#alcoholic bhaal

[froggy-anon]

They are so divorced, I just know they have an on and off relationship

Anyone who said that these idiots ain't gay is wrong

[generalcloudhopper]

Family portrait.

Was absolutely blasting The Family Jewels by MARINA while drawing this

[apalestar]

A brow raised towards his hairline. A second guess he silently gave to himself of getting caught in her mess. Her secrets. He wondered if the tadpole had truly started to chew through her grey matter effecting her behavior. He promised to stop that pretty, little heart of her should the transformation start. But she displayed no other symptoms. Most puzzling.

The satchel he took in hand. A normal thing with what? A cloak inside? “The way you carried on I half expected someone’s head inside.” He held the crimson colored finely put together fabric in his hands. The cloth of an expensive cut and the stitching crafted my a master artisan. “But a finely made cloak? Where have you been hiding all the coin that bought this?”

Doubt formed of how such a simple garment would fill in the gaps of her memory. He caught a whiff of something in the fabrics. It wrecked of death and decay. A very organic scent not easily forgot. Perhaps they was something to her prattling. Not a mere coincidence or her sanity fleeing her more than at first appearance. This precious treasure of information he kept to himself. For now. His vampiric senses granted him some boon at least. When one looked past the state of undeath draped over him.

“Out with then. What did you discover? Other than your nocturnal habit of murdering people?”

Continued || @apalestar from @wolfsbarbarens

Breina kept her head down as she stalked far away enough from the camp for even the sharpest of ears not to hear them. Her pace was brutal - almost a run, which she knew made her look more anxious, but she didn't care. She was determined that until she got to the bottom of why she was drunken and murderous, that the others be left mostly in the dark.

"Waste of a good apple. I could have eaten that," she said, watching the half-bitten fruit roll off. But then she shook herself, unhooked the satchel from her shoulder, and held it out.

"Weird question, I know, but humour me with a reality check. This satchel - what's in it?" If she wasn't completely insane, her inheritance - the cloak Sceleritas gave her - would be nestled inside. And once she could be sure that Sceleritas Fel was real, then she could begin to evaluate what he'd told her properly. Of particular interest was the fact that he couldn't tell her about her past because someone didn't want her to know it. That implied that someone had stolen her memory on purpose, and whatever she remembered was a threat.

"If this has what I think it has inside, then last night wasn't a dream, and I know more about my amnesia and Alfira's murder."

[meanbossart]

does du drow’s binge drinking ever pose problems for him, or is he good at only doing so in moderately Appropriate situations where it doesn’t matter

He only really does it in "appropriate settings" aka in pubs and inns. It's less so a conscious choice and more just that - well - that's where the booze is. He's definitely more likely to get into trouble while drunk though, so the occasional fight or screaming match with some equally drunken dwarf or half-orc is bond to occur.

It is also a near certainty that, if Astarion is around at all, he will go off on some sort of gushing tangent if he as much as looks at him under the right light. Astarion mostly likes it - a little public drunken proclamation of love and adoration usually doesn't hurt anyone, and if it does, that's even better. Other times it may get a little too embarrassing or risqué and he just finds a way to shut him up.

This habit, by the way, began in their travels during the campaign, as it was something DU drow found he could do to keep his urge under the control of both himself his companions. If he got woozy enough he couldn't do much in the first place, and it also made it far easier for his party to restrain him if necessary. If all else fails, drink yourself into a blackout; Bhaal can't simply take the alcohol out of your bloodstream.

I think that, plus his size, made him exceptionally good at holding his liquor, so he just has to drink a lot to feel it in the first place.

[taygra5shaon]

If your Durge were a character that can accompany you on the adventure. How do you imagine your recruitment would be? Oh your interaction with Dark urge?

Edit: Name your Durge's mission

ohoohohoh! that's a really interesting thing, how Jacq would be as a companion. I admit, this is a thing I thought a lot even before reading this message, and @popex-springpinter thanks you so much for your interesting questions!❤️

SO! I had imagined that the player meet Jacq on the beach, or among the goblin corpses near the mind flayer stuck in the wreckage.

He is extremely confused, covered in blood and a bit dazed, with his life bar in half (he almost split his head in half by hitting it in the nautiloid's capsule to get out).

For a moment jacq almost looks like he's about to attack, but he shakes his head and stops.

Here there is the possibility of making a perception roll, and so we understand that he is confused and that it was as if an instinct was pushing him to attack.

I imagined the dialogue and the questions, which vary on: did he kill all these people, if they are okay, or what happened (or attack, it depends)

Jacq takes a while to answer, as if his voice had not been used for a while, and he answers that he doesn't know, and that he woke up on the beach with no memory and with all the dead around him.

He asks if he can be updated on what happened to them, and they need to be explained what coelomorphosis is, and then he would like to get rid of the parasite, and suggests that they continue together to find out what can be done.

if you accept him into the group, Jacq is bold, energetic and wild, kinda sweet and friendly, but sometimes , in some interactions with NPCs, he give some disturbing comments that show his dark side, commenting in a bloody and creepy way.

he is an exceptional shadow druid warrior, with a strong inclination towards arcane magic.

He have no idea of what privacy is, and he is prone to doing strange and stupid things (like drinking from auntie ethel's well, or licking a dead spider).

As said before, he is a cannibal (he and astarion have no problem eating/drinking from corpses), has no idea how to cook (he has no problem eating raw meat), likes alcohol, but has a nearly non-existent tolerance (he gets drunk easily, but drinks little, due to the severe headaches he has).

It is easy to gain approval with him, you have to be a mix between heroic, kind and cruelly bloodthirsty and chaotic.

when you have a good enough approval(25), Jacq reveals to you that he has no idea who he is, and that his memories are gone (he just see red and the only real ones he has are some faded memories of his childhood, before bhaal), but more important, he has dark instincts and very bloody thoughts, and has no idea why.

(I'll leave Jacq's romance sheet aside, or I'll never finish it)

is canon the sleepwalking murder of the bard, and Jacq wakes the player up in panic asking for help. here it's very similar to how you react with Astarion when he tries to bite the player, you can help him or chase him away (or attack him).

If you have a high approval (40) Jacq reveals to you the visits of Sceleritas Fell, and the things the little monster says.

As with Shadowheart and Astarion, you can help Jacq become a good person (repressing his dark urges and be free of bhaal), or encourage him to embrace them (and pursue the destiny of bhaal's chosen one).

The second act is interesting in his storyline, because Ketheric and a shitload of people recognize him, but of course no one really says anything (Jacq is very uncomfortable but at the same time enthralled by the moonrise towers, and he's looking for answers).

The dialogue with the bone sister is very hard for him, and if the player tries to defend him from her, there's a good increase in approval.

THEN, then, let's not forget the part with the ancient brain and the three chosen ones, Jacq dissociates for a moment, looking at Orin and Gortash, and feels anger mix with pain and longing, with a bonus of a terrible headache. He almost blows up the hideout when he tries to get closer, the player prevents him.

I imagine that in act 3, when he regains some of his memory, jacq will find himself in conflict with karlach about gortash, she wants to kill him, he instead wants to try to reconnect with him.

here the player will have to choose whether to kill gortash or not, and if he finally does, he will lose a lot of approval (-10), and if the approval is not high enough, he will leave the group.

(wow, i wrote a lot, i'll stop here for now. i hope this is enough as an idea of ​​how jacq is as a character....)

thanks again, I love when people ask me things about him, and I'm sorry if I take some time to answer it, but I will get it, no worry!

(I ask forgiveness for my English, and for any errors I may have written, love you all, Ciaoooo 👋🙃)

[bloodycyrano]

TEAM TADPOLE AT THE TAVERN. LETS GO.

Karlach: Currently drinking a very buff, burly dwarven man under the table. There's a betting pool going on who will win, and Astarion's already rigged it in his favor- nevermind the fact that Karlach could drink an elephant under the table anyways.- Had to help carry Gale and Shadowheart home after they had drank too much.

Wyll: Enjoying the music, enjoying a bit of wine. He has also broken up and prevented about 4 bar fights so far.

Shadowheart: Embracing her inner wine aunt. Maybe she doesn't socialize a whole lot, but she does enjoy some conversation with her closer comrades. She does get a bit more sociable when intoxicated, however, and talks *so much* shit about people in elvish.

Astarion: Has caught the eye of several other people at the bar. He has a naturally flirtatious energy about him- (It's called trauma) -And whether it's people somewhat recognizing him from him luring victims in the past, or genuine attraction, Astarion is a little uncomfortable with some of the unwanted attention. And now that he's free, he isn't afraid to voice it, either. He's also pickpocketed several of the bar patrons so far.

Durge: On edge, and extremely irritated. They've reluctantly grown attached to all of their companions, but Astarion especially (I can't help it, I romance Astarion in every playthrough). Being a child of Bhaal, denounced or not, violence is quite literally in their blood, and they are 100% ready to deck the shit out of someone should they need to- As an avid enjoyer of divorced dad rock, I feel like the vibes are very "Next contestant" by nickelback.

Gale: Started with talis card readings for random bar patrons, and is now very drunk, and spewing weird facts that literally nobody else asked about - Such is the curse of sad Autistic wizards. This is, however, one of the very few instances in which Durge enjoys conversation with Gale. Info dumping about special interests can be more fun when part of a drinking game.

Lae'zel: Mostly keeping to herself. She can handle a lot of alcohol, but she doesn't feel the need to drink excessively. She's not exactly having fun, but she is content. She tried to get in a bar fight at one point, but much to her dismay, Wyll put it to a screeching halt.

Honorable mention, Withers: Is the parent everyone calls when they're too drunk to get home correctly.

Outcome overall: It was a fun outing until Durge started a drunken barroom brawl, and everyone had to get involved. They are now banned from this tavern, and owe some money to cover the damages- Except for Wyll. Wyll made friends with the Barkeep, and got invited to their family gathering next Tuesday.

[serenaoffaerun]

Tenacity - Chapter 3 of the "Consequences" series

It's finally here!! Thank you all for your patience. Because of the physical letter writing I drew for Tav and Gale's back-and-forth, this took much longer than I anticipated. Plus, the story just kind of...ran away with itself... This chapter comes in at a word count over 8,000 and I don't know how that happened LOL.

Big thanks again to @alpydk who started off this series with what was supposed to be a one-off angst story, and allowed me to write my own sequel chapters to finish the story my own way. (Alphydk's chapter 2 can be found here.) As my first long-form writing in over a decade, it's been a fun challenge to take two characters I love so much and get them out of a position I wouldn't have put them in in the first place. 💜

Without making you all endure any more of my "propensity towards verbosity," I present chapter 3: Tenacity (complete with hand-written letters!)

Summary: After agreeing to try to re-establish their friendship/relationship by writing letters back and forth, Tav and Gale set out on their journey of communicating, listening, and healing. You better believe they're both going to hold on for dear life.

Word Count: 8,289 (I'm not sorry.)

CW: References to depression, alcoholism

Tags: GalexTav, angst/fluff, pre-established (albeit rocky) relationship, future smut? (no spoilers...), brief mention of infertility (in a positive way??), depresso espresso, communication, healing, Tara's getting ALL the tuna.

[I'm sure I left some out, I'll come back and add to it once I get this on AO3 - coming soon!!]

Screenshot: Taken from my own gameplay. Please do not re-post as your own.

NOTE: For those who don't want to read Tav's mediocre (but improving) handwriting or Gale's flowy cursive, the text version is printed below each letter (including doodle descriptions!)

9/2 4:45PM Pacific - EDIT FOR MORE NOTES:

My underlines went away when I copy/pasta'd from GoogleDocs, and now I realize that you can't underline because of links, so they're bolded and italicized instead.

REGARDING BHAALSPAWN INFERTILITY - this is NOT canon to BG3/DnD/Forgotten Realms. I totally made this up to fit my literary needs. 😉

Alpydk's chapter 1: Consequences

Chapter 2: Acquiescence

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav assessed herself before she even opened her eyes. Between the wine and the crying, she was probably the most dehydrated person in all of Faerûn. The pounding headache she was used to. She'd made blackout curtains for a reason, after all. But the soul-wrenching nausea, that was new.

Being blissfully infertile, she knew there was no risk of pregnancy. One of her permanent "gifts" as Bhaal's former Chosen was the ability to be as promiscuous as she pleased without fear of pregnancy in order to weasel her way into the hearts, minds, and pants of any of her previous victims. Not that she'd needed that ability since the Nautiloid, or especially her subsequent severing from said god. But this was no ordinary nausea anyway. It was coming from somewhere much more complex.

Among the growing list of sensations Tav noticed from her downward-facing zombie position on the couch, she found two long-lost friends: the physical feeling of being simultaneously sated but also achingly empty in her core, and...hope. Surprisingly enough, she realized it was the latter that brought on the nausea.

Crippling anxiety, overwhelming depression, stabbing guilt, these are feelings she was familiar with and knew how to handle: with denial and alcohol. Just ball it up and shove it in the "future ulcer" pocket by the stomach and cover it up with a bottle of wine or two.

Hope, on the other hand, is a fickle bitch. It introduces the possibility of a better future. The idea that things could get better. Then comes the uncertainty.

‘Desirable things in life are never guaranteed,’ she told herself. ‘You can always lose them. Don't get TOO comfortable! You might still have to live the rest of your life without the man you truly believe is your soulmate.’

Tav had NEVER believed in the idea of a ‘soulmate’ before. That was even more laughable than ‘love at first sight.’ But she’d come to believe it now.

‘And you fucked it up, didn't you? You let yourself have the worst lapse in judgment, then you doubled down on it by screaming and being a hurtful wretch. You did this. You did this and you don’t deserve forgiveness, you don’t deserve mercy. No one else will ever fill the hole in your heart, so you’re going to die alone and unloved. That’s what you deserve.’  

The words from the voice in her head kept playing on a loop for the last six months and they wouldn’t shut up. Drowning them out with wine and sleep had become her modus operandi. There’d been nothing to look forward to, nothing to hope for. It was the way things were going to be, she’d accepted it. Especially in the last few months after Waterdeep. She couldn’t have her heart broken again if she didn’t expect anything.

But now, new words were taking up space in her brain. His words.

‘…there was a time that we’d also brought out the best in each other, once. I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again.’

‘Fuck.’ Those words had stolen her breath. Given her reason to think that there was a chance. That maybe he would give her the mercy she knew she didn’t deserve. Gale was just that kind of man.

If that were truly the case, though, why did he shut her out so quickly in the first place without getting to even talk about things. Why did he go straight to the biting comments and yelling instead of showing any kind of signs of forgiveness being a possibility.

‘Because you ripped out his heart that was already broken and threw it on the ground with all the remains of any self-confidence he had left after Mystra, you inconsiderate, unfaithful monster. It’s a wonder he’s still alive.’

