NO MUMSIE

NO MUMSIE

being sick and reading chapter 13 of @preciouslittlebhaalbae ‘s fic indelible imprints has poisoned my brain and it is rotting and only thinking of drawing astarion in compromising situations 😳

full pic is on my NEW TWITTER https://x.com/sillyfreaknasty/status/1841586507775185211?s=46

LOOK!!! THEY'RE HUGGING!!! LIKE IN THE CHAPTER!!!

hehehehehe they're so cute 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 I made this 🥰

With Stars to Fill My Dream (10) - Let the Dystopian Morning Light Pour In

EVERYBODY!!! 🖤🖤 We've made it to Chapter 10!! I am so happy we've gotten this far! I don't think I've ever made it this far with my writing, and I'm really proud of myself and my perseverance- I care so much about this story and its characters, and I have so much more material written with no end to my inspiration and motivation in sight! I hope this train keeps rolling full steam ahead because I've made so many friends on this journey and I wouldn't be here without them! 🖤🖤

Anyway, I'll quit my yapping so you can enjoy the chapter! Please see some bonus screenshots below!

(P.S. The screenshots are meant to be enjoyed from afar because my editing stuff is not so good. 🖤🖤)

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 9,053

Opening under the cut!

Their group scatters to the winds to check out stalls and mill about as Ofelia and Alfira discuss a few lessons she can learn right away. Wyll and Lae’zel join Karlach and they descend to the blacksmith’s area, Astarion hangs off to the side, not quite in the circle with the two bards but not a part of it. Gale and Shadowheart head off to the apothecary and general goods vendor for potion ingredients and food supplies and in the meantime, Ofelia learns. She learns until her fingers hurt from overuse and twilight begins to overtake the evening sky. The ache is a pleasant reminder that she’s nailed a few spells, her delight overshadowing any exhaustion.

“Can I try one on you?” Ofelia attempts an icebreaker as she walks up beside Astarion, gesturing to her lute. He’s leaning against the weathered rock with his eyes closed, pretending like he hadn’t heard her. If she can free them from whatever rut it is that they’ve been stuck in, she’d like to try.

“I learned Bardic Inspiration, it might be a good idea to practice my skills-”

“Absolutely not.” He mutters sharply, lids still closed. She frowns.

“You’ve been nothing but cold to me all day. I’m sorry about Shadowheart, but whatever this-” She waves her hand in front of him though he can’t see it. “-is, it’s got to stop. The others are starting to notice.” Her voice is like a blade, slicing through his nonchalant demeanor. His eyes snap open and he glares at her- it makes her flinch gently, and it’s clear he notices.

“Let them,” He turns, walking down the ridge and she follows, anger boiling in her blood.

“What’s going on?” She shouts, grateful to be away from her tiefling teacher as he stalks toward the hillside. “What have I done to you? I’m sorry I almost killed you- I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t control it! What happened from when you left me at the river to this morning? What did I do?” She can’t keep the hot rush of emotion from pouring over her words to coat them in betrayal. What happened? They were conversing so easily yesterday- he’d been a bit bristly about her intentions to provide him with her blood, but she thought they’d at least come to an understanding…

“Nothing!” He growls, throwing his pack down on the ground to stake a claim on the dirt he stands upon. “All you do is suffocate me with your kindness- why? Do you like taking pity on a monster? I hate being treated like a charity case.” She freezes, stiff and stung. When she takes a soft step back, he glares at her and she feels herself shrink.

What spurred this on?

If anyone should be considering themselves a monster, it’s her.

Kinktober 2024 Day 1: Mirror Sex

pairing: Astarion/f! Tav | Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 4.3k tags/warnings: piv sex, fingering, established relationship, porn with feelings, soft Astarion ──────── summary: Astarion watches the way her face lights up as she speaks about him, affection for her warring with the disappointment he feels that she doesn't extend that same kindness to herself, that she either cannot or does not see herself the way he does. It's a feeling he's all too familiar with. He knows the way those kind of thoughts can fester. If he does nothing else tonight, it will be to ensure that she never has cause to doubt herself like this again. AO3 ┊ kinktober 2024 masterlist

Ysera's never been to a fancy ball before. Wyll himself had dropped by their home the week prior at the behest of his father, inviting both her and Astarion to the High Hall to celebrate the one year anniversary of the fall of the Netherbrain. “A most regal affair,” he had called it, a night full of celebration, dancing, and feasting.

