#like you know how every religion has practices that make you feel closer to a higher power or the profound/sacred

[moonyinpisces]

i want all meta writers and/or people with s3 predictions to please. pretty please. write the fic. otherwise SO MUCH is being lost in translation in your explanations and your 15k theories with screenshots and sources in a format that would rival my grad school essays. like have you heard “shakespeare must be performed not read”? that’s the exact same principle with s3 predictions. all the academic writing and web weaving posts in the world won’t accurately depict what you’re seeing in your head, it HAS to be experienced in practice both on the writing end and the reading end. JUST WRITE THE FIC!

[cinnamonest]

Something recently has me thinking about medium-fantasy settings (you know the type, blatantly dark-ages-euro-esque aesthetics, vague touches of fantasy and such), with of course the obligatory “village raided by foreign invaders” scenes practically inherent to the genre�� how they always take trophies and spoils away, one way or another, and thinking about being one of said poor little war trophies…

You're just some little peasant wife in your tiny little village, that you've never even left in all your life. You were born there and you'll die there just like everyone else, you think, and any world beyond it might as well not exist.

You're only vaguely aware that there are other people in the world — every now and then, traders and travelers come through, sometimes people who look very different from you and wear very different clothes, even speak with a sort of different inflection to their voices. Sometimes you talk to them, listen to them talk about far-off places and people. Their tales and their goods and their very existence as outsiders is the only evidence of a world beyond the village you have.

One day, those traders and travelers start talking about some other group of far-away people. Merely invoking the name puts an unpleasant expression on their faces.

There are bad things that happen in the world. There are whole groups of people, populations beyond your ability to conceive, and sometimes the people of one population fight ones from another, over land or religion or greed or any number of things. This is called a war, and one of those, to your understanding, is taking place in the present, far away — or perhaps not so far after all, as anything beyond your range of sight might as well be another world — between people who are no more real to you than the figures in folk tales.

The other people, the not-your-people people, the bad guys in this particular war — they have to be bad, you think, they're not your people, and everyone else seems to think that that makes them bad, so they must be — are particularly strong. There's just too many of them, those travelers say, and they have better weapons and training and everything else, apparently. Moreover, they talk about them like they're some sort of monstrosities — some say they're so big and strong because they descended from gods or angels, others say their people are the product of humans breeding with monsters, and other such absurdities that you don't know any better than to believe must be true.

The more time goes on, the voices of townspeople and travelers alike begin to talk about the other people with an increasing tone of fear, more tense. The places you hear them talk of as having been attacked and destroyed are towns you’ve heard the names of spoken more frequently over the years, towns closer to your little home than the ones destroyed the month before.

They're going to take over the whole nation, people say — while you weren't aware your village even belonged to a “nation” to speak of — and a place like yours, well, they wouldn't bother subjugating the people for taxing or labor like they do big towns.

If they come here, they'll just take what they want and raze the rest to the ground…

The thought is scary, sure, but it doesn't really faze you. It feels like a fantasy, some story that you know will never actually happen. That's something that happens in other places, not here, not home, the roads and houses you know as if ingrained into your mind and heart. The idea of such a thing just has this inherent feeling of impossibility, the state of the place you know of as peaceful and quiet, immutably so.

But that day ends up coming sooner than later.

You're not actually there when it starts — having gone off to tend to something in the field, as has been your responsibility in your community each and every morning for as long as you can remember — only when you come stumbling back and see smoke in the near distance, do you drop your things and start running.

It's happened before, you think. A few years ago, someone's home caught fire and burned down. You helped put it out then, you can help now, too.

It's not until you come running right up to the little cluster of homes, bare feet pattering on the ground as you just start to think the fire is exceptionally big, that you turn your head and see bodies on the ground. See people running. Hear yelling.

Frozen stiff in panic, you can only stand still as you turn a corner and the picture comes together — there's people you don't recognize, standing over bodies and pools of blood. They look very different from you and any of your people, even down to the structure and shape of their faces. Identical clothes with crests you've never seen imprinted on them.

Everything is big. These people are bigger than yours, standing at least a few heads above the tallest people you've ever known. The horses are bigger than any you've ever seen. They hold big, shiny weapons splattered in blood, a far cry from the sharpened rocks you have for tools.

Most are too preoccupied with the mirth of the slaughter to even notice you. It's not until you see one — you feel as if your stomach inverts on itself as you see a man dragged across the ground and skewered, the weapon running straight through his body — that everything fully registers. You reach up and cover your mouth with your hands, trembling legs staggering backwards. Your eyes follow the trail, up the long weapon and the arm holding it until you can make out just the side of the face of the murderer, shadowed by the sheer brightness of such a massive fire, just in time to see him pull the sword out and plunge it back in a second time, hear the poor victim — you think you recognize his mutilated body, even in the shadow of the fire, such-and-such that lived a few houses away — gag and sputter and flail, again as the sword is pulled out and plunged in a third time, and he finally goes still.

The killer reaches up to wipe the blood off the side of his face with the back of his hand, but in doing so, turns his head just enough that you're in his peripheral vision — and then, his eyes widen and his whole head turns, eyes directly connected to yours. Only a few moments of stillness and pause pass, each of you staring at the other, before the instincts kick in. Yours — inherently aware of how much weaker you are — are, of course, not to stand your ground, but to run.

And you — poor dumb little thing, who has never known anything but the same routine and small little world every single day of your insignificant life, has never had to put any thought into much of anything, has never known what true fear and panic is before this very moment — have no better idea than to run right back to your home amidst the fires and chaos — thankfully the flames haven’t yet reached it — dive underneath your bed and cower. It occurs to you that you don’t know where your own husband is… but even if he were here, you don’t think he could offer you any protection from these monsters. The worst of possibilities is among the first to hit you, and you retch at the very thought, trying to perish the thought from your mind.

You have no other ideas — no other options, at this point — than to squeeze your eyes shut when footsteps hit the floor, boards creaking as they draw closer and closer, making a direct line for where you're very obviously curled up, heart beating out of your chest. You can only squeal and whimper when a hand grabs at your clothes and drags you out from under the bed, the other hand then grasping at your hair, roughly pulling you up to your feet.

You squeal and flail and kick. You keep your eyes closed, not able to bear even the thought of laying eyes on the long piece of metal that you're certain will run you through any second now.

But that doesn't happen. For a moment, he just holds you in place as you thrash and squirm. He says something — a voice so deep and rumbling that it makes your blood run cold — but it's not words, at least not to you, strings of sounds that have no meaning to you beyond the vague memory of once being told that other people in the world don't talk the same as you and your people.

You grunt and squeal when you're instead thrown up and over his shoulder, which harshly rams into your stomach, making you gag. Your eyes open, bewildered and afraid. You kick your feet and squirm with all your might, but a few harsh-sounding words and a smack to your thigh make you go stiff and still with fear.

It's like your weight is nothing, with how easily you're slung around and carried back out. As you hang over his back, coughing from the smoke, you're forced to see the little village street lined with unmoving bodies, some so familiar it hurts, a deep pain in your chest. Your eyes increasingly burn from the smoke, and even though you try to look for your own spouse and in-laws and neighbors, your vision blurs too much to tell.

You feel like you're going to fall, thus forced to cling onto your captor. You whimper as your fingers dig into his clothes, you hear other voices drawing closer as you make your way to the edge of the village — rapidly becoming nothing more than charred, smoldering wood and bodies and blood as the fire reaches its peak — where the others seem to be reconvening. The violence, you realize, has died down, as there is nothing left to kill, and all the things worth taking have been rounded up, and now they're going to leave. Leave the place that is, to you, the only place that truly exists, and go into the void of that which is unknown and unreal.

You say a few prayers in your mind to the guardian gods that were supposed to protect your people — even if they failed, it’s all you can think to do as you’re dragged onto some animal, pulled up and held pressed against his chest, and start moving, the tear-blurred sight of the mass of flames fully consuming the only world you've ever known, growing more and more distant with every second.

[secretariatess]

So this has been on my mind.

Jesus died for us when He didn't have to. I know many Christians acknowledge and embrace this truth.

He gave up His right. His right to talk away. His right to authority through the whole process. His right to life- something He had more than any of us.

And then we're called to be like Him.

To give up our own rights.

Including our right to be offended.

In this case, I'm specifically talking of Christian symbolism being used by nonChristians.

I know there are likely many more, but two that have come across my dash are the issues of the cross and the rainbow.

Firstly, the cross. Someone wearing the cross should not be an indication to us that someone is Christian. It should not. Yes, Christians will wear it because of its significance to them, but that is not what makes them Christian. It is their belief and surrender to God that makes them Christian, marked by their actions, their fruit. If you look at a cross on someone's neck and consider them first Christian that then has to be disproven, are you not judging on outward appearances? Is that what we are called as Christians to do? Did Jesus, did Paul say that- were we given no other indication? Show me the passage that says a person who wears the cross is a Christian.

And if that isn't your go-to assumption, why are you offended that it is on the neck of the unbeliever? Who gave you that right to be offended? For I find the answer to that is the culture of the world. It is the world that decided that people got to be offended that others outside of a religion would engage in its practices and symbolism. The world decided that. Not the Bible. Not Jesus. The world. What is it to you that someone chooses to wear the cross without professing faith? Are you like members of other religions, or are you a Christian? There are people sitting in the pews of your church pretending to be Christians- shouldn't that be a bigger concern? The unbeliever wearing the cross- shouldn't your concern be that they don't know Jesus? Who has time to be offended or disgruntled about the cross having secular purposes in a secular world?

Someone who has no faith does not diminish the cross for us. It can in fact be an opening point to what we were called to do; that is, to make Christlike disciples.

Secondly, the rainbow. Now, do I like what it's come to represent? Absolutely not. But they are not Christians. They are going to behave as nonChristians.

We do not need to "reclaim the rainbow." The rainbow already belongs to God. They can do what they like, but they can never steal the rainbow from God. The promise attached to it will always remain.

And if our focus is on the "reclaiming the rainbow", do you think that will bring us closer to reaching those, the people, who wave and wear the rainbow flag? Or will it just alienate us? I am not calling for acceptance of sinful acts. But most of them already know how the church at large feels about this- to the point where it has become a point of antagonizing for the church. They know it bugs us, and they throw it in our faces (generalizing "they"). Will "reclaiming the rainbow" stop them? No. It will just make the divide bigger, the gap we have to reach across wider. Because we will have put our focus on the wrong thing. We were not called to reclaim the rainbow. We were called to make Christlike disciples.

The Bible has already told us that we are going to be looked down on by the world. It has already told us that we're going to be hated, mocked, and disrespected.

Why, then, are we looking to demand their respect? Why call for them to back off from our religious symbols when we already know that the world is not going to like or respect us? They aren't going to treat us with the same respect as other religions, or culture. And we shouldn't expect them to, or demand that they do.

That's not our calling.

"It is our right-"

Jesus had every right to turn from the cross. But He put it aside to save the world.

The only ones who gave you the right to be offended and demand others to respect your religious symbols are those of the world.

If Jesus can set aside His right -a much bigger right- to live for our sakes, can we not set aside our "right" to be offended at the world to focus on the mission Jesus set before us?

[restingsword]

I’m curious to know: do you follow your worship by a text of some kind? Obviously religion is not bound by a text in every case, but i’m curious about how your beliefs and practices are structured: are they from what we know of practices in the worship of the gods at its peak in ancient history, or is it a personal structure that you form based on your personal relationship with the deity(ies) you worship?

If this is inappropriate, forgive me. I’m just genuinely curious as i’ve always liked and found connection with the stories of the hellenic deities, and find their modern worship really interesting. Feel free to ignore this question if it’s too personal or you’ve already answered it!

hi! this is a fine question don’t worry. i have found that every person is different when it comes to religious faith, so what i do is probably completely different from the next. i don’t find there to be one text that has everything i worship, i primarily use Homeric Hymns, Orphic Hymns, and a few mythological texts for my main sources of information on the pantheon. I also have a bunch of miscellaneous academic text and articles that I have saved on my google drive (slowly trying to make those physical papers though). i am very fond of all the arts and aim to have more poetry and theatre in my practice as well. my practices is sort of “inspired by antiquity, but adapted to modern times” and i’d love to do more to be closer to antiquity. as of right now, i do morning prayers, occasional offerings, smoke and water libations, “talk with” the Gods (i speak and hope they listen), and a lot of researching. i also give them thanks before i do activities in their honor (such as saying “Hestia and the Gods first and last” before a meal, or thanking Ares for the confidence and strength to exercise at the gym) i practice divination in a very modern way (pendulum and cards) but i have been told by a deity to start using more forms of divination. when i do rituals and magic i try to keep it closer to antiquity such as my clay creation of my tooth to Asclepius when asking for help in healing. so there’s definitely imo a mixture of historical and personal. I’m not sure how many folks in the peak of helpol would have chosen to sit down and say “Demeter, I watch this video in honor of and with you” but i do that, which is very modern!

i also say if you feel inclined, give a prayer and offering and see how you feel and if your day is changed at all! i’ve been worshipping for about 10 years now and i still get that little spark of joy when i pray (if i’m not half asleep doing it.. morning prayers)

[lesewut]

'Nature speaks in its own tongue.'

From the book series Secret Sciences - A collection of older and newer writings on alchemy, magic, Kabbalah, Rosicrucianism, Freemasonry, witches and devils Published by A . v. Linden in 1918 after the  Amstadam original edition of 1700.  16th volume:  Seraphinic  Flower-Garden,  selections from the mystical-religious writings of Jakob Böhme.

'Magia is the Book of all students.'