These were the new conversations Tav now had running back and forth in her head and that’s where the source of the nausea was seated. In the unknown future where happiness still existed. Along the path that could go to life-long depression and loneliness or a blissful existence with the man who completed her, and she wouldn’t know which way she’d end up traveling until she got there. It was terrifying.

‘I refuse to believe we can’t find our way back there again.’

Face still mashed in the couch pillow, she balled up her fist and slammed it down into the cushion. Depression wasn’t going to win today. Or any other day, for that matter, at least not like it had been. She would not allow herself to be swept up in the waves of self-loathing and doubt to the point of being non-functional. Not anymore.

She took a deep breath and sat up, eyes still closed. There was a warmth on her face that she knew would be the late-morning sun coming in through the living room window. As she cracked her eyes open, she winced as the light seared into her brain and fired off pain signals. Slowly, she stood up, walked across the room, and felt around for the blackout curtains.

Medicine. Shower. Food. In that order.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Looking around the room later that day, Tav felt pretty proud of herself. Once she got herself cleaned, fed, and a bit more clear-headed, she opened the curtains again and opened all the windows. Her little depression hole needed a good airing out.

Starting with all the trash, she got rid of the wine bottles, the old food, even the bin filled with dirt and burned clothing. After washing off surfaces and sweeping floors, she put all the books back on the shelf, keeping a box full of scrolls and a quill pulled out on her desk. One sandwich and two sinks full of dishes later, it was nearing night time, but she had one more task ahead of her: the letter.

She’d been chewing over words in her head all day, but she still had no idea where to start. How do you even begin a letter like this? ‘Hi, Gale’? ‘Dear Gale,’? ‘Esteemed Professor Dekarios,’? If the greeting was this difficult, how would she even move on to the rest of the letter? She knew for damn sure that she wasn’t quite ready to be fully emotionally vulnerable, especially with him (even though he’s the only one she should ideally be emotionally vulnerable with…).

‘Welp, might as well just start,’ she said to herself as she sighed.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Hi Gale,  [in the top right hand corner was a little swirly doodle with some flowers and leaves. Next to it was written ‘I don’t have fancy paper, so I tried to do something cute?]

I’m having trouble starting this letter, so I figured maybe just admitting that is as good of a place as any. I don’t know what to say, I don’t know what you want to hear, I don’t know what will help or what will just hurt… Here’s what I do know:

-          I’m sorry. [there are tear stains on the paper here]

-          There’s no excuse for what I did.

-          I don’t even know if I know the reason for what I did.

-          I don’t feel like I deserve your patience, your forgiveness, your mercy, anything, really. Your anger is totally justifiable.

-          I don’t know who I was that night or in the months following.

Except, I do. I’d reverted back to the person abomination I walked away from. The hateful, murderous, evil, wretched thing I said I’d never be again. Yet, I can’t claim that I wasn’t in my right mind at the time either. I never lost consciousness. I was aware of the decisions I was making. I just don’t understand why I made them in the first place, other than I’d lost hope. I’d stopped trusting you. I’d assumed you were going to leave me and go back to Mystra or pursue godhood where you’d no longer be…you. [Next to this is a small sketch of a broken heart.]

Here's what else I know:

-          You didn’t deserve that.

-          I don’t deserve you.

[Below this was another item that was heavily crossed out, but you can make out the words ‘I still’.]

(this letter is a mess, I’m sorry. I’m just…flustered)

[On the right side of the paper, there was a list of four items outlined in a rectangle, above which was written ‘Good things’ – a question mark had followed this, but it was crossed out with an X. The four items are:]

-          I took a shower today.

-          I cleaned my house for the first time in weeks today.

-          I’m going to stop drinking for a while.

-          I’m exhausted and I’m going to bed.

It’s not ‘the letter of a lifetime,’ but it’s a start. I hope you’re well and that your students aren’t giving you too much of a hassle. Can’t be as bad as slaying a whole camp of goblins, right? [Here there was a small doodle of a goblin head, X’s for eyes and tongue sticking out, laying in a pool of blood next to a sword.]

I look forward to hearing from you. Take care of yourself, please.

-Tav

P.S. I’m working on my handwriting. I’m sorry if any of this is illegible. Not really a subject that was covered in “Bhaalspawn University.”

[At the bottom of the letter was drawn a curvy vine with leaves, flowers, and flower buds.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gale swallowed thickly as he held the letter in his trembling hands.

‘She did it. She actually wrote, and it wasn’t full of anger and insults. It was a real, honest-to-the-gods attempt at talking.’

His eyes shimmered as he re-read two lines over and over again:

-          You didn’t deserve that.

-          I don’t deserve you.

His heart ached as he pondered the fact that she thought so little of herself. It made him remember his inner monologue after the debacle with Mystra and the orb. All Gale told himself for a year was that he’d made mistakes so huge that no one should have to ever bear the burden of his presence again. Anyone who showed any affection towards him, platonic or otherwise, was a fool who was wasting their time. They’d just end up being let down by this depressed shadow of a former Archmage. Knowing that Tav was the one now who truly felt she wasn’t deserving of forgiveness or mercy brought tears to his eyes.

He felt a bit lighter, however, at the implication that she even cared whether or not she was worthy of him. Not only cared, but was taking bolder steps forward. She’d apologized, she’d wished him well, she’s taking care of herself… Then it dawned on him that she’d gotten so low that a task as mundane as taking a shower was to be celebrated on a list of positive things.

Oh, did he remember that pit of despair well. He’d spent a year down at the bottom of it. Cut off from all outside contact, forgetting (or refusing) to eat, going days, even a week or more without bathing because he didn’t have anyone to see anyway. No point in expending the energy.

Now, however, Gale was at least teaching. That had kept him going. Even if he didn’t interact with many people outside of Blackstaff Academy, he was still getting dressed, going to a place with other people, and teaching Faerûn’s youth to harness and control the Weave.

But what of Tav? How often was she seeing others? It seems she had relocated after all. The return address is listed in Daggerford, a town not far south of Waterdeep full of retired adventurers, artisans, craftsmen, and farmers. A relatively quiet place compared to Baldur’s Gate, but still a city with plenty of opportunities. (And only a three-, maybe four-day travel from Gale. That would explain how easily she ended up in Waterdeep in the marketplace on that cold, rainy day…).

He remembered her telling everyone how much of a hero she’d been at the reunion party. What happened to her adventuring? Would she even be home enough for their letter-writing to be consistent? She’d made no mention of her activities, that was something he’d want to follow up on. As much as it would have previously brought him satisfaction to see her put in her place for everything she’d said, cut off from others and alone, now it just caused an ache in his chest.

The threads of his bitterness and rage had already begun unraveling. He’d been letting the truth sink in since the reunion: Tav had acted reckless and lashed out because she was scared. Scared of losing him. The thought of him abandoning her for Mystra or for godhood drove her to seek pleasure in someone else. Yet he hadn’t bothered to get to the root of the problem at the time. All he knew was that he had his heart broken. He had been betrayed. He had been ‘abandoned.’

He sighed heavily as the pangs of grief and remorse started to take hold. What a fool he’d been. A self-centered, arrogant, quick-tempered fool. But he shook those thoughts out of his head. This wasn’t the time to keep dwelling on what he had or hadn’t done in the past. Where the ball of anger had resided in his chest, just as roiling and hungry as the Netherese orb had been, he felt the tension had begun to break apart. There was still much healing to do, but now there was a little room for the patience and understanding he’d wished he’d displayed before.

He re-read the letter again, chuckling lightly at her doodles and scratches. Her handwriting had much improved, she gave herself too little credit. It was good to see she still had her silly sense of humor as well. She hadn’t been completely robbed of her beautiful qualities.

Draining the last sip of wine in his cup, he arose from his spot on the balcony and walked inside to sit at his desk. One thing nagged at him before he could start writing his response, though. Underneath the bottom list where she said she didn’t deserve him, she’d written something and then furiously scratched it out. He thought he might know what it said, but didn’t want to get carried away if he was wrong. Holding the letter carefully in front of the lit candle on his desk, he stared at the scratches, trying to piece together the words underneath. His breath caught when his eyes brought them together:

‘I still’

I still… Still what? I still hear the voice of the Dark Urge? I still won’t forgive you?

No. Given the context of what was said and the direction they were going, it had to mean only one thing. He would only allow himself to think it was one thing.

‘I still love you.’

Hoping with everything he had that it was true, he took another deep breath and pulled out a scroll from his desk drawer. It was his turn now.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Tav, [In small writing to the right of the greeting, it says (my ‘fancy paper’ is at the academy) with a winking face doodle.]

Sometimes I think I’d prefer a good goblin massacre to a room full of hormonal teenage wizards learning to control a firebolt spell, but each day is a new adventure, after all! [After this sentence, Gale had doodled a flame, his head/hair with wisps of smoke, and in small writing with an arrow pointing to the drawings, (I tried).]

Thank you for your thoughts, and especially for your apology. I can’t in good conscience say that everything is forgotten, but I fully believe we are on the right path forward.

I would also like to apologize, because you deserve it. You are so much more deserving than you think you are of kindness, understanding and, yes, when I am able, forgiveness. I understand, likely better than anyone else you might know, how strongly self-loathing can take hold.

Which is why I want to tell you that I’m proud of you. I don’t know what you’ve been up to in recent months. I heard you telling the others about some adventuring opportunities, but I gather from your letter that self-care had gone by the wayside. I’m proud and happy to hear that you’re starting to focus on yourself. Yes, I agree with you: showering, cleaning, limiting alcohol intake, and even being tired enough to go to bed are all good things. I hope you continue being kind to yourself.

Admittedly, I’d fallen into a similar rut. While I get plenty of social interaction at the academy, my extra-curricular life has been…non-existent. I come home to my tower, I usually remember to eat, I grade papers, stay up entirely too late researching, and then attempt to get enough sleep to repeat that schedule ad nauseum. The cleanliness of my home, and myself, had been sorely neglected. But as you are focusing on self-improvement, I shall endeavor to do likewise.

Speaking of self-improvement, that’s where the letter-writing idea came from. Rather, through Tara’s efforts to help me during my year of isolation. She’d suggested I do some journalling to write out my thoughts and emotions regarding Mystra. Not only to get them to stop rolling around in my head, but to be able to articulate them. It did help, quite immeasurably, in fact. That’s why I’m so thankful you’ve agreed to this in the first place. I feel like it will serve us well. [A filled-in purple heart was drawn here.]

Actually, I can’t tell you how many letters I started writing to you in the last six months. I really did try. It just always felt…wrong, somehow. Like it wasn’t the right time, or my words weren’t sincere, or they’d fall on deaf ears. But I’m so glad we’re ‘talking’ now. I’ve missed you, Tav… [A filled-in but broken purple heart was drawn here.]

Tell me what you’ve been up to! Tell me your thoughts. Tell me any and everything you want to. I’ll be waiting to take it all in.

Yours,

Gale

[To the left on the bottom, Gale had drawn an open book with an ink pot and a quill. In the middle on the bottom, Tara had been drawn, wings outstretched, lying down, eyes closed, with a small note: (Tara’s sleeping on my desk and she’s adorable!). On the right under his signature, Gale drew a wand with sparkling stars and a curved line of weave making a flourish.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dear Gale – [Here, she had drawn a wand with stars similar to the one he’d put by his name in his letter]

Thank you for saying that you’ve wanted to talk this whole time. That makes me feel so much better. I never put quill to parchment, but I started countless letters in my head. Like you said, it just never felt right. [After this, Tav drew a scroll, an ink pot, and a quill.]

This does feel like the right path at the right time, but to be honest, Gale…I’m scared. I’m scared to put everything on the table again. With how much I got we got hurt last time we allowed ourselves to be vulnerable with each other, I can’t go through that again. Nor do I want you to go through it again. [Tav had drawn two filled in broken hearts after this paragraph.]

It humbles me to think you feel I’m deserving of good things. Truly. I don’t feel like I am, so I suppose it’s good that someone in this world does. Your encouragement in taking care of myself is unexpected, but ultimately not surprising. That’s just who you are. I’m thankful to hear that you’re taking it upon yourself to improve as well. [Here, Tav had drawn some grapes and cheese on a plate, and to the right of it, a broom and dust pan.]

I fully understand, however, that you can’t forgive me, at least not yet. (I wouldn’t forgive me either.) Hopefully I can begin to earn it over time. I’m not going to sit here and defend my actions with trying to find solace in Mizora’s…experience. It wasn’t even fulfilling, if it makes you feel any better. (It won’t, I know you). It was just tricks of the mind and a devil’s words of promises for things I didn’t even desire. (Perhaps the ‘old me’ would have.) I regretted it immediately, yet it has marked me forever.

But I know that how it left me afterwards is not the point. The point is why I let myself go along with it in the first place. I’ve done a lot of thinking in the last months, especially since the reunion. Let me preface this by saying that I am not shifting the blame. I still made the decision to give in. However, after days and weeks of your near-obsession with the Crown of Karsus, I could see that look in your eyes. You couldn’t stop thinking about the power it could offer. Power that we know all too well would only corrupt you and change you. Then, your meeting with Mystra, introducing her back into your life with her deal to get rid of the orb for the crown… I could feel you slipping away from me.

[On the left side by the words Crown of Karsus, Tav had drawn the crown with a big ‘X’ through it. Near where Mystra is mentioned, she drew a scared ‘Mystra,’ identified as ‘witch bitch,’ being threatened by Tav with a dagger.’]

What I should have done was keep talking to you, seeking reassurance. I should have spat in Mizora’s face and told her to get the fuck out. [In this area, Tav drew herself spitting in Mizora’s face.] I should have sought solace in your embrace, in your words, in your love… But one thing I need you to understand: I was brought up my whole life to be let down. Every success came with a defeat. Every win came with a loss. Every gift came with a sacrifice. You were the most important gift I will ever have in this world or the next. I was positive I was going to lose it, so…I don’t know. I think maybe I wanted to push it from myself first before it was taken outside of my control? Mizora approaching me with her “offer”… She knew exactly what she was doing: giving me an “out” that she knew I would take because I was at my most vulnerable.

For all my accolades being a “Hero of Baldur’s Gate” and savior to many, I clearly didn’t have the strength to stand up to her temptations. I let her use the fact that I have major trust issues to weasel her way into my deepest fears and exploit them. I didn’t have a chance. It doesn’t excuse my actions, but I hope it at least explains them.

I’m running out of parchment. You asked what I’ve been up to. If it’s of any comfort, things are going well enough. I’m eating mostly regularly, I’m keeping up with the chores, and I’m even starting to finally organize some garden space in the yard. I’m trying to spend some time outside every day, and I’ve replaced the wine with various teas. They’re small steps, but they’re steps.

I don’t know if I’ve gotten us closer to any kind of resolution, but hopefully my words can fill in some of the gaps. I look forward to hearing your response.

Thank you, by the way, for giving me something to look forward to again.

I’ve missed you too. Very much so.

