#mavfelia

[xxnashiraxx]

Reblogging today and @pinkberrytea has decided to honor each line of my fic so guess what ME TOO 💕

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

Literally ARE YOU JOKING. This is so pretty and RAW I'M STILL REELIN'

Vanilla and licorice

You literally just remember everything. I stg.

Velvety, lyrical cadence of her voice

This is just BEAUTIFUL oh my god. How do I PROCESS

the way her corset hugs the curve of her waist so very prettily, and the way her rounded, ample hips spill off it, revealing a thin strip of smooth golden skin

HOLY CRAP. I. Still cannot get over this whole passage- the way you describe her just has me feral, you've done such an insane job and I can literally visualize this so easily 😭

Sitting up suddenly and turning to face Ofelia with fingers curled tautly into fists stop her knees, the freckles on her nose fading under the now brightening color painted over them.

I love love love how this is worded 😭 It's so pretty!!

How long has it been since she’s been touched with such care? With such love? Has she ever been touched like this at all? No, perhaps not. Not like this—never so warmly, never so tenderly.

🥺 I just wanna hug her

“I can’t resist a cute lass with pretty hair,”

Giggling and kicking my feet, they're so cute 😊

Ofelia thinks, sympathetic discomfort tying a knot in her stomach as she fights the urge to squeeze the other’s rosy cheeks. Although endearing, she can’t help but feel it’s also somewhat sad; it prompts a wave of protective instinct to ripple through her, bringing back long forgotten phantoms, faded memories of the little girl she once was—all she had, all she lost.

This is so freaking sad I stg 💔 They both had some terrible upbringings, and I'm so glad you touched on Ofelia's protectiveness- she is, fiercely, this is very good characterization 😭💕

I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where I can take the one I love I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where we can hide, you and I

Though I didn't recognize it at first because it's in English, when you told me I cried fr. It's in the fic for a reason, Rinconcito En El Cielo is a banger and it's my favorite Ramon Aayla song 🥺💖 Ily

pulling out from the pouch an octagonal wooden tub with wire loops on its side, holding a wand. Placing her thumb under the lid, she thus pops it open, revealing the substance held within—kohl.

I am such a sucker for make-up scenes like this, especially the intimacy of them- this is so sweet and cute and very very on brand for her and I love it so much 😭 Also to think Mav probably never got the chance to have a real friendship as a kid or at least not a genuine one makes me so sad- she's healing now 💕

You’re so pretty I feel like I’m not worthy of touching you. You’re so kind I feel like I’m not worthy of looking at you. You’re so warm I feel like I’m but a withering sunflower, and you, the Sun itself.

I love that you've likened Ofelia to the sun, I try to use that imagery and you've just hit that nail on the head 🥺 Mav's internal dialogue makes me so sad though, poor girl 💔 She's 100% worthy 😭

Raspberries and white tea

HEHEHEHHEEEE I can't believe we both thought of raspberries!! I'm still!!! It's so crazy we managed to keep these strictly a secret from each other, and then activated our neurons on the same thing for the kiss. Twins.

Is she entitled to such bliss? Is a love this simple, this easy, a blessing that is within her reach?

It's so sad they aren't able to meet in game like for real. These lines just break my damn heart.

No; not her, not in this universe, not in this timeline. But maybe—just maybe—a different shade of her, somewhere else, far, far away; maybe in a different world, a different dimension, there is a version of Mavka who gets to meet Ofelia Montez, who gets to listen to her sing, dance with her, make love to her—who gets to be happy by her side. Maybe this version of Mavka also shares her first kiss with the bard during a lazy summer evening; a cherry lip paint-flavored kiss, salty and bittersweet, with hearty notes of sweat and sin. Maybe. But for now, their love and their lives shall remain running in parallel, like unfulfilled promises, ghosts of one another—until they next meet.

AGAIN. FR? This CLOSE? RAW. HURT. PAIN. It's so beautiful but so sad 😭 I love them sm and I actually 💔

THIS WAS SO BEAUTIFUL BERRY MY LOVE 💕 I can't thank you enough for participating in this with me, and for suggesting it in the first place! This was so fun to do, I loved getting to write your Mavka 💕 And you wrote Ofelia so well 🥺 I enjoyed every minute, cried quite a bit, and have reread so many times over these last few days 💗 This is amazing and we will definitely have to do this again!!! Thank you again, my love 🥺🫂

aromatic 💋

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

Sugar & spice & all things nice; that's what good girls are made of. When a night of pampering is on offer, Mavka is not about to let the opportunity slide—she is more than happy to indulge Ofelia, regardless of what the bard may have in mind.

Named F!Durge (Ofelia) x Named F!Durge (Mavka)

w/c: 2.4k words . spotify playlist . +18 only . dividers

a/n: happy belated valentine's day! this fic was written for the day #2 prompt of ockissweek25! the lovely ofelia belongs to my dear wife @xxnashiraxx, and mav is mine, of course. this is my first time writing for both, so i'm super excited. i’d like to thank the wonderful @bhaal-battle-beer-bard for her description of mav’s signature scent, which i’ve partly based this piece on. thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoy!

( companion piece here )

tags: fluff & angst; heated kissing; wlw

Vanilla and licorice. Warm, peppery, comforting—reminiscent of her innocent sensuality, Ofelia’s scent pulls in those unsuspecting souls droning around her, lures them with unassuming, saccharine mellowness, only to then ensnare each in a loving embrace; it bathes them in sunshine, enshrouds their weary minds in soothing mist. Upon following the bard inside her tent, Mavka’s slight body is immediately engulfed by the inebriating fragrance’s tingling heat—she feels at ease; she feels safe. 

“Er, pardon the intrusion,” the scrawny tiefling mouths quietly, chin dipping down and tail swishing nervously as she inspects her surroundings with large, watery eyes. Ofelia isn’t looking at her—she’s kneeling beside her bedroll while rummaging through a satchel, whose contents make distinctive clicking sounds whenever the items within roll and bump against each other. Though she’s aware Mavka can’t quite see it, the corners of the bard’s rouged lips instinctively curl into an encouraging smile, her chestnut irises twinkling ever so softly.

“Shush, you. Don’t just stand there. Have a seat!” she says, the already velvety, lyrical cadence of her voice canting with a cheerful lilt. Mavka does as told, slowly lowering herself to the ground and sitting awkwardly with her knees bent and pressed against her chest, both arms encircling them, seemingly trying to occupy the least amount of space possible. As she waits, the tiefling watches her companion with a guarded yet captivated expression, entranced by the way her gorgeous raven hair glistens in the candlelight, draping over her shoulders and exposing the slim column of her neck; the way her corset hugs the curve of her waist so very prettily, and the way her rounded, ample hips spill off it, revealing a thin strip of smooth golden skin. By the Gods, Ofelia is stunning—ethereal even, like an otherworldly being—yet striking though her beauty may be, it’s not intimidating; quite the opposite, never before had Mavka ever felt this relaxed around anyone, not really. Squeamish, silly little Mavka for once had found another whose love she didn’t feel like she had to earn—whose love was a given, its existence as certain and as natural as the inevitability of death. 

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

“C’mon, sit with your back to me,” Ofelia says, beaming with almost childish glee, straight white teeth exposed and eager eyes reflecting the gentle sway of the campfire’s flames. They are both resting on top of a fallen tree trunk, Mavka with her head on Ofelia’s lap, the bard’s elegant fingers delicately carding through the other’s pale pink locks. A guitar sits unplayed beside them—the plan was for Ofelia to serenade Mavka before they went to sleep, but the conversation had quickly steered into an entirely different direction as soon as she’d noticed the tiefling had her hair down.

“N—No, that’s alright…” Mavka blushes, a faint red glow blooming beneath the ashen skin of her cheeks and ears. Ofelia’s grin widens for a moment, gradually softening into a half-smile, and she leans back slightly, shoulders squared and features alight with hardly concealed playfulness.

“Oh? Well, I get it. I guess you don’t trust me enough?” she retorts, moving her eyes away from Mavka’s while still lovingly stroking the tiefling’s hair, voice pitching down in faux disappointment. The bait works like a charm—Mavka takes it with nigh impressive assiduity, sitting up suddenly and turning to face Ofelia with fingers curled tautly into fists atop her knees, the freckles on her nose fading under the now brightening color painted over them.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” The words come out in a jumble, almost bursting from her lips as she flusteredly tries to gather her thoughts. “What I meant was—I…” Mavka stutters, drawing in a sharp breath, her tail thumping loudly onto the tree trunk’s bark. “I trust you. Of course I trust you,” she mutters, staring down at her feet, and Ofelia isn’t sure whether to feel guilty or amused; it’s really hard not to mess around with a gullible girl such as she, after all, not when her reactions are this adorable.

“I know, sweetness.” Ofelia chuckles, holding one of Mavka’s hands in hers and squeezing it reassuringly. “So let me take care of you, okay? C’mon.” She lets go briefly only to then lightly pat her own legs, motioning with her head towards a spot on the ground right below them. After glancing back and forth between the ground and her companion, Mavka at last acquiesces, reluctantly dragging herself out of the tree trunk before kneeling with her back turned to the bard, who loses no time burying all ten fingers between the tiefling’s ivory horns. Their soft pads run down her scalp, smoothing the fine, silken tresses covering it, and Mavka lets out a small sigh, feeling pleasurable tingles tickling the base of her neck; as she involuntarily closes her eyes, relishing the sensation, her mind starts to wander. How long has it been since she’s been touched with such care? With such love? Has she ever been touched like this at all? No, perhaps not. Not like this—never so warmly, never so tenderly. 

“I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your hair since I first saw you, you know?” The bard’s melodious voice brings Mavka back from her daze, but she remains with her eyes closed, yet listening attentively to every word. “I can’t resist a cute lass with pretty hair,” Ofelia teases, watching proudly as the pointed tips of Mavka’s ears start burning bright red again; taking three sections of hair, she then begins braiding them leisurely, purposefully letting her manicured nails gently graze the sensitive skin underneath, noticing how each brush of her skilled digits causes it to break out in goosebumps.

“This feels nice…” Mavka says, undeniable contentedness lacing the quiet tone with which she speaks. Hearing the other moving behind her, seemingly reaching for something, she almost lets her curiosity get the best of her—however, just as she’s about to look over her shoulder, she feels something lightweight being pushed into her hair; then again, and again. Though curious as to what Ofelia may be doing, she decides to be patient, and the two spend the next few minutes in silent bliss, simply enjoying each other’s company.

That until—

“Oh, I need to show you this. Let’s go back to my tent, I have a mirror!”

“Here it is!” The bard exclaims as she enthusiastically produces a hand mirror, instantly drawing the attention of Mavka’s curious eyes; she waits expectantly while Ofelia crawls to her, and once the space separating them has narrowed enough, the tiefling is finally able to peer at her likeness on the other side of the mirror’s glassy surface. “So? What do you think?” Ofelia asks, holding it up so Mavka can better see the braid swept around her neck and over her chest, which she now notices is adorned with small white flowers.

“I—I look… I look like a princess!” she blurts out, lilac irises sparkling and pale face flushing with naïve excitement. That’s just a simple braid though… Ofelia thinks, sympathetic discomfort tying a knot in her stomach as she fights the urge to squeeze the other’s rosy cheeks. Although endearing, she can’t help but feel it’s also somewhat sad; it prompts a wave of protective instinct to ripple through her, bringing back long forgotten phantoms, faded memories of the little girl she once was—all she had, all she lost.

I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where I can take the one I love I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where we can hide, you and I

“Hey—I have an idea. Just a moment!” Ofelia leaves Mavka’s side to yet again stick her arm in the satchel, only this time the object she is looking for is much larger, and therefore, easier to find: a small pouch, which she then brings back with her. “Have you ever had someone else do your makeup?” she asks while opening the pouch, running her fingers over the bits and bobs shuffling around inside it, carefully considering her options.

“Makeup?” Mavka repeats the term a bit stupidly, still a little spaced-out after being shown her reflection. However, before she can formulate an answer, Ofelia finally makes her decision, pulling out from the pouch an octagonal wooden tub with wire loops on its side, holding a wand. Placing her thumb under the lid, she thus pops it open, revealing the substance held within—kohl. 

“C’mon, close your eyes for me!” Ofelia says, taking the wand—an applicator—and pushing it inside the tube. Mavka silently complies, despite her apprehensiveness; once she does, the bard presses the now kohl-covered wand to the arch of her right eyelid and starts gently applying the black powder along the tiefling’s lash line, lightly dabbing the edges with the tips of her fingers to smudge it some. “Do you have any idea how pretty you are? You look like a doll,” she hums absentmindedly after a while, still focused on her task, but letting her gaze wander a little, flickering it over Mavka’s freckled nose, her plump pink lips, the small dimples on the corners of her mouth. It occurs to her that this is the first time she’s seen them up close.

“N—No, not at all.” Feeling Ofelia’s cool breath on her skin as she switches over to her left eye, Mavka knits her brows tightly, that all too familiar rush of blood prickling her ears the instant she becomes aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between them. “You’re the one who’s pretty, really. The prettiest I’ve ever seen,” she utters the words before they can be swallowed, the blood now spreading to her cheekbones and nose bridge. She’s at least grateful she’s caught herself in time not to voice the thoughts still threatening to spill from the recesses of her brain onto her tongue—You’re so pretty I feel like I’m not worthy of touching you. You’re so kind I feel like I’m not worthy of looking at you. You’re so warm I feel like I’m but a withering sunflower, and you, the Sun itself.

