#thepalelfe
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𝐓𝐈𝐑𝐄𝐃 𝐁𝐎𝐍𝐄𝐒 𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐌𝐄𝐃 by the wine pooling in her belly, the angles of sharp cheekbones flushed in turn. it feels dizzying, all this joy, all this life roaring through camp after what seems like endless death and suffering. it feels like victory; arlis savors it. gaze trails around the edges of their camp, over druids and tieflings and this strange bunch she now calls her friends. ❛ come on, astarion, ❜ she calls out upon spying solitary figure, familiar form lithe as she approaches, ❛ at least try and look like you're enjoying yourself. ❜
half-filled goblet is extended to him in a toast, the corners of her lips twitching. ❛ we can go back to the usual gloom & misery in the morning, we've earned the right to celebrate tonight. ❜ they've more than earned this, she thinks distantly, they've fought for it. hard. her expression turns more thoughtful, dark brow briefly creasing before her voice softens. ❛ if it means anything, i'm hardly used to being the hero, too. it's..., ❜ a thin shoulder ambles up in a loose shrug, ❛it's a nice feeling, even if it's strange. one could almost get used to it. ❜ @thepalelfe
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silence. our muses having to keep down during sex, due to whatever reason. ‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️‼️
it's a risky endeavor, allowing astarion to touch her like this in the confines of his tent. sure, they had 'privacy' enough that their fellow companions wouldn't be aware of genesis's bare breasts pressed against astarion's equally nude chest, or astarion's fingers slicking themselves betwixt her thighs, digits prodding teasingly at her achingly empty entrance. that being said, the druid only has so much self - control, and the feeling of her love's unclothed erection twitching and dripping needily against her thigh is enough to make her bite down on her tongue, almost hard enough to draw blood — a weak attempt to tamp down the growl threatening to crawl up and out the back of her throat. 'you're such a twat,' she grumbles, lips pressed to his jaw, canines scraping against the shell of his ear. she wriggles, attempting to free herself from the vampire spawn's grasp but he holds her tighter to him, fingers finally delving ( albeit shallowly ) into her fluttering cunt. 'ah ah ah!' he tuts, teasing, nuzzling up the column of her throat.
a moan reverberates throughout the tent, high - pitched and keening and so unlike genesis — but it seems like astarion has made a habit of drawing these filthy little sounds out of the wood elf. 'if you're so insistent that our allies hear us fucking, you may as well hurry up and get on with it,' she whines, grinding down against astarion's talented hand as he presses his palm against her neglected clit. rather than granting her the privilege of a verbal response, astarion removes his hand swiftly, grabbing both of the druid's hips with a firm grip. without warning, his cock sinks into her velvety warmth, punching a gutted groan out of genesis — one that surely would not go unnoticed. before she can tell him off, he sets a brutal , punishing pace , laying back with a self - satisfied grin as he uses his hold on gen's waist to fuck her down onto his prick. her cunt clenches and twitches around his shaft as her hips are slammed down mercilessly, meeting every relentless thrust. if the noises she'd been making hadn't been enough to alert the whole damn camp of their coupling, the filthy slapping sound of skin - against - skin would surely do the trick.
#challenge failed successfully idk. JDJFJ#also laughing at this being when gale's tent is set up next to astarion's mayhap#GENESIS. usfw ic#GENESIS. usfw answ.#thepalelfe#usfw cw
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she lounges in the broken crypt window, legs gently lifted and head tilted back. a wine bottle is held loosely between her fingers, and while nesta isn't drunk, she is a bit loose, a bit relaxed. definitely inappropriate for a night's camp somewhere in the underdark, posted up by the myconid colony, looking for... something. he's asked her a question: what does he look like, and nesta, ever the poet, is nursing one last sip of wine, looking for some semblance of an answer. she could be warm-hearted, she thinks, but... if her love of the self was ever taken from her in the same way cazador szarr beat astarion's out of him . . . she would want truth first.
