#meaning he would follow their religious practices

[riversaremeanttobefollowed]

We all know that the reason why Bruce Wayne isn't religiously Jewish is because dc are cowards, but also because many of the community itself is cowards. I personally believe it comes from a lack of knowledge about what it even means to be religious because most of the community is Christian or culturally Christian. So as someone that would probably be considered not religious by Christians, but Religious by most other Jewish people, I think that Bruce Wayne fits in this section of being Jewish.

Bruce can't go to the Synagogue often because of the whole being Batman stuff, but he still goes on the high holidays when he can. He celebrates with the Kane family as well! And Kate would obviously understand if he couldn't come because she's Batwoman! Give me a Bruce Wayne says Yiddish curses. Give me a Batman that has a bunch of Chanukkiot that are just so pretty because they are rich and definitely have a ton. Give me Batfamily shabbat dinners when they are able to. Rest days on Saturday for the Jewish members when they are more members in the Batfam to make it work (and it being a mitzvah when he does have to be Batman on Shabbat because its a mitzvah to save a life). Give me Mezuzot on every entryway. Give me a Bruce Wayne who inherited his mother's seder plates and actually uses them. Give me a Bruce Wayne that says stuff like kein ayin hara before giving good news! Give me a confused Dick Grayson when Bruce insults him (its actually a compliment, but to ward against the evil eye you will say the opposite of what you mean) and then Bruce having to explain after he realizes that Dick has no idea why he just insulted him. Give me a Batman that follows Jewish values (more than he canonically does)

Just because someone ins't actively involved within a wider community of that Religion doesn't mean they aren't Religious! Or at least don't give me a culturally Jewish Bruce Wayne that doesn't do any of this. Thats just you stripping away all the Jewish parts of him.

Bruce Wayne is Jewish and you can't just ignore that

[democracyunderground]

"Native Americans across Indian Country shared mixed emotions this week after President Biden apologized for the U.S. government’s role in running Native American boarding schools across the country.

During the 150-year practice, at more than 400 schools where the U.S. partnered with various religious institutions, Indigenous children were separated from their families and stripped of their language and customs in an effort to assimilate into white culture. There were also documented cases of abuse and death.

Secretary of the Interior Deb Haaland, who is a member of the Laguna Pueblo tribe and has been instrumental in bringing these issues to a wider audience through her Federal Indian Boarding School Initiative, applauded Biden’s move.

“I'm so grateful to [Biden] for acknowledging this terrible era of our nation's past,” Haaland, whose grandparents were taken to boarding schools, posted on X.

ederal Indian boarding schools have impacted every Indigenous person I know. These were places where children - including my grandparents - were traumatized. I'm so grateful to @POTUS for acknowledging this terrible era of our nation's past.

“I would never have guessed in a million years that something like this would happen,” she told the Associated Press.

At the Gila Crossing Community School near Phoenix, Biden celebrated Haaland’s historic role and apologized today for America’s “sin.”

“It’s an honor, a genuine honor … to right a wrong, to chart a new path,” he said. “I formally apologize as president of the United States of America for what we did. I formally apologize. It’s long overdue.”

However, Indigenous leaders and citizens across the country stressed that this is only the first step.

“This is one of the most historic days in the history of Indian Country, and an apology of this size must be followed by real action,” Nick Tilsen, who belongs to the Oglala Lakota Nation and is president and CEO of the Indigenous rights organization NDN Collective, told Yahoo News.

Tilsen believes that there are specific, actionable steps that need to accompany any apology. For him, that means passing the U.S. Truth and Healing Commission bill in Congress, rescinding medals of honor for those who participated in the Battle of Wounded Knee, releasing “longest living Indigenous political prisoner in American history Leonard Peltier, who is also a boarding school survivor” and “unprecedented investment in Indigenous languages and education.”

Principal Chief of the Cherokee Nation Chuck Hoskin celebrated the move, calling out Haaland’s role in particular, and echoed the sentiment of following any apology with action.

“The [Department of the Interior’s] recommendations, especially in the preservation of Native languages and the repatriation of ancestors and cultural items, can be a path toward true healing,” Hoskin said in a statement.

While many Indigenous leaders are calling for action, Tilsen stressed that this is also a time to hold boarding school survivors and their families close.

“At this moment in history, we have to remember many of the survivors of the boarding schools are still alive,” he said. “It's in every household and it's in every community. And it's directly tied to the struggles that our people have today.”

Dylan Rose Goodwill, who is Diné (Navajo), Hunkpapa Lakota and Sisseton Wahpeton Dakota, was visiting Sherman Indian High School in Riverside, Calif., on Thursday when she heard the news about Biden’s forthcoming apology. It’s a place that is part of her family history, as her grandmother (or másáni) was sent there when it served as a federally run Native boarding school.

She told Yahoo News that hearing the news there was “complicated.”

As the senior assistant director of undergraduate admissions at the University of Southern California, Goodwill was visiting the school as a college recruiter.

“I've always had these kinds of mixed feelings because it's been weird to be the admission counselor for the schools that my own grandparents attended,” she said.

“It was already a tough morning to go and then to receive the news on site was really a mixture of feelings because I felt anger mostly, where it was like disbelief that this was happening, excitement that at least it was happening, but also feeling like this isn't enough,” Goodwill added.

Sitting where her grandmother sat in the 1930s and '40s, Goodwill asked herself, “What is that gonna really hold for her now? She passed in '04.”

Biden’s statement comes 16 years after former Canadian Prime Minister Stephen Harper apologized for Canada’s role in the Indigenous residential school system — a topic filmmakers Julian Brave NoiseCat and Emily Kassie document in their film Sugarcane, about St. Joseph’s Mission School near the Sugarcane reserve in British Columbia.

NoiseCat is a member of the Canim Lake Band Tsq’escen and a descendant of the Lil’wat Nation of Mount Currie and whose grandmother attended the Catholic Church-run residential school and gave birth to his father there. He told Yahoo News that this moment was important for a “continentwide conversation about what happened to Native families and Native children at Native American boarding schools and Indian residential schools.”

Joining Biden and Haaland for the event on the Gila River Indian Reservation along with Kassie, NoiseCat continued, “The fact that the president has chosen to formally apologize to survivors and their families is a real testament to the significance of this story, which needs to be understood as a foundational story to North America.”

However, Kassie echoed that actionable steps must follow sentiment.

“As momentous and important as this day is, it's important that it's followed up with action,” she told Yahoo. “It's important that the records of what happened at these institutions that are held by the U.S. government and the Catholic Church are opened to Indigenous communities who are looking for answers. And it's important that those communities also have the opportunity to hold to account those institutions and individuals who abused them.”

For Tilsen, it’s also a time to “center the survivors.”

“As we sort of politically dissect this moment,” he said, “I also want to recognize the pain that is being resurfaced, and that our people deserve the right to have pain and they deserve the right to have rage in this moment while we lean towards moving forward in action.”

NoiseCat, who has a deeply personal connection to the residential school history, said, “I'm probably going to call my dad today after the apology and just check in with him.”

[utilitycaster]

I follow someone who peaced out of C3 like a month ago, and while she still throws out the occasional post about it, despite mostly running on ✨vibes✨ since pre-Predathos fight. one of her latest takes caught my attention. The wording was a little messy, but the core argument seemed like it might have a point. She’s saying the biggest issue with the story is a lack of internal logic, which makes the characters feel kind of disconnected from their own world and setting. Her main example was the Schism, like, the general idea that the Titans were bad news for mortals should be widely accepted, and they’re dead so they’re not coming back even if the gods leave. She also argues that the idea that the gods would always choose each other over mortals isn’t really backed up by history. Basically, she thinks Bells Hells ignore some of the fundamental structures of modern religion in Exandria, which in turn makes a lot of their arguments about the gods fall apart.

So I guess I’m wondering does it seem like there’s a lack of internal logic to you? C3 is my first campaign, so I’ve been piecing together older lore as I go, and I can’t tell if this is a niche take or if there’s some bigger context I’m missing.

Yes. Or rather, I have a couple of different guesses as to what happened. In short: I think that either Matt wanted to set up a big dilemma and failed to do the worldbuilding to really support it textually; he didn't have a clear vision of what this would be at all (HUGE fucking mistake, like, actually concerning me re: the potential of a 4th campaign level of mistake and I hope it's not that); or, alternately, and honestly right now my guess is that this was the case, he straight up did not think the characters would be such selfish dickbags and thought going in that this would be a clear "we have to stop Predathos" and intended the familial connections within the Vanguard and the scene in Hearthdell to be added nuance to provide some understanding of the Vanguard not as simply mindless evil monsters but people who have genuine grievances that have been exploited by predatory cult leaders, and was not prepared for a campaign where the party immediately took the Vanguard's side.

Religion in Exandria has never been super formalized or organized. Some of this is, of course, that you don't have to like, convert or even attend services if you have a relationship with a god. But as a result, it means that any exploration of religion as hegemonic falls apart. I am not saying religion needs to fit the regular daily or weekly practices many people irl have (depending on one's levels of observance), and those characters whose powers canonically involve a deity often do observe either restrictions (Caduceus's vegetarianism) or have some form of meditative personal worship, but we never see like, a system of worship outside of Vasselheim, and Vasselheim lacks the powers that the real-world pope has (let alone the medieval era pope). Tuldus was forced by his family to pray, but it's never depicted as part of How All Worshipers of That God are expected to behave. This is really the crux of a lot of problems with this campaign - people keep taking very individualized issues - which are real, but individual - and treating them as a sign of widespread oppression that simply isn't backed up by the text. In fact, the biggest case of widespread religiously-involved oppression is the Empire going after worshipers of illegal Prime Deities (as we see with the Schuesters - the parents are arrested, leaving their young children to fend for themselves) - and the biggest case of widespread proselytizing and missionary work is from the canonically theocratic (and ruled by one person for over a millennium) Kryn Dynasty, which, hilariously, might end up even more powerful given that the Luxon - the source of their religion, their philosophy and cultural practices, and their arcane prowess - has been brought up as relevant to the gods-become-mortal plan by the Raven Queen and seems to not be under any threat from Predathos, and might even get more powerful. Vasselheim's colonial efforts, while certainly not defensible, are small potatoes.

The player character's grievances against the gods all boil down to "I prayed to the gods and they didn't make my life better" while failing to consider that a combination of genuinely wild specific personal circumstances (being Ruidusborn; being the child of an elemental-worship cult with terrible instincts and later running a heist on a Vanguard collaborator; being a shadow sorcerer who caught the eye of an evil Vecna-worshipping wizard in need of a host body) are the root cause. It's like. If your parents kick you out for being gay, that's homophobia, but if your parents are part of a cult that blows itself up and you are orphaned as a result that is not systemic oppression, that is a very specific cult and shitty parents. So that fails to really ground them in the setting. Compare to campaign 2, where Caleb wants to ensure the Volstrucker program is brought to light and eliminated - as he says, no more children on the pyre - vs. here, where arguably Laudna and Ashton are opening the door to far more unregulated cult/evil necromancy shenanigans now entirely unmitigated by the gods. At least Imogen will probably end the Ruidusborn I guess, as a side effect completely unrelated to her actual goals (which are, frankly, unclear) In a campaign that talks about tethers, the characters seem untethered to anything - institution, place, even for the most part family, and only loosely to each other, and it shows in their lack of care.

The other part is that yeah, a lot of things that were given to the Mighty Nein and Vox Machina as "things people would know" aren't given to Bells Hells. Now this could have a mechanical basis, namely, no one has much of a formal education and most of them are also not terribly intelligent on their own. However, it does feel baffling that they can't recognize holy symbols, or don't know the story of the titans at the time of the Schism (which...setting aside the many issues with the concept of "history is written by the victors" which is both inconsistently true in the first place and is frequently used in an anti-intellectual manner to undermine historical study that points out such things as historical racism; just because history might be inaccurate that does not mean that wild speculation otherwise is necessarily true, especially since we do know from EXU Calamity that titans did, indeed, intend to side with the Betrayers against mortals at the start of the Calamity). It furthers this feeling, after Vox Machina being relatively educated even in a story that was not as worldbuilding-focused, and the Mighty Nein having multiple research-oriented characters and a party deeply rooted in a rich world, that Bells Hells feel off and adrift and ignorant, especially since they don't even seem to remember history they lived through such as the Apex War.

Honestly, what I think is most interesting actually is that we don't ever get anyone express a motivation based on structural oppression in-game. Ludinus never got over his parents dying in a war where the options for the Prime Deities were leave mortals to die or fight the Betrayers, knowing there will be devastating casualties, but in setting up his elaborate plot he murdered countless people, destroyed through his communing with Predathos the first rebuilt elven society in Western Wildemount, and participated in actual structural oppression within the Dwendalian empire for literal centuries; he cared not for any widespread liberation and would remain on top, as an archmage, after this imagined revolution, which makes it not much of a revolution worth having. Liliana's problems were caused by Predathos, and many of the Vanguard we see are Ruidusborn. The only other Vanguard we really get to talk to are Bor'Dor, who was oppressed on the basis of his religion and preyed upon by the cult; Tuldus, who see above; and various Paragon's Call members who are mostly just following orders and getting paid. And Bells Hells, when they have the audience of Vasselheim and the rest of the world - a golden opportunity to call out the colonialism - fail to bring up Hearthdell.

In the end, the motivations are all personal pain - in many cases, inflicted, in fact, by Predathos and not the gods - or vengeance. I honestly don't know if the narrative is trying to claim there is something deeper, or if it's simply some of the characters and a chunk of the least knowledgeable fans, but yes, the worldbuilding fails to support a morally complex narrative. It fails to debunk that which was established earlier (and indeed makes the fall of Aeor far more sympathetic than when it was introduced during Campaign 2) and fails to establish any widespread harm the gods did that wasn't the result of someone threatening to kill them. I do not think one can meaningfully debate with someone who puts a boot on your throat, presses down, and claims you're the oppressor when you fight back, nor with someone who argues along those lines, and that's all that fans and Bells Hells have ever done. And yeah we might actually make a world with a formalized hegemonic religion as a result of Bells Hells' actions; it just will be a different god, underscoring that this is either motivated by people who don't know what the fuck is going on; or by vengeance rather than justice.

[johnbrand]

Prodigal Son

To read the first part, follow this link.

With @sjw-publishings

Alexander Carmen nervously followed the kind pastor through the back of the church. He did not feel unwelcome by any means, but certainly like he did not belong here. It was improper for someone like him to be able to see the inner workings of a church–as a gay man who enjoyed the worldly spoils, Alexander was practically stepping into enemy territory. But he dutifully kept speed with the Korean-American man just a few years his senior. 

The pastor had a run-of-the-mill, slightly older guy-next-door look that Alexander typically would have on the street passed by without giving a second thought. But his average qualities also had a certain flair, enough so that Alexander could see himself sporting a slight boner. And he had, their initial physical touch having sent a current from his shoulder straight down to his crotch. Luckily, his dick had since deflated from its excitement, the blood flow in his moving legs helping resolve the unfortunate issue.

“Please, brother,” Pastor Bang opened the door to a small office. “Take a seat in front of my desk and we can discuss your worries.”

Placing his firm grip on Alexander’s shoulder once more, the twink again felt the shiver of ecstasy course along his vein. He did his best to hide the boner awakening underneath his linen shorts.

Following the instruction politely, Alexander placed himself in the assigned chair. Typically, he acted out as quite the brat, one who liked to mess around and avoid orders as playfully as could be. He was one to tease, coyly flirt, and craft up anything necessary that could be complimented with a reaction. As a trouper, Alexander was a natural theatric, and in turn the world was his stage. Everyone had a part to play in relation to his flamboyant protagonist.

“I’m here searching for someone,” Alexander began, his plea whiny. “I just don’t know where he is and it’s freaking me out! I mean we were supposed to meet up thirty minutes ago, and I know that isn’t too long but then when I saw that he was here I got confused because I’d never heard of him being religious before. In fact, I’ve never even heard of this church before. I mean is the Covenant of the Brotherhood new? Anyway…”

Alexander continued to ramble on, taking in the room around him as he did so. The office was small, quaint, and only really held the necessary materials. A bookshelf containing theological literature, a single monitor at least ten years old, two degrees and a number of other certificates on the wall behind the pastor. The room was practically colorless, even the sole picture of Pastor Bang and (whom Alexander assumed to be) his girlfriend was printed in black and white. Eventually, Alexander realized he was still talking, and the pastor had not yet replied to him.

“Are you, are you going to say anything?” Alexander cut himself off, toying with his rainbow wristband. He was a bit dismayed that the other man had not yet made a response. 

Pastor Bang shrugged, indifferent. “Sounds like you are worried, brother.”

Alexander blinked. He tried to hold back the burst of red that threatened to color his olive cheeks. “Did you listen to a single thing I said?” Alexander thrived off of reactions, he practically centered his life around them. It influenced how he acted, influenced the manner in which he presented himself. It was why his voice held its signature nasally pitch, why he had dyed his hair platinum blond.

And yet, Pastor Bang offered him nothing. “Clarify for me, what are you so worried about?”

“I’m looking for John Brand,” Alexander spat loudly, as if he and the pastor spoke different languages.

“No need to waste your vocal chords unnecessarily.” The command was simple and direct, silencing Alexander. He was not used to being treated this way, engaging in such a manner. And yet, something about the simple anomaly roused Alexander. It also a-roused his dick, which throbbed lightly.

“I’m an actor,” Alexander seethed. “I know how to properly dictate.”

The pastor cocked his head innocently, “I believe you’re mistaken?”

This caught Alexander a bit, leaving his reply a bit staggered. “I have a theatre degree…?”

“It’s a diploma in Bible Studies, brother,” the pastor corrected. “And you haven’t graduated yet.”

“I um…” Alexander stuttered, suddenly bewildered. Was he not only a few years younger than the pastor? He was not still in school; he had graduated, had he not? But then again, why would Pastor Bang lead him astray? The man was eight years older than him, by that math eight years wiser.

