#gortash fic

[adorablebanite]

I NEED YOUR HELP, GORTASH NATION

I just had a stupid silly idea as a @gortash-week contribution.

As a campaign tactic in his bid to gain popularity for the Archduke position, Lord Enver Gortash will be hosting a Kissing Booth event between the 16th (today) and the 21st of Flamerule (July).

This will give me enough time to vomit out the dumbest idea I've ever had - where ALL of your Tavs/Durges/OC's get a chance to kiss our lord and lightbringer, Gortash.

I'll need at LEAST 5 entries to make this work, so if you kind, very thirsty people would help me out to make our dream a...well a meme...I would greatly appreciate it! If you can send me a submission with the following information:

Name/Race/Gender(pronouns) and specify if they are Tav/Durge/OC.

A brief visual description of your character and what they plan to wear to this event - even better to send me a picture.

A brief, (2 sentence maximum) description about how they would kiss Enver Gortash given the chance. Be as sweet, or ridiculous as you want! Get your money's worth!

This booth is by donation! Tell me what your character would donate to Gortash's Lightbringer campaign. Gold is always good, but feel free to be creative! If I can get enough people to submit their characters, we'll have a silly lineup of smooches for our esteemed lord by Gortweek! I won't post the submissions themselves -just use them for the silly fic <3

If I don't get enough, it's no biggie, but it would be fun to see how it turns out xD. I have no idea what I'm doing, so I apologize ahead of time.

ALSO TO MENTION: Let's also add existing NPC's in the game, if you don't want to submit a Tav/Durge/OC!

Obedience above all,

Secretary-Cleric Lilla

[astarionmademewriteit]

Make it Hurt

Enver Gortash x f!Durge (pre-tadpole)

Rating: Explicit

MDNI. 18+ only. Minors and blank bios will be blocked.

Wordcount: 1.7k

Tags: Blood play; Knife kink; Mentions of violence and gore; PIV rough sex; Choking; Spitting (in mouth); Act 3 Spoilers; Gortash being a lil' bit submissive but switch-coded.

Summary: Durge and Enver have another council meeting, but it is quickly revealed that Enver was using it as an excuse to see his favorite assassin. The sexual tension had been building up between them for while and Durge finally acts on it, finding quick but mutual gratification in their shared love for pain and blood.

︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵

I grow weary of this cat and mouse game Gortash and I find ourselves playing at. It was no secret that centuries of bad blood bore between Bhaal and Bane. Their respective chosen settling their differences in order to overtake Baldur's Gate. However, the list of differences between Gortash and I happened to be shorter than previously suggested.

He was brilliant, to be sure. His thirst for blood and pain rivaled my own. But I was a seasoned killer, trained in the art of murder and violence. I did not veil the carnal pleasure that ran through my veins at the sight of spilled blood, nor the ferocity of lust that churned deep within me when I was called to dole out executions on his behalf.

Most others saw my duplicitous nature and turned away in quiet disgust, but Enver openly admired me for it. And now we sit at yet another council meeting, carving out our well-laid plans for the city. 

Enver’s hand is splayed out over a letter from General Thorm detailing his work in the Shadowlands and the army he continues to amass. The contents bore me into bouts of restlessness.

I shove away from the table, and in one fluid motion draw my dagger and bury it into the table, right between his fingers.

His unflinching dark gaze meets mine and a smirk plays on his lips.

“Enough with this drivel, Gortash,” I hiss, “This is the second council meeting in one week. If I cared what Ketheric had to say, I'd visit that dreaded place myself. Why am I here?”

Enver chuckles darkly, pulling the dagger from the table and testing its sharpness. He presses his fingertip into the sharpened point, until blood rushes from his finger. Red rivulets flow freely from his wound, splattering on Thorm's forgotten letter.

“Does world domination carve into too much of your precious time?” His rhetorical question was full of condescension, “Perhaps, I just needed to find another excuse to conspire with my favorite assassin.” He cocks an amused eyebrow in my direction and a smug grin pulls at the corners of his mouth. 

I roll my eyes and yank the dagger from his grasp, hoping it catches against his skin once more so I can watch him bleed so prettily for me.

