#$WMT

[dragonflycap]

5 Trade Ideas for Monday: DexCom, eBay, Hormel, Schwab and Walmart

5 Trade ideas excerpted from the detailed analysis and plan for premium subscribers:

DexCom, Ticker: $DXCM

DexCom, $DXCM, comes into the week approaching resistance. It has RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive and climbing. Look for a push over resistance to participate…..

eBay, Ticker: $EBAY

eBay, $EBAY, comes into the week at resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for a push over resistance to participate…..

Hormel Foods, Ticker: $HRL

Hormel Foods, $HRL, comes into the week approaching resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for a move over resistance to participate…..

Charles Schwab, Ticker: $SCHW

Charles Schwab, $SCHW, comes into the week at resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for a move over resistance to participate…..

Walmart, Ticker: $WMT

Walmart, $WMT, comes into the week at resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive and climbing. Look for a push over resistance to participate…..

If you like what you see sign up for more ideas and deeper analysis using this Get Premium link.  

After reviewing over 1,000 charts, I have found some good setups for the week. These were selected and should be viewed in the context of the broad Market Macro picture reviewed Friday which heading into the June Options Expiration and the FOMC meeting, noted equity market strength as a change of leadership with rotation into the Large Caps and Small Caps at the expense of Tech names, but not sinking Tech stocks.

Elsewhere look for the supporting cast to remain in consolidation. Gold looks to continue its consolidation in a pullback while Crude Oil consolidates in a broad range. The US Dollar Index looks to pullback in consolidation while US Treasuries churn sideways. The Shanghai Composite looks to continue in a short term consolidation while Emerging Markets consolidate in a tight range.

The Volatility Index looks to remain very low and stable making the path easier for equity markets to the upside. Their charts look strong, especially on the longer timeframe. The SPY joined the QQQ with a move over the August 2022 high, both at the highest level in over a year, and the IWM rising out of consolidation. On the shorter timeframe the QQQ has moved to consolidation in the uptrend while the SPY and IWM continue higher. Use this information as you prepare for the coming week and trad’em well.

[weremonsterteeth]

Werewolf boyfriend who just has to have his knot in you every day.

He starts ripping through your clothes as soon as you walk through the door because he's so ready to be inside you. He just had you bent over the bathroom sink this morning and made you late for work, but he's biting off your panties and lapping at your cunt like he's needed you for weeks.

Loves how wet you get with every little grunt and growl he lets out as you're riding him until the fur around his navel and thighs is soaked with you. One huge, clawed hand has a tight grip around your middle to keep you from squirming while he fucks his knot up into you.

If you're feeling tired he's giving you the most pathetic puppy eyes and no he doesn't even feel embarrassed about begging because fuck he just needs to have you squeezing around his cock while he breeds you please please please...

Wants you flat on your tummy for your comfort and so he can press you deeper into the mattress every time he sinks into you. He has both your hands wrapped completely in one of his and pinned above your head when he pushes his knot in so slowly, almost cumming again from the way you're whimpering and crying into the sheets.

[sigloverofwords]

let me wrap my teeth around the world

An Astarion x spawn!Tav fanfic

Series warnings: violence, injury, abuse, self injury, suicidal ideation, animal death, rape (past), ptsd, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, scars, panic attacks, manipulation, transformations

Summary: You awake at the nautiloid crash, wounded and starving but free of your Master for the first time in your life. You’re determined to get as far away from Him as possible, and finally get some answers about your existence. Fortunately for you, you stumble upon another spawn. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.

Your ability to transform into a monster quickly changes his mind, though.

Posted to AO3 first!

Author’s Note: this is a y/n-free second person slow burn hurt eventual comfort fic. Lots of heavy stuff addressed, please take care of yourself and don’t read if any of the warning subjects are triggering to you.

2k+ word chapters

Chapter 1 (next)

Your head throbs with a deep-seated pain that feels like a hand squeezing your eyes from within. For a moment, that sensation is the only thing that you're capable of being aware of — the pain that washes out the rest of the world and paints everything with blinding, nauseating red.

Then, slowly, the rest of your senses return. The red fades to yellows and oranges with a halo of black around the edge: light beaming through your eyelids to assault your retinas. Acrid smoke stabs into your sinuses, making itself known along with the coppery stench of blood and something else that just smells…wrong. Your mouth is dry, your tongue sitting heavily in your mouth, dried over with a thin layer of blood. Your own? You hope.

Heat flickers erratically over one side of your face, and a moment later you're able to place the crackle of flames as one of the sounds assaulting your senses.

You become aware of the rest of your body, outside of your pounding head.

You're sprawled out on a firm, fleshy surface, the grit of sand digging into your cheek and nose. Everything, and you're sure you mean everything, hurts.

The heat grows stronger and you force your eyes open a crack. Your eyelids stick together, unwilling to be parted for a moment, but through a web of dried fluid and shadowy eyelashes you see dancing flames creep closer to you.

Part of you begins debating the benefits of closing your eyes and ignoring the fire until the flames or smoke inhalation take you. You ignore it.

