#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

[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.

[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.

[raisay]

Had a rough day yesterday anyway, and the dragon age news isn’t helping, and I’m feeling sick and can’t get back to sleep, so I’m still chewing on it. Rambling after the cut.

I guess what upsets me is that, it’s fine to do a soft reboot, but if they’re doing that, why on earth would you do it with Inquisition 2? Why bring back Morrigan if she can’t remember her own past with you? And I know that some people have mentioned that Kieran’s plot relevance is done, but… I didn’t like him just for his plot relevance. I liked him because Morrigan loved him so much, and he changed her for the better in such great ways. But this Morrigan is just going to be a husk with the face of a friend.

All the things the devs have been saying to justify the decision are just that: justifications. The same way sleezy devs justify dressing female characters in skimpy clothes. These aren’t people with motivations of their own, you’ve written them this way. If none of your choices matter 10 years or 100 miles apart, don’t set your sequel game there. But even then I’m entertaining a silly justification— the choice of Divine is going to matter, even in the north, because most of the people up there are Andrastian according to lore, but if they’re ignoring that lore, that brings up some other, bigger narrative concerns.

I wasn’t even asking for huge pay off from stuff like The Well of Sorrows, but what removing the weight of that choice does, now looking back, is make Solas’s anger over it seem pointless and silly. He was SO MAD, and for what?

There’s also just the logical question of how it’s going to appear in game. Is the narrative going to just weirdly tiptoe around all of the potential landmines? Am I going to constantly go “Huh, it feels weird that this wasn’t mentioned”? Because a game that awkwardly tiptoes around a previously important character’s quantum state is a game that, essentially, unwrites them from existence. If they don’t know my HoF’s race or gender or class, or if they’re even alive or dead, they essentially can’t mention them at all outside of “The Hero of Ferelden was a hero from Ferelden who stopped the Fifth Blight.” Like, damn, we know more about the person that ended the Fourth Blight than this, and it was even longer ago!

And then… what’s with the dev team’s apparent disdain for codex entries? Long time fans of the series LOVE codex entries! I know it’s unrealistic to expect everything to matter in game, but are you telling me I just kind of have to headcanon all the things Queen Anora did, and possibly who replaced her? I just have to headcanon whether or not my HOF cured the blight? Because if I have to write all this for myself, why am I paying BioWare $60? It’s certainly not for the gameplay, I never played these games for that, anyway. From the game’s perspective, Celene, Gaspard, and/or Briala did all this fighting with each other to sit on the throne and do… absolutely nothing of consequence. Are they going to just refer to them as “The Ruler of Orlais” (because they can’t even use Emperor or Empress). That’s going to be really stilted, if that’s what they do. In fact, that would *still* be awkward, because there can be multiple rulers. “The Ruler(s) of Orlais”.

And just more practically, in the case of the character that does seem most important to BioWare: Solas. They’ve stripped all the potential nuance from your Inquisitior’s relationship with him. You can’t be an Inquisitor who was a dear friend vowing to stop him at all costs OR you can’t be an ultra aggressive Inquisistor who is angry and always hated him, because these were rolled into one “stop Solas” option. One of the devs (sorry can’t remember who) also said that the Inquisitor feels some level of guilt for what Solas is doing. Why? Why would an Inquisitor who always hated him, and possibly punched him, feel any guilt at all? They didn’t do this, they’re a victim of his lies as much as anyone else. Solas is solely responsible for his own decisions, don’t put motivations in the Inquisitor’s head. If that level of character motivation from the Inquisitor is needed for this story, we should have played as them again instead.

So, I guess to sum up, I would have been fine with a soft reboot if they had been open about what this was from the start, and didn’t try to bait me back in with nostalgic characters that I love, that won’t remember me. It takes me out of the game and makes me see how Morrigan is PR and Varric is PR. And it’s going to be noticeable, and it’s going to be hollow.

But most of all it’s going to be sad, seeing these characters that I love not know their own past, like walking past an old friend knowing they’ve forgotten all the fun you used to have together.

[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.