“There are better excuses than reading letters from that heretic,” I growl with disdain as I gesture towards the letters. Ketheric had his uses, but he never appreciated the finality of death–something I took personally, as his sacrilegious mindset directly conflicted with the tenants of Bhaal.

“Would you rather I prepare some prisoners for torture? Maiming? I understand you are fond of spilling blood,” his gaze never leaving mine, “It's one of the many things I admire about you.”

I circle around to his chair and sit on the edge of the council table beside Enver. I prop my leg over my knee, drawing his attention. He leans back in his chair and watches me closely, his eyes lingering on my form.

“Maiming?” I spit with disgust, “There is art in murder, but maiming is below me,” I grab his wrist and examine his pricked fingertip, “It's about coaxing,” I squeeze the tip of his finger and watch as blood dribbles down his wrist, “It is about taste,” I pull his finger into my mouth unprovoked, sucking and pulling blood from his wound. The coppery taste sends my body into a vibrating thrum of excitement and ecstasy. 

Enver sucks in his breath and something between a sound of approval and a low guttural growl escapes his chest. I slowly let his finger retreat, never breaking our intense gaze. 

“It's about practicality.” I push myself off the table and stand behind him, grabbing a handful of his hair at the crown of his head, pulling him painfully backwards until his eyes are back on me. The sharp edge of my dagger flush against his throat–one swift movement away from nicking his artery.

Gortash’s eyes watched me carefully, but he was neither scared nor nervous. I couldn’t help but feel pleased at this revelation. A look of longing passes between us, and in one fleeting moment I lean down and crush my lips to his. He receives me eagerly despite the steel of my knife threatening to bite into his flesh.

After a moment I bury the dagger into the table and Enver quickly stands and wraps his arms around my waist. I jump off the ground and wrap my legs around his middle, connecting our lips again. Our kiss is messy, filled with teeth, tongue, and lips–molding together with bruising force. His prickly stubble rubs deliciously against my face.

Enver spins and sits me on the edge of the table, hovering over me as his gilded fingers lace through my hair. He sighs deeply into my mouth as our tongues explore one another. I start thumbing the laces of his robes, pulling them open and running my nails through his thick chest hair–not holding back the way my sharp nails bite into his skin.

His golden filigree gloves claw at my scalp and down the back of my neck as he grows more desperate. I bite hard into his bottom lip until I draw blood, smiling against his abrasive kisses. He groans with pleasure as I suck the blood that surfaces from his wound.

I pull back momentarily, panting heavy as I whisper how good he tastes while pulling the last of his laces free. In a flurry of hurried movements, we undress before our lips crush back together, as if our very survival depended on it.

I lay flat on my back in the middle of the council table as he crawls over my body with a predatory gaze. Enver knees my legs open while he trails kisses down my neck. His cock rubbing torturously between my slick folds, teasing my clit and driving me into a lust-filled craze.

Impatience thrums through my body and I quickly grab Enver’s throat with enough force to cut off his airflow. I pull him up to meet my eyes, his dark gaze boring into me with such frantic intensity.

“Fuck me,” I growl, “Before I change my mind and slit your throat. And make it hurt.”

He chuckles darkly. Clearly amused by my threats, “As you wish, my assassin.”

Without a moment lost, he painfully forces himself inside me, threatening to split me in half. I cry out in pleasure, relishing in the way he fills me completely–his hips snapping into me with newfound ferocity. His golden filigree claws dig into the very wood of the council table, leaving deep splintering grooves.

My nails dig into his back, tracing painful welts into his flesh. The pain only motivates him to rut into me harder, pulling out far enough so that the swollen head of his cock forces me open wider, before snapping back into me with unrelenting force.

I wrap my legs around his waist, lifting my hips up off the table so that he is hitting my pleasure points with devastating precision. His name falls from my lips like a haunted hymn, echoing off the vaulted ceilings of the council room.

Enver’s lips meet mine with such brutality that my skull presses painfully into the table underneath. His back is now spattered in bloody scratch marks, dripping down his back artfully.

I groan in pleasure, my ecstasy building into a dizzying crescendo. Enver’s teeth suddenly dig into the flesh of my lips, and the familiar coppery flavor of my blood spills from the wound. He sucks at my blood, groaning with carnal delight while he continues to thrust relentlessly into my dripping cunt.