Ysera had gladly accepted Wyll’s invitation, realizing only after she had taken a cursory glance at her wardrobe that she had nothing appropriate to wear to the celebration. Astarion had balked when she'd suggested they pay a visit to Figaro to commission something, insisting that he would much rather do it himself (by which he meant properly) than pay the haughty dwarf even a single copper for his services. 

With less than a week before the ball, Astarion had already finished his own ensemble. The jacket alone featured a damask motif embossed into the fabric and hand-embroidered embellishments of gold and silver, both of which would be sure to turn more than a few heads.

Her own gown would be its twin, and although Ysera would have been just as happy in something far less ostentatious, the thought of playing the part of a wealthy noblewoman for the evening did fill her with at least a little excitement. As a child, she'd often daydreamed about what it might be like to live in a fancy palace and spend her days entertaining various lords and ladies, and this was perhaps the closest she'd ever come to fulfilling that childhood dream.

Presently, Astarion kneels before Ysera and busies himself with her gown, measuring and marking as he goes. His brows are knit in concentration, mouth pressed into a thin, taut line. Ysera feels almost swallowed by the amount of lace, tulle, and other fabrics, struggling to see Astarion at all over the voluminous skirts that flow down to her ankles. Her feet hurt from standing for so long, but Astarion had insisted it would be easier for him to properly hem and make adjustments to the garment if she was actually wearing it rather than fussing with it on a mannequin.

Ysera glances sidelong at the mirror beside her, golden eyes tracing the outline of her gown and the intricate details Astarion has embroidered across the bodice, made of the same embroidered fabric as his jacket. The gold and silver thread he's used to accent the dark fabric glimmers in the candlelight, a sea of shimmering stars across a sky of midnight black. The bodice displays just enough of her chest to be tasteful and tapers at her waist, accentuating her curves. The skirts allow her plenty of movement – the only request she had made – almost too full but certainly appropriate for such a high-class celebration.

She should be pleased to wear something so lovely, and yet…

As her eyes drift from the gown to her reflection, her expression sours. Lovely as it is, it only serves to highlight her own imperfections: her face, plain by comparison, the scars that mar her cheek and neck, as well as the other various blemishes that are suddenly glaringly apparent. Her waist and hips have filled in somewhat during the past few months, and her body has lost much of the lean, toned muscle she had acquired while traveling across Faerûn with Astarion and the rest of her companions. The skirts of her gown thankfully conceal most of her lower half, but that doesn't stop her from feeling self-conscious.

The thought occurs to her that maybe Astarion had styled it that way on purpose, to draw attention away from the less appealing parts of her body, but she refuses to entertain such an absurd thought for any longer than necessary.

And it is an absurd thought, isn't it?

The more she looks at herself, the less she likes what she sees. With a soft sigh, she turns her head away, but she can't help but frown. Her own appearance had never been anything of much importance for most of her life. Some of her previous partners had been rather attractive, but none of them had been nearly as handsome as Astarion. And at any rate, most of them had been nothing more than a one-night affair, where looks were largely irrelevant once the lights were out.

Astarion is the only man who's ever made her want to feel pretty. A shame that she hasn't lived up to her own expectations. What must he think when he looks at her? Is he disappointed?

As if he's read her thoughts, Astarion glances up at her, and their eyes meet briefly before she looks away. She prays he hasn't noticed something is off, but to her dismay he clears his throat to get her attention.

“What's the matter, darling?” Astarion asks. His expression softens when her face falls. “Do you not like the gown?”

Ysera shakes her head quietly.

“No,” she replies, her own voice sounding foreign as it comes out small and timid. She tries to smile at him but she can tell by his reaction her face is anything but happy.

“I love it. It's just…” She hesitates out of embarrassment. Finally, she admits to him, “I feel like it might be wasted on someone like me.”

A frown furrows Astarion's brow. He gets to his feet and sets his tools aside, turning his full attention to her. The troubled way he looks at her makes Ysera feel guilty, and she chews absently on her bottom lip.