Mysticism should not only be interpreted as a significant phenomenon of intellectual and religious history, but as the awakening of the religious feeling concerning nature. Perhaps certain symbolic interpretations have receded into the background of our rationally calculated world, since everything that cannot be empirically proven is dismissed as a phantasm. But if the human being separates himself from his collective deep consciousness, he lacks a decisive possibility to (re-)connect with deep collective consciousness. Mysticism has the aim to deepen the soul for religion and art, a poignant love unparalleled in the world/s of appearances. Dwelling in a cosmic strive for connecting with God and the Divine Energy, without the profanity of manifestation in images, but in a astonishing cognitive emotionality. Through the art of inner liturgy it can be possible to trace the ontological search for the human’s home. The eternal questions, like fixed stars above the head of the dust born, have been no less relevant since the first question, and yet have not come closer to the truth, which is always in progress and false, when decorated as stored and captured. And don't we notice with every achievement how our collected knowledge is revised in the cosmic expanses? That we are almost forced to think outside the box and to regard regularity in chaos as an illusion? The cosmic rift is not only dividing humanity from the cosmos, it divided man from himself and thus also human beings from each other. In the centre of revelation, which is common in all mystic practices: learning and learning to know the self, in order to understand more.

’Be sober, watch, fast and pray that you may deafen earthly reason and make it dead at once, that God's Spirit may take place in you! When he appears, he soon overcomes earthly reason and looks at the will in fear with its love and sweetness, since then always a beautiful twig is born out of the tree of faith, and serves all tribulations and temptations for the very best of the children of God.’

'Man comes to know the Creator in contemplation of himself.'

[good-beanswrites]

*Knocks on door* heard we could ask for director's commentary on our punishments...would like to know what you were thinking for the Es Quest Bad End in more detail....

Haha, sure 😂 It's all under the cut, my rambly thoughts in pink!

You open your eyes. 

I'm a sucker for the repetitive loop starts, I had to open with something recognizable :) Writing in second person present tense was a really new and fun project for me, haha. Also, not that this took a long time to draw, but it gave me a new appreciation for you adding a drawing to pretty much every update omg >:0

The temple looks the same as it always has. The thought usually comes as a relief – after a particularly difficult hero, the return to routine is a blessing. Seeing everything back in its place always fills you with a sense of peace. God once explained that all of existence is a circle. Something about eternity and cycles and perfection. You didn’t quite understand, but you enthusiastically told Him that you did. You didn’t want to appear as a clueless child. And anyway, you grew to love the loops. 

My attempt of channeling autistic coded Amane... both seeking the familiar/routine no matter the cost, and trying to act more knowledgeable to avoid the shame of not understanding :( Both in canon and in esquest I'm so emotional about how Amane finds comfort in things that normally are healthy -- religion, community, family, rules -- but they aren't healthy in her case. I tried to paint the loops/eternity as something good here, planning on flipping it around by the end.

(Also, I went with the catholic practice of capitalizing He/Him for God -- I know Amane isn't catholic but I liked the effect)

But not now. 

This time, your head whips around, looking for something that should be here. Well, it shouldn’t be here, but you expected it to be.

You pace the chamber’s echoing floor, but there’s no sign of it. Did you really expect it to be here? Did you really get your hopes high? You should not have been so naive. The hat isn’t here. How could you have been so stupid?

Ah, the painful divide of being hopeful, but trying to convince yourself you were never hopeful in the first place, or that it was wrong to be, so that the disappointment stings less :(

“What are you looking for?”

You nearly startle at the voice. God stands behind you. He does not sound pleased. 

“N-nothing!”

The word come out in a panic. Then, as you’re struck with the realization that you just lied to God, your eyes drop to the ground. “I mean… it’s nothing of importance.”

She's just a kid!!! Kids lie on instinct when they panic!!! (I mean, adults lie on instinct when they're panicked too...) I wasn't sure how rebellious you view her in the story, but I felt like she loved/feared God enough to immediately try and correct her mistake without necessarily admitting to it. A smooth cover up so that she doesn't feel guilty but also doesn't get in trouble. I feel like she'd be toeing this line a lot...

He steps closer, and you shy away from His suspicion. 

Despite the glare He shoots up at you, God’s voice is even. “Are you sure?”

Once again, I'm sure how omnipotent he is in your version, but I pictured him knowing absolutely everything. He knows how high she had her hopes. He knows what she's hiding from him now. But he's playing it cool and making her come out and say it.

“Y-yes. I thought… last time there was…” You take a moment to collect your thoughts. God pauses as you do so. He is always patient with you. He loves you, after all. You inhale. “The last hero tried to change things, but they did not. I knew they couldn’t,” you lie, “so I was just seeing the proof.”

“Yes, they failed. There is nothing to look for here.”

“Of course.”

I debated on having Amane actually witness Es defeated, had proof of some kind. I decided that leaving it up to God's word made it hurt more -- readers (myself included) would still have hope that maybe is Es really is coming back, and God is just saying that to keep her complacent. The unknown makes it even more painful to watch Amane give up that hope and turn her back on the possibility.

God leaves you, then. The temple drops into silence. He is right. There is nothing to look for. You aren’t quite sure what emotion you’re left with. Your chest feels as empty as the chamber around you.

The next hero, however, finds out exactly what you were feeling. They take one step into your cell, and you tear them apart. 

I was trying to keep these are drabbles but honestly there could have been a whole fic focused on this in-between time: how long did it take before the next hero came? What did Amane do when God told her she'd have to do it all again? I wanted to make her Big Choice having to do with accepting punishments, but I could have easily made this the Big Final Choice. What was it like, walking down to her cell and locking herself up, after everything? Is the new hero painful because they remind her of Es, they are nothing like Es, or she doesn't even give them a chance to find out?

It all happens in a moment. It shouldn’t be them walking through the door. You scream, accusing the flailing hero of things they never could have done. You cry, accusing yourself of things you never should have done. You let your claws tear however they please. 

Looking at the mess before you, you feel like the monster everyone feared you were. 

You don’t really care. 

Brief moment of showing just how much pain she's in but still can't process her emotions so she lashes out in violence, but also.... one (1) moment of catharsis as a treat. Go Girl Fuck Em Up! Also giving the audience a brief taste of hope that she's accepting herself and realizing how powerful she is (hinting towards her using that power to stand up for herself) only to drop it immediately after ;-; sorry ;-;

That is, until God appears once more. He looks on the scene with disgust. It’s the type of face the villagers would flash your way before turning away to whisper something. It’s the look you saw from your parents, a silent warning about what was about to follow. You knew this situation was no different. 

You were monstrous, and you would be punished as one. 

“This type of behavior is not why I chose you.” God says. “I chose you to be special.”

This was the closest I could get to the sting of "I'm not mad, just disappointed." I think if God was openly angry or cruel Amane would challenge him much easier, but she's so busy caring if she made people proud, if she didn't disappoint them, if she was good enough for them, that those things hurt the most to hear.

“I understand.” 

“Come with me.” 

This was right. This was just.

Once again a little catholicism while knowing Amane is her own religion -- there's a prayer at the beginning of mass where you chant "It is right and just [to give thanks to God]" It sounds pretty normal on its own, plus I might get to jumpscare people with it lol

Your feet remain stuck. Es...

No. You do need to do this.

For most of my planning process, I was set on using a little photoshop so that the final, desperate ask would come from you, actually! But I was really committed to the emotional pacing of the ending, and nothing takes someone out of the rhythm like "I would not fucking say that" 😅 The same thing stopped me from asking some of the typical commenters to send stuff in (plus I didn't want to implicate them in my crime 😅)

It was really fun considering ways that a fourth-wall voice may influence my story, but I knew the most emotional route was just some simple pleading right at the end. I wasn't sure it it would still hit as hard with the second person pov -- would it really feel like Amane was turning her back on You if you were already immersed as Amane? But I tried anyway asdfsdf

These voices, they were wrong last time. Only one person had proved undoubtedly correct this whole time, and you should have listened to Him from the beginning. 

There is a reason everything is circular. The loops make sense. Routine means perfection. Change never brings anything except pain. This time, you will be good. You will be good enough. 

By this time, I wanted the cycles to suddenly feel suffocating to the reader, and reminding them of the many, many more loops Amane will be trapped in after this ends. And I'm still breaking my own heart with how she values "being good" over being treated decently...

You follow God.

Your chin is held high. You need no saving form heroes, or voices, or anyone. You’re right where you’re supposed to be. You’re special. You may not be perfect, but that is why you must endure these lessons. God must love you so much, since he is willing to teach them again and again. How patient he must be.

She is special, and is strong, and not just a weak child who relies on others to save her, but!!! In this case she does need saving!! She needs people looking out for her and protecting her!! That's not a shameful thing to admit! Even putting God's manipulative love aside, I feel like her insistence in canon to never be treated like a child just shows that she can't accept needing any help whatsoever -- to do so is the exact same as admitting she's weak/a failure/etc.

He turns his face away, in time to miss one last tear that slips down your cheek. You hear the smile in his voice. 

“There’s a good girl.”

Just. Reminding everyone. And hurting myself. About how Amane will literally sacrifice herself physical and mental safety just to hear that said about her. Ah.

[another-corpo-rat]

sharpen your knife

not me considering Victoria in a polycule and then the dear @halsin tossing a very gorgeous lady right in her lap im they're terrible together 💕💕

Victoria Crane/Eve Warnings for mild mention of torture Summary: A snake and a doll sniff out a problem and decide how to deal with him.

.

No one is unreadable. A little fact that people tended to forget, or considered a truth for everyone else but them – Eve found those ones the most exciting to break. Smashing their polished masks against her knee and watching the shards cut them as they scramble to keep it on.

Even Victoria Crane with her careful expressions and practiced manner had a tell. A soft click of her tongue flicked against the roof of her mouth. Eve had found the sound worrying, pressed her fingers into a warm cheek and asked if the woman needed to see a ripperdoc or a medtech – whichever was better. Whichever was finer. Because such a repetitive sound usually signalled necessary maintenance. 

She knows better now. It’s less like a grind with a roll of the wrist or a pop in the knee, Victoria’s click is more – more a warning. Like a rattlesnake but quiet, unheard to a human’s ear. 

Not to Eve’s though. She’s beyond them and Victoria has the habit of demanding her attention with the subtlest motions. So she hears that soft tut and looks to see the sharpening of golden eyes, feeling her own thrill rise. 

Victoria’s violence is different, much different than hers and Adam’s; an insidious flow of insults off a barbed tongue, coated in a soft rasp that makes the horrid words pleasant to listen to. Different and bloodless, yet entrancing all the same. Eve has little care for religion or faith, but if Victoria were the preacher she’d settle quickly to her knees and listen aptly. 

She doesn’t kneel now, but hooks her arm through her lover’s and presses closer into her side. Following those sharp eyes to their prey. 

A man is holding onto another's arm much the same way she is Victoria’s, but loose in both grip and attention – his eyes are wandering the room, sharp in some quality that Eve finds quite irksome. 

“Do you know who he is, my dear?” 

It takes Eve all of a second to know: “I do not.” There is nothing in the databases Victoria has shared with her, a usually expansive thing quick to connect a scanned face to a name and every dirty little detail the netrunner has hoarded about them. 

There is nothing there. 

Victoria hums, amused but there’s an edge to it. A sharp point aiming squarely at the man across the room. “He’s a nobody.” She hisses, venom finally curling around her tongue and dousing the words. 

That pricks at Eve’s annoyance even more. A nobody in this room is a dangerous thing, an unknown that cannot be trusted. Her hold on Victoria tightens just a fraction more, still cautious of her strength even with the woman’s chrome as her eyes pin him, scanning for cyberware, for weaponry. There is something under the skin of his forearm, a thin panelling that leaves too many options. 

His eyes, in their near constant scan of the room, finally land on them. And he barely regards Eve, glancing her over like many have done before to sneer instead at Victoria, lips lifting just enough for the motion to be read before he returns his attention to the circle surrounding him. 

Victoria’s lips twitch and her fingers intertwine with Eve’s as she leans in, her breath warm as it brushes her temple. “How should we bury him?” 

And just like that it won’t be Victoria’s brand of violence tonight. No, it will be Eve’s in its precise flaying of skin, peeling back layers with the knife-point of her nails and her audio receptors muted to any appeal to a humanity she doesn’t have. 

“We will not,” she offers, biting back a grin that is more bared teeth than anything proper. Victoria regards her with a raised eyebrow. “There will be nothing to bury.”

[bewitchingbaker]

5. What sort of religion was practiced in their home? Did religion play a role in their upbringing?

Chris grew up in a interfaith home. His father was baptist and his mom was raised on Wicca practices. They make it work because neither wants to supress the other and doesn't mind showing both their religions to their kids. His father honestly didn't follow alot of the church practices due to some issues with the church but he goes for the community aspect.

Later, Chris gravitated more so toward his mother's religion to feel closer to her side of the fam. But he feels more comfortable in it as opposed tot he church.

"Tell me young God," Robert began, eyes staring down the 7 year old before him. "What is today's mathematics?"

A much much much younger Chris stared at his uncle confused, hands holding a Storm action figure. Mathematics? Like the stuff at school? Chris had no concept of math outside of his worksheets and how mom and dad spent money for things they needed. His head tils as he ponders over his uncle's question.

His uncle's eyes stared daggers at him, body leaning towards him to anticipate his answer. Robert always disapproved of the way Chris was being brought up, often calling him soft and quiet. In his own words 'A young Black man needs to toughen up. Quit playing with those dolls'. In his mind, some of the Five Percenter's lessons could toughen him up.

An eternal moment passed.

"...2 + 2," Chris finally answered, that silly giggle escaping his lips. Robert rolled his eyes, already irritated at his lack of understanding. Not helped by his own son's laugh at the young Luna's answer. The older man leans forward, finger in his chest.

