#physical attraction

i bring this up because i feel like, despite being able to deconstruct and analyze romantic and sexual attraction from a new, different angle / approach, a lot of aroacespec individuals clearly never stopped to think about nonrose attraction. sure, they might be aphysical altogether, that's not weird nor uncommon, but some seem to not be asexual perse but rather asensual or anaesthetic instead. the most common i've seen is being "sex-repulsed ace" and that repulsion isn't the actual sex or they might even enjoy the activity; they just dislike the closeness or kisses or caresses. that is Sensual.

it should also be accepted for gay people to be in a 'straight relationship' and for straight people to be in a 'gay relationship' even if they know full well what their orientation is.

if aros/aces can be in a relationship with someon they arent attracted to, i see no reason why allos cant either. sure, one would be more drawn to a relationship that has attraction. thats completely understandable, but if the opposite were to happen, they shouldnt be harassed by people saying theyre 'faking their orientation'.

Summary: Seeking a "shield" to bury his mounting insecurities and a failed attempt at honesty, Sebastian pivots from the soot of the Highlands to the clinical, perfumed world of Sacharissa Tugwood. Embracing his role as her personal "restoration project," he allows the Hufflepuff to rebrand him—trading his rugged, battle-worn exterior for tailored silk and sharp parts. In this intoxicating game of grooming and high-voltage distraction, Sebastian finds that being "fixed" is a much easier role to play than being the broken boy he truly is.

Masterlist

Characters: Sebastian Sallow, Sacharissa Tugwood.

Word Count: ~650 words

Distraction was a survival mechanism, and for Sebastian Sallow, Sacharissa Tugwood was the ultimate shield. The transition from the soot-stained wreckage of the Highlands to the clinical, perfumed world of Hufflepuff’s most polished student hadn't been planned—it had been a desperate pivot. Sitting on those cold stairs near the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, with the copper taste of blood still fresh, he’d almost found the words to be honest. He’d almost stripped away the mask to lay bare the jagged, terrifying feelings he didn't know how to name.

But honesty required a courage that even the Dark Arts couldn't provide. As the adrenaline of the fight faded, replaced by the crushing weight of his own insecurities and the paralyzing fear of her rejection, his nerve had failed. When Sacharissa had rounded the corner, fanning the air with theatrical distaste at his "essence of a grave," she wasn't just a girl; she was a life raft. He had taken the shot because playing the role of the handsome, flirty Sebastian the school expected was a thousand times safer than being the broken, honest boy his best friend deserved.

Now, weeks into what Ominis had sardonically dubbed the "Sallow Speed-Dating Tour, Episode 3," Sacharissa had turned out to be a high-voltage lightning rod. Unlike Grace’s vapid chatter or Nerida’s unsettling aquatic fixations, Sacharissa was... a challenge.

Satine stood at the entrance to the hallway—eyes puffy from sleep, hair tangled in knots, her shirt hanging loose around her frame. But in Obi Wan’s eyes, she looked beautiful.

She let out a deep yawn, scratching the back of her head as she glanced around, bleary-eyed and confused.

Satine had changed, Obi Wan noticed—inside and out. And it wasn’t only the new haircut. Something in her eyes, in her expression, had shifted. She’d become softer, more humble. The defiance she once wore like armour was gone, replaced by a kind of quiet resolve—wounded, yes, but wiser.

“Good morning—or should I say, afternoon,” Obi Wan said, already reaching for a second mug on the shelf.

“Afternoon?” she asked, clearly puzzled.

She wandered over to the transparisteel viewport on the far side of the room, nearly pressing her face to the glass. “Why is it so dark outside?”

“Well,” Obi-Wan began, “because ‘outside’ isn’t really outside. We’ve landed inside an abandoned mine.”

“In an abandoned mine,” she echoed, blinking a few times as if trying to make sense of it. “May I ask why?”

“So the ship stays hidden from air patrols,” he explained. “A craft this size is easy to spot from above.”

“Of course,” she said, seemingly satisfied with his response.

A moment of silence passed, and Obi-Wan caught himself staring at her as she gazed out the viewport—a foreign warmth blooming in his chest.

He cleared his throat. “Tea?”

Satine turned her head sharply, as if his voice had broken some spell she’d been under. She blinked, clearly a bit dazed—probably still waking from her long sleep. “Yes, please,” she answered plainly.

Grabbing the pot from the cooktop, he carefully poured two cups of tea—his hands suddenly, inexplicably unsteady.

When he turned, he saw Satine already moving toward the holotable. She sat down slowly, resting her elbows on the edge, still half-tucked inside sleep.

“How long did I sleep?” she asked.

“About twelve hours,” he replied, setting the mugs down gently. “Careful,” he added as he eased into his chair. “It’s hot.”

She smiled softly, bringing her mug close. “Thank you.”

He swallowed dryly, the heat of the mug steady against his palms—keeping him grounded. Keeping him alert.

Obi Wan said nothing, watching as Satine pursed her lips and gently blew across the surface of her tea, the steam curling upward between them.

Those lips—

The same ones he had kissed with such fierce urgency. The taste still lingered in his memory.

But he shouldn’t be thinking about this. It shouldn’t have happened in the first place, and it wouldn’t happen again.

Ever.

“This reminds me of the night we first met,” Satine said, her eyes lowered. “I wasn’t very nice to you then.”

She truly hadn’t been. In fact, Obi-Wan was fairly certain he’d never met anyone so rude in his life.

The admission, however accurate, still caught him off guard—surprising, unexpected—and left him uneasily at a loss for words.

“It’s all in the past now,” he said at last.

“The problem is, it’s not,” she replied, gazing at him from beneath her brow. “We’re still dealing with the consequences of my lack of understanding. And…” Her voice cracked slightly. “I don’t believe I ever apologized.”

Instinctively, he let go of his mug. Almost without thinking, his hands reached for hers across the table.

“Don’t apologize, Satine—”

“I must. I’ve caused a great deal of trouble for you and your master since the beginning. If it weren’t for my stubbornness, none of this would have happened. We’d be on Coruscant by now.”

But we wouldn’t be together.

His heart sank at the thought. Coruscant, then—and now—was always the finish line.

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61284910/chapters/173182507

562: alexiaphysical, or alexiaphys

[PT: 562: alexiaphysical, or alexiaphys /end PT]

DEFINITION ⦂⠀An alexithymic person whose aphysical identity is affected by being alexithymic/experiencing alexithymia.

ADDITIONAL ⦂⠀Coined on the 21st of December, 2025.

TAGGING ⦂⠀@c1rcus-of-silliness @orientation-archive @radiomogai @scarmogai @the-aspec-archive