gortash-did-nothing-wrong

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

You did it accidentally Durge?

the inspiration:

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

The Avatar of Tyranny form will never not be hot

Originally wanted to draw Durge in a regular dress.. but marriage. I always end up drawing my favorite ships getting happily married lolol 😌💖

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

New headcanon: Elves do slow blinks for the same reason cats do them. It's a sign of trust and affection.

Here's another slow blink. Idk what causes this since I doubt it's an actual on-purpose animation, but I love it when it happens.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Blood of my Blood Ch 2

Warnings: mentioned child.abuse, Enver's shitty childhood, Enver will do anything but go to therapy, imprisonment, mentions of food insecurity

The girl sleeps for hours. It's not even an effect of the spell, just her genuinely being exhausted. He can't blame her, after the life she's lived. While she sleeps on the couch in his office, guarded by one of his Banite servants, he sets to work downstairs. Like all nobles in Baldur's Gate, he has a dungeon in his personal home. One he hasn't actually used much. He prefers the cells at the Temple of Bane when he needs to imprison someone.

He purchased the castle in disrepair two years ago and had been renovating various parts. The dungeon was currently less of a mess of cells and more of one large sprawling room. He sets his servants about sweeping and scrubbing. He along with some of his more educated Banite acolytes cast a few incantations to make it certain that the space is secure from prying eyes. The little windows along one wall are covered with stone and plaster that will set in less than six hours. The drains on the floor are reinforced. The plumbing is checked to ensure it will not clog. A dumb waiter that hadn't been used in over ten years is reinforced to ensure it won't break, but intentionally made smaller so his sister will not be able to fit into it no matter how much she may try. He needs to keep her fed, but he has no intentions of coming down here very often. Nor will he risk any of his servants having contact with her. He knows first hand what even trusted servants will do to a child who is locked away. He still has scars from that wretched gnome in the House of Hope.

It only takes a few hours to transform the dungeon into a clean, dry, livable space. A few old pieces of furniture he was going to throw away complete it. He thinks he'll install a fireplace later on, before the cold season sets in. No need for her to freeze. Or get sick.

For now, he puts a small cast iron wood burning stove in one corner near the bed. He grunts and curses until the smoke stack from it is hooked up properly. No smoke will fill the room, and there is no way for the girl to remove it to shove an arm out the wall to signal for rescue. Not that any would come. His estate is quite secluded.

By the time the girl is carried down here by a Banite Enver trusts not to get handsy, the former dungeon has been furnished with a king size bed, a dining table, two couches, several book shelves, and a little area in one corner with a small mockery of a school desk facing a large proper desk meant for an adult. A little school house of sorts. He won't be letting his flesh and blood stew away in here, growing duller by the day. She may have dropped out of school but that will not be tolerated any longer. She will learn, and learn quickly.

The girl is placed gently on her new bed. It's likely the softest thing she's ever touched, and it's not even hers. None of this is. It all belongs to Enver, and now she does too. Something she'll find out shortly.

He sends all of his servants and acolytes away, and sits on one of the couches. It's comfortable and clean, which is all he cares about. He sips a bit of whiskey he has the servants send down the dumb waiter along with a small tray of snack foods. Simple things he knows won't upset her stomach. Crossaints stuffed with meat and cheese. Simple biscuits with jam. Herbal tea. A large jug of water.

He eats none of it. The girl needs to learn to be secure knowing all the food she is given here will be hers. He can't have her hording food, panicking thinking she won't be fed often enough. He'll need to start her off with smaller portions though, so she doesn't make herself sick.

By the time she wakes up, Enver is nearly finished with his whiskey. "Good evening."

The girl cowers on the bed. She pulls her knees up to her chest, stares at him in fear. He expected it.

"Come. I know you're hungry." He nods to the tray of food he placed on the coffee table settled between the couches. "Dont worry, you won't be harmed here. Violence is far behind you now."

"You hurt my parents." She says. There's no sadness in her voice. She wouldn't mourn them if they were dead, just as he wouldn't. She's saying it as evidence that he is capable of violence. And he is.