Humbly yours,

Tav

[At the bottom left of the page, she drew a cup of tea]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Dearest Tav, [to the right of the greeting, it says in smaller writing (I apologize for the condition of this letter. It was rather difficult to write.) The letter is littered with smudges where tears had fallen and letter had been re-written over them.]

As I wrote my last letter and have been pondering your response, it weighs on me just how grave a mistake I also made. The blame for our downfall does not fully rest with you. (Let me finish…)

Feeling like you’re not worthy, like you made too big of a mistake to recover from; you know how familiar I am with those thoughts. Looking back, this means I should have been the one who was there for you the most. Yet I wasn’t. I was the furthest one away.

I agree with you that my anger was justified. I’d felt like I’d been told I wasn’t enough for you, which is exactly what I feared from the beginning. In my mind, you had openly told the entire world that Gale Dekarios, fallen Archmage of Waterdeep, scorned by Mystra herself, could not, in fact, make you or anyone else happy. You had to go find your pleasure elsewhere.

Where my mistake lies is in never stopping to think how much you had to have been hurting in order to find solace in Mizora in the first place. I don’t think I even gave you the chance to confirm you hadn’t been possessed, quite frankly. It’s no wonder your defenses went up immediately. My reaction, while potentially understandable, was absolutely awful.

I am so sorry that I never gave you a chance to talk things through before letting my hurt and rage take over. What I should have done was walk away and screamed into the void instead of at you before hearing any kind of explanation. I suppose I figured there would never be one good enough. Never did I think until recently that I could have possibly had something to do with you feeling pushed in that direction. I should have been more reassuring. I should have given you no reason to doubt my love for you and my dedication to you.

The possibilities that came with the crown had taken over my waking thoughts, and even infiltrated my dreams. Providing an eternal life without conflicts for both you and I sounded like the perfect solution, and I became hyper-focused. You had tried telling me that you were scared, that you didn’t want me to lose my humanity. I just still thought I was smarter and had this whole grand plan all figured out and you would realize it eventually.

[Before the next paragraph is drawn an infinity symbol, a heart nestled into the loops on either side.]

But I didn’t do enough to put your mind at ease. I didn’t help you understand that I wouldn’t have actually left had it come down to choosing between you and the crown. I never, never would have left you, Tav. As I shouted rather rudely before, I only ever truly wanted you. I assumed you knew that beyond a shadow of a doubt, so I didn’t spend any time reinforcing it. I let my focus drift too far. Then, I left you scared and alone afterwards with no chance to explain. I, the ex-Chosen and ex-lover of a goddess, from whom he should have learned humility after his hubris, the man to whom you showed so much kindness and understanding and support when anyone else would have run in the other direction, I couldn’t even show a fraction of that back to you.

Taviela, my heart, I am so, so incredibly sorry that I wasn’t there for you. When you pulled me from that portal and later heard my harrowing tale of foolishness and desperation, you stood by me. You took care of me and encouraged me, and I threw that back in your face at the first opportunity. It will be a long time before I can forgive myself for that. But I humbly, honestly, and hopefully ask if you could ever forgive me. I understand if you cannot, but know that I will spend the rest of my life proving myself to you.

Please keep telling me your thoughts, Tav. I want to hear them. I need to hear them.

Repentantly yours,

Gale

P.S. I’m far too emotional at the moment to do many little doodles, but yours warm my heart. Please keep doing them. [A filled in heart was drawn here. He had also drawn a simple version of the wand and stars under his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My Dearest Gale, [Across the top of the page was a wand, a wavy line of weave, and small stars.]

I’ve been staring at this parchment for at least an hour, but I haven’t been able to write anything until now. I’m sobbing at your words. Your insight about everything I put you through, the weight of what happened after all your hurts and insecurities from Mystra and the orb, the fear of being inadequate to me… That weight is almost too much to bear. I’ve berated myself for months now for hurting you, but the full impact never hit me until I read it in your words. I want to fall on my knees and cry at your feet and beg for mercy. But how could you possibly ever forgive me? I’m sorrier than you will ever know for allowing you causing you to feel that way again.

Also, to think that you are taking any of this upon yourself so strongly, I really don’t know what to say about that either. I still feel like this is all due to my deficiencies. My weaknesses. My fuck-ups. But I can understand where you’re coming from, wanting to take some responsibility. All I’ll say is that there is nothing to forgive anymore. I hold no more ill will towards you. We both acted like children throwing tantrums, but we were each already pushed to our limits and didn’t stop to think about, well, anything, really.  [Tav had drawn 5 filled in hearts here, along with writing (I don’t know what else to doodle here because I’m also emotional).]

It feels cheap to keep coming back to my upbringing, but it’s an unfortunate reality where I’m concerned. Everything was always a bitter fight of either words or daggers. There was no real “communication” to speak of. There were no “feelings” shared. It was all cruel lessons with harsh punishments. ‘Be a bitch, or get walked over’ was something I told myself a lot. I never truly learned to stop and step back and give things time to breathe. Putting myself in another person’s shoes is something I’ve forced myself to learn, especially during our adventures.

I have a confession to make. When I (literally) ran into you in Waterdeep a few months ago, it wasn’t just happenstance. I’d come there with a purpose. The downward spiral had begun weeks prior and I was nearing rock bottom. I came to look for you. To see if you were possibly even half as miserable as I was without you. I was certain you would be, and that it would give me a reason to approach you. We would be on common ground and might actually be able to talk. [On the right side of the page, Tav had drawn an open book sitting in a puddle of water in the rain. On the pages of the book it said ‘I’m sorry about the books.’]

But then I saw you. You were in the marketplace, smiling, making small talk with the merchants, even laughing with them. You looked full of life. You looked like you were doing just fine – without me. My heart dropped into my shoes and I’d considered just walking away, never letting you see I was even there. But something in me snapped. I apparently just had to get in a couple more digs before I walked away forever. That was childish and unacceptable and I’m sorry I put you in that position. (I don’t blame you one bit for the Hold Person spell, for the record. I deserved it.) [Tav had drawn the symbol for the Hold Person spell here, along with Tav approves.]

Please forgive me, but I’m emotionally spent. I think I’ll wrap this up to send in the morning, go sit on the back porch with a cup of tea, and just think for a while.

Still yours,

Tav

[Along the left side of the bottom of the page, Tav drew a small flower garden. On the right side, a cup of tea.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My Darling Taviela, [On the right side of the top of the page was carefully drawn an eternity symbol. Inside each side was a heart – a G written in the one on the left, a T written in the one on the right. Next to it, Gale wrote:] (I’ve been doodling this a lot lately.)

My heart aches for you, for us both. You’re right. There’s nothing to forgive anymore. We were both stretched so far beyond our limits, no wonder we broke down. We both have acted out of turn, we both have put ourselves through the wringer, and we both built impossibly high walls around ourselves. I’m happy to say that I believe we can push those walls down now. I want to move forward in whatever way we can, even if that ends up being as friends (though judging by your comments, it doesn’t sound like that will be the case, but please correct me if I’m reading the situation incorrectly).

I have a confession for you, in light of your revelations regarding our “run-in” in the marketplace. It was all an act to save face out in public. The laughter, the ‘life’ you say you saw in me, the light-hearted interactions – they were all a façade. I was miserable without you, however angry I was. After that interaction, it got even worse. I felt awful immediately, leaving you standing there shivering in the rain. [Gale had drawn a hand getting smacked by a ruler with words in a bubble outlined in sharp angles: BAD WIZARD!] I couldn’t believe that, even though there was some provocation, that I’d still reverted to such a childish response. I sank further into my depressive state. I almost didn’t come to the reunion with our companions either, actually. It felt like more of an effort to get myself put together than I was capable of. Fortunately, Tara snapped me out of it.

Speaking of Tara, I’ve been working on getting her to be more understanding. I’m sure you have noticed that her protectiveness of me overrides any kind of empathetic nature towards anyone who has caused me even a lick of hurt. But she’s come a long way in understanding both sides of our…predicament. I’ll keep at it, for both of our sakes. [A trail of small paw prints was drawn after this.]

I’m pleased to say that I’ve been keeping up with the cleaning, [on the right side of the page, Gale doodled a robed hand holding a sparking wand next to two balls of dust that look like rabbits. Underneath was written, (dust bunnies).] I feel like I finally have a handle on my students and my lesson-planning, and I’ve found joy in cooking meals again. Too much time is being spent grading sub-par assignments in the evenings, I’ll admit, but it comes with the territory. My heart has been all the lighter in the last couple of weeks, and it’s all thanks to you: your words, your patience, and willingness to work on…well, us.

What have you been up to lately? Any more adventuring opportunities coming your way? Are you doing any traveling? I wonder if there’s any chance our paths might cross in the near future.

I’ll admit, my mind has been wandering to thoughts of seeing you again. I miss the warmth of your embrace, the sparkle in your smile, the feeling of home when I look into your eyes – I feel like a part of me has been missing since our falling out.

I was actually thinking… What would you say to coming back to Waterdeep for a proper visit?

Take care of yourself, my darling [a filled-in heart was drawn here]

Gale (no fancy drawing in my name this time. Just me, missing you.) [above this, Gale had drawn a side profile of himself from the chest up, looking down, eyes closed, a tear falling from his eye.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

The letters had been going back and forth at a regular, weekly pace. It was about six weeks after the reunion, which already seemed like forever ago. They had come so far, and his words made her realize that she missed him more than she knew was possible.

However, when Tav saw the last question in Gale’s letter, she froze. Her chest tightened and her breath quickened. She got dizzy, her hands shook, and her mind raced, tears threatening to overflow onto her cheeks. She was having a panic attack.

She threw the letter in her top desk drawer, slammed it shut, ran down the hall, and pulled the lever for her shower without bothering to warm the water first. Fully clothed, she stood underneath the cold deluge until her breathing slowed and she could process her thoughts.

The nausea was back. She sat on the floor on a towel and just let the water drip off her. Tucking her knees up to her chin, she stared at the wall and focused on her breathing. She wanted nothing more than for Gale to walk in the room right now, pick her up, and hold her in his lap, caressing her hair and whispering comforting words to her until she felt better. But as much as she wanted to feel his arms around her, to smell his scent, to run her fingers through his hair and more, she was absolutely terrified.

All she could think of as she started rocking back and forth was that she was going to end up hurting him again. She cried and cried until she resigned herself to lying down on the floor and crying herself to sleep, shivering in her damp clothes.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

A week went by and there was no response from Tav. Gale tried to brush it off, attempting to convince himself that perhaps she had gotten a chance to do some traveling, and was running behind sending her letter.

Nine days went by and his resolve started to falter. He replayed every word in his head that he’d written in his last letter. Was he moving ahead too fast? Did he assume too much? Did he push her too far? He ached to see her, to hear her voice, and to comfort her. But he could NOT let himself fuck things up again…

On the tenth day, he sent just a short message in hurried writing, requested for the utmost urgent delivery.

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav,

I’m truly, deeply sorry if I’m pushing you too far. You don’t have to answer the last question. We can continue just writing if that’s what makes you comfortable. I’ll do whatever you need, but I cannot, I will not lose you again.

Please, talk to me, my love.

Gale [A filled in heart was drawn after his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Sleep never found him that night. He let his brain run through every worst-case scenario it could come up with. Tears were still crawling down his face every so often as he saw the faintest colors of the dawn coming to greet the eleventh day. Thank the gods he had the next couple of days off for Midsummer…

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

On the afternoon of the twelfth day, Tav’s response arrived. Gale didn’t even go back inside or shut the door. He ripped open the envelope and tried to steady his breathing as his shaky hands held her letter. He let himself take a deep breath and fall back against his door frame as he read:

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My precious Gale,

I am so very sorry for the delayed response and for making you worry. I don’t know what came over me, but when I saw you asking to see each other again…I panicked. I had a full-on panic attack, after which, I slept for days. I lost all track of what day it was or how much time had gone by. I kept picking up my quill and the words just wouldn’t come. I’m so sorry. Your words in the message I received today snapped me back out of it. Thank you for checking on me. [A filled-in heart was drawn here.]

Gale, I can’t bear the thought of hurting you again. I’m not saying that I don’t want to see you. Believe me, nothing would make me happier. My dreams of getting to be near you, to hold you again, to be held by you, they are my greatest source of comfort. But we haven’t spent any time together in person since the reunion, and we spent months before that acting like completely different people.

What if we can’t change, Gale? What if seeing each other brings out all the anger and spite again? I can’t forgive myself, even if you have. I don’t know what to say – I can’t lose you again either, I won’t survive it. And I fear that I will become upset by something and fall back into my old ways of dealing with arguments: with juvenile pettiness and venomous words. I’m so scared…

In fact, I’m going to deflect now so I don’t dissolve into another panic attack.

To answer your other questions – honestly, adventuring hasn’t happened in a while. I was being truthful at the reunion when I said I’d been adventuring and helping people. But coming back from Waterdeep is when I started to shut everyone out. My house descended into chaotic messes that I didn’t have the energy to clean, I stopped eating regularly, I was drinking at least a bottle of wine a day, and I slept all the time. I have enough money set aside that I can get away with not working for quite a while, but that won’t last forever.

The gardening is going well now though! I haven’t killed so much as a tomato plant! I’m growing flowers and selling bundles here and there. I’m also growing my own vegetables and some fruits, though I haven’t begun selling those yet. I’m getting the itch to start baking, however… I’ve found a great deal of fulfillment in creating (growing) some kind of life now instead of dwelling on the memories of taking it. [Along the left side of the page, she drew a tomato plant crawling up the side. Along the right, she drew a plate of danishes and a cup of tea.]

I’m so sorry again for worrying you. I just froze because I don’t want you to get hurt. I’ll get this sent to you as quickly as I can, but please tell me your thoughts. I’m hoping your insight can be of some comfort.

With all my heart,

Your Tav

[At the bottom of the letter, Tav drew the same symbol Gale had been doodling on everything he could: the eternity symbol with the hearts in the middle, one with a G, one with a T. Next to it, she wrote:] (I tried… Yours looks much nicer.)

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

My sweet Taviela, [Their infinity symbol with hearts and their initials was on the top right.]

Thank you for explaining the reason for the delay. I completely understand, and I’m sorry to have caused you to panic. If I may offer some encouragement, however, perhaps I can help quiet your heart.

Neither of us are under anywhere near the amount of pressure and stress that we were at the time back in Baldur’s Gate. We are taking care of ourselves now as individuals, fully independent of others, and neither is a crutch for the other. This bodes well for quelling any fears of being too dependent on each other for our own good.

We’ve seen what damage can be done by careless words and actions, and we’ve walked back from that ledge – together. Now we’ll be more aware of the warning signs should we become frustrated with each other again. We’ve talked about what we can do to avoid arguments in the future, like walking away for a breather, should we need to. Lest you have any unrealistic expectations, please remember that we will become frustrated with each other and we will likely have some arguments. That’s only natural for any two beings that have a close relationship. But we have some experience now and wisdom gained. I truly believe that we can be better for each other. We can change. Together. [A filled in heart is drawn here along the left side of the page.]