@thepalelfe , " turn around, let me get a good look at you. "
and so, when he turns all the way around, nesta examines him, not unlike an art appraiser examining the newest portrait by a self-made artist, and she rises from the windowsill, pushing away from the stone, settling the bottle in the embers of her body heat. " you're... pale, " she says, first, fingertips gently hovering over his cheeks. " almost similar to my own, in complexion. your hair is white, all the way down to your shoulders, though more vibrant than mine, not lingering with the dullness that my patron provides. your eyes... a very lovely shade of red, like rubies, or bloodshed. "
her fingers find his skin, here, her touch strangely gentle for a wicked woman of the night, and she touches the highest points of his face, her fingertips moving as she describes him. " you have high cheekbones, and so your face makes this sharp contour. your lips are full, and you have smile lines, likely from years of smiling. as for whether or not you meant those smiles... i cannot tell. your ears compliment your face well, they... heighten your face, creating this sharp, elegant look. like a dagger made for equal parts purpose and presentation. "
her hands rest now, on the side of his neck, briefly squeezing as one would press their fingers down for a massage, then moving again to his shoulders, twisting him this way and that. " you have a lithe build, agile and sharp. proportional, if i were to describe you to a painter. i would say you are handsome first and pretty second, if i was unsure of what word you preferred, but most of all . . . you look like you're finding yourself again. "
she steps away now, head tilting. " was that a satisfactory answer? "
#hi welcome to being mains with me i saw you describe star's look and went “free real estate?”#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 — ( to act selflessly is anathema. ) / int. ◞#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 — ( to act selflessly is anathema. ) / arc. our lady of hunger. ◞#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐎𝐑𝐓 — ( so go - i'm better off alone; run and tell them the villains on my list are what turned me into this. ) / astarion. ◞#thepalelfe
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Words fall short from the ranger. Ashen brows furrowed deeply as he's met with a quip from the elf's tongue. Not surprising, not usual; but it does rub the elder the wrong way in that moment. Forcing a scoff from him as the thought is waved off physically. Clearly it wasn't important. Best it be dropped. Broad shoulders shrug, tone seeping with annoyance, "Oh, never mind."
@thepalelfe ❝ what do you mean ‘never mind’? ❞
But, ah, that's when it suddenly mattered most. Nothing could drive one more mad then being denied answers or context on varying matters. Mismatched hues linger on the vampire a moment. Holding his tongue seconds longer than he should have. Just to nudge his companion a bit further. He pressed again. And there was no holding back his sarcasm. Something to be rivaled against Astarion's own.
"What the hells do you think I mean? Never mind--- never mind, the act of simply letting go of my prior thoughts. Perishing them, really. Because I can't be bothered to tell you anymore. Perhaps if you had allowed me to speak---" there's the pause for dramatics, faux surprise taking his features, "You wouldn't be left on the edge of your seat!"
"Move on, Astarion. The time has passed, opportunities missed, thoughts changed."
#thepalelfe#oh yea i kno the tone#dak can also return the attituded and im so sorry#˗ˏˋ 𝐉𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋 𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒 ◞ answered .#˗ˏˋ 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐒 ◞ undetermined .
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" in menzoberranzan, we would leave the bodies of thieves hanging out for weeks as a warning; visible from the lower sections of the city to the high peaks of qu'ellarz'orl. i would enjoy seeing you try to do the same to me, astarion. " the night warden snorts - squinting into the fogged glass in the weak light; still strong enough that it pains her, but not so bright as to obscure her vision entirely. her hair, paler than the dawn sky, streams down her back - well cared for even now; hands raking a comb through the strands, hairpins perched precariously in her lap. it is a vulnerable position; one she did not anticipate @thepalelfe finding her in.
" you have no use for it. it is not as if you can see your appearance - i am merely making sure that it does not go to waste here. "
from here.
#minth has the dad lore of the group she just says something and everyone is like where did THAT come from.#thepalelfe#HE HAS THE ONE MIRROR IN CAMP CAN U BLAMEHER.#ACT II. soon there will be vengeance. then; freedom.