"No God," Robert stated. "What's the first letter of your name? Cee. Cee is to understand. We couldn’t truly see the trick that was planted in our path because we had a mattress thrown over our eyes. But we were bor-"

Before he could finish his lesson to the young man, his brother and Chris's father, Kennth, stepped in.

"Oh Robert don't start with that mathematics shit," he frowned as he picked up Chris, "You know the boy is hardly thinking about any of that!"

Robert frowned earning a deepened scowl form his brother.

"You only got into that shit cause them broke down bums who preach in front of the mall every day! I give it a few more months until you're out of it." Kenneth said, "Your tv is fixed and you know I'm always around."

Even when angry, Kenneth was always going to help out his family. It was honestly quite easy to see where the baker got it from. With that, they exchanged a nod as Chris left with his dad. Per usual, he helped his son into the car (despite Chris's protests of not needing help) and made their way home.

"What is our legion?" the young Luna asked, those big eyes staring up at his dad. A hearty laugh escaped from his dad, massive hand reaching out to tussle the lad's small fro.

"We have two legion in our home Chris, " Kenneth explained. "Your mom has her own way of things and so do I. Some days we go to church because I grew up in it and I like the community it gives you and your sister. But me and your mom want ya to join in on her practices too."

Chris tilts his head as if he were a confused cat.

"Because we want you two to know you have a choice on what to follow when you grow up. Church, Wicca, something else. Just as long as you're good and happy, we'll be happy with ya."

While the young Luna was unsure of everything, he was happy to know he always has a choice on who he decides to be. He knew his cousin didn't personally like following the beliefs of the Five Percent nation but felt like he had to because of his dad.

[the-sneep-snoop]

pearl jam songs + lyrics that are so tlou coded and why

release - i see the world, feel the chill. which way to go, windowsill. oh dear dad, can you see me now? i am myself, like you somehow. i’ll ride the wave where it takes me, i’ll hold the pain. release me. oh dead dad, can you see me now? i am myself, like you somehow. i’ll wait up in the dark for you to speak to me.

the windowsill, the dear dead dad like myself but you somehow? this is so perfect. ten 1991

future days - if i ever were to lose you, i’d surely lose myself. everything that i have found here, i’ve not found by myself. all my stolen missing parts i’ve no need for anymore. i believe, cause i can see our future days. days of you and me. back when i was feeling broken i focused on a prayer. all the missing crooked hearts, they may die but in us they live on. when hurricanes and cyclones rage, when winds turn dirt to dust. when floods they came and tides they rage, even closer became us. all the promises at sundown, i meant them like the rest. all the demons used to come round, i’m grateful now they’ve left. so persistent in my ways, hey, angel, i’m here to stay. no resistance, no alarms, it seems too good to be gone.

this does not need explanation. it is the ellie and joel song. lightning bolt 2013

just breathe - i understand that every life must end. i know someday we must go. i’m a lucky man to know the ones i love. stay with me, let’s just breathe. practiced all my sins, but i’m just another human being. i don’t wanna hurt, there’s so much in this world to make me bleed. stay with me, you’re all i see. did i say that i need you? oh, if i didn’t, i’m a fool, and no one knows this more than me. hold me ‘til i die, see you on the other side.

joel telling ellie that it’s gonna be ok in an idealised version of a last goodbye that never happened. backspacer 2009

man of the hour - father, he enjoyed collisions, others walked away. nature has its own religion, and the sky breaks at dawn, shedding light upon this town. and the road the old man paved, the broken seams along the way, the rusted signs, left just for me, he was guiding me, his own way. now the man of the hour is taking his final bow, as the curtain comes down i feel this is just goodbye for now.

this song is about the uneven and difficult relationship with the imperfect dead father. big fish soundtrack 2003

no more - i speak for a man who gave for this land, took a bullet in the back for his pay. spilled his blood and the dirt and the dust and now he’s back to say, in this new american way, the lies we were told were criminal. nothing’s too good for a veteran, that’s what they say, so nothing’s what they’ll get. to that we say no more, no more innocents dying, no more terrorizing, no more eulogizing, no more evangelizing.

this is an anti-war song, about surviving and dying in a violent world where the government doesn’t care. maybe this is about tommy, how he tried to find something in the fireflies, or about how much he sacrificed for it. or how much he sacrificed for ellie, to avenge joel. into the wild 2007

future days - if i ever were to lose you, i’d surely lose myself. everything that i have found here, i’ve not found by myself. all my stolen missing parts i’ve no need for anymore. i believe, cause i can see our future days. days of you and me. back when i was feeling broken i focused on a prayer. all the missing crooked hearts, they may die but in us they live on. when hurricanes and cyclones rage, when winds turn dirt to dust. when floods they came and tides they rage, even closer became us. all the promises at sundown, i meant them like the rest. all the demons used to come round, i’m grateful now they’ve left. so persistent in my ways, hey, angel, i’m here to stay. no resistance, no alarms, it seems too good to be gone.

this does not need explanation. it is the ellie and joel song and i am endlessly happy that it’s in the game

i got id - my lips are shaking, my nails are bit off. been a month since i heard myself talk. i got memories, i got shit, so much it don’t show. oh, i walked the line when you held me in that night. i walked the line when you held my hand that night. got all these questions, don’t know who i’d even ask. so i’ll just lie alone and wait for the dream, where i’m not ugly and you’re looking at me.

it’s joel losing sarah, joel saving ellie, ellie losing joel and ellie losing dina. merkin ball 2000

release - i see the world, feel the chill. which way to go, windowsill. oh dear dad, can you see me now? i am myself, like you somehow. i’ll ride the wave where it takes me, i’ll hold the pain. release me. oh dead dad, can you see me now? i am myself, like you somehow. i’ll wait up in the dark for you to speak to me.

the windowsill, the dear dead dad like myself but you somehow? this is so perfect. this is from their first album in 1991 so it’s my number one choice for if they have to replace future days in season two.

these all have the strongest parallels to tlou but there’s a few others that are honorable mentions - i am mine, long nights, and indifference. a lot of these are acoustic or 2003 or earlier so could possibly replace future days in season 2 if they have to, but i feel like the lyrics might be a bit literal and obvious.

[humunanunga]

Okay, I think it's time. There was another point I wanted to make. I referred to it as "magic" because I needed a very broad term to describe a very specific experience. But also, when I made my opening line in the top post, I was following the format of a text post meme, so I had to keep it short and simple.

So when I say belief in magic, I don't just mean superstition or religion. I also mean finding magic in the mundane. Take for example how "belief" and "knowledge" are two different words for certainty, but like "culture" and "society," either word has different connotations attached, and how much a topic's direction can be influenced just by which word you choose. Language, in this way, is mundane magic. Software codes, in ways like this, are modern spells. Or take for example how scientists so often enter their field of study because they find something magical about it. The way a meteorologist may revere a mesocyclone as if it were the visiting face of an old god, or the way an entomologist may cherish a specimen as if it were a fairy. The way archaeologists are haunted by the ghost of sonder past.

You see how it's the same? We want to feel wonder, we want to find things that make us feel wonder, we want to know how those wonderful things happen. And isn't it so wonderfully intimate to want to know more? The same goes for horror, too. Either way, we want to be awed, we want to get closer, we want to be assured, we want to feel. Do you see how wanting to learn is like wanting to believe in something? Do you see how belief and knowledge are only separated by the credibility of our sources?

Okay, alright, I know, I said I had another point to make, and it's that the converse to my original post also applies.

You can also disbelieve in magic, but watch out.

It may be empowering now, but just because we haven't confirmed the existence of a species now doesn't mean we never will. Giant squids used to be cryptids, and platypi were assumed to be hoaxes, until they were adequately documented.

It may be empowering to you, except, colonized cultures are routinely mocked for staying connected with their "primitive" traditions which, like every culture, include spiritual practices.

It may be empowering, except, is the alternative you offer someone else assimilation into your culture? Are you expecting them to ignore all the christian undertones in your own society's values?

It may be empowering to call the very concept of religion stupid, except, judaism is a religion. Whether or not you consider yourself a "believer," traditions like holidays and ceremonies and folktales are how you participate in a culture, and participation is how you keep it safe from extinction.

So yeah, sure, it's empowering; but if you let that self-righteousness go to your head, you either won't realize or won't care when you endorse cultural genocide. Watch your step.

You can believe in magic, but watch out.

[antiphotogenicfilmographer]

“f the mormons” but like why?

haha, randomly posting my thoughts bc i’m pissed but don’t have a platform. why is prejudice against every religion except mine something that is completely unacceptable? but then when it comes to mormon’s, suddenly it’s “well all their members are racist” or “their church has history of racism and discrimination” or “byu has does this or that,” like why do y’all have to explain yourself? the minute you have to explain yourself, you lose. you could explain away discriminating against anyone or any protected group for however long you want, it is still discrimination and is still wrong. and i HATE how the right wing members are the absolute loudest when it comes to responding to hate and they always respond in the worst way possible. bc as someone who is left leaning (and by leaning, i mean swerving) we don’t speak up, we see the explanations people make and we can’t explain them away, and won’t. there is history of racism, and there are still big problems with acceptance within the church currently, i will never try to justify that or downplay it, but assuming that everyone agrees with these problems is just plain wrong. 

mormonism is a religion of personal revelation, that is developing your relationship with God yourself, rather than just believing everything a pastor tells you. and it maddens me to know a good amount of history about the church and how it was too feminist and socialist for america, so the governments decided to rage war against us? bc polygamy and communitarianism were, and apparently presently are far too controversial. so you know, to not get killed, the leaders of the church basically put on some camo gear and tried to fit in as much as possible with the very christians who had massacred their friends, families, and hopes, and have stayed that way up until the present, leading to lots of members being disillusioned that the teachings of the church are just the ideals of the republican party, which (believe me, i lived in germany for a year on my mission, and witnessed a bishop laugh at the police and at byu for the whole “light the y” color the campus situation) is completely wrong. and probably the reason why we lost the third hour of church, we need less time facilitating with one another what we reason to be doc of the church, and more time asking God themself what we should believe and do. 

either way, no one sees the actual tree of the religion and only look at the rotten branches that slowly choke out the good ones. yes, the tree needs to be pruned but i have no clue how that would be possible. and so the public eye only sees the rotten fruits located at the very end of the long long branches and ignore the good fruits growing closer to the tree and no one ever thinks to look at the roots. so they point and scrutinize the overgrown branches and bitter fruit, not understanding there is more underneath that they are also criticizing. i am honestly always nervous to tell people about my religion bc i know with what groups they will group me into, all groups i don’t belong to (republicans or trumpians, basic utahns, loud and proud americans, etc. etc.) bc as prez nelson taught us, i put my title of disciple of christ, child of god, and child of the covenant before anything else. why is it that i myself feel ashamed to talk about my religion? bc it always comes with some sort of shift in attitude from the person learning this info. it’s always.. “oh, you’re a mormon..?” followed by jokes about polygamy and magic underwear. it’s always bad to joke about religion when it comes to every religion besides mormonism and even when you point out the hypocrisy, so called leftists still laugh in your face and continue making fun of a protected group. 

and so i am left to ask myself every day, why? why can’t i tell them that polygamy, though sometimes disgusting and icky at the time it was in practice in the actual church and since then exploited by excommunicated perverts (i’m not referring to that practicing of polygamy bc like yikes), was a system in which women could easily form romantic friendships with one another and you know kiss and stuff, that sealings between men were allowed until the late 1800s in order to connect them and their families forever in eternity, that women could heal the sick for a time, that the church has so much money because of our communal money system, and the history of racism coincided directly with average christian beliefs about race at the time (remember how we just really really wanted to fit in?)  and how one of our prophets legit told a gay couple that he didn’t know enough about it to make a judgement and encouraged them to live a happy life together (plus it was the prophet easily regarded as one of the kindest and most christlike modern prophets by most other modern prophets) and that one of our core beliefs is that men and women are inherently equal and another being the existence of feminine deity and her possible co-authoring of everything we consider God the father to have authored, and like so much more, but i’m getting tired and can’t think anymore. but yeah, most people still consider those things like God the mother and polyamory and spiritual communism are still unfortunately pretty radical concepts.

so yeah, “f the mormons,” but just remember that it’s not just blind sheep you’re hating on, but your colleagues and friends you never knew were mormon simply bc they were afraid to tell you. 

and you’re evidence as to why... and that’s called oppression

[kanansdume]

I've only watched Andor 1x11 once, so one part I feel like I didn't get: is Mothma's daughter, idk, really into her parents culture or something? All I understood was she and some friends were chanting stuff, but that was it. At the end of the scene both my husband and I were like, "...Wait what? What did we just miss??"

Oh gosh, I'm not sure how well I'm going to be able to answer this question, so I'll just give you my best interpretation of what's happening with Leida in that scene.

So we know that there are some old traditional cultural values and practices on Chandrila, probably particularly for upper class families. One of the biggest ones appears to be marrying kids to each other young (at least as young as 15, but the proposals would obviously start earlier than that).

Leida appears to be a part of a group of Chandrilan children that live on Coruscant as part of the upper class there and is being taught a lot of these very old traditional cultural values and practices. It's hard to tell if that chant was something religious or something more akin to, say, the Pledge of Allegiance that all American kids are forced to say every day at school that's more about loyalty to your country/planet than it is a religion.

Vel's first reaction to it is to ask about the marriage thing and if Mon's been taking proposals for Leida, so that's clearly the biggest aspect of it, but definitely isn't the only part of it.

