#minthara short hair

[blues-screenshots]

[orinthered]

lets go minthara likers lets go

[dashonrat]

making this my first repost on this non-art account because she is the most beautiful thing i’ve ever laid eyes on

🥴 im feelin normal about minthara with a shorter cut

[u-so-silly]

A quick short hair Minthara painting i did before the new year

Happy new year !

[ladyofrosefire]

fuck it, bg3 companions shower routine

Shadowheart: Shar hates self-care, but a Shadowheart does take pride in her hair, and a Shadowheart who has learned to be kind to herself can indulge. Long, complicated hair routine, very specific water temperature, and a tendency toward long-ass depression showers. LOVES a bubble bath and will make a whole event of it with flower petals and candles just for her. Will bring a book with a little book tray and a glass of wine.

Astarion: Similarly complicated hair routine. Gotta hydrate the curls, and being dead does not do nice things to your hair. Less prone to standing there staring at nothing while the horrors set in, but prone to scrubbing too hard. Similarly fond of a bubble bath, although without the book or flowers, although he will fuck with an essential oil heater and likes to make his own blends.

Lae'zel: Queen of the 4 minute shower. She has been accused of not even waiting for the water to heat up, but she likes it blistering. Does not actually use 3-in-1, thank you. Having fairly short hair helps. She finds the other companions baffling. Would get bored in a bubble bath unless she had company (rubber duck counts).

Wyll: Sings. If someone called him on it, he would be embarrassed, the first time, for about a minute. Neither wildly efficient nor inclined to standing there for ages and ages and prefers to shower in the morning. Washing his hair is a chance to relax and take care of himself, although before he has his family back, it can be a bit melancholy. He has fallen asleep in the bath before. I feel like he'd love a bath bomb and he'd love the full romantic evening with candles and flowers and music.

Karlach: Please, please someone boil her. Once she gets her engine fixed all the way, she tries a cold shower just to remember what it feels like and keeps up a running commentary about how much it sucks while also not turning up the temperature. Absolutely loves sharing a shower with someone and will also sing. Should not attempt her little jig on wet tiles. May try anyway. Someone should introduce her to proper hair/skin care because if anyone is using 3-in-1, I'm sorry, it's Karlach. Genuinely cannot sit still for a bubble bath unless she has company to cuddle.

Gale: Voted Faerun's Most Likely to Relitigate Arguments in the Shower, Even if He Won Originally. Loves to pamper himself, canonically, loves a spa day, also canonically. You simply are not getting the bathroom back for a good hour, although not all that time involves running water. Plays around with different products and researches the living hell out of everything. Loves a long soak. The only person with a feline in their house to ever bathe in peace. Constantly torn between wanting a book with him when he has a bath and not wanting to get the pages steamy and damp, much less actually wet.

Minthara: Her ideal hair wash involves someone else doing it for her while also having the utmost certainty that the person will not attempt to murder her. If her partner washes her hair for her, she turns into a puddle. She has an incredibly specific lineup of products. If she shares, understand that she has bestowed upon you a great gift. More about bath salts than bubbles and could be persuaded to a sufficiently elegant bath bomb (it would not be a difficult check).

Halsin: Low-flow showerhead user. Hell, he might be the kind of person to turn the water off entirely when not soaking/rinsing out his hair... However, he is not immune to the "shower together to save water" line even though he KNOWS it doesn't work that way. He needs low-scent soaps/etc considering his heightened sense of smell. And listen, this man does not fit in a bathtub unless he goes somewhere special or finds a particularly large one. He made everyone floaty ducks, properly sealed against water damage, and he has one for himself that holds his soap.

Jaheira: Understands that having a chair in the shower is just being kind to yourself and proceeds accordingly. Will revisit arguments she had that day, but despite that has a quick and fairly simple routine. She needs the water pressure to pound the everloving hell out of her back. Loofa on a stick user. Like Wyll, she has fallen asleep in a bathtub, in part thanks to having and using a bath cushion. Truly, the expert on bath-based comfort.

Minsc: Also sings in the shower. LOUDLY. Boo is allowed to sit a shelf out of the way. The best way to get him to use lotion is to give him something that smells yummy. He has similar problems to Halsin regarding fitting in bathtubs. He tries anyway. He has been banned from at least one hotspring for doing a cannonball.

[thehistoriccemetery]

Heya 👋 I enjoy reading your headcanons, and I love your prompts… could you write the ladies for #5 Tav fainting from a hidden injury?

Tav Faints Due to Hidden Injury

Hey! I always enjoy reading yours as well! Feel free to use any of those prompts as I’d love to see your take on them.

I probably won’t do anything more injury prompts for a while; there’s only so many ways I can hurt poor Tav.

Here’s prompt #5 for Shadowheart, Lae’zel, Karlach, and Minthara.

On the way into Baldur’s Gate, while all of your companions watch the lands free themselves of the shadow curse, you manage to walk carelessly into a broken cart handle. You’re no healer, but you know Shadowheart is going to have a thing or two to say if you ask her to patch it up. You decide it doesn’t look that bad, and patch it up yourself. It’s an exciting day, finally arriving in the city. Why bring down the mood with a fresh gash in the side?

Shadowheart

The two of you are taking a short walk to familiarize yourselves with the new camp at Wrym’s Lookout.

You had been trying to keep your cool, but as you climbed up ladders and dodged rumble, you felt the ache in your side start to grow.

You stop and lean against a beam for support, clutching your side and breathing heavily.

“Are you alright, love?” Shadowheart asks tenderly, approaching you slowly before you quickly collapse on the ground.

She rushes over, trying and failing to catch you. She rolls you over on your back, lifting your shirt.

She sees the makeshift bandages you’ve wrapped yourself in and carefully slices away at them with her dagger.

She flinches, seeing the deep gash in your skin. Luckily, you just happen to be in love with one of the best clerics around. A cure wounds spell patches you right up.

You wake up almost immediately to a very unhappy looking Shadowheart.

“Care to explain the massive laceration I just found under your shirt?” She quips. “Or, are we just withholding such information with one another these days.”

“You’re one to talk about withholding information,” you attempt to joke.

She does not laugh. “So I suppose you’ve just forgotten how you acquired such a wound?”

You sighed. “It was on the bridge on the way over. I-I impaled myself with a piece of wood.”

She hits the back of your head with the back of her hand. “Ow!” You shout.

“It would’ve taken me two seconds to heal that wound up fresh. Now you’ve probably got a variety of different diseases swimming around from how poorly you packed it.”

She reaches out a hand to help you to your feet. “Let’s go,” she says. “I’m going to teach you how to properly wrap a wound.”

Lae’zel

You and Lae’zel walk alongside the city walls, just outside the city. Looking for clear signs of damage from the Netherbrain.

She comments a few times on how you are moving slower than usual. “We cannot afford to be so sluggish in the days to come,” she tells you.

It isn’t until you fade paler than Vlaakith herself that she notices something is seriously wrong. You fall to the ground before she can think to catch you.

She notices blood beginning to speckle your undershirt. “Tsk’va!” She curses, cutting away the fabric entirely.

You’re too far from camp and losing too much blood for her to get you back in time. She’s going to have to deal with this herself.

But she couldn’t tell you the first thing about closing a wound.

Hair. She remembers a ghustil sewing her up with a strand of her own hair. She plucks a hair from your head and gets to work.

You wake up halfway through the delicate operation, half crying from the pain of the repeated rough stabbing of your already tender wound.

“Silence!” She shouts, lazer focused on the task at hand. It doesn’t take a psionic tadpole connection to tell that she is angry.

When she’s finally finished, the wound looks… unpleasant to put it mildly. But it should be enough to get you back to camp.

“I didn’t think I needed to explain to you the stupidity of hiding grave afflictions,” she spits.

You open your mouth to apologize, but she cuts you off. “I will not hear apologies, only promises that it will not happen again.”

Karlach

Growing up on the outskirts of Baldur’s Gate, Karlach is all too excited to revisit some of her favorite places with you.

Her excitement makes for an easy distraction. She is so focused on her surroundings she doesn’t notice the way you grind your teeth together in pain.

“Hey Soldier, check this out,” she shouts excitedly, walking back towards you with some cool plants she found.

You try to smile, but whiteness clouds your vision as you fall to the ground. She drops the plant and runs to hold you up.

“Soldier? You know you’re not supposed to go and pass out on me. I don’t know how to…”

Panic starts to rise in her chest and she lays you gently on the ground. “Alright Karlach, you got this,” she assures herself.

She lifts the base of your shirt, starting to panic again when she sees the blood soaked bandages.

She gingerly removes them revealing the nasty gash underneath. “Oh boy, you really did a number on yourself,” she says.

She looks around, trying to find absolutely anything that could close the wound. She didn’t know any spells, nor did she know anything about sutures.

She sighed. She had an idea, but she didn’t like it. “Okay soldier, I’m just gonna need you to stay asleep for a little while longer. Can you do that for me?”

Dammon had fixed up her engine so she didn’t burn so hot anymore, but she was pretty sure she could just get hot enough….

She pinched the wound together, then, with clenched teeth, she placed her other hand on top of it. She channeled all of her anger until she smelt the burning of flesh.

You jolted awake with a scream and she pulled away. The wound was now replaced with a cauterized burn.

“It worked! You’re okay!” She exclaimed, rather impressed with herself. “You are never allowed to do that to me again.”

You groan, sitting up. Your head is still spinning from pain and blood loss. You sway ever so slightly.

“Woah, slow down there soldier,” Karlach says, gently pushing you back to lie down. “Again does include right now, you know. Come on. Let’s get you back to camp.”

Minthara

You and Minthara take a stroll around the outer city, allowing her to take in a surface city for the first time.

Not far into your walk though, you begin to feel lightheaded. “Minthara I think I need to sit-“ you are cut off abruptly by your own collapse.

You fall limp onto the cobblestone on the city streets.

She is quickly down beside, cooling your face with her cool hands. It’s only then she notices the bloody bandages under your shirt.

Confused, she cuts away with them away, revealing your injury.

Her face immediately pales. The wound is mild, nothing she is incapable of handling with a simple laying of hand. But you kept this from her.