“Oh yeah…my bad haha!” Alexander awkwardly chuckled, subtly palming himself under the table. For some reason, the strange moment had only further excited him. “But please, have you seen my boyfriend?”

“Your boyfriend?” Pastor Bang's response was steady, as if the concept was impossible to him. “Do you mean your brother in the Covenant?”

Alexander's cock twitched. “Mmmyes daddy…” He moaned under his breath before suddenly catching himself. “-I mean my boyfriend! We are gay, pastor, we are both gay!”

“Brother, I know you’re happy to see me,” Pastor Bang misunderstood. “But now is not the time to use such language and act like the Prodigal Son.”

Alexander did not know how to reply without repeating his sexuality. But the words could not leave his mouth, it was too hard. His dick was too hard. Alexander could feel it writhing within his jockstrap.

“I believe you are worried about other things,” the pastor continued. “You already have a lot on your plate outside of our church. Admittedly the typical of every other Asian-American boy your age: the straight A GPA, jogging sessions, intramural soccer. But presenting for the Youth Ministry should be your passion.”

The sudden intake of information overwhelmed Alexander. The foreign existential weight piled up, burdening him under its sheer power. These new facts barged in upon the young man without any warning, forcing an evacuation of sorts within Alexander's mind. It made him dizzy. Alexander suddenly felt the need to escape.

“Uhhh, Pastor Bang, thanks for your guidance!” Alexander sputtered out, his blood coursing south as if his heart had suddenly moved to his pouch. “I have to uhh…go to the restroom, duty calls!”

“That’s alright, brother,” Pastor Bang extended his hand. “I need to practice for my upcoming sermon anyway.”

Quickly, Alexander accepted the firm shake. An electric surge shot across his entire body, delivering bliss to every one of his nerves and dulling his wristband into a modern, ordinary watch. Alexander's manhood was calling for him, begging to be touched with the hand he had just offered to Pastor Bang. Without waiting a moment longer, he made a beeline to the restroom, not questioning how he knew the way. Within moments Alexander was locked into a stall, so hot and flustered that he considered removing his tee shirt.

“Can’t resist…so good,” Alexander grunted softly. Carefully, Alexander gripped himself, the immense pleasure nearly paralyzing him. “Pastor Bang is…mmmmf…”

As if having heard his name, the shepherding tone of the pastor began to broadcast into the restroom. Pastor Bang, having returned to the altar in the main hall, had begun practicing his sermon. And with the speaker system live, his words were able to echo clearly throughout the entire church.

Alexander groaned as the paternal voice rang out within the restroom. His manhood was sandwiched between his legs, begging for release and yet not being granted it. Something was holding Alexander back, but he could not understand what. It was as if the appendages were built for other purposes, their length and lean muscle holding other obligations. His legs were meant for a goalkeeper–on the field and in real life. And the two extra inches of height that pushed Alexander over the average signified that he was meant to set an example without standing apart from his fellow brother.

“I need to…need to pull up something,” Alexander said to himself, grabbing his phone. In seconds, he had clicked on a bookmark for one of his favorite porn videos. But instead of two men wrapped together, his phone presented him with two men standing apart, fully clothed. Speaking on the roles of masculinity as determined in the Bible.

“Didn’t I have some-” Alexander could no longer identify what he had been trying to find. “-fun videos or something?”

“Brothers are expected to help one another physically and emotionally, but not romantically,” Pastor Bang’s voice suddenly filled the room. Alexander grunted, his vocal tone dropping a touch and sneaking farther back into his throat. His fingers messily tapped away at his device, lengthening into more robust digits as they searched for other materials to work with. His documents tab was filled with highly-graded papers, his emails a mix of project assignments and group collaborations.

“Don’t I have photos I could use, man?” Alexander asked himself, his voice now holding a youthful maturity that mimicked the pastor’s. He desperately continued to scroll through his phone, his arms tensing and relaxing as their muscles expanded slightly. Not to an egregious amount, but just enough to fit in with his peers, just like his clean-cut, trusty phone did.

“Man, who are these people?” Alexander blinked, his gallery filled with many of the same individuals. He was not expecting most of the pictures to be of him out on the soccer field, around a college campus, and at Youth Ministry. Nor was he expecting them to be filled with the same Asian-American men, all practical copies of each other besides the slightest differences. It took Alexander a moment to even find himself in some of them. His own lemony skin had the same hue as the rest of the men, his smaller eyes identical to the crew's. Even their frames were alike, not a single chest broader or pack of abdominals more prominent. 

“Can’t believe I forgot about my guys, man!” Alexander chuckle was friendly. “No homo though!”

The last phrase blurted out on its own, but Alexander was too captivated in his screen to realize it. His manhood enjoyed the remark however, perking up to be just large enough to fulfill its new role. Or rather, its traditional role. Consequently, Alexander’s bubble butt deflated into two flattened mounds, their responsibilities stripped away.

Eventually, Alexander landed on an album filled with selfies of him and another person. A lady friend of his own age, who with her Asian-American beauty complimented him nicely.

“Man, who is she…?” Alexander rubbed the back of his head shyly, the raven, feathered curtain bangs tickling his fingers. “She’s…kinda cute mannn…”

With that realization, Alexander’s manhood trembled in great force. He instinctively knew what to do, but as his hand made its way down to the straight-fit joggers encasing his legs, Alexander found himself lost. He needed to do something, but Alexander could not recall what. He could remember his younger peers had mentioned something before that required his hands. Was it assisting in some kind of job? Or something about being “a jerk off”?

“I gotta grip my pen…pen…!” Alexander suffered to get the word out of his mouth. It was right on the tip of his tongue.

“And us men shall be abstinent until the day of marriage with our wives.” Pastor Bang announced as he concluded his sermon.

“...gotta grip my pen-dant!” Alexander exclaimed. With one hand on his quarter-zip, he shoved the other underneath the sweater and pulled out his cross pendant, holding it firmly. With his free hand, and in pure euphoria, Alexander moved his zipper back and forth along its tread. Up and down, up and down. He could feel himself getting close, approaching something incredible. His manhood was throbbing as he approached a breaking point.

Out of nowhere, a knock came onto the stall door. “Everything okay, brother?” Pastor Bang asked.

“Mmmmf yes...Father!” A rush of spiritual ecstasy cascaded over the young man, for no physical outburst was necessary to solidify his glorious transformation. Once the wave had dissipated, the young man stood up and opened the stall door. 

“Sorry Pastor Bang,” the handsome, yet rather standard young Chinese-American man began.

“All good, brother,” Pastor Bang smiled. “I was just checking in to see if you were still worried about the presentation?”

“I was just texting my girlfriend to see if she could make it." The young man approached the sinks, checking himself out momentarily in the mirror. Carefully, he pulled his zipper up to the top of its track. After all, he had to maintain the role of a cool big brother; he did not want to be scandalous in front of the students. "It will be my fiftieth presentation for the Youth Ministries!”

Proudly, the young man left the restroom and ventured forth to his classroom. Once inside, he was greeted by his many students–a group of rowdy Asian-American boys–and Anna, his beautiful girlfriend since high school, sitting behind the teacher's desk.

“Ay-Ay Ron!” one of the backsliders shouted, and soon the whole class joined in a boisterous chorus. The young man smiled and exchanged a look with his girlfriend, knowing his Anna was not fond of the silly nickname.

“About time you got here, Aaron,” Anna greeted him with a peck on the cheek. “Leaving me all alone for so long with these guys is quite the hassle.”

“Ooommf…haha sorry sweetheart.” Aaron cheekily rubbed the back of his neck, squeezing his inflated manhood between his thighs. “Cannot help myself from being a goofball every now and then–just like my students!”

Aaron’s manly, yet cute chuckle was the kind that made everyone want to be just like him. A typical college student, one with the crowd, blending in with his brothers and talking about the simple things that excited them. Without delaying any longer, Aaron booted up his monitor and the projector, his presentation soon lighting up on the wall behind him.

“As you all know, my name is Aaron Chang,” Aaron started. “And for my fiftieth presentation, I'll be discussing: ‘Aaron Chang-ing Lives; For the Better, For the Hetter’!”

[envy-of-the-apple]

The Loneliest

Dark!Geto Suguru x reader

Word count: 3.3k

Synopsis: For the longest time, you always thought you could only see them. And then you met that priest

(Warnings: dark content, manipulation, implied non-con, geto commits elder abuse)

You're not sure what they're called, but you know they aren't good. 

Demons, you settled on calling them. They were ugly, disfigured, often garbed in dark, dull colors. Nothing about them was benevolent. You'd often see them sitting on people's shoulders, practically sucking their souls dry. The small ones were easy to ward off. Usually, they'd go away on their own after a few days. A weekend of relaxation was usually all people needed to get rid of them.

From what you knew, no one else could see them. In your younger days, it'd been isolating, terrifying. Now, you are a bit grateful none of your peers could see what you could. How they'd react, you couldn't tell. 

You barely even blink when your neighbor asks if you could give her a ride to the temple, ignoring the thing that rests on her shoulders. It's bigger than what you've normally seen, with wings and human teeth. She's an older woman, with kind smiles, rambling about how she heard that the nearby temple was offering body exorcisms, how much her back hurt. You don't mention that the monks and priests or any religious figures are all fakes who lie for money. You've never met a single priest who could see what you see. 

You say nothing because it wouldn't sway her either way. Besides, it was free. 

The temple was swathed in money, just as you expected it to be. Grand pillars, clean tile floors. Money wasted on gold staircases and shiny vases. On a whim, you followed your neighbor in anyway, passing by the temples' followers. The one thing that you did note, was the significant lack of demons in the area. 

You expected the Buddhist priest to be old, an ancient being that pretended to be wise. To your surprise, you were led to a man who might have been the same age as you, if not a bit younger. He was dressed in a monk's robe, he sat on the floor, resting his chin on his arm. A closed-lipped smile was spread across his face, dripping in faux-sweetness. 

You obediently stayed silent while your neighbor prattled on about her incident. He nodded along, but it was clear he didn't really care about what she was saying. You knew what he would do. He'd coo at her misery, give her beads that would do nothing, and send her on her way. A harmless waste of time, really. The demon won't stay forever. 

There's a twitch of his fingers. The demon leering over her body is suddenly sucked away from her, into his outstretched hand. The only evidence it leaves behind is a single marble. 

"Better?" he asks, with no change of tone. That same emotionless lilt. 

Your neighbor gushes, rolling her shoulders, saying that she's never felt this way in years. You can only watch the priest with widened eyes as your neighbor is led away by a woman with a tablet in her hand. The ball rolls along his fingers, like he too admires it. 

"How-how did you do that?" You finally ask. 

For the first time since you entered that room, his eyes meet yours. Brown, almost black. He tilts his head, wordlessly asking you to repeat yourself. 

"The demon," you press, "how did you get rid of the demon?" 

The smile slips, and he sits up ever so slowly. For a moment, you think you've done something incredibly wrong as he stands to his full height. The priest easily towers over you, you're dwarfed by his unfathomable height. He stops when he's a few feet away, assessing you. 

"You can see them," it's a statement, not a question, "the curses."

"Is that what they're called?" You eagerly ask, "Curses?" 

The smile is more real now, less manufactured. 

"You have a rare gift," he says, "truly one of a kind." 

Back then, you don't digest the supremacy of his words. You don't decipher the hidden meaning, the code, the disgust for the others. You were so happy to have finally met someone who can see them, like you could. Something like relief fills your heart, another justification that you weren't crazy. You weren't just seeing things. 

His smile grows. 

"I hope you continue to come back. I have many answers for you."

 

Over the coming weeks, you learn about jujutsu. You learn about cursed energy. You learned about sorcerers. You learn about a world you've never heard of before. A world you've always dreamed of. For the longest time, you always assumed you were the only one, that you were cursed. 

Now, you know you aren't. Not anymore. 

You aren't a jujutsu sorcerer, but you didn't mind. Master Geto (Suguru, he insisted you call him) was patient with you. Understanding. He'd sit with you for hours, even when he didn't have to, answering every question you could have for him. 

Out of guilt, you volunteered to find people who have been cursed to help with his cause. Sometimes, you'd have to spruce up Suguru's power, add a bit more science and structure to what he really does. It never backfired on you, so far. Just as he advertised, Suguru was able to collect every single curse you bestowed on him. Each person you brought in would leave refreshed and satisfied. 

As you came to spend time with the priest, you learned how wrong you were about him. When you first met, you thought he was a liar, a sham. Now, you know he's everything but. He's patient and caring towards everyone who follows him. He's so young, college-age, and yet he had even adopted two twins from a horrible house situation, taking them in as his own flesh and blood. 

On top of all his responsibilities, he still managed to make time for you. You can't imagine it's easy for him. Despite his clear passion, there's a glimmer of exhaustion in his eyes. Why does he spend so much time with you? 

You ask him that one day as the two of you walk through the gardens. He doesn't reply for a while, stopping to stare at a blooming bush of roses. 

"You remind me of someone," he says suddenly. 

You look up at him then, watching his face. A tinge of nostalgia rests across his eyes. You wonder what he's thinking of. School, homework and classes? The endless lectures, the smiles of friends. Maybe he's thinking of even older. Playgrounds and swing sets that squeak. Simpler times where he wasn't something that he is now. 

"I do?" you prod, tilting your head. He reaches out, brushing his hands against the petals, careful to avoid the thorns. 

He hums, "He is the strongest. More powerful than I could ever hope to be. He stood alone at the summit." 

He plucks the rose. The bush gives with a snap. It's a pretty color. A deep red. Almost as dark as blood =.

"It's why I always felt he was lonely," he continues, "No one else could ever understand him. It's lonely to be the only one, yes?" 

It was, you realize. It felt so lonely to see things no one else could see. No one else could relate to it, not even your parents. Your friends. You were alone for nearly decades. And then, you weren't anymore. 

"Your friend," you murmur, "where is he now?" 

Suguru peels off the last of the thorns, leaving the flower glossy and bare. 

"We didn't believe in the same things, towards the end. People change. I did, so did he," he pauses, "Sometimes, I wonder what I could have done differently that day. Perhaps we could have stayed together, if I had just changed his mind." 

You think about his friend. What their relationship was like. What it would be like to lose the only one who could ever understand you. Now that you had it, you could never imagine to lose it. 

"Either way, I don't regret my decision." 

He turns to you with a sigh, reaching out to your hair. You stay still as he tucks the flower behind your ear. The petals tickle your skin. 

"A change had to be made for humanity. Sacrifices must be made. I don't care if the people I cherish think differently." 

The petals tickle your skin. 

"I'm glad you don't regret your decision," you tell him softly, "because I'm really glad I met you, Suguru." 

He gazes down at you, his face the softest you've ever seen him be. His hand lingers by your neck a lot longer than it should. Still awed by him, you choose not to say anything about it. 

"And I, you." 

Everything was going perfectly. Until you ruined it. 

It was your fault. Your error. There's a set time that Suguru allows you to visit. You always arrive a few minutes later, because you only volunteer at the temple. You still have a job. You too have responsibilities. 

But today you arrived early. A fluke. You didn't intend on it, but you didn't think anything of it, Suguru always made time for you. And you didn't mind waiting a few minutes if he couldn't. 

The box of sweets jostled in your hold as you tucked it under your arm. By now, you recognize most of Suguru's followers, as well as the fellow monks. They greet you with too-wide smiles on their faces, the same as always. You've grown to not mind them. You pass them by with very little trouble, already knowing where you were headed. Suguru's client room was just around the corner. And you always enjoyed watching him work. 

In hindsight, you wish his followers would have stopped you, distracted you from your determination, it isn't like they didn't already know. You would have listened. Meeting Suguru was not a necessity. They could have lied for him. You could have kept the tentative friendship for just a bit longer. 

He was already with someone. Eager, and careful not to disturb, you stood just behind a pillar. You don't notice how wrong the scene looks, until you see her. He was with a woman, a bit older. There's a tiny curse on her lower back, latched onto her clothing. It won't matter, Suguru will easily get rid of it. She reminds you of your neighbor in so many ways. They were the same age too. It's why you are confused as to why she's practically kneeling on the ground, her head pressed against the floor, like she's begging. For a woman her age, that position could be a hindrance to her body. 

Still, she doesn't get up. You suddenly get this strange feeling that Suguru forced her to do this. 

It's ridiculous because Suguru is kind. He's kind and patient and-

"How many donations have you made to the temple these past few months?" 

You wouldn't have even thought it was his voice, had it not come from his mouth. He sounded so cold, mocking, cruel. 

The woman seemed to tremble even more. She pressed herself harder against the ground, as if pleading to God himself. Maybe to her, Suguru was God. 

"Please," her frail voice begs, "have mercy-" 

"Manami?" Suguru turns to his trusted assistant. You yourself have spoken few words to Manami, but whenever you caught her looking there was the slightest hint of pity in her eyes. 

Maybe this was why. 

She sighs, just as clinical as her boss, as if the poor woman's begging meant nothing to her, as did he. 

"It's been a 70 percent decrease, compared to the beginning of the year." 

Suguru turned back to the woman. She was going to injure herself-why isn't Suguru telling her to get up, why isn't he doing anything?

"You haven't made much of a contribution to the temple," he sighs like this is more of an inconvenience than anything else, "I have no use for an insignificant cursed spirit. I'm afraid I can't help you." 

She all but burst into tears, her sobs soaking the floor. You feel the numb sense of horror, misery and pain as her cries bleed into your ears. 

"Please-please Master Geto. I-I don't know how much of this I can take." 

Suguru regards her for a moment. 

"I think I might have a way to solve your problem, then." 

Slowly, she lifts her head up. You swallow at her face. Tired eyes, an exhausted look. 

"You-you do, Master?" 

His answer comes in the form of a snap of his fingers. 

It's the biggest curse you've ever seen, larger than a car. She doesn't even put up a fight, screaming and screaming and screaming. When her pitch changes, turning into something more out of horror than pain, you realize that she can see it too. 

