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Isaac Cole Powell

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The question of who he should be was probably more difficult to answer than he could've ever anticipated. However, Evanuris always did have a way with words. She was ancient. She never spoke without intent. Perhaps that was why he hung onto her words so vehemently. Everything she ever said meant something to him. Not because she was simply saying it though. No, it was because she spoke to him as if he was no mere monster. People had feared him for seeing who he really was. He'd held onto that anger for decades upon decades, centuries upon centuries. Every time he closed his eyes, he could see that look on their faces because, to them, that was all Harellan ever could be. He'd been so reluctant to accept that he was a monster. He wanted to be anything but what they had made of him. However, when Evanuris looked into his eyes and spoke words so fiercely, he couldn't help but think that he was supposed to be that monster. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad thing.

That was what the most powerful person in the world looked like to him. It was someone who could accept the fact that they were a monster. It was someone that did not care what others thought of them. It was someone like Evanuris. It was someone like the person she saw in him. His gaze fixed on her own as she spoke and stayed there well after she was done. Another breath fell from his lips as he lifted his hands to her own. "Bel'la dos."

Nurture opposed the nature of her sisters, but Evanuris had a soft spoke for the broken things of this world. The discarded and the disregarded, she wondered if Ayi'ig knew what she had with this one, or if she'd woefully underestimated him. Drow were born into their graces, their fates determined by how their ambition paired with their intellect and talents. It was not Evanuris' intent to soothe Harellan but to reforge him; if one happened to be a byproduct of the other, that could hardly be helped.

"Envision the most powerful person in the world." Evanuris tilted Harellan's chin to lift his gaze from his hands and fix it upon her instead as she spoke, "What does he look like? How does he behave?" She thought about how the hollowborn had suffered and lost, how the nature of all immortals seemed to be put through agony after agony until their shapes were definitively similar. "What will it take to become him. What you do to achieve your goals defines you, your worth, and how this world will come to perceive you. Decide what you want, and don't let anything stand in your way."

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Harellan didn't really care about how this knockoff Slipknot band looked. Fur suits at Lupercalia seemed fitting so he didn't give it a second thought past Viktor saying something about it. Should he have bothered? He was still very much in his own head tossing things away and keeping things he wanted. It was a very tedious process, but his emotions were very clear. There was no grief for him to have. There was no anger. There was just...silence. And that wasn't a good thing when it came to Harellan. The nephilim next to him was lucky that he liked him in any capacity. He supposed that was an emotion he could keep. "Why are we here?" A breath left his mouth as he turned his head to face Viktor, arms folded. "We should do something else."

@harellanx location: Lupercalia notes: kiss kiss

"They've changed." Viktor watched as Slipknot fumbled over their own lyrics and there was just something different about them. Was this the real band? Viktor was having a hard time telling, it didn't help that they were all wearing fur suits, "I guess they didn't get the memo on the dress code." Viktor was dressed modestly for the occasion, booty shorts and a jockstrap with kneepads. Something had changed in the other, Harellan seemed... Darker, if that was even possible, but here Viktor was still waiting for their first official date (maiming and torture).

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ISAAC POWELL as THEO GRAVES ↪  AMERICAN HORROR STORY: NYC  

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Luke Evans & Isaac Powell OUR SON (2023) dir. Bill Oliver

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He's all I have. That just sounded fucking sad, but he also didn't care what she did or didn't have. For Harellan, she was of no use to him and he wasn't about to pretend that she was. Their only common interest was Viktor. If the nephilim didn't exist, the two of them would never have crossed paths. If she didn't mean anything to the halfblood, then who knows what mind tricks he would have played on her. A moment passed as he eyed her. Then he walked over and, as he passed her to get to the couch, he pinched her cheek quickly. "Best not to worry too much. Crow's feet only belong in cemeteries."

Blair's not a mom figure, she doesn't think she even falls into affectionate cousin anyone admired territory. She thinks she's more the one in the friend group that kind of just gives face behind everyone. The Posh Spice, that kind of person, when it came to friends and people. Viktor and Jonah are the couple of people close enough to her that she outright considers family and while she hadn't ever had a nuclear one of those, she knew it was something to be protected. Her eyes roll and she thinks it's more annoying that he's right. "He's all I have." It's an admit of defeat, he wins this round.

