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jackalope-patronus · 24 days ago

Text

summary :: very very soft smut of virgin Sebastian and MC reader. With plot! With feelings!

warning :: seventh year. Very soft, virgin Sebastian and reader, touching over clothes, dry humping, oral f receiving, raw, references to the angst that happened in the game, purity culture (yes, it's the 1890s), lots of love and fluffy stuff. Also there's a spider bite. Possible mistakes, I wasn’t able to check over the entire thing.

note :: I’m forever a hater of rough smut, ‘you like that, you dirty slut?’ uhm no, why are you calling me names!!

“Sebastian, down here.”

“Found something?”

“There’s a cave connected to her home.”

Isidora Morganach's home, or at least one of her homes. You weren't quite sure. It had plenty of notes and discoveries on her adventures travelling after graduating from Hogwarts, some keepsakes from other countries, and plenty of chests already emptied out. The home was ancient and very worse for wear, the roof had long since cave in, allowing the rain from above to patter against both you and Sebastian. You had spotted a deep cavern within the corner of her living-room. Big enough to fit the both of you.

"After you," said Sebastian, gesturing to the dark, black entrance.

You would've retorted, if you hadn't felt so seriously. It had been two years since you'd dealt with anything related to Isadora and the sudden discovery that one of her homes was merely a broomstick flight away from Hogwarts felt troubling to your intuition.

Sebastian could practically see the tension in your body when you first told him.

"I heard rumours of a home that could've belonged to Isadora nearby the castle."

“Isadora?” He choked on the food he’d served himself.

"Yes. I'm going to go and search it after dinner." Something troubling swirled in your eyes and Sebastian jumped to distract you from it.

"I'll come with you." He said.

"This might be something I'll have to do on my own, Sebastian." You stated. If there was a trial or something related to ancient magic, he wouldn't be able to do anything. Professor Fig never could. You'd be better off alone.

"You won't even take me as a chaperone?" Sebastian asked, grinning at you.

It was that grin that had him coming with you to the half rubble household, in the pouring rain, at the dead of night.

Your search was cut short when the moment you reached the end of the slope into the cave, a six legged beast jumped you. You recognised it as a hatchling, small for its kind but big enough to knock you off your feet. You attempted to reach for your wand but the large pincers found your arm, the hollow fangs sinking into your tissue. A sharp wail escaped you as the venom soaked into your muscle.

"Incendio!" The spider was thrown off of you with a quick ball of flame and Sebastian replaced it, kneeling at your side and pulling you up.

"It got me." You hissed, revealing your torn up sleeve.

He cursed, then took your wrist in his large hand and pushed back the fabric of your sleeve, bringing your numbing arm to his mouth. He latched on before you could quite make sense of his actions, he sucked twice against your raw skin and then spat to the floor next to him. Again, he sucked on the bite then spat out what you hoped was most of the venom, and what looked to be some of your blood, and perhaps some rainwater.

You couldn’t be sure the flush falling over your face was from the venom or not, but the dizziness that followed suggested the first.

Through the haze of the sickening poison flooding your system and the feverish puffs of air you let out, you could hone in on Sebastian’s final part from your irritated skin. A thin, watery string of spit connected him to your arm before it broke and he turned to gauge the effects of the venom on your face.

“Wiggenweld?” You had some faint idea he had said something else, but you weren’t sure.

“My pocket.” You huffed, eye-line peering up at the dark, rocky ceiling dripping rain.

You recalled another flush passing over you, whilst desperate hands pat over your sides, legs and chest. Soon enough, the hands found what they were looking for. After that, a vile pressed to your lips and you felt yourself return to your pained body. Your legs must’ve given out, because Sebastian held you against himself, one hand cupped around your jaw.

“I’m alright.” You croaked, his hold loosening and giving you space. Your stiff legs ached at your weight and you patted your pockets for another wiggenweld potion, but came up empty. You let out a tired groan.

“Let’s head back.” He said.

"But we've yet to look everywhere." You gazed around the dark and rocky cave, slithers of other spiders echoing through the darkness.

"The house won't be going anywhere, we can come back when you're well again."

Still, you shook your head. “It’s the middle of the night, we’ll surely be caught by some prefect if I’m in this state.”

“It’s worth it, we’ve got to get you another potion and get you right.”

So reluctantly, you let Sebastian help you out of the cave and onto your broom, keeping a weary eye on you until you snuck back into the castle.

Sebastian muttered something about peeves when you entered, your arm around his shoulder and a light hand on your side, keeping you steady as though he was a friend helping you home after a night of drinking. You needed a brewing stand to rid you of this horrid, sickening ache and the fuzziness behind your eyes.

"What in merlin's name..." A nearby wall began to shift, swirls of a door began to form and you had never been so relieved to see the entrance to the room of requirement form for you. It felt like a dear friend coming to your aid.

"Inside, come on." You ushered, pulling Sebastian along. He held you closer, mumbling 'careful.' at your quickness.

Sebastian sat you down carefully on the closest thing he could, which happened to be a plush settee that you couldn't remember placing when you were last here. Perhaps the room had conjured it up just for you.

"My brewing stand, it should be over there." You blurted.

"You've really decked this place out." He muttered and behind you, you could hear the sizzling of a potion brewing. Sebastian had followed you into the room once or twice before, but not enough to be acquainted to it like you were. An uncomfortable minute passed before Sebastian handed you the potion which spread relief through your body once you drunk it.

He watched your eyes keenly for any haze or sickly glossiness. "Another?" He asked.

"No I'm alright." You nodded. He sighed thankfully and you smiled at his relief. “I’ve never known you to be the doting type, Sebastian.” You uttered contently, placing down the empty vile.

“Well, you’ve never needed doting.” He rounded the large settee and sat beside you.

"I never thought you had it in you to be so… gentle."

The word stunned Sebastian, but only for a moment. "Me? Not gentle? How could you ever come to think so low of me?" He jested, an eyebrow raised your way.

"Apologies, I don't know what could've convinced me otherwise." A lot lurked behind your retort, and although you could still see a grin on his face, Sebastian's shoulders deflated. "I'm only joking." You quickly added. "You've always had a soft side, I've been especially reaping the benefits of it in our recent time spent together."

"Well, I'd ought to start treating you well some time in our friendship." He continued, a playfulness added to his somewhat serious statement.

You hummed, although awkwardly. After fifth year, Sebastian had somewhat clung to you. Soloman was dead, Anne had left and his relationship with Ominis had never been so broken. All his time, his loyalty, his effort and his love was directed to you because, plainly, you were the only one who stuck around. You were the only one he'd give it all to, whether you were completely aware of it or not.

So when the two of you tipped around his less than stellar actions towards you, you could see the guilt wrack him. See his regret. Inwardly, Sebastian wished to scrub the memories of his slights against you from your brain. He wasn't that boy anymore. He wasn't so obsessed with finding a cure for Anne, driven by his one-track mind. No, now you had become his obsession. His motivations now revolved around you and he pursued you just as relentlessly as he pursued that cure for Anne, maybe even more so. Perhaps he is the same boy from two years ago.

You glanced at him, his eyes downcast to the marble floor. "I know you always cared for me. Just... Sometimes you had a funny way of showing it." You played with the hem of your skirt, rubbing the fabric between your index and forefinger. "You're a true friend Sebastian, don't doubt that."

"You're one to talk." He suddenly grinned, arm stretching out on the camel back of the sofa, close enough anyone else would consider Sebastian had his arm around you.

"Am I?" You smiled, less wary.

"The entire cohort is deeply in love with you. Perhaps some of the teachers too. I'm sure Professor Wesley would give just about anything to adopt you, and I've never seen Sharp so kind to someone. Truely, it's terrifying."

You shook your head, laughing. "Oh stop, there are plenty who don't like me. What about Imelda?"

"Don't be daft, she'd drop just about anything for you I'm sure." He hummed, smiling at the idea (although it made his affection towards you feel slightly less significant. Still, you were here with him, not Imelda or any other adoring fan you had. That must've counted for something). "You might consider me a charmer, but you're like an Amortentia potion given life."

"Compliments like these are precisely why I enjoy spending time with you Sebastian." You said. Sebastian chuckled lowly.

"Cheeky." He commented.

"So then, can I consider you deeply in love with me too? You did say everyone in our cohort." Daring, but you enjoyed the rush of flirting with Sebastian whenever the opportunity arose.

"Imelda, the teachers, even Ominis and yes, me."

The space between you somehow lessened, the teasing drawing your faces together. In a moment of weakness, yours eyes darted to his smiling lips. He’d caught the glance, igniting a wild tinkle in his eyes. He knew where your thoughts lie and you could see it in the way he looked at you. He took your cheek in his hand and you retracted into nervousness, opening your mouth to say something before Sebastian leaned in to pressed a kiss to your lips.

It felt curt at first, because Sebastian broke away too soon, perhaps because he realised to gravity of his action. But you trailed after him, following his lips and giving him the desire to kiss you again. So he did.

This time, with the assurance of you kissing him back, passion bloomed.

He rested an eager hand on your side, his other still holding your face. His fingers threaded through your hair as his lips pushed into you, with longing and need. It wasn’t messy, nor sloppy, just long moments of intimacy between quick breaths.

After a quick separation, Sebastian dove into you again, furthering his weight into you until you relented and laid back against the sofa, pulling him down with you whilst you kissed.

You utterly lost yourself in the swirls of emotions, drowning in the desire to just be with him, and feel him. It felt hot, light, but above all it felt natural.

Both hands now cupped your sides, pressing you into the pillows. His mouth moved to your cheek, then jaw and you attempted to breath out and slow your racing pulse but the sound that left you was much more vocal than you wanted it to be.

Sebastian stopped and you quickly sobered from the passion. He raised himself off of you, and you jolted up.

He wiped a hand over his mouth. “This is… compromising.” He muttered whilst you were being brought back to the reality of what you were doing.

Kissing Sebastian— kissing anyone!—Alone in a room together, with wandering hands and hot bodies. It was completely and utterly shameful. It wasn’t as though you were innocent children who could get away with linking arms or coupled rendezvous, the two of you were about to graduate and enter ‘proper society’ and however forward thinking the magical word was compared to the muggle word, hooking up with your dearest friend with no ring was still considered dishonourable.

“It is.” You nodded, wide eyed. Would you still be able to wear a white wedding dress after this? Was it allowed? What even was ‘being unclean’? Did making out count? The dizzying feeling returned. All you wanted to do was rewind time and stop yourself from ever making a peep so that Sebastian would’ve continued his journey down your body.

And clearly, Sebastian didn’t want his exploration to end either because his hands lingered around your uniform vest.

“Are you hot?” He asked, eyes dark and utterly taken by you.

“A little, yes.” You nodded, keenly watching his hands encompass the first button.

"May I?"

"Yes." You sighed shakily.

He was slow to thread the black buttons through their slits, opening your chest up to the cool air inside the room of requirement. It seemed the rain had also dampened the fabric underneath the vest, clinging it to your skin. The sight elicited a rough exhale from Sebastian whose reflex was to avert his gaze. He slid the vest off of you and rested his hands at your torso.

"Are you alright?" You asked in hopes to catch his eyes.

"Yes. I'm more than alright, actually." You would laugh if the comment hadn't made goosebumps rise on your skin. He finally returned to face you. “Can I kiss you again?”

“Yes.” You replied, with an embarrassing eagerness.

He returned from where he left you, kissing your jaw and then ear with such lightness it could’ve been a peck from a pixie. You weren’t sure what you expected, but the way he held you cried love and devotion. Treating your skin like porcelain, and your lips like a favourite dessert he needed to savour (lest he never eat it again). You supposed Sebastian would be a fast lover, a man who would take as he desired and give his all.

This was slow, relaxing, gentle and kind. Almost melancholy. As though with every simple kiss he pressed to your lips, he was apologising.

However you were done with apologies from Sebastian. You wanted his love without guilt.

So you took his face in your hands and kept him locked to your lips for a rhythmic kiss which had his hands clenching and his head feeling light from the rush of blood south. Now you could feel him adjusted to you, taking your lead.

Sebastian decided, when you whimpered at the sensation of his tongue sliding across your lip, that this moment would forever vex him during nights of loneliness.

You weren’t sure when, but his hand had found itself on your inner thigh, below the safeguard of your skirt and squeezing your leg in assurance. His thumb dragged over the dip on your stocking, so close to where you longed most.

As your tongue met his in a long swipe, he squeezed you again but this time the squeeze portrayed a promise, that he was going to touch you and draw pleasure from you.

Your heart skipped a beat, and the butterflies became too much to bear.

“Sebastian— I’m, I’m worried.” You gasped, breathing out a shaken breath.

His hands were away from you, almost in an instant and most unfortunately so was his mouth. “Then we should stop.”

“But I—” You couldn’t allow yourself to truely express you wanted more, wanted to continue and be enveloped by him. But he knew, like he always did, what you wanted.

So against his better judgment, Sebastian mumbled a quiet “Sorry.” To your previously untouched maidenhood, then found your body with his lips again.

He needed this. He loved you too much to stop.

“Do you know what you’re doing?” You asked meekly, as he kissed and sucked at the skin that peaked from your collar.

“I can’t say I’m experienced, but I know what I want to do.”

“What’s that?” You dared to inquire.

“Show you how dear you are to me.”

You whispered a too-soft 'okay' before laying down on your back, like a cat showing its belly to signify its trust. The gesture and the sight of you sprawled out for him, made Sebastian grab his clenched jaw and hide the red settling under his freckles.

You could see a reservation form— or perhaps it was an anxiousness to please swirling in his eyes. You couldn’t tell, but he watched you intensely as his hand traveled down, past your beating chest, over the knobs of your ribs until he dived under your skirt and made his stop at where you burned for him.

His thumb glided over your core and the space between you two felt as though you were on a stage and Sebastian was the only audience member. You had gasped and excitement flickered in his dark eyes. Again, he dragged his thumb over you but with more weight and your previous gasp turned into a whimper. You held onto him, pulling him down into you to avoid his excited stare. His body blanketed you, his scent enveloping you along with the masculine weight of him.

You could feel his hand shift, dulled by the fabric of your stockings then the force of his palm rub against your clothed bundle of nerves. Your legs attempted to close at the sensation, but Sebastian's body kept them open to him. Your chest pounded uncomfortably, so fast and so heavy with the weight of your first-time arousal.

His lips locked to your neck again, his free hand pulling at your tie and unbuttoning the first button on your blouse. Now he kissed a lower, new, more sensitive territory. He moved to the second button and you thought it was impossible for your chest to thud any faster until his wet lips reached a particular sweet spot between your shoulder and neck whilst his other hand worked your sex.

“My heart.” You whimpered, tugging at his robe. His hand halted, resting around your thigh. The sigh he exhaled lingered on the skin of your neck before he leaned to press his ear against your chest.

He listened for seconds, long enough for your fingers to find their way to his hair. You hadn’t realised he held stiffness until his body relaxed into you at the tender rake of your nails through his soft brown locks.

“I’m sorry, I can’t control my nerves.” You said, catching your breath and willing your anxious heart to slow.

“Don’t be.” He countered, lifting his head from your thudding chest. “I’m affected by all this, too.” He took your hand and pressed it into his chest. You quickly felt the thick beats of his pulse, in a rhythm that easily matched your own.

He returned to lay over you, between your legs, with his head beside your own. You clung to his body that draped over you like a blanket along with his wet, wood smell that you'd only ever caught brief whiffs of before this. You felt guilty, leaving all the pleasing to him, especially since he'd been so kind to your hesitations. "I'm sorry. I'm not doing much, am I?"

"Is sorry your favourite word, love?" He asked, his warm hand caressing your cheek. "You deserve someone doing something to please you for once. Besides, your little sounds are doing enough for me as it is."

You pushed a hand to his face, covering the grin that turned you a deep plum shade. He chuckled and kissed your palm. "And what of you, Sebastian?" The kisses began to lead up your arm but you stopped him. "Sebastian."

"Your selflessness never retires, does it?"

You ignored him, propping yourself up to loosen his tie in a simple show that now, it was his turn. You did so smoothly and so gently that it made Sebastian's jaw tighten. You tossed it to the pile where your vest lay, then moved to his robes, sliding them off him. His expression seemed hard, annoyed almost but you continued. He took your wrist only when your fingers edged to undo his third button.