“What do you mean?” he presses. Astarion's voice is heavy, not with anger or disappointment, but with concern. He takes her hands in his own, leveling a glance at her that she's reluctant to return. She doesn't want to look into his eyes, to see the pain she knows she'll find there. He waits patiently, smoothing his thumbs over the back of her hands.

Talk to me.

“It's beautiful,” Ysera concedes glancing down at his handiwork. Astarion's talents have grown significantly in the past months, and this gown in particular may be his best work yet. But then again, he pays no expense when it comes to her. It's obvious he intends her to make a statement at the ball, one way or another.

“It’s a gown fit for a patriar’s daughter.” She expects him to preen beneath her praise, but his expression remains troubled. Ysera sighs again.

 “And I'm just… well, me.”

Plain. Ordinary. Certainly not worthy of such splendor, even if she is one of the famed heroes who saved the city. She hadn't chosen any of it, of course; she was simply a random victim plucked off of the streets who happened to luck her way into survival.

Astarion tenses and tugs her off the stepstool she's been standing on for the past hour, and her bare feet brush against the floor as she tumbles into his arms, where he catches her. He still hasn't finished fitting her bodice, and the fabric almost slips off her body before Ysera gathers it up and holds her arms around herself to preserve her modesty.

Astarion's eyes widen slightly as if in surprise before narrowing again. She knows he isn't pleased with her assessment.

“When have I ever given you the impression that you were anything short of perfect?”

Ysera's chest tightens at the strained tone in his voice; it's clear he blames himself for her lack of confidence, and she hates the way that makes her feel more than anything. 

“Never,” she assures him. He's been nothing but supportive since the night he first confessed his feelings for her – longer than that, if she really thinks about it. “But you're obligated to –”

Astarion cuts her off with a vehement shake of his head, his frown deepening. She lets him spin her around so they're both facing the mirror, but her attention is trained on Astarion as he stands behind her. 

“I am not obligated to do anything, Ysera.” She can't see his face, but it's easy enough to make a guess about how stern he must look by the sound of his voice. It's a tone that brokers no room for rebuttal.

“Do you remember the night I asked you to be my mirror?”

“Of course,” Ysera says. It's one of her fondest memories, one of the first times he trusted her enough to let the mask slip, if only for a moment. The way he had asked her opinion of him so earnestly, the sadness and longing in his eyes making her second guess everything she thought she knew about him.

Recalling what she'd said to him is effortless. “I remember telling you how much I loved your eyes,” Ysera says. “Your smile. The way you laugh when you tell a particularly awful joke.” Her reflection smiles back at her, beaming as she thinks about everything she loves about him. The list is much longer now then it had been back then, and she takes the time to properly admire every entry she's mentally catalogued during their time together.

Astarion watches the way her face lights up as she speaks about him, affection for her warring with the disappointment he feels that she doesn't extend that same kindness to herself, that she either cannot or does not see herself the way he does.

It's a feeling he's all too familiar with. He knows the way those kind of thoughts can fester. If he does nothing else tonight, it will be to ensure that she never has cause to doubt herself like this again.

With a resigned sigh, Astarion admits to her, “Did you know that at the time, I was convinced that you were simply telling me what I wanted to hear? You wouldn't have been the first person to do so, after all.”

Ysera's mouth opens to refute his words, but a firm squeeze on her shoulder convinces her to listen to whatever else he has to say.

“But the first time I saw myself through your eyes – truly saw myself – I knew then that I had been wrong.”

She had done more than simply tell Astarion what she thought of him that night. With his permission, she had used their tadpoles to let him look through her eyes, to see himself for the first time in two hundred years. Once he had processed exactly what it was he was looking at, had studied every inch of his face and nearly turned away in revulsion, he had felt it: Ysera's affection for him, undeniable and so sincere that he hadn't known what to do with it at the time. He was a monster, and yet she had looked at him without a trace of fear or hatred in her heart.

“Of course you were,” Ysera says in protest. “You're –”

Astarion clicks his tongue in disapproval and shakes his head.

“Shh,” he scolds her, not unkindly. His arms wrap around her waist from behind as he molds his body to hers, chest flat against her back. He rests his chin on her shoulder. The fabric of her gown bunches beneath his arms, but without his reflection she can't see the tender way he holds her as she stares at herself in the mirror.