If you are comfortable thinking about the possibility of visiting, I have a proposition for you. Some simple guidelines that will help keep us in check as we try spending time together again, under completely different circumstances.

-          I will get you set up in a lovely room at The Yawning Portal for one week. The bartender owes me a favor for clearing out some riffraff a few weeks ago. Then you can have a place you feel comfortable retreating to without feeling trapped in my tower, should you wish to get some space.

-          So as to not put too much pressure on either of us too quickly, we can have a date each day, but we don’t spend the entire day together (at least not every day). It may be midsummer, but I still have regular responsibilities with the academy that I need to see to. Besides, that will give us time to individually reflect on our time together and how we’re feeling.

-          At the end of the week, we can talk about how things have gone and what direction we should go at that point. We won’t pressure each other, and we’ll agree that we won’t be disappointed if one person needs more time than the other. Above all, we need to make sure our friendship stays in tact.

So, what do you say? Look! I even got Tara’s stamp of approval! [On the side of the page is an ink pawprint.] (Do you have any idea how much convincing it took to get her to put her paw in ink? I owe her tuna for weeks…)

I won’t pressure you, but if you’re amenable to this plan, we can do this as soon as you’d like – even next week. Having said all that, if you still want to take things slower and keep writing letters for now, I will fully support that decision and be delighted to keep doing so.

If you will allow me, however, I would like to make one last plea: I want to see you, Taviela. I need to see you. My heart aches for you and my arms feel so painfully empty without you in them. I long to curl my fingers into your hair, to hear your contended sighs, to be lit up inside by your laughter, and, when you’re ready, to make love to you and cover you in affectionate, healing kisses until every hurtful word we’ve ever exchanged is erased from memory itself.

I know you’re scared, my darling. But I believe in us. I believe things will be different this time around. I hope and pray to every god and goddess who will listen that you can find it in your heart to take the risk.

Come here to me, my love, and we can keep walking our way forward - together. [A filled in heart is drawn here.]

I eagerly await your reply, whatever it may be.

Yours always,

Gale [A doodle of a wand surrounded by stars is by his name.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tav’s hands trembled. Gods, she missed him so much it physically hurt. Especially now that she knew how much he was missing her as well. Sitting at her desk, she re-read his last full paragraph with tears flooding her vision and heart filling her chest, not to mention a familiar heat between her thighs. She knew at that moment that her desire and her renewed trust in Gale Dekarios FINALLY outweighed her fears. She didn’t even need to think about her response. It was short and sweet:   

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Gale, my love, [Their eternity/hearts/initials symbol was drawn on the top right.]

I’ll set out tomorrow by horse from Daggerford and will arrive at the Yawning Portal on Sunday evening around dinner time. I sincerely hope your arms will be waiting for me, because I’ll be rushing into them the moment I see you. [A filled-in heart was drawn in.]

Just don’t be holding a stack of books this time… [ Tav had drawn a doodle of a winking face here.]

Yours always,

Tav

P.S. I doubt we’ll be waiting long for those healing kisses… I know we’re going to space out our time together, but stay with me the first night? Help me “settle in” to Waterdeep? [Tav sketched a set of lip prints in the bottom right.]

*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*

Tears fell from Gale’s eyes, but happy ones this time. He could tell his cheeks were flushed too from her “P.S.”… He laughed at her jab about the books, then folded up the letter and brought it to his lips, kissing the edge she would have folded with her soft hands.

He had planning to do. 

[banes-favourite]

How do you think Durge found out about Gortash’s past in the Hells? Would Gortash have willingly told Durge or did Gortash have a break down and Durge find out that way?

I really don't think Gortash would admit to it. Being a Banist, he probably takes great shame in the fact that he used to be a servant, even if it wasn't by choice. So I think he's convinced himself to put his past as far behind him as possible because it's better to focus on the future.

He never planned on letting anyone know, even Durge, his most trusted and powerful ally. That doesn't mean he'd lie though; just danced around the subject. When Durge questions his incredible knowledge in infernal matters, he simply says he spent a lot of time there. When he questions why he's so efficient at chores that are meant for slaves, he just laughs it off that he's skilled in all manners of subjects. I think the one thing he'd be particularly sensitive of would be the burn scars on his forearms that he consistently covers up with shirts and his gauntlets.

If Durge ever asked him about them, he'd admit they're an old injury and try his darnest to change the subject. I think after HoH, he's really touchy about scars, he absolutely hates his own, so if Durge was to push him about it, he'd get unreasonably angry and probably storm off and refuse to speak to him for like a couple weeks.

I think the only way Durge would find out is not by confronting him or asking around, but by finding him in a moment of weakness. Perhaps after the Mephistopheles vault heist, Gortash was quite bothered to have been back in the Hells, so he sulks and sulks until one night he tries to drown his feelings in multiple bottles of alcohol. Durge is shocked to find him so drunk and vulnerable so obviously he wants to know what's going on.

Gortash refuses to speak, getting angrier by each question, until eventually he blows up at him, cussing him out, breaking their alliance, talking shit about Bhaal and his useless children, saying all kinds of things he doesn't mean and Durge doesn't take seriously - all the while he's crying without even realising it. Through his incoherent rant, he eventually mentions HoH and how he "used to be a slave to the most fucking annoying devil who would break his bones every other day just for fun" and it just kinda clicks for Durge. After his rant, he just slumps in his chair defeated, muttering something about how he can't stand the hot of the Hells with a shaky voice as he finally starts sobbing. Durge just quietly holds him through it and never questions him about it again.

[hellcatalex1]

Part 1 -A Time for Celebration (Unbinding the Curse)

Astarion x Female Elf Durge

Post game, one year after the fall of the nether-brain, spawn Astarion, rejected bhaal durge

Triggers: Blood, adult language, adult themes consensual blood drinking , fluff, alcohol, getting drunk, trauma.

One year had passed since the fall of the nether brain. You and Astarion had journeyed across Faerûn, exploring the Sword Coast and beyond, to cities unknown and even finding your way to the enchanting hills and valleys of Evereska, home to a predominantly elven population. As elves yourselves, you delved into the rich elven culture and even rescued a member of the Evereska city council, though not without Astarion cheekily demanding a reward.

A wave of homesickness washed over you both after a year of ceaseless adventuring. Deciding to settle down for a while, you chose Baldur's Gate, where, as a hero of the city, Duke Ulder Ravengard generously offered you a home in the prestigious Upper City. Occasionally, you would lend a hand around the city, helping the good people of Baldur's gate. The city was still rebuilding after the illithid attack. There was plenty to do. On a quiet evening as the sun set and the merchants packed away their wares, your night was just beginning.

You slowly opened your eyes to the gentle flicker of a candle in the corner of your dimly lit bedroom, its windows boarded shut to protect Astarion from the sunlight. The sounds of the city outside dwindled as the evening deepened. Stretching languidly, you felt Astarion's arm tighten around your waist, pulling you into a warm embrace. His lips brushed against your neck, and you couldn't help but giggle at the ticklish sensation.

"Sorry, darling, I just can't help myself," he murmured, peeking over your shoulder. You turned to face him, his crimson eyes gleaming in the candlelight. His white curls were adorably tousled from sleep, and his smile radiated warmth and contentment. He had never looked more beautiful, peaceful, happy. You gaze into his eyes and run your fingers through his hair. As he gently pinned you to the bed, his lips hovered over yours before capturing them in a kiss that sent shivers down your spine.His tongue begs for entrance and you allow his tongue into your mouth. His tongue dancing with your own. His hands slowly pull the blanket down off your legs and glides his fingers up back up along your thighs.

His touch was electrifying as you savored every moment, wishing time would stand still. Over the past year, Astarion had opened up to you completely, learning to love and trust again. You had been there every step of the way, from stargazing in open fields to comforting him after nightmares of his past, whispering reassurances that he was loved and safe from Cazador's grasp. Getting over 200 years of trauma isn't easy but loving you was. Having you along side him to help fight his demons. And you would kill any bastard that tried to hurt him.

Pulling away from the kiss, Astarion gazed into your eyes, cupping your chin to draw you into another soft peck. You smiled at him, feeling a surge of love. How you loved this man.

"So, what shall we do with our night? Defy the gods again, save the world?" he teased.

You giggled, considering his playful suggestion. "Hmm, as tempting as that sounds, how about a walk instead? The skies are clear tonight, and the full moon should make for a lovely stroll."

He pouted slightly. "Not as fun, but with you, anything is delicious." He nuzzled into the crook of your neck, placing kisses up to your jaw. You tilted your head, pulling down the collar of your nightgown to expose more of your neck. "Go ahead, my love," you invited, giving him permission to feed.

Smiling, he placed another tender kiss on your lips. "Thank you, my sweet," he whispered, before sinking his teeth gently into your skin. The intimacy of the moment made you feel closer to him than ever. His feeding was always gentle, ensuring he never took too much. Intertwining his fingers with yours, he showed his gratitude, and you felt completely safe with him.

It still hurt a little of course but nothing compared to the first time he bit you at camp. Your blood was the first taste he had ever drank from a thinking creature. You remember the night vividly. The pain, the pleasure and the adrenaline you felt from it. Since your time together you have allowed Astarion to feed on you many times to help keep up his strength and keep him clear headed. There was no way in hell you would let him be hungry enough for blood to drink from rodents and vermin ever again.

When he finally pulled away, he licked a drop of your blood from the corner of his mouth. "As always, you taste divine," he said with a satisfied smile. You nodded, accustomed to the slight soreness in your neck.

"How are you feeling, darling? Do you need a moment?" he asked, concerned.

"No, I'm fine, love. But I should probably eat something soon. How about a trip to the Elf Song Tavern?" you suggested.

"Of course, darling," he agreed, rising from the bed to dress for the night.

Venturing at night had its ups and downs, the Baldurs Gate Market was always closed but of course the elf song was open, filled with the town drunks and drunken soldiers. The elf-song didn't have the best of food late at night but you made do. You didint really have a choice. Maybe one of these days you would go out in the morning and buy fresh baked goods for the house. You tried not to go out during the day. You were in this life with Astarion all the way. If he wasn't able to see the sun then you wouldn't either. You didn't see him for a few weeks after the brain fell. On the docks when the tadpoles influence was gone, you saw your love being burned by the thing he loved just as much as he loved you. How it broke your heart to see him run into the shadows. But you knew he needed time alone to process things and he would eventually find you.

You get up off the bed and also start getting dressed for your night. A little while later, you both exit to leave the house when you see a letter on the ground. "Hm, what's this?" You say as you pick up the letter. Carefully tearing open the letter you pull out a fine quality invitation. The invitation had beautiful intricate designs. On the invitation it read.

"You have been cordially invited to witness the love and union of Dame Aylin and Isobel Thorm. Celebrate with food and drinks and music. The celebration will be held in the newly built Last Light Inn on the 10 of Murtel.

May The Moon Maiden Guide you,

Aylin and Isobel."

You show the letter to Astarion and both agree you will be attending. The next night you both leave Baldurs Gate to make your way to the old haunt formerly known as the shadowlands.

A few days later, you arrive at Reithwin Town, a place once known as the Shadowlands. But now, it's almost unrecognizable. Where there was once darkness and decay, there is now a vibrant tapestry of life. Verdant plants stretch out in every direction, with trees heavy with blossoms and fruit, their branches swaying in the gentle breeze. Flowers stand tall, their colors vivid and rich, painting the landscape with hues of renewal. Above, the sky, once thick and oppressive, now gleams with a clarity that reveals a tapestry of twinkling stars. The moon hangs large and luminous, as if Selûne herself is casting her benevolent gaze upon the town, blessing it with her light. A warmth spreads through you as you take in the transformation, your thoughts drifting to the battle with Ketheric Thorm, the search for Thaniel, and the liberation of the captives at Moonrise. Every bloom, every shining star, stands as a testament to what you’ve accomplished.

“All of this... because of us,” you whisper, the words almost lost in the night.

“It’s certainly an improvement,” Astarion quips, his voice laced with mischief. “And look, there are even delicious little snacks scurrying about,” he adds, eyeing the rabbits and squirrels darting between the trees. You playfully roll your eyes at his comment.

You chuckle softly. “Come on, the ceremony will start soon. We don’t want to be late.”

Together, you and Astarion make your way toward the Last Light Inn, taking note of the freshly carved signs along the path. The main road, once closed off, now hums with life again, the marks of wagon wheels and horse hooves telling tales of revived trade and travel.

As you cross the familiar bridge leading to the Last Light Inn, the memories of what was and the hope of what’s to come intertwine, filling you with a sense of purpose and pride.

You and Astarion arrive at the familiar bridge leading into last light inn.

"What once was a refuge from the cursed darkness, now a beacon of light, where hero's have rested and enemies vanquished. Welcome to the Last Light Inn."

The plaque on the sign leading into the inn gleams with a freshly inscribed message, the metal polished to a bright sheen. As you cross the bridge, the gentle murmur of the stream below reaches your ears, its soothing sound a stark contrast to the chaos this place once held. Before you, rows of chairs are neatly arranged, all facing a beautifully crafted wooden arch adorned with delicate white blossoms that seem to glow in the soft light. A small crowd has gathered in the courtyard, and the once-dry fountain now bubbles with life, its waters catching the light as they dance.

As you scan the gathering, you spot familiar faces. Harpers and Flaming Fists who had stood with you in the battle against Ketheric Thorm, and others clad in the serene robes of Selûne’s followers. And there, among them, are your cherished companions, the ones who had fought beside you against the Absolute, the ones whose struggles you had shared and whose burdens you had helped lift. Shadowheart,now Jenevelle, stands among them, as do Gale Dekarios, Minsc of Rashemen, Jaheira the High Harper, and the former Archdruid Halsin. Though Karlach and Wyll remain in Avernus, and Lae’zel travels the Astral Plane, the sight of those present warms your heart.

As you approach, you notice your companions are dressed in their finest attire, a far cry from the bloodstained and battle-worn state in which you were so accustomed to seeing them. Who would have thought they could clean up so well? As you draw near, their faces light up, and you are met with enthusiastic greetings and embraces.

“I see you’ve made it,” Shadowheart says, her voice filled with warmth as she pulls you into a tight hug before turning to embrace Astarion. “It’s good to see you both.”

“It’s strange to be back in a place that once tried to kill us at every turn,” she muses, a hint of wonder in her voice. “I never thought I’d return here after turning my back on Shar, but her presence has completely vanished. It’s… a nice change of pace.” Her eyes reflect a deep peace, a contentment that was once foreign to her.

“I’m glad you came all the same,” you reply, your voice soft. “How have you been?”

“All is well,” she answers with a serene smile. “I’ve spent much of my time at the House of the Moon temple in Waterdeep.”

