#tide and seek or TIED and seek

[lowkeyren]

OH MY GOD HE SO CUNTY IM GONNA LOSE IT

is he about to be sacraficed

[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.

[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 ★

[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.

[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.

[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. 

⁺ 　 . ✦

[katelynnwrites]

I'm Losing It (All I Get's Jealousy) | Laura Freigang

warnings: ~

word count: 1377

summary: your girlfriend, laura gets jealous at national camp

a/n: jealousy is not something i've written before because jealousy isn't an emotion i have much experience with but i got two requests (one, two) so this is my attempt to do so

‘Hey.’ You laugh as a certain blonde pulls you into her lap, when you walk past her in the locker room.

‘I missed you.’ She complains, nuzzling her face into the crook of your neck and tightening her arms around you.

‘I’m right here schatz.’ You murmur, leaning back into her.

Laura presses a kiss onto your forehead, content for you to stay where you are.

Even when more of your teammates trail into the locker room.

‘You’re a cosy pair.’ Sara immediately teases.

‘Also I hate to interrupt but it’s our turn for media.’ Jule adds, with a mischievous grin.

You giggle and turn around to kiss your girlfriend on her cheek, ‘See you in a bit.’

Laura pouts, ‘Do you really have to go?’

‘Yes.’ You hum and kiss her again to appease her.

The blonde accepts it and relents, letting you follow Jule out of the room.

The younger player pokes fun at you as soon as the two of you are out of the striker’s earshot.

‘You’re so in love with her. Like you should have seen your heart eyes.’

You blush and shrug, knowing better than to try and counter any sort of comment about the depth of your feelings for your girlfriend.

‘Really! When's the wedding?’

Her words get a laugh out of you, ‘I don’t know Jule but I will be sure to invite you when I do know.’

That's how it is with the Wolfsburg player. She is easy to get along with and makes you smile a lot.

With the media team facilitating, the activity goes by quickly and with Jule participating along with you, is a great deal of fun.

In fact, you laugh so much that you’re still smiling when you get back to the locker room.

Lea is there, having finished her own media day activity.

Your Bayern teammate sidetracks you as you try to make your way to Laura, with a simple request of helping her touch up her make up for photos in the new home kit.

You’re happy to oblige, biting your lip in concentration as you apply a fresh coat of mascara to her eyelashes.

When you are finished and turn back to where Laura was sitting, she’s gone.

Sydney tells you that she’d left for her own media day activity when you ask.

With a sigh, you go and look for a snack to tide you over till your girlfriend is free.

It seems like Obi has the same idea because you find her already digging into a bag of corn chips.

She offers to share it with you but only if you listen to the list of pick up lines she’s been working on, with every intention of annoying her own girlfriend with them once she’s back home.

Sitting beside her, you dip your hand into the bag as you listen.

‘Are you lightning? Cause you’re McQueen.’

You snort, ‘Awful.’

Lena chuckles before reading out another, ‘Are you a charger? Because I'm dying without you.’

This one doesn’t even merit any response other than you rolling your eyes.

‘What’s it like to be the most gorgeous person in the room?’

You giggle, ‘I don't know. I'd have to ask Laura.’

The midfielder groans, ‘Stop it. You have it much too bad for her.’

Eating another corn chip, you nod acceptingly and Obi shakes her head in disbelief.

‘They say nothing lasts forever. Want to be my nothing?’

‘Eh. It’s not completely dreadful.’ You feedback.

‘Are your shoelaces tied? Because I don’t want you falling for anyone else.’

‘Cheesy but better.’

Lena grins and encouraged by your words, tells you another, ‘Let’s play a game…not hide and seek though, people like you are hard to find.’

‘No. No. No. Obi, that is terrible.’

‘Well the whole point is to annoy my girlfriend, not sweep her off her feet. I've already done that.’ She points out proudly.

You grimace and the brunette offers you more corn chips.

‘Last one okay? I swear.’

Her excitement should have clued you in to how cringey the next one would be but you don’t realise it till after she deadpans, ‘I had a good pickup line ready to go, but you're so good looking I'm literally speechless.’

You burst out laughing and Lena does too. Actual tears are gathering in the corner of your eyes from how hard you are losing it.

It is at that moment that Laura appears beside you, irritation clearly written across her face.

‘Lau.’ You greet and are taken by surprise when she leans in.

Faster than you can react, she pulls you into a heated kiss. One that she dominates, leaving you entirely breathless when she draws back.

The blonde ignores the wide eyed look on the Wolfsburg player’s face, shortly stating, ‘Oberdorf, the only person allowed to use pick up lines on my girlfriend is me.’

Then she pulls you away from Obi, not loosening the grip she has on your hand until you are in the hotel room you both are sharing.

She stares at you then, with an expression you’ve never seen on her face before. It unnerves you if you are completely honest because she has never been unreadable to you. Not like she is now.

‘What's wrong schatz?’ You softly ask.

‘I don't like Lena trying her pick up lines on you.’

‘She didn’t mean anything by them, you know that she has a girlfriend. I agreed to listen to them in exchange for her sharing her snack with me.’ You explain.

Laura huffs, ‘I still don’t like it.’

‘Lau? Everyone here knows that I'm yours. That you are the one I am in love with.’

Your girlfriend mellows a little at your words.

Ever so gently, you tuck a wayward strand of hair behind her ear and whisper, ‘I love you Laura. You know that.’

She sighs, shoulders slumping down, ‘I know you do. I love you too, which is why this is so hard.’