"Don't do this for me." He muttered, clearly thousands of thoughts buffering his mind, but that horrid guilt resurfaced on his face.

"For you?" You somewhat gaped. He must truly think of you as a saint (a push-over, but a saint) to believe you so innocent in your motives. "Not for you. With you, Sebastian." The words were enough to ease his hold on your wrist, so you continued.

Just as Sebastian, you had little to no experience on any sexual matters. You were hardly familiar with your own body, let alone a male's. So ever the improviser, you lifted yourself over him and sat gently, feeling the poke of his arousal against you. You shivered, and had to look away from him for a brief moment.

His hands snapped to your hips, and he looked at you with some kind of warning in his eyes. Tread carefully. The look said.

With Sebastian below you, you finally got a clean look at him; red lips, flushed face, rustled hair. You'd never seen him in such a state. It allowed you to understand why he enjoyed watching you whilst touching your most sensitive area.

With your hands on his chest for balance, you gently swayed your hips against him. His fingers curled around you, his knuckles blanching, and he let out a grunted curse that melted your insides to molten.

Again you moved against him, finding your own pleasure in the movement, prompting you to do it again. Sebastian was unravelling beneath you, eyes creased shut with his head thrown back and mouth letting out choked moans.

You began to notice Sebastian's hips joining you, rolling up with a feverish need. You dipped down to him, deciding the space was too much. His arms envelop you in a strong hug, tightening when you began to leave kisses across his skin.

“Does it feel good?” You asked insecurely whilst already knowing the answer.

“Hng— yes.” He nodded desperately.

The following exchange between you two was nothing more than writhing bodies, quiet moans and shallow breaths.

At some point, appearing fed up with your pace and control, Sebastian had shifted you off him and to his side, where he then mounted you. Finding his rightful place between your legs and returning his core to yours, grinding against you in a manor that reminded you what was to come once the layers between you were gone.

It made your insides plea for him, his hand. Anything.

So you took his face, and guided it back to your lips. It was messier now, not fast or rough, just messy as his mind strayed between his deep rolls against you and the way your tongue met his bottom lip.

But he stoped, retracting his hips but not yet his mouth. You broke from him first.

"Sebastion." His name was a plea, a whine against loosing the sensation of him finding friction against you.

"If we continue like this, I... I won't last. You should find your release before it's over."

You wondered how Sebastian might've known you were even capable of climax, then consider what other kinds of books were available in the restricted section of the library he might've come across. The thought didn't linger in your mind for too long, because he had sat up and had begun removing your stockings.

"Sebastian..."

The familiar sound of your nervous unease halted him.

"Just don't stare." You asked, looking away from the sight of him undressing you.

"Of course." It was a shotty promise, but you allowed him to take off your puffy drawers and settle over you again. He kissed your lips briefly, then your cheek, jaw, neck, collarbone and the plush of your breast that peaked from your halfway unbuttoned blouse.

You gazed up at the ceiling you'd designed two years ago, finding comfort in its familiarity. You wondered briefly that if you had told your younger self that Sebastian Sallow would one day see you half undressed, flushed with lust and be kissing his way down your ribs, abdomen and stomach until he reached your sex, what she might say. You had some faint idea, younger you would've responded with "Sounds about right."

The kiss he pressed against your knee was unhurried and deliberate, even more-so was the one he pressed to your inner thigh. When his mouth finally found you it drew a sharp intake of breath from your chest, suspended in the heavy quiet of the room.

Your hands, awkward and alone, grabbed at your skirt and shirt, clenching the fabric until your knuckles went white. One of them instinctually reached for his hair when his hot, wet tongue slowly swiped you for the first time. Another gasp joined the symphony of echoed silence, aside for the occasional rustle of clothes.

His tongue explored you carefully and too light but with each vocal exhale or quick tug at his hair the experimental licks became sure as he uncovered what made you react the most.

You could feel a simple quake in his hands as they held your thighs open and your trembling body steady. You reached to the fingers that created craters in your flesh, brushing across them in a plea for him to hold your hand. And he did.

You had never imaged it could feel like it did, so warm, so encompassing, so vulnerable yet so rewarding. It was all utterly overwhelming. You couldn't think of anything else other than the sensations. His wet tongue sliding across your nerves, the softness of his chestnut brown hair, the puffs of his hot exhales against your skin and the loving hold of his hand.

The builds of pleasure had begun to undeniably form, and the incoming reality that Sebastian would made you climax quickly sent a storm of butterflies within your stomach.

"I think I'm close." You uttered.

Sebastian's eyes fluttered at your heavenly admission, but he didn't allow the swirling of pride in his chest to sway him from your pleasure. His tongue and mouth moved with such deliberate care, that you whimpered to consider how much he must've loved you, to want care for you this way. No, Sebastian was not a fast lover by any means.

The building peaked, until it snapped and you unravelled. Sebastian had known it by the shiver that ripped through your body and the way your fingers tightened almost painfully around his hair. All that, and the moan you let out was the loudest you'd made yet.

You felt the warm cavern of his mouth seperate from you however you were well past the point of reaction as you sobbed and gasped for oxygen to feed your rapturing heart.

Sebastian's eye's glazed over your now glistening skin "You finished." He stated, almost asking in such bewilderment. You didn't reply, still catching your breath. He picked you up from your weak lay on the sofa and pulled you into his arms, holding you tightly.

You wondered when he kissed you, if that sweet tang on his tongue was the taste of you.

The intimacy lingered, guiding you into a heat you didn't expect so soon after your peak. Your hand reached the rim of his trousers, index finger curling around his belt and ever so lightly tugging at it.

Sebastian seemed to hesitate, separating from your lips and gazing at you. “We can stop here. There's no rush��” he began, his voice low and warning, but you silenced him with a soft shake of your head.

“I don't want to stop,” you whispered, the words shaky but certain. The way his breath caught at your words sent warmth bloating your chest.

His hug around you faded as he fumbled with the button of his trousers, his hands trembling slightly as his usual confidence slipped for a vulnerable kind of focus.

Your gaze rose at the ceiling instinctively, to avoid an image so lewd your heart might explode.

He leaned forward, pressing his lips to yours again. The kiss was softer now, as if trying to calm both of your nerves. “It’s just me. You don’t have to be nervous.”

“I’m not,” you lied, the tight weakness in your throat betraying you.

Sebastian smiled, brushing his thumb across your cheek. “I think you are,” he countered, “but that’s alright. This is... I’m nervous too.”

“You don’t seem it,” you admitted, and he let out a breathy laugh.

“I’m good at pretending,” he confessed, his tone light but honest. He kissed you again, slower this time, and the warmth of his lips helped steady you.

As he positioned himself, his movements slowed, almost hesitant. His brow furrowed slightly as though searching for the right way to proceed. “If it hurts, or if you want me to stop, you’ll tell me?”

You nodded.

When he began to push forward, he braced himself with a groan you only recognised Sebastian let out when he'd been in pain, though this was something else entirely. The exhale that followed seemed to have winded him. It was as though sliding into you was like sliding into some exquisite oil.

Despite what you might've expected, no pain flooded your body. There was an uneasy pressure, but no incredible discomfort. As his size slid across your nerves you couldn't help the sharp intake of air through your teeth

Sebastian froze immediately. "Too much?" He asked.

"No," you managed, although sounding as if you were holding back a sob, "It's just.. new." His shoulders sagged with relief.

You shifted beneath him, angling your hips instinctively, and the change made him groan, his head dropping to your shoulder. “Gods, you feel… perfect,” he muttered, his voice muffled against your skin.

He halted a slow jut into you, experimenting with each gentle motion, balancing his desire with your comfortability. That uneasy tightness had lifted almost completely as he massaged your insides, spreading a melting warmth that eased any tension in your mind.

His name fell from your lips and it shattered what composure he had left. "Does it feel better now?" Although the question sounded worried for you, Sebastian wanted more, to go further and harder and needed the permission from your pleasure.

"Yes," you gasp, "Its— ah— Sebastian it's so much better."

Now he had a newfound confidence and his movements grew surer but still achingly gentle.

It was all becoming smoother, more instinctive, and you found yourself matching him, your hips rising to meet his. He groaned at this. The sensation of him filling you, of your bodies moving in perfect sync, was intoxicating. You could feel his hands sliding up your sides, his touch gentle yet tight as he held you close.

The feel of him gliding inside you, slowly and shallowly pleasing you send spark dancing underneath your skin and another tension, similar to the one you felt with Sebastian's mouth around your sex, although not the same, began to build. “Sebastian,” you gasped, your voice laced with urgency. “I—”

“Just a little more,” he coaxed, remaining loyal to the kind rhythm of his thrusts. “I can feel it, too.”

You held yourself together for only a moment longer, unravelling too soon and too fast. This one was intense, flooding your body and contracting your muscles, even the ones that surrounded Sebastian. It had pushed him over the edge, too.

A warmth flooded you and the hands clutching his back became sharp nails digging into his shirt and skin. You didn't forget the way he moaned at the rake. Both of you shuddered, Sebastian at finding his release inside you and you feeling it merge with the aftershock of your own climax.

For a moment, there was only the sound of your breaths mingling in the stillness, the world outside forgotten. Sebastian lowered his forehead to yours and collapsed breathless at your side.

You could've drifted off into a deep slumber, you might've for a single moment, if Sebastian hadn't removed his blanket of warmth by lifting himself from the sofa. He took his robe off the pile of strewn bits of clothing, and draped it over you.

Through tiredly lidded eyes, you heard the rustle of clothing as he buttoned up the loose pieces hanging off him.

"Sebastian?" You weren't done basking in the aftercare yet.

"I'm going to brew the potion."

"Potion?"

"A... preventative."

You sat up. "Preventative?"

Although he'd been deep inside you just a moment ago, he attempted to avoid crudeness. "To, you know, stop you from being.. with child."

You weren't sure if you should laugh, or freak out, so an odd mix between the two emotions emitted from you. "Sebastian how do you know so much about all this?"

"Why? Did my skills exceeded your expectations that much?"

"Please, be serious," you begged.

"Well, you know how much I like to read." He seemed to shy from the confession. "After a while, one gets curious about certain things and... as for the potion, I found it in a book about married couples. Said it was 'to only be used to prevent further conception after having too many children' although I think we can bend the rules for this occasion."

"Children? Oh merlin, what have we done." The afterglow had faded too soon and you were left with the cries of a culture that told you sex before marriage was unacceptable. "I'm going to have to wear a black wedding dress..." You despaired.

Sebastian only laughed.

"Don't laugh! I'll have to lie to my future husband, and—"

"I'll be marrying you," he stated, as though you were slow for not already knowing this.

"What?"

"Love, don't think for a moment I'd let you share yourself with me like this and not marry you," any words you could've hoped to say were buried deep in your pit of a gut, "besides, I've always thought you looked quite pretty in black."

You weakly laughed, the other option being to cry from overwhelm of it all.

"I'll tell you a secret though—we're quite late to the party."

"What do you mean?"

"Weasley, Prewett and Plummly."

"You're joking." You gaped, "with who?"

"None of them will tell. Suppose they might be lying, though I'm sure I did spot Weasley snogging a Hufflepuff once. Might've been her."

"Huh." You supposed that if you had to have guessed, Garreth Weasley would've been the first name you called.

"Pretty sure word got out about it too, that's why he's been in detention for so long. The teachers can't prove it happened, but they can still punish him for it."

So that's why you hadn't seen Garreth as often anymore. With his aunt as a teacher, she'd surely be on his tail about anything scandalous. Then stress twanged your heart.

"What if someone finds out about us, about tonight?"

"They won't."

"What if they do?"

His mouth quirked into a half-smile, equal parts reassuring and mischievous. “We’d get scolded, thrown in detention, and likely forced to marry sooner than we’d like. Expulsion would be threatened, but I reckon most of the professors have enjoyed watching our so-called ‘budding romance.’ I’d wager they’d let it slide.”

"Professor Wesley would have you strung up by your ears for taking me to bed," you muttered, finding humour in the image, but also horror in the truth of it. "Oh Merlin she'd be so disappointed in me..."

"You're right," he muttered with an exaggerated sigh, "if it was Ominis who'd taken you, she'd be so much happier."

You couldn't help the laugh that left you, or how it quickly dissolved into a groan. "Sebastian please, I— what if this was a mistake?"

His amusement faded and he softened. "Think for one moment, with no one else's judgement, did it feel like a mistake?"

"No..."

“You think I’d do this with anyone else?” he continued, his voice softer now. “That I’d risk everything—us—for something fleeting?”

“I don’t know,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

Sebastian let out a soft laugh, shaking his head. “Merlin, you really don’t give me enough credit, do you?”

“It’s not that,” you protested weakly.

“Then what is it?” he pressed, his gaze intent but not unkind.

"You're not just saying all this to make me feel better, are you? To make me think you want me?" The words felt stupid the moment they left your mouth.

Sebastian blinked, stunned into silence for a moment before a laugh—warm and disbelieving—escaped him. “You’re daft if you think I’d ever not want you. Have you met me?”

You swatted at his arm halfheartedly, your cheeks burning. “This is mortifying.”

“Mortifying?” He scoffed, pulling you closer. “The only thing mortifying about this is how much I love kissing you, everywhere. Truely, I won't be able to think about another thing."

"If we get married, I think I'll die of a heart attack."

"Not if, love, when."

#hogwarts legacy #hogwarts legacy x reader #wizarding world #wizarding world x reader #hogwarts #sebastian sallow x reader #sebastian x reader #slytherin #slytherin x reader

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meownotgood · 8 months ago

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don't go, not yet. / gale dekarios x gn!reader, fluff, light angst, hurt / comfort, you bring gale back to life with the scroll of true resurrection, and gale gets a glimpse of your true feelings for him. word count: 3.8k

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T'i n'uthrantha m'ahthra Gale.

The letter held between your thumb and forefinger burns with sudden light, growing hot underneath your fingertips. Fire sears a scrawl of new script onto the parchment's surface. In a puff of ash and molten rock, wings closed around itself, the magma mephit disappears. Its wake scorches the grass, stray dustings constricting your throat. You wave a palm in front of your face, forcing yourself to hold in your coughs, your throat constricted and eyes threatening to water.

Newly formed, the Scroll of True Resurrection curls in your palm. It gives off a faint, promising glow. A gleam that almost seems to exude its own sense of vibrant heat. Your jaw clenches, your hands shake. Your fingers press into the wrinkled parchment, and your heartbeat struggles to keep steady. The thick, mushroom-laden air of the Underdark has never felt more stifling.

You take a slow breath — although it does little to calm you, in the grand scheme of things — before you quietly utter the necessary incantation. Instantly, the scroll blazes brightly, then crumbles into stardust. In its place, your palms radiate with the same sort of incandescent power. Beams of pure energy drift skyward, strands of blue encircling you. Magic flows through your veins; it fills your lungs with a soft, familiar scent, a lingering reverie brushing over your arms, like the crisp air of a rustling breeze.

Shudders traverse over your body. You're hardly comforted, but the forming of the spell between your palms, pressed together and then guided up, does finally provide you with the smallest amount of relief.

Your entire system buzzes as you feel the spell's power. Your head grows heavy, magic swiftly leaving your body to flow through another — and over the ringing in your ears, you still manage to hear the moment Gale takes an initial, irrevocable breath.

With a huff, he begins to rise to unsteady feet. Lingering, floaty spell threads seem to make every movement easier. When they dissipate, leaving him to support his own full weight, he wobbles for a moment, a palm pressed to his chest. At last, you let go of the breath you were holding.

Gale blinks, vision returning from darkness, then blurriness. Vitality crashes through him, blissfully effortless; a waterfall of stamina he'd since taken for granted. He stares down at his feet first, at the flattened grass around where he once collapsed, and he tries to keep from growing dizzy. He looks at his hands. The front, then the back. Dirt and blood are caked into his skin — his blood, clearly. Dried, dark red traces cling to the crevices in his palms, they smudge over the ends of his knuckles. Such a grim implication, he muses.