“This isn't about me, love,” he murmurs, sensing her distress. It's not the first time he's wished they were still tadpoled, this time so he could show her just how perfectly she fits in his embrace.

Astarion presses a chaste kiss to her cheek.

“Now… would you like to know what I see when I look at you?”

Ysera’s breath hitches, and she considers his offer.

“Yes,” she breathes, after a time, voice hardly above a whisper. She cranes her head to look at him, but he gently guides her attention back to her reflection, insistent that she does not look away. It pains him that she still thinks so little of herself after all this time.

“I see a woman who is kind and resilient,” he tells her, “who isn't afraid to throw herself head first into danger to protect the people she cares about.” The ribbon holding back her hair comes free with a quick tug, and her pink tresses spill over her shoulders and frame her face.

Astarion continues: “I see someone who was dealt an extraordinarily bad hand but kept fighting, despite the odds against her. And most importantly… I see someone who is loved.”

There are tears welling in her eyes when Ysera turns in his arms. She lets go of the dress, and without the additional support the loose fabric falls gracefully to her feet in a pool of inky black, leaving her in nothing but her underthings as she takes Astarion's face in her hands and kisses him. His mouth yields effortlessly to her, opening enough so that she can sweep her tongue between his lips and show him just how grateful she is for his kindness. He kisses her back, slow and soft.

“Don't sell yourself short, darling,” Astarion says, capturing her chin between his thumb and forefinger when they part for breath. His eyes are a deep, dazzling red, half-lidded and full of longing. “I won't hear another word of it.”

Ysera blinks away her tears and looks up at him. She can't help the grin that spreads across her face, the way her heart seizes in her chest as his words finally begin to sink in. Oh, how she loves him.

“Thank you, Astarion.”

“Oh,” Astarion says with a huff of laughter, fangs gleaming as he throws her a playful smile. He scoops her into his arms and sets her on the edge of his work table amongst the array of sketches and bolts of fabric scattered across the polished surface. “You thought I was finished?”

Ysera's face grows hot beneath his scrutiny. She should be cold, dressed in so little clothing, but the way Astarion looks at her makes her whole body feel warm and tingly. 

“I haven't even told you about those striking golden eyes of yours,” Astarion murmurs, “and the way they blaze more brightly than the sun.” He cups her face with his hand, smoothing the pad of his thumb over the jagged scar beneath her eye. “Or your scars that remind me of how strong you are.” He can see the effect that particular compliment has on her almost immediately. Ysera leans into his gentle touch, the coolness of his skin, and sighs.

“And here…” He presses his fingertip between her covered breasts, dragging it slowly down her stays. Ysera flushes a deep red and squirms in embarrassment.

Astarion laughs in amusement. “Your heart , love,” he says, rolling his eyes dramatically. “What did you think I meant?”

She pouts at him, but it's all for show. He loves to tease her, and she makes it so easy for him. After a moment, Astarion places his broad hands on either side of her ribcage and slowly drags them down her body. Ysera shivers as gooseflesh blooms in their wake. His eyes have darkened slightly, and when the candlelight catches them she sees shades of black interspersed between ruby reds.

Astarion's fingers sink into the soft swell of her hips, tender but possessive. She bites back a noise but can't completely conceal the soft moan that escapes her lips.

“Those gorgeous hips of yours,” Astarion says now, “so perfect for digging my hands into when I kiss you.” To substantiate his claims, he dips his head to capture her mouth in a searing kiss, tongue pressing against the seam of her lips before she opens for him. He hums in approval, kissing her with a slow, purposeful intensity as his tongue explores her mouth, savoring the taste of her.

He pulls away just as Ysera's eyes flutter closed, leaving her breathless and panting slightly. Astarion's gaze lingers on her face a moment longer before trailing downward, admiring every inch of her body before halting between her legs. Ysera follows his line of sight and flushes again when she realizes where he's looking.

Astarion's voice is low and playful when he says, “And don't even get me started on your –”

Ysera swats at him before he can finish, too embarrassed to hear him say the words. “Astarion!”

The corner of his mouth quirks upwards, brows raised. She laughs softly and gives him an apologetic glance. 

