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spxllcxstxr · 7 months ago

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Jayce and Viktor with a S/O who is Hypersensitive to Loud Noises • Headcanon

(Gif not mine)

Request: hi !! how are you ? <3 your jayvik fics are so cute ☺️could i mayhaps request jayvik x gender - neutral reader headcannons with a reader whos hypersensitive to loud noises ? <3 tysm 💙-- anon

Warnings: gn!reader, hypersensitivity to loud noises

A.N: I'm so glad you guys like my jayvik stuff!!! I have a lot more in the works (including fics!!) Thank you so so much for the kind words, I hope you enjoy!!!

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Jayce and Viktor are very understanding of your hypersensitivity. They never want to make you feel like a lab rat or test subject, but throughout your relationship they do take note of how loud is too loud and overwhelming for you. It’s because they care about you, of course

Viktor is especially understanding of it because he isn’t always too fond of touch. So he likes knowing your boundaries and how much is too much. They don’t walk on eggshells, but they do try to do everything as carefully and as quietly as possible. The last thing they want to do is trigger you and make you wince in pain at the volume

Jayce once slammed the front door of your apartment in frustration and immediately filled with guilt as his face drained of color. He saw you flinch and cover your ears and that man was in tears. He is just absolutely in love with you and the thought of causing you pain, even accidentally, just kills him inside. He always places his hands gently on your cheeks, peppering kisses on your forehead in apology

Viktor is mostly the same when it comes to accidentally making a loud noise. Sometimes his cane will fall to the floor making a loud bang which triggers it. Viktor likes giving you a tight hug as an apology as he whispers little things in your ear. He’s a bit of a mess as well, but he knows that accidents will happen and that you wouldn’t hate him for his lack of control over gravity

More often than not, Jayce and Viktor’s lab is filled to the brim with random loud noises. Sometimes they’re high-pitched beeps, other times the whirring of electricity, or the clanking of gears mashing inharmoniously together

(On those few days when your partners aren’t hectically fiddling around with their tools, they’re scribbling notes in their notebooks are bickering over equations scrawled across the blackboard. It may not be particularly peaceful, but it’s certainly more tame than testing out their latest idea involving the capabilities of hextech)

Because of this, your partners have a set of noise-cancelling headphones in the lab. Theyre your favorite color with little doodles in permanent marker that Viktor and Jayce once did when they hit a particular snag in their research. The headphones usually hang by the door so they’re within reach when you first enter the lab. If you ever forget them when you walk in, Jayce and Viktor remind you to grab them (usually accompanied by a little kiss on the temple if their hands aren’t full)

Additionally, Jayce and Viktor hold onto little earplugs with them. They’re always in their pockets, just in case. Your partners are very attentive and never want to be unprepared, especially when it comes to you

If there’s ever an exceptionally loud noise they always drop what they’re doing to find you. Even if they’re out in public, their priority is their partner. They’ll first make sure your ok before escorting you away from the source

If you prefer physical comfort like hugs, your partners will gladly oblige. You’ll sit in Jayce’s lap while he places kisses to the back of your head, his hands will rest on your waist, thumbs rubbing soothing circles on your skin. Viktor will usually hold your face between his hands, amber eyes scanning over your figure, murmuring little endearments or encouragements to you

Never ever feel like a child or a burden because of this. These two are very supportive and happily drop everything for you. Your partners are so in love with you. They often try to improve the noise cancelling headphones for you, or find other ways to dampen loud noises. They find joy in helping you, just like you and Jayce want to find ways to make Viktor’s life with his leg easier and more enjoyable

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em1i2a3 · 1 month ago

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hear me out- void x reader- reader is depresso, and finds comfort in being held by void, bc maybe void’s darkness feels like home

If I Believe You

Pairing: The Void/Bob/Robert Reynolds/The Sentry x Thunderbolts!Fem!Reader

Summary: The Void gets called by you, and he gets caught up in an odd situation.

Warnings: Mentioning of Depression/Loneliness, I think this would be considered Hurt/Comfort

Author’s Note: I enjoy writing a soft version of The Void lol, or a Void that’s like shocked that someone actually wants him to be present 🤣. Thank you for the request anon! Very fun to write this one between the larger write up I’m working on :) Hopefully it meets what you’re lookin for

Word Count: 3,228

The Void came that night because you called him.

