#it’s not apparent in the art itself but it’s important to me that you know

[sciencelings-arts]

Apollo but with more sun god symbolism because he deserves it

Rambles and lore under the cut, as is routine

Slight close up, I love the hc that he got scars from the courtroom bombing and that his eyes get a little red when perceiving. I also legally couldn’t make his hair too short and gelled back I can’t do that to the little rat man, making his horns look normal in my style was hard enough, I wasn’t made to draw anime men. Also his clothes/colors are partially based on concept art of Dhurke and I really wanted to add the blues from Clays jacket.

Maybe it’s also a thematic reference to Phoenix too idk I think beyond canon they get along more bc within canon so much shit is happening constantly that they’re set up to be at odds more often. He accepts getting found familied eventually…

SUN SYMBOLISM! Like the other members of the WAA, he’s got that celestial bodies swag. Also I made that one doodle of the sun and liked it so much that I had to put it everywhere. Originally his earrings had a design that both mimicked the scales of Justice and upside down riding suns but I realized they already did that kind of thing in AAI so I did what I did best and mindlessly doodled. Also this version mimics how Athena’s moon earrings turned out so I’m not mad lol.

[fataldrum]

Dorian Gray is queer art, period.

Apparently Netflix has decided to make an adaption of The Picture of Dorian Gray with Dorian and Basil as siblings. Unless they're planning to go the gothic horror incest route, they've completely missed the point of the relationship between these characters.

If you haven't read the book, Basil is a painter who becomes infatuated with a beautiful young man, pouring his feelings into a painting. Dorian becomes jealous of the painting's beauty, realizing that he will never be as young and unspoiled as the version of himself on the canvas. He finds himself wishing that the painting could age instead of him. His wish is granted, allowing him to stay young and beautiful until the end, with his moral and spiritual decline reflected only in the painting.

I cannot overstate how queer this book is. Dorian is so beautiful that their first meeting inspires a wave of existential terror in Basil. Dorian changes Basil's entire understanding of art and beauty. This book is so queer it was used as evidence at Wilde's sodomy trial.

The existence of the portrait itself is tantamount to a confession of queer desire. Basil tells his friend, Lord Henry, that he can't exhibit the painting because "I have put too much of myself into it.”

Lord Henry (who will later lead Dorian into a life of vice) laughs, but Basil explains:

“[E]very portrait that is painted with feeling is a portrait of the artist, not of the sitter. [...] It is not he who is revealed by the painter; it is rather the painter who, on the coloured canvas, reveals himself. The reason I will not exhibit this picture is that I am afraid that I have shown in it the secret of my own soul.”

This is how he describes meeting Dorian:

When our eyes met, I felt that I was growing pale. A curious sensation of terror came over me. I knew that I had come face to face with some one whose mere personality was so fascinating that, if I allowed it to do so, it would absorb my whole nature, my whole soul, my very art itself. [...] I have always been my own master; had at least always been so, till I met Dorian Gray. Then—but I don’t know how to explain it to you. Something seemed to tell me that I was on the verge of a terrible crisis in my life. I had a strange feeling that fate had in store for me exquisite joys and exquisite sorrows. I grew afraid and turned to quit the room. It was not conscience that made me do so: it was a sort of cowardice. I take no credit to myself for trying to escape.”

Notice that turn of phrase--it was not conscience but cowardice that made him attempt to flee. Why would conscience factor into his decision? Because he felt shame at his reaction to Dorian's perfect, beautiful face.

Lord Henry is shocked to discover Basil cares for something besides his art.

“He is all my art to me now,” said the painter gravely. “I sometimes think, Harry, that there are only two eras of any importance in the world’s history. The first is the appearance of a new medium for art, and the second is the appearance of a new personality for art also. What the invention of oil-painting was to the Venetians, the face of Antinous was to late Greek sculpture, and the face of Dorian Gray will some day be to me.

Basil goes on to confess, "I see everything in him. He is never more present in my work than when no image of him is there."

Lord Henry still doesn't understand why there is too much of Basil in the painting, so Basil explains:

“Because, without intending it, I have put into it some expression of all this curious artistic idolatry, of which, of course, I have never cared to speak to him. He knows nothing about it. He shall never know anything about it. But the world might guess it, and I will not bare my soul to their shallow prying eyes. My heart shall never be put under their microscope. There is too much of myself in the thing, Harry—too much of myself!”

Lord Henry asks how Dorian feels about Basil, and his response is absolutely tragic.

The painter considered for a few moments. “He likes me,” he answered after a pause; “I know he likes me. Of course I flatter him dreadfully. I find a strange pleasure in saying things to him that I know I shall be sorry for having said. As a rule, he is charming to me, and we sit in the studio and talk of a thousand things. Now and then, however, he is horribly thoughtless, and seems to take a real delight in giving me pain. Then I feel, Harry, that I have given away my whole soul to some one who treats it as if it were a flower to put in his coat, a bit of decoration to charm his vanity, an ornament for a summer’s day.”

Any adaptation that ignores the way Dorian's existence and beauty utterly destroyed Basil is doomed to be shallow and insipid. This is not just a book about a magic painting. It's a monument to queer longing.

[eyrieofsynapses]

why Aurora's art is genius

It's break for me, and I've been meaning to sit down and read the Aurora webcomic (https://comicaurora.com/, @comicaurora on Tumblr) for quite a bit. So I did that over the last few days.

And… y'know. I can't actually say "I should've read this earlier," because otherwise I would've been up at 2:30-3am when I had responsibilities in the morning and I couldn't have properly enjoyed it, but. Holy shit guys THIS COMIC.

I intended to just do a generalized "hello this is all the things I love about this story," and I wrote a paragraph or two about art style. …and then another. And another. And I realized I needed to actually reference things so I would stop being too vague. I was reading the comic on my tablet or phone, because I wanted to stay curled up in my chair, but I type at a big monitor and so I saw more details… aaaaaand it turned into its own giant-ass post.

SO. Enjoy a few thousand words of me nerding out about this insanely cool art style and how fucking gorgeous this comic is? (There are screenshots, I promise it isn't just a wall of text.) In my defense, I just spent two semesters in graphic design classes focusing on the Adobe Suite, so… I get to be a nerd about pretty things…???

All positive feedback btw! No downers here. <3

---

I cannot emphasize enough how much I love the beautiful, simple stylistic method of drawing characters and figures. It is absolutely stunning and effortless and utterly graceful—it is so hard to capture the sheer beauty and fluidity of the human form in such a fashion. Even a simple outline of a character feels dynamic! It's gorgeous!

Though I do have a love-hate relationship with this, because my artistic side looks at that lovely simplicity, goes "I CAN DO THAT!" and then I sit down and go to the paper and realize that no, in fact, I cannot do that yet, because that simplicity is born of a hell of a lot of practice and understanding of bodies and actually is really hard to do. It's a very developed style that only looks simple because the artist knows what they're doing. The human body is hard to pull off, and this comic does so beautifully and makes it look effortless.

Also: line weight line weight line weight. It's especially important in simplified shapes and figures like this, and hoo boy is it used excellently. It's especially apparent the newer the pages get—I love watching that improvement over time—but with simpler figures and lines, you get nice light lines to emphasize both smaller details, like in the draping of clothing and the curls of hair—which, hello, yes—and thicker lines to emphasize bigger and more important details and silhouettes. It's the sort of thing that's essential to most illustrations, but I wanted to make a note of it because it's so vital to this art style.

THE USE OF LAYER BLENDING MODES OH MY GODS. (...uhhh, apologies to the people who don't know what that means, it's a digital art program thing? This article explains it for beginners.)

Bear with me, I just finished my second Photoshop course, I spent months and months working on projects with this shit so I see the genius use of Screen and/or its siblings (of which there are many—if I say "Screen" here, assume I mean the entire umbrella of Screen blending modes and possibly Overlay) and go nuts, but seriously it's so clever and also fucking gorgeous:

Firstly: the use of screened-on sound effect words over an action? A "CRACK" written over a branch and then put on Screen in glowy green so that it's subtle enough that it doesn't disrupt the visual flow, but still sticks out enough to make itself heard? Little "scritches" that are transparent where they're laid on without outlines to emphasize the sound without disrupting the underlying image? FUCK YES. I haven't seen this done literally anywhere else—granted, I haven't read a massive amount of comics, but I've read enough—and it is so clever and I adore it. Examples:

Secondly: The beautiful lighting effects. The curling leaves, all the magic, the various glowing eyes, the fog, the way it's all so vividly colored but doesn't burn your eyeballs out—a balance that's way harder to achieve than you'd think—and the soft glows around them, eeeee it's so pretty so pretty SO PRETTY. Not sure if some of these are Outer/Inner Glow/Shadow layer effects or if it's entirely hand-drawn, but major kudos either way; I can see the beautiful use of blending modes and I SALUTE YOUR GENIUS.

I keep looking at some of this stuff and go "is that a layer effect or is it done by hand?" Because you can make some similar things with the Satin layer effect in Photoshop (I don't know if other programs have this? I'm gonna have to find out since I won't have access to PS for much longer ;-;) that resembles some of the swirly inner bits on some of the lit effects, but I'm not sure if it is that or not. Or you could mask over textures? There's... many ways to do it.

If done by hand: oh my gods the patience, how. If done with layer effects: really clever work that knows how to stop said effects from looking wonky, because ugh those things get temperamental. If done with a layer of texture that's been masked over: very, very good masking work. No matter the method, pretty shimmers and swirly bits inside the bigger pretty swirls!

Next: The way color contrast is used! I will never be over the glowy green-on-black Primordial Life vibes when Alinua gets dropped into that… unconscious space?? with Life, for example, and the sharp contrast of vines and crack and branches and leaves against pitch black is just visually stunning. The way the roots sink into the ground and the three-dimensional sensation of it is particularly badass here:

Friggin. How does this imply depth like that. HOW. IT'S SO FREAKING COOL.

A huge point here is also color language and use! Everybody has their own particular shade, generally matching their eyes, magic, and personality, and I adore how this is used to make it clear who's talking or who's doing an action. That was especially apparent to me with Dainix and Falst in the caves—their colors are both fairly warm, but quite distinct, and I love how this clarifies who's doing what in panels with a lot of action from both of them. There is a particular bit that stuck out to me, so I dug up the panels (see this page and the following one https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-30/):

(Gods it looks even prettier now that I put it against a plain background. Also, appreciation to Falst for managing a bridal-carry midair, damn.)

The way that their colors MERGE here! And the immense attention to detail in doing so—Dainix is higher up than Falst is in the first panel, so Dainix's orange fades into Falst's orange at the base. The next panel has gold up top and orange on bottom; we can't really tell in that panel where each of them are, but that's carried over to the next panel—

—where we now see that Falst's position is raised above Dainix's due to the way he's carrying him. (Points for continuity!) And, of course, we see the little "huffs" flowing from orange to yellow over their heads (where Dainix's head is higher than Falst's) to merge the sound of their breathing, which is absurdly clever because it emphasizes to the viewer how we hear two sets of huffing overlaying each other, not one. Absolutely brilliant.

(A few other notes of appreciation to that panel: beautiful glows around them, the sparks, the jagged silhouette of the spider legs, the lovely colors that have no right to make the area around a spider corpse that pretty, the excellent texturing on the cave walls plus perspective, the way Falst's movements imply Dainix's hefty weight, the natural posing of the characters, their on-point expressions that convey exactly how fuckin terrifying everything is right now, the slight glows to their eyes, and also they're just handsome boys <3)

Next up: Rain!!!! So well done! It's subtle enough that it never ever disrupts the impact of the focal point, but evident enough you can tell! And more importantly: THE MIST OFF THE CHARACTERS. Rain does this irl, it has that little vapor that comes off you and makes that little misty effect that plays with lighting, it's so cool-looking and here it's used to such pretty effect!

One of the panel captions says something about it blurring out all the injuries on the characters but like THAT AIN'T TOO BIG OF A PROBLEM when it gets across the environmental vibes, and also that'd be how it would look in real life too so like… outside viewer's angle is the same as the characters', mostly? my point is: that's the environment!!! that's the vibes, that's the feel! It gets it across and it does so in the most pretty way possible!

And another thing re: rain, the use of it to establish perspective, particularly in panels like this—

—where we can tell we're looking down at Tynan due to the perspective on the rain and where it's pointing. Excellent. (Also, kudos for looking down and emphasizing how Tynan's losing his advantage—lovely use of visual storytelling.)

Additionally, the misting here:

We see it most heavily in the leftmost panel, where it's quite foggy as you would expect in a rainstorm, especially in an environment with a lot of heat, but it's also lightly powdered on in the following two panels and tends to follow light sources, which makes complete sense given how light bounces off particles in the air.

A major point of strength in these too is a thorough understanding of lighting, like rim lighting, the various hues and shades, and an intricate understanding of how light bounces off surfaces even when they're in shadow (we'll see a faint glow in spots where characters are half in shadow, but that's how it would work in real life, because of how light bounces around).

Bringing some of these points together: the fluidity of the lines in magic, and the way simple glowing lines are used to emphasize motion and the magic itself, is deeply clever. I'm basically pulling at random from panels and there's definitely even better examples, but here's one (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-16-33/):

First panel, listed in numbers because these build on each other:

The tension of the lines in Tess's magic here. This works on a couple levels: first, the way she's holding her fists, as if she's pulling a rope taut.

The way there's one primary line, emphasizing the rope feeling, accompanied by smaller ones.

The additional lines starbursting around her hands, to indicate the energy crackling in her hands and how she's doing a good bit more than just holding it. (That combined with the fists suggests some tension to the magic, too.) Also the variations in brightness, a feature you'll find in actual lightning. :D Additional kudos for how the lightning sparks and breaks off the metal of the sword.

A handful of miscellaneous notes on the second panel:

The reflection of the flames in Erin's typically dark blue eyes (which bears a remarkable resemblance to Dainix, incidentally—almost a thematic sort of parallel given Erin's using the same magic Dainix specializes in?)

The flowing of fabric in the wind and associated variation in the lineart

The way Erin's tattoos interact with the fire he's pulling to his hand

The way the rain overlays some of the fainter areas of fire (attention! to! detail! hell yeah!)

I could go on. I won't because this is a lot of writing already.

Third panel gets paragraphs, not bullets:

Erin's giant-ass "FWOOM" of fire there, and the way the outline of the word is puffy-edged and gradated to feel almost three-dimensional, plus once again using Screen or a variation on it so that the stars show up in the background. All this against that stunning plume of fire, which ripples and sparks so gorgeously, and the ending "om" of the onomatopoeia is emphasized incredibly brightly against that, adding to the punch of it and making the plume feel even brighter.

Also, once again, rain helping establish perspective, especially in how it's very angular in the left side of the panel and then slowly becomes more like a point to the right to indicate it's falling directly down on the viewer. Add in the bright, beautiful glow effects, fainter but no less important black lines beneath them to emphasize the sky and smoke and the like, and the stunningly beautiful lighting and gradated glows surrounding Erin plus the lightning jagging up at him from below, and you get one hell of an impactful panel right there. (And there is definitely more in there I could break down, this is just a lot already.)

And in general: The colors in this? Incredible. The blues and purples and oranges and golds compliment so well, and it's all so rich.

Like, seriously, just throughout the whole comic, the use of gradients, blending modes, color balance and hues, all the things, all the things, it makes for the most beautiful effects and glows and such a rich environment. There's a very distinct style to this comic in its simplified backgrounds (which I recognize are done partly because it's way easier and also backgrounds are so time-consuming dear gods but lemme say this) and vivid, smoothly drawn characters; the simplicity lets them come to the front and gives room for those beautiful, richly saturated focal points, letting the stylized designs of the magic and characters shine. The use of distinct silhouettes is insanely good. Honestly, complex backgrounds might run the risk of making everything too visually busy in this case. It's just, augh, so GORGEOUS.

Another bit, take a look at this page (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-15-28/):

It's not quite as evident here as it is in the next page, but this one does some other fun things so I'm grabbing it. Points:

Once again, using different colors to represent different character actions. The "WHAM" of Kendal hitting the ground is caused by Dainix's force, so it's orange (and kudos for doubling the word over to add a shake effect). But we see blue layered underneath, which could be an environmental choice, but might also be because it's Kendal, whose color is blue.

And speaking off, take a look at the right-most panel on top, where Kendal grabs the spear: his motion is, again, illustrated in bright blue, versus the atmospheric screened-on orange lines that point toward him around the whole panel (I'm sure these have a name, I think they might be more of a manga thing though and the only experience I have in manga is reading a bit of Fullmetal Alchemist). Those lines emphasize the weight of the spear being shoved at him, and their color tells us Dainix is responsible for it.

