#what appeared from an outside perspective and even to myself at the time as 'doing nothing'

[detransdamnation]

I'm still really upset about that post [AL] I wrote on educators telling students' parents about their dysphoria or transgender identity because this topic is really only a small part of a greater framework of how "parental rights" harm youth.

If abuse is most likely to be perpetrated by immediate family members, especially parents, that means that, speaking strictly statistically, parents are the least safe people to tell about a child's mental health struggles because they are most likely to use them to abuse them. Factor in that many youth who develop a mental illness in the first place have faced abuse at some point in their lives—and many are subsequently abused, mistreated, or neglected after said mental illness develops—and this becomes even more dire because the root of these teens' mental illness and the unhealthy behaviours which arise from them is significantly likely to have grown from the hands who feed them. "Mental illness is a product and reflection of our environment" is not only what so many of us espouse and incorporate into our belief systems but is also a relative, observable fact.

And yet, in response to teens who are struggling as a result, we operate as if this is completely untrue. And it's not only apparent in this aforementioned debate; it is apparent in this entire culture of conditional confidentiality wherein everything a minor shares with a psychologist or therapist or social worker is "just between us" but as soon as the teenager crosses a line, takes a step too far, expresses symptoms or develops coping mechanisms that are a little too close for comfort (or respectable politics), all of a sudden, it is no longer the professional's job to help and support the teenager but the parents' right to know about the teenager's struggles because it is the parents' job to keep them safe, always assuming but almost never confirming that the parents ever actually cared about what a parent "should" do. There is never consideration that the parents are the reason why the teenager is unwell, why the teenager is unsafe to themselves in the first place, and that telling the parents about the teenager's mental state could do even more harm than whatever harm the teenager is posing to themselves at the time.

And this is something that the most vulnerable are often most painfully aware of. I saw several therapists over the course of my teenhood and none of them had any idea why I was in therapy because I never talked about anything that I actually needed to talk about. I couldn't have. My confessions would have entailed a lawful breach of confidentiality to the very people who had fucked me up in the first place. This implement to supposedly "keep me safe" only ever ensured that I stayed silent. Silence was literally my only safe option—and unhealthy, unsafe communities, for most of my life, the only places I could confide in because the only ones who did not just parrot an empty "Talk to your parents or another adult you trust!" were other abused and mentally ill teens who needed just as much help as I did, yet were failed just as much as I was.

This is why I find it so gobsmacking when "mental health advocates" center openness with parents, or (in this case) when gender-criticals claim they want to protect dysphoric youth whilst also blindly advocating for parental inclusion in every nitty gritty detail of the child's mental health experience, or even when therapists claim to be creating a "safe space" for teenagers at all, period—because how can a space or a person be "safe" when we actively cater to the wishes of potentially unsafe people? When we are legally mandated, some of us, to do so? The message being communicated in this practice and belief system is, "You have the right to discretion until you are too mentally ill"—and if a mentally ill person feels like they have to toe a fine line, walk on eggshells, dumb down their feelings or experiences just so that whistles aren't blown to their abusers, the practice and belief system is set up for the abuser to benefit, whether deliberately or incidentally.

People cannot heal when they cannot even feel, or express what they are feeling, freely. By pushing for the rights of the parent to be considered above all else, we create an environment where youth cannot do any of this. We cannot claim to be supporting (or even caring about) this population at all when we play a direct role in why they are so vulnerable in the first place. Abuse victims—and especially abused youth—are way too often redirected back to their abuse by the very people who are supposed to help them grow from it under this idea that parents have an innate right of disclosure just by virtue of being a parent.

[notherpuppet]

Do you think there's a right and/or wrong way to handle QPR? I know it's a tricky relationship, but it feels like most/some people kind of just slap the label onto a ship while depicting the ship as just romantic/having no difference with a romantic relationship. (this is why I was a little surprised when you said you do radioapple qpr when it reads a lot more like normal romance). Not meant as an attack or anything on anyone, just genuinely curious more than anything. Again, tricky relationship

So Imma put this link to info at the top of this post: https://taaap.org/2022/07/16/qprs-part-one/

Alright, so please take what I say with a grain of salt, because that's exactly what it is. One small bit of perspective in a mass of many people who experience QPRs in their life and/or are on an aro/ace spectrum. I also have NO QUALIFICATIONS on gender/sexuality theory, so my opinions are shaped by what I've learned and experienced personally. While people may identify with the same term, we are all still individuals with our own experiences. Words can help describe a phenomenon, but it doesn't make everyone who identifies with the word into a monolith.

So I've stated a few times that I navigate shipping Alastor similar to my own experiences as an aroace person. (I guess I'm sharing about myself with this post, but I think that can be helpful to just spreading awareness of an "alternative lifestyle"). So I'm romance-repulsed and sex-repulsed LOL but I'm also "positive" about those things. Like I view romance and sex as lovely, fun experiences people can have, but I've never been into it personally. It's fun for me to consume media about romance/sex, but yknow, it's also fun for me to consume media about violence or isolation. Doesn't mean I want to experience or engage in any of those things lol.

Anyway, I'm a huge people person and I love to party and yknow it seems most people are really wanting to fall in love or fuck or whatever pretty much all the time, but especially at parties hahaha. Normally, I'm pretty touch-averse, but I love dancing so much and it's a blast to dance with a partner (salsa especially!! i don't care for grinding for probably obvious reasons). And to connect the two previous sentences, people (whatever gender they are) would be very kissy-touchy on the dancefloor. Which i honestly dont really give a fuck about hahaha. I don't really get anything out of kissing but I also don't mind it. I just like to dance. It's all a pretty superficial--but still genuinely fun--experience for me.

When it comes to my deeper or more intimate connections, I have had friendships that have felt SO on the line of what was viewed as a romantic relationship. They were exceptional friends and we connected on a level that was deep and true, but it wasn't romantic. Sometimes we'd slow dance, sometimes we kissed, and it rocked. But it wasn't more than that, it was all that it needed to be. I didn't want more and neither did they (except one situation and so we had to stop being friends lol whoops). From the outside, people would even refer to us as partners in a half joking way, but we really were just friends. And I love those friends!! And a huge part of what made those relationships (which at the time were described as 'situationships' because we didn't know any of these terms haha) was their convenience. We either lived in the same building, worked together, or were neighbors LOL. I'm still friends with those absolutely lovely folks, but we don't live around each other, so our QPR just appears a lot more like any ole regular friendship. But it's not like there was a feeling that we transitioned into something different than before. It twas what it twas! (Had to take a pause while I was typing to reminisce fondly for a second, okay back to hazbin hahaha)

SO, whenever someone asks or it comes up, MOST OF THE TIME I do ship alastor through an aroace lens and experience with QPRs (specifically, MINEE because they were fun and I've never felt like doing this before I met a character like Al). And my XP is: "this isn't gonna be a partnership and we ain't fucking" LMFAO. so yeah!

When it comes to using a queer term like QPR, I just hope folks are considerate in their writing, but I also am inclined to just believe them if they say that's their intention because QPRs can look very different. Again, aroace and ace folks are not a monolith. The terms help to describe a human's experience. I'm inclined to think people are writing in good faith.

And all this being said, I want to just emphasize that I really don't think it's necessary to consider any of this shit if you want to ship a fictional character. I understand wanting to be protective of a character who shares an identifier with you (I personally don't wanna see romance/sex with Al in canon). But shipping is a fun thing a fandom does that often does ignore canon. Tale as old as time. I don't think anyone needs to be beholden to canon when they're writing fanfiction or having fun. If we did, I would have like--5 artworks on this blog hahaha. These characters are like dollies, do whatever you want. It's cool if people don't like it and I think it's cool if people do. It's just not that serious. There are ships I'm not particularly into or dynamics that I am not enchanted by, but whatever. I can just scroll or close my eyes.

TLDR; shipping in fandom doesn't need to be taken seriously at ALL. It can just be fun way for someone to play with fictional characters they like. That being said, I think it's good practice to use queer terms thoughtfully.

[mabelstone]

La Petite Mort

hozier x f!reader

part four of lullabies <3 | part three | masterlist

cw: sex sex sex love making ❤️ no other warnings really, it's pretty gushy

word count: 2.6k

taglist: @princezty @somethinglikero @jimihendrixpopfigure @the-imperfectgirl-blog @l1nd3n xo

Hours later, the buzz of the alcohol had completely fled my system, leaving me with a residual fatigue and a love struck smile. It felt wrong, but simultaneously, nothing had ever felt so right or natural. Like the sense of deja vu that confirms you are exactly where you're supposed to be.

"Hey," he gently shook my arm from where I was sitting in a booth, almost unable to keep my eyes open. "You 'right?"

"Mhm," I grinned, fighting back a yawn. "And how are you, hotshot?"

"Overwhelmed," he huffed, extending his hand to me. He never enjoyed crowds despite their tendency to form around him everywhere he went. "Let's go home."

I let him lead me out, warmth flooding my cheeks at the simple gesture. The bite of the cold was sharper than earlier, my teeth instantly chattering. He, of course noticed immediately, shucking himself of his jacket, draping it over my shoulders.

"Andy," I shook my head trying to fight him off, but it was no use. "Now you're gonna get cold."

"I have at least three layers on at all times, the cold fears me," he joked, shoving his hands into his pockets.

"Thank you," I pouted at him, overwhelmed at such a small gesture. But it wasn't small to me. Everything Andy did was grand in my eyes. "So chivalrous."

"Well, you know me," he shrugged, stifling a grin of his own.

I started humming the chorus of tonights' song as we walked, unable to remember any of the words other than imagine being loved by me, and the beautiful melody that was sure to hang around for days.

"Don't do that," he laughed with embarrassment, slinging his arm around my shoulders and pulling me close.

"Why not? It's a beautiful song, after all," I shrugged, unable to hide my smile that stretched from ear to ear. "And wasn't I the inspiration?" I teased, and it was now his turn to glow red.

"Mhm," he grinned, eyes focused on the road ahead of us. We were nearly back at the car, and the adrenaline was beginning to flood my bloodstream. "That's why you liked it, 'uh?."

"So good," I agreed, walking a bit closer to him that now our arms bumped occasionally. "Did you mean what you said? In the song?"

"'Course I did," he chuckled, unlocking the car and opening my door for me. He even helped me buckle my seatbelt. "Don't worry, it's just a song."

He climbed into his side now, the faintest pink tint to his cheeks, but otherwise, unbothered. I, on the other hand, was trying to get my stupid heart to slow back to normal.

I was fighting the urge to climb over into his lap and beg him to do all the things he'd been imagining. Instead we drove in what would appear to be comfortable silence from an outsiders' perspective. Obviously I didn't know what he was thinking, but I can promise you there was no trace of innocence in my thoughts. The air in the car was thick with desire, leaving me on the verge of choking on the tension.

We exchanged few words on the drive back to his, stealing bashful glances here and there. When the car stilled to a park, I couldn't keep my mouth shut any longer.

"Andrew?" My heart continued to pound in my ears, his brows raising slightly in encouragement. "I want you," I confessed.

He turned to face me and I could see his quickening pulse through the thin skin of his neck. He swallowed thickly, pupils blown so wide I could scarcely see any green.

His gaze flitted between my lips and my eyes, and I'm sure I too was all pupil at this point. I couldn't help myself, leaning over the centre console to feel his lips on mine. My eyes fluttered shut, as did his, and I swear something inside of me had come alive for the first time in my life.

He was better than I had ever imagined.

Lips warm and soft, adding the perfect amount of pressure that made me crave more and more. His hand slipped up the back of my head, cradling its entirety in his palm.

He pulled back slowly, his hand still at the base of my skull. His lips were plump and looked absolutely delicious, my heart aching at the loss of contact.

"I want you, you know that," his voice was lower than before, our faces still close enough that I could feel the tickle of his breath ghosting my lips. "But you just got out of such a long relationship."

"You've treated me better these past few weeks than he did in six years," I reached my hand up to cup his face. His skin was warm and soft, the scratch of his stubble in my palm pulling me back down to Earth, reminding me that this wasn't just another daydream of mine. "Please, kiss me."

And he did, pulling me in as close as the confinement of his car would allow. It felt like coming up for air after holding your breath under water, like the relief you get when a siren finally stops blaring. His scent, his warmth, his gentle breaths exhaled through his nose, mingling with mine as we moved in synchronicity, as if we'd rehearsed this a million times. I'm starting to suspect he must have been having similar dreams of me.

I pulled away this time, giving him my best doe eyes through hooded lids as I suggested, "shall we go inside?"

Without a second thought, Andy was out of the car, opening my door for me. Within moments, our lips were connected again, my arms draped around his neck, his hands quick to grab my waist. He lead me into his house, our mouths moving fast, passion coursing through our veins like electricity. I squealed in surprise when he lifted me, wrapping my legs around his waist as he carried me up the stairs. We were a mess of giggles and laboured breathing, bumping into walls, and desperately grabbing at one another.

Despite the desperation in our actions, he softly laid me onto his bed, crawling in between my thighs before kissing me again. I ran my hands up the sides of his torso, feeling him shudder slightly under my touch.

I could feel his hard on digging into my thigh, and suddenly my clothes were the biggest inconvenience known to man. "Show me, Andy," I breathed in between kisses, his lips now on my neck, my knickers well on their way to being drenched. "All the things you've been wanting to do to me."

He let out a deep, guttural sound somewhere between a strangled moan and a whine. He reluctantly pulled himself from me, slipping his shoes off in two fluid movements. He knelt before me, my entire ankle easily in the grip of his hand. He unbuckled my heels, slipping them off with a kiss to each of my calves. He slowly ran his hands up my legs, planting a trail of kisses upon each inch of skin he touched, the heat in my core beginning to boil.

He looked up through his head of curls, eyes dark and hungry. "You sure you want this, darlin'?"

I nodded desperately, hands instantly finding their way into his hair to bring his lips to mine again. His tongue prodded at my bottom lip and I let him in my mouth without hesitation, allowing him to explore. This only caused my desire for his tongue elsewhere to grow insurmountably.

All of my senses came to life when I felt his hand moving toward my inner thigh, opening my legs wide for him to grant him full access. His fingers made their way to my core, a soft groan fleeting from his lips. "Fuck," he breathed against my lips, slipping a ridiculously long finger inside of me with ease. I moaned into his mouth, one of my hands reaching down to grab his wrist, encouraging him to insert another. He did, curling his fingers with such precision that if I my brain weren't staticky from the feeling, I'd question how many lovers he'd had. He continued to pump his fingers in and out of me, kissing my neck as he did so, eyes glued to my face as if he were memorising every expression he pulled from me.

"Need to feel you," I choked out breathlessly, desperately cupping his face. "Please."

He smiled wickedly, kissing my lips once more before pulling his fingers out, dipping them straight into his mouth. My jaw nearly detached from my face at the gesture, my stomach flipping harder than ever. I watched in awe as he pulled his shirt off, his pants soon to follow, absolutely shocked that the shy, awkward, nerdy Andrew I thought I knew did not exist within these walls. I could see the outline of his cock through his boxers, swallowing hard. How on Earth was that going to fit? I sat up to rid myself of my dress, allowing it to pool around my ankles as he watched on, cock twitching beneath the thin cotton.

I made my way to him, helping him remove the last bit of clothing keeping us apart, eyes nearly bulging out of my head when I saw him. All of him. He may be the most beautiful man I have ever seen.

His hands quickly found my face, reeling me in with those lips once more before laying me on the bed again. His eyes searched mine again for any doubt, not finding any, but something else. "You okay?"

"Yes, just preparing," I laughed, only half joking.

"You're okay, you can take it," he kissed my cheek softly, lining himself up with my entrance. I gasped at the sharp sting of the stretch, holding my breath briefly. He halted all movement, no doubt used to this happening. "Tell me when, baby."

I rested my hands on his shoulders, taking a deep breath before nodding. He slowly slipped the rest of his length in, our beautiful harmonisation of moans filling the air.

It was only painful for a moment before I was practically begging for more. He was as long and thick as you’d expect, but God, nothing could have prepared me. He began to form a steady rhythm, thrusting in and out of me while I whined under his touch.

To feel his body weight on mine, his warmth, his scent, his love - I had ascended from my human form. I caved, begging him for more, begging him to fuck me how he wanted to.

He captured my lips with his mid way through a thrust, his cock slamming into that spot that made my brain fuzzy. I dug my nails into his shoulders, gasping into his mouth, “just like that.”

He obliged, one of his hands steadying himself with the headboard, the other cupping the back of my head. I wondered why, until he really found his rhythm.

With each delicious thrust, he would effectively hit my g-spot, making me weak as jelly under him, barely able to form words. My head was hitting his hand with the sheer force of each thrust, and I’m sure the thought of him protecting my skull would make me swoon if I weren’t on the brink of tears, producing noises I didn’t know I was capable of.

“Andy, Andy,” I chanted his name breathlessly, unable to even open my eyes as pleasure cradled my entire being. I’d never heard my voice this desperate ever, to the point that I had no autonomy over my words and vocality, like my soul was speaking without getting confirmation from my brain first. “You- feel- so- good,” I was near crying between each thrust, my mouth completely dry from all the panting.

“You feel good too, darlin’,” he grinned, removing his hand from the bed head and dropping it down to my clit. “So fuckin’ good.”

My jaw went slack, no coherent words falling from my mouth, just rhapsodies of praise in the form of whimpers and laboured breaths.

"Want you to cum for me," he breathed, his thrusts growing sloppy ever so slightly.

"Keep going," I barely got the words out, the coil in my stomach tightening as he dragged me closer to the edge with every word, every thrust, every skilled dance of his fingers over my clit. "Andy," I warned loudly, the high pitch of my tone sounding foreign to my ears, unsure if had even fallen from my tongue. "Oh, my God, I'm gonna-"

Within an instant, I unravelled beneath his touch, moaning a string of curses I couldn't even hear as the static in my mind grew overwhelming. I shook uncontrollably, every muscle of mine growing limp yet tensing and spasming at the same time. My back arched and my toes curled, crescent moon shapes from my fingernails marking his beautiful skin; a reminder to us both of how euphoric he had made me feel. My orgasm rippled through me like waves in a storm, pummelling me over and over as I couldn't stop my eyes from rolling into the back of my head, unable to open them, unable to close my mouth as a slurry of cries dripped from my soul. Unsure of what came over me, I begged, “please cum in me,” wanting nothing more than to feel every ounce of his loving.

When I finally came back down to Earth, the waves crashed into him, the most angelic sounds flooding the four walls we were confined to. Overstimulation wracked my bones, panting into his mouth as he rode out the rest of his high, a clash of tongue and teeth as he kissed me once more. He pumped into me a few more unsteady times, his arms shaking as they struggled to hold his weight any longer.

He pulled out of me slowly, the loss of contact leaving me with a hollow feeling, immediately clinging to him the second his head hit the pillow beside me.

“Andrew,” I breathed in disbelief, titling my head to see the tired smile on his face. “I don’t even have words.”

“Could say the same to you!” He sighed, content with his arm around me, our bodies gently slowing back to normal. “What an angel.”

You are the angel, is what I wanted to say. Instead, I basked in his warmth, his scent flooding my senses as my soul unwillingly reconnected with my body.

“Write a song about this, would ya?” I laughed against his skin, tracing shapes into his chest, feeling like I was the main character in a cheesy rom-com.

“Way ahead of ya, love,” he grinned back, pressing a soft kiss to the top of my head. “Wanna have a shower? Or is that too much?”

I looked up at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips. “Andrew. There’s a chance you just knocked me up. No, showering together is not too much.”

“Don’t even joke about that,” he groaned, abruptly rolling out of bed, picking me up bridal style and carrying me to the bathroom. He laughed devilishly at the squeak he elicited from me, kissing my face while I smiled and giggled like a fool.

Fuck.

He towered over me, the beads of water dripping from his hair onto me. He looked beautiful, contented in serenity, similar to how I was feeling, I'm sure. He lathered my body in soapy suds, nothing remotely sexual in the gesture. I did the same for him, enveloped in the warmth of his skin, acclimated to the same temperature of the water. If this were my last moment on Earth, I would die happy. Andrew had a way of making me forget every bad moment of my life. Every poor decision, every tear cried for a man who only thought about himself. Surely, this was too soon to be labelled as love. But it sure felt like it.

"You are so beautiful."

i hope u liked it if u didn't tell me if u did leave requests of something you'd like to see in this next xo and i'm aware of all the run on sentences, i'm sorry if that makes it difficult to read. i will not shut up! even in text

[whoops-all-jennas]

Past Lives pt.3

Wednesday x witch!reader

"I've got this strangest feeling."

"This isn't our first time around."

Summary: Wednesday drags you into the woods during the harvest festival.

a/n: I'm starting to get tired of writing in 3rd person so I'm going to be experimenting with perspectives this part. If I enjoy it I might go back and change the previous two parts to first person.

"Are you sure you can trust that normie?"

Enid and I are watching as Tyler is arguing with his father. Y/n left after the Tyler's appearance.

A part of me wished she stayed, she doesn't pretend to get along with me.

"I trust I can handle myself." I say, thoughts of you lingering in my mind.

The festival illuminates the dark night, the lights of the attractions drawing shadows of the people walking by. The colors stabbing needles in my eyes.

I usually enjoy that sensation.

"Well, good luck and safe travels." Enid reaches out for an embrace. I take a step back, evading her touch.

"Still not a hugger, got it." Enid lowers her arms before heading towards the attractions.

I notice Weems from afar, watching my every move. I am going to need a way to distract her.

After a moment of exploring I find an attraction where you throw darts at balloons attached to a wall, the prize lacks colors. Not that I want the prize anyways, I just need it to be believable.

I throw the first couple darts, balloons popping in quick succession. Xavier approaches, resting his elbows on the counter.

"Jeez, if you get any better at this you'll be taking home a whole pack." He says while I throw another dart, followed by the pop of another balloon.

