#life lessons from Scripture

[pastorhogg]

When Justice Takes Too Long

 Life Lessons LearnedIsaiah 26 There are few things more frustrating in life than injustice. It has a way of stealing our peace, undermining our sense of stability, and challenging our faith. Whether it happens in a courtroom, a classroom, or a corporate boardroom, injustice stings—especially when we feel powerless to stop it. And sometimes, despite our best efforts to speak up, to protest, to…

[itsfarmerphil]

Priorities, get them right and the move in them...

It’s so important to know what our priorities are and make sure they are right and that we are living up to them. If you made a list of what your priorities are, a good way to check if you are living in alignment to them is to check out 2 logs, your calendar and your bank account(s). Have you ever heard the saying “Wherever your treasure is, there the desires of your heart will also be.”? So that…

[bhishmsharma95]

Chapter 10: Grandfather’s Wish & His Spiritual Realization

Aryan and Meera were walking along the silent pathways of Lunar University, the gentle blue glow of Earth casting a surreal light over the lunar surface. The night was endless here, timeless. Yet, within Aryan’s mind, memories flowed like an unbroken stream, pulling him into the past. He had received the news long ago—his grandfather had passed away on Earth. But he hadn’t been there. His…

[trberman]

Doctrine and Covenants 3:1–22 | Trusting God’s Wisdom for Personal Revelation and Faith

When Joseph Smith lost the 116 pages of the Book of Mormon manuscript, it wasn’t just a personal failure—it was a turning point. Doctrine and Covenants 3:1–22 reveals how God responded with both rebuke and reassurance, teaching that His work cannot be stopped by human mistakes. These verses are a reminder that trusting God’s wisdom, even in moments of failure, brings unexpected strength and…

[itsmadhvi]

5 Timeless Lessons from the Bhagavad Gita for Today's World

The Bhagavad Gita is a treasure house of wisdom. The lessons from Bhagavad Gita are just as relevant today as they were thousands of years ago. Whether you’re seeking inner peace, clarity in life’s challenges, or just a different perspective, the teachings of the Gita provide a blueprint for living a fulfilling and balanced life. Here are five key lessons from the Bhagavad Gita, their meanings,…

[memoiresofaneternaldreamer]

Sanctus

Demon! Choi San x Novice! F. Reader.

Themes: Smut | PWP | Religious AU | Slight Angst ? | Incorrect depiction of the Church

Smut Warnings: Explicit sexual acts - Dom! San - Oral (M.Receiving) - Hair pulling - Throat fucking - Masturbation - Depictions of sex - Deepthroat - Sub!Reader - Slight praising

Word Count: 3.5K

Playlist: ‘Under Your Skin’ - Aesthetic Perfection

“Dead silence. Black space. I've been patient for too long. I just can't wait to get under your skin."

Part of the 'ATEEZ as Dark Tropes' series:

Seonghwa - Hongjoong

This story is intended for an adult audience only. Minors do not interact.

The candlelight flickers against the stone walls of the monastery, casting elongated shadows across the wooden pews. You exhale softly, fingers smoothing over the worn pages of your Bible as you shift in your seat. The air is thick with incense, heavy with the weight of silence, of solitude—your only companions for the past few years.

You have chosen this life, surrendered yourself to God after a past you never speak of. Here, within these sacred walls, you are safe. Your days are measured in prayers, your nights in whispered confessions to the heavens. And soon, soon, you will take your final vows.

But then he arrives.

The new priest.

You first see him in the courtyard, sunlight kissing the edges of his dark hair as he stands by the fountain, speaking with the Abbess. His cassock fits him too well, cinched at the waist, the fabric flowing down his body like water. You catch a glimpse of his face—sharp yet warm, eyes dark with quiet curiosity, lips curved into the gentlest of smiles.

And when his gaze meets yours, you feel it in the pit of your stomach.

It is not the look of a man passing by a fellow servant of God. It is something else. Something dangerous.

You swallow hard and quickly bow your head, gripping the hem of your veil as if it will protect you.

You are being tested.

“Sister,” his voice is smooth, each syllable deliberate as he settles across from you in the study hall. “I see you favour the Gospel of John.”

You keep your eyes on the scripture before you, forcing yourself to focus on the words rather than the way his presence fills the small space between you.

“Yes, Father. His words remind me to love without fear.”

“A beautiful lesson. But love, true love, often carries fear, does it not?”

Your fingers tighten around the pages. “Not when it is given fully to God.”

San hums, his head tilting slightly. “And yet, even Christ Himself wept in the garden, afraid of what love would cost Him.”

You hesitate. He is right. You have read the passage a hundred times. But you don’t like how the words sound coming from his mouth, as if they hold a deeper meaning.

As if he sees something inside you that you wish to keep buried. As if he knows of your wicked past.

Weeks pass.

You try to avoid him. You fail.

San is everywhere—leading prayers, guiding studies, offering words of comfort to those who seek him. And despite your resolve, you cannot help but admire him.

He is kind. Thoughtful. He listens, truly listens, in a way few men ever have. And worse than that, he notices you.

Your silence. Your hesitations.

The way your breath catches when his hand lingers near yours on the study table.

The way your shoulders tense when he murmurs your name.

One evening, as you pass through the narrow corridor of the abbey, he steps aside to let you pass. But the space is tight, and when you move, his palm brushes against the small of your back—just barely, just for a second.

But it burns.

You feel it long after he is gone, as if his touch has been seared into your skin.

That night, you dream.

San’s lips against your throat. His hands gripping your waist. His voice, whispering your name like a prayer.

You wake with a start, heart pounding, heat coiling between your legs. Shame washes over you so quickly that you barely remember to breathe.

This is wrong. So wrong.

With trembling hands, you push the covers away and slip out of your bed, the chill of the monastery’s stone floor grounding you. You need to pray.

You need absolution.

The chapel is empty, dimly lit by the golden glow of the candles near the altar. You sink to your knees, pressing your forehead against your clasped hands.

Your voice is barely a whisper.

“Forgive me, Father. I have sinned in thought. I do not wish for this temptation, yet it lingers. Help me resist. Help me stay on the path meant for me.”

You cross yourself, whispering the familiar words:

"In nomine Patris, et Filii, et Spiritus Sancti. Amen.”

You do not hear the quiet shuffle of feet beyond the columns.

You do not see the figure standing in the shadows, hidden beyond the flickering candlelight. You do not feel the Evil watching you.

For weeks, the dreams return, each one more explicit than the last.

San’s hands, firm yet reverent, tracing over your bare breasts. His lips at your throat, then lower, lower—his voice thick with sin. The weight of his hips pressing yours into the mattress, claiming you in ways no man ever should.

You wake each night drenched in sweat, thighs clenched together, your cunt aching with a hunger you are not supposed to have.

So, you pray. You bury yourself in scripture. You fast. But nothing helps.

Because San is still there. Always there. And if you didn’t know better, you’d think he was pushing you toward the edge on purpose.

During Bible study, his voice lingers on certain passages, the words rolling off his tongue with slow deliberation.

“My beloved is to me a sachet of myrrh that lies between my breasts…”

You shift uncomfortably, fingers clenching at the hem of your sleeves, but San doesn’t stop.

“Your lips drip nectar, my bride; honey and milk are under your tongue…”

You glance at him sharply.

He is watching you. Not the page. You. Your skin prickles, but you tell yourself it’s nothing. A coincidence. It must be.

Except coincidences do not account for the way his fingers brush yours when he hands you a book, the way his hand ghosts over your lower back as he moves past you in the corridor.

Or the way he leans in too close when he prays beside you, his breath tickling the shell of your ear.

You tell yourself you are imagining things. That you are being tested, and you must not fail.

But deep down, you know the truth. You are not imagining it.

That night, the dream is worse than ever.

You are naked beneath him, the warmth of his body caging you in. His hands pin yours above your head, his voice dark, low.

“Do you want me, Sister?”

You try to say no. You try to be good.

But then he moves—hips rolling into yours, his mouth trailing open-mouthed kisses down the column of your throat—and all that leaves your lips is a desperate, broken moan.

“Say it.”

Your body betrays you, arching up into him. “Yes, Father.”

You wake with a strangled gasp. Your nightgown is damp with sweat, your pulse frantic as if you had truly just been beneath him. Your body throbs, your core pulsing with a need that cannot be ignored.

You need air.

The halls of the monastery are empty at this hour, cloaked in shadows and silence. Your feet move without direction, your mind still dazed, lost between reality and the lingering ghost of your dream.

You do not know where you are going until you are there.

Outside his chamber.

His door is slightly ajar, the glow of candlelight spilling into the corridor.

You should leave. Right now. But you don’t.

Something—something—pulls you into the darkness and presses you against the stone wall just outside his room. You peer through the narrow gap between the door and the frame.

And then you see him.

San stands near the small wooden basin, his back to you. A towel sits low on his hips, barely clinging to his body as droplets of water glide down the hard ridges of his back. His dark hair is damp, sticking to the nape of his neck.

Your breath catches. You should not be looking. But you are.

Your gaze rakes over him, devouring every inch of his exposed skin. The broad expanse of his shoulders, the smooth planes of his back, the way his muscles shift and flex with every movement. The deep V of his abdomen leads your gaze downward, down to where the towel barely conceals him.

And that is when you see it.

The thick outline of his length, straining against the fabric.

Your thighs press together. A whimper escapes your throat before you can stop it, a sound so quiet, so small—yet so damning. You bite down hard on your lip, pulse roaring in your ears.

He doesn’t turn. He doesn’t move.

With that realisation, as your body trembles and your core clenches with unbearable heat, you do something truly unforgivable.

Your fingers slip beneath your nightgown.

Soft, tentative at first, brushing over your slick folds. The moment you feel how wet you are, you exhale sharply, your other hand clamping over your mouth to stifle any more sounds.

But you do not stop. You can’t.

You circle slow, teasing circles over your clit, your body already wound tight from weeks of torment. Your eyes never leave him—his body, his strength, the sheer wrongness of your actions—yet you do not care.

Because it feels good. So fucking good.

Heat coils low in your stomach, an unbearable ache building, building—

And then, just as you teeter on the edge, ready to fall into the abyss, San exhales as he cracks his neck. A deep, slow breath, as if he, too, is feeling something.

And in that moment, you wonder—

Does he know? Does he feel your eyes on him? Does he feel the weight of your sin, the way you are crumbling for him?

You are so close, so terribly close—

And yet, instead of release, guilt slams into you.

You rip your hand away from your sopping cunt, stumbling back against a wall, heart racing in horror at what you have just done.

With no other options left, you flee.

Morning comes, but sleep does not.

You stare at the ceiling of your chamber, the weight of your own betrayal pressing against your ribs. No amount of prayer, no scripture, no discipline can erase what you did last night.

You touched yourself.

You touched yourself while watching him.

The shame is unbearable, clinging to your skin like filth. You have fought temptation for weeks, but last night—last night, you succumbed. And the worst part? You want to do it again.

You press your palms against your face, willing yourself to think, to breathe. There is no escaping this, not unless you confront it. If you are ever to take your vows, you must face this temptation head-on.

You must confess. To him.