You frown in confusion and the Eintracht Frankfurt player fidgets with the rings on her fingers, almost as if she is embarrassed as she admits, ‘I just miss you so incredibly much. The past month has been more difficult than usual because the last time I was able to physically see you was at our last camp and that was cut short because I got injured. Now at this camp, I have barely been able to spend time with you.’

‘Oh.’ You breathe as you realise that there is a reason behind your favourite blonde’s sudden clinginess.

She hadn’t been exaggerating when she mentioned how much she missed you, earlier in the day and you mentally kick yourself for not seeing it sooner.

‘You've spent more time with Jule and Obi than me and that’s alright because I know you don’t see them all that often but I miss you. I really really miss you.’

Laura is on the verge of crying now, her bottom lip wobbling as she stands in front of you.

‘I'm sorry. I know the distance is hard but I'm here now okay?’

Slipping your arms around her waist, you draw your girlfriend close to you. The forward melts into your embrace immediately, her chin resting on your shoulder.

‘I shouldn't have gotten jealous. I'm sorry.’ She mumbles.

You hug her tighter.

‘Don’t apologise schatz.’

From the moment you and the blonde had started dating, the two of you have been aware of the challenges a long distance relationship would bring. What you hadn’t been aware of, prior to your conversation, was how much your girlfriend has been struggling with them.

After turning your head so that you can press an affectionate kiss against her neck, you say, ‘Summer break is coming soon and then it’ll be just you and me okay? We’ve got that trip to Mallorca planned and I am looking forward to spending every minute of it with you.’

‘That sounds like heaven.’ Laura whispers.

You hum in agreement and check your watch before adding, ‘Till then we have enough time to take a nap before our tactics meeting? I don’t know about you but all the media stuff has tired me out…’

Your girlfriend doesn’t need to be asked twice.

German Translation:

schatz - sweetheart

[lowkeyrobin]

hello! i was wondering if you could write a one shot for finn wolfhard? maybe like a date night or something but take your own route!

oooo fuck yeah of course!! ; I hate writing standard dinner dates (esp bc I've never been on a date before but we ain't gonna talk about that) so I hope you enjoy this! ; thanks for requesting :) ; also I'm so sorry this is so short, writers block kicked my ass on this :(

FINN WOLFHARD ; city boy

summary ; a little date in the city with Finn

warnings ; language

disclaimers ; I don't know shit about living in a city lol

track ; city boy ; calpurnia

word count ; 551

masterlist

"Jay-Z or Fleetwood Mac?" You ask, hanging Finn an earbud as you scroll through one of your playlists.

"Uh, Jay-Z" He nods, inserting the little device into his ear, making sure as he walked on your left side, that it went in his left ear, pairing with the earbud that you had in your right ear. "Now you're in New York~." He smiles, purposefully singing badly to play with you.

"Shush!" You laugh, taking his hand in yours.

When it came to dates with you two, anything but dinner was up for discussion. You both hated classy dates, you'd rather go do something fun and live your lives while you could.

You were walking down the streets towards one of the many bridges in the city, wanting to walk on one of the lower levels and experience the wind of the cars passing by punching your backs and being able to smell the water below.

The noise of the metal pittering underneath your feet was unintelligible, being defeaned by the whizzing of passing vehicles. The breeze brushes against your faces, pushing your hair back as you look over the railing, arms crossed over the ledge to get a bit of a better position to look down.

The water has a sort of quiet white noise to it, washing and running below the bridge. The tide pushes toward you, the large ripples, almost waves, stagger their way down the surface of the water, carrying the boats and canoes with them.

"This is nice" Finn says quietly, taking a glance at you to see your expression, trying to read you.

You nod in agreement, looking down at the water, feeling cars whizz past you above and behind you.

"You look nice today" He smiles, catching your gaze. "Really makes your eyes pop"

You lightly smile and roll your eyes. "Such a romantic, Finn"

"Yeah, I know"

"You wanna go down there?" You ask, pointing down at one of the boat piers.

He shrugs, "Yeah, sure"

You walk all the way back off the bridge, then make your way down the streets and across the other bridge to get you down to the docks. Near those docks was a huge fountain that you both liked to be misted with water by.

The walk down is calm and peaceful, hands tied with Blue Foundation playing in your earbuds. The breeze sends chills down your spine, causing him to feel the quick here-and-gone tenseness within the grip of your hand. His curls reveal his face as the wind pushes them back, nearly taking his jacket with it before he zipped it up.

The sun produces enough heat for a moment of warmth before it's back to chills, clouds filling the sky and hiding the firey ball of flame periodically. He pulls you a little closer, seeking your body warmth, considering you'd been wrapped up in jeans, a long sleeved shirt, and a heavy hoodie.

You look over at him, an eyebrow raised at his actions, your pace slowing down a bit for him.

"I'm cold, shut up." He smiles, resting his arm around your waist, your shoulders brushing every few steps. "You're warm"

"I'm hot, actually"

"Yeah, yeah. You are hot." He giggles, placing a light kiss on your temple.

"Mhm, say it again"

"You're hot"

[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.”

[northgazaupdates]

Islam Bassam Barbari speaks on life in north Gaza on the 160th day of IOF attacks. He writes,

The merciless onslaught of the past six months has ravaged our community, leaving us shattered and struggling to find solace in a world that has been turned upside down. Each passing day brings a new wave of devastation, leaving us with no refuge to call our own.

Families cling to fleeting moments of respite, seeking shelter in the homes of relatives or huddling in makeshift accommodations in schools, hospitals, or even on the unforgiving streets. The once sacred resting places of the deceased have been desecrated, with cemeteries now deemed forbidden grounds. Our loved ones are laid to rest in the most unimaginable of places - along the streets we once walked, by the shores we once cherished, in the playgrounds of schools, the gardens of hospitals, and the quiet corners of our own backyards. Everywhere we turn, we are confronted by the grim reminder of our collective loss, with graves dotting the landscape like scars etched into our sorrowful reality.