[cosmichighpriestess]

This may seem harsh, just my personal views on relationships at this time but having a relationship with me requires integrity and respect. I love being alone so your company has to be equal or better than my solitude. I'm not impressed by your status, by your money, or your connections. Though I'm proud of your achievements and who you are as a soul. I'm neutral to most people because if I gave everything meaning I would be hurting myself by my own definitions. The only thing that impresses me is your ability to love, forgive, show compassion, love yourself and love others unconditionally accessing the God within you. I'm not willing to entertain any connections with other versions of myself that are even tinged with a hint of unhealed energy. I'm a new person. The other present version of me on other timelines who transported me here did so much work in leaving old behaviors of, old patterns, addictions, self sabotage, leaving old friends, partners, family that my boundaries are now solid and I cannot be bribed, bought, bullied, put down, manipulated, gaslit, controlled, dominated, silenced or affected because I do not agree to be affected. I am willing to uphold any boundaries to protect the gifts she's acquired through hard work and balance within.

No one can drain my energy because I do not believe they can. If I believed they had the ability to drain me I would be buying into that illusion and creating it in my own life. It's all present within my own belief system. It's all my own energy out there. I may not like other versions of myself but I accept them all, no matter how low they go to try to hurt me. I do not miss anyone because once they are out of my view they disappear from my mind and I do not seek validation from them though I will always love them and continue to wish them healing if they do pop up, sometimes they may try to get back in and say things to apologize and I admire their strength, dropping their pride and their confidence but I do not want unhealed versions of them in my life or near me.

They will always be loved by me but I will not accept their narcissistic tendencies, hidden motives and need to fill up their own cups. It's solely up to me to continue to heal so I can see healed versions of people I knew in my world reflected. For me, it's out of sight out of mind from a lack of object permanence having this ability is like a superpower for healing. "They" are me, I am them, it's all me. There's no "my" or "they" it just the people, aspects of Source, other versions of me, the family, the friends, the children, the ex partners ect. "They" do not belong to me. Everything in my life, everyone I meet is for me to learn from in some way, to make me stronger, wiser, to feel loved through Source so what do I care what they do? If it's all serving me, for me? Each and every person makes a difference in society no matter how negative or productive they appear.

"They" are their own person and belong to themselves and to God, not me. I cannot own anyone and never desire to. I can and will let some friends and family back into my life but if they do not accept the new version of me they will decide on their own if they can handle being triggered by my personal authenticity and be around my energy. No one can silence me from speaking my truth, and if they do, they are removed from my life with love and closure because my truth has everyone's perspectives in mind and though my intentions are always good, with passion, promise, authenticity and integrity for the highest good of all and healing all around, my truth may be perceived from fear and that is not my problem.

If they silence me, downplay my gifts, try to hide me from the world their plans will fail and their projections will be reflected back onto them. My happiness and peace will never depend on anyone outside of me so everyone is always off the hook, my happiness doesn't rely on the expectations, validation or respect of others. Though respect is required to be in a healthy relationship with each other.

That's up to them. I will always accept and love them either way, but if a hint of unhealed energy projects onto me I'm already gone. I will always survive any circumstance and forgive them easily. I only allow people with integrity, people with like mindedness in my life. I'm willing to fight for my peace and anyone that comes to try to steal my peace. Any cage or box they try to put me in I burn it down to the ground and create my reality from within. They can try to cause chaos outside of me but they cannot steal the peace I've built from within me. What's within me cannot be stolen and cannot be bought. When you're full of peace, you're full of power. They are entitled to their opinions of me and their reality but I do not take them on as my own. If my presence is not honored the way I honor their connection and presence then my presence is removed. It's not that my love has conditions, on the contrary my love is unconditional but I do not allow people with conditions on their love into my life.

[notvv0ltz]

Self

Alright everyone, this topic isn't going to be about an art but rather about self… Or selves (foreshadowing). I'm writing this because not much of people are describing their experiences in this complicated sense of self.

So, like… Originally this post was planned to go deep through my traumatic experiences, but then I realized that no one needs to hear that. And it was also mentally breaking to me, so I will mention things only briefly just to give a context.

Still, the warning stays the same: my opinion on such matter and use of terms may differ from your own, and it still stays as an extremely personal post from a mentally ill person, read at your own risk.

