#gortash: warns tav of orin

[sanguinebard]

🖊️

send 🖊️ for a 'letter' from my muse.

*left next to a box with a bloody hunk of mystery meat inside*

[khywren]

What Am I Supposed to Do (But Sink My Teeth in You?)

pairing: Astarion/f!Tav | Astarion/f!OC (Ysera) rating: 18+ MDNI word count: 6.7k tags/warnings: shameless smut, piv sex, fingering, pwp, sex pollen, established relationship, multiple orgasms, minor spoilers for Act 3 ──────── summary: It takes no more than fifteen seconds for Astarion to pick the lock, dexterous hands finessing the pins into place with unmatched ease. Ysera's too busy focusing on his fingers to hear it click before the door swings open, preoccupied with how those same precise movements have taken her apart beneath him time and time again. And how badly she wants to experience them now. ────────────────────────────── In the heat of battle, Ysera unknowingly casts an aphrodisiac spell on herself. With her resolve waning, Astarion is more than happy to let her whisk him away. AO3 ┊ masterlist

“You think that's the last of ‘em?”

Karlach lifts the heft of her greataxe over her head and rolls her shoulders. Gale is busy smoothing out his robes, and Astarion is wrenching his arrows out of several of the Bhaalist cultists he felled, tucking the good ones away for future use. 

It feels wrong to leave the bodies out in the open, but there's nowhere here to hide them. The commotion had driven the would-be onlookers away, but now it's only a matter of time before Gortash’s Steel Watch descends upon them. It's better to avoid any potential conflict if they can, even if they have declared one another temporary allies.

“Probably not,” Ysera groans, turning her eyes away from the carnage. Her magic had taken its toll on their assailants, ripping and tearing and burning through them with a ferocity that had surprised even her. 

The last week has been… a lot, if she's honest. Between the revelation of the Emperor's true identity to the quakes that have shaken the city – not to mention the small army of bloodthirsty minions Orin has sent to slaughter them – it's more than any of them bargained for. A thousand smaller fires popping up everywhere and running them ragged.

It would have been difficult enough if those were the extent of their troubles. Ever since they reached the city, Ysera's magic has been increasingly erratic and unpredictable, and the incinerated corpses at her feet are only a single instance of the destruction she has unleashed. 

Her blood always runs hot with adrenaline after a battle, but now… she feels even more strange than normal, a wave of delicious heat snaking its way through her body and curling low in her belly. She bites her lip and glances among her companions, grateful none of them seem to have heard the quiet moan that has just slipped past her lips.

Instead, they're looking at Astarion, who has already taken a stance with his arms crossed over his broad chest, expression twisted into a grimace.

“Honestly,” he gripes, scoffing. “You leave the city for five minutes and everything goes straight to shit. What’s next? Ghosts? Hoards of the undead?”

Gale's saying something now, finger in the air as he nods sagely, but Ysera hears none of it. When Astarion glances in her direction, the way his eyes widen before narrowing in silent acknowledgement sends another intense wave of pleasure through her, and her heartbeat quickens under his scrutiny.

Has he always been this handsome? Her gaze sweeps over his face, admiring the way his ivory skin almost seems to glow as the sun makes its descent below the horizon and the deep, shifting reds of his eyes that draw her in like a moth to a flame. His muscles flex beneath his armor as he steps forward, and she sucks in a breath when his scent reaches her. The heat has moved to her face, but it's more than embarrassment that's coloring her cheeks.

“ – okay?”

“Huh?” Ysera reluctantly looks from Astarion to Gale, whose brow is furrowed in concern.

“I asked if you were okay. Forgive me, but you appear to me to be quite feverish. I have just the remedy for that back at the Elfsong,” he says, flashing her a broad smile. “A delicious herbal tea that’ll have you feeling right as rain in no time flat.”

“I – I'm fine,” she says quietly, shaking her head. “It's probably just the heat.” Ysera catches a glimpse of Astarion's face on the edge of her periphery, his expression anything but convinced. She's certain he can already scent her growing arousal, despite the way she's got her legs pressed tightly together beneath her robes.

Even if she doesn't know exactly what's causing her current predicament, she does know one thing: she needs to be alone, or at least somewhere else with no one but Astarion. Already her mind is becoming hazy, her only dominant thoughts of Astarion and Astarion alone.

Bare-chested. Hair unkempt as it falls over his eyes. The way his fangs gleam in the light before he pulls her close and pierces her eager flesh. The way only she has seen him.

Her mouth is dry, tongue like sandpaper as she swallows thickly.

“You two should go on ahead,” she suggests, the inflection of her voice surprisingly steady. “There's something else I want to show Astarion before we head back.” If she avoids Astarion's discerning gaze, she can almost pretend it's nothing but an innocent request.

Karlach seems suspicious and lifts an inquisitive brow, but she shrugs and says nothing. Ysera silently thanks her for her compliance.

“If you're certain,” Gale says. His eyes flit to Astarion, who nods despite the worry clearly etched across the wizard's face. “I'll steep a kettle for you just in case.”

“Don't be late for supper,” Karlach says over her shoulder as she and Gale turn to leave, “Or I'm eating your portion again!”

“It was one time,” Ysera whines, heaving a heavy sigh.

The moment they're out of sight, she grabs Astarion by the wrist. He sputters in surprise at her sudden urgency but lets himself be pulled down a series of narrow side streets, before they slip into the first alleyway they find. Thankfully, they're alone, attracting only the occasional glance from people passing by.

“Are you going to tell me what the hells this is all about?” Astarion demands as Ysera slumps against the wall. She runs a hand over her face. Gale was right; she's feverish and unsteady on her own two feet, relying on the wall to keep her upright. The stones feel cool against her back, a momentary but welcome distraction.

“I don't know,” she says piteously, biting back a whimper as the friction of pressing her thighs together becomes suddenly unbearable. “I’ve never felt like this before.”

“Like what?” Astarion presses. Instinctively, he stands between Ysera and the mouth of the alleyway, keeping her hidden from view. She looks a mess, hair falling out of the ribbon she usually ties it back with, eyes half-lidded and mouth open slightly as she stares at him with what he can only describe as desperation in her eyes.

“Like if you don't touch me, I'll go mad.”

Perhaps she already has.

Astarion tentatively reaches out towards her, intending to take her face in his hands, but Ysera recoils from him instantly. Hurt flickers in his eyes, masked quickly by confusion.

“I don't understand,” Astarion says. “Did you not just tell me that you wanted me to touch you?”

“I know,” Ysera replies, fixing him with an apologetic look. “But it's not fair to burden you with this. It's my problem to solve. If I could just find somewhere quiet, I could take care of this myself, I could just –”

Her rambling thoughts come to a screeching halt when Astarion lays his hand firmly on her shoulder. She instinctively leans into the touch, sighing softly. The roaring inferno inside her body is contained, but not completely extinguished. Already she can feel her renewed desire for him pushing away every other insignificant thought that flits even briefly through her mind.

“Don't be stupid,” he mutters, though not unkindly. “If it's your problem, it automatically becomes my problem. That's how this whole relationship thing is supposed to work, right? Do you honestly expect me to just stand by while you suffer right in front of me?”

His concern makes her heart ache for him all the more, his inexperience and uncertainty writ plainly across his face nothing short of endearing.

“I'm not asking you to,” she clarifies, mouth pressed into a firm line. She takes a deep, bracing breath, wringing her hands in her lap as she sits on a discarded wooden crate. “I just don't want you to feel obligated to do this, even for my sake. We don't even know what this is, or that anything you could do would help.”

Astarion's gaze softens. Of course she would put him first, even now. He looks at her with nothing but affection playing across his features, glad she isn't watching when he smiles despite himself. If it was anyone else, he knows he would be far less forgiving.

But he will always make an exception for her.

“Ysera, look at me.”  She shudders when his fingers slip beneath her chin, beckoning her to lift her gaze. The sound of her name sounds so lovely on his tongue, saccharine and sweet as honey, and with grim determination, she obeys.

Shadows have long since flooded the alley as the moon begins to rise overhead, but from this distance Ysera can easily make out every detail of his face. He looks resolute as he finally gathers her face in his palms, smoothing the pad of his thumb over her cheek.

“I'm not offering to do anything I don't already want to do. You have my word.”

His tone brokers no room for rebuttal.

Ysera pushes herself to her feet, her restraint waning. “Good,” she says, “because I don't know how much longer I’m going to last if you keep looking at me like that.”

Astarion huffs a laugh, threading their fingers together. He knows that just the contact of his bare skin is enough to overstimulate her, but neither of them trusts her feet to lead her without guidance. Ysera holds his hand tightly, following him out of the alley and into the winding back streets of the Lower City. She keeps her head down, focused only on putting one foot in front of the other.

Desire ripples through her every time Astarion tightens his grip to pull her around another corner, and she finds it nearly impossible to contain the moans and whimpers that make it past her lips.

Astarion finds what he's looking for before long, a small flat tucked away on a dimly lit street. The windows are boarded, and the door is secured behind an impressive looking lock – in short, the exact kind of place where no one will disturb them.

When the coast is clear, he releases Ysera's hand, retrieving the set of lockpicks he always keeps stowed away in his pocket. It takes no more than fifteen seconds for Astarion to pick the lock, dextrous hands finessing the pins into place with unmatched ease. Ysera's too busy focusing on his fingers to hear it click before the door swings open, preoccupied with how those same precise movements have taken her apart beneath him time and time again. And how badly she wants to experience them now. When he takes her by the hand and pulls her inside the tiny space, the renewed sensation of his cool, marble skin against her own searing heat drags a guttural moan from somewhere deep in her chest. She laughs breathlessly, drunk on her own arousal, and follows him inside.

A cursory glance confirms what Astarion already knew: the place is unoccupied. It's a good thing too, because she'd likely tell him to take her in the nearby alley otherwise, and he's not convinced Ysera has enough forethought to be quiet enough for that anymore.

Normally, he wouldn't care about the impropriety – he's guilty of far worse, after all – but this situation is far from normal. She is his – the first person he could truly call his own – and he will share neither her nor her pleasure with anyone.

Ysera's back hits the door as Astarion advances on her. He wastes no time before burying his face into the crook of her neck, featherlight kisses pressed into the smooth scars there as he inhales the scent of her hair. Ysera moans again and arches her back. Her hands fly into his hair, caressing the sensitive points of his ears.

A shuddering groan rumbles in his throat, bottom lip caught between his teeth. She repeats the motion, and his hips buck against her, a flash of white-hot arousal setting his nerves alight. 

Oh, she is dangerous when she wants to be.

With their bodies flush against one another, he can feel the way her body trembles at even the slightest touch, the symphony of the Weave in her veins. Her magic roars into a crescendo, threatening to overtake them both, but Astarion slips his hands into hers again, entwining their fingers at either side of her head.

His tadpole reaches out, connecting them together. The link comes so easy now, so effortless in the way that everything has become with her.

I am not afraid, he tells her. I'm right here with you. My heart, my love.

Pride surges within him as he feels the tension in Ysera's body ebb away beneath his tender affirmations. She finds his eyes when he lifts his head to look at her, the softness of his gaze a testimony to his devotion. She rests her forehead against his brow, his scent more calming now that she's beneath him, but no less alluring.

Bergamot. Rosemary. Brandy.

The scent of home, the truest one she's ever known.

I love you, she tells him.

She gives his hands a squeeze and releases a breath. Her mind conveys the words her mouth can't seem to form.

I love you, I love you, I love you.

When the racing of her heart has grown less frantic, Astarion dips his head low again and deliberately drags his fangs across the column of her neck and the soft curves of her jaw, and she whimpers with need before he captures her mouth in a bruising kiss. It drives him mad, how eager she is to taste him, lips parting as their tongues meet between panting breaths. 

All it takes is a light press of his palms against the backs of her thighs for her to know what he wants, letting him hoist her up so she can latch her legs around the small of his back. With her arms thrown over his shoulders for extra support, Astarion spins her around without breaking the kiss, carrying her partway across the room.

In a stunning moment of clarity, Ysera's eyes fly open, and she reluctantly tears her mouth away from his fevered kisses.

“Wait. We shouldn't – this is someone's home, isn't it? We can't just…”

She's panting now, fighting every instinct in her body that calls out to him. He can see it in her eyes, pupils blown wide, hair spilling in loose, disheveled waves over her shoulders. Her grip on him tightens, and Astarion watches with rapt attention the moment she feels the ridge of his hardening cock brush against her backside.

Even when her mind is so addled with lust she can barely think straight, she still has the presence of mind to worry about the morality of what they're doing. It's so very like her that he can't help but laugh.

“Relax, my love,” he reassures her, pressing a series of indulgent kisses across her face. But instead of leashing her desire for him, it merely fans the conflagration blazing inside her.

“Take a look around; whoever lives here clearly hasn't been home in quite some time. They won't even know we were here.”

He's right, of course. Aside from the neglected furniture, the most abundant thing in the room is the thick coat of dust that covers every surface within view. 

When he sees she's satisfied, Astarion carries Ysera the rest of the way across the tiny living space, depositing her on the oak writing desk in the corner of the room. He nestles himself between her spread legs, and the slow drag of his cock against her clothed core makes her tremble so much she accidentally knocks an old inkpot off the desk, where it shatters on the stone floor.

She pouts at him disapprovingly.

“They will if you keep doing that.”

“Want me to stop?” he asks, already leaning in to lavish more attention on her neck while his hands slip beneath her robes, searching for the swell of her breasts.

Ysera's breath hitches when his hands touch her bare skin, and she throws her head back with a satisfied sigh.

“No.”

A wolfish grin finds its way to Astarion's lips.

“I didn't think so.”

With her robes pushed open, the fabric falls down over her shoulders, exposing her collarbones and the tops of her breasts beneath her brassiere. Astarion palms at them beneath the cotton fabric, lips pressed against her throat as Ysera arches her back into his touch. He loses his resolve the moment he feels her nipples stiffen beneath his fingers, nearly tearing the garment off of her in his haste to enjoy her properly.

Ysera's breasts settle warm and heavy in Astarion's hands, and when he sweeps across her nipples and pinches the taut buds between his thumbs and forefingers, she cries out and rolls her hips against him. Her legs shake on either side of him, an indication that she's already close to coming undone for him. He had intended to take his time with her, but it seems as if whatever has taken hold of her has other plans in mind.

“Not just yet, my sweet,” he drawls, drinking in the delicious little noises she makes for him as he kisses her deeply. “We've only just begun.”

Ysera whines in protest when Astarion pulls away from her kiss-swollen lips, leaving her breathless and panting. But when Astarion sinks to his knees on the stone before her, she sucks in a breath, enraptured by the sight of him between her thighs. She's already kicked off her boots by the time Astarion slips his fingers beneath the waistband of her pants, and as she lifts her hips off the desk, one good tug pulls them down past her knees along with her underwear.

With the rest of her clothing quickly discarded, Astarion pushes Ysera's legs apart, greedily taking in the sight of her naked body. Her sun-kissed skin looks absolutely stunning, her slick core quivering as she stares down at him through her lashes.

Ysera leans back against the smooth wood grain, propping herself up on her elbows. The conflagration within her is all-consuming, her need for him encompassing every fiber of her being.

“Astarion…”

“Yes, my dear?” Astarion runs his tongue over the tips of his fangs, balancing her legs over his shoulders as he presses a series of slow, teasing kisses along the expanse of her thighs. Ysera whimpers and squirms beneath him, her arousal pooling onto the oak desk beneath her. She grasps blindly at the shelves behind her, gripping them so tightly the wood nearly splinters.

“What is it?”

“Please,” she begs, holding her breath as Astarion moves ever closer to the place she needs him most. “Make me come.”

A low, gravely chuckle rumbles in Astarion's throat.

“With pleasure.”

He's surprised she doesn't unravel the moment he presses his nose against her clit and drags his tongue through her slick folds, even as the feel of his mouth on her punches a long, languid moan from her. Ysera's entire body tenses as she squeezes her eyes shut, only for them to open moments later when his lips wrap around the sensitive bundle of nerves at the apex of her thighs. He sucks gently and alternates the pressure of his lips, employing decades of practice and the intimate knowledge he has of her body to make her instantly delirious.

The oak desk groans as Ysera fights against her body, hips undulating as she struggles not to writhe too much beneath Astarion's mouth. His hands glide over her waist, holding her in place as he feasts on her, groaning when her cunt clenches around nothing. He'd normally have a sly remark prepared for just such an occasion, but the taste of her is too intoxicating, and he's loathe to stop pleasuring her for even the short moment it would take to tell her how much he's enjoying the way she murmurs and whines and begs for more.

He revels in bringing her this uncontested pleasure, safe in the knowledge that no one has ever made her feel so whole, so complete. His eyes rise to meet her own, so dark with lust that the rich gold of her irises has become like molten honey. She watches him with rapt attention, committing the moment to memory as best she can.

With several quick flicks of his tongue, Astarion brings Ysera to the very precipice of her climax, fingers curling into the soft flesh around her hip bones as his name tumbles from her mouth like a mantra. But before she can find her release, he purposely pulls away, much to her dismay. She knows what he intends to do, to draw out and intensify her pleasure, but tonight she lacks the patience required to be teased so cruelly.

Ysera locks her ankles around his shoulders and coaxes him back against her, groaning in relief when Astarion resumes his exploration. Nose pressed firmly against her clit, he slips his tongue inside her, a slow, torturous drag that leaves her gasping around her broken cries of pleasure.

“Please,” she begs again, head thrown back as an intense wave of ecstasy builds within her. “It's so good, you're so good, Astarion, Astarion –”

She's so close now, babbling incoherently as every swipe of his tongue unravels the final threads holding her together. She grinds her hips against Astarion’s face, losing herself in the feel of him against her flushed and oversensitive core.

“That's right, love,” he growls against her, “let go. I've got you.” He thrusts his tongue deep inside her, pressing into the spot that drives her past the point of no return.

With a ragged cry, Ysera comes undone, back bowing off the desk as she rides the cresting wave that crashes over her with such ferocity that she almost loses complete control over her body. The wood beneath her hands collapses, the desk ruined beyond repair as Astarion guides her through her climax with gentle but persistent licks of his tongue. She tastes divine, and his cock strains itself against his laces, eager to be inside her.

When Ysera finally comes down from her high, Astarion rises to his feet, face still slick with her arousal. Her chest heaves with each gasping breath she takes, vision hazy as his face floats into her field of view.

“It seems you don't know your own strength, darling,” he teases her, a lopsided grin plastered across his features as he surveys what's left of the old desk.

“‘S… your fault…” she mutters between breaths, absolving herself of whatever meager guilt she feels about it. Truth be told, she stopped caring the moment his mouth dipped between her thighs.

Astarion fixes her with an affectionate look, gathering her into his arms and letting her wrap her legs around his waist. “You're still burning up, darling,” he murmurs, nestling his face again in the crook of her neck. The coolness of his skin is less intense than before, but the heat simmering in her core hasn't abated entirely. She clings to him, fingers carding through his soft curls as he kisses her flushed skin, chasing the thrum of her pulse through her veins.

“It's not that bad,” she assures him. “Not like before. But I still…”

“Hmm?” he prompts, dragging his nose along her neck and nipping gently at her earlobe. “Tell me what you need.” Palms splayed across her back, he caresses the curve of her spine, tracing idle patterns over her sweat-slicked skin.

Her voice is hoarse, raw from overuse, and she swallows thickly. “I want…” Ysera hesitates before correcting herself, “need – need you. Inside.”

“Oh, love.” Astarion's lips are impossibly gentle as he kisses her, soft and slow, letting her taste herself on his tongue. The sweetness of her arousal mingles with the salt of her sweat, a heady ambrosia that stokes the sleeping embers within her back to life.

“Let me make it better, sweet girl.”

Astarion lifts her back into his arms and carries her the short distance to the bed, laying her gently on the duvet. The mattress is surprisingly soft, and Ysera sinks into the sheets. Astarion peels his armor off, discarding it in a heap at his feet. Ysera watches him with bated breath, and he pauses halfway through undoing the laces of his trousers to huff a quiet laugh at the way her reverent eyes watch his every move.

He might as well put on a little show for her while he has her undivided attention. 

Astarion slides a hand over the sculpted muscles along his lower abdomen, fingers dripping just beneath the waistband of his pants. His eyes narrow, trained on Ysera's face as he takes his time undressing.

“Do you see,” he groans, hissing as the waistband of his pants and underwear brush over the weeping tip of his cock, “what you do to me? How badly I ache for you?” A fat bead of precome glides down the length of him, inciting her growing hunger. Saliva pools on her tongue, and she bites back a whimper as another wave of pleasure surges through her.

“Show me,” she says softly, a quiet, desperate plea. “Come and take your pleasure.”

She doesn't need to tell him twice. Astarion steps forward, catching the single beam of milky moonlight that spills in through the old planks nailed over the front windows. And just for a moment, Ysera almost forgets to breathe.

“How do you want me?” he asks, kneeling on the mattress at her feet. Ysera twists around, tucking a pillow below her stomach as she arches her back and spreads her legs wide. From this angle, Astarion can clearly see how eager she is to take him, thighs wet with the slick that drips obscenely from her waiting cunt.

“Hard,” she groans through gritted teeth. Her tail winds itself around his thigh, spaded tip twitching in anticipation. “Hard and deep.”

The husky growl in her voice sends a bolt of arousal straight through him, and Astarion's cock twitches with renewed interest. He strokes himself several times, stretching the soft foreskin over the swollen tip, a breathy, “A-ahh” slipping past his lips as the cool evening air caresses the arousal gathered there.

With one hand braced on the ample curve of her ass, Astarion guides himself forward, the blunt head of his cock barely slipping inside her before she moans and whines and rolls her hips against him. He pushes deeper, sheathing himself within her velvet heat, and although her body accommodates him with little resistance, she is still so fucking tight.

A low, satisfied groan builds in her throat, face pressed into the mattress as she adjusts to the fullness of him inside her. No matter how many times they've done this, each time feels like their first all over again, the delicious stretch of him as he fills her sending ripples of the sweetest pleasure coursing through her body.

“Fuck, Ysera,” Astarion groans, testing the feel of her with a few slow, shallow thrusts. Her walls pulse around him, encouraging him to fuck her harder, faster, just the way she wants.

And so he does.

Astarion snaps his hips forward, driving into her soaking cunt with every thrust, bottoming out each time he collides with the backs of her thighs. Ysera claws at the sheets, a string of oaths falling from her lips before she all but screams his name.

“That's my good girl,” Astarion praises her. “You're taking me so well, aren't you? Is this what you needed?”

Ysera fights to keep herself upright, her legs nearly buckling as he fucks into her hard and fast. He feels so good, so good, he's fucking her so good and she's already so close –

The hands anchored on her hips slowly slide up her back, fanning out over her shoulders before Astarion sinks them into the rosy pink waves of her hair. She lets out a choked sob when he wraps his hands around the base of her horns, holding her head aloft as he uses the extra leverage to find the sensitive spot deep inside her that makes her vision go white.

“Oh gods,” Ysera whines, her movements sluggish and clumsy as she shoves a hand between her legs and searches desperately for her clit. Astarion feels her fingers as they brush against the underside of his cock, and when she finally finds what she's looking for, it's only a matter of time before he makes her shatter.

“Come on my cock, Ysera,” he growls, primal and low. “Show me how good it feels. You can do that for me, can't you?”

“Yes,” she sobs, fingers rolling uncoordinated circles around her aching clit. “Yes, Astarion, yes…”

The pressure in her core is immense, a coiled spring waiting to snap, and when it finally becomes too much to bear, she loses herself completely, coming hard around him even as he refuses to slow his brutal pace. Astarion fucks her through her second climax, rolling his hips to push himself as deep as he can while her toes curl and she collapses, boneless, beneath him.

It's a miracle he doesn't tumble over the edge after her, her slick walls pulsing rhythmically with her racing heartbeat. His body fights him every step of the way, but he withdraws from her completely, and she whimpers in protest at the loss of him.

“Shhh,” he soothes, helping Ysera onto her back when she no longer has the strength to do so herself. “It's all right, love.”

Ysera's eyes are half-hooded and drowsy, and she struggles to look at him. The gnawing hunger she's felt for him ever since the battle seems to finally have been sated, and even though her body is utterly exhausted, it's her mind that has regained some sense of clarity.

“Astarion,” she calls out to him, reaching for his hands in the darkness. Astarion takes hers in his own, bringing her fingers to his mouth to press a series of tender kisses against the soft skin between her knuckles. 

“Yes, darling?”

“What about you?”

He purposely hadn't finished, preoccupied with making certain she was satisfied before chasing his own pleasure, despite what she had instructed him to do earlier. Ysera frowns when he shakes his head, turning her face away when he bends down to kiss her.

“You deserve to feel good too,” she murmurs, and although she's quiet Astarion can hear the stubborn insistence in her voice. 

“Is that what you want?”

“I want you to enjoy yourself,” she clarifies. The intensity of her gaze would have brought a flush to his cheeks were such a thing possible, and he lets out a resigned laugh.

“If you're certain.”

Ysera scrunches her nose and rolls her eyes, taking his face in her hands and pulling him into a kiss. Astarion's mouth falls open when her tongue runs across the seam of his mouth, and he lets her kiss him for as long as she wants, savoring the way he sighs contentedly against her.

“You're still worried about me,” she realizes, gazing up into the rich, wine-dark reds of his eyes. His expression softens with something like guilt, concern clearly visible across his features.

“Can you blame me?” Astarion asks, cupping her jaw with one hand as he bends down to kiss her again. “You didn't see yourself the way I did.”

“Whatever it was, it's gone,” she reassures him. “I'm fine, I promise. But that doesn't mean you have to stop… not if you don't want to.”

When Astarion sits up, his eyes travel down the length of his body. His cock has grown soft already, even though he still feels a lingering urge to bury himself inside her once more.

“Ah…” he says sheepishly, “about that.”

Ysera's gaze follows the same path, and she flashes him a wicked grin.

“Let me take care of that for you, darling.”

