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Belle mais chialeuse, self-portrait 24-25

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Drawtober 6th prompt: Monster

A cabinet of curiosities filled with new and older art of mine.

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Drawtober 5th: Ghost

A couple and their pet on vacations in the countryside

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Drawtober 4th prompt: Undead

Inspired by safety coffins

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Drawtober 3rd prompt: Witch

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TW Body Horror, Blood

Second prompt of Drawtober : Shapeshifter! I wanted to do something other than a werewolf, since I already drew a few of them.

I was inspired by Hemlock Grove's scene when Peter (I think it was his name) shapeshifts, with his skin splitting and ripping open, but I made it as a dragon instead. A smoll dragon, but a fierce one nonetheless.

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First prompt of Drawtober : Vampire! I used my book's OC for this one, Theodota. She's been alone for centuries, frozen in time while societies breathe and die around her, meeting people only for them to leave her just as quickly. Folkore stories evolve to fit its social environment, and with today's ever-growing eco-anxiety, being eternal doesn't have the same appeal as someone consumed by TB. I wanted to portray that loneliness that probably comes with being a vampire, with nothing but memories for company.

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Morticia the Necromancer, my Durge Tav of Baldur's Gate 3.

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freedom

Click here to see the full fanart

freedom, an Astarion/Halsin hurt/comfort fic set in Act 3, so spoilers ahead!

Summary:

"I've yearned for this moment for so long, I don't know why I'm crying," he managed to let out through a choked up throat. He turned and brought his arms around Halsin to seek more comfort, blocking the sight of his old master. Let him hide from the world, for a little while.

Halsin hummed and soothingly stroked his bare back. "It doesn't matter. You're overwhelmed. It's your body simply flushing out the overflow of emotions."

-

Astarion kills Cazador and gets the hug he deserves.

Read on Ao3

Plunging his dagger in Cazador didn’t give Astarion the instant gratification he thought it’d give him. For two centuries, he’d dreamt of ridding himself of the vampire’s steel grasp, of gaining his freedom. All the fear and the pain and the despair he endured with the dream of this moment, only for it to feel… nothing. Nothing but ash on his tongue and the lingering burn from the aborted ritual.

There was no climax, no joy as he killed his old master. Cazador was alive and then he wasn’t, and that was it. Astarion watched his eyes grow dull, the life leaving his long-gone-cold body.

Blood was dripping from Astarion’s fist gripping his dagger, hitting the floor in a soft patter. Pat, pat, pat.

Something was growing in his chest, overwhelming in a way he wouldn’t be able to escape from, nor did he want to. For too long he’d repressed his feelings for the better of others, but no more. A sob climbed up his throat and startled him from his stupor, the sound loud in the almost silent chamber. He realised tears were streaming down his bloodied face, his vision blurry. The discarded dagger clattered in the puddle of blood as he started crying in earnest, unable to stop.

Why was he crying? Cazador was dead, he was free, so why was he sad? He didn’t know what he was feeling anymore, his whole body felt raw and chaffed. This chaos inside of him, the darkness of his anguish and despair, it was all too much. He sat back on his heels and cried for what was no more, for what was to come.

He could sense the others close by, looting and helping his brothers and sisters get their bearing. A small part of him felt ashamed that they would see him like this, unable to control his emotions, but the louder inner voice knew they wouldn’t mind. Not after everything they’d gone through together, the confessions shared over campfires and through hardships. They knew more about him than the people who he’d spent two centuries with. Heavy footsteps joined him by Cazador's corpse, easily recognisable by the gait. Large hands settled on his shoulders, warm and comforting and gentle. Astarion cried harder, his last barrier falling. He was pulled by strong arms against a familiar chest, the smell of Halsin enveloping him soothing some of the raw edges. He hiccuped gracelessly and leaned into the gentle kiss the druid graced his bloodied cheek. "I've yearned for this moment for so long, I don't know why I'm crying," he managed to let out through a choked up throat. He turned and brought his arms around Halsin to seek more comfort, blocking the sight of his old master. Let him hide from the world, for a little while.

Halsin hummed and soothingly stroked his bare back. "It doesn't matter. You're overwhelmed. It's your body simply flushing out the overflow of emotions."

