#Discover ancient temples

[blueiscoool]

'Exquisite' 1,700-Year-Old Lamp Bearing Temple Symbols Discovered in Jerusalem

"The exquisite artistic workmanship of the lamp, which was found complete, makes it outstanding and extremely rare."

A rare ceramic oil lamp dated to the late Roman period that bears images of items used in the Second Temple was discovered in Jerusalem, the Israel Antiquities Authority announced on Thursday.

"After the Roman emperor Hadrian suppressed the Bar Kochba rebellion in 135 CE, Jews were expelled from the city. The Mount of Olives lamp is one of the few material traces of a Jewish presence around Jerusalem in the 3rd-5th centuries CE," said Michael Chernin, excavation director on behalf of the Antiquities Authority.

The Antiquities Authority explained that the lamp was a "unique find" and that, judging by the soot marks on its nozzle, it was used about 1,700 years ago.

The Temple symbols that decorate the lamp include a depiction of the menorah used in the Second Temple, an incense shovel, and lulav (date palm branch used in Jewish ritual).

"The exquisite artistic workmanship of the lamp, which was found complete, makes it outstanding and extremely rare,” said Chernin.

Chernin also explained that the symbols on the lamp, which connected them to the Temple, were "particularly surprising" because there has been "very little evidence of the existence of a Jewish settlement in and around Jerusalem from this period."

Israel Antiquities Authority research archaeologist Benjamin Storchan said the lamp belongs to "the 'Beit Nattif' type, named after a production workshop identified in the 1930s near Bet Shemesh."

'Exceedingly rare' find

He explained that "oil lamps with menorah decorations are exceedingly rare, and only a few similar Beit Nattif-type lamps can be found in the National Treasures archive. The choice of symbols on the lamp is not accidental. This is a fascinating testimony connecting everyday objects and faiths among ancient Jerusalem’s inhabitants. It seems that the lamp belonged to a Jew, who purchased it because of its religious affiliation and memorial to the Temple.”

"It is evident that the lamp maker dedicated a great deal of time and effort to its decoration," Storchan added.

He then continued to elaborate on how the lamp was made, saying the maker "delicately and intricately carved limestone molds using drills and chisels."

"The molds were made in two parts (upper and lower). To create the lamp, the potter pressed the clay into the molds and then pressed them together. Finally, the vessel was fired, and it could be used. This method of producing lamps in molds allowed for refined designs, as well as the addition of delicate and intricate decorations," Storchan continued.

Heritage Minister Rabbi Amichai Eliyahu remarked on the correlation between the time of the finding and the Jewish holiday of Hanukkah.

"This unique oil lamp, which in an exciting manner bears the symbols of the Temple, connects the lights of the past with the Hannukah holiday of today and expresses the deep and long-standing connection of the nation of Israel to its heritage and to the Temple’s memory.”

Rabbi Eliyahu also stated that the lamp would be revealed to the public for the first time during Hannukah "alongside stone molds used to make ceramic lamps."

[doomdoomofdoom]

hey remember the last time we had a bird omen?

when the pope's doves of peace were immediately attacked by a crow (and also a seagull)?

when was that again?

january 2014, i wonder if anything relevant happened afterwards-

oh.

An ancient Roman soothsayer would be frothing at the mouth at this.

[haridwarrishikeshtourismguide]

Haridwar & Rishikesh Spiritual Tour Discover the soul-stirring charm of Haridwar and Rishikesh, two sacred cities nestled along the Ganges. From the mesmerizing Ganga Aarti at Har Ki Pauri to the serene yoga retreats in Rishikesh, this tour blends devotion with tranquility. Ideal for spiritual seekers and nature lovers, the journey promises temple visits, riverbank serenity, and unforgettable experiences. Whether it’s a dip in the holy river or exploring ancient ashrams, a Haridwar-Rishikesh tour rejuvenates the body, mind, and soul.

[indiatourismeasytripindia]

India Tourism: Discover the Land of Diversity, Culture, and Timeless Wonders

Embark on an unforgettable journey with India Tourism, where every corner tells a story. From the majestic Himalayas to the serene backwaters of Kerala, India is a treasure trove of experiences. Explore ancient temples, vibrant festivals, and UNESCO World Heritage Sites like the Taj Mahal. Whether you crave adventure, spirituality, or culinary delights, India offers something for every traveler. Let our India Tour and Travel Guide help you uncover hidden gems and iconic landmarks, ensuring a seamless and enriching travel experience.

[lovingtravelnet]

Discover Malta: A Journey Through Ancient Temples and Vibrant Cultures

Malta, a small archipelago nestled in the heart of the Mediterranean, may be modest in size, but it boasts a rich tapestry of history, culture, and natural beauty that captivates all who visit. This island nation is home to some of the world’s oldest free-standing structures, vibrant communities, and picturesque landscapes, making it a unique destination for travellers seeking both adventure and…

[inspectorspacetimerevisited]

The Inspector returns to the room where the smart bomb was hidden,

only to discover that both it and Ona have disappeared, so he ducks through the now-open door to find themself in the middle of an ancient temple.

[bywatergal]

Me, reading ancient texts: why are they talking about beating their chests in grief so much?

Me, watching a video that gets just a lil too funny: *beats my chest like an empty ketchup bottle*

[heavensdoorways]

The Sacred Well of Predio Canopoli, Perfugas, Sardinia, Italy,

Late Bronze Age, 1500-1250 BCE,

At least 3,500 years old, The Sacred Well of Predio Canapoli was discovered in 1924.

The Temple is recognized for its architectural refinement within Nuragic Sardinian culture.

The structure features a isodomic building technique, made from stones of uniform size with remarkable precision.

Its layout includes a narrow staircase leading to the well chamber, an atrium, stone seats on the walls, and a block table with a tray and channel carved into it.

The well temple was constructed with precisely cut limestone ashlar squared stones sourced from the Laerru area. In many Nuragic constructions, there is an ambition to achieve symmetrical perfection, showcased by their skillful masonry and precision.

The well itself is part of a larger sacred complex that includes remnants of a village and a megaron-style temple. Surrounding the Predio Canapoli are scarce 'ritual deposits' with artifacts recovered that have been dated to be from as early as the 9th century BC.

Sardinia is rich with preserved history and the Sacred Well of Predio Canapoli is a great example of ancient Sardinian architecture

[blueiscoool]

‘Extremely Rare’ Ancient Stone Seal Discovered in Jerusalem

An "extremely rare and unusual" ancient stone artifact-thought to be around 2,700 years old-has been discovered in Jerusalem.

The artifact in question, a seal made of black stone, was uncovered during an excavation conducted by the Israel Antiquities Authority and the City of David organization near the Southern Wall of the Temple Mount (also known as Al-Aqsa)-a site in Jerusalem's Old City that is considered holy by Jewish people, Muslims and Christians.

The stone seal bears a name inscribed in the paleo-Hebrew script, as well as an image of a winged figure. It is thought to have been used both as an amulet and as a stamp to seal documents, Filip Vukosavović, a senior field archaeologist with the Israel Antiquities Authority (IAA), told Newsweek.

"The seal is one of the most beautiful ever discovered in excavations in ancient Jerusalem, and is executed at the highest artistic level," Yuval Baruch and Navot Rom, excavation directors on behalf of the IAA, said in a press release.

The seal has a hole drilled through it lengthwise so that it could be strung onto a chain and hung around the neck. In the center, a figure with wings is depicted in profile, wearing a long, striped shirt and striding toward the right. The figure has a mane of long curls covering the nape of the neck, and on its head sits a hat or a crown.

The figure is raising one arm upward with an open palm, perhaps indicating that it is holding some kind of object.

Depictions of winged figures such as these are known in neo-Assyrian art of the 9th-7th centuries B.C. and were considered a kind of protective magical figure, according to Vukosavović. The artifact, thus, demonstrates the influence of the Assyrian Empire-a major civilization of the ancient Near East that had conquered the Israelite Kingdom of Judah, including its capital Jerusalem.

"This is an extremely rare and unusual discovery. This is the first time that a winged 'genie'– a protective magical figure-has been found in Israeli and regional archaeology," Vukosavović said in an IAA press release.

On both sides of the figure, an inscription is engraved in paleo-Hebrew script. In English script, this inscription translates as: "Le Yehoʼezer ben Hoshʼayahu."

"[Yehoʼezer] was a common name," Ronny Reich, a researcher from the University of Haifa said.

The researchers believe that the stone object was originally worn as an amulet around the neck of a man called Hoshʼayahu, who held a senior position in the administration of the Kingdom of Judah. He may have worn the object as a symbol of his authority. "It seems that the object was made by a local craftsman-a Judahite, who produced the amulet at the owner's request. It was prepared at a very high artistic level," Vukosavović said in the press release.

The working hypothesis of the experts is that upon Hoshʼayahu's death, his son, Yehoʼezer, inherited the seal, and then added both of their names on either side of the figure. The names were added in negative, or mirror, script-so that the impression would appear in positive and be legible-according to Reich.

"The combination of figure and script, and particularly a neo-Assyrian figure is uncommon in Judah," Reich said.

By ARISTOS GEORGIOU.

[yandere-wishes]

｡ ₊°༺ Pink Pony Club ༻°₊ ｡

⁺‧₊˚ ཐི⋆Yandere! Dr Phosphorus x Reader ⋆ཋྀ ˚₊‧

⋆.𝄞𝓟𝓲𝓷𝓴 𝓟𝓸𝓷𝔂 𝓒𝓵𝓾𝓫 𝓑𝔂 𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓹𝓮𝓵𝓵 𝓡𝓸𝓪𝓷𝄞˚.⋆

✮★✮ Oh Mama, I'm just having fun, on the stage in my heels it's where I belong, down at the Pink Pony Club, I'm gonna keep on dancing at the Pink Pony Club. ✮★✮