With sharp, painful jabs of protest from each and every muscle, you force yourself to roll over to your front. You plant your hands, simultaneously hyper aware of the individual grains of sand digging into your palms and unable to focus on any one sensation due to the overload of stimulation you're undergoing. You give yourself one wheezing, smoky breath, and push.

Distantly you recognize that you made it to your hands and knees, said knees very unhappy about their sudden use, but you keep pushing. Almost robotically, you stagger to your feet. Something warm and wet starts to soak into your side. Eyes still closed, you lift an arm and press your hand to your ribs. The familiar aching protest of bruised and cracked bone, and burn of an open wound, seem almost comforting. This is pain you're familiar with, you understand.

Finally, you grit your teeth and open your eyes once more.

Searing, flickering firelight floods your view, washing everything out momentarily before your eyesight can adjust. All around you a structure of rubbery bruise-purple and flesh-pink burns, platforms groaning and collapsing around you. It takes you far longer than you would like to wade through the various fear and horror responses to find a coherent thought.

I need to get out of here.

Your lungs are barely working as is, and your shortened breaths certainly don't help your struggling oxygen supply (or your injured ribs).

After a brief moment of pure panic, you feel your mind clamp down.

You've been through worse, you tell yourself firmly. Figure it out.

Forcing your breaths to slow, you turn in a slow circle. Smoke obscures your vision and the pain in your head is causing little bursts of bright white light to appear randomly in your field of view, but you push through it.

Something isn't sitting right with you.

Besides, well, all of it.

You look down at your hand, which is scraped and bloody, and you see it.

Sand.

From the rumors you'd heard, mind flayer ships flew. Why would one have sand on it?

Another careful survey of your surroundings and you spot it: a rend in the fleshy wall behind you, near the bottom. The sand must have gotten in there when the ship plowed into the ground. Throat closing with hope and smoke, you drop to your hands and knees and crawl to the tear. It's awkwardly positioned, but looks just big enough for you, so you lay on your stomach and try to peer through.

Your heart drops. Outside, bright sunlight streams down onto a rugged coastal cliff.

A cough strangles your throat, smoke stinging your airways as the fire creeps closer. Screwing your eyes shut, you stick a trembling hand through the tear, exposing it to the sun, hoping against hope that the ship provides enough shelter to keep you from going up in flames immediately. For a nauseating second you think the pain is so intense that your nerves have given out and you can't even feel the skin peeling and flaking off your arm, but after a long moment you steel yourself and open your eyes.

You're fine.

Your arm is fully intact.

Your skin is whole, unmarred by burns. It's even warming in the sunlight.

Unable to fully process this information, you start frantically scrambling forward, forcing yourself through the narrow tear. The edges of your clothes catch and rip, but you barely even notice. Mind reeling, you flop onto the sandy ground outside. You're panting with exertion, covered in fresh scrapes, and hacking a cough out every other breath, but you're alive and bathed in sunlight somewhere that very much seems like the Sword Coast.

For a moment you just lay there, salty breeze soothing your inflamed airways, hardy grass tickling your arms, sun, beautiful, wonderful sun covering you in it's gentle warmth, but then you force yourself up once more.

If you survived that meant others may have as well. Others that may include mind flayers, which would be a less than ideal situation to run into, especially in your current, weakened state. You need to put as much distance between you and the crash as possible and find a healer before infection starts to set in and the tadpole in your head eats away what's left of your humanity. You need to figure out how the hell you can stand in the sun without burning to ash. You need to run, far and fast.

Despite feeling the warmth of the sun for the first time in decades, a chill runs over your skin. This sudden freedom you’re experiencing comes with its downsides, but anything is better than being under the sway of you master.

Still clutching your side, crusty with blood and sand, you stumble up the hill.

Movement in your peripheral draws your attention, but you're too slow, pain dulling your reaction speed, mind swirling with too much information, too many possibilities. In a pale blur, a figure charges you out of the bushes, the flash of a knife glinting in the sun. The next thing you know you're slamming into the rocky ground, all air forced from your lungs and your ribs shrieking in protest. A strangled exclaimation escapes you before you can clamp your mouth shut.

No! Your mind screams, and you suddenly feel on the verge of tears as you try to roll to your feet. Not this close to freedom. Not now!

Desperate, you try to push away the figure holding you down, but the pinch of a blade at your neck quickly stills your struggles. A silky voice speaks lowly by your ear, turning your stomach.

"Shh, stay still," he says. "I saw you on the ship, didn't I?"

You try to look at him out of the corner of your wide, frightened eyes. He’s a pale elf, clothed in patched up finery, with a steady hand and deadly crimson eyes. When you don't answer immediately his voice hardens.

"Nod," he orders. You do, careful against the blade.

"Good girl."

The words are practically a purr. You swallow, and for a moment you're afraid even that small movement will draw blood.

"Now you're going to tell me what you and those tentacled freaks did to me."

“I didn’t do anything—”

This answer is clearly not what he’s looking for. He scowls, lip curling in a sneer and revealing a flash of familiar fang.