But it is the innocent souls of our children who bear the brunt of this unfathomable cruelty, their tiny bodies succumbing to the relentless tide of violence and despair. They are the silent victims, their laughter silenced, their dreams extinguished before they had a chance to bloom. Stripped of their rights and their innocence, they navigate a world devoid of compassion and safety, their childhood stolen from them in the blink of an eye. Each day, we are forced to confront the harsh truth that our children are no longer shielded from the horrors that plague our land, their tender hearts bearing the weight of a burden no child should ever have to endure.

And yet, amidst the darkness that threatens to consume us, there flickers a dim light of hope - a glimmer of resilience that refuses to be snuffed out. In the faces of our loved ones, in the tears we shed for those we have lost, lies a strength that defies the brutality that surrounds us. We stand united in our grief, bound by a shared sense of loss that transcends boundaries and divisions. We refuse to let our spirits be broken, to let our resolve waver in the face of adversity. For in our collective suffering, we find a common thread that ties us together, a bond forged in the crucible of anguish and despair.

[raayllum]

Anyway let's talk about Star Arcanum Viren

This is of course 1) operating under the assumption that Viren lives post-5x09 and 2) working with the minimal amount of information we have regarding the star primal. Also acknowledging that I am by far not the first (or the last) person to have the idea of Viren connecting to the Star arcanum (I think that's been floating around since at least post-s4) but I thought I'd compile my own bunch of evidence all the same in the name of bringing things up I don't think I've seen other people mention

Let's goo

Arcanum connections thus far in TDP (which is really only two) tend to follow a pattern. You have an object or a guide (or both) that helps you build up your understanding of the primal, you are usually actively seeking it (though this mileage could vary in S6), and after an internal emotional epiphany you understand the Secret of the arcanum and thereby form your own piece of it inside you. Arcana epiphanies grant power and understanding, but they are not necessarily pleasant or positive to undergo.

We see this with Callum in receiving objects related to the arcanums he unlocks (the primal stone to understand the feeling of sky magic; Akiyu's breathing amulet), guides (Villads, ocean poetry), and his own desire ("I'm meditating upon the meaning of Sky" / "I feel like I'm close to a breakthrough with Ocean magic any day now"). We'll return to him in a moment regarding Moon as Callum and Viren often have parallel arcs, so him connecting to an arcanum in S6 bodes well for Viren doing the same, but that's for later.

So for Viren, we need Star adjacent objects (possibly inherited from Kpp'Ar...)

Ibis: If you seek to return that staff to its true owner [Aaravos].

guides

and philosophy. This last one is the trickiest because we just don't Know that much about Star magic philosophy going into S6, the same way we didn't know that much about Ocean magic or its philosophy before going into S6. We know that Star magic is about truth ("You helped me see the truth" as a falsehood vs "I finally see the truth" finally in 5x09) and vision ("I see visions of dragon fire raining down") and a quasi-religious slant ("Where do our gods hide?" / "I will inoculate you...").

It's not one simple thing. It's all the things. They just had to... come together, you know? It's like, I used to hold the power of the Sky in my hand, right? But now that's gone. But Rayla, the whole world is like a giant primal stone, and we're inside it! I'm inside Sky magic, and but it's also in me, with every breath I take. And I kept thinking about birds, and sails, and how they connect to the wind, and I thought I had to find my wings. But that's just it: I am the wing!

You don't control anything. But then you already knew that, didn't you? Because it's the secret of the Ocean itself. The arcanum. You helped me figure it out. I thought it would be about controlling the tides or fighting the currents, but... it's the opposite. The ocean arcanum is about accepting there are depths you can't see, parts of yourself you can't understand, and things you can't control.

This already fits Viren's arc of believing in destiny as an immutable, unchangeable force that he and others are automatically beholden to — that you have no choice, and therefore no accountability for your actions.

V: The path of fate is already chosen. Every step I took, I took because I had to. [...] I had no choice. I did what I had to do.

We see this reflected in how Viren doesn't often acknowledge his own failures but instead deflects them onto other people — "His own stubborn ways stopped me from helping him" / "Tell me what you know about this relic or I will seal your fate" — as though he played no part in things, and how we see that start to shift in S4 and especially in S5. If he "must" make the sacrifice in order to live, then he has no choice, doesn't he?

Except that he does, and he makes it.

This also ties into, imo, the 'beginning' of Viren's story so to speak. A lot of the characters have an Initial Event that sets up everything else for them (i.e. for Claudia and Rayla, it was Lissa / Laindrin leaving), and for the adult characters, it tends to be choice (i.e. Harrow going for the Magma Titan). For Viren, it seems to be coining Kpp'Ar and doing whatever it took to save Soren, an answer that we're surely going to get in S6.

And he almost 99% used both dark and more importantly Star magic to do so.

So Star magic and dark magic started his Path of Fate, so to speak. Dark magic and intrigue led him to Aaravos, and then to his literal Fall and Death (events that Aaravos, particularly if he was Laurelion in the past, also experienced).

C: In darkness, gaze upon a Fallen Star. V: I find myself here at these horrifying crossroads because I have followed a dark path.

It would make sense, then, just like his dark magic dreams to start back at the beginning, and go back to Star magic — but this time, without the taint of dark magic, much the same way he finally unmakes his choices in 1x02-1x03 in full in his decision to Not sacrifice SS in 5x09.

