#and Gort is here 2

[daemon-in-my-head]

Guess who worked 50h last week but still decided to start another horribly detailed whatever-the-fuck?

This masochist.

[m-art77]

Do you guys ever think about how if redeemed!Durge pulls out of Gortash’s alliance after returning with Orin’s Netherstone that Gortash literally cannot rationalize their betrayal (and them now trying to kill him) by blaming their urge? Like how much of a complete mindfuck that would be for him. The Dark Urge just told him they’re 100% cured and now they’re trying to kill him? You know, the person who’s always been by their side, their partner in crime, their equal, and their (potential) lover; and now they’re trying to murder him. And prior to the amnesia, Gortash could always rationalize that if The Dark Urge tried to kill him one day that he could hand wave it as “they just couldn’t help themselves anymore” because of Bhaal’s hold on them. It doesn’t mean they wanted to.

But now, Bhaal is gone and The Dark Urge is moving in to kill him. There’s no way to rationalize it as anything else. The only person who ever cared about him is going to kill him, and he’ll die knowing everything they once had is completely gone. The Dark Urge doesn’t remember him. Their love for him died the moment Orin split their skull. The urge isn’t the reason they’re doing this. He’ll die knowing that they hate him.

[princeofhags]

i just finished reading about iraestra so wand of twilight for her as well!

Wand of Twilight. Iraestra conjures a spirit from the land of the dead to speak to them.

FANTASY PROMPTS | @foxboyclit

Smoke floods the altar in fragrant plumes, the familiar taste of myrrh coating the back of Iraestra's throat uncomfortably. Her steps, purposefully measured and slow, sound monstrous in the cavernous wings of the ceremonial chamber. The peace is further broken by the occasional murmur of an invocation or rustling cloth. There has been no order given for silence, but the trepidation hanging heavy in the air as the incense enforces the command. They all wait in the lurch of a breathless hush, an animal instinct to a known threat. Still, so that the hunter is not enthralled by your fleeing. Anticipation before the blow.

Does their visitor scent the fear he instills in the air, like a hound? Does the chorus of thrumming hearts beckon to him like the call of war drums? Bodies, so many bodies for him to open and bleed.

Itaestra does not doubt that he often relishes it. Bhaalspawn are such curious, depraved half-beasts.

Prince of the Blood. A self-given title, perhaps, but she has heard the reverence Bhaal's faithful pour at his feet like wine libations. Their honored guest is heir to a butcher's legacy. She thinks him little more than a glorified killer draped in the dressings of grandeur.

Iraestra does not cower or draw back from him, but there is still an instinctual unease at the thought of a Bhaalspawn being familiar with her. The Dread Lord’s wicked heirs do not know friends, only warm bodies to bite with steel. The world to them is already dead, merely waiting to be torn asunder to show its truest color: the crimson of fresh spilt blood.

A hedonistic dogma. She holds her tongue due to the respect granted to Bhaal by her own unholy master.

She observes the preparations for the ritual with only half an eye, attention commanded by the ophidian silhouette haunting the edge of the room. What a disquieting picture he paints. His height causes him to loom terribly, heads and shoulders above the flock of mortal meat. He need not even draw his weapon to kill half the room should he wish it. Each finger is tipped with a talon that catches the candlelight with each of his clenching hand. When he had spoken, his teeth had stood out vividly against the stone-black gleam of his scales. The dried gore on his scales embrace him as intimately as any lover.

The wicked length of a barbed tail flickers in what may be a sign of agitation in his people, or merely a quirk of the extra limb. His attention is riveted on the altar. She half expects it to catch aflame.

She attempts not to concern herself with his growing impatience. Any fool can cast a spell to converse with the departed; a Myrkulite only does so at the behest of another and the blessings of the Bone Lord. She will not disregard the tenants of her faith even for this Prince.

"You're eager," she observes. The dragonborn has not left the corpse's side since it was brought to her. Curious. He must be thoroughly invested in the secrets it would spill. "It was good that you preserved the jaw. A wasted trip had you not," she stops by the head, only the breadth of a few steps between her and the Prince.

At that, he finally regards her. Even in his initial instructions he had been short with her. "What of a tongue?

"Is this a theoretical or practical query?" Short of the patience to wait for an answer, Iraestra snaps at one of the attendants. "Bone Talker, check the mouth."

Questing fingers find only half of the appendage still intact. If removed before death, exsanguination is as likely a cause as any.

"It will do," she decides. "I am ready to begin." Her attendants step back as one.