“Shush, silly. We can both be pretty.” Ofelia speaks with such gentleness that the intrusive thoughts are progressively silenced, one by one. Instead, Mavka tries to pay attention solely to the smooth glide of the wand over her delicate lids, to the shivers running up and down her body under the inviting heat irradiating from Ofelia’s hand; until she pulls it away, making the tiefling shudder from the loss. “There! All done. Now, let’s see…” When Mavka’s eyes flit back open, she sees Ofelia reaching for the pouch once more, digging through it for some time before grabbing a tiny pot, whose cap she promptly removes. “Lip paint!”

Inside the pot is a glossy cherry-colored paste with a waxy consistency, which Ofelia meticulously coats her fingers in, only to again approach Mavka, who unlike moments ago is acutely conscious of just how intimate this all feels. “Pucker up, sweetness,” the bard says, an order that is obeyed almost unconsciously as if Mavka’s muscles were moving on their own, her mind now trapped deep within the dark pools of the bard’s irises, unable to register anything but the amber flecks swimming around her pupils. 

“Can I touch you?” Ofelia asks, her voice somewhat sheepish as sudden shyness starts to also deepen the olive shade of her skin, giving it a ruddy undertone. In hindsight, she should have asked earlier, but touching someone’s eyes is one thing; touching their mouth is, well, different. Mavka nods timidly, and Ofelia nods back, clearing a lump in her throat. She breathes in slowly, taking in Mavka’s image, her face flushed, eyes wide and lips puckered—adorable. Then, after brushing her own hair to the side, she pushes the pad of one of her tinted digits against the other’s bottom lip, feeling it give in and dip easily under the pressure. So soft… she thinks, trying but failing to ignore the growing need blossoming in her chest—the persistent, nearly painful need to know what Mavka tastes like. Flowery like spring? Sweet like honey? Or maybe something unexpected, something that Ofelia never would have guessed; earthy like a rainy day, citrusy like lemonade. She wants to know—must know, even. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is whispered rather than spoken, and Mavka nods again, not thinking twice. Worried that if she waits any longer that will be enough time for them both to second guess themselves, Ofelia decides to cover Mavka’s mouth with hers there and then, cupping the tiefling’s warm cheek with the hand she had been using to apply the lip paint and resting the other on the small of her back. Raspberries and white tea—more fruity than she had imagined, not quite as floral, initially light and mellow, then surprisingly rich. Addictive.

“Hmng—‘Felia…” Mavka mewls, wrapping her arms around the bard’s neck, and in so doing, pushing their bodies flat together; she feels the generous swell of Ofelia’s bosom flush against her own, feels the softness of her curvy figure, feels the warmth of her supple skin. Their lips move in perfect harmony, sometimes with lingering wistfulness, sometimes with greed and hunger. Is she allowed to feel something so pure? Is she entitled to such bliss? Is a love this simple, this easy, a blessing that is within her reach? 

my heart’s an empty vase looking for roses looking for posies and pansies a little color

No; not her, not in this universe, not in this timeline. But maybe—just maybe—a different shade of her, somewhere else, far, far away; maybe in a different world, a different dimension, there is a version of Mavka who gets to meet Ofelia Montez, who gets to listen to her sing, dance with her, make love to her—who gets to be happy by her side. Maybe this version of Mavka also shares her first kiss with the bard during a lazy summer evening; a cherry lip paint-flavored kiss, salty and bittersweet, with hearty notes of sweat and sin. Maybe. But for now, their love and their lives shall remain running in parallel, like unfulfilled promises, ghosts of one another—until they next meet.

brighten up my world, won’t you brighten up my world won’t you let your little petals fall in my clear glass heart

[xxnashiraxx]

♡ Midsummer: A Raspberry Flush and Blingdenstone Blush ♡

AHHH!! Hi everyone!! I'd like to share a collaboration between @pinkberrytea and me!! We decided to do OC kiss week and exchange some arts of our gals Ofelia and Mavka and like the unhinged people we are, we also wrote a one-shot each as well as created playlists!!!

This was so fun, and such a wonderful experience and I loved writing Mavka- she's such a beautiful and sweet character and it was so fun that I definitely will be doing it again!!!

My arts will be below with the photoset, it's a different kind of style I've not really tried before but it was super fun and I enjoyed every minute 💗

dividers here & here!

Summary: Adjusting to a new world is never easy, but when you meet someone you click with, everything seems just a little brighter. From the beach to the tiefling party, Ofelia forges a bond with the mysterious tiefling she found after crashing from the nautiloid, and every day they grow more inseparable an inescapable fondness blooms between them. Carried on a whirlwind of longing and doubt, Ofelia struggles with giving in to the feeling or sparing her friend from further strain on her already warring mind...

Pairing: Ofelia (tav oc) x Mavka (durge oc)

Warnings: Mature, Alcohol Consumption, Slight Angst

Word Count: 5,893

Music:

The heat, choking and humid, trips up each step, hindering their path. They traverse the landscape through swamps and burning inns, longing for relief—relief from this summer sun, relief from simmering evenings, relief from the tadpole.

“I’d kill for an ice cream right now,” Ofelia murmurs, resting with her back against a log, the campfire barely licking at the charred logs above it. From the corner of her eye, a light pink tail flicks in acknowledgment.

“Ice cream?”

The voice at her side is soft and slightly bemused, her fingers working on the little crossword Ofelia had written out for her on the pages of her journal. Something else she’d introduced Mav to the concept of.

“Yeah… it’s like frozen milk but with a lot of sugar- super sweet, like toothache sweet- but it’s amazing… and it’s perfect when it’s so hot I want to rip my skin off. Like right now.” Mav’s light laugh tinkles in Ofelia’s ears, like the sound of bells. A clear ring that sparks an idea, begging to be acted upon.

“Ah!!! I know!” Ofelia shoots up, startling the tiefling beside her, and she places a hand on Mav’s shoulder. “Wait here- I have a really good idea!”

It’d been as easy as a leaf blown over in a light gust to convince Gale to help her, and after some foraging in their packs for the necessary ingredients- and those from the inn they’d picked clean- Ofelia’s certain she’s the first in Faerun to invent ‘Ray of Frost’ popsicles.

She holds her creation aloft, deep red from the berries she’d crushed to make it, and gives it a tentative lick. It’s not overly sweet like she’d find back home, but it’s deceptively lovely- an instant relief from their balmy evenings.

“Try one and pass them out,” Ofelia says to their resident wizard, fetching another from the batch before bringing it over to Mav.

She’s relaxing by her tent now, humming softly as she thumbs through a book. The fire catches in her jewel-toned irises as Ofelia approaches, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. Will she like it?

“Ooh, what’s that?” Her friend sits up, gaze snagging on the stick in Ofelia’s right hand. She flushes, holding it out to her, watching with bated breath as Mav inspects the frozen treat.

“It’s a popsicle… it’s kind of sweet, I used berries and some cane sugar- or what was left of it- and water. Gale helped me freeze them.” Ofelia says, nibbling on her lip as she watches Mav bring it to hers.

They part, tongue snaking out to test the texture, and Ofelia smiles when her eyes go wide. A couple more and she’s humming contentedly.

“It tastes good!” She says, patting the cushion at her side, and Ofelia obliges with a relieved exhale.

The two of them share the silence, enjoying the cool reprieve from days and days of nothing but miserable discomfort. It’s enough to lift Ofelia’s spirits- about their quest, their predicament- all of it. She finds her eye wandering again, enamored by the friend she’s found during this journey- unlikely, but welcome.

They’ve already seen and been through so much- from evil hags and terrifying gnolls to Mav’s unfortunate bit of murder in the night. Troubled as they are, the two of them have been inseparable through it all. It’d been Ofelia who helped wash the blood off Mav’s hands, who’d tucked her in her arms and told her it’d be alright. When Ofelia felt down, Mav was right there, offering a kind word and caring embrace.

Being so far from Earth doesn’t seem so bad when they’re together. It’s a bond she’s not forged as strongly with anyone else. Shadowheart’s attended a few of their girls’ night gatherings, and so has Karlach. They sometimes loop Astarion into their antics, dance with Wyll, sit with Gale and help cook dinner, or learn how to fight with Lae’zel… but at the end of the day, Ofelia finds that she’s been seeking her cherry blossom-haired friend’s company more and more than the others…

They’ve spent so many nights together talking- about Mav’s gaps in her memory, about Ofelia’s tragic past. It’s made them stronger- closer. Ofelia’s heart swells to think about how she’s managed to find something so precious- something she’d been lacking sorely back home. Every time she catches Mav’s eyes or she finds herself staring, there’s a flutter- a tantalizing truth that she shies from in fear.

It’s terrifying and raw, but when Mav’s deep pink eyes flit to hers, a trail of red juice trickling over her lips, Ofelia can’t help but get lost in the fantasy of licking it clean for her.

She turns away, cheeks burning as she busies herself on licking the popsicle, trying to clear her mind.

It’s been… weeks. It’s far too soon to be feeling like this, isn’t it? Ofelia sighs quietly, punishing thoughts of self-deprecation trembling across her mind. It is too soon… she’ll just savor the soft daydreams instead. After all, they’re constantly at risk of not seeing the morning- better to not complicate everything with feelings that have barely blossomed.

“I never would have imagined something like this to be so good,” Mav says, her face bright and her smile sweet. Her tongue is stained and Ofelia finds herself laughing despite herself, garnering an inquisitive quirk of Mav’s eyebrows.

“Our tongues are red,” Ofelia smiles, sticking hers out to prove it, and the amusement that curls Mav’s lips up at the corners makes Ofelia’s heart skip a beat.

“It was good though- worth it, I think.” The tiefling murmurs, tail flicking in approval as she leans closer, the mock popsicle stick hanging at the corner of her mouth. Ofelia’s mind spins as her gaze falls to that rouged pout, fighting the urge to taste it as she polishes off her treat.

“Trust me, I’ve got plenty more Earth delicacies where that came from. I’ll make sure to share more,” Ofelia says with a grin, picturing all the things she could make. Dishes from her culture, candies, sweets… she meets Mav’s eager gaze and her lips widen.

“Promise me you won’t forget?”

“Promise,”

***

“How do I look?” Mav asks, twirling in the low light of the candles inside Ofelia’s tent. Her skirt is light and breezy, flowing around her legs as the bodice hugs her torso and accentuates her small waist. Her pink hair is half down, soft waves framing her face as the rest twists behind her elegant horns into an ornate knot. Ofelia is drawn to her chest, neckline low and sloping down, and as she clears her throat she meets Mav’s eyes with a soft flush.

“Beautiful,” She says, unrestrained reverence thickening each syllable. And Ofelia means it- lingering over the light fuchsia coloring Mav’s cheeks and dusting the tip of her pretty nose as Ofelia gazes back donning a scarlet of her own. “You’ll be waiting in the crowd?” Mav smiles.

“Front and center, just where I said I’d be.” Ofelia returns it, reaching out to tentatively brush her fingers down the long sleeve of Mav’s arm- gentle and soft. There’s a flicker of surprise over her light lilac face, the hint of a deep blush darkening her lips into a glossy mauve. A tug in Ofelia’s chest has her swallowing hard, avoiding the urge to find out what they taste like, before pulling away.

“Don’t forget I want the first dance,” Ofelia says, more to reinforce the idea so it won’t slip through her fingers. Astarion’s been getting a little too close for comfort, and though Ofelia has no right to it, she’d like to be the one who claims Mav as a dance partner before anyone else gets the chance.

“I won't,” She says with a wink.

Ofelia climbs the rock above their gathering of tieflings and druids, here to celebrate the goblin camp’s fall. A send-off before their long journey toward Baldur’s Gate. The bard at her right strums her lute as she tunes the strings, already well versed on the song Ofelia plans on playing as she pays her a kind smile.

“Ready?” Alfira asks, nodding to Volo, and Ofelia inclines her head in agreement.

“As I’ll ever be,”

It’s a lilting melody that echoes through the clearing, magic carrying each note high overhead as Ofelia’s fingers pluck each string with passionate purpose. Her eyes search the faces below until they fall on a pair of flaring rose irises, as if she’d been waiting for them to meet. A burst of uncertainty troubles Ofelia’s rapidly beating heart, but it’s gone the instant she opens her mouth- weaving her emotions through lyrics she hopes will reach Mavka where words have failed her thus far.

“Ah,

Now I don’t hardly know her,

But I think I could love her,

Crimson and Clover…

Ah,

Here she comes walking over,

I’ve been waiting to show her,

Crimson and Clover,

Over and over…”

Like a weight is sinking through her chest, their gazes remain tethered. Caught spellbound, Ofelia sings from the place she’s been locking everything away- her wishes for more, for their embraces to last longer, their fingers to stay interwoven tighter, for that gap that she longs to leap over to not be so wide… It’s a yawning void beneath, stretching deep and promising pain if her feelings aren’t met with the same delicate yearning.

Every day that passes she inches closer to the edge, priming for the jump. It’s an enduring state of torment, wanting so badly to be honest. She half hates herself for feeling this way- for falling so hard for someone already struggling through so much.

