#might still tweak them a bit

[puppycheesecake]

A quick Roomies makeover.

[pennumbra]

Pin journey update! @xannerz and I were super happy with the response towards the Cass flame design I posted earlier, and we're thinking that it would actually be the best pin for our first project! With that said, here are some other designs we've also been playing around with- perhaps ones to revisit or follow up on in the future. ✨

The hand/moonstone design is the simplest, but it might be my favorite.

[reliquarian]

Bailed on this for about a week because I wasn't sure how I wanted to make it viewport adaptive, wound up sitting with it again today and working out something that I think works pretty well

[bragganhyl]

some brainstorming/patch notes for Bertalan 3.0 Larian's Version Third Time's The Charm Version

has a more messed up backstory, I won't detail it here but it involves being offered to a hag before his birth but then going back on the deal

he is actually Baldurian now, but he prefers staying outside town where he's needed more (as a monster-hunter/herbalist i'm thinking those farmlands/woods that get destroyed in act 3)

has more of a "power reveals" than a "power corrupts" mindset both in terms how power is used and what one might do to obtain power

as such he no longer takes on tadpoles out of insecurity but bc he totally know who he is and what he's about, he can be trusted with power I prommy

as such he is more aware of his own standing in society and has a more dutiful approach to things, but also has more disdain for the peacekeeping organizations of Baldur's Gate but also towards the gods

his age got bumped up a little bit to the 38-44 range

he is now grumpier and angstier but also more confident and with more of a "I know more than you" attitude in acts 1 and 2 but he also also has more of a heart of gold don't worry

alchemy is no longer a metagaming thing he actually has braincells to do it

[problemswithbooks]

Nah kill Endeavor midway and introduce new hero to take his role as the hero with new relevant story as No 1 like happened with Hawks and last minute additions like Star Stripe. Because Endeavor remains the only morally bad hero who is an example of what hero should not do in personal life using his job as a cover as Stain warned. His treatment of Inasa, taking on petty cases to increase numbers and being dumber than Iida who cracked the pattern faster magnified his behaviour as a shoddy hero driven by envy and prejudice and personal desires and not enough to call it justice as the subjective praisevsays about his heroics by people who have a personal reason to believe he was good as a hero and not disbelive it even in face of proof. His atonement didn't actually have narrative significance in the end either. If he was pulled out of their story, already Deku then Shoto then self-effort from hidden strength from hope due to Shoto alone was enough. He couldn't give them any actual closure or help. Endeavor in short had little to no big role other than being the cause of this apocalypse from a single video because he took the No 1 spot by default despite being wrong for it. The effect of the video was more positive in the long run by freeing them and making their stories valid by Endeavor's televised confession than how bad Toga or Gentle's families had it from being associated while Shoto seem happier having shared with all. They are also valid for unconditionally loving their son instead of being conflicted by his crimes which is Endeavor's fault to them as Shoto's thoughts went. Overall Endeavor's role is simply as the abuser who prevents his victims from taking heat and criticism from his fans by confessing because they all push him including Hawks and it is possible because the hero association are dead and won't issue a cover up to protect their overall image. But this confession could still be exposed in other ways using new characters or existing information technology known with Garaki Kyuudai had Hori wanted while keeping Endeavor bad which would have resulted in a better catharsis than leaving him sticking on to his victims.

Ok so another long break down.

Nah kill Endeavor midway and introduce new hero to take his role as the hero with new relevant story as No 1 like happened with Hawks and last minute additions like Star Stripe. Because Endeavor remains the only morally bad hero who is an example of what hero should not do in personal life using his job as a cover as Stain warned.

Killing Enji this way only works if the story becomes fully about Hero corruption, which it just isn't. All of the Heroes which had questionable attitudes toward Heroics changed their ways, or besides Enji just weren't that bad to begin with. Even if we leave Enji as a truly bad guy, he's one out dozens we see who are all good, so it doesn't even help prove the corruption angle much. Could this work--sure, but it'd change the story and it's themes drastically from what Hori's intentions seem to be--at that point it's not even his story.

On top of that we get no evidence Enji is using his job as a Hero as cover. Nor did Stain ever say anything about Heroes using their job to hide actual crimes. I love the guy, but all he cared about was people being Heroes that weren't 100% selfless. On top of that he just didn't even seem to check the Heroes he hunted out first, since we have no evidence Tensei was anything other then a great Hero who cared a lot about saving people. Stain didn't know about Enji's abuse and just hated him because he wasn't All Might.

His treatment of Inasa, taking on petty cases to increase numbers and being dumber than Iida who cracked the pattern faster magnified his behaviour as a shoddy hero driven by envy and prejudice and personal desires and not enough to call it justice as the subjective praisevsays about his heroics by people who have a personal reason to believe he was good as a hero and not disbelive it even in face of proof.

But Enji did crack Stain's pattern--that's why he and Shoto we in the city at all that night. He tells Shoto about it when they leave for Hosu. Shoto even says he only picks Enji's agency because he's a great at his job and despite his hate for him at that point, it'd be stupid to turn down learning from one of the best in the industry.

Enji never shows prejudice in the manga. The spin off made him OOC so he could function as a side antagonist for the later arc in the story, but in the main story he never acts that way. No, he was never great to fans because having fans was never his reason for being a Hero and he didn't understand how important it was to inspire people until he became #1.

I assume what you mean by disbelieving proof, you're talking about Touya's video during the first War. Honestly, people not believing Touya makes perfect sense in context. Enji was never super popular, but when a villain who has killed multiple people and is currently responsible for a major terrorist attack effecting dozens cities suddenly releases a video saying "Hey, this guy trying to stop me from killing everyone is actually bad, trust me, and therefore you should hate everyone who has the same job." it is hard to believe. Plus, people did did believe it, they just were more concerned about Enji failing to stop a massive terrorist attack that probably resulted in hundreds of casualties and displaced thousands of people, then the fact he abused his family--something that in the moment is nothing compared to all the lives lost.

Endeavor in short had little to no big role other than being the cause of this apocalypse from a single video because he took the No 1 spot by default despite being wrong for it.

Enji didn't cause the apocalypse, Shigaraki and the LoV did. Sure, Touya's video didn't help, but because it came out after most of the major damage was done it didn't have as much effect as it could have had if it had been released right after Enji got the #1 spot. People would have been angry at the Heroes and Enji anyway because so many people died and the LoV wasn't captured.

The effect of the video was more positive in the long run by freeing them and making their stories valid by Endeavor's televised confession than how bad Toga or Gentle's families had it from being associated while Shoto seem happier having shared with all.