"Our parents," he reminds her firmly, "Deserved quite worse than what they got. They get to live a productive life now. No more alcohol, no more hitting each other, no more starving because of their horrid financial decisions."

"What did you do?" She asks, fear creeping into her tone. "It was less than a minute, and they were completely different people. Its like... like you changed them out for different people."

Enver nods, "I'll answer your questions if you come and eat something. You're skin and bones, don't act like you're not hungry."

She walks over slowly as if she's ready for him to pounce. She grabs a biscuit dripping with jam and bites into it while standing as if she's afraid if she sits, he'll lash out. "What did you do to them?"

"I have found a way to control their minds." He explains smoothly. "They will behave just as a perfect pair of parents would. They will dote upon us, proclaim their pride and love for us, and never raise a hand to us again."

"But it's not real." She counters. "Its just an illusion, isn't it? Like the fire cat at Loroakans."

"Not an illusion. Control." He says firmly.

She doesn't challenge it again. She finished eating her biscuit, then another. She starts on a croissant before asking, "Where am I?"

Enver gestures around the room, "Why, your new home. Just for you. You'll receive three meals a day, be given whatever you ask for, and be kept completely safe."

She eyes the door behind him. It's a sturdy metal door with no knob on the inside. The hinges aren't visible. She speaks again, "Can I leave?"

"No." He says gently. "This is your home now."

"No, I mean leave this one room." She clarifies.

"No." He says firmer. "This. This room. It is your home now. There will be no leaving. You have a lavatory, a shower and bath, enough books to last several months-"

"So, what, I stay in here my entire life?!" She snaps. "I die in this room, surrounded by dusty old books and your table scraps?!"

He finds the implication he's served her his table scraps more insulting than anything else she's said so far. "Careful, girl. This expensive furniture and dusty old books can be taken away quite easily. Would you care to have this room restored to its original glory as a torture dungeon?"

She's quiet then. Properly silent.

Enver sighs, "I shall take it upon myself to teach you artificing. You will learn quickly, or you will spend the rest or your life in this room. You hear me, girl? The faster you become useful to me, the faster you gain some freedom."

"Some?" She asks tentatively.

Enver smirks, "Enough freedom to leave this room. Not enough freedom to leave me."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 20

Warnings: Enver's past trauma, Enver's chronic injury, the threat of children being harmed.

Enver has ignored his bad knee long enough to put Jahson on his hip and carry the boy uo the stares. You lead a sleepy Ember by the hand, Lyria in your arms, up the stairs and into Enver's bedroom. You had offered your own bedroom up for use, but Enver had insisted on his. It was about the same size, but unlike yours, it didn't have a small basket of children's toys and extra blankets in the closet. Enver was an involved father, but the children still cried out for you when they had nightmares. When they needed to sleep with someone they trusted, they came to you. It was normal for children to prefer their mother at young ages.

Ember had slept in Enver's bed a few times when she cried out for you, and you happened to be in your husband's room. Enver was a good sport about being interrupted, and didn't even complain about sharing his bed with a toddler who tossed and turned all night.

However, this was Jahson's first time in Enver's room. He yawned, squinting as he took in the lay of the land before Enver set him down on the large bed. Jahson curled up into a loose ball the second he realized he was in a bed again and was quickly asleep.

Ember took a little time. You had to put Lyria down in her spare bassinet that one of the servants carried in for you, and then rub Ember's back and sing until she fell asleep.

Lyria, bless her, hadn't even stirred. Content as a newborn could be, she simply slept on in her little bassinet, swaddled in her blanket.

You looked over your shoulder, to see Enver sitting in an armchair with his crossbow across his thighs. His bad leg was propped up on a footstool, his hands locked tight on the crossbow. His eyes watched you, a dark fear behind them that still startled you. Enver had always been the picture of poise and calm. Now he was crumbling. And there was nothing you could do.

