#this is the only way I will perceive prowl

[tatterings]

Lamentable is the Autumn Picker Content with Plums - Chapter 11 - A Fertile Flower of Hope

AO3 LINK HERE

Pairing: Astarion/Halsin

Rating: Explicit for the full work, this chapter is E for everyone.

Tags/warnings: Mention of sexual slavery.

Word count: 8,000 (this chapter)

Header art by @solmesia.

Work below the cut as well!

As the door opened, a slender hand thrust into the room, accompanied soon after by a loud thunk onto the floor below - Astarion's drowcraft armor. The door opened wider, creaking on its iron hinges, permitting the entrance of Jaheira. She was an imposing force, a hero of Baldur’s Gate, and though Astarion was not one for hero worship (besides, perhaps, Drizzt Do’Urden), her sheer presence oozed ‘respect me’; even when she barged in rooms essentially unannounced.

The vampire slipped from Halsin’s arms and turned to face the High Harper, taking a moment to compose the sheepish expression he would hate for her to see. Though Jaheira was no young woman anymore, her vision was as sharp as a panther’s prowling on a hunt. When Astarion met her eyes, Jahiera's expression was mixed. Her silver eyebrow arched in suspicion but also playfulness, and her wrinkled hands were perched on her hips.

 "When you both caused a scene a bit ago, this popped out of thin air, right onto the war table. I suppose it is yours?" She said in her thick accent, gesturing with a wave towards the armor. "Plenty of poisons and daggers. Astarion, you may be a  man after my own heart," she said, chuckling to herself.

"That would indeed be mine," Astarion said, crossing his arms with a huff, feigning dissatisfaction in the high Harper's approval of his well-stocked weaponry he kept close at hand. "But rather rude of you to insist was our fault for causing the scene."

Jaheira merely smirked and shrugged, "It is all the same. Regardless, you may resume your…activities" her words trailed off as she waved her hand and waggled her fingers in their direction, before turning on her heel and closing the door. Astarion turned to face Halsin, the tips of his ears flushed, and both the men laughed quietly to themselves over the silliness of the intrusion, the shattering of the tension which had their nerves tied in knots after their run-in with Raphael.

Astarion huffed a sigh and picked up the armor gingerly to don it. He patted about his bracers and the chest piece, verifying all his hidden daggers were still there. Gods bless the Drow for making armor with so many wonderful hiding spots for knives and poisons and other handy little accouterments that never failed to give him the upper hand in battle. He felt better with his armor on. No one needed to see the carvings on his back, to perceive him laid bare, exposed. To know about any poems or curses, or how he wanted to feel the wide, hot press of Halsin's hand across his back.

He cleared his throat softly, looking up at the druid, whose expression was one so full of... something. Tenderness perhaps? Curiosity? Either way, the soft way that he gazed at Astarion was almost unsettling.

"Well. Shall we.. get on with it? Do whatever needs to be done to help the boy?" Astarion asked, tilting his head as he spoke, studying the large man beside him. No need to dwell on the outburst nor Raphael nor infernal carvings. There was work to be done, and bastards to hurt. He was in a vindictive mood, feeling as though he had been flayed by the cambion for the world to see.

Halsin nodded somberly, and opened the door, gesturing to Astarion to go forward first. Astarion appreciated that the druid rarely questioned him when he wanted to move on to another topic.

***

The day had been full already, between Raphael’s appearance and his brief respite in Halsin’s’s arms, and yet it was only mid-afternoon. But mid-afternoon in these cursed lands was just as dark as a starless midnight. The Selunite priestess Isobel had provided a blessing to them earlier, barring the need to carry a moon lantern or torches to navigate the endless shadows. Still, Astarion wished he'd brought one all the same. Not that he was unnerved by the dark, since darkened alleyways and dimly lit taverns were his only companions for 200 years. And this magical darkness, though it was much heavier than a moonless night, opaque and unseeable, even with his darkvision - wasn't as unnerving as the concept of Halsin truly comprehending, perceiving those scars that lay underneath the circular keloid-scarring on his back.

They were close to where Halsin had last seen flowers in the shadow lands, and although the curse seemed lighter here somehow, shadows still lurked in the edges of the vision. Different shadows lurked in the periphery of Astarion's mind. His mind replayed on a loop the memories of Halsin’s tenderness and care in their… intimacy - Astarion hesitated to call it lovemaking - and the druid’s protectiveness when he had been stripped bare by Raphael. Both times was as though Halsin had held a torch to the scarred, dark insides of Astarion. While it had brought him warmth and comfort at the time, recalling the inescapable vulnerability of the moments they shared made his muscles tense and his stomach coil tightly. Astarion longed for a torch for the simple fact that he would prefer something to hold and grip onto, without cutting crescent moons into the palms of his hands as he clenched them into fists.

Halsin now was fully aware of all his scars, now that he had seen the physical ones. The ever-observant druid had already detected, as if he could smell them, the deeper and arguably more inescapable ones in his mind that he himself hated to acknowledge. It nagged at the back of Astarion's mind, lingering like a headache that throbbed despite all the herbs and potions one could take. Would Halsin still want him, once his own problems are resolved, and the scars of the shadows are lifted from this land and the druid’s deliciously strong-beating heart? Would he still want to deal with Astarion's scars - no, his wounds, for they still hurt him on a level far beyond his skin - after completing his 100-year quest to cleanse the shadows?

Astarion was skeptical that the answer could possibly even be "yes". If it was, Halsin was the most noble of the biggest fools. The vampire was lost deep within his thoughts when the sound of a child's laughter ripped him from the fog of emotions. Although, as Astarion heard it again echoing in the distance, he realized it was almost like a child's laughter. It had something deeper in it, a mixture of the sharp grating of steel on steel and the wail of a rabbit being crushed by a predator’s jaws. But it was still a laugh, and it seemed to echo around them. Only after swiveling on his heel, dagger in hand to survey his surroundings did he notice a small tiefling boy, whose head popped up over the windowsill inside a decrepit house.

Astarion hadn't even noticed the house, so lost he had been in his thoughts, his eyes cast low watching the ground beneath him. But the dilapidated house was rather large for the area, despite falling apart. The only life, if it was truly alive, was the boy peeking out at them from the paneless window. The vampire drew up beside Halsin, who had frozen in his tracks, and nudged the druid slightly.

Halsin had seen the blonde-haired boy long before Astarion had. He was staring at him, his thick bushy brows furrowed deeply as if in discernment. His lips were pursed, the lines on either side of his mouth etched deeply with concern.

"That’s him. Like an echo of Thaniel, remolded by the curse," he said, his voice wavering slightly as he spoke. “We need him, if we’re to put a stop to all of this." His words were under his breath, unintelligible by the boy, who emerged from the doorway of the ruined shack.

Astarion couldn’t hide his shock, his scrunched nose and narrowed eyes once he got a better look at the boy. Though still a child, he had been twisted by the curse, from the tips of his curling horns to the blackened and gnarled claws at his toes. It was so tragic that Astarion nearly laughed. A child. A picture of innocence. There was no justice in this world, truly.

"Thaniel?" Astarion asked, looking mostly at Halsin, but jerking his head of silver curls towards the boy. He slipped the dagger back into his drowcraft bracer. Sadly, not all problems can be cured through stabbing, he was learning.

"My name is Oliver. Not Thaniel," pouted the boy, crossing his arms and stamping one foot. Either dust or shadow spiraled into the air with the motion - Astarion wasn't sure which. It unnerved him, as the motes swirled around the boy’s body.

"Okay, Oliver," said Halsin, crouching as he stepped closer, his palms low to the ground and open - as someone would approach a fearful dog in an alleyway. "I am Halsin. I'm a friend of Thaniel's, and I think Thaniel was your friend too. Would you like to see him again? Play with him again?" Astarion's ears perked up at the slight crack to Halsin's voice as he questioned the boy. His soft, warm voice had an uneasy edge to it. An undercurrent of pleading, begging, that was so unusual for the typically stoic druid.

The boy growled and balled his little hands into fists at his side, shadows swirling behind him. Astarion eyed him down the bridge of his nose as he looked on. Could spirits be manifest by his very will alone?

“No!," Oliver shouted, stamping his foot into the ashes again, "Why should I go back to him? He abandoned me! But here... I’ve made a family, and I can play all the time! Just leave me alone." His words were a jumble, so fast in his squeaky voice, echoed by a deep monstrous growl that seemed to come from the shadows behind him.

"What a temper this little brat has," Astarion muttered to himself, sneering at the child. He was dirty, looked full of mange, and frankly too far gone to help. He was thankful Halsin didn't hear him - or didn't act like he did, anyway, and that Halsin knew how to handle delicate situations and people with smokepowder bombs for hearts. The boy paid Astarion no mind, and glared daggers at the druid who inched ever closer. Halsin had drawn so very close to the boy, within an arm's length. He kneeled and leaned onto one knee to remain at eye-level with the child. 

"Oliver, nobody is making you leave. This is your home. But it is dark, empty… lonely," Halsin's voice dropped an octave lower at the last word, and if Astarion wasn't mistaken, nearly seemed to break with emotion. The druid cleared his throat, and continued. "I know your pain, I truly do. Thaniel is my friend also. I played with him, and he was ripped away from me, same as for you." 

The boy seemed intent on Halsin's words, his eyes' eerie glow flickering with emotion. It was a stark contrast against his pale skin as the boy’s face contorted in multiple different ways over the next few moments. He seemed hurt, then confused, if the vampire were any judge of body language, and the cloud of thick tension settled between them all seemed to lighten. Astarion was agog at how Halsin knew exactly what to say in what moment. It was inarguably impressive. The boy remained silent, watching Halsin like the cornered dog, unsure if the hand reaching out towards it would feed it or beat it. "But you need not be alone any longer," Halsin said, continuing with the same tender tone, a soft smile causing the corners of his eyes to crinkle, "You need not invent friends. Thaniel is back, and is real. He is waiting for you."

Astarion stood silently, watching the boy. Waiting for his decision. He heard sniffles and little whimpers coming from the boy before Oliver finally peered up at Halsin, his glowing eyes brimmed with tears… and the faintest of smiles on his face.

"Fine, I’ll do it. it might be nice to be with him again," Oliver said, still with a hint of a pout. But now, his words lacked the echoed edge of the shadows. In fact, the whole boy lacked shadows overall, and had begun to glow a soft golden-green. And had also begun to levitate. His ruby eyes darted between the boy and Halsin, unsure of what to make of the scene, until Oliver disappeared in a dazzle of gold.

When Halsin turned to face Astarion, his smile was so bright, that the pale elf felt his expression alone might radiate enough joy to banish the shadow curse. The vampire tried to compose his face, to twist it from an expression of being completely perplexed, into one more neutral. Either way, Halsin didn't seem to notice; he was too busy nearly launching himself at Astarion. Both his large hands gripped onto the vampire's arms, gripping them firmly, giving them a little squeeze. Astarion couldn't help but grin back at the druid, whose smile was, quite frankly, contagious.

His grin was interrupted by the press of Halsin’s lips against his, and the pull of his body to Halsin’s bulk. Astarion kissed back tentatively, a bit confused but pleased nonetheless to be a recipient of Halsin’s affection despite the druid being so preoccupied by Thaniel and this boy recently. After a few exchanged breaths and gentle nibbles to Halsin’s lower lip, the druid pulled away and beamed down at Astarion.

"It's done at last," Halsin said, his voice ebullient with joy, "Soon the land will be unshrouded. With the oak father’s blessing, the shadow curse may soon be no more. Come, let us check on Thaniel and see how he fares." 

Astarion was pulled into another bear hug, his face pressed to the cool leather of Halsin’s armor. He couldn't nod or shake his head in agreement or disapproval, with how tight of a hug Halsin had pulled him into. He was thankful that the thick muscle of the druid's chest and his armor obscured his lopsided grin.

******

Halsin was disappointed, but not surprised, that restoring Oliver and Thaniel together did not result in an immediate end to the Shadowcurse. Rarely in nature were things so easy to rectify; balance was something that was not easily attained, nor easily broken, nor easily restored.

As Thaniel had stirred, he had described to Halsin and the rest of the party how an anchor still held the shadows in place. Most of their excitement had faded when he revealed that the anchor itself was Ketheric Thorm. Nothing good comes easily, indeed, Halsin thought to himself bitterly. Even getting honey requires the risk of a few bee stings. 

Still, he couldn't help but argue with the insistence of their group - starting with Karlach, echoed by Wyll and Gale, and later agreed to by Lae'zel and Shadowheart, that they should take the evening to celebrate Thaniel's recovery and the opportunity that is so tantalizingly close. Astarion, always one for luxury, had also immediately echoed the sentiment of deserving of a little treat.

Halsin couldn't disappoint the party with his nagging concerns; in the realm of shadows and fight against evil, every little victory should indeed be appreciated and celebrated. He'd offered to speak to Jaheira to get the Last Light Inn properly prepared for the celebration, and had left prior to any of the other adventurers. It was only a half-lie, because it would be prudent to inform the Harpers and others to expect their ragtag crew of adventurers. Being the bearer of good news was also always welcome, and he was sure that the Harpers would appreciate having a morale boost. But mostly, Halsin suspected that Jaheira could provide aid for some additional tasks he wanted to complete; he would also need solitude to do so.

***** Halsin's head jerked towards the entrance of the Inn as he heard jubilant chatter echo from outside. Karlach had arrived, he presumed, and was proven correct when she rushed into the inn with a cry of "Cold ale for all!", arm linked with Shadowheart. She had her tail wrapped around the wrist of a sheepish, blushing Wyll behind her. Lae'zel followed the three with an expression less severe and uninterested than typical. After her strode in Gale with his typical good-natured cheer, waving to Jaheira and the others. Astarion took up the rear, ending the party's entrance with less boisterousness and more subtlety. The adventurers had gotten the camp tidied up before joining Halsin; after several rounds of ale at the Inn, and a likely hangover, they wouldn't want to deal with it later, that was for certain.