I am unsure of how to feel about Xavier so far. All I know outside of me accidentally rescuing him years ago is that he's friends with Y/n.

"Panda's don't travel in packs, they prefer solitude."

I say, the sound of a balloon popping annunciating the period.

"Alright, subtle hint taken." His eyes shift from me to the board.

I look at him for a moment. "You should know I'm waiting for someone." I say, not realizing the possible implication of the statement.

"Oh yeah? Who's the lucky guy? or girl." He has a hint of hope on his face, but not for himself.

"What does it matter to you?" I say, Tyler approaching from behind. The hope on Xavier's face was replaced with annoyance.

"Didn't mean to interrupt."

"You're not." Xavier says, walking between Tyler and I, the energy radiating off him.

With him and Y/n being friends and having similar reactions to Tyler, it makes me wonder if he's done something to them.

I look to Tyler for a moment, possibilities forming in my head. It doesn't matter, I'm just using him anyways.

"This is gonna be trickier than I thought." Tyler's voice pulls me out of my head.

"Dad hit me with a curfew. We need to go if I'm gonna make it back in time."

"I've got some dead weight I need to lose first." I look over Tyler's shoulder to Weems who is eating a burger.

"Meet me behind the parking lot when the fireworks start." I say, Tyler nodding before walking off.

The man running the attraction approaches with a panda stuffed animal. "You see that sad, lonely woman over there?" I take out twenty dollars, holding it between my index and middle fingers.

"She needs this pathetic validation more than I do. Would you mind distracting her?"

The man silently agrees, bringing the stuffed animal to Weems. When she looks away from me I sneak off towards the parking lot.

I'm hanging out with Enid when Tyler and Wednesday pass by.

"So she's actually leaving?" I say, disappointment in my voice. I'm gonna miss her existing with me in the dorm room.

"I mean, that's what the plan is." Enid takes a sip from her drink, eyeing me suspiciously.

"Why?" Enid's eyes glisten, wanting to know everything about everyone.

I shrug my shoulders. "I don't know."

"You sure you don't know?" Enid wiggles her eyebrows at you.

I raise an eyebrow at her. "What does that even mean?"

"I just think you might, y'know, like like her. No one misses a new roommate after one day." Enid says, fidgeting with her straw.

I feel a wave a heat rush over my face. "No! what are you talking about."

"OMG you so totally do!" If being a werewolf came with a tail, Enid's tail would be wagging so fast she would be flying.

"No! I just think." I pause for a second, flustered by the accusations.

I haven't thought about it yet, do I like her? I mean she is pretty, but I don't know her.

"Just think what?"

"I don't know, she's just pretty that's all!"

Enid's face beams. "Ah! that's so cute!"

Enid was going to continue speaking until we get distracted by Wednesday and Tyler running past us.

"Wednesday?" I say, looking back to Enid who is gesturing me to go.

I started to run after her, hearing Enid shout from behind. "Go get her girl!" She might as well have painted my face red.

I finally catch up. "Wednesday!" This causes her to turn to me, bumping into Rowan as she enters another vision.

Tyler and I are quick to grab her as she falls. "What just happened?!" Tyler asks before she comes back to reality.

Wednesday stands, readjusting her balance before staring at Rowan.

"Wednesday we need to go." Tyler says urgently. Wednesday's eyes shift to me before she starts chasing after Rowan, grabbing me by the wrist.

"What's happening Wednesday?" I say, trying to keep up with Wednesday's speed as she drags me.

"Rowan come back!" Wednesday let's go of my wrist after my feet catch up.

After a few seconds of running, Wednesday turns to look at me.

"Do you have your wand?"

"Yeah, I always do."

Air quickly fills and leaves my chest, my legs burning at the sudden activity.

Soon we both catch up to Rowan in the woods. My eyes take a minute to adjust to the sudden darkness.

Rowan brings his inhaler to his face, taking a deep breath in.

"Rowan, wait!" Wednesday's steps lessen as we get closer

Rowan groans, annoyed. "What do you want? Why are you following me."

I look at Wednesday, wanting to know what's happening. I know she had a vision, but what did she see?

"I don't have time to explain, but you're in danger." Wednesday responds with a serious tone. This is the first time I've heard her this serious, she usually has a sarcastic tone to her voice.

Rowan chuckles for a moment. "I think you've got it backwards." He looks between us, deciding what to do.

I start to reach for my wand, his eyes following my hand.

Rowan reaches a hand towards me. I start flying through the air, it feels like an invisible hand is twisting my body controlling how I'm landing.

"Y/n!" Wednesday shouts before I hit my head on landing. My hair fading to white as I lose consciousness.

I wake up in the nurses office, quickly sitting up and instantly regretting it. My snow white hair in my face while the world spins around me.

The office is filled with daylight, what time is it?

I realize my hair is white before moving it out of my face.

"Shit." I mutter to myself, looking around to see if anyone's around before trying to stand.

When I stand, I almost fall as I stabilize my feet. I see my wand on the night stand.

I grab my wand, gripping it tightly as to not drop it.

As I approach the bathroom, I stumble onto the wall before practically falling through the doorway.

I meet my own gaze in the reflection of the mirror, my hair white and messy.

I rest one hand on the sink, putting all my weight on it, as I bring my wand to the top of my head.

The color y/h/c starts to fade back into my hair, starting from the roots to tip.

Now that looks more like me, well besides how out of it I look.

I go to leave the bathroom, falling to the ground past the doorway.

"Y/n!" There are quick steps as the nurse approaches me trying to stand.

"What are you doing out of bed?" She grabs my forearm before guiding me back to the bed.

"Wait here a moment, I'll bring your medicine." The nurse walks to a closet as I stay sitting up.

My head was throbbing, the world spinning around me.

She leaves the closet after a moment with a small bottle that is rapidly bubbling, some sort of steam emanating from it.

"Drink every last drop and you should be able to attend some of your classes today." Our nurse was the only other witch in the school, most magic parents aren't too keen on sending their child to a town that is known for burning witches in the past.

I start to drink the potion, the liquid bubbling down my throat, causing me to gag.

"It doesn't taste too good." I say, as I finish drinking the potion. The nurse grabs the bottle from my hand.

"Well it's not grape-flavored, I'll tell you that." The nurse gives me a smile before going to return the bottle.

The world soon stabilizes around me, my head no longer throbbing.

I stand, finding it ten times easier.

"Fascinating isn't it?" I hear the nurse from the other room. "I've always loved healing magic."

I look towards her. "I would say it's just like magic, but it literally is."

The nurse smiles at me. "If you're feeling better you may head to class."

I walk into my carnivorous plants class, everyone already in seats as class was already going on.

"Ah Y/n! glad to see you're okay." Ms. Thornhill interrupts herself to bring her attention to me. "Go ahead and take any seat like usual."

I was going to find my original seat next to Xavier until I see Wednesday sitting alone.

I take a moment to decide before taking the seat next to her, meeting Xavier's eyes as he gives me a knowing glance causing me to roll my eyes.

My glance moves to Wednesday as I find her looking at me, more specifically my hair.

"Hey Wednesday." Her gaze moves from my hair to my eyes.

Her look has concern in it, as if she's asking 'Are you okay,' through her eyes. Too scared of the intimacy of actually asking.

Ms. Thornhill was helping a student independently giving us a moment to talk.

"Why did your hair turn white last night, after you lost consciousness."

I look at Wednesday, thinking about what I should share.

"That white is my natural hair color, I was just raised to hide it so I guess I still do it out of habit."

Wednesday stares off to the side for a moment.

"What does it mean?"

After a moment of silence I decide to tell her, I open my mouth to explain until I'm interrupted by Ms. Thornhill addressing the class.

"Wednesday." Both of our heads perk up.

"We are thrilled to have join us on our journey into the world of carnivorous plants." Thornhill walks in front of her desk, next to a plant in a glass case.

"Now, who can tell us the name of this beauty?"

Thornhill addresses the flower in the case with her hand. Bianca is the first to raise her hand.

I'm also not the biggest fan of Bianca, she supposedly used her Siren Song on my friend Xavier to manipulate him. I don't really know too many details about it, but I know she hurt my friend and that's enough for me.

"Dendrophylax lindenii." Wednesday answers without raising her hand, trying to get ahead of Bianca.

Bianca slowly lowers her hand, with a little bit of attitude. "Otherwise known as the Ghost Orchid."

"First discovered on the Isle of Wight in 1854." Wednesday says, not even a moment after Bianca is done speaking.

Thornhill looks surprised at Wednesday's knowledge. "Very good, Wednesday!"

Thornhill turns her gaze to Bianca. "You may have competition for first chair, Bianca."

I find myself smirking at the annoyance building up on Bianca's face, shifting my weight onto my elbows on the table to get a better view.

"Wednesday, perhaps you can identify the Ghost Orchid's greatest qualities."

Bianca shifts her expression from annoyance to confidence. Moving her gaze to Wednesday with that emotion written on her face.

"Resilience and adaptability." Wednesday remains unmoved, her posture as perfect as ever. "It's able to thrive in even the most hostile environments."

"But it's mere presence can change the ecosystem, causing the established plants to reject it." Bianca butts in, trying to one up Wednesday.

"Usually because the native species is allowed to thrive unchecked. Nothing a weedwacker couldn't fix." Wednesday states, definitively.

"You can most certainly try."

I can feel the tension between the two, meeting Xavier's eyes for a moment.

"Are we still talking about flowers?" Xavier adds, causing the class to release a light laugh. Alleviating a bit of the tension.

"Thank you ladies, for those, illuminating insights." Ms. Thornhill brings the attention back to her.

"Clearly the plants aren't the only carnivores in class today."

I look between Wednesday and Bianca, sensing the rivalry building between the two.

I'm with Enid helping with the boat for the Poe Cup. It's a beautiful fall day, the air slightly chilly, the leaves in the trees different shades of red, yellow, and orange.

Wednesday starts approaching from the school, heading to our team's boat. Specifically to Enid. "I have to get back to the woods, but Weems has been watching me like a vulture circling a carcass."

"And you want me to cover so you can go back to the crime scene that didn't happen?" Enid asks, teasingly.

"Crime scene?" I break my focus from painting the boat. "What are you talking about?"

"Oh you don't know? Wednesday has been saying how Rowan was killed by a monster while he now walks around the school. Y'know, very much alive."

Wednesday scowls Enid with her eyes.

"What if she is telling the truth?" Something glistens in Wednesday's eyes when she looks at me. "We go to a school with vampires and werewolves, but this isn't possible? Plus, I don't think Wednesday is the type of person to lie for attention."

Enid shrugs while she continues painting. "Why don't you ask Y/n to be the distraction?"

Wednesday looks back to Enid. "That's because she will be coming with me to investigate."

I turn my head to Wednesday with a slightly confused expression. Am I? I wasn't aware of this.

Wednesday sees my confusion, I can see her asking through her eyes as I take a deep breath.

I can't say no to her.

Enid looks back to Wednesday, taking her eyes off the boat. "Okay then, why don't you ask Thing? Oh wait you can't because he's mad at you."

"Why's he mad? he's the one who screwed up."

Enid goes back to focusing on painting while shrugging. "All I know is that we spent an hour giving each other manis, and he really opened up. He feels you doesn't respect him as a person."

"Technically he's only a hand."

"Wednesday, he's your family! And he would do anything for you. Go apologize and I'll reconsider helping you."

Wednesday looks around for a moment before meeting my eyes, gazing into them for a moment before walking away.

Part 4.

Past Lives Masterlist

a/n: happy holidays :))

[gothicxreylover]

Hello again! I have another request that I've kinda been thinking about a lot: yandere Hashira x slayer y/n of a lower rank who kind of dislikes (most of) the Hashira for what happened at the trial of the Kamado siblings. Like, y/n understands the Hashira's reactions but wishes they had behaved more calmly and mercifully and assessed the situation with a more objective perspective.

Therefore, y/n isn't thrilled at the idea of interacting with the Hashira (except those who didn't treat the Kamado siblings like crap) and prefers to hang out with their fellow slayers, especially the Kamaboko quartet, Kanao, Genya, even Murata (if I remember his name correctly), and the butterfly girlies.

I wonder what the Hashira would do to get back on y/n's good side if they even want to pursue them. Oh and y/n in this scenario isn't the Hashira's lover yet.

Take your time and have a nice day!

I hope you enjoy this story! This one is very long that it lagged my phone very hard

Giyu Tomioka

Scenario: Giyu is painfully awkward and doesn’t know how to approach Y/N. Instead of explaining himself directly, he silently takes actions to help Y/N. If Y/N struggles on missions, Giyu appears out of nowhere to assist—without being asked. His stoic demeanor doesn’t change much, but his fixation becomes evident when he starts following Y/N during their downtime, “coincidentally” always being nearby.

When Y/N finally confronts him, Giyu simply says, “I wanted to make sure you were safe.” His tone is so matter-of-fact it borders on unsettling. His silent obsession grows the more Y/N brushes him off.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N was used to working alone. They preferred it that way—no distractions, no awkward conversations, and no risk of being tethered to someone they didn’t trust. Ever since the Kamado siblings’ trial, they’d distanced themselves from most of the Hashira, including Giyu.

It wasn’t that Giyu had been particularly cruel—far from it. He had spoken in defense of Tanjiro and Nezuko. But his silence during the harshest moments, when Y/N thought he could have stepped in more assertively, still lingered in their mind.

So, when Y/N realized he was following them, they didn’t know what to think.

It started subtly at first. During a routine mission, Y/N caught a glimpse of Giyu out of the corner of their eye. He was perched silently in a tree, his expression unreadable as he observed them.

“Did the Corps send you to oversee this mission?” Y/N had asked, forcing their voice to remain neutral.

Giyu shook his head. “No.”

Y/N frowned. “Then why are you here?”

He hesitated for a moment, his blue eyes locking with theirs. “You looked like you might need help.”

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied curtly, turning back to their task.

But the next mission was the same. And the one after that. Giyu always appeared, his quiet presence becoming a constant shadow. He didn’t interfere, nor did he speak much. He simply lingered, watching.

One evening, Y/N returned to their quarters after a grueling mission, only to find Giyu standing outside their door.

“What are you doing here, Tomioka-san?” they asked, their exhaustion making them sound sharper than intended.

“I wanted to make sure you made it back safely,” he said plainly.

Y/N crossed their arms. “I’m not your responsibility.”

“You’re part of the Corps,” Giyu replied. “That makes you my responsibility.”

Y/N’s patience snapped. “Is that why you’ve been following me? I don’t need you babysitting me. I’m perfectly capable of handling myself.”

Giyu’s expression didn’t change, but something about his gaze grew more intense. “It’s not just about duty,” he said quietly. “I… don’t want anything to happen to you.”

Y/N took a step back, unnerved by the sudden shift in his tone. “Why?”

For the first time, Giyu seemed at a loss for words. His hands clenched at his sides, and his eyes darted away before returning to theirs. “Because I care about you.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and suffocating. Y/N didn’t know how to respond, their mind racing with thoughts of his quiet, unyielding presence over the past weeks.

“I’m sorry,” Giyu said, his voice low. “But I won’t stop. I can’t. Even if you hate me for it.”

He stepped closer, and Y/N instinctively took another step back. His lips pressed into a thin line, and his eyes softened, though there was something unsettling in his calm demeanor.

“I’ll protect you, even if you don’t want me to,” Giyu murmured. “That’s all you need to know.”

Without waiting for a response, he turned and walked away, leaving Y/N standing in the dim corridor, their heart pounding in their chest.

From that night on, Y/N couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Giyu was always there—silent, unwavering, and utterly impossible to ignore.

Shinobu Kocho

Scenario: Shinobu is all sweetness and charm, but her sharp words often carry double meanings. She begins “accidentally” running into Y/N, offering them tea or inviting them to the Butterfly Mansion for minor injuries. Her strategy is to wear Y/N down with patience and subtle manipulation.

However, when Y/N mentions the trial or avoids her, Shinobu’s playful demeanor falters. Her smile stiffens, and she gently insists, “I truly hope you can forgive us one day. After all, I only ever want the best for you.” Her tone is warm, but her grip on Y/N’s wrist as she hands them a cup of tea lingers just a little too long.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N sat in the Butterfly Mansion’s garden, tending to a wound on their arm. The scent of flowers wafted through the air, a calming balm to their frayed nerves. After a long mission, the last thing they wanted was an encounter with any of the Hashira, especially Shinobu.

She wasn’t cruel, but her ever-present smile and honeyed words made Y/N uneasy. Shinobu had been one of the less hostile Hashira during the Kamado siblings’ trial, but her lack of urgency in defending them still rubbed Y/N the wrong way. They avoided her as much as they could, though it was difficult when recovering at the mansion.

“You shouldn’t leave your wounds unattended, you know,” Shinobu’s voice chimed from behind them.

Y/N tensed, turning to see her standing there, her hands folded neatly in front of her. Her serene smile never faltered, but her eyes carried a sharp glint.

“It’s just a scratch,” Y/N replied, trying to keep their tone polite but distant.

Shinobu tilted her head. “Even a scratch can become dangerous if left untreated. May I?”

Before Y/N could refuse, she crouched beside them and gently took their arm, inspecting the injury. Her touch was feather-light, but Y/N couldn’t help feeling trapped under her gaze.

“You’ve been avoiding me,” Shinobu said casually as she dabbed a cloth over the wound. Her tone was sweet, almost playful, but there was an edge to it that made Y/N’s stomach twist.

“I’ve been busy,” Y/N said, trying to pull their arm back, but Shinobu held on firmly.

“Hmm. Is that so?” she mused, tilting her head as if pondering their words. “It’s strange, though. You seem to find time for others—Tanjiro, Kanao, even Murata. But not me.”

Y/N froze, their mind racing. Had she been watching them?

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Kocho-san,” they said carefully. “It’s just… I’ve had my reasons.”

Shinobu’s smile widened, though it didn’t reach her eyes. “Oh, no offense taken. I was simply curious.” She leaned in slightly, her voice dropping to a softer, more intimate tone. “But I do wonder… what is it about me that makes you keep your distance?”

Y/N swallowed, unsure how to respond. “It’s not personal. I just—”

“Not personal?” she interrupted, her tone still sweet but dangerously calm. “I see. Well, I’d like to change that.”

Before Y/N could respond, Shinobu stood, her hands clasped neatly in front of her again. “You’ll be staying here for a while, won’t you? I’ll make sure to check on you often. After all, we wouldn’t want anything to happen to you because of an unattended wound.”

She turned to leave, but not before glancing over her shoulder, her soft voice carrying an unsettling weight. “I do hope you’ll feel more comfortable with me soon. I’d hate for us to remain so… distant.”

Y/N sat frozen as she walked away, their heart pounding. Her words were polite, her demeanor gentle, but there was no mistaking the warning beneath them.

Over the next few days, Shinobu’s presence became unavoidable. She appeared at every meal, lingered near their training sessions, and always seemed to know where they were. Her smile never wavered, but her fixation became clearer with each passing moment.

Y/N realized they’d have to tread carefully.

Kyojuro Rengoku

Scenario: Rengoku’s approach is loud, direct, and unrelenting. He actively seeks Y/N out, calling their name from across the courtyard and declaring his apologies for the trial. He tries to charm Y/N with boisterous enthusiasm, telling them they’re an incredible slayer and that he admires their determination.

When Y/N brushes him off, his smile doesn’t falter, but his tone gains an edge. “I won’t give up. I’ll prove to you that I’m worthy of your respect.” Despite his sunny exterior, his intense fixation on Y/N becomes clear when he starts showing up to their training sessions uninvited, offering “guidance.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The sun was beginning to set as Y/N finished their training for the day. The Kamado siblings, along with Zenitsu and Inosuke, had been sparring nearby, their energy contagious as usual. Y/N felt a flicker of warmth watching them—this group of misfits had become their sanctuary after the trial.

But that sanctuary felt distant the moment Rengoku appeared.

“Y/N!” His voice boomed across the training grounds, warm and commanding as always. He strode toward them with his usual enthusiasm, his fiery hair catching the fading sunlight. “I’ve been looking for you!”

Y/N tensed. Rengoku was hard to avoid, not just because of his larger-than-life personality but because he never seemed to give up. Ever since the trial, he had made a point of seeking them out, and his unwavering persistence was starting to wear on them.

“Rengoku-san,” Y/N greeted, forcing a polite smile. “What can I do for you?”

He stopped in front of them, his hands on his hips and his signature grin in place. “I wanted to check on you! You’ve been working so hard lately. It’s admirable!”

Y/N nodded, their guard up. “Thank you. I’m fine, though.”

“Fine?” Rengoku tilted his head, his grin softening into something more serious. “I don’t think so. You’ve been avoiding me.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. He wasn’t wrong, but they weren’t about to admit it outright. “I’ve been busy with missions and training,” they said evenly.

“Busy enough to spend time with Kamado and his friends, but not with me?” His tone was still friendly, but there was an undercurrent of something sharper—something possessive.

Y/N’s eyes narrowed. “Is there a problem with me spending time with them?”

Rengoku laughed, but it didn’t feel as warm as usual. “Not at all! They’re wonderful comrades. But I can’t help but feel… left out.” He stepped closer, his golden eyes locking onto theirs with an intensity that made it hard to look away.

“You’re important to me, Y/N,” he said, his voice lowering just enough to send a shiver down their spine. “I want us to be closer. To trust each other.”

“I… I appreciate that, Rengoku-san, but—”

“No buts!” he interrupted, his smile returning with full force. “I’ll prove to you that I’m someone you can rely on. Someone you should rely on. From now on, I’ll be by your side whenever you need me!”

Y/N blinked, taken aback by his sudden declaration. “That’s not necessary—”

“Of course it is!” His voice grew louder with conviction. “You work so hard, but you shouldn’t bear everything alone. You don’t need anyone else when you have me.”

The words hit harder than they should have, and Y/N realized they were stepping into dangerous territory. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I’d prefer if you let me handle things on my own,” they said firmly, taking a step back.

