#the peoples temple choir

[captainpirateface]

[itstimeforstarwars]

Xanatos is so funny for treating Obi-Wan as a full-grown adult and hardened criminal on Telos IV and all of Telos was funny for going along with it. Xanatos says "Arrest these men!" and everyone assumes he means the pipsqueak thirteen-year-old and not. idk. The literal adult thief and hacker behind him.

[seung-mong]

everyone adores you (i hate that i do too) - kim seungmin

includes: seungmin x reader, friends to enemies to strangers to friends to lovers?? (kinda academic rivals vibe) college au, soft dom! seungie, everyone knows they r in love except them, kinda slow burn? idk, fluff, angst, quick vanilla smut scene at the end, unprotected sex, possessive seungmin, creampie oopsie woopsie, felix is lowk seungmin's downfall lmao

a/n: the people have chosen, thank u for those who voted on the poll!! i know this is so ridiculously late but ive been in a writer's funk lately and ive just been so unmotivated #rant anyway i hope you guys like this one:') chan x hybrid felix x reader up next?? :00

wc: 12k YAPPING ofc my longest fic is of my husband #seungminlover #myMan

"there's nothing i can do for you, mr. kim. you failed to submit the third reflection essay. i have been considerate with your other late submissions..." the middle aged professor sighs, bringing a hand to his forehead and massaging his temples in frustration.

seungmin's hands wrap tighter around the strap of his bag, nylon almost burning against his palm due to the friction. "mr. park," he almost whines, leaning forward in his chair.

seungmin's desperate. he needs to pass this class, a prerequisite to all of his majors. he'll be damned if he takes his classes later than everyone else. "please, there must be something i can do. anything for extra credit. i really really need to pass this class." his voice slightly breaks, so close to tears. he can feel the red hot embarrassment that washes over him at the thought of having to explain why he cant enlist in the same classes as his friends.

he's never gonna hear the end of it when he tells his parents, always hard on his ass about biting off more than he can chew and he's always shrugged them off. how is everything so different now? in highschool he was juggling acads, being president of the student council, being in choir, dance, band, and the debate team. and now? four classes and a stupid glee club and hes falling behind.

his worst fear.

the older man swallows thickly, obviously uncomfortable at his student's sudden show of vulnerability. "mr. kim, i really want to help you. but im afraid there's no extra work i can give you to help you raise your grade.

seungmin shakes his head, slumping deep in his seat.

"normally i'd offer that you could check some papers and-"

"i'll do it!" seungmin yells, almost jumping out of his seat.

"but another student has already offered to be my teaching assistant for this term for extra credit as well.... unless you could convince them to split the workload... id consider raising your grade."

"sir, anything! who do i have to convince?" seungmin lets out a sigh of relief. and he thought all hope was lost.

"miss y/l/n. do you know her?"

fuck. all hope is lost.

you huff as you push open the heavy metal doors to your apartment building, canvas bag filled to the brim with papers you're supposed to check. the weight is heavy on your shoulder, strap digging uncomfortably into your skin. the sting lingers as you waddle over to your apartment locker, dropping the bag as you dig into your coat pocket for your keys.

"oh, y/n! im glad i caught you." you turn around to see a kind face smiling at you from the foot of the stairs, long blonde hair tied somewhat neatly to keep strands away from his neck. stubborn clumps of hair fall over his forehead, sticking to the skin in a thin sheen of sweat.

"hyunjin?" you squeal, leaving all your bags right there on the floor as you run towards your childhood friend. your arms wrap around his neck as he laughs, arms coming up to wrap around your waist. you nearly knock him off his feet from the force that you throw yourself at him, but he cant blame you. it has been way too long.

"but... what are you doing here? i thought you were still in paris?" you chuckle, breathless as you pull apart from him.

"non!," he teases, but his smile quickly shifts. "due to some, ah- unfortunate circumstances, i had to return home a little earlier than i had planned," he shrugs, grabbing your arm and hooking it with his.

"oh cut the bullshit, hwang." you laugh, pulling him towards your locker. "tell me what happened," you groan, bending down to pick up your bag. hyunjin, ever the gentleman, quickly reacts from beside you, taking it away from you before slinging it over his own shoulder. "tell me what really happened, hm? it's me." you huff, punching him lightly on the shoulder.

he smiles sadly at you, shaking his head. he knows he cant lie to you. "how about we catch up over a cup of coffee, huh? my, ive been looking all over campus for you and when we finally meet after three years you dont even invite me in?" he pouts at you.

you roll your eyes at his dramatics. nice to know he hasnt changed that about himself. dare you say paris has only fed his dramatic flare? "let's go have some coffee somewhere else then, my apartment's kinda messy right now. oh! have you told felix you're back? you guys are... okay now, right?" you're careful to watch his expression at the mention of his past lover.

"no, he doesnt know im home. it kinda defeats the whole purpose of the surprise, you know?" he retorts, watching you with a fond smile as you shove your phone and keys back into your pockets. "and yes. felix and i are alright, thank you for asking."

"well, i'm sure he'd love to see you again. i know where he's working. maybe we could drop by for some drinks?"

hyunjin hums thoughtfully at that, chuckling a bit once you push open the damned metal door. "i guess it wouldnt hurt to say hello? besides. we have been... talking again."

"oh is that so?" you feign disinterest, eyes trained on the leaves that crunch under your feet.

he hums once more, squinting when he looks up, the sun beaming against his face. how he's missed its' warmth. paris was often gloomy. "we discussed possibly trying again." he says calmly, sighing with content.

you falter, "that might be good. ive always known you guys still loved each other! besides, you guys were young and stupid."

"that we were." hyunjin laughs. "well how about you and... ah- he who must not be named?"

you tense a little at that, opting to play it off with a shrug. "havent seen him around much, actually."

"well that's odd. you three were the only ones from our highschool to pass SNU and you guys dont keep in touch?"

"well i dont keep in touch with people from highschool much." you bite back.

"well how about me and felix?" he challenges.

"yea. just you two."

"arent you two in the same major?"

"we have different schedules. never aligns."

"but yuna and lia said-"

"i just dont see seungmin much, alright? that's that!" you groan, shoving your hands into your pockets.

"oh my dear y/n, nothing has changed! have you tried to patch things up with him? after all we were, hm what did you say, ah- young and stupid?"

"well he certainly was." you mumble, and hyunjin bursts out laughing. he throws an arm over your shoulder, pulling you closer against his side. "god, i've missed you."

felix absolutely adores his job. he gets to help bake in the kitchens in the morning, and then he gets to make such fun little drinks while listening to music he chooses. he loves his coworkers, and his schedule is flexible, what with the manager knowing how most of his staff are all college students. the one thing he hates though? dealing with rude customers.

"i apologize, sir. our drinks are served in plastic cups as most of our customers dont finish their drink here, it's easier to take out in case you need to leave in a hurry." felix can feel the sweat start to form at his hairline, trickling slowly down his forehead as his cheeks twitch in a forced smile.

"well if i knew you served it in plastic cups, i never would have ordered!" the middle-aged man in front of him yells, eyebrows raised. students in the cafe have started to look over, trying hard to be discreet. some look annoyed, others clearly show how they feel sorry for felix.

felix tries his best to keep his smile, but he can feel anger and annoyance rise in him like hot water boiling deep in his gut.

"what the fuck is the difference??" he wants to scream, grab the stupid plastic cup from his stupid chubby fingers and throw it right in his stupid ugly face.

"im sorry sir, is there some kind of problem here?" a calm voice calls from behind the man, who turns around in surprise.

seungmin stands with his hands in his pockets, a small smile on his lips. he's dressed in nothing fancy, a university hoodie and some sweatpants. he's only supposed to catch up with felix as he busies himself around the cafe after all. his hair is tucked neatly in his cap, the perfect image of your average college student.

felix swears he's an angel sent from the heavens.

"this is none of your business, kid." the man snorts disgustingly, waving a chubby finger in seungmin's face.

"well, actually this is a public space and you're holding up the line. so yea, it kinda is my business. besides, you're on university grounds, i have every right to be here as a student." seungmin says coolly, taking a step towards the counter so he's able to somewhat position himself in between felix and this gross ugly man.

"listen, i'm a paying customer, so-"

"and the staff has the right to refuse service to anyone unless on the basis of race, religion, or ethnicity- isn't that right, felix?"

and its like suddenly felix has found his voice. he stands a little taller, leaning forward to get closer to the man's face. "that's right."

"and you're not refusing to serve this man because hes white or anything, right?" seungmin eggs him on, throwing the man a somewhat bored look.

"no. its because hes an asshole."

"hey-" the man steps forward, hands raised.

"well you heard him!" seungmin cuts the man off before he can continue, fully stepping in front of felix now. "if you dont leave within the next ten seconds, i'm calling security. they take peace and order on school grounds very seriously, you know?"

the man huffs, turning around and slamming the door behind him so hard that the little bell that jingles near the doorframe rattles wildly seconds after he's left.

"i dont know how you deal with assholes like that, felix. id probably lose my mind." seungmin sighs, throwing his friend a tight lipped smile.

"you kinda get used to it. but i've just been so tired this finals week that i dont even have the energy to stand up for myself anymore." felix shakes his head while he wipes the counter down.

seungmin nods understandingly, lunging for the man's untouched drink before felix can throw it. "this is paid, isn't it?"

"well, yes but-"

"alright, felix look. i have a problem." seungmin slides easily into one of the stools by the counter, taking a deep sip of the man's mystery drink.

felix nods in understanding, rearranging trays and cleaning up as much as he can.

"well actually, it's more of a favor? i dont know."

felix only hums, used to seungmin's rambling by now. seungmin's just like that, needs to talk to himself aloud a little before getting straight to the point.

"im actually screwed and there's no one else i can talk to because well, there's no more shame between us, yea? we've seen each other naked and ive seen you at your lowest low and youve been there for me and-"

"wow, this is pretty serious, huh?" felix jokes, pulling up a stool so he can sit in front of his friend.

"i think i'm gonna fail a class." seungmin spits out, holding his breath immediately after as he gauges his friend's reaction.

felix's smile slowly disappears. his mouth opens and closes like a fish as he tries to figure out what to say, in a state of total shock. this goes on for about five minutes before seungmin finally whines, head dropping to his hands.

"will you say something i can actually understand, felix?"

"i'm sorry i just- i dont understand. you're.... failing? you? kim seungmin? the kim seungmin?"

"wow you really know how to comfort a guy, huh?"

"i'm sorry!" felix jumps up to pull seungmin in for a half-hug, awkwardly wrapping his arms around seungmin's chest over the counter. "i just... how? why? what subject? are you sure?"

"yes, im sure. i missed a stupid submission. a major subject. look, thats not the worst part-"

"omigod you're dying. thats the only explanation-"

"no!" seungmin whines, pushing his friend off him. "the professor said he could give me extra credit-"

"but thats good news!"

"-if im able to convince... someone.... to split the task given to them with me."

"o...kay? just turn on your puppydog charm and you're good to go."

seungmin shakes his head, as if he's about to deliver such solemn news to felix that he has to pause for dramatic effect. felix rolls his eyes.

"it's... well the person is y/n."

felix stares at his friend with wide eyes, unblinking. then he tilts his head back and lets out the most obnoxious laugh, losing his breath as his neck turns a deep shade of red, the tint spreading across his cheeks all the way to the tips of his ears.

"you're joking! oh this is just too- oh, i cant breathe, ITS KARMA!" he suddenly yells, fighting for his life to breathe in as much air as possible, wiping the tears from his eyes.

seungmin winces, but deep down he knows this reaction is deserved.

his relationship with you is... a little complicated.

you met seungmin in your freshman year of highschool. you'd just moved to seoul, the New Girl. as batch rep, he was tasked with showing you around on your first day, teaching you the ropes and making you feel welcomed.

"well yea, thats basically it!" seungmin finishes, pace slowing down as he directs you to the bench just opposite the school clinic. "do you have any questions for me?" he asks with a slight tilt of his head.

your eyes stay trained on the floor, as they have been the past 30 minutes that this strange boy has toured you around the school. you shake your head. seungmin doesnt fully understand it yet, but somewhere deep down, he feels bad for you. you seem like the shy type, and he knows how hard it is to adjust and make new friends. god knows how he would have survived middle school if it weren't for his friends.

"hey, what do you say you come meet my friends tomorrow during lunch break?" he suddenly asks. for the first time since his homeroom teacher introduced you, you look up at him.

he's taken aback by how pretty your eyes are.

"oh, really?" you ask timidly, voice small.

"i- i mean yea! we're in the same homeroom anyway, right? plus i think it'll help you adjust a little better if you had people you could talk to and hang out with." seungmin shrugs.

"yea. i'd really like that. thank you, seungmin." your voice is so low its almost like you're mumbling.

before you know it, you're spending your lunch breaks laughing along with felix as he embarrasses all of seungmin's friends one by one, wincing away from changbin as he threatens to lunge across the table to shut the younger boy up, hyunjin clinging dramatically onto his boyfriend's side instead of defending him.

you're spending your weekends at seungmin's house as chan makes you all listen to his new demo, han turning red in the face when his verse comes on. you're walking to school with jeongin- arms full of convenience store goodies as you make fun of your grumpy old maths teacher, leeknow following quietly behind you both, scolding you when you get too close to the road.

before you know it, you've found yourself a group of friends who makes highschool just that much bearable.

seungmin's completely enamored by you, coming to learn that you're at the top of every class that you have (except the ones you have with him, of course). you're just as ambitious as he is, joining the debate team and the mock un club, quickly joining the officers despite being a new student.

he's somewhat threatened by you, though he'd never admit it to himself, or to anyone else for that matter. you score higher than him in statistics, and he cant help the ugly feeling that settles in his chest when you show your paper to him, a bright blue 100 circled at the top.

he tries not to let it get to him, changing his mindset into seeing it as a healthy competition, a way for him to challenge himself even more in to doing better than you. it feeds his competitive side, staying longer than you in the library, sleeping later than you, reading more books.

this one sided competition makes him feel conflicted. he's out for your blood, and yet you're the same sweet, shy girl he's always been close to. you spend most of your time with seungmin, studying with him at his house, sleeping over when you've realized its way past ten in the evening, sneaking out of his house for a quick convenience store run.

"min, i'm hungry! lets go down to the store." you'd whine, voice slightly muffled against his soft sheets, tucked nice and warm under his blankets.

"go home, you've finished all the food here." he'd tease, not even bothering to look away from his homework.

"cant. you'd miss me after an hour." you'd retort, reaching blindly behind you for a plushie to throw at the back of his head.

"suppose that's true. can't help but be used to your presence when you're here nearly every day," he'd feign annoyance, exhaling loudly through his nose.

you'd pout at him when he'd finally turn in his chair to look over at you, already so at home, snuggling even deeper into his bed.

you really do have such pretty eyes.

"fine. grab your coat." and he'd try hard to fight his smile at the sound of your delighted squeals.

you found a way to break through his walls, chip away at the cement and reduce it to a fine dust which you've blown away. but he stands unguarded all the same, not even bothering to put up a fight when you wrestle your way into his heart.

he'd like to keep you there, he thinks.

sometimes he'd lie to himself and say that he tried. by your senior year, he managed to ruin the one good thing in his life.

how stupid was he?

amazing, really. how he was able to throw away three years of friendship for fifteen minutes of fame.

"how could you do this to me?" you hiss, dropping your backpack onto the floor of seungmin's bedroom. his back is faced towards you, gently shutting his door before he leans his forehead on it. he takes a deep breath, gathering enough courage to face you.

"y/n, i-"

"you embarrassed me in front of everyone. you told them everything, things i told you in confidence because i fucking trusted you. how could you do this to me, seungmin? how could you fucking do this to me?" your tears are hot, angry against your cheeks as you pace around his room. your voice grows louder with every word, reaching a scream when you stand in front of him.

"i wasn't thinking, y/n. i-"

"and for what? to make me look bad?" you laugh hollowly, hands flying to your hair in disbelief. "to make me look like some poor, fucking loser who's so mentally unstable she can't possibly become president of student council? was that your angle?"

there's a lump in seungmin's throat and no matter how hard he swallows, it just wont go down. he opens his mouth to speak, to defend himself, but his mouth has gone dry and his tongue tastes like sand.

"what the fuck is wrong with you? i thought we were friends? i thought we were best friends, seungmin? how could you air out all my shit like that? for a couple of votes? do you know how pathetic you are? is that how bad you want to be president? you're willing to throw me under the bus to make yourself look good?" you can taste the salty tears pooling in your mouth, snot slowly dripping down and creating a sticky mess on your face.

but you're too angry to care.

your chest hurts, like someone's kicked you to the ground and continuously stomped right in between your ribcage in an attempt to squash your heart. your head hurts from dehydration, and your neck is starting to feel sticky from the sweat that's pooled at the collar of your uniform.