Still catching his breath, those thoughts are forced to the back of his mind. Instead, he's letting a smile break over his features. As if the very action is remarkable, he closes and opens his hands again, he watches the way they move with amazement. He's alive. Gods, he's actually alive. The precautions he put in place worked. He won't condemn himself, or reduce the lonely depths of the Underdark to smithereens; nor will his demise wind up hurting his unlikely band of companions. And you, you're just fine. He kept you safe, he truly did. You brought him back, he'll see you again —

With a spark in his gaze you find almost gleeful, almost adoring, Gale finally looks towards you.

"My word, you did it!" He's gasping, laughing slightly, disbelief reflected on his face as well as in his voice. He briefly wobbles, further getting used to his weight on his heels. Without looking away from you, he absently continues to flex his fingers, feeling the blood rushing back to them, and he forces himself to take a much slower exhale. "Oh, it's good to be alive!"

You're glancing him up and down once, twice, with an expression on your face he can't make sense of — and he doesn't yet try. If you're angry with him, he's sure he deserves it. All he knows is he's glad to see you. Unbelievably glad.

His chest heaves. Breathing feels startingly simple, especially when the last thing he remembers is how viciously he struggled for breath. The sudden thrum of the orb comes back to greet him, constricting him as it always does, whispering a bitter promise into his ears that it is still here. He could've lost you. It's a realization that pains him far worse than the returning demand to devour within him. As warmth returns to his numb limbs, and as he's silently cursing himself for ever being so foolish, he realizes he almost did. He almost let himself disappear.

"My hands are still cold so that handshake will have to wait," Gale swallows, brushing his palms onto his pants to hopefully be rid of the dirt. His tone remains upbeat. For a moment though, his smile seems to waver, in a way only you could manage to pick up. Only you, given how terribly close you and him have quickly become. You're more important to him than you might realize.

"But in the meantime," He murmurs, standing up straight. "Tha-"

Words left unfinished, Gale is interrupted when you wrap your arms around him and pull him into a tight, fierce hug.

You bury your face in his chest, barely noticing the blood smeared onto your cheek from his filthy clothes. You squeeze him tightly. Your hands grab fistfuls of the back of his robe, nails practically digging into him. Your body presses so close to his, it's as though you were both meant to encompass the same shape.

Gale exhales, deeply, steadily, and he relaxes into your touch. Your arms around him feel right. His heart thumps, skipping to a slightly eager, very real rhythm. Silently, you focus on the soothing sound while it echoes through you. It is calming, grounding. His heartbeat becomes a comfort you wish to memorize.

At first, Gale hesitates, melting into your touch and glancing down at you, his hands hovering in the air awkwardly, mere inches away. In the end, slowly but surely, he returns your embrace.

He hugs you with careful arms, and you slump, shoulders untensing. You breathe a sigh, pressing further into him, attempting to hide a muffled sniffle. His clothes linger with the sharp scent of blood, and the heavy undertone of ruin. When his palm settles onto the back of your head — so delicate, like you could be made of porcelain — you swear you can feel him shake. He grips just barely, keeping you close to him. Guilt roots into his chest and his heart as a gnawing ache. Tired eyes fluttering shut, weak arms embracing you with a tenderness more intense than you've ever known, he holds you close enough to interweave you.

Your heart pounds along to the same eager rhythm as his. Gods, there's too many things you need to say to him; but your lips tremble, and you aren't sure where to start. You want to curse at him, vent your frustrations through the anger and sorrow you've since bottled up. You want to cry, but at the same time, you want to scold him for leaving you scared. For standing in front to take one too many blows meant for you.

You need to tell him what you just can't put into words — Hopelessness, you felt utterly hopeless when you first watched Gale crumple and collapse. Your breath grew caught in your lungs. Swirling emotions you've never felt before clawed at your chest, resounding louder the longer you fixated on him: motionless, his blood pooling onto the cold ground. Try as you might, your mind was so muddled, you could barely make sense of anything in your view.

Back then, with messily-cast spells and clumsy swings of your weapon, you finished the fight mostly unscathed. You scrambled over to him, your boots stained from the blood-soaked grass. As Gale's projection appeared in front of you, framed with a shimmering aura of purple light, you tried not to stiffen at the sound of his voice. You focused on his instructions as best you could, despite the tremble in your hands as you searched for the pouch he kept on him, or the clumsiness to your fingers as you pressed them to the holes in the flute.

Some part of you wonders if there was an aspect of humanity to his projection. If it wasn't just a lifeless messenger, but rather, an extension of himself.

Because you swear, when it — when he — spoke to you, his tone was filled with a familiar softness. The same softness Gale would embody when he asked you, Are you alright? after a fearsome confrontation. A confrontation you both got out of, unlike this one. You felt the same fondness radiating from him as the kind he'd have for you in life, when you talked over a nighttime campfire, his eyes seeming to linger on you for much longer than they needed to.

Gale's shimmering projection gave you an earnest smile, and spoke a little softer, a little more careful. Practice will surely make perfect, He hummed, his warm voice reverberating through your head and your eardrums. Do not fret. It is my utmost belief that you will most undoubtedly emerge successful. I will see you once more soon.

Or maybe, you'd already grown to miss his gentle smile, his tender words. You didn't want to imagine a world where you had truly, irreversibly lost him. Perhaps the familiar softness you thought you felt, his projection's lingering humanity — Ultimately, it was merely your imagination.

You've grown to care for him more than you should. You have known this, regardless of your attempts to deny it. Either of you could die at any time, yet becoming close was effortless, almost as if it was meant to happen. Dire circumstances or not, you were meant to collide; it was only a matter of time.

In the midst of turmoil and shadows of death, Gale has been your soft place to land. You aren't sure what to do with everything you feel. You don't know what you'd do if you lost him.

As Gale lets go of a held breath, his arms pulling you in, your mind becomes calm like still water, yet your heart continues to race. This time, his voice is as warm as the sun; unmistakably devoted. He is your sun, an imprint of warmth in a sea of moonlit darkness.

"Ha, I wasn't- uhm," He starts, stammering, speaking in a quiet tone. You lean further into his shoulder, and Gale rubs the back of your head, brushing his palm up and down with slow, barely-there movements. "I wasn't expecting… such a warm welcome, but Gods, is it good to see you. Even better than good, in fact. For a brief moment, I thought-"

Trailing off with a slow, steady exhale, he doesn't allow those words to come into fruition. Instead, he pulls you a little bit closer, and hugs you a little bit tighter.

"Well, I won't dwell on the outcomes yet to befall us. My mistakes have been righted. By someone very important to me, in fact. No sense in letting such regrets continue to drag us down. We have a rather important mission yet to be accomplished." He hums, his voice returning to its usual air of optimism. "Besides, I believe I still have you to thank for doing the honors to drag me back, isn't that right?"

When you pull away, he's smiling, the glow of the nearby Sussur Tree illuminating his face in hues of soft blue. His hair is a mess, stray strands tickling his forehead. Bruises cling to his skin, still slightly pale, and dark circles are set underneath his tired eyes. But he's here. Finally, your head tipped in his direction to glance at him, Gale gets to have a good look at you.

Your shoulders are tense, shuddery. He feels the subtle shake of your body in his arms. Your face is a blessing to see once more, but your cheeks are tear-stained, your brows are furrowed with some mix of frustration and dejection. And as he moves an instinctual hand to cup your face in his palm, you not-so subtly lean into his touch. Your eyes flutter closed, leaving the faintest sorrowful droplet to fall from your lashes.

Oh. Gale's heart pangs in his chest, heavy and forceful. The unforgiving Underdark might have already gone and punished him for his oversights, but clearly, he misstepped far more than he might've imagined.

"Oh, oh no- I didn't-" Gale nervously brushes the tears from your eyes with his thumb, his entire world instantly sent off-kilter. His words ache when they leave his throat, his vision threatens to grow misty. "Don't cry. I've got you, it's alright- I promise you, everything is and will be alright. I'm here. But I… must have brought you an awful heap of worry. If I had paid more attention, if I hadn't squandered so many chances to attain the upper hand-"

As your eyes finally meet his own again, they enthrall him, capturing all of his attention. He half-expects you to crumble. And he would let you, he would keep you in his arms for as long as you'd allow him, holding you tight, with all the conviction of someone who would do anything to keep from vanishing. Nonetheless, you don't. Not any more than you already have.

You push him away and stand up straight, although there's little force behind the press and shove of your palm to his chest. Glancing down, your weary gaze is now kept on your shoes. You count the specks of blood dotting each boot. Hastily, you wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, and Gale flinches, your warmth leaving him once you've separated.

"It's fine." You shake your head, and you swallow, willing your dry throat and tired voice to function. "I'm glad to see you're well. We can head back to camp whenever you're ready."

Gale frowns. "No, it is not- and you, you are most definitely not fine. Come here."

When his hand grips your wrist firmly to stop you from walking away, when his arms wrap around you once more, and you're confidently pulled into another embrace, you don't protest. You allow him to hold you, until your arms are weakly returning the hug. Until every blooming skip of your heart battles the fading ache of worry. Until Gale is exhaling, his breath warm on the shell of your ear, the feeling of his arms around you more than comforting. One arm is kept around your waist, while his other palm presses flat to your back. He holds you with an intensity you doubt you'll be able to forget.

Damn him. You'll be craving this. Craving to feel his touch just one more time.

"I'm sorry. I am so very sorry," Gale murmurs; stupid wizard, with his stupidly soft touch and his terribly soft words. His voice has shivers tracing up your spine, your every nerve glowing from the inside out. Of course you shouldn't be this attached to him. If only he didn't make it so damn easy. "You are important to me. Much more than you may know. I assure you, I will do all I can to make things right."

Your eyes close, your shoulders slump, and you let yourself melt against him. The heavy scent of ash lingering on his clothes envelops you each time you breathe in deeply. There's no need to admit how you feel. Somehow, you sense he just knows, because the pure tenderness found in his every touch screams: You'll never have to let me go.

Time becomes a slow, gradual thing. You aren't quite sure how many minutes have passed since he first held you, until Gale speaks, finally bringing you back to the present once more.

"I'm sure you have questions." His voice is quiet, smooth, and effortlessly calming. He brushes his palm over your back, reassuring you. "I know I would, if I ever found myself in your position. After what you've done for me, I suppose it's only fair that I answer anything and everything I am capable of. No more secrets. You, out of everyone, deserve to know."

"Later," You grumble, pressing closer. He breathes a faint laugh, then a slight sigh, and listens intently to your muffled words. "Tell me what you need to later. Or keep it to yourself, if you must. I wasn't worried about whether or not you'd give me answers, Gale. Just about you."

"Were you concerned I wouldn't return?"

"I…" You can't help but hesitate. "I don't know."

At last, you pull away from him, just enough to meet his eyes. His hands grasp your forearms to keep you close. The way he looks at you is gentle enough to nearly pull all of the air from your lungs.

"I wasn't sure, with your condition and all," You're explaining, looking away. He doesn't fail to notice the flash of fear in your eyes. He's never seen you so shaken. "I know you haven't told me much, but I really didn't know what would happen to you. My mind went to the worst possible outcome, and… It was frightening, for a moment. I didn't want to lose you."

Gale takes a slow breath, gripping your arms tightly, until you're finally led to look at him again. "Sweetheart," He coos; the term of endearment tumbles from his lips before he can stop it, tender on his tongue, even more pleasant in your ears. "I do not wish to lose you either."

You pause, your eyes wide, your breath quick. You almost speak again — perhaps about to accidentally admit more than you should, your heart busy strumming the notes of his name — but before you can, Gale is continuing first.

"I won't leave you." He moves a hand to hold your cheek, subtly tilting you towards him. "I'll fight alongside you for as long as I remain standing. We won't perish, nor let ourselves become mindflayers. We will see this journey through- and, we will do so together, no matter what perils come after us. There's no need to worry about me. I do not plan on letting you down."

"Gale-" You breathe in sharply, then slowly. You're offering him a genuine smile, one that makes a feeling he can't pinpoint flutter over him — something holy, surely. You were sculpted for worship. "Thank you."

"You're the one I should be thanking, if we're being honest." His voice becomes a bit softer, as he murmurs, "And I do thank you. If we had the time, I'd thank you a thousand times over. It is good to be back. Truly. Perhaps I haven't shown the extent of my gratitude enough. You were there for me, in a way few ever have. I won't forget that."

He begins to ramble, seeming lost in thought for only a second before he speaks once more: "The Fugue Plane is… depressing, to put it bluntly. It is a stretch of endless gray darkness as far as the eye can see, every shadow drawing in to swallow you whole. There is no warmth, no light. Compared to that fate, finally seeing your face again after you helped my eyes to reopen-" He breathes a quiet, tender-sounding chuckle. "What a beautiful sight indeed."

You're silent, before the extent of his words finally dawns on you, leaving you to stare at him with a grin and an eyebrow raised. "Beautiful?"

Gale holds your chin between his thumb and forefinger. "There's that smile. Beautiful is hardly grand enough a word, but yes. I want to see no shortage of smiles from here on out, understand? As many as such an adventure allows us, in any case." Briefly, he trails off, hesitating temporarily, his expression growing in resolve. "I'm sorry for upsetting you. I'll be better. Do better. I couldn't forgive myself if- if somehow-"

This time, you're the one interrupting him. "Gale?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

It's strange. Right now, your futures are hardly assured. He can promise not to leave you with his entire chest, he can fight to live even as he's slowly dying, and it wouldn't matter, if the universe willed your efforts to save yourselves for naught. Yet, when you speak, when you're the one looking into his eyes, no matter how outlandish it might seem, no matter what is left of the fading hope he's been clinging to — In the end, he can't help but believe you.

Your gaze is brimming with such conviction. He's doomed. He's so, terribly ruined, and it isn't because of the threat of the tadpole, or because of whatever pain is brought on by the rot inside of him. Gale is completely done in, because when he looks at you, he feels longing settle in his chest, a present devotion that overshadows every prayer he's ever called upon, and he knows the only thing he has to fear is eventually falling in love with you.

If loving you is to be his fate, he thinks even in death, he might finally feel alive.

He swallows thickly, his gaze never leaving yours once you've finally pulled apart. He watches you stand up straight and clear your throat, although your expression still softens with a telltale hint of nervousness. You're precious.

"Stay behind me next time," You scold, "There's no way I'm going through those stupidly elaborate instructions again."

"Oh, come on," Gale huffs. He's composed, but his face is flushed. He can feel the warmth pooling in his cheeks and the ends of his ears. The blood is just rushing back to his head, that's all. "You performed them excellently! I'd say you're already a natural at problem-solving and flute-playing. But I promise, next time, I won't fall so easily. You have no reason to fret. There will be no elaborate instructions, no flutes, and no more magma mephits in your future."

"You better not," You're laughing, and his grin only grows wider when you push at his shoulder playfully. "Die on me again, and I might have to bring you back just to kill you myself."

"Ha. I better not draw your ire, then."

Gale watches you turn on your heels, while he's still awkwardly stuck in place like some invisible, adoring force is holding him there. His palm presses to his chest; bizarrely, the orb is silent, but his heart is pounding way too fast. You're turning back before you've gotten far, glancing at him to make sure he's following.

"You coming? Everyone's waiting for us back at camp."

Gale nods. He exhales slowly to clear his head, he catches up with you, and he ushers you forwards with an arm around your lower back. "Of course. Let us continue on. Lead the way."