Rengoku’s grin faltered for the briefest moment before returning, though his eyes burned with an unsettling intensity. “I see. You’re independent. That’s admirable too. But everyone needs someone to watch over them, don’t they?”

Before Y/N could respond, he clapped a hand on their shoulder, his touch both reassuring and unyielding. “Don’t worry, Y/N. I’ll make sure you see how much I care. You’ll understand soon enough.”

As he walked away, his fiery presence lingering like the heat of a flame, Y/N felt a chill creep up their spine. His words had been kind, but the way he said them made it clear—Rengoku wasn’t going to let them go.

From that moment on, he was always there. At the training grounds, during missions, even during quiet moments when Y/N thought they were alone, his watchful gaze followed them.

It wasn’t just his persistence that unnerved them—it was the unwavering belief that they belonged with him.

Tengen Uzui

Scenario: Tengen is flashy and over-the-top in his efforts. He uses his charisma to try and win Y/N over, showering them with compliments and showing off during missions. He claims he simply wants to make amends, but his jealousy flares whenever Y/N spends time with others, especially Tanjiro or Zenitsu.

At one point, he dramatically declares, “You’re too flamboyant to waste your time with those weaklings. You belong with me.” His charming smile doesn’t fully mask the possessiveness in his eyes. He might even attempt to “outshine” Y/N’s friends, making them look less impressive in comparison.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N had been stationed at the Butterfly Mansion for a few days, recovering from an intense mission. They relished the peace, spending most of their time with Kanao and the Kamado siblings. The chaos of the Hashira felt like a distant memory, a weight they were glad to leave behind for now.

That peace was shattered when Tengen Uzui arrived, accompanied by his three wives.

“Ah, Y/N!” Tengen’s booming voice echoed through the courtyard, turning heads as he strode in with his usual flair. Suma, Makio, and Hinatsuru followed closely behind, each as stunning and commanding as ever.

Y/N stiffened at the sight of him. Despite his flamboyant and seemingly friendly demeanor, they had always found Tengen intimidating. His role during the trial of the Kamado siblings hadn’t been as harsh as others, but his lighthearted attitude toward the situation had grated on their nerves.

“Uzui-san,” Y/N greeted, keeping their tone polite but distant. “What brings you here?”

Tengen grinned, folding his arms across his chest. “I heard you’ve been pushing yourself too hard. Thought I’d check in on you! After all, someone as flashy as me can’t let a hardworking slayer like you go unnoticed.”

Y/N forced a small smile. “I appreciate the concern, but I’m fine.”

“Fine? No, no, no,” Suma chimed in, stepping forward with a pout. “You look exhausted! You shouldn’t be pushing yourself so much.”

“You’re clearly not taking care of yourself,” Makio added, her sharp eyes scanning Y/N critically.

Hinatsuru smiled gently, her tone soothing but firm. “You need someone to look out for you. And that’s why we’re here.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by their sudden interest. “I don’t need—”

“Of course you do!” Tengen interrupted, his grin widening. “It’s decided. From now on, you’ll be under our care. My lovely wives and I will make sure you’re in top shape. No arguments!”

Before Y/N could protest, Suma grabbed their arm, tugging them toward the mansion. “Come on, we’ll make sure you’re comfortable!”

Over the next few days, Y/N found themselves smothered by Tengen and his wives. They insisted on preparing meals, monitoring Y/N’s training, and even rearranging their sleeping quarters to be closer.

“It’s for your own good,” Hinatsuru said one evening as she handed Y/N a steaming bowl of soup. “You’ve been working so hard. You deserve to be taken care of.”

“By all of you?” Y/N asked, their voice laced with unease.

Makio crossed her arms, giving them a pointed look. “Is that a problem?”

Suma, sitting nearby, pouted dramatically. “You don’t like spending time with us?”

Y/N hesitated, trying to choose their words carefully. “It’s not that. I just… prefer my independence.”

Tengen chuckled, leaning back in his chair with a confident smirk. “Ah, but independence can be overrated, don’t you think? It’s much more flamboyant to have people who care about you!”

Y/N couldn’t miss the possessive gleam in his eyes, nor the way his wives exchanged knowing glances.

One night, Y/N attempted to slip out of the mansion for some time alone. The air was cool and quiet, a stark contrast to the overwhelming attention they had been receiving. But as they stepped into the courtyard, they froze.

Tengen was waiting for them, his imposing figure illuminated by the moonlight. His wives stood behind him, their expressions unreadable.

“Going somewhere, Y/N?” Tengen asked, his voice deceptively light.

“I just needed some fresh air,” Y/N said, their heart pounding.

Tengen’s smile didn’t waver, but his tone grew sharper. “You should have told us. We would have accompanied you. It’s not safe for you to wander alone.”

Before Y/N could respond, Suma stepped forward, wrapping an arm around their shoulders. “You don’t need to sneak away, you know. We’re here to help you with everything.”

Makio smirked. “You’re part of our family now, whether you like it or not.”

Hinatsuru’s gentle voice was the most unsettling. “You mean so much to us. We can’t bear the thought of you getting hurt.”

Y/N felt trapped, their mind racing as Tengen approached, his golden eyes burning with a mixture of affection and obsession.

“Don’t fight it, Y/N,” he said softly, his voice carrying an ominous finality. “We’ll take care of you. Forever.”

Mitsuri Kanroji

Scenario: Mitsuri is heartbroken that Y/N dislikes her, especially since her intentions were never malicious during the trial. She tries to win Y/N over with kindness, bringing them homemade treats and writing them letters apologizing for her role in the Kamado trial.

However, her desperation to be close to Y/N leads her to unintentionally cross boundaries. She starts appearing outside their room late at night, leaving gifts or notes. If Y/N catches her, she blushes and stammers, “I-I just wanted to see if you were okay!” Her sweetness hides a possessive streak that grows the more Y/N avoids her.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N sighed as they walked through the quiet forest, enjoying the solitude after their latest mission. It had been a grueling few days, but the peace of the woods and the soft chirping of birds helped ease their tension.

Unfortunately, their peace was short-lived.

“Y/N!” a cheerful voice called out, echoing through the trees.

Y/N winced. They recognized that voice immediately. Turning, they saw Mitsuri Kanroji bounding toward them, her bright smile as radiant as the morning sun.

“Mitsuri-san,” Y/N greeted, trying to keep their tone polite. “What are you doing here?”

“Oh, I was just passing through and saw you!” she said, clasping her hands together. “It must be fate, don’t you think? I’ve been wanting to spend more time with you!”

Y/N tensed. Mitsuri had been unusually attentive to them lately. At first, they thought it was her friendly personality, but over time, her focus on them had become unnerving. She always seemed to know where they were, her presence constant and inescapable.

“Isn’t it nice to run into each other like this?” Mitsuri continued, stepping closer. “I feel like the universe is trying to bring us together!”

“I’m sure it’s just a coincidence,” Y/N replied, keeping their distance.

Mitsuri’s smile faltered for a moment, but she quickly recovered. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s a sign!”

As the days went on, Mitsuri’s presence became impossible to ignore. She would show up during training sessions, missions, and even quiet moments when Y/N thought they were alone. She brought them food, small gifts, and endless compliments.

“You’re so amazing, Y/N!” she would gush. “I don’t know how you do it all. You’re so strong and reliable!”

While her words were sweet, there was something about her unwavering attention that left Y/N feeling uneasy.

One evening, Mitsuri appeared at their quarters, holding a small bundle wrapped in cloth.

“I made you something!” she said brightly, holding it out.

Y/N hesitated but took the gift, unwrapping it to reveal a scarf in their favorite color.

“Thank you,” they said, though their voice lacked enthusiasm.

Mitsuri’s smile grew softer, her eyes gleaming with affection. “I want you to think of me whenever you wear it. It’ll be like I’m always with you!”

Y/N’s grip tightened on the scarf. “That’s very kind of you, Mitsuri-san, but I think you’re going a bit overboard. I don’t need all this attention.”

Her expression shifted, a flicker of hurt crossing her face before she quickly masked it with a smile. “Oh, but I want to! I care about you so much, Y/N. You mean the world to me!”

Y/N took a step back, suddenly feeling cornered. “I appreciate it, but I think we should keep some distance.”

Mitsuri’s eyes widened, her smile becoming strained. “Distance? But why? Don’t you like me? I’ve been trying so hard to make you happy!”

“It’s not about liking or disliking you,” Y/N said carefully. “I just need some space.”

For a moment, Mitsuri said nothing. Then, she took a deep breath and smiled again, though there was something unsettling about the way it didn’t quite reach her eyes.

“Of course, Y/N,” she said sweetly. “I understand. Take all the space you need.”

But as Y/N watched her leave, they couldn’t shake the feeling that Mitsuri wasn’t going to let this go.

Over the next week, Y/N noticed small signs that Mitsuri was still keeping close. Flowers appeared outside their door, their favorite snacks conveniently placed where they’d find them. And whenever they looked over their shoulder, Mitsuri wasn’t far behind, her gaze filled with unyielding devotion.

One night, as Y/N prepared for bed, they found a note tucked under their pillow.

“No matter what, I’ll always love you. Please don’t push me away. I can’t bear to be apart from you.”

The handwriting was delicate and unmistakably hers. Y/N’s heart raced as they realized just how deep her feelings went—and how far she might go to keep them close.

Muichiro Tokito

Scenario: Muichiro’s detachment makes his obsession subtle but unsettling. At first, he seems indifferent to Y/N’s avoidance, but his fixation reveals itself in small ways—memorizing Y/N’s habits, repeating their words, and appearing wherever they are.

When Y/N finally notices, Muichiro simply tilts his head and says, “You’re important to me.” His tone is eerily calm, as though it’s a fact rather than a confession. Despite his seemingly passive demeanor, he doesn’t tolerate competition, glaring coldly at anyone who gets too close to Y/N.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

Y/N sat on the edge of a cliff overlooking a quiet valley, enjoying the gentle breeze that brushed against their skin. This was one of the few places they could go to think, to breathe. After everything that had happened during the Kamado siblings’ trial, being around the Hashira was… exhausting.

But the solitude didn’t last long.

“You’re here again,” a soft, detached voice said behind them.

Y/N turned sharply to see Muichiro standing a few feet away, his pale gaze fixed on them. His expression was as blank as ever, but something about the way he stared made Y/N’s pulse quicken—not with comfort, but unease.

“Muichiro,” Y/N said, forcing their voice to stay calm. “What brings you here?”

He blinked slowly, his head tilting slightly. “I was looking for you.”

Y/N frowned. “Why?”

He stepped closer, his movements quiet and deliberate, like a breeze slipping through the trees. “I noticed you’ve been avoiding us. Avoiding me.”

Y/N’s stomach twisted. They hadn’t been avoiding him specifically, but Muichiro had been increasingly present in their life, often showing up unannounced during missions or moments they thought they were alone.

“I haven’t been avoiding you,” Y/N said, turning back toward the valley. “I’ve just been busy.”

“That’s not true,” Muichiro replied flatly, his tone as light as the wind. “You’re always with the others. Tanjiro, Zenitsu, Inosuke. Even Murata.”

Y/N’s hands tightened into fists. “What does it matter who I spend time with?”

Muichiro’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly, a rare show of emotion from him. “It matters because I don’t like it.”

The words hung in the air, heavy and chilling.

Over the next several days, Muichiro’s presence became impossible to ignore. He appeared during training, silently observing Y/N with an intensity that made their skin crawl. He intercepted them on missions, offering his assistance without being asked.

“You shouldn’t be going on missions alone,” he said once, his tone calm but unyielding. “It’s dangerous.”

“I can handle myself,” Y/N replied, their patience wearing thin.

Muichiro didn’t respond, but the look in his eyes told them he didn’t believe them.

One night, Y/N returned to their quarters to find something strange. Resting on their bed was a small bundle—a folded piece of cloth that turned out to be a scarf. Its intricate design was unmistakable, matching the patterns of Muichiro’s uniform.

Y/N frowned, holding it up. Attached to it was a note written in neat, precise handwriting:

“To keep you safe. Always.”

Y/N’s heart sank. They knew Muichiro was quiet and distant, but this was something else entirely.

The next day, Y/N confronted him, finding him meditating near the training grounds.

“Muichiro,” Y/N said firmly, holding out the scarf. “What is this?”

He opened his eyes, looking up at them with a blank expression. “A gift.”

“I don’t need it,” Y/N said, their voice sharper than they intended.

Muichiro stood, his movements graceful yet unnerving. “But I need you to have it.”

“What is that supposed to mean?”

He stepped closer, his pale gaze locking onto theirs. “I want to protect you, Y/N. You’re… important to me.”

Y/N took a step back, their heart pounding. “I can take care of myself. I don’t need your protection.”

Muichiro’s expression didn’t change, but his voice grew softer, almost ominous. “You don’t understand. You’re fragile. They don’t see it, but I do. If I don’t protect you… you might disappear.”

Y/N’s breath hitched at the intensity in his voice. They didn’t know what to say, how to respond.

From that day forward, Muichiro’s behavior grew more alarming. He shadowed Y/N constantly, his quiet presence inescapable. At times, they’d catch him staring at them from a distance, his eyes filled with an unreadable emotion.

One night, Y/N awoke to the sound of their door sliding open. Sitting up, they froze as Muichiro stepped inside, his expression as calm as ever.

“What are you doing?” Y/N whispered, their voice trembling.

“I had a feeling something might happen to you,” he said simply, as if it were the most natural thing in the world. “I’ll stay here. Just in case.”

Y/N’s heart raced as they realized just how far Muichiro’s obsession had gone.

Sanemi Shinazugawa

Scenario: Sanemi is upfront but rough in his approach. He corners Y/N during a mission and demands to know why they’ve been avoiding him. His tone is sharp, but there’s a hint of vulnerability underneath.

When Y/N tells him their feelings about the trial, Sanemi scoffs but doesn’t deny it. “Yeah, I was a jerk. So what? You think I’m proud of it?” His frustration turns into possessiveness when Y/N still keeps their distance. He starts “coincidentally” showing up during their missions, watching them closely and warning others to stay away.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The tension between Y/N and Sanemi had been growing for weeks. Every time Y/N spotted him, they turned the other way or pretended to be engrossed in conversation with someone else. Sanemi noticed—how could he not? At first, he told himself he didn’t care. They were just another slayer, and their opinion of him shouldn’t matter.

But it did.

Sanemi found himself watching Y/N more than he should, noting how they laughed with Tanjiro or trained with Genya. It grated on him, the way they seemed so open with everyone else but barely spared him a glance. He replayed the trial in his head, wondering if his actions were what pushed them away.

Finally, he decided he’d had enough.

Y/N was returning from a mission when Sanemi intercepted them, stepping out of the shadows on a quiet forest path. His presence was as imposing as ever, the faint glow of moonlight reflecting off his scarred face.

“Oi,” he called out, his voice gruff. “We need to talk.”

Y/N froze, gripping their sword instinctively. They didn’t hate Sanemi, but being around him made their stomach churn with unease. “About what?” they asked, trying to keep their tone neutral.

Sanemi crossed his arms, his intense gaze boring into them. “You’ve been avoiding me. Don’t even try to deny it.”

Y/N stiffened but refused to back down. “I don’t think we have anything to talk about, Shinazugawa-san. You’ve made your opinions about people like me—and the Kamados—perfectly clear.”

His jaw tightened, and for a moment, he looked as though he was about to snap. But instead, he took a step closer, his voice lowering to a growl. “Yeah, I said some things. Did some things. I was wrong. You think I don’t know that?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the admission. “Then why—”

“Because I can’t stand you looking at me like that,” Sanemi cut them off, his voice rising. “Like I’m some monster. I didn’t know what to believe back then, but now… I see things clearer. You’re a damn good slayer, and I—” He stopped himself, his fists clenching. “I don’t want you to hate me.”

Y/N stared at him, unsure of what to say. They could see the sincerity in his eyes, but it was shadowed by something darker—something possessive.

“I don’t hate you,” they finally said, their voice soft but firm. “But that doesn’t mean I can forget what happened.”

Sanemi’s expression hardened. “Then I’ll make you forget,” he said, stepping closer until he was only a breath away. “I’ll prove I’m not the bastard you think I am. I don’t care how long it takes. You’ll see.”

Before Y/N could respond, Sanemi turned on his heel and disappeared into the night, leaving them standing there with a mix of confusion and unease swirling in their chest.

From that day on, Sanemi’s presence became inescapable. He was always nearby, whether it was during missions, training, or even at the Butterfly Mansion. He didn’t say much, but his eyes were always on them, watching, waiting.

Y/N knew they’d have to confront him again eventually. But the question lingered in their mind: what would happen when Sanemi’s obsession crossed the line?

Gyomei Himejima

Scenario: Gyomei is gentle and remorseful, but his obsession is no less intense. He prays for forgiveness daily and approaches Y/N with quiet sincerity, asking for a chance to make things right. He helps them during missions and gives thoughtful advice, hoping to prove his worth.

However, Gyomei’s obsession manifests in his overprotectiveness. He starts monitoring Y/N’s movements, convinced it’s his duty to keep them safe. If Y/N ever puts themselves in danger, Gyomei intervenes, even if it means stepping over their autonomy. His reasoning? “Your safety is more important than my feelings.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The temple courtyard was serene, the distant sound of wind chimes blending with the soft rustling of leaves. Y/N had come here to clear their mind, to find solace in the peaceful atmosphere after yet another grueling mission. They closed their eyes, taking a deep breath.

“Y/N,” a deep, calm voice called behind them.

Y/N tensed, recognizing the unmistakable tone of Gyomei Himejima. Turning, they saw the towering Stone Hashira standing at the temple’s entrance, his hands clasped together in prayer. Despite his blind eyes, Y/N always felt as though his gaze could pierce through them, reading their every thought.

“Gyomei-san,” Y/N greeted, bowing politely. “I wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“I often come here to reflect,” he said, his voice gentle yet commanding. “But today, I came because I sensed you were troubled.”

Y/N’s heart sank. Gyomei’s intuition was unnervingly sharp, and avoiding him had been a challenge ever since the trial of the Kamado siblings. He hadn’t been overtly cruel during the trial, but his unwavering adherence to the rules had left a bitter taste in Y/N’s mouth.

“I’m fine,” Y/N replied, keeping their tone neutral. “Thank you for your concern.”

Gyomei tilted his head slightly, his expression soft but unreadable. “You’ve been avoiding the Hashira, haven’t you?”

Y/N stiffened. “I wouldn’t say that.”

“You do not need to lie,” he said calmly, stepping closer. “I understand why you feel the way you do. But it pains me to know you distance yourself from those who care about you.”

“I’m not sure that’s true,” Y/N muttered under their breath, but Gyomei heard it.

Over the next several days, Y/N noticed that Gyomei had begun to involve himself in their daily routine. He would appear at the training grounds, offering advice and watching over them with a quiet intensity. During meals, he would sit nearby, his presence impossible to ignore.

“You push yourself too hard,” he said one evening, his voice low and steady as they sparred. “You must take better care of yourself.”

“I can handle myself, Gyomei-san,” Y/N replied, wiping sweat from their brow.

“That may be true,” he said, his tone unwavering. “But that does not mean you should bear everything alone. Allow me to shoulder some of your burden.”

The sincerity in his voice made Y/N hesitate, but they quickly shook their head. “I appreciate the thought, but I don’t need help.”

Gyomei fell silent for a moment before nodding. “You are strong, Y/N. But even the strongest among us need someone to protect them.”

The way he said it sent a chill down Y/N’s spine.

One evening, Y/N returned to their quarters to find a small package waiting for them. Inside was a carefully carved stone amulet, intricately designed and polished to perfection. Attached was a note written in neat, deliberate handwriting:

“To protect you, always. – Gyomei”

Y/N stared at the amulet, their heart racing. While the gesture was kind, there was something unsettling about the intensity of his words.

The next morning, they sought him out to return the gift.

“Gyomei-san,” Y/N began, holding out the amulet. “I can’t accept this.”

Gyomei remained calm, his large hands clasped in front of him. “Why not?”

“It’s too much,” Y/N said firmly. “I don’t need protection, especially not from you.”

Gyomei’s expression didn’t change, but his voice grew softer, almost mournful. “I see. You do not understand yet.”

“Understand what?”

“That you are precious,” he said, his tone filled with an unsettling conviction. “You may not realize it, but your life holds great value. I cannot allow harm to come to you.”

Y/N took a step back, their pulse quickening. “Gyomei, I’m capable of protecting myself. You don’t need to involve yourself in my life like this.”

For a moment, Gyomei was silent, his blind eyes turned toward the ground. Then, he spoke, his voice barely above a whisper. “I have lost many people, Y/N. Too many. I will not lose you.”

The weight of his words sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine.

From that day on, Gyomei’s presence became even more oppressive. He followed them on missions, insisting it was for their safety. He would stand outside their quarters at night, silently guarding them.

One night, Y/N confronted him. “Gyomei, this has to stop. You’re suffocating me.”

“I am ensuring your safety,” he replied calmly, his hands clasped together in prayer.

“I don’t need you to,” Y/N snapped, their frustration boiling over.

Gyomei’s serene expression didn’t falter, but his voice carried a chilling finality. “Even if you do not want it, I will protect you. Your life is too important to risk. I will not allow anything—or anyone—to take you away.”

As he spoke, Y/N realized there was no reasoning with him. His devotion had crossed a line, transforming into an unshakable obsession.

Obanai Iguro

Scenario: Obanai’s obsession is subtle but intense. He doesn’t apologize outright; instead, he tries to manipulate Y/N into seeing things his way. He observes them from the shadows, quietly removing any obstacles (or people) he perceives as threats to their relationship.