She takes his soft cock in her hand, working him back to full hardness as she strokes the full length of him. Astarion's cock swells beneath her eager fingers, filling her palm, and he tips his head back and releases a languid moan when Ysera's thumb brushes over his tip. 

“Better?” she asks, already knowing the answer. But she wants to hear it from him anyway.

“Yes,” Astarion groans, pushing her legs apart with his knee and settling between them. He flashes her a sly grin of his own. “You're absolutely insatiable, you know.”

“What can I say?” Ysera laughs, giddy and still a bit fuck-drunk. “I'm a woman who knows what she wants.”

“Oh?” Astarion purrs, lifting her leg beneath the knee and spreading her open. His cock is fully hard by the time he slides it through Ysera's still-slick folds, teasing but not breaching her entrance. “And what, pray tell, is that exactly?”

“You,” she says without hesitation, pulling him down for another passionate, breathless kiss. “Always you. Only you. For as long as you'll have me, I'm yours.”

Astarion groans in satisfaction as he slips back inside her warm, waiting cunt, dragging his cock against her walls as he fucks into her slow and deep, savoring the feel of her around him.

“Forever,” he promises, rolling his hips into her and drinking in her soft, breathy moans. “Forever. You have brought me more happiness than I deserve, more than I even thought possible.” He keeps his pace steady, stoking the heat that roars to life within him, taking his time as he slowly builds himself up to his inevitable end. He wants to stay like this forever, enveloped in her warmth, her scent, her touch.

“No,” Ysera protests, her chest rising and falling with each rapid, shallow breath she draws in. “You deserve everything and more, do you hear me? I love you, Astarion. I love you.”

Their eyes meet briefly before Astarion dips his head and murmurs something incoherent against the shell of her ear. The pace of his thrusts quickens, and before she can question him, Ysera hears his voice in her mind, connected through their tadpoles. She sees her face reflected in her mind’s eye, writhing beautifully beneath him, the full force of his emotions flooding into her.

I love you too. My darling. My dearest. 

Gathering her hands in his, Astarion lifts Ysera's arms over her head, splaying her body beneath him and pinning her to the mattress. She whimpers his name and arches her back, unable to hold back her cries of pleasure when he angles his hips to brush repeatedly against her sweet spot.

“Is it good?” she asks, the question tapering into another whimper. That familiar pressure is already building, and she knows she'll tumble over the edge with him when the moment comes.

“Always,” is his swift reply. “I'm almost there… gonna come for you, feels so good…”

Ysera throws her legs around the small of his back, holding him closer. Astarion follows her lead, burying himself deep inside her with rapid, erratic thrusts that quickly begin losing their rhythm.

He won't last much longer, helpless to do anything but follow that tug that pulls him towards the precipice of oblivion.

“Just a little further,” Ysera encourages him, the words muffled against his lips as she leans up to kiss him. “Wanna feel you come…”

Astarion finally lets go, coming with a deep, shuddering groan. He buries himself to the hilt with one last thrust as he empties himself inside her, filling her with his spend as she cries out and swiftly reaches her own peak yet again. Her walls flutter and clench around him, prompting a few last thrusts before he pulls out of her completely once she stills beneath him.

Ysera feels weightless and blissfully numb as Astarion collapses behind her on the bed, sticky with sweat and equally spent. The air inside the flat is warm and damp as she inhales deeply, the scent of roses and bergamot and sex permeating every breath she takes. 

They lay there for a moment as an easy silence falls over them, listening to the quiet sounds of the city outside. After a while, Ysera glances over her shoulder at Astarion, who's only just rolled over onto his side towards her.

“Do you think Karlach will be mad we didn't make it back on time?” she asks with an awkward little laugh.

Astarion's face breaks into a sly grin.

“Hardly. I'm sure she'll be absolutely delighted to help herself to your share of supper again.”

Ysera's head falls heavily onto her pillow, and she hums thoughtfully. “Hmm… you know what?” she concludes. “I think you're right. We're practically doing her a favor by being so late.”

Astarion's arm wraps around Ysera's stomach and he presses his lips against the curve of her spine as he chuckles in agreement. “Exactly, darling. Now come here. I'm not quite ready to let you go just yet.”

He pulls her flush against his body, their legs tangling together over the sheets. Her warmth makes him feel alive in ways he never thought he could again, and the way she scoots back against him and lays her hand over his is only one of half a dozen constant reminders of how lucky he is to have her.

Ysera's eyes feel impossibly heavy. She's in no mood to return to the Elfsong just yet, and Astarion has no intentions of spoiling the moment. Together they drift off, content to enjoy their time together for as long as fate will let them. 

────────────────

Ysera's not certain what wakes her first: the muffled voices outside the flat as the city springs to life, or the singular sunbeam that slowly sweeps across her sleeping face. She squeezes her eyes shut and scrunches her face, rolling over to escape the bright light. When her hand reaches out and connects with something solid, her eyes fly open, and she finds herself face to face with Astarion, still deep in his trance.

He looks to be resting peacefully, his face placid in a way she's so rarely seen before. A slight smile graces the corners of his lips; whatever he's seeing, it must be something pleasurable.

And then it hits her. Morning. It's morning. 

Oops.

Ysera is hesitant to disturb Astarion, but they really shouldn't stay, and not only because they're trespassing. She indulges in the planes of his face for just a while longer, unable to hold back her smile. The serenity suits him in a way none of his sly smirks and devilish grins ever could.

His body is soft and cool as she snuggles against him, tucking her head against his chest.

“Astarion,” she says softly. “Astarion, wake up. You shouldn't have let me sleep so long.”

Astarion's eyes flutter open, and he drapes an arm around her, pulling her close. “You're welcome, darling,” he murmurs, voice heavy with sleep.

She grumbles in protest but lets him pull her up for a kiss all the same, his lips satin-soft against her own.

“At this rate, Karlach's going to eat my breakfast too,” she groans, fixing him with a look of distress.

“How unfortunate,” Astarion drawls, dragging his lips over Ysera's jaw, where he presses them against the thrumming vein on her neck. He finds the familiar spot he prefers when feeding, the smoothed-over scars that adorn the soft skin there. “Luckily for me, mine seems to have been delivered directly to me.”

“Oh no you don't,” Ysera huffs, palms flat against his chest as she pushes him away. “Keep those fangs to yourself.”

She rolls to the edge of the bed, Astarion's arm chasing after her in vain. He whines something about her being cruel, how he'll surely starve now that she's denied him his meal.

“I'll be lucky to make it back, even with all my blood,” she says, throwing a pout over her shoulder as she slips back into her clothes. “If I don't get something to eat soon, I think I might actually die.”

Astarion joins her before long, arms encircling her waist from behind as he rests his chin atop the crown of her head between her horns. He sighs into her hair, chuckling softly.

“We can't very well have that, now, can we?”

Ysera slips her hand into his, pulling Astarion towards the door and into the morning light. He follows her happily, basking in the sun's rays as the pleasant warmth seeps into his skin.

“After you, darling.”

[aethes-bookshelf]

empty eyes, emptier words || astarion/tav/halsin

I've been stuck in BG3 hell since the game first came out. I'm still in there. I don't think I'll be coming out anytime soon, so have this piece of angst. If everything goes well, maybe I'll deliver on some devil fucking (ft. Haarlep & Raphael). But that's a big IF.

For now, take this. I wrote it in class. I was supposed to be paying attention, but I made this instead. Bon appétit.

Warnings: angst, hurt/no comfort, tav straight up fucking dies

Pairing: astarion/tav/halsin

Wordcount: 1.4k

Summary: Orin knew exactly who to take to hit those troublesome True Souls the hardest. Their leader was the obvious choice - a chicken can only run so far if you take its head. Tav would make a beautiful sacrifice for Bhaal.

And if anyone came to try and get them back? All the better. Blood will flow either way. And what a sight it'll be.

[I made some changes to Orin's dagger. Now, whoever gets killed with it can't be resurrected. Or can they?]

ao3 link || part 2

Orin turned around at the first sound of footsteps. She brandished her dagger, her Netherstone embedded in the cold metal of the weapon. She was standing on the sacrificial altar at the center of the temple. Beneath her laid Tav, arms and legs bound. They were unconscious, fresh and old wounds littering their body. The little clothing they wore stuck to their skin, wet with blood. The smell of it hit Astarion like a club to the head. He hated how his mouth instantly watered, hunger rearing its ugly head.

‘I don’t smell Gortash’s rot on you,’ Orin said, crouching by Tav’s body. She dragged her blade across their skin. Fresh blood bubbled to the surface. Tav didn’t even flinch. They were barely breathing.

‘Did it think it could trick me? Did it think it could save?’ Orin taunted, her dagger stopping right over Tav’s heart. Astarion could hear its faint beating.

The heat of Karlach’s anger burned the air around her. ‘I hope you’re not about to do what I think you are. For your sake.’ Her massive ax sliced through the pungent air, tail swishing behind her.

Halsin didn’t speak, but his eyes glowed bright gold. His hands were clenched at his sides, anger barely restrained.

Astarion unsheathed his own daggers, their weight a fleeting comfort. ‘You lay one more finger on them, I’ll rip your throat out,’ he said. A growl ripped itself out of his throat.

‘Your teeth aren’t sharp enough to pierce my throat,’ said Orin. The tip of her dagger sank into Tav’s chest. ‘Not enough to slice my flesh, taste my blood.’ She drew back her hand, dagger rising into the air. A speck of blood followed its tip.

Astarion clenched his jaw so hard his teeth hurt. His upper lip drew back; he bared his fangs on instinct.

‘Even if you kill them, all you’ll achieve is pissing us off,’ said Karlach. Her words were confident, but her voice betrayed her; she was afraid. ‘We’ll just bring them back so they can spit on your fucking corpse after I split you in half, you crazy bitch.’

None of them liked the way Orin laughed at those words. ‘“Bring them back”? Not here. Not with Bhall’s blessing.’ She grinned, showing all of her teeth. ‘They’ll be the first sacrifice of the night. Then I’ll spill your blood and guts on their flayed skin.’ A shiver ran through Orin as she brought her dagger down.

The blade sank into Tav’s chest with a sickening squelch. They gasped, body going rigid for just a second. Then they went limp.

Astarion’s scream rang through the still air as Karlach charged the altar.

* * *

Astarion knelt down by the bodies laying on the stairs and started rifling through their pockets.

‘What the hell are you doing, Fangs?’ asked Karlach. Tears were evaporating off of her face, her infernal engine still hot with her battle rage. The ashes of a used scroll of revivify were cooling at her feet. The spell's energy had already ran out and Tav was still limp, their body slowly going rigid.

‘I’m looting, can’t you tell?’ Astarion’s voice was snappy, but even. ‘Tav’s usually the one to take everything that’s not nailed down but they obviously can’t do it this time, can they?’

He leaned down over a pile of smoking bones and burned blood that used to be a man once. ‘They always find something for us in these piles of trash, I thought it’d be… nice to do the same for them for once.’ He managed to fish out a rusted dagger from underneath the pile.

‘Astarion,’ said Karlach, voice breaking.

‘Besides, their favorite tea ran out a few days ago, so we’re gonna need stuff to sell.’ He leaned over the pile of Orin’s gore next. ‘Tav spent most of our money on some new armor for you and Gale, and that tea’s expensive, you know?’ He took Orin’s dagger. His hands were shaking.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach tried again. The low hiss of evaporating tears got louder.

‘They deserve to drink something good when they come back, no?’ Astarion stood up straight. His grip on Orin’s dagger was so tight his chuckles went paper-white.

‘Astarion,’ Karlach’s voice was low and thick with tears, ‘I don’t think they’re coming ba—’

‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ Astarion was quick to turn around and point the dagger at Karlach’s chest. ‘Don’t you dare finish that sentence.’ For the first time since they arrived at the temple, his voice broke. ‘Of course they’re coming back. Why do we keep that creepy skeleton around if not to bring us back in times like these?’

His eyes watered. ‘They’re coming back. They have to. They must. Even if that means I’ll have to drag them out of the Hells myself.’

Astarion’s eyes wandered to Tav’s broken corpse. They were still laying on the altar, the stone of it slick with their drying blood. He couldn’t see their face; Halsin’s shoulders were obstructing the view. Astarion could swear the druid was shaking too.

‘Halsin, they’re coming back, right? They’re coming back!’ If Astarion’s heart still beat, it’d be fluttering with rising panic.

Halsin’s voice was low and quiet. He kept stroking Tav’s matted hair as he spoke. ‘I’m not sure they will, my friend.’

Those words punched all air out of Astarion’s lungs. Fury replaced it.

‘Shut up!’ he screamed; his voice echoed in the empty temple. ‘We were supposed to have decades together. Decades! They can’t leave yet. They promised!’ His knees buckled. With every word he spoke, he sank lower and lower, until his knees hit the cold stone beneath him. ‘They promised we’d… We were supposed to find a way for me to be in the sun again,’ his voice faded into silence.

Astarion couldn’t speak anymore. His chest clenched and his eyes burned. He wanted to scream. He wanted to rage and kill, and tear. He wanted to bring Orin back just so he could send her to her blasted god all over again. He wanted to hear Tav laugh at one of his stupid jokes.

His throat was clenched so tight not even sobs could escape it. He was vaguely aware Halsin’s shoulders were openly shaking with his grief, but he couldn’t bring himself to comfort the druid. That would mean looking at Tav’s empty eyes. That would make this entire nightmare real. So very, terribly real.

Astarion’s grip on Orin’s dagger loosened; the weapon fell with a loud cling, its Netherstone slipping out of it. The stone shone dimly in the light of the torches.

All of it for these stones. All this death, pain and misery for these three pieces of one whole. Tav died for it.

Meaningless, meaningless, meaningless. All of it. All of it!

Astarion’s mind was reeling; jumping from pain to denial to anger to desperation. He didn’t know what to do. Tav would know, he thought, and a fresh wave of tears fell.

Karlach laid a hand on his shoulder. She’d cooled down enough for her touch to be only slightly painful on his corpse-cold skin. ‘We have to go, Fangs. Halsin.’ Her grip on Astarion tightened when he shook his head. ‘We have to go,’ she repeated, harsher this time. Barely restrained emotion shook her voice. ‘If they even can come back, we need to get them back to camp as soon as possible.’

Halsin took a deep breath and wiped his face with the back of his hand. ‘Karlach’s right,’ he said and stood up. Tav was limp as he cradled them close to his chest. To his heart. ‘If we stay here too long, we’ll certainly lose them for good.’ The druid squared his shoulders and turned to face the other two.

Astarion went rigid at the sight of Tav’s hand, limply hanging off the side of their body. He couldn’t bring himself to look up at their face.

‘Astarion,’ Halsin’s voice was soft, ‘I understand your pain. They are in my heart as they are in yours. But we mustn't waste time lest we lose them forever. If there is a chance to save them, we must act now.’

Astarion swallowed down the bile rising in his throat. The chill of death had never been more present in his bones. He nodded, silent, and picked up Orin’s dagger and Netherstone.

‘Let’s go,’ said Karlach, new-found determination on her face. ‘We still have to buy their favorite tea after this, right? How’d you put it, Fangs? “They deserve to drink something good after this”?’

Astarion nodded. He didn’t trust his voice not to break if he spoke. There was an empty, far-away look in his eyes.

As they left the temple of Bhaal, the sweet stench of blood followed them out.

[madwomansapologist]

doubt comes in | bg3 companions

Meet Kind!Druid!Tav | More Weirdos | AO3

synopsis: You knew exactly what would welcome you back to camp. The alluring smell of Gale's cooking, the awful noises of Lae'zel working on a sword that don't need to be sharpened, Wyll practicing his dance moves. You clearly weren't expecting to see yourself. Or to be forced into fighting the companions you swore to never harm in order to prove Orin was playing with their minds. [3.4K]

warnings: orin being orin. well, you, actually. "prove who's the real you" trope. i mean imagine the level of anxiety that scenario induces because you want me to act like me? kitten, mommy don't fucking know who she is. bg3 level of violence. a lot of blood. body horror should be a tag? tav suffers slashing damage, but orin suffers psychic damage. angst. happy ending. shadowheart x tav x halsin. companions (lae'zel, astarion, gale, wyll, karlach, jaheira, minsc). camp followers (yenna, scratch, grub). background (orin, gortash, mizora, shar, cazador, silvanus).

Reaching Baldur's Gate didn't made life easier, but Gods did it helped. Danger is near, sometimes closer than a kiss, but this city is still your home. They can try, but no one can take that away from any of you.

Mizora can bargain and dissemble, but no lie coming from her burning lips will ever change the fact Wyll would do anything for this city. He had his first kiss in one of those bars. Gortash is a threat, but did he started counting his days? Karlach is coming for him, and he had it coming. She can still remember the vinegar taste on her mouth after her first spree.

Shar had her time to mess with Shadowheart's memories, to turn goodness into fear and desires into guilty. Shadowheart is learning how to swin. Long ago, before Cazador could even think of looking at him, Astarion walked on those streets. Cazador can see him as a walking corpse if he so desire, something that fell into decay, but Astarion is alive and free forever and evermore.

The world is a freaking mess, but so be it. That won't stop you from living. That won't stop any of you.

"Soldier! Over here," Karlach called for you, up on The Blushing Mermaid's balcony. You dodged the drunkards and ran upstairs to their table. They saved a seat for you. They always do. "What took you so long?"

They're always teasing you for being so controlling with their gold. That was an act of survival, to save for what matters, but now that you reached the city... You're still controlling it, Silvanus knows Astarion would waste it all without noticing, but you can allow your party some luxury from time to time.

You put the bags under the table, careful to not let them see what was inside them. "Just lost track of time," you sat between her and Minsc. "Did I miss much?"

You turned around, looking for a waiter, but a glass was dragged from across the table towards you. Halsin, sitting across from you at the round table, had already ordered your favorite drink. He always knows what you want even before you say it.

Your smile was subtle, the glass already rising to hide your mouth. You didn't use words to thank him, but your foot met his under the table. You dragged it along his leg, a hidden affection. A secret between you two.

"Oh, yes, Boo. Minsc agrees, her smile really seens different," Minsc whispered. Boo moved on his shoulder, sniffing around. "What are you hiding, my gentle friend?"

Perfume of night orchids, clothes fit for a vampire or whatever Astarion means by that, a recently released tome of evocation, instruments to improve weapons, a music box for a dancing hero, owlbear cub plush, new whittling knifes, a book about adventures Jaheira wasn't part of but is still somehow the main character, and stone sculpture of a certain miniature giant space hamster. "Nothing," you answered.

Halsin chuckled. "There is nothing you can't do, my heart. Except by lying, I must add."

"I just bought a few presents," it sounded almost defensive. Alright, maybe you really were a bit too controlling of the gold. Just a bit. "I'll give them after dinner."

Karlach chocked on her beer. "Are you feeling well, soldier? Have anyone forced you to waste your precious gold?"

"There is a hero coming through to help you, my friend," Minsc hit the table with closed fists. Your drink almost fell on your lap. "Tell Minsc who forced you and his boot shall find your wrongdoer!"

Karlach and Minsc tried to see what were in the bags during the walk back to camp, and you protected them with your life. They started a game of guessing what you had bought, never realizing you weren't participating on it.

Halsin took the bags from you, and with his free hand caressed yours. He kissed your knuckles, then your forehead. You melted against his touch. "Is it duck related?"

You chuckled, eyes still closed. "Fuck off, Bear."

Finally at camp, Halsin followed you to your tent .You saw when Wyll walking out of his tent, hair dripping wet, and smiled at him. Karlach and Minsc sat by the bonfire, still arguing about the possibility of receiving an ax as a gift.

You told Halsin to close his eyes so you could hide everything. "Alright, done."

You walked towards the bonfire, but Halsin grabbed your hand and pulled you closer. You linked your arms around his neck, ready to stand on tiptoe. "It's on your black chest, isn't it?"

You sighed, walking away from him. He tried to stop you, but you dodged Halsin easily. "Of course not," you lied. And he could tell.

You used a branch to stir the fire. You had the feeling it would be a cold night. Yenna was near it, stroking Grub's fur, and smiled at you. So young, so innocent. So unfair.

Lae'zel and Jaheira carried pans with food to the large table Gale conjured, and nodded on your direction. "Fifteen minutes, cub," said Jaheira. "Weren't you on watch?"

You denied with a movement of your head. Jaheira isn't the one to get confused with watches, neither are you. After all, you both organized all shifts.

"Are you hungry?" You stroke Yenna's hair, ignoring Grub in order to not scare him away. Kneeled in front of her, you threw the branch far away. Scratch ran to catch it. "I have strawberry and hon..."

"What the fuck is that?!"

You turned to Karlach, your sword suddenly so heavy on your side. She looked perfectly fine. Following her gaze, you understood it.

Shadowheart had her spear on hands, back from first watch to supper. And besides her, with a hand on the half-elf's waist, stood you.

One thing you can't deny Orin: that bitch is creative. You admit, it was smart. Half of the party left with you, half stayed at camp. It was only a matter of chosing the right moment to appear, making sure to say only the right words, and everything would work on her favor.

Smart, until she wasn't anymore. Because instead of aiming your companions quietly without raising doubts, you are back now. She is surrounded by the enemy. Cornered by her own actions.

You smiled to Yenna, her scared eyes shone upon you. "I need you to close your eyes. Can you do that for me?" As she put her tiny hands in front of her face, you raised from the floor. The smile was still there. "Orin."

She was behind you, but you knew Karlach made Nyrulna find a way to her hands. He's not on your vision field, but you promise Silvanus you'll kill yourself right then and there if Minsc and Boo aren't ready to fight and die beside you. The golden light on your periphery in theory could be from anything, but you knew it was Halsin waiting for your command to transform and attack.

The things you couldn't see didn't surprised you. Quite the opposite.

Jaheira's eyes shone, and without hesitation she turned into a fire myrmidion. Wyll, before careless, casted an armor on himself. Lae'zel had her sword on her back, but her movements showed she was nothing but ready.

They were looking at you.

As easy as that you understood. You're always thinking on the great scheme of things, careful about every movement and choice so at the end nothing will stop you from defeating the Absolute, but this isn't a game of Go. Orin didn't proposed a bet, one where all moves matter and any choice could change the final outcome. No. This is as simple as tic-tac-toe. The results depends only on doing the right first movement.

Orin isn't surrounded here.

You are.

Shadowheart hesitated, the spear uncomfortable on her hands, her skin paler. She gazed at you, at that thing, and you could almost see the doubt replacing the new found glow in her eyes.

"You finally decided to show up again," Orin said. She could immitate your voice perfectly. Even the words were something that could've been said by you. "Now we don't need to hunt you down."

You kept on staring at Shadowheart, ignoring her stained words. "Lua, you know who I truly am." You drew your sword, the golden glow illuminating your face within the light of the setting sun. "Fight beside me, my love. Like you have always done."

"Don't fall for her theatrics," replied Orin. If you didn't knew better, even you would fall for her tricks. "She is playing with your mind. Trying to control it like many attempt to before. Don't allow it."

In a quick motion, her spear cut through Orin's torso. Orin, you, stumbled back. You stood in front of Shadowheart, protecting her with your body from the changeling's response.

All Orin did was to add pressure to the cut. "Get away from her!" A necrotic energy came from her fingers, the same you are so used to control. You shouldn't have left your shield on your tent. "My love, she'll only hurt you."

Jaheira aimed at you, lava dripping from her transformed hand, but didn't attack because of how close Shadowheart was of you. Karlach got further away, now with a better view of camp. Minsc had his sword in hands, just as Wyll had a cloud of darkness aiming at him. Lae'zel was in front of Orin, eyes filled with determination.

They moved faster than you wanted to. The board getting new possibilities, and you worst problems to deal with. What strategy can overpower hers?

"On sight, soldier," Karlach screamed from distance. You could picture the spear on her hands, ready to be throw right in Orin's eyes. "One word."

"Ckh. Enough," ordered Lae'zel. "Pull yourself together before I pull you apart."

"That changeling is playing tricks with your mind, Lae'zel," said Shadowheart. Light came from her fingers. "Don't let her fool you."

"I know my leader," was her response. "You should know too, cleric."

"Can't any of you see her true goal?" Your voice echoed through the camp. "She isn't just trying to end me. She could've done this before, we all now she had chances. Orin wants you to fight one another, to break our bonds and divide us. Stay still, stay alert, and she won't have a choice but to end her disguise and attack with her own claws. Patience: that's the only thing she does not have."

With the noise, Gale and Astarion came out of the kitchen. "Who is..." Astarion didn't even had time to finish.

"It's me," you yelled. You had even forgot about them. Just more players for a game that should be won alone. "For Silvanus, I even said goodbye to each and every of you befo..."

You swear you saw a smirk on your duel's face. She fooled you too. "You fucking bitch."

You barely had closed your mouth when red strings of energy passed right beside you. Shadowheart's illuminated fingers were surrounded by darkness now. Gale's work, you knew.

"She is right," Lae'zel's words made you breath easier. It was more than just a smart move, it was a great plan, but Orin won't suceed for a very simple reason: her main goal is to hurt, and yours is to prevent it. Lae'zel stepped closer, her longsword in hands and eyes on Orin. "The wizard shouldn't have aimed at the Shadowheart, neither was she supposed to fight."

A sign of trust coming from her of all people could convince them all. Lae'zel cares, deeply, and wouldn't do something without being sure of it. You glared at the others, hoping Lae'zel's words had calmed them down. And it did. Their eyes were softer towards you. But those weren't the eyes you should've been watching closely.

You didn't saw when she moved. Didn't noticed the smell of danger floating on the air so near you. Didn't heard anything that would've warned you to defend yourself.

But you felt as Lae'zel rip your chest apart.

So much blood. You never would've guessed a mortal vessel could carry so much blood. It stained the silver, dripping from the longsword, splashed her face. It ran down your body, penetrated the ground and its roots, fed the plants..

Red. It was all you could see. All you could think about. Your lungs only had space for it. They burned. Your trembling hands moved towards your ripped belly, your insides staining them, and held the sword. It cut your palms.