Halsin had plenty of time for both of his side-tasks before nestling into the corner of the inn that appeared much like a library. One of his side-tasks had included acquiring a book regarding infernal pacts. Jaheira and her Harpers were clever and studious, and an old dusty book on just that topic was available for the druid to borrow. He hadn't intended to make a fuss of looking into the topic, but the choice was taken from him as soon as he felt Astarion lean over the armchair in which he had settled. The vampire's cool breath lingered on his cheek, and Halsin tilted his head gently to press his forehead against Astarion’s jaw. A slender finger came down on the tome and slowly slid across the lines as, Halsin assumed, Astarion read over his shoulder.

A scoff from the vampire ruffled his stray hairs, making them fall into his face.  "Halsin, you’re not reading that on my behalf are you, darling?" Astarion said, nearly spitting his words as he’d shot upright after skimming only a few sentences. He placed his hand on his hip and sauntered over to sit in the unoccupied armchair beside Halsin, separated only by a tiny round table on which he placed a glass of wine. He arched an eyebrow at the druid, studying him down his nose. 

Halsin shot him a crooked grin, shrugging his broad shoulders at the question. "No matter how long I live, I will always strive to remain a keen pupil. Only a fool would think he could absorb all knowledge of the world. There is always more, infinitely complex," he spoke with his hands, gesturing towards both the book and Astarion for his next words. "Additionally, it behooves us to prepare for the challenges ahead. Both yours and Wyll’s… Infernal dealings are one subject of which I have not studied deeply,” he admitted with another shrug. He had spent too much time trying to rectify his mistakes with the Shadowcurse to fuss with fiends in the hells below. 

And he currently wanted to spend his time on a more worthwhile pursuit - chatting to Astarion. Halsin's fingers slid up the edge of the book and folded the page in half to mark his place. His hand jerked away as a small droplet of red wine landed on the page.

Astarion had sputtered in his wine cup and tried not to choke. Halsin's head tilted to the side as he watched the vampire's vexed expression. Though Astarion didn't need to breathe, this was the second time Halsin had somehow made him choke on his wine.

"Halsin, what in the hells are you doing?!" Astarion gasped, his voice shrill in shock. One slender hand was pulled to his chest, as though he were on the verge of heartbreak. "I was going to let it slip that you're insisting on doing research on my behalf, but I cannot abide by you defiling a book!" He clicked his tongue in disappointment, and reached towards the tome in Halsin's hands. The druid snapped the book shut and set it beside him on the armchair, chuckling to himself about Astarion's dismay for dog eared literature.

"Ahh a purist, are you Astarion?" he said, winking at the vampire, whose face flushed with a tinge much like the color of the wine he sipped again, glaring at Halsin over the rim of his cup. The druid just grinned wider, his crows feet deepening, and continued. "I must admit, books that show no shelf-wear are visually appealing, and the smell of new books is intoxicating…but do tomes bearing visible markings not intrigue you more than those unmarred by use?" 

Astarion lowered his wine glass a bit, narrowing his eyes to study the druid, and seemed unsure of what Halsin was trying to get at. Or, Halsin figured, perhaps still offended by the dog eared page. "But think of it, Astarion, a dog-eared book means it has been well loved. What information did it share to their reader that was so valuable? What is the story contained within, and even is the story of the book itself? Just as a person's skin bears sun spots and scars, books marked by their readers have fascinating stories to tell,” Halsin explain.

Astarion had perched on the edge of his seat, leaning heavily on the armrest with his chin in his hand. He had sat quietly during his monologue, one silver eyebrow arched up to his coiffed curls. He had even taken another sip of wine to keep his sharp tongue busy on something other than a retort, Halsin assumed. The beautiful elf was always quick with a witty remark; his intellect was something Halsin greatly admired. The vampire set his wine glass back down and brushed at his trousers, flicking away at imperceptible dust that Halsin didn't see at all.

"Well," Astarion started, his words heavy with his unmistakable pouty tone, "you always have a wise response to excuse your habits." Astarion crossed his arms, tapping his fingertips on his biceps, watching carefully as Halsin picked the book up and opened it back to the page. "Still, I knew you had plenty of faults, Halsin," he said, counting on his fingers as he spoke, "your stubbornness. Your bleeding heart. But mutilating the books?”

The shadow of a grin crossed Astarion's face; his words were heavier with tease than the threat of a tantrum. It was endearing, and it made Halsin's heart soar to see some playful banter come from the vampire, who just recently had been so distraught after the run-in with Raphael.

Halsin ached to make the playfulness last. He licked his finger agonizingly slowly, and flicked the book to the next page, dog-earing that page as well. He grinned wickedly and watched the vampire from the corner of his eye - blood was rising to his face, but clearly not out of anger. This side of Astarion - the baffled, caught-off-guard side - was delightful, and Halsin enjoyed finding it. The sound of his calloused finger on the book’s rough parchment was accompanied by an overly dramatic harrumph from the pale elf. 

"Well, did you find anything out, at least, in your tome-torture?” Astarion said, with very little venom, but his eyes glittering with curiosity. He brought his wine to his lips again and drained the glass.

It was Halsin's turn to sigh, and he snapped the book shut again, laying it flat on his lap. "Very little, unfortunately," he admitted, angling his broad body to face Astarion better. He shook his head, his auburn braids falling in front of his shoulders, whispering across his collarbone. He noticed how Astarion's eyes constantly shifted, exploring his body, his surroundings. They darted back up as Halsin continued to speak. "I wish there were more information on the topic, but devils aren’t in the habit of bestowing insight into their trickery."

Astarion scoffed again, and waved his hand as if dismissing the idea. "Of course not," he said, his eyes rolling once before settling back on Halsin's face. The vampire, too, had angled his body in the armchair and had leaned forward on the armrest, his hands dangling over the small table between them. One hand fidgeted with the empty wine glass, a long nail clicking as it flicked back and forth over the rim. The vampire had many nervous tics, small things he did when deep in thought, or when anxious. This particular moment seemed to be full more of  anxiety than his own mulling, but Halsin didn't feel it appropriate to disturb Astarion's thoughts. The vampire finally spoke again, after a moment of silence which hung heavy between them.

"I appreciate you. Looking into this, I mean," Astarion said quietly, raising his eyes to Halsin's and peering at him through pale eyelashes. "It's a cruel irony, you know. Having been given my freedom by a parasite, given hope that it might not turn me into a monster… and then to learn that my mas-... Cazador might have etched something even more nefarious into my very body. And the only way to learn more about it is to work with a literal devil." His voice was soft, low, and almost seemed to break at times. It lacked any of his ebullience or drama that he so liked to sprinkle into his speech.

Halsin sat patiently, nodding while listening, studying Astarion's expression. It pained him to see how pained Astarion was as he described his exhilaration of freedom that so soon fell to agony, then hope, then complete uncertainty. And how his former master still haunted him. Halsin frowned, his lips pursing tightly together. Of course Cazador plagued the vampire’s mind. It had only been a handful of tendays since he had broken free from his imprisonment. Halsin swallowed at the thought, choking down his own anger at the inhumane cruelty of slavery which Astarion, and many others, have had to bear.

“Though it is distasteful to deal with fiends…finding out more is an opportunity that you must pursue," Halsin replied, his kind hazel-green eyes meeting Astarion's. He reached out, slowly, and curled his hand under the vampire's, encircling it and rubbing his thumb softly over the top of Astarion's hand. He cleared his throat, steeling himself for a level of vulnerability and honesty that he had not shared with anyone in over a century. “I too have had the unfortunate experience of being at the mercy of someone else.”

'Unfortunate experience' was a misnomer, Halsin knew deep down, because merely recalling his imprisonment made his stomach lurch. And yet he had told himself it was a youthful misadventure for decades upon decades to avoid deeper reflection. Until discovering so many parallels between his past and Astarion's. His thick brows knit together as he pondered on how to explain the whole escapade. Lost in his thoughts, he was unable to see how Astarion's eyes had widened, his brows raised. Unable to realize that the pale elf's cool grip on his palm suddenly tightened, fingertips pressing firmly on his hand.

Halsin nodded a few times as he allowed himself to creep into the deep recesses of his memory. He hardly noticed how he had inhaled and held his breath to steel himself against the memories themselves until he began to speak.

"I was a foolhardy young druid at the time, intent on seeing the beauty of the Underdark's otherworldly fauna and subterranean glow for myself. The botanical illustrations truly did not do them justice, I’ll admit,” he smiled softly at Astarion, recalling one of the only positives about the journey. He cleared his throat to push down the lump he felt forming there. “In my explorations, I had wandered too close to one of the larger Drow cities and…" his voice trailed off, but his mouth was slightly open as he looked for the best way to phrase the predicament he was in for years. "I found myself in the position somewhere between a guest, a prisoner, and a consort of a noble drow house for a time. The house matron took an interest in me and the patron also. They saw me as a…novelty."

Astarion's eyes narrowed at Halsin's expression and words. "Rarely do the drow have guests, darling. Do you care to explain further?" His words were minced, as sharp as the daggers he hid in his drow-crafted armor. The air between the two was palpably heavy, as Astarion seemed to pick apart Halsin’s words with surgeon-like precision, digging deeper into the meaning behind them.

The druid's throat bobbed as he swallowed, thinking of how to phrase it most carefully. It had been a trying time, for him, as a youngster. Once in which he feared for his very life. It was perhaps the most dangerous and unpredictable few years he'd ever experienced, and yet, he realized, he'd been shoving it to the back of his mind and classifying himself as a 'guest'. He realized how his jaw had begun to ache, so intense was his frown.

"I was chained in their bedchamber for nigh on three years," Halsin explained, his eyes darting away from Astarion's briefly, before meeting again for his next words. "During that time, I did what was necessary to survive." The vampire's eyes widened, his porcelain brow cracking as his expression twisted into something like pity, if Halsin had to place the emotion. He nodded to himself as he recalled the memories, the sights of his time trapped in the stalagmite prison of the drow matron. 

"The preserved skins of surface elves hang on the walls of noble Menzoberranzan homes for display as trophies. I did not intend to add a bear skin to their collection," Halsin said, shrugging as if the weight of the memories was on his shoulders, as if they did not burden him. He liked to think they did not; they didn't affect his current day-to-day existence, so the experience must not have been too bad, he had told himself for over a century. Certainly they did not haunt him as severely as the shadow curse.

"So you were a slave," Astarion said, his expression unchanged, "used for their perverse pleasures." The pale elf sat so rigidly he could have been made of stone. With how cool his hand was, Halsin could have believed he was indeed carved out of alabaster.

"I… cannot argue against that. For two centuries I've thought of it rarely, whether that was intentional or not," Halsin said, his lips thinning in another frown. "I feared for my life and, lacking freedom, I was indeed enslaved to my masters." His voice was softer at the end, lighter, as though the wind had been knocked out of him.

The pale elf's expression softened, his brows knitting upwards in what Halsin assumed was curiosity. "However did you manage to escape Menzoberranzan? Let alone find your way from the Underdark?" Astarion asked, his voice lacking its usual teasing or sarcastic tone. He seemed genuinely intrigued, leaning towards Halsin further. He seemed enraptured by Halsin's story, unaware of how his nails pressed into Halsin's large hand. The druid didn't mind, and gently squeezed back.

"Patience, mostly. Biding my time. My moment eventually came, when some rivals of my hosts sought to unseat them. In the midst of the fighting was pure chaos, and in that moment I took my chance," Halsin looked at Astarion, his expression more severe and serious than the vampire's, for once. "I never looked back until I breathed fresh air again…and I never learned what became of my masters." His large shoulders lifted and dropped again.

Astarion hadn't seen his shrug most likely, as the vampire's eyes were downcast, darting back and forth, as though he were formulating a conversation in his head. Or perhaps simply deep in thought. Either way, Halsin sat patiently waiting for his reply. No need to rush. Nor was there awkward silence, as the background noise of clinking glasses and happy chatter filled the inn - at least most of it, save for their quieter corner. Karlach had made a bet and was armwrestling someone, Halsin overheard. As well as the unmistakable voice of Gale, so generously sharing his endless knowledge and stories. Finally, Astarion raised his head to look at Halsin.

"You had family, though. And no one.. ever came to look for you?" Astarion asked. Halsin was surprised by the humanity in his tone, his concern. He sighed softly and offered a weak half-grin for the vampire.

"The Underdark is a vast network of caverns, so it would have been almost impossible to track me. And exceedingly dangerous," he explained. It had hurt, though, the years he was down there, knowing that no one was likely coming to his rescue. The pain resurged slightly, causing Halsin's stomach to flip and his skin to become hot. He shifted in his armchair uncomfortably. "This was also well before the Grove became my family. I've long had the tendency to roam and travel, instead of settling down. So as far as anyone knew…I was simply traveling."

Astarion shook his head, as if in disbelief, his beautiful brow wrinkled in dissatisfaction. "A pity," he said, squeezing Halsin's hand before pulling his own free of the druid's grasp. "But I am glad that you escaped. And to have met you." Halsin's heart leapt at the admittance, at the slight tinge of Astarion's ears and cheeks turning red, before the vampire realized what he had said, that he had let his mask slip.

"I certainly would hate having missed the opportunity to try bear blood," Astarion said, his voice full of that false mirth. His high pitched giggle filled their little nook off the main part of the inn. He winked at the druid. Halsin chuckled to himself and grinned, shaking his head slightly. He wouldn't push the matter further; Astarion's deflection queued the end of the conversation.

Or that topic, at least.