I think what I got from it for the most part was that this came from LEIDA, not from Perrin, and certainly not from Mon. We know that Leida feels estranged and distanced from Mon, like Mon values her job over her family and this is something that bothers Leida and is causing a rift in their relationship. She seems closer to Perrin, but it makes sense to me that Leida might seek out a connection to her homeworld and its culture to create a community around herself that isn't being provided by Mon. She feels abandoned by Mon, so perhaps the idea of getting a new family by marrying early feels really appealing to Leida.

But Leida likely is at least somewhat aware that Mon doesn't LIKE the practice, or at least that Mon has some critiques about it and probably wasn't planning on teaching Leida these practices and beliefs. And so some of her frustration with Mon could also be stemming from a learned disdain of Mon's seeming abandonment of their heritage the same way Mon has seemingly abandoned her daughter.

I think ultimately it's less important to know what exactly the chant is and what it's about than to recognize what the scene is telling us about Leida, Mon, and the relationship between the two that will be irrevocably changed by whatever choice Mon ultimately makes regarding marrying Leida off to Davo's son. That Mon's horror at the concept when presented to her by Davo stems from the fear that already exists at knowing Leida's going down this path all on her own ANYWAY and there's very little Mon can do to protect her from it.

I hope this helped a little!

[1kook]

BORN SINNER III

→ MASTERLIST

summary; Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you. warnings; virgin jungkook, timid jungkook, church boy jk, a LOT of religious themes/discussion, catholic guilt, fear of sinning, mentions of masturbation, heavy doubts, a little paranoia/fear of being outcasted, jk has a crush, confessions, making out, boob lover jk has his boobs touched, groping/petting, light praise, very brief/light choking, jk is horny like 75% of the time, positive character development <3 rating; m (18+) wc; 9.5k

banner; as always, by @jamaisjoons​ !! ty ty ty!! <3333

notes; i have to apologize for delaying this update for so long. truth is, it was difficult to write the next part bc i felt like i had trapped myself in pt2-- jk wasn't showing ANY progress & i started to really hate his character. LUCKILY, with the help of my amazing editor n wife @kigurumu​ *audience cheers* i was able to put him back on the right track towards redemption! (& even more painful angst in the future!) sadly, that means that this part doesn't include any explicit smut, you'll see why. still, I'm very proud of how much i was able to build his character in this part and i hope you enjoy it!!! lemme know what u think <3

in the future, i will try my best to make sure the chapters aren’t so spaced out. again, i am so so sorry about taking so long to update this series

He gets your text the following Tuesday morning. 

Now, Jungkook has never been one to be overly invested in his cell phone; he uses it as much as he needs to, just checks his emails, takes some photos, and sends texts when necessary. But you had set up a particularly unique ringtone for yourself the other day, had sweetly asked for his phone as he laid against your chest. His skin had felt warm and the slightest bit sweaty, his body pressed so closely against you that he couldn’t tell where he ended and you began. “Did you have fun?” you asked, fingers combing back his hair. He had hummed, eyes fluttering shut to the faint tapping of your fingers across the keyboard. If he closes his eyes, he can still remember the soft beating of your heart beneath his ear, the leg you had hooked around his waist to pull him closer. The memory makes him shiver. 

It’s a high-pitched bell sound that alerts him of your messages now, completely unlike the classic default tone he had set for everyone else. 

From the other side of his room, Jungkook immediately pauses to look at it, the lit up screen glaring back at him from its idle place on his bedside table. He always leaves it there in the mornings, beside his rosary and the picture of his family, as he gets ready for work. 

He knows exactly who it’s from— after all, that’s what you wanted when you stylized your ringtone —which is why his hand trembles in excitement as he unlocks his phone. 

[❤️]: picnic tomorrow? 🥰

[❤️]: after my last class of course

Jungkook’s first thought is that this was a date, his first one with you since he had met you. His heartbeat hammers at the thought, at the mere suggestion that the two of you would be able to spend more time together this week outside of your usual weekend… acts. Additionally, if you’re asking him on a date, then surely it means you view Jungkook as a potential suitor, just as he does you? Do you want to maybe date Jungkook? Jungkook certainly wants to date you— in fact, if he starts gathering his courage now, he might be able to properly ask you out tomorrow. 

Jungkook’s second thought is of that guilty, gross feeling that’s been gnawing at his insides for three days now, and how it was inevitably going to get worse when he saw you again. 

He had lied to you, Jungkook recalls, sinking down against his mattress, shirt half buttoned, as he stares at the screen. He had lied to your face during a critical moment, had felt that seed of doubt in his chest blossom more than ever. And not only had Jungkook lied to you, but he had lied to you about his feelings toward you. How could he ever hope to hold you close, to date you, when he couldn’t even be honest with you?

The memory of your curious gaze presents itself at the forefront of his mind, the soft sound of your laughter ringing in his ears. 

You had been so sweet to him despite his blunder, had cupped his face and kissed him on the lips when he dropped you off outside your apartment. “Not today,” you crooned, unbuckling yourself as Jungkook’s eyes trailed over your throat— ignoring your cross —and down your chest. “I have schoolwork to catch up on. But soon, okay?” Another sweet peck had left him trailing after your touch, your finger bopping the tip of his nose playfully. “Call me when you get home.”

And because he was so terribly, irrevocably smitten with you, Jungkook had done as you said and called you. He’d called you and then had whimpered against his sheets as you generously talked him through another sinful deed. You had softly sighed his name over the line, told him he was handsome and that you missed him. That you wanted him in your mouth—

And of course, he had felt… something afterwards. 

This is where his dilemma begins: Jungkook had felt something afterwards, and he’s not sure if it had been entirely good or bad. The longer Jungkook stays around you, hangs out with you, does things with you— the more he can feel parts inside of himself change. Because after the phone call, Jungkook had felt two distinct emotions within himself, both of which were up for questioning. 

First, there was that one feeling he was becoming all too familiar with, the crushing guilt that would consume him following any sexual interaction with you or himself for that matter. Why was he like this? Why did he indulge himself in such heinous pleasures when he knew, knew better than anyone, what committing such acts meant for the future of his soul? He was practically dooming himself the way he was now, but Jungkook just didn’t understand— why did something so bad feel so good?

But alongside that gnawing guilt was this tiny, weirdly pleasant satisfaction, a gratification that superseded the relief felt by an orgasm. It was this oddly serene feeling that settled over Jungkook in the moments following a climax, the soft brush of your hands through his hair, the low lilt of your voice. They made him feel like he was floating on the softest of clouds, kissed and pampered by its wispy tendrils. It made something inside of Jungkook feel different, new. Good. 

(In the back of his mind, Jungkook realizes he’s always felt that way. At the height of his pleasure, at the faintest brush of your hands against his. It was a staple of your presence, one that made Jungkook feel like he was walking on air.)

From whatever angle he looked at it, it just didn’t make sense. They were contrasting emotions; while one made him feel godawful, the other one practically made him transcend. The fact they could coincide, exist all at once, had Jungkook’s brain folding in on itself as he tried to figure out why. They kept him up the last few nights, eyes blankly staring up at his ceiling following his evening prayers. Mulling over everything he’s ever learned and been told, always circling it back to your beautiful presence in his life. 

He knows sex in itself is not bad— after all, that was how the beautiful process of life came to be —but years upon years of studying his religion, cultivating his faith, had all led him to the same conclusion: premarital sex was wrong. And for the past few weeks, well. That’s all Jungkook had been doing with you. 

It seems like every time you meet, you’re dead set on pleasuring him, turning Jungkook into a shivering, teary-eyed mess while you grinned from above. That confused him too— as far as Jungkook knew, the whole point of sex was to chase after your own pleasure, something you admittedly did not do. It was always Jungkook’s pleasure, Jungkook’s enjoyment that you wanted, covering him in languid kisses and long caresses until he was inevitably shooting his hot cum all over your lap and into your hands. 

You had told him it was okay, that he should never feel bad for enjoying himself. But, to return back to his original dilemma, he doesn’t quite know if he can trust your word. 

You’re a liar, that much Jungkook can look past his rose-tinted glasses to admit. While you may not have lied to him (or at least, Jungkook wants to believe you haven’t), the fact still stands that you are quite willing to deceive others in order to get what you want. He already knows you aren’t the biggest believer of the Church yourself, that you frequently brush off your religious duties in order to fulfill your own desires— the aforementioned sexual cravings probably the biggest one —so, quite frankly, Jungkook is untrusting of the rest of your practices. Were you lying to him, telling him all was well, just for your own benefit? Just because you wanted to drag him along on your lustful adventures? He wasn’t sure, and as much as he wanted to trust you wouldn’t, there’s a shred of doubt that plagues him. 

But still. 

Regardless of whether you are a liar or not, that didn’t make it okay for Jungkook to lie to you.

He taps his phone against his chin, brain a frenzied mess. 

If Jungkook really wanted to pursue this relationship with you, he needed to be honest with himself and with you. Did it bother him that you were so flippant with the Church, the one he himself feels so devoted to? Yes and no. Jungkook has never been one to impress his beliefs on others, and truthfully, he would not be the slightest bit bothered if you don’t believe in the same things he does. Would there be some awkwardness in your relationship? Certainly, but at least Jungkook would know the real you from the very beginning. 

But to him, posing as an avid follower when you really aren’t rubs part of him the wrong way. He’s slightly put off by that aspect of you, and justifiably felt that anyone would feel such a way if someone were to use something they love as mere leverage for their own personal gain. And to make matters worse, now that he’s been made aware, it weighs down heavily on his conscience. 

Part of Jungkook, as selfish as it may be, wishes you had never revealed your secrets to him. He may have been left in the dark a total fool, but at the very least he would have been a happy fool. Would he still feel guilt about all the sexual deeds he’s partaken in with you? Sure, but at least he would only have himself to blame. The way things are now, he’s unsure who really needs to be condemned. 

Realistically, it is Jungkook’s fault. He knows how you are and even more, he knows you would never proposition him for any such sexual deed if he told you no, if he simply denied you. But he doesn’t tell you no, and that’s the problem: Jungkook really likes you as you are now, questionable behavior be damned. He likes you when you make him cry and when you pinch his cheeks and when you snake your hand down his pants. 

He still thinks you’re amazing, gets this fluttery feeling when you look at him with that sparkling gaze of yours. Your laughter makes him smile, even if you’re not laughing at something he said, because the sound is just so comforting, warm and soothing, makes his entire body relax when you chuckle. You have this gentle touch, these delicate hands that carefully comb his hair back for him in the car sometimes, tracing the side of his face softly. Your smile makes him dizzy, makes him want to cup your face in his hands and kiss you breathless. And, of course, he can’t complain about your… other talents when he’s only been on the beneficial receiving end of said talents. That aforementioned satisfaction, as small as it may be and as difficult as it was to admit to, was something Jungkook has begun to look forward to on the occasions that you meet. 

But his inability to overlook his own beliefs and your confusing nature brings about a great strife within Jungkook. It’s the reason he hesitates outside the church after dropping you off, his car running as he glares at his steering wheel. Everything in him says to go inside and confess to his sins, relieve himself of this overwhelming sense of guilt and shame to the closest person to his Lord. 

But he’s scared. 

Scared that, despite the oath of confidentiality, word will get out. His fellow brothers in faith will hear about what he’s done and call him out for his lecherousness. But even worse, he’s scared of what will happen to you. Would Jungkook’s life be over if he were thrown out of his beloved church? As dramatic as he may be, no. But he recognized that there were different standards to which men were held in this society, that an act of desire by him would not ruin his name the same way it would you. 

And Jungkook didn’t want that. He wanted to keep you safe. Wanted you to be happy and smiling, regardless of how conflicted it made him, because he likes you. He likes you so much, despite the fact he has yet to uncover the true extent of your character. 

But the cloud of mystery is partially what intrigues him, has him pondering over your very existence instead of getting ready for work as he is now. He’s terribly enamored, thinks about you and prays for you every night. So maybe Jungkook is still the fool, because he still daydreams about you when he knows he shouldn’t. 

His phone buzzes in his hand—

[❤️]: i miss you bunny ☹️

—and his decision is made. 

Tuesday passes by in a blur and before he knows it, it’s Wednesday afternoon and you’re texting him the location of one of the parks in the city. You had told him not to worry about the food because you would bring it. Jungkook’s only job was bringing the picnic blanket, a huge checkered thing he had spent all morning rifling through three stores for. He wants to impress you, desperately so, that he’s even wearing a nicer outfit today, darker tones unlike his normal warm palette because he had heard a woman at his job say men look cooler in dark colors. 

Suffice to say, he sticks out like a sore thumb at the park, the stark black of his jeans contrasting with the vibrant green of the neatly cut grass. Jungkook has half the mind to feel self-conscious about it, but then you’re calling his name from a couple meters away and his breath leaves his lungs. 

“Hi,” you greet, the handle of your wicker basket held tightly between two hands; Jungkook rushes to relieve you of the weight. “Did you wait long?” you ask, rewarding his gentlemanly behavior with a chaste kiss against the corner of his mouth that kick-starts his heart back into action and has his face burning up. 

In all honesty, you have never dressed very modestly— not that you had to, nor that there was anything remotely wrong with that. Jungkook has spent many a mass service fighting the urge to glance down the front of your dresses and tops, ignoring the cleavage you liked to show off now and then. But apparently, what Jungkook had seen up until now was your version of dressing modestly. The dress you show up with today, an off day where there are no church ladies to impress and no unspoken dress codes to follow, makes his brain short circuit. The thin, thin, straps that hold it up giving him an all access view to the broad expanse of your shoulders and chest and collarbones and boobs—

“No!” Jungkook rushes to reassure you, fighting down the blush that threatens to travel further down his neck when you carefully straighten out the collar of his shirt for him. “I- I, um, just got here.” 

