#how will they look as their respective deities?

[maxescheibechlinichacheli]

[deityofhearts]

cheerleaders 🤝 equestrians (but specifically horse girls): your sport not being taken seriously by other people and being treated like a joke

[adriartts]

Something about purpose and pasts, old worlds and new ones.

(Dialogue from @dungeonsanddragonsfifthedition‘s Bird and Bear are Friends)

[gay-dorito-dust]

Types of kisses that I’d -loosely- think these boys would suit…

Dick - playful, teasing kisses that made you feel light off your feet and your stomach feel as though it was harbouring a million restless butterflies. Kisses that made you feel giddy as a child in a candy store while also making you feel as though you could sprout wing and fly into the cotton clouds above. However the taunting rapid fire pecks often finished as soon as they start, causing for frustration to rise on the odd occasion, as you were forced to hold his face still between your hands as you gifted him with a proper kiss.

Meanwhile he smiles against your lips in victory knowing how easily you’ve taken the bait he shamelessly had laid out.

Jason - tender, slow, gentle kisses where time was no longer a thing. From the tender weaving of his lips, to the languid strokes of his tongue that had you forgetting about your bodily need for air as you indulged in the fantasy of your own making, up until your were abruptly pulled back into reality as your lungs were burning for rest and recovery. Then there’s also the tenderness in how you held onto each other so closely, almost as though you were afraid to loose each other within your accumulated love and affection for one another.

Time was no longer existent the moment your lips touched, and it didn’t exist when you were taking your sweet time rediscovering each others bodies with featherlight caresses, possessive grasping of the waist to pull the other in closer and firm squeezes of strong calloused hands.

Damian - kisses that were planted on the back of your hands in appreciation and made you feel respected, honoured and above all looked upon as though you were a priceless piece of artistry that was one of a kind; Blessed with being one of a kind, forever being replicated and imitated but never perfected and worshiped as a deity in your own right with devote followers kneeling at your shrine, your beloved being the most devote of them all. He would gladly forfeit his life for yours should the occasion arise but would never tell you.

Bruce - passionate kisses that only increases the more you were made aware of the fact that any day could be your last, a reality that was no more true when living in an extremely hostile city such as Gotham, and so you show your relief in seeing him come home with little less then a few scrapes and bruises is by pushing up his cowl and kissing him with everything you had. Every kiss pressed into each others lips acted like a wordless conversation between the two of you, confessions of happiness for the others return home and the fear that festered in your mind during his absence; to his attempts of reassuring your frantic mind into a state of calm and grounding you with his skilful touch.

John- rough, fast paced kisses that finishes with both of you walking away with bruised, puffy lips and severely out of breath. His kisses alone were another to set every never within your body aflame with a multitude of emotions such as desire, lust and restlessness; all of which would pile up on top of each other the longer this continued to the point where you were pushed to the brink of utter insanity. And of course the delicious prickling sensation of his stubble against you didn’t help make things any better, and the smug bastard knew this as he chuckled at how easily you feel apart in his arms, something he’ll tease you about later, but for now he’ll allow himself to indulge in the needy pull of your hands on the collar of his shirt.

[dragon-ascent]

In which Zhongli wants you so badly, but he attempts to keep it together.

not straight-up explicit, but zhongli is very thirsty so...read at your own discretion!

The moon has long since risen, perched up there on its silky blue throne. Most people are getting ready to retire for the night, and you are no exception. You're currently sitting on the bed, freshly-showered and wearing nothing but a towel as you moisturize your arms and legs and chatter on to your husband about the long day you'd had outside.

Zhongli knows you need to rest now - which is why he's trying so hard not to let his lust for you show.

Instead, he attempts to focus on the words tumbling out of your mouth - but your voice is too sweet and your warmth too welcoming. He eyes your bare thighs peeking out innocuously from under your towel and briefly considers asking you if he could spend the next hour or so between them.

Sighing, he pours himself a tall glass of water and downs it in three seconds. How fascinating that a human like you could make a god like him crack so easily. Ever since stepping down from deity-hood, he's found feelings of desire seeping into his heart. It's okay for him to want things for himself.

But...you have had a long week, and you'll need a good night's sleep to tackle the next one. Zhongli respects you far too much to let his own wants get the better of him.

Your husband is midway through imagining entangling himself with you when he realizes your towel's coming loose - he should adjust it for you. Zhongli reaches out, and as his fingers play with the fabric, he feels the warmth radiating off your skin.

He needs more of that.

"Zhongli?"

"Hm?"

"You're tugging it off..."

Ah. So he is. "Forgive me," he murmurs, running his fingers along your skin, but making no effort to re-adjust that towel. You hum at the contact, and your deific lover turns his caresses into kisses, relishing your taste. Your sighs of content spur him on to gently lay you down, his amber gaze boring into yours.

You look up at him, lips slightly parted, perhaps a question on your tongue but not the right words to ask it. But you don't need to.

"May I?" Zhongli asks as he holds the hem of your towel, his question tinged with hope - unnecessary, really, because you nod eagerly and bring his mouth to yours in a soul-melting kiss, that damned towel discarded right away.

The night is long; long enough for Zhongli's cup of desire to be filled to the brim and overflow.

[maximumqueer]

Luffy still not realizing that he is who the Iron Giant is talking to when it is calling him Joyboy is very funny

but it also reinforces the themes surrounding Luffy and the concept of Joyboy and Nika.

Because while Luffy in gear 5 looks similar to how Joyboy has been depicted, he is not literally a reincarnation of Joyboy. He is not the second coming of a god, he is - first and foremost - Monkey D. Luffy, the man who will be King of the Pirates. And him still not acknowledging that he could (even potentially) be the "Joyboy" that the robot is referring to solidifies that.

And what is particularly impressive to me about this thematic throughline, is that it is able to coexist with the belief of characters like Bonney, Kuma, the giants etc. that Luffy is the second coming of Joyboy, of Nika. Because Luffy isn't that. We the audience know that Luffy awakened his devil fruit, and that his resemblance to the Nika and Joyboy of history is because they both had/have the same fruit. We know that Luffy is still Luffy. He has not been possessed by a god (hell, we don't even know if deities actually exist in the would of One Piece, as we have only ever seen the worshipers of them), or by the previous wielder of the fruit. Luffy is still Luffy. If anything, his awakening has amplified who he is, not changed him. And it is in this way that Luffy sort of becomes a Schrodinger's Chosen One.

Because the narrative of One Piece does not present him as a chosen one. He awakened a devil fruit, but not because that was his destiny, or because he knew of some greater prophecy surrounding it. Luffy's actions are for no one but himself and his friends (as in he is not making his decisions with the knowledge of a prophecy, whether it be to fulfil it or avoid it). He is not guided by fate, and anytime we see Luffy follow in the footsteps of another by inheriting their will, it is his own choice. Luffy chose to pursue being the next pirate king, and chose to keep Ace's promise to Tama (and the people of Wano). But certain characters within One Piece do view him as this pre-ordained return of Joyboy. And they are not treated as idiots for this, their faith in the return of their god is treated seriously, and with respect. And their faith IS rewarded, just not necessarily in the way they were expecting. They DO get Joyboy, but not as a reincarnation or a possession, but as a person who can choose to take up the mantle of Joyboy, if he so wishes. And even if he doesn't, Luffy cares enough about freedom (both for himself and others he cares for) that they will still get Joyboy, even if that isn't his name.

[leyiorr]

heian era satoru is a god among men. gifted with the looks and prowess of the deities - he alone bares the title of 'the strongest'. with the ability to distort and expand space itself, there are few who hold a candle to him, let alone foolish enough to challenge his authority.

he's gorgeous, the kind of beauty that only higher beings possess. every contour of his skin is sculpted to perfection, every line carefully painted, pale skin a testament to the star from which he was born. behind bandages that cover the upper half of his face are the jewels he called eyes. not two like the normal person, but six, proof of his inhumanity. they're an arctic shade of blue - icy and cold.

as a ruler, he is far from merciful. he does things according to his own rulebook, and anyone who steps out of line does not live to tell the tale. corpses are unable to talk, unfortunately.

his personality is of the worst kind; he's cocky, arrogant and self-indulgent. it's especially noticeable when he's in battle. he enjoys the high and thrill of bloodshed, and he encourages his enemies to fight with everything they have. toppling their pride feels better that way.

he has no need for a wife or concubines, no matter how many women throw themselves at his feet or how many are offered up by their parents. his absence at marriage meetings becomes the norm, and the most eligible bachelor quickly becomes unattainable.

he stands alone in all of his glory, pleas for wife and future heir falling on deaf ears. no matter how much the elders try to convince him he is adamant - he will not have either.

that is, until his six eyes catch sight of you.

you - aphrodite's personal creation. from the first look, satoru is hooked.

he makes a weak attempt to swallow - he's oddly parched. he isn't sure what is; be it pure, innocent curiosity or the deeper, more sinister seeds of obsession, he allows his feet to move like moth to flame.

he looks at you like he sees god, like the perpetual ticking of time has come to a halt. like he's in the presence of divinty.

you greet him like everyone else, bowing in respect and calling him by his title. 'your majesty'. it doesn't sound right on your lips, he thinks. so he requests for you to call him by his first name and you do, who are you ro refuse your ruler?

but satoru? satoru, god, satoru forgets to breathe.

he's ready to tear out his beating heart and place it in your hold already. he's sure you'd take good care of it.

the syllables that make up the name 'satoru' have never sounded more beautiful. with a voice honeyed and dipped in sugar, you introduce yourself, and your name ricochets off the bone of his skull before it buries itself in the tissue of his brain known as memory.

he has never lowered himself for anyone but if you asked he'd be on his knees in an instant.

he sets about courting you. you find roses dyed a deep royal blue on your balcony, along with a note from their sender. the finest jewelry find purchase on your dresser - probably from villages he'd massacred - and the newest silks rest against your figure (your favourite garment is eerily similar to a woman's who had badmouthed you in satoru's presence). all from him. you deserve the best, after all.

he takes note of your likes and dislikes, ever fascinated by how expressive you are. he's infatuated, but it doesn't feel half bad. instead it feels like it's what he was made to do. he's convinced that you and him were written in the stars; that the gods themselves would envy him for taking you as his own.

and you? you revel in your newfound power over the most powerful person of your era. you'd asked him once if he'd kill for you and his answer was instant. a simple yes.

perhaps your personality is as twisted as his, but it felt so good.