You walked to him, knelt next to his chair, and gently rolled his trouser leg up to inspect his knee. It had taken months of marriage to get him to let you do this. He had been like an injured cat in the beginning, refusing to show you his hurt paw until you coaxed him with a proper treat.

His bad knee had been getting somewhat better over the last few years. He'd never be able to walk without a cane, but at least the swelling and pain wasn't a constant everyday obstacle. Carrying your toddler had put too much strain on his injury.

It had swelled up. More than it usually had on bad days. This couldn't just be from carrying Jahson. He must have done something else. Run down the halls with his heavy crossbow, no doubt. Like a hero running to the rescue in those old stories. Funny how the heroes never had to grapple with chronic injuries.

Enver watches you as you grab a box of herbs from the bathroom. You wordlessly grind a few herbs up before mixing in a bit of aloe vera gel to make a salve. As you do, one of the Banite servants comes in. Enver speaks to him in a low whisper, "The nursemaids body must be dealt with. Question the remaining servants, see if anyone saw the intruder. If so, take them down to the temple."

Enver keeps you in the dark on all of his darker works. But even you know that anyone Enver has dragged downstairs to the Banite temple he had hidden away down there doesn't come back. Usually that guilt rolls around in your gut for days. But now? Anyone that saw that man come in and didn't raise the alarm could get dragged past you kicking and screaming for mercy and you wouldn't flinch. Your children could have been murdered tonight. Or taken away from you, dragged off to who knows where to be enslaved.

The servant leaves, and you spread the salve you've made over Enver's knee. He squeezes his crossbow a little tighter. The sudden cooling feeling from the aloe vera has always made him hiss a bit. Raise his hackles like the grumpy but suave cat he is.

"... who was he?" You whispered.

Enver puts a hand on your head. "You needn't worry."

"I am far past the point of worrying." You hissed. "I let you have all the authority, all the power in our relationship because i thought me and my children would have safety. If I cannot count on that anymore, which I obviously cannot, then don't wave me off when I ask questions. No more of this little wife who sits and embroidery while her husband commits atrocity after atrocity!" It hurts Enver, you can tell. Or maybe it just disrupts the control he enjoys having.

Enver schools his expression, and fixes you with a stern gaze. "You're upset. Go to bed, we'll discuss this in the morning."

"Dont expect me to be any different in the morning." You growl out, before quickly finishing applying the salve and fixing it in place with a bandage before retreating to his bed. Perhaps he would have taken your anger more seriously if you hadn't finished nursing his knee. Still, that was something you couldn't bring yourself to do. He was still your husband, a man who up until now had kept you and your children completely safe. Not to mention provided everything you could ever want and more. On top of that, being downright pleasant to be around, and very attentive in all things concerning you and the children.

You slept on that, and unfortunately, by morning, you had calmed, despite your intention to stay angry. Perhaps seeing Enver stand guard over you and the children all night had softened you.

The children woke and played with their baby sister for a bit in bed before one of their still living nursemaids called them away for breakfast.

Enver looked at you, his gaze firm, "My dear-"

"I'm sorry." You said.

He paused, surprised and more than a little curious. "Pardon?"

"I'm sorry I snapped at you last night." You said softly. "That wasn't fair to you. I wasn't the only one scared... I know seeing Raphael was beyond scary for you, even if I don't know why."

Enver stiffened. "Enough of this. Our arrangement has always been quite clear. If you need to know something, I will tell you. All you need to know about Raphael is that you should never listen to a word he says, nor should you ever make any sort of deal with him."

His words hung over you for a few minutes, particularly his last instruction. "... is he a devil?"

Enver glared at you, then let out a long exhale before smiling in his somehow pleasantly condescending way. He stood and walked to the bed, his hand upping your chin and looking down at you with a bit of fondness in his eyes. "You're too clever for your own good, you know."

You smiled back, "You'd grow quite bored otherwise."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 19

Trigger Warnings: Raphael is his own warning, mentions of Enver's horrible childhood, children in danger, brief description of a body.

Raphael smirked, gesturing to a small table on the far side of the nursery that was used for the children to have snacks and play board games. "Shall we sit? I imagine you have many questions."