San is in the courtyard, speaking in low tones with the Abbess when you approach. He notices you immediately, his dark eyes flicking to yours, curiosity sparking in their depths as he steps away to join you.

"Sister," he greets, voice smooth and slow. "How can I be of service?"

Your fingers clench at the sleeves of your habit. "I need a confession, Father."

His brows raise slightly, not in surprise but in intrigue.

"A confession?" He studies you, something unreadable flickering in his gaze. "You wish for me to perform it?"

You nod.

He hums, lips parting as if he wants to say something more, but then he merely inclines his head. "Very well. Tonight."

Your breath catches. You nod quickly and turn to leave before you lose your nerve, but you feel his gaze on your back as you walk away. You do not look back.

The halls are unusually empty as you make your way toward the chapel that evening. It is late, past the evening prayers, and the monastery is silent save for the sound of your own footsteps echoing against the stone.

Your heart pounds, though you do not know if it is from fear or anticipation.

The confessional stands at the far end of the chapel, a wooden partition dividing it into two small spaces. A flickering candle glows from inside one of them. San is already there.

You take a steadying breath and step inside the opposite partition, kneeling on the worn cushion. The wooden screen obscures most of him, but you can still see his silhouette, the faint glint of his eyes through the latticework.

"Forgive me, Father, for I have sinned."

San hums softly, his voice like velvet in the dim light. "The Lord is always ready to forgive, Sister. What sins do you seek absolution for?"

You hesitate. The words sit on your tongue, heavy, shameful. But you cannot back down now. "I have been…tempted," you start carefully. "My thoughts have been impure. I have been plagued by…desires that I should not have."

There is a pause before San speaks again. "Desires?" You swallow. "Yes, Father."

"Tell me, Sister… what kind of desires?"

Your hands tighten into fists in your lap. "They come to me at night. I—I dream of things I should not. Things that make me unworthy of my vows."

Silence. Then, "What things?" You shake your head, breath hitching. "I cannot say."

"You must." His voice is lower now, quieter, yet firm. "Only by speaking of your sins can you be absolved of them."

Your eyes squeeze shut. "I…" You hesitate, shame rising in your throat like bile. "I dream of flesh, of touch… of sin."

"And these dreams… they are about someone specific, are they not?"

You freeze. How does he—?

"Who are they about, Sister?"

You stare at the partition, your breath coming faster now. The chapel suddenly feels too warm, the air too thick. You should lie. You should make something up. But you can't. Because he knows.

You whisper it, so softly you almost do not hear yourself. "You."

The moment the word leaves your lips, your entire body goes taut.

You brace yourself for his reaction, pulse hammering in your throat, but nothing comes.

Your fingers tremble where they rest against your lap. "Father?"

Still nothing.

The moment stretches unbearably long, the quiet pressing down on you like a weight. You part your lips to call his name again—

And then the curtain to your confessional rips open.

You barely have time to react before a figure steps closer, the candlelight casting a tall, broad silhouette over you.

San.

You scramble on your knees in shock, nearly losing your balance as the space suddenly shrinks around you. He is close—too close, his body blocking the only exit, trapping you inside with him.

The smirk he sends your way is devastating.

"Well," he murmurs, voice thick with something unreadable. "That is quite the confession, Sister."

The air between you is thick with something unspoken, something far more dangerous than mere temptation.

San crowds into your space even more, his presence suffocating. You press back against the wooden wall of the confessional, but there is nowhere to go.

He bends down, his lips so close to yours that his breath fans against your skin, warm and steady. His dark eyes pierce through you, pinning you in place like prey caught in the sights of a predator.

You want to speak—to rebuke him, to ask him what he is doing, to demand why—but before you can, his hand moves.

Fingers wrap around your throat, firm and unyielding, squeezing just enough to make your breath stutter.

Your lips part in a gasp, and that is all the invitation he needs.

His mouth crashes against yours, his lips hot and demanding, stealing the very breath from your lungs.

You try to resist. You try.

Your hands press weakly against his chest, but he does not budge. Instead, his grip tightens, his tongue parting your lips as he takes what he wants. And you—God help you—let him.

Your body betrays you once more. The tension in your limbs melts away, and you sink into him, your hands fisting into the fabric of his cassock. The kiss is searing, claiming, the taste of him overwhelming your senses.

You are still kneeling before him, and when you try to pull him down to your height, he suddenly pulls away.

His hand remains around your throat, fingers flexing slightly as he looks down at you. And then he smirks.

"Tell me, Sister," his voice is smooth, deep, utterly sinful, "does this position remind you of one of your dreams?"

A wave of heat rushes through you. Your lips part, but no words come out.

San tilts his head, squeezing your throat just enough to make you gasp. "Well?"

Your breath is ragged as you meekly nod. San hums in approval, his thumb brushing over your pulse. "And in these dreams," he muses, "what exactly were you doing in this position?"

You swallow thickly, the pressure of his hold forcing you to stutter over your words. "I… I was…"

"Say it," he coaxes, the corners of his lips twitching in amusement.

Your face burns with humiliation, but as you force the words out, you see something darken in his gaze. Something primal.

And beneath the heavy folds of his cassock, something else stirs.

His cock bulges in arousal.

Your own need coils in response, emboldened by the way his body reacts to your every word. A boldness overtakes you.

Your hands move before you can think, pressing against the front of his robes, feeling the hardness beneath your palm.

San inhales sharply, his smirk widening.

"A demonstration," you whisper, your voice barely more than a breath against his stomach, "would be preferable, would it not, Father?"

San chuckles lowly, pleased.

His fingers loosen from your throat, his hand resting atop your head instead. "Open it," he commands, nodding toward his belt.

Your fingers shake as they fumble with the leather, pulling it free, then moving to the buttons of his trousers. San watches you silently, his grip on your hair tightening slightly as he feels your hesitation.

"Go on," he murmurs, his voice holding a quiet authority. You do not hesitate further. The moment his cock is freed from his undergarments, your breath catches. He is thick and heavy, his head flushed with arousal.

And for the first time, you realise just how deep your sin truly runs.

Because you want this.

Without thinking, you lean forward, pressing a soft, tentative kiss to the head of his cock. San groans, his fingers tangling into your hair. "Good girl."

The praise sends a shudder down your spine, and you finally take him into your mouth.

At first, you move slowly, tentatively, your tongue circling his tip, your lips wrapping around him with cautious reverence.

San groans again, a sound that sends heat pooling between your legs.

"That's it," he murmurs, his grip in your hair firm but patient. He guides your rhythm, his hips shifting slightly as you find a pace, your tongue gliding along his length.

The pleasure in his voice is intoxicating. "Take more."

You obey, hollowing your cheeks as you move deeper, your hands gripping his thighs to steady yourself.

San exhales sharply, his fingers tightening against your scalp. His hips twitch, and before you can react, he pushes your head down, forcing you to take him to the base.

Your nose presses against the coarse hair at his pelvis, and you gag around him, choking slightly at the sudden intrusion.

San groans, a dark, pleased sound, and laughs. "So good for me," he whispers, his voice thick with approval. "You were made for this, weren't you?"

You pull back, gasping for air, your lips slick with saliva and arousal, drool dripping out. But before you can catch your breath, his hand in your hair tightens again, guiding you back.

Your eyes meet his. And you do not resist.

His hips thrust forward, his grip steadying you as he uses your mouth for his pleasure, his groans growing more ragged with every movement. You moan around him, your own pleasure surging, your thighs pressing together in desperate need of friction.

"Fuck," he breathes, his composure slipping.

Tears well in your eyes as he drives deeper with each trust, but you take it, lost in the sheer wrongness of it all. God, you love it.

You moan again, sending vibrations through his cock, and San curses under his breath. His pace stutters, his fingers flexing in your hair.

"I'm close," he warns, his voice low, rough.

You brace yourself, swallowing around him, your eyes fluttering shut as his release spills onto your tongue. The taste of his seed fills your mouth, warm, thick, and you swallow it as best as you can.

Your breathing slows as his movements still, your body trembling from exertion and something else—something much, much darker.

You finally open your eyes.

And what you see makes your blood run cold.

San looks down at you, his expression unreadable, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths.

But his eyes—His eyes are no longer dark brown. They glow.

A deep, unnatural ruby red.

A slow, wicked smirk spreads across his lips as he tilts his head, his thumb brushing idly against your cheek.

And then, in a voice smooth as silk, he speaks in Latin:

"Qui cum ludo diabolum ludunt, paulatim ad gladium eius pervenient."

Those who play with the Devil will, little by little, come to his sword.

A/N: Soooo... This happened. After watching Nicholas Alexander Chavez's performance in Grotesquerie, I knew I had to write something like it. And who better than Sannie? Hope y'all enjoyed this depraved brain rot of mine. 💟

Send me your hard/soft thoughts - feedback/fangirling is always welcome.

[Moodboard created by me. Credits to the owners of these pictures, I do not own any of them. All pictures are exclusively found on Pinterest.]

[mint-8]

Platonic Yandere Priest x Child! GN! Reader

Content/Trigger warning: Mentions of death, violence, religion, and implied miscarriages. Also, please read as completely platonic.

- Yandere Priest who is devoted to their religion. They lead their believers with a firm, yet gentle hand towards a better life. Organizing community projects to strengthen the bond between the residents, giving inspiring and passionate lectures in every single one of their sermons, guiding from the youngest of youths to the aging elders through a path of righteousness (at least, what they have been taught as ‘righteous’), and holding banquets and festivals to help the less fortunate are but one of their few notable accomplishments through their time as the local priest, working and maintaining influence and a bit of authority in between the local business owners and police force. They have dedicated their lives to the prosperity of their flock and wouldn’t have it any other way. Yet, there is something missing…

- Yandere Priest has always wished for a child of their own. Regardless of the holy scriptures that have dictated, practically their entire life, they never really were too fond of the idea of engaging in a romantic, nor sexual, relationship with others, or anyone really. Perhaps it was due to their devotion to their faith that always kept them occupied, or they were simply born without a particular need or desire for such urges, regardless of the reason, they still crave a close connection with someone. Preferably someone who they can use all of their educational knowledge and life experience on, to provide them with and guiding them into a better, fulfilling life. They have tried to adopt before, but no matter what they did, they were never accepted as a possible parent candidate. With such disappointment, and with the passing of the years, they gave up on the search for such a pupil to follow on their steps, and simply continued to focus on their growing community of loyal followers. Maybe if they were gifted with a second chance at life, they would be able to fill the hole in their heart.

- Yandere Priest who can’t help but notice that a new family has joined their town. It’s not uncommon to see new people come and go, especially when some of the young adults come back to settle down with their families after experiencing the busier city life and preferring to embrace their more rural roots. They were hoping for the new family to be pleasant and kind, already preparing a basket of local fruits and sweets to welcome them to the community, and to offer them an invitation to the weekend sermon. They wouldn’t dare to be too forceful though, they’ve learned their lesson from their previous teacher who had the inept belief of forcing newcomers into their religion would surely increase the church’s congregation (they are very happy they were able to ‘talk some sense’ into them).