Adding Ofelia’s emotions to the mix of things she’s already trying to overcome seems more selfish than anything… Perhaps it’s better if she just confesses through the music- that way, she isn’t forcing Mav into the uncomfortable position of declining such a step forward. She’ll either get it, or she won’t…

But it’ll have to be enough…

Ofelia will make sure it’s enough.

“Yeah,

Well, I’m not such a sweet thing,

I wanna deal everything,

What a beautiful feeling…

Crimson and Clover,

Over and over…

Crimson and Clover,

Over and over…”

With a flourish of her fingers, she repeats the phrase like a mantra as she guides the melody through its rhapsodic finale. Every movement is imbued with careful consideration, flowing from the heart as intentionally as a lover’s caress. With one final breath, she locks eyes with Mav again, resolving to make sure she indulges in one of those bottles of wine she saw floating around earlier to drown her longing.

It’ll ease the pain of holding her affections at bay, especially while the two of them dance.

Praise and congratulations bounce off Ofelia’s sullen exterior, managing soft smiles and weary thank yous in return. She brushes off concern with excuses, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Mavka will make her way through the bodies to find her.

Ofelia grabs the first bottle she sees and takes a deep pull, wincing at the bitterness that washes over her tongue, and when the object of her desires appears swathed in the golden lights hanging above and flaring from the torches, her chest aches. A stinging realization keeps her from reflecting Mav’s enthusiastic grin- the truth known to her.

No amount of drink will suffocate her sorrow.

Of that much, she’s certain.

“That was amazing!” Mav declares, bright smile contagious as she reaches out to pull the two of them into a tight hug. The light laugh is out of Ofelia’s mouth before she can stop it, though it seems to make Mav squeeze tighter.

“Thanks, Mav,” Ofelia murmurs into her lily-scented hair, fragrance bewitching and sweet. When Ofelia finally pulls away, it’s only because the tiefling grants it- face effervescent with joy and beauty so striking that it extracts Ofelia’s breath from her lungs in a rush of disbelief.

So this will be a lot harder than I thought…

“You promised me a dance,” Mav murmurs, flush deepening. She’s almost bashful, nature timid and reserved in a way Ofelia’s come to adore. She’s a gardenia- blooming in the night away from the harsh rays of the sun. Ever beautiful, illuminated by the moonlight, Ofelia doesn’t dare deny her.

Mav could ask her for the world, and Ofelia would find a way to deliver. No request too grand, Ofelia’s numb to them all- so deeply infatuated that she’d agree to anything.

“Looks like Shadowheart’s figured out the music,” Ofelia smiles, letting the sound stifle the unease that ripples beneath the surface of her skin.

She takes Mav’s right hand in hers, draping the tiefling’s arm over her shoulders before anchoring her own to the velvet-cinched waist before her. It fits in her grip in a way that tightens Ofelia’s throat- Mav’s quiet hum of appreciation mirroring Ofelia’s.

“You’re okay with me leading?” Ofelia tucks her face close and Mav nods, lips parting slightly.

A sudden flare of confidence thrums through Ofelia’s veins, joining the slight singe of alcohol as she settles into the role she feels most comfortable in. Dancing- ever her favored activity next to playing music. Slow, flamenco, traditional, salsa, cumbia, ballroom- she’s no stranger to any of it. It’s a hobby that she’d taught herself and learned from her mother- secure in the knowledge that she can at least give Mav this.

Twisting bodies surround them, moving to the beat like one living organism. They twirl and spin, concern melting into a joy so infectious that it leaves the pair laughing and breathless. Seeing the woman in her arms so thoroughly pleased is a boon to each step Ofelia takes. Spurred by the gentle crinkle of her glittering eyes, the lyrics carry them away, not breaking for a different partner when the song changes.

And it’s breaking over me,

A thousand miles down to the seabed,

Found the place to rest my head…

Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Go…

Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Go…

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,

And all this devotion was rushing out of me,

And the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me,

But the arms of the ocean,

Delivered me…

Mavka, the amnesiac tiefling Ofelia had met on the beach covered in blood and desperate for help now shines like the stars that hang above them. They catch each other’s eyes, dimples accenting each of her cheeks, and Ofelia’s knees slacken slightly before she hastily pulls them along. Every cell in her body screams for her to cave, to smile back, to speak- but she can’t bring herself to as the song ends and the two of them part. They bow low, so close yet so far away, and when Ofelia rises to her full height she peers down at Mav with as honest a smile as she can muster.

“I’m glad I chose you to dance with,” Mav laughs, soft plinks that bounce off Ofelia’s brain like gold coins.

“Hmm, were you thinking of ditching me for someone else?” Ofelia lifts a brow, smirk on her lips, but Mav mistakes the tease for austerity.

“Oh! I mean… Astarion asked me to meet him by his tent later, but I told him this was more important first!” The sincerity in the set of her pink brow pulls a bubbling laugh up from Ofelia’s throat and she can’t reach out and snatch it back as it pours over the two of them. The widening of Mav’s eyes does Ofelia no favors, and she clutches her abdomen to stave off the pinching in her muscles as she tries to stop it.

“I’m sorry, I’m- ha!” Ofelia giggles, causing a comical twitch to Mav’s lips that has the tiefling restraining her own laughter. “I didn’t mean it! I was just messing around,” She smoothes the front of her dress, inhaling deeply, before leveling a kind gaze at her friend. A touch of jealousy curls in her chest, ugly and black, but she makes sure she gives Mav her best smile.

“Oh. You really have to stop doing that! I can’t tell the difference!” She swats at Ofelia’s arm and the human giggles again, trying to avoid Mav’s half-hearted blows.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ofelia sighs, reaching for her bottle once again. “Go- I’m sure he’s been waiting and you know how he gets when he doesn’t get his way.” Mav’s eyes twinkle softly, almost uncertain for a moment. It plucks at Ofelia’s heartstrings, like a melancholy serenade on her lute, but she waves her hand. “I’ll go bug Shadowheart or something, it’ll be fun! She looks half drunk so I should be able to convince her to dance.”

“If you’re sure…” Mav trails off, and every bone in Ofelia’s body blares like an alarm- no, ask her to stay. You know you want her to stay.

“Certain,” Ofelia nods, ignoring the demands. “If you want to come by later and see if I can trick Shadowheart into kissing Lae’zel, stop by!” Mav nods, swaying on her feet, before turning her toe. It feels like the sting of a blade.

“I’ll see you later!” She declares finally, lightness returning to her voice, and every step she takes away from Ofelia tears little pieces off that trail after her.

Once the tiefling’s no longer looking, she drops the fake smile and heaves a weighty exhale. The bottle in her hands is over half full and Ofelia glares down into the dark red liquid, rancid loathing swirling in the ripples upon its surface. She scowls and lifts it to her lips, letting the cheap booze rush down her throat in greedy gulps. The faster that tingle in her limbs spreads, the better.

***

“Having a good time?” It’s Shadowheart, resting against the rock Ofelia’s still leaning against. It’s been… maybe an hour since Mav left? Maybe less? Ofelia isn’t sure- she’s two bottles deep and working on a third.

“Oh yeah!” She grins toothily, raising her arm as if in a toast, but before the half-elf can lower her chalice Ofelia’s taking another deep gulp.

Go away, go away, go away.

Cruel images, unbidden, drift behind her eyelids. Soft lips, fingers trailing through long locks, heated bodies pressing together. Ofelia pulls the bottle away and sputters a wet cough, appreciating the slaps to her back as Shadowheart sighs.

“You know, getting drunk won’t help with whatever you’re going through,” Their cleric says, hypocritically taking a sip from her beverage.

“What are you doing right now?” Ofelia grunts, resisting the urge to take another drink.

“Exactly what I just warned you not to do,” It’s so matter of fact, concern fighting for attention beneath the murky trance the wine’s locked her in.

“What's your reason for getting wasted?” Ofelia mutters, dropping all pretenses of cheerfulness from her tone as she stares out toward the river. The couple to her right nuzzles their noses and whispers things that make the other giggle- Ofelia sneers.

“I’m afraid it’d take too long to explain- but, let me guess. The vampire stole your prize?” There’s a smile on the half-elf’s lips.

“Ugh, that sounds so gross. Plus, stolen would imply I had anything, to begin with,” Ofelia thumps her head back against the rock.

“Why don’t you just say something?” Shadowheart asks, crossing her arms as she looks up at the moon in disdain.

“Like it’s that easy,”

“It is. Just open your mouth, say the words, then close it. Simple.”

“Ha ha, Shadowheart.”

“I mean it- what are you so afraid of? ‘No’?” Ofelia turns her head to glare at the other woman, fighting the spinning of her vision.

“It’s not just that… it’s just not what you do. Friend code. She’s got so many holes in her memory, so there’s that. Not to mention the falling asleep and murdering people problem… I’m supposed to be there for her. I’m supposed to be comforting… how awful is it to use that to my advantage just because I have feelings I can’t seem to shut up…?” Her voice is thick as she trails off, pain lancing through her body to bring her closer to sobriety.

“Have you ever considered that she may just feel the same?” Shadowheart echoes a sentiment that Ofelia’s often wondered herself, in those small moments where she dares to hope. It’s quickly shot out of the sky each time by reality, however- wings clipped and shoved back in the cage where it belongs. Deep, deep down.

“I doubt it. She’s been with Astarion for how long now? I haven’t even checked… can’t…” Ofelia mumbles- defeated. Shadowheart places a hand over her shoulder and pats, a smirk on her face, and Ofelia frowns. “What?”

“She went to talk to him earlier, he said something to her that made her blush, but then she walked away and hasn’t come back from the woods since. He looked pretty annoyed, too.” The bird rattles the cage door.

“R-really?” Ofelia whispers, risking a bit of her pride in front of Shadowheart. If… if she’s telling the truth… then just maybe…

“Really,” The word is like a prybar, wrenching the lock from the cage door to free the bird trapped beneath Ofelia’s ribs. She straightens her posture, bottle forgotten on the ground beside her.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to go like that,” Shadowheart snickers and Ofelia glowers back.

“What do you mean?” Shadowheart sighs, fussing over Ofelia’s tangled locks before swiping the pad of her thumb across the corner of Ofelia’s lip- likely removing a smudge of her lipstick.

“There- go get ‘em,” Ofelia can’t fight the grin that spreads over her face, slapping her cheeks roughly to dampen her inebriety as she heads off in the direction Shadowheart points toward. The smarmy twist to her face doesn’t drop when Astarion watches her walk past, making sure to toss him a wink for good measure.

“Careful,” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs in reply, giving him a deep sweeping courtesy before proceeding on her merry way.

Every crunch of the underbrush beneath her feet is like a drum roll, doubt reaching in to snuff out the high of optimism that had been blazing so bright before she’d set foot into the tree line. Ofelia nibbles at her lips, trying to alleviate the rolling tides of apprehension that crash within, wondering if she should turn back, until her breath is stolen at the sight before her.

Within a clearing, surrounded by hundreds of flowers, is the woman Ofelia’s come out here to find. The moonlight makes her hair shine like it’s sinking into the very strands it adorns, horns catching a beam or two as she turns her chin to see Ofelia standing there.

They don’t exchange words for a moment, letting the cool breeze drifting through the trees occupy the space between them. From here, Ofelia can see a slight dip between Mav’s brows, lips turned down and features tense. A shiver of uncertainty runs down Ofelia’s spine, but she won’t flee like every instinct is imploring her to do. She stands frozen, waiting as if being considered entry, before the tiefling’s features melt into warmth.

“Ofelia,” She says with a smile, not quite a shout but loud enough to hear from where she stands. Taking that as her cue to proceed, Ofelia crosses the grassy ground, picking up her skirt as she carefully navigates around what could barely be considered a stream. Finally only feet away, she sinks down beside the other woman with a sigh, fidgeting with her hair as she works up the courage to simply start a conversation.

“Why are you out here alone?” She finally asks, unable to stave off the curiosity any longer. There’s an almost somber air around Mav, clinging to her in the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes and the way her shoulders bow inward. It needles Ofelia’s heart with worry, and she begins to wonder if Astarion or someone else said something to her.

“Oh, just thinking.” She says softly, hands pressed into the cool earth below. Ofelia wants to reach out and take one, to impart some warmth into her skin, but she refrains.

“What did Astarion want?” Ofelia tries, as casually as she can, but when Mav’s cheeks darken in reply she’s afraid her worst fears may be coming to pass.

“He… he asked me if I’d like to meet him in the woods, once everyone goes to sleep. For…”

“Oh,” Ofelia says, carefully balancing the word on the tip of her tongue. It’s not as if she’d expected any different… yet it plunges just as deep as if it were a surprise. She swallows hard, forcing her tone to be even. “Are you going to? Meet him?”

She isn’t looking at Mav as she asks, too afraid to garner an answer from the expression on her face before the words leave her mouth. Instead, she watches a pair of fireflies dance on the other side of the clearing, weaving through the air in their tandem performance.

Ofelia braces for the worst when she feels Mav shift, the tiny bird that’d only just escaped now caught within a hawk’s talons.

“I told him I wasn’t sure… that I’d think about it.” Ofelia blinks, knowing that isn’t exactly a no. “What do you think I should do?” It’s an innocent request, but one that damns Ofelia from the start.