“Isn’t that the largest Selûnite temple in all of Faerûn?” you ask, a note of admiration in your voice.

She nods. “It is. I’ve been spreading the good word of our Lady of Silver and occasionally leading expeditions to recover lost artifacts from Selûne’s fallen temples. It’s not as thrilling as fighting mind flayers, but I’m happy.” Her expression glows with a quiet pride. The Shadowheart you once knew, lost, searching, and bound by Shar’s dark influence, is gone. In her place stands Jenevelle, a cleric of Selûne, whole at last. You realize how much you’ve missed her, remembering how close you became during your journey against the Absolute. She had a way of getting under your skin at first,then again, so did most of your companions,but unlike the others, she, along with Astarion, had been truly there for you when you needed it most.

“Enough about me,” she says, her tone lightening. “How have you two been? Astarion, are you staying out of trouble?”

Astarion’s lips curl into a sly smile. “Oh, I’ve been very well-behaved, thank you. We’ve taken a turn on adventuring, well, I have, at least. It turns out no one really minds murder as long as you’re murdering the right people. And, as it happens, I’m rather good at it.”

Shadowheart arches an eyebrow, her head tilting slightly as she looks at you with mild confusion.

You chuckle softly. “A story for another time.”

As people begin to take their seats in front of the arch, Shadowheart takes a sip of wine from her chalice. “The ceremony is about to begin,” she says, casting a last smile your way. “I’ll have to hear that story later.” With that, she drifts away to find her place among the gathering.

Following Shadowheart’s lead, you and Astarion find two empty chairs and settle in, the anticipation in the air almost palpable. As the last of the guests take their seats, the inn’s front door creaks open, and Dame Aylin steps out, a radiant smile on her face. She waves at the crowd as she glides toward the arch, her movements confident and graceful. Her hair is slicked back into a tight, low ponytail, highlighting her sharp features. She wears a long-sleeved white blouse with ruffled cuffs, tucked neatly beneath a light blue vest adorned with intricate embroidered designs, silver crescent moons woven into the pattern like whispers of divine protection. Her wings, a testament to her celestial nature, drape behind her, adding an ethereal quality to her presence.

When she reaches the arch, a hush falls over the courtyard, the moment suspended in time. Then, the soft, melodic notes of a flute begin to play, weaving through the silence like a delicate thread of music. You turn to see Isobel emerge from the inn’s doors, every eye drawn to her. She wears a gown of shimmering silver, the fabric catching the light with every step. The dress is elegant, with a deep V-neck and a corseted back that accentuates her graceful form. The bodice is embroidered with crescent moons and stars, symbols of Selûne’s blessing. In her hands, she carries a bouquet of wildflowers, their vibrant colors a striking contrast against her silver attire.

Isobel’s eyes are locked on Aylin, and the connection between them is palpable, an unspoken bond that needs no words. Aylin’s gentle smile mirrors Isobel’s as they exchange a look so tender and full of love that it makes your heart ache with the beauty of it. As Isobel reaches the arch, she takes Aylin’s hands in her own, their gazes never wavering from one another. In that moment, the moon seems to shine brighter, its silver light bathing the couple in a celestial glow, as if Selûne herself is blessing their union.

The sight stirs something within you, a curiosity about Astarion’s thoughts on marriage. It’s a topic that’s never come up between you, and while the idea has always felt distant, seeing Aylin and Isobel here, united in such a powerful way, makes you wonder. Would Astarion ever consider such a commitment? Would he ever propose, or is marriage something he doesn’t believe in? The questions swirl in your mind, unexpected but persistent, as you watch the couple before you, their love so apparent, so unguarded.

As the moonlight continues to caress the scene, a priest dressed in Selûnite robes approaches the arch, taking his place behind the couple. The ceremony is about to begin, and for a moment, all thoughts of the future fade away, leaving only the present, this beautiful, sacred moment, shared with those you hold dear.

"Dearly beloved, we gather here under the watchful gaze of Selûne, the goddess of the moon, who guides us through the darkness with her gentle light. Selûne is the embodiment of change and constancy, the ever-shifting phases of the moon that remind us of the cycles of life, love, and union. Today, we celebrate the love and unity of Dame Aylin and Isobel, who stand before us ready to embark on their journey together, illuminated by the light of Selûne’s blessings."

The priest pulls out a small idol of Selune.

"Aylin and Isobel, you stand before your loved ones and before the goddess Selûne to declare your intent to join in marriage. Do you, Aylin vow to cherish and support Isobel through all phases of life, just as Selûne shines in all her phases, in times of both darkness and light?"

"I do, this is my vow"

A small warm glow radiates around her for just a moment before disappearing.

"And do you, Isobel, vow to cherish and support Aylin, through all phases of life, just as Selûne shines in all her phases, in times of both darkness and light?"

"I do"

"Now , Aylin and Isobel will exchange their vows, promising to love each other under the light of the moon and the watchful eyes of Selûne."

"Isobel, when I had lost you, the light in my life was gone, trapped in the shadow fell for all those years, the only thing getting me through were happy memories I had shared with you. I vow to love and protect you and to ensure no harm ever comes your way again, together my love there is nothing we can't do."

You hear sniffles in the crowd, you look around to see people tearing up. Even the toughest looking flaming fists sniffle and wipe away tears with a tissue.

"Lady Isobel, you may state your vows" the priest giving her the okay to speak next."

"Aylin, from the moment I set eyes on you, it was love at first site. You are the most caring and loving person I have ever met. You helped me escape from my nightmares. My favorite thing about you is how much you understand me. You are what I want and exactly what I need. I promise to love you and be your biggest support for the rest of my mortal life"

As the two exchange your vows you can't help but think about Astarion again. What would his vows be to you? What would your vows be to him? Maybe that he was patient with you, never judged you for what you had done during your urges. That he would never have to put up his mask again around you. You were there to protect him and keep him safe always.

The thought brings a small tear to your eye.

"Really darling? I didint take you as one to cry at a wedding."

You snap out of your thoughts to hear Astarion whisper in your ear.

"Oh.. er I mean yea it's just so beautiful, they truly deserve eachother after all they have been through." You respond, trying to have a quick response to ease suspicion.

"You're so adorable when you get all sentimental"

He grabs your hand and gives it a small squeeze.

You both bring your attention back to the ceremony.

"May Selûne bless your union with her radiant light. As the moon waxes and wanes, so too will your love evolve, but may it always return to fullness. May the light of Selûne guide your way through all of life’s trials, and may you find comfort in each other’s arms, just as night finds solace in the glow of the moon."

Everyone rises out of their seats for the kiss.

"By the power vested in me by Selûne, the goddess of the moon, and the love that binds you, I now pronounce you married. You may seal your union with a kiss."

The two lovers lean in for a kiss, a moment so charged with passion that it sends ripples through the crowd. The courtyard erupts in cheers and applause as Aylin sweeps Isobel into her arms, spinning her around with a laugh that echoes through the courtyard. The air is thick with joy, the kind that feels tangible, like a warm breeze on a summer evening.

As the ceremony transitions into a lively celebration, the inn becomes a hub of merriment. The bar is bustling with guests, tankards overflowing with ale and wine as the barkeep struggles to keep up with demand. A band strikes up a series of lively tunes, filling every corner of the inn with music that seems to dance through the air on its own. Astarion finds himself at a table playing a round of Baldur's Bones with a group of unsuspecting patrons. You can’t help but smirk as you watch him, knowing full well he’s likely using his charming wit and sleight of hand to cheat his way to victory. The sneaky rogue.

Meanwhile, you decide to share a quiet moment with Jaheira, the venerable High Harper. "Have your nightmares finally ceased since being freed from Bhaal's influence?" she asks, her voice soft as she sips from a glass of deep red wine.

You take a moment before answering, the weight of her question settling over you. "The nightmares still come," you admit. "Some nights, it’s me waking up in terror, other nights it’s Astarion. I hope that one day, we can be rid of them for good."

Jaheira nods knowingly. "Ah, but you are free now. And that freedom, no matter how haunted, makes the nightmares a bit more bearable, does it not?"

Your gaze drifts to Astarion, who is now shaking a pair of dice with a mischievous grin, clearly enjoying the game’s turn in his favor. The table erupts in groans as he rolls the dice, and with a victorious sweep of his hand, he collects a small pile of gold coins. He catches you watching him and flashes a smile so full of warmth that it makes your heart swell.

"Yes," you murmur, your eyes never leaving his. "With him, it definitely makes them bearable."

Jaheira chuckles softly, rolling her eyes playfully. But before you can dwell too long on your thoughts, a raucous cheer rises from the center of the tavern. Aylin and Isobel, hands entwined, lead a gathering of guests into a jubilant dance. The crowd forms a circle, hands clasped as they move together in a lively round. Aylin, with the strength and grace of a Paladin, pulls you into the circle before you have a chance to protest, you can't help but to laugh.

You join hands with the strangers around you, spinning and twirling in the circle, your laughter joining the chorus of joy. The music quickens, and soon everyone is dancing with wild abandon. The on lookers clap to the beat of the music. You’re swept up in the energy, feeling lighter and freer than you have in years. As the dance transitions into pairs, you find yourself alone in the center, your eyes locking with Astarion’s across the room.

"Nononono," he protests with a smile as you stride over, determined to pull him into the dance.

"Come on," you laugh, grabbing his hand. "Darling I don't know how to dance" He says as your drag him to the dance floor. "I don’t know how to dance either, but let's learn together, unless you don’t want to…"

The hesitation in your voice is subtle, but Astarion catches it. He’s always been sensitive to your feelings, and he knows you know how important it is to not push him into things. But tonight, he sees how much fun you’re having, and he can’t resist the urge to join you. "No, it’s alright," he says, his voice softening. "I’m happy to dance with you, my love."

The two of you step into the center of the dance floor. Awkward at first as Astarion tries to figure out where to place his hands and which foot to move first. He overthinks it, of course, but you just laugh and take his hands in yours, guiding him gently. "It’s okay," you say with a smile, spinning yourself out of his arms before twirling back into them. "Just follow the music. It’s only me and you out here."

Slowly, Astarion relaxes, letting the rhythm of the music guide his movements. The two of you fall into sync, your bodies moving together with increasing ease. Around you, the other dancers whirl and spin, but it’s as if they all fade away, leaving only the two of you in this perfect moment. A laugh erupts from Astarion’s lips, a sound so precious that it makes your heart ache with love.

You continue to dance, your breath coming in gasps as the exertion catches up to you. But neither of you wants to stop. The connection between you feels electric, as if the world has narrowed to this single point in time where nothing else matters but the two of you. You gaze into Astarion’s eyes, seeing in them the man who has become your everything, your lover, your partner, your friend. And in that moment, you know he sees you the same way: the most beautiful, adventurous, and kindest soul he has ever known.

As the dance slows, you lean in, your lips meeting his in a kiss that feels like the culmination of every shared moment, every whispered word, every night spent holding each other against the darkness. The world around you falls away, the music muffling into the background as you lose yourself in him. His hand slides behind your head, fingers threading through your hair as he deepens the kiss, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you.

When you finally pull back, the room comes back into focus. The other guests are watching, their eyes warm with approval. There’s no embarrassment, just a shared understanding of the love between you. Aylin raises her arms, her voice carrying over the crowd. "Is this not a day to celebrate love?" she exclaims. "What these two heroes have is true love. Perhaps one day we’ll be dancing at their wedding!"

Her words send a flush of heat to your cheeks, and you quickly look away, suddenly shy.

But before you can dwell on it, Isobel steps in, her voice gentle as she tries to guide Aylin away. "Not everyone shares our ideals on marriage, my love," she says, her tone soothing. "Let’s leave them be."

"Ah my wife, you are as beautiful as you are wise, Another round for my friend barkeep!" Aylin yells out loud. Almost loosing her footing and swaying back and forth. Isobel guides her to the bar. She gives you a small nod. Almost as if she understood what you were thinking.

Astarion notices your sudden shyness, his eyes narrowing in concern. "My sweet, are you alright?"

You blink, snapping out of your thoughts. "Huh? Oh, yes, just parched, my love." It’s not entirely a lie, dancing has left you incredibly thirsty, but there’s more to it than that. The question of marriage hovers in the back of your mind, a topic you’re not quite ready to broach. The idea of it excites you, but the fear of what his answer might be holds you back.

Sensing your discomfort, Astarion doesn’t press the issue. He knows you well enough to trust that you’ll talk about it when you’re ready. For now, he’s content to let it be, to enjoy the night with you by his side.

The rest of the evening is a blur of laughter and camaraderie as you catch up with your companions, sharing stories and getting lost in the revelry. By the time the party winds down, you’re thoroughly sloshed, your steps unsteady as Astarion helps you stumble to your room. Thankfully, it’s a windowless chamber, perfect for shielding him from the rising sun.

"I love you… soooooo much," you slur, your words tumbling out as he gently sets you on the bed. "You’re really great."

Astarion laughs softly, the sound full of affection. "I love you too, darling."

As he begins to undress for the night, you clumsily reach out, wrapping your arms around him and pressing a sloppy kiss to his neck. "I want to make love to you," you whisper, your voice meant to be seductive but coming out far too loud in his ear.

He chuckles, shaking his head with a smile. "Darling, you’re far too drunk for that." Gently, he guides you back onto the bed, helping you out of your dress and shoes before tucking you in under the covers. You’re asleep almost as soon as your head hits the pillow, a soft snore escaping your lips.

Astarion watches you for a moment, a tender smile on his face. Even in your drunken state, there’s a peacefulness to you that he finds irresistible. He presses a kiss to your forehead before slipping under the covers beside you, holding you close as he drifts off to sleep.

The next evening, you wake with a brutal hangover, your head pounding and your stomach churning. A bath helps to ease the worst of it, and by the time you make your way downstairs, you’re feeling somewhat better. The inn is quieter now, most of the guests having departed, leaving only a few stragglers and your companions.

You spot Astarion at a table with Gale, deep in conversation. As you approach, Astarion’s gaze lifts to meet yours, concern flickering in his eyes. "How are you feeling, my sweet?" he asks, his voice gentle.

"Like all of the nine hells are in my head." You rub your temples. You grab a tankard of water in front of you and chug it down. The cool liquid feels refreshing.

"What are you guys talking about?" Pulling the tankard away from your lips.

Astarion and Gale look at each other then back at you. "I was just telling Astarion about something I had discovered while in my tower in Waterdeep. It has great benefits that would be of interest to Astarion." He explains.

"Great, what is it?" You ask. Urging Gale to tell you the juicy gossip.

"I am unable to disclose that information here."

"Why not?" Sounding rather disappointed.

"Please just trust me, I would like to invite you both to Waterdeep to show you my discoveries. You can head back with me tonight. "

You look at Astarion who looks back at you. You can tell he's extremely curious. He gives you a pleading look. You were never able to resist his charm and his version of puppy dog eyes.