**************

Astarion was still stunned at Halsin's revelation of his sexual slavery; and appreciative that the druid knew when to keep quiet and leave him to his pensive moods. He struggled with the idea of Halsin under the thrall of anyone, let alone a diminutive Drow matron. As soon as Halsin shared his experience, Astarion's mind had run amok, conjuring the image of the large druid bound and tethered against his will… it made a knot tangle in his stomach. Astarion disliked both the knot and the fact that it had formed so quickly. Loathed how quickly his mind could so easily launch into a thousand scenarios of bound hands, sharp knives, and blood-stained floors. He hadn't realized he'd been staring into the distance for quite some time until Halsin spoke his name, and he had to blink rapidly to get his vision to refocus.

"Astarion, are you alright?" Halsin asked, tapping his forearm lightly with his thick fingers, resting his heavy hand on Astarion's delicate wrist.

As though by instinct, Astarion's other hand flipped in the air, as if batting away Halsin's concerns. "Of course, darling. Just the wine you know," he lied. Wine tasted of vinegar to him, and largely left him unaffected by intoxicating effects. "Although everyone else is rather…exuberant." 

Karlach was a doll, but gods could she be loud. Lae'zel of course, besides her blasted sword sharpening, wasn't obnoxious. Gale being endlessly verbose coincided with Wyll's chatterbox nature. Only Shadowheart knew when to keep her mouth shut, besides Halsin. The inn was full to bursting with songs and laughter.

It was rather annoying, and made brooding even more difficult. Yes, of course, they'd rescued the boy, there was hope for a cure of the tadpole… for the others, at least. Astarion's jaw clenched thinking of what could happen if the tadpole was removed. Would Cazador so quickly take power back over him? He had to get answers about those wretched scars before that could happen.

His thoughts were interrupted - again - by Halsin, this time by a gentle squeeze. "Would you like to go somewhere quieter, Astarion?" Halsin asked, his voice as gentle and reassuring as it had always been.

Ah, quieter, of course, Astarion thought to himself.

Halsin's expression darkened slightly and he shook his head. "Seduction is not my intention this evening, Astarion. Truly, I thought that you might appreciate someplace different to rest for the evening other than a camp bedroll."

Astarion hadn't realized his expression had changed enough for Halsin to notice. The vampire tried to reset his face to neutral; that mask of seduction melted like snow from sun-warmed stone. Old habits, dying hard, etcetera etcetera. He would like to have some place to repose in peace, though he enjoyed wanton parties as much as any good deviant. Still, some place better than his threadbare blanket - not to mention sharing more time with Halsin, was an opportunity Astarion couldn't pass.

He nodded and stood, stretching his arms overhead as he unfolded himself from the armchair. Halsin offered his arm Astarion's way, and nodded his head toward the room to which they'd retreated after Raphael's literal dressing-down. 

"Such a gentleman," Astarion purred as he slipped his hand into the crook of Halsin's arm. He couldn't resist gripping the druid's thick forearm muscle in a squeeze before relaxing his hand. Halsin's body heat, his strength… the memory of how he had been at Astarion’s request - no, the command - and so obediently followed the vampire’s lead to their mutual ecstasy… it sent a shiver down Astarion's spine, causing the hairs on the back of his neck to raise.

Halsin seemed not to notice as he waved a 'goodnight' to the rest of their companions, leading Astarion to the room he must have reserved when he had come earlier to Last Light, prior to anyone else's arrival. Though it was the same one they'd been in just a bit earlier, Astarion felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. Perhaps that truly was the case; he had been in distress the first time they'd been here after all, and sight-seeing hadn't been his priority. He raised his chin, surveying the room with curiosity and pleasure. Two clicks behind him signaled that Halsin had closed and locked the door.

"Well now, this is more like it! It’s quite a fine guest suite after all, even in the middle of a wasteland," Astarion chirped, loosening his hand's tether to Halsin and roaming about the room. He appreciated the thick fur and hide rugs that cushioned his footsteps as he took measure of his surroundings. His fingertips danced on fine antique wooden furniture - possibly as old as he was - that was clean and aged with a nice finish. A sideboard was laden heavily with candles, all lit and making the room smell faintly of honey. The side tables of the room also had candles, as well as a carafe of water and two goblets. The bed seemed plush enough, with pillows both decorative and functional at its head.

Astarion chose to settle himself at the head of the bed, kicking his boots off onto the floor, and shrugging off his armor. "So darling, what possessed you to reserve this room, hmm, if not for more of what we enjoyed the other night?" he asked, one slender eyebrow arched. Atop the copious pillows, Astarion reclined in the easy manner he had practiced over centuries.

Halsin's genial chuckle brought warmth to Astarion's cold chest as he settled beside the vampire, slipping off his own sandals and sitting cross-legged on the bed. "I've no ulterior motives, Astarion, and have been fully transparent with you," he said, his tone and grin as affable as always. "I thought it may be a fitting way to show my appreciation for you, and all you've done for me. For Thaniel. For the good of this land and the nature within it." He leaned forward and placed his large palm on Astarion's thigh, and raised one of the pale elf’s hands to his lips. Halsin pressed a gentle kiss atop his fingers, then settled his hand back down.

A shiver ran down his back again, and Astarion wiggled his shoulders further into the goose down pillows to will it away. "That's… very kind of you, Halsin," Astarion offered, brows rising in surprise, a slight flush growing at his cheeks. "It is rather nice to lie on an actual bed instead of the ground. I'd dare say we deserve a bit of comfort after all of our efforts."

The crow's feet at Halsin's eyes crinkled with his grin. "I thought you might. Comfort doesn't come naturally for me," he said, his voice a bit lower, softer. His hand traced along the surface of the soft linen quilt below him. "I am restless, and roaming. Comfort is for the farm animal, snug in its pen. I live for the wilderness." A large shrug of his shoulders blocked the candlelight from his side of the bed, then revealed it again, outlining the druid in an orangey golden halo.

Astarion couldn't resist snickering and rolling his eyes. "Oh I'm well aware darling; if you had it your way, we'd be lying naked in a field somewhere, gazing at the stars." He gestured with his hand at the ceiling, though he could only keep his eyes on the druid. How handsome he was, how striking. How full of delicious depth. His soft nature despite his inner beast. His wrinkles from age and experience. His hand on Astarion's thigh, calloused from hard work. He indeed was not made for creature comforts.

Halsin grinned and inclined his head towards Astarion, leaning in close and peering at the vampire through his dark eyelashes. "You read my mind, Astarion. But I thought of an adequate compromise for each of our comforts," he explained. Astarion's head tilted as he studied Halsin's face. "Could you humor me, dearheart, and close your eyes?"

Astarion's eyes narrowed. "Oh? Do you have some sort of lewd trick coming my way?"

"Not at all, Astarion. Just a surprise, on my honor." He squeezed the vampire's thigh softly and rose to stand beside the bed.

Astarion harrumphed and crossed his arms, wiggling further onto the pillows and crossing his long slender legs. "If you insist," he drawled, tapping his fingertips on his arms. "I do hate surprises. But I suppose I can grant that much at least." He closed his eyes and the fine linens, the candlelight, the large druid, all disappeared behind his eyelids. His sensitive hearing picked up the soft padding of Halsin's feet along the floorboards and rugs. 

For once, Astarion didn't want to break the silence with his own voice, for that would prevent him from picking up hints of what the surprise was based on the small sounds of Halsin's movements. The sound of blowing; he was snuffing the candles. The click of the lock on the door. And, oddly, the soft hum of a spell of some sort being cast. It was almost painful, the ache to open his eyes and see what on earth the druid was doing. His curiosity was never sated; and yet, he ached just as badly to please Halsin by humoring his desire for this surprise, whatever it was.

He heard Halsin pacing back towards him, the soft exhale of breaths as he slid onto the bed beside Astarion. He felt the larger elf's arm slide behind his lower back, Halsin’s warm hand wrapping around his waist to pull him closer, pressing him to his side. Astarion flushed again, wriggling slightly to nestle into the crook of Halsin's arm.

"Well? Are you quite finished?" Astarion asked, his patience wearing thin, but his curiosity growing.

He felt a soundless chuckle rumble in Halsin's chest. "Thank you for your trust, dearheart," he said. Astarion noticed he didn't mention patience. "You may open your eyes now."

As soon as Astarion opened his eyes, his mouth dropped open as well. How had he not noticed? Had he been too preoccupied with the allure of an actual bed to bother to look at the ceiling? Or was it that Halsin had used some sort of druid magic to mask their presence? Astarion wasn't sure, nor could his thoughts linger on the confusion he felt as his eyes roamed the ceiling, his fangs glinting in the reflected light from above.

All along the ceiling glimmered hundreds of tiny stars; each no bigger than a gold piece. They shone like gold, too, just as the sun glinted upon coins cast into a water fountain in a Baldurian street square. They twinkled and pulsed with magic, creating a dazzling starscape above him. It  mirrored beautifully the stars in the night sky that he hadn't seen in the entire time they'd been in the Shadowcursed lands.

His mouth was dry from hanging open; Astarion licked his lips and swallowed, his hand crawling towards Halsin, grasping his tunic in wonder. He felt Halsin's warm hand lay atop his, a soothing weight grounding him despite feeling as though his head swam in the stars above. Halsin had to have prepared this when he came to the Inn earlier. And also planned the candles, the timing… the minor cantrip of 'daylight' that he must have cast on each individual star. Astarion squinted, his night vision finally adjusted to the dimmer light. Each star appeared to be wooden; they had been whittled. By hand - by Halsin.

“What…what is all this for, Halsin?" Astarion asked, his eyes fixed on the wonders above, "How long did it take you to carve…?" He felt himself being pulled closer to Halsin, their torsos pressed together, Halsin's strong arms encircling him, sending goosepimples all down his body and a warmth in his chest and belly.

He couldn’t hold back the smile that tugged at the edges of his lips as he felt the press of Halsin’s soft lips against his forehead, and how they were curled into a smile. "I've been working on it for quite some time… despite only mentioning it recently," Halsin said, his contentment warm and solid, radiating from his deep voice. "Even if we cannot admire the night sky in these lands…I wanted to lie with you under the stars and feel your skin against mine."

Astarion felt as though his heart had started beating, with how fiercely his chest tightened as he realized that though he had never even considered it, he wanted that too. He wriggled his body against Halsin's, aching to be closer. "This… is nice," he said. And he meant it.

#bg3 #astarion #baldur's gate 3 #halstarion #bg3 astarion #halsin x astarion #astarion x halsin #astarion ancunin #astarion bg3 #halsin/astarion #bloodbear #blood and honey #bloodhoney #oakblood #ursaminor #ursa minor

[seraphimaa]

Haarlep character study/further Headcanons

Some more word vomit that nobody asked for about how I perceive Haarlep and what it would look to love him in the ways that you can.

Warnings: a bit nsfw, unhealthy relationships(?)

Available under the cut!

A wider look at his general character, to begin with …

- haarlep lives in the boudoir, starved of everything that gives him purpose, power and fulfilment in life. His existence may cater to base comforts, he does not live in danger because Raphael would not risk killing him in fear of what may replace him. This does not mean, however, that does not make it a happy existence. He is starved of sex and intimacy, the very thing that he was built to live for. His enjoyment of flirting, and charming, and experiencing the “chase” of those he lays with is all but stripped from him too, spending hundreds or thousands of years trapped alone with only himself for company. This means that Haarlep’s life inside the house of Hope is very like that of a caged animal in a circus. He performs tricks when told but when he’s not needed to entertain, he is left to pace in a tiny cage that is built to meet none of his needs. He has lost any power and purpose he once had, it slumbers inside of him while he sleepwalks through existence.

- It only gets worse when you consider what Haarlep is. As an incubus, he is the embodiment of hunger, much like a vampire, but he feeds the source with sex and intimacy instead of blood. He is always in a state of need, never fully satisfied or fulfilled and always manipulating and corrupting others in order to fill the endless void that screams for more, day and night. He will never know what it feels like to live without this consuming curse and the purpose of his existence is to simply feed it as much as possible. So while in the house of Hope, Haarlep is starving every. single. day. His nature would be screaming at him to feed and he would have nothing to do other than stay in that room becoming more and more feral and driven half insane. Much like Raphael tortures Hope because he despises everything that she represents, I think Haarlep is in a similar situation. Raphael looks at this creature who thrives off of affection and intimacy and hates it because to him, that is a weakness. The solution? Make it suffer an eternity, only giving it enough of what it needs to survive and then it, like Hope, may suffer the same hell that he existed in. There would be no need for weak things like Hope or intamacy in his house.

- on the topic of his incubus nature, I think everything from his smell, sickly sweet but poorly hiding the predatory and carnivorous musk beneath, to the way in which his demonic eyes mimicked that of a reptile wearing a flesh suit, would cause him to feel undeniable uncanny underneath his charming surface. Incubi are masters of understanding mortal emotion and motivation enough to mimic them, usually masters in the art, but remembering that Haarlep has been locked in isolation for an unimaginable amount of time, with the exception of the occasional pragmatic exchange with a visitor, it’s not hard to believe this this would be less masked in his presentation than one would usually expect. When he moves, he slinks and prowls around like a giant demonic tiger, muscles taught and always looking ready to pounce. His face would contort to all of the correct responses, but his expressions would always have a manic intensity to them that looked unnatural and more like what an actor would do on stage. His eyes would stay the same no matter the shape his face made, always dark and piercing you with that uncanny intensity, never leaving you once. Under the mask, you were making eye contact with the dangerous predator that lived underneath.

What it look like when you came along?

- When you encounter in him the boudoir, you give him everything he had spent so long without. You bring a spark of chaos that he’d forgotten the feel of to begin with - if nothing else, a little entertainment for once, but you don’t stop there. You blush and shy before him, you fall for his pretty words and you follow his every demand and for the first time in so long, you finally feed the screaming hunger inside. He charms and flirts with you until you climb under him and all but spend yourself to make him feel good and to serve his every desire. For the first time, he remembers the power that he has and what he was built to do. You, for a moment, make the hunger disappear and give him total satisfaction. A new breath of life. If that wasn’t enough, you also gift him a new form to wear, something he’s also been denied by his master. You waltz into his little cage and where you easily could have cut down the strange creature lurking on the satin sheets, you instead give him every single thing he had been denied for almost his whole existence. You liberate him from his sleepwalking and he becomes fascinated with you for this.

