#tav tuesday

[gyldowen-draws]

Tav Tuesday: Drow Day!

Male drow my beloved 🥺 I'm back at it again with more awesome Tavs and Durges! Here's this week's line-up:

Drow by @meanbossart | Chanterelle by @luddlestons Creedence by @gravedigg | Gal'vyn by me, @gyldowen-draws

I will be back again next week with more beans! Happy Tav Tuesday 😋

[lutethebodies]

LTB Tav Tuesdays: Cannor Coth, the Lost Singer (Part 1)

Let's kick this off with my first Tav, based on the first character I made when jumping back into 5e after a ~30 year layoff from D&D. His name is a very loose translation of the Welsh canwr ar goll ("singer lost") or canwr cudd ("singer hidden"). I've spent more time with him than any of my other characters, so I'll try to keep this entry from running long and flesh out bio/backstory details in other posts this week, using the many surveys/memes/prompts on here. His short bio (stripped of all names/places) goes like this:

The bastard son of a disgraced army medic and a wayward noble lady, Cannor was raised in a rebel military camp far from his parents' native land. When his family was broken by that exile army's defeat, Cannor slowly clawed his way from obscurity to infamy, becoming a skilled singer and storyteller who dabbles in diplomacy when the money’s good and his ego is starved. Slightly over the hill but still antsy to be remembered, Cannor’s happiest when creating. Whether blowing blarney, keeping cool, or anything in between, he’s equally at home in lordly courts and tumbledown taverns. Cannor is a cultural sponge with nearly four decades’ worth of travel, soaking up language, accents, impressions, geography, history, and lore. As a younger man, he cultivated community wherever he went and made the world his home, but after being banished from his adopted home city years ago, he’s developed a deep desire for stability.

In 5e, I created Cannor circa late 2019 for my brother's homebrew campaign "Worlds of Aeos," a sailing/islands-based setting that eventually expanded well beyond that. Cannor was originally a College of Whispers bard, armed with a whip and dagger to finesse rather than fight, but as the campaign quickly became more violent and dangerous, I switched him to College of Swords. For a party that began as literally an "oops all bards" power trio (everyone, including the DM, had been in college bands), surviving to level 16 was no small feat. Cannor was effectively the frontman, a saber-wielding singer/storyteller and aspiring envoy who never got beyond the "spying and dirty tricks" bits of diplomacy school.

In BG3, I've run about five playthroughs with him: a FAFO original, a second to refine my playstyle, a third to be as completist as possible, a fourth with my other favorite Tavs as his hirelings, and a fifth that finally graduated from Explorer to Balanced. In each one he balances fights with finesse, taking full advantage of what a human swords bard can do and equip. BG3 rules allow him to be much less fragile than 5e, but I still sort of nerf him by sticking with light armor (the stylish +1/+2 studded leather, dyed black and summer green) and d6 scimitars instead of d8 rapiers/longswords (I wish there were whips in this game). He always romances Minthara, both because she's my favorite companion and because it actually works well with his old backstory (which I'll get into with another post).

For better and worse Cannor is my self-insert/running commentary on how poorly bards have been stereotyped by popular culture, because I hate the "useless fop" and "lecherous swine" bard tropes and I always have. I tried to subvert that a bit by creating a sort-of "spy who sings and strums" character—who leans more on "master of none" than "jack of all trades"—someone who's not utterly useless in a fight, but also not as combat-focused as, say, Gurney Halleck from Dune. It's probably not as original as I'd first thought, but it works for me and that's what matters.

In my own homebrew "Nua" campaign, Cannor was the DM-NPC and lore-dispenser (like Volo, but much less clichéd and much more able to defend himself) who accompanied my players' PCs through one region of the world I made. That worldbuilding was so compelling that I created my own cartography for it, and in 2022 self-published it as an atlas. In 2023 I used Cannor (and his career-killing habit of composing/performing original songs) as a frame for my own longtime music/lyric hobby, writing and recording seven of "his" songs using a mandocello. Thankfully I finished that project before BG3 ate my brain.

Anyway, since this post was much less about the character himself than what I've done with him, I'll add a much longer, story-like follow-up post soon, and I promise future Tav posts won't be so convoluted. But like I said, Cannor's my guy, so he gets special treatment. Part 2 is here.

[itspomy]

Saint Nicholas descends upon Faerûn, to give some baddies a holly jolly smashing. Hohoho

[venninova]

Tav tuesday - My first character

Forest Gnome, Circle of the Moon Druid, Dark Urge

I knew nothing about the game, how is it played, who the characters are etc, so for my first tav I just made a character that I think is interesting. So he became a reclusive humanoid-avoiding nature lover. 🌿

After the cut there's more info and lots of pictures! Also spoiler warning, I'll mention some locations, events and other characters.