She patches the wound with a gentle touch. But her mind continues to race. Why would you not tell her? Do you not trust her? Should she trust you?

You stir awake with a whine. The pain in your side is dulled, and you’re able to sit up with relative ease.

Minthara stares harshly back at you, silently awaiting an explanation. When you don’t offer one she asks, “why have you kept this from me?” She tries to hide her hurt behind anger.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. “It’s just- I knew you were excited to see the city- and it was a stupid injury anyway I just- I didn’t want to be a bother.“

She looks dissatisfied with your answer. “We do not keep such grave secrets from one another. My trust is a fragile thing.”

You sigh, defeated. “I know. I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

[hijackalx]

MINTHARA NSFW ALPHABET

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

100% depends on how much she likes you LOL if you’re a one night stand you’re getting kicked to the curb 😹😹 BUT if you’re close enough i think she’s kind of sweet? she finds it a little embarrassing but she still wants to do it, so sometimes it might come off a little awkward lmao. kisses any marks/sore spots left on your body and tells you how good you were 💗

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

i feel like minthara has KILLER buns like is it just me……….. she has a really muscular, perky ass lmao, and she’s definitely proud of it. OH AND HER BACK is a close second. i think her favorite part on her partner is their chest. AFAB or AMAB doesn’t matter she loves to mark it up and play with their nipples.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

lowkey has a doting/maternal side that she has to suppress during sex. but you didn’t hear it from me (call her mommy and watch how she short circuits)

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

she’s super experienced. had one night stands all the time before you and isn’t shy at all when it comes to sex. also do we think she let the goblins that were obsessed with her smash? yes or no.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

face sitting. giving or receiving. also likes bending you over surfaces.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

i feel like she tries to keep it serious but every once in a while something will happen/be said and she’ll break LMAO she can’t help it she is lowkey sillay 💗

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

y’all already know my girl is rocking a bush stop playing. she’s too grown to be worrying about pussy hair 😹😹 probably keeps it trimmed though, and i’d say it’s slightly darker/coarser than the hair on her head.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

okay i don’t feel like she’s PURPOSELY romantic. like she won’t consciously do things she considers romantic but some of the stuff she does instinctually is really romantic/sweet (holding your hand, brushing your hair out of your face, etc.)

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

yeah i can see minthara jerkin it LMAO. but only if she can’t find someone to sleep with/just needs a quick nut. like i said she’s not really ashamed when it comes to sexual matters so if she’s horny that shit will be dealt with TRUST 💯💯

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

DACRYPHILIA. your sniveling/whimpering gets her GOING. do NOT go to her for a shoulder to cry on YOU WILL GET FUCKED !!!

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

she loves a partner that is typically strong and capable but can easily make them pathetic and submissive whenever she wants.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

not a lot she won’t do. up for most things unless it’s like….. really, REALLY fucking weird 😹😹😹 also anything that feels demeaning is a no. will humiliate you but don’t try to do it to her.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

prefers to receive here, but if you’re good she’ll put in the work 😼😼

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

almost EXCLUSIVELY rough. only slow and sweet if she’s tired and had a long day. but that just makes those slow and sweet moments more special ☺️💗

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

def a quickie queen. if she’s horny she will be on the lookout for somewhere to fuck. doesn’t care if anyone hears/sees either so the spots are pretty easy to find 😹😹

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

can go multiple rounds with an interval in between. don’t try to go back to back immediately or she will throw out HER back LMAO. a little recuperation first and then she’s good to go.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

hell yeah boy. she uses them on herself and her partner. sometimes it doesn’t even have to be an actual toy— if she finds a random object that gives her ideas she will be using it.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

SOOOOO MUCH. will actually tease you to TEARS (she was hoping that would happen). even outside of sex she likes to touch you/whisper dirty things to you out of the blue. loves how she can fluster you, it makes her feel powerful.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

likes to talk but i don’t see her moaning super loud. if she moans she tries to stifle it by biting her lip, so they’re pretty grunty and groany. i think moaning loudly is a little too vulnerable for her and feels kind of awkward.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

SUPERRRRRR high. like i think it can be legit exhausting sometimes 😭😭😭

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

prefers to stay up and read or meditate or something. getting the vibe that she’s the type to smoke after too lmao. but occasionally she’ll be out like a light— you wear her out sometimes 😹😹

[omgkalyppso]

[Content ID: art of characters from Baldur's Gate 3. From left to right there is first an original character balancing on a wall behind themself as they adjust a teal two-piece swimsuit and stretch one leg forward. They have long red hair tied back, freckles and four visible piercings in their right ear. They are staring across to Astarion. Second, is Minthara in a green one-piece swimsuit with her white hair tied back as she too looks towards Astarion and the other character on the right side of the image. She is adjusting the base of her swimsuit also. Third is another original character half stepping forward. Their hair, curled from humidity, is also tied back. They are wearing teal earrings, a mesh or fishnet top, and blue swim shorts pattered with a white tree covered in pink blossoms. They have a rose tattoo on one side of their neck, a dagger tattoo with plumb blossoms can be seen on their abdomen, a dead spider tattoo on the inside of one ankle, and a final visible tattoo that appears as thorns around the base of their opposite ankle. They are sharing a smile with Minthara. Fourth and lastly, Astarion adjusts his hair while staring off into the distance. He is wearing a navy and silver pair of swim shorts.

In the background a blue sky dotted with blue skies over a sandy beach with active waves against a shoreline. This view is obstructed by a grey stone alcove / grotto that the characters find themselves in. Below them is dark brown rock, with two red blobs behind Minthara to imply bags of belongings, and blue water by their feet. /End ID]

Will I ever learn how to shorten image descriptions? Signs point to no.

Thanking @razrogue for her patience with me as I consulted her on nearly all aspects of this over the past like, week. Gan (she/they), Minthara, Étoile (they/he) and Astarion finally get some time to enjoy the Coast.

This is also a piece that I worked on long enough that I feel justified in reminding the curious that if you're on desktop, you can click to embiggen and then right-click: open in a new tab to see the full size! (:

Close up's and a pride version below the cut.

Please do not use my art of anything without consulting me but especially not my art of Gan or Étoile, thank you.

[linka-from-captain-planet]

little Minthara/Florrick feat: short hair Minthara

[blues-screenshots]

Swapping out companions for Jaheira at moonrise towers

[vaniri]

Dangerous Thing [Minthara Baenre x drow Tav]

Parties in Menzoberranzan can be exhausting. During one of these, Minthara decides to slip away and spend some quality time with her beloved woman.

----- Rating: E Category: F/F Word Count: 3 243 Warnings: sexual content, oral sex, drow women in love

----- As always, big THANK YOU to @ugh-my-back for helping me polish my work 🖤

-----

Minthara never liked parties.

It didn’t really matter which one of Menzoberranzan’s noble houses hosted them, or why they were thrown – it was rarely anything other than a display of host’s wealth and power, an excuse to flaunt their prosperity (sometimes only alleged) and, more importantly, remind the other houses of their position in the City. What really mattered about these parties was how they ended: who managed to raise their status and who got viciously murdered, who learned the darkest secrets and who vanished without a trace. Hardly any party in Menzoberranzan could go without at least one intricate intrigue and some blood spilled. It was a cruel and dangerous game the high society loved to play and despite Minthara being quite proficient in that (she was taught well and by one of the best), she hardly ever enjoyed getting involved in all that mess. It was all so damn exhausting.

Tonight’s evening was pretty peaceful so far though, but Minthara knew that she should never let her guard down. She had learned that the hard way. Polite smiles often hid malicious intentions. Every hand lost from her view, even for a short while, could potentially try to stab her in the back before the end of the night. The game was always on and to lose was to die. And she was a Baenre, daughter of the most ancient and influential house in Menzoberranzan. Life had already taught her that as a significant and illustrious figure she sure was, she should have always expected people to plot against her and target her in their scheming to get power and influence. And that she should always be prepared to fend off their attacks.

Despite her justified suspicion and wariness, she did not stray from getting involved in social activities in order to avoid getting people’s attention. She mingled with the guests, exchanged hollow-hearted pleasantries and forced smiles, joined discussions and shared her thoughts, carefully worded, on their subjects - as someone of her status was expected to do. But something else seemed to occupy her mind, as her eyes were clearly looking for something, or rather someone, searching the crowd for the only face she wanted to see tonight. The only reason Minthara attended all these parties: her beautiful lover, the most perfect woman in the entire Underdark (and probably also the World Above). She had to be there tonight, she would never miss the opportunity to learn the newest rumors and listen about the scandals involving the most notable members of Menzoberranzan’s society. And, most importantly, she would never miss a chance to see Minthara.

She finally saw her, standing among some young girls Minthara didn’t recognize, probably novice priestesses or some less important daughters of not very important mothers. Their eyes met for a brief moment, a hint of playful smile flickered across her face and Minthara already knew she had something wicked in mind. She watched her politely excuse herself and walk towards the ballroom exit, beckoning Minthara to come with her. Minthara followed her without a moment of hesitation, keen to have some respite from all that socializing and pretending, her eyes glued to the captivating figure moving gracefully before her.

Her lover looked stunning that evening. Her long wavy hair, white and lustrous like the finest spidersilk, was tied in a loose low bun, with several small braids adorning her head. Her well-fitted dress, quite revealing but still covering all the parts a decent noble lady should’ve had covered in public, clung to her perfect form, accentuating her beautiful shapes. Its deep red color corresponded wonderfully with her smooth gray skin and her intricate jewelry, made of the finest materials found in the Underdark. She looked like a literal goddess. And even moved like one, climbing the stairs leading to the upper floor of the mansion with such lightness and elegance she seemed to be floating above them.

Minthara was absolutely mesmerized by that sight. They haven’t seen each other for days, whether because of her family duties, or her lover was simply avoiding her on purpose to whet her appetite before the party – Minthara had no idea. But she missed her a lot and seeing her now, so beautiful and irresistible, made Minthara want her more and more with every passing second. She needed to touch her, taste her, feel her squirm under her body and hear her moan her name. She had to remind her who she belonged to.

She couldn’t contain herself any longer. When her lover reached the top of the stairs, she closed in on her with three long strides and pinned her to the nearest wall, her body on hers. She leaned in to steal a kiss, but her woman stopped her with her hand covering Minthara’s lips.