If Y/N confronts him, Obanai’s voice is calm but sharp. “I only want what’s best for you. Why can’t you see that?” His jealousy is particularly dangerous, as he harbors resentment toward anyone who holds Y/N’s attention more than he does. Kaburamaru, his snake, often delivers small trinkets or notes to Y/N on his behalf.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

The moonlight reflected off the quiet river, its gentle ripples providing the only sound in the otherwise still night. Y/N had come here to escape the oppressive weight of the Hashira’s presence. Despite their usual calm, the tension from the trial of the Kamado siblings still lingered in their chest, making it difficult to interact with some of the others. Obanai Iguro, in particular, had been increasingly difficult to avoid.

Y/N had always known him to be strict, calculating, and almost aloof, but recently, his quiet demeanor had taken on a much more unnerving quality. Tonight, as they sat near the river, they were finally alone, or so they thought.

A soft rustle of leaves behind them made Y/N stiffen. Slowly, they turned, their breath catching when they saw Obanai standing just a few feet away. His serpent-like eyes glinted in the darkness, his face as unreadable as ever, but there was something about his posture—rigid, predatory—that made Y/N’s heart race.

“Obanai-san,” they greeted, trying to keep their voice steady. “What are you doing here?”

His mouth twitched into something resembling a smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “I could ask the same of you. What are you doing out here alone, Y/N?”

“I needed some time to think,” Y/N replied, standing up. “It’s peaceful here.”

Obanai’s eyes followed them carefully, never wavering. “Peaceful… for now.”

Y/N frowned, not understanding his cryptic words. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He stepped forward, his movements almost too smooth, too calculated. “It means that the world is not as peaceful as you might believe, and there are those who will take advantage of that peace. You should be more careful.”

Y/N took a small step back, unease creeping into their mind. “I can handle myself.”

Obanai’s eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Can you?” His voice dropped to a whisper. “I’ve seen how you’ve been avoiding the others. It’s almost as if you don’t trust us.”

“I’m not avoiding anyone,” Y/N said, voice tight. “I just need some space.”

Obanai’s lips parted slightly, a faint hiss escaping between them. “Space? You think you can push me away so easily?”

Y/N took another step back, feeling a sudden rush of panic. “I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You don’t get it, do you?” Obanai’s voice had grown colder, more dangerous. “You think you can handle everything on your own. But I’ve been watching you, Y/N. I know you better than anyone else. You’re vulnerable, and you’re too proud to admit it. I can protect you. I can be the one to make sure you don’t get hurt.”

Y/N swallowed, their throat dry. “I don’t need you to protect me.”

Obanai’s eyes flashed, and in a blur of motion, he was right in front of them. His hand shot out to grip their wrist, his fingers cold but firm.

“You don’t get to decide that,” he hissed, his voice low and filled with an unsettling intensity. “I’ve already made up my mind. You’re mine to protect, whether you like it or not.”

Y/N’s heart hammered in their chest. The force of his grip was enough to make their pulse race. They tried to pull away, but his hold was unyielding.

“Obanai, let go of me,” they demanded, struggling against his grip.

He didn’t respond. Instead, his expression shifted, his gaze softening ever so slightly. “You don’t understand. I’ve lost too much, Y/N. I can’t lose you, too.”

The desperation in his voice sent a chill through Y/N. They felt trapped, unable to escape his grip, yet there was something deeply unsettling in his words.

The next few days were no better. Obanai continued to appear wherever Y/N went. During meals, he would sit across from them, staring intently, his eyes never leaving their face. During training, he would subtly intervene, offering his guidance in a way that felt more like control than mentorship.

“You’re not using your stance correctly,” he said one evening as Y/N sparred with another slayer. He appeared at their side without warning, his gaze sharp. “You should have moved like this.”

Y/N flinched as he adjusted their posture, his proximity making them uncomfortable. “I know how to fight, Obanai-san,” they muttered.

“Not well enough,” he replied coldly, his fingers lingering a little longer than necessary before he stepped back.

It didn’t take long for Y/N to notice that the small gestures of affection and concern had started to take on a darker tone. They found notes left in their quarters—short, cryptic messages written in Obanai’s precise handwriting.

“You’re always so distant. But I’ll make you understand.”

“You belong with me, Y/N. Don’t make me prove it.”

The unsettling nature of these messages gnawed at them, but it wasn’t until they received a small, wrapped box that they understood just how far Obanai had gone. Inside was a pendant—an intricately carved snake, its eyes gleaming in the light.

A note accompanied it:

“For you, Y/N. To remind you that I’m always watching. Always protecting.”

One night, as Y/N tried to sneak away for some time alone, they found Obanai waiting outside their door.

“You’ve been trying to avoid me,” he said quietly, his voice eerily calm. “But you’re mine now. I’ve made sure of it.”

Y/N stepped back, eyes wide. “What do you mean by that?”

“I mean,” Obanai whispered, his voice dripping with cold certainty, “that no matter what you do, you can’t get away from me. You’re too important. I can’t let anyone take you from me.”

His grip tightened on their wrist again, this time with a terrifying finality.

[saintsenara]

I come to you with this question because, having read all your other metas, I think you'd be the right person to ask. Id love to know what you think about Regulus because I have a very hard time understanding his character. Partly because of fanon characterization of him makes him seem like some secret rebel against Voldemort and partly because I just can't really understand any of his motivations. But regardless, I think what we know about him in canon is so interesting - i just can piece it all together. I'd love to know what you think!

(Sorry for the longish ask)

thank you very much for the ask, @hauntingpercival! regulus is a character i also find a bit of a mystery, and so thinking through this answer was really fun.

i'll start by being clear that i'm certainly not a regulus fan. by which i not only mean that i don't vibe with the fanon!regulus of the marauders fandom, who is essentially an original character - and you can read my views on jegulus here... [spoiler alert: i do not back it] - but that when he appears in my own writing in ways i'd like to hope feel influenced by his canon form, i always find myself focusing on aspects of his character which are rather unlikeable.

there is a little bit of a discourse-y reason for this, which will be pertinent to the rest of this answer...

i really don't like the sort of "omg aristocracy is so hot and sexy and interesting" tropes which are so prevalent in writing around the black family. this is firstly because i don't think that aristocracy is in any way these things - and i find it distasteful to imply otherwise - which is because i'm a prole who lives somewhere still bearing the scars of british colonisation who also went to the sort of university where one sometimes encountered aristocrats and they were all cringe and unbearable.

but it's also because it's not - and i will genuinely die on this hill - an accurate reflection of how the blacks are presented in canon. not only does it take sirius' comment that his parents considered themselves "practically royal" to be a statement of fact [sirius is quite clearly taking the piss out of his parents' pretensions], but it also misses that the purpose sirius' discussion of orion and walburga's politics serves in the narrative of order of the phoenix is to show how mainstream their blood-supremacist views were.

sirius tells us that his parents were not death eaters, but that they nonetheless thought voldemort's overtly sectarian political aims were correct. in this, they hold the political views order of the phoenix emphasises belong to cornelius fudge - unimaginative, deferential to the class system, casually prejudiced, and so on. orion and walburga function as a way of showing us just how entrenched the death eaters' manifesto is, how close voldemort came to winning the first war, and what an uphill struggle the order faces to unravel the roots blood-supremacy has in the wizarding world.

[and they also show that the baffling vibes of grimmauld place - while these are made worse by it being three different gothic literature tropes in a trenchcoat - are wizarding norms, rather than evidence that the blacks were uniquely immersed in dark magic. the decor at grimmauld place - and the family's collection of dark artefacts - is the same as that found in malfoy manor, even at a time when lucius malfoy is considered eminently socially respectable. this is a point we will come back to...]

i think, then, that it's crucial to approach regulus not as a swaggering aristocrat, but as someone from an upper-class background which - while still posh, rich, inferring enormous social capital, well-connected - was unremarkable within the circles in which he moved.

by which i mean that hogwarts is based on real-world institutions - britain's elite boarding schools - which are so exclusive and expensive to attend that the student body are from a class-background which seems inhumanly exclusive, affluent, and powerful from an outsider perspective [i.e. from the perspective of someone from the majority middle- and working-classes] but which seems completely normal within the student body itself.

[i.e. nobody at eton with princes william and harry will have been astonished to have been at school with a royal, because they will have been familiar with their social circles, cultural experiences, level of wealth, and expectation of knowing someone with considerable social influence from childhood.]

while hogwarts appears to be a state-funded school [although it also expects an enormous amount of financial investment on the part of parents - such as buying all the textbooks], the fact that its real-world parallels are so elite [and, therefore, come with a specific "look" in the british cultural imagination] means that the student body is incredibly well-heeled and working-class students stand out enormously in a way very rich students do not. hogwarts also exists - like real-world elite schools and universities - as a way of propping up the status quo of the class system by which the wizarding world functions. its pupils have an expectation of procuring jobs in the civil service and other influential professions - using not only connections established at school but connections they possess through their [male] relatives. many hogwarts students we meet in canon are related to someone who occupies an elite position in the wizarding executive or is otherwise socio-politically influential.

at school, then, regulus would have been completely, perfectly average in terms of social position. i also like the idea of him as perfectly average in terms of intellect - and as a good, but not exceptional, seeker. this provides a really interesting point of contrast with sirius, who - while he's also not socially unusual in terms of class [and i will never vibe with tropes like him being followed by whispers going "omg, he's a black, that means he's important"] - stands out in that he's the first black in generations not to be in slytherin, that he's precociously intelligent, and that he - and the rest of the marauders - are class clowns and show-offs.

and i like the idea that this would give regulus a desire to stand out - to be considered the most important person in the whole school. we can get a hint of this in canon - the picture of sirius and his friends harry sees in deathly hallows is immediately contrasted with a picture of regulus sitting in the seeker's position in the team photo. the seeker who acts alone.

and i think this desire for notoriety is what drives him to sign up to become a death eater - that he decides he's sick of having parents with the perfectly normal level of social influence and a brother who is more popular than him, and that he thinks that he's cleverer and more worthy of attention than everyone else in the castle and the world better start showing it.

[and i've never bought - i'm afraid - the idea that he and sirius are close. it's clear from canon that regulus had no issue being thought of as "a much better son" than sirius, and that he colluded with his parents against him. sirius can love him - and miss him, and regret how they were never able to repair their relationship - but i don't think this means that he feels he's lost a bestie.]

that he holds sincere blood-supremacist views is a given - because within the world in which he lives, these are completely normal and held completely casually [i.e. that slughorn is shocked lily could be muggleborn because she's clever]. the more virulent expression of these views - saying "mudblood", etc. - is clearly considered ill-mannered, but not something which might have any real impact on one's social standing [draco malfoy uses the term with impunity while at school, and nobody ever considers that informing a teacher of this would result in him being punished; equally, nobody from the crowd who witness the event reports snape for calling lily a mudblood].

and so i think it's clear that he becomes interested in joining the death eaters - and starts putting together his terrorism pinterest board - because his mainstream belief that being pureblood is better crashes into his desire to be special to form a conviction that riding the coattails of voldemort's ostentatious malevolence is the way he can become famous.

[in this, he is very like snape.]

my assumption is that regulus is one academic year below sirius, meaning that he was born in 1960-1961. my assumption is also that he receives his dark mark while still at school - probably at some point in his newt years [so the academic years 1977-1978 and 1978-1979].

the standard view - expressed vehemently by various order members in half-blood prince - is that voldemort has no interest in death eaters who are still at school.

the order is wrong about this, obviously - not only when it comes to their refusal to accept that harry's right about draco malfoy being marked, but also in the fact that several of the death eaters who are very young at the end of the first war, barty crouch jr. [who is still young enough to be described as a "boy" in 1982 at the earliest], chief among them, must have been taken on by voldemort prior to graduating.

but it seems fair to say that admitting teenagers into his inner circle is unusual for voldemort, especially when those teenagers don't really offer him anything useful. crouch, for example, could be put to work informing on his father's movements. regulus is - as i've said - just ordinary.

and so my view has always been that regulus is marked by voldemort as a favour to bellatrix. i think this partially because i'm bellamort trash, partially because i think it's a nice narrative parallel between regulus and draco [who are very similar] to have bellatrix be responsible for regulus' recruitment when she's canonically vociferously in favour of draco's, and partially because realising that voldemort thinks of him as just some guy who warrants [essentially] a pity dark mark would be a big blow to regulus' conviction that joining the death eaters would make him impressive.

[i also think regulus is recruited before 1978 because i think there has to be a shift in voldemort's modus operandi at about this point, in order for the fact that sirius says that his parents got cold feet about what the dark lord was prepared to do after regulus became a death eater to make sense. my view has always been that voldemort's violence prior to c.1978 overwhelmingly targets state institutions and people connected to them and/or people with known anti-voldemort political views, meaning that ordinary citizens can regard these people being killed or injured as reasonable risks of their jobs and/or behaviour. and then that after c.1978, the dark lord begins targeting civilians - including upper-class pureblood civilians - indiscriminately, which makes his casual supporters start to waver a bit.]

so, let's suppose that regulus leaves hogwarts in june 1979 and finds himself expected to participate as a full death eater, after having been let off all the dirty work by virtue of being at school...

as i've said, regulus has an enormous number of narrative parallels with draco malfoy. and i think that the best way to think about him is to write him as sharing draco's canonical attitude to voldemort's cause - that he believes whole-heartedly in the message of blood-supremacy the dark lord promotes and that he has no problem with people he considers subhuman [mudbloods and blood-traitors] or unimportant [faceless families massacred in their own homes] being subjected to violence in the name of that message, but that he lacks the character traits necessary to perform that violence himself, to see it done to people he likes, or to witness what it actually involves versus the image he has of it in his head.

and so i imagine he starts struggling pretty quickly with the fact that being a death eater isn't quite as easy as he thought it would be when he was making voldemort fancams on tiktok. and that part of the reason he's primed to turn against the dark lord is because of the tension he feels warring within him at the fact that he's still a blood-supremacist, still desperate to be important, and yet growing disenchanted.

i don't however, think this is why he does what he does... so let's get into that:

why does regulus turn against voldemort?

let's be clear about one thing - regulus turning against voldemort has nothing to do with him having some sort of damascene conversion against blood-supremacy.

[or, at least, that's what i think.]

the outline of regulus' defection that we get in canon goes as follows:

voldemort asks someone to lend him a house elf. we know that regulus volunteers kreacher, because he told kreacher so - and so i imagine voldemort mentions at a meeting that he wants to procure an elf [although, of course, he doesn't elaborate on why] and regulus immediately jumps up and says "pick me, my lord" because he sees this as an opportunity to get voldemort to finally notice him.

his assumption must be that voldemort will use kreacher for a purpose which is considered normal in wizarding society - i.e. that he will require him to do something akin to domestic service, perhaps preparing potions ingredients.

it evidently does not occur to him that voldemort would transgress this social boundary and harm kreacher. not - to be clear - because i think that regulus was some kind of abolitionist legend, but because we see several characters express the view in goblet of fire that how barty crouch sr. treats winky is his own business, and that it is impolite for respectable wizards to comment on how anyone else treats his slave. this sort of social behaviour will have a second part - that it is impolite for respectable wizards to treat anyone else's slave in a way which goes beyond what wizarding slaveowners see as normal.

or: that it's fine to be lent a slave to serve you, but very much not fine to nearly kill that slave [someone else's property!] for your own gain.

kreacher informs regulus what voldemort asked of him, which makes regulus suspicious about what the object voldemort deposited in the cave was. regulus then decides to investigate.

kreacher tells us that regulus goes away for an indeterminate period of time and then returns to grimmauld place "disturbed in his mind".

dumbledore claims in half-blood prince that voldemort appears not to wear or display the objects the horcruxes are made from after he turns them into horcruxes. i think we can agree with this or not without it affecting the story - i quite like the idea that voldemort doesn't make the locket until the later 1970s [maybe after the murder of dorcas meadowes, the only person in the first war other than james and lily to have canonically been killed by him personally], but we can also say that he might have worn or displayed it when it was already a horcrux. certainly, regulus must have seen the locket - either on voldemort or somewhere in his lair - and, after kreacher tells him what happened, he goes to see if it's still there.

when he discovers it isn't, he comes to an important conclusion. one which requires a little detour...

how does regulus know what a horcrux is?

i complained at the start of this answer about the black family being portrayed as unusually immersed in the dark arts - rather than some sort of familiarity with the dark arts being perfectly normal for people of their social class.

and i am sure that you might think I'm about to have to eat my words, since i'm not going to try and deny that regulus was able to identify a horcrux all by himself...

but, actually, i'm just chucking malevolently at the opportunity to clamber onto my soapbox and say:

horcruxes are canonically not magic which only a handful of people know about. where voldemort goes beyond the theory of horcruxes which a wizard of regulus' class-background would be familiar with is that he makes seven.

this doesn't mean - to be clear - that i think it was ever common to make a horcrux [i don't think the wizarding world is quite that lawless...], but that it was reasonable to know they exist, in the way that we might have some general understanding of something macabre - like techniques for disposing of a body - which would enable us to suspect if we saw a neighbour behaving strangely while doing one of those things...

after all, slughorn can suggest [even if he doesn't believe this is what he wants to do] that voldemort could justify his interest in horcruxes by using the excuse that he's working on a project for defence against the dark arts.

that harry, ron, and hermione don't know about them is a result of a combination of their own lack of interest in the theory of the dark arts, the information blackout instituted by dumbledore at some point after voldemort graduates [and my theory as to why dumbledore hates horcruxes even in the forties? grindelwald made one - hence why dumbledore is so hopeful at king's cross that the rumours of his repentance might have been true...], and the fact that they don't discuss their mission with anyone [tonks, kingsley, and moody, who literally have to specialise in dark objects as part of their jobs, would one hundo have known what a horcrux was].

[what they would not have known is what voldemort's horcruxes were likely to be made of and where they were likely to be. it's this - rather than the idea that horcruxes are completely unknowable magic - that is why it has to be harry in charge of hunting them down: he's the only person in the series who knows voldemort well enough to realise that, for example, he'd have hidden one in gringotts because of his jealousy at being excluded from this pillar of wizarding normality.]

so, regulus has a little rummage, works out the locket has disappeared, and has no trouble - especially because voldemort mentions in goblet of fire that he'd told his death eaters he couldn't die [which regulus might not have thought was him speaking literally] prior to 1981 - guessing what it's being used for.

and so, regulus turns against voldemort.

and i think that he does this because the horcrux makes it impossible for him to pretend any longer that voldemort's aims are - when the ministry is forced to the negotiating table by his paramilitary activities - an oligarchy in which upper-class pureblood families benefit and muggleborns and blood-traitors become second-class citizens, but which doesn't deviate too much in terms of its overwhelming norms from the way wizarding society functioned at that time. instead, he is confronted with the undeniable fact that voldemort intends to reign forever as an immortal absolute monarch, and that he has never had any intention of elevating regulus and people like him to the positions of importance he so craved.

[we see something similar happen to draco, whose increasing fear of voldemort throughout half-blood prince and deathly hallows is clearly driven by him realising that voldemort isn't joking when he says that he'll kill him and his parents unless he obeys orders, but is joking when he says he'll be considered a valuable servant should he manage to kill dumbledore...]

and so his death - and his threat to destroy the horcrux - is a repudiation of his beliefs. but, specifically, it is a repudiation of his conviction that voldemort was a primarily political figure who would act as a champion of the pureblood class-system. it's him recognising that voldemort would not stop with a takeover of the ministry - he would kill and kill forever, concerned only with how much further he could venture beyond the norms of magic.

[lightlycareless]

How do you think Naoya would be as a teacher at Jujutsu Tech? This idea came to me when I was about to fall asleep and I have not been able to stop thinking about it, especially with your portrayal of Naoya.

It’d probably be more auish. Tbh I could see Y/N being a teacher their first(maybe like a year or two) before Naoya(probably against the wishes of his family) decides to teach their too in hopes of getting closer to Y/N 🤭

I feel like Naoya would be like kinda a good teacher but also bad at it is as well. Especially since he’s not there because he has some ‘passion for educating the youth’. I feel like he’d be good in the sense that his students are gonna have the skills they need fight these curses and stuff just…he’s not nice in his teaching. Part of it is probably because he also initially wouldn’t feel a desire to bond or connect with his students.

That is until Y/N steps in. Maybe she thinks that he’s not used to teaching and just needs some pointers on how to get his point across without being harsh to his students. Maybe Y/N decides to give him like after hours teaching lessons. I can see Naoya being slightly peeved having something about him being criticized but if he’s head over heels still, I could see him swallowing his pride and accepting just so he can have one on one time with Y/N(A win is a win am I right lol).

I can then see Y/N suggest they do joint training or something so she can be there to help if he finds himself struggling or whatever(idk) and like maybe his students are noticing that Naoya isn’t that bad and maybe they even notice the painfully obvious pining he has for Y/N. And seeing that kinda humanizes him for them. I can see his students growing less intimidated, maybe even being able to try to start cracking jokes with him and just genuinely act like goofy, relaxed kids around him. Maybe they’re like ‘We gotta help Naoya-Sensei get with Y/N-Sensei’.

Idk this just gave me such cute and fluffy vibes for Naoya gradually caring for his students and the cute moments him and Y/N would have as teachers

Hello!!

Thank you so much for sending me this ask!! I love me some highschool au... but I never thought of it from a teacher's perspective!!! I might write more of it in the future, probably after I tire myself out from the student POV.

Until then, I hope you like this little drabble I wrote :> Naoya is, in all universes, a jerk. But a dork at the same time.

warnings: fluff. naoya is a tiny bit of a jerk, nothing too crazy tho. as expected of him.

Happy reading!!!

Naoya lost track of you after graduating. Whether because he got too busy with his missions, or because deep inside him, he thought that his chances with you were effectively gone the moment he left school.

Still, he hoped that one day your paths would cross once again, providing him another chance to do what he couldn’t do back then and make you his.

Fortunately, that moment would come the moment he learned of your whereabouts by unwittingly eavesdropping on an insignificant conversation between his assistant and another equally mundanesorcerer he was assigned to work with on that occasion.