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He lets the music roll over him, allowing the drums to melt over his flames and bleed into the marrow of his black bones. When you dance, you have to focus on the turn out of each step, on the wave of your arms, when to stiffen when to loosen. It makes it all so easy to forget the pain of being constantly on fire. To forget the melancholy that festers inside you. When the adrenaline is this high, you can only make out the strobing neon lights and the dazed amusement of the crowd.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ It's hard to hate the music and the lights, to shy away from a crowd so easily fascinated by the gleeful macabre. It's really the most sanity-inducing thing you can cling to when your body has turned into the thing you once loved. When you've become your research after watching your old self die in a furnace at the hands of those who once wielded all the power in the world. Funny how we make our own monsters, funny how the thing that kills us, is nothing more than the very man we once tried to kill, now engulfed by his own invention. Phosphorus spins, left leg, right leg, jump, and twirl.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The dancing, the music, the clapping, the lights, it's all so perfect for melting away the terrible things that slither inside him, to burn away all those good memories until the kill and the luxury are all the remains. It's getting just too easy to forget his son's face, to forget the smile his wife gave him on their wedding day.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's a moment between moments when the world seems to stop. It's only then that he notices you, or rather notices what you're wearing. It's the dress he thinks, pink like the mushroom clouds he'd once adored, like the sunset framing devastation. Or maybe it's the way you have your hair so cruelly tied. Tight circle above your head like an atom waiting to explode. In a flash it's over, someone is handing him a drink. Another sitting on his lap. And he's thrust harshly back into reality, back to a world of trying to forget.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus is and always will be a man of logic. A man of science. He lets his fingers glide over the stack of pristine hundred-dollar bills. To think he'd spent his whole life begging for a quarter of all of this. Begging for scraps of funding to save the lives of thousands. It had all been so important once. Still, he can't help but let his mind wonder, what could he build with all of this? What could he solve, discover, create? He tells his men to lock it up in the safe, he's not ready to go back to all of that just yet.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The next time Phosphorus sees you, he's half sunken into the plush couch of the VIP lounge. It's been a long day, a long tough day. Everything had gone wrong and all so right in the same breath. This time your dress is the shade of clouds marred by the blood of a dying sun. He should know this shade from the history books he'd used to read, the shade of skylines behind ancient temples. Back then he'd been trying to understand. Understand what he's not quite sure, he'd been so desperate to pry every little answer from the world. To chew their solutions, breaking them with his teeth and spitting out his own variation, his own thesis. He'd been so utterly convinced of his own intellect, convinced that reading Saadi at the same time as the latest research paper on Nuclear decay meant understanding the world.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He watched with staunch fascination as you tried to dance. Following your friend's steps, heels stepping awkwardly completely out of tune. You bend your knees, sinking to the floor. And Phosphorus can't think of any excuses for why his cheeks feel hotter than usual. Why his eyes are permanently affixed to the sway of your arms.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He thinks you look just like nuclear fission dancing in the limelight with your friends. Like you've split your own body to create them. Little atomic nucleus dancing under his microscope. You look perfect, your toned legs amplified by the radioactive pink of your heels. Long neck he'd love to kiss decorated with a thin string of gold. You don't look a thing like the other girls at the lounge, you look like an experiment beckoning him, seducing him into cutting you open, and observing how you explode.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's been following you keenly, trying to see what happens next. It's the fourth week in a row that he's forgotten about dancing for the crowd, about the girls who used to hang off his arms. He's too devoted to this experiment. "Nuclear scientist finds atomic bomb inside ancient temple from the bronze age". Phosphorus examines the sway of your hips, the bob of your head, and the crude kicks of your legs. There's something wrong with those heels, they're too thin, too high, inviting everyone to stare at you. But he's quick to shove them away, circling you from afar. He can't let anyone tamper with his experimentation. Certain matter performs differently when it knows it's being observed. So he allows the notion of invisibility, making you feel unobserved, safe in your own ignorance.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He hasn't felt this alive in years. This ecstasy tastes utterly sweet, pure saccharine. It's the same thrill as watching your particles stabilize after days of trying to find the right frequency. Watching them organize into the right motion. And isn't that what you are? An ionized atom. After all, what is dancing if not ionization, if not trying to lose a part of yourself you can no longer bear?

⋆☠︎︎⋆ He's late tonight, rivals had somehow bled in and were after the safe from Phosphorus' newest heist. He'd burned them to a crisp and danced on their ashes until they flew away. But that doesn't change the fact that he's late, too late in fact. When he rushes through the door, men nervously run behind him. His eyeless sockets fall upon an uttermost dreary sight...

⋆☠︎︎⋆ The problem with people is that they never truly appreciate beauty. They treat it as if it's something to conquer something to tame. They never bother to understand it, to study it from afar whispering prayers of gratitude for bearing witness to this new discipline. The man's body is too close to yours, head following your lips, as you awkwardly try to sidestep. The moment you try to flee he grabs your wrist. You scream, no one ever hears screaming through the bass and the rhythm.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ There's smoke in your eyes, sickly-sweet honey in the back of your throat. It's all too acrid but at least the hand assaulting your wrist subsides. The thing in front of you glows green, an acidic neon green that feels too familiar in shade. You watch as the skeleton seizes your shoulders, such a warm touch hearthlike in every way. He pulls you closer till all you can smell is null and all you can feel is smothering warmth.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never quite quiver under his touch, never fully shy away when he cups your jaw and tilts your head. It's like you want the radiation, want to feel his nuclear essence bleeding into you. Maybe then you'll be whole. Maybe then neither of you will need the music, and the lights, and the crowd to feel whole.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ You never belonged in the clubs, it was painfully obvious you could never mold to their dances, their music. Your heels never fit right. Phosphorous knows he's been trying to do the very same for all so long. Neither of you needed to kill off your electrons, to throw them away to ignorant nobodies who would sooner hurt you for their own voracious motivations. "Give me your electrons and I'll give you mine." Phosphorus tucks your head into the crux of his shoulder, "I'll fuse with you so you'll never need anyone else."

⋆☠︎︎⋆ Phosphorus' hands mirror yours, swaying overhead before falling lower like the cascade of a wave. Side step, side step, stop, and bend. He thinks this is better than any club, any choreography he could do by himself. He feels so whole dancing only for your eyes. He feels so happy having you dance only for his eyes. Your palms touch as you circle slowly. Dancing like the airy rotation of electrons. There's no more dancing at the Pink Pony Club.

⋆☠︎︎⋆ What do you call a dance that feels like merging two atoms? What do you call it when your heart feels like the denotation of a bomb? He presses his lips to yours slowly, feeling the nuclei crash, a nuclear reaction, his tongue hum between your teeth endeavoring to melt away your fear. His fingers, dance across your hips heating up, leaving burning hearts and hand prints, claiming you as his, making you death just like him.

Lost the request for this but thank you so so much to the sender!! 💞💋💞💋

[eggzeroni]

SHERLOCK AND CO KILLS ME

Gregson: What else did you get up to?

John: Uhm... Well... We... We- Took a forty nine hour train journey into rural India to trek through the wilderness and unearth an ancient hidden temple where we navigated booby traps and logical puzzles until reaching an inner sanctum in the hope of finding a missing diamond but in fact discovered dead bodies that had been tortured and uhm... Mutilated...

Sherlock: ... And we saw some tigers too...! :D

[numbersandstars]

Top 17 Most Mysterious Nakshatras

Purva Bhadrapada: The Dark Magician. Natives' boiling energy and their curiosity about the other worlds make them extreme in their spiritual practices. Depending on their level of maturity, they can fall into harsh malevolent practices. Natives usually have a lot of occult knowledge and most importantly, they can contact otherworldly entities, especially the aliens. They are connected to graveyards and some saints.

Ardra: The Ascetic Monk. Natives' power lies in their intense emotions. Their emotions can make them so tough they can ignore physical pain. They are healers, hermits. They tap into the energy of nature, mostly mountains and forests. They can predict the weather, they are able to bring rain. They can perform extreme spiritual practices.

Ashlesha: The Hypnotic Witch Queen. Sensitivity is natives' power. They can sense anything in their surroundings, hence a strong intuition. They can dive into the human soul and spot any weaknesses. They can read your mind. They are very magnetic. Natives should trust their Vastu/Feng Shui abilities and their healing skills.

Mula: The Exorcist. Natives have a strong root chakra, which makes them invincible. Thus, they are more sensitive to the telluric currents, the caves, the ruins and the ancient temples. They often deal with negative spirits and when they are well prepared, they can expel them. Natives are usually interested in the occult and they often do research in that field.

Shravana: The Wise Wizard. Natives' gift lies in their connection to the Source and their absorption ability. They can get glimpses of their past life memories, which help them in their current lifetime. For example, they can remember some bits of a language they used to speak in a previous life and use it in their job today. They can perceive guiding voices and see spirits. They easily sense their environment.

Shatabhisha: The Druid. Natives' mind is their strength. They are highly connected to nature, hence their healing abilities. They see things people do not: they are excellent at discovering occult secrets through many disciplines, such as medicine or astrology. They can invent new ways in their field, such as healing naturally. They can get involved in secret societies.

Jyeshtha: The Sorcerer King. Natives know the power of the occult too well. If they are scared of it, they cover themselves with protective talismans and do specific prayers. Or, if they do not, they perform strong rituals or they get involved in occult societies in order to gain power... But there is a price to pay.

Magha: The Archmage King. Natives' strength lies in their connection to their ancestors and their knowledge. They can dream of their ancestors and receive their messages. But because they can contact them, they can have out of body experiences, sometimes they can even have a near-death experience. Natives usually chase spiritual knowledge and occult powers and they end up mastering them very well.

Hasta: The Fortune Teller. Natives' power lies in their hands and words. They can be very good at palmistry, tarot card reading, healing (especially with hands)… Their mantras and spells are always highly effective.

Uttara Bhadrapada: The Mystic. Natives' strength lies in their connection to the atmosphere and clouds. That is why they are able to bring rain. They tap into rain and water's energy. Their spiritual practice is deep and their devotion to their Gods make them stronger... And threatening if they choose the wrong side.

Revati: The Psychic. Natives' power lies in their connection to the other worlds. They can have astral traveling experiences; they can contact the dead, the divinities; they can receive messages from beyond and become prophets.

Ashvini: The Healer. Natives' strength lies in their vitality and their connection to the other worlds. When they are in the medical field, they can perform miracles. They can discover secrets on life and immortality. They can be good at channeling spirits.

Bharani: The Ancient Patroness. Natives' power lies in their connection to the other worlds and their raw strength. They can connect to other planes and ghosts. Natives feel linked to the pyramids (in Egypt and/or from other places), some tombs of saints and the primordial feminine energy (shakti).

Purva Ashadha: The Regenerative Healer. Natives' strength lies in their incredible restoring vigor. Their energy is such that they can invigorate anyone around them, as well as crumbling activities. Natives do wonders with a pendulum.

Anuradha: The Seer. Natives’ power lies in their faculty to see and receive light as well as perseverance. In the deepest mud of people’s minds, using a coded chart, natives can find out people’s benevolent nature and their shameful secrets. Natives are hard working and patient. They keep so many secrets. That is why they can be very good at numerology, astrology and other occult sciences.

Dhanishta: The Element Master. Natives' strength lies in the natural elements and directions. They can become experts in Vastu or Feng Shui and fix a home. They are good in alchemy, reading pulses and other more spiritual practices.

Purva Phalguni: The Enchanted Fairy. Natives' power lies in their huge amount of luck. A problem happens, a native smiles and it is gone. They can be interested in the occult, usually the traditional knowledge, such as mantras, astrology, and palmistry.

[cursedcola]

Discussion: "The Prophecy of Twisted Godhood" <- A reimagining of Twisted Wonderland through Greek Mythology. Where instead of a world based on Disney - Yuu is sent to a school meant to train demigods in another realm. Dormitories: Heartslabyul (here) || Savanaclaw || Octavanille || Scarabia || Pomefiore || Ignihyde || Diasomnia || Ramshackle (full lore and main plot outline) || Others Notes: Hey everyone - believe it or not, this was the original idea back when I started working on my TWST otome. I went a more traditional route since I wanted more of an immersive product...but I still have all of these ideas, y'know? So why not share them since I won't be making it into a game. Character designs and comics might come if i ever want to add more

Premise: The Prophecy of the Gods’ Reawakening

At NRC on the Isle of Gods, a prestigious institution built upon the ruins of ancient temples, Yuu (the protagonist) is just another student. However, Yuu’s, a supposed ‘godless human’, arrival is no accident—there’s an ancient prophecy surrounding them that foretells the fall of all gods, threatening the balance between the mortal and divine worlds.