We don't actually see the family show any positive emotions toward the video. In fact we see them having to hide from the public because they're now blamed for Touya's murders. Shoto can't even go and be with his friends when Izuku walks into U.A, and instead has to hang back with Enji who, I assume had to go in a back way due to all of the hate they were getting because of Touya's video. Shoto might not be upset with his friends knowing, but he was never super quite about his abuse either, given he spilled the beans to Izuku as quick as possible during the sports festival. We don't see if the rest of the family feels similarly at all.

They are also valid for unconditionally loving their son instead of being conflicted by his crimes which is Endeavor's fault to them as Shoto's thoughts went.

But they don't see Touya's crimes as Dabi as 100% Enji's fault. Shoto tells him it was wrong of him to involve other people. Natsuo tells him to stop and that he's being an idiot big brother. Fuyumi just doesn't want him to kill their mom and dad. Even when Shoto thinks "he is me" that implies he does consider Touya's actions his own, since Shoto always held himself responsible for his own poor choices, like being rude to Inasa. Just because they still love Touya doesn't mean they don't hold him responsible for his actions. Enji is at fault, yes, but at the end of the day Touya still decided to murder random people to fulfill his own plans of revenge.

Overall Endeavor's role is simply as the abuser who prevents his victims from taking heat and criticism from his fans by confessing because they all push him including Hawks and it is possible because the hero association are dead and won't issue a cover up to protect their overall image.

The family isn't getting shit on by Enji's fans though, nor does Enji admitting the video is true suddenly make people 100% fine with the other Todoroki's. People didn't hate on the family because they saw them as lying about the abuse because they love Enji to much--they were mad because they view them as extensions of Touya, who killed their loved ones and destroyed their homes. They also don't have to push Enji to do the press conference or admit his abuse. They push him to stay a Hero and help them stop/save Touya. That's why even after he admits to the abuse, Shoto is still shunned.

We also have zero evidence to suggest the Hero Commission ever covered up the abuse. Especially since Shoto has no problem telling Izuku about it.

But this confession could still be exposed in other ways using new characters or existing information technology known with Garaki Kyuudai had Hori wanted while keeping Endeavor bad which would have resulted in a better catharsis than leaving him sticking on to his victims.

Again, this only works if you fundamentally change the story Hori is trying to tell. He wants Enji to change and be a better person. You can not agree with that choice, but if we're taking about stuff an author could have done better you have to try and stick to what they want the story to be. We still don't know 100% what Hori is trying to say because the ending hasn't come out yet, but so far Enji atoning seems to be a big part of the overall message of the story. If that is the case you have to try and find fixes that stick with that vision, otherwise you're just writing your own story, not just making editing suggestions to make the current work better.

[ssspringroll]

mentally preparing myself for the inevitable shift in my sim style that emerges from this new cas lighting. i can already feel my sims changing slightly.

[child-of-the-cosmos]

Gracie lives in my head rent free, so I give you this 🤲🤲

Slightly edited version under cut ^^

[thecloudedkokoro]

I´ve decided that if people were able to turn Klint and Lady B into actual characters, then I think I can do the same with Selden and Duncan. They were both surprisingly fun to draw!

Love how unintentionally opposite their designs are by the way, not only in body shape but also facial expression. Duncan always has this serene but slightly goofy smile on his face while Selden looks extremely grumpy and like he hasn´t slept in at least four weeks.

That also makes them great constrasts to Olive and Shamspeare respectively!

[erigold13261]

Why does she have to be so difficult to draw? Her colors all seem so wacky

[mellowwillowy]

Bathtub sex with your husband because he was suddenly all petty and jealous with your servants helping you bathe.

CW: NSFW, slight yandere, GN Reader

Your husband had always been an understanding man, he thought with a cool head and logic all the time. He would never get jealous of his love rivals, reasoning he was way better of an option than they would ever be.

Yes, he was not arrogant but he knew his own self-worth. He knew he had always been the best for you.

So why did he suddenly insist on helping you bathe?

“Dear, did you mean bathing with me or did I hear you wrong?” You stood next to him as he prepared the water for you. The scent he chose had always been floral, something that smelled innocent in a sense.

Your husband shook his face as he felt the temperature of the water. It welcomed him warmly, assuring him that it was the perfect temperature for you to relax already. Yulian beckoned you to enter the bathtub and so you did.

He pushed a cart of bathroom amenities, the aromatherapy candles all lit to light the room enough for as he switched the lights off.

You sighed at the sensation, slowly melting into one with the water. Yulian sat by the tub, his hands slowly massaging your tense shoulders as he hummed a lullaby for you.

“How lucky are the servants who help you bathe to see you like this every day.” He whispered into your ears as you giggled.

“Are you envious of them?”

Yulian stayed silent for a moment as he poured water over your head, “Recently,” he spoke as he poured the ointment into his hands, “I’ve been seeing lots of divorce trials.”

You hummed at his reply, leaning into his hands massaging your scalp, “And?”

“Most of them come from… affairs.”

You raised one of your eyebrows at the mention of affair, “Are you saying I might be cheating with one of my servants dear?”

“Not really,” Yulian now focused back on massaging your shoulders again, “but I can't help but be bothered by the fact that one of your servants might be admiring you, enchanted by you.”

His face inched closer to yours now, “And while they are at it, they can freely see and feel your body…” his hands slowly felt your arms up and down, “and be around you every day, helping you dress, attending all your needs while I'm away.”

You've never seen your husband act like this before. This was the first time he had shown his jealousy blatantly.

Yulian started pressing chaste kisses on the back of your neck, his grips remained on your arms. You squirmed as his hands snaked further into your nipples.

“It's so unfair, I'm your husband and yet they get to see you so vulnerable more often than I would ever be.”

What was once a chaste kiss soon turned into hickeys, purple decorating you from the back of your neck to your collarbone. You recognized this gesture as his way of showing his pettiness.

“So today,” his fingers tweaked your nipples as he kissed your earlobe, “can I show you just how much I love and adore every bits of you?”

—

The two of you were connected in the bathtub, his cock throbbed as its snug inside of you. How many times had he cum so early yet still had the strength to continue? You knew your husband couldn't last long but that didn't mean his stamina was to be doubted.

His precision in hitting your sweet spot had always been pitch-perfect. It never failed to make you squeal and tighten around him, pushing him closer to yet another orgasm.

Yulian hid his face in the crook of your neck, trying his best to not bite into your flesh, and opted to bite his lip until he tasted steel instead.

You moaned out his name as you felt like you were about to reach yet another orgasm as well. Your hand intertwined with his, you turned back to kiss him, tasting his blood while at it.

“So close… together?”

Yulian’s cock throbbed at the mention of it before he nodded along, “I-I’ll try.”

Yulian lifted you from his lap and positioned you to lean onto the wall before he continued ramming into you like a starving man. Nonetheless, he still made sure to prioritize your pleasure as well instead of being selfish and chasing his own release.

Your knees wobbled and you felt really weak yet his strong grip wouldn't let you slide down, at least not until you two were done.