Numbly, you sit, then hopefully hold up your arms for your baby. Little Lyria, who isn't quite a week old, in a strangers hands. "Please?"

Having to beg for your child was maddening. You should be stronger. Fiercer. Someone this man would fear-

He set Lyria in your arms, "Of course. Little ones always crave their mother. I'm surprised she was unattended."

"She... she wasn't-" You glance over at Hildas unconscious body, the new angle letting you see the small pool of blood beneath her. Fuck. FUCK.

Raphael chuckled, "So hard to get good help these days. Impossible, even. Now, do you play?"

He gestured to the game of lanceboard.

"No." You said softly, holding Lyria tightly against you. She fusses for a brief moment but then stills, feeling your skin and hearing your breathing. She knows she's safe. Or, she thinks she is.

Raphael raised his eyebrows, "Shame. I would have thought Enver would teach you."

He called your husband by his first name? "You're certainly... familiar with my husband."

Raphael chuckled. "Familiar? Why, I raised him."

Thoughts swirl fast through your mind. Raised him? This wasn't Dravo, the cobbler of the lower city. This man was far too well bred, his clothing too fine, and too perfumed. Enver said he was on good terms with his parents, despite hinting at a violent childhood.

"I see. Thats... so lovely of you to visit." You said, forcing a smile. "Enver didn't mention a visit, have you seen him yet?"

Raphael smirked. "I'm not here to visit the boy. I thought it high time to introduce myself to his lovely little bride. I wasn't given an invitation to his wedding, but I won't hold that against you."

Part of you bristles at hearing him refer to your husband as 'the boy'. "I'm sure the Archduke meant no harm."

Raphael waved his hand, "Children can be ungrateful. It's the way of parenting." He nodded to your two oldest children, sleeping in their beds. "They're so obedient when young. Easy to train, simple to direct. Once they get older, though, they develop horrid little habits. Talking back, defiance, looking for any chance to break their parent's heart."

You held Lyria a little closer. "I... I'm sorry to hear you find parenthood so unsatisfactory."

Raphael holds up his hands dramatically. "Unsatisfactory? Not at all. Watching the boy grow was endlessly amusing. Seeing him spit and fight my debtors was hilarious. And when he escaped my grasp? I was infuriated. But what he did to Baldur's Gate? My my, all that business with the mindflayers was fantastic! Every bit of it was fantastic to watch. Even if I did lose the crown in the end, Enver's performance was worth all the trouble. Saving the city from the very threat he brought to its door, turning all those poor souls into mindflayers, wielding the netherstones on his own, oh, and the brilliant propaganda pieces afterwards!"

Raphael smirked at your expression of horror. "And all while his wife lays in his bed every night, unaware."

"... if it's business you're here to discuss, I can have the servants escort you to his office." You say.

Raphael laughs. "Ah yes, I can see why my boy likes you. He always did enjoy making such a show of lording over people."

It stings far less than it should.

There's a click, a mechanical sound that draws both your attention towards the open door of the nursery. Enver stands their, his eyes cold and focused on Raphael from behind the sites of his crossbow. That beast of a weapon you know he spent months perfecting.

"Out." He says firmly.

Raphael sighs as if he's been hurt. "Oh, but my boy, I have only begun to get acquainted with your darling little pet."

You stand up from the chair, rushing back across the room to stand in front of your children's beds, keeping your body between them and Raphael.

Enver growls through his teeth, "Out. Now."

Raphael stands up, "Very well, I'll take my leave. Far be it from me to get involved in a lovers quarrel."

He snaps his fingers, and he's gone, the only remnants of his presence being his cherry perfume. You sink to your knees, shaking as you set Lyria down in her bassinet.

Enver checks all three of your children, then you. He sees Hilda's body and tosses a blanket over it. That done, he calmly sits on the edge of the bed you're kneeling next to and puts his arm around your shoulders, drawing you to lean against his leg. "... Let's bring the children into my room for the night. I'll deal with this all in the morning."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 18

Trigger warnings: violence, Enver being in control of everything, Enver telling you how he would punish you, descriptions of another person being beaten with a cane, slight hint at children being in danger.