“Did you hear? Jujutsu High has a new teacher.”

“New teacher? That’s weird. Didn’t know they were hiring—who is it?”

“You’d never guess—Y/N!”

“Y/N? Hinata’s sister? Wasn’t she like… working out of the country, or something?”

“I think so. She must’ve gotten bored of it, there’s not much work outside of Japan, you know. Though I’m surprised she’d settle for a teaching job; isn’t that…”

“Tedious? Yeah. She must be really passionate about it.”

As Naoya recalled, having heard directly from you how you’d always desired to be a teacher, for the responsibility of molding the future of the community appeared to be highly fulfilling to you, and such, a duty you wished to help develop if ever given the opportunity.

It wasn’t his dream, he genuinely couldn’t care less about anyone else but you, that’s for sure…

But if this is what he needed to do to get close to you, then he knows what he must.

Safe to say, the school was pleasantly surprised to receive Naoya’s demand application for whatever teaching position was open, ready to work as soon as possible.

Because of his prestige, the rutinary interview was promptly skipped, they’d still give him the basic training to give him a basic idea of what was required of him, but outside of that, a few days after he showed interest in the job, he got it.

And so, he begins, working as the type of teacher many only expected of him: unapproachable, hard to understand, impatient, and most of all, genuinely indifferent to his students.

Some gave him the benefit of the doubt, hoped that Naoya’s unpredictability would work on their favor…

But they were proven wrong when all these issues began to arise, problems that were dealt with by the students either skipping class, opting to fail it and going to summer school, hopefully with an entirely different teacher.

Transferring schools, if not dropping out altogether…

Or venting their frustrations out. Those that weren’t too keen on sacrificing their grades (that much) would resort to the only other sensei they felt most comfortable with to do so—you.

“Naoya-sensei is horrible, he spends all day sulking about us not being good, frequently calling out all the mistakes we make, but then, he doesn’t help us!”

“Why was he even hired?! Weren’t there any other better candidates?!”

“I wouldn’t say that…” you murmur, an attempt to stop them from saying anything else that might get them into trouble if heard by the wrong person… as well as from spreading lies, for a job like this one, especially amongst the sorcery community, isn’t one many would consider highly sought after. Genuinely there might’ve not been another candidate. Less a better one.

Not everyone liked the idea of a selfless career, one that often went unrecognized, after all. So, for the arrogant, overconfident heir of the Zen’in known to not care about anything beyond his interests…

Well, a surprise could only be an understatement.

Though as unexpected as it was, you wouldn’t deny that seeing this new side of him was kind of nice. Like it humanized him—or whatever little you knew of him anyways, since he often kept to himself, even when working alongside as teacher, he just… didn’t approach you.

But, well, it’s not like he did otherwise back then either. He wasn’t much of a social person. Yet, he always managed to amuse you; maybe through the fact that he seemed particularly… calmer with you.

Either way, you were probably the only other person that thought he was deserving of having friends, people that were always willing to help when struggling, just as he was doing right now with his students.

So, after brief consideration, and ignoring the warnings from fellow teachers and friends alike, you take the first step.

“Hey, Naoya!” You greet, walking over to his table, the same one where he’d always eat lunch—alone. Thankfully, if you were lucky enough, that would change today. “Do you mind if I sit with you?”

“Why?” Naoya asks back immediately after, the nature of his question making you blink, slightly upsetting you.

While his response came out as an indirect rejection, which you would’ve taken as such if you didn’t have other motives… his words were actually meant as a kind of a personal demand, desperate to know why you decided to approach him right then and there, of all places, when there were much better options?!

Certainly, having his first official conversation with you in the teacher’s lounge wasn’t on the top of his list; even worse for a date…

But if this is where it’ll happen, he’ll take it.

“I mean—sure, take a seat. It’s not like anybody else is going to.” Responds, as nonchalantly as he could to appear calm and collected, cool. The type of guy he thinks you’d like, only to have the contrary effect.

«Well, nobody said this was going to be easy.» you think to yourself.

“How is school treating you?” You begin after taking a seat next to him, though you don’t really begin to eat; appetite effectively replaced with anxiety. What if Naoya chews you out just for asking? Again?? “You’ve been here a few weeks now, is everything up to your liking?”

“No. It’s horrible. I hate it.” He assesses, with an unforeseen speed that surprised him as well. But that only helps to show how comfortable he is with you, even when the last time he saw you had been years by that point. To be near you always puts him on a good mood.

Naoya always felt like you were the only one that truly understood him, after all. And that’s something that not even time could replace. 

“Oh. That’s… awful.” You murmur, surprised by his honesty. You suspected he was having it bad... but not like this! “Why, if I may ask?”

“The students are stupid.”

“Don’t—Don’t say that Naoya!” you gasp, he chuckles at your reaction. «How cute.» he thinks.

“Ah, so there’s not a single student that has made you lose your cool, Y/N-sensei?” he takes this opportunity to tease you, you frown.

“Even if there was, it’s unprofessional for me to say so.” You respond. “A teacher must not show any kind of preference, or disregard for their students.”

Naoya remains quiet, getting the feeling that his teasing actually ended up irritating you even further, instead of smoothing things out. But ignorant on how to bridge that gap, he simply goes back to his food, hoping for a miracle: for the earth to swallow him whole, or for you to prove you weren’t that upset. Whatever happened first.

It’ll be neither.

“I can help you, if you’d like.” You quietly offer. “With getting along with your students, and all that…”

“…What do you mean?” Naoya asks, returning his gaze to you.

“Don’t tell anyone this, but… the other day my students told me they were struggling a bit to understand your lessons.” You confess. “They said they were afraid of asking you things because you tend to lash out, and so…”

“Ah, did they?” Naoya scowls. “It’s not my fault they can’t seem to understand basic things!”

“They’re trying their best. They’re just kids, after all, lacking the experience we have.” You explain. “Especially yours, which I already know is quite impressive!”

His heart skips a beat, and that little compliment was enough to put him in a good mood all over again! If only he could spend the rest of his life hearing you refer to him so adorably…

“It’s just a matter of knowing how to transform your skills into lessons. Not everybody has the talent to be a good teacher, and that’s nothing to be ashamed of.” You go on, with such passion Naoya couldn’t dismiss—you really liked this job, didn’t you? “Let me help you so you don’t go through the same struggles as me.”

A part of him wanted to feel offended by your words, angry that you’d call him incompetent in the job he clearly never showed interest in, simply taking it with the hopes of getting close to you (which he failed in for various… excuses)—a sentiment that only grew bigger when also acknowledging that his students had spoken badly of him behind his back.

What, were they too afraid of confronting him? They weren’t babies, pathetic…

But another part of him wanted him to forget all this in favor of taking this for what it was, what he wanted: an opportunity to get closer to you.

It’s easy to guess which one he took. Or more like, which one he accepted with utmost importance. Naoya is still Naoya, and his anger wasn’t to disappear so easily… but he was willing to compromise.

Thus, your mission to make Naoya into a better teacher begins! With tutoring classes taking part either after school, or the weekend, depending on the necessity of your intervention—values judged by the feedback from your students.

And Naoya was willing to play along too, (much to your relief) although he did so by thinking this was the closest thing he could get as a date with you, hoping to get the real deal further down the road…

But of course, he’d underestimated your dedication to helping him, soon realizing that the only things happening during those moments were either going over and over again your notes, trying to figure out what teaching method would better suit Naoya, as well as preparing his classes for the week and the activities to accompany them—and nothing more.

He was disappointed, yet, but not enough to give up. Such determination led him to agree that the best way to keep this arrangement going on as long as possible (until he was able to properly ask you out, or for you to fall in love) was by continuing to fail as a teacher, dump any help/information you’ve given him to start from 0 once again.

Which, surprisingly, worked. But at the expense of your frustrations for his seeming lack of advancement.

You’d never disclose your emotions to him, wanting to avoid making him feel this was some kind of burden (especially when you were the one to suggest it) but… he was not making it any easy.

It was well known that he was a difficult person; everyone always made sure to remind you of that. And yet, you still gave him the benefit of the doubt, you really did!

But like all things, it wouldn’t take long before you end up circling back to the notion that perhaps you misunderstood his real purpose with the job. Or even worse, maybe he did like the job, he just preferred tormenting you far better.

If so… then there was nothing else to do. If Naoya didn’t want to improve, then you wouldn’t waste your time anymore.

“Hey, Y/N, where are you going?” He asks upon noticing you cleaning up after your things, instead of setting them for his class, just like you’ve done almost every day up to that point. “We’re not doing it today?”

“Oh, um… No. I just—I just remembered I had something else already planned for today, sorry.” And for the next day, and the day after…

A whole week in fact, just enough time for Naoya to realize that you indeed had given up on him.

And who wouldn’t? He was being an absolute prick towards all the efforts you made to help him! Regardless of whose idea it was, the fact that he just discarded them like they didn’t mean anything, without the decency to tell you he wasn’t interested in them anymore, all for a selfish, personal reason…!

That wasn’t to be the worst part, however; what hurt the most was that Naoya still claimed to care for you, even when he went on to do all these dismissivethings, in his mind, he truly, still believed he was doing the right thing! That somehow this would lead to you developing feelings for him and getting together!

Yet, your departure would serve as a much-needed critical wake-up call; the perfect detonator for him to finally open his eyes and realize that he was doing was not only stupid, but highly disrespectful to you, the woman he proclaimed to have feelings for.

He hated seeing you upset with him, the light of your eyes dimmed out for something he knew you were highly passionate about.

But what he hated the most was admitting he was the cause of it.

Thus, having his work cut out for him, he begins to do what he should’ve done: apply your knowledge to improving his classes, and taking everyone by surprise when it actually begins to work!

Naoya simply becomes that less impatient teacher, yet willing to call out mistakes with the purpose of helping students, not just demeaning them. And not only that, but his classes are also met with astonishing grades, proof that they’re actually learning!

An advancement that naturally leads the students to grow eager to see what other cool thing Naoya-sensei will teach them this time around, or if lucky enough, help them create a technique no one else has ever thought of before! His creative talents for such things is not one they could pass!!

But most importantly, beyond the improvement of his teaching abilities, he also got your acknowledgment. The unexpected surprise that Naoya not only managed to commit to what you taught him, but that he was actually listening all along…

Though feeling recognized by your efforts, you were mostly elated to see his relationship advance with his students at the end of the day, as seen in the somewhat fond way they’d speak of him whenever in conversation with you.

“Naoya-sensei is much nicer this time around.” One would say.

“He actually offered to help me if I was struggling with my training, can you believe it?!”

“I wonder what happened to make him change? Do you think it was Y/N-sensei? They were seen together quite a lot…”

“Oh my god, maybe he likes her.”

“Don’t be silly, I don’t think Naoya-sen—oh my god he does.”

At their silence and wide eyes when the classroom door opens, you quickly turn around to see the culprit behind their reaction, both curious and worried; was it an angry parent? Wouldn’t be the first time something like that happens…

No. It was much worse, actually. Or perhaps better? Either way, you’d end up reacting the same way when realizing it was Naoya standing by the frame; and not only that, but he was accompanied with a bouquet of colorful flowers that with just a simple glance you managed to understand were for you.

And, well, him walking straight to you might’ve been a dead giveaway as well.

“Nao—Naoya, what are you—”

“I wanted to thank you.” He says, handing the flowers to you. “For… all the help you’ve given me.”

“What—what are you even talking about??” you laugh nervously, flustered by his gesture, embarrassed by the endless pairs of eyes on you.

“For helping me with my students.” Naoya goes on. “I wouldn’t have been able to do it without you.”

“O—oh, it was nothing!” you gasp. “Really, you don’t need to do—”

“Come on, Y/N-sensei!!” one would cry.

“Naoya-sensei went through the trouble of getting them for you!! The least you could do is accept them!”

“Isn’t he your type, anyways?? Accept the flowers, sensei!”

“Oh, that’s so dreamy… I wish I had a boyfriend that got me flowers!”

“No way, how come sensei gets a girlfriend before me???”

“Wait a minute.” You breathe, your student’s words making something in your mind click. “Were you—were you guys behind this?!”

The group lets out a chuckle, giving you enough of an answer.

“What?! Since when?!”

Easily, after noticing how his gaze lingered on you a bit longer than usual whenever you were around.

Of course, ever since you essentially stopped talking to him, he’s been nothing but a miserable puppy trying to gain your attention once again. Naoya hoped that by becoming a better teacher would do the trick, and you did approach him from time to time, but alas, it wasn’t as much as he wanted it to be.

He was ready to give up too, planning on quitting as soon as the school year was over… until his students stepped in to help.

“Naoya-sensei, you need to be more assertive in your approach!”

“Excuse me?” He frowns. “I’m the teacher here, you know?”

“We’re not talking about that!”

“What are you talking about, then?”

“You like Y/N-sensei, don’t you?” one declares, making Naoya’s cheeks burn up.

“That’s not for you to discuss!”

“Your reaction was real convincing, sensei.”

“…What are you even planning to get out of this?”

“Nothing! We just think it’s sweet that someone is interested in Y/N-sensei, she deserves that much after being so nice to us!” They grin. “And while we wouldn’t normally consider you to be the best candidate for her, something tells us she likes you too!”

“Huh? What? Why? Did she tell you??”

“No, but you just confirmed our suspicions!” They laugh, Naoya rolls his eyes. “As we were saying, we normally would’ve chosen someone else to matchmake our sensei with, like Nanami-san, though he’s rarely around. Or Gojo-sensei, but he’s too weird for her…”

“I don’t—I don’t want to hear about other men.” Naoya warns.

“Oh, so you’re the jealous type? Makes sense though, you’re always very… explosive.”

“Say that again and you’re going to spend the weekend here” He scowls.

“Alright, alright, sensei!! We were just joking. Anyways, it’s clear that you reformed, and with that, we’ve officially declared you adequate to date Y/N-sensei!!”

“The issue here is making her like you…”

“You’re making me sound unlikable.” Naoya frowns.

“I mean, wasn’t she upset for days after she was last seen with you?”

Naoya’s heart sinks to his stomach upon hearing that. He has no way to deny he wasn’t responsible for that—in fact, he was well aware it was him.

“You gotta make her like you. See you as a potential partner and not a fellow coworker.”

“…And how can I do that?” Naoya never thought he’d be receiving love advice from one of his students, in fact, a part of him tells him he probably shouldn’t… but after running out of ideas, he guesses why the hell not? Besides, they’re willing, he might as well.

“By being attentive and thoughtful. Take into consideration what Y/N-sensei is always boasting about!! We can already name a few off the top of our head! Surely you can do so too, Naoya-sensei; you two have been much closer than us, after all…”

«Like the flowers on the main garden» Which you never failed to bring to his attention whenever walking to class, admiring how colorful and pretty they were, silently hoping that one day you’d be gifted ones, if ever lucky enough.

“But how do I even approach her? Nothing ever seems to be the right time, she’s always busy.” «Either with work, or avoiding me…»

“Now that just sounds like an excuse” they shake their head crossing their arms. “Just do it when she’s in class! She’s not going to be able to leave there! Besides, that would be 100% romantic, I’m sure of it!! But don’t try to get out of this one by having someone else do it for you, though. It has to be you. That’s the only way for this to work.”

“Huh?? Why not??” Naoya was sure considering it, he hated the thought of being public about something so intimate. Besides, isn’t a secret admirer the type of thing women like…?

“Do you want her to think it was Kusakabe-sensei, perhaps? He was flirting with her the other day…”

That was more than enough for Naoya to swallow the embarrassment of doing such gesture before the students, fast forward to the moment where he walked into your classroom, standing a mere few feet away from you and your flustered face, evidence of your acceptance for his gift—welcoming his efforts.

“Th—thank you, Naoya.” You murmur, finally taking the bouquet in your hands and leaning down to take in their sweet scent—freshly cut, making you smile. “These flowers… they’re beautiful!”

Naoya’s chest tightens at the sight of your happy face, proud that he was responsible of said reaction, and such, making him smile as well.

“Does that mean you two are dating now?!” One of your students claims.

“No!” you gasp, looking up to Naoya. “I mean…”

“Not without a date, we aren’t.” Naoya adds. “Dinner? Please let me make it up to you for the horrible way I treated you.”

“…Yes.”

Naturally, your students never let go of the opportunity to pester the two after that. Whether to know where you went to as a date, if Naoya-sensei got you more gifts (insisting that you’d demand for greater things! He was the heir of the Zen’in, surely, he could afford more!! — you declined their suggestions)

But most importantly, if the two were finally together, because after seeing what the two did: from secretly meeting after class, face red whenever he got too close to you to whisper something seemingly innocent, to accompany you to your room… It was nothing but obvious—they just needed confirmation.

Or for you to stop acting like he wasn’t you boyfriend already!

“Shut up, everyone! Can’t you see sensei’s boyfriend is coming?”

“He’s not— he’s not my boyfriend.” You fretted one too many times, a response everyone could see through, a blatant lie considering the heat on your cheeks, or the excitement in your face, eager to see him again after being apart for soooo long (just a few hours. He’s literally next door to you.)

“Aaaaah, as if!! You’re all red!”

“Stop it, already! Or you’ll all have extra homework!”

And that seemed to be enough to quiet them for the following days, at least until you and Naoya had the misfortune of being caught kissing each other at the teacher’s lounge by an innocent student that simply wished to discuss some matters regarding their last exam.

While they promised to keep what they saw a secret, it really wouldn’t take long before everyone heard of your new status with Naoya, and as expected of the students, they’d begin to tease and cheer for their favorite couple whenever walking by.

No amount of naivety, feigning ignorance could help you out of this situation anymore, though Naoya no longer planned on doing so.

“Well, they already know the truth.” He smiles, intertwining his hand with yours. “Might as well commit to it.”

“Oh, Naoya—Do you think they’ll ever stop? I don’t mind them doing that, I just worry they might get in trouble with the school…”

Naoya laughs, kissing your cheek; no matter the situation, his gestures always make you feel adored, safe.

“I don’t think so—but if they do, I’ll show them to not mess with my students.” He assures you. “Come on now, love. We’re running late to class.”

Never in a million years would you have expected for the follow to happen:

First, Naoya to have feelings for you. Though you always liked him, he often appeared… distant, giving you the impression he solely wanted to pursue his career as a sorcerer. Or perhaps he already had someone else to be his partner, considering his role amongst the Zen’in, so he didn’t need to look beyond that—a thought that greatly hurt you, enough to let those feelings slowly die out eventually.

Secondly, for his feelings to motivate him into joining Jujutsu High as a teacher just to get close to you—yes, he eventually told you. Were you surprised? Very. But mostly impressed by his determination, flustered to understand he liked you that much he was willing to do one of the things he didn’t like!

Which leads to the third point. After hearing his initial purpose on becoming a teacher, you genuinely expected him to leave the job after the first year, but turns out, he’s actually quite fond of being one now!

And while there were still moments where his impatience got the best of him, it was still visible that he truly learned to enjoy spending time with his students, mostly teasing them, but outside of that, he’s found satisfaction in being recognized as someone reliable with their knowledge, talented, worthy of admiration! And helping them become that same person too.

Things were slowly beginning to fall in place for you and Naoya, a moment of absolute bliss that promised to last a lifetime.

Guess all both had to worry about now was the reaction the students would inevitably have when learning you’re planning to get married—if the titles of boyfriend and girlfriend were enough to evoke such havoc… you could only imagine what would happen with husband and wife.

Or when learning you were to have a baby.

But all in due time.

Imagine if they take Naomi to class that would be WILD. I like to think Naoya eventually works as something else (with better pay I mean) so Y/N can keep doing what she likes but more comfortably.

Also the students matchmaking YN lmao and NAOYA BEING THE RIGHT CANDIDATE it's like DAMN were the other really that bad??? I'm sure one of them even thought of setting her up with the director 💀 she would be like "ew no, he was my teacher!!!" she's just so nice to them, they want to see her happy!!

Naoya's puppy eyes whenever observing Y/N from a distance were the true MVP, if it weren't for his unavoidable sadness, I don't think anything would've happened. They really saw him mope around and were like "damn, he must really like Y/N if he's like that..."

Anyways, this was really cute to write. I actually wanted to put Naoya as a teacher first and then Y/N joined, but it kind of flipped your request around, so this is what I went with :>

I hope you liked it!! And thank you so much for sending in this adorable request ❤️ Now, take care, and hope to see you soon!!

[yuurei20]

Concerning the Vil-Epel drama: I'm from a Scandinavian country and even here we have dialects. I haven't heard them myself, but my mom has and she says they are literally impossible to understand and you need a translator to speak with them. And it's not a bad thing- we don't say those people are less than or anything of the sort- it's just like holy cow we cannot understand anything they're saying, how are we supposed to communicate like this (especially when they understand us since our dialect is the 'base' dialect). If anything, it's funny because of how a dialect can make the same language not understandable, and also disappointing/frustrating that we can't talk to them because we literally don't know what they're saying. So to me it seems like part of the reason Vil wants Epel to not speak in his dialect is simply so people can understand him better and so people can actually communicate with him. We've seen in the Harveston event (if I remember correctly) that the others have no clue what Epel says before they jump the gap, and they need to ask his grandma to translate. That's an example of how if he didn't remove his dialect people would not know what he's saying. I don't think it has anything to do with negative connotations towards the dialect (I bet Vil would encourage it if they were in a situation where it would be beneficial/welcoming), but rather Vil trying to teach Epel that it's not about hiding your dialect/culture, it's about being considerate to those around you to have them understand you (like how you pointed out his granny changed to polite speech when talking to the NRC boys). Don't you think even granny would have at some point taught Epel that? (Although not in the same manner or extremity as Vil).

There seems to be some discourse going on of which I was not aware!

Thank you so much for your perspective!! It is very interesting and informative and wonderful to know!

Yes, it does seem strange that maybe no one warned Epel about interacting with people outside the village, but maybe they did!