One of my all-time favorite effects in this comic is the way cracks manifest across Dainix's body to represent when he starts to lose control; it is utterly gorgeous and wonderfully thematic. These are more evident in the page before and after this one, but you get a decent idea here. I love the way they glow softly, the way the fire juuuust flickers through at the start and then becomes more evident over time, and the cracks feel so realistic, like his skin is made of pottery. Additional points for how fire begins to creep into his hair.

A small detail that's generally consistent across the comic, but which I want to make note of here because you can see it pretty well: Kendal's eyes glow about the same as the jewel in his sword, mirroring his connection to said sword and calling back to how the jewel became Vash's eye temporarily and thus was once Kendal's eye. You can always see this connection (though there might be some spots where this also changes in a symbolic manner; I went through it quickly on the first time around, so I'll pay more attention when I inevitably reread this), where Kendal's always got that little shine of blue in his eyes the same as the jewel. It's a beautiful visual parallel that encourages the reader to subconsciously link them together, especially since the lines used to illustrate character movements typically mirror their eye color. It's an extension of Kendal.

Did I mention how ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL the colors in this are?

Also, the mythological/legend-type scenes are illustrated in familiar style often used for that type of story, a simple and heavily symbolic two-dimensional cave-painting-like look. They are absolutely beautiful on many levels, employing simple, lovely gradients, slightly rougher and thicker lineart that is nonetheless smoothly beautiful, and working with clear silhouettes (a major strength of this art style, but also a strength in the comic overall). But in particular, I wanted to call attention to a particular thing (see this page https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-12-4/):

The flowing symbolic lineart surrounding each character. This is actually quite consistent across characters—see also Life's typical lines and how they curl:

What's particularly interesting here is how these symbols are often similar, but not the same. Vash's lines are always smooth, clean curls, often playing off each other and echoing one another like ripples in a pond. You'd think they'd look too similar to Life's—but they don't. Life's curl like vines, and they remain connected; where one curve might echo another but exist entirely detached from each other in Vash's, Life's lines still remain wound together, because vines are continuous and don't float around. :P

Tahraim's are less continuous, often breaking up with significantly smaller bits and pieces floating around like—of course—sparks, and come to sharper points. These are also constants: we see the vines repeated over and over in Alinua's dreams of Life, and the echoing ripples of Vash are consistent wherever we encounter him. Kendal's dream of the ghost citizens of the city of Vash in the last few chapters is filled with these rippling, echoing patterns, to beautiful effect (https://comicaurora.com/aurora/1-20-14/):

They ripple and spiral, often in long, sinuous curves, with smooth elegance. It reminds me a great deal of images of space and sine waves and the like. This establishes a definite feel to these different characters and their magic. And the thing is, that's not something that had to be done—the colors are good at emphasizing who's who. But it was done, and it adds a whole other dimension to the story. Whenever you're in a deity's domain, you know whose it is no matter the color.

Regarding that shape language, I wanted to make another note, too—Vash is sometimes described as chaotic and doing what he likes, which is interesting to me, because smooth, elegant curves and the color blue aren't generally associated with chaos. So while Vash might behave like that on the surface, I'm guessing he's got a lot more going on underneath; he's probably much more intentional in his actions than you'd think at a glance, and he is certainly quite caring with his city. The other thing is that this suits Kendal perfectly. He's a paragon character; he is kind, virtuous, and self-sacrificing, and often we see him aiming to calm others and keep them safe. Blue is such a good color for him. There is… probably more to this, but I'm not deep enough in yet to say.

And here's the thing: I'm only scratching the surface. There is so much more here I'm not covering (color palettes! outfits! character design! environment! the deities! so much more!) and a lot more I can't cover, because I don't have the experience; this is me as a hobbyist artist who happened to take a couple design classes because I wanted to. The art style to this comic is so clever and creative and beautiful, though, I just had to go off about it. <3

...brownie points for getting all the way down here? Have a cookie.

[annmarcus63]

It's a pleasant night. His belly is full, his feet throbbing after dancing all over the tavern like he was the eighteen-year-old bard he used to be. He's no longer that foolish child, not after everything. The only thing left from the eighteen-year-old Jaskier is Geralt. Jaskier smiles at the thought. Speaking of a certain witcher, he's sitting on the chair by the window, the light from the fire coloring his side with an auspicious orange hue. He’s so handsome. 

It's been a while since the last time he traveled with Geralt, quite a while since the last time they were traveling to a big town, Oxenfurt specifically. That's the reason he feels so content, lightheaded in the best of ways and a little bit excited. You see, he's received a letter from the university. He will be named Artist of the Decade in a major award (obviously) as part of the Oxenfurt Music and Arts festival. Artist of the decade, him, Jaskier. Valdo Marx shited in his pants when the results were published, Jaskier imagined.

"I hope he'll be there! I want to see his cherry plump face when I'm called to the stage. ‘Vulgar art’ he said, he called me untalented, the bastard" The bard is beginning to remove his clothes before going to bed, he's undoing the laces of his boots while talking like eighteen-year-old Jaskier used to. "I'm sure he'll be there. That snake. There was a time he told everyone at the music guild that the lyrics of my song were false, that you weren't even my friend!” 

"Most of the lyrics aren’t exactly true" says Geralt in the background, Jaskier ignores him. 

"Oh oh oh I want to see his face when he sees you there"

“Jaskier” Geralt calls

"Take that mister 'i'm better than you' "

“Jaskier” Geralt calls 

"Yes, darling?" Answers Jaskier with fond exasperation. He's having a big monologue here and that's the moment Geralt decides he wants to add to the conversation. He's been quiet lately. 

"I'm not going" Jaskier feels a bold blow on the center of his chest. His heart hunching on itself at registering those words. He understands perfectly well but decides to play dumb anyway. "Where, darling?" and apparently Geralt wants to play dumb too because he stays silent. 

"Can I ask why?" Jaskier crosses his arms in front of his chest, already defensive and Geralt is there, still sitting, with a somber expression. This is going to end in an argument, both of them can tell.

"I can't" 

"Alright..." Geralt hates being prompted to talk when the conversation is tense, but Jaskier can help it, and doesn't want to help him.

"I'm sorry" at least here he looks remorseful. 

"No, no, Geralt. You promised!" 

"I'm sorry, something has come up..." Jaskier takes two steps forward and Geralt stands raising his hands in a placating manner. 

"What has come up...?" And then Jaskier remembers, the black speck against the window in the middle of the night a week ago. "Does this have something to do with that raven?" Geralt growls, sometimes he forgets his bard used to be a Redanian spy. “Is it because of Yennefer?”

"I'm sorry" Geralt nods, giving the truth. "Is important" 

"This is important too!" 

And now the bard is shouting at Geralt, he hates doing that, but the witcher is not helping either.

“It’s an award, you have plenty” 

“It’s NOT an award, is THE award” 

They are standing in front of the other, speaking to the other’s face, up this close Jaskier can see the pattern of tiny scars all over Geralt's face. The bard takes a couple of calming breaths, trying to keep his temper. He hates arguing with the witcher. "Can't she wait?" he asks, but Geralt only denies with his head, already so sure "What is it about?" the witcher doesn't reply "You don't even know!" There goes Jaskier temper again, the bard throws his arms in the air, exasperated and frustrated. This is important to him, and Geralt knew it and it pains him to realize that the witcher would so easily push him aside. A if Jaskier achievements aren't a thing to cherish and celebrate, as if... he's not important. "She didn't tell, she said It's important" Says Geralt followed by a heavy sigh indicating that he thinks  Jaskier is being childish.

"This is important to me, Geralt - "

" - I know..."

" I asked you to come last year, remember? I told you that I might win the award and you promised you’ll come! I know you don't like big cities but..."

“-I’m sorry” And that's it. Jaskier can feel his heart turning into dust and falling heavily to the pit of his stomach. It's not the same as the mountain, but it feels similar in a way. Jaskier is realizing just how much he means to Geralt. Again. Jaskier holds Geralt's eyes from below, at least the witcher looks ashamed. 

And then after a long, resigned sigh the bard murmurs "Whatever" It keeps happening, repeatedly, suddenly and inexplicably he keeps getting hurt with by his own naivety by thinking that someday Geralt would choose him, not over Yennefer, Ciri or the other witchers. Just choose him because he wants to. Because it's fair, because Jaskier wants him to be there. 

He likes Yennefer now, he even catches himself thinking of her with love. The kind of love you have for the one that makes your true love happy. But he also knows that she can fend for herself and that it is possible for Geralt to wait at least a day before responding to her siren song. She gets to have him forever, why does Jaskier can't have him only for a fucking day? And now he's being pitiful, and he hates himself a little bit for that.

Maybe he's overreacting, maybe it's not that important… but it is! He wants Geralt to be there, to share the award with him. But at the end it's not Geralt's fault, he'll not resent the witcher for having priorities, a family to take care of which includes Yennefer and the others but not him. Maybe it's time for Jaskier to find his own. He has already spent enough effort in becoming part of Geralt. Jaskier goes to search his travel bag for his notebook, he needs to rework on his acceptance speech. 

"I'll gather we'll be parting ways at the crossroads tomorrow?" Jaskier turns around briefly, wanting to see the witcher’s expression, to be suddenly confronted with an uncomfortable and unexpected feeling at reading on Geralt's face, a lot more than surely the witcher wants to convey. Shame, uncertainty, fear of not knowing what went wrong and how to prevent it from getting worse. And Jaskier feels sympathy, despite everything that has happened, what is happening, Geralt tries, on his own, albeit slow way.

"Yeah" 

"Good"

Geralt starts fidgeting on the same spot from before, when Jaskier decides he has had enough and turns. The witcher hasn't moved an inch, he's waiting for the other shoe to drop, the bard can tell. But it won’t come to that. Not anymore. Enough of this, enough of scraps. 

"I'm going out, don't wait for me" Jaskier murmurs  when he's at the door. Geralt calls for him, but Jaskier pretends to have not heard. 

In the morning Geralt arrives at the stables to find Jaskier already waiting for him by Roach. They travel side by side all morning, Jaskier holding his notebook in front of his face, he seems to be reading and rereading the speech, which is weird because he said he's already memorized it. They haven't spoken much, and Geralt hates it. He should be saying something, anything! Something along the lines of "I'll go with you" but Yenn... what if? 

Jaskier stops and turns around to face him from below, one hand scratching Roach's neck. They are at the crossroads; it's almost noon and Geralt doesn't know what to say. Their gazes lock for a long time, the wind singing softly around them, the leaves of the trees falling like orange rain. It's so calm. "Take care, Geralt"  Jaskier says in the softest of voices and turns right. Geralt watches marching away, wondering why it feels like a goodbye.

It's funny how loneliness comes in the strangest of forms. Surrounded by dozens of people shouting his name from the square in front of the stage. Wasn't this what you wanted? his mind supplies unhelpfully. Yes, he did want this, the love and admiration of the masses. He is, after all, the artist of the decade. But, well, in retrospect he was young with little knowledge of life. It's only natural that your aspirations may change through the years. Don't get him wrong, older Jaskier wants the same as younger Jaskier, but now, he understands that the love of the masses can't fill the void of being unloved and unwanted by people close to him, or people he thought were close to him. So, he accepts the award with the biggest smile on his repertoire, mocks Valdo Marx and goes to the tavern with a bunch of scholars like him. He drinks, he laughs, he sings a lot of his songs, flirts and plays gwent.  And with every sip of wine and ale he peels a little bit of his sorrow, his wounded self-esteem, his beaten heart, and self-pity. He wished Geralt was here, with him, but he's not here, so be it. Enough of wanting, enough of this ever-present loneliness. He's resolute. He'll find a place to call home, and he won't resent Geralt. Ok maybe a little. 

The celebration has reached the part where everyone is drunk enough to dance and sing at the top of their lungs. Jaskier is standing on top of a table surrounded by the taverns, he's leading the song. He's sweating all over, his hair a brown wet mess. He's happy. When the front door swings open, it's Geralt. The witcher removes his hood and instantly locks eyes with the bard. Like a hunter finding his prey. Jaskier stops singing, right there and then, hopefully no one notices because the song continues its course. 

No, no, it's too late. Jaskier thinks. I've already made up my mind. The bard climbs down from the table and pushes through the crowd. His mind it's a volatile compass, pointing at his resolution and to Geralt. It tries to decide how to proceed. It tries to decide which path will hurt more or less. 

"What are you doing here?" Jaskier is proud of his steady voice. Not even the ale could break him.

"I thought I'd make it on time, ''Geralt replies , his eyes trying to find Jaskier's, but the bard is looking at a spot on the witcher's shoulder. 

"You're late" In that moment the blue eyes look up to meet yellow ones, defying Geralt to name the issue. To name the hurt on Jaskier’s eyes the night before. To name the emotion that is now on the bard's eyes.

They both know this isn't about the ceremony, not anymore.

"I'm here now" Geralt says heavily and Jaskier laughs cause it's funny really. i'm here now so it must be enough. 

And this is the thing, he forgave Geralt many times thanks to sporadic care and attention that would be forgotten later. His heart is screaming within his chest, the poor thing wants to take Geralt back. But no, Jaskier won't listen to it anymore. 

"And you are late" 

A girl walks past them holding a tray of beers, Jaskier takes one and drinks half of it in one go.

Geralt watches him, anxiety sewing itself on his veins. He can feel that is it. He fucked up, again, but this time for good.

"I thought Yen’s message was important" Jaskier wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, cursing internally, his tongue loosened by the alcohol. He sounds bitter and resentful. He hates it.

"It is, but this is too" and oh the witcher is trying but instead of being charmed Jaskier gets angry.

"Oh, now it's important, I see. Well, maybe if you have arrived on time for the actual ceremony..."

“…I tried”

"Maybe it wouldn't be too fucking late" A young couple turn to look at them. Feeling embarrassed, Jaskier lowers his voice and continues. "I appreciate the effort, Geralt, but it is an unnecessary one. I’m sorry my friend” says Jaskier, reaching out to place a hand on the Witcher’s muscular arm, trying to convey comradery, an olive branch if you will, for Geralt to take and be gone without blame. If Jaskier dared to look at Geralt's face one more time, he would find sadness, grief, shame, and fear. Every emotion that the witcher always tried to conceal from everyone, especially Jaskier.  “There's an open bar, enjoy the celebration. Rest. I'm going to sleep" In that instant Jaskier's heart broke even more. Oh, how he wanted this man, how he longs for him, decades on end. Even in his resolution he still wants him. 

He needs to rest too. He's not young anymore, his feet hurt, and his thighs are trembling from the exertion. So, he turns around up the stairs to his room, closes the door behind and with clothes and all, he gets into bed and sleeps like death.

---

I'm posting this fic again because I just realized that I never posted the ending. I'm stupid. I'm sorry.

[rubberduckyrye]

I'd like to point to interpretation that Angie isn't portrayal of a native Polynesian islander because almost all the evidence around her character and what she says suggests she's not living in a village that has cult-like practices, but that she is in a straight up cult and is unaware of it. It explains a lot of stuff from the odd monotheism, why her "village" seems to only employ seemingly dark web shipping company, the police apparently bothering her "village" or her having an English name.

Referencing this Ask

I mean. That is one interpretation, sure, but to deny the fact that Angie is heavily coded to be Polynesian/Native Hawaiian is unfortunately ignoring the problem. Which is the problem I am trying to address itself.

Right in her promotional art, you can see that Angie is carving a statue--and it heavily resembles a tiki statue. Specifically this kind of Tiki Statue. Though since it is unfinished, it could be a full body version, but I digress.

She also mentions living on an island.

And the "natural disaster" that made the island smaller--that is probably heavily inspired by how Hawaii was used by US military and bombed frequently--which, naturally, made the islands smaller.

She also greets people in Salmon mode with "Alola," which is a reference to Pokemon Sun and Moon, which has it's main location heavily based off of Hawaii. Alola is a butchered way of saying "Aloha", which is a Hawaiian greeting.

Also, Angie having an English name matches with historical oppression in Hawaii. Where Hawaiians were forced to name their children with Christian White names and their Hawaiian names be their middle names. It was literally a law, at least, according to Wikipedia, for quite some time. (The fact that this is not easily verifiable is the very reason why having this discussion is so important--and why people need to stop trying to avoid the conversation.)

I understand the desire to want to dismiss the fact that she is a racist caricature because it sucks to enjoy a character who is one. I get it. However--trying to deny the fact that she is heavily coded to be Native Hawaiian/Polynesian is just sweeping the racism under the rug, and is a major problem when you have people like me who want to discuss the topic and how one should handle rectifying the canon narrative's bigotry.

The mere fact that she is so heavily coded to be Native Hawaiian/Polynesian makes the whole cult thing part of the racist caricature. Indigenous people (especially Indigenous Polynesian cultures) are subject to extreme racist stereotypes that include human sacrifices and savagery--and while Angie's culture isn't developed in canon enough to know for sure if it was truly as savage as, say, the King Kong Indigenous folk, the cult behaviors are a sort of "cousin" to that savagery. We as a society see human sacrifices as barbaric, as savage, and even when in a cult setting, we still present these topics in that fashion.

