tells him in a gruff voice that it's alright to cry as long as he makes sure to get up and keep going afterwards.

you fall a little bit more in love with him each time you're shown this side of him.

they bring him gifts sometimes — deep red pomegranates that the most agile had to scale trees for; crude drawings carved into stone of them holding his hand, sometimes with you by his side holding the other; a clumsily crocheted heart made from an outgrown shirt, unravelled just to recycle the yarn for him.

he keeps everything that's given to him, and he can place every child's face to each gift. your home is overflowing with symbols of okhema's appreciation of your lover, an ode to his heart and what he chooses to do with it.

sometimes, a kid goes missing.

the walls of okhema are a challenge as much as they are a shield in the eyes of the brash youth, with the children so well-protected that they can forget just how real the threat is at times. some sneak out on dares to prove their bravery — others distraught, looking for their home, their parents.

they save as many as they can, but it's never enough.

the face of every child lost haunts mydei as he stands in his home, surrounded by the tokens of their implicit trust in him.

then, it's your turn.

there isn't anything you can say that will ease the burden he feels, the permanent weight he drags behind himself — but you can give him a shoulder to rest on, a hand to drag him back up when he stumbles. you can cradle his head to your chest when he drops to his knees, his legs no longer stable enough to keep him upright. you can run your hands through his hair as his arms wind tight around you, as if he's afraid of losing you next.

you can mask your rage at a world with titan's so cruel. you can whisper your prayers for a better tomorrow.

[cyberclouddream]

Your Relationship with Transformation

Aries in the 8th House (Virgo Rising)

How can you confront your fears directly instead of running away or pretending they don’t exist?

With Aries in your 8th house, transformations can hit you like a freight train. You might leap into new relationships or experiences without thinking, only to find yourself knee-deep in drama. Sudden career changes or impulsive decisions could leave you feeling a mix of excitement and chaos. While it’s exhilarating to embrace that fiery energy, you might also find yourself questioning whether you’ve made the right call. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like sudden breakups, impulsive career changes, and moving in with someone unexpectedly.

Taurus in the 8th House (Libra Rising)

How can you stop resisting change and embrace the uncomfortable instead of stubbornly clinging to what feels safe and familiar?

For you, transformations usually revolve around stability—or the lack thereof. Life throws curveballs that challenge your need for security, and you might struggle with fears around loss. Big events, like a breakup or financial strain, can feel like the ground is shaking beneath you. You want to hold onto what’s familiar, but sometimes you have to face the uncomfortable truth that change is inevitable. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like losing a stable job, dealing with a family member's health crisis, and facing the emotional fallout of a significant breakup.

Gemini in the 8th House (Scorpio Rising)

How can you drop the martyr act and lean on others instead of pretending you can handle everything on your own while drowning?

With Gemini in your 8th house, transformation often comes through the need to communicate and explore. You may find yourself diving into new philosophies or ideas that shake your beliefs to their core. It’s not uncommon to question everything you thought you knew. While this can open your mind, it may also lead to confusion and a feeling of being unmoored as you navigate these shifting tides. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like discovering a hidden family secret, engaging in deep discussions that change your worldview, and experiencing a significant change in a long-term friendship.

Cancer in the 8th House (Sagittarius Rising)

How can you lean on others instead of shouldering all the emotional weight alone, expecting everyone to just get it?

Your transformations hit hard and deep, often tied to emotional upheaval. You might find yourself grappling with family drama or issues that challenge your sense of home. Major changes, like moving or dealing with loss, can leave you feeling vulnerable. It’s tough to ride those emotional waves, and you may want to retreat into your shell instead of facing the chaos head-on. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like relocating to care for a family member, experiencing the loss of a loved one, and navigating a major shift in family dynamics.

Leo in the 8th House (Capricorn Rising)

How can you focus on real inner work instead of seeking attention or validation during tough times?

For you, transformation can feel like a spotlight shining on your insecurities. You might be driven to express your feelings through art or performance, but that doesn’t mean it’s easy. When life throws you a curveball, it can feel like you’re on stage, exposed and raw. Navigating these changes may push you to confront your ego and the ways you seek validation from others. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like going through a painful breakup that forces you to reassess your priorities, experiencing a health scare that prompts lifestyle changes, and facing a crisis that challenges your coping mechanisms.

Virgo in the 8th House (Aquarius Rising)

How can you acknowledge your messy feelings instead of getting lost in a never-ending cycle of analysis?

Your transformations are all about analysis and practicality. You might find yourself obsessing over the details of a major change, whether it’s letting go of a toxic relationship or re-evaluating your priorities. It can feel like a never-ending cycle of self-doubt as you sift through your emotions. Embracing change can be hard when you want everything to make logical sense, but sometimes you just have to go with the flow. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like facing a major health scare that forces you to reevaluate your lifestyle, dealing with the emotional fallout from a complicated relationship, and having to navigate an unexpected crisis that disrupts your daily routine.

Libra in the 8th House (Pisces Rising)

How can you confront uncomfortable truths instead of avoiding conflict at all costs?

With Libra in the 8th house, your transformations revolve around your relationships and partnerships. You might be forced to face uncomfortable truths about the people in your life, and that can lead to some painful realizations. A breakup or friendship fallout can shake your world and make you question your values. It’s tough to find balance when it feels like everything is in disarray, and sometimes it’s hard to know who to trust. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like ending a long-term relationship that no longer serves you, navigating a complicated friendship fallout, and discovering your boundaries after a painful betrayal.

Scorpio in the 8th House (Aries Rising)

How can you see vulnerability as a strength instead of a weakness that makes you feel exposed?

Transformations for you are intense and often demand deep emotional work. You might be drawn to experiences that force you to confront your fears head-on. A crisis could push you to explore your darker side, and while that’s a path to growth, it can feel overwhelming. Getting to the root of your issues isn’t always pretty, and you might find yourself wrestling with some uncomfortable truths. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like dealing with a profound loss that changes your perspective, facing a major life crisis that forces you to confront your fears, and engaging in therapy that brings deep-seated issues to the surface.

Sagittarius in the 8th House (Taurus Rising)

How can you ground yourself in reality instead of constantly chasing the next thrill to distract from your problems?

Your transformations are tied to your desire for freedom and exploration. When life forces you to confront deeper truths, it can feel suffocating. You might grapple with a fear of being tied down or stuck in one place. For instance, dealing with loss can feel like it’s closing off your world, and you may resist the changes that come with it. Embracing that discomfort isn’t easy, but it can lead to a broader understanding of life. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like traveling to a foreign country that shifts your perspective, dealing with a loss that prompts you to reassess your values, and embracing a new belief system that challenges everything you once thought to be true.

Capricorn in the 8th House (Gemini Rising)

How can you confront your emotional side instead of pushing it aside because it feels inconvenient?

When transformations hit, your practical side can take over, but it often comes at a cost. You might feel the pressure to be responsible and keep everything together while navigating life’s chaos. Significant changes can push you to reassess your ambitions, leading to feelings of frustration. It’s hard to accept that sometimes you can’t control every outcome, and that can feel like a heavy burden. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like being laid off unexpectedly, facing a major life change that impacts your career path, and having to take on unexpected family responsibilities that shift your priorities.

Aquarius in the 8th House (Cancer Rising)

How can you stop feeling like an outsider and start owning your unique perspective instead of hiding behind your intellect?

Your transformations often defy societal norms, pushing you toward unconventional paths. You might feel like an outsider when dealing with deep emotional issues, but that uniqueness is your strength. Embracing your individuality during transformations is key, even if it means standing alone. Remember that your perspective is valid, and it can lead to incredible personal growth. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like challenging traditional relationship norms, dealing with a crisis that forces you to question societal expectations, and exploring a non-traditional career path that allows you to express your individuality.

Pisces in the 8th House (Leo Rising)

How can you stop escaping reality through fantasy instead of facing your emotional challenges head-on?

Transformations for you often take place on an emotional and spiritual level. You may find yourself diving into the depths of your subconscious, grappling with feelings that are hard to articulate. Events that push you to connect with your intuition can feel overwhelming, and you might struggle to navigate the chaos. Embracing your sensitivity can be challenging, especially when you’re faced with a world that doesn’t always value vulnerability. You tend to experience a lot of transformational experiences like engaging in creative projects that force you to confront your feelings, experiencing a significant emotional loss that prompts spiritual growth, and exploring new artistic outlets that help you process your emotions.

[leirastar]

New World | Chapter 9

Pairing: Ot8 Ateez x reader AU: fantasy AU | stranger -> mates Summary: In Hala, a house of eight kingdoms, each boasting its own wonders, you never imagined that amidst the pain, you would also fall—this time, in love. Word Count: 1.5k | 6 minutes Warning: Violence, arguments, pinning, betrayal (i think thats about it)

The soft rustle of curtains stirs you awake. The world outside the window is pale and gray, the storm’s fury spent but its remnants lingering in a fine mist that clings to the trees. Your head throbs, a dull, relentless ache that pulses behind your eyes. You shift slightly, the weight of the blanket draped over your shoulders falling to the floor. Your breath catches as the events of the night before come rushing back with the force of a tidal wave.

The knock.

The man.

The knife.

Your hand flies to your cheek, your fingers brushing over the faint line where the blade kissed your skin. It burns faintly, a reminder of his parting gift. You wince, dropping your hand as the memory plays in your mind with startling clarity. His voice—low, deliberate, dripping with venom—still echoes in your ears.

"Tell King Yunho he’s running out of time."

what does he mean? King Yunho.

Your chest tightens as you sit up, your fingers curling into the fabric of your dress. But as you look around, your breath hitches. This is not your small, familiar home. The room around you is nothing short of enchanting, a dreamlike vision of soft pinks and glittering gold. Tall arched windows framed with flowing drapes allow light to pour in, illuminating the room with a warm glow. Through the windows, you can see a serene, crystalline lake bordered by lush greenery, and in the distance, a waterfall cascades gracefully into the waters below. The air is heavy with the sweet fragrance of blooming flowers, and soft golden chandeliers hang from the ceiling, casting gentle light over the room.

As you glance down, your breath catches again. The tattered, dirty clothes you remembered wearing are gone. Instead, you are dressed in a nightgown made from fine cotton, soft against your skin and modest enough to cover you completely. Your hair, which was once tied back, now falls freely over your shoulders, framing your face.

You sit frozen, taking in the surreal surroundings. The bed you lay on is large and luxurious, its pink satin sheets embroidered with gold filigree, glimmering softly as they shift. Delicate rugs and cushions in complementary shades of peach and blush cover the polished floor, and floral arrangements spill over vases and urns in every corner. Trees seem to grow naturally through the walls, their branches wrapped with glittering vines, seamlessly blending the indoors and outdoors into one.

On a nearby chair, you spot a coat made of fine cotton, which you quickly take and wrap around yourself, seeking comfort in its familiar warmth. Your trembling fingers reach for the pendant around your neck, Yunho’s promise heavy against your skin. You close your eyes, focusing on the cool metal beneath your fingertips, as though it can anchor you, pull you from the rising tide of panic.

He needs to know.

You swung your legs over the edge of the bed, your bare feet sinking into a soft, intricate rug that sprawled across the floor. The design of the rug caught your eye—it depicted a scene of flowing rivers and blooming gardens, mirroring the view outside the windows. The quiet hum of the room was broken only by the faint sounds of water lapping against the walls outside and the distant murmur of voices. Heart pounding, you stood and took cautious steps toward the door that led to another part of the suite.

The door was slightly ajar, revealing a sliver of what lay beyond. Peeking through, you found yourself looking into a drawing room. Unlike the bedroom, this space was filled with a heavier atmosphere. Tall bookshelves lined the walls, their shelves filled with ancient-looking tomes and artifacts that glinted faintly in the firelight. A grand fireplace dominated one side of the room, its mantle adorned with delicate carvings of wings and stars. The golden light from the flames flickered across the faces of several figures who stood in a loose circle near the center of the room and you could hear the muffled conversation broken in the silence.

You immediately recognized Yunho, his indigo wings tucked tightly against his back, standing at the forefront of the group. His posture was tense, and the expressions of those around him ranged from frustration to concern. He looks exhausted. His dark hair is damp, clinging to his forehead in soft waves, and his shoulders slump under the weight of his coat.

“You should have told her,” one of the men said sharply, his tone filled with frustration. His attire was resplendent, a golden tunic embroidered with intricate patterns that faintly in the firelight, the crest of his house prominently displayed—a lion’s mane.

"She wan’t ready brother," Yunho replied, his voice tired but stubborn, a sharp contrast to the usual calm and reserved manner you’d come to know. "I’m not going to rush her into this."

“No. Jongho’s right. She could have almost died,” added another voice, steady and measured. The speaker wore light blue and gray, the crest on his chest depicting a falcon. His tone was calm, but the edge in his voice sent a chill down your spine.

Yunho’s head dipped slightly, a slight gesture of shame or guilt. His own attire, marked with the indigo and white crest of Reed, shifted as he straightened slightly. “I did what I thought was best Mingi,” he said, his voice low.

"She’s not just some outsider to be kept in the dark," another voice said, a little softer but equally resolute. You recognized it now—the voice of the man who had spoken earlier. His piercing grey eyes were familiar, but you had never seen him. "You’re making this harder than it needs to be. She shares our bond, Yunho. You’ve been lying to her."

Your breath caught in your throat. bond? The word felt foreign, strange, even though you couldn’t deny the heavy truth that they were speaking. There was no mistaking it. Yunho was hiding something, something big. You could no longer deny the tension in the air, the secrets that had been kept from you. You pressed closer to the door, unable to tear yourself away.

“We listened to you, Yunho,” came a new voice, sharper and filled with emotion. This man’s clothing was a rich crimson, with gold embroidery forming fiery patterns across his tunic. A bold crest featuring a panther with a blazing sun stood proudly on his chest. “We stayed away, AND the first time I would see her is in her death bed?”

"You’re being reckless, Yunho," another sharp voice whispered. "She needs to know the truth."

The man wore a black velvet coat, gilded with intricate vines and leaves that shimmered in the dim light. A matching belt cinched his waist, and his house crest—a bat with outstretched wings—was stitched in gold on his chest.

"I said no," Yunho’s voice replied, firm yet laced with exhaustion. "Not yet."

The same voice, now colder, said, "And when were you planning to tell her? After it’s too late? She has a right to know what she means to us."

There was a mocking edge to his tone, as if he were speaking to a child. "Oh, you act like a king, Yunho, but you stumble in front of her." The words stung, a sharp reminder of how Yunho had been faltering, hiding the truth from you, despite his role.

"Stop," Yunho's voice broke, though it still carried a weight of authority. "I never wanted this for her. You think I want to burden her with this? I was giving her a choice."

Your breath hitched. What I mean to them? King? Confusion swirled in your mind as you pressed closer to the door, heart pounding in your chest. The weight of their words, the undeniable reality settling in, left you shaken. What was your place in this world, really? A queen? To whom? To them? The questions crashed together, unanswered, as the tension in the room continued to rise.

The others were quiet for a moment, but the air between them was thick with tension. The silence stretched until a fifth voice interrupted. This one you recognized too—it was the man in red who had stepped forward to challenge Yunho. His voice, though calm, held an unmistakable command.

"You’re fooling yourself, Yunho. You’ve hidden the truth from her for far too long. You’ve been selfish."

“Someone’s watching us,” the unseen speaker said, the tone laced with suspicion. You froze, your pulse quickening as you held your breath, hoping the shadows would conceal you.

The tension in the room shifted instantly, a palpable silence falling over the group. Then, with deliberate steps, the unseen figure moved closer, and the door you had been hiding behind creaked open to reveal a man in deep emerald robes. The intricate patterns of ivy and thorns on his attire glimmered faintly in the firelight, and the crest of his house—a coiled serpent—rested heavily on his chest. His sharp gaze locked onto yours, his presence commanding and unyielding.

You felt the weight of their collective gaze, each of them watching you with varying levels of curiosity, confusion, or expectation. It was overwhelming. Yunho, the man who had become so familiar to you, now felt distant—almost unreachable.

“Y-Yunho,” you whispered, your voice trembling, the words tumbling out before you could stop them. Your gaze darted to him, pinned against the wall by another man. Your heart raced, the familiarity of Yunho the only anchor in this surreal situation. The man holding Yunho abruptly released him, stepping back without a word.

His approach only heightened your panic, your breath coming in quick, shallow gasps. Your hand instinctively rose to your chest, gripping the fabric of your nightwear as though it might steady your racing heart.

"How much did you hear?" Yunho asked, his voice low but laced with an edge of anxiety.

“Enough.”

Masterlist

eight | ten

A/n: my loves, i am back! i apologise for the long wait! i feel better now after a break but i started uni again. so my sched will be busier, i will try my best to update!

Taglist (CLOSED):

@pinkpearlstar @deltamoon666 @kyra1205 @hecateslittlewitchling @dumplingsyum @caratiny-latte @seongwars @halloweenbyphoebebridgers @angelqueendom

@ffenjoyerdazme @lostxxgirl @xh01bri @neemaxx @furfoxsake22 @Thejentheredhead @soulphoenix1618 @pixie0627 @hannahdinse8

@laurtiny112 @innocygnet @the-first-mate @miniverse-zen @katyeongs @nuggiesnuggetdog04 @sweetmoonlight9 @staytinyluv @bluesiebirdie @kaqua @ateezaddict24 @bamdoe @kandy108 @pixie0627 @bunnii-dolls @kheartost @xlilehx @lalelol @Tiny2018 @salnovna @roryy95 @fairylover68 @meowmeeps @awkward-fucking-thing @blackandgreenandblue @moniesmoon @skteezcursed

[baeshijima]

OOOOHHH BLADE IN A TIDE AND SEEK ILLUSTRATION IM GOING TO THROW UP

WHY IS HE ALL TIED UP LIKE THAT HUH CHRISTMAS IS GONE

art by yaoyaobae !! + the outfit designs they made for the illustration hehe

[aeth-eris]

★ moon signs as greek mythics ★

★ aries moon: achilles ★ you are achilles, fierce and unrelenting, your emotions striking like the swift blow of a sword. like achilles’ rage over patroclus, your feelings are primal, raw, and deeply tied to your passions. your love is protective and consuming, but your need for immediacy can lead to emotional recklessness. you charge toward your desires without hesitation, but like achilles, you must guard against the vulnerability of your “heel”—the moments when unchecked emotions can be your downfall.

