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#training the fortune teller

abwatt · 1 year

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Diviners: what are you reading

Fortune tellers, diviners, tarotists, astrologers, geomancers, bones-throwers, rune-readers... what are you reading??

I’ve heard tell, recently, of someone who got a reading from a Tarot card reader. The client came in with questions about their business.... and the Tarot card reader answered with advice about the gods and spirits, and connecting with the ancestors. They talked in numbers of disks and singular swords, and emperors and Devils.

Umm.

My friend was bewildered. And angry to be out $45. And lacked advice — actionable advice — about how to manage a deteriorating relationship with a business partner.

OK, I get it — I myself have shelves that are bending and sloping under the weight of tarot card decks and books about astrology. I have piles of workbooks and guides to being a better astrologer. And I’m certainly interested in gods and myths and legends of spirits, and how to do magic to make them help you get what you want. If you’re anything like me, THAT’s on your bookshelves, too.

BUT.

I read eight to ten books about business — about sales, about administration, about marketing and advertising, about business design — every year. I read two or three biographies of historical persons (partly to pick them apart for astrological purposes, partly because real people are interesting). I read five to six books about magic, because you have to keep your skills and techniques up-to-date, and know whether or not you’re doing stuff right. I read three or four books about history (ancient and modern) to have examples to draw on in consultations with clients. I read four or five how-to books (and devour YouTube educational content) on sewing, embroidery, woodworking, and more, every year. As my parents (and I) age, I’m reading more books about health and medicine, too.

And because I’m cis-, and white, and straight, and male, I read books by and about and for women, queer people, women of color, men of color. I read books by non-Americans, too, and try to get a sense of the world beyond my state and nation: geopolitics, the economics of South America, the logistics routes that make T-shirts and jeans in the US possible.

In ancient times, the laws of the city of Delphi, home of the most famous oracle in the Mediterranean, simply required that only a woman could sit on the tripod in the adyton and prophesy. By the Classical era, it was required that she be a married woman with children, in her fourth decade — someone who knew something of the world, and knew its pitfalls and challenges, as well as its opportunities.

Please don’t get me wrong — if you’re nineteen, or fifteen, and starting to learn a form of fortune-telling or divination, that’s fine. You don’t have to be married and in your forties to start. You don’t even have to wait for someone to give you a tarot deck or a pack of runes.

But PLEASE —widen the horizon of what’s valuable knowledge for a diviner. It’s not just the official meanings of the cards in the little white book. It’s ALL the other reading and information you’re carrying around in your brain: the things you learned in summer camp about making Friendship Bracelets and the class about computer programming; the obsessive binge-watching of every documentary about China you could find; the map you drew in your journal in math class of who was kissing whom; the lemonade stand you ran with your cousin during the family reunion; the book you borrowed from the library about how to write a novel. Fortune-telling, divination, is a weird method for deciding what information you carry around in your head is relevant to a given conversation with a client or a friend. But feed that head. Locked up inside that head is a treasure-house of experiences, and the more you put in there, the more that you will be able to unfold to a client in the course of a consultation.

#feed your head #training the fortune teller #divination #fortune telling #astrology #tarot #magic

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yandere-daydreams · 5 months

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Title: Nurture.

Paring: Yan!Geto Suguru x Reader x Yan!Gojo Satoru (JJK).

A Continuation Of Nursle.

Word Count: 11.0k.

TW: Dub/Con, Non/Con, Fem!Reader, Unhealthy Relationships, Emotional Manipulation, Implied Imprisonment, Mentions of Pregnancy/Childbirth, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Unprotected Sex, Implied Semi-Public Sex, Forced Marriage, Panic Attacks/Disassociation, Mentions of Stalking, and Nonchronological Timelines. Dead Dove: Do Not Eat.

You were never supposed to meet Geto Suguru.

It’d been a misstep in the never-ending trudge that was the cosmic timeline; a mistake on behalf of the universe that left you on the doorstep of his temple, glancing between the rustic entryway and the scrap of paper one of your student’s mothers had slipped into your hand a few weeks prior. “They should be able to help with your little problem,” she’d explained with a wink, a knowing glance towards your stiff shoulders, the dark bags under your eyes. “One visit, and you’ll feel like a teenager again.”

You’d smiled politely and told her that you’d give it a try and shoved her note into a drawer below your desk to be swiftly forgotten. You went to a doctor, then a chiropractor, then a psychologist, then briefly considered making an appointment with a fortune teller before finally relenting and deciding that you were, in fact, desperate enough for a miracle healer. It took three trains, two taxis, and more than a handful of helpful strangers, but you’d arrived at the messily scrawled address in one piece. You could still turn around, try your luck with another specialist, another bottle of over-the-counter sleeping pills – sane solutions that sane people fell back on when they encountered problems that sane people had. You could go back to your flat, your ever-growing pile of ungraded tests, and pretend you’d never been here at all. You could do the thing that crazy, desperate people didn’t do, and you could leave.

You took a deep breath, braced yourself, and crossed into the entryway.

An attendant caught you as soon as you’d stepped inside. He was male, middle-aged, wearing the most strained, plastered-on smile you’d ever seen as he bowed his head to you. After a moment of nervous delay, you returned the gesture. “I—Uh, a friend of mine pointed me in your direction,” you stuttered out, doing your best to speak through your anxiety. “She said your head priest could…”

You trailed off, struggling to find the right words. Thankfully, the attendant cut in before you could make yourself look like a complete moron. “Geto-sama?” Impossibly, his smile widened even further. “You’ve come to the right place - he’s a truly miraculous healer. He’s seeing another poor, suffering soul at the moment, but you’re free to wait outside of his sanctuary.”

With a quick nod and a few words of thanks, you were swiftly taken to and abandoned in a small sitting room that, you could only guess, led into the innermost shrine. You sunk into a remarkably uncomfortable wooden chair and managed to sit still for all of three seconds before looking for your next distraction. Thankfully, it wasn’t hard to find.

Two girls sat on the other side of the room; sisters, you guessed, if not twins. One (Mimiko – it’d still be a few days before you learned her name) was perched on the edge of a chair identical to your own while the other (Nanako) sat cross-legged on the floor between her legs, fiddling with a hand-held console as her sister tried and failed to braid her hair. You couldn’t help yourself – a small smile tugging at the corner of your lips as you watched Mimiko clumsily fumble with the messily divided strands of hair, her frustration written clearly across her expression. You’d always been comfortable around kids, as much as you never wanted to have your own. You didn’t know much about healing priests or mystic illnesses, but you knew how to handle a struggling seven-year-old.

When she looked away from her work, seeming to notice you for the first time, you offered her a bright smile, a quick wave. “Having a hard time?” you asked, gesturing towards her messy handiwork. “I can show you a few tricks, if you’d like.”

There was a long moment of hesitation, a quick look shared with her sister. “I understand if you don’t trust my credentials, but…” You fished out a few spare hair-ties out of your pocket: bright pink and adorned with equally garish bows, the color and design enough to make Nanako’s eyes light up. One of your more absent-minded students tended to forget hers, and you’d gotten into the habit of carrying a healthy stockpile on her behalf. “I did bring my own supplies.”

A few minutes later, you found yourself dutifully combing out Mimiko’s hair while Nanako admired her new pigtails. They seemed reluctant to talk to you, but you did your best to make polite conversation – well, as much as you could with two stand-offish grade schoolers. “Are you two waiting for someone?”

Mimiko pursed her lips, but Nanako wasn’t so shy. “Our dad,” she filled in, the kind of pride only an idealistic child could have for a parent heavy in her voice. “He hates monkeys.”

“Oh.” You did your best to sound surprised, rather than confused. “Does he work for the temple?”

“Mhm – he’s really strong, and super important.” She waited for you to num in acknowledgement, then went on. “You’re here to see him, right? He can definitely help you, if you are.”

Your hands faltered, a lock of Mimiko’s hair slipping out of your loose hold. “Your father’s… the head priest?”

Nanako nodded enthusiastically, and for the first time, Mimiko chimed in, “He’ll probably get rid of your creepy friend.”

This time, you stopped moving entirely. “I’m sorry, my friend?”

Mimiko glanced over her shoulder, moved to speak, but the screen door leading into the shrine slid open before she could answer you. It wasn’t an attendant, this time, but a man in monk’s garb with hair that reached past his shoulders and a grin less strained but just as artificial as that of his attendants. Geto Suguru, although it’d still be some time before you knew to call him that.

His dark eyes found you first, before moving to his daughters. “Girls,” he started, tone more playful than chiding. “Are you bothering my guests?”

The twins exchanged a long, weighty look before Nanako pushed herself to her feet and hurried to her father’s side. With a sigh of mock exasperation, he leaned down, letting her whisper something into his ear as you rushed to finish Mimiko’s braid. You couldn’t make out what she was saying, but it was enough to earn a pair of pursed lips from Suguru, a languid shake of his head. Without responding to her, he straightened his back, already ushering you inside. You took a deep breath, then followed him into the shrine.

He made no attempt to put on a show of false hospitality. Wordlessly, he left you loitering in the center of the very empty, very large room while he stepped onto a raised platform and collapsed onto his side, propping his elbow on a cushioned, stand-alone armrest. This time, when he sighed, it seemed to be out of a more genuine exhaustion, his eyes falling shut briefly as he propped his chin on his fist and brought his free hand to his temples. “I have to apologize for my daughters. If I could watch them constantly, it still wouldn’t be enough.” He opened his eyes, and instantly, you felt the full weight of his stare. If it hadn’t been a feeling you were so used to, it might’ve been enough to send a chill down your spine. “Now, how can I be of service to you?”

You dug your teeth into the inside of your cheek, fighting the urge to fidget. “I’ve been having trouble sleeping, lately. There’s been this weight on my back, like—”

“Like you’re being watched?”

He spoke confidently, as if answering a question he’d written himself. With your hands clenched into fists at your sides, you nodded. Suguru’s head lulled to the side, his smile taking on a satisfied lilt. “I thought so. Tell me – have you had any scorned lovers in the past? Boyfriends, fiancés, that type of thing?”

“A stalker,” you admitted. “But, he passed a few months ago. There was an accident, and—”

This time, he cut you off with a snap of his fingers. It was brief, barely a flash of movement, but you caught something in the corner of your eye – an amorphous shape perched above your right shoulder, a thousand eyes spotted across its baggy skin and a hundred curling tentacles wrapped around your arms, your chest, your stomach. You shut your eyes, winced, and when you opened them again, the creature was gone and Suguru held a small, pitch-black marble between his thumb and forefinger. He took a second to evaluate it before letting out an approving hum and bringing the marble to his lips, swallowing it whole. In your shock, it didn’t even occur to you to look away.

“These things tend to linger.” It was a meager explanation, but you accepted it whole-heartedly. For the first time in months, you were able to straighten your back, to drop your shoulders, to stand up without a single part of you crying out in protest. You might’ve cried, if you hadn’t been so relieved.

“Thank you,” you nearly gasped, bowing at the waist. “Oh my god, I— I don’t have much money, but—”

“Oh, I couldn’t possibly ask for compensation. Consider this—” A click of his tongue, a roll of his wrist. “—a favor between friends. The most I could ask for is a little of your time, in return.”

You would’ve given him your first-born child, if he’d asked for it. “Of course, anything. I really can’t thank you enough, sir.”

“It’s just— I’ve been trying to find a tutor for my daughters for the longest time, and they already seem fond of you.” For the first time since you’d stepped into his shrine, he sat up, facing you directly. “I understand that you’re a teacher?”

You left the temple a few minutes later, a new number programmed into your phone and a smile brighter than anything you’d worn in years painted across your lips.

You moved in with Satoru the same day he met Himari – as much being told to shove everything you couldn’t live without in a bag because you wouldn’t be coming back to your apartment could be called moving. You would’ve fought it more, but he’d been holding your daughter, and you couldn’t take that kind of risk with her. Not again.

Time seemed to pass in slow, thick clumps. Hours would pass in the blink of an eye and seconds would drag on and on and on until you couldn’t stand the idea of pretending you cared, anymore. A nursery was thrown together in one of Satoru’s guestrooms. When you mentioned that you’d never slept so far from her, Satoru cooed and kissed your cheek.

“It’ll be alright, baby. I’ve got enough monitors to last ‘till she’s eighteen. And, no offense, they’re a little more reliable than what you’ve been using.” Another kiss, this one to the corner of your jaw. “Besides, I don’t think you’ll want her sharing a room with us.”

Something pricked at the back of your throat. “I could sleep in here, with—”

“Nope.” He was kind enough to shut you down before you could so much as start to get your hopes up. “Honestly, she should count herself lucky I’m willing to share at all.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to respond. Instead, you closed your eyes, and when you found the strength to open them again, the world was dark and your body was cold.

Once the novelty wore off, you fell into a steady routine. Once or twice a week, you’d make the trip to Suguru’s temple and do your best to drill seven years’ worth of public education into Mimiko and Nanako while their father saw his unfortunate visitors. They were smart girls, even if they were more interested in your love life than multiplication tables, and when you thought about Suguru had done for you, you couldn’t say you minded spending a few hours of your weekend in a scenic, rural temple surrounded by Suguru’s (sometimes off-putting, but never unpleasant) congregation.