You beam at the news. “I bought cheesecake,” you tell him, looping your arm through his as you tug him along. “I hope it hasn’t melted yet!”

By the time the two of you settle at a suitable spot near the lake, the cheesecake hasn’t melted. It’s still cold and solid, tastes like heaven on Jungkook’s tongue, and you laugh when his eyes light up. You look gorgeous like this, nestled against the checkered picnic blanket with a glass bottle of sparkling water in your hand, sandals just beside the edge of the blanket. There’s the faint chime of a bicycle bell somewhere to his left and the chatter of birds as they flock over the pond. Wonderful sights that would normally take his breath away and make him marvel at their beauty, but when you smile at him so gingerly like that, all Jungkook can think about is you. 

He watches you slip a strawberry past your lips. “Tell me about yourself,” you hum, seemingly out of the blue, wiping the corner of your mouth with one careful finger. “Other than, like, church stuff,” you tease. 

As you lean forward for another one, Jungkook’s brain stutters for a moment, eyes focused on the curves of your boobs as they naturally follow the movements of your upper body until he’s dizzy. “Huh?” he says, and you snort. “Oh— me, right, yes um—“

“Your favorite color?” you suggest, tugging the skirt of your dress tighter around your legs. It’s not cold, but there’s a slight breeze that keeps rolling over the two of you, pushing your floral scent over Jungkook and fluttering through his hair. “Right now, all I know is that you like cheesecake because you ate three slices at the bazaar the other week,” you chuckle.

It’s such a basic question, the bare minimum of knowing a person. But when you look at Jungkook like that, blinking those long lashes at him, it makes him forget his answer. “Um… Red,” he murmurs, watching you tug off the stem of the strawberry in your hands. “And white.”

You nod, and then you’re stretching a hand outward to offer him the aforementioned strawberry. When he doesn’t open his mouth right away, you silently demonstrate first, until Jungkook is slowly parting his lips and accepting your strawberry. The flavor bursts on his tongue, sweet and sticky, coating the very tips of your fingers when you don’t pull away fast enough. Jungkook averts his gaze when you pop them between your own lips and suck them clean. 

“Red and white,” you repeat, unaware of the lustful images that flicker through Jungkook’s mind, the way his eyes unconsciously drop to the front of your dress, at the crevice between your breasts that he remembers oh so well, the tight suction around his cock as you— “They make pink, which is my favorite color.” He desperately clears his mind of the memories that flash before his eyes. 

It’s a pretty color, fit for a pretty girl. Jungkook keeps the thought to himself as he watches you sift through the contents of your basket. It’s the perfect compliment to give you, he knows it’d make you happy, but his valor disappears when you throw him a soft grin and he’s transported back to a more recent memory, the memory in the car instead. 

A bad influence, he had called you, had watched your eyes well up with an emotion he had never seen on you before. Sadness? Disappointment? Disgust? He wasn’t sure, all Jungkook could really remember was the acidity on your tongue when you had repeated the words back to him, the ghost of your touch when you had abruptly pulled away from him, shut him out. He doesn’t think he’s ever seen you so closed off before, not even when he had first met you and you were parading around with that staged shyness. 

And even when Jungkook had corrected himself afterwards (read: lied to you to cover his tracks), the emotion had lingered. Even when you had playfully brushed him off, he had caught your reflection in the window beside you as he drove to your place. The sullen look on your normally happy face, lips down-turned, eyes lowered. A look he had put there. 

And now he’s watching you carefully rip apart bread to throw at the birds with a tender smile. A cloud moves and suddenly the sun is beating down on your little picnic again, casting a beautiful glow across your skin that renders him breathless for the shortest moment, trapped by the sheer beauty you exude. You’re absolutely ethereal, and yet he had questioned you. Your morals, your character, everything. 

“__?” he says before he can stop himself. 

You hum, “yes, bunny?” before pausing your little feeding task to glance back over at him. When you look at Jungkook like this, meet his gaze straight on, he doesn’t see an ounce of ingenuity in your eyes. It might be Jungkook’s lovesick heart speaking, but he can’t imagine you ever lying to him. He looks away first, frowning at the various fruits sprawled between the two of you. 

You care about him, that much Jungkook wants to believe. And his beliefs are confirmed, when your voice drops an octave lower, becomes softer, as you murmur, “is everything alright?” The fruits are carefully set aside, breaking the wall between the two of you until you can shuffle forward, your knees bumping against his. Hands reach for his, thumbs rubbing soothing circles against his skin. 

Before you can repeat your inquiry a second time, Jungkook finds himself asking, “do you like me?” 

Jungkook’s sudden inquiry makes your cheeks heat up just the slightest, your startled inhale barely contained. 

It’s like a scene straight out of a teenage romcom— a confession in a park, your hearts bared for each other. But it’s a little awkward, you have to admit, unintentionally giving Jungkook’s soft hand a nervous squeeze as his question rolls over in your mind. 

Duh, you want to say. But there’s something about the look in Jungkook’s eye— the eyes he very purposefully turns towards your hands, the hair he had let loose today providing him ample protection from your gaze —that has you pausing, carefully considering your next words. 

You had hoped by now that it was obvious, that Jungkook understood how much he meant to you, and didn’t require some dorky confession in the park. Partially because, well. This wasn’t your usual role. Usually, it was the guy confessing to you, raving about all your redeeming qualities in an effort to win you over. But with Jungkook, all you know about relationships is flipped upside down, forcing you to play a position you’ve never played before. 

Jungkook wasn’t like you; he was soft and sentimental, practically wore his heart on his sleeve for the whole world to see. And it was a massive heart, filled with so much love and adoration for the world around him, that you felt bad when he wore such sullen expressions on his face.

Expressions like the one he has now, lips pressed together tightly as he misreads your silence. He has honest eyes, a dark toffee color that sends tingles down your spine when he looks your way. They glimmer with a sort of innocence for the world, a thin sparkle that makes him look like a prince sometimes. He was devastatingly handsome, and now he was upset. “Um— it’s okay,” he stammers, trying to move the conversation along. But his eyes flicker around nervously, anxiously. Like your silence has left a burn mark on him, painful and delicate to the touch. 

His comment isn’t completely unexpected. How very on-brand for big-hearted Jungkook to try to save you from an uncomfortable interaction, even if it was caused by him. “Um…” he murmurs, “it’s okay. If you don’t, uh. Like me?”

It sounds flimsy, even to you. 

“No, no,” you rush to correct, your ability to speak slowly coming back to you only after the fact. “I do,” you admit, nerves on edge at this rather foreign situation. “I… like you a lot, Jungkook.”

You shouldn’t be surprised by his reaction. Jungkook blinks slowly, like his brain is still processing the information, and then, ever so artfully, goes up in metaphorical flames. “O- Oh,” he stutters, reaching a free hand up to press his knuckles against his face. The rosy hue that had first blossomed over his cheeks has now started crawling down his neck now, up his ears. It’s terribly endearing. “I— um. I didn’t know,” Jungkook rambles, and it’s so cute, so sweet, how a simple confession from you renders him this flustered.

His face emanates a warmth tangible even on your own skin, lips cutely quirking to the side as he fights off a bashful smile and the raging blush your words bring about. It certainly is a sight to see. His hair tickles his eyebrow, swept out of its usually neat style, but it makes him look all the more gorgeous. “Cute,” you chuckle, feeling the slightest bit shy at such a warm response from Jungkook. You sit back, giving him the space he needs, and turn your attention up at the big blue sky instead. “Really? I thought it was obvious,” you hum.

Part of you actually feels really awkward; as you said before, everything is so brand new with him.  With Jungkook, he flips everything around for you, makes you actually admit to your emotions as opposed to simply going along with his. It’s a nice change of pace, as difficult as it may be, and the results are rather… cute as well. (He bites down a smile, but the action makes his normally soft cheeks look more pronounced than usual.) 

“Because, I, um. Me too,” he says, voice wavering. He clears his throat and tries to meet your gaze under his fringe, but doesn’t last more than a second before he’s pointedly glancing at the picnic blanket beneath the two of you. “I’m— I like you too,” he admits, ears tinted a bright red. You figured as much but it was always nice to hear, especially from someone like Jungkook. “A lot.”

“Thanks,” you smile, placing a hand on his thigh. 

His lips pull into a shy smile, aimed at your knees because he can never look you in the eye when you shower him in praise and other gooey, mushy feelings. It’s the same in the car or against your front door— he always manages to give your hand a tight squeeze, maybe even a kiss if he’s feeling brave. But the second you try to tell him you’ve had fun or that you’ll miss him, it’s like all his courage fades away, leaving him a blushing, smiley mess.

He was cute like that. Despite being so kind and caring, it was like Jungkook’s entire being stopped functioning when those types of gestures were aimed at him. So you relished those moments, looked forward to them with a fluttery feeling in your heart that couldn’t be tamed. 

Today, he throws you for a loop. Just as that proud, giddy smile appears, cheeks and ears a pretty pink, it fades away. The excitement from your mutual confessions seems to remind Jungkook of something else, something less warm, that has him quietly mumbling, “I’m sorry.” 

It’s confusing, to say the least. Just a moment prior, he had been pursing his lips in a silly attempt to hold back a smile. Now he’s staring at the ground with a rather pensive look, his apology sitting heavy in his throat. “What for?” you tentatively ask after one long beat. It had been so sudden. In your mind, there isn’t a single reason for Jungkook to be apologizing to you, especially so out of the blue. There is, however, an inkling of fear brought upon by what can only be classified as insecurity; you had just confessed your feelings for each other, why was he sorry about that? 

Jungkook exhales, a quiet sound that is nearly lost among the bustling noises of the park. If you hadn’t been sitting so close, maybe you wouldn’t have heard it at all. “I just,” he huffs, pointedly glaring at some random spot of grass beside you. His features look sharper than ever now, jawline defined, brows narrowed together. It’s a rather misplaced realization, but Jungkook looks absolutely gorgeous with distress painting his face. “I was… being selfish before.”

In the few weeks you’ve known him, you’ve come to realize Jungkook was many things. First and foremost, he’s an absolute gentleman. Raised on manners and compassion, looking after others everywhere he went. He was caring and sweet, loved this world and the people in it so much. Soft-spoken but straightforward. He was dreamy, disgustingly so. 

But selfish? It definitely sounds like something Jeon Jungkook is not. 

Before you can interrogate him even further, it seems like Jungkook is dead set on getting through this alone. “I- I’m sorry,” he repeats, eyes downcast. Noticing his wavering confidence, you resign yourself to listening, hand giving him a reassuring squeeze. Finally, after a short moment, Jungkook murmurs, “...in the car.” You tilt your head to the side curiously, waiting for him to go on. “I said, um. Something rude.” 

It takes a moment for the memory to load, and when it finally clicks into place and begins rolling, you find yourself muttering a faint, “ah.” 

If it’s what you think it is, he’s talking about last weekend outside of the church. That terribly awkward encounter that had left a sour taste in your mouth afterwards. A bad influence, you recall him saying, the memory of his voice looped in your mind the entire drive to your place. 

In all honesty, it had stung a little. While you were aware that Jungkook had an ongoing mental battle, you hadn’t realized your role was that big in it. It’s the reason you had sent him home that day, made up a lie about schoolwork just to give him some space. It’s nothing new, everyone’s had someone think badly of them before; gossipy classmates, rivals, maybe even random strangers on the street. But it felt different when it was coming from someone as sweet as Jungkook, so polite and righteous, who wouldn’t even hurt a fly. Like he was stating a fact, not an opinion. 

It was a slip-up on Jungkook’s end, that much you could tell. Because he had been frantic to correct himself afterwards, had looked at you with these fearful eyes, like one wrong move and you’d slip from between his hands. Luckily, you weren’t that sensitive— definitely not as sensitive as him, at least —and such a comment had been practically meaningless moments later. 

Still, in those few moments where it was meaningful (read: the short period it took for Jungkook to get home and call you, the words looping around your brain until the harsh ring of your cell phone finally interrupted), it had left you wondering. Have you been pushing him too far, asking for too much? The way you saw it, you always gave Jungkook room to object to any of your advances. You know he’s trapped in his thoughts more often than not, but you pay attention to him, you really do. You make sure to take his reactions into account, try to offer solutions where possible. But, for the briefest moment, all of those efforts had felt fruitless that day in the car. 

What you say next is not a complete lie; sure, Jungkook’s comment had hurt for a bit, but here he was now apologizing for it. That was a good sign… right? “It’s okay,” you brush off, patting his cheek softly, hoping with every fiber in your being that it really was okay.

Your voice is gentle, soothing his doubts. Just moments prior, Jungkook had felt like he was asking for too much, especially when your feelings toward him were up in the air. But your earnest confession soothed the ache in his heart. It’s all he’s wanted these past few months, to belong in your heart like you do his. 

But the guilt from before, the tumultuous feelings he’s been harboring towards you since the weekend, dampens his excitement. From your confession alone, it doesn’t seem like you questioned Jungkook. You weren’t put off by who he was, what he loved. So why couldn’t Jungkook be like you, think like you?

“I’m still sorry,” he says again, feeling like a broken record when he catches this sympathetic smile on your face. The scraps of eloquence he had gathered while originally apologizing seem to fade away, leave him a stuttering mess when he tries again. “That was— I shouldn’t have said—“

“Hey,” you cut off, placing a hand against his cheek. It stops his fidgeting, forces him to meet your gaze head on. There’s a smile on your face but something inside of Jungkook says it doesn’t feel real. “I like you, Jungkook.” 