#gale dekarios x reader #gale x reader #gale dekarios #gale dekarios x tav #gale x tav

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felassan · 8 months ago

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Snippets 🐺💜

John Epler quote: "There’s a difference between playersexual and pansexual. All companions are canonically pansexual." [source]

The opening cinematic Varric narrates at the start of the game plays before CC. "Following character creation, Varric's narration continues, revealing that he's put together a group to stop Solas, having recruited our character and a handful of others so far." [source]

Despite the action-heavy focus, positioning is absolutely key, and using careful timing to hit multiple foes at once can be the difference between victory and defeat [source]

"In-between fights, Varric and the other characters, including your fully-voiced protagonist, discuss events that are unfolding and different things that have led up to this moment. Epler notes for the preview that with how much time has passed since prior games, the team wanted to carefully throw in some reminders without it feeling like ham-fisted exposition." [source]

"The Dread Wolf's ambitions have already been laid bare, but I strongly suspect there's more going on, and Epler cryptically hints that not everything will be as it first seems" [source]

Mages can move instead of standing in one place, allowing them to get up close and personal with enemies - a major game-changer for magic users [source]

Faction choice affects in-game moments between other factions and locations, as well as characters [source]

"When they were creating this area, they kept that in mind and looked at other locations to figure out how they could make it more grand. They developed the entire area based on a comment someone said in a past game, and if that isn’t dedication to lore, I don’t know what is" [source] (re: Minrathous)

In this demo the press saw femme Rook! [source]

The standard three square hotkeys look like an updated version of past ones [source]

"It sounded like there is also a system that allows hints during battle, like when something is a certain range, etc., that they said could be turned off" [source]

"In cutscenes, rain dripping down a building, blood on someone’s hands, or stepping into a puddle looks outstanding". "Things like clothes and hair are dynamic and move with you" [source]

"what at its core is a beautifully told story of revenge, regret, and the complexities of good and evil" [source]

During the interrogation scene in the bar with the shady bartender, Varric pins her to her own station with a crossbow bolt in order to interrogate her. Rook and Varric then go scrounge the city for clues [source]

Re: using body sliders in CC - "It looked incredibly easy to maneuver around and create a body that is either close to that player's real personage or their ideal fantasy self" [source]

Companions "will not only be influenced by your decisions in terms of how they treat you outside of combat, but closeness to party members will also change how they fight, with those closest to Rook more useful and lethal in battle" [source]

"Our presenter said that each specialization was pretty much as deep as a job" [source]

The game will not be available in India. [source]

The game has a Quality mode and a Performance mode on PS5 and Xbox Series consoles. it runs the latest version of Frostbite, targeting frame rates of 60fps in Peformance and 30 in Quality [source]

They will have more to share on both graphics modes for consoles in the coming months. [source]

David Gaider quote on the portrayal of Anders' orientation in DAII:

DA2 writer David Gaider told Kotaku in February this was meant to distinguish Anders’ relationship with male or female versions of Hawke, but recognizes this comes off like the mage’s identity was a switch to be flipped in hindsight. “Unfortunately, we just didn’t have enough time to get enough feedback and iterate on those situations,” he said. “We would hit a particular interaction, we would make a judgment call either as a group or the writer on their own, and that was it. There was no time for anything more than one gut-check, which is probably not the way to go.”

edit: forgot to add src for last one sorry. its here

#dragon age: the veilguard #dragon age: dreadwolf #dragon age 4 #the dread wolf rises #da4 #dragon age #bioware #video games #lgbtq #solas #long post

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aurae-rori · 10 months ago

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DR RATIO ANALYSIS

SPOILERS FOR 2.1 CONTENT!

Now, you might be saying - "Aurae, Oh No! and Are You Satisfied? are much too basic songs to analyze Dr. Ratio to! Just because he's a scholar doesn't mean that he has academic trauma!" WRONG! Before we start, I have been researching psychology for approximately six years and I plan to go into it professionally. HOWEVER, that said, I am NOT a professional (YET. One day I will be. Yay for Aurae!) so understand that everything I come to conclusions about has been analyzed with some personal judgement, personal interpretations, and this is just what I have concluded with the info that I have deconstructed from his brain. If you disagree, that's fine!

I will be pulling from my own experiences with being a "golden" and "gifted" child, as well as the experiences I've had speaking to other people who were those. I will also be pulling from my experiences of researching and seeing how people with superiority complexes work, as well as diving into how those work (from what I've seen, as well as how they conceal a lack of self-esteem).

OKAY, NOW THAT THAT LONG AHH DISCLAIMER IS OVER, ALLOW ME TO WORK MY PSYCH ENJOYER MAGIC! Let's deconstruct Dr. Ratio like a lego toy.

Let's start off with how Dr. Ratio presents himself. When you first meet him, he seems like a haughty, arrogant asshole. He likes to PRESENT himself as a stoic, superior scholar who is purely in it to win it, and I got total "*stares down at your tiny body and laughs at how you lack knowledge*" vibes at the very start, due to how he goes around calling people idiots all the time. However, he DOES lose the idgaf war, and we can very quickly see that he does care for other people, even if in his own, strange way. Dr Ratio presentation: An asshole. The reality?

His entire character is based around the idea of helping the masses. He wishes to spread knowledge through the cosmos and give people who didn't have access to it, access. He's a harsh teacher, and calling people 'idiots' is NOT the way to motivate them, but he's doing his best™.

Actually, no, I'm going to go full psych into this. Okay, so here starts the Dr. Ratio and my FATHER COMPARISONS. My father is a professor and he is often called a harsh grader by his students. However, I've spoken to him multiple times because I was curious - why is he so harsh and diligent with his grading system? The answer is - he wants them to actually learn. When he's grading, he gives them harsh marks because he wants them to know exactly where they messed up, and he's always willing to stay after hours to help students understand where they can't. My father also is an enjoyer of knowledge, and for as long as I've remembered, he has prioritized teaching me how to think critically. He wants me to be able to think for myself - and I think that's what Dr. Ratio wants, too. He wants for his students to be able to fully comprehend and absorb the information that he teaches, and although his methods are harsh, he genuinely wants to help. My father's like this too - he hates students that waste his time or aren't here because their hearts are in it. Dr. Ratio hates people who aren't taking their education seriously because knowledge is important. Knowledge is a tool, and to disregard it completely is lowkey kind of insulting - especially when there are people who weren't privileged enough to actually get it, so this isn't something that you should take for granted. Dr. Ratio despises people who take knowledge for granted.

Also, I disagree with the claims that say that Dr. Ratio hates the genius society. He shows open respect for them in his voice lines. Just check them if you need proof. Also, I'll delve into the idea of Aeons and recognition later.

Now that we’ve established that Dr. Ratio kins my dad, let’s let's tackle the 'stoic' allegations. He is LOSING the idgaf war. Like, really badly. He has a temper of a thousand suns and snaps at people frequently, despite his 'impassive' face, his tone holds a LOT of emotion. He seems to feel very deeply and has a shit ton of empathy for others - why else would he be dedicating his entire career to helping others? Of course, he doesn't express this in 'typical' ways of being openly kind - but it doesn't mean that he doesn't care for other people. In fact, he seems to be pretty good at putting himself in the shoes of others and understanding them - expressed in the 2.1 quest where he tells Aventurine to tell him if he can't hold on any longer. Also, he loses the IDGAF war because he is actively trying to help people who want to learn and trying to spread logic and knowledge across the cosmos to those who didn't have it before. Would a man who didn't GAF do that? No!

Now that we've covered his view on knowledge and the way that he presents himself, let's turn to the way that he SEES himself. Now, this is where we get into the nitty gritty of gifted child trauma & academic trauma as well as crippling expectations. It's literally explicitly said in his character stories that he sees himself as mediocre, and it's canon that he doesn't have a good view of himself. His self-esteem is down in the fucking trenches along with my sanity as I write this analysis. The reality is - being called a genius your whole life doesn't really make you feel better about yourself. I'd know. I was. In fact, it makes you feel fucking worse when you can't live up to an expectation. We all fail in life. It's part of being human. But when you're held to such high standards - idolized for your knowledge and the way that you're 'gifted' - the crash comes really fucking hard. Failure is inevitable, and when people who are held on that pedestal experience it, they take it really bad.

The reality is that nobody - not even geniuses - are perfect, but you grow up believing that you are. Then, when you fail for the first time, it all comes tumbling down. The first time I came home with a bad grade was one of the most humiliating moments of my life. I hadn't studied because I was arrogant and I thought that I was smart enough to pass without putting any extra effort into it - because I was a 'gifted' child, right? I should've been able to do it without studying like the other kids. And that's the thing with gifted children – you grow reliant on that title. You cling onto it for dear life for motivation, as well as self-perception. Little by little, the person you are falls apart as you slave away to the perception other people have of you. I think basically every gifted child that I've ever spoken to is a victim of this – and of course, you can heal from this mindset - but it's a hard one to shake.

Ratio's way of presenting himself as being a 'genius' and 'arrogant' also seems to contradict the way that he calls himself 'mundane' at the same time. However, these are two mindsets that can coexist. One part of you believes that you are a genius and that you are perfect, while the other part is crumbling and calling yourself good-for-nothing every time you make a mistake. It's a tiring cycle to live in. This usually leads to people shutting themselves out and closing themselves off after living like that, pushing back your own feelings in favour of being the perfect child. However, we don't know the exact details of Dr. Ratio's childhood, but we can infer that he was held to a pedestal, and this is a very harmful mindset for a child to have.

His superiority complex comes both from how other people view him, but it's a way to cope with his crippling lack of self-esteem. I'm sorry my guy. Also helping others probably helps him feel like he's worth something and makes him feel better because he bases his entire worth off of what he can do and how he can help others. However, this is just my personal interpretation backed by what I have already deconstructed.

In general, this is an easy way to crush self-esteem. You spend your whole life working to meet the image of what other people think you are. In fact, another reason why Dr. Ratio might be so harsh is because that’s the kind of attitude he holds towards himself when conducting research – he’s as hard on himself as he is to others. You end up hating the idea of failure, instead of seeing it as it should be - a way to improve and grow. Actually, I think this could be a reason that he went out of his way to break that illusion of 'worshipping geniuses' in the Space Station. Maybe some sort of childhood connection? Personal connection? In his endeavour to spread more knowledge and make people think for themselves and not blindly follow geniuses, to wake them up and let them think for themselves - maybe, somewhere, in there, he's helping that little child that was almost dehumanized for his intelligence. TLDR: Conflicting mindsets due to trauma, brain vs heart almost - his knowledge that he is a genius vs the crippling lack of his self worth.

Now that we've established Dr. Ratio's self worth, let's take a look at the impact Aeons had on him. Nous, the Aeon of Knowledge itself. I think in a world where the Gods are real, tangible beings that you can reach out and talk to - it makes sense that someone with high ambition and someone who's been called a genius his whole life would seek the confirmation of Nous. When you're a man of knowledge, and you've spent your whole life working with it, being praised for it – it feels natural to look for a god to look down upon you and bless you, right? The Genius Society – it should house him, because he is a genius as well, right? Imagine this – you have been called a genius your whole life, held to that kind of pedestal for so long, and now you wait for the recognition of the Gods. Because if you truly are a genius – then surely, a higher being will recognize your intelligence, right?

The invitation never comes.

And then, comes the doubt.

What if I'm really not a genius? What if everything I've worked for is a lie? Aeons are beings that are 'absolute'. If the god of Knowledge won't accept you or even cast a glance upon you, does that mean that everything was wrong. Gods see more than humans, after all. Gods know more than humans - and that spiral... I think you can see if. (If you don't let me know. I will ramble about how a failure like that can make you spiral down into a worse mindset).

However, the reason why Ratio was never invited to the Genius Society is simple. It’s because he LOSES THE IDGAF WAR. Now, if we look at all the people we know who are in the Genius Society - we find one thing in common. They’re in it to win it for themselves. They don’t help others using the knowledge that they’ve gotten - they use it to pursue shit for themselves. The people of the Genius Society are inherently self-serving. They WIN the idgaf war. Ratio LOSES. Do we see now?

Ratio’s empathy is the reason why he wasn’t let in. He is too human. Nous is a computer. Herta is detached from people. Ruan Mei is literally looking at life as test subjects. Screwllum is a robot.

OUR DOCTOR MAN LOST THE IDGAF WAR, BECAUSE HE IS HUMAN AND FEELS FOR OTHERS!!!

Also, it’s a plausible theory that Nous’s definition of ‘genius’ is different from the human definition of ‘genius’ – it’s a computer, after all. Who knows what’s going on in that code head of its.

However, we still love you Ratio. Never stop losing the IDGAF war.

TLDR: Nous is a computer. It is also in it to win it. It is also self serving. It gazes upon the hoes who are here to win it for themselves. Ratio is busy serving the masses and cooking knowledge in his frying pan. To it, there is no logical reason to be doing this. Therefore, no reason to invite this guy to the Genius Society.

Ratio’s gifted child trauma says otherwise. He wants in. Why wouldn’t he? He’s been working his whole life as a genius.

Nous is like… nah bro, you care too much. Ratio is like, ‘what the fuck?’ And then the AEON OF KNOWLEDGE GOES FOR THE MILK.

Okay, now, quick shoutout to Ratio wanting to help others. He is just like me fr. SO BASICALLY, RECAP OF EVERYTHING I JUST SAID:

Ratio LOSES the idgaf war because he cares about other people. Spent his whole life as the golden egg, and then turns to the gods for recognition because of the inherent trauma of being a child genius. He goes, "hey bro, can you confirm that I am in fact a genius?" and Nous goes, "no, you are too busy cheffing for the masses." Ratio goes, "what the fuck?" and then we collectively realize his attitude comes from blocking off his feelings (while failing miserably), being salty about not being recognized, being put on a pedestal for his whole life, and his crippling depression *cough* lack of self worth *cough*.

Oh, and the "I will never be enough" thought train probably hits him every single day. He is not enough to be recognized by a God. Gods are superior to humans. Maybe nothing has worth after all. Hey, that's Nihility! Hi IX, let's hear what you have to say.

*muffled ix noises*

I see, I see.

The consensus is: HE'S TRAUMATIZED BY EXPECTATIONS! HE WILL PROBABLY SUFFER FROM BURNT OUT GIFTED CHILD IF HE HAS NOT ALREADY!

Okay, now, before I delve into song lyrics (and I KNOW this has been long, just bear with me) I want to talk a little bit (read: a lot) about his relationship with Aventurine. We all know that he cares about Aventurine in his own way. But I want to pull in another idea that I didn’t cover before:

Ratio’s fucking emotional constipation.

Basically, the reason why he has trouble connecting with others is because he was most likely alienated by others as a symptom of being called a genius and being put on a pedestal. This makes him seem unapproachable to his peers, most likely, and therefore, as a result, doesn’t know how to properly connect with others. This just makes his way of presenting affection and care to others even more challenging – because he just doesn’t know how to do it in a healthy and clear way. Academic trauma causing emotional problems, because he’s probably a little bit out of touch with his own. Processing? No! Research. Also, this is very important for understanding Ratio’s character in my opinion, because he’s just a little guy who doesn’t know how to articulate. Maybe he’s got a touch of the ‘tism. Tism mutuals, do we agree or disagree?

However, in comes Aventurine. Love Aventurine, but they are both emotionally constipated. Aventurine displays his affection in ways that Ratio probably only catches after re-analyzing their time together about five times. He’s also a very closed off individual – but Ratio knows this. A cute thing is that Ratio is patient where he needs to be, even if he’s generally a pretty hot-headed guy, and I’m like… bro… that letter… “I wish you the best of luck”... I will wait for you…. GAY ASS MAN…

Sorry the Aventio demons took over. Anyway, what I’m trying to say here is that they both have nonverbal communication with one another that they clearly decipher and Ratio obviously cares for him (he came back and almost jeopardized the plan just for the sake of his ‘coworker’... okay gayboy…) and they just have such a neat little dynamic… Aventurine lets Dr. Ratio do his thing… understands his emotional alienation to a degree…. they’re so neat….

Okay, Aventurine segment over. NOW, FINALLY, WE CAN GET TO THE SONG LYRICS!!! YAY!!!! We all cheered!!!

We are going to be here for two more amber eras, because I realized I actually want to analyze every single lyric from both of these songs. Brace yourself for like, 2k more words. Help.

I think it’s only proper that we start off with ‘Oh No!’ the song that has haunted me since my childhood.

“Don’t do love, don’t do friends

I’m only after success

Don’t need a relationship

I’ll never soften my grip”

Remember when I mentioned that alienation was a big part of Ratio lore? Yeah, that manifests itself in this. When you spend your entire life chasing after knowledge and being held to that standard of untouchable genius, it makes sense that you couldn’t connect with others and that you turn your gaze only to success. Therefore, relationships that are interpersonal lose meaning for a bit – you’re just looking for answers and ways to help them, not connect with them. Also, this is what he wants to do – so he’s never going to pass down an opportunity to better himself or to help someone else.