Yes he got hag-eyed early on. Which made me decide against Volo's surgery, he's only got one good eye left! 🙃 The eye gives +1 to intimidation so it wasn't too bad.

I was playing on tactician and was using the most useful armor & weapons I could find, even if they didn't properly suit my tavs look all the time. I think I tried every green dye there is haha.

I changed to using the camp clothing option when in Baldur's Gate. Also from roleplaying perspective, the companions definitely wanted to clean up and style him to fit in to the city better.

On the main team we had my druid, my friends tiefling paladin, Karlach and Astarion (also Scratch and the owlbear cub in camp ofc!).

More pictures ✨

And one more from the new epilogue

[psalacanthea]

Tav Tuesday

just something I'm doing for fun. pls tag me if you do it as well I would like to look at and reblog your cool Tavs!

Character Profile:

Zynatheri ‘Zyn’ Rivati, the Silver Mockingbird

Birth Name:  [redacted]

Gender:  Genderfluid, AFAB

Age:  187 (it’s actually 188 she just forgets)

Sexuality: Pansexual, Polyamorous, Demiromantic

Height: 4’11”

Eyes: Silver/Blue (very faint blue tinge)

Skin: Blue-gray

Hair: White, waist-length, varies

Class:  Bard, College of Lore

God: None, sort of

Background: Charlatan

Alignment: Chaotic Neutral (subject to change)

Virtues:  Creative, intelligent, flexible, charming, clever, adaptable, empathetic

Vices:  Stubborn, spiteful, deceptive, cowardly, fickle, selfish, lazy, short-sighted

Romance: Astarion

Favorite Companion: Karlach

Least Favorite Companion: Lae'zel (mostly because they constantly disagree on how to solve every single problem)

Additional Details: Fights almost exclusively with support spells and her rapier. Charm, sleep, confusion, healing, etc- but if she has no choice, she defaults to psychic damage, and refuses to learn any elemental spells. Favorite spells are disguise self and polymorph.

Has six+ alter-egos she uses, each with their own name, history, and specialties, because being drow can be bad for tips (she claims). Uses them as a dissociative crutch to deal with her own traumas and emotions.

Her favorite color is scarlet, which doesn't go with her coloring- a fact that horrifies Astarion.

[everylittlepiecelove13]

new tav alert!! started a run-through with my friends from home and we collectively created faelynn!

she’s a high elf college of swords bard and she is pookie!! we’re leaning towards chaotic neutral for her bc she basically just does whatever she wants regardless of the consequences.

we’re thinking that her main party will probably be astarion, shart, and karlach (once we pick her up)

I’ve never done a bard play-through so I’m excited to see all of their class specific options!!

[desired-love-]

I need everyone to see how gorgeous my Tav is

Jade Laethorn

122, Wood Elf Druid

romancing: Halsin and Shadowheart bc I am a whore for both of them SHEJKW

[sadmages]

Rogier's no good very bad day.

[a2zillustration]

Do you understand, do you see my vision

| First | | Previous | | Next |

[[ All Croissant Adventures (chronological, desktop) ]]

[[ All Croissant Adventures (app) ]]

[sky-kiss]

Listen, I don't care how self-indulgent this is lol I just want it on my dash.

[gyldowen-draws]

Portraits of a Drow

Gal’vyn goes through a lot of changes in his life, and his look reflects that. Here are some portraits of my beautiful boy!

(In-depth story under the cut)

Underdark: Gal’vyn was born the third son of a poor family in the the city of Bel’laus Elamshin, a collective obsessed with “traditional drow values” and carrying out the First and Second Part of the Destiny of the People in the Spider Queen’s name. Because of his birth and station, he was sold to work in the mines. Although he spent his time doing hard labor, he was still expected to look beautiful for the Jabresses. No matter how time-consuming, inconvenient, or impractical, he was forced to braid, style, and pin his long hair to signify his station with a severe penalty for every infraction. He hated it. Although he was a devout follower of Lolth, he never truly fit in, the oppressive culture chafing against something deep inside. Eventually he couldn’t take it anymore, and he left his city, never to return.

Surface: The surface and his newfound freedom were strange, terrifying and exhilarating. It was hard to shed a lifetime of oppression, and it took Gal a while before he started to take control of his body and style. After a year still wearing his hair the same way, he finally got fed up and shaved it off himself. Though he ended up cutting himself and not liking the look anyway, that was his first act of self ownership.

Act 1: Since cutting his hair the first time, Gal evolved his look, dying his hair and getting tattoos. He enjoyed getting piercings, which had the added benefit of making him look really intimidating. People often steered clear of the scary drow, which suited him just fine. That is until he was captured by mindflayers and somehow made leader of a particularly mismatched group. It was then he discovered his new favorite accessory: a fresh pair of vampire bites.