- when alone, Haarlep would now have something interesting to do. He’d love to use your form and just play with it. I know it already mentioned this but I can’t overstate how much I love the idea of Haarlep viewing this form as a fun “doll” to experiment and ‘practice’ with. Brushing your hair, washing it, putting it up in different pretty ways. New and exciting hair. Trying on makeup. Learning what suited your features and how to put it on without making a mess. Your face and all the ways it moves. Siting for hours in front of a vanity mirror, smiling, crying, frowning, that little O your mouth made with your eyes rolling back just like when you’d cum for him for the 4th time that first day…They all looked so delicate and different to his other face. At first, they’d been all wrong and he’d even unsettled himself seeing your face contorted into such hard angles but he had so much time to practice. Using your voice and all the noises he could make with you. The soft chiming of your made sounded too sulty when spoken with his tongue, something else he could improve over time. It was fun to scream and wail and all sorts, they sounded so cute when he was you. He mimicked the moans and gasps you’d made for him as you’d panted and whimpered beneath him the most because those were his favourites. He’d hum and murmur phrases over and over again as he paces around his room, moments of boredom or silence broken by depraved whines and giggles. Your body would be extremely fun to learn. Nobody would know you as intimately as Haarlep could. He would know exactly how you liked to be touched and where, the exact amount of pain that would still allow you to revel in the throes of pleasure, and exactly how your body hurt and jerked in response to crossing that threshold, how to make you cum at his very whim, how to edge you for hours and days at a time, every depraved little kink that caused a jolt of heat to spread in your loins. I think the absolute fascination with being you would only grow his obsession. It was like he wanted to be you, and have you both at the same time.

- this would lead to Haarlep being desperate for you to continue returning to him. Not only can he study you in the flesh, fascinated by every word and move you make, but he can also continue establish a consistent way to feed his incubus cravings. Not only does he want you to come back and let him use you again, but he wants you to stay longer every time. ‘You should bathe with him, little mouse.’ ‘Before you go, tell me about how exactly you managed to drop a spectator flask in the middle of a a tavern.’ ‘But, surely you must be tired, no? The master will be gone for weeks. You could just sleep here.’ Don’t get me wrong, he likes you. You feed him and you make him feel good and you like him so why wouldn’t he? He likes your face and your body and your voice and your hair. Anyway, it lets him know you better. Use you better. Yes, the days spent fucking, or lounging in the bath or bed, or listening to him tell you that you were special and he just loved being around you weren’t lies as far as Haarlep cared, he meant every word of it. Your mistake would be to assume that this means that it’s noticed by love.

- as discussed, incubi are alien in their culture and experience to us. Haarlep is not capable of applying love to his range of abilities, at least not how mortals would usually expect it. He can obsess over you, desperate and possessive. He can like you, and need you, and feel empty every time he isn’t feeding, but you will never be his equal. Whatever flavour your relationship takes, be it predator and prey, pet and master, or shiny toy and owner, to be clear Haarlep will always prioritise his own needs above your own, even when it appears he is being thoughtful, the logic will always loop back to being something that also benefits himself too. Your relationship and favour with Haarlep does not extend past your usefulness to him. He ‘loves’ you because you give him life and power by submitting to him. As soon as you deny him his nature and needs then he would be simply incapable of having interest in you past that, unless it was to force you back into submission. He, by his nature, would want you to see him as your sole purpose in life. He needs you to love him, and need him, and think about him, and fear him and he needs you to feel hollow and empty whenever he is not there. Love is devoting yourself to this cause and wanting nothing but his happiness, and reducing yourself to something that can’t exist without him. The way he would return this love is by trying to treat you well and keep you happy too. He would recognise your needs and desires and as long as it didn’t conflict with his own, he would humour you any time he could. Again, you’re valuable to him, a souvenir of his new life and a reliable source to feed from, and he likes you. There would be nothing to gain from being bad and deliberately cruel to you, unless you pushed him into it. He wants you thriving and all the more eager to give him whatever he wants, when he asks. It may manipulative and selfishly motivated, but again, that is just his nature. He would love you very deeply and consumingly, but like a possession or a useful toy.

- On that note, loving Haarlep would not be a pleasant, easy experience. First it comes with accepting that loving him is inherently destructive. While you spend your time filling the void in Haarlep, he would spend his moulding the emptiness inside of you to only fit him because he had to ensure that you would never have a reason to leave or deny him and he had to make your needs fit only what he could provide you. He would convince you that only he could make you happy and that nobody would ever compare to him, and he would sow a deep fear inside of you that if you disappointed him, he’d leave you and you’d be alone and have nothing. Think about it, incubus are kind of the embodiment of unhealthy, toxic, and destructive relationships and the kind of romance written about in Shakespearean epics that always ends in tragedy. Again, he does very much love you in his own way but that doesn’t mean it translates as such. Give him everything he wants? Good, he’ll treat you like a perfect little doll and he’ll be so doting, and loving, and soft, and kind for you. Try to deny or escape him? He will use fear and suffering to convince you back into his warm, “loving” embrace.

- on that note, I think another tragic element to this romance comes from the fact that what Haarlep genuinely views as kindness, isn’t always perceived as such. Your relationship would destroy any passion and enjoyment you have for life outside of your bond to him, as his nature intends. This means that the fuller he feels, the emptier you often feel and the only cure and comfort you can find, by his design, is himself. Say he sees your spark slipping more every time you come back, your eyes more dull and tired with every visit. It would make him feel distressed. He didn’t want you to be unhappy. He wanted to make you happy like you make him happy. What was it you needed that he want giving to you? If he took your soul and left you a mindless doll, then surely then you’d be happy and stop crying? You’d not even remember any other needs, you’d be like him. The only hunger you would feel anymore would be to be used which is perfect because he always hungers to use you. Wouldn’t this be the kind thing to do? He’d do it for you, because he cares. It would make them both so happy. He’d hiss into your ear as he rode you frowning at the tears slipping onto the sheets. “It would all be over so quick. You wouldn’t feel anything. You’d never be sad again. Let me do this for you.”

- on a lighter note, for all the extreme oppressive lows of loving him, there would also come the incomparable highs he’d be able to make you feel that kept you returning. I mean, if you’re someone who struggles with loneliness and connecting to others, those issues would be long forgotten with him. He would know you inside and out better than anyone ever could. Your fears, your desires and everything that made you ‘you’ would be engraved into his memory. Like a little subconscious, he’d exist at the back of your brain, a constant companion. You’d feel his awareness of you and your activities at all times and sometimes you’d hear him reaching out to you, begging for you to return to him. With Haarlep, for better or worse, you’d never know what it felt to be alone or have privacy of anything anymore. Everything that you had and that you were would be his too. As long as you could cope with the uncertainty of what he was capable of feeling for you, knowing how much of the act came from truth, he would play the role of whatever you wanted him to be. He’d build a little world where the only things that existed were both of you and you would never be alone or unhappy as long as you just stayed here in it, with him.

The ‘happy ever afters’…

- I can see it ending multiple ways. Firstly, there’s the chance that he simply grows bored of you after you get old or he simply finds something newer and more exciting. Perhaps he drains you of all your passion and fun and then has no use left for you. Either he’ll convince you to give him your soul as a final act of devotion to him and move on, or maybe he’ll just forget about you and leave you behind, so broken and alone. The emptiness he made inside of you would no doubt consume you and you would be left a lifeless husk regardless. He wouldn’t feel bad about it per say, he would always value everything you gave him and he had genuinely enjoyed the time spent with you but this was the inevitable conclusion, he guessed. You were by nature his prey, and as enjoyable as the feast had been, your meat smelt rotten to him now. Had you expected anything else, really?

- the second scenario I can see is that he keeps you around for as long as possible. His obsession with you, fed by his dark and consuming nature, would lead him to always be able to feed from your hand. His entire existence would become dedicated to both of your hedonistic pleasure and to milking everything he could take from you. Any time he wasn’t feeding from you, you can bet he’s out there somewhere enjoying life through your eyes. Any time you are not with him he’s haunting your mind and begging so sweetly for you. Like a treasure, he’d want to display you to the world and he’d want nothing more than to preserve you. He knew that you needed love and softness to thrive so he would deny you none of it. He would worship you and you would serve him so well in return.

- This is totally silly but I also just love the vampire and incubus dynamic. Creatures lead by the same beast but who tame it differently. I know it’s totally self gratifying but I love the idea of incubi having the ability to either turn someone into a vampire (something like older DnD lore) or Haarlep finding a way to immortalise his obsession in this method.(“ Hey, ascended Astarion, please turn me into a spawn so that I can have a dark parasitic love with my demon boyfriend.”)

Like think about it, he’d be able to corrupt and reduce his obsession to something more like him. Something he could better understand and fulfil the needs of. It would seem like the perfect solution. They would be able to let him use their body forever and feed from them as much as he ever could want. In turn, they’d be stuck to his side by the promise of as much fiendish blood as they could ever want. They’d doom each other living like two leaches attached to one another, both giving and taking in return and incapable of leaving, lest they risk starving. They’d be able to fill their needs in each other forever and their depraved idea of love would become a poetic and self fulfilling prophecy.

A/N: thanks for reading. I do take prompts and requests too. Idk if I got the right about of ‘dark’ in the ‘romance’ captured here or if I went to far in either way for it to be enjoyable but I hope you liked it. I think Haarlep is so hard to write for because when you’re trying to describe and explain the emotions and motivations of an incubus and look at the world through their lens, it mostly gets lost in translation, so to say lol.

#haarlep imagines #haarlep headcanon #haarlep headcanons #haarlep x tav #haarlep imagine #haarlep smut #haarlep bg3 #bg3 haarlep #haarlep x reader #haarlep #incubus boyfriend #bg3 #baldur's gate 3 #haarlep x you

[fanficmaniatic]

You know, I am really cautious of people that say they like Jazz and say that Jazz is their favorite character because how come am I the only Jazz fan I see that complains about how this fandom treats him?

I see people overly sexualize him left and right, describing him in fics as promiscuous and a slut. You guys made fun, criticizing or down right demonize the way he speaks by calling it thug or gangster or having characters make fun of how “improper” he is.

Never mind the fact that he is using AAVE, an actual dialect with rules which I am tired of seeing fanfic writers butcher, and when I complain people are just like “Where?” And Is like… are we not in the same fandom? Because I am over here struggling to find fics with Jazz in it where the character has some sort of autonomy, and finding racist trope after racist trope.

is always:

-“ He is promiscuous and implied to have slept with a ton of people” and is looked down and criticized by other characters for this. Not to mention the fact that tfs are a cannonically an asexual species, but lets focus on the fact that our most prominent Black-coded character is seen as a slut by the fandom. Or how this feeds into the “Black Dom” trope.

-“Jazz is speaking [And the writer obviously has no idea AAVE is a thing because they are writing gibberish]” and another character goes “Omg he is so improper 🥰” How much does it cost to research AAVE? Or better yet, not use it and describe the accent?

-“Jazz is said to come out of the gutter” and how this is shown as the reason why he is so overly violent and promiscuous.

-“He is a racer frame he always runs hot” Are you guys even hearing what you are saying? how do you write this and not realize how othering this is?

-“Jazz does a bunch of morally dubious actions until a higher ranking Autobot shows him the good way [particularly Prowl and/or Optimus]” What happened to characters, this character, having autonomy? Please I am just asking. Why can’t our black coded character have autonomy and think for himself? Why does a “white” perceived character (one of which is usually a cop) have to string him the right way when Jazz in cannon, is not just highly capable and intelligent, but always shown as competent.

And it wouldn’t be so frustrating if the fics where this happened other characters seemed to get a similar treatment, but no, is always Jazz and or characters that are also Black-coded.

And don’t come at me and say “He is a robot” because if the fandom can agree with something is that the pretender figure might have had light skin, but that wasn’t Jazz. At least 90% of the Humanformers fanart done in America, as well as cannon media, depicts Jazz as a dark skin Black Man. Choose another excuse as to why this fandom mostly writes their most prominent Black Coded character under racist stereotypes.

#Man I just want to read fanfiction in peace #transformers #tf Jazz #maccadam #fandom #racism #Tf #Jazz

[kari-go]

How about Feline club kwami swap? I mean, for some reason they had to swap their miraculous. And by the way, I love the feline club idea, It will be an au like Rabbit Hole?

Lila and Alix would not do that great with Prowl. Lila would have an issue with being invisible and that would hinder her, she'd be kinda pissed that she only has one power. Alix would do better than Lila, she still might have some issues with self-control.

Ivan would struggle with Brilliance but would be happy to have a Cure. Alix would have some better control of Brilliance, as it's better to perceive than Cataclysm and her precision is pretty good so she'd do better with staying further away from the fight and doing stuff from there. She probably wouldn't like it tho

Lila wouldn't do bad with Cataclysm but would prefer Brilliance since it's more attention-catching. Ivan would also do better with Cataclysm, Brilliance is just more scary to him.

As for the kwamis, Lila would find Roaar and Plagg a bit annoying. She'd get along with Roaar quicker than with Plagg.

Alix wouldn't mind Luxx but she'd think that he's a bit bland. She'd really like his nonchalantness with the miraculous stuff and how much he tells her (she'd be kinda concerned/suspicious at first tho). Roaar would love Alix, thought Alix would find her a little annoying, and thinks that she could tone it down a bit or be less,,, childish.