Ragged breath and breathy groans, the bathroom smelled like sex instead of florals. The whole candles flickered with each thrust he made and the water rippled with every shake your legs made.

It didn't take so long for you two to come in unison. The bath water that was once pristine and clean was soon mixed with both of your bodily fluids. Your insides felt warm the moment he came inside you again.

Your knees slowly gave up as the two of you slowly collected your composure. Yulian’s hands never let you go as he slowly lowered you into his embrace again.

He started peppering your face with kisses again, his fingers ran over all the hickeys he had left all over you, some were in a very visible place.

“How am I supposed to cover all of these dear?” you pouted at him as you pushed his face away from you playfully.

Yulian raised his eyebrows before answering you, “You don't cover them dear.”

[hoshigray]

suguru and choso making the reader squirt for the first time via reader receiving oral... please and thank u sm hoshibutt 👅

၇͜ᩘ𑁍 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐬: Geto + Choso x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - breast fondling + nipple play - fingering (f! receiving) - oral (f! receiving) - clitoral play (licking and sucking) - first time squirting! - pet names (baby, cutie, good girl, sweetie) - reader is a bit self-conscious - mention of saliva.

“How is it, baby? Feeling good?”

“A-Ahh…y-yesss, feels good…Mmmm, so good.”

“Ya hear that, Choso? Keep doing what you’re doing!”

You throw your head back to Geto’s shoulder, who’s stationed behind you, his hands nestled inside your shirt to grope your chest. Meanwhile, Choso kneels on the floor, the pony-tailed man going to town between your legs.

It was meant to be a typical date, spending the afternoon in your boyfriends’ apartment. You could’ve sworn that today entailed some delicious slices of local pizza, video games, and an action movie. However, you might have guessed somewhere down the line that the two men would eventually derail their attention from the television screen into a film of their own…

All three of you were in the living room, your back glued to the front of Geto’s red flannel shirt. The long raven-haired man’s hands fondle your chest lovingly while Choso feasts on your cunt, wet with his saliva lathering your folds with his tongue. He holds your legs apart so the focus on your chasm is easier to maintain.

You screw your eyebrows together at the flick of your clitoris by the wet muscle. “Ohhh, ohhh…!”

“Making cute noises for us, cutie?” Geto kisses your cheek and tweaks your nipples pleasantly. “Your nipples are getting stiff, too.”

Choso sucks your essence after spitting on your labia, flinging his tongue around to gather as much of your taste as he can. He then peers up to see that Geto has lifted your shirt, exposing your chest to the open. He swallows thickly and removes his lips from your vulva, bringing his lips to capture one of the buds of your mounds. You mewl at the contact of his tongue, now swirling around your nipple as he sucks sluggishly.

“Heh, must taste good everywhere, huh?” Geto doesn’t expect an answer from Choso sucking on your tit. Instead, he coats his middle and ring finger with his saliva and travels them down to your folds, pushing them inside with ease and immediately wriggling them around to feel your gummy texture. 

You cry out at the insertion, his digits going faster after a few jagged pushes and pulls. He dwells them further, scraping your insides with his blunt fingertips. And the pace becomes frantic, digging them knuckle-deep at a fast rhythm that has you gripping on Choso’s black tee for support. 

“Gaaahhh, w-wait, slow down!” You’re wailing in pleads. There’s too much going on: Choso sucking on your tit relentlessly, pushing your nipple to the top of his mouth, and grazing it with his teeth. And Geto, playing with the other mound while he pleases you with vaginal stimulation. “N-Naaahh, Christ, wait!” Your body wishes to jerk, but your legs are pushed to your chest, leaving your lower half squirming to no end. Something’s coming! “I-I caann’t—Dahaahh!” 

Geto’s sporadic movements have you whining until he removes them to lick, and Choso releases your nipple to return to your vulva, sucking on your clit and lapping around your urethra and inner lips. Shivers rock your core, and you–unforsakenly–let loose.

Between your legs, you unleash a clear, watery substance, ejecting it into Choso’s mouth. It takes him aback, tilting back to let the liquid spray slightly. However, he returns to lick the glands after a moment, secreting the surprising liquid that still exudes from your system and leaves a watery mess everywhere. Until it stops, it sprinkles all over your inner thighs and surely wets the giver’s shirt.

Violet eyes ventured down and witnessed the entire scene. “Oh, woah!”Three figures stay frigid for a few seconds, assessing what occurred within the past ten seconds. “…I had no idea you were a squirter.”

“Same here,” Choso agrees, licking his lips and wiping his cheeks with his shirt after straightening himself.

“Neither did…I?” You blink, a little too shocked to move. “I-…I’m sorry, I made your clothes wet!”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Geto’s hands leave your chest and come to your inner thighs to massage. “It’s normal.”

“N-No, really, though; I’m so sorry! I didn’t know I could even do that; it went in your mouth, and I probably ruined this whole—“

“No, no, it’s fine,” Choso palms your cunt to smear the substance you squirted. “That was…pretty fucking hot.”You open your lips to rebuttal, yet impossible as they stun you. The pig-tailed man takes off his shirt and slides his jeans down to his knees, and your breath hitches at his long cock springing out from his bowers. 

“Yeah, it was,” Geto chimes in while the other takes a seat next to him and takes you by the hand. “I’m kinda curious if you can do that again now.”

Awkwardness still has you by the neck, but Choso coaxes you while massaging your ass, sneaking his finger inside to finger. “Mmmph…You–Are you sure?”

“Totally,” Geto chuckles as he stands and strips his flannel shirt. His arms are now out from the white tank top. “Can’t let this opportunity go to waste, right?”

“C’mere, sweetie,” Choso guides you by the waist, the glans of his erect cock pushing onto the entrance of your asshole. You gasp sharply once you feel him add himself, leisurely bringing your ass down to sit on him. After a few seconds of a few bounces on his dick, Geto brings your legs for Choso to hold so your wet slit is out for his vision.

Geto licks his fingers with a dark snicker. “Stay just like that,” the digits skim around your labia until they’re pushed inside. 

You jolt with a shriek, Choso right there to soothe you with a kiss on the cheek.

“Good girl.”

© 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐠𝐫𝐚𝐲2024 ☆ header edit done by me + dividers by @animatedglittergraphics-n-more.