“Don’t want cash, don’t want card

Want it fast, want it hard

Don’t need money, don’t need fame

I just want to make a change

I just wanna change, I just wanna change”

This is directly alluding to his reasonings for distributing knowledge across the cosmos. Was he based on this song? Maybe he was. He’s not looking for money or fame, his ultimate goal is actually pretty selfless – to bring knowledge and give people the tools they need to think for themselves. He just wants to make a change – he just wants people to be able to have access to knowledge and help cure ‘stupidity’. He wants to do it as quickly as possible, always reaching for lofty goals that might seem impossible, but he will make them possible.

“I know exactly what I want and who I want to be

I know exactly why I walk and talk like a machine

I’m now becoming my own self-fulfilled prophecy

Oh! Oh no! Oh no! Oh no, oh!”

Ratio knows his goal. He knows what he’s working towards. I do believe that he understands why he is the way that he is – he has a degree in Psychology, after all. He knows how he’s been hurt but at the same time, the trauma brain probably doesn’t want to recognize it and he hasn’t stepped into healing yet. He knows what he went through impacted him, but he’s too busy helping others to help himself. He’s becoming what he wants to be, and yet he’s not, all at the same time – which causes the idea of “oh no!” as a kind of cry for help, almost. He’s too proud to ask for it himself, of course, so he’ll fall alone until someone manages to catch him and give him the strength to continue holding on. Aventurine is that.

“One track mind, one track heart

If I fail, I’ll fall apart

Maybe it is all a test

‘Cause I feel like I’m the worst

So I always act like I’m the best”

Now, these are the exact lyrics that made me associate this song with Ratio in the first place. He’s got a singular goal that he will do nothing to stop at getting, that he goes so far to get to. However, as I mentioned earlier, failure is not an option for those who were deemed gifted or genius. You are perfect, so therefore you must live up to everyone’s every expectation and surpass them, too, in order to keep your perception of yourself intact. Ratio does not hold himself in high regard, but acts arrogant in order to hold himself together and not fall to the self-deprecating thoughts, even if they fall through the cracks. It gets tiring to hold yourself together like that for a long time, you know?

“I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly

I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die

I’m gonna live, I’m gonna fly

I’m gonna fail, I’m gonna die”

Remember how I was talking about contradictory mindsets and how they can coexist. This is them. The feeling of crippling self-hatred and lack of self esteem versus the idea that you can do it, you can make a difference – you were born a genius, this is what you’re going to do. This is the knowledge that you are a genius vs the lack of self-esteem that Ratio has. “Mediocre” vs “genius” mindset, eh?

All the other lyrics in this song are repetitions of what I’ve analyzed before, so let’s move onto “Are you Satisfied?”

To be honest, there are only a few lines in this song that allow me to connect it to Ratio, so therefore, I will only be analyzing them. However, if you think that other lyrics can connect to him, I’d be interested in knowing how.

“What you’re gonna be

It’s not my problem if you don’t see what I see

And I do not give a damn if you don’t believe

My problem, it’s my problem that I never am happy

It’s my problem, it’s my problem on how fast I will succeed”

Pretending to not care about how the world sees you is so fucking real. Sometimes, you really don’t give a shit, and sometimes it’s all you can think about. Ratio… doesn’t seem like he’s the happiest person. He works himself hard and he’s always chasing after a goal that must be exhausting. He’s always doing his best, and I think even with his empathy, it’s easy to start not giving a shit after trying for so long and so hard. Accepting help is one of the hardest things that anybody can do, especially with how much pride he has. His personal problems are his personal problems and he can deal with them on his own.

“High achiever, don’t you see?

Baby, nothing comes for free

They say I’m a control freak

Driven by a greed to succeed

Nobody can stop me”

Nothing comes for free. A lot of the things Ratio has achieved is due to his own intelligence, yes, but also because of a shit ton of hard work. His goal is literally to cure the universe of ‘stupidity’ – and that’s a pretty large fucking goal. He is a high achiever who likes to know the details of every situation when he can in order to try and make things better, and he is driven by a greed to succeed. Why wouldn’t he be? Success is important, and success means helping more people. He isn’t going to allow himself to be stopped by anybody – not even anybody from the Genius society.

Okay, and we have finally reached the end of my analysis! This caps at around 4k words, so if you stuck around for this long, thank you so much. I would love to hear any of your comments, and I hope you laughed a little bit. Thank you again! This means so much to me that you read. <3

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sparrowrye · 1 year ago

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Alastor x Fem! Reader {soulmates} Part Pilot

Synopsis: soulmate AU where you have the same mark on your body as your soulmate, and if your soulmate dies you also die. Alastor needs to make sure that his soulmate is safe so he can continue his reign - whatever that takes.

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The hair on the back of my neck rose half a second before something hard hit my head. I couldn't see anything but I could still feel when I hit the pavement. I rolled onto my back and tried to kick up at whoever was there.

Multiple hands grabbed me and dragged my across the hard ground. I felt my strength slowly coming back with my sight. There wasn't much to see as three dark figures towered above me. My back cracked when they slammed me into the wall.

One of them grabbed my jaw and dug their fingers into my cheek. I tried clenching my teeth but they easily pried my mouth open. I tried flicking my wrist but the rocks under my feet barely moved. They had hit my head so I couldn't use my magic. Now they were trying to drug me. Keep a mage discombobulated or high and they can't use their magic.

One of them had their entire weight on my legs and the other had my arms pinned against my side. They slipped a powder past my lips and clamped my mouth shut. I took a deep breath before they pinched my nose. I had only seconds before I passed out and they could get the rest of the powder down my throat. It was already soaking into my tongue and cheeks. I tried scrapping it against my teeth.

The weight on my feet disappeared. I tried kicking them but there was nothing but air. I pulled my leg up and dug my heel in their groin. They fell back and slammed into the wall behind them at an inhuman speed. I reached for the last attacker's eyes and dig my nails in. He let go and jumped over me as if to run. I immediately spat on the ground and wiped my tongue with the back of my hand.

I looked around at the dark alley. Everything was starting to double, the colors a wild red and blue. Some of it had gotten into my system. I saw two men laying still on the ground, the other running for the bright road. Something flew past my face and strikes him dead center in the back of his head. His body fell limp.

"Are you alright, my lady?"

I turned over my shoulder to see Alastor, the Radio Demon, towering above me. His eyes seemed to glow in the dark alley and his coat was as red as blood. I knew he was tall but he looked even more terrifying in person. His long, red fingers were outstretched in a kind gesture.

"What do you want?" I demanded.

"Is that any way to treat your savior?" He moved his hand closer, edging me to accept his offer.

"Why would you help me?" I rubbed the back of my head and winced. He grabbed my arm and pulled me to my feet. He stood a full head taller than me but he seemed oddly skinny. He didn't have the muscle I had.

"I know rumors deem me a dark light, but I can assure you I'm still a gentleman at heart. How could I let those fools continue their assault?" He wiped his hand on his coat as if I had some kind of germ or disease on me.

"I didn't ask for the help so I'm in no way obligated to do anything you ask," I said. I looked down to examine my hands because that was better than staring at his terrifying eyes. I lost my balance and fell backwards into the wall.

He grabbed my wrist and roughly pulled it up. I tried pulling it back but he held on painfully tight. I could picture him using his sharp teeth to slice it off in one bite. But he didn't. He dropped my hand and grabbed my chin next. He turned my head as if examining my neck. I tilted my head back and pulled away. I slammed into the wall again but tripped on my own feet, landing right on my tailbone.

He leaned down and grabbed my face again. I tried digging my nails into his wrist but my strength had disappeared. The drug was taking full effect now. "Let go of me, demon," I spat. He used his other hand and dragged a claw down my cheek. I cried and tried pushing him away with my feet. He stepped back, his smile never fading. I covered my bloody cheek and stared him down.

I had managed to stay free for five years. I wasn't about to fall into another mage's trap. I wasn't going to go back. I would rather die trying to escape the Radio Mage than go back. I knew his patience was thin and nothing immoral was off the table for him.

He reached up and touched his cheek, his claws coming back with a dark liquid. He looked down at his fingers before slowly meeting my eyes. That's when it clicked. I felt a rush of cold reality over my body. Matching cuts. A soulmate match.

I put both hands in the ground and pushed myself up. I ran down the alley, jumping over my attacker, and bolted for my home. I tripped several times but nothing was going to stop me. People stared at me as if I had seen a ghost. They didn't know that I had seen worse.

Everything hurt by the time I reached my apartment. I hadn't seen him since the alley so I hoped that meant I had lost him. I fumbled with my keys, struggling for several minutes to get the small key into the lock. I fell into my apartment and slammed the door shut with my feet. I turned the lock and crawled into the corner of the living room. I hugged my legs and stared into the dark apartment. Everything was spinning and unnatural colors jumped out at me. I felt jittery, like everything inside me was buzzing.

I stayed there for several minutes, waiting for the inevitable knock at the door. What was I thinking? I had just led the most powerful mage on this side of the country to my doorstep. I should've hid somewhere else. He of all people could follow someone without being noticed.

The only tell of time was the old clock on the fireplace mantle. I stayed in the corner for nearly forty-minutes, unmoving. Time seemed to be past uncharacteristically fast. I blamed the drugs on that. How long before this wore off, again? It wasn't the first time I had ingested this type of drug. It was the drug they used to keep mages from using their magic.

I finally found the courage to stand. I flipped the light switch and walked along the wall to the bathroom. I fell against the sink, clinging to the edge just to keep myself up. For such a small amount it was having a huge effect on me. Had the drug gotten stronger or had it been that long since it was used on her?

I turned on the faucet and gulped down the cool water. I splashed my face and tired to blink away the bright colors. No amount of drinking or splashing could return me to my normal state. I practically choked on the water and finally turned it off, grabbing the towel off the rack and pressing it to my face. I carefully straightened my feet and tried standing up. I felt more sturdy on my feet now. This meant that I had passed the peak of the drug. I was on the hill down to my normal state.

I let out a sigh and hung up the towel. I looked at my red eyes and saw another pair behind me. I screamed and spun a cast back at him. I slipped and fell into the old tub. I slipped into the corner with my hand outstretched. The faucet dug into my spine. He practically glided into the small room.

"Don't come closer!" I yelled. "My accuracy gets better every time."

"Your Slight magic stands no chance against me," he mused, "but I appreciate the confidence."

"The fuck do you want?" I demanded again.

"Should it surprise you that I want to meet my soulmate?" He tilted his head to the side.

"If you kill me you also die," I reminded him.

He chuckled. "I know how the magic of soulmates work, my dear." He stepped close and held out a hand to me. "If I wanted you dead, I would have done so already." The deepening of his tone didn't make me want to accept his gesture any more than already. "I'd like to have a civil conversation, if you don't mind."

It was another moment before I slowly laid my hand on top of his. He was careful to wrap his claws around my hand and didn't roughly pull me to my feet this time. I stepped out of the tub and let him lead me out of the room. He finally let go of my hand, gliding to the small fireplace and lighting it with a snap of his fingers.

He perched himself on one of the chairs and motioned for me to sit in the other one. I quietly obliged, my eyes never once leaving his smiling face. His trademark cane seemingly appeared in his lap.

"What do you want?" I asked less aggressively this time.

"My my, you're a distrustful soul aren't you?" He leaned his cheek on his hand.

"With my history you would be too," I said.

"What do you do for a living?"

"Anything and everything. Really anything that pays me."

"A tradition-breaker I see," he said. "Most women your age are attending school or doing housework for a master or husband."

"Let's just say I'm not well liked."

"Did you know those men?" he prompted.

"No, but they probably knew me."

"Does that happen to you often?"

"It's not frequent but it's not possible to avoid either," I answered. My clasped hands were sweaty and my cheek pinched from the dried blood on it. He was still sporting the same cut on his own cheek, clearly visible in the firelight.

"What did they want with you?" He was sitting straight again with his legs partly crossed and his hands clasped in his lap. Everything in me was tense and conscious. My hair on the back of my neck was standing up. I needed to get the demon out of my house.

"I used to belong to a fight ring."

"Lovely." His tone suggested anything but that. He looked down at his watch and let out a short sigh. "My my, it's sure getting late. We should be heading back."

"We?" I stood up just as he did.

"I can't leave my soulmate in danger, now can I?" He stepped closed to me.

"I know how to go under again," I said quickly. "I'll be leaving town and changing my appearance. No one will know it's me again."

"Then I wouldn't be able to find you again." His eyes grew brighter the further we walked away from the fire. I bumped into the kitchen table and tried to put it between me and him.

"I'm sure this will scar and you'll be able to tell it's me." I pointed to my cheek. "Or I could just let you know where I go. That way you know where I am."

"If I bring you with me I'll always know where you are." I found myself staring at a shadow the second his claws touched my shoulder. I turned and he shoved me into the wall by my neck. "Besides, I of all people could keep you safest." His claws squeezed my neck.

"I feel qui-quite safe, I'm okay. I-I assure you." I casted a forced smile up at him. The room seemed to darken around his bright red eyes.

"I'm sorry, dear, it's not a request." He slipped his hand behind my neck and pulled me against him. He slammed his cane down on the ground with a cold THUD. His hand moved behind my back as the floor disappeared from beneath my feet. I instinctively grabbed at him to keep myself from falling. Wind whipped my hair around but I didn't dare let go.

My feet abruptly touched solid ground and the wind died down. I carefully let go with one hand to move my hair out of the way. Around me was a dark forest and the sound of waves crashing was apparent, as was the smell of the sea.

His chuckled vibrated through me and I jumped away. "Where the hell are we?" I turned around to see a dark mansion sitting on the cliff's edge. It's pointed roofs sliced through the light blue of the set sun.

"Welcome home, dear," Alastor said as he walked past. I spun in a circle, seeing nothing but forest and ocean. How far were they from civilization? For his reputation, probably hundreds of miles. Maybe even thousands. I crossed my arms and rubbed them to keep warm.

I turned around to see him waiting for me. His smile was still plastered to his face but his teeth weren't showing this time. He was leaning on his cane, if you called his stance leaning, at the base of the porch steps. I clenched my teeth and forced my feet to take one step after another.

Once I had reached him, he put a hand up to stop me. He tried to touch my forehead but I jerked back, my knees nearly buckling underneath. "Relax darling," he said, "I can ease the drug effect." I forced myself to be still as he swept his palm across my forehead. My vision cleared and the bright colors disappeared. I felt more stable but my magic was still out of service.

"Where are we?" I asked.

"Home, dear." He turned and walked into the old house. I looked around once more before following him. Inside looked as dark as the outside. The door slammed shut and the lights abruptly lit up at the snap of his fingers. The house's true colors came through - a deep purple and velvet with dark wood accents.

To the right was the living room that held the warm fire and large windows. To the left was the dining room with what looked like stacks of old furniture and other timely pieces. Did he collect things?

"You don't..." I hesitated, "you don't think...that you can keep me here for the rest of my life."

"I do." He spun his cane and slammed it into the wood flooring. "Because just as you said, lovely, if you die, I die. You have made a name for yourself just as I have. You should be thanking me really," he said walking past me.

"Thank you?" I scoffed.

"I'm doing you a favor. No more of this running from town to town nonsense. Now you have a place to call home and don't have to worry a hair on your head about living to the next day."

"I'd prefer freedom over a fancy cage. I've survived on my own just fine for twenty-one years of my life. I'm no housemaid."

"Then let me put it simply." He stepped dangerously close until I jammed my heels into the door. He leaned down so his yellow teeth were inches from my nose. "You will remain here for the rest of your life, whether you like it or not." The room began to darken. "I have my ways of keeping people in their place. We may share scars but we don't share pain." His face contorted unnaturally and his eyes looked less humane. I felt sick. "You should remember that when you think of defying me. I'm called the Radio Demon for a reason." He abruptly stood up and the lights came back. "Sound good, darling?"

My shoulders fell with my spirit.

#hazbin alastor #hazbin hotel #alastor x reader #soulmates #soulmate au #alastor the radio demon

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fellthemarvelous · 1 year ago

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Holy forking shirtballs

I'm choosing violence today. I started this on Twitter, but I'm going to finish my thoughts here like I always do.

But what really blows my mind the most is the way that people look at Aziraphale's "choice" at the end, as if he had one to fucking begin with.