"was this your master plan? you found out i was running against you so you sucked up to me, kept me close so you could get all the dirt? you fucking traitor, i cant believe i actually trusted you." your throat has gone raw from all the yelling, can feel the way your voice starts to come out hoarse.

"y/n, please. i'm so sorry i dont know what i was thinking. i just... when they asked me why they should vote for me my mind blanked and i-" he tries to get everything out as fast as he can, terrified you'll cut him off and start yelling again. but he can't continue because, holy shit, even he doesn't know why the fuck he did what he did.

"and you what? made me look fucking stupid so you rambled on for fifteen minutes about how much of a horrible person i am. god, if thats what you thought of me you shouldve let me know, seungmin! i couldve walked out of your life if i made you that miserable." you're starting to heave, all the air in the room suddenly disappearing.

"no, dont say that y/n. you're the best thing about me, you're my best fr-"

seungmin feels dizzy when your palm lands on his right cheek.

you cant stop sobbing, hands clutching at your chest as you shake your head. "fuck you," you whisper.

seungmin is stunned, frozen in the middle of his room with his mouth slightly open. he says nothing, does nothing as he watches you bend down weakly to grab your bag, sobbing through the motions of slinging it over your shoulders.

but then the panic starts to kick in when you push past him, your fingers reaching for his doorknob. his instincts kick in and hes wrapping his hand around your wrist.

"please don't go, please let's talk about this." his voice cracks. when did he start crying?"

you pause, and for a moment seungmin can feel the weight on his shoulder lift, all hope is not lost.

"its good to know where your priorities lie, seungmin. now i know you'll do anything to get ahead. even if that means hurting me." you tried to sound strong, but your voice comes out broken, a whimper.

"dont speak to me ever again."

you pull your hand away from him.

the weight on his shoulders is suddenly crushing.

and when he gave his acceptance speech in front of the entire student body, he frantically searched for your face. his heart dropped when his eyes locked with yours. eyes that once looked at him with so much warmth, care, and love- stared soullessly back at him.

he knew he fucked up the best thing in his life.

by the time you reach felix's cafe, hyunjin's whining had started to get on your nerves.

"i didn't ask you to carry it," you remind him, reaching for the strap.

he turns his body away from you, clutching your tote tighter against his side. "as if i'd let you carry this!"

yes, he was a gentleman. but a dramatic ass one.

"id honestly rather carry my bag than have to listen to you whine about how heavy it is."

"but it is so heavy! what the fuck did you put in here, rocks?"

you only roll your eyes, pushing open the glass door to the establishment. the tiny bell above the doorframe rings, announcing your arrival to the blonde boy behind the counter.

"oh my god, its soobin." you whisper under your breath, elbowing hyunjin in the ribs. he only looks at you puzzled, an eyebrow raised.

"he's so cute, ohmygod." you roll your eyes, quickly checking your blurry reflection on the glass door.

"not my type," hyunjin shrugs. you ignore him, walking straight to the counter.

"oh, hey soob!" you greet him, quickly shushing hyunjin when he starts to mock your airy tone. "is felix here?" you smile sweetly, trying to tame your hair from the mess caused by the strong winds outside.

"oh yea, he's over there in the booth by the window. he's not alone though," he says, wiping down the counter after spilling a few shaves of ice.

"oh, who's he with?" you ask, already making your way down the counter.

"dunno, the dude looks kinda stressed, to be honest." he shrugs, turning away from you when the bell lets him know he's got another customer to serve.

he's with a guy? he's not on a date is he? no- he wouldve told you. besides, he wouldnt have led hyunjin on either.

hyunjin follows behind you as you make your way towards the booth, heaving dramatically as he swings your tote bag off his shoulders. he crouches behind you, snickering to himself as you both slowly walk to the table, strands of felix's hair peeking out from the opposite bench.

"surprise!" hyunjin jumps from behind you, smile swiftly morphing into a face of shock, his mouth forming a small 'o'.

"holy shit, hyune! what are you doing here?"

your heart drops to the pit of your stomach. that voice-

"s-seungmin, i didnt know you were with felix."

you freeze, jaw dropped as seungmin stands. he clearly hasn't seen you yet, back facing you as he pulls hyunjin in for a hug, squeezing him tightly.

"i thought you were in paris?" felix squeals, sliding out of the booth and joining the three for a big bear hug. he's the one who finally notices you a few feet away, his smile dropping.

"y/n." he breathes, eyes wide.

when seungmin turns around, its almost as if in its slow motion.

he looks almost exactly the same, his hair a little longer, shaggier. his eyes look more tired, little bags under his eyes give away the sleepless nights he's become familiar with. his cheeks slowly turn a light pink, dusting across his nose all the way to the tip of his ears. he's dressed the way you remember him, loose comfy clothes.

he looks good, you think. you shake the thought away.

"oh, y/n." seungmin's voice is small as he locks eyes with you.

fuck, your eyes.

his first time seeing you in three years and he hates how you manage to steal his breath away. you've changed your hair, cut it a little shorter and dyed it lighter. you've pierced your ears, little sunflower earrings peaking from beneath your hair. you look so much more mature, your style has definitely changed.

but your eyes, they shine just as bright as he remembers. good to know his memory hasnt failed him yet.

"i didn't know you were coming, y/n." felix shoots you an apologetic glance, lips pursed and eyes wide.

"but i always come visit you on thursdays." you say flatly.

"yea but-"

"awh look! it's been a while since we've all seen each other, huh?" hyunjin cuts in, trying desperately to ease the tension. seungmin stays standing still, gawking stupidly at you. you try your best to pretend like you cant feel his gaze.

"yea, some of us made that decision on purpose." you mutter under your breath, but you don't miss the way seungmin's eye twitch.

felix smiles, lacing his hand with hyunjin's. "it's really been too long," he whispers, as if only meant for his lover.

"i'd really love if we could all spend some time together." hyunjin's eyes find yours, wide and pleading. "please?"

you offer him a tight lipped smile.

its already so awkward, the way felix and hyunjin slide naturally into the booth, beginning to chatter away. it leaves you and seungmin standing, stubbornly avoiding eye contact.

"do you- do you want to sit near the window, or?" seungmin's voice is small, eyes glued to the floor.

you shrug.

he nods, climbing in anyway. you take a deep breath before you move, reluctantly climbing onto the booth after him. you leave a considerable amount of space between the two of you, and seungmin can't help but roll his eyes.

it's been nearly three years, he thinks. how are you still holding a grudge against him? he clears his throat, about to start some small talk, but something stops him. maybe its the way you deliberately angle your body away from him, or the way you pull your phone out to scroll aimlessly, almost as if you were anticipating his move.

"so, how was paris?" seungmin asks hyunjin instead, shifting his body away from you. fine, be like that. at least hes not immature enough to make things awkward on purpose.

"oh, it was so romantic!" hyunjin exclaims, throwing his arm over felix's shoulder and resting it on the back of their booth. "it was a little depressing, actually. being in such a beautiful place all alone."

"well yea, but it was worth it right? who wouldve thought your one true love was right here all along." you tease, wiggling your eyebrows up and down.

"yea so is yours!" hyunjin teases you back. you only stick your tongue out.

beside you, seungmin tenses. surely, hyunjin isnt implying that he could be your true love, could he? the thought makes chest ache, an odd yearning to move closer to you, to let his fingers "accidentally" brush against yours-

"oh, soobin!" felix giggles, catching on.

seungmin's always hated that guy. from the moment he met soobin thirty minutes ago, he knew something was off. you can't date soobin, he wouldnt know how to take care of you. with his stupid blonde hair, his stupid bunny smile, his stupidly large eyes.

he bets soobin doesnt even know what your favorite type of ramen is, what your go-to snacks are, what your favorite flavor of ice cream is. important things that a lover should know.

things he knows.

oh, where'd that thought come from?

"shut up, you guys!" you hiss, checking to see if soobin is within earshot. you frown at felix, swatting across the table at his chest.

"what do you mean? you guys would look so cute together." hyunjin argues, quickly turning to catch a glimpse of soobin. you hide your face in your hands, profusely shaking your head as you sink deeper into the booth.

seungmin cant help the feeling of jealousy that bubbles deep in his gut. hes half scared hes going to projectile vomit all over the table when you straighten yourself out, sneaking a peek at the blonde boy who busies himself with creating a customer's drink.

"im probably not his type." you mumble.

"you're not." seungmin's shocked at the word that's slipped, hand quickly coming up to cover his mouth in shock.

all eyes are on him, and he can see the way you look at him, with your empty eyes staring right at his face. he hates it when you look at him like that, misses the way your eyes used to shine just for him.

"actually you know what, im getting kinda tired, i think im gonna go home instead." you blurt out, already reaching for your bag.

hyunjin's hand finds yours on the table, and he squeezes gently. "really?"

you swiftly pull your hand away. "yes. really."

"you know what, it doesnt matter. i actually made a reservation for us lixie. wasn't planning on staying long anyways. just wanted to surprise you." hyunjin sings sweetly, brushing away a stand of hair that had fallen on felix's cheek.

"yea, i think i'm gonna head home too." seungmin clears his throat.

just then, the sound of thunder roars outside, clouds a dark grey as they hang low.

fuck. just when you decided not to bring an umbrella.

"yea, i think we better get going. dont wanna get caught in the rain." felix sighs, gathering his stuff and offering hyunjin his hand.

"dont you have spare umbrellas here, lix? maybe we could borrow them. you know, just in case." as if on cue, the rain starts to come down heavily, droplets splattering against the window.

"yea, but there's only two." felix mutters, quickly slipping behind the counter to grab two black umbrellas leaning against the wall. "hyunjin and i can share, and maybe you and y/n-"

"i'm fine." you say stubbornly, arms crossed in front of your chest.

you'd rather die than spend two seconds alone with kim seungmin.

"oh dont say that, you'll get drenched and catch a cold." hyunjin sighs, grabbing one of the umbrellas from felix's hand and offering it to you.

"i'd actually prefer that, thanks." you snap, swatting his hand away.

hyunjin opens his mouth to berate you, but seungmin quickly steps in, reaching for the umbrella. "i'll handle this guys, you go enjoy your dinner."

you fume at that. 'oh he'll handle it? who the fuck does this guy think he is?'

you roll your eyes, pushing past your friends and heading for the door. you stand under the roof, crossing your arms in front of your chest as a cold chill blows past you. hyunjin and felix soon exit as well, wrapped tightly in their coats, hands entwined.

hyunjin steps towards you, pulling you in for a hug despite your protests. "be nice," he whispers, before planting a kiss on your cheek. you make a move to wipe it away, but hesitate when you see hyunjin pout.

"have a nice date." you mumble, watching as the pair huddles close under the umbrella, making their way to felix's car.

you hear the door open, and you hold your breath.

"let me walk you home." seungmin offers, his tone stern. this only ticks you off, wanting nothing more than to defy him despite his offer being in your best interest. your apartment is a good walk away, and the papers in your tote bag risk the chance of getting wet.

"i mean you- you live near my building, right?" he pleads, clicking his umbrella open. he waits patiently for you to respond, standing awkwardly by the sidewalk as you fight with your pride.

you nod, and thats all seungmin needs. he's by your side in an instant, holding the umbrella nearer to your side to ensure that not even an inch of you gets wet from the rain. his left side is already completely soaked, cringing at the feel of his cold hoodie sticking to his skin, but he ignores it. you set a fast pace, and his heart hurts at the though that it's probably because you can't stand to spend more time with him than you need to.

he notices you wince from the weight of your bag, taking a deep breath as you readjust the strap from falling off your shoulder.

"let me carry it," he's being bold, already reaching for the damn thing before you can say anything.

"i dont need any more favors." you snap, the first words you've directly said to him in nearly three years. he's glad you've at least acknowledged his existence now, but your words are sharp.

he lets it go, humming to let you know that he heard you. your pace quickens just a bit, eager to get home, out of the rain, and away from seungmin. your tote swings from the movement, getting caught on a nearby bush and very nearly pulling you back.

you lose your balance and slip, falling flat on your butt on the wet pavement. you try to brake your fall, scratching your palms in the process.

"oh my god, are you okay?" seungmin rushes down, still holding the umbrella over your head. he offers his hand to help you up, but you swat it away.

"i'm fine, alright? god, stop hovering!" you yell, pushing down on your scratched palms to help yourself up. you wince at the pain, brushing off tiny pebbles and bits of gravel from your open wound.

"y/n, you're bleeding." seungmin gawks, hand reaching out to touch yours. you quickly yank it out of his reach, almost as if you were hiding your palm from him.

"yea, thanks for the info." you mumble, trying your best to wipe away the mud that's splattered all over your jeans. seungmin moves quickly while you're preoccupied, crouching down to grab at your tote bag. he ignores your whines of protest, slinging it over his shoulder.

you let out a groan when he refuses to hand it back to you. "fine, whatever. suffer." you grumble, crossing your arms before walking away. seungmin quickly catches up to you, shielding you from the rain.

the walk home is painfully quiet. you're hyperaware of every movement he makes, every time he inhales, the way he clears his throat, as if he's about to say something before he changes his mind. all these emotions swirl angirly inside of you, most of them you cant even begin to comprehend.

because for some reason, you miss him. and it hits you like a truck when the sleeve of his hoodie grazes your elbow, the soft cloth reaching for you. it takes everything in you not to break down and grab for him, to hold him close and strangle him, to wrap your arms around him and hug him so tight he loses breath and dies of suffocation.

he smells the same, like the seungmin you remember who used to walk you home after band practice. the seungmin who held your hand in secret as you walked through the haunted house that one halloween. the seungmin who'd sing to you, alone in his room with his guitar on his lap.

your seungmin.

how could this stranger beside you be your seungmin?

how is it possible that the very same person who knows your deepest darkest secrets, your most embarrassing moments, your dreams and fears- is someone who doesn't know you at all?

seungmin stands stiff beside you as you reach the lobby of your apartment, shaking the little droplets of rain off the umbrella. he opens the door for you, urging you to enter before him.

"i'll have my bag back now, thanks." you say in monotone, eyes not even meeting his.

"let me carry it up." a bold request.

"i'm fine now, you know? im not some damsel in distress in need of saving." you mumble, standing your ground.

seungmin ignores you, already walking towards the elevator. he leaves it on hold, waiting a few seconds before you enter as well, grumbling under your breath.

once you reach your floor, you lead the way to your room, with seungmin trailing slowly behind you. he's shivering a little from the cold, the wet of his jacket only making the draft on the floor feel like ice against his skin. you notice, the little devil on your shoulder pleased at his suffering.

but there's another side of you that softens when you notice the way his teeth chatter, a shudder going down his whole body. god, you're gonna regret even opening your mouth-

"you can come in to warm up a little." you mumble, reaching into your coat pocket to fetch your keys.

seungmin merely blinks at you, unsure if he heard you correctly, or if his imagination was so strong that he managed to picture you saying the thing he so desperately wanted to hear.

but then you walk in, and you leave your door open. for him.

"oh, thanks." seungmin mutters awkwardly, reaching for the cup of tea you offer him. the warmth spreads from his fingertips to his palms, and he's genuinely grateful for the heat it provides. you only hum, grabbing your tote bag from the floor and setting it on the couch.

you pour yourself a cup, sitting directly opposite of the strange boy in your apartment. you blow away some of the steam that rises from the cup, eyes trained on the way the liquid ripples from the force of your breath.

seungmin opens his mouth to speak, but he cant seem to find the words to say what he wants to say. i'm sorry? no thats too lame. i miss you? fuck no, way too forward. how about-

"you're shivering." you point out, staring directly into seungmin's eyes.

his breath hitches. you're looking at him.

actually looking at him.

"oh, i- i didn't even notice." he lies. despite the fact that you turned your heater on, he's fucking freezing. his hoodie is heavy with rain and damp against his skin, sending shivers all the way up his arm and down his spine.

suddenly you stand, retreating into your room without a word. seungmin's confused, unsure if that's his cue that he's overstayed his welcome. but then you come back into the kitchen after a few seconds, holding a large blue hoodie in your arms.

his heart clenches when you unfurl it, revealing the old hoodie he'd given you a month before your graduation. he didnt even know you got it in the mail when he sent it. you werent even talking to him at that point. does that mean you'd gotten his letter too?

"well, i didnt wanna get rid of it, you know? would be a waste." you mumble. you toss it over to him, the cloth landing on his lap with a soft thud. he looks stupidly down at it, brain malfunctioning.

"you should change out of your sweater. you're wet. dripping all over my floor." you grumble, snatching seungmin's empty cup and setting it down on the counter behind him.