- Yandere Priest who happily chats with the happy couple when they go to visit them and even offer their help with the moving, who amidst the conversation catch a glimpse of a tiny child, you. They can’t help but find you adorable as you shyly clutch your parent leg while peeking at them from behind. Your parents enthusiastically introduce you to them, of course, and explain that you aren’t very fond of strangers. However Yandere Priest doesn’t mind such display of nervousness, as they simply kneel with one leg while warmly smiling at you and introducing themselves.

“Pleasure to meet you, little one. I’m the local priest in this town”

“… Hi…”

“There’s no need to be afraid, young one. For I promise I wouldn’t dare to harm a single hair in your head”

“…”

- Yandere Priest realizes that they went a bit too far with the presentation, and politely excuses themselves from the talk, with your parents bidding them farewells and promising to assist to the weekend sermon. As they walk away and greet the rest of the neighbors, they can’t help but think about the new family, possible new additions to the congregation, and… you. You are an adorable, shy little thing, probably terribly scared from the new change of scenery and pretty much uprooting of your previous life into a completely new setting that, most likely, you’ve never heard off before. Their community is a tad far away from the major cities, so they wouldn’t be too surprised if you’ve ever only heard about your new home from memories from one of your parents.

- Yandere Priest who promises that they will be your guiding light into this new chapter of your life, whether you like it or not. Oh! Don’t worry too much about it! They have plenty of experience in subtly manipulating and getting their way by talking and stroking some egos. How did you think they were able to maintain their church and themselves with a high influence and status around the town? However they won’t take it too far, cutesy children like you only deserve the kindest, gentlest treatment ever, and they swear to their lord they will become your personal confidante and friend! They just need a few talks with you… =)

- Yandere Priest who is pleased to know that your parents fulfill their promise when they see you in their sermon. Your parents are actively socializing with the rest of the churchgoers (presumably to build some connections) and, just like when they first met you, you are shyly hiding behind your parent’s back, refusing to talk with the other children or adults. They understand your fear, it was difficult for them as well when they were first brought to the town when they were younger, their then teacher still forced them to toughen it up and interact with the townsfolk, but they are glad your parents won’t force you to interact with others if you do not wish to. They are so happy that they have something to bond over with you that they almost forgot to start their lecture on time!

- Yandere Priest whose lecture’s mainly focus on the struggle of the self when in a new and unknown situation. How the future might seen bleak or full of uncertainties, but how one can find solace within the support of those around them, accompanied by the desire of improving every day over the failures of the past. This, of course, being mostly centered around comforting and giving you hope in the face of the new life events you’ve suddenly been throw into, especially with the added knowledge that you can totally rely on them at any time, you know? Why, how could they dare to leave a lonely lamb alone among their new brethren? It’s their duty as the pastor to guide you to a more bright future.

- Yandere Priest who convinces your parents to sign you up to their weekly religion classes, which have existed since the very beginning and totally were not created on the spot as soon as the mass ended in order to get closer to you! They simply wish to help you grow into a more sensible and responsable person, and what better way than to learning about god and how important religion is? Yeah, Yandere Priest is so glad that your parents are very gullible and easy to sway with words alone, but they are more worried about you possibly inheriting such qualities and making you an easy target for con artists! It simply solidifies their ideal of nurturing you into a mature, capable adult, so as to not fuck your own life up!

- Yandere Priest who spends every week, plus some weekends whenever your parents are out on a date, simply getting to know you. They love hearing you talk about your interests, hobbies, favorite animals, favorite colors, foods, clothes, toys, and… pretty much anything you might or might not have an opinion on! They answer each and every one of your questions about their life, the town, their religion and the world with such calmness and eagerness to teach you, that you instinctively go to them whenever you have a doubt or question! They actively immerse you into the life of the town, either by helping or participating on the multiple events or projects they or the rest of the townsfolk cook up. They wish for you to have a vast and colorful upbringing, allowing you to interact safely with everyone in the community and broadening your horizons with each passing day.

- Yandere Priest who, outside of including you into any social event on the town, also enjoys small, quiet activities. From playing board games to simply reading books, any sort of bonding activity they or you can think of, they are more than happy to participate on. They just love you so much. They just want to crush your legs and make you a paraplegic so you can only rely on them for support! Oh, was that too extreme? No need to worry, that’s merely a fantasy, they would never act on such urges! Well, I mean, that could’ve been plan B if you happened to resist their efforts into getting to know you better from the very beginning. And about your parents? Do you remember how they have some authority over local police and the business owners? It wouldn’t be too hard to find some dirt on your parent’s past or to ask the landlord to raise rent or for the bank to mess up some of their finances… but like I said, they wouldn’t ever dare to do such a thing! Well, only if it was their last resort and your parents were… less than neighborly neighbors… Glad that isn’t the case, don’t you agree?

- Yandere Priest who will assert themselves as a stable support in your life against your will (not like you were willing to fight them, right?), especially when your parents ‘mysteriously’ go missing and are later found near the river as if a bear had mauled at them! They will also be there when, out of nowhere, loan sharks appear and start to demand compensation over some ‘gambling debts’ that your parent’s had ran away from years ago! But especially you will need them when you find the totally real letters and diary entries from your parents to the rest of your extended family about how they wished you were born dead or simply disappeared from their lives!

- Yandere Priest will always be there for you, even when everyone has left you. They will be your new guardian, so they can protect you from the corrupt foster care system of the country. They will become your teacher, trusted friend and loving parental figure so you’ll grow dependent on them for emotional support. They will make sure you love their hometown and consider it as your only place of residence from now on. Oh, how delighted they will be when you eventually succeed them as the new priest when they grow old and frail. But they know you’ll take care of them when such times come, and they know they will continue to protect you even in such a weakened state. It’s a promise, little angel =)

“I must give thanks to the lord for bringing me such a perfect child, whose kindness and beauty are akin to an angel, and who I’ll dutifully watch over for as long as my heart is able to beat. I’ll love you more than anything, my dear sunshine, so let’s finish today’s lessons, ok? =)”

[godslove]

𝐉𝐞𝐬𝐮𝐬 𝐂𝐡𝐫𝐢𝐬𝐭 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐝 𝐄𝐯𝐞𝐫𝐲𝐨𝐧𝐞, 𝐈𝐧𝐜𝐥𝐮𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐉𝐮𝐝𝐚𝐬

The Bible has many stories with great lessons, but there is one small detail that the scribes forgot to mention. Jesus Christ also loved Judas Iscariot. He asked God to forgive everyone in His final moments on the cross.

Then Jesus said, “Father, forgive them, for they do not know what they do.” And they divided His garments and cast lots.

—‭‭Luke 23:34

Jesus knew the prophesies and what will transpire from the very beginning of their journey together, till the end. He became his teacher, taught him the Father's love, washed his feet, shared meals on the same table and loved Judas like a brother anyway.

As followers of Christ, we are to do the same. This is what will set us apart as children of God. We know the Father's forgiveness and Christ's redemption. We are to embody Jesus' compassion and gentleness in a world that does not know our heavenly Father's love.

“I have been crucified with Christ; it is no longer I who live, but Christ lives in me; and the life which I now live in the flesh I live by faith in the Son of God, who loved me and gave Himself for me.”

—‭‭Galatians 2:20, Paul the Apostle

We are to love and pray for both our friends and our enemies, because Jesus loved and died for their sins as well.

‭‭“But I say to you, love your enemies, bless those who curse you, do good to those who hate you, and pray for those who spitefully use you and persecute you, ⁴⁵ that you may be sons of your Father in heaven; for He makes His sun rise on the evil and on the good, and sends rain on the just and on the unjust.”

—Jesus Christ, Matthew 5:44-45

I think the greatest test of Christianity is not only loving Jesus Christ, it's also loving Judas.

Like Judas, we are all sinners. And like him, Jesus also loved us. Jesus Christ is the ultimate example of what true Divine Love is. And it is far from the worldly, conditional love we know.

“This is My commandment, that you love one another as I have loved you. ¹³ Greater love has no one than this, than to lay down one’s life for his friends.”

—John 15:12-13, Jesus Christ

To the child of God that is reading this, don't be so hard on yourself. Regardless of what you have done in the past, Jesus Christ also loved you unconditionally. He did it for you so that sin will no longer separate you from our heavenly Father.

So I invite you to see rightly in your heart what is beyond what scriptures, doctrines and laws written in books can teach, to know the embodiment of God's love that surpasses human understanding—Jesus Christ.

Repent and start having a friendship with our Lord Jesus Christ, the One who bled for your sins and died on the cross, the altar for all of humanity's salvation.

Jesus Christ loved everyone, including you.

[pastorhogg]

What Matters When the Clock Is Ticking

Life Lessons Learned If you knew your time was almost up—really knew it—what would you say? What would you cling to? What would you let go of? That’s not just a hypothetical. For many, that question becomes very real in the face of illness, aging, tragedy, or divine revelation. And that’s exactly the setting in which we find Joshua, the faithful leader of Israel, in today’s readings from Joshua…

[katyusha454]

I think I've found the most tragic ship in BG3 and I need to rant about it

I've seen a decent number of people discuss and write about Dark Justiciar Shadowheart, but they always focus on what she's like post-game when she's fully committed to Shar. Which is a fine thing to focus on! Especially when you're writing smut where she's a mean domme. Post-game DJ Shadowheart is a fascinating character. But I feel like people neglect to consider what she's like during the transition phase of Act 3, where she's become Shar's Chosen but hasn't yet Done The Thing that caps off her personal questline. And there is SO MUCH potential for angst and drama during that time frame.

IMO the most important aspect of this stage of her development is that she is not evil yet. She simply made a single bad decision and now she feels like she's in too deep to do anything but double down on it. She's spent her whole life trying to "fake it 'till you make it" and she's only just now starting to transition out of that and into sincere belief. All the misgivings and insecurities she's shared with you are still there, just buried deeper. That desire to love others and do good hasn't yet been completely stamped out. In my Dark Justiciar Origin run, I try to do good things whenever possible as long as I can find a way to rationalize it as benefiting Shar. (but I still ended up saying enough evil-sounding things to make Minthara incredibly horny for me)

So where does Karlach fit in?

Well, turns out when you play as Origin Shadowheart, Shar doesn't make you break up with your partner. In fact, Shar says absolutely nothing to you about your romantic situation. This is really weird if you're romancing anyone other than Karlach, but I think it makes perfect sense for Shar to tolerate a relationship with Karlach for the time being. It's the ideal opportunity for Shar to prove a point. Karlach is dying, and no matter what Shadowheart does, this relationship is going to end in painful loss. Shar wants Shadowheart to fall in love with Karlach only to have that love abruptly ripped away from her. It perfectly demonstrates everything Shar believes about love: that it's fleeting and will always hurt you in the long run. Better to just avoid it entirely so you don't get hurt.

And Shadowheart knows all this. She's studied Sharran scripture extensively, after all. She knows that Shar is trying to teach her a lesson, she knows that the longer the relationship lasts and the more emotionally intimate it gets, the more the end is going to hurt. So why doesn't she break it off? Partly it's because she loves Karlach and doesn't want to end things; she's probably in denial at least a little bit. But I think it's also partly because she's a bit of a masochist. She thinks she deserves to suffer because she knows, at least subconsciously, that she's still not a very good Sharran. She can see the loss coming and she hopes the experience will bring her closer to Shar.

