#one joke I love about bhaal

[kozh-lucium]

I wonder what Bhaal is thinking if he saw his ex-kid frolicking like this.

Is he still salty that resist Durge disobey him?

Maybe not, since he can just make another bhaalspawn.

[meanbossart]

You mentioned Drow having been raised by the drow & their interesting culture about sex. Due to Lolth/that culture being different from ours, does that mean he associates bottoming with social dominance?

Like not saying he doesn't get the surface attitude (if it exists, idk about Faerun's gender roles) is way different.

I've just honestly been thinking about this off and on for like a week now and had to ask. Your work gives the best brain worms. :)

First of all, getting this ask felt like I won something.

But ALAS, he does not. He left the Underdark quite young and before ever becoming sexually active, so, while he's aware of that particular outlook he does not abide by it - In fact, his resentment toward drow is so intense that he actively thinks the opposite out of spite.

But rather than it having anything to do with gender, to him bottoming is a submissive action in the same way that victim and perpetrator are clearly distinguishable in a stabbing based on who's holding the knife. (This is DU drow's brain right here, not mine, leave the police out of this).

And here's the thing - he wants to feel submissive in the bedroom, both because he enjoys it and in part due to his own sexual hangups. Violence, sex, and love are all overlapping concepts in his mind that he has a difficult time distinguishing from each other, and following the severing of ties with Bhaal those feelings do not go away.

One way he finds to deal with that is by lending the other party control, and bottoming just so happens to be a way he finds to do that; It's definitely more akin to a placebo effect, but hey, it works for him. Astarion also enjoys the arrangement so it's all well and good.

But to tie it back: as I'm pretty sure I've said before, he does sometimes play up the "Oh I'm a drow bottoming, so I guess I'm the woman" thing. He does it as a joke. He finds it funny. He tells you to get on with it because there's 15 other jaluks outside waiting for a turn. He grabs you by the back of the neck and demands you screw more kids into him so he can kill them at lolth's altar (cue laughter). He moans exaggeratedly and with a feminine cadence - but the biggest joke of all is that, by doing this, he's finding a way to be dominant in the bedroom in which he's comfortable with, and without it having anything with who is doing the stabbing.

Thank you for the ask, I hope you enjoy my fantasy 5D sex chess.

Anyway here's wonderwall

[harcove]

I NEED to talk about Astarion x Durge because, if you try to break up with him later in game, and tell him it's because you're scared you are going to kill him one day, the dialogue you can get? Absolutely amazing.

He sort of, lets out a breathe of relief, because it isn't that you don't love him or he did something wrong (he asks if he did something wrong to make you want to break up)- it's because you're worried about killing him. He goes on to tell you that while he is prone to embellishment, he meant it when he told you before that together, you'll find a way to help you. He reiterates it, to drive the point home. He is going to help you- to save you from the Urge. He says that he's learned during your time together/during the adventure thus far, that you can't let fear rule you, or else you will never really live.

Then he tells you, "I'm not afraid. Not of you, not of your darkness, and not of our future."

If you tell him that you could end both of you, he sort of hums, then says, "Cazador used his tortures to strike terror into me. But I've rarely been more afraid than on the night I feared Bhaal had claimed you for good." He says he trusts you won't kill him (then playfully says that, if you do, then he's just gotten sloppy and he probably had it coming.)

When you decide not to break up with him after he says this (by telling him he's sweet) he sounds SO relieved. He breathes out, and makes a joke, about how he is sweet- and beautiful, and no one says that enough. Then ends it with a heartfelt, "I'm not going anywhere."

This is all non-Ascended Astarion by the way. He is so in love with Tav. He cares SO much about them, is WORRIED about them, but not because of the idea they might kill him (he is not worried for himself-) he's worried of losing them. He says it blatantly when he says he has rarely been more afraid than the night he thought Bhaal took you for good; thought he lost you.

I am so unwell over this. Two people, with dark, haunted pasts, who want to be better (if you're playing the Durge that way) and they both want to help each other. And they aren't going anywhere. He's not afraid, not of you, not of the future with you. He loves you.

[truly-sincerely]

IS GORTASH ENTHRALLED?

(tl;dr: yes)

In this essay I will…

Okay, but seriously I did write an essay.

I got here after chasing a very different rabbit down its hole. I'd noticed that Gortash seems to have been throwing out a lot of his stuff (read: mostly employees).

Waldemar Prinski, a loyal banite, sold to a devil for a corn chip

Dark Breaker Antiope, sahuagin wrangler, A Negotiation

The Steel Watch Foundry, Orders to Black Gauntlet Rives

Scribe Yanthus, my beloved, sent on a wild bhaal chase

Vance Farnol, journalist, tho you could argue he had it coming

Goblin Worg handler at Flymm Cargo, plus the Worgs when they run out of Goblin to eat

And, of course, everyone at his Coronation

Was killing all of the patriars and their staff a grim necessity, Enver? Was it?

(Also, he's installed a giant portrait of Bane and a bust of Bane in the penthouse, but he doesn't have a single picture of himself, or any mirrors, for that matter. Food for thought.)

My initial diagnosis was macabre, but obviously I’ve moved away from that line of thinking. He's just way too happy to brag about how much danger he's put himself, us, and the entire world in. It freaked me out the first time I met him (as a Tav). Like I see him glancing at the ground and smiling coyly while saying, "If we're lucky, we'll become slaves," on the back of my eyelids when I go to bed at night.

For the love of all that is holy, could you please turn it down a notch?

I've been obsessed with The Ultimate State since I first read it. It's absolutely absurd nonsense. The item description says it's, "the philosophical ramblings of Enver Gortash." and I feel like it's worth noting that he doesn't write his own propaganda; he has the banites do it for him. But I mean, it really does read like he's twisting himself in knots to connect "unity" and "progress" together, but babe, those jigsaw pieces do not go together like that. Anyway, while thinking about this subject it dawned on me:

They're the same picture.

You know what other line of thinking these two have in common?

They both look so sad when they say this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry I abandoned you.

I know we all love to joke about Durge or Gortash feeding the Brain the "Handsome, Younger Man" line, but what if that was just a smokescreen and it's been the other way around this whole time?

Netherbrain: You think you know why you are here. You think you can atone for giving me my power, child of Bhaal, by destroying me with the Netherstones. You are wrong. The Emperor: It’s messing with your mind. Don’t listen to it. Use the stones. Netherbrain: By eliminating Ketheric and Orin, you have simply unbound me. Exactly as I intended. The Crown is now mine to command - mine alone. The Emperor: Don’t listen to it! Focus on the Crown! Netherbrain: You placed the Crown upon me in the depths of Moonrise Towers, and there I was born. The Crown is not my weakness - it is what made me what I am. Gortash: You are delusional - the Crown is how we controlled you! Netherbrain: I respected Bhaal’s child once, but not you, Gortash. I allowed you to control me as long as it suited my purposes. You have played your part. The next order to be given is mine and it is this - die. Gortash: (crumples like a piece of parchment) Netherbrain: When the parasite entered your ruined mind - you became a pawn in my design. Who do you think told the Chosen about the Astral Prism? Who do you think planted the knowledge of Orpheus’ power, and the fear of what it could do? When the Chosen sent my thralls to retrieve the Prism - who do you think let the ‘Emperor’ slip its leash, knowing it would be the one to bring you to me? The Emperor: We were part of its plan… Netherbrain: I only needed one Netherstone loosened from the Chosen’s grasp to guarantee my freedom. You brought all three back to me. In doing so, you have liberated me. This was your role - and it is complete. Now you will witness the Grand Design.

The face of a man who has 20 INT and 16 WIS and is definitely not the brainwashed pawn of a giant brain that's been manipulating him in his sleep.

You think his puny +7 WIS save is gonna beat the Netherbrain when it's been working on his ass every time he goes to sleep for the last nine months? I say thee nay.

Also, and this is probably oversharing, but my dad, who I used to think of as a really smart guy is now a huge Trump supporter. He's an atheist but he'll parrot conservative christian talking points that I've seen clipped from Nazi talking heads. The words that come out of his mouth and the way he smiles when he says completely insane things is haunting.

What all of this means at the end of the day isn't much in the grand scheme of things, but it's kind of sad, and it definitely says something about his characterization. This man is floundering in a soup of his own making. A tragic puppet. A poor little meow meow.

There's an interesting line of demarcation between the various writings that he dictated to Scribe Yanthus, the things he wrote himself, and the things he says to us in the game.

Elder Brain Domination (from Ketheric, but about Gortash)

Suspended Ceremorphosis

The Grand Design

Studies of the Elder Brains

Accelerated Grand Design

Memoir Notes With Recent Addenda

Journal of Enver Gortash

He's so much more motivated and insightful early on, epitomized in Ketheric's entry, "Gortash fears that, energised by the dark energies of the Crown, the brain we now call the Absolute will eventually metamorphose into something new and more difficult to control." And he was right! But that guy's nowhere to be found by the time we meet him.

This one makes me particularly sad, "No weakness but the unexpected. It seems I shall need unexpected allies," because, again, he's right, and we could've saved him if the game had given us the opportunity to say, "No, there is another way. Let's not walk into this obvious trap." He wrote us a roadmap; left a trail of breadcrumbs; and we weren't given the option to follow them.

But I guess that's what fixfics are for.

THANK YOU FOR COMING TO MY TAVtalk!

[baldursgaysart]

Long lost!!!!

So, I finally got around to painting my Tav and Durge romancing Minthara. This took longer than expected but it’s been a long time in the making. I had my wife help write out my vision and backstory for them since I’m not very good with words. I hope you enjoy this! I was told it’s like an A24 poster 🤣

Tav and Durge Backstory:

Names:

Vierna: Light colored Tav character

Brimaia: Dark colored Evil Durge

Vierna and Brimaia are both reincarnations of one of the only truly loving and romantic relationships Minthara ever experienced after Ketheric Thorm’s trickery forced her into consuming an Illithid tadpole and altering the course of the rest of her life.

The events of Baldur’s Gate 3 are actually Minthara’s eternal Purgatory.

Vierna grew up as a noblewoman in Menzobarranzan, who was aware of the Baenre family, but had no real ties to it. She met Minthara in the goblin camp and was completely transfixed by the skill, prowess, and cruelty of the night warden. She fought alongside her as they both eradicated the once peaceful druid grove; proud of their accomplishments in the name of the Absolute.

When Vierna again found Minthara at Moonrise Towers, and beheld the terror and desperation in her eyes as she turned to meet Vierna’s gaze, she knew their bond was already so strong that they did not require an Illithid tadpole to read one another’s thoughts. It was written plainly on their faces. They needed one another.

For months the pair fought and slept together, ending the tyranny of Thorm, and allowing Minthara vindication after all she had been through. They gleefully stole away the lives of countless vile creatures, cultists, and would-be dictators, until they at last reached the Netherbrain.

Their companions were losing their life force and strength as they did their best to hold the Netherbrain back, and Vierna and Minthara realized it would be up to them to finish the job.

Just as hope seemed to be within their grasp, Minthara was hit with a near lethal blow from a Mindflayer. Vierna knew she could not allow her lover to die this way. Not to the very creatures who cursed her life in the first place. Boldly, she watched as the Mindflayer reached its tentacle out to finish Minthara off, but at the last moment she dove in front of her and took a fatal hit. Minthara had to carry on with the fight as the portal opened to her, with the knowledge that although the Absolute could never harm another again, she would be alone in the world once more.

What Minthara and the other companions were not aware of was the fact that all of this, everything they had suffered, had been a form of Purgatory. Every year they would lose consciousness as the Netherbrain careened into the Chionthar, but when they woke they would be right back on the Nautoloid, or in Minthara’s case, back in the goblin camp. Only something different occurred after the loss of Vierna. When a beautiful; dark skinned drow entered her sanctum, Minthara realized there was something different about her, but she could not quite place what it was.