"Bloodlust won't solve our problems," someone said. You knew that voice. Was it yours? Lae'zel forced the sword down, then pulled it out of you. "The changeling's is all we need to spill."

You were on your knees. Did you fell? Were you kicked? Are you praying? You must be. You probably were. Who do you pray to? Have you ever prayed before?

Kneeled beside you, a woman talked to you. Her mouth moved, a red liquid dripping from her face and hands. Her touch was warm. She felt like home. Shadowheart. Her eyes reflected a golden light, but they dissapeared so quickly.

"Let me go!" She tried to fight Lae'zel's hold, but the warrior was stronger. "She'll die because of you. She'll die and I will never ever forgive you for that, you damned gith!" The screams turned into cries. "She saved me, let me save her!"

"It's me," the doppelgander said. She held Shadowheart by the cheeks, trying to get her to calm down. "Lua, love, it's me. Just me."

"Get out of me," Shadowheart spat on her face. Lae'zel pushed her away, trying to prevent Shadowheart from doing something she would regret. "Why no one here listen to me?!"

"Stop squirming," Lae'zel hissed. "Look into her eyes. Look and tell me you don't see our leader."

Shadowheart eventually stopped fighting, her body exausted from crying. The changeling was in front of her, you were in front of her. She smelled like you. Talked like you. Felt like you.

"Is that really you?"

"Of course it's me," lied Orin. "Please, look into my eyes. We were together all day. You know I haven't left camp. Please, please, trust me."

Spikes grew, surrounding Orin. She hissed, the ivy twining around her legs and tearing the skin open. Halsin were throw to the ground before he could end the healing spell.

"Halsin!" Shadowheart screamed. She almost escaped Lae'zel's hold. "No!"

"She was with us all day, Halsin," Wyll said as he paralised the druid. "We know it's her. Don't fight back."

That didn't stop Karlach from throwing her spear near the Blade's feet. "You fucking idiot!"

Mizora clapped, enjoying the show.

Jaheira burned Mizora before losing her wild shape. She will come back, she always does, but that never stops Jaheira. At least they will have some moments of respect.

She wandered towards Minsc. He kneeled on the floor, and for a moment she feared something happened to him when she wasn't paying attention.

"She told me not open my eyes," cried Yenna. "I can't open they yet. She told me not to."

"Have you ever seen my miniature giant space hamster?" Yenna didn't react to him. "No, Boo, she nee..."

Jaheira kneeled beside him, her hand resting on his shoulder. "You did well, cub," she forced herself to laugh. "You were so brave. Let's get you and your red cat something to eat, alright?"

A dry sound reached their ears, stopping every and each one of them. You fell to the ground, as firm as an empty sack, whimpers leaving your mouth as you slipped into unconsciousness.

No fighting. No yelling. A quiet end. A peaceful one.

So easy.

Astarion grabbed Gale's shoulders, whispering so the others wouldn't notice. "It smells like her," Astarion swallowed hard. "I know it."

"Are you really sure of that?" Gale watched you, saw all your blood spreading through the ground, and looked into his eyes again. "Because if you're not, if your guess is wrong, then it will be our guts on the ground. Do you really trust your nose that much?"

Astarion gave him a smirk, but Gale could see the fear he was trying to hide. "Will you cover me, darling?"

"What's your plan?"

"Please. If you think I have one, then you don't know me at all."

As the spike dissapeared, Orin held Shadowheart's face again. "Think of everything we faced together. The nautiloid, the grove, the shadows. Wasn't I beside you all this time? Have I ever turned my back on you?"

"No." That Shadowheart knew the answer. "Never."

She looked up to the moon, praying for assistance. When her eyes fell down, she saw the body on the floor. And what surrounded it.

Scratch sad down beside you. He nudged your shoulder with his nose, waiting for you to stop with that game. He didn't like it. It wasn't fun like the others. But as he moved your body, she saw something reflecting the sunset. A flask. Concentrating, Shadowheart saw the contour of something. Of Astarion's body.

Gale had blue rays of light coming out of his eyes.

"Exactly, my love," her cheeks were pinched. The long nails digged on them for so long. "I've never turned on you. Not when you tried to kill Lae'zel. Not when you lied to me again and again. Or when you showed us how low you would go for your goddess. Remember the fear on the Nightsong's eyes? Remember how I pretended not to know all you would do to her if I wasn't there? A cleric who doesn't know where to lay her faith, a torturer so easily deceived, a coward unable to make the right decisions. That's why you never turned on me, right? Because I make the decisions you can't. I carry all the guilty for you. Because it's easier when I control everything. Don't you like it? That you don't need to use your brain when I am around? Wouldn't you give your memories to me if I asked? I know you would. I know you will."

Your head fell. The bone cracking, the skin stretching. They could hear as it moved, as it turned into something else. The shoulders falling, elbows breaking in half, the spine bending until it touches the bloody ground. The last snap, deep and long.

And from a thin cloud of dust, Orin appeared.

"Look at it. Crawnling under my fe..."

Nyrulna wasn't near Wyll, deep on the ground, neither did it came back to Karlach's hands. With accurate aim, the trident pierced Orin's ribs. Her blood joined yours, and the pale body fell where yours once lay.

Taking your time, you walked towards her. Stepping on the changeling's stomach, you ripped the trident from her insides. "I will give you a glorious death," you growled. "I'll make Bhaal wish I was his chosen."

You kneeled beside her, pressing the trident against her neck, then lowered your face until her ear. "I'll make him regret ever settling for you," you whispered.

Her eyes shone. "How... you know," she could barely say anything. "My... sib..."

You squeezed her cheeks, shutting her up. Then you caressed it, getting her skin dirty with your blood. "I know shit about you," you replied. "But I can tell you would never be anyone's first choice."

Orin can believe she escaped, if it's that what she desires. That you were too slow to stop her from teleport to wherever she deemed safe. That you were all bark and no bite. The truth is that she was wrong about you from the start.

You like the hunting.

You dropped Nyrulna to the ground, and threw yourself into Shadowheart's arms. “She lies,” you whispered. "She deceives and hurts and maims. Nothing was true. You're nothing that she said."

Quietly, Shadowheart hugged you. She breathed in your scent, felt your touch, heard your voice. You, you, you. She cried against your body. You.

Looking at the rest of your party, you breathed in. "We need a code," you said. "If we ever get into this sort of situation again, we need to say..."

You bite your lips, trying to think of something. Something you wouldn't use in another situation. Something that would be unique, impossible to confuse the meaning.

"Gold," you chose. "Or the rest of us are allowed to go for the kill."

Lae'zel cleared her throat. "Fair enough."

if you enjoyed, please reblog! i promise it makes a difference ♡

BALDUR’S GATE 3 TAGLIST: @citrusbunnies

@ madwomansapologist.tumblr.

[sserpente]

My little assassin

You share the bed with Gortash after you rejected Bhaal, and the Chosen of Bane makes the mistake of making it known to you that he is rather disappointed in your decision. Perhaps he needs to be reminded of his place...

A/N: I’ve done it. It’s too late now. Gortash wrapped me around his finger. Oh well. Enjoy this little piece. It’s literally based on a dream I had and when I woke up, I was like… 😲 I have to write this!

Words: 710 Warnings: implied smut, mentions of death, blood, murder, decapitation and necrophilia, evil Durge!Tav/Reader (duh)

It was strange, the concept of freedom. Considering all your sins, it was a feeling soaked in both relief and uncertainty to know that the next time your weapon struck, it would be because you willed it so—not because the God of Murder urged you to carry out his bloodthirsty message to the world. But for the first time in too long… you felt at peace, bathing in the silence this new-found freedom brought.

With an audible sigh, you stretched your naked body in the soft satin sheets. Dusk was near, you could see the last sunrays retreating and slowly drowning Gortash’s chambers in comfortable and soothing darkness.

For just a moment, everything felt right. Like you’d never been gone, never been backstabbed by Orin, never been abducted… never ended up with a damn tadpole in your head… never suffered from amnesia.

Your memories were taking their sweet time to come back to you still. But you were getting there. Bits and pieces, crumbs of information your own brain was withholding from you began to form a bigger picture.

If there was one puzzle piece, however, that had already fallen back in place, it was that Enver Gortash and you shared a history that went well beyond an amenable alliance. You were rather unfamiliar with the concept of love and so was he. What you had was a filthy connection made of lust, greed, and lechery. But you liked him—more than you wished to admit. There was no doubt you would viciously slaughter anyone who dared to touch him. Only one person was allowed to kill or fuck him—and that person was you.

“Tell me, what are you thinking about, my little assassin?” His raspy voice was accompanied by the faint rustling of the bed sheets as he turned to face you.

“You. Me. My past. The life that lies ahead of me now that I’m free to do what I wish.”

“Is that so…” he responded with slight dismay, “In all honesty, my dear, it’s a shame you rejected the God of Murder. To be Bhaal’s Chosen… an honour and a responsibility that would have kept you invincible… and more powerful than ever, fit to rule by my side.”

The sudden anger surging within you felt like daggers made of ice boring into your chest. Enver was many things but he was no fighter. He was a cunning politician with a hand for charming people into what he wanted. Before he even had a chance to react, you had already pinned him down on the mattress, straddling him. Your hand closed around his throat, squeezing just hard enough to cut off his air supply but not hard enough to keep him from speaking.

“Do you think I turned good? That I want to become a hero now? That I rejected Bhaal because I could no longer bear the thought of my sins? Oh no,” you spat, “From now on forth, my sins are my own, not Bhaal’s. You’d do well to remember that and respect my decision, Chosen of Bane because as much as I enjoy the idea of your warm corpse drenching the sheets in blood, I’m not much for necrophilia.”

Enver swallowed, and you could feel his Adam’s apple dance beneath your palm. There was a sliver of panic in his dark eyes—it was one thing you liked about him. He’d never underestimate you or what you were capable of. “Of course. You can… let go now, my little assassin.”

You obeyed—for it would indeed be a pity if your renewed companion withered away so quickly. You had no intention whatsoever to kill him just yet, if ever. Still, when you voiced your threat to give your hazardous anger a vent, you knew deep down that you were not lying. “Do not question me again or I will start questioning whether your head should remain attached to your body.”

Gortash laughed, a sound you enjoyed for it usually expressed his admiration for your ruthlessness; and just like that, another snippet of information dripped into your mind. You remembered. You used to enjoy him praising your cruel savagery. You made a good team, you and him. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[captainsimagines]

meet me in the afterglow || Halsin BG3 || Part Two

Summary: She aided everyone, himself included, and he hated how useless he felt. But if he were to simply open his eyes, he would see that she too was losing her mind.

Pairing(s): Halsin x Durge Drow Tav

Trope(s): Slow Burn; Fantasy; Established Canon Scenes; Male Love Interest POV

Based on the Song(s): Afterglow by Taylor Swift

Total Word Count: 30,000 +

If you would rather read on AO3, here is the link

This is a single one-shot, split into 2 parts. This is Part Two.

Warnings: This story deals with heavy sexual situations, strong language, canon-typical violence, self-harm, fantasy elements, emotional backstories, past memories of necrophilia, the "Dark Urge", "resist dark urge" storylines, past rape/non-con, attempted sexual assault, and minor character death. You are responsible for your own media consumption. This work is strictly 18+ only. This is purely fanfiction.

---

“Do you regret not claiming that power for yourself?” Tav asked Astarion, swinging her leg off the side of Astarion’s bed. The elf lounged with his back against the headboard, a pensive look boring into her curious one.

Halsin lounged by the fire with Shadowheart by his side, whittling a figurine of Scratch she had asked him to make. She was also making use of his chisel set, but instead of a complicated first endeavor, she had opted for carving a simple heart. 

He slowed his knife around the paws, half his attention on the conversation nearby. It didn’t feel like eavesdropping when Shadowheart so happily joined, pushing her hair behind her ears for better tuning.

“Oddly, no,” Astarion responded.

The fight with Cazador had gone as expected. Bloody, emotional, traumatizing. They nearly lost Astarion to the ritual and Minthara in battle. Tav had misty-stepped to Astarion’s aid and earned a couple of bat bites along the way, while Halsin and Gale worked to keep Cazador obstructed. Minthara had fallen first, failing to dodge a slash from one of the ghouls. He had believed Tav would scream for her, but she was occupied with guarding Astarion. What startled him—and Gale, funnily enough—was that the scream came from Halsin himself. He yelled as she went down, even abandoned his crowd of ghouls to heal her. To say she was surprised would be an understatement, and neither spoke of it since.

“How do you feel?” Tav asked.

There was a twinge of sadness in the soft hum Astarion let loose. “Numb, mostly.”

Tav nodded. “I’d do anything to feel numb.”

“You will reclaim yourself soon. You will break your chains. I did, and I can scarcely believe it.”

“I’m so proud of you, Astarion.”

The elf clicked his tongue. “Thank you, I guess.” 

They shared a laugh, and he and Shadowheart shared a look. 

“Don’t you dare take Gortash’s deal.”

Tav pursed her lips, though they threatened to pull upward. Astarion tilted his head in response to her upcoming sarcasm. 

“My cunt was never on the table.”

“I sure hope not. Bloody table was never a comfortable position. Not for me, at least.”

Shadowheart nudged his bicep, lifting her crooked heart at eye-level. She wore a proud grin, and Halsin rewarded her with one of his own. 

“How long do you think we can put off killing Orin?”

Tav’s question was itching at his insides as well. It had been a week since they spoke to Gortash and since Wyll broke his pact with Mizora. It had been almost a month since Orin deceived them in Rivington. They had all taken Gortash’s warning seriously, but Orin had yet to strike. Karlach would keep an extra close watch as Yenna traveled a few blocks down to buy ingredients for her signature soups, and Lae’zel had begun volunteering for more night shifts. And as much as it tired him, Gale had cast arcane locks every night once everyone retired to bed, holding the spells well into the morning hours. 

Soon Gortash would come asking for an update, and soon Orin would strike.

“Darling, I’m leaning more towards killing Gortash first.”

“Decisions, decisions,” Tav sang, as if their words weren’t inked with treason.

“What does our Emperor say about it? Gods know it will only speak to you.”

“Nothing. I think they’re keeping their opinion to themselves.”

---

He had been returning from buying some sweets with Wyll when he heard snippets of a very vibrant conversation between three enthusiastic sounding people. Well, two of them were happy-sounding and the third seemed to contradict everything they were saying. Peeking around the corner into the Elfsong’s kitchen, he found Tav, Yenna, and Minsc huddled close together near the boiling soups. Cher Rover eyed them suspiciously from the other end of the kitchen, but made no attempt at kicking them out. Halsin thought he quite enjoyed the company, even catching him sharing a pint with Jaheira the other day. 

“Boo believes love should be spontaneous!” Minsc exclaimed, earning a hush from the small girl. He ducked his head comically and lowered his voice. “And Minsc believes the same.”

Tav rolled her eyes. She quickly dipped a finger into the soup nearest her and licked it clean before Chef Rover turned around. 

“I say kiss him!” Yenna beamed, hopping in place. “He clearly likes you! You miss all the chances you don’t take!”

“But he hasn’t even tried kissing me again,” Tav lamented. 

Minsc let out a dramatic pfft sound. “Halsin is an honorable elf—Not as honorable as Minsc, of course. Minsc beats him in everything.”

“That’s why she should just walk up to him and kiss him! Be romantic! Just because you’re the girl doesn’t mean you have to act all scared.”

Tav pouted. “I’m not scared!”

“Looks that way to me, missy.”

“Fine!” Tav declared, a smile playing at her lips. “Next time I see him, I’ll kiss him.”

“Ah, but what about the next time Minsc sees him?”

“What?”

Halsin neglected to hide once all three pairs of eyes met his own. He smiled sheepishly, running a nervous hand through his hair. 

“Apologies.”

No one moved. Yenna snickered and poked Minsc’s side, the two simply waiting to see what happened next. 

He and Tav shared a moment of simple acknowledgment. And when Yenna snickered even louder, Tav straightened herself and marched across the kitchen, closing that pesky distance between them to plant a proper kiss to his eager lips. He responded immediately, kissing her back as innocently as possible with a child present. 

Immense and euphoric happiness swelled in his chest, and he found himself smiling through the kiss. Tav matched it easily. 

“We’re matchmakers!” Yenna cheered, high-fiving the joyous giant ranger. "Mum would have loved to see this!"

They separated rather quickly, but he spotted no shame in Tav’s face. She wanted to kiss him, found him willing, and took her chance. 

And if she was brave enough for spontaneity, then he would do everything in his power to prove he was a worthy partner.

"Yellow."

"What?"

"Yenna reminds me of the color yellow. Energy, audacity," Tav said, chuckling, "Childhood."

---

“You desire her.”

Halsin hadn’t been alone with Minthara the entire time they had traveled together. It was an unspoken agreement between them to simply acknowledge one another in conversation but to avoid private interaction. Though they came to a truce in the shadow lands, Halsin had never warmed up to her. He didn’t want to. The fight with Cazador had been a slip, a moment of panic in the grand scheme of things. She was their strongest fighter after all.

He watched as she placed a coin on the counter and took the mug of beer Alan offered her. She awaited his response, leaning on the wood with a single brow arched. Confident, regal, a cut-throat beauty. 

He sipped his soup, humming gleefully at the taste. “I do not know whom you speak of.”

She scoffed, “Do not treat me like a fool, druid. I speak of Tav, and you do best to speak openly to me.”

“I will not be forced to share my emotions with you, Minthara.”

A genuine laugh. The shock in his face made her laugh again. She sat opposite of him, surprisingly relaxed for how crowded the pub was. “It is not force. I am here, I am asking, and you have not spoken to our other allies about this at all.” 

No, but he assumed that Astarion knew. Tav told him everything. And if Astarion knew, then so did Gale. Gale found he enjoyed gossip with Wyll, and Wyll could keep nothing secret for long when it came to Karlach. Plus, Wyll was the one who discovered him devouring Tav on the roof, so. 

And Minsc definitely shared what happened in the kitchen yesterday with Jaheira. 

Honestly, Halsin felt like an idiot for even thinking he could keep his feelings secret at all.

“I too desired her for a while.”

A ball of jealousy weighed his full stomach down, and he bit into his bread to distract it. “I’m happy for you.”

Minthara squinted, a quirk in her lip. “But she turned me away. Do you know why?”

“Your personality?”

The quip came faster than he expected, before he could reel it back in and save himself a fist fight.

“So—” Minthara took a long gulp and when the mug lowered, her smile was brutal. Teeth and all. “The druid can bite.”

“That was humor, Minthara. When I bite, you’ll know,”

“Oh, I’ve seen you bite. When you are in wild shape, you are otherworldly.” Taking the time to scan his broad chest and shoulders, Minthara hummed her satisfaction. A blush rose to his cheeks. “You bite hardest when protecting my fellow kin. Understandable. She is of a different variety. Warm and sour, dangerous and cruel, kind and terrifying. You, druid, have the capability to handle it all.”

That might have been the sweetest thing he had ever heard her say. Perhaps the realest. 

And if Minthara, of all people, was to be the only one who approached him on this topic, then she deserved to be treated seriously. This must have taken a lot of… heart. Courage she was full of, but empathy?

He took a moment to watch her watch others. How her brow furrowed when friends embraced, how she snickered when a drunk fell from their stool, and how her eyes brightened when lovers snuck away to dark corners. She was new to this world, new to this city. And it hit him that he had been picking at the strands of this city all along. On their daily walks, Halsin complained and spoke of change, but Minthara was experiencing everything anew. He had been destroying her experience and hadn’t given one damn. Tav indulged him, her thrill for judgment obvious at those moments. It was Astarion who would shut him up sometimes, claiming that though he hated these streets at night, they were colorful during the day. Unknown. 

Minthara was approaching him with the intent of being friendly, and he was squandering it. So, pushing his fear of being understood down, he admitted, “But does she truly desire me?”

“I did not take you for a blind fool.”

“Honesty is required at this very moment, Minthara,” he said, pushing his empty bowl away. “I have experienced much in my life, but never the combination of love and lust. To be seen is unnerving, but to see someone in return is glorious.”

She nodded, though he didn’t think she was agreeing. She popped a grape in her mouth and took her time chewing. He waited, vulnerable, until finally her mask fell and she asked, “How does it feel?”

He pondered for a second, his tongue twisting as his heart hurried. “Deep. Like something is burrowing into my insides, to the very depths of my marrow, and filling me with this passion that I can almost taste. And once I get close to tasting its power, it’s… pulled away. Not maliciously, of course. It travels further, but I am more than happy to catch up with it. Because I know that once I grab it, if it’s reciprocated, I’ll feel sated.”

“I should kill you for stooping to such a level of desperation.”

Her loose threat pushed a surprised laugh from him. “You have a tender heart. Same as mine, I would say. You, however, are better at masking it.”

She grumbled, rolling her eyes. “You bleed desperation.”

“I think my biggest weakness is my transparency.”

“Good… You’re finally admitting it.”

They spoke about their past conquests, their errors when it came to people they thought they trusted, and the accomplishments they hadn’t quite considered positive until now. He discovered that her actions back in the goblin camp weren’t entirely her own, and that he had indeed endangered civilians by chasing after the past. And he hoped that she discovered her allies were not simply protecting her back because of honor, but because she had proven herself loyal. 

Hours passed until Alan announced last call, and he found that he had revealed much more than he ever intended to the drow. Much more than he ever did with Tav, really. But because of it, he felt he could share more than just his heart with her. He could find it within himself to share his soul. “Powerful tricks you have, Minthara.”

She smirked, then drank the last sip of her third drink of the night. “I am a drow. We are a manipulative bunch.”

She stood from the booth, everything about her more loose. Comfortable in his presence. Safe, he dare speculate.

He leaned back in his seat with his eyes closed, content. And when she strode past him, she laid a gentle palm on his shoulder.

She squeezed once. 

And was gone before he could turn his head.

---

“We could just fight this thing.”

Tav’s suggestion went ignored as the group argued amongst themselves near the doorway. Raphael’s personal incubus waved at them from afar, spreading their legs wider in anticipation. Halsin shuddered, but he wasn't blind to the humor of this situation.

“I brought enough healing potions to defeat Raphael, not his incubus, too!” Shadowheart hissed, clutching her satchel with an incredulous glare. 

Tav rolled her eyes. “The pool here will heal us afterwards. Or would you like to fuck them, Shadowheart?”

Before Shadowheart could bite back, Gale whispered, “Are we sure they’re here out of their own free will?”

“They look excited enough.” Tav locked eyes with Harleep, curling her fingers enticingly. Harleep scoffed playfully, then pretended to swoon. Halsin merely blinked at her when she turned back, enough of a gesture that said he was insulted by that. Tav held in her laugh, and his nearly burst.

“Hells. We slaughtered the damn House of Healing, what’s to say we can’t slaughter the House of Hope?” Minthara suggested, leaning on her hip.

“Perhaps because we haven’t even found Hope yet,” Halsin answered.

Astarion huffed, “If you all want to fuck this thing, then do it. Count me out.” Then, shooting a quick hand in the sky, “I pull the trauma card!”

“Arsehole, beat me to it!” Shadowheart exclaimed.

“What cards do we have left?” Lae’zel asked, her confidence high considering no one would suggest she sleep with the incubus. Though, if Halsin truly had a say, the responsibility technically should have fallen to her. They were here to acquire the hammer necessary in freeing her prince, so. Technically.

“Gender, race, and experience cards,” Tav answered.

“Do we consider experience the same as age? If so, I am an old widower who has not yet gotten over the death of her beloved husband.”

“Fuck you, Jaheira,” Astarion snapped.

“If anyone should fuck the incubus,” Shadowheart added, “it should be Gale! Man has fucked a Goddess!”

“In the Weave, not the Hells!”

“What difference does that make?”

Gale shuffled on his feet, gripping his staff harder. With one look at Astarion, he had his answer. “I pull the race card! I’m human, I have a shorter lifespan! This memory will not simply dwindle!”

“You’re a wizard! Elminster is one-thousand years old!” Tav argued. 

“Then ask him to fuck the devil!”

“Guys…” Wyll interrupted, the crease between his brows deepening. “Karlach has been awfully quiet during this—”

“Really?” Karlach yelled, pointing a fiery finger at her new friend-turned-enemy, “You’re the devil now! Get on your knees—”

They went back and forth for a while longer, no one suggesting that Tav crawl under the incubus herself. Surprisingly, his name was left out of it, too. He could have volunteered, but the thought made him sick. Turning his stomach at the thought of himself beneath a stranger, a stranger wearing a devil’s face. If only he had packed more healing potions, and Gale more scrolls—

“Minsc proclaims—‘Give me my heart’s desire!’”

They all turned at the same time, shocked to find Minsc bloodied and bruised, but wearing the widest smile. He had lifted the painting beside the bed, a bed now carrying the limp body of the naked incubus, and grabbed what looked to be Raphael’s diary. 

“Boo has proven himself the greatest warrior amongst us! Now, let us steal this Hammer of Orphic!”

Astarion’s face twisted in disgust. “Did the hamster fuck the incubus?”

Minsc gasped, holding up both thumbs to cover Boo’s ears. “No! Does Minsc need to retell Boo’s heroic epics tonight? Weren’t you all listening?”

After they find Mol’s contract, free Hope, and defeat Raphael once and for all, Halsin finally lets himself breathe. 

They could do this. They could really save everyone and survive this fight. To kill a devil of Raphael’s stature only cemented his belief that Gortash and Orin would be easy targets. And seeing Tav celebrate with ale and jokes that night cemented his growing love for her.

They shared a kiss before bed, and it’s Halsin that pulled away before things heated. He would court her right, court her like she deserved. He would be all her firsts if she’d let him. 

Oak Father preserve him, he wanted her to be his last.

---

The wizard accompanied him to the river to bathe. Karlach and Shadowheart had claimed the two tubs first, but Gale could not wait to wash the hag’s blood off. The river was about a fifteen minute walk from the Elfsong, and Halsin had brought Astarion's shortsword just in case they took longer than expected and needed to search for dinner on their own. 

