#but before that you are entirely a system of magic in your own body

[anetherealpoetess]

Angela Carter, The Bloody Chamber and Other Stories; from ‘The Company of Wolves’

[shithowdy]

wishing people would understand (and advertisers would stop giving the impression) that herbal remedies don't actually work like fantasy potions where you have a Symptom and they magically target that Symptom specifically-- they work exactly like pharmaceutical medicines but at a less concentrated scale, and it can interact poorly with them if you are already using them.

ashwagandha doesn't "lower your anxiety", it reduces your cortisol levels, which can in turn lower your blood pressure and interact with other adrenal and BP meds. ginkgo doesn't "help you think", it dilates your blood vessels and is an anti-platelet, which increases cerebral bloodflow but can interact with other circulatory meds. grapefruit seed extract is an incredible antifungal but it will inhibit enzymes that break down many types of medication and lead to blood toxicity of those meds.

i've worked in this industry since before insta/tiktok was a major force in advertising for it and i've watched the swing from people generally being educated about this niche thing they have come in to buy to "i saw on tiktok that this will give me energy"

.... will it? have you had bloodwork done? are you adequately absorbing your nutrition? are you getting sunlight? stop being scammed by symptom-centric buzzwords. anything that promises it will give you energy or help you focus or whatever else hinges entirely on your body chemistry fitting very certain criteria and a lot of people end up disappointed when that cordyceps did nothing for them when it turns out they're low on stomach acid and not synthesizing their B vitamins correctly or something else that is way above my paygrade to determine.

the american healthcare system is a shitshow and people often have no choice but to take their treatments into their own hand, but "natural remedies" want your money just as bad as "big pharma" and it's up to the individual to do their epistemological due diligence when treating themselves. godbless.

[esoteric-goblin]

on worldbuilding, and what people think is going on

there is one facet of fantasy worldbuilding that is, to me, the most interesting and essential but i don't see it come up in worldbuilding guides or writing prompts or anything, and that is the question of:

what do the inhabitants of your world believe about how the world works, and how are they wrong? a lot of fantasy media will set up their cosmology, gods, magic systems, planar systems, concepts of the afterlife, &c., and proceed as though the inhabitants of the world know and understand them.

from someone whose entire academic career is focused on studying human culture in various regions and time periods, with a focus on belief systems (religion, occultism, mythology, folklore): that sort of worldbuilding is unrealistic and missing out on so much fun.

people are always seeking new understanding about how the world works, and they are mostly wrong. how many models of the solar system were proposed before we reached our current one? look at the long, turbulent history of medicine and our various bizarre models for understanding the human body and how to fix it. so many religions and occult/magical traditions arise from people disagreeing with or adapting various models of the world based on new ideas, methods, technologies. many of them are wrong, but all of them are interesting and reflect a lot about the culture, beliefs, values, and fears of the people creating/practising them.

there is so much more to the story of what people believe about the world than just what is true.

to be clear: i think it's fine and important for the author to have a coherent explanation for where magic comes from or who the gods are, so they can maintain consistency in their story. but they should also be asking what people in the world (especially different people, in different regions/nations and different times) think is happening when they do magic, or say a prayer, or practise medicine, or grieve their dead. it is a rich vein for conflict between individuals and nations alike when two models of the world disagree. it is fascinating how different magic systems might develop according to different underlying beliefs.

personally, i think it is the most fun to spawn many diverse models of the world, but give none of them the 'right' answer.

(bonus points if you also have a thriving academic system in the world with its own theory, research, and discourse between factions! as an academic, it is very fun to imagine fictional academic debate over the topics i'm worldbuilding. sometimes i will be working out details for some underlying mechanic of the world and start imagining the papers being written by scholars researching it)

[felassan]

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

[meownotgood]

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." 

[aurae-rori]

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

[sparrowrye]

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.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

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.

[fellthemarvelous]

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."

[vixstarria]

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

[childofthewolvess]

Familiar Spirits in Eclectic Paganism & Witchcraft

Hey, you! Have you ever wondered what familiars are, and if you have one? You've asked the right person—I've been working with animal spirits for as long as I can recall! I recently contracted two wolves that have been spirit guides following me my whole life to be permanent familiars. I've gotten quite a few questions on my experience in spirit work recently and wanted to talk about it.

Before I even start to give a brief background on what familiars are and how to know if you have one, a quick disclaimer:

Familiars are not your spirit animals! Or totems! They are a type of contracted spirit and/or spirit guides.

Spirit animals and/or totem animals are closed to Native American/indigenous practices. A familiar animal spirit or spirit guide is an entirely different concept. Don't get them mixed up! I'm tired of seeing appropriation in animal spirit work with people taking the term "spirit animal" and running. Native spirit animals are an entirely different concept that I, as a white person without an indigenous culture or background, do not have the authority to speak on nor practice.

So, what is a familiar spirit? Are they real animals, are they ghosts, or are they spirit guides?

The answer: a "familiar" can be all three, depending on who you ask! "Familiar" is a very broad term that you can find in many practices and various branches of witchcraft. Some folks have a physical animal companion/pet as their familiar, such as a cat or dog, that they called out for and/or received as a gift. Some people's familiars are the spirit of a past living animal companion/pet that accompanies them in the metaphysical. Some familiars, and this goes for my case, are contracted forms of spirit guides gifted by deities, ancestors, guardians, etc.