You can't say you and Enver had never gotten a bit snippy before. Sometimes, he could be mean, callus even. He was not innocent of lashing out at you if he felt weak or too vulnerable too quickly in your presence. Banites had very strict ideas of what marriage should be, and it wasn't a partnership of equals. The little Enver has allowed you to be involved in his cult has shown you a world of strict military like hierarchy with brutal punishments for stepping out of line.

Early on in your marriage, you had seen a man be tied to an altar of Bane and beaten with a cane until he went unconscious. You had clung to Enver's arm in the carriage ride home, quietly sobbing into his jacket as he pet your hair and whispered sweet nothings to you until you calmed down enough to ask, "If... if I ever disobey you, will you-"

"No." Enver had said, softly but firmly. "There wouldn't be any reason to go so far with you."

"Even if I disobey?" You had pressed.

"I doubt you would." He said, chuckling softly as he took out his handkerchief. "But even if you did, no. You're not the type to need such correction."

"What if I do something worse?" You had asked.

"Such as?" He asked, amused as he dabbed the tears from your cheeks.

Finding an example was difficult. "What if... what if I smashed that beautiful crystal whiskey decanter in your office?"

"I'd call in all the maids and make you clean it up as they watched." Enver said. You cringed, imaging the humiliation of such a thing. "Perhaps I'd even make you do a bit more cleaning around my home, until I felt you appreciated my belongings more."

You could feel your face heating up as you pictured it. "Gods, please, no."

Enver laughed, "You see? You're quite easy to bring in line."

You should be angry at that remark. You should want to be difficult to bring in line. Difficult to tame. Fierce and strong-willed and... everything that would exhaust you to pretend to be.

"What if I took a bunch of valuables and ran away?" You asked.

Enver rolled his eyes, "I'd walk calmly to your mother's house and drag you home by your ear."

You frowned, "No, I mean left the city. Went on the lamb!"

Enver sighed and patted your head, "Yes, I'm quite certain you'd get to the gates of the city and then get frightened and come back home. But, for arguments sake, let's say you did, in fact, leave the city. I'd send some of my subordinates after you, and once I got you back, I'd put a lock on the outside of your quarters, bar the windows, and keep you right where you belong until I felt you could be trusted again." He paused, considering something. "Perhaps I'd allow your mother to visit. I'm sure she'd be quite cross with you."

She would. You'd be shaming her not only in the eyes of the nobility but also in the eyes of the Cult of Bane.

"... is there nothing I could ever do to make you angry enough to hit me?" You pressed one final time.

Enver sighed, "... Perhaps there is. If you ever struck one of our children I... I may be inclined to strike you the same way."

You nodded slowly. "I'm terribly nervous about being a mother. Terribly. I don't even know how to raise a child without physical punishment."

Enver kissed your forehead. "I'll give you some books to read. There's a few associates of mine who don't use physical discipline on their children, I'll set up a meeting between you and their wives if you'd like."

You rested your head on his shoulder the rest of the way home, enjoying the comfortable silence and contemplating why you seemed to enjoy letting him be in control so much. You figured it had something to do with feeling safe, but Enver wasn't a safe man.

And now, nearly a decade and three children later, you laid alone in your bed after Enver had quite coldly sent you away after asking too many questions about his past. The knowledge you gained seam through your head. Avernus? Enver had lived in Avernus? For how long? When? How old? Why? How did he even get there? He wasn't a damn warlock, he couldn't be.

You tossed and turned for a bit before getting out of bed and walking to the nursery. If you were going to stay up, you could at least relieve whichever nursemaid was on bedtime duty.

You walked into the nursery, seeing your oldest two children fast asleep in their little beds, and an unknown servant gently bouncing your newest baby in their arms deeper in the nursery by the window.