It took two months before you saw Suguru’s composure slip. It’d been a mistake – an accident on your part as much as it was on his – but you hadn’t thought of it in such fatalistic terms in the moment.

You kept your hands in your pockets as you wandered through the temple’s courtyard, stretching your legs while the girls finished a worksheet on long division (chosen by Nanako over English contractions, much to Mimiko’s protest). Idly, eager to give them as much time as you could, you made your way around the inner sanctum’s perimeter, rounding a sharp corner before abruptly coming to a stop.

Geto sat on the edge of the raised porch, eyes closed and his shoulder braced against the side of a support beam. You moved to flee, to apologize for interrupting his meditation, but you noticed his hunched posture, his slightly parted lips, and let out a breath of a laugh, your panic fading into pity.

Ah, the poor thing.

He was so tired, he’d fallen asleep sitting up.

As little as you’d expected to see a grown man sleeping in public, you weren’t surprised. Suguru was always running himself ragged; either hosting guests or holding sermons or running errands on the temple’s behalf, always coming back with a certain weight to his steps and an off-kilter quirk to his smile. With a sigh, you kneeled next to him and after a moment of hesitation, shrugged off your coat, taking care not to wake him as you draped it over his shoulders. Immediately, he relaxed – an ounce of the tension in his shoulders dissolving as he slumped into himself. You’d considered waking him up, but decided against it. Your own months of sleepless nights and never-ending days were still fresh in your memory. You didn’t want to be the reason he missed out on a few precious minutes of much-needed rest.

You heard a screen door slide open, a high-pitched voice call your name from the other side of the temple. You pushed yourself to your feet, but paused, spared another glance toward Suguru. It was a stupid, spontaneous thing to do, you didn’t give yourself time to think better of it before brushing his bangs away from his face and pressing a kiss into his forehead – the kind of kiss you’d give to one of your students in the wake of scraped knees and playground arguments. When he failed to stir, you pulled back and crossed your arms over your chest, doing your best to keep yourself warm as you started back to where his girls were waiting for you.

Satoru was at your door as soon as the bell rang.

Somewhere, in the back of your mind, you must’ve known he wouldn’t give up old patterns so easily. He loitered in the hallway while your hyper-active students filtered out, slipped inside as the last of the stranglers did their best not to gawk at the inhumanely tall stranger with unnaturally white hair. By the time he crossed the threshold, you and Megumi were the only ones left, the latter dutifully waiting for his daily busy work at the corner of your desk.

Satoru acknowledged him with a click of his tongue, a quick ruffle to Megumi’s hair before he moved onto you. “There’s my pretty girl,” he half-said, half-sung as he slung an arm around your neck, pulling you into his chest. “Had you on my mind all day. Couldn’t stop wishin’ I had your pretty ti—”

You cleared your throat into your hand, nodding pointedly towards Megumi. Satoru’s grin faltered, then collapsed into a pursed-lipped frown. He didn’t say anything, but his thumb dug into your shoulder, his cruel eyes flickering to you over the dark lenses of his glasses. You didn’t need any further instruction. If Suguru taught you anything, it’d been how to get rid of unwanted company.

“Megumi.” You waved him toward you, and despite the mix of distrust and exasperation written clearly across his expression, he stepped forward. Still, you braced yourself before going on. As little as you wanted to associate him with Satoru, to blame him for what Satoru did to you, you hadn’t been able to meet his eyes all day. Whenever you looked at him, you couldn’t help but think about Himari, and whenever you thought about Himari—

“You usually walk home with Tsumiki today, right?” He didn’t, but you couldn’t think of a better excuse. Lately, it was all you could do to put one word in front of another, let alone actually manage to clear away enough of the thick, buzzing static clouding your mind to form an intelligent thought. “You should really get going, before she starts to think you left without her.”

His gaze dropped to the ground. He mumbled something just a breath below audible, and you forced yourself to smile. “I’m sorry, what was that?”

“I don’t want to leave you alone with him.” His tone was clipped, his eyes narrowed. “He’s… He’s gross, and weird, and you shouldn’t talk to him.”

If he’d been any other kid, if Satoru had been any other adult, you might’ve laughed, chided him for speaking so rudely about his elders. Instead, you only sighed, your smile faltering as you brought a hand to his shoulder. “We’re just going to have a little chat, that’s all. I promise, I’ll be just fine when we see each other tomorrow.” You paused, lowered your voice into something playfully conspiratorial. “Between you and me, I think he’s pretty weird too. Thanks for looking out for me.”

His scowl deepened, but he didn’t protest. After tossing one more glare in Satoru’s direction, he trudged out of your classroom, letting the door slam behind him. You didn’t have time to feel relief or dread or much of anything before Satoru was on top of you – his knee planted between your thighs, one of his hands groping at your waist while the other caught your chin, holding you in place while his lips crashed into yours, the kiss mess and open-mouthed and desperate. “The brat’s annoying,” he muttered, as he pulled away. “But I can’t say I don’t see where he’s coming from. If you’d been my teacher, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stop myself from bending you over your desk ‘n earning a little extra credit.”

A wave of nausea washed over you. You couldn’t stop yourself from buckling forward, but Satoru had already moved on, found his way to the side of your neck. “Please, don’t talk about my students like—”

Your voice gave out as he bit down – burying his teeth in your throat in less of a love-bite and more of an effort to eat you alive. You barely managed to stop yourself from crying out, but panic quickly swallowed whatever pain you might’ve felt. It’d leave a mark, one you wouldn’t be able to hide, not completely. Against your will, your mind flashed to Megumi and, if you’d been just a little weaker, you might’ve collapsed, passed out while Satoru lapped the blood now trickling down your throat. If you’d been just a little luckier, you might’ve fallen apart entirely.

Your hands shot to his hair, and Satoru let out a throaty groan. His hands fell to your thighs, and before you could so much as think to struggle, you were laid across your desk, folders and worksheets pushed aside in favor of trapping your body underneath his. “Always wanted to do this,” he muttered into your shoulder, already pulling your skirt to your waist. “Might have to go into teaching, too – just so you can return the favor.”

He might’ve gone on, but you were done listening.

You would have to request a change of classroom, tomorrow morning.

Nanako returned your coat to you a week later, rolling on the balls of her feet and grinning from ear to ear.

You saw Suguru more often, after that.

Granted, not too often, and never for very long. He was still a busy man, and most of your interactions were limited to minute-long conversations as you found each other heading in the same direction, a few niceties exchanged as you dropped Nanako and Mimiko off at the door of his shrine. He never struck you as overly guarded, but you could count the number of times you’d heard him speak about himself on a single hand. If it hadn’t been for his girls, you probably would never have learned his given name.

Winter had begun its swift and relentless approach, and you found yourself standing outside of the temple’s gates, watching the sun slip below the horizon and debating if it would be worth it to cough up the cash for a taxi, rather than dragging yourself through the labyrinth that was public transportation in the dark. As you checked your phone for the dozenth time, you caught a flash of movement in your peripheral and glanced up only to find Suguru – changed out of his monk’s garb and into a plain shirt and a pair of sweatpants that made him look more like an exhausted college student than the head of his own temple. He nodded to you by way of greeting, and you flashed him a smile. “Waiting for someone?”

“Something like that.” You looked back to your phone and sighed. “I might have to make our next session a little earlier. I forgot how dark it could get and, well, you know what it’s like in the city.”

You withered, but Suguru only brightened. “Let me give you a ride.”

“Are you sure? I’d hate to—”

“Please, (Y/n).” You could see why he had such a dedicated congregation. When he spoke, it was impossible not to listen. “Just think of it as a favor between friends.”

You wanted to refuse, to tell him not to waste his time, but a streetlamp buzzed to life somewhere above you and the last trace of your resolve crumbled. A few minutes later, you were in the back of a sleek, black car – Suguru sitting next to you and his driver hidden behind a tinted partition. More time than you would’ve liked passed in tense silence before you, more motivated by discomfort than gratitude, broke the quiet. “I was surprised when I found out Nanako and Mimiko were homeschooled.” Before he could respond, you realized how it must’ve sounded and tried to backtrack. “Not that there’s anything wrong with that! It’s just—you’re always so busy, and they’re such bright girls. I’m sure that, if you ever did want to get them enrolled, they’d do very well. It’d free up a lot of your time, too.”

You thought you saw him wince, but it could’ve just been a trick of the light. By the time you turned to face him properly, his expression was unreadable – his lips pulled into a thin line and his dark eyes focused on some unseen point in the distance. “I probably shouldn’t be telling you this,” he admitted, before letting an airy sigh. “But… I made a lot of bad choices, when I first took them in. The were a bad situation, and I was young and stupid, and I— I think I might’ve fucked things up. For them, at least. I probably would’ve ended up in the same place eventually.” Another sigh, a lengthy pause. When he went on, his tone was heavier, his usual confidence greatly diminished, if not absent entirely. “…you don’t think I made a mistake, do you?”

You took a second to think, letting your eyes fall to your lap. “I don’t,” you said, finally. “The girls seem happy, and you’re providing for them. They won’t have normal lives, but—” You hummed, shrugged. “Who does?”

He seemed to relax, the harsh edges of his expression dulling. His eyes shifted to you. “You’re not going to tell anyone, right?”

This time, you didn’t hesitate at all, shaking your head with a slight smile. “Consider it,” You let your tone dip into something teasing and secretive, raising your chin the way he tended to when talking to guests and members of his congregation. “a favor between friends.”

Your showmanship earned a dry chuckle, a softened gaze. After a long beat, he asked, “Would you mind if I, uh…” He trailed off, tugged at the collar of his shirt. “Would you mind if I tried something?”

Now, it was your turn to laugh. You’d assumed he was in his mid-twenties, but he must’ve been younger – he was acting like a teenager. “Go ahead, Suguru.”

Despite your reassurance, he stalled for a few seconds before, more than a little stiltedly, bending at his waist and resting his head gingerly on your lap. It was an awkward position, the back of the car too cramped for him to lay down properly, but his eyes fell shut and after the initial shock faded, you could only smile, raising a hand and combing your fingers idly through his hair. When you pulled the elastic band holding his half-bun together out of place, letting his hair fall loose over your thighs, he didn’t protest, only going that much more limp on top of you.

You two stayed that way for the rest of the trip; his head in your lap, your finger carding through his hair, the only noise that of traffic and the occasional muted hum when your attention started to drift. It was only when his driver pulled onto the curb in front of your complex that Suguru raised his head, blinking himself back into consciousness. You turned to let yourself out, only to feel him take up one of your hands – his fingers soon intertwined with yours. You didn’t have time to ask him what he was doing before you felt him cup your cheek, before you felt his mouth against yours.

The kiss was gentle but warm, shallow but lingering. He held you there, his lips barely yours, for a second, then another, before you snapped out of it and pulled away – your disgust as immediate as it was it was self-concentrated. If Suguru felt the same way, he hid it well. You could only make out the slightest trace of hurt in the down-turned corners of his parted lips.

He started to say something, but you were already rushing to apologize. “I’m sorry, Suguru. You’re a sweet kid, but I’m—” You forced yourself to laugh, the noise jolting and strained. “I’m nearly twice your age.”

He pursed his lips. “I don’t care how old you are.”

“Exactly.” You shook your head, dragging a hand over your face. “I’m so, so sorry. I should’ve been more clear about, I don’t know,” You gestured vaguely. “—everything. And I should really—”

Again, you moved to leave, and again, he stopped you. This time, he caught you by the wrist. “I’m not a kid.” You tried to pull away from him, but his grip tightened. You felt something in your forearm begin to ache. “If you don’t believe me, I’ll show you how serious I am.”

“Absolutely not.” You pried the door open and jerked away from him just in time to stumble out of his car and onto the pavement. You saw his posture straighten, his body tense as if he was going to try to lunge at you, but mercifully, he must’ve thought better of it. His anger was, instead, focused entirely into his unblinking stare, and you did your best to speak in spite of the way his eyes burnt into your chest. “I… I think it would be for the best if we didn’t see each other, for a while. Tell the girls I’m out of town, and—” You swallowed, dryly. “—I think you should get some rest, Suguru. You need it.”

As awful as it made you feel, you slammed the door shut before he could respond. He didn’t try to chase you, but his car hadn’t moved by the time you made it to your flat. With your doors locked and your blinds pulled shut, you watched it until, hours after midnight, you nodded off.

He was gone when you woke up, and you could only hope he’d be mature enough to mind his distance.

Satoru’s face was buried between your thighs when you heard his phone ring, his hands curled around your thighs and your body perched on the edge of one of his rarely used marble counters. You would’ve missed it entirely if you’d been a little closer to the edge, if he’d been just a little nosier as he moaned and grunted into your cunt, but you weren’t, and he wasn’t, and the sound of that melodic dial-tone cut through the haze like a knife through fog (relatively ineffective, but still violent enough to draw attention). You straightened as much as you could, combing your fingers through his hair and tugging, gently. “Satoru, I think—”

“It’s not important,” he muttered against your thigh, drawing back just far enough to be audible. “’s probably just the kids. They said they were coming over, but—” He flashed you a smile, bright eyes catching the light. “They can wait ‘till we’re done. I can’t just leave my pretty girl unsatisfied.”