I'm a guy who lives in a much better place now with queer found family, but before that my life quite sucked. I can barely remember my childhood, but I know that my trust was betrayed, and I couldn't rely on people in real life at all for different reasons. Not going into details of this one, but I'll just say this: I feel physically unwell when people are angry at me, especially when they're gaslighting me, and that's not without a reason. There was also a time when one parental figure drank heavily since I was 4 and continues to do so in a "mild" manner. I also have a physical evidence that I was "too tired" when I was 6 already. Overall, there were situations which my brain perceived as not safe.

It all made me socially isolated and apathetic for a long period of time. And I also had a vivid imagination. So vivid that I could stare at ceilings for hours without moving. It became maladaptive at my worse periods of life and disrupted me from doing schoolwork. But out of every other ways to cope I could have at that time, this one was the most harmless.

This had its own consequences, though… Everything changed when I had a breakdown in teens and I started feeling someone patting my back, but no one was there. It was my character (if you know, you know), that since then lives rent-free in my head.

What that truly was is still unknown to me, like why he suddenly feels like a very real person talking to me and why his speech doesn't feel scripted at all. He progressed from being my protector from The Bad to someone with his own desires and urges that contradict mine. To someone who disagrees with me sometimes and gives me another perspective. To someone who feels differently. But at the same time, with a lot of similarities because, well, we share the same brain.

What did none of us expect is that there were times when he took control of the body. No one from outside notices anything different, but internally it was quite weird to hear myself in my head in a muted way, as if I'm in a backstage. And it was odd and agonizing even for him to control the body that didn't reflect at all his self-image. Every time it happens, we prefer to wait out when he goes back to the "backstage". He is very ashamed of his own existence, so if he ever makes an attempt to not hide, please be nice to him.

Even with such complications, I love him very deeply. Without him, I wouldn't survive, and I'm serious about this. He helped me to process emotions, "co-piloted" when I was in severe stress, he made me feel less alone and misunderstood.

I think, at it's core, it's a healthy coping mechanism. It's just that there are conflicts that are unresolved, and that requires a therapist. I also tried to fit in plural communities, but it did literally nothing good to us. We felt like we needed to qualify for the label and thought that I'm just asking for attention despite us documenting our "huh that's interesting" moments. Because I'm in a better state, the other guy in my head appears less, but that doesn't deny that I have something going on. I don't think that collapsing over a sudden change in feeling self means that we're just, you know, role playing. We should treat people in this confusing state better, even if it ends up that they weren't plural. The rampant fake claiming culture misses the fact that no person that didn't struggle in life would consider this label. You can easily make someone's health worse by not giving them a room to explore themselves and sometimes admit that they were wrong. So please, be kinder.

I hope this post wasn't a bit too much for this blog and was helpful to someone. I tried to cut off the details of my traumas, but it was crucial to note that without them nothing would've happened to me. I also prefer to use more broad terms over specific ones to describe our experience because we're still not sure what's going on. Thanks for reading.

[radical-revolution]

"These are extraordinary times for a spiritual seeker. Modern spiritual bookstores bulge with texts of Christian, Jewish, Sufi, and Hindu mystical practices. The many contradictory perspectives we encounter pose one of the great dilemmas of spiritual life: What are we to believe?

Initially, in our enthusiasm for our practice, we tend to take everything we hear or read as the gospel truth. This attitude often becomes even stronger when we join a community, follow a teacher, undertake a discipline. Yet all of the teachings of books, maps, and beliefs have little to do with wisdom or compassion. At best they are a signpost, a finger pointing at the moon, or the leftover dialogue from a time when someone received some true spiritual nourishment. To make spiritual practice come alive, we must discover within ourselves our own way to become conscious, to live a life of the spirit.

When we are faced with a variety of spiritual teachings and practice, we must keep a genuine sense of inquiry: What is the effect of this teaching and practice on myself and others? Am I being led to greater kindness and greater understanding, to greater peace or freedom?