Act 2: The shadowlands were not kind to Gal, in more ways than one. Away from light and civilization as they were, Gal couldn’t find the ingredients he needed for his hair dye or buy new khol when he ran out. The horrors of the shadow curse and Moonrise didn’t help his looks either. Astarion teased him for looking like shit, but still mended and embroidered his shirt regardless.

Act 3: Luckily for Gal, he was able to immediately buy the dye he needed from the mummy at the circus outside of the city. With a fresh cut and new clothes courtesy of a very grateful Figaro (and a collar to keep people from asking about the house brand on the back of his neck), he was able to take the Gate by storm.

Reunion: If there was one thing Gal learned the shadowlands, it was that his red hair was hard to maintain. So when he and Astarion decide to keep adventuring after the Elder Brain’s defeat, he chooses to go back to his natural color (after the vampire convinces him it looks dashing in the moonlight). With a different hairstyle and some exciting new piercings, Gal completes his new look with something he’s never worn before: happiness.

[lutethebodies]

LTB Tav Tuesdays: Olinitza Cuel, the Silent Sentinel

My fourth Tav is one of two rangers, and a fave among faves in both 5e and BG3. Olini is my current tabletop character, stomping all over my brother's unique homebrew game (Magic as deteriorated AI! Perma-storms hiding secret islands! Mad underground bioengineers! Dragons on the moon!) as a half-drow planar-warrior-wielding Horizon Walker ranger who was (unwittingly at first) working for a patron that once helped cause an apocalypse.

Her name is a very loose translation of (as I understand it) "she who moves quickly" from Nahuatl. In 5e she has the Investigator background, and was sent by her superiors in the big city to investigate war crimes (and their cover-up) committed by commanders of the same unit she used to scout for in the wilderness. Discovered, she was run off the frontier as a traitor and, at the game's start, was back in the city taking up the righteous yet thankless task of petitioning bureaucratic authority for justice.

Olini is a natural explorer annoyed by civilization's limits and rules, driven to seek justice on her own terms, and will push any boundary to do so. Her ideals are 1) freedom; she relishes her self-appointed role as the spear-tip protecting innocents from abuses of authority; and 2) people; she respects like-minded friends more than powerful titles. When not seeking righteous retribution against the war criminals who cast her out, she is sentimentally attached to her spyglass and scimitar, mementos of her childhood and long-lost ranger father.

Her flaw is an insufficient patience with nuance or the gray realities of life; she is quick to react and judge if it confirms her priors. This can curdle into selfish denial if unchecked, and earned her the ironic moniker of "silent" after frequent outbursts as she raged against incessantly-postponed audiences with corrupt power brokers. That temper caught her future patron's attention, who promised her help in exchange for temporary silence and other vague "services yet to be named." Eager to clear her name, Olini readily agreed.

In BG3 Olini is translated to a Gloom Stalker with the Soldier background, which in addition to being insanely overpowered, fits a bit better with her backstory and half-drow lineage. An ex-Fist who witnessed first-hand that unit's incompetence in Chult, she was in Baldur's Gate seeking an audience with Ulder Ravengard, but missed him by a few days when the Grand Duke left for Elturel (and his subsequent fate). Put off by Blaze Portyr and ignored by Gortash, she was back in the wilderness seeking Ravengard's party when captured by the Nautiloid.

I've played her for years as a belligerent force of chaotic good, with many sources of inspiration but most recently the character of Evangeline Navarro from True Detective 4. Navarro fits Olini to a T, complete with the "haunted by her dead mother" bit. She fights hard (she nearly killed Absolutist-Minthara on the spot for calling her "half-breed") and loves harder, which got awkward with Karlach (who's unrequitedly down bad for her) and got her into bed with Shadowheart (who did indeed become her romance).

Metagame tidbit 1: I haven't explored their romance yet beyond superficial commonalities (shadow magic, caring for animals, half-elven lineage), but I like the idea of Olini learning subtlety and tact from Shadowheart, and our favorite cleric learning self-assurance by example from someone like Olini, who's so comfortable in her own skin. Metagame tidbit 2: Olini is also the first character for whom I've kept track of long rests; she defeated the goblins and hit Level 5 within 8 in-game days (which has pretty much become my standard for subsequent runs).

Tune in next week for another ranger-ific Tav!

[reallyhatethiswebsite]

Bratty bottom Raph and gn reader for sweet anon 😊 nsft

Read on AO3

-

Such a rare and wonderful treat you had splayed beneath you. A feast laid out on red silk. Raphael’s usually well-kept hair was in disarray from the amount of times you’d run your hands through it. Big brown eyes were wide, black-hole pupils consuming his irises. In them you could see your reflection looming above him, perched on his abdomen with your thighs either side of his belly. A lovely, fetching flush spread across his cheeks and ears. His throat bobbed when he swallowed. You followed it with the tips of your fingers, resting them in its hollow. His neck seemed bare. He’d look amazing in a collar, you thought. Maybe some day he’d wear one for you. 