Immediately, the haze stiffened and shattered into a panic-inducing, heart-racing clarity. You straightened, cursed under your breath, but Satoru tongue was already lapping over your soaked slit, the bridge of his nose grinding against your clit as he all-but worshipped your pussy. This time, you didn’t tug, but pulled – doing what little you could to pry him off of you, but all you earned was a throaty whine, his fingertips dug that much deeper into the plush of your ass. His tongue bullied its way past your clenching entrance, curling and thrusting, and it took everything you had not to snap your thighs shut around his head, not to give him what he wanted. “Satoru,” you spat, using the same tone you’d put on for a misbehaving student. “S-stop.”

It was more of an instinct than a decision, more of a reflex than a choice, but either way, it didn’t seem to make a difference. With his eyes blearily focused on your expression, his mouth latched onto your pussy like it was the last thing he’d ever taste, he fucked you open with his tongue until your toes were curling, your legs twitching, your vision burning pure white in a way that made you wish you could give up on sight altogether. He nursed you through your climax until the last of your energy was spent before pushing himself to his feet and slamming his mouth into yours – his teeth cutting into your lips and your taste heavy on his tongue. By the time he pulled away, you were panting and he was wearing that awful, careless grin. You never thought you’d miss Suguru’s calculated smile, and yet.

And yet.

You didn’t have time to be angry. The kids came first – a thought that, if you’d given yourself a chance to linger on it, would’ve been more of a cause for concern. “Go clean yourself up, I’ll take care of the kitchen. Call them back as soon as you’re finished.”

“I love it when you get bossy,” he said, with a dreamy sigh. “It’s hot in a, like, ‘put me over your knee and spank me’ way, y’know?”

Your only response was a quick shake of your head, a repulsed curl of your lips. Satoru only laughed, pecking your cheek and burying his face in the crook of your neck. “They’ll love you. Megumi likes to act shy, but he can’t shut up about you. Tsumiki’ll just be ecstatic to have a baby sister,” he mumbled into your throat. “You wouldn’t break their hearts, would you?”

It might’ve hurt less, if there hadn’t already been two little girls somewhere in Japan who knew that you absolutely would.

You called Suguru from the curb in front of your flat, your head in your hands and tears streaming openly down your cheeks. He let it ring once, twice, before answering. You could practically hear the smile in his voice, practically feel the smugness in his tone. “I thought we weren’t talking, dear?”

You swallowed back another ragged sob. “It’s back.”

He was there within the hour – alone, this time, no girls and no driver. You stayed where you were as he let himself into your flat, returning only a few minutes later with a thoughtful hum and a thin frown playing on his lips. “It’s rare, but it does happen,” he started, as he sat down next to you. He was dressed in street clothes, rather than his monk’s garb. Somehow, that only made it more difficult to look at him. “Particularly restless spirits can lie dormant before reappearing stronger and more attached to their living host. A standard exorcism might no longer be enough to banish it.”

You felt something heavy and pointed drop into the pit of your stomach. Calling it 'stronger' was an understatement – you couldn’t believe something so massive, something so awful had ever been attached to you. When you let your mind wander, you could still see its dripping, pitch-black arms writhing over the walls and ceiling of your bedroom, still feel its countless eyes burning into you – a hundred, no, a thousand times worse than it’d been when Suguru had first sent it away. You buckled at the waist, burying your face in your knees, and Suguru rested a hand on your back, rubbing slow circles into your shoulder. You were thankful for the comfort, even if it would’ve taken you another few weeks to completely forget the feeling of his hand around your wrist. “Can you…” You cringed, shrunk into yourself. “Can you help?”

“Oh, absolutely.” If he’d been just a little more cocky, he would’ve been purring. “But I’m afraid it’ll cost you more than a favor, this time.”

“I’ll do anything.”

“I know.” His hand went still, settling on your shoulder. “But I need you to give me something, this time.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Anything,” you repeated, with all the desperation of a sinner laid bare before the altar. “Please, Suguru. Anything.”

“I need an heir.”

You could practically feel your heart split open and shatter inside of you. “…an heir?”

“For the sake of my congregation,” he said, like that explained anything. “We’ll have to get married first, of course. You’ll be taken care of until the child’s born, and then, you’ll be free to go.” His hand fell to your own, squeezing gently. “Or to stay with us, if that’s what you prefer.”

Any other time, the idea alone would’ve been enough to make you sick. Any other day, you would’ve told him that he could have anything, anything but that.

But, in the moment, all you could seem to think about was your flat and the monster inside of it. You felt yourself nod and, before you could take it back, heard Suguru laugh, felt his lips against your temple. “You’re making the right choice,” he muttered, the words nearly lost against your skin. “I love you.”

You couldn’t bring yourself to say it back.

Tsumiki and Megumi were asleep in the guest room turned makeshift nursery. Megumi had been slow to warm, quick to hear Satoru introduce you as his ‘one and only’ and assume the worst (which, to be fair, wasn’t exactly wrong), but Tsumiki hadn’t been so stand-offish, and ultimately, whatever concerns an eight year old could have for your safety crumbled under his sister’s desire to fawn over your newborn. You were glad. You didn’t want him to worry about you. That was a mistake you’d made with Nanako and Mimiko. You’d let Suguru give them a reason to care if you left, and then, you’d left.

Your gaze drifted to Himari. She’d always loved attention (a trait you could only assume she’d inherited from her father), and she’d spent most of the afternoon and the entire evening basking in Tsumiki and Megumi’s adoration. Currently, she was sitting in your lap, giggling and clapping her hands together as you idly bounced her on your knee. The sight alone was enough to make your heart soar – any thoughts of Satoru and his wards fading into the background as you leaned forward and peppered her tiny face with kisses. It was a miracle that you loved her at all, let alone as much as you did. Pregnancy hadn’t been kind to you, and it wasn’t until the moment she was born that you could stand to think of yourself as a mother of a child, rather than just the incubator to a cultist’s pipedream. You’d never wanted children, but now that you had one, you couldn’t imagine letting anything in the world take her away from you.

Maybe, if he’d been a little kinder to her, if he hadn’t already had two daughters to spoil and adore, you might’ve been able to justify loving Himari less than you did, might’ve been able to leave her in his care when you pried a window open and fled in the middle of the night. He’d never been cruel to her, but no part of you believed that he wouldn’t have been if she’d failed to do what she’d been made for – if your love for her hadn’t been enough to keep you by his side. Even if you hadn’t loved her at all, you still would’ve taken her with you. No child deserved to be left in the care of a monster like Suguru.

You choose, deliberately, to only think about Himari, to tell yourself that you only ever had to think about Himari. You couldn’t afford to break your own heart a second time.

Choosing not to think about Megumi and Tsumiki proved more difficult.

It was a courthouse wedding, the ceremony little more than a few signatures and a hesitant ‘congratulations’ from the officiant. Suguru’s assistant – a blonde woman who looked at you with equal parts sympathy and disgust – acted as the witness. Suguru explained that, after your first child was born, there would be a more elaborate ceremony, something with rings and dresses and flowers that the girls could participate in. You were too dissociated to point out that there wasn’t supposed to be anything after the child was born, let alone something that would leave you that much more bound to him.

You expected him to take you back to your flat, or the villa on the outskirts of the city you’d visited a handful of times when he couldn’t meet you at his temple, but instead, you found yourself standing in front of one of the tallest, brightest hotels you’d ever seen. “It is a special occasion,” he said, as you stared blankly at the entrance. “I wouldn’t be a good husband if I didn’t spoil my wife now and then, right?”

“Please,” you muttered, nearly under your breath. “Don’t call me that.”

“Whatever you say, my love.” His smile was giddier than you’d ever seen it, amusement heavy in his voice. “Let me give you a hand.”

The interior was no less agonizing than the exterior. You could feel a hundred pairs of eyes burning into you as you hung off Surugu’s arm, your own legs too weak to be trusted to support you. Rather than relief, dread coiled in the pit of your stomach as he led you to your room – a suite on the highest floor. You considered, briefly, trying to tell him that you were afraid of heights, but decided against it. Even in your own head, it sounded too childish to be believable, and you couldn’t imagine dragging this out for a second longer than it absolutely had to be.

You stepped into the room and were immediately reminded that Suguru had been the one to make the arrangements. A bottle of wine sat in a bucket of ice on a velvet-cushioned ottoman. Bouquets of roses and their disembodied petals had been carefully spread across every possible surface – painting the room with misshapen splotches of bright red. A colorless atrocity of white silk and lace had been laid across the king-sized bed. You got close enough to recognize it for what it was (bridal lingerie, veil and all) before turning away and collapsing onto the foot of the bed, your vision blurry and your heart racing.

You felt your mouth go dry, your throat tighten, but you forced yourself to speak. You wouldn’t have been able to stand the silence. “Am I—” A pause, a distraught glance towards the monstrosity. “Am I supposed to wear that?”

“I might’ve been a little overzealous,” he admitted, stepping in front of you. Slowly, he lowered himself onto one knee, taking your hands in his. “I’ll be gentle, if that’s what you’re worried about. The only thing I want you to feel is pleasure.” He brought the underside of your wrist to his lips. “I love you.”

You couldn’t be sure what it was. How sincere he sounded, maybe, or how young he looked kneeling in front of you, away from his temple and out of his costume. He kissed the back of your hand, and a ragged sob tore past your lips, all the tears you hadn’t been able to shed during the ceremony suddenly beading in the corners of your eyes. As you tried to keep them at bay with your free hand, Suguru’s smile wavered, and for the first time that you’d seen, fell away completely.

He posed the question softly, carefully. You wished he would’ve been just a little more eager to break you. At least, then, you could’ve hated him for it. “…you really don’t want to do this, do you?”

There was no point trying to lie. You shook your head and watched as Suguru deflated. His eyes had always been dark, but in that moment, you could’ve sworn they’d never seen any light at all.

Before you could brace yourself, his mouth crashed into yours with enough force to bruise. You tasted blood, felt his tongue rake over yours; whatever gentleness he’d promised to show you little more than a distant fantasy. As his mouth moved against yours, his hand slipped under your dress – two fingers dragging over your slit through your panties before his thumb found your clit through the thin material and he pushed a rough, impulsive pattern into the sensitive bud. You shrunk into yourself, your hands finding their way to his chest before you could stop yourself from trying to push him away, but Suguru didn’t seem to care, to notice. Your panties were torn away entirely, and like a man possessed, he fell back to his knees between your open legs and started to devour you whole.

Your thighs were pulled onto his shoulders, his hands curled around your hips as the flat of his tongue laved over your slit, teasing the entrance of your pussy and flicking over your clit. He alternated between tracing vague figure-eights into your cunt and lapping up the slick starting to drip from your poor, confused pussy – your exhausted body eager to accept any affection Suguru had to show you, if you could even call what he was forcing onto your affection. You tried to reach for him, to pull him away from, but you failed to so much as make contact before he let out a near-violent snarl, calloused fingertips burrowing into vulnerable flesh as he pulled you that much closer, hauling your ass off the bed and leaving you on your back, your arms crossed over your face and your ankles crossed over his back. You sobbed openly, now, but your disparate cries were interrupted by cracked whimpers and half-swallowed mewls – little, pathetic sounds you didn’t have the strength to suppress. Suguru didn’t stop. Honestly, you would’ve been surprised if he could hear you at all over the sound of his own heady panting, of his tongue fucking into your now-soaked cunt.

You almost regretted not taking him back to your flat that first night – when he kissed you like you were the most delicate thing in the world. If you’d given in right away, he might’ve had the self-restraint to hold back. Or, to try to, at least.

One of his hands left your waist, falling low enough for the pad of his thumb to press into your clit. Messily, roughly, he toyed with the hyper-sensitive bundle of nerves as his tongue thrust shallowly into your cunt, curling and splitting apart the hot, clenching walls of your pussy. You felt a deep, full-chested moan reverberate up the length of your spine, and that was enough to leave you tumbling over the edge, to leave your thighs clenching around his head as you came undone on his tongue. He ate you out through the aftershocks, but didn’t stop - fucking you open with his tongue until you’d stumbled through another climax, then another, a mix of slick and saliva soon coating his chin and staining the sheets below you. By the time he pulled away, you were crying not from despair, but overstimulation; pangs of pure heat searing your nerves and leaving your cunt aching for reprieve. You were only vaguely aware of the mattress dipping beside you, of his chest pressing into yours as he kissed you for what felt like the hundredth time. As his lips pressed into yours, you decided that, if tonight was the last time you ever had to kiss someone, it wouldn’t be so bad. Not when compared to the alternative.

“I love you,” he mumbled, and then again as he pulled away, “I love you.”