And as previously noted, if Viren was facing 'us' in the poster (same as Claudia), his hair would be angled differently. Therefore, his back is to us, and he's gazing openly at the star instead.

And one last final nudge towards Star arcanum Viren is, to me, the ongoing parallels between his bond with Aaravos and Callum's bond with Rayla. If you want more about how and why Viravos and Rayllum foil / reflect each other, you can check out this tag here.

But basically: Aaravos and Rayla are banished elven guides who push their High Mage of Katolis into discovering their secrets and earning their trust ("Well should we trust you?" + "I don't deserve your trust, not yet" / "Why should I trust you?" "You shouldn't... yet"), bowing to them on paths to Xadia, hunting one another's high mages and trying to save their respective ones, etc etc. You've presumably been following me, none of this is news to you, moving on...

The reason why this is relevant is because Rayla embodies the Moon (leaving and returning, light and dark, withholding information and being secretive, wearing masks and different faces — or a least trying to) and its arcanum, and Aaravos embodies the Stars (mysterious, powerful, ancient) and its arcanum. If there's been 5ish plus seasons of potential set up for Callum connecting to the Moon arcanum ("Now you're starting to sound like Lujanne") when he reaches some Rayla related and/or personal "I have both dark AND light inside" epiphany, Viren understanding more of how Aaravos has likewise been perverted by dark magic and distorted the arcanum he knows (if Star magic has an arcanum at all in the way we think of it) then like...

It'd make sense, and these two dynamics routinely do foil and escalate alongside each other (even S5 being Viravos' divorce, and the bulk of Rayllum's reconciliation).

With everything I've talked about in mind, say Viren does connect to the Star arcanum. What does that actually mean? What is the star arcanum about?

Honestly? I think it's about connection and severance.

The Merciful One: We are, all of us, Stardust, held together by love for an instant.

Everyone and everything is connected. Primal magic exists around creatures, animals, humans, elves, and dragons in TDP, but the arcana is the piece that also exists within them. Dark magic, meanwhile, gives you a twisted form of arcanum that allows Aaravos to reach inside you and assert his will over yours. Puppet strings are just another form of connection, that if you pull on the right ones, the right ways people are connected to each other (Claudia's love for Viren) or the ways they feel disconnected (Viren trying and failing to get human kings and queens to listen to him).

I don't know if Star magic can be as simple as "you write your own destiny" or "you make your own choices" (hi 5x03 Viren) despite the primal's associations with destiny, since Callum already had that epiphany in 2x08 and is struggling to live it out now in arc 2. It would also make sense to me if Star magic is Connection given that after the Startouch elves left, Xadia soon fell apart and was divided into two, since dark magic and isolationism are things that tear people and characters apart. There can be the horror of the connections we're born into (Soren and Viren; characters feeling trapped by their own arcana like Finnegrin and even Rayla sometimes), and strength in the connections we continually forge to create new bonds, or maintain the ones we're born into that we Want to keep.

You can't separate pain and love from each other — they go hand in hand — but you can still choose to break the cycle by separating those emotions from the instigation of violence, as Ezran says.

Xadia and multiple characters have had to relearn the merits of connection ("Stronger together, right?" / "there was a way we can solve our problems together") in the face of antagonists who mandate it ("You'll always be a human to them, you'll always be less" / "You must carry this weight alone"). The Startouch elves know connection the way Finnegrin knows control, of retreating so far into just themselves they turned their backs on everyone who wasn't one of them.

This woud also make sense to me in being Viren's next step in his journey, as revoking dark magic in a lot of ways was just Step One, and re-establishing proper bonds and amends with people he's wronged and with himself / the way he perceives the world around him is the next.

Luckily — every step is a choice.

Last but not least, it's super important to the show that Callum, eventually, turns a corner and we get confirmation that other humans can and will connect to arcanums; it's arguably one of the most important things that needs to happen in the series that he's Not the only one who's ever gonna forge his own connection. Viren getting one would do that while also providing him an interpersonal arc and giving us some real interesting worldbuilding.

[quidell-fics]

New Story "A Tale Painted with Blood"

A Black Myth: Wukong fanfic

Sun Wukong x Reader/OC

The Destined One x Reader/OC

Summary: At the journey’s end, every path she’s tread unwinds to a single, quiet truth: her final breath, where even the stars bow to her fading light.

Act 1: Ember, nicknamed after her wildfire, blood-red hair, finds herself swept into a world far from the one she knew. What seemed at first a cruel twist of fate, a misstep in the grand scheme of fate, soon reveals itself as destiny's design. Her role, woven by powers she could never understand, is to guide The Destined One along the right course. But in the end, as doubt coils around her heart, she questions whether the choices she made have left her with nothing but ashes—or if the fiery and untamed Monkey King, Sun Wukong, is the very thing she needs to help rewrite her terrible fate.

Will Ember let fate forever change The Destined One into an untamed, wild force of raw furious power, or will her own doubts turn the tide of his own destiny? Which path will she choose, and will The Destined One even heed her desires in the end?

Or is the weight of his inherited obsession too overwhelming for him to resist…

Snippet: "Is it not plain?” he said, giving that cursed backscratcher another twirl. "You’re here to aid him." He flicked the scratcher toward the Monkey.

The Monkey flinched, his gaze darting between the man and me like he’d missed a crucial part of the joke. And, no doubt, I mirrored him.

"Uh, yeah, no. That's not happening," I snapped, slicing my hand through the air like a judge laying down a verdict. “There's absolutely no way I can help him…”

“I fear the luxury of choice is not on you, dear one. Should you seek to return home, but one path lies before you.”