The body has been prepared as best they can given its mangled state. This man, who can be no older than twenty, bares the marks of a slow death. The skull, partially caved, rests unevenly on the cloth. He does not even look peaceful now, as the victims of violence rarely do.

She steps forward, hands rising from her sides. Iraestra readies herself to speak the ancient words.

"Alone," the Prince's clipped voice rings out clearly. Not a request. Demand.

Iraestra hisses her frustration. Better vexation, than dread. She knows the vestments of anger well, slips into them like a second skin. Her mouth twists, her shoulders draw tight. Her hands are half-formed claws in the air. She hears the pound of her own heart in her ears.

What is so important that it cannot be witnessed by the others? What is to be done with her, who will attend to the questioning herself?

"Mistress?" Every cowled head in the room turns to look at her. They hear the call for her death as vividly as she. One of the fools is brave enough to step towards her, as if they could truly do anything to intervene. She admires them for their stupidity.

The Prince watches her, well aware of what he asks for. Trust or faith or maybe both. Clearly, he is looking for a reaction. Will she falter, will she balk? Could he make a bouquet of the stench of her unease? He regards her with a snake's stare, eyes cold licks of fire. He does not blink.

If he thinks he can subdue her so easily, then he is sorely mistaken. She is drow. She is Oblodra. Her own mother's hands were the first to ever try to take her life. He will find no easy marks here today. Let him slake his thirsts elsewhere. There are other, weaker creatures for him to gorge himself on.

"Leave us," Iraestra does not take her eyes from the Prince. She does not speak or move again until the door clicks shut behind the last attendant. How awfully similar it sounds to the closing stone of a tomb.

She rounds on him, irritation clear. "Why did you ask for me?"

The Prince is the first to look away, back to her hands and then the body. Iraestra does not feel like she has won anything of merit. It is impossible to tell if he is pleased. "The Banite confides in you. I thought to do the same."

He does not give a name, nor does she ask for it. She wonders at what the Prince knows of her talks with the other Chosen.

"And what if his confidence is misplaced?" A theoretical. Her loyalty is not often brought into question. It is rare that she pledges it at all.

"Then I will kill you," the Prince simply states.

She laughs. That intention is only the natural conclusion of the dance. There is no greater aim for those of his depraved bent. "So you say. Did you not plan to do so already?"

His head tilts in a particularly reptilian gesture. His glittering eyes have found the pulse in her throat, her bare wrists. She cares not for his study. It feels too much like a physical caress, high beneath dress and robe. One hunger is not too different from another, and she supposes they may be frighteningly the same for him. Both indulgences of the flesh, in the end. "Do not tempt me. Your blood would spill sweetly on this floor."

Iraestra sneers. "Cast your fetid gaze elsewhere, brute. You will not find easy prey in me."

He chuckles darkly. "Of that I am sure. I would savor the challenge as much as anything else."

"I was under the impression that there were more pressing matters at hand, given your early insistence on haste."

"Time can always be afforded for pleasure, sorceress. Consider the feel of silk on the skin. The burst of fruit between teeth and the rush of the juice down your chin, the clench of a lover tight around you as they sob your name. That final, shuddering breath that flutters out of the throat at death. Do you not feel the drum of the heart in your own chest? Do you not wish to dance to it? If you are so indifferent to it, I could show you how to listen to it once more. To feel it." How reverently he speaks, as if he is at the shrine of his own father-god. His lids have nearly closed in rapture.

There's smoke in the dragonborn's mouth and anticipation in his words, thick enough to choke on. He whispers with the tongue of a snake, words dripping from the depravities he utters.

As mad as his sister, the shape-changer, Iraestra decides with disdain. The seed of Bhaal is truly cursed with madness, complete and true. It was preferable when he was barely acknowledging her presence despite demanding it in the first place.

"You have nothing that I desire." Were she younger, still a fool turned by a pretty face, she may have once allowed herself to be seduced by the offer. She ignores the answering hook of arousal low in her gut, focusing once more on the misshapen head on the pillow. Reminds herself of whose hands exactly have crushed it. There is much to do before she is ready for the grave. "Now, if you will allow me to get on with this, we may be each rid of the other before long."

“A pity that you deny yourself,” but he nods. “Perform your rites. Regretfully, I cannot linger for long.” 

Iraestra does not regret that. She is exhausted and enthralled by him in equal measure. Let this be the first and last time she suffers his company. 

She begins her prayer to the dead. 

[doomingthenarrative]

im curious about something bg3 fandom

also if you want to put your favorite in the tags!

[venushorned]

"If I were to kiss you, would you turn me away or pull me closer?"