Not with words, not with spells, not with summoning circles etched in blood and candles, but with grief.

With silence so loud it cracked against the walls of your mind and your body. With the kind of stillness that spoke not of peace–but of surrender.

He didn’t mean to stay, nor did he even mean to appear. But your loneliness and sadness reached farther than any scream ever could, so he showed up–against his own will in a way–to feed off of it.

The shadows arrived first. Not crawling or creeping. Just appearing–thicker than absence, and heavier than night. They swallowed the corners of your bedroom, devoured the edges of the moonlight bleeding through your sheer curtains. The walls didn’t move, but the room felt like it was tilting on its axis. It was subtle, like the center of gravity had shifted to something ancient and watching. Then suddenly, he was there.

A god-shaped wound in the fabric of reality. Vast, silent, and unknowable.

He was a figure made of vantablack shadow and negative space–so dark the eye refused to process him fully. His limbs were like smoke, and his body was without boundary. The only visible markers were his eyes–white, glowing, and unblinking–and the smile. Thin, and fixed, with a discomforting calmness.

He waited for you to scream, or for your breath to catch. For your legs to scramble beneath the sheets so you could cower away from him against your headboard, for your voice to break on his name–because like everyone in the tower…You knew it already.

You didn’t do any of that though. You didn’t even look at him right away. You just laid in your bed, on your side, curled in the same position you’d been in for hours–knees drawn up, one arm draped limply over your stomach, fingers slack. The blankets were tangled and halfway off the bed, bunched at your ankles like you had tried to kick them off earlier and didn’t attempt to fix them. One sock was missing. Your shirt was wrinkled and clinging in places, damp with sweat. Your hair was a mess–not the kind that came from sleep, but the kind that came from not caring to fix it.

Then there was your room. It wasn’t trashed or anything, but it looked quietly undone.

There were clothes half-folded on a chair in the corner, that had gone untouched for days. A glass of water on the nightstand beside your bed, that had a fine shimmer of dust that caught in the ambient light from the hallway beneath the door, and there were books that had fallen over, that hadn’t been picked up.

The air smelled faintly of mint and tangerines–coming from your air freshener wall plug of course, or an open candle.

The worst part of all though was that you knew he was there, and you didn’t react at all. You didn’t stiffen from the cold that he brought into the room, your breath didn’t catch or quicken from shock, there was just nothingness. Like you had no energy left to give, or like you had been waiting for him to come.

His white eyes narrowed slightly at you.

The Void had arrived expecting some sort of resistance. The subtle thrill of being feared at the very least. The delicious tension that came when a human stood on the edge of panic, unsure if the shadow at the foot of their bed was real or imagined.

But this wasn’t fear that you were showing, this was familiarity.

You didn’t look at him until he moved–just a fraction, a shift of mass, a slight tilt of the head, like a question unspoken. Your eyes lifted slowly, no shock, no wide-eyed terror. Just two dull orbs in the hollow of your face, rimmed red and dry. Not from crying, but from not crying, from wanting to and finding nothing left in the wells of your eyes.

Your lips parted.

”I was wondering if you’d come.” The Void stilled. His smile didn’t change–how could it? It was carved into the shape of him like the slash of a crescent moon in a sky without stars. But something beneath that eternal grin shifted, it was a twitch behind the silence, a hitch in the interaction. He had not come to be seen. But now your gaze was on him, steady and tired and so impossibly calm. Like you weren’t registering the terror you were supposed to be feeling in those moments. Like you had already made peace with the idea of him before he even appeared in your room.

“…You wanted me to?” His voice was low–lower than sound itself. It vibrated through the floorboards, through the air in your lungs…Like something was whispering from under the bed of the world. The corners of your lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile.

“I didn’t know what I wanted…” You murmured, voice thin, “I just didn’t want to be alone anymore.” The Void was quiet, which was not like him. He was a presence, a force. Even in stillness he was usually oppressive, thick like smoke you couldn’t cough out. But now, the air around him had a strange pause to it. Like the very space around him didn’t know what to do with this moment.

“You didn’t call for help,” He said finally, “You haven’t asked to be saved.” Your eyes stayed on his, as if you were hypnotized.

”Even if I did…Nobody would come.” A silence bloomed between you, but it wasn’t awkward, nor expectant. It was just truthful. The Void hovered forward slowly.