He pulls back, reveling in the taste of my blood–savoring it on his tongue. “Open up, dear assassin,” he growls. I comply instantly, opening my mouth wide and letting my tongue fall from my lips seductively.

He hovers over my mouth and allows a mixture of my blood and his saliva to fall back into my waiting mouth. I whimper–elated with our own debauchery. His pace becomes more aggressive–abusive, even, as I chase my release. 

My pleasure peaks and I’m falling victim to the white hot flash of ecstasy that rocks through my body, seizing my muscles until I’m coming undone–completely unraveling under his body. My cries ring through the room, Enver’s name the only prayer I care to recite.

Gortash breathes heavily in my ear, chasing his own release. His thrusts become uneven and sloppy. His eyes are glazed over and his pupils are completely blown out as he watches me while I continue to fall apart as he ruins my cunt with his punishing pace.

As my orgasm starts to subside I pull the dagger from the wooden table and press the sharp edge to the soft flesh of his throat once again. His eyes roll into the back of his head, enjoying the cold steel against his neck–the possibility of death lingering close by only motivating him to fuck me harder–deeper.

“Come inside me, Enver,” I hiss, tightening my legs around his waist as he continues to rut into me, desperately. His golden claws dig into the table, further marring the council table–leaving behind evidence of our violent tryst.

“Yes, my assassin,” he relents, shooting ropes of cum deep in my slick cunt, filling me with his seed. Enver whimpers into my neck, biting viciously at the soft flesh of my throat, leaving bruising evidence of his lusty confessions on my skin. His cock spasming uncontrollably inside of me.

His orgasm begins to subside, our sweat mixes with blood and violent ecstasy as he stills inside of me.

I run my fingers through his dark, bedraggled hair, having discarded my dagger momentarily.

“Regain your strength, Gortash,” I command arrogantly, “We are not done yet.”

He laughs breathily as he tries to regain some semblance of composure, “Whatever my favorite assassin commands, I shall happily deliver.”

I felt momentary relief now that we have finally acted on our building sexual tension. The feeling is quickly replaced with a new kind of hunger–one that rivals the murderous fantasies that occupy my mind. We complement one another, like two pieces of a jigsaw puzzle coming together to create a beautifully violent masterpiece. 

I knew at that moment that something incredible would have to pull us away from one another. The impossibility of it amused me greatly.

[notamewsed]

Don't Blame Me

Pairing: Enver Gortash x Tav (Original Female Character)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Word Count: 13,956 (Ongoing)

Description: Gortash always had a knack for seizing the upper hand. This time, he earned himself the Hero of Baldur’s Gate. For Aurea, her nuptials for the life of a stolen companion was an easy bargain to make, but one that didn’t come without acridity.

Tags: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Power Imbalance

Aurea was thrown to her knees at the head of the vacant audience hall, made to kneel before him.

Perched on the throne, Gortash looked down upon her for a moment before descending to address her.

“Think you’re clever, do you? That you can parade around my city, mocking the terms of our bargain? Making a fool of me?” He drew his index finger across her jawline, then firmly pressed his thumb into her chin, holding her mandible in place.

“Sabotaging my Iron Throne, I could almost look past. But the ruthless destruction of my Steel Watch does not come without consequence.” He admonished, examining her.

She wrenched her head from his grasp, lip curling in disgust.

He scoffed and let a beat pass before he swiftly seized her by the neck, his gauntlet digging into her soft skin.

“Were I any less benevolent, you’d be rotting in that tavern you’ve been calling home.” He growled, almost relishing in the thought as she gasped for breath in his grasp.

“Lucky for you, I am not the tyrant you so wish me to be.” He callously discarded her, and she fell to her hands and knees, puffing and wheezing.

“I am a leader of reason and mercy. And to prove that to you, I extend a tantalizing offer - one you’d be a fool to refuse.” He circled the room, outstretching his arms in a self-satisfied manner.

Her eyes clung to the gaudy red carpet, while waves of anger coursed through her.

The clanking of metal armor shattered the stillness of the room. When Aurea looked up, Lae’zel’s body hung lifelessly in the arms of a Flaming Fist, subdued by some form of sleeping spell.