In my own definition, I would define a familiar spirit as a spirit bound to a practitioner in a contract. Most of the time, a familiar will take the shape of an animal. However, historically familiar spirits have also been mythical creatures, such as dragons, elves, or fae.

Let's keep in mind that spirits, especially spirit guides assigned to you, will appear to you in the form they choose, so, yes, it is entirely possible you've got a dragon spirit that's reaching out to you. It's also possible for your familiar spirit that was a cat to appear to you as a dog if it decides to change its shape. In my experience, I haven't encountered any mythical creatures, but your familiars are a unique experience to you!

Today, I'll be talking about familiar spirits in particular. I don't have experience on the end of physical familiars, so I'm going to speak about familiars that accompany us in the spiritual, metaphysical, or energetic realm.

What are familiar spirits good for, and why should I want a spirit following me around?

There's quite a few reasons folks work with familiars! For one, their energy is a lot more gentle, louder, and softer (in my experience) than a deity's energy. They are personal to you, are meant to work with you, and can act as a guide that is with you 24/7, whenever you call upon them. They are for you!

Here are a few different reasons I, or other witches, might work with a familiar:

A "alarm system" for spiritual attacks. If someone attempts to harm you or your energy, your familiar will likely be the first to know, and can alert you to it.

Aide and assistance in spells, magic, and divination.

A safe and trustworthy lucid dreaming or astral travel companion. If requested, familiar spirits will happily follow you into your dreams and walk with you when your body is at rest. This was huge for me as someone who suffers from PTSD and has frequent nightmares—after contracting my familiars, I found that going to sleep I felt protected and guarded when I was not awake.

Many familiars can provide wisdom or knowledge from an animal's unique perspective, and can help with advice specific to their species. For example, a cat might help you to understand how important rest and relaxation is, encouraging you to take it slow and let yourself bask in the warmth of the sun.

A comfortable spirit that you can feel and understand that it's there for you—it is with you, all the time, it understands every aspect of your life and soul, and may be a comfort entity. Mine certainly show up when I need to feel better or overwhelmed.

Clear communication from the spiritual realm—I've found that familiars are very quick and concise when communicating, making them excellent messengers for deities or ancestors. Sometimes mine deliver messages from my God Squad.

This is not an all-comprehensive list, and I have many of my own interpersonal reasons for working with familiar spirits. The point is: they can help in a ton of different ways as a safe and trustworthy spirit.

Well, that's cool! How do I know if there's a familiar spirit reaching out to me?

Everyone is going to have a different experience in this front. Here are some signs to look out for if you're feeling an animal or creature's presence and sensing a spirit around you that may be interested in becoming your familiar:

You are repeatedly dreaming about the same animal(s), or seeing them in the astral.

You are drawn or interested to a specific species of animal (a lot of times, look back at your childhood; that imaginary friend may have been a spirit guide!)

You repeatedly see signs of this animal surrounding you, such as repeated imagery of a crow, or people just can't stop mentioning bears around you and you can't figure out why.

Your deities or spirit team have communicated to you that they have sent you a spirit, or that there is one in your presence.

The spirit feels playful, wild, or behaves like an animal does in comparison to a spirit that might carry energies of a deity or any other supernatural spirits.

The spirit is not causing you harm or distress. If you are being caused distress by a spirit, it's absolutely not a familiar, as they are sent to aide you and become a companion, and you might need to Banish The Thing That's Causing You Stress because it's not a familiar spirit!

You vet the spirit and its communication may seem more primal or animalistic.

The spirit feels smaller (or larger) than a deity or other entity's presence, and more concise to its shape. I found that my familiars feel much more compact and true-to-side with their energies when they are around me compared to the ambiguity with my deities.

Once again, many of these are unique to my experience, and with this topic, you'll find that many people have so many different stories as to how they got their familiar. The important part is to vet your spirit, make sure that they are a creature trying to reach out, and find out who or what sent them to you. Trust me, you don't want an unwelcome spirit following you around. Always confirm with divination, with your God Squad or spiritual team, that this is an animal spirit reaching out to you.

Okay, that's awesome. I know and got confirmation that there's a familiar spirit reaching out! What are my next steps?

PAUSE! Before you contract or bind yourself to any spirit, you need to spend time with it and get used to it to make sure you for sure want this presence in your life consistently. Contracting/binding is non-reversible and permanent. It is a big decision, and you need to be super prepared and confident in making that decision.

You may choose to do a meditation to reach out to this spirit. Ask it what it looks like, its name, how it feels, etc., to get a full feel of its energy. You may do a tarot/oracle reading with the spirit. You may ask another witch to confirm that it is a familiar spirit and what messages it has for you. You may walk with your deities to meet the spirit. You may also choose to work with the spirit for a bit before fully contracting it to become a spirit if you are hesitant or new to spirit work.

I worked with mine as spirit guides for, well, 15+ years through the course of my life before I contracted them. It'll take patience, and it's a big decision to contract a spirit. Familiarize yourself (pun intended) with its energy, advice, knowledge, and how it interacts with your practice and through your daily life.