[the-blaze-empress]

when i say i learnt coding for origins i mean i learnt coding for origins. case in point im hand writing the code for a custom origin in my notebook. could i just do the code on my coding program on my laptop which i am using to write this tumblr post? absolutely! why am i not? because i dont want to

[shapelytimber]

Ok hear me out.......... wlw Wilhuff Tarkin and Orson Krennic-

the dynamic very much is unhinged creative vs rigid control freak in a context of evil bureaucracy- and personally the context is why I love to read stories with imperials jdjdkd nothing is more crack cocaine literature for me than to make drama in a space office filled with awful people

More flavor text and me trying to sell you on why this ship of two truly terrible people is great below vvv

For Krennic, lean more into the evil genius artist. She's been up for 46 hours straight drawing schematics, she's rambling about incomprehensible shit, her only meals have been cigarettes and energy drinks, she's so full of herself she might one day think she's god, she's gonna die by 60. She doesn't care much about the politics of the empire, but they don't bother her either. She works for the imperials because they have a lot funds to give to engineers willing to build them a battle station the size of a moon capable of blowing up planets. Before that she worked on a lot a architectures on imperial center/Coruscant.

The imperial uniforms are a bit boring- so I'm taking full advantage of the fact Krennic is more of an engineer/architect to tweak her uniform a bit (and the cape was already not respecting regulations sooooo) For Tarkin I'm keeping it tho, this woman won't be caught dead without it.

For Tarkin, lean less into the whole buff survivalist aspect- she very much was in her youth, but she *is* a 65 year old woman based on *Peter Cushing*, and has been in a very high and prestigious position within the empire for the past 20 years. She still as an extensive knowledge on how to survive in nature, and fight with her bare hands or a knife, but that doesn't come up very often in her line of work anymore. She still killed a space bear unharmed when she was like 17 tho. She hates chaos and developed the main philosophy that drove the empire to this day : to govern with fear and impose order. She is a bloodthirsty woman in her sixties, with a never ending hunger for power, currently cheating on her wife with a coworker she hates.

They both love the death star more than they tolerate each other, but they did end up bonding over plotting the demise of one coworker they couldn't stand and digging out rebel spies. Make no mistake tho, this is very much a love triangle/trouple between two women and a giant battle station.

In the end, Tarkin killed Krennic by shooting her from orbit with the death star, the project was finally finished, she didn't need her anymore and she might have gotten in the way of her control of the station.

Tarkin dies a few days later during the battle of Yavin, along the death star, not willing to back down in her moments of glory.

PS : a lot of this is inspired by the fic "Propagating structure" by oneinspats ! it's what made me like and understand this pairing, and is truly a great work of fiction. I really think this fic is a masterful work when it comes to expending the character of Krennic, and extrapolating on existing things. Exploring his more creative side, his passion for his work, his truly abysmal lifestyle, giving him a hatred of nature and a background as an architect on Coruscant. While also keeping his horrific aspects, like reading his internal (or external) monologues sometimes makes my skin crawl with how disgusting his ideas are and how deep they run, but making him an interesting and compelling protag for the story. While all of it is surrounded by this delicious dramatic irony, because we know that no matter how hard they try to scheme (or fuck), the death star will blow up and it's incredible.

[kneelingshadowsalome]

Hi !!!! I’m sorry if this is bothering you and if so you can totally ignore this but…

I’ve been thinking about how Ghost would react to reader gradually pulling away from him because she gained some weight and is self conscious and ashamed and doesn’t want to be seen by him, so sculpted and beautiful… but of course he’s feeling low because he wants to be close to reader and so he asks and she finally explains it to him (ready to be broken up with…)…. And I’d love to read your take on it !

You can make it female or gender neauteal I don’t really care !!!! Thank you anyway ❤️❤️❤️❤️

Wildflowers Grow in Ruins

(Ghost x F!Reader, word count: 5 k)

Summary: Reader tries to break up with Ghost because she thinks she's not good enough for him.

Tags/warnings: FLUFF, soft sensual smut 🔞, hurt/comfort, light angst, Jealous!Ghost, Soft!Ghost, self-loathing & self-body shaming. Good girl talk/praise kink. Reader is female and wears a skirt for smut plot purposes.

A/N: I hope you like this take & I hope you don't mind that I tweaked this request just a little bit!) Also: JFC I'm wordy. The "I need to explain why they're fucking!" meme comes to mind every time I write anything.

Wars are exhausting. 

You know fighting for something can empower people. Fighting against something usually just depletes your strength.

But waging a war against yourself… 

Now that is pure hell. 

It started somewhere in your youth. You thought adulthood would take it away; that reason and tolerance would take it away. You were supposed to feel more confident in yourself, more positive about life. And for a moment, you thought you might just succeed.

But standing beside a god of war is no easy feat.

He came into your life like a walking myth, swept you away, and you only laughed as you went. It was fun at first. He was supposed to be your savior, the solution to all your problems. If a man like him found you attractive, perhaps it was the world that was crooked and not you.

But then you got soft: you started to gain pounds. Meanwhile, he became even more magnificent. It reminded you that it had all been just a dream.

Perhaps it was his eyes that seemed to worship you, that seemed to look past your every flaw. Perhaps it was the hands which never seemed to get enough of your skin. Whatever it was, it was too much. And at the same time, never enough.

The day has finally come to let him go.

You think yourself heroic. It's like it should be: it's only right that you finally release him to someone better than you.

But inside, the noble feelings twist and turn and curl around your throat and stuff your stomach full of ice - the kind they fill glasses of mojito with. The drink you'll always remember him by because he teased you about it: that you wanted an ice-cold summer drink even in the middle of winter.

Now you feel cold all over, and wish he could warm you like he used to. 

You would forsake all the mojitos of the world to keep him. You would renounce the whole drink if it came to that; if you could make him yours.

But he's not yours. He never was: he was just on loan to give you a taste of what it would be like to have a man like him. That taste should be more than enough for a lifetime. You should feel grateful.

So why is it so hard to let go?

The key on the front door turns, and your heart shoots up your throat: you're supposed to settle this thing once and for all. You're supposed to let go of him today. 

And still, when he arrives, you can't find the courage to say what you need to say. The words are stuck in your throat, but tears are not. He should already be a memory, but you find yourself suffocating on memories as you cry. You've learned to do even that in silence, like the rest of your suffering.

You take a few deep breaths, wipe the tears away, shove the rest of them down your throat – you save them for later, later, when he's far away and you can finally curl up and cry your heart out without no one there to look. Fucking later.

Good. 

Good.

Great.

You put your heaviest armor on. It protects weak and soft flesh because you can't meet him all bare. Then you step forward with the knowledge that you’re a thoroughly wounded guerrilla while he is a seasoned, well-rested veteran. The fight is nowhere near even, but it's ok. You are not meant to be in the presence of immortals anyway.

The man looks at you warily as you finally enter the room. That haunted look has followed you for some time now as the distance between you has grown. 

It should be easy, what is about to come, because he hasn't touched you in weeks. You haven't wanted him to.

Or you have… But it's not easy to have his hands on you when your body is only a vessel you hate. How can you even think about pleasure when all you think about is how it must feel for him to caress something as awful as this?

The man is a vision, and he settles for a peasant. It should be against the law, but it's not… so you figured a some time ago that you should simply find the strength and grace to do ii: do what's right.