[infiniteglitterfall]

I do realize this is a real niche post but I cannot tell you how many damn times over the past 10 months I've seen gentiles tell Jews some version of, "Your own holy book SAYS God doesn't want you to have a country yet!"

And it's such an incredibly blatant and weirdly specific tell that they're not part of something that grew from progressive grassroots, but something based on right-wing astroturfing.

1. Staying in your own lane is a pretty huge progressive principle.

Telling people in another group that their deity said they couldn't do X is, I think, as far as you can get from your own lane.

2. It's also very clearly Not In Your Own Lane because I've never seen anyone actually be able to EITHER quote the passage they're thinking of, OR cite where it is.

It's purely, "I saw somebody else say this, and it seemed like it would make me win the debate I wasn't invited to."

3. It betrays a complete ignorance of Jewish culture and history.

Seriously? You don't know what you're referencing, its context, or even what it specifically says, but you're... coming to a community that reads and often discusses the entire Torah together each year, at weekly services... who have massive books holding generations of debate about it that it takes 7 years to read, at one page per day....

And saying, "YOUR book told you not to!"

I've been to services where we discussed just one word from the reading the whole time. The etymology. The connotations. The use of it in this passage versus in other passages.

And then there is the famous saying, "Ask two Jews, get three opinions." There is a culture of questioning and discussion and debate throughout Judaism.

You think maybe, in the decades and decades of public discussion about whether to buy land in Eretz Yisrael and move back there; whether it should keep being an individual thing, or keep shifting to intentional community projects; what the risks were; whether it should really be in Argentina or Canada or someplace instead; how this would be received by the Jews and gentiles already there, how to respect their boundaries, how to work with them before and during; and whether ending up with a fuckton of Jews in one place might not be exactly as dangerous for them as it had always been everywhere else....

You think NOBODY brought up anything scriptural? Nobody looked through the Torah, the Nevi'im, the Ketuvim, or the Talmud for any thoughts about any of this?? It took 200 years and some rando in the comments to blow everyone's minds???

4. It relies on an unspoken assumption that people can and should take very literal readings of religious texts and use them to control others.

And a sense of ownership and power over those texts, even without any accompanying knowledge about what they say.

It's kind of a supercessionist know-it-all vibe. It reads like, "I know what you should be doing. Because even if I'm not personally part of a fundamentalist branch of a related religion, the culture I'm rooted in is."

Bonus version I found when I was looking for an example. NOBODY should do this:

There are a lot of people who pull weird historical claims like "It SAYS Abraham came from Chaldea! That's Iraq!"

Like, first of all, a group is indigenous to a land if it arose as a people and culture there, before (not because of) colonization.

People aren't spontaneously spawning in groups, like "Boom! A new indigenous people just spawned!!"

People come from places. They go places. Sometimes, they gel as a new community and culture. Sometimes, they bop around for a while and eventually assimilate into another group.

Second: THE TORAH IS NOT A HISTORY TEXTBOOK OMFG.

It's an oral history, largely written centuries after the fact.

There is a TON of historical and archaeological research on when and where the Jewish culture originated, how it developed over time, etc. It's extremely well-established.

Nobody has to try to pull what they remember from Sunday school for this argument.

[sunderwight]

Thinking about a bingqiu Dreamling AU where Shen Yuan and Shang Qinghua are both bored deities, just sort of taking a brief sojourn through the mortal world to shoot the shit and see some interesting monster or other that Shen Yuan has heard about, when they come across a tea house and decide to take a break and do some people-watching instead.

Shen Yuan is well into something of a shut-in phase, which Shang Qinghua doesn't like, mostly because when Shen Yuan is in those phases he doesn't do particularly well either. Shen Yuan's a social butterfly, for however little he cares to actually acknowledge it about himself, and his critique of Shang Qinghua's literary masterpieces gets so much harsher when he's not getting enough enrichment.

So when they overhear one of the kitchen boys solemnly insisting that he is going to do everything in his power to never die, and Shen Yuan laments that the boy would probably regret such a wish if it came true, Shang Qinghua decides to bestow a rare bit of godly power onto this mortal and grant his wish.

He doesn't make him a god, of course, that wouldn't even be in his ability. At least, not without using up more time and effort than he's prepared to expend on this one random kid. But immortality on its own is not that difficult. The boy will still finish growing up, and will still be able to be harmed, to know hunger and pain and illness. It just won't ever kill him.

Shen Yuan sighs that it's a cruel thing to do to a mortal, especially one with such low odds of ever cultivating other skills to mitigate the potential torment of it all. But Shang Qinghua just shrugs and they place bets, that this boy will ask for the immortality to be revoked in a hundred years, or two hundred, or so on, or else he won't. Shen Qingqiu approaches the kitchen boy and flusters and bewilders him by telling him to meet him back here again in a hundred years time.

A hundred years later, the tea house is larger. The boy has grown to be a striking young man, who looks at Shen Yuan with wariness and something else, something almost like awe, as he asks what manner of creature he's made this bargain with. Shen Yuan assures him that he has no nefarious intentions, and instead asks Luo Binghe how the past century of his life has gone.

Horribly, at least at first. Binghe's mother had already died by the time they met, but afterwards he managed to earn enough money to travel to a nearby sect. Working in the tea house's kitchen was just a minor stopover along the way. Shen Yuan was wrong, it seems, about his odds of becoming a cultivator -- Luo Binghe earned entry as a disciple.

Yet, he had no success. The master who took him on was unaccountably cruel and mercurial, and Luo Binghe's attempts to cultivate failed. Looking back he sees now that there were many times when he should have died but didn't, but when it was all happening he just thought himself lucky. At least until an enemy sect attacked a cultivation conference, and he suffered mortal wounds that absolutely should have killed him (or anyone) but still didn't die. (No demon race or abyss in this AU, but there are still demonic and fantastical creatures.)

His cruel master, upon witnessing this, accused him of heretical practices and tried to kill him as well by flinging him off the edge of a gorge. The fall was terrible. Binghe lay at the bottom in a horrifying state, injured beyond reason and yet, still, he didn't die. Eventually his body recovered enough for him to drag himself out, and once he did the only thing on his mind was getting revenge. For the next several decades he managed to ingratiate himself to all manner of potential allies, forging alliances, accumulating blackmail, and convincing people that he had to be some powerful cultivator through his supernatural resilience, lack of visible aging, and a lot of bluffing. He got revenge on his old teacher, drove his first sect into ruin, and rose to prominence as a feared and respected leader of the cultivation world.

Shen Yuan listens with clear interest, asking plenty of questions and seemingly quite taken up with the story. At the conclusion, Luo Binghe admits that his actual cultivation is still mostly a matter of smoke and mirrors, and wonders if -- now that the hundred years have passed -- Shen Yuan means to strip his immortality from him.

Shen Yuan asks if Luo Binghe wants that. When Luo Binghe says no, he accepts the answer, and tells him to meet him back here again in another hundred years. Luo Binghe calls after him, but before he can ask anything more, Shen Yuan has disappeared again.

A hundred years later, Binghe arrives back at the tea house with an entourage befitting of an emperor. The tea house has also expanded. Luo Binghe orders a lavish feast from them, which everyone hastens to provide. He's spent the past several decades consolidating his power, forging alliances with key political players via several marriages, producing heirs, and crushing his enemies. As he brags about the state of his massive harem to Shen Yuan, the deity's eyes begin to glaze over. He doesn't seem impressed. He also doesn't seem to care much for the food, and eventually his attention is stolen away by a conversation at another table. The diners are discussing the exploits of a promising new poet and novelist. Try as he might, Luo Binghe fails to regain Shen Yuan's attention before the evening is done. Shen Yuan doesn't think it's a big deal -- after all, if Binghe is still riding on top of the world, he's probably not going to want his immortality gift revoked just yet!

Another hundred years go by. The tea house has returned to a more modest situation, the next time Shen Yuan sets foot in it. He waits an unusually long while for his guest to arrive, and when he does, he's almost stopped at the door by the tea house's servers. It's only when Shen Yuan bids them let him through that Luo Binghe is able to come to the table, almost collapsing against it and desperately falling onto the arrangement of snacks with obvious hunger.