 ★ taurus moon: demeter and persephone ★ you are demeter, the mother goddess whose love nourishes and sustains life. your emotions are grounded in the security of what you cherish, like demeter’s fields in full bloom. but when what you love is taken—like persephone to the underworld—you feel the barrenness of winter within your soul. you find comfort in stability and routine, yet your strength lies in your ability to endure emotional seasons, trusting in the return of warmth and abundance.

 ★ gemini moon: hermes ★ you are hermes, the messenger, quick-witted and always in motion. like hermes, you flit between realms—mind and heart, logic and feeling—seeking to make sense of your emotional world. your curiosity drives you to explore every angle of a situation, but you can sometimes skim the surface, avoiding the depths of what you feel. your gift is your ability to articulate emotions, to connect others with your words, and to transform complexity into understanding.

 ★ cancer moon: selene ★ you are selene, the goddess of the moon, tender and luminous, gliding across the night sky. your emotions ebb and flow like the tides, guided by the pull of your intuition. like selene’s love for endymion, you are nurturing, devoted, and often drawn to protect what feels sacred to you. yet, your deep emotional connection can lead you to retreat into the shadows when you feel vulnerable. your light is your strength, illuminating even the darkest corners of the heart.

 ★ leo moon: apollo ★ you are apollo, the radiant god of the sun, whose emotions blaze with warmth and vitality. like apollo, you shine brightly, your love and generosity captivating those around you. you crave recognition for your efforts, not out of pride, but because you want your heart’s offerings to be valued. yet, like apollo’s pursuit of daphne, your intensity can sometimes overwhelm, leaving you yearning for love that feels reciprocal. your strength lies in your ability to inspire, turning your inner fire into light for others.

 ★ virgo moon: ariadne ★ you are ariadne, the clever and steadfast guide who spins threads of reason through the labyrinth of emotions. like ariadne’s careful weaving, your feelings are meticulous and thoughtful, driven by a desire to create order and understanding. but as ariadne was abandoned by theseus, you may feel unappreciated for the emotional labor you give. your true power comes when you embrace your worth, weaving your strength into a foundation that supports not just others, but yourself.

 ★ libra moon: aphrodite and adonis ★ you are aphrodite, the goddess of love and beauty, whose emotions are centered on harmony and connection. like aphrodite’s tender love for adonis, you crave relationships that reflect balance and grace. yet, your longing for perfection can sometimes lead to heartbreak, as you hold onto an ideal that reality cannot always meet. your gift is your ability to create beauty in the world around you, teaching others that love, even imperfect, is still divine.

 ★ scorpio moon: hades and persephone ★ you are hades, the lord of the underworld, whose emotions are as deep and transformative as the realm he rules. like hades drawing persephone into his shadowed kingdom, you crave connections that are intense, unspoken, and eternal. your love is transformative, but it can feel overwhelming to those unprepared for its depth. your power lies in your willingness to face the darkness within yourself and others, turning pain into wisdom and rebirth into strength.

 ★ sagittarius moon: chiron ★ you are chiron, the wise and wounded healer, who seeks understanding and meaning in all things. your emotions are expansive, like the journey of a teacher or traveler who yearns to grow through experience. like chiron’s immortal wound, you may carry pain that drives your quest for wisdom and purpose. your strength lies in your ability to transform your struggles into lessons, finding joy in the freedom to explore your emotional truth.

 ★ capricorn moon: atlas ★ you are atlas, the titan who bears the weight of the heavens on his shoulders. your emotions are heavy, rooted in responsibility and endurance. like atlas, you feel the burden of carrying others, suppressing your needs in the name of duty. yet, even as you shoulder this weight, your strength is unmatched, and your resilience inspires those around you. your lesson is to trust that vulnerability is not weakness, and that even the strongest can lean on others.

 ★ aquarius moon: prometheus ★ you are prometheus, the fire-bringer, whose emotions are tied to the collective rather than the self. like prometheus stealing fire for humanity, you act with purpose, driven by ideals and innovation. your detachment is not coldness but a reflection of your higher vision, where feelings serve progress and change. yet, like prometheus bound for his rebellion, you may feel misunderstood in your approach to love. your strength lies in your ability to inspire others to think beyond their immediate needs, lighting the way to a better future.

 ★ pisces moon: orpheus and eurydice ★ you are orpheus, the poet and musician whose emotions transcend words, reaching into the soul. like orpheus descending into the underworld for eurydice, you feel deeply, loving with a devotion that blurs the line between reality and dream. but your longing for the ideal can leave you aching when faced with life’s imperfections. your power lies in your ability to turn heartbreak into art, finding beauty even in sorrow, and reminding the world of the magic within love’s fleeting moments.

★ book a reading ★ ★ masterlist 1 ★ ★ masterlist 2 ★

[angelremnants]

ㅤㅤ

⠀⠀

SERIES

• A TALES OF...⠀— A collection of lore-bound but not necessarily sequential ficlets featuring our favorite Asgardian brothers, packed with action, magic, a lot of tension and, of course, romance.

• HIS FOR THE SEASON⠀— In which you once reigned at the pinnacle of Asgard’s elite, only to fall and leave behind nothing but hushed whispers and fading echoes of your name. Loki, the enigmatic prince, fared no better with his exile shrouded in scandal, reducing him to little more than a ghost haunting the opulent corridors of the court.

But as a new Courting Season begins, both of you return, bound by a fabricated betrothal with ambitions far greater than love. In this unlikely alliance, you seek not only to reclaim the splendor that was once yours but to restore the honor and wealth that fate so cruelly stole. And your ascent to glory begins with seizing the coveted title of Amber of the Season.

⠀⠀

ㅤㅤ

FICS

• OF STORMBOUND HEARTS

"In the midst of a storm of emotions and unspoken longing, two souls collide in a moment that blurs the line between desire and fear. The tension between them disguised under quarrels has been building for months, and when it finally unravels, neither can escape the pull of what they’ve both denied for so long. But as their connection deepens, so do the questions. Will they be able to handle the storm they've created, or will it consume them?"

• A CHRISTMAS TO CHERISH, A YULE TO REMEMBER — Loosely connected to the A Tales Of series' universe.

"When tasked with organizing a holiday cultural exchange between Midgard and New Asgard, you face clashing traditions and unexpected connections. To foster goodwill, you plan a hybrid celebration that blends Christmas with Yule, inviting world leaders and dignitaries to experience Asgard's unique customs. However, hosting off-worlders, especially a skeptical Loki, proves challenging. His sarcasm only adds more tension as sparks begin to fly between you, testing your growing connection. As Yule and Christmas traditions collide, an unexpected kiss under the mistletoe might just be the season's most surprising twist."

• SWEATER WEATHER

"Conveyed in a rented beach house stationed on the Californian west coast, a SHIELD mission brings Loki and you together. What starts as an investigation into strange energy spikes uncovers discoveries tied to the ocean—and to each other. As you work together, the line between professionalism and growing attraction blurs even more than before. Can your newfound connection withstand the tides of duty and desire, or is this still water before the tempest?"

• IN THE GRAVITY OF YOU

"You never expected to cross paths with a god, let alone have your destiny tangle with his. Tasked with retrieving the Tesseract for S.H.I.E.L.D., you quickly learn you're in over your head after getting extraordinary powers in an unfortunate occurrence. Your fate is no longer in your hands, and the stone, the source of your connection, seem to have sinister abilities. Its power will either bond you together... or tear you apart."

• BETWEEN STRENGTH & STYLE

"Loki’s probationary stint with the Avengers takes a surprising turn when Thor insists on dragging him to the team’s fluorescent-lit gym—a place he deems far beneath his dignity. His disdain shifts the moment you stride in with effortless confidence, transforming the mundane gym into your personal runway, commanding the room and worse, directly challenging his ego.

Determined not to be overshadowed, Loki initiated a playful competition, vying to outshine you as the gym’s reigning fashionista. Yet, what began as irritation soon evolved into intrigue—and an electric chemistry taking place between you and forcing him to confront not only your undeniable allure but also his own battle for self-control.

The only question left was: how many Fridays would pass before one of you finally caves in?"

PARTㅤ⠀ONE . TWO⠀(18+) . THREE⠀(18+) .

• GIRLS' NIGHT OUT, LOKI'S NIGHT IN⠀(18+) — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"Girls’ night was going great—until Loki decided to make it his personal mission to ruin it, being hellbent on pulling you home. It’s a battle of wills, but let’s face it: the God of Mischief always gets his way."

• THE EMOJI CONUNDRUM — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"In the middle of a very serious meeting, Loki decides it’s the perfect time to attempt to seduce you with a series of cryptic emoji messages that, unsurprisingly, make no sense."

• YOU'RE BANNED !⠀(18+) — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"After an ill-timed and highly inappropriate comment made during a meeting debrief, Loki finds himself slapped with the ultimate punishment—a strict sex ban put in place by you. And sadly for him, you’re enjoying his suffering way too much to free him from it."

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SERIES

• ROLL CALL

“The biting winters of 1943 paled in comparison to the frozen hearts of soldiers, weary and broken by the unrelenting call of war. For men burdened by despair, the burn of alcohol was the only warmth they knew.

Sergeant Barnes lived for one purpose: to stand by his best friend’s side, no matter where the battlefield led them. But a chance encounter at a dimly lit bar near the military camp changes everything. A young woman, bold yet gentle, awakens something in him—a spark long buried beneath years of frost and pain.”

CHAPTERㅤ⠀ONE . TWO . THREE . FOUR .

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FICS

• HEAT WAVES

"After years of manipulation by Hydra, Bucky Barnes must find his place in a world that has long moved on without him. With you, an independent and unwavering agent by his side, he reluctantly embarks on a transformative journey of recovery in Wakanda. Amid the kingdom's vibrant culture, your connection to Bucky deepens as he confronts personal demons and embrace the healing process. Bucky learns to welcome the warmth of new beginnings, understanding that even after winter's cold grip, the sun can shine through."

PARTㅤ⠀ONE . TWO . THREE⠀(18+) .

• LATE NIGHT CONFESSIONS — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"It’s 3AM, you’re drunk and deep in Tony’s stash of expensive liquor. Naturally, the best course of action is to text Bucky—who, despite it all, always picks up."

• FLIRTING AFTER DARK — Social Media Alternate Universe, follow-up of Late Night Confessions.

"In the aftermath of the wild night, you're left dealing with the embarrassing fallout of your drunken behavior. You did your best to avoid facing it, but it seems that Bucky has other plans and refuses to let you forget the bold words you spoke."

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FICS

• AMERICAN WEDDING

“Steve Rogers is throwing himself into mission after mission, trying to outrun the weight of his past—his unresolved feelings for Sharon and the lingering memories of Peggy. But when his commanding officers force him to take a break, Steve ends up on a staycation in Barbados. What begins as a forced respite soon becomes a much-needed escape as he unexpectedly finds healing, peace, and even a connection in the warmth of the Caribbean sun. Steve learns to let go of the past and finally breathe again, even if it’s just for a short while.”

• CLASSIFIED DISTRACTION⠀(18+) — Social Media Alternate Universe.

"Steve usually prides himself on his self-control—that is, until you decide to put it up to the test with a single and devastatingly timed picture of you in lingerie. Trapped in a government meeting, he’s forced to choose between professionalism and the growing need to grill you and put you back in your place. Spoiler alert: the meeting won’t last much longer."

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⠀⠀

FICS

• STUCK WITH YOU

“The last thing you wanted was to be trapped in a room with a person you didn't know, much less be forced to team up with them. But thanks to your best friend's meddling, you now find yourself headed for a peculiar blind date, paired with someone who’s anything but a stranger. You swore you’d moved on. He said it was for the best. But maybe you were never meant to let each other go.”

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angelremnants ©️ 2024/2025. All rights reserved. Do not repost, reproduce, or distribute without explicit permission.

[theresattrpgforthat]

hi! have you seen the TTRPGS for Palestine bundle yet? and do you have any recommendations from it

https://tiltify.com/@jesthehuman/ttrpgs-for-palestine

THEME: TTRPGS for Palestine

The TTRPGs for Palestine Bundle is going from April 12 to May 7, so there's not much time left to get it, but here's some recommendations of some really awesome games that you can find in it.

Gubat Banwa, by makapatag.

GUBAT BANWA is a Martial Arts Tactics and War Drama Tabletop RPG where you play as martial artists poised to change the world: Kadungganan: the cavalry, the wandering swordsmen, the tide turners, the knights-errant, the ones to call in darkest night in a world inspired and centering Southeast Asian folklore.

Witness, grand warriors, honorable gallants that trudge and toil under kings and haloes. Witness, KADUNGGANAN, that refulgent name. That blasted name: WITNESS NOW. The end of days is upon us: and the new world MUST BE BORN. Bear your blades, incant your magicks. Cut open your tomorrow from the womb of violence. Inscribe your name upon the very akasha of this world. 

Gubat Banwa is designed for fans of 4th edition D&D, with in-depth character abilities that make you feel both unique and powerful, in a colourful and flavourful world full of vibrant cultures and clashing conflicts. The game uses an action economy with different action options carrying different weights, which also reminds me quite a bit of Lancer. If you want a game that pushes you to strategize with your friends and weigh your advancement options carefully, you want Gubat Banwa.

Gun & Slinger, by Nevyn Holmes.

GUN&SLINGER is an RPG geared for short, episodic sessions about a weapon and a wanderer. A Maestro and two players (Gun and Slinger) set out into a dead planet mutated by a god's forgotten child and hunt strange bounties, investigate the world and unlock hidden powers. During play, they seek to learn the nature of what’s hunting the Slinger, figure out why the Gun is sentient and discover how the world died.

This game is specifically for three players, using the rules of Go Fish as a resolution system. Gun & Slinger is all about using your resources to the best of their ability, and your resources might exist on your character sheet, but they also exist as cards in your hand.

What really intrigues me is the lore that’s baked into your character sheets. One of you is a wanderer in a twisted world, tempted by strange powers that guarantee to change you into a monster. One of you is a sentient magical gun, borne by that wanderer and designed to deliver death and pain.

Gun & Slinger has expansions included, allowing you to instead play as a wanderer possessed by a demon, a mech and a pilot fused as one, or someone who bears a cursed sword. I think the fact that it requires a small table and the fact that the characters’ lives are tied together makes this a high-stakes, terribly intimate game.

Apocalypse Frame, by Binary Star Games.

In a ruined and terraformed world where most of humanity is under the yoke of a brutal regime, the former workers of a once-remote factory - now known as The Collective - have risen up to create a future of freedom from oppression. You are an Ace - a highly skilled pilot referred from a Division in The Collective and assigned a humanoid combat vehicle known as a Frame. You and your Strike Team of fellow Aces must take on The Collective’s greatest threats, ensure its survival, and carve a path for its continued success.

Apocalypse Frame takes mechs and fits them into the LUMEN system, which centres competency as well as fast but effective rounds of combat. The game includes a variety of different threats, allowing you to tailor your campaign to your group’s tastes, and the tailoring doesn’t stop there. You choose both a division that your character belongs to, and then one of three mechs within that division, allowing players to share similar fighting styles but differ in weapons. You can also modify your basic frame, adding general modular systems alongside systems and armaments that can come with your mech, making character creation and progression exciting for folks who love tweaking and tailoring to their heart’s content.

If you’re a fan of Armored Core or Battletech, you’ll want to check out Apocalypse Frame.

Here, There Be Monsters!, by wendi yu.

No matter what they tell you, there’s still weirdness and wonder everywhere. You just have to know where to look. At the edges and cracks of ‘normal’ life we exist, we persist, and we resist: the monsters, the magicians, the anomalies, the freaks, and the outcasts. We gather in the shadows, trying our best to live our lives in a world that, when it doesn’t exactly fear or hate us, doesn't even believe in our existence.

here, there, be monsters! is a rules-lite response to monster-hunting media from the monsters' point of view. It's both a love letter and a middle finger to stuff like Hellboy (and the BPRD), the SCP Foundation, the Men in Black, the World of Darkness games and the Urban Fantasy genre in general. It is an explicitly queer, antifascist and anti-capitalist game about the monstrous and the weird, in any flavor you want, not as something to be feared, but to be cherished and protected.

Here, There, Be Monsters is a love-letter to anyone who has been made to feel monstrous, as well as an homage to media such as Hellboy, the SCP Foundation, and Men in Black. It’s urban fantasy meets organized power structures, and as the monsters, you’re here to burn those structures down.

This game uses descriptive tags to slap onto your characters to represent what they can do. You can choose from a number of different monster character backgrounds to give you guidance towards, and there’s plenty of monsters both in the base game and in the game jam wendi ran back in 2022. If you want a game of power, anti-capitalism, and punching up, this is the game for you.

Pale Dot, by Devin Nelson.

Pale Dot is a collaborative storytelling game for 2-5 players about a crew of non-human cosmonauts leaving their planet to explore a strange solar system, finding threads to unravel the unknown along the way. It is fantastical, surreal, and perhaps very unlike humanity’s own ventures in space exploration. Though one thing is universal: leaving home is terrifying, dangerous, humbling, and a catalyst for changing one’s perspective. 

Pale Dot is a GM-less game where players work together to create an alien setting and subsequently envelop it in cosmic mystery, embodying cosmonauts called Dustlings, as well as one of 5 different settings. During their journey they will be able to travel to 24 different locations within their solar system, each with several prompts for improvisational scenes. Each player will also have to manage the integrity of their cosmonaut and their shared ship while avoiding space's many perils.