The gods, once all-powerful, are losing their grip over their domains. Their children, the demigods, have become restless, each facing the expectations of their divine parentage while undergoing trials at NRC. The mortals are unaware of the ancient forces at play, but Yuu is caught in the center of this storm by ‘chance’ with no power to return to their realm. As they unravel the ties between the demigods, Yuu discovers that their very existence could either restore the gods' reign or bring about their ultimate downfall.

The students of Night Raven College, in this realm known as Nether Realms College, split into seven dormitories, each reflect different aspects of the divine legacy that they inherit. Each dorm conflict mirrors a myth or curse, and Yuu must navigate these volatile relationships and broken alliances, all while uncovering their own mysterious divine heritage.

Heartslabyul - The Realm of Judgment and Destiny

Heartslabyul's - renamed 'Themantica' Dormitory - central conflict revolves around the battle between order and chaos, justice and mercy, hard work and inherited power. The dorm will undergo a transformation as its members grow to understand that their godly traits do not define them, but how they choose to wield those traits in a world on the brink of power usurpation is what truly matters. Yuu becomes the catalyst for reform, teaching them that while their divine parentage shapes them, their choices define who they will become.

Riddle Rosehearts – Child of Themis (Goddess of Justice)

Reasoning: Riddle Rosehearts is deeply connected to Themis, the titaness of divine order, justice, and law. Themis is the embodiment of fairness and law, often depicted with scales, which resonates with Riddle’s strict adherence to rules and his sense of justice, though Riddle also learns that true fairness isn’t always found in rigid systems.

Connection: Themis represents the legalistic and moral code that Riddle so rigidly follows, making her a perfect fit for him. Or rather, a perfect fit for his mother. His buried personal feelings about his role as a demigod are another story.

Conflict: Riddle Rosehearts' devotion to order, justice, and the enforcement of rules mirrors the divine influence of Themis. As the dorm leader, Riddle’s strict enforcement of rules represents his own attempt to uphold the ideal of justice in a chaotic world. However, the prophecy that ties Yuu to the fate of the gods will challenge Riddle’s worldview. As the gods’ powers begin to weaken, Riddle will confront the truth that blind obedience to law can lead to harm, and that compassion and flexibility must sometimes replace absolute fairness.

Tension with Yuu: At first, Riddle views Yuu as a disruptive force to the carefully ordered environment of Heartslabyul. Yuu, being unaware of their own divine parentage, challenges Riddle’s rigidity with their natural tendency to understand situations in shades of gray. Yuu's tendency to question authority and find balance between rules and fairness will force Riddle to confront the flaws in his belief system.

Resolution: Through their relationship, Riddle learns that true justice comes not from strict adherence to law, but from considering the greater good and acting with compassion. Yuu helps him realize that mercy is as important as law.

Trey Clover – Eldest Son of Demeter (Goddess of the Harvest)

Reasoning: Trey Clover, the thoughtful, responsible, and nurturing member of Heartslabyul, fits well with Demeter, the goddess of agriculture, harvest, and the home. Trey is dependable, grounded, and often takes on the caretaker role within his dorm. Much like Demeter’s nurturing presence, Trey ensures others’ needs are met and provides stability. He also has a calm demeanor that makes him approachable and supportive—qualities that resonate with Demeter’s ability to protect and nurture those under her care.

Connection: Both Trey and Demeter represent stability, nurturing, and responsibility, offering support to those around them.

Conflict: Trey Clover embodies the nurturing and stabilizing influence of Demeter, the goddess of the harvest and the home. Trey is the responsible caretaker of the dorm, often stepping into the role of peacemaker and advisor. However, the divine chaos wrought by the prophecy forces him to question how much he can protect others from the encroaching disaster. Demeter’s loss of influence over the harvest in the world will affect Trey’s ability to care for others, and he may feel powerless to prevent the unraveling of the world around him.

Tension with Yuu: Trey is highly protective of Yuu, as they are a triggering force that may push Riddle over the teetering edge, but struggles with a deep sense of helplessness. Yuu is an uninvolved party to the gods’ warfare, and Trey’s connection to Demeter places them in a Persephone-esque position. Yuu’s inevitable involvement in the prophecy raises the question of whether even his powers to nurture can stop what’s coming. Yuu becomes a mirror for Trey to understand that change is inevitable, and that sometimes, allowing things to grow in a different form is necessary for survival.

Resolution: Trey will come to accept that nurturing isn’t always about protecting people from harm, but rather about guiding them through transitions and supporting them as they face their own challenges. Yuu's growth into their role will help Trey understand that not all things are meant to stay the same forever.

Cater Diamond – Son of Eros (God of Love)

Reasoning: Cater Diamond is a fun-loving, social, and self-aware character with a deep connection to social media and capturing the moment. His energetic, attention-grabbing personality aligns well with Eros, the god of love and desire, who often brings people together in unexpected ways. Eros also represents a playful, seductive force, much like Cater’s ability to charm and captivate those around him, while his social media savvy connects to Eros' symbolic role in the pursuit of connection and attraction.

Connection: The playful, charismatic, and communicative nature of both Cater and Eros makes them a fitting pair.

Conflict: Cater Diamond’s connection to Eros, the god of love and desire, makes him a natural at influencing relationships and connecting people. His charming, flirtatious demeanor is a reflection of Eros’ ability to manipulate and inspire love in others. However, the prophecy forces Cater to confront the darker side of love—the obsessive, destructive, and manipulative nature that Eros’ power can also wield. As the gods’ power wanes, Cater begins to question whether his relationships with others are genuine, or if they’re merely the result of his ability to manipulate emotions.

Tension with Yuu: At first, Cater views Yuu as a puzzle to solve, someone who doesn’t seem easily swayed by charm or emotional manipulation. Yuu’s sincerity and ability to build genuine relationships challenge Cater to rethink his approach to love. As the prophecy nears its fulfillment, Yuu will show Cater that love can’t be controlled—it must be earned, nurtured, and given freely.

Resolution: Cater learns to let go of his need for attention and approval, realizing that true love is built on honesty, trust, and vulnerability, not manipulation. Yuu’s example shows him the power of real connection.

Ace Trappola – Son of Hermes (God of Trickery, Travel, and Communication)

Reasoning: Hermes, the god of trickery, travel, and communication, is known for his mischievous and playful personality. Ace, with his witty, rebellious nature and tendency to bend the rules, fits perfectly with Hermes' persona. Ace’s love for teasing others, his knack for getting out of tricky situations, and his ability to charm those around him makes him a natural fit for the god who’s always up to something playful and clever. His impulsive behavior also echoes Hermes’ swift, often unpredictable actions.

Connection: Ace’s wit, humor, and trickster nature align closely with the god of mischief and communication, Hermes.

Conflict: Ace Trappola is the embodiment of Hermes, the god of trickery, communication, and mischief. Ace’s constant need for attention, his love of pranks, and his manipulative nature align with Hermes’ playful and unpredictable qualities. However, as the gods lose their influence over the mortal world, Ace becomes aware that his tricks and quick wit may not be enough to navigate the complexities of the prophecy and the divine conflict. He must confront his own immaturity and selfishness, realizing that his usual tricks can’t solve the problems at hand.

Tension with Yuu: Ace sees Yuu as a challenge—someone who isn’t easily fooled or controlled. Yuu's ability to act with intention and thoughtfulness challenges Ace's impulsive nature. Yuu’s steadiness and willingness to make the hard decisions will force Ace to realize that his cleverness doesn’t always get him what he wants. He must learn that sometimes, real communication is about honesty, not manipulation.

Resolution: Ace will eventually come to appreciate the value of genuine connection and purposeful action. Yuu will help him see that trickery can’t always be the solution—it’s the truth and action that hold power.

Deuce Spade – Youngest Son of Hephaestus (God of Craftsmanship and Fire)

Reasoning: Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship, fire, and hard work, is known for his dedication and loyalty. Deuce Spade shares many of these traits with his strong sense of duty, determination, and earnestness. Deuce is not a naturally gifted student, but through effort and perseverance, he works hard to overcome his challenges. Much like Hephaestus, who labored tirelessly to create his masterpieces, Deuce is a character defined by his commitment to improvement and his willingness to push through struggles.

Connection: The hardworking, earnest, and somewhat awkward nature of Deuce mirrors Hephaestus' perseverance and determination in the face of adversity.

Conflict: Deuce Spade is a reflection of Hephaestus, the god of craftsmanship, fire, and hard work. Deuce is driven by an earnest desire to prove himself through his effort and dedication. He is a diligent student who values hard work over innate talent. However, the prophecy forces Deuce to question his own worth. The struggle for divine recognition, along with the looming sense that all their hard work might be in vain, challenges Deuce to confront his belief in the value of toil. Can hard work truly protect the world from the prophecy’s wrath, or will they need something more than mere craftsmanship?

Tension with Yuu: Deuce’s strong work ethic and determination to be the best often put him in direct opposition to Yuu, who may not have the same motivations or views on hard work. He sees them as a possible connection to better understand human-kind and learn socially acceptable mannerisms. Yet their nonchalant outlook on the school’s way of teaching demigods has him question the ‘right path’ – which Deuce finally thought he found.  Yuu might remind him that effort alone is not always enough to overcome challenges—sometimes, one must rely on intuition, teamwork, or emotional resilience to succeed.

Resolution: Deuce learns that true strength doesn’t just come from hard work, but from the ability to adapt, trust others, and remain flexible. Yuu teaches him that it’s okay to rely on others and embrace different strategies to solve problems. That there is a balance between good and bad – perfection and rebellion.

[thatshowthingstarted]

Temple-Theater of Monte San Nicola, Casertano, Italy

Discovered accidentally by Nicolino Lombardi while flying in his ultralight helicopter, the Temple-Theater reveals a compelling story of historical intrigue dating back to the late Ancient Roman Republican period, possibly around the 2nd-1st century BC.

This remarkable archaeological site, hidden for centuries beneath overgrown vegetation, has sparked scholarly debate about whether the complex was built by Roman architects or indigenous Italic tribes like the Samnites.

Situated at an elevation of 410 meters in the scenic Sannio area, the presence of nearby tombs suggests that it fell out of use by the 2nd century AD. If the dating is accurate, the construction of the temple-theater coincided with Rome's victories over rivals such as Carthage and conflicts with local enemies.

Positioned strategically to overlook key northern routes, the complex likely represented Rome's growing power in the region.

Similar to the Samnite theater at Pietrabbondante, this structure symbolizes Rome's control over the Italian landscape, reflecting ancient rivalries and ambitions.

[humanitysstrongestsoldier1]

𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐒 | 𝑃. 𝑆𝐸𝑂𝑁𝐺𝐻𝑊𝐴 𝑥 𝑅𝑒𝑎𝑑𝑒𝑟

Alternate Universe: University, OG Countries

Genre: Mature, Fluff, Smut, F2L

Pairing: Seonghwa X Nerd F!Reader

---

Summary:

“This may be the night that my dreams might let me know. All the stars are closer.” - Kendrick Lamar and SZA, All The Stars

You were made of stars. Stitched from constellations and loneliness. He found you anyway.