"you kept it?" seungmin whispers.

"like i said. didnt want it-"

"you kept it." seungmin turns to look at you.

his deep brown eyes are hopeful, crease in his brows giving away the myriad of emotions swirling deep in his stomach.

you stay silent, back turned towards him. you can feel the tears that pool behind your eyelids, threatening to fall as you hold yourself over the sink, turning your head completely away from seungmin. you hear the sound of fabric rustling, and your cheeks warm at the thought of him undressing in the middle of your kitchen.

the sound of wood scratching against your kitchen tiles is loud, the abruptness of seungmin standing up nearly sending the chair backwards.

"smells like you." he whispers. he cant trust his voice.

he takes a step towards you, your back still towards him.

"i think its time for you to go." you hiccup, a steady stream of tears flowing down your cheeks.

"look at me." seungmin begs, taking another step.

"you should go now, seungmin."

"look me in the eye when you tell me. then i will."

he's getting bold, standing right behind you, his chest pressing the back of your head. you whirl around, ready to yell at him, to scream at him, to slap him, to furl your hands into fists and beat against his chest.

but he's quicker, wrapping both his arms around your shoulders and pressing you close to him, tucking your head under his chin. he holds you like this for so long you figure its been hours. you stain the front of his chest with your tears, hands weakly wrapping around him, fingers curling into the fabric.

he still feels like seungmin.

your seungmin.

"you kept it. you got my letter too, didn't you sweetheart?" he whispers, as if afraid raising his voice would ruin the spell.

you sob violently against his chest, holding him tighter against you.

"i meant every single word," he squeezes you tightly, "i'm so sorry."

"you're an asshole, kim seungmin." you sob, shaking your head.

"i know, i know. i'm so sorry." he shushes you, smoothing down your hair, planting a soft kiss on the top of your head.

"do you know how much it hurts?" you sob, pulling away from him. "i see you almost everyday. you have the face of someone who knows every single thing about me, but you're a complete stranger to me." you sob into your hands, pouring your heart out to him.

"i know," he sniffles, wiping away the snot under your nose with his free hand.

"no, you dont. stop fucking saying that." you pull your face away from him, pushing his hand down. "you were my best friend and you- now its like i dont know you and-" you're hiccuping, heaving, out of breath as you break down.

"i'm sorry, sweetheart, okay? i'm so so sorry. i was so stupid,"

"well yea!" you yell, falling into him when he opens his arms up to you.

he chuckles dryly at that, holding you tightly against him, as if terrified you'd change your mind and kick him out of your home. and he cant bear to see it, the way you look up at him with tears in your eyes, bloodshot red and full of resentment. he wants to fix it so bad, misses the way you'd hold softness in your eyes reserved especially for him.

"i'll make it right," he promises, nuzzling his cheek against the top of your head. "i'll prove it to you, okay? i promise."

you sniffle, shaking your head. "i- i dont know,"

"hey, look at me." seungmin pulls you away from him, bending slightly so you're eye to eye. "i promise, i'll do everything i can to gain back your trust. i just miss you so much, y/n. i- i really fucked up and to this day it remains my greatest regret."

you stay quiet, eyes flickering between either of his. "even more than when you shaved your head that one summer?" you joke weakly.

seungmin can feel his heart pounding at the sight of your small smile. he thinks he sees your eyes twinkle. "yes, sweetheart. even more than that. i just... please. give me another chance. give me a chance to make it right with you, y/n."

you take a deep breath, trying to steady yourself. seungmin's steadily crying, wiping the tears away with the back of his hand as he looks at you, expectantly. you stay quiet for so long seungmin can hear the blood rushing all the way to his head, going dizzy with anticipation and fear.

"you'll have to buy me lots of gummies, you know?" you mumble, looking up at him.

fuck. he'd buy you all the gummies in the world if it meant you'd keep looking at him with those eyes.

the words on your screen have started to blur altogether, vision hazy as you mindlessly scroll through the hundreds of pages of readings and notes youve been reviewing for the past...... god, was there even a time you weren't studying? even the music playing through your headphones have lost its appeal, sounding more and more like radio static.

you jolt out of your trance at the sound of books slamming against the surface of your table, which shakes under the weight. you quickly pull your headphones off and look up at the intruder, who smiles sheepishly at you.

"sorry, did i wake you?" seungmin asks, pulling up a chair beside you.

"no, you saved me." you groan, stretching your whole body until your limbs start to vibrate.

seungmin only laughs, sinking deep into his chair. he takes his cap off and runs his fingers through his hair. he scoots a little closer to you, then bends the other way to retrieve a little brown paper bag.

"i brought you breakfast." he says, rolling his eyes at the way you pout at him.

"seungmin, you didnt!" you gasp, receiving the tall cup of iced coffee with eager hands.

"i did this for myself, actually." he claims, pulling out some warm bread to share with you. "dont want you grumpy all morning. what time did you come in? you look like shit. no offense."

you shrug, taking a long sip of the cold drink.

"wait, weren't you wearing that last night when i left? y/n.. dont- oh my god, dont tell me you spent the whole night here?"

you stare blankly back at him. "our final exam is in three days."

"do you plan on staying awake until then?" seungmin bites sarcastically, and you kick his chair.

"i have to atleast get a 97 on his exam or else i wont finish his class with high honors." you whine, running your fingers through your hair in frustration.

you're so much like him, seungmin thinks. he, too, is familiar with sacrificing his happiness for a perfect grade. except now he has to work just as hard as you just to pass. the thought leaves a bitter taste in his mouth.

"you have to get some sleep or you wont finish his class at all." he threatens, staring down at you.

you only frown, but you dont need that much convincing, as you're already closing your laptop shut, scooting your chair just that much closer to seungmin's so your arm grazes his.

"wake me up in thirty minutes." you grumble, linking your arm with his and resting your head on his shoulder. he raises it a little to grant you comfort, unbothered by the fact that his arm will inevitably start to tense and ache.

"sweet dreams," he hums, discreetly kissing the top of your head as he pretends to look at the empty chair next to you.

ten minutes pass, and you're already snoring. your fair falls in a mess in front of your face, and seungmin has to hold back from sweeping your hair away in fear that he'd accidentally wake you up. he cant help but feel his chest swell at the feeling of you leaning on him, he feels like a highschooler high with giddiness, trying hard not to vibrate in his seat.

screw the readings, he can barely keep you out of his head. this past month has been an absolute dream to him, spending every waking moment by your side. treating you to almost every single meal, keeping you company as you run your errands, crashing at yours to study and just goof around.

this is how he remembers you- full of life, playful, just a little mischievous. so positively alluring that seungmin feels himself falling in love with you. it hit him like a brick that night you passed out with papers strewn across your bed, your limbs tangling with his. he didnt sleep a wink that night, too busy studying your face. you looked so peaceful, he remembers, burying your face in the crook of his neck and holding him tightly in your sleep.

he looks down at you now, cant stop the smile from spreading across his face. he'll let you sleep for a little longer, he decides. he doesnt care if you get upset with him (you will), you deserve the rest. seungmin's about to finally clear his head of you and actually get some studying done when he locks eyes with a tall blonde from across the room.

god, of all the people.

"oh, hey! seungmin, right? felix's friend?" soobin says in a low voice as he approaches the table.

"yea, soobin right?" stupid fucking name.

"yea. hey- is that y/n?" he nods towards your sleeping figure.

ew. stop looking at her. "oh, yea. she passed out."

"damn, she's really studious, huh? ran into her late last night when she was here all alone." soobin sighs, frowning at you.

seungmin wants to puke at the thought of you spending time alone with soobin. he wants to ask him so many questions like- how long did you talk to her for? what did you guys talk about? how much can i pay you to leave her alone?

"yea, shes hardworking. i admire her for that." seungmin smiles fondly.

"oh... wait- are.. are you guys, like, a thing? or something?" soobin takes a step back and seungmin's breath hitches in his throat.

"cuz if you guys are, i can totally back off, you know?"

seungmin stays silent, weighing his options. he could lie and say you guys were dating, but if you found out, you'd probably hate him and ignore him for the rest of his life and he'd rather die than let that happen. on the other hand, if he tells the truth, soobin would obviously try to pursure you. and he knows you have a little crush on him too.

seungmin bites his lower lip, then shakes his head. "nah, we're just friends." seungmin can feel some bile rise in his throat. not for long, he thinks cockily.

"oh, cool cool. uhm, if you could do me a favor, man? just... i dunno ask her to go to the cafe again this week? maybe i'll work up the courage to ask her out or something." soobin chuckles, cheeks turning a deep red.

seungmin can only nod. finally soobin offers him a small smile and leaves. there's a heavy feeling in seungmin's stomach, almost as if he'd been punched in the gut. he cant even begin to imagine you dating someone else, in fear that he'd just break down right then and there.

its kinda pathetic, really. you're not even his yet and he's already thinking of all the ways he can get soobin to leave you alone. he wants to print a large sign that says "do not approach, angry guard dog will bite" over your head, just to keep everyone else away from you.

god, since when was he this possessive?

he spends the next forty minutes thinking of ways to get you to be his. and when you finally stir awake, the first thing that seungmin says is-

"we should stop going to felix's cafe."

obviously, you dont listen.

you go to felix's cafe anyways, except you're always alone. seungmin doesn't need to know where you go every thursday afternoon while he's in class, anyways. he never told you why he wanted you to stop coming here, but you have a hunch. a tall, blonde, stupidly handsome hunch.

"y/n!" soobin greets you warmly, leaning over the counter to get a better look at your face.

"hey, soob." your cheeks warm.

you know that nothing is going on between you and seungmin, but you can't help but feel guilty doing exactly the opposite of what he asked of you. but something's shifted the past few days you've been spending with seungmin, almost as if you're seeing each other in this new light. you push this thought to the back of your head like you always do, telling soobin your order and waiting for felix at your booth.

by the time soobin brings the food to you, your phone rings.

fuck. its seungmin.

"hello?"

"hey, my classes ended a little early today. where are you?"

"oh, uhm im-"

oh my god lie faster.

"yea?" you can hear him huffing, obviously walking around campus, probably looking for you.

"at the library." you spit, looking outside the window, frozen with paranoia. lying to him feels so so wrong.

"its wednesday, y/n. library's closed."

oh my fucking god, lie better.

"i went to meet felix." you finally admit, shrinking into your seat.

you hear seungmin sigh. "is he out already?"

"no," you mumble.

"so you're alone?"

you hum.

"im on my way."

he hangs up, and you let out a sigh.

finally, felix barges out from the kitchens and quickly clocks out, throwing his apron over his head and hanging it on the hook by the door. he smiles when he sees you, nearly leaping over the counter to get to you.

"hello, my dear y/n." felix hums, kissing you quickly on the cheek and settling on the booth opposite from you.

"hello, my dear lixie." you hum, pushing a plate of waffles in front of him. "for you, your usual."

felix groans with hunger, fixing his plate with a heavy load of syrup and a huge dollop of butter. "so, how are things? any important new updates this week?"

you shrug, taking a sip of your iced coffee. "nothing new, really..... except, i guess...."

felix hums, urging you to continue.

you let out a deep breath, shaking your head. "i think... i think something's going on between seungmin and i."

you bite the inside of your cheek at felix's reaction, mouth agape as he stares blankly at you. it takes him a moment to process before he finally swallows the food in his mouth and he lets out an evil giggle. "oh, this is... oh, hyunjin owes me so much money!"

"you prick!" you gasp, swatting at felix's arm. "you guys bet on us?"

"well, i mean, come on! it was sooo obvious, i mean, it was only a matter of time, you know?" felix shrugs, cutting up another piece of his waffle.

"no, i do not know!" you squeal, piercing the piece with your fork and stuffing it into your mouth, ignoring your friend's whines of protest. "you guys thought seungmin and i would end up together?"

"well yea, everyone with eyes thought so! come on, y/n. he's looked at you like a lovesick puppy since highschool." felix rolls his eyes. "you guys were always together, and he knew you better than all of us combined. not to mention how lifeless you both were the two years you werent talking. i mean seriously, it was like hanging out with a couple of zombies."

your cheeks warm. "but- im still not even sure of how he feels about me."

"wow. love does make you oblivious as fuck, or whatever they say." felix shakes his head, chugging down his vanilla milkshake before he suddenly remembers something.

"does that mean you're gonna let him help you grade the papers for extra credit?"

you freeze. "what?"

"yea, seungmin said he needs to convince you or else he'd fail, or something. you guys talked about it already, or?"

your breath falters, and your brows furrow. "seungmin's failing a class?"

felix swallows. he cant shake off the feeling that he said something he shouldnt have. but he could never keep a secret from you.

"well- yes. his prof said he needed to convince you to help him get extra credit."

"wait, when was this?" you ask, voice stern.

oh, felix is soooo in deep shit. "uhm, like the day you guys started talking again."

your heart drops to your ass. surely, thats not the whole reason why he was so desperate to talk to you again, right? but you cant shake away the feeling, remembering back to highschool when he'd done almost the exact same thing.

but he promised. he promised it'd be different this time, right?

"seungmin told you that he needed to convince me to let him grade some papers?" you clarify.

"yea."

"and what did you say?"

"i uhm- i told him to like, turn on his charm or something along those lines."

you scoff in disbelief.

felix is going to hell. "but, that was my advice before i knew it was you! i just... i know seungmin needed some help and he'd do anything to get a good grade so i figured he was extra desperate because he was borderline failing and i was just so shocked and-"

"felix, just stop talking." you mumble, leaning back against the booth.

felix only nods, wringing his hands in nervousness. he opens his mouth to speak, but you shoot him a glare. he falls silent again, nervously gnawing on his bottom lip.

your mind's racing, going 100 miles an hour as you go through every moment youve had with seungmin this past month. obviously, this favor is not the only reason he tried hard to convince you to talk to him again, right?

but theres a small voice inside of you, the one who remembers the harsh pain seungmin caused that's screaming, telling you to cut him off, shut him out before he can hurt you all over again.

by the time seungmin pulls open the glass door, you've made up your mind.

"he-"

"this is the last time i let you break my heart, kim seungmin." you say firmly, brushing past him.

seungmin can only stand, frozen. his heart drops to his stomach, head going fuzzy as his gaze lands on felix. he opens his mouth to say something, but he cant find the words.

"what did you say?" seungmin asks.

"im sorry, i didnt know, i thought-"

seungmin's rushing out, throwing the door wide open as he runs out into the street. he can feel his heart pumping as he pushes through crowds of people, racing towards you. he can hear his blood rushing, catching sight of your yellow sundress as you're pushing open your apartment building. seungmin's never been a runner, hell, he nearly failed PE in highschool when he was forced to run laps a whole semester. but right now? he feels like the fucking flash.

he yells for you, ignoring the stitch in his side as he manages to somewhat catch up to you. by the time he throws open the heavy metal door to your apartment complex, the elevator doors are closing, your eyes locking with his.

"fuck." seungmin heaves, bending down to rest his hands on his knees. he needs to reach you before you lock him out of your room. he knows how stubborn you can be, you could probably ignore his pleas and incessant knocking for days if you had to.

seungmin gags, shaking his limbs before he bolts up the stairs, taking two steps at a time, pushing his legs to work faster. the backpack on his shoulders is heavy but he could care less. he cant risk losing you again.

sweat flows freely from his forehead by the time he reaches your floor, and by some miracle, he catches you walking down the hall.

"y/n!" he heaves, sliding his bag off his shoulders and leaving it right there in the hall. "please-"

"go away, seungmin." your voice cracks, digging for your keys in your bag.

he shakes his head, jogging up to you before you can close the door in his face. he sticks his shoe in the closing gap, groaning when it gets stuck between your door and the frame.

"what the fuck?" you yell, backing up as seungmin forces his way into your apartment, closing the door behind him.

"no you- you have to hear me out." he's panting, vision going blurry. jesus christ, he was out of shape.

"you want to talk about it?" you challenge, shrugging your coat off and throwing it on the floor.

"yes." he heaves, leaning against the wall.

"okay, lets talk about it. is it true that you wanted to convince me to help you get extra credit?" your hands are crossed in front of you. seungmin's admittedly a little scared.

"yes, but-"

"but what? i wasnt supposed to find out?"

"no! that was before-"

"before what?" you take a step closer, crowding him in.

"before i realized i was in love with you!" seungmin yells, hiding his face in his hands.

you're silent, expression stoic. "you're sick." you whisper, unsure of yourself. your heart is racing, and you take a step back. "dont... dont say that."

"but its the truth!" seungmin's desperate know, tears welling in his eyes. it wasnt supposed to happen like this. he was supposed to take you out, confess his feelings for you properly, but now its all ruined and rushed and- oh, when he gets his hands on lee felix-

"the truth?" you scoff, shaking your head at him. "how am i supposed to believe you? with everything that... that's happened?"