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Evanuris had never particularly been an open book. Neither was Harellan, but her mind was something that he never quite delved into. He'd never had a reason to for as long as they had known each other. When the hollowborn had first been brought to this court by the now deceased queen, he hadn't really needed to know anyone. He could easily figure out someone's entire life in a matter of seconds. However, that would only make him lose his own thoughts and memories even more. He could take and take and take, but it would always come back to bite him in the ass. So he was careful with who he used his ability on. He was always taking a memory or giving one to someone that would benefit him. That was what Ayi'ig had taught him. After everything that had happened when he was younger, he had to learn quickly who could be trusted and who could not be. And, within the world of the drow, he was always leaning more towards the latter.

That was why he had been reluctant to ever let anyone in. The people he had been told to trust, the woman who had told him he could trust her, had only used him in the end. That was one thing he could trust with Evanuris. She would tell him the truth. Harellan couldn't quite remember a time when she had lied to him. He would be able to tell. Still, she had given him words that would stick with him. She had done more than Ayi'ig ever had. Where the queen had used him for her own goals that had nothing to do with him, Evanuris had done the opposite. He'd never know a time where he actually knew himself. Even when he had been younger, his father had sheltered him from the hollowborn he was because it was easier. Ayi'ig had made him aware of who he was, but she had used him as a weapon to get into the minds of those that she didn't want to bother with herself. Evanuris though? She had no ulterior motives to being here with him. What could she ever need from him? She was just...here. Somehow, that felt like all Harellan ever needed.

His glowing eyes lifted towards her as she stepped into the shadows of his true form. Fear was not something she had and it was not something Harellan wanted for himself either. The ones who had done this to him had been eradicated. Harellan could remember the fear in their eyes, how he had reveled in the feeling of watching the light fade from them. He'd never known himself to be as vicious as that before, but they had made him into a monster so that was what he had become. Turning back now was not in the cards for him and he didn't particularly want to. He'd learned a long time ago that goodness was subjective. He could have been good, but it would never amount to anything. It would never be good enough. In the eyes of anyone who could look at this form and not see beauty like Evanuris did, they would only see a monster. And he would be one. For Harellan, the only person he cared about and the only person he wished to look out for was himself.

The shadows dissipated back into him, shallow breaths leaving his mouth as his gaze met the floor between them. Then it lifted back up to Evanuris. A disgruntled sound left his mouth as he moved to his knees. His eyes fell to his hands. There may not have been blood on them at that exact moment, but they were drenched in red. Brows furrowed, he let out another breath. "I don't know who I'm supposed to be." Half of him was Ranaghar and the other half was some person he had never even met. Part drow and part eladrin. Or elf now, he guessed. "How am I supposed to figure that out?" He still had not looked away from his hands, but he wasn't even sure who he was asking the question to now.

In recorded drow history the Handmaidens had razed no less than three cities that had drifted from the gaze of Lloth. Men who'd risen up, slaughtered their matrons and assumed control. That of course was the official story, but the truth of how a sect of only a few had the fortitude to cleanse an entire city was not a tale of power, but will. Children in their cribs, not only the men that begged for their life but the women who'd been too naive to see what was happening right under their nose. Before she bent threads to Lloth's will the Goddess had been her closest friend, children of a war so ancient that there were none but the Gods who'd survived.

No one was born cruel, that was something a person was made to learn. Something that a person had to adapt to in order to become. Pain was the quickest, surest way to carve out what lay at a person's core, and as Evanuris watched Harellan crumble towards the ground she recognized the scream that once belonged to her. One that had belonged to the friends she'd known as a child, one that had once been Araushnee's as her fathers were brutally killed by the Sun Court. So many dead, bones upon bones, truth made death a simple and convenient thing. Survival was far more fragile than people realized, one false step, one false judgement, and suddenly it didn't matter how long you'd lived. You'd just be dead.

Writhing shadows worked over the floor as Harellan's blood curdling cry rang out around them. It rattled the stone walls and echoed about them as the hollowborn conjured forth every irrepressible thought that had been bearing down on him. Darkness and pain that mirrored the man's truest face, it was in this anguish that the boy had never been more himself. His design and form perfect in its very conception, when veiled eyes looked towards her through flickering shadows the drider did not step away. Instead Evanuris stepped forward, into the midst of it all as she crouched, "Let it out." She encouraged, "Let it all out: think of the ones who did this to you, let that be what pulls you back. Think of what you'll do to them, visualize it in your mind and when you can see it clear as day piece together how you'll get there. What will you do? What will it take? That's who you are."