It's a quick progression. It barely lasts a minute. The sounds of sucking and eating are so loud that it covers the sounds of the sweets dropping on the floor. They were supposed to be a gift for Suguru. You wanted to thank him again. You wanted to reward him for his kindness and patience. 

Master Geto only looks in mild disgust at the bloodbath. 

"They always die so messily," he sighs, looking at his blood-stained hands as Manami obediently hands him a towel, "Insects, that's all they are." 

For the first time, since you've met him, Suguru gives a genuine smile. 

It looks wrong. Too wide. Too many teeth. His lips curved into something thin and horrific. 

Something evil. 

It takes a week of your disappearance for Suguru to inquire why you haven't visited the temple. 

You leave the messages unopened. When he tries calling, you turn your phone off. For seven days, you stay away from the temple, away from sorcerers, and away from Suguru. 

A part of you still can't believe it. A part of you is convinced that what you saw has to be fake. Because, if it was real. If he had truly killed that woman, if he could control curses to do his bidding, then that meant for weeks-for weeks he was manipulating you. Lying to you. 

There was no if. That's exactly what he was doing. 

You sat on the couch, watching the TV in mild interest. Usually, at this time, you'd be at the temple, learning about the jujutsu world. Earlier, the lessons would fill you with a sense of awe. 

Now, you can't even think about jujutsu without thinking of Suguru next. 

Suguru mentioned he had a friend. A friend that was stronger than him, right? Could-could you find him? Could you tell him what Suguru has been doing-

"It's not very polite to ignore a person." 

You jump, wide eyes catching his figure right at the doorway. You get up to your feet, watching as Suguru casually steps into your home. Your safety. 

"How-how did you...?" You can barely get the words out. 

He understands you anyway, and out of your peripheral vision, you see a cursed spirit waddle up behind him. It coughs something out of it's throat. The remains of your door knob land by your feet. 

In any other situation, you would have been angry at Suguru's disregard for your property. Now, damage to your personal property was the last thing on your mind. 

He wasn't wearing his monk garb (A mere costume, you now realize). He had dressed in a shirt and casual pants. Out of his usual garments, he almost looks normal. Human. The exact type of person he'd spit on. 

"You haven't visited me lately," he starts, always one to get to the point. 

You shift on your feet, "I've been busy....with work. I haven't had time." 

"Really?" He tilts his head, assessing you, a hint of a smirk crosses his face like he knows you're lying. No, he does know you're lying. 

When you don't reply, when you fix your gaze on the floor, willing to God or demon or curse that he would just go away, Suguru sighs. His smile dips into a frown. The curse disappears. You feel like the room is a bit less suffocating. 

"I...apologize for what you saw," he finally says, "You shouldn't have seen it so early. I should have been more careful." 

You blink. For the first time in this conversation, you find your words. 

"Do...do you think that's what this is about?" He gives a blank look. "Suguru...you killed her." 

You expected some type of reaction. Aggressiveness, anger, defenses, excuses. You got none of that. Instead, Suguru merely hummed in acknowledgment of casual admittance. 

"I said it before, haven't I? Sacrifices must be made to change humanity." 

"That's-that's not sacrifice," it was like you were talking to a wall, repeating your point over and over again until you bashed your skull in, "that's-that's slaughter." 

"You said you were glad with my-" 

"You're killing innocent fucking people!-" 

"They're not people." 

You froze at his tone. Throughout your friendship with Suguru, you've seen him express a variety of emotions. Joy, exasperation, irritation. Never have you seen Suguru angry before. 

Never, until now. 

He stands up straighter, his hands twitch by his sides as if they're barely keeping themselves in check. His face has gone blank, like he's lost all motivation to fake his emotions now. There's no point to it, not when you know who he truly is. 

"They aren't even the same species as us," his words are quiet but you can hear the hatred and that scares you the most, "They are at the bottom of the food chain. Mere insects, parasites, that only create problems. They're not like you or me."

His smile comes back. Just as horrible as when you last saw it. 

"They're worthless." 

He's no priest, you steadily realize. He's no saint, no hero. 

"Get out."

You wish you could have made your words sound harsher, but it was barely a whisper. You couldn't even hear yourself, much less hear the venom. 

He sighs, his anger fades, the disappointment stays. 

"I understand." He nods, his voice too condescending to not be noticed. "To be perfectly honest, I expected this. You've spent your entire life with those insects, obsessing over their needs when you didn't have to. It's only natural to have an affinity for them. I did too. It's why I know, you'll feel differently in the future." 

"Fuck you," you hiss, "fuck you and your fucked up cult. You're a monster, you're a-"

He doesn't let you finish. One minute, he's across the room. The next, you feel his hand slap across your mouth as you fall back into the sofa. Your panic is immediate as he fully covers you with his body, pressing you into the cushions. 

Suguru's touched you before. You never noticed. Never cared enough to notice. They were sparse brushes of fingers against your waist, arms, shoulders. Harmless. 

Looking back, you wonder if you should have protested more against them. Maybe he'd have less courage to bury his face into your hair, breathing in your scent as he closed his eyes. Or maybe it would have just made it worse. 

"You're scared," he tells you, but it sounds like he's talking to himself, "It's okay to be upset." 

You scream, but it comes out as a muffled sob. Suguru's mouth trails down your cheek. He kisses the underside of your jaw. 

"You don't have to be. I promise I'll never hurt you. I cherish you too much."

He's lying. He's a liar. That's all he ever did. Lie to you. Cheat you.

When he pulls back to look at you, he almost smiles. 

"I think I'm starting to understand why he left: I let him go."

His grin gets wider.

"I don't plan on doing that with you." 

[charliemwrites]

Soooo a while ago I introduced a “rabid reader.” A reader character with a (non-sexual) body count and a nasty temper.

Anyway, I started thinking about her - and the discord does what it does - and realized that Pathetic Stalker Konig would be a great pairing for her.

So, CW for light stalking, violence, and slightly mean reader

You have a stalker.

He’s… not a very good one.

For one, you know he’s there. Have known since pretty much the beginning. He’s a big fucking Austrian that covers himself head to toe. Not even in subtle colors, but in primarily black. Maybe at night he’d stand a chance, but he follows you in broad daylight too. So, there’s that.

Then there’s the fact that you’re not really bothered by him. What’s there to be bothered by? He keeps his distance, doesn’t interfere with your life. Even when he finally does work up the courage to enter your home, he puts things back where he found them. So, again, not a big deal.

You keep waiting for the escalation. For gifts or letters or some obvious sign of his presence that even the most oblivious person couldn’t ignore. But none comes. Partially, you figure, because you’ve shown no interest in anyone. You have friends, yes, but those are so obviously platonic that even your stalker doesn’t seem jealous. And the few times someone else has made a pass at you, a quick and merciless shutdown follows. Your lack of romantic intentions for anyone seems to be coming him semi-level.

You wonder if this is how religious people feel, that vague sense of being watched. Though you don’t think your stalker is judging you. Be a hell of a thing if he did.

Then one day, things change.

You have this new coworker, Brandon.

Your other coworkers already seem to like him. They say he’s funny and charming and handsome, that he’s such a great fit for the team. You have no particular opinion because most people just aren’t interesting to you, and Brandon is Most People incarnate.

But Brandon seems to have an interest in you. Which, really, is such a poor choice.

He keeps ending up in the break room at the same time as you. Or passing by your desk for a quick question, only to try to lengthen the conversation with the casual chat. Makes a point of saying hello to you in the mornings and walking down with you in the afternoon.

You’re not annoyed yet, not really. It’s a change in your routine, but you’ve been told those are good, so fine. He’s about as bearable as anyone else (besides the rare few you call friend) so you don’t think anything of it. Even when your coworker giggles that he was asking after your romantic life, you tolerate him.

A few months later is the annual office party, a celebration of… something. It seems different every time. Record profits, company anniversary, CEO’s birthday… it doesn’t matter, really. Free food, socialization. It’s something to do.

You go, of course. As ambivalent as you are towards the majority of your coworkers, they do seem to quite like you, and insist that you come.

So you go. You plaster on that mild, practiced smile while they chat and joke, contributing readily when prompted. At the end of the meal, you’re wheedled into going out for more casual celebration. Again, you agree.

Brandon comes along.

And somewhere, throughout the night, Brandon thinks it’s okay to start touching you. An accidental brush here and there is fine, unavoidable really. You’re not opposed to touch as a rule.

But then the occasional bumps and grazes become more frequent, consistent. Purposeful. A hand on your arm, then your shoulder, then your back. When you step away, he somehow ends up right back by your side. So you resort to telling him not to touch you so casually. He scoffs, already past a healthy buzz, and dismisses you as being “uptight” because you’re still treating it as a “work thing.” That you just need some more drinks in you and everything will be fine.

You can feel it bubbling up in you, that inky rage. Maybe something flickers across your face because your coworkers are quick to divert his attention. Smart.

But twenty minutes later you’ve had your fill of socializing. The bar is too loud, people are getting too drunk, and you don’t like the looks you’re getting from more than just Brandon.

You say your goodbyes while he’s in the restroom and leave.

You’ve only just made it to your car when you hear quick footsteps, turn just in time for Brandon to catch up. It’s all just noise to you now, his tense laughter that you left at the worst time, that you’re mean for not waiting. That he wants to walk you to your car like always.

He tries to curl an arm around your waist. It takes restraint you don’t usually employ not to break it. To just step away and repeat (fuck you hate repeating yourself) that you don’t want to be touched.

And then he makes the fatal mistake of just not fucking listening. Of insisting. Of doing what he wants anyway.

So you break his hand. And while he’s still screaming in pain, you notice the shadowy flicker of your stalker ducking out of view.

It’ll stay your secret, you figure, and go home. Expect that to be the end of it.

Until you hear glass break when you’re just about to go to bed. You step out of your room, shoes on and knife in hand, to a fuck-off sized Austrian strangling Brandon. Oh, and stabbing him with a large piece of the lamp someone seems to have broken.

There’s water all over the floor because it started raining an hour ago. It’s mixing with the blood, diluting it pink on your floor. You retrieve a towel from the kitchen to mop it up before it reaches the rug.

All at once, things go quiet. Your stalker is kneeling over a still, dead-eyed Brandon, breathing hard. But his eyes keep flicking to you and then away, shoulders slumped and head ducked.

“You’ve made a mess. Clean up.”

Your stalker jumps into action. Seems to already know where all the housekeeping supplies are. In the meantime, you go digging through your closet for clothes. Can’t find any, so you settle for getting the washer and dryer ready. Order yourself a new lamp online.

By the time you’re done, the body is gone, the floors are clean and dry, and your stalker is fidgeting in the living room.

“Strip.”

He startles. Stares. You arch your eyebrows. Wait him out. But then he does as he’s told. Peeling off cold, wet layers with mechanical precision, until he’s got a damp pile at his bare feet. You give his mask an unimpressed look. That comes off too with an audible gulp.

You don’t really get attractiveness, as a physical quality. You understand proportions and features, and recognize that this man has some pleasing, if atypical, ones. Even with the scar.

“Good.” He shivers. “Now shower.”

He nods, ducks past you to the bathroom - again without having to be told where to find it. You gather up the clothes and toss them in the machine with a little extra detergent.

Walk into the bathroom and ignore the way he tries to cover himself, flushing tomato red from head to toe.

“Your name.”

“Konig.”

You narrow your eyes, but don’t press.

“Are you military?”

He’s built like it. Thick with useful strength, not aesthetic muscle. And he’s scarred all over. Some new, some old, all earned through violence and suffering.

“Military contractor,” he says. Then, quieter, “please don’t stare.”

Your eyes snap up to his. He can’t even hold it for longer than a second before dropping his gaze. You cross your arms.

“You’ve been watching me for 7 months, 2 weeks, and 3 days. Put your fucking hands down.”

He twitches, but drops his hands to his sides. His cock - and it is, you acknowledge, very impressive - is filling out slowly but steadily. You consider it for a moment while he fidgets beneath the steaming spray.

“If you fuck me, will you be satisfied?” you ask.

Like touching, you’re not against fucking by default. It’s just one of those things you don’t think about often because you’re not especially interesting in most cases.

This - Konig - is not most cases.

But konig’s eyes dart up guiltily before he shakes his head. Surprised, you tilt your head.

“Do you want to fuck me?”

He nods so hard the back of his skull bumps into the shower head.

You hum. Stand there and watch him while he awkwardly shuffles until the washer buzzes.

“Finish showering, get your clothes from the dryer, then sleep on the couch,” you say. He swallows again and nods. “You can get blankets if you’re cold. Be here in the morning.”

With that, you turn to switch his clothes over. Then head off to bed, wondering if you’ll see him come sunrise.

Next

Masterlist

[burst-of-iridescent]

South Asian and Hindu Influences in ATLA (Part 2)

disclaimer: i was raised culturally and religiously hindu, and though i've tried to do my research for this post and pair it with my own cultural knowledge, i'm not an expert on hinduism by any means. should i mess up, please let me know.

please also be aware that many of the concepts discussed in this post overlap heavily with religions such as buddhism and jainism, which might have different interpretations and representations. as i'm not from those religions or cultures, i don't want to speak on them, but if anyone with that knowledge wishes to add on, please feel free.

Part 1

In the previous post, I discussed some of the things ATLA got right in its depictions of desi and hindu cultures. unfortunately, they also got plenty of things wrong - often in ways that leaned towards racist caricatures - so let's break them down, starting with...

Guru Pathik

both the word "guru" and name "pathik" come from sanskrit. pathik means "traveler" or "he who knows the way" while guru is a term for a guide or mentor, similar to a teacher.

gurus were responsible for the very first education systems in ancient india, setting up institutions called gurukuls. students, referred to as disciples, would often spend years living with and learning from their gurus in these gurukuls, studying vedic and buddhist texts, philosophy, music and even martial arts.

however, their learning was not limited merely to academic study, as gurus were also responsible for guiding the spiritual evolution of their disciples. it was common for disciples to meditate, practice yoga, fast for days or weeks, and complete mundane household chores every day in order to instill them with self-discipline and help them achieve enlightenment and spiritual awareness. the relationship between a guru and his disciple was considered a sacred, holy bond, far exceeding that of a mere teacher and student.

aang's training with guru pathik mirrors some of these elements. similar to real gurus, pathik takes on the role of aang's spiritual mentor. he guides aang in unblocking his chakras and mastering the avatar state through meditation, fasting, and self-reflection - all of which are practices that would have likely been encouraged in disciples by their gurus.

pathik's design also takes inspiration from sadhus, holy men who renounced their worldly ties to follow a path of spiritual discipline. the guru's simple, nondescript clothing and hair are reflective of the ascetic lifestyle sadhus are expected to lead, giving up material belongings and desires in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment and, ultimately, liberation from the reincarnation cycle.

unfortunately, this is where the respectful references end because everything else about guru pathik was insensitive at best and stereotypical at worst.

it is extremely distasteful that the guru speaks with an overexaggerated indian accent, even though the iranian-indian actor who plays him has a naturally british accent. why not just hire an actual indian voice actor if the intention was to make pathik sound authentic? besides, i doubt authenticity was the sole intention, given that the purposeful distortion of indian accents was a common racist trope played for comedy in early 2000s children's media (see: phineas and ferb, diary of a wimpy kid, jessie... the list goes on).

furthermore, while pathik is presented a wise and respected figure within this episode, his next (and last) appearance in the show is entirely the opposite.

in the episode nightmares and daydreams, pathik appears in aang's nightmare with six hands, holding what appears to be a veena (a classical indian music instrument). this references the iconography of the hindu deity Saraswati, the goddess of wisdom and knowledge. the embodiment of divine enlightenment, learning, insight and truth, Saraswati is a member of the Tridevi (the female version of the Trimurti), one of the most respected and revered goddesses in the Hindu pantheon... and her likeness is used for a cheap laugh on a character who's already treated as a caricature.

that's bad enough on its own, but when you consider that guru pathik is the only explicitly south asian coded character in the entire show, it's downright insulting. for a show that took so many of its foundational concepts from south asia and hinduism and yet provided almost no desi representation in return, this is just rubbing salt in the wound.

Chakras

"chakra", meaning "circle" or "wheel of life" in sanskrit, refers to sources of energy found in the human body. chakra points are aligned along the spine, with energy flowing from the lowest to the highest point. the energy pooled at the lowest chakra is called kundalini, and the aim is to release this energy to the highest chakra in order to achieve spiritual enlightenment and consciousness.

the number of chakras varies in different religions, with buddhism referencing five chakras while hinduism has seven. atla draws from the latter influence, so let's take a look at the seven chakras:

Muladhara (the Root Chakra). located at the base of the spine, this chakra deals with our basest instincts and is linked to the element of earth.

Swadhisthana (the Sacral Chakra). located just below the navel, this chakra deals with emotional intensity and pleasure and is linked to the element of water.

Manipura (the Solar Plexus Chakra). located in the stomach, this chakra deals with willpower and self-acceptance and is linked to the element of fire.

Anahata (the Heart Chakra). located in the heart, this chakra deals with love, compassion and forgiveness and is linked to the element of air. in the show, this chakra is blocked by aang's grief over the loss of the air nomads, which is a nice elemental allusion.

Vishudda (the Throat Chakra). located at the base of the throat, this chakra deals with communication and honesty and is linked to the fifth classical element of space. the show calls this the Sound Chakra, though i'm unsure where they got that from.

Ajna (the Third Eye Chakra). located in the centre of the forehead, this chakra deals with spirituality and insight and is also linked to the element of space. the show calls it the Light Chakra, which is fairly close.

Sahasrara (the Crown Chakra). located at the very top of the head, this chakra deals with pure cosmic consciousness and is also linked to the element of space. it makes perfect sense that this would be the final chakra aang has to unblock in order to connect with the avatar spirit, since the crown chakra is meant to be the point of communion with one's deepest, truest self.

the show follows these associations and descriptions almost verbatim, and does a good job linking the individual chakras to their associated struggles in aang's arc.