I'm sorry, anon--but I'm going to ask you only this one time to not derail the conversation I'm trying to start. I understand that there are interpretations that help explain away the bigotry--and this is one legitimate way to deal with bigotry in canon media, or so I've been told--but what I want is a full blown discussion on the subject. I don't want people trying to tell me "Oh b-b-but she can't be a racist Caricature, because (X)!" Because that is dismissing the problem to begin with.

This is a problem. This is a discussion about racism in V3's narrative. There is no getting around it--no matter how much you explain away the writing with headcanons and theories, these problems are still here.

So please stop trying to sabotage my desire for a discussion.

I'm going to note that I LOVE Angie as a character. I think that, when you remove the racism in her character stories, you have a very interesting and compelling female character of color who's intelligence rivals that of the smartest V3 characters. These aspects of her character I adore--but to ignore the racism, for me, is to just turn away from the problem and, in turn, contribute to the racist way fandom treats these kinds of characters.

So let me speak. Let me find people who will talk to me about it. Let me grow and learn. Please, for the love of god, let me learn.

[ravenelyx]

I love you in every timeline - Chapter 1: My Love Is As a Fever, Longing Still

← Prologue

Pairing: Sebastian Sallow x Fem!Reader

Words: 14.9k

Chapter Warnings: angst, Harry Potter characters appearance, no name usage for reader (only a few blank spaces), use of 2nd person for the reader, Sebastian is confused and doesn't know how to handle his feelings, and he's also struggling with his personality, veeeeery slow burn

Summary: "He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her". In which Sebastian, in his search for a cure in the Dark Arts, finds himself 100 years into the future and meets his most trusted companion's descendant (who looks far too similar to the girl he was once secretly in love with).

A/N: this is long, and more is to come. It's gonna be a very slow burn apparently, but I hope you will like it. Finally Chapter 1 is here, it's been a while. Also, as much as I love fanon! Draco and Pansy, I decided to follow a more canonical approach here, sorry. Again, english is not myfirst language so I'm sorry if I made any mistakes. Never am I going to write about time travel again,my brain hurts.

I also made a playlist inspired by this because why not.

You can find the whole fanfiction here on ao3

"My love is as a fever, longing still For that which longer nurseth the disease, Feeding on that which doth preserve the ill, Th’ uncertain sickly appetite to please." - William Shakespeare, Sonnet 147

You weren't her.

Then who the hell were you?

You briefly smiled at Sebastian and then turned back to the red-head, squinting. "Do you have the book or not?"

Ron gulped, avoiding your eyes. "It's probably in my dorm or something... I didn't have class, so I didn't take it with me."

"In your dorm, isn't that right?" Your eyes narrowed even more if that was even possible, and Sebastian was pretty sure you were about to hex him on the spot. Your leering didn't go unnoticed by either of the two Gryffindors and Hermione’s throat bobbed ever so slightly, eyes widening a little in alert.

"Well, as I said—"

"Here," interrupted Hermione suddenly, voice slightly squeaking. She looked into her bag and extracted her own copy of Winogrand's Wondrous Water Plants. "Use this in the meantime. I take notes on the book too, unlike Ronald here, so it should compensate."

You accepted the book, seemingly calming down a bit. “Thank you, Hermione,” you said, enunciating her name sarcastically as you shot the other boy a nasty look, and Sebastian couldn't help but feel a touch of schadenfreude as Ron hung his head low, cheeks as red as his hair.

“I said I'll give it back,” said Ron, scowling. “It’s not like you need it anyway. Sprout doesn’t even make us open books!”

You politely smiled at Hermione, your eye slightly twitching at his remark, before said smile turned into a sneer as you looked at Ron again. “Then what the hell is taking you so long?"

Hermione sighed softly, dejectedly, and Ron shrinked on himself, sending Sebastian an unconfident look. But that only seemed to propel you to continue.

"And most people do open books for Herbology, my dear Ron, but I don’t expect you to know that. You’re too busy trying to find ways to whine and beg others to help your lazy ass later when they have other, more important things to do.”

Sebastian saw it happen, in a gradual, torturous slowing of time. There was something about you, in the way your lip quirked up, in the way your brows furrowed, giving life to that crease. Something that you couldn't stop, washing over you like a tsunami, drowning any possible thought of rationality and empathy. Control, in that moment, was appearance and nothing more.

He felt, for a moment, afraid; chilling his veins until goosebumps raised on his skin: a thrill, as if she was there. As if he was watching her unleash that godly power in all her beauty.

You were still, hands clammy at your sides, as he could see you open and close them repeatedly, and you weren't gloating. It was different; like that thick, foggy feeling that floods your brain when your opponent misses a step whilst casting Protego, or opens their arm a bit too much, making it easy for a well-aimed Stunning Spell to pass through, and it makes your cheeks turn red and your chest flutter, and Sebastian saw that twinkle in your eyes as you ignored Hermione’s pleading look.

The same thrill that makes his heart tug when he inevitably, nimbly raises his wand back. When the spell goes right where he intended it to go, and the deaf sound of a wand hitting the floor fills his ears.

It was that innate human side that took pleasure in pain. That part that could turn from a lambent glow into a Fiendfyre if you're not careful. Or if you really put your mind to it.

But you weren't duelling.

Sebastian wasn’t sure what to make of the way with which you were slandering your — he supposed — friend. And in front of him, too. It made him slightly tremble, his lip slightly twitch. Part of him wondered if he was invisible, part of him felt a little too alert, part of him pitied the girl in front of him.

And while it seemed Ron and Hermione were just as shocked, they had a sort of weary gleam in their eyes. And any attempt at smoothing things over was futile. Hermione feebly tried to intervene. “Oh, we don’t need to go further—”

“You see Ronald, for a Prefect you should really put some thought into the impression you’re making on new students, not to mention the one you should give of our school—” you ignored her and sarcastically gestured towards Sebastian, who felt his breath hitch at the sudden spotlight put on him, “and yet, you’re always so comfortable acting like a dimwit . Pull yourself together and be responsible for once.”

Ron’s jaw fell open, completely at loss for words at your harsh words, and he shared a look with Hermione that Sebastian was able to understand completely.

What the hell just happened?

He couldn't agree more.

“I think you’re overreacting,” said Ron sternly.

“I think you’re disrespectful,” you replied just as eagerly.

“Alright, that’s enough!” said Hermione, putting herself between the two Gryffindors. “It so happens we have a guest here!”

Sebastian felt his heartbeat quicken ever-so-slightly as both you and Ron turned to him like you had just seen him for the first time. He shifted his weight uncomfortably; an attempt to get rid of that eerie shiver that ran down his spine as your incensed gaze fell on him.

That seemed to snap you out of it, and your cheeks flushed a bit in regret. “Fair enough...” you muttered, nodding at Sebastian. “Sorry.”

He nodded back, unsure about what to do as he shifted his eyes between you and Ron, letting them linger on your face each time he looked at you. Your nose had that same curve he always wished he could kiss, run his lips over with reverence… He shook the thought out of his head immediately.

“I should receive an apology as well,” muttered Ron, and Hermione nudged his arm as a warning not to add fuel to the fire.

"You have one day. Just one." You gave Ron an ultimatum, your tone sharp and, Sebastian thought, quite frightening. He hoped to never find himself in Ron's place. “And don’t expect me to help you ever again, I'm tired of it!”

You didn’t wait for an answer and began to walk away, only stopping briefly to look at the Slytherin boy. "I wish you the best of luck, especially if he— " you glanced at Ron again "—has to be the one guiding you through this maze they call a school."

Sebastian gasped and opened his mouth to reply, but his words seemed to be stuck somewhere between his throat and his tongue. He let his eyes fleet over your face again, heart beating out of his chest as he tried to make out your features, like in a dream.

"I hope we'll meet again soon enough." You forced a smile on your face that looked almost guilty and embarrassed, and with that, you were gone.

His eyes followed you until you turned a corner and vanished from his sight, thoughts racing at a hundred miles an hour — questions with no answers clouding his mind more and more each second. Who were you? Why did you look like her? And above all, why did you bear her family name?

Even after the theatricals that he had just witnessed, there was a certain hope in his heart: traitorous and wrong. A hope that she was really there, somewhere, waiting for him. A hope he immediately wanted to crush as soon as the image of your eyes and red robes flashed in the window of his vision again.

Sebastian Sallow was utterly, completely, absolutely losing his mind.

He was aware of the gravity of his situation — his body still spasmed uncomfortably every now and then as a result of having travelled through space and time — but, Sebastian realised, it felt more like a trance. A painfully aware and too tight reverie he couldn't find a way out of. After all, just the night before, Natty had asked him if he wanted to take part in Summoner's Court with her the next day, hadn't she?

And just a few hours after that, Sebastian had decided to try his last chance, opening the artefact that, he had believed, would bring him back to a time where her sister wasn't cursed — a time he could have avoided the disaster. And not just one at that.

He took a deep breath, willing the halls of Hogwarts to become brighter in his vision, more real. He was indeed in the future, he repeated himself, his ribcage evidently too small to contain the excruciating throbbing he felt in his chest. He had to accept that. He did. Probably.

“Bloody hell!” Sebastian heard Ron mutter as he also stared at the point from which you had just disappeared. “What was all that for?”

“Honestly, Ronald…” said Hermione curtly. “We’ll deal with this later.”

Still, Sebastian felt painfully calm at his situation: the sort of calm that he only experienced when he knew he was in trouble and couldn't do anything about it, or when he knew he was in trouble and had the solution for it lying in his hands, teeming down his throat like a treacly and old pint of Butterbeer, or a briquette of ice, whipsawed by the choice of safely travelling down his stomach and melt and leave him warm and satisfied or change direction and chill his lungs and cut his breath and bring him to a freeze.

What would Sebastian, a calm and collected person (and he believed he was, or tried, at least), do in a similar situation?

Two options came to his mind, clear and painfully bright.

To freak out completely until he was in shambles on the floor, addled and ready to break himself and cut the edges of his persona to fit into the new reality he now essentially belonged to, though he still didn't feel like it.

Or estrange himself from said reality, seeing it through lenses, analysing the world around him as if he weren't there until he found a way to go back, like a spectator, a reader. And he was indeed a reader.

In a way, the very core of one was tantamount to the other — both would completely destroy him. And Sebastian Sallow could not allow himself to be destroyed. Not like this.

But then there was another, the one Sebastian desperately willed himself to adopt, keeping his edges glued to himself and the lenses away from his perfectly working eyes.

The one he followed when everyone had lost hope for Anne.

And that was any option available, and every rational thought, even if the sound of them — or anything else, really — was still drowned by the loud pounding of his heart reverberating at the thought of the girl who just flipped his world upside down.

“What did you say her name was again?” Sebastian asked the two students, his eyes never leaving the corner you had just turned.

Ron and Hermione both looked at him with surprise; Ron opened his mouth with a scowl, as if about to make a snarky remark, but Hermione interrupted him, repeating your name calmly.

That was indeed the name.

And so he tried to be as rational as possible.

“Thank you,” said Sebastian quietly, lips parted, gaze musing. “I’d forgotten that just there.”

You were her descendant, a hundred years from his time.

Sebastian couldn't remember her having any siblings or cousins who bore her surname, but if you did, you had to have received it from a male member of her family, didn't you? She couldn't possibly have given you her name unless she married someone from her own bloodline, and Merlin, he hated that thought.

Or she had married someone else and decided to keep her own surname instead, and, once again, Sebastian knew — it wasn't his first thought, of course, but certainly one that plagued his mind — that he couldn't have been the one she had married, because if one thing was true about Sebastian Sallow, it was that he'd have burned down the world just to get her to take his last name.

His thoughts circled back to her family, but try as he might, he couldn't pinpoint any related members from whom you might descend. He was starting to feel dizzy and sure to be on the brink of collapsing under the amount of information he was trying to process, but then Ron and Hermione pulled him out of his trance by starting to explain the rules of the castle, the classes to attend and some basic information about the Professors.

"Defence Against the Dark Arts changes every year; they say there's a curse on the chair or something," explained Ron, having calmed down a bit, and half-smiled, "so you won't have to see toad-face for long."

"Toad-what?" asked Sebastian absent-mindedly, his head still teeming with disjointed thoughts and meandering ideas which, Sebastian was sure of it, would never find a proper abode.

"Our new Professor. You'll see what I mean when you meet her for the first time."

Sebastian nodded occasionally as he listened to them talk about the other Professors, such as Snape, the Potions teacher, and also the Head of the Slytherin House. Ron kept going on about how annoying he was, trying not to show how much he was afraid of him. "You don't have to worry, though: Slytherins get special treatment from him," he said jokingly.

Ron, Sebastian decided then, was a nice fellow. He found himself wondering why you had reproached him so harshly. He had half-a-mind to ask, then, about your behaviour — and why both the two Gryffindors seemed to be far less surprised about it than he expected. He decided against it.

"Wait, what do you mean, she won't let you use spells?" Sebastian frowned as they talked about 'toad-face', alias Dolores Umbridge.

"She's from the Ministry," explained Hermione. "After what happened last year, we're sure they're doing everything they can to keep the school under control and make sure no lies—" she stroked the word sarcastically, "—are spread among the students.

"I'll explain everything later. We should focus on more important things, like your academic persona and your education," she added, noticing his confused expression.

She was definitely Prefect and worthy of her role too, at least if you went by the typical clichés.

--

The hours passed, and there wasn't a minute when Sebastian didn't think of her.

And of you.

Because the more time he spent walking, the more his rationality seemed weak and pointless.

He thought he'd go mad, her memories spoiled by your oh-so-similar but equally different features. He saw your eyes looking at him back in the Scriptorium, as she was ready to take the Cruciatus Curse rather than cast it on him. He saw a Gryffindor sitting by him in Herbology, stealing not-so-subtle glances while tending to the mandrakes. He felt like his mind was splitting in half, frustrated and embittered and close to tears as you tainted his remembrances of her.

He needed to see you again, talk to you, ask about your life, your family, your past. He needed to know every thought behind your eyes, every subtle expression towards him that could mean you recognised him, that you were her, that you remembered him, remembered your time together, that you'd follow him in all his antics, in all his mistakes, in all his choices, that your actions meant more than your words.

That you loved him as he loved you — as he loved her.

Her.

Not you.

Because he didn't need to talk to you. Because indeed your recent actions spoke louder than words ever could.

Because no matter how much Sebastian fooled himself into thinking that he wasn't alone, stuck in a world that had gone on without him for a hundred years, that she returned his feelings the way he thought she did, that somehow you'd look at him and know that she was meant for him, that you were meant for him, you weren't her . You didn't know him. You could never know him as she did, and not because he wouldn't let you in — he'd run to you even now and lay his heart open if it meant finding a faint resemblance to what it used to be — but because he couldn't allow it. He couldn't risk being emotionally stuck somewhere he didn't belong just because his heart was grieving and crying out for a memory of the girl it broke and pieced itself back together for. He couldn't do that to you. He couldn't do that to himself. He couldn't do that to her.

At that moment, Sebastian made the decision to stay as far away from you as possible.

He snapped out of his thoughts as he reached the Great Hall. He hadn't noticed that it was already lunchtime.

"Do you think Dumbledore will make a speech to introduce him or not?" asked Ron, not caring that the Slytherin boy could hear him loud and clear.

"I don't think he'd just let it go, but I hope it won't be as big as last year's," noted Hermione.

"Those were two bloody new schools, Hermione. This one must be different."

He felt like a new Honeydukes product hitting the shelves for the first time.

It turned out the Headmaster hadn't made a speech to introduce him, and Sebastian almost would have preferred it if he had, because he felt like a circus monkey sitting at the Slytherin table with a hundred eyes staring at him like he'd just broken into their home and stole a particularly rare card from their Chocolate Frogs collection. He looked around at the other tables and saw heads turning away so quickly that he was sure he would be the culprit in a mass murder with a thousand broken necks. He sighed as a girl with dark hair and green eyes sitting opposite of him handed him mashed potatoes.

"Do you want to eat or not? No one poisoned your food just because they don't know you."

Sebastian glanced at her and accepted her plate, munching his food slowly as if he didn't quite believe her.

"I'm Pansy Parkinson."

"Sebastian Sallow."

"Sallow? Never heard of that name. What's your blood status?"

He almost choked on his food at her blunt question. What kind of uncivilised conversation was this? And the way she looked at him, waiting for his answer, he knew that that question alone could decide his entire future — hopefully a short one — in that House.

"I'm a pureblood like you, I suppose," he lied, lifting an eyebrow as he blankly stared at the girl.

"I see," said Pansy, narrowing her eyes as if not fully believing him. And Sebastian knew it was probably time for him to make up a story, a lie he could tell everyone in the indefinite amount of time he was to spend among them.

