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art by devil!

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Shoutout to characters that are both genuinely deeply kind and also genuinely terrifying and willing to spill buckets worth of blood to get something done. And neither of these are an act, they're just both very true.

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RATE YOUR MUSE'S TRAITS 0-10! repost and rate your muse’s traits, then tag your followers!

compassion. 8/10 bitterness. 2/10 happiness. 3/10 politeness. 7/10 chivalry. 2/10 pride. 3/10 honesty. 9/10 bravery. 7/10 recklessness. 3/10 ambition. 2/10 loyalty. 6/10 love. 10/10 sense of family. 0/10 attractiveness. ??/10 agility. 10/10 sex drive. ??/10

tagged by i stole it! tagging everyone!

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anonymous sent. 👀 what did you think the first time you saw a human? (prompt)

"So fascinating a form; so paradoxical, so unique," Helminth reminisces, curling back on itself. "We mapped their anatomy through surface scans, dissected their vocalizations through the muffling of their exo-suits. We could understand them, but it would take time before we could replicate their language."

"We took their shape, thinking it would expedite the process of gaining their trust." A note of guilty acceptance creeps into its voice. "It only frightened them further, and they opened fire and forced us to flee. It was a long time before they were willing to welcome us back after our mistake."

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Send my muse “👀 + a question” and they’ll have to answer with 100% honesty.

No deleting questions, either!

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"A piece without a puzzle," it repeats, head tilted as if to roll the concept about inside its equivalent of a brain. There's something almost birdlike about its movements; precise, stuttering like a holo-drama buffering between frames, a poor emulation of the mannerisms of a dozen other species. "We find that the term nature guardian does not encapsulate the extent of our—oh!"

A sound of distress escapes it as the platform begins to buckle beneath it, and it separates from its bulk with a reflexive jolt; which, inevitability, leaves the FCC at the mercy of gravity. It slumps at an angle deeper into the mud, and Helminth stares in muted bewilderment for a half-second before digging its claws into the rusted hull and forcing it upright once more. The gestalt settles back onto its haunches, the FCC cradled in a tendrilled embrace, still peering over Fordo's shoulder to avoid any semblance of eye contact.

"We will hold it in place while you complete your search," it offers, rather sheepishly. "We did not mean to break it. We often forget that the apparatuses of your galaxy are not designed to last beyond the lifespan of their creators." The robed figure draws its attention; something there is familiar, though it cannot render the memory in full. "Who are they?"

The creature's soliloquy garners it a pointed glance. You reading my mind, buddy? "You're right on the mark. Still feel like a piece without a puzzle, sometimes. Wonder if it's any easier for the folks who weren't born with a purpose. What were you, some kind of nature guardian?"

The circular holoprojector in the FCC's center console activates, emitting an indistinct blue glow. Wiping the dust and dirt off the projector's surface with his glove, the image becomes more discernible as a robed figure. However, the individual's identity still cannot be determined at this level of image compression. The trooper continues to work at the console to rectify this.

"Don't know what I'm looking for. Nothing and anything at all. Maybe I'll know when I find it—" Fordo startles when his seat tips back even further as the platform's rear legs begin to buckle and sink deeper into the mud. "—Careful! Thing was built to outlast the enemy, not the years."

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i have not had the motivation to draw recently but here's a helmie scribble from earlier

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“Typical diffraction pattern of a polycrystalline specimen.” Thin Films. 1971. 

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The gestalt cannot understand the concept of family ties, of love and pain in tandem; but it can understand the feeling of being alien. It hesitates in reaching out, its hand awkwardly hovering in the space between them before it instead plucks a clump of dirt from the ground and rolls it absently across its palm. (The desire to provide physical comfort wars with the knowledge that it is too large, too much, too strange.)

"When we were assigned our first world, we hated it," it breaks the momentary silence. "It was little more than an asteroid; distant from the light of its star and ugly by the standards of Nal'ite society. The species inhabiting it were rotten with genetic degeneration, the land they lived off poisoned to the core. We were certain it was an impossible assignment, and decided we would beg our creators for another world, but our obelisk convinced us to try."