Bhaal had played a cruel joke on Minthara by resurrecting her fallen lover as a monster known as the Dark Urge. It was not enough for Minthara to watch the love of her life die before her very eyes. No. Now she would have to brave Thorm and the Absolute all over again, while wondering every night whether her own beloved would take her life in a murderous blackout. Vierna, now going by the name Brimaia, however, would never lay a harmful finger upon her darling drow. She would much rather take control of the Netherbrain with Minthara at her side, and force all in Faerun to be subservient to their new queens!

[oliverr-gardenn]

canon/default Durge headcanons because im bored out of my mind (and im definitely not projecting onto him):

- He definitely has some sort of an anxiety disorder.

I mean his father is literally the GOD of murder and you're telling me he WOULDN'T be on fight or flight mode 24/7???

- Migraines. He sometimes would have to go find a dark and quiet place to rest in the forest when he got migraines because the camp was just too noisy. However I do think his headaches got more bearable when he was cured of his urges.

- Yeah he's got high charisma, but that doesn't mean he doesn't avoid social interactions like the plague. He knows how to get people to do what he wants (thanks to him being a former cult leader lol) but he would much rather not have to talk to people, especially strangers. Some jokes go completely over his head and he didn't even understand when some of his companions were hitting on him.

- He has a sweet tooth. I dont have any way to explain this one other than the fact that i just think he would really enjoy a good cheesecake.

- Since he's a white dragonborn he probably really enjoys sunbathing. He loves hugging his warmblooded friends both because of the intimacy and how good warmth feels on his cold scales.

- He's a sucker for terrible jokes. This man is NOT funny at all. Back when he was Bhaal's chosen he'd say these really edgy and corny things as a way to "intimidate" people and if he wasn't already scary looking, no one would take him seriously.

Gortash certainly didn't find his empty threats intimidating at all. "Oh you're going to cut me open, spill out my insides and make me watch as you make spaghetti out of my intestines? Very cute"

- Resting grumpy face. He can never really express his emotions. He would be having the time of his life and all you'd ever see is a straight face. He sometimes has to remind himself to do facial expressions. He's also quite embarrassed about his goofy smile.

His lack of expressions lead to a lot of problems with his companions back in the day.

- Insomnia. He literally can't fall asleep on his own and needs to be put to sleep via magic. He also suffers from nightmares and often wakes up multiple times at night. His past haunts him even after escaping from Bhaal's grip.

[animentality]

I think the Durgetash fandom is sleeping on the inherit comedy of the relationship between Sceleritas and Gortash. If you get one of your companions to talk to Sceleritas in a Durge accepts Bhaal run he says something like “You will be tolerated in the Master’s presence but never forget that I love them best,” and I just think Durge’s biggest hype man Enver Gortash would take that as a challenge.

I made a joke about that a while ago, where Scleritas and Gortash would have a relationship like a long time pet cat hissing at their human's newest boyfriend.

Who should be above this kind of thing but instead chooses to have beef with a little furry football.

Maybe Scleritas says you are so far below master's station and Gortash says maybe but you're going to be real far away when I punt you across the 40 yard line.

[y-rhywbeth2]

Something I love about BG1+2 is how it simultaneously plays and subverts the demigod/chosen one narrative (which continues in BG3, except with only the subversion. (And Halsin is not joking when Durge tells him what they are: Do NOT advertise that you're a Bhaalspawn.))

I've always been fond of the set up in Saradush in ToB, where the surviving children of Bhaal are being corralled into the besieged city under promise of protection against the entire world - because basically literally the entire world is trying to kill the Bhaalspawn: Your more powerful siblings want you dead; your mortal neighbours, and likely your nation itself either thinks you're inherently evil and are ready to kill you, or you represent such a threat that they're ready to drive you out and/or kill you just in case. Case in point: the aforementioned siege outside the city walls with the army that wants you dead currently raining giant flaming rocks of death over your head.

Some of these guys have no idea what they are, or what's happening, until attempted murder happens.

Like this discussion with one of your random brothers, a guy called Alexander:

Alexander: "You don't look like one of the locals. Are you a child of Bhaal as well, lured here like the rest of us to face our inevitable end?" Charname: "As well? What do you mean?" Alexander: "I myself am one of Bhaal's progeny - or so I've been told. I guess Bhaal's blood runs thicker in some of his children than in others." Sarevok: "By your snivelling manners, I would say Bhaal's blood runs very thin indeed in your veins. Bah-why do I even waste my breath tormenting this cowering cur?" Alexander: "Uh... is there anything else I can help you with?" Charname: "How did you get here exactly?" Alexander: "I wasn't brought here by Melissan, like some of the others. My home village was burned to the ground by a dragon who claimed to be hunting me. My friends... my family... they threatened to give me to the dragon if I didn't leave. So I did. And I heard a lot of other Bhaalspawn were coming here. *sigh* Now I almost wish I hadn't come."

Spoiler alert: He dies. Every single Bhaalspawn in that city dies*, along with everybody except a handful of commoners (*except maybe Viekang, who was not particularly inclined to murder me, so Murder in Baldur's Gate is weird.)

You, a simple peasant from a farming village one day come of age and learn that your absent father was a god, and you are forced to flee forces that are trying to kill you (in this case, your much more powerful half-brother)... it sounds like the start to some kind of fantasy epic, but instead of any fancy destiny you end up in a war torn city surrounded by castoff divine bastards just like you, terrified and unwanted, and then you die, and are forgotten.

And that's what being a Bhaalspawn is!

Whatever grand lies Bhaal tells you in your dreams about how you're special and great power awaits you (if you behave and do his will), your job is: sow death, faith, fear and chaos wherever you roam, strengthen Bhaal's power, and then be a good child and die for Father. No exceptions, save perhaps one, who is explicitly a special prophecy child, and even then is supposed to be doomed by future FR canon because they're still Bhaal's "pawn". There's also Imoen, who might be spared simply by proximity to said prophecy child keeping her alive. Non-game "canon" screwed her over hard. (FR canon and I have a complicated relationship, it must be said. All copies of those books are to be ritualistically burned.)

idk where I'm going with this, I just love how bleak the situation in the city is. No grand destinies, only a discardable pawn to be used, abused and consumed.

...And also that part where Tethyr sends an army to kill you because obviously you are guilty of "crimes against [Tethyr] and, indeed, all of humanity!" by supposedly killing a whole city: They admit they can't prove it, but you're a child of murder, you were born guilty even if you didn't actively do anything.

No, really:

General Jamis Tombelthen: "You are guilty, [Charname]. Of this there is no doubt. And we will not risk your further endangerment of us all. You are a spawn of Bhaal and responsible for the destruction of the city of Saradush*. Your execution has been ordered, [Charname]. May the gods have mercy on your soul."

* I implore you to move with great urgency to intercept the Bhaalspawn before they can do any more damage. Whether or not they are responsible for what occurred in Saradush, we cannot allow them to continue and cannot afford the time for trial... - Tombelthen's orders, courtesy of the Queen of Tethyr

[michanvalentine]

So, I played Baldur's Gate 3, and I played it later than many others. All thanks (or perhaps it would be better to say fault?) of a friend who told me "you absolutely have to play it"! And so I did, completely losing myself in the world of Faerûn. It was really difficult to reconcile my duties as a wife and mother with the desire to play and discover everything about the plot and the characters. In fact, it took me forever to finish! Also because I am the classic player who has to go and sift through every single jar, corner or place forgotten by the gods to make sure I don't leave anything out. I'll start by saying that I played it completely blind and that it was a heroic playthrough. So here I am with my thoughts after finishing my first run.

Morween: Hi! I am a Seldarine drow. I am a cleric of Selûne. I'm a heroine! I spit in my father Bhaal's face and I'm proud of it! Oops! I accidentally killed an innocent bard...

I don't want to talk about the game and how well made it is in its entirety. We all know this, I think. I only need to talk about my very personal relational experience with the character who won me over despite my resistance.

In a roundabout way, while I was trying to conquer the beautiful Shadowheart, I found myself in a relationship with Astarion. I had fun with him at the tiefling party more out of curiosity than anything else, plus I didn't even think he liked me and that it was just fun for him too. Up until that moment we had done nothing but argue and clash over our respective visions of the world. And the “disapprove” message was constantly over my head (along with that of Lae'zel)! Nonetheless, having him around was a delight for this reason too (in addition to the fact that I found his jokes funny). The contrast and our discussions made the interactions seem particularly real to me...

I wanted to talk with him. First of all because I found our hypothetical conversations about getting killed or which of our companions to drink extremely funny. But I wanted to understand. And I wanted him to understand too. And every time I saw "the glimmer" I felt even more motivated to bring out everything he had inside. A lot of stuff, I later discovered...

Obviously at the beginning, as a player, I was trying to understand how the game worked and my female Durge was trying to understand who the people around her were and where their misadventure would lead her. So I only understood many things later!

Morween: Wait, ehm… Whaaat?!?! Am I the weird one or... no, never mind.

In any case, when Astarion thanked me for not giving him up to the blood merchant, I wanted to make this clear to him, so I selected the "I care about you" dialogue option. But I honestly didn't realize that this would mark the beginning of my relationship with him. Afterwards I didn't feel like reloading. Even if I had to abandon the beautiful Shadoweart (with whom I had only shared a bottle of wine and a passionate kiss until then). I thought that things had happened that way for a reason and my game, my choices, had naturally led me that way. Honestly, I had to stop with Gale too, because even my favorite wizard didn't disdain the company of Bhaal's offspring too much. And it broke my heart, because every single one of them deserves to be loved, dammit!

Morween: We got problems, you and I. Big. Deadly. Serious problems. But we're also so dangerously cute together!

What followed was an intense journey full of very strong emotions, as I think it was for everyone who played Baldur's Gate 3. I became attached to my traveling companions as if they were friends in the flesh. And of course I ended up falling madly in love with my pixelated vampire boyfriend.

He's truly a well-rounded character. The thing that literally drives me crazy is that he's a fucking vampire, a real one. A vampire who acts like a vampire and has all the instincts of a vampire. He likes killing, the smell of blood intoxicates him, he has a hunger that devours him from the inside, and he can very well lose control. Finally! An accurate and truthful depiction of what it means to be a vampire. And not just a spicy detail to add to a story for horny teenagers. So the character of Astarion earned admiration points from me. Why? Because despite everything he is able to travel with different "blood bags" without necessarily attacking them and sucking them to the core. It takes great willpower to keep such appetites at bay. And yes, I know, there's that first night when the pale elf tries to attack you while you are sleeping... but hey, surprise of surprises, everyone makes mistakes. Few are those who learn from mistakes. And Astarion is more than willing to learn, another of his qualities, and he is willing to do so throughout the entire journey!

Morween: Yeah, sure, I could judge him... If I hadn't also tried to kill him while he slept...

Side note, when the urge calls and Astarion finds himself in the same situation, he is ready to forgive Durge's mistake in the blink of an eye. Because he knows, dammit. What's more, he is willing to stay there, next to them, to help them control themself. And there I thought: fuck, I want to be there for him too.

Of course Astarion has his own personality, his own flaws; and I love him for it. He's a chronic liar, yes, and he's quite selfish with a nice propensity for lust for power. All perfectly explainable and understandable, considering his past. I was shocked at the amount of abuse he had to endure. I didn't expect it, not so deep, not so real and so detailed, especially for the psychological aspects and the reaction to trauma, considering we're talking about a character from a video game. And my heart broke. 200 fucking years under Cazador. It's no wonder he's a broken man, but not finished. And it's wonderful to see his survival instinct gradually transform into a real desire to live. He is a dangerous man (elf?) but the moment you realize that he can change, he can be rehabilitated, he can heal and be better (up to a certain point, he is still a vampire, a predator with the instinct of kill and with a passion for blood), you know it was worth it. No matter if as a friend or a lover, you are the hero he has been waiting for 200 years. And, for heaven's sake, when he trusts you completely he is capable of unprecedented sweetness and sensitivity. Of course he's still the scoundrel with the sharp tongue and easy sarcasm, but after all that's why he's adorable!