A vampire, just like you. Somehow freed from the night just in time to drag you back into shadow.

It’s all just too much.

This time you can’t stop the tears from welling in your eyes as you stare at the fangs.

“Are you one of His?” you ask in a quiet, broken voice, eyes stinging and heart heavy as lead in your chest. “Are you here to take me back?”

The anger on the other vampire’s face is quickly replaced by confusion.

“What? No. I don’t even know you!”

He sounds offended at the insinuation that you may move in the same circles.

You close your eyes, a single tear escaping your lashes to clear a path though the smoke and grime on your cheek.

You don’t see the elf frown at it, gaze following its track down to your chin, where he spots the scarred puncture wounds in your neck.

The blade at your neck disappears but you remain limp on the ground. For this moment, you give up.

Maybe your master had decided you’re not worth the effort anymore, maybe he ordered this spawn to dispatch you. Instead, after no blade slits your throat or stake caves in your chest, you look up to watch the elf roll to his feet and sheathe his knife. When he speaks, his tone is distant and haughty.

“You’d best start running, little vamp,” he says, his back turned to you. His shoulders are tense. “It’s not often spawn get away from their masters.”

The words are heavy with the weight of personal knowledge.

Sniffing, you scramble to your feet, brushing uselessly at your ripped skirt to avoid looking at the other spawn.

Your moment of weakness and surrender passes, and you gather the tatters of your strength around you once more.

“You— are you like me?” you ask in a small voice, eyes glued to the ground.

“No,” he snaps instantly. “You’re clearly an overemotional weakling, and I have places to be.”

Although your tears don’t dry, you feel yourself steel in quiet rage.

You endure torture for years, enough to break anyone, not even allowed to end your own life, and this…this man assaults you and insults you?

Despite the horror your master had inflicted on you, he had given you one gift.

Every full vampire has something they are particularly gifted in, whether it be charm and deception, arcana, or even performance and languages. They pass this gift onto their spawn, sometimes in small doses, sometime in a rush of power they can’t control.

Your master had overwhelmed you with his gift of monstrosity, and you draw on it now.

The pain that you usually feel when you transform is nothing compared to your white-hot indignation and need to lash out.

How dare he. How dare he.

Even your master had learned, long ago, that you were not a girl to be dismissed, not someone to turn your back on.

Your limbs elongate, nails stretching and hardening into black talons. Your teeth all sharpen into deadly fangs, your eyes flood with red for a moment as they change, becoming fully crimson. You can feel your bones pushing against your skin as it constricts, each bump of your spine straining, skin tightening until it feels like it’s about to split. It’s honestly a relief when your skin rips, spikes pushing through where each vertebrae sits.

The elf is walking away, but his step hesitates at the sound of cracking bone. Slowly, he glances over his shoulder, and whatever blood he had drains at the sight of you.

Your hair, singed and bedraggled, hangs in limp strands around your face as you take one step towards him. You’re seeing double, disoriented by a taller point of view, with everything bathed in red, and your too-long tongue sits awkwardly behind unfamiliar teeth, but you can tell you cut a terrifying image by the stumbling step the elf tries to take away from you.

“Don’t. Move.” you order, your voice scratchy and hoarse, lower than it was. You feel a thrill of power when he freezes.

“You are a vampire spawn, like me?”

You phrase it as a question, but before he can answer you reach out with a too-long arm, one talon resting on his doublet, right over his heart. A few threads of embroidery snap with a brush.

“Nod,” you say. He does.

“Who is your sire?”

You try and keep the fear out of your voice. If you share the same master, if he is under compulsion to find you…well, despite how it appears, you’re not looking to kill anyone right now. You just want, no, need answers. Answers that another spawn can give you.

“Cazador Szarr,” he answers, unable to keep a hateful sneer from flickering across his face.

You almost collapse in relief.

Not the same sire.

“You are not under compulsion?” you ask. Your limbs ache: a pain deep as bone marrow, unescapable, unignorable. You only have another minute or two before you have to release the hold you have on this form.

“No,” he replies. “I don’t know how, I don’t know how I can walk in the sun or be free from his orders.”

“You have places to be,” you say, voice starting to shake with the effort of maintaining your form. The red haze over your eyes is beginning to darken at the edges. “Where? What are you doing, where are you going?”

The elf’s jaw clenches as he reluctantly gives up his plans.

“I need a healer, then I’m going back to Baldur’s Gate to kill Cazador.”

“Good.”

You drop your arm from his chest. The extra length allows you to rest it on the ground, supporting yourself almost like a four-legged creature.

“You will take me with you,” you say. You start to sway. The darkness at the edge of your vision creeps closer.

Before he can reply the darkness slams shut and you crumple to the ground, unconscious.

Astarion blinks as the girl—creature? — suddenly collapses. Her monstrous form fades in an instant, and she transforms almost immediately from the stuff of nightmares to the weak, useless thing she was before. His mind reels, taking in her small body.