Though his face was masked under a helmet, the Fist’s eyes were black, brimming with evil fantasies as he held her own greatsword to her throat. The work of the Black Hand, no doubt. There was a colorful shimmer upon her neck, the blade glinting the light from the painted window.

Aurea lurched forward with a keening cry. Gortash looked down on her pitiful display with a moue of exasperation.

“Now, now, you have a chance to save her.” He baited.

“The life of your treasured Gith…for your hand.” His brow arched and a grin crept out from the corners of his lips.

The next few seconds stretched on, as if time itself was holding its breath.

She had prepared herself to be tortured for her actions, executed even, but a marriage proposal hadn’t crossed her mind. It felt like a ruse.

“What?” was the only word Aurea was able to conjure up, shaking her head in desperation.

“Tsk. Don’t act so surprised. Beyond all that impudence, you are useful to me yet.” He admitted with a sigh. “The soon-to-be Hero of Baldur’s Gate. And with you at my side, my reign over the city will be indisputable.”

She took a breath.

“I agree, and you will return her to our camp, unharmed?”

“She won’t even remember a thing.” He assured, wearing a Cheshire smile.

“And the rest of my companions will remain safe as well?”

“So long as they don’t interfere with the well-being of Baldur’s Gate - any more than they’ve already done.”

She wasn’t even sure why she bothered to ask. She didn’t believe a word uttered by his deceitful tongue, but it didn’t matter. Her choices were scarce.

“Fine.” She whispered, hoping he wouldn’t hear it.

“Fine?” He tittered. “I’d expect my future bride to be a little more enthusiastic about our impending courtship. Is that the best you can manage?” He taunted with a patronizing tone that one might reserve for an unmannered child.

For a fleeting moment, the temptation to retort with a cutting remark surged within her. Yet, recognizing the gravity of the situation, she conceded.

“I…would be honored by such an agreement, your lordship.” She ground out through clenched teeth. Her gaze bore into him with an unrelenting heat.

He loomed over her once again.

“Good. Now, while I would love nothing more than a little less paperwork, I’m afraid it is necessary, given your track record.”

Punctuating his sentence, two circular portals opened, unleashing unholy, purple flames that erupted from the stone. Two devils burst forth. One with skin the color of ash, silver hair cascading down his back like a stream of silk, and pupils ablaze in orange against the profound blackness of his iris.

The other’s body was bathed in a lustrous amethyst tone, horns straight and sleek, like daggers. Tousled black hair framed her face, gently resting against her chest. The mere presence of them seemed to shroud the room in an oppressive cloak of darkness.

A contract unrolled before her with a snap of their fingers. The infernal script blazed upon the page.

“Now, this contract states that in exchange for sparing your companion's life, you will promise yourself in marriage to me.” He interlocked his fingers, pacing the width of the room.

“You are expressly forbidden from discussing the details of this pact with anyone but me. Failure to uphold your end of this agreement or any attempt by you or your compatriots to harm me will result in the forfeiture of your soul to the Hells.”

She nodded in solemn acceptance.

He moved to clasp her hand, delicately extending her pointer finger, and with an imperceptible motion, pricked it with a needle. Startled by the sting, she instinctively recoiled, attempting to withdraw her hand. Yet, before she could free herself, he tugged her closer, drawing her into an unsettling proximity.

He then gently directed her bleeding appendage to the blank spot on the parchment before releasing his hold.

Drawing a heavy sigh, she anointed her blood upon the scroll, the material radiating a subtle glow in recognition of her sanguine sacrifice.

When she finished, the contract refurled in a billow of smoke, vanishing instantly. The devils shared a smile, a wicked satisfaction overcoming their otherwise cool demeanor. The flames from their portals surged once more, swallowing their forms whole.

It was just Aurea and Gortash then - the Fist and Lae’zel having disappeared into the depths of the castle.

He plucked the netherstone from his gauntlet, approaching her as she extended cupped hands. The intensity of his gaze sent a shiver up her spine.

He nested the stone into her palms with meticulous care, as if he was afraid it might cease to exist the moment it left his grasp.

“Now, my betrothed, finish your little adventures and return to me once the brain has been handled.” He strode out of the audience hall without so much as a parting glance.