Spiritual practice can never be fulfilled by imitation of an outer form of perfection. This leads us only to "acting spiritual". In fact, initially, spiritual practice may feel like it is leading us in the opposite direction. As we awaken, we tend to see our faults and fears, our limitations and selfishness, more clearly than ever before. When we begin to encounter our own limitations directly, we may then try to look for another form of practice, a faster way, or we may decide to change our life radically - move our home, get divorced, join a monastery.

In our initial discouragement, we may blame our practice, or the community around us, or we may blame our teacher. This happened to me in my first year as a monk. I was practicing diligently, but I became quite frustrated after a time. The restlessness, doubt, reactivity, and judgmental mind I encountered were very difficult for me.

The more frustrated I became, the more the monastery looked sloppy and not conducive to enlightenment. Even my image of the master began to fit right in with this frame of mind. So I went to confront him. I bowed and paid my respects and told him I wanted to leave for a stricter monastery, that there wasn't enough time to meditate where I was. "Eh," he said, "there isn't enough time to be aware?" "No," I answered, somewhat taken aback by his question. But my frustration was strong, so I went on, "Besides that, the monks are too sloppy and even you aren't silent enough. You are inconsistent and contradictory. This doesn't seem like what the Buddha taught to me." Only a Westerner would say something like this, and it made him laugh. "It's a good thing I don't appear like the Buddha," he answered. Somewhat annoyed I replied, "Oh, yes, why is that?" "Because," he said, "you would still be caught in looking at the Buddha outside of yourself. He isn't out here!" With that he sent me back to continue my meditation.

"It is our very search for perfection outside ourselves that causes our suffering," said the Buddha. Even the most perfect moment or thing will change just a moment later. It is not perfection we must seek, but freedom of the heart.

The Third Patriarch of Zen Buddhism explained that liberation arises when we are "without anxiety about non-perfection". The world is not supposed to be perfect according to our ideas. We have tried so long to change the world, yet liberation is not to be found by changing it, by perfecting it, or ourselves. Whether we seek enlightenment through altered states, or in community, or in our everyday life, it will never come to us when we seek perfection. The Buddha arises when we are able to see ourselves and the world with honesty and compassion. In many spiritual traditions there is only one important question to answer, and that question is: Who am I?

What images do we hold of ourselves, of our spiritual life, of others? Are all these images and ideas who we really are? Is this our true nature? Liberation comes not as a process of self-improvement, of perfecting the body or personality. Instead, in living a spiritual life, we are challenged to discover another way of seeing, rather than seeing with our usual images, ideals, and hopes. We learn to see with the heart, which loves, rather than with the mind, which compares and defines. This is a radical way of being that takes us beyond perfection."

— Jack Kornfield, A Path with Heart: A Guide Through the Perils and Promises of Spiritual Life

[69constellationsinatrenchcoat]

I'm so sorry if this is too personal.. You've talked about suicidal ideation before. When you're feeling that way, what keeps you alive?

Gosh, this is… such a good question. And no worries <3 it's not too personal for me.

Cw: mentions of suicide and death (mostly positively)

It'll vary by alter, I'll try to get the others to respond if they're comfortable.. for me (🔥), there's a few.

- Knowing it's my role as the primary protector to keep our body safe to the best of my ability.

- I've always doubted the existence of an afterlife, and truthfully I'm a bit jealous of anyone who can believe there is one. And in doing so, I have no idea what's next.. is it just... an end? do we just decompose as science suggests? does my system get broken up according to their beliefs? do we get reincarnated? does heaven/hell exist..? If so.. where am I going?

Those kinds of questions keep me up at night. I don't like to admit it but I'm afraid of missing out on life, of missing opportunities to grow, to learn, to find out about the others.. to solve the hazy mystery that is our past, and to understand what motivates and drives humans to act the ways they do... and I'm afraid of dying; of the sheer unknown of it. No one who has ever died has ever lived to tell the tale, and that scares and intrigues me in a way I can't begin to explain in any comprehensible way.

And.. the three greatest things that keep me alive...

- our out-of-system friends and family; both the knowledge that our closest friends wouldn't be aware if we died (they're online, I doubt anyone would think to reach out to inform them), and that it would hurt our loved ones far more than a lot of our system realise.