He had heard rumors, of course, of the vampires of Neverwinter. It was a horrid, cold, backwards place in the north, somewhere he and the other Baldurians spoke of with disdain when it was spoken of at all. It was said the Vampire Lord there was cruel and powerful in ways even Cazador had to admire. The Szarr-sired spawn were “gifted” with beauty and persuasion, the ability to lure most humans to their side with a few honeyed words. It was an ability Astarion had in spades as a mortal, and becoming a Szarr-spawn only made him more irresistible - a fact that Cazador abused relentlessly.

The Neverwinter Lord, though…he was a horrific beast of a man, his spawn few and far between, more frightening bedtime tale than actual beings.

There is no doubt in the elf’s mind as he looks down at the unconscious girl. She is a spawn of Durva Szörn, the Vampire Lord of Neverwinter.

A smile slips across his lips, and for the first time since waking in the sun, Astarion feels hopeful.

With a Durva spawn by his side he can strike fear into the heart of even Cazador Szarr. She could prove a powerful weapon, if he can just keep her leashed.

Crouching, he gathers the bundle of filthy fabric and broken girl into his arms. She doesn’t stir, and he hopes she didn’t do something stupid like kill herself with that transformation.

She’s lighter than he expects, and he starts to pick his way around the wreckage of the mind flayer ship. She wants to go to Baldur’s Gate? Very well. Astarion is happy to oblige.

[deadly-aim-broke-my-heart]

[ranchthoughts]

The Mundanity of Meanness

@waitmyturtles' posts over the last few episodes of Only Friends (1, 2) have got me thinking.

There's so much casual cruelty among the friend group of Boston, Cheum, Mew, and Ray - all the little pointed comments or assumptions that always jump to the worst faith/most uncharitable conclusion. Mew's birthday at the bar was ripe with them - Cheum happily saying everyone has a lover, even "a heartless slut like Boston," while Ray is sitting right there; Mew assuming Ray was in the bathroom to get high, then lecturing him and saying he won't live past 30, etc. - but we've seen it throughout the show. Remarking to the professor that Boston won't do anything, as expected... not worrying about how Ray got home or why he isn't answering his calls because he is probably drunk... and so on. In their interactions with each other they've come to tolerate, to expect, meanness and toxicity.

The newcomers to the friend group aren't exempt either - look at what Sand puts up with from Ray, or what Nick puts up with from Boston. I thought it was interesting that the most sincere and heartfelt apology in episode 7 was from Sand to Nick - Sand really seemed to grasp how his comments and actions hurt Nick, even if he doesn't agree with his life choices. It puts into perspective the behaviour of the core four's friend group, where the apologies last episode were mostly insincere or forced in some way. Sand and Nick seem to have lived a life with less of this mundane meanness around, compared to the friend group - they aren't used to treating each other poorly.

The moment that really caught my attention this episode was Boston at the pool fight scene saying "It was unintentional" when pushed to apologize to Mew for sleeping with Top. Mew is pissed ("Unintentional, my ass"), but I think in a lot of ways it was! Boston wanted to sleep with Top. He did. End of story. Obviously, Boston also has his superiority complex about Mew and they have their ideological war around sex going on, and sleeping with Mew's boyfriend does contribute to Boston "winning" in those areas, but Boston also just doesn't think of consequences, he doesn't think about other people. That's what this friend group is all about: YOLO and living in the moment, being self-absorbed.

However, even if the results of their actions were "unintentional," that doesn't absolve Boston or any of the other characters from the hurt they cause. Impact vs. intention. Boston might not have intended to get Mew SO upset at his sleeping with Top (Boston has a different mindset than Mew around sex and exclusivity), Mew might not have intended to drum up Top's fire trauma when he burned the sketch, Ray might not intend to wound Sand with every comment about his lifestyle, but they need to realize/learn that other people are coming at things with their own baggage and through their own lenses and that they need take accountability for their actions and words, even if they themselves don't see harm in them. What might not be a big deal to them might be a big deal to someone else.

The final point I've been musing on is at the simple, everyday, mundanity of all this. Often as fans we've been looking for connections, for forethought and calculation in the actions of the characters, and there is nothing wrong with that. However, I think its important to acknowledge that real harm can come too from unintentional or unthinking actions or comments. It doesn't always have to be a carefully thought out evil plan or a targeted attack. Sometimes people just do what's best for them and don't think about how others would conceive of or react to their actions... especially young people and especially self-absorbed wealthy young people.

[pencilbrony]

Gentle turns

[creatorworldau]

WithoutMagicTale Mettaton by @dark-47

Крылья в соло затащили весь рисунок. Ещё бы камера нормальной была 🥰🥰

Он занимает особое место в моем новом скетчбуке, потому что я нарисовала его на первой странице.

Ну и придумала ему форму коробки, не знаю есть ли у ВМТ!Меттатона такая, но пускай будет.

Честно, его было очень сложно рисовать (_ _' ) ОСОБЕННО ОЧКИ-ЗВЁЗДЫ

и котик

[dying-suffering-french-stalkers]

petition for gkids or discotek to license the world masterpiece theater catalogue

[claudiaplescia]

My favorite girls for World Masterpiece Theatre, directly from Sunday mornings spent watching tv.