And then she was alone, with the gravity of her decision settling on her conscience. Author's Note: This is just Chapter 1! Check out more below :)

[canon-in-too-deep]

You Can't Abjure A Yuletide Ghost

Soooooo I wrote a Christmas story! 🎄🦝Aaaaaaand of course, it's a Baldur's Gate 3 fic based off of A Christmas Carol, with Gortash taking the role of Scrooge. (It was this, or The Gortash that Stole Yuletide).

This fic came to me in a burst of holiday spirit and a need to make Gortash suffer. Same vibes, really lol. And because I, too, wished to suffer, the fic also features an attempt at rhyming. I...I have not written poetry in ages. But it felt like this story called for it. Or at least called for a good ol' Baldurian try! Anyway, here's the link to my fic on A03! (Rated G, 2.1k words)

(∩◕ᗨ◕)⊃━☆ﾟ.* You Can't Abjure A Yuletide Ghost A very merry Yuletide to you all! Happy Holidays!

Edit: Also, I when I wrote this I hadn't realized Larian was giving Minthara the same treatment in the advent 😅

[aurorawinternights]

So looking up stuff and researching things for my WIP fic, and I didn't realize in game Gortash only has 10 CON??? Does this mean bro can't hold his liquor? Like is he one of those men who pretends to drink at a party?? Idk I am probably alone on this and shouting into the void but I have questions Larion! This is important information to me.

On a side note I am excited with how my outline is coming along! Thank you to the person who made the outline based on forgotten realms lore it was super helpful in getting me focused on the order of how I want to do things. @saltieststar you don't know me and I tagged you but I am expressing my gratitude for indirectly motivating me (hope that's ok)

[bhaalbabebardlock]

Daisies On My

Nightstand

| AO3 Link | About Ilara |

| Writing Masterpost |

| Daisies Playlist |

Summary:

The story of a Bhaal-Spawn who only ever wanted to be free.

Ilara would do anything for the people she loves, having never been freely allowed to do so before- including killing her past, denouncing her God, and damning 7,000 souls. Can she save herself, let alone anyone else?

The story of my resist durge Ilara, and everything leading up to the netherbrain and after.

Important tags: named dark urge, violent thoughts/urges, death, having no control, murder, smut, dom/sub themes, memory loss, grief, trauma, a terrible past, whipping, knife play, character death, self hatred, ascended astarion, mind control. I promise there's some happy stuff. Sometimes. Please read all tags on AO3!!!

Romance with Gortash, Astarion, Shadowheart. A devil she can't get away from. This story leaves canon behind in the dust.

Because this story is so long now, ongoing, and has daily updates I don't intend to list every chapter on this post like I was doing (which is why I've made a new post!) I will continue to sometimes post teasers of chapters; I stopped doing that a while ago.

Daisies on my Nightstand on AO3

(as I begin uploading them, this post will be edited with links to the teaser chapters)

Chapter 99- Aching

Chapter 105- Sending

Chapter 111- Voided

Chapter 119- Hellfire

[artemisiavulgaris1114]

So I've been sitting on this 30 page Gortash/Lilith pre/during/post-game fanfic outline (!!) for months. the first chapter isn't done yet :') I normally don't post unfinished, buuuut I'm happy with the first part and felt like it needed to be released into the world--give it a bit of external life to hopefully feed back into it for when I do have the bandwidth for more writing <3

As Dark Things Are Meant To Be Loved chapter: 0.1/? (not up on ao3 yet in case anyone is looking for it there) rating: M (canon-typical blood and gore) durgetash (gortash x durge tav) although this first bit has no durge in it, just one tired asshole who's too old for this shit

Gortash gazed sightlessly upon the statue of the gods. The tabernacle was shadowed and dormant in the small hours of the night, but for the soft flicker of the altar candles, and his mind was similarly far away. The unmistakable odour of the lower city managed to seep into the air here, winding its way through the din of incense and herbal offerings. Despite his recent more lavish trappings, Gortash still found himself spending far too much time in a place he missed and hated in equal measure.

And now, that time was being wasted. The steel toe of his jackboot tapped against the marble floor, a steady rhythm counting down the seconds. He had a habit of noting even the smallest grains of sand that slipped through his fingers, and for someone who slept as little as he did, he was still too irritated by the situation to try and make productive use of it.