Ivan and Luxx? Great, absolutely chill, Luxx would encourage Ivan to be more free and stand up for himself. Plagg would keep his distance at first (just like with all of his holders) but would warm up pretty quickly, maybe he'd think that Ivan is a bit boring and could spice his life up a little.

No, it was just an art request and ask. I wouldn't have thought of this thing if no one asked.

#geez i havent thought about rabbit holes in a while #been thinking about big hero team lately #i love those aus #there are so many opportunities #i actually had one before i even started changing the kwamis #i think i talked about it once here but I'm not sure #adrien and zoe were in it #ask #miraculous ladybug #kwami swap #tiger miraculous #lion miraculous #cat miraculous #ivan bruel #lila rossi #alix kubdel #tiger!ivan #lion!lila #cat!alix #tiger!alix #tiger!lila #lion!ivan #lion!alix #cat!ivan #cat!lila

[everchased]

I haven't played BG3, I don't have the hardware to do so but the other day i said "if Finch was a companion option I'd be buying a ps5" so: General: 7, and Romance: 5?

LOL oh that's high praise tbh. if only i modded... anyway sorry this quest question got away from me oops

7. GENERAL: Do they have their own personal quest that spans the course of the game? Can it take different branching paths depending on the choices the Player Character makes?

Finch's quest revolves around his oath because I feel like if you're going to have a paladin in your party that's like. Their thing. Upon meeting him, he is very standoffish and curt to the MC, focused on the task of destroying the Absolute and ONLY destroying the Absolute. Getting the tadpoles out is even secondary to cutting the head off the snake. Or squid, in this case. It's discovered fairly early on that this is a farce that can't hold up in proximity of the MC and other companions. Friendship cracks his shell quickly, although he continues to be ruthless against evil.

[The Vengeance tenet of 'No Mercy For The Wicked' includes the MC if they make too many evil choices before convincing him to break his oath. The DC to persuade him their actions are justified gets higher each time until they fail. That triggers a special cutscene on next long rest where he knocks the character out of their bed and tells them his time with them ends here, one way or another, and a 1v1 combat starts. There is no way to talk him down at this point, they will have to kill him.]

As his approval is gained, he'll state that he's looking for a deserter to his order, a werewolf named Vito who joined around the same time as him to right the wrongs he inflicted under the curse of lycanthropy. The last time Finch saw him, Vito had almost ripped his arm off before fleeing in lycan form. He knows Vito has an older brother in Baldur's Gate and suspects if the man is alive and hiding anywhere, it is likely with the only person who ever defended his actions.

Vito's brother can be found on a shack of a farm outside Rivington and an insight check will let the MC know he knows where Vito is, prowling somewhere in the city. Possibly using the cultist murders as cover for himself or possibly just... trying to live a life that isn't beholden to an oath.

The MC will have to dig up information, and eventually find the man himself in the city proper, cured of lycanthropy and working among others who have no idea what he used to be. If Finch is in the party he will have the chance to confront a man he hasn't seen in 5 years, who betrayed and deserted their beliefs, and either bring him to what he perceives as justice or let him walk away and live the life Finch has hinted at wanting throughout the game. A life that allows oneself to rest.

Dialogue after this encounter can either drive Finch towards becoming an Oathbreaker or strengthen his belief in himself and his mission.

5. ROMANCE: Does the romance have different branching paths, or just one route to take?

His romance branches sharply depending on how you follow through with his personal quest.

If you convince him to become an Oathbreaker, he essentially becomes the MC's attack dog. They will replace his tenets as what he's aligns himself with and he'll expect to be there when scores need to be settled with blood. He treats them more like a lord/lady than a partner. He will tell them his name is Kyragon, and he's tried to cushion his true nature behind soft words and dull actions for too long. This is what he's supposed to be. There is the potential for brief dialogue of him sympathizing with the Bhaalists, agreeing with the 'how' but not the 'why'.

If he remains an oath-bound paladin, he is softer. Considerably so. The player will see less of the Paladin and more of the man behind the armor. Through this route, he learns that he can actually have both, that there is a medium between duty and happiness. There will always be another fight to fight but he has the option to enjoy the time in between. He jokes darkly that paladins of Tempus aren't known to live long... but he finds himself hoping that he makes it to an age where he can feel good about hanging up his weapon with the MC at his side.

#ask #anon #ask meme #oc: finch #SKIP TO THE ROMANCE QUESTION IT'S JUST A LOT OF DRAMA #long post #bg3 spoilers

[decepti-thots]

so I'm turning over a lot of thoughts atm about a thing I want to write regarding the way MTMTE is viewed in fandom through the lens of 'ascended fanon' and its perceived proximity to a nebulous idea of 'fanfiction', and where that comes from. how it impacts fandom reception. all that stuff. I've talked about this in scattershot ways before and I'm trying to nail down some coherent thoughts about it.

anyway, one thing I've mentioned before in passing is how the development of the CDRW relationship in the early comic highlights extremely well the limitations of understanding MTMTE through that lens. in the sense that the way official media is produced- the nitty gritty of it behind the scenes- inherently shapes how storytelling occurs in franchises like Transformers, even in situations that are superficially closer to a conventional 'auteur' model. you know, a single author who has relatively broad control over the content of a story. how CDRW is developed the way it is in part- in very large part- because of the tension between what is being written and what is permitted by the entities that have veto power over it. (hasbro, IDW, even individual editors acting as mediators working from their constructed ideas of what those entities 'want'.) to make blatant the subtext here: because it is influenced by The Gay Question, and ideas of 'permissable' content in a franchise like TF.

this dovetailed into thinking about how Shadowplay was an editorial demand. and I realised that one very obvious possibility to think of in terms of 'how does this bring canon alter the shape of the narrative' is that I don’t think an unrestrained MTMTE would have made prowl and chromedome exes.

obviously there's the fact Shadowplay would just not be in there, but even beyond that, the question of why that otherwise mostly unexplored interjection is present has confused some people over the years. in fact, it's literally been pointed to as an example of proximity to modes of storytelling associated with fanfic; the arbitrary inclusion of interpersonal (specifically romantic) relationships that do not seem to shoulder any broader narrative responsibilities.

but in the very specific context of MTMTE at the point in its publication Shadowplay sits at, it does carry a possible narrative responsibility. it facilitates CDRW pulling double duty as both canon and ambiguous. the scene that implies (but never states) chromedome and prowl were involved exists so rewind can act in a way that only makes sense if he is married to chromedome. (jealous, upset chromedome is seemingly talking fondly of a relationship with his ex.) but it never requires any actual statement that the relationships involved are monogamous romantic ones. it is a way to incorporate the dynamic in a way that is functionally undeniable if read in good faith but still unlikely to be shot down if The Gay Question receives a negative answer.

this is both interesting in how it shows that narrative elements can be influenced in unexpected ways by the nature of the comic as a pre-existing intellectual property, and also very funny because it means prowl's divorced energy really DOES just exist to reinforce rewind being married by comparison.

[canis-or-cannotis-lycaon]

TIMING: Late August LOCATION: The Pines PARTIES: Gael (@lithium-argon-wo-l-f and Mateo (@fearhims3lf SUMMARY: One of the nights preceding the Blue Moon, a restless Gael stumbles into Mateo when a yeth hound finds both of them CONTENT WARNINGS: None!

Night time with a full stomach and no job on the docket was the worst. Bars were getting boring, and there was no way making a phone call to a family member was an option. Eleven at night was simply too late, and Mateo knew how dramatic his mother was. She was likely to think a disaster happened, and convincing her otherwise was way too taxing.

So, instead, Mateo, opted to jump around Wicked’s Rest until he found a suitable patch of grass to lay in. He settled in, arms behind his head, and sighed. The night was calm and welcomed its child of darkness happily. Only thing, Mateo was only one of many, and there was one lurking about. The mare shot up at the snap of a twig, watching the treeline carefully and ready to flee at a moment’s notice.

—

This whole ‘having a surplus of energy’ thing was getting old fast. Gael wasn’t even, like, anxious. He was just full of energy that seemed to come and go in pulses. He’d developed the quick habit of taking walks during the evenings now, going for a jog, trying not to stick his head into the nearest trash can or follow some unfamiliar scent… which was what he was doing now. Under a few different impressions and with the nagging feeling that he really should’ve tried to do something about it, Gael was literally following his nose. Whatever it was smelled dead but he wasn’t sure if he’d ever be able to tell the difference between a dead squirrel or a bird. He wasn’t sure how far he got when the smell seemed to turn from decay into… decidedly not that, instead smelling like something from a store. Shampoo or body wash or something, obviously, though he couldn’t decipher what it was. Clumsily, he stepped out from the treeline where he saw what appeared to be a man sitting up and looking right at him. “Oh!” Gael called. “Sorry, I didn’t know anyone was out here,” He added quickly as he held his hands up to indicate that he meant no harm.

—

Oh. Just…a guy? He was cute enough, but maybe a little too sweet for the mare’s liking. Although, the fact that he was out and about at night in a place like Wicked’s Rest, did raise a few alarms. No normal person would do such a thing. Not unless they felt perfectly capable and comfortable taking on whatever decided to lurk in the darkness. Mateo narrowed his eyes suspiciously at the man, his train of thought spiraling toward the idea of a wolf in sheep’s clothing. One could never be too careful, he thought. Especially when he had to worry about things like hunters.

“Oye,” Mateo began, sizing up the stranger behind his sunglasses, “What’re doing out here anyway? Got a death wish or you can handle yourself out here?” He figured being forward was a good strategy. All cards on the table, so to speak. If he gave away that he knew about the darker side of Wicked’s Rest, then maybe, just maybe, the man would give something away too. Next step would be the eyes. Glowing red orbs always seemed to startle even the biggest dude. “And look, I know it probably looks just as weird if I’m out here too, but I asked first.” Ever the petulant man when it came to arguments and games. “So, by the rules, you gotta answer fir—” Snap! Growl! “Ah, shit…” Mateo hissed, looking around to see what trouble the man in front of him was getting him into. Was this an ambush? It was hard to tell, but given that the monstrosity that began to prowl looked at both men with intent, Mateo was inclined to believe they were both in danger. Still, he had to joke. “So, uh…is that your dog? He’s kinda…ugly.”

—

Gael’s gaze was met with one he guessed to be suspicion, which was understandable given the environment and how he had just tumbled out of the treeline - it seemed like the perfect introduction between a protagonist and the perceived evil from a Stephen King novel. “What? I was just taking a walk.” He replied, pointing over his shoulder as though the forest would back him up on that claim. Even as he answered though, he could feel his head shaking slightly as though to deny any unspoken allegations that the stranger could’ve thought at him. Granted, the stranger sure seemed more capable of taking care of himself going by what he was wearing; the last person who dressed similarly was Owen and Gael knew he was a fighter. His ears picked up the stranger’s accent first and despite having demands hurled at him, he couldn’t keep himself from tilting his head. “Oh, would you prefer–” His own question was cut short, however, when a different sound cut through his thoughts and he turned his head sharply in the direction of what sounded like growling. There was an animal there? How had Gael not heard it before? Hastily, he stepped out from the tree line where his dark eyes picked up– “Nope. Nope that’s not mine I don’t own a dog and if I did it wouldn’t be THAT one.” He took a step back, the hair on the back of his neck standing on end as the two men were abruptly confronted with the terrifying visage of a large dog with what appeared to be an exposed skull of a head and several tentacles sprouting from its back, twitching and furling in the dead air absently. “...Yours?” The shudder was evident in his tone but he didn’t want to seem like a complete coward in front of this stranger.

—

“Yeah, whatever.” Mateo rolled his eyes dramatically, wishing he could be alone once more. Now there were two visitors and any hopes for a calm night with his trusty headphones fled away. He blew air between his lips, annoyance escaping him petulantly. The icing on the cake were the arms he crossed, expression devoid of any amusement. 

Of course the dog wasn’t his, why the hell would he ask if it was the stranger’s in the first place then? “No, fool. You dumb or something?” He barked out, ignoring the stupid dog trying to taunt them into a corner. Mateo tutted to himself. He had created far worse monstrosities. Whatever the monster was, the mare wasn’t fazed, but it wasn’t like he was a charitable guy. This was the second stranger within a month to lead a damn creature to him while he was minding his business, and for that, Mateo wanted a little revenge. A little trick!  “I think that thing is yours now, though.” A smile formed on his lips, and he stood up, brushing away any residual dirt and grass so it wouldn’t get into his apartment. “I’d name him Cujo or something.” Mateo patted the man’s shoulder, feigning friendship just before he blinked away into nothingness. He landed in his apartment, laughing to himself. The picture of the random dude thinking he was abandoned while fearing for his life was always a good prank. It almost made Mateo want people to keep leading monsters to him, only to disappear and return with a strategy and a few weapons. He’d wait a few beats before he made his return. That made for maximum funniness, always.

—

He could’ve been dumb. Considering what town he found himself in and all the strange characters that surrounded him now, Gael might’ve been the dumbest person in town. And he certainly felt dumb as he kept his wide, dark eyes on the growling, hissing beast as the tentacles slithered around it, snaking through the air and creating a slimy noise that he really wished he weren’t hearing, especially at that moment. Gael was so focused on the large creature that when he felt the stranger’s hand on his shoulder, all but missing what the man had actually said, he visibly jumped with a sharp inhale. From what he could gather, filtered through the fear that he tried to smother in his mind, the stranger didn’t really take much seriously and what was more, he didn’t seem to be afraid at all. The professor, wanting to use the other man as something of an anchor of solidarity that he wasn’t alone, started to turn to regard the other man when suddenly the weight of the hand on his shoulder disappeared. The man stumbled, clearly not expecting that and the look on his sunken face could only be described as ‘completely confused and definitely not at all afraid’. “Okay!” Gael attempted to recover himself, breathing deeply. “I was here with a guy and the guy… .phased out of existence and there’s a giant dog with tentacles and an inverted skull.” He spoke quickly, trying to keep his tone even though he couldn’t stop it from rising with emotion. “Okay Gael, think about it for a second.” He gulped, taking another shaky step back as the demonic hound advanced slowly. “You know how this looks and sounds?” He asked himself, apparently thinking that now was a good time to literally talk himself through whatever was happening. “You’ve lost your mind.” He came to the conclusion. “If you just… Okay, so the guy was here and he disappeared. Strange shit’s been happening in town.” As though to confirm it, Gael felt another pulse of energy tear through him. “Including you. This is obviously just… your brain trying to create problems and likely scenarios.” His leg caught on something as he was stepping back and he crashed to the ground unceremoniously. “Oh come ON.” He shouted through pained grunts as he landed on his back, feeling a sharp stab course up his spine where the scar tissue that stretched across his lower spine interacted with whatever he tripped on.