He had put a great deal of thought into what wanted to tell in the past hour — he could, after all, be anyone. Anyone he wanted.

He could change his past, he could avoid his mistakes, he could pretend to be a normal boy with a normal life. He could just be.

In the end, it didn't matter, because while other people might look at him and see only a picture-perfect new student with a thirst for knowledge, he would look at himself and see the boy who tortured his friend, the boy who murdered his uncle.

They might not know, but he would.

He kept the edges tight against his body, and decided to opt for a half lie that made it easier for him to play on and not forget any details.

He told her that he wasn't from the Highlands. He told her how his parents were Professors at another magical school but died prematurely, and left him to live with his uncle, a former Auror. And he told her about his timely death as well, omitting, of course, his involvement in it.

"When he died, too, I decided to move here," he concluded simply, hiding the tremble of his lips behind a glass of pumpkin juice.

Part of him expected sympathy from her, or at least a hint of hesitation; that look he had become so accustomed to whenever people came to know about his tragic tale or something along those lines.

Surprisingly — though, for some reason, Sebastian wasn’t surprised in the slightest — Pansy Parkinson didn't seem to care at all.

"Were your parents true purebloods or filthy blood traitors like the Weasleys?" she asked instead, clearly showing where her priorities lay, and it was enough for him to know that his earlier hope that there would be no more discrimination was merely a child's prayer.

"They have magic. That's the only thing you need to know." Sebastian cut short before focusing on his food. He noticed the familiar badge on her robes and silently thanked Dumbledore for assigning him to the Gryffindor Prefects instead. At least they never judged him, not even for dwelling with time and space like a bloody idiot — though he believed he had seen a gleam of reproach in Hermione's eyes as she'd uttered the word 'misadventure .

"All right, I believe you." She shrugged.

Sebastian wasn't convinced.

Pansy nudged a boy beside her, who looked at him with his piercing grey eyes. He was pale, with sleek blond hair so light it almost looked white, and also wore a badge. He reminded Sebastian of Ominis. That must be Malfoy.

"I'm Draco Malfoy," — it hadn't been so hard to guess, though now Sebastian thought he'd rather not meet him at all — "I saw you walking around today with that skint blood traitor and that mudblood Granger. You should have been assigned to us. It's not worth it to taint your blood status by associating with such filth," he spoke venomously, a mocking tone punctuating his sentences.

Skint blood traitor. Mudblood. He was exactly like those boors Sebastian so enjoyed thrashing in Crossed Wands when they had the guts to join. Perhaps he could do the same with him — blast him with Bombarda until his hair turned black (or he went bald; any of them would do).

Sebastian didn't know why he suddenly felt like defending the honour of two people he had met that same day, but he wished he could poison his food instead.

"Maybe next time you'll be considered fit for your assigned role. I suppose all that purity didn’t take you that far this time," he replied just as rudely.

Draco Malfoy made a weird face — a mix between stunned and angry and that half smirk that had begun to creep up his face as he had expected Sebastian to agree with him, and that had died on his lips but not yet fully, and the whole thing was so comical Sebastian had to hold back a snort. Because that was not (not in a million years, no matter how many artefacts he accidentally opened) going to happen, and when Draco Malfoy realised it, he seemed to have a hard time closing his mouth back to a dignified expression.

"I'd be careful if I were you, new student. I'm a Prefect!" he threatened, squinting his grey eyes and finally gaining enough control to curl his lip into a small smirk.

Spoiled bragger, Sebastian thought.

"And what exactly are you planning to do — take points away from your own House?" replied Sebastian, smirking back, enjoying how his face turned back to that ferret-like countenance.

"We share the same dormitory. Choose your words carefully." Draco Malfoy pursed his lips, his face becoming even paler. Sebastian wondered if he had even an ounce of blood in that body of his.

"We do indeed, so I suggest you sleep with one eye open," retorted Sebastian. Part of him knew that, logically, he should have been more mature about the situation.

But Merlin, he was starting to despise the brat.

(And the other part of him was still fantasising about that Bombarda-induced vengeance).

"You think you can scare me?"

Draco Malfoy snickered, and the line of Slytherins sitting on his side began staring at the two boys with piqued interest, wondering what all the fuss was about. It was quite unusual for two Slytherins to argue so openly, and even students from other Houses had begun to turn their heads towards their direction. Two big students beside Draco Malfoy snickered, too, as if on cue. Sebastian felt a wave of repugnance at how pathetic they looked.

"Definitely not, especially when you have your guard dogs next to you." Sebastian nodded at the two students mockingly. "Tell me, does your father pay them to be by your side? They can't be that stupid to volunteer to be in your presence."

The blond appeared to want to eat him alive, while the other two took a bit longer to fully understand his words before reproducing the same angry expression. Perhaps Sebastian understood your outburst: it was indeed gratifying to pour his disdain out. Though, unlike you, Sebastian didn't feel an ounce of regret. 

"All right, Draco, enough of this," interrupted Pansy with a sigh, before giving Sebastian a hateful look. "He's a blood traitor like Weasley, and he'd better take care of his priorities."

Sebastian ignored her, focusing back on his food and already dreading the idea of having to share his Common Room and dormitory with people like that. Maybe he could sleep in the Undercroft for the rest of the year. He wondered if that place still existed at all.

Strangely enough, the aftermath was quite unsatisfactory, and Sebastian felt his cheeks warm up as he realised he had indeed acted like an immature git, stepping down right at their level. He stared at his half-empty plate, abashed.

The time passing, then, felt particularly chilly under his skin.

After he felt content enough with his lunch, Sebastian stood up, ready to meet the two Gryffindors again. He faltered a little as he looked around their table, his chest squeezing as he caught a glimpse of you. And not just a glimpse.

He watched you as you engaged in a happy conversation with a red-haired girl next to you: she scarily resembled Ron, so he deduced that she must be his sister. The two Prefects sat opposite you, and on your other side was a boy with messy black hair and round glasses.

Sebastian noticed how you tried to avoid Ron's eyes, only glancing up at him through your lashes from time to time before looking back at the girl, and he wondered if you would even apologise or if you were waiting for the red-head to do so. How proud were you? How much did you care? To which length were you willing to go for the people you loved? Sebastian felt a compulsive need to know it all, a new wave of hunger right in the pit of his stomach, completely empty even after his heavy, albeit displeasing, lunch, and ready to be fed by what all he could find about you. He needed to know every last bit of information, if it was the last thing he did in that new world.

That eerie calm chilled his bones again, moderately assuaging his desire, like a glass of cold water before supper. Sebastian realised he was stuck, so he had no rush to do exactly that. He didn't need to be greedy, to devour — though the idea was tempting indeed — and to gobble up every bit of you yet. He could feast, he could savour, he could indulge in his sumptuous meal like he deserved. And then he would find his way back, satiated beyond belief.

Now that would take his edges off.

He shook his head, derailing that tingly feeling running down his lower stomach before it nestled, and averted his eyes, instead noticing that barely anyone had left the Great Hall, and he was the only Slytherin standing. He quickly walked out of the room and rested against a column, wondering if he should wait for Ron and Hermione to finish eating and meet him, or if he should just go alone.

--

Sebastian decided to walk to the Defence Against the Dark Arts tower, to the Undercroft, praying it would still be there, untouched by other students. When he arrived, he saw the familiar clock, and his heart swelled in fear and anticipation as he took out his wand and flourished it like he had done so many times he practically relied on muscle memory alone.

The clock hands started to turn, and he breathed a sigh of relief as a door opened to the familiar room that he considered an analogue to his house. He stepped in carefully and looked around. The furniture hadn’t moved an inch in a hundred years, still in the same position that Ominis knew by memory. He wondered about him: if he knew Sebastian would one day disappear forever only to remain stuck in the future, if he had waited for him in that same room hoping for him to come back, or if he was glad he was gone after all.

Sebastian wondered if he would ever return to his time: if Ominis and Anne had been waiting for him their entire lives, getting old without him, and if they had hoped that they would one day see him again, and then he had another terrifying thought: what if he went back yet it was too late?

What if all of his pals were much older than him once he did? What if, upon his return, he discovered Anne still suffering the effects of the curse, or worse yet, already deceased? What if Ominis had been made to return to his family, where he would have either changed into one of them or been tortured and murdered? What if she had found someone else to fall in love and share the rest of her life with, or what if the perilous journeys she was compelled to take killed her and he had not been there to save her?

"Scourgify!" he declared, pointing his wand at various objects around him to clean them, wishing he could reproduce the same effect on his mind.

Once he was done, he sat down, leaned against a column, and put his head in his hands, breathing deeply and feeling his eyes burn.

The calm had gone, replaced by pure, utter despair and panic. It had only been a few hours since he'd found himself there, confused and startled, and he knew it would be many more until he went back — if ever.

If ever.

The thought cut at his lungs like sharp glass, drawing quiet and wet sobs. He didn't know whether the artefact could ever be repaired at all. He didn't know whether he could control it enough to go back if it was repaired. For all he knew, he'd find himself in bloody Mesopotamia, if he was lucky enough to survive another travel. Or he'd get stuck between time and space, forever embedded in the threads between realities.

Based on those thoughts alone, Sebastian felt like he should be grateful to have found himself still in Hogwarts, as safe as he could be, but he wasn't.

He missed his routine, his life, his friends. He had disappointed Ominis, but he would give anything to hear his voice now, even if he yelled at him, to see Anne even if she did not want to see him, to read their old letters over and over again, to accompany her on whatever adventure she was setting out on. Heck , he wanted to hear Headmaster Black's voice scolding him for his horrible detention record, listen to Poppy ramble about her dear magical creatures, see Garreth blow up his potions, and even wanted to hear Imelda complain about Quidditch being cancelled. He missed it all.

He spent some time there alone — he did not know whether it was minutes or hours — weeping silently to himself. His wrists copiously moved to his eyes in a weak attempt to dry his tears, which kept falling nonetheless, undaunted, wetting his cardigan and shirt and skin.

Sebastian had always prided himself in his capacity to bottle up emotions, to avoid the crying and instead channelling those goopy feelings into something more useful, like studying or spellcasting. That had backfired, and Sebastian had to learn, awfully, that doing that didn't mean those emotions wouldn't force their way out in a way or another, and after what had happened in the Catacombs, where his feelings had exploded in the worst way imaginable, he had reluctantly decided that crying alone was the best way to let them flow naturally. With that and everything that had happened to him within a few weeks, not to mention the previous events, he felt overwhelmed.

He hated it.

After drying his tears as best he could, hoping that no one would notice his glistening eyes or swollen face, he decided to leave the Undercroft and find Ron and Hermione again; they were to give him his timetable, as he would join their class starting the next day. That was before he abandoned them.

He stepped out of the room and froze in his steps. You were sitting on the ground just outside, back against the wall, focused on your textbook. You looked up once you heard a noise, and saw a dishevelled and surprised Sebastian staring straight at you.

"Oh, well, hello again, new fifth-year!" You smiled politely.

He cursed under his breath, turning his face away slightly and rubbing the back of his hand under his nose again, in case any stray tears were still present.

"'Didn't know about another secret passage in the school," you continued, apparently ignoring his actions, before muttering to yourself, "It wasn't on the Map."

"Map?" he said in a rough, unfamiliar voice, surprising even himself.

You examined him, a quizzical expression on your face. "Have you been crying?" you asked bluntly, raising your eyebrows in surprise.

Great job, Sebastian. Perfect disguise.

He felt his cheeks warm up, and he turned away again. "No... not at all." He cleared his throat, trying to find a way to switch up the conversation when his eyes fell on your book. "What are you reading?"

You frowned slightly, obviously not believing him, but understanding that he wasn't willing to talk about it, and looked back at your book. "My Herbology book. Ron gave it back to me at lunch. Finally, I’d say."

Sebastian paused for a moment, unsure whether it was appropriate to ask about what happened in the corridor, but then he felt that ache again, right above his navel, and the words slipped from his mouth without restraint. "Did you two—"

"Don't." You interrupted him and averted your eyes, staring down at the cover musingly. "Don't bring it up again. That was already embarrassing as it was."

Sebastian stayed quiet, his eyes never leaving your form. He would very much have liked to just plunge into your brain at that moment and make himself at home there.

Perhaps he needed to add 'Learn Legilimency' to his to-do list.

"How so?" he asked at length, quite stupidly, he realised.

"I lost my temper," you said simply, and forced your eyes back towards him. Your next words seemed to eject out of your mouth painfully, like they were unfamiliar to you, and it took a while for you to utter them. You sighed, "I— I suppose… I owe you an apology."

An apology never felt so forced and so sincere at the same time. "Oh, you don't have to—"

"I do. It wasn't the best impression I made of myself." Your lips parted as you leaned your head back on the wall. "I suppose I have to apologise to Ron as well — properly, I mean."

Sebastian stayed quiet, observing you curiously. Why were you telling him all that? "I... suppose," he uttered, not knowing what else to say. That appeared to be enough for you because you didn't even seem to acknowledge his words.

"He was looking for you, you know? Hermione, too. They said they needed to give you your schedule."

"Ah, yes, they mentioned that before," said Sebastian, glad to change the topic. "I’ll meet them promptly then, I was—"

"—Too busy hiding in a place no one else knew about," you continued for him.

That made him still in his steps, a chill running down his spine. Your eyes met: his open wide, yours unwavering and daring him to contradict your statement.

Perhaps the previous topic was way better.

"I just..." Come on, Sebastian, think!

"I just stumbled upon it!"

Usually he was one to conjure lies out of thin air, but being around you made his brain seem to melt. Sebastian thought that it was because he didn't really want to lie to you, or perhaps it was because, with the way your eyes pierced him, he felt as if you already knew all his secrets, all his lies, and you certainly wouldn't be fooled, not even if he made up a whole story full of intricacies and chapters worth publishing.

He knew, however, that the answer was neither, and it lay deeper than anything he was willing to admit to himself so loudly that he had to face it.

"Right."

You closed your book and stood up, facing him. He couldn't read your expression properly, but he felt his body start to uncharacteristically shrivel at the intensity with which you stared him down. He was in Ron's place.

"Strange, isn’t it? how the new student suddenly stumbles upon a secret room on his first day — a room not even Fred and George know about."

You had spoken that last part quietly, as if only to yourself. In fact, Sebastian didn’t know who Fred and George were at all. And, frankly, he didn't want to. "What can I say? I’m full of surprises," he replied smoothly.

"Or full of lies." You hadn’t missed a beat.

It was frightening how easily you had switched back to the girl he had met in the corridor. And he pitied it. And he liked it. And perhaps he was a fool for liking it, and an even bigger fool for pitying it. "I didn’t know it was illegal to be in this room," he said, scowling.

"Illegal? Oh, not at all. But certainly unusual for someone who has supposedly never set foot in this school before."

You took a step towards him, and he had to fight the urge to take one back himself. There was something wrong in the air — something goopy and misty and heavy, penetrating his skin like Mallowsweet fumes, inebriating and dizzying and frighteningly close to losing control. He had only felt it once, in Hogsmeade nonetheless. Electric and impatient, but, now, shrouded. That day, it had been galvanising. Now it was almost shy — almost… veiled.

"Hermione told me that she barely only took you through the first two floors. You're not even supposed to know about the classroom's whereabouts, and yet you seem all too comfortable with your surroundings," you continued, unaware.

He felt his heartbeat accelerate. Why did you have to be so inquisitive? Was he supposed to tell you the truth now?

Dumbledore’s voice came back to his mind: "...unless it's absolutely necessary."

"I don’t know what you're talking about. It was an accident, as I said," replied Sebastian in a poor attempt to reason again, knowing full well you wouldn't believe him.

"Certainly a convenient one." He twitched involuntarily, like he had just got a shock. The corners of your lips lifted in a sneer. "You are an interesting case... Sebastian, was it?"

He nodded hesitantly and narrowed his eyes, baffled at your countenance and your confounding words. An interesting case?

You shuffled on your feet in a nimble movement and pressed your back against the wall again, leaning onto it. "Don’t forget to show me that room sometime, too."

"And why would I do that?" Sebastian was growing impatient at your behaviour, while some part of him was thrilled at your nonchalance. The more you bantered with him, teasing him like that, the more he felt his stomach flutter. He hated himself for it.

He felt a sudden urge to leave. To run to his Common Room, or back into the Great Hall, where the noise cramming his ears would be enough to shut down each and any possible much-too-loud beat of his heart, as if the mere sound of those tiny pulses would beguile him into wandering proscribed feelings. A deceit of his own body he wasn't willing to face, not even through his love of the forbidden. The hunger and ache had to stay just that: mere curiosity, more about her and her family than you.

But he stayed in the silence of the corridor, with a loud pounding noise in his ears.