There came a softer tapping that was outpaced by his own. Then, the scent of something even far less favourable suddenly overwhelmed him–raw, rancid meat, with a musty undercurrent of desiccated fabric and blood. Gortash could almost feel the nauseating cocktail crawling over his clothes and skin, and covered his mouth with the back of his hand. He turned around to find a small, stooped figure, hooded in a tattered antique cloak with its hands clasped behind its back.

Gortash did not bother to tilt more than his eyes downward as he spoke, nor stop his lip from curling in disgust. “May I ask, did Lady Savienna fail to deliver the entirety of the sum I paid for this visit? Or were you really off squandering my precious evening, laying with long-butchered swine as your keen fetor suggests?”

The figure calmly folded back its hood to reveal what appeared to be an older, balding gnome with a thick silvered beard and many scars. Its eyes were beady, mischievous, and discriminating, which Gortash instantly clocked as owing to fey ancestry. Whatever this thing really was must have been almost too perverse to conceal.

“Oh, she did, my Lord. Yes, quite the substantial—and, dare I say, grandiose—donation,” the gnome twaddled, with a bow that was unreasonably low. “An adequate token of your respect.”

“Clearly not entirely adequate, seeing as it failed to guarantee something as simple as your punctuality,” Gortash’s jaw clicked. “Respect, indeed.”

“It is enough to guarantee you a chance to walk out of this meeting alive, my Lord, and nothing more,” the creature’s voice lilted with false deference, an almost mocking tone that bore no obvious threat.  “You see, when encountered, Banites are normally afforded the dignity and lesser mercy of a swift and relatively painless death—of which, I am certain you’re aware.” It added with a hint of amusement, “The ones that don’t go so quietly make for sacrifices that are most fruitful.”

Gortash’s gauntleted fist clenched reflexively as if it desired to crush something. He was already out of patience, but he refused to let himself be goaded. “Then consider them part of my ‘donation’, and stop wasting my time.”

The gnome cowered ever so slightly, but still, somehow Gortash had the distinct impression that it was nowhere near afraid of death.

“My proposal is thus,” Gortash began, his voice sharp and compelling even at normal speaking volume, “I will offer a doubling of your meeting fee in order to secure the particular assistance of one of your assassins in carrying out a targeted heist three tendays from now.”

“Oh, my, a down payment?”

“Depending on how we fare, there may be far more vested interest in it for you than the scope of this contract.”

“---and the potential for subsequent contracts. You make it sound like a most lucrative opportunity,” the gnome chuckled affably as it squinted up at him.

“I do not deal in any business that is not.”

“Yet, in this instance, you seek our help. It must be something terribly difficult to pull off, if someone such as you does not think himself solely capable.”

“I am more than capable,” Gortash flashed. “Trust that I would not have arranged this meeting had I not been given an unequivocal order to do so.”

“Interesting. It seems you are as ambivalent about this as we are,” the gnome grinned widely, showcasing a disarray of sharp, spoiled teeth. “In that case, I’ll humour you. Tell me, what is it that you’re planning to steal?”

“For now, I plan only to return something that was stolen from you.” The impish creature’s patronizing facade faltered, and it looked genuinely confused. “And what benefit is that of yours?”

“Nothing such that you’re entitled to hear,” Gortash replied dismissively, “but I will tell you why I require your services.”

He continued, keeping with an air of complete confidence and immaculate poise as he began to pace, all part of the hustle. 

“This job has particular challenges, and requires a particular approach sufficient to mitigate them, hence the long turnaround. What I seek from you is someone who is able to enact a series of seemingly unrelated murders, enough to alarm and distract the general populace, and more importantly, the Grand Duke, for the days leading up to the heist.” He stopped pacing and turned, pinning the gnome with a pointed look. “You know the one amongst your ranks of whom I speak.”

“Hmm, hmm. Yes, perhaps that does sound familiar,” the creature nodded along slowly, wringing its hands seemingly by rote. “Allegedly, one of ours made rather a name for themselves, nigh 15 years past. As they say, all those murders were the work of one very clever, exceptionally vicious Bhaalspawn, though they never did quite figure out who was responsible...” 

Gortash nodded. “A spotless record.”

The Bhaalist took a long, deep breath through its nostrils. 