“Is it your plan to do nothing but ogle me all night?” He snapped. His handsome aquiline nose always scrunched up when he did. What a stunning creature. 

“You say that like you don’t enjoy being ogled,” you replied sweetly. The erection you felt against your ass was an obvious indication. 

“There’s a time and a place,” the devil said between grit teeth. He gripped the meat of your thighs, dug his fingers in. If he were in his true form, no doubt you’d have shallow wounds that he’d lick clean when you were done. Instead, his blunt human nails bit crescents into your skin. The dull pain was quite pleasant. You rocked back a little, pressing on his cock. He hissed, rolled his hips as best he could. Trying to rub his aching prick against you. It felt thick and hot, like soft steel. At its base, squeezing him just right, was a ring. Made of infernal metal. Enchanted with runes. No matter how close he was, no matter how many times he’d been brought to the edge, Raphael couldn’t come. 

In his long life Raphael had collected many different interesting toys – plugs, rings, dildos, cages, things like that – but this ring was your favourite. Simple but incredibly effective; say the right word and it would displace itself, giving you full control over when and where your devil could orgasm. Such a rush, a thrill like no other, to test him and his limits. Of course he could overpower you whenever he wanted, but part of the fun, the game, was to see how much he’d let you get away with. Touching him in places you normally couldn’t, feasting on his sexual ruin, licking tears of overstimulation from his cheeks as you milked his ruddy spent cock and overworked his prostate until he whined for you to stop…ah, there was nothing like it. 

Raphael didn’t often submit like this. Only when the mood took him, and he’d been stressed lately. He was clamouring for orgasm; desperate for it. Beads of sweat rolled down his temples. His jaw clenched tight. Nipples hard and full of blood – you’d been relentless plucking them like sweet strings, suckling when the desire struck, telling him how pretty he’d look with piercings you could roll around on your tongue. His chest heaved. His bulky frame trembled. He was going to leave bruises where he held you. You could just imagine how full and fat his balls were. He was almost at breaking point. You supposed you had been playing with him for a while now.

“Poor thing,” you cooed, swiping his bottom lip with your thumb. You moved away before he could bite it, knowing him too well. If looks could kill, you’d be a pile of ash – and yet beneath you he remained. “I suppose I should take care of you. You’ve been such a good boy, after all…”

“You are treading on very thin ice, little mouse,” Raphael growled, but as always, his body betrayed him. He shuddered. His upper lip curled, angry, frustrated. The threat in his eyes was real, you knew, and yet… You wanted to play just a little bit more. 

You smiled innocently, reached behind you to hold his cock, so warm and stiff and heavy in your hand. The devil watched, rapt, as you lifted yourself up and guided his cockhead to your entrance. You were ready for him. Always ready for him. Both of you sighed in unison when you rubbed his sticky glans around your hot hole, a tiny tease, but he was getting impatient, pushing down on your thighs.

“Inside,” he hissed, brown eyes flashing yellow briefly, a hint of glistening fang. “Let me inside.”

“As you wish,” you purred, sinking down on his cock completely in one drop. You groaned throatily as you took him in. He always made you feel so full. The way he tensed, his sharp inhale, the twist of his expression; these things told you he would’ve finished instantly. Except you hadn’t taken the ring off. You felt it nudge against your hole when he bottomed out.

“Damn you!” Raphael barked raspily, composure disintegrating. He viciously bucked his hips, teeth bared. You tumbled forward with a cry, your hands flat on his pecs for stability. For a moment you felt claws digging into you as he struggled to maintain control of his form.

“Tell me what you want,” you breathed. Your faces close when he reared up. He was done laying pliant. You slipped into his lap as he crushed you tight. You could taste his humid panting. His stare burned.

“You know what I want.”

“Say it,” you whispered. “I want to hear you tell me.” 

He was so handsome even when he sneered so terribly.

“I want to come, you contemptuous creature,” he snarled. He bit your mouth, spat the rest of his words behind your lips. “I want to finish inside you. I want to fill you with my spend. Mark you from the inside. Make you mine body and soul. You are mine. Now let. Me. Come.”

“Fuck,” you gasped. How could you say no to that?

[pursuitseternal]

“Stealing:” the Raven and the Ascendant at it again in “Our Blood is Thicker”

(Ascended) Astarion x Cordehlia (Tav) | E | 4K

🎨 by @marimosalad full more NSFW ON X and below the cut

Summary: Returning home, Cordhelia gets her hands on Astarion’s old tunic. What better way to tease him, just like she used to… by stealing his stuff.

CW: busty!Cordy, the Raven and the Ascendant’s continuing journey, dirty talk, taunting, and praise, marriage bond flashback, floor riding smut.

