#give me gortash privileges

[tinywalkingheater]

I'm going to be so for real now guys I want to rail Gortash. I need him. I have an obsession with this 40 year old emo who looks like he just crawled out of a hot topic. I want to give him the most sheet-clenching, lip-biting, toe-curling prostate orgasm of all time. I think filthy thoughts about this man on a daily basis. He for real has me kicking my feet giggling in my bed like a teenage girl. Larian please give me him. I want to bite and chew on him like a dog with its favorite toy. Let me have Bhaalist ritual blood sex with him. I am on my knees begging for this man. I am feral.

Okay that's enough horny posting on main for today.

[vibingandsimping]

hi! would you feel comfortable writing up something for a godhood!gale after he assembles the crown of karsus and wields the power for himself, seeking out a vulnerable tav as his chosen? i think the darker aspects of gale’s personality, like his ego and his possessiveness, could be really attractive

I like the way your brain thinks. Keep sending me juicy thoughts like this… I am THRIVING. He 100% would seek you out.

I wanted to make this a longer post for one of my follower goal specials. I rewrote this like two or three times because I liked the prompt. Still, was never satisfied with it. I will possibly write something based off this later… but for now enjoy a drabble + some headcanons :)

(also still haven’t finished the game… work is a bitch 🤞)

Gale always sought out knowledge and power. It was how he had gotten so intimately involved with Mystra. He spent his life studying and practicing to ensure he’d be a great wizard- like his mentor Elminster. Yet, nothing ever truly felt like enough to him. The weave in his chest ever-consuming proof of his hunger. That was until the Netherstones. He nearly drooled when you held Ketheric’s in your hand. The power thrumming and sending his veins alight. He thought all to have only a fraction of their power… but these. These stones were unlike anything he’d ever seen.

Everytime he stood near Orin or Gortash, his skin would tingle. He yearned to wield that for himself. To study and debunk everything behind it and nurture his mind with the intellect he could collect. He placed his trust into you. You led the group and held them close to you after killing Orin. Gale was noticeably on edge the entire trip with Gortash. He chalked it up to nerve- partially true. The Elder Brain was a powerful entity and surely would be intimidating. So, you as oblivious as ever, smiled and reassured him. He almost envied you. Once you reached the brain with the Archduke, you handed over the two stones and reconnected the three. Piecing together the Crown of Karsus. After Gortash was slain by Bane for serving his purpose… fate was left in your hands.

He watches as you turn the artifact over to him. He’s trembling as he holds the crown, finally feeling the immense magic coursing through him. He closes his eyes and claims it for himself- finally. When he reopens he is faced with Mystra who is less than pleased. He won’t relent, no, this is what he wanted. She placed a bomb in his chest just to ensure nobody could claim this power. How ironic that he ended up being Karsus’s successor? After winning a mental duel she curses him and banishes him from her realm. Why should he care, though? Mystra was nearly useless to him. He was a god now. When he returns to your realm, his skin glows ever so slightly and his brown eyes are much brighter. You can see his changed form and sense the change of his mind. He takes one of your hands in his- his skin electrifying to the touch. It sends a shiver down your spine. Gale draws the back of your hand to his lips and presses a tender kiss. “Thank you,” he hums, “for bestowing this privilege onto me. I won’t let it be for nothing. Join me, my love. I can give you anything and everything you’d ever want.” Quite frankly, how could you turn down a god?

Gale was different from that day on. He was still tender and caring. So doting for your every need. Yet, he seemed to view you much differently. You were a mortal- so weak in comparison to him. His lips would trail your skin as if you were porcelain and he so despised not having you by his side. What if something happened to his beloved lover? Oh, and don’t you dare imply that he’s changed. His usual gentle and… a little overprotective or possessive nature will morph. He’ll become colder and stare at you. How has he changed, his beauty? What do you mean he doesn’t treat you the same? Isn’t this better? In the lap of power and in the hands of a god?

Careful what you say and do. He would hate having to punish you. Stripping you of your magic abilities or casting a spell to dumb-ify you. That, or how about being trapped in his personal quarters for a couple days? With no-one but himself to keep you company? Oh, don’t worry. Those are only if you disrespect his new placement. He knows it’s a lot to adjust to, he’s still adjusting himself. This is a journey you’ll take on together, hand in hand, just like how you started. He’ll do nearly anything for you, only ask. Just promise to never leave his side, okay? He couldn’t bare to let you go.

And if you did leave… it won’t be for long. He will find you and he’ll ensure that you recognize the mistake. You can’t escape your god, love.