"Because it would be a shame if other people in, let’s see, higher power were to know about it, too, wouldn’t it?" You moved a hand through your hair to push it back, clearing your vision, and Sebastian watched as your locks fell around your face, a twinge in his chest. "Although I do believe Professor Flitwick would love to have another room for his choir practice. Is there a good acoustic in it?" You peered over his shoulder and towards the now closed door with a playful smile, clearly only teasing him, but the way the light fell on the tresses framing your visage was a bit too familiar to him. His mind stalled for a moment, and he didn't want those beats to stop anymore.

"Why do you care about this room so much?" Sebastian shifted his weight, now taking a step forward as well, and your eyes flickered down when you perceived the movement. Your lip twitched a bit.

"Why do you?" You simply replied, shrugging. "A secret room is a secret room. Don't you want to be a proper new student and get in good with the Professors?"

Sebastian felt his stomach boil at your singsong tone. "That seems to be more of a Gryffindor trait."

"Is it? And how much does a supposed stranger know about our Houses?"

His breath hitched and his resolve crumbled immediately at your quick retort. Sebastian warmed all over and stilled in his steps, feeling a bit too heavy on his legs. The image of the girl who lost her temper in the corridor was the one he had expected to evoke, pity even, yet she was nowhere to be found as your half-lidded gaze stared at him impishly.

"Besides," you continued, clearly feeding off his reaction with increasing confidence. "You should really get to know your Slytherin peers a bit more. Hopefully you won't become like them, but alas if you do, you'll end up snitching on this place yourself."

The thrill gradually disappeared, replaced by unadulterated annoyance. He found himself lowering his head, and he glared down at you, heart pounding in his ears. Your eyes stayed unwavering in his, though Sebastian noticed your crossed arms tightening marginally around your chest. "You can only wish to be like us," he hissed.

As you lifted an eyebrow daringly, he stepped forward again, finally free of that marbly perception that had spread through his body at your mockery, and towered over you. You tilted your head up, eyes never leaving his, the red and gold making them stand out in a way that only sent a new wave of anger through Sebastian's bones.

You could only wish to be like her.

"My dream in life."

Your voice rustled softly against your teeth, stretching with the smirk you wore, daring him to retort again. Sebastian felt it spread before he could even process your words entirely, burning through his guts all the way up to his trembling hands. That hunger. Craving. Ache. And something else — something that made the corners of his mouth tingle and his head tilt forward slightly more. He inhaled deeply from his nose, breathing out gratingly, air straining against his throat.

"Shall I serve as your future proxy and tell the faculty about it now?" you continued, voice glottal and purring, faring on the satisfaction of his heavy breathing on your face. "Might save you time ahead."

A low chuckle left his lips. "Even if you told the faculty about it, I could always pretend you were the one who showed it to me and kept it a secret all this time. After all, I am the new student, aren’t I?"

He grinned to himself as your smile fell slightly, squinting as you looked at him, but it only lasted a moment before you spoke again.

"And why, pray tell, would anyone believe that I would fraternise with a Slytherin enough to show said person a secret room?" You leaned your head on the side, and Sebastian’s heart jumped again. "And why would I turn myself in, given I would have, supposedly, kept my room hidden for five years?"

"It's my room," replied Sebastian lowly, instinctually, voice slightly trembling, blood rising to his head. Despite the height difference, he was starting to feel smaller and smaller every time you spoke, crushing his resolve word by word. It made him shrivel. "I knew it before. You're not welcome in it, nor is it any of your business."

"You knew it before," you repeated blankly, like you didn't care. "So you’re admitting to having learnt about this place already?"

What?

A heartbeat, a glint in your irises, and Sebastian's heart dropped pathetically as he realised he had given you exactly what you had been searching for — what you had wanted him to admit all this time. He shifted his weight back, leaning away from you. "No, I never said—"

"—I believe the Professors know about your true history — especially Dumbledore, you can't trick that one — so I know they won’t be fooled," you continued undaunted to shut each and every one of his possible retorts. "Plus, even if you told them that lie after I snitched on this place, they’d still let it go and take control of this room — Filch in particular. I won’t get into trouble just for keeping an insignificant room secret, but you would lose your special place."

His mouth fell open, for once at a loss for words. He could only stay silent as you threatened to reveal his hidden spot with that undeterred ragging tone of yours. Sebastian would usually brush off any threat against him, especially if it involved getting the help of teachers of all people — he was known for breaking rules on any occasion — but he couldn't ignore your words. He knew you had no idea how much that room meant to him; would you have cared if he told you? Would you have taken your words back? Why would he care if you had? He had promised himself to stay away from you, and that was exactly what he was planning to do. This conversation had gone on for too long.

"Who—Who says it's my special place?" Sebastian tried to salvage it, although his disingenuous and trembling voice betrayed him almost immediately.

"You reek of dust and humidity," you said with a satisfied smile, as if insouciantly waiting to shake his hand after your checkmate. "As if you've spent a lot of time in there just now. Also, no student in Hogwarts with more than a pea for a brain would ever refuse the comfort of a secret room no one has discovered yet."

You had deduced it... by his smell?

Sebastian had still been processing when you gathered your things and looked back at him, breaking into a genuine smile. "You look like you’ve just seen a ghost, and mind you, there are a lot of them in this school, so you'd better get used to it."

The corner of his lips quirked up against his will, heart gradually slowing down again. "Well, you did just threaten me in a way."

You chuckled — an unfeigned, carefree chuckle with no malicious hint — and shrugged. "I was never going to snitch on you, that would have been incongruous. I just wanted to see how this would go."

"I don't follow," he said at length, tilting his head slightly and raising an eyebrow at that. "Were you just playing with me?"

Sebastian didn't know why he had asked. It had been quite clear since you started talking that you had only run rings around him like he was a bloody amateur. He chewed on the insides of his cheeks in chagrin. You averted your eyes with a smile still on your face, and Sebastian wasn't sure whether to feel impressed or annoyed.

"Call it an investigation." You raised your hands in surrender. "I’m no Sherlock Holmes, of course, but..."

"Sherlock who?"

"He... Never mind." You shook your head, and looked back at him for a moment, biting your lip as if facing a conundrum. You sighed. "The thing is, from your perspective my threat should've appeared empty, or unfounded, because, as you said, the Professors would have believed that I was the one who showed you the room, as a more experienced student."

Sebastian listened intently, growing more confused the more you spoke. "Wait, so—"

"So, if you had nothing to hide and had really just found out about the room, you would've been less... defensive ," you explained, and Sebastian found no contempt in your voice: it was neutral, a bit excited maybe, but not mocking — perhaps only a little condescending, he noted bitterly. "Or, more specifically, you would have been defensive about me being out of line rather than about the room itself — more annoyed , I believe, at the fact that I got all up in your personal business uninvited."

The way you spoke, with unalloyed certitude and indisputable pride — though with an almost riveting aspect in your self-assurance, if he dared to admit it — seemed almost preposterous to Sebastian.

"Also," you continued, "if you had really stumbled upon it so easily, you would've been more shocked about the fact that no one else in the school had, wouldn't you?"

That actually... Made sense.

“What if I were just a new student who had accidentally found a room,” began Sebastian hesitantly, although he couldn't stop himself from being rather dazzled — and envious. And definitely ill at ease at your aptitude at reading people — him specifically. “And had completely panicked when another more experienced student threatened to reveal me as if I had done something horribly wrong?”

You looked at him, eyes shifting between his right and left one in a sequence. “Yeah,” you finally countenanced with a blithe nod. “That would have been perfectly plausible, too.”

Sebastian’s face fell, exasperated beyond measure. He suddenly felt a wave of lassitude wash over him and let out a world-weary sigh that earned him a small smile from you.

"Just know that you don't know me as much as you think you do," he said at length.

“I don’t know you at all,” you confirmed with a bright smile. “But I definitely enjoyed this. "

You pointed between the two of you, and Sebastian faltered, following your hand with his eyes for a moment before his gaze fixed on you again. "What?"

"It's just… I didn't lose my temper this time, and... well — it was sort of... nice."

Nice. The word you had used was nice. Sebastian found it anything but that: it had been humiliating to say the least. But again, he was the loser.

"You didn't lose your temper alright," said Sebastian, looking away. "Though we may need to get even on that."

Your eyebrows lifted and you broke into a giggle. "Yeah, perhaps. Even if I'm sure I'm not as much of a smooth talker when you’re not in… well… emotional distress." 

To his own surprise, Sebastian smiled back, genuinely and widely and almost tenderly, letting his chest tingle freely and a little more than needed. "So you took advantage of me."

"That I did." You nodded at him. "It’s a pleasure doing business with you." And with that, you started to walk away, leaving him stunned but smiling in the middle of the corridor.

"Ah, before I go," you suddenly added, turning around and walking backwards, and his eyes shot to you once more; "last time I saw Ron and Hermione, they were near the Grand Staircase, on the second floor. If I meet them, I’ll send them to you."

You waved at him and turned around, walking down the stairs and disappearing from his sight.

[Read more]

Taglist:

@lovely-maryj @yuzuhasbae @mosf13 @rbfacee @prichuchan-blog @h0neeyy @lina-prongs @moonlightsolo @ninicol @gayandfairycore @nanako-sakura @epicy0n @shiro-from-cafeberry

(I'm having trouble tagging some of you, sorry :( )

[moonpie016]

Moon goes on a whole talking session.

*Walks in and realizes that this is becoming a frequent thing to post on here. And I'm happy about that, because I get to show what I make all the time. :]*

But now onto the drawings, and will eventually make a list on things I want to do next because that'll help me stay on track.

---

Positive stuff below the drawing.

---

It's the dudes inside my head, yay. Though they're all asleep, well two of em are. I drew this for whatever purpose it would serve, that being that my insides, while still a confused state and overall over reactive response to anything that needs rephrasing. Or just anything that happens, good, bad, whatever, that it has a way of comforting itself. It tries.

It tries to do the bare minimum of existing, even if it is tricky with having to always remember and think of more to do.

How to react appropriately, how to understand things to its full capability. How to understand others and everything more.

It's difficult, not in the way that doing things is difficult, but however that goes. These conceptualized beings of emotion have existed for some time, don't remember when but they have. But they always hadn't looked like this, obviously/lh.

But they all serve the same purpose combined or separate.

---

And, to go completely off topic, to go ramble.

Songs have whatever emotional attachment they can hold, whether important or not, it's just something that sticks. Helps.

And as you can see how much art I make, how many times I've probably listened to most of all the songs on repeat by now, what random pieces of dialogue I'll spew to write.

Chonny's music is comfort. Now it isn't just his, other artists as well. But those aren't important rn. His music in general, not just CCCC. Through whatever emotional moment months ago that made me feel lost and confused on what to do, what do I do now. I needed to find something to latch onto, if not, I'd feel..off. like I wasn't doing anything, because I wasn't doing anything. I tried to get into stuff but it wasn't working, like it needed to naturally happen instead of force myself.

The music has related to my state of mind (no pun) at certain points. And I find that comforting. Concerning? Maybe, but comforting.

Like, getting into what's popular, what new game, but that didn't work. And I'm kinda happy my brain decided to be now fixated on this man's music. Sure every time I'd like to explain or show someone, I need to specify and always show specific songs. Cus. Yeah. But now, I see people's work and stuff, and it's all so cool. And though the inconsistency of this blog is very apparent. I've enjoyed my time on here, very much. Even if I don't always actually speak to someone, because I don't really know what to say or start a conversation. (Seeds/social anxiety). I'm still happy for whatever interaction I get. I'm happy to feel included in this bizarre/pos and silly household. Idk why I'm calling it a household. Just go with it.

Even if I linger around or just post a drawing, I'm enjoying it. Some artwork may be more serious than silly. But yeah.

And to also just say whatever without rethinking is great, now I'm not going to say anything out of word. But just being silly in general with my wording. Y'know? Make odd jokes or talk excessively. (Wow).

Sum it up, I appreciate you all. Though you don't know me or I know you, it means a lot. I didn't think a joke about Heart beating up Mind would be turned into anything else, or that people would actually say anything.

This is just a happy little appreciation thing. I don't know how to end it! I just felt to write this.

So, uh yeah. :3

*Runs back into the hills*

Thanks for reading my ramble/pos.

---

[high-fantasy-sw]

That's Right. Worldbuilding Wednesdays are Back

This installation: Technically Part Two of Clone Culture, even though it's the first Worldbuilding Wednesday for that particular topic. Part One can be found by clicking the link.

HUGE shoutout to @majorproblems77 for helping me come up with, like, 90% of this lore. Thank you so much, Major, I really couldn't have done this without you :)

Also, I'd like to keep this consistency up, so if you're so inclined, let me know in the tags what you'd like to know more about in the AU, and if you're even more so inclined, don't hesitate to send an ask and help me talk it out! I love hearing your ideas for how I could make this AU better :)

@whyoneartheven @anime-obsessed @magpie-sherlock

Edit: Well, crap. I accidentally posted this instead of scheduling it. Oh well, I guess you get Worldbuilding Monday today.

Edit Two: CRAP CRAP CRAP I AM REALLY BEHIND IT TODAY AND COMPLETELY FORGOT TO PUT THE DIAGRAM THERE. OKAY IT'S BEEN ADDED

Identification Rings

Every Clone, at birth, is given an identification ring: a plain iron band with his number stamped on the surface. This ring, purportedly, serves a two-fold purpose. As well as being his official identifying information, it’s also an enchanted artifact: the Kaminoans claim that, as powerful as their alchemy is, it’s not strong enough to create and sustain an entire human being on its own, especially with modifications such as advanced aging; the rings are therefore created with a spell that supposedly splits the life-sustaining alchemy between itself and the Clone in question, and once a Clone reaches the age of nine-eighteen, he is told he must wear the ring at all times or his alchemy will begin to unravel and he’ll die. (Prior to this, cadets wear their rings on chains around their neck, as seen in their concept art; apparently, Kaminoan magic can hold itself mostly together until a Clone reaches adulthood.)

The Clones are extraordinarily protective and even possessive of their rings. Besides their life-preserving properties, they’re also the only items the Clones can truly call personal possessions, the only thing they can really point to and say “That’s mine.” (True, once the war breaks out and they bond with their Jedi Generals, many of them receive numerous gifts from their newfound families, but in truth they often have trouble really seeing these presents as truly theirs, since in the walls of Kamino Fortress there was an unspoken understanding that everything they had- armor, clothing, room and board, anything and everything they touched- was really on loan and would be given to the next batch of brothers when they couldn’t use it anymore.)

Since these rings are so important to the Clones, a culture of sorts has sprung up around them:

As noted earlier, Cadets (Clones under the age of nine-eighteen and/or who have not passed their final exam) wear their rings on chains around their necks. As part of their coming-of-age ritual, their rings move from their necks to their right hands, and they reconfigure their chains from a single loop to this cuff design:

This new chain has both a practical purpose and a symbolic one. Practically, it prevents the ring from sliding off of a Clone’s hand and being lost (the chain is non-removable; all the links are closed). Symbolically, however, the chain has a much deeper meaning. It consists of two segments: the chain of identity (seen in red in the diagram) and the chain of brotherhood (seen in blue). 

The chain of identity is the segment that goes over the back of the hand and connects the ring to the chain of brotherhood. It symbolizes the connection that an individual Clone has to his brothers, and also his own individuality and personhood. Many Clones use this chain to express their own quirks and personality, painting it or attaching small mementoes to it. 

The chain of brotherhood is the segment that goes around the wrist, and to the Clones is the most important segment. It represents the brotherhood between all the Clones, and- eventually- between the Clones and their Jedi generals. There is a very important ritual associated with this chain: they are painted in memory of fallen brothers and Jedi, one link (usually; it can be more, depending on who or how many died) for every slain friend, in the color or colors of their armor (or, in a Jedi’s case, the color of their lightsaber). The inch or so of chain right over the back of the wrist, where it meets the chain of identity, is considered the most personal segment of the chain, and is usually reserved for fallen batchmates (though there have been exceptions to this norm- for example, after Ahsoka left the Jedi, Rex painted his section green for her.)

[periwinkla]

I’m gonna ask a bunch of narumistu shippers this but how do you think Iris would react seeing that happen? Also how would your dream Narumitsu wedding play out, and would pearl be invited? I just have so many questions! I also love your art!❤️❤️❤️

Hi anon! <3 (I'll talk a bit about SOJ so - some minor spoilers ahead) I think Iris would be happy for them. If anything, she would be relieved she didn't ruin Phoenix's faith in love. They both got closure at the end of AA3 as he forgave her by telling her that she was the person he thought all along, and it seemed like a load was lifted off of her. Honestly I'm a bit bitter they didn't even make Pearl mention her during DD/SOJ because they mentioned Gumshoe, so I don't understand the problem there. She’s Pearl's sister, and we know absolutely nothing of her fate after AA3. I myself don't think much about the whole wedding thing, so the following is something I came up with just now that you asked. Haha.