Previous ch | ao3 link | Masterlist

Chapter 22… Stealing

💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞🗡️💞

“Love?” Cordehlia called as she trudged her way up the stairs of the Palace. Her hand left a few streaks of blood on the handrail as she climbed higher towards their chambers. She rolled her eyes as the new colors he had chosen for the Palace, intimidating darks and burning scarlets and burnished golds. Everything the world expected of the Vampire Ascendant as he made his new domain on the ashes of his former Master and tormentor.

She huffed through her nose. The Crimson Palace. Of course he’d take that literally.

Cordehlia couldn’t even look at the massive sprawling portraits of his face that dotted the place. She, more than anyone, knew his ego could rage if unchecked, shaking her head, she recalled all that dripping arrogance as the young lording of their people. Now add wealth, unparalleled power, and the title of Hero of the Gate…. Cordehlia sighed as she reached the master bedroom.

The sunset’s light poured into the room through the colored windows, a wash of blues and greens and goldens like the forests of their youth. For as bloodied as the rest of the Palace had been made, this… this was their sanctum. Their private retreat from the demands of power and expectation. A place where the Vampire Ascendant and his Consort were just… them. Walls, bedding, decor, it all was burnished in golds and colored in verdancy. Airy and light and simple. A breath of fresh forest air in the throes of the City.

“Astarion?” Cordehlia called once more, starting to unlace her bloodied black leather armor. Those Bhaalists had been easy. Too many to dispatch quickly, but easy. She slipped off each piece to set it carefully by the door. The blood collected and dried in the little carved feathers all along her armor. For as fearsome as she looked as the Raven, it sure was hell to clean after each night she went out. Fortunately they had servants now. A palace full.

Besides, he liked the way she looked in the armor he had bought her, when she was covered in black leather and cape, face half concealed beneath her new helm. His little harbinger of death, his own fierce Right Hand to work in the shadows.

The fall of the Netherbrain had only been a beginning, the rest of those tendrils… or tentacles… of the Dead Three’s power still needed dismantling. By day, they rebuilt the City, funding projects and attending galas, by night they crept in the dark to finish what had begun months before….

When they weren’t here, in this bedchamber, still making up for centuries apart from one another.

She smiled, still looking around the room for any traces he was home. But given the pristine cleanliness, the answer was a resounding negative. His meetings must have run late, she concluded, heading to the bathing chamber to draw a warm bath. Bhaalist blood, she had learned, tasted worse than it smelled, and she was eager to be free of it.

Today had been a special battle, one opportunity to try to cut the Bhaalists off at the root, and it had taken her nearly all day. As she sank into the warm and soapy water, she felt the tension leaving her muscled frame. A few moments to herself sounded like balm to her weariness. After all, if she truly needed him she could simply tug gently at that new bond that connected them mind to mind, not just soul to soul. No, for now, she could enjoy herself alone.

Maybe it was her lost in the scent of the perfumed soaps, of moss and sweet grass and wildflowers that wafted on the steam. Maybe it was her, lost as she wandered through her memories of times before, of their young, carefree and bloodless days.

Whatever it was, Cordehlia’s heart brimmed with nostalgia.

As the sun lowered, it slatted through the cool colored stained glass of their rooms, bathing her in a flood of green and blue light. Cordehlia smiled, remembering the mossy banks of their youth in the forests of the Yuirwood. So far away, and so long ago, she could feel the same longing for nature and the open air. The water had grown cold, the only sign of how long she had been soaking away the sweat and blood of her day. Stepping out carefully, she dried her cool and pale skin, heading into their bed chamber to find something comfortable for the evening.

She took a deep breath as she crossed their large chamber. Her hand ran over the leaves and scrollwork of the patterns on their wardrobes. For all the comforts she had at the tips of her fingers now, she missed those days on the road, fucking in his tent, falling in love with him all over again for the man he was now, the reflection of her own inner darkness made sharper inside him.

The door opened easily, her elegant gowns and lingerie hanging perfectly inside. Such finery. Too fine for her. She glanced at the bloodied leather armor across the room, grappling with that lingering pain in her heart at the darkness she was trying to use for good, for justice… for cleansing the City. Still, her heart longed to go back to simpler days, innocent days. She craved those moments when Astarion was with her, making her heal from that demanding darkness that was her nature.

Her hands searched the bottom of the wardrobe, a pile of their old clothing from their adventures on the road pushed into the darkest, furthest corner. Carefully, she fished out her old flowing tunic, the bell shaped sleeves still forever stained from dirt and blood and Illithid slime. The nostalgia was so great, her heart thrumming with the memories of joy and angst of it all. Another pale, stained linen shirt laid beside it.

Those ruffles, that deep v cut and lacing sent a thrill of recognition instantly to her heart, and her core. Soft as she remembered, she held the shirt in her hands, reverent almost, as she pressed it to her face. Breathing deeply, her heart thumped slowly but steadily with the rush of joy it gave her.

His. His shirt. Old and repaired countless times and eccentric. Just like him.