There, Gale spoke of his home in Waterdeep and his early schooling, a topic that absolutely fascinated Halsin. How the wizard kept a garden at the peak of his tower and treated his books as if they were his own children, it made Halsin yearn for a visit. Baldur’s Gate was grimy and savage, while Waterdeep seemed to provide a healthy alternative. Or perhaps it was because the wizard was Halsin’s idea of home. They were all starting to become his idea of a peaceful home, and to say it didn’t frighten him would be a lie. 

But what else did he need to prove? He had vanquished the shadow curse, relinquished his title as Archdruid of the Emerald Grove, and was currently hunting greater evils than those of his past. The bear within wanted to roam and see the world, meet new lovers and claim all of nature’s bounties. 

But the man he was becoming, the man he had ignored for the past century, was screaming for his slightest shuffle through dirt to be heard. Maybe it was time to listen to it. To delve into a whole new world with people who had quickly become friends. He was a friend to all, to all of nature, but something was different now. 

Tav had burrowed into his lively heart with her putrefied one, and that was the rare balance he had been searching for over the last few weeks, the very one she had urged him to seek and nourish. 

“Ow! What in the Nine Hells was that?”

Up on shore, Halsin pulled his trousers up his waist but left his shirt untouched. The bear had ruined his last comfortable attire when he had fumbled mid-transition due to the flaming tiefling sneaking up on him. He watched as Gale lifted a hand out of the water, resistance evident the higher he pulled. 

“Is this tar?” Gale observed, groaning as he tried taking a step out of the river. 

His defenses immediately raised as he witnessed his wizard struggle harder, as the water rippled angrily around him. But before he could ready a spell, before the bear could unleash itself, Halsin felt the sharp tip of an arrow pierce the hard muscle of his shoulder. His magic fought against the necrotic poison, failed, and he tumbled to the sand. He could vaguely hear Gale gagging, drowning maybe. 

Halsin curled his body, forcing his neck to turn to see if Gale was safe. But his vision was interrupted by red armor, armor that contorted and bent to his level. Then pale eyes bore in his closing ones. 

“Don’t worry, pet. I won’t touch the wizard. Not yet, at least,” Orin laughed, her grin pulling so wide Halsin had to blink to free himself of the horrid image. “Father only wants you.”

---

Slipping out from the covers, Tav stretched her sore arms and found her slippers. Everyone was fast asleep, snoring away like they didn’t just kill Ethel and avenge Marina today. Tomorrow, they would check-in with another of the names on the Bhaal list and stock up on supplies. She hadn’t seen Rolan in a while either, and she wanted to catch up with Cal and Lia over tea. 

As much as Tav wanted to lay down and never wake up again, she pushed herself to fight. To lead. To see the greater picture, the endgame. She could ignore the ache in her neck and the weight on her chest for a while longer. She had no doubts that everyone else was feeling the same way. 

But she had got them all into this mess. It was her responsibility, her atonement. 

Knocking softly on the nighttime window, she awaited the aggravated voice of the woman who provided them with meals at night. Withers hummed in the corner and traced a gray finger along a sentence he was reading, paying her no mind. She wrapped the thin robe over herself, and avoided breathing near him. 

No one in the Elfsong responded. 

The only water they had in their rooms was two days old and saved for morning baths, and Gale hadn’t returned yet to conjure up a glass. Nor was he here to cast arcane locks on their doors. She pushed the worry to the back of her mind. Gale was with Halsin, and it took an army to get through that wall of muscle. Honestly, she believed it would take an army to get through Gale as well. From the Grove to the Shadowlands to the Lower City, Gale had surprised her immensely. 

Stepping over Grub and Scratch, she quietly descended to the main floor and looked around to make sure the coast was clear. There were three citizens tucked away in the corner, but Alan had closed out all tabs for the night. Patting the dagger attached to her hip, Tav scurried into the kitchen and lit a lamp. She was hoping to at least run into Lakrissa, but the tiefling was most likely lounging on the roof.

Alone. 

Because Tav had stolen Alfira from her. 

She gripped the water pump until her knuckles turned white, cursing underneath a shallow breath. She would be haunted by that forever, too much of a coward to admit to Lakrissa what she had done. When Zevlor had asked if his people had made it to Last Light, Tav hadn’t told him that she had stolen one’s fighting chance. She looked Rolan in the eyes and flirted with him, and he never knew just how violent she had proven herself to be. She never told Halsin the nasty thoughts she had when that snake reached for Arabella, and the false, bloody images she enjoyed those first few nights. 

Steadying her breathing, she pushed herself away from the wall and cupped her hands beneath the faucet. Too distracted to feel someone creep up behind her. 

She was slammed face-down onto the counter, just out of reach of the knives. Her own dagger pressed into the stone. The stranger pressed their palm to her cheek, smashing their weight down to the point an involuntary whimper broke through her trembling lips. 

This was it. Gortash had found her and came to trade. She would be forced to remember and forced to play a part. And maybe her body would betray her and actually fall back into routine. She’d lose this new self. 

“Just lie still, my heart.”

No.

No.

“Halsin—” Tav tried to flip herself around, but Halsin forced his hand underneath her chin and pulled her to his chest. “What—”

“My heart,” he repeated, his lips caressing her jawline. The gravel of his voice when he said it… He had never said that name in lust. It was reserved for soft moments, for safe moments. Halsin understood that. And this Halsin… It didn’t sound right. “I apologize. But hearing Gortash merely speak of your cunt…”

Her stomach churned. Bile rose in her throat as one of his thick fingers came up to gently tug at her hair. Halsin smelled like pine and burning wood, and this person… They smelled like the city and rosemary. What every male in Baldur’s Gate smelled like to her.

“Get off of me,” she hissed, dragging her sharp nails across his forearms. She drew first blood, and that seemed to excite them even more. “Who are you?”

The person wearing Halsin’s face turned her neck to give her a bewildered expression, then dragged their finger over the fresh red lines on their arm. They licked the crimson, never breaking their gaze. 

“It’s me, my heart. I thought you liked feeling overpowered,” they said, grinning. Even the damn smile was a perfect replica. Tav sobbed, ashamed by the flip of her stomach. “I thought you liked relinquishing your control. Learning from me. You wanted to mold yourself into someone better, someone even the Oak Father would accept, no?”

She halted her thrashing, eyes wide in realization. 

Had the Halsin on the roof been… This person? No, not possible. She had smelled him, had felt safe, and he never rushed her. He made sure she was comfortable and that anything they did was with both their consent. This monster must have watched, or Orin had enlisted the services of some damned pigeons. 

Where was the real Halsin? Gods, where was Gale?

Their lips connected to her neck as a large palm lowered to cup a breast. “You taste… remarkable.” 

“Stop,” she tried, her voice coming out as a mere whisper. It was all her frightened body could conjure. Then, with a little more push in her lungs, “Astarion!”

The customers outside would hear her. They had to. She screamed again, but the door remained shut.

They slapped their hand over her mouth, then forced her down again. Her head pounded, the tadpole squirming. The tadpole. 

“My hand is yours to bite into,” they breathed, their hips meeting her backside. Clenching her eyes shut, Tav sent every feeling of fright and disgust down the tadpole’s connection, even begging the Emperor to do something. “We must keep quiet so the others do not hear.”

"They are rousing. Keep screaming," the Emperor ordered, its concern a small reprieve from this torment.

“Astarion!” she tried again, earning another smack and the sound of a belt unbuckling. And through a broken sob, she tried even louder. “Astarion!”

“Call for him all you want, Chosen of Bhaal. This is what Father asks. This is your punishment.”

Her punishment. Perhaps she deserved it. All those years of committing worse atrocities on innocents. She deserved it.

And yet, this was her punishment for defying her Father, not for the violence she had enacted. His vengeance was misplaced. This was something being done to her out of pure spite. 

“Fuck you,” she spit, groaning when they laid their heavy body over hers. This wasn’t Halsin, and that fact settled something sad inside of her. At least this punishment would be done by a stranger, as much of a stranger Orin was to her. It was the first time she thanked the Gods that the pale woman had destroyed her memory.  

At least she was face-down and wouldn’t be forced to watch Halsin do this to her.

“I will, blood-kin. I will.”

“I will kill you, Orin. I will split your skull and devour your hopes, your desires, your damned insanity!”

Hearing Orin laugh in Halsin’s body nearly had her crumbling. Tav spread her arms out and gripped the sides of the counter, trying desperately to slow her breathing. Calm, Halsin would have instructed. Calm yourself, build your strength, and then fight.

“Father wanted me to shift into all of your friends. Take turns using you, stripping you of that gods-awful pride and sentiment you’ve built. To remind you that such connections are worthless! But I told him it would destroy you more if the one you loved was the one to ruin you.”

One second Halsin’s false hand crept up her thigh. Then all that heinous weight was blasted across the room.

“Gods, Tav! We’re here. I’m here.”

Gale.

His soft hands helped her up. As she rose, she saw Astarion and Minthara directly behind him—a single dagger and a longsword pointed at her attacker. She had never seen Minthara so livid, so disheveled. Her night clothes were barely hanging to her shoulders. But as she held the sword up, there was no tremble. Astarion held the same rage in his red eyes, a hint of madness creeping through. Remembrance. Twin empathy. 

“I knew I should have started with that dreadful foreplay.” Finally, finally, Orin contorted and revealed her true self. Shedding Halsin's skin and giving Tav back her sanity. 

“The shamed wizard, the slave spawn, and the drow traitor to the rescue!” Her infamous dagger swept through the air as she named her friends off. It lodged into the wall beside Tav’s head. “Your druid is so terribly boring. With his reputation, I thought it would be simple giving him the same punishment.”

Tav’s heart plummeted, and Gale audibly winced.

“But he couldn’t find the… excitement. So I left him with a promise that I would give that punishment to you.”

“Rabid bitch!” Astarion roared. 

“My assumptions were wrong then? You do not share his bed?” Orin smiled, called her blade back, and twirled it. “Is it because his heart still pumps with juice? His mind is his own? Or is he the unwilling one? I say, dear blood-kin, you always were the ugliest of us.”

“Where did you take him?”

“Where do you think?” 

Tav recalled the pungent smell, the sticky floors, the never-ending screaming. That wasn’t a place for Halsin. That wasn’t a place for anyone with a good-natured heart. 

“Pick through your ravaged mind-matter and find home again. Slaughter your way there! Let the bear’s screams provide the most delightful music for your grand entrance!”

Before Minthara could strike true, Orin disappeared in a red blur. Instead she sliced across the wood, and watched as her weapon tumbled from her grip.

No one spoke. Tav faintly felt Astarion wrap his coat around her shoulders, the drops of water falling from Gale’s hair and to her slippers, and Minthara’s timid fingers as they came to cradle her cheek.

“She took Halsin,” Tav mumbled, swaying in Astarion’s grip. “She took him.” 

“Let’s wake the others. Minsc and Jaheira probably know where this place is located—” Gale started to reason.

“Astarion, she took him,” Tav pleaded, grabbing the elf's collar. “There’s no sun in the temple, Astarion! There are no plants and no light! He’s all alone!”

“Tav, darling,” he tried, his back meeting the wall from all her involuntary shoving. “Gale, help me.”

Gale took a step, but it was Minthara who turned her so she was facing her, wrapped her arms around Tav’s waist, and held her firm. Tav’s nose nestled into Minthara’s neck, her arms pinned between their bodies.

“His—his staff is still here. His bow.”

Minthara kept silent, words eluding her.

On the way back up to their room, Tav noticed the three citizens still at their booth, bleeding out from their necks. Her companions said nothing else about Orin’s assault on Tav, and Gale told everyone how he was unable to stop the abduction. Tav simply sat with her knees tucked tightly, Jaheira at the foot of her bed.

“We’re going to find him, yeah? Look at me, soldier,” Karlach promised from across the room. Clive sat in her lap, his tiny arms wiggling between Karlach’s fingers. “We’re going to bring that hunk of an elf back, safe and sound. Do you hear me?”

Tav tried to move any muscle, but none were cooperating. All she could feel was Orin behind her, and all she could think about was Halsin begging Orin not to touch him.

“He can’t die alone,” she whispered, looking Jaheira in the eye. The older elf did well to remain steady, but Tav saw the slightest jump in her jaw. “He’s all alone.”

Jaheira nodded, then kept watch as Tav attempted and failed to get some rest.

---

Both the trust of Jaheira and Minsc were tested, but when Tav chose to bathe in Sarevok’s blood instead, something tipped itself in the grand scheme of things. Something that proved Tav had changed, had rejected Bhaal’s influence. 

She was capable of good. Capable of chaos. Capable of sweetness and evil. Just like the rest of them.

Smearing Sarevok’s blood down her neck, between her breasts, and over her corset, Tav took a moment to regain her footing. No one spoke, though Wyll did place a gentle hand upon her red shoulder. Tav bristled slightly, but soon placed her own hand over his.

“You don’t have to watch this,” she warned, her voice monotone.

Minsc chuckled lightly, “A fact for you, Tav—you cannot do more carnage than Boo, here.”

She didn’t smile, didn’t react to his words. Instead, she went around and piled the bodies in the middle of the room and watched them sink into the pool. Slowly, the pool overflowed with darkening blood.  Slowly, she submerged herself into its depths. Slowly, the others lowered themselves to one knee. Even Valeria quieted. 

She emerged seeking vengeance. 

An oath to herself, to the bloody grand scheme of all things.

---

The only stop Tav made before descending into the sewers was Sorcerous Sundries. There she spent most of her coin on scrolls for Gale, healing potions, and a new dagger for Astarion. Rolan gave her that and more, descending into the library for scrolls mainly used in battle, and a longsword that was promised to an ancient soldier seeking redemption.

Rolan said she could keep it if she liked the weight of it. So she passed Sarevok's blade to Minthara and adopted the ancient silver steel for herself. 

Rolan trusted her with it.

It was the first time in Tav’s life that she kneeled before anyone and thanked them with tears in her eyes.

---

The fourth time Halsin heard the crack of Tav’s lungs was while he was strapped to Bhaal’s altar, praying to Silvanus for anyone to come and save him. How he missed Tav’s awkward smile and her genuine innocence to all things common. How he missed Gale’s blabbing and knowledge about topics Halsin had always wanted to explore. How he missed Lae’zel’s naiveness to all things Faerun and the way her high nose crinkled when annoyed. How he missed Karlach’s spontaneous attitude in the face of death and the way she practiced her dancing when the others made deals across the city. How he begged Silvanus to give him a fighting chance because he forgot to hug his vampire and tell him he was proud of his decision back at Cazador’s palace. How he needed to live because Wyll needed someone to tell him that his trying was starting to pay off and he did not need his father’s approval to show his face in the city again. How he wanted to learn from Jaheira, no matter their similarities, because she had explored much more of the Sword Coast than he ever did. And he needed to live because he forgot to tell Minthara that he respected her and that her words the other night had elated him to new heights. 

He wanted to live because before he met his companions, Halsin didn’t think he had truly lived at all.

Tav lunged for Orin, slicing up her back and cracking her armor. Orin wailed, her pale eyes darting toward the altar. She lunged forward, close enough to knick Halsin’s forearm, before smacking against the temple floor with the full weight of her sister. Tav wrapped her hands around Orin’s throat, nails digging into the meat.

The temple gave a great shake, and everything happened too fast. 

Orin’s bones broke and her muscles melted. Her face contorted and stretched. Her limbs grew and her nails punctured stone. Tav scrambled back, hitting Astarion’s knees. He too was frozen in shock, readying his daggers. One great strike and Astarion was sent into a crowd of Bhaalists, the spray of his stale blood igniting their most sadistic desires. Forgotten were Orin’s orders, and Shadowheart took the opportunity. Casting spirit guardians, she dashed for the small crowd and tore them down one by one, even drawing out the invisibles. Gale kept his distance, missiles flying directly into Orin’s back as she inched closer and closer to Tav. 

One massive step, and Tav had to jump back. Again and again. But each step brought Orin closer to Minthara, whose sharpened blade met the tendons of one of her monstrous arms. Orin bellowed, swinging blindly, which allowed Tav to nail a strike to her neck. And when Bhaal instilled more energy into Orin’s slayer form, they repeated the tiresome process. 

Though groggy, Halsin forced himself to sit up on the altar. To watch Tav land the long-awaited, final blow. The agony in her swing, the tortured crack of her throat, the absolute devastation on her face when Orin transformed back and crawled to her—melting and moaning, a single arm extended in a last attempt at landing another hit. 

When Orin was nothing but a rancid puddle and her Bhaalists quieted, Halsin stepped onto the ground. Wobbly on his feet, he was held up by Gale’s strong arms and handed his staff for extra support. Minthara made to loot Orin’s remains when the temple shook below their feet and darkness enveloped them. 

It only took a minute. One horrifying minute where Halsin and his companions stood paralyzed as they watched Tav reject Bhaal, and curse his name and line. One disturbing minute as they watched Bhaal steal back his blood in literal ribbons.

The ground quaked, as did the crimson walls. Bhaalists slowly retreated into the shadows, shame and fury keeping them from another fight. Bhaal’s likeness flared after each individual quake, as if trying to shake them from his domain. 

Bhaal didn’t need Tav anymore—He would choose another. He didn’t need her companions to keep her alive anymore. He didn’t need anything anymore.

Falling to his knees, Halsin cradled her head in his large palm. It didn’t seem like Bhaal had broken her bones. Just... drained her of all fluids. His blood. Holding her delicately, he hovered a palm over her chest. 

Nothing. No beat, no pump. Stale.

“Please,” Halsin whimpered, the force of his tears blinding him. “Defy your fate. Just one more time.”

Shadowheart tugged on Halsin’s bicep, begging him to carry Tav out instead. That they could work together underneath the sunlight, in the embrace of the Oak Father. But he could not pull himself away from her, could not stop pumping his hands into her fragile chest, could not stop sharing his air. Rational thought begged him to listen to Shadowheart, that the air of Bhaal’s temple would not nourish her orphaned lungs. Halsin could not stop trying, because the moment he stopped he understood it was the end.

The lilac of her face paled to an ashen white and when he lifted an eyelid to catch any form of light, he was cursed with the sight of bloodless and pale eyes. They retreated so far back into her skull that he caught a glimpse of the surrounding nerves. The silver fire had truly been extinguished. He yelled in frustration—in untamed misery. 

The temple shook violently, sending Astarion to his knees. He cursed, dodging falling rock and the crumbling altar. Halsin continued to pump her chest, his healing power slowly seeping through her skin. 

Not fast enough. All failing. 

Gale fumbled inside his robes and pulled out a scroll, determination evident through his panic. Halsin knew a scroll of revivify would be of no use. Gale persisted, cursing as he ripped a corner, and read it quickly. The temple shook again.

And through his worry, Gale lifted his chin and faced Bhaal’s likeness. Brow lowered and dark eyes fully unmasked, he said in a whisper like pure death, “You forget yourself, Bhaal. Tav is not the only Chosen standing before you.”

Casting globe of invulnerability, Halsin and Shadowheart were now free to work. Surprising not only Halsin but the pale elf beside him, Bhaal grew silent. Frozen. Strangely cooperative for Mystra’s shamed Chosen.

And through Halsin’s rapid breathing, he heard the unmistakable sigh of Withers.

---

It was Astarion who talked him off the ledge. A figurative one, thankfully. After Tav was revived, she was so damn happy and grateful that he… Distanced himself for a few hours. Orin had only psychologically tortured him, but not even to the extent he believed she would indulge in. It was like he was an afterthought, and he found himself wishing he wasn’t. If Halsin wasn’t the one receiving punishments, it meant Tav was. It meant another poor soul was under Orin’s knife. 

And in those rare moments of solace, when the smell of blood and shit clogged his nostrils so badly all other senses failed to work, he realized just how stupidly righteous he was. All this time he had mentored others on why self-care and self-love were the most important factors in one’s daily routine, and he had never participated in either practice. Halsin was huge on taking care of the body, getting the right amount of meditation, and nurturing one’s magic like a newly sprouted seedling. But where was the self-care that involved speaking well of himself, of sometimes selfishly taking a day off to do absolutely nothing? Where was the self-love that translated to being kind to himself, of acknowledging that he can’t win every battle? 

“A second chance means it’s all out in the open now, darling. Do not leave anything unspoken.”  

Tav was given a new lease on life, and he needed to realize he was, too. His inner turmoils needed to be dealt with, but never at the expense of his peace. His positivity needed to be channeled through multiple platforms, not just through pep-talks and health-related issues. His love, though bountiful, had taken root in one person, and after three hundred and fifty years he would finally follow the invisible string that had been glowing gold since fighting his way out of that goblin camp. 

Being righteous had its perks, but he learned that abusing all of them at once would only bring about a harsh end. If one wanted to be a tragic hero so badly, then the Gods would take pleasure weaving that fate. 

He decided that tragedy would have no place in his world, nor would it for Tav. 

“Tell me she did not hurt you,” he said, his heart jumping as he received a surprised gasp.

He felt her lingering not far, her scent one that would take millennia to forget and would be discovered carved into his spine-bones.

Their companions had cleared out an hour ago and were no doubt adding to the ruckus downstairs. Shadowheart’s parents had taken Yenna and the animals on a walk around the park. It was only Halsin in their rooms, lounging on his bed pretending to read the book Gale had let him borrow. Tav leaned against the wooden pillar as if waiting to be called into the gigantic space. Her lean frame was concealed under a heavy knitted sweater. 

Her mouth slightly parted. “Me? Tell me if she hurt you. Please.”

“She did not touch me, my heart.”

She walked to him slowly, pausing mid-way when he put the book down. 

“If I had never come up with that stupid tadpoling plan, if I had never stolen that godsdamned crown, if I would have just told you to stay at the Grove all those months ago—”

“You would be dead.”

Her eyes widened. “What?”

“If Orin hadn’t experimented on you and instead chose to kill you, we would all be dead. If you had never stolen that crown, Gale would have never gained the independence he so desperately needed from Mystra, and chosen to better himself for himself. If you had never had the idea for the tadpoles, Astarion would still be a slave with no way out. You wouldn’t have defeated Orin or gained your own freedom—been born again. And if I had listened to you and stayed at the Grove, I would still be wallowing in self-pity and estranged from the outside world.”

“I have caused so much travesty—” she began, tears pricking her waterline. Halsin would not stand for that.

“You were Hells sent, but by the Gods have you proven to be the most beautiful fallen devil.”

A single tear. That was all she let fall before wiping her cheek and lifting her chin. He stood and closed the distance, cupping her face and tracing his thumb over her scar. 

“Listen to me, you annoying brat of a drow. You were liberated for a reason,” he said, his throat clenching on itself. “You were given a second chance for a reason. It is not up to you to decide whether you deserve it or not. You do, and only soulless creatures will argue it.”

She copied his movements and smoothed over his own scars, her soft-hearted gaze just as powerful as her perfected vicious one. 

“For everything I’ve done… How is it possible for my prize to be you?”

“How is it possible that for all my years of unchanged routine, I want to discard everything I know to learn my first steps with you?”

“Please don’t discard everything,” Tav pleaded through a chuckle, “because if I must learn how to be good again, then I’ll need you by my side.”

“My heart, my love,” he declared, his thumb now hovering over her plump bottom lip. “Give yourself more credit.”

Tav catapulted into his arms, claiming his lips with her own in a kiss so anguished and starved he had nothing to compare it to. Every kiss before was now rendered a dull touch, and Tav was all he would ever know. Grateful as he was for the new reality, Halsin immediately responded to her eagerness, matching it with such force they threw each other into the walls. He had spent so long ignoring the undeniable urge to devour her wholly, to make a feast of her sweat and moans. 

Tav pushed forward, knocking him into Wyll’s bedpost. It dug into his spine, but he countered quickly. He dove even deeper, their teeth clanging momentarily as he pushed her into Jaheira’s alchemy set. It toppled to the ground, nothing spilled, but blocking their clumsy path all the same. He was trying to guide them back to her bed since his was currently covered with books, but it seemed like their legs weren’t cooperating with their decision. Tav didn’t seem to mind. She kissed him with a hunger that rivaled Gale’s orb, or Astarion’s bloodthirst. This was a kiss equivalent to a last one—like she was trying to make it count. 

He wanted to voice it: They were going to survive. Their allies were going to survive. They would live happily after this. Free of the dark urge, free of titles, free of responsibilities that weren’t their own. He would be by her side for however long she would have him. And Gods, did he hope that was forever. 

They toppled to the center of the room, the ever-blazing fire warming their already searing bodies. They detached for the sole reason of removing their upper layers, baring their skin and basking in the nearby orange glow. 

Pulling her close, Halsin savored the feeling of her breasts pressed against his burly chest. Her soft skin like velvet, it was everything Halsin imagined. Snaking his hands down her back, he made sure to leave a delicate path along her spine. She shivered as the pads of his fingers kissed each vertebrae, her nipples hardening against his skin. Tav attempted to do the same, but eager in her pursuit, she skipped his entire spine and went straight for his ass, cupping it so she could pull their hips together. There, she proved his readiness. 

He groaned softly, caressing her curves in return. “I will spend hours kissing every inch of your skin—”

“Halsin,” Tav rasped, pulling away with an expression that looked almost pained, “It’s getting late and the others will be returning soon. You can cash those hours another day, I promise. I want you to absolutely ravish me right now.”

“Fuck,” he breathed, gripping her hair and pulling her back in. She chuckled through the kiss, his spiced tea still lingering in her breath. He removed his trousers and hers, flicking her sandals over the railing and across the room. Laying her down, he could finally witness her beauty uncovered. Three parallel scars faded directly below her left breast, another just above her hip bone. A handful of stretch marks encircled her waist, the lilac skin pulled to its extent, probably during her younger years. And there were freckles dusted along her inner thighs, each a tantalizing path to her dripping center. He carefully pulled her thighs up and apart, spreading her open to take her in. 

