A PRIVATE, MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE PORTRAYAL OF "TAV" THE PROTAGONIST OF LARIAN'S BALDUR'S GATE 3, GRIER RAVENHEEL ─── canon adjacent & headcanon based. dark, nsfw, triggering content present. as ensorcelled by mor [ 21+, she/her, eest ]
ㅤㅤㅤthis blog is multi-ship & multi-verse & ships favorable. beware i post ooc often. the writer is new to bg3 & dnd lore, please be patient!
A FIGHT FOR ADORATION TO WHICH SHE'D COME PREPARED. always wearing something light that shows her skin — more than needed — a common opinion amongst strangers and prudes. but those who drank in the sight of her never seemed to have a problem. tonight is no different as grier's donned a robe that clings to her shape and a corset that illuminates her chest. her visage reminsent of a bedtime story where a beauteous entity visits the dreamer in their sleep. the endingis ambigous but all know at one point the tale turned lusty. she knows how to accentuate the gifts she's born with.
betweem the familiar faces at the table and the chatter as they drink, she attracts stares from all around. the guests of the tavern cannot miss the shade of her pink hair, nor the glitter and sparkle of cool metal woven into it. grier moves with the practiced grace of the noblewoman she could've been — speaks with the charm of a well-seasoned courtesan. it's all too easy to notice astarion beside her, stiffening as the attention shifts from him. jealous, lover? she wishes to purr out.
now jaheria's first is captivated with her presence and her story, rather than his. grier can't blame him for the way he grimaces in the slightest. she will taunt him later and lavish him in compliments of her own.
she gets caught up in her vanity, and the hand that grabs her thigh brings her back. no other than astarion's audacity — but recognized from touch alone. anybody else so ballsy would've gotten burnt, but he is allowed, in the midst of their dance that both deny means a thing, to touch her.
grier smiles a bit larger than she would've and swiftly puts her acting skills to work. within two minutes of those strokes upon her bare legs, she's hungering for more. she drops her hand casually as if to fix her dress, and thin fingers find the rogue's — only to move his hand further under the slit of her robe.
he is to finish what he's started or retreat in embarrassment.
then she deliberately brushes her own hand too close to his crotch before she picks up her fork once more. she knows when to redirect the attention to someone else while remaining the jewel at the table. the harper is more than taken with her, so she bats eyelashes and asks, ❝ bit of a silly question — but who taught you to shoot arrows ? ❞
Amidst the amicable rumbling that splattered the scene around him, the elf had been doing a mental stint of calculating on his very own. There wasn’t a grace that existed between two souls who dabbled themselves in the throes of manipulative artistry, the means to gain a traction where it’d never been far sought after in the first place. Perhaps it was why they clashed with such a fluidity that only implied fluency in a language, doused between the silence of themselves.
The hand upon her thigh was a rather bold shove in the direction of his motive; it hadn’t been an inherently lewd grasp for attention, simply a physical push to the boundaries that neither of them opted to compliment on, most days. What festered itself within the space of their own bubble together was parasitic of its own right— he wasn’t complaining, ultimately.
It was noncommittal, and allowed him the room to play with strings where he’d never been able to before. It seemed as though his companion had similar feelings on certain occasions— who could blame them? In a dire time like this? Hells, the elf still had larger problems to face before even the concept of another devotion played itself within his mind.
This was just a simple game— nothing more, nothing less. And fortunately, the rogue loved games.
Nimble fingers found his own, loosely wrapping the length of his digits curling around her flesh like a snake preparing to coil and snap all before being rearranged. The poise of his attention hadn’t fluttered under the new assessment; he didn’t need to look to understand the drift of fabric over his fingers, where they’d been directed toward. The flaunt of her own hand found its way toward his form, a delicate grace of fingers against his own crotch before carrying themselves as though it were a mere accident.
He knew it’d been anything but.
Once more— the elf loved a game. Perhaps not for attention, but now there’d been a different objective within the ashen swirl of his mind.
Who taught you to shoot arrows?