A tug of a smirk at her lips, and she settled it over her body. She had grown a little rounder, fuller, and curvier since their days on the road and in battle. Well-fed, cared for, adored, her curves strained against the narrow cuts of his shirt. Her breasts nearly poured out from that deep v of his collar. An embrace of his shirt all over her torso.

She smiled. Oh, he would be livid to see her in this, she smirked. Not that she liked irritating him or inciting him to be annoyed. She didn’t like doing that… she loved it.

Just as she was imagining that irritated furrow to his brow and his nasally and whiny voice, his near-silent footsteps climbed up the center stair. Her stomach leapt, oh, she would taunt him mercilessly in this. She glanced over her shoulder, impish as she bent down to rummage more in the bottom of their wardrobe. She made sure the hem of his shirt rested on the crest of her hips as she bent forward.

Giving him a sight to behold as he entered.

Reckless, mischievous, Cordehlia held her breath to savor the sounds of him. The click of the door, the sharp inhale into his undead lungs, the softer gritting of his teeth and racing of his pulse as he took in the display of his Bride as she presented herself so… lewdly. So perfectly.

“My…” he couldn't even get out a pet name without his voice cracking at the sight of her bent over like that. He could smell her bloodied, discarded armor beside him as he closed the door. “A successful raid against the Bhaalists, it would seem, my little Raven.”

Cordehlia smirked, her face the perfect picture of startled and breathless. Too perfect. “Oh, my love,” she turned completely around and stood strength, a hand on her heaving bosom as if she had to catch her breath. “I didn’t know you were home…”

His eyes narrowed, an irritated smirk on his thick and sensual lips. “Yes you did, my little minx,” he rasped. “You’re senses are too sharp for that excuse, they always were,” he grunted as he crossed to her. Crimson eyes scanned her body, taking in the sight of her shirt.

His shirt.

“Where did you find these old rags?” he purred, that privileged, judgmental tone cooling his voice as he crossed over towards her. His finger picked at the ruffles as if they offended him. “I’ve bought you dresses, exotic silks and shifts and gowns for the bedroom, and this…” he sneers a bit naughtily, “you pick my old shirt?”

“I did,” she smiled back, so haughty and taunting. “For as… nice as your gifts are…” she trailed off, making her eyes big and innocent and teary, “they just don’t smell or feel like you against my skin…”

His eyes dilated as he watched her hand against her skin, watching as she teased his shirt over her body. “It’s a little snug, however,” she chuckled, picking at the collar that her breasts were positively spilling out from.

All fangs and breath, he kissed her, consuming her. Hands clawed at those full and supple breasts she couldn’t stop mentioning. His fingers squeezed like a vice, a moment of aggression followed by long and sensuous caressing. Cordehlia groaned, arching against him, trying to lift the shift from her body.

“Ah, ah,” he tutted in mock chastisement. “You made your choice of apparel. And I must say, I might even look better on you than me, my love. But now, you’re going to have to live with the consequences of your choice.”

“You mean, getting fucked is the consequence of my choice, don’t you?”

Astarion only gave that low, reverberating chuckle. “Now, I liked the sight of you before, why don’t you bend over again, my bride, and I’ll give you what you were clearly seeking?”

She looked so innocent as she smiled up at him. As if she hadn’t just been bent over to taunt him, as if she hadn’t been caked in the blood of their enemies before that. “I don’t know what you mean, she replied so calmly. “I was just looking for a little something comfortable to slip into.” She tried to back away, eyes darting as he started to unfasted the clasps of his ornate jacket before it landed on the floor for him to step over. “You’ll never believe…” she smirked, impish as she backed up some more, “I thought it was my tunic, it felt so familiar until I put this old thing on.” Letting out a small giggle, she only smirked harder as he closed that distance she kept insisting on making.

His ravenous smirk only widened. “You always did like games of chase as a girl,” he replied, voice like gravel from his growing desire for her. “And you always were such a tease and a horrible liar.”

Cordehlia let out a giggle as she turned to dart away. But he was all the faster, too many decades of these same kinds of games to not know her every next little move. Swiftly and suddenly, her vision was filled with bright blues and greens of the stained glass windows as he caught her and pinned her tightly beneath him. “I think I’ve won, my darling,” he rasped in her ear, his body pressing against her back and his hands running up and down her bare legs.

“For now…” she purred as she pushed away from the window just a bit.

“How about, for now, you let me enjoy the sight of you in my shirt, you adorable thief,” he chuckled, a hand reaching around her waist, the other pinning her hands above her head and against the cool glass of the windows. The bare skin of his chest radiated heat, his temperature seeming to burn hotter the more his hand slunk over her belly, the more it teased the ancient fabric of his old shirt. “Little light fingered Cordehlia, always getting in trouble…”

She huffed a laugh, hiding the groan in her voice as his fingers found their way between her legs. “Usually getting caught because of something you made me do with you, little lordling.” He tried to lift her head away from the window, but his hand just squashed her harder, pressing her breasts against the cool glass harder, making her shiver where her skin touched it from the cut of his shirt.