She wiggled under his gaze, the rush of untainted and newly reclaimed blood staining her cheeks. A spectacular delight to know she belonged to herself now and was willingly allowing him to share in her discovery. 

“Do you not like me looking at you here?” he asked, running his fingertips close to where she pulsed. She swallowed hard and tried to shut her legs. 

“Even I haven’t seen myself down there, you annoying oaf of a druid.”

“Then it is settled.” His voice lowered to a dangerous level, inciting a spark of heat through his own stomach. “The next time I fuck you, it shall be with your back against my chest, my cock between your legs, and a mirror in front of us. Then you’ll gaze upon yourself and your argument will be shot to the Hells.”

Her eyes widened, an almost innocent look that had his cock jumping.

“Go get it now.”

An uncontrollable moan sprouted from his lungs, but he did as he was told. A total of ten seconds he was away as he hauled the mirror to the center of the room, but it was long enough for Tav to take matters into her own hands. He returned to find her fingers deep inside her cunt, another twisting the hardened peak of her nipple. 

“Give it to me,” he ordered, lowering to her level again. She gasped, moving to kneel before him. Taking her hand, he made sure to lock their eyes before taking two wet fingers into his mouth. She tasted earthly, original, delectable. The same taste that formed on his own tongue when he pleasured himself, when that spark of energy grew at the base of his spine and his chest rose with a battered scream. He sucked softly, savoring every drop, and took himself in his hand. 

Tav followed his movement, her yearning evident as it practically shot from her essence into his own. Warming his insides, sating his darkest wants. 

“You are no stranger to self-pleasure, yes?”

Tav shook her head. “I indulged.”

Guiding her hand back to herself, he continued stroking. He was fortunate enough to have an impressive length as well as girth, and something he would do for any and all lovers was prepare them. There was no Hell in this realm where he would hurt them to satisfy his needs quicker. 

“Show me,” he pleaded, jutting his chin. “Show me, and I’ll show you.”

Tav circled her clit slowly, switching from watching his face to watching his hand. “Tell me, druid. Did you ever fuck yourself while thinking of me?”

The smile he offered was feral. “Have you no manners? What an invasive question.”

She leaned back and opened her thighs again, and plunged two fingers into herself. A gold glimmer scurried up his skin, then disappeared. 

“I did it once,” she admitted, moaning softly as she went a little too deep. “It was the first time I ever thought about someone else while doing it, too. Do you want to know where and when I did it?”

Sliding his thumb over his slit, Halsin bit his tongue. He settled between her open legs, her knees knocking against the sides of his torso. So close that he could feel the heat of her arousal. 

“Tell me.”

She took her fingers out and paid close attention to her clit. “That night you returned from the Shadowfell and officially joined our group. I asked you about lovers and you mentioned that you bed alone. I—ah—didn’t know what that feeling was so I explored it. I came four times that night, all because you were so kind and Karlach never shut up about climbing you like a tree and I was curious—”

She came with her back arched and a cry on her moist lips, but her fingers never paused. Neither did her confession. 

“You made me so confused and angry all the time. Would you have fucked me all those months ago if I asked?”

Halsin expertly lifted her and flipped her around, cushioning his knees at the same time. They could see each other in the mirror now, exposed and glistening. His braids were loose and a sheen of sweat covered his biceps. He lowered Tav until her bottom rested on his thighs. She moved them slightly, her backside brushing against him tenderly. He hugged her firm, but loose enough that she could still move forward if needed. 

“No,” he admitted, reaching up to cup one of her breasts. Before he let her expression sour however, he added, “You weren’t ready. I wasn’t ready. You said you did not want to be another notch on my belt, and I promise you that if you’ll have me, I will be your one and only. You will be my one and only. We see each other for who we are now, unburdened by inner turmoils. And I will continue seeing you long after we defeat the enemies that await us. So no, Tav. I would not have slept with you all those months ago.”

He lifted her carefully, and lined himself up. She watched the mirror intently.

“We see each other now,” he whispered into the crook of her neck. “The silver of this mirror meets the silver of your beauty, and I shall use the golden hues you see in me to light you in its presence.”

He slid into her, holding her steady with each new inch, muttering words of encouragement as she struggled. 

“Halsin,” she whimpered, raising her arms to use his hair as a grip. She could pull with all her strength and Halsin would bask in the pain. “By the gods, this can’t be real.”

Halsin chuckled, and finally all of him was seated inside her. He felt himself pulse with the need to move. She circled her hips, testing the waters, watching the way she stretched around him in the mirror. The pornographic sight had his hips stuttering. Each bounce she attempted had him breathing harder, a savage burn encasing his heart and lungs. Yet he held back, holding her around the stomach now as she explored the new feeling. 

“Hot,” she said, her smile genuine. “You feel hot against me. Inside me.”

“Tell me to burn hotter and I will.”

Adjusting her hips, she nodded at him in the mirror. 

A single thrust and his skin pricked deliciously, the guttural groan Tav gave because of it prompting him to thrust again. Together they moved and watched themselves in the mirror, gaining as much speed as their knees allowed. Plunging deeper and deeper, Halsin reined in the bear and forced himself to stay present. Never had the need to wildshape been this serious before. 

“You’re glowing,” Tav said, a sudden whine escaping her throat as he hit her from a particular angle. “I’m not about to have a bear’s cock inside me, am I? I can barely handle this one.”

His laugh melted into a moan. “No, my love. But we can explore that terrain another time.”

She scoffed playfully, “Damn druids.”

She yelped as he pushed her forward on her hands and knees, watching her face in case he overstepped. But all he saw was pure delight, excitement in being adored like this. It occurred to him that she had probably never been taken, and he doubted Gortash fucked her properly. 

Wrapping her hair in his fist, he lifted her head so she could watch him pound into her. He fucked her hard and fast, the slap of their skin reverberating through their quiet rooms. Her mouth dropped open as he kept his brutal pace, her eyelids drooping in perfect rapture.

“Ah! Fuck, I—Oh, fuck Halsin. This is—this is so fucking good,” she whined, then sucked in a deep breath. “It’s like you're in my stomach.”

“You’re doing perfectly, my heart. The feeling—the feeling around me…”

He couldn't finish his sentence. Tav dropped to her elbows and screamed, pushing her hips backward to take him deeper. He watched as he fucked into her, her arousal coating the sides of his cock and dripping down the backs of her thighs. Watched how the enticing curve of her spine met the base of her bowed neck and the damp baby hairs curling there. And in the mirror he was also able to catch a glimpse of the drool she failed to catch, of her hand coming to wipe at her chin and then quickly catch her weight again. 

“It feels so good I might cry,” she laughed, though the sound was overridden by more devious ones. 

“Your beautiful sounds are surely the talk of the pub right now,” he teased, slowing his thrusts purposely. “Do you think they can hear you cry for me? Do you think they hear as I fuck into you? Gods, you’re soaked and begging, aren’t you?”

Tav pushed her hips again, her frustration growing. 

“I pray they come and investigate. I can scarcely believe I’m not dreaming. And if they see me fucking you out in the open, how deep I am, my seed dripping out of you—”

The fifth time Halsin heard Tav scream was when she came so violently around his aching cock, tears of bliss on her blushed cheeks and a whole-body tremble seizing her, pulse after pulse threatening to milk him of everything he had. And she partially succeeded as he came inside her, a shout of his own syncing with hers. 

Floating for twenty or so seconds, they enjoyed the feeling of their entanglement before Halsin started moving again. Tender, silky slides that were louder now as his seed spilled out of her, coating them equally. Tav’s breath quickened, the rug burn on her elbows striking him with a powerful burst of elation. Soon he’ll match them on her knees, he’ll gladly accept them in return, and he’ll ask Tav to make him scream until his throat was raw. 

Though he fucked her deep, he kept his hands soft. Much to her surprise, he turned her onto her back and draped himself over her. 

Tav giggled and pulled her trapped hair from under her shoulders. “Your chest hair is ticklish.”

His heart swelled. If such a visceral reaction was possible from such a simple sound, how would he feel when that laugh rattled her chest and burst eardrums? He wasn’t above dropping dead—may his flesh nourish the soil she walked on, may his bones carry the weight of her decisions, and may his soul grant her peace. 

He stroked her right cheek with his index, loose strands of his hair kissing the left. “Apologies.”

“Don’t apologize. I know it’s wrong to say, but I am so glad you’re alive alongside me.”

“It’s not wrong to say,” he assured, sliding back into her with a short grunt. He bit her bottom lip as she gasped. “I’m just glad you’ve given me the chance to experience this alongside you.”

They shared their breaths as Halsin quickened his pace. Grabbing her left thigh and lifting it, he reached her most sensitive spot and kept at it. They were still in the middle of their highs, but his head was clearer. Sure, the idea of their companions walking in on them was intriguing, but Halsin found himself selfish now. Maybe another time they would discuss their fantasies—this was all for themselves. Practically shielding her, he felt the bear shimmer with…

Acceptance. Possessiveness. Satisfaction. Happiness. 

The urge to roam that lay dormant for the past few months vanished entirely. He was Tav’s and Tav’s was his, and no longer would they be slaves to expectations or the commands of others. This moment they shared would bleed into eternity. 

“I love you,” she said, her waterline silver. She repeated it, over and over, and he too admitted the same. 

“I love you, too.”

They came together again, their hearts aligned, their breathing timed for risk of stopping altogether. 

Later, when their companions returned and noticed the positive shift in their relationship, Halsin realized that though his love for Tav was unparalleled and rare, it also extended to the rowdy group of adventurers who had proven their loyalty ten times over. And if fate would allow it, he wanted to follow them long after their final battle proved victorious.

---

x

[whimsiandwild]

Come To Me: Part Three

Pairing: Durgetash [Gortash x Female!Durge]

Word Count: 2100

Warnings: SPICY SPICY SPICY. They smash, it's spicy. Oral[receiving], vaginal sex, some slightly depraved violence (#justdurgethings)

A/N: I did warn you all I had a dream about this bit, so you've had fair warning. Enjoy :)

Tagging: @durgeteriormotives @syrips @ixora111 @feydstan @neko-rhapsodos @quietdemonuwu @tavs-brainworm @lapinetroses

The disgusting, mutant little creature before her seemed so thoroughly and genuinely delighted to see her that Tav didn’t really know how to respond. It was the ugliest thing she’d ever seen, in a little suit and top hat, but it was strangely endearing. She almost felt some sort of warmth towards it. It was then that she decided she had well and truly tipped over the edge; her actions tonight had already been proof enough of that.

“Wh- what are you?” she squeaked, clearing her throat as she scooted back away from it.

“Sceleritas Fel, forever at your service, my depraved mistress,” He swept his hat off as he fell into a deep bow, straightening only after he’d felt was an appropriate amount of respect. “I have been praying every day to your father that you might finally have need of me again, and here you are! As messy a pup as I ever remembered.”

He gave a strange laugh and Tav stared down at the mutilated corpse, giving a small shriek and dropping the remaining flesh to the floor as a full blown panic set in.

“Oh gods! What have I done?”

“It is only your nature, mistress, do not fret. I shall have things tidied and taken to the temple before sun’s light.”

“Temple? What… what are you talking about?!”

“Why, your father’s temple, of course, my rotted lady! The Temple of Bhaal, beneath this very city. Unfortunately, Orin has stolen your seat but I look forward to the brutality you shall bestow upon her when you return home.”

Her mind was spinning. This was too much to process, and it proved that Gortash hadn’t lied to her. That was the thing that was surprising her most, not her actions or her deplorable butler, the fact that this man had been completely honest with her. He was the first and only person so far who’d been open from the start.

“What am I supposed to do? Hey!” She snapped a bloody finger in front of his face, the thing muttering to himself about clean up processes. “If you’re sworn to me or whatever, bloody well help me!”

Sceleritas pondered for a moment before sighing; he seemed most disgruntled. A hand slipped inside of his suit jacket and handed her a potion, a silvery concoction in a diamond-shaped vial.

“Take this, it should give you enough time to get to him,” he grimaced, Tav lifting a brow at his comment. “He will help you. Your Gortash,” The words made her stomach flip; her Gortash. “Drink the vial and go straight away. I will return to you at some other time, mistress.”

He dipped into another bow as Tav stood, eyeing the vial as she did. Pulling out the stopper, she paused before it could hit her lips.

“Um.. Sceleritas?,” She smiled as his head snapped up, his eyes huge as he gazed at her in adoration. “Thanks.”

Swallowing down the potion in one; it wasn’t as pleasant tasting as it looked; and tossed the vial to the floor, the butler scurrying to retrieve it. Her entire body tingled but that was about it; she wasn’t exactly sure what it had done, if had done anything.

“Remember, mistress, this will last an hour unless you attack or use magic. Do take care, my lady.”

Turning his back to her, Sceleritas began his work, Tav watching him for a few seconds more before exiting.

It was only as she had walked along the streets of Baldur’s Gate that she had realised the use of the potion. It occurred to her that walking around, covered head to toe in gore might not leave the best impression upon guards and townsfolk but everyone she’d walked past had ignored her, like she wasn’t even there. Tav had soon caught her reflection in a window, or lack there of; he’d given her an invisibility potion. She really would have to find a better way of thanking him.

Slipping past Heram and his fellow guard, Tav had to be stealthy as she pulled open the doors leading into the ceremony hall. She tripped a couple of times, knocking some boxes flying, much to the surprise of the dozing guards on the benches. Thankfully, she made it to the top, to Gortash, within about half an hour of drinking the potion. Now, however, she had a different problem. She opened his door a crack and squeezed through before closing it as quietly as she could. Unfortunately for her, his hearing was impecable.

“Who’s there? Who has the audacity to enter my chambers without permission?”

Tav couldn’t help but giggle at the authoritarian tone of his words, Gortash storming into the foyer and looking around. When he found no one waiting for him, he was immediately defensive, picking up a letter opener before venturing further into the room.

What was she supposed to do? What had the butler said? Attack or… A switch flipped in her mind and she raised her hand, trying desperately to remember the incantation Gale had taught her. Eventually, a tiny flame of light appeared on her palm, Gortash jumping out of his skin as she reappeared from nothing. His jaw dropped as he took in her appearance, the knife dropping with a clang to the floor.

“Enver,” she whispered, the severity of the situation resting heavily on her suddenly, tears brimming her eyes. “Help me.”

Gortash had jumped into action the moment she’d uttered the words, hiding her behind a column as he ordered for two baths to be drawn in his quarters, no questions asked, and there would be consequences for anyone who entered for the rest of the night. Dire consequences.

That was how Tav had ended up in this second bath, her knees curled into her chest as Gortash ran thick fingers through her tangled hair, cleaning it of mess. His shirt and gloves were tossed to the side, along with her own ruined clothing. She’d glanced at them a few times, thinking how easy it would be to take the netherstone and run, but she didn’t want to.

Resting her cheek on her arm as he dried his hands off, she stared blankly at the other tub, the water crimson and filled with god knows what that had come off of her; it’s why he’d ordered for two.

“You hair is once again luscious and clean, kitten,” he informed her, his fingers running delicate patterns over her back that gave her goosepimples. “Are you alright? It must have been quite a shock.”

“I don’t know what came over me. Sceleritas seemed thrilled by it,” she told him, feeling completely defeated.

“Ah, the butler,” Enver gave a cold laugh, disdain in his voice as he spoke. “He never liked me, you know. I always thought he coddled you too much. You didn’t need coddling.”

“What did I need?”

Silence fell and he was by her side, lifting her head with gentle fingers so they were eye to eye.

“Love. And it’s what I gave you. Until the very end.”

He was so earnest, so serious, that she could have wept. Their connection was so strong, so intense, but she still felt he was a stranger. She allowed her hand to cup his cheek for a moment, Gortash eagerly leaning into the touch like a man starved.

“Would you still give it to me now? Knowing what a monster I am?” she frowned, sniffing back tears as she stroked his temple with her thumb.

“In an instant,” he replied at once, clutching her hand in both of his and placing it over his heart, Tav clawing at the rough hair beneath her fingers. “And you’re not a monster. I’ve never thought so, at least. You are a force to be reckoned with, Bhaal’s chosen and favourite. I would forsake Bane to keep one as extraordinary and beautiful as you by my side.”

“What about the netherstone? Would you forsake that?”

“No,” he said frankly, her face falling. “Only because I would want us to use the stones so we may rule this world. Together. Just like we planned.”

“Enver-.”

“I love you, Tav,” He stressed the words, his grip on her hand almost painful. “I will always love you, whether you regain your memories or not. I am yours and you are mine, and we will rule over Faerûn as we were destined. I love you.”

A quiet sob caught in her throat and she kissed him fiercely, water sloshing over the sides and soaking what was left of his clothes. He returned it in earnest, heaving her out of the water and wrapping her in his arms. He never broke their kiss as he lay her gently on a blanket, everything about the moment enveloping and overwhelming both of them. For her, it was giving in to inescapable fate; for him, it was blissfully returning to the embrace of his lover.

He peppered kisses all over her face, her jaw, her shoulders, slowly working his way lower. The attention he showed her breasts had her eyes rolling, and then he lay his stubbled cheek against her hip, one of his hands running across the soft curve of her thigh.

“Let me taste you, kitten. I need to see if you’re still as sweet as I remember.”

All she could do was nod, not really having the words to offer him as his lips trailed lower and lower until they were at the most sensitive part of her body. He lavished her, worshipped her, had her writhing and squirming under his touch and his tongue, his fingers all too happy to aid in her pleasure. She was hot, her heart racing, and her back arched as euphoria washed over her, her walls clenching around his fingers as she cried out. He moaned against her skin, sending more sparks through her.

“As expected,” he smirked, kissing her hotly before allowing her to lick his fingers clean, hissing as she sucked on them. “You are still as delicious as ever, kitten. Perhaps more so than before.”

Cupping his face in her hands, she pulled him to her, their lips crashing into one another for another frenzied kiss as he shimmied out of his trousers. She gasped as he pressed himself against her sopping core, the feeling of him so familiar she could cry.

“Will you allow me?” he panted, pausing his lusftul motions for a mere moment before she assented.

He was buried in her within seconds, both of them unable to hold back the sounds pleasure that escaped them, Gortash burying his head in her shoulder as he began to move his hips, slow, languid rolls that had her clinging to him.

Tav hadn’t expected this, any of this, but it felt so right. She wished she could remember them as he did, share his memories, but she would have to content herself with the new ones they were making for now. He felt incredible inside her, and she knew, deep down, this had always been the case; they fit perfectly together.

Despite his decision to start slow, he soon lost control of himself and his hips were snapping back and forth with ferocious speed, Tav crying out his name as her fingers gripped the blanket beneath her. She was so close, and it was encouraging those now all too familiar terrible urges. Without lifting his head, Gortash placed the letter opener in her hand, gritting his teeth as his thrusts grew sloppy.

“Just do it,” he growled, his fingers bruising her hips as he pinned them to the floor.

It was an almost out of body experience as she came for a second time, Enver grunting as she seized him from the inside. The knife plunged into his shoulder, the man growling and tightening his grip further as he continued his assault. Tav felt that feral nature coming on again and tossed the knife aside, still moaning as she wrapped her lips around the wound, biting and sucking until she tasted the copper taint of him on her tongue. It was too much for Gortash, spilling into her with a guttaral moan as she continued to steal what was his.

“Gods, kitten,” he breathed, falling weakly atop her as she finally released him; the weight of him felt good, comforting almost. “I always forget how good you are.”

Her arm snaked around his shoulder, her free hand toying with the small cut that was still dripping his blood onto her chest. She smiled, feeling full, content, and happy.

They’d crossed a line now, and she wasn’t nearly as upset about it as she’d ought to be.

“Forgive me, father,” she whispered, tugging at her lover’s hair as he squeezed her tighter.

She was in way over her head, but she didn’t mind at all.

[fandomcringebucket]

What If Baldur’s Gate 3 Characters Were Magnus Archive Fear Avatars?

This has been sitting in a Google doc since last year, I'm not hyperfixating on either of these fandoms currently but you guys get to see it finally because I'm sick of seeing it unfinished in my drafts.

Without further ado, this is what I think all the BG3 companions (minus Minsc and Jaheira) + the Dead Three's chosen would be the avatars of if they were TMA fear avatars! Plus explanation, of course.

[Blanket Spoiler Warning, Proceed With Caution]

Lae’zel: The Slaughter, since Gith culture is militaristic and Lae’zel is a soldier through and through— she doesn't mindlessly kill or easily fly into a blind rage, but she still craves blood all the same.

Shadowheart: The Dark. Come on, Shar wants to plunge the world into eternal darkness, this writes itself.

Astarion: The Web, for his fixation on manipulation and gaining power in any way he can. Hell, even in his romance he was manipulating Tav/Durge at first, even if he realizes that security wasn't all he wanted.

Gale: The Eye, his obsession with knowledge and his need to know more was what brought him ruin and led him to the Orb, not unlike a certain Archivist we know.

Wyll: The Hunt, since he's literally primarily a hunter of monsters and other demonic creatures. Targeted by the Eye, maybe, since Mizora uses his bloodstone eye for surveillance and he's so worried about pursuing a romance with Tav/Durge because she's turned his own brain into a nightmare panopticon where he doesn't know if he's being watched so he always acts like he is.

Karlach: The Slaughter, for her connections with war and destruction— she's full of rage and violence but while I do think the fire caused by her engine smacks of Desolation, she's not been brought low enough to be a Desolation avatar in my opinion (even with her consuming other people's misery like one via Soul Coins).

Halsin: The Hunt, mostly for his animal connections and his obsession with tracking down the answers to fix the Shadow Curse not unlike the way you see mentions of explorers in the 1800s trying to find secrets in the more remote parts of the world.

Minthara: The Web, not just because drow and haha spiders but because she's fixated on gaining power, even if you recruited her the “good” way. Hell, you literally find her sitting on Ketheric’s throne after you kill him in the Mindflayer colony and come back up to the surface of Moonrise.

Withers: Not even an avatar, he's just The End, as the Literal (Retired) God Of Death And Everything Surrounding It.

Ketheric: The End, which is fitting not only because Myrkul is the Necromancer in the Dead Three trio, but because Ketheric's motivation for turning to evil gods (first Shar, then Myrkul) was because his wife and daughter died, and he couldn't handle that loss.

Orin: The Slaughter, for obvious reasons. Not the Hunt, mostly just because Bhaal focuses on the blood of the murder itself, not the chase beforehand. But I do think she's sharing winks with the Stranger, what with her being a Changeling and all.

Gortash: The Web, as The Web’s avatars tend to love manipulation and holding power over others— fitting for the Chosen of the God of Tyranny. (Touched by Desolation like Mike Crew was touched by the Spiral because of Gortash’s connection to the Hells, maybe?)

[maegalkarven]

The thing what kills me what it's not even OOC for the team to work with Gortash. You can canonically do that.

Wyll and Karlach don't even leave the party if you do that, you don't even have to make a roll to convince them.

You can either abandon Ravengard or save him BEHING GORTASH'S BACK after you've already killed Orin and solidified your pact and he went to the Morphic Pool. Like this is legit the thing I did in one on my playthroughs.

He canonically only attacks you if you attack him first, give him the stones (proving yourself to be weak) or if you went to a place he Explicitly told you Not To Go.

He calls you before you enter the Iron Throne and tells you not to do that. It's a direct warning and pretty much the only line you can't cross. You can destroy Steel Watch Foundry and STILL he offers an alliance.

(Fr how desperate is he for an ally??? Hello?? @ Mr Bane's Chosen, I don't think Bane approves???? You got this whole tyranny thing a lil wrong???)

His downfall is HIMSELF; if he did not go for that dumb stones grab he'd survive, but also he KNOWS they're going to fail in confronting the Brain, he pretty much states it in the convo next to a Morphic Pool, but he still pushes to try it, to meet the downfall on his terms.

I'm pretty sure it would be possible to convince him the Elder Brain needs to be destroyed because it became uncontrollable and is too much of a threat now (the things you can't control should be destroyed, yadda yadda, survival is a strong instinct and would win against thirst for power bc power is a means of survival too and power can be achieved elsewhere, meanwhile in death he is sentenced to Bane's wrath)

All the possible scenarios where his death by Netherbrain's command does not happen cloud my mind and I suffer. They could have had it all! Even Good!tav/Durge could have a Good Ending(hero of Forgotten Realms) and alliance with Gortash.

We could have had it all!!!

[findtheflamexvi]

Title: Untitled.

No Warnings.

Tags: And just bored.

Summary: Gortash, Tav/Reader and a threat. Thats all.

Enver Gortash has been many things in this world that devours innocence and weakness. But in short, he is a man who has learned to survive on lies and twisted truths. Just like you. 

His hands gesture a role learned long ago. Security. His lips wield poisoned promises that lie and hurt in equal measure. But eyes do not deceive anyone who knows how to look into them. And Gortash's eyes tell you, among other things, that he harbours wounds he can no longer heal and that he hides terrible fears. Gortash's eyes are storm clouds that threaten the world because the world has threatened him in the first place. 

Enver Gortash is a dangerous man who has detached himself from the good in life in favour of ambition and control. 

Tired of being a victim, tired of being a bargaining chip, he has given up his feelings and given himself to the dark god Bane. 

Over a glass of wine and the quiet of a dark room, he confesses that his parents sold him as a child. That this situation shaped his personality and that he uses everyone around him when people give him the opportunity to do so.

If you can't trust your own parents, how can you really trust anyone? Yet, for some reason, Gortash trusts you enough to have told you all this. But why? 

—We deserve the world and everything in it. 

The plural says so. What catches your attention. 

Gortash is not looking at you, and even if he were, you could catch nothing but shadows in his eyes broken faintly by candlelight. 

You can, however, admire the profile of his face as he gazes out of the window at the landscape outside. 

—You don't remember, of course. But once, some years ago, you and I made a promise to each other. An oath I have stuck to day and night ever since—. Gortash turns his face in your direction. His lips smile—. That we would rule the world or die trying. That we would no longer live like beaten rats. 

The temperance in his voice belies the anger reflected in the clenched fingers of his right hand.

—Bane and Bhaal together again. You and I allied once more. 