First, we need to talk about the SOJ dlc. Would they even get married? For Phoenix, it seems he would want to, so that's out of the way. For Miles, I think he's so defensive about it that it could only mean he actually wants to, as well. For the record, I’m one of those people who doesn't want to get married, and I don’t think marriage is for everyone / every couple... but I just feel like that's the impression he gave off. Mentioning how romantic the flying chapel is doesn't help his case. Why did he even have the thought? Why did he think it was necessary to mention it out loud and to Phoenix of all people? 

That out of the way, we need to ponder the extent to which the AA world follows real world laws, because by JP law they can't legally get married. It could also be that it doesn't in this instance, which isn't entirely impossible since Phoenix was able to adopt Trucy (i researched this a bit some months ago - apparently single men especially can't adopt girls, but take it with a grain of salt as I couldn’t confirm it - I would need to go look at gov sites and you need to know JP well enough for that… and I don’t). Then again maybe Takumi just didn't know/didn't care. So who knows. But this isn't the only instance where AA laws would differ from JP laws, anyway. Either way, I think it would be really sweet if they got married in Kurain and Maya officiated it. Kurain seems to have different laws in the first place, and although most certainly they would be against marriages between men in particular… Since Maya became the master, I would think she would push to change that. And I think they would get married quite a few years after SOJ, so she would have had enough time to do so (the con of this would be that at least legally, their marriage wouldn't be recognized where they live if it wasn't permitted there as well - I think?). I particularly appreciate it when stories acknowledge and explore real world problems... so that's probably why this line of thought came to me.

I also think the Kurain thing is more fitting for them generally speaking (even if they could get married where they live), because they're both very reserved people. But they would still want their most important people around. And of course, Pearl would be invited, as she is one of these people. Also she will cry buckets during the ceremony.

As for the wedding itself, there would probably be some kind of disaster like a murder happen, let's be honest. Maybe a couple of them even. And maybe some kidnappings. Ghosts may be involved. And at the end of the final trial they would go off to Kurain again and get married at like midnight or something out of frustration and acceptance at the impossibility of their life ever going according to plan. Also Trucy would walk them both, together, down the aisle. And maybe she will make the rings disappear for a few moments, because why not. Just a final heart attack for the day to end it in a fitting manner.

Also thank you!! It makes me happy to know you enjoy it <3

[rapha-reads]

IWTV rewatch

(this is a side-by-side show and book review, now that I've read the books, so there will be book spoilers. Also I'm not good at keeping it short so it will be Long.)

Season 1 episode 2 [... After the Phantoms of Your Former Self] - part 1/3

- Can I start first with a shout out to the music? The soundtrack is gorgeous. Correct me if I'm wrong, but I think violins are the main instruments of the opening theme and the music of the "Previously"? If it's the case, that could definitely be a throwback to Nicki, and how the violin music was so important to Lestat when he was still mortal. There's a passage in The Vampire Lestat where he describes the music that Nicki plays that made me shiver:

"He ripped into the song. He tore the notes out of the violin and each note was translucent and throbbing. [...] I had never known music like it, the rawness of it, the intensity, the rapid glittering torrents of notes that came out of the strings as he sawed away."

And then later on:

"Still the sound came. It came rising out of the instrument and cleaving the night as if it were some shining element, other than air and light and matter, that might climb to the very stars. [...] The long vibrant notes, and the chilling glissandos, and the violin singing in its own tongue to make every other form of speech seem false."

Given how important music is for Lestat in the books, it does seem like the show's soundtrack was given its equal importance.

Okay, back to the show.

- Oooooh, we are starting immediately with some Armandaniel! Ahem, sorry, that random guy in the background and Danny boy. Talking about Venetian art. The writers really said "this is a show that has to be seen multiple times at multiple stages of its development to really understand all the layers and all the subtext and all the interpersonal relationships".

*chokes on a cherry pit* "Marius de Romanus"?? Excuse me???!!! Armand has a painting of Marius in his Dubai penthouse? Sorry, I need to be revived, I think I just passed out.

[Daniel] "'Did you always work for him?' [Rashid/Armand] 'I serve a god. It is my honor to serve.'" - Armand you need another hobby than Louis, seriously. Remark: those lenses work really well, at no point can you tell that those are not Armand's real eyes; on the other hand Assad Zaman has really gorgeous brown eyes. Remark: even with the canon change that the sun doesn't make vampires immediately slip into the death sleep as it rises, the fact that Armand is always awake way before Louis does say something of his age.

Love that the mortal servants are wearing masks. Covid ain't no joke, kids.

- [Louis] "'I want to apologize for my outburst earlier. I can assure you it won't happen again.' [Daniel] 'Memory is a monster. We forget. It doesn't'." - firstly, Louis' entrance is eerie. The way he seems to be gliding on the floor, and the total stillness of his face, and the flatness of his voice (once again, in awe of Jacob's accent work). Secondly, hey, the main theme of the first two seasons, hammered in: memory can change, it can reshape itself, it can twist on itself to protect the mind, or to protect itself - can you trust that you remember what happened how it happened? Or is your mind cannibalizing itself, and therefore, do you know who you truly are?

Huh. The music isn't extradiegetic. It's actually playing in the scene.

[Louis] "AB negative, fresh from the farm." - sorry, can I ask, what fucking farm? Is this more of the roleplay, or are non-human animals' blood types also ABO (no, NOT that type, geez), or are we really saying Louis has a human farm...? Excuse me but this cannot be just a throwaway random comment, what the fuck. Too many implications. *five minutes later* Right, so, did a rapid search, apparently some animal blood types also have an A type, and some animals have so much more than the ABO system. In other words, this doesn't tell me anything. "Part of me wants to ask about the farm", yes please Daniel, ASK.

- Lestat is a bloody diva, I love him. Not much to say about the graveyard scene (disposal of the bodies), except that I'm dying of laughter. Louis is going through hell while his body dies, meanwhile Lestat is prancing around, throwing punchlines, humming to himself and stashing corpses into graves. This must have been so hilarious and chaotic to film! Note to self, check if there are bloopers and how many takes did this scene take. Pretty sure that's the kind of scene where you burst out laughing at your co-actor's antics at least once or twice.

[Lestat] "There's the spark." - first of all, how is Sam Reid that pretty, jesus. Secondly, I love the way they represent the vampire's sight. It's such a big passage each time, how a vampire sees the world differently, and not in a metaphorical way, in an actual "my eyes work differently now" way, so of course they couldn't just ignore it. Love that Lestat calls it a spark. And the way they each look at each other, Lestat as if he's falling even more in love, and Louis as if he's not only going out of his mind in a "oh this is madness" way but also in a "I am understanding new things about the world" way. Although, as I've said in another post commenting on book IWTV, one thing about Louis is that he often thinks he knows or understands what's happening while in actuality he has no clue and is completely out of touch.

- [Louis] "'Lestat's blood was giggling inside me, teasing my senses, illuminating the district with overwhelming detail, as if I had walked my entire life as a dead man, and now, dead, could finally receive the secrets of existence.' [Daniel] 'You were fucking loaded.' [Louis] 'Beyond articulation.'"

Firstly, moment of silence for Louis' poetic aspirations slammed back down to Earth by Daniel. What happened basically: "*poetic nonsensical rambling* / Dude you were so fucking wasted / LOL dude I was sooooo wasted". Secondly, yeah, don't get too excited, the bad trip's about to start.

"They were your brothers and sisters once, but now they are your savoury inferiors", says Lestat, the guy who falls in love with a different mortal basically every other week. Oh, he's literally describing them as one would talk about wine. Alright.

I find it interesting that Lestat doesn't say anything about "feeding on the evil ones and leaving the innocents alone". Be right back, need to check the books, when does Lestat starts applying that philosophy? *comes back 10 minutes later covered in blood* Couldn't find a relevant passage. Let's table this for later.

[Lestat] "Careful mon cher, you're beginning to frighten the man." - Daniel talks about that in season 2, if I'm correct. But yeah, memory, huh? How could it have been Lestat who says that, knowing that maker and fledgling are mentally cut off from each other? Either Lestat said it out loud but low enough that only Louis could hear, or Louis, to use Daniel's words, went "schizophrenic" since the beginning and was already imagining Lestat as his subconscious voice.

"Just to be clear, gents, we are here to talk abot farm equipments, am I right?" - oh, are you looking for anything else to happen, random victim number one? Is that a hint of gay panic that I'm hearing?

[Lestat] "The neck, bite the neck, Louis. No, you don't bite the blood, you suck it. Yes, yes, that's better." - have I said lately how much I adore Lestat...? No? Well. Lestat cracks me up. Something I love about hm in the books is his dry humor and delivery. He is really funny when he wants to be.

- Aaaah, we're getting to the first major scene. Makes you wonder why I spent so much time on the first 9 minutes, huh? (Yes, we're barely on minute 10 out of 52, I did say I can't do short)

"'I-I gotta go home.' 'This is your home now, Louis. Breathe.' 'I-I gotta collect money from the cribs.' 'I have all the money we need. Breathe.' ' I have to go see Grace and Paul.' 'Oh, dear.' 'You ain't fucking hearin' me! I need to go home.'"

Several things. And actually one of the heart of the constant misunderstanding between Louis and Lestat. Lestat here has no attachment to his home - Louis on the other hand is the main provider of his family, the man of the house. He can't just disappear, the way Lestat seems to want him to. A few changes from the books, in which Lestat firstly is traveling with his old and dying father and thus has to care for him until his death, and secondly lets Louis understand that he has no money and Louis has to provide for him. Also as we learn in The Vampire Lestat, after his own transformation, Lestat continues to take care of his mortal family, sending them money and gifts. So, unless that part has been changed in the show, a bit hypocritical from him to act as if Louis wanting to continue caring for his family is an imposition. Then there's the part where Louis forgets Paul is dead, and Lestat immediately reacts with concern. "Oh, dear, um, how to make you remember gently that your brother is dead actually" or "Oh, dear, are you alright?".

And finally there's the fact that Louis overreacts without hearing anything Lestat tries to say, without letting Lestat say anything actually, physically pushing him away and then accusing him of not listening. I mean, it's not really Louis' fault, baby boy has gone through A LOT in the last 24 hours (Paul's suicide, his funeral, the church's burning and the priests' murders, his transformation and physical death, his first hunting, not even talking about having to hear Horse Rando's ramblings...), he's confused and lost and hurting and hasn't had time to come to terms with anything that's happened. But on the other hand, Lestat's the only one that could help him, and instead of listening to him, giving him 5 more minutes to explain, Louis almost immediately shuts him out and pushes him away. And in return Lestat closes himself up and decides to be as contrary as possible, instead of being patient and helpful. And sometimes it's Lestat who's asking for patience and support and doesn't get it and Louis closing himself up, etc. And thus the main Loustat dynamic for the next several decades is born.

- "You're going to find that very difficult", yep, thanks Lestat. Very constructive. Oh, and look, the sun is up and none of them is sleeping (yeah, that tiny little change actually bothers me, I don't know why yet - maybe I'll find the words later). Really love the visual effect of vampires starting to flake off as ashes as they burn. Hammers in the idea of "undead body". "The sun gives life to everything but us. I should have told you that" - YA THINK. Explain to me why you have a roof window opened letting in the deadly sun (the sun is a deadly laser, free reference for everyone) when you're a vampire. Sounds like structural failure to me. THIS SCENE. First of all Sam Reid's French pronunciation of "New Orleans" and other words, and then Sam Reid's TRAINING ROUTINE holy shit I'm looking respectfully. OH, and his SWAGGER, we need a swagger competition between Sam Reid as Lestat and David Tennant as Crowley, PLEASE. "The perfect setting for a vampire home, a vampire romance" - boy is so THIRSTY lmao. What a slut (affectionate - and also, free gift to non-book readers, Lestat canonically LOVES being called a slut, I am not inventing anything; go mad with it). LOVE that Lestat goes into the coffin fully NAKED and then looks at half-burned Louis and still goes "it's okay, you can go on top", NOTHING will turn him off when it comes to Louis, absolutely nothing. And then Louis' little "gulp", his realisation that, oh, shit, doesn't matter that the guy is an asshole, he wanna tap that.

- Oh, I was going to stop part 1 with this, but Daniel and Louis' exchange is too good to pass.

[Louis] "'Too many firsts for one night.' [Daniel] 'How's sexuality play in that?' [Louis] 'It's a complicated question, Daniel, and we shouldn't conflate it with the salesman's death.' [Daniel] 'Humor me.' [Louis] 'To satisfy your fixation, being transformed by Lestat, being desired by him, bedding down with him, was an overture of sorts to that side of my nature.' [Daniel] 'To the shame of queer theorists everywhere.'"

*cackling* Two catty drama queens trying to outcunt each other, this is a feast. I love Jacob's delivery of these lines, as if it's so not interesting and he'd rather talk about anything else, but also, he cannot stop himself from talking about Lestat. There's really the reluctance of talking about something, someone, that meant a lot, still means a lot, but hurts so damn much that it's better to pretend that it doesn't mean anything anymore. I can't help but seeing that last line as a bit of a meta commentary on the history of the books? I'd need to do some research on book reviews in the '70s, see how the homoerotic explicit subtext of the text was received by non-queer audiences, or even what queer readers were saying, if they (the queer theorists) were divided in their interpretation of the text, or if the book was viewed immediately as a gay romance. Because, like, it's been a month since I read IWTV, and in the meantime I read the rest of the series and dived into the few fics I could find, but if memory serves, IWTV the book doesn't outright state that the relationship between Louis and Lestat is a romance. Mmh. Too many things to research, let's table this for now.

episode 1 | part 2 | part 3 | episode 3 | episode 4 | episode 5 | episode 6 | episode 7

[thepythakorean]

parallels between the boy and the heron and this painting, plus general analysis

Arnold Bocklin, Island of the Dead. 1880

i want to preface this by saying i am by no means an art history nerd, i just happen to know some stuff about the background of this painting in particular.

as soon as mahito is sucked into the tower floor he is standing at the shore of an island surrounded by an endless ocean. he is dwarfed by a large set of golden gates that say something like "those who seek my knowledge shall perish" and an even taller forest of cypress trees. these features all frame a white dolmen (primitive tomb usually made of giant rocks stacked like below) that beckons to him.

this scene immediately struck me since it has so many of the visual elements of the painting. mahito is even framed in the foreground to be so very small approaching these giant, daunting structures just like the boat heading for the island in the painting. besides the tombs, the cypress trees are also traditionally associated with mourning and death at least in europe/the mediterranean. other ghibli movies have lavish european aesthetics tied to characters (howl, yubaba, etc.) but it feels particularly intimate here given that mahito's great granduncle, the creator and ruler of this world, is apparently european and can only pass on his role to a direct descendant. (btw not saying the gaudy european decor signature of howl and yubaba aren't important to their characterization, it def is! i'm just saying it stood out to me in this movie especially.) the cliffs full of stone entrance passageways are prominent later in the movie as himi takes mahito through the parakeet's domain, and interestingly, in the delivery room where natsuko is, there is another dolmen behind her (can't find pics since the movie hasn't been uploaded yet urgh).

the backstory to the painting continues to parallel to the events of the story! so there's 5 versions of this painting. the first three versions were painted in a cemetery close to bocklin's residence which was also full of white headstones and sculptures, and cypress trees. one of his infant children, one of many children he lost, was buried there. the one i posted above is the first/second-- while bocklin was working on the first, a the soon-to-be wife of a politician visited his studio, saw the wip, and commissioned her own version with the added white figure and coffin to commemorate her first husband who had just died of diphtheria. already somewhat similar to how mahito's mother died in the hospital fire (well. she died from the fire but presumably she was there because she was sick) and when his father shortly remarried. these were also added to the initial wip and stuck in later versions of the painting. bocklin later wrote to her, "you will be able to dream yourself into the world of dark shadows". the movie is also very dreamlike-- it's a fantasy world filled with strange creatures, alternate versions of people he knows, and passages that seem to alter the fabric of time and space. people also seem to forget about it as soon as they leave even after spending long periods of time in it like a dream. the painting is also very dreamlike, but why? the warm lighting, maybe not in the version i posted but in a couple others, may explain it, but the island itself resembles the curtains and stage of a theater (referencing the audio clip below the description). even if it doesn't look EXACTLY like that to you, it's definitely a too-perfect little scene in a nebulous expanse of space. this theatrical quality is also shown in the movie by the parakeet uprising side plot as well as the scene when himi and mahito collapse in front of the delivery room-- the curtain falls directly in front of the viewer over them as though a stageplay just ended. oh and a friend mentioned to me how this is a classic hero's journey plot and mirrors orpheus in the underworld. island of the dead has also directly inspired NUMEROUS other works of art, including other paintings, stage productions, and symphonic poems. apparently the painting was so popular many people in berlin hung prints of it in their homes (i do too)! as i stated above though, a lot of the visual elements in the painting were already traditional symbols relating to death so i don't want to 100% conclude that miyazaki was directly inspired by this painting, he may have just also resonated with those symbols independent of bocklin which i still think is awesome.