“Now, now,” he groaned, grinding his hardened cock against her bare ass, “you got me into trouble just as much, from what I can recall.”

Cordehlia gave that low and musical laugh, her mirth broken by a few pants as his fingers determinedly sought out her clit. “From what I

remember, you loved it…”

Astarion hissed, his cock aching to be so confined, but that feeling and scent of her own arousal was too delicious to pull away from. Closing his eyes, he felt her mind, her memories tickling in his own brain, an invitation to join her. The blue and green light of the room faded from reality, the sun of the Yuirwood bathing their youthful faces as her memories came to life….

“You give that back!” Astarion’s voice called after her, that red-haired terror he loved to be around. Loved to be around… until she did something utterly irritating, like stealing his new book from his mother.

“I’m not going to break it,” she taunted back over her shoulder, her rosy lips turned in a teasing, impish grin. “Not like you need another book for your massive collection, Astarion, you spoiled brat.”

That made him grind his teeth and sprint all the faster after her. Reaching one hand, he caught the trailing ends of her hair, pulling her up short and making her tumble into the mossy forest floor.

“Fuck you!” Cordehlia hissed, barely breathing as the wind got knocked from her lungs. Astarion towered over her, hands on his knees as he tried to catch his breath.

“Doubly naughty,” his voice creaked from thirst and exertion. “Stealing my book,” he snatched it from her hands as she laid in the dirt, “and using such foul language for a she-elf of breeding.”

She sneered a smile, her fist landing at the back of his knee making him crumple to the dirt beside her. Swift and graceful, she pinned him down. “You’d think you would know, by your age, I am not just some she-elf of breeding…”

“By our age, you should know that it’s unbecoming and unattractive to steal things from your closest of friends. We aren’t just little elflings anymore.” He grunted, his face growing pink as he fought against her hands that braced his fists at his side, as he tried to throw her off from how she straddled him.

“You know I hate when you do this?” He spat.

“Do what?” Cordehlia pouted, holding on to him tightly. “When I beat you? When I outsmart you?” She taunted, reaching for the book from his side to flaunt it in his face.

“I hate when you pin me like this, like some little brat of a she-elf,” he grumbles. But Cordehlia only held on harder, pushing him to the earth more beneath her legs. She moved to toss the book away when…

“Astarion, is something the matter?” She looked at him, his eyes were dark, his face was flushed. “You don’t look right…” As she moved to set the book down, she felt something under her. “Something wrong with your stomach? You have a bump…”

He hissed and threw her off. “I said I don’t like it,” he grumbled, grabbing his book and holding it over his lower stomach. “Stop taking my things, Cordehlia, and maybe if you ask nicely, I’ll share them with you instead.” He sniffed and turned to stride away.

Her laughter broke the spell, their memories fading as the palace’s walls and colored windows took shape again. She rammed him backwards, sending Astarion flying most ungracefully to the carpet behind him. Sprawled out, he caught his breath, opening his eyes to see her feral, cunning leering face descend on him to pin him down. “Little did I know then just how much you actually loved when I was pressed against you,” she purred, sitting astride him the same as in the past, her hips grinding down on his confined cock, hands splayed on his bare chest.

He groaned under her, teeth bared and hands tight on her hips.

“Don’t look so cross with me,” she panted, grinding her slick folds on the velvet of his breeches. “How can you be angry when I look so adorable in my purloined shirt?”

“Because…” he grunted, “one, it’s my shirt, and two…” he slid his hands to the band of his trousers, forcing them down to let his cock finally free, “if I don’t do now what I wanted to do with you then, I’m afraid you’ll find me far worse off than… cross…” he smirks up at her, fangs glinting with mischief.

“Oh, you can be so much worse than cross,” Cordehlia teased, “spoiled for instance, annoying…” that smooth, hard skin of his cock pressed deliciously beneath her, and biting her lip, she tilted herself to catch it. Sinking on to it, groaning to be finally filled and satisfied to have him under her power.

Astarion bucked beneath her, a pleased, arrogant grin on his lips as his eyes closed. “Well, at least I’ve learned over the centuries how to play nicely with one person.”

“Ha! Barely,” Cordehlia scoffed as she slowed down on him. Sitting perfectly, frustratingly still, she teased his shirt on her body. Her strong and lithe fingers brushing her skin where her breasts pushed up through the cut of his collar. Lifting up its hem, she brought that ivory fabric to her face and breathed in deep. Astarion’s eyes went wide, dark and dilated as he watched her own pale belly and the curves of her breasts slowly come into view. Every breath she took, he could feel her muscles expand and relax around his cock. And then she sighed, “Still smells like you, my love. Like your salt and sweat and musk… like how you smelled after a long day of fighting and killing and…” she dropped the shirt and grinded on his length again suddenly, “fucking.”