Is the spirit too overbearing or strong? Is it overwhelming? Is it an energy you wouldn't want surrounding you constantly? You may not want to contract a spirit of this manner. Tread carefully, and be aware of what you are binding yourself to. You can always peacefully depart with any familiar spirit who you choose not to work with if the "trial period" doesn't feel right—they won't take it personally, I promise! I've actually worked with quite a few animal spirits who were first spirit guides that had the potential to become a familiar, and did not end up contracting them as I found that they were simply not totally aligned with my life's overall path.

I've worked with the familiar spirit, gotten my confirmation, and know that this is a spirit I want to contract. How do I do that?

First of all, congratulations! That's a big deal. You've put in the work, and now you're ready for the next step. What's a contract and how do you do that?

Well, it's exactly what it sounds like. You can write or speak the contract when in contact with your familiar spirit and have their presence with you. Contracts are two-way, so you need to be able to allow the spirit to communicate their own boundaries and ensure they agree to the terms. Here are some things you may or may not want to include in your contract:

Your boundaries. How often do you want to feel your familiar's presence? How are you going to communicate if you need space from the spirit? What does that look like? Do you want the spirit to be able to walk into your dreams without permission?

The familiar's boundaries. Does this spirit want to be with you constantly, or do they need time for themselves where you may not be able to reach them all the time? How would they like to be addressed or treated?

The things you would like your familiar to help you with. Do you want them to assist you during spells with their energy? What about walk with you in your dreams?

How much the familiar wants you to talk about them. Some familiars are very quiet and like to keep their experience personal to their person, while others are perfectly fine with the witch talking about them. Mine are!

How you can give back to your spirit. This is a two-way contract, and even though your spirit is there for you, it's always kind to consider what the spirit may want as well. Would it like an altar or sacred space? Does it want you to talk about it? Perhaps it wants you to research and learn about its species to help preserve or safe its kindred souls!

What an alert from a familiar looks like. Coming from someone with a service dog, you should want to know what it looks like when your familiar is reaching out to you! If you want to be alerted of spiritual attacks, how should your familiar notify you of that?

Restrictions to the contract/binding. Maybe you don't want it to be entirely permanent—maybe you only would like to work with this spirit for a set amount of time, or vice versa.

Come up with your own rules! Write, revise, and write again. Edit your contract until it feels right between you and your familiar(s). When you are both ready, you can agree to the contract. With mine, I signed a physical letter that I wrote to my familiars, and let them channel through me to speak on their own behalf. How you do this is unique to you!

My familiar wolf spirits and our story.

Who the heck am I to speak, right? Figured I'd share a little bit of my experience with my familiars.

I've been working with my now-familiars for as long as I can remember, upwards of 15+ years. I first saw them when I was around 1st or 2nd grade, and I definitively remember seeing a black wolf curled up underneath my desk as a kid. I would walk with these spirits throughout my childhood in my dreams, or the space between awake and asleep. I would speak with them, see them when I closed my eyes, and when I was very young, saw them when my eyes were open as energies. Consistently, I was followed by a male black wolf and a female lighter gray wolf. They happily guided me through my childhood and sparked a great passion in me over wolves.

When I grew older and lost my ability to see these spirits right before my eyes, I decided that they were imaginary friends, as I'm sure most of us had when we were kids. I would talk to my friends, my parents, my brother, everyone I knew about these two wolves. Everyone thought it was adorable; me with my little imaginative mind, and imaginary friends.

When I was a teenager, I was reintroduced to these two wolves in a meditation to reach out to my spirit guides. The black wolf began to walk with me as a spirit guide and the lead of my spiritual team before I began deity worship and work. He would be my guiding light as I explored my craft and paganism. Later on, his white wolf mate would reappear to me in the same form. And then there were two!

I later learned after working with deities, especially with Loki, that the black wolf was a spirit companion sent by my ancestors. He (the black wolf) has walked alongside me for many lives. Once upon a time, he was alive, originally domesticated in ancient Scandinavia by his original person, one of my ancestors. His spirit followed my own through many cycles of death and rebirth after becoming domesticated. His mate, the white wolf, followed him into astral, and in this life, my deities allowed her to become one of my guides. I worked with these two wolves for a large amount of time as spirit guides before finally doing the research and deciding to contract them, as suggested by Loki.

I contracted my two familiars for life recently. My practice with them looks like feeling their presences, walking with them in my dreams (I like to call it "wolfwalking" lol), inviting their presence to my rituals, and pretty much incorporating them into every part of my practice. They are always with me, following me into my rest each and every night. I am constantly working with these two spirits and have dedicated myself and my work to them. They are, simply put, my companions for life!

In return, I have dedicated myself to spreading awareness of the wolf. I am a professional naturalist and author, and every day I speak about protecting the species and their life histories. I am writing my thesis over wolf reintroductions. They are the key to my passion and heart!

If you made it this far, thank you for reading! This is my experience and advice, so questions, comments, or additions are always welcome.

If you thought this was super useful and would like to give thanks for the 3 hours I spent writing and revising this post, I have a Ko-Fi for tips! I also do accept requests in my inbox for topics on familiars, including interpretation and communicating messages from your familiar spirits.

Thanks friends! <3

[pityslash]

[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!”