You take a deep breath. "If it's something that will help Astarion, I'll go."

Astarion gives out a reliving sigh and smiles at you. You wonder what it could possibly be. Maybe a never ending supply of blood. Or maybe something to help the sanguine hunger. The possibilities were endless and you knew Astarion was itching to find out.

Part 2 here

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

Welcome to Pixie!

My BG3 obsession has birthed several fan stories and inspired the art above. I very much like Durge and their story, my favorite companion is Halsin, and favorite NPCs are Gortash, Raphael and Rugan. Feel free to check out my stuff:

Kill me like a lover

explicit » F/M (m/f/m) » Gortash, custom f!Durge, Halsin » CW: poly, whump, violence, blood, PiV, cunnilingus, rough sex, fluffy sex, graphic threats of violence, light breeding kink, creampie, pain kink, knifeplay, blood, toxic relationship traits, dubious consent, resisting Durge, fluff, angst, trauma on top of trauma on top of trauma

Read on Tumblr / AO3:

(prelude 7k words) * I don't like you * tumblr » / AO3 »

(main 13k words) * Kill me like a lover * tumblr » / AO3 »

Read on Wattpad:

(whole fic) * Kill me like a lover * Wattpad »

Plan: 1) Halsin only fic (fluff, angst, smut), 2) coronation ball (bloody, possibly smutty), 3) Bhaal temple (extra bloody, full-on angst and trauma), 4) Gort fight (diverging from canon)

Can't promise I will fulfill the plan, but that's what I'm thinking of. Will appreciate any love, especially reblogs and comments. Would kill to have someone to discuss this with, too >;)

Lil Halsin one-shots on AO3

What if I just kiss you? - Halsin x reader, teen+, a 'forceful' kiss prompt, a little irrational argument with Halsin resulting in a kiss, flashfic (905 words)

Wildshaped therapist - Halsin x reader, mature (alcohol), cat Halsin, depression, angsty pining, fluff, cat therapy, spooning a large hunk of elf, 2k words

[Interlude] Love, Halsin - Halsin/custom f!Durge, an in-between fic of my Durgetash/Halsin story (above) where I focus solely on Halsin and his Trauma™, mature, angst, hurt/comfort, crying man, fluff, 3k words

(To hug a bear - unfinished Halsin x OC with a spot of Astarion, mature (didn't get to smut), 4.7k words)

[amaranthsynthesis]

I love your Durge and his relationship with the Gort. ;_; You have fed this hungry soul with your wonderful art and meta. I have to ask, because I didn't see it anywhere: what does Gortash make of Sceleritas? Sceleritas is Ballard's stressball, his buddy, his little guy, but what does Ballard's boyfriend think about the creepy little imp that follows him everywhere?

AHH I'M GLAD, they make me insane and sharing it is the only way to recover

I actually need to draw or write more of gortash and sceleritas interacting bc they are cooperatively nuts. the easy answer is that there is a mutual loathing between the two of them; this is also true! Gortash thinks Sceleritas is a freaky little weirdo who has too much influence on Ballard's internal mindscape. Scleritas thinks Gortash is a heretical lying little harlot who has too much influence on Ballard's internal mindscape. Ballard has the least patience for both of them when they're bitching about the other--Sceleritas trying to get him to ditch Gortash is the leading cause of imp murder in the last decade, but the first time Gortash does more than verbal violence in Sceleritas' direction (he sees Ballard stab the guy like twice a week SURELY it's fine) Ballard breaks his arm in two places.

The additional answer, that is extremely funny also, is that they have a begrudging alliance where they drink wine and bitch whenever Ballard and Orin get into knock down, drag out fights. They throw a wrench in Gortash and Ballard's plans, they wreak ABSOLUTE havoc on the Temple of Bhaal's schedule and liturgical calendar, and Sceleritas can and has drunk Gortash under the table on multiple occasions. Gortash, of course, handles this very badly, and keeps thinking that next time surely he will do better. He does not! Sceleritas Fel is tiny but he is a demonic alcoholic and he is not going down easy.

[bloodlust-1]

꒦꒷ Blood Bond ꒷꒦

Bound by blood, associated by marriage.

Gortash x fem Tav durge Explicit 18+

Chapter: 4

Part 1 ->here<-

No warnings. You know what you came here for.

The next morning Gortash woke up, alive. After Tav's little episode, he wasn't sure he'd make it out the night. But it's now time to move on from that, it was a new day.

Gortash made his way to their chambers, unlocking the door and opening it slowly. There she lay, curled up on her side with her hair draped over her face. His eyes narrowed, unsure if Bhaal had finally finished possessing her. He cautiously reached out and grabbed one of her horns, tilting her head so he could get a better view.

Tav had cried off all the black makeup she had been wearing, leaving her eyes looking more like a raccoon. Enver felt a wave of relief wash over him as he untied the rope from her wrists, noticing the raw sores that had been left behind from the tightness of the knot.

This is not new to him. Gortash knew of Tav's Bhaal possessions for a while now. It's something he had to learn to navigate through. Only cause behind all her disdain, there was something he liked about her. Now their relationship had been taken to a whole new level, as they had been married. Gortash realized that he needed her in his life, and her presence in the palace was the only reason he still held such influence.

It was strategic to stay on her good side.

He could leave her like this. Hmm- He thought for a moment, looking at the woman he called his 'wife'. She didn't treat him the best, but there was one thing that she was fair with him about. Image. It was something that seemed to bother her a lot, and she currently looked like shit.

Gortash walked to the on-suit bathroom and ran the tub with warm water and soaks. He scavenged through the cabinets for alcohol and cotton pads. He settled the items before walking back into the bedroom.

Gortash easily lifted Tav in his arms, causing her to wake with a start. Her single eye opened, blinking against the brightness of the light. Embarrassment spread across her face as she nervously squirmed in his grasp.

"D-Don't touch me!" Tav stammered, her voice trembling as she tried to appear strong. She closed her eyes tightly, desperately trying to hide the dried tears streaming down her face. This moment of vulnerability was too much for her to handle - the sight of her own weakness was too painful to bear. There was no way she could let Gortash see her like this.

Enver grumbled, rolling his eyes at her as she looked exhausted. "You look like you need this. You look like shit," he said with a hint of annoyance. Tav was lucky he was doing her this favor, she certainly didn't deserve it

Tav heaved a deep sigh as she puffed out her cheeks. Her body felt like it had been worked over with a sledgehammer; her aching muscles and joints screamed in agony. Even her eyes felt heavy and sensitive as if invisible stones weighed them down.

She recalled the immense pain she had felt earlier that night; her wrists were still sore from the ropes that had bound her. Despite her attempts to remember what had happened, she found herself unable to recall anything past the searing pain.

Gortash let Tav's feet touch the smooth, cold marble floor. He watched, transfixed, as she slowly began to undress in front of him. His gaze followed each piece of clothing as it slipped off her body and fell around her feet. He could not tear his eyes away.

Enver's eyes stared at the smooth perfection of the skin on her back. How he imagined how he could repaint Tav's skin with scars.

Tav shakily stepped into the bathtub, welcoming the warmth that was far more pleasant than the scorching heat of Bhaal's possession. She winced and gritted her teeth in pain as the sores on her wrists stung. Letting her thoughts drift off, she sighed again and murmured, "I would enjoy this so much more with a glass of wine."

A deep, rumbling voice startled her as it interrupted her thoughts. "Thinking about wine with such injuries on your wrists, I'm not surprised, Bhaal spawn."

Tav opened her eyes and turned her head, raising an eyebrow and replied, "I was telling you, not asking."

Enver scuffed with a smile, how dare she. Gortash snatched the alcohol bottle from the counter, not caring that it caused a loud thump. He then proceeded to wet the cotton pad with alcohol, not paying any attention to Tav's anxious glances.

With a determined glance, Gortash reached out for Tav's hand, wrapping his fingers around hers forcefully. She tried to pull away, but he held her firmly, pressing the soaked pad onto the open sores on her skin. Tav whimpered harshly, her eyes filling with tears as she tried to escape from his grasp, but he refused to let her go.

Tav's suffering was a sweet relief to him; it was freeing in a way he could not have anticipated. Gortash had been looked down on by Tav, and now he was able to watch as Tav suffered as he had. It was a beautiful sight, and he savored every moment of it.

"Enough!" Tav ripped her wrists away from Enver. She noticed the glint in his eyes- He was enjoying this. Her teeth clenched together in anger, "You're bloody face will look all the sweeter when I remember this very moment." She threatened.

Gortash's laugh reverberated through the room as he crossed his arms. He looked at his wife, Tav, with a menacing gaze. "Do you really want to play this game with me?" he asked, a smirk playing on his lips. He laughed again, this time more hauntingly. "You started it, my dear. You are not the only one in this marriage," he added, a hint of danger in his voice. With that, left the room.

Gortash wanted Tav to feel exactly how he felt - Angered, frustrated, and powerless. He knew that he could get his revenge and, with that thought, a satisfied smile spread across his face.

~

Tav could feel her anger boil over as she stared across the dinner table at Enver. He glared at her with such intensity, his eyes full of anger and hatred. But Tav didn't care and was more frustrated that he thought he had the right to glare at her with such disrespect over a meal.

Gortash, seemingly unaware of the tension, swallowed his food and sneered, "I almost forgot just how rabid you bhaal spawns get. You and the rest of those wretches. You are no better than those fools."

Tav looked up at him, meeting his gaze, "I am better." She then returned to her meal in silence. But oh no- he continued the pick at Tav.

Gortash wasn't done yet. "Has your father influenced no better etiquette on his chosen? Must you always be such a conniving bitch." He knew this would get a reaction out of Tav.

"That's more your expertise," Tav smirked, waiting for his reaction. She then reached for her glass of wine and downed it in one gulp.

Gortash leaned back, his eyes bright with amusement. "Then tell me, what is your expertise?" he asked, something strange in his voice. Something felt off as he watched her down the wine.

"Keeping my dog on a tight leash."

Gortash smiled wider and Tav felt her vision start to blur and her hearing become louder than ever. She felt her breathing become heavy and her heart started to race. In a panic, she yelled out, "What...WHAT did you do to me?!" Her surroundings became alarmingly hyperfocused.

Enver, still with a smile on his face, "I want to make you feel small, Tav." His words were spoken carelessly and he tilted his head as her vision went to darkness.

~

Tav blinked in confusion, her head pounding from the effects of the drugs Gortash had given her. The faint moans of pleasure that had filled her ears grew louder as her vision slowly came into focus. Gortash was there, thrusting into a strange woman who was bent over a nearby ledge. His skin slapped loudly against hers, and he roughly dug his nails into her hips. Tears streamed down the woman's face from the intensity of the pain.

Tav tried to speak, but she could only muster a groan of pain. Her eyes, however, spoke volumes. Gortash watched her, his lips curling into a sinister smirk. He wanted to make her jealous, push her past her limits, and prove that he was the one with the power.

His movements became more passionate as he reveled in the rage in her eyes. Sweat trickled down their bodies and the sound of whimpers filled the air. He wanted to show Tav that he was in control, and this was the cruelest way he could think of.

He wanted Tav to squirm.

To Be Continued ~

Any Thoughts? Comment 👇🏼 I love to engage!

Next part here

Again, posting this without proofreading so if there's any typos, soorryyy :'))) I just wanted this out asapppp

[the-astral-sea]

Bite marks and bruises (Raphael x fem!Durge)

I have this vision, this fantasy, that the only one who could keep Raphael on his toes and charm him is a pureblood Bhaalspawn. Their similar, chaotic and absolutely twisted personalities would clash yet work incredibly well together.

OC named Dolly, a pureblood Bhaalspawn, the last of her name. She is a high elf sorceress but it doesn’t come up much if at all. Imagine her how you want!

18+ TW: kidnapping? slight torture, death, threats, intimidation, adult content. Really cute vibes between Raphael and Dolly though. Sexual tension. Smutty. I absolutely love how this story ended up.

“Againagainagainagain!” Dolly cried out manically, garrotting a disheveled man and forcing him to walk slowly across a floor of conjured spikes, relishing in his screams and pleads for mercy.

She had caught him peeping through the doors of a brothel, muttering to himself about how the girls were not worthy of his coin, but worthy of his attention. Had she been a normal citizen, she would have simply reported him to the Lady of the house and had him kicked out of the establishment, but Dolly was far from a normal citizen. Bhaal’s blood coursed through her veins and urged her to enact justice in a far more brutal fashion - especially to those she deemed unfit for society. It was no more than a normal night for her, seducing men like this, leading them to her chambers and carrying out her twisted will in a gory and gruesome manner. His cries echoed throughout her chamber; it was music to her ears. “You! You were a very naughty boy. Now crawl.” She demanded gleefully, tightening his leash to force him on all fours as the spikes rendered his kneecaps useless, causing him to then fall flat on the ground, pierced by a hundred hungry pikes. As he lay there, bleeding out, Dolly felt a wave of satisfaction wash over her, a smile tugging at the sides of her mouth as she admired her work with a contented sigh. Bhaal would be exceptionally proud of her artistry today. The way she made this pervert suffer was beauty in its purest form.

Feeling warm and achieved, she gracefully moved to her desk where an unopened bottle of mead sat awaiting her touch. An expensive bottle of exceptional quality and age, stolen from the room of one of her previous victims as a kind of reward for herself. She opened it in a state of reverie, leaning back on her quilted chair as she poured the sweet, indulgent liquid into a silver chalice. Notes of honey and thyme tickled her senses as she inhaled the nectar, “mmmm, why thank you whats-his-name” she mumbled to herself as she took a sip of the drink with her eyes closed peacefully. The taste was as delicious as the smell, coating her tongue in a myriad of rich flavours that could only be compared to heaven in a bottle.

As she opened her eyes to read the label on the bottle, she realised that she was no longer in the familiar comfort of her room. The usual pleasant smell of blood and incense was replaced by the aroma of brimstone, old parchment and cherries. Her desk had been replaced by a large imposing dinner table, littered with a multitude of fruits and desserts. Although unfamiliar to her, she quickly deducted that this must be somewhere in the Hells. Where else could be so inviting, yet so unsettling? And smell so weird? “You could have at least brought my mead here” she shouted, her unshakeable voice bouncing off the high ceilings. Dolly was genuinely annoyed that whoever transported her here hadn’t given her that luxury after all the hard work she’d done today. In a huff, she stood up, kicking the chair back as she began to examine what other alcohol she could snag as she waited for her captor to appear, no doubt in her mind that they would make a massive entrance in attempt to intimidate her. Unfortunate for them, Dolly was not easily influenced, and took it upon herself to look over the drinks curiously, sitting right on the middle of the table as she selected a vintage red wine, tugging at the cork with her teeth.