Astarion’s intentions are far from pure- that much she knows. While she appreciates his contributions to the group- both helpful and comical- and has on occasion offered her neck for him, she can spot secrets a mile away. She’s been wary of him from the start, knowing there’s got to be more to the pale elf than meets the eye, but she isn’t completely certain… and she won’t rule him guilty without evidence.

On another note, Mav seems to enjoy his company well enough. Ofelia’s been uneasy about the way he’s spoken to her before, but she always keeps her mouth shut- not wanting to diminish Mav’s opinion of him before she’s had a chance to form it. Maybe speaking up in the past wouldn’t leave her in the predicament she faces now- but it’s exactly that. The past. Now she’ll have to deal with the consequences.

“I think… if you really like him, you should go for it.” Her chest twinges at each word as if her body is fighting to keep her from uttering them. But… she can’t. She can’t selfishly protest and fight for something that isn’t hers to begin with.

Mav’s affections are her own, and Ofelia won’t sway them in her favor just because of a crush.

Though perhaps crush is too juvenile a word… no matter. It’ll have to wither and disappear eventually. Names don’t matter to things that are dead.

“Thank you,” Mav whispers, sealing the lid on Ofelia’s coffin. She fights to keep her face warm, though it crumbles when she sees the moisture budding at the corners of Mav’s eyes. “You’re always looking out for me,” She says, reaching for Ofelia’s hand. “You listen to me, you care… Your opinion matters so much to me. But what I can’t understand is why you’re still keeping something from me.”

Ofelia looks away, shame a smear of rust against her cheeks. Stripped bare of her facade, she shivers under Mav’s piercing gaze and tries to hide behind her hair when she looks down into her lap. It’s all for nothing- a front. She’s fresh out of options, stuck in a dead end to which there is only one escape.

Honesty.

Ofelia swallows, gently extracting her hand from Mav’s to nod.

“Tell me, Ofelia. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” The weight of those words settles like an anvil on Ofelia’s chest, drawing her breath out in a long reedy exhale. With it, words come falling out that she’s been holding in for weeks. Ever since they came to full realization, all those nights ago Mav enjoyed that popsicle.

“I don’t want you to see Astarion tonight.” She starts, refusing to look up. “I don’t want you to meet him in the woods. I want you to stay out here with me instead… I want you.”

Everything stops as soon as the last word leaves Ofelia’s lips—the wind, the trees, the animals. Like a forest holding its breath, she sits before the elegant creature that cradles her future in each palm- bliss or despair. Mav has the key, and it only unlocks one door. 

“Why didn’t you just say so sooner?” Mavka’s voice is smooth, velvet in Ofelia’s ears, wrapping around her with invisible fingers to lift her chin. Vision blurring, Ofelia tracks over the face she’s imagined so many times that it’s permanently branded behind her eyelids- reveling in its lustrous glow for as long as she’s allowed.

From the rare beauty that blossoms flaming pink in her almond-shaped eyes to the freckles that kiss her refined nose, Ofelia yearns. Her eyes drink in the graceful bow of full lips, a shape designed to ruin with excruciating precision. The veil covering Ofelia’s hidden pining now torn asunder, left naked and exposed, she stares- if this is the last time she’s allowed to look at Mav this way, she’ll make sure to commit every exquisite detail to memory.

“Because you trust me… and I didn’t want to risk what we already have…” Ofelia’s voice falls hushed, fumbling blindly in the dark. Her salvation hangs out of view, elusive and undecided- kept safely within Mav’s unreadable gaze. “I just want you to be happy.”

“What do you think I want?” It’s a demure laugh, breathless and uttered in incredulity. Ofelia mimics it, starting to feel the hawk’s talons lessen their grip, though she doesn’t dare try to wriggle free- feigning death in case this all goes sideways. “I want you to be honest with me... I can’t stand to see you this upset… not you, Ofelia. Not when you’re always happy enough for the both of us.”

Before Ofelia can stop it, the plea tumbles free on either the wine-aided looseness of her tongue or by weeks of hopeless infatuation. Either would fit the bill, though neither would do justice to the pious adoration she feels for the tiefling before her. Such unrestrained desperation, fierce and seeking an end to this rampant hunger. It will no longer abide the prison cell Ofelia’s been holding it within.

“Kiss me.”

The tips of Mav’s pale ears and nose deepen to the shade of crushed berries, glowing beneath a face that tips closer. Ofelia’s body acts of its own volition, reaching and reaching for her like a woman possessed as Mav surrenders to her tender entreaty with a nod.

Allowed to touch at last, Ofelia finds the jaw she’d only dreamt of feeling beneath her fingertips, bringing the two of them closer. It’s a leisurely path, unhurried as Ofelia languishes in the euphoria of promise puckering Mav’s lips. When they finally meet, a strangled sob escapes her mouth, holding tight and scarcely believing all of this to be real. She presses against that petal-soft plushness, once hoping for nothing more and scared it would only ever be less. It’s a bucket of water over ravenous flames, suffocating the disastrous heat into a burn slow and sweet. It creeps over Ofelia’s skin and with careful innocence runs along Mav’s bottom lip under the guise of Ofelia’s tongue, begging for entry.

When Mav yields and melts into Ofelia’s arms, it’s like a tender dream realized. Fingers in pink tresses, chests pressing together, Mav’s hands tentatively hovering over Ofelia’s waist as if waiting for permission. Ofelia’s approval imparted on a quiet moan, she’s almost stunned into stillness by the way Mav circles her waist and pulls her close. A mirror of masked desire, held up between each other, all Ofelia can do is sigh and soothe the ache away against Mav’s lips. Ofelia gleefully shatters the barrier to indulge, taste beyond anything she could have imagined that it demands her tears as collateral.

Like raspberries and wine, fruity and intoxicating, Ofelia’s tongue sweeps into Mav’s mouth and relishes in every soft sound that she makes. She lavishes her in affection so pure it feels like a dream, floating in the spaces between and occupying every sense until there’s nothing left in her mind.

If it lasted a century, it still wouldn’t be enough- Ofelia finding it difficult to stop as she chases Mav’s mouth when the girl pulls away. A soft giggle on the tiefling’s tongue, she doesn’t chide- soothing over Ofelia’s sullen frown like a balm as her clawed fingers cup Ofelia’s cheek.

“I think I’d like to stay here too,” Mav says, hands sliding to rest on Ofelia’s hips. Uncertain where to place her own, she follows Mav’s lead and circles her waist. “It keeps me up at night, the emptiness in my head… I’m always afraid that I’ll lose it again and wake up covered in blood. I can’t even trust myself… but you do. You make me feel safe… I don’t feel that way with anyone else.”

Ofelia sniffles around a smile, rubbing circles into Mav’s dress as she listens to her lament on plaguing worries festering and adamant in her mind. Ofelia wants so badly to quiet Mav’s fears, to lessen her burden, and she’ll do anything to make that want a reality- first, she’ll start with this. She’ll start with her affection, waiting on the tip of her tongue.

“You’re strong, you’re brave- more than you know,” Ofelia murmurs, one hand trailing the length of Mav’s body to rest gently over her cheek. “I didn’t know anything before coming here… I was so alone, so afraid… but we found each other. It’s like we were meant to meet… so that neither one of us would have to face it all by ourselves.” With that, Ofelia plucks the violets and clover from the ground before reaching up to tuck them into Mav’s hair like a crown around her horns. They compliment her perfectly beneath the starlight, and with a soft laugh Mav leans forward and places a kiss on Ofelia’s cheek, a tingle of electricity left in her wake.

“Well… I’m sure we can imagine what Astarion had planned.” Ofelia huffs, smug grin spreading over her mouth. Mav giggles, the two of them still tucked in each other’s arms.

“He did spell it out for me, in case I didn’t understand.” The two of them roll their eyes in unison. “What are you offering me instead?” There’s a bashful challenge to her tone, one that trembles with promise, and Ofelia leans in close until their foreheads are touching.

They peer at each other, freed from their previous limitations to finally explore everything they have to offer. Their arms become a sanctuary, a haven from the horrors all this world means to bestow upon them. As long as they’re together, they can face anything- an entire future threading and weaving between them into one solid path. One that, unbeknownst to them, leads through the years of their lives until the very end- fingers still tangled together as they breathe their last.

“Anything, Mavka. I’ll give you anything,”

Fin

[pinkberrytea]

aromatic 💋

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

Sugar & spice & all things nice; that's what good girls are made of. When a night of pampering is on offer, Mavka is not about to let the opportunity slide—she is more than happy to indulge Ofelia, regardless of what the bard may have in mind.

Named F!Durge (Ofelia) x Named F!Durge (Mavka)

w/c: 2.4k words . spotify playlist . +18 only . dividers

a/n: happy belated valentine's day! this fic was written for the day #2 prompt of ockissweek25! the lovely ofelia belongs to my dear wife @xxnashiraxx, and mav is mine, of course. this is my first time writing for both, so i'm super excited. i’d like to thank the wonderful @bhaal-battle-beer-bard for her description of mav’s signature scent, which i’ve partly based this piece on. thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoy!

( companion piece here )

tags: fluff & angst; heated kissing; wlw

Vanilla and licorice. Warm, peppery, comforting—reminiscent of her innocent sensuality, Ofelia’s scent pulls in those unsuspecting souls droning around her, lures them with unassuming, saccharine mellowness, only to then ensnare each in a loving embrace; it bathes them in sunshine, enshrouds their weary minds in soothing mist. Upon following the bard inside her tent, Mavka’s slight body is immediately engulfed by the inebriating fragrance’s tingling heat—she feels at ease; she feels safe. 

“Er, pardon the intrusion,” the scrawny tiefling mouths quietly, chin dipping down and tail swishing nervously as she inspects her surroundings with large, watery eyes. Ofelia isn’t looking at her—she’s kneeling beside her bedroll while rummaging through a satchel, whose contents make distinctive clicking sounds whenever the items within roll and bump against each other. Though she’s aware Mavka can’t quite see it, the corners of the bard’s rouged lips instinctively curl into an encouraging smile, her chestnut irises twinkling ever so softly.

“Shush, you. Don’t just stand there. Have a seat!” she says, the already velvety, lyrical cadence of her voice canting with a cheerful lilt. Mavka does as told, slowly lowering herself to the ground and sitting awkwardly with her knees bent and pressed against her chest, both arms encircling them, seemingly trying to occupy the least amount of space possible. As she waits, the tiefling watches her companion with a guarded yet captivated expression, entranced by the way her gorgeous raven hair glistens in the candlelight, draping over her shoulders and exposing the slim column of her neck; the way her corset hugs the curve of her waist so very prettily, and the way her rounded, ample hips spill off it, revealing a thin strip of smooth golden skin. By the Gods, Ofelia is stunning—ethereal even, like an otherworldly being—yet striking though her beauty may be, it’s not intimidating; quite the opposite, never before had Mavka ever felt this relaxed around anyone, not really. Squeamish, silly little Mavka for once had found another whose love she didn’t feel like she had to earn—whose love was a given, its existence as certain and as natural as the inevitability of death. 

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

“C’mon, sit with your back to me,” Ofelia says, beaming with almost childish glee, straight white teeth exposed and eager eyes reflecting the gentle sway of the campfire’s flames. They are both resting on top of a fallen tree trunk, Mavka with her head on Ofelia’s lap, the bard’s elegant fingers delicately carding through the other’s pale pink locks. A guitar sits unplayed beside them—the plan was for Ofelia to serenade Mavka before they went to sleep, but the conversation had quickly steered into an entirely different direction as soon as she’d noticed the tiefling had her hair down.

“N—No, that’s alright…” Mavka blushes, a faint red glow blooming beneath the ashen skin of her cheeks and ears. Ofelia’s grin widens for a moment, gradually softening into a half-smile, and she leans back slightly, shoulders squared and features alight with hardly concealed playfulness.

“Oh? Well, I get it. I guess you don’t trust me enough?” she retorts, moving her eyes away from Mavka’s while still lovingly stroking the tiefling’s hair, voice pitching down in faux disappointment. The bait works like a charm—Mavka takes it with nigh impressive assiduity, sitting up suddenly and turning to face Ofelia with fingers curled tautly into fists atop her knees, the freckles on her nose fading under the now brightening color painted over them.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” The words come out in a jumble, almost bursting from her lips as she flusteredly tries to gather her thoughts. “What I meant was—I…” Mavka stutters, drawing in a sharp breath, her tail thumping loudly onto the tree trunk’s bark. “I trust you. Of course I trust you,” she mutters, staring down at her feet, and Ofelia isn’t sure whether to feel guilty or amused; it’s really hard not to mess around with a gullible girl such as she, after all, not when her reactions are this adorable.

“I know, sweetness.” Ofelia chuckles, holding one of Mavka’s hands in hers and squeezing it reassuringly. “So let me take care of you, okay? C’mon.” She lets go briefly only to then lightly pat her own legs, motioning with her head towards a spot on the ground right below them. After glancing back and forth between the ground and her companion, Mavka at last acquiesces, reluctantly dragging herself out of the tree trunk before kneeling with her back turned to the bard, who loses no time burying all ten fingers between the tiefling’s ivory horns. Their soft pads run down her scalp, smoothing the fine, silken tresses covering it, and Mavka lets out a small sigh, feeling pleasurable tingles tickling the base of her neck; as she involuntarily closes her eyes, relishing the sensation, her mind starts to wander. How long has it been since she’s been touched with such care? With such love? Has she ever been touched like this at all? No, perhaps not. Not like this—never so warmly, never so tenderly. 