[bornagainmurdock]

say goodbye to my heart tonight

author's note: inspired by animal by neon trees bc im in a mood

contents: 18+ ONLY, smut, matt murdock x reader, gender neutral reader, heavy making out, marking, friends to lovers

word count: 1.2k

You and Matt had been friends for quite some time now. You had a regularly scheduled dinner each month to catch up, share important life events and all the gossip at your respective jobs. You trusted each other. You were best friends. Best friends until tonight that is, when Matt had decided to kiss you.

You were sat at a bar with him, twisting on the barstools back and forth along the counter, snacking on whatever Matt had ordered before you got there. He was already two drinks deep when you had ordered your first. The conversation started the way it always did. Matt gave you updates about Foggy and Karen and his office, and you told him about your family back home and how your dog was doing.

The bartender brought your drink not long after you ordered. You took you first sip and then attempted to resume the conversation until Matt turned to you, grabbed your face, and leaned in to kiss you.

Shocked by his own action, Matt backed away, turning back towards his drink and taking a long deep sip alcohol flooding his system. You sat, also in shock, hands hesitant, but yearning, reaching for where Matt was just a second ago an inch from your face.

"Matt?"

He swallowed audibly and showed a weak smile still facing the front, a bit embarassed by his own audacity. "Hmm?"

"Oh my god." You whispered. And that's when you forcibly turned his stool to kiss him, leaning in the same way he did, but with more confidence, refusing to break from the kiss.

His hands found your face again, tucking his fingers under your ears, thumbs still pressed to your cheeks.

"Let's get out of here." Matt smirked after pulling away.

He stood up, threw a twenty on the counter and dragged you out of the bar with him. He was excited and bouncy, almost running down the street.

"My place?" He said, turning back to look at you momentarily.

You nodded and he turned a corner with you in tow.

When you reached the building front door, Matt fumbled around his bag, digging out his keys, opening the door and pressing you against it to kiss you for a minute before returning to pull you up the stairs.

"I'm sorry I couldn't wait." He spoke, cheeks flushed.

When you reached his apartment door, he fumbled again, taking a bit to fight the right key, dropping them, and then searching again before finally opening it, mouth still attched to yours the entire time.

It felt magical, and a bit perplexing, Matt's apartment was where you went after long days to vent, but now you were seeing it from a whole different perspective. It was drenched in want, in need for each other. Tinged red by the lust surrounding your bodies, or perhaps the billboard llight outside. It felt like the world was upside down and you were floating through the air.

Matt was already dizzy with pleasure, tripping as he removed his jacket, and setting down his glasses refusing to remove his lips from yours.

It was fireworks through your body, muscles twitchy under the tension. Matt was panting against your mouth, pulling away every time you leaned in to tease you.

It was tortue, and that torture was incredibly delicious.

You placed a hand flat on Matt's chest, first unbuttoning his dress shirt, and then using that leverage to push his against the wall behind him. He hit the wall breathless, a whimper escaping his lips and hands coming up to grab at your hips and sides.

It was brutally visceral the way that he touched you. His skin was burning and sending shocks through your body, heating you up in the process, turning you red and blushing.

Matt was moaning into the kiss at this point, pulling at your clothes and exposing more of your skin with every move. You joined the task, pulling at his shirt, unbuttoning the remainder of the buttons and untucking it from his pants. Undoing his belt methodically and slowly, briefly dragging the backs of your hands across his lower stomach and hips.

He grabbed the hem of your shirt, pulling it above your arms and tossing it behind you.

"Matt." You whispered.

His mouth was on your jaw, nipping at the skin there and leaving small bruises in his path. He hummed, but made no effort to disconnect from your skin.

"Matt." You repeated, just as quiet as before.

He continued, again, but you grabbed his jaw and pushed him back against the wall, again. He choked on his words, breath catching up to him, hyperventilating and redhot.

"What are we doing?" You sighed.

"I love you. I want you. I don't know." He placed a hand on your chest feeling you heartbeat under him. "Based on that, you want me too."

You scoffed, grabbing his wrist and trying to pull away.

"I've always wanted this." Matt uttered with confidence, smile returning to his face.

"Then what are you waiting for." You said, egging him on.

He leaned in, kissed you, and flipped you around so your back was against the wall now, Matt's body the pressure holding you there.

His knee crept up, landing between your legs and waited for you to accept more of his touch. He let his shirt drop from his shoulders onto the floor, pulling his belt all the way through the loops, landing on top of his shirt.

Your mouth found the side of his neck, licking down the side before bitting, starting to grind down on his knee under you.

"Fuck." He mumbled under his breath.

"If you want to." You remarked back, waiting for his next move.

He grabbed your sides, tight and bruising, pulling you with him towards the bedroom. He stumbled a bit every few steps, still refusing to lose contact with your lips.

"Matt." You breathed.

"Unless you're moaning it, I don't want to hear my name from your mouth again." He said, pushing you down onto the bed slowly.

You rolled you eyes in a mix of lust and annoyance at his words, embracing the fluffy duvet under you.

Matt climbed above your body, still attcking your neck and jaw with his lips, starting to move down farther to bruise your collar bones.

"Oh my god, Matt." You whined.

"You sound so good for me." He bit down on the final word, body electrocuted under his teeth.

You squirmed in his touch, nonverbally begging for more, trying to grind up into his body.

"Patience."