Morween: I confess, Mother Superior, saving the innocent is right, but it is too obvious and easy. Redeeming the bad guys is sooooo much better, that's a real challenge! What heroine would I be otherwise? How do you say... you are not interested? Yes, right... let's talk about Shadowheart.

So when at the end of his quest he thanked me for saving him from himself (even though I only gave him a nudge), with that honest smile on his lips, my satisfaction was immense. He knows, he appreciates, he has grown. He knows exactly what loving him means and is grateful for it. It took patience and a lot of trust, even when it was an objectively stupid thing to do. It took the ability and the will to go further, to see something in him, that he could be better, and to believe in him. Believing that he was enough just the way he is. This is loving someone and making them feel loved. And it was a beautiful conclusion to his story arc.

It also took a lot of delicacy, I would add. I played the entire game and experienced my relationship with the character of Astarion with the concrete feeling that losing him would have been very easy. After all, running away, hiding, even attacking, are perfectly natural responses to fear. And as we know he is legitimately terrified of everyone.

About this: when I met Sebastian it was another shock for me. I wasn't prepared. The whole sequence is heartbreaking, but what blew my brain was the response I got from Astariom when I asked him if Sebastian had hurt him.

God. In my mind the picture suddenly became untenable. No god answered his prayers, no hero deigned to save him and the only worthy salvation for him would still have been a stake in the heart because he was considered a monster. Cazador forced him into prostitution and when he was lucky enough he only had to live with the horrible knowledge that he had delivered another innocent victim into the hands of his master. Otherwise even his own targets would do violence to him, as most were not good people. And maybe in case of a failed delivery, Cazador would also punish him later. It is no surprise that he has learned to completely dissociate himself from everything, to become numb to the events and people around him.

For him everything and everyone was suffering.

And another thing that I really appreciated was the possibility that the game gives you to allow Astarion to rediscover himself and his relationship with others, to experiment with his own limits within a finally safe space (the camp, the companions, Tav/Durge).

In any case, for me it was a truly satisfying experience. I regret nothing, not even releasing 7,000 vampiric spawn into the underdark. Perhaps this is also why I was surprised when by browsing through various social media I come across so many cruel comments and harsh opinions regarding the character of Astarion. Everyone has their own sensibilities and tastes, obviously. But damn... how much repressed anger and aggression...

Anyway, I could go on for hours writing, but a treatise on the phenomenology of the Astarion was not my project! I just wanted to vent my fangirl soul a little and share my experience with you.

I'm currently starting my second run as Astarion. My plan is to conquer the beautiful Shadowheart without a certain someone getting in the way. Maybe, if my daughter and husband don't abandon me on the highway first, I might even consider a third adventure to sink into Gale's arms (and library)! I still feel sooooo guilty for dumping him, he seemed really hurt.

But for now... and they all lived happily ever after...

[sorcerous-caress]

I've an image in my head that's been stuck there for a while now: BG3 companions with the human link. Imagine talking with Gale and Wyll as a Oath of Vengeance paladin, for example, and being so engrossed by that conversation that none of you notice that the others are staring at you all with such sinfully lascivious thought blooming behind their eyes...

My most used party comb for Act 3 was Gale, Wyll, Minsc, and human Tav. I called it the human party and ran wild around the city with it.

While I see all the companions getting along, i feel like there is a certain connection that only another human can provide, yk?

The other companions notice the inside jokes between you and Wyll, the times Gale makes a comment about humans being easy to trick and you scoff and tell him to speak for himself, the ways Minsc seems to really open around you and the other two.

Like yk how to deal with each others, the way human friends joke with each other and tease each other. The nonsensical arguments for fun, the exaggerated emotions and the silly jokes.

It's magnetic in a way, how the four of you seem to find love and fun amidst everything going on, the human nature of having the best time possible at any given situation.

Halsin especially enjoys when the humans in the party sorround him.

Gale's eyes shining with curiosity as he asks him about druid magic and the Great forest the elves reside at, how it functions and how does a connection to the fey feel like.

Wyll being impressed by his vast historical knowledge so easily, asking about famous people that Halsin knew before they were famous.

Minsc who is more curious about the current times and only has Halsin and Jaheira as guides. Asking about details of what happened after they defeated Bhaal the last time around.

And human Tav who is somehow a mix of the three. How you wonder how an elf managed to become his size, saying you've never seen anyone like him before. Feeling up his muscles and arms, asking so many questions.

To be the center of attention of four humans, showered with their touches and gazes, it's completely addicting even for someone who claims he is humble like Halsin.

He can't help but want to show off to these cute adorable humans. Let them sit on his lap, feel his arms and ask all these questions that are considered inappropriate in elf culture. Humans really are blunt and seductive little things without realising that they are, huh?

The way you shamelessly ask him to turn into a bear and cuddle you, how the other three humans saw this and joined you two without invitation. Petting Halsin's bear form and cuddling close to his hot soft body.

Sometimes Halsin thinks he died and went to elf heaven, where you get your own harem of humans that shower you with love and let you tend to their every need.

That one time Gale was complaining about walking and just asked Halsin to carry him. That other time Wyll brought him flowers he found during his stroll, unaware of their deeper meaning in elvish as a proposal to sleep together.

The various wrestling matches Minsc has with him. Where Halsin pins his strong human body and down and watches his writhle and squirm underneath him, the cute human pouting at having lost the match.

The way he feels your eyes on him, you always watched those matches with interest. He sometimes liked to think of you as his own personal human cheerleader, rooting for the elf when your kin is losing? Halsin has never felt a greater urge to take you before in his life.

Maybe one time you decide to have a go at it with Halsin. But instead of him pinning you down, you end up outsmarting him. You're sitting on top of him with your thighs holding him down and wrapping around his torso.

You're so close, that addicting human smell. He swallows down to try and lessen this consuming urge to taste you, lick your body and eat you out.

Minsc is cheering for you from the side, and you're sweating and brimming with happiness at your victory. Smiling at Halsin and asking if he needs help to stand up, maybe you kicked his ass too hard and now he won't be able to shower on his own after this.

And he finds himself agreeing, asking if you'd lend an old elf a hand, you can invite your little human friends too.

[pixie-in-a-moonlantern]

KILL ME LIKE A LOVER

Durgetash | explicit 18+ Enver Gortash x f!Durge / Halsin Silverbough x f!Durge smut, sex, p in v sex; homicidal urge, light bondage in a non-sexual setting, graphic threats of violence; prolonged emotional/physical hurt, comfort, fluff, love confession, 2 romantic relationships (separate for now, hinting at possible future poly f!Durge/Halsin/Gortash)

❗ Closely follows events of the first fic: I Don't Like You (Tumblr | AO3)

Read on AO3 for more context and comfort (I'll be very grateful if you toss me a kudo there as well, even if you read and reblog here ♥ - remember, fic writers share their work for free!)

13,795 words in 10 chapters

My Spotify playlist for this couple »

“You’re back,” he whispers, and an almost maniacal glow radiates from him. “And something in you is drawn to me, I can see it. It makes me hopeful.” He tilts his head to the side and brushes hair away from my neck. “Did you really not expect me to use every resource at my disposal to convince you to stay?”

I gulp. Gods, I should never have gone to see him. Some things are best left buried, some fires best left extinguished. But I poked a bibberbang and now my world is ablaze.

01 She walks escorted.

The Watcher walks beside me the whole way to Wyrm's Rock. I try keeping my head down, but any hope of not being noticed is lost with every thundering step the Watcher takes. People hold the Baldur's Mouth gazettes and point at the hallowed hero as she walks escorted to the City's would-be savior for an audience.

I wish I could just open up a portal to the Hells in the sidewalk and jump in. Gortash is going to pay for this one.

We finally reach the elevator to the audience hall and the stupid clanker squeezes in with me. I bulge my eyes, just about ready to go on a murder spree.

"Seriously? It goes straight up into the tower, where else do you think I could go?"

"There is no need for alarm, citizen," the Watcher assures me monotonously, not moving an inch. "I was instructed to deliver you safely directly to the Archduke, Lord Gortash."

"Would you chill with the 'Archduke' already?" I groan, head lulled back. "You know he's not one yet, right? No matter how many times you repeat it."

The Watcher doesn't respond. Perhaps Gortash expects such quips from people and instructs his hellish machines to not react. Or—perhaps if I was other people the metal hulk would just smash me on the spot for such a comment. Fucking tyrant.

What was even wrong with me when I willingly worked with this man, having just as deprived plans for the Sword Coast myself? Did I accidentally get lobotomized into a sane person? That would be one Hell of a joke on fate. And on Bhaal.

I imagine he must be simmering in his own rage, watching his prized child run around helping refugees. That little fantasy cheers me up. I lean on the side of the elevator and just chuckle to myself through the ride, mocking Daddy dearest in the relative privacy of my skull.

The Audience hall is deserted once more. The Steel Watch form a line in between the columns from the entrance to the dais on the other side, standing at attention. It's like some sort of welcoming ceremony, but just for little ol' me.

I reluctantly scale the acres of red carpet over stone flooring, feeling my chest tighten.

Gortash watches me as I approach, the remote-control suit of armor still stomping next to me. This time, he sits on the throne in all his grimy glory like the shameless usurper he is.

Except... he doesn't look grimy. Did he bathe again? What in the Hells does he think he can pressure me into doing?!

... again.

If there's a term for how his face simultaneously brightens and darkens, I can't recall, but that's exactly what happens. He's happy to see me and has very unsavory thoughts about it.

The Watcher only peels off my path once I'm literally at the lowest steps before the dais. I cross my arms over my chest and give Gortash my most unamused expression, even though my heart is racing with both fear and excitement.

He smiles as if he didn't notice it and opens his arms wide in a grand welcoming gesture. "My dearest assassin," he exclaims, voice warm like sunshine.

"Yeah, right, whatever," I roll my eyes. "So what, do I just stand here, like a pleb before their master, or did you have something civil in mind?"

He leans back in his seat and pats his thigh, a smirk playing around his lips. "You can always come sit on my lap."

Indignation and an unwelcome spark of lust flood my chest. I let out a bestial growl, not quite sure if I mean to intimidate him or my inner demons.

Gortash chuckles and, to my surprise, actually stands from his throne and steps down, until he's face-to-face with me.

It's hard to say whether he made it better or worse. I try to keep my gaze from wandering down his ridiculously low cleavage, but looking into his eyes is not much safer. They gleam with both smugness and affection and my stupid heart flutters.

"How lovely to see you, Nara," he drawls, sight approvingly gliding up and down my body. "I love how you chose to wear your custom made version of my gauntlet."

I sigh. I should've known he would bring it up.

I woke up on the nautiloid wearing that thing. I didn't remember anything about it, but it looked badass and was also quite useful. I store a healing potion in the socket and even the claws have come in handy in a pinch.

I didn't feel like getting rid of it when I noticed him wearing the same thing in Moonrise, because I grossly underestimated the significance. I just thought he set off a new trend among Baldurians and I wasn't immune to the allure. Happens to the best of people, right?

After I made the mistake of having sex with my ex, I figured ditching it won't help me anyway—if I do it now, it will only show him that I care.

"I didn't exactly have time to change for you, Gortash," I sneer. "You had your metal munchkin threaten me into coming here. It paraded me through the town, taking the busiest route. What do you think I am to you? Your lapdog? Your fucking mascot?"

Despite my derisive tone, he chances a step closer and my heart jumps up into my throat.

"You came to see me yourself first, remember? No one forced you."

"Well, at least no one saw me then," I bitch.

"Too bad," he bites his lip, coming closer.

He slowly, cautiously reaches out and runs the backs of his fingers along my jaw. I grit my teeth in an effort to not show it, but I like it too much to make him stop. He smiles contentedly and keeps lightly touching my face.

"You're back," he whispers, and an almost maniacal glow radiates from him. "And something in you is drawn to me, I can see it. It makes me hopeful." He tilts his head to the side and brushes hair away from my neck. "Did you really not expect me to use every resource at my disposal to convince you to stay? Nara?"

I gulp. Gods, I should never have gone to see him. Some things are best left buried, some fires best left extinguished. But I poked a bibberbang and now my world is ablaze.

