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A newborn Vampire Spawn🩸

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Prints - society6.com/thepaleindigo

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bingewatching will never come close to bingereading. there is nothing like blocking out the entire Earth for ten hours to read a book in one sitting no food no water no shower no bra and emerging at the end with no idea what time it is or where you are, a dried-up prune that's sensitive to light and loud noises because you've been in your room in the dark reading by the glow of a single LED. it's like coming back after a three-month vacation in another dimension and now you have to go downstairs and make dinner. absolutely transcendental

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I want to live.

okay okay it’s about time I drew Astarion and YES I know I have a type, leave me alone 🤣

my art tag

painted in procreate on ipad pro / do not repost

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Guest star on the blog today.

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Astarion and my Durge, Avin

The best choice I made on bg3 was playing as Durge, what a roller coaster it was!

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Another full thing on Patreon🩸

Also the last thing got reported, and I am just disappointed in whoever did that ☝️

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IN REGARDS TO the confession scene with Astarion that I get so many questions about - here it is! The canonical re-imagining. CONTENT WARNING: Explicit language and gory descriptions. The usual durge-isms.

You are all turning in for the night with the smoky night’s sky above your heads and an unnerving quiet encroaching upon your camp. The Shadow-Cursed lands exist in a vacuum with no peskily buzzing flies, crickets or howling owls - It's just you, your footsteps, and your companions’ nervously whispering among themselves. None of you truly knows what comes now, after seeing the magnitude of what is taking place in Moonrise Towers just a few moons ago.

Shadowheart is excluded from the conversation. She sits by the fire atop her shins with wide eyes and hands clasped. Lapsed in prayer. You’ve been feeling her drift away, you’ve become aggravated by each other’s company, by her zealous resolve. This is the point where you begin to part from these people - you feel - the fun and the games are over, you will all be dead soon. You will all be dead soon. A familiar chant. Your mind wanders and spirals and you’ve walked up to the edge of camp with your head in your hands, the furthest you can go without the yapping pixie-lamp before your body experiences that sharp chill, the curses’ fingertips edging you into its welcoming void. It is so tempting sometimes to answer. Especially during nights (days? It’s hard to tell here) like these.

You are facing the dark with this ugly look on your face, Astarion’s voice sounds behind you, the slap of his palms colliding. 

“Do you have a moment?” he asks. “We need to talk.”

All he ever does is talk, but he doesn’t usually ask.  Something sinks in your stomach as you turn around - disarmed by the sullen look in his face. You know what’s coming, you’ve always known, you make sure he knows it too. “What about? Your undying love for me?”

He’s taken aback for only a moment, then calm. “Something like that. Except… Not at all.”

You exchange these quiet, dry and polite smiles. A small nod of your head. “You don’t need to do this.”

The elf stammers, holds an uncharacteristically shy hand out as he notices you begin to turn in your step. “You - hold on, not so quickly.”

You stand as still as stone while Astarion collects himself, his words, he squeezes on his knuckles and shakes his shoulders, whatever script he had planned has been discarded.

“I think… The both of us came into this arrangement with… Mutual understanding of the terms, right?” He sucks in air through his teeth, “You get something pretty to befoul to your heart’s content, and I get to direct you at whatever needs gutting - and away from myself.”

You almost reel in amusement of his description of the unspoken - entirely accurate, but so simplistic it is almost insulting. And it’s been so long now… Things have changed so much. “Not quite how I would put it, but sure.””

“How would you put it?”

“A little more favourably towards myself, mainly.”

Astarion scoffs and brushes you off “Look, all that I am trying to say is that I had this nice, simple plan. Play your little games, keep you invested, give you reason to keep me around. In… The only way I know how.”

His eyes flicker towards the ground.

“But you haven’t cashed in yet. At least not since the first time - if we can even call what happened then sex.”

Your beady irises stare down at him, puzzled. “I haven’t been in the mood.”

A half-lie. At night, you look across the fire at his sleeping face and jerk off into the gravel next to your bedroll. When you lay together on the grass and look at the stars (back when there were any) you relish the opportunity to grab hold of his waist as you adjust your bodies on the uneven dirt. You are obsessed with his long, spidery fingers, your loins swell whenever he throws his feet up on your lap during dinner.

But these unprincipled thoughts get away from you every time. They fester and rot like carrion under a sweltering sun, giving to the overwhelming eroticism of separating flesh from bone until you are gnawing on his marrow and regurgitating white, curly hairballs. Every night since he’s given into your wills you’ve taken a long whiff of his neck and the mildewy scent of his death injects a picture into your consciousness of tenderised meat sloping off skewers, slice it like a warm knife through animal lard. You want him inside of you all of the damn time.Your blood rushes, you try holding onto a coherent thought but silence deafens you. Astarion leans in and as you focus on the roundness of his eyes you are struck with an anxious feeling - how long would it take for you to forget what they look like, once they are gone?

“That’s fine. More than fine, actually. Dare I say it’s… Nice.

“I thought being with you would be a chore. No different from what I’ve been doing for the last two hundred years.” He snorts an awkward, charming little giggle. A heaviness in you begins to disperse. “I seem to have gotten caught in a trap of my own making.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that I like you. I like your company. I like looking at you.

“You -... You’re incredible. You are this force to be reckoned with but… You are also sweet.”

There is nothing you can think to say. Less of being  stunned into speechlessness and more so taken by the sincerity in his face - the wet shine sitting on top of his pupil, what a sad world it would be where you deprive yourself from seeing it again.