"For thousands of years, we struggled to carve a stable ecosystem out of that rock. For the betterment of the many, we were forced to allow seven species to go extinct. Little by little, generation by generation, the remnants grew healthier. We leeched the poison from the soil, and transmuted it into supplementary biological compounds." Helminth crumbles the dirt between forefinger and thumb, watching it scatter to the breeze. "It was an endless, exhausting task; but eventually it bloomed into a garden world. Our creators then offered us another post, but we refused. Our ugly little rock was everything to us."

It turns its gaze on Brea, folding its hands down one over the other to mask its fidgeting. "Your people are your rock, your purpose. You will doubt them, doubt yourself; you will be forced to make sacrifices you loathe, but as long as you do not lose sight of your goal, you will succeed." Its pupil contracts, focused on the little white flower. "For now, you are beholden to a different task. You will never have the opportunity to rebuild with your people unless the threat of the Absolute is neutralized."

❝ i'm not my mother ... but i am still her daughter. logically ... i recognise that my sisters and i have the opportunity to break a cycle that a long line have vapran maudra's have been chained to ... ❞ her words trail off into something mousy and shy, looking down to the intricate threading in her dress -- losing its colour to time and injury inflicted from travel and combat. ❝ yet i still cannot shake the idea that many maudren before us may have told themselves the same. ❞

it's a comforting thought, however, despite her response to the statement. there was once a time where brea admired her mother's duties, laying her heart flat for traditions that far precede the rule that fell to her ... but as time passed, her mother's corruption became tangible to her. dismissive, secretive, taking that of which wasn't given. for the all-maudra mayrin, conceding to these faults in her rule were subsequently paid in her blood.

❝ i'm not sure whether to apologise or not. ❞ she admits, although it's mostly to herself : as many problems as brea's loved ones create for her, she cannot imagine existing without them. gelfling are incredibly social and community driven creatures ... yet gestalts, she cannot speak for. she can't help but think of how impossible it must be to miss something you've never had. ❝ family is like ... an emotional soft underbelly. they can make and break you. they fill you with so much love, just to oust you from their affections over the most asinine things ... but you can't hold a grudge, they still put the stars in your sky. ❞

her head shakes, dismissive of herself, and she briefly buries her face in her knees. no longer does her skirt smell of ha'rar's perfumed alps or the library's smoky pages. if brea thought herself alien before, she's worse now than she's ever been. ❝ i'm sorry. i don't meant to burden you with my problems ... but you are a good listener. ❞

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@arc-77 // continued

The gestalt's long neck curls back towards him, its eye reflecting a clear image of his helmet. The reflection fades as the inner band dilates, an abstract expression somewhere between sadness and understanding. A hand blossoms from template filaments, fingers uncurling as it stares at its open palm, considering.

"That is a good reason," it says, thinking aloud to itself. "We wonder if the experience is a difficult one, existing without war when you were designed for it; there are other, lesser conflicts, but we imagine they do not feel the same." It coils down, receding into itself. "We are searching for a new purpose too. We have lost the functions that defined us."

Fordo's seat tilts back at a precarious angle as the gestalt leans against it, the aged and rusted mechanisms creaking under its weight. "What are you searching for?" it asks expectantly, nestling its head down in the valley between its hands.

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Arches National Park, Utah photo: Elliot McGucken

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You would love my people, Brea says, and it sees no fault in her claim. It loves all forms of life as only a gardener can; even the illithids, the goblins and their worg mounts, and other vicious creatures. It has seen goodness in each as individuals, and evil in those so typically considered good, and thus refuses to assign morality to strangers at a glance.

"We do not understand your conflict. You are not your mother." It turns its head to meet her gaze, its intense focus reflected in the near microscopic details of its eye. "If you have identified faults with the way things are, perhaps the duty falls to you to change them for the better."

Its words are delivered in a tone of mild uncertainty; for all it knows the Ghel-lflainnk view tradition as immutable, and it has spoken out of turn. With every word it worries its travelling companions will interpret them as a grievous insult, worries they will brand it as ignorant and uncaring.

"No. Gestalts do not have family; those you might consider to be our family are gone, and have been for many of your lifetimes." Helminth studies the stars in turn, absently calculating the distance between them, ever vigilant for any sign of the hungering void that forced it from its home. "The concept did not exist to us prior to our arrival in Faerûn."

she smiles. ❝ you would love my people. you wax poetics about liberty the way a dousan or a sifan might : nomadic clans of skarith that find their home in their people and latitude above patrons and province ... i miss them dearly, despite our differences. ❞ the final words are spoken sigh-like - yet desperate in tone. brea contemplates their safety with each passing minute : sat under the same stars, eyes cast to the same resplendent heavens and celestial bodies ... only, she couldn't be a greater distance from them.