You'd think Karlach would be unwilling to put up with DJ Shadowheart's fanatical bullshit, but personally I think Karlach would stick it out for a whole mess of reasons. Number one, she can still see the good in Shadowheart and she refuses to give up on her partner. She's clinging tightly to the hope that Shadowheart can still be redeemed, even though she probably understands that it's a long shot at best.

Number two, she blames herself. When you play as Tav/Durge or another Origin, Shadowheart will have a conversation with you before deciding what to do in the Shadowfell. But if you play as Shadowheart, none of your companions says a word to you. In the context of this ship, I choose to interpret that as Karlach being too trusting. She's seen the good in Shadowheart, after all. She's so certain Shadowheart will do the right thing that she doesn't think she needs to speak up. It's not until too late that she realizes what Shadowheart needed was for someone to say "hey, are you sure about this?" So now she feels she needs to make up for that failure somehow by continuing to try and nudge Shadowheart in the right direction even though it seems impossible.

And number three, Karlach's just plain lonely. As fucked-up as this relationship is, she's still getting companionship and intimacy, and she doesn't think she has time to cultivate a new relationship if she breaks up with Shadowheart. She wants someone to be with her and hold her hand at the end, even if that someone is a brainwashed cultist.

In sum, both of them know that their relationship is extremely unhealthy; that it's hurting them now and will hurt them more in the future. But they both refuse to end it for their own reasons. And good gods, the ANGST. ARE YOU FEELING IT NOW, MISTER KRABS?

[mindfulldsliving]

Finding Forgiveness and Spiritual Strength Through Christ’s Healing Power and Grace

Redemption through Christ brings hope and healing to even the most broken hearts. It’s more than forgiveness—it’s a chance to grow spiritually, find strength, and feel His mercy daily. The Savior’s grace invites us to let go of our pain, trust in His power, and embrace a renewed life. Scriptures remind us, “Come unto me, all ye that labour and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest” (Matthew…

[dailyadventureprompts]

Deity: Boccob, the God of Magic for Magic's Sake

Artsource

It is strange (especially for those who view their relationship with the gods as transactional) that one might offer up prayers to a figure known widely by the epithet " The Uncaring". Why perform oath and ritual for a being that will not intercede on your behalf? Or grant you good favour in exchange for your sacrifices? Those that study the words of Boccob understand they have no need to beg for miracles when they have magic at their command.

Known to commoners as a god of magic, foresight, and balance, Boccob is not so much a deity as he was a great teacher, a philosopher-sage who's now ancient treatise on magic and council on it's use are as much an object of faith for many as a more ordinary god's scripture. In instructing his students how to be wizards, Boccob taught his students how to be good wizards, and these lessons form the ironshod foundations of innumerable magical traditions practised to this day.

Central to Boccob's teachings was the idea that magic was a path that must be walked to gain greater understanding, and that an adherent of this path should study, experience, and witness as much of its wonders as possible in order to become better arcanists, leading to the adoption of the open and unjudging eye as his symbol. Boccob himself followed this path to the outer planes and beyond, never to be seen again, leading many to credit Boccob with being the first mortal to climb the fabled infinite staircase, or perhaps even its architect.

Adventure Hooks:

Millennia after his (literal or figurative) ascension, a scroll containing hitherto unseen passages of Boccob's writings have been discovered in a crumbling library, setting off a disastrous chain of events as jealous archmages scrabble for the text like seagulls after a frenchfry. Their clashes are frequent, leaving the surrounding area scattered with hastily summoned servitors and all manner of misfired magic. Perhaps if the party is quick and clever they could sneak in and take the text for themselves, learning its wisdom or using it as a bargaining chip with one of these powerful spellslingers.

If it’s one thing Boccob’s Acolytes like almost as much as uncovering the arcane secrets of the universe, it’s proving their intellectual superiority by hiding their findings behind inscrutable riddles and logic games, the way The Uncaring did for his first pupils. Ledoran’s Labynthical Libram is an infamous example of this practice, a spellbook containing all manner of useful rituals and genuinely brilliant insights hidden behind a gauntlet of ciphers, mazes, and "gotcha" enchantments. Any self styled master of the arcane is likely to have a copy on their shelves, meaning that' it's only a quick looting spree away from ending up in the party's possession.

If "a wizard did it" is the answer to the age old question of "how?", "because they were listening to Boccob?" is the answer to the inevitable follow up of "why". Arcane crossbreeds, inexplicable puzzle dungeons, magical items amounting to bad jokes with bodycounts, all of these are created by The Uncaring's followers as a means of testing and expanding their abilities.

More of my adventures involving Boccob and his followers can be found HERE

Lets get into some philosophy...

While Ioun promotes the study of arcana for the sake of furthering knowledge, Mystra maintains and obscures the secrets of the weave, and Corellon glories in the wonders spellcraft might create , Boccob focuses on the pursuit of magical ability as a means and end of its own.

To Boccob, " I want to learn magic so I can be great/help people/make life easier" is a false start, because it ties the acquisition and understanding of magic to an external metric, encouraging the practitioner to take shortcuts with the magic to achieve their worldly desires.

Greatness, beneficence, and ease of living are but some of the infinite virtues that follow from being a great mage. Indeed, a reoccuring theme in Boccobian writing (especially in the ensuing literature made by his followers) is the idea of the Panexplicatic endstate of magic, where the perfect mage (and the body of wisdom they represent) has an answer for all things, specifically a magical awnser.

While some followers have taken this to mean that a mage's pursuit should always be towards omnipotence (Vecna's grasping eye motif can be seen as a direct response to Boccob's unjudging one) the largely more accepted thought is that arcanists should specifically dream small, creating a self sufficient life for themselves withdrawn from the world while focusing on the inward path towards enlightenment. That's why you'll so often find wizards at the top of spires in remote areas, interacting only with their apprentices or whatever travellers have gone far afield to seek them out for magical guidance.

This leads into one of the main critiques of Boccobian thought, which is that it alienates the practitioner from the world at large, not only focusing on magic to the exclusion of all else but also contextualizing magic as something that exists only to help the practitioner along their individual path, other people and consequences be damned. A hedgemage living a simple life in the forest may seem like they're hurting no one when they create a tree that grows a full crop of apples every day so they don't need to worry about stocking their larder... but what happens to the local ecosystem when these everladen trees start cross pollinating with others, to say nothing of the drain/disruption to nearby laylines and how such magic might have downstream consequences. To take a completely different tack with the same problem, the poor in the village nearby might LOVE to have a bottomless supply of apples, but the Boccobian adherent would say that because they haven't devoted the years of study required to create the tree, they're not entitled to its fruits.

Titles: The Uncaring, the Master of all Magics, Archmage of the Infinite

Symbols: An eye in a pentagram, often crowned with a crescent arc.

Signs: Light through a cracked open door, stars that seem longer than they should be, the appearance of inexplicable magical text.

Worshippers: Sorcerers, wizards, and any with an access to magic innate or otherwise. Adherents usually worship in private practice but occasionally band together into temples or schools.

[trberman]

Trusting God’s Purpose: Lessons from Doctrine and Covenants 3–5 in Church History

Photo by Rachel Strong on Unsplash Life has moments when everything feels uncertain, and as humans, we often wrestle with mistakes and doubt. Doctrine and Covenants 3–5 reminds us that God’s purposes remain steady, even when our own choices falter. These sections, given during pivotal moments in Joseph Smith’s history, teach us about trusting in the Lord, the power of repentance, and how divine…

[minoulapin]

Chapter Four: A Game of Teeth - Between Giving & Taking - Y. JW

Pairing: Demon!Jungwon x Angel!FReader

Genre: Forbidden Love, Fantasy, Romance, Mystery

Wc: 6.7k

Tw: This chapter contains subjective content, implied jealousy, and mild violence with brief mentions of blood. The characters and their actions are purely fictional and do not reflect the real-life personalities of the individuals they are inspired by.

Synopsis: A love unspoken, a fate unwritten, An angel and demon, forever forbidden. Bound by the laws of heaven and hell, A story of longing they dare not tell. At the Academy of the Occult, angels and demons coexist under a fragile truce. But when a celestial heir is assassinated, war looms, secrets unravel, and forbidden desires ignite. In a world where their love is a crime, will they defy fate or be consumed by it?

A/N: Coucou… okay, I’m sorry I lied. It did take me longer than expected to post this chapter. The truth is, I was literally just brought back from the dead to celebrate Beomgyu’s birthday… I actually died because of Buff Beomgyu last week (not fiction, it actually happened), but now I’m back. Okay, I think this chapter is kinda fun!! I did use my favorite plot development device… Heeseung, my love! Hee main character era? But guys, don’t misinterpret Hee☹️ Heeseung is not the villain. He’s just a little shit😌 As always, if you have any questions or want to just scream at me or discuss anything, feel free to send me an ask!! So, on that note, enjoy this long-awaited chapter. -Joe

Tag list: open!! @stormy1408 @miraeluv @indigoez @riribelle @iifrui @m3l4nchol @bamguetismee @w1dyvnn (Comment to be added)

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The Celestial Heir was more than a ruler.

He was a beacon. A legend passed down through generations, his name woven into the fabric of history like divine scripture. His deeds were not merely recorded, they were carved into the foundation of their world, upheld as absolute truth.

The savior of the First War.

The leader who drove the demons back into the depths of their domain.

The strategist who sealed the Rift, ensuring peace for centuries to come.

Without him, the celestial world would have fallen. That was the belief. That was the story.

His existence was proof of the Dominion’s divine power. His leadership had delivered them from ruin. His death, the single greatest tragedy of their time. But history was a fragile thing. A story told by those who had the power to shape it.

And the more Y/n searched, the more the cracks began to show. The heir had disappeared for years before returning as a hero. No one questioned it. No one wondered why. His name was revered, yet few could recall the specifics of his rule. His victories were celebrated, yet the records of how he had achieved them were incomplete. Vague.

Carefully constructed. And now, with his murder unraveling the foundation of their world, one question lingered like an unspoken curse.

What was the Heir’s true role in the First War?

The morning air was crisp, carrying the scent of dew-damp stone and freshly brewed tea from the Academy kitchens. The early sunlight cast long shadows across the marble pathways, its golden hues giving the illusion of warmth even as the air remained sharp from the lingering chill of the night.

Students filtered through the courtyard in slow-moving clusters, chatting lazily, finishing the remnants of their breakfast, or hurrying to their first lessons. It was an ordinary morning. But Y/n felt anything but ordinary.

“I swear it was there, Jake,” she said, voice tight with frustration. “The door was real. I saw it. I was standing right in front of it.”

Jake gave her a long, level look, the kind that said he was listening but also deeply debating whether or not to believe her.

“And yet…” He gestured to the empty space in front of them, voice unimpressed. “It’s not here now.”

She gritted her teeth. “That’s exactly the problem.” They were walking toward the eastern wing of the Academy, past arched windows that overlooked the training grounds below. The same dimly lit corridor where she had seen it, the heavy, ancient-looking door at the end of the hallway, its presence almost wrong in how it had drawn her forward.

And yet, now that she was back—

It was gone.