Cosmic Energy

the idea of chakras is associated with the concept of shakti, which refers to the life-giving energy that flows throughout the universe and within every individual.

the idea of shakti is a fundamentally unifying one, stating that all living beings are connected to one another and the universe through the cosmic energy that flows through us all. this philosophy is referenced both in the swamp episode and in guru pathik telling aang that the greatest illusion in the world is that of separation - after all, how can there be any real separation when every life is sustained by the same force?

this is also why aang needing to let go of katara did not, as he mistakenly assumed, mean he had to stop loving her. rather, the point of shedding earthly attachment is to allow one to become more attuned to shakti, both within oneself and others. ironically, in letting go of katara and allowing himself to commune with the divine energy of the universe instead, aang would have been more connected to her - not less.

The Avatar State

according to hinduism, there are five classical elements known as pancha bhuta that form the foundations of all creation: air, water, earth, fire, and space/atmosphere.

obviously, atla borrows this concept in making a world entirely based on the four classical elements. but looking at how the avatar spirit is portrayed as a giant version of aang suspended in mid-air, far above the earth, it's possible that this could reference the fifth liminal element of space as well.

admittedly this might be a bit of a reach, but personally i find it a neat piece of worldbuilding that could further explain the power of the avatar. compared to anyone else who might be able to master only one element, mastering all five means having control of every building block of the world. this would allow the avatar to be far more attuned to the spiritual energy within the universe - and themselves - as a result, setting in motion the endless cycle of death and rebirth that would connect their soul even across lifetimes.

[shojizbae]

Peeping Tom

Tamakixreader x mirio

Word count: 4K

Warnings: smut, voyeurism, oral (m&f receiving) jerking off, safe sex practices

Mirio didn’t mean to. He really didn’t. UA had very recently moved into the dorms when it happened. It was a Friday night, and he just finished a shower after getting home from his work study. Apparently, the walls were a little thinner than he expected.

Sometime around 8:30, he heard it. It started slow at first, talking. A movie played, but it changed so often that he couldn’t figure out which one. He had only a pair of sweatpants as he toweled off his hair when he heard it.

“(Y/n), woah!” It was the voice of his best friend and neighbor, Tamaki. His shy, elvish friend had finally confessed to his now girlfriend three months ago. (Y/n), a kind but rambunctious girl who had been dropping not-so-subtle hints for almost two years was one of Mirio’s favorites in the class.

Since getting together with Tamaki, she had drawn him out of his shell. It seemed tonight she would drag him out a little more complicated.

“What ‘woah’?” She gently placated

Now, Mirio, of all things, was not a snoop, but he was curious. Luckily, he wasn’t a cat, so he pressed his ear to their shared wall.

“W-we were just watching a movie. I didn’t expect you to get all handsy.” He said, and even through the wall, he could hear his best friend tucking his chin into his chest in embarrassment. So, they were finally gonna have sex?

Two weeks ago, Tamaki came to Mirio and Nejire with this concern. (Y/n) had very nonchalantly asked if he was ready or could consider getting physical with her. After about twenty minutes of gently calming him down, as he seemed to begin hyperventilating, he managed to say something he wanted meanly. Although his anxiety could try your patience occasionally, you were proud of the semi he was sprouting at the mention.

After that conversation, he went to Mirio, who coincidentally was with his girlfriend. He knocked at the door open (Y/n). Want to have sex with me!” He proclaimed in the closest voice he could muster. Unfortunately, he entered a scene from a magazine in the back of the store.

Nejire was in her school skirt and bra, her hair was disheveled but tucked to the side, and she was lying/ straddling Mirio's lap. Mirio was only in some checkered boxers and had one hand on her boobs and the other on her ass below her skirt. He managed a squeak before he spun around and slammed the door shut behind him.

His friends dressed quickly and chased him down, finding him with his head shoved deep into the dorm refrigerator.

“Uhh, Tamaki?” Mirio scratched his cheek but couldn’t hide his smile and his friend's antics

“Yeah, M-mirio?”

“Whatcha doing, man?”

“Uh, just getting a tea?”

“Yeah?” Nejire confirmed, “I thought Yaobara took the last ginseng one. And you hate the matcha ones?” Hado placated

“No, I think I see a Yuzu one back here.” He reached in and pulled out a can of lemonade and cracked the can open. He toon a sip just for show although not bringing himself to make eye contact “mmm refreshing. Well gotta get back to my dorm!” He tried to breeze past the couple until one of Mirio’s giant hands pushed him back by his chest.

“Slow down there, partner! What was this you said about you and (Y/n) having sex?”

“Mirio, not so loud!” Amajiki exclaimed

“Yeah, babe, why don’t we take this back to your dorm?”

“Right,” Mirio looked at his girlfriend with smitten eyes, then at Tamaki’s cherry-red eyes. “Why not yours?” He offered. Tamaki hung his head and pathetically followed the couple to Hado’s dorm room to discuss what this meant.

That was two weeks ago.

Ever since Togata had been anxiously waiting for some kind of sign that (Y/n) had gotten Tamaki into the sac. He felt like some religious fanatic awaiting a divine character, and here it was. Giggles and sighs, and the TV in Tamaki’s bedroom turned up a considerable few clicks.

He kept his ear pressed to the wall, but his curiosity was getting too powerful for him. Accidentally or subconsciously, he slipped through the wall, so his head and left should be passing ghostly through the barrier.- Now his head was in Tamaki’s dim closet where he always left his doors cracked for a long-standing fear of monsters. From his angle, he saw a scene that was downright painting-worthy.

You were sprawled over Tamaki’s lap with both hand tangled into the hair at the base of his neck. Tamaki had one hand up the back of your cardigan which was slipping down your right shoulder. It seemed he was fumbling with your bra clasp which frustrated Mirio because they had spent a considerable amount of time teaching him all about bras.

Frustratedly, you sat up and whipped your cardigan to the side, unclipping your bra and pulling it out of the front of your camisole slowly to tease your boyfriend. With the news he could see, Tamaki looked downright disfigured. His tie hung off his bedside lamp, the top three buttons of his school shirt had been hastily undone, and a speckling of hickies already decorated his neck and chest. Mirio heard him whimper below you as he braced his hands on your thighs.

“You’re beautiful (Y/n).” Tamaki proclaimed, which shocked both who’d heard it

“You don’t need to butter me up, babe, I’m already so wet for you.” You purred as you sunk back to his lips. Tamaki did his best to keep up with you, but the overwhelming barrage of kisses and the constant figure eight of your hips against his was becoming too much for him. Mirio watched in delight as you climbed. His best friend was like a hungry cougar. You gently placed your hands in each of his collarbones, pushed him back onto the plush pillows, and placed a gentle peck on his lips before shimmying down his thighs.

You landed softly on the carpet on your knees with your hands braced on his thighs.

“Uhh (Y/n), what are you…?”

“Shhh, babe, I want this to be special for you.” You held your pointer finger up to your lips in a hushing motion. Then you dug at his belt and enjoyed the iconic sound of a metal clacking against metal.

“(Y/n), You really don’t have to.” He anxiously pleads

“But, Ama, I want to.” That made something in Mirio’s stomach do Olympic gymnastics. There was a pleading glint in your eyes as you begged him silently. He closed his mouth and eyes and gave the subtlest nod known to man, and you dove back in. You tucked some hair behind your ear and undid the button and zipper of Tamaki’s green trousers.

“Take off your shirt, babe.” You ordered, and he obeyed happily as you tugged his boxers. He wriggled around and tossed his shirt into oblivion, and you fished his dick out of his briefs. “Woah, babe, you have such a pretty cock.” You stated proudly.

Mirio had to agree. Of course, he had accidentally caught glances in the locker room, but he was seldom hard in those situations. He could tell from this distance that your statement wasn’t just flattery. It was above average in length with a plump cockhead and perfectly flushed pink. Mirio watched as you took a lick from base to tip, and Amajiki warbled beneath your touch. You took his balls in your left hand and played with them.

Amajiki was notoriously neat, so he wasn’t shocked to see his friend had done some manscaping.

“(Y/n)~” he drawled the final syllable as you slowly sucked on his tip. Mirio could see his friend's abs flexing and twisting as he struggled under your mouth. “(Y/n)!” He groaned. Suddenly, he touched your shoulder and pulled off with an almost cartoon pop.

“Why are we stopping? Is it bad?” You added anxiously

“No! No, it’s. He wiped his eyes and tried to collect his thoughts. “It’s really, uhuh, really good. I don’t think I’ll last one second if you keep going.” He wiped his sweaty brow

“Aww,” you gave a downward smile, proud of yourself for being a natural. You started climbing up him again and gave him a long, searing kiss so he could taste his own precum on your lips. You started reaching behind you for the zipper of your skirt, but Tamaki caught your wrist before you could retake the lead.

“I’ll be taking care of that.” He stated as a wave of confidence overtook him. He held under your armpits and spun the both of you around, so he landed with a giggle in the tangle of his blankets. Often, you forget how strong your boyfriend is. Partly because he rarely wore tight or revealing clothing that showed off his sexy, lean muscles. They didn’t exude the confidence typical of people as powerful as him.

As he stood, he tucked himself back into his boxers but shucked off his pants and folded them at the waist before tossing them to the side. You laughed at his continued clean behaviors, and Mirio just enjoyed it. He claimed back over your abdomen to kiss your lips and your forehead.

Sensing his tiredness, Mirio returned his whole body to his bedroom and got some water. He brought his fist toward his chest in victory and recapped some water. He’s seen plenty more than what is appropriate, right? There should be no need to keep snooping? Right?

Mirio checked the lock on his door, relieved that he remembered to lock it while changing. Although it’s not as if everyone in the class hadn’t seen some part of him during training. He took another sip from his water bottle and plunged his head back into his ‘peephole.’

What he saw was miraculous.

Amajiki was laying shooter style between your spread legs. He had his right hand stuffed deep in your cunt, and with his left hand, he was holding yours.

“L-like this (Y/n)?” He sought your guidance and received only a high-pitched sigh

“Yeah! Mhmm,” you attempted to clear your throat to gain some composure. “Yeah, just like that, Ama.” You sighed

“Ok, but how’s the pace, or should I do anything else.”

“Y-you c-could play withhh my clit?” You offered. Mirio was gobsmacked. How did his shy, reserved best friend get his girlfriend to stutter like him?

“O-ok.” he unlocked his fingers from yours and started making gentle circles. He tried to find it, but notoriously, it seemed to be the eighth wonder.

“Um, a little higher, baby,” you took your once-connected hands and guided his left hand up to your clit and hiccuped. You found it, and Tamaki's gentle hands lay you out.

“Like this?” He smiled up at your pinked face

“Yeah, just like that, baby.”

“So this is good?”

“Yeah, hun, this is euuh,. This is really good,” you accidentally interrupted yourself. Jeez, Tamaki, Mirio thought you really needed more confidence.

“You know,” Tamaki jumped at the sound of your voice, “nothing's wrong, babe, just if you wanted, you could use your mouth.”

“D-do you want it?”

“Only if yoUU!” Before you could confirm, he placed his mouth right where his left hand was. The squee you let out emboldened both boys witnessing you. Until now, Mirio had been balancing on his knees and his right hand while his left hand pushed against the wall. Now, his left hand slid down to his navel and slipped under his champion sweatpants. There was a considerable pile of pre that had pooled in his pants, and he thanked his twenty-minute earlier self who had chosen to forgo underwear.

Quickly he was able to grab onto his cock as his gaze was fixed on you, the porno in front of him. Amajikis left hand had vacated your clit as his mouth took the promotion. Instead, he was grasping desperately at one of your boobs, and his right did its best to assault your g-spot.

Evidently, his right hand was doing a good job, and you moaned and writhed beneath your boyfriend's ministrations.

“Fuck baby, keep going,” you looked your leg over his shoulder and locked him closer to your pussy. Mirio started to circle his cockhead with his thumb as he heard your moans pitch up.

You sunk your right hand into his hair, which made Tamaki groan a little. Your left hand flew out to grip a nearby pile of comforter.

“Tama, uhh, I’m so close! Please, whatever you do, don’t stop or change anything.” And he obeyed happily, maybe adding to the intensity only emblazoned by your tenacity. Your other leg wrapped around the side of his ribs as you reached climax. All coherency left him as you came a jumble of Tamaki's names and various moans and squeals.

Mirio gripped his dick a little harder, and you squirmed and relished the first orgasm someone had provided you. Tamaki sat on his knees and wiped his mouth as he admired how wrecked you looked. Your hair was spread in a million directions, and your tank top was ridden up so he could see your belly as it rose and fell. Your skirt was flipped up, and your panties hung off one of your knees. Even your socks seemed to be slipping if your body as your boyfriend devoured the sight of you.

He had watched many a dirty movie, but nothing compared to how sexy you looked right now. Sweating, shaking, and your face was completely red.

Tamaki was doing much better. He, too, was out of breath and slightly damp, but most noticeable was his cock dancing and straining against his navy blue briefs.

“Aww baby, that looks like it hurts,” you reached for his waistband and tugged him so you were both sitting on the bed, “why don’t we take care of you.” You sat his back against the wall and almost tore his boxers off him. You stood up and pulled your camisole over your head, and brandished it to the side. You gave him a smile as his eyes locked onto your breasts. You saw him swallow and, for the show, fanned himself like a lady at church with his hand.

Boldly, you pulled the zipper of your skirt down and let the green pleats free fall, and you stepped out of it. Despite being buried in your pussy just a minute before, the sight of you completely naked and on display for him was golden. His cock stood at attention, painfully awaiting you.

You climbed back onto your boyfriend's and kissed him sweetly to reassure him. His confidence broke briefly as he awaited your insight.

“Here, hold onto my hips.” You place your hand over his and guide them to the fat of your hips. You rose slowly on your knees and used your right hand to guide his cock to your awaiting pussy. You paused right as you made contact.

“Fuck! I forgot condoms!” You put your forehead on his collarbones in defeat.

“That’s okay, baby,” he secured a hand on the small of your back and leaned the two of you forward. He slowly opened the drawer and pulled out a box of condoms, pulling out the roll and ripping one off.

“How did you?”

“After that night, I went out and bought some. I-I had to call Mirio for help.” He admitted, ashamed.

“Aww, baby.” Mirio stopped his hand as he smiled at the memory. It was nine at night when he got the call. It took ten minutes to calm down a very overwhelmed Tamaki and explain that most of the scented or rubbed condoms were not a good choice and that he should go with latex unless he knew you were allergic to latex. You weren’t, so he got some pretty generic-looking lubricated condoms with a little doctor-recommended check. He didn’t make eye contact with the cashier; he only handed her enough cash to pay and grabbed the box before she could give him change.

You both settled back into position and he ripped the foil open with his teeth. Your knees buckled a little at the sight and you helped guide the condom down his dick. As you slid him down your folds you paused right at your pussy and looked in his eyes.

“Mhmmm,” he managed to grit out, and you slowly sunk his head in. Both of you seemed to moan and were keen on the contact. Your hands flew up to grip his shoulders, and he sunk into the small of your waist. Mirio gripped his cock reignited by the double loss of virginity. Slowly you eased down his cock and experimentally brought yourself up and down once. You shuddered in his lap.

Tamaki slid his hands down your waist to your hips, and you picked up the pace, bouncing up and down his lap with more confidence. With his help, you rode him with a passionate curiosity.

Mirio picked up the pace as you two seemed to find a groove. The purple-ette enjoying the sight of you taking him for his pleasure and the satisfying squelch of your pussy around him. Every lift and drop of your hips forces his eyes to shut a little, but every time, he forces them back open to allow himself to soak you in.

You’re not doing much better. Already sensitive from cumming minutes earlier, the excitement of finally getting to fuck Tamaki swirled into a greater pleasure than you could imagine. Unfortunately, it was interrupted by the ghost of cowgirls.

“Ow ow ow!” You settled your hips

“What? What is it, baby?” He clamped his hand on the side of your face.

“Foot cramp.” You shook it and winced

“D-do you wanna switch?”

“Mhmm,” you nodded, and he kept his hold on the side of your face but gave you a gentle peck. Then he slid his hands under your legs and picked you, only to slam you down on the mattress. You bounced and laughed as you held his face for another kiss. You tucked some stray hair out of his face as he guided himself back into your sweet, warm pussy.

You made eye contact as a slight gasp slipped from your mouth. Tamaki leaned over you and placed your arms around his neck. He placed both hands by your ears and started up a slow and gentle pace. Before he realized your eyes were going the same rolling back/ force open pattern.

From this position Amajiki was hitting all the best angles. Mirio thought he was spoiled for getting the pleasure of witnessing this. Every grunt and every sigh even the squeak of the mattress beneath Tamaki’s knees was only fuel for his fist. He brought his hand up to his mouth so he could collect a weight bead of spit which he spread over his throbbing cock. He could feel his balls keening with the need to release but he was trying to time it with the movie he was witnessing.

On your side of the wall was bliss. You kept your arms around his neck but still wove your fingers through the thick hair at his nape. When you gave a particularly strong tug Tamaki crooned into you touch. He moaned a little harder as you tugged on him.

“D’yo like that, Ama?”

“Y-yes,” he managed to plead.

“Y’want me to do it again?”

“Yes-fuck, please!” You were shocked to hear your typically formal boyfriend swear at you. It was hot, so you pulled harder in his gorgeous silky hair. You only pulled more erotic sounds out of his lips, which were coated in a thin layer of saliva from chewing on them.

“Fuck again! I-I’m gonna cum!”

“T-Tama!” You nearly started laughing in surprise at his foul mouth. But the obsessive rhythm of his hips was bringing you closer to the edge again. “Just keep going. I’m ughh,” you groaned against your will as he teased your G-spot.

“Deeper Tama!” You begged. He grabbed each of your ankles at your request and brought them up by his ears. He leaned down on you and landed a searing kiss on your forehead and then brought his pace a little faster, lingering at the depression of his thrust.

“Ahh, right there! Please don’t stop!” But he was sputtering out from exhaustion and being on the precipice of an orgasm

“I can’t- I’m not gonna!” He sounded absolutely pathetic

“It’s fine, baby. Just keep going.”