“I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your hair since I first saw you, you know?” The bard’s melodious voice brings Mavka back from her daze, but she remains with her eyes closed, yet listening attentively to every word. “I can’t resist a cute lass with pretty hair,” Ofelia teases, watching proudly as the pointed tips of Mavka’s ears start burning bright red again; taking three sections of hair, she then begins braiding them leisurely, purposefully letting her manicured nails gently graze the sensitive skin underneath, noticing how each brush of her skilled digits causes it to break out in goosebumps.

“This feels nice…” Mavka says, undeniable contentedness lacing the quiet tone with which she speaks. Hearing the other moving behind her, seemingly reaching for something, she almost lets her curiosity get the best of her—however, just as she’s about to look over her shoulder, she feels something lightweight being pushed into her hair; then again, and again. Though curious as to what Ofelia may be doing, she decides to be patient, and the two spend the next few minutes in silent bliss, simply enjoying each other’s company.

That until—

“Oh, I need to show you this. Let’s go back to my tent, I have a mirror!”

“Here it is!” The bard exclaims as she enthusiastically produces a hand mirror, instantly drawing the attention of Mavka’s curious eyes; she waits expectantly while Ofelia crawls to her, and once the space separating them has narrowed enough, the tiefling is finally able to peer at her likeness on the other side of the mirror’s glassy surface. “So? What do you think?” Ofelia asks, holding it up so Mavka can better see the braid swept around her neck and over her chest, which she now notices is adorned with small white flowers.

“I—I look… I look like a princess!” she blurts out, lilac irises sparkling and pale face flushing with naïve excitement. That’s just a simple braid though… Ofelia thinks, sympathetic discomfort tying a knot in her stomach as she fights the urge to squeeze the other’s rosy cheeks. Although endearing, she can’t help but feel it’s also somewhat sad; it prompts a wave of protective instinct to ripple through her, bringing back long forgotten phantoms, faded memories of the little girl she once was—all she had, all she lost.

I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where I can take the one I love I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where we can hide, you and I

“Hey—I have an idea. Just a moment!” Ofelia leaves Mavka’s side to yet again stick her arm in the satchel, only this time the object she is looking for is much larger, and therefore, easier to find: a small pouch, which she then brings back with her. “Have you ever had someone else do your makeup?” she asks while opening the pouch, running her fingers over the bits and bobs shuffling around inside it, carefully considering her options.

“Makeup?” Mavka repeats the term a bit stupidly, still a little spaced-out after being shown her reflection. However, before she can formulate an answer, Ofelia finally makes her decision, pulling out from the pouch an octagonal wooden tub with wire loops on its side, holding a wand. Placing her thumb under the lid, she thus pops it open, revealing the substance held within—kohl. 

“C’mon, close your eyes for me!” Ofelia says, taking the wand—an applicator—and pushing it inside the tube. Mavka silently complies, despite her apprehensiveness; once she does, the bard presses the now kohl-covered wand to the arch of her right eyelid and starts gently applying the black powder along the tiefling’s lash line, lightly dabbing the edges with the tips of her fingers to smudge it some. “Do you have any idea how pretty you are? You look like a doll,” she hums absentmindedly after a while, still focused on her task, but letting her gaze wander a little, flickering it over Mavka’s freckled nose, her plump pink lips, the small dimples on the corners of her mouth. It occurs to her that this is the first time she’s seen them up close.

“N—No, not at all.” Feeling Ofelia’s cool breath on her skin as she switches over to her left eye, Mavka knits her brows tightly, that all too familiar rush of blood prickling her ears the instant she becomes aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between them. “You’re the one who’s pretty, really. The prettiest I’ve ever seen,” she utters the words before they can be swallowed, the blood now spreading to her cheekbones and nose bridge. She’s at least grateful she’s caught herself in time not to voice the thoughts still threatening to spill from the recesses of her brain onto her tongue—You’re so pretty I feel like I’m not worthy of touching you. You’re so kind I feel like I’m not worthy of looking at you. You’re so warm I feel like I’m but a withering sunflower, and you, the Sun itself.

“Shush, silly. We can both be pretty.” Ofelia speaks with such gentleness that the intrusive thoughts are progressively silenced, one by one. Instead, Mavka tries to pay attention solely to the smooth glide of the wand over her delicate lids, to the shivers running up and down her body under the inviting heat irradiating from Ofelia’s hand; until she pulls it away, making the tiefling shudder from the loss. “There! All done. Now, let’s see…” When Mavka’s eyes flit back open, she sees Ofelia reaching for the pouch once more, digging through it for some time before grabbing a tiny pot, whose cap she promptly removes. “Lip paint!”

Inside the pot is a glossy cherry-colored paste with a waxy consistency, which Ofelia meticulously coats her fingers in, only to again approach Mavka, who unlike moments ago is acutely conscious of just how intimate this all feels. “Pucker up, sweetness,” the bard says, an order that is obeyed almost unconsciously as if Mavka’s muscles were moving on their own, her mind now trapped deep within the dark pools of the bard’s irises, unable to register anything but the amber flecks swimming around her pupils. 

“Can I touch you?” Ofelia asks, her voice somewhat sheepish as sudden shyness starts to also deepen the olive shade of her skin, giving it a ruddy undertone. In hindsight, she should have asked earlier, but touching someone’s eyes is one thing; touching their mouth is, well, different. Mavka nods timidly, and Ofelia nods back, clearing a lump in her throat. She breathes in slowly, taking in Mavka’s image, her face flushed, eyes wide and lips puckered—adorable. Then, after brushing her own hair to the side, she pushes the pad of one of her tinted digits against the other’s bottom lip, feeling it give in and dip easily under the pressure. So soft… she thinks, trying but failing to ignore the growing need blossoming in her chest—the persistent, nearly painful need to know what Mavka tastes like. Flowery like spring? Sweet like honey? Or maybe something unexpected, something that Ofelia never would have guessed; earthy like a rainy day, citrusy like lemonade. She wants to know—must know, even. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is whispered rather than spoken, and Mavka nods again, not thinking twice. Worried that if she waits any longer that will be enough time for them both to second guess themselves, Ofelia decides to cover Mavka’s mouth with hers there and then, cupping the tiefling’s warm cheek with the hand she had been using to apply the lip paint and resting the other on the small of her back. Raspberries and white tea—more fruity than she had imagined, not quite as floral, initially light and mellow, then surprisingly rich. Addictive.

“Hmng—‘Felia…” Mavka mewls, wrapping her arms around the bard’s neck, and in so doing, pushing their bodies flat together; she feels the generous swell of Ofelia’s bosom flush against her own, feels the softness of her curvy figure, feels the warmth of her supple skin. Their lips move in perfect harmony, sometimes with lingering wistfulness, sometimes with greed and hunger. Is she allowed to feel something so pure? Is she entitled to such bliss? Is a love this simple, this easy, a blessing that is within her reach? 

my heart’s an empty vase looking for roses looking for posies and pansies a little color

No; not her, not in this universe, not in this timeline. But maybe—just maybe—a different shade of her, somewhere else, far, far away; maybe in a different world, a different dimension, there is a version of Mavka who gets to meet Ofelia Montez, who gets to listen to her sing, dance with her, make love to her—who gets to be happy by her side. Maybe this version of Mavka also shares her first kiss with the bard during a lazy summer evening; a cherry lip paint-flavored kiss, salty and bittersweet, with hearty notes of sweat and sin. Maybe. But for now, their love and their lives shall remain running in parallel, like unfulfilled promises, ghosts of one another—until they next meet.

brighten up my world, won’t you brighten up my world won’t you let your little petals fall in my clear glass heart

[pinkberrytea]

Ali. I’ve already told you how much I love this—all of it—but words could never do your beautiful work justice. Ever since we connected you’ve consistently been a blessing in my life; you were there holding my hand during my lowest moments, and cheering alongside me whenever I was happy. A friendship like yours is a gift unlike any other, and for that I’ll forever be grateful. You’re kind, and talented, and beautiful, and sweet, and you brighten the lives of all those around you, including mine. I love you, I love this, and I want it all 🫂🤍

♡ Midsummer: A Raspberry Flush and Blingdenstone Blush ♡

AHHH!! Hi everyone!! I'd like to share a collaboration between @pinkberrytea and me!! We decided to do OC kiss week and exchange some arts of our gals Ofelia and Mavka and like the unhinged people we are, we also wrote a one-shot each as well as created playlists!!!

This was so fun, and such a wonderful experience and I loved writing Mavka- she's such a beautiful and sweet character and it was so fun that I definitely will be doing it again!!!

My arts will be below with the photoset, it's a different kind of style I've not really tried before but it was super fun and I enjoyed every minute 💗

dividers here & here!

Summary: Adjusting to a new world is never easy, but when you meet someone you click with, everything seems just a little brighter. From the beach to the tiefling party, Ofelia forges a bond with the mysterious tiefling she found after crashing from the nautiloid, and every day they grow more inseparable an inescapable fondness blooms between them. Carried on a whirlwind of longing and doubt, Ofelia struggles with giving in to the feeling or sparing her friend from further strain on her already warring mind...

Pairing: Ofelia (tav oc) x Mavka (durge oc)

Warnings: Mature, Alcohol Consumption, Slight Angst

Word Count: 5,893

Music:

The heat, choking and humid, trips up each step, hindering their path. They traverse the landscape through swamps and burning inns, longing for relief—relief from this summer sun, relief from simmering evenings, relief from the tadpole.

“I’d kill for an ice cream right now,” Ofelia murmurs, resting with her back against a log, the campfire barely licking at the charred logs above it. From the corner of her eye, a light pink tail flicks in acknowledgment.

“Ice cream?”

The voice at her side is soft and slightly bemused, her fingers working on the little crossword Ofelia had written out for her on the pages of her journal. Something else she’d introduced Mav to the concept of.

“Yeah… it’s like frozen milk but with a lot of sugar- super sweet, like toothache sweet- but it’s amazing… and it’s perfect when it’s so hot I want to rip my skin off. Like right now.” Mav’s light laugh tinkles in Ofelia’s ears, like the sound of bells. A clear ring that sparks an idea, begging to be acted upon.

“Ah!!! I know!” Ofelia shoots up, startling the tiefling beside her, and she places a hand on Mav’s shoulder. “Wait here- I have a really good idea!”

It’d been as easy as a leaf blown over in a light gust to convince Gale to help her, and after some foraging in their packs for the necessary ingredients- and those from the inn they’d picked clean- Ofelia’s certain she’s the first in Faerun to invent ‘Ray of Frost’ popsicles.

She holds her creation aloft, deep red from the berries she’d crushed to make it, and gives it a tentative lick. It’s not overly sweet like she’d find back home, but it’s deceptively lovely- an instant relief from their balmy evenings.

“Try one and pass them out,” Ofelia says to their resident wizard, fetching another from the batch before bringing it over to Mav.

She’s relaxing by her tent now, humming softly as she thumbs through a book. The fire catches in her jewel-toned irises as Ofelia approaches, suddenly feeling a little sheepish. Will she like it?

“Ooh, what’s that?” Her friend sits up, gaze snagging on the stick in Ofelia’s right hand. She flushes, holding it out to her, watching with bated breath as Mav inspects the frozen treat.

“It’s a popsicle… it’s kind of sweet, I used berries and some cane sugar- or what was left of it- and water. Gale helped me freeze them.” Ofelia says, nibbling on her lip as she watches Mav bring it to hers.

They part, tongue snaking out to test the texture, and Ofelia smiles when her eyes go wide. A couple more and she’s humming contentedly.

“It tastes good!” She says, patting the cushion at her side, and Ofelia obliges with a relieved exhale.

The two of them share the silence, enjoying the cool reprieve from days and days of nothing but miserable discomfort. It’s enough to lift Ofelia’s spirits- about their quest, their predicament- all of it. She finds her eye wandering again, enamored by the friend she’s found during this journey- unlikely, but welcome.

They’ve already seen and been through so much- from evil hags and terrifying gnolls to Mav’s unfortunate bit of murder in the night. Troubled as they are, the two of them have been inseparable through it all. It’d been Ofelia who helped wash the blood off Mav’s hands, who’d tucked her in her arms and told her it’d be alright. When Ofelia felt down, Mav was right there, offering a kind word and caring embrace.

Being so far from Earth doesn’t seem so bad when they’re together. It’s a bond she’s not forged as strongly with anyone else. Shadowheart’s attended a few of their girls’ night gatherings, and so has Karlach. They sometimes loop Astarion into their antics, dance with Wyll, sit with Gale and help cook dinner, or learn how to fight with Lae’zel… but at the end of the day, Ofelia finds that she’s been seeking her cherry blossom-haired friend’s company more and more than the others…

They’ve spent so many nights together talking- about Mav’s gaps in her memory, about Ofelia’s tragic past. It’s made them stronger- closer. Ofelia’s heart swells to think about how she’s managed to find something so precious- something she’d been lacking sorely back home. Every time she catches Mav’s eyes or she finds herself staring, there’s a flutter- a tantalizing truth that she shies from in fear.

It’s terrifying and raw, but when Mav’s deep pink eyes flit to hers, a trail of red juice trickling over her lips, Ofelia can’t help but get lost in the fantasy of licking it clean for her.