“Patience.” She whispered softly, dragging her finger along Minthara’s lower lip. Her voice was calm, and so was her breath, but her lustful gaze betrayed her desire.

It was very rare for Minthara to not get what she wanted. Usually it was very simple, all she had to do was pull the right strings and just wait. People loved to fawn on her and throw themselves at her feet. They were ready to do anything to please her, hoping to earn her attention and win her favor. But not her beloved. This one was bold enough to defy her, tease her, say no to her demands and make her beg for what she wanted. And that’s what made Minthara so crazy about her.

But she would never let anyone know how much this woman has bewitched her. And certainly she would never make it so obvious in front of her. She had an image to maintain. So despite the overcoming desire to devour her right here and now, Minthara reluctantly pulled away from her, giving her a sign to lead the way, wherever she wanted to take her.

Her lover took her hand and guided her down a dark narrow corridor, humming some cheerful melody under her nose, her excitement palpable. Minthara didn’t interrupt her, enjoying the familiar tune and waiting patiently to see where this whole jaunt would take them in the end. Finally, after what felt like ages, they stopped in front of one of the many doors and her beloved opened them quickly, revealing a relatively small, sparsely decorated but still fancy-looking room with a large bed in its center. She gave Minthara a quick glance, a playful smile tugging at her lips, and, without a warning, she shoved her inside.

Minthara didn’t have time to protest because her lover pushed her against the wall and closed her lips around hers, finally giving in to her desire. Minthara did not resist, she hungrily returned her kiss, aching to feel her whole. As her tongue explored her lover’s mouth, her hands quickly found their way under the fabric of her dress, finally free to roam her entire body.

“I love when you’re so eager you don’t know where to put your hands.” The woman teased between kisses, groping Minthara’s ass and pressing her pelvis hard against hers to feel even more of her. She moaned softly when Minthara’s hands reached her breasts, fingers rubbing her already hard nipples in a slow, circular motion.

“I missed your body so much. I want to touch you everywhere.”

“I missed yours too. I want to see it, in all its glory.”

With Minthara’s hands still occupied with her chest, she unfastened her dress herself and then gave her a gentle but suggestive push, prompting her to do the rest of the work on her own. Minthara begrudgingly took a step back and swiftly slipped her dress off her shoulders, letting it fall on the floor. Her smallclothes joined it right after. She was standing there proudly, completely naked, watching her lover circle her like a starving predator did its delicious prey and take in every inch of her exquisite form. Minthara knew her body was absolutely ravishing, slender but firm, covered in faint freckles and several dark scars, each a proof of her grit and endurance. But seeing what a mere sight of it did to her beloved, how it filled her with fascination, adoration and unadulterated carnal desire, feeling her lustful gaze burn on her skin – it boosted her self-confidence even further.

Without a word, the woman took Minthara’s hand and led her towards the bed. Still fully dressed, she ensconced herself by the headboard and motioned Minthara to join her there. Minthara obediently crawled to her and let her seat her between her legs, back against her chest.

“Let me show you how much I adore you.” Her lover whispered in her ear, peppering it with hot kisses, her arms wrapping around her waist. Minthara purred softly, enjoying the attention her lover's lips were giving to her ear and neck, and the coolness the fabric of her spidersilk dress provided to her heated skin.

Her woman knew all the right spots on Minthara’s body and lavished them evenly with attention and care. She started off safe, with her ears, neck, shoulders and belly, kissing and massaging wherever she could reach, making Minthara melt into her touch. Her palms moved down to her legs, thumbs rubbing her inner thighs, closer and closer to her groin, then left to caress her sides. Every brush of her fingers made Minthara shiver, every touch made her ache for more. Her beloved had her fully at her mercy, exposed and vulnerable, and she was happily using the power she was given. Normally it would have scared Minthara to be like that, to give herself to someone entirely - without fear of getting betrayed. It should have scared her. But not with this woman. She trusted her completely, with her body and soul. And she was certain she was putting herself in good and loving hands.

She let out a quivering sigh when her lover’s palms cupped her breasts, then a loud moan when her fingers focused on her sensitive nipples. She pinched and rubbed them interchangeably, her mouth nibbling her earlobe, and Minthara felt the throbbing heat between her legs grow more intense with every second. Her beloved could have made her come only by fondling her breasts (actually she had done that before, several times, that skilled woman), but that wouldn’t satisfy Minthara tonight. She wanted her hands on her most sensitive parts, she needed her to touch her properly. She rubbed her legs together, trying to give her already dripping pussy some much needed friction, but her lover kept her in place, biting her ear to remind Minthara that she was in charge now.

“Patience.” She reminded her.

Finally, after a long and delicious while of playing with Minthara’s tits, one of her lover’s hands found its way between her legs. Her slender finger slid between her slick folds, rubbing her already swollen clit and Minthara felt her orgasm build up rapidly in her abdomen, every stroke sending waves of bliss throughout her body. She let out a surprised moan when her beloved circled her entrance and slid a finger inside, dragging her juices out and smearing them all over her bud to add more slickness and make her sensations even better. She stroked her clit with short, quick motions, adding more pressure when she wanted to make Minthara wail and reducing the intensity of her ministrations when Minthara was enjoying herself too much. She knew well how to dose her pleasure and how to make her a squirming mess.

Finally, when she decided she was done teasing, her hand picked up the pace, and with the other hand still playing with her already overstimulated nipples, Minthara couldn’t hold back any longer. She came hard, crying out her lover’s name, succumbing to the overwhelming pleasure rushing through her body like a thunderwave. Her cunt throbbed intensely, walls contracting rhythmically around two fingers her beloved slipped in her to finger her through her orgasm.

She held Minthara tight until she came down from her high, stroking her hair and murmuring sweet words of affection in her ear: how much she meant to her, how much she loved to worship her body and hear her cry her name like it’s the only word she knew. And all these terms of endearment that could have them both tortured and maybe even killed, if anyone caught them saying these to each other. My passion. Source of my joy. My one and only. My love.

Hearing all these things, uttered by the woman she adored so much, made Minthara’s heart flutter. She turned around and pressed her lips against her lover’s, eager to show her how much she reciprocated all these feelings. Their kiss was fierce and messy, and Minthara couldn’t resist playfully biting her lower lip as her hands dealt with the skirt of her dress, tossing it aside and revealing her beautiful toned thighs. She made her way down her lover’s body, kissing every exposed part of her  skin until her face buried between her legs, where she tugged her already damp underwear aside and spread her folds, giving herself full access to her dripping core. Minthara planned to tease her a little first, but the scent of her arousal was too enticing and made her want to devour her right here and now. So she pressed the tip of her tongue against her clit, then slid it into her and tasted her arousal, purring contently at the wanton moan her action elicited.

She lapped at her sweet spot, reveling in all these lovely sounds her woman was making. She was always a delight to please, so vocal and responsive, and so direct with her needs. She guided Minthara’s hand to her entrance, prompting her to slip a finger inside and Minthara happily complied, purring contently when her lover ran her fingers through her silky hair. She held her head, keeping her mouth where she wanted it most while Minthara thrust deep into her in a slow steady pace, adding another digit for more stimulation when one felt like nothing in her needy cunt.

Minthara focused her full attention on her clit, sucking and licking the overstimulated bud, feeling it throb against her tongue - an undeniable sign she was close to her release. Her fingers pounded into her dripping hole, picking up the pace as her lover rutted feverishly against her hand, begging her to fuck her harder. She came moments later, with Minthara's name on her lips, her pussy contracting fiercely around her fingers, covering her entire hand with her juices.

Minthara pulled her fingers out and licked them clean, savoring the taste of her lover’s essence, locking her eyes with hers. She looked exceptionally delectable, with her cheeks flushed and those full rosy lips parted. Some strands of her hair had fallen loose from her previously tidy bun, now framing her face and somehow making her even more beautiful. She reached to Minthara, hand still shaking after her intense orgasm, and held her cheek, whispering her name so tenderly and with so much fondness Minthara couldn’t contain emotions that surged through her. The familiar feeling of warmth and elation was swelling somewhere in her chest and she couldn’t even try to pretend she didn’t know what that sensation was anymore.

It was a very dangerous and unwise thing for a drow to develop feelings for another and give themselves to them, fully and genuinely. Especially for one from a house like Baenre. Minthara was usually very cautious and extremely picky when it came to trusting people and letting them closer. Not too close though, as life had already taught her that most of these people wanted to be in her favor for their own personal gain and would turn against her in an instant the moment planting a knife in her turned out more beneficial. She already had several scars to prove that statement. She had to learn how to see through people and read their motives, play them as she wanted, to always be one step ahead of them and their plotting. And never get attached to them. Of course she had made some mistakes, but after learning her lesson all her lovers and so-called friends became nothing more than a temporary entertainment, a moment of fun with no strings attached, and she was ready to get rid of them without batting an eye the moment she noticed their intentions were vile. That's how she managed to survive so long in the treacherous high society of Menzoberranzan.

But her relationship with this woman was different. She was different. Selfless and sincere, from the very beginning. She never asked for anything, other than affection and honesty, and offered the same in return. She’d proven her loyalty to Minthara, more times than she could even recall, and earned her full trust. It started off as an innocuous affair, based on their carnal desires and yearning for connection with someone, even for a short while. But it lasted for years now and Minthara already knew their involvement had long ago turned into something deeper. Meaningful. Dangerous.

Her common sense demanded Minthara to kill that woman the moment she noticed the change. She should have destroyed the object of these feelings and the bond they shared, before it corrupted her mind and ruined her completely. But one look in her lover’s warm eyes was enough to make Minthara realize that she was already beyond the point of saving. And it didn’t scare her, as she had already come to terms with her own feelings and accepted her weakness in full.

Love like this was a rare thing in the Underdark. It should have been cherished, not fought.

“Hey, where are you?”

“Hm?” Minthara snapped out of her musing. Her love was visibly amused, watching her with curiosity in her eyes.

“You were lost in your thoughts. What were you thinking about?”

“You, of course.” She gave her lover’s crotch a quick peck and put her underwear back in place.

“No need to think about me, I’m already here.”