“Do you want me to pull out?”

“Why would you wear a condom? Inside please” At that, any scrap of reserve fell away as he pounded into you, desperate to cum.

“(Y/n)! Uh, I’m gonna!” He parked his hips deep in your pussy as he came with a whimper. Your eyes rolled so far back that he was nervous; they might not return. As he came to, he felt like he was strangled by your pussy, clamping down and spasming around his cock. You raked your hands down Amajiki's back, desperate to cling onto something for fear you might float away.

If he were to look back on it, Mirio would say that the noises you made as you came sent him hurtling over the edge. In a split-second decision, he permeated his other hand through the wall to bite so he could damper his sounds. He shuddered, and his ear rang after he came. A nasty white matter on the wall was evidence of his Tom peeping.

He pulled himself back through to his room to assess the damage. He would need to change his sweatpants because of a big precum stain on the grey fabric. He laughed at himself and how live-action porn got him so riled up.

“Oh jeez,” he put his clean hand on his forehead. Directly after he had hidden the evidence, a pounding at his door nearly scared him out of his skin.

“Miri! Togata! Why is your door locked?” He zipped over to his door, unlocked it, and gave his girlfriend a kiss on the forehead as she sunk into his chest.

“Long day, baby?” He similarly caged her in

“So long,” she whined

“You want to hear something that will cheer you up?” He pulled back so he could look at her adorable little face

“Always,”

“They finally did it.” He admitted with a downward smile

“YOU SHUT YOUR DAMN MOUTH!” She leaped back, accidentally activating her quirk

“Yeah, I heard it all.” He smirked proudly. “You wanna go over and bust them?”

“Yeah!” She cheered sharing similar smirks and penchants for mischief. Mirio threw on a t-shirt and they crept next door. Stupidly the couple had forgone locking the door. The two bust through the door to reveal what could have been a sweet wholesome moment.

(Y/n) had her head laid on Tamaki’s chest and Tamaki had an arm over her shoulder and was stroking up and down with his finger tips. But as the couple blew threw Tamaki’s door sending the couple flying up and out of their sheets.

(Y/n) grabbed the nearest blanket and held it to her chest to conserve some of her modesty.

“What are you doing get out!” You screeched in embarrassment while poor Tamaki cowered, mortified.

“Ok ok,” Mirio backed out in surrender “did you kids have fun?”

“Out!’l you hollered. The incident did not stop you by any means from continuing your fun. You just remembered to lock the doors. But no padlock could keep out your neighbor of a peeping tom.

[gingerteafairy]

girl never stop writing todd haynes fics im obsessed. esp 'third wheel payback' soso good i love a comic reader fic <3

funny you say that right as i was finishing this one hssowiejsnsk wrote it after seeing an adorable edit of todd with every man gets his wish by lana del rey on tiktok and i religiously saw it everyday multiple times ❤️‍🩹

spiderman milkshake (todd haynes x reader)

Who said comics can't help on a date?

tags n warnings: smut/mdni, waitress!reader, comic references, language, fingering, dry humping, kinks. word count: 4.3k masterlist

Todd was practically glued to his milkshake, sucking on the straw like it was some kind of life-sustaining multivitamin when he saw you walk by, effortlessly balancing a tray while tending to the tables. You looked adorable in that waitress uniform. Atomic Comics was his favorite place in the world—his friends, comic books, and a gorgeous nerdy waitress all in one spot. He could swear he saw you wearing a Venom T-shirt before you put on your uniform, matching with his Spiderman one.

Dave and Marty were deep in conversation, but Todd? He was somewhere else entirely—lost in his own world. Or, more accurately, lost in New York City, spideyvenom was getting really interesting right now.

"And like I was saying, Spider-Man’s powers are total garbage," Dave argued, popping a fry into his mouth. "I mean, web-shooting? That’s disgusting. Right, Todd?"

"Huh? Yeah. Totally." Todd replied absentmindedly, taking another sip.

"No way, and I can prove it! Webs are a hit! Just look at how he shoots them," Marty insisted, mimicking Spider-Man's signature hand gesture while making web-slinging sound effects. Dave immediately joined in.

Their laughter faded when they noticed Todd wasn’t reacting at all. He hadn’t moved a muscle. Following his gaze, they landed on you—standing a few feet away, scribbling an order onto your notepad.

Todd was mesmerized. The way you absentmindedly tucked the pen behind your ear, how your hair brushed against your neck, the delicate earring dangling just beneath—it was adorable. He wished he had given you that earring himself.

"I’m telling you, man. You should just talk to her. That’s your second milkshake," Dave pointed out, growing tired of watching Todd’s thousand-yard stare.

"Yeah, dude. This is getting kinda creepy," Marty added, raising an eyebrow.

Truth be told, Todd had known you way before his friends ever did.

He had once posted an insanely cool Justice League edit, and you had actually commented on it. That one reply had somehow turned into a full-on conversation, which then turned into many conversations. And before Todd even knew what hit him, he was completely, hopelessly into you.

The moment you casually mentioned that you read manga too? Yeah. That was it. Game over.

Even if you both chatted online everyday, seeing you in person was a completely different experience. It was like you were strangers all over again. Part of that was because Todd was horrifically shy and couldn’t even look you in the eyes without feeling like his soul was going to physically leave his body. The other part? Well… you were a waitress.

For some reason, that made it feel… wrong.

Like he fantasized a lot, basically a porn movie plot, you coming only on a apron saying "hey, sweetie, here's your milkshake" in an exaggerated sultry voice as you took the piece off. If a hacker could see his browsing history, they would see that 50% of waitress kink videos visualizations came from Todd's PC.

But as a normal shy guy, he was afraid of bothering you. Like you were only talking to him because it was literally your job. And, of course, there was also the massive fear that Dave and Marty would say something stupid and completely humiliate him.

Because, let’s be real—they absolutely would.

Dave exchanged a knowing glance with Marty—silently forming a plan. "Hey, waitress!" He suddenly called out.

Todd’s eyes widened in panic. "No! No, no, no—what the fuck am I supposed to say to her?"

"Order another milkshake," Marty snickered.

Todd ran a shaky hand through his hair, clearly freaking out as he saw you glance in their direction before heading toward their table.

"Oh, shit. Oh, shit—she’s coming!" His voice barely came out as he scrambled for an escape, gulping down his milkshake like his life depended on it.

"How can I help?" you greeted with a warm smile, the sunlight from the window behind you making you look even more radiant. Then, your gaze landed on Todd. "Hey, Todd. The usual?"

"Me?" Todd blurted out, his voice cracking slightly. He turned to his friends, who looked just as amused as they were surprised.

"Yeah… milkshake. I know you like it—you always get the same thing," you beamed casually, already flipping open your notepad.

"Uh… I… can I…" Todd stumbled over his words. Oh my God, she knows what I like. His brain was short-circuiting. "I wanna buy you a milkshake."

You let out a soft laugh, pulling the pen from behind your ear and jotting something down. "I’m gonna serve you a big slice of ‘never do that again,’ okay?"

You replied, folding the piece of paper and placing it near his hand before walking away. Todd stared at you, utterly devastated. His soul left his body.

"Oof, dude… that was rough," Dave cringed, physically recoiling from secondhand embarrassment.

"Yeah, I kinda saw that one coming," Todd muttered, hesitantly unfolding the note—fully expecting his official rejection letter, his eyes widened.

"Oh. My. God."

"What?!" Dave and Marty leaned in at the same time. Todd slowly turned the paper around.

"I’m off at 5. XOXO."

"XOXO?" Dave repeated, snatching the paper.

"It means hugs and kisses, dumbass," Marty rolled his eyes, taking it from him to inspect the handwriting. Before he could analyze further, Todd swiped back his sacred treasure.

"I dunno… think I won’t go," Todd murmured, pouting dramatically.

"Wait, wait, wait. You're gonna chicken out now that she actually showed interest?" Marty hissed in disbelief.

"I don’t know, man… She’s perfect. And I’m just… this." Todd gestured vaguely to himself. He sighed deeply, his shoulders slumping as he absentmindedly reached for his milkshake straw—only to find nothing there.

"Hey, man. Don’t be like that," Marty said, giving him a reassuring pat on the back. "If she’s into you, that means there’s gotta be something cool about you."

"Yeah, Todd. You’re a cool guy, the smartest one out of the three of us. You’ll do great," Dave reassured him, flashing a confident smile.

Todd let out a weak laugh, barely processing the words as he glanced at you. His heart skipped a beat when you turned and met his gaze, smiling at him like it was the easiest thing in the world.

Was this what cardiac arrest felt like?

"Yeah… it’s gonna be great," he mumbled, his lips stretching into a dumb, lopsided grin. Every ounce of self-doubt vanished. That smile of yours? That was all he needed today.

Marty and Dave, sensing the gravity of the situation, made sure to stay with him until the very last minutes of your shift. They cracked jokes, debated superhero fights, and did their best to keep Todd from imploding. And for a while, it worked—until the clock ticked closer to 5 PM.

Todd felt it before he saw it—the rush of oh-no-oh-no-it’s-happening panic settling in his bones. His palms grew clammy as he watched you disappear into the employee break room. His foot tapped against the floor rapidly.

Dave, immediately noticing, snapped his fingers in front of Todd’s face. "Alright, dude. Focus up. Take this."

Todd blinked as Dave dropped a stick of gum into his hand. "Do I have bad breath?"

"No… but trust me, mint gum is a game changer. Chicks love it."

Marty, standing beside them, shoved his hands into his pockets and casually pulled out five more sticks of mint gum. Todd and Dave stared at him like he had just pulled out five engagement rings.

"What?" Marty blinked. "I like to be prepared."

"As if you’re kissing that many people," Dave snorted.

Marty rolled his eyes and flipped him off. "I am a romance expert, okay? I’m the best at Romance Simulator, and I’ve picked up a ton of tips—"

"Oh yeah, great example, Marty," Dave cut in.

"Hey! Those games are super realistic!" Marty huffed, popping a piece of gum into his mouth. "I even have a girlfriend in one of them."

"The only girlfriend you’re ever getting," Dave snickered.

Todd, however, wasn’t listening anymore. His brain had short-circuited the moment he saw you step out of the break room, adjusting your bag strap as you waved goodbye to your coworkers.

"Guys, she’s coming," he whisper-hissed, suddenly shoving them aside. Panic took over. "How do I look? Am i stinking?"

Before anyone could react, Todd lifted his arm toward Marty. Marty recoiled like a cat sprayed with water. "DUDE. I’m not smelling you."

"Come on, please! I don’t even know if I put on cologne—Dave!" Todd pleaded desperately, his eyes wide with silent help me energy. Dave just shook his head, holding back a laugh.

"You ready?" Your voice rang out, bright and casual, like you hadn’t just sent Todd spiraling into a crisis. His body moved before his brain could, immediately slamming his arm down and scrambling to his feet.

"Of course! Let’s go!" he blurted out, way too enthusiastic, wiping his sweaty hands on his jeans like that would magically solve the problem.

But when he finally looked at you—saw the soft amusement in your eyes, the way your lips twitched like you were holding back a laugh—his nerves settled just a little bit.

You both stepped out of the store, and Todd could not stop staring. He had never seen you in casual clothes before.

The skirt? Adorable. That black Venom t-shirt? Perfect. The way it fit on you? Dangerous. You turned to face him, the soft scent of your hair hit him like a gentle, but highly effective truck.

"Finally worked up the courage to talk to me, huh? I was starting to think you were embarrassed of me," you teased, laughing.

"Embarrassed of you? Jesus, it’s more like the opposite," he blurted out, rubbing the back of his neck. The warm, bubbly feeling in his chest only grew when you laughed at his joke.

"So why didn’t you ever talk to me?" you asked, genuinely curious. First things first, let’s be honest here.

You were just as into Todd as he was into you.

There was something about him that was so effortlessly adorable. The way he always ordered a milkshake, sipping on it like it was the best thing in the world. You made sure to take your sweet time preparing it just right—just so you could see that little happy smile he made when he took the first sip.

Todd was the kind of guy who made you giggle and kick your feet on your bed, cheeks burning at just the thought of him.

And the fact that he had zero clue about the effect he had on you? It almost made you feel like some kind of stalker. Casually texting him every day just to keep the conversation going. Catching yourself wishing you were his milkshake straw, quenching his thirst, around his rosy wet lips. Oh, the tongue—

Todd, completely unaware of all of this, was busy trying not to combust.

"I just… I thought you’d be embarrassed of me because, well… I'm—" He exhaled, hesitating, hoping you’d finish the sentence for him.

Loser, his brain supplied helpfully. Instead, you smiled and said, "Shy?"

Todd blinked. That was not the word he expected.

You—beautiful, funny, way-too-cool-for-him—were looking at him with zero judgment. Just patience. Just kindness. He was sure you're going to heaven when you died.

"Yeah… I guess," he mumbled, scratching the back of his head. "Sorry about that."

"no, I'm the one that should be apologizing," you cooed, sighing. "Sorry about the dump, i was kinda angry with you. I was starting to think you hated me and I don't know, ghosting."

"No, shit. Sorry," he whined, feeling like an ass to make you feel like this. "From now on, i'll talk to you every time I see you. Promise."

"Deal. Hey, do you remember that new Marvel issue I told you about?" you asked, smoothly changing the subject.

Todd nodded, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Yeah! It’s great. Why?"

"I bought it. It’s at my place. Wanna come see?"

Todd’s brain immediately shut down. His mouth opened. Then closed. Then opened again.

Processing… Processing… ERROR: BRAIN NOT FOUND.

"I… uh… one sec! I forgot something back in the store," Todd blurted out, laughing way too weirdly before bolting back inside.

He skidded to a stop at the table where Dave and Marty were still sitting, slamming his hands down on it like he was in some kind of action movie. "Date over already?" Dave questioned, raising an eyebrow.

"SHE WANTS ME TO GO TO HER HOUSE," Todd announced, not breathing, before grabbing Dave’s soda and chugging it.

"And what the hell are you waiting for? Go before he changes her mind! You don't have many options," Marty urged, while Dave yanked his soda back, dramatically wiping the rim before taking another sip.

"But I don’t know what to do! It’s not a date! She just mentioned something about a new Marvel issue," Todd gasped, heart pounding, his body already covered in stress sweat.

Dave and Marty exchanged a look. Marty was the first to speak, grinning. "That’s a code."

"That’s 100% a code," Dave agreed.

Todd blinked. "A code? The hell you talking about?" He whispered like a true paranoid man, glancing out the window to make sure you weren’t listening. Luckily, you were distracted on your phone.

"Okay, Todd. Tell me when the new Marvel issue actually comes out," Dave prompted, crossing his arms.

"March 23rd. Why?" Todd replied, even more confused.

"And what’s today’s date?"

"Hmmm, lemme think. Okay, I know. March 19th, but what does that have to—" Todd froze. His brain short-circuited. His eyes went huge. "Oh my God. It’s a code."

"It’s a code," they both confirmed, nodding like wise sages.

The realization hit Todd so hard that all three of them jumped up in celebration—only to immediately sit back down when everyone in the store looked at them like they were insane.

"Shit. I gotta go. Bye!" Todd practically sprinted away.

"Crack that code wide open, Todd!" Dave called after him, laughing as Todd flipped him off on his way out.

“Hey, man,” Marty called, stopping Todd, gesturing him to come closer and whisper. “Spiderman hands, you hear me?”

“What the—”

“Just do it,” he insisted and Todd frowned, realization coming when he did the gesture himself. “You see?”

“Got it. Thanks, dude,” he beamed, training with his both hands. You never know when you have to use your non dominant hand.

“And when you do it down there…” He continued, hands on his face to cover the gesture. “Venom tongue. Flash movements.”

“Damn, Marty. You're a fucking Wikipedia,” he grinned, keeping the information on his head. “Do the sage has more advices to this poor mortal?”

“Oh, i got one,” Dave standed, joining the conversation. “If she looks at your lips, don't chicken out. One more thing, mimic her lips, that way you won't mess your first kiss.”

“What? I had my first kiss.” He murmured blushing.

“Seriously, dude?” Marty mocked, giving an exaggerated eye roll. While Todd was still inside, you whipped out your phone and immediately typed into the group chat.

You: Girls, seriously. I’m with him.

Erika: Who??

You: Todd Haynes!!!!

Katie: OH MY GODDD

You: I’m so nervous, Idk what to do.

Erika: Apron. Wear it.

You: For what?

Erika: You’ll understand.

Katie: You got this, girl. You’re amazing.

Erika: Get him pregnant

You snorted at your friends’ chaotic but heartfelt encouragement, quickly locking your phone the second you saw Todd skidded back up to you, barely keeping it together.

"I’m back! I, uh, forgot… my keys," he explained, shaking them a little to prove it.

"I forget mine all the time. So… ready to go?"

He nodded so fast it was almost embarrassing.As you walked, Todd felt like he was floating. Your house was close to the store, and when you stepped inside, Todd couldn’t help but drink in his surroundings. It was small, but cozy—just like you.

He wanted to be cool about it. Casual. Normal. So, naturally, he started copying every single thing you did like some kind of socially awkward robot.

You took off your jacket? Boom. Jacket off. You took off your shoes and put them neatly on the shoe rack? Guess what? Todd was doing that too.

Smooth. Totally natural.

"So…" you started, taking a step closer to him. "What do you want?"

Todd choked on absolutely nothing and immediately backed up a step. Oh God. She moves fast. Is it happening? Is this it? Shit, I don't have any condoms here.

"W-What do you mean?" he stammered, hands awkwardly hovering at his sides.

You let out a soft laugh, but internally, you were screaming. Come on, Todd. Pick up the hints. Please just kiss me already.

"Do you wanna check out the comic or do something else first?" you clarified, hoping he’d catch the very obvious subtext.

Unfortunately, you were dealing with Todd Haynes—a man who had never been close to a woman that wasn’t his own mother. Todd, however, was trying to trust his instincts—and the questionable advice of his friends. With a burst of sudden confidence, he reached into his pocket and pulled out two pieces of gum.