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Isaac Cole Powell

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Isaac Cole Powell

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Isaac Cole Powell

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Baby, when’s the last time I ate your ass?

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daniel rampulla

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Viktor clearly hadn't made Blair privy to the specifics of their relationship, but that was just fine with him. Harellan didn't need anyone to like him. If they did, that was fine. If they didn't, well, he'd deal with it any way he saw fit. Whether it was changing their memories or killing them, it made no difference to him. He hadn't decided yet what he wanted to do with her though. Both the former and the latter options didn't seem fitting enough. Maybe the latter would be more pleasing. Then she would be out of the picture forever. He'd think about it. "Of course it's my personality. What's not to like?" There were other things that kept the two of them together, but the cambion didn't need to know that. "I don't need to worry about him. You do more than enough of that for the both of us, don't you?" If they both weren't as gay as Fletcher dressed in overalls at a Melissa Etheridge concert, then the hollowborn would've started to think that Blair had a thing for Viktor. Instead, she was just an overbearing friend. Harellan couldn't figure out what he would've preferred.

She opens her mouth to speak only to abruptly shut it and take a deep breath, roll her shoulders back. Yelling at Harellan of all people isn't going to help, that'd simply be too easy. What's going on with Viktor is a delicate topic, one that she shouldn't have to explain to the man. "For some reason, he likes you. Maybe it's that sparkling personality of yours." He's actually a sociopath, she's almost sure of it. "You can't tell me you're not worried about him." On and off they might be, Blair thought rather begrudgingly that they did seem to genuinely care for one another in a way.

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As much as he would have loved to stop all of the foreplay and just fuck, he chose the opposite. Maybe it was the way the other moaned into the air around him that had him continuing what he was doing. Or maybe it was just the fact that he was oh so obsessed with the way the nephilim looked bent over in front of him. How was he supposed to just pretend he didn't want to stick his tongue so far in that it was sticking out of Viktor's throat? Well, he could probably do that if he wasn't in this form, but that was probably for another time. Instead, he still used the length of his tongue to fuck the other's hole, the moaning only spurring him on.

A hand slapped Viktor's ass again before it formed into the shadows that were always just below flesh. The same hand lengthened to reach the other's throat to wrap around it. It wasn't a gentle grip at all considering he much preferred when the man beneath him was out of breath and begging. He fucking loved it actually. His face pulled away only to spit before his tongue slipped back inside the halfblood's hole again. His grip tightened around the other's throat while the other hand slapped Viktor's ass yet again. He could probably do this for hours, but again, he did so love it when the nephilim begged. And Harellan would always make him beg.

Harellan's mouth wrapped around him, in an easy stretch he took Viktor down completely and then held himself in place. Reflex had the nephilim putting his hand on the back of the other's head as his head craned back. Viktor was already moving hips before Harellan was pulling off and turning him over. While the nephilim had his fair share of assets, there was one that Harellan never seemed to get enough of.

A resounding smack echoed around them as Harellan's hand came down on him, then another as a jolt was sent up the nephilim's spine. His cock had started leaking after the first time, with the second a brief moan was pulled from Viktor; not that he wanted to do anything to stop it anyways, but Viktor couldn't help the way his body responded when Harellan touched him. Something supernatural always felt like it was creeping under his skin, electric and charged whenever Viktor was caught in the hollowborn's orbit. He could only assume this was what people meant when they talked about crushes giving them butterflies or stimulating their fight or flight response. Viktor leaned into it though, turned around and put on his knees, the nephilim arched his back to better put himself on display. Legs spread towards either side as he felt something damp but warm smeared against his skin, tacky in a way before Harellan's mouth was on his hole shortly after.

With his neck craned against the cold ground he could see their reflection in that same, dusty mirror leaned against the wall. Viktor's hand wrapped around his cock, the Ghostface killer with his pants around his thighs, mask screwed but it still worked to conceal everything but his mouth. It wasn't a sight that he'd be forgetting anytime soon. Harellan's mouth was on his hole, his tongue was already working its way inside of him and Viktor couldn't feel anything but warmth as he rocked his hips back against the other's face. Every inch of him screamed how badly he wanted Harellan, and how desperate he was for him. They traded power back and forth, Harellan loved to feel in control and Viktor loved to pretend that wasn't always the case. Splayed across the ground, panting and red faced with his hard leaking cock in his hand and it was obvious that Viktor could only give Harellan anything he wanted.