Her dressing room was modest, but it was private and plush, with a chaise and armchair tucked into one corner and a small table overflowing with roses between them. Against the opposite wall, a delicate brass rack held the scraps of silk, tulle, and strings of pearls that made up her costumes, and the central feature was, of course, the vanity: grand, pale wood with an ornate triptych mirror, currently covered with the skirt she had peeled off sometime before. The dressing gown she slipped into was longer, ruffles at the neckline curling back to expose the corset beneath, and flowing white sleeves trailed in her wake. 

Gossamer had been invited to spend the season as a guest feature at a theatre in the Upper City, and Baldur’s Gate had given her—was still giving her—a warm welcome. It was no Waterdeep, but things were more complicated in Waterdeep. There were real things there, responsibilities and expectations, but in the City of Blood, she was just an ingénue in a state of dreaming. She would waste time hiding from… something she had not quite named yet in Baldur’s Gate, and when whatever it was caught up to her there, she would return home with her tail between her legs. In the meantime, she would enjoy the champagne and roses waiting for her each night, and she would revel in the view of the sky from her dressing room windows. It wasn’t an especially good one, and Waterdeep should have spoiled her for good views—but the sky was the sky. She didn’t care.

What surprised her was the increasing frequency with which happenstance appeared to have been placing her in the pathway of Lord Enver Gortash, who, for whatever reason, was becoming a persistent itch under her skin. It was an irritation that demanded fresh attention with every smirk caught across a room, every polite greeting shared among mixed company. She smiled at him like they shared some secret; he smiled back, and she liked it more than she was strictly comfortable with.

He was just a man—that much was true. Even up here on the surface, where they were allowed to wield great power, she found them easy enough to master. With him, there was just… something. He was formidable, she supposed. Intelligent eyes. And he had started paying visits.

There beneath the dim flicker of violet faerie fire—a lingering preference from the City of Spiders—they talked. Laughed. Teased. He met her wit for wit and then some as cool ocean air cut through open windows and candles dripped fragrant wax, and the second time he came, she asked for a closer look at the gauntlet. Gortash was on the chaise while she pulled pins and pearls from her hair before the vanity mirror, letting it fall curl-by-curl as her nimble fingers worked, but he stood at the request and appeared behind her. She listened only distantly to the midnight-rich drawl of his explanation in her ear as he stood over her with his gauntleted hand on the vanity, allowing her to observe while she continued the tedious work of unpinning her hair. 

“If I were to kiss you, would you turn me away or pull me closer?”

That got her attention. Gossamer looked up suddenly, finding the reflection of Gortash’s eyes in the mirror, and lowered her hands from her hair as she glanced down to his scarred mouth. An irritating, impatient little voice in her head was annoyed that he would ask at all instead of just getting on with it; she expertly ignored that.

“I don’t know.” She shook her hair out, letting loose curls bounce and settle with the tinkle of the bells on her horns. And then she stood and turned to face him, leaning against the edge of the vanity and looking up from beneath pale lashes. She wanted it the other way around: him looking up at her. “I haven’t decided yet.”

@lordgortrash | from: x

[k3yboi]

Hi Gort! I've been following you for a while and I LOVE your art style. I was chatting with Tree just now and he encouraged me to ask you to draw platonic Mo^2 (Morella and Monty). So [gestures vaguely] here I am! No pressure though, even just a 5 minute doodle will be fine. Thank you for all of your hard work <3

eeeee i’m eating you thankyou so much 😞

ive actually never really given those two much thought, but while thinking i got this doodle idea. i gave up a tad with the bandages but i actually like how it turned out

they’re having girls night…

[lucky-cat]

I made a joke that Gortash and Cazador have mismatched boots after Gort slept with Caz for money/power and Gort grabbed the wrong boots on the way out. This joke lead me to making a very cursed comic. Tumblr will not let me post the whole thing even censored. So here’s the first 2 pages and the rest is on Twitter and Cohost (NSFT/W).

[loderlied]

He lies upon her, and his will becomes hers. No, she thinks, it is not a becoming if it always was. His will is her, and she and he move the scissors to her head.

~~

Louise Bernard gives all of herself to Enver Gortash. How could she not, when it was always rightfully his?

here you go my contribution to gort week day 2. content warnings for severe emotional manipulation, implied sex and also gortash is the one being worshipped if that’s not ur jam.

[telvarla]

Real Power

Day 2 - Worship

This started as a sketch of thugs kissing his hand The Godfather style, but when I realised I had to draw legs and, like a coward, retreated to home base. So here’s a closeup.