The cover for Pale Dot gripped me the first time I saw it; a tiny creature in an astronaut suit, looking up in fear at something in the sky, as vegetation blooms inside their helmet. You play as the Dustlings, non-human but sentient species exploring the Cosmos, a strange, horrifying and wonderful universe that changes those who venture into it.

Mechanically, Pale Dot uses a GM-less structure similar to Dream Askew, but there feels to be a much bigger emphasis on the setting your cosmonauts explore, rather than the cosmonauts themselves. Your characters are assembled traits, drives and equipment, almost all of which can be expended to cause or solve problems. Each player is also responsible for at least one setting element, such as The Cosmic Wilderness, The Wondrous Endeavour, or The Omnipresent Danger. As you visit locations, different elements will be prompted to influence the scene, while your cosmonauts try to navigate the scene and try to finish the mission. If you want a game that is collaborative and evocative, I definitely recommend Pale Dot.

Fractal Romance, by Ostrichmonkey Games.

A never ending abstract landscape of rhythm and soft glamour. Wander the halls, rooms, and chambers. Encounter strange Denizens and get to know them better; befriend them, fall in love, just chill. Try and fill out your own blurred edges. Fractal Romance is a tabletop role playing hangout. You will pick up a character to play and explore the Fractal Palace, generating its infinite sprawl and the Denizens that inhabit it, as you play.

Fractal Romance is all about searching; for something you need, something you want, or even for who you are. It feels rather surreal, perhaps like a dream dimension that you are moving through. The game uses a deck of cards to generate rooms, as well as the denizens of this gigantic, dream-like palace. This game uses rather simplistic playbooks, each asking you to choose three descriptive words, and then uses cards to fuel your character’s actions: you have things you can always do, things that cost a card to do, and things that you must do in order to draw another card.

If what you want out of a game is a chill time with friends, moving from one vibe to another, and generating emotional stories for your characters, you might want to check out Fractal Romance.

Himbos of Myth and Mettle, by huge boar.

You are big. Big arms, big tits, big thighs, big brai- you're big where it matters. In addition to a heaving, throbbing body, glistening lightly with a thin sheen of pleasantly fragrant perspirant, you have one singular unifying trait  - come hell or high water, you are going to help.

Himbos of Myth & Mettle is a high fantasy, high camp role playing game of epic proportions (of body), for 2-5 players, one of whom will act as Game Guide.  The rules center around a simple roll under mechanic and prioritize narrative flair and cinematic descriptions. Himbos is inspired by many classic fantasy properties (and could be considered OSR adjacent) , but leans towards a more garish, salacious and queer (gay or odd, pick your fighter) style of play. It is designed with comedy and flamboyance in mind, but is not without it deeper and darker touches. It's definitely not grimdark, but there will probably be blood. Think classic fantasy pulp in style, but contemporary sensibilities, modern rules-lite mechanics, and a player philosophy centred in helping, kindness and being fucking hot.

I’ve heard rave reviews for Himbos, and I think the idea of leading an entire group of well-meaning but possibly over-ambitious adventurers is a great set-up for a game full of laughs. Himbos is very much designed for a light-hearted evening of fun, flirting, and fucking up (but in the best way).

Other Games from the Bundle I've Recommended:

Space Taxi, and Creation Myths, by GothHoblin.

Caltrop Core, by Titanomachy.

Souvenirs, by Rémi Töötätä.

Thunder in Our Hearts, by Marn. S.

Eldritch Courts of Some Repute, by AlanofAllTrades.

[xielexalt]

phaidei & renheng parallels (as of 3.1) (spoilers & theories ahead!!)

thinking about phainon/mydei + blade/dan heng (incl. yingxing/dan feng) parallels, here's some scattered observations & parallels i made

- the closeness phainon & mydei have is very reminiscent of yingxing & dan feng. like i get this feeling that this is what it would've been like to witness yingxing and dan feng together on-screen

- both blade & mydei Can Not Die

- both phainon & dan heng are associated with the path of trailblaze (one way or another)

- dan heng directly relates to mydei's conflict of letting go of the past to go towards the future

- cloud piercer being broken On Amphoreus Specifically by Phainon Specifically and having him allude to blade -- definitely says something.

also, TB's memory of dan heng & blade being brought up in amphoreus for some reason (of course it's moreso astral express vs stellaron hunters, but renheng are inherently tied to that dichotomy anyways)

more in-depth spoilers ahead

- blade got corrupted by the abundance motherfuckers. i have a very strong suspicion that mydei might become corrupted by the black tide, and then i think phainon is going to kill mydei. #tragicyaoi

either way, no matter what happens here, something bad is going to happen to them

- with the reaver being commonly theorized to be another phainon from the future or another timeline, we have the dual persona with reaver - phainon and dan heng - dan feng. both the flame reaver and dan heng walk a different path than their other self. (i think this even adds more meaning to dan heng's heavily involved presence on amphoreus at the moment)

- if blade & mydei cannot die, it might be the case that only dan heng & phainon (reaver) are capable of killing them. or rather, it's only dh/phainon that blade/mydei wants, to be the one to kill them.

- they are part of a group of worshipped heroes, but that group will meet a tragic end? chrysos heirs and high cloud quintet. largely at the hands of phainon (flame reaver) : dan feng. i think something will happen to phainon that will make him parallel dan feng even more

- the chrysos heirs, after they die, will probably be reborn somehow in the "new world/genesis" they're working towards. part of the prophecy is that all but one person will die(?) before the coming of the new world, and that one person will open the path to the new world. which imo reflects how all of the high cloud quintet got reborn/corrupted except for jing yuan

what this means for both pairings & the story?

honestly, i do enjoy how hsr has parallels all over the place, and it might be a testament to how well these two dynamics work, that phaidei & renheng might be the most popular hsr m/m pairings. (side note, for some reason i'm more partial to myphai 🤔 but that's irrelevant)

on top of that, by drawing these parallels, we can further understand just How Doomed phainon & mydei are (as are the rest of the chrysos heirs), and how closely intertwined dan feng & yingxing might have been in the past -- to the point their conflict and feelings are still relevant in the current day as dan heng and blade. even if they're at conflict with each other, there is still such a deep connection that shapes them so profoundly, it cannot be overlooked..

(everything after this is incoherent yapping that i'm not entirely sure about myself but it's what's on my mind)

i do think this also further amplifies the trailblaze vs finality dichotomy, if finality is to be the 3rd path of amphoreus, and if finality is to be associated with the 3 titans of calamity (which mydei = strife is associated with one of those.)

the main thing that marks a significant change in both of these dynamics is the influence of trailblaze. we already know with dan heng joining the path of trailblaze, he wants to come to terms w/ his past in his own way and seek a new future for himself. he's making a meaningful change in his own life. (i do believe he's only getting started in this, the conflict he has with blade, the relationship between astral express & stellaron hunters -- not to mention future involvement w/ xianzhou politics -- will definitely span over the long, long run of HSR as a whole). we don't know if or how dh & blade would ever reconcile, but the paths they now walk on this grand script of "honkai star rail" might lead to an answer later down the road...

in the case of amphoreus, going off the theory they're in a time loop and the flame reaver is a key part of that time loop -- if in previous loops mydei would die or become corrupted at the hands of phainon/reaver, that is "finality" at work -- the endless endings. "trailblaze" is the element that interrupts that, and is what phainon is meant to wield. the trailblazers' appearance in the story would be what diverges the loop and helps phainon become the "nameless hero/king" he is destined to become ...

the really spicy, awesome thing about both these pairings is just how strongly intertwined they are with the overarching plot of their respective stories, and the themes so strongly present in duality and opposition, it's just so good to dig into 😭🙏 and just how much they parallel EACH OTHER too and how important dan heng himself even is to amphoreus too, it's like. god. in analyzing the things that affect their relationship, you're not only analyzing just that, but also the larger story in general and. aouujgjgkhghhh it's so good, it's so good. let them cook we love yaoi star rail

[skeltnwrites]

Tides at Moonrise ☾⁺˖⋆₊

After being attacked by demobats in the Upside Down, Steve experiences some supernatural changes.

vampire!steve, bf!steve, angst, fluff, hurt/comfort / TW season 4 spoilers, vomit, arguing, drinking blood, very minor descriptions of injury and gore, mentions of death and cannibalism, spooky elements 6k

a/n - steve and dustin are such a fun pair to write i miss the iconic duo that they are

── .✦

“Fuck,” Steve croaks, swiping at the thread of spit swaying from his lips. He glowers at his reflection in the toilet bowl, muddied brown from a piece of chocolate but mostly bile. The sting of acid coats the back of his throat and sours the length of his tongue. 

It’s been four days, going on five, and he hasn’t been able to keep anything down. You’ve tried toast, soup, crackers, protein shakes, and every other sick food on the list. And now in a desperate attempt, you’ve ruined his favorite candy for him too. 

You press a water bottle to his bicep, “Here.”

“No.” His hands tremble where they’re braced against the porcelain rim. “I can’t.” 

“Stevie. It’s just water.” 

“I will. Just, not yet.” His tone is callous. He’s not mad, at least not at you. A culmination of feelings fester in his chest like a swarm of bees gearing for attack. But he won’t take this out on you. Won’t let himself. 

He sinks back on his heels, decidedly finished. 

You snake an arm around his middle as if to say it’s okay. You’re both exhausted from a string of sleepless nights. Finding the proper words requires a level of energy you don’t have. He prefers your touch anyway. 

The half-hearted embrace lacks the comfort you hope to find. The skin of his bare back is like ice against yours. It’s a foreign sensation, though becoming less and less so each day. 

Steve sags into your warmth with the entire brunt of his weight. His strength fades with each passing night, as your worry grows in equal measure.

A finger scratches the coarse gauze plastered to his tummy. It’s still snug, exactly how you fixed it. You only trouble him with changing his bandages if it’s necessary. You’re thankful that the road rash across his back has scabbed over. It’s healing fine, but it’s not pretty. Like a pair of fiery wings hung from his shoulder blades.  

You coax Steve back into your shared room. He’s averse but can’t afford a fight. 

It’s late morning. Bright enough to project bars of sunlight across your sheets. Steve winces at them, among a number of other things, as he crawls into bed. Even through the glass pane, the sun stings. It’s not unbearable, but an uncomfortable heat, like a sunburn. 

You reinforce the makeshift curtain where it’s unfastened itself. It’s a throw blanket you really miss now that you sleep beside a human ice pack. Someone is bringing blackout curtains to cover the blinds. You think it was Mike who offered, but you aren’t really sure. Your brain is fuzzy with fear and fatigue. The last week has tangled itself in your mind like an unraveled spool of thread. The only strand of it you’re focused on is what’ll help Steve. 

He seeks your hand when you join him on the mattress. There’s enough indirect light seeping in to highlight the sickly shade he’s become. Signature golden, sun-baked hues have drained from his skin like a bleached photograph. And while he hasn’t eaten or seen the sun in days, it just doesn’t make sense. Nothing about this situation does. 

You all have your theories– how this is linked to the Upside Down or a part of Vecna’s plan. But everything circles back to that night. Steve was shredded by demobats and took a chunk out of one with his teeth in revenge. Something about their bites or swallowing their blood did something to Steve. It changed him, right down to his DNA. 

Dustin’s tried to present several possibilities from a scientific standpoint. Gene mutations, parasites, cellular regeneration, infections, but there are always holes in his explanations, always things that don’t quite add up. But you’re running out of time. You feel it, Steve feels it, everyone does. He’s grasping at a fraying rope, wilting like a dying flower in your palms.  

Steve calls your name like a beacon from your thoughts.

“I can hear how anxious you are,” he says when you face him. 

You have to be the strong one right now. You shake your head. “I’m not. It’s okay.” 

He softens like melting snow and scoots closer until he’s more on your pillow than his. “Don’t lie. Please.” 

“I’m not,” you whisper, not caring that he won’t believe you. 

Steve sandwiches your fingers between both of his palms; draws soothing shapes across the marbled green and purple of your knuckles. “I can hear your heartbeat, you know. It’s racing.” 

Your first instinct is to call his bluff, then shove away any embarrassment and lock it up in a box deep in your brain until all of this is over. But he’s not lying. He’s a stupendously bad liar. And at this point, he could tell you he has x-ray vision and you wouldn’t be that surprised. 

“I can hear the blood pumping through your veins too.”

“Is that… new?” 

“No. It was just so chaotic before. I couldn’t focus on it.”

You study his eyes. They’re a shade of brown you never expected to become your favorite. Hooded and half-lidded with the weight of too many things for one person to carry. You try hard to commit them to memory because you’re afraid if they close they may never reopen. 

“I’m okay,” he murmurs. 

“You’re not.” You blink away the salty sting as fast as it arrives. “You don’t know that.”

“I got it out of my system. I feel fine.”

“Bullshit.” 

“It’s not,” he lies.

“It’s bullshit.” 

He snaps you a harsh look, seemingly triggered by your tone or choice of words. “Okay– well, shit, babe. What do you suppose we do?”

You sit up, ripping out of his grasp. “I dunno, Steve. Go to the hospital? The fucking government lab people? Literally anyone– we clearly don’t know–”

He scoffs, wrenching himself up with the help of the headboard. “Yeah, because the nurses will totally believe the part about the sentient vines that tried to strangle me. I mean clearly something– fucked, has happened to me. Something they aren’t going to know how to fix!” 

“Then the scientists! They might know! They’d have a better clue than us.” 

“And where do you suppose we find these scientists who El said were killed with Brenner?” 

“I don’t know, Steve! But it’s worth looking! You’re worth getting real help for!” 

The yelling is squashed by an even heavier thing that is silence. Steve isn’t sure what to say and neither are you. 

This is not the first time you’ve argued since that night. There’s enough stress between the two of you to stretch to the other side of the earth and back. And more than enough fear to turn both of your heads gray. You’re irritable and angry and so desperate for a night of sleep where you aren’t tormented by your loved one’s deaths. And you feel like your best friend in the whole world is walking a tightrope straight into death’s door. 

“I am okay,” he promises quietly. “I’ve been through worse. I have.” 

“What like getting in fist fights? Getting drugged by Russians? This is different, Steve. Something’s wrong.” Your voice raises and then wavers before breaking completely; like the keystone pulled from an arch, everything crumbles. 

Steve gathers you into his arms like you’re made of putty, scooping and pulling like you’ll slip right out of his hold. You inhale a staggered belt of air and choke on a sob into his collarbone. He seals you against his chest, not caring about the scrapes and cuts and bruises; not caring if they reopen and stain the mattress red. 

He cradles you for an innominate amount of time until you slacken and your sniffles morph into congested snores. His gaze flickers across your face, tracing the bend of your brows and the seam of your lips. He hates this; having to convince you he’s okay when he’s not. He needs to be stronger, to be there for you as much as you’ve been for him. Steve won’t lose you in this pit his body’s created. He can’t. 

ᯓ★

It’s evening when you wake. You can tell because the white glow framing the window has ebbed into orange. There’s a pounding at the base of your skull and a sharper pain, like two barbs behind your eyes. You remember why your eyes are puffy, why you aren’t warm in Steve’s embrace, and why someone’s knocking very loudly on the door all between one shuddery breath. You feel sad but you should be grateful. That’s the longest bout of sleep you’ve had all week. 

You tug away from your sleeping boyfriend and steal his water bottle off the nightstand. The static has to be shaken from your legs before you can drag yourself to answer the door. You know it’s Dustin before you open it because he’s the only one who knocks this impatiently. 

“Okay, I think I’ve figured it out,” he starts as soon as your face slides into view. “I was looking through my monster manual– and I know what you’re gonna say– this isn’t some game, Dustin,” he mocks your voice in an inarguably awful impression. You’d chastise him if you didn’t have such a killer headache. 

He prattles his way into the kitchen beside you while you search for that damn bottle of painkillers. Words are spilling out of Dustin’s mouth like a burst dam. You love him like a brother, and you appreciate him even more for what he’s saying, but you aren't catching a lick of it. The medicine is right where you forgot it beside the tower of dishes in the sink– mostly yours since Steve, well, you know. You take a swig of water and pop three pills. 

Dustin stops his spiel to ask, “Should you be taking that many?” 

“Yes, unless you want me to bash my head into the wall.” 

“Okay, fine. Whatever. As I was saying, if this really is the case, I think Steve’s a vampire!” He beams at you like this is great news; like he said something completely normal. 

“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve huffs from the other side of the counter, a blanket strung across his back and bunched in the front like a cloak. He scrubs his nose, either squinting from being woken up or narrowing his eyes at Dustin in irritation, you aren’t sure. 

“I’m serious,” Dustin defends. 

“I’m going back to bed.” 

“Wait, Steve! Let me explain!” 

Steve entertains an explanation for one reason only. You told him to. Seven hours of sleep does nothing when you haven’t eaten for as long as he hasn’t. His stomach is twisting itself in knots and frankly, he doesn’t want to spend the last days of his life hearing about characters from Dustin’s nerdy game. 

But you both sit and listen and decide his theory actually kind of makes sense this time. Steve won’t admit it and you’re trying to be skeptical– raise all the right questions and find any holes– but your heart lurches at the possibility that you finally have an answer. A cure. 

Steve’s aversion to sunlight, his paling complexion, not being able to keep human food down, hearing your goddamn heartbeat– it all clicks. He’s a fucking vampire. 

“And vampires need blood!” You shout with Dustin. 

“You can’t be serious,” Steve glares at you. “I’m not a vampire.” 

“Weirder fucking things have happened here.” Your eyebrows knit together, mind swirling with endless thoughts. “I mean, how did we not consider this? You were bit by a bat!”

“Oh, I dunno, maybe because it’s crazy!” 

“Steve!” 

He shakes his head in disbelief. You love him so much you’re desperate for anything, even illogical answers. He refuses to play along. 

“Will you just try it? See if it works first?” Dustin asks. 