"you're going to have to trust me." seungmin steps forward, hesitant. he can see the doubt in your eyes and it makes him sick. he'd run up 10 flights of stairs if it meant you'd never look at him like that again.

"trust me when i say that i was a fucking fool in highschool for hurting you, and i spend every day thinking about how if i could, i would go back in time to change everything." he takes another step forward, backing you against the door to your bedroom.

"that i wasted two and a half years of my life by not spending them with you, knowing that you were so near me, that i could easily walk up to you but i was too embarrassed, too scared you'd shut me out." seungmin's baring his soul out, but its too late to stop.

"that i thought about you every single day, thought about what could have been if i wasnt so stupid. that ive spent the last few months doing everything i can to prove to you that i would never ever hurt you like that ever again. but with you im just so stupid, i feel like im always doing the wrong things because youre all up in my head taking up all the space and i fucking love that i cant think about anything but you."

you can only stare up at him. you can see the way his gaze flickers away from you, too nervous to maintain eye contact. he reaches out to you, fingers hesitantly brushing against the back of your hand. testing. you pull away from his touch to wipe away the tear that's managed to slip away, clearing your throat. he tilts his head, hands settling firmly on your waist.

"i love you, y/n. please, you have to believe me."

he's waiting for you to say something, anything. he's never poured his heart out like that before, the silence eating away at him as he slowly spirals, overthinking every word he's said.

but then you relax in his hold, pressing your chest subtly against his. and he knows there's hope.

"are you really failing a class?" you whisper, and seungmin can only laugh.

"that's your concern?" he leans down, dragging the tip of his nose against your cheek. he inhales deeply, nuzzling against you.

"well, yes." you gently push him away by the shoulder, looking up at him. "i cant have my boyfriend failing any of his classes."

seungmin smiles, absolutely melting when you wrap your arms around his neck. "oh yea? does that mean you'll let me in on the extra credit?"

"you are on thin, thin ice, seungmin." you warn, reaching up to finally press your lips against his. seungmin absolutely melts, letting out a low groan at your taste. one hand on your waist, seungmin leans into you, reaching behind you to open your bedroom door. you gasp when you lose balance, recovering quickly when seungmin walks you backwards, never once pulling away from you until the back of your knees hit your bed.

you let out a squeal when you fall back, seungmin expertly finding his way in between your legs. "tell me you want me," seungmin commands in between kisses, hands roaming up and down your sides.

"i do. i want you." you breathe, pushing off seungmin's jacket.

"yea?" seungmin hums, pulling back to bunch up your dress until it sits just below your ribcage. he leans back, simply staring down at you with stars in his eyes.

"stop staring at me." you mumble shyly, turning your head to the side.

"dont want to," seungmin hums, quickly throwing his shirt off into a random corner of your room. "ill look at my girl as long as i like." he leans down, capturing your lips with his.

"your girl, hmm?" you hum, smiling as he kisses his way up your stomach, fingers gripping onto the hem of your dress. your breath hitches when his fingers brush against your under boob. he smiles against your skin, looking up at you.

"aren't- arent you going to take my dress off?" you whisper into the air, and seungmin stops his teasing kisses against your hip.

"well, i was going to but then.." he kisses over the fabric, planting a wet kiss in between your breasts before latching onto your neck for a playful bite. "then i thought about how i want to fuck you in it and then take you out to dinner after."

your cheeks grow red, lightly slapping his arm at his vulgarity. "doesnt that sound better, baby?" seungmin hums, playing with the hem of your underwear.

your breath goes shaky as seungmin continues to toy with you, pads of his fingers lightly pressing against your clit from over your underwear, providing the littlest bit of friction, but enough to drive you crazy.

"seungmin, please-"

"please, what?" he teases, hips pressing into your thigh. you can feel him through his sweats, hard and aching against you. he begins to grind against you, gentle enough to tease you and get him off at the same time.

"need you to touch me." you huff, frustrated.

"i am, baby." seungmin chuckles, pads of his fingers pressing against you firmly, trailing down until he teases your entrance, soiling the fabric of your underwear with how wet you are.

"you know what i mean," you whine.

seungmin only hums, lowering his sweats just enough to free his cock. he pulls your underwear to the side, exposing your cunt to the cold air of the room, making you shiver.

"you're so wet, baby. bet i could slide right in, huh?" seungmin teases you with his tip, tapping it firmly against your clit and trailing down to coat himself in you.

"god, just put it in, minnie." you sigh, grabbing at his shoulders.

"minnie?" seungmin smirks, nosing against your jaw. "i like that."

he finally presses in, slowly making sure you feel every inch of him. you wince a bit at the pain, and seungmin notices with a coo. he pulls your hands away from his shoulders to hold against your bed, fingers intertwining with yours.

"i'm sorry, does it hurt?" he coos, slowly pulling out to thrust back in.

"a little, its okay. kiss me."

seungmin obeys, leaning down to kiss you sweetly as he starts at an even pace. he's slow with it, stroking so deep you can feel him in your throat. it feels intimate this way, with his hands in yours, his chest pressed firmly against you. he pants into your mouth, kissing you when you start to moan too loudly.

"tell me you love me." seungmin sighs, resting his forehead against yours.

you nod, "i love you. love you minnie."

seungmin lets out a groan at that, pulling one hand away to sneak in between your bodies, tips of his fingers finding your clit. he starts to move them in circles, your high fast approaching.

"i'm gonna cum," you whine, squeezing his hand.

"cum with me, baby. please," he begs, holding you so tight against him you feel the air knocked out of you with every thrust. you cum with a whine of his name, fingers digging into the back of his hand. his hips stutter before he presses as deep as he can into you, groaning loudly as he mouths at your neck.

you're both sweaty and sticky, but seungmin pays no mind as he collapses completely on top of you, wrapping his limbs around you. he looks up at you when his breathing starts to even, a cheeky grin on his face.

"what," you laugh, pushing him away by the shoulder when he leans in to kiss you.

he loves the sound of your happiness, basking in it as he shifts closer to pull you into his side. you happily comply, ignoring the mess in between your legs in favor of cuddling up to your lover.

"i really do love you." seungmin reassures, and you roll your eyes.

"i love you too. really." you hum, kissing his shoulder. "now clean me up, and dont even think about falling asleep."

seungmin groans, rolling off your bed to reach for a towel to wet. "but we have plenty of time before dinner. we can nap!"

"no, i will nap." seungmin frowns, walking into your bathroom and turning the faucet on.

"and what do you expect me to do?" seungmin says once he returns to the room, eyebrows raised.

"you, will check all the papers left in my bag." seungmin only laughs, leaning down to wipe in between your thighs, careful to get every drop.

"then can we get dinner?" he asks, pout on his lips.

"yes. your treat."

"well, duh."

as you close your eyes and start to drift off to sleep, seungmin only watches, hunched over on your bedroom floor, hundreds of papers scattered in front of him. he prays he'll be able to get it together and pry his eyes away from you to actually get some work done.

he seriously doubts it.

taglist: comment if you want to be added or removed!

@pochamin22 @bee123sthings @ohnocent @hyunchannie017 @r1n4 @heluvschibi @kpop-obsessed-all-the-time @elizalabs3 @uknowme-not @bee123sthings @n034sy

[broomsick]

Oath-making and heathen practice

Jólablót and the winter solstice are around the corner! You might have already planned your celebration, but I'm here to give you a last minute idea! I realized I'd never really tackled the topic of ritual oath-making in my posts before, despite it being part of my personal practice. In what circumstances would oaths be sworn, historically? Where does the arm-ring come in? What sorts of oaths would be made? Let's dive into this topic.

While the importance of oath-making was somewhat exaggerated by heroic literature, keeping one's word was most certainly regarded by the germanic peoples as a crucial element in the social order. The Cleasby & Vigfusson Old Norse dictionary refers to a such a practice as heitstrengingar (heit-strengja), meaning "to take a vow".

This ceremonial event would generally occur at larger gatherings, in communities with an already established religious order. In other words, in a setting where there was a religious leader to preside over the practice. Understandably, this element can be foregone in the context of modern practice. According to the sources that history has left us with, this practice of ritualized vow-taking would more often than not be performed on Yule, at weddings, at funerals or at banquets. But where does the arm ring come in?

It's stated in the Anglo-Saxon Chronicle that when peace was established between king Alfred the Great and the danish army which had invaded Wareham, the latter party swore on a "sacred bracelet" to respect the newfound peace. This so-called bracelet was later regarded as the very same ring, generally made of either copper, silver, or gold, and worn around the arm, which was bestowed by chieftains onto successful warriors as a symbol of their prowess.

It's also said that some temples were equipped with a ritual ring, which would be worn by the goði in between ceremonies.

"Therewithin was there a great frith-place. But off the inmost house was there another house, of that fashion whereof now is the choir of a church, and there stood a stall in the midst of the floor in the fashion of an altar, and thereon lay a ring without a join that weighed twenty ounces, and on that must men swear all oaths; and that ring must the chief have on his arm at all man-motes." Eyrbyggja Saga - The Saga of the Ere-Dwellers, chapter 4.

It's interesting to note that oath-making was often followed by ritual toasting. In this sense, a neo-pagan can choose to prepare a drink to go along with their oath! This is especially relevant if you're somebody who has chosen, as I have, to respect the three Jólablót toasts (one to Óðinn for success, one to Freyr and Njörðr for peace and prosperity, and one for your ancestors, in the name of memory). The order in which one carries out their Jól celebrations is theirs to decide, but I've always found it practical to let the oath be directly followed by the toasts!

So, it seems you might need an arm ring on which to swear your oath, right? Don't be so sure! There have been attestations of oaths being sworn on the ritual drink itself, which bears comparison with the wider practice called symbel.

In the texts where the practice appears, a bragarfull ("promise-cup") is used as a vessel for the toast. So what's the point of adding a drink to the mix? You can regard it as adding further spiritual meaning to the practice of oath-making. After all, it's believed that the symbel must have been greatly significant in early germanic religious practice. See the following passage from the Fagrskinna which describes the ceremony during which inheritance is bestowed.

"And when memorial feasts were held according to ancient custom, it was required to hold them in the year of the death of the man in whose memory the feast was being held. And he who had the feast prepared must not sit in the high seat of the man whose memory he was honoring before men had drunk the memorial toast. The first evening, when people came to the feast, many toasts had to be offered up in the same way as memorial toasts are now, and they dedicated those toasts to their most important kinsmen, or to Þórr, or to other of their gods, in heathen times, and finally they had to drink the bragafull, and then he who was holding the feast had to make a vow on the bragafull, as did all those attending the memorial feast, and then he had to mount into the seat of the man who was being honoured, and he then entered fully into possession of the inheritance and honour of the dead man, but not before." Fagrskinna, a catalogue of the Kings of Norway.

According to the Fagrskinna, the vow is to be made after having drunk from the bragarfull. Interestingly enough, drinking from the bragarfull also seems tied to the celebration of Jól. A passage from the Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar reads:

“Hedin was coming home alone from the forest one Yule-eve, and found a troll-woman; she rode on a wolf, and had snakes in place of a bridle. She asked Hedin for his company. ‘Nay,’ said he. She said, ‘Thou shalt pay for this at the bragarfull.’ That evening the great vows were taken; the sacred boar was brought in, the men laid their hands thereon, and took their vows at the bragarfull.” Helgakviða Hjörvarðssonar, part 4.

It's also said that apart from ritual drink and arm rings, an oath could also be taken on a stone. If you're someone who enjoys crafts at all, a fun way to incorporate this practice into a Jól celebration would be to paint or decorate or stone, or to carve meaningful runes carrying your intent onto it, and to make your vows upon it on the longest night.

So what sort of oath should you be making? In the context of neo-paganism, and especially for those of us interested in reconstructing historical practice, oath-making doesn't need to have a spiritual dimension at all. Historically, it served a rather down-to-earth, even political purpose. See this exerpt from the Landnámabók:

“A ring weighing two ounces or more should lie on the stall in every chief Temple, and this ring should every chief or godi have upon his arm at all public law-motes [...]. Every man who was there to transact any business, as by law provided by the Court, should first take an oath upon that ring and name for the purpose two or more witnesses and repeat the following words : ‘I call to witness in evidence, he was to say, that I take oath upon the ring, a lawful one (lögeid) so help me Frey and Niord and the Almighty God, [...] that I will deal lawfully with all such matters in law as I have to deal with while I am at this Thing.’” Landnámabók - The Book of the Settlement of Iceland, part 4, chapter 7.

You'll note here another fascinating tidbit of information regarding ritual oath-making: the presence of one or more witnesses! This element of the ritual is also attested in other such sources. If you're comfortable involving a loved one or more into your Yule celebrations, it's possible for you to do so, as they will bear witness to your vow.

If you regard oaths as sacred at all, I would advise not throwing them around lightheartedly, especially if they involve a deity in any way. Personally, I prefer to make oaths that: 1, I know I'll be able to keep for sure; and 2, I know I'll have control over. For example, changing a certain habit, working on an aspect of myself that I want to improve... Even from a historical standpoint, these ritualized oaths didn't have much to do with the Gods, but were rather centered around the human experience. In a way, this is reminiscent of new year resolutions. Since the time or year coincides, a lone practitioner who must stay discreet with their pagan practice can still take an oath in the guise of making such a resolution.

As usual, I feel the need to specify that not much is known about this practice at all, especially not when looking at it through the lens of history. This is a practice that you can take or leave, depending on your preference. What matters most in my opinion, meaning from a reconstructionist perspective, is to treat oath-making with due respect, regardless of the ceremonial elements or lack-thereof that one chooses to surround it with.

[felassan]

Snippets. 🐺💜

Corinne will be one of the devs answering questions at the next dev Discord Q&A in a few days [source]

Corinne: "fashion is the real endgame ✨" [source]

Malcolm: "I got to Bioware and they were like, hey, do you wanna work with Trick on the content for this badass beefy firebreathing Qunari treasure hunter and it was like the clouds frickin parted and choirs of angels sang out. Honestly the stuff we made for Taash is probably my favourite thing I've made in my 16+ years of making video games." [source, two]. / Trick: "You have made Taash's stuff SO GREAT, dude." [source] / Malcolm: "Taash deserves nothing less. You created an amazing character and a fantastic story, and I really appreciate getting to contribute to it :D" [source]

User: "will there be a fair amount of crafting for us gear noodlers?" / Trick: "I have done a fair amount of tinkering to get exactly the build I want, yes! I think we'll show specifics later." [source]

John: "one of the funnier quirks of game dev is you will never remember missions by their real names but instead by the name you called them by for several years of development. it will never be 'In Your Heart Shall Burn' for me, it'll always be Setback. dai mission names according to me: Prologue. Redcliffe. Seeker Fortress. Setback. Halamshiral. Temple of Mythal. Finale" [source, two] / Trick: "Plus "Adamant", which had the shipping name of "Here Lies the Abyss", I think? (It was my mission. I picked that name. And yet, my memory? Nah.)" [source] / John: "you know the funny thing is I LITERALLY wrote this post because I was thinking about Adamant and that is the one mission I forgot to put in the list" [source]

John: "the only one i can ever remember is 'Wicked Eyes and Wicked Hearts' and it's because it seems to be the only DAI mission that people constantly reference by name online" [source]

John: "even in DATV i do not recall 95% of the mission titles with the only exception being the one time i was (imo) clever" [source]

[source]

[source]

[glossamerfaerie]

One aspect of Gwynriel that really excites me is religion. The other protagonists don’t seem to take religion or rituals very seriously? Everyone respects the Mother and acknowledges her power (and the Cauldron), but we haven’t explored faith among the fae. Feyre has a terrible experience with Ianthe (a sadly accurate depiction of corruption within organized religion). But we know that not all priestesses are like power-hungry Ianthe. Nesta is understandably indifferent even though she later has an experience with the Mother during Nyx’s birth. Rhys and Cassian seem respectful but we’ve never seen them pray or attend services. It’s giving “only attending church during Christmas” level of religious commitment.

Azriel, on the other hand… we haven’t had much canon insight in his head, but I firmly believe that Azriel is more religious than his brothers. Like he’s not the type to attend temple services, but he probably thinks about faith and the Mother regularly. Clearly he has contemplated mating bonds and who creates them — maybe he’s prayed for a mating bond? Maybe his mother raised him to be more religious. In HOFAS, after Nesta takes the mask off in a close call, Az’s very first instinct is to thank the Mother. Possibly that is meaningless (like how an atheist can say “thank god”) but idk. Az seems to have more faith than his brothers.