His movement was so fluid it didn’t register as motion at first–he didn’t walk. He simply was closer now. At the edge of your bed, looking down at you with those white, glowing eyes that saw everything. That usually made people realize the horrors that were to come, but once again you only looked back at him, unblinking, frozen in your spot. No cowering, no screaming, no pleading.

”You don’t fear me,” He stated, more to himself than to you. You huffed softly–just a breath of air, but in the quiet of the room, it was a song.

”I think I’m past the point of being afraid,” You replied, “If anything…You’re kind of a relief.”

The Void knew what to do with fear, even with violence. He had tasted it in many forms: the fears that plagued children when they went to sleep, the whispered horror of the people who he had sent off to shame rooms, the cold-blooded terror in gods who realized he could unmake them with just a mere thought.

But to hear you say that he brought relief to you–comfort even–wasn’t right.

“I don’t think you understand,” He said, and his voice wasn’t sharp–but it was colder. Firmer. Like he was reminding you, and reminding himself of what he was, “I am not peace, and I am not hope.” You could feel a small chill curl up your spine, as your teeth chattered at the temperature dropping inside the room.

“May I remind you I turned New York into a mirror. Made every last person vanish into the hollows of their own shame. Remember? I swallowed them whole in rooms made of their failures?” You nodded slowly.

”I know.”

”I drove madness into the minds of people who begged for the images to stop.” He added.

”I know.” You whispered. That halted him again. His head tilted, ever so slightly. Not confused, not angry–just…Studying you. The way someone might tilt their head at an eclipse, unsure if they should be staring directly into it.

He expected fear to bloom now, at least. Maybe awe. Maybe a long-overdue tremble in your voice.

Instead, you gave him something worse.

Something heavier.

You shook your head slowly and said:

“Evidently, you don’t realize what I’ve been going through…If I’m taking comfort in you being around.” The shadows ceased their lazy, swaying bleed across the floorboards, and the hum of the world itself seemed to pause and take one breathless step back. His eyes narrowed–not to threaten, and not in malice, but in genuine concern. And you somehow saw it. For the first time in the conversation, you watched him hesitate.

”You shouldn’t say that,” He spoke quietly, not because he was offended, but because he was unsure what the words meant coming out of your mouth.

“Why not?”

”Because that means something is wrong…Deeply wrong.” He replied, moving even closer, hyper aware that he needed to be careful with you. Like the proximity itself might crack you if he approached wrong, and then he crouched right at the side of your bed, so he was eye to eye with you.

For the first time tonight, you could really see him. Not just as a shape in the dark, or the looming silhouette at the end of your bed–but up close, just a foot away from you. From here the edges of his body weren’t just smoke. They weren’t shapeless. They were alive with something.

The closer he came, the more the blackness rippling over him seemed to hum with a strange, shifting texture–like a starless night sky pulled into motion. Not glossy. Not shiny. But deep. Endless. And there, just behind the absolute black of his form, you saw the faint specks. Pinpricks of light, shifting as if in slow orbit. Galaxies. Entire worlds, whole star systems dying and rebirthing in the folds of his form, hidden in the ripples of shadow.

He was the universe, inverted.

And somehow, even like this, even faced with that terrifying, holy unknowability–you didn’t pull back. You didn’t flinch from the abyss swirling in front of you, from the quiet roar behind his form, from the weightless pressure that made your ears pop and your eyes blur the longer you stared into him.

Then you reached out, with slow purposeful intensity.

Your fingers trembled, but not from fear. Just from the fatigue that wrapped around your limbs like lead wire. The cold around him thickened as your hand breached the last inches between you, but you didn’t stop. Not even when frost bloomed faintly against your wrist like a warning.

His eyes followed your movement–those perfect, glowing voids of white that should have been watching prey.

But instead, they watched you gently.

And when your hand met his cheek–if it could be called that–it was like touching gravity itself.

The surface of him wasn’t skin. It wasn’t smoke. It was something else. Silken, but heavy. Cold, but not lifeless. And beneath your touch, it rippled–like black water beneath a still surface, moving with things too vast and old to name. A soft pulse, like solar winds shifting under your palm.

He didn’t move, he didn’t even breathe.

Because something in him broke open the moment you touched him like you knew him. Your thumb drifted across what might've been the edge of his jaw, letting out a shakily breath.