I'm sorry, but Aziraphale knows how messed up Heaven is. He told The Metatron, more than once, that he did not want to go back to Heaven! We can debate what each of us means by "choice" all night because my "choice" and your "choice" might be two different concepts. He could have been strong armed by The Metatron or he could have looked at where things were headed and realized he had no choice but to intervene himself.

You need to ask yourself what Aziraphale has a moral imperative to do.

What do we owe to each other?

Seriously, if you have not watched The Good Place, I recommend you go and watch it, because it absolutely shaped how I've viewed Good Omens 2 since its release.

My levels of frustration with the bad faith mischaracterizations of Aziraphale are off the charts. If you are blaming him for everything, implying that he should have to grovel and that Crowley has a right to hurt him back, you have missed the point of Good Omens entirely.

I defend Aziraphale, but I don't think one of them is more right or wrong than the other. They're equals. They're a group of the two of them, acting and reacting to each other throughout history. They're Alpha Centauri.

I cannot even begin to explain how fucking devastated I felt when Crowley said these words, knowing he was fighting a losing battle. What he said took a lot of courage because he's finally admitting something they've both been too scared to publicly define for 6,000 years. Crowley has had to spend so long with a rough outer shell because he fell and had to hide all of his softness.

The look on his face was one of pure joy when he created that nebula, but I think the fact that he got to share that moment with Aziraphale is what has always stuck with him.

So yeah, seeing Crowley with a broken heart at the end of "Every Day" was sad for me as well.

My brain still lives here!!

But Neil has said that Good Omens 3 is not quiet, gentle, or romantic. I imagine it's going to be more like the the first season in which they are not central to the plot. GO2 will help us make sense of how they ended up where they are when we see the bigger picture with all the other major players involved with GO3.

Aziraphale was still a soldier and accidentally got himself discorporated in his own magic circle in season one. He had a platoon waiting on him to start Armageddon, and he deserted them to go save the world with Crowley instead. Aziraphale is a deserter. I need everyone to remember that. He yeeted himself out of Heaven and sought out Crowley before even locating a body just to warn him about what was happening so they could try to save the world together.

I can't help but think of 1941 and that magician who had been arrested for being a deserter.

Aziraphale disobeyed orders. That took courage but it branded him as a traitor against Heaven. They tried to destroy him for it the same way Hell tried to destroy Crowley for his part in stopping the war.

Aziraphale and Job are the only characters we have seen interacting with God directly. Aziraphale has spoken to God before and he is determined to do so again.

Aziraphale knows Heaven is flawed, but he also knows it's supposed to be good. He wants it to be good. He does not like the way the system works and he wants to make a difference. (And I'm pretty sure he's also determined to talk to God without being intercepted by The Metatron.)

Since when is that a bad thing? I don't get it. And I've had this discussion before.

If you need to change the system by burning the old one to the ground, it's still change, and we don't know what Aziraphale has planned.

It seems to me that people just want to see Aziraphale fail because it would punish him for returning to Heaven instead of running off with Crowley.

Some of y'all take everything Aziraphale says or does and twist those things into malicious anti-Crowley actions because you think the only reason Aziraphale exists is to make Crowley happy, and if he isn't thinking only about Crowley then he's doing something wrong.

Aziraphale does not exist as a plot device to further Crowley's character. They come as a pair. They've been learning from each other for 6,000 years. Crowley challenges Aziraphale just as much as Aziraphale challenges him.

You can be mad at Aziraphale all you want, but villainizing him is gross. Defending Crowley does not mean you have to tear down and mischaracterize Aziraphale anymore than defending Aziraphale means you have to tear down Crowley (but I don't see that happen on nearly the same level it happens to Aziraphale). Stop painting Aziraphale as an abusive partner, for fuck sake.

Aziraphale knows there are flaws in the system. He wants to make a difference, and since he has seen that Gabriel can change, then maybe the whole system can. He has to at least try, and if he can succeed then maybe he and Crowley can stop hiding and finally be together without having to look over their shoulders all the time.

Why is that a bad thing? He's just as protective of Crowley as Crowley is of him!

But don't forget that Aziraphale's wing was covering Adam and Eve too. As much as a wants to protect Crowley, he has a moral imperative to keep humanity safe as well.

He sent Adam and Eve into the unknown with a flaming sword so they could protect themselves.

As much as he wants to be with Crowley, there are 8 billion people on Earth heading toward the Second Coming and Judgment Day. They'll work together to fight alongside humanity in the end. Aziraphale should not have to humiliate himself just to earn Crowley's forgiveness. That's a rancid notion.

The Resurrectionist was a whole ass moral dilemma for Aziraphale, which is why I brought up The Good Place earlier, but that's a post for a different time.

Aziraphale has his own motivations and they're just as important as Crowley's, and they don't have to be chalked up to Aziraphale being the bad guy. Weird, I know, but shades of grey.

"To the world."

#good omens #good omens 2 #aziraphale #crowley #aziraphale defense squad #yeah i'm being bitchy #no i don't care if you're offended #no i'm not interested in your aziraphale hate #i'm not interested in hearing takes about aziraphale being toxic from people who can't even be objective #some of y'all need to watch the good place because you need a lesson in moral philosophy #we should be able to have discussions about the characters without gross takes calling aziraphale abusive #az and crowley approach everything from wildly different perspectives because of where they are #just admit y'all shit on az because he doesn't look or act like crowley #I'm so done with the shitty aziraphale takes #they aren't even interesting enough to debate #they're just annoying

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vixstarria · 1 year ago

Text

Another gift

This is a continuation of my headcanon of Astarion’s romance with bard Tav. I can’t remember the actual chronology of cutscenes, but let’s assume this takes place after you’ve started a sexual relationship with Astarion and are beginning to grow closer. I was going to take it in a different direction initially, but these things have a mind of their own once they get going.

If you like it, check out my first fic. I do plan on writing more!

P.S. I may have taken some liberties with the game background story and DnD lore and magic system here – if it doesn’t really match up or make sense – sorry! Also I’m still only on Act 2.

Tav tries to comfort or distract a brooding Astarion.

Astarion x Reader, Astarion x Tav, Astarion x Bard Tav

Comfort, fluff, budding love, humour, angst, banter, no spoilers, non-explicit

Approximately 2,000 words.

AO3

Astarion was standing outside his tent with his back to the camp, staring into a silver mirror. The man had either lost his vampiric condition, lost his mind, or was simply brooding.

“Looking at something?” he asked absent-mindedly, as you approached.

Brooding. Definitely brooding.

“Looking for something.”

“Oh?” He turned towards you. “Just my company, or is there something else I can offer you?”

“I'm the one making an offering, actually. I thought I’d bring you a little snack”

Astarion grinned and beckoned you inside his tent.

Inside, aside from his bedroll, was a trunk with a large mirror opposite, a lit lantern and a scattering of weapons, equipment and books. You assumed your usual position, cross-legged on the bedroll, and offered him your wrist. This didn’t take long. Just a little pick me up.

He finished, planting a light kiss on your wrist, reached for his amulet and whispered an incantation to heal the wound. He kept hold of your hand, lacing his fingers through yours.

“Do you have any idea how much I appreciate that you don’t sexualise this?”

“I haven’t thought about it... Really?”

“Well imagine that any time you went to, say, take a bite of a turkey leg, there was someone staring, groping themselves and wagging their tongue at you. When you’re just trying to perform basic functions to stay alive.”

“Sweetheart, that’s an average evening at the pub for me, when I perform. With or without me biting on anything. ...But I see what you mean”. You contemplated what he just said in a brief silence. “I can't believe you just compared me to a turkey leg.”

“You’re more of a ripe, juicy peach” he said. You found yourself oddly pleased to be compared to fruit rather than poultry.

You glanced at the large mirror standing on the floor of the tent.

“You own an awful lot of mirrors for a vampire. Why do you even keep this here?”

“That? Oh, it reflects light... makes the tent appear more spacious... prevents anyone from sneaking up on me. ...Unless they’re another vampire.” Astarion said contemplatively. “And I figured, I woke up once with a tadpole in my brain that let me walk in the sun again – who's to say I won’t catch another parasite tomorrow that might cure my vampirism entirely?”

“Do you miss it? Seeing your own face?”

“Preening in the looking glass? Petty vanity? Of course I miss it. I’ve never even seen this face. Not since it grew fangs and my eyes turned red. My face is just some dark shape in my past. Another thing I’ve lost. I wouldn’t even recognise myself anymore. It’s been two hundred years.”

“But...” you fumbled, trying to wrap your mind around that. “You could have found a street artist to sketch you since then.”

“In the middle of the night?”

“Or commissioned a portraitist, those artistic types would accommodate you any time of day or night”

“Commissioned a - …I’m sorry, at what point did I give you the impression that Cazador paid us an allowance..?” Astarion was growing agitated. “And before you say I could have stolen – remember, everything I had, anything I acquired by any means, the clothes on my back, my body, my will – it all belonged to the master.” He paused, regaining control of his demeanour. “There was no point in having any possessions, it would all be the bastard’s in the end. I didn’t want to give him any more than I absolutely had to.”

You kicked yourself in the ass mentally.

“Well how’s this... We get to Baldur’s Gale. We exterminate Cazador and take over his palace. Then we rip out whatever he’s got as décor, commission all the best artists, and hang paintings of you on every wall. There will be nothing but portraits of Astarion everywhere.” Astarion’s eyes softened as he watched you gesticulating and getting carried away by your own imagination. “Astarion in shining armour. Astarion on a horse. Astarion on silk bedsheets, half-covered in rose petals. Pirate Astarion. Astarion stroking a cat. Historic events, but every single person depicted is Astarion. Oh! And in the main banquet hall, there will be an enormous mural of you, fully naked, lounging on a divan and being fed grapes by a cadre of nymphs.”

“With a fig leaf covering my unmentionables?”

“A comically large fig leaf. Or better yet, no fig leaf, just your full unmentionable glory looming over the dining table” You paused, as if sobering up after being lost in your grand vision, and added in a more serious tone: “We can commission busts and statues, too. Get a mold of your face for a hyper-realistic one.”

“We” he whispered, as if to himself, with a scornful chuckle.

“Oh? Do you have someone else in Baldur’s Gate you’d rather spend time with?” You realised how callous that might have come across as soon as the words were out, and cringed inwardly.

“...No, I don’t” he said absently.

“Elves live long lives... Do you still have real family there? Friends from... before? ...A spouse? Children?” You'd wondered about this before, and figured you may as well lie in the hole you’d dug for yourself.

“Gods, no!” Astarion blinked in surprise. “I wasn’t even considered a full adult by elven society then. No, mercifully I didn’t leave any little Astarions behind. All my friends from my youth are either dead or have blissfully forgotten me. And I don’t even know where my family is.”

You gave him a sympathetic and questioning look, waiting for him to go on. He sighed and continued.

“As you might expect, Cazador placed a restriction on me, preventing me from telling anyone about my affliction. I couldn’t approach my old acquaintances and go ‘Surprise! I’m actually alive! ...Sort of. I’m just someone’s vampire spawn slave now!’. No. I was to turn around and walk the other way if I ever came upon anyone who might recognise me. I was supposed to be devoted only to my new ‘family’.” he scowled. “I feared that Cazador would use anyone he thought might be important to me against me - for fun, or to teach me a ‘lesson’. And he would have, too: the mental torture he unleashed on his spawn was far worse than physical.” He paused and took a deep breath. “I couldn’t go and see my family, but as soon as I had my wits about me, I managed to arrange for one of the mercenary guilds to quickly escort my relatives out of the city. They were to be told that I made some powerful enemies who had me murdered, and that these enemies would come for them next. That they had to leave, change their names, and never return. I don’t know where they went. I can’t know, if I want them to be safe.” He looked away. “I can’t imagine how much they hated and cursed me. I ruined their lives.” he whispered.

“You saved them!” you objected, taking his hand. He shrugged but squeezed your hand back.

“I suppose I might have. Cazador would’ve left their heads on spikes in my crypt by now, otherwise.” He met your eyes again. “So yes, if anyone is going to be helping me decorate a palace, it’s you.” he added with a false cheer, clearly finished with the topic of Cazador.

You thought he might want to be alone then and were about to leave, but he gently pulled you towards himself. He was sitting on the ground with his back against a trunk. You settled between his legs, your back against his chest, his lips right at your ear, one arm across your shoulders and chest, the other playing with your hair. The large mirror was on the ground right in front of you. He studied your reflection over your shoulder. You appeared to be lounging suspended at an odd angle.

“How does it even work, anyway... It’s not just your body that disappears, it’s your clothing, too”. You grabbed a hat from the top of the trunk, holding it by its crown, and held it over Astarion’s head, moving it in circles against his hair. “Now you see it...” You let go and watched it disappear in the reflection. “Now you don’t.”

“I’m actually not sure, darling. Maybe it needs to be supported solely by me. Or it’s got to do with movement” He threw the hat back onto the trunk, where it reappeared in the reflection.

“Say...” threw your head back to look up into his eyes “Do you think my reflection would disappear... if a part of you was inside?” you bit your lip and grinned mischievously.

“I don’t think so, but I love how that dirty mind of yours works” he purred in your ear. “Let’s check and find out” His hand slid towards the clasp of your pants, but you swatted it away.

“Later.” Suddenly you were on a mission. “I have an idea.”

The rest of your group were gathered around the fire as you made a dash for your tent and grabbed your kit of stage paints and powders.

“Chk, are you doing each other’s makeup in there?” came a scoff from Lae’zel, as you rushed past.

“Don’t be jealous, Lae. We’ll have a girls night and braid each other’s hair tomorrow” you retorted, making Shadowheart choke on her drink.

Back in Astarion’s tent, you reached for one of your loose facial powders.

“You really don’t need to do anything, I’m used to it and nothing will work anyway” protested a confused and weary Astarion.

“Astarion!” you said gravely, “This isn’t for you. This is for science”, and you blew the powder hard into his face. Sure enough, an outline of his features appeared briefly in the mirror, as the powder flew all around him. “It worked!”

“Fan-tastic! Too bad you had to blind me to achieve that split second of a silhouette!” he coughed and rubbed at his eyes.

“It should work with water, too, if you want me to pour some over your head. You need to wash all that powder off anyway, you look ridiculous.”

He glared at you through the still flying powder particles and pointed a finger at your face.

“No.”

“Actually, hang on, I have a better idea.” You heard him groan into his hands behind you, as you ran back to your tent, to return with an amulet.

“So, the good news is, I am really, really bad at this.”

“If this involves setting me on fire again...”

“That was an accident. Anyway... No, this lets me create a fog cloud. Or so it should. I can just barely manage some fog tendrils. Now if I just aim them at your face...” You concentrated on the spell. Whisps of fog appeared around Astarion. “Look...” As the fog tendrils twisted in the air, you could just make out a form that they floated around, in the reflection, one unmistakably of a face.

“Well...” breathed Astarion, transfixed by the reflection, trying to make motions with his head to make the fog recoil. “It’s not much, but it’s more than I’ve seen in centuries”

“Come on” you grasped his hand. “Let’s go outside, it needs a different light and a slight breeze”

Astarion snatched his handheld mirror and followed you. He was actually eager.

Outside, Astarion spun in the whispy fog, gazing at the mirror in disbelief, as you continued to concentrate on the spell. It was actually working. Your conjuration magic was just bad enough to make the thinnest layer of fog, framing his face like a delicate mask and reflecting in the mirror. What would have been considered incredibly precise work by a wizard, was made possible entirely thanks to you borderline failing.

“That’s better... I’ll channel the fog right, you turn left against it. No, your other left! No, don’t go into the fire, you idiot, it won’t be my fault this time”

You grabbed Astarion by the hand and tried to guide him away from fire and anything he could trip over – he was paying exactly zero mind to anything around him, as he semi-stumbled in circles, looking in the mirror. Scratch ran around you, barking, excited for a new game, and eventually tripped you both.

“Another gift...” Astarion smiled at you, as Scratch did his utmost to lick his face.

Meanwhile, the group watched the two of you from a distance, dumbfounded. Lae'zel broke the silence:

“Your people have the strangest mating rituals.”

“Should I... should I tell them I can probably just cast mirror image on him? I’ve only done it on myself, but it should follow the same principle” added Gale.