And it’s true and genuine, your words so honest it pains him to think he had ever thought otherwise. And you’re still smiling, even after being hit with the implication that Jungkook questioned your character and maybe that’s what hurts the most. That you still try to put on an easygoing expression for him after he’s said something hurtful. It’s the car all over again, that blank look in your eyes when he had spoken carelessly. 

Before he can apologize for the umpteenth time, you’re shaking your head softly, smiling anew. But this time, he can’t tell if it’s real or not. “I brought orange juice,” you say, expertly moving the conversation along. And just as Jungkook has been thinking for weeks now, it’s like you know him so well. You know when things make him anxious or uncomfortable, know just how to help him out. 

There’s a feeling of guilt that blossoms in his chest, but this time it’s different. 

It’s not the usual sticky gross feeling of before, the one that has him staying up at night repenting for all his wrongdoings. It’s a personal kind of guilt that comes along with the frank realization that, while you have been learning and adapting to being around Jungkook, he has not been doing the same for you. 

Though you may be a little playful at times, you don’t tease him for who he is, don’t stomp all over his beliefs as much as he deluded himself into thinking you do. (That whole, faux-believer thing was a different circumstance.) Like with the cross in his house the other day. As much as Jungkook wanted to believe what you had done was evil, he had, quite honestly, enjoyed himself afterwards. There wasn’t that heavy discomfort sitting on his chest anymore, that sense of shame lingering as you’d kissed his body and let him caress yours too, in the safety of your eyes only. It was enjoyable and fun, had felt exhilarating to be so intimate with you. 

And instead of being thankful for your mindful efforts, he had questioned your sincerity. 

The picnic goes by in a flash. Jungkook is sad he can’t enjoy it to the fullest, his brain filled with clamorous thoughts that circled around to torture him every few minutes. Still, the entire date feels like a dream, vibrant and beautiful, leaving him in a daze. He doesn’t want to wake up. 

By the time you suggest wrapping up, the sun is setting over the horizon, the windows and lights of the buildings around you slowly flickering to life like a sea of tiny stars. He feels weak in the knees as he helps you pack everything back in your basket. “All set,” you smile, walking beside him, knuckles brushing against his until you fulfill Jungkook’s wordless wish and slip your hand into his. 

Jungkook agrees, hoping his hand isn’t sweaty and that you mean what you say. “I- I liked the food,” he remembers to mention, the fact that you had so carefully and lovingly prepared all this not entirely lost on him. His compliment, as simple as it may be, has you beaming at him as you exit through the park’s front gates. His car is parked along the street, the sleek vehicle coming into view as you round the street corner, hands still fastened. “Um,” he mumbles, pausing beside it. You turn to face him, eyes clear and content. 

All good things come to an end, he supposes, reluctantly letting go of your hand when you tug. “I’ll see you soon, okay?” you say, stepping up close, chest pressed against his. His breath hitched in his throat, eyes going wide when you nuzzle against his neck. Your hands slip around his waist. They wrap around him perfectly, make Jungkook feel like he was made for you. 

By the time he’s springing into action, jerkily raising his free hand up to your back, you’re stepping away. “Call me when you get home,” you wink, sending shivers down his spine when he remembers what happened the last time you said that. 

But Jungkook doesn’t think he can wait that long. 

You’re slipping further and further away, fingertips just barely brushing against his forearm, when Jungkook jolts into action. “How are you, um—“ he stammers, feels too big for his shoes when you tilt your head curiously. And then, “d- do you need a ride?” he mumbles, cheeks warm. 

It’s a feeble attempt at asking what he really wants. Offering you a ride home, while not a bad idea considering it was late and you had taken the bus here, is nowhere near what Jungkook really wants. What he wants is standing before him, thin spaghetti strap slipping down their shoulder, eyes sensually half-lidded and you know this too— because, again, you know Jungkook so well, know what he wants even if he can’t say it —as you step into his bubble again, peer up at him with your arms held behind your back. 

“A ride home?” you ask, blinking your long lashes in a way that robs him of his breath. And he can see that switch flick on inside of you, watches that pure and innocent gleam in your eyes slowly become replaced with something mischievous. Jungkook nods dumbly. “I’d love that.”

Jungkook blinks. “Great,” he chokes out, neatly dropping the wicker basket in his hands. In a way, it brings him back down to reality, lets him snap away from your hypnotizing gaze as he reaches for the keys in his pocket. “Let me— I just have to— yeah,” he stammers, clicking the button on his car keys one too many times, has it perkily beeping. Your lips press together into an amused smile, the last thing Jungkook sees before ripping himself away from you and yanking the back door open. 

He nearly throws the basket in like a madman, glassware be damned. It’s his last shred of rationality that tells him not to, the hairs on the back of his neck standing on edge as he steps up to the edge of the sidewalk and carefully places it on the floor behind the passenger’s seat. 

When Jungkook rises back up, there is a hand that brushes against his forearm, a gentle touch that has him throwing a curious glance your way. He’s not expecting to be so entranced by the dreamy look in your eyes, feet glued to the ground as you trail your hand down, catching his wrist between your fingers. You’re standing so close, making Jungkook feel like he’s trapped between you and his own car. His entire body is on edge when you lean in, placing a soft kiss against the very corner of his mouth. It leaves a tingling sensation, and accompanied with the growing warmth beneath his skin, feels like he’s been burned. “I had fun,” you murmur, voice low. It sends a shock of electricity down his spine, a wave of exhilaration that has him fully turning to face you as you eventually step away, that same playful grin on your features again. 

A surge of confidence and greed overcomes him, has him stepping forward into your space despite the nervousness that builds within him. There’s a hint of surprise in your eyes that you quickly mask, placating his bumbling nerves with a delicate hand placed over his heart. He can’t breathe when you lean in, softly humming, “kiss me?” 

Jungkook’s lower lip wobbles. “O- Okay,” he concedes, voice but an airy whisper that is soon swallowed up. You taste like fruit and orange juice, remnants of your picnic clinging to your lips as you slowly consume Jungkook’s entire attention with this soft brush alone. It’s a rather short affair, one that ends all too soon when you pull away with a soft sigh against his lips. 

Your smile is so pretty when you angle it at him, has him taking one jerky step backwards. His back hits the car, feels trapped. But he isn’t scared, doesn’t find himself anxiously awaiting your next move. “Good boy,” you purr, reaching one graceful hand forward, playfully tugging at his tie, wrapping it around your knuckles as you use it as leverage to pull him close again. 

You’re just so pretty, Jungkook has always thought so. From the moment he first met you until now, there is something about you—a glint in your eyes, a quirk to your lips—that has had him under your spell for weeks now. 

Had Jungkook seriously despised you and your ethics, perhaps this feeling would have gone away. But the fact of the matter is that you make Jungkook’s heart hammer dangerously in his chest, a shot of adrenaline through his veins when you look at him with those low-lidded eyes, touch him with those experienced hands. He wants you so bad, even after all he’s learned, all he’s seen. He wants you over him and under him, pressed against him from head to toe. He wants and he wants, and he knows it’s bad to want so much, to be so greedy. But with you around, Jungkook finds himself giving into that greed, clutching at it like a lifeline. “We can, um—,” he stammers, placing one uncertain hand against the top of the door frame beside him. You raise your brows, egging him on yet patiently waiting all at once. 

Your gaze is so strong, and it’s in moments like these that Jungkook feels that feeling crawl up his throat. A serpentine gaze, a sticky sweet tongue. Everything he’s ever known says it’s wrong, but his heart and your confession says otherwise. He looks away, throws a bashful glance at the plush leather seats behind him. “In… inside?”  

And the offer has you positively beaming before him, that same flirtatious shimmer in your irises doubling at the words that roll off his tongue. “Oh my,” you swoon playfully, stepping back to, Jungkook assumes, allow him to get in. 

He plops down, feels like he would break out in a sweat if the evening temperature wasn’t so cool. The car’s interior blends into the shadows, his clothing practically indiscernible against the dark shade of the seats. A stark contrast to the pretty floral dress that suddenly spills itself over his lap when you climb in, the door tugged shut beside the two of you. All is silent, your thighs over his, hands on his shoulders. “Hi, bunny,” you murmur, lips pulled into a smirk, provocative yet playful, like you know something that Jungkook doesn’t. 

Jungkook’s throat feels dry but he still manages to gulp. He’s drowning in your perfume and your body lotion, in the faint smell of the outdoors clinging to your clothes and your hair, the absolutely heavenly scent of just you in your entirety. “Hi,” he whispers back, voice lost beneath the thundering of his heartbeat in his ears. And his quiet greeting is rewarded with two soft hands that crawl up his neck, cupping his face in their palms. 

“You were so sweet today,” you purr, nose nudging against his when you finally lean in, pressing your breasts against Jungkook. A tiny gasp catches in his throat, his hands instinctively going to your waist. “Can I kiss you again?” 

Jungkook has never wanted anything more. “Please,” he exhales, feeling like he’ll explode if you don’t kiss him soon. You take his request in stride, jut your face forward just the slightest bit until your mouth is pressed firmly against his, the movement of your lips a practiced rhythm that he just can’t seem to master. He still tries his best, puckers his lips when he feels it’s right, tilts his head when you urge him with a soft nudge. He tries his best and hopes it’s enough. 

By now, Jungkook has come to understand that there is a pattern to your kisses. You always start off slow and relaxed, mouth languidly moving against his as you lure him across a tightrope of anticipation. They gradually become more intense, pulling out whimpers and sighs from Jungkook that he had never known were possible. It’s a carefully crafted art form, the tongue that slides out from between your pillowy lips, dips into his own mouth with a giggly pant. “Good boy,” you hum in between, hands burying themselves in the hair at the nape of his neck. “Always so good.”

Jungkook shudders when you eventually part, can’t catch his breath fast enough before you’re reaching for the buttons on the front of his shirt, easily undoing the casual tie too. “Relax,” you tell him, bypassing his lips for the warm expanse of skin just below. You kiss over his chin, down his neck, as your hands crawl beneath his shirt and around his naked waist. 

He’s ticklish, and when you brush against his ribs, he unwillingly releases a sharp huff of laughter. It’s followed by a wide-eyed look of embarrassment, cheeks a warm hue when you lean back in surprise at this new bit of information. “I— sorry,” he blurts out, because he doesn’t know proper make-out etiquette, doesn’t know anything really, except what you’ve shown him. 

But the sound makes you snort, looking at him with this gaze that drips with honey. “So cute,” you tell him, placing a chaste kiss against his lips, before disappearing back down to lavish his throat with filthier kisses. And with you laving your tongue across his skin, biting at every inch available, Jungkook is left to fuzzily stare over the crystal clear windshield. He’s struck with the faint realization that if someone were to look hard enough, they would see him through the tinted glass as he fell apart into the hands of a pretty girl. 

The soft smack of your lips against his skin is sensual, makes every hair on his body stand stiff. Your lips trail down the column of his neck, placing a bruising kiss at the juncture where it meets the rest of his body. “Oh,” he sighs, eyelids fluttering when a hand squeezes at his chest, thumb against his nipple. 

Another muffled giggle pressed against the base of his neck, and when Jungkook focuses his eyes again, he catches his own gaze in the rearview mirror. 

The sight of him is… weird to say the least. 

Even in the dark, his lips look thoroughly debauched, puffier and redder than usual, slick with saliva that isn’t entirely his. He doesn’t tell himself to, but his mirrored counterpart peeks his tongue out, runs it along his top lip sinfully. Startled by his own appearance, Jungkook jolts in place, feeling you shift in his lap with a soft little whine. “Bunny,” you frown, and Jungkook watches your side profile in the tiny mirror as you sit back up, press your lips against his ear. “Sit still for me,” you tell him, hand slithering up his chest, around his throat. Over his Adam’s apple, squeezing just the slightest. It’s not tight, but it knocks the air out of his lungs when he sees the action mirrored back at him on the reflective surface. 

That familiar guilt sticks in his throat, evident when your hand slips away and he swallows harshly, the protrusion just beneath his skin bobbing up and down. 

In the back of Jungkook’s mind, he can recall the religious story that surrounded this bodily feature; a sin and the consequence. A garden and a fruit, a beautiful woman by his side. 

Your hand creeps down between your bodies, palming over his quickly fattening cock, and Jungkook swears he sees stars, a strained whimper escaping from his lips that you giggle at. “Oh my,” he huffs, clutching at the skirt of your dress. You nuzzle close again, pressing a tender kiss against the side of his neck. 

Your hands are so soft and sweet, brushing over his cock like you’re simply caressing him out of adoration and not because you want him to cum, staining his seats and your dress. Either way, Jungkook can’t even begin to imagine what you must be thinking; before the date and his confession, he had been afraid that you would discard him. Maybe Jungkook wasn’t what you wanted, maybe he wasn’t what you needed. You were so confident in yourself and your actions, a stark contrast to Jungkook and his constant uncertainty, his fear of doing the wrong thing plaguing him at all hours of the day. 

Even now, with your hands expertly tugging his zipper down, he finds himself going back to that story. That apple in the garden, the consequences it had hailed. Never mind the fact you’re on top of him, claiming to like him, with your hands touching every inch of his skin. He keeps looping back to that Biblical verse instead, thinks about it when your fingers meanly let the elastic band of his briefs snap against his skin. “Ouch,” he flinches, voice a soft whine. He turns too quickly and too suddenly, nose bumping against yours because you’re still so close. 

You smile, puckering your lips for the lightest of kisses. It’s the little things like that that make Jungkook’s entire thought process stall, distantly aware of the fact that it’s, like always, you leading the majority of your encounters once again. Even during your picnic, it had been you who had practically held his hand as you navigated through basic information, asked for his favorite color and his favorite drink. Had it not been for your own proactive tendencies, Jungkook fears he would have never known your favorite color was pink or your favorite day of the week was Thursday. 