Minthara crawled back to her and snuggled up against her chest as her beloved pulled her into a loving embrace. She found comfort in her smell, relaxing completely while listening to her heartbeat, strong and steady, enjoying her hand tenderly stroking her head.

“Stay with me here. I don’t want to go back to the party.” Minthara purred, content with her current position and reluctant to change it.

“They’ve probably noticed our disappearance already.”

“Good, they may be noticing it for a bit longer.”

Her lover chuckled lightly, then her expression suddenly sobered.

“Your mother-“

“Knows I came here for you and you alone.” Minthara cut her off. “She has more pressing matters to attend to today than tailing me and making sure I behave, trust me.”

“I do trust you, Alurlssrin.” That word always made Minthara’s chest swell with warmth, so many emotions rushing through her mind. An undeniable proof that her lover felt the same. “But please, don’t complain to her later that you missed the entire party because I kept you in bed all night and didn’t let you go. She didn’t believe you last time and she won’t believe you now.”

It was Minthara's turn to chuckle, until her lover pressed her lips against hers to finally silence her.

She would never dare complain about that.

[galebrainrot2024]

I’m about to learn what the overlap is for Astrology and BG3 - I give to you my takes on the companions Big 3 (Sun, Moon, Rising)! Disclaimer: I did this on vibes alone

A quick break down for those unfamiliar: sun is ego, moon is emotional world both how we process and express emotion, rising is our house of self, how others perceive us., who we fundamentally come across as

Karlach: Taurus Sun, Leo Moon, Sag rising. Starting off strong and easy, girlie is a Sag rising without question, she loves spontaneity, good humor, trying new things, wants to explore and see the world and take it all in. Taurus sun, I think she’s a fairly grounded character and it takes a lot to make her angry - what she is angry about though are long standing grudges where people have done her quite dirty. Provoke the Bull, get the horns. Leo moon: she wants to illuminate and shine her optimism and love onto others. Has great hair, strong sense of humor, bold, a flair for the dramatic.

Gale: Pisces sun, Libra moon, Taurus rising. I had a surprisingly hard time with him. I think he’s a March Pisces specifically. He is a little delulu and has a huge imagination as well as capacity for empathy, humanitarianism. Romantic. Plus, baby cow eyes. Big water sign energy there. Taurus Rising: our boy is quite stubborn and enjoys a bit of lavishness from time to time. Conjures a bed instead of sex on the grass. The five senses matter a great deal to him - Taurus is ruled by Venus after all and is a very sensual sign. Great cook. The moon I struggled with and ultimately think he’s a Libra moon. He craves intellectual stimulation, strong people pleasing tendencies and also values relationships and partnerships. Very romantic. Libra moons thrive and seek out partnerships and as it’s an air sign, is also very intellectually driven and aroused by intelligence/harmony/beauty in all forms (arts, food, people)

Astarion: Cancer sun, Scorpio moon, Capricorn rising. No further questions your honor. In all seriousness, nothing screams moody, sarcastic vampire like Scorpio and cancer. Capricorn because of the restriction imposed upon him. All of these placements are really sweet to their people, everyone else.. well.. just keep your distance, darling

Shadowheart: Gemini Sun, Capricorn Moon, Scorpio rising. Girl is secretive and emo as heck, and emotionally cold and distant (AT FIRST!) Capricorn moons hold their cards close to their chest as do all Scorpio placements. Gemini for her fluctuating nature, enjoys talking, is a chameleon in many respects. Needs intellectual stimulation and likes the back and forth, can be a playful person

Lae’zel: Aries sun, Aqua Moon, Aries rising. As far as I’m concerned, she is the pinnical of Aries: head-strong, straightforward (sometimes at the expense of others), courageous, short tempered and outwardly aggressive as opposed to Scorpio or cap aggression which is more subtle. Lae’zel says what she means and means what she says. Impulsive. Can rub people the wrong way and is ultimately a lovey, soft hearted character once you get passed the sandpaper attitude. Aqua moon because they are humanitarian and look at the bigger picture, less squishy about their emotions yet have strong feelings. Tendency to Intellectualize emotions.

Wyll: Libra rising, Pisces moon, Sag sun. Sag because Wyll has a strong sense of duty and purpose, yet it’s coupled with a strong sense of freedom and zest for life. Expansive. Libra rising because he’s a good conversationalist, enjoys the arts and finer things, wants harmony and Justice, tries his best to avoid strong conflicts when he can. Pisces moon because I think our boy is so sweet and soft internally, and thinks and feels deeply about everything. Can feel misunderstood.

Bonus: (descriptions to come later if desired!)

Halsin: Gemini sun, Taurus Moon, Cancer rising

Minthara: Aqua Sun, Virgo Moon, Capricorn rising

Minsc: Leo sun, Gemini moon, Taurus rising

Jaheira: Capricorn sun, Cancer moon, Leo rising

[fascinationstreetmp3]

Hi! Do you think you could do a Minthara icon with short hair like the one she has in the lest corner if you have her in your party?

i assume you mean the portrait like this?

[gloomstalkertav]

Summary: In which the tiefling party, in-keeping with canon, is a disappointment to Zevlor fans (though Zevlor himself comes out ahead in this version).

Part 5 of 10

Warnings: implied sexual references

Word Count: ~7.6K

View story masterpost | Read on Ao3

Zevlor stood, a tin cup of wine in his hand, the gentle night breeze at his back and the friendly warmth of the firelight before him, watching the people he had fought for so long and so hard laugh and drink and dance together, free for the first time in months from immediate duties and imminent threats, feeling thoroughly miserable, and with no one to blame for it but himself.

This had been his idea, after all.

It was he who had bid his people gather themselves and their belongings and make the short trek from the grove down the now-safe road to join Tav and her companions’ camp. A practice march, he had called it wryly, to get them back in the habit before resuming their journey for Baldur’s Gate the next day. And between his own uncommon good-humour, and the refugees’ general state of stunned elation, this excuse went uncontested. But Zevlor’s true motive was much less practical or prosaic: namely, a desire to stay as close as possible — for as long as possible — to Tav. Because she would not be coming with them; he had known it before the battle began. But, somehow, with the sun high overhead, and the cocktail of victory and relief still singing triumphantly in his veins, this had seemed as surmountable an enemy as Minthara and her goblin horde.

Now, Zevlor wondered what he’d been playing at. He was bone-tired; every inch of his back was sore and stiff, his muscles ached, his knees were viciously swollen under his armor. He ought to have left it off after he washed. He ought to have done a lot of things differently, Zevlor thought with a wistful pang, squinting through the torch-lit dark as another of the refugees — Ikaron, by the horns — took leave of the noisy celebration in favour of a few extra hours rest. Zevlor’s bedroll, too, and the necessaries he had transferred from bulky trunk to more easily toted sack, waited outside the ring of scrap-fabric tents, in the ruins of the blighted city beyond. But he could not retreat to them yet. That same irrational, inexorable urge that had brought them to the adventurers' camp in the first place kept Zevlor rooted to the spot.

Submitting to his tick of the night, he took another sip of wine and, as he lowered the cup, let his eyes find Tav: currently sprawled across a fallen log near the fire, tail curled in the pool of her patched skirts, turning her own empty cup idly in one hand as she listened to Alfira pluck experimentally at her lute and try out different prosy lines.

“Alright, how about … hearts a-quiver, we raised our bows -”

“Pfft — none of that poetic stuff,” said Lakrissa, her voice too loud, swaying slightly over the women on the log. “C’mon Alfie, make it spicy!”

“Spicy? It's supposed to be an epic, not a backroom ballad!”

Tav giggled: a bubbly, buoyant sound that carried over the amiable argument. She tilted her head, loose hair tumbling over her shoulder and briefly caught Zevlor’s eye.

Zevlor dropped his gaze to the dark amber contents of his cup, as he had every other time Tav had looked his way. An unfriendliness she did not deserve; any more than she had deserved his earlier awkward declination and abrupt dismissal when she had tried to coax him deeper into the evening’s revels. But nor, he reminded himself sternly as guilt and regret wriggled holes in his resolve, did she deserve to have her celebration spoilt by his sour mood. However much he craved her company, he would not inflict himself upon her, make his misery another problem for her to solve. She deserved one evening of carefree happiness. If Zevlor could give her nothing else — and he had laboured over what to give her; considered even his own sword, before admitting something so old and cumbersome had little to offer a lithe, energetic duellist and leaving it behind in the grove with other useless detritus — he was determined to give her that.

So, resolved to keep a respectful distance, but unable to tear himself away from what would almost certainly be his last sight of her, Zevlor had stationed himself on the outskirts of the party and watched as Tav made her rounds: at Bex's request, she had strummed a few lively tunes on Alfira’s spare lute, until laughter at the giddy, drunken dancing it inspired shook her hands too badly to continue; she had attended Rolan's regular — and unsolicited — displays of prestidigitation, applauding enthusiastically each time; she had watched, cheered, and occasionally catcalled along with the children as Karlach and Guex re-enacted, and embellished, their favourite scenes from the morning's battle; and she had lent her hands and powers of persuasion to Asharak when he corralled the boisterous youngsters off to bedrolls shortly after. Each interaction with the people under his care felt as intimate to Zevlor as a physical caress, and agonising as a twisted knife. They did not understand, the other refugees, what the morning would bring. Or, rather, what it would take away. And he dreaded the coming hour when they realised — when he would be forced to explain — their new friend and thrice-blessed saviour would not be accompanying them to Baldur’s Gate.

A burst of purple light and silver stars from the far side of the fire made Zevlor’s tail twitch; as had every other of Rolan’s fireworks that evening. Though this time, unable to brace himself against the sudden noise, his hands jerked involuntarily as well. His tin cup tumbled to the ground, dark wine spilling from its mouth like blood. An image reinforced by Lakrissa’s overloud declamation:

“Try this on for size: the goblins attacked, but we were brave, and blasted them all with a thunder wave!”

Zevlor, bending to retrieve his cup, could hear Tav's burst of laughter. He glanced up compulsively and saw her doubled over, shoulders shaking. Strange, how the sight and sound of her mirth could soothe his nerves and stick painfully in his gut at the same time. He righted himself, grunting stiffly, and another stolen glance as he straightened caught Tav sneaking a peek at him, mouth frozen mid-laugh.