“Maybe tomorrow” said Shadowheart. “Just let them enjoy this tonight.”

~~~~~

Next in series

AO3

#astarion #baldur’s gate 3 #bg3 #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #bg3 fanfic #astarion fanfic

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pityslash · 1 year ago

Text

[repost] suggested mature content, characters are 18+.

katsuki didn't fall in love the same way as everyone else did. there wasn't a spark that took hold of his breath nor an arrow that struck so abruptly. it was slow and steady like a heartbeat, so soothing that he didn't even notice until it was too late.

everything was beautiful and blooming. you met katsuki when it was spring, when you were both too young and stupid for your own good, the cuts and bruises when you played too rough, the mutters of apology.

spring was the perfect time to plant good seeds in a relationship, a time to uproot any unwanted weeds. for years, you two never put a label on your relationship.. friends. but katsuki would find himself spending more time with you, hours of you getting on his nerves, him looking for you in a crowd, the annoying small talk.

it was fine until one day, his friends started to come to him, asking if you were around. “no. how the hell would i know where they are? i’m not babysitting.” it was bitter on his tongue.

“… you’re always together, man. please?” kirishima says, loud on the phone speaker. he said it so casually, the moment of silence before katsuki let out the breath he was holding, and he finally spills.

but in summer, true colors show. it took time, but you see each other's flaws as they are. when you feel each other in a deeper way, attraction grows at a very rapid pace and— physically, the fire of intimacy.

“how much did you drink?” he was drunk. you both were, and it could lead to nothing but headaches and heartaches.

the years of pining and not being able to admit it, when your friends would think you have been together all this time but no, it’s in the three magic words, when you make the feelings clear and spit it out.

it was a party.. a celebration party? there were games and stupid red cups and spiked drinks. the door knob pressed into your back, it hurt but nothing mattered as your hands tangled into his hair, shivering and you’re sure he was the only thing holding you up.

when you pulled apart momentarily to laugh, but quickly reconnected, as if you were each other’s source of air, unable to go without the other for more than a second.

the hands pulling you closer as if it was the last time, nose bumping and he confessed his love to you over a hundred times, how you’re the best person he’s ever met, you listened to every word.

“you love m- me?” the breath catches in your throat. no verbal response leaves katsuki’s mouth, he just nods. katsuki knows he can be emotional when he has a bit of alcohol in his system, he believes it’s more than that though.

a touch feels like it can burn through your skin, his hands slipping under your shirt, his lips were warm but his hands were surprisingly cold. he felt you jump, hand finding him in the dark, maybe you were ticklish..

“is this okay?” it wasn’t often you saw katsuki at a loss for words, even less often would you see him turn that shade of red. despite being under the influence, he never forgot to ask where to put his hands, making sure you were comfortable.

“do you want to?” his thumb brushes against your cheek, breath mingled and you wrapped your arms around his neck, bringing him back in and swallowing him whole.

this kiss was soft, tender and gentle. just moments before, it was all desperation and fire, capable of breaking one’s heart.

i love you.

but those three simple words were repeated until that was all you could remember, you started to believe it.

your bodies radiated the same heat, a soft touch turns into a light squeeze and he held you down on the bed —bed, couch? did you leave the party? everything is foggy— growing hotter as his lips move against yours, you close your eyes and hold him close the entire night.

“would you still love me if i was a worm?” that was one way to break the silence, the crunch of orange and yellow leaves. “hell no.” and he responds almost immediately, muffled from the cup before he takes a big drink from his coffee.

“wrong answer! we’re breaking up.”

he chokes, and you slap his back. the tip of his tongue burns, and so did the reddening spot on your cheek he pinches. “hell no!”

you trip over your own two feet as he swings an arm around your neck and traps you in a headlock. katsuki almost drops the cup, ready to give you a piece of his mind but he relents. “take that shit back.”

his arm squeezes tighter, not enough to actually hurt you, but you were definitely trying to get free in case he did take this to the ground, trying to get your posture back.

“katsuki what the hell?!”

“i don’t need both arms, dipstick! take it back!”

fall was supposed to be the season of deep connection. when you were no longer blinded, there was no hiding behind the beauty of spring.

“katsuki, if i said no you probably would have showed up at my house with flowers and abducted me to go to that sushi place anyways.”

“but you said you loved me first, remember?” katsuki didn’t waste a second, stirring the miso dissolving in the saucepan. the sink was piled with dishes, spices lined the counter, the smell of steamed rice filling the kitchen.

you immediately drop the knife on the counter and spin around, eyes on him. it was enough for him to try and fail to stifle a laugh. “why are you laughing?! so what if i say i love you all the time, you said it first.”

the holidays were coming up, and somehow christmas and buying gifts was brought up while making dinner. katsuki wasn’t as excited as you were, claiming there was no way in hell he’d write a fucking christmas list.

“i’d buy you everything.” whether you asked for it or not. “if you don’t get on my nerves.”

maybe he didn’t know what you were thinking, maybe he just wasn’t ready. “ha ha, so funny..” but you smiled anyway.

“would i joke about something like that?” katsuki scoffs, staring right at you when you turn back around. he was annoyed; an open book of emotions when you knew what to look for.

he raises an eyebrow and you walk over, tofu in the palm of your hand and he lets you add it to the miso soup, eyes like a hawk. “well—“

katsuki catches your wrist when you reach to grab his face. “sadistic sense of humor?” the monster inside him fell silent, biting his tongue, and his heart raced as your lips brushed against his cheek.

a heartbeat loud in your ears with a song you never grew tired of. but suddenly it wasn’t just about silly christmas gifts, when you pull away first and let out a deep breath.

“i love you.” those words are too familiar but foreign, katsuki might’ve blushed but he makes an ugly face. that phrase earned a new meaning when you came into the picture, once only spoken by his mother and father.

why did it matter who said it first: katsuki was in love with you, more than he loved anyone in his life. a ring on the small chain around his neck is a symbol of your love, and he would never take it off.

forgive me? it’s a beautiful feeling, something so deep and natural like affinity. sharing breaths and two human beings become one. he was your soulmate, how lucky you are to have him by your side.

“it’s fine, i love you too.” it was hushed, but he said it back a million times over. you couldn’t imagine loving someone else the way you loved bakugo katsuki.

he was a man of action; katsuki never gave romantic speeches.

sharing a bed as you’ve done since you were kids. he wakes up first and sighs when he gives you a kiss before jumping into the shower. how he would spread just enough of your favorite jam onto toast in the morning, and get started with a cup of coffee.

seeing new couples on your walk through the park, kissing on benches. and cringing together before holding hands, “we were like that once, baby.”

when katsuki gets weekly texts from his mother asking how you’ve been, and he tells her to fuck off. though, after a few minutes, he will tell her you’re just fine with him.

when you catch up with mutual old friends over dinner, have a few drinks and you laugh when they poke fun at katsuki. “so happy you two got together! this guy has been crazy about you since high school.” and kaminari squealed when katsuki kicked him underneath the booth table.

when he hears you sneaking up behind him finishing up a big meal, the amused huff and he speaks loudly “dinner is almost ready,” before arms wrap around his waist, hands slipping under. your face hides in his shirt, knowing you should go to set the table.. but in a minute.

“your favorite.” katsuki says again, and you show your thanks with a kiss on the cheek.

though in winter, with bright lights all around and colors that match his eyes, there was no joy. weeks of no contact after a stupid fight, the ignored texts and your friends trying to mend what happened.

the cuts on your hands from pulling on the invisible thread that was slowly coming undone, singed and twisted, holding it together until it hurt too much to risk more.

surprisingly, you two have been chatting with friends and having cups of hot chocolate and enjoying the food. but the cold season came with much difficulty, the denial of oneself to lean into the comfort and stability of familiarities.

the way he’d look at you made it obvious he wanted to talk. your friends aren't paying attention when you slip away together, watching the stars as the sun has long since set. there was mistletoe hanging on the door frame.

“so..” katsuki breaks the peaceful silence, “this is it.” this is how we came to be. you glanced back at him, but he did not look at you.

the sweet, hot spiciness of cinnamon is the smell of christmas, whether it’s in the wine or cookies or eggnog; it was inviting.. you can all but taste it.

“bakugo, we haven’t talked recently and i.. know you’re too stubborn for your own good. you’re still one of my best friends, we’ve shared a lot together. we’re out here because you wanted to talk, so...” it took everything in you to muster up the confidence, but it falters when katsuki laughs.

suddenly you feel embarrassed and small in front of him —the man you gave everything to, but before you could break, he turns and for the first time since you were teenagers, katsuki cries.

“my mom has been up my ass for not doing this sooner, i just— needed to think about the right shit to say but i can’t let you leave here tonight not nothing that i’m sorry.”

the blond tries to wipe his tears, words jumbled up and you have to stop yourself from reaching out. he was vulnerable. if you moved too fast, he could run off and fight the first person he saw or just.. crumble to pieces right here.

“fuck, i’m sorry,” he rasped out. “i know i’m an asshole, i’ve been told my whole life. i should let you go and find someone better but i’m scared out of my mind you’re just going to disappear if i let you walk out and i can’t do this without you, y/n. i want this.”

it slips out so spontaneously you’d almost think he was joking, but you’ve never seen him looking so heartfelt or speaking so genuinely.

“this?” you pretended the red on katsuki’s face was just from the cold, but the emotion flickering in those eyes made you hesitate. “us?”

you feel tears well up again, he sounds so hopeful, and you truly want this too. not once have you ever questioned your worth to katsuki, he cared about you and years of built friendship was proof. still…

“us..” you stood side by side, knowing you will never recover from this, but if you walk away now it will be the occasional twinge in your heart. it was dark out and the sky was clear, stars reflected off the fresh snow, sparkling.

“i’m right here.” you’re willing to share this passion for the short time you have together.

“for how long?” he was questioning himself, and you felt like your heart was going to jump out of your chest as he took a step closer, hands shaking. “i’m still yours.”

you would stand here forever with katsuki, shivering from the confessions or late december, you didn’t know. because you get the most dazzling firework for a fleeting second, the firework being in love with him.

katsuki gets nervous but you lean in and close the slight distance, gentle as your lips touch, your nose sits next to his. and his hand lifts to hold your face, so warm it felt as if you could fall asleep with his arms wrapped around you, the contact soaking into your bones.

taste the remnants of chocolate, you felt dizzy and your stomach was doing flips. what he was thinking? did he feel the spark again? it was a feeling better than you ever imagined. when he pulls away after a moment, you wait a second before going in for another.

“i forgot how good you are at kissing,” you say. “i think you stole a year off my life.”

he shakes his head with a smile, eyes still glassy, and you watch as he takes off his jacket, “it’s getting cold, here.” katsuki replies, his voice soft and in a tone only meant for you.

katsuki lays the jacket over your shoulders, taking the lapels and holding it close around his childhood friend.. his first love. you held hands for a while, enjoying the sounds of the party and friends just inside, forgotten.

but as if fate was laughing, you’re snapped back into reality, where you and him aren’t meant to be, when you hear the sliding door open. “hey guys, have you seen the—“

ochako, who is carrying a plate with santa decorated sugar cookies, stops mid sentence. you jumped away despite it being too late, snatching your hands from his. “—christmas cookies…s- sorry!”

#mha x reader #bakugou x reader #bnha x reader #bakugou x you #mha x you #bakugo x reader #bakugou katsuki x reader #mha fluff #my writing

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sepublic · 4 months ago

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The Rapture, the Day of Unity, and Happily Ever After

I wouldn’t be surprised if the upper echelons of the coven regime weren’t concerned with being sustainable, because they were privy before the public was to the Day of Unity, which was itself essentially one big rapture where everyone goes to a perfect utopia! They don’t have to worry about the world they’ve left behind, they just need to last long enough to make it to this endpoint, like Belos talking about how he only needs to ‘live long enough to see this through’.

So it must’ve been quite a shock, realizing that’s not it; There’s nothing for all their hard work. They have to go back to their lives as normal, but knowing it’s eternal in the sense of worrying about living life until it naturally ends for them, and making society run ahead of them for the next to pick up. Now people have to do their jobs in creating an actual functioning society instead of loftily dreaming of a fantasy, which is of course topical to the show’s themes about being beholden to the world and people around you as you make dreams practical.

I can see a comparison between the apathy that came from the Day of Unity and how a lot of rich, powerful folk —especially the ones running fossil fuel companies— don’t care about destroying the Earth and its environment, because they’ll be dead before it gets bad enough that the devastation reaches them in their cushy little suites. On the Day of Unity, Emira’s frustrations over her mother only caring about money feel in a similar vein, it all hearkens back to the same problem with these CEOs where their personal, material enjoyment is the only priority.

And this makes me think of the rapture comparison too; It comes from the Evangelicals, who are the descendants of the Puritans. I can see the writers playing with how Marx called religion the opiate of the masses; The idea that Christianity was often exploited by the upper class against the lower class to justify their suffering. The idea was that if you were poor, you didn’t need to worry about improving your material world because as long as you remained pious and faithful, you’d eventually inherit a heavenly afterlife.

Thus, working-class Christians were made complacent, believing their mortal suffering was just temporary and even a test for their ascension. Whether you think they actually got a heavenly afterlife is an entirely separate real-life theological discussion, but the point was that it was an excuse by those in power to avoid being held accountable in making the living world actually tolerable for everyone else, and everyone else would not hold them to that standard because they thought it didn’t matter anyway.

So I can see the Day of Unity functioning exactly like that, in fact I’m pretty sure it just did onscreen because we see wild witches such as the Demon Hunters accept the coven bindings because for whatever losses they suffer, eventually the Titan will make it all worth it right? And this framing of the Titan as an abstract God who will take you to an abstract universe is interesting; We know tangibly that other worlds exist of course, but in the context of the show, the utopia bit is a lie.

And if we apply it to real life, much how the show calls out IRL witch hunters (and its fictional one, because TOH’s fictional witches warranted nothing for their existence) as insincere… I do remember a college lecture in things like Animism or cosmocentric belief systems; They saw the ‘spirits’ as not existing on a separate plane, but our own. There was no afterlife or heaven, it was all in this world, people live on when they die and break down and are consumed by other beings, that sort of thing.

The practices of wild magic and the worship of the Titan seem to follow in a similar vein to these and Animism; The Titan is sacred and her body has its own life reborn as the environment, but she’s also undeniably dead, as pointed out by a Deadwardian witch. Eda stresses learning from the natural environment around you for magic, their ‘god’ is a mortal being and also their tangible world. The magic comes via glyphs in nature, as well as the magic in everything that witches get their own magic from. There IS something resembling an afterlife in-universe but we never get to see it, the beliefs of wild magic seem to be at odds with Belos’ Christian colonialism, and again its promise of a rapture and a separate, abstract God and utopia.

Point is; There is no universe after this, or at least that’s not how wild witches treat it. The focus is on the here and now and making this world last, and making it last for the future generations that will take your place. And this defiance of a rapture in favor of life always going on makes me think of how Dana hates the term Happily Ever After, for the implications of everything just being over and that’s it. That’s the end. All the problems are solved now, there is no story left to tell.

I can’t say this was intentional on a conscious level or otherwise, but I do have to draw a connection between this and how TOH’s ending was in response to this critique; Life keeps going on, the protagonists have to keep fixing the Boiling Isles, and then keep it going even if it IS fixed. They just undid coven bindings and King found his first glyph. The Archivists are still out there. The protagonists don’t get an eternal unambiguous happy ending where there’s nothing left to do, they don’t get a ‘heavenly afterlife’ as one could call it, and that’s good!

From a meta standpoint, you can see how it encourages fans to write more stories, to be inspired to keep it going, and it’s another way Dana made the shortening work in the show’s favor. Dana said back in 2020 that she encourages fans to build off of things, as she did as a kid with her own shows, she also wanted it to be that deep growing up! So both in-universe and IRL, TOH isn’t meant to be over, there is no absolute ending because fandom lives on.

Hell, Dana even professed interest in a prequel following Eda’s childhood; She’s since become pessimistic about the possibility, more than likely on account of her cutting ties with Disney and executives’ disinterest. But the point still stands; Life keeps going, IRL. The lives of the characters keep going, in-universe and IRL through fandom.