His fingers dug into you farther, tighter, and with more intention.

"What're you waiting for, Matty?" You smirked, hips still bucking up into him.

He pressed your hips down with his own hips, pinning you there under him. He kept biting, licking, sucking at your skin, laughing periodically at your desparation.

"I've wanted to do this to you forever." Matt said, moving back up to be face to face with you.

"Me too. Fuck me. Please."

He lifted his hips to stand, taking off his pants slowly, and then grabbing at the pant legs of yours to pull them off your hips.

"Of course."

[bloodiedrogue]

PROUD

SUMMARY: Halsin can’t help but indulge a bit after a particularly long day.

PAIRING: Halsin & Original Female Character (Elyra belongs to @bloodlessbhaalbabe)

WORD COUNT: 2,164

WARNINGS: 18+ sexual content, oral sex (fem receiving), light choking, overstimulation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: Wrote this as part of a trade with Mystical! First time writing Halsin so hopefully he isn’t too out of character???

MASTERLIST

-

The mood is low. As everyone stumbles tiredly through the veil of the Last Light Inn, even Halsin can feel the ache. A throbbing touch of pain radiating through his spine, spreading across the upper portions of his back like a violent wave.

Stepping past Jaheria who welcomes them back, he can’t help but groan and reach around to try and soothe the spasms that have begun to erupt. Pushing his thumb into the knotted flesh he tries his best to alleviate the pressure to no avail, prompting a huff to escape his lips that the elven woman beside him all but frowns at.

“You sore?” she asks, staring with such deep concern that Halsin has to look away and force out a soft smile to deter her from worrying. Knowing that if she doesn’t she’ll simply forgo her own struggles to aid him in his.

“I’m fine, Elyra.”

“Excuse me, Elyra?” Narrowing her eyes, she leans forward, placing her hands defiantly on her hips as she surveys his frame. Picking apart every section of bruised skin covering aching bones until she’s satisfied with her research, prompting her to huff. “You never call me that.”

Even he can’t help but grin at that. Well aware that she’s right. It’s always dear or heart or love —terms of endearment he wishes to whisper against her flesh in the heat of the night but is unable to do so thanks to his own goals.

Goals, he can’t help but silently curse as she steps towards him, instinctively arching her back in that flirtatious manner as she presses a hand to his chest.

“You’re delirious, Halsin.”

“What, for calling you by your birth name?”

Her eyelashes flutter as she nods, and it’s at the moment he thinks he might be dying. The lack of air in his chest causing a newfound pain to spread at the same time his heart fails to keep up its usual rhythm. All while his mind does somersaults trying to find a way to avoid the temptation of her beautiful lips pulling into a wide grin.

“How about I help you out with a nice massage, huh? We could go back to my room, smoke a little bit and just hang out?”

Right off the bat, he knows he should decline. Given the lack of control he already has around her on a good day, it’s obvious that if he were to allow himself the opportunity to get that close, he’d certainly give in. Resulting in yet another distraction on his way to break the curse.

Not that he considers her to be a particularly bad distraction. In fact, despite his thoughts sometimes telling him that she’s no good for him, he knows that’s not the case. Elyra is in fact very good for him. A woman so perfect that, even though those same thoughts are currently telling him to say no and to bid her goodnight, his body merely accepts her offer with a small nod. Allowing the woman to excitedly grab his hand and pull him up the stairs with such gracious ease that by the time he’s lying on her bed, stomach first, everything thought he’s ever had is gone.

“Does transforming into all those creatures ever mess with your bones?”

Lifting his head to laugh, he then cranes his neck to see her face twisting with focus. Her eyes narrowing as the pressure of her hands glide around his back —her lips pursing once she hits a particularly rough spot.

“I suppose it does wear one down after a long day.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I mean, could you imagine having your entire skeletal system just magically shift into something else? Gods, that would be so painful.” She cringes at the thought before her eyes suddenly widen, prompting Halsin to laugh again. “Wait, I guess you do know, huh?”

“Yes, very much so.”

“No wonder your muscles are all fucked up right now,” she points out, digging her palm into a particularly rough spot that has him instinctively groaning. A low guttural noise that he knows he shouldn’t feel embarrassed about, yet in the moment it’s all he can focus on.

“Sorry, should’ve warned you about that one. You’re real tight in the shoulder area.”

Clearing his throat, he’s suddenly too overwhelmed to continue, causing his body to shift to the side; her hands reluctantly moving away when their eyes inevitably meet. Pausing as he allows his weight to rest against the base of his forearm, unable to further move due to the fact that he wants to be closer.

More than anything, he wants to feel those calloused hands of hers wrapped around him, toying with his hair or fingers —pressing into the grooves of his chest as they descent to far less innocent lands.

Lands he has to force himself to forget about as he reluctantly pushes upwards, feeling the heat of Elyra’s stare become too much.

“Thank you for the massage,” he tells her then. And although he has every intention of shuffling off the edge of the bed and leaving, all he ends up doing is readjusting his position. Allowing his legs to extend and accidentally knock against her knee as she too gets on the bed.

“Are you sure you’re okay? You seem tense, big boy.”

Almost immediately, both of them know what she means when she says it. However, Halsin being too focused, fails to comment. Instead, averting his gaze as thoughts of her circle through his mind, granting Elyra enough time to crawl towards him.