"I need to talk to you." 

Your voice comes out neutral, and it makes you more confident, if only for a second or two.

He lifts his chin: already knows what's coming, because he's not stupid. You've been shutting down for weeks, and he hasn't done much about it. But when the thunder rolls in, he doesn't flee. Probably because he fears nothing.

"Go ahead then," he says, equally as neutral, equally as icy. Got his armor on, too. 

This should be easy…

It's really not, so you decide to rip the band-aid off in one yank.

"I think we should go separate ways."

The following inhale from across the room pierces the air like a bullet. You can hear his breaths gain depth and speed all the way to where you're standing.

"Ok."

It doesn't look or sound like he's ok. If anything, he looks like he's trying to process the sudden storm. 

"Ok…" His eyes are on the floor as he rubs the back of his neck. Then he starts to pace around the little kitchenette you've shared for almost six months, just before you started gaining weight.

He stops to look out the window, then turns to you, and the hurt in his stare comes through like a thousand needles pushing through skin.

"Is it because of my work?" 

"No."

"What is it then?"

Your breaths are getting out of hand, too. He looks like a lost, tired creature in an abandoned animal shelter for a moment, and it breaks your heart. It squeezes the organ inside a flaming fist until it shatters like it has never been nothing more than ice.

Your lip starts to tremble, and he notices, as per usual. Nothing escapes this man, except perhaps the true reason for your anguish.

"Hey. Hey."

He comes to you and hugs you like it's the only thing that matters: to comfort you when he sees you're about to cry, no matter how crushed he's feeling himself. The sudden warmth, the intimacy after weeks and weeks of pain is knee-buckling. 

"Is there anything I can do to change your mind?"

His voice is soft, so soft… The tears rush forth now; there's no way of stopping them. What the hell can you even say to a question like that? That you wish he could grab a magic wand and turn you into someone gorgeous, the woman he deserves?

His embrace feels good, kind of. It also feels smothering because your self-hate makes you want to disappear from existence entirely. His eyes are equal to physical touch, a probing scan that sees every little flaw, not to talk about massive faults, the ones which make you feel like you're simply disgusting. His touch only reminds you how you must feel like to him: soft, too soft, weak.

And he must hate weakness.

"What do you need me to do? I'll do anything," he tries with a parched throat, then swallows. 

It's fucking horrible. This isn't going at all like you had imagined.

"It's not about you," you struggle out of his hold, and he lets you go with reluctance. You have to basically fight your way out of a bone and steel prison. Why would he even want to hold a pathetic woman who's on the brink of ugly crying on top of everything?

"What do you mean?"

He's slightly breathless – and restless as fuck. He's usually so calm; nothing can get to him, nothing can rattle the tower of raw strength. Now you've not only pierced some invisible armor; you can hear pieces of it falling on the floor.

"Have you found someone else?"

What the…

"No." You put as much weight on that word as you possibly can. To imagine that he thinks you are cheating… Fucking cheating on someone like him. "Jesus Christ…"

He takes a deep breath and sighs deeply, sighs out relief, perhaps. Then his razor-sharp stare fixes on you again, and you can see the fear turning into something akin to concern. You suspect you have to tell him the truth, otherwise he will dig it out of you. 

"I'm just…" 

Jesus, this is just humiliating. 

"I'm just not your type."

"What the hell are you talking about," he mutters, the impending fury giving way to momentary surprise. 

He gets intense sometimes. This time, the ferocity is born of barely concealed distress. He's broad and magnificent, even in despair. He’s just so fucking fine… The perfect man, someone you had never even imagined yourself with. Pulled down to the world of puny mortals, evidently stressing about losing one. 

Losing you.

"If you have someone new, you can just bloody well tell me."

"It's not that. You don't understand–" 

"Try me."

"I just…" A tear escapes down your face as you finally break for him. "I'm fat. Okay? And ugly. And–"

"Stop right there."

The look on his face is just… It's priceless, you suppose.

"Bloody fucking hell…" 

He looks at the floor, then runs his fingers through the short cut hair on top of his head. You've yanked those blonde strands more times than you can count, nearly every time he's been between your legs, and you miss it – you long for it, like fallen angels long for heaven. 

And if there was a time this man was rendered speechless, you would say you were witnessing that moment right now. His brows knit together, then he looks up at you again with blaring disbelief.

"You're serious?"

"Yes."

"This is the reason you wanna break up?"

Ugh.

"Yes?"

His voice grows rougher with every question until it resembles thunder, and you suspect this is the commanding tone his soldiers are used to hearing. 

But you're not: it's gravelly, harsh, and betrays the feeling of having been insulted. You feel even more devastated with yourself – it appears you can do nothing right.

"Where has this… idea even come to your head?"

"I don't know." 

"And you never thought to ask my opinion?"

"Would you please stop yelling," you whisper and blink back some putrid tears. His mouth is snapped shut, his head pulls back just a little as he realizes what he's done. 

"Sorry," he says with a half-whisper, and you catch the strain in his throat. You've never seen him cry, but now his voice is suddenly thin and frail. "I'm sorry."

He takes a step, then another, places fingertips on the counter as if to take the faintest support.

"Can I touch you?"

You don't really want him to do that, but you feel pity for the man. He's trying to find a way through this mess, and you want to help him.

"Yes," you whisper, and he immediately comes and takes you in his arms again. Hot tears disappear into his shirt, and you sniff a few times. He feels so good, so safe, even when you're about to lose him. His hold tightens around you, and the kitchen is silent; the whole world is silent. You don't know if you're being put to a grave or if you're in a deaf womb, waiting to be reborn.

"Now I don't know who's said this shite to you but ugly is the last fucking thing I'd call you," he declares above you. As if it was some bully whose fault it is that you were this way, a bully he could deal with with his fists or a gun. If only things were that easy…

"Have I said or done something? To make you feel this way?"

Then the blade is turned against himself. The man desperately searches for a culprit so he can deal with them.

"No," is the only thing you can say because it's true: he has never done a thing to make you feel like you weren't good enough; quite the contrary. But then again, he doesn't have to. It's enough that he exists and resembles a god.

"Then why do you think you're not my type?"

"Because you're so perfect," you hear yourself wail, no, cry into that shirt that smells of sweet safety and familiar musk – his scent, another thing you have missed like it's the only way to heaven.

"That for sure ain't true."

"But it is."

He seems to have the utmost difficulty in grasping what the issue here is. You can almost hear the wheels turning in his head with a rusty, laborious creak.

"Can't believe you wanna break up because of this," he finally says. You've chipped his pride, the ego that lives off of pleasing the ones he loves: the few chosen ones who he wants to give his whole life to. 

"To me, you're perfect," he then says, and you simply… You stop breathing. "You're like… my dream woman. Ever thought about that?"