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nelina trubach-moshnikova / she is away, kenneth rexroth / suspiria, hans adolf bühler / unknown / letters to véra, vladimir nabokov / sunstone, octavio paz / gps, shauna barbosa / wasted, marya hornbacher / unknown / i won't become, kim jakobsson
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* 𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐏𝐀𝐋𝐄𝐋𝐅𝐄 & 𝐒𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃𝐂𝐎𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐃 : the last light inn.
this journey had not been an easy one, and as the weight of the world sits upon the shoulders of their travelling party's de facto leader . the last light inn is a welcome respite, and jaheira, despite her initial wariness, appears a good host. the darkness of the shadow-touched lands is unlike anything she has seen before, and isobel's blessing is comforting, warm. like the hug of a mother she's never known, like the kiss of a teacher who should have been there to mentor her. over the last few weeks , things have... changed. gale's condition, shadowheart's conflict, karlach's heart, wyll's transformation...
❛ there is no god or monster that could overtake the mind. only the version of the self you have grown to fear.
there is a shake of her head, and she makes her rounds. wyll and karlach share a bunk, the two fiendish entities enjoying the shared heat of their room- lae'zel and shadowheart share a room, beautifully ironic - which leaves gale, astarion, and nesta to each have their own rooms. it makes the most sense, with nesta's nocturnal ramblings, gale's need for eight full hours of sleep, and astarion's nighttime romps. she doesn't bother knocking more than once as she pushes open the decaying door, peeking in.
" you're awake, good. " she says, but she doesn't push open the door or invade his speak. she is no cazador; she is better than him, she is superior to gods. she purses her lips, arms crossed over her chest, looking him up and down. they all have managed the journey well, all things considered, and nesta is pleased. unnecessary bloodshed is quite the struggle, and she cannot assist any more mourning souls. her neck rolls, adjusting her shirt, blinking. " how are you going to be able to eat in these conditions? " she gestures to the darkness surrounding them, yet she does not speak in such a way that declares everything to every passersby or harper within earshot. her dulcet, warm, deep tone is strangely-gentle, almost out of character for the selfish warlock. yog'sogoth gurgles in the back of her mind, reprimanding her, while the tadpole purrs in appreciation, content that one member of the hivemind is keeping another alive.
" you're not going out there alone, " she tells him matter-of-factly. in most things, nesta gives him the choice to walk his own path; she is no captor, keeper, or warden. in this instance, though, as her patron pours visions and memories of those claimed by the darkness into the forefront of her mind, she refuses to let a comrade fall to the darkness. despite whether or not he is molded by it, born from it. " so, who is it going to be? me? or are you going to take the risk of asking lae'zel and triggering some kind of bloody battle instinct? " / @thepalelfe
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HEADCANON MEME
name: officially, she doesn't have one. she considers her alias as close to a name as she's ever had
alias: lark
ethnicity: high elf (mixed)
THREE TWO HEADCANONS YOU’VE NEVER TOLD ANYONE:
Lark's flat in Elturel was above a bakery and owned by it. the owners had no idea of her identity and frequently set aside a fresh croissant or two after learning of her liking for them. if she returns, she finds they kept her flat just as it was and buys it outright.
if she survives and does not take advantage of the power vacuum of the baldur's gate temple, she bonds with a stray flame point cat she calls Spark. He follows her back to Elturel.
THREE THINGS YOUR CHARACTER LIKES DOING IN THEIR FREE TIME:
people watch
train.
she discovers in act 3 that she enjoys stereotypical romance novels. she is unashamed of this.
SIX PEOPLE YOUR CHARACTER LIKES/LOVES:
sarevok
shadowheart
minthara
the dark urge
astarion
enver gortash
TWO THINGS YOUR CHARACTER REGRETS:
the murder of her father figure/mentor
(that's all I've got)
TWO PHOBIAS OR FEARS YOUR CHARACTER HAS:
irrelevance
drowning
tagged by: @mindhallow
tagging: @betraal @banedicti @thiefscant @thepalelfe @nerimoi @afraidofchange (rama) @haedshaker
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plotted starter / @thepalelfe
a lingering dread has been looming over gale since he and his companions had encountered raphael at last light inn — seeing a prowling devil in that sole beacon of hope in a land accursed by darkness … it does [ little to soothe ] the wizard's frayed nerves, to say the least. more worrying - still was the little exchange that had occurred between raphael and astarion, HIS FANGED COMPANION sounding near - desperate to strike a deal with their … duplicitous acquaintance over the scars marring his back. gale scoffs at the thought, stealing hurried glances in the direction of the aforementioned vampire spawn from his spot in camp.