He’d almost let a flash of pearly fangs break through the firm seal of his lips. The attentive curl of his features filtered toward the harper in question, a stark raise to his brow as though he’d been enthused in the conversation.
Best not to draw too much attention now— unless? Perhaps he wouldn’t hate that as much as he’d initially thought, now that he’d had the caution.
A pallid palm, dancing along the inside of her thigh, slithered itself further against the material of her robe. The length of his fingers, at this angle, simply slid themselves against the heat that radiated between her legs; it was less than easing, a deliberate stroke of two fingers against the material that shielded where he would’ve preferred to just dip his fingers into. No point in being slow or teasing— he’d been demanding her attention all evening, and he was going to get it eventually.
CHALLENGING ASTARION IS THE MOST FUN GRIER CAN HAVE without taking her clothes off. proof of it is in play the very moment he accepts the new position of his fingers. she would have hissed a single word in his direction if he refused — coward — no need! the rogue shows he is a capable player. with the corner of her eye she spies at him and how he doesn't react.
she braces herself for the same when his fingertips touch her underwear. already wet there, but the simple contact, paired with the thrill of the game doubles her body's response. the small hairs at the back of her neck stand, and a shudder passes through grier that only someone observing her neck could notice.
the harper tells her it is his father, who was an excellent hunter and put a bow in his hands when he was considerably young. boring. standard... yet she smiles encouragingly and prepares her next question.
❝ how sweet ! ❞ grier's gasp is not totally fabricated, but none at the table would know, except for the guilty one. well, she supposes there are two of them. she is the one who introduced pure lewdness.
❝ reminds me of my father, ❞ the warlock chirps. it does not. this is the first time she mentions emryar, without his name, and she notices ears perking up. her companions hardly know anything of her past. she has a few decades to account for but chooses not to. ❝ he taught me magic, ❞ bullshit. he did not. he placed her in the hands of tutors and governesses who would see to her needs. once her magic manifested properly, he had already cast her away.
❝ how special it is to have our parents give us the first piece of our livelihood. ❞ she cuts a piece of meat on her plate and brings it to her lips. her odd eyes search the table and noticed scrutuny in shadowheart's eyes. perhaps, she is overdoing her act... yet some may think it's only flirting.
she pauses, eats, ignores astarion's fingers, though her body does not. arousal seeps through lace. she feels each shift of the air under her skirt.
the harper talks, and she places her fork down and finally looks at astarion. ❝ we have another man skilled with a bow at the table. who taught you, astarion ? ❞ grier wants him to meet her gaze, make it erotic, drive him to do more.
IN TRUTH she is a little disappointed that nan does not bite the bait she'd set. grier doesn't hold it against her, having learned that her girlfriend needs a more direct approach, she instead allows those words to sink in and for nan to grow accustomed to grier's slyness. she says one thing but means another [ though never when it's of big importance ].
❝ and i like when i'm on top you, ❞ she hopes that's enough distraction, but no, nan's grip is yet to budge. grier listens to the advice given and makes a face swiftly. ❝ gross, no. i won't spit in your eyes. ❞ though, she thinks nan wouldn't mind it. especially not in this context, where she's wanting grier to do her best at combat. unfortunately, the physical part is not appealing to her — she's gifted with her mouth and with her body, but not to deal raw damage.
she does feel the opportunity and braces herself. she attempts a kick, aiming for the kidney or whatever is there with her knee, but mostly focuses on sliding a hand out the tiefling's grip. ❝ see, i'd claw your face now if it wasn't too dear to me. ❞ and she's burn her as well, depending on the threat what matter she'd use. ❝ is that enough ? i really can't play fighting with you. you may have to find me another playmate. ❞
"Fighting's gross. You gotta do what you need to win." Gods knew how often Nan was covered in ichor for days on end -- though she had been bathing far more regularly of late thanks to Grier's influence and the easy access to a wash basin courtesy of the Elfsong. Nan's hygiene had never been so well cared for, even before she'd lost her memories. Though she can't recall it for a moment, Nan had reveled in bloodbath after bloodbath, painting herself red and letting it fester before finally washing herself clean to pursue her next sacrifice. Now, however, things were a great deal different tan they'd ever been before.