“The Mask fell from Nesta’s face, clattering on the stone.

Nesta swayed, but Azriel was there, catching her, bringing her to his chest, scarred hands stroking her hair. “Thank the Mother,” he breathed. “Thank the Mother.”

A few chapters later, Az describes the Cauldron and what happens after death.

“Bryce nodded to the carving. “What’s the big deal about a cauldron?”

“The Cauldron,” Azriel amended. Bryce shook her head, not understanding. “You don’t have stories of it in your world? The Fae didn’t bring that tradition with them?”

Bryce surveyed the giant cauldron. “No. We have five gods, but no cauldron. What does it do?”

“All life came and comes from it,” Azriel said with something like reverence. “The Mother poured it into this world, and from it, life blossomed.”

Later in the conversation, Az explains what happens to souls after death.

“When you die, where do your souls go?” Did they even believe in the concept of a soul? Maybe she should have led with that.

But Azriel said softly, “They return to the Mother, where they rest in joy within her heart until she finds another purpose for us. Another life or world to live in.”

The way Az talks about the Mother, with reverence and confidence, makes me certain that he’s more religious than his brothers.

Then, of course, we have Gwyn — a literal priestess who was raised in a temple. She still attends daily services and sings for the choir. I’ve wondered if what happened in Sangravah shook Gwyn’s faith. Maybe she thinks the Mother exists but isn’t a benevolent deity. Maybe she’s bitter that the Mother didn’t save her servants from Hybern attacks. She definitely feels shame and unworthiness — Gwyn no longer feels like she has a right to wear the Invoking Stone. Working through those feelings will be a major aspect of Gwyn’s arc.

“You asked me once why I don’t wear the hood or the Invoking Stone. That stone is a sign of holiness. How can someone like me wear it?”

Within the temple, Gwyn also faces prejudice and discrimination from her fellow sisters. Ianthe isn’t the only asshole within the organization (cough Merrill cough). I’m sure that some people in Sangravah were cruel to Gwyn’s family because of their nymph heritage. I don’t know what SJM has planned, but I feel that religion will play a major role in the Gwynriel book. I wouldn’t be surprised that, like Nesta, Gwyn has a firsthand experience with the Mother. She will definitely use the blue invoking stone for healing (a nice parallel to Az’s blue siphons).

“It’s an Invoking Stone.” Gwyn unfurled her fingers, revealing the gem within her hand. “Similar to the Siphons of the Illyrians, except that the power of the Mother flows through it. We cannot use it for harm, only healing and protection. It was shielding us.”

I’m also curious to see Gwyn and Az discuss their religious beliefs together. Maybe Az gets permission to join the dawn and dusk services. The man barely sleeps, he might as well watch Gwyn during her religious commitments. The shadows are NOT going to pass a chance to hear their girl sing (or watch her glow). Maybe Nesta can talk Az into singing with the choir. 🥹

Nesta could only gape at the lovely melody, the voices from the front of the cavern leading it, lifting higher than the others. Gwyn sang, chin high, a faint glow seeming to radiate from her. The music was pure, ancient, by turns whispering and bold, one moment like a tendril of mist, the next like a gilded ray of light. It finished, and Merrill spoke about the Mother and the Cauldron and the land and sun and water. She spoke of blessings and dreams and hope. Of mercy and love and growth.

Idk, maybe I’m wrong about Az being religious. But it feels like such a wasted opportunity if we don’t learn more about the Mother! At the very least, I do see Az attending the dawn and dusk services if he’s not on a mission. 🎼🩵🎶

[wolkoshka]

Paranormal II

summary: after your injury in the birthday party, Ghost takes you home, takes care of your wound - and finally gives you a night you’ll never forget… Simon Riley/Ghost x Reader

warnings: slow-burn, eventual smut, eventual romance, mutual pining, excessive drunk flirting, slightly dark!Simon, touch-starved Simon, trying to get into Simon’s pants (and sort of succeeding??), nsfw-themed

•this is a simon riley ficlet, I repeat, this is not a one-shot but contains a bit of plot and character development, bcs god knows we need 'em

•part 2/3

an: here is part ii, and yes, yes, I know! It’s long overdue. You’re gonna have to forgive a girlie and her lack of awareness to the passage of time.

"I said go get him, not split yer head open. Ooch, lassie, look at ye bruising up. That's an ugly one."

Johnny hassled over you, thumbing your temples as he examined your wound.

Ghost had temporarily dropped you at the bar to go hunting for a med kit. When your gaze had arrayed the room, your best friend had caught your eye, smirking - only to then gasp and push his way to you.

"So what happened?"

"Mating dance," you retorted dryly.

You pressed the glove back to the wound when Johnny released you, leaning against the counter in a snort.

"Did he fall for it?"

"Hardly." Your shoulders slumped defeatedly. "I don't think he likes me very much, Johnny."

"That's Lt for ye, lass. Guy wears a skull for a face. Says he sleeps soundly in it. Shudders, I tell ye. You'd think that'd make ye think twice before approaching him, eh?"

"I think my brain short-circuited precisely for those reasons. I think maybe this hit to the head will remedy that. God knows I need to get him out of my system. A full-on purge. Like those, uh, uh, really intense only-water-for-dinner kind of diets."

"It's hard to get someone ye don't know out of yer mind."

"Exactly! Jokes aside, this is insane even by drunk me standards. Never thought I'd have a crush at this age, but, whelp, here goes nothing! Will get him out of my mind as soon as I stop gawking at those muscles, okay?"

Your friend chuckled.

Over Soap's shoulder, you caught sight of Ghost's form paving way to you, broad shoulders squared, back straight and gait commanding. And yet, there was an almost endearing swagger to his stride, subtle as it was, and it only added to the unmistakable confidence simmering underneath that quiet outfit.

Suddenly, you were air-headed. In the manner people jumped out of his path like he was the most lethal being they'd ever beheld had you seeing rainbows and hearing angelic hymns.

A stupid girl with her big, stupid crush. When was the last time you got one, anyway? High school, that's when. And you felt like a silly schoolgirl again, all those eighth grade magazines on how to talk to boys and attract your crush flooding back.

You wondered what three-way advice they would spell out for someone like Ghost.

Bathe in the blood of his enemies. A sexy look can go a long way!

Rip out the heart of his enemy and gift it to him. All men enjoy a sincere show of affection every now and then!

Take a bullet for him. Take several! Nothing says I have the hots for you like bleeding out in the arms of your crush!

When his eyes found yours, uncompromising and intense even from such distance, the choir increased until you felt like your chest might implode.

"Never mind," you dreamily sighed. This particular crush wasn't leaving anytime soon.

"Johnny," Ghost voiced, coming around the man. To you, he crooked a finger. "They got band-aids, but I need to stitch you up. We'll resolve the matter in your place."

Your head perked. "We will?"

Was your night actually going to end with Ghost in your apartment? Maybe even bed?

You looked at Johnny, Johnny looked at you - and you both raised your eyebrows in a knowing look.

"What the bloody hell you two peepin' at each other for?" Ghost growled.

"Peepin'? What's peepin'?" Johnny.

"We're not peepin'." You.

Eager, you hopped down - and immediately regretted it when your vision swayed. Whoops... You clutched your head tighter.

"Easy there," Johnny voiced, hands supporting your shoulders.

Once you righted, you looked up at Ghost. Expectant. Would he carry you?

You kind of, sort of, definitely desired his arms around you again.

As if seeing right through your needs, the muscle below his eye twitched. He set a challenge with his gaze, forcing you to admit defeat and walk a soldier's walk.

You faintly winced. Shrugged. "Owh, my poor head. I feel...dizzy. So dizzy. Don't know...might even trip in the rain. Get a concussion..." Another meek yet daring shrug. "So inconvenient, no?"

"Maybe ye need to go the hospital, lass - Umpf!"

You shut Johnny up with a backward punch to the groin, attention never wavering from Ghost.

There was a soft inquisitive sound, an arch of your brow, before he conceded with a weary blink of his eyes. You had to love the way his lashes fanned every time he did that. Long, thick, and softly curled, they might just make a girl jealous.

Internally, you performed a victory dance. Externally, you outstretched an arm.

His killer biceps bulged around your frame, tugging you close, as he lifted you off your feet. When you corded your arm around his neck and nestled your face on his pec, lashes batting up at him, Ghost looked like he was near to dropping you on your arse and dragging you by your heels instead.

"Don't get used to it, poppy," he grated low.

You wore a look of mock-surprise. "Never."

Gaze too slow to leave your face he spoke to Johnny next, "I'll meet you at the base." He strode past, strong legs falling into pace. "Don't be late. And for fuck's sake, Johnny, get some rest."

Johnny grinned, the act slightly laced with pain due to your earlier assault. "Ye got it, Lt." To you, he gave you a proud thumb's up.

Over Ghost's shoulder, you blew him a kiss and mouthed happy birthday, and I love you big time, you sucker.

When the bar door closed behind you, you pointed out to Simon that he'd forgotten your umbrella and proton pack.

For the umbrella, he said the rain might help sober you up. As for your proton pack, he didn't even bother providing an answer as he took down the street, all pleased with himself as rain mercilessly pelted your face.

When lightning crackled and thunder roared overhead, you thought you felt his arms slightly draw you closer, a bit nearer, but dismissed it, blaming it instead on your active imagination and stupor.

.

What the bloody hell was he doing, Ghost questioned, standing in your open kitchen and preparing tea for two.

Steam curdled up, obscuring his masked face as he poured green tea into two cups. Clasping the handles, he turned from the counter to place them on the marbled island.

Your abode was a spacious loft with four large windows peering out into the bustling city, the London Eye and the River Thames a distant view, with a ceiling that rose six meters high.

Before him was a sitting area with a comfortable couch, plush armchairs and a TV stand. Fully-stacked bookshelves flanked either side while pots of myriad flowers and wild ferns decorated the space.

A dining table perched to his left, a family photo and Mesopotamian antiques lining the dark cherry wood surface in display. He spotted Johnny in the frame, younger than he's ever seen him, dimples deep in a cheery smile, and he spotted you, hanging onto his shoulders with an eye-crinkling laugh of your own, also young and exuding innocence.

To his far right was your bed, propped against the wall and neatly made, accompanied by nightstands and a reading lamp. To its left was the entrance, separated by a narrow wall of stained glass depicting two mermaids frolicking about. By that, he clearly meant the large cock sprouting from the merman's groin and gripped by the mermaid's slender fingers, their tails entwining as deeply as their tongues, their bodies writhing in unabashed pleasure. It was beautiful, no doubt, made to come alive in colors coral blue, golden, and violet, but Ghost also knew it was custom made.

Anyone would've missed the unorthodox tableau at first glance, but he wasn't anyone.

You had wild fantasies, it appeared, and he wanted to bash his skull in for taking interest in that.

Just like he wanted to bash the mug of green tea in his hand because he couldn't will his feet to walk away.

Granted, you'd asked he stay, at least for a little while, to thank him for taking care of your wound, and sprinting to your bathroom thereafter for a quick shower.

It's been ten minutes now, and Ghost should've been long gone. He couldn't be here. He didn't do one-night stands. He had a number for that, a special visitor, that took care of his needs without him ever needing to undress. Left just as wordlessly when the deed was done. No unnecessary pillow talks, goodbye notes, or call me laters. No strings attached, just as Ghost preferred it.

But you...

The way you wanted him, the way you watched him, eyes growing dark and heavy with desire, it made him realize he'd never been pursued that ardently. Sure, he had instances where he attracted certain women his direction - any bloke with a look like his warranted that - but a simple glower from him had them scurrying off just as quick.

He should be scaring you off too, not exciting you.

Not making you out to be an intoxication he was uncharacteristically impatient to divulge in.

Hell, with his given background and formidable expertise, no one even dared to hold his gaze for longer than three seconds. When he talked, everyone shut up. His reputation preceded him. Yet you... Bloody hell, you not only held your ground, but also eye-fucked him every chance you got.

Ghost didn't quite compute; you were a perfect stranger to him, someone he met but once, and yet you had a face that could make a man happily dream into an early death.

God, there was something about you that made his palms itch for a touch...itch to wrap that hair of yours around his fist, lift his mask, and descend for a proper feeding. A sick, twisted part of Ghost perhaps wanted to see how good you could get him to pillow talk.

It was a passing thought, but chills abraded his forearms. The challenge in it gave him a heated rush of red.

What the hell was the matter with him? he questioned for the umpteenth time.

He shouldn't be wanting such nonsense.

He shouldn't be caring for it either.

He should walk away now. But...

The moment he chose to act, turning, the exit his target, the shower stopped running. The naked pad of footsteps resounded. A towel flapped open. More footsteps, and then -

You emerged from the bathroom, all robed and clean, leaving steam in your wake. It looked like you'd just walked out of a dream, cherub cheeks flushed pink and skin dewy, almost satiny, and - fuck. He internally groaned. He wanted to bite.

What in nine hells? He popped his jaw in frustration.

Upon spotting him, excitement flashed in your eyes, and you nearly skipped over.

"You stayed," you breathily commented, the towel you were using to dry your hair tossed atop the dining table. Traces of vanilla and coconut saturated the air, infiltrating his mask, and his mouth involuntarily watered.

He needed to call that special number tonight, he decreed, or else he wouldn't survive the coming days. Days? More like hour. Keep it together, soldier.

Such unpalatable delight seeped from you, he slowly shook his head.

If only you knew he sewed another man's skull on his mask, beaten to a pulp before stripped clean of all tissue. A constant reminder of what he’d lost. Who he'd lost. If only you knew he viewed the outside world from the eyes of a dead man. If only you knew poison swam in his veins, immortalizing the infectious ichor that damned any soul to near him. Touch him. You would flee the other direction.

You would curse at him, curse him, see him for what he truly was.

A rotting corpse unleashed to the world to haunt. To terrorize.

Would you crave him then, knowing those very hands you wanted wrapped around you had ended lives, and most not so humanely?

He wasn't capable of holding you without hurting you.

Anything good and decent in him had long ago been buried away, and in their stead festered rancid tendencies that worked his mind and body tireless.

Nothing survived him, and you would be no different.

Even tonight, his somber mood a result of the death toll that ripped through his heart, deadened as it was, when he heard - witnessed - the scream of little children blown to pieces by a human bomber he was meant to stop, was no coincidence.

His main objective was to retrieve classified documents, but it had come at a cost when the enemy understood they were compromised.

He had done a bloody good job clearing the entire building, knives soaked crimson, fists even more so, but he'd forgone the basement, a bunker where bombers kept their own hostage. It was a gruesome tactic the enemy utilized to throw their foes off balance. He had a moment's decision before the bomber pressed the button - shoot him with the off-chance of saving the children, get obliterated to pieces and fail the mission, or succeed.

It was either them or the classified intel. He’d ducked for cover.

Choices have consequences, he remembered telling Johnny once, and, fuck, if he didn't hate himself for his.

He tasted the sulfur, the clogging dust saturated with human remains, in the back of his throat. He couldn't wipe those deaths from his eyes no matter how many times he bathed, scrubbed, scraped.

So, no matter you being a perfect stranger, feeding him look upon look of insatiable hunger any man would gladly sacrifice a limb for, he couldn't go down that road.

Especially when you meant so much to Johnny, his brother-in-arms, a man with a heart of gold that reminded Simon of his own. He couldn't do that to him, to you. Christ, he couldn't walk through fire again.

He wouldn't survive it.

And - bollocks, he nearly chuckled - he never sounded more miserable. It didn't matter. He'd be dodging a bullet with you, all right. All his physical needs, he could deal with them like a grown man in the confines of his own four walls.

Besides, he was a goddamn mess tonight, his feelings and thoughts blown asunder. He hadn't slept for seventy-two hours and was in desperate need of some shut-eye.

"You look like you've just seen a ghost," your lilting voice broke through his thoughts. He blinked down at you. You shrugged, a small smile forming. "Funny how that works, don't you think?"

Maybe he should give you a taste of what it meant to know Simon Riley. Maybe then, and only then, would you understand the favor he'd been extending you.

Silently, he pushed the steaming cup of green tea your way.

A soft gasp. "A man after my own heart." Your fingers came around the mug, hugging it close to your chest and taking a cautious sip. "Mmm. Just what I needed."

"You feelin' better?" Christ, he might as well have spat out shards of glass with how rough he'd sounded.

You licked your lips, pink tongue darting out. "Yeah. Much," you whispered. "Thanks."

Your lips enclosed around the rim again, plump, red and eager. Red as poppies. He imagined them closing around something else, something harder, hotter, sweetened by your spit.

His muscles stiffened, the itch flaming his palms. Palms he then curled into tight fists - before releasing.

He unsuccessfully cleared his throat. "Right, then, you get that rest, poppy."