In a foreign land, where you chased your dreams of creative writing, you collided with Park Seonghwa: beautiful, radiant, terrifyingly kind. Between stolen glances, unfinished stories, rooftop constellations, and a love that bloomed like a supernova, you realise: you were never lost. You were just waiting for someone to find you in your orbit — and stay.

-----------

Warnings: kissing, neck kissing, oral sex (fem rec.), explicit language, mirror sex, body worship, light dom/sub, slight breeding kink (if you squint), fingerfucking (kinda), overstim., manhandling, forced eye contact, handjobs. Wooyoung is his own warning lolz.

A/N: So this popped up on my fyp the day i finished my draft of this ff, the song is the same and so is the man, is this a sign from the universe or am i tweakin?? someone pls save yeosang in this ff, also this may be a bit self indulgent, reader has acne scars and stretch marks, literally waited until i finished TSDOT7 to post this, finalising this during finals week was ironic af

Being an astrophysics major by itself was a dream come true.

Indeed, the math was brutal. There were countless nights you banged your head against textbooks, hoping osmosis would bless you with answers. Growing up in a country that shaped global advancements in STEM, it felt natural, inevitable, even, to fall in love with the cosmos. And you did. You chased astrophysics with a ferocity few could match. But when your 12-year-old self first discovered writing; something shifted. Something opened. Which is exactly why, the moment you held your degree in strong hands, you applied for college again. Not for answers in equations, but for meaning in words. This time, in a country known not for rockets or labs, but for language, philosophy, and the ache of beautiful things. You wanted an adventure so you sought it out.

In this world, most countries are known for something. Like people, each country had a soul.

Illusia was music. Open beaches, summer-long festivals, street art blooming across abandoned buildings.

Halaland pulsed neon. Dance battles in alleyways, cyphers on rooftops, espresso-fueled tech startups with holographic prototypes coded overnight.

Aurelia was revolutionary. Poetry-like war cries. Taekwondo academies and experimental theatre in the same street.

And then there were two. The two that held your story between them.

Mehrasht , your home. Capital: Rajmaer . A country where science was the tenet; where teenagers programmed robots in ancient courtyards, and RIOSAF — Rajmaer Institute of Sciences & Innovation — stood like a temple for the mind. You’d entered its gates at fifteen, graduating by nineteen as one of their youngest astrophysics scholars. It wasn’t easy. It never is. But it was everything.

And now?

Atelora. Capital: Solune . The mountains watched over the city like protectors. Rain fell often, perfect for writing and introspection. The monsoon was very similar to your home and often brought you comfort. This was where you studied creative writing now — SMAI , Solune Music & Arts Institute . Modest in size, but fierce in passion. Here, painters drew images beyond explanation, philosophers debated and musicians wrote symphonies inspired by heartbreak.

Even though you were technically a “transfer student,” your presence had stirred curiosity from the moment you stepped onto campus. You were young, just twenty, already holding a degree, already having stared down and solving equations that made most students shudder. And yet you chose stories. You chose metaphors. You chose a blank page over a telescope lens– for now at least. Still, the stars never quite left you. You saw them in your writing.

And sometimes you saw them in him .

You had become extremely close friends with a group of 8 artistic men. Kim Hongjoong, Jeong Yunho, Kang Yeosang, Choi San, Song Mingi, Jung Wooyoung, Choi Jongho.

And of course Park Seonghwa. The incarnation of your desires. 

When you first set your gaze upon him in your shared mythology class, it felt as though time itself had stopped ticking, going against the very physics you spent years getting a degree over. The irony of it never failed to baffle you. It wasn't his looks—although that man was undeniably beautiful—it was the book he was reading. It was about the rich culture and mythology of your country, of Mehrasht. You didn't have the courage to approach him and chose to sit a row ahead of him. Yeosang sat next to you and his curiosity got the best of him and he started asking about your astrophysics degree. You both bonded over your love for space and mythology. He introduced you to the rest of his group and you all clicked instantly, their accepting and loving nature helping you in a new country and school. When you realised that Seonghwa was part of their group, you almost started believing in a god. 

—

The campus library was nearly empty. Golden light pooling through stained glass. You're sitting on the floor between the philosophy and poetry sections, legs crossed, hoodie sleeves pushed to your elbows, eyes locked on your laptop screen. Seonghwa finds you there. He just sits beside you, a quiet gravity. He’s of course still shy due to your friendship being new, but still open minded and curious about your nature.

“You’re writing something new?” he asks softly.

You close your laptop halfway, unsure. “It’s not finished.”

“Neither is the story of our lives,” he murmurs. “But it is still beautiful is it not.”

You hesitate… then open it again and slide it toward him. The title reads:

“Orbit; Closer to Me”

He reads in silence, his eyes taking in every piece of your literary marvel.

The story follows two satellites. Drifting, spinning, drawn toward the same dying planet. One is built to observe, the other to destroy. But they keep circling, unable to touch, always a second too late. Always on the opposite side of the planet. In a way it resembled you and Seonghwa. Your tendency to always search for more, your ambition and constant drive causing things to fall around you; to be destroyed. And Seonghwa, who observed everyone with tender eyes.

At the very end, one of the satellites whispers: "If I had met you in another world, would the universe allow me to love you completely? Would we be closer?"

Seonghwa’s hand tightens on the laptop. “Woah,” he says, voice raw, “Holy shit.”

You don't look at him. Not yet. “It’s fiction,” you say.

“Then let me live in it,” he replies with a chuckle.

You finally turn, eyes meeting him. Your voice, when it comes, is steady.

“Do you think stars could have a mind of their own and fall in love?”

Seonghwa pauses and takes in the character of your question, deeply thinking of a good and honest answer.

“Only the brightest ones,” he answers. “The ones who burn knowing they’ll die. Because they know what true love is.”

You smile. And for the first time in a long time, you don't feel like you're drifting, you don’t feel hollow.

—

Over time, the eight of them became family. Your corner of comfort. Music and lyrical composition with Hongjoong and Mingi. Long philosophical conversations with Yeosang. Soft, contemporary dance lessons which Yunho begged to teach you. Chaotic sleepovers at your place with Wooyoung and San. Karaoke, pranks and card games with Jongho. And despite how new everything had once felt, your world here, in Atelora, in Solune, began to feel a little more like home .

Still, with Seonghwa, things moved... differently. At first, he barely spoke to you. Not out of disinterest, but out of something that almost felt like reverence. Like he didn’t want to ruin something fragile and rare just by getting too close. He listened more than he talked. Always watching, always gently smiling.

But slowly, things shifted after that day in the library.

It started with shared glances during lectures. Long, held eye contact across the seminar room which ended with both of you looking away with blushes coating your cheeks. Then came the silent routine of walking out of class together, neither of you planning it, but always falling into step as if the universe programmed it.

One day, he tapped your shoulder with a quiet, “Hey Y/N,” as you were packing your notes. You turned — breath caught somewhere between your ribs due to his touch— only to find him holding your Mehrashtri fountain pen.

“You dropped this.” It was such a small thing. But when his fingers brushed yours the hum of the world changed frequency.

—

A study session just the two of you was meant to be about ancient symbolism in myths, but somehow ending with him asking about your favorite stars.

“Do you still look up at them?” he asked one night.

“Always,” you replied. “Even when I write, I think I’m trying to translate starlight into words.”

He’d gone quiet for a moment. Then, softly:

“That’s beautiful.”

You’re beautiful , you almost said. But didn’t.

Instead, you let yourself fall in love with his presence. The way he gently corrected your posture when you slouched over your notebook, pushed up your glasses with a laugh as they slipped. The way he hummed under his breath when reading. The way he memorized your favorite coffee or chai order and even started bringing it without asking. The way he cared for his 7 brothers, mother hen style.

He started borrowing your books. You started sketching constellations in his notes. When he spoke about Mehrasht, he did so with admiration. Not as someone who studied it from afar, but as someone who now saw it through your eyes.

Sometimes, you caught him looking at you like you were a story he was trying to finish; or maybe one he was too scared to begin.

He didn’t say it, not yet. But Seonghwa was falling.

And you. Brilliant, quiet, starlit. Were becoming his galaxy.

—

One afternoon, you were in your car, inching out of campus traffic, when you spotted Seonghwa stepping through the front doors of the main building.

“Seonghwa!” you called out, rolling your window down.

His head lifted from where he’d been tucking a pencil into his tote. He turned toward the sound of your voice, eyes scanning until they landed on you, and then, he smiled. That soft, radiant smile that made your heart do impossible things. He jogged over, tote swinging at his side.

“Hey, Y/N! Heading home?”

“Yep. Want a ride?” you asked, eyes lighting up with a mix of mischief and sincerity.

There was a flicker of hesitation in his gaze, subtle, but you didn’t catch it.

“If it’s not a problem,” he said gently.

“My love, you are far from a problem. You’re my salvation,” you replied, lips curling into a flirty smirk.

The blush was immediate. A red flush crept from the base of his neck to the tips of his ears, blooming beautifully across his cheeks.

“Spoken like a true creative writing major,” he murmured, looking away with a grin.

You laughed. “Get in, loser.”

He didn’t hesitate after that. He opened the passenger door and slid in, and just like that, the two of you were back in your orbit. The two of you sang along to songs from both your countries, laughing at each other’s dramatic falsettos and purposely missed notes. His pronunciation in your mother tongue never failed to impress you. At this point, Seonghwa was an honorary Mehrashtri. When you finally pulled up in front of their shared house, Seonghwa turned to you, his expression softening. He reached for your hands, took them into his, and pressed gentle kisses to your knuckles.

“Thank you for the ride,” he whispered.

You didn’t need to reply. The smile you gave him said enough.

As your friendship grew, so did the bravery to start being physically affectionate with each other. Closer than you even realized. He had started reaching out to you more, sitting beside you even when there were other open seats, touching your wrist when he wanted your attention, letting his hand linger longer than necessary when passing you notes. And you… you welcomed it all.

Every graze of fingers, every shoulder bump, every brush of knees. It was intoxicating. Friends, yes, but always on the verge of something more. That tension definitely did not go unnoticed.

Jongho and Wooyoung were relentless in their teasing towards you . Hongjoong and Yunho, on the other hand, took it upon themselves to push Seonghwa — nudging him with pointed looks and strategic wingmanning. The seven of them were on a mission to get their oldest with you.

As you drove away that day, you waved at him through the window. He stood at the curb, watching you disappear into the streetlight-dappled horizon. Then, sighing to himself he turned and walked inside.

What you didn’t know, what you still didn’t know, was this:

Seonghwa had driven himself to campus that day. His car was parked in the northern lot.

But the second he heard your voice calling his name, he didn’t even think twice. Jumped into your car with a smile and a heart beating faster than it should’ve. He never regretted it. Not even when he walked all the way back to campus just to retrieve his car later that night.

Because love — or something dangerously close to it — was worth walking miles and miles for.