[great-tusk]

BG3 for the fandom ask!!! - @zomboyfren

@zomboyfren, ty for the ask!!! This is going to be fun to answer, since anyone who doesn’t know the characters is gonna get to see some of these goofy ass names. There is genuinely a character named Wulbren Bongle, and he will appear later on this list.

blorbo (favorite character, character I think about the most)

Shadowheart <3. My little Sharty-poo. I even made her in Miitopia on the Switch.

I also think about Minsc and Jaheira a shit ton because I ship them so much and the ship makes me crazy. I’m so passionate about it AHAHAHA. I don’t understand why it’s such a rarepair. I also selfship with Minsc, so most of the time, I see it as a V poly with him in the middle.

scrunkly (my “baby”, character that gives me cuteness aggression, character that is So Shaped)

Quentin (my main character), especially resist Dark Urge Quentin. He’s so adorable. He has the cutest smile and a little ponytail and a love where his bf truly believes in the goodness inside of him. Quentin, you will always be famous (and a canon character) to me. He’s my baby because I created him, and he’s shaped like a beautiful perfect boy.

scrimblo bimblo (underrated/underappreciated fave)

KETHERIC THORMMMMM. He’s so overlooked because Gortash and Orin are attractive to people, and Ketheric does not have the same PRETTY PRIVILEGE!!!!! But he was like originally planned to be a companion. That’s how good deep down redeemable villain he is!!! He genuinely loved his daughter and wife with all of his heart, and grief consumed him. If you bring up his wife and how he can still choose good instead of evil, he will sacrifice himself instead of fighting you.

glup shitto (obscure fave, character that can appear in the background for 0.2 seconds and I won’t shut up about it for a week)

If you knock out Alfira as Dark Urge right before the night where you regularly kill her, she will be replaced by an adorable Dragonborn!

Her name is Quil Grootslang (Qu name like me!) and she’s a sweet bard who loves romance and throat-sings.

poor little meow meow (“problematic”/unpopular/controversial/otherwise pathetic fave)

Born from incest, loves to kill people, Bhaalspawn. These are all traits of my beautiful angel Orin. Do I like her for the above traits and her personality, or do I like her because she’s hot? I’ll never tell 😉.

horse plinko (character I would torment for fun, for whatever reason)

Doomed deep gnome yaoi, save me. Save me, doomed deep gnome yaoi. I don’t need to censor this in case someone likes Wulbren Bongle. I have never seen a human being who enjoys this character. Someone made a song hating on him.

A man (Barcus Wroot) who considers Wulbren Bongle a close best friend goes through a shit ton of effort to make sure that he ends up safe, insisting that I need to help him. I have to be the backbone of a prison break to save him. But everyone ends up safe and sound. I’m so relieved, and talking to all of the newly freed prisoners. Everyone else is fairly kind to me, even the more sarcastic characters seeming to be grateful. So I go up to Wulbren last, and he basically tells me to fuck off. He says he’s busy. No thank you, no reward. He could not have done it without me. I gave him the weapon needed to break through the wall, and there was no chance that he would find someone else to do it for him in that evil ass prison. But he tells me to get lost.

So I go and find Barcus, who’s ecstatic that Wulbren is free. Immediately asks me where he is, and starts searching the big room. When he finds him, he sprints over and starts talking about how excited he is to see him again. Wulbren’s response? Essentially telling him to fuck off, too. Barcus still ends up thanking me and giving me a quest reward.

I’ve heard that Wulbren Bongle gets even worse in Act 3, but I have a confession to make. Other than this one, I haven’t had a run where the deep gnomes survive this far LMAOOO. So I haven’t seen Act 3 Wulbren Bongle. I will update you on how much he sucks there once I get there.

eeby deeby (character I would send to superhell)

Gale. Nothing against him, just feel like he belongs down there. (Up there? I’ve never seen Supernatural.)

[urnfleshlight]

I will always stand with Gortash enjoyers over delulu Ascended Astarion girlies.

Ithink it's fair to say Ascended Astarion apologists just do a very similar thing Cazador did to him: they rob him of his autonomy not by violence and compulsion but by babying him and trying to justify his actions to themselves and everyone.

I love Gortash as a character. Orin has me fascinated because of her actress. They are both horrible. I don't think I need to expend on Orin, but Gortash is very much setting up bomb teddy bears for refugee children for kicks and giggles. And I love him for it.

Gortash is also traumatized. He was also a child slave at some point. He also was robbed of his autonomy . But Gortash enjoyers don't baby him. He is horrible. He not only perpetuates the cycle of violence, he takes it a step further. Just like Ascended Astarion.