“You feel like the quiet between stars.” He stared at you, not because he was stunned by the poetic nature of your words–but because you meant it. Because you touched him not with worship, not with fear, but with a familiarity that said ‘I want you here, stay here with me.’ And then it happened.

The moment he saw you back.

Really saw.

Because your touch wasn’t just physical. It reached into him–through that strange tether that had pulled him to you in the first place, that awful ache in the cosmos that rang louder than a scream–and he followed it backward.

And what he found–

What he found made the galaxies in his form slow their drift.

He saw the inside of your silence.

He felt the rooms inside your mind–long, echoing hallways of disappointment, of guilt layered so deep it had calcified over your ribs. He felt the frayed cords of old friendships, stretched to the point of snapping and left to rot, still clutched in your hands like you were waiting for someone to notice. He saw the way you stood behind your teammates, always behind, always out of frame–because you didn’t think you deserved to be seen.

He saw the hunger in you.

Not for food. Not for power.

For stillness. For someone to simply be with you, without asking you to fix yourself first.

And he realized–

You had been holding yourself together with nothing but quiet for so long, you mistook his silence for kindness.

The Void felt something twist in his chest. Not pain. Not exactly.

But something like mourning.

For you. For how much of you had been slowly disappearing without anyone noticing.

Your palm was still pressed to his cheek, eyes soft, half-lidded with exhaustion. You were so close now, your breath fogged faintly in the cold between you, and yet you didn’t stop. You didn’t look away. You didn’t demand anything of him. You just let him be there.

“I’m tired,” You whispered. “And I don’t want to keep pretending that I’m not.”

He lowered his head. Not out of shame.

But something worse.

A slow acknowledgment of your truth. He could feel the fractures in you. The fractures that mirrored his own. And for the first time in his existence, the great devourer of worlds, The Void, realized something terrifying:

He didn’t want to take anything from you. Not your thoughts, not your fear, not your final breath.

Not this time.

Because for the first time in the eternity that was his existence, he understood. Not through logic, or through curiosity, but through the cold and shivering truth of what your touch had laid bare:

You were not calling him to end your world.

You had called him because no one else would come.

And now he was here.

The silence between you deepened, but it wasn’t suffocating. It wasn’t dangerous. It was heavy—like blankets in winter, like the weight of someone finally sitting beside you after a long day of holding it all together. The air didn’t bite the same way it had before. It was still cold—he was still cold—but his presence no longer felt like an invading force.

It felt like a cloak.

A shield.

And then his voice–so impossibly low it didn’t vibrate in your ears, but in your chest–broke through the space between you.

“What do you want me to do?” Your eyes widened a bit, not because the question surprised you, but because of the way he asked it. Not like a being of power. Not like a god offering a favor. He asked it gently, with quiet uncertainty.

Like he didn’t know what you needed.

Your hand was still on his cheek. Your thumb had stopped moving. But neither of you broke the contact. You didn’t need to.

You looked at him–into those impossible white eyes ringed in nothing–and answered, barely above a breath:

“Can you just hold me?” He didn’t answer right away. He didn’t nod, or disappear. He simply looked at you for a long moment.

And then, softly–like dusk agreeing to fall–

“…Okay.” He whispered, slowly shifting in his spot. It wasn’t abrupt, but it also didn’t have the same uncanny fluidity that usually accompanied his movements. This time, there was hesitation. Like he was unsure of how to do this. Like he was afraid he might hurt you by accident–not with his strength, but with the sheer weight of what he was.

He rose to his full height beside your bed, unfolding upward like a stormcloud stretching into shape. Shadows curled off of him and slithered across the mattress, but they weren’t malicious. They moved like fabric. Like velvet.

You stayed still, keeping your eyes glued to him, watching as he–the unfathomable, starless wound in reality–climbed into your bed. He didn’t sink into it, because he didn’t truly have the weight for that, but the space beside you changed the moment he laid down. The air felt thinner, heavier. Like the pressure of the cosmos had narrowed its gaze to your bedroom walls and was watching itself breathe.

He faced you, his body still wrapped in that impossibly dark shimmer. And for a moment… he didn’t touch you.

He stayed just inches away. Close enough to feel the breath fog between you. Close enough to see the fatigue swimming in your eyes. But he didn’t reach–not until you curled slightly into yourself, just a little tighter, as if the night was too wide around your skin.