She turns away, cheeks burning as she busies herself on licking the popsicle, trying to clear her mind.

It’s been… weeks. It’s far too soon to be feeling like this, isn’t it? Ofelia sighs quietly, punishing thoughts of self-deprecation trembling across her mind. It is too soon… she’ll just savor the soft daydreams instead. After all, they’re constantly at risk of not seeing the morning- better to not complicate everything with feelings that have barely blossomed.

“I never would have imagined something like this to be so good,” Mav says, her face bright and her smile sweet. Her tongue is stained and Ofelia finds herself laughing despite herself, garnering an inquisitive quirk of Mav’s eyebrows.

“Our tongues are red,” Ofelia smiles, sticking hers out to prove it, and the amusement that curls Mav’s lips up at the corners makes Ofelia’s heart skip a beat.

“It was good though- worth it, I think.” The tiefling murmurs, tail flicking in approval as she leans closer, the mock popsicle stick hanging at the corner of her mouth. Ofelia’s mind spins as her gaze falls to that rouged pout, fighting the urge to taste it as she polishes off her treat.

“Trust me, I’ve got plenty more Earth delicacies where that came from. I’ll make sure to share more,” Ofelia says with a grin, picturing all the things she could make. Dishes from her culture, candies, sweets… she meets Mav’s eager gaze and her lips widen.

“Promise me you won’t forget?”

“Promise,”

***

“How do I look?” Mav asks, twirling in the low light of the candles inside Ofelia’s tent. Her skirt is light and breezy, flowing around her legs as the bodice hugs her torso and accentuates her small waist. Her pink hair is half down, soft waves framing her face as the rest twists behind her elegant horns into an ornate knot. Ofelia is drawn to her chest, neckline low and sloping down, and as she clears her throat she meets Mav’s eyes with a soft flush.

“Beautiful,” She says, unrestrained reverence thickening each syllable. And Ofelia means it- lingering over the light fuchsia coloring Mav’s cheeks and dusting the tip of her pretty nose as Ofelia gazes back donning a scarlet of her own. “You’ll be waiting in the crowd?” Mav smiles.

“Front and center, just where I said I’d be.” Ofelia returns it, reaching out to tentatively brush her fingers down the long sleeve of Mav’s arm- gentle and soft. There’s a flicker of surprise over her light lilac face, the hint of a deep blush darkening her lips into a glossy mauve. A tug in Ofelia’s chest has her swallowing hard, avoiding the urge to find out what they taste like, before pulling away.

“Don’t forget I want the first dance,” Ofelia says, more to reinforce the idea so it won’t slip through her fingers. Astarion’s been getting a little too close for comfort, and though Ofelia has no right to it, she’d like to be the one who claims Mav as a dance partner before anyone else gets the chance.

“I won't,” She says with a wink.

Ofelia climbs the rock above their gathering of tieflings and druids, here to celebrate the goblin camp’s fall. A send-off before their long journey toward Baldur’s Gate. The bard at her right strums her lute as she tunes the strings, already well versed on the song Ofelia plans on playing as she pays her a kind smile.

“Ready?” Alfira asks, nodding to Volo, and Ofelia inclines her head in agreement.

“As I’ll ever be,”

It’s a lilting melody that echoes through the clearing, magic carrying each note high overhead as Ofelia’s fingers pluck each string with passionate purpose. Her eyes search the faces below until they fall on a pair of flaring rose irises, as if she’d been waiting for them to meet. A burst of uncertainty troubles Ofelia’s rapidly beating heart, but it’s gone the instant she opens her mouth- weaving her emotions through lyrics she hopes will reach Mavka where words have failed her thus far.

“Ah,

Now I don’t hardly know her,

But I think I could love her,

Crimson and Clover…

Ah,

Here she comes walking over,

I’ve been waiting to show her,

Crimson and Clover,

Over and over…”

Like a weight is sinking through her chest, their gazes remain tethered. Caught spellbound, Ofelia sings from the place she’s been locking everything away- her wishes for more, for their embraces to last longer, their fingers to stay interwoven tighter, for that gap that she longs to leap over to not be so wide… It’s a yawning void beneath, stretching deep and promising pain if her feelings aren’t met with the same delicate yearning.

Every day that passes she inches closer to the edge, priming for the jump. It’s an enduring state of torment, wanting so badly to be honest. She half hates herself for feeling this way- for falling so hard for someone already struggling through so much.

Adding Ofelia’s emotions to the mix of things she’s already trying to overcome seems more selfish than anything… Perhaps it’s better if she just confesses through the music- that way, she isn’t forcing Mav into the uncomfortable position of declining such a step forward. She’ll either get it, or she won’t…

But it’ll have to be enough…

Ofelia will make sure it’s enough.

“Yeah,

Well, I’m not such a sweet thing,

I wanna deal everything,

What a beautiful feeling…

Crimson and Clover,

Over and over…

Crimson and Clover,

Over and over…”

With a flourish of her fingers, she repeats the phrase like a mantra as she guides the melody through its rhapsodic finale. Every movement is imbued with careful consideration, flowing from the heart as intentionally as a lover’s caress. With one final breath, she locks eyes with Mav again, resolving to make sure she indulges in one of those bottles of wine she saw floating around earlier to drown her longing.

It’ll ease the pain of holding her affections at bay, especially while the two of them dance.

Praise and congratulations bounce off Ofelia’s sullen exterior, managing soft smiles and weary thank yous in return. She brushes off concern with excuses, knowing that it’s only a matter of time before Mavka will make her way through the bodies to find her.

Ofelia grabs the first bottle she sees and takes a deep pull, wincing at the bitterness that washes over her tongue, and when the object of her desires appears swathed in the golden lights hanging above and flaring from the torches, her chest aches. A stinging realization keeps her from reflecting Mav’s enthusiastic grin- the truth known to her.

No amount of drink will suffocate her sorrow.

Of that much, she’s certain.

“That was amazing!” Mav declares, bright smile contagious as she reaches out to pull the two of them into a tight hug. The light laugh is out of Ofelia’s mouth before she can stop it, though it seems to make Mav squeeze tighter.

“Thanks, Mav,” Ofelia murmurs into her lily-scented hair, fragrance bewitching and sweet. When Ofelia finally pulls away, it’s only because the tiefling grants it- face effervescent with joy and beauty so striking that it extracts Ofelia’s breath from her lungs in a rush of disbelief.

So this will be a lot harder than I thought…

“You promised me a dance,” Mav murmurs, flush deepening. She’s almost bashful, nature timid and reserved in a way Ofelia’s come to adore. She’s a gardenia- blooming in the night away from the harsh rays of the sun. Ever beautiful, illuminated by the moonlight, Ofelia doesn’t dare deny her.

Mav could ask her for the world, and Ofelia would find a way to deliver. No request too grand, Ofelia’s numb to them all- so deeply infatuated that she’d agree to anything.

“Looks like Shadowheart’s figured out the music,” Ofelia smiles, letting the sound stifle the unease that ripples beneath the surface of her skin.

She takes Mav’s right hand in hers, draping the tiefling’s arm over her shoulders before anchoring her own to the velvet-cinched waist before her. It fits in her grip in a way that tightens Ofelia’s throat- Mav’s quiet hum of appreciation mirroring Ofelia’s.

“You’re okay with me leading?” Ofelia tucks her face close and Mav nods, lips parting slightly.

A sudden flare of confidence thrums through Ofelia’s veins, joining the slight singe of alcohol as she settles into the role she feels most comfortable in. Dancing- ever her favored activity next to playing music. Slow, flamenco, traditional, salsa, cumbia, ballroom- she’s no stranger to any of it. It’s a hobby that she’d taught herself and learned from her mother- secure in the knowledge that she can at least give Mav this.

Twisting bodies surround them, moving to the beat like one living organism. They twirl and spin, concern melting into a joy so infectious that it leaves the pair laughing and breathless. Seeing the woman in her arms so thoroughly pleased is a boon to each step Ofelia takes. Spurred by the gentle crinkle of her glittering eyes, the lyrics carry them away, not breaking for a different partner when the song changes.

And it’s breaking over me,

A thousand miles down to the seabed,

Found the place to rest my head…

Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Go…

Never Let Me Go, Never Let Me Go…

And the arms of the ocean are carrying me,

And all this devotion was rushing out of me,

And the crashes are heaven, for a sinner like me,

But the arms of the ocean,

Delivered me…

Mavka, the amnesiac tiefling Ofelia had met on the beach covered in blood and desperate for help now shines like the stars that hang above them. They catch each other’s eyes, dimples accenting each of her cheeks, and Ofelia’s knees slacken slightly before she hastily pulls them along. Every cell in her body screams for her to cave, to smile back, to speak- but she can’t bring herself to as the song ends and the two of them part. They bow low, so close yet so far away, and when Ofelia rises to her full height she peers down at Mav with as honest a smile as she can muster.

“I’m glad I chose you to dance with,” Mav laughs, soft plinks that bounce off Ofelia’s brain like gold coins.

“Hmm, were you thinking of ditching me for someone else?” Ofelia lifts a brow, smirk on her lips, but Mav mistakes the tease for austerity.

“Oh! I mean… Astarion asked me to meet him by his tent later, but I told him this was more important first!” The sincerity in the set of her pink brow pulls a bubbling laugh up from Ofelia’s throat and she can’t reach out and snatch it back as it pours over the two of them. The widening of Mav’s eyes does Ofelia no favors, and she clutches her abdomen to stave off the pinching in her muscles as she tries to stop it.

“I’m sorry, I’m- ha!” Ofelia giggles, causing a comical twitch to Mav’s lips that has the tiefling restraining her own laughter. “I didn’t mean it! I was just messing around,” She smoothes the front of her dress, inhaling deeply, before leveling a kind gaze at her friend. A touch of jealousy curls in her chest, ugly and black, but she makes sure she gives Mav her best smile.

“Oh. You really have to stop doing that! I can’t tell the difference!” She swats at Ofelia’s arm and the human giggles again, trying to avoid Mav’s half-hearted blows.

“Sorry, sorry,” Ofelia sighs, reaching for her bottle once again. “Go- I’m sure he’s been waiting and you know how he gets when he doesn’t get his way.” Mav’s eyes twinkle softly, almost uncertain for a moment. It plucks at Ofelia’s heartstrings, like a melancholy serenade on her lute, but she waves her hand. “I’ll go bug Shadowheart or something, it’ll be fun! She looks half drunk so I should be able to convince her to dance.”

“If you’re sure…” Mav trails off, and every bone in Ofelia’s body blares like an alarm- no, ask her to stay. You know you want her to stay.

“Certain,” Ofelia nods, ignoring the demands. “If you want to come by later and see if I can trick Shadowheart into kissing Lae’zel, stop by!” Mav nods, swaying on her feet, before turning her toe. It feels like the sting of a blade.

“I’ll see you later!” She declares finally, lightness returning to her voice, and every step she takes away from Ofelia tears little pieces off that trail after her.

Once the tiefling’s no longer looking, she drops the fake smile and heaves a weighty exhale. The bottle in her hands is over half full and Ofelia glares down into the dark red liquid, rancid loathing swirling in the ripples upon its surface. She scowls and lifts it to her lips, letting the cheap booze rush down her throat in greedy gulps. The faster that tingle in her limbs spreads, the better.

***

“Having a good time?” It’s Shadowheart, resting against the rock Ofelia’s still leaning against. It’s been… maybe an hour since Mav left? Maybe less? Ofelia isn’t sure- she’s two bottles deep and working on a third.

“Oh yeah!” She grins toothily, raising her arm as if in a toast, but before the half-elf can lower her chalice Ofelia’s taking another deep gulp.

Go away, go away, go away.

Cruel images, unbidden, drift behind her eyelids. Soft lips, fingers trailing through long locks, heated bodies pressing together. Ofelia pulls the bottle away and sputters a wet cough, appreciating the slaps to her back as Shadowheart sighs.

“You know, getting drunk won’t help with whatever you’re going through,” Their cleric says, hypocritically taking a sip from her beverage.

“What are you doing right now?” Ofelia grunts, resisting the urge to take another drink.

“Exactly what I just warned you not to do,” It’s so matter of fact, concern fighting for attention beneath the murky trance the wine’s locked her in.

“What's your reason for getting wasted?” Ofelia mutters, dropping all pretenses of cheerfulness from her tone as she stares out toward the river. The couple to her right nuzzles their noses and whispers things that make the other giggle- Ofelia sneers.

“I’m afraid it’d take too long to explain- but, let me guess. The vampire stole your prize?” There’s a smile on the half-elf’s lips.

“Ugh, that sounds so gross. Plus, stolen would imply I had anything, to begin with,” Ofelia thumps her head back against the rock.

“Why don’t you just say something?” Shadowheart asks, crossing her arms as she looks up at the moon in disdain.

“Like it’s that easy,”

“It is. Just open your mouth, say the words, then close it. Simple.”

“Ha ha, Shadowheart.”

“I mean it- what are you so afraid of? ‘No’?” Ofelia turns her head to glare at the other woman, fighting the spinning of her vision.