And unfortunately for Halsin, it’s a sight he can no longer ignore. As her chest is practically exposed in full thanks to the angle, the only thing he can think about is touching her. Grabbing her waist and pulling her into his lap so that he can ravish her as thanks. Which is exactly what he does without even realizing it. His body and mind failing to connect until he feels their lips collide, prompting everything inside him to restart, realizing what he’s done.

He’s passed the threshold. Not only that, but he’s fully sprinted through the room too, winding up inside her bed with no desire of stopping once he feels her teeth snagging his bottom lip, playfully pulling the skin with a grin.

“Careful, my dear heart,” he warns her, but all she does is continue. Pushing him past the point of no return in the form of hands caressing his cheeks and a tongue that seamlessly slips through to touch his own.

Which prompts him to flip her onto her back. In one quick motion, causing her to wildly laugh and tug his hair, forcing him down to capture her lips. Neither one of them wasting time as he cages her against the mattress.

“See, I knew you were tense.”

Without warning, his hand glides down her side with careful precision. The pads of his fingers applying pressure to all her plushest parts before he inevitably lands on her inner thigh. “Seems you might be as well.”

Rolling her eyes, she gives his hair another tug, demanding more. “You haven’t even touched me yet, how would you know?”

He’s tempted to make fun of her then. To tell her that every waking moment he knows because she’s the most open person he’s ever met, but then he sees the way she’s looking at him. So desperately needy and tired of waiting. So completely set on what’s to come that all he can do is hum and pry his fingers from her thigh to push her skirt out of the way.

“Would you like me to touch you?”

And for once, she’s speechless. The words failing to exit her mouth as Halsin draws a long line across the fabric laid over her cunt. The edge of his knuckle pressing against her clothed clit, refusing to move until she nods her head. An action so simple, yet impactful that despite every part of his mind screaming at him to stop —to focus on what he came here to do instead of falling further into the loving palm of this beautiful woman— he refuses. Instead, guiding his hands to respectively brush her underwear to the side, feeling the heated flesh of her pleasure practically gush in his hands.

“More… please.”

Her voice is just as breathless as his lungs. As he runs his knuckles up and down her folds, gently burrowing the bones into her crevice, he can’t help but grin. Knowing that with just the touch of his hand, he’s somehow able to bring forth something new within her. Something needy and wild —a visceral wine escaping once he uncurls his hand, tentatively pushing a finger inside.

“Tense as ever, my dear heart,” he practically whispers, leaning down to kiss her face. Pressing his lips to her cheek, then her chin, stopping at the top edge of her neck to take a deep breath. “Why I can barely get a finger in without you clenching those walls of yours.”

In response, she twitches around him. Unable to deny his claims, he can feel her give in. The pulse of her cunt wetting his fingers. The way it practically sucks him in as he proceeds to slip another one in at the same time he nips her neck with his teeth.

“So smug, aren’t you?”

Suckling the wound, he grins against her before pulling back to look at his work. To see the warmth of her cheeks spread down to the base of her chest. The heat from his curious fingers eliciting more of a response than he intended to receive.

“Not smug. Proud.”

“Proud?” She lets out a laugh, bucking up her hips when he begins to slowly pump in and out, testing the waters further.

“Proud to call you mine for the evening,” he explains, his free hand rising to grip her chin so that he can brush a finger across her lower lip. “Also, proud to know that I can render you speechless with just a touch of my hand.”

“You should be pro—oh fuck.”

His thumb circles her clit as he chuckles, watching her head fall back. The red tone of her hair resembling a fiery halo sprawled out across the wrinkled bed sheets beneath them. “Sorry, were you saying something, my love?”

He can feel her defiance through the tenseness of her muscles. Both beneath and around his fingers. Every part of her threatens to retaliate until she feels his hand lace carefully around her throat, the pressure of his fingers stopping her in her tracks.

Which only spurs him on further. Feeling the submission she offers in response to one measly touch, it’s as if every thought he’s ever had about waiting is gone. The mere idea of it exiting his mind once he begins lowering himself down, staring at her curious eyes until they vanish behind the fabric of her skirt and all he sees is her cunt.

Swollen and dripping, it’s a sight that has him feeling ravenous. A hunger so foul stirring in his stomach that he fails to wait for permission, prompting him to practically rip the fabric from her hips and dive in.

And almost immediately, another groan slips out of him. The sound reverberating off her flesh in a way that has her bucking up again, taking back control. Forcing him to work that much harder as he grabs her hips, locking her in place. Prodding her folds with his eager tongue —playfully nipping her skin in between to tease and extend her pleasure.

He can tell she hates it. Or rather, hates the patience he’s thrust upon her as he builds her up only to stop and pull away, heavily breathing against her entrance as a way to further taunt her.

“You’re a —you’re a sick bastard, Halsin, whatever your last name is… I can’t remember right now.”

He chuckles against her clit before taking it in his mouth, suckling the flesh as he eventually pushes two fingers inside again, feeling her tense. Noticing the immediate build he’s once again provided when she begins to heavily breathe and lace her fingers in his hair, begging him not to stop. To please, never stop.