“Do you realize what you’re asking me? To drink someone’s blood? Are you out of your mind? Where would we even–” 

Dustin cuts him off, shrugging, “I know a place.” 

“You know a place?”

“Yeah. I know a place. Don’t question me.” 

Steve stares, eyebrows raised. 

“It’s pig’s blood, from a farm.” 

“Christ, Henderson. I’m not drinking pig’s blood. You psycho.”

“Steve, don’t be like this,” you plead. “How can you know if you don’t try? Maybe you’ll like it?”

“‘Don’t be like this?’ Are you you kidding? I’m not doing it– that’s gross!” 

“Okay, okay. What about a steak? Like a really bloody one? Will you compromise?”

Steve makes a funny face. “Fine.” 

ᯓ★

“This is not the way to the grocery store,” Steve realizes out loud, heaving himself up in the backseat of his beamer. 

It’s overcast and nearly sunset but he’s dressed in long sleeves and brought his blanket-cloak for extra protection. Steve always loved the sun– pool days, barbecues, beach vacations, all of it. Now he can’t enjoy the heat of it from his bedroom without hurting. It’s like a punch to the gut, realizing you may never see his sun-kissed hair or trace his moles by his parent’s pool again. 

“Ding. Ding. Ding,” Dustin goads from the passenger seat beside you. 

“You guys are assholes. Especially you, Henderson.” 

“Wasn’t my idea.” 

Steve meets your gaze in the rearview mirror. He supplies his signature Steve pout. But only the tiniest slice of your brain is worried about that. You’re fixated on how bloodshot his eyes are. How deep they sag, even after sleeping as much as he has. You can deal with Steve being mad at you; what you can’t deal with is Steve being dead. 

You think he’s starting to come to terms with the plan because he doesn’t argue further. But he really just doesn’t have it in him to bicker. He thinks it’s a stupid idea. He’ll probably throw up, either at the smell or mind game of drinking it or whatever the hell’s wrong with his body. And pigs have all sorts of diseases, don’t they? It very well could make him more sick than he already is. 

When you arrive, Steve’s cheek is smushed against the car door. He’s been dozing in reluctant fits for most of the drive. 

The farm is fucking creepy, to say the least. It’s not dark yet, but the clouds are drawing shut over the last bit of light. And the long, gravelly path up to the house is freaking you out. This is the kind of place where people in movies get murdered. 

“You’re sure this is the right place?” You ask Dustin, shifting the car into park. 

“Yes, I’m sure.” 

You crane over your seat. Steve’s curled in on himself like an earthworm. The long drive was just a catalyst to knock him out. 

He’s been wired at night. You’ve spent hours up with him and the moon, trying any and everything that comes to mind– reading, movies, baths– none of it’s worked so far. But he’s exhausted during the day no matter how much he sleeps. At least the nocturnal-ness makes sense now. 

“We can’t leave him in here,” you say.

“Why not?” 

“What if he wakes up? Sees he’s in the middle of fucking nowhere by himself? He’ll think we left him.” 

“What if he makes a scene in front of the farmer? He’s not exactly on board with this plan.” 

You sigh, defeated. You can’t send Dustin alone. If he gets slaughtered, you don’t think you’ll be able to live with yourself. Plus Dustin already called this guy to arrange this and explained the pig’s blood was for a project for film school. Dustin doesn’t exactly look old enough to pass as a college kid so that parts up to you. 

“Okay, come on.” You open and click the door shut as gingerly as the car allows. 

Dustin isn’t spooked but he is cautious. He scans the pines beyond the house, the truck parked under the sycamore tree, and the underside of the porch. No murderers, yet. 

You knock and put on your best film school student face. 

A long-bearded man in his seventies at least, cautiously eyes you through the crack of the doorway. “Can I help ya?” 

“Hi, we’re here to buy pig’s blood. For a school project,” you say. 

“Oh,” he grumbles, setting aside a shotgun before unlatching the slide bolt. “Forgot you was comin’.” 

The man ushers you inside. The foyer looks normal enough– framed family photos and wooden side tables and a floral rug. There’s no blood stains or screams or machetes lying around. That’s a good thing. But you can’t shake the uneasy feeling. It follows you through the house like a ghost. 

“I sell it by the gallon. Five dollars for one. How many ya need?” 

“Uhh. Two?” You glance at Dustin for reassurance. 

He frowns and shrugs. 

“Alrighty. Let me grab ‘em from the basement.” 

The basement? Those are keywords in a scary movie. He probably keeps his victims in the basement. Or worse, his weapons. 

“This place is creepy as shit,” Dustin leans over and whisper-yells as soon as the guy’s out of earshot. “We need to get this blood and get the hell out of here!” 

You swallow hard and think of Steve alone in the car. He’s not being brutally murdered right now. He’s not running for his life through the cornfield. He’s not–

“Here ya are, kids.” He lugs two dark red jugs onto the kitchen table. 

A thought crosses your mind that it’s human blood. How would you know? Are you about to force your boyfriend into cannibalism? 

You fumble with your wallet, willing your hands not to shake as you pass him a ten. 

“Now where’d ya say you go to school?” 

“Bloomington.”

“Purdue.” 

You blink stupidly at the man, scrounging your throat for excuses and pulling them up painfully by each word. “He’s going to Purdue– Well, he wants to. When he gets in he’ll go there! I go to Bloomington.” You purse your lips and nod excessively, like that’ll really top off the story's believability. 

“Right,” Dustin chuckles nervously. 

He cocks an eyebrow, “Well, okay then. Hope yer film goes well.” 

“Thanks!” 

You yank a gallon off the table and Dustin snatches the other.

Night has officially settled in, and the wooden porch steps creak loudly beneath your weight. For a moment before Dustin reminds you, you forget you left the keys in the car and convince yourself the old man has taken them and you’ve just become the star of the latest blockbuster. 

Steve startles awake when Dustin slams his door. He lurches into the back of your seat as you floor it in reverse. 

“What! What happened?” He shouts. “Guys, what the hell?” 

Dustin releases a dramatic sigh, slumps into his seat, and lays the back of his hand over his forehead. “We almost died, Steve.” 

“What!” 

Your hands are slick against the steering wheel. You’re still half expecting the farmer to materialize in the middle of the road with an axe. 

Steve bends over the center console and shakes your shoulder. “What happened?” 

He pulls you back into reality. He’s good at that. Except for before when Dustin convinced you that this was a good idea in the first place. 

You describe what happened in a poor attempt at good storytelling and Steve quickly determines that you and Dustin are just a pair of ‘paranoid idiots’. 

He perks up on the way back, offering to drive and booting Dustin to the backseat when you agree. Dustin gets dropped off at his house on the way to yours, leaving you, Steve, and two gallons of pig’s blood in your kitchen. 

“Should I heat it up, or like, mix it with something?” You ask. 

“It was your crazy idea, honey.” 

“It was Dustin’s. And I’m asking how you’d like it. You’re the one drinking it.” 

“I’d like you to throw it out.”

“Steve.”

“Mhmm?” 

“I can put it in a shot glass?” 

A wide smile divides his lips; the kind that makes your tummy flip. You ache for it as soon as it fades. 

“I hate you,” is said with such affection it can’t mean anything but the opposite. 

“I love you too. Seriously, though. How do you want it?” 

He takes it raw. Too afraid that combining it with real food will upset his stomach regardless and too afraid heating it up will trick his brain into thinking it’s human blood. You take a small glass from the cabinet and fill it halfway. Enough for a few big sips but not enough to set any absurd expectations either. 

Steve gags when you pass him the cup. You can’t blame him. It smells the farthest thing from appetizing. There’s a musky, metallic quality to it, like a box of screws that have been sitting in a garage for ages. 

“I can’t do this,” he decides. 

“Come on, Stevie. It might help.”

“No. You’re insane. Do you smell that? It’s rancid.” 

“It’s not rancid. You tore that bat's throat apart with your teeth. You’re telling me you didn’t taste its blood? At all?” 

Steve clicks his tongue. “I don’t remember! It was a heat of the moment thing– not supposed to be my dinner!” 

“I can count you down?” 

“No, no. Just,” he lines his nose over the cup for another whiff and scrunches his face in disgust. “Give me a minute.” 

A minute turns to three which turns to ten. But you can be patient. 

“I can try it first,” you offer.

“Absolutely not.” 

You don’t insist. You weren't exactly keen on offering in the first place; the smell really is strong. 

Without warning, he launches the cup up to his lips and takes several hefty gulps like he’s chugging a beer. And Steve’s determined, he empties it in one attempt, peeling the glass away and leaving a crimson mustache behind. A fist shoots up to stifle a burp and scrub his mouth after. 

After dating for so long, you can read Steve like a book; sometimes, you think you know him better than yourself. But this is the first time in a long time, you truly cannot decipher his expression. His lips twitch into a weird satisfied almost-frown and his lashes flutter like hummingbird wings. 

“What? How was it?” 

“It was… it…” He shakes his head, “I dunno.” 

“You don’t know?”

“Yeah, I don’t–” He snags the jug off the counter to pour another glass. 

You gawk, open-mouthed and floundering as much as a fish on the shore. “You like it?” You manage to ask. 

He takes another few sips, smacking on the aftertaste and analyzing. “I mean it’s… I really hated it at first. And it doesn’t taste good still. But, I don’t know, it’s like filling, I guess.”

“That’s good, right? You don’t feel nauseous?” 

“No.” He grins, relief washing over his features. “What the fuck.” 

“Dude, you’re a fucking vampire.” 

“Does that mean I’m like, immortal and shit.” Steve blinks at his hands like they might grow an extra set of fingers. 

You aren’t ready to process that possibility and instead, turn to open the fridge. “Do we have garlic?” You ask. Glasses clink as you card through the side door, retrieving the jar of minced garlic. You pop the lid and shove it under Steve’s nostrils. 

He wrenches away at the sudden potency of it. But it’s not repulsive. It’s the same scent he remembers.“Maybe I’d have to eat it?” 

“Or it might be a myth?” 

“I hope it is. I really like garlic bread.” He licks his lips, fishing for leftovers. “Is it bad if I have another glass?” 

Steve drinks half a gallon of pig’s blood like it’s orange juice. And weirdly, it doesn’t gross you out one bit. You’re just grateful to see him smile. To see him digest something and not immediately chuck it up. 

After four glasses, he belches accidentally and tumultuously with a groan. A strong hand grips your waist for support, the other propped against the countertop behind him. 

“You okay? Are you gonna be sick?”

He shakes his head, pinching his eyes closed. 

“Are you sure? What’s wrong?” 

“Dizzy,” he mumbles, searching for you in the sliver of vision still there. It’s like somebody’s strapped anchors to his eyelids.  

Heat flashes the inside of your body like lightning. Your first thought is poison. Some kind of poison. The farmer poisoned him? No. Drinking that much blood would poison anybody, right? Should you call poison control? Force Steve to throw up? Several trains of thought overlap and intersect into one inescapable explosion of anxiety. 

“Here, come here. Come sit.” You encourage Steve’s full weight into your side, underestimating how heavy he is. You stagger sideways, catching yourself on the stovetop with your free hand. On the way to the living room, he rams a shin into the coffee table and nearly takes you both out when you fail to warn him to step over a shoe. He’s easier to manage when he’s shitfaced, you think. Maybe this is like being drunk for him on some level. Blood drunk. 

But you make it to the couch; collapse into the cushions with the full force of two adults and pretend it doesn’t hurt when Steve headbutts your chin. Your limbs get organized for optimal comfort– Steve’s legs slung across your lap and his face tucked against your collarbone. 

He’s deadweight against you. Awake but just barely. And only fending off sleep for your sake; he can feel how scared you are. 

“‘s like a sugar rush,” he says, slow as a drop of honey. “‘m so tired.” 

“You feel tired? That’s all? Not sick?” You press a cheek into his crown, combing the untamed mop of bedhead starting at the roots. 

There’s an attempt to shake his head but all you feel is a twitch. He hums no and sighs, “Feels good.” 

His breath is freezing. You can’t help but shiver. Your fingers rake through his hair. One trails down to linger over his pulse point. It’s steady, not abnormally slow. At least if he is dying, he’ll die content. 

Steve isn’t the only person you love. You love the kids like they’re your siblings and some of their parents like they’re your own. But your love for Steve is uniquely distinct. You love him in a way you aren’t sure you could love anyone else. And you can’t lose that. You can’t lose Steve. 

He tilts his face up and he unsticks his eyelashes like they’ve been brushed with glue. “Relax.” 

You nod, too afraid to rely on your voice. A fingernail scratches the crusted stripe of blood cutting his chin in half. He looks peaceful, for once. “Sleep,” you whisper. 

That’s about the easiest thing anyone’s asked him to do all week. He feels as light and full as a balloon, trusting you to tether him to earth if he floats—your arms are a string of safety. He feels okay for the first time since that night. More than okay, even. 

Steve staples you against the couch but he’s more of a weighted blanket than a barrier. You have no intention of leaving his side anyway. You’d swear you aren’t tired but you fall asleep anyway. 

ᯓ★

It’s warm, uncharacteristically warm. You’re pinned on your side in a tight-knit cocoon of blankets. And you feel great, for once– no headache, no nightmares, nothing of the sort. It’s tempting to go right back to sleep but you begrudgingly open your eyes because this can’t be right. It’s not. You’re alone. Even in the dark, that’s obvious. Steve’s a restless sleeper and more often than not is holding some part of your body for comfort. What’s weirder, you’re in bed. You definitely didn’t fall asleep in bed. 

It’s too hot. You miss the unfamiliar cold of Steve’s skin. Where is he? 

You shove the layers off your body and sit up, blinking harshly, and swallowing harsher to chase the dryness away. Your feet are flimsy under your weight so you grip the bedpost for balance. You feel brittle as a pie crust, like you’ve been baking under that duvet for years. 

For a brief moment, you consider that you actually have woken up from a nightmare. Which parts are real and which parts aren’t, well, that’s hard to distinguish. But that still doesn’t explain Steve’s absence. 

You fumble around on the carpet beneath the bed for Steve’s bat. Stack one hand on top of the other, choke it at the base, and always point away– exactly how Steve showed you. You try not to fixate on the blood-rusted nails, but the image of a mangled demobat sticks to the forefront of your memory like a tattoo. You don’t think you’ll ever forget the squeal it made when you struck it. 

It’s eerily silent in the hall and just as black as your bedroom. Steve’s not on the couch where you hoped to find him but his keys hang from their rightful home by the door. He wouldn’t leave on foot, right? 

You slink into the kitchen and when it also comes up empty, you panic. You check inside a cabinet and then another, but he couldn’t fit inside if he tried. You realize the sink has been emptied and the countertops cleared. But why make the effort to clean it just to leave? Some kind of twisted goodbye favor? 

Something frigid skims the bare back of your arm and your heart stops. You lurch forward a few feet before barrelling around, bat outstretched between you and… Steve. 

He’s in a fresh pair of pajamas and his hair is slicked back behind his ears. His complexion is dewy, glowing with the moonlight spilling in from the window. He looks alert. 

“What the hell! Where the fuck were you?” 

Wide eyes comb over you. A warmness has returned to them, a sweetness too. And suddenly you don’t really care about where he was when he tells you, “I was just in the bathroom.” 

“With the light off?” You bark, still upset and climbing your way down the defensive fence you put up. Outbursts aren’t limited to just him, you have your reasons, and he knows that. But you know you need to reel yourself in before this turns into something it shouldn’t. 

“Yeah,” he says softly. “Did I wake you? I just– hey.” 

The bat clinks against the tile where you drop it. You lunge into Steve, interlacing your arms across his shoulders in a fierce hug. 

“Hey, hey. What’s wrong?” He spreads each palm across opposite ends of your back. 

“I thought– I thought you left or– or you died, or something.” You gasp wetly into his sternum, clinging to him like he might blow away if you breathe too hard. 

“I didn’t leave. I’m here. I’m right here. I’m not going anywhere, I promise.” 

He shushes and soothes you for a long period before you lean back for a better look at him. “You’re okay?” You blubber. 

“Yeah, I feel way better,” he promises. “Are you okay? I’m sorry I scared you.” The pad of his thumb strokes a loop from the end of your brow to the bridge of your nose and back.  

“I almost took your head off with that bat.” 

He chuckles but it lacks any real amusement; he can’t find a joke through all his concerns. A set of kisses are sewn from your hairline to your chin. “I’m sorry. Are you hungry?” 

“It’s like four AM,” you wipe your nose with the flat of your hand. 

“So? You’ve been busy taking care of my ass. When was the last time you ate?” 

You make a noncommittal noise. You really can’t remember. 

“Exactly. Let me make you something. What do you want?” 

You let Steve cook for you. He’s happy to return the favor, take care of you for a change. And you’re just happy he’s happy. 

All vigor appears to be restored. He stands tall, moves swiftly, and works sprightly, maybe even more so than before. It feels too good to be true. Perhaps you’re dreaming now. 

He doesn’t notice he’s cooking with the lights off until you mention it. And he swears they don’t bother him like the sun does when you question him, just another newfound ability that he can see in the dark. But he flicks the light on for you and you find his face is a shade that is much more Steve. Not as golden as before, but not as lifeless, either. 

When you get situated at the dining room table under dim lights with a plate full of steaming food, you thank him. 

“Don’t thank me. I should be thanking you, dummy.” 

You shake your head. Gratitude is not needed. “I missed you.” 

“I know. I’m sorry.” 

Silly apologies aren’t needed either. “Don’t be, please. Nothing you could do.” 

“No, I should’ve listened to you, from the start. I hate to admit it, but you and Dustin were right.” 

A touch of a smirk finds your lips. He’s so stubborn, you love it as much as you hate it. “We need to call him. Tell him it worked.” 

“Inflate his ego some more?”

“Exactly,” you crack into a grin and he watches fondly, despite your mouth full of food. “But seriously, he cares about you, Steve.”

“No, I know. I know. I’ll call him.” 