He sat up with so much strength, wrapping her body in his arms, face nuzzled into her shoulder. His breath flowed over the crook of her neck, sending shivers to scatter down her spine. “Honestly, darling, now it smells like you… mouthwatering and fresh and fierce.” He smirked at her, slowly lifting his head to brush noses with his love. “And I think I like it better that way…”

Fangs sank gently into her neck, making Cordehlia buck erratically on his lap, the sudden movement making him pull away quickly with a snarl. Blood on his chin, dripping down her neck, he looked her over with lust-blown eyes. Lips pressed against his gently, her breath sweeter than meadowgrass as she slowly rode him. A steady tempo, a rocking of their union as she took her sweet time to buck on his cock. Craving every inch, every ridge and vein of him single her, she wanted to feel, to remind her that they had made it.

They had won.

Her undead heart palpitated in her chest, or maybe it was his own heart beating so hard beneath his ribs it resonated in her very bones. He bent in worship of her, giving her the very air from his lungs and blood from his veins to sustain her as they moved like water over rocks, so pure and fluid. Warm touch and strong fingers clung into her hair, tugging her head back, angling her mouth just right for his tongue to delve deep inside, to skate over her fangs and feast on her taste. Breath growing short, her aching muscles flooded with the need to finish, to chase that release he always, always gave. Arms hugged her tight, a gesture that was once so innocent between them now something so full-blooded and thick with heavy desire. Her own two arms, capable of so much violence and strength, clutched around his neck, pulling his mouth to fasten against her own.

The fading daylight bathed them in the softer blues and greens through the windows of the palace. It warmed their skin from without, even as the slow friction of their coupling warmed them quickly from within. His breath grew harsh and stilted, his teeth biting hard on themselves, jaw tight, and every muscle drawn tense; it was enough to shove Cordehlia into her own wave of climax in the same breath as him.

Her lungs burned as all the air disappeared, her aching muscles bunched and fluttered, all she could do was gasp to fill her empty lungs with air. Every breath was laden with his scent, ancient and familiar from his shirt caressing her body, and that all-too-familiar perfume of elegance, of citrus and herbs and brandy.

Catching her breath, she felt his head fall against her bosom, the Ascendant laid low as he caught a second wind cradled against his love’s body. “To bed?” he whispered softly. Drenched, Cordehlia slid off his lap, locking eyes with him as looked up at last.

His eyes might have been kohl-lined now and crimson, his teeth like weapons, and his back forever scared by his torment, but in the bath of blue-green light, he stole her breath. This mighty Ascendant, and yet still the same cocky elven boy who smirked, stealing her heart… he looked up at her with wide loving eyes.

Astarion, even more lithe and sleek since his ascension, stood and pulled his trousers all the way off. Without warning, he swept her in his arms, catching her back in his grip and her lips in his kiss. Their bed caught her as he slipped in beside her, on her, everywhere at once.

Attentive, lusty, and passionate—just as he always had been since he first laid claim to her heart, and then her body, and now her future. Finally.

The room darkened as the sun set, verdant greens and lush blues turning to black again as night fell outside their little haven of a bedroom. But they were far from finished.

Pants and sighs and the slaps of flesh filled their room for hours, but even the undead eventually end up collapsed in a pile of bliss. Resting her head on his chest, the pounding of his heart was her lullaby, that ancient pattern that had soothed her to sleep for years, and Cordehlia drifted off into sleep, still hugged tightly in his old shirt.

Hand in hand, he held her body, not just in his arms in their palace, but in their minds. In their dreams, he found her, bathed in the real soft greens of the Yuirwood. Her confident face looked at him with all the love she had preserved for him for centuries, her eyes a mix of silver and crimson, the oneness of who she had always been and who she was now. His bride, his beloved, and his Raven. Bringing her dream-lips against his, he could taste her breath again on his real tongue.

Lost in his touch, Cordehlia clung to his body and soul. For that moment, even among the dream-like trees, she could smell him, feel him, that boy that stole her and became her everything.

💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞💞

Just a bit nsfw… so we post it here, by @marimosalad

Hope you loved these menaces 💞

[bardic-perdita]

Bought myself a new pen for lineart and I think I'm in love

[eliteseven]

Chapters: 2/2 Fandom: Baldur's Gate (Video Games) Rating: Mature Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Shadowheart/Tav (Baldur's Gate) Characters: Shadowheart (Baldur's Gate), Tav (Baldur's Gate), Emmeline Hallowleaf, Arnell Hallowleaf Additional Tags: Fluff, Smut, Romance, Marriage Proposal, Domestic Fluff Series: Part 9 of Of Night Orchids, Lace, & Steel Summary:

Shadowheart seeks Tav's mother's blessing before she asks a very important question...if Tav doesn't ask her first, of course.