—

Gathering his brand-spanking-new bat from the closet, which was next to a few extra (just in case creature fighting became a habit), Mateo twirled it in his hands, retrieving a random book as well. He hummed to himself, sauntering about his apartment and throwing in a piece of bread into his toaster. After that, he went to his safe and input the code, opening it and retrieving a pistol and grenade. It came in handy last time, didn’t it? Mateo hoped he’d be able to use it again. The toast sprang up and the mare snatched up and held it between his teeth as he blinked back into the space where he left the stranger. He was careful to land himself a few feet away, behind some brush, to coordinate a little better. The man was mumbling to himself, and Mateo had to stifle laughter as he munched on the piece of dry toast. It always paid to have a snack while you watched a show, right? When the guy fell though, that’s when Mateo couldn’t help but laugh, giving away his position. Oops. It was showtime then. “Hate to tell you, chico, but…” He twirled his bat, finishing the last of his toast. “You ain’t lost your mind. Not yet.” Mateo grinned, patting the bat against his newly freed hand. Chuckling again, he walked toward his acquaintance, gait a little too relaxed when there was a dangerous creature nearby. He offered a hand, forcing the guy to get to his feet so the fight could be just slightly more fair. “Name’s Mateo. Use this.” He gave him the book from his vest with a shrug. “Saw John Wick use this to kill once.” —

He wasn’t sure how long he was on the ground, finding himself slightly set back by the stabs of pain that surged up his spine now accompanied the strange energy that he didn’t like going through his system. Part of Gael relinquished himself to the beast, not content at all but somehow accepting that maybe this was how he was going to die, being shredded apart and eaten by a tentacle dog. Of course, while his mind was trying to come to terms with his impending demise, his body still acted on its own accord and he scooted back on the ground, feeling his sweater picking up loose dirt, twigs and dead leaves that lay on the forest floor. Then he heard a laugh coming from behind him and, in his nerves, he threw his head back to look upside down at whoever it was coming up to him. If it was someone else aggressive… he didn’t want to think about if it was someone else aggressive; he could already feel his fingers extending uncomfortably, trembling slightly as they felt like someone was pulling on the bones under the skin. However, when brown eyes fell upon the abrupt reappearance of the man from before, now brandishing a bat and what looked to be a book, Gael wasn’t… relieved, per se, but at least it wasn’t someone– “Wait, where the hell did you go?” He asked, all but ignoring everything else that the man (now dubbed Mateo) had said, even as he was being pulled to his feet and shoving a - was this a book? - into Gael’s shaking hands. “First you were here and then you suddenly weren’t and– how long have you been listening in on me?” He asked, temporarily all but forgetting the large monstrosity that loomed near them. 

—

“Yeah…” Mateo nodded along to the guy’s mild freakout, completely detached and unsympathetic to how overwhelming the whole situation probably was. “Yeah, yeah, whatever. It’s fine. Just a thing I can do, man. Don’t worry about it.” When he appeared to finally be done, Mateo clicked his tongue and waved off his companion while his attention was taken by the fucked up puppy just a few feet away. It growled and snapped, though Mateo remained unfazed by the attempts at aggression. 

But as he looked closer, he noticed the dog wasn’t pointing the ‘tude toward the mare. “Huh?” It continued the show, attempting to circle around Mateo, and the closer he got, the more obvious it became that Mateo wasn’t the object of the dog’s fixation. It was the man behind him.  The very terrified and babbling man. “Yo, my guy, I think he’s–wait” He looked at the dog, eyes narrowing until he nodded with a smile on his face. “Sorry,” He apologized to the mutt, putting his body between the two to keep the man safe. “What’d you do to make her mad at you?” Kneeling down, the hound seemed to calm a little, almost nuzzling into Mateo. A look of surprise painted over his face, but he was more than happy to accept the affection of a dog for the first time in years. —

So Gael was what most people considered to be a ‘patient person’. He could roll with the punches, casually accept friendly insults and was more than willing to be the butt of a joke. On most days. Now, though, as Mateo was obviously not as worried about whatever this was as Gael himself was, he felt the uncomfortable pulse of energy through his limbs and it balled his hands into fists– well, the one, while the other held the book that was unhelpfully given to him to use as a weapon because Mateo saw it in a movie.

“Just a thing you can do?” He asked, only to get waved off and he felt some of the fear starting to dissipate in favor of frustration, despite the man standing before him who would apparently just… blink out of existence, the dog that was still menacing him and causing the back of his hair to stand on end. Was that even real? Was Mateo real? He felt real, Gael could feel the hand on his, pulling him to his feet. But… Maybe Mateo was just another side effect of whatever he was feeling at the moment. He wanted to say something else, though even now he wasn’t sure what he was going to say when the tentacled dog made its presence known once more and he tensed up, turning his dark, furrowed gaze to the creature with its glowing eyes that bored into him, sending another shiver up his spine. Maybe it wasn’t real. It hadn’t attacked him yet and… Mateo started talking to it. Apologizing to it. “Wh–” He faltered, confusion painting his face. “...What?” He asked incredulously as the other man knelt and started petting it - her?

—

“Yeah, old man. Try not to question it too much. You look…” Looking Gael up and down, Mateo chortled, a bit amused by the nervous and disheveled look the guy was sporting. He blabbered way more than Felix did, and they were pretty good at freaking out. He shrugged, “You look like you need to go home and take a nap.” Taking the nice route wasn’t a common thing for Mateo, but even a man like him could have sympathy. He wasn’t always a monster.

“Ay que linda eres, chulita.” Mateo put his attention back toward the hound, petting her gently and cooing as if she was any normal dog. Quickly, she leaned into his touch, and he exhaled with a bit of disbelief and glee. He wondered if that was what people felt when an animal took to them so quickly and easily. It was a nice feeling, and Mateo forgot all about Gael for a few moments while he decided on a name.  “Angel.” He proclaimed, standing up to face Gael. “I think Angel and I have a lot of bonding to do.” She snapped at Gael, growling as if she may attack. Mateo had a feeling she wouldn’t, so he just laughed, crossing his arms with an amused look on his face. “Don’t think she likes you too much, but hey, that’s just me. I think you’re okay even if you should relax a little.” Placing a hand on Angel’s head, he patted her, instantly ending the show of threats. “Never had a dog before, so I guess it’s thanks to you that I get to have one now though. Really appreciate it, chico.” The hound’s tendrils writhed happily coiling loosely around Mateo’s arm as he pet Angel. “You good to get home? I’m gonna take her on a walk.” —

Gael crossed his arms defensively when Mateo called him ‘old’, but he couldn’t deny that maybe a nap sounded good. Even if didn’t feel like he needed, wanted, or could even settle down enough to take a nap, he figured it might’ve been beneficial. Irritation tugged at his mind, just as a jittering feeling, strange sensations that pumped through his veins. Fear, annoyance, fear, empathy, annoyance. The dog snapped at him again which prompted him to take an instinctive step back but Mateo had named the creature Angel and… he seemed to have been getting along with it. Which, ultimately, Gael thought he liked. Angel wasn't on the list of the first ten names he’d have picked for a dog with a skull for a head, glowing eyes or tentacles that furled lazily on its back but… this was why he had Mirabel and Señor at home. There were few things that could compare to the love of an animal and he knew better now that love from anywhere, even an unconventional creature that nuzzled into Mateo’s palm fondly. The sensation solidified as the other man expressed that he’d never had a dog before. He paused, looking at the bizarre scene before him. And though he thought some primal part of him still wanted to recoil, give the creature its space, he also found himself smiling faintly at the duo. “Yeah. I’m good to get home.” He replied casually, dipping his sentence into the Spanish he knew Mateo was fluent in. “You take your girl for a walk; I’m glad you found her.” He said and with the lasting image of the tentacled beast still fresh in his mind but with the label ‘Angel’ attached to it, eliminating some of the fear, Gael put his hands in his pockets and left the two strange beings to themselves.

He wasn’t going to go home, not yet but he could at least be more aware of where he was walking. Ideally to avoid any other weird, possibly freaky creatures out in the woods that evening.

#wickedswriting #writing: Scarewolf #writing with: Mateo

[evangelinesbible]

MY APOLLO PC

How I naturally shine, how my natural talents shine and my shining art and creativity. Honestly just think of it like an extension of your sun on crack I’ll mostly be focusing on art/creativeness tho.

SUN - 11H Taurus Sun 17°

Shining talents in music, singing, and networking that could gain me fame/recognition. Naturally shining when I’m with friends/social groups

MOON - 6H Sagittarius conj. 6H Pluto

My creative expression gives me a sense of freedom and feels spiritual. It helps heals me and hopefully others. My art feels cathartic and its messages usually pertain to karmic lessons I’ve learned in life. My art is heavy in detail and i take time to perfect it. Every time I make new art I’m seemingly reborn/ resurrected into someone new. My art may have a darker undertone but still delivering some sort of optimistic message.

ASC - Cancer 5° conj Saturn 1H/ Mars 12H

All my artistic endeavors have an familial bond to it. Deep emotional connection to my art. Others will see the love care and proudness I have over my art. I see my music and art like they’re my babies and a reflection of me.

VENUS - 12H Gemini conj Apollo

Making my art in private/by myself. Especially when I’m creatively writing. I prefer to be the only person to write my songs and I come up with my best ideas in solitude. Most ideas coming from daydreams. Making art that heals or helps me spiritually. Art may involve themes of duality. Having a lot of nervousness and anxiousness about my art. I’m hesitant to put my art out or even bother working on it. But the Apollo conjunct could indicate that to achieve great status and full creative expression I have to show what I make in private/by myself to really shine. Keeping my art hidden until it’s ready to be seen.

MARS - 12H Cancer 0° conj. ASC

Working in private and making sure that whatever I make relates to or helps my image. Or working on a project that will coincide with my appearance/aesthetics. My passion comes from the underlying problems I go through in life and I try to turn into art to better understand myself and to hopefully help others.

JUPITER - 3H Virgo

Can be effortlessly talented in writing, planning, keeping a routine and communication. Finding it very easy to analyze, observe and be detail oriented with my creative pursuits than others can.

MC - Pisces 17°

To others my art is perceived as creative, unique and in a sense magical. My art can make people feel heavy emotions or just appreciate my creativity.

NN - 11H Taurus 11°

Destined to shine when I keep a steady pace and trust in a steady climb in growth. Utilizing my social groups, staying grounded, and being smart with money will help me. Destined to be very well known in real life and online.

3H - Leo

Can shine because of my creative song writing skills. Powerful ways of expressing myself. Being prideful and sure of myself makes me stand out.

5H - Libra 5H

Talents in fashion, beauty, music, and being a public persona

6H - Sagittarius

My creative process/routine involves things happing on the spot and keeping everything open ended. Not being rushed gives me the freedom/flexibility to figure out what I want something to look like.

11H - Aries

My fans might see my art as the first of its kind or it might spark a new trend. My art might influence prowl to be leaders and be assertive of themselves. My fans might see my art as pioneering and see me as a leader.

OTHER THINGS

9H Talent conj. MC Pisces

To the public I’m seen as very talented in music. Talent being in the house of expansion could mean having a talent in expanding my art which causes an expanse in my audience.

10H Singer conj. 11H Mercury Aries

Shining and standing out in the public when I sing. Fans associate singing with me. Gaining traction and attention when I show how think though song.

2H Fama conj. Enterprise Leo

Gaining fame and money through the entertainment industry. Using the rest of my chart to help me shine/stand out could get me this potential fame. Naturally gaining attention because of my gifts and talents. Utilizing my gifts and talents to make money/live comfortably.