He turned on his heel, the exit never appearing more distant as he marched to it. At the end of the island, he'd left the box of med kit and his glove, and he reached for the latter as he bypassed.

A blur of white and he was staring down at your delicate features again.

"Wait, wait, you can't just leave. And you definitely can't take this." You snatched the glove from his grasp and quickly hid it behind your back. You pursed your lips at his quiet glower. "Because I'll, uh, wash it for you. More polite that way."

Bollocks. You meant to keep what was his, you wily little thing. He could easily wrestle it out of your hands, but he didn't want to give you more incentive to put your hands on him. Or, worse yet, his on you.

"You got somethin' you wanna say?" he roughed out.

"Only that I want to thank you. Properly."

"Properly thanked. Now out of my way."

He meant to sidestep but you halted him with a soft, warm palm on his chest. His heart, for the briefest second, quickened at the gesture. Didn't need incentive at all, it seemed.

You struggled for purchase. "Well - Well, what about your tea?"

"I'll live, poppy."

Another step, another pressing of your hand against his body. More adamantly this time.

Bloody hell, such a tiny thing, you were, but he'd never encountered a bigger hindrance. Especially when he was oh, so close to the exit. He was positive you were going to lock your door and swallow the key if he did not indulge you a moment's courtesy.

His abrasive exhale of defeat finally brought your palm down from his chest, and he - what? Wanted to beat your white-bricked walls in at the loss of contact? Absolutely not - couldn't have felt better.

His lids dropped, and his look of defiance rivaled yours. For a second too intense for his liking, both of you were stuck in a battle of wills.

One second.

Two seconds.

Three seconds.

Four se -

Christ. That pulled a reaction from him, primal and almost aggressive. The kind that had the blood in his veins rushing hot and wild.

His low, grumbling voice, a contrast to the sudden, violent need unfurling in his lower abdomen, vibrated the still air between you.

"Properly thank me how?"

Of all the answers he could've expected, with how your teeth worried your lower lip, nibbling at the fleshly petal, or how your lashes fluttered, somehow nervous, or even with how your cheeks dusted pink in evident arousal, that is, a meek, "Biscuits?" was definitely not it.

His head jerked back, a frown creasing his forehead. "Biscuits?"

He fuckin' loved biscuits.

"Yes. With tea?"

Hell, he loved that more.

He let your words sit for a while. Then, "You got any ginger nuts there, poppy?"

A bashful smile revealed a row of straight, white teeth. He wanted to scrape his own against them, his tongue coaxing in to steal a little taste of you. At the heady image, he tensed.

Growled.

You swallowed. "You don't have to be so angry about it. I've got them. Come on, then, I'll share my favorites with you."

In under five minutes, you had the Ghost sprawled atop your bed goddamn picnicking with a plate of biscuits and a mug of tea in hand.

Having made away with his leather jacket, he leaned back into a heap of pillows you'd placed for him, and - oh, that felt good - his muscles hissed in pleasure at having finally relaxed.

He grunted, his lids threatening to drift shut. Your bed was warm, soft, and smelled of wild lilacs - all qualities Ghost was estranged to in the field, which happened to dominate the better part of his life.

"You'll love this," you said from your spot next to him. He'd momentarily slacked off, and your voice brought him back from the abating garden of flowers he was surrendering himself to.

He breathed in deep, pulling focus.

Having dimmed the lights to your loft, you wiggled to a comfortable position and succumbed to your own nest of pillows.

You smelled like a peachy sunset over a beach of glistening sands, and if he touched you, you'd feel even better.

And now he was turning into a bloody poet.

If 141 ever saw him like this, Ghost would never live it down.

He balanced his plate of biscuits and mug of tea on his lap, but when you pressed your shoulder to his, he nearly spilled the hot liquid over his pants.

It also chased the sleep from his burning lids, and, quietly, he suffered your presence.

His body seared where you touched him, but he made no show of it.

You outstretched your lithe legs, soft and enticing, over the bed, and crossed them at the ankles. At the movement, your white robe parted in the seams, revealing the supple flesh of your thigh, but you made no move to cover it. You simply lay there, still delectable with a kind of sweetness Ghost wanted to languidly lap at with his tongue.

So much so that the muscle now ached in his mouth.

He swore under his breath, his own legs shifting to distance his body from you. His booted feet, he dangled at the edge of the bed. He wasn't that barbaric.

"I thought you were the patient one," you chided, misreading his mood. In your fingers, you clutched some kind of a remote. It possessed two buttons. "Watch this."

You pressed the green one.

A soft whine reverberated from above, and then a portion of the sloped ceiling slid up to, inch by inch, reveal the thundering clouds in the sky.

Not many things had the power to surprise Ghost, but this... Well, suffice it to say, his jaw slightly slacked open.

Rain dazedly pelted the glassed frame, the droplets snaking down in rivulets, and distant strikes of lightning illuminated the cloudy world above, and in consequence, the dark room.

You dreamily sighed, sinking further into your pillows. You reached for the biscuits on his thighs.

Simon hadn't realized he'd placed them too close to his groin, and thought you went in for a different feeding, body abruptly tensing.

The faintest drop of your hand's weight on him had his throat contracting.

Subtly, he had the plate relocated to his abdomen. Much better.

"I had it installed when I moved in. It helps me sleep better at night. Oh, especially in such nights." You hummed out a chuckle and pointed. "Look at that cloud. Kind of looks like the head of a chihuahua, don't you think?"

Lightning crackled. The sky brightened in hues murky gray and electric blue - before plummeting into darkness.

He followed your finger, and released a contemplative sound. It was all he offered, but it seemed to be enough for you.

There was something about the sound of rain and your soft breathing that had Simon lulled to a cozy quiet. Snugged by the pillows, his weight sank deeper into the mattress, and he thought he was in a haven of your making.

This could put him dead out if it weren't for the tempting graze of your shoulder against his, forcing him awake ever time his lashes sluggishly fluttered shut.

You sipped your tea and reached for another biscuit.

Slowly, he lifted his own mask 'til his nose and watched, warily, if you'd sneak a peek. You did no such thing.

Ignoring the twitch in his brows, he bit into the biscuits. The tea smoothed them down his throat, and the warm nourishment felt good in his stomach.

All the while, you talked about your sweets and pastries, the corner shop you bought them from, and how it was your favorite with it having opened almost eighty years ago. And how he also should visit it once he gets the chance.

You finished your tea and placed the mug on your side of the nightstand. Brushing the crumbs from your fingers, you plopped back down, head on your pillows this time.

You still did not look at him.

Sober you seemed to have a few bit reservations than wasted you, it appeared, faintest traces of amusement pulling at the corners of his revealed lips.

Downing the rest of his tea, he put away the empty plate and mug to his side of the nightstand. With that, he masked his lips anew.

In the silence, the only sound the pouring rain, he dwelled in the dark with you.

Then, so softly, you said his name.

"Simon."

His breath hitched dead center in his chest. His eyes arrowed down at your lying figure.

You continued to look away, spiky lashes fanning delicate cheekbones.

"You can stay the night, if you want," you made out, swallowing tentatively and moistening your lips. With a tiny jump, you turned over - and finally tilted your face up to look him in the eyes. You cupped the underside of your cheek. "We don't have to do anything. Not that you - Not that you said you wanted to. I'm sorry. I only mean, it's late...and you must be tired." Then, oh, so gently, "Heard you had a long night, too."

Ghost remained silent for the duration of your speech, and at the last sentence, quirked a brow up. "Yeah? And who told you that?"

"Johnny," you murmured.

"Johnny," he echoed. A low crackling sound sizzled in his chest, but it dwindled out before ever reaching his throat. "You discuss me with Johnny, do ya now, poppy?"

Your eyes dropped from his masked face, and your fingers drew small circles into the pillow next to his.

"Sometimes, I do, yes." So effortlessly admitted. Fuck. "It was merely an evaluation of your person, is all. I could see it too. Your eyes are red. Bit groggy too."

He rasped out a low chuckle, if it could be called that, seeing as some sounds tended to get lost in the wide expanse of his chest. "That it, eh?"

A small smile crinkled the corner of your eye, and if he had a heart, he might've gone as far as to call you a darling right then and there.

You shrugged. "Yeah."

He ran the tip of his tongue against his teeth. Simon knew it was best he end the conversation now, rise from your bed, and exit your apartment. Your life. He got his proper thanks, after all.

But, like a damned fool he could only blame on his exhausted state, he stayed put - and probed further. "What else you bothered Johnny about me, mm?"

You licked your lips again, the tip of that tempestuous pink muscle wetting the seam, and he bit back a wanting grunt.

He'd never been more arrested by a mundane act.

Focus, soldier.

His eyes trailed the gentle curve of your jawline...and down your slender neck.

No, not there, you daft geezer. Away.

"Your mask," your tentative voice filled the room.

"What's wrong with it?"

Your soft hair rustled against the sheets as you shook your head. "Nothing. It's merely got something honest about it, is all. As paradoxical as that may seem, I realize now. It's pleasant."

Pleasant? That's a new one.

But he couldn't have you building false notions about him like that. Maybe it was time he warned you away for good.

"I have more blood on my hands than the one running in your veins, poppy. There is nothing honest about me," he coldly provided.

"Well, I think you're wrong."

Bloody hell, what would it take to dislodge you?

You moved, body climbing up the pillows until your head rested close to his shoulder. And then a little bit more, until you leveled with his face.

The sheer heat emanating from your skin traveled past his clothes, seeping into his pores.

Yeah, you were a darlin', all right. A damn appetizing one, at that.

You shifted slightly, weight on your left hip and bared legs so dangerously close to his.

Through the thick rim of your lashes, you regarded him. "Ghost," you said, and he nearly corrected you. "Would you like to know what else I discuss with Johnny?"

A burning sensation infiltrated his cheek, and he realized you were tracing your fingertips over his masked features. Carefully, cautiously, so as to not chase him away.

"For one, those pretty eyes of yours," you hummed lowly. On cue, you gently trailed a finger down his brow bone.

Heat speared his cheeks at that, and he was grateful for the coverage. Simon Riley, blushing. His lashes fluttered a bit, but other than that, you remained clueless as to his expression.

"And they change color every time I look upon you. Sometimes blue, sometimes silver, other times brown, like sweet caramel, and my favorite, pitch black. How do you do that?"

You studied him enough to have a favorite? At that revelation, his throat tightened.

Wordless, he performed a small, almost undiscernible, shrug, the pillows underneath shifting.

A slow, deep smile curved your cheeks. "You should let me study them in broad daylight. I'm sure I'll solve the mystery in no time." With a cheeky air, you booped the tip of his nose with your finger.

Quietly, he watched your face, coal-dark eyes intent and focused, the only sounds from him his steady breathing.

"God, they're so black." Tenderly, you ran your knuckles across his jawline, angled your head, and then softly guided his face closer to yours.

Once, someone had told him he had no present, past, or future, and he'd told them that he'd see them in hell. Now, Ghost realized hell was here, in the breath of a space between you, where you sat so close to him, and yet he could not close it.

"None of that, poppy." He nudged your hold off.

Disappointment colored your eyes, drooped your shoulders, and brought those pearl-white teeth to gnaw at your fleshly lower lip. And with so much bite, he spotted teeth marks form.

"Easy there," he murmured, fingers acting without his explicit permission and pinching your chin.

At that, the discouragement washed away and your eyes clouded with something dark and promising, putting the storm outside to shame. There you went again with that look. If his career in the Special Forces hadn't driven him mad, this surely would.

Understanding that he shouldn't have touched you, he made to move away, but your fingers wrapped around his wrist, keeping him close - and sliding your body closer.

The second your hip meshed against his, his muscles seized up, locking tight upon his bones.

God, you were hot against him. Burning up.

Simon nearly bolted from the bed when he felt your legs entangle with his, the blistering tension having unwittingly made away with much of his resolve and rendering him stimulated in places he'd rather not feel stimulated in.

Your toes teased his legs, rubbing up against the coarse material of his pants. Then, they glided over them, finding purchase in his inner calves - and massaging. Up, up, they traveled, then dooown they dropped, creating a spine-tingling friction.

Ghost grunted, shoulders bunching before undulating. He straightened a bit. Good God. He was suddenly too aware of his own body heating up and all his intimate areas. All too aware of his blood pumping and where it was rushing.

"You better stop that before you get hurt, yeah, darlin'?" he grated past his teeth.

You sighed, no doubt relishing in his deteriorating strength. "A little pain never hurt nobody. Isn't that right, Lieutenant?"

As you said that, you wedged your leg more firmly between his, parting them, and slid your knee upward to lightly grind it against his sensitive groin.

Christ. He grunted with less control now, the feeling slowly slipping through his fingers.

You shouldn't be using that kind of language with him. Shouldn't be talking in such a tone. Because addiction was another sin he didn't mind adding to the list.

His body sweltered from the inside and his heartbeat increased, beating in his ears. He had to leave.

Jerking slightly at another shiver inducing motion, he pushed at your leg.

A final, "No, poppy," scraped past his throat.

"Simon," you tugged at his wrist, voice hoarsely breaking at the end and so desperately, it nearly unmanned him, "I - I'm on fire. It hurts. It hurts so bad. Need... I need you. I can't stop. I don't know why I can't stop. I just - God, I've been needing you for so long now. Every night, I dream of you, do you know that? Every night. Please, please...I'm going insane. I'm - "

That did it.

With a ferocious snarl that was more animal than man, his arm shot forward, calloused fingers latching onto your cheeks and unchivalrously burying your head in your pillows with the abrupt maneuver of his body over yours.

His weight suffocated you into the mattress.

You gasped, eyes gaping wide in alarm.

His ire flared, his desire, even more so.

"Shut the fuck up," Ghost gritted in your face, now panting hot and fast. "Shut your fuckin' mouth now, poppy. Fuck. You ever heed a warning? You ever heard of using your own goddamn fingers? You ever use that pretty little head of yours? Bloody fucking hell, darlin'. Bloody. Fucking. Hell."

You squirmed under him, releasing small, breathless sounds.

The image of you rendered so helpless roused the most primal parts of him and his cock painfully hardened, straining against the strap of his pants.

It was blooming into an ache his hands alone wouldn't be able to assuage. Goddamit.

Your eyes searched his, arraying back and forth, attempting to grasp what just occurred within the span of a blink.

Then, they narrowed, pretty lashes fusing. "I have," you ground out, baring your teeth at him. "I do. But they're never enough." Fuck, you were talking about your fingers. You almost pouted insufferably. "Never what I want. Need. Crave."

"And I am?" he growled out, baring his own teeth. You seemed to like the intensity he exuded, even heatedly roamed your eyes over his masked lips, expression devoid of all fear.

You nodded eagerly.

Yes.

He cursed under his breath.

Lowly, lethally, "How hard did you hit that head of yours, mm?"

You bit your lips to suppress a moan, "Hard enough to get you in my bed."

"That mouth of yours is goin' to get you in trouble, poppy."

You keened at the warning. "Promise?"

At that, he couldn't will himself away even if he wanted to. Not even all the soldiers in his team combined could drag him away when you stared up at him so wantonly, so desperately, silently begging to make away with the terrible ache that shadowed over your every need.

So be it. You would learn your lesson.

"Open your legs," he growled - and slipped his hand underneath your robe.

an: i made it into 3 parts bcs, well, i just had too much fun writing ghost suffering in his self-imposed ✨ agonies ✨

suffice it to say, the next part will be pure filth. pinkie swear this time. strap your seatbelts, girlies, we’re going to the horniest, dirtiest bangtown.

on another note, if anyone is willing to chat/discuss fics relating to cod or any other fandom of their liking, I’ve created a new discord server and pinned it on my blog; all are more than welcome to join ✨

[jollmaster]

usually what do the four wives's Spheres duties consist of? Like what type of state affairs does Lilith usually deal with? What does Eisheth do in her temple of spiritual practices? Are there any Priestess or prostitutes in It too? What does Agrat's cohort do and work out with? What types of rituals does Naamah organizes and how do they work?

hello, and sorry for late!