surely astarion knew nothing good would come out of any arrangements made with raphael — he'd dealt with dastardly sorts for some two hundred years, after all, if his brief admissions of cazador's torments were anything to go by. surely he knew that men like that … men like that [ would never stand ] to see you win. with this thought in mind, he strides over toward the rogue, feeling increasingly unsure of himself with every step. this is a terrible idea, he's sure, and astarion will likely take any of the wizard's COUNSEL AS CONDESCENSION rather than what it really, truly is, beneath all of gale's ostentation — concern, borne out of the genuine fondness he's begun to feel for the vampire spawn over the course of their travels.
he approaches astarion's tent hesitantly, shifting from foot - to - foot as he does so. 'astarion, my friend! i was hoping that you and i might, ehm, speak for a moment,' he announces, voice booming with his usual false - confidence . maybe it isn't too late to convince astarion to back out — to avoid dealing with raphael entirely, if possible. 'unless you're busy currently? i don't mean to intrude, of course,' he continues to ramble, as he is wont to do.
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he's ELATED to have a bed, astarion admits inwardly. the ground wasn't exactly the most sublime of places to lay his head, so when the position alloted them a mattress and a pillow, who was he to say no? not that he was sure he could meditate at the rate, the blooming battle to come at moonlight towers waying heavily on his mind.
astarion's oggling the shadowlands out of one of the inn's windows, eyes following the curve of the protective bubble that shielded them all from harms way when the quiet is disturbed by nesta's entrance into his quarters. her sudden question poses a challenge he hadn't come to think of in the heat of the moment, and causes him to rise from his sitting position, palms at rest on his waist.
" well - " he pauses, waving a hand to the side. " you could just offer your surely delicious self. " he suggests with an air of playful gaiety. " save us both a trip, you get a full nights rest, i get fed, truly i see no downsides. "
SHE PAUSES at the new pose he's struck, near-amused with his decision. she fully came into this room expecting such a thing. the closer they get to the center of the shadowlands, the more dreary her camp seems to be. her lips curve upwards, and she nods. " ah, i'm delicious now, am i ? " she chuckles, shaking her head. not yet offering her wrist or neck to the vampire, but instead her gaze follows his out the window, watching everything they've passed. quietly, she approaches the window next to him, pursing her lips.
" devastating for you, i suppose, " she thinks out loud, examining the dome of light that isobel maintained in such a way that kept the light at bay. moonlight is such a fascinating energy to nesta - it is simultaneously both light and dark. she wonders if moonlight was one of the forces she was exposed to as a youth, one of the things that kept the lights bright in her chambers and the underground rooms when the fires couldn't be stoked. " only recently have you gotten to know sunlight again, and it's taken away from you. " a tilt of her head, eyes grazing up the wood of the inn's window. " do you miss it? the sunlight." / @thepalelfe , continued from @swordcoasted .
#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 — ( to act selflessly is anathema. ) / int. ◞#◜ 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐄 — ( to act selflessly is anathema. ) / arc. our lady of hunger. ◞#thepalelfe#◜ 𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐀𝐓𝐄 — ( our lady of hunger. ) / q. ◞
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#GLOOMEDHANDS || INDIE. SELECTIVE. PRIVATE. MUTUALS ONLY. 20+ ONLY. original character driven from various works of media and novels but primarily D&D / homebrew . heavily influenced off the events of past games Baldur's Gate 1 & 2, dlc included. not affiliated with the rpc. various verses.
1. CARRD ( under construction ). 2. PROMPTS
˗ˏˋ hunted by Savvvy-Willow, she/they ´ˎ˗
a study in . . . breaking generational habits, hidden depth, discovering ones self, fatherhood, dangerous deserter
affiliated with . . . @thepalelfe ,
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THINGS YOUR MUSE WILL NOTICE ABOUT MINE repost , do not reblog
WHAT THEY LOOK LIKE . minthara cuts an intimidating figure at first glance. while not extraordinarily tall by aboveground standards, her armour makes up for that in changing her silhouette; and her eyes are an exceedingly pale and piercing red. she keeps herself clean; neat - her hair is always pulled back and in a loose bun to keep it out from her face for both practical and aesthetic reasons. above all, she has the air of nobility to her - her posture is perfect; every movement measured and deliberate. though one might miss the branding tattoo upon her neck that marks minthara as a baenre at first glance, her bearing more than makes up for it.
underneath her armour, minthara is well-muscled; with a defined abdomen, arms and legs - the result of centuries of training. her limbs are long - gangly; and her body is covered in both freckles/moles and silvery scars that form web like patterns across her body - some ancient, some fresh.
