#[ ag. beatrice. ]

[llamahearted]

they were playing & milly had been planning to lean in and catch her priest man off guard with some joke, but. well. now she's forgotten whatever-it-was she was gonna say

[tiafrye]

Modern heretics, coming right up :')

[allieinarden]

The generation that grows up with Over the Garden Wall will never understand how funny it was watching like 70% of the base flip from Team Beatrice to Team Sara when they watched it a second time.

[illustratus]

Beatrice appears to Virgil (Dante's Divine Comedy) by Gustave Doré

[princington]

Beatrice puts a soft hand on your shoulder. Looking up into the mirror, you make a striking couple, a portrait that your mother would never hang in your ancestral home. Beatrice's unassuming softness, your manufactured intimidation.

based off this post by @foulbearobservation

[darbylou-art]

Them ☀️ ko-fi 💚

[m-m-m-myysurana]

A meeting on the turret stairs with extra WLW yearning, inspired by THIS absolutely bewitching little fic @musingmycelium gifted to @antivan-beau. I had absolutely no choice but to paint it!

Happy OC kiss week to you both!!!

[tiafrye]

Solas x Trevelyan supremacy (╯°□°）╯︵ ┻━┻

[tj-crochets]

I made Miss Beatrice Bear a pair of bloomers out of a scrap of flannel and discovered there is no good way I can find to take a photo of bloomers on a bear plushie

[illustratus]

Dante and Beatrice by Salvatore Postiglione

[onefootin1941]

John Singer Sargent (1856 Florence - 1925 London)

"Miss Beatrice Townsend", 1882

"Eleanor Beatrice Townsend (1870–1884) was the sixth of seven children born to John Joseph Townsend, a New York attorney and politician, and his wife, Catherine Rebecca Bronson Townsend, a friend of John Singer Sargent’s and the subject of her own portrait by the artist.

Portraits of children are among Sargent’s earliest works and remain some of his most captivating paintings. Sargent captures the confidence and self-possession of his young subject as she meets the viewer’s gaze head-on. Only two years after this painting was completed, Beatrice died of peritonitis at age fourteen."

(National Gallery of Art)

History of Art, FB

[jichanxo]

redraw of an umineko piece from 2019 (original under the cut)

this one was drawn/lined traditionally, then coloured digitally. the redraw is all digital.

[the-darkness-does-not-bargain]

"The Anchor expands."

For my Dragon Age Inquisition crossover, How To Stitch Holes in the Sky, courtesy of the wonderful @wolfofwhinter . Look at the lighting, it's 🤌🤌🤌 perfection.

[my-secret-sketchpad]

I decided to share a bit about my Divine Comedy retelling/reimagination I am not sure how to label it. It has Beatrice midway though her mortal life going on a field trip to hell (with Dante included, the boy sure likes revisiting that place I wonder why 🤔).

[miszmal]

braid traaain

[theshotsheardacrossworlds]

Yours

A few vignettes of Beatrice telling Zevlor she's his. Second vignette is NSFW; other two are SFW. Set in Act 3 and post-game.

“Zevlor’s here.” Karlach whispered in Beatrice’s pointed ear. “One of the sisters said he arrived the other day, in the middle of the night. He must’ve—”

She frowned. “Left as soon as the others were safe. And didn’t bother to find me as I asked.”

Karlach nodded. “Yeah, so…okay. Yup, there she goes.” She shook her head, smiling ruefully as she watched the half-drow flag down someone to ask where the older tiefling paladin was.

***

“The shaking is better than yesterday, but I still cannot hold my sword.” Zevlor said to himself, staring at his shaking hands. I expected after the excitement, for lack of a better word, of the battle it would stop. But no. And my pulchra…

The door to his room opened with such force that he thought it would be removed from its hinges.

“Bea?” My love. My darling. Please forgive me.

As quickly as the door was opened, she closed it, hurried to his bed, sat, and pulled him in a tight hug. “Moonmaiden be praised. Why didn’t you look for me? I was waiting for you!” She cried, her shoulders shaking nearly as bad as my hands. “Why?”

Because I’m a coward.

“I-I have no good explanation, I’m afraid. My people…they were with you?” He waited for her to nod and then continued. “I couldn’t face them, and I’m sure they didn’t want to see me either, darling.”