Y/n came to an abrupt stop, staring at the empty space where it should have been. The corridor stretched before them, plain, normal. Nothing out of place.

Jake raised an eyebrow. “So where’s your magic door?”

She ran a hand through her hair, scowling at the perfectly ordinary wall. “I don’t know. But I’m not crazy.”

Jake sighed, rubbing a hand down his face. “I never said you were crazy.”

“You were thinking it.”

“I was considering it.”

She shot him a glare, arms crossing tightly over her chest. “It was here, Jake. I know it was.”

Jake studied her for a long moment, then turned back toward the wall, squinting like maybe, just maybe, he’d see something she didn’t. He wouldn’t. She had already checked. Already searched for anything that would prove she hadn’t just imagined it. A hidden mechanism, a leftover trace of magic, anything. But there was nothing. No markings, no symbols, no hint of what had once been there.

Jake clicked his tongue. “If the door was there…” He trailed off, rubbing his jaw. “Then what the hell was it doing there in the first place?”

She exhaled sharply, her fingers twitching. That was the real question. Why was it here at all? And why was it gone now? Doors didn’t just disappear. And it wasn’t just that it had vanished, it was that it had felt important. Like something was waiting on the other side. Like something had called her there. And yet, Someone, or something, had erased it.

Y/n clenched her jaw, frustration simmering beneath her skin. “It has to mean something. If that door wasn’t supposed to be there, then why did I see it?”

Jake exhaled, hands finding his hips. “I don’t know, Y/n.” He gave her a careful look. “But I do know you’re spiraling.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but Jake held up a hand.

“You barely slept,” he pointed out. “You spent half the night chasing something that apparently doesn’t exist. And now you’re dragging me across campus to stare at a wall?” He gestured toward the empty space. “It’s not here. What do you want me to do?”

She clenched her jaw.

“I want to know why.”

Jake gave her a tired look. “Of course you do.”

She gritted her teeth, willing herself not to snap at him. She knew how it sounded. But that didn’t make it any less real. Because something had happened last night. And Professor Aldric knew it.

Y/n’s fingers twitched, pulling at the hem of her sleeve. “Aldric was there.”

Jake blinked. “What?”

“Professor Aldric.” She turned to him, voice dropping slightly. “He found me right as I was about to open it.”

Jake frowned, his interest piqued.

Y/n’s lips pressed into a thin line. “He wasn’t surprised to see the door.”

Jake’s brows pulled together. “What did he say?”

She hesitated, remembering the professor’s words. The way his voice had been measured, almost cautious.

“He told me I shouldn’t be there.” She met Jake’s gaze, jaw tight. “And then he said something else. ‘The Academy isn’t as safe as it used to be.’”

Jake’s eyes narrowed. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t know,” Y/n admitted. “But it sure as hell wasn’t just some warning about wandering the halls at night.”

She let out a slow breath, rolling her shoulders like she could physically shake off the unease curling in her chest.

Aldric knew something. Something about the door. Something about the Academy. And he hadn’t wanted her to find out.

Jake exhaled through his nose, rubbing the back of his head. “Well. That’s suspicious as hell.”

She nodded. “Exactly.”

Jake studied her for another long moment, then exhaled sharply. “Alright. So let’s assume the door was there and Aldric knew about it. Why show up right as you were about to open it?”

She swallowed, suddenly feeling the weight of that thought. Maybe it wasn’t about her. Maybe it was about what was on the other side. Jake must have caught onto her silence because he nudged her with his elbow.

“Think, Y/n.” His voice was lower now. “Have you found anything in your research that could explain the meaning behind it?”

She exhaled sharply. “No.”

And that was the problem. She had found nothing. Everything she had read so far, the records, the archives, the official documents, was too neat. Too perfect. Everything was either too normal or incomplete. Nothing new. Nothing interesting. It was like she was going in circles. And she hated going in circles.

She clenched her fists. “I need to get inside the restricted archives.”

Jake’s brows shot up. “Y/n.”

She ignored his tone. “If the books we have access to are just carefully selected versions of history, then I need the ones we’re not supposed to see.”

Jake exhaled, rubbing a hand down his face. “This is a terrible idea.”

She smirked. “Wouldn’t be the first one.”

Jake gave her a flat look. “I mean it, Y/n. If you get caught—”

“I won’t.”

Jake narrowed his eyes. “That’s what you said the last time you—”

She waved him off, already turning toward the main building. “I’ll figure it out.”

Jake groaned. “That’s what I’m afraid of.”

But Y/n wasn’t listening anymore. Because for the first time since she had started this investigation. She finally had a real plan.

They started walking again, cutting through the main courtyard where students milled about, finishing their breakfast or preparing for morning lessons. The soft hum of conversation filled the space, ordinary, predictable.

But Y/n barely noticed. Because she could feel it again.

That weight on the back of her neck. The sharp, unshakable awareness of being watched.

It wasn’t the first time. And somehow, she had grown familiar with the feeling. She didn’t know why. Didn’t know how she could recognize his gaze so easily. But she did.

She didn’t need Jake to tell her. She already knew who it was.

Jungwon, stood across the courtyard, under the shadow of the archway, arms crossed, his gaze locked onto her. Not subtly. Not casually. With an intensity that made something in her chest pull tight.

Jake noticed too. “Did you do something new to piss off the demons?”

She frowned. “What?”

Jake nodded toward Jungwon, lowering his voice. “Because he’s been staring at you like you cursed his entire bloodline.”

She scowled, shifting her weight. “Maybe I did.”

But she was already thinking about it. Because Jungwon had been everywhere lately. Always watching. Always present. Like he knew something. Like he was waiting for something.

And the more she thought about it, the more she realized it had started long before today.

Their first encounter had been nothing but a battle of sharp words and pointed remarks. She had expected him to ignore her after that. Expected him to forget her, the same way she had tried to forget him.

But he hadn’t.

Instead, he had been there.

Watching her during class, lingering a second too long when their paths crossed in the halls. There was something about the way he looked at her, like he was waiting for her to slip up.

Like he was trying to figure her out.

And Y/n?

She hated to admit it, but she had started noticing him too. Because Jungwon was strange. Unpredictable. When he spoke, his words were sharp, calculated. But there were moments, small, fleeting moments, where something flickered behind his eyes. Something unsaid. Something she couldn’t place.

And Y/n hated not knowing. She had tried not to care. Tried to convince herself that Jungwon was just another demon. Just another obstacle standing in her way. But every time she looked at him, every time his gaze held hers for a moment too long, it felt like his presence lingered even after he was gone. Like she could still feel his eyes on her. And she wasn’t sure if she was imagining it. Or if he was doing it on purpose.

She exhaled sharply, tearing her gaze away.

Did he want to know the truth, too? Or was he just trying to stop her?

Because if Jungwon had been keeping tabs on her, if he had been watching her this whole time, then he already knew she was looking for answers.

And that meant he was either curious. Or he was waiting for her to make a mistake.

The thought frustrated her more than it should have. She hated things that didn’t make sense. She hated questions without answers.

And Jungwon?

He was all of those things at once.

Unreadable. A walking mystery. She wasn’t sure if she wanted to figure him out Or tear him apart just to see what was inside.

Jungwon wasn’t watching her. At least, that’s what he told himself.

His gaze was on the courtyard, drifting past groups of students, past the idle chatter, past the ordinary rhythm of the Academy. But even as he tried to focus elsewhere, his eyes kept finding her, kept catching flashes of her, the curve of her posture, the subtle furrow in her brow as she spoke to Jake.

She was a problem. A problem that had nothing to do with him. And yet, He was aware of her in a way he had never been aware of anyone.

It was more than just noticing her. More than just keeping track of where she was, what she was doing, who she was talking to.

It was deeper. More instinctive. And he hated it.

Jungwon had spent years learning control. It was what made him different. It was what made him better. While others acted on impulse, he measured his steps. While others let emotions cloud their judgment, he remained detached. That was why he had survived this long. That was why he had risen above the rest.

So why—

Why the fuck did she make him feel like this?

“You might as well admit it at this point.”

Jungwon didn’t react, but his jaw clenched.

Heeseung slid up beside him, moving with that insufferable ease, hands tucked into his pockets, his ever-present smirk already in place.

“You’re watching her again,” Heeseung drawled. “Honestly, it’s getting embarrassing.”

Jungwon exhaled slowly, refusing to take the bait.

“What did you tell her yesterday?”

Heeseung arched a brow.

“Oh? You mean last night?” He tilted his head slightly, smirk deepening. “You should’ve seen her, Jungwon. Out past curfew, wandering straight toward something she shouldn’t have seen. It was almost cute.”

Jungwon’s fingers twitched.

Heeseung let the words settle, then leaned in slightly, voice dipping lower.

“You don’t even have the excuse of following orders this time,” he mused. “No one told you to keep an eye on her. And yet…”

Jungwon finally turned his head, gaze sharp, cutting. “What did you tell her?”

Heeseung sighed, long and theatrical.

“You’re asking the wrong question.”

Jungwon’s patience was hanging by a thread.

“Enlighten me.”

Heeseung hummed, as if savoring the moment.

“The question isn’t what I told her,” he said slowly. “It’s why you care.”

Jungwon’s breath stilled for half a second, just enough for Heeseung to notice.

Heeseung grinned.

“Oh, that hit a nerve.”

Jungwon’s fists curled at his sides. “You’re full of shit.”

Heeseung simply laughed, unbothered.

“Relax,” he said lazily. “All I did was offer my help.”

Jungwon’s stomach twisted.

Heeseung smirked. “Didn’t you know, Jungwon? Your little angel’s been digging. Searching for answers she has no business looking for.”

Jungwon went still.

Heeseung chuckled. “Come on, she’s not exactly subtle about it. Did you really think I wouldn’t notice?”

Jungwon gritted his teeth.

This was bad. Heeseung knowing was bad. Y/n was reckless, but Heeseung? He was opportunistic. He could be the reason for her downfall if he wanted to be. If he got bored. If he needed some entertainment. And worst of all, he wouldn’t hesitate.

Jungwon exhaled, steady. Controlled. “Stay out of it.”

Heeseung tilted his head.

“Now why would I do that?”

He sighed dramatically. “Such a shame she turned me down. I could’ve been a wonderful… stress reliever.”

Jungwon stiffened.

Heeseung grinned, sensing an opening.

“You know, I don’t usually go for angels,” he mused. “But Y/n…? I’d make an exception.”

Jungwon’s nails bit into his palm.

Heeseung continued, deliberate. Cruel.

“I wonder what she tastes like,” he murmured, almost to himself. “Sweet, probably. That holier-than-thou attitude can’t be real. Bet she’d fall apart just the same—”

Something inside Jungwon snapped.

The image flashed unbidden in his mind, Y/n, tangled in Heeseung’s sheets, flushed and breathless under his touch, her mouth forming curses or maybe his name, Heeseung’s hands where they had no business being.

Jungwon moved before he could stop himself.

His hand fisted into Heeseung’s collar, yanking him forward. Cold steel met Heeseung’s jaw. A blade, sharp and gleaming, pressed just below his skin.

Jungwon’s voice was quiet. Dangerous.

“Say another word.”

Heeseung went completely still.

For the first time, his smirk wavered.