This gets into conjecture because we have nothing in-game to confirm either way, but it might be possible that they just assumed he would pick it up through personal experience, or he just wasn't able to make the connection between their warnings and what real-world experience would be like.

Marja herself has no problem with adapting to the time/place/occasion, but as Epel is still a child with limited exposure to people from other cultures, we are watching him experience this learning process in real time!

In a way, Epel's experience at NRC could maybe be interpreted as Vil encouraging him to be more like his grandmother :> Epel was likely aware that the older people in the village adapt their speech patterns when necessary, but maybe never made the connection about exactly why?

He knew it was polite, but when early-Epel shows up at NRC, he is already in fighting mode: he has no interest in being polite, which he might have seen as making concessions and, thus, a weakness.

Bullied his whole childhood for his appearance he decides he is going to set the record straight from day one at NRC so that people know not to mess with him, and then Vil comes in.

It seems like it all connects to Epel's arc as he learns that you can be conscientious of time/place/occasion (like his grandmother), but still be proud of your heritage and strong (like his grandmother).

And you can be beautiful (like Vil), but still be strong (like Vil).

(Because Vil is Vil his wording has a lot to do with the importance of beauty, but the more I think about it, the more it seems like Vil is just trying to prepare Epel for life in a society.)

There is an ongoing theme with Epel that we see in Book 5 and Halloween where he gets jealous of people who can do things that he can't, so he doubles down that he is right and they are wrong in order to make himself feel better about his shortcomings.

That might also tie in to his frustration with Vil's restriction of his dialect!

He has more difficulty expressing himself without it, so rather than do what Vil is trying to get him to do and work on it, by Book 5 he is still doubling down and insisting that Vil is the problem, not himself, despite how he was raised watching everyone around him do exactly what it is that Vil is saying he needs to do.

I really appreciate everyone's introspection!! The more you think about it, the more interesting Epel, his family, his relationship with Vil and his circumstances become! :> He is living through his own, personal coming-of-age story before our eyes!

[fromthedragonsdesk]

On Visual Novels and Catharsis

I never had a high opinion of Visual Novels. In my mind, they always seemed to boil down to the most basic wish fulfillment tripe that we'd collectively assign to the isekai genre these days, I'd wager. To me it was a waste of time or energy trying to interact with them (as an aside, I'm well aware that the Phoenix Wright series is arguably a visual novel, but I missed that boat by not having DS-era device). Even today, with a glance over most of games tagged 'visual novel' on Steam, you'll see what could be generously described as fetish pornography. So, seeing all this, I reinforced my belief that visual novels were for people who wanted some plot with their porn, and never thought much of it.

To my surprise, Steam insisted on recommending visual novels to me. I usually just tossed them aside from the recommendation queue, until I got two recommended almost back-to-back: Mice Tea and Changeling Tale.

Mice Tea had generally positive reviews, and many of them cited that the game's writing and characterization were generally humorous and appealing. So, given that it was on sale during the Steam Winter Sale, I figured it was worth a shot. Then, after basically binging on the game for 20 hours, I walked away thinking that I might have misjudged the genre on some levels.

I wouldn't say I was entirely surprised by Mice Tea - the reviews did it justice in terms of you, as the reader, wanting to root for the main cast to succeed. Most of the conflict didn't necessarily arise from an outside force, but rather internalized conflicts and the struggle to essentially be honest with yourself and those around you, risking vulnerability, essentially. At its core, I still felt like it was wish fulfillment to a significant degree, but the implausibilities were generally smoothed over enough to allow for suspension of disbelief to ride along with the story. And yeah, there... was a fair amount of catering to various fetishes and such worked in, but all in a fairly world-consistent sort-of perspective? At its core, the story was light, cheerful with moments of self-reflection and introspection, and wrapped up in a generally nice bow all in the end.

But what Mice Tea ended up doing for me, personally, was allowing me to lower my defenses during a particularly stressful point in my life, staying present in my mind when I then read over the reviews and such for Changeling Tale. I brushed off the emotion reviews, thinking that they were likely being dramatic.

I could not have been more wrong.

While set in a backdrop of old Scottish fantasy, I continually found myself impressed at how grounded Changeling Tale managed to make itself felt. I believe this is because the main character / player character of Changeling Tale (hereafter referred to as "Malcolm") is primarily reacting to the supernatural events occurring around him, rather than necessarily driving them by his own volition. Malcolm is thrust into a world that he already feels disconnected from due to his service in the military, and it cracks further open as fae magic begins seeping into the world around him.

That said, no one in the backwater town in which Malcolm has returned to handles the public appearance of fae magic particularly well, much less the three parallel storylines available to the reader between Jessie, Marion, and Grace. If anything, the most unreasonable reactions come from the player themselves, in how flippant or otherwise easygoing they handle changes happening to the people around them. That said, many decisions have a snowballing / weighted effect that can change plot directions far later on than one might expect, leading to fallings-out with friends and family, or worse.

But then something strange happened to me, as a reader, while working my way through these split storylines. Core messages seemed to stick out to me, interwoven among the stories. But they cut me straight to the core as a person; after finishing all 3 major storylines I was left shaking and bleary-eyed, wishing events could have turned out differently, desperately trying to reject the messages that had been suggested despite knowing deep-down that they were right.

"Be the best you that you can be."

"Encourage people to chase their dreams, but make sure you're pursuing your dream too."

"Sometimes peoples' dreams are irreconcilable with one another. That doesn't mean the love is gone, it just means that it isn't fair to either person."

"The size of the dream does not diminish its value; the holder of the dream determines its value."

(I intentionally omitted the storyline associations I would make)

When I held all of these thoughts together, an emotional dam burst in my heart. For years I never considered myself as having dreams or goals. For years I felt kind of confused and wondering if what I was doing mattered, or had worth. But somehow, a visual novel about fae shenanigans that dances alongside a transformation kink broadsides me with the realization that I AM where I want to be, doing what I am doing. I have a family who l love and loves me back. I am not pursuing a dream; rather, I am cultivating and maintaining a dream I have already attained. I am doing what is important to me and my family, and even if I'm not changing the world around me and leaving a name in the history books, I know that I am here and directly affecting the lives of those around me, and I'm not sure what more I could want for at this very moment.

And for the first time in quite a while, I feel content and satisfied.

[crownedwille]

Does anyone else think Stella and Fredrika got done dirty in season 3?

I know they're generally not that well loved in the fandom anyway and while they have their bitchy, gossipy moments they still weren't actually "mean girls" imo and had their sweet, nice moments too. They genuinely love and care about Felice and they also did more than just tolerate Sara while she was a part of the friend group. They both got more depth in s2 that emphasised Stella's and Fredrika's bond as best friends and we got a cute wlw subplot that made sense as progression from s1.

But in s3 it felt like they were just relegated to the rich, spoiled girls with no real character growth. They were sort of trying but were rather insensitive and not understanding overall towards Felice's feelings and situation regarding her friendship break up with Sara and her racism experiences she told them about. They kind of pressured Felice about the hillerska investigation and were mad the truth came out and yelled at her about it in the finale.

That being said, I'm not hating on them, I just thought it was sad that they were presented as being not good and true friends and apparently ones Felice should ditch and the only true friend at the end appears to be Sara (which also does Madison dirty but let's not get into that). I would've loved to see them growing and learning more throughout the season (maybe also reconcile with Sara) and actually taking these allegations more seriously and understanding the problems in the system including racism and classism and maybe taking their time into questioning and unlearning their own behavior or that it at least hints at that. But they seemed to have ended the show with no proper reflection and indication they have evolved and learned anything.

What was especially disheartening that their own wlw story also got shortened and barely had any progression throughout. The kiss in the finale came kinda out of nowhere, there was no build up to it, their feelings were never addressed, the last time was Stella to Sara at the valentine's ball in s2 but we knew nothing about Fredrika's (except for one little jealousy moment i guess) or even if Felice had any idea about this.

Those were things that could've been elaborated on in s3 and would've made sense to do, instead that kiss scene between them felt like it was put there last minute as if they've almost forgotten to include them and then gave us one small scene that barely lasts 10 seconds that's not even shown from their perspectives and decided that's enough, we let the girls kiss, it's a happy ending, perfect, done. It didn't feel earned and there was no communication or growth (similar to wilmon), it was just another quick wrap up to ensure they're endgame to satisfy the audience.

Now I am not demanding they should've gotten endless amount of screentime, nor was I expecting it. I know they're side characters and their screen time is limited but s2 was proof you could still create significant and meaningful subplots and give them some time to bloom without taking up too much from major arcs. I know some people might disagree but a show always benefits from developing their side characters more and allowing them to have a place and have depth and growth. And yr had done that beautifully before and they didn't feel like one dimensional characters but more complex. It is possible to give them a satisfying arc and conclusion without sacrificing a lot of time for it.

S3 made Stella and Fredrika feel like mere plot devices for Felice's arc to get to the point of her realising they're not genuine friends and dump them. They were not treated with the same grace to be allowed to have time to learn and grow within and outside of their romance story and it's upsetting because I like them and I want to like them and I wanna be able to talk about them without having to justify myself and see people hating on them or calling them "evil".

I think they are more than that and were generally presented as more than that. It's okay if they are also the 'bitchy, gossipy' ones but I wish they didn't just stay the 'rich, spoiled, mean' girls in the end and nothing else. S3 made it more difficult instead of less to be sympathetic towards them and that is not the development I wanted for them in the show and in terms of their role in the fandom.

[lani-heart]

|| series masterlist || jake's story ending // previously ||

parings -> sim jaeyun x reader genre -> non-idol au, school au, hyrbid au warnings -> neglected, running away, arranged marriage, replacement word count -> 1.7k

abstract -> you don't have to worry about anything, unlike those unluckier than you.

jake’s perspective

“Yes! Please, anything but be stuck at a farm!” I begged that I jump up to the kennel door to try to get closer to her. She laughed and smiled softly… she was saving me from a stupid farm even though I gave her trouble and she said… 

“Wait… but you said you couldn’t own a hybrid?” I asked and she smiled. “Well… I negotiated for myself like I was planning before I met you, and I negotiated for a companion. I don’t understand why you’ve never been adopted” she said sincerely and I felt like crying. 

“Thank you… I'll be the best hybrid! I took classes and everything!” I said and she giggled while taking a piece of paper out of her bag. “Jake, a golden retriever hybrid with a lot of energy. A well-mannered hybrid that needs etiquette training but otherwise a lovely hybrid” she read while now showing me… it was the class file?

“I’ve been busy while they’ve been preparing you with checkups and vaccines… you wanna see what I’ve prepared?” She smiled and I nodded. “As long as I'm by your side,” I said and she giggled. “Well, Jake, you might get sick of me then. You’re stuck with me” she said but I shook my head. 

“You’d get sick of me before I'd ever get sick of you” I confessed and felt sad at the thought… She hummed and pretended to think…

“Well, good thing we’ll never get sick of each other!” 

“You’re the infamous Jake!” I heard and quickly hid behind y/n. Was this to punish me? “He’s not mad at you nor is he scary” she reassured but I didn’t want to believe her.

“It’s true in fact anything you did was nothing compared to the hell I would’ve faced married to her '' he said… marry? “We were gonna be arranged to marry by our parents, remember I mentioned negotiations?” she asked and I understood now… she ran away from him… technically her parents while he ran off to… japan?

“Oh, this reminds me! Riki and her owner mentioned if I saw you you owe him a new coat” he said and I sighed… I guess I did. “Don’t worry about that, I'll ship one to replace it” she reassured me and I nodded. She was… real, not a dream like I'd sometimes have. 

“You already have an obsessed hybrid” he teased her and she scoffed. “You done? You’ve said your peace?” she asked and he nodded while putting his hand out to me… I shook it and he smiled. “See ya around Jake! It’s nice meeting you and don’t worry about it. The past is the past and I'm a free man again!” he joked before saying his goodbye. 

“He’s a strange guy… you’ll meet a lot of strange friends of mine,” she said and I chuckled. “As long as I'm with you,” I said and she smiled. She looked at me with a sudden pout… she was so cute. “You need a haircut and maybe a fur trim? Want to do it now?” she asked and I chuckled. 

“And be pampered by you, please?”

y/n’s perspective

The workers said because im his first and probably only owner in his life that he’ll be extremely attached. Not that I minded but… it worried me for what it would be like with sudden separation anxiety and getting used to etiquette.

There's no way I'd get rid of him now… we're stuck with each other but I don't need anyone telling him he needs to work for his place with me like they’ve done to Riki. My sweet puppy… he looked so happy and relaxed getting a haircut and trim. 

I still needed to give him a collar. Luckily I was assured he’d most likely react well to it… and not badly since he doesn’t have any bad experiences since im his first owner. His first time enjoying life outside the hybrid facilities.

“He’ll be out shortly, miss' ' I heard and I nod as I stood up now waiting for him. When he did appear his hair was now shorter, not much of a difference but it should revive his hair to be more healthy and his puppy ears and tail were now neat. 

He was a pretty hybrid… he was a pretty boy to me before too. 

“I think I look pretty good,” he said and I chuckled. “You look very handsome,” I said and his cheeks flushed a bit before he recounted. “I-I wasn’t before” he teased and I smiled at his nervous stutter. “You were pretty but you look better and happier,” I said and he smiled.

“I’m lucky to have met you,” he said and I nodded. “It’s the same for me, Jake,” I said as we left the place and started walking back to my apartment “You’re now my priority okay?” I said and he smiled. “Thank you…” he said, looking hesitant and I sighed. “You know… I was wondering if you wanted to continue those classes?” I asked and he hummed.

“Well… I wanna see Niki again! So… I wouldn’t mind besides, you have classes there too right? I can keep myself from feeling bored when away from you” he said and I smiled. 

He seemed to already understand that.

“Then do your best, okay Jake?” 

jake’s perspective

It was… a dream come true. We ate a filling meal she ordered from her apartment when she showed me my room and the closet of clothes and my own comfy bed. 

“I have one more thing to show you,” she said and I nodded before she gave me a box. It was the only thing she left for me to open? It had a bunch of packaging when I saw it… my own collar. 

“It also comes with tail rings for your tail–” like Niki “–in case the collar bothers you, but I hope you like it and you don't need to wear it often just when we go places that require it like your class,” she said and I couldn’t help the grin on my face. 

I would be going to class with a collar I'd be like those other hybrids… 

I couldn’t help that I suddenly hugged her and I thought for a second I should have since I had to behave but when she laughed and hugged me back I immediately melted into her comfort. 

“I hope you’re happy here with me,” she said and I smiled. “I’m really glad I met you, maybe it was fate that finally put us together,” I said and she smiled. 

“I think so too”

I was enrolled in classes again so I'd have to start going to them again. The only bad thing is Niki is still in Japan so I was alone… “She’s your owner now huh?”  heard as I saw the mean bird hybrid. 

“I hope you enjoy it, she’s a bitch who doesn’t know how to do anything herself. She's constantly complaining and is gonna make you do so many stupid things just to humiliate you!” he yelled at me. Others were staring…

“She wouldn’t do that” I muttered and he scoffed, grabbing my shirt. “You’ve suddenly changed from rags to riches and think it doesn’t come for a price!” he said and I was confused… What did he know about her? From what I know he knows nothing about her. 

“You know nothing about her… I knew you were hurt but, y/n would never do that” I said and his eyes widened… “y/n? Why are you suddenly mentioning her?” he asked, confused even loosening his grip letting me get away. “She adopted me… not like it's any of your business' ' I said and he sighed. 

“Is the free trial bird causing you trouble? I would too if I suddenly lost everything and suddenly became a freeloading hybrid!” a snow leopard hybrid laughed and the bird scoffed. 

“You shouldn’t be laughing... From what I heard your owner doesn’t even know–" "Shut up before I make sure this pretty little bird can't sing again” he threatened… 

“Sore subject? I wouldn’t want to remember you either, Sunghoon”

Now that I had a collar many hybrids tried talking to me… it was strange. 

Instead, I decided to sit next to a fox hybrid at the back of the class wanting to avoid Jay… but the fox hybrid didn’t look any better. Most of the hybrids in this room were spoiled and mean or… spoiled and depressed. It was a strange concept… the stray hybrids were also losing hope like I did. 

It was cruel…

I went outside waiting for her… would she pick me up? It was when I noticed the fox hybrid, snow leopard, and bird were also waiting like me. “I’m sorry I'm late!” I heard and saw a girl with a patient wristband. “I forgot where this place was and–” “Whatever,” the snow leopard said with a sad expression on his face. 

They walked off and I wondered what was his issue? “His owner is an amnesiac… everyone thinks he tried to kill her and she just forgot,” Jay said but why would he look at her with such a sad expression otherwise… “He’d never do that, they’ve been with each other since kids' ' the fox hybrid defended. 

“What do you know Sunoo?” Jay asked and the fox hybrid stayed silent. “Jake!” I heard and saw y/n. “You’re late” I pout and she sighed. “It took me a while to actually get here from across campus,” she said and I nodded. “Hmm? Looks like you had company though?” she asked and I sighed. 

“Not really,” I said as we walked off. When we were away from the lecture hall I decided to ask. 

“Why was Sunghoon and Jay so mean?” I asked and she sighed. “Jay is a hybrid that many people get for free trial meaning they see what they like in a hybrid and what they don’t… but since he’s had so many owners and isn’t a ‘cute’ hybrid they give him away” she explained and I couldn’t imagine being in his situation. 

“While Sunghoon is just… always been a troublemaker and recently with his owner being in such an accident to forget her memories he might just be a little heartbroken. There were rumors they loved each other…” she explained and it did seem like a heartbreaking experience. 

“Give them a little patience okay?” she asked and I smiled. “I will,” I said and she nodded. 

“Besides… you don’t have to worry about anything when you're with me”

@ilovecheese09 @gudkc @nikisvanillaccola @blossominghunnie @mheretoreadff @k1ttylvr @starzniiky @kibs-and-bits @b3tt7boop @in-somnias-world @lol6sposts @xiaoderrrr @jihyosgfremade @b-a-nshee-blog @mimisamisasa @katsukis1wife @eggomi @thunderous-wolf @tinyteezer @lilactangerine @starfallia @sousydive @bearseulgs

please don't be a silent reader !! reblog, comment, and like <3

[aro-culture-is]

Aroallo culture is constantly feeling like a degenerate

I have... more than a few things to say on this topic, but I will restrain myself to the two major points that have caused me to delay posting this.

For one: Internalized sex negativity ahoy!

In all honesty? I genuinely do not understand how sexual attraction without romantic attraction (or any other form of attraction, really) is supposed to be bad. I genuinely cannot tell you how wild it is to think that sexual attraction, one of the instincts that has generally been selected for among all sexual species similar to us, is somehow... morally incorrect? How much must we hate ourselves, see ourselves as the monster in a bedtime story, for the invisible Thought Crime of feeling like another person is attractive? It's okay. Literally the only "bad" is if your actions in response to a feeling are performed in malice or cause harm, and even then there's nuance that requires thought and communication, not mind-reading and assuming others will be disgusted.

Sincerely, please please please look into sex positivity. Read about it. Follow sex positive accounts, movements, and people. Let yourself feel in response, and ask yourself what does and does not speak with you. Engage in the topic. You don't have to believe it right away, but I promise you, it is well worth your time to expose yourself to resources that teach you another perspective that does not demonize the vast majority of the world in some strange and non-productive way, producing shame and little to show for it.

Secondly... degeneracy.

What a very, very loaded word. To summarize some points from Wikipedia, in terms of fact: the concept of degeneracy in this usage originates from the 19th century theory of social degeneration. The concept of heredity had yet to be fully understood in social degeneration's 18th century development, and this movement largely believed that habits of parents changed their child's biology. This, in turn, was used to explain a perceived decline in civilization. It took little time for the theory to appear in medical and zoological works, with the intent to explain why different ethnic groups exist. You may recognize this concept by a directly related one: eugenics.

The theory of degeneracy first grew fame when used to explain racial differences, and quickly spread from the medical field to psychiatry (ie, mentally ill individuals will produce more severely mentally ill children, and therefore should not continue their lineage) and criminology (particularly when combined with phrenology). It was associated with authoritarian political attitudes such as militarism, scientific racism, and support for eugenics. The development of degenerate theory both partially predates and partially follows the works of Gregor Mendel in describing the theory of evolution, and frankly, largely based its so-called scientific backing on incorrect understandings of evolution and poor science, using such understandings to prop up eugenicist beliefs.

Why do I say all this? I think it is very, very important to recognize the sociopolitical bullshit that props up the absolute pseudoscience that social degeneracy revolves around, and to state that anyone who truly believes in degeneracy does not actually have the best interest of other's in mind or heart except that of the current in-groups. if people in your life are using these theories and words, I want to empower you with knowledge that they are, scientifically and historically, very much in the wrong. I want you to be able to look at their words, and understand the context behind their beliefs, even if they themselves do not.

also, real talk: if you can, form other social networks. join a club, play social games, go to community events, anything it takes to experience people outside of those who give you this message. it'll do wonders for you to build social circles outside of that stuff.

tl;dr:

the origins of the theory behind the word "degenerate", as used today, are scientifically bullshit, politically and socially motivated, and largely were used to justify eugenics. i would recommend not trusting people who genuinely believe in degeneracy to have anyone's best interest at heart but their own, and that you are perfectly normal and fine as you are.

[lullabyalikpoptarot]

Jeon Soyeon's Perspective Reading

Disclaimer: No facts here, just a girl who interprets cards. All here is alleged.

Now time to get to Soyeon's reading. This was a request and I do find her interesting as an outsider. I find her crazy talented and I love the fact that a female producer can thrive in a male dominant industry, so because she is in a male dominated industry. I do feel she has to or has strong masculine energy to be able to stand with men in the industry. I did get this energy from her in the little readings I have done. Now, the song she gave me was Jasmine Sullivan's Bust Your Window. I had to laugh when I got this, because it goes along with the bas ass energy she exudes, but we will look into the cards. Kind of excited for this one.