It was really wedged in there and her frustration grew at the situation she found herself in. “Come onnn” she pleaded to the bottle as if it could hear, pulling at the cork again with her teeth. Just as she lost patience and was about to smash the bottle on the ground, the large ornate doors swung open, revealing a very angry looking Devil. His skin was red like blood, her favourite colour. His wings, scaled and bat-like, spanned the entirety of the door frame. His horns, curled and shiny, made his imposing form reach around 7 foot. Dolly felt her cheeks flush, not out of fear, but out of desire. Although she had never met Raphael in the flesh, she immediately recognised his presence from tales she had heard in dodgy taverns and books she had read.

“What’s this? A mouse in my hou-” he began with a booming voice of authority but was rudely cut off by Doll, “yeah yeah. Mice, cats, fucking doves or whatever. Can you open this?” She enquired, holding out the bottle she had selected from his table. He momentarily appeared taken aback, staring curiously at this elf, this killer, sat crossed legged in the middle of his table trying to tug open his finest cabernet. A mischievous look crossed his face as he attempted to continue, aware that his ignorance of her request would only piss her off more. “In my house. Where the hopeless reside, you will abide by my rules. Behave. Are you not wondering why I have brought you here?” His voice was low and charming, inquisitive and intrigued. “Judging by the set up, it looks like a dinner date. It’s rude to keep a lady waiting, you know” Dolly winked, completely unphased by his theatrics as she motioned to the bottle once again. The devils jaw tensed at her complete lack of regard for his dominance. Usually, mortals would be trembling in fear, sat shaking in their chair as they revered him with terrified eyes. But not Dolly. No, she was like naughty pet climbing on the furniture with no regard for anyone but herself.

It was clear that Raphael was seething yet he remained visibly composed. Making it too obvious that she had already gotten under his skin would give her pleasure, and he did not want to give her the satisfaction. With elegance, he sauntered over to where she sat and uncorked the bottle with ease, pouring them both a large glass, a twinkle in his eye as he spoke calmly and unaffected by his bubbling anger. “You know, you have cost me greatly with your little… display of the macabre… earlier this evening” he hummed, “the man you were so quick and eager to kill was about to sign a contract with me, he was of great influence and would’ve been a valuable asset to my will” his hand tightened around his drink as he spoke, a subtle sign hinting at just how unhappy he was in this moment. Dolly performed a sympathetic look, pouting solemnly at the devil between sips of wine with a hand pressed to her heart.

“Maybe you should make your future partners wear a big glowing sign that reads ‘do not touch, property of hell’ or a ridiculous hat that’s reminiscent of your horns?” She suggested, tilting her head in feign seriousness.

Unable to hold his rage inside for a moment longer, Raphael threw his cup down and grabbed Dolly by the throat, his long fingers wrapping around the circumference with ease and his clawed fingers digging into her flesh. He expected her to drop her charade, convinced that truly she could not be this unhinged. Surely it was just an act. He wanted to see her apologetic, scared and trembling, but instead she let out a soft moan. This reaction took him by surprise and he loosened his grip, shoving her aside before letting go completely. A giggle escaped her mouth, which then turned into uncontrollable laughter. “I’m sorry, I couldn’t resist” she managed to choke out between fits of laughter whilst nonchalantly kicking her legs as they now dangled off the side of the table, the plates that were once there now sprawled out on the floor. Once she had settled down, her tone shifted to one of seriousness for the first time since their conversation started, “Honestly, I’m sorry for ruining your chances of making a deal with that man. I’m a bhaalspawn babe, killing people is just what I do.”

Raphael’s demeanour changed at the words ‘bhaalspawn’. Suddenly it made sense as to why she was so fearless, so carefree and wild. This wasn’t just any killer, this was the daughter of Bhaal himself. Renown for killing her siblings to gain favour, known across all realms for her talent and terror. ‘Mistress of the night’ some called her: she moved in shadows, never caught, rarely seen. There was probably just as many scary stories told about her as there was him. His lips curved into a devilish grin at the revelation. It was reassuring to know that he hadn’t lost his edge, she was simply just unbothered by it. As was her nature.

“Ah, the infamous Dolly? Had I known it was you, I might not have dragged you here after all” he chuckled. His large frame turned to face her and he offered out a hand, helping her down from the table to lead into a different area of the huge house. The walls were a deep red, spanning high to meet the ornate golden ceiling. Windows larger than the two of them combined, revealing the stretching planes of the Hells beyond. Rosewood floors and intricate rugs lay atop them. Beautiful opulent chests, large paintings, and chaise lounges decorated the area. Dolly looked around in awe, casually holding onto the Devil’s forearm like it was the most normal thing in the world. He guided her to a balcony where two velvet chairs and a small round table stood between them, gesturing for her to take a seat so they could continue their conversation in a more intimate atmosphere.

“Now, I don’t usually let people off easily when they so savagely brutalise my potential clients” he began, voice laced with disapproval, “but for you” he spoke again, a slightly softer tone than before that made Dolly’s eyes light up, “I will make an exception”.

“So, no riddles about mice, cats and doves?” She smiled, pushing the boundaries a little bit. After all, who would she be if she didn’t continue to annoy him ever so slightly?

“Where did you get doves from? I don’t believe I have ever mentioned doves” he stated with an uncharacteristic smile. It wasn’t a manipulative smile, or one that held any mischief or malice, he just found her strangely intriguing and slightly odd. Everything she’d said since entering his house of hope had kept him on his toes and yet… for some reason he found it endearing. It was unfamiliar to him but not unwelcome - to find such interest in someone other than himself.

“Oh… anyways, I have a feeling you aren’t just letting me off the hook? That’s not what you do” her questioning sent his mind into a spiral. He genuinely was planning on dropping the whole thing, but this presented an opportunity for more and he couldn’t turn that down. “Right you are” he leaned back in his chair, pouring them both another drink and turning his head to smile at Dolly. “It’s not a deal. There will be no contract. Just an offer, a business proposal, if anything.” The words were spoken with an undercurrent of imperilment and Dolly narrowed her eyes as she awaited his next words. “I’ve heard of your exploits for many moons, but to see the way you performed today was a treat. I caught the tail end of the whole ordeal before transporting you here. It should’ve been obvious then that you were Bhaals revered baby. I’m embarrassed that I didn’t catch on sooner.” The admission dripped off his tongue like honey, “How would you feel about joining me? I make contracts; you have fun with those who don’t comply?” His offer sparked a flame within Dolly. With Raphael at her side, the whole world could be her playground, she could go anywhere, do anything. “I must admit the offer is tempting. So what’s the catch?” She enquired, sensing that there was more to this than he was letting on. He didn’t need the help, he had been killing and cutting deals for centuries. There was something deeper at work here. This was personal to him.

“What a clever little dove you are” he hummed, causing Dolly’s cheeks to shift to rosey hue at the new nickname. “I admit it. I have grown bored of working alone, living here with nobody to challenge me or stimulate my mind. It’s monotonous, and I am anything but” his words were laced with danger and lust, eyeing her like a five course meal, undressing her with his eyes. He held all the cards. Dolly knew this and she did not like it. She knew that his offer came with the expectation of agreement, it was closer to a demand than a real choice. There was no doubt that at this point, he wouldn’t let her leave until she gave in. How dare he turn her into a blushing mess, foaming at the mouth at the promise of murderous exploits beyond comprehension. Her silence was deafening as she stood up from where she sat, offhandedly strolling back inside the house of hope at a slow, suggestive pace. Within moments Raphael was on his feet trailing behind her expectantly. Although she had her back to him, she could sense his growing frustration at her lack of response, a teasing smile forming on her face with every ghostly step. She was toying with him just to see his reaction. If he couldn’t handle her misbehaviour now, how would he cope later down the line?

The pair walked silently through the halls for a few moments, her steps zig zagging just to see if he would mimic them, which he did. Raphael knew what she was doing, but he was enjoying the challenge her presence demanded. Dolly circled around to sit back down on the balcony outside, making sure to seat herself at the chair her red bodied acquaintance was on moments before. “What was that?” He sighed, taking the opposite seat.

“What was what?”

“The adventure you just took me on in my own home”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about”

“You’re infuriating, little dove”

“Thankyou.”

The pair sat there with Raphael’s offer hanging heavy in the air. There was no longer the expectation for an immediate answer after Dolly’s playful reaction forced patience. More drinks began to flow and so did the conversation. In no time at all they were onto the next bottle, sharing stories of past revelry and horror, Dolly’s giggles awoke something in Raphael that he had never felt or experienced before, his deeply buried human side rearing it’s long neglected head at her enthusiasm. The more she spoke, the more the devil appreciated her deranged sense of humour, “There was this farming family, who lived just outside of Baldurs Gate, that had been knowingly selling diseased lamb meat to poor families and making them sick” she mused, drawing Raphael into the story, “so I get hired as a farm hand right? I polymorph his wife and children into sheep, mark them for culling, and I’ll never forget the look on his face as their mangled bodies fell out of the mincer. He only realised what had happened once he found a toe and a wedding ring! That was all that was left” she howled with laughter. Raphael chuckled to himself at the depravity of it all, fixated by how sick she was. By now he was utterly besotted with her, silently hoping that she would agree to his request willingly. He couldn’t help but notice the way her hair cascaded down her shoulders so fluidly, how her eyes radiated warmth despite being the most cold blooded killer he’d ever met, the way her smile made dimples appear in her cheeks. She was an image of delight. Lost in thought staring at her, he was only brought back to reality when she spoke again. “As lovely as it is out here, I wish I could put my feet up”. As quick as the words left her mouth he snapped his fingers, an eternal debtor crawling on their hands and knees ready to be used as a footstool. “Aw, how sweet” Dolly smiled, taking the opportunity to use them accordingly with a contented exhale.

Hours passed in merry and flirty conversation, wine still being shared between them in a constant steady flow. Eventually, Raphael noticed the ‘footstool’ peeking up Dolly’s dress, “my my, you fool. Don’t you know what this Little Dove does to creatures like you?” He tutted, but Dolly cut him off before he could take the exchange further. “Hm I don’t mind, the poor thing can look and toss and turn all night thinking about it” she sighed dismissively, waving her free hand. Raphael, however, was not satisfied with this response, “No. Nobody in this house of hope should be seeing what’s underneath those pretty little garments of yours” he hissed, “except for me, of course”. This statement made Doll’s heart flutter in her chest, her desire for him deepening at the very suggestion. The so called ‘footstool’ let out a whimper as Raphael stole the luxury of his sight, blinding him for the rest of eternity in one swift motion. To Dolly, it was one of the most romantic acts she’d ever witnessed. “Who’s to say you’ll be seeing me out of my ‘pretty little garments’ hm?” She teased, blowing Raphael a kiss with a wink. “Will I not be?” He chuckled, anticipating a cocky response but being met with an unexpected sincerity as his little dove brought her glossy lips up to his ear, leaning across the table to give a clear shot of her cleavage that made him stir. “You will if you play your cards right” she purred, pressing a gentle kiss to his temple before retreating back to her normal sitting position. Momentarily, the devil was tongue tied. He’d never been lost for words before, for a second he thought he might be dying. For some reason, the only words he could muster were “do you like art?” He kicked himself at his sudden awkwardness, trying to regain composure as he continued “I saw you admiring my paintings earlier. If you like art, I have a whole gallery waiting to be explored. Some of the pieces are nearly as beautiful as you”. Good save. He could finally breathe again. He held out his arm, an invitation for Dolly to hold it like she had done before, an invitation she gladly accepted as they leisurely began to stroll to the gallery, passing a multitude of lost souls along the way. His arms were firm and hot to the touch, and she was close enough to smell the brimstone, musk and cherry scent on his infernal skin. The aroma of cherries overpowered her senses, she wondered if he tasted like them too. Not that she was going to bite him of course, though the thought did cross her mind, and she was curious to see if licking up his cock would be a fruity treat. She shook off the sin quickly, but not quick enough for it to pass by Raphael undetected. “Shouldn’t you be admiring the artwork, Little Dove?” He smirked. “I thought I was” she retorted innocently.

Wandering around the gallery was a spectacle of flashy paintings, iconic sculptures that had mysteriously ‘vanished’ decades ago, classic weapons used in historical battles. It was truly a sight to behold, a luxurious experience reserved only for those held in high regard by the charming devil. If this was his way of wooing Dolly, it was certainly working, especially when she saw an organised pile of bones labelled ‘Mistress of The Night’s first kill: the remains’, as she looked upon it she felt a sense of nostalgia and turned her head to look over at Raphael, a hint of bashfulness upon his sharp features as if he had forgotten it was there. “Didn’t realise you were a fan” she giggled, finishing off the last of her wine and stepping over to him with reverent ardour that made him visibly loosen. “I’d kiss you if I could reach” she quipped, their height difference making it impossible for their heads to align even when Dolly stood on her tippy toes. Without a word the towering devil in front of her got down on one knee in one graceful motion and pulled her into a deep, hungry kiss. Tongues fighting for dominance and the taste of alcohol strong on their lips. The flavour lingered long after they parted, sending waves of desire coursing through them both at a dangerous velocity. They stared into one another’s eyes for a moment longer than necessary, their need to explore each other unspoken yet painfully apparent. Dolly grabbed his head and dragged him down for another kiss, this one even hungrier and messier than before as she let out a soft moan against his lips, silently begging for him to take her there and then. He was no mind reader, but he knew exactly what she was thinking because he was thinking it too, his desire for her had long since reached its boiling point. The hours of shared laughter echoed in his head as he replayed every interaction again and again. If he didn’t act now he felt as if he would explode. In an elegant swoop, Raphael lifted Dolly up, her arms comfortably looping around his neck like they’d done this a million times before. He marched her over to the bedroom, ordering Haarlep to entertain himself elsewhere with a deep, commanding tone.

The succubus abided with a curious look in its eye. The master of the house didn’t entertain guests this way, he got Haarlep to entertain them instead. Raphael never slept with anyone except himself. But truth be told the devil had grown bored of it, he just hadn’t liked anyone else enough to change that. He therefore put in minimal effort, often leading to Haarlep calling him a bad lay when in reality he was just lazy. Sleeping with Haarlep was just self pleasure with extra steps, he thought. Tonight, it was time for someone new. Someone he hoped would join him time and time again. Someone of which he could never bore of.

“I will not lie to you. It’s been a while since I’ve touched the flesh of a real woman” he stated matter of factly, not as a display of shyness but as if to explain his slight uncoordination in regards to Doll’s lack of tail, wings and horns. She sat on the edge of the bed as Raphael unlaced her dress extremely carefully, his claws only catching her back when it was intentional. Every touch made her melt under the warmth of his skin, every slow movement of his hands undressing her felt like foreplay in itself. The fabric fell off her body delicately, revealing a figure made for the indulgence of Gods, or Devils in this case. She spun around to face him, his expression a picture of pure joy as he took in the view, pupils blown like a drug trip. His breathing hitched as she crawled her way up the bed, pushing him down backwards to sit straddling his big, muscular frame. Her hands shook with excitement as he began unbuttoning his shirt, then the rest of his clothes, removing the pieces one by one until he lay bare beneath her. Cock already solid. Begging to be used.