Concept Art Gort looks like a metalhead that had a terrible breakup (House of Hope).

[daemon-in-my-head]

Haven't done one of these in ages but ask game kinda ish except I'm including an obnoxious twist?

Songs that describe ur Durge or Durgetash in situations - but without lyrics, were going with vibes lads

Here are the rules: it must be an instrumental piece. No lyrics. For further details nd exaples see the end of the post. Also, explain why you chose it. What's the vibe you're going for? How does it relate to the character? Are there particular sections in the music you have specific visions or smth for? A rather quiet passage that resembles their emotional state? Is it messy because they are messy? That kind of stuff.

Their overall vibe, what's the song that makes you go 'yeah that's them in a nutshell'?

If Durge had an intro; what's the bg music and if ya feel like it, what's happening at which parts of the track?

Act 1; what plays on the rock behind their tent if they had one?

Act 2; if their inner monologue plays, what track accompanies it?

Act 3 - before the temple; how we doing? What's our vibe? What little tune accompanies them? Are we a lil tense, relaxed, what's going on?

Act 3 - after the temple; what music speaks for their choices and mindset? How fucked is the sword coast?

Faerûn is a magic medival setting, the esteemed upper city gatherings didn't have a rock star to create the ambiance, so what would the little ensemble play to describe whatever a tyrant and a Bhaalspawn got going on to the listening patriars pre tadpole?

Obv, what's the vibe like after that slight amnesia and forgetting all about the sad little racoon man like between em? What updated version does the ensemble play for the nosy patriars?

Also generally if it differe; what's the vibe of pre tadpole Durge like?

The vibe some time after the epilogue when the dust settled - what describes this 'new' durge?

Bonus cuz why not; the one piece of music that describes Gort or his side best?

I should specify what I mean with instrumental: grand orchestras, classical pieces, a single guitar, reimaginations of classic pieces or pop songs, movie or game soundtracks, any kind of instrumental track rly, the only retirement is that there's no distinguishable lyrics. Vocals are fine if it's atmospheric like for example, the vocals in DOS2 main theme or the nightsong track. Let the music and vibes speak for themselves. Think about what ur listening and what aspects of your characters it matches. How is it of relevance to them?

[kitthenameless]

I finished my BG3 evil durge run!

Evil runs were clearly not the intended vision, judging from how spotty the content is. But I did see some new stuff, and the new ending cinematic goes hard. (I did the evil Tav ending.) Overall, I had a lot of fun really leaning into the evil, and getting a whole little movie in the end was a nice finale.

Also this was my first Tactician run, though I had 5-6 people for most fights, and my durge could fly. Still, was a higher difficulty than I've done before, so *pats self on back*

Anyway, here's the summary of my Act 2 and Act 3. Warning for general spoilers and evil ending screenshots at the end!

Not much happened in Act 2. Killed Isobel but spared Aylin and managed to get her and Jaheira to join camp. Poor Gale tried to save the gnomes by opening their cell once the guards were all dead, but they just died outside. Astarion broke up with Durge (Remiel), but there were never feelings involved anyway. I made a whole post about my mess of a Myrkul fight in which I decided to loose a spectator instead of reloading lol. Other than that, they did what they had to do and moved on, leaving the lands cursed.

Then it was onto Act 3. Memories rushing back after the coronation, Remiel decided to go give the Archduke a little private visit. Gortash warned him not to come back without the netherstones, but he doesn't take orders from Gortash. And he needed to remind him of that ;-)

In the city, I couldn't figure out how to kill the people on the list without initiating combat with everyone nearby, so the group started kidnapping people and taking them to the sewers to kill them there. The fact that you can technically do that (by exploiting fast travel) is a lot funnier to me than it should be. Also met this mysterious man!

Continued doing evil things. (Skip this paragraph if you don't care about the list of evil choices.) Got into the Murder Tribunal, sacrificed Jaheira, and killed Valeria to become an Unholy Assassin. Killed Thrumbo. Went to the Society of Brilliance where they found a massacre and met the gith egg baby all grown up. Made a deal with the hag. Broke into House of Hope just to steal Raphael's valuables and kill his boy toy. Handed Aylin over to Lorroakan, because Remiel figured it'd be easier to bring Lorroakan under his thumb than Aylin. Handed Shadowheart over to the Sharrans. Did not help Astarion ascend because he didn't want him to have that much power. Still killed Cazador and the spawns though. Regretted killing the spawns when all the Gur kept calling it a kindness and praised him for doing the "right" thing.

