pure ichor. @ikhored - Tumblr Blog

⸻ catalina silva, a thirty-one year old wedding planner, still wears last summer like a scar. they move through the heat as the legacy, each step a reminder of the role they've never quite outrun. carried like souvenirs from something they won't talk about, you'll recognize them by golden rays reflected against bronze skin, a rusted crown beginning to bend and break from the weight of it all, a smile that doesn’t quite reach the eyes. they've always been assertive and mercurial, depending on who's telling the story. the sand shifts, the shoreline whispers, and everyone pretends not to notice what's changed. but secrets rot faster in the sun & someone out there still remembers exactly what they did …

#tidepoint.intro

what was your relationship with the flight risk?

#⸻　　　𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗰𝘆　　　✴︎　　　psyche.

✴︎　　lethe club, 11pm ✴︎　　closed for the undertow @pecadilloss

catalina tries not to think about the text for the rest of the night, refuses to let the thought linger for more than a second and further ruin her night, but it lives in the back of her mind, its presence like a parasite clinging on to her, sucking her dry of any attempt to seem normal. still, she persists, going through the motions of the party and putting on an act that screams everything is perfectly fine. except it isn't, and the act drops entirely when the id is slipped into her hands. her hands shake as she inspects it, the details of its owner unfamilar and though the face staring back at her is different, it is unquestionably teddy's.

when she looks back up to question the waiter, he's already long gone, her eyes meeting rei's instead. with her last fleeting breath of composure, she excuses herself from the conversation she'd long abandoned and makes a beeline for her friend, grabbing him by the sleeve of his shirt and dragging him to a corner where no one could bother them. “ fuck. what the fuck, ” catalina mutters, unceremoniously shoving the id in his hands. “ tell me … tell me this isn't him, ” she begs. she knows the truth, that this couldn't be anyone else but teddy — but she'd rather be crazy than right.

#⸻　　　𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗰𝘆　　　✴︎　　　threads.#pecadilloss #yippee yippee yippee

deathsdignity

each look around the premises was deliberate, discerning between shifting gazes and ones held on too long, the paradoxical state of being much too seen and yet so invisible, all at once. they weren't sure if this was targeted, music blaring just loud enough to drown out the chimes of each cell that could've been another recipient. their friend was dead, for christ sake's. but it an accident, right ? a miscalculation, a tragic ending, even though they all washed their hands together, ridding themselves of teddy's blood within the waters of the atlantic, christening its waters with another tragedy. they needed to feel it again, the frigid rush of running water upon their shaking hands, the same thing that grounded misja as she ██████ ███ ████ — usefulness over anything, the highest form of validation is burying a body with your friends. they hardly realized the pace of their gate, rushed, threading through blissfully unaware bodies as they treat tonight as just any other soiree and not lethe's best humiliation ritual. misja didn't even register their tunnel vision until they nearly body slammed another, blurred vision making them undiscernible until a one, two, blink drew her back to reality. “ cat — hey, hey, it's me. ” stern hands doing their best to hold her upright before they go tumbling. “ you're okay, yeah ? i got you, i promise. ” she attempted to steer them in, the sole of their boot propping the bathroom door open. “ are you okay ? did anyone hurt you ? ”

ikhored

body tenses at the touch, instincts kicking in and nearly pushing misja off until she registers them as her friend. she shakes her head, a forced, dry laugh erupting from her lips to ease her worries. “ no, no one did … i'm fine, really. ” a white lie, if only to put any potential suspicions at bay. she turns back to the crowd, but she's not sure what she's looking for — a suspicious figure, teddy's eyes, but the array guests are as pure as the clothes on their body.

she still can't quite believe the message, can't believe that whoever sent it isn't playing some sick joke on her, because it certainly couldn't be teddy. teddy is supposed to be dead. no, teddy is dead. they all saw his lifeless body, all played a part a part in making sure no one would ever see it, all took turns fabricating a tale believable enough to be true. the chapter of his life has ended — so who the hell keeps turning the page?

catalina leans against the sink countertop, bringing her fingers to her temples to alleviate the oncoming headache that's beginning to manifest. her phone feels like lead in her dress pocket. “ i think i just had too much to drink, ” she says, but she can't hide the way her voice shakes. “ i'll be fine, just need to take things slow. ”