It's fine to find AA sexy, desirable, fun, whatever. Do whatever the fuck you want this is why it's an choices-matter-RPG. It's fine to enjoy him as he is this dominant sexy vampire lord who is obsessed with your character if that's your thing. He is a Fantasy, enjoy it however rocks your boat (hehe). It is, however, utterly ridiculous in most unflattering ways for them to try to prove that AA gives a fuck, is still in love, and actually not that bad a person. No, he is isn't on all accounts. AA is nothing but Cazador 2.0 whose weapon isn't violence but manipulation and seduction he had learned over 200 years. And, of course, unprecedented power.

Minthara isn't going through that. Sharran Shadowheart isn't going through that. Gortash isn't going through that. And I am fascinated that only Astarion is. Why? Is it the pretty privilege? Is it the need for the perfect victim? I want to study AA apologists under the microscope.

…. Egg.

Yokel—

Father…

Are? Are you okay?

[rinwellisathing]

You're Awful, I Love You: Part 34

Hey, look at that, a sex scene for part 34. There's an internet culture joke in there somewhere. Enver Gortash/Trans Male Tiefling Durge

The two shifted slightly back onto the bed, now fully in the center, the springs groaning in protest at more motion than they were probably used to in quite a long time. The hurried, careless removal of clothing, all tossed haphazardly aside, rips and tears from claws and the metal gauntlets could be repaired later, this was a celebration overdue after all the two chosen had accomplished today. Sentry pushed Enver down on the bed, straddling his stomach. “I have something I kind of really want to try out...See, other than you and some...well, some friends... most of my partners aren't very...lively...if you get my meaning, there are things they can't manage. Rigor mortis reeks havoc on the jaw, you know.” “You need only ask, my dread executioner.” Gortash smirked, the idea of Sentry's back arched in pleasure, lips parted and eyes closed tightly, that cute gap between his front teeth visible between those plush lips as he cried out, impaling himself on a cold, hard shaft, body likely splattered in blood from the rapidly cooling partner beneath him was quite an image. He felt himself growing hard even just imagining it. “You say you love me, but you're still a Banite and I know your nature is to conquer...so...could you defy that nature long enough for me to use your face as my personal throne?” Sentry purred teasingly, giving him such an innocent, questioning look that Gortash almost laughed out loud to see such an expression on Bhaal's own chosen killer.

“I think I could for this privilege” Gortash nodded, running his hands down Sentry's hips and thighs. “Besides, what is a tyrant to a god?” He squeezed Sentry's scarred, powerful thighs, gauntlet claws digging in, drawing small pin pricks of bright red blood. “A god, you really think I'm...?” Sentry seemed taken aback for a moment, pausing mid motion. “You are Bhaal's flesh given life, dear Sentry. I'm merely stating a fact.” Gortash explained, rubbing those firm thighs gently as Sentry slowly repositioned himself, moving them to either side of Enver's head.

“Well, yes, I suppose...but I never thought of it that way is all...” Sentry's expression was puzzled, perhaps a bit troubled. “You'll understand better when you're worshipped properly as one.” The Tyrant offered, gently reaching up, hands gripping Sentry's firm, round ass and pulling him down fully onto his face, spreading him just enough to run his tongue up over that tight, puckered hole between those sculpted cheeks. Sentry's face flushed brightly, the sensation was phenomenal, and only improved when one hand moved to grip the base of his tail, massaging gently. He moaned, arching his back and rolling his hips as his partner's tongue teased at both holes in turn. The vague, half formed idea that with the muscles of his thighs he could probably crush his lover caused Sentry to shudder with delight at the possibility, his slick juices coating Enver's chin and dripping down to his chest. Sentry's eyes were closed, head tossed back in pleasure, so he didn't notice immediately that the door was open and standing in the doorway was quite an audience. The orcish woman from the war table was trying to hide the obvious interest in her eyes as she fought not to look at Sentry's lean muscled body and heavy scarring. The portly figure in robes seemed somewhere between disgusted and amused by the scene playing out. Sceleritas was somewhere between apologetic and mortified as he tried to squeeze past the large figures. All this, Sentry finally noticed when the sound of someone clearing their throat came from the back of the group. He paused, opening his eyes and smirking a bit, not ceasing the motion of his hips.