“But no one even used thunder wave,” Alfira was insisting.

“Oh, for Helm's sake, it's a song Alfie, not a history book. Have a little fun with it!”

“Well, I think you two have this particular piece well in hand,” said Tav decisively, and got to her feet, smoothing her skirts, empty cup dangling at her side.

Zevlor’s stomach turned over. Her abrupt exit, and the way she was studiously not looking his direction now, struck him as likely signs Tav was headed his way. And he could think of only one reason for her to approach him again: to say her final goodbye. Zevlor turned, and, swiftly as his legs allowed, shuffled past the line of torches to a nearby, overlarge rock under whose shadow a rickety wooden table holding uncorked bottles and mismatched cups was kept. He knew he could not put it off long, but he thought a second glass was warranted before enduring that ultimate hardship. He lifted a bottle, shook it, then set it aside when it proved empty, repeating the process again and again, and becoming more despondent each time.

Why hadn’t they remained in the grove another night, where there was a private chamber for him to slink off to, a door he could shut in the others’ merry faces to be miserable on his own? What had he thought could be gained from joining Tav’s camp for one night? The calloused pads of Zevlor's fingers fumbled more smooth bottles. And what had possessed him to take such an excessive amount of time on his appearance — scrubbing his skin and armor to a shine, brushing his hair smooth, changing his shirt, even trimming his nails? What had he expected to happen? What had he hoped? Zevlor wasn’t sure he had articulate hopes or expectations anymore, only feelings: this craving for Tav's presence, this undeniable desire for her that burned his blood, but offered no plan, no purpose, no executable action. He did not know what to do with what he felt, that was the crux of his frustration.

And, to top it all off, there was no more wine.

“Need another drink?”

Zevlor heard Tav's voice at the same time he sensed her at his shoulder, smelled the freshly cleaned scent of her mingled with smoke from the fire.

“I’d thought, just the one more,” he said haltingly. “Before turning in. It’s been … a long day.” Tav edged around him to inspect the table herself, and Zevlor, needing something else to look at it other than the silhouette of her skirts as she bent down to search for more bottles, surveyed the party still piping on behind them. “But it seems we might have been too festive already this evening.”

“Just festive enough, I think. Considering what everyone's been through.”

Zevlor, unable to stop himself, looked back. Tav was still half-crouched under the table, but had turned her face to the cheerful crowd. Through the shadows, he could make out the curved edges of her little fond smile. It did something to him, watching her watch his people with such affection: warmed his limbs until his aches and pains were echoes, relaxed his tensions and tongue.

“You have no idea how good it feels to see these people smiling,” he said, surprised at his own earnestness. “And we have you to thank.”

A slight shudder ran from Tav's shoulders down her arms, and Zevlor thought her smile slipped for a moment. Unless it was a trick of the dark. The next second she was straightening, face pleasant as ever, though she ignored Zevlor's last remark and, instead, announced:

“I know where there's more. Come on.”

A step sideways and a jerk of her head reinforced the command. Her smile softened it. And Zevlor knew no choice but to obey.

Nerves of a more pleasant sort than he'd experienced all day crept down his neck as he followed Tav, tripping over the occasional stone and clump of earth as they left the ring of torch-lit tents behind. A bend in the sheltering cliff-side ushered them down a short slope and deposited them by a tree-trunk bridge perched precariously over a swift-moving stream. Moonlight, spilling through a break in the tree canopy, revealed a pile of rocks gathered out of the way of the water and guarding a collection of bottles, like a stony bird's nest of glinting glass eggs.

“What is this?” he asked.

“Mol’s stash,” Tav replied, and Zevlor could hear her smile. 

“Mol.” His sigh held all his own amusement and concern about the mischievous young girl who'd been a minor thorn in his side since Elturel: pilfering from anyone and everyone she could and coercing the other children into her life of petty crime. “I shudder to think what she’ll get up to in Baldur’s Gate.”

“From what I know of the place, she’ll fit right in. Probably running it from behind the scenes in no time,” mused Tav, clinking carefully through the stolen wines. “What do you fancy?”

“What? Oh — anything is fine.” Zevlor, momentarily forgetting what they had come for in the joy of simply being with Tav, and the implication of her words, considered them while she held up bottle after bottle, reading the faded labels by moonlight, then indulged his curiosity at last. “You're not from the Gate yourself, then?”

“Oh no, I’ve never been. Or, rather, I was there for all of about an hour before that mind flayer ship came through and snatched me out. So, not quite long enough to call it home. Ah, there's the stuff.”

Tav pushed to her feet triumphantly, clutching a fat-bodied bottle by its slender neck. She made a small arcane gesture over the cork and waited while it sparkled, then disintegrated into nothing, then held out her hand for Zevlor's cup.

“You have some skill at magic, too,” he noted politely as she poured.

Tav wrinkled her nose.

“Not really. Party tricks. Illusions. Little things. Gale and Rolan put me right to shame.”

She filled the cup nearly to the brim, returned it to Zevlor with a courtly nod, then bent to retrieve her own. Zevlor took a long sip. Ashaba Dusk: a wine he enjoyed, and all the more so for how the taste returned him to their first night of real conversation at the grove. And the rush of noisy water beside him brought back the memory proceeding it, the one which so often insinuated itself into the better of Zevlor's dreams. But which was hardly appropriate now. He drank again, trying to wash the vision from his mind. When it lingered, he asked, by way of distraction:

“So, what brought you to Baldur’s Gate?”

“The circus,” said Tav promptly, balancing her own full cup while stooping to tuck the bottle back into its nest of rocks.

“The circus?”

“The Circus of the Last Days. It's an extraplanar circus. It moves around a lot, but it's supposed to come to Baldur's Gate soon. I was hoping to join.”

“You want to join the circus.”

Clarification was required on this point before Zevlor, alcohol buzzing through him gently, could believe he had it right. Tav shrugged one shoulder, mouth hidden behind her cup.

“Is it so mad?”

“No! No, of course not. It's only ... just … I would have thought it a waste of your talents.”

Tav let out a little chirp of laughter, but Zevlor thought the low swish of her tail was more self-conscious than genuinely amused.

“On the contrary, it’s the only place my talents might be of some regular use. I can sing a song, tell a story, do the flashier bits of swordplay - hardly the makings of a trade or proper career. Plus, I thought a circus might be more accepting of - well,” She tucked an errant curl around the base of one horn absently, and finished: “I thought I might not stand out so much.” Her eyes flicked furtively to Zevlor's. “I suppose that would seem silly to someone like you.”

Zevlor had no idea what sort of someone he was in this instance, but hastened to assure her, “It doesn't,” then paused, wetting his lips, the drink he had so wanted minutes ago forgotten in his hand — he wanted other things now.

He longed to ask more questions. All their talks of the last tenday had concentrated on war, on military strategy, on the enemies of their present and his past — even his stories of Elturel had largely been related to its defence. Now, with battle behind them, and no time left ahead, Zevlor wanted a different sort of conversation. He wanted to know Tav: what she thought, what she felt, what she liked, where she had come from, her future plans — everything they would have talked about, every intimate detail they might have shared over tendays of travel together, had the gods permitted such a fate. Or, if that was asking too much of one night, he'd have been equally happy to hear her voice saying anything at all for another hour at least. But his melancholy musings were interrupted by the ear-splitting strains of a poorly-strummed lute, followed by an outburst of laughter from the camp they had left behind.

Tav cocked an ear towards the sounds, and Zevlor remembered his resolve to let her enjoy herself for once.

“I suppose I should let you get back to the festivities.”

He did his utmost to keep any bitterness from his voice, but, as Tav regarded him steadily, Zevlor wasn't sure he'd quite done the job. The infernal quality of her eyes was stark in moonlight. The pupils swirled and glowed like cobalt flames, illuminating her face where a resolve of her own solidified.

“Oh, I think I've been festive enough for one night.”

And, without waiting for Zevlor to argue or agree, Tav dropped in a heap of skirts to the stream bank. She stretched her legs out over the side, soft slippers hovering just above the dancing spray, and took a long, slow slug of wine. She said nothing, but the invitation was clear. Heart beating so loud under his armor he worried she would hear the muffled metal thuds, Zevlor gathered his legs and tail underneath him and eased himself to the sandy ground. A grunt escaped him as he unfolded his knees, though his wince had more to do with his unbecoming noise than his physical discomfort.

“Are you alright?” Tav's expression was suddenly serious as she twisted to take him in. “Were you injured? I have an extra potion back at camp, I can-”

Zevlor waved her worry away. They were close enough for his hand to swipe loose strands of her wayward curls as it passed.

“I'm fine. It isn't a wound, just ... age. Hazards of being old,” he said with mordant humour, smoothing his own hair pointlessly back.

“Oh, please, you're not that old.”

Zevlor watched those blue eyes widen, wisteria cheeks darken to iris, at this clearly wine-inspired slip, and could not help himself. He chuckled. It felt unfamiliar in his throat. Tav glanced quickly at him, surprise transmuting her chagrin into a sort of sheepish determination. She took another swig from her cup, then plunged ahead:

“Alright then. How old are you?”

Zevlor hesitated. But what was there to be gained from a lie except a false sense of pride? He told her.

“That’s hardly old,” Tav tittered dismissively, and tilted back more wine.

Ridiculously emboldened by her groundless defence of his age, and feeling the effects of this second glass more rapidly than the first, Zevlor found himself asking: “And, how old are you?” and, when Tav admitted a number, blurting, "Truly?" before he could think twice. Her laugh was distinctly self-conscious this time.

“Older or younger than you thought?”

"Older."

It took him the rest of Tav’s awkwardly fading laugh to understand this had been the wrong answer. But even were he stone sober, Zevlor did not think he could communicate how irrationally heartening he found her age. It did not touch his by nearly two decades, but, nevertheless, relieved him of some of the guilt he felt for certain, occasional late-night indulgences in which the memory of her wet wisteria skin in the twilight had featured.

“You think less of me, now,” was Tav’s conclusion from his silence, however. Overriding his noise of protest, she pressed on: “I understand. It's always easier to forgive mistakes and recklessness in people when you think they're young. You raise your standards when you think they're old enough to know better.”