"Do your friends know what you did the other night?" he smirks, smarminess making its comeback in his voice. "Does your druid know?"

"I tell him everything," I say equally smugly, finally gaining some leverage. "He's the most wholesome man I know. He's not trying to own me or isolate me like some."

A shadow of irritation and disappointment dims the self-satisfaction in his face. Point for me.

"Karlach wasn't so understanding," I continue, narrowing my eyes. "She's worried about me falling for you. I told her it's a ridiculous notion, but she proceeded to make me feel better by describing how she's going to disembowel you if you hurt me."

He scoffs. "I can imagine. She always was a crude weapon. Effective, but crude. Nothing like your refined style." His gaze softens again when he gently combs the hair on my temple with the claws of his gauntlet. "You never used brute force, yet there was no one you couldn't break. I wouldn't have been an exception, but you stayed your hand. Against your father's explicit wishes, apparently."

"I'll break you right now if you want," I say in a trembling voice. His tone and touch are doing things to me. I'm getting scared and the Urge in me is trying to respond to the stress with violence.

His mouth stretches into a delighted smile. "I'm sure you'd like that. But so would he. I thought you were done being his good girl?"

My throat goes dry as I recall the night it all went awfully wrong. When I failed to do my duty one too many times. When I got my reward for disobedience.

"What Orin did to me," I croak, "was Bhaal's punishment for my refusing to kill you."

Once Gale understood the predatory patterns of his former lover, he got eerily good at interpreting gods' behavior. He gave me more answers than even Gortash managed to. Knowing this lifted a certain weight off my mind; I wasn't just discarded for being useless—I was being a bad murderer to Daddy and he decided to teach me a lesson.

Gortash's face goes slack for a moment, before darkening with realization. He didn't know. Or he didn't want to. It was easier to blame Orin's ambition.

"So, yeah, I'm done being his tool. If I do kill you, Enver," I'm the one to reach for him this time, running a fingertip down that enticing window of his shirt, "I'll be killing you for myself."

He gulps, fumbling for lost balance. "Incorrect, sweetheart. It was punishment for loving me. Not calling it what it is doesn't make it any less true."

"Did I, though?" I've had a long sleepless night thinking about it. "I was a naive, brainwashed cultist. Did I really choose you? Or were you just convenient? The only man around with enough balls to risk it with me, maybe? Or worse: the only one who figured how easy it would be to use me?"

I'm hissing by the time I finish the last sentence and I can see how close to home it hits. His chest heaves and he takes a few steps back, turning from me. I can't see his face, so I assume he's looking for a way to refute my accusations.

"I don't know."

His voice is so small I can barely hear it. Small and vulnerable, filled with insecurity. I'm once again reminded of the image I created of the little boy Gortash treated to neglect and betrayal instead of love, and I feel the telltale stinging in my eyes.

He slowly turns back, his expression a pure emotional chaos.

"I... don't know if you chose me," he says a little louder this time, but still sounds so... lost. "One day we just... were and..." His eloquence bends under the heft of his uncertainty. "It was so easy to be with you, so... natural. I..." He closes his eyes against the turmoil raised by the memories. "At first I figured you were just having a bit of fun rebelling against Bhaal, but... You were so amazing. So warm, when your Urge was satisfied. I've never... no one ever made me feel like you did."

The only things I knew of our relationship were what he told me. I imagined it a lot different than what it sounds like now, after he suffered a sobering blow to his ego. I can't know how much of this is genuine... but he suddenly painfully reminds me of Astarion, the way he fumbles in the dark as soon as his winning act falls apart.

I know he's not a good man. I've heard plenty about the things he's done—and is still doing. But how much of his flaws can I blame on nature when I also know what he's been through? He's a survivor. No one is inherently evil—not even me.

The people you surround yourself with have a profound effect on you. Even Astarion's worst traits are being slowly worn down in the unexpected acceptance he's receiving. If it had been Gortash who was betrayed, almost killed and taken, and then found by such a wholesome group of similarly afflicted weirdos, would he have remained selfish and cruel? Or would he have chosen a better path, like me?

"I thought I was a 'horrible influence' on you." I swallow hard. I shouldn't believe a word he says... but I do.

"You were," he shrugs casually. I find him a lot more pleasant without the air of fake grandeur. "We did wonderfully bad things together, things I wouldn't have thought of myself. But that was your heritage." He studies my face for a second, longing in his eyes. "No one taught you to be silly and fun. No one taught you to be gentle. No one taught you how to appreciate more than blood and guts in people. You bloomed with all colors like a flower, when we were alone."

I blink the tears away and hug myself. No wonder Bhaal got mad. He wasn't raising me to be gentle and fun. He wanted a devoted follower. He wanted to own me. And yet I seem to have found myself in someone else instead of him.

He couldn't smite him, so he took it out on me.

"Then why can't I remember any of this?" I whisper. "My murdering days keep coming back to me. But the picture where you should be is blank."

I don't expect it and certainly don't wish for it, but Gortash notices my discomfort and rushes to me. He takes my shoulders and squeezes them reassuringly.

"You are his creation," he says grimly. "He has the power to restore everything within you. It's clear why he chooses only the parts without me: for the same reason he had Orin attack you. You were a different person with me—a person he didn't like and didn't need. He won't let you remember me as long as your blood belongs to him."

I'm getting overwhelmed. I feel used, manipulated, trapped. I feel my fear and smell the scent of my blood as Orin's beating the life out of me, calling me slurs I've never heard of. I feel as if someone's invisible hand presses on my windpipe and I sense a dreadful but familiar presence.

"NO!" I'm shaking my head wildly, trying to push him out. The world seems to blacken around me, but I keep fighting. "I'M DONE WITH YOU, YOU HEAR?!" I yell blindly at the ceiling, pulling on my hair.

YOU CAN NEVER BE 'DONE' WITH ME, CHILD.

I gasp when his voice thunders in my brain without having gone through my ears. It's deafening and it's all around me, smothering me.

YOUR CONTROL IS AN ILLUSION. GIVE IN. OBEY. BEFORE YOU FORCE ME TO END YOU.

I shudder and shrink into myself, falling to my knees, cradling my head. I'm suspended in agony for several impossibly long seconds... then my vision goes black.

02 Daddy sets an ultimatum.

"...Talas... Talas!"

My head is pounding and feels like it's stuffed with cotton. Someone's calling out my name... but it's not really my name.

"Nara!"

There it is. But it feels wrong. I feel movement, but can't tell what's happening.

"You know what," I grumble and I'm surprised to hear my own voice, "I've changed my mind. I hate the way you say it."

"Thank the devils," I hear Gortash snort. "As names go, exchanging 'Talas' for 'Nara' is a pure downgrade."

I open my eyes. Red mist is clouding my gaze. I feel thirsty and hungry. A rough palm cups my chin and a violent jerk runs through my body, making my teeth snap and try biting it. But the hand is strong and its grip tightens enough to hold me still.

"Easy now," Gortash hums, unbothered by my little attack. "You're safe. I'm safe. Let's work through it slowly. We've got all day."

I look up and find his face and it's the only thing I can clearly focus on. Everything else is muted, but his features are so sharp I squint at the intensity at first. But I understand. I know what I want now.

I want to kill him.

I grunt and try to reach for him, but I'm restrained. I look down through the red haze and see myself kneeling on red satin sheets. I'm still wearing all my clothes, but my boots, armor and gauntlet are off. The ties right above my elbows creak like tough leather as I strain against them, but I can clearly feel soft padding pressed against my skin. My wrists are bound in front of me. I can move, sit back, relax...

...but I need to KILL.

"Let. Me. Loose," I filter through my gritted teeth, almost foaming at the corners of my mouth like a rabid animal. Then a maniacal giggle gurgles in my throat. "And I'll show you something fun!"

"For fuck's sakes, you're beginning to sound like Orin," Gortash shakes his head in disappointment. "I'm sure you'd have fun, my dear, but if I'm not completely off my game, I believe you would regret it later. Maybe you would even cry for me?" His brows form a hopeful little arch, a soft smile playing on his lips. "I'm not keen on finding out, but I'd like to think you would."

I growl, pulling on my binds with all my strength.

"Don't be a spoilsport, Enver, come on!" I tease, baring my teeth, my tone dark, rough, vulgar. "I know you like the pain. I will cut you and slice you and bleed you real nice. You'll love it, I promise."

"Ssshhh," he soothes, caressing my face, skillfully evading my bites. "You can cut me when you calm down, Talas. You won't get to kill me today."

Anger jolts through me, hot like a branding iron. I lurch at him, uselessly dangling on the ends of the thick chains tying the leather cuffs to the bed frame.

"You will let me loose! And I'll tear you to pieces." My voice scratches like sandpaper. "I will slit your throat... and as you bleed out, I will lick blood off your soft skin." Growls turn to hisses. "I will drink blood from your sweet lips. I will shower in the thick stream of it as the last pathetic bubbles of your breath emerge and burst at the edges of the fresh cut. Then curl against your struggling chest to listen as your heart stops."

Gortash smiles as he listens, infuriatingly misty gaze softening his features.

"That sounds almost romantic," he purrs. He holds my hair firmly in his fist to keep my head steady and nuzzles my neck, slowly kissing a line from my shoulder up to my lobe. "I always thought the Urge was purely homicidal," he hums against my skin, "but is it possible you're mixing in your love and lust for me? Would you kill me like a lover?"

A chortle escapes my lips and I realize he's given me back a sliver of myself. I don't have the capacity to analyze if it were his words or his touch, but a tiny, heavily suppressed part of me suddenly knows what's happening. It knows this is not me. My Urge is spreading through me like a malignant growth, filling every inch of my torso, of my head, and that little piece of me is watching in horror.

No....

I let out a tortured moan and my head lulls back for a second. I can feel my body spasming and the agony is making it hard to keep my thoughts remotely clear. I hear my blood thrum in my ears, and a low voice speaks inside my skull:

It is wise to obey me. Yet you resist. You did not kill the Moonmaiden. You did not kill the druid. But you WILL kill the Tyrant's Chosen.

Or you will DIE in his place, child.

I feel tears trickle out of my eyes, even as my mouth is making raw, animalistic noises. The pressure in my temple grows so much I feel like my head is going to pop. It's excruciating, but I have no intention to submit. I fight with all my will, defiantly flipping off the god I didn't choose till the bitter end.

"En... ver," I squeeze through the teeth I grind so roughly my jaw hurts. My voice is but a wet wail, a desperate plea—but it's mine.

If I could focus on anything beside the blinding pain, I would see the alarm in his face. I register his hands on my arms, holding me upright. The sound of his voice carries over my head, but I can't distinguish the words. A high-pitched whine fills my ears. My vision fades to black again.

And I fully expect to not wake up this time.

03 We are still alive!

A chunk of void. A big skull in the center of it. Flames dancing in its eye sockets and around it. Almost playful.

I don't understand its meaning. Who am I, anyway?

Even though the skull is clearly before me, I can feel it surround me. It presses on my temples and squeezes my chest. I feel a headache of the century crush my head in its metal jaws.

A creature slinks from behind the skull. Hideous, covered in blood. Long body with a thick tail and four clawed arms. It hisses and chitters, spreading its toothy mandibles. Its beady little eyes are flashing with malice.

I cover my head with my arms as it jumps at me.

But it's not there anymore. I try to gasp, but a sick clicking sound comes out of my mouth instead. I hear rumbling laughter—the giant skull is pleased, it's mocking me.

I reach forward and instead of hands I see claws coated in fresh blood...

.

...and I wake up screaming.

There's water everywhere. I thrash and splash and heave for breath, but my arms are wrapped tight around me and my wrists and ankles bound. I accidentally splash water into my mouth, breathe it in and start choking.

Someone's big, strong, incredibly warm hands fish me out and steady me, patting my back, helping me cough. I hear a soft rumble, but this time it's not eerie and foreboding—it's familiar and soothing. A broad palm strokes my wet hair, humming comforting sounds in my ear.