“It’s not just that… it’s just not what you do. Friend code. She’s got so many holes in her memory, so there’s that. Not to mention the falling asleep and murdering people problem… I’m supposed to be there for her. I’m supposed to be comforting… how awful is it to use that to my advantage just because I have feelings I can’t seem to shut up…?” Her voice is thick as she trails off, pain lancing through her body to bring her closer to sobriety.

“Have you ever considered that she may just feel the same?” Shadowheart echoes a sentiment that Ofelia’s often wondered herself, in those small moments where she dares to hope. It’s quickly shot out of the sky each time by reality, however- wings clipped and shoved back in the cage where it belongs. Deep, deep down.

“I doubt it. She’s been with Astarion for how long now? I haven’t even checked… can’t…” Ofelia mumbles- defeated. Shadowheart places a hand over her shoulder and pats, a smirk on her face, and Ofelia frowns. “What?”

“She went to talk to him earlier, he said something to her that made her blush, but then she walked away and hasn’t come back from the woods since. He looked pretty annoyed, too.” The bird rattles the cage door.

“R-really?” Ofelia whispers, risking a bit of her pride in front of Shadowheart. If… if she’s telling the truth… then just maybe…

“Really,” The word is like a prybar, wrenching the lock from the cage door to free the bird trapped beneath Ofelia’s ribs. She straightens her posture, bottle forgotten on the ground beside her.

“Don’t tell me you’re going to go like that,” Shadowheart snickers and Ofelia glowers back.

“What do you mean?” Shadowheart sighs, fussing over Ofelia’s tangled locks before swiping the pad of her thumb across the corner of Ofelia’s lip- likely removing a smudge of her lipstick.

“There- go get ‘em,” Ofelia can’t fight the grin that spreads over her face, slapping her cheeks roughly to dampen her inebriety as she heads off in the direction Shadowheart points toward. The smarmy twist to her face doesn’t drop when Astarion watches her walk past, making sure to toss him a wink for good measure.

“Careful,” He calls over his shoulder and she laughs in reply, giving him a deep sweeping courtesy before proceeding on her merry way.

Every crunch of the underbrush beneath her feet is like a drum roll, doubt reaching in to snuff out the high of optimism that had been blazing so bright before she’d set foot into the tree line. Ofelia nibbles at her lips, trying to alleviate the rolling tides of apprehension that crash within, wondering if she should turn back, until her breath is stolen at the sight before her.

Within a clearing, surrounded by hundreds of flowers, is the woman Ofelia’s come out here to find. The moonlight makes her hair shine like it’s sinking into the very strands it adorns, horns catching a beam or two as she turns her chin to see Ofelia standing there.

They don’t exchange words for a moment, letting the cool breeze drifting through the trees occupy the space between them. From here, Ofelia can see a slight dip between Mav’s brows, lips turned down and features tense. A shiver of uncertainty runs down Ofelia’s spine, but she won’t flee like every instinct is imploring her to do. She stands frozen, waiting as if being considered entry, before the tiefling’s features melt into warmth.

“Ofelia,” She says with a smile, not quite a shout but loud enough to hear from where she stands. Taking that as her cue to proceed, Ofelia crosses the grassy ground, picking up her skirt as she carefully navigates around what could barely be considered a stream. Finally only feet away, she sinks down beside the other woman with a sigh, fidgeting with her hair as she works up the courage to simply start a conversation.

“Why are you out here alone?” She finally asks, unable to stave off the curiosity any longer. There’s an almost somber air around Mav, clinging to her in the way her smile doesn’t quite reach her eyes and the way her shoulders bow inward. It needles Ofelia’s heart with worry, and she begins to wonder if Astarion or someone else said something to her.

“Oh, just thinking.” She says softly, hands pressed into the cool earth below. Ofelia wants to reach out and take one, to impart some warmth into her skin, but she refrains.

“What did Astarion want?” Ofelia tries, as casually as she can, but when Mav’s cheeks darken in reply she’s afraid her worst fears may be coming to pass.

“He… he asked me if I’d like to meet him in the woods, once everyone goes to sleep. For…”

“Oh,” Ofelia says, carefully balancing the word on the tip of her tongue. It’s not as if she’d expected any different… yet it plunges just as deep as if it were a surprise. She swallows hard, forcing her tone to be even. “Are you going to? Meet him?”

She isn’t looking at Mav as she asks, too afraid to garner an answer from the expression on her face before the words leave her mouth. Instead, she watches a pair of fireflies dance on the other side of the clearing, weaving through the air in their tandem performance.

Ofelia braces for the worst when she feels Mav shift, the tiny bird that’d only just escaped now caught within a hawk’s talons.

“I told him I wasn’t sure… that I’d think about it.” Ofelia blinks, knowing that isn’t exactly a no. “What do you think I should do?” It’s an innocent request, but one that damns Ofelia from the start.

Astarion’s intentions are far from pure- that much she knows. While she appreciates his contributions to the group- both helpful and comical- and has on occasion offered her neck for him, she can spot secrets a mile away. She’s been wary of him from the start, knowing there’s got to be more to the pale elf than meets the eye, but she isn’t completely certain… and she won’t rule him guilty without evidence.

On another note, Mav seems to enjoy his company well enough. Ofelia’s been uneasy about the way he’s spoken to her before, but she always keeps her mouth shut- not wanting to diminish Mav’s opinion of him before she’s had a chance to form it. Maybe speaking up in the past wouldn’t leave her in the predicament she faces now- but it’s exactly that. The past. Now she’ll have to deal with the consequences.

“I think… if you really like him, you should go for it.” Her chest twinges at each word as if her body is fighting to keep her from uttering them. But… she can’t. She can’t selfishly protest and fight for something that isn’t hers to begin with.

Mav’s affections are her own, and Ofelia won’t sway them in her favor just because of a crush.

Though perhaps crush is too juvenile a word… no matter. It’ll have to wither and disappear eventually. Names don’t matter to things that are dead.

“Thank you,” Mav whispers, sealing the lid on Ofelia’s coffin. She fights to keep her face warm, though it crumbles when she sees the moisture budding at the corners of Mav’s eyes. “You’re always looking out for me,” She says, reaching for Ofelia’s hand. “You listen to me, you care… Your opinion matters so much to me. But what I can’t understand is why you’re still keeping something from me.”

Ofelia looks away, shame a smear of rust against her cheeks. Stripped bare of her facade, she shivers under Mav’s piercing gaze and tries to hide behind her hair when she looks down into her lap. It’s all for nothing- a front. She’s fresh out of options, stuck in a dead end to which there is only one escape.

Honesty.

Ofelia swallows, gently extracting her hand from Mav’s to nod.

“Tell me, Ofelia. You don’t have to hide anything from me.” The weight of those words settles like an anvil on Ofelia’s chest, drawing her breath out in a long reedy exhale. With it, words come falling out that she’s been holding in for weeks. Ever since they came to full realization, all those nights ago Mav enjoyed that popsicle.

“I don’t want you to see Astarion tonight.” She starts, refusing to look up. “I don’t want you to meet him in the woods. I want you to stay out here with me instead… I want you.”

Everything stops as soon as the last word leaves Ofelia’s lips—the wind, the trees, the animals. Like a forest holding its breath, she sits before the elegant creature that cradles her future in each palm- bliss or despair. Mav has the key, and it only unlocks one door. 

“Why didn’t you just say so sooner?” Mavka’s voice is smooth, velvet in Ofelia’s ears, wrapping around her with invisible fingers to lift her chin. Vision blurring, Ofelia tracks over the face she’s imagined so many times that it’s permanently branded behind her eyelids- reveling in its lustrous glow for as long as she’s allowed.

From the rare beauty that blossoms flaming pink in her almond-shaped eyes to the freckles that kiss her refined nose, Ofelia yearns. Her eyes drink in the graceful bow of full lips, a shape designed to ruin with excruciating precision. The veil covering Ofelia’s hidden pining now torn asunder, left naked and exposed, she stares- if this is the last time she’s allowed to look at Mav this way, she’ll make sure to commit every exquisite detail to memory.

“Because you trust me… and I didn’t want to risk what we already have…” Ofelia’s voice falls hushed, fumbling blindly in the dark. Her salvation hangs out of view, elusive and undecided- kept safely within Mav’s unreadable gaze. “I just want you to be happy.”

“What do you think I want?” It’s a demure laugh, breathless and uttered in incredulity. Ofelia mimics it, starting to feel the hawk’s talons lessen their grip, though she doesn’t dare try to wriggle free- feigning death in case this all goes sideways. “I want you to be honest with me... I can’t stand to see you this upset… not you, Ofelia. Not when you’re always happy enough for the both of us.”

Before Ofelia can stop it, the plea tumbles free on either the wine-aided looseness of her tongue or by weeks of hopeless infatuation. Either would fit the bill, though neither would do justice to the pious adoration she feels for the tiefling before her. Such unrestrained desperation, fierce and seeking an end to this rampant hunger. It will no longer abide the prison cell Ofelia’s been holding it within.

“Kiss me.”

The tips of Mav’s pale ears and nose deepen to the shade of crushed berries, glowing beneath a face that tips closer. Ofelia’s body acts of its own volition, reaching and reaching for her like a woman possessed as Mav surrenders to her tender entreaty with a nod.

Allowed to touch at last, Ofelia finds the jaw she’d only dreamt of feeling beneath her fingertips, bringing the two of them closer. It’s a leisurely path, unhurried as Ofelia languishes in the euphoria of promise puckering Mav’s lips. When they finally meet, a strangled sob escapes her mouth, holding tight and scarcely believing all of this to be real. She presses against that petal-soft plushness, once hoping for nothing more and scared it would only ever be less. It’s a bucket of water over ravenous flames, suffocating the disastrous heat into a burn slow and sweet. It creeps over Ofelia’s skin and with careful innocence runs along Mav’s bottom lip under the guise of Ofelia’s tongue, begging for entry.

When Mav yields and melts into Ofelia’s arms, it���s like a tender dream realized. Fingers in pink tresses, chests pressing together, Mav’s hands tentatively hovering over Ofelia’s waist as if waiting for permission. Ofelia’s approval imparted on a quiet moan, she’s almost stunned into stillness by the way Mav circles her waist and pulls her close. A mirror of masked desire, held up between each other, all Ofelia can do is sigh and soothe the ache away against Mav’s lips. Ofelia gleefully shatters the barrier to indulge, taste beyond anything she could have imagined that it demands her tears as collateral.

Like raspberries and wine, fruity and intoxicating, Ofelia’s tongue sweeps into Mav’s mouth and relishes in every soft sound that she makes. She lavishes her in affection so pure it feels like a dream, floating in the spaces between and occupying every sense until there’s nothing left in her mind.

If it lasted a century, it still wouldn’t be enough- Ofelia finding it difficult to stop as she chases Mav’s mouth when the girl pulls away. A soft giggle on the tiefling’s tongue, she doesn’t chide- soothing over Ofelia’s sullen frown like a balm as her clawed fingers cup Ofelia’s cheek.

“I think I’d like to stay here too,” Mav says, hands sliding to rest on Ofelia’s hips. Uncertain where to place her own, she follows Mav’s lead and circles her waist. “It keeps me up at night, the emptiness in my head… I’m always afraid that I’ll lose it again and wake up covered in blood. I can’t even trust myself… but you do. You make me feel safe… I don’t feel that way with anyone else.”

Ofelia sniffles around a smile, rubbing circles into Mav’s dress as she listens to her lament on plaguing worries festering and adamant in her mind. Ofelia wants so badly to quiet Mav’s fears, to lessen her burden, and she’ll do anything to make that want a reality- first, she’ll start with this. She’ll start with her affection, waiting on the tip of her tongue.

“You’re strong, you’re brave- more than you know,” Ofelia murmurs, one hand trailing the length of Mav’s body to rest gently over her cheek. “I didn’t know anything before coming here… I was so alone, so afraid… but we found each other. It’s like we were meant to meet… so that neither one of us would have to face it all by ourselves.” With that, Ofelia plucks the violets and clover from the ground before reaching up to tuck them into Mav’s hair like a crown around her horns. They compliment her perfectly beneath the starlight, and with a soft laugh Mav leans forward and places a kiss on Ofelia’s cheek, a tingle of electricity left in her wake.

“Well… I’m sure we can imagine what Astarion had planned.” Ofelia huffs, smug grin spreading over her mouth. Mav giggles, the two of them still tucked in each other’s arms.

“He did spell it out for me, in case I didn’t understand.” The two of them roll their eyes in unison. “What are you offering me instead?” There’s a bashful challenge to her tone, one that trembles with promise, and Ofelia leans in close until their foreheads are touching.

They peer at each other, freed from their previous limitations to finally explore everything they have to offer. Their arms become a sanctuary, a haven from the horrors all this world means to bestow upon them. As long as they’re together, they can face anything- an entire future threading and weaving between them into one solid path. One that, unbeknownst to them, leads through the years of their lives until the very end- fingers still tangled together as they breathe their last.

“Anything, Mavka. I’ll give you anything,”

Fin

[xxnashiraxx]

LOOK AT THIS LOOK AT THIS FUCK

IM DEAD.

BERRY I LOVE YOU 💗 This fic was so beautiful and lovely and beautiful and sweet and sad and OFELIA!!! She's done so well!! They're perfect I'm THIS CLOSE 🤏🏼TO DUMPING ASTARION. Mav and Ofelia are so sweet and this was so heartfelt and lovely and the Ramon Ayala lyric drop actually BULLDOZED MY ASS.