There’s a dip in the conversation. You observe each other like you might never have the chance again. A mutual understanding eclipses any prior tension. You’re both alive and you’re both endlessly grateful. 

“We should visit Max. The others too. I’d like to see them.” 

You nod, an attempt to self-soothe more than a confirmation of his request. Tears prick your waterline like sand spurs and spill in quicksilver lines down your cheeks before you can stop them. 

Steve scoots his chair against yours, shovels you into his lap, and begs you to tell him what’s wrong in one fluid motion.

“I’m just so glad you're okay, Stevie. That’s all.” 

“I’m okay,” he assures and he repeats it again and again until you believe it. 

His fingers are icicles where they sweep the length of your arm. It’s a stark reminder of what’s changed. 

The love of your life, Steve Harrington, is a vampire. The idea is peculiar, sticks out in your thoughts like caution tape. But it presents some sense of consolation too. 

Steve’s a vampire. He moves like a mouse and can see in the dark and hears your heartbeat from across the room. Admittedly, you hate that last part a little bit. It’s fucking bizarre and something that’ll take time to get used to; even more for Steve than for you. Most importantly, he’s still sweet on you. Still selfless enough to nurse your wounds before his. Still loving enough to kiss your tears as they fall. 

This new phase is just that– a new phase. It brings things to learn and even more things to love about Steve. It’ll take a lot worse to tear you apart.

[vitaminseetarot]

Pick-a-Carp: REM - Random Emerging Messages (From Your Dreams) 🐠🌑🔮

*･ﾟ✧Masterlist | *･ﾟ✧Ko-Fi

Sup y'all, it's time for another pick a card reading! I have always enjoyed dream interpretation, long before I discovered tarot. Amazing insights and revelations have come through by understanding dreams, at times being more predictive than waking signs. Although it can be hard to be really into dream interpretation when I can't remember most of mine upon waking. 😅

So for this Pisces New Moon, this reading will look into what kind of dreams you may be having and the messages they're trying to tell you. We have many dreams at night we don't remember, so this reading will take a deep dive into those hazier ones into account as well as the more significant dreams. Pick any one of the three beautiful koi fish varieties:

1 - Asagi - Blue/Silver 💙 2 - Showa - Black/White 🖤 3 - Utsuri - Orange/Black 🧡

Pile 1 - Asagi 💙

4 of Cups, Queen of Swords, XVII Star, 10 of Pentacles; Full Moon Sagittarius, 3 of Prisms, 3. In the Light of the Moon, Spider, Self-Care

Hi pile 1,

Your dreams focus mainly on the past. You may be having rather realistic dreams of situations that have already happened. There is a skeleton key present in these dreams in order to unlock a passage. This dream must be processed to clear old stuck energy that's keeping the conscious mind tied back. It may require seeing things from a different angle or point of view, or looking at the dream in a new light. This dream may be annoyingly repetitive but it's not without purpose. The message is relentless for you to receive it, so it uses the same dream or similar set-up to stay direct. Like solving a long tricky math problem on a practice test.

This dream may likely involve family members or close friend groups. You may relive confrontations you've had with them previously, or dream that you're getting into conflict with those you are otherwise on good terms with. You may get emotionally meshed with others' energies which appear in your dreams as a bigger tide in your imagery (they may even appear taller in dreams). It's important to apply clear judgement when it comes to these scenarios. Having a bad dream where a good friend cheats or fights with you is trying to help you understand how your emotions contribute to relationships; it's not a reflection of the actual state of the relationship. So this friend may be testing boundaries from within the safe confines of your dreams so you can figure out how to respond to such situations. In waking life, pile 1, you may need to review how you see your individual self as distinct from your community. Your dreams want you to center and reclaim your mind and boundaries so these scenarios can't phase you or your future decisions, because no, it doesn't have to happen like last time.

Your dreams show you are a caring person with great regard for your community's well being. With Spider, I think of the web, so this could be an online community or just one that feels tied together as a unit. This could also represent a large work environment where you collaborate with many people. Despite this, the Spider is largely an solitary being. These dreams could have people trying to call you, or talk to you, even if you're not able to hear what they're saying. Your reverie is swimming with their collective energy, but in doing so is also asking you to instead look towards yourself for insight. Let's say you have a reoccurring dream where a love interest keeps blasting your phone but for some reason you can't answer it, or the phone dies as you answer it. Consider what you would want the person on the other line to say ("I think you're really cute"), then ask if these are affirmations you can give to yourself now ("I think I'm really cute"). The Star card says you can provide yourself with the positive feeling you may be seeking in your dreams. They're wanting you to come back to yourself and stand on your own two fins--er, feet.

Dream Symbols: Outer Space, Light, Family Gatherings, Foreign Lands or Languages, Clothing, Groups of 3 or the Number 3

Pile 2 - Showa 🖤

6 of Wands, X Wheel of Fortune, 8 of Wands, Ace of Pentacles; Void-of-Course Moon, 5 of Relics, 42. Gentle Moderation, Butterfly, Take Charge

Hey pile 2!

Regular, practical matters seem to be the main concern here. This could be your physical body, housing, work, or your finances. The symbols in your dreams represent everyday worries like running errands. However, the dreams that start out as casual can quickly become unstable or chaotic. Grand plans like an expensive flight could be made only to suddenly cancel, or you may have dreams of getting lost and struggling to find directions only for the scenery to constantly morph itself around. Each scene may wildly change the circumstances and elevate activity in sleep. Emphasis is placed here on releasing your worries. Occasionally, they may be pointing out certain stressors or physical issues in the body. Overall, there is a need to take control of your circumstances as the captain of your ship, and you may find that with more time and awareness, you can tap into lucid dreams.

Out of all piles, your dreams likely make the least amount of sense. It could involve a lot of sudden frenzy or inexplicable changes, like seeing strangers turn into floating pumpkins or going to a doctor's clinic only to find that you are the doctor. I feel this is because you normally have your head on your shoulders in your waking life, and you may come across to others as steady and dependable. So when things go awry in sleep, these elements force you out of your comfort zone to showcase how you would react to a variety of scenarios. Many of these dreams come as a direct result of an every day worry and can be interpreted in a straight forward way, despite the seeming randomness. Going to the library to drop off a book that turns to glittery bats when you pull it out of your bag, for example, may simply be reminding you of a library book that's actually due.

You have the 6 of Wands, here, so it looks as though the events your dreams are based from largely resolve themselves even if it can stir you up in your sleep. Many of these things are fated to happen anyway, so there's no need to fret about them, and in fact worrying and overthinking may make the situation worse. So if you have an embarrassing dream about a job interview, it could be a reminder to practice answering questions beforehand. There's a good chance you will still do well at the interview as your dreams are helping you to see that you can handle any sudden disruption in plans and see your goals through. The caterpillar is destined to change into a butterfly no matter what, so it's okay if it has dreams that the cocoon string doesn't come out right or the wings look strange. It's all part of adjusting to big changes in life. The important thing is to not rush into doing something out of worry and to work at a steady pace. Remember that no matter how weird or utterly out there your dreams get, you're at the helm and with practice, you can decide how the dream ends.

Dream Symbols: Theater, Driving, Shapeshifting, Magic Wands, Flight, Maps or Compasses

Pile 3 - Utsuri 🧡 (cw blood imagery & brief mention of trauma)

V Hierophant, 10 of Swords, 9 of Wands, 9 of Swords; Full Moon in Cancer, 2 of Prisms, 41. Convey Your Meaning, Crystal, Eternity

Hello, pile 3.

I see the main theme in your sleep could involve reconciliation with a loved one. You may have a lot of one-on-one dreams involving confrontations and heated discussions. There could be a lot of miscommunication, a struggle to speak, or an inability to get one's point across in the dream. Words which ache inside your throat in waking life can finally burst within your dreams, words which you may have held onto for perhaps years. Your dreams are a place to bring out and vent what is difficult or even impossible to manage while awake. Your mind is seeking to let go of a major issue to achieve peace. If these really are words you wish to let out, I recommend both a dream journal to document what's being said along with a regular journal to help you air out things that will otherwise filter into your sleep.

For a few of you, the dreams may recall a painful encounter or event in the past, which can feel mocking when it comes back around, as though it can disappear for a long while only to suddenly reappear at the most unusual time. Let's say the trauma involved a bicycle accident: the accident may appear in different forms, like the bike turning into a helicopter, but with the same emotional response. You may think, "that was almost a decade ago, why am I still dreaming about this?" This is due to having a more emotionally detached state while in the dream world, allowing a more introspective consciousness to come through. Ultimately, with the 10 of Swords, it's helping you process it through so it doesn't overwhelm you while you're living your life. Your mind is slowly healing itself by "analyzing" these dreams like an audience member watching a movie to help you feel safe in your skin upon waking.

You may feel interested in checking out pile 1 too because I also see repetitive dreams in here. Only in this case it may not always be a dream based exactly on reliving a memory, but rather different scenes that involve the same core lesson or emotion in every one. You may even have a sequential dream that ends and restarts itself like a chapter in a book, or experience nested dreams in which you wake up to the alarm only to still be dreaming, which could create déjà vu. This is to help you gradually learn from past turmoils and errors while freely letting go of past hangups. Your dreams do not show you these visions to scare or frustrate you, but to build the pieces together to create a more unified psyche. They're breaking up old crystallized patterns of thought so the shadow isn't lurking over you like the volcano in the 9 of Wands. It's building the new staircase to your personal freedom by allowing you the opportunity to rewrite the scenario as you see fit. How different would the same dream feel with just one little detail rearranged? Try to imagine how it would feel if the bicycle turned into a Pegasus and allowed you to soar high.

Dream Symbols: Warm Tones, School, House, Library, Spirals, Gates

This reading has not been evaluated by the FDA to diagnose, prevent, treat, or cure any disease or infection. Please ask your physician before going online.

2025, @VitaminseeTarot ™

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

← Smutlet Masterlist

18+ Cockwarming

You shifted uncomfortably in the Captain's lap. There was no reason why you shouldn't be used to this by now. It was your favorite, had been since the two of you first got together. Today was different. He'd been on the run for months. But you were able to rendezvous at a safe house. Finally! He had missed you. Afraid that they would use you to get to him, Steve had almost decided against leaving you a message. Almost.

The thought of your touch, the melody of your voice, the kindness of your eyes, the curve of your breasts, they tipped the tide of the war that waged inside him. It was lust that eventually overcame. So here you were, peppering kisses along his jaw, trying your best to distract his mind from the events of the last few months. The two of you were nestled in an oversized armchair at a secure location. You marveled at the thick growth of hair that had taken place during his absence. His calloused hands held you in place.

It hadn’t taken long for you to be pressed against his chest, panties pulled aside with his hard cock nestled deep inside your aching cunt. The position hadn’t been Steve’s intent. He had planned an evening of romance. Until he laid eyes on you. You had arrived in the village dressed in the most inappropriate attire. At least in Steve’s opinion. He was surprised that swarms of SWAT teams hadn’t descended upon them with the number of heads you turned in your bright sundress that barely kissed the tops of your knees. How dare you sashay around with your exposed shoulders and bare thighs? Your dress flowing with every swish of your hips made you an irresistible sight.

Steve knew you weren't seeking attention, you knew the risks. No one here would recognize you with your hair tied into a silk scarf, your sparkling eyes hidden behind the darkest shades. But there was no doubt your beauty turned heads. And he hated that. He wanted you all to himself. Which is how you ended up in this position. He knew he needed to remind you who you belonged to. When you had set out for this expedition, you had underestimated his need for you.

The second the door was locked, you were pressed against his chest, hot lips burning into the skin of your neck. A gasp escaped your lips as the tent in his pants brushed against your belly. How was he so hard already? Before the thought had fully formed, his hands were under the hem of your dress, massaging your slick folds. It was shocking how you were instantly soaked. It had been too long. He hadn’t even asked how you were. His lips were moving but there was no sound other than the moans deep inside your throats. This is how you found yourself straddling his thighs as he was balls deep inside you, cock pulsing against your walls.

“You’re such a little tease, you know that? So eager for my cock, doing whatever you can to get me riled up.”

You whimpered softly as your cunt clenched desperately around his length. There was a primal urge that burned deep inside you, begging you to move. It was too hard to bear. And even though there was no doubt that you loved having him fill you, you wanted more. You longed for it… needed it… craved him. Just some movement, a little friction, a twitch, maybe even a shudder. Anything more than his girth resting inside you. But the darkness in his eyes told you that you had to behave.

“Look at you, getting all worked up already. What’s wrong, darling?”

His fingers were wrapped so tightly around your hips, you wondered if it would leave a mark. Steve sure was being patient for someone who had greeted you so passionately. His lips trailed the contours of your cheek, nose leading the way across to your ear where he nuzzled it gently. It was the softest action he had demonstrated so far. But you knew it wouldn't last long as his cock twitched inside you in the most depraved way. You whined longingly, your walls throbbing painfully around his cock as he spoke to you in his special voice. The one he saved for the bedroom. Your Captain was usually such a traditional man. But not today.

“So needy, baby? I know what you want, you want me to move. But I’m not going to give it to you until you understand what you did wrong. Do you know what you did, darling?”

He crooned into your ear and you shook your head. You couldn’t speak. Simply sitting in his lap with your jaw hung slack and your eyes fluttering shut. Your mind tried to form a coherent thought. Should you ask him what he meant? But you were too drunk on the feeling of his cock inside you, that the words never left your lips.

“Too bad. Only good girls get what they want. And you haven’t been good for me, have you? Prancing around in this little dress. So careless. Drawing far too much attention. Did you want everyone to see you?”

You shook your head vehemently. Eyes wide. Steve chuckled, he knew you would never betray him, but he couldn’t deny how thrilling it was to see you so flustered. Normally he was the one blushing at your words.

“Are you sure, baby? Because you’re mine. Got that? Mine.”

He growled, bucking up into you. You cried out with surprise, digging your nails into his back. You leaned into his chest, nodding as he rolled his hips again, hands kneading your ass. The soft pleas that left your mouth were hoarse, so pathetically needy. His thrusts became more regular, a slow but rewarding pace. You moaned as he pushed himself deeper into your body.

“Yeah, you like this, baby? You like when I fuck you? I like it, too. I always love watching you lose it when I fill that pretty pussy of yours.”

His hand was between your thighs, fingers rubbing against your neglected clit. You whined, tossing your head back.

“Good girl! Come on my cock for me, baby. Come on, I want to feel you squeezing me. That’s it.”

You scrunched your eyes closed as his name tumbled from your lips, your cunt closing in around him. Steve groaned as his seed trickled out over your thighs and into his lap. You made a move to lift yourself off him, but his fingers closed around your waist.

“I’m not done with you just yet, darling.”

[krokusplays]

A Rising Dawn - Chapter 2

Mydei X (female) Reader

Fic Rating: Mature (will change for a later chapter)

Chapter Length: 4.2k

Fic Status: Ongoing

Tags/Warnings: Fluff, Romance, Hurt/Comfort, Falling in Love, Learning to Trust, Sweet, Wholesome, almost no angst, no use of y/n, smut in a later chapter, set before the events of 3.0

Author’s Notes: The fic will probably end up being 30k-40k words long rather than 20k-30k. I'm currently drafting chapter 5 and we're at 19k words already and there will most likely be around 9 chapters altogether with similar lengths to this one. Anyway, I'm so glad you're all enjoying it so far. I hope you will enjoy this one as well <3

Previous chapter

AO3 Link

Summary: In the Holy City, daily life remained the same for the citizens despite the threat of the Black Tide lurking beyond the city’s borders.

But sometimes, a brief encounter can bring about a new dawn for its residents. Chrysos Heirs and regular citizens alike.

Even more so when the Golden Thread has tied your fates together a long time ago.

You did show up.

Frankly, you’ve had all the intentions from the beginning. You never denied requests from the kids in this city.

Looking after these kids, playing with them, listening to their stories - a lot of “I saw a nymph today! I’m sure of it!” and “Lord Phainon is so cool!” - and telling them what little you knew about specific topics filled your heart with a joy and purpose you haven’t found in this city before.

Though, the boy’s request to train… it brought a sense of concern with it that you didn’t know how to handle. It stuck with you all the way to the training grounds after work.

They were just little kids. They should be kept away from weapons and fighting as much as possible and not be encouraged to seek it out.

So you opted to come along. For the children’s sake.

And for their safety.

You sat on the small wall surrounding the training ground and placed the small basket of fruits Demetria gave you after work next to you.

The training was already in full swing when you arrived, work didn’t allow you to leave earlier with all these customers today. Laughter and exclamations of awe filled the air and you took in the scene in front of you.

There was a third kid, a boy you’ve never seen before, but the other two knew him. They were… engaged in what could only be described as a fierce battle against each other with their grins and twinkling eyes and the wooden toy swords in their hands.

Lord Mydei - the fact that he was here to begin with was daunting - stood next to them and watched them train.

The Chrysos Heir’s presence was… impossible to ignore.

He carried an air with him that spoke of respect - or was it intimidation - and might. It overshadowed almost everything else whenever he approached the store - yet it would never stop you from being polite to him like you were to any other customer.

Seeing him around kids like this felt… odd. He seemed like the kind of guy one found on the battlefield, as if all these rumors whispered in the streets how he was a Kremnoan - full of bloodlust and madness like the Strife Titan - had a truthful core to them.

You knew what he was capable of. You remembered.

The scene in front of you did not match that impression.

Lord Mydei walked around the kids, gave instructions, praised them for everything they did, showed them how to move their hands, their feet, told them to slow down and take a break - during which the kids came running up to you full of excitement telling you about their achievements as if you didn’t see any of it.

He was incredibly patient and encouraging with them and your chest constricted at the sight.

How you wished you would’ve received the same kind of encouragement during your own childhood. Even when you came of age. Maybe even some training for yourself so that you wouldn’t have to be so dependent on others.