Okay, wasn't expecting these cards. I am seeing that a lot of people take from her, or I am seeing she takes from people around her. She may even gain energy from people around her. I can't fully grasp what this parasite means for her, is she the parasite, or are others around her, or a mixture of both?

Now, to the obsession card. This is someone quite obsessed with a certain thing. So, I wanted to asks if she is a Virgo and found out she is! I am getting strong Virgo energy from her with this card. She is very detailed and nitpicky and very hyper focused on certain things. It is very hard for her to move past something, like she can have OCD tendencies here. I can see her in the studio room noticing every little detail and problem and wanting to go over things over and over again. But I can also see with this card is someone who focuses on others or things outside of themselves, but doesn't really do the work on themselves, so she may have her own issues, but never addressing them, due to lack of self-reflection. She is giving me let me focus on other things, so I don't have to focus on myself. A lot of people do this.

With this next card, it always gives me someone with a bit of darkness to them and the number on the card comes to 7, which reminds me of the 7 of swords, so that is manipulation and sneakiness, so she may be that way, or has a bit of a dark side to her.

Now, the naked before the stars card, this may be the first time I got this card so far. She kind of feels vulnerable in the spotlight, also is she uncomfortable with showing skin? This gives me that she had to take revealing photos, but not sure why I am getting this and what this means. She kind of feels exposed in the spotlight somehow, maybe from the past, or as of now.

This is interesting, so I asked for another card and got triumph of lies reversed, which gives me truth being revealed, so not sure if some truth about her, or some news about her will be revealed, because naked before the stars would indicate being exposed, or showing your true self, maybe she will reveal something herself and not someone else.

Why am I seeing so much nudity around these cards and with the naked before the stars. There is a sense of exposure around her energy. Now, we got one card here of temper your criticism. I feel this is her towards others. She may be highly critical of others, maybe even hurtful and this card may be telling her to not be as critical and harsh. This next card is urging her to allow vulnerability in, maybe to allow criticism towards her, maybe she struggles with that, or to understand that she cannot be prefect all the time. I think this is more to do with her work or mindset. She may want to appear a certain way and does not like to look stupid or weak, but sometimes it is okay to accept one's flaws.

I see that it may be better for her to practice the art of meditation and going within to learn more about herself and to become more aware of her behavior and how she goes about things. It may benefit her in the long run. Okay, there is something about sexuality and nudity she keeps giving me. What is this, is she a sexual person? I feel she has taken naked pictures allegedly. I keep getting that sense. I got the message collateral damage. Ya'll I don't like when they speak in codes sometimes, what does this mean! Isn't it someone who takes the fall for someone else, so what.

I do get strong sexual energy with her, so I don't know maybe she put herself in a position to have pictures taken of her. This is so weird what I am getting, but I am getting someone may have slept with her, took pictures to get back at someone else allegedly, that is what I get, sticking with him, not breaking my brain for this. That is wild though if true. She seems like the type that has a lot to offer and sell to others, being it her gifts as a producer or whatever. She may also have a nice fortune herself. She is abundant and has a lot at her disposal.

In this spread, once again nudity shows up, now this deck has some cards of nudity, but with the theme of the cards popping up, that stood out again, but also, I see her wanting to spread joy and love to others, which is a twist and different from the whole reading. Like she wants to bring good energy and may send it to others, she may know spells that do that, or it doesn't have to be spells, she could just use her energy to send good vibes to others, so it is nice to get some light here in the messages.

She may have done some ritualistic or magic to manifest what she wanted. Not that hard to believe to be honest and if it doesn't cause harm to others, not seeing the problem, but that is what I am seeing as well.

Alright, I think I should close out with Tarot. I think I got some good information here so far. So, we start with the Empress card and the keyword overbearing stood out off the bat. But she is also a creator and has the ability to create the life that she wants. I see lots of success and abundance for her and her continuing to release and produce things. She is a busy girl, that will not stop. She is always trying to push ahead and achieve more. I see her making lots of money too, which is interesting, because in their group reading, I didn't see much of money being made, but for her, I see it. Now, either she gets to a place of becoming more meditative or reflective or she is kind of numb and needs a way to distract herself, but there is also a lack of connecting to her emotions. I wanted a clarifier for the 4 of Cups and got the Fire card, so yeah, she is more about passion, creativity, not so much as in tapping to your emotions and intuition, so this is where that masculine energy comes in for her, she is all about action, not so much about going within and being passive and patient about things.

Okay, that did not go the way I expected, but just as interesting as I expected, so it was nice getting to know her a bit more, hope ya'll enjoyed this one. I did myself while doing this.

[chussyracing]

psa: here is a small rant i have been sitting on for months now.

it's not a big issue and i don't mean to start discourse. it's just an interesting irk which goes far beyond sports although that's my main talking point here. it was originally made based on one blog whose posts keep appearing on my dash but it is not aimed @ them personally since they are only the tip of an iceberg and it's something i'm trying to argue we are all guilty of.

from time to time i see posts from people claiming they are "objective" or "unbiased" or "genuinely do not have any favourites" or "like all drivers" and while i agree that you do not need to only have one outright favourite and can like more than one driver, i do not think something like neutrality is achievable in sports - even if you don't have an athlete from your country in the sport.

and i'm not even talking about fans. you could say the same about the commentators, about the journalists, about anyone connected to the sport one way or another - full neutrality is not attainable. if you dive deep into the critical discourse analysis, the sports are always about two sides: "us" and "them" and it doesn't matter who you put into those mental categories or whether it is obvious from the outside or you need a deeper introspection to realize.

to me personally, it is better to be open about the bias rather than let it show through how i act, who i side with or how i talk about each of the drivers. it is nothing to be ashamed of and makes it easier to make like-wised friends. it's deeply rooted in the nature of the sports and it is also okay to dislike other fans JUST because they are fans of someone you do not like. easy as that. you can also be friends with others with completely different opinions and bias. it's fun, it's healthy, you get a new perspective that may even be contradicting yours.

there are multiple reasons why full neutrality is impossible: your demographics. speaking for myself now, i can honestly say there are multiple influencing me like my sexuality, gender, nationality, age, family heritage (be it positive "i will support this driver because my grandpa does" or negative "i won't support this driver because my father does"), political stance, my friends, accessibility to motorsports related content (what social media you use, which broadcaster you watch, which books/articles about the sport you read, what motorsport series you watch etc.).

it is somewhat easier if you are a newbie coming as tabula rasa, yet something had to catch your attention to even try to get into it in the first place and therefore you are already prejudicial either way.

not to make everything about literature but there is a slight comparison to be made, because as people in motorsports, we are all just taking a part of the motorsport world/reality and interpreting it based on our own feelings and knowledge and there is nobody to decide what is the "truth" and this is why there is nothing as neutrality when talking about sports. each of us have our own realm and even when attempting to step out we may never reach something like full objectivity.

rant over <3

[scorchieart]

Double Deflection

Genre: Slice of Life, Comedy

Characters: Maron, White Horse, Licht Klein, Chevalier Michel

Wordcount: ~6400

Prompts: Blue: Loyalty, Yellow: Friendship

Summary: A late-night chat between horses and humans. Each has the potential to offer something, but gestures and facial expressions and mind reading aren't enough to tell when someone is asking for help.

A/N: My entry for the Wish Upon an Aide CC hosted by @lorei-writes and @wordycheeseblob. This story may borderline crack with its execution, but I hope it's an enjoyable read regardless.

If you were to ask Maron what he most wanted in the entire world he might respond with an enthused neigh, throwing back his mane, and a clop clop from his front-right hoof. If Maron could speak, he could say it was to eat carrots fresh from harvest, or to race through the fields outside the palace with the other horses, or to snooze indoors on a rainy afternoon while his rider Licht sang him a lullaby. Or something along those lines. In truth, it is difficult to say. The intricacies of horse communication cannot be covered comprehensively through text alone—tail swishing and muzzle twitching can easily get lost in translation, you see—but an attempt will be made to relay the events of this particular evening from both the equine and human perspectives to most accurately depict the story from all participating views.

Now, as we were saying, Maron, much like yourself and I, often finds it difficult to express his desires when asked on the spot. Any manner of things could affect the answer, from the place to the weather to even the time of day. Indeed, a much simpler question to ask (man and horse) is what he dislikes the most. And in the palace stables on that muggy summer’s eve, Maron was confident he was experiencing the absolute most dislikable thing imaginable.

“By the way, the kitchens were out of carrots.” 

Licht ducked his head in time before Maron whipped his tail.

“There’s no use taking it out on me,” Licht said, straightening up and resuming brushing Maron’s flank. “Believe me, you do me a favor eating them. But I swear this time they were gone before I could get to them.”

Maron snorted once and rubbed at his muzzle in what one would believe to be a contradictory manner.

“I doubt it. You should’ve seen the way Yves’s eyes lit up when he read about that new carrot cake recipe from Jade. He ordered double the monthly stock of carrots. And Leon approved it without even batting an eye.” At this, Licht covered his mouth and let out a small groan that on the surface appeared as though he was repressing a gag. Maron wiggled his nose in circular motions in response, which I am told is the horse-equivalent of scoffing and rolling one’s eyes.

“Don’t give me that. I said I’m fine,” said Licht, but both he and Maron knew he wasn’t. 

It is at this point I must confess that while I myself am not proficient at human-horse translations, my ineptitude is not a universal ailment. If you were so far unaware, there exist in our world a gifted few interspecial interpreters across the ages. Perhaps you have seen a dog warmly protecting a flock of chicks while the hen takes a bath? Or maybe you witnessed a squirrel rushing to call a goose to save a kitten from drowning in a lake? Sometimes this communication is as implicitly universal as a mother cares for her young, while in more curious cases gesture and sound bind common souls together. On exceedingly rare occasions, such a bond can manifest from one source to multiple different species with zero previous contact, as is the case with the Eighth Prince of Rhodolite. But just as special can be the connection built upon years of collaboration and struggle and trust, and Licht and Maron checked all these boxes multiple times over. Why, when Licht wraps the reins twice around his hands, Maron understands to hurry home because Yves is baking something special. And when Maron bonks his jaw against Licht’s head, Licht knows he’s being chastised. And whenever Licht says “I’m fine,” Maron learned it always to be a lie.

“Really, I am,” insisted Licht. “Let’s go for a ride in the morning. You’ll see.”

Not in the mood for an argument (they always ended up with them going in circles), Maron turned to look out the window and the two resumed their brushing routine without communication. The dewy night air hung thick and silent around them, and several times more Licht had to cover his mouth and cough as he worked. Maron’s ears twitched at the sound, but he never commented further. 

Just allergies, Licht told himself. Horse doesn’t know what he’s thinking.

And the night would have continued on unyieldingly so, as it always did when they disagreed in private, were it not for an unexpected development. The hairs on their limbs shot straight up as a cold, prickly sensation overtook the summer warmth, and Licht and Maron spun their heads towards each other in unison. Someone was entering the stables. 

Stubbornness forgotten, Maron slowly lifted his head and peered over the high walls. His stall was located in the back corner of the stable, but even through the darkness he could make out the tall cloaked figure leading a horse by hand through the entryway. 

Licht tapped his knuckles against Maron’s neck. What do you see?

Maron raised a hoof up and down twice. One human and one horse. Both look male.

Got it. Stay low. Licht quietly reached for the sword he lay on the ground beside Maron’s grooming tools. A prince wouldn’t be so foolish as to wander the palace unarmed, and Licht knew better than most how easy it was to sneak past the grounds undetected through the stables.

Be careful. Maron gently rubbed his muzzle against Licht’s back and ducked low behind the wall. What was meant to be encouragement consequently had the opposite effect on Licht. Maron, like all who lived at the palace, knew of his rider’s unparalleled mastery of the sword. It is said that his skills were only rivaled by two, but Prince Leon was presently knocked out on his couch after a full day tidying up the faction office, and to even consider Prince Chevalier to sneak around at night like some common hoodlum was simply unthinkable. So Maron’s warning made Licht grip his sword more forcefully as he took a defensive stance by the door. 

What need would a talented fighter have to visit the stables at this hour? Licht pondered the question as the foot-and-hoofsteps steadily approached their stall. Was it a spy fleeing into the night to relay royal secrets back to his master? A horse appraiser here to kidnap (horsenap) a prized palace stallion to sell off for exuberant riches? An enemy of the royal family who knew the swordsman Sixth Prince was an equine enthusiast and would therefore hesitate to fight back with a defenseless horse on the battlefield?

The truth, as I am sure you have already deduced, was none of the above. Unfortunately, the only living thing in the vicinity that could steer Licht’s thoughts away from the bizarre was currently pondering whether he could fight with a flat brush between his teeth if things became too dicey. And with the intruders now only a couple of stalls away, Licht did not have the agency to think rationally and burst out from his stall ready to swing.

What followed was a short, anticlimactic confrontation that I am sure Licht would prefer never to see the light of day. Unfortunately for him, Maron found the whole affair rather amusing, so I shall provide an abridged account.

No sooner than Licht exited the stall did an overwhelming cough threaten to overtake him. Midway through winding his arm for an attack, he had few options to steady himself from the conflicting forces of his limbs propelling him forward and his lungs pushing him back, and in the heat of the moment he elected to toss his sword upward into the air and simultaneously tackle the mystery man. He had hoped the shock of it all would stun his opponent long enough for him to recover and strike again, but this plan came to an early stop when his midsection was caught by a pair of taut arms and he found himself flipped, lifted, and staring upward into the displeased face of Prince Chevalier.

If you have ever been caught by your elders for sneaking out of your room past your bedtime, you would understand only a fraction of the dread coursing through Licht’s nerves in that moment. Aside from the obvious fact that he ambushed (with the intent to at the very least incapacitate) the Second Prince of Rhodolite, Licht was physically in a state he would best describe as Yves’s Fashion Nightmare™. His eyes were redder and less alert than usual, his frown curved down farther than it had in years, and his typical restless bedhead stuck out at wild angles, not in the least bit aided by the fact that he was currently suspended upside down. But oh, the worst offense of it all was his wardrobe! When the coughing fits had extinguished any hope of getting sleep, Licht slipped into the muckiest boots in his closet, tossed on a tattered old coat from his teenage years, picked up his sword, and headed straight for the stables. He could only pray Chevalier was too distracted by his annoyance to notice the wrinkly, hay-infested, cough-stained mess of his nightclothes. 

Chevalier’s stern gaze followed Licht’s to his outfit. Whoops… I forgot to mention Chevalier could read minds as well as narrations. 

“Please put me down,” said Licht, his voice barely masking: and spare me some dignity. Behind them Maron let out a sound almost like a chuckle, and Licht shot him a warning look he was sure lost all credibility of appearing threatening.

“What purpose have you here at this hour?” asked Chevalier, still holding on. It took a great deal of fortitude for Licht to not give in to his embarrassment and wiggle his way out of Chevalier’s clutches like a worm, but in the end he swallowed his discomfort and strained his neck to look back up.

“I could ask you the same,” Licht replied, and instantly regretted it. The blood flow to his brain must already be making him hysterical. Is that how blood worked? How long was he upside down for, anyway? 

Chevalier’s expression twisted into a deeper frown that easily topped any of Licht’s personal records. “Employ deflection at your own risk, mime,” he warned. But just as Licht was calculating the combined punishment for assaulting and backtalking Chevalier, a sudden gallop echoed across the hall, the pressure on his stomach lifted, and Licht fell head-first onto the mucky stable floor. 

Once the pain and shame faded enough, Licht opened his eyes and sat up expecting to find Chevalier towering over him. When all he saw was Maron merrily rolling on the floor whinnying, apparently now fully recovered from the intruder fiasco, Licht wondered if it was all just a sick-induced hallucination. The figures cloaked in night, the galloping, this headache; surely it was all in his mind and he merely tripped and fell from exhaustion. Bothered and bitter, he buttoned his coat and rubbed his bruising head, wondering if anything like this had happened recently, when Chevalier appeared once more in the entryway patiently guiding White Horse back inside.

“You frightened him,” he said when they reached the back stall. 

“Me?” said Licht, forgetting his headache and rising to face the pair. In all the years he’d known him, White Horse proved a stallion who did not know fear. Chevalier selected him to be his trusted steed from among all the foals—even passing up baby Maron and his adorable wobbly knees—because he was the first to fully stand on his own and the quickest to wean off from his mother. As the years passed, he only grew more magnificent and intimidating among his peers, heading fleets into battle like the gleaming helmet of the army. White Horse admitting he was afraid seemed the equivalent of Chevalier admitting defeat.

“Indeed. He was shocked to see you bursting out of the stall like a lunatic,” said Chevalier.

Licht felt his eye twitch, and not from the returning pain. “He’s a war horse. He’s seen far worse than that,” he said.

“True,” said Chevalier, “but you have never appeared before him looking so disheveled.”

A knot swelled in Licht’s throat. Was Maron right? Surely he hadn’t neglected his condition so carelessly that he let his appearance grow abominable enough to scare White Horse of all creatures. Yves, perhaps, but that was exactly why Licht had been avoiding his brother like the plague. 

“You do have some manner of plague,” said Chevalier.

“It’s only allergies,” Licht countered, muffling a cough into his arm.

“Strange how the clown never developed the same.” 

It was only then that Licht noticed Chevalier carried a bag across his shoulders when he pulled something out and tossed it. Licht caught it and looked it over; it was a newly washed towel, like the type soldiers used during training, but the stench it gave off was far more repugnant than even a shirtless, sweaty Prince Jin in the height of July. An earthy smell that lay buried deep in the back of his mind, but Chevalier was not intent on giving him the time to dig it out.

“Clean your face, it is offensive,” he said, then moved past Licht to look in the stall. Maron instantly sobered and stood. “And you, get out.”

“What for?” Licht asked. He held his breath and quickly wiped the sweat and grime from his face.

“This is White Horse’s preferred stall.”

“We were here first.”

“And I asked you first what you were doing here, and you have yet to answer me,” snapped Chevalier. “Our needs supersede yours unless you can prove otherwise.”

Licht and Maron each glared back at him, simmering in place. It wasn’t as though they didn’t have their reasons for choosing that particular stall; Maron enjoyed the bit of extra leg room the corner stall provided while Licht favored it for its distance from the entrance and ease to hide away in. But the other corner stall on the opposite side of the hall provided the same advantages, and Licht and Maron wondered why Chevalier and White Horse couldn’t simply occupy that one.

Normally, Licht would either frame his suggestion of the other corner this way or simply agree to move out to avoid confrontation, but he was ill-feeling courteous tonight after Chevalier banged his head like a boiled egg.

“What’s so special about this one that the others don’t have?” Licht asked. If by now you’re thinking Licht was playing his luck talking back yet again to Chevalier, you’d be right. But ever the megalomaniac (as Prince Clavis would insist), Chevalier acknowledged an informative rebuttal to his authority as a worthy challenge and allowed the conversation to continue for just a little longer.

Chevalier rolled his eyes at this insinuation. “The window,” he responded.

“They all have windows,” said Licht.

“This one provides the best view of town,” said Chevalier, then he huffed. “I grow tired of this chatter. Vacate yourselves before I do it myself.”

Licht was not satisfied, but he knew better than to argue with Chevalier once a discussion was deemed concluded. Though Maron would take some more convincing to leave. They were still midway through grooming and all the tools were laid out and ready after all, but to Licht’s surprise the horse walked out without any prompting, passed Chevalier, and lowered his head to sniff the towel in Licht’s hand.

“Don’t lick that, Maron. It’s dirty,” said Licht, pushing him away. But Maron pressed his nose to the towel and began chewing at its edge. “It’s not food. Stop!” Licht grabbed the other end and pulled and pulled, but Maron’s chomp was firm and refusing to yield.

“Haybrain,” Licht said, tugging harder. “You’d think you were munching on a bunch of—” And then the pain in his head nearly completely vanished as a wave of realization surged through him. Sometimes it takes a little longer for Maron’s messages to reach Licht.

Still maintaining his grip, Licht steadied his stance and asked, “Prince Chevalier, what else is in your bag?”

Chevalier, who had been leading White Horse into the newly emptied stall and therefore took little notice of the tug-of-war behind him, curled his hand around the straps on his shoulder at the sound of his name. “Has your condition also turned you excessively chatty?” he said. “Perhaps some rest will restore your quietude, mime.”

Licht and Maron exchanged a glance across the towel and nodded. “Employ deflection at your own risk. Now!” yelled Licht, and the two charged towards the stall. 

If you have been at all paying attention to this unwieldy tale, you may recall the last time Licht attempted to ambush Chevalier earned him an unsavory bump on both his pride and his forehead, and you are probably wondering what on Earth would lead him to believe a second attempt would fare any better. You may also remember in that little skirmish Licht threw his sword up in the air and have probably been questioning this story for the past few pages about where it landed. Rest assured, these inconsistencies shall be answered in due course. But first we must discuss strategy.

In addition to being a gifted swordsman, Licht was also a budding tactician. And while his brothers agreed his open-fighting battleplans leaned excessively self-destructive, no one could deny Licht’s acumen for sneak attacks. Even Maron trusted Licht on this front, which is why he made sure to match Licht’s speed in their charge even though his trajectory would knock him into White Horse. As soon as Chevalier noticed their approach, he whipped around, grabbed the towel with both hands, and ripped the fabric in midair. 

The force of the rip wobbled the two off guard, and while Maron quickly managed to steady himself to a reasonable halt before colliding with White Horse, Licht surged forward and knocked his side into a pillar separating two adjacent stalls. But before his fall, he made sure to wrap his remaining half of the towel around Chevalier’s wrist and drag the man down with him. The impact of the hit shook the entire building, causing a certain misplaced sword that was previously precariously balanced just above the princes to slip out of its place and fall. Chevalier, still stuck in the hand trap, roughly shoved his and Licht’s bodies out of the line of descent and replaced them with his bag. The bag cushioned the fall and prevented the sword from ricocheting into anyone, but not without sacrificing itself to the cause as the blade cleanly cut through the linen and deposited the contents within. Dozens of bright orange carrots, of different sizes and thicknesses by the bushel, spilled out from the tear and rolled across the stable floor.