You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Your voice felt like something you were no longer entitled to use; a vague concept that’d been placed at an inconceivable distance by some cruel deity. Through half-lidded eyes, you saw Suguru bare his teeth in frustration. Your dress wasn’t so much removed as it was torn away from you, and you couldn’t help but wither without it. Modesty could only count so much when you could still see your arousal coating his lips, but still, it hurt.

With an arm wrapped around your waist, he pulled you into the center of the bed and haphazardly dragged his shirt over his head. You shouldn’t have been surprised. You’d seen his bare arms plenty of times, watched him lift Nanako and Mimiko clean off the ground without so much as a trace of strain, and yet, something inside of you still curled up and died as your eyes raked over his sculpted chest, the corded muscle that seemed to cover every inch of him. More out of shock than anything, you moved to sit up, to put some distance between yourself and a man who looked like he could’ve torn your head off your shoulders on a whim, but he was quick to stop you, to press a palm into your chest and force you back onto the bed. With his other hand, he dragged his pants down just far enough to free his cock and, instantly, whatever desolation you might’ve felt at the sight of his bare chest was multiplied ten-fold.

You didn’t realize you were shaking your head until you moved to speak, your voice shaking and small. “That’s not going to—”

“It will.” That authority – that tone of absolute control – was back in full force. Still, you couldn’t seem to make yourself believe him. “I won’t stop until it does.”

Your heart fell into your stomach as he dragged his swollen, leaking tip over your pussy – the flushed head catching on your abused clit and drawing an airy whimper past your lips. He was, by far, the biggest man you’d ever seen, let alone slept with. As if that wasn’t enough, he was already harder than you knew someone could be – thick, pearly beads dripping from his tip and down his shaft, his more prominent veins almost pulsing as he aligned with your entrance. Even his balls were fucking huge.

Fit for a breeder, something vicious and awful whispered into the back of your mind. You tried to ignore it, but you couldn’t disagree.

Your eyes darted to his expression and met his, already blearily focused on you. You opened your mouth, but anything you might’ve said was stolen away from you as his hips bucked forward and he thrust into you, bottoming out in the same motion.

You’d been right, when you’d tried to stop him.

He was going to kill you.

Already, he was too much. A fresh wave of tears pricked at the corners of your eyes as his cock threatened to tear you apart. Suguru let out a raspy groan, his head falling forward and he drew back, pulling out of you until only his head remained in your pussy only to snap his hip and bury himself that much deeper, only to stretch you that much further. “See?” One his hands fell to your lower stomach, the heel of his palm pressing into the soft flesh like he could feel the outline of his cock. He might’ve been able to. You were too scared to check. “You’re a perfect fit.”

There was another grunt, another breathy groan as he fell into an unsteady pace – every thrust brutal and back-breaking. His hands found their way to the headboard, curling around its upper edge as he fucked into you. He didn’t so much find the right spot as find a way to hit every spot constantly, his cock filling your pussy to the brim, leaving you desperately trying to clench down around him to no avail. A high-pitched whine – fractured and pathetic – tore past your lips, and Suguru let out an airy chuckle. “Not gonna be able to get enough of this.” His pubic bone scraped against your clit and you threw your head back, your back arching off of the mattress. Your sensitivity was rewarded with another laugh, a hand brought down just to grope idly at your chest. “I can’t let you out of my sight, from now own. I think I’ll lose my mind if I have to go a day without feeling this perfect pussy wrapped around my cock.”

It was hard to think, let alone piece two words together. Still, you managed to spit something out, fighting to speak above the sound of skin against skin, hips against hips. “B-but, you said— the baby—”

“Fuck the baby. This—” He slapped your clit, his touch harsh enough to make you cry out. “—is all mine.”

A hand around your throat, a new brutality to his thrusts. His grip wasn’t tight, he wasn’t choking you, and yet, you couldn’t breathe, couldn’t move, couldn’t think about anything other than his cock and the feeling of your cunt being split open around it. “You’re mine.” If you hadn’t known better, you would’ve thought he sounded relieved. “And you always will be.”

Meeting Suguru had been a mistake. Asking for his help had been a mistake. Agreeing to this terrible deal had been a mistake.

But, cumming around his cock as that final possessive sentiment trickled past his lips was the biggest mistake you’d ever made or ever would make, again.

Your cunt clamped down around him – a vice around his cock. With your fists balled around satin sheets and your legs wrapped around his waist, your body convulsed underneath his, your pussy doing everything in its limited power to milk him dry. You heard Suguru curse under his breath, his hips pushing flush against yours as something thick and searing flooded into your cunt. What little managed to leak out around the base of his cock was caught with two fingers and forced back in; no drop wasted.

With a heavy exhale, Suguru dipped lower, his lips grazing over your cheek, then the curve of your neck. You shut your eyes, letting yourself deflate. It was over. No matter how you might’ve felt, no matter how much you might’ve wanted to crawl out of your skin, it was ov—

Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he pulled out of you, only to push back in; his rough, punishing pace only made slightly more bearably by the weight of his orgasm.

The next morning, you’d wake up to Suguru’s arm around your waist and a pregnancy test on the bedside table. It’d be too early to tell, but you wouldn’t bother to so much as open the box. Nothing could’ve kept Suguru from trying again, and again, and again in the days to follow.

Come to think of it, you couldn’t be sure if he ever stopped.

“How long is this supposed to last?”

Megumi and Tsumiki were walking a few yards ahead of you, stopping to stare into every other shop window before running ahead, and Himari was currently tucked against Satoru’s chest, occupying herself with a thorough (albeit, mostly oral) investigation of the collar of his shirt. You couldn’t cook and Satoru refused to do much of anything before noon, so the only choice left was to chase after promises of crepe trucks and cafes. Your question earned a hum, a glance toward you, but not much more. As little as you liked about Satoru, you were thankful he had such an even temper. Suguru was never so slow to react.

“Forever, preferably,” he answered, with a slight shrug. “Or until I die, at least – sorcerers have a pretty high mortality rate. I’m the best at what I do, but even the strongest ant gets crushed eventually.” He paused, pressed a quick kiss into the top of Himari’s head. “I’ll make sure to leave a big trust fund, though. You’re gonna be living off your daddy for a long, long time.”

You let your eyes fall to the sidewalk. “You don’t have to pretend you care about her. I know you’re only doing this because of him.”

If he’d denied it immediately, you wouldn’t have believed him. If he’d sworn that Suguru had nothing to do with it, if he’d dropped to his knees in front of you, if he’d told you that he loved you, you wouldn’t have believed him. But, in the end, he only pursed his lips, his head lulling to the side as he considered it. “At first, yeah,” he admitted, tracing patterns into Himari’s back. “I heard that he’d gotten with someone and… I got curious. I guess I was a little jealous.” He paused, his tone abrupt going light and sheepish. “I might’ve gone a little overboard, in retrospect – making the brats go to your school and following you around and all. I just wanted to see what kind of person could make Suguru go soft, but then I saw how you were with the little princess—” He lifted Himari above his head, grinning up at her while she spouted happy gibberish. “—and fell for you, head over heels. All I could think about was gathering you both up in my arms and takin’ you home.”

“You make us sound like stray animals.”

“I mean, you kind of are, right?” You jutted your elbow into his side, and he rolled his eyes dramatically. “Okay, okay, you’re runaways. I didn’t know you were so pedantic, (Y/n).”

He slotted Himari against his hip, his attention momentarily falling away from her as he shot a quick, teasing smile in your direction. “I like you.” His voice was soft, dull – like he was saying something you didn’t already know. Like he was giving something away. “And I want you to stick around.”

“I’m sure Suguru would’ve said the same thing.”

“I’m not like Suguru.” He found your hand, his fingers soon intertwined with yours. “I wouldn’t let you go so easily.”

You opened your mouth, but closed it again just as quickly. Ahead of you, Tsumiki turned on her heel and waved excitedly. She’d picked a café (presumably with minimal input from Megumi); a picturesque little spot with a sun-speckled patio and overgrown garden boxes. Satoru’s hand tightened around yours, tugging you forward, and just this time, you didn’t bother trying to pull away.

The man on his knees in front of you was older – his hair receding and dotted with grey. A salaryman, you guessed, judging by his wrinkled suit, the ink stains on his sleeves. You couldn’t see his expression, not with his forehead pressed against the floor of Suguru’s sanctuary, but you could hear the pain in his voice as he pled for Suguru’s help, see the slight tremble in his shoulders. You didn’t have to assume the cause of his distress.

You couldn’t be sure when you started to see the spirits – or, the curses, you mean. It must’ve been around the end of the first trimester; your little glimpses at crooked monsters and mangled beasts solidifying into full, unrelenting exposure. Suguru suggested (after he’d finished celebrating what he would, later on, refer to as the best day of his life) that it might be a symptom of the pregnancy, that carrying a sorcerer’s child may’ve triggered some pocket of laden cursed energy buried inside of you, but you couldn’t help but think of it as some kind of cosmic punishment, even if you couldn’t begin to guess what you were being punished for.

It had to be a punishment, though. If it wasn’t, you wouldn’t be watching a small swarm of winged, imp-like creatures bite and scratch at the cowering salaryman, each swipe of their claws and nip of their pointed teeth enough to leave ragged, bloody stripes in his arms, his back. You felt bile rise into the back of your throat, but forced yourself not to shut your eyes, to keep your expression one of unbothered neutrality. Suguru would help him, just like he helped you.

As if by way of encouragement, you let your nails scrape over his scalp. After you started showing, the only job Suguru deemed you capable of was that of his new headrest. He took care of everything else – petitioning for maternity leave, moving you out of your flat and into the villa he shared with his girls, rewriting every little aspect of your life to better the role you’d inhabit for the next nine months: his pregnant wife. Currently, he was on his side, on leg bent at the knee and his head propped on your thighs, your fingers threaded through his hair. You’d cringed at the idea, at first, but Suguru insisted that it wouldn’t be an issue. The perks of leading your own cult, you guessed. No one could challenge his authority when he was the only authority they could possibly look to.

After a moment longer than you would’ve liked, Suguru cut off the salaryman’s incoherent rambling with a slight hum. Immediately, the salaryman fell silent, and Suguru let his head lull to the side, leaning into your palm. “Manami,” he started, addressing his assistant. She’d been called in shortly after the salaryman made his entrance. “How long has it been since our honored sponsor’s last donation?”

She glanced toward her tablet. “It’ll be five months this week.”

The salaryman scrambled to apologize. “I—I’m sorry, my store went out of business, and I—”

The corner of Suguru’s lips quirked downward. The entirety of the swarm descended onto the salaryman before you could so much as flinch away.

To say they tore him apart would be an understatement. One second, he was there, bowing in front of you, and the next, little more scraps of fabric and disembodied viscera decorated the floor of the sanctuary. Suguru snapped his fingers and, in an instant, the creatures vanished – leaving behind only gore and the thick stench of copper hanging in the stagnant air. Your hand stilled in Suguru’s hair. You might’ve passed out, if you’d been able to process what you’d just watched.

Suguru took notice of your distress quickly. That, or he just wanted to bask in his kill more privately. “If I could be alone with my wife for a moment, Manami.”

Her eyes flickered to you, lingering for a moment before she bowed her head. “Of course, Geto-sama. I’ll fetch someone to clean up this mess.”

Once she was gone, Suguru rolled onto his back, letting his eyes fall shut. “These fucking monkeys,” he sighed, with a shake of his head. “I swear, they’ll be the death of me. They can’t even seem to die without causing more trouble than they’re worth.”

“You can control them?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific, dear.”

“The spirits.” And then again, with more urgency, “You can control them?”

His exasperation was swiftly replaced with self-satisfaction so potent, you could nearly taste it. “Would you expect anything less from me? Only a handful are strong enough to be helpful, but even pests can be put to good use.”

You felt like an idiot for asking. You felt like an idiot for having to ask, but you just couldn’t seem to stop yourself. “My spirit. The one I came to you for.” It felt like your tongue was coated in salt and ask. “Was he one of the stronger spirits?”

A beat lapsed in silence, then another.

Finally, Suguru let out a long, raspy exhale and brought a hand to your stomach. “I hope it’s a girl,” he muttered, almost absent-mindedly. “I hope she looks just like you.”

You took a single, stilted breath.

When you met your daughter a few months later, impossibly tiny and infinitely lovable and so agonizingly helpless, it would almost be a relief to see Suguru’s face staring back at you.

“She has your eyes.”

You heard his voice before you saw his face, but you would’ve known Suguru from aura alone. You froze in the doorway of the unlit nursery, searching for him in the darkness, but Suguru didn’t make himself hard to find.

“Not the color, but the shape.” He was standing next to the cradle, a soft smile painted across his lips and your daughter in his arms. She was sleeping, and you were thankful for it. You’d kept Himari away from him as much as you’d been able to in the weeks leading up to your escape, but even their minimal exposure had seemed crushing, at the time. Above all else, you never wanted your daughter to be able to recognize her father’s face. “Oh, but she must have my temperament. I’ve heard she rarely cries, even with nuisances like Satoru around.”