• Lilith is a goddess of dark side of motherhood and femininity, she harms women in labor and infants (but doesn't touch those who prays her and asks to save children), and gives birth to children and monsters herself; she doesn't have to raise them, there are servants and teachers for that

• as a queen, she's in charge of diplomacy and correspondence (including those that require threatening), supervises servants and labor, participates in the Wild Hunt, inspects territories with the same rights as husband

• Eisheth Zenunim by magic maintains the connection and power of spirits in her temple, protects women and controls annual rituals, which strengthen power of demons and stabilize them

• her priestesses are often prostitutes at the same time; some mortals among them have sold their bodies in mortal lifet, some, both mortal and not, participate in sexual rituals, but out of necessity Eisheth doesn't allow anyone to touch any of temple women

• like, her name, Eisheth Zenunim, means mother of whoredom

• Agrat bat Mahlat, in addition to being a warlady, travels the roads of the mortal world before Wednesday and Saturday (Sabbath) nights, accompanied by own cohort

• during these hours she has the right to harm people, and mortals are careful not to go out on the roads; however, she mostly punishes only sex offenders

• Naamah helps Eisheth in organizing holidays and restricts the choir and music because properly choreographed music is also a kind of magic

• also she helds such rituals by herself: she speaks with spirits or demons on their inner language

[swyrlwyrxx]

ok helpol yap cause i love my religion and i need to rejuvinate my practice , i havent had much time to worship recently (⁠´⁠;⁠︵⁠;⁠`⁠)

one of the reasons that im very glad i found hellenistic polytheism is because its helped me understand other religions as well . i was raised somewhat jewish/christian , but i never felt a real connection to that god beyond fearful reverence- it didn't feel like true worship, it just felt like following what the adults told me to do. the abrahamic god never answered my prayers.

this led to me kind of making fun of christians or any other world religion because i didnt understand them. id see church sermons where folks would cry and shake out of joy, and id automatically judge them. same with church choirs that would get so hype, i couldnt comprehend someone caring SO much about something i didnt even perceive as real.

but my love for the Gods and feeling their light by my side IS overwhelming, and shit if i got to go to an Athenian worship temple or something id probably cry too. i can put myself in their shoes effectively now because if i was surrounded by people who share my beliefs and love for the Gods, i'd feel like singing too.

tldr: hellenism has helped me understand others in their religious practice, and im very grateful for that. :3

[y-rhywbeth2]

Gods and Clergy: Myrkul

Link: Disclaimer regarding D&D "canon" & Index [tldr: D&D lore is a giant conflicting mess. Larian's lore is also a conflicting mess. You learn to take what you want and leave the rest]

Religion | Gods | Shar | Selûne | Bhaal | Mystra | Jergal | Bane #1 | Bane #2 | Bane #3 | Myrkul | Lathander | Kelemvor | Tyr | Helm | Ilmater | Mielikki | Oghma | Gond | Tempus | Silvanus | Talos | Umberlee | Corellon | Moradin | Yondalla | Garl Glittergold | Eilistraee | Lolth | Laduguer | Gruumsh | Bahamut | Tiamat | Amodeus | The rest of the Faerûnian Pantheon --WIP

Now this is what I call a proper death cult. Now that I'm pretty sure I have all information on this asshole, here's Myrkul to finish off the Dead Three - He offers free hugs sometimes. Do not accept one.

Intro: We have too many death gods in this setting.

Clergy: Stuff like kindness is for the people who are currently dead, to hell with everybody who's alive.

Gray Ones: I know clerics usually make better necromancers than wizards who specialise in it, but come on.

Myrkul: Bane's got issues, but I think Myrkul might actually be the most effective villain here.

---

"Know me and fear me. My embrace is for all and is patient but sure. The dead can always find you. My hand is everywhere - there is no door I cannot pass, nor guardian who can withstand me." - Myrkul's dogma

"Make certain daily that all fear the Lord of Bones—who cannot be evaded, hidden from, or shut out. For the dead are his subjects, and the slide into death his pleasure and his dominion. Speak daily to all you meet of the Doombringers to come and Doombringers past— those moved by Myrkul to bring death, delivering souls to the one who shall have them all in the end, the mighty and the low-born, the cloaked in proud Art and the barely able to speak. Silently remind folk of death by your garb, the skulls you carry, and the finger bones you trail behind you as you travel. You fear nothing, or to harm you is to die." - more dogma

Myrkul's dogma that has caused a lot of confusion.

"Myrkul was the god of the dead, as opposed to the god of death [the instance of death and the transition between [life and death]], which was the province of Bhaal."

Bhaal is the god of death with a focus specifically on the moment life ends, he doesn't care about the before or after, only the moment of death. Myrkul was the god of those who have already died, shuffled off their mortal coil and joined the choir invisible - he's just a sadist about it and wants you to be aware of your mortality while you're still alive, and also enjoys it when you die. Kelemvor actually holds dominion over the dead at the moment, but I'll get back to him.

Myrkul is very keen to be feared; to remind the living that their time alive is finite, and once Bhaal ends that fleeting life then they will be in Myrkul's kingdom.

His divine portfolio includes aging, exhaustion, decay, the hours of dusk and the autumn months - things that remind mortals of the entropy looming over them throughout their every living moment, bringing you one step closer to his kingdom. Another portfolio of his is parasites: the hidden thing inside you, sucking your life away. It's so important to Myrkul that you remember that you are ageing. You are always dying, slowly.

To this effect he really enjoys crashing funerals, manifesting in front of the grief stricken funeral goers to remind them that one day they'll die too! He'll also drop by at night and visit you in your nightmares, for the same reason.

He lost rulership of the dead when slain in the Time of Troubles by Midnight (soon to be Mystra), and the portfolio eventually passed to Cyric and later to Kelemvor.

Now that Myrkul has returned, Kelemvor remains god of the dead, but Myrkul maintains his older domains. He is the god of the slow march of life into death, with all the aspects mentioned.

He's also the most sadistic asshole, but I'll talk about that further in.

Temples of Myrkul begin with a mausoleum built above ground (as big as possible and decorated with the most intimidating statuary the builders can think of), which extend into necropolis underground, which are guarded by undead. The temples are often filled/covered in smoke from the crematoriums inside. The walls are decorated with images and statues of people of all genders, races and ages depicted in various forms of death and stages of decay.

-

Myrkul and his worshippers, known as "the Anointed" are and always have been extremely unpopular. He receives offerings at funerals, but nobody particularly wants to worship him, and those that do are regarded with fear and the subject of rumour and horror stories.

His few priests come from people of a morbid bent, who enjoy the fear and the tales of how they can sicken and kill others through a mere touch, or that those who offend them in any way will die - and that all Anointed will know when one of their own has been killed, and by who. Anointed don't actually kill anyone as a rule, that's a job for Bhaalists, but they do make a special exception for people who pretend to be one of them in order to exploit their intimidating reputation. Such people die in spectacular, public fashion - as painfully as possible.

They also make an exception for law keepers and others in positions of power who try to oppress the study and practitioners of necromancy, although finding non-lethal means of making these people change their ways is common enough.

Myrkul's followers are to speak as little as possible, and when they do speak they speak as softly as they can while being as laconic as they're able. "It is poor form among the Anointed to show emotion when one can instead speak coldly and flatly, and maintain apparent calm."

At this point, people are so desperate to stay away from them that a Myrkulite can flat out just walk into your house and take whatever the hell they want. You like being alive and look forward to a happy afterlife and are not going to stop them. Many Myrkulites get extremely rich this way, and Old Lord Skull himself doesn't seem to care.

When in public they Anointed always wear skull half-masks, coating every inch of exposed flesh on their body with ash. They also carry human skulls with them - due to the skulls, they've often known as the "Grinning Anointed". While at the temple, or on ceremony, they wear full body, deep hooded black robes, tied around the waist with a white sash, and forgo shoes in favour of being bare foot.

Their entire job, as far as the living go, is basically to torment people and remind them that their life is ultimately pointless and that they're going to die.

While they're absolute monsters towards living beings. whom they and their god abhor, the Anointed typically hold those who are dead in reverence. Resurrecting the dead is a blasphemous act forbidden by the faith, and Myrkul only rarely permits it in exceptional circumstances (although a technical loophole exists in that you can get a priest of a different god to bring back a dead person for you.)

Other, less sadistic, duties include carrying out funerals and seeking out and burying the lost dead. They seek to make the dying comfortable in their last moments, and help them get their last affairs in order - a duty that they now, presumably, share with Kelemvorites. Myrkulites will typically go out of their way to make sure that the last wills and testaments (and similar) have reaching effects after a person's death, so that they may hold influence on the living from beyond the grave. Another thing they share with Kelemvorites is that they personally do not view death as unnatural or something to run from. Where they differ is that Kelemvor teaches the living not to live in fear of death, while Myrkul wants mortals in constant dread.

Myrkul's priests are often blessed with a high tolerance for disease, which makes them particularly useful for disposing of the bodies of plague victims.

Myrkulites often have a special reverence for necromancy, again due to its ability to allow the dead to affect the living. They call it "the sacred hand that reaches from the grave."

They are also charged with spreading tale of those the faith reveres as "Doombringers" - those driven to avenge the dead; friends, lovers, mentors and other loved ones sent or driven into death one way or another by the actions of their target/s.

A Myrkulite can be hired as a doombringer, the cost of which is sometimes called a "skull fee", however they will not work for the still-living. They can only be hired on behalf of the dead, or in advance of one's death.

Myrkulites should not expect much of a social life outside of the other Anointed, and most will leave wherever they were raised and/or lived, as their communities certainly wouldn't appreciate having a Myrkulite in their midst.

The clergy contains many titles, each conferring a specific necromantic spell taught or priestly duty (most of which are not actually described). Once these were in rank, however in recent times the hierarchy has become a loose grouping by age and experience into Initiates, Lesser Anointed, Anointed and Higher Anointed. Myrkul did away with the concept of high priests after certain incidents involving a rebellion against him.

The titles used to be: Daring One, Night Walker, Bone Talker, Shroud Wearer, Crypt Carver, Bone Dancer, Ritual Consecrator, Undead Master, Withering Lord, Deathbringer and Elder Doom (the later of whom have influence beyond a single temple or settlement).

Bone Dancers perform ritualistic dances that animate the dead as guardians of a site. Ritual Consecrators are basically the clergy's craftsmen, responsible for dedicating the altars, making the scythes and preparing the materials for magic. Withering Lords use magic that causes living flesh to wither and die, and Deathbringers can cause you to drop dead by pointing at you.

Anointed greet their equals and juniors as "Death [Surname]" and their senior clergy as "Most Holy Death [Surname]."

Lower ranks owe little in the way of reverence to their seniors, aside from obeying reasonable instructions and offering aid, money, food or shelter when the moment calls for it. The senior clergy should not be living off of the backs of the lower ranks, and if they attempt to abuse their power then the junior clergy are free to defy them.

Initiates to the faith are taken into the crypts, to meet the corpse of a former high-ranking priest. There, the ritual spell speak with dead is used to allow Myrkul to address the initiate personally, imparting his dogma upon them.

Myrkul is known to visit his favoured followers to give them a hug. Said hug is full of necromantic magic and is highly likely to kill you. If it doesn't you will be horrifically withered and traumatised for life, but Myrkulites consider survivors to be blessed.

When Cyric took over as god of the dead, unlike their Bhaalist and Banite counterparts who had schisms and purges over it, the Anointed simply carried on as usual. Their complete indifference was about as close to enthusiasm as Myrkulites get. While many were just as indifferent when Cyric was replaced by Kelemvor, he proved to be a bit more controversial, due to the ban on necromancy.

Myrkul is worshipped at dusk every day during a ritual named the Dusking. Grave dirt, or the bones and ash of the cremated, are offered to a black altar decorated with bones. Above the altar a human skull is enchanted so that it floats and glows dimly. The purpose of the daily ritual is to remember that death follows closely behind all living creatures, and those who don't chose Myrkul as a patron deity are encouraged to give their own offerings. The begining and ending of the ritual is marked by the toll of a bell (a deep, reverberating one, not a high note). Each time an offering is made the bell is tolled again. Particularly devout Myrkulites will hold a personal prayer at any time during the hours of darkness that night.

There is only one holy day, held during the Feast of the Moon when everybody honours the dead. Myrkulites call it "the day the dead are most with us." It's believed by them that the dead walk the world as ghosts to seek their loved ones, enemies and descendants - either to observe or to pass on messages. They celebrate the dead with chants, prayers and hyms and end the day with a ritual called the Flagons of the Fallen, where they set glasses of wine on fire with magic to grant the spirits a momentary respite from their "eternal chill."

-

The priests that dedicate themselves to Myrkul alone amongst the gods are the Grey Ones (also known by the nickname, "fingerbones")

Grey ones are master necromancers, and can command far larger hordes than normal. They are also masters of lore regarding undeath, all forms of undead and the outer planes and the fate of souls.

They're resistant to any spell effects that cause death

They do not display any negative effects of any diseases or parasites they may be hosting, although they can still contract them. For example, an Anointed could visibly have leprosy, and it will kill them, but they won't feel it or be bothered by it until it actually kills them.

They can magically put themselves into a state where they appear to be dead to onlookers.

They can summon Deaths to serve them - grim reaper looking undead who serve Myrkul.

They can wither living flesh at a touch.

Once a tenday they have access to a unique spell called the Hand of Myrkul, this wreathes their hand in flame. If they touch a living creature with this hand, then the victim must make a successful roll or they will die. If the target dies, the Gray One must also make that same roll, or be slain themselves.

They can stagnate water and create or worsen structural weak points in inanimate matter.

They can turn wounds and injuries necrotic.

They have a unique version of the spell finger of death where the priest points a finger bone at the target, says the incantation and if the damage caused kills the target then they can't be resurrected. If they don't die, then the Myrkulite can perform a ritual involving holy water that will turn them into a living zombie under their command.

-

Myrkul himself is a Neutral Evil deity and his domain is in the Lower Planes on the Grey Waste of Hades. Born Myrkul Bey al-Kursi, a talented necromancer and Crown-Prince of a kingdom called Murghom. His kingdom was a vassal state of the ancient empire Mulhorand, and the prince wasn't satisfied with such meagre power. So off he travelled, eventually running into Bhaal and Bane, who were already allied and being compelled to seek out and slay ancient gods due to horrific visions being inflicted on them by the god Jergal. This, of course, is what we call an opportunity for better power, so Myrkul joined them and the three went on to steal divinity from many beings and ended up becoming the Dead Three. He was slain by Midnight, who would become Mystra, in a battle in Waterdeep during the Time of Troubles.

Myrkul's personality is described as cold and malignant, and the god himself is known for his cruel intellect. He never gets angry or raises his voice, only ever speaking in a whisper. Whenever his plans are foiled by mortals he only ever responds with amusement.

Sometimes, just to keep mortals on their toes, he pretends to be kind.

Myrkul's avatar is much like the traditional grim reaper (scythe included), but with four arms, and his face still has some skin - flaking, withered skin covered in lesions and his lips and black and cracking. His sunken eyes "gleam with a cold, evil light." He levitates rather than standing on the ground. His touch is lethally icy, both physically and on a spiritual level. He can also inflict a flesh-eating disease on people though touching them. Regardless of how much damage it inflicts, after being in physical contact with Myrkul, a living being sees all other living beings around them as corpses for a varying period of time. His scythe causes fatigue and weakness in those it touches.

All skeletons and zombies obey him absolutely, regardless of who created them. Much like Bhaal, Myrkul can create any form of undead by touching a corpse, and sapient undead such as mummies and vampires created this way are bound to his will for a single task after which they are fully free willed. He can reduce all undead to dust with a touch, and they cannot harm him in any way.

Myrkul also manifests as a flying human skull with lights in its eye sockets, and can vary in size from normal skull to being six foot tall. He can also manifest as a skeletal arm wielding a scimitar, which has much the same effect as the scythe.

Myrkul can cast any spell except those that create light as a primary effect.

Naturally his divine servants and messengers are undead, and he's been known to unleash armies of the dead on the living.

Various things Myrkul will send to his faithful to show his favour or disfavour include; bats, panthers, hell hounds, nightmares, black roses, jet, obsidian, onyx and corvids. The animals will aid his faithful, if in favour and cause harassment or harm to show his disfavour. They can also be sent to attack his followers' enemies.

His top hits in contribution to the Realms include:

Undead krakens

The Wall of the Faithless. Nobody actually asked for the souls of those who cannot be claimed by any of the gods to all be packed together and turned into a mouldy, eternally screaming wall where they will experience agony untold for millennia as their memories and sense of self are slowly eaten away until nothing of them is left. But Myrkul is the gift that keeps on giving, so he gave the Wall to the Realms anyway.

The Spirit Eater Curse: So one of his old Chosen, raised from birth to serve him with blind loyalty, got a girlfriend. Then this girlfriend ended up in aforementioned wall of screaming souls. Said Chosen rebelled in order to rescue his girlfriend, so Myrkul did the only reasonable thing and put him in the Wall (even though this is a breach of divine cosmology) and then took him back out when his personality had been erased and dumped him back on Toril. What was left was a soul eating parasite - a void that feels only hunger and can never be filled, ruining thousands of lives and leaving spiritual desolation wherever it went. Did this have anything to do with being a punishment for the former high priests rebellion? Sort of, but ultimately, not really, no. This was Myrkul's equivalent of Iyachtu Xvim and the Bhaalspawn; as long as the curse exists, a fragment of Myrkul remains in the world and he cannot die.