Fjskakejwjjajac omg that took forever. I’ve been so tired lately. Tryna figure out myself and stuff no big deal… but yea there she is in all her glory. It is 2 am… 💋

-⚜️💫⚜️

#astrology #astro observations #astro placements #astro notes #astrology notes #pisces #aries #capricorn #taurus #cancer #apollo persona chart #apollo asteroid #talent asteroid #singer asteroid #fama asteroid #enterprise asteroid

[everlastiingiimmortals]

he shouldn't be here.

despite his technical 'freedom' aboard the luofu - he still shouldn't be here. blade was an abomination after all - a blight of mara and abundance that the ten lords commission would stop at nothing to eradicate. and they had tried. multiple times - only to be met with the familiar weight of his sword - broken limbs and broken minds, a trail of carnage. and on the one occasion a killing blow had been achieved - well... he'd just come back, hadn't he? curse. blight. plague. that was his existence to the luofu. and for him... for him it was simply filled with memory upon memory upon memory. any extended period of time upon the ship without kafka was almost guaranteed to send him into a flare of the mara - unless... unless his instincts could focus on something else.

despite all the fractured memories that came with jing yuan - so to, did warm comforts. so to, did a settled mind. whether it be because he could relax in the privacy of just them, or because the instinct of mutual hunters latched upon each other... blade did not know, nor did he care. he sought him out when he desired to, and now was no different.

blade had prowled the halls of his home in the dead of night, the ephemeral glow of borisin and mara made crimson eyes a giveaway to the self-same hunt he'd cast himself upon. he was like a strange beast - one that needed enrichment to stay focused, and seeking jing yuan out provided just the right amount of stimulation to keep the mara at bay. familiar scent - the pitter-patter of his heartbeat to his sensitive ears, all things that drove the stellaron hunter to seek and seek and seek - until he's cornered jing yuan, until the hunt has become a stalemate - when two great predators lock jaws, until-

he lounges now, half leaned against the dozing general in a way that belies comfort that hadn't existed prior to the encounter with jingliu. indeed, there are sketch pages scattered about - pulled from a pad that he had squirrelled away in jing yuan's home like some kind of animal - only to produce on his random visits when hunt turned to rest and his mind still needed to stay busy. still - he remembers yingxing's artful creations - the ease with which he'd both invented and drew his friends, jing yuan's likeness recounted through the years in a way that blade couldn't possibly begin to recreate. it would hit him in waves of frustration as well as cramps in destroyed hands, but his distress was only made visible in the elevation of his heart rate, or the way his jaw would tense in displeasure.

blade said nothing. he simply drew on. a diting - garbed in a cloud knight uniform. such a strange, ridiculous drawing, pulled from the depths of his memory. the hunter does not look up as he eases charcoal along thin lines - still creating a masterpiece, even now, thought it would never match what yingxing had done. eventually, he finds the words stirring in his throat, brilliant carmine (once such soft, vibrant indigo) meeting jing yuan's own gaze. " you are not afraid of me. " he states matter-of-factly, as if he were comment on the weather, " and out of everyone - i remember you the best. " for jing yuan was not warped by the shadows of dan feng's sin, of shuhu's malevolent whispers - a shining beacon of sunlight, in the darkest of yingxing's memories.

he says nothing more on the matter - content to let the revelation hang between them. the hunter shifts against jing yuan's side - picking up his charcoal once more - only to let loose a sharp grunt as his hand spasms, and the delicate utensil shatters in his grip from the shock of pain. and in that moment, one might say his gaze is briefly melancholy, as he perceives the ruination of that silly, painstaking drawing. " damn... "

Unprompted. Always Accepting! @karmawind

Blade is not supposed to be here, but there is a rare solace in his presence all the same; two souls, one whole, one broken, both left behind in different ways, but at least in moments like these they could find a momentary peace.

The hunt had become a twisted game to them, almost ritualistic and certainly ironic in its preface to the rest that follows. What little shame remains in Jing Yuan's heart after so many centuries of reigning over the Luofu coils briefly in his chest, chiding him for finding enjoyment in the anticipation and danger in the pursuit. Surely anyone catching him voluntarily housing the Stellaron Hunter would spell disaster for him -- but Jing Yuan has weathered many years of criticism and threats to his reputation. This is no different. Plus, if Blade is a predator, so, too, is he -- and he's been terribly, terribly bored.

So he lets Blade come, lets Blade 'break in,' lets him prowl the cold and empty halls of his home, and when they draw, lets him settle against his side. He rests his own head atop Blade's hair, eyes closed in a half-slumber befitting his nickname. It is only when Blade stirs that he does as well, blearily cracking open his visible eye.

You are not afraid of me.

"I have no reason to be," he rumbles in response, voice slightly hoarse with drowsiness. It is an inherently false statement, given what plagues Blade's nature, as well as his position with respect to the Luofu. And yet it is honest all the same, unabashedly so. A wolf still is a wild animal no matter how tame it may seem, but in knowing that wolf and its permission for one to be in its presence, there is security. He cannot deny the comfort the revelation brings, and is content to lay his cheek against Blade's head once more -- when Blade's arm seizes against his side as his hand spasms, and the painful sound of shattering charcoal, loud in the relative silence, almost echoes throughout the room.

Jing Yuan's noise of dismay is perhaps louder than Blade's own as he carefully plucks the fragments from the page and the Hunter's hand, then brushes his hand free from dust and pulls up his sleeve enough to expose his inner wrist. From gentle fingertips against Blade's scarred skin flows light current, stimulating and soothing in its rhythm until the tension in his muscles starts to subside.

"That silly Diting," he murmurs softly, once he finally looks to the ruined page. "I'm surprised you remember it."

#//an answer sought; (ASK) #karmawind #//everlasting; (IC) #//the dozing general; (JING YUAN) #CRIES INTO MY HANDS THE DITING EASTER EGG KILLED MEEEE #also dw abt the scuffed formatting ik mobile's a bitch sometimes

[fairy25]

just want to try to clear something up because your post about being attracted to gnc people because you're attracted to them as women and not as gnc people popped up on my dash and i think you're on the way to expressing a somewhat dangerous sentiment.

there is nothing wrong with being attracted to a body because you perceive it a certain way. there is, however, plenty of things wrong with not honoring the way a person in a body perceives that body and themselves.

to analogize - what you're saying is kind of like if A had a girlfriend (B) who was taiwanese, and B very strongly believed in taiwan's independence from china and that taiwan is its own country, and that she identifies herself as taiwanese and not chinese. when B tells A this, A says of course she agrees, and don't worry about it. then, when B leaves, A thinks to herself, 'huh, i don't actually believe that taiwan is it's own country! i think taiwan is part of china, and actually my girlfriend is chinese.' then, she goes on to tell her parents her girlfriend is chinese, and tell her friends her girlfriend is chinese, and always thinks about her girlfriend as chinese, when her girlfriend has said very clearly to her that she is taiwanese and would like to be referred to her that way.

do you see what's wrong with this? it's not about whether or not you believe in something about someone, it's whether or not they believe it about themselves. to dishonor the way someone perceives their identity is incredibly, incredibly, disrespectful. if you are entering a relationship with someone who you perceive to be a woman, but who perceived themselves to be gnc, it does not matter whether or not you are attracted to that person - you should not, under any circumstance, be in a relationship with them. you are not able to respect them on a level that they believe is fundamental to them. and you should never be in a relationship where you feel that something fundamental about yourself is threatened by your partner. if that's how you feel about gnc people - don't date them! it's not healthy for either of you and will only cause your partner and yourself harm in the long run.

additionally, and i'm hoping you just had this as an example and not as something you're practicing, but just in case - it's never okay to have sex with someone if the two of you are not on the same page about their body. and again, if you want to have sex with a gnc person because you see them as a woman, that is not a morally wrong thing to want! it is, however, definitely a morally wrong thing to lie to someone about, especially if it's to the purpose of having sex with them.

respecting people's boundaries and perception of their own body is never, ever, a threat to your own sexuality. to act any differently is an incredibly dangerous and harmful way to think. hopefully this is something you understand and were just making a post because you were frustrated about a conversation you had with someone or something like that, because rhetoric like this, if sincerely and wholeheartedly believed, is not okay.

what can I say I’m an incredibly dangerous and harmful woman, everyone lock your doors because there’s a lesbian on the prowl that doesn’t want to date or sleep with trans/nb identified women

[anon-e-miss]

Ok, I'm not necessarily disagreeing with ur "anti-intellectual" point, but I would like to add my 2 cents to things. Firstly, percy is asked to dumb shit down bc there are multiple times when he's using, like, scientific terms that most ppl wouldn't understand so people litterally have to ask for him to dumb it down so they can explain. That exact scenario has happened to me. Also there is a time and place for infodumping and mid-disaster is not the time, coming from an autistic person. Secondly, I would argue that the reason he's withdrawn in MTMTE and whatnot isn't because he got told to shut up constantly, its b/c he's part of the Wreckers, and the Wreckers did and saw some fucked up shit and they're all fucking traumatized. Preceptor is withdrawn because he's traumatized, and trauma changes a person. If IDW were truly anti-intellectual then Brainstorm would have never gotten his redemption, for example. That's just my two cents, and also I would argue that Swerve is not a "jock." Swerve was a metallurgist, basically he helped protoforms form their bodies after a spark was placed in it, and that had to take a good degree of skill and intelligence. The tfwiki litterally says on his page "Despite this [him having a short attention span], he's quite intelligent and skilled as a metallurgist, analysing the properties of a material with unique sensors in his hands. When he gets caught up in a problem, he becomes almost laser-like in focus and intensity, going on quest after quest, both major and minor." There are a lot of characters that are a lot more intelligent than we would initially know, mostly in specific areas, you just have to read between the lines and not take them and their personalities at face value. That's all I'm gonna say, you are free to disagree, I just wanted to make those points :) I do agree that Prowl could have been handled better tho. The fact that, in his confrontation with Chromedome ,he's supposed to be the "bad guy," despite having EVERY REASON to be pissed at Chromedome, never sat right with me. Chromedome is litterally an asshole, he forcefully took prowls memories without his consent (which is extremely violating,) and I'm pretty sure he did it MULTIPLE times. Prowl litterally gets hurt so many times, like when he got FORCEFULLY MADE INTO A COMBINER (which I think is shown to hurt/traumatize him), and basically never gets any help whatsoever. Prowl DEFINIATELY deserved better. He can still be a rude little shit, just give him a support group and some therapy. Please. Let him have some friends, some healthy relationships, etc. :(

So, in my point of view, nothing you wrote there counters my opinion that the writing is anti-intellectual. Literally the back bone of the comics is the intelligent characters being the villains, the ultimate screw ups, smart people that only ever do dumb, crazy or bad things. They are comic relief. And when the stars should, they don't stop and listen to them.

Soldiers are not by in large stupid people. IDW has managed to portray them as such in a huge way. Most of the intelligence perceived in characters in IDW comes out in fanfic and fan theory more than in the action comics and that also makes my point in it being bad writing. Saying someone is smart as a writer but portraying them as a fool is awful storytelling, the showing vs telling argument.

The violent characters, the dumbass characters save the day, every fucking time. It's so tedious.

I admit to being extremely picky about writing. I was raised by an English professor. And I don't care if it's a comic, I expect something professionally published to do better.

#we are not having a flame war in my blog #and i'm not suggesting anon is at all #I just want to put it out there

[mioalmonte]

"El Poderio"

By MIO ALMONTE

The representation of "Vulnerability" All photos in this article Captured by Perla Jaquez (IG: @lifeonfilrolls)

The ocean is a great metaphor as to what the experience of a Rebirth feels like. In other words, to be born again is to know the depths of the sea. Our bodies represent its mass, emotions are the waves, our mind resembles the ocean current, while our souls are the depths. The manifestation of a rebirth will interrupt your walk through life unprecedentedly. Something like a thief in the night which wakes you abruptly, or in the middle of the day like a terrorist attack. Either way, if you’ve met a rebirth or are in the process of one then you know what I mean. A rebirth is both the  best thing that can happen to us and the most inexplicable. Every person will have a unique version of their renaissance. There is no "one in the same" road through it. 

    In my case, most of my existence had been a consistent internal and external mess. My identity was shot-BOOM! From birth. Since I can remember I suffered from depression, anxiety, dissociation, generational curses, and much more! So much dysfunction was happening around me. From my father abusing me physically, emotionally, and psychologically to being molested by family members before I could even exercise my own will. While my mother's absence during pivotal years of my development also affected me in many ways. Being born into unhealthy family systems will automatically distort how we perceive our life experiences. My false self formed when I was a child, as many of ours do. What is a "false self" you may ask? A false self is a version of ourselves that we create to ultimately "protect" ourselves as we go along operating through survival mode "seamlessly" (so we think) for many different reasons. Despite your false self forming in your early years or later on in life I am sure that you understand the feeling of operating in a being or form that doesn't feel true to you. A feeling of "God this cannot be life , if so wipe me out NOW!" or "There has to be more to life because this ain't it". One too many times I asked God to take me in my sleep. I would say, "I don't want to wake up tomorrow, please just kill me. Get this over with". The agony of not living in our true form feels intolerable. It's poison to our spirit. A cross too heavy to bear. If you know you, you know.  

 The representation of "Anxiety & Depression"

Consequently as time swims on by nothing changes, unless we do. True transformation only happens when we become who we no longer were. That takes time, effort, action ,and divine intervention. I believe God uses everything in our favor! A Rebirth is nothing short of that statement. We are spiritual beings living a human experience not the other way around and God is our source. To be in this earthly realm merely getting by with our false self will inevitably come to an end. Whether tragically or disruptively. The truth is that we came here on a mission, with a purpose in hand; to love and to serve. While healing happens in the span of our journey because of the collateral damage that we endure in the process. Everything else is the icing on the cake or a distraction intending to keep us from the mission of living out God's promises for our life. Which is exactly why we must "Be self-controlled and alert because our enemy the devil prowls around like a roaring lion looking for someone to devour." [1 Peter 5:6+7]  

The representation of: "Self Love/ Taking your Power back" & "Death"

To live from an empty cup is draining. It's like wearing sneakers without strings or attempting to breathe without air. It's discouraging, to say the least. The great news is that the symptoms and emotions which come along with our Rebirth are the indicators that God is going to set us free. Also known as deliverance. I will explain. Going back to what I mentioned at the beginning of this blog, most of the time the demons that we come against pertain to traumatic childhood experiences, life experiences, poor choices or by generational curses. Generationally speaking there are many things that have been passed down to us from our ancestors and usually we can only name a few. Thankfully God is graceful enough to reveal these things to us in the healing process of our rebirth. In our darkness lies our truth and I don't know about you but facing my demons has been the toughest part of my deliverance. Turns out that generational curses are so overwhelming that it makes it that much more inconvenient for us to want to face them. However, we cannot skip any steps because there is a divine order to all that is. What we would actually love to do is to skip that part to get to the good part. Especially because we feel that it has nothing to do with us. When in reality it has ALL to do with us because what we do not put a stop to simply keeps on repeating itself from generation to generation until someone in the lineage puts a stop to it. Which brings me back to why I KNOW that God will set us free. Once we pay our dues by doing the work, then the glory is ours. God is a merciful God, and a forgiving God.