❝ ... my sisters and i were taught of how to contend with our emotions in a maudren way. politics weren't the place for matters of the heart it was about strength, knowing what was right, making the difficult choices ... my mother ❞ brea's knees are pulled under her chin as she hugs them to her body, her cheek pillowing the resting of her head, her attention now absorbed by helminth and it's icy luminance. ❝ by no fault of her own, she was not an honest ruler. and i worry that the honesty in her words extend to the precepts she enforced on us as her daughters. ❞

the scale of mayrin's faults will for now remain unspoken ... it's not something the youngest moon can think too hard about for her own benefit. but there was no denying that the harm she caused and the secrets she kept have unprepared and damaged the ghel-lflainnk people for what may yet be years to come. ❝ do you have any family, helminth ? ❞

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The tendril furls back on itself, receding into the undergrowth wherein Helminth hides the bulk of its form along the edge of the camp. It emerges slowly and only in part, one long, clawed arm first, to lay its head down at her side. The gentle illumination of its filaments limns her in a pale blue glow, pulsing with each cycle of the gestalt's endless thought.

"We were always free. The Absolute cannot enslave us, for our mind is many as one. We can endure any physical harm so long as we remain whole within." It pauses in consideration; does such admittance make it sound dismissive of the group's timely assistance? "We are nonetheless grateful we were released from the cult's grasp. It was a risk, aiding us when you did not know what we are or what we might do."

It tilts its head in alignment with the scribbles in the dirt, puzzling over the shapes it finds there. "You are burdened by a pain that does not bleed or scar," it tentatively observes. "Why do you keep it trapped? Your emotion must be allowed to flow free, not dammed like a river clogged with mud; it will not heal otherwise."

: ̗̀ ✩ LETTER, from @exomused re. a single tendril slithers 'cross the ground and into view; upon reaching the princess, it mantles politely and unfurls to offer her a tiny white flower.

❝ you are too kind, helminth. ❞ four - fingered is the hand that reaches forward to knead at the flowers stem, plucking it from the tendril with a smile that's no less shy than it is thankful. she'd been brooding in her loneliness : drawing in the dirt beside her tent, lilac eyes big and wet in her silence and solitude. the mind flayer parasite were not the only darkness that sat behind brea's stare. haunted by none other than the violent memories of her mother's murder and her sister's rancour and misplaced faith, she worries for her blood and her people, and what may yet become of them. as she twirls the flower between her index finger and thumb, she hums in contemplation, tight-lipped and unsure as she envisions the vast, untouched snow banks of the claw mountains, void of flora. ❝ how do you fare ? now you have your freedom. ❞

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Picture painted by Zdzisław Beksiński, 1979

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#EXOMUSED ━━━━ indie & selective helminth, a fandomless sci-fantasy oc. mutuals only.

carrd / please read the rules below before following. ↴

001 bigotry and harassment won't be tolerated here, or anyone who fetishizes r*pe / inc*st / etc. proship and those who associate with them dni. personals are welcome to follow; i only ask that you don't reblog from me or spam my notifications.

002 this blog is 18+ only. posts will always be tagged with the content warnings relevant to them, and anything explicit will be placed under a readmore.

003 my activity can be sporadic—sometimes i reply to things within a few hours, sometimes a few weeks. if it's been a while with no mention of something i owe you, though, you're more than welcome to give me a nudge; i'm very scatterbrained and a reminder is always welcome!

004 if i follow you, i'm interested in interacting. i don't follow for follow (whatever that means). please don't overuse formatting when replying to me, i have poor eyesight and it makes it difficult for me to read.

005 i'm multi-ship, but i don't prioritize romantic relationships between muses. if you want to write a specific kind of dynamic with my muse, please discuss it with me before bringing it up in-character.

BLACKLIST please tag mentions of #child death and #child abuse. FANDOMS i will not interact with blogs that write for harry p*tter, h*llaverse, or attack on tit*n; this includes multimuses and AUs.

VERSES star wars, mass effect, warframe, d&d / bg3 (tags tba!)