"You're sweet, but I'd fucking heal. You know how I am." Nan shrugs, loosening her grip a bit further to let Grier slip out. It seemed like they were going a bit too far with the lesson, and Nan wasn't about to have fun at Grier's expense. She sighs, but lets it go. "Aw, damn." Nan rolls them over until her girlfriend is on top. "How's this, then, lovey? Can we play like this?" They lay in the dirt, the sun shining down through sparsely-populated trees, with a soft breeze tickling their skin.
Nan lets her hands come to rest loosely on Grier's waist as she speaks, "I just don't wanna see you get hurt because I'm too far away to help. If your hands're bound and you can't cook someone alive, what's gonna happen then?" Make no mistake, Nan knew all too well that Grier was a powerful woman. She didn't need Nan's protection most of the time, but edge cases could always come up, and something could always go wrong.
SHE DOES PLAY DIRTY, but perhaps not as dirty as she could be. nan gives her that sort of perspective. admittedly, if her hands are bound like someone of nan's ilk, grier would be utterly fucked. the only thing that could save her was the appeal of her body, her patron's influence, or little she could apply once truly afraid. odd eyes watch as nan retreats and suddenly she is on top. grier spreads her knees and settles happily on top of her. best seat ever.
she is not uncomfortable and rushes to show that. ❝ what sort of play ? ❞ she purrs. nan looks just as good below her, those golden eyes intent and the curve of her jaw and lips. delicious. she smiles at her beloved. ❝ i will be okay, nan. i'm turning eighty in a year or two, can't remember. i've been in situations without you and i've made it out. in the worst case, lady glasya will step in. we can owe her later. ❞ she means to reassure her girlfriend, but memories still flash behind her eyes. ❝ i can't take it seriously when i'm in no real danger. i'm not afraid of you, and tussling isn't my thing unless you're the one getting bound. ❞ her smile quirks to a smirk.
grier's small hand covers nan's at her waist. ❝ we can try another day. maybe catch me when i'm in a foul mood. wind me up. ❞ not in the sexy way. ❝ perhaps then i'd feel little remorse at watching your clawed face heal. ❞ so strange that now she had such thoughts — care for a face besides her own. after a pause, grier goes on. ❝ i want to spend our evenings together playing, not fighting. ❞
today i parted with my parrot baby. some of you may know i love him dearly but due to family pressure i was more or less forced to part with him. percy was a big part of my day to day and even if he did sometimes help my mental health worsen, i raised him since he was 3 weeks old. my baby is with a nice family who have another baby [potentially his full sibling as they were bought from the same breeder and are the same age]. i hope he is happy. i want the best for him. yesterday and today was exhausting as i texted with people back and forth since i posted a listing on facebook and so many wanted to take him.
@sanguinisa : Nan keeps one of her knees touching Grier's as she works, tail wrapped loosely around her girlfriend's waist. She's rambling about nothing important -- a leather oil salesman trying to rip her off. It was a moment of almost domestic peace in between the hell of their day-to-day lives.
SHE IS CLEVER ABOUT THIS SORT OF THING, can not lay waste to her soft fingers if a needle is to poke them while she stitches. grier, old enough to know how to sew just about any fabric, relies on her magic. she will never let it go, only in her grave. a nasty hole in one of her favorite fighting skirts slit yesterday, forces her to find the time to go through each clothing item in her possession and now repair them. a heap lies at her foot, and she is delighted to have nan's company even if the mending barely requires grier's attention. happy to let the magic do its thing, she lookes toward her girlfriend, listening with intent to her rambles.
grier's touched [ to the depths of her believed-to-be-shallow heart ] to rediscover that the topic doesn't matter so long as it's that face and voice speaking. they put her in a trance. grier flutters her eyelashes in wonder — the seducer — seduced once and for all. ❝ what poor taste, ❞ she adds on, pushing her knee to nan's. the act covers her skin in goosebumps. then her hand falls on her waist, atop nan's tail, giving it a press and liking that it's curled about her. she had looked down but now casts her eyes up to nan's face and without meaning anything but the word, grier purrs, ❝ lover. ❞
if all of her days are spent like this, she could learn to like a quiet life.
coming to say hi & i miss you guys. i've had a rough week or two but i am bouncing back. uni is officially over and i've passed my first year splendidly, proud of myself. my brain belongs to hotd currently but I WILL be around. just mising grier so much.