Un regalino per i miei amici di Dimensione Fumetto che si sono occupato di organizzare il festival Safarà a Santa Vittoria, una minuscola città nelle Marche.

[kostastsimikas]

this is so exciting finally some canadian excellence

[prodigaljester]

Emily

[dragonflycap]

5 Trade Ideas for Monday: Alcoa, Cummins, McCormick, Wells Fargo and Walmart

5 Trade ideas excerpted from the detailed analysis and plan for premium subscribers:

Alcoa, Ticker: $AA

Alcoa, $AA, comes into the week breaking resistance. It has a RSI at the midline with the MACD crossing up. Look for continuation to participate…..

Cummins, Ticker: $CMI

Cummins, $CMI, comes into the week pressing on resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for a push over resistance to participate…..

McCormick, Ticker: $MKC

McCormick, $MKC, comes into the week approaching resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for a push over resistance to participate…..

Wells Fargo, Ticker: $WFC

Wells Fargo, $WFC, comes into the week approaching resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for a push over resistance to participate…..

Walmart, Ticker: $WMT

Walmart, $WMT, comes into the week breaking resistance. It has a RSI in the bullish zone with the MACD positive. Look for continuation to participate…..

If you like what you see sign up for more ideas and deeper analysis using this Get Premium link.  

After reviewing over 1,000 charts, I have found some good setups for the week. These were selected and should be viewed in the context of the broad Market Macro picture reviewed Friday which with just 3 trading days left in January, equity markets look ready to finish the month higher.

Elsewhere look for Gold to continue its pullback while Crude Oil reverses higher. The US Dollar Index looks to drift sideways in consolidation while US Treasuries continue their downtrend. The Shanghai Composite looks to extend the bounce to the upside while Emerging Markets continue in consolidation.

The Volatility Index looks to remain very low and stable making the path easier for equity markets to the upside. The charts of the SPY and QQQ look strong, especially on the longer timeframe. On the shorter timeframe both the QQQ and SPY could end up rolling over to reset momentum measures as both are extended. If that happens it might be time for the IWM to finally take the lead and test the 20 month channel consolidation. Use this information as you prepare for the coming week and trad’em well.

[weremonsterteeth]

Eating out a tree nymph when you feel soft, leafy vines caressing their way up and around each leg with thick trails of fragrant sap sticking along your skin where they touch you

Your legs being forced apart while the rubbery ends of vines snake their way into your ass and cunt, gently stroking and fucking you open, filling you with that warm sap which induces you to relax despite your initial groans of protest

More vines encircling your wrists and tugging them up behind your back, tied and trapped on your belly at the mercy of the nymph who grips your hair in both hands and grinds her swollen, earthy-tasting clit harder over the tongue spilling from your mouth as the effects of her sap have you panting slowly, eyes rolling up into your head

Giggling voices intermingle with excited rustlings of leaves from surrounding trees as you struggle to recall stumbling into a huge grove of very playful dryads

[sigloverofwords]

let me wrap my teeth around the world

An Astarion x spawn!Tav fanfic

Series warnings: violence, injury, abuse, self injury, suicidal ideation, animal death, rape (past), ptsd, emotional abuse, physical abuse, mental abuse, scars, panic attacks, manipulation, transformations

Summary: You awake at the nautiloid crash, wounded and starving but free of your Master for the first time in your life. You’re determined to get as far away from Him as possible, and finally get some answers about your existence. Fortunately for you, you stumble upon another spawn. Unfortunately he doesn’t seem to want anything to do with you.

Your ability to transform into a monster quickly changes his mind, though.

Posted to AO3 first!

Author’s Note: this is a y/n-free second person slow burn hurt eventual comfort fic. Lots of heavy stuff addressed, please take care of yourself and don’t read if any of the warning subjects are triggering to you.

2k+ word chapters

Chapter 2 (prev)

Your dreams are scattered and frightening, flashes of memory become nightmare. Even deep in unconsciousness your body aches, protesting the abuse it's been put through. You dream of transforming into the monster He made you, of your true self curled up in a ball, encased by a beast worthy only of execution. It makes you sick to your stomach, and you wake suddenly, choking back bile.

Disorientation overwhelms you when you jerk awake, coughing hard. Blankets pool in your lap as you shoot up into a sitting position and hunch over until the hacking subsides. The unfamiliarity of your surroundings makes your heart rate leap, your eyes immediately darting to your wrist.

Although it's banded in deep, rough scars it's free of any restraint. The scars are familiar to you, but they sting with a distant memory of pain, and you hug your wrist to your chest with your other hand as you take stock of your situation, letting out the occasional cough.

"Well, that didn't sound comfortable," a familiar voice drawls from beside you. Startled, you whirl on the elf. He’s lounging in a woven wooden chair, turning the simple piece of furniture into a throne with the way he drapes his lithe body over it. You blink

“You’re here,” you croak, throat stinging from the abuse of smoke and acid, hand still clutched close to your body. The elf raises a white eyebrow.