“Okay, okay, I get it.” Her tail twirls happily, not a trace of her earlier uncertainty still present in her expression. Like a wilting flower exposed to sunlight after languishing in the darkness, Astarion's affirmations have breathed new life into her.

She really is beautiful. And he would very much like to kiss her again.

So he does. This time there is more passion in his movements, and she slips a hand into his hair as her ankles lock behind the small of his back to pull him closer. 

With one hand still anchored on her hip, Astarion takes her other hand and guides it between his legs. Her breath catches when she feels his hardening erection, the outline of it stiff beneath his trousers. He breaks the kiss and keeps his face close to hers, close enough for her to hear the growl in his voice.

“Do you see what you do to me, Ysera?” he says to her. “How badly I want you? How much I need you?” She brushes her hand over his clothed cock and exhales another sigh. Her golden eyes are wide, pupils blown as she looks up at him and nods quietly. 

“My beautiful girl,” Astarion says, and it's somehow this above all his other praises that makes her heart flutter. Her hands lift to the buttons on his waistcoat at the same time he reaches behind her back to unbind her breasts, and in only a few short moments they've undressed each other completely. Ysera's eyes are everywhere: his sculpted torso, his nimble hands; the perfect angles of his face, and of course his cock, now fully hard and eager for her.

The way her eyes rove hungrily over his body stirs something deep inside him. He wants her – gods, does he ever want her – but he can be patient. For her, he can do anything, will do anything.

Ysera's legs part with only a little coaxing as Astarion slips between them, their bodies flush together as he positions himself in such a way that her head rests comfortably on his shoulder. When her vision focuses, Ysera sees he's purposely positioned her to watch herself in the mirror she had been so hesitant to look into before – to see how she looks at the peak of her pleasure.

Without Astarion’s reflection to interfere, her full body is on display, and she stares anxiously at herself as Astarion commands, “Don't look away, my love.”

She swallows and nods, composure broken the moment Astarion's hand works its way between her thighs and his fingers part her folds. A sharp gasp tears itself from her throat when he brushes past her entrance, gathering her arousal and spreading it along the path he traces to her clit. As his fingers spread her open, Ysera struggles not to squeeze her eyes shut, whimpering when he teases the bundle of nerves with gentle passes of his dexterous fingers. He is gentle and patient, pleasuring her for the sake of her own enjoyment over his own.

Ysera's hands settle around his back and she clings tightly to him. Astarion has her moaning incoherently before long, but she keeps her eyes trained ahead, even though her vision swims. The hand not currently occupied between her legs traces the curve of her spine, his blunt nails dragging a path down her back as she arches into him.

“Are you watching, Ysera?”

Ysera murmurs the closest thing she can to a “yes,” fascinated by the way her body accommodates the two fingers he begins to press into her dripping cunt. Her thighs tremble as he sheathes them inside her and caresses the spot inside her that ignites every nerve ending in her body with pleasure. The sounds she makes are music to his ears.

Ysera watches as Astarion pumps his fingers inside her, dragging soft whimpers from her throat each time he pulls out before pressing in deep once again. He is silent but for the occasional groan when her walls clench around his fingers, careful not to distract her from her reflection. Each time he spreads her open she can see the arousal gathered between her thighs, how eager her body is for more of him.

Only someone as intimately familiar with her body and its needs as Astarion is could bring her this much pleasure. He remembers what she likes because he loves her, because she is important. Because he wants her to enjoy every second of their time together.

“I am not obligated to do anything,” he had said.

Ysera's heart constricts in her chest before fluttering beneath her ribs like a caged bird. He knows she's finally beginning to understand.

“That’s my girl,” Astarion purrs. “Are you ready for me? I want you to see how stunning you look when I'm inside you.”

“Uh-huh.”

As soon as she gives her consent, Astarion pulls away from her, just enough to line his cock up with her entrance as he spreads her arousal over his length. Her mouth falls open as he slips his fingers over her tongue, letting her taste herself before he kisses her again. Ysera's eyes fly open as he pushes himself inside. Her body barely has to adjust to the intrusion, the combination of her wetness and his earlier efforts more than enough to make it easy for him to sink himself to the hilt.

Astarion meets her gaze briefly before she looks over his shoulder once more. Her body rocks in time with his thrusts as he fucks into her and messages her breasts in his hands. It's much easier for her to abandon her intrusive thoughts when he's lavishing so much enthusiastic attention on her, reassuring her that his praises are far more than just empty words.