#⸻　　　𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗰𝘆　　　✴︎　　　threads.#deathsdignity

temerose-deactivated20250820

in a thousand company galas, their father had drilled into their head that it was important to remain level-headed at all times. accept any drink offered, but dump it as soon as possible. to lose oneself meant to lose control, and networking was a game best played with a clear mind. of course, their stepfather has never had to cover up a body with the most incompetent group of people, and when suna sees that text, they know he's also never had to deal with something like this. so fuck it : they grab the nearest two glasses of wine and chug them like a frat boy in the middle of a party. perhaps to anyone else, the reaction is mild. to suna, it feels like ultimate betrayal of themself.

teddy always did like making things difficult for them. they reach for another drink, wading their way through bodies, seething. teddy, teddy, always fucking teddy — their molars gnash together at the memory of him, wine making their steps just a little unsteady. maybe that's why they don't move out of the way when catalina comes stumbling towards them. their eyes narrow, mouth almost dipping into a sneer before they stop themself. instead, their hand wraps around catalina's wrist and they tug. suna might like to pretend their friendship had always been a thing of calculation, but even wine-tipsy and furious, they know what catalina is looking for instinctually. perhaps it's what they also need.

the bathroom door is locked behind the two of them, leaving only the muffled sounds of outside. “ get a hold of yourself before you make a fucking mess. ” they hiss, squeezing — only then realizing they're still clutching onto her like a lifeline. catalina's wrist is released, slow, as suna's back hits the bathroom door. “ no, no, i'm sorry, cat. i didn't mean that. here, look at me, did i hurt you ? ”

ikhored

there's nothing quite sobering like suna's iron grip on her wrist. she doesn't flinch when it happens, allows them to drag her into the bathroom like a ragdoll like it's nothing new — because it isn't, and catalina would've been surprised if she reacted otherwise. like a dog following orders, she nods at their demand, taking slow, shallow breaths and willing the tears in her eyes not to spill. the last thing she wants to do is make an embarrassment of herself ( her mascara is not waterproof. ) “ i'm okay, i'm okay, ” she assures, though she's not entirely sure if she's talking to suna or herself.

catalina shakes her head, lifting her solemn gaze to meet suna's eyes like she's told. she can't read the look on their face. never could, in the first place. it's like there's a veil over them that cat couldn't lift no matter how hard she tried. or maybe she just didn't try enough. or maybe she didn't want to. “ i'm sorry, i didn't mean to worry you, ” she apologizes, pivoting to get a look at herself in the mirror, hands scrambling for purchase on the edge of the sink.

should she tell them about the text? could she? like everyone, catalina was made to promise to never utter a word of that summer, to leave it all behind as though it never happened. but the past is worming it's way back, digging itself up from where it lied six feet under. she's not even sure if she's the only person who got the message, but she'd rather shut up than risk spilling something she shouldn't. “ you should head back outside. i … i'll be fine. ”

#⸻　　　𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗰𝘆　　　✴︎　　　threads.#temerose

✴︎　　lethe club, 9pm ✴︎　　open for anyone

catalina carries herself the way she always has; like nothing can touch her, and nothing ever will. she floats through the party like a second host, mingling with guests with a practiced yet genuine smile and sipping on wine like intoxication is but a suggestion. she treats last summer like a hazy memory, like a nightmare long forgotten upon waking up. but lethe doesn't let her forget. everywhere is a reminder of what they've done, what they've sworn to secrecy. she's not allowed to forget.

she takes a moment to retreat, standing out on the balcony with another glass of red, taking in the air and watching the people below. it's a shame when her phone buzzes, and she chooses to look. her heart drops down to the pit of her stomach, wine glass shattering as it hits the marble floor. she looks around, but there's no one else. laughter and light converation reverberate inside. this isn't real. this can't be real. her gaze falls upon the text again, and again, and again, hoping it's her mind playing tricks on her, but the message and its sender remains the same.

hastily, catalina makes her way back inside, wading through the sea of people who seem unaware of the state she's in. not even she can ascertain what she's feeling, but it gets caught in her throat as she weaves through the venue in search for the bathroom. she barely notices where she's going, doesn't even realize until she slams into a body, nearly sending her to the ground. “ fuck! — oh, god — shit, i'm so sorry, i — ” she stutters, fingers flying up to touch her temple. if she didn't know any better, she'd think she was about to faint.

#⸻　　　𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗹𝗲𝗴𝗮𝗰𝘆　　　✴︎　　　threads.