"You are safe, my love. I'm here."

I lift my heavy eyelids and look up. Halsin's beautiful face is in my view and my heart is uplifted. He puts a cold compress over my forehead and I feel a little better.

"Halsin," I squeeze out of my burning throat, failing to make it sound as loving as I felt.

He smiles anyway and his eyes sparkle with affection.

"You will be alright, my heart. I will take care of you."

"I will too," I hear another voice and Gortash steps into view, obviously annoyed by Halsin taking all the credit. He's hugging his chest, nibbling on the ends of his gold claws, looking anxious and worried.

I finally realize where I am. It's Gortash's study. The flames roar in the fireplace next to the bathtub and all lamps are lit: it's dark behind the tall windows. Through the finally calm water I see my body, completely naked.

But none of those things are important right now.

"Come closer, Enver," I croak, failing to produce a seductive voice, sounding like a hag instead. "Untie me, let's have some fun. We haven't finished what we've started."

Halsin and Gortash exchange glances. It only ticks off my Urge. I flail back and forth in the tub for a second, trying to loosen the binds, but they were put on by someone who knew what they were doing. It infuriates me, tearing a ragged scream from my lungs.

"COME CLOSER, BABY, AND LET ME GUT YOU!"

"Nara," Halsin pleads softly, stroking my hair again, putting back the compress I shook off and adding one to the back of my neck. "You will get through this, I promise. The tepid water and the cold compresses should help lower your blood pressure, so you don't suffer an aneurysm. You popped many blood vessels before you passed out. That's why Gortash called me here."

I feel the Urge let up just a smidge when the cool rags press on my aching head and Halsin's voice and touch give me comfort. I try to breathe deeply and steadily. But no matter how hard we both try, it's no use. I take one look at distressed Gortash and the pull is back in full strength.

"Have you experienced this before?" Gortash asks, doing his best to ignore my rabid growls.

"She woke me up in camp several nights ago," Halsin nods somberly. "Refusal to kill Isobel redirected the Urge at the person closest to her heart, as punishment. She came to me before it overtook her and put her trust in me. It lasted the whole night, but she won in the end. But it was not this bad..."

"He..." I try to utter words that are not permitted to leave my lips. I fight my own muscles to continue. "Said... He... Dies or... I do."

Halsin's brows join in surprise and he glances at Gortash again, whose face darkens even more.

"Sounds like we really pissed Bhaal off this time. She screamed at him, defying him, before the Urge took over. I was just an outside observer, but I figured he was communicating with her. Seems like we know the gist of the conversation now."

"What were you doing?" Halsin wonders.

"Nothing much," Gortash shrugs evasively. "Talking. Talas was learning more about our past, about how and why she came to such an unceremonial end in the cult. Said none of her memories of me returned to her. Clearly Bhaal's job."

"Nhhhnnnhhhng!" I add my gold to the discussion, thrashing in the tub again. I'm glad I'm at least able to follow their words, even though I can't contribute. Sweet images of me running my hands through Gortash's spilled guts flash in the back of my mind, but they're just white noise.

Halsin wipes my upper lip with a troubled expression. He lets go of me to touch the air in that divine way of his, to call upon Silvanus, and pulls healing energy out of nowhere, pressing it to my head with the broad palm of his hand. I breathe a little easier for a few moments.

"If this goes on for much longer, I'm afraid even I might not be able to help you," he sighs, squeezing his eyes shut, pressing his forehead to mine. I gulp and just moan in response, hoping my intonation will convey my thanks.

"I don't suppose we could trick the Urge somehow? Have her stab me a couple of times and then knock her out, and when she comes around I'll be lying in a pool of blood and... You get it."

Halsin chuckles in amusement.

"You would just let her stab you? Are you a masochist, or just so in love?"

"What kind of question is that?" Gortash growls defensively. "We have a problem. I'm offering a solution. If I had to die, I'd prefer it to be by her hand, but I plan no such thing just yet."

"I do not think it works quite like that," Halsin shakes his head. "But thank you for the offer."

"It's... my fault she's like this." Gortash's discomfort at admitting responsibility is evident. "I don't want her to die. So if you have ideas, I'll do anything to help."

"You can help me right now, Enver," I screech, failing to restrain myself. "Come here! Come and make love to me. But don't forget to untie me and bring me a knife. I'll show you a little trick! You'll be positively drained after I'm done with you."

"Perhaps the best thing you can do to help is to get out of her sight for now," Halsin suggests and only a touch of derision reaches his tone.

Gortash frowns and grumbles something under his breath, but takes his leave. There's only Halsin's broad form next to me now, effectively shielding me from seeing Gortash. My Urge immediately eases up and I lean back on the headrest, exhausted from fighting my own muscles.

It doesn't last long, though.

"Halsin?" I coo, swallowing hard as I feel another crushing wave of twisted need.

"Yes, my heart?" He bends down to kiss my forehead. It doesn't work as well as before, but I manage to hold back the instinct to bite.

"I love you," I tell him while I can still form words of my own choosing. "And I'm grateful for everything you do for me. Don't take this personally, but now that you're getting in my way of killing Gortash... I'm beginning to want to kill you, too."

He pulls away, but not far, and studies my face. I can see so much compassion in his eyes, but they're tired and he looks older. He wipes my upper lip again and sighs.

"This is going to be another long night, isn't it, my love?"

.

"Halsin, stop," I mumble weakly as he prepares another spell, looking more and more sapped every time. "Please. Just... let me go."

I'm so run down. The pain is debilitating. In the rare moments of peace, all I can do is float. My mind is fried, my organs struggling to keep running. I've had enough.

But the worst is the thought of accidentally pulling Halsin under with me.

"Do not even start," he growls. His voice sounds dry and spent, but he collects the healing energy and once more fixes some of the damage the high blood pressure has done to my vessels.

I want to cry, but I don't have the strength to do it. But I notice something: it's been really quiet for some time.

"Where's Enver?"

"He is... off trying something else."

The evasiveness would normally make me inquire, but the Urge lashes out again, spasming my body, forcing more horrible words out of my mouth.

"I WILL SKIN YOUR LUSCIOUS PELT, LITTLE BEAR! I WILL WEAR IT ON MY BODY AS I WATCH YOUR PATHETIC ATTEMPTS TO PUT YOUR GUTS BACK IN YOUR BELLY. I WILL—"

04 Unbearable lightness of unprecedented fluff.

I feel like I must have died when I open my eyes and nothing hurts anymore. The world is soft and quiet, the water around me like a blanket, the dim flickering lights enhancing the peaceful silence. Perhaps this was the afterlife.

"Welcome back."

I don't recognize the voice at first. I slowly turn my head to find Halsin—

—but I look into Gortash's worn out face, languidly blinking at me. I see a giant bear slumped on the rugs by the bathtub, exhausted from keeping me alive.

I watch Gortash in fear for a little moment. But there's no tug, no agony this time. I only feel... slight elation. My weary heart flutters, tapping into its last reserves of power.

"Enver," I whisper, letting my eyelids fall. I feel his palm cup my cheek and his lips plant a soft kiss on my forehead. Tears stream down my face, but I can't gather enough strength to sob.

It's over. It's really over. At least for now.

"Sshh," he coos quietly, combing my hair. "Do you feel like you can handle moving to the bed? I'm afraid you'll melt if you stay in that bathtub for much longer."

I take a few breaths and nod. The instant I move, I can feel all my muscles scream in protest, but I push myself through it. He's right, my skin is getting tender from soaking so much, I can't just sleep here anymore.

He unties me and that's when the ache in my arms and hands joins the party, making me whimper. I've struggled against my own body for hours and hours with only short reprieves of unconsciousness. It's taken a heavy toll. But I'm alive, and so is everyone else.

My legs are so wobbly I slip back into the water a few times, splashing around, sprinkling sleeping Halsin. His snout twitches and I hear a grumble, but he doesn't wake up. Poor thing.

Gortash is trying to hold me upright, but his angle is all wrong, standing next to the tub. But on my fourth try I manage. I just lock my knees and hope it'll be enough for a minute. I notice the water in the bath is surprisingly fresh after housing me for so long, but it's already draining—someone must've changed it several times during the night.

I gasp in surprise when warm drops start raining down on my head and shoulders.

"Another handy technological marvel," Gortash smiles. "Just try to keep yourself on your feet. Let me wash you."

He takes a sponge and a bar of soap and begins slowly rubbing my skin under the gentle, refreshing shower.

I'm too busy keeping my knees locked and staying awake to have any deep opinions on why he's being so caring. My foggy, tired mind is simply enjoying his attention.

He's gentle and thorough and doesn't shirk from any part of me, but doesn't linger for longer than necessary. I mistily welcome the muted rush of excitement his touch gives me and close my eyes, fully trusting him like I only could with my marbles scattered all over the floor.

"Mmm," escapes my lips. I don't know words, but apparently I can make sounds.

"Sit back down, I'll wash your hair," Gortash commands softly.

I sit curled up, my eyes shut, jaw slack, little mewls of pleasure coming out of my mouth. His fingers caress my scalp in circular motions, coaxing some blood back into my skin. It melts away my tension and feels so good against the leftover headache that still throbs in my skull.

Gortash picks up the shower head and rinses the shampoo foam off my hair. It finally hits me that it smells like him. I let out a quiet chuckle. Doesn't he have a special flower scented bottle for his feminine conquests? Maybe he just likes marking them this way.

He helps me stand back up again, dabs me with a towel and then wraps me in a robe.

"Come here, princess," he murmurs and pulls me into his arms.

And he carries me to the bed. I don't think I would protest even if I had the energy. I may be a strong independent woman... but this is nice.

He pushes a tray of food and drink to me and we both eat in silence. I can't force much into my wrecked throat, but I thirstily guzzle all the water and wine. The slight buzz is not helping my overused veins, but it does wonders for my cramped muscles.

Then I lie on my side, watching him freshen up and change. I finally have plenty of time and no capacity for shame; I take in every detail of him I can spot. The toned muscles of his legs. The line of fine dark hair on his chest going to his groin. The way his thick hair softly reflects light when it's crisp clean. The pleasant, earthy color of his skin. Every glance he tosses over to check up on me.

My heart flutters again. I gulp hard and convince my eyes to close, so I can't see any more of him.

Suddenly the mattress beside me sinks and I can feel him next to me. The warmth from his body envelops me, his scent fills my lungs and I find myself looking into his dark eyes. My poor blood pressure spikes again and I try making my gulps for air subtle, but I can see the delighted amusement deepen his crow's feet.

"Sleep," he sighs, studying my face. "You need to rest to get your strength back."

He runs his fingers through my damp hair and kisses my temple. His skin is soft and warm, but his short stubble and rough palms leave a tickling sensation that's driving me wild. I inhale a lungful of him and press my mouth to his jaw, testing the scratchy surface against my lips.

I can hear his breath quicken and feel his hand move to my shoulder and rub the silk of my borrowed robe. I take his face in my hands and bite this time—just a little, letting my teeth graze the stubble, enjoying the sweet scratch—and I hear a moan.

I forget myself. I forget who he is. I just want to keep tasting his skin.

His mouth is on mine. I hungrily welcome him in. His hand roams my body, kneading my flesh—mine frantically search his every surface, unable to decide where to stay. Perhaps I'm just cold from exhaustion, but I feel like he's radiating more heat than an average human being. I bathe in the warmth, pulling myself as close as possible.

The way he pulls air in through his teeth when I bite his lip is like music to my ears. How is this man so edible? He drags his fingertips across my face and I suck his thumb into my mouth. The low rumble of his chuckle travels right to the knot in my lower belly and my eyes roll back.

He presses me flush to his body, molding my flesh, and I let out a feral groan, grabbing fistfuls of his thick hair and pulling. I need him. I need him now.

His mouth moves to my neck, but he doesn't kiss and nibble like I want him to, he takes me by the nape and immobilizes me. I can hear his ragged breath in my ear as I blink in bewilderment.

"Talas," he exhales desperately. "I know your opinion of me has taken a sharp dive... but I don't fuck mentally compromised women."