She only held him tighter. “You could’ve come to my camp. You’re always welcome there. But now that we’re…well,” she let him go and smiled. “Not quite in Baldur’s Gate. Rivington is not the Gate.” Duly noted. “Now that we’re here you are welcome in not just my camp but home.” She removed one of her gauntlets and cupped his red cheek. “My home. Let me take you to my house. You can rest there. I can have one of the other clerics from my temple oversee your recovery. Or better yet, Wildheart Manor. Mum will—”

He shook his head. “No, my love. I’m happier here, and I’ve been watching the children while their parents try to find work.” These refugees know nothing of what I did. I cannot make amends or seek forgiveness from my own people, but I can still do some good. You taught me that. Even the smallest act of kindness is worth it.

Not appearing to be convinced at all, my goodness. Pout all you want, dear. I’m not changing my mind. “But—”

He silenced her with a sweet but brief kiss. “No buts. I will remain here, and when all this is over, I promise I will come home with you.”

“Then you,” she suddenly tensed, her brown eyes full of emotion. “You still love me? Stil want this? With me?”

Leaning into her touch, he smiled. “I am yours, pulchra, for as long as you will it.”

With tears streaming down her freckled cheeks, she returned his smile. “So…forever then?”

My sweet darling, don’t cry. I’m yours. I’ve been yours since the moment I saw you at the gate. “If that is your wish, then so it shall be.”

“Really?” Beatrice sobbed, throwing off her other gauntlet. “I didn’t…after you never showed up…I thought…you wanted nothing to do with me…”

“Never. Never.” That she could think such a thing. You have no more excuses, Zevlor of Elturel. Court her properly. “I love you. I love you. I love you. I love you.” He brushed her tears from her perfect, beautiful face. “I love you, Bea.” She threw her arms around his neck with a cry.

I am yours. I will always be yours.

***

As Zevlor admired his lover wearing her newest dress (“Saving Master Figaro from a Bhaalist serial killer has its perks” she told me---I’ll take her word for it), he was outwardly chivalric and near chaste with his praise. I’m still staying in the temple, and it would be inappropriate for me to act otherwise.

On the inside, however, the tiefling’s blood felt like liquid fire.

A plunging neckline to show off those plump breasts of hers.

A silhouette that hugs her curves.

All of them.

What really stands out are her hips---I simply must—

“Zev? Hello?”

He blinked and realized she was giggling, waving her hand in front of his face.

Focusing on her face and not her hips or breasts or how delicious her backside looks, he smiled warmly, holding out a hand for her. “Sorry dear. I was lost in your beauty.” There you go, old man. You can still charm her. Zevlor’s lips grazed the back of her hand, and to his delight, she chuckled.

“Love, I’m not some innocent. I know this dress makes my boobs look amazing.” Not just them, darling. “You truly do like it?”

“Believe me when I say that I love it.” He managed to get out, his member throbbing in his trousers.

She stepped out of his hold and glanced over her shoulder at him, the ghost of a smile tugging the corners of her pretty, so very pretty mouth. “Then show me I’m yours, Zev.”

Well.

I see.

If that is the way of it, Lady Beatrice…

The former Hellrider growled and reached her within moments, clawed hands gripping her hips. “You bloody minx. Do you want me to take you right now? Bend you over that desk?”

“Do whatever you want, love.” She smirked, allowing herself to be positioned bend over the desk he was given. “But the dress stays on.”

He hiked up the white dress and then undid his trousers. “Fuck, you are lovely. So pretty. I have longed for this…for you…” Squeezing her delicious behind, he growled. “One day soon you must let fuck your ass properly…let me come all over your backside…wouldn’t that be nice, pulchra?”

She moaned wantonly, spreading herself further for him. “Yes, love…yes…whatever you want…whenever you want…I’m yours…” As he entered her, she gasped his name. Perfect. My perfect lady. Light of my life. “Gods, Zev…have me…”

With one hand on her hip and the other reaching around to find her clit, his hips snapped back and forth. She told me she loves the ridges on my cock. That they make her feel things she’s never felt before.

Mine.