I love you forever, wife 💕Your talent always blows me out of the water, and your art is just GORGEOUS. I feel unworthy to look upon it 😭 Please read this guys and show Berry some love! She killed it 💗💗 I will cherish this FOREVER 💗

aromatic 💋

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

Sugar & spice & all things nice; that's what good girls are made of. When a night of pampering is on offer, Mavka is not about to let the opportunity slide—she is more than happy to indulge Ofelia, regardless of what the bard may have in mind.

Named F!Durge (Ofelia) x Named F!Durge (Mavka)

w/c: 2.4k words . spotify playlist . +18 only . dividers

a/n: happy belated valentine's day! this fic was written for the day #2 prompt of ockissweek25! the lovely ofelia belongs to my dear wife @xxnashiraxx, and mav is mine, of course. this is my first time writing for both, so i'm super excited. i’d like to thank the wonderful @bhaal-battle-beer-bard for her description of mav’s signature scent, which i’ve partly based this piece on. thank you for reading, and i hope you enjoy!

tags: fluff & angst; heated kissing; wlw

Vanilla and licorice. Warm, peppery, comforting—reminiscent of her innocent sensuality, Ofelia’s scent pulls in those unsuspecting souls droning around her, lures them with unassuming, saccharine mellowness, only to then ensnare each in a loving embrace; it bathes them in sunshine, enshrouds their weary minds in soothing mist. Upon following the bard inside her tent, Mavka’s slight body is immediately engulfed by the inebriating fragrance’s tingling heat—she feels at ease; she feels safe. 

“Er, pardon the intrusion,” the scrawny tiefling mouths quietly, chin dipping down and tail swishing nervously as she inspects her surroundings with large, watery eyes. Ofelia isn’t looking at her—she’s kneeling beside her bedroll while rummaging through a satchel, whose contents make distinctive clicking sounds whenever the items within roll and bump against each other. Though she’s aware Mavka can’t quite see it, the corners of the bard’s rouged lips instinctively curl into an encouraging smile, her chestnut irises twinkling ever so softly.

“Shush, you. Don’t just stand there. Have a seat!” she says, the already velvety, lyrical cadence of her voice canting with a cheerful lilt. Mavka does as told, slowly lowering herself to the ground and sitting awkwardly with her knees bent and pressed against her chest, both arms encircling them, seemingly trying to occupy the least amount of space possible. As she waits, the tiefling watches her companion with a guarded yet captivated expression, entranced by the way her gorgeous raven hair glistens in the candlelight, draping over her shoulders and exposing the slim column of her neck; the way her corset hugs the curve of her waist so very prettily, and the way her rounded, ample hips spill off it, revealing a thin strip of smooth golden skin. By the Gods, Ofelia is stunning—ethereal even, like an otherworldly being—yet striking though her beauty may be, it’s not intimidating; quite the opposite, never before had Mavka ever felt this relaxed around anyone, not really. Squeamish, silly little Mavka for once had found another whose love she didn’t feel like she had to earn—whose love was a given, its existence as certain and as natural as the inevitability of death. 

If Mavka was made to be loved, then Ofelia was made to love.

“C’mon, sit with your back to me,” Ofelia says, beaming with almost childish glee, straight white teeth exposed and eager eyes reflecting the gentle sway of the campfire’s flames. They are both resting on top of a fallen tree trunk, Mavka with her head on Ofelia’s lap, the bard’s elegant fingers delicately carding through the other’s pale pink locks. A guitar sits unplayed beside them—the plan was for Ofelia to serenade Mavka before they went to sleep, but the conversation had quickly steered into an entirely different direction as soon as she’d noticed the tiefling had her hair down.

“N—No, that’s alright…” Mavka blushes, a faint red glow blooming beneath the ashen skin of her cheeks and ears. Ofelia’s grin widens for a moment, gradually softening into a half-smile, and she leans back slightly, shoulders squared and features alight with hardly concealed playfulness.

“Oh? Well, I get it. I guess you don’t trust me enough?” she retorts, moving her eyes away from Mavka’s while still lovingly stroking the tiefling’s hair, voice pitching down in faux disappointment. The bait works like a charm—Mavka takes it with nigh impressive assiduity, sitting up suddenly and turning to face Ofelia with fingers curled tautly into fists atop her knees, the freckles on her nose fading under the now brightening color painted over them.

“I didn’t mean it like that!” The words come out in a jumble, almost bursting from her lips as she flusteredly tries to gather her thoughts. “What I meant was—I…” Mavka stutters, drawing in a sharp breath, her tail thumping loudly onto the tree trunk’s bark. “I trust you. Of course I trust you,” she mutters, staring down at her feet, and Ofelia isn’t sure whether to feel guilty or amused; it’s really hard not to mess around with a gullible girl such as she, after all, not when her reactions are this adorable.

“I know, sweetness.” Ofelia chuckles, taking one of Mavka’s hands in hers and squeezing it reassuringly. “So let me take care of you, okay? C’mon.” She lets go briefly only to then lightly pat her own legs, motioning with her head towards a spot on the ground right below them. After glancing back and forth between the ground and her companion, Mavka at last acquiesces, reluctantly dragging herself out of the tree trunk before kneeling with her back turned to the bard, who loses no time burying all ten fingers between the tiefling’s ivory horns, running them along her scalp and smoothing the fine, silken tresses using their soft pads. Mavka lets out a small sigh, feeling pleasurable tingles tickling the base of her neck and sending shivers down her spine; she involuntarily closes her eyes, relishing the sensation, and her mind starts to wander. How long has it been since she’s been touched with such care? With such love? Has she ever been touched like this at all? No, perhaps not. Not like this—never so warmly, never so tenderly. 

“I’ve been waiting to get my hands on your hair since I first saw you, you know?” The bard’s melodious voice brings Mavka back from her daze, but she remains with her eyes closed, yet listening attentively to every word. “I can’t resist a cute lass with pretty hair,” Ofelia teases, watching proudly as the pointed tips of Mavka’s ears start burning bright red again; taking three sections of hair, she then begins braiding them leisurely, purposefully letting her manicured nails gently graze the sensitive skin underneath, noticing how each brush of her skilled digits causes it to break out in goosebumps.

“This feels nice…” Mavka says, undeniable contentedness lacing the quiet tone with which she speaks. Hearing the other moving behind her, seemingly reaching for something, she almost lets her curiosity get the best of her; however, just as she’s about to look over her shoulder, she feels something lightweight being pushed into her hair; then again, and again. Though curious as to what Ofelia may be doing, she decides to be patient, and the two spend the next few minutes in silent bliss, simply enjoying each other’s company.

That until—

“Oh, I need to show you this. Let’s go back to my tent, I have a mirror!”

“Here it is!” The bard exclaims as she enthusiastically produces a hand mirror, instantly drawing the attention of Mavka’s curious eyes; she waits expectantly while Ofelia crawls to her, and once the space separating them has narrowed enough, the tiefling is finally able to peer at her likeness on the other side of the mirror’s glassy surface. “So? What do you think?” Ofelia asks, holding it up so Mavka can better see the braid swept around her neck and over her chest, which she now notices is adorned with small white flowers.

“I—I look… I look like a princess!” she blurts out, lilac irises sparkling and pale face flushing with naïve excitement. That’s just a simple braid though… Ofelia thinks, sympathetic discomfort tying a knot in her stomach as she fights the urge to squeeze the other’s rosy cheeks. Although endearing, she can’t help but feel it’s also somewhat sad; it prompts a wave of protective instinct to ripple through her, bringing back long forgotten phantoms, faded memories of the little girl she once was—all she had, all she lost.

I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where I can take the one I love I’m searching for a little corner in the Heavens, where we can hide, you and I

“Hey—I have an idea. Just a moment!” Ofelia leaves Mavka’s side to yet again stick her arm in the satchel, only this time the object she is looking for is much larger, and therefore, easier to find: a small pouch, which she then brings back with her. “Have you ever had someone else do your makeup?” she asks while opening the pouch, running her fingers over the bits and bobs shuffling around inside it, carefully considering her options.

“Makeup?” Mavka repeats the term a bit stupidly, still a little spaced-out after being shown her reflection. However, before she can formulate an answer, Ofelia finally makes her decision, pulling out from the pouch an octagonal wooden tub with wire loops on its side, holding a wand. Placing her thumb under the lid, she thus pops it open, revealing the substance held within—kohl. 

“C’mon, close your eyes for me!” Ofelia says, taking the wand—an applicator—and pushing it inside the tube. Mavka silently complies, despite her apprehensiveness; once she does, the bard presses the now kohl-covered wand to the arch of her right eyelid and starts gently applying the black powder along the tiefling’s lash line, lightly dabbing the edges with the tips of her fingers to smudge it some. “Do you have any idea how pretty you are? You look like a doll,” she hums absentmindedly after a while, still focused on her task, but letting her gaze wander a little, flickering it over Mavka’s freckled nose, her plump pink lips, the small dimples on the corners of her mouth. It occurs to her that this is the first time she’s seen them up close.

“N—No, not at all.” Feeling Ofelia’s cool breath on her skin as she switches over to her left eye, Mavka knits her brows tightly, that all too familiar rush of blood prickling her ears the instant she becomes aware of the distance, or lack thereof, between them. “You’re the one who’s pretty, really. The prettiest I’ve ever seen,” she utters the words before they can be swallowed, the blood now spreading to her cheekbones and nose bridge. She’s at least grateful she’s caught herself in time not to voice the thoughts still threatening to spill from the recesses of her brain onto her tongue—You’re so pretty I feel like I’m not worthy of touching you. You’re so kind I feel like I’m not worthy of looking at you. You’re so warm I feel like I’m but a withering sunflower, and you, the Sun itself.

“Shush, silly. We can both be pretty.” Ofelia speaks with such gentleness that the intrusive thoughts are progressively silenced, one by one. Instead, Mavka tries to pay attention solely to the way the wand glides smoothly over her delicate lids, the way the hairs on her body stand on end under the inviting heat irradiating from Ofelia’s hand; until she pulls it away, making the tiefling shiver from the loss. “There! All done. Now, let’s see…” When Mavka’s eyes flit back open, she sees Ofelia reaching for the pouch once more, digging through it for some time before grabbing a tiny pot, whose cap she promptly removes. “Lip paint!”

Inside the pot is a glossy cherry-colored paste with a waxy consistency, which Ofelia meticulously coats her fingers in, only to again approach Mavka, who unlike earlier is acutely conscious of just how intimate this all feels. “Pucker up, sweetness,” the bard says, an order that is obeyed almost unconsciously as if Mavka’s muscles were moving on their own, her mind now trapped deep within the dark pools of the bard’s irises, unable to register anything but the amber flecks swimming around her pupils. 

“Can I touch you?” Ofelia asks, her voice somewhat sheepish as sudden shyness starts to also deepen the olive shade of her skin, giving it a ruddy undertone. In hindsight, she should have asked the first time, but touching someone’s eyes is one thing; touching their mouth is, well, different. Mavka nods timidly, and Ofelia nods back, clearing a lump in her throat. She breathes in slowly, taking in Mavka’s image, her face flushed, eyes wide and lips puckered—adorable. Then, after brushing her own hair to the side, she pushes the pad of one of her tinted digits against the other’s bottom lip, feeling it give in and dip easily under the pressure. So soft… she thinks, trying but failing to ignore the growing need blossoming in her chest—the persistent, nearly painful need to know what Mavka tastes like. Flowery like spring? Sweet like honey? Or maybe something unexpected, something that Ofelia never would have guessed; earthy like a rainy day, citrusy like lemonade. She wants to know—must know, even. 

“Can I kiss you?”

The question is whispered rather than spoken, and Mavka nods again, not thinking twice. Worried that if she waits any longer that will be enough time for them both to second guess themselves, Ofelia decides to cover Mavka’s mouth with hers there and then, cupping the tiefling’s warm cheek with the hand she had been using to apply the lip paint and resting the other on the small of her back. Raspberries and white tea—more fruity than she had imagined, not quite as floral, initially light and mellow, then surprisingly rich. Addictive.

“Hmng—‘Felia…” Mavka mewls, wrapping her arms around the bard’s neck, and in so doing, pushing their bodies flat together; she feels the generous swell of Ofelia’s bosom flush against her own, feels the softness of her curvy figure, feels the warmth of her supple skin. Their lips move in perfect harmony, sometimes with lingering wistfulness, sometimes with greed and hunger. Is she allowed to feel something so pure? Is she entitled to such bliss? Is a love this simple, this easy, a blessing that is within her reach? 

my heart’s an empty vase looking for roses looking for posies and pansies a little color

No; not her, not in this universe, not in this timeline. But maybe—just maybe—a different shade of her, somewhere else, far, far away; maybe in a different world, a different dimension, there is a version of Mavka who gets to meet Ofelia Montez, who gets to listen to her sing, dance with her, make love to her—who gets to be happy by her side. Maybe this version of Mavka also shares her first kiss with the bard during a lazy summer evening; a cherry lip paint-flavored kiss, salty and bittersweet, with hearty notes of sweat and sin. Maybe. But for now, their love and their lives shall remain running in parallel, like unfulfilled promises, ghosts of one another—until they next meet.

brighten up my world, won’t you brighten up my world won’t you let your little petals fall in my clear glass heart