Shen Yuan wonders if this, now, will be when the boy (no longer a boy) asks for the immortality to be revoked. Surprisingly, he finds himself resistant to the idea, even though it's also clear that the game has run too long. Maybe hundred year check-ins were too short? He doesn't like the implications of what's gone on, even if he's not really surprised about it either.

Between desperate mouthfuls of food, Luo Binghe explains that without mastering inedia, going hungry but never dying is a deeply unpleasant experience. Shen Yuan orders more food. Once Binghe has finally eaten his fill, he begins, haltingly, to explain his situation. His clothes are ragged, he is painfully thin, and his gaze is haunted.

Apparently, several of his wives conspired to assassinate him, despite his reputation as unkillable. Realizing that most poisons and such didn't kill him, but that he could still be incapacitated, they hatched a scheme to dose his food with a powerful sleeping agent, and then walled him up in a famous ancestral tomb. They went to great length to ensure that it was impossible to escape from. It took Binghe decades to do it anyway, digging away at the floors, and when he got out he found that his power base had collapsed. In-fighting and the incursion of his enemies had led to the deaths of all of his children, and what wives had survived had either fled or remarried. Not that he particularly wanted them back at that point, since the ones actually most loyal to him had also been killed early on after his own "death". His face marked him, to the eyes of his enemy, as a surviving descendant of himself. He was hunted down, chased across the continent and back again, until he managed to fall into enough obscurity that his pursuers abandoned the chase. Except that he has nothing, and any time he tries to regain something, he runs the risk of being hounded again. Those who might see some potential in him still remember the collapse of his recent "dynasty" and slam doors in his face, or else try and turn him over to those now in power in pursuit of a reward. Those who don't know that much see only a dirty beggar, and usually run him off on that basis instead.

Shen Yuan, almost hesitant, asks if Luo Binghe would like to have his immortality revoked.

Luo Binghe declines. How will he be able to take revenge on those who wronged him if he is dead? He has a hit list a mile long by now.

Which is definitely not the most noble of reasons to persist, but Shen Yuan finds himself reluctant to ask twice. Instead he orders more food, and then even reserves one of the traveler's rooms above the tea house for several days. By then the sky is turning grey, and Luo Binghe is losing his apparent battle with exhaustion. Shen Yuan presses the key into his hand, thinking it's probably not enough, but there are limits to how much gods are supposed to interfere and Shang Qinghua already stretched them to the breaking point with this entire scenario.

He leaves, not seeing the hand that reaches after him just before he is out of the door and gone.

Another hundred years pass. This time, Shen Yuan arrives to find Luo Binghe already waiting for him. He isn't surprised to see that Binghe's situation has visibly improved -- maybe he was keeping closer tabs on him, just a little bit, for this past while. If only to be sure he wouldn't have to warn the tea house workers to expect an unorthodox visitor again! But no, Binghe has been doing well enough for himself. No more harems or thrones, though. He dresses more like a well-off merchant now, deliberately posing as his own mortal descendant rather than as a great immortal cultivator. The food at the table looks far more delicious than usual too (Binghe commandeered the tea house's kitchen himself this time). As they chat, Shen Yuan is regaled with the exploits of Luo Binghe's travels and adventures, how even though he initially set out to claim revenge on those who overthrew him, by the time he was in a position to actually do so they had already died of the usual causes (time, illness, their own schemes backfiring, etc). Subsequently, only their children and grandchildren were left with the scraps of power they had obtained, and when one of those children employed Luo Binghe as a bodyguard, his initial plan to assassinate them eventually fell by the wayside. After all, the wrongdoings weren't actually theirs. From that point, Binghe was able to restore himself to a more comfortable life, joining his new employer on their travels until he had set aside enough earnings to take his leave before his youthful good-looks earned him suspicion. He then began investing in travel and trade, specifically cargo ships, because never spending too long in the same place or around the same people helped disguise his immortality. He had found that, at least for now, this served him better than playing the part of a cultivator. It also gave him time to try and actually repair his ruined cultivation base somewhat, and fighting pirates proved very diverting.

Binghe is midway through recounting his adventures with a gigantic sea monster, while Shen Yuan hangs on every word, when they're interrupted by the arrival of a brash young mistress, clearly wealthy and trained in cultivation. The young lady declares that there is a rumor that a fallen god and a demon meet in this tea house once a century, that they wield strange powers, etc etc, and she intends to interrogate them both with the assistance of her hired muscle and her own spiritual weapon, and discover the truth of the matter. Then she whips out, well, a whip!

Before Shen Yuan can deal with the matter, Luo Binghe is already on his feet, disarming the goons and breaking a few arms in the process. Shen Yuan is so distracted that he almost misses the whip aimed right for him, but before Binghe can catch the barbed weapon with his bare hand (wtf, Binghe, no) Shen Yuan deflects it with a wave of his fan, and then efficiently knocks the troublesome young lady unconscious. The hired muscle flees, Shen Yuan arranges for their assailant to be placed in a room upstairs until she regains consciousness, and he and Binghe resume their meal and conversation in relative peace.

Even though it's clear that Luo Binghe has not yet reached the end of his tolerance for life, Shen Yuan nevertheless finds himself strangely reluctant to part ways at the end of the night. Still, he does, because that's what is expected of him, gently denying Luo Binghe's suggestions that they find some other establishment to continue their conversation at. He also has to investigate these "rumors" that the young lady mentioned. It's probably nothing (Shang Qinghua has a loose tongue when he's drunk, and a lot of imaginative storytellers have frequented this tea house over the years) but he doesn't like being caught unawares like that. Heavenly politics are... complicated, it's best not to court unwanted attention in any capacity.

Another hundred years go by. This time, when they meet at the tea house, Luo Binghe asks Shen Yuan why he keeps it up. Why did he pick Binghe? What is he really after? When Shen Yuan fails to give any kind of clear answer, Luo Binghe shoots his shot and makes a (very obvious) move on him.

Shen Yuan, flustered, gets up and flees. Ignoring Luo Binghe's calls after him. It just doesn't make any sense! Why would Binghe do that?! He's a man who once had a harem of wives in the triple digits! Clearly he's not gay, so what was that all about? Was he just messing with him?! How dare he! Etc, etc.

Another century passes. Luo Binghe waits at the tea house, which has fallen onto hard times again. With the construction of some new roadways, travelers no longer pass through as often. Binghe listens, worried, to the proprietor's laments that this old place will probably not be around in another hundred years. He listens because he has no one else to speak to, because Shen Yuan has not shown up. Not that morning, not during the day, not come evening, and not now that it is closing time. Binghe nevertheless charms and bribes the proprietor to let him stay even after the place has shuttered.

It seems damning, of course. He pressed too hard and now his mysterious benefactor wants nothing more to do with him. Except, no, he refuses to accept that. He's still immortal. And he has gleaned enough of Shen Yuan's character by now that he thinks that even if he was rejected, he would be let down more clearly and gently than this. The more he thinks about it, the less willing Luo Binghe is to believe that he has been deliberately stood up (also, since the tenor of his confession was different from Hob Gadling's, he never delivered an ultimatum about what it might imply when they met up again).

Over the centuries, Luo Binghe has built up a few contacts with similarly strange and supernatural stories. Cultivators, sure, but also others, fortune tellers and people of strange ancestry, questionable abilities, those who have interacted with powerful beings of mysterious provenance. He makes his way to a certain gambling den, frequented often by such people, and while he flashes around enough money to draw curiosity, he collects information. Shen Yuan wasn't the only person who started paying more attention to the kinds of rumors surrounding the two of them after their confrontation with the young cultivator a couple centuries ago. And in fact, Luo Binghe has been spending many, many years trying to find out more about his mystery man. Though, too many potential deities and immortals fit his description for him to have ever conclusively figured much out.

This is how Binghe gets wind of a rumor that an eccentric occultist has somehow captured a god in his basement...

[taking-thyme]

The Structure of a Pagan Prayer

When appealing to a deity or making an offering, it’s wise to know how this was traditionally done in the past so you can be as respectful as possible and build a true reciprocity with the gods. This type of prayer structure is found in all manner of pagan religions from Norse paganism, Hellenic (Greek) polytheism, Kemetic (Egyptian) prayer and so on. I got the inspiration and much of the information here from @Ocean Keltoi on Youtube who is a fantastic scholar and Norse heathen who actively stands against prejudice and is all around a wonderful resource. 

Now, there are three main elements of a pagan prayer, which should be done in this order:

1. The Invocation. This is where you call upon the specific god you’re hoping to connect with. Think of it as writing the name and address on your letter to the Gods - it lets the deity know that this prayer is directed at them, which is important in a polytheistic religion with many gods. To start your invocation, address the deity directly by name, or use an epithet or kenning that they're known by. It's especially wise to choose an epithet that relates to what you're praying for, like using one of Apollo's healer epithets while addressing him in a prayer about a loved one's sickness,  for instance. It’s also a good idea to praise them highly and with a certain air of reverence. These are ancient deities after all. 