“Well, you did insist I take you with me to Baldur’s Gate. Leaving you unconscious on a beach wouldn’t exactly be an auspicious start to our partnership.”

Shame flushes up your neck and over your cheeks, and you bury your face in your hands.

“I can’t believe I did that,” you mumble through your fingers. “I’m so sorry.”

The elf seems to be holding back a scoff.

“Darling, it was stunning. Let’s just keep all that…” he gestures vaguely to all of you, “fabulous rage pointed away from me, yes?”

You can’t help flinching away from his flippant gesture. For a moment you think you managed to disguise the movement with a nod, but his red eyes narrow at you, while your own widen slightly.

This is not a conversation you’re looking to have right now.

Or ever.

Nervously flicking your tongue over your dry, cracked lips, you turn to survey the room you’re in, hoping that indicates the subject is closed. 

You're sitting on a raised stone slab, made more comfortable by the furs and blankets laid out across it. It's carved directly from the ground, the same as a wide table across the room and shelves lining the walls. Aside from the seat that your elf companion is currently using, there’s a few other pieces of wooden furniture, and stacks of closely woven baskets and chests stacked against one wall. 

All around you is bare stone, but the room doesn't feel suffocating. It's large enough to hold several other, empty beds, and a few carefully constructed holes in the ceiling let in fresh air and sunlight. It's all quite peaceful and utterly unfamiliar.

“It’s not exactly the Rosewood Retreat,” the elf says with the tone of someone looking down their nose at their current establishment, “but the druid was a semi-capable healer. She managed to get you patched up.”

You realize that your various body aches and pains have indeed subsided, leaving you with the normal weighty exhaustion you always experience after transformation.

“Thank you,” you say, turning back to face him, and realize that you don’t even know his name. 

A corner of his mouth lifts in a smirk and he stands, bowing with a small flourish.

“Astarion, at your service.”

You gather your strength to answer.

“Tav,” you reply finally, reluctantly. This immediately piques his interest.

“Really?”

Pursing your lips, you nod.

“Fascinating.”

He seems to murmur this to himself. You drop your eyes, finding the raised skin of your shackle-scarred wrist once more, tracing the all-too-familiar contours with a light finger.

Another gift your master had given you: an outcast’s name, shared by criminals and despised people everywhere. Anywhere you went in the Sword Coast, you were branded as someone who was dangerous or reviled enough to be ejected from your home and family.

He had ensured that, even if you managed to escape, you wouldn’t even have a name of your own. Astarion, with his bright eyes studying you like a snake watches a mouse, appears to be familiar with this.

“Well, that’s a story for another time, it seems,” he says with finality, verbally closing the book on your name situation, at least for the moment.

You look up at him, eyebrows drawn together in confusion. He’s pointedly inspecting a fingernail, flicking a tiny speck of dirt off it.

He doesn’t…he doesn’t care?

The very idea baffles you, but you decide not to push. Gods know he’s already done enough for you, something that you need to acknowledge.

“You didn’t have to bring me here, especially not after…”

You trail off, unwilling to put into words what you can do.

“Nonsense,” Astarion waves away your apology, looking up from his hands. “If I rejected out of hand everyone who threatened me a little then I’d never get anywhere with anyone. Water under the bridge, my friend.”

There’s a glint in his eye that makes you uneasy, but a quick assessment of your situation leaves you little choice.

“In that case, I’ll ask properly, like a civilized person,” you say. “Astarion, would you allow me to accompany you to Baldur’s Gate?”

He smiles, a grin that’s all fang and no mirth.

“Tav, it would be my absolute pleasure.”

Astarion points you towards a set of clean clothes set out on the end of one of the other beds, and you spend the next few minutes changing behind a folding wooden screen while he catches you up on your current situation. 

From what Astarion can tell, the reason you two can walk in the sun is thanks to an illithid worm inserted before the nautiloid crashed. While it holds the promise of almost certain death (and soon), he plans to take every advantage given to him, and you silently agree. If a mind-flayer worm was what allows you freedom from your master, however brief, you’ll take it. You just won’t allow yourself to come under another’s control again, but that is a problem that you’ll deal with when it presents itself.

For now, you are currently in a druid’s grove not too far from the crash site, but there’s trouble brewing. Goblins camped nearby have been launching raids on the grove, so in response the druids are ejecting all outsiders and conducting something called the rite of thorns.

“It sounds about as pleasant as the druids act,” Astarion says acerbically. “The sooner we leave them to it, the better.”

You emerge from behind the screen, tugging at the robes. They’re supple leather and some sort of hardy fabric, clearly used but clean and in good repair. Although they hang off your bony frame a little, they’re leagues better than anything you’ve had for years.

While you’re overwhelmed with the feeling of wearing real clothes that actually offer comfort and protection, Astarion eyes you critically.

“Not the most flattering outfit I’ve ever seen,” he says, then shrugs one shoulder. “No matter, we can always stop by Facemaker’s when we get to the city, it’ll do for now.”