Ketheric Thorm pushed through the group, glaring daggers at Sentry and Enver. It looked like it was taking every ounce of restraint the necromancer had not to draw his weapon right here and now and kill the two. Sentry's taunting smirk never faltered, though, even as he scooted back, kneeling on the pillows, allowing Enver to see that they had an audience as well. To his credit, the Tyrant also seemed more amused than anything, no shame crossing his face, simply an expression Sentry found rather dashing. “Well, you DID offer us a room for the night.” Sentry explained, grinning widely. “A GUEST room. Not my personal quarters, boy.” Ketheric's tone was cold, even, measured. “In our defense, General Thorm, we were not given a guide, and this room hardly stands out. Look at it, the dust makes it look unoccupied.” Enver slowly got to his feet, nonchalantly claiming his clothing from the floor and beginning to dress as if nothing had happened. “You can't blame us for entering a seemingly random bedroom.” “The door was open anyway. You should really make sure it's locked.” Sentry added flippantly as he, too, rose to collect his clothing and redress. Being with Enver awakened things in Sentry, he no longer felt anxious when he felt eyes on his body. Enver accepted him, Enver loved him. They were equals and together they were powerful. No one could judge him, harm him, or reduce him to 'Vereena the Breeder' ever again no matter what story his body told. So he stood proudly for a moment, giving an exaggerated stretch, allowing the general and his little entourage to take in the view. He finally began to redress and followed as Enver walked to the door. The Tyrant stood nearly chest to chest with The Necromancer, offering a small smirk before easing past him out the door. Sentry followed silently behind his lover, making sure to 'accidentally' bump into Ketheric on his way out. “Sorry, old man. Used to moving in that clunky paladin armor, you understand.” He patted Ketheric's shoulder with abject condescention, earning a cold glare.

[caniasfire]

he needed to come up with a plan. he needed the structure. right now wasn't the best time to put all his worms together into scheming his way out of the situation he dug himself into, but not like that was going to stop him. his number one problem was the crown, but too many people wanted it. his brother wanted it for himself, gortash wanted it on the brain, his lord father wanted it in his vault, he once wanted it for himself -- maybe he still did, and gale wanted to hand it to mystra in exchange of a cure for the orb. clearly only one of these options wouldn't end with people dying (why does that matter? you've killed so many already), but it might mean his death.

to be honest, he'd rather a steel watcher stomp him to death than give his lord father the satisfaction. brought to life by him, raised by him, indoctrinated by him, and then killed by him? no, thank you.

would he be able to run away? maybe if he pledged himself to asmodeus, lord of the ninth, he would finally be out of his father's reach. he'd trade one hell for another. or he could give raphael the crown in exchange of protection. . . but then he'd be hated by everyone.

he snapped back to reality as iago sat down beside him, losing his train of thought. he listened to iago struggled with their words, and gave them the room to figure out what is it they wanted to say. he snorted, followed by a low chuckle. maybe he could just gather some smokepowder barrels and blow himself up, that'd be one hell of a way to go.

"i don't know what i want." that was part of the problem. "i just. . . i don't know what to do. i know what i'm supposed to do, what everyone is expecting me to do, and i know it's the best option for everyone . . ." the mask he wore had been long since lost; he wasn't satisfied with his life before the nautiloid. it wasn't a privilege, it was hell, and he didn't want to go back. "but i don't know what it means for me." maybe that was the necessary sacrifice for a happy ending.

again, he throws himself into the flames for a group of people he might never see again.

It's like looking in a mirror when he claims to be fine when that couldn't be a more obvious lie. This understanding, this feeling of solidarity (??) with his reaction does very little to boost their confidence in this Supportive Friend role they've decided to tackle. If anything, it makes them feel even more ill-prepared. Iago is most definitely the worst person to handle this.

If it truly a matter of the tadpole, they're at another dead end. Iago, forever the self-imposed straggler, doesn't even have one. They're lucky to have a mind still (somewhat) their own (debatable), but there is a twinge of unspoken jealousy whenever their companions can chatter amongst themselves without a word being spoken. Maybe then Iago would be helpful. It would be a lot easier to just... beam their thoughts at Amay than dealing with this awkward struggle to verbalize even just one comforting phase.

But they have an inkling that, for once, this has little to do with their companions' pests. Again, not that that would be any better. Iago is about a decade (or perhaps a lifetime) behind on what would be considered a healthy amount of emotional intelligence. They are the last person to discuss 'being yourself' with.

They're hovering over him, they realize after they've left him in silence, simply watching, for what is probably approaching an uncomfortable length of time. They sit down beside him, a little too abruptly as they try to over-correct. "I'm sure the alcohol isn't entirely without fault," they concede. Neither are you, Iago.