2. The Argument. Here you give your reasons for why a deity should fulfill your request and favor you. If you’ve brought offerings, cite them here. You can also include reasons for why you’re reaching out, such as love in a prayer for Aphrodite or matters of justice with the god Tyr. This is where you make your case to them. And if you’re reaching out to a deity you don’t have a working relationship with, which let’s be honest will be the case many more times than we’d like, then you can tell them this here also. A good example might be “Oh Tyr, one-handed war god and son of Odin, though we have not met before I have heard your name and been called to it…”

3. The Request. Finally you ask the gods to look kindly on your request and to grant you their blessing. Again, be as respectful and reverent as possible towards them. 

Prayer Example: “Grey-eyed Athena, daughter of thundering Zeus, if ever I have poured out sweet wine for you, look kindly on me and grant me your wisdom.”

How to stand when making the prayer

This depends on which God you’re reaching out to and, of course, your own personal comfort. The most common ways of praying are to stand and perform some gesture of reverence, kneel while praying and even prostrate, kneeling fully on the ground with your head down as you appeal to the gods. Some might also choose to wear veils when performing prayers or rituals for deities, though this is naturally up to the individual. 

In Hellenic tradition, if you’re praying to an Ouranic god (deities of the heavens) you would traditionally wear your hair up and stand with your arms raised to the heavens while reciting your prayer. Meanwhile, if you are praying to a Chthonic god (deities of the underworld), you would kneel and face downwards towards the Earth with your hair flowing freely. 

Some Norse sources tell of ancient pagans prostrating before the gods, and yet this is still not entirely necessary. Pray however you see fit and what is most comfortable for you at the moment. 

^ This is what prostrating looks like

Sources:

Ocean Keltoi's video on pagan prayers

Hearth and Fire Work's blog post on Hellenic prayer structure

[wordsmithic]

unpopular opinion but with the new tide of Greek mythology stories and retellings, Greek Cultural Sensitivity Readings are absolutely necessary. We are in 2024, with thousands of fics and retellings out there!! How is this not a thing yet?? There's vast improvement one can achieve by working professionally on their text with a Greek. I've seen it so many times!!

Also, duh, I'm offering the service BUT I want you to know that the situation with the inaccuracies of SERIOUS works is so dire that initially I didn't even do it for money. As a writer I just wanted to... fix things, to set a new standard for writers and the industry that sells us the most heavily Americanized pop-culture material and passes it as "authentic vibes of Greek mythology". (And of course there were writers who wanted to do right by their story and they had reached out to me. So kudos to them as well!)

Okay, but why does Cultural Sensitivity Reading make a vast difference and it's not just smoke and mirrors?

As a Greek, I am tired of well-meaning writers and authors butchering very basic elements of my culture. It's not their fault exactly, since they were raised in another culture with a different perspective. And nobody clued them in on how different Greek culture is from theirs, so writers sometimes assume that their culture is the default and they project that into ancient Greece. (Even published professionals like Madeline Miller have written "UK or US in antiquity" (with a very colonialist flavor) instead of writing "Ancient Greece". (Looking at you, Circe!)

Even writers who researched a lot before coming to me still had a lot of misinformation or wrong information in their text, easily verifiable by the average Greek. Again, not their fault. They can only access certain information, which does not include Greek scholarly work and scientific articles that DO offer valuable context.

Translation, accuracy, and meaning: If you ever wondered what a word means or how to pronounce it, here's your chance! There are Greeks like me who are knowledgeable and have a keen interest in antiquity and they will be able to read and compare ancient texts, and dive deeper into the work of Greek scholars regarding those texts.

If you want to create new words, you can do that as well! (It doesn't always work, but we can try. Greek is a really rich language and has a word about everything) If you use existing words, I can help you separate reality from fantasy in the context of your story.

(Do not assume we Greeks are ignorant of our heritage, or that we don't know how to research! Our archaeology sector is huge and archaeological museums are closer to most of us than your local Target is to you)

I guarantee there are things you never thought about Greece and the Mediterranean - from the ancient to the modern era. Sprinkling elements like phrases, types of interactions, customs, songs, instruments, dances, etc , into your text will make your text absolutely rich in culture.

Names matter!!! The genders of the names matter, diminutives matter (If I see one more "Perse" for Persephone I will claw my eyes out along with a few thousand Greeks), naming traditions matter!!! In many cases you should not even use a diminutive!!

You will be able to write about a foreign culture easily! Because of the continuity of Greek culture, you can even write a few more recent Greek elements to fill in the gaps. I can make sure they are not mismatched, and they will complement your ancient setting. I have observed a few things I didn't know we had since antiquity, but they make sense because our land has certain characteristics.

Non-Greek writers often miss the whole context of Greek culture! Do you know how Greek respect towards deities and parents looks like? What tones we use when we talk to our elders? When to use honorific plural - if your setting is more modernized?

Oh, and please let's avoid caricatures when describing Greeks?? (even fantasy Greeks) There can be heavy exotisation and odd descriptions of Greeks, as if we are another species. Even in published works. For many western writers it's difficult to catch, unfortunately.

The whole process is actually way easier than you think. You send me a text, I make notes and then we have some discussion on your vision.

It's always okay to seek guidance from the locals! You are not "guilty" when you admit you don't know! How can you know if you don't ask?? You can't imagine what relief and "πάλι καλά!!!" I read/see from other Greeks when I tell them another foreigner is using me for cultural sensitivity? Greeks want you to seek help and will NOT shame you for it!

(On the contrary, you have no idea how many eye-rolls Greeks do when they see a blatantly wrong thing in a story... Which has happened pretty often for many years now. Can we do better as an industry?? Please???)

You can send me a personal message to share your story, or ask what this whole cultural sensitivity thing is all about, or ask about what I have done so far and how I can help. But for the love of all that's good, don't let your story be another "generic greek myth retelling"! And don't let others sell you their generic greek myth retellings!!

[gay-dorito-dust]

Based off of something I saw on TikTok recently

Hotd characters that I think would be absolutely ecstatic in calling you his spouse(not in any particular order) :

Benjicot Blackwood:

This man is going to think it’s all a dream that you married him but once he finds comfort that it’s not and that you are in fact married, he’ll smile the biggest smile and just acts proud that you chose him out of every possible suitor.

He ain’t looking at anyone else when he’s got you babe, Willem Blackwood and Alysanne brought him up better than that and he knew better himself then to do such a thing.

He’s a simp for you and everyone in the Riverlands knows this, Oscar and Kermit tease him relentlessly for this but Benjicot doesn’t fucking care, he’ll happily let his mind wander to you and talk about you at any given moment if he were to see anything that made him think about you to anyone who could hear him.

Jacaerys Velaryon;

Devote husband who’ll gladly wait on you hand and foot without question.

He loved calling you his spouse, it fills him with joy and happiness in letting everyone know that you are bound to one another for eternity.

Anyone insults you? He’s quick to say ‘have care for what you say in front of my spouse.’ With his hands resting on the pommel of his sword, a silent threat that spoke a million words. He will not allow anyone to mess with you in any regard, as an insult on you might as well be an insult on him too and Jace won’t have that. You deserve respect and by the gods he’ll give you it tenfold.

Aeron Bracken;

He’s gonna be all chivalrous about it and such but you know he’s going to rub in the fact that he got you before a Blackwood could.

He loves that he had something over them now and it was the fact that you married him and he’s on cloud nine the entire time, he belonged to you and he’ll kneel before you often just so he could look up at you with those pretty eyes of his.

He may look like an angel in human form but you were akin to a deity he’d gladly lay his life down for if it meant getting to be the one laying in your arms each and every night. His sword was yours and he’ll cut down anyone you held a dislike towards for a while, just say the word and Aeron will seek them out for you, his beloved spouse.

Gwayne Hightower

Can and will use any opportunity to call you his spouse at any given moment of any day to the point it’s borderline annoying. Not for you and him though, for everyone else that is.

Gwayne will call you his spouse for all of those in court to hear and he’ll be smug about it too because why the fuck would he not! He’s married to the most wonderful person in all the realms; you! You can’t fault him for wanting to remind everyone that he was well and truly taken and happily so.

He says it in front of Criston Cole the most for the reactions that he gets, Criston wore his emotions clear as day on his face that it was obvious to know how he was feeling, so Gwayne abuses this fact to the high heavens.

He loves showing you off because he knows he had gotten extremely lucky in life when you came along.