You’d left your phone in the living room. Satoru wasn’t home and he wouldn’t be back until tomorrow morning, but maybe, if you screamed, someone would hear you. Maybe, you’d be able to run while Suguru tore them apart, limb by limb.

In the end, it was all you could do to make yourself speak – your voice thin and prone to catching in your throat. “Get out of my apartment.”

“But this isn’t your apartment, is it?” With a quiet, hushing sound, he lowered Himari back into her cradle and turned to face you. “Honestly, if I’d known you were just going to run into another man’s arms, I would’ve been more careful with you. I wonder if you’ll feel more loyal to your husband with a chain around your neck.”

“You manipulated me. You made me have a ba—”

“I loved you.” He cut you off with all the delicacy of a rusty knife sawing through flesh. “I do love you, even if I’m starting to question how much of it you deserve.”

He stepped forward. You wanted to turn away from him, to run, but your body was uncooperative, too rigid to do anything more than shake as he came to stand in front of you. “Can you say it back to me? Just this once.” He brought a hand to your cheek. “I’ll forgive you for everything, if you do.”

You tried to. Not for him, but for your daughter – made expendable by her failure to keep you bound to Suguru. You tried to, but all that slipped past your parted lips was a wordless cry, torn and anguished and far from what he’d asked for.

“No?” He feigned disappointment, letting out an airy sigh. “I guess that’s to be expected.”

He took a deep breath, then rested his head against the dip of your shoulder. His hand fell to your stomach as he spoke into your skin.

“Maybe, after we have our second, you’ll change your mind.”

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mostlysignssomeportents · 3 months

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The Coprophagic AI crisis

I'm on tour with my new, nationally bestselling novel The Bezzle! Catch me in TORONTO on Mar 22, then with LAURA POITRAS in NYC on Mar 24, then Anaheim, and more!

A key requirement for being a science fiction writer without losing your mind is the ability to distinguish between science fiction (futuristic thought experiments) and predictions. SF writers who lack this trait come to fancy themselves fortune-tellers who SEE! THE! FUTURE!

The thing is, sf writers cheat. We palm cards in order to set up pulp adventure stories that let us indulge our thought experiments. These palmed cards – say, faster-than-light drives or time-machines – are narrative devices, not scientifically grounded proposals.

Historically, the fact that some people – both writers and readers – couldn't tell the difference wasn't all that important, because people who fell prey to the sf-as-prophecy delusion didn't have the power to re-orient our society around their mistaken beliefs. But with the rise and rise of sf-obsessed tech billionaires who keep trying to invent the torment nexus, sf writers are starting to be more vocal about distinguishing between our made-up funny stories and predictions (AKA "cyberpunk is a warning, not a suggestion"):

https://www.antipope.org/charlie/blog-static/2023/11/dont-create-the-torment-nexus.html

In that spirit, I'd like to point to how one of sf's most frequently palmed cards has become a commonplace of the AI crowd. That sleight of hand is: "add enough compute and the computer will wake up." This is a shopworn cliche of sf, the idea that once a computer matches the human brain for "complexity" or "power" (or some other simple-seeming but profoundly nebulous metric), the computer will become conscious. Think of "Mike" in Heinlein's *The Moon Is a Harsh Mistress":

https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Moon_Is_a_Harsh_Mistress#Plot

For people inflating the current AI hype bubble, this idea that making the AI "more powerful" will correct its defects is key. Whenever an AI "hallucinates" in a way that seems to disqualify it from the high-value applications that justify the torrent of investment in the field, boosters say, "Sure, the AI isn't good enough…yet. But once we shovel an order of magnitude more training data into the hopper, we'll solve that, because (as everyone knows) making the computer 'more powerful' solves the AI problem":

https://locusmag.com/2023/12/commentary-cory-doctorow-what-kind-of-bubble-is-ai/

As the lawyers say, this "cites facts not in evidence." But let's stipulate that it's true for a moment. If all we need to make the AI better is more training data, is that something we can count on? Consider the problem of "botshit," Andre Spicer and co's very useful coinage describing "inaccurate or fabricated content" shat out at scale by AIs:

https://papers.ssrn.com/sol3/papers.cfm?abstract_id=4678265

"Botshit" was coined last December, but the internet is already drowning in it. Desperate people, confronted with an economy modeled on a high-speed game of musical chairs in which the opportunities for a decent livelihood grow ever scarcer, are being scammed into generating mountains of botshit in the hopes of securing the elusive "passive income":

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/15/passive-income-brainworms/#four-hour-work-week

Botshit can be produced at a scale and velocity that beggars the imagination. Consider that Amazon has had to cap the number of self-published "books" an author can submit to a mere three books per day:

https://www.theguardian.com/books/2023/sep/20/amazon-restricts-authors-from-self-publishing-more-than-three-books-a-day-after-ai-concerns

As the web becomes an anaerobic lagoon for botshit, the quantum of human-generated "content" in any internet core sample is dwindling to homeopathic levels. Even sources considered to be nominally high-quality, from Cnet articles to legal briefs, are contaminated with botshit:

https://theconversation.com/ai-is-creating-fake-legal-cases-and-making-its-way-into-real-courtrooms-with-disastrous-results-225080

Ironically, AI companies are setting themselves up for this problem. Google and Microsoft's full-court press for "AI powered search" imagines a future for the web in which search-engines stop returning links to web-pages, and instead summarize their content. The question is, why the fuck would anyone write the web if the only "person" who can find what they write is an AI's crawler, which ingests the writing for its own training, but has no interest in steering readers to see what you've written? If AI search ever becomes a thing, the open web will become an AI CAFO and search crawlers will increasingly end up imbibing the contents of its manure lagoon.

This problem has been a long time coming. Just over a year ago, Jathan Sadowski coined the term "Habsburg AI" to describe a model trained on the output of another model:

https://twitter.com/jathansadowski/status/1625245803211272194

There's a certain intuitive case for this being a bad idea, akin to feeding cows a slurry made of the diseased brains of other cows:

https://www.cdc.gov/prions/bse/index.html

But "The Curse of Recursion: Training on Generated Data Makes Models Forget," a recent paper, goes beyond the ick factor of AI that is fed on botshit and delves into the mathematical consequences of AI coprophagia:

https://arxiv.org/abs/2305.17493

Co-author Ross Anderson summarizes the finding neatly: "using model-generated content in training causes irreversible defects":

https://www.lightbluetouchpaper.org/2023/06/06/will-gpt-models-choke-on-their-own-exhaust/

Which is all to say: even if you accept the mystical proposition that more training data "solves" the AI problems that constitute total unsuitability for high-value applications that justify the trillions in valuation analysts are touting, that training data is going to be ever-more elusive.

What's more, while the proposition that "more training data will linearly improve the quality of AI predictions" is a mere article of faith, "training an AI on the output of another AI makes it exponentially worse" is a matter of fact.

Name your price for 18 of my DRM-free ebooks and support the Electronic Frontier Foundation with the Humble Cory Doctorow Bundle.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/03/14/14/inhuman-centipede#enshittibottification

Image: Plamenart (modified) https://commons.wikimedia.org/wiki/File:Double_Mobius_Strip.JPG

CC BY-SA 4.0 https://creativecommons.org/licenses/by-sa/4.0/deed.en

#pluralistic #ai #generative ai #André Spicer #botshit #habsburg ai #jathan sadowski #ross anderson #inhuman centipede #science fiction #mysticism

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archive-of-alexandria · 8 months

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Weak Ankles (Zoro x Reader)

A/N: One big helping of Zoro x Reader fluff, full of pining with a healthy dose of yearning. Somewhat inspired by that scene in Hercules, because it just felt too perfect for Zoro <3 xx

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of.

Having recessed into the corner booth of some podunk tavern while armed with nothing but a dangerously low bottle of sake and a healthy dose of self-imposed misery, however, he feels his chances of winning this particular battle dwindle by the minute.

As his swig bleeds the bottle dry, Zoro groans and drags his hand over his face. He succumbs to his desire to wallow.

Hell or high water, right?

Zoro has never encountered a fight he can't muscle his way out of, but the swordsman has never charged head-first into mushy feelings either.

Perhaps that's why he's seeking refuge back on the Going Merry as the sounds of the party rattle on the breeze behind him, trailing him, like a specter.

Zoro grimaces.

Kunia had once explained sword fighting as a language, and the idea has stuck with Zoro ever since. Sparring matches had turned into spelling bees, each hit earning a vowel or letter.

The first one with enough hits to spell out f-u-c-k-y-o-u was always the winner.

Zoro knows the language of fighting well.

There is no training to be had for situations like these...situations that call for finesse with words that can't be spoken with the hilt of a blade.

The ocean is deep and dark with evening and yet Zoro's eyes are glued to the depths, willing divine intervention to give him a direction.

He gives the railing a small shake, mock-pretending the water is like one of those fortune-teller spheres. No reply but his own reflection.

Outcome is unlikely.

A stirring on the deck catches his attention, hand moving to his hilt as he stiffens.

A soft voice breaks through the night.

"Hello."

...

"Hey."

Zoro's eyes zoned in on a figure through the sake's warped glass, the sight impossible to miss even from his hiding place. Zoro's lip had quirked up, though he'll never admit it - another small defeat at the hands of his unsuspecting foe.

Who could ever miss a sight such as you?

No, there was absolutely no way a soul in the taverna could miss the sight of you - your feet planted firmly on a tabletop with your head thrown back in glee. You're a whirlwind of whipping hair and skirts as a maritime shanty pours from your throat. Grog splashes from the stien in your grip, ale sloshing and spraying like the ocean you merrily sing of. The whole of the island seems to be singing with you, the tavern bursting with music and laughter as patrons slur out the words to the refrain.

When Luffy argued that pirating wouldn't be complete without a bard to chronicle the legendary adventures of the Going Merry, Zoro had staunchly opposed the idea. What good would a bard be in battle? What navigation skills, if anything?

Someone can't sing their way to victory.

As Zoro sat mesmerized, he began to think he was very, very wrong.

This is true power, Zoro mused from his place of solitude, Swaying complete strangers with nothing but the sound of your voice.

When he realized he'd been grinning like a fool, Zoro swallowed.

He was desperately losing this uphill battle.

The deck of the ship suddenly seems miles long.

Zoro can make out your reddened cheeks in the darkness, alight with the warm glow of youth as a sweet smile settles on your lips.

"You left."

Zoro's heart clenches at the simplicity of your words. He doesn't move.

"Yeah, I did."

Undeterred, you begin to move towards him. It's stumbly, though the sound of your soft chuckle lets him know you're aware of how foolish you seem. He watches as you make your way towards him, your eyes never leaving his face.

A homing beacon.

"I was wondering where you'd gone,"

"Hm?"

"I was saving a dance for you, Zo."

Your voice is quiet. Zoro's blood runs cold.

You had sought him out - he imagines your eyes twinkling, hair wild and free falling all around you like a halo as you reached for him from your makeshift stage only to find him gone.

To punctuate your confession, your feet seem to shuffle in a dance much too elegant for having been stomping on tables and slamming down ale, and yet here you are - light as a feather in the midsummer breeze.

The bouncing of your body keeps in rhythmic time with the gentle crash of the waves, and realization crosses the swordsman's face.

You're not dancing. You're moving through the seogi he has taught you during training.

Zoro's heart swells, a breath of a laugh passing through his lips.

"That's some fancy footwork, twinkle toes."

As if his words jinxed you, your foot catches hold of a divot in the planks. Zoro's reflexes are quick, securing you to his chest as you squeak out a yelp - an arm around your waist and the other on your forearm without so much as a thought.

A bashful smile blooms on your blushing face, cheeks dusted pink from the alcohol and the proximity of your bodies. You try to stand, pressing your forehead to his.

"Hmm..." You chuckle, closing your eyes tight. You bunch up Zoro's tunic in your fingers.

He wonders if you can feel his skin on fire beneath the flimsy fabric.

He holds his breath.

"Weak ankles."

The thick summer air is sucked from Zoro's lungs. You're near catlike in the way you seem to curl into him, nestling closer and closer...

Before the moment settles too deep, you're speaking again.

"Oh! That reminds me of a story...!"

"Haven't you told enough stories tonight?"

Although he teases, Zoro doesn't mean it. No. Not when the sky is clear and bright and your body is pressed so tightly to his and your eyes seem to glitter as they peer into his own.

As you playfully swat his chest and snort out a laugh, Zoro silently vows to spend a lifetime listening to your tales.

"N-No! No," You insist, "This is my last one - promise! Telling stories is my job anyway~!"

No one is around to hear the giggles from the two of you or to see the way Zoro's smile hangs lopsided, or to catch the slight flex of his fingers as he pulls you even closer.

"Well then," He gently butts your forehead with his,

"Go on."

You begin to weave a tale of a brave young soldier, born with great skill and undefeated in battle. You tell Zoro the hero reminds you of him. He stumbles out a "thank you".

You say that the "great soldier" had lived in disguise as a young woman, sparking a short, teasing aside about how he would make a lovely woman (which Zoro vehemently denied).