It can't be true, even if you vehemently, desperately want it to be. You reach out to his words like they're precious food after years of famine. Like they're sun and spring rain after being buried in the cold, dark soil whole winter.

"No…?"

"Never occurred to you that I might find you fucking beautiful?"

"Stop," you whisper, because it's too much to take in. He sounds so serious, so sincere.

"No, I don't think I will."

He pulls back a little and cups your face. Brushes away a tear, looks at you with so much love that it physically hurts; you feel like it's a lance that slowly drives through your heart.

"How about I kiss every part I love about you?"

You let out a soft little whimper. Fuck, that you want him to… 

It would also be uncomfortable as hell. To try and let him love you and your body, which you have grown to loathe.

"It's gonna take all night, though. Wanna be as thorough as possible."

"Simon–"

"Love. I want you. Thought I'd made it pretty clear, but apparently I haven't. If you only knew how much–"

He sighs deeply. The man is frustrated with his shortcomings, thinks that this is all his fault. You cry a tear or two just for the sake of how absurd it all is. 

"I don't want you to go. I fucking love you. Everything about you."

For the second time this afternoon, your lower lip starts to tremble as if this was some stupid, romantic movie. He can be so soft when he wants to, more romantic than the soft-spoken gentlemen in Jane Austen's novels. It doesn't even require any effort: underneath the cynical surface, there's fiery emotion, so powerful and raw that it almost bleeds out of him. Fuck… Does he even know what he's doing to you?

"I love you too," you whisper back, and the warmth that starts to bloom in his eyes is an entire sun on its own. It's hope, and you believe him, almost believe him.

"Then I'd say it's a bloody bad idea to break up."

You chuckle while few more tears push through to the surface.

"Simon…" You sigh and look back up at him, your armor falling to the floor too. "I feel like a wreck."

You allow him to see the pain, all of it. His breath is sharp as it hits him, but he still doesn't waver.

"Then let me help you."

The arms around you gain more strength, and you're crushed against a chest made of power. He tries to turn shit to gold, and threatens to succeed. You allow yourself to soften in his hold. How good it feels to be supported – no, loved.

"You don't even let me touch you anymore."

It's a filed complaint, but also heart-rending, soul-wrenching longing. You have evaded him for weeks now – hell, this shit began months ago and has escalated gradually, stealthily, until the moments together were a rarity, the space between you was full of frost; and not the crispy, happy summer drink kind.

"I thought you'd found someone else. Could've found out if that was the case in minutes, but honestly, I didn't wanna know."

Oh my God…

Has he lived with a growing suspicion and dread all these months? 

That would explain why he has avoided you too…

He has allowed you to go to your supposed lover, has given you space to be alone and without too much attention. The man has shielded himself from pain. 

Jesus fucking Christ.

"I'm so sorry," you say with a strained little breath. "I swear it's nothing like that. I just… I feel like a mess."

"Never seen such a gorgeous mess." 

He speaks on your skin, the kiss on your forehead feels like an absolution. 

Then you notice it's not only his words which try to assure you. He's growing harder by the minute against your stomach, just from a simple hug. Just from being pressed against you like this, after weeks of dry, bitter longing.

"Miss your taste," he murmurs to your skin, his voice like sand wrapped in burning velvet. "The sounds you make when you want it hard."

Oh God–

"Miss your smile when we go to shower after."

"Hmh…"

"Don't wanna live without that smile."

You don't have to. 

God, you don't have to…

"How about we make a deal," he draws fingers down your chin, coaxing you to look up at him. His eyes are stripped from the cold distance that greeted you just moments ago: now they are filled with warmth that spreads to your chest and belly and bones. You drink him in like summertide.

"You come to me every time you feel bad and I'll make you feel good. Alright?"

"...Ok." 

He tilts his head a little to the side, not entirely satisfied with your shy little answer.

"Come on. Make me believe it."

"It's a deal," you say with more grit to it, even if you're nearly crying again, this time from relief.

"That's my girl."

Oh fuck…

He knows exactly what strings to pull, the good girl talk being one of the things that instantly makes your legs feel like jelly. 

And why does he always have to use that voice when he calls you a good girl or his girl, that sultry smoke that makes you want to swoon until he catches you and carries you to bed?

The man seems to be a mind reader as well, because he sweeps you off your feet and does exactly that: carries you to your bed which has mainly seen silent tears and painful sleep last months.

"Poor thing doesn't even know how lovely she is."

He sounds amused in the face of your darkness: sees it in full and still doesn't fear at all. He's ready to battle your demons for you, and you feel like shaking: from his touch and that voice, from the stress and loneliness that starts to release as he lays you down on the bed.

He looks so different from the man that has haunted this place for the past months, the complete opposite of the reserved soldier retreating into the shadows.

He moves to kiss you, and it's been – what? Weeks since your last kiss? And even that was only a quick peck, nothing like this… Wet, and desperate; a devouring. It makes you clench around nothingness, and you finally surrender. 

No one can fake such fervor.

You try to accept it: accept the fact that even if you hate yourself, he does not. For some reason, he adores you. His breaths hit your face hot and urgent, and he can't keep his hands to himself anymore. They wander over your waist and hips, they even risk to steal a feel of your breasts, and then he groans in your mouth.

"I've missed you. Fuck, I've missed you..."

You taste notes of burning leaves; tobacco, his only weakness. You fantasize on the thought that you might be another weakness, too.

"Remember when I fucked you in my office?"

"I've missed you too," you utter softly in between the kisses that threaten to turn into a sloppy mess. "So much..."

He smiles at that, and it makes you weak, even when lying down like this.

"Yeah…?"

"You were so loud I had to put a hand over your mouth."

His voice is thick as he laughs a short chuckle. Your inner walls clench again at the sound, you throb among the warm syrup surrounding you.

"Never seen you so wet. Almost dripped all over my gear."

"It's that stupid mask you wear," you hear yourself breathe like you've just been underwater. Feel yourself throb some more, feel a burning sensation in the nether areas from the scorched desert turning wet again. You want him so much that it actually hurts down there.

"Knew you'd like it. That's why I kept it on."

If this man keeps talking, your underwear is going to be utterly ruined. And of course he does; of course he continues to pour more love in your ear.

"Everyone looked at you like you were a queen," he grunts in your ear, sounding almost… pissed.

"Don't be ridiculous," you try to form sensible words. It's only a faint breath, really, but he huffs at your modesty. 

"You don't have eyes in the back of your head, love."

Wow… He is a bit pissed.

Had they checked your ass out when you visited him? 

It was the first and, what you thought, the last time you got to visit him at his workplace… but you never would have guessed the reason for him not asking you to visit again would be jealousy. 

"Don't worry. I put those fuckers in their place after you left." 

Whoa. 