—Once more —you repeat in a whisper as you do your best to remember what exactly it is that binds you to this man who watches you sip from his wine glass. 

The atmosphere smells of liquor, blood and tension. A sweet, exotic tension, a tension that envelops you like silk. 

On impulse you get up and walk over to him. You turn the chair he's sitting in and look him in the eye as you rest one hand on the back of the chair. Then you gently lean over him so that your eyes are free from the cover of darkness. 

Gortash smells of wine and something else. Desire. 

Your other free hand travels to the opening of his open shirt. Your fingertips run along the hairs of his chest, his warm skin. You feel the slow beat of his heart and your hand continues to ascend without pause. Gortash just stares at you silently and contemplatively, studying you. It is then that your fingers reach his neck, which you caress until they form a soft yet firm grip on his throat. Then with a frown and a twisted gaze, you say:

—I will tell you only one thing. I will kill you if you make one false move. 

—You flatter me —he replies politely. His eyes are fixed like black pins on yours. Then his hand moves swiftly and digs his fingers behind your neck, metal nails sinking mercilessly into your skin, Gortash's breath hitting your lips as he confesses—. I take your threat. 

You will not falter. Not now. Not here. Not before him. 

—I killed Orin. I killed Thorm. The first was a dangerous madwoman, the second an experienced general. What do you think you can do against me, little tyrant? 

—You're forgetting something, my dear. You have only your instincts and your most recent discoveries, but I have all your weaknesses in my hands. I wish you no harm, but I can reconsider if that is your wish. 

»Now go back to your seat. I am getting frustrated with these distrustful attitudes. 

You look into each other's eyes while cutting off all physical contact. Sooner or later, however, fate will force you to breathe each other's breath. For tyranny and murder go hand in hand, but in the end only one can remain. So the gods demand it. 

[strawberrypinky]

fire and ice. [gortash x tav] - part 3 [victorious]

A silent tear fell from her eyes, which Enver quickly wiped from her in pretend gentleness, rough callouses against her soft skin before he turned them to face the crowd with a victorious smile.

Finally, Enver grinned; he had won.

A/N: TUMBLR - YOU VOTED!

This was supposed to be the first smut chapter, but then it got so long that I asked you whether or not to split the chapters up, so now the smut was moved to chapter four. My apologies, lol. This chapter is fairly tame (and slightly shorter) as a result. Even Enver got a small break for once. That said, the next chapter will have major content warnings, so please read them before diving into it.  Today we're getting normal Enver shenanigans, including (but not limited to) blackmail and threats.

As always, this story is also available on Archive of Our Own.

Word Count: 6.6k

! CW: Forced Marriage, non consensual kissing. Gortash hating Scottish accents.

Chapter One | Chapter Two | Chapter Three | Chapter Four | Chapter Five | Chapter Six | Chapter Seven | Chapter Eight | Chapter Nine

It was all going according to plan.

The Cult of the Absolute was mercilessly spreading along the Sword Coast and the lands of Faerûn, True Souls born day in, day out in the depths of Moonrise as Ketheric grew the Army he had been divinely tasked to assemble. Orin, as much as Enver pained it to admit, was a surprisingly efficient killer on all accounts and managed to spread an equal measure of terror and dread over the city with her slayings in the Absolute's name. Enver's generous royalties towards the Gazette certainly helped spread the news of the casualties, yet the brutality of Orin and her assassins left even the most unyielding initiates of the Fist aghast. Murder had, for the longest time, been somewhat of an ecosystem in the Gate, but ritualistic killings were an oddity few turned a blind eye to. And while the Patriars were still sitting comfortably in the pretend safety of their lavish manors, Enver knew it was only a matter of time before Orin targeted them, too.

He had slowly begun to lull them into a contrived sense of security - The Steel Watch an excellent show of patriarchal paradigm as the people of the Gate elevated Enver to the station of Lord upon the presentation of the prototype of the Watchers. Not even Thamior Liardon could refute the growing appeals of the Patriars (unless he wanted a riot on his hands), and Enver took vindictive pleasure in the scarcely concealed enmity on his face as he declared him Lord Enver Gortash for the very first time in parliament.

When Duke Ravengard left Baldur's Gate because Thavius Kreeg invited him to finally end several disputes plaguing Baldur's Gate and Elturel and the city fell to the Hells, Enver almost dared to feel hope for the first time in a long while. Hoping was a near unconquerable instinct - like each breath, a lung will draw so long as there is air available - but Enver had learned to cease hoping in place of actually striving for his own goals. Hope had died long ago in Raphael's claws. What had been born out of the ashes was something far greater. So, while Enver did not feel hopeful when Ravengard descended into the depths of Avernus, he pertinaciously schemed as the Patriars now remained remarkably insouciant with the promise of safety guaranteed by his Steel Watch. As idiotic as they all were, none of them noticed they were practically paving the way for him, making his job much easier than it should have been.

Unfortunately for him, the remains of his plan did not go over as easily as it should have.

The Astral Prism continued to be undetected, and none of the forces he had sent out found the Gith artefact, thus leaving the entire Absolute Hoax at tremendous risk. Enver was now heavily relying on Ketheric Thorm to find the thing, as any other search had turned out fruitless. Not even the Emperor had returned with the artefact - though the aberrant Illithid had not returned to Baldur's Gate at all. For all Enver knew, the Nautiloid had crashed somewhere, and the Illithid died along with it. Not that he cared, but it was bothersome, just the same. It would have been a lie to deny he wasn't anxious over the prospect of the artefact being lost - the accursed thing could very well pose a great threat to his destiny. He knew it was no longer held in Vlaakith's grasp, which made the prospect of its unknown location only further terrifying, and while Ketheric did well letting his filthy necromancers create an army of True Souls beneath Moonrise, the man itself was far too melancholic to care about much else than his daughter, who they had dug up as Myrkul brought her back to life, only for the girl to disappear into the shadows immediately.

Enver shuddered as he thought of Shar's blight. Few things frightened him, but the Shadow Curse unnerved him in ways he could hardly describe, and it was all over one measly girl. The first night he spent in Moonrise, protected by the unnatural and alien glow that surrounded the near-ruined tower, he wondered if he would ever plunge the world into darkness and sacrifice his own prosperity for one soul. And while his mind did stray to Elodie, he quickly realised Ketheric's folly would never be his. Her death would be a loss to Faerûn and his life, but it could never excuse the pathetic display of grief Ketheric and his lands had turned into.  

He wouldn't want her corpse to litter his path to greatness, but the unyielding devotion Ketheric had to someone other than himself was beneath Enver. He served none other than Bane - not even his wife would be the exception.

A wife he had yet to claim as his own.

Now a Lord (and soon to be the Absolute), Enver had little in the way of claiming what was rightfully his, though most of the Rah had long accepted Elodie Liardon would never be anyone but Enver's wife. He had long ensured they wouldn't dare come close, and while Duke Liardon had always been seething, Elodie at least seemed to have enjoyed the freedom it granted her. The Gazette was, yet again, due to Enver's considerable charity, gradually spreading rumours of impending nuptials of a Lord. While no names had been specifically mentioned, Enver had ensured nobody could interpret the 'long-standing relationship' (or whatever Ettvard called it) for anyone but them. He was surprised Thamior had not done anything to silence the rumours surrounding them, but the man was nearly vapour at this point - he had not seen him for days on end. The Duke had even been remarkably absent from several parliament sessions, multiple of which were held as crisis meetings due to the terror the Absolute was spreading along the Sword Coast, and whenever Enver tried to reach the Duke to finally get the "Yes" he had waited for too long - and if he continued to deny Enver his destiny, well... His parents had proven to be exceptionally loyal and caring since having a tadpole shoved behind their eyes.

And still – Enver was increasingly incensed over Thamior Liardon evading both his duties and Enver day in and day out. His subordinates had not seen the Duke leave his home much, though they had espied members of the Guild leaving the Liardon estate in the wee hours of the morning. It was a strange sight, perhaps even unnerving, and Enver half suspected the Duke was working with the mercenaries to get Elodie out of the city and thus out of Enver's grasp. The man must have been aware of his dwindling options, and unless he made good on his promise to choke on Raphael's cock, he had little reason or defence to deny him Elodie. He did try; Enver would give him that. Whenever Enver showed up at the Liardon Estate, their chamberlain would open the doors, meeting his eyes and denying him entry.

"Lady Elodie is not available. I'm afraid you will have to return at a more opportune time, my Lord," the man uttered each and every time before the heavy doors of the estate shut and sealed before Enver could respond.

In truth, it almost amused Enver, even if the game was increasingly exasperating. If Thamior Liardon truly believed he could prevent Enver from fulfilling his destiny, he was a greater fool than he had initially assumed, but it would make victory taste far sweeter. The infuriatingly vainglorious smile would vanish from Thamior's face at Enver's machinations – a victory he would relish almost as much as finally turning Elodie Liardon into Duchess Gortash. His subordinates were instructed to report any and all curious sightings, scraps of gossip and any whisper of Guild activity back to him – Elodie would not leave the city under his watch.

Several tendays passed, and the most his subordinates had reported was a handful of members of the Guild had spoken about impressive amounts of coin Duke Liardon had promised, yet even the mercenaries his Black Gauntlets had maimed were unaware of what the Duke had asked of the Guild in particular.

He was all the more surprised when Black Gauntlet Holtz traipsed into his room late into the night.

He sat in his own estate, a rare occurrence these days, in front of his fireplace, letting the pages of invasion plans be illuminated by the flickering embers as he nursed a glass of Jasmarim Shadow Wine as he deliberated over various strategies, wondering if he should take Elturgard or Amn first. He sighed as he took a drag of his pipe, blowing the smoke into the air. The ornate door to his chambers opened, hasty steps hurrying towards him. He barely spared the woman a glance before his gaze returned to the parchment in front of him, mildly perturbed to be disturbed at such a late hour. Black Gauntlet Holtz, while a devout follower of Bane, was a headache to be around - ugly as a toad and with a voice as grating as it was irritating. The sole reason Enver kept her around in the first place was simply because she had proven to be very adept at keeping his Gondian workers particularly motivated. In the periphery of his vision, he could see the woman bowing deeply out of respect towards his station, her eyes not averting from the ground.

"I do hope you have an exceptional excuse for coming to my quarters at this hour," Enver huffed. "Much less for abandoning your position at the Foundry."

"Y-yes, ma Lord," the woman's voice was shaking, piquing Enver's curiosity as he picked up on her evident unease.  

"Get on with it then," he sighed, blowing a puff of smoke in the air.

"A wis doin' ma rounds at the Foundry whan A saw somethin' strange on the scry screens. A thoucht A wis imaginin' things, but," she was shaking now, clearing her throat several times before she continued to speak. "The Scryin ee at the goblin camp... A saw Lady Liardon thare."

Enver stiffened, turning away from his work before staring at her with unblinking eyes. "Excuse me?"

"A- A kept watching, ma lord. Couldnae believe it. She's a fine lass, ye know. Couldnae believe it at aw. She shouldnae have been thare. But it wis her - A swear on the black hand o Bane!"

"And pray tell, Gauntlet, what would my fiancée be doing in the middle of nowhere, surrounded by Goblin trash?"

"I dinnae know!" the woman disclosed, dropping to her knees. "I think she has a tadpole! The ee resonated, ye see! Killit aw the goblins wi strange people A have niver seen before! but it wis her, ma Lord! A swear on Bane, it wis her! A coud niver mistake yer bonnie bride for someone else."

Enver stood up, swallowing hard as he turned towards the windows with a frown. A tadpole in Elodie's head? And she was killing Goblins? It was an absurd notion. If she genuinely carried a tadpole, she would be under the Absolute's control, unable to do anything but follow the brains' command – the Goblins would have been her allies, not her adversaries. He took another long drag, puffing out the smoke in deep thought.

"A came straicht here whan the ee wis destroyed, ma Lord. A knew ye wad want tae know," Holtz continued.

"The Nautiloid," Enver suddenly intervened, an epiphany interrupting his thoughts. "The Nautiloid that passed through Baldur's Gate more than a tenday ago."

"It crashit i the Western Heartlands, ma Lord. Our scout says he doesnae think anyone survivit the crash."

"It crashed?" Enver whipped around angrily. "It crashed, and nobody thought to tell me?!"

"A - A didnae know!" Holtz's head shot up, eyes wide. "The bampot only mentionit it tae me now."

Enver stepped closer to her now, his tone even with a cutting edge. "And you are absolutely certain you saw my fiancée in the camp?"

"Ay," the woman nodded furiously. "A coud niver mistake her for someone else, e'en whan coverit i goblin guts."

Enver wrinkled his nose in disgust; the picture of Elodie bathed in red was wholly unpleasant. Repulsive, even. He couldn't imagine Eau de Goblin Guts smelled delectable either - most definitely not like her usual soap and perfume. He turned his back towards Gauntlet Holtz again, the gears in his mind turning as he tried to make sense of what she had uncovered. If Elodie had been tadpoled, she must have been missing for nearly three tendays if his memory of the Nautiloid passing through Baldur's Gate served him right. Almost as long as Thamior Liardon had welcomed members of the Guild into his home.

At once, it made sense.

The Duke was not working with the Guild to get Elodie out of the city; he was trying to get her back and likely had no idea where she was. It did not explain why she had decimated an entire encampment of Goblins, though a lingering suspicion gnawed at the back of his mind. He was torn - conflicted. Tadpoling his wife had never been part of the plan; she would have followed Bane willingly under his guidance, and they would have established a dynasty of tyranny. But if anything, her abduction made for fabulous blackmail material, and while Enver had outgrown his thuggish ways long ago, he decided he would make an exception just once and pay Duke Liardon a personal visit.

"Sir - I mean Lord Gortash! You cannot go in there," the querulous Chamberlain of Thamior Liardon yapped.

Enver had chosen to spurn the fellow, simply strutting past his station before his master's office with flippant nonchalance. A pleased smirk had placed itself on his face; the invaluable knowledge he had carried with him had lifted his spirits significantly. As he reached the oak doors of his office, he swung them open in a grand gesture, stepping into the gaudy place of the Liardon patriarch. The woody and spicy oriental scent Enver had grown accustomed to in his office assaulted his senses, the remnants of the firey fragrance of the fireplace wafting through the air. Duke Liardon sat behind his perfectly waxed desk, weary and rugged as if he had not slept in weeks. His clothes looked haphazardly thrown together, and his tired eyes met Enver's with pique and ire.

"Lord Gortash, I am quite busy. I must ask that you leave," he snapped.

Enver's smirk only widened. "I'm sure you have a moment for an old friend, Thamior."

"We are not friends," the Duke retaliated, raising himself. "You'd do well to remember that."

"Oh – You will adore me soon enough." Whether Enver meant the tadpoles or Elodie's resurgence, he wasn't quite sure himself.

"Sir –" the Chamberlain had hurried in after Enver, gasping as he held his chest and clutched it. "You must leave."

"Actually, you will leave," Enver commanded. "I have rather urgent business with Duke Liardon."

"It will have to wait," the aforementioned men interjected. "My calendar is full."

Enver chuckled darkly. "Even if I could make your greatest problem disappear? Actually, scratch that. I could ensure she would reappear."

Something flickered behind Thamior's eyes – astonishment, curiosity, wariness. The man's eyes bore into his as he ignored the Chamberlain as if looking for any trace of buffoonery, yet Enver's even smirk and relaxed posture did little to assuage what hopeful doubt he might have harboured.

"Leave," Thamior abruptly commanded his Chamberlain; eyes full of burning hatred, not straying from Enver as he bit his tongue until the doors to his office had closed once again. "What do you know? Do you have her? I swear, Gortash, I will torch you in the fires of the Hells myself if – "

"I do not harbour her," Enver interrupted him. "But I know where she is, and I could return her to you entirely unscathed."

"Could?" Thamior asked, eyebrow raised.

Enver chuckled in response. "My price is very reasonable."

"No," Thamior paled, his tone almost pleading as he realised what Enver would ask of him. "I will not condemn her to a life with you."

"Then I guess she is on her own out there," he told him with a teasing lilt. "It will be interesting to see if she survives or if you one day will bury her captivating corpse in your family's mausoleum. Ah, such tragedy. Do spare me an invite for the funeral if you manage to recover her body."

"You are fucking vile," the Duke pressed out, his face red in anger, his eye twitching.

"I would be an exiguous arms dealer if I did not illustrate just how big your loss is in comparison to your gain. I don't come cheap, Thamior. And yet, I am offering you a reasonable solution on a silver platter."

"And asking me to condemn her to everlasting misery."

"I can assure you, she will not be miserable," Enver assuaged him half-heartedly. "As my wife, she would remain protected at all times. Naturally, our children would be too."

"She doesn't want this," Thamior muttered defeatedly, his eyes averting in shame. Enver almost became giddy - finally a yes.

"She would have no dreams at all if she perished on the path she is on right now," Enver added, his words malignant to the elven man's ears. Perhaps it was unnecessarily cruel, but he relished seeing defeat in the Duke's eyes.

The elf's eyes clenched shut, his jaw tensing before he turned around as if unable to speak the words he knew he needed to. It was deliciously cruel - a pleasurable stimulant of its own, and Enver had rarely relished a victory as greatly as this.

"And she will return entirely unharmed?" Thamior asked quietly.

"I swear," Enver grinned.

The Duke's shoulders sagged, a long exhaling breath leaving his lungs before he turned around again, his eyes glittering with unshed tears of failure and remorse. "Please bring her back to us. All I ask is that you treat her kindly."

"Naturally," Enver reeled, chuckling darkly. "How wonderful our families will be united at last. You better inform your wife of the impending nuptials. I imagine Elodie will return rather swiftly."

The Grand Chamber of High Hall was a foreboding place as the patriars of Baldur's Gate were chattering amongst themselves, the schmoozing only accompanied by the clambering steps of his Steel Watch against the stone. Enver stood next to the throne, which would soon be his, a pleasant smile on his lips as he awaited for his ordination to begin. The Chamber was decked out in banners of glittering gold, shimmering in the afternoon sun and reflecting off the gaudy flower arrangements Duke Portyr had insisted upon. Enver did not care for them; the smell of chrysanthemums and bluebells and whichever else flowers had been picked overwhelming amidst the musty smell of the ancient halls and chattering of patriars. The lavish spectacle would be torn down just a day later and replaced by flowers commemorating his nuptials, though, as Enver noticed, his bride – and her companions – had yet to arrive.

She had surprised him; Enver would admit that. He had not expected her to find the path to Moonrise Towers, nor had he expected her to kill Ketheric Thorm and free his source of invulnerability - an aasimar of Selûne – thus ending a century of torment and gloom that had plagued Reithwin and Thorm's grounds. Elodie and her ragtag group of companions had taken the Netherstone off of Thorms corpse, which Enver suspected was now rotting in the Colony beneath his ruined tower. Part of him was near riddled with anxiety – though Elodie had always been a formidable presence, she must have evolved enough to physically fight her way back to Baldur's Gate with teeth and claws. All so she could end him, and the plan he had so fastidiously worked for. He was somewhat grateful she would be his wife in three days' time – calling her  'enemy' was something he truly did not want. If she had been capable enough to slaughter an invulnerable man who had risen from the grave before for good, he shuddered to think of what else she would be capable of. It was a notion that frightened him to the core, even if he would never admit it to himself, much less her.

She had arrived in Rivington a mere two days past, and Enver had only glimpsed her through the eyes of his Steel Watch, radiant and compelling, though it did not compare to her presence when she finally waltzed through the doors mere minutes before his inauguration, both her parents and her companions at her side.

A sheer tempest of a woman, Enver shivered in delight when she stepped towards her seat in the front. She looked different, yet somehow entirely the same. A softly draped, off-shouldered champagne-coloured chiffon gown adorned a body which was lightly more muscular than Enver remembered, evidence of the resilience that had led her back to him. Her silvery hair was longer, falling down to her waist with intricate braids adorning the crown of her head, but her eyes were her most striking feature still. Defiant green stared right back at him, hatred burning passionately behind her eyes, never once dissipating, even when she sat down, and Ulder Ravengard began the ceremonial part of the afternoon.

It excited Enver far more than it should have.

After he was finally declared the first Archduke of Baldur's Gate, the patriars flocked to him like sheep, but he pushed through with a pleasant smile before finally reaching the one person he had waited for, held by her mother and father and no less furious than she had been prior to the ceremony. Her companions were all between different shades of vexed and irate, though the pale elf almost seemed amused by it all. Karlach's presence astonished him, but he ignored her in favour of his bride.

"My ravishing fiancée," Enver declared loudly, a proud smirk on his face as he heard a posse of noblewomen giggle at the ostensibly romantic gesture. Their betrothal had been announced nearly instantaneously after Thamior had agreed to it, but after pretending the young half-elf was 'preparing for the nuptials elsewhere', it was the first time they had been seen together since.

"Gortash," she hissed venomously, a chastising 'Elodie' promptly following from her mother.

His smirk only widened as he stepped closer. "How wonderful you have returned to my side at last."

"Isn't it just?" her mother swooned before Elodie could say a thing. "I am ecstatic to finally welcome you into the family, your Grace."

Elodie scoffed, her father's lips drawn in a line for a brief second before he forced a smile.

"Indeed, Lady Liardon," Enver nodded. "Now, as joyful as we all are today, I must speak to my fiancée and her... camaraderie. Alone."

Enver could see the silent protest forming on Thamior Liardon's lips, but a single glance silenced him into submission. Enver removed Elodie's hands from her father's, noticing how they, too, had roughened up and become slightly calloused over the time she spent in the dirt. Her eyes narrowed, sharper than ever, as he tightly gripped her hand, assuring her family they would return momentarily before rushing her and her companions into a small office just off the main hall.

The door had barely closed behind the party before Enver leapt aside as a fiery bolt shot towards him and hit the stone wall in place of his chest.

"You foul little bastard," his fiancée bellowed, another bolt shooting from her hands, which Enver scarcely escaped. "How dare you?!"

"Careful, Darling," Enver growled, "I admire your resilience, but I will not be threatened by my own fiancée. I urge you to reconsider. Immediately."

Another bolt shot from her, electric and designed to maim, before the pale elf placed a hand on her shoulder and uttered something Enver couldn't quite catch, though his eye twitched upon seeing the marble hand upon her naked skin, no matter how innocent the touch might have been. Every inch of her belonged to him – the pretty boy had no right to lay his claws near her. She ceased her aggression, crossing her arms in front of her before glaring at him like she wanted to burn him to cinders, alive and screaming, for several long and silent moments.

Enver was certain he had never been more aroused.

"I understand congratulations are in order," Enver spoke after a while, addressing the group before him. "Thorm's defeat hasn't gone unnoticed. You're known - for who you are and for that Netherstone you carry."

"Happy to be of service," the pale elf quipped humorously.

"Astarion," Elodie hissed angrily. The man only held up his hands in surrender.

"Not to mention that little Gith artefact you carry," Enver carried on, ignoring the quarrel. "The quakes are a clear warning. If nobody steps in soon, the Brain will free itself from the authority of the crown. I expect it'll start with turning the Sword Coast's infected - you among them. That prism of yours won't last indefinitely."

The group stiffened, the Githyanki among them only snarling in warning though she remained silent otherwise. It pleased Enver to see even Elodie could listen – even if she was in no position to outright refuse or deny him.

"Next – The Grand Design," Enver continued. "The Mindflayer Empire reborn. If we're lucky, we'll become slaves. If we're unlucky, well – "

"And whose fault exactly is that, hm?" Elodie spat angrily.

Enver ignored her. "Together, we can still restore authority over the brain."

"We're not interested in bargaining with the likes of you," Elodie said, frowning at him.

"The likes of you stand to benefit from the likes of me. Never mind that you," his gaze bore into her, "Will be my wife in just a few days."

"I would rather die."

"So you'd rather plunge the Sword Coast into chaos and paint this city in blood? Because I can assure you Orin is treacherous." He held no qualms about pushing her into a corner to side with him, forcing her into submissive compliance, specifically if she would not do so willingly. It came to him as easy as breathing, the very essence of his being craving to dominate her. He craved to see her sag into submission – a place she would be safe and sound and, above all his.

"Let's be allies, said the viper to the frog," Karlach yakked.

Enver could see Elodie's jaw clenching, fury steaming from her as she contemplated his words. Choice was an illusion to her, but if she could agree to alliance for her companions she'd spare them all unnecessary grief.

"I trusted you once, Gortash," she near whispered. "I trusted you, and all it got me was an illithid tadpole that has nearly killed me time and time again. I won't make that mistake again. A temporary alliance is all I will grant you - nothing more."

"Splendid," Enver grinned, choosing to ignore her display of defiance. He'd rid her of it soon enough. "This will be a beneficial partnership indeed. I cannot wait to officially seal it in just a number of days."

"You are far more mad than I ever gave you credit for if you think I will willingly marry you."

"You don't have to be willing, Darling," Enver chuckled. "You will say 'Yes' when the vicar asks, because you have no other choice."

Enver was positively beaming on the day Elodie Liardon would finally become his.

Rarely had he ever been in higher spirits; not even Orin's threats of bloodshed could dampen his mood. Though elusive, his Steel Watch and subordinate followers of his Lord were ordered to ensure the incestuous Bhaalspawn would not interfere with the festivities he had long anticipated. His estate was buzzing, servants and clergy members alike preparing for the soon-to-be Archduchess to join the household. The High Imperceptor had assured Enver the chapel beneath his estate was prepared for their union in the eyes of Bane; a celebration designed to be conducted without non-believers present. For Enver, it was the only ceremony that mattered anyway, but the people of the Gate would not tolerate covert nuptials – not that they knew he worshipped Bane in the first place. Thus, he would first marry Elodie in the Ducal Palace to placate the Patriars with trivial celebrations amidst an impending war, a wasteful notion, but those continued to be in fashion with the elite in both times of splendour and trouble. In a way, the gentility had always been easier to control – accepting the most flagrant violations of reality, if only because they were unable to grasp the reality of most, nor were they particularly interested in the proles to notice anything but themselves and their pomp.