This narrator now takes this chance to inform the audience (and Prince Chevalier) that Licht is also very skilled in deflection. And in humility.

“I’ll keep my mouth shut if you do,” Licht offered once the two managed to pry as many carrots as they could away from the hungry horses’ mouths. They piled the saved carrots into the bag and lifted it together to keep them out of the horses’ reach and from spilling again.

“The information I have on your condition is far more significant than a simple carrot heist,” said Chevalier, unperturbed by the turn of events.

It was the truth. Licht nabbed carrots from the kitchens loads of times before, and the response from the cooks never extended beyond an angry rant to the domestic faction office about coordinating supply every few months or so. Jin always claimed it was probably a herd of hungry rabbits sneaking into the kitchens at night, and that was enough to placate the masses. Missing carrots didn’t spell the end of the world, after all. Surely they would treat this incident in the same way. On the other hand, Chevalier still lorded Licht’s illness over his head like a carrot on a stick (which in Licht’s circumstance meant the exact opposite of that saying). Any moment now he could decide to leave the stables and tell Sariel about Licht’s total lack of self-care. Or worse, he could tell Yves.

No, Licht had to gain some leverage over Chevalier right there and now. If only he could figure out why he was there in the first place.

The bag seemed to increase in weight with each passing moment, and the orange poking out from the rip goaded Licht like a heckler in the audience. He shut his eyes and breathed through his mouth to stave them off. Just their presence muddied his mind—why did there have to be so many carrots? 

The best he could do for now was to keep up the deflecting. Even if that meant he had to keep up the talking.

“If White Horse eats this many, he’ll have an upset stomach in the morning,” he said.

“They were not all meant for him, obviously,” Chevalier explained. “When dealing with animals, extra precautions must be taken to guarantee a successful transaction should any anomalies arise.”

Licht pondered over those words. Couldn’t Chevalier ever say what he meant directly? (“No,” said Chevalier.)

“You’re saying you needed hush money—er, food in case other horses saw you two? Were you expecting to wake up the entire herd?” asked Licht.

“Precautions taken for the worst-case scenario naturally account for any hypothetical.”

“Except for my being here, apparently.”

“No, I had accounted for this as well. Though I had expected you to have fled from the vicinity of all these carrots by now.”

The tear gaped slightly as Licht’s hold tensed. Did Chevalier view him as a child who still couldn’t look foods he disliked straight on? Was Chevalier basing his reactions on tests he performed on Nokto, he wondered? He recalled a time years ago when Nokto returned from a diplomatic trip to Benitoite complaining about how their boasting of their recent super successful carrot harvest forced him to cut the trip short. It was the first time in ages Licht felt so strong an urge to console his twin when he heard the news, but what if Chevalier had a different reaction? Something seemed off about it all.

He decided to test his theory. “You’d need a boat-load of carrots to do that. And strand me on a deserted island first,” he said.

“I shall keep that in mind for the next order and charter a vessel from the Jangler,” said Chevalier.

“Nokto already asked us to halt carrot orders to the palace once. Leon told him to submit a lengthy request form with evidence and justifications and we still voted against it, three-to-one. Unfortunately.”

“My word supersedes the clown’s, as well as it does yours.”

“I wasn’t implying otherwise. Only that palace supply orders are under our faction’s scope, not yours,” said Licht. This time the rip tore larger from Chevalier’s end.

Licht really was only speaking fluff at first, but now he felt he was on the verge of uncovering something scandalous.

“In fact, food orders are specifically handled by one of us four princes to prevent showing favoritism to any one noble or grower. And we keep the records of all orders locked in our office,” he continued. “Strange how you were able to run your worst-case scenario calculations when supply was different this month. Was it just a happy coincidence?”

“Enough stalling,” said Chevalier. “Speak your mind directly.”

“Prince Chevalier.” Licht paused and inhaled. “Have you been illicitly influencing the domestic faction’s operations behind the scenes?”

The stables went eerily quiet. Even the horses, who stopped following the conversation ever since the carrots came into view, could tell an intense weight had dropped, and this time Chevalier was on the receiving end. Maron silently cheered for Licht, while White Horse ground his teeth impatiently.

Slowly, purposefully, Chevalier’s mouth widened to a grin. One that simultaneously filled Licht with a sense of victory and unease. “You speak it as though it was a laborious effort, when in truth it does not take much to influence you buffoons. A cursory inspection of your office is proof enough of your dullwittedness, which made it exceedingly simple to send the clown over on his futile carrot prohibition request to peer pressure your lot into establishing a cleaning routine. Even simpler was it to determine which days were Black’s, considering he wakes with an obvious imprint of his couch’s pillow embroidery plastered across his cheek. But simplest of all was slipping the latest edition of Jade’s Renowned Recipes onto the showoff’s desk the morning after one of Black’s cleaning days.” 

The only thing preventing Licht from completely tearing up the bag was the understanding that it would drown him in those awful carrots, and that would only make him more upset. “There’s no way Nokto would agree to that,” he said to release some of the anger. “Your plan ended up with double the order of carrots in the end.”

“I never deigned to have co-conspirators,” said Chevalier.

It didn’t make sense, and yet with Chevalier it could. But it took such precise managing and calculating of everyone’s opinions and behaviors to have carried out so perfectly.

“But… but you still miscalculated,” Licht said in a small voice. “With me.”

“An unfortunate side effect of your seclusiveness. Lack of data points skews the probability of success. But this defect is of little consequence in the grand scheme of things,” said Chevalier, dropping his face to a frown once more. “Very well, we shall agree to never speak of this encounter beyond this night.”

A victory? Against Chevalier? On a mental battlefield? By all accounts, Licht should have been thrilled, even if this arrangement meant no one would ever know of his triumph. But a hollowness still dominated inside, different from the betrayal he felt from Chevalier’s reveal. He looked to Maron for support, and even his horsey smile wasn’t enough to satisfy his troubled thoughts.

“You still admitted political subterfuge, even if this is an admittedly minor instance of it. How can we guarantee you haven’t done it in the past, or won’t do it again?” asked Licht.

“You have my word that I have not nor shall I ever plot such an endeavor again without the knowledge and approval of the eight,” said Chevalier.

That should have sufficed, but Licht shook his head. “I’ll need some collateral to prove your sincerity.”

Chevalier narrowed his eyes. “What do you require?”

“Half your remaining carrots,” he said. “And tell me why you did it.” Maron perked up and licked his lips greedily while White Horse snorted and rushed beside Chevalier.

“White Horse says one-fourth and no more,” said Chevalier.

“Half,” Licht demanded. “Yves never would have put the double order if he wasn’t so intent on baking the carrot cake for me.”

Chevalier and White Horse stared intently at each other. You may have guessed correctly that these two make up another human-horse bonded pair, but unlike Licht and Maron, they mainly communicated through staring contests to determine the other’s thoughts and feelings. To the onlooker it is a curious sight, and Licht and Maron watched the pair mentally debate like statues for several awkward minutes until at last they broke apart.

“Agreed. But tonight you must vacate this stall and share your grooming tools,” said Chevalier.

“Fine, you can use them after we finish our routine,” said Licht, and the princes set out dividing the carrots equally among themselves and leading their respective horses into opposite stalls. Maron happily gobbled up his share before Licht could finish setting his tools up again in the new stall, and White Horse solemnly poked his head out of the window as Chevalier passed him carrots at regular intervals. A complacent tranquility settled in as the sounds of horse munching, hair brushing, and the late night summer breeze whooshed through the stables, calming its occupants and warming their hearts. While these two princes were inclined to introversion, the silent acknowledgement of horse care they shared bonded them on that night closer than they ever knew in the past.

Once the grooming session was completed, Maron shook his head satisfied as Licht patted his neck. Licht packed his tools neatly in their kit and crossed over to the other stall, ready to hear Chevalier’s story, when he saw his brother holding two long strips of ribbon, one bright yellow and the other bright blue, up to White Horse’s pearly mane.

“They’d both look nice on him,” Licht said as he entered the stall. He extracted a fine brush from the kit and began working out the knots in White Horse’s mane.

Chevalier watched intently, holding the ribbons closer so Licht could see. “But which will look nicer?” he asked.

Another ripple of warmth began to swell in Licht's cheeks, but a breeze hadn’t blown in a while. Did Chevalier actually value Licht’s opinion?

“Well, maybe the blue will look better in the daytime and the yellow at night,” Licht replied. Chevalier hmmed and took the ribbons back, tying them into different intricately shaped bows on his fingers. No doubt Yves would find them charming, and a small smile involuntarily crept onto Licht’s face as he pictured the three of them dressing up White Horse in tiny bows. 

What a ridiculous idea! As if Chevalier would ever agree to that! But still, even though Licht always spent time in the stables alone, the thought of inviting others once in a while wasn’t too indigestible. Is this what it was like to share hobbies? Could this be how Licht could cure his—as Chevalier called it—seclusiveness? They could have been friends all along?

The moment seemed right. He decided to shoot his shot. “Yves has lots more ribbon. And lace, too. Maybe we could all make bows for Maron and White Horse someday?”

“Perhaps,” said Chevalier, all ten of his fingers now bound by bows. “Tell me, do you think White Horse is attractive?”

Or maybe they were never meant to be friends after all.

“Er—” Licht stumbled. “He’s a healthy and well-kept stallion. I could ask for nothing more from him.”

“Not to you. A female.”

“Uhm… You could probably ask Nokto to grab a maid’s opinion?”

Chevalier clenched his fists, crushing the tiny bows. “A female horse,” he hissed.

“Oh!” Licht accidentally pulled too hard on a knot. White Horse turned to him and snorted sharply, dousing his face in chewed-up carrot. Yes, that tranquil moment had definitely passed.

Licht quickly unbuttoned his coat and wiped his face with the hem of his shirt. The very next morning, that shirt would be burning in the back of his fireplace. 

“Is White Horse trying to impress a mare?” he asked in an attempt to salvage the conversation. 

“We only agreed I reveal my intention for the carrot theft,” said Chevalier.

“Political subterfuge,” Licht corrected.

“Shall I send you to dreamland instead?” said Chevalier.

“I’ll be sure to ask for the story in the morning then,” said Licht.

Chevalier leaned against the wall and began undoing the bows as he spoke. “Do not interrupt. It began on a trip west last fall. Clavis and I were inspecting numerous citadels along the border, and as luck would have it I received word that the newest volume of a series I was following was set to release the day before our scheduled return to the palace.”

Licht swapped his brush for a flat bristled one and started on White Horse’s neck as he listened. He recalled Chevalier’s trip very clearly. Clavis had made a point to leave behind a timed-trap in his absence. On the morning of the twins’ birthday, hundreds of colorful paper airplanes were released in the roundtable room, each bearing a handwritten message like: “Thinking of you from so far away!” and “Big brother will bring home a bigger gift, just you wait!” and “Say your prayers, Sariel!” Licht occasionally still felt the ghosts of those paper cuts stinging his skin.

Unfazed by Licht’s cringing expression, Chevalier continued. “Despite Clavis’s bemoaning protests, we managed to reach the final location of our tour and complete the inspection with time to spare, albeit at the sacrifice of several nights’ rest. Our fool of a brother was at his wit’s end, but aside from his sanity we arrived back in town with zero casualties. He agreed to retrieve the book before returning to the palace as an excuse to finally be out of my sight, so he broke off from our party as we rode up. And seeing as White Horse knows the way to the gates I saw no imminent danger requiring my remaining alert and allowed myself to rest my eyes.”

Licht tried to remember the exact day of their return and if anything remarkable occurred, but his mind kept coming up with blanks. (He wasn’t allowed to interrupt, but the narrator can. Chevalier said he fell asleep.)

Chevalier finished removing the yellow ribbon from his fingers and crumpled it in his fist. “While resting my eyes, I could still sense the passage of time, and after an appropriate amount of time until when I knew we should have reached the palace had passed I opened them again but found we were in an unfamiliar area I had never visited before. We were near the outskirts of town where the cattle graze. Seventeen houses in total, each unremarkable in size and structure, yet White Horse perched at the fence of the red brick house watching a jet black mare race across the yard. Never before had I seen him so fixated on one task, even when we are in battle. I called his name and pulled his reins but he completely ignored me. I was about alight from his back to admonish him when the woman of the household spotted us from her window, and she let out a piercing scream that would have woken the entire town had it been dark. It was enough to startle White Horse, at any rate. More than seeing you tonight.”

At this, Licht instantly remembered the day. Everyone at the palace heard the scream, and the subsequent chill emanating from Clavis’s smile when he suggested Licht join him to wait by the gates could only be bested by Chevalier’s cold stare. Never before nor since was Licht so grateful for it to be his turn to clean the domestic faction office than on that day. Maron remembered the day because it was the only time Chevalier returned wearing robes stained not in red, but brown. And Chevalier remembered the day because there did not yet exist enough scientific literature in Rhodolite on lobotomy.

Recounting is all well and good, but White Horse preferred matters tending to the future. And while he was used to his master and his soft-spoken brother’s tendencies towards silence, this silence stretching on in their conversation soon bored the stallion. When at last it became too much to bear, White Horse sucked in breath through his teeth, pressed his nose against Chevalier’s head, and released a mighty sneeze that nearly shook the princes off balance. From across the hall, Maron whinnied at White Horse in disapproval, and Licht quickly steadied himself then began patting the horse’s white neck. This served two purposes: calming White Horse’s fury, and giving Licht an excuse to turn away as Chevalier picked globules of horse mucus out of his hair.

It seemed acceptable for Licht to speak now. “So White Horse likes Verona?”

“Who?” Chevalier raked the last of the snot out with the blue ribbon and tossed it onto the remains of the ripped bag.

“The mare. That’s her name,” said Licht.

“Don’t be ridiculous, they have never once interacted for White Horse to develop any feelings of ‘liking’.”

“Fine. He fancies her.”

“Such a useless emotion. Enough of it to lose his head at the screams of her owner,” scoffed Chevalier.

“He’s alright though, isn’t he?” said Licht.

“Only because I had the sense to steady us in time,” said Chevalier. What he conveniently neglected to mention was how after steadying White Horse, the woman raced out of the house waving a broomstick in the air because she didn’t recognize the Second Prince and assumed he was there to horsenap Verona. Before Chevalier could diffuse the situation, White Horse jumped at her advance and fell backwards, landing both himself and his rider in a puddle of mud. Prince Clavis was the only person standing at the gates to witness their soiled return, and he keeps the memory fresh in his mind for days when he feels blue. But there was no reason for Licht to know about it, so Chevalier said, “I have upheld my end of the deal. Pass me a brush.”

“But you didn’t explain the carrots,” said Licht. 

“Do not ask for a story if you are too bleary-eyed to follow along,” said Chevalier. He swiped the brush out of Licht’s hand and began grooming White Horse’s other side. White Horse neighed softly and went back to staring longingly out of the window. 

Rays of false dawn shone from the horizon, layering the first brush stroke of saturation on town. Licht followed White Horse’s gaze out the window towards the pasty colors of the pasture in the distance, just as the signs of a red house came into view.

Perhaps it was the exhaustion truly catching up to him, but Licht didn’t notice Maron trotting up to him until he felt his warm muzzle pressed against the small of his back. Even without facing him, he knew what Maron wanted to say.

“Maron’s friends with Verona,” said Licht. “We visit the horses there every month for a stretch. We could introduce White Horse next time we go, if you want.”

Perhaps the exhaustion caught up to Chevalier as well, because the small part of him that planned to find Licht in the stables tonight tingled with vindication. “What do you require?” he asked.

“I don’t need anything,” said Licht.

“And I do not desire to remain in your debt. Name your price,” said Chevalier.

It is a curious state to find oneself able to demand anything from Prince Chevalier. I can think of several princes who would jump at the opportunity and ask from him all manner of favors. But Licht was a simple secluded sword master equine enthusiast who when asked what he wanted most in the world would probably reply with the most seemingly mundane thing. And yet, it would still make him smile.

“Help me get rid of this cough. That way I can help disrupt the carrot supply chain next time.”

I once wrote a fic in the past when I thought Maron was a mare. If anyone else mistakenly thought he was a lady horse because of that fic, I take full responsibility, that's my bad.

With this fic I tried out a new narrative style. It was out of my comfort zone, but a fun experiment. If anyone has any constructive feedback about it (positive or negative, I want to learn) feel free to leave a comment or an ask. Did it engage you more in the story, did it slow it down, did it make you laugh, did it bore you... whatever you feel like sharing :) Otherwise, thanks for reading.

[saltyr3mix]

wiatt nicholson head canons plz

ok. Wiatt is very similar to Damien to me. In the sense of oh boy, I hate writing this character so much. It's a quartet of Damien, Norman, lewis and Wiatt. Hate all of them/j they each have their ups and downs. Mainly downs but like- Lewis is by far the easiest of the group but still so far behind the others in terms of effort to write. Especially when paired with Wiatt. TGE ONLY TIME IVE EVER WRITTEN WIGHLIGHT AND WAS SATISFIED WITH IT WAS THAT ONE LIKE 10 LINE SCENE IN FEBRUARY 4TH WHERE THEY APOLOGIZE TO EACH OTHER. IT IS MY GREATEST FLAW. I CANT WRITE WILIGHT AND IT HAUNTS ME-

but this isn't about them! Just Wiatt! So let's get started on it!

To learn from the tragedies: he's do stressed. Let's this guy be. He just wants to help his boyfriend but also doesn't have a clue what's going on. He thinks he knows everything. He doesnt. At all. He's sort of the main focus of book one but is a lot more background in book 2, which focuses more on Sara. Both of them are technically going through the same thing but because Sara was the villain is treated a lot differently. I sometimes think about what would have happened if lewis hadn't explained things to Waitt. And instead he and Sara teamed up to get answers and everything would have been fine. But no, lewis is far too dramatic for that.

Shattered dreams: he dies. womp womp. Does become Guide! (Gaslight. Useless. Idiot. Dead. Employee) But I think I'll talk about him more in the Oc au because I think despite it being nearly the same situation he's more interesting there.

One shots/you'll live until I die: I thinkkkkk her appears like once in yluid and it's like- the least relevant scene in the fic i was just trying to even out the perspectives. But in that and other one shots he's sort of just a mechanic. Almost never more apparent than that. Try to keep it close to cannon, he likes helping people but tends to mess it up a lot but never enough to be fully blamed for it.

I will make them create my world: don't. Don't talk me. I- I'll figure it out! (Has over 10k of scrapped shit THAT US JUST HIM. The reason there hasn't been a new chapter since February is Because of that man and how hard he is to write and plan)

Buried masks: I think I've made a few post on him but he stays outside the basement because Sara doesn't like him. He helps Damien with his investigation and is highly suspicious of Sara. Eventually he does get more involved for a big event! But that is major spoilers :3

Swap au/skating in silence: he plays Norman here! Which I find very interesting. Not interesting enough to have concrete ideas for it but enough that if given the chance i could see myself exploring. Wiatts like main thing is he feels worth through helping others. And by directly helping Lewis he'd really enjoy the job. If lewis was different from Sara and still have him praise and carted about him it would honestly create a more toxic relationship than canon because Wiatt would be left clinging for Lewis's validation and willing to go very, very far for it.

Superhero au: he's chill. Doesn't have any powers. Is a reporter and a hero stan. Untilllll things start happening and lewis is sobbing in his apartment because he's having to deal with some very traumatized kids, and half their trauma may have accidentally been his fault and he knows the heros are all a massive lie and starts giving wiatt info about some of the more horrible things the organization has done and wiatt starts a character arc of now speaking against the hero system and trying to in mask it for what it is! Mostly he just appears in the background, he's sort of the symbol of the general public, being powerless and living a mostly normal life.

Steven universe au: he lives in his car as a photographer. He enjoys life and specifically lifes mysteries and the unnatural. He fines this fenced of beach that has been rumered to be haunted after a man died mysteriously several years ago. Wiatt never followed the rules and climbs over because the view from that clean of a beach must be stunning!

And bam! Rock Aliens. They all scare each other but wiatt has a camera and the aliens don't know what that is and they think it's a weapon. They explain they didn't mean to bother and humans and Wiatts like oh wait their really sweet. And he's friends with them now!!! He gives everyone their more human names and let's them experience life. So far he's the only human that doesn't get experimented on so that's good for him. He is a little overwhelmed by dating a space dictator that fake killed himself but it's ok, he'll figure it out.

Maze au: he's human. Don't know how he got in the maze. I can imagine him playing a role similar to Kyle in the sense of like, he's here to help and try his best not to get into anything but is not going to sit around. He's probably a runner. Not a very good one. Maybe he stays in the back and makes maps. He and Oliver team up to make most of the clearings.... Everything. They make weapons and tools and supplies and help build housing and food they are the progressives. They make sure the clearing is constantly improving.

Oc au: he dies! Not to litho though cause we accidentally took him out. Instead he dies to jot! In a....messy scene. Both because there was a lot of blood and two it was written late at night and neither of us really knew where we wanted it to go only that wiatt needed to be dead by the end of it. So mans got straight up beat. Joy crushed this dude with her bare hands. The virus actually took out two....well killed two people by technicality it knock loli out for a good while but she's fine now! Yeah, we made it slightly more deadly just for fun. And now Wiatt is a tour guide with amnesia! He loves the company and works mostly in the lobby with Dot. Star also had his memories erased in this au.

Instead the whole what about love speech, was joy about carly. Which Winnie being already connected to Carly made it a lot easier and so roller gays are doing fantastic and wighlight is struggling.

We have yet for star and guide to interact but I'm looking for to when they do!

that should be ittttttt. He plays a background character in most of the aus. So not a ton to say.

Thank you for the ask!!