And you… beautiful you; were always worth it.

—

You hadn’t meant to overhear. You really hadn’t. You were just trying to return a book Hongjoong lent you. But when you rounded the corner near the media lounge, voices froze you in place.

“I think I’m in love with her,” Seonghwa’s voice was quiet, raw.

Behind the bookshelf divider, you could see Hongjoong’s silhouette leaned against the piano, Seonghwa pacing slowly, his slender alarms crossed.

“Seonghwa, we've all known that.  We’ve been trying to get you to admit it too…but tell me why you finally think so, get it off your chest,” Hongjoong asked gently.

Seonghwa let out a breath. “She’s quiet, but intense. She’s like a black hole wearing headphones. Like, you know something massive is happening under the surface and it hums through the air when she’s near.”

You bit the inside of your cheek at his attempt of building a metaphor. Your hands curled around the book in your grip.

“She understands loneliness. Being in a new country, with a new culture and new people. With a new major and more dreams. Her ambition is always drifting but she doesn't understand it in a sad way — it's more like gravity. Always there, always pulling, and she still manages to orbit it gracefully.”

There was a pause, then softer:

“She writes notes related to astrophysics in her margins. Combining science and arts. Little ones. Precise. Brutal. She’s smarter than any of us and doesn’t flaunt it. But I see it. God , Hongjoong. Her weird ass writes poetry in binary and has all the locations of the stars in the night sky memorised and I love her for it.”

Hongjoong said something inaudible along the lines of “that cute lil nerd,” and Seonghwa laughed once, short and breathless.

“She once wrote this short story called ‘Singularity’ for her project. It was about a black hole shrinking due to radiation. The whole thing was a breakup metaphorical allegory, but it hurt. I’ve read it twelve times ever since she sent that PDF. And I still don’t know if I want to cry or kiss her. Everything she does, everything she writes or creates, I fall in love with because it's a part of her.”

Your body betrayed you in that moment and a soft gasp escaped before you could swallow it down.

And silence. Hongjoong’s eyes meeting yours and widening, lips parting.

Then, “Y/N?” Seonghwa’s voice, closer now, cautious.

You turned and ran.

—

You don’t respond to his texts for the rest of the day. But that night, as promised every Friday, you show up.

The rooftop above the humanities building was forgotten by most but sacred to you both. A medium-powered telescope hung over the edge of the rail, but you ignored it, your own scope slung over your shoulder. You always brought the better one. He was already there, wrapped in a black hoodie, eyes flicking up the second he felt your presence. Like gravity itself had shifted.

You set your bag down on the old four-legged charpai, the ropes creaking just a little. Quietly, you pulled out your telescope and began adjusting it, setting the lens on Jupiter — your favorite.

Seonghwa didn’t say a word. He just watched you. In the way he always did. Like you were made of dark matter and wonder.

“I wasn’t supposed to hear,” you finally said, voice low, eyes still on the stars.

Seonghwa turned his head, his gaze soft, unflinching. “I’m not sorry you did.”

You let out a breath, half-laugh, half-crack. “Seonghwa… I’m complicated. And I’ve always assumed that was too much for people.”

You sat down on the edge of the charpai, hands clasped between your knees. “Throughout my life, I believed no one would ever truly understand me. My weird love for weird things. The way I talk to myself, the way I disappear into my own mind. I’ve always been… too much or not enough.”

You looked up at the stars, eyes settling on Altair, blinking hard. “My mind never stops. It spirals. One second I’m calculating exoplanetary distances and the next—as you noticed— I’m writing poetry in binary. I dove right back into school for creative writing because I felt… hollow. And for funsies, apparently.”

You laughed once, bitter and real.

“I’ve never had a boyfriend. Most of my life I’ve just… existed in loneliness. Whispering to walls when I needed someone to listen. Friend groups leaving. Family never really understanding my soul. My skin’s marked with scars I’ve learned to love — my own little craters and constellations — but I still don’t always feel beautiful. I’m not put together. I’m a mess half the time. And you? Seonghwa, I'm jealous of how beautiful you look all the time. I look like a greaseball in a hoodie and you look like some runway model in yours.”

Your voice broke just a little as you laughed in denial. “But somehow… you love all the parts of me I’ve spent years hating. And that?...That fucking terrifies me, Seonghwa.”

You finally turned to face him, eyes burning, lip trembling just slightly. “Why, Seonghwa? Why would you love someone like me, when no one else has?”

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, he crossed the small space between you, sinking to his knees before the charpai, resting his hands on either side of your legs, face close enough that you could feel his breath. His eyes searched yours, and when he spoke, his voice was steady. 

“Because you don’t pretend. You don’t dress up your soul to fit someone else’s standards. You’re chaos and constellations and wild brilliance, but you let me orbit around you anyway.”

He touched your hand, gently. “You say you’re hard to love, but I’ve never felt such fire in my heart before. You talk about loneliness like it’s something shameful, but I see it in your writing, in your silence, and I think you turn it into something beautiful. If anyone could understand the quiet parts of me, it’s you. Not Hongjoong, not our other 6 little idiots, you. What I have taken and perceived from you, I can say without a doubt, you are probably the best thing that has happened in my life for a while.”

His fingers traced the back of your knuckles. “You don’t need fixing. You’re not ‘too much or ‘not enough’ You’re... vast. Like the universe. Perfectly designed, like the universe. And I’m just grateful you let me be a part of yours.”

You blinked, and the tears fell from your eyes, cascading down your cheeks. He wiped them with his thumb like he was handling stardust.

And when you leaned into him, forehead to forehead, noses touching, lips brushing each others, heart cracking open under the starlight, you whispered:

“Stay with me tonight.”

“I was never going to leave,” he murmured.

And somewhere in the distance, Jupiter glowed quietly. 

Witness to your unfolding as your lips connected with each other.

—

It had been a while since that night.

The two of you claimed your relationship. It was too strong, too cosmic, to be labeled with something as soft as ‘boyfriend and girlfriend’ . That felt like trying to describe a galaxy with a single syllable; inaccurate, reductive.

You two were more than that. More like twin stars caught in mutual orbit. Irrational but perfectly everywhere like π.

You existed around each other in ways you didn’t have to define. Only feel. And it was mutual. In public, your fingers found his under tables. In private, his lips found yours, his hands caressing your skin.

Tonight was different. Tonight you gave yourself to him.

Your apartment door clicks shut behind you, muffling the distant throb of the club’s bass still echoing in your body. You’re breathless, flushed from dancing and drinks and the way Seonghwa kept hand possessive on the small of your back, his breath always brushing your skin, his gaze burning through your dress like you were already naked beneath it. He was jealous and worked up over the vision of you on the dance floor with Wooyoung and Yunho. His fists almost crushed the glass he was holding when Wooyoung pressed up behind you while holding your hips.

Now, in the quiet of your space, you’re vibrating with the weight of it all; wanting, needing.

He watches you as you slip off your heels, movements slow and slightly unsteady. The dress hugs you like sin, and he doesn’t move for a second, just lets his eyes trail down your figure. The bend of your body allowed him to just get a small peek of your navy blue lace panties and he had to control himself right then and there. You placed your heels into the shoe closet and turned to look at him. His eyes were darkened, full of lust and you gulped.

“You look unreal tonight,” he says, voice low, roughened by restraint. His other hand reaches for your jaw, thumb brushing your cheekbone. “You have no idea what it did to me, watching everyone else look at you, dance with you. And knowing you were only ever going home with me.”

You breathe out a quiet laugh, nerves and heat mixing. “I wasn’t even the prettiest one there. I mean, did you see Princess Mingi?” Attempting a joke to ease the tension.

Seonghwa pauses. His brow furrows. “Say that again,” he murmurs, pulling you close, backing you gently against the wall.

Your breath hitches. “I said—”

“No,” he cuts you off. “Don’t. Don’t joke. Don’t talk down on what I consider sacred.”

Your heart stutters. His lips brush your jaw. “You really have no idea, do you?” His mouth moves lower, his voice barely a whisper.

He lifts you swiftly, throwing you over his shoulder and you scream; instinctively pushing to get down by flailing your legs but Seonghwa smacks your ass, denying you. “Don’t fool around, starlight. You're not escaping me.” He sets you down, facing the mirror and stands behind you, tall, sculpted, the heat of him seeping into your spine.

“I need you to see what I see,” he murmurs, lips ghosting your ear.

Your mouth parts, heart racing. He brushes your hair aside, kissing the back of your neck slowly.

His hands slowly unzip your dress. “Look at you,” he whispers. “ God , look at you.”

The fabric slips down your arms like a sigh. Your bra and panties match, navy blue lace, fragile against your skin—and the moment your dress pools around your feet, he lets out a soft, “ fuck ”.

His hands find the plush of your hips, kneading just a little, slowly moving up so that his thumbs brush your ribs. He kisses your shoulder and the stretch marks that lay there. Celestial fault lines—beauty forged under pressure.

His fingers slip beneath your bra strap and drag it down slowly, and you shudder.

“I’m going to make you feel everything,” he says.

You nod, breath catching.

Seonghwa unhooks your bra and slides it down your arms, dropping it to the floor. His hands move to your breasts—gentle, as if touching something divine. His thumbs circle your nipples and you moan, back arching slightly, head falling onto his shoulder.

“Perfect,” he murmurs. “So perfect it hurts.”

You feel his bulge press against your lower back, and your breath hitches.

Then he kneels. Right in front of you. Holding your hands and kissing them with such gentle affection.

“Watch me.”

Seonghwa’s fingers find the waistband of your panties and slides them down slowly—agonisingly slow—pressing kisses to your hips, your thighs, the soft curve of your stomach. His hands settle on the back of your thighs pulling you closer to his face. When his mouth finally descends, you arch with a gasp, his name slipping from your lips like a prayer. He doesn’t let you hide, doesn’t let you pull away from the way he fucks you with his tongue. You nearly collapse when you look down and see his dragon-like eyes set on your face.

But he’s not fast. He’s not rough. He takes his time, like you’re a language he’s learning by mouth alone. Tongue soft. Then firm. Then soft again. Teasing, tasting, licking.

“Stay still baby,” he says as you squirm just a little, voice muffled against your cunt. “Let me worship you.”

You grip his beautiful black hair, threading your hands through it.

His tongue moves with unbearable precision; deeper, firmer, until your reflection blurs with the pleasure cresting in your lower belly. His lips wrap around your clit and you gasp loudly.

“Seonghwa—”

He hums against you, continuing his ministrations. “Say my name.”

“Seonghwa.”

“Again.” He suckles gently.

“ Seonghwa !” You moan his name helplessly, begging for some sort of release. 

“You taste like fucking stardust,” he groans, and you let out a sound that borders on a sob, thighs trembling around his head. 

His eyes are on you again, the peaks of your breasts pushed out due to your arch and your mouth gently open, head thrown back, moans escaping you. 

He’s not happy. You aren't listening to him. He told you to watch.

His mouth moves away from your folds and he plunges two fingers into your wet, seeping hole without warning causing you to shriek and tighten your grip on his hair.