[roomsofangel]

pairing god of death!seonghwa x fem!reader | established relationship

genre honestly just crack.. nothing serious, just some good fun and giggles :p

word count 2.3k

synopsis since dating the god of death, you never had a dull moment when he decided to stay back and live his life as a mortal (with the exceptions here and there, he cannot help it after all. he is who he is) — whether it be helping him work the washing machine, explaining that ‘lit’ doesn’t actually mean anything caught on fire, or simply also trying to help seven other deities work their way into blending in. today’s quest? the air fryer.

mini wooyoung + san cameo :p !

a/n hi my loves! long time no see </3 i do genuinely apologize for my lack of updates, i have been overwhelmed with a lot since my last post! with ateez concert prep, moving, and my grandmothers eye surgery so things have been quite hectic! i’ve had some work be deleted by mistake so i have been rewriting a lot :( however!! i had some time and an idea.. so i decided to whip up this short work for you all as an apology! (and reminder that i’m still here:p)

decided to try out something new (or at least new to my blog) third person pov is my more stronger point than second person and it felt fitting for this in particular, so i decided to try it out here! so let me know what you think! (and who knows i might end up turning this into a mini series of things like this.. perhaps also with the other boys??)

seonghwa stood in front of the air fryer, eyeing the device with a mixture of confusion and frustration. with a sigh, he approached y/n, who was diligently working on her laptop. “yn, darling," seonghwa called out, a hint of annoyance in his voice. "how do you operate this confounded thing?"

y/n glanced up at seonghwa and couldn’t help but smile at his perplexed expression. she set aside her laptop and made her way over to him. “my love,” she began with a soft laugh, studying the air fryer before them. “what is giving you trouble this time?”

seonghwa gestured towards the air fryer, a hint of irritation and embarrassment on his face. "this contraption," he said, a slight pout in his voice. "i’ve been trying to figure out how to use it, but it's more bewildering than a newborn god's first thunderstorm."

y/n chuckled, her eyes darting between seonghwa and the air fryer. she couldn't help but find his struggle with modern appliances endearing. “let me guess," she teased, a twinkle in her eyes, "you’ve decided to take up cooking, and this little demon is giving you grief?"

seonghwa grumbled, crossing his arms across his chest. "i merely wanted to cook a simple meal for us, my sweet," he said, his irritation giving way to a hint of embarrassment. "but this device is more stubborn than a mortal refusing their fate." he tapped the side of the air fryer with a touch of disdain, as if it were more than just an appliance. "it has no respect for a god, i tell you."

y/n couldn’t help but chuckle again, a mixture of amusement and affection in her tone. "well, my dear lord of death, i think it's safe to say appliances don't care about your godly status." she sidled closer to him, looking at the air fryer with a smirk. "but don't worry, i shall attempt to guide you through this fearsome battle."

seonghwa let out a huff, but his expression softened as y/n approached further. he secretly relished her banter, even if it did jab at his ego. “your guidance would be greatly appreciated, my darling,” he said, a hint of mock formality in his voice. “please help me tame this infernal contraption before it becomes the cause of my first minor divine tantrum.”

y/n couldn't help but giggle at seonghwa’s formal tone. she loved it when he tried to maintain his air of divinity, even in mundane situations. "of course, my fearless deity," she replied, playing along. "let’s begin by turning the dial to the temperature you desire."

she pointed to the temperature control knob on the air fryer. "this little knob here is your first step to claiming victory over this beastly appliance."

seonghwa watched intently, his irritation melting away as he listened to her instructions. he took the knob and twirled it cautiously, setting the temperature to the desired level. "and now?" he asked, his voice laced with a hint of child-like excitement.

"okay, great!," y/n chimed in, clearly enjoying the moment. "now, we select the cooking function. It should be labeled as 'air fry,' 'bake,' or 'roast.' since you want to cook us a meal, 'air fry' is the one you're looking for." she pointed to the selection dial next to the temperature knob. "this knob here will help you choose the cooking function. go ahead and give it a little turn."

seonghwa's eyes followed her finger as it indicated the selection dial. he gave it a careful twist, a sense of accomplishment slowly building in his chest. "ah, i see," he murmured, his voice laced with determination. "so far, so good. what’s the next step, my beautiful guide?"

y/n smiled, noticing the hint of pride in seonghwa's eyes. "you’re doing great, hwa," she reassured him. "now that we have the temperature set and the function selected, we need to place the food inside."

she gestured towards the basket inside the air fryer. "this part," she explained, "is where you put whatever it is you want to cook. it could be chicken, fish, fries, anything really. you just need to arrange it in a single layer here, not too crowded."

seonghwa examined the air fryer's basket with a mix of contemplation and concentration. "ah, so it's like a cooking chariot," he said, "i must arrange my offering within its depths, like placing souls in my domain."

y/n chuckled at the analogy, "exactly," she affirmed

with a nod, seonghwa began to place a few frozen french fries into the basket, his movements surprisingly methodical. "like this?" he asked, glancing at y/n for reassurance, and perhaps a bit of praise.

"you’re doing great. just make sure they're not too close to each other. they need some space to cook nice and crispy." she smiled, secretly enjoying the sight of the god of death arranging frozen french fries with careful precision. "once you've got all your food in there, we can move on to the final step."

seonghwa nodded, placing down the last few french fries, ensuring they weren't too close to one another. a sense of accomplishment washed over him as he completed the task. "very well," he said, his voice tinged with triumph. "i’ve arranged the offering within the cooking chariot. what’s the final step in this culinary quest?"

y/n couldn't help but grin, "the final step," she began, trying not to laugh, "involves closing the lid and setting the timer for the desired cooking time." she pointed to the lid of the air fryer, gesturing for him to lower it. "just gently place the lid back on top of the air fryer, and we're almost there."

seonghwa carefully placed the lid on the air fryer, his hands treating it with a respectful touch. "like this?" he asked, double-checking that he had completed the task to her satisfaction.

“yes, just like that," she confirmed, nodding in approval. "you’re catching on faster than i expected, my love."

he then turned his attention to the timer dial, a sense of accomplishment swelling within him. "and what about the timing? how long must i wait before these french fries offer themselves to me as a delicious sacrifice?"

she glanced at the timer dial and then back at him, chuckling quietly. "for these french fries, a few minutes should suffice," she replied. "let’s start with... eight minutes and adjust from there if needed. just give that timer dial a gentle turn to set the desired time."

seonghwa obediently gave the timer dial a few rotations, setting it to eight minutes. he stood back, admiring his handiwork with a mix of pride and curiosity. "there, i’ve set the timer for our sacrificial fries," he declared, his voice filled with authority. "what now, my wise advisor? do we sit and wait for the air fryer to perform its magic?"

y/n laughed at seoonghwa's use of the term ‘sacrificial fries.’ "that’s right, my love," she replied. "now, we wait for the air fryer to work its magic and transform those ordinary frozen fries into a crispy, scrumptious snack." she leaned against the counter, watching him with a fond smile.

seonghwa nodded, his eyes transfixed on the air fryer. "i see," he said, his voice filled with anticipation. "so, we simply wait and allow the air friar to carry out its process of transformation. it’s fascinating how mortals rely on these contraptions for their meals."

he moved closer to y/n, wrapping an arm around her waist. "and what shall we do while we wait, my sweet guide?"

y/n relaxed into seonghwa’s embrace, enjoying the feeling of his arm around her. however, before she could respond to his question, they were interrupted by the unexpected knock on the window. they both swung their gazes towards the source of the disturbance.

y/n chuckled, recognizing who it was, and excused herself from seonghwa's embrace to head towards the window. "sounds like wooyoung," she muttered with a knowing smile.

as y/n approached the window, she found wooyoung standing outside, a perplexed expression on his face. "you locked the window, you dolt," wooyoung called out, an amused grin playing on his lips. "now let me in."

y/n laughed softly, shaking her head at wooyoung's impatient tone. "hold on, you impatient fool," she called back, her tone light and teasing. "i’m opening the window." she undid the latch and pulled the window open, allowing wooyoung to enter.

wooyoung casually stepped inside, his eyes flickering from y/n to seonghwa and back. he quickly assessed the situation and smirked. "ah, i see our dark and broody friend is struggling with modern appliances again," he said, his tone laced with playful mockery.

seonghwa frowned, his irritation flaring at wooyoung's teasing remark. "watch your tongue, lover boy," he warned, his eyes narrowing. "i’ll have you know i’m simply learning the ways of modern cooking."

wooyoung chuckled, his smirk widening. "ah, yes, the mighty god of death struggling with an air fryer," he teased, thoroughly amused by the situation. "must be quite a humbling experience for you."

seonghwa's jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin. "humbling indeed," he muttered, his voice laced with annoyance. "but i assure you, i will master this contraption in no time."

y/n interjected, trying to diffuse the situation between the two gods. "alright, enough you two," she said, her tone light but firm. "wooyoung, stop teasing dear seonghwa, and hwa, stop taking everything he says so seriously."

seonghwa grumbled, still clearly annoyed, but he settled down, his irritation slightly eased by y/n’s intervention. wooyoung, on the other hand, chuckled, apparently enjoying the banter. "oh come on, yn," he protested, a mischievous grin on his face. "i’m just having a bit of fun. it’s rare to see the broody one so frazzled."

y/n rolled her eyes, but a hint of a smile played on her lips. "yes, yes, we're all amused by seonghwa's culinary struggles," she agreed, glancing at seonghwa lovingly.

seonghwa, still disgruntled but slightly calmer, shot wooyoung a glare, silently warning him not to push his buttons further.

wooyoung chuckled again, his eyes darting between y/n and seoonghwa, clearly enjoying the tension. "oh, come on, hwa," he said, using seonghwa's nickname casually. "lighten up a little. it’s not like i’m challenging your divine status on the battlefield."

seonghwa’s eyes narrowed, a hint of irritation in his gaze. "no you're just mocking my struggle to understand a simple mortal contraption," he retorted, his voice still gruff. "and stop calling me hwa. only yn gets to call me that."

wooyoung feigned innocence, raising his hands in mock surrender. "ah, my apologies, oh great lord of death," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm. "but you have to admit, it's quite entertaining to see you in this domestic setting, trying to figure out how an air fryer works."