the first time we see himi also reminded me of the painting. she's wearing a white dress and standing at the bow of a small wooden boat, and though her intentions are to save the warawara from the pelicans, she inevitably kills some of them too. visually and thematically she's like the white figure at the front of the rowboat in the painting. she acts as a guide for mahito (analogous to the rower? he traveled to this world of his own volition but needed a guide) for a good part of the movie and is a collage of life and death. she is a younger but kind of omniscient version of his dead mother; she's known all along she is mahito's mother but is about to be born into the world by the end of the movie and accepts her fate happily. she can control fire which envelops her like how she died in the real world, but is harmless to the touch unless she directs it as a weapon, and as we see with the warawara and pelicans it helps creation but also destroys much like fire's role in the natural world. natsuko, though a separate person from himi, is still connected as a sibling, and we see her wandering into the forest at the beginning of the movie while wearing white like himi, back turned to mahito, and that is what prompts him to first enter the tower. the strange nature of her character that doesn't adhere to a proper time or space parallels the way the white figure completely stands out in the painting, at least the ones with darker lighting. another crazy parallel surrounding fire and wwii between the painting and the movie is that the fourth version of this painting was destroyed during wwii due to bombing, again like how mahito's mother's hospital was presumably set on fire by bombing during the war.

the looming effects of war alluded to throughout the movie eventually tie into its resolution, when mahito accepts his new family that he initially rejected, his own imperfect being, and the fact that one must seek out love to be happy in this bitch of a world. his great granduncle is confused as to why mahito wouldn't want to recreate his own world like him. why would you want to return to the world that killed your mother and rejects you as a person? the world that forces your people to die in war and will eventually drop the deadliest weapon mankind has ever seen even a century from now onto your home? you can make everything perfect here! he's created something of a "paradise" himself, full of lush tropical plants, parakeets, and strange insects (some of them looked like the bugs from nausicaa, another fantastical world of lush nature which is also threatened by war. interesting), almost like a garden of eden, and it so happens to be at the very top of the tower. funnily enough, bocklin also painted this several years later:

Arnold Bocklin, Island of Life. 1888

i don't know much about this one so idk if it's an explicit companion piece to the island of the dead but it certainly looks like it. the similarities are now less apparent to the movie if there are any, it's much less lush but there are exotic plants and uh birds and stuff. this is definitely more likely a case of shared inspiration from the symbols themselves rather than movie directly looking at the painting. anyway clearly the promise of a perfect paradise isn't real, as this is interrupted by a war of his own unwitting creation, the uprising of the parakeets he wanted to breed in a paradise that literally bring about the end of the world. no world will ever be perfect when left long enough to its own devices. life finds a way! plus, this world was created through so much death (the construction workers in hazardous conditions, the way the tower keeps spiriting people away. btw in the english sub mahito's dad calls the whole ordeal a "disappearance" but he says "kamikakushi" in japanese which means "hidden by god" in reference to people who mysteriously disappeared as if from supernatural circumstances and yes that's the word they used in the japanese title of spirited away!!!) and is on the verge of collapsing from reality every three days just because of some building blocks?? the real world may be on fire but it'll go out/burn less badly someday, and at least it won't completely disappear in a snap, not in an easily imagined timescale for a human anyway. it's up to you to make the best of it, and this is what mahito decides. there are also visual allusions to other ghibli movies about the constantly present threat or consequences of war. the only other landmark aside from the island mahito lands on is a line of ships which kiriko later tells him are all fake. it immediately reminded me of the stream of planes in porco rosso which were the souls of dead fighter pilots moving on. the shadow people in the swamp were also reminiscent of those in the train in spirited away, which are never explained to my knowledge but the given that spirited away's characters are largely spirits and the way souls are so similarly designed in this movie makes me feel that they were also souls of people in spirited away.

through this imagined otherworld, there is also the blurring of lines between life and death, reality and imagination. himi plus her dyad with natsuko (they're sisters AND they look exactly the same AND both are mother figures to mahito) are great examples of this. mahito's mother is gone, he knew this and set foot into the world anyway. he rejected natsuko as his new mother but in going through the struggles of the tower he comes to accept familial love for her and even keeps confusing "natsuko" and "mom" while reaching out to her in the delivery room. a family is made up of different people but inevitably you will see each other in each person. in the delivery room scene we see the paper hanging from the ceiling lash out to attack and stick to mahito like tape, it even leaves red marks on him. this is one of the best scenes in the movie to me because of its visual contrast to him rushing to save his mother in the fire. in the fire scene, the real world around him is blurred and distorted and at times so is mahito and especially his mother. the fire doesn't seem to burn him or his clothes (i could be remembering that wrong tho) and the scene cuts off before it shows him possibly going in further. in the delivery room, everything is drawn with clean lineart, no stylization. there is no mistaking the reality of this situation even though this world is conjured, the dawning realization upon mahito that this person is his mother is so visceral that he actively fights through the paper literally snapping its jaws and natsuko spitting her hatred towards him. when mahito is ready to leave the tower, himi leaves through a separate door to be born as his mother sometime in the past though she is not a warawara and knows what has happened/will happen, an exception that further demonstrates the nonlinear nature of time and space in the movie.

after coming out of the tower, the heron tells mahito he should forget everything that happened in there. even his grandmother seemed to have forgotten the whole year she spent in there (it seems like tower time reflects irl time judging by the events of the movie). anything that comes out doesn't just disappear, it transforms into a real-life counterpart as we saw with the pelicans leaving as they were (presumably minus the ability to speak) and the parakeets going from big bloodthirsty things to regular parakeets. so mahito can't just forget, especially because he comes out changed from his experiences in there, not just himself personally but also his changed relationships with natsuko and the heron, and also his little souvenirs. then the movie abruptly ends with mahito narrating that they left for tokyo again shortly after the war ended. i like to think that this was a hopeful ending where mahito maintained that character development and was able to welcome natsuko and his new sibling into his family while being able to seek more friends and family in the future. i've seen other analyses talking about how this movie was semi-autobiographical for miyazaki and i can see it, how events early in his life shaped his personality and how he had to fight to find beauty in a world that otherwise treated him poorly, so i'm glad he ended the movie on that note, although in less words. pretty similar to how spirited away ended, although there was arguably more loss involved, but still hopeful, and that's what i find so powerful about this movie. and like this movie, spirited away involves a dyad between yubaba and zeniba as a device for the hardships and beauty of life, how they're not so discreet at times. as a last kindasorta tie-in to bocklin's work, i'll point again to the island of life which was created after the island of the dead, plus a composition directly inspired by the island of the dead, a symphonic poem with the same title written by sergei rachmaninoff. the last time i listened to this was in high school and it's like. 20 minutes long so i'm too impatient to give it a relisten now but from my vague recollection plus some quick searches it's a very somber piece that escalates into emotional climaxes yet still contains warmer tones, and goes back to the same "rowing" motif at the end. it weaves together evocations of life and death in one piece, also illustrating how the two really are so closely connected.

tl;dr, this was me the entire movie because miyazaki SEEMS to be heavily inspired by this one symbolist painting i happen to like a lot:

also also here's a self portrait of bocklin:

yes, all of his paintings are that cool.

[bee-named-alex]

So episode 6 of IWTV s2. My thoughts? Many. Enjoy them, I'll try to make it as coherent as possible in my current state. Spoilers and my mental breakdown below the cut

Fuck this. I cannot wait for a week after this episode, how am I supposed to be normal after this???

So I guess I'll start from the start? The tension is in every word and I get why Daniel's getting afraid for his life, I mean I am afraid for his life rn and he's not even real.

The Dubai scenes, they contrast really well with the first couple episodes of this season. The cracks in Loumand relationship are very apparent now, they can't even decide on what painting to have in their house. And I read a post that was like "season 1 was music, season 2 is art" and it's so true and this means like their relationship is empty i guess or something. Maybe just that it's falling apart.

And the way they began this season holding hands and sitting so close, acting like everything was perfect, ready to fight Daniel and now they sit as far away as possible, fight like all the time about everything and Louis and Daniel (and even Rashid I think) keep on further unionizing against Armand... I think that's just great.

And Armand knowing that they know and from the start trying to spin it. I'm not sure how the sentence "Why do you ask, love?" from Louis is like the coldest thing ever but it just is.

I'll talk more about Dubai later.

But now to Paris. Claudia's diary "Fuck these vampires" - girl's so right (in both meanings of that word btw). Claudia was never really my fave, but out of everyone I feel like she deserves a happy ending the most (not counting daniel here) and fuck, she's not getting it. i know but it still hurts like hell.

Her and Madeleine's relationship is great. Inbetween all the plotting and manipulation and murder this feels like one of the only peaceful things. In the scene where Claudia reveals herself I though that she's like Madeleine's guardian angel. But also an angel of death. But Madeleine doesn't mind and I think that's very important, that she doesn't really see Claudia as a monster - or maybe she does, but it doesn't change what she feels (after all, she thinks that she's a monster)

Then the turning. First Louis trying to convince Armand and him not obeying- as Daniel says "maitre only when it's hot or convinient" (it was hot in the art room btw and it's so not fair that we didn't get to see at least a little more i mean that whole scene was inexplicably so hot and i need moreeee).

But it also reminded me of another post, the "Armand is a willingly leashed tiger" because like yeah, Louis has the power up until the point when Armand no longer wants him to have it. (also Louis persuasion being "imagine me without the burden of her" sucks, like sorry but this hurts, even if you didn't mean it and yes it matters if you meant it. But his later method - aka kiss to shut him the hell up - seems much better.)

Then I got a little pissed or perhaps confused at his "Are you asking or making me?" because we know that Louis can't actually make Armand do anything, not when he is 100 % sure he doesnt want to. Because if he could, Armand would've turned Madeleine. (speaking of, Armand not having turned anyone is pretty interesting, but i guess that that's how it was in the books and it was important so sure why not)

Also Louis' "It's ok, it's ok" here reminded me of "Of course, of course!" and also "It's fine, he's fine, we're fine" and it's just so funny how they all think that if they say things over and over again they'll convince themselves that they're true.

The turning itself was beautiful, as Louis said it would be. Like it wasn't violent, there wasn't fear, no tears. Just love and devotion and I'm so sad that Claudia's and Madeleine's beautiful dream didn't last longer.

Louis not caring afterwards is just another exampke of his dissociative state and I worry about his mental well-being. (All of their mental and physical well-beings tbh)

In Dubai again, Armand finally talking about the erased memories and how they both hate on him for it and they're right. Like what do you mean Daniel doesn't have the right to be angry, of course he does. It's fun to see Daniel delighted about fighting Armand.

But also... Louis asked him to get rid of those momeries (if he believe him. And I, in this episode more than ever and despite my better knowledge, do believe Armand. Maybe it's just because of Assad's phenomenal acting but I believe his words and I believe his tears. Which actually makes this all worse btw.) and that makes the whole situation suddenly much more complicated.

Other Paris plot - Santiago (fuck Santiago) and his coup -, yeah that kept me on my toes for the entire episode. Like Armand says that he was in love and Louis says that he got lazy but I just think he must've been blind to not see it.

I feel like Dubai kinda reflects this (Louis and Daniel unionizing as we've said and so it's like Armand losing his power over his people again) but also. Paris and it's aftermath was the biggest crisis of their relationship, must've been (followed by San Francisco and Daniel I'm sure). But now as the recount it they are also reliving it and are also in a full-blown crisis and i hope this one doesn't end in a fire.

And the ending of it all. Fuck. I was near tears watching it.

The double-date in the cafe felt like a dream, they even said in the episode insider that they wanted it to feel surreal or something like that, like a romantic comedy. And for a few minutes it does. They let you believe that they could be happy. You know they won't, you know that shit's about to go down and everything will end in ruin but this single scene makes you beg, no please, no don't fuck it up, just stay happy, like this, it can be good. And despite knowing what's coming, you stick your claws into this idea of happiness like a lifeline.

And then it hurts that much more when this perfect bubble pops.

I admire all the actors because idk what Armand was feeling the moment he stepped outside but through Assad's acting I felt it too. And as Louis looks around, seeing the world stop, here I know exactly what he must've felt- the realization hits, the betrayl and then the immense worry for Claudia and Jacob portrays it so beautifully.

"He chose." This breaks my heart. Because what did he choose exactly, or better yet, what did he choose over? I mean this is terrible, the trial, but what was his other choice? He calls himself a coward so maybe it was Louis and Claudia and Madeleine or him that the coven would go after. But maybe this was actually the better choice idk.

But like you see the regret in Armand's face in Paris but especially in Dubai and I trust him. I believe him that he regrets it, I believe him the tears and as I've said that just makes it so much worse. Because he chose this and now they suffer for it and he suffers for it too and blames himself (rightfully so), but it still hurts.

And then Lestat. Fuck. I knew this was gonna come (I just couldn't help myself and because of my recklessness saw a spoiler, that he's gonna be there) but that in no way did that knowledge diminish what I felt when I saw him. Because, hell, idk I'm just so excited to finally have him back because I love him but also I hate him and am so scared as to what he's gonna do. He's gonna testify against Louis and Claudia sure but what if he won't? Does he want to kill or fuck Louis? Will his and Armand's past play part in this or is that a box to remain unopened until later?

"You cannot script a hurricane" they said and so this means Lestat will go off script. But to what extent? At least to which it results in burning the theatre down.

The preview didn't help my state, quite the contrary actually. Louis in Paris is scared that Lestat's gonna come. Santiago's laughing. What does Armand feel? Who knows not me, I'm just scared. And excited. I feel like I won't fall asleep for two days after this but it's fine. I'm fine, everything's fine.

[kitorin]

"What's a possession of yours you associate with your lover?"

Meguru ponders a bit at the question, clearly deep in thought. You place down the card, one from the bunch of 'Questions for couples' game Yoichi had gifted you recently. They're fun, ranging from deep, personal ones to lighthearted ones which were ultimately a matter of simple preferences. Apparently, they bring newer couples closer together (keyword 'apparently', Yoichi's only validation is his own knowledge).

You wait patiently— though fun they're not all easy, most questions were accompanied by a pause to contemplate. You've both considered giving up a question or two, simply because there was too much to think about (those resulted in a ramble or two, they're barely articulate but interesting to listen to nonetheless).

"Got it!" He smiles with triumph, as if he'd just won a prize or scored a goal.

"Omamori! The one my mum bought me this year." You know exactly what he's talking about; the Japanese amulet she'd purchased in Osaka during an art exhibition. Pink brocade silk bag adorned with cherry blossoms in a darker shade, the temple's name written in golden kanji on one side— with the other having success on it. It's so pretty, he carries it around wherever he goes, either the white string tied to his bag or placed securely in his pocket.

You weren't sure what he'd say, but a good luck charm certainly didn't come to mind.

"Why? Is it because I'm pretty?"

"Not really."

"You're so lovely, Meguru." Sarcasm laces itself with your tone. If not that, then you're even more curious about what it could be.

"No, I mean, I can't compare how pretty you are to anything else in this world, really." It's almost miraculous how he went from seemingly insulting you to making your face flush with flustered embarrassment. "But that's not the main point. This omamori." He reaches into his pocket, stroking it but leaving it there. "Is a lot more special than any other one." There's his grin, the one that competes with the sun because of how warm he is.

Nothing really comes to mind. You know they 'expire', some people believe they do every year, returning them to the temple for the staff to burn it in a ceremony. Others believe that they last forever. That doesn't serve as a clue anyways, whichever Meguru was, he kept them around either way.

You yield, too impatient and curious to think much more about it. "I give up."

"It's because we started dating this year."

"Doesn't the kanji say it's for career success?" There's no correlation between it and you, you have nothing to do with his position as an athlete, or with soccer as a whole.

"I didn't mean it like that." Meguru pulls you in for a hug, nuzzling his chin into your shoulder. "You're my omamori."

You feel as if it's the other way, he's always defending you; being the first to stand up for you verbally or fighting without hesitation even if the opposing party was for no match for you in the first place. Remaining silent, you wait for him to clarify.

"You've always helped me feel at peace. You protect me from those scary thoughts that have kept me up for nights. You protect me from loneliness." His hug grows tighter, as if something was going to take you away from him. "Thanks to you I don't have to rely on some imaginary friend to keep me company."

Your fingers run through his hair, soft and messy from rolling around during his nap from earlier. "Then I hope you'll let me continue doing so."

"Of course." Meguru kisses you, the sweetness of him and pineapple lingering on your lips. "I love you."

Those three words are no foreigner to you. You've uttered them to friends, family, and even strangers on the internet. But with intimacy those very same words metamorphose into something different. The allure of romance places weight onto them, the weight of upmost importance.

That doesn't mean you find it too heavy.