GRIER HAS BEEN LOOKING FORWARD to this the whole day. never mind her side still hurting — she has to sleep it off. now is not the time to ponder her aches. manicured fingers instantly gravitate to karlach's hair and begin playing with it mindlessly. ❝ yes, you may. though i've already gotten very comfortable, and you've grabbed me. or was it just you being polite, and you're ready to let me go ? ❞ she continues to play along, but there's a pleased kick to her foot. flirting, teasing, and sarcasm were all included in her natural talents.
grier doesn't mention karlach's face almost in her chest. what's there to mind about it? instead, she finds the base of her good horn and traces outwards, as much as her pose allows. she draws it back, reflecting how nice it is seeing the top of karlach's head. grier likes it because it doesn't happen often.
she relaxes more, melting against her lover's body with all her unmighty weight. ❝ perhaps i should ask now if you'll turn me down from staying the night ? not in this, naturally, i've got to change. ❞ she kicks a foot again. ❝ i'm preparing myself for your rejection early. ❞
maybe it's hard to explain to someone that wasn't trapped in avernus for 10 years barely even a shell of themselves how much such little affections are deemed heavenly. GRIER RUNNING HER FINGERS THROUGH KARLACH'S HAIR WAS SO DAMN SMALL . but it felt like years of agony being combed away. honestly, that was such a carefree and hearty short laugh that escaped karlach's lips. OH, SHE LIKES JOKING BANTER A LOT . karlach does, slowly, pull slightly away from grier. @glasyanfire
fiery eyes peer so softly up at grier. one of karlach's hands stay on grier's waist. KARLACH HAS SUCH A PLEASANT SMILE STILL CURLING HER LIPS . her head tilts just to fondly study grier, teeth still poking out carefree from karlach's mouth.
"i'm not going to reject you." karlach whispers, leaning in slightly like anyone else could possibly over hear this not-secret secret. SHE WINKS . "alright, ask me— wait, change?"
THINKING OF KARLACH letting her go makes grier laugh. she thinks in no way shape, or form her lover would do that. never if it has to be serious, never meaning it! karlach could have, a while ago, when she found out about all of grier's quirks, most of which belong with the plane she hates most. somehow she hadn't faced rejection and she'd not now. grier is glad to be correct once again, glad to listen to karlach laugh and to have her hand on her waist.
she hadn't anticipated ever loving a sound more than she loves hearing her own voice. now she prefers karlach's greetings and her chuckles to her own charming lies and powdered giggles. looking at the tiefling makes her ache with... joy? she wants to push her fingers in her mouth — touch those pointed teeth for no reason at all besides learning them — then kiss her. grier wonders if it will be weird… though she has no shame, she has restraint. she kicks her foot again, focusing on looking at those eyes, favored flames.
❝ change, yes. into one of my nightgowns. ❞ grier answers, her fingers still combing karlach's dark tresses. she plays with the metal in the braids. ❝ the leathers i wear now are not pretty, they are my practical ones. and i cannot think of sleeping in them! my skin needs to breathe. ❞ the tight pants she had on, even if they make her hips irresistible, sleep in them? the thought alone drives her crazy.
she leans in, her nose touching karlach's then pulls back. ❝ once i change, can i spend the night here ? with you. ❞ she asks rather loudly, proudly. it's no secret that she's done it or that she wishes to repeat. ❝ please, lover ? ❞ she pauses, titls her head before the second word.