seonghwa’s jaw clenched, his patience wearing thin under wooyoung's relentless teasing. "i fail to see the humor in this," he said curtly. "and for your information, i’m only familiar with weapons and tactics, not kitchen gadgets. but i assure you, i will master this air fryer before you can say 'i love you' in greek."

wooyoung burst into laughter, thoroughly enjoying seeonghwa's response. "oh, you're a riot, hwa," he chuckled, wiping a tear from his eye. "and good luck with that. i can say 'i love you' in greek quicker than you can figure out how to change the temperature on that air fryer."

y/n tried to maintain her composure, but a laugh escaped her lips at wooyoung’s retort. "oh, honestly, you two," she said, shaking her head amusedly. "i swear sometimes you're like children."

she stepped closer to seonghwa, placing a comforting hand on his arm. "darling, don't let him get to you. you’re doing fine."

seonghwa huffed, his irritation slowly subsiding in her presence. "i know," he mumbled, his voice softer now. "it’s just... he knows how to push my buttons." he glanced at wooyoung, who was still smirking, seemingly enjoying their banter. seonghwa rolled his eyes but a hint of a smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

wooyoung, seeing seonghwa's slight smile, chuckled. "oh come on, hwa, you know you love our banter," he teased, leaning against the wall. "admit it, it adds some variety to your brooding existence."

seonghwa's smile widened slightly, but he feigned indifference. "i assure you, i do not enjoy your childish antics," he replied, his tone lacking its usual grouchy tone. "but i suppose you have a point. it’s always amusing to see how far you're willing to push my patience."

wooyoung grinned, pleased that he was slowly breaking through seonghwa's tough exterior. "ah, you see, hwa," he said, a smug expression on his face. "you’re actually starting to enjoy our little banter. soon enough, you'll be begging me to stay and keep you company."

as wooyoung finished speaking, they all heard a sound from the kitchen, as if something had been knocked over. y/n turned her attention to the kitchen, a frown on her face. "what on earth was that?" she said, already on her way to investigate the source of the sound.

when they entered the kitchen, they found san sitting on the counter, with a mouthful of fries. surprisingly, he looked guilty, like a child caught with his hand in the cookie jar. but the source of the sound was obvious: a bottle of ketchup that had been knocked over, leaving a growing red pool on the floor.

san’s eyes widened as he noticed them, his cheeks still puffed with fries. he quickly swallowed the food before speaking, his voice laced with guilt. "uh, hey," he said, offering a sheepish smile.

y/n crossed her arms, a mix of surprise and irritation in her gaze. "you left the back door unlocked again?" she asked, mainly towards seonghwa, shaking her head. "san, how many times do i have to tell you?"

san shrugged, unabashedly continuing to munch on his fries. "i was hungry," he said simply. "and the door looked inviting."

[pretzel-box]

Hello, I’m here now. I just wanted to say I like ur works, I think As Above So Below is my favorite series of yours so far.

And also, I wanted to make a request, cuz it was just my birthday and fuck it why not-

So like. Sebastian with an axolotl experiment reader (fem or gn), cuz Urbanshade was like “You know what would be dope? Regeneration powers” and because of all the injuries reader received, because they were big or very frequent, their body couldn’t keep up and so they are smol

(with a hint of possessive/yandere/whatever-the-fuck, maybe?)

may the tumblr deities guide this ask, that it may not be eated by the ask box, thank you for putting up with my annoying, okay bye :3

-🍪

Tags: Slight comedy, reader and wall dweller eat each other?

Words: 1k

Authors note: Happy Late Birthday! I'm sorry for the wait. I combined the ask with another one!

It was a challenge in itself to keep a close eye on you. At least, that’s what Sebastian thought as he glanced at you from the corner of his shop. He leaned against the wall, trying to focus on the file in his lower hand while his other two arms were crossed.

Earlier, you had quietly assured him that you could handle stocking the shelves and organizing the inventory on your own, despite your slightly smaller stature. You had carried heavy boxes from the back without a complaint, determined to prove you were capable.

Sebastian was surprised every time he saw you in action. Your odd regeneration skills were both a blessing and a strange curiosity he had witnessed more times than he cared to count. If it weren’t for your ability to regrow limbs, your most defining trait would be your absolute innocence. You had no sense of self-defense, no instinct to attack. The only time you’d ever react was to bite—though that was just to check if something was food.

Sebastian couldn’t help but admire your resilience, despite everything Urbanshade had put you through. But it also worried him. The world wasn’t kind to creatures like you, and without him there, it was hard to imagine how long you’d last in an actual fight.

His eyes flicked back to you as you struggled with one of the heavier boxes. For a moment, he considered stepping in, but he stopped himself. You were stubborn in your own quiet way, always wanting to prove you could handle things on your own.

Still, the smallness of your form tugged at his protective instincts. He pushed away from the wall, tossing the file onto the counter as he slithered over.

“Here, let me help,” he said, reaching out to lift the box effortlessly with his upper arms. You looked up at him, blinking in mild surprise, but didn’t protest.

“I was doing fine,” you murmured, though your voice lacked any real defiance.

Sebastian smirked. “Sure you were. But there’s no harm in having an extra set of hands—especially when I’ve got three of them.”

You gave a small smile, a soft warmth in your eyes as you watched him set the box onto the shelf. He noticed how you seemed content to let him help, not because you couldn’t handle it, but because you trusted him. That trust was something fragile, something he wasn’t sure he deserved, but he wouldn’t break it.

As you moved to the next box, Sebastian’s mind wandered. He had seen your abilities save you countless times, but each time you regenerated, it chipped away at you. Urbanshade’s relentless experiments had drained your body, and every injury, every regrowth, took more of a toll. He knew you weren’t as strong as you used to be—your small frame was proof of that.

He glanced over at you, your eyes focused on your task. "You know," he started, his tone softer than usual, "you don’t always have to push yourself so hard. I’m here. You don’t have to do everything alone."

You paused, looking up at him again, your wide eyes reflecting a quiet understanding. “I know. But… it’s important to feel useful. To do something.”

Sebastian nodded, respecting your determination. He couldn’t imagine what it was like—to feel so fragile, yet still want to help. His grip tightened on the box he was holding.

“Well, just remember, you don’t have to prove anything to me. You’ve already done more than enough.”

For a moment, there was silence between the two of you, broken only by the soft thud of boxes being set on the shelves. But in that quiet, an unspoken understanding passed between you. You didn’t need to say it, and neither did he—Sebastian would protect you, no matter how much you wanted to prove yourself.

As the last box was finally stacked, Sebastian stood back, arms folded, watching you with a faint smile. “See? Not so bad with a little help, huh?”

You looked at him, offering a rare grin. “Maybe not.”

Just as you finished stacking the last box, a faint noise echoed from the far corner of the shop. Sebastian’s eyes narrowed, his body instinctively shifting into a defensive stance.

“You hear that?” he muttered, his voice low.

You nodded, your wide eyes darting in the direction of the sound. Before either of you could react, something small and fast darted out from behind a shelf—a wall dweller, skittering across the floor in its typical, chaotic manner. Its pale skin and spindly limbs flashed in the dim light, catching both you and Sebastian off guard.

The wall dweller moved first, throwing itself on you and biting into your arm like a piece of cheese.

Before Sebastian could move to intercept it, your instincts kicked in. Without thinking, you lunged at the creature, mouth open and teeth bared. In one swift motion, you chomped down on the wall dweller’s arm as well—not to attack, but because it was your way of testing if things were food.

Sebastian’s eyes widened in shock. "Hey, wait—"

The wall dweller let out a startled yelp, wriggling in your grasp, while you blinked in confusion, still holding onto its arm with your sharp little teeth. The creature’s skin tasted strange, and you quickly realized it was, in fact, actually edible.

You immediately released it, stepping back with an apologetic look as the wall dweller scampered away, rubbing its arm and glaring at you. Sebastian couldn’t help but burst into laughter, the tension breaking as he watched the scene unfold.

“Well… that’s one way to defend yourself,” he said, shaking his head in amusement. “Not sure biting’s going to work in every situation, though. But it healed your arm.”

You stood there, blinking up at him, embarrassed but still unsure what else you could’ve done, then you glanced down on your healed limb. “It… wasn’t food,” you murmured quietly.

Sebastian snorted, wiping a tear from his eye. “Yeah, I figured. But maybe next time, let me handle the wall dwellers, alright?”

You nodded, your cheeks warming slightly. Though your instincts had failed this time, Sebastian didn’t seem mad—just amused, and maybe a little impressed.

The wall dweller, still grumbling under its breath, disappeared into a vent, but Sebastian was already back to his usual self, arms crossed and that familiar smirk playing on his lips.

“Nice try, though,” he teased. “At least you gave it something to chew on too.”

[trashogram]

He Chose You (Pt. 2)

Lucifer/Reader

Rated E for the smex coming next chapter I SWEAR. ((Also there will not be any non-con in this fic, so please don’t worry. You’ll see when you read.))

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4 | Part 5 | Part 6 | Part 7 | Part 8 | Part 9 | Part 10 | Part 11 | Part 12 | Part 13 | Part 13.5 | Part 14 | End

Tag Requests: @loslox, @for-hearthand-home, @navierkalani

‘The worst thing they could be are swingers.’