You speak of a great battle and your gaze is far away, your fingers tracing patterns along Zoro's chest, every tug and pull of the fabric between your fingers tightening the hold on his heartstrings.

You explain how the soldier's mother had dipped him in a river but forgot the heel, and in his final battle was struck down in the very same spot. You make a quip about everyone having their very own "heel" in life before proclaiming that the tale is very romantic and sad.

Your arms slide up and around his neck, fingers finding their way into his hair.

Zoro's jaw clenches. Your eyes fall to his lips.

There is no wind, no waves. The entire world seems to have stopped breathing in anticipation.

Zoro's mind desperately searches for anything from his training to tether himself to at this moment, foggy from the way your breath tickles his face and the blood pounds in his ears.

In an instant, he makes a move.

"Your...your ankle."

He drops to his knee, breaking all contact.

Your breathing shutters, arms wrapping around yourself in comfort.

Zoro is glad it is dark.

He takes in the delicate slope of your ankle in his hand, pulling the bandana from his head to prep a makeshift brace for your sprain.

You sit in silence as he works, though his mind is far from quiet.

Zoro cannot afford to have soft spots like weak ankles. All of his training will be wasted.

No.

Zoro cannot afford to admit that he's in love with you. Not to you, not even to himself.

Your hand gently raking through his hair pulls Zoro from his stupor, eyes snapping up to meet yours.

"My hero," You hum, "Zoro..."

He can see himself reflected in your irises.

Your hand moves to caress his face.

It never happens.

Zoro grabs your wrist before you can even blink, gaze downcast, and grip uncomfortably tight.

"We should get you to bed."

Zoro hasn't slept in three days.

You've been avoiding him for three days.

Zoro doesn't blame you, though - he knows that he embarrassed you a few nights ago. Nami makes sure he knows just how badly he fucked up as well, throwing glares in his direction and spitting venom his way...

How could you do that to her?

Don't you realize how much she cares for you?

Have you transported all of your brains into your muscles, asshole?!

The Going Merry was certainly a far cry from merry.

Luffy was the only crewmate who entertained the idea of sparring with Zoro without an alternative motivation to beat the shit out of him for what he's done.

As Zoro countered Luffy's hook, the sound of your laughter floated through the air.

In a moment of weakness, he allowed himself to look.

You were seated as Chopper entertained you with his dance moves, clapping encouragement and cooing praises. The smile on your face made Zoro's chest grow tight.

Luffy had taken the opportunity to pounce in Zoro's distraction, sweeping the swordsman's leg clean out from underneath him.

"Ha HA! Gotcha! Victory!"

Nami whoops from down below, and Zoro mutters a curse.

"What happened there, Zoro?"

Luffy's voice is far away as Zoro thinks back to fighting lessons with you. He had taken Kunia's advice, using his sword to speak the words he could not. Every tap, every jab, each little correction of your form follows the sparring language he had made up as a child.

Every time, he finds ways to spell out i-l-o-v-e-y-o-u.

Zoro had promised to teach you how to fight for selfish reasons. He can't afford to let his weaknesses show, but helping you grow strong enough to protect yourself...that will have to be enough. Even if you can't see it that way.

Zoro sucks his teeth, giving his head a shake as he accepts Luffy's help up.

"Tch - weak ankles..."

#zoro x reader #zoro imagine #one piece #one piece imagine #one piece x reader #opla #opla imagine #zoro fluff #i love zoro so much he is so baby #roronoa zoro #zoro roronoa x reader #roronoa zoro imagine #roronoa zoro fluff #straw hat crew

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cakesunflower · 4 months

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reasons why Elriel is endgame because it’s so goddamn obvious

Elain starting a conversation with Azriel (because he seemed the most approachable to her) during their dinner at the Archeron Estate.

Elain wearing a cobalt blue dress (matching the color of Azriel’s siphons) when the mortal Queens came to visit.

Azriel sitting with Elain in the garden, arguably the one who spent the most time with her during a time she wasn’t speaking to anyone after turning Fae.

Azriel being the only one who figured there was something more to what Elain was saying in regards to her visions and then being the one to figure out she is a Seer.

Feyre asking Rhys why Azriel and Elain couldn’t be mates, wondering if Azriel is who she needs.

Azriel being the one to realize Elain was missing when Hybern kidnapped her, and him being dead set on rescuing her.

Elain saying “you came for me” when he and Feyre found her.

Elain being the only person Azriel allowed to use Truth-Teller in all of the centuries he has had it.

DEATH AND THE LOVELY FAWN!!!! DARK AND LIGHT!!! DEATH AND LIFE!!!

Azriel not wanting to keep tabs on Lucien because it would be an invasion of Elain’s privacy.

Azriel sitting with Elain late into the night, listening to her plans for the garden.

Elain buying presents for Azriel on Solstice, but never buying them for Lucien.

Azriel staying up at night, staring at the first gift Elain gave him.

Elain finds Azriel approachable, someone she can talk to (and obviously has feelings for), but shrinks into herself and becomes quiet whenever Lucien is around.

Azriel subtly defending Elain when Amren snapped at her during dinner in ACOFAS (“I’d feel bad for the mice).

Feyre noting multiple times that Elain moves quietly, is a good secret keeper (foreshadowing Elain becoming a spy)

Elain’s best friends are Nuala and Cerridwen aka the spies for the Night Court aka Azriel’s spies

Rhysand trained Feyre, Cassian trained Nesta. . . Azriel is going to train Elain.

Azriel following the sound of Elain’s laugh. Something charged passing through the air (Nesta notices) when their eyes meet.

THEIR ALMOST KISS???? HELLO???

Azriel being in a shitty mood after Solstice when Rhys forbade him from being near Elain

Azriel asking “what happened to Elain?” when Cassian mentions the argument between her and Nesta.

Azriel’s shadows being ready to strike at Nesta when she said to Elain “maybe you’ll become interesting after all.”

Nesta knowing why Azriel stayed far from Elain and Lucien during Solstice because he could smell their mating bond and it made him sick enough to stay far away.

Elain immediately wanting to wear the necklace Azriel got her, meanwhile she obviously rejects/dislikes the gifts Lucien has bought for her.

It’s 3 brothers (the bat boys) and 3 sisters (the Archerons). 3 mountain peaks. 3 items in the Trove. 3 is a big number for SJM. You don’t think that has any significance?? Think again!

The cauldron has been said to be corrupted. Mor has mentioned it, Azriel questioned if the cauldron was wrong, and (SPOILER) its corruption is noted in House of Flame and Shadow, too. There’s a chance it fucked up (or maliciously formed) the mating bond for Elain.

Whether or not Elain’s real mate is Azriel, her bond with Lucien brings up the idea of rejecting the mating bond. There’s a reason SJM had Feyre asking Rhys if mating bonds can be rejected. Elain’s choices have been stripped from her, time and time again. No control over her life since her family lost their fortune, turning Fae against her will, losing Grayson.

SJM has said her books are about the female protagonists finding their agency. Elain’s book is going to be about that, obviously, and rejecting the bond with Lucien and CHOOSING Azriel is no doubt going to be a part of that. Along with whatever SJM has in store for Elain.

Feysand are Night Triumphant and Stars Eternal. Nessian are Lord of Bloodshed and Lady Death. Elriel are Death and the Lovely Fawn. There’s a reason SJM has these titles. You gotta be blind not to see it.

anyways! if you can’t see how all of this is gonna lead to an Elriel endgame then i feel sorry for you

also back in 2021 when we were all in lockdown and i had nothing better to do (and because i am a writer and a little insane) i wrote a whole essay after ACOSF was published explaining why i think Elriel is endgame (i’m pretty sure i use all of the points here in the essay) and if you wanna read my musings that are all derived from fact you can read it here!!!!!

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silkjade · 2 years

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maybe we're a forest fire

Featuring— alhaitham x reader ⤀ warnings: gn!reader, hurt/comfort fic, reader has a pyro vision, slightly suggestive at the end if you squint ⤀ summary: he comforts you when you overthink on certain aspects of your relationship | w.c. 1k+ ⤀ a/n: alhaitham strikes me as someone who's intelligent but doesn't overthink, so as an overthinker, this is so..so..so self indulgent

“You’re overthinking things again,” al-haitham states matter of factly. He continues to read despite the soft thudding of your footsteps as you pace the room.

“I’m not.” You argue, stopping in your tracks. “It makes sense. I just think… what if we…” your words trail off as you hesitate, biting your lip, wondering if you should continue your train of thought.

“...what if we… end things now. Before things get worse…” you falter, wringing your hands, your voice as small as you feel under the watchful eyes of the heavens. Al-haitham’s shoulders visibly stiffen, pausing for just a moment to look up from his book, before slamming it shut in his hand.

“And where’s all this coming from?” he inquires, a quizzical brow arched in skepticism. Your boyfriend leans back in his seat, arms crossed, waiting for an explanation; you weren’t one to make rash decisions like this.

“Where’s this coming from… al-haitham were you even listening to me?” you throw your hands up in frustration and continue pacing the room. The two of you had taken a stroll this afternoon through sumeru city and you had thought it a good idea to have your fortunes read; your colleague at the akademiya, setaria, had sworn by nabiya and the accuracy of her readings, claiming that this relationship you had with the scribe should undergo the young fortune teller’s divination before proceeding foward: “Lest you waste your time on a doomed love prospect,” your friend had warned. Besides, it wasn’t that you necessarily believed in divination, but it didn’t hurt to have a little bit of fun… right? How wrong you were.

As you once again begin to pace to and fro, you miss the way al-haitham rolls his eyes from across you. “Don’t tell me this is all because of what that fortune teller said. You know they’re almost never accurate right? And you’re telling me you want to end things because… her cats recommended it?” Nabiya had read that your relationship would burn up, like a dying star, that it’d be better to save the trouble before everything went up in flames.

“No,” you continue, ignoring him, “she said the gods spoke through her. But anyways, I’ve been thinking ever since and I mean… just looking at our visions should be proof enough that maybe we shouldn’t be together at all.”

“And pray tell, what do our visions have to do with our relationship? If anything, I’d say it’s a good omen that our elements react so well together.” Ever the rational insight. Usually, al-haitham quite enjoyed listening to your theories, but this was getting absurd, making him wonder if perhaps, there was more troubling you beneath the surface than you let on. Because even he couldn’t predict the tangent you were about to go on when your pyro and his dendro vision worked wonders together, especially when encountering enemies during your investigations in the forest and beyond.

“Yes, they do react well don’t they,” you chuckle, cynical. “Burning. In our forest nation.”

“Well actually only half forest,” he interjects, as a poor attempt at lightening the mood. In his quiet observation, al-haitham hears the slight shift in your tone, hears you struggling to choke back your true feelings in your tirade. And yet the more you processed your own reasoning, the more it made sense. Your lover is rational if nothing else, so he’s sure to see your point. The nails of your clenched fists dig into the flesh of your palms, your heart starts beating faster, the voices of a hundred different thoughts swirling in your head. Here in the knowledge driven nation of sumeru, it was a rare occasion that the head would agree with the heart, so when it came down to it, most chose to follow their head. You were no exception.

“Al-haitham I’m being serious.” As if your large, pleading eyes weren’t already enough to break his cool persona, your next words do. You turn around, unable to face him as you begin to speak.

“Pyro is destructive. When it spreads, it burns everything in its path, and what if I burn you. Maybe not literally but I’m sure you know the sages aren’t exactly happy their scribe is getting distracted lately. And the grand sage is rtawahist— he’s bound to connect the dots and say the same… I don’t want to be a liability to you al-haitham, or cost you-”

Ah. There it was. Dating the infamous grand scribe had thrown both you and your relationship into the public eye, and the scrutiny of the akademiya itself was no exception. You felt the air escape from your lungs before you could continue any further. Al-haitham had all but jumped out of his seat, tackling your person and enveloping you from behind, in a rare embrace.

“Hey. Hey, it’s okay. We’re going to be okay,” he murmurs, “having a pyro vision doesn’t make you the fire itself. And the sages have no say in my personal life, so even if you do ever burn me, well, forests need fire to renew and regrow.” He turns your body around to face him, fingers lifting up your chin so he could look into your eyes.

“I don’t care about any sort of destiny the gods or stars want to show me. I-”

“-plan to discredit the entire rtawahist darshan?” Al-haitham ignores your interruption and continues,

“And? I’d go against celestia as well if they think the element of our visions is enough of a reason to seperate us. You know I’m no zealot.” When the only response he gets from you is the fact that you shift your eyes away from his, he opts to pull you into himself, a hand on your back, the other behind your head. At this proximity, you’re able to pick up the steady sounds of his heartbeat. It was calming; it settled the rapid pace of your own heart to match his. Slowly, you bring your arms to wrap around his waist and press a soft smile into his chiseled chest.

“I fight for what I believe in, and I believe in us. It’s going to take more than just some fortune teller to change my mind, so let’s not discuss this anymore… unless you’d like other ways to keep your thoughts at bay?”

“You know… despite the robot allegations, you’re actually quite romantic,” you tease, looking up.