“Hwa – fuckk ! What–what are you doing?!” You yell softly, unconsciously pushing your hips down on his fingers, fucking yourself with them.

He slaps your ass and red marks are left behind in his wake. His eyebrows are furrowed, his eyes teasingly angry as they meet yours. “What did I say? Hmm? I told you to watch. ”

“I'm sorry, I’m so sorry Hwa please–” you beg.

“Don’t you dare look away.” He presses his fingers in deeper, his lips latching on to your sensitive bundle of nerves again. “Eyes up, beautiful. Watch how you fall apart for me.”

You do.

You see your own mouth part, your hips trembling as he devours you like a man in devotion. His fingers curl, hitting the right spots inside you — thrusting, curling, pulling out and plunging again. When you come, it's not quiet. It’s messy, overwhelming, and he stays with you through every second, hands firm on your outer thighs, mouth relentless. He kisses and gently bites your inner thighs after, like he's thanking them.

You think he's stopped? You thought wrong. 

Not even a second later he’s spreading his tongue over the entirety of your core, making sure no drop of your nectar goes to waste. 

“Give me more. Give me everything.” He groans, ignoring your shrieks of overstimulation.

The lewd, wet sounds that ring throughout the air make your cheeks flare up but Seonghwa is completely unabashed. Deep moans escape from his honed voice as he traces your folds.

“Cum for me,” he says. “Give it to me, baby. Be a good girl.”

You do. Again. Shuddering. Repeating his name like salvation.

And he rises. Licks his lips. Takes his belt off with one hand while steadying you with the other.

He doesn’t let you breathe for long. His mouth crashes to yours as he undresses fully. You can taste yourself on him and it makes your breath hitch for a second. Tongues dancing around each other as he slowly pushes you backwards to the edge of the bed with his weight. His hands are busy unbuttoning his shirt and removing his boxers. His length slaps against his stomach, hot, heavy and red. You look down, his lips leaving yours with a pout. 

God . Oh god. He was dripping . White, pearly, sticky essence beading at his tip.

“Oh Hwa, is this all for me?” You ask, confidence rises.

“You think I can have a taste of you and not end up like this?” He smiles, realising how your demeanour changed.

You smirk and your hand makes its way to his curved cock and you slowly pump him.

“Fuckkk~ Y/N . No, princess.” 

You don't stop. You feel the vein on the underside of his length and tremble at the thought of him inside you. And not even a second later as if he read your mind, stops you.

“No love please, I need to–I need to, God! Ah~ come inside you.” Your eyes widen, goosebumps littering your skin at his declaration. His fingers wrap around your wrists stopping the motion.

He’s holding back, grounding himself in you, for you.

He lifts you effortlessly and your legs instinctively wrap around his waist, his cock rubbing against your core. You’re breathless, gripping his shoulders, stunned by how easy it is for him to move you like this, to hold you like you weigh nothing.

He lays you down like something precious. Seonghwa was mesmerised by the state of you on the bed; vulnerable, naked and all his. Your hair contrasted against the bright silk of the bedsheets and sprawled out around you like a halo. He climbs over you slowly taking his time with your body, dragging his lips across your stomach, your ribs, the curve of your tits.

“You’re a goddess,” he says, voice thick. “And I’m going to worship you properly.”

“Oh, Seonghwa, you beautiful man. I can’t believe you're all mine.” You whisper against his lips which peck yours, eyes showing nothing but love. Pure, unfiltered love.

“All yours. And I'm going to show you. Gonna fuck you,” he breathes. “And you’re going to watch. Every. Single. Second.”

You wrap your arms around the back of his neck.

He lifts your thigh and slides in slow, stretching you, filling you, making you feel it.

You’re already so wrecked but he doesn’t let you hide. Doesn’t let you look away. 

“Look at me,” he growls, gripping your jaw, “I want to see your face when I ruin you.”

Your eyes meet his and he smirks devilishly at your fucked out expression. 

Was this the same Seonghwa you believed was an angel? Or a sex demon who bound himself to you and you only.

“You feel like fucking heaven,” he moans, “tight, warm… made for me.”

Your nails dig into his back, gasps spilling freely now, but he doesn’t stop. One hand grips your jaw, keeping your eyes on him, the other sliding between your bodies to rub circles on your clit. You’re soaked, overstimulated, and yet you still want more. Need more.

He gives it to you. All of it. Every thrust is praise. Every groan is adoration. He kisses your scars. Holds your gaze. Whispers all the things he loves — your mind, your madness, your quiet power, your wild soul.

“You’re mine,” he grits out, hips relentless.

“I’m yours~” you whisper, wrecked.

He goes deeper, the bulb of his cock brushing your cervix and the sensitive areas of your walls. He’s let go of your jaw but your eyes are still locked onto his.

“Seonghwa oh my–fuckk baby right there…dont fucking stop!”

“Say it again.” He snarls.

“I’m yours, Hwa. I’m all yours, my star.”

He moves. Deep. Intentional. Worshipful.

“That's right,” he grits through his teeth, one hand splayed low on your stomach to feel where he is inside you. “This body. This heart. Every moan, every breath — all fucking mine.”

“All yours, yes~!” You groan against his hair, his face buried into the crevice of your neck now.

He thrusts . Again and again, with his body pressed against yours, your name breathed between desperate kisses against the skin of your neck, your legs trembling around him and tears slipping from the corners of your eyes, not from pain, but from the immensity of it all.

“Cum again,” he says, voice commanding but still full of love. “Let me feel you fall apart on my cock.”

Loudly. Shamelessly. Your body seizes under him, muscles clenching, vision going white. You swore you saw the stars you view every night in your telescope. But he doesn’t stop. He keeps going, keeps moving inside you with the patience of someone who’s waited years to worship you like this.

Only when your nails dig too deep, when your legs are shaking violently around his waist, does he finally let go — spilling deep into you with a moan so heavy, so desperate , it sounds like your name carved into the stars of his universe.

Your reflection is ruined.

Lips swollen. Thighs shaking. Eyes wet. Sweat slicking your skin. His seed spilling out of your swollen cunt. And still, he kisses you like you’re divine.

“Still think you’re hard to love?” he whispers while moving back to look at your pretty face again.

You don’t answer. You just pull him back in. Kissing him again and again and again and again. 

He whispers praises between every breath. “My starlight, mine. Always.” he murmurs. “I love you. I love you so much Y/N.”

Fat, globs of hot tears spill from your eyes at the pure words he spoke of you. You were loved. So loved.

He pulls back, tears also spilling from his eyes. “Thank you for letting me be yours.”

“No Seonghwa. Thank you for helping me find myself. Thank you for being my north star.”

He smiles, all teeth, eyes crinkling and nose scrunching. He pulls you up and lifts you effortlessly, one arm under your knees and the other wrapped around your shoulders. You loop your arms around his neck, still dizzy from everything, and let him carry you through the soft haze of candlelight to the bathroom.

The tub is already filling, steam rising, the water shimmering with the gentle swirl of  jasmine-scented bubbles. He sets you down on the edge, brushes your hair from your face, and helps you in first, never once letting go of your hand. When he joins you, the water sloshes gently around both your bodies as you settle between his legs, your back against his chest.

His arms wrap around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder as he pulls you close. His fingers trace lazy circles on your thigh under the surface. Not lustful. Just the kind of touch that says ‘ you’re mine’ without needing to say it at all. 

“God,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your damp shoulder, “how are you real?”

You hum, leaning into him. “You always ask that.”

“Because I still don’t believe it.”

You giggle at his lovestruck cheesiness.

He rinses your hair with care, fingers untangling the strands gently. When you return the favor, scrubbing his scalp and watching his eyes flutter shut in bliss, you giggle. He opens one eye at the sound and catches the grin on your face. You had put a blob of soapy bubbles on his head, giving him a little hat.

“What?”

“You’re cute like this.”

He raises a brow. “Like what?”

“Melting. For me.” You boop his sharp nose with a sudsy finger.

He smirks and pulls you into his chest, arms curling around you. “I’m always melting for you.”

The warmth of the water, the silence between you, the occasional kiss to your neck or cheek or the valley between your breasts where your heart lay—it all feels suspended in time. He runs his fingers gently through your hair, massaging your scalp until you melt against him with a contented sigh.

When the water cools and your fingers wrinkle, he helps you out with a soft towel and even softer hands. You both dry off in quiet laughter, brushing against each other in the mirror, stealing kisses between getting dressed.

When you both finally leave the bathroom, dry and dressed in the softest clothes you can find, he can’t seem to stop touching you. His hands never leave you as he leads you to the bed, gently guiding you onto the sheets. The bed feels like home, with his body curling around yours, his warmth seeping into your skin. 

You lie there, tangled in each other’s arms, his fingers tracing idle patterns on your skin, tracing your cheeks. The quiet of the night wraps around you like a blanket, but his next words cut through the stillness.

“You are the center of my gravity,” he whispers into your hair, his voice barely holding together. He’s clutching you so tightly it feels like he’s afraid you’ll disappear. 

You don’t. You’re still there. Glowing. Glorious. His.

“And with you,” he continues, “all the stars are closer.”

The weight of his words hangs in the air, a promise, a truth. You settle deeper into his embrace, feeling the soft, steady rhythm of his heart beneath your ear as you both drift off to sleep, wrapped up in love.

—

The next morning is soft and slow.

Sunlight filters through the curtains, casting golden lines across the bed where you and Seonghwa are still tangled together. His arm is heavy around your waist, his face buried against your hair, breathing you in like he’s still dreaming.

You shift gently, turning in his hold. His eyes crack open, hazy with sleep, and when he sees you, he smiles.

“Morning, angel,” he mumbles, voice still deep and rough with sleep.

You grin, brushing a thumb over his puffy cheeks. “Morning, Hwa.”

There’s a beat of silence where you just look at each other. Then his phone buzzes on the nightstand, shattering the bubble. He groans dramatically, reaching for it without letting go of you.

It’s the group chat.

Hongjoong: Rise and shine, lovebirds 😈. You guys better not bail on camping today ⛺

Yeosang: If you’re late, we’re leaving you behind.

San: we would never 💗 but hurry tf up i want s’mores.

Wooyoung: get yall’s gigachad asses up

You laugh, and Seonghwa grins into your neck.

“Guess it’s time to pack,” you say, nose scrunching.

“After I kiss you at least ten more times,” he murmurs, already pressing soft, lazy kisses down your throat, making you giggle and squirm.

Eventually, after a chaotic half-hour of trying (and failing) to stay focused, you both throw together your backpacks—tossing in sleeping bags, clothes, snacks, extra jackets, and, of course, your beloved star map and high-powered telescope.

By the time you arrive at the meeting points the boys are already there, buzzing with excitement near the rented van and having way too much energy for how early it is.

The second they see you two hand-in-hand, sunglasses on, looking very much like you did not sleep early last night, the teasing starts immediately.

“Oh look,” Wooyoung cackles, elbowing Yunho. “The stars themselves have descended to grace us with their presence.”

Yeosang smirks. “Took you long enough. Busy being constellations?”

Mingi fake swoons dramatically into Jongho’s arms. “Love is in the air.”