The streets of Baldur's Gate were bustling, decorated with ivory banners and various flower displays adorning the cobbled paths and window sills. People were hurrying from place to place, paperboys waving around a special edition of the Gazette – in short, there was ecstasy in the air.

The Ducal Palace was glittering in the midday sun, polished to perfection inside and out. The elegantly designed windows were adorned with grand spires upon the parapets, decked out in lush flowers, twinkle lights that would be turned on at night, and ivory bows and banners. Enver scrunched his nose in distaste, but he had given little input to the charade of the public wedding, as he was far too busy planning his real ceremony and continuing his takeover of Baldur's Gate. For a few moments, he supposed, he would be able to endure the ostentatious revelry. The Grand Chamber had been decorated in much the same way: the pews were glamoured with ivory ribbon, streaked with golden and bronze thread, and endless flowers were decorating the ceiling and temporary altar at the end of the hall. The decorations must have cost a fortune, though Enver would dare to guess they hardly put a dent in the Liardon family's vaults. The air was perfumed with a fragrant blend of orange blossom, freesias, sage and lily of the valley, and the Plum Prosecco that guests were offered as an aperitif.

The Halls quickly filled with the Patriars and fine merchants, glancing at Enver as he stood at the altar next to the vicar who would bind them in front of society in a bespoke suit Figaro had made for him in record time. His parents had been led to the Hall by trusted Gauntlet, standing off to the side with perfectly poised and proud smiles and clothes they wouldn't have been able to afford if they had sold him six times over. Elodie's companions and her mother arrived last, and Enver was surprised at how well the group was dressed in spite of their late arrival and the shenanigans they had been up to since. Last he had heard, they had rid Ramazith's Tower of its ruler, Lorroakan, and a Tiefling from Elturel had taken his place. An impressive feat – Enver would ensure to keep the girl on a tight leash. He would keep her focused on the Netherbrain and the dynasty they would build together, not on some idle errands.

At last, Elodie entered the Hall, led by her father and accompanied by the harmonious melody of a string quartet and for a second Enver felt disarmed by her beauty. A tightly corested off-shouldered gown in a blush pink colour, with fanciful and ornate gold and bronze threadwork depicting various flowers and Lathanderian symbols cascading over the skirt and torso in a seamless display. A flower crown had been placed atop her silver hair, swept up in delicate curls though partially hidden by a matching veil, embroidered with even more Lathanderian symbols. He'd have to burn both, of course, for Bane would not allow heresy in his household. But for a single moment in time Enver allowed himself to simply appreciate her magnificence. The pair stepped up to the altar; Thamior slowly placed Elodie's hand in Enver's, the elven man's hand trembling before his gaze met Enver's for a split second.

I place her life in your hands, it said. Please treat her well.

Enver only smirked in response, tightening his grip on her hand before turning towards the vicar.

"Dearly beloved, we are gathered here in the sight of the Gods and in the face of this congregation to join together this man and this woman in blessed matrimony," the Vicar's voice was achingly loud, echoing through the hall as he began his tedious speech. "Which is an honourable estate, signifying the mystical union that is betwixt a man and his wife, which holy estate the Gods adorned and beautified with their presence and is commended to be honourable among all men and therefore is not by any to be enterprised or taken in hand unadvisedly, lightly or wantonly. But reverently, discreetly, soberly and in the fear of the Gods, duly considering the causes for which matrimony was ordained."

Enver internally rolled his eyes, already regretting consenting to this ceremony. He could feel Elodie's burning hot stare; he did not need to look to know there was everlasting hatred on her face, aimed at him as he likely wished to set him on fire. Good, he silently thought. Hatred was the very essence which fed their Lord - hatred's embrace would be the climax to his victory. A blow struck against everything she had ever been before he had owned her.

The Vicar continued, his voice loud and echoing within the hall. "First, it was ordained for the increase of mankind according to the will of the Gods and that children might be brought up in the fear and nurture of the Divine and to the praise of their sacred name."

Enver could feel Elodie stiffen at the mention of children, her breath quickening before she tried to pull her hands away as if suddenly fear-stricken. His hold tightened on her, a curious glance to his right as he wondered if children terrified her. He could scarcely glimpse her face beneath the opaque veil, but he thought he might have seen horror reflected in her eyes.

"Secondly, it was ordained for the mutual society, help and comfort to the one ought to have of the other, both in prosperity and in adversity, into which holy estate these two persons present come now to be joined. Therefore, if any man can show any just cause why they may not be lawfully joined together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace."

A pin could have dropped in the room, eerily silent after the words were spoken. Enver discreetly glanced behind Elodie, watching her companions restrain themselves with all their might as they glared daggers at his back. Displeasure was not enough to describe the fury on their faces – Enver wasn't quite sure what they would have liked to do first: slaughter him or rescue her. Yet they stayed quiet, silently screaming "I object" over and over again in their tadpoled heads.

Content with the silence, the vicar turned to Enver and Elodie. "I require and charge you both as you will answer at the dreadful day of judgement when the secrets of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, you do now confess it."

He heard a sharp intake of breath from his left and immediately tightened his grip on Elodie's hand in an unmistakable warning; he would not tolerate disobedience, least of all, from her. She glared at him from beneath her veil, and Enver only chuckled in response.  

"I told you, Darling. You have no choice," he lowly whispered as the vicar prepared the final act of the ceremony.

"Fuck you," she spat out in a quiet hiss before returning her attention to the man in front of them.

"Enver Gortash. Wilt thou have this woman to thy wedded wife? To live together in the holiest state of matrimony? Wilt thou love her, comfort her, honour and keep her in sickness and in health and forsaking all other keep thee only unto her, for as long as ye both shall live?"

"I will," Enver nodded, his voice steady and confident, a pleased smirk on his lips. He could hear Bane's humming approval in the back of his mind, pleased that his Chosen had fulfilled part of his divine duty.

The Vicar returned his attention to Elodie. "Elodie Liardon. Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband? To live together in the holiest state of matrimony? Wilt thou love him, comfort him, honour and keep him in sickness and in health and forsaking all other keep thee only unto him, for as long as ye both shall live?"

For a split second, she hesitated before she took a steadying breath and, with a defeated mumble, answered: "I will."

Enver's heart jumped erratically, his pleased smile growing impossibly large on his face. His girl. His. Finally, she had ceased to swim against the current of her destiny, and the predestined had happened. What would have been a dream for young Enver Flymm had blossomed into reality in his bed of ambitions. His victories were not single and solitary births; they were the outcome of many years of striking testament to his god-given preeminence and resilience.

"Bless, oh Gods, this ring and grant that he who gives it and she who shall wear it may remain faithful to each other and abide in thy peace and favour and live together in love until their lives end."

Enver was handed the ring that would adorn Elodie's hand; it was a glittering deep oval emerald set on a golden ring. Bane's colours, specifically picked for her. He slipped it onto her left ring finger, the resplendent emerald now clinquant on her hand where it would sit forever.

The Vicar raised his hands above them in blessing, loudly declaring: "Those whom the Gods hath joined together let no man put asunder."

He then smiled at Enver, content as a new melody began to play, filling the hall with jubilance. "You may kiss your bride, your Grace."

He chuckled in response, turning towards Elodie before he gently lifted the veil from her face. Her eyes were shimmering with unshed tears of fury, glaring at him, cheeks reddened though most would likely confuse her for a blushing bride, and yet he had never seen a woman more beautiful. His heart fluttered for a second before he wrapped his hands around her waist and pulled her close, his lips finding hers in a fluid motion. With the urgency of a man starved, his lips claimed hers, unwilling to ever let her go again. The feeling was both cataclysmic and serene as their lips collided with wretched urgency, both in surrender and conquest - the dichotomy hardly fathomable to Enver himself. She gasped against his lips and Enver only pulled her closer before, eventually, the titters and the throat-clearing in the audience caused him to begrudgingly part from her lips, the crowd erupting into applause.

A silent tear fell from Elodie's eyes, which Enver quickly wiped from her in pretend gentleness, rough callouses against her soft skin before he turned them to face the crowd with a victorious smile.

She was the acme of a thousand victories. Finally, Enver grinned; he had won.

[the-grand-gemini]

Big obsessed with all of the BG3 villains. The themes of the cycle of abuse/trauma in all of the main cast makes me feral over how the villains unfortunately do not/did not get the opportunity to be "saved" by Tav (if doing a good playthrough) and by experiencing the heros journey.

I could talk about Ketheric and Orin, but after reading @bearhugsandshrugs fic it got me deep diving into Gortash's character. It's amazing and everyone should read it especially if you're weak for Tav/Gortash like I am 👀💦

Trigger warning for abuse mentions below the cut.

Let me start with stating this is NOT an Enver Gortash apologist post, he's evil and he's done terrible things. This is just me yelling into the void about character foils.

Childhood abuse:

In game we really only get to know his history through background information that we can scrape together if you search through the city and the House of Hope.

We don't get any details on what exactly Enver went through as a child. We can assume neglect/possible violence from his parents given his mother's words and the fact they sold him. We get to know that he was beaten when living in the House of Hope, but not what other possible horrors he could have experienced there (not including just the trauma of witnessing the other debtors and Hope), what age he was, or for how long (if anyone knows more timeline wise I'd love to know) he lived there before he escaped. We don't know how he escaped either, if he had help or did so on his own.

I'm no child psychologist, but abuse has lasting effects as we can see through all of the main party. Victims of abuse tend to have difficulty moving past certain emotional stages in their life. Aka a person abused in their childhood may have issues maturing emotionally without therapy, etc (again I'm not a psychologist). There is a strong possibility that "Child" Enver is still probably holding the reins emotionally while adult Enver isn't even aware of how his past affects every action and reaction he has at all times.

I can't imagine how living with Raphael during ones formative years being healthy in anyway, but we can definitely see some of the learned behaviours he's picked up from the Cambion. A focus on possing/presentation, a suave persona, torturing/using people for his own gain, a general lack of empathy, deal making, similar attire with devil motifs...

Unhealthy coping mechanisms:

Speaking of attire, Enver's coat not allowing Fear to be cast on him speaks volumes to me. Imagine the absolute horror of moving from one situation of abuse to another much worse one in the hells as a child/teen and probably being in a state of fear/anxiety at all times. Enver wearing a coat that doesn't allow him to feel fear gives me three main thoughts:

1. He is doing everything in his power to avoid that specific emotion and therefore prevents himself from thinking about that period of his life. Meaning he is not confronting his trauma the same way the main party is forced to throughout the game.

2. Narratively does the coat prevent him from feeling any fear at all? Or do we just go with the game mechanic that ensures he cannot be made afraid by the fear spell? If it prevents him from feeling fear at all (which I think is narratively more interesting and you can take this headcanon out of my cold dead hands) how does this effect his every day decisions? Fear prevents risky decisions all the time, it's one of the emotions that actively keeps people alive. Psychopaths usually don't experience fear the same way an average person would. Given his many horrific actions (the Iron Throne being a key example) I wonder how much his forceful removal of fear has done to his perception of rational thought. If you aren't afraid of consequences what's to stop you from doing anything at all? Selling a loyal body guard to the hells, torturing an entire faction of people in order to manufacturer your own personal army, stealing from an immensely powerful devil aka mother fucking MEPHISTOPHELES??? He presents himself as calm and collected in conversation. He appears as if he's the most rational of all three villains when he's really just as awful when we look into what he's actually been up to vs seeing Orin and Ketheric kill people on screen.

3. Where did he get the coat? Did he make it himself or was it a boon from Bane? A promise to a devout worshiper that he would never be made to feel afraid or beneath anyone again?

Another abuser - Bane:

Speaking of Bane... Another user (please tag if anyone can find the original post!) mentioned a line Astarion says where he states that he prayed to all the gods, but none answered. OP wondered if Enver, trapped in the hells and desperate for salvation, called out the same way... only for Bane to be the only god to answer. I'd die to know specifically when he was introduced to Bane and made to be his chosen.

We know Bane is considered an evil god and we even find that if we kill Enver and then use speak with dead that Bane is torturing him in the afterlife for failing him.

Given this abusive relationship is Enver a foil for Gale, a man groomed from a young age by a goddess and left with the consequences when his actions did not meet her expectations?

Is he like Shadowheart, someone who was given no alternative and made to believe they willingly chose their god only to learn they were deceived and never had any other options?

Like Wyll he's cast out by his father (or in his case both parents).

Like Lae'zel he's worshipping a deity with false promises, how can he believe he'll rule the entire world like a god himself when Bane the god of TYRANNY would see no other at the top but himself (Was he secretly planning to use the crown like Gale to usurp Bane or just pandering to us)?

We know he and Karlach are absolutely foils for each other given that he is her abuser and like himself Karlach was forged by her times in the hells only to survive on her own merits.

Those are my thoughts! Would love to know anyone else's on the walking red flag that is Lord Enver Gortash.

If Enver lost his memories like the Dark Urge would he be given a chance to redeem himself through his actions? Could he with his knowledge of infernal engines fix Karlach's heart

Would Enver have ever become Lord Gortash if not for Bane...?

Anyways if anyone wants to yell at me about Enver, Orin, or Ketheric please feel free to do so! I love characters who fell through the cracks because they had no one there to help them only to crawl out themselves and burn the world.

[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.

[madschiavelique]

Can I request a Karlach x fem reader (she/her pronouns)? I would love a little angst where reader's faith begins to wane in the party because she thinks they aren't staying focused on removing the tadpoles from themselves. I would love it to end with with some fluff or smut where tav comes back to Karlach and the team.

Thank you for all of the work your putting into these requests.

i might have derived a tiny bit from the request but i hope you'll like it!! i have no idea if it's good or bad i have no perception

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ pairing : karlach x fem!reader

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ content warning : angst, but don't worry comfort afterwards, fem!reader (although i think it could be read as gn!reader), no use of y/n

─ . 𝜗𝜚‧ words : 1,5k

( not proofread, english is not my first language ☆)

You looked at your full glass of wine. It had only been served to you once all evening, while your companions themselves were on their third. The dark, almost black crimson of the liquid reflected your seriousness and concern, sawing your forehead in anxious frowns.

You had reached Baldur's Gate not so long ago, you had never been so close to your objectives, and yet what had you done when you arrived?

You'd wandered into a circus.

A circus, as ridiculous as it gets, was the first thing on your agenda. You had the end of the world to save, were close to the city that had been your target for months, and this was the first thing the group went to?

Admittedly, it might have helped the crew relax to have a moment without having to worry about whether they'd turn into octopuses in the next few minutes, but for your part, you couldn't get the objective out of your head.

You still had so much to do before you could even scratch the surface of your objectives, like finding the grave of the madman locked in a medallion found in the Underdark, confronting Gortash and Orin, or even finding the remains of Dribbles who were scattered who knows where.

You had so much to think about. You hadn't even reached the drawbridge that would take you into the city, too busy in the meantime neutralising enemies in the circus.

Night had fallen on the camp for a while now, and all the companions were discussing the various things they wanted to do once in the city. Astarion wanted to take revenge on Cazador, Gale was desperate to get to Lorroakan's tower, Wyll needed to see his father, and your real objective seemed to get lost in all this.

You had moved slightly away from the camp, watching the town from your campsite, sitting on a large chopped log. All the days ahead would take you horribly slowly towards The Absolute. 

“What's got you so worked up, soldier?”

You didn't need to turn around, Karlach's warm, high-spirited voice was easy to spot. Given your departure from the group earlier in the evening, it was probably only a matter of time before she came to see you.

Karlach cared about you, and you about her, more than you would have thought. A cold sweat ran down your spine every day as your eyes inevitably landed on her beating heart, staining her chest orange.

You had almost come to hate that colour. Every day the sun bathed the world, morning and evening, with its golden caress, and marked with a hot iron seal one less day in the rest of those Karlach could live.

Another annoyance that would keep you from the Absolute, another problem that could lead you to lose more than just a friend, to lose a lover…

“Worked up?” you feigned, as if the remark were ridiculous, “I'm not worked up.”

She giggled behind you, and walked over to sit next to you on the log, towering over you slightly. You could feel her gentle eyes on you, a small smile on her face as her gaze returned to the horizon.

“You look tenser than Gale when he has to hear someone massacre ‘literature's accuracy’,” her claws mimicked the signs of quotation hooks in the air.

You smiled, crossing your arms over your chest as you recalled the day when Gale, too banged up from the day, had asked Karlach to read aloud to him an extract from one of his books taken during the trip.

“He'd be ready to pounce on anyone in seconds if that happened,” you sneered.

“But you're not pouncing,” she remarked, “you're brooding, or more like, looking super anxious.”

You turned towards her, finally meeting her gaze. “Am I now ?”

“Yeah you are,” Karlach laughed softly, gently nudging you with her shoulder.

For a brief moment, there was silence again as your eyes watched the glow of the city in the distance. You were already wondering what order to go through tomorrow, what equipment to change, what food to stock up on...

“Hey... Are you okay ?” questioned your lover, obviously noticing the annoyance on your face. “Wanna talk about it ?”

Her warm hand came to rest on your shoulder, bringing you back to reality much less abruptly than you might have thought. Her warmth softened you, wrapped you up like a comforting blanket, and eased all your worries.

“It's just,” you shrugged, “the Absolute has been haunting us for months, we have never been closer to it before, and yet we can't help but go do so many other things beforehand?”

Your head fell back, closing your eyes as if to banish from your mind the countless quests that awaited you once you had passed through the city gates. As if your mind didn't even have the power to think about anything else, just to detach itself from the addictive thought that a worm had latched onto your brain and was planning to turn you away from humanity at the slightest misstep.

“It's like at times I can feel the thing just- writhing in my brain, trying to go deeper and deeper to what's left of me and clasp its nasty teeth on it until I'm one of theirs.”

Your head fell into one of your hands, pinching the bridge of your nose as if that would bring any relief.

“How many quests will it take ? How many more enemies will we have to bring down for there to only be one remaining to end ?” Your chin rested on your palm, eyes once again on the city and the multitude of problems it would single-handedly bring.

Karlach was silent for a moment, but you could feel her gaze on your profile.

“Didn't know this had you all so worked up, little one,” she said, giving you a gentle nudge. “But get it this way: do you know how long some of our champs have been waiting for an opportunity like this to happen?”

Your eyes found the floor, for you felt very stupid. It was probably true, the opportunity of a lifetime, to put down the past once and for all and move on. If you had never been so close to ending your most important objective, it was the same for them.

Some of them had waited years, decades, some even centuries, to even get close to what they wanted most in the world. Who wouldn't want to tick every box on their list of the most extreme things to do when they were all dangerously close to death's door? Who wouldn't seize the opportunity to act and finish off whatever bitterness still resided in their hearts and wish a complete farewell to what had tormented them so much?

Karlach came and took hold of your chin to turn your face towards hers, her gaze full of gentleness.

“Don't be mad at them for shooting their shot, they've been weaponless long enough.”

You grabbed her wrist, bringing her warm palm against your cheek as you sighed at ease.

You knew who was waiting for you in town, who she had to see, who she had to kill. Gortash was on Karlach's list, and therefore on yours. Your eyes rested on Karlach's chest, the orange glow of her heart beating through her ribs and over pouring on the black of her bra.

One look at that contraption was enough to make your own veins boil. Karlach had her revenge too, and you weren't going to stop her getting it.

“If you were on the edge of death’s cliff, wouldn’t you want to get all the things you didn’t have the courage to do before standing on it ?”

You felt her hand on your back, gently rubbing it. You knew how getting closer to death made people want to be alive more than ever, and you couldn’t take that away from them. Not when you wanted to pass every last minute with Karlach, not when you wanted her to find relief in the death of her tormentor, not when you wanted to do anything other than fight.

“You're right, love,” you smiled, winning her eyes, “there's been so many things to think about lately and all I want is for all of you to come back out of this in one piece.” You sighed, kissing her palm before pressing your cheek against it again. “It's my priority to keep you all alive.”

She smiled, and all your worries seemed to vanish like a dandelion scattering in the air. She placed a kiss on the tip of your nose, pressing her forehead against yours.

“I promise you we will outlive this, okay?”

You didn't feel any destructive heat from Karlach. So much had been done with her flames to make them violent, starving them and letting them devour everything in their path. From the inferno, you felt only a soft, comforting, free warmth.

“Okay.”

Karlach came and placed a kiss on your forehead, holding you close. No matter what happened, you would do everything you could to allow everyone to do what they had to do, each step bringing you a little closer to an end, victorious or not.

[irulaan]

CHAPTER ONE ; HEAVEN ON EARTH

RAPHAEL X FEM!ANGEL!READER

⤷ chapter summary: Tav walks a delicate line, guarded by an angel's presence yet haunted by dreams of a devil. warnings for this chapter. mentions of mystra. blood and other fluids. astarion. i don’t use physical descriptors with the angel. word count. 4k.

back to masterlist / next chapter

The Angels exchanged concerned glances as one of them conjured an image of a peculiar crown, its purple magic radiating an imposing aura even in illusion. An illusion of power. They recognized the opulent jewelry immediately, aware of its destructive potential, appealing to the ambitious and those who dream of self-destruction.

In the tranquil confines of the garden, the atmosphere grew tense as the oldest among them acknowledged the significance of the artifact. Their collective knowledge of magical relics whispered tales of devastation and chaos brought by such items. One of them stepped forward to examine the artifact, her brow furrowed in deep thought. "Does this belong to the Weave? To Mystra?" She asked, her voice tinged with uncertainty. Some tilted their heads in contemplation, offering no sympathy to the ones not aware of the power of such thing.

"The Crown of Karsus doesn't exactly belong to the Weave—or Mystra, by extent," replied an Aasimar who had traversed Faerûn extensively, and had seen and heard about these men-crafted things. Her tone is grave. "Now it resides in its homeland, and that is cause for great concern."

A sense of unease settled over the group as they pondered their next steps. "What can we even do? It's beyond our reach. Shouldn't this concern the Goddess of Magic? Surely, she has a plan?"

A sudden breeze swept through the celestial creatures gathered in one of the smallest gardens of the second circle of heaven. Though rarely used for discussions of importance, the ancient angel deemed it a suitable location, free from any imminent threats that could jeopardize their safety in heaven. They chose this secluded spot to prevent any speculation or unwarranted interference from other beings—a precautionary measure against potential dangers. Despite the fact that two fallen angels now held dominion over circles of Hell, their existence was accepted as an inevitable recurrence.

"Of course Mystra has a plan," scoffed the angel holding the image of the crown, a devout follower of the Goddess. It was not uncommon for angels to serve deities or aspire to do so.

Raising an eyebrow, another celestial's wings quivered with uncertainty. "Then it's her problem. And it's fixed."

"To kill her chosen one?" One of the celestials laughed, her bright blonde hair dancing in the gentle breeze. "Humans are... unstable, and I wouldn't trust them. I'd say this concerns us too," Her voice was strong, as she added with a soft yet cautionary tone. Having witnessed countless tragedies across various planes of existence, she understood the potential ramifications of seemingly minor events. Though they were shielded within the confines of Heaven, danger always lurked on the horizon—whether in the form of wars, fiendish creatures, or even threats from humans.

"What's the situation on Earth?" Another inquired.

One raised their eyebrows. “Where’s the crown now?”

The earth-born, now an Aasimar, responded softly, “It's in the hands of some cultists. They're threatening an entire city.”

“And the stones?”

The Aasimar stood in silence for a moment. “The cultist... The Dark Gods have their chosen ones... Bhaal chose Orin the Red, whose mother was also a follower of him; they've both been manipulated by the mortal turned God... Bane has Lord Enver Gortash, and Ketheric Thorne has been resurrected by Myrkul.”

“—Jergal was such an idiot!” One of them interjected.

Many sighs were heard. “Maybe Mystra is going to need a hand…”

“But is the crown safe in her hands?”

“She's already powerful—“

One of the youngest angels chimed in, “But she can’t stop this. How can we even call her a Goddess?”

There was a moment of silence as they locked eyes. The air crackled with tension, a palpable anticipation lingering between them. The energy of the angels clashed, swirling in a chaotic dance instead of harmonizing as one. Then, unexpectedly, another pair of wings fluttered against the breeze.

"I've been having strange dreams," Came from behind them.

It was some battle angel. Her armored body and wings emitted an eerie sound as she approached the group, unaware of their reunion until her innate ability to reach beyond brought her there.

"I've seen him wielding his father's sword, his head crowned by that dangerous jewelry, the Crown of Karsus," She rushed out her words, her voice filled with urgency. "I've been haunted by his black sclera and bright demon pupils. He's so hungry for power—I can feel it. But it's not by his own merit, no... it's an earth-born that hands him the crown," she continued, her tone growing more desperate as her fellow celestial beings regarded her with nonchalance. The mother of angels had recently given birth to a new offspring, and her own conscience urged her to be protected. She felt her vulnerability, having experienced so little of the universe's dangers.

It was clear to everyone that she was referring to Mephistopheles’ son, as the Archduke was the previous keeper of the crown. He had hidden it among his most prized possessions until it mysteriously vanished—stolen, perhaps, though he remained largely silent on the matter. But that happened many years ago.

"The crown could crush a cambion's soul—as they still retain some semblance of humanity, even if he's the infamous son of Mephistopheles," One continued, their voice tinged with concern.

"And he doesn't care much... as human as he may seem, he has carnal urges and can be easily manipulated, even by something as simple as an incubus—his father's idea," Another angel chimed in, rolling his eyes dismissively. "I don't believe he's the real threat here."

“But what about the human who could deliver the crown to him? Isn’t she significant?” The battle angel interjected. She was often wise, but now a few eyes squinted at her recklessness and unconventional approach. “Isn’t she just a human? How many mortals possess the knowledge and bravery to trade with a devil? True, he may be a cambion, but his lineage, as the son of Mephistopheles, changes everything.”

It was as clear as crystal that the Archduke’s son posed no threat to anyone, not even the lowliest celestial creature. Cambions were as frail and wicked as their human counterparts..

But some were intrigued; “Is it a possibility?”