You stare at him out of the corner of your eye, baffled.

What sort of life does he live as a spawn that he can worry about clothes? You wonder.

Before you can ask, Astarion heads for a door carved directly into the wall that you had missed earlier.

“Come on,” he says. “We’d best get going before these druids trap us under a briar.”

You have to trot a few steps to catch up with him, still processing everything. Going from under your master’s thumb to freedom is dizzying and overwhelming, and part of you is grateful to have someone to follow.

He’s not in charge of me.

You remind the skittish, fearful part of you, the part that calls the monster more often than not, that you’re still free. Allowing yourself to follow in the wake of someone more experienced and well-adjusted until you can get a handle on yourself doesn’t mean you’re trading one master for another.

That frightened part of you protests, but you’re able to keep it calm for now, like a ranger calming a spooked horse.

The door opens with the grind of stone on stone, and suddenly your senses are flooded with input. Fresh air, warm with sunlight (sunlight!) and carrying birdsong, breezes in to surround you. A few strands of your hair wave around your face, tickling your skin, and you can’t stop the way your jaw drops a little and you stop where you are, soaking it all in.

Astarion turns, annoyed at the holdup, but pauses when he sees you. He looks away, crossing his arms and clearing his throat while you step into the grove’s clearing.

The druidic chants weave around you, the magic practically tangible, an electric taste on your tongue. Flowers burst from thick grass everywhere you look, animals roaming freely around you.

Everywhere is flooded with warmth and light.

It’s the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen.

When you turn back to Astarion he looks distinctly annoyed, and he rolls his eyes when he sees the tears threatening to spill from yours.

“Come on,” he says, beckoning you to get a move on. “Try to keep it together, I managed to keep our little secret from the druids so far, and I’d like to keep it that way.”

Chastened, you nod, arranging your hair around your neck to cover the scars there.

“How’d you manage that?” you ask in a whisper, following his weaving path up out of the grove.

He shrugs.

“A little luck and keeping the blanket tucked up under your chin. It wasn’t hard to tell them you caught a chill.”

“Oh, right.”

You sometimes forget that you run much cooler than a mortal. Following Astarion through a crowd of distraught tieflings (tieflings in a druid grove?) you’ve almost made it to the gate when an accented voice calls out.

“Astarion!”

You both turn to see a dwarven druid jogging towards you. She has black hair cropped just above her shoulder and faded tattoos across her face. She gives you a small smile and nod.

“You two heading out, then?”

To your surprise, Astarion steps closer to you and takes your hand. You stiffen immediately, trying to subtly pull away. His grip is tight, bruising if you were human, and you feel panic creeping up.

“We are,” he says smoothly, smiling as if he isn’t white-knuckling your hand despite your minute attempts to free yourself. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, we wouldn’t want to impose any longer. You’re all so busy.”

“That we are,” the dwarf replies, “still, I’m glad I was able to help your wife.”

She looks at you and your mind short-circuits.

You hate yourself for your immediate, gut reaction.

He wouldn’t like that.

Despite physical freedom from your master, you are quickly coming to realize that he has a mental hold over you that wasn’t broken by the tadpole in your head. It makes you a sickening combination of angry, terrified, and despondent, but you push past it and force yourself back to the present.

Astarion bids goodbye to the healer who had helped you, and you manage to give her a weak smile. You and Astarion walk out the gate, hand in unwilling hand.

You manage to make it a hundred yards into the wilderness before your skin is crawling and your empty stomach is about to try to expel whatever acid it holds. With a jerk, you rip your hand from Astarions. The sudden, vicious movement takes him by surprise, and he turns with an offended expression.

“Are you quite alright?”

You know you must look a sight, every muscle tense and lip curled in a feral snarl, fingers running roughly over your hand as if to scrub his touch from it.

“What was that?” you demand. The beast inside stirs, scenting the air.

Astarion blows out a breath, spreading his arms.

“Isn’t it obvious? A man shows up with an unconscious, severely injured woman in his arms. That will raise a few eyebrows no matter where you go. I simply headed off some prying questions by saying you were my wife and you were hurt when a giant mind flayer ship fell out of the sky.”

You can follow his logic but it still turns your stomach. You don’t know if it’s because of the conditioning you’d been put through or just the small thread of steel you have left rebelling at the idea of belonging to a man, either way, you aren’t willing to let your travels with Astarion start out like this.

“No,” you say firmly. Just using the word feels unfamiliar and wrong, so you force yourself to practice and say it again.

“No, you can’t do that.”

Astarion rolls his eyes dismissively.

“It’s really not a big deal—”

“No.”

It’s getting easier now, and you draw yourself up from the crouched, hunted creature position you had been in.

“If something like that ever happens again, figure it out. Tell them I’m your sister or something.”

Matter closed, you stalk past him. If your heart beat then it would be pounding. You’re flooded with adrenaline, mind whirling. You did it, you stood up to someone. A small smile flickers across your lips, and a tiny, infinitesimal spark of hope starts to burn in your chest.

Behind you are quick steps, then suddenly Astarion is at your side, speaking into your ear.