That faceless soldier appeared before your eyes again. The darkness - thick and consuming - creeping up behind him as he risked life and limb to free you from those cold iron chains before it swallowed him up, left nothing behind but an empty shell-

You shook your head and focused on the sight in front of you instead, observed how the kids giggled and exclaimed their victories loudly, how they pretended to be heroes with their swords…

It was then that you realized… This was fun.

The kids were enjoying themselves just as much as when they were playing hide and seek, they laughed and put all their energy into everything Lord Mydei asked them to do. They wanted to impress him and the way they beamed with glee and pride when the Chrysos Heir recognized and praised their efforts made your heart swell inside your chest.

You sighed as you sat on the small wall surrounding the little training ground near Okhema’s theater.

Now you felt kinda silly for your worries.

You knew Lord Mydei was a warrior but you should’ve expected or at least assumed that he wouldn’t risk children coming to harm.

You looked down and your gaze fell onto the basket with the fruits. You took a deep breath. Lord Mydei had no idea about your thoughts and assumptions and yet, you couldn’t help but think that an apology was in order nonetheless.

———————

He found himself training the kids a couple of days later again. They had encountered him near Marmoreal Palace this time when he had intended to go home after spending some time in the baths.

He told them to meet him here the next day under the condition their parents were alright with it.

There were four Kremnoan kids here today. Even though only two had asked him yesterday.

Now he observed how the two pairs exchanged blows, giggling and calling out how they would become mighty warriors one day and fight alongside Mydei one day. It did make him smile.

“Oh big sis is here!” the girl exclaimed, her attention entirely turned away from the sparring match against the boy, and Mydei caught the boy’s sword as he swung it before it could collide with the girl’s head by accident. Wooden or not, a kid’s head was not meant to stop swords.

Only then did Mydei look up as you arrived at the training grounds. Your basket in your hands as you took a seat on the low wall.

“Did you ask her to come here?” Mydei asked the kids. They nodded.

“Yeah, we saw her on our way here at the store.”

Mydei nodded but didn’t comment on it further. You placed a small basket on the wall and sat down next to it in front of the tree and bushes behind you. You haven’t paid much attention to anything else yet. While your expression remained calm, he spotted an unease - stress - in the way you brushed your hair behind your ear, dusted off your dress and took a deep breath that moved your entire body as you finally sat down.

You rushed over here. Not a single part of your body hid that notion.

He couldn’t linger on it and it didn’t concern him either, but there was no obligation for you to join this little training - playing - session. The kids would’ve managed.

He turned to the kids again.

“Now listen, young warriors of Kremnos, heed my words. Never lose sight of your opponents and never allow anything to distract you from the fight. If you want to fight alongside the warriors of Kremnos, never forget this.”

It did the trick. It always did.

Raised voice. His words an order.

The kids turned to him with their eyes almost glowing in pride and awe, their stances rigid as they tried to copy the stances they’ve seen among grown-ups when they received a command from their superior.

They continued their training, but eventually Mydei noticed the exhaustion in them. They began to sweat, they breathed faster than before and they couldn’t raise their swords as high as before.

When Mydei asked if they wanted to call it quits they vehemently denied and began pushing themselves again. Tenacious. Virtuous.

But still, unnecessary.

“Even warriors of Kremnos take breaks. If you have strength left we will continue afterwards,” he told them and the kids saluted. Amusing.

An instant later and they ran towards you, calls of your name on their lips. You greeted them with equal enthusiasm, but remained seated on the wall. Chatter filled the air as all the kids tried to talk to you at once and you attempted to keep up with it all. Mydei’s lips twitched upwards. Boundaries existed for a reason. Apparently you have not established those yet with them.

Or perhaps, did not want to?

Why was he pondering this?

You reached for the boxes in your basket and when you opened them he saw slices of fruits and vegetables you sold at the store, neatly cut and prepared for the kids. Did you purchase those yourself? Were they a gift of Demetria’s?

The kids jumped at them, eagerly eating them while they continued to talk to you. At least those kids ate healthy food. Good.

One of the boys turned to him, a slice of watermelon in his hands and half the juice on his face, and waved him over. How bold.

However, Mydei obliged.

"Hello, Lord Mydei,” you greeted him when he approached. You glimpsed up at him but then your eyes shifted and fell onto your basket. He didn’t think you saw him nod in response.

You reached into the basket, fingers slow - hesitant - before pulling out a small ceramic bottle. The simple color and shape suggested it to be a cheap one, common, probably your own and not from the store. You held it in your hands as if contemplating, the kids forgotten for a moment.

But then you held it in his direction.

“I… This is for you,” you said, a tinge of nervousness in your voice that you either didn’t succeed or didn’t try to hide.

Mydei tilted his head. “There was no need for that.”

You averted your gaze for a moment. “Please, it’s nothing big, just… take it as an apology.”

He took the bottle without questioning it further, though he did not blindly take a sip of whatever was inside. There was more you wanted to say but the hint of unease - you almost seemed embarrassed - and the kids still being around you kept you from saying more.

An apology, huh? For what? Your initial reaction to him? Or something else he wasn’t even aware of? It seemed confusing to him but he had no interest in flustering you even more.

He pulled the cork of the bottle and took a sip. The moment the drink filled his mouth he paused, briefly, unlikely you even caught his own hesitation now.

Pomegranate juice.

Fresh. Self-made. Not store-bought. Delicious. Missed the milk, though, but you couldn’t possibly know about this preference of his.

This… surprised him. But when he threw a look at your hands, clasped together in your lap and he caught a hint of the familiar red color under your fingernails, even though he caught a drift of citrus from your hair when the breeze picked it up at this short distance.

That meant you’ve taken a bath this morning and prepared the juice yourself afterwards. And after how hectic you’ve seemed before, he assumed you must’ve prepared it in a hurry in-between finishing work and coming here. Dedicated. Not necessary, definitely, but appreciated nonetheless.

“Thank you,” he said and he couldn’t help but think how that smile you threw him softened your face in a different manner than the expressions he’s caught on you before.

He still did not know what you were apologizing for.

“Brother Mydei, can we keep going?”

“Ready your weapons and practice the motions I taught you. I will test your efforts shortly,” he replied with the same commanding tone he used on them before and he listened - amused - how the kids replied with “yes, Lord Mydei” before running back to pick up their swords again.

It left you and him alone. Somewhat.

But it gave him all the time and opportunity he needed to ask a question.

“Why are you doing all of this for them?” He didn’t need to specify that he was talking about the kids. Dedicating her free time to them, rushing yourself to bring them - and him now apparently - freshly cut fruits…

Your eyes widened for a moment. Surprise written all over your features for the duration of a heartbreak until your expression softened again, though there was no smile.

“Most of them got no one else. And the ones that do are still grateful for friends,” you said and looked past him towards the kids where they were giggling and laughing behind him.

“Is it your responsibility?” he asked.

“Is it yours?” you countered nodding towards the training ground where the kids practiced their sword moves again, though the small smile on your face and the gentle curve of your brows showed you didn’t take any offense to it.

You were right nonetheless.

Still…

“I’m sorry, that was rude of me. It doesn’t concern me.”

“It’s fine. I suppose I know what it’s like to not have anyone look out for you or make sure you’re happy. I can’t stay away when I know I can change something.”

Noble. Impressive. But an impossible task to ever fulfill. For every happy kid there will be another, alone, hurt, suffering. The rock will roll down again no matter how high you push it up the mountain.

There was more you wanted to say but as your voice drifted off you kept the words inside. And he didn’t push it.

He looked at the bottle still in his hands.

And took another gulp of it.

———————

Usually people avoided their workplace on their days off. But when it was the place with the best fruits and vegetables it was difficult to do so. You figured it would be a much less pleasant errand if you didn’t enjoy your work so much.

Demetria has always been so kind to you.

She started asking questions one day, polite and curious, after she witnessed you at the store with a small group of kids, buying fruits for them. Eventually, she offered you this job at the store and it’s been so much more fulfilling than being a cleaner at the baths.

Work was work, but the crowds of people at the bath was uncomfortable at best and frightening at worst.

You still waited in line at the store when the calls of your name made you jump with how sudden they appeared behind you.

The group of children you usually hung out with at Kephale Plaza ran up with wide eyes as if something had scared them. No smiles, no giggling, no joyful look on their faces. Your stomach dropped.

People on the streets looked at the kids, how upset and anxious they were but paid them little mind when they saw you gathering around you - an adult.

You stepped aside, out of the line to deal with whatever happened.

And something did happen.

“Calm down, everyone,” you said as they all started talking and blabbering at once, “what’s wrong?”

“Linos is gone!” a girl exclaimed, her cheeks flushed from how nervous she was.

“What do you mean ‘gone’?” you asked, though the way your stomach churned at the thought, you didn’t expect the answer to be the boy getting lost in Okhema’s streets. These kids basically lived on these streets, they knew them better than you did.

“He… He left town!” another boy replied. “He said he’s gonna fight the Black Tide an-and become a hero!” The boy stuttered with how upset and worried he was.

You stared at him with wide eyes and felt your heart drop. You knew Linos. The young boy with the brown curls and blue eyes always roamed the streets with a wooden sword in his hands, proclaiming loudly and with enviable enthusiasm that he would help Lord Phainon deliver Amphoreus from the Black Tide eventually.

Antics you usually encouraged and found amusing, they made the boy happy. Even more so when he catches a glimpse - or even better, the attention - of his idol.

But this… Kids overestimated themselves, naturally and not their fault, but the children knew how dangerous it was outside of the city. No one else ever ventured off on their own.

You swallowed. Something needed to be done. You needed to find him. Fast. You looked at the kids.

“I’m gonna look for him. Maybe I can find him before he goes too far away. Listen, you have to find the guards and tell them about it too, okay? Can you do that?”

A choir of “yes” and “of course” answered you and you nodded before turning around. You trusted them, you had to. Going to the guards yourself now would only waste valuable time. At this moment, you still had a reasonable chance to find the kid before he entered the truly dangerous areas outside of Okhema.

As you rushed down the street leading out of the city your heart pounded in your chest and not only because of all the running you’ve already done.

You couldn’t fight.

You didn’t have a weapon, knew even less how to use one. As you grew up, no one deemed it necessary for you to learn how to fight, their plans for you have always been different, and now as an adult you never pursued it either.

The regret gnawed at you now.

Didn’t matter. You had to find the boy. Maybe you got lucky or maybe the guards were already close on your heels.

The ruins of the outskirts of Okhema looked like a village that has been lost to time for centuries. Crumbled stone, broken structures, and remnants of once magnificent architecture stretched over the hilly area in front of you, while the faint smell of rust and ashes lingered in the air around you.

Kephale remained visible in the sky but his light didn’t reach here anymore. The rays of light kissed the ground on the edge of the ruins but made it seem as if it was too scared to press forwards.

You disdained the dark so much. It only brought images - memories - with it that you wished you could seal away for good. Darkness crawling towards you from the distance like a wave, shadows emerging from it, you locked in place, unable to free yourself, that nameless soldier with his ragged breath breaking your chains…

Goosebumps appeared on your skin as you shook your head. Not now. You had to find the boy.

You made your way through the ruins, climbing over the remnants of pillars and statues until a cry made you pause dead in your tracks. You looked around frantically, eyes shifting over the area until you caught the movements of a Titankin in the distance.

Rational thought left your mind. Despite the cold shiver running down your spine and the sinking feeling in your stomach you ran.

You shouldn’t. You had no weapon, no skills, but that cry has been that of a child and there was no way there was more than one kid around here. And even if there was, you couldn’t possibly ignore it.

And the maddened Titankin has already found the kid too.

You rushed around a corner and paused when you realized just how close the Titankin now was. It walked to the side, its powerful steps echoed off the ruins around you as it dragged its stone body towards its destination. And for a moment you found yourself frozen in place, your chest heaving from your ragged breathing - from anxiety or physical strain, you couldn’t tell anymore.

But then a whimper broke through the sounds of the Titankin’s heavy steps and the numbness in your mind.

Your head whipped around and your eyes widened.

The familiar head of brown curls stood out among the ruins of white and grey-colored structures like a Dromas in a crowd of people.

The little boy cowered in front of the remains of a wall, his sobbing and whimpers echoing off the stone around him and yet, alerting the Titankin to his presence.

Your gaze shifted between the boy and the Titankin. It kept stepping closer, its greatsword in hands, ready to…

You didn’t waste another second. With your heart racing and your mind wiped blank you rushed towards the boy. He looked up at you out with a tear-stricken expression as you crouched down next to him, and the realization you were here - someone who tried to help - barely settled in those big, wide eyes.

The approaching danger didn’t let you even utter a single word to Linos.

A whirl of wind and the sound of moving stone and you caught in the corners of your eyes how the Titankin raised its weapon. Nothing you could do. Nothing. You couldn’t pull away, couldn’t dodge with the wall in your back and the terrifying range of this giant sword.

The despair never managed to settle into your heart, just resignation, but you couldn’t possibly have left the boy here when the Titankin approached just to save your own skin. You pulled the kid into your arms, tried to shield him from the attack - despite knowing how utterly futile it would be - and squeezed your eyes shut.

The sound of stone breaking reached your ears and a gust of wind brushed over your body and yet, the pain never came.

Instead, a flash of bright colors crossed your visions and blood-red crystals wafted through the air when you dared to open your eyes again, before the maddened Titankin crumbled to dust.

Guards flooded the ruins but your eyes were focused on the Chrysos Heir in front of you.

You looked up at him, at the way he stood in front of you and the boy like a wall - a shield - and images flashed through your mind.

For a moment you were back on that island, darkness creeping in, the Black Tide swallowing anything in its path and the Chrysos Heir fighting back every enemy emerging from the shadows until you were safe.

He didn’t remember. It’s been so long but in that instance, it felt like you were back in that exact time and place.

And still, despite the relief and gratitude, your heart twisted painfully at the realization that you had to be saved. Again.

You have been just as helpless and defenseless as the little boy, just as much dependent on the strength of others as children were.

It hurt. And made you feel so pathetic.

You didn’t want to be a burden to anyone, didn’t want others to risk their lives saving you. Not again.

But then… What could you do?

Your eyes fell onto the remains of the red crystals on the ground, some crumbled into dust just like that Titankin, some still retained their shape. You had no idea what they were. Lord Mydei’s weapon of some sort but still…

You picked one up from the ground. The small crystal felt warm in your palm though it cooled quickly.

You put the crystal into the folds of the fabric around your waist keeping your dress in place.

Why you took it with you, you weren’t sure. Because of its ties to Lord Mydei? As a reminder that he came to your rescue a second time in your life? Or a reminder that you were incapable of protecting yourself?

An answer evaded you.

You followed the guards back into the city, the little boy’s sobbing mingled with the sounds of stone crumbling behind you where the Chrysos Heir eliminated the maddened Titankin in the area.

You grabbed and squeezed the boy’s hand when he began to tremble from the tears that refused to stop.

———————

Putting a hole into the crystal without shattering it proved to be more difficult than you had anticipated. You pretty much scratched a hole into it with a sewing needle and while it took forever and unfortunately, cracked a little around the hole, it worked. Pulling a band through it, you wore it around your neck like a charm, hiding the crystal beneath your dress.

You still couldn’t tell what it was. It looked pretty, but given where and when they appeared - out of thin air too apparently - you doubted the cause of them was equally as pretty.

And as you walked through the streets of Okhema a few days later - and of rest as Demetria has told you to stay home for a while to relax, even if it made you feel even worse about how helpless you truly were - a fire burned in your eyes that hasn’t been found within you for a very long time.

You found Lord Mydei near Marmoreal Palace by the foot of the stairs, though you didn’t approach him until the people that were with him left and he was about to leave himself.

A deep breath and you walked up to him. He did wait as he noticed you and you were grateful for it. It led you to believe that what you were about to do had some foundation to work off of.

“Lord Mydei,” you greeted him. He nodded in response.

“How have you been faring?” he asked and the question took you by surprise. Your eyes widened for a moment. “I take it you haven’t been injured during that incident a few days ago?”

You shook your head, though his concern stirred something within you. Something that was equally touched as bruised because it just drove home once more how dependent you were on others.

Didn’t matter. It was the reason you came here.

To remedy this. Finally.

“I’ve been fine, thank you,” you said genuinely and with a smile on your face. He seemed content with that answer and the little upwards tug of his lips made your heart flutter in your chest.

If you’ve learned one thing about him after seeing him with the kids multiple times it was that he was so much more approachable than most people - than you - thought.

“Something you need?” he asked and you looked into his eyes, burning and glowing like a fire - no, like the sun at dawn. Beautiful.

You nodded, looked at the ground for a moment before catching his eyes once more.

“Please teach me how to fight.”

[slowd1ving]

EAT MY HEART, I'LL EAT YOURS ⁺ 　 . ✦ MOZE

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides,  Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles,  The moon grins once again tonight.  He hates you. He hates your plans, how you talk, how you work. He loathes being stuck with you: detests it to his very core. But that's great, because the feeling is mutual with you! Tied to an ill-omened crow of your own, what's there not to abhor? continuation of tales of a disgruntled corvid art by @ RMavio on x!! pairing: moze + male reader warnings: blood, death, violence, yall HATE each other bro, v slow burn, pre established relationship (if you don't count the relationship of HATING each other's GUTS) wc: 6.3k

HONKAI STAR RAIL MASTERLIST

MASTERLIST ・゜・NAVIGATION

Copper defiles the carefully manufactured oxygen that circulates this tiny starship. Its stench pervades the past the clean air, past the distinctly alkaline tang of bleach, and past what little protection your visor affords you. In fact, the clear nanocomputers pick up on a distinctly sanguine hue to the air: labelling tiny crimson specks as biological matter—human blood (tentative). 

“Adult Foxian male, died approximately forty hours ago,” the man crouched before you narrates, oblivious to the you who stares up at the ceiling of the small room—as if the gesture could possibly shield you from the horrifying reality at your feet. No matter how many times you’ve stepped into a situation like this (too many to count ever since your career path practically merged with the Shadow Guards’), you don’t think you’ll ever get used to this. This is Moze’s sphere of knowledge: Moze’s work that intimately twines and dances with the very cesspit of vice and umbrage. 