Zevlor's brow furrowed as he attempted to parse her meaning. Another sip of wine did nothing to help.

“I promise,” he said at last, when he thought he might have it, “I think no less of you for your actions in the battle. You took a risk going after your friend, yes, but risks are not inherently reckless. Nor are they monopoly of youth. You did the right thing. And it won the day.”

The cloud across Tav's face abruptly cleared as if a lantern had been lit behind her. And when she looked at Zevlor now, there was an echo of that same open awe she had bestowed on him that morning before the fight.

“You've quite a way with words,” she said softly. Her praise felt like some expensive, luxurious fabric — silk or velvet — brushed across Zevlor's skin; a sensation he wanted more of. “Sure you're not also a bard in your spare time?”

Her lips curled with her own light jocularity, and the thought appeared unbidden in Zevlor’s mind that this was his last chance to taste them, his last chance for … anything. He wondered if he dared. If that would count as a calculated risk or recklessness in Tav’s book. Resting his cup in the sandy dirt between them, he leaned in slowly… too slowly.

A muted bang from the direction of the camp made Zevlor jump. His tail whipped behind him, tangling in Tav's, at the same time his trembling hand knocked into his cup, sloshing wine across the hem of her skirts. Tav gasped: whether from the sudden noise and light overhead, or the dark seeping stain, or the tug she too must feel at the base of her spine as their tails fought to free themselves, Zevlor was too mortified to determine.

Then, “It’s alright, it's fine,” she was saying over and over amid his blustered apologies. Reaching around to extricate her tail, she scooted through the sandy earth and dipped the sopping edge of her skirts into the fast-flowing stream. “Really, it's nothing,” she continued to soothe even after Zevlor's voice had died miserably away. “It's a cast-off from Bex. It's all over stains and holes already.” She glanced from Zevlor's face — so furiously flushed he was sure she must see it even through his fiery skin — to the sky, and gave a small, shaky laugh. “They - they really like fireworks, that lot, don't they?”

Zevlor, grasping gratefully at this olive branch, shot a resentful look above them where the sparkling remnants of Rolan's latest light-show hung.

“You'll have to forgive the pageantry. All Elturians have a bit of it in them, I'm afraid. We are — we were — a city that loves to celebrate.* And anyway,” he prattled on, grappling at the remnants of the mood the fireworks, and his own clumsiness, had ruined, “you certainly deserve to be celebrated.” Zevlor gestured at the little silver stars in their corona of purple and blue with his nearly empty cup, adding: “A light for every life you've saved.”

He returned his eyes to Tav, hopefully, and nearly dropped his cup again at the look on her face - the same he had caught before they left camp. A joyless, smile-less, almost … lost expression. She blinked, and it was gone, but this time the threat of it lurked at the edges of her eyes and uncharacteristically hard corners of her mouth. She bent over her skirts, wringing the wet fabric out over the stream.

“People keep saying things like that,” she said, her attempt at airiness audibly brittle. “I really wish they wouldn’t. I didn’t do anything more than anyone else. And less than some.” Anticipating the argument ready on Zevlor’s tongue, she hurried on, “Astarion and Karlach, they were incredible. We wouldn’t have made it halfway through the fight without them. And Wyll saved Arka, and killed that spider all on his own. And I would have died myself if you hadn’t saved me, and then Lae’zel. You’re all real heroes. I’m just—”

She broke off with a grimace, dropped the soaking skirts and reached for her abandoned cup. She gulped down wine with the sort of desperation that came from the desire not to feel. Zevlor knew it intimately. But it hurt him like an open wound to see it on Tav.

“You may not have killed every goblin single-handed,” he said encouragingly when at last she lowered her empty cup, “but you had a hand in every enemy that fell today. You’re the reason any heroes were there at all. You found them, you kept them together, kept them from dying — and killing each other, by the sound of things. You’re their leader. Their victories are yours, and yours, theirs.”

Tav was already shaking her head before he finished.

“I’m not anyone’s leader, it’s just sort of … happened … this … me making decisions, being in charge, but it’s only because someone has to. I don’t have any qualifications. I don’t really know what I’m doing!” The confession burst from her, as sudden and explosive as another firework, and Tav's free hand gesticulated wildly as though hoping to claw answers from the disturbed night air. “And I don’t have any idea what I’m supposed to do next! They expect me to come up with some brilliant plan, but every plan I’ve had so far has failed. Halsin didn’t have the cure. Neither did the goblin priestess, or the hag. Nothing I’ve tried has got us any further to getting these worms out of our heads. And every day there’s some new distraction, someone needs something or has some secret or condition that crops up and they all want it fixed right now and it’s all I can do to keep everyone alive!”

Her hand fell limp to her lap, exhausted. Zevlor waited for Tav to catch her breath — afraid she might not hear him over her great gasps — before saying gently:

“I’m afraid that’s all a leader really does. Weigh the available options, cobble together plans, keep their people alive as best they can. It’s much less glamourous, and much more thankless, than songs and stories might suggest. And it isn’t easy. Especially with such a disparate group as yours.”

Tav blinked up at him a few times before asking, “How do you do it?” and Zevlor’s lips twitched as he assured her, “Not half as well as you, I promise.”

Her snort of disbelief broke the delicate air between them. She sat back, groping through the rocks behind her, and produced the bottle of Ashaba Dusk. She lifted it at Zevlor in a question. He raised his own cup in answer. After she had poured him a generous measure and set to her own, he re-arranged himself to face her, ignoring the twinge of weary muscles.

“It’s different, commanding soldiers,” he said, no longer as concerned with flattering or impressing Tav as making her believe the truth in his words. “The Hellriders under my command were voluntary, enthusiastic recruits. They needed training, yes, guiding, and often encouragement, but never this coaxing or cajoling most of my camp now requires. Every day, Rolan needs a new reason why he ought not to just leave, but I can give an order to Tilses, any order, and she’ll follow it without question. Civilians are just … different. They all come with individual wants and needs and conditions, as you say. It takes a different sort of charisma, a flexibility of mind to juggle them all. You have it naturally.” He dipped his head at Tav; then shook it slowly at himself as he realised for the first time: “I’m afraid I don’t. My strengths are more suited to a military setting: discipline … strategy … the upholding of a common faith.”

“That’s right…” Tav’s tail perked up behind her as some sudden thought distracted her from her distress. “You’re a paladin, I keep forgetting. You know, I - I’ve wanted to ask…” Zevlor took a hasty swig from his newly filled cup: sure he knew where this question was going and startled when it went an unexpected route. “Who was your god?”

“I did not have any one god.” His response required no thought. It was second nature. “Elturel is a holy city, that boasts many lawful gods as patrons. I paid respect and due reverence to them all. But my oath was one of devotion to the city itself.”

He paused, bracing himself, but the grief the memory conjured was more akin to the dull ache in his back than its usual evisceration. A result of the alcohol saturating his senses, Zevlor supposed. And perhaps it was also to blame for the compulsion swelling in his chest, the inexplicable urge to tell the story to Tav. She was leaning in towards him, outlined in silver moonlight, loose raven curls dancing lightly in the breeze — the sight was undeniably stirring, but it was a different sort of intimacy Zevlor now craved.

“In Elturel,” he explained, “when a citizen comes of age, they sign their name in a book - a holy book - swearing fealty to the city. It’s a rite of passage. Not necessarily an oath of power, but … it was for me. I wanted to defend my city, strengthen it, serve it. And when I signed, I could feel the power of my oath straightaway. I joined the Hellriders soon after. There were few paladins amongst their ranks then, but to me, no lesser commitment would do. Being a Hellrider is for life. Or, it's supposed to be.” Zevlor inhaled, slowly, savouring years-worth of memories: the bliss of knowing his place, his purpose; the safety and sanctity of power he understood, responsibilities he could fulfil. He missed the weight of it, like armor, and felt hideously naked as he admitted: “But I devoted myself to a lie. That book - it was the contract Thavius Kreeg used to bind all the souls in Elturel to Zariel. He sold us all. I don’t know whether it was the book’s destruction or my own disillusionment in Elturel and its leaders that broke my oath, but the outcome was the same either way, so it hardly matters. My city was not what I thought it was. And I am its paladin no longer.”

Zevlor wasn’t sure he had ever said it in so many words before, even in his head. Above him, high tree branches rustled in a more insistent, faintly smoke-laced wind. His bare hands and face registered cold. He sought warmth in his wine.

“That’s … devastating,” Tav said at last, her voice unembellished. “It sounds like … a hell all its own.”

“You’re not wrong,” he agreed between desperate gulps.

Tav sipped too, though more sedately, then asked: “Could you get it back, somehow, do you think? I mean, if you devoted yourself to something else? Or somewhere else? Like Baldur’s Gate?”

“I doubt it,” Zevlor sighed, lowering his cup and gazing morosely up at the starry sky. “Devotion is an instinct. It’s inspired. It can’t be forced. Or offered to just anything or anyone or anywhere. Baldur’s Gate may hold a place for us yet, but even if it does, even if I lived out the rest of my days there, I don’t know whether I could ever truly call it home.”

“I can understand that.”

It was Zevlor’s turn to be struck by a thought, like a fallen tree branch, that knocked his own troubles askew. He blinked shadows of the past from his eyes, and, for the first time in minutes, gave his full attention to Tav. Her arms were looped round her knees, her cup dangling from careless fingers between them, considering the little stretch of earth between her slippers and Zevlor's boots without, he was sure, really seeing. And he was long past the point of worrying about intrusive personal questions.

“Where is home for you?”

“I don’t have one,” she answered with a preoccupied shrug. “I mean, not like that. Not like Elturel for you. Not a place I ever really belonged to.”

“An orphan?” ventured Zevlor, but Tav shook her head.