“But that wouldn’t be nearly as much fun,” he says lowly. You whirl on him, teeth bared, ready to show him how important your new boundaries are, but he backs off immediately, a dark grin on his face.

“Just teasing,” he says, holding up his hands placatingly. “Come on now, surely becoming a spawn didn’t suck your sense of humor away too.”

You hesitate, trying to remember.

“I…don’t know,” you say finally. “I’m not sure if I had one.”

The shadow of familiarity crosses Astarion’s face. His hands lower, and he nods slowly. Then, like a dog shaking off water, he straightens and shrugs his shoulders.

“Well, we have a journey ahead of us,” he says. “We’re a good week out of Baldur’s Gate, and that’s if the roads are clear, which I hear they are not. Maybe we can find out on the way.”

You also straighten, tilting your head a little. Maybe he just sees you as a pet project to pass time on the road but maybe,  just for now, you could let him think that.

For the first time you consider what freedom might actually mean, aside from getting away from your master’s sick control. 

I can figure out who I am, you think. I can figure out who I want to be.

The spark of hope grows, just a little.

[farmhandler]

Excerpt from the next chapter, for fun

Here's an excerpt from my fic Worth More Than Salt. It's wedding time!!!!

---

“I can feel you trembling,” Nezuko joked. Her pupilless eyes fixated on him, her smile all teeth. “Is it the ceremony itself? All those steps—I’m glad I don’t have to do that.”

“I… think so. We’ve been over it a bunch, but I still feel like I’m going to mess it up. What if I say something stupid?” Tanjiro clasped one of Nezuko’s hands, holding on fleetingly when she tried to back away. “What if I ask a really dumb question?”

He let her go and clutched at his stomach with his hand, to which she responded with by checking on his makeup. Alphas were often adorned with dark eyeliner and lipstick, if it suited. Nezuko had gone as far as touching up his eyebrows as well; he still felt like he could feel the ghost of her plucking away at the strands.

“Nezuko, I feel sick.”

“You are going to do great.” Nezuko tried his hand away from his abdomen and lifted it into the air between them. She squeezed both hands around his firmly for a few seconds, and then let go. “There! No more trembling. Now keep it that way.”

[ranchthoughts]

I've been chatting with lovely friends like @chickenstrangers, @waitmyturtles, and @wen-kexing-apologist about Cheum in the past few weeks - in part to try to articulate my own thoughts aobut her, but mostly to understand how and why other people are reacting to her (especially those who watched teasers and followed promos for OF, which I did not). There's been some very interesting discussions of her character recently as well: this post by @waitmyturtles, @fromthedepthsandbeyond in this reblog (I'm very interested in learning more about Thai perspectives on Cheum - how are they reading her as the 'bridge'? What parts of her character are they latching on to?), this post by @my-rose-tinted-glasses, and this post by @twig-tea. Regardless of my own thoughts or read on Cheum, I think it's interesting to consider why we've all been talking about her.

Sure, Cheum is, at the end of the day, a side character, and side characters are often less fleshed-out, or pretty one-note in terms of characterization and arc. However, I think there are a few reasons why Cheum's in-many-ways-typical "side character superficiality" has been especially jarring to the OF audience. Here are my theories:

she is the only woman in an all-male friend group, and all the other members of that group are lead characters in this story and thus have more character development, screen time, etc.

the non-presence of April - this is one detail we know about Cheum and it is space for potential character development, but April isn't in many scenes and Cheum barely even mentions her when she is not around

everyone was excited about the inclusion of a GL story line in OF, so the lack of April and AprilCheum moments is another disappointing blow

we know a surprising amount about Yo, another (female) side character, despite her limited screen time (the few times she's been on screen we've really been delving into her deepest fears). we also have a decent sense of Sand's mother, another female side character

many of Cheum's comments and actions have been difficult to sit with or understand (e.g., her response to Atom's confession), and feel especially jarring when we don't know much about her motivations and she hasn't had much growth or development

people had expectations for what/who a lesbian/female character would be, fostered by general stereotypes about lesbians and women in media (rational, no nonsense, etc.), so when Cheum didn't fit this paradigm, people had to do some thinking to re-calibrate their expectations. additionally, this meant Cheum was thought about more (and more closely) than side characters generally are

people had expectations for who Cheum (and April) would be (the level-headed glue of the friend group) that came from promotional material, teaser footage, the creators' tweets, etc., and the dissonance between these expectations and her actual behaviour on the show is disappointing and makes her read as inconsistent and poorly written (plus, like above, in adjusting their expectations people were thinking about her more than they would other side characters)

people had expectations for the writing of the show (these people have made good shows before) and this dissonance between the Cheum of teaser and tweets and the Cheum of the show reads as disappointingly inconsistent and poor writing

people expect Jojo's shows to have coherent messages and themes, often about sex positivity, etc., and Cheum's actions and words seem to contradict that messaging (especially as she hasn't been overtly called out/questioned/corrected in the show itself, and her promoted/teased role as the level-headed one in the friend group)