“Keeps us respectable,” it said as it straightened its posture, cleared its throat and continued, “And, fortunately for you, I do happen to know the very one of which you speak. I also simply must profess that I have the unique privilege, and indeed, the requisite finesse, of serving them at a personal level...” and on it went, describing in exorbitant detail its distinguished affiliation and stewardship of its vile master, a decidedly sadistic and depraved individual, the leader of Bhaal’s contemporary cult–which really just made this whole idea all the less appealing from Gortash’s point of view. 

He had no idea what to expect. His dealings with Bhaalists had never been easy or pleasant, if such a thing was even possible. He preferred prudence and wit to mindless, unnecessary carnage from his underlings. Though he reasoned that their leader must have some modicum of each to keep them as organized and prolific as they were.

He had begun to pace again, this time in circles around the effusive creature as it rattled on. “Yes, yes—they sound simply delightful. Might they be persuaded to discuss this face to face?”

It pondered concernedly for a moment. “You see, this particular assassin that you’re referring to… they are one of our most accomplished, most venerated–”

“Your leader, yes. Which is precisely why I have sought them out.”

“You are well informed,” it admitted with an edge of spite. “But that does not gain you anything. They have a great deal of responsibilities, my Lord. Running the temple worship daily is no small feat, what with our cult now being so prosperous, so vital as it once was–”

“You will have your daily sacrifices,” Gortash interrupted. 

“Surely we have other suitable operatives of equivalent skill–”

“You do not. I will only work with another possessing capability and merits comparable to my own. As far as I’m aware, Bhaal only has one Chosen.” Gortash held his hands behind his back. “All I ask of them yet is a chance to meet and discuss my proposal properly and in detail.”

The gnome thought for another long moment before relenting with a grudging look. 

“Our Lord, pragmatic as ever, is receptive to any proposed Banite alliance, as long as you make it worth his while. Though…” and as it casually inspected the ragged fingernails on its hand, there was an especially sinister bent to its ever-present smile, “a Banite sacrifice is in most cases worth more than anything you could offer us otherwise,” it said before it looked Gortash in the eye. “Especially one of your status.”

“I look forward to making their acquaintance,” Gortash quipped back with a beleaguered smirk. “Now, shoo. And do pass along my invitation, will you? I shall await a response.” He swept past the decrepit thing without formality, glad to finally be rid of its air, and out into the azure cast of near-dawn.

[rinny-rae]

I associate Gortash with violence far more than sex tbh & it’s far easier to imagine him in extreme life or death situations.

He is so much more comfortable getting his ass beat than he is with any level of intimacy imo

[nyda-the-tav]

Latest Sleep Deprivation is posted!

Chapter 50: Swan's Song

Shit is going down. Things are tense!! Let us know what you think 💕 What was your favourite part? We live for your comments.

Sleep Deprivation is a named good!Tav x Gortash porn with plot fic. Lots of struggles for our evil tyrant as he clings to his spiteful Banite ways.

A blend of emotions and humour! (and smut)

Here's a link to chapter 1 if you're a new reader. Mind the tags! It's explicit 🔞 and comments on old chapters make our day.

[adorablebanite]

"Gortash lay his head back; battered and bruised. His shirt was torn, his coat was askew, and his hair was dishevelled. His lips were swollen in more than one place, and his skin was scratched and scraped with several nicks. In all honesty, he admitted to himself he hadn’t taken such a beating since his earlier days as a Reaver in the Lower City. "

Gortash got what was coming to him ^__^

Officially speaking this is fanart for the kissing booth fic but you're free to fill in your own blanks here

(thanks again @adorablebanite that fic is so fun and so silly)

[kawareo]

You ever noticed that Cazador apparently visits Flymm's Cobblers?

Little promo for new chapter for my prequel fic Unsaved :)

[adorablebanite]

CAPTION CONTEST.

Reply with Gort's caption, or rearrange the pictures in a different order, and caption those!

Prize? I don't have any plan here, I just want to see silly captions <3 I'll write you a dumb fic if you want. A short one that nobody has any expectations about.

[notamewsed]

Don't Blame Me - Chapter 10 (Preview)

Pairing: Enver Gortash x Tav (Original Female Character)

Fandom: Baldur's Gate 3

Tags: Slow Burn, Eventual Smut, Power Imbalance

“Diplomacy is a useful tool,” he said, voice dipping lower, “but it’s not the only one in the arsenal. Sometimes, a blunt instrument achieves what a careful hand cannot.” 