My arms shot up in exasperation. "You can't be serious!" I shouted at the sky, praying some hidden camera was tucked away in the rocks around us, because this couldn't possibly be happening! "Enough already! Ha ha, real funny! But I’m done now!"

I spun in circles, desperate for a glimpse of a lens. "Come on, Susie! End the prank! Please? I don’t want to play anymore!"

And then, that chuckle. Low, knowing. “I pity you, child, in truth. Harsh though it may be to accept, I assure you—this is no jest.”

In a blink, he vanished in a puff of smoke, only to reappear at my side, his hand suddenly gripping my forearm. "You shalt need this for the journey that lies before you," he said, pressing a necklace into my palm before vanishing once more.

I actually felt him disappear. His small, pale hand dissolved from my skin, like that was just an everyday occurrence. And, apparently, it was.

"And you," his voice drifted from ahead. I glanced up to see him standing beside the Monkey, "will have its twin." He tossed a matching necklace to the Monkey, who caught it with barely a shrug, inspecting it without a word.

I looked down at my own, a black cord tied around a silver-black stone. It didn’t seem like much—nothing extraordinary… yet.

Note from author: Just wanted to add that I like writing realism into my stories... just a small heads up :)

@nyx-daughterofchaos98

@dressycobra7

[kamisatomay018]

When the tide comes in, I Shall Return..

Neuvillette x fem!reader

Warnings: mentions of character death, angst with fluff, hurt/comfort, reincarnation

Reader is an immortal elemental being, events described may not match the official Genshin story so it’s fictional!

Honestly I cannot write only angst cuz I love happy endings, so this will be a happy story! Also this will be very lengthy so I hope you guys enjoy!

Thunder struck the grounds of Fontaine as the rain poured down unforgivingly, and dark clouds surrounded the city like a dense fog, making Fontaine seem gloomier than ever. Not a soul could be spotted outside, all seeking comfort and warmth in their homes. But where could he go? Where could he find comfort? There was only one man in Fontaine who dared to step foot in the merciless fury of the rain, and that was the Hydro Dragon himself. After all, this rain was his own fury, his own anguish and misery. Yet it could never come close to ever describing the way his heart twisted in agony, his soul hollow and his being feeling emptier than ever.

There he stood, in front of a beautiful big cottage in Elynas which now lay isolated and alone, yet he had made sure that not a single brick fell apart. Only he knew how many memories were tied to this beautiful place he once so dearly called home. Tears cascaded down his cheeks as he closed his eyes, once again allowing him to drown in the memories that never once faded away from his heart..

“Neuvi look!” He turned around to face you, looking as beautiful as ever, long white locks like his flowing down your back as you held beautiful pink and coral shells in your hands with an excited smile on your face. “Oh Mon Amour, these are simply divine. Your powers are truly magnificent.” You smiled at him bashfully, approaching him and sweetly pinned a coral shell onto his hair. The sun shone brightly as gentle waves crashed onto the beach, peace and serenity filling the air. “I’m so glad you like them Neuvi!” Oh how dearly he loved you, how dearly he loved your smile. In your beautiful cottage in Elynas, both of you had built a home, your love blossoming every passing year. Hundred years had already passed by since he knew you, and he had never been this happy. This was his perfect life, his happiness. You were his happiness, his light in the darkness.

How had everything gone so wrong? You both were so happy, and in the blink of an eye, everything he held dear to him had been snatched away from him. How was he supposed to move on like the entirety of Teyvat had? He had never been the same since you left him. Not once had he smiled in these five centuries, not one day had gone by where he didn’t remember you. He still had the shells you made for him so dearly, he would still dive deep into the waters of Fontaine to sustain the marine life you had created so dearly to honour your memory. But even as the Hydro Dragon, his powers were nowhere near as gentle and loving as yours. You were the epitome of peace and kindness which is why he had fallen so deep in love with you in the first place.

Opening the door of the cottage, he let out a shaky breath, trying not to break into sobs. All those years ago when he returned home, he would have your hand to hold, your sweet voice and embrace to find solace in. And now here he stood, drenched in his misery, all alone. As his eyes travelled across the beautiful cottage, he could see the memories of the beautiful past in front of his eyes, playing like a movie. How the two of you would dance and twirl together in the living room, how you would cook together, grow and pick beautiful flowers in your garden and cuddle with one another on the plush couch. Each moment he spent standing alone in the dark house, he was reminded of how all those memories are but the past that he can never relive, a time that he cannot reverse. He fell to the ground, crying in sorrow. Why did he have to pay the price for the folly of humans? What had you both ever done to be destined to a fate so cruel? The cataclysm was all because of humans and the celestial gods, then why had he payed the ultimate price?

How long has it been since he lost you? 500 years. 500 years since he last smiled, since the day he had ever been happy. Did he even remember what happiness or warmth felt like? No, because the day he lost you, he lost his reason to live and breathe too. It had been 500 years since the region of Elynas which was once a beautiful and flourishing land, had been turned into a land filled with carcasses, ruins and pain. Traces of the cataclysm were still visible here, as rifthounds and ruin machines from Dahri were still active, along with markings of the abyss. Anger filled in his mind as he remembered the fateful day he lost you, a memory so vivid that it haunted him every single day.