"Wanna… gum?" he offered timidly.

You blinked. "Do I have bad breath?" you asked, suddenly self-conscious.

At that exact moment, Todd mentally began digging his own grave and jumping inside with a cheap bouquet. Dave crying looking at the rainy sky and Marty singing Love Hurts on his grave. R.I.P. Todd Haynes, the biggest coward to ever exist.

"NO. Oh my God. Fuck, no," he panicked, his words tripping over each other. "You smell… really good. Like, so good. I—uh. Shit. That sounded weird. I just—ugh, I shouldn’t have—sorry, I don’t know why I did that—"

Mid-breakdown, Todd shoved the gum back into his pocket and rocked back and forth on his heels, suffocating in the crushing weight of the awkward silence. You thought fast. You weren’t about to let this moment die, remembering the apron tip.

"Hey," you chirped, forcing casual confidence. "How about I cook for us?"

You turned toward the kitchen, heart pounding, silently praying the pots and pans would swallow you whole to spare you from the embarrassment.

Todd perked up immediately. "Yes! Yes, absolutely. I love everything you make," he rushed out, practically jogging after you before settling into a chair—the perfect spot to admire you while you cooked. You tied on an apron, completely unaware of the effect it had on Todd, who sat there, staring in silent awe.

"Wow."

You turned. "What?"

"Nothing!" he blurted, immediately crossing his arms like it would somehow make him look cooler and less flustered.

"Okay," you muttered, shaking your head as you turned to rummage through the cabinets. Erika was right, you’d definitely thank her. You stretched up on your tiptoes, but—unfortunately—your genius past self had placed the glasses way too high.

"Damn it…" you muttered.

Todd immediately jumped up. "I got it!"

He reached past you, his height making the task effortless—and for the first time, you actually registered how much taller he was than you.

"What do you need?" he asked, voice much closer than you expected.

"Uh…" You blinked up at him, suddenly feeling a little flustered yourself. "The glass cups. I, uh… accidentally put them super high."

Todd grabbed them easily, handing them over with a small, proud smile—totally unaware that his casual helpfulness had just made your heart skip a beat. He carefully set the two glasses down on the counter. You bit your cheek, your gaze meeting his—and lingering just a little too long.

The air between you suddenly felt thicker, heavier. His eyes flickered to your lips, and your breath hitched as you instinctively did the same. When you looked back up, his gaze was still there, locked on your mouth like it held the secrets of the universe.

Okay. Enough was enough.

Before your nerves could get the best of you, you moved, your fingers lightly brushing over his hand. Todd stiffened at first—face heating from the tiny touch—but he didn’t pull away. Instead, he exhaled sharply as he let his palm travel up to your cheek, hesitating for half a second before finally leaning in, closing the gap between you.

The second your lips met, you melted. Without thinking, your arms flew up, wrapping around his neck as you deepened the kiss—half in excitement, half to make sure he didn’t chicken out.

Todd, on the other hand, was very much spiraling.

Oh my God. Oh my God. I am kissing her. This is happening. She’s kissing me back. This is—

His brain short-circuited before defaulting to its best coping mechanism—imitation. Todd mimicked your lips movements, following your lead, and shockingly it worked. His hands instinctively gripped your waist, pulling you in closer.

And then, without really thinking, he tilted his head, stepping forward just enough to press you gently against the counter. It was official.

Todd Haynes had zero idea what he was doing. But somehow, it was going very, very well.

He moaned when your hands reached his hair, anchoring on his frame, he sucked your bottom lip like his life depended on it, he kissed hungrily. It was hot. So freaking hot, you were losing your mind, loving how he changed about it and just devoured you.

Everything was so good that he almost forgot about his cock pulsating inside his jeans. He pushed back, eyes wide as he looked down to the tent, eyes up to meet your mouth swollen, three tones redder and a huge teeth mark as the cherry on top.

“Fuck, I'm so sorry,” he whimpered, embarrassed with his hormones controlling his brain. “It’s just— I have no fucking idea of what I'm doing, but it's so good.”

“Yeah, it's really good,” you encouraged, coming closer, chests touching as you leaned to kiss him, slightly opening your legs, him entering the small gap you conceded.

The kiss was slower, more sensual. He was a fast learner, holding back on the vacuum-like sucking, concentrating on gentle nips. He pushed back, eyes closed.

“Is it better?” He muttered, ghosting his lips over yours.

“Yeah, but I think this would be better,” you breathed, taking his hand and directioning them to your lower belly, guiding him to your panties.

He gulped, nodding, opening his eyes to see you rolling your skirt up, giving him a sight of your panties. Todd Haynes was too stunned to speak. He just moved his hand to touch the covered spot, almost flicking his hand back when he felt you shivering.

“You can touch directly if you want to,” you suggested like you weren't the one dying of embarrassment.

Todd sighed. Spider-Man hands. He remembered when he pushed your panties down and patted his fingertip on your clit, watching your reaction. He gulped at you and looked at him with doe eyes begging to be touched. He wouldn't deny it, so he gently rubbed your clit, licking his lips, dying to feel your taste on them.

“Yeah, you're—pretty good, Todd,” you purred, your sounds making his head blurred, focused on your cunt getting wetter and wetter.

“Is it?” His eyes lit up, going down at your slit to collect more liquid and keep the stroking on your spot.

“Uh-huh,” you nodded, spreading your legs wider. Todd's chest rose and fell rapidly, increasing the rhythm until he successfully inserted his middle finger inside. “Fuck.”

He froze his finger, searching your eyes to check if he did something wrong, but your flushed face, so beautiful biting your lip as your hips longed for his finger said the opposite. He was doing really good.

Encouraged by your lewd expression, he joined his ring finger inside, setting a pace by the reactions you were making.

“Faster, Todd,” you pleaded, grinding on his fingers. He couldn't even believe, looking down, seeing his fingers glistening in and out, disappearing on your cunt sucking them, your walls clenching around them, he was panting.

“Like this?” He asked in a whimpery voice, doing what you needed. He searched for your lips, brushing them as he heard the wet sound of your pussy.

You grasped his biceps, feeling the knot forming on your lower belly as you purred and whined on the kiss. Todd started to breathe faster, grinding on your thigh, his free hand palming your ass.

“Todd, I'm cumming,” you mewled, coming undone on his fingers, legs shivering as he held you in place, preventing you from falling down. He kept fingering you til he opened his mouth, shutting his eyes and throwing his head back, swaying his hips on your thigh.

He groaned, taking off his fingers from you and directioning it to his mouth, sucking your arousal. He hummed, looking back at you panting, hands gripping on the counter.

“You taste better than milkshakes,” he shyly added, planting an adorable peck on your lips.

“You're so cute,” you giggled, pecking him back. You weren't done, your hunger for Todd might never end. He was just so damn irresistible. “Hey… do you wanna, like… continue this?”

“Oh… uhmm…” He stammered, his nose doing the little frown you find cute. “We have to wait a little.”

“Why?” You pouted, tilting your head.

“Why?” He echoed, thinking about all the manners of saying the obvious, choosing to say it straight. “I came.”

You grinned, giggling at him getting beet-red. “Hey, don't worry about it. We can eat something while your body reacts.”

“Can i eat you?” He blurted, suddenly digging courage from the bottom of his heart.

You blushed, nodding, too shy to say something. He grinned, kneeling on the floor. “Hey, don't you wanna go to my room? It might be uncomfortable for you.”

“It's just…” he began, tilting his head up to meet your gaze, warm breath next to your cunt. “I kinda fantasize a lot about eating you out in the kitchen.”

“Really?” You panted, hands making their way to his head.

“Yeah,” he replied, licking his lips in anticipation. Venom tongue. Flash speed. “The apron is a bonus.”

That night, you finally lived your dream—becoming Todd’s milkshake straw in the best way possible. And Todd? He finally mustered up the courage to take a real chance on you.

You spent the rest of the evening wrapped up in each other, sharing a blanket that neither of you really needed. Your legs brushed. Your fingers tangled absentmindedly. Every now and then, Todd would steal a glance at you like he still couldn’t believe this was real. As you both talked for hours about the thing that brought you together in the first place—comics—he realized something:

Super heroes were cool. Spider Man and Flash? Even cooler. He couldn't forget to thank Venom as a villain.

But nothing—nothing—could top the way you looked at him like he was your favorite issue in the entire collection.

[broomsick]

Oath-making and heathen practice

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[sweetcarrotsandroses97]

~ Shadows Of The Night |3| Mon Rêve

Pairing: Archdeacon! Jungkook x Romani! Fem! Reader

Summary: It all began with a mistake that followed you like a shadow on a sunny day. You crossed paths with the enigmatic Archdeacon of Notre-Dame, Father Jeon Jungkook, who promised to protect you from demons he couldn't fight. 15th Century, Paris. A lie. A stolen heartbeat and a confession that was never heard. He wanted you. You needed him. A secret turned into poison just as fate was cruel and it made him love you. Bounded by his vows and his position, Jungkook could only keep you as close as a dream at his reach. A cruel dream forged in a sanctuary of shadows and thorns.

Warnings: religious themes, dark romance?, forbidden love, AGE GAP (Kook is like 30-ish and oc is in her early twenties), angst, Jungkook is a priest 😳, oc is described as a petite woman, oc is described as being of Romani origin but no physical description is given of her other than her small stature (for canon purposes), injury, blood, implied attack on oc, fainting, Jungkook prays, (let me know if I missed anything!)

Word Count: 2.6k words

A/N: I know it has taken my like 3-4 months to write this part, I am so sorry, my darlings!!! I hope you will enjoy it and I will get back on track with my writing schedule. A lot has been going on in my life but I am finally settling back.

I finished my project successfully and I will present it on Thursday but it is practically finished and I will be going on a family holiday on Friday (a much needed mental break) and I hope I'll come back with lots and lots of inspiration. Take care, my darlings and enjoy the chapter.

Let me know your thoughts in the comments! You know I love to hear what you think of the chapter 🫶🫶🫶

Months passed, days that were too long and nights that were too slow and the passage of time felt like an eternity to Jungkook. The cold stone walls of the cathedral, once a place of solace and reverence, now seemed to close in on him. The weight of his devotion, the chains of his duties, had become suffocating in the absence of you. His prayers, once filled with fervent faith, now held your name, whispered desperately in the quiet hours of the night when no one else could hear.

Each day, he rose at dawn, his heart heavy with longing, hoping that perhaps today would be the day he saw you again. His steps through the cathedral were slower, his gaze always drifting toward the door, half-expecting you to walk through it with that same determined fire in your eyes. But you never came.

Every time he walked through the streets of Paris, he scanned the faces of the passersby, searching for a glimpse of your (h/c) hair, the sound of your anklet bells, or even the faintest echo of your voice. He asked discreet questions, careful not to arouse suspicion among the parishioners or his fellow clergymen, but no one seemed to know where you had gone. It was as if you had vanished into thin air, leaving only the memory of your haunting words and the amulet he kept close to his heart.

He tried to focus on his duties—on the sermons, on the confessions, on the endless prayers that filled his days—but your absence gnawed at him, a hollow ache that refused to heal. He could still feel the ghost of your wrist beneath his fingertips, the soft, fleeting touch that had ignited something dangerous within him. His dreams were plagued by visions of you, and when he woke, he was left with an unbearable emptiness.

The guilt ate away at him, too. How could he, a man sworn to serve God, allow himself to be consumed by thoughts of you? How could he forsake his vows for the sake of a Romani girl he barely knew? Yet, every time he questioned himself, his mind drifted back to the moment you looked into his eyes, the way your voice had trembled with fear and sorrow.

“I am a dead woman walking.”

Those words echoed endlessly in his mind. What did they mean? What had you been running from? And why did you fear dragging him into your darkness? He had no answers, only the certainty that he could not let this go. He needed to know. He needed to find you.

One evening, as Jungkook knelt before the altar, bathed in the dim glow of candlelight, he made a decision that would alter the course of his life forever. His fingers traced the edge of the silver bracelet you had left behind, his mind wrestling with the growing conflict in his heart. For months, he had fought it, tried to suppress the flame that had been lit the night he first laid eyes on you. But no longer. The fire had consumed him, burned away the facade of his holy devotion, and left only one undeniable truth: he would do anything to find you.

But he didn’t know where to look. He didn’t know where to even start. A helplessness gripped his heart with fierce claws, tearing at his sanity. There was nothing he could do despite the desire to give everything for you. 

The flickering candle light illuminated his path as Jungkook climbed up the stairs that led up to his study. The walls around him were cold, the echoes of his footsteps being the only thing that he heard. Slow, calculated footsteps that carried him to his study. 

Jungkook sighed as he entered the familiar place he often worked at. The large desk with piles of paperwork yet to complete seemed to mock him as he stared at them with disinterest. The wall behind his desk was filled with books, the pillars of the faith he had sworn to devote himself into but now those vows were tainted by the darkness of his thoughts. 

The archdeacon ran a hand through his hair, his hand playing with the rosary he always carries with himself as his long fingers traced the beads made of wood. He walked toward the window that outsaw the courtyard, the very street before the grand cathedral was drowned by the shadows of the night, illuminated only by the silver spectre of the moon. 

As Jungkook stared out into the night, the weight of the moon’s pale light seemed to press down on him, cold and unforgiving. The courtyard below, once a place of peaceful reflection, now felt distant and empty—a hollow shell that mirrored the void in his chest. His grip on the rosary tightened as if the wooden beads could somehow anchor him to the faith he was slowly losing grip on.

He looked down with a sigh, his dark eyes staring down at the rosary, remembering the countless prayers he had spoken in this very cathedral, in this very room. Those words were now hollow. A tightness in his chest, a thorn in his heart. 

Jungkook looked up, his eyes narrowing as he saw something moving through the streets. He frowned, holding his breath in anticipation as the darkness made it seem as if whatever he had seen was a trick of his imagination But there it was again. The shadows dancing among the darkness. He saw someone, a person. They were running. He saw a dress. A woman. Sprinting to the cathedral. He saw movement behind her, more shadows he couldn’t count from here he stood. They were chasing her. And as soon as she stepped into the courtyard of Notre-Dame, the moon illuminated her hair, (h/c) in its nature. 

“(y/n).”

Your name left his lips in a breath before he left his study, the rosary slipped from his fingers clattering to the floor and the beads spread across the ground. Some of them were lost forever but Jungkook didn’t look back, he was already out of the door and down the hallway, his long robes billowing behind him. 

You were running. You ran with all your might. You didn’t dare look back. Your hands were fisting the skirts of your dress as you bolted through the streets of Paris. The cathedral loomed before you like a safe haven, its towering arches and intricate carvings lit by the soft glow of the moon. You could hear their footsteps behind you, the sound of boots pounding against the cobblestones, growing closer. Your breath came in ragged gasps, your legs ached from running, and your heart pounded in your chest with a rhythm that echoed your fear.

Notre-Dame was close now, so close. You just needed to reach the entrance—just a few more steps. You fisted your skirts tighter, pushing yourself to move faster, to escape the shadows chasing you. You had no other thought but to get to the safety of the church, where no one could touch you.

Where he would protect you.

You burst into the courtyard, the moonlight catching the strands of your hair as you stumbled toward the grand doors. The cathedral seemed to wrap around you like a fortress, the nave an infinite path ahead of you, its towering structure providing the sanctuary you so desperately sought. And standing in the centre of it all, just as you had imagined, was Jungkook.

He looked desperate, his eyes, normally holding such an unwavering faith were now filled with anguish as he made his way to you, nearly running. You didn’t stop, you couldn’t and you met him at the centre of the nave, under the big chandelier with a thousand candles above your heads. You ran toward him, your feet barely keeping pace with the desperation in your chest. The moment your body collided with his, his arms wrapped around you without hesitation, pulling you close, shielding you from everything and everyone that might come after you.

“(y/n)...”

“I-I claim Sanctuary.”

You managed to gasp out, clutching his robes as though they were the only thing keeping you from falling apart. Your chest heaved with exhaustion, your words a desperate plea that echoed in the cavernous space of the cathedral.

Jungkook tightened his grip around you, his tall frame towering over yours as he stood protectively before the altar. But just as he was going to take you further into the cathedral, the grand doors opened harshly and several men entered the sacred place with airs of violence. The archdeacon frowned, moving you so that you stood behind him as he faced whatever threat had forced you to seek safety in his domain. 

“Give us the girl, priest.”

One of the men spoke, his voice rough, his complexion robust and tall and your hands fisted Jungkook’s robes from behind. 

“This woman is under the protection of the Church.”

Jungkook spoke, his voice rang out, strong and commanding, addressing the men who had stormed into the courtyard behind you. His tone left no room for argument, and his eyes narrowed as he met the gaze of each of your pursuers. 

“Any harm that comes to her will be seen as an affront to God Himself.”

The men exchanged uneasy glances, their hands twitching toward the hilts of their weapons, but they knew better than to challenge the church. The cathedral guards, alerted by the commotion, stepped forward, their armour gleaming in the dim light as they brandished their weapons. The men hesitated at the threshold, their eyes flicking nervously between each other and the guards stationed at the cathedral. The authority of the church was not something easily contested, and they knew it.

Slowly, one by one, they began to retreat, disappearing into the shadows of the night, though their presence left a bitter chill in the air. The tension dissipated, like fog in the morning. 

Jungkook turned to look at you yet he frowned as he saw you trembling. Your hands fisted his dark robes and as you looked up at him, he noticed your eyes, those beautiful and expressive (e/c) eyes were wide with fear. Tears of panic formed in your lash line as you blinked up at the archdeacon that had defended you from harm. 

“(y/n),”

A shuddering breath escaped your lips at the way he said your name. In that deep voice of his. With that authority he always carried. Yet the syllables of your name were tainted with underlying sentiment you couldn’t decipher even if you had wanted to. 

“(y/n), you are safe. It’s over.”

But you shook your head. Your chest tightened and the tears spilled over. You were exhausted and scared. You bit your lip to try and stop the panic from taking over. Your breathing was erratic and you clung to him with desperation in your grip. 