Ok…

First, he had fucked you senseless in his office – a highly inappropriate move for a man in his position – then got jealous because some soldiers had checked you out as you left with his cum practically dripping from your cunt.

You put yourself in his shoes for a moment: he's had to live with thoughts of you running to some other man's arms when he's not home, and then watch you waltz around his workplace after making what was supposed to be the last effort to make him love you… When he has loved and adored you this whole time, has watched the sway of your ass with the rest of those home-deprived, horny soldiers, thinking you had fallen out of love and were on your way to go see some other guy.

Had he invited you there to try and win you back, too? By showing himself to you in all his puffed up, masculine glory? A desperate man in a skull mask, hoping to get love from you…

There's so many misunderstandings; they rip your throat. A sob escapes, and he stops his caress.

"Love… Tell me to stop if you–"

"No. No, I don't want you to stop." 

Your request comes out with such demand that he hesitates only a second or two. Then he moves on top of you and tugs your skirt up. You don't even have time to realize what is happening before he has worked himself out of his pants.

He's hard and heavy between your legs, and your eyes go wide as you realize he's not going to bother to take your briefs off. He just slides a hand under the skirt and draws the fabric aside, and the fat tip of him is pushed in the middle almost clumsily. It's hot, and slips down to your opening with ease.

Oh f–

"Been jerking off to you nearly every night at the base," he says just before he pushes himself in. 

"Uh–...."

Your thighs spread wide as he fills you slowly, inch after inch. The sound that leaves him is starved: a dry, painful sigh. He's been waiting for this for god knows how long, and you're just as hungry to take him in. He seems endless, the way he finally works himself fully inside, spreading you even wider as the thickening base of his cock reaches its end. 

"Thought you were getting railed by someone else while I only get to fuck my hand."

"Oh god…"

There's really nothing else to say as his balls press against you, heavy and taut. He's not going to last long.

"Yeah. Imagine that," he admits, breathless like you. 

You look at him with what must be the most helpless stare of longing in your eyes. Then he moves, and you want to grip him to keep him inside. The first thrusts are divine, they're pure heaven, and your head sinks deep into the pillow as you try to get enough air, try to not scream from pleasure already. Somehow, all you are able to utter is a desperate little whisper.

"Simon–"

His cock is good enough to bring tears to your eyes. You're starving too, you're pulling him in with fierce hunger, and he groans, then nearly falls forward, his weight pressing against you, swallowing you, until you feel like you're an idiot for thinking that you're too big. The thickness of his chest rubs against you as he makes love to you with passion that echoes the first times you did this.

"Just wanna adore you, love." He's panting desperate somewhere above you. A god and a man, both furious and gentle. "I wanna adore you. Just like this."

You answer him with what must be those sounds he told you about, the sounds you make when you want it hard. 

You want him to fuck you, to wreck you after weeks of loneliness and hate. To love you until you break into a million pieces.

"Simon," you whisper. "...Love me."

He halts, huffs in your neck. It's almost a sob. There's so much emotion and desperation in the air that it could be scooped up and sold in the streets.

"Always," he rasps in your ear, then moves to kiss you again. "Always."

The promise echoes around you, it coats your lips as he loves you with all he has. It's been so long, and he feels so good that you nails dig into his shirt, his shoulder, you try to hold onto him even though he's the wave that rocks you.

"You feel that?" He goes deep; he's out of breath and desperate, even more desperate than you. "That's love. You feel it, yeah?"

"Yes," you sob in his shoulder, tears trying to escape your waterline as you're going dumb from the pure sensation, the sensuality of it all. 

"That's it, love. That's a good girl," he turns to your neck and gruffs in your ear as you whimper and moan. "Always such a good girl."

Shit…

"I, I'm gonna…"

Your legs wrap around his middle, your muscles twitch and your hands reach and grab – they claw and yank and tug everything they can: his back, shoulders, shirt, something sturdy to keep you from drowning in a glorious orgasm.

He laughs in your neck and continues to grind you through your climax even when you're shattering, sighing, moaning, writhing under him. He just laughs, the man who never laughs: from witnessing you respond to him calling you a good girl.

Fucking bastard…

Lovable, infuriating bastard who knows you to your core. 

You're an overstimulated heap by the time he comes as well, not long after you, but long enough to make you feel like you're only a tender bunch of nerves. Your legs have fallen to the side, he has open access to take what he needs: you, your love, all of it.

His whole middle goes tense as he cums, he groans and swears somewhere deep into your neck, rolls his hips over and over again like it's a must that his balls press against you with every thrust that shoot his load. 

Then he falls slack, nearly collapses on top of you, reminding you of what it feels like to be small under a giant like him. You're throbbing together, you're full and fulfilled, and he is still lodged deep inside you, panting and broken in a sweat.

"Jesus Christ…" 

He sounds dazed. 

Relieved. 

"Should've done this weeks ago."

You laugh at seeing him so done – a man in love, torn by jealous yearning, finally taking what's his. You stroke his neck, his back – it's so good to have him finally there… So close, with no barriers in between.

"I should've talked to you weeks ago..." 

"Yeah. You should have."

"Are you going to punish me?" You giggle a little – the flirt is light and frees your heart further from its recent jail. He moves to look at you with all the tenderness there is. It's too much... His love is too much. But you won't run from it anymore.

"Nah. Think I'm gonna spoil you some more."

He spoils you right away with a kiss. You surrender to his treatment with happiness: happy tears, even. 

The medicine to your anguish has been the exact opposite to what you had first tried, what you had originally thought. The true remedy for your sickness is mercy. Perhaps some spoiling…

And love.

[murdrdocs]

disclaimer: this is a piece of fictional work. although based on real people, the characters—and circumstances—presented are entirely fictional and should be treated as such.

jack decides to take things slow. they're both switches; oral (f receiving); hair pulling; cowgirl MDNI 18+ w/ JACK SCHLOSSBERG

you and jack are versatile.

there are the times where you're both overcome with the need to constantly have your hands on the other, curious fingertips pressing into muscle and reaching under clothing, body heat searching for mutual warmth through layers of clothing. desperate make outs followed by even more desperate grinding.

but then there is the slower intimacy. the kind that comes about at the end of the day when you're both wound down, sunken into the bed with some show playing on the TV across from you.

these times are so slow, agonizing, aching deep in your chest and pressing on your nerves, attempting to trigger them. if you were receiving even just a bit less, maybe you'd really be pissed. but jack has been keeping you stimulated enough.

even though he's playing with his food.

pinching the hem of your tee shirt between his teeth, lifting it up as he starts his slow climb, only to let it fall right beneath your tits. pressing his large hand on your stomach, but not pressing down. letting a big hand just sit there uselessly, fingers spread wide, reaching across your belly. warmth against warmth, adding kindling to an unpredictable fire. it burns, then simmers, then burns higher than it did before.