He lets me pull away and I stare at him in doubt. He snorts, shrugging.

"Alright, I guess sometimes I do," he admits, "but I just know you'll wake up in the morning with your wits intact and hate me for taking advantage of you."

The hum of blood in my ears quiets down as I swallow my disappointment. Tears sting in my eyes; I can't tell why, but I feel robbed. He sighs and pulls me closer again, but only to hug me.

"I've missed you so much," he whispers into my hair. "I don't want to ruin this." Running his fingers through my hair once more, spreading soothing tingling over my skin, he rocks me gently. "Sleep. I promise I'll make it up to you later... if you still want me to."

I can barely hear his last words, but I sense the uncertainty in his tone. The pressure around my chest tightens and I wrap my arms around him and hold on. The pleasurable hormones surrender the stage to the exhaustion in my muscles and bones. I feel myself falling asleep even before my consciousness drifts off.

05 Warm bodies.

The soft light creeping in through my closed eyelids rouses me gently, but I'm so tired everything still feels like a dream. I cling to my drowsiness and try to go back to sleep again.

Then I feel a warm palm on my hip, stroking the silky fabric covering me.

I shift slightly, moving into the touch, and the hand slowly travels across my back. Another joins it, caressing my thigh. I moan quietly, reaching out for a body to hold—

—and I find two. Both are very warm and my hungry touch is ecstatic to feel each pressed to one side of me. I gently squirm between them, rubbing myself against soft muscle that eagerly responds in kind. Their musky scent is both soothingly familiar and enticingly erotic. I can hear two breaths and two sets of soft sighs as I let my palms feel my way across their skin.

I open my eyes and meet Gortash's sleepy eyes watching me. My heart jumps up into my throat and I jolt into a sitting position. I turn to find Halsin on the other side—probably crawled onto the bed when he felt strong enough to move again.

"Shit," I mumble under my breath, quickly removing myself off the satin sheets.

"And it was just getting good," Gortash laments wistfully, a tone of amusement coloring his raspy voice.

"Seriously? Jokes?" I pull my robe tighter around my body, suddenly self-conscious about being completely naked under a thin layer of translucent fabric, and prop my hands against my hips. "Did you even realize you were groping me right next to my partner?"

"As I recall, you were enthusiastically groping me back, sweetheart," he smirks. "A few hours back you didn't mind making out in front of him."

I gape mutely at them both for a second.

"I was out of my mind!"

Halsin groggily drags himself off the bed and holds me close, patting my back comfortingly.

"I'm sorry," I hum into his chest.

"There is nothing to be sorry for, my heart." He kisses the top of my head.

I push away to look at him sternly. "Yes, there is. You've spent your whole night taking care of me at great cost to yourself and the first thing I do when I'm finally okay is this? Not even my mental state is an excuse. I only want to make you feel loved and safe, not uncomfortable and uncertain. I don't deserve you."

Instead of appreciating my commitment, albeit failed, I see pain flash in his eyes.

"Halsin?" I sniffle, my chest filling with dread. "Please don't leave me."

His expression melts into a touched one. He cups my face and smiles softly.

"I'm not going anywhere, I promise," he rasps. "Not until you decide otherwise, my love. You have nothing to fear. I will always be by your side, for as long as you'll have me."

I feel tears trickle down my face, the relief mixing into my terror tapping a generous stream.

"Now I'm sorry," he sighs, futilely trying to wipe my tears away with his fingers. "I misunderstood. I thought..."

He didn't have to explain. It didn't even come to mind at first, but I figured it out.

"You thought I would replace you with him?" I chuckle through the turmoil in my chest. "Not in a million years."

"Yes, don't mind me," Gortash growls and removes himself from the bed as well. His face looks like it's carved from stone, cold and hard. We both watch him as he locks himself in the next room, leaving us alone.

"I think you hurt his feelings," Halsin says quietly and I can hear commiseration in his voice. "He really is in love with you, sweet thing."

"Well, I'm not in love with him," I snap. "I don't want to have anything to do with him."

I'm still raw from the suffering Bhaal has inflicted on me, and the realization of just how much my heart has softened towards Gortash puts me on edge. The possibility of hurting Halsin through another bit of my unfortunate past just piles on top of that.

"Far be it from me to push you towards another man," he smirks, mild amusement creeping into his expression. "But I don't want you to limit yourself on my behalf, Nara. I thought you understood that I don't wish to own you." He takes my hands and kisses my knuckles. "If that is what you need, you are free to be with anyone else to any extent you deem necessary for your happiness. I only want you to be safe and happy by my side. That is my only goal."

I close my eyes and let him lean his forehead against mine.

"You know that's my goal too, right?" I mumble.

I can sense he doesn't believe my words—never have. But I haven't figured out why. I really mean it. He's the ray of sunshine in my bleak days. I want him to keep shining at all costs, even if I'm not the one basking in the beams.

"You deserve all the joy you can get, my heart," he whispers. "Do not make me the one to stand in your way. I will always wait for you to come back home to me."

I swallow a new wave of tears. "Then let's go right now."

"No," he sighs. "I will go. You seem to have unfinished business here. When you are ready, find me in camp. I believe you are safe here, at least for as long as you don't try to kill him first," he chuckles.

"I just might," I grouse. "He's playing a dangerous game here. I didn't think he'd be so bold to try to seduce me in front of you. Didn't he notice how big you are? Doesn't he think you'd rip him to pieces if he pisses you off?"

"I think he knows he has a chance." Halsin gives me a slightly patronizing glance, likely getting tired of my refusal to acknowledge my weakness. "Doesn't he?"

"I don't want to have anything to do with him," I repeat, but my voice falters.

He smiles, presses his face to mine and inhales deeply. "I can smell your arousal, little duck," he chastises softly, combing my hair with his fingers.

"That's for you, too," I frown, a little embarrassed, recalling the unexpectedly pleasant first moments of my morning.

"I know," he nods and this time I can tell he's certain. "But you two have history. Unless you explore this road, you might spend the rest of your life wondering 'what if'... I don't want that for you. I don't want that for myself. Whatever you do, I would like you to be sure that you're not missing out on something. I will be here if you decide to come back to me."

I have no more to say. I let him press a kiss to my lips and watch him exit the room. I don't follow. I keep standing where he left me, hugging my shoulders.

"I can't believe you actually stayed."

I whip around to find Gortash in the doorframe, dressed and tidied up, shaved and smelling fresh. He's leaning on the doorframe and though his face is still grim, his swagger doesn't seem to have suffered irreparable damage.

"Don't congratulate yourself just yet, Enver," I sneer.

"Oh, don't be crabby, baby," he purses his lips in mock comfort. "You landed such a perfect boyfriend. I'm jealous, now I want one, too. Hurry up and break his soft heart—maybe he'll be interested in me instead."

"I'm not breaking his heart," I spit. "I love him."

That sentence makes him wince, but he recovers in record time, smirking like the bad boy he is.

"Then maybe I'll break it for you. When he's no longer there to enable you, will you run back into my arms?"

I don't realize I'm moving before I have his stupid tall collar bunched up in a fist, pushing him against the door. I bare my teeth, my nose a hair's-width away from his. My tortured muscles protest against such treatment, but the rush of adrenaline outvotes them.

"Touch him and I'll kill you," I hiss into his face. "Stone or no stone."

The initial flash of surprise, even fear, is quickly replaced with a seductive smile.

"Gods, I missed this fire," he grunts, grabbing my waist and pulling me flush to his body. "Too bad your devotion belongs to another now."

I tear from his grasp, gritting my teeth so hard they squeak. I don't know what else to do; hurting him only gave him twisted pleasure. So I stomp off to the bathroom, looking for my things, so I can leave this cursed place already.

06 Payback is a bitch.

I dress up in my clothes that feel like they've been freshly cleaned and pressed, and complete my morning routine with the conveniently offered supplies left in the bathroom for me. As I put on my gauntlet I have to stop and lean against the sink. My thoughts are spiraling.

Remembering all that I've done since I arrived at this tower is making me hyperventilate. Gods, I really did nearly jump Gortash's bones. My reason was clearly damaged, but... Gathering my wits didn't erase the desire. I still want him. I hate everything he stands for... but I can barely resist him.

I stare into my scarred face in the mirror, hoping to understand my own mind. Even if I really used to love him in the past doesn't mean I should now. It physically hurts me to imagine Karlach's probable response to that. And Wyll's. And everyone's, really. Apart from some of my companions who would prefer to take control of the Brain, or even to actually team up with the Tyrant's Chosen, none would approve.

"Oh, fuck me," I mumble.

I close my eyes for a few long seconds, trying to get a hold of myself. It doesn't help; my mind is serving me memories of Gortash's gentle, respectful touch, in blinding contrast to what I thought I knew about him. How does that happen? Was he just that good at playing me? Or was it genuine?

Poor Halsin. Perhaps the thing that scares me most is his disapproval. Would he stay by my side if I succumbed to my twisted desires? Would he be open to sharing me with a man who doesn't care who he abuses as long as it serves his power-hungry agenda? Even he must have a limit to what he's willing to tolerate.

I slam my hand against the mirror and growl. I feel like I'm being split in two. One part will not let go of the beautiful, peaceful vision of what life can be with Halsin. The other... the darkness in me, one that has nothing to do with the Urge, craves to be nourished, to be recognized and utilized, to be accepted.

Can I have both? Or is that just a mad hope of a lobotomized freak?

I need to get out of here, now.

I rush out of the room, then into the Audience hall. I'm hoping it's deserted and no one will notice me leaving, but Gortash is once again comfortably seated on the throne, his alert eyes on me the second I come into his field of vision. I slump my shoulders and frown, turning to him.

"Hey, look," I choose a neutral tone, nonchalantly hooking thumbs in my pockets, "I gotta go. We have lots to do in the city. There's a vamp that begs to be staked, a pregnant hag on the loose, and also Orin's not gonna kill herself."

"Ah, yes," Gortash drawls, getting up and slowly sauntering towards me. "You're very busy. The slayer of Ketheric Thorm. The hero who's lifted the Shadow Curse. Pretty impressive."

I purse my lips, glaring at him. Of course he figured out it was us who exchanged his planned article in Baldur's Mouth for a puff piece on us.

"Yeah, it would be a shame if we were slandered instead of celebrated, don't you think?" I nip sarcastically.

"Why do you think I made you come here, my dear," he tosses me a sour grin. "You get in my way, I get in yours. You'd do best to remember that."

I roll my eyes, folding my arms over my chest. I actually considered thanking him for what he'd done for me tonight, but I'm not in the mood to do that anymore.

"Yeah, yeah. If you're done threatening me, mind letting me go? Like I said, lots to do. You want the netherstone, or not?"

Gortash stops maybe an inch from me and leans in to whisper in my ear: "You're not a prisoner here, sweetheart."

A powerful shiver runs through me, so strong I can't possibly hide it. His gaze slides down my body and lips twist in a delighted, sinful smirk. My breath hitches at the sight of him and his scent makes my throat go dry.

He pulls back to a little more respectful distance. "But I thought you might want to have that brunch on the balcony I planned for us yesterday. Don't worry," he chuckles, "I had my cook make us fresh food—birds seem to have eaten the last batch, anyway." His gaze lingers on my eyes, gauging my thoughts. "It's sunny outside. I want to sit with you, talk and enjoy the view from this tower."

Still reeling from the mind boggling reaction I'm having to his closeness, I swallow hard. 'What's the worst that can happen' isn't even a question here. I know what can happen. I know what my body, my own treacherous body, wants to happen. But maybe... just maybe... if I spend more casual time in his presence, this assault of hormones will stop.

After all, there's nothing more off-putting than really getting to know the horrible man you're attracted to. Could be just what I need to get over him.

07 What's the worst that can happen?

I let him lead me onto the balcony. Any thoughts get knocked out of me as soon as I lean over the stone wall and stare at the city stretching below us.