And of course he killed Orin. But he rejected daddy because he decided he wants to do evil for himself.

The only person Remiel has a soft spot for is Gortash. He doesn't want to mind control him, he wants to rule with him sorta, but he still wanted the power for himself and couldn't have Gort getting in the way. So when they met at the Morphic Pool, he (in my headcanon) knocked him out or used poisons to put him to sleep. He even left his crossbow and a healing potion. (But of course they acted like immature children before that.)

Skipped the entire courtyard with invisibility. Got to the final bit of brain quickly, but I failed all attempts to hit it at the Morphic Pool, so it had full HP, and it got dicey at the end. The few characters still alive just barely managed to win before their platform was obliterated.

And then Remiel betrayed everyone and took control of the brain... and the world. *muahahahaha*

The end 🙂 Gosh I love his evil faces lol.

Mods: Kylin's Heads. Silver's Hair Pack. Slutty Closet. Glitzy Horns. Heroes never die - Angel Wings. One of Astralities's skintone mods, I think. Y-Shaped Autopsy Scars. Lokelani's Lavish Livery.

[eye-of-yelough]

anyway here’s the aeryn/gortash dynamic explanation.

nsfw shit under the cut. CW for. i mean so much. but specifically CNC

because it is all consensual, despite the atrocities. although it’s worth mentioning that that does not make it healthy and there’s definitely a lot of manipulation going on so like. is it. its dubious that’s for fucking sure.

So. their dynamic is really just me taking “psychosexual warfare” and seeing how far i can possibly take it. That’s it in a nutshell. also exploration of how a sexual “relationship” between a hypersexual (aeryn) and aroace (gortash. to me) would work.

Aeryn’s hypersexuality is a real point of interest to Gortash, and is his main angle when trying to pick apart his psyche, the way his behaviour changes depending on how long he’s gone without, how it seems intrinsically linked to his Urges, “whoever decided to call it bloodlust was a fucking genius” - Aeryn, probably.

That fascination really hits its pique when, somewhere a between 2 and 3 years into their unsteady partnership, gort wakes up in the middle of the night to aeryn just straight up jerkin it. staring at him. (wether he was already there because aeryn stayed over after them being awake for 50 hours plotting and doing medical malpractice or he just walked all the way there from the undercity to break in and wack it to gort’s sleeping body, i don’t know. but it’s important to me that you know that with aeryn, while the former is more likely, the latter is entirely plausible. he’s a creep.) obviously this brings up a lot of question in gortash’s head. “did he want to be caught?” (most definitely.) “has he done this before without me noticing?” (you can bet on it, mate.)

Sad thing is, I can’t for the life of me figure out what gort would actually do in the moment here, but it’s when he realises that if he wants to manipulate Bhaal’s favourite child, to claim, to conquer, he’s going to have to speak his language. so the next morning he very nonchalantly brings up the incident that Aeryn is eagerly pretending didn’t happen, and offers his help him with his little sex addiction. puts himself in this caring, almost therapeutic role. bullshit, of course. he has no intention of fixing just yet. only after he’s been broken can he be fixed, remade in his perfect image. and aeryn, to his credit, does know that it’s bullshit. he just underestimates the depth of it. See, he knows that Gortash wants to break him. he knows that gortash is a manipulative, domineering control freak. but he kind of just. thinks it’s a weird sex thing. his reaction to gort’s proposal is basically “you’re even weirder than i thought. okay fine. i’ll play your game. i’ll win in the end.”

That’s another key part of their dynamic: mutual misunderstanding. Aeryn thinks it’s a game, Gortash thinks it’s war. Gortash thinks he’s breaking Aeryn, but Aeryn’s loving it.

Gortash’s “therapy” is anything but, of course. Aeryn doesn’t become less of a sex pest, he just finds it increasingly difficult to enjoy himself with anyone but Gortash, who knows him, what he likes and doesn’t like, inside and out. (all part of the plan, the possessive cunt) which pisses Aeryn off to no end because the man Just Won’t Fuck Him in the way he wants. oh, they’re doing weird “stabbing as a metaphor for penetration”, sexually charged medical malpractice, voyeurism, full on bdsm shit all the time, but there’s very little… touching. Gortash just gets off way more on denying Aeryn what he wants while slowly driving him insane with desperation than he ever would if they just. had sex. This isn’t to say they never do, but we’re talking 10 years down the line here, and only under very specific conditions. (more on that in a bit.) If aeryn was right about one thing, it’s Gortash being a weird sexual control freak.

anyway here’s some things their warfare includes:

Gortash bringing some noble up to his chambers to seduce them, notices the window he left closed is open, a chair in the corner’s cushion being smushed down by an invisible weight, and thinking “ah, i’m performing for two tonight.”

one of Gortash’s main weird psychosexual fantasies about Aeryn being turning him into an Actual Doll and keeping him on his shelf for all eternity. he makes many different types of dolls after Aeryn’s likeness, including plushies that he holds at night for a few months before giving them to Aeryn just to savour the look of confusion and disgust on his face.