“Neuvi..the sky..it’s red..” He frowned at your words, approaching you who stood by the window. “What..how is that possible..” Fear was visible in your ocean blue eyes, as you hugged him close. “Neuvi I have a very bad feeling about this..” He wrapped his arms around you in a protective embrace, shushing you. “Hush Mon Amour..everything will be alright. I am with you, I promise.” Suddenly, to your utter horror, the ground tore open as abyssal monsters rose, making you shriek in terror. Neuvillette gasped, standing in front of you protectively as he instantly fought the monsters. But to your horror, they just kept emerging everywhere making you both run outside the cottage. “Neuvi, please be careful, protect the Merusea village, I need to go underwater and alert all the creatures.” He looked at you with worry, a sickening feeling of dread filling his heart. “No mon amour, it’s too dangerous, let me be with you.” “Neuvi there’s no time, they’re dangerous and the melusines are defenceless!” Both of you looked at one another as he rushed to embrace you, an unknown fear taking over his heart. “Please mon amour, be careful..” You nodded as you hugged him tight, however you both were forced to part as rifthounds advanced towards you. “I love you Neuvillette..” Those words that once filled his heart with joy now gave him a feeling of dread unlike any other. “I love you more than anything Y/N.”

If he knew that was going to be the last time he’d ever get to hold you close, the last time he’d hear you tell him that you love him, he would’ve held on for longer, he would’ve never left your side. It was all his fault, all his fault that you were gone. As he sat there all alone, sobbing in remorse, the haunting memories kept flooding his mind..

“My dears, there is a grave danger on land, I urge you all to hide, to blend in with the seas and protect yourselves. I will lend you my power so that no harm shall come to you all.” Your eyes glowed as you used a great deal of your powers to create a protective barrier on every single creature in the waters of Fontaine, making you significantly weaker. You swam back up on land, hoping to meet Neuvillette near the entrance of the Merusea village. But something told you that things were about to go wrong, as if these were your last moments. Your eyes widened seeing how many abyssal monsters had emerged, as you fought them to the best of your abilities, just trying to reach near Neuvillette. You knew you had spent a great deal of your power in protecting the oceans of Fontaine and you needed help in fighting until you regained your powers.

Neuvillette’s heart felt uneasy, his stomach churning in uncertainty as you did not come to him. Something had gone wrong, he could just feel it. Leaving every other thought aside, he rushed towards the shore, searching for you while fighting the wretched rifthounds. He called out your name, as the red sky started filling with dark clouds the longer he could not find you. And the very next moment, it was pouring rain. He ran towards you, instantly killing the monsters that had harmed you, dropping to his knees. There you lay, blood staining the sands as deep gashes were visible on your body. He held your weak frame in his arms, hugging you close while tears flowed down his eyes. “Mon Amour!! Please, please no..” Your trembling hand cupped his cheek, tears dropping down your eyes too while you smiled sadly, knowing that you could not be saved. “I..I’m sorry..” He shook his head, and the way he was crying desperately hurt you more than the deep wounds the rifthounds had left on you. “I..I promise..I’ll come back..w..when the tide comes in..I shall return to your s..side once more, my Hydro Dragon..”

Neuvillette started sobbing even more, hugging you close while your blood stained his clothes and skin. “No..no please Y/N, don’t leave me..please I’ll do something, I’ll save you..” He felt your thumb gently wipe away the tears, your cracked voice whispering perhaps the most painful words he had ever heard. “Hydro Dragon, Hydro Dragon, don’t cry..I Y/N, swear on my soul that I will return to your side..I do not know how long it will take..but..I..I promise, this is just a temporary goodbye..Will you wait for me Neuvi?” He nodded through his tears “I will wait for you forever..” You gave him a soft heartbroken smile, leaning your forehead on his as your breathing turned into small gasps “then..then you have my word..when this body disappears, I will turn into water droplets…which will live in your heart…and one day, I’ll come back..I’ll…come..back-..” That was when your body fell limp, your hand dropping down lifelessly, your once warm body turning cold. Neuvillette roared in pain, his powers unleashing and turning every single monster on the land to dust. Storms raged, lighting struck as the Hydro dragon wailed in agony at the loss of his mate.

Your once beautiful self turned into pure droplets of hydro, and Neuvillette watched as they travelled to his chest, being absorbed by his heart. He clutched his chest, crying endlessly in misery. You were gone. His love, his mate, his wife had died right in his arms, and he could not do anything.

Neuvillette clutched his head, crying and begging for those memories to leave him. It was the most cruel form of torture that he had been enduring for the last 500 years. The only reason he was alive was because he had made a promise to you, and the remnants of your existence lived in his heart. Somewhere he still had a tiny sliver of hope that you would come back, but these five centuries of misery had left him scarred and broken. Ever since the day you had died, the oceans of Fontaine had been still as ever, the tides had disappeared completely, and no new life had emerged in the oceans. You were the elemental being that emerged from the purest waters of the ocean, having the power to control the tides. You were the guardian of the marine life of Fontaine, and it was due to your protection that they had been completely unharmed during the disaster. He placed his hand on his chest, begging you just like he had done all these years. “Please Mon Amour, I’m begging you, come back to me, I cannot live like this..I cannot be without you any longer. I need you back, please..Your dragon is broken without you..”

2 Days later, Neuvillette was walking alone by the beach, watching the sunset while memories of the two of you flooded his mind. Oh he still remembered the way your eyes would light up when you noticed how the ocean would reflect the pink and orange tones of the sky. For some reason he felt different today, as if a feeling of anticipation was in the air. He could not understand why, but he sat down on the sand just the way you both used to, watching the sunset.

Suddenly, he let out a gasp, as for the first time in 500 years, waves started forming in the waters, turning into tides that started crashing against the shore. He stood up hurriedly breathing heavily hoping this wasn’t just a dream. Could it be? He then looked down to see shimmering water droplets emerge from his chest, floating towards the water. Countless sea creatures came up to the surface of the ocean, circling around the droplets of water, and in front of his eyes, slowly but surely, the shimmering droplets turned into a beautiful young woman, a woman he so dearly loved, a woman he had been waiting for.