WHAT THEY SMELL LIKE . she smells primarily of the leather of her armour - underneath that, depending on the day and what she has done, perhaps the sharp tang of sweat or the metallic scent of blood mixed with the scent of the salves she applies to keep herself from burning in the sun. after an evening at camp, however, minthara makes sure to bathe and cleanses herself with spiced oils - she'll smell of cloves and cinnamon and bergamot - not comparable to the oils and tinctures of the menzoberranzan, but close enough.
WHAT THEY TASTE LIKE . minthara's lips and mouth will often taste of wine in the evening; red, rich and dark - dry; spiced. during the day, she tastes of the salves she applies to keep herself to prevent sunburn (yes, she tastes like sunscreen).
WHAT THEY SOUND LIKE . minthara's voice is low; raspy - deep in her throat. hers is a voice that is comfortable with power; one that knows it, too. she sounds every bit the noblewoman she is - commanding, never commanded.
WHAT THEY FEEL LIKE . minthara's hands are calloused after years of training and battles - she prefers, after all, to wield her weapons with no gloves - and as such, while the tops of her hands are decently soft, her fingertips and palms are rough; the callouses thick.
TAGGED BY: @enathema thank yew
TAGGING: @nerimoi, @thepalelfe, @womanlives, @weaveshadows, @darkgifted, @vannaspar, @murdershaped, @infernalbarbarian AND YOU
#HEADCANONS. grant silence upon those who would betray it.#this is gonna show up in the tags and i am going to perish
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[ ARM ]: after holding their hand, the sender releases the receiver, but slowly glides their hand up the full length of their arm, lingering on the upper arm, then the shoulder, then resting their touch against the side of their neck. @thepalelfe
the hollowness in her chest hurts like the wound in her hand but ... different. this is the kind of pain that does not pass with time and does not arrive unexpectedly. it lingers—an emptiness, like hunger ( raw, gnawing at the inside of her chest as it begs to be felt ). this is the anguish she cannot ignore or push from her mind, the discomfort that pulls her from her body to someplace else.
they are there now, eyes somewhere distant, guard woefully down. shadowheart is unaware that anyone else is with them—a personal failing that they, under normal circumstances, would never suffer. tonight, however, they simply do not have the capacity to care. they have felt loss, but this goes beyond any of the familiar doctrine that was taught in a pulpit.
when his hand grasps hers, she does not move. perhaps, subconsciously, she feels him there. ( had he a knife to her throat, in her current state, she would have leaned gleefully into the blade herself. ) she is derelict in her duty to self-preservation. she is wounded in a manner transcending any physical ailment.
loss. the loss that weighs like blocks of dry clay on their chest, the loss of shar, the loss of the cloister, the loss of family, the loss of self, the loss of his hand around theirs—
his touch catches like fire ( her skin, the flint ), striking a blaze that travels up her arm from the wrist to her shoulder, and then nestles in the crook of her neck. she thinks he coaxes her to look at him, miserable and adrift in all of these profound absences in her life thus far. so much has gone.
but not him. he is here.
in their haze, shadowheart reaches up to cover his hand with theirs. their eyes refocus. a beat, and their breathing evens out. he is the lifeline cast out to them, drawing them back in.
"stay with me tonight," she says in a voice that does not feel like her own ( small, fractured ; a mere sliver of the once-robust pillar of strength she touted to be ). "please."