Then he moved his arm. The shape of it blurred at the edges, trailing starlight and hush, letting it hover over your hip for a moment. It lingered there before slowly lowering it onto you.

His arm wrapped around your body, bracketing you, shielding you. His cool presence seeped in where warmth would normally exist, but you didn’t pull away. If anything, you exhaled, soft and shaky, as if your lungs had been waiting for this. For the permission to let go. His fingers curled gently along your side, and your body followed, shifting into him, until your cheek rested against his chest, where no heartbeat lived, and until your knees brushed against his thigh. He slipped his other arm beneath your neck, and curled it around you, making sure you were surrounded by him.

The shadows rose with him–pulling the twisted blankets up, and tucking them gently around your bodies with inhuman grace. It didn’t warm you, but it made you feel enmeshed with his body and the darkness.

It was awkward at first. Not because he was unfamiliar with contact. But because he’d never given it without intention to devour. To unravel.

But this was different, because it was you.

A small thing. A hurting thing. A precious thing. And suddenly, without warning, he found himself afraid–not of what you were. But of what he might become, if he stayed like this too long.

You murmured something then.

So quiet, it might’ve been a thought.

“…Thank you.”

And he–The Void–felt something like starlight fracture inside his ribless chest.

He didn’t answer.

But the hand at your back began to move. Slowly. Up and down. A soft, gliding motion, like waves lapping against the shore. Like gravity pulling at your spine, reminding you that you could let go now.

Your body went limp.

Not from defeat.

From safety.

Your breathing slowed. Deepening with every inhale and exhale.

Your hands clutched faintly at his chest–at the only thing in the world that wasn’t asking you to be strong.

He listened to the sound of you falling asleep in his arms.

And for the first time in the long history of his existence, he didn’t want morning to come.

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syntheticsymp · 3 months ago

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Ghost as your shitty (and creepy) roommate

tw: masturbation, creepy!ghost

He was there again.

You felt his presence as a prickle on the back of your neck. A sixth sense you only seemed to have for him. The ghost who seemed to haunt your every step.

Or, more specifically, your roommate. Simon Riley.

The boiling hot water pelting your chest as it fell from the shower did little to distract you from the man you knew was there. He had been a part of so many stealth missions, yet you could hear the soft sound of his feet against the tile. He was there, and if he was making noise, he wanted you to know.

This wasn’t the first time this had happened. The first time you assumed was an accident. At least, he had acted like it was. He had even offered a gruff apology, not daring to meet your eyes incase it made you uncomfortable. You forgave him, of course you did! He was your roommate, and since there weren’t locks on the doors, it was inevitable.

But then it just kept happening. The second time you could brush off, but the third? The forth? Those were harder to look past. Now, he didn’t act as sincere with his apologies. He didn’t bother saying anything at all.

Through the small gap in the shower curtain, you could see his buzzed hair. The face you had grown to know, scarred and covered in acne from his mask, was reflected back to you in the mirror.

You could have sworn, for a brief moment, your eyes met his. But that connection was severed just as quickly as it formed.

With a flick of his wrist, he undid the button of his pants and opened the fly of his powers. You reared back, squeezing your eyes shut, not daring to look any further.

He probably just really had to pee again. Yeah, that was it. It wasn’t like there were boundaries like this in the military. And after being deployed for so long… you couldn’t blame him for being all out of sorts. He always was after coming back.

It would be fine. Really, it would. You just had to calm down and stop overthinking.

“Hrng-“

Ok, yeah. He was definitely out there. Best case scenario, he was taking a shit or whatever guys do. Worst case… you didn’t want to think about it.

You didn't want to think about the image your mind congured. Of him, getting himself off with no regard for you, standing maybe two feet away. Was he staring at your shadow through the curtain? Was he doing this just to torment you?

For the rest of that shower, you decided to live in denial. Listening to the sound of the water, conditioning your hair a second time just to keep from finishing early, pointedly ignoring the warmth growing in your stomach and the slick that followed, thinking about anything that wasn't him. It was a shit situation, only made worse by the absence of any sort of time marker.

It could have been seconds, it could have been minutes, but either way, the broken whimpers eventually came to an abrupt halt.