His large hands tightened where they rested on top of your shoulders, he didn’t know whether to pull you closer or push you away. This was becoming too much. His heart was seizing at the proximity, at the sheer physical contact with you. 

You looked up at him once more, your eyes meeting his and he was stunned as he saw the fear swimming in your soul. Yet what really made his stomach drop was the glazed over way your eyes held his own. 

“Jungkook.”

A simple whisper. The whisper of his name. Very few had ever spoken to him by his first name since he became the archdeacon. But you didn’t see him as the defender of Notre-Dame. You saw him as your protector. 

He frowned down at you as your body slackened, his hold on you tightened before he took you fully into his arms, pressing you against his chest. One of his large hands rested on your waist while the other cupped the back of your head. 

“You are safe. I promise.”

But you shook your head even as he whispered those words to your ear. Your body trembled against him, and he could feel the erratic rhythm of your breath hitching as you leaned into him. 

“I… I can’t-”

You didn’t even finish your sentence as your knees buckled. His hold around you tightened before he lowered you to the ground as he held you firmly against him. That was when Jungkook saw it. Your dress, tattered and dirty, was stained with blood. Your blood. His calloused hand pressed against the wound, feeling the warm sticky liquid taint his palm and fingers. 

“(y/n), (y/n)! Open your eyes!”

Jungkook’s voice echoed through the cathedral, cracking with a desperation that felt foreign to him. He cradled you against his chest, his strong arms trembling as they held your limp form. You were so still, too still, and the sight of your blood seeping into your tattered dress sent a cold wave of terror crashing through him.

You had sought sanctuary because you were at death’s door. Jungkook’s chest tightened with anguish as he held you, the weight of your limp body so light in his arms it felt wrong. He stared at your face, pale and drawn, framed by tangled strands of your hair. The world around him seemed to blur, reduced to the sound of your shallow breaths and the frantic pounding of his heart.

The sound of footsteps reached him and he looked up only to see Brother Antoine and Father Nicolas hurrying to his side. Their faces marred with worry and a tinge of curiosity as they approached the archdeacon. 

“Whatever has happened here?”

Asked the latter, his voice carried a hint of horror. Jungkook looked down at you while pressing his palm firmer to your wound. 

“She has sought Sanctuary in this Holy walls. Antoine, secure the cathedral. Do not let anybody other than the clergy to enter for the night. Nicolas, fetch the physician. Now.”

Jungkook gritted his teeth, feeling the blood seeping through his fingers, pooling on the ground in a crimson depiction of horror. Father above, have mercy. Spare her this pain, I beg you. If she is to be punished, let it fall upon me instead. And forgive me… Forgive me for loving her as I do.

Without thinking further, Jungkook lifted you into his arms as he stood to his full height. Your body was no weight to him, not even compared to the ache that filled his heart. Your (h/c) locks spilled over his arm as he held you securely against his chest. 

“Venerable Father, where are you taking her?”

Asked Brother Antoine, his eyes wide as he saw the archdeacon handle you with such delicacy and tenderness. A sentiment that belied his usual stoicism. 

“To my quarters. She is not to be disturbed.”

And with that, Jungkook walked away from the two men who later dispersed to fulfil his orders. His long strides ate up the distance as he crossed the nave and went to the private staircase that led to the upper rooms where only the clergy were allowed to enter. 

Your dress rustled as he held you, he could feel the warmth of your blood seeping into his own dark robes and as he looked down at you, he felt as if his heartstrings were being pulled with cruelty. Your face was serene even in your unconscious state and you were as beautiful as ever. Not even death could ever take away your beauty. Not that he’d allow for your soul to be taken first. 

As he walked through the darkened corridors with you held securely in his embrace, he muttered one last sentence to you before entering his room. A place only he was allowed to enter. Under the flickering candles and the colourful hues of moonlight streaming through the stained glass windows, Jungkook spoke only for your ears to hear.

“Mon Reve, why must you test me like this?”

December/02/2024

~ Masterpost

☕Caffeinate me so I can keep on writing! ☕

[mellowdisko]

Vulpes Inculta headcanons 👀👀

oh gladly! i've been waiting for this moment.

vulpes is young—far younger than most would expect. like in his early twenties. his age leads people to often mistake him for just another low-ranking legionary, dismissing him outright until he reveals his rank as summus frumentarius. but rather than seeing this as a hindrance, he uses it to his advantage in espionage: disguising himself as a farmboy from arizona or a green NCR recruit.

as I said in this post, i do believe vulpes to be a religious man. he was raised by priestesses, within the cult of mars and knows no other way of life. his faith is absolute, a fanaticism that drives him to follow its teachings without question, gladly committing atrocities in the name of his gods. yet, he does not make a spectacle of his faith when it comes to personal practices. he prays in silence, visits temples alone. and he prays a lot, especially in battle or before undertaking a dangerous task.

he also prays for his own men—asking that they return from their missions both victorious and alive. maybe he cares for them; maybe there is a small part left in him that aches when he sends them into the bear's land, a part that keeps him up at night, a part that makes him smile when they radio in for report. maybe they’re the older brothers he never had growing up, maybe he does want them to survive, maybe there is some love in that. or maybe he just hates losing any reliable tools of the legion, simply hates being wasteful with his resources. no one really knows.

as said in the post he is superstitious too, especially when it comes to "omens" he sees in nature. like he'll rather walk all the way across the mojave than to go through a shortcut a vulture flew over. lucius constantly mocks him for this (also like I mentioned in the linked post my hc for lucius is that he's too old to have grown up into the legion's religion. he was raised with science rather than cultish teachings, making him far more rational than the younger legionaries.) vulpes acts indifferent about lucius’s skepticism, but deep down, it unsettles him. like a lot.

he dislikes working in the strip or any other urbanised areas like that. he's more of a “child of the desert”, the city doesn't suit him.

he probably doesn't enjoy enclosed spaces overall, doesn't feel too comfortable with a roof over his head. unlike most other frumentarii assigned to new vegas, he has no fascination with luxury or comfort. he'd prefer to sleep on the desert floor rather than wake up to a greasy casino ceiling. he hates the neon lights and the tall buildings. hates the noise, the crowd, the "degeneracy". he doesn’t belong to vegas. he loves the wasteland, that untamed emptiness waiting to be conquered; he loves wandering, trekking through it—taking the fox act a little too seriously.

but that does not mean he disregards the old world as a whole, no, I think he'd find it interesting, alluring even—collecting every small piece of it he's allowed to have in legion land. novels, cassettes, maps...nothing radical enough to be seduced by a world outside the legion but faded fragments of a forgotten era just loved enough to be cherished and be tucked away into a corner of his tent.

vulpes has a natural aptitude for languages. he is probably fluent in multiple tribal dialects and has used that talent for the legion's benefit since we know the frumentarii do act as ambassadors. caesar secretly hates this part about him because it reminds him of a particular someone with blue eyes who too was also good with languages.

definitely hates chess with a burning passion. he thinks it is redundant and naive because warfare is not two neat lines of soldiers marching toward each other on an even playing field. the structure of turns, limited moves and pieces frustrates him. he thinks you have to be unfair in war, deceive, be unpredictable, and strike when the enemy least expects it, win by cheating basically. he's also terrible at it which is definitely not a reason for this dislike.

[tw1l1te]

𝖋𝖆𝖑𝖘𝖊 𝖍𝖊𝖗𝖔- 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖙𝖜𝖔

ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

“Oh, I like her already.” Wars speaks. The Vet just seems to roll his eyes, muttering something about the Captain’s ego.

You rise back into a standing position, eyeing the group again. You look back up at Time, stating, “I presume you’re the Hero of Time, based off of your moniker.”

“You would be correct, although hardly anyone calls me by that title.”

You hum at his comment, finding his humble nature pleasing. Turning to the one named Sky, you motion your hand at him, “And you must be the Hero of the Skies, or the Chosen One. The first of us, if we go by technicalities.”

He nods hesitantly, curious as to where you got all of this information about them. He would’ve been more uneasy if you weren’t a descendant, but you were one of them, after all.

“Why… do you call yourself the Forgotten Hero?” he asks.

You smile solemnly at him, “Because this era has been doomed. Utterly and completely in decay. By the time my quest is done, Hyrule, or what remains of it will collapse and rebuild itself over thousands of years. I will be too hidden in the past to be remembered.”

You take a small breath before continuing, admitting the truth out loud.

“I will also be forgotten because I’m not you, or your descendants. I’m not the traditional male hero. Quite the anomaly, aren’t I?”

He seems conflicted by your statement, eyebrows furrowing together.

“But if you’re the only female so far, wouldn’t that make you more memorable? The heroine of Hyrule?”

“Maybe in another life, but not this one. I’m considered a disgrace of a hero by most people outside of my village and a few others spanned across the land.”

“Why would you say that? Didn’t you save everyone from destruction?”

You smile sadly, “The destruction happened years before I was born. If anything, I caused more of it.”

He takes a moment to think before asking the inevitable question.

“Link… who exactly did you defeat?”

Your eyes snap back up at him, making sure he was looking right at you. The information you were about to reveal was going to create the rift of the ages. It was now or never.

“Hylia.”

~

The room was silent for a few minutes, the only sound being heard was the loud blizzard beyond the splintered walls of the shack. The loud silence made you wish the shack would finally collapse in on itself.

Sky finally speaks, eyes glued to you. 

“W-what do you mean by that? You’re saying she caused all of this?”

You sighed, knowing he was one of the more… innocent followers of her. 

“Well, a few thousand years after the Era of the Wilds, there started to be a lot of… religious issues surrounding Hylia. A lot of questionable and downright disgusting practices. It caused people to start grouping up and separating, causing the nations of Hyrule to close off from each other.”

Looking around the group, you take a moment to let them process the new information before continuing.

“The Rito, Zora, Gorons, Gerudo, Sheikah, and Hylians all started to conflict more and more, eventually ascending into a 50-year war, or the Reawakening. The followers of Hylia formulated a plan to resurrect her in the flesh, killing Zelda in the process.”

“A life for a life.” Time muttered, deep in thought.

“Exactly. The plan was successful, the goddess being reawoken after millennias of being dead. She came back… unrecognizable, both physically and in an ideological sense. Her morality and character had been altered so much to the point of her followers becoming a cult. The cult killed my parents, thousands of people that questioned Hylia, essentially wiping out most of the kingdom.”

“And the land? How did it come to be so… bleak?”

“Hylia is the Sun, both literally and metaphorically. The sun is technically up beyond the clouds, but the amount of destruction and chaos she brought forth made the landscape unrestorable. The entirety of Hyrule looks just like this,” you motioned out with your hand.

“Hyrule is also significantly bigger than any of yours. Probably still larger than if you were to combine the size of each of your era’s Hyrule’s. It has been a cold, snowy abyss for over 30 years now.”

The brunette piqued up, head tilting slightly, “So where is Hylia now? Hyrule Castle?”

You shake your head.

“Hyrule Castle is in utter ruins now, most use it to scavenge for rock or old weapons. I’m… not sure where she is right now, I'm trying to track her down.”

“Didn’t you say you killed her?” the Veteran asked.

“I did but… her psyche is still present. She may not have a physical body anymore, as I returned it back to its dormant state, permanently, but her essence is somewhere. Everywhere.”

Time walks up to you, arms crossed over his chest. Curse your short stature, compared to his at least.

“From what you're telling us, it seems that we were brought here to help you. We came here through a portal, and from what we’ve learned, we can’t leave an era unless we’ve completed the task at hand, regardless of our own opinions or standing on the matter.”

“What were your original plans before being brought here?” you ask.

“The Shadow and his army. It took us months to finally pin him down and defeat him.”

You remember something being mentioned in the archives about a dark version of Link, but only being a mere shadow. Now a physical form? That was something you didn’t experience in your own journey. Lucky you, you suppose.

“Right now Hyrule is… in limbo, I suppose. Hylia’s first form was defeated about a year ago and we’ve tried to track her essence down since. We don’t know if she’s using someone as a vessel or if she’s resting in some sacred grounds to gather strength. Granted, the blizzards have made it significantly harder to even make it past the woods.”

Four, one of the shortest and most colorful of the Link’s speaks.

“So where exactly are we, based off of older maps?”

You ponder for a moment, trying to recollect exactly what town you could use to reference the location you were in. Something that was familiar to them.

“If I were to use my ancestor’s typography maps,” pointing to Wild, “I’d say we’re in the location of the Great Plateau. The plateau collapsed in on itself thousands of years ago and grew thick forest and brush, impenetrable if you were inexperienced with the outside world.”

You take a pause before continuing.

“Though if I were to be more accurate and precise… this would be almost the exact location of Ordon Village from the Era of Twilight.”

Twilight perks up at that, intrigued by your expertise and knowledge of their past eras. 

“How do you know that name?”

“Ordon?”

He nods.

You were revealing way too much about yourself within hours of meeting your ancestors. This is definitely not what you had planned.

Sighing, you reveal another ability you had kept concealed.

“I have the memories of every hero before me. I can see and dream of their travels, their fears, desires, secrets, everything. Even their own thoughts, at times.”

Twilight’s brow furrows, confusion emulating off his features.

“Isn’t that only what the goddess reincarnated can do? How can a holder of the Triforce of Courage accomplish that?”

“I don’t know. All I know is that it started when I was seven and I have them almost every day, multiple times a day.”

Time bristles at the age it started for you: seven.

…

He was the youngest hero to start his journey.

Of course, it made sense.

The memories of the hero began as soon as his purpose was ignited.

He was going to speak again, but you beat him to it, mentioning something about supper and needing to attend to some matters.

“Once you’re fed, I’ll come find you and find you a shack to board in. It will most likely be mine, as the village is full enough as it is. Dusk and Colin will show you around a bit, let them know if you need anything.”

With that, you bundle the scarf over your face again and leave through the front door, not looking back behind you.

“...You think they saw that time I rode on a bear in just my undergarments?”

“Definitely.”

ᨒ↟ ⋆｡°

[ddarker-dreams]

Chrollo tells you a story from his childhood centered around bread.

(Warnings for religious mentions and canon typical depictions of his hometown, Meteor City)

“Hm… how uncanny is that.” 

Knowing that he’ll continue speaking cryptic phrases until you express an interest you most certainly don’t have, you sigh, and rest your cheek on your fist. 

“What’s uncanny?” 

Please don’t mean the bread, please don’t mean the bread, please don’t mean the bread— 

“This bread loaf,” he inclines his head toward it, as if you couldn’t spot the table’s lone occupant, “It’s bringing up some memories.” 

He’s really going to talk to you about bread. Fuck.

“Meteor City, destitute as it is, was an attractive prospect for missionaries. My friends cared little for the religious doctrine they’d expound, but I always found the teachings fascinating. It wasn’t uncommon to go days without eating, so they’d come along with me on the sole condition that food was being provided. The priest, knowing this, had me relay the message that at his next teaching, there’d be fresh bread. Children overflowed from the tent that normally only I would occupy. He preached his sermon.” 

There’s a nostalgic air to him as he continues. “By the end, he presented us with a challenge: whoever capable of best verbally expressing their devotion to God could have the bread. Each child present wanted to be the victor. There was a great deal of murmuring and thinking. He had us form a line, where one by one, we’d give what we hoped to be the winning response. My friend Phinks was first. ‘If I’d been there, I’da stomped the shit out of that snake,’ is what he went with. As you can imagine, the priest kept going down the line. 

Eventually, he got to me. I’d been closely monitoring his body language and facial expressions. From what I could tell, no answer so far had even come close. I decided to take a different approach. From his theology, I could tell he was of the Roman Catholic persuasion. And so I suggested that to best prove our love, we should have mass. I thought that by focusing on the collective rather than oneself, I’d meet his unspoken criteria. He intended to keep the results to himself until everyone had spoken their piece, but no sooner as the words left my mouth did I know that wasn’t the answer he was looking for. 

After everyone had their turn, he brought the bread out for all to see. While we were all excitedly wondering who the lucky individual would be, he raised his voice and began admonishing us. He quoted Matthew, ‘It is written: Man must not live on bread alone, but on every word that comes from the mouth of God’. With that, he left us there, so that we could ‘think about what we’ve learned’.” 

Your jaw practically hits the floor. 

“I intended to counter his points later that night to see if I could win the community the bread they were promised. While I was preparing, a few children happened by, eating the bread that was pulled from under our noses. I asked where they got it from — they said Uvogin. Apparently, he learned what had happened and was incensed. I went to go see him so I could ask how he convinced the priest to give him the bread. I didn’t find Uvo at the place he normally hung out at, but I did see the priest.

He was… shall we say, arranged in a way that’s strenuous on the body. All the while he kept chanting, ‘Pater, aphes autois, ou gar oidasin ti poiousin’, though he lay dying. It left a strong impression on me. Especially because his pronunciation was slightly off… but more than that, I thought it interesting he held firm to the belief which landed him in this position. A belief he didn’t even understand properly. He passed with a content expression. He must’ve fancied himself a martyr. It later became a popular joke that in the end, he did prove that you can’t live on bread alone, since it didn’t seem to do him much good.” 

“How… how old were you?” 

“Seven or eight, I believe.” 

You get up from the table. You can feel his eyes following your every movement, from the suite’s dining room to the living space it's connected to. The suitcase you’ve yet to unpack sits patiently as you rummage through its contents. Grabbing what you need, you return to the table, where Chrollo regards you with a curious countenance. 

Your antidepressants rattle inside a small orange container as you put it before him. How he gets the medication, you haven’t the slightest clue. It’s more convenient to receive them from your enigmatic kidnapper than an uninsured trip to the psychiatrist. He’s got one thing going in his favor, at least. 

“Do you already need a refill?” 

You shake your head. 

“Just… after hearing that story… I think you might want to consider getting some of these for yourself. High dose.” 

[eldragon-x-moved]

[ACT 1]

{On your way to the Favor Tree, you walk into Odile and ask if she wants to come along. She considers for a moment before agreeing, and following you.}

{You approach the Favor Tree.}

Odile 👓 The Favor Tree, huh… Isabeau showed me how to ask them for a favor a while ago. I take it that’s what you’re here for?