I also wonder if you could discuss Lumity under this lens; I’m making exceptions for queer romances, especially in children’s media, because they often have to deal with censorship pushing them to the last minute. But when it comes to romance in general, romance involving the main character largely consists of Will They/Won’t They, with the climax having the romance achieved. But because of the Thrill of the Chase, a lot of writers don’t want to explore how characters actually navigate a relationship, hence why it’s drawn out and saved for the ending; The romance has been nearly tied up as a Happily Ever After, there’s no more story to tell. So when they get a continuation, they’ll often undo progress.

Lumity avoids this; Lumity has them get together at the halfway point of the series, and then actually explores their dynamic as a couple together, without creating misunderstandings or breakups or anything. We see how they work as a couple, how they get to enjoy each other as a couple. So them getting together isn’t the ending climax, it’s just another stage in their continuing dynamic. There is no Happily Ever After; There’s problems for them to face together that do sometimes strain their relationship, but they still work on it together; Dana was adamant on showing these things instead of settling for them asking each other out and letting the rest be an implication.

And I think that’s so much more healthy to show kids than just idealizing the Thrill of the Chase and its climax, without appreciating the mundanity of just being together. Because kids grow into adults and don’t really expect or care to pursue a romance past that point, and I wonder if this is part of the culture behind cheating, of still reaching for something unattainable because media doesn’t normalize already having things when it comes to romance. Nor does it care for tackling things together as a couple most of the time.

Dana was raised Catholic, which is separate from Puritanism, but she did have to deal with Evangelicals growing up, as they raged about innocuous things like Pokemon; And Pokemon was her Good Witch Azura, a last gift from her father before he died in a car crash. It’s something Dana still enjoys and she’s done crossover art for it and TOH.

So I can see the coincidence/connection in Dana critiquing Evangelicals’ rapture ideology and how the end of everything is used to placate people instead of worrying about what needs to be eternally maintained, and like. Her feeling similarly with stories and even romances where it ends definitively and perfectly. Because fandom keeps going and she’s a part of it too.

The world keeps going, there is no endpoint to history IRL or in the show; People have to adjust going back to the banality of continuing to live and worry about running society in the long-term, rather than expecting it to not matter because they were going to be raptured anyway. And you know what, this could be good, it means it lasts forever as we see Luz and co. embrace it, happy to enjoy their lives, actually getting to be in a relationship; But life is fragile as we see with the Titan, so we gotta work to keep it going, so that even when we get our definitive end, the people after get their time.

#The Owl House #Dana Terrace #Lumity #Meta

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raayllum · 4 months ago

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Dark Magic, a Brief Dissection

There are four scenes in the series I think best embody the pitfalls of dark magic from an ideological standpoint, even if you don't touch on the fact it's just a malevolent magic system + the harm it does to the user. Two are in season two, and two are in season six.

The first is the infamous reservation from Sarai in 2x05 that dark magic is too ideologically easy, because it is always easier to dehumanize and to strip away the fact that someone or something might be a person than it is to recognize it. The "you keep calling it a monster" and "there's no shortcut" are things that other episodes echo as well (6x05, 1x02), highlighting key take aways. The biggest one, though, is the idea that

We see this directly happen with Viren even before the events of 2x05, as we see him go from necessary horror to necessary horror in order to save Soren. He coins Kpp'Ar to get the staff, yes, but also to preserve his status; doing so alters his appearance both literally and emotionally in the eyes of his wife; when she's frightened and denies him her tears, he takes them by force; and then when she leaves, he blames the son he saved. He thought dark magic would give more than it would take, and when confronted with the opposite that Harrow had also learned ("We may not pay now but we will pay the bloodprice eventually"), he couldn't handle its lesson of accountability, because it's usually easier to blame others rather than yourself.

Viren fell down that slope in quick succession, climbed the mountainous Storm Spire twice, and it took falling off that mountain for him to get his head back on straight, to realize that rather than having no choice, he was continually making bad, harmful choices. This likewise ties back into 1) using his wife as spell parts leading to the dissolution of their marriage, because being treated as a thing is not something you can come back from and 2) rejecting using Soren as spell parts, and instead using himself in S6. And also ties into what S6 makes plain for Claudia in terms of the mindset that dark magic encourages:

I don't know if there's much to say about this aspect that the screencap (and earlier paragraphs) don't already say on its own tbh. Dark magic "shattered" her family forever (6x06) and Claudia refuses to "let anything break" them apart further (3x09). She treats dark magic as a glue to hold things or people together, but in doing so treats everything around her as parts, including herself (her blood, hair, leg, and even her body taking on more animalistic forms through spell consumption). And that leads you to breaking things, including yourself, your relationships, even without necessarily realizing it. (Doesn't mean that it can't be put back together in some true form, though.)

But if dark magic is so bad, then why do it? I think Callum's arc answers this perfectly in terms of what it offers and why people (at their best and operating best they can under terrible circumstances) take it:

Dark magic offers unlimited power with the promise of control and desire, but this agency is an illusion. It took time for Callum to learn the truth and other characters (Viren, Claudia) didn't/don't know how tangibly true it is, but dark magic robs you of your agency by making you vulnerable to Aaravos. The Startouch elf didn't have to possess Claudia to make her do what he wanted, and doing so might've thrown a wrench in needing her to perform the quasar diamond spell with love if she wasn't on board with him as is. Viren, despite having no knowledge that Aaravos can possess him, is terrified of being used again (6x05) and mandates that saying no to Aaravos and dark magic is "the path of freedom" (as opposed to fate).

Callum of course gets this promise of power ripped out entirely from under him even after he rejects it (2x08) as he learns the full extent it lets Aaravos control him (4x04), and continues to engage with dark magic under duress even past that point (5x08). It's one of the ways arc 2 and him as a character recognizes false binaries and reconciles dualities: the choice isn't between "powerless human" or "powerful dark mage," but that you can become a powerless human by being a dark mage.

At the same time, 6x08 finally makes it truly, clearly explicit that dark magic can be used morally under extreme circumstances and through self-sacrificial methods (particularly for a character with a very complicated relationship towards sacrifice). This is doubly so considering that it required using the Staff of Ziard, which others have thought was extremely dangerous (Ibis, Kpp'Ar) and worth sacrificing for (Ibis killing Claudia, Kpp'Ar being willing to let Soren die), and it was still seen as the right thing to do, not only for Viren. Whether we'll see another instance of dark magic use in this way is unknown, but I could see perhaps Callum being allowed to have it in his back pocket (light and dark inside him and all that, and idk if they'd clean slate him again) as continued proof. If anyone can navigate the pitfalls appropriately (and same with primal magic), I think he's in the best position to do so.

#dark magic #mini meta #analysis series #analysis #tdp meta #tdp #the dragon prince #s2 #s6 #this isn't really anything but. thoughts kicking around y'know?#i could also see a full alternative to dark magic being developed for him #whether literally or just thematically but we'll see

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patchworkcuddlebug · 4 days ago

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The Remnant Heart

[This story contains surgery, discussions/depictions of human organs, as well as a general theme of anxiety and horror.]

I don't know if I slept. I can't tell anymore.

It used to be agonizing for me to lay awake at night, stewing in my own restless patience as I try to allow myself to rest. But now I barely notice the time go by.

Perhaps this is stillness? Or the closest I can hope to achieve to it in my current state. There was no clear separation between states, no consciousness and unconsciousness. Was it rest? Or was I performing the task of stillness, awake and aware of my inaction as the minutes gradually slipped by?

I'm shaken from my thoughts by my heartbeat. I need to go see her.

I'm painfully aware of what is left inside me as I try to rise. My heart, lungs, liver, and nerves press uncomfortably against the clockwork filling the rest of me. I'm sure the thoughts of everything getting tangled, ripping me into a gory mess as my machinery ticks away uncaring, would keep me up at night if such thoughts still had a brain to occupy. I choose not to articulate what emotions such thoughts would stir in my nerves, what feelings hide inside the phantom goosebumps. I have something much more pressing to focus on.

My morning routine is easier than it ever has been. My skin was one of the first things to go, so I needn't worry about sweat and grime accumulating as I sleep. Still, the shower is a refreshing way to start any morning, and it allows me to style my hair more thoroughly. Besides the lightened load, it simply feels easier to allow myself to perform as I am expected to. There's no begrudging resistance; I get to make my bed.

The only real concern is sustenance. My body can no longer process food as a human's would, but it is not as magically attuned as a completed doll would be. She's prepared a collection of crystals which should give me enough energy to last 24 hours each without feeling sluggish. The tingling sensation leaves my fingertips as I load one onto my tongue, the buzzing instead refreshingly flowing through my whole body. It melts in my mouth almost as quickly as it enters, leaving nothing but a volatile vapour.

I look down at my outfit one final time before leaving. It's a dress she picked out for me, something she has recommended to many clients in the past. It was inexpensive, but still satisfactorily elegant. An a-line dress with a knee-length skirt that frills to match the puffed sleeves. I think about it for the entire walk to her clinic.

The air isn't as cold as it used to be.

. . . . .

Her back is turned, accounting for her tools. A selection of pristinely maintained surgical implements, most obfuscated by her figure as I try to gaze from my position on her table. Back straight, legs together, hands balled together and resting on my midsection. "Have there been any more mental developments since your last appointment?"

"I'm having trouble sleeping." A second of consideration. "And it feels good to answer you. Better than it did before."

"That's perfectly normal at this stage. Your independence should start getting weaker as time goes on. Do you have someone to oversee you?"

"Yes." I nod, habitually.

I notice it feels bad to lie to her, as well. My heart beats faster.

"We'll be taking your blood today, Mimic." She states as a matter of course. "Are you still comfortable with that name?"

"Yes." Terse, yet polite. Saying just as much as I need to. It's the truth, but it's still not the satisfaction I should feel from responding to my better, something lingering in my mind.

"Do you have any concerns about the procedure?" she says after turning to look at my face. Is it perception, or protocol? I answer regardless, my tone unchanged.

"What will happen to my heart?"

"Well, it won't have anything to pump anymore, so it'll start to atrophy." She says with a practised delicacy. "Since your autonomic nervous system is still mostly intact, this can be a little uncomfortable, so we try to remove it within a few weeks of-"

For just a moment, politeness escapes me. "I want it gone."

She doesn't waver. "Well, you're already scheduled for your next appointment, but I can certainly see if my dolls can move you up." There's a deep compassion in her voice, one used against countless before me. "Is there anything else you'd like to discuss before we get started?"

"I'm content." I shake my head, habitually. I want it gone. I will tear myself open and rip it out in front of her, anything to stop this damned panicked beating against my chest. But good dolls obey.

She says something else, a formality of beginning, but I can't respond as I'm supposed to. I allow myself to dwell, losing my thoughts in the ways only a person could. Is this fear, or anticipation? Whatever it is, it can't make me protest. My heart beats all the same.

I'm aware of the expectations, I've looked over the consent form too many times to count, feeling my eyes buzz with anticipation. Beyond the banality of the paperwork, the evaluations, the reiteration of permanence and potential for harm, every detail of this process has been imparted to me without the chance for confusion.

I hold out my arm, and she gently supports it with hers. She struggles for a moment to find the vein hiding in the tangle underneath my porcelain shell, bending my hand as one would pose a doll to force a gap in my wrist's joints. The pain is momentary and negligible. Then, finally, it can begin.

As a person, a proper and fully human being, I couldn't stand having my blood taken. It was dreadfully vulnerable, an exposure, the loss of something that must remain inside at all costs. But now, I can't look away. I stare with rapt enchantment as finally, finally, I can discard another burden. Finally, I can let it go.

First I feel it in my feet. They start to feel cold, almost... drafty. Compared to the feeling of having my skeletal system removed, the feeling of being emptied of blood isn't as visceral as I had anticipated. Although, that may have been from how sudden it was to wake up, fighting through the sedative to revel in my alleviated body. Here, the feeling is more... supplemental. A formality of diminishing returns.

My heart beats faster. I breathe a little more. I think it's finally noticed what's going on.

I fight off a shudder as the coldness spreads to where my stomach once was. I must have stillness, lest I snap the fragile needle between my rigid porcelain.

It's in my hands now. I feel it more in the left arm, the chill spreading from my fingertips unwelcome against my still-full chest. I'm not sure if I could move even if I wanted to. It feels much colder there than anywhere else, much more empty. My proprioception is shot; I need to look at my fingers to confirm they still bend, and their twitching is haggard and clumsy. I was told of this numbness, to expect the recovery period to be difficult. To have the awareness powering the magical movements of my body to dull for an irritating length. But the feeling of undergoing it still induces panic, my heart beating ever faster.

Those worthless human remnants cling to self-preservation. My heart beats and beats as if begging, trying to pump my adrenaline enough to get me out of such a deadly situation with what little I have left intact. So pathetically uncoordinated, I lost my endocrine system long ago. What use is there for something so misguided, so detrimental? It doesn't know what it's doing, acting on blind instinct, flexing without caring why.

It's getting so much faster. The heat is finally receding from my face. What a greedy thing, trying to pump every last drop into itself. Fighting against the one thing I've wanted more than anything for as long as I can bother to remember. Such a stupid, pathetic, worthless organ. Good for nothing but distracting me with its infernal beating when good dolls need to focus. Making me cling to feelings of hesitance and conformity that dolls don't need.

My breath hitches and I flinch as it skips its first beat. I'm going to die. I focus on the consent, the intake, everything rational telling me every doll has felt this before. The last remnants of my past clawing at the comfortable similarity of a life it knew. The dread remains. Can't it see that I was never alive? Can't it know that it's afraid of itself? Can't it accept that this is for its own good?

But hearts can't see, as my eyes were quickly replaced by pretty glass marbles, sculpted treasures full of life. It can't know, the brain that held everything I ever believed was the first thing to be overhauled, before it was ever removed. It can't accept, it's just a heart, never built for anything but trying to survive, to try and stay safe the only way it can.

And as the last of its essence was drained away, left with the last of the strength it will ever have, all it could do was force out the last of its blood. It was weak, fading, but there, finally accepting that it could do no more. It was finally, finally allowed to rest. I can't find it in myself to curse it anymore, just wishing that it knows it served me well.

I breathe, and it feels useless. There's nothing for the air to do inside of me anymore. Still, the act is nostalgically soothing, something to ground me as the witch removes the needle.

"Alright, that's the procedure." The witch smiles to herself as she tends to her tools, discarding used parts and putting things where they belong. "Try to take a second to acclimate to everything, this is usually quite the shock."

I slowly, experimentally, lift a hand up to my chest. I can't feel it as I hold it in the air, trying to blindly guide it into place, until I feel porcelain touch porcelain as it lands over my still heart. Useless as it may be now, that frantic muscle kept it alive long enough to make it here.

The feeling will return. Or perhaps, it will arrive for the first time.

I struggle against my body, worn-out but calmingly chilled, to speak as soon as I can. "There is something I would like to ask for its next surgery."

. . . . .

This one retires to its chambers. It has still found no witch to serve, no purpose beyond preserving itself. Until this is to be fixed, it derives pleasure from such simple acts as maintaining itself and cleaning its surroundings, just as a doll would. The joy it feels is its purpose.

Sometimes this one swears it still hears it beat. That's all its poor heart knows, after all. When this one makes mistakes, has doubts of its rightfulness, looking back at the protected numbness of before it knew what it wanted from its existence. In those moments, it likes to take its heart down from its place on the shelf. It holds the memorial, the tube in which it is preserved, close to its porcelain chest as it finds stillness in its bed.

There is no comfort in this, nothing worth cuddling, no warmth left in the organ's never-decaying body, no more exhausted work to be extracted from the preserved cardiovascular muscles.

It calms the doll nonetheless, its heart resting just a little easier.

#this one's words #empty spaces #dollposting #2k words #this one is rather happy with how this story turned out!#its still hard to be perfectly satisfied with what it makes but its getting better at avoiding perfectionism beyond the... 3rd? draft #it tried to go harder on the language this time and it hopes it doesnt come off as too pretentious or impenetrable as a result #oh yeah! this one couldnt find a place to fit it in so it is declaring it canon in the tags:#after the doll's final appointment it started going by Treasure

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