you've done the same to him before. that's why you're compliant, letting him take his time and explore a body he already knows well. maybe sex therapists would agree that this was a good way to keep interest in the bedroom, adding something new that won't break up the dynamics already created. you don't think that is jack's intention. really, you think he's just having fun.

he kisses below your navel then starts a journey up. you don't get your hopes up. you don't allow yourself to think that this will finally be the time when he'll reach an actual destination and not some freckle or scar marked in your skin.

but he does.

he pushes your shirt the rest of the way up and then wraps his lips around one of your nipples. he sucks and flicks his tongue over the bud, looking up at you, gauging your reaction. it might be minimal, but he knows you well enough to see the glint of satisfaction in your eyes.

you can see and feel him smile around your skin. his hand comes up and gives attention to the other half of you, pinching and tweaking your nipple between bouts of gentle groping. it's such minimal attention, but any attention at all right now is dizzying for you. paired with the sheer amount of devotion he's putting into each press of his mouth and hand, you might lose it before he even gets your panties off of you.

although not completely unappealing, the thought makes you groan. "jack," you whine, even though you initially intended for the syllables to come out more frustrated than wailing.

the laugh he lets out infuriates you. but the string of spit that connects his mouth to your breast when he pulls back excites you.

"i'm getting there," he says, his words reeking of cockiness with an undertone of exasperation, like he's the one being tortured.

he knows what he's doing to you, it would be impossible for him not to, but the fact that he's completely reveling in having the upper hand for once makes you want to take it away from him.

you consider it for a second—twisting your hand into his hair, pushing his head down to your cunt, knowing his instincts will take over and he'll act on impulse. it would be satisfactory, but it wouldn't be fulfilling.

you decide to be good.

still, you do make a half-hearted attempt to push his head down, your fingers stuck in slightly-greasy strands without much commitment behind the grip.

he glares up at you from where his chin rests on the center of your abdomen, his stare challenging, as if he's daring you to continue. you do, for just a split second, but his stern "uh-uh" is all it took for you to change the intention of your grip, now holding onto his hair to anchor yourself instead of encourage him towards what you want most.

but when he finally does make his way down there, he's understanding. he knows you can't help it when your legs lift and your knees draw together. he knows it's your instinct to scratch his scalp and pull at the roots of his hair. with his genes, this would be the only way he could go bald, a product of your pleasure-ridden reactions. he doesn't mind. you think he actually contently whimpers when he comes up for air once.

he's looking up at you, his jaw moving as he works you, his nostrils flaring with controlled breaths. you can see the gears turning in his head as you notify him of your orgasm. you know what he's thinking, it's obvious when he pulls back and licks his lips, replacing one natural shine with the other. but you shake your head, and you beg, and then he's making you cum on his tongue.

and to thank him, you climb onto his lap afterwards, sinking yourself onto his cock and riding him with your tits in his face. but you do have to get back at him for taking so long to give you what you want, so you keep his hands above his head, glued to the mattress with your hands as the adhesive.

[wisdom-devotee]

31 Days of Hellenic Polytheism

Anyone can participate regardless of how long you’ve been a Hellenic polytheist! My hope is to use these questions to reflect on the year, and repeat next year to see what has changed, and hopefully to continue doing that every year!

Answer in as much or as little detail as you see fit. You are allowed to skip any questions that you are uncomfortable answering. These questions can also apply to heroes, not just deities. You can pick specific deities to answer each one, or answer the questions with all the deities you worship. This might apply to other Pantheons and I’m happy for it to be used as such. Feel free to tweak some of the questions to fit those pantheons if you’d like!

Please link this list on your posts with your answers so that it is easy for others to find if they want to participate too after seeing your answers.

THIS IS TO BE DONE DURING DECEMBER, I’M JUST POSTING THE LIST NOW SO PEOPLE CAN FIND IT!

Have fun!

DAY ONE: Who was the first deity you began worshipping? Do you still worship them now? If this has been answered before: how has your worship changed since last year?

DAY TWO: Which deity did you most recently start worshipping? Were you called to them or did you reach out first? Do you think there were specific reasons behind why you were drawn to them?

DAY THREE: How long ago did you start Hellenic Polytheism?

DAY FOUR: Are there any deities you don’t currently worship but want to learn about?

DAY FIVE: How much have you bonded with your deities?

DAY SIX: What’s one way you incorporate Hellenic Polytheism into your routine (daily, weekly, monthly, etc?)

DAY SEVEN: Are you openly a Hellenic Polytheist offline? How does being open/not being open effect your worship?

DAY EIGHT: Do you have altar(s)? If you do, how do you use it? If you don’t have one, do you want one? Why/why not?

DAY NINE: Is there a practice that’s common among other Hellenic Polytheists that you’re skeptical about?

DAY TEN: What’s something you’ve learned about Hellenic Polytheism that you wish you knew sooner?

DAY ELEVEN: What is the clearest sign you’ve received from a deity?

DAY TWELVE: Do you do food offerings or libations? What do you do with the food/drink after you’ve offered it?

DAY THIRTEEN: Do you write your own prayers?

DAY FOURTEEN: Do you have any hobbies that fit any of your deities’ domains?

DAY FIFTEEN: How has your worship changed you?

DAY SIXTEEN: If you could give one piece of advice to someone who’s just starting in Helpol, what would it be?

DAY SEVENTEEN: Send out some love! Are there any Helpol blogs here on tumblr that you follow and really like?

DAY EIGHTEEN: How can you best describe your relationship with each of your deities?

DAY NINETEEN: If you had to assign one song to each of the deities you worship, what songs would you choose?

DAY TWENTY: Do you have a favourite aspect of Hellenic Polytheism?

DAY TWENTY-ONE: Are there any retellings/adaptations of greek mythology that you LIKE? Why/why not?

DAY TWENTY-TWO: Is there an aspect of Hellenic polytheism you haven’t yet gotten to try but hope to in the future? Do you have any other Helpol-related goals for next year?

DAY TWENTY-THREE: What’s a bit of UPG you have with your deities?

DAY TWENTY-FOUR: What’s an offering you’ve made that you’re really proud of?

DAY TWENTY-FIVE: What was the most surprising thing you’ve learnt about Hellenic Polytheism or your deities?

DAY TWENTY-SIX: Do you celebrate any festivals? Which ones or why not?

DAY TWENTY-SEVEN: Share a fun fact about one or more of your deities which you think is underrated or not well-known

DAY TWENTY-EIGHT: What is your favourite myth?

DAY TWENTY-NINE: What is an aspect of your deities you really appreciate?

DAY THIRTY: Do you have a visual interpretation of your deities? Is this different from usual depictions you see of them?

DAY THIRTY-ONE: Share a positive experience you’ve had this month/year with one or more of your deities