The representation of: "Solitude" "Resilience"

No matter what our trials may be, God will NEVER hold our shortcomings against us! I speak from experience. The devil will have us running laps around our mind telling us so many lies about ourselves plus all the reasons why we should give up. This article will not be sufficient for me to express the hell that I have been through just to get to the other side of me. The true version of myself. The version of me that is not identified as the pain that I've endured, and the countless trauma that I lived through, but the version of me that I was meant to be all along. A powerful and phenomenal woman, a great mother, wife, sister, lover, friend, servant, and healer (just to name a few attributes). My true self is a warrior. She is a force to be reckoned with and so are you. What God has done for me he will do for you ten folds. There is a real war out here. This war is being operated in the spirit realm and manifesting itself in the physical. Therefore, we must guard our heart, body, mind, space, and soul at all times. The closer we are to our breakthrough and liberation the more attacked we feel. The spirits of anxiety, depression, panic attacks,  suicide, frustration, fear, plus more begin to manifest with more potency as we get closer to our deliverance. Remember this - "For God has not given us a spirit of fear, but of power and of love and of a sound mind."  [2 Timothy 1:7]

When we are born again we awaken to our true purpose. We are granted a spirit of discernment therefore, no more wasting time. Whatever doesn't sit well with our spirit man will no longer be entertained. The devil knows this and that's why he attacks us in the ways in which he does in the first place. Let's say there are two mango trees, one of them has ripe juicy mangos and the other one has unripe/rotten mangos; which tree would you aim for with rocks to get mangos? The answer is the ripe tree. At least that's what I would choose. This metaphor is exactly why the devil tempts us to become addicted to substances, to commit suicide,  to become discouraged enough hoping we will then settle for less than God's greater plan for our lives. In the midst of our greatest torments the devil wants us to believe his lies because he knows that what we have inside of us is greater than what has happened. Once we are born again indefinitely the devil and his demons' time is up with us and our family. That means more beacons of light spreading light and love through the works of God in the world. This is the reason why we are challenged so much. In which case I say unto you to allow the pain, anxiety, depression, intrusive thoughts and whatever your demons are to open you up to ignite your curiosity toward knowledge so that you can make this process intentional. You must know that if there is one thing that the trials of our rebirth are trying to teach us is how to turn our mental, emotional, and spiritual afflictions into transformative power also known as spiritual alchemy. Which is exactly what happens when we are born again-We transform. Becoming completely new and more powerful than ever before. 

The representation of "Growth"

[Special note for the reader: Hurray you got this far that means that you read the entire article! : ). In faith I believe that this text has blessed you. These words are a labor of love inspired by my personal experience with rebirth. It was intended to fortify you. If you fall under the category of someone who is currently undergoing a Rebirth, my message to you is that you are not alone. All of the feelings, emotions, and afflictions that you are encountering are working in your favor because you can and you will break through! Every single thing that was intended to break you or destroy you by the enemy; God is going to use 100% in your favor. Keep going. We need you.]

The photos in this article represent some of the emotions that form part of a rebirth.

Website Link IG Twitter YT Photographer

#rebirth #resilience #mental health #mental heath support #self help #new beginnings #metamorphosis #MIO ALMONTE #depression and anxiety #intrusive thoughts #afflictions #healing #healing community #trauma #mental illness #abuse survivor #emotional abuse #childhood trauma #molestation #generational trauma #generational curses #suffering #jesus christ #godislove #spiritual warfare #unrest #change #born again

[decepticon-simping-scum]

I’m still figuring this fandom out, please peek the writing I’m working on

“Smash.” The single word was followed by giggles and lowly spoken, mixed disgust and approval. The girls around her had started up a rather odd game of something called ‘smash or pass’ and while she understood the premiss, Chimera was lost on why it was a game at all. She eyed the male that had been labeled a smash. She was not impressed. She allowed her projected self to move through the human motions of exasperation. Rolling her eyes, leaning back against the wall and scoffing. It only made the humans around her laugh more. Odd creatures.

“What’s wrong Kai? Standards too high to play?” She had given them the name Kai, figuring her translated designation too odd for her human reconnaissance. And actually, yes, her standards were too high, for a human anyway. Sweeping her gaze over the room of overcharged, sweaty, meat creatures, none of them would ever be comparable to any of her fellow cassettes.

Smiling wryly, she narrowed her projections eyes at the girl that had teased her. “I like ‘em smart and scrawny, not big and dumb.” It couldn’t be further from the truth, as two romantic interests of hers happened to be some of the stupidest brutes currently on this side of the galaxy… objectively speaking. Not that said brutes needed to know that. The lie was in place so she would be able to approach her target, nothing more.

She allowed brief thoughts on what Rumble and Frenzy’s holo-forms might look like. Would they allow themselves to be perceived as flesh and bone like herself? Would Ravage? She didn’t spare a thought to the other fliers, already knowing none of them would ever allow themselves the embarrassment. She was about to speak again, prompting the game to continue for her own mundane amusement, but her target walked into her sights and she stopped. What wonderful timing.

She must have looked starstruck, the way the femmes giggled, though she knew it had more to do with the context of the situation. The group of humans she had slotted herself into were all overcharged and looking for fun with someone just their type, and she had naturally played the part. So when her eyes locked onto the scrawny, pale, weak looking little nerd that had been named a target, she knew exactly what it looked like, though it couldn’t be further from the truth. It gave her the perfect excuse to move to him.

“Smash.” And the girls all giggled as she drew the word out, lowly speaking to each other behind her as she prowled toward her target. She allowed a smirk to move over her holo-self’s lips at the encouraging cheers behind her, the human girls none the wiser to what would actually happen once she got the male behind closed doors.

She knew she was prowling, closing in on her prey with behavior she had learned from Ravage, of all mechs. To an outsider, it may well still look like prowling, but the context changed everything. To her, this man was prey. She would get him alone and figure out what all he had seen, if he had told anyone about it, and then he would have an unfortunate accident. To anyone else, she looked like she was zeroing in on a good time.

It didn’t matter if she was seen leaving with him. Her holo-form wasn’t a real person. Kai, as a human, didn’t exist. She hadn’t even copied the appearance from a preexisting human, so not even facial recognition would be able to trace anything anywhere. Not like it mattered, even if Kai had been a copy, they still wouldn’t be able to get to her. Chimera lived in an airship. There would be no consequences for tonight.

#soundwave #frenzy #rumble #rumble and frenzy #rumble x oc #frenzy x oc #original cybertronian character #maccadam #??? using that tag right???

[scurriilous]

[ SEEN ] for [hidan] to find [renge] after they've killed someone :3c

   Fresh blood - he knew that smell anywhere. On a night like tonight it was difficult to ignore. It soured the crisp air with a raw, carnal stench, enlacing the atmosphere. Something that would be SICKENING to your average Joe but enticing to your average Jashinist ; a saintly being that perceived the smell of blood as a pheromone. It seduced something within them. Held it close and kept it captive. So when MOTHER NATURE BECKONS, Hidan is quick into action, jumping treetop to treetop in search of the source of the SAVAGERY. 

   Ah - a young Deacon in their element. Their sacrifice lays limp, slain. Blood purges from their nose and mouth, the unmistaken look of VACANCY BEHIND THEIR EYES. The High Priest takes in the scene, curious lilac eyes judging for accuracy - for sincerity. All of the preparations appear to be complete ; Holy Sigil and a tortured overkill. This kid was a natural. He almost reminded him of himself. Leaping down from his point of survey, the Albino approaches, eyes proud and brows pointed. 

   ❝ Lord Jashin is pleased with your offering. ❞ delivers his praise, ceasing his prowl once only a few feet away, 

   ❝ You’re pretty good with a knife, kid. I’ll give you that. I wasn’t aware there were others practicing all the way out here. You by yourself? ❞

#seizasa #[ verse ii. ] #[ TEACHER PREACHER HIDAN IS MY FAV THANK YOU #finally - someone who sees things HIS way ;-; ] #[ also hilarious to me that hidan was basically stalked his entire life and didnt catch on at ALL ]

[mystery-salad]

have 🌼🍂💧 for redwood, maybe? :D @kerra-and-company

For Redwood!!! God Redwood is hard to answer this concretely on lmao, I appreciate the challenge lets go~

Reminder for everyone, Redwood does not use pronouns. Only Redwood to outsiders and Mother to Redwood's saplings.

🌼- What’s your favorite thing about this oc?

How quickly Redwood came together for me. Redwood feel into place almost by complete chance before my eyes, I drafted up a sylvari initially, then decided the height, then suddenly Redwood was a tree instead of a sapling then Redwood was less humanoids and suddenly one of the Pale Tree's lost siblings is known!

More directly, I love how inhuman Redwood is. I love exploring the options of how other seeds would've been influenced if there hadn't been a single bipedal or sapient species around.

🍂- What music does this oc like?

This is the hard one...because Redwood's perception of music is something I knowingly can not comprehend with my understanding of music as I was raised. Redwood and Redwood's children grew initially without any connection to our insight from any of the "main" races. None of the ones who can communicate in ways we understand as developed. So there was no version of what we perceive as music. If Redwood heard music though, Redwood would likely enjoy simple ones. Throat singing, drums, flutes, hummed tunes...things like that.

💧- What is this oc most passionate about?

Redwood is most passionate about Redwood's children. They are Redwood's beloveds, Redwood's reason to exist. Redwood prowls the forest among them, always watching always protecting. They can leave Redwood's view and the first entirely, but Redwood misses and remembers them until they return. Redwood loves hearing of their adventures, is proud when they succeed at something, devastated when Redwood feels one of them die.

#kerra-and-company #redwood mother #thank youuuuuuuuuuu 💖💖💖

[donnabroadway]

Mamba Mentality

Too many of us are afraid to have confidence because we mistake it with arrogance and no one wants to be mistaken as arrogant or haughty, especially when they simply want to use their gifts to better the kingdom. Confidence at its core, is simply trust in yourself and your abilities. It is not the belief, or comparison, that you are better than anyone else. Confidence is truly me vs me and trusting the abilities placed inside of you to complete the task at hand. Confidence often gets mistaken as arrogance when we let the insecurity of man trump what God has given us. 

It is better to trust in the LORD Than to put confidence in man. It is better to trust in the LORD Than to put confidence in princes. All nations surrounded me, But in the name of the LORD I will destroy them.~ Psalms 118:8-14 

Sometimes the trust we have in what God has blessed us with can trigger the insecurities of others and make them afraid and that fear can cause them to become a vessel Satan uses to try to destroy your confidence. If you think about the story of Job and the conversation that God and Satan had, Satan didn't even want to kill Job, God didn't need to add that exemption because if Satan did it "right" all he needed to do was sift Job enough so that he would lose his trust in God and turn his back on him. Satan doesn't even have to kill us or infirm our bodies to really destroy us, all he has to do is get a few people that we think are our friends or place a few "friendly" haters in our path to get us to doubt our abilities and worthiness for us to veer of the path he has put us on.

Be sober-minded; be watchful. Your adversary the devil prowls around like a roaring lion, seeking someone to devour. Resist him, firm in your faith, knowing that the same kinds of suffering are being experienced by your brotherhood throughout the world.~ 1 Peter 5:8-9 

If it only takes a mustard seed of faith to move mountains, what can a mustard seed of doubt, especially from someone you love and seems to want the best for you, do? This is why we need to be careful about our thoughts and the things we allow to take root in our life. Once something borrows down within you, it is very hard to get it out. Once a seed is planted, it can continue to grow without being tended to. One day you'll look up and there is a large tree in your backyard and you have no idea how it got there. The only way to prevent having a garden full of weeds is to pull them out by the root. I remember spending my Saturday mornings out in the front yard, pulling up weeds and while it was a very tedious and sometimes painful process because a lot of the weeds have thorns, as a protective barrier, which can make pulling them difficult but necessary.

casting down imaginations, and every high thing that is exalted against the knowledge of God, and bringing every thought into captivity to the obedience of Christ;~1 Corinthians 10:5

I used this version because sometimes our thoughts and feelings can be considered imaginations with no real grounding in reality but if we do not capture our thoughts, they can take very real root. 

For as he thinks in his heart, so is he."~ Proverbs 23:7

Thoughts become things and if Satan can create a record of all the negative things you and others perceive about yourself and play it on a loop in your mind and then trick people into mimicking those things, he's succeeded, he's won your mind and once your mind is won, he doesn't even need to fight for your body, finances, or spirit because you will readily give him those things because he has your mind. It's like when someone is in an unhealthy relationship, no matter how much they complain or how bad they're treated, like the elders say, once "their mind is gone" meaning they've been successfully manipulated, no amount of self love and positive talk will get them out of the situation. This is why the bible emphasizes the renewing of your mind and protecting your mind and controlling your thoughts because no matter who strong you think you are, we are all vulnerable. If you listen to any athlete speak about their abilities and how they prepare for any major game, trash talking and mental warfare is always apart of the strategy. They know the other team is just as good as them and they know that to win, they need to get into the mind of the other players, so they do this with trash talk or other intimidation tactics. Kobe Bryant, one of the best basketball players of all time, used to do this. He knew that no matter how hard he worked or how good he was, he needed to get into the minds of his opponents and one player told a story of how he was working out in preparation of a playoff game against the Lakers and he went to the gym to work out and Kobe was there and how he tried to wait Kobe out but Kobe, even though he was there before the player, ended up waiting the player out and was still working out when he left and when the player asked Kobe about it later, he said I had to show you, you were soft and you couldn't outwork me." That mamba mentality was everything. RIP Kobe. Adopt a mamba mentality and protect your mind by renewing it, capturing every thought, redirecting your focus. 

Finally, brethren, whatsoever things are true, whatsoever things are honest, whatsoever things are just, whatsoever things are pure, whatsoever things are lovely, whatsoever things are of good report; if there be any virtue, and if there be any praise, think on these things.~Phillipians 4:8