His cock stretches her wide each time his hips roll forward, burying himself inside her inviting heat. There is no urgency to his rhythm, and she can feel every inch of his cock that much more precisely as he makes love to her – and that's what it is, for there are no other words to describe how gently he holds her, how focused he is on pouring his passion into every thrust of his hips, every open-mouthed kiss he places across her neck.

“Look how well you take me, Ysera,” he groans into her ear. “We were made for this – for each other.”

How could it be anything but true? She can see the evidence of it herself, there in the mirror, how her body molds to him, his precome and her own slick glistening between her parted thighs as he makes her feel so complete. Her face is contorted in pleasure, slicked with sweat, hair damp and clinging to her shoulders. 

When Astarion releases her to place one hand on her hip, her breasts bounce freely between their bodies. His other hand grips her chin, averting her gaze back to his face. 

“Do you understand now?” he pants. Astarion looks at her with a strange sort of reverence, his gaze soft and intense all at once. 

“Yes,” Ysera breathes. “Yes, Astarion.” Flawed though she may be, that is why he loves and admires her – not in spite of her imperfections but because of them. There is no one else like her, no one who even comes close. And if ever she should doubt herself again, this night will be the only reminder she needs that her fears are completely unfounded.

“I'm sorry,” she apologizes, throwing her legs around his back and tightening the grip of her arms around him. Astarion sighs and offers her an affectionate smile before shaking his head.

“Hush, darling,” he says. “You've nothing to apologize for. I've lived long enough without a reflection that I know how easy it can be to lose sight of yourself. My only regret is that I didn't notice sooner.”

Astarion slots his mouth against hers as they share a tender kiss, and Ysera's hands rise to cup Astarion's face as he begins to move faster, their soft moans muffled in the infinitesimally small space between them. His cock rubs against that sensitive spot inside her, building her pleasure to a blissful crescendo. Each of her moans is swallowed by Astarion's hungry kisses, the hand on her chin sliding into her hair to keep her close.

Their eyes lock in the final moments before she comes undone, hands threading through Astarion's soft white curls as she gasps his name like a prayer. He follows her with a groan, emptying himself inside her as they both ride out their orgasms together.

In the silence that follows, Astarion rests his forehead against hers, reveling in their closeness and the familiar sound of her heart as it calms its wild pace.

“I love you,” she says.

Astarion smirks at her through his fangs.

“I know.”

Ysera exhales loudly, and Astarion can feel the crease in her brow as she pouts at him. Her tail slips behind his back, and she gives him a good whack. “Stubborn man. Wonderful. Terribly handsome. But still stubborn.”

Astarion laughs to himself in satisfaction and presses an apologetic kiss to the tip of her nose.

“I love you too, darling.”

WIP Whenever!

Hehe, thank you for tagging me @verbenaa 🖤🖤 I've got so much in store, some kinktober stuff (yes, the infamous incubus fic that has been in the works since July) but have some Chapter 12 dance stuff!!! Because I have really pretty art to share with that chapter and I'm so excited since the person who made it for me put so much beauty and hard work into it!

His companions dance, embers stretching up to the stars. He watches, listens, hears the words wash over him, and feels the drum resonate in his chest, the lyrics lighting over his subconscious. When she’s exhausted, her body radiating heat, sweat clinging to her skin in a glossy glow, he stares brazenly. She walks over to him, her cheeks flushed red, her hands raising to settle on his shoulders. He thanks the ithbank Wyll had passed around for her warm eyes as she rests against his chest, arms wrapping around his neck while a soft melody, unlike the one before, billows around them. Unsure what else to do, he settles his hands on her hips, swaying slightly as she sighs. “Thanks for carrying me back.” She murmurs into his chest and he snickers softly, knowing someone would have told her. “You’re very welcome.” She laughs this time, pulling away to look into his eyes. Her gaze distracts him, not noticing Shadowheart slow-dancing with Wyll while Gale casts a copy of himself for Karlach to twirl. Lae’zel is sitting on the ground, a half-empty bottle in her hand, looking satisfied and surprisingly content. He wants to ask about their talk in the windmill, about her reluctance but lets the questions die on his tongue as she smiles at him. He wants to pull her in close, maybe work some kind of magic to entice her into a kiss, but she doesn’t seem to need it. On her own, she moves closer and he closes his eyes, waiting for her soft lips to touch his, but it never comes. Instead, she leaves a featherlight peck on his cheek, gentle, before resting her head against his shoulder. He looks at her hair, and the pink tips of her ears, at a loss for words as the music takes them the rest of the way through the evening.