A new flow of tears came at that and fell down the front of Halsin's leather armour. Halsin hugged him tighter and made comforting noises, never letting go. It felt like forever before Astarion's tears dwindled and he calmed down. He didn't want to leave the safety of Halsin's chest, his face hidden from the world. Halsin was stroking his hair, strong fingers gently disturbing his curls. Astarion had to be a mess of snot and blood when he finally felt strong enough to pull away. Halsin fetched a handkerchief from his person and started to wipe his face. "I don’t need your pity," Astarion mumbled, trying to take the tissue from his hand. Halsin didn't give it and continued his task, carefully wiping his lashes.

"It's not pity," he said. "I empathise. I want to help." Astarion sighed. Of course he'd want to help. Halsin was the opposite of him, so good and earnest. Where Astarion wouldn’t have hesitated to mock and ridicule to mask his own insecurities, Halsin comforted and helped because not only did he understand how it felt, but he chose to be kind. Kindness was not something Astarion often chose to do for others, let alone for himself.

The meltdown had left him empty again, but a good kind of empty this time. He was floating in catharsis, a fog muting his emotions. It wouldn’t last, it never did, so he would enjoy it while he could.

Once as cleaned as he could get, Halsin cradled his face and kissed the tight skin under each eyes, then his lips. Astarion leaned into him, absolutely grateful for this bear-shaped druid. He didn’t know he could love someone as much as he did Halsin until he met him.

"I don't deserve you. You're so good, and I'm... not."

"Nonsense. A careful heart is a heart still."

Astarion had a small, albeit tired, smile, which seemed to be Halsin’s goal.

"Come, my heart,” he said, helping him to his feet. “There's nothing to gain in remaining here. Gale and Tav will help your brothers and sisters to the Underdark."

Astarion grimaced and glanced around to see the other would-be sacrifices get their bearings, the telltale glow of Gale's magic illuminating the chamber. He sheathed his dagger and followed Halsin out, never glancing back.

-

Later, much later at the Elfsong Tavern, he tried to read the naughty book Tav had gifted him. She had “found” it somewhere, she’d claimed, but the bookstore crest was still on it and he knew there had been nothing bought from that store. Nevertheless, the book was interesting, but he was in no mindset to focus on it. A few companions of this merry band checked up on him, in their own way. Some were more obvious than others, like Karlach whose hug did comfort him. She was so keen on touching others, after going so many years burning too hot, and Astarion couldn’t resist her puppy eyes.

Shadowheart had a talk with him. Only a few days ago they’d gone to the Shar temple and found out the truth about her childhood and how she’d become a Sharran. All the pain she’d unknowingly inflected on her parents… it was a lot to process. They shared the same concern for the future, now that their past was cut loose.

Now he laid with Halsin in the druid’s bed, his own too messy for two people to lay in it, let alone someone as large as Halsin. They were laying skin to skin, Astarion’s front moulded to Halsin’s side with his thick arm wrapped snugly around him. He was using his pectoral as a pillow and lazily exploring his firm stomach, the fine hairs on it tickling his palm. Neither was in the mood for sex, let alone when their only intimacy was a sheer screen hiding them from their companions. Tonight was for resting, a respite through the storm.

"Your kindness from earlier... I won't forget it. Thank you"

Halsin nuzzled his hair. "I hated seeing your distress. The least I could offer was a shoulder to cry on."

The sorrow was still present, but not as difficult to bear as it had been hours ago. "He made me to be a sacrifice, nothing but a pawn in his twisted game. I won't be a puppet on his strings anymore. I can be better than him."

"You already are. Your will is strong. Of that have no doubt, my heart, and that I will be there to support you."

Astarion reached up for his lips, not trusting his voice in the moment. How lucky was he to have such a sweet, understanding lover. Unyielding in his vision of balance, but so soft, so loving. Easy to fall in love with. Perhaps some altruism of his own wasn’t so out of his way, if Halsin believed in him.

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"I can be better than him."

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"I wish I was drinking out of the skull of everyone who's ever wronged me."

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Cirilla Fiona Elen Riannon - Child of Destiny, Lion Cub of Cintra, Lady of Space and Time

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Strawberry Season 🍓

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Maybe she's a witch, maybe she's seeking an escape from reality.

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Self-portrait 2023

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Toon Me Challenge 2023, a challenge I do yearly to observe my drawing improvement.

2022

2021 & 2020