Aurea tilted her head, her pulse flickering for a moment. Was it still strategy they were discussing, she thought?

“Fear might quiet rebellion for a time, but empathy and respect builds lasting loyalty and strength in other ways.” She paused deliberately before adding, “I prefer methods that don’t leave scars.”

“A noble sentiment,” he said, his voice smooth but edged with amusement. “Idealism has its place, but power demands results. Learn that, and you’ll find yourself far more formidable.”

Aurea tilted her head, a wry smile gracing her lips. “I didn’t realize this was a test.”

“Every conversation here is a test,” Gortash replied. “Especially when it comes to ruling. You seem especially eager to prove yourself. Or perhaps to challenge me.”

“I simply intend to understand the rules of this game you insist we play.” Aurea arched a brow. 

Gortash leaned forward, elbows resting on the table and fingers steepled. “And that, my dear, is where we differ. I don’t play games. I win them.”

“Bold words from someone whose grand plans failed.” Aurea jeered. 

He smiled thinly. “Plans are never meant to be perfect; the great ones are meant to evolve. Adapt, survive, grow stronger—and in the end, triumph.”

He was always thinking ahead, Aurea thought. The idea of catching up to him, trying to unravel his next scheme, felt both daunting and strangely intriguing. It was infuriating to know he always stayed a step ahead—but perhaps, it was also an invitation to dig deeper. If that meant spending more time with him, so be it.

“You have good instincts and a strong will. Two qualities I admire, Aurea.” The tops of his fingers brushed along her cheek. “You will do well here, if you can keep that attitude in check.” 

Aurea’s breath caught for a moment. She wanted to recoil, or at least told herself she did. 

He tucked a tendril of hair behind her ear, but his hand lingered, slipping through her hair until it rested at the nape of her neck. Then, his fingers curled tightly, not enough to hurt her, but firm enough to tip her chin upward, forcing her to meet his eyes.

She should shove him backwards onto his feet, should bite his hand, swear him off, anything. She wasn’t sure if it was instinct, defiance, or…something else. But she remained, her thoughts drowned out in his steady gaze. 

“Well then, you will have your hands full,” she managed to get out. 

“It seems I will.” He looked down at her, the hard lines around his eyes smoothing over for a moment. 

Gortash took a breath and straightened, posture shifting into his practiced pose of authority. 

"I trust you’ll make the right decisions, Archduchess. After all, the city’s future rests in your hands as much as mine now," He said distantly, attitude shifting like the breeze. 

Without waiting for a response, he turned and strode toward the door, cloak brushing the floor in his wake.

Check out the full chapter here:

[canon-in-too-deep]

Last week, I finally got around to actually posting something on Ao3 again, which was nice! It's been almost a year since I updated my romcom office au bg3 gortash/tav fic. Usually, I write in bursts, but this wip is whipping my butt 😆. It was fun to dip into a story again though with a character that's so near and dear to me. I absolutely love writing romcom Gortash. And I did get a comment on the latest chapter that made me laugh, where someone pointed out that the slow burn in the fic just being artistically reflected in real life. That's some method writing right there 😂.

[adorablebanite]

OMG THIS IS AMAZING!!!

You drew her so cute I love her! I'm ded

I love everything about this, down to poor Gort's bruised mug hahaha. This was so fun to write, and I had a blast interacting with everyone and reading their OCs, and many of the donations (some as seen above) legitimately made me laugh out loud while writing🤣

It's official, Lilla is definitely left handed now ^--^

Thank you so much, it's a real rush seeing someone's art of your own OC, I'm so giddy right now! I'm going to be looking at this all day instead of working 😅

Everyone go read a fantastic fanfic by even more fantastic @adorablebanite. It’s a lot of fun!

Lord Enver Gortash and the Lightbringer Campaign Smooch Extravaganza

“Lilla gave a defeated sigh as she logged the contents (teeth included) into the notebook”

Here are some of my doodles. I accidentally made Lilla left-handed but lets ignore that. Also lets pretend I know how to draw hands

[malacandrax]

Some Galetash for @sybaritick based on Tephra Year (18+)