"I love you too, Meguru." You go for another kiss, the saccharinity of his lips being strangely addictive, something about the taste of him mingled with pineapple is so intoxicating.

Three simple words, yet known to possess so much significance. They say it's a frightening confession to make, a powerful declaration of adoration and vulnerability. Much like any component of love, it comes with uncertainty and the fear of being deprived of reciprocated feelings.

Not for you though, the words come off both of your tongues smoothly, as if you were born to do so. There's no signs of hesitation or fear, or worry— just faces flushed with bashful scarlet and kisses honeyed with adoration.

( Guess the card game wasn't lying when it said it'd bring you closer, nor was Yoichi )

Tagging: @yuzurins

© kitorin : do not repost, plagiarize, change, or translate

[slimeranch7]

I find out that triads(Chinese mafia) have originally came from clans that opposed the local government and wanted to throw it away. So they operated secretly. Imagine triad member darling who is the personal maid of Ningguang, close one at that, who is torn apart between her and her clan. Like she likes Ningguang but her people are also personal so there’s that. And cunning and smart Ningguang who is aware of darlings occupation but she’s playing mouse and cat with her, waiting when she’ll realise all of that is losing game.

Content warnings: light Nsfw, murder/graphic ish violence

Ao3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/55616320

The metal sits heavy in your hands. Solid. Cold. Nothing you’ve never experienced in your life. It’s not that you haven't held a gun before.

The parts are detailed and ornate, oiled perfectly, sliding back to reveal a single golden bullet in the chamber winking back. Your stomach drops. You already know who it’s for.

The weight on your heart was for the man laying on the floor, squirming, whimpering, begging even when his tongue was gouged out and he bled all over Ningguang’s perfect wooden finish, seeping into the carpet.

You prayed for him. His daughter, who had gone off to study abroad in America last year. His son, who had won his first martial arts tournament just a few months ago. His loving wife, likely at home and waiting to have dinner with him given the hour, who worked as a nurse at the local hospital, seventh floor.

His identification was nowhere to be found. You assumed it was ripped off of his person when he was apprehended and tortured for intel.

Your boss’ voice was low and sultry as she leaned into your ear. “Have you ever killed, dear?”

You didn’t trust your voice not to waver, only nodding along as she continued. “Trust is important. It branches from respect, which, as you should know by now, makes up the backbone of this family. And I founded this family. Are you following?”

“Yes, my lady.” You verbalize, afraid to test her patience any further. She blows an intoxicating puff of opioid, scented and floral, then tapped the excess into a gilded ashtray off on the side.

"Right now, you are a drifter." A clawed finger glides over where you once clipped your badge. "Drifters, in my eyes, are untrustworthy. They have no apparent loyalty in which they pledge by. They belong to no one."

She could certainly feel the tremors that tore through you. Your back was cold yet sweaty. Denial, fear, regret, all builds up into a terrible mental backlog. You couldn't weigh the consequences cohesively, instead everything ran itself into pointless circles. You didn't even know where to start.

Ningguang helpfully steadies your hand, guiding your index over the trigger. The iron sights locked onto the man on the floor. Then she parts with a shallow kiss on your jaw, leaving behind a rose red lipstick stain. A promise for what's to come, should you pass her final test without error.

You had the barrel pointed directly between the trembling man's eyes. Tears blurred your vision. He wasn't no one. His family's grief would be by your own hands. They would wonder how he went missing. And your own existence outside of Ningguang's organization would cease to exist as long as his heart stopped beating.

For a moment, you contemplated on turning the barrel to your own throat. But by some tragic miracle, your own mind conjured up a thousand more reasons not to taunt death this way. Fear paralyzes you like a deadly snare.

"Still yourself, girl. Relax. Show me who you belong to." What other choice was there?

The motion of the pistol was the same as any other time you fired at a range or on field. The recoil kicked back hard, but you kept your shoulders and hips squared.

The ringing that lingered in your ears silenced all else. You could feel the sobs choke out of your throat as the adrenaline began to filter itself out of your system. Ningguang wastes no time in ravaging your body, closing in as soon as the gun clattered against the floor.

In all the years you've served under her, she has not once eyed you so hungrily as she did now. Instead she treated you like a cheap toy, feigning disinterest as she either mercilessly rode your tongue or fucked your throat until it was raw and aching. The more you choked and sputtered, the more her smirk would curl in satisfaction.

The better you were at your job, the more harshly you were punished. With chains or fire, it didn't matter. Only the marks that scarred your body did.

It was a test of loyalty, you eventually pieced together.

You ought to feel ashamed for enjoying her undivided attention so thoroughly. For all the times she left your pussy aching with need for you to tend to yourself, she makes it up by graciously offering up her thighs, letting you shamelessly grind as she pulled you into a frenzied kiss.

"You gave nothing away when you crawled beneath my foot for the first time," She gasped when she pulled back for air. "You weaseled yourself beneath my network and offered yourself like a virgin sacrifice. You were a perfect actor."

Her words sounded distant and muffled by the adrenaline. Palpitations in your heart began to ache terribly. Your only words only varied between different attempts at apology to no one in particular. Maybe God, if you were hoping for salvation.

A tear slips past your lashes, to which Ningguang catches with her lips as she peppers chaste kisses all over your face. You cried out when she gave your nipples a tight pinch through the sheer shirt she let you wear. The first time she had given anything below your neck any semblance of attention. It hurt, but sent pleasurable shockwaves down your stomach. "I thought it was too good to be true." She moved down, apologetically kissing the scars left by years of systematic torture. "Believe me, darling. They all break, one way or another."

And you broke, like any other. Not in ways that would have gotten you killed.

But in a way that sealed your own fate when your heart fluttered as she fucked your face. When your lungs seized itself in anticipation as you watched her brandish her prized leather crop. You should be ashamed of what you've become. But it's hard not to when you've rebuilt yourself up to love her warmth and her punishments.

Her pace is immediately brutal. You could feel your virgin pussy give and give as her fingers parted your walls, twisting and curling in hopes to find a spot that makes you see white. Her palms meet your swollen clit repeatedly, so much that it's burning and painful. You make an attempt to allow yourself some respite by reaching for her wrist, but her teeth graze your jaw like a warning.

No touching. You will submit your physical body wholly to her, just as you have surrendered your mind.

You will abandon your identity as a citizen and a registered officer. And you will become a nameless pet for her to love and to fuck. You will descend into the depths of mania, and you will rut against her shoes like a desperate whore if only to entertain your new master.

Every drop of squirt she wrings out of you would then be licked off the floor, and you'd be mindlessly happy to do so.

Never mind the ever expanding pool of blood below you, or the empty pistol laying off on the side. Your new place is under your master, who has taken her time in guiding you to become her perfect little girl.

[bugslaststraw]

So because someone (@theblabarmy hope it's ok to tag) wanted to know. Um. I should make a self indulgent post about my brainchild on this blog. I guess. I have a side blog for her/sso related stuff (@vilda-ravenhill) but still. Hey.

So to preface Star Stable Online is an open world mmorpg about being the Chosen One horse girl who has to fight the bad guys. It's badly written but unfortunately really well concept'd. Got some good art direction. About half the character designs are ass and the other half are genius. Sometimes for the wrong reasons. The gameplay is fine. The fandom does nothing but complain and the creators are so sensitive that they keep listening to bad complaints just because they sound angry. It's got one hundred thousand lore retcons. There are books. The book lore doesn't match the game lore. It's a weird game. I've loved it since I was in like fourth grade and trying to survive being bullied so it's definitely special to me anyway ok more under cut this is long

It gets weird when it comes to the plot though. Cus, well basically it's like this: the whole plot takes place on a fictional island called Jorvik. Somewhere between Norway and England. Its its own country. Its rural and there's like one mall on the whole island. And on this island there are druids that know like actual nature magic and shit? And there's a nature goddess called Aideen, and she has a prophecy that four girls and four horses, called the Soul Riders, are gonna save the world or whatever. These Riders change with time when they get old and die and have to find new ones, but the Soul Horses reincarnate for some reason? Like they can remember their past lives and shit.

So there's this hippy nature cult around Aideen where some of the druids are devoted specifically to her and to training/protecting the Soul Riders, and they're called the Keepers of Aideen, okay. And each Soul Rider has a unique power with it's own symbol so there's like the Star rider the Sun rider etc and they do different things.

But as it turns out there's a secret second prophecy that says there's a FIFTH rider who's like super duper important and knows all FOUR magic circles and that's the player character. Who. Turns out. Is also reincarnating? Like you meet your own previous reincarnation in game and it's the dead mother of a character you already know. Star Stable is bad until it suddenly makes a U turn and does something really clever and there's so much potential and that's what drives me insane.

And there's also this other dimension called Pandoria? And it's got people in it too but Pandorians can't survive on earth because they're dearly allergic to time, yes, literally to time, and humans who stay in Pandoria for too long get very sick and their magical ability goes haywire. There's a pandorian on Jorvik who has created a bubble where time doesn't exist, and he just hangs out and occasionally tries to kill you.

There's also an in between void dimension full of literally nothing that you have to go through to get to Pandoria. Like it's The Void it's The Nothing it's The Fog. There are these magical trees that grow on Jorvik but that reach all the way into Pandoria through The Void and they've got a whole root system there. You can apparently get lost in The Void and never return. It's actual Limbo and it just hangs out there.

Oh and lets not forget the evil counter-cult masquerading as an equally evil oil company (sso has an environmentalist message) that have four DARK RIDERS and DARK HORSES and DARK EVIL VERSIONS OF THE GOOD MAGIC like Dark Sun and Dark Star I shit you not, and they worship an evil chaos god called Garnok who is Literally Just Cthulhu, and their leader is a little too into it for some reason, and also witches exist and they're sometimes evil sometimes not but also they're always evil but that got retconned because star stable is not a good game and keeps contradicting itself and never does anything with its potential or characters or story because it's bad okay holy shit Tumblr doesn't like it when I write this much text hold on I'm gonna continue in a reblog

[possibilistfanfiction]

hi i just wanted to thank you firstly for writing. for sharing your art with the world. it fucking rocks. and secondly for writing ava as disabled and exploring her agency and emotion and affirming that disability has no bearing on one’s worth. and how it doesn’t affect her and bea’s love (and lust). thank you for Getting It

[i know this wasnt a prompt but i loved this ask so :) a lil smth]

//

when you wheel into bea’s office, you laugh at how she scrambles to try to hide the fact she’s definitely just watching tennis on her big desktop monitor.

‘working hard or hardly working?’ you ask.

she had told you, an hour or so ago, that she had some “important documents” to go over, which, half of the time, is her way of saying she just wants some alone time. you tell her all the time that she could just say that, but, apparently, you pout, and she can’t resist your pout.

today, she waits a beat, blushing at getting caught, and then laughs.

‘it’s… wait, don’t tell me… mmm. wimbledon? right now?’

‘the french open.’

‘ah, the one with the clay.’

‘yes.’

she sounds a little impressed that you know that, which would be embarrassing other than that your interest in tennis lies in the way everyone’s arms look in their little outfits—including when beatrice plays at the country club—which is a way cooler reason to enjoy a sport than winning.

‘what’s up?’ she asks, after you don’t say anything else. honestly you got a little stuck thinking about beatrice’s shoulders, and then her freckles, and then the flat, muscular plane of her chest and her abs, and — ‘ava?’

tragically, she’s wearing a hoodie right now, a saving grace for the productivity of this conversation. you refocus. ‘i’m taking you on a date.’

‘are you now?’

‘i am. be ready to leave in an hour and a half.’

‘alright. dress code?’

‘nothing, ideally.’ she rolls her eyes. ‘whatever you want. we’re going somewhere new, but it’s casual.’

bea nods. ‘okay.’

‘do you need any more mission details, or —‘

she just sighs.

‘okay, good talk, team. see ya in an hour and a half.’

/

it had been a hard two months, recovering from your most extensive surgery so far, dr salvius and the team of spine specialists she’s recruited for the past few years trying to stabilize your degenerating nerves and discs and vertebrae. the part that’s the worst is preventing the halo from healing everything right away; it’s protective of you, passively, simmering with anger between your shoulder blades, feeling like it’s been given anesthesia too.

it’s been years since you’d gotten it, though: when beatrice, and your sisters and friends care for you after surgery — when they care for you anytime — you understand, now, that they love you. your spine, and the halo humming along it — your pain and mobility limitations and anything else that comes along with it — don’t make you less bright, or capable, or funny. to beatrice — even when she’s had to help you pee in a bedpan or help you wash yourself in the shower on your shower seat — they don’t make you less sexy. she always wants, when you feel up to it, to kiss and cuddle and, once you’re better, touch you, and to let you touch her. she wants you to hold her as she falls asleep, and she wants you to, even though she grumbles about it for show, steal her sweaters. she carefully pulls socks onto your cold feet in the mornings, when you can’t bend over enough to reach them without excruciating pain, and then kisses your knee, your hip, stands to kiss your temple, your forehead, your mouth.

your broken back, always trying and sometimes failing, to hold itself together, makes you who you are, a part sliding into all the pieces that make up a whole. the joy held in her care; the devout reverence; the happiness — there are miracles all the time, you’ve learned, and to you this might be the biggest one of all.

/

you make a big show of pretending to cover your eyes when you both happen to be in the closet at the same time, and it works because beatrice laughs. ‘give me two minutes to grab my outfit,’ she says, kisses the top of your head, runs a finger along the shell of your ear and then along your jaw. easy touches, that she doesn’t even think about, to show you she wants you. you lean into her hand, your eyes still closed.

you play along, listening to her methodically and efficiently gather her things, and then she squeezes your shoulder.

‘i’ll use my office restroom,’ she says, ‘and you can get ready here.’

‘what if i said i was ready now?’ you don’t have any makeup on, and you’re in a pair of her old joggers, one of the cuffs fraying, and a t-shirt you’d found that has a cat with laser beams shooting out of its eyes; you haven’t brushed your hair after the shower you took post-physical therapy in the morning.

‘i would say that you’re the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen.’ you preen, even with your eyes closed; you hear the smile in her voice. ‘but that i would certainly be the better dressed one tonight.’

you huff a laugh and she tucks a wayward strand of hair behind your ear and then kisses your cheek.

/

things take a little longer, when you’re hurting, but they’re not impossible. you can reach everything in your closet that you might want, and the counter in the bathroom has space underneath it for your chair, and is low enough you can easily see the mirror. you love your physical and occupational therapists; at this point, you’ve worked with them for years consistently, and it’s second nature to know how to do everything you want when your mobility is limited. it’s not easy, but it’s also not really that hard. the world at large isn’t built for you, but beatrice had built you a home, and you had built her one too: greens she loves; paintings she lingers by still, even if you’ve had them for a while.

korra, always eager to help, gets you a water from the fridge when you give her the command, and she lazes by your feet later, panting happily. she’s worked hard the past two months, and you’re a little bit in awe of her.

you get ready, manage a perfect eyeliner and drape the velvet vintage dress, a deep, burnt orange, kind of glorious, that you’d found in ruth’s closet — that she has insisted you take, because it didn’t fit her anymore and because you looked beautiful and because you loved it — elegantly in the chair. you could struggle, in pain, to fasten the thin straps of the heels you’d picked, but you know bea won’t mind.

you’re just finishing up when you hear bea’s soft footsteps behind you; she can still pad silently if she wants, but this is another way she’s relaxed into your home, your life, your love. you turn and smile, helplessly, because she’s leaning against the doorframe, bathed in the waning light.

you wheel toward her, taking in the impeccably neat tuck of her tight t-shirt into a pair of navy linen slacks, her rich brown belt and loafers matching. she has on mascara and cologne, the rolex you’d gotten her on her wrist, her wedding band faithfully on her finger.

‘you look beautiful,’ she says, a little breathless.

‘so do you.’

‘i suppose i’ll have to settle for a draw.’

‘mmm. for what?’

‘best dressed,’ she tells you, and you laugh.

‘we can be the best dressed couple,’ you offer, and she beams.

/

she wheels you, because you’d asked her, because she never offers but she never pauses, not even for a moment, when you ask her. the highly-anticipated cambodian food pop up at the wine bar she loves is near enough you don’t need to drive, and there’s a nice patio in the back that korra loves to go to, so she walks happily beside you.

‘hey,’ you say, turning around so you can look at her. the air is still warm and the blue haze of twilight sits around her quietly, catching the grey streaks that have started to pop up in her short hair.

‘yes?’

‘i love you. thank you for this life.’

she pauses, walks to the front of your chair, and bends down to kiss you, right there on the sidewalk, just like that. ‘i love you too, ava. a better life than i ever could’ve imagined.’

you clear your throat; you hadn’t planned to cry. ‘let’s go get so much food.’

she laughs, but you hear a sniffle too. ‘yeah?’

‘oh, yeah. i’m gonna order the whole menu.’