“And you’re strangely impulsive for an overthinker.”

“...shut up.”

#— 𝓼𝓲𝓰𝓷𝓮𝓭 𝓙. ༯ #genshin impact #genshin impact x reader #genshin x reader #genshin x you #alhaitham x reader #al haitham x reader #alhaitham x you #alhaitham fluff #alhaitham angst #genshin hcs #genshin angst #genshin fluff #genshin fanfic #genshin impact scenarios #genshin impact fluff #hurt/comfort

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cryptids-and-muses · 1 year

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ATLA modern au that is slightly more realistic than usual:

Aang:

Does not go to college

Lives part time with his grandpa gyatso and part time in his VW van

Works as a janitor at a dojo he used to train at and goes to the various kids belt ceremonies

Does a lot of activism in his spare time

Katara:

Goes to college on student loans

Lives in student housing with Ming from the episode the fortune teller as her roommate (this was too funny not to do)

Used to work for a nonprofit but got paid shit, was encouraged to do a lot of unpaid labor, and got super burned out

Now works as a tutor

Is torn between becoming a teacher and full time activism, while struggling with possible not being able to support herself on either path

Still does a lot of activism and that’s how she met aang

They were both part of a blockade to stop construction on something bad for the environment, the cops showed up, aang helped katara get away with his VW bus (I said more realistic not fully grounded)

Sokka:

Also in college on student loans

In student housing with tio from the episode the northern air temple as his roommate

Has a work study position with Pian Dao who’s a professor

Has switched majors a lot but eventually settled on engineering

Toph:

Uses the money her parents send her for tuition to rent a shitty apartment

They think she’s enrolled but she’s not

The college she told them she got into is very far away from them to help justify moving away

Doesn’t have a regular job but is part of a local level MMA league that she does pretty well in

Survives off that, odd jobs, and leftover money from her tuition

Suki:

Got into college on a sports scholarship

Is studying physical therapy

Rents an apartment with several roommates (kyoshi warriors)

Has some kind of training or coaching job, think camp counselor

Met aang through the dojo he works at and/or toph through her fighting league

Zuko:

Used to go to college but dropped out

After he was cut off bounced between his friends places before ending up fully moving in with toph

Works at his uncle’s tea shop (obviously)

Is generally very lost and doesn’t know what he wants to do with his life

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla gaang #avatar gaang #katara #sokka #aang #toph #zuko #suki #atla modern au

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bones4thecats · 5 months

Note

Could I request Poseidon, Thor, and Hades with a fortune teller s/o who is getting flak from her current customers because they don't like hearing the truth?

Type of Writing: Request Characters: Poseidon, Thor, and Hades Name: {Character} Helping Fortune Teller! S/O with Angry Customers Requester: Anonymous

A/N: This was a very unique request, and I have to give you props for making it so cute-sounding! I was actually thinking of the fortune teller from the classic Scooby-Doo show for some reason while writing this, lmao!

P.S: I had the reader be a mix of a nymph and God, since it seemed the most likely scenario for them to actually look at the reader in any way.

✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋆⋅⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋆⋄✧⋄⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋆⋅⋆⋄✧⋄⋆⋅

🔱 He wasn't very amused with your actions at first, claiming the fact that you could see the future? You weren't a full-blooded God, how would you be able to do so?

🔱 Poseidon would normally watch you whenever he could through the magic-ball that you had given him, just so he could contact you during work if he was busy with some things

🔱 But, that day, he decided he wanted to see you in person, so, he walked out of his palace and through Valhalla until he came upon your small place of work in the nearby town

🔱 He froze when hearing the sounds of a glass ball breaking and he stormed inside, taking his trident and gripping it tightly as he walked around in search of you

🔱 When he heard the sounds of your yells against another man's, he burst the door down and pinned the man to the floor, his trident nearly piercing his neck

🔱 Everybody in Valhalla knew that you were his, but that didn't stop people from testing your patience and getting into quarrels once and a while

🔱 The man froze as you watched your husband press his trident more into the guy's neck as he avoided his question of what he was doing

" He couldn't accept the fact that his spouse was bound to cheat on him, so, he started a yelling match. I was about to take the ball and smash it over his damn head. "

🔱 Poseidon's glared darkened as the man sweat more and more, nobody ever experienced a glare this dark from the Tyrant of the Seas and survived to tell the tale

" Let him live, seeing him go through the fear of you, and go through the pain of his spouse being unfaithful kind of amuses me, my King. "

🔱 Your husband just sighed and de-summoned his trident before ordering the man to leave, causing him to scamper out in fear for his life

🔱 Nobody, not even fellow Gods, are allowed to mess with, nonetheless, threaten what was his, especially some puny mortal

🌩️ Thor adores watching you work, seeing you hold people's hands, especially his cousin's and father's in your own and telling them what was bound to happen would make his eyes sparkle

🌩️ You were no full-blown God, rather, you were a mixture of nymph and God, with one parent being one and the other being the latter

🌩️ Whenever you were set for a customer, Thor would normally excuse himself to go training to do something work-related, he didn't like it when people invaded his privacy, why would he ignore that and do the same to them?

🌩️ He had just finished training when he was walking through your small shop to grab you to go home, but, when he saw a trench-coat and hat that had to belong to a man, he just sighed

🌩️ Thor knew you were faithful, but, seeing as you never notified him that you would be working late by leaving him a note on your desk, he felt that something was terribly wrong

🌩️ Hearing the sound of yelling, Thor stood up straight from his more slumped position and he immediately began to follow the noise

🌩️ Opening the door, he saw the supposed customer of your's yelling at you, accusing you of lying and ordering you to re-do his appointment and tell him the truth

🌩️ Thunder raged outside as the male lunged back from the force of lightning rushing through his body, causing you to stand up from your seat and run behind your husband

" What is this about? "

🌩️ Thor's voice was alarmingly low and threatening, sending more shocks of fear throughout your customer, he was even freaking you out a bit

" This guy, he keeps saying I was lying about his fortune. " " You are- "

🌩️ He was cut off with the threatening glare of the God of Thunder's, and he sat down on the ground, hiding himself behind his arms, and his silence alerted you to continue your explanation

" I told him his fortune, that his spouse was carrying but he'd lose the baby in infancy and his spouse would end up dying from complications, and after hearing that he went on a frenzy. "

🌩️ Telling you to grab your things, Thor pat your head as the male stayed pushed against the wall and the ground, and as you walked out of your office to grab your things, the sound of your husband's threats made your heart flutter, he may be a tough-person, but it's nice to know he loves you in his own unique way

💀 Hades admires your ability of seeing the future, and while many Deities at first believed you to be a mockery of their kind, since you were a mixture of nymph and God, he was the only one to actually voice his real feelings

💀 He adores watching you work, but, due to his role and yours, he nearly always had to work on something whenever you had an appointment

💀 But, whenever he had a break from work, he would go down to pick you up for a break or for your lunch, rarely if ever did he not come himself to pick you up

💀 Much like today, he was heading down Valhalla to take you home from work, since he got a letter from Zeus saying it was supposed to rain and thunder, according to their schedule, and he didn't want you walking in that weather home

💀 Walking inside and pulling in his umbrella, Hades looked around for a note saying you were working later than normal, but, since he wouldn't find one, he began strolling into the back, maybe you were to busy to write a note

💀 That all went out the window when he heard your strained voice yelling at someone, causing him to slam the door open and look around for you, you never yelled for no reason

💀 When his sight landed on your customer being surrounded by broken glass, he snapped in rage, he didn't care if he didn't hurt you, he tried to hurt you, and Hades does not give mercy to those who try hurting those he cares for

" Hades! Let him go! " " He tried harming you, love. Why should I let him go? "

💀 Letting the man down from the neck slowly, you held your husband back from him by locking your arms together. And that was when he demanded the man to leave, not caring to hear his reasons for attacking you

" My dear, grab your things, we are heading home now. I'm going to call my work to a halt for the rest of the day. "

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teecupangel · 6 months

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*waves banner in the air*

Deity Desmond! Deity Desmond! Deity Desmond!

We have a bit of sorta deity Desmond lying around here in this Tumblr but the ones I could find were “Desmond as Zagreus’ Sage who became the god of the New World” and people worshiping Desmond because he has angel wings can sorta count XD

There was also that one idea where Desmond accidentally pushed his ancestors to different parts of the past which, in turn, made him sorta like their patron but I cannot find it TTATT

Anyway, for this one… let’s change it up a bit.

What is a god?

The power to create new life from nothing.

The power to decimate civilizations in an instant.

But is that all?

No.

A god must also have all the knowledge that can be acquired.

One must be omnipotent and omniscience to be considered a god.

One must be eternal.

The beginning and ending.

A being that can neither age nor die.

A lonely existence, forever haunted by the ephemeral happiness and sorrow of their creations.

That is the definition of god that Desmond Miles believed.

That is the definition of god that gave birth to The Reader from the ashes of Desmond Miles.

He is both Desmond Miles and not.

While it took a while, time is meaningless in the Gray…

Time is a worthy sacrifice to fully control the Calculations itself.

The Gray existed beyond time itself.

With the power he achieved by acquiring all the knowledge available in the past, the present and the distant future, he was able to make it more.

The Reader’s personal Olympus.

No.

His sole Heavenly Throne.

The Calculations could only predict the future. It was always meant to see the possible futures.

The Isus planted plans after plans to ensure their chosen Calculations would not be a possible future but the future.

But he can go beyond that.

The throne exists beyond time itself.

And he has access to the Calculations.

No.

He has memorized all the possible Calculations.

He was not restricted as the Isus. He need not plant anything.

All he needs to do is think.

And it shall come to pass.

A god must be omnipotent and omniscience.

That is the god Desmond Miles envisioned.

But Desmond Miles never considered a god selfless.

It was the exact opposite.

Desmond Miles thought that, if god truly did exist, that being would be selfish.

Why else would a supposed god let tragedy plague his bloodline?

And so…

The Reader must be selfish.

The Reader must prioritize his desires.

And his desires was born out of Desmond Miles’ desires and wishes.

He could change the very fabric of the world.

He could bring eternal peace.

By removing mankind’s free will.

But that is not what Desmond Miles want.

That is not what The Reader want.

What he wants was more selfish.

“Umar Ibn-La'Ahad.”

“Who are you?”

“Five days from now, a man in a hood will see you and invite you to Alamut. He will train you to be an Assassin. Accept his offer.”

“An Assassin? An orphan like me? Forced to steal from merchants and run away from guards? Why are you even telling me this?” His eyes were wrong.

They were not gold.

But his face…

It was close enough to the one he wishes to see that he will allow the boy’s insolent tongue.

“Who even are you? A fortune teller? A spy?”

“Me?”

The boy’s breath hitched and he stepped back as the hooded figure, clad in black robes that seemed to blend into the shadows, lift its face.

There was nothing was light underneath the hood.

“I am a god that exists beyond time itself.”

Seeing the fear in the boy’s face, he says…

“Do not be afraid, Umar Ibn-La'Ahad.”

“I am here to bring happiness to your future son.”

#it’s not just altaïr #it’s just that the reader believes altaïr is where he should start #for altaïr is his first #ask and answer #god desmond #assassin's creed #desmond miles #teecup writes/has a plot #fic idea: assassin's creed #umar ibn la'ahad

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3rdeyeblaque · 9 months

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On September 26th we venerate Ancestor & Hoodoo Saint Aunt Caroline Dye on the 105th anniversary of her passing 🕊

Aunt Dye was a Seer, fortune teller, entrepreneur, & Hoodoo Woman who - without ever having picked up a mic or guitar - became one of the greatest Delta Blue's legends of all time.

Aunt Dye was born enslaved in Spartanburg, S.C around 1843 - where her parents died during her infancy. She first became aware of her gifts as a young child. She could see things that no one else could.

One story recalls Aunt Dye at 10 yrs old (still enslaved on the plantation) when she was helping to set the table for Thanksgiving Dinner: She started insisting that they had not set enough plates, that Mister Charley was coming. Charley was the Plantation owner’s brother, who was thought to have been killed 4yra earlier during the Civil War. Sure enough, later that day Charley came walking in the door. The family couldn’t believe it! He relayed the fact that he had been wounded, taken prisoner, and had not had the chance to come home until that day. No one ever knew how she could have guessed such a thing. It was then that her "little coincidences" started to become noticed.

As a young woman, she migrated westward to Elgin, Jackson Co., Arkansas, where she married Martin Dye. They had one child, a girl, who passed at 11mo. Through the years, they to in several children, some of whom were Aunt Dye's kin.

Despite being labeled "uneducated"- unable to read or write, she amassed a small fortune as a wealthy landowner, rental property entrepreneur, & most of all, as a Hoodoo woman & fortune teller. Though she never claimed the latter title, it was given to her by her clients across the region. Black & White Folks came from all over the mid-south, with an especially devoted group of followers from Memphis,TN. So many people traveled into the region just to see her that a train going into Jackson Co. was named, the “Caroline Dye Special.”