You walked forward, checking your oldest two and tucking them in a bit tighter before moving towards the servant. He was a masculine figure, and clearly not one of your nursing staff. Had one of them gotten sick, or needed to leave to attend a family matter? Sometimes, it happened, and a normal servant covered their shift for a few hours.

You could hear him now, as he whispered a beautiful lullaby you recognized as Cormyrian poetry to your daughter.

"Good evening." You whispered.

The man turned towards you with a pleasant yet unsettling smile. Something was wrong. He wasn't wearing a servants uniform. His face was unknown to you, and while you didn't know the name of every servant in your employ, you knew for sure this was not one of the servants approved to care for your children on short notice.

"Good evening." The man purred. "Forgive me for the poem, but the little one was getting quite fussy."

You looked past him, seeing Hilda, one of your nursemaids, asleep on the ground. You hoped she was asleep.

You looked back up into the strangers eyes. "Who are you?" It comes out as a whisper when it should be a shout. Something to wake Hilda. Wake the children. Get them to run, to scream, to cry. The guards would come. Or the servants. Enver perhaps.

"Oh how terribly rude of me." The man says, before making a show of shifting your baby in his arms to make an elegant bow. "I, am Raphael."

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

The lacing on the corset is killing me. Very in character. Good job.

This started as a cooldown sketch after comms but I just kept returning to do a little more and here we are...

(playlist)

comms are open @wolfssketches | tip jar | become a patron

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 17

Your children loved their fathers office. Most children loved whatever room that they weren't allowed access to every minute of every day. Enver didn't mind. Secretly, you think he loved it. He had a few rules of course. No noisy toys could be brought in. Tea party's could be thrown on his coffee table but the crumbs must be swept up by the children after. No yelling, no fighting, and any giggles must be muffled to the best of their ability.

Enver was a father who adored his children, and after every time you gave birth, he always insisted on you resting on the little single bed in his office for a few days afterwards. He liked keeping you close, and this way he could hold the newest Gortash baby without the milk maker being too far from them.

When you had your third child, Ember cuddled on the bed with you, trying to share cookies and brush your hair. Jahson played quietly under Enver's desk, and occasionally poked his head out to stare at the new baby. "She's a bit ugly."

Enver chuckled, "Ember said the same about you. All babies are wrinkled and pink."

"Will she turn red like me and Ember?" Jahson asked. Or will she be white like you and Mommy?"

"Mother." Enver corrected gently. "Address her properly."

"He's three." You said softly as Ember braided your hair. "Let him call me Mommy a bit longer."

Enver huffed, "Perhaps another year. But not in front of any proper company."

Jahson poked his father's arm, "Daddy, will the baby be red or white?"

"Red." Enver said softly, absentmindedly running a finger over his new daughter's arm.

"How come we're red, but you're white?" Jahson asked.

Enver smiled, "You're a tiefling."

"Whats a tiefling?" He asked.

"It's a race of people with horns and brightly colored eyes and skin. Some tieflings have normal human coloring, though. It's the luck of the draw." Enver explained.

Jahson pestered Enver a bit more about horns, tails, and red skin. Trying to piece together why Enver and you were human. Enver gave vague answers, saying it's just something that happens sometimes. He then put the new baby down to scoop up Jahson and put him on his knee. "It's the lucky of the draw. Your mother and I couldn't be happier to have three children with cute little tails and beautiful horns. Such treasures you all are."

Later that night, after the nursemaids took the evening shift, once the children were put to bed, you and Enver had retired to his bedroom. He liked you sleeping in his room. Or at least to spend time with him before bed. Now that you weren't pregnant, he liked to pamper you with a half glass of wine before bed. He poured your glass, and then got himself two fingers of his favorite whiskey. The two of you sat down on his large and plush couch with you nearly entirely in his lap as he let his hands wander.

"You look radiant tonight." Enver whispered. "Did you have a spa day? A nice lavender oil bath? You smell divine."

You chuckled, "I suppose I did. Now, you, my husband, I'm afraid I must interrogate."

Enver raised an eyebrow, "Oh?"

"I've had three of your children." You said softly. "I have been loyal and obedient."