Gortash stealing some of Aeryn’s Bhaal-sculpted skin and turning it into gloves.

Aeryn waking up after Gortash spikes him in increasingly awkward positions over the years (this happens a lot. like, a lot.) the first time he wakes up bound, gagged and blindfolded in gort’s basement. “i just wanted to see how long it would take you unti you freed yourself. 2 minutes and 31 seconds if you were wondering. i’m impressed :)” eventually he gets used to that routine and he just ends up laying under gort’s desk for a few hours, listening to him work, Gortash occasionally talking to him like you do to a pet. this is probably the closest they get to domesticity. A few years down the line, Aeryn wakes up naked, covered in bruises and black handprints, aching between his thighs.

Knowing it finally happened, but having no memory? If I had to pinpoint the closest Gortash ever got to winning the war, it was there. something in his brain genuinely breaks that night.

Oh. And they only kiss once. Right before Aeryn’s lobotomy, as well, it’s a whole thing. I might make that into a separate post. or you can send an ask. that’d be nice :)

edit: here it is

[flymmsy]

Speaking of Simptash - any instance of blood bonding I think he’d go fucking ape for. Both he and Durge have wounds and Durge mashes them together like ehehehe word up dad and Gort’s like “bwuh??”

Ooooh hard agree anon. So many different scenarios in my head for this one.

1. Secret wedding. They do some sort of blood bonding thing (and it’s also a little hilarious because Gortash thinks it’s so raw and Durge is like 🙄 you should see a real bhaalist wedding)

2. Completely unprompted during a heist. Gortash has been simping hard but Durge has been indifferent but then they pull THAT out of nowhere. Gortash would go full “i think i hauve covid”

3. Sometime after their reunion. Maybe when they renew their pact. And it’s so intimate and so charged and they both are shook by it for very different reasons.

3b. During a fight after Durge returns and they slash Gortash and he slashes them but then he grabs them to bring their bodies close and Durge’s mind short circuits.

4. HERES THE ANGST. When Gortash dies. And Durge will do anything to keep a part of him with them.

[sybaritick]

best of!

I was tagged by @say-lene (who is absolutely one of the best writers in this fandom) to discuss a few pieces of fic that best exemplify my writing/style/personality. So here are my thoughts! :D

4 - At Knifepoint [Astarion/Gale, 2.4k, E]

Astarion's face was cruel and angular in the half-light of the darkened library, stark shadows cast across his features, lips curled into a teasing smile. The Dispel Magic spell rushed over him faster than he could answer it, dark and sour like a sickening wave, and the invisibility curled away from his body like the burnt edge of a newspaper.

I love to play with the contrast between what the rational brain wants and what the stupid horny subby brain wants and this fic absolutely goes in on that. We like a little fearplay and horror and Gale's guilty lust for being eaten. It was for an exchange to go with this incredible artwork!

3 - that urge often miscalled 'free will' [Gortash/Gale, 4.3k, E]

Gale thinks, for an odd second, that he can feel the flow of data pour into his throat and spread through his limbs, an anesthetic tingling in his veins, drowsy and even. He knows it’s nothing of the sort. That was the sort of foolish thing one might have pictured as a child, but data is weightless and instant and empty, and no zeroes and ones fill his veins. Enver watches from his chair, glancing between Gale and the computer while he makes his cryptic little adjustments. He has a leg tucked under him, a thick-soled work boot wedged under the opposite thigh.  Gale feels the fingers of his right hand flex and pull involuntarily, and the hand balls up into a fist that makes his nails bite into his palm for a good second before releasing. “Sorry, I’m not sure–” Gale starts, before looking over at Gortash, who has the hint of a smile curling onto his lips. Enver responds wordlessly, typing something blunt and fast and watching as the fingers of Gale’s other hand flex in turn, one by one. “A bit of manual testing for that faster transmission of reflexes I suggested,” Enver says. “Pardon me for the lack of warning.” Gale feels the swell of fear like an ignoble tightness in his throat that makes it irresponsible to swallow.