Aunt Dye divined using only a deck of playing cards. She never gave readings relating to love or the outcome of World War I, but she did offer visions of the future & insight on various matters such as missing people, animals, & objects. Although payment was not required for her services, she received up to 30 letters in a single day, much of etch carried payment for service. Some White businessmen in the area reportedly would not make an important decision before consulting her first. All day long, folks crowded her home waiting for a reading. So she took advantage of their large numbers & sold meals from her kitchen.

“White and colored would go to her. You sick in bed, she raise the sick. … Had that much brains — smart lady. … That’s the kind of woman she was. Aunt Caroline Dye, she was the worst woman in the world. Had that much sense.” – Band Leader Will Shade of the Memphis Jug Band.

Presently, Aunt Caroline Dye rests at the Gum Grove Cemetery in Newport, Jackson Co., Arkansas where she is forever remembered as the infamous Hoodoo Fortune Teller of the 19th Century.

Offering suggestions: playing cards, money/coins, Delta Blues songs that honor her memory

‼️Note: offering suggestions are just that & strictly for veneration purposes only. Never attempt to conjure up any spirit or entity without proper divination/Mediumship counsel.‼️

#hoodoos #hoodoo #atrs #atr #the hoodoo calendar #ancestor veneration #hoodoo women #aunt caroline dye #Hoodoo Folklore #Hoodoo History

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katsu28 · 9 months

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I have a request!!! I need more Dani fics and if no one else is asking for them then I will be the one to ask everyone 💕 could you maybe write a Dani fic using the Tulip prompt from the flower list? (I think its cute for him, and! tulip!! for!! dani!!)

tulip for sunshine in human form, coming right up!

tulip: an act of affection so blatant everyone notices, dani rojas x reader, 1.1k

You didn’t often find yourself at Nelson Road. You went to Richmond matches and knew Dani's friends, of course, but for the most part you kept your respective work lives pretty separate. Your relationship wasn’t a secret by any means, but the two of you enjoyed having a rather private life together.

Dani had left for early morning training before you’d even woken up, but when you did you saw that he’d left his phone behind on the kitchen counter. Oddly enough, it was sitting right next to a muffin you recognized as being from your favorite bakery down the road and a note in his looping scrawl saying that he hoped you’d enjoy the pastry.

That was typical Dani, never forgetting to make you feel loved but in doing so forgetting something important to him.

After polishing off the delicious treat, you decided that you were going to return the surprise by bringing his phone down to the training facility. He’d surely be able to survive a day without it, but the muffin had you feeling sentimental.

Now you were here, making your way down the corridor towards the locker room to find Dani.

“Oh my god. Oh my god, you’re here!” Keeley’s unmistakable voice rang out from a little ways away and you turned to see her hurrying full speed at you in dangerously high heeled boots, grinning profusely the whole way. For such a small woman, she nearly bowled you over with the force of her hug.

“Hi Keeley!” You chuckled, returning her embrace with as much enthusiasm as you could muster. Out of everyone at Richmond, Keeley was the one you were closest with. Besides Dani, of course.

“Hold on. What are you doing here? Is the world as we know it ending—god, is someone dead?” She gasped, eyes widening.

You rolled your eyes playfully, “That’s rather dramatic, don’t you think? Everything’s fine, Dani just forgot his phone at home.”

“Oh, he is gonna be so excited to see you, babe!” She squealed, giving you another quick squeeze. “Right, well I have a brand meeting to get to, but text me later, yeah? We need to get dinner soon!”

You barely had time to say yes before she was running off. Ever the energizer bunny, Keeley was.

Loud laughter poured out of the locker room at the other end, letting you know the lads were in there even before you rounded the corner.

Jamie was sitting right opposite the open door so he saw you first, winking at you in his usual playful manner before speaking loudly. “Well, well, well—look what the cat dragged in!”

Dani lit up the second he heard your name echo through the rest of the team, abandoning doing up the laces on his boots in favor of beelining straight for you. “Mi amor! What are you doing here?”

“Figured you might need this.” You procured his phone from your bag, holding it up with a small smile at his excitement.

He beamed pure sunshine at you, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around in a bone crushing hug. It seemed a little too eager for such a small action, even for Dani, but you were pleasantly surprised. Paired with the content sigh he let out, he’d even garnered the attention of the coaches too.

Nate waved at you on his way out of the office, Beard just nodded, and Roy grunted his greeting, but Ted grinned, looking ecstatic.

“Y/N! To what do we owe this fine pleasure?” He drawled, propping his hands on his hips. He gasped before you could answer. “Wait no, don’t tell me! You won the lottery? You went to see a fortune teller and they told you to come here for some cosmic unknown reason? Oh! You found out your visa was about to expire and came to ask one of us to be in a fake marriage with you so you wouldn’t be sent away?”

“I think that last one’s the plot to The Proposal, actually.” Nate chimed in, looking equal parts amused and concerned.

“Brilliant movie though.” Roy said gruffly, drawing murmurs of approval from the room.

“I came to bring Dani his phone,” You chuckled, finally able to pass off the phone to him now that he’d set you down on your feet.

“Isn’t she the nicest, most perfect girlfriend in the whole world?” Dani exclaimed, squeezing you around the waist again. He was still beaming ear to ear, an infectious sort of excitement that had always been one of things you loved most about him. You took the chance to press a quick kiss to his cheek.

“She is quite the catch, Dani.” Ted agreed, smiling good-naturedly.

You ducked your head bashfully, leaning into Dani’s side to hide your warm cheeks. “I should go. Let you boys get back to training.”

“Coach, can I walk her to her car?” Dani asked hopefully, bouncing on the balls of his feet.

“Would be a real shame if you didn’t, son. We’ll be on the pitch when you’re all finished up.” He replied. He turned to you right after, giving you a nod. “And you, don’t be a stranger around these parts! It’s nice to see a new face every once in a while.”

After assuring Ted you'd be back sometime soon, Dani threaded his fingers through yours, giving you a grand tour of the facility (and happily introducing you to every person you passed, no less) on your way back out to the car park.

“Thank you for coming!” He was still smiling brightly at you, so big that his eyes crinkled at the corners.

“You don’t have to thank me all the time, love. It was nothing, I wanted to visit you.” You insisted, sliding a hand around the back of Dani’s neck. You weren’t expecting his expression to fall, and when it did you were quick to cup his cheek. “What’s wrong?”

“I want to thank you. I appreciate you coming all the way down here for me, and I want to show it.”

You hadn’t thought of it that way before. It was Dani’s way of saying I love you, even though he said that plenty too. His love language wasn’t limited to just one, you realized too. Any way he could show you how he felt about you, how much he appreciated you, he did.

That was just who Dani Rojas was—happy and sweet and caring and a million other things you had yet to learn about him. You were excited to find out.

You kissed him soft and sweet, threading your fingers through his hair to bring him closer to you still. Thank you. I love you too.

#dani rojas #dani rojas x reader #dani rojas x you #dani rojas x y/n #dani rojas one shot #dani rojas imagine #dani rojas fic #dani rojas fluff #ted lasso tv

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biboomerangboi · 3 months

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This is absolutely nothing to do with the Netflix show I haven’t even watched that thing but I’m once again thinking about Sokka and Sokkas Master again and going insane.

Especially with how Sokka was never supposed to be a warrior. Like fundamentally he’s just not built for that kind of life. He was born into war and has been basically been told and trained to believe that one day he is going to die for his tribe and especially for his sister and that’s his destiny and he’s like okay that’s my job that’s what I do and everyone in the tribe knows this and sees this as my role as I am the only man left. (I sincerely doubt a bunch of woman and old people were actually looking at this kid as the last warrior seriously until he went to fight the fire nation BY HIMSELF but that’s not the point, the point is he was doing it)

But but the thing about Sokka is he’s not a fighter, he’s a scholar to his core. He doesn’t win hand to hand against Zuko but he does get a hit in with his boomerang that takes an insane amount of math to do perfectly and even though he loses the fight we realise already that Sokka is coming at this war from a different angle that anyone else is.

Like Sokka knows when he joins Aang he doesn’t have as much to bring to the team, he basically assigns himself the role of provider and bodyguard and is now willing to die for both of them because they are two of the most important people in the world and he could have been cynical the entire time. He was prepared to be cynical. Until he goes to Kyoshi gets his shit rocked by a girl and is like oh damn there’s different ways to go about fighting and war and I actually don’t know a lot of it can you super pretty warrior lady teach me your ways and from that moment on Sokka becomes a student.

He gets the mark of the wise with Bato, he figures out how to get Katara on that prison ship and that the fortune teller is a hoax and gets the water bending scroll all through thinking things through not fighting them head on. He invents the fricken war ballon and it’s so clear that all his thinking is now coming at things from an angle no one expects which is so perfect for this war in particular considering it’s been basically a slow tug of war between the Earth Kingdom and the Fire Nation for decades. He’s looking at these things and he’s like hey I’m not a bender but I do know how benders think and how a lot of people think because I’m trying to figure out how the world works. Like by the time he gets to North he isn’t as great with the weapons because again HES NOT A FIGHTER AT HEART but he is a thinker and he points out all the holes in the Norths strategy with full confidence.

Like in book 2 all his thoughts are about winning and out thinking the enemy. He learns about the library and gets so genuine excited about it but he can’t be a true nerd cause of his responsibilities but he basically plans a way to win the war, learns haikus, try’s art, gets into wrestling and learns so much about other cultures and skills he’s always thinking and winning and no longer doing things on impulse.

But of course he still feels insecure about that and doesn’t see his brain as his true weapon because he was supposed to be the warrior. That’s his role.

So he goes to Piandao who sees all of that and sees how Sokka is so so smart and eager to learn and think in ways that no one expects and he nurtures that. He teaches him art and calligraphy and gives him a Jian! He gives Sokka a Jian "The Gentleman of Weapons" not Dao even though Dao are made for soilders and Jian are for scholars, nobels and people who have time for proper sword craft. (Not to mention the fact they are primarily used for Tai Chi which is also the base for water bending which is just a detail I love). Like the Jian is a sword for scholars it’s for scholars!!!

Sokkas a thinker not a fighter and that’s so amazing to me.

Like he starts as the boy that took on a fire nation ship by himself then ends the series as the guy who’s strategies won the war, a trusted advisor for basically anyone of importance because they know he’s smart and are willing to listen to his ideas and with such a happy future for him to grow without the weight of having to be a fighter weighing him down cause that’s not who he’s supposed to be.

#I love Piandao #me and the Sokka girlies are all stanning Piandao #atla #sokka #avatar: the last airbender #avatar the legend of aang #atla sokka #Sokka meta #zee rambles #I’m researching swords for my tgcf fic and got emotional about my boy

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leahnardo-da-veggie · 20 days

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Fast Food: Childhood

Been meaning to write this one for a while, it's pretty short, enjoy!

My parents once went to a fortune-teller, an Oracle. One of a long line of truthsayers. They asked a dozen questions, about their heirs, about their fates, about their lives. The Oracle had only one thing to say.

“One of your children will bring about the deaths of your entire people.”

I was 6 years old, then. Just one of the dozen children they'd sired. Breeding pairs were rare amongst my people, and so they'd done their duty and popped out as many of us as they could. The result? They hadn't the slightest idea which of us the prophecy referred to.

So they loved us all the same.

Some days I wish they hadn't. Some days I wished they lined us all up and dropped us into a chasm. Some days I wish that prophecy hadn't been fulfilled. At least, not by me.

I loved my parents, much as any child could. I loved their gentle fingers on my head, their chidings and praise, their care. I loved them even as it became clear I was not their perfect child, and loved them some more. I suppose it had to count for something, that they tried their best to reciprocate.

There were just too many of us to be raised by two hands alone. My younger siblings were distributed amongst childless couples, but I was second-oldest, and that came with certain privileges. Privileges like being ignored in favour of my elder sibling, being considered no more than an irritant, and being put through the rigorous trainings of the spare.

Do not take me for a whiner, however. I am grateful for the warmth in my life, and that I was considered worthy of being trained, if only as an understudy. I spent my childhood chafing at favouritism and clamouring for the slightest bit of attention, but I did have good memories, and that is more than some can say.

Those were the days. Lazing beneath the Paliodaen sun, thieving sweets from unsuspecting vendors, tuning out the droning of my tutor. I think, perhaps, I was happiest then, without the weight of destiny hanging above me.

Yet, perhaps time has softened the lash of the belt for every wrong question. Perhaps my rose tinted glasses have coloured my tears pink. Perhaps, if you were to toss me back into the waves of the past, I would weep just as much as I had the day I discovered I would be the death of everyone I loved.

'Tis no matter, to tell the truth. No chronomancer can drag me back to those ages, so long ago they were. My childhood lies in the lands of dragons, of false-mages and of my people, all of which have been lost forever.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch

@ramitola, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

(Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

#Yes this entire series is only tangentially related to fast food #And yes if you're a regular reader you'll know this one's about Hash (it's essentially her biography)#writing #writeblr #my writing #creative writing #writerscommunity #writing community #fantasy #short story #spilled ink

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