Tears filled his eyes, but for the first time they were because of happiness rather than the anguish he was so used to. There you stood, in all your glory, just as beautiful as he had remembered, if not more. He felt like he was dreaming, as he walked closer to the water. You opened your eyes, looking at the love of your life. You gave him a big smile, holding your arms open for him. “Neuvi..” This was the only thing that he needed to hear as he ran towards you, engulfing you in a desperate and loving embrace, his sobs being muffled in your skin. Light rain fell upon you both, as you caressed his hair, relishing the feeling of his embrace. You knew he had been in so much pain, you had felt it due to your conscience living in his heart. “Oh my love..I’m sorry it took me so long to return to your side again. I know you have suffered so much, but I promise you, nothing will separate us ever again.”

He pulled apart to look at you, lilac eyes scanning every inch of you as if still afraid that you’ll leave him. “You’re really back..oh gosh I’ve missed you terribly Mon Amour..” you placed a sweet kiss on his forehead, hugging him close as every creature in the waters of Fontaine celebrated your reincarnation, waves crashing merrily against one another. “Forgive me for taking so long my heart..But you’ve been so brave, and now I promise I won’t go away again.” After what seemed like ages, your lover calmed down, his tears slowing down as his gloved hands cupped your cheeks softly, his siren eyes filling with love and tenderness. You gave him your sweetest smile, kissing his cheeks as you also took in the warmth of his embrace. Your separation had been too long, and both of you had missed one another terribly.

“Hmm..I never knew you were so sophisticated Neuvillette~” baffled at your sudden playful remark, he ends up laughing at your words, shaking his head. Ah, so this is what happiness felt like. Yes, he remembered now, he remembered how much joy you would always give him. “Oh mon amour..you have no idea how much has happened in these last 500 years..” “Well then I suppose we will have a lot to talk about hm?” He nodded, embracing you ever so protectively. “Yes, but all of that can wait because all that matters to me is you.”

“I’m right here Neuvi, always and forever. These long and painful years shall be our first and last separation. I am bound to you forever..” He looked at you, a beautiful smile adorning his features. “This time, I’ll protect you with all my strength..” As the two of you gazed into each other’s eyes, intense emotions filled your hearts- Love, relief, joy and everything in between. Words were no longer needed, your souls were now complete, hearts full and minds at ease. You both were once again together, after having passed the ultimate test of time and love. Not even the long drawn separation could ever erase the love you both had for each other.

Overwhelmed by these emotions, you both leaned in, closing the gap between your awaiting lips and let them collide with the same intensity as the waves colliding with the shore. The kiss was tender and filled with pure and unending love, with promises of forever being sealed permanently. Now, nothing would ever come in between you both. Now, Neuvillette’s once dark world had been lit up by you again, and he would make sure it would always stay this way.

[coyoteprince]

Some thoughts on the masculine side of my gender experience and how it ties into vulnerability

I am nonbinary, I believe some flavor of fluid, but I just read as a goth cis woman to the layperson. That's fine and good, there is a safety and privilege in being stealth even with the alternative way I dress, but there also feels like a safe with something precious I keep locked away in me.

I take comfort in referring to myself as a "woman with a man's personality" and likening myself to a kelpie or nymph: beautiful, soft, but merely a vision of a woman: in reality underneath the gossamer, a beast that fails man's words.

Occasionally, something stirs to life in me, similar but different: those feelings of masculinity. I am naturally positioned by my genes (I can grow a shitty sparse beard) and temperament to have some secondary features- but thats it.

And yet, when the pangs of longing ache, they come on suddenly and harsh and I feel trapped.

There is nothing I can truly do to feel comfortable with the swing of identity. Only shapeshifiting back and forth could satisfy me which is impossible. Yes, I could seek hormones or surgery, but I have decided for now to not for a variety of reasons. As part of that, I've always been rather... defensive and secretive about the masculine part of my identity. I have a secondary masculine name I only allow people I trust to call me, and this dumb tumblr post is the first time I'm admitting some rather personal things to the public eye.

I'm well aware today many won't respect the nature of my gender just because I am a ~nonbinary girl~ and not seeking permanent transition, but even before that the thought of being trans was too much for me.

The first time I realized I was trans I wasn't older than 15 and noticed the thoughts I was experiencing about wanting to feel like a boy. It frightened me so bad that I vowed to never give it attention again specifically because I already knew I was queer, mentally different, being abused, and "didn't need another target on my back". Haha. Hahaha

Ignoring those thoughts hasn't been too hard except when I see the ghost of my identity. Then it is overwhelming, like a wave crashing over me and threatening to sweep me into the tide. Painful and exhilarating all at once. Before I know it, it's gone again.

I read and watched The Outsiders in middleschool, as did many. I latched onto Johnny, a greaser kid with an abusive family who tried to play tough but was really just an incredibly scared, sweet runt. I couldn't for the life of me figure out why I identified so hard with him but hindsight is 20/20. Despite the hamminess of Outsiders, I continue to hold a fondness.

Later, when I became comfortable with my nonbinary ID (something that was quite difficult for me) and an adult, I saw another ghost. A theme now set: soft hearted greasers. The first time I heard this I curled up and couldn't stop replaying it even though it made my chest ache.

Finally, the last ghost I've seen and what really made it all click for me was Izzy.

I was neutral of Izzy for the first season (sorry my old man fucker peers), but seeing him become disabled and starting to soften made me intrigued. Then, the drag scene and him singing: I yelped in excitement, bewilderment, and bawled like never before. It was the most intense gender euphoria I've ever felt. Izzy shot to the top of my favorite characters ever in an instant with all he grew to embody.