#gee i don't quite know what happened here on this day.#maybe we needed some hurt/comfort#thepalelfe#answered asks ; shadowheart .#muse ; shadowheart .#long post cw
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[ PULL ]: sender pulls receivers hair. :] for gen ofc
fingers card through messy russet locks; genesis whines in the back of her throat at the sharp sting of digits tugging at her tender scalp. very rarely did the druid wear her hair down, thus making her particularly sensitive to every little biting touch or calculated pull of silk - soft strands. astarion chuckles lowly, a husky sound that has her bared skin shivering with goosebumps. 'oh, you like that, don't you?' the vampire spawn murmurs, and her cheeks erupt into a dark green flush of embarrassment - cusp - arousal. yes, she does like it, as a matter of fact — likes this feeling of being underneath astarion, a marionette as he plays with her strings, utterly shameless the way he has her wrapped around her fingers ( both figuratively and literally ) . now, genesis is not a shy woman by any means … however … she's become accustomed to taking the more dominant role when betwixt the sheets with a lover, past partners seeing her confidence and mistaking it as disdain for submission. that is to say, it's been quite some time since someone had taken the reigns from her, and quite some time since she'd well and truly been at the mercy of another.
astarion seems displeased by her lack of response and subsequent distraction, the grip on her hair becoming rougher, a touch … unkind. it tears a whimpering moan from the wood elf as she arches into the pain, cunt throbbing needily between her legs. supple thighs are coated with slick, creating a wet, sloppy sound as they brush against each other, genesis subconsciously clenching her core. it's filthy and her face grows hotter - still, astarion purring from where he rests above her. he looks utterly pleased, the quintessential cat - who - got - the - cream. he curls 'round her until his bare chest is pressed to her back, nimble digits trailing down her soft tummy until they come to rest above her center, hovering over her clit without quite making contact. she squirms restlessly, canines digging into the delicate skin of her pouting lips.
as if he can sense her displeasure, her love only furthers his incessant teasing, positioning himself between dripping folds. he thrusts against her, the head of his cock bumping against her entrance shallowly, but never fully entering. his fangs scrape against her tender, sensitive neck; his chuckle tickles the shell of her ear. 'you really mean to make me beg, don't you?' genesis gasps incredulously, arching to match the rhythm of astarion's hips. she tries to fuck herself back onto his cock but the hand not toying idly with her clit presses down on the small of her back, rendering her still beneath his unyielding form. 'gods, if you don't hurry up and fuck me, i'll find someone else who will,' the druid threatens emptily. twisting 'round to press her face into the crook of astarion's neck, she bites down harshly at the juncture between shoulder and throat — two can play at that game.
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'i'll see you again soon, somewhere out there in all that noise.'
/ @thepalelfe
a wry smile pulls at the wood elf's lips; he pauses for a moment while considering the vampire spawn's words. 'and what could you possibly mean by that, friend? because that sounds a lot to me like a goodbye …' halsin lets the question linger, gazing down at astarion curiously. 'oakfather forgive me for making assumptions, but … i didn't take you for the goodbye - saying sort,' he wonders aloud, almost rhetorically. of course, the former - archdruid has a sneaking suspicion as to why the vampire spawn sounds almost … despondent. he doesn't think he's going to survive this. or, if he does, he certainly doesn't think he'll SURVIVE THE AFTERMATH — parasite gone only for him to be forced back into the shadows, never to feel the sun [ kiss pale skin ] again — alone, again. he frowns at the thought, reaching out to grab one of astarion's shoulders. he hopes the touch is reassuring, if not a bit too - rough ( he laments his own strength, sometimes ) . 'you will see me soon, i promise you this. the universe wills it so — i can feel it in my bones. so don't you dare go doubting yourself now, little rogue.'
#sorry i sort of ran with this teehee#HALSIN. in character#HALSIN. answered#MEDIA. prompts#thepalelfe
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when you are stripped clean, what is at your core?
BENIGN CULPABILITY. everyone hates you because you are a facetious lying bitch. …kidding, i think. seriously, though! you try way too hard to look like a picturesque example of class and responsibility, but you use your position as a social butterfly to take advantage of those weaker than you. it’s rare for anything not to be your fault, and everyone thinks you’re crying wolf when you actually HAVEN’T done anything. it gets kind of tiring to have everyone on your dick all the time, but it’s less interesting to actually behave. good luck with the therapy?
tagged by stolen from: @weavewilled
tagging: @gildedthrns @dreadspvwn @gloomedhands @lastborne @thepalelfe @seluniite @wrlckd
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