"Would you like-" they stop. Then start again, "If you want-" Nope. Um. "I'm sorry. Do you want to talk? I consider myself a decent listener. Or I can go. If you want to be alone, I'll dismiss myself. I'll bring you some water first, maybe some more mint leaves- I should have some in my supplies- see you to your bed, then I'll leave you be and I won't bother you for the rest of the evening. Unless you would rather talk. Or if you would like company ... ? Silence?" You're rambling, Iago. "I'm usually good at silence. It seems that is not the case this evening. Amay, you look like you are about to explode-" NOT A GOOD THING TO SAY TO SOMEONE WHO IS ABOUT TO EXPLODE, IAGO.

"Sorry," they say again, wincing. They wring their hands together in their lap. "I'm going to stop talking now. I'm listening, if you would like to go on. You seem to have... a lot on your mind, if you'll forgive my understatement."

[avernusdamned]

The rage is telling her to stop trying to be civil. It screams at her to give in and let it consume her just like the fires in her chest. Let it eat you alive, girl. A dark voice at the back of her mind, crawling down her back, making her knees and legs tremble slightly at the held back adrenaline.

She looks like a bomb close to bursting. A hair's breath away from imploding and taking them both down together. But she won't. She can't. The part of her that wants to be selfish wants to use him all up. Wants to make him fix her so that she can keep on living. She's okay with the dying too... if it all comes down to it... but living in her home again and the thought of maybe going out and visiting old friends and her parents without the fear of making them lose her twice sounds pretty damn good.

" I am NOT your friend. " her eyes pierce into his with a wild glare. It's true, she has never looked so fiery before he went and sold her away. She always had the air of a wild kid but this isn't a kid who feels on top of the world anymore. This is a person who has let the world walk over them one too many times. Who let the cruelty of the world take the heart right from their chest as it beat with all the courage and joy and love that they could carry. This is someone new. Hardened. Shaped by fires of Avernus.

HELL HATH NO FURY LIKE A WOMAN SCORNED, GORTASH.

" And don't call me that! " a nickname that she hadn't heard in a decade. It sends a spell of nausea right to the pit of her gut. A stab of his knife would have been easier to shrug off. She lets him go, not caring much if he drops or not, he won't get very far if he makes the wrong choice here. " You have lost all privilege of thinking you and are are friendly. In any capacity. "

She wants to sob while thrashing her fists around and tearing the place apart. She remembers the feeling of those "paladins" hunting her down. Oh, the mess she made there would look like a spec of dirt compared to what she could do here. You're still here. But for how long? The machine inside of her is unstable, likely to blow at any moment. If she keeps the heat up it will be sooner rather than later.

If he lives now... he still gets to keep on living. Even when she is gone. (SHE WILL NOT GO BACK.) Enver Gortash will still be here and Karlach Cliffsgate will be nothing. The Fury of Avernus will live on in countless legend but not Karlach. She was buried and forgotten ten years ago, that is her fate. (Unless.) Unless...

" Prove it. " She chokes out. " Prove how sorry you are to me. " She breathes in and her next words make the windows rattle. " Get on your knees and beg properly. "

The past hovers in his peripheral, specters and phantoms and wraiths of the choices he's made, and in the next moment, her features shift to that of a young woman's. A girl. A child. An image of their first meeting swims through the memories — Enver laid out in the alley by a punch from some ruffians, and her stretching out a helping hand as she grinned, bruised and battered but victorious — and he stares for a long moment before his gaze lowers first. Submission. Even understanding, perhaps, as he fully grasps their respective positions in this new reality.

All his life, he hadn't imagined defeat would be possible. Not in such a humiliating manner. How humbling.

"Tell me: will my guilt bring you peace of mind? What do I have to fear when I've been to Hell and back as well, my dear old friend?" Yet, as mountains erode, he begins to crumble. Burdened by an exhaustion that buckles his knees, unable to withstand her fury with such blatant indifference. Weight suspended by Karlach's unyielding grip, lips curling as the bruise burns from the harsh touch, Enver bares his teeth, knowing when he's a beaten dog. "No. I don't want to die as much as you do, willing as you are."

Unbidden, unwanted, uninvited, remorse rattles behind his teeth, dragging across the tongue like a wreath of thorns. "I am sorry, Lark." Is it fear or desperation that fuels his words now? There's no answer to the thought as he continues, voice lowering, appearance diminishing. A far cry from the Archduke he was for a spell. "You're still here. Despite all the odds you are still here, breathing, and like you, I don't want to die either." Not like this.