It’s a fact that makes him pause, jaw tightening as he once again realizes how little effort he was putting into knowing you. For someone who claimed to like you a lot, he rarely did the work to prove it. Even now, he’s too unsure of who he is and who you are to indulge you properly, instead watching you lead the scene as usual. Before he can stop himself, a sigh is escaping his lips. 

It must convey his emotions perfectly, because it’s enough to make your wandering hands pause by his waist. “Everything okay?” you ask, always knowing what he’s feeling. And it sucks that he couldn’t say the same for himself. 

“N— Yes,” he rushes to say, looking up at you with round eyes, the moonlight painting half of your face a paler color than usual, the other side shrouded in darkness. It makes your eyes look darker, makes Jungkook gulp loudly when you turn those inquisitive eyes on him. 

His answer doesn’t seem to convince you, and it’s with little to no hesitation that you sit back. It puts a distance between the two of you that Jungkook can’t say he’s a fan of. “Jungkook,” you say, voice stern yet warm, one hand reaching up to brush your knuckles against his cheek. “Tell me what’s bothering you?” 

It makes Jungkook nervous. He knows he thinks too much. Part of him fears that oversharing with you will drive you away, put you even farther than you are now. Maybe next time it’ll be a room’s length away, a football field’s length away. And he doesn’t want that; he wants to hold you close, he really does. But there are traditions he carries and beliefs he holds dearly that make it hard for him to do so, as much as it pains him. 

The only reason he knows he’s frowning is because you press your pointer finger against the corner of his mouth. You lean in close, nose bumping against his. It sends your scent billowing over him, makes him dizzy when he becomes aware of the hand he’s got on your bare thigh, the rumpled skirt of your dress pushed away. “Talk to me, bunny,” you murmur. You don’t make a move to kiss him, a fact that Jungkook feels both grateful and disheartened by. “Please?”

And he can’t deny you, not when you ask so nicely. You have this metaphorical grip on Jungkook, a tight hold around his throat that has made him act impulsively these past few weeks, desperate to be with you, to please you. Even now, despite how much he wants to withhold his thoughts, he finds himself quietly admitting them instead. “I want to know you,” he mumbles, unable to meet your eye. You don’t push him to. “I really, um. I like you, __. A lot.” It’s a repetition of his earlier confession. And still, it makes him nervous. A thumb brushes against his cheekbone, encouraging him to meet your solemn gaze even if it means being a blushing mess afterwards. “Before we, uh, do… things.” 

His words may be choppy and incoherent, but you understand him all the same. “You want to go out some more,” you clarify, removing your hand from his cheek. The phantom trail of your fingertips on his skin remains, feels colder when you lean away to allow him some more space. 

Jungkook nods quickly, hoping this rush of adrenaline might help him through this. He bites down on his lower lip, carefully analyzing your expression for any signs of disbelief or disgust. But all he sees is understanding, a cool expression that makes Jungkook’s heart thunder. “I…,” he says, glancing down at where he’s still got his hand on your naked skin. Something inside of him tells him to rub his thumb across it, an action he doesn’t think through until he hears a sharp inhale, watches goosebumps rise over the skin. “I’m sorry,” he rushes out, snatching his hand away before he can do something else of a similar sort. “I- I just—“ said hand now waves around wildly beside him “—I really like you, as a, um— uh. A person. And I—“ and this is where he becomes aware of his unbuttoned shirt and the way you’ve got your pretty pussy pressed against his thigh now “—I, um. I want to know me— I mean, you —better? More? Like—“

His embarrassing babbling is cut off with a gentle kiss to his lips. No tongue, no saliva. Just soft lips against his, a delicate hand against his shoulders. When you pull away, Jungkook unconsciously trails after the touch, eyes half-lidded and in a daze when you place a palm on his chest. “I got it,” you say, lips quirking into a tiny smile. “I want to know more about you too, bunny,” you admit, reaching for the front of his shirt. He watches on with flushed cheeks as you slowly button it up for him, finishing it off with a playful tap against the underside of his chin. 

You glance out of the window thoughtfully. Jungkook is suddenly reminded of how pretty you are, your skin practically glimmering under the pale moonlight. It catches on your necklace, a thin chain with a cross on the end. If he focuses his eyes behind you, his own reflection stares back once more. Jungkook’s entire body threatens to lock up tightly, but a single kiss on the cheek from you interrupts the process. “Do you wanna date?” you ask, like it’s the easiest thing in the world. 

Jungkook can’t agree fast enough. “I— yes,” he gasps, leaning forward too suddenly. It makes you flinch back in surprise, back pressing up against the driver’s seat behind you in surprise. You wouldn’t have fallen or anything, but Jungkook reacts like it was a serious possibility anyway, grasping at your waist and pulling you snug against him, soft thighs sandwiching his tiny waist. “Oh, God,” he frets, immediately moving to release you. 

But you catch him with two arms thrown around his neck, pulling Jungkook close to you for another kiss. Deeper and… meaningful, your satiny lips carefully slotted against his. While it surprises him at first, Jungkook finds himself melting into it soon enough. This was okay, he tells himself, and for the first time in a few weeks, he finds himself believing it. 

It was just kissing— intimate yet appropriate kissing —between two people who were seeing each other. Him, properly seeing you. His heart threatens to burst out of its cage for a second. It’s the first time since he’s met you that he can fully say he hadn’t felt nervous about his actions, hadn’t felt like he was committing some grave sin for chasing after your touch. It was just a kiss, simple and sweet, making both of you smile bashfully when you eventually pull away. There was no lying and no guilt, no tears and no stress. 

It felt good.

Copyright © 2020, 1kook on tumblr. absolutely NO reposts allowed.

[iyumeu]

Pillow Fort Movie Time! - with the Brothers

After begging, pleading, wheedling, and scoring As for all your tests, Lucifer had finally given in and allowed you to use the House of Lamentation's common area one (1) time to do whatever you wanted.

And you wanted to build a pillow fort.

However! You were not content with just a pillow fort. No. You wanted a Cinema Pillow Fort: large, extravagant, and with a television you could watch a movie on.

And so you went to Mammon, knowing that he had a large flat-screen television hoarded somewhere within his room that he wasn't using at all.

⭒☆━━━━━━━⸜₍๑•⌔•๑ ₎⸝━━━━━━━☆⭒

> When you asked Mammon for the television, he was somewhat reluctant to part with it at first. After all, it had cost him a pretty penny and it was fragile!

> However, after telling him what you wanted to do with it and inviting him along (because he would be part of your pillow fort movie party. C'mon. He never leaves you alone and it'll be better to invite him rather than have him try to squeeze his way in. Inviting him would make him feel wanted and you definitely wanted him there!), he had blushed and said that it wasn't that he wanted to help you, but you had asked and he just so happened to be free so he would help you set up both the television and the fort! But he wasn't being nice! He was just... making sure that your pillow fort didn't suck! Because he'd be in there too! (Because he was your first! Your man!) And he didn't want to be in a pillow fort that sucked!

> Mammon had no idea what a pillow fort was. But he wasn't going to tell you that.

> He plugged up the television and hung up the canopy of the pillow fort, layering the blankets and cloth (and why had Mammon been hoarding so much good cloth?) and attaching them to the part of the ceiling where Lucifer usually strung him from so they were nice and secure.

> Your excitement and joy was rubbing off of him and he found himself looking forward to seeing the end result of the pillow fort the two of you were building together.

> Meanwhile you placed some futons and thin mattresses — whatever you had lying around, really — on the ground before covering them up with a few layers of plush and fluffy blankets for the base of the pillow fort.

This was when Belphegor trailed down the stairs, sleepily rubbing at his eye with one hand and holding his pillow in the other, pausing in his step when he saw caught sight of the utter mess you and Mammon had turned the common area to.

⭒☆━━━━━━━ʕ -ᴥ-ʔ━━━━━━━☆⭒

> Belphegor's first thought was honestly to just leave you guys be. It looked like more trouble than it was worth and he couldn't really muster up the energy for it.

> But then you smiled at Mammon so openly and so sweetly, thanking him for his help, that Belphegor suddenly sound himself standing next to you, arms around you and his chin resting on your head.

> "MC... what are you doing?" he asked, ignoring Mammon's demands for him to keep his hands to himself.

> "I'm building a pillow fort!"

> Despite having a demon hanging off of you, you move with a practiced ease as you shifted the futons and mattresses around to ensure that there were neither bumps nor gaps in your base.

> With a similarly practiced ease, Belphie nuzzled his face into the crook of your shoulder.

> "What's a pillow fort?"

> You briefly explain to Belphie what a pillow fort was (pretending to ignore how Mammon listened in on the conversation as well): a construction made out of blankets, pillows, and other soft material resembling a sort of den or nest. It was supposedly very comfortable and cozy.

> This piqued Belphegor's interest. He asks if he can help. He wants to be praised too, like how you praised Mammon.

> You tell him to bring all the pillows he's willing to part with. This was something he could do. He had a lot of pillows, after all, and he would ask Beel to help him drag them all down.

> While Belphegor went to retrieve his pillows, you already had a few beanbags chairs that you bought specifically for this day that you placed around the fort. You piled your pillows together with them to create a few sizeable and steady piles to either lean back or bury yourself in.

Eventually, Beelzebub came down the stairs along with Belphegor, arms pull of pillows and cushions.

⭒☆━━━━━━━ᙙᙖ━━━━━━━☆⭒

> After setting down the pillows and watching Belphegor lie face first into a pile and fall asleep, Beelzebub's attention was immediately drawn to the pile of snacks you had set aside for your movie night.

> First, there were the snacks you had specifically imported from the human realm. Popcorn with various flavors, marshmallows, potato chips, ice cream... you even got yourself two buckets of cotton candy!

> Apart from those, you had spent the day cooking large servings of mac n' cheese, mashed potatoes, and warm soup (in a thermos!). You had also baked cookies and although half of them "mysteriously" disappeared when you were cooling them, you still had quite a sizeable serving left.

> Why did you have so much food? Because you planned ahead of course! From the very beginning, you knew that even though pillow fort movie night was something you planned for yourself, your wonderful, beloved, amazing, clingy demonic housemates would somehow become a part of it.

> The only thing you weren't sure was the number of demons joining you.

> It didn't matter though, considering Beelzebub was here.

> You had to stand between Beelzebub and the food, sternly holding your ground and talking him down. It was an extremely difficult endeavor, considering the lethality of Beelzebub's puppy eyes, but you pulled through. Just barely.

> You lied. You gave Beel the mashed potatoes.

> When you noticed that Beelzebub was still eyeing the rest of your food, you firmly told him that the food was saved for your movie night and that if he wanted to eat it, he had to wait until then.

> "When will movie night start?" he asked.

> "When the pillow fort is set up," you replied.

> +1 helper, get!

> He helped with most of the heavy lifting, bringing the high-backed dining chairs to act as boundary wall for the fort, tying the blankets to them.

> Your pillow fort was taking shape!

> However, it seemed a little too dark. You had completely forgotten to order the fairy lights you planned to use as mood lighting. Thankfully, you know someone who definitely had what you were looking for.

⭒☆━━━━━━━₍ᐢ ̥ ̞ ̥ᐢ₎ ♥━━━━━━━☆⭒

When you knocked on Asmodeus' door to get some of his charmed candles (spelled to keep the flame to themselves! no more burns! no more accidental fires! no more fire hazards! get yours from akuzon now, for only—), he demanded to know what it was for.

> "Is it for a date? A candlelit dinner, maybe?" Asmodeus sidled up next to you, wrapping his arms around one of yours and snuggling close. "Or perhaps to set a romantic, sensual mood for certain... activities?"

> Was it just you or was Asmodeus' grip getting tighter?

> "Since when did you get a paramour anyway," he pouted. "I thought we were friends? Close friends, even! We're supposed to tell each other our secrets!"

> "It's for my pillow fort," you answered. "I'm making one downstairs with Mammon, Belphie, and Beel. You're welcome to join if you want to."

> "I'd love to join!" Asmodeus let go of your arm to grab his candles. "Scented or non-scented?"

> "Non-scented please, we'll be eating snacks while we watch the movie."

> Asmodeus gasped. "A movie? We're going to have a movie date? Ooh, I want to sit next to you! Can I?"

> "Uhhh, I don't mind, but the others might—"

> "It's settled!"

> Asmodeus looked so happy that you decided that you had to make space for him by your side, even if you were faced with ten thousand puppy eyes.

Just then, you saw that Leviathan's door was open and he was looking at the both of you with a pinched expression on his face.

⭒☆━━━━━━━～>º˵)ニニニニ>━━━━━━━☆⭒

> When he realized that you were looking at him, he panicked.

> "MC!!" he blurted out. "I wasn't eavesdropping!"

> His face was flushed red but you noticed that his gaze was still enviously fixed onto you and Asmodeus.

> "Do you want to join us in the pillow fort as well?" you offered. Levi's face turned redder and his grip on the door tightened. Ahh Levi, you're warping the wood.

> "I don't need to join in on your normie activities!" he spat out and then immediately regretted it. "I mean, I don't need to, but I don't mind it! Since you've asked, I suppose I can join in on your movie night and pillow fort!"

> "You don't have to if you don't want to," you said. Half of you was trying to be nice. The other half just wanted to see Levi flustered. You couldn't help yourself. A flustered Levi was a cute Levi!

> Levi mumbled something under his breath. You blinked and leaned in closer.

> "What did you say?"

> "I said I want to!"

> You grinned at him and discovered a brand new shade of red.

> You reached out to link your arms with Asmodeus and Levi.