“Oh, there it is,” Heeseung murmured, a slow grin stretching across his lips. “There’s the demon.”

The shift.

The change.

Jungwon was always so controlled. So composed.

But this, This was something else.

Heeseung had found his breaking point.

And he loved it.

“You know,” Heeseung said, voice smooth as silk, “for someone who insists he doesn’t care, you sure do have a lot of feelings about who she spends her time with.”

Jungwon’s breath was slow, measured, steady. But his fingers twitched against Heeseung’s collar. Heeseung watched him carefully. Then, voice dropping lower, mocking.

“You should watch her sleep too, since you’re already watching her every move.”

Jungwon yanked his hand away like he’d been burned. The moment stretched between them, thick with something unspoken. Heeseung smirked, straightening his clothes like nothing had happened.

“Careful, Jungwon,” he mused. “You’re starting to act like she actually matters to you.”

Jungwon didn’t dignify him with a response. Didn’t look back. He just turned, exhaling slowly, forcing his body to relax as he walked away.

Because Heeseung was wrong.

Y/n didn’t matter.

She couldn’t matter.

Jungwon clenched his fists.

But Heeseung couldn’t have her.

The classroom was warm, the flickering lanterns casting long, slow-moving shadows over the stone walls. The faint scratch of quills on parchment filled the air, a steady rhythm that should have kept Y/n grounded in the present.

It didn’t.

She sat stiffly at her desk, elbow braced against the wooden surface, her chin resting in her hand. Her notes lay open in front of her, ink drying on a half-finished sentence, but she wasn’t reading them. She wasn’t even really in the classroom anymore.

Her mind was elsewhere. Because she was getting nowhere. She had combed through the records. Searched archives until her eyes blurred with fatigue. And yet, nothing. No inconsistencies, no conflicting accounts, no whispers of doubt in the official retellings.

Everything about the Heir’s past was pristine. Too pristine. The Heir was a hero. The greatest warrior in celestial history. The savior of the First War. His victories were endless. His strategies unparalleled. His fate, tragic yet honorable.

And yet, someone had killed him.

Someone had taken down the most revered figure in their history. And no one seemed to be asking how. She hated that.

Her fingers tapped absently against the desk, frustration simmering beneath her skin. She wasn’t just hitting dead ends, she was hitting walls. Walls that had been deliberately built. Every record she found was meticulously written, carefully preserved, as if history itself had been scrubbed clean.

She needed another way forward.

“History,” the professor’s voice cut through her thoughts, sharp and deliberate, “is only as permanent as those who write it.”

She blinked.

The words felt too precise.

Her back straightened slightly as she turned her attention to the front of the room. Professor Aldric stood before the class, his gaze sweeping methodically over the students.

“Records are kept,” he continued. “Some are lost. And some…” He paused. “Are erased entirely.”

The words struck something in Y/n’s chest, cold and certain. This wasn’t just a statement. It was a warning. A challenge.

“Knowledge is power,” Aldric went on, voice even, unreadable. “But power attracts danger. Be careful what truths you chase.”

Y/n’s breath stilled. He knew. Maybe not about her search, not exactly. But he knew that someone was looking. That someone, somewhere, was asking the wrong questions. Her fingers curled against the desk. This meant something. The only problem? She didn’t know what. But the thought lodged itself in her mind like a hook, sinking deep. What if the answers I’m looking for aren’t in books? If the Academy had only preserved the history it wanted remembered, then whatever had been erased wouldn’t be found in libraries. It wouldn’t be in the records. It would be buried. Hidden. Or worse, kept by the people who were never meant to have it.

She exhaled slowly.

A door that had vanished overnight.

A professor who spoke in half-truths.

A past that had been rewritten.

There was only one person she knew who operated outside the Academy’s carefully laid rules.

Only one person who had already made it clear that he knew something. Only one person who had been waiting for her to come to him. She clenched her jaw.

Heeseung.

She hated the idea. But she hated getting nowhere even more.

She finds him exactly where she expected, leaning lazily against one of the Academy’s stone pillars, the flickering lantern light sharpening the amused glint in his dark eyes.

He was waiting for her.

The realization only pisses her off further. Heeseung’s smirk deepens the moment she stops in front of him, arms crossed, gaze sharp.

“Took you long enough,” he muses, like this is all one big joke.

she exhales sharply. “I’m reconsidering.”

Heeseung doesn’t even blink. His smirk widens, slow and knowing, like he’s already won.

“Knew you would.”

Y/n clenches her jaw. She hates that he’s right. Hates it more that he knew she’d be back before she even did.

Heeseung pushes off the pillar, stepping closer, unhurried, deliberate.

“So,” he drawls, voice dipping lower, “what changed?”

“Nothing.” She lifts her chin. “I just realized I don’t have time to waste.”

Heeseung hums, dragging his gaze over her. Not just looking, assessing. Like he’s peeling back layers just to see what’s underneath.

“Impatient,” he muses. “I like it.”

She rolls her eyes. “Are you actually going to help me, or are you just going to be insufferable?”

Heeseung smirks. “Why can’t it be both?”

She exhales sharply. “Forget it.” She turns to leave.

But Heeseung is quicker.

He catches her wrist, not rough, not forceful, just there. Just enough to make her pause, to remind her that this is his game, that she walked into it the second she sought him out.

“Relax, angel,” he murmurs, his tone a little too smooth, a little too amused. “I’ll help you.”

She eyes him warily. “On what terms?”

Heeseung tuts, shaking his head like she just doesn’t get it. “Terms? Now, that’s a dangerous word.”

She doesn’t budge. “I don’t trust you.”

“You shouldn’t.” His smirk sharpens. “But that doesn’t mean I don’t have what you need.”

She hates this. Hates standing here, entertaining this game. Hates that despite everything, he’s her best shot at finding something real.

Finally, she mutters, “Fine.”

Heeseung grins, slow and satisfied. “Smart girl.”

Before she can react, he steps in.

She doesn’t move, doesn’t react, but Heeseung notices the slight tension in her shoulders, the way her breath hitches for half a second.

Of course, he does.

She’s about to snap at him when he reaches into his coat and slips a folded piece of parchment into her hand. His fingers brush against hers, deliberate, lingering, his touch warm and slow.

Y/n yanks the paper away, glaring. “What’s this?”

Heeseung leans in slightly, his voice barely above a whisper. “An invitation.”

She narrows her eyes. “For what?”

“Answers,” Heeseung says simply. Then, after a pause, he smirks. “Or fun. Depending on how much you’re willing to give me.”

Y/n’s grip on the parchment tightens.

She unfolds it.

It’s a room number.

She looks up sharply. “This is your dorm.”

Heeseung grins, tilting his head like he’s enjoying her realization.

“That a problem?”

She scowls. “Yes.”

“Shame.” Heeseung exhales, feigning disappointment. “Because if you want what I know, angel, you’re gonna have to come get it.”

She doesn’t trust him.

But she needs something. Anything.

She shoves the paper into her pocket, shaking her head. “This better not be a waste of my time.”

Heeseung chuckles, stepping back just enough to let her breathe. “Wear something nice.”

Y/n scoffs, tilting her head. “Choke.”

Heeseung’s smirk deepens. “That an invitation?”

She rolls her eyes.

She flips him off, middle finger high, sharp as a blade. “Fuck off.”

Heeseung just grins. Like he loves it. Like he loves pissing her off.

She doesn’t react. Doesn’t look back.

She tells herself she isn’t actually affected by him.

But in the back of her mind

She knew she had made a mistake the moment she walked away from Heeseung.

She had barely made it a few steps before the weight of it settled in her chest, pressing down like a stone.

Because she didn’t trust him. She shouldn’t trust him. But she had no other options.

And now, here she was, slipping out of her dorm in the dead of night, moving like a shadow through the Academy’s empty halls, the silence pressing against her ears.

Y/n had snuck out a hundred times before. At this point, she knew the Academy halls better in the dark than she did in the daylight. She knew which steps creaked, which doors had loose handles, which corners the professors patrolled more frequently.

And yet, tonight felt different. Maybe it was because of where she was going. Or who she was going to see.

She kept her steps light, her breath measured, every sense on high alert. The faint crackling of lantern flames flickered in the distance, casting elongated shadows that stretched across the stone like reaching fingers. Somewhere deeper in the halls, the Academy bells chimed softly, marking another hour passing.

The cold bit through the fabric of her uniform, sharp and unforgiving.

She ignored it. Just like she ignored the voice in the back of her mind telling her to turn back. She had made a deal. And she was going to see it through. Even if every part of her was screaming that this was a mistake.

She hated this. Hated that she was doing this. Hated that, despite all her efforts, she was getting nowhere.

The Heir’s past was too polished. Too perfect. Every lead she followed turned into a dead end, every book she read repeated the same story, the same curated, carefully preserved history. No gaps, no contradictions. Too clean.

She clenched her fists. She needed something. A new angle, a new path, anything to push her forward. And Heeseung was the only one who had given her a way out of this maze. Even if she had to walk through fire to take it.

The deeper she moved into the Academy, the heavier the air became. The lower halls weren’t unfamiliar to her, but she rarely had reason to be here. The walls were darker, the architecture slightly different, less polished, more severe.

It suited them.

The demons.

It suited him.

Y/n barely caught herself before the thought fully settled in.

Jungwon.

Her pace faltered for half a second, irritation flaring hot in her chest.

Why the hell was she thinking about him?

She forced her steps to steady, clenching her jaw. Of all the things that could occupy her mind right now, of all the actual problems she had to deal with, why was it him?

Because you’ve noticed him more. Because he’s watching you, always watching, like he knows something you don’t. Like he’s waiting for something.

She scowled.

No.

She wasn’t going to entertain that thought. She wasn’t going to waste time trying to figure out Jungwon when she had much bigger things to deal with.

And yet, her mind wouldn’t let it go.

The way their eyes met across the room, the way she could feel his stare before she even saw him. The way their first conversation had ended in an argument that still lingered in her mind, like a puzzle left unfinished.

Like a challenge she hadn’t yet solved.

Every time their paths crossed, it was the same.

His gaze lingered too long.

And somehow, it still felt like it followed her even after he was gone.

She exhaled sharply, rolling her shoulders like she could physically shake off the unwanted distraction.

Then, finally, she rounded the last corner, coming face to face with the heavy wooden door that led to Heeseung’s dorm.

Her pulse wasn’t uneven.

Her hands weren’t shaking.

She was fine.

This was just another step forward.

Just another bad decision waiting to be made.

She lifted her hand and knocked.

Y/n wasn’t expecting much when she stepped into Heeseung’s dorm.

But still, this wasn’t what she expected.

She had imagined something chaotic, messy, and unpredictable, something that mirrored the reckless way he carried himself. Instead, the space was disturbingly neat. Dimly lit, heavy with the faint scent of something sharp, smoke laced with something sweeter underneath.

His uniform jacket was lazily tossed over a chair, his tie undone, his blouse slightly open like he hadn’t fully bothered to dress after class.

And Heeseung was already waiting for her.

Leaning against his desk, hands braced on the surface, smirk perfectly in place, like he had been expecting this exact moment.

Like she had just walked into a game she didn’t even know had started.