I've only spent two weeks here since we arrived, and from up-close it never quite seemed as grand as people tend to describe it. It's big and loud and overcrowded and smelly... But it seems gorgeous from this high above. No wonder Gortash wants to settle up here permanently.

I don't appreciate the thick atmosphere of this place. I miss the clean waters and animal white noise of the picturesque location the nautiloid crashed in. Even the Underdark is breathtaking in its menacing way.

This doesn't feel like home anymore. It's familiar, but I'm a different person.

Much like what I could say about Gortash. The fact that we used to be a thing shouldn't mean that we have to be it again.

I have so many questions it feels like a chunk of anxiety is balled up inside me—I don't even know what to ask specifically, I just know I need a lot of answers. I want to understand what happened between us and how. And how can a man so callous, so cruel to everything else be so gentle and sweet with me.

I have to know what game he's playing. Is he hoping to weaken me? Stab me in the back as soon as I kill Orin and take both the netherstones off my cooling flesh? Was any of what he showed me real?

"Heavy thoughts, Talas?"

I sigh and turn away from the view to see him comfortably sprawled on an actual rug stretched over the stone floor.

"Couldn't get a blankie?" I quip, shaking my head. "Your ass get too soft?"

"Well, since I don't have to live rough anymore, I just don't do it," he chuckles, tapping a spot next to him. "Come have some comfort, too. I imagine you're not used to it anymore, being on the road for so long."

"I think I pretty much forgot what comfort felt like when that Myrkulite bitch of a torturer got a hold of me," I say dryly as I make my way to the picnic. I immediately see the change in his expression and his fists clenching.

I sit down and stretch my legs in front of me. "Do all your Absolute lackeys respect you this much, or was she special?"

"That's still under investigation," he growls darkly. An image of his most loyal soldiers beating information out of the slightly less loyal soldiers crosses my mind. "The nerve on her. The nerve on Ketheric. He should've told me."

"I guess plotting to take over the world doesn't make for the best bonding time," I smirk, picking up a chalice of wine.

"True," he nods, deciding to wash his rage down with some wine as well. "This is not a circle of trust. I even had to kill a number of my own for being too ambitious. Mostly when they tried to assassinate me to take my place. Or get to me through you."

"Hm," I grimace, not ready to believe I was so important to him that he wouldn't sacrifice me in a blink of an eye if it brought him enough reward. "How do you know I won't kill you? Bhaal sounded pretty determined. He'll try again. You might not get so lucky this time."

"He won't. Not until you get rid of Orin."

I raise my eyebrows at him and toss a few grapes in my mouth. "How would you know?"

Gortash pauses, looking away, squinting at the sky.

"Last night I told her what was happening, got her properly pissed off. I promised you would come to her, which is what you want, anyway. She went to talk to him, to convince him she's capable of defeating you. I hoped she had the pull—and it looks like she does, because it worked. Bhaal wants you to ritually combat her at the Temple just a smidge more than he wants me dead—and can always make either of you do it later."

He says it in such a matter-of-fact tone as if he didn't just confess to virtually saving my life. I gape at him mutely, wine forgotten half-way to my lips.

"Well," I chuckle in disbelief, "I'm stunned that you didn't brag about it immediately."

"I knew you would see it as bragging, no matter when I told you," he rolls his eyes, chugging his wine. "So I wasn't going to. Until you asked."

I shrug and nod, admitting that's true. I'm always ready to believe the worst of him. Just in case.

"But you should know." He turns to me, face serious, gaze intense. He takes my hand and squeezes. "When Orin is dead, he will sic you on me. It won't matter what you feel or what your agenda is. This time he'll have no reason to relent, he will have one of us dead."

He sighs and tucks a loose strand of my hair behind my ear with the same tenderness I tasted last night. His eyes are warm and gentle.

"If nothing else works... I will let you kill me," he whispers and my breath catches in my throat. "Which is why I suggest you keep your word and we finish our plan together. If we're successful, we might have enough power to keep him away from us."

I watch his hair flow in the breeze around his face. He lets go of my hands and looks to the sky again, as if the endlessness of it helped him feel like he has more options, more freedom.

"So, at the least, we have until you kill her."

His voice is so heavy, raspy, wistful, I shiver again. He doesn't even suggest that we actually stay together or anything... he's just contemplating the near future, counting down days until he might not see me again. Or live.

"You would just let me kill you?" I ask, suddenly reminded of Halsin's similar question from last night. Gortash brushed it off then and I was too busy trying to survive, but it hits differently now.

I see his throat jump as he gulps. He seems to mull over his answer. Then squeezes his eyes shut.

"I began hatching the Absolute plan for my sake only. I wanted power and control. But then you came..." He flashes me a glance, almost shy. "And things changed. So slowly I didn't even notice at first. But I started to work towards a different goal. I wanted to make this work for us. Make the world the perfect place for us to be happy in. To do whatever we want, to have all the comforts, all the fun."

He pauses for a long time. I'm wracking my brain to try to remember something, anything, so that I could confirm his words, but the memory of him is still as incorporeal as before.

Before I figure out how to react, he speaks up again:

"I didn't know how differently it could end," he rasps and I'm in shock to notice his eyes getting somewhat wet. "How someone could hate me, hate you, so much that they would tear us apart and destroy everything." This time he looks at me steadily, though I can see how much effort it takes him to not let his sight run away again. "I love you, Talas. We were having so much fun I hadn't realized it... until I lost you."

I rapidly blink in utter bewilderment. My heart squeezes hard. I feel tears fighting their way out of my eyes. I can taste bitterness in the back of my throat. As if the only thing I could remember about our past is how heartbreaking it was to be separated from him like this.

And I realize that I believe him. It makes sense. Bhaal's ultimatum revealed one thing: this murder was personal to him. I really must have been in love with Gortash before my disappearance. Enough to make the Lord of Murder feel threatened and want our bond broken.

And I'm beginning to see why—to see past my initial impression of him, past his flaws and sins. It makes me scared. What happens if I give in to it, even if just for a little while?

But just how much time to decide do I really have?

08 Innocence of a guilty man.

Turns out, I don't need much time at all.

Gortash's confession was so raw it's impossible for me to stop thinking about it. He's quiet as we eat our breakfast, and so am I, but my head is buzzing. The alcohol doesn't help hold my walls up, but I don't think being sober would save me now.

'We only have until you kill Orin.'

That could be mere days. We've only just arrived, but already met her more than once—sniffing around, gauging our weaknesses, snickering maniacally and giving us the creeps. If we don't strike first, she will. Not to mention the ticking clock that was the tadpole wriggling in my head, threatening to turn me into a tentacled monster the second the Brain breaks free of Gortash's and Orin's control. We are all screwed if we don't find her soon.

My mind ambushes me with slightly fuzzy memories of last night. The way Gortash washed me, the way he carried me to the bed like royalty, the way he cared. I don't have to run away and marry him in secret to enjoy him. I don't have to make any promises at all.

I can just have him one last time. Whatever happens next.

"Well," I peep, nervous about what I'm going to do, "since we're full, alone and have the time... maybe we can... uhm."

Gods, I'm awful at flirting. I'm so lucky Halsin decided to approach me first. We would still be hungrily circling each other if he hasn't.

To my utter dismay and embarrassment, Gortash laughs out loud. "You haven't improved one bit," he shakes his head.

"Shut up," I grunt, trying to hide in my hair.

He props himself on one elbow, reaching for my jaw, caressing me and pulling me down to him for a kiss.

"Your best line so far was 'I would love to carve you up real slow,'" he smirks, coaxing me to look up. "Fortunately, that worked like a charm on me."

My brow crinkles and I burst into vivacious laughter. It makes me feel better, more at ease. I guess I didn't change that much.

"Gods, it's been forever since the last time I heard that laughter," Gortash sighs, stricken.

He attacks my mouth voraciously, making me gasp into the kiss.

It's different than before. It's not libido that drives him this time. There's pain behind the layers of need. Pain of long separation, of deep grief, of lost hope, of impending death. He's virtually inhaling me, as if he would love nothing more than to blend into me.

I feel dizzy and compelled to return the kiss with the same intensity, even though I'm running out of breath. I don't want to hold back anymore. What good would it do me to fight my feelings when this is the last time I get to have him.

His skin is much smoother after the morning shave, but I can still feel the faint remnants of stubble gently scratching me. I run my fingers all over his face, trying to imprint every shape of him into my damaged brain. I come across the scar on his chin and the sensation feels more familiar than ever. I know I've touched this scar before.

His hand copies my movements, tracing my scars. They must be new to him; Orin left them on me when she tried to kill me. He remembers my face when it was still flawless, yet his fingers are feeling my new imperfections with reverence.

"Bleed that bitch slowly," he rasps against my skin. "Savor the kill. You deserve a sweet revenge for this."

"I wish I could do the same to Bhaal," I reply breathily.

"So do I, my love. So do I." He pulls away a little, skin flushed, eyes misty. "Let's go inside. It's chilly here, you might catch a cold."

I squeeze my eyes shut, half wanting to laugh, half crying. I feel him get onto his feet and the next thing I know I'm in his arms, carried like a princess once more. I hug his shoulders and hide in his neck, nibbling hungrily, making his breath catch as he's walking towards his study, gait a bit wobbly.

My legs are weak too—I nearly buckle as he puts me down by the bed. I steady myself holding onto him, while he's doing his best to keep my armor and clothes intact as he's pulling them off my body in ragged, desperate moves.

He pauses with his hands hovering over my offered gauntlet.

"What?" I wonder. "Think you won't be able to enjoy it without me hurting you?"

He tilts his head, squinting in the distance. "I don't think we've ever tried that."

"Just take it off," I say and put his fingers on my wrist. "If it's not enough, I can always use my nails."

"To be honest," he raises his eyebrows pensively, "I don't think I even care. I just want to be with you."

He shakes the metal off my hand and tosses it to the floor. Then his eyes find his own, with the glowing netherstone adorning it.

"I promise I won't steal it," I chuckle. "At least not until I have Orin's."

He doesn't seem to appreciate my teasing. He takes the gauntlet off, but quickly puts it in a small, sturdy looking metal box and locks it inside.

I roll my eyes. "Still don't trust me, Enver? Did I use to fuck people just to get their precious stuff and favors? I thought that was more your style."

"Just a precaution against whomever else might be sneaking through the tower," Gortash smirks and returns to me. "You weren't even interested in fucking until you met me," he touches my face. "Granted, you didn't have many eligible choices around you, with your father keeping you in dark tombs among abominations. But I taught you everything, little lover."

My breath hitches a little at the realization, but I gulp the shock down.

"Well, then I guess I'm glad you've been sleeping around with so many of your noble conquests. Would hate to be taught by someone inexperienced."

He laughs with his eyes shut, then sighs and pulls me into his embrace.

"Oh, Talas, don't be jealous. There's no need to drag nobles into my bed anymore. I did try to drown my grief in a few... but it never helped. You were my first in months."

I blink at him, stunned by his words yet again. "Explains why you looked like you hadn't bathed in weeks at your inauguration." I swallow hard, distressingly aware of his enticing scent now.

"I've let myself go a little, yeah," he admits with an amused grin. "My company didn't mind. I thought Ketheric smelled like death, but then I met Orin." I snort and he joins me. "That faint stench of rotting flesh makes me want to gag. You, though..."

He buries his nose in the crook of my neck, pulling off his clothes. "You." He inhales a lungful of me, groaning. I shiver, closing my eyes, running my fingers through his hair. "The sweetest thing I've ever tasted."

I yelp as he suddenly picks me up and lets us both collapse onto the bed. Our limbs tangle, skin grazing skin, our mouths lock in a thirsty dance of tongues. It's a strange feeling, like being with him for the first time, even though it's far from it. I'm not fighting him, not resisting unwelcome desires, not trying to pretend this isn't what I want... I give myself to him willingly and eagerly.

09 Your fingerprints all over me.

He pulls us higher and flips us over, so he could lean on the head of the frame with me on top. The unexpected exposure makes me flinch. I'm still getting used to showing all of myself even to Halsin, and this... I haven't had time to decide how to feel about it. But the way he watches me makes me shudder. His gaze worships every inch of me, his fingers following closely after. So I lean into his touch and close my eyes, letting my mind rest in the soft waves of pleasure.