“We might be dead very soon. In fact, we very likely will.” He chuckles, trying to seem unbothered. “So… I’ve come to humbly ask that you humour me for a little longer.”

“Humour you?”

“Well, I don’t want to be so presumptuous as to think you would reciprocate. You don’t strike me as the type” He puffs out his chest, looks away - going back to hiding behind a rambunctious facade, given away by his wavering tone. “You’re not even fucking me. I have to assume interest has… Diminished.”

“It’s unlike you to have so little confidence in yourself. Or to be so coy.”

“I’m not being coy” The vampire’s voice cracks, you fail to hold back a grin. “I am just stating the obvious. If there’s a better explanation for what’s going on then - well - then be out with it. I’ve seen everything, you know? There’s no need to be embarrassed.”

You laugh. “I don’t have anything crawling down there, if that’s what you mean.”

For a moment, you consider telling him of your inexplicably violent nature; you don’t know whether it would help or harm.

Another time. Not now. You like this. You don’t want to risk ruining it. “I… I will ask that you bear with me, for now. There are things I still need to figure out myself,  and I will.” You shake your head. “We aren’t dying any time soon, I promise you that.”

Astarion suddenly moans in relief, throwing a glance over his shoulder and at your somewhat surlier companions, each in varying states of tucking themselves away. “I’m glad someone is keeping positive. Delusional as it might be.”

But you weren’t so confident  a minute ago, were you?. A minute ago, you were a thought short of  teetering over the edge - then he showed up. 

“Astarion”

“What?”

“I can hardly ever get you out of my head.”

He stares at you for just a moment, no surprise or fluster to speak of on his face - only a dead serious look, an expectant gaze. “Really?”

“Really.”

He hums. You don’t let the silence settle for too long. “So, what would you like to do with this?”

“With this? As in ‘with us’?” Astarion laughs “Honestly, I have no idea. I- I don’t know how to be with someone anymore. That said… Whatever it is that we’ve been doing has been… Nice.”

You nod, watching as Astarion’s slender hand reaches for yours, cradles it, dark and scuffed between a cage of the elf’s pale fingers.You lose yourself scrutinising his bruise-coloured fingernails, his veins popping greens and blues through translucent skin; hopelessly infatuated. “It has.”

You look up from his knuckles, catching Astarion with this unapologetic, adoring look in his eyes. You surprise yourself by revelling in glimpses of future, indulgences so frivolous, free from pruriency - some care, some tenderness, sharing seats at a table or clean sheets in a bed.

Astarion caresses the calluses on your palms. He says he needs to rest, but invites you to slip into his tent - just to sleep. Nothing more, dying or not, he wishes to be held. You are tempted by the offer: for a moment wondering if all of your concerns had been fabrications all along. You feel at peace. You’ve been cured. You tell him that you will, once you’ve washed off blood that’s clumping your hair together on top of your ears.. He slips off your grasp, walks away, leaves you day-dreaming of dipping your fingers into his skin like the breaking surface of a milky puddle, violence poetic enough that you give yourself a pass.

A few nights from now, you will try to kill him.

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Astarion getting a harsh reminder that his goofy bard girlfriend occasionally works side gigs as an actual clown

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We should make a list of all the things White people have falsely attributed to Native American mysticism but its actually bullshit

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Likes to charge reblogs to FUCKING cast

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some random redemption arcs that aren’t just ‘zuko, but a little to the left’

I’m evil but all my evil friends betrayed me and I’ve decided that the best revenge is to ruin their evil plans. Yes, this means I’m a “good guy” or whatever. No, I don’t like it any more than you do.

I was evil but all my evil friends betrayed me and now I’m going to latch onto the first person who shows me kindness. If that happens to be the protagonist, I am totally fine with realigning my morality to match theirs.

I never wanted to do what I did, and now the biggest obstacle to me switching sides is convincing me that I’m not a living weapon.

Well as long as you’re imprisoning me in this magic amulet I might as well give you pointers on your technique. I mean come on if you all die I might be stuck here for millennia! It’s not because I like you and don’t want you to die. Nuh uh.

Look, I legit thought that being evil was going to be my best option to get this important thing done, but, uh, that didn’t pan out. Help?

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garden variety conservative transphobia is going to get worse but radical feminism is also going to get worse. if youre a cis women terfs are going to try to recruit you and make you believe that the reason your rights are at stake is because of trans people. they're going to tell you that all men are your violent oppressors and they're going to include trans women in that category. they're gonna tell you about women who are gender traitors and joined the enemy and they're going to point to trans men. don't believe them. trans people are not your enemy, we have no power over you, and we desperately need your support and your solidarity.

be aware of radfem pipelines and dog whistles too. be skeptical of anyone that talks about the divine feminine or correlates birthing, menstruating, or female reproductive organs with womanhood. be especially skeptical of people who use those biological things as reasons to why women are more spiritual, or more in tune with nature, or just that they're better than men (read: anyone they decide is a man)

radical feminism is an expected reactionary outcome from cis women who are being oppressed by conservatives, especially when all they practice is ciscentric, liberal, white feminism. they feel the need to be radicalized but don't have the experience and information to pinpoint the true source of their suffering. trans people are not your enemy, AMAB people are not your enemy, anyone who identifies as a man is not your enemy. we're all being crushed under the same stone

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gift art for @amischiefofmice! watercolor on cold pressed paper, plus some paste/ground for effects, and a dash of calligraphy ink. textured paper is still a big challenge for me, so this was a learning experience!

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big fan of when some edgelord isolates himself from the world hiding in his menacing magical castle, only for his future love interest to ram down the doors like YO BITCH! i live here now