> "C'mon, let's get back down. The pillow fort should almost be done by now!"

> "Oh right MC," Asmodeus suddenly said. "I've been meaning to ask; what exactly is a pillow fort?"

> "..."

When you were done explaining to Asmodeus and Levi the intricacies of building the Ideal Pillow Fort, you saw Satan standing in the common area, looking curiously at the fort.

⭒☆━━━━━━━(=🝦 ༝ 🝦=)━━━━━━━☆⭒

> You swear, if you had to explain what a pillow fort was one more time—

> "Hello MC, is this... a blanket fort?" Satan asked.

> Oh thank god.

> Or the devil?

> Religion is hard when you're in hell.

> "Yes! I call it a pillow fort but blanket fort is one of its names as well."

> "I see."

> Satan had come across blanket forts — or pillow forts, as MC called them — before in some of the human romance novels he's read. Usually they were used during terribly intimate moments between the romantic leads, or between two very close friends.

> Huddling together and trading hushed whispers, intertwined fingers and shoulders brushing against each other, a small part of Satan has always wanted to try it out with someone.

> Try it out with you, you, it could only be you.

> But he hadn't known how to make a blanket fort and if he were every to do something like that with you, he would want it to be perfect.

> He couldn't find any books on the subject of making blanket forts either so he eventually gave up on his fantasy.

> But now, here it was. The blanket fort.

> It was a little bigger than how he imagined it to be, but it was fine.

> There were also more people compared to how things were in his fantasy but that was also fine.

> He took careful notes in his head. Next time, he would be able to replicate a blanket fort and hopefully you would be willing to share it with him.

> "Would you like to join in?" you asked because Satan was really eyeing the pillow fort with a strange intensity.

> "If you don't mind," Satan replied with a smile.

It was just then that Lucifer came home.

⭒☆━━━━━━━[ᓀ˵◇˵ᓂ]━━━━━━━☆⭒

> "When you said that you wanted free reign over the common area, this was not what I had in mind," Lucifer commented.

> "Haha," you said. And because you already had like six out of seven of the brothers agreeing to join you in your fort, you decided to test your chances with Lucifer. After all, it would suck for him to feel left out. "We're all gonna watch a movie together, would you like to watch with us?"

> There was a long pause as Lucifer looked at you, at the pillow fort, at his brothers, and then at his suitcase.

> Just as you were sure that Lucifer was going to turn down your invitation, he sighed and gave you a small smile.

> Tiny, miniscule, microscopic softening of the eyes, but you knew him well enough to tell that it was a smile.

⭒☆━━━━━━━✿ᏊㅇꈊㅇᏊ✿━━━━━━━☆⭒

> It took a while but eventually you all got yourself settled into the pillow fort. It wasn't a very tight fit, but it certainly was cozy with your clingy demon housemates squeezed tight all around you.

> Each of them had to have a part of their body touching yours, like you were their life source and it brought back memories to the time you went to the beach and, in the hotel, they all formed a circle around you to sleep like some sort of deranged ritual.

> Still, they wouldn't be your beloved demon housemates without all their oddities and quirks and you love them all dearly for it.

> It also helps that not all of them ran hot; some of them actually ran cold so you didn't have to worry about getting overheated anytime soon.

> Anyway, you were comfortable and once you made sure everyone else was too, you loaded your movie and hit play.

"I'd never given much thought to how I would die—"

[espressokiri]

Heyy, I’m Muslim and I’m also a huge simp for Todoroki, Bakugo, Iida, and Kaminari. Soooo can I have them with a Muslim (possibly hijabi) s/o?

Todoroki Shoto, Bakugou Katsuki, Iida Tenya, and Kaminari Denki x Hijabi!reader

In which reader is a hijabi Muslim.

Warnings: None

Genre: Fluff (literally half these ideas came from late night talks with my bestie @that-weirdo-in-the-corner)

Note: My first headcanon <3 I hope you like it!

Todoroki Shoto

We’re all aware of this mans lack of physical affection and aloof nature, along with his social awkwardness. That’s a recipe for odd encounters and hilarious misunderstandings.

This man gained interest in you when he noticed you were elegant even while in training/battles, along with your sweet nature and fashionable modest wear.

He researched about your religion and had found out that only women who are married are allowed to go out alone with their partners.

Poor boy didn’t read/research enough.

He decides to get to know you from a distance, respecting your boundaries and it wasn’t that hard to avoid physical contact as he himself was not one to initiate it.

When you did get closer and formed an emotional bond, you’ll be met with the weirdest encounter;

“Shoto, what are you doing?” You blinked, not understanding what the half-and-half male was doing bent on one knee with a ring box outside your family home.

“I read that we can only go out on dates together if you’re married.”

You want to smack your head on the wall but you were flattered at the same time.

Had to tell him that you were allowed on dates if you were chaperoned by a family member or friends.

Had Fuyumi chaperone you two, she was very delighted but had kept watch from a distance.

Shoto has the best time learning about your religion, curiously asking questions and gains a deeper understanding of how things were in your perspective.

He keeps a respectful distance even during dates, making sure he wasn’t crossing boundaries.

Would scour the whole of Japan to find halal food.

Tells you that he called Endeavour shaytaan and you choke on the water you were sipping on, laughing out loud.

Fasts with you one day and is betrayed at how full he felt after one bite.

Hands you Endeavour’s exclusive credit card for Eid.

Todoroki is just very genuine and he tries his best to keep you comfortable around him, also carries hijab pins in his backpack just in case you need some.

Bakugou Katsuki

Oh God.

Listen, he’s very respectful in his own way but it took him time to work through it with his competitive nature.

Man has done his research thoroughly and he is ready to commit.

“I can cook us a vegetarian meal that won’t be boring to the tastebuds like the crap they sell out there.”

That’s his way of asking you out, making sure his parents would be home too because he knows two people of different genders should not be left alone.

Makes the best damn vegetarian dish. Vegetarian because he has yet to figure out what halal is.

Tries to learn some words, does excellent but his way of speaking is even more aggressive than an Emirati accent. He has your Arab friends shaking in their shoes.

It’s Ramadan? Prepare for three am calls that consist of him yelling at you to get up. Yes, he breaks his sleep pattern to wake you up to eat. Yes, he makes you video call him so he makes sure you eat well and hydrate. Yes, he ends up fasting with you so you don’t feel alone. Will he tell you that? No.

Sometimes he makes Iftar for you and brings it in a bento, giving it to you after school so you can have a good meal.

Watches you with wide eyes and mouth open in shock when he sees you eating when you’re supposed to be fasting;

“WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING? YOU’RE NOT ALLOWED TO EAT YET!”

“I- I’m on my period?”

“SO?”

“We’re not allowed to fast while we’re on our period.”

He stays quiet the rest of the day.

Admires different styles of hijab you do.

Eid? He’s the best dressed alongside you. 

Bakugou would be a good partner, respectable, and tries his best to understand and make you feel comfortable in his own way.

Iida Tenya

This boy knows everything already.

Has done research the second he realized there was a Muslim classmate, and as a good fellow class president it was his duty to make sure everyone was comfortable.

Has extra scarves with a small tin full of pins for you kept under his desk in case of emergencies or if they get damaged in training (which wouldn’t happen as Hatsume had created one that would resist damage.) It was a nice thought.

He does slowly wants to get to know you more as your sweet nature made him feel warm and fuzzy inside.

Keeps a respectful distance at all time.

“Asalam Alaikum, Y/n! It has come to my attention that Ramadan is nearing soon so I have made a list of dietary necessities you may need to intake in order to help your quirk during the holy month.”

“Iida, that’s so sweet of you! You didn’t have to! Also, how did you pronounce that so well?”

“As you class president and friend, I am honoured to do such! To answer your question, I had listened to someone say it on repeat before I practiced.”

This man has every word on repeat just to soak it in his brain.

Averts his eyes even if he sees your ankle, angry at himself for accidentally glancing.

Sir, I promise it’s not a sin to look at an ankle accidentally.

Sees your Hijab bunching up and start showing bits of your neck and shoulder? Grabs the end of the scarf and pulls it down to cover again, avoiding touching your skin.

Checks the ingredients list of the snacks you’re buying for gelatine or alcohol, making sure it’s halal/vegetarian/vegan friendly.

Upset you can’t find halal gummies? This man goes online and orders a bag of certified halal sweets for you to enjoy because you deserve simple joys like this.

Makes sure you pray on time, has the MuslimPro app on his phone to keep track.

He also scrolls through the app to learn more.

Iida is a perfect gentleman and he’s also making sure that you stay spiritually on track and don’t get distracted <3

Kaminari Denki

This man is a physically affectionate person. 

He will make the mistake of bounding over to you and slinging an arm around your shoulder or pull you into a hug.

But he will learn and try to control the affectionate urges, limiting himself to hand holding if you allow it.

He thinks you look wonderful with the different coloured hijabs.

Tries making you wear a yellow and black one to match his hair.

Forgets that you can’t eat everything and anything, especially casual things like gummies.

Will apologize profusely when he realizes after you tell him it has gelatine.

Tries to stave off of gelatine infused products.

“Not even water???”

“Denki, I swear to God I’m going to smack you.”

Yes he’s that guy.

Tries fasting with you, just sleeps through the whole day till it was time to eat.

When he see’s you dozing off in class because of staying up all night either because of suhoor or special night prayers during the last ten days, he’ll zap you to keep you paying attention.

He is honestly your hype man when it comes to modest fashion, especially during Eid. This boy will dramatically kneel on the floor and look at you like you’re the light of his life.

Get’s excited when you hand him Eid money because you love him and he has cute child-like tendencies.

Tries greeting your family members, comes out as gibberish.

“Asalamasjdaskjdhashjs”

“Not quite there yet, Denki. A-plus for effort.”

He’s a fun guy who tries to better himself around you, making sure he’s aware of his actions and makes an effort to not mess up around you because he’s never felt so in love with a person as he has with you.

[whaleofatjme1920]

Could we please get sniper, engi and demo's reaction to finding out their crush is actually merasmus' apprentice and can do magic?

Sniper, Engineer and Demoman Finding Out their Crush is a Witch

[GN!Reader]

[Warnings: Like, none?]

[AN: This is perhaps my most favored and beloved ask yet.]

Sniper

He wonders where you're sneaking out and well, to say he's worried about you is an understatement. He's perceptive, but that doesn't stop him from missing things every now and then. Eventually, he just kinda asks you about it? "So, wombat, what're you up to?" and it's not accusatory, he's just genuinely curious what you're up to. You're like his best friend, should be able to tell him anything. So, you tell him right off the bat "Merasmus wanted to pass down his magickal knowledge to someone else - I'm that someone else!"

Mundy is like what?? That's possible?? Of course, you show him some of your study. Your grimoire is filled with knowledge of herbs, colors, the weather, deities (if you wish to work with any), but you're mostly focused on chaos magick. Mundy is absolutely enamored with how much work you've put into your craft. Merasmus, in his point of view prior to, was never really that important? Like, he knew that there were powers outside of his realm of knowledge but actually seeing this kind of stuff makes him spin for a moment or so.

He probably asks a lot more questions on spell jars, just little things because he's interested in your work. Merasmus finds it kinda sweet, and then promptly asks if you want to cast a love spell - for "practice" reasons. Sure.

Engineer

SO, I firmly believe that Dell is a Christian part of a denomination that's weirdly progressive for the time period it exists in. Dell also doesn't strike me as a discriminatory man. He's very "well as long as everyone pulls their weight I do not care at all go team". He's a southern gentleman through and through, and embodies hospitality. With that said, he is a little worried about you hanging around Merasmus? It's not because he doesn't trust you, he doesn't trust Merasmus. Eventually, you get a little tired of his polite prodding and tell him point blank that you're a witch in training, and that Merasmus is mentoring you.

Dell is taken aback, just a bit. He's seen Merasmus' powers but like, heck that's transferrable? He doesn't know much about other religions and paths, just accepts them as long as they don't bring harm to anyone else. Imagine how pleasantly surprised he is when he finds out your main path is kitchen and green witchery! The earth is where you draw your power. Dell falls in love with you a little bit more finding this out.

Dell sometimes gets you little things. "Hey there honey bee, thought this might help. Is it uh, a good moon phase out now?" Sweet stuff. Helps you garden, learn more about the natural world, and ends up being better friends with Merasmus too. Merasmus is about to cast a love spell for the two of you stop pining you adorable idiots.

Demoman

Deeply, deeply spiritual man. He believes in the selkies, the fae, kelpies and what not. And he has history with Merasmus from what I can remember?? It's been a while have mercy on me. Tavish kinda figures it out himself? Like, he forgets a lot of things thanks to the surgery that uh, Ludwig did but he always remember the little things, down to the minute details, about you. And he knows you're involved with Merasmus. Feels it in his bones. He is, by nature, a very superstitious man. Does little things when you leave to wish you well, and lmfao you assume it's just because he's being friendly. No! He adores you!! But, the pining-. You end up just kinda,,, talking to Tavish about it? Like, it' a very natural conversation and he smiles like "ofc I knew that"

He loves that your primary areas of study are connected to nature, and different types of divination. He's never been very good at divination, as his higher self often isn't,,, he's not paying enough attention but he has the potential. A way he actually gets closer to you is by asking for you to practice your tarot spreads on him! Palmistry, all that cute stuff. He just falls more and more in love with you by the second. I feel the two of you actually spend a lot of time telling mythological stories to one another. It's very sweet. He's always asking about your practice, using it as an excuse to be close to you. He just - he thinks you're gorgeous.

This time it's him who wants you to cast the spell. "I just want t'see what'll happen!!" Like, Tavish you sly dog we know. Heart eyes <3