Mirabelle 🎀 That’s right! I know a lot of people already asked for Vaugarde to be saved, but I thought I’d ask too, since…

Odile 👓 Are you worried about tomorrow? 

Mirabelle 🎀 Hmrgh… 

{You nervously clasp your hands together. Odile looks up at the tree.}

Odile 👓 The Favor Trees aren’t really part of the Change belief, right?

Mirabelle 🎀 No… The Change God doesn’t grant favors. It’s more of a myth here in Vaugarde, but lately people have taken it more seriously because of the King…

{You take a breath.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Are you going to ask for a favor, Madame?

Odile 👓 Probably not… Forgive my pessimism, but I don’t see the point in relying on a mere myth.

Mirabelle 🎀 Oh…

{You both remain silent for a moment}

Mirabelle 🎀 Is there something you believe in?

Odile 👓 Religiously you mean? Well, in Ka Bue, we don’t really have Gods. They’re more like… Expressions? You’d pray to the ones you need the most currently in your life. I have been reaching out to the Expression of Battle and the Expression of Victory among others, for example.

Mirabelle 🎀 …Do you believe we will beat the King tomorrow?

Odile 👓 …Do you want my honest answer?

{You bite your lip. Odile looks to the ground. You don’t want to dwell on this.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Um, you know, Siffrin actually showed me how to wish on a tree once!

Odile 👓 Is that any different than asking for a favor?

Mirabelle 🎀 I think? You do it differently and he seems to believe in it more than most people…

Odile 👓 And how would that work?

{You smile, relieved that Odile goes along with the change in subject. You look around, pick up a leaf from the floor, and hold it up to show it to her.}

Mirabelle 🎀 First, you have to pick a leaf that represents yourself!

{Odile listens curiously.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Then you have to breathe your wish into the leaf three times and fold the leaf.

{To demonstrate, you hold the leaf close to your mouth and whisper.}

{You wish for the King to be defeated. You wish for all of you to make it. You wish for Vaugarde to be saved.}

{You fold the leaf, holding it like this for several moments, before letting it be carried away by a breeze.}

Odile 👓 Hm… I take it this isn’t a Vaugardian practice. Has Siffrin ever told you where they learned this ritual?

Mirabelle 🎀 They haven’t. But I thought it might be worth trying, seeing as he puts more faith into it, and I… I shouldn’t be saying this, I know it’s on me to bring about change, but I don’t think I can do this alone. 

{Odile gave you a look and for a moment, you were worried she was judging you. Instead, her expression shifted into a smirk.}

Odile 👓 You’re not planning to go to the House alone, are you?

Mirabelle 🎀 HUH?!?

Odile 👓 Because unless you are, you aren’t alone.

Mirabelle 🎀 MADAME!!

{Odile laughs, and you sigh.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Don’t scare me like this again!

Odile 👓 I didn’t mean to. But it snapped you out of something, no?

Mirabelle 🎀 I suppose…

{She isn’t wrong. You feel… not calmer, but not as anxious either.}

Odile 👓 Now then,

{To your surprise, Odile picks up a leaf.}

Mirabelle 🎀 Are you going to make a wish?

Odile 👓 As you said, Siffrin puts more faith into it than Vaugardians have for the Favor Trees. No harm in trying.

{You watch as Odile repeats the ritual you showed her. You are a little curious about what she whispers into the leaf, but decide not to ask. After folding it, Odile lets go of the leaf, letting it fly off.}

Odile 👓 Now, I still have to stock up in the shop for tomorrow. I’d like to rely on more than a wish for us to make it to the King. I’ll be seeing you in the clocktower, Mirabelle.

{You nod with a smile.}

Mirabelle 🎀 I’ll see you then!

[anonymousewrites]

Apple of My Eye Chapter Twenty-One

Harry Hook x Child of Snow White! Reader

Chapter Twenty-One: The Mob Song

Summary: As curses pop up, tensions between Isle and Auradon kids continue to rise.

            “We’re interviewing Francis,” said (Y/N), leading Harry down the dorm halls.

            “Not a fan,” said Harry.

            (Y/N) glanced at him. “Take after his father?”

            “Religious nutter,” confirmed Harry.

            (Y/N) sighed. “Hopefully he’ll make the interview easy by being honest, at least.”

            “He doesn’t hold back,” said Harry.

            (Y/N) knocked on the dorm door. It opened, and Francis Frollo stood before them. He looked between (Y/N) and Harry and scoffed.

            “If you are looking to speak to me, I will do it at this door. That—” He gestured at Harry “—depraved pirate shall not enter my room.”

            Harry smirked and leaned on the doorway. “As if you don’t want me in ya room.”

            Francis spluttered and grew red. (Y/N) hit Harry’s side. Angering—or embarrassing, as was more likely—Francis wouldn’t help their interview.

            “We just want to ask you a few questions,” said (Y/N).

            Francis rolled his eyes. “Very well. Proceed.”

            “What are your views of Auradon?” said (Y/N).

            “Auradon has lost sight of good and evil,” said Francis. “My father was wrongly decreed to be evil when all he was doing was ridding the world of evil, cleansing it.”

            “D’ya want to do that again? ‘Cleanse’ Auradon?” said Harry.

            “I will simply preach the truth,” said Francis, lifting his chin. “If you’re implying I would fall to your lengths of plotting, then no.”

            “You just want to preach,” repeated (Y/N).

            “Correct,” said Francis. He leaned towards (Y/N). “And if this is about the red-haired prince without a voice, it wasn’t me.”

            “Ya don’t like people ya think are ‘inhuman,’ ” said Harry, shrugging. “Half-mermaid covers that.”

            Francis sneered. “Yet I would never use magic. It is a filthy tool, witchcraft.”

            The words were spoken with vehement hate, even more than when he’d spoken ill of Auradon. Clearly, he couldn’t be the perpetrator unless he was a talented liar—he hated magic too much to use it in revenge.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N). “Thank you for answering our questions.” Harry and (Y/N) turned to leave.

            “My dear,” said Francis. “Might I suggest you leave behind the pirate? He will only cause corruption and bring sin.”

            Harry crossed his arms, and (Y/N) put on a smile.

            “My family already ate the forbidden fruit,” said (Y/N). “Little too late for me.”

            They walked away, and Harry smirked at Francis before following them.

            “Forbidden fruit, ey?” said Harry, grinning at (Y/N).

            “You dress in red, so you’re like an apple,” said (Y/N).

            “Ya sure you didn’t mean nothin’ else, Highness?” said Harry, putting an arm around their shoulders teasingly. He winked.

            (Y/N) chuckled. “You and I both know I don’t eat apples.”

            “But ya could try me,” said Harry.

            (Y/N)’s cheeks warmed at the forwardness, but they couldn’t help their laugh and smile.

            “How did it go?” said Evie. She stood with Doug, having just gotten back from their interview. “I know Francis can be…something.”

            “It went fine,” said (Y/N). “He definitely doesn’t like any of us, but he hates magic. There’s no way he’s cursing anyone. And he has already been known for avoiding Tourney practices because they ‘promote violence,’ so he didn’t have the opportunity to curse Adrian.”

            “Seems pretty solid,” said Doug.

            “What did ya find?” said Harry, hand still around (Y/N)’s shoulders.

            “Giselle probably isn’t our culprit,” said Evie.

            “Yeah,” agreed Doug. “She had the grudge against Auradon, but she’s been adjusting better than it’s seemed. Looks like she’s just having trouble with some people like Mal did when she first came over.”

            “But when she talks about what she likes her, she seems really honest,” said Evie. “I think getting out form under her mother’s wing was good for her.”

            “She could be acting,” said Harry. “Bein’ crafty, gettin’ us to let our guards down.”

            “True,” said Evie. “But at the same time as tourney practice, she was at a painting pop-up class hosted. And, she was embarrassed to admit it, but she and her mother don’t actually have magic without a conduit. It was the flower Mother Gothel always used to stay young, and then it was Rapunzel, and without either, their family doesn’t have the magic to produce curses.”

            “And with no artifacts, she can’t be the culprit since she has no opportunity,” finished Doug.

            “That’s two people off the list,” said (Y/N). “Mal and Ben are talking to Fairy Godmother since she ran tests on the spell work around Adrian, and Jane and Carlos were talking to Thea. Hopefully, we’ll be able to narrow it down again.”

            “Right,” said Evie.

            “You’re supposed to move when royalty comes through.”

            “Oh, please, in your dreams.”

            “Try to have some decorum now that you’re in Auradon, villain.”

            “What did you call me?”

            “What you are.”

            Evie, (Y/N), Doug, and Harry immediately stepped outside of the dorms. On the front lawn of Auradon Prep, Chad and a pirate were glaring at each other. VKs and Auradon kids milled around them, narrowing their eyes suspiciously at one another while Chad and the pirate had their shouting match.

            Fleur, Lizzie, and Herod were trying to push both groups back to diffuse the tension, but nothing was working as the mobs pressed forward.

            “Say it again,” challenged the pirate, stepping up towards Chad.

            Instantly, Chad swallowed, but his fellow Auradon kids stepped back out at the pirate.

            “Don’t talk to him that way,” said one royal.

            “The idiot started it!” shouted back a villain kid.

            “As if a hero would start a fight—”

            “Why you—”

            “Help!” said Fleur, eyes wide as she tried to push a tourney player back.

            “Stand down!” said Herod, powerful muscles flexing as he held back two VKs.

            More people were joining the argument. Doug grimaced, but the other three with him moved forward. Evie stepped between Chad and the pirate. Harry faced the pirate and pushed him back, keeping him and the other VKs from trying to shove. (Y/N) looked at Chad and the Auradon kids, hands on their hips.

            “What are you all doing?” said (Y/N).

            “They started—”

            “I don’t want to hear it,” said (Y/N), holding up a hand. “Everyone here was being unnecessarily rude, so you’re all at fault.”

            “Come on, those royals are lookin’ down on us,” said the pirate, pushing forward. “Hook, let us teach ‘em to stop!”

            Harry’s hand slid to his hook and picked it up. “And I’m tellin’ ya that we’re in charge ‘ere, so sit down.”

            “Arguing won’t solve anything,” said Evie.

            “Oh, come on, you can’t expect us to just get along,” said Chad. “They have no taste or manners or anything. They’re still—”

            The clock of Auradon hit twelve, and the chimes began. A shimmer appeared around Chad. Everyone backed up, and he looked down at himself on confusion. (Y/N)’s eyes widened as Chad’s clothes melted from ornate and royal to drab and shabby.

            Chad screamed. “What?! No! My clothes!”

            “Just like Cinderella,” said (Y/N), looking in alarm at Evie.

            “Another curse,” said Evie.

            “How? We were all watching,” said Herod.

            “There was chaos, anyone could’ve been watching,” said Fleur, frowning.

            “What do we do now?” said Lizzie, staying between the two groups. The Auradon kids were starting to nervously back away, and the VKs were laughing at Chad. Tensions were growing between the groups and reaching new heights.

            “I’ll take Chad to Fairy Godmother. Maybe she can get more clues from a fresh curse,” said Evie. Doug nodded and went over to a crying-like-a-baby Chad.

            “Lizzie, Herod, Fleur, tell Esme and Audrey to keep their eyes out for more fights,” said (Y/N).

            “Got it,” said Herod. Fleur and Lizzie nodded before running off to sweep the ground. Once the news got out that another Auradon kid was cursed, then the arguments would grow stronger.

            “We need to find who’s done this,” said (Y/N) quietly. “Right now it’s suppressing a voice and changing clothes, but if they’re aiming for a goal—”

            “The curses will grow more dangerous,” said Harry. And if they reached the level of being broken only True Love’s Kiss, that would be The End for some people’s stories.

l

            “What did Fairy Godmother say?” said Carlos, looking at Ben and Mal.

            “Still no clues to the culprit in the magic,” said Ben.

            “But, fortunately, the spell only effects Chad’s clothes,” said Mal. “He’s not being hurt.”

            “I told him to wear sweatpants and t-shirts until we solve it,” said Audrey. “Or change into his nice clothes after 12.” She sighed. “But he’s freaked out, and so are a lot of people. They’re wondering how they’re going to be cursed.”

            “What?” said Mal.

            “People are saying the stories are repeating, the Fairy Tales of their parents,” said Jay. “Chad’s clothes are changing; Adrian lost his voice. That’s like Cinderella and Ariel. Even Lonnie is nervous and glad that her tale doesn’t have magic that changes her.”

            “If that’s the pattern, then we need to warn people with dangerous stories,” said Ben firmly. “Audrey—”

            “I’ve already spelled myself to sleep,” said Audrey. “And I got myself checked by Fairy Godmother when the pattern started. According to her, a curse would have to be amplified to send me to sleep again.”

            “That’s good,” said (Y/N), nodding.

            “And Ben’s already been turned into a Beast,” said Mal.

            “So, assumin’ originality—and what villain doesn’t like that?—the targets will be other hero kids,” said Harry.

            “Who’s most in danger?” said Uma.

            “Paige, Pinocchio’s daughter, would be in danger of becoming a marionette,” said Jane. “She was freaking out about that earlier.”

            “Nazarin is at risk. Her parents were turned into. frogs It was linked to kissing royalty, though, so not full True Love curse,” said (Y/N). That would be bad.

            “I know she’s a suspect, but if she isn’t the culprit, Eris could be in trouble,” said Carlos.

            “Right,” said Evie. “She could lose her voice, too.”

            “Or become a full mermaid, unable to transform back,” said (Y/N). “That could be a True Love curse.”

            “Is it wrong to hope she’s the culprit, then?” said Uma.

            Jay snickered a little.

            “Let’s just catch the culprit before they do more,” said Ben while Jane wrote down some of the people at risk.

            “I’ll check in on people who are more scared of their parents’ stories,” said Jane. “I’ll get a full list of people who should be cautious.”

            “Thanks,” said Ben.

            “What about Highness?” said Harry.

            “Me?” said (Y/N).

            “Ya’re obviously at risk,” said Harry. “If someone spelled ya to eat an apple, you’d be sleepin’ with the fishes.” He paused and looked at (Y/N), all his love barely restrained. “And it’d be a True Love curse.”

            (Y/N) felt everyone’s eyes turn on them in worry. They squared their shoulders and smiled. “It would be. And that’s…scary.” They laughed nervously. “But I can’t go and hide somewhere. I need to help figure out who’s doing this, danger or not. Okay?”

            “…Fine, but I’m stickin’ with ya,” said Harry.

            “Good idea,” said Evie, smiling. “You can keep an eye out for them.”

            “And break the curse,” whispered Uma to Evie, and the pair smothered laughs.

            “Okay,” said (Y/N), smiling at Harry.

            Jane’s phone buzzed, and she groaned as she looked at the message. “We’ve got more arguments breaking out.”

            “Let’s go,” said Ben, standing. “Mal?”

            “I’m with you,” said Mal, smiling. “Time to be King and future-Queen.”

            “Get to the rest of the interviews,” said Ben. “We need to figure out who’s doing this before more people get hurt.”

            Before (Y/N) gets hurt, thought Harry, looking at them.

l

            “(Y/N), Harry, there you are,” said Fleur, sighing in relief. She had been assigned to keep an eye on the suspects after Chad was cursed, so she had been watching Eris. Understandably, she had been nervous—who wouldn’t be if the person they were keeping an eye on could be putting curses on people?

            “Sorry we’re late,” said (Y/N), smiling.

            “It’s fine,” said Fleur. “I’m just glad I’m not Esme. She was with Yvon, and he keeps yelling at her. No thanks. At least Eris just rolls her eyes and walks faster when she notices me.”

            “Carlos and Jane will have fun with that,” said Harry brightly.

            “Where is Eris?” said (Y/N).

            “Getting ready for swim practice,” said Fleur, gesturing inside.

            The pool was open for the swim team to arrive. Above, on a balcony-like design, seats were arranged to look down on the pool itself. People milled about above, watching their friends or partners. Some people even just liked the noise and business of sports-training and did their homework there.

            “Let’s go and talk to her before she starts,” said (Y/N) to Harry. “Thanks for your help, Fleur.”

            “No problem—” Fleur looked at her phone and sighed. “Lizzie’s found another scuffle. I’ll see you.”

            Harry and (Y/N) walked into the pool and watched the team come out of the changing room. Eris saw them and scowled. She stalked up towards them.

            “Seriously? One stalker becomes two?” she said.

            “We just want to talk, Eris,” said (Y/N). “To help Adrian.”

            That got Eris to soften slightly, but then her hands curled into fists. “I didn’t do this to him, if that’s what you’re implying. It was a villain.”

            “We’re looking at suspects from Auradon and the Isle,” said (Y/N).

            “I would never hurt my brother,” snapped Eris, and she seemed honest. She turned away from Harry and (Y/N) and faced the pool. “I can’t believe you’d ask that.”

            “It’d get suspicion off of ya back,” said Harry, crossing his arms. He wasn’t backing down at all.

            “Oh, yeah, and I’m an evil mastermind who would think of that,” said Eris, rolling her eyes.

            “Listen, just tell us where you were when Adrian and Chad were cursed, and then we’ll be fine,” said (Y/N). “I believe you wouldn’t hurt Adrian, Eris. Not for no reason like this.”

            “Listen, I think bringing all the VKs over at once was silly,” said Eris. “It’s dangerous to trust so many people at once. But I wouldn’t hurt my brother for that. If I was the culprit, I’d curse everyone I wanted but not Adrian.” With that statement, Eris dove into the water.

            “Didn’t get an alibi,” said Harry, rolling his eyes.

            “She’s tough,” said (Y/N). “But the question is if she’s telling the tru—”

            A piercing scream tore through the pool.

            All heads turned to the water. Eris broke the surface, eyes wide with panic. She splashed her arms, and a tail flicked out of the water.

            Another curse had been placed.

            “Guess she's not the culprit,” said Harry, tilting his head.

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