The clank of the toilet seat opening was followed by the unmistakable sound of liquid hitting liquid. You chose to believe Simon was just using the bathroom. It was such a strange wish, that you were hoping your roommate was peeing. But it was justified, since the other option was that the only thing that separated you and a man currently coming was one, thin shower curtain.

You were frozen. Unable to move as you heard him clear his throat, wash his hands, then walk out. He closed the door behind him like nothing had happened.

When the water turned cold, you finally found it within yourself to step out. You poked out your head at first, making sure Simon wasn't still there, before wrapping yourself in a towel and standing on the tile that made your toes curl. The steam from your shower heated up the mirror.

You cleaned it with the back of your hand, then grabbed your toothbrush. You started the sink.

There was something on your toothbrush you made sure to wash off before applying toothpaste. You must have dropped it or something. Simon must have picked it up on the way out.

Simon.

Brush, then spit. It was the one repetitive motion you could follow. It was mechanical. Instinct. A routine that wouldn’t be interrupted.

Not unlike your showers, apparently.

Though, it seemed more like some weird work of fiction than something that had happened. It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be. In fact, Simon had been telling you that you had been imagining things too much lately. You were just imagining your laciest pairs of underwear were clean, after all, he always found them for you. And the sticky liquid on your face when you woke up was drool, what else would it be? His words were always clipped, conversations short and to the point.

And if you brought this up to him again, he would just grow more annoyed. You didn’t want to be spineless, but you always didn’t want to lose your apartment. It was your home, after all.

Brush, spit, rinse, repeat.

You pat your face twice, the iced temperature of the sink helping ground you.

You knew you had to talk to Simon again. You just really, really didn’t want to. The man himself, you didn’t mind. But something about him was just a little off. And it wasn’t because of the mask, either. It was something else. Something more sinister. Something you didn’t want to see explode. If that rage was directed toward you, then you doubted you’d survive. You had only seen a glimpse of the man beneath the mask- Ghost, he had been called- when Simon came home drunk. You would be happy if you never saw that man again.

Shuddering at the memory, you put up your toothbrush and wipes the stray beads of water off your skin before slipping on the pajamas you had brought with you. They were in a neat little stack. A shirt, pants, and…

You were missing something. Underwear. You were certain you had brought them with you. They should be right there. Unless Simon-

Nope. It was fine. You had probably just forgotten them in your bedroom. You didn’t need them, anyway.

You slipped on your pajamas, grateful that you had chosen a ling pair of pants and an oversized shirt. The extra coverage would help your nerves. You could do this. Just put on a brave face and confront the problem head on.

That much you could do.

After taking a few deep breaths, you walked to the livingroom. Simon was in the same spot he always was. He had a beer to his scarred lips, slouched back, TV remote balanced on his knee as the Manchester game droned on in the background. It took him a moment for his eyes to meet yours.

“Spit it out, doll,” he said, placing his beer on the table. Alcohol always made his fragile temperament worse.

“Well,” you mulled over the words as you stood infront of him, like you were presenting a monarch with your case. “I think I heard you in the bathroom while I was taking a shower.”

He scratched the side of his face, irritating a patch of ache on his lower cheek. “So?”

You took a step toward him as you spoke, wringing your hands. “I told you last time that it makes me uncomfortable.”

“Had t’ take a piss. My place too, innit?”

Your cheeks heated. He was glaring at you like you were the one in the wrong. And the way he spoke, he could have convinced you he actually just was peeing. “Well, yeah, but if you could just wait next time, or knocked first, I’d appreciate it.”

His gaze flitted between you and the screen. He looked angry. Was he upset at you? You prayed he was wasn’t. You never wanted to see what he was like when he was truly angry. You started to take a step back.

Then, without warning, he reached out to you, wrapped his arm around your hips and pulling you into his lap.

“You talk too much,” he declared.

You tried to squirm away, but his grip was too tight, the muscles embedded into him from of his training. This wasn’t right, you couldn’t breathe. “Si-“

The beer on his breath hit you before his words. “Sit with me until the end of the game. Then I’ll let you go.”

He murmured the promise as if you didn't know the truth. As if he hadn't promised the same thing before. As if you couldn't feel his dick pressed against your ass.

Simon Riley was your roommate. You knew him. And you knew that once he came home from deployment, there was no escaping him. Scarred hands seemed to find their way to you, always searching, grabbing onto your soft skin wherever he could.