“Died from presumably loss of blood caused by the deep lacerations across his abdomen and throat,” he continues—the details, unfortunately, seep into your brain as you try your best to tune him out. Thank you, Captain Obvious, you’d bite out, but unfortunately opening your mouth in these conditions would make you sick. “Or at least, that’s what the perpetrator would want us to think.”

There’s viscera splashed even on the very walls. Messy streaks of scarlet contaminate the aged wallpaper in the small room: capricious strokes, as though a child painted them, form characters and seemingly random lines of verse that register as unusual on your visor. That’s your area of expertise. 

Like clockwork, your gaze remains unwavering on the riddle presented on the structure. That’s how you’ve dealt with being in such proximity to Reapers: by pretending the wall is a block of stone and its red ink is precisely that—ink. That’s how you separate yourself from the victims of these gruesome cases; bit by bit, you’re slowly growing accustomed to the nauseating reek of metal that wafts before you. 

And so, when you finally glance down at the glazed-over eyes of the latest victim, it is with startling impassiveness that you assess his cadaver. He’s gone, you accept. Your little ritual has worked, as it oft does. 

“Same sigils as the other bodies.” You finally regain your voice, and the silver-haired man turns his sharp gaze up at you. “But the last line to the verse is different.”

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides, 

Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles, 

The moon grins once again tonight. 

The characters rest heavy on your tongue—foreign meanings straightening themselves out as you slowly sound out the snippet. It’s a verse from a children’s book of poems: a short tale about an obsolete, oceanic planet and its restoration by few brave souls. 

“The moon slumbered tonight,” you mutter the original line to yourself. This ancient script doesn’t suit the naïve phrases, but it’s commonly used for rituals—both antique and modern, you’ve unfortunately found. 

With a heavy sigh, you pull out the gun in your holster; it’s warm, humming to life which seems terribly ironic to you, considering where you are. You’ve not used the weapon for quite some time: the flickering it emits seems both familiar and unfamiliar. 

“What do you think you’re doing?” His clipped speech warily assesses the ease with which you handle the arm you never seem to use: preferring the glassy, almost invisible blade currently strapped across your back when in combat. 

“Xiaoze,” you sigh tauntingly, infusing the firearm with quantum energy that briefly glows indigo in this dim room. “Shut up and let me do my job.”

“Ew,” his face sours almost immediately at the nickname, embittered by both how it drips with condescension and no real affection, and how off putting it is for you of all people to be adding things to his name. “Don’t do that.”

“Then shut up.” You line the sights experimentally, having successfully blackmailed the Shadow Guard into keeping mum for a few minutes while you turn the qualitative verse into quantitative data. Perhaps he does feel threatened by the promise, for you only feel his heavy stare on you and not his words. 

The bullet careens and phases through the wall where the verse is located, and with a shimmer of data, the strings of numbers behind the verse reveal themselves: meaningless to all but yourself. It’s a temporary display, containing important information about the very foundations of this riddle. Or, at least, it’s a shortcut since the verse has already been decoded. 

Seek the answer ‘neath the tides: a reference to where the power ‘current’ of Madam General Feixiao is absent. Or at least, these murder locations point to that; they’re in the areas least looked over in the Alliance: namely, not aboard the Flagship. 

Madness shall prosper, forget her wiles: a crude depiction of Moon Rage, as well as the shedding of a ‘Foxian’ identity. Considering all these victims have been Foxian, it’s no far-fetched assumption to think that these have all been building up to something sinister. 

The moon slumbered tonight: a reference to the plaguemark hung over the Yaoqing—a moon left behind by Yaoshi. Past tense. Sleeping.

But that had all changed with this particular murder. Whatever goal the perpetrator hoped to achieve was finally coming into fruition with the awakening of this ‘moon’. 

The data transmitted onto your visor is as elapsed: the time of writing, the exact coordinates relative to the Flagship at the time of writing, as well as some background noise of little relevance to this current predicament. These numbers are duly inputted into one of your pre-created ‘equation’ sheets: linking abstracts together in their own relationships to receive a divinatory variable. It’s one of the few successes you’ve had with qualitative equations; linking energy and mass and speed is easy, but linking feeling together is not. 

In this case, tying down the exact time and coordinates to a specific intention. Any organic creature or ingenium leaves behind a trace of intention, whether it be through actual thoughts or a pre-programmed function. But in this case, the result comes out void. 

Thirty-two hours since verse was written. 

“How long did you say the man has been dead?” you ask, urgently. Moze snaps back to attention at the specific tone in your voice. 

“Forty hours,” he answers. When it comes down to the bloody aspects of this job, he returns to his laconic, reticent ways—it’s truly a shame he can’t keep it up in other aspects. 

“You’re sure about that,” you probe, half a question in your voice.

“It’s my job,” he deadpans, and you scowl as he uses your words against you. 

“Well, this verse appeared about eight hours after the man died,” you comment wonderingly. The strokes of the characters for grins once again appear a bit messier than the rest—almost like a map. Well, it’s not a deduction; your visor picks up on the strange wording right before you do. “Unlike the others that were written manually by a perpetrator.”

“So, this sacrificial lamb was finally the success,” he mutters darkly. 

“But the trail is no longer dead.” You sheathe your pistol back into its holster with a touch of relief, because finally this set of murders is coming to its conclusion.

⁺ 　 . ✦

You take back whatever compliments you had of him focusing on his job when it came down to it. As you pilot the star skiff along the trail of data outputted from your visor and the crude map from the bloody drawings, he’s practically talking your ear off about the garbled string of answers you sent him from your visor. 

“And what is beef’s relevance to this case?” he asks, each syllable drawn taut with what could only be mockery. 

“Typo,” you grit out, tilting the control wheel starboard. Now is not the time. 

“Egg, too?” he taunts. 

Your eyes flick to the top left of your visor, where you did in fact merge the contents of your grocery list with the file meant for him. 

“Use your common sense,” you bite on the inside of your cheek, hard, to prevent any insults from slipping past your lips. “You do still have that, right?”

“So what’s for dinner tonight?” He leans back against the co-pilot seat, and you can feel his gaze prick your face—much like you feel the tiny, irritating smile he wears. 

“I will crash this skiff if I have to, and you’ll have to explain to the General why the cryptologist exploded into itty-bitty pieces, Xiaoze,” you seethe. 

“Not if they don’t find your body,” he returns—far too accustomed to the patronising name for someone who blanched at its usage just an hour prior. Worst part is, he’d definitely make do on this vaguely-worded threat. 

“Madame General and A-hua would know it was you.” You propel the stern forward, if only to feel his hands grip the sides of his seat tighter. He courts death daily as an assassin, but wouldn’t it be a treat to die because of reckless driving. It’s not like you can entrust the programmed visor to him (and it’s not like you want to send the decoded map to the skiff). 

“Would they, though?” He pares away the dirt beneath his nails with his knife, and you hope the sudden jolt in the vehicle gave him an injury. 

“Jump.” A single syllable, gracing the space with your tender command. His brow raises minutely. 

“No one will miss you,” you add. 

“Since you’ve got no friends,” you tack on with an air of finality. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

He hates you. He hates you: hates the way your hands deftly turn the control wheel on the skiff; hates the way you trip and stumble through life, leaving countless messes behind yet still managing to have Feixiao’s approval to work with him; hates your facetious and conniving and sly insults. But most of all, he really fucking hates your plans. 

“This is so stupid,” he mutters in your ear; invisible to all but the tell tale outline on your shrunken visor. You’d reply, but you’re already conspicuous enough in the tailored suit you’ve donned—all sharp lines and a cut too bittersweet for your home planet. So actually, fuck that, then—there’s no point in being all Spy-like and Inconspicuous any longer. 

“Shut the fuck up,” you hiss, adjusting the cufflinks beneath the rich jacket—then subconsciously running a thumb along the edge of your fake identification card that’s pinned to your collar. Unlike that weirdo, you can’t turn invisible—so you’re left firing quanta bullets at the hull of this rig right outside Yaoqing airspace (or technically, space-space) and gleaning whatever information you can to assemble a persona for yourself. 

 <Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> how do I look < 1:34

The message pings to him from your visor, and you know he’s seen it—from the caustic sigh that leaves his lips, because if he ever blows his cover while he’s invisible, it will have been because of you.

< Weirdo > 1:34 > Focus on the damned mission.

Lukewarm, you scoff, brain sounding out your response. How… do… I… look, you type out once more.

1:35 > Terrible. 

Aggravated, you clench your fist, and you swear you can hear the space behind you warp and distort when he snickers. Terrible! What a joke, you seethe—jabbing the code into the airlock that you’d worked out by the little tones left on the verse, as well as reading the intentions left by people at this door. 

Your job is simple—getting to the bottom of these long-standing murders while also planting a bug on the ship that would allow the Seat of Divine Foresight of the Yaoqing to monitor the situation. Nothing more, but maybe something less if something went wrong. This was only a two-man operation, after all. 

Of course, you neither kept optimistic nor pessimistic. Though there were only two objectives,  those that underestimated the simplest missions oft suffered the brutal brunt of defeat. And of course, the former term being negotiable showed just how difficult it was. Or at least, if you managed to find the office of the higher ups, the data you stole would allow you to reconstruct the space virtually—though what you needed were concrete files that pointed to clear motives. 

No—not the office. 

You squinted as a rough plan of the building popped up from the continuous data you fed your visor—a general prediction of where the lab and computer room would be located, which were simulated as being in the same wing as the office. Perfect. 

<Weirdo> 1:40 > Done all your shopping already, or are you just tired of steak?

You grind your molars as you travel past the small throngs of borisin and humans alike: you don’t look entirely out of place as they’re dressed in a medley of different outfits, from IPC uniform replicas to Penacony garb to even the long robes found on Herta’s Space Station. Point is—your Earthwear doesn’t stand out, and there’s enough people that your badge does not go noticed. 

<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> gonna shoot you how about that < 1:40

It takes the time of twenty-seven heartbeats to stride through the corridors (tunnels) that make their way around the aircraft. Twenty-seven heartbeats, three checkpoints and one smile shot at presumably a ‘coworker’—before you finally make it into the final stretch. He knows, though you don’t, because he’s counted: listening to the rhythmic beat of your organs as you calmly navigate the ship like you know what you’re doing. 

It’s devoid of souls, except for the two of you as you pad down the corridor. Even the very lab and big office seem abandoned—but Moze’s urgent text alerts you of the presence of someone in the office, just not the lab. 

Guess we’ll start there then. 

A quick swipe of your falsified keycard, and you were in—slipping on one of the freely available lab coats and extending your visor to cover your eyes at the entrance. You do respect lab etiquette, after all; erasing even your thoughts about food and drink as you press through the automatic glass doors. 

<Weirdo> 1:43 > You almost look like a scientist now.

You can hear his exhales—they’re so obviously deliberate, because no way would he blow his cover by accident. He’s snickering, that sod is. 

I am a scientific doctor, you senile fuckwad. < 1:44 

1:45 > Thought your default display name was just a joke. Did you hit your head and hallucinate some credentials?

You seethe, since you can’t exactly scroll through endless files to locate your dissertation on ancient science and qualitative formulae. Over sixty-thousand words, reduced to mere mockery by this cretin. 

It’s a triple entendre < 1:45 And I’ve got the creds < 1:45 prick < 1:45 

1:45 > moron

He types this lightning quick, not even pausing to stop walking—not even pausing to capitalise and punctuate his stupidly mocking text like normal—and you can still hear him because he’s letting you hear his normally silent steps, he’s letting you know he can fulfil the mission while shit talking you to your own face.

this is why you have no friends < 1:46

1:47 > this is why you don’t have friends outside your job. no one actually likes you

You rummage around in the large filing cabinet besides all the gleaming equipment: large centrifuges, safety cupboards, fume hoods, and weird display cases filled with samples of what can only be blood. Swiftly, you snap several photos of the evidence with your visor, then mindlessly write a response. Talk about a call coming from inside the house, you think. 

name two people who voluntarily spend time with you < 1:49 [<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> sent index.finger.pointing emoji] < 1:49 [<Doctor, Who is slightly Strange> sent laughing.crying emoji] < 1:49

He’s no longer in the peripheries of your earshot; so you know he’s gone off to investigate the other areas of the small lab—beyond the equipment and into the computer room. Good, you exhale—at least he respects lab protocol. 

1:51 > name a time feixiao actually talked to you outside of work

I will…. lend you… my gun so… you can shoot…. yourself, you type, then quickly hit backspace before you can send it by accident. 

yesterday. eat shit xiaoze < 1:52

1:52 > that was charity work don’t flatter yourself

Hastily, you scan any files in the weird stronghold that look even remotely related to borisin and Foxians and especially the one you cradle: labelled only with the icon of a moon and containing eerily similar rituals to the crime scenes you found. 

oh you want to talk about charity work? lets ask the crowd bro < 1:55 everyone who interacts with you is doing charity work.. < 1:56

1:57 > ok at least my job wanted me

Wow. Wooow. You stare incredulously at the message—he’s dragging the Intelligenstia Guild into this, knowing you got put on leave for ‘engaging in querulous behaviour’ and ‘lacking in real life experience’. Low blow. 

…and no one else did so what now < 1:58 name a single friend you have < 1:58

1:58 > .. 1:59 > Jiaoqiu 

Jiaoqiu. How cute, you scoff, resuming your hate typing while you flick through the last few files hidden around in drawers and cupboards. 

idk how to tell you this but you are NOT the friend bro you’re the test subject… < 2:00 I think he pitied you or smth.. < 2:01

2:02 > ew 2:02 > don’t call me bro it’s sickening 2:02 > we are not alike

it’s exposure therapy < 2:03 since you don’t have any friends you don’t and probably never will be called anything endearing < 2:04 aren’t I so nice < 2:04

Pausing, you glance up at where the glass doors lead right to the computer lab; a dim glow washes over the space. Nothing much to worry about, you think—copying data is a far less burdensome task than rifling through pages upon pages of reports and then arranging them back into their rightful place. Though, if you were worried about anything, it was that the virus and bugger installation would take longer than they had to. 

Maybe it’s the paranoia getting to you. 

Or maybe, maybe, it’s the faint click of footsteps against linoleum floors—getting louder and louder and louder. As does your heartbeat: thundering deafeningly in your ears. You can’t turn invisible. You don’t get the luxury of slipping into the shadows like your colleague (to put it very politely) does. 

And so you swallow—tongue thick and leaden within your suddenly too-dry mouth. There are two courses of action you can take (hurry, the steps are getting louder): the first being to hide away in the little storage cupboard and take the escape from there. You will not be able to fool a scientist who knows their colleagues far more intimately than the grunts in the lobby. Moze has worked alone before. He’ll figure out how to get the virus downloaded and the data copied before the person even gets close to noticing him. 

Or—and your eyes flick to the computer room clearly visible from the lab—you could put on an act to save both your life and Moze’s time. You could… probably do that, right?

Heart moving renditions…. Never mind that your heart was pounding right out of your chest—never mind that your glassy sword could not be wielded in this narrow hallway, never mind that flipping the switch on your gun was not quite something you were prepared to do. 

They were almost at the corner, and you made your decision to step out into that narrow corridor. One hand in your pocket and the other raking across your face as you yawned. The epitome of casual. 

And Moze’s ears pricked as he watched you; though you’d never know, and he’d never admit that he did so. He heard the sound of sharp shoes, and was honestly expecting you to turn tail. 

But you didn’t. 

You’re taking lazy strides as he hears the researcher approach—counting on the secrecy of this organisation being tight enough to operate on a need-to-know basis. In other words, you’re operating on the high-risk gamble: that this particular person would be unaware of changes in personnel. There’s no time to read the data streaming from their steps. Ordinarily, from their intention you could figure out their rank in the pecking order—but you are plumb out of luck. 

He rounds the corner: wearing a suit far more well cut than yours, though his tie sits loose at his throat and his jacket is slung over one shoulder. From one glance, you can tell immediately. You’re screwed. Still, it’s too late to run now: far too late to leave Moze to figure out how to download the data faster. 

“Who are you?” The drawl is heavy with a cadence far too confident. Just your fucking luck, you momentarily scowl—of course the lab would be frequented by some clear higher-up. Not a regular degular scientist you could simply sweet talk, but someone not in the lower strata of this shady organisation.  

He’s handsome: black hair that sheens prussic, eyes glinting practically amber even in the frigid lighting that washes over this space. Something you’ve unfortunately learned while traversing the galaxy is that this guy cannot possibly be a grunt; and if he is, there’s something seriously wrong with the corporation. He’s eye candy—which makes this situation so terrible. You are screwed. In that moment, your lazy smile wavers somewhat; you are utterly and irredeemably fucked. You could shoot him, but that would no doubt put the rig on immediate lockdown with the sound of the gun. 

Fuck. You want to slam your head against the glass, but that would no doubt screw you over even further. 

You’re not built for this. 

“Oh, are you part of the research team too?” Naive. Your qualifications have just landed you this position, and you’re not quite capable of discerning if you should be divulging that information or not. That’s the mindset you centre this particular character around: just some random guy who’s a bit gullible. 

“Just got transferred,” you lie through your teeth, shamelessly. It’s a sin to lie, but you’ve committed bigger ones before. 

“No wonder I’ve never seen a cutie like you here before,” he murmurs—leaning in as though to inspect your face. And so, you freeze; naturally, this was not the direction you thought this conversation would take. Maybe sweet talking is not entirely off the table, but you sincerely doubt you’ll actually get away. 

You swallow. How much longer do you have to stall for? Is Moze done? What the fuck do you say next?

“Uh.” Thanks? I guess? You’re pretty cute too? You find your hand inching towards your holster—minutely, of course—while potential replies whirl through your mind chaotically. Miniature storms wrapped up in slimy brain matter and miniscule neuron connections. 