I guess I identify with boys clad in leather, forced to become rugged in all the wrong ways. Underneath, a natural softness terrified but desperate to show itself.

You can see this in Waite, too: A handsome, dark man who is oh so soft underneath. It's no secret that in my story over time he accepts his nonbinary identity and allows his truth to be seen framed by carnations and frill. Perhaps he is what I wish I was.

On the other hand, Degare is somewhat closer to my reality. A gender all his own, effeminant masculine mannerisms, fairly feminine dress, breasts and vagina and all- though he is still often more masculine than how I present. In contrast to Waite's uneasy fear of judgement, he tries to guard his natural softness rather aggressively out of fear of being taken advantage of.

I'm sure to many reading this I sound like a transmasc "egg" that hasn't cracked yet. To others, very mentally ill. Maybe to some who are fluid, they know the wish-washy feelings.

Either way, I'm a proud freak and I've worked hard to not allow others to hold power over how I view myself anymore. These past 4 years through a cocktail of treatments (though meditation and practice have been the biggest game changers) I've diligently learned how to balance being openly loving to all and authentic- yet protecting my energy and staying sure of my identity no matter another's opinion. Misery loves company and bitter, paranoid gossips and I no longer get along.

Softness, kindness, vulnerability for others and yourself are all difficult, at times seemingly impossible things to achieve when you come from a harsh upbringing and live in a world bombarded by bad news. Change in your view and behavior is excrusiating. But I believe striving for authenticity and love is the most important thing we can do as humans in this life.

Whether I end up transitioning down the line or staying as I am, I've learned to cherish these flashes of masculine desire and be empowered by vulnerability- and I don't regret it.

[the-gay-rat]

Riordan-verse Prophecies

Percy Jackson and the Olympians

You shall go west, and face the god who has turned, You shall find what was stolen, and see it safely returned, You shall be betrayed by one who calls you a friend, And you shall fail to save what matters most, in the end.

You shall sail the iron ship with warriors of bone, You shall find what you seek and make it your own, But despair for your life entombed within stone, And fail without friends, to fly home alone

  Five shall go west to the goddess in chains, One shall be lost in the land without rain, The bane of Olympus shows the trail, Campers and Hunters combined prevail, The Titan’s curse must one withstand, And one shall perish by parent’s hand. 

You shall delve in the darkness of the endless maze, The dead, the traitor, and the lost one raise. You shall rise or fall by the ghost king's hand, The child of Athena's final stand. Destroy with a hero's final breath, And lose a love to worse than death.

A half-blood of the eldest gods shall reach sixteen against all odds and see the world in endless sleep, The hero’s soul, cursed blade shall reap, a single choice will end his days, Olympus to preserve or raise.

The heroes of Olympus 

seven heroes shall answer the call to storm or fire the world must fall an oath to keep with final breath as foes bear arms to the doors of death

Child of lightning beware the earth the giants revenge the seven shall birth forge and dove shall break the cage and death unleashed through Heras rage 

 to the north beyond the gods lies the legions crown falling from the ice the son of Neptune shall drown

wisdoms daughter walks alone the mark of Athena burns through Rome twins snuff out the angels breath who holds the key to endless death the giants bane stands gold and pale won through the pain from a woven jail 

Magnus Chase and the Gods of Asgard 

Wrongly chosen, Wrongly slain, A hero Valhalla cannot contain. Nine days hence the sun must go east, Ere sword of summer unbinds the beast. 

The Trials of Apollo

Caves of blue. 

…Westward, burning.

Pages turning.

…Indiana.

Happiness approaches.

There was once a god named Apollo, Who plunged in a cave blue and hollow, Upon a three seater, the bronze fire-eater, Was forced death and madness to swallow 

The words that memory wrought are set to fire, Ere new moon rises o’er the devils mount, Till bodies fill the Tibet beyond count.

Yet southward must the sun now trace its course, Through the mazes dark to land of scorching death, to find the master of the swift white horse and wrest from the crossword speaker’s breath.

To westward must the lester go; Demeter’s daughter finds her ancient roots. The Cloven guide alone the way does he know, To walk the path in Thine own enemies boots

When three are known and Tiber reached alive, tis only then Apollo starts to jive 

Bronze upon gold

East meets west

Legions are redeemed 

Light the depths 

One against many

Never spirit defeat 

Ancient words spoken 

Shaking old foundations 

Destroy the tyrant 

Aid the winged 

Under golden hills

Great stallion’s foal 

Turn red tides 

Harken the trumpets

Enter strangers home 

Regain lost glory

Apollo faces death in Tarquin’s tomb unless the doorway to the soundless god is opened by (Bellona’s Daughter)

A wildcat near the spinning lights. The tomb of Tarquin with horses bright. 

To open doors two-fifty-four 

O son of Zeus the final challenge face, The tow’r of Nero two alone ascend, dislodge the beast that hast usurped thy place, The son of Hades, cavern runner’s friend, Must show the secret way unto the throne. On Nero’s own your lives now depend. A dare reveals the path that was unknown, And bears destruction; Lion, snake-entwined or else the princeps never be o’erthrown 

Apollos flesh and blood shall soon be mine, Alone he must descend into the dark, The sibyl never again to see his sign, Lest wrestle with me till se his final spark, The god dissolves, leaving not a mark 

Apollo must fall, but Apollo must rise again 

The Sun and the Star

Go forth and find the one who calls out your name, who suffers and despairs for refusing to remain; there leave some of equal value behind, or your body and soul no one will ever find.

(correct me if i got any wrong)