In his opinion, you belonged to him the moment you signed the lease. And he never let go of such precious things.

#call of duty #cod x reader #simon ghost x reader #ghost x you #simon riley #simon riley smut #simon riley x you #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley cod #syntheticsymp

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eternalmneme · 9 days ago

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In this post I will help beginners understand the basics of Hellenism, which is the oikos! Hope this help and I’ll explain all well! Enjoy your reading💛 (Sorry for my English if I’ve mistaken something, its not my frist language)

The sacred Household in Hellenism🏡

“The gods are not far away — they live among us, beginning at the hearth.”

When people first come to Hellenism, many expect temples, elaborate rituals, and festivals with incense drifting into the sky. And yes, those things exist, and they’re beautiful.

But in traditional Hellenic religion, the true center of worship has always been the household — the oikos. This is where devotion begins.

The oikos is more than just your physical living space. In ancient Greece, it referred to the entire household unit: the family, the home, the land, the goods, and the sacred forces that protected and sustained them.

For Hellenists, our home is a temple in miniature. It’s where you interact with the gods every day, where you make offerings, pray, purify, and maintain order. You don’t need an expensive altar, what you need is intention, reverence, and consistency.

Hestia: The heart of the Home🔥

At the center of the sacred household is Hestia, goddess of the hearth flame.

She is the first-born of the Olympians, and the first (and last) to receive offerings in every ritual.

Hestia represents warmth, safety, peace, continuity. In ancient homes, the hearth fire was never allowed to go out, and when a new household was formed, the flame was lit from the family hearth.

(I will do more about the Gods in specific in other posts)

In a modern practice, you can honor Hestia simply:

Light a candle or lamp in her name.

Offer a drop of oil, water, or wine.

Speak a short prayer:

“Hestia, keeper of the hearth, may your flame burn bright in my home.”

It doesn’t need to be elaborate!

But ancient Greeks honored her a bit differently!

As I said earlier, the hearth (estia) was a literal fire in the center of the home. It was always kept burning as a sacred flame: extinguishing it was considered bad luck or impious unless ritually necessary.

Every meal and domestic ritual began with a libation or offering to Hestia! In fact, no matter which god was being honored, Hestia received the first and last libation in any sacrificial ritual.

She didn’t have many temples, her domain was every home and public places! At city level, a sacred fire to Hestia burned in the prytaneion (town hall or public hearth), symbolizing civic unity.

And then as another ritual, when a couple got married or a new household was formed, a flame from the bride’s family hearth was carried to the new home to light the new hearth, symbolizing continuity and divine blessing!

The Household Gods are more than one!🏛️

The sacred household includes more than Hestia. Such as: Zeus Ktesios, Hermes Propylaios / Hermes Agoraios, ancestors and Household Spirits (like Agathos Daimon).

Of course, there are more Gods that protects Household but these are the most commonly honored ones!

Zeus Ktesios: Protector of the household, provider of goods and food. Many Hellenists keep a ktesios jar, a simple container filled with water, oil, and other symbolic items like bay leaves or coins. It’s kept in a clean corner of the pantry or home.

Hermes Propylaios / Hermes Agoraios: Hermes protects the boundaries of the home and the spaces beyond. He is honored at the threshold, by the door, as guardian of comings and goings. A small stone or figure by your door can be his marker. He’s the god who makes movement and communication possible.

Ancestors and Household Spirits: The dead are never far from the living in Hellenism. Ancestors (both literal and spiritual) are remembered with respect and offerings.

But what can we do as a devotion in our homes?

There are many ways! But I’ll offer a little simple routine:

Washing your hands (khernips) to purify

Lighting a candle for Hestia

Pouring a libation (water, milk, wine)

Speaking a short prayer

Leaving a small offering: bread, olive oil, fruit, or incense.

Remember that none of this is a RULE and necessary, but it builds Kharis and in more simple words it tells the Gods “this is your home too and may you protect it”, we make space for the Gods and its a simple yet efficent devotional act!

It reminds us that the divine is not far away! In Hellenism, this is where devotion starts!

I hope you enjoyed. I tried to explain this well enough and at the same time as short as I could!

#hellenism #household #hellenic worship #hestia #hellenic polytheism #hellenic pagan #greek polytheism

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