“Technically, but… not really. I mean…” She shifted in her seat and closed her eyes for a moment, composing her thoughts before laying them out. “My mother did die in childbirth and I never knew my father, but I had my mother’s parents and they raised me. It’s just … they weren’t like me. Like us. Tieflings,” and this time her discomfort in the word sounded like an echo from someone else’s voice. “It was a shock for them. Their kingdom — or, the place they live, I mean — there aren’t any other tieflings there. Or not the born kind, just people who make actual deals with devils so there’s a bit of a stigma, obviously. They tried all sorts of cures when I was young.” Tav’s free hand darted compulsively towards her head, but she caught it in time. She wrapped it safely around her cup, while Zevlor's gaze flicked to her stunted horns, noticing as he had once before their flat, filed tops. “And when that didn’t work, they tried covering it up, but of course those things always get out. They did their best to make sure everyone treated me normally, at least to my face, but I knew what they — I knew what they thought.”

She squeezed her eyes briefly shut again, and took a fortifying sip of wine before speeding on: “So whenever anything bad happened in the kingdom — animal attacks, hard winters, famine, illnesses — everyone always blamed me. Then when I was fourteen, we had a plague. A bad one. There was a … well, it wasn't quite a revolt exactly, but my grandparents didn’t really have a choice but to send me away. I understood. I went to visit a neighbouring kingdom, then another, then schools, but it always ended the same: a wave of sickness, bad weather, some freak accident, and I’d be shunted off again. When I turned seventeen, I finally just took off on my own. And I’ve been on my own, on the move ever since.”

“I see…” was all Zevlor could think to say. It was a difficult existence for his wine-soaked brain to comprehend - to have no anchor, no tie, no purpose. But, even inebriated, he didn't think this an appropriate comfort. As if Tav sensed his struggle…

“I don’t mind it,” she said, a little too heartily. “I’ve seen beautiful places, met fascinating people. I’ve had a hundred odd jobs, learned things I never would have otherwise. Amassed enough stories for a three-volume novel. It’s been loads of fun.” Then, as if this show of enthusiasm had cost her, Tav’s shoulders slumped. “Although,” she added, more subdued, “I admit, now that I’m not quite so young as I look,” — she threw Zevlor a weak half-grin — “I have found myself looking for more of a … a permanent place. Somewhere to belong to. Hence the circus.”

Tav raised her cup to her lips and cocked her head, surprised to find it empty. She reached around for the bottle. Zevlor wondered how much was left. A question answered when she refilled her cup, then leaned over and drained what remained into his without asking. She dropped the bottle clumsily behind her, where it rolled until it clunked against rock.

And for several minutes they simply sat, facing each other over their separate cups, listening to the stream break over rocks beside them and the trees whisper above; and though no part of them was touching, to Zevlor they felt intangibly connected; united against a land supremely unconcerned with their fates. They were two tieflings alone in a world that had no place for them, but alone together. That thought, or the third helping of wine, renewed Zevlor's strength. And — he blinked; abruptly dazed as if by some bright light — illuminated a heretofore unconsidered path. If this world and its gods would not make a way for them, then it was up to them — to him — to make their own. 

“Well,” he announced into the silence, setting his cup carefully to the earth: his hands were trembling with a sudden surge of excitement, “should the circus not be everything you hoped, I meant what I said before: you always have family in Baldur's Gate. I would have asked you to leave with us tomorrow, but I know your … condition takes precedence.”

“The mindflayer incubating in my head, you mean?” Tav asked, sardonic and slightly slurred.

“That, yes.” Zevlor's nod both acknowledged and dismissed the gravity of this problem. He refused to be discouraged from his new hope or dissuaded from his infant plan. At least, not until he knew how Tav felt about it. “But perhaps when you’ve wrapped up that adventure—”

“You make it sound so simple.”

“Not simple no, but…” Zevlor smiled, and it felt easy on his face. “You’ve come this far. It’s hard to imagine you failing at anything you’ve set your mind to. And once you’ve succeeded, it shouldn’t be hard for you to make your own way to the Gate. The others would be terribly glad to see you. As would I. And,” — his thumb absently traced the dented rim of his cup — “having been there some time already, I should have more to offer you than camp rations and stolen wine.”

His words were so heavily laden with meaning Zevlor had the fanciful notion they might fall through the air and drown in his half-full drink. But Tav caught them. She opened her mouth and let it hang, temporarily incapable of speech. Her tail, rarely ever restrained and evidently feeling the full effect of this third draft of wine, curled and uncurled eagerly behind her, and Zevlor, nerves alight, was certain the picture he painted appealed to her, too. When she found her voice, it was breathless and raw, her answer almost indistinguishable around her wine-thick tongue and the smile growing up the sides of her face.

“Should I get this thing out of my head, I'd be quite happy to see you again anywhere, whatever you had to offer — more tents and caves in some new wilderness, or a house somewhere in Baldur's Gate. I mean, it's almost like a wilderness itself, that place." She giggled nervously, words tumbling from her now. “I mean, I got lost the second I arrived, those streets are a labyrinth. I spent the whole hour I was there looking for the Elfsong. Should we be able to find each other once I was there, do you think? What's your surname, so I can ask for you?”

“I don’t have one.” Zevlor was barely aware of what either of them were saying — his mind, too, was already reeling towards the future; their future. Together. “Many of our kind don't have family names,” he babbled on, “unless they choose one for themselves. You're not the only one of uncertain heritage.”

“Oh, of course. That makes sense. I'm sorry,” Tav stuttered nonsensically. “I mean, it shouldn't matter. I've never met anyone else called Zevlor, before. I quite like your name by the way. It's a good name for a song. Much easier to say than mine. It rolls right off the tongue.”

She said his name again, and even slurred as it was by excitement and drink, Zevlor thought he would burn alive at the sound. Tav, in contrast, froze. Colour drained from her face and her tail drooped with almost comical slowness, as she passed visibly from confusion through shock and finally into horror, realising all she had just said. The reality of it seemed to sober her. She blinked rapidly, then lifted her cup, held it away from her and upended the contents into the earth.

“I think I’ve had enough wine for one night.”

Zevlor would have laughed out loud were his own sluggish brain not busy processing something else she had let slip.

“Tav is not your real name?”

“It’s a nickname,” she said, brushing dirt Zevlor could not see from her skirts and avoiding his eyes. And in spite of her previous display, apparently still unable to reign in her tongue. “I never liked my full name. It's long and pretentious, and no one ever gets it quite right. I haven't used it in years. Since I first left, in fact.”

“Will you tell it to me?” asked Zevlor, and his quiet request was enough to still Tav's stumbling tongue in her mouth and her hands in her lap and draw her gaze to his.

She told him.

She had to say it twice before Zevlor could wrap his mind around the intriguing set of syllables. Then he tried them out for himself. A storm-cloud blush spread across Tav's cheeks, and their faces were so close together — when had that happened? — Zevlor could feel its heat. Her blue eyes were glassy and glazed as she said, in little more than a whisper, “It doesn't sound so bad when you say it.”

And in that moment Zevlor knew every indefinable desire, every pleasure he'd barely let himself dream was his for the taking. All he had to do was lean in a few inches more. They could end the night like this: their new joint hopes sealed here in the dirt, by the water, under the stars; lips and hands clumsy, sensations vague with alcohol and fatigue; then part necessarily in a few hours, heads pounding, mouths dry, the experience half-remembered. And Tav... he could imagine her, cheeks dark with a different sort of embarrassment, unimpressed, disappointed, and wondering if it would really be worth the effort to find him in Baldur's Gate after all.

The image cleared Zevlor's head. He leaned reluctantly away. He wanted that kiss, and everything that would inevitably follow; if he was honest with himself, it had always been his secret hope for the night. But now he wanted more. Tav was not a mere momentary pleasure, she was a whole world of possibilities. To risk that — to risk her — would be a reckless mistake: one Zevlor was old enough to know better than to make.

“I think you’re right,” he said hoarsely. “We have had quite enough wine.” And he held his own cup safely away from Tav's skirts and turned it over in the dirt with a little sigh.

“Oh! Yes. Of course. I'm sorry. So sorry, I've kept you up so late, and you've an early start tomorrow.”

Tav's voice was breathless and quavery. She looked and sounded as though she had just been punched. She ducked her head, a waterfall of loose raven curls obscuring her face, and pushed unsteadily to her feet. She snatched up her cup and the empty bottle, clutching them close to her chest, then took an uncertain step away from Zevlor, clearly unsure what to do next. Zevlor stood quickly — too quickly: his knees cracked and his back screamed as it was forced to uncurl so fast, but he ignored his body's complaints. He would have endured a great deal worse before he let Tav leave like that.

“Tav,” he said, and then, on a whim, tried her full name again; and when she peered, startled, through her curtain of curls, Zevlor reached out for her hand, removed the wine bottle from it, and, without giving himself time to second guess, brought it to his lips.

He left them pressed to her skin too long to be mistaken for any sort of politeness, and put into it everything he could of his hopes, his gratefulness, his own thwarted passion, and his — there was no point calling it anything else — his love for her. It was a lot to ask of one kiss to the back of a hand, but Zevlor trusted himself with nothing more. And by the look on Tav's face when he pulled away — that glowing adoration he would never have enough of — he thought she understood the gist.

“Thank you,” said Zevlor, and had never meant it more earnestly. “For everything. Meeting you has been an honour and a privilege. I look forward to seeing more of you soon in Baldur’s Gate.”

And even with half a bottle's worth of wine still in her blood, Tav's endless well of words failed her.

She let Zevlor lead her back up the sloping path, along the bend in the cliff-side, and into the torch-lit circle of scrap-fabric tents. Snores issued from more than one of them. The party had ended. The fire was embers and both refugees and adventurers had gone. Bottles were scattered across the empty, open ground, but Zevlor would not let Tav stop to tidy them. He escorted her safely to her own tent, extracted her assurance she would not sneak out of it to clean, and left her — but not before Tav, a blazing look in her cobalt eyes, had reached for his arm and used it to balance as she stretched up to kiss his cheek.

Zevlor could not remember finding his own bedroll, after, but assumed he had because his last memory of the night was lying on his back, head propped on his arms, staring up into the sky, and feeling for the first time in months, the kindling of a long dead fire; a whisper, as if from another life, of ... faith. Faith in Tav. Faith in whatever had sent her. Faith that the world, after all, might be more than politics and power plays and leaders protecting themselves at the cost of their people. Faith that his own life might once again have purpose and meaning. It was a flickering echo of the white hot flames that had fuelled him before Avernus, but, as he drifted to sleep, they were enough to keep him warm.