She met his gaze, unimpressed. “If you’re about to say I knew you’d come, save it.”

Heeseung’s smirk widened.

“Good.” His head tilted slightly, sharp eyes scanning her from head to toe, slow, unhurried. “That means we can skip the denial and get right to the fun part.”

She clenched her jaw. “If your definition of fun doesn’t include actual information, I’ll leave.”

Heeseung let out a soft chuckle, like she had just told him a joke. “Come on, angel. Don’t act like you’re not enjoying this.”

Y/n exhaled sharply, stepping further inside. She wasn’t about to let him dictate the tone of this conversation.

She crossed her arms. “I want answers.”

Heeseung watched her, eyes gleaming with amusement. “That’s all you came for?”

Y/n clenched her jaw. “What else would I come for?”

He pushed off his desk, closing the distance between them with slow, measured steps.

“Power,” he mused, voice low, deliberate. “Danger. A little bit of both.”

Heeseung reached up, trailing a slow finger down the collar of her blouse before smoothing it out, like he was fixing it, like she was already his to adjust.

“Or maybe,” he added, a smirk tugging at his lips, “you just wanted to see what would happen if you let yourself have a little fun.”

Y/n scoffed, shoving his hand away. “You’re delusional.”

“Am I?” Heeseung’s gaze was locked onto hers, the sharp edge of something knowing lurking beneath his amusement. “Then why are you still here?”

She refused to react. Held his gaze. Waiting.

Heeseung sighed, dramatic. “You’re impatient. And a little predictable. I like it.”

Y/n’s patience was hanging by a thread.

“I don’t have time for your games, Heeseung.”

Heeseung smirked. “Then why are you playing?”

She had enough.

She turned sharply on her heel, heading for the door. But before she could take a single step, Heeseung moved.

Fast.

One second, her hand was reaching for the door handle, The next, she was caged against it.

His palms braced on either side of her head, his breath warm against her temple.

Not forceful. Not dangerous.

Just testing.

She stilled.

Not out of fear.

Out of sheer, burning irritation that she had let it get this far.

She exhaled sharply through her nose. “Move.”

Heeseung didn’t. Instead, he reached for her tie, undoing the knot with practiced ease.

“You need to loosen up a little,” he murmured, slipping the fabric from around her collar and tossing it onto his bed.

She clenched her jaw. “You really don’t know anything, do you?”

Heeseung hummed, stepping even closer. “That depends. Define ‘know.’”

She swore under her breath. I hate him.

Then, he reached for the buttons of her uniform jacket.

Slow. Deliberate. Taking his time.

One button. Then the next. Then the third.

By the time he was slipping the fabric off her shoulders, his gaze had darkened, the smirk softening into something more insidious.

“It’s too hot in here,” he mused, voice smooth as silk. “You’ll think better once you take off a few layers.”

She let him.

Not because she was falling for it.

Because he was.

She softened her posture, let her gaze shift, let her shoulders drop just slightly, just enough for the sharp edges of her irritation to smooth out, just enough to let something vulnerable slip through the cracks.

Heeseung noticed.

And his smirk widened.

Y/n let her lips part slightly, exhaling like the warmth was actually getting to her, like her guard was finally lowering.

She reached for his tie. Slid it off completely.

Undid the top button of his blouse. Then another.

Heeseung didn’t stop her.

Of course he didn’t.

His ego was too big to think she wasn’t falling for his trap.

She took a slow step forward. Then another.

By the time his knees hit the edge of the bed, he was grinning.

“Oh,” Heeseung murmured, hands settling at her waist. His grip was light, almost teasing, fingers ghosting over the fabric like he had all the time in the world. “Now this is interesting.”

Y/n didn’t move. Didn’t push him away.

Instead, she leaned in, her breath warm against his skin, lips just shy of brushing the shell of his ear.

“Tell me what you know,” she whispered, voice smooth, unwavering.

Heeseung’s chuckle was low, rich with amusement. “You want answers?”

She nodded, slow. Calculated.

He smirked. “Then work for it.”

And before she could react. His hands slid downward, grazing the front of her blouse, fingers slipping against the fabric as he undid one, two, three buttons.

She saw red.

Her body reacted before her mind fully caught up.

She moved fast.

Before Heeseung could blink, her hands were in his collar, gripping tight, twisting the fabric as she yanked him forward—

Then threw him back.

His back hit the mattress with a forceful thud.

A sharp inhale, the ghost of a curse under his breath and before he could process what just happened, Y/n was on top of him.

One knee dug into his ribs, pressing just hard enough to steal his breath for half a second.

A fist tangled in his half-open shirt, keeping him right where she wanted him.

Then—

She swung.

Her fist connected with his jaw, sharp and satisfying.

Heeseung let out a breathless laugh, head snapping to the side as blood beaded at the corner of his lip.

He grinned.

“Oh, angel,” he murmured, voice laced with something amused, something dark. “I didn’t know you liked it rough.”

Y/n’s grip tightened. “Tell me what you know. Now.”

Heeseung’s smirk didn’t waver. If anything, he looked thrilled.

“You’re looking in the wrong places, angel.”

Y/n’s jaw clenched. “What the hell does that mean?”

Heeseung tilted his head slightly, studying her.

Then—

“Books will only tell you what they want you to know,” he murmured, voice smooth despite the split in his lip. “But if you want to find something real…”

He trailed off, letting the silence stretch, his smirk deepening.

Y/n’s patience was hanging by a thread. “Finish your sentence before I break your nose.”

Heeseung’s laughter was quiet, rolling through his chest like a dangerous secret.

“Try looking beneath the library.”

She frowned. “There’s nothing beneath the library. Just stone and dead air.”

Heeseung smiled, eyes gleaming with something unreadable. “Is there?”

She stared him down, searching for the lie.

He could be bluffing. He probably was.

But she had nothing else.

And she wasn’t leaving empty-handed.

She shoved off him, rolling off the bed in one smooth motion.

Didn’t bother grabbing her tie. Didn’t even spare her uniform jacket a glance.

Heeseung sat up, watching her go with an infuriating smirk. He ran his tongue over his bloodied lip, tasting the split, eyes still gleaming with amusement.

She didn’t look back.

Didn’t need to.

She had what she came for.

And for once, she had won.

Jungwon had spent too much time searching for Y/n.

Too much time slipping through the halls, lingering in the shadows, waiting, always waiting, for that glimpse of her.

But tonight, she wasn’t where she usually was.

Not in the library. Not in the secluded hallways she favored when she thought no one was watching. Not in the training grounds, where she always pushed herself too hard, too fast, too recklessly.

Jungwon clenched his jaw. This shouldn’t bother him. She wasn’t his responsibility. And yet, Irritation sank its claws deeper, sharp and unrelenting. His patience was thinning by the second.

Then, he caught something.

A scent.

Smoke. And something sweet underneath.

Jungwon exhaled slowly.

Heeseung.

His thoughts snapped into place like a blade sliding into its sheath.

Y/n was missing.

And Heeseung’s scent was the only lead.

His feet moved before his mind could fully process the thought.

By the time he realized what he was doing, he was already storming toward Heeseung’s dorm.

He didn’t bother knocking.

Didn’t wait for an answer.

He shoved the door open—

And froze.

For the first time in a long time, his mind emptied. His eyes swept over the room, cataloging every detail in an instant.

Heeseung.

Sitting lazily on his bed, jacket off, shirt unbuttoned, lip faintly bleeding.

The bed itself, sheets wrinkled, twisted, like someone had been pushed onto it.

And worst of all, The celestial uniform jacket, messily abandoned on the floor.

The matching necktie, tangled in Heeseung’s sheets.

Jungwon’s vision blurred with rage.

The thoughts hit him too fast to process.

She was here.

She was here, with him.

Heeseung, of course, saw the storm brewing in Jungwon’s expression.

And he grinned.

“Oh?” His voice was smooth, amused, dripping with satisfaction. “Jealous?”

Jungwon snapped.

He moved before he could think, before he could stop himself—

A hand fisting into Heeseung’s collar, shoving him back, slamming him against the wall so hard the wooden frame of the bed rattled.

Heeseung let out a breathless laugh. Blood from his split lip smeared against the corner of his mouth.

“You’re acting awfully possessive, Jungwon.” He tilted his head, eyes gleaming with delight. “You sure she belongs to you?”

Jungwon’s grip tightened.

His heart was hammering.

Something ugly, something sharp, something new curled up in his chest like a vice.

Heeseung was playing with him.

And it was working.

Jungwon’s voice was low, dangerous. “Tell me what the fuck you did.”

Heeseung’s smirk widened.

“You mean besides letting her take my clothes off?”

Jungwon’s patience shattered.

His fist drove into Heeseung’s gut, knocking the smirk right off his face.

Heeseung grunted, bending forward slightly.

But he was laughing.

Laughing.

Jungwon’s grip didn’t loosen. He yanked Heeseung back up, slamming him into the wall again.

Heeseung coughed out a chuckle, wiping his lip.

“Damn,” he mused, voice breathless but still far too amused. “I knew you’d react, but this?” He lifted a brow. “You’re kinda scary when you’re pissed, y’know that?”

Jungwon didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

His breath came slow and sharp, his pulse thundering.

Heeseung sighed, stretching slightly against the wall, like he wasn’t being held against it by force.

“Well,” he drawled, voice smooth. “If it makes you feel better—”

He leaned in slightly, grinning.

“She was the one who punched me.”

Jungwon stilled.

His fingers twitched.

Heeseung smirked, knowing.

“Oh yeah. Pretty little thing hits like a devil.”

The realization slammed into Jungwon all at once. His gaze swept over the room again. The jacket. The tie. The bed.

But—

No blouse. No skirt. No actual sign that Y/n had been here for longer than a few minutes. Jungwon’s mind worked fast. Too fast. The pieces weren’t adding up. His eyes flicked back to Heeseung. The smirk on his lips. The laughter in his eyes.

It was all a game.

A calculated, deliberate setup.

And Jungwon had fallen for it.

Heeseung saw the realization dawn on Jungwon’s face. And he grinned. Jungwon’s stomach twisted, rage flaring in his chest.

“You’re full of shit.”

Heeseung stretched lazily against the wall, grinning like a predator.

“And you’re fun to mess with.”

Jungwon’s fists curled. His jealousy had been for nothing. His anger was misplaced. And Heeseung had played him like a goddamn fiddle. Jungwon wanted to rip that smirk right off his face.

But he didn’t have time.

Y/n was in danger. Real danger.

And he needed to get to her. Jungwon finally released Heeseung with a shove, stepping back.

His voice was clipped. Cold. “Where is she?”

Heeseung licked his split lip, still grinning.

“She’s gone,” he said simply. “Went looking for answers.”

Jungwon’s stomach dropped.

His pulse thundered.

“Where.”

Heeseung wiped at his lip again, careless.

“Beneath the library.”

Jungwon cursed.

Because he knew.

That area was heavily guarded. Locked down.

And Heeseung knew it too. That was the only reason he had sent her there. Not to help her. But to watch her fall.

Jungwon turned sharply on his heel, already moving for the door—

Then—

“Careful, Jungwon.”

Jungwon didn’t stop. Didn’t turn back.