Am I bold enough to put a fic I just posted last night in my "best of"? Yes. It was this or Incentives for Compliance and this one exemplifies my issues even more. :) i love writing about the horror of losing control of your own mind and body and this fic is Very Clearly About That. oh and it also has that relentlessly horny pussy description that's important:

He slots in the vulva, running a thumb over the plump hairy outer lips, just ghosting over the inner folds peeking through in soft ripples, across the mons fat and rounded above; a beautiful match to Gale’s form.

2 - oh, rotten little thing [Astarion/Gale, 1.9k, M]

“So you admit it,” Astarion said, pulling his hand back. “Naughty thing. I bet so little power wouldn't be nearly enough to sate it. Perhaps I’m just an appetizer, then. Something to whet its appetite before you hunt down a wizard for your main course." "If you’re so certain it’s developed its own sort of vampirism, I would think you’d be more careful," Gale warned. "And I'm certainly not willing to consume the Weave of a person the way I would an object– if such a thing is even possible." "Oh, I think you would," Astarion answered gleefully. “If it’s you or another? If the alternative is the bomb in your chest leveling the entirety of Baldur’s Gate?”

This is probably my favorite bloodweave fic I've written because it gets to something I enjoy a lot about their personalities-- the way an unhealthy Astarion might take pleasure in luring Gale to be "worse", to dragging Gale down to his own level, and the way Gale has his pride but also a certain practicality and is more willing than he'd like to admit to bend his ethical principles a bit. There's also some great banter in this one which I really enjoy.

1 - Tephra Year [Gortash/Gale, 25k+, E]

and Highharvestide [Gortash/Gale, 3.9k, M]!

In the heat of the moment all he could imagine was that Gortash found this all the more desirable. A nice, fat, pliable mage to bury his cock in and rule the city with. What would they become, if Gortash's plans came to fruition? Gale was not naïve enough to believe his ambitions stopped at becoming Archduke of Baldur's Gate.  He'd be kept neck-deep in vile projects while Enver’s influence swallowed up each little town along the Chionthar. He had no doubt the Black Hand had designs on the rest of the Sword Coast. He'd set his sights on Waterdeep, and perhaps Gale was just another piece of his claim, another spoil of war, a pretty souvenir from the City of Splendors.

this fic is essentially designed to contain most of my favorite topics, tropes, and kinks, from the relatively ordinary (power imbalance, transmasc dom, manipulation, the tension between what you want and what you wish you wanted) to the weirder and more specific (feeding + weight gain as domestication, guilty masturbation over things you are morally opposed to, classism, politics, questions of guilt and responsibility/Whose Fault Is This Really?, transhumanism and evil biotech).

as for throwing in Highharvestide... I would be remiss not to include at least one overtly feedist fic when it's definitely the kink I'm most "known" for (and the one I know some of you are following me for. 😉) I was truly torn between featuring this and catalyst, but I think this one better exemplifies what I am really here for... feeding as a power game, fattening as domestication, how appealing Gale's new softness might be to a partner...

for that reason i have taken a lot of joy in writing Tephra Year + its side story/ies. I think my enthusiasm comes through and makes the piece even better than my usual work :)

---

and I will tag, if they're interested: @tuffgreg, @chronurgy, @archduke-enver-gortash, and @spellmage! :D (hopefully I managed to pick people who haven't been tagged yet, I tried to!)

[kawareo]

2 and 6 for the durgetash creator asks? :)

(was waiting for you to rb this one djgkdh)

(I was three hours late, im sorry! T-T)

2. Romance, queerplatonic, eldritch horror? How would you describe the relationship these two have? This time without limitation.

Romance, eldrich horror, queer and ready to tear (up the world), partners in crime, equals, ect ect They've been engaged for a few years before the bg3 events even though Gortash wasn't aware of it, Durge proposed by asking him if Gort can be the last person he kills, and Gort agreed without knowing what a Bhaalist wedding is.

6. What's the most wholesome hc you have for them? Something they did, a particular approach at bonding, just them being disgustingly soft once? Some good old hand in hand vivisection?

I write surprisingly a lot of wholesome stuff for them! Like this, or this, or this entire longfic! They essentially are very cute, as long as you look through red colored glasses and see the mauling and gore and manipulation for affection which it is lol. Durge is especially very affectionate, but his Urges do make him maul Gortash far too often; Gort meanwhile needs a few years before it hits him that Durge genuinely likes him for all of his quirks and that's when he commits to the 'equals' thing, before that he was just trying to get himself a Bhaalspawn attack dog.