It’s only when he lets out a short laugh that you realise that you might’ve let out your thoughts, and you curse at yourself in your mind. 

“Wow, you’re bold,” he comments, closer: until you can almost taste the lingering iron and manufactured scent he has. Like wood. Earth pine. A bitter pang goes through your heart at that: someone from the surviving fallout of Earth, here of all places. In a clean, sterile lab dedicated to sacrificing Foxians—for what? Money? Stupid credits? Humans are rotten creatures, cut from a cloth macerated in cesspits. On Earth, it was no exception. 

Still. Your lips press into a line at his clothes, the particular way the tie is knotted. You’ve never seen another survivor prior to this. 

You may also be completely mistaken. Penacony and doubtless others have the same strands of fashion—but this. This is wholly Earth. 

“People do tell me that,” you return, unbuttoning your lab coat since you’re no longer in the lab boundaries. Moze, hurry the fuck up. You’re already regretting it, but you need to confirm it. Alien everywhere, what other choice do you have?

His eyes don’t widen like you expect, and you feel a stupid ache at the realisation that you’re once again alone. But rather, they flicker to your breast pocket, where your falsified keycard peeks out. Closer. His fingers pluck the plastic as though it were a flower, and you’re much too astounded to stop him. 

“What a shame…” he murmurs, and only the nails digging into your palm remind you fitfully of just how near he is—practically tasting the fucking lies on your breath. 

“Sir, back up a bit,” you grimace. This sucks. The perks of keeping the guy from witnessing the glow in the computer room is slowly fading away the longer you keep this up. Should’ve left Moze to get caught. 

“O strange doctor, do movies of the bygone era really interest you so?” 

You freeze. Shit. Shit. You’d let down your guard—attempting to gauge his reaction to your attire and getting caught out yourself. Really, was there any spy worse than yourself? The falsified card was hastily put together with the help of your visor; of course it autofilled that stupid alias. 

It’s not the first time your mistakes have cost you. 

“You…” This guy. You should’ve run. You suck at gambling. 

“How odd. I should’ve been aware of one like me being transferred.”

“Who the hell are you?” Cautiously, you take a minute step back. He notices—of course he does. 

“The head of the research department, who else?”  Fuck, fuck. Your heart is entering arrhythmia: pounding flush against your eardrums like some goddamn hammer against piercing nail. You’re dead meat. 

“It’s unfortunate that I can’t buy you a suit to replace that cheap one—if you hadn’t infiltrated, we might’ve been good friends.” He’s still putting up a front, but you can tell he’s close to a fight. It’s the snarling instinct of a cornered human—fight or flight activating almost immediately at every minute movement of his. Each shallowed breath, each minute shift in sinew. All of it. 

“No, definitely not,” you retort in disgust. “Most people from that planet sucked.”

It’s true, but your heart twinges blue just the same. Millions of years, all for that stupid molten iron planet to just cease. None but you—all alone amongst the cold, dead stars. 

It was a graveyard of the giants: hulking Jupiter, so wretched and broken; stars slowly winking out one by one. Even the massive silhouette of the Sun had finally been conquered. Had the universe ever been so lonely for the wandering?

“Even you?” And now his fists punctuate the empty space with his words. 

“Especially me.”

How foolish. How foolish, as he’s barely breathing on the floor beside you. How foolish, as you let your teeth grind in stupefied frustration. How foolish, that you wanted to communicate with a remnant from that obsolete planet. 

You’re an idiot as you clutch at your side: warmth seeping between your fingers as you prop yourself up against the wall. Shallow, heaving breaths come ragged—though the fight didn’t last even five minutes, courtesy of your visor working overtime to electrocute that fool by your feet. He looks fried, but you don’t look much better: being stabbed does that, after all. 

You don’t know what you’re doing here. 

What were you trying to accomplish?

Iron tastes especially caustic today. Ah, you realise with a start—this stupid endeavour was all to buy time. Maybe it was all pointless. Maybe you’ll slip into slumber here—tripping over the sleeping man at your feet and seeing your planet once more, if only in your dreams. 

The flicker of lights reminds you of your wretched childhood apartment. All concrete and dilapidated structure, but it was your home. A cruel and cold home—though it was also one where the sun touched the horizon just so, in a way that erased pain for a singular moment in time. 

Stupid. All this to fulfil your stupid mission. 

Your legs wobble, and you would’ve slammed right into the wall were it not for the cold arms wrapping around your ribcage—gelid hand splayed on your chest. 

“Idiot.” Moze’s voice is low and angry; practically shaking while he supports your body. He’s pressed right up against your side—making the smell of blood ever more pungent. Slippery, metallic copper—all coming from you and ruining that stupid suit for good. “Are you illiterate too?”

“Huh?” You don’t know why he’s upset; he got the job done, didn’t he? Maybe he’s mad he has to prop you up while navigating the dim tunnels of this building—his teeth are gritting, after all, even if you can’t see him. You can hear the molars grind together. 

“Are your eyes just for show, or do you occasionally read your messages?” he seethes. Your trembling heart is far too loud to register the final death rattles of the man left behind in the corridor—courtesy of a blade thrown right into his jugular. 

“Hah. Muted them to not read your irritating texts anymore.” You close your eyes as he guides you past the chemicals, past the cleaning supplies in the closet that leads to a hidden path outwards. He’s more… gentle than you would’ve expected; grip firm on your arm slung over his shoulders rather than constricting. 

“I didn’t need your help,” he informs you: tone boreal as ever. “You blew our cover.”

Still, you cannot see the furrow in his brows as he peers down at you; neither can you see his lips pressing together. His heart’s pounding weirdly: focused on you rather than leaving this stupid place far behind. 

“I didn’t do it for you—” you grit out, stumbling the last few steps to the concealed star skiff while alarms blare on the ship the two of you leave behind. And he’s grasping your waist as you lean against the rocking vehicle—but you were not going to fall. Blood seeps onto his clothing, though he pays the mess no heed for once. 

“Don’t need your help either,” you scoff, returning his words back to him as you lean against the worn seat. It’s cold. So cold, but you’d rather die than admit it hurts. “Get off me.”

“I’ll drive.” His rich voice finally has a body once more as he settles into his copilot seat. He can visualise the path back to the Yaoqing already—back to the messy, warm place you call home. Where you linger on all those stupid trinkets, the decorations you put up, and the food simmering in the pot on your stove—he knows the route like the back of his scarred hand. 

“I’m fine. It’s not that deep, and Jiaoqiu will take a look at it anyway.”  Jiaoqiu. His lips curl into a sneer as the dashboard lights up—flipping switches with such harsh precision it’s much too apparent that he’s in a terrible mood. 

“Or A-hua,” you add, and his heartbeat becomes something twisted and wretched as he hears the dimmed affection in your voice. You’re tying off the bandage tight around your side—very rudimentary first aid, but the priority is to get as far away as possible from this facility while their systems go down.

“Neither of them will be in when we report to Feixiao.” 

He doesn’t quite know why he lies: syllables rolling off his tongue like a blunder, yet he manages to keep his voice steady. 

“Then I’ll give myself stitches.” So damn stubborn, he thinks. He’s irritated, for reasons unclear to him. 

“No, this was because of me. I’ll treat you.” He doesn’t know why he insists either; one thing he knows for sure though, is that he can’t help but cling onto the scent of your embodiment. Blood and sweat, laundry powder and soap. You. It’s nothing like the damp of his cell. 

“No thanks. You’d probably—hah—use this opportunity to get rid of me,” you wince out. Well, he cants his head in thought—you’re not wrong. He might’ve left you behind: no regrets, no more dead weight. 

“You think so little of me?” 

“Yes. Why else would you come close?” On edge—that’s what he can hear in the tremulous pulse beneath the flesh, all torn and never at ease. It’s not fearful, precisely, but gone is the casual annoyance in your tone—it’s more of a void acceptance, as though you’re stating the obvious. 

To answer your question, he doesn’t know. He’d normally recoil at the sight of the dried blood on his clothes—scrubbing at his skin the moment he could—but he’s absent-mindedly pulling at the threads laved in you with a hand not preoccupied by steering. 

“Anyways. If you keep pushing it, you’ll be permanently dubbed that nickname you so hate.” 

“Don’t care.” He meets your eyes through the reflection of the glass window. One gaze—flinty and stubborn. The other pair of eyes—silent and unyielding. “I’m treating you before we report to Feixiao.”

“Little A-ze is all grown up now, huh,” you mutter, and the prefix you put in front of his name is cold and distant. It tastes quite bitter, and for that reason he doesn’t deign to speak for the rest of the flight. 

For once, he’s truly living up to his description of being reticent. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

“Why’d you do such a stupid move?” With each agonised beat of your heart, the needle jabs into one side of your flesh and extends past the other. This may have been taken as to mean he’s fast with your treatment—but your pulse is as sluggish as barely molten lava, burbling and gurgling like you’re on your last legs. “Look after yourself first.”

The towel he painstakingly placed on your couch is spattered with sanguine. Unfortunately, you’re a bit too lost in delirium to realise the gravity of this situation: Moze, kneeling by your side as he carefully stitches you back up. So delirious, you don’t notice his heavy gaze and scarred hands that reverently handle the tools that pierce your body. 

“A-ze,” you slur, half-conscious as you bring a scalding hand to press against his boreal face. He freezes, like he really is made of ice. But alas, your hand falls back to your side just as quickly and his expression settles back into a scowl. 

“I could’ve escaped,” you murmur, eyes heavy with slumber. “But then you would’ve been in trouble.”

I wouldn’t have been, he wants to say back. You and your idiotic plans. He’s thought it before and thinks it now—he really fucking hates them. 

“Don’t ever do that again,” he instead grits out, tying off the last stitch with the scissors with a clinical professionality that you’re quite astounded then. “Look after yourself, and I’ll do the same.”

“Shut up and get out then,” you retort—and he plucks the roll of bandages you were planning on winding around your side. You blink: taken aback once more. 

“No.” 

No? 

“Fuckface,” you comment bitterly, though there’s a certain decrease in volume as he winds his arms slowly around your torso to wrap the cloth around you. Like this, his silver tufts of hair brush past your chin—strangely clean smelling for an assassin. And when you rest your palms on his upper back to alleviate the tension in your side, you swear he freezes. 

“Idiot,” he slams back; though, there’s a certain rapidity to his pulse as your chest is right in his eyeline. It’s steady, rising and falling with each even breath you have: naked muscle just about grazing his nose. For the first time in ages, his fingers waver in his task. 

“Call Jiaoqiu then,” you shrug. He’s tucking the ends of the bandage into itself, so you miss how the faint flush on his face immediately fades. 

Speak of the devil, and he shall appear. 

“Call who over?”

The foxian stands in the doorway with a pleased, close-eyed smile—much like the cat that finally got the cream. He’s grinning, Moze realises with horror; he saw the vulnerability in his shoulders, even if for a brief second.

Shit. He didn’t even notice. 

“Jiaoqiu?” You take your hand off his shoulder to wave; the man can no longer suppress the irritation in his expression. 

“In the flesh!” 

“Wow, you really don’t look good,” he continues, voice drawing closer as he inspects your bloodied torso. 

“Yeah, because I’m stuck with the fucker who lied about you not being—”

Moze presses his palm against your mouth—heart erratic at the feeling of soft lips against his hand, though it has nothing to do with you. More of the fact that he’s never been so close to someone like this. Yeah. That’s the reason. 

“Why are you here, Jiaoqiu?” he replies in your stead, ignoring how incredulously your gaze pierces into the side of his face. 

“So cold! You two are late to report even though you arrived half a system hour ago! But I totally understand, Moze.” Jiaoqiu’s smile does not quite reach his eyes as his gaze flitters between you and the assassin. That, perhaps, would be the usual description of how the foxian smiles regardless, but especially so today. “He’s injured, after all. Why not let me treat him before the two of you report to our Arbiter-General?”

“Pah–!” With a gasp, you finally wrench his hand from your mouth—glaring at him all the while. “That would be great, Jiaoqiu, thank you.”

Thus, the assassin is left simmering on the other side of your living room: daggers jabbing right into the other man’s back as he finishes your treatment off with a bowl of scorching hot broth. And though he doesn’t outright say it, Jiaoqiu is evidently amused by this turn of events—much like he’s amused with every irritated tell of Moze’s as he inches ever closer to you with his sly smile. 

Sorry, friend, he surmises. Not much of a chance you’ve got. 

It’s a great day for the fox, but not so much for the crow who seethes in the corner. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

[ll7esxs]

General hc on why cod ghosts are the best characters in cod universe!

Warning: infinity auras you might get blind, also a lot of when words

When Logan looks into the mirror, He finds no reflection of him because there is only one logan in this world!.

When Rorke does push-ups, he is actually pushing the ground down!.

When elias visits your house, you will become the guest.

Kick wears sunglasses so he protects the sun from his eyes.

When keegan was born he named his parents.

When Keegan downloads an app, The app actually agrees to his terms and reading his privacy policy.

When graham bell invented the first telephone, he found 13 missed calls from Kick.

Hesh speaks, the words thank him for using them.

Merrick Coughs, the viruses get sick.

In school Teachers raise their hand when they wanna talk to logan.

As a kid Keegan plays hide and seek, the darkness hides from him.

Rorke jumps into the ocean, the fish start drowning.

Merrick stares at the sun, the sun puts on sunscreen.

Hesh takes a shower, the water gets wet.

Logan ties his shoes, the laces thank him for the privilege.

Rorke goes to sleep, nightmares get scared.

Elias plays chess, the king sacrifices himself.

Keegan takes a selfie, the camera apologizes for not being worthy.

Kick enters a room, the walls step aside out of respect.

Logan makes a wish, the shooting star thanks him for the opportunity.

Keegan whispers, thunder takes notes.

Rorke claps, earthquakes happen in another country.

Kick runs, the wind tries to keep up.

Merrick blinks, time pauses out of respect.

Elias gives directions, Google Maps listens.

Hesh plays a game, the controller follows his commands before he even presses a button.

Keegan sleeps, his dreams ask for permission to appear.

Rorke walks into a bank, the vault opens by itself.

Kick flexes, mirrors gain muscle.

Logan breathes, the atmosphere takes a deep inhale.

Merrick looks at a clock, it resets to his time zone.

Logan drops his phone, the ground apologizes.

Rorke walks into the jungle, the predators play dead.

Keegan plays poker, the deck shuffles itself in his favor.

Kick takes a nap, time slows down to let him rest.

Hesh watches TV, the villians act good out of respect.

Riley chases his tail, the universe spins backward.

Rorke snaps his fingers, gravity takes a break.

Keegan sharpens his knife, the blade gets scared.

Kick stands still, the Earth rotates around him.

Logan looks at the stars, they shine brighter to impress him.

Riley growls, nightmares wake up screaming.

Riley digs a hole, archaeologists discover a lost civilization.

Keegan puts on a mask, the mask feels protected.

Logan opens a book, the words read for him instead.

Rorke steps on a crack, the Earth apologizes and fixes itself.

Kick makes a call, the phone already knows what he wants to say.

Merrick loads a gun, the bullets get scared and try to run away.

They said everytime Elias tells a bedtime story to hesh and logan, the monsters under the bed fall asleep first.

Keegan walks through the fog, the mist clears a path for him.

Rorke throws a rock into the ocean, the tides change out of fear.

Kick blinks, camera shutters try to keep up.

Hesh whistles, birds stop to listen and take notes.

Merrick wears a watch, time tries to impress him by running faster.

Riley howls, werewolves Hide under their beds.

[rainydetectiveglitter]

What Not to Do with Your Chiron: A cautionary tale from Meghan Markle’s 11th-House Wound

Chiron wounds are tricky. They’re the part of us that never quite heals, no matter how much we try to fix, prove, or control them. The more we chase validation in this area, the more it feels like rejection follows.

Meghan Markle is a prime example of this. She has Chiron in the 11th house, the house of community, social impact, networks, and collective belonging. This means her deepest wound is tied to fitting in with groups, being accepted by the public, and making a large-scale impact.

And yet, what does she keep pushing? 11th-house themes. She leans into the role of a global humanitarian, a community leader, someone trying to create large-scale influence… but instead of being embraced, it constantly backfires. The more she tries to prove herself in this space, the more rejection, criticism, and skepticism she receives.

Her new show, With Love, Meghan, is a perfect example. It’s meant to be warm, uplifting, and communal. But instead of praise, it’s being called inauthentic, calculated, and disconnected from reality. Why? Because she’s forcing an 11th-house role rather than letting it unfold naturally.

What Not to Do with Your Chiron (Using Meghan Markle as a Case Study)

1️⃣ Don’t force the wound. Chiron isn’t meant to be “overcome” through sheer effort. The more you try to prove yourself in this area, the more it feels like you're swimming against the tide. Meghan’s relentless push to be seen as a global humanitarian keeps triggering resistance instead of support.

2️⃣ Don’t seek external validation. Chiron wounds often make us crave approval in that specific area. But acceptance in the 11th house can’t be forced, it has to happen naturally. The more Meghan tries to craft an image of social impact, the more it comes off as curated rather than authentic.

3️⃣ Don’t mistake performative efforts for real connection. The 11th house rules genuine community and belonging, not just PR campaigns. People sense when someone is trying too hard. Instead of telling the world she cares, Meghan’s best move would be to let her impact speak for itself.

4️⃣ Don’t ignore your strengths Meghan has Fortune (a point of luck) in the 11th house, meaning opportunities for public influence are already there. Instead of constantly pushing her narrative, she would benefit from simply letting things flow. Her luck will work better when she stops trying to micromanage how she’s perceived.

Instead of chasing recognition in your wounded area, lean into what feels natural and effortless. Meghan’s struggle shows that Chiron wounds can’t be “fixed” through PR strategies, they have to be moved through with authenticity and self-awareness.

Want to stop the backlash? Stop forcing what isn’t landing. Instead of trying to control how people see you, let your presence and actions do the talking.

Because when you push Chiron’s wound, the universe pushes back imo