Heeseung’s laughter followed him.

“Acting like you care about her,” he mused. “Like she’s anything more than a distraction.”

Jungwon ignored him. He was already gone. And if he didn’t get there in time.

Y/n would be, too.

PREVIOUS | MASTERLIST | NEXT CHAPTER

[fatehbaz]

What it meant to "do geology" in Hutton's time was to apply lessons of textual hermeneutics usually reserved for scripture [...] to the landscape. Geology was itself textual. Rocks were marks made by invisible processes that could be deciphered. Doing geology was a kind of reading, then, which existed in a dialectical relationship with writing. In The Theory of the Earth from 1788, Hutton wrote a new history of the earth as a [...] system [...]. Only a few kilometers away from Hutton’s unconformity [the geological site at Isle of Arran in Scotland that inspired his writing], [...] stands the remains of the Shell bitumen refinery [closed since 1986] as it sinks into the Atlantic Ocean. [...] As Hutton thought, being in a place is a hermeneutic practice. [...] [T]he Shell refinery at Ardrossan is a ruin of that machine, one whose great material derangements have defined the world since Hutton. [...]

The Shell Transport and Trading Company [now the well-known global oil company] was created in the Netherlands East Indies in 1897. The company’s first oil wells and refineries were in east Borneo [...]. The oil was taken by puncturing wells into subterranean deposits of a Bornean or Sumatran landscape, and then transported into an ever-expanding global network of oil depots at ports [...] at Singapore, then Chennai, and through the Suez Canal and into the Mediterranean. [...] The oil in these networks were Bornean and Sumatran landscapes on the move. Combustion engines burnt those landscapes. Machinery was lubricated by them. They illuminated the night as candlelight. [...] The Dutch East Indies was the new land of untapped promise in that multi-polar world of capitalist competition. British and Dutch colonial prospectors scoured the forests, rivers, and coasts of Borneo [...]. Marcus Samuel, the British founder of the Shell Transport and Trading Company, as his biographer [...] put it, was “mesmerized by oil, and by the vision of commanding oil all along the line from production to distribution, from the bowels of the earth to the laps of the Orient.” [...]

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Shell emerged from a Victorian era fascination with shells.

In the 1830s, Marcus Samuel Sr. created a seashell import business in Houndsditch, London. The shells were used for decorating the covers of curio boxes. Sometimes, the boxes also contained miniature sculptures, also made from shells, of food and foliage, hybridizing oceanic and terrestrial life forms. Wealthy shell enthusiasts would sometimes apply shells to grottos attached to their houses. As British merchant vessels expanded into east Asia after the dissolution of the East India Company’s monopoly on trade in 1833, and the establishment of ports at Singapore and Hong Kong in 1824 and 1842, the import of exotic shells expanded.

Seashells from east Asia represented the oceanic expanse of British imperialism and a way to bring distant places near, not only the horizontal networks of the empire but also its oceanic depths.

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The fashion for shells was also about telling new histories. The presence of shells, the pecten, or scallop, was a familiar bivalve icon in cultures on the northern edge of the Mediterranean. Aphrodite, for example, was said to have emerged from a scallop shell. Minerva was associated with scallops. Niches in public buildings and fountains in the Roman empire often contained scallop motifs. St. James, the patron saint of Spain, was represented by a scallop shell [...]. The pecten motif circulated throughout medieval European coats of arms, even in Britain. In 1898, when the Gallery of Palaeontology, Comparative Anatomy, and Anthropology was opened in Paris’s Museum of Natural History - only two years after the first test well was drilled in Borneo at the Black Spot - the building’s architect, Ferdinand Dutert, ornamented the entrance with pecten shell reliefs. In effect, Dutert designed the building so that one entered through scallop shells and into the galleries where George Cuvier’s vision of the evolution of life forms was displayed [...]. But it was also a symbol for the transition between an aquatic form of life and terrestrial animals. Perhaps it is apposite that the scallop is structured by a hinge which allows its two valves to rotate. [...] Pectens also thrive in the between space of shallow coastal waters that connects land with the depths of the ocean. [...] They flourish in architectural imagery, in the mind, and as the logo of one of the largest ever fossil fuel companies. [...]

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In the 1890s, Marcus Samuel Jr. transitioned from his father’s business selling imported seashells to petroleum.

When he adopted the name Shell Transport and Trading Company in 1897, Samuel would likely have known that the natural history of bivalves was entwined with the natural history of fossil fuels. Bivalves underwent an impressive period of diversification in the Carboniferous period, a period that was first named by William Conybeare and William Phillips in 1822 to identify coal bearing strata. In other words, the same period in earth’s history that produced the Black Spot that Samuel’s engineers were seeking to extract from Dayak land was also the period that produced the pecten shells that he named his company after. Even the black fossilized leaves that miners regularly encountered in coal seams sometimes contained fossilized bivalve shells.

The Shell logo was a materialized cosmology, or [...] a cosmogram.

Cosmograms are objects that attempt to represent the order of the cosmos; they are snapshots of what is. The pecten’s effectiveness as a cosmogram was its pivot, to hinge, between spaces and times: it brought the deep history of the earth into the present; the Black Spot with Mediterranean imaginaries of the bivalve; the subterranean space of liquid oil with the surface. The history of the earth was made legible as an energetic, even a pyrotechnical force. The pecten represented fire, illumination, and certainly, power. [...] If coal required tunnelling, smashing, and breaking the ground, petroleum was piped liquid that streamed through a drilled hole. [...] In 1899, Samuel presented a paper to the Society of Arts in which he outlined his vision of “liquid fuel.” [...] Ardrossan is a ruin of that fantasy of a free flowing fossil fuel world. [...] At Ardrossan, that liquid cosmology is disintegrating.

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All text above by: Adam Bobbette. "Shells and Shell". e-flux Architecture (Accumulation series). November 2023. At: e-flux dot com slash architecture/accumulation/553455/shells-and-shell/ [Bold emphasis and some paragraph breaks/contractions added by me. Presented here for commentary, teaching, criticisms purposes.]

[heathersdesk]

When I was investigating the Church, I told the people around me I wanted to get baptized after I'd only been to services a few times. I hadn't read much of the Book of Mormon. There were many things I didn't know or understand. But I had felt the Spirit of God and knew that this was the place where I would find God. I knew I was supposed to be baptized.

What was the response?

"You can't do that."

They didn't have missionaries. They didn't have anyone to teach me the discussions. I was coming to Church in a different place from where I lived because of where my friends, who were members and who had invited me, were living.

It got bad enough that I set a date for myself to get baptized and told them they had that long to figure it out and deal with their scruples. And they did.

Then I found out about patriarchal blessings in one of the lessons I had in Young Women. I wanted mine. I went to my branch president and told him that.

"You can't do that."

I hadn't been to church long enough. Could I wait a year? Six months?

But that's not what the lesson I was taught said. It said that if I felt like I was ready, then I could have one. So I showed up outside of my branch president's office every week for over a month to ask again. Finally, he talked to the stake president, who told him there was no rule or timeline mandated in the Handbook of Instruction that prevented me from receiving my patriarchal blessing. I finally received it 4 months after I was baptized.

Then I went to BYU. I was in one of my favorite wards I've ever attended. Everyone around me was so kind and supportive. They helped me deepen my knowledge of the restored gospel and the scriptures. And when all the young men in my classes started receiving mission calls, I wanted to as well. I felt "called to the work," and the Doctrine and Covenants said that was enough.

"You can't do that."

They didn't let women serve at 19 at the time. I had to wait. Why? Because I might get married instead. The hypothetical possibility of reserving me for a man was more important than the calling I had received from God.

I had the opportunity to serve in the temple regularly for the first time in my life. I was from an area where the temple was two hours away, which meant I got to go only a couple times a year, at most. As the only member in my family, I had many names to do. And as the endowments started piling up, I could feel the weight of my responsibility to get the names done weighing on me. I didn't have a ward full of endowed people to rely on in my student wards. It was just me. And the more I went to the temple, the more I craved that divine closeness, the spiritual support for how much harder it was for me to be a member of the Church than it was for everyone else. I was totally on my own, no support from large extended families like they had. I needed more support to come from somewhere. So I started asking to receive my endowment.

"You can't do that."

I needed to be getting married (preferably, in their minds) or serving a mission to get endowed. That was the rule at the time. It didn't matter that I already wanted to serve a mission. It would be so much more special if I could go with my husband! Didn't I see that? My life was just supposed to stay on hold for him, whoever he was. The idea that I would have a spiritual development and progression separate from his was a totally foreign idea at the time, and wasn't reason enough for me to receive my own endowment. Meanwhile, as the ordinances in my own family backed up higher and higher because I was in student wards with no access to the endowment or other endowed people, I was just stuck and alone.

Then the identity of the mysterious young man I would eventually marry was revealed to me. Hurray! And we both went on missions. We were planning our wedding. And after years of alienating my family with all the milestones of my adult life they didn't get to witness because I was *IN UTAH* thousands of miles away, I wanted to have a ring ceremony so they could at least watch me get married.

"You can't do that."

And every reason I was given, especially the one that it took away from the validity and the sacredness of my temple sealing, was later disavowed when they did away with this rule.

ALL OF THIS TO SAY, I've been in the Church for almost 18 years. I have seen so many changes come into the Church and its culture in that time. The things that were impediments to me as a young believer and convert are no longer there, in part because I left so many bloody knuckle prints on heaven's door, pleading for these things to change. Heaven bore witness to how many times I was told "You can't do that" by my own community—with shallow, indefensible reasons for why my journey needed to be so much harder and lonelier than it needed to be.

Changes like these do not come about simply by waiting. They come because the faithful, especially those who are most affected by the lack of change, keep praying and pleading with heaven for change. The hurt goes on the altar because it never should've been mine to carry. Let God witness it. Let him see, feel, and know the burdens I bore in his name, solely at the behest of my community whose reasoning for it was poor and indefensible, because it all came down to a single failure: they couldn't begin to imagine the impacts their choices were having on me. And until they could begin to understand it, they could never conceive of why their status quo needed to change. Their ignorance and desire to remain in what was familiar and comfortable was a form of bondage to me. That was true.

But what was equally true was that there was nothing wrong or evil in pushing back against all of that, with all the strength I possessed. I would live to see so many of these stumbling blocks I encountered change for those who came behind me. Young people in my church community today don't have to make many of the same choices I did anymore—and thank God for that! I called down the powers of heaven to me to witness these burdens so no one else would ever have to carry them again! I have been witness to the power that these prayers—my prayers—have had to build the kingdom of God on the earth by affecting these changes.

And we're not done. There are many more such changes that need to come to fruition , including (but not limited to) making the Church fully accessible to everyone in our community. Our LGBTQIA+ and disabled people, our women and single Saints, our marginalized, abused, and forgotten in communities of color all over this world.

The kingdom of Heaven is not built, our work is not finished, until ALL are safely gathered in. That is, until they all CAN be safely gathered in. Until all that resists unity, diversity, equity, and inclusion that will define Heaven are removed by the Saints, whose job it is to build that kingdom. To never say again to someone who is trying to come to Christ "You can't do that."

Because with enough time, and effort from the Saints, you'll find they can, in fact, do that.