Tagging all of you again if you feel like sharing 🖤🖤 @preciouslittlebhaalbae @inkymoonbunny @justabiteofspite @elinorbard @ladyduellist @roguishcat @khywren @kalmiaphlox

With Stars to Fill My Dream (10) - Let the Dystopian Morning Light Pour In

EVERYBODY!!! 🖤🖤 We've made it to Chapter 10!! I am so happy we've gotten this far! I don't think I've ever made it this far with my writing, and I'm really proud of myself and my perseverance- I care so much about this story and its characters, and I have so much more material written with no end to my inspiration and motivation in sight! I hope this train keeps rolling full steam ahead because I've made so many friends on this journey and I wouldn't be here without them! 🖤🖤

Anyway, I'll quit my yapping so you can enjoy the chapter! Please see some bonus screenshots below!

(P.S. The screenshots are meant to be enjoyed from afar because my editing stuff is not so good. 🖤🖤)

Summary: A street-smart, musically inclined human girl with a tragic past gets abducted by a nautiloid after her painfully average shift at a retro singing diner. What's worse- putting your all into Olivia Newton-John and Travolta for lousy tips, or getting your guts ripped out by a gnoll? Or worse- getting turned into a hideous humanoid squid? Ofelia Montez will have to see if she can survive long enough to find out.

Pairing: Astarion x female!Tav

Warnings: 18+. Mentions of past abuse and trauma. Canon-typical violence and gore.

Word Count: 9,053

Opening under the cut!

Their group scatters to the winds to check out stalls and mill about as Ofelia and Alfira discuss a few lessons she can learn right away. Wyll and Lae’zel join Karlach and they descend to the blacksmith’s area, Astarion hangs off to the side, not quite in the circle with the two bards but not a part of it. Gale and Shadowheart head off to the apothecary and general goods vendor for potion ingredients and food supplies and in the meantime, Ofelia learns. She learns until her fingers hurt from overuse and twilight begins to overtake the evening sky. The ache is a pleasant reminder that she’s nailed a few spells, her delight overshadowing any exhaustion.

“Can I try one on you?” Ofelia attempts an icebreaker as she walks up beside Astarion, gesturing to her lute. He’s leaning against the weathered rock with his eyes closed, pretending like he hadn’t heard her. If she can free them from whatever rut it is that they’ve been stuck in, she’d like to try.

“I learned Bardic Inspiration, it might be a good idea to practice my skills-”

“Absolutely not.” He mutters sharply, lids still closed. She frowns.

“You’ve been nothing but cold to me all day. I’m sorry about Shadowheart, but whatever this-” She waves her hand in front of him though he can’t see it. “-is, it’s got to stop. The others are starting to notice.” Her voice is like a blade, slicing through his nonchalant demeanor. His eyes snap open and he glares at her- it makes her flinch gently, and it’s clear he notices.

“Let them,” He turns, walking down the ridge and she follows, anger boiling in her blood.

“What’s going on?” She shouts, grateful to be away from her tiefling teacher as he stalks toward the hillside. “What have I done to you? I’m sorry I almost killed you- I didn’t mean to! I couldn’t control it! What happened from when you left me at the river to this morning? What did I do?” She can’t keep the hot rush of emotion from pouring over her words to coat them in betrayal. What happened? They were conversing so easily yesterday- he’d been a bit bristly about her intentions to provide him with her blood, but she thought they’d at least come to an understanding…

“Nothing!” He growls, throwing his pack down on the ground to stake a claim on the dirt he stands upon. “All you do is suffocate me with your kindness- why? Do you like taking pity on a monster? I hate being treated like a charity case.” She freezes, stiff and stung. When she takes a soft step back, he glares at her and she feels herself shrink.

What spurred this on?

If anyone should be considering themselves a monster, it’s her.