Hongjoong just grins knowingly, arms crossed. “Hope you saved some energy for setting up camp, lovers .”

You flush hot all the way to your ears, ducking your head into Seonghwa’s side to hide your face. He just chuckles lowly, tugging you closer and pressing a kiss to your temple in front of everyone without a single ounce of shame.

“She’s my star,” he says simply, proud and unabashed.

There’s a beat of stunned silence—before San lets out a shriek of pure secondhand embarrassment.

“Bro what the hell!,” San yells, throwing a handful of trail mix at him.

“Get a room! WAIT NO GET A TENT,” Wooyoung howls.

You laugh so hard you can barely breathe as everyone dissolves into chaos around you. 

—

By the time the sun dips behind the mountains, you’ve made camp.

It’s messy, hilarious teamwork — Yunho struggling with the pop-up tent instructions, Jongho methodically getting the fire going like a boss, you and Seonghwa set up your shared tent quietly but efficiently, moving like a real team.

Across the clearing, a commotion breaks out.

"WHY IS THE TENT COLLAPSING ON ME?!" Wooyoung’s voice shatters the peaceful mountain air.

"BECAUSE YOU MOVED TOO MUCH, YOU FREAKING FLAILING NOODLE," San screeches back.

You and Seonghwa exchange a knowing glance and peer over. There, in a heap of tangled tent fabric, two legs kick furiously in the air.

Hongjoong, pinching the bridge of his nose, mutters darkly, "I knew we should’ve supervised them."

Meanwhile, Yeosang stands off to the side, completely unbothered, recording the chaos on his phone with a blank, documentary-worthy expression.

You lean into Seonghwa and murmur, "Survival of the fittest," your voice low enough that only he hears. He nearly doubles over, laughing silently as he tries to contain it, shoulders shaking.

Eventually, all the tents stand (miraculously) and the fire roars to life, throwing flickering gold light over tired, grinning faces. The chill of the night seeps in, crisp and clean, while above, the stars unfurl like an endless, shimmering ocean.

Wooyoung insists on playing Truth or Dare. And naturally, his first victim is Jongho.

"Truth," Jongho says confidently, unaware of the chaos he has just invited.

Wooyoung leans in, eyes glinting wickedly. "Do you sing to your plants?"

A beat of dead silence. Every head swivels to Jongho.

"...They grow better when they feel loved," Jongho says, entirely unashamed.

The camp erupts. Laughter echoes off the trees, even Seonghwa letting out a rare, loud laugh that warms the whole circle.

Hongjoong smirks and turns to you next. "Truth or Dare, Y/N?"

You roll your eyes at Wooyoung’s dramatic drumroll. “Truth.”

San groans, grabbing your shoulders and shaking you. “Y/N, you coward! A dare would've been so much more fun!” His pout deepens until Seonghwa casually slaps the back of his head from behind you..

Hongjoong’s gaze pins you in place, sharp and curious. "Would you marry Seonghwa in the future?"

Time freezes. Every pair of eyes zeroes in on you.

You feel your face heat up as you glance down, shy but smiling. “Yes.”

The reaction is instant and cataclysmic.

“PLAY THE WEDDING MARCH!” Yunho shouts, springing to his feet.

Mingi immediately starts blaring an off-key trumpet impression, stomping around like he’s in a parade.

Hongjoong, grinning wickedly, yeets a burnt marshmallow straight at Seonghwa’s head. "You lucky bastard!"

Seonghwa turns crimson, the firelight making it even more obvious, and the group bursts into a cacophony of teasing "awwws" and gagging noises.

"Okay, okay, can a girl live?" you protest, laughing. "San, since you wanted chaos so badly, you're next."

San’s eyes gleam like a mischievous gremlin. "Dare."

You smirk. "Lick the bottom of Yunho’s sock."

All hell breaks loose.

"AW HELL NAH!" Yunho screeches, jumping back from San who is devilishly biting his lips and rubbing his hands together like a fly. "Y'ALL NASTY ASSES."

The dares spiral more and more ridiculous until finally, giggling and exhausted, you all call it quits for the night. While setting up the sleeping bags in your shared tent, you hear Mingi’s outraged yell slice through the night. “Who the fuck took Y/N’s leftover chips? She saved those for me!”

But no one had taken them … so who or what–? A sound interrupts the silence. The ruffling of a chip bag, and it's from none you.

San leaps up, eyes wild. “I knew I heard something outside!” He runs to the sound and finds himself in front of a little friend. 

You find San staring down a fat ass raccoon that has zero fear and is currently chewing on your chips.

Yeosang is right behind you and whispers, “Y/N, I think that’s your spirit animal,” and you die laughing because it is literally you.

“GIVE THAT BACK, YOU STRIPED CRIMINAL!” Mingi roars, lunging forward like he’s storming a battlefield.

The raccoon doesn’t run. It stares. Unbothered. Unmoved. It judges him.

Yeosang tries to stop the poor idiot, walking towards him. “Mingi, you’re gonna get rabies.”

San puts his hand on Yeosang’s shoulder stopping him. “At least he’ll go out dramatically.” Ever the agent of chaos.

—

Morning comes soft and misty, the sky dusted with gold as you blink awake in an empty tent. Seonghwa was already gone, off helping Hongjoong prep for the group hike. You stumble out into the chill morning air. San’s hair is a disaster, sticking up like he got electrocuted, while Mingi stumbles around, eyes squinted against the sunlight. You wander toward the campfire and nearly trip at the sight.

Yunho, looking disgustingly handsome and backlit like a prince, flips pancakes with a ridiculous amount of grace. Beside him, Seonghwa arranges a fruit platter so perfectly it belongs in a five-star hotel. And somehow, he looks even more delicious than the food.

You sneak up behind him, sliding your arms around his waist. “Good morning, Hwa.”

He hums warmly, leaning back into you. “Sleep well?”

“Mhm. With you? Always.”

The nine of you eat a sleepy, happy breakfast together before getting ready for the hike. Halfway up the trail, it all goes to hell when San chases a butterfly straight into the woods and Wooyoung gets distracted by a squirrel doing, in his words, "weird ninja stuff while looking like Hongjoong"

You and Seonghwa fall behind, walking slowly, hands entwined.

“I still think you tricked me into loving you,” you say.

He glances over, amused. “How so?”

“You’re too perfect. I feel like I glitched the universe or something.”

He stops walking. “You are the glitch,” he whispers, tilting your chin up. “My favorite kind of anomaly.”

And then he kisses you so gently, so completely, that the woods go quiet — even the bugs stop bugging.

Until Hongjoong’s voice shatters it from a distance: "YOU TWO HEADASSES BETTER STOP FRENCHING AND GET BACK TO THE GROUP!"

The entire day is spent doing fun activities — skipping stones across the glittering lake, racing up mossy trails, daring each other to jump into the freezing water below the waterfall. Yunho and Mingi get into a splash war that soaks everyone within a ten-foot radius, while Jongho sits dry on a rock, pretending he doesn’t know any of you. Wooyoung and San challenge Hongjoong to a stone-skipping contest and dramatically accuse him of witchcraft when he wins. 

But then comes the time to leave. The sun dips low again, the air cooling, the shadows stretching long. Tents are packed away, ashes are buried under earth, and the clearing that had been so alive with your chaos slowly returns to stillness.

Everyone is crammed into the rental van. Bags piled high. Snacks demolished. Legs squished.

Sitting with Seonghwa and Yeosang in the way-back row, you’re drowsy from the camping high but the chaos of the van doesn't allow you to fall into slumber.

“Yo,” Wooyoung says, twirling the AUX cord. “I have the perfect song.”

Jongho squints. “I swear to god—”

The song consisted of high bass boosted beats and explicit words and moans that speak of sex.

Jongho screams at Wooyoung “BRO.”

Yunho, driving, screams the lyrics into the windshield, jamming to the song while being in charge of everyone's lives. Mingi opens a window and belts into the wind. Meanwhile, you're frozen.

He raises a brow. “Funny song. Lyrics sound familiar?”

You elbow him. “Do not make me jump out of this moving vehicle.”

“Jump and I’m jumping with you.”

Wooyoung turns around with devil eyes. “Ohhh, you’re blushingg. Confirmed post-coital energy. You freaky lil mofos.”

Jongho lunges over the seat. “I will STRANGLE YOU with your OWN AUX CORD.”

Wooyoung’s gremlin noises take over the van and Hongjoong holds himself back. The van goes over a bump, everyone screams, the song switches to ballad music mid-scream.

Two full hours of pure discord.

–

You all decide to go to their house, planning on sleeping over there anyways; you packed extra clothes.

Mingi attempts to carry all the bags inside at once like some tragic pack mule, wobbling like a cursed tower of luggage. Yeosang watches him with the slow, unblinking gaze of a man waiting for nature to take its course and sure enough, Mingi collapses under the weight with a majestic crash.

Jongho silently takes three bags — huge bags — and hauls them inside with a smirk on his face, asserting his strength.

Meanwhile, you get out of the van and steady yourself on your feet, smoothing down your hair, “We barely survived that.” you say to Seonghwa, who's grabbing your astrophotography tech from on top of Mingi.

As you stagger toward the house, you hear Mingi, still flat on the grass, shouting, "HEY, WHO'S GONNA HELP ME? UH HELLO?? ARE YOU ALL JUST GONNA LEAVE ME HERE TO DIE??"

Yeosang, without looking back, just says, "You'll be fine. Natural selection."

The front door slams open, and a yell echoes from San inside. "THE FUCKING RACCOON CAME BACK WITH US!!"

Chaos unfurls.

Screams, wild laughter, the thundering of feet. Pure, reckless joy spilling out into the neighborhood.

But this. This beautiful, absurd, ridiculous mess — is exactly how you want it. You glance over at Seonghwa through the swirl of mayhem, and he’s already looking at you, laughing. And you feel complete. You feel at peace.

In a universe full of infinite galaxies and in a timeline that could have gone a million different ways…

You found him and he found you. And somehow, across all odds, you collided. But not a crash. Not an explosion. But an orbit. Not a destructive gravity but a soft one.

One — like Seonghwa said — that makes all the stars feel closer.

And you became his favorite constellation. The one he’ll spend every lifetime tracing, loving, watching and wishing on.

Every night. Every sky. Every universe. Every time. 

----

End Note:

fix off ;)

(yes i have written poetry in binary--no it was not fun--it was an assignment)

[acheronsociety]

✶ SECRETS IN THE SUNLIGHT

in which... you offer to help remus lupin with sunscreen, only to discover the scars he’s been hiding—and the reason he can’t let himself kiss you, even when he wants to.

pairing: remus lupin x gryffindor f!reader word count: 1.6k content warning: angst ✶ fluff ✶ some cursing, marauders being marauders, the feeling of being a bit uncomfy in your skin, scars, and moony's sad poet's hours as sirius would like to call them. a/n: soft summer core vibe made especially for a dear friend of mine who's been crushing on lupin too hard... the only setback is—she crushes on angst harder !

𝑰𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒔 late June and the Black Lake had never looked more like ink and velvet soft.

The war hadn’t touched the school yet. Not really. There were whispers in corners and headlines folded under textbooks, but that day, the only thing that mattered was the sun, the stretch of freedom, and the way the air smelled like pine and mischief.