- The knowledge that there isn't just One Of Us. Rock bottom does often appear absolutely bleak, and we have struggled with suicidal ideation on and off since the age of seven, and consistently since twelve. However, in my eyes... it's not really suicide when you know you're a system. The way I see it (and I'm not speaking for everyone in our system, or systems in general), but if I were to kill the body, I'd be killing more than just my conciousness. I'd be taking out not only myself, but my children, the host, our trauma holders; my family, friends, colleagues, and strangers. As I see it, it's closer to mass murder from non-consenting parties than a suicide, even if it appears to be a suicide from the perspective of an outsider. The others have as many thoughts, feelings, beliefs, and reflections on the would as I do. If I wouldn't commit suicide knowing that I would kill several others in the real world, why would I do that to a single body but multiple people? Just my take.

And lastly,

The hope of becoming a psychologist. Every time my mind strays to ending it, I imagine myself sitting in a pale blue cosy room decorated with a small pride flag, mental health posters, cushions and bean bags, speaking with a client. Maybe that client is telling me why they chose to continue living. Perhaps, I'm speaking with them about their worries about their mood. Perhaps we're talking about the weather, or their disability, or how their family didn't accept them for who they are, or how cupcakes are simply muffins with hats.

It could be a conversation about how they're scared they're treating others poorly. Maybe, my client is a small six-year-old girl whose father brought her in because she was struggling with attention in her classes...

Perhaps, they're six, maybe they're sixteen, they could be sixty, or a hundred and six and telling me about their life as a final gift. Whoever they may be... I'm staying for those future lives. For those I can learn from, and potentially, teach.

... Amber being vulnerable on main? What's this, the apocalypse??

[momentsbeforemass]

God never compares us to anyone else

If you are a good person, then you are aware of your shortcomings.

You can’t be a good person if you’re not. Because being a good person requires a lot of work, a lot of course corrections, a lot of do-overs.

It’s a process. A life-long one. One that’s critical to becoming who God made you to be.

Which is why the Church has a Sacrament devoted to course corrections and do-overs. And to making sure that you and I know that God loves us – right in the middle of that work. No matter how many course corrections and do-overs we have.

But if you and I don’t know about our shortcomings, then there’s nothing we can do about them.

Which is why being aware of your shortcomings is part of being a good person.

But there’s a right way and a wrong way to use that awareness.

If I’m aware of my shortcomings, so that I can work on them?

So that I can take them to God in prayer, so that I can talk them through with a friend, so that I right the wrongs that I’ve done, so that I can work on what’s behind them with a therapist, so that I can receive God’s grace and forgiveness in the Sacrament?

Then I’m use that awareness the right way.

But if I’m using that awareness of all my shortcomings to compare myself to someone else? Then I am setting myself up to be miserable. Not to mention making a false comparison.

Why do I say that? Because all I know about other people is what I see on the outside. Their carefully crafted exteriors, which (as Jesus tells us) “appear beautiful on the outside.”

This, by the way, is the dynamic that Jesus is talking about in today’s Gospel. When he condemns the Pharisees for spending their time making sure that they look good on the outside.

Instead of doing the hard work, instead of doing the heavy lifting needed to deal with their shortcomings, on the inside.

The thing is, even if we’re not like the Pharisees. Even if we are working on our shortcomings – instead of desperately trying to pretend that we don’t have any. All of us look better on the outside than we do on the inside.

So, when I look at you, I see a finished package. I see someone who has it together. Who has a certain style, a certain flair, who seems at peace with God and happy in their own skin.

What I can’t see is all of the work that you put in to get there. Or how hard you’re working now to be the person God made you to be. And even though you know your work is nowhere near complete, all I get to see is the outside. All I get to see is a finished package.

And when I compare your finished package to the mess on my inside?

That is when I use my awareness of my shortcomings the wrong way.

Because when I look at my insides, I know that I’m nowhere close to you. And it makes my heart sink. Who knows if I’ll ever get there?

If you’ve got that perspective on your shortcomings?

It’s a great way to let your shortcomings get between you and God. And it’s not from God.

Which is why dealing with our shortcomings never involves looking at anyone else.

And its why God never compares us to anyone else.

Never compare your inside to someone else’s outside.

Today’s Readings