Your heart was racing, and you felt ridiculous for how uppity you felt at the prospect of having dinner with your two elderly neighbors. 

Normally, meeting new people would cause a healthy amount of anxiety in you. You’d grown up into a recluse and upholding social niceties took most of your energy. It was even worse to be in their home, and among people that you likely did not have much in common with. 

These were personal reassurances that you told yourself after denying the first invitation for dinner with the Farrows. The guilt you felt, paired with the subsequent relief of not having to spend more than five minutes with your chatty neighbor, stirred an uncomfortable feeling in the pit of your stomach. 

Of course you’d been unable to stop thinking about what a wretch you were, how karma was going to bite you on the ass for denying an old couple some company. 

And oh Karma did come back to bite you. Hard. 

You felt like you were hanging by a thread at work. Three weeks into the job and you’d already been reprimanded. Even the memory of your supervisor looking down her nose at you from the other side of her desk made your eyes water. 

“We have a ‘three strikes’ policy here. I’m afraid this will count as your first.”

Never having been fired from a job notwithstanding, you felt like the idiot your parents always purported you to be. 

If you’d have just stayed in your hometown, living off your parents’ good graces and kept your head down, instead of prancing out the door as if you had self-respect and no need for a safety net… 

Maybe things wouldn’t be so dire. 

Maybe you wouldn’t be on the verge of having a panic attack at this very moment, feeling the anxiety and restlessness from declining the previous invitation tenfold. 

With a deep breath in and out, you crossed the hall with the hesitance of a mouse approaching a snap-trap. You knocked on the door to Unit 606 with a shaking hand.

There was a moment left to blanch at the realization that you hadn’t brought anything with you. Like the shittiest, most thoughtless guest ever.

——

“You made it!” Mrs. Farrow held her arms out dramatically. “Come in! Come in! You’re right on time! Oh and you look lovely dear!”

“Thanks.” You felt heat rise to your cheeks as the door closed behind you. 

The layout of the apartment was a mirror image to yours, but you were overwhelmed by just how much stuff had taken up the space. From the kitchen to the living room, the apartment was brimming with kaleidoscopic color. Antique statuettes of unknown deities, handcrafted vases and sculptures in-set with gems and gold filigree, expertly framed posters of old Hollywood, and Persian rugs beneath well-worn furniture were visible from just a cursory glance. 

It distracted you from the unusually bitter, earthy smell that assaulted you upon entering. 

“Wow,” You said in genuine awe. “Your home is lovely.” 

“Aw, you’re too kind sweetheart. Too kind. Here, let me take your shawl - we’ll hang it up on the rack here, see.” She took your cardigan and placed it on an old hat stand before steering you out to the living room by the back of your shoulders.

There was a man sitting in a leather armchair adjacent to the couch. He was wearing a tweed jacket and his silver-blond hair had been combed back finely to show a pale, wrinkled face and eyes so dark they shone almost black in the lowlight. 

He looked at you with interest once you’d finally caught onto his presence, and opened his mouth to speak.

‘Quack!’ 

“Lou!” You laughed as the duck came racing over on its little legs. 

Without delay, the bird climbed onto your flats with an impatient flap of its wings, trying to balance while looking up at you adoringly. 

You couldn’t help but reach down and pat his little head, murmuring ‘hellos’ and ‘how you doing buddy?’ softly and sweetly. 

The man opposite you both smirked. “My wife was right. He’s quite taken with you.” 

“I’m always right!” Mrs. Farrow called out from the kitchen. 

You looked to the kitchen and back to, presumably, Mr. Farrow, an uncertain smile on your lips. 

“Welcome to our home.” The elder man’s voice was almost hypnotically deep. His hand was outstretched and waiting. “Please excuse me for not greeting you properly. When you get to be as old as I am, your body does everything it can to make you stay put in one place.” 

You shook your head. “Oh no, please don’t worry about it! I understand.” 

Mr. Farrow’s smirk seemed to soften as you spoke. 

“Please make yourself comfortable, my dear.” When he gestured to the couch, you awkwardly shuffled to sit down. Lou was right on your heels, loathe to spend even a second without your warmth. 

The duck ended up snuggled on your lap after begging to be lifted as you sank into the plush sofa. And you were grateful, hugging Lou to you gently as if he were a plush toy. 

It helped take your mind away from that spine-tingling feeling when it made a comeback — the way Mr. Farrow’s eyes glittered when he looked at you and his duck. 

‘Oh god, they probably are swingers. And they lure in their targets with this crazy well-trained duck.’ You thought, punching yourself in the face mentally. ‘And you fell for it. Walked right into their den of debauchery. You stupid bitch.’ 

“Here’s some water, honey. We’ll save the stronger stuff for dinner.” You jumped in your seat when Mrs. Farrow appeared at your side, setting a glass of ice water down on the end table beside you. 

You reached for the glass as its contents sloshed over the edge. “Thank you so much, Mrs. Farrow.” 

Mrs. Farrow beamed. 

“What did I tell ya, Warren? Isn’t she lovely? Just a peach. Lou is smitten.” She patted your shoulder. “And it’s Cassie, honey. Call me Cass.”

“You were right, Cass.” Warren Farrow intoned. 

He took on a conspiratorial tone as he addressed you once more. “You must know, my wife hasn’t stopped talking about you since you met the other day. I wondered if she was preparing us for a new roommate.” 

Heat flooded your face for the second time. “Aw.”

“Oh poo, as if you wouldn’a done the same.” Mrs. Farrow sniffed derisively. “Dinner in 5 minutes!”

Her exit left room for you to start a conversation, but you couldn’t find it in you to say anything. Mr. Farrow kept staring, smiling, which made you stroke Lou’s feathers for comfort that much more. 

The silence lasted a little while, save for the clinking, crackling, thudding from the kitchen dining room. Aside from catering to Lou, you surveyed your surroundings in an effort to avoid bouncing your legs.

The Farrows didn’t have a TV, only a large fireplace that they’d positioned their furniture around. There were displays on either side of the grate. On one stood an oversized chalice with intricate, swirling patterns. The other had a statuette of a goat-headed figure sitting crisscrossed on a throne, one arm poised to reach out to the sky.

“Baphomet.” 

You turned from the sight, head swiveling to face your human companion. He was eying you keenly again. 

“O-oh, the statue is…?”

Warren nodded. “Baphomet. Conceived as a false god around the time of the crusades. Most people see him as a depiction of Satan these days.” 

The association wasn’t too far-fetched, you figured with another look at the figure. Its goat-head and large horns were the most eye-catching thing about it. 

“I apologize if the sight upsets you, dear. I hadn’t thought to remove it before your arrival.” 

“Oh no, please. It’s alright.” You said. “It doesn’t bother me. It’s very interesting.” 

The rumbling hum at your side seemed to signal approval, or maybe general geniality with your neutral response. “Are you religious by chance?”

You turned to Warren again. 

“Ah, no.” You replied apologetically. “I grew up in a Christian area, but I was never very involved with the church.” 

Warren nodded. “That’s just as well. The institution and its practices can be stifling. I was never very involved with it myself.” 

“Religious artifacts have always been fascinating to me, however. There’s no shortage of temples and synagogues in this world.” 

“Have you been to many? For the history?” You were genuinely curious. 

The old man nodded again, stately and dignified even as he puffed up in his armchair like a peacock. “Cass and I are seasoned travelers. We’ve been to all 7 continents at least twice, seen the wonders of the world from the Hindu shrines in Malaysia to St. Basil’s Cathedral. I have a particular fondness for those countries surrounding the Mediterranean Sea. I was able to convince Cassie another trip to Rome wouldn’t put us in the poor house last year.” 

Your little huff of laughter was sincere, though the idea of traveling to Rome - or anyplace outside of the familiar - sounded amazing. “I’d love to be able to do that.” 

Warren’s head tilted to one side. “You’re quite young, I’m sure you’ll get the chance if you haven’t already.” 

“Sure.” You scoffed before immediately falling into contrition. “I’m sorry, that was rude of me —”

“Dinner time!”

Mrs. Farrow hollered from the kitchen, stopping you from trying to come up with a suitable excuse for yourself. 

Luckily, Mr. Farrow chuckled good-naturedly. He rose from his chair stiffly, legs visibly straining. “No need to apologize, my dear. But we best get going before the Missus comes out and drags us by our ears.”

——

All things considered, the dinner was perfectly fine. 

The jitters never left your frame, but you had chalked that up to a simple byproduct of your skittish nature. The red wine that Cass had insisted upon you made you feel warm and solid, at least. 

As did the fact that Cassie Farrow could hold entire conversations all on her own with very little effort or input from yourself. 

“You got a boyfriend, honey? Or girlfriend? No shame in that at all. We may be old but by no means bigoted. We’ve been all over the place, seen so many things - what’s natural to you and me could be the furthest from, in certain places. Isn’t that right, Warren?”

“Men in Ancient Greece often had relationships with other men.” Warren replied. “Royals in Europe had extramarital affairs with different sexes. It was all about keeping the bloodline pure, but romance was a different thing altogether.” 