So, he doesn’t. Even when she’s shaking beneath him, every muscle in her body releasing the pleasure she desperately sought to gain from him, he continues. Brutalizing every part of her cunt with languid, pressurized licks and greedy fingers that pump and curl. His body providing whatever stimulations she requires and more until they’re both spent on the bed, heaving out breaths neither of them has enough energy to gain as he slowly crawls up to rest on her plush stomach, smiling at the way her eyes narrow in false annoyance.

“I’m almost mad at the fact that you’re good at that.”

“Why?”

“Because it’s gonna make waiting for that cock of yours an absolute living hell. I can already tell.”

[felassan]

Some snippets from a couple older articles I don't remember seeing or catching[?] before:

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

Varric's familiar wit and charm is very much present [source]

Excerpt on the opening:

"the story just sort of jumps right into things under the assumption you've got some understanding of where things left off in Inquisition. Solas, the Dreadwolf, is already conducting a menacing ritual to dismantle the Veil in the heart of the Tevinter Imperium's capital city, and Varric has assembled a crew to try to stop him. The demonstration began with a player choice, wherein Rook - our extremely customizable hero (more on that later) - gets to choose between fighting an entire bar or attempting to negotiate his way into more peaceful circumstances. Naturally, the demoist chose to beat everyone up in a bit of Dungeons & Dragons-esque tavern fun, complete with Varric pinning the shady bartender to her own station with a well placed crossbow bolt for some interrogation. As Rook and Varric scrounge the city for clues and meet up with a few more teammates en route to stopping Solas' big scary plan, they engage in some back and forth that feels like a mix of cheesy RPG dialogue and the characterization that makes Dragon Age such a great iteration of its genre." [...] "During the demo, Rook and crew engaged several enemies on their way to stop Solas. Battle sometimes began through a cinematic and sometimes by simply approaching an enemy on the map." [source]

"As the environment gets destroyed or decayed and action spills out into the streets, the rendering of each brick and light source helps add to a high fantasy feel." [source]

On the slider for body type selection: "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]

Party members closest to Rook are the most useful and lethal in battle [source]

On combat: it "has an improved version of [the DA2] battle system that combines the tactical pauses of Dragon Age's deep strategy with a more fluid, eye-catching approach to action that can create gorgeous visuals at times" [source]

"the string of attacks possible while playing Rook made the combat seem quite dynamic on a base level" [source]

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

"Thedas is more beautiful than ever in the hour I spent with Veilguard" [source]

"I can assure you that the weird, hero-shooter tone of that companion reveal trailer doesn't carry into the game itself. No sir, Dragon Age: The Veilguard (née Dreadwolf) doesn't have much time for japes at all. Things are grim. Dark. Fraught, even" [source]

"sliding a cursor across a triangle that can make your character stocky and chubby or tall and muscular or anything in between" [source]

"BioWare seems to have resisted the Mass Effect: Andromeda proclivity for gratingly quippy dialogue in this one, at least. Varric makes some jokes, sure, but people spoke mostly like (dramatic, fantasy) people in my time in Minrathous" [source]

Minrathous: "the dark heart of a dystopian magical empire, its skyline dominated by a magically suspended palace in the shape of a saw-toothed crescent" [source]

Enemy barriers and armors can be whittled down more quickly by "nailing a shot to a vital part with your bow, if you've got one" [source]

[ttrpgcafe]

HOLY SHIT INVISIBLE SUN IS COMING BACK AND IT'S MY FAVORITE RPG OF ALL TIME PLEASE BACK IT SO I (or we, I guess) CAN GET THE WELLSPRING:

https://www.backerkit.com/c/projects/monte-cook-games/invisible-sun-return-of-the-black-cube#top

For those of you unfamiliar with Invisible Sun, it's an rpg where every single player is a spell caster of some variety, each with their own unique way of interacting with magic.

The Vances are the most traditional spellcasters, but they eschew spell lists in favor of literally filling a grid with spell cards, representing their limited cognitive space being taken up by spells. They get more space, and literally bigger spells as you progress.

Weavers take two concepts and combine them to produce an effect, very much like Ars Magica or Mage: The Ascension, if you're familiar with those. They get the ability to combine more concepts together, and to have mastery over more concepts as they progress.

Makers are this game's artificer, and they have a robust system for making quirky magic items that have fun, interesting, unique side effects or downsides every time you use them. Their progression is the most straight forward by the numbers "the things you make are more powerful and you're better at making them" of the bunch, but the system lets you, for instance, make a gun out of the body of a dead(?) god, so I'll give this a pass.

Lastly, there are the Goetics, who summon and bind otherworldly creatures to their wills. This takes the form of a conversation and negotiation with your GM over what you have to do for your bound creature, and what exactly they do for you in exchange. If you've ever played a warlock and felt like patrons weren't a big enough deal, this is an entire "class" that lets those relationships (yes, plural) take center stage.

The entire system feels very much like Cypher system 2.0, with a d10 dice pool system with a straight forward level of difficulty to hit, very much like the levels of difficulty in base cypher system, just made easier to manage. It even uses the "I'm an Adjective Noun who Verbs" character structure from Cypher system, here made much more interesting by the addition of a funky little xp system.