Enver smiled, "You have. What is it you want, my darling wife? You needn't bribe me to get your wishes."

"I want you to tell me why the children are tieflings."

His face fell. An air of instant regret settled over the room. "... why?"

"They form in my body." You said. "I have a right to know, Enver."

He frowned, a stubborn look in his eye. "I don't see how that's relevant. Tiefling or human, they'll still form in your womb. The children will all be tieflings. I've warned you of this before."

"But why will they be-"

"If it bothers you, we can stop at three." Enver snapped.

"What bothers me is you won't tell me!" You snapped back. "I'll have another tiefling, I'll have eight more tieflings, I don't care! I just want you to tell me what happened to cause this."

Enver held your gaze for a moment before sighing. "Tell me the real reason you want to know."

"... because I keep coming up with all these horrible ideas in my head." You admitted. "Like you've sold the children's souls. That's the worst one I thought of."

Enver's glares at you, "You think I would do such a thing?! Sell my child-"

"No, no I dont!" You assured him. "I just, my mind can't stop coming up with all these insane ideas-"

"Insane is correct." Enver snaps. "The reason why this is happening is because I spent time in Avernus. That's all."

You paused, unsure of his words. "You... spent time there? How long?"

He waves his hand, "A few years. I haven't been there since my early twenties."

You stare at him, seeing the way his eyes refuse to look at you, "Enver... how did you get to the hells?"

He stands abruptly from the couch, slinging the rest of his whiskey back and gulping it down in one motion. "I'm going to bed. Do whatever you want, but if you stay here, be silent."

You retreat to your own room without another word.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Gortash screenshot studies. Plus my personal headcanon as to why he dresses Like That.

[gortash-did-nothing-wrong]

Enver Gortash Musings 16

You knew Enver grew up in the lower city. Everyone did. He was the city's shining example of rags to riches. The man everyone pointed to to say that in Baldurs Gate, if you worked hard enough, you could achieve anything.

With poverty came certain... lingering issues. You had on a handful of occasions seen your husband shove food into his mouth like a starved man when he was busy with work and missed a meal due to time constraints. He clearly hates any mention of it, so you addressed it in your own ways.

You found little excuses to bring a small tray of snacks to his office. "Ah, I was trying a new recipe and made too much. Help me out?" "Darling, could you have a quick bowl of this and tell me what you think? I'm thinking of adding it to our weekly rotation of meals, but I need your opinion." "Enver, dear, the silliest thing just happened. I asked the servants to bring me one plate of cucumber sandwiches, and yet they brought me two! And some extra dill spread on the side." "My pregnancy cravings are getting so strange... could you share this with me so I don't feel like a pig?"

After the first few times you did it, he was absolutely onto your little scheme. The horrid scheme of your womanly instincts wanting to keep him fed and full. It was silly to think that you had to occasionally remind him to eat, like a child, but he would get so distracted by his work sometimes that the whole day would go by before he thought of his belly.

The servants and you had developed a system where they would notice him flinging himself into his work more so than usual, and would send one of the errand boys to come whisper to you. After sending the boy off with a pat on the head and a few copper for his trouble, you would find an excuse to drop by his workshop with some food. It became easier as you had more children. You'd put a pout on your face, hold your youngest child in your arms, and say that your little one simply refused to be away from their father any longer and Enver simply must take a break to have lunch with you both.

Enver could deny you very little. He could deny his children nothing.

There was one other thing that was a result of Enver's childhood of poverty that you didn't even realize until he nearly exploded over it.

Your second eldest, Jahson, had hit his first big growth spurt early at thirteen. You were used to getting your children new wardrobes for each of your children once or twice a year depending on how much they grew, but suddenly, Jahson was giving your tailors a run for their money. Every few weeks, it seemed, Jahsons trousers were too short and were showing his ankles.

Jahson had come home from his apprenticeship at Damon's shop late one night and was eating his supper in Enver's office with you and Enver. As he sat on Enver's couch, you noticed that when he sat, the cuffs of his trousers came up and showed a bit of his red skin above his ankle. It wasn't a problem for around the house, of course, as Enver was thankfully lax about such things in the privacy of his own home.