The Crown of Horns: Originally crafted by Jergal. A circlet made of electrum, with four bone horns at the corners and one large black diamond centred over the brow, radiating necromantic energy. Before the Second Sundering, the crown hosted a portion of Myrkul's essence. The crown has mind-affecting magic that sows discord amongst all in its vicinity who don't worship Myrkul, who it can bind to the yugoloth fiends of the Lower Planes, and its power also drives them to covet the crown. All who wear it have their minds consumed by Myrkul as it slowly turns them into a lich. They usually then start acting as an evil necromancer overlord, raising the dead and trying to take over the nearest city/kingdom/whatever. At their worst, wearers of the crown have been strong enough to challenge Bane's church (although I don't think they've tried).

Myrkul's been keeping the crown teleporting around the world, post Time of Troubles, landing out of reach of meddling Harpers and kept within reach of idiots. He apparently greatly enjoyed the experience of brainwashing vast swathes of people into mass murder, moreso than he did actual godhood.

[utilitycaster]

Is there any like. Real lore based reasons ppl treat pelor as an analogue for the Big Honcho God or is that a false connection ppl who are already deadset on projecting their religious trauma with monotheistic Christian god onto fantasy pantheon make because something something "Father" and/or "Sun deity"

I think the fact that the people buying up the land in and around Hearthdell and putting in temples were doing so in the name of the Dawnfather is a big factor. It's quite honestly the only justified reason, but this was also extremely present before there was even a hint of that plot. Nothing with regards to his interactions with Deanna is anything untoward; he is arrogant but if you can't appreciate arrogant characters then skill issue; and this post (and OPs excellent reblog down the chain) covers his portrayal in Campaign 1 better than I could.

Otherwise? I'm not Christian and never have been, so personally Jesus Portrayals do nothing for me because that guy is way too nice, honestly, and it weirds me out. So while I suspect the hatred of Pelor is in part a projection of negative feelings about Christianity, for a number of reasons, particularly the fact that almost all the people dead set against him and other gods write arguments that sound like they learned rhetoric exclusively from fire-and-brimstone sermons, down to the presupposing their conclusions as part of the initial premise (they call it preaching to the choir for a reason) and the almost exclusive reliance on appeals to emotion in the absence of any logic, I do not want to say so definitively. I cannot say for sure why people came in to Campaign 3 deciding the gods had three strikes against them already and then proceeded to put on a Church Lady act of being Shocked and Sickened when people looked at the collapsed heap of unsupported presumptions they called an argument and said "no thanks" but they do. It is rather tedious.

I don't want to attribute to disingenuousness and a secret taste for the boot provided the "correct" people are wearing it what I think (and hope) is just being really, really, really stupid and incapable of considering perspectives other than one's own (though both of those can very easily be swayed towards dangerous beliefs), but there's one "argument" against the gods that I've mulled over since I first saw it. It boiled down to the idea that it was unjust for some people to have powers and some to not, and was phrased something like "if my friend got spells from their god and I didn't, I'd want to kill the gods" and that sounds like an abjectly miserable experience. I don't want to rest my argument entirely on emotion, though I'm trying to counter one resting entirely on emotion and it's pretty difficult, but man. To see your friend put in effort (perhaps not as concrete and material an effort as that of a wizard, but still an effort) and get something for it and feel only jealousy because you didn't get the same? Like not just a twinge of jealousy, which we all get, but to be so full of it as to be moved to violence? To have no joy for one's friends? That sounds like a life that would suck ass.

I think a lot of the Prime Deities in Exandrian lore, Pelor very much included (and he is perhaps the like...least nice about it, and some people get REALLY weird about a Lack of Uwu Soft Gentle Niceness even though as previously discussed I find it a turn-off) are very much about hope, and making good faith attempts, and responsibility and obligation to others, and keeping one's promises and I think that message sits very ill with people who would prefer a narrative of despair and nihilism. Ultimately that's kind of the split between the Primes and Betrayers that we see in Downfall. I think that while much of the Pelor hate is just a convenient scapegoat for a general hatred of all the gods (which is why I get general in the above paragraphs), some people hate Pelor, essentially, the way one hates sunny days when one is extremely depressed, and see them as a deliberate, cruel, and targeted affront when the sun is simply a thing that shines independently of one's mood.

[kcwriter-blog]

Another Take on Solas' Conversation About the Dalish and Other Things

I know I’m preaching to the choir, but I’ve been seeing enough negative takes on Solavellan and Solasmancers in general on my dash that I feel the need to vent a little. I realize that most negative takes boil down to “I hate this ship and there is something very wrong with you if you like it” and I mostly ignore them but this time I have a few thoughts to share under the cut.

As far as I can tell, the dislike starts with the conversation between Solas and the Inquisitor about the Dalish. Apparently, this comes off as condescending? I’m pretty sure the people that use that word don’t know what it means. The way Vivienne speaks to the Inquisitor is condescending. Solas is just angry and bitter. 

If he were being condescending, the conversation would be more along the lines of “My dear, I understand that having grown up among the Dalish, you are going to be a bit biased, but really you can’t possibly believe that the Dalish know everything there is to know about their history.” Condescension is being simultaneously polite and catty. It’s The Game.

Back to the conversation. Solas tells Lavellan on the way to the Temple of Ashes that his dealings with the Dalish did not go well. He tried to tell them about their history, they didn’t like what he had to say because it contradicted their beliefs, and they tossed him out on his “flat” ears. He also says that the Dalish did not believe he was one of them. 

He’s understandably bitter but not entirely for the reasons we think. Yes, part of it is about ego, but mostly it’s about how closed-minded the Dalish are. Solas hates closed mindedness. He values curiosity and he is willing to debate ideas. He went to the Dalish because as the self-proclaimed keepers of elvish lore and the people searching to reclaim their lost history, he thought they would not only listen but be excited to learn more. They weren’t.

When Lavellan asks about his views on elven culture, he lashes out. Not because he thinks she’s stupid but because he expects her to be as closed-minded as the Dalish he has already met. 

Lavellan for her part can react in several different ways. People that don’t like the romance assume that the top option where she calls him ha’ren is her agreeing with him. It isn’t.

I used to work in human resources back in the dinosaur age. My job was to listen to employee complaints and keep them from suing the company. I was taught how to make an employee think I was on their side without actually agreeing with them. That’s what I think the top response is. She needs his expertise. She needs him to be on her side. Antagonizing him doesn’t help her so she decides to diffuse the situation. 

She addresses him respectfully. Then she says, “If the Dalish have done you a disservice.” She isn’t saying, “Yeah dude they were jerks.” She is saying If (a conditional) which roughly translates to “I wasn’t there. I don’t know what happened, but you seem pretty upset.” She isn’t agreeing just acknowledging his feelings. 

She continues with “I would make that right.” She knows he’s upset because they didn’t listen to him. It costs her nothing to say, “I’m willing to listen and keep an open mind.” That’s all she is saying. She doesn’t say she is going to believe him. She is not going to go out among the Dalish and preach the gospel of Solas. She’s just willing to listen. 

She then turns it back on him. She asks a question. “What course would you set for them?” Again, she’s not agreeing with him. She’s simply asking him to stop bitching and figure out how the Dalish could do what he is suggesting.

The end result is that Solas apologizes, recognizes that there isn’t a way for the Dalish to do what he wants them to do and settles down. Is he still salty? Sure. He also recognizes he shouldn’t take that out on Lavellan. 

Most of Solas’ conversations with Lavellan run along the same lines. He tells her about the pre-Veil world, she says “It sounds like it would be wonderful.” Again, not agreeing that it was, just that the way he describes it sounds wonderful. There are a lot of other examples. 

Basically, Lavellan is smart and canny. She can meet Solas as an equal on his own ground. She is willing to admit he knows stuff she doesn’t and to take his advice if it seems sound. She doesn’t have to, and yeah, he can be salty about that, but the only reason we don’t know if your other advisors disapprove of you disagreeing with them is that their approval system is hidden. 

You can disagree with him and still gain enough approval to trigger the romance etc. All you have to do is ask questions, keep an open mind, help other people and be merciful when you sit in judgement. It’s not that hard. 

I’ve heard it said that he treats her like a child who doesn’t know anything. Hello? Is there another Fade expert in the house? Does your Lavellan know everything there is to know about The Fade, spirits and demons? No. No more than she knows about spying, the nobility or directing an army. No one thinks what Cullen tells the Inquisitor is condescending or treating her like she is a child or an idiot. Also Solas does know a lot of things she doesn‘t because he was there. He is sharing that info. He won’t share it if you don’t ask him questions about it. 

Another charge. Solas is cold. He is certainly aloof but in his post-Fade kiss conversation with Lavellan he is almost playful. He is concerned about where it might lead but he is almost happy. He admits he isn’t usually thrown by things that happen in dreams, but he is “reasonably certain we are awake, now and he would enjoy talking.” That’s not someone cold and aloof. That is someone reaching out.

Another charge. Solas makes Lavellan chase him. Nope. As attracted as Solas is to Lavellan he would much rather she focus her attentions elsewhere. That’s why he asks for time to think. He’s hoping she will wander off and flirt with someone else. Lavellan drives the relationship. He gives in against his better judgement. It isn’t a game to him.  

Another comment is that you have to work hard and break down a lot of barriers to romance him. Um, yes? He is constantly saying he has trust issues. If Lavellan wants to pursue a relationship knowing that, then she only has herself to blame for the outcome. 

I’ll just end by saying I was in a truly toxic, emotionally abusive relationship. Not the kind of relationship where you get a drink with friends and say “Yeah he was totally toxic.” The kind of relationship where you need professional therapy to deal with it. If anyone is going to be triggered by that romance it would be me. I’m not. I know what it is like to be condescended to, to have someone constantly say or imply that you are incompetent and worthless. Solas doesn’t do those things. He is impressed by her, he admires her, he thinks she is competent enough to go to when he needs help. He tells her that. Trust me, an emotional abuser does none of those things. 

Anyway, thanks for listening. 

[revvethasmythh]

my bat mitzvah is actually a very funny event not just for the afterparty punchline but also because at my temple we would do shared events--two people, one mitzvah, as it were. and MY bat mitzvah partner just so happened to be a girl who was quite literally my lifelong childhood nemesis and also one of the most popular girls in our school. you should have seen my face when i heard the news that i had to share my bat mitzvah with her, I was INCESNSED. it was a personal slight fate lobbed directly at my head.

now obviously this also meant that she invited every. single. popular person from our grade to our bat mitzvah. my side of the room was all family and a handful of friends. her side of the room was THE FUCKING ENTIRE STUDENT BODY OF OUR SCHOOL. i had stage fright and suddenly i was performing in front of the very people i was going to have to see every single day for the rest of my school life

then, in a coming-of-age movie style ending, it turned out i could sing WAY better than her, stunned the crowd, got pestered for years after that by our temple's cantor to join the choir (even when i'd be gone for years, she'd recognize me and angle for me to join INSTANTLY) and continued to get compliments on my performance from the popular kids all the way through high school. in the end, I had completely, thoroughly outshined my nemesis in front of basically the entire school

like, the story of my bat mitzvah might be one of the most unrealistic sounding things to ever happen to me, but i swear it did. i lived through a middle school coming-of-age movie in real life, it happened

[gingermintpepper]

Day 5: Orpheus

Interpretation notes and trivia under the cut!

Orfeu meu amor <333 Honestly this could be my longest ever set of notes or the shortest because unlike literally any of the other Apollonian figures in this, I have never once had to waver from what I wanted with Orpheus and that's an Orpheus without Eurydice. I know that sounds kind of strange, Orpheus and Eurydice have always been completely synonymous with each other but like, Orpheus is kind of completely batshit as a concept and I'm tired of pretending the most interesting thing about him is his love life?? His love life is cool, don't get me wrong, but we, collectively, as a group of people don't pay nearly enough attention to the fact that Orpheus was singer and musician so gifted that he made trees and rocks bow to him and he could stir even the gods to grieve from his songs. This is the guy who's song was so beautiful that not only did he outsing the Sirens, they also killed themselves upon hearing his song?? This is the man that was pulled apart but his head just?? Kept on singing??? So the Muses just???? Added his perpetually singing decapitated head to their choir??? There are depictions of Apollo using said decapitated head to help him teach people???? And we're gonna focus on him trying to get his dead wife back?????? Really?? Miss me with that nonsense, Orpheus is the witchest witch to ever witch and if no one else is gonna make him the disgustingly powerful bard he was in myth then I guess I'll have to do it myself. His femme appearance is mostly inspired by the highly ornamental raiment of kithara players and he consistently has some of the fanciest clothes of the cast apocalyptic hellscape be damned.

Some assorted trivia:

Son of Apollo and Calliope - was accidentally conceived during the period when Artemis had forbid Apollo from fraternising with mortal creatures in penance for him orchestrating Orion's death and so Calliope and the other Muses hid him away in the court of King Oeagrus. Didn't know Apollo was actually his father until quite a bit later.

Not a demigod as that would imply he's half human. Orpheus isn't exactly mortal either but he certainly cannot be harmed by most normal methods. There's no formal name for something half god, half muse and not deathless so Orpheus prefers to identify as the Son of a Muse rather identifying strongly as something strictly divine.

Older than Heracles! One of Apollo's oldest children still kicking about, actually, but he's treated like the youngest due to how fragile he'd been after Eurydice's death. Is generally better now than he used to be, but still tends to have depressive episodes every now and again.

Horrifyingly powerful. Orpheus' words are so potent that he does his best to not speak at all for fear of influencing the people around him accidentally. Has the uncanny ability to transmit his own feelings through his songs which can be both fantastic and awful. The Twelve had Apollo put a seal on his tongue when he was grieving so his song would stop completely disrupting the world. The seal's since been removed as Orpheus has had a lot of help working through his feelings. Now he paints whenever he thinks about Eurydice which is much more productive for everyone involved.

Argonaut, storied traveller, speaker of many languages, healer, teacher and storyteller. Teaches occasionally at the Parnassus Institute for Gifted Children and tends to be a favoured teacher whenever he drops by. Is responsible for a lot of very important people knowing some form signed or gestured language.

Has no set 'home' and wanders from temple to temple, sanctuary to sanctuary. His worldly belongings like his clothes and old paintings are currently with Asclepius and his family. Apollo has some of his stuff as well, but they're mostly special instruments like the holy lyre he used on his journey on the Argo.

Never keeps any money on him and is usually fed and clothed by the townspeople wherever he goes. Hasn't had to actually pay for something in decades. Has absolutely no concept of money because he'd forgotten it's a thing people need day to day.

Had a brief fling with Heracles while he was still mortal and the two remain on good terms even now. Heracles tends to visit him every now and again for a stint in some springs and good music.

Favourite colour is maple orange, favourite food is roasted pheasant with rosemary and thyme. Allergic to specifically pale yellow mead but is fine with raw honey and honeycomb. Aristaeus has been trying to figure out what causes his reactions for years now.

[seso-dol]

Choir Sydney&Kylar

"You're singing all right, so why don't you just face forward and sing proudly?" "No, I'm embarrassed." "Hmm……, I think it's more noticeable when you turn your head down."

I think I read in Dol that Kylar's parents once belonged to temple (hazy memory). So I was thinking that their childhood probably went to TEMPLE together, including the fact that they were close to Kylar and Sydney when they were little. The two of us would fuss over insects while weeding, or read scrolls we found together while cleaning up our rooms. I'm sure we had those kinds of interactions, too.

Sydney mentioned that for some time he was no longer allowed to go to Kylar's house, but I am sure that was because of what happened with Kylar's parents. It's a little sad that two people who were so close have drifted apart because of it and now the distance is opening up.

◆

「ちゃんと歌えてるんだから、前を向いて堂々と歌えば良いのに」 「やだよ、恥ずかしい」 「ふーん……俯いてるほうが目立つと思うけどな」

確かDolの中でKylarの両親はtempleに属していた事があると書いてあった気がするんですよね（うろ覚え） なので、小さい頃KylarとSydneyと仲が良かったってことも含めて幼少時代は多分一緒にtempleに通っていたのではないかな、と。 草むしりをしながら二人で虫に騒いだり、部屋の片付けをしながら見つけた巻物を二人で読んでみたり。 そういう交流もきっとしていたんだろうなって。

いつからか家に行くことを許可されなくなった、とSydneyが言っていたのはきっとKylarの両親の件があったからですよね……。 そのせいでかつて仲が良かった二人が今距離があることが少し悲しい。