“I haven’t dated in a while, actually.” You said. “It’s not been a priority.” 

Cassie nodded, exuberant as she drank from her wine glass. “That’s good too! Plenty of independent women these days! It’s about time, I say.” 

‘Quack quack’

Lou was beside you, red eyes locked in as he gazed upon you at the dining table. It made you giggle.

“Mm!” Cassie had a spastic moment. “I almost forgot!” 

The chair lurched out from under the old woman as she rose and scuttled out of the room. It left you blinking, and out of the corner of your eye you saw that same smirk on Warren’s face before his wife had returned. 

She had a small wicker basket in her arms. 

“This is for you, honey. Housewarming present from your kooky neighbors across the hall.” 

As she drew nearer, you caught a glimpse of the contents, some of which shone beneath the light of the overhead chandelier. 

“Thank you! You really didn’t have to.” The basket was pressed into your arms and Cassie was back in her seat before you’d finished your sentence. 

“Nonsense. It’s the least we could do. I still can’t believe no one welcomed you for a whole week!” 

The basket was lined with shredded filler, and nestled in between were little gemstones and crystals.

“There’s jade and ruby in there, and I believe there’s moonstone as well.” Mr. Farrow recalled. “Is that it, Cass?”

“Yes, yes, and carnelian too. It’s all scattered about there, with the Scrabble and the socks and the hand cream and oh!” Mrs. Farrow laughed. “Forgive us honey, we saw that little rubber duck and just had to get it for you.” 

There was a little rubber duck. It was a novelty type, with a tiny red jacket and a tiny black top hat. 

“It’s a carnival barker. No, it’s something like that. It’s on the tip of my tongue.” Your nose scrunched in thought. “Oh, a circus ringmaster!” 

“Exactly! See, what’d I tell you, Warren? She loves it!” 

“I believe I was the one who suggested it.” His voice carried through the otherwise silent dining room. 

“Oh well maybe it was, so what. She likes it. Don’t you, honey?”

“Yes, but…” You felt funny again. Tingly. “This is too much. Really. You’re both so kind but I can’t accept this.” 

A hand laid gently on your shoulder and you looked up at a frowning Warren Farrow. “It’s no trouble at all, my dear.” 

“The cost must’ve —”

“No cost, really. Gemstones and crystals are quite popular these days. You can find them all over. And the little trinkets are just the same. Given to you in good faith of course.” He patted your shoulder gently. 

You swallowed, eyes once again roving over the little mundane treasures. Silken feathers brushed against your ankle under the table and you met those red eyes, sparkling like the crystals in your basket. 

Lou was such a funny little thing. So expressive, he looked as if he were waiting as he stared at you. 

So funny. 

… You felt funny. 

Perhaps the anxiety from before was doubling back, just like that prickling sensation. It was less of a tingle and more a shiver or chill as you sat there. 

“I think it’s about time for dessert, don’t you?” Mrs. Farrow was saying somewhere far away. “You like chocolate, sweetheart? I made mousse, all fancy-like. It’s not as fancy as the kind you get at that restaurant downtown, the Ivy, but they’ve got fancy ingredients and such…” 

Reaching up to wipe the sheen of sweat from your forehead, you felt heat coming off from between your temples. With a shaky breath, you slumped down in your seat. 

The basket was gone. 

Your chair was scraping against the wooden floor as it was pulled out from the table. 

“Are you feeling alright, my dear?”

Wrinkled hands swept the hair from your face as your eyes rolled in their sockets. Words couldn’t get past the cotton-dry feeling in your throat. 

“It’s the wine, the wine. Said she’s not much of a drinker, it has to be the wine.” 

Cass’s voice was dampened and thick, like it was trapped underwater. 

Or perhaps you were trapped. Your head was spinning, limbs heavy as if you were a puppet sans strings. You had to be picked up from under your arms like a toddler and pulled upright. 

The next second you were walking through your neighbors’ kitchen, the door held open for you. 

“Maybe we oughta call a doctor? Honey, can you hear me?”

“I… yes. I can hear you.” It felt like an Olympic feat, but you spoke clearly. “I’m so sorry, I don’t know what’s happening.”

You stumbled against the wall and strong arms caught you when your knees buckled. It was Mr. Farrow allowing you to lean on him, solid as a rock. 

“Cass is right, you had quite a bit of wine.” He said. Another pat to your shoulder.

Did you? You could’ve sworn it was just a glass. 

Your apartment was barren and blank, the smell of laundry comforting against the memory of that earthy incense smell. 

“Get some rest, honey. We’re right across the hall.” 

“Thank you.” You breathed, lying on your sofa bed. “Again, I’m very sorry. Thank you for the welcome.” 

“Oh no, thank you.” 

——

When you opened your eyes next, you were shrouded in darkness. The outline of your entertainment system was in front of you, and the kitchen at your right. 

It was raining outside; little raindrops smattering against the glass. The sound was normal, no longer muffled until you were straining to hear it. 

‘Well that’s good.’ 

The heavy feeling in your arms was still present. 

‘That’s not so good.’

You felt perfectly sane and hysterical at the same time. It was like being caught in the eye of a storm. The danger had abated momentarily, but would begin again shortly. 

Your door opened, and in your peripheral you saw a shadow cut across the wall as a new figure emerged from the hall. 

You squinted in the dark. ‘Lou?’ 

The duck’s silhouette stilled as if you’d spoken aloud. You could feel something shift in the air, tension breaking through to your mind when it could not seize your body. 

That shift grew stronger, sucking in the air around it until a dazzling flash and crack of light blinded you. 

Lou’s shadow was gone. Or… it had changed. The shadow on the wall wasn’t a duck anymore it was… 

Your blood ran cold as the man stepped into your apartment and let the door close behind him. 

“Hello there!”

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

The Traveler captures the essence of Destiny’s humanistic and existential message with touching inspiration.

I’m coming out to say that the Traveler is my favorite character in Destiny by FAR and has been for years. I promise I’ll make a full thought dump on Cayde’s decision, but I just want to quickly talk about the absolute beauty of the narrative surrounding the Traveler that I have cried numerous rivers over. The Traveler’s philosophy and essence has touched my spirit so intimately, I cannot thank Destiny enough for blessing us with that beautiful white orb.

The Traveler is the most endearing thing ever to be conceived of to me because the idea of a creator who believes it should serve its creations in the best way it knows how is so refreshing. We as humans are so used to stories to about gods who we must respect because they contributed to the universe we live in; gods who believe they have jurisdiction over all and expect us to follow their word for they are wiser than any mortal. Free will is a heavy burden to bear and, as a result of humans wishing to alleviate the anxiety that comes with the knowledge that you must be responsible for all your directionless choices and the potential pain that comes with them, we create stories about deities who understand the things we don’t and will guide us in a universe that provides no instructions on how to live properly.

The Traveler is so respectable and inspiring because though it can bend the laws of physics with its paracasual abilities and was responsible for the birth of the universe, it doesn’t view itself as any higher than the life forms it fostered. Its devotion to free will and the love it has for all is heart throbbing, especially when sticking to its ideology is detrimental to its safety and well being. It’s so hopeful and believes in the good of sentient life, even if shown how awful beings can be. It has wishes and beliefs, but it will never impose them on anyone because it believes the universe is ours rather than the universe being entitled to it.

The Traveler could have been god and gave that up so we could have complexity and free will; so that we wouldn’t have a destiny. It is so mindful of people’s inclination to look beyond themselves for purpose in order to make their suffering more sensible and it chooses to not speak so that we may never hinder our ability to define our lives to be what we truly desire it to be. That choice, the choice to not be god because you believe so deeply in people’s self efficacy that you don’t see a god to be necessary, is one I hold dear to me.

Destiny is not a game about gods, it’s about powerful people who either realize that their powers do not mean they can enforce their will on others, leading them to enjoy the complex experience of being a living being, or become pseudo gods, meeting their end to godslayers who refuse to let anyone determine their fate. The Traveler is powerful and loving for it could have chosen servitude from all , but it chose to be of service instead, even if it would get hatred in return from those who did not understand the power it was granting them. It’s love is unconditional and it would suffer untold eons for anyone, even if the affection wasn’t returned.

Destiny asks the question “What do you do when you can’t force the universe to care about you?”

What do you do when the logic is sharp, the Winnower cuts away at the excess of reality, and you cry out prayers to get no response in turn?

It answers it with “Who cares if the universe thinks we matter or not, we decide if we matter and we can care for each other when the Winnower refuses to”.

I’ll forever thank the Traveler for allowing us to not only find that answer, but experience it with mouthfuls of the sweetness freedom bleeds when you breach the deterring sight of possibility.

Traveler, I love you more than you could understand and when I think there is no hope in my life, I think of you standing strong in the sky after eons of fear and torment and I get the courage to stand strong against the the tides of causality.

The universe may be unmoved by whether we suffer or not, but there will always be beings who will help us understand that this isn’t a problem to be solved, but a truth to embrace and free ourselves with.

Beings like the Traveler, who never understood why we looked up at it when we could have looked down at our own hands. We may want god, but what we really need is ourselves and each other. This is something we will struggle against for a long time, but the Traveler knows we will get there eventually.

It has patience and hope beyond infinity, traits I will forever think of when humanity stumbles over existential questions time and time again.