Invisible Sun has one of the most interesting advancement systems I've ever seen: aside from normal, average, "you do a thing, you get xp" system, here called "Acumen" (used to increase your stats and skills) there is a separate xp system related to good and bad things happening to your character, called "Joy" and "Despair" respectively. You combine one Joy with one Despair to get a "Crux" which is the xp currency you need to advance your class and focus abilities. This incentivizes players to not only let bad things happen to them, but to SEEK THEM OUT, which is huge! Players often think they want to win all the time, but they don't actually want that, it makes for a boring narrative. This is one of the very few systems I've seen incentivize this story structure, and I'm absolutely in love with it.

Lastly, because the game focuses so heavily on Magic, it has the only system for simulating the ebbs and flows of magic I've seen done well! This involves "The Path of Suns" and the "Sooth deck" which is the in game name for a specific pattern of laying out what amounts to tarot cards that make magic dynamic, interesting, and unpredictable in a way I've never seen before, and rarely since. (Pathfinder's Secrets of Magic is the only other supplement I can think of, and that was almost 5 years after this game came out)

Anyway, I can't recommend this game enough, the systems are unique, the vibes are immaculate, and it's so fuckin WEIRD in the best way.

[raven-at-the-writing-desk]

For the Crowley interaction event how about him getting lunch one day and a food fight breaks out in the cafeteria? It can be a mob student or a main boy that starts it I just want to know how he reacts and deals with it or not.

Enter; An Unkindness of Ravens.

Meat pie, meat pie🎵

Crowley hummed in his head as he fell into the cafeteria line. He could smell the spices and hearty game meat stewing in the kitchen. His mouth watered, eager to sink his teeth into a slice.

Students inched forward, drifting to vacant tables with trays of food and drink. The system the school had in place was streamlined, efficient--before long, Crowley was the next to be served.

“Ah, headmaster. Here for your lunch break, I see,” one of the chefs greeted. He plopped an entire meat pie onto a platter and slid it toward Crowley. "There you are, an extra-large helping of your favorite!"

"Thank you, my good ghost," Crowley responded with the tip of his hat. "Please do keep up the excellent work!"

"Anytime. I know how hard you work to keep this school running. It's the least I can do to help fill your stomach."

"Fufufu, and it is very much appreciated~"

While Crowley exchanged pleasantries with the ghost chef, he failed to take note of the students in his surroundings. The usual murmurs had grown tense, like a rope pulled in two different directions. Shifty eyes met one another, fingers fidgeting.

Then, in the midst of the tentative peace, one boy's voice rang out.

"FOOD FIGHT!"

Hell broke loose in the cafeteria. Students were suddenly out of their seats, food flying, people racing for the exit or ducking under chairs to avoid the incoming fire.

Sebek made a desperate leap to defend his liege from mashed potatoes, Jamil hurried Kalim out, using his own body as an unwilling shield. Ace and Deuce were targeting each other, and on the opposite side of the room, Epel was flinging spoonfuls of applesauce, much to his dorm members' horror. Floyd busied himself with trying to catch wayward food in his gaping mouth. Riddle shouted over the chaos, attempting to gain control of the frenzy--no one listened.

"Oh, sweet, merciful Seven!!" Crowley cried out in distress. “G-Gentlemen, let’s calm ourselves and put down the—eeeep!!”

"Take cover, sir!" the ghost chest warned, diving under a table himself.

Crowley yelped at a rogue banana chucked his way. He managed to dodge it, only to find a gravy stain blooming on his vest. The next hit was to his tray, knocking his meal to the ground in an unceremonious heap, crust ruined and meaty innards oozing out.

"M-My clothes!!" he pathetically wailed. "My meat piiiiie!!!"

The food fight continued, unaware of his plight.

A great wave of irritation overcame Crowley. They will never learn right from wrong without a stern hand to guide them.

Slamming his tray down, he seized his walking stick in its place. Magic welled up from within him, bringing about a rain of shimmering light at his command.

At once, the frantic scene was put on pause. Limbs locking, food dropping to the ground.

"Hey, what gives?"

“Why can’t I move?!”

“M-My body…!”

"That's enough of that," Crowley announced, making his presence known. He folded his arms and tutted disapprovingly. “Really, now! I expect better behavior of my students!!”

"He started it!" the boys chorused. Crowley suspected that they would be pointing at one another, were it not for his spell freezing them in place. A few dissenting voices--Riddle ("I tried to control them, headmaster!!") and Sebek ("THE YOUNG MASTER HAS DONE NOTHING TO DESERVE THIS CRUELTY! PUNISH ME IF YOU MUST, BUT NOT HIM!") only contributed to the madness.

"Regardless of who did and did not instigate, all of you will have to be reprimanded. After all, the majority of you did participate or otherwise worsened the situation once it started!!"

Crowley thrusted a finger at the floor, then the walls. They were splattered with sauces and chunks of meat and vegetables.

"You should all be ashamed of yourselves. The ghost chefs toil to prepare these delicious, nutritious meals for you growing boys--and here they are, gone to waste!!"

He waved his hand, loosening his magical hold on the boys. Buckets of soapy water and mops materialized beside them. Realizing what was coming next, they collectively groaned.

"I believe the appropriate punishment would be to clean up this mess you've made. I recommend that you hop to it--there's only so much time allotted in the school day for one's lunch break." Crowley's eyes glinted with mischief. "Fufufu, yes, yes, that will do just nicely!"

I'm such a genius~