“Indeed, everything is within the realm of possibility,” she responded sternly. Her voice commanded attention and obedience, as if she were the embodiment of authority itself. Having led thousands of battles, guiding celestial beings to both hell and victory, her words held weight.

“Then assign her a guardian angel,” the ancient one suggested plainly. “Your most recent daughter would be suitable. She possesses a strong moral compass and lacks the hint of corruption that deems her vulnerable.”

The battle angel was taken aback. Her most recent daughter had endured the icy clutches of hell, but she was ill-prepared to take on the role of guardian angel, despite her uncorrupted moral compass.

“I... I'm not sure... What if we're underestimating the gravity of this situation?” interjected the follower of Mystra.

The ancient one rolled her bright blue eyes, emitting a quiet, almost haunting laugh. “Mystra herself? She knows the potential devastation the crown can unleash, yet her only plan is to eliminate her former lover with it? Assigning a guardian angel to a lost human seems equally absurd.”

“I–I don’t think… What if we’re sub-estimating this matter?”, interrupted the Mystra follower.

"I think we should help he–"

A deep rage seized the ancient being, wounds from encounters with numerous deities and creatures flaring up within her. "I don’t and won’t ever serve a God! They’re equal to devils… they sicken me! She’s no good even when she tries to be," she declared vehemently, her frustration palpable, as there was nothing else to do; everything was beyond their reach. "This is everything we’re doing!"

A tense silence enveloped them as they exchanged stares; none dared to speak further. The ancient one commanded both respect and fear.

With that, the conversation took a pivotal turn, setting fate on a new and uncertain path. Angel wings would soon be stained with blood, as they ventured into uncharted territories.

Mornings at the camp unfolded in tranquil serenity, with birds harmonizing their soft melodies into the air. Tree branches swayed gently in the warm summer breeze, infused with a familiar hint of coastal saltiness. Despite the dying warmth of the campfire and the wilting flowers, the atmosphere exuded a profound sense of peace, a harmony between life and death. It was still as everything should be, they were at the right place.

Yet, this idyllic scene was shattered by the piercing cries of birds and the ominous crack of breaking branches. Something—or someone—was hurtling through the sky, falling toward the earth with alarming speed. The sudden change of scene jolted half of the camp awake, their senses reeling from the unexpected disturbance. They didn’t even have the chance to get out of their tents as a loud crash was heard outside — it was definitely someone that collided against the dirt… against the cold ground.

Emerging from his tent, Astarion furrowed his brow at the commotion, silver hair tousled in disarray. His gaze fell upon the figure amidst the dirt, unmistakably an angel fallen from the heavens. "Well, isn't this a delightful turn of events?" he remarked wryly, a hint of amusement lacing his words. "As if our situation couldn't become any more... interesting."

She lay sprawled on her stomach, her once pristine wings now splayed out to shield her body, though futilely, from the impact of the fall. They appeared broken in places, blood seeping from beneath the soft feathers, showing the tender skin under. Her celestial garments, once immaculate, were now stained with dirt and torn by branches, though they still provided ample coverage. Despite the damage, there was an otherworldly elegance to her form, juxtaposed with the stark reality of her injuries. It was both heavenly and apocalyptic.

Shadowheart cautiously approached the fallen angel, her keen eyes scanning for signs of injury. "I believe her wing is... damaged," she observed, concern evident in her voice.

Astarion's senses were overwhelmed by the sweet yet invigorating aroma emanating from the angel's presence. If the blood of a devilish creature repulsed, then surely an angel's blood was akin to tasting the very essence of heaven. "Indeed," he murmured, his gaze lingering on the wounded wing. "Heavenly indeed—I mean the smell." The temptation to partake of such divine essence was almost palpable, stirring an unfamiliar hunger within him.

Gladly, Karlach interrupted his ruminations. “Do you think heaven has a certain smell?”

He rolled his eyes. “Of course, and it’s this,” Astarion declared, gesturing towards the fallen angel. “Can we keep her? I bet she’d make the best companion.”

Gale interjected, “She's a celestial being, you can't keep her.”

“Ah, Gale! Boo, spoilsport…” the vampire huffed.

Gale, not unfamiliar with the presence of angels or gods, approached the scene. As the chosen one of the Goddess of Magic, he had encountered many celestial beings before. It was only natural for him to share his knowledge with the party. "She might be an angel, or perhaps an Aasimar... I haven’t seen one in person since…” He paused, lost in thought for a moment. “Mystra had some followers who were angels, battle angels. But she doesn’t seem to fit that description... she's not wearing any armor,” he observed, moving closer to the celestial being. “I believe she's an angel.”

“Should we wake her up?”

“Mmm, I don’t really know…” Gale kept his eyes on the angel, as Shadowheart was examining her wounds. “Angels are very powerful creatures and we don’t know if we are on her wrong side”

Astarion cried, “And why on earth would we be on her wrong side! We are the victims here!”

The wizard gestured for Astarion to lower his tone, a silent reminder of caution. “She probably doesn’t know any of us… and their intelligence and wisdom are great. If we lie, she'll likely discern the truth, which wouldn’t bode well for us.”

“If she ever wakes up, we can ask for her assistance… Wouldn’t she be helpful?” Shadowheart frowned, muttering incantations for a healing spell.

“But what if she attacks us?! It would be a shame to kill her!”

They were all well-versed in the workings of deities and celestials; they don’t simply appear by chance, something Astarion seemed oblivious to. His bitterness toward them fueled by his unanswered pleas to the gods. Shadowheart attempted to ground their thoughts. “I do believe she could be helpful – I mean, angels. If she just fell here… I don’t know. I’m certain she’s here for another reason.” There was a moment of silence. “We should wait.”

“Where’s Tav?”

Not a second passed before they heard someone take a deep breath. "Where is she?!" The angel had awakened in a frenzy, fluttering her wings and desperately searching for something.

Astarion frowned, glancing at the sky as if seeking guidance, then turned to Gale. "So... does that sound like a good or bad angel?"

If Gale hadn't been a bit nervous about the angel, he might have chuckled. "There's no such thing as a bad angel," he replied. Astarion rolled his eyes, clearly unimpressed by Gale's optimistic view. Another ‘too good for everyone and everything’ creature. He already hated her. "She's looking for someone... but there's no malice in her voice."

The angel rose to her feet, her wings still and her expression twisted in pain. "I need to find her... where is she, Gale of Waterdeep?"

Even though Gale had encountered angels before, he was taken aback. After all, he was just a humble human. He struggled to find the right words as the angel's gaze seemed to penetrate his soul. She couldn't be a follower of Mystra if she wasn't connected to the Weave.

“Are you an… an angel… how does–how do you know me?” He muttered utterly confused.

"I'm not asking again," the angel stated firmly, conjuring a spell that would have taken Gale at least a few minutes to prepare.

Astarion ran away, “For fuck’s sake! Can’t we have an uneventful day?! What the hell is an angel looking for–?”

Tav found herself ensnared in the tumultuous grasp of a restless slumber, her breaths quickened and jagged amidst the confines of what scarcely passed for a bed. Each twist and turn brought no solace, only exacerbating the disarray of her unkempt hair, while beads of sweat cascaded like raindrops upon her furrowed brow and the scant linens beneath her. This nightmarish feeling was all too familiar, since she and a bunch of other outcasts started this long journey to take back and free Baldur’s Gate.

Outside her sanctuary, an ominous silence permeated the air, punctuated by the eerie whispers of the soft wind that whispered strange secrets to those willing to listen. Abruptly, her eyes snapped open to a realm devoid of company, bathed solely in the warm luminescence of the sun gentle embrace and the waning embers of a dying campfire.

Within the realm of her troubled dreams, a conflagration blazed with an intensity that threatened to consume her very essence. Amidst the infernal glow, she beheld orbs of darkness, each adorned with irises of bright yellow that fixated upon her with an unsettling intensity. Veins of pulsating blood marred their scarlet-hued skin, crowned by a profusion of horns behind the intoxicating smoke. The acrid scent of their presence assailed her senses, though its origins remained unknown, forgotten.

At times, she attributed the noxious aroma to the campfire's burning branches.

Yet, in her state of desperation, bereft of recourse and ensnared by the flames' searing embrace, she found herself imprisoned within the confines of her own subconscious. Even as she cast her gaze skyward, the high ceiling above was adorned with ostentatious frescoes, each one a macabre manifestation of her innermost fears. Nightmare after nightmare, she fights against the specter of impending demise, with the allure of death’s sweet kiss looming ever closer.

It was not until the faint aroma of the somewhat familiar freshly cut lawn covered with rain, mingled with the soft rustle of giant wings that she found reprieve, her eyes fluttering open to behold a vision of winter white feathers that offered, in some way, sanctuary.

Only then did she emerge from the clutches of her torturing dream, liberated from the gaze of those infernal orbs, and welcomed into the embrace of wakefulness. The embrace of life.

It was morning once more… and the first thing she heard was Astarion’s screams.

Still groggy from sleep, she emerged from her warm tent, gripping a blade in her skilled hand. The sun's rays blinded her momentarily as they hit her face. "I thought we were going to be safe here—what?" She paused, her gaze falling upon the celestial being, whose wings shimmered under the light.

Pointing directly at Tav, the celestial spoke in a soft and delicate tone, attempting to ease the noticeable stress and fear on Tav's face. "You are the one I'm looking for. I'd recognize you even in a crowded room." The angel introduced herself by her given name, emphasizing that being in her presence wouldn't transform Tav into an Aasimar. "I haven't been authorized to do so. But I’m here nonetheless…"

"I don't understand... Why?" Tav questioned, confusion evident in her voice.

"Because you're playing an important part in the present event," the celestial explained calmly. "You're going to need as much help as you can gather. Even if your companions are resourceful, they might lack morals or be blinded by deities and religion." She gestured towards Astarion, Gale, Lae'zel, and Shadowheart as she spoke, unapologetic about her words. "I'm not insulting them; they're sincere, but they're only human, even as chosen ones."

Tav frowned, processing the information. "Are you always going to be around me? Following us around?" Her intuition was failing her, but she sensed that the angel meant no harm.

"I'm no babysitter," the celestial replied firmly. "You'll make your own decisions. I won't try to manipulate you like others might. But I offer insight and guidance when needed."

"You seem so blunt to speak, haven’t you been around humans, dear?” Astarion's bitterness tainted his words as he got uncomfortably close to the angel, attempting to intimidate her with his presence.

Her hand glided gracefully across his cheek in a fleeting touch. “Why should I sugarcoat my words, vampling? I do not seek approval from mortals.” Despite the sting in her words, her gentle tone didn't enrage Astarion.

Attempting to maintain his composure, Astarion pressed on, “Aren’t angels naive and easy to manipulate creatures? How can you be a compass? You have been living in a fantasy bubble.”

“Is that what you think about me?” The celestial directed her gaze at Tav, though Astarion was the one who spoke.

“He’s a… friend. I trust in him,” Tav stuttered. “They’ve been wandering this world for longer than me… So I think – I haven’t even read or heard anything about angels.”

The angel nodded, sensing the sincerity in Tav's words, a sentiment she reciprocated. "I am here solely for you, with no other purpose in this world but to do good and eradicate evil... devils and demons," she declared, causing Tav's companions to narrow their eyes in suspicion. "I can walk by your side without these."

In the blink of an eye, her celestial essence vanished. Her once-dirty wings disappeared, and the halo of ethereal light surrounding her faded from sight, blending her seamlessly with the earth-bound creatures around her. She appeared just like one of them.

Tav smiled warmly. "There's plenty of room in the camp," she offered. But Astarion couldn't help but roll his eyes in annoyance.

The tension in the air didn't escape the angel's keen senses. "It wouldn't be wise. I don't want to wake up in a pool of blood," she stated bluntly, her gaze unwavering. "Your bonds aren't strong enough... You're alone."

Tav held firm. "I trust them... Despite their differences, we're all united by the same goal."

But nothing could sway the angel from her decision to keep her distance from the group — not from Tav. "Whenever you need me, I'll assume this appearance to walk by your side," she assured Tav, handing her a small, irregular crystal-like artifact. Inside, a flow of energy danced in a spectrum of light colors. Its sharp edges spoke of its potential power. "Use this if you need me. We can't be summoned like devils, so use it wisely. It will take me a few minutes to reach you."

The air changed, charged with such energy that seemed to ripple through the forest. The earth was anticipating the departure of the celestial being from Faerûn. In her absence, a palpable void lingered, leaving behind so many questions. It was as if a fleeting dream had slipped away, leaving behind only fragments of memory and a lingering sense of uneasiness.

Despite the many centuries by his side, the incubus still found amusement in their playful banter, a dance of manipulation and desire that always seemed to end in the same and routinely climax. But this time was different, a palpable tension hung in the air, casting a shadow over their usual exchanges. There was something stirring within his master, a hunger for power and dominion that surpassed anything they had encountered before. Even if his House of Hope filled with weeping tortured souls was the greatest evidence of his desires.

As he watched the demon lord with a mixture of anticipation and trepidation, the incubus couldn't shake the feeling that they were on the brink of something great. With a sly grin, he leaned closer, his voice dripping with wicked amusement. "Back to meddling in the affairs of mortals, are we? Oh, this should be delicious."

The Devil shot him a withering glance, his eyes narrowing in annoyance. "Yes, I'm planning to visit... earth," he replied curtly, his tone laced with impatience.

The Demon's lips curled into a knowing smile as he sensed the simmering excitement emanating from his master. With a languid walk, he approached, the sinuous movement of his tail betraying his amusement. "Ah, I've not felt such excitement in ages," he remarked, his voice dripping with suggestive innuendo. "You know you can always bring me back something as I enjoy earthly delights..."

The Devil's response was swift and harsh. "No."

Undeterred, the Demon chuckled, unfazed by the rejection. He knew his role well, and he relished in it, knowing that the consequences of his actions would never truly be a punishment for him. He knew his master wouldn’t dare to entertain the thought of murdering him—not with the knowledge that he would report to his Father. And even though he didn't harbor fear of his father, it was a strategic move to keep him out of the picture, to avoid any unnecessary complications.

A smug smile twisted the Devil's lips, though it seemed out of place on his typically composed face. "She's naive, too gullible. This will be child's play," he declared confidently.

That single glance, that imperceptible shift in demeanor, was all the incubus needed to know the Devil was lying.

a/n. I’m so excited! First things first, since english isn’t my first language there might be some grammar mistakes; I use grammarly to fix any possible mistake but I’m only a girl living at the end of the world, therefore, we don’t speak english. Then, I use deepl to translate the work to my mother tongue and see if there are any mistakes left, but still, I know it has. Secondly, I know it was looooong and descriptive and probably a bit boring, but I wanted a somewhat proper background; I know I’m probably drifting away from the dnd lore but I hope you can enjoy the story nonetheless. I was mainly inspired by biblical angels, since I think Raphael is pretty much a biblical devil. I had some other inspiration such as the divine comedy, because —again, I think Raphael’s fiendish form was inspired by Dante���s Satan.

Thank you so much for reading this, I’d love some feedback. If you liked this you can reblog or leave a comment or something <3 I’d be so grateful you don’t even image how much.

I like to speak about Raphael and bg3; so this is an invitation jeje.

Kisses, see you around!

[little-tyrant-gortash]

Oathbreaker

Pairing: fem!Tav x Enver Gortash, fem!Tav/Astarion

Tags: Emotional Manipulation, Manipulation, Manipulative Relationship, Paladin Tav (Baldur's Gate), Vaginal Sex, Penis In Vagina Sex, Drunk Sex, Unrequited Love, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Scars, Blood and Injury, Injury, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Pregnancy, Unplanned Pregnancy, Miscarriage, Torture, Psychological Torture, Implied/Referenced Torture

Word count: 2,359

Ao3 here.

Chapter 1.

Chapter 2.

Chapter 3.

Chapter 4.

Chapter 5.

Chapter 6.

Chapter 7.

Chapter 8.

Chapter 9.

Chapter 10.

Chapter 11.

Chapter 12.

Chapter 13.

Chapter 14.

Chapter 15.

Chapter 16.

Chapter 17.

Chapter 18.

Chapter 19.

Chapter 20.

Chapter 21.

Chapter 22.

Chapter 23. ⬇

Chapter 24.

Notes: Happy reading. 😌🖤

Chapter 23: A Warning

There were several places he had to visit from time to time. One of those places were hidden even deeper underground than the others.

He didn't feel anything in particular as he was walking down the usual path. The corridors were dark, decorated with black marble and faces of a long-tongued figure, and he enjoyed the way it enveloped him. In the dark, he found peace. In the dark, he found his home.

Upon entering the main hall, he noticed all the others; sharing his faith, looking for guidance, following his lead. But there was something different, tonight. The few torches that were lit allowed him to see that just in front of the altar, one of them stood with something in their hands. They were all dressed in simple black robes, and they all had their masks on. They knew each other here better than on the surface.

He made his way over to the altar and held his hand out for the other to hand him the implement, but the man regarded him with a pair of steeled eyes and did not move.

"Turn around and kneel", he said simply. The newcomer hesitated. "Can you take simple instructions, Chosen? Or is it beneath you to obey to Bane's words?"

The Chosen's brows twitched, just for a moment, before he took a step back. The circle closed around them, leaving no room for him to navigate far, let alone escape. He was trapped.

"You've been indulging in pleasures of the flesh for long enough", the man holding the black whip spoke again, "our God decided it was time to remind you that only He owns your flesh. This is a warning. Turn around and kneel."

He knew he had no choice but to comply. He knew the whip had nine tails, and that each tongue had small steel studs woven into them. He had to use it on others in the past; and it had been used on him as well, before he became Chosen. Fearless as ever, he obeyed. Baring his back for the whip shortly after.

Each lash bit deep into his flesh. The pain was indescribable, it dug deep into his body, right down to his very bones, bruising, tearing skin and muscles. But he did not scream, he did not beg.

He prayed and thanked and took every hit with as much dignity as possible. Even as tears prickled his eyes, even as his voice broke from the effort to keep himself contained. Even as he was shaking as his blood rolled down his back and formed a small pool under him.

And the hits just kept coming until he passed out.

He woke up in his chambers much, much later, alone, laid down on his stomach. His wounds were untreated, and they throbbed with so much pain he nearly fainted again. Pushing himself up to sit, he noticed that there was a note on his nightstand.

Urge her to kill Bhaal's Chosen, so you can take control over the Elder Brain.

If she fails to do so until the next new moon, she will be sacrificed to Bane.

In the past two days, she was following up on the clue Astarion told her about.

Trying to find Orin was impossible at the moment, but she wanted to see if Astarion was right... just to prove him wrong.

It did not go down well.

The very few people who were collecting the toys for the children of the refugees turned out to be a part of a much bigger plot. Gortash had been spreading the propaganda that nothing bad could happen under his watch, but Tav found out that he must have been the mastermind behind the literal bombs in the toys. After slaughtering a handful of Banites underground, it underlined that the Chosen of Bane had to know about this.

Oathbreaker or not, this went too far. Every time she glanced at the ring around her finger, she felt sick of herself. Sick of him. Sick of it all. She constantly felt nauseous, and she couldn't keep down anything solid from the stress. Every time she ate something, it came right back up.

No. This wouldn't do. She was naive and stupid for letting him so close, for letting her heart fall so much for him.

She had to end this, once and for all.

She found him in their usual meeting place, and he was waiting for her with her favourite meal already prepared. Tav ignored the stirring within. She didn't smile when he greeted her. Taking the seat opposite of him, she left the food untouched. It'd be best; she'd throw it back up anyway.

"I'll tell you a story. Do me a favour and don't interrupt me. In fact, I'd like you to stay silent until I'm done."

Gortash furrowed his brows slightly. Something was definitely off, but he couldn't put a finger on what. He could sense the rage that came from her direction, wave after wave, but he couldn't decide if it was directed at him or at something else.

"Alright", he replied at last, taking his goblet in his hand as he leaned back in his chair. "You have my full attention."

Tav observed him for a moment. She had been thinking about telling the entire story to him in a letter, but she thought she owed him a proper audience. Still, her face remained serious as she began to speak.

"A long time ago, there was a newborn. This newborn was abandoned in the middle of the woods." Her throat tightened. She'd never told this story to anyone before. "Perhaps she was not wanted… maybe her mother thought that she wouldn't be able to feed the child, and she thought it'd be best if she left the baby to the gods. Perhaps her mother died in childbirth, and her father was furious at her for that, and decided that if he couldn't have his wife with the child, he wouldn't want to have the child for himself, either. The newborn was wrapped in a blanket, but she was left unfed, uncleaned, and she was wailing at the top of her lungs. Even though spring was on it's way, during the night, it was so cold that around her, there was frost on the ground. Her chances for survival were slight.

Luckily for her, two Selûnites decided to collect firewood for their abode nearby that night. They've heard the cries of the baby and decided to take her in. They bathed and fed and healed the child and decided to raise her themselves. They were both faithful followers of Selûne; two women who were in love with each other, both Clerics. They loved her and she loved them.

Thirteen winters after, the baby grew up to be a follower of Selûne as well. She'd passed the trials and her mothers were proud of her. In her thirteenth year, though, at winter, one of her mothers got very ill, and she passed away. The other mother sought the help of an old and dear friend, another Selûnite, because she knew they wouldn't be able to survive the winter without the help of another. This man lived with them for over a year.

It started with little things, at first. The girl was fourteen at the first incident. A touch to the lower back. A caress on her face. Lingering looks and bolder, more intimate physical contact. She didn't know what to do at first; he was a Selûnite, and in Selûne's doctrine Selûnites help and nurture each other. Perhaps he thought that was what he did. But it definitely didn't feel right, so she told her mother about it, and when her mother learned of this, she was furious.

The verbal fight went on for half an hour, but the physical fight was short lived. He was much stronger than her, she stood no chance. He knew who was responsible for the woman to turn against him, so he grabbed his belt and taught the girl a lesson she'd never forget: never trust anyone."

Tav paused. Gortash remained silent just as she asked, but the way his eyes darkened with the story told her more than anything else. She knew if he could he would've avenged her pains. Her hopelessness. And it made everything so much worse.

"He didn't stop there", she whispered now, and tears gathered in her eyes. "He took everything from her. Everything. Her hopes, her future… her innocence." She saw how Gortash's free hand balled up into a fist. "Just because he could. Just because he had power over a weaker person. But that couldn't break her, not yet. No, he had done one last thing that was too much for her to bear.

It did not take long for either of them to notice that the girl conceived from him. He ordered her to get rid of the child, but she didn't want to do it. Even if the circumstances weren't the greatest, for some reason, she wanted to have it. She wanted to give her own child a chance, a better chance than what she got at the beginning of her life. But he was having none of that. He decided that if she didn't want to take care of it herself, he would. And he did. By beating her until she lost it."

Tav had to stop again. She picked up her goblet and glanced in it, but as soon as she saw that it was wine, she put it back down with a grimace.

"When she recovered, something changed. If she learned anything from that, it was that she didn't want to be there anymore. So the next time he was sleeping soundly beside her… she slit his throat and watched him bleed out. On that day, she swore to herself that she would avenge every soul lost to cruelty, that she would hunt down monsters like that man, no matter if they hid behind a goddess like Selûne. She'd spent every day trying to right wrongs, focusing on protecting those who had done nothing wrong: children. Because, despite her prayers that remained unanswered by Selûne, despite her cycles returning the way they were after she lost her first born – she couldn't conceive again. And if she couldn't have children of her own, she'd try to protect those who were already born. To give them the chance of life she was never given by her own parents."

Tav slammed the goblet down on the table, splashing the wine around it as if it was spilled blood, and stood up, grabbing her bag as she did so.

"Which is why", she continued harshly, her fury returning full force, "I'm ending everything we have between us right now."

She tossed a plush bear between them on the table and watched Gortash's reaction. At first, there was no recognition in his eyes; he'd let her know nothing other than confusion. But then, she detected it: the realisation that came like dawn after the darkest night. And that was proof enough for her. Proof, which broke her heart.

"I'll never come to visit you again. Whatever we had, this- this relationship, is over. I could look past whatever I've found at Moonrise Towers. The toys. The children's letters. Because I thought they've been taken by illithids just like I was. I thought that was a mistake. I could look past your allies taking Mol, a tiefling child; because it might've been on someone else's order, not yours, despite the fact I've found her eyepatch on the same table where you visibly worked on at some point. I tried to overlook it. I really did. I could blame it on Baltahazar and the other True Souls. But I know now that I haven't only abandoned my Oath of Vengeance when I became your ally; I abandoned myself as well. I've taken a part in harming those I swore to protect. You were planning to kill the children of the refugees, and I'll never forgive that. I'll never forgive you. I despise you, and I never want to see you again."

It was hard for him to reply to all of this. Tav yanked the ring off her middle finger and dropped it on the table. He was still staring at the toy as she swung the bag over her shoulder and started to walk away.

He did not stop her – his throat was as tight as a drum, there was no way he could speak. Every accusation was true; he'd let others scheme and orchastrate that attack, he'd turned a blind eye to it, because he could've cared less about those who were outside his city. It could fit in his Accelerated Grand Design. There was no victory without sacrifice, every conqueror knew that.

Then why did it feel so wrong right now?

He picked up the plush and moved it in front of him, fighting with the emotions that bubbled up within him. He should've lied. Should've said at least something. But he couldn't, and now, he lost her. If she did not bring Orin down by the time new moon rolled around, she'd be Bane's. His little light in the darkness. His glimmer of hope. She was everything that made it worth it all; she was the reason he could get up in the morning, she was the reason he was looking forward to the end of the day so he'd see her. Because despite he had been chastised and warned, he still needed her.

And she'd rendered everything he was doing meaningless in just a few minutes, because without her, his empire he fought so hard for would mean nothing to him at this point. He fell and he failed, too fast, too hard.

The meeting room turned dark as dusk fell. He did not move to light the candles, he just let the darkness consume him.

And the darkness gave no comfort as it did a few days ago – because he knew now he wouldn't hold her in his arms again.