But if you want actual wholesome stuff, here; Gortash keeps making new fancy weapons for Durge and also likes to force him to get some sleep, meanwhile Durge cares a lot about Gort's physical health (he got him wrist braces for his carpal tunnel and forces him to wear it) and even while he doesn't understand technology not even close to as well as Gort does, he could listen to him rambling about it for hours

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

WIP Wednesday

Apparently, writers post their WIPs on this glorious day. Why not, I'll bite - I'm in the middle of something right now ;)

As some of you know, I have this fun little thrupple of f!Durge, Gort and Halsin. I've written 2 smutty Durgetash fics, so now it's time for a Halsin-only interlude fic before I mix them up more.

So I share with you this smutty and fluffy snippet 💛

Explicit NSFW 18+, f!Durge, loving smut (inexperienced blowjob), angst, fluff. (No aggressive abs and dehydrated muscles 😘)

His breath catches when my teeth gently nip at his earlobe. The tips of my fingers run along the swirly lines of his tattoo, then down to his chest to tangle in the bushy body hair. I press my palms into his flesh, enjoying the perfect ratio of firmness and softness of his impressive muscles.

I toss all restraint aside and bite into his scrumptious breast. He chuckles, but I sense the tremble of his hand as it comes up to rake my hair. Encouraged by this, I gently bite into his skin lower and lower, over the mild hill of his plush tummy, right down to the hem of his trousers.

I hear him gulp above me and I grin to myself, my mouth already watering at the sight of the bulge of his cock straining against the fabric.

I look up and he knows what I’m asking. One corner of his mouth curls upwards and he nods, his hazel eyes wild.

I’ve only done this to him twice and I was bad at it—I couldn’t fit much of him in my mouth and I gagged way too soon—but I loved tasting him and he seemed to enjoy letting me. So I free the thick shaft from his trousers and lie on my stomach with my head in his lap, so I can use both my hands to play.

It’s long and thick and dreamy. A delicate pattern of veins stretches across the delicious purplish velvet. The head is like a bell hat on top, already softly glistening, sporting the clear bead of his excitement as a fancy accessory.

“Has anyone ever told you your cock is gorgeous?” I can't help but ask.

He’s watching me with hooded eyes and seems taken by surprise by my question. So I wait for nothing and wrap my lips around him. I hum in approval, tasting the musky goodness. Then begin unhurriedly licking and sucking, taking in as much as I safely can.

The sounds I’m drawing from him are music to my ears. The vulnerability of a man with his manhood at the mercy of a lover’s mouth… there’s something divine about it. I’m almost positive a chunk of my enjoyment lies in the desire to have power over people in an entirely different situation: torture and murder. But the majority of me loves it for these sounds.

And for the chaotic, unfocused way his hand is softly grasping for my hair; not to control, but to caress.

“Nara,” he manages to grunt as I’m mindlessly swirling my tongue around the head, tasting his musk. “I need to be inside you.”

My eyes widen in a silent question. Oh well, I shrug to myself. I can give it a good try. I angle him into my mouth, try to relax my throat as much as I can, and slowly slide more and more of him in.

I feel his fingers touch my chin as he chuckles. I let go of his cock and look up.

“I had something else in mind,” he smiles and gently guides me up to his mouth. “Your turn,” he whispers and kisses me, his hands already pulling my clothes off.

“Oh,” I snicker. “Not getting better at it, am I?”

“You still need practice,” he rumbles, amusement in his tone. “But it’s not that I didn’t enjoy it. I just want to repay you.”

“You’ve kept me alive through the worst case of my murderous urges, I think there’s nothing to repay,” I shake my head.

“I would have done that regardless of the shape of our bond, Nara,” he looks me in the eyes, mien serious. “I want to repay your love. You could have been with your old flame right now, getting treated like the deity you are. Instead, you’re here with me, worried about my feelings. I fail to put into words what that means to me.”

“Halsin,” I breathe out, hugging him. “That just makes me want to shower you with love even harder. I want you to feel loved. Do you feel loved when you’re with me?”

He gulps and softly sighs, “Yes.”

I can tell he’s scared. Perhaps expecting me to disappear. I can’t even imagine what would make me do that if I was free—but Bhaal can still make the choice for me. There’s really nothing I can promise as long as I’m puppeteered by his hand.

So I hug Halsin tighter, running my fingers through his hair, inhaling their scent. He slowly finishes undressing me, his fingers electrifying every inch of my skin they touch. The air is getting cool as the sun is slowly setting, but his enormous form is like a furnace, keeping me warm against the breeze.