It was James’s idea, of course. Summer was here, N.E.W.T.s were done, and he was finally back with Lily after a week-long, soul-shattering breakup over that prank on Snape. She’d thrown a book at his head in the common room. Now, she was perched beside him on a blanket with her legs draped over his, her fingers tucked into the sleeve of his tee as though she still didn’t quite believe he was real.

Sirius arrived fashionably late on his ridiculous flying bike, with Cassandra Lockhart clinging to him like something out of a forbidden novel. Cassandra—Cass to everyone else, Trouble to Sirius—looked like the kind of girl mothers warned sons about. Slytherin to the bone, but smarter than any of them, and always dressed like she’d walked out of an editorial spread: black bathing suit, emerald-green silk shirt tied at the waist, and dark sunglasses perched atop her rich dark-brown hair. She barely acknowledged the others, but when Sirius helped her off the bike and whispered something at her temple, her smirk alone said everything.

And then there was Lupin.

Remus Lupin had that sort of quiet prettiness that wasn’t made to be noticed at first glance, but stuck with you. Soft eyes. Thoughtful hands. Always in linen or soft knits, like he was made of rainy Sundays and underlined poetry. He stood with his arms crossed, watching Sirius and Cass from the tree line with a half-smile, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was seeing.

You weren’t far off, lacing up your trainers again after kicking them off for a swim. Your hair was still damp, clinging to the curve of your neck. Shorts. Sports bra. Tan lines forming from all the running you’d done lately just to think clearly.

You weren’t close to Cass, but you didn’t dislike her. She was dangerous in the way girls were allowed to be when they didn’t care if people liked them. You were too busy trying to make your professors proud, juggling House Quidditch with your growing pile of books on ancient magic and magical creatures.

You should’ve been in Ravenclaw, they always told you.

But it didn’t feel like Ravenclaws would have gone along with James Potter’s mad idea to steal breakfast from the kitchens and sneak out to a hidden part of the Black Lake “for peace and quiet.”

Peace and quiet had not happened. Sirius was shirtless within minutes, jumping from a tree branch into the water and dragging Cass in after him. James was poking at a picnic basket with his wand, while Lily told him, gently but firmly, to stop turning the sandwiches into birds. Marlene was sunbathing in her combat boots and a bra, sunglasses on, flipping through Witch Weekly and rolling her eyes at literally everything.

Mary would join later.

And Peter was watching you again. That soft, puppy-eyed look he always gave you when he thought no one would notice. You didn’t mind Peter. He was sweet. Beautiful in a troubled way, his own way. But you wished—selfishly—that Remus would look at you the way Peter did.

Remus, who never stared. Who was always kind, but reserved. Like he wanted to reach out and never quite did.

You moved closer to the blanket where he sat, a half-read book on magical theory close by, and dropped down beside him without warning.

“Is that Wyrdways of Magical Creation?” you asked, bumping your knee into his.

He blinked, startled, then smiled. “Yeah. Bit dense for beach reading, I suppose.”

“You’d be surprised what I call light reading,” you teased, brushing wet strands of hair from your face.

He looked at you then—opened a door he usually locked. Your knees still touching. His eyes flicked to your legs, then back to your face. But his smile dimmed, just a little.

“You’re always running,” he said suddenly.

You tilted your head. “It’s quiet when I run.”

He nodded. “Guess I wouldn’t know.”

You hesitated. There it was again. That gap. That door closing. You could feel it, like a cold spot in the middle of the sun.

“Do you ever... sneak out with the others?” you asked, voice low. “At night?”

His posture changed. Slight. But you noticed. “What makes you ask?”

You shrugged, as casually as you could. “You four are up to something. I just know it.”

Remus gave you that tired smile again. “Would you believe me if I said it’s nothing bad?”

“I don’t think it’s bad,” you didn’t meant to pry, but curiosity had always gnawed at you. “I just think it’s secret.”

That made him pause. He reached for his water bottle instead of answering.

“I don’t like secrets,” you added, softer this time.

His hand froze. Then slowly, he set the bottle down. “Then you’d hate mine.”

Something twisted in your chest.

But before you could ask more, Sirius let out a war whoop from the water. “Oi, Moony! Get in here before Cass kills me for pushing her again!”

Remus rolled his eyes. “She won’t kill you. She’ll just destroy your self-esteem.”

Cass was already climbing back onto the rock, flipping her wet hair and giving Sirius a middle finger with a perfectly manicured hand.

You leaned in just a bit closer. “You don’t have to tell me, Remus. But I think I’d like it if you stopped pretending like I’m just another girl sitting next to you.”

He looked at you, caught off guard. His lips parted.

And then, like it hurt, he said, “You don’t know what you’re asking.”

“Then tell me.”

“I can’t,” he whispered.

You didn’t push.

You just nodded, stepped back, and let the space between you bloom wide again. Because some truths or bonds weren’t meant to be forced, no matter how much they sat in your chest like unsaid prayers.

So you turned away, back toward the sun-dappled clearing, where the lake glistened like a secret and laughter rose in waves.

James and Lily were in their own world—her head thrown back, laughing as James attempted to charm a rock into a reclining lounge chair. It half-worked, then exploded with a puff of green smoke, sending them both tumbling into the grass.

Peter hovered near the picnic, fretting over his already pinking skin. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, squinting at the sun like it had personally offended him. “This is how I die, isn’t it? Slow-roasted.”

You chuckled and stood beside him, hand already reaching for the sunscreen bottle. “Turn around, Pettigrew.”

He blinked, startled. “What?”

“You’ll be a tomato by dinner,” you said, unscrewing the cap and squeezing a generous amount into your hand.

He hesitated, then slowly turned, cheeks blooming red from something other than the sun.

As your palms smoothed over his back, Peter fidgeted and rambled nervously about a girl in Hufflepuff he might write to over break. You nodded, encouraging him, Marlene snorting from where she was sprawled, but your eyes drifted elsewhere.

Across the rocky bank, Remus sat alone now, tugging awkwardly at the sleeves of his shirt while everyone else basked bare-skinned in the sun. He looked out of place, too warm, too covered. His hair clung to the sides of his neck, and he kept scratching lightly at his elbow like his skin was crawling under the linen.

Eventually, he stood.

He wandered away from the group, toward the far side of the lake where a jagged rock jutted out into the water like a ledge. Sirius floated nearby, still swimming lazy laps, his silver rings glinting even in the water.

You saw Remus look back—once—before pulling the shirt off with a kind of hesitant resignation.

It hit you, then.

He wasn’t straying further to read. Or for the view. Or even for some quiet.

He was straying further so you wouldn’t see.

The distance masked the truth. From where you all were, you could just make out the faint lines of his frame, the curve of his shoulders, the angles of his back—but not the scars. Not the ones that lived where secrets liked to hide.

There were a few on his face, sure. A small one near his brow, a thin line along his cheekbone. Another crossing the bridge of his nose. Things boys collected in childhood. No one asked.

But you’d seen him fidget with his sleeves. Tense when people brushed against him. Stay clothed when others shed layers for the sun.

And suddenly, all of it made sense.

Still, you didn’t mean to walk over.

You didn’t plan to follow him.

But you found yourself walking toward the rock anyway, sunscreen in hand, the summer heat pressing soft and heavy across your shoulders. You told yourself it was to check in. To offer something helpful. But truthfully, you wanted to be near him. Even if he didn’t let you all the way in.

He was sitting on the ledge, long legs dangling over the water, shoulders rolled forward. Sirius was nearby, floating lazily on his back, arms spread like a crucifix made of mischief and silver cuffs.

“Mate,” Sirius was saying, “if I’d known you were going for broody lake aesthetic, I’d have brought a sketchbook. Or a cigarette. You look like a heartbroken poet.”

Remus laughed—real, soft. You saw it in his profile. He was distracted, safe. He didn’t hear you approach.

You took in his back—and the moment stilled.

Scars. Not deep. Not fresh. But many. Layered over each other like the rings of a tree. Like stories that couldn’t be told out loud. And for a second, you just stood there, rooted to the spot, like seeing them had knocked the wind out of you.

Not in horror. Not in pity.

But in the knowledge that he had carried this alone. 

Your steps were soft on the stone, but he still startled when you sat beside him.

He shifted quickly, muscles on his broad shoulders tensing, spine snapping straight. His hand twitched toward the shirt he'd dropped at his side. But you just held up the sunscreen, slow and easy.

“Thought you might want help,” you offered. “I did Peter’s back. Seemed unfair to leave you out.”

He didn’t answer.

His eyes flicked down, then toward Sirius direction, then up again—hovering somewhere between gratitude and discomfort.

Finally, he nodded. Just once.

Sirius, ever the opportunist, spotted you and grinned. “Oh, finally! This was getting agonizing.”

Remus shot him a warning look.

Sirius held up his hands in mock surrender and turned, calling back to the others. “If anyone needs me, I’m retrieving my dignity!”

He dove underwater, laughing.

And you were alone.

You uncapped the bottle, warming the lotion between your hands first. Then you touched him.

He flinched.

Not like he was in pain—like he wasn’t used to being touched without flinching.

Your hands moved slowly, deliberately. Over the shoulders first. Across the blade of his back. The lotion made his skin shine, made the pale scars glow like silver ink under the sun.

He didn’t speak.

Neither did you.

Not until he exhaled, low and rough.

“I was attacked when I was five,” his jaw tensed, like the image was still vivid in his mind.

You stilled.

“Werewolf.”

There was no dramatic pause. No big reveal. Just the words, spoken like something he had rehearsed a thousand times in his head, and still hated saying out loud.

“I turn every full moon. I lose control. I... I hurt things. Myself. Sometimes... it used to be others.”

Your hand was on his shoulder, resting there now.

“I wanted to tell you sooner,” he added. “But I didn’t want you to look at me differently. I didn’t want you to flinch.”

“I didn’t,” you whispered.

He turned then, slowly, his gaze sweeping over your face like he was searching for disbelief. For fear.

He found neither.

Only you.

And for a moment—just one—he leaned in.

Closer than before. So close your noses nearly brushed, the heat from his body pulling you in like a tide.

You felt his breath. You saw the way his eyelashes trembled. The way his fingers flexed at his sides like he didn’t know what to do with them.

And then he stopped.

Pulled back, just slightly. Enough to undo the moment.

“Peter likes you,” he said, voice so quiet it might’ve been a thought. “And I can’t... I won’t break his heart.”

You blinked.

Tried to swallow the ache that rose up so fast it made your head swim.

You could’ve told him that you didn’t choose Peter. That you’d never given Peter a reason to hope. That what you felt—this—wasn’t a crush.

But the look in Remus’s eyes was so soft. So damn gentle. Like he was trying to hold the whole world together with a single breath.

So you just nodded.

You sat back beside him, shoulder brushing his, and stared out at the lake where Sirius was now trying to coax Lily into the water with ridiculous splashes.

And you thought—this is what it means to almost have something.

And still want it.

© ACHERONSOCIETY / 2025, all rights reserved. do not steal, repost, translate and/or claim this work as your own.