“I’ve never lay with a devil before, can I use your horns like handlebars while I ride you?” She asked expectantly, her request making Raphael’s eyes widen in anticipation. “You most certainly can and should”.

They went at it for hours, cumming over and over again in unison, their thirst for one anothers bodies seemingly unquenchable. That was, until Dolly physically couldn’t it handle anymore. She had taken him roughly and deeply, and felt hollowed out by the end of their final session. Her body now decorated in bite marks and bruises.

“Oh dear, what a mess we’ve made of you my Little Dove” his words were velvety and smooth, spoken between kisses trailing from her shoulder to temple. “I simply can’t let you sleep like this” his words brushed over her as he got up from the bed, carrying her exhausted frame over to a large bath in the centre of the room where he slowly lowered both of their beaten bodies. As the water touched her skin she felt the familiar tingle of healing magic, a much welcomed relief to her aching bones. “Fuck that feels good” she breathed, settling in to Raphaels arms with no difficulty at all. Much to her surprise, aftercare was second nature to him, proudly caressing her as he worked soap around her limbs, allowing her to completely relax as he took control of the moment. The entire night had been astonishing, a tale bards would sing about for eons to come if they heard of it. Two heartless beings, well and truly intoxicated by one another’s existence. Twin flames burning like hellfire.

Raphael noticed Dolly nearly drift off into a deep meditation at his touch, a fact that made his once stone heart pound like a war drum in his chest. “Come, let us rest” he lulled, guiding her out of the bath and drying her off, the temptation to once again have his way with her bubbling beneath the surface as he moved. He told himself that there would be other nights to enjoy such pleasures, but truthfully he was still unsure if she would agree to work with him. A possibility that stung deep inside his core, but one he would reluctantly accept if that was her wish. Dolly smiled up at him as he carried her to the bed again, placing her onto the soft feathered mattresses like she was the most precious thing in existence. He wondered if anyone had ever seen this side of her before, he was certain that nobody had seen this side of him. She was a brutal, relentless murder machine, yet here she lay angelic. He climbed in next to her, enveloping her in his colossal wings, craving to feel every part of her body against his hot flesh.

“I think I’m going to enjoy our partnership” she confessed barely above a whisper, half conscious as sleep welcomed her in. Raphael’s sharp toothed smile immediately lit up his face hearing these words, but he could not express his true feeling of conquest without threatening to disturb her peaceful form. Instead, he simply let out a low growl and pulled her even closer, revelling in the feeling of acceptance and relief, breathing in her scent like a drug.

🍒 I fucking LOVED writing this! Let me know if you want more Raphael or a part 2 please 🍒

[defira85]

OC Deep Dive Questions

Thank you @adorablebanite for the tag! I think you've tagged nearly everyone in the Gortash fandom so I won't double inflict it on people 🤣

We'll shock absolutely everyone and do Kassara

What common/uncommon fear do they have?

I think I've said before that her greatest fear is being alone - Daddy's plan for her to be the last one left at the end of the world is a fucking nightmare for her. That's his fault by making her a twin though, she's never been alone ever in her life even before Gorty Boy came on the scene

Uncommon fear, hmm... I don't know what constitutes uncommon for Toril and for a Bhaalspawn... there's a vain little piece of her that's terrified that Gortash won't find her attractive one day, that he'll wise up to her being a weirdly unnatural sentient blob of goo made from gore and not, you know, a person and he'll tell her she's disgusting... she got the Bhaalspawn breeding urges wrong and she's terrified of being a bad mother, do either of those count?

Do they have any pet peeves?

She hates cryptic bullshit. Withers is SO lucky Carmela and the rest of the extended party were around to moderate her temper. That's what you get after a decade or more of Sarevok and Sceleritas just mysteriously telling her she'll know what to do in order to resurrect Bhaal without giving her any fucking help in the matter at all. Be frank with her, or shut up

What are 3 items you can find in their bedroom?

Soap - old habits die hard but she's always got some sort of rubbing alcohol or hand soap or something to get the worst off her hands. Lube - listen. She's in her late 30s at the time of the game. It's good to have a little help. Moisturiser - again, she's in her late 30s, her skin isn't as bouncy as it was 15 years ago, and that was before she underwent multiple autopsies and flensings at the hands of Kressa.

What do they notice first in a person?

Their pulse

On a scale from 1-10, how high is their pain tolerance?

Oh it's so high. Baby girl was born to relish in pain, her own and other peoples, but now she's older and spent six months on an autopsy table and now she has what the kids call chronic pain and so she's a little slower on the uptake than she used to be. Still a titan though, no matter what Ao says.

Do they go into fight or flight mode when under pressure?

It depends on the situation? If it's an active danger situation, she's fight all the way. If it's an emotional confrontation, you know she's going to burst into angry tears and run away

Do they come from a big family/are they a family person?

TWINSIES. Sarevok wasn't entirely sure that the ritual that created her in the Throne of Blood was foolproof, so he made a backup, and she got herself a twin brother. She and Heron were inseparable up until they got to the Bhaalist temple in their teens, at which point Sarevok instructed Orin and Sceleritas to immediately separate them and try to drive a wedge between them.

(Spoilers for KTMTB but she does want a big family, desperately. And she gets one, in the end)

What animal represents them best?

I vaguely recall answering this on another meme at some point and saying she was a white tiger, but I also think polar bear. Both big, chunky animals, plenty of fat on them, but you wouldn't question for a moment that they're wildly muscular and incredibly dangerous. Also, not uncommon to see a wild pale white woman covered in blood in the Lower City like a polar bear covered in seal blood running across the tundra

What is a smell they dislike?

Mint. She hates mint

Have they broken any bones?

Defira the Author has a Thing about broken bones (not quite a trigger, but bluh) so I tend to avoid writing them in my fics because they make me. Dizzy and such. But I am fairly certain that Bane broke one of her wing bones in Banehold when she turned up to fight him for Gortash's soul (she's got Ansur's soul, she's a draconic valkyrie at that point)

How would a stranger likely describe them?

Incredibly attractive but wildly unsettling. A smile that's bordering on unhinged at times. A stillness that makes you want to break into a sprint. You can tell you're in the presence of a predator.

Are they a night owl, or morning bird?

That's a good question, I never thought about it before, but I'm going to say Night Owl by necessity

What’s a flavour they hate and a flavour they love?

She hates mint. She loves vanilla and cherry blossom

Do they have any hobbies?

She really enjoys learning, and she'd probably be a career student if she could. She particularly loves the sciences and even some of her more dense volumes on astrophysics made the mathematician in Gortash bewildered

Boom, surprise birthday party! How do they react to surprise?

She'd be delighted! To some extent. Bhaalspawn are naturally inclined to avoid too much attention but she was always a diva. She loves having people fawn over her

Do they like to wear jewellery?

Her wedding ring almost never comes off post canon, and lbr she was wearing it constantly in the last few years before the game too (before it was technically a wedding ring). She's a glam bitch and she always did love to dress up so you know she's got entire cabinets full of stolen jewellery from her victims, she mixes and matches for her next gala appearance

Do they have neat or messy handwriting?

Immaculate handwriting, perfect calligraphy. She can replicate and imitate almost any handwriting she comes across though, she's a natural forger and mimic (well, we SAY natural, but it was drilled into her by repetition)

What are the two emotions they feel the most?

Pre-game canon: The urge versus a frustrated sense of yearning for a kind of normalcy that she could never have because that's not what she was made for

Game canon: A bubbling, seething, angry frustration because her body and her impulses scare her! They frustrate her!! What the fuck is her body doing!! As well as a yawning sense of horror and dread as the void in her head where her memories should be begins to look less like a void and more like a gaping chasm with something horrific at the bottom

Post-game canon: That lingering sense of dread and doubt that she has herself under control, far and away outweighed by her blissful delight at the happy ending she found

Do they have a favourite fabric?

I don't think she does actually... I think she likes Gortash's jacket, the texture of it and the smell of it... the way worn-in leather feels when it's been worn for years, and the layers and layers of body odour and sweat (my girl likes his musk, what can I say)

What kind of accent do they have?

I don't actually know what her real voice sounds like - there's so many layers to how she presents herself, the lives she's had to live from her first family to the orphanage to the second family to living on the streets to the Bhaalist temple... she's just a natural mimic, switching herself up to match the environment she's in.

She has a naturally very soft, higher pitched voice. Very girlish. It's another one of those things that makes people underestimate her. After waking up on the nautiloid she has a few months where she's quite husky because she's spent six months having her vocal chords either a) not used or b) being carefully flayed by Kressa to see how fast they regenerate with her titan blood so she sounds a bit more vampish after that. Still very soft spoken though

[y-rhywbeth2]

Father will see I need no instruction, no inspiration. Nor does any true Chosen of Bhaal.

Ah, Orin, missing the entire point of Bhaal assigning her a butler. In the ongoing 'who understands Bhaal better' contest I think this is a point in Durge's corner.

Since Cruor hasn't dissolved and reformed in the Throne of Blood he's probably still 'alive.' Stuffed with the flesh of 'every other butler in this city' (how many do they even have) but alive.

It's also interesting that Orin's had this room for about two months and Durge's things are still in here. For whatever reason she didn't throw them away... And which of them is responsible for the mildly concerning wardrobe full of alcohol? Since Durge's musings on Orin are in there, I assume it's theirs, but then Orin has been using the office area...

Also the Bhaalists just ignoring Durge breaking into their now joint room with Orin and going through her/their stuff while she's still out there waiting for her fight is kind of funny. This is not a fight they're having.

[butilikedyou]

Bruises - Durgetash

Paring: Enver Gortash x The Dark Urge (gender neutral)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Word Count: 1,021

Description: Gortash in the wake of The Dark Urge's apparent death. "But I hope I never lose the bruises that you left behind."

Other Things: Inspired by "Bruises" by Lewis Capaldi. Angst. Hurt/No Comfort.

Warnings: Self harm (no blood, it's mild, especially for Durgetash), alcohol, depression. No happy ending in this.

(Finally posting this on tumblr since I finally made a Gortash blog. Also posted on AO3 here.)

Slamming his office door shut behind him, Enver sighs and heads for the cabinet with his whiskey. The amber liquid is in the glass faster than he’s paying attention, his body moving automatically. 

He sits heavily in his chair, taking a sip of the liquid as he looks at the empty seat in front of him. 

He moves his arm, and frowns at the sensation. 

He strips his rings, gauntlet, and metal sleeve from his skin quickly, and regards the fading bruises on his arm unhappily. 

Taking another drink, he presses into the largest bruise forcefully with his thumb. Grinding the digit into it until he feels the familiar sting. But he continues to irritate it, insistent on bringing back the color the bruise once held. 

He couldn’t lose it. It’s all he had left of them. Of the last night before…

Their body trapped under his, bruising grip on his arms as he drove into them.

He curses and takes another sip. His eyes closing as he continues to abuse the patch of skin. 

The way their breath hitched near his ear, their legs wrapped around him.

Losing them was never something he’d actually considered. They seemed larger than life, a master of death itself. Untouchable by its icy grip. He’d always assumed only time or they themselves would take the Bhaalspawn. 

He hadn’t been prepared for what the reality of life without them would be. Hells he hadn’t even realized how ingrained into his life they had become. Now it felt like ten years had come and gone in an instant.

An entire decade of the most captivating and infuriating being he’d ever met. From a fragile tentative alliance to reaching for them on the other side of his bed many mornings. 

He missed the way they brought out the worst in him. The absolutely vile and wicked schemes and thoughts they stoked like fire within him. Even joining in on the bloody path they carved, and reveling in the gleeful smile they fixed on him when they both stood covered in viscera. 

Though he loathed to admit it, he missed the… other feelings they brought out in him. Not the wicked or lustful. But the softer ones he tried to fight away for the longest time. 

The feeling that coiled in his chest as they looked at him with a softness he didn’t know their features capable of. Knowing his own face reflected the same weakness. Yet ultimately… not caring that it did. 

The touch of another had always been violent, lustful, or seeking. That is what it always was to him. He himself used them to his own advantage. 

While their arrangement started with a lustful frenzy… something they often repeated, it evolved over time. 

Their touch went from just violence and seeking release to the softest brush of their hand on his back, careful fingers fixing his hair, and the softest brush of their mouth against his own to wake him in the morning.

The irony that a being created for murder had touched him more softly and meaningfully than any other in his life wasn’t lost on him. 

Before he knew it, the Bhaalspawn had became one of his primary focuses. The vision at the end of the plan was no longer him standing alone ruling over all in Bane’s name, but them standing beside him as equals. 

Bizarre thoughts of domesticity plagued him. Living together, waking to their face every morning, marriage. Things he couldn’t admit. Things Bane nor Bhaal would ever allow. But things he wanted nonetheless. 

But he grew used to what they had. Their form under his most nights, holding onto him with a bruising grip as he held them to that moment. Where only the two of them existed for a short while. Where he’d pull them to his chest and wake to them still in his arms. The way they’d linger long enough in the mornings to shave his face and lace his shirts. Since they insisted they just wanted to hold a razor to his throat, and he couldn’t be trusted to lace his own shirts properly. 

Then they’d shave him so gently. Their gaze focused as they did it perfect every time. Not a single cut on his face. A fact they would act disappointed about, but one he knew was a lie. If they had wanted to cut him, they certainly would have. 

He was unsure exactly when they’d seized so much of his subconscious thought, until they were gone. He was never truly aware how alone he was most of his life prior to their entrance into it. It was just how life was, how he was. Until they were there for a decade showing him something different. 

He spent all day surrounded by those already tadpoled, blackmailed, or just plain stupid. Everyone beneath him. Those who agree implicitly or would be horrified to find everything lurking beneath the surface of him. Everything he’d done, everything he planned to do. He might as well been alone. 

Then each evening his chambers were empty. Void of he himself most nights now, opting instead to go to his workshop or stay in his office. Sleep came seldom, whether it was the threat of Orin, the amount of work he had, or the aching sense of incompleteness in his chest.

As he sat in his office pressing on the reddening marks on his arm, he feels a sense of shame he pushes past. Shame that this behavior is ridiculous. He’s the Chosen of Bane, he should feel nothing about the death of a Bhaalspawn. But they plague him nonetheless. 

He woke up each day and followed Bane’s will, marched ever forward on the plan of the Absolute, to rule Faerun in his name. He took no time to grieve, he’s worked tirelessly. He’s shown no other his despair. 

This… this one thing he needs. Those final bruises on his skin couldn’t fade away. He wouldn’t let them. It was all he had left of them, and as long as they marked his skin, his Bhaalspawn wasn’t entirely gone. 

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My AO3: Lykao