“Zev!” His lover cried, her inner walls clenching around him. “I-I…I think…”

He placed kisses on her bare back and nuzzled her freckled skin. “Come for me, Bea darling…be a good girl and come for me…” And there she goes! Comes! Fuck! FUCK! “Good girl…Love you…so much, sweetheart…” She felt almost limp in his arms as his hips began to stutter. My turn…I’ll always fill you, pulchra…

Zevlor was fairly sure he blacked out for a few moments.

Gods, if she does this to me now, how will it be when I rut?

Oh.

I’ll need to explain that to her.

But for the present…

He heard her chuckle. “Well shit, Zev---had no idea you were that pent up.”

Barking a laugh, he slipped out of her and gave her behind a pinch. “That, dearest, was all you. You did that to me.”

Beatrice muttered a cleaning spell and then proceeded to pull her smalls up, giggling. “Am I supposed to be sorry about that, or…?”

Shaking his head, Zevlor smirked and pinched her behind again. “Never.”

Never be sorry about setting me aflame, darling. I’m certainly not.

***

Zevlor was pleasantly surprised that his beloved insisted on having tiefling, specifically Elturian tiefling, traditions be part of their wedding. Though I honestly shouldn’t have been. She is thoughtful in that way.

He was surprised when she asked him to attend one of her last fittings before the wedding. I asked why, and she only gave me that sweet little grin of hers. “You’ll see.”

Sitting in Beatrice’s suite at Wildheart Manor next to the countess (and Horace sitting dutifully between us---he’s a lovely little dog), his jaw nearly hit the floor when he saw her.

The half-drow was all smiles as she stood in front of her mother and fiancée and twirled. “Isn’t so beautiful? Hanna, you are brilliant!” she glanced at the tiefling seamstress and bowed her head. He vaguely heard the countess complimenting Hanna, but his gaze was fixed on his future bride.

She was wearing what Zevlor recognized as traditional wedding attire for a tiefling lady but instead of the usual red it was cream-colored with intricate beading and sparkle.

She truly looks like an angel. My angel. My pulchra.

“Zev?” she asked hesitantly. “Do you like it?

Suddenly he felt three sets of eyes on him and cleared his throat. “Darling, I love it, but more importantly, do you? After all, I’m not the one wearing it.”

Beatrice heaved a sigh of relief, smiling, hands on her ample chest. “Thank goodness, because I was going to be sad if you hated it. I love it! I feel so…” Hands now on the skirt, she twirled again. “Pretty! I feel very pretty.”

“Because you are, sweetie.” The countess quipped, motioning for Hanna to follow her out of her daughter’s suite. “I need to discuss a few things with Hanna for my outfit, but you two chat for a bit.” The countess left followed by Hanna, leaving the couple alone.

Zevlor stood and held his hands out for her, which she took with the loveliest smile I’ve ever seen. She smiles so much more now. She’s so much happier, more confident in herself. We spend most of our days together, though she also goes to The Children’s House of Healing with Horace to brighten their spirits. She’ll bring treats for the families, siblings, and staff. It brings her more joy than being a cleric ever did.

Then there’s her—

“You alright? You seem far away, love.” His fiancée whispered, squeezing one of his hands.

Damn.

He gave her a reassuring smile. “Only thinking of you, darling. You truly look stunning. The most beautiful bride I’ve ever seen.”

Her plushness. No longer needing to train every day to wield a greatsword, she softened further. A fact that I greatly enjoy.

Her rapidly reddening face was in her hands in moments. “Oh please, no! That’s not true.”

“Pulchra—” Zevlor gently took her hands from her face and held them.

“I just want to be your bride. That’s’ all. Nothing more than that.” Beatrice then tenderly rested her forehead against his. “Your bride, Zev.”

Yes. My bride. My beautiful bride. Dressed like a tiefling queen. By the gods, am I lucky. He raised a teasing eyebrow. “A fact that you’re very proud of, my dear.”

To his amusement, she stared at him in shock. “Of course I am! Who wouldn’t want to be your spouse?” Plenty. “I’m very proud of that,” she said with a smile. “But this isn’t the only thing I have planned for you, Zev.” She stepped out of his hold and twirled. “Just you wait!”

“I suppose I shall, darling.”

I can’t wait, pulchra.

To be your husband.

For you to be my wife.

And perhaps, if the gods are kind, a child or two.