The Elfsong’s crowd has only increased with the hour. The conversations of a dozen tables mingle and meld into one rolling thrum, interspersed with strains of music — a flute and lute — from somewhere above, and the shouts and drunken laughter and catcalls and cartwheels from the street outside. But in one corner privacy booth, all is silence. Not even a clatter of tankards or gulping of ale interrupts for several minutes that feel too long to its two occupants. But neither knows what to say.

“So,” concludes Zevlor at last, voice hoarse. “I’m afraid Lakrissa loses her bet.”

But any humour he might have found in this truth earlier now falls flat. And Alfira does not reply. Both refugees know what part of the story comes next, and it makes all Zevlor’s bright hopes and plans of that long-distant night in the forest all the sadder.

*Author's Note: While I do adore Zevlor’s lines about making their own stars while in Avernus, having actually played DiA, I am 100% certain such action would have got him and anyone else around him killed. Hence, my creative liberties.

[sorcerous-caress]

Drider!Minthara awoke in me something I didn't know I had.

Can we have some more? Whether it's smut or some non-smutty headcanons about seeing that half-insane creature and being like "I can fix her"

Drider Minthara headcanons

[Century au, fluff, nb!reader]

She eats the flesh of her victims, whatever food they happened to be carrying, she gives to you instead.

Even then, the gardens outside the cave are filled with various mushrooms that would make a mean stew

She plays the lyre, to both keep her sanity intact and pass the time. She is aware that most driders fell to madness because of isolation so she picked up several hobbies to fill her time with.

Gardening, playing the lyre, dismembering passing adventures.

Her hair grew out, it annoys her a lot and she puts it up with a tie she made out of her silk but it ends up sticking to her hair and becoming a problem.

Unless you say something, she'd probably cut it very short.

She has four eyes! They all work and blink, but her upper extra two are obscured by her hair.

She can both make the venom and the antidote to it through her fangs.

She is extremely large, like genuinely her drider half is massive. It doesn't even compare to her upper drow body.

It's because technically Lolth turned her into a drider as a reward not a punishment, so she made her really big and powerful. But it barely made a difference to the drow nobles who saw her as a monster.

The eggs do have a second parent! It is not you :(

It's a random male drider that kept annoying her to mate, so she agreed and bit his head off afterwards.

Lowkey she agreed because after so long alone, she really wanted kids, even if they were just normal spiders.

The male was there just for the convenience of reproduction.

She already liked spiders a lot before turning, which made this whole deal a little less shitty for her.

She picked the biggest cave in the underdark with a sussur tree growing around it as a fuck you to the drows in the surrounding area who started moving away with time.

She doesn't need to go hunting really, the food comes to her on its own.

But in case she needs anything from the inner cities, she knows a shady dealer or two who would trade favours for small jars of her venom.

The bloodrose happened by accident, she just used the back of her garden as a body pit to dispose of corpses at. But the fresh stream of blood coming in weekly made the bloodrose thrive in there.

[moonselune]

Oh one for the BG3 ladies where gn!Tav get‘s them to squirt for the first time. But of course only if you comfortable with that.

So sorry that this took so long to post! But we got there eventually:

NSFW | MDNI

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Karlach:

"Ready for something new?" you teased, your fingers tracing patterns on her skin as you settled between her legs. You had place a pillow under the small of her back, after overhearing something in Sharess' Caress.

Karlach laughed, a sound filled with both excitement and nervousness. "Always," she replied, her eyes shining with trust.

You took your time, your touch gentle and teasing as you explored her body. You paid special attention to her thighs as Karlach's breath came in short gasps as you found the spots there that made her shiver and moan. You then moved to her cunt your lips and tongue working to bring her pleasure, your fingers slipping inside her with a steady rhythm. The bruises you left on the inside of her thighs beginning to bloom. You used your spare hand to press lightly down on her abdomen as you continued to thrust your fingers in and out of her.

As you increased the pace, Karlach's moans grew louder, her body tensing and trembling. "Oh, gods," she gasped, her hands clutching at your hair and you could feel the heat from her hands begin to curl your hair. You were sure you were going to come out of this with a new hairdo. You smirked against her, your tongue playing with her clit as she began to whine, "I... I can't..."

You persisted, not backing down after not heraring your safe word and you soon felt the rush of wetness as her body convulsed, her pleasure spilling over in an intense release. Karlach haphazardly threw her hand over her mouth to try and stop the filfthy noises that were leaving her, but you both knew you would be getting complaints from your campmates in the morning. Once she got her breath back she sat up and stared at you, wide-eyed and breathless. "What... did you do? That was amazing.."

You smiled, kissing your way back up to her lips. "Just showing you how much I love you," you murmured, feeling a deep sense of satisfaction.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

"You are mine," she whispered, her voice low and commanding as she aggressively pulled her close to you, "Show me what that means."

You met her gaze with equal intensity, your hands moving to undress her with a deliberate slowness that made her breath hitch. You were sure to take your time, to tease her as much as you could without her retribution. Once she was bare before you, you guided her to the bedroll, pushing her down roughly before your hands explored her body with reverence and desire. You knew you could push Minthara but you had to give something in return.

You dragged your nails down her body before resting between her thighs, your touch teasing and gentle at first, toying with her cunt. Minthara hummed and moaned to your touch. You then became more insistent as you roughly flicked her clit and tongued her entrance. The mix of friction and pleasure, leaving Minthara panting for you. You withdrew you tongue and replace it with your deft fingers, you knew Minthara's body better than you knew your own and you quickly found the spot that made her gasp and shudder. Minthara's usual composure began to crack, her moans becoming more urgent.

"Don't stop," she growled, her voice thick with need. "Make me... feel it."

You increased your pace, your fingers and tongue working in perfect harmony to bring her to the edge. When you finally pushed her over, her body tensed, and she let out a cry of pure ecstasy. But instead of giving her respite as you usually did, you continued, overstimulating her core. She writhed and gasped beneath you but did not push you away, trusting you. Soon enough Minthara was arching her back and calling your name like a prayer. Something within her snapped and a rush of wetness followed, her pleasure spilling over in a way she had never experienced before. You lapped it up diligently and admiring the way her cunt twitched at your touch. When you were done you moved up her body and kissed her sloppily, sharing her taste.

Eventually, in need of air she pulled back and stared at you in shock, her chest heaving. "That... was incredible"

You grinned, leaning in to kiss her deeply again, "Just showing you what it means to be yours, for you to be mine."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The moonlight, gentle and silvery, filtered through the canopy of leaves above, casting a soft glow over the cozy confines of your shared tent. Shadowheart lay beside you, her usually composed demeanor softened by the intimacy you shared. Her breath, a rhythmic cadence, mingled with the faint sounds of the forest outside.

You leaned closer, trailing kisses along the curve of her neck, each touch a testament to the depth of your desire. Shadowheart's eyes, typically guarded, now shimmered with a mix of anticipation and trust, her hands gently clutching the sheets beneath her.

"Shadowheart," you whispered, your voice thick with longing. "Let me take care of you tonight."

A small nod was her response, accompanied by a subtle bite of her lip, a gesture betraying both nervousness and eager anticipation. Her fingers tightened on the fabric as you ventured lower, your kisses growing more insistent with each passing moment.

When you reached the apex of her thighs, you moved with a tender yet confident touch, eliciting a soft, involuntary moan from Shadowheart's lips. Your fingers teased and explored, finding a rhythm that coaxed her body into a slow dance of pleasure. She squirmed beneath your touch, her moans growing louder with each pass.

As the intensity built, Shadowheart's breath quickened, her body arching toward yours in wordless invitation. You maintained your steady pace, whispering words of reassurance and adoration, guiding her through the rising tide of sensation.

Then, in a breathless moment, you felt the unmistakable rush of fluid against your fingertips as her body tensed and shuddered in release.

"By the gods," she gasped, her eyes wide with a mixture of surprise and pleasure. "What… what did you do to me?"

You smiled, a tender expression etched on your features as you moved back up to capture her lips in a deep, lingering kiss. "Just showing you how much I love you," you murmured against her mouth, your heart swelling with satisfaction at having brought her such exquisite pleasure.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The air inside your tent crackled with tension, thick with anticipation as Lae'zel stood before you. Her eyes, usually sharp and focused, now shimmered with a mix of challenge and something deeper—an openness to surrender, to be led into realms of pleasure she had never explored, despite her experience.

"Prove your strength," she demanded, her voice a low, commanding rumble that sent shivers down your spine. "Show me what you can do."

You met her gaze head-on, your own eyes mirroring her intensity as you moved with a rough vigour to undress her. Each piece of armor and garment fell brutally away under your touch, revealing the powerful physique that lay beneath. The anticipation in the air heightened as you moved her to the bed, your hands tracing over the contours of her muscular frame with reverence and desire.

Resting between her thighs, you began with teasing touches, each caress eliciting a hitch in her breath and a soft gasp from her lips. Your movements grew bolder, more insistent, as you paid special attention to the places that made her moan and arch towards you. You continued and Lae'zel's usual composure began to crack under the onslaught of sensation, her moans growing urgent and her body responding eagerly to your touch.

"Don't stop," she growled, her voice thick with raw need. "Make me feel it."

Your pace quickened, fingers and tongue working in tandem with a practiced precision born of desire and connection. You guided her to the precipice of pleasure, each stroke pushing her closer to the edge. When you finally pushed her over, her body tensed, and a cry of ecstasy tore from her lips. A rush of wetness followed, her release cascading over her in waves of unfamiliar, overpowering sensation.

Lae'zel stared at you in wide-eyed astonishment, her chest rising and falling rapidly with the force of her pleasure. "What… what was that?" she managed to gasp out, her voice tinged with disbelief.

You grinned, a sense of pride flooding through you, you moved up her body quickly and pinned her to the bed, kissing her roughly, sharing in her sweet taste. Lae'zel was quick to flip you, and straddled you.

"What did you do to me?" She repeated, with a scorn that you knew was playful. Your smug expression did not help your situation and she pushed you again into the bed.

"Showed you my strength - want me to do it again?" You smirked, and Lae'zel couldn't help but smile also - and you took that as a yes and pulled her down to you.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───