You knelt down in front of your son, tugging at the hem of his cuff. He spoke around a mouthful of roasted liver, a favorite of his and Enver's. "Mum?"

Enver gave him a pointed look. "What did you call her?"

Jahson groaned, "Mother?"

I stood up, smiling. "Just checking your hem, darling. I'll have to send for the tailor in the morning."

Jahson groaned, "Again?!"

I laughed, "You're growing big and strong, be happy! Maybe when the tailor makes your new trousers, I'll have him make them extra long and just cuff the hems a few times? That way, when you grow another inch next month, we won't have to buy you a whole new waredrobe."

Jahson rolled his eyes and took another bite of his food. "Why not just dress me in a sack?"

I should have noticed Enver's facial expression. Usually I would have. But I was too focused on teasing my son.

I pinched Jahsons cheek gently and joked, "Well I have to figure out something! You'll keep outgrowing your clothes and I'll have to spend a small fortune keeping you dressed. Maybe a sack isn't a bad idea?"

"My son can grow all he wants." Enver's voice said harshly. He wasn't yelling. He never yelled at me. But the anger was just under the surface, bubbling like thunder in a barely closed pot. "Buy him new trousers. By him fifty damn pairs of trousers. You think I can't afford to clothe him?!"

Jason and I stopped our teasing. We stared at Enver for a moment, an awkward silence settling over us. I broke it by turning to Jahson and handing him his cup of milk. "Jahson, have a servant help you carry this to your room and finish your meal in there."

Jahson stood, carefully carrying his plate and cup to the door before looking over his shoulder at me. "... Mum?"

I smiled, ruffling his hair around his horns. "Go on. It's fine."

There was honestly no reason for him to be worried about leaving me alone with Enver. Over fifteen years of marriage, never once had Enver raised a single finger to me. Even raising his voice was rare.

Jahson left and I closed the door before turning to Enver. He was avoiding my gaze, pretending to read something on his desk. I walked to his side, putting my hand on his shoulder. "Enver-"

"He shouldn't be shamed for needing new clothes." Enver said bitterly. "Or threatened with rags if his clothes rip."

I lowered myself to his level, turning him in his chair by his shoulder and making him face me. He still tries to avoid my gaze. I put my hand on his cheek and very gently guide him to look me in the eyes. His own hold a deep sadness. An old grief. A wrong never righted.

"No, you shouldn't have been." I whisper.

His eyes become wet, and he quickly pulls me into his lap and buries his face in my shoulder so I don't see his tears. He doesn't shake, so I can't be certain if he actually cries but it doesn't matter. I hold him either way.

He buried his face in my chest as I pet his messy hair and whisper my love to him. "You're the best father I could have ever asked for my children. You provide so much for us, more than we could ever use. Remember when Jahson came home today, late? He wasn't even nervous about being out past his curfew. He came right to your office and told you why without a touch of fear in him. He knew you'd be understanding and reasonable. And you were, remember? You told him he needed to keep track of time better, and to send a message if he knows he's going to be late. No bad father has such a relationship with his son. Jahson is so comfortable with you, he didn't even ask if he could still have dinner. You sent for a plate for him immediately. Your children never fear you, they flock to you immediately when they've done something wrong to seek your guidance out."

It's a bit longer before he manages to detach himself from me and come to bed. And once we're laying in bed together, both of us wearing our matching black silk pajamas, Enver holds me close and whispers to me, "I'm sorry for raising my voice. It was unfair. I... I never want to frighten you."

I turn my head upwards and kiss his jawline. "You don't."

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Painted some Gortash 😮‍💨🖤

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enver and his daddy issues 🙄

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Default durge is so kitty to me

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Nah fam look how big his hands are 👀

Look at those chompers my god

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Oh he absolutely did.

do you think Raph has taught Gortash chess like he did with Mol?.....weeeell maybe not lol but anyways