"How are you even more breathtaking than before," Gortash whispers so quietly I'm not sure he even meant to be heard.

I look down at him, using the rapidly depleting brain capacity to study his face some more. I didn't think he was capable of such adoration. I'm trying to hold onto my healthy doubts for the sake of everyone who's put their trust in me, but it's getting truly difficult.

So I choose to focus on the rest of him instead. On how he makes me feel.

I let my hands wander over his body, enjoying the inexplicable electric sensation of touching his deliciously mocha skin. Making him shiver as I run through the fine hair on his chest he so likes to show off. His muscles are defined just the right amount, well hydrated and comfortably soft. The little love handle on his tummy makes my mouth water and my hips grind against him wantonly.

He groans and grabs me by the nape to pull me into a ravaging kiss. I lift off his lap just enough to help him slip inside me. I cry out softly, unable to hold back the sweet tears of ecstasy.

My needy mouth devours him. He holds my hip in a firm grip to help me ride him. The fingers of his free hand dig into my back, desperately pressing me to his chest, but the hurt they cause isn't physical. I don't want to look into his eyes, I know they will bewitch me.

But I fail and let his gaze swallow my soul.

I can't focus on kissing him anymore. I just lay my forehead on his shoulder and keep rolling my hips. I feel the crushing orgasm closing in when he rakes my hair and starts murmuring in my ear:

"I love you, Talas. I love you."

I let out a sob as it hits me like a wall. I'm not screaming or moaning—I'm crying. My heart is breaking, my soul is splitting... Yet, in the midst of my torment, there's mind boggling ecstasy shooting through my body like lightning.

He caresses my back, letting me ride out the last of the tremors, while I latch onto his mouth again, mixing his intoxicating taste with the salt of my tears. He doesn't seem bothered, drinking my inexplicable sorrow eagerly, thirstily.

I collapse onto his warm chest and keep softly sobbing into his flesh.

I remember now.

"Are you alright?"

I don't respond for a long while. I just keep slowly rolling my hips, not letting him stop making love to me. He listens to my intentional body language, running his fingers gently all over my skin, and lets me deal with it in peace before I'm ready to speak up.

"I love you too, Enver."

The leftover reason in my brain gags its mouth in horror. But I know that it's true. It's been true the whole time, I just didn't know, being stripped of all my memories of him.

The memories didn't return per se. Only feelings. I was a drooling mess, and still my heart yearned for something I lost. Someone I lost. I doubt I could even recall his name or his face... but I knew I needed him.

"Please," I sniffle, finally dragging myself up to look at him. "Make me forget how I know this. It hurts."

That strange sucking feeling in the center of my chest suddenly makes sense now. I've had it since the crash. My head was empty, but my heart ached for him.

"Talas," he whispers, cradling my head. I watch his eyes well up like mine.

I kiss him, letting him tangle his fingers in my hair. He presses my face closer to his and drowns in my mouth. When we're out of breath, he leaves my lips to travel up to my cheeks and eyes, kissing away every tear.

He wraps me in his arms and smoothly rolls us over, pressing my back into the red satin sheets. He holds my hands above my head and I expect him to get rough—I wouldn't mind having this gnawing emotional anguish knocked out of me with a delicious pounding I know he's keen to inflict.

But his fingers lace with mine and his eyes watch me with tenderness I didn't think he was capable of. He's not done fighting for me.

And I'm not done being loved by him.

I hold his gaze, studying the specs of color in his irises. I let out soft moans as he languidly moves inside me and kisses my mouth without breaking eye contact. And when my body begins buzzing, building up to another mind-shattering climax, I whisper his name. The first one slips from my lips accidentally, but as my mind clouds I get bolder. When my body spasms and my toes curl, I scream it over and over in between waves of ecstasy.

His gaze never wavers—up until his own finish catches him unprepared, drawing a surprised, tender whimper out of him. His body quivers, uncontrollably shooting hot seed inside of me as he holds me close, encasing me in his arms like something fragile and precious, moaning my name into my ear.

Mind blank, I just lay, limbs wrapped around him, not willing to let go. We stay like this, gently caressing each other, panting, cooling off. It's not until we start getting uncomfortable that we're finally forced to let go.

"How would you feel about having a bath together again?" Gortash suggests, his roguish smirk gracing his lips once more.

I'm all sweaty and sticky and full of his load, so I nod.

I don't want to leave just yet. Going back into the real world means being faced with responsibilities and morality. It means remembering what a menace this man is to the city. It means considering losing him forever if he decides to stand in our way. I'm not ready for that. Not after I had an emotional charge the size of an extinction-level catastrophic event go off in my chest just minutes ago.

10 One last chance.

Gortash fills the tub with hot water and takes me by the hand. But it seems like I'm not quite ready for this, either.

Come on. It's just a bathtub. The only place that's actually filled with horrors is your own head.

And I recall all the tenderness and care that happened around it, as well. Two diametrically different men doting on me, sacrificing their strength and favors for me. The thought further eats away at the walls of my poor heart.

"Need some help?" Gortash glances at me, evidently understanding my hesitation. His arm snakes around my waist and he kisses my temple. "Come on. I'll be in there with you. Promise not to tie you up this time—unless you want me to," he chuckles into my hair.

I snort and relax a little. There was really nothing to be afraid of; Bhaal was taken care of for now, there was no reason for my Urge to come out this soon. But my legs won't work.

"Yeah, I do need help," I sigh, draping myself over his shoulders.

He tosses me a wicked grin and picks me up. "You're getting used to this fast."

"It's a nice thing to get used to," I shrug innocently.

"You know you got heavy?"

"Maybe you got out of shape," I narrow my eyes at him, then we both laugh.

I almost don't notice how he submerges both of us in the pleasantly hot water. My heart thrums in my throat for a bit, but then Gortash starts rubbing my neck and shoulders, massaging the tension out of them. I let him do it for a while, then close my eyes and lay my head in the crook of his neck.

"Thanks for saving my life last night," I mumble and I really mean it. "I was ready to beg Halsin to mercifully end me. Wait, no, I did actually beg."

I feel his palm run along the side of my face, then his fingers combing my hair back in soothing motions. "It's the least I could do after putting you in danger. I'm so sorry, Talas."

"It wasn't your fault," I sigh. I know what he means, but... when two people fall in love, neither of them should be held responsible for the disproportional reaction of their relatives.

"I still can't believe how close you were this whole time," he rasps and I his hands ball into fists. "Bloody Ketheric. What a low, petty revenge for making him feel uncomfortable and redundant during our Absolute meetings."

I snort. "How were we getting on his nerves so much?"

I feel his chuckle reverberate into me through my back. "You used to like sitting on my lap and making out while he was speaking. And whenever you spaced out during discussions, or simply didn't have an opinion, you would always back me up, not even listening to his arguments."

"Oh," I grimace. "We were very dismissive of him. I'm not surprised he felt affronted."

"Oh, Talas." I hear exasperation in his voice. "He kept you in his dungeon as a toy for his deranged 'scientist' and let me believe you were dead. He deserved to get his tongue ripped out and be beaten to death with it. Would you really just forgive him?"

"I'm kidding," I turn to him, eyes still closed, and plant a kiss on his chin. "I hate his fucking guts. I'm just sad I wasn't able to make his death proper fun."

"There she is, my Bhaal-babe."

"We've met all of his children," I growl. "All cursed and deranged, almost begging to be put out of their misery. The man couldn't give two fucks about any of them, beside precious Isobel he raised from the dead in exchange for their lives, with thousands of innocent souls on top. He didn't deserve redemption and he knew it."

There's a long pause and I can feel Gortash tensing up.

"Do I?"

That knocks the breath out of my lungs. My eyes open wide, but I only stare into the distance.

Why would he even ask that? He didn't seem remorseful of his many, many sins. He looked straight in Karlach's face and looked pleased with himself. He tadpoled Wyll's father and shipped him who-knows-where the minute he got him to surrender his title. He subjugated a whole city and prepared to wage a fake war on it, just so he could pronounce himself its savior.

And those were only the deeds we knew about so far.

"Do you think you deserve it?" I deflect the question back at him, unsure how to respond. Suddenly I'm aware of how naked and defenseless I am in his presence again.

"Shh," he rubs my arms, noticing my discomfort. "I didn't mean to make you bristle up. In the end, Ketheric was left with no one who supported him out of their own free will. I know how depressing that is—I was in the same position before you returned. There's a big difference between doing things because you know you're alone against the world, and doing things for someone you love."

I scoff. "Well, if that's how you operate, how about you give me the stone and help me clean up this mess? Because that's the only way this," I gesture between him and myself, "is going anywhere. You know that what we just did doesn't really change anything between us, right?"

I can see the hurt in his eyes—but no surprise. He knows. He's just probing for another option. Or trying to manipulate me. Whichever.

He decides to abandon the topic. "We've never done it like this before," he studies my face. "You changed so much."

"Enver," I sigh, feeling almost bad for him. "How do you still want me back, when I'm not even the woman you remember?"

Silence. He evades my gaze, watching the sunlight behind the tall stained glass windows. He doesn't seem to understand it himself.

"I guess you've given my life more meaning than anything I've ever done before."

My heart and eyelids flutter, touched more deeply than I was willing to admit.

I know what that feels like. I could've let my Urge dictate my path, succumb to the thirst for blood and death, do what I knew to do best. Instead, I've found myself in people around me, people of varying degrees of 'good' who sometimes struggle as much as I do.

I've found purpose in keeping them alive. In helping them denounce their gods, avenge their traumas, fix their mistakes, save what's important to them. In loving them as much as they've grown to love me. They healed me in ways medicine and magic could never have done on their own.

They saved me, and now I would rather choose death than let a bloodthirsty god take control over my life again.

Perhaps Gortash would do the same...?

I don't dare to guess. Not until I see the change with my own eyes, in action, when I present the choice to him with Orin's netherstone in hand.

Because I've just decided that I will do just that. Despite everything he's done, everything that deserved grave, and likely final, punishment, I will allow him one last chance to do better.

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[adaptacy]

A Found Flame {Pt.2}

Pairing: Mentor!Gale Dekarios x Apprentice!GN!Reader

(Previous Chapter) – (Next Chapter) ➔ (AO3)

A/N: Gonna cross-post this to AO3 eventually once I have more of an idea of how the plots gonna go cause you all have convinced me to full-send it and make it a longform thing. just adding it to the list of wip.... a sincere apology to my tcm fics.... anyways! i love my little depressed magic-cancer nerd and im glad im not the only one. here's more of him :) [it wont all be angst, but i gotta set the scene and the stakes, yanno...?] ALSO 'a found flame' is just the working title, idk what the official one is gonna be but i'll let yall know when i figure that out

Word Count: 3.1k

Stepping outside grants you an opportunity to taste the last flavors of the fading winter, only feeling the quick spikes of a chill every few minutes, and even then, it’s only thanks to the setting sun. You still wear a purple velvet shawl, as per the request – well, demand – of Gale. He insisted many moons ago that you shouldn’t ever risk getting sick when you can take measures to avoid such a fate, and you’d decided it was much simpler to go along with it than to argue your safety. That plan was cemented when he purchased you a finely tailored purple shawl, the edges of the hood and cloak lined with lynx fur, dyed a dark pink to complement the thick purple velvet that made up the majority of the shawl. A gift that nothing short of surprised you, even had you fooled into believing you’d been dreaming when he presented it to you. Why he was so particularly fearful of the cold, you weren’t sure, but you deeply appreciated the gift, and even if you did enjoy winter’s nip, the shawl was both gorgeous and comfortable, and you’d be insane to leave it behind.

Gale was also particularly sensitive to cold weather, from what you could tell, which likely had a role in his passionate bias against the chilliness of post-snow air. Frankly, you were fine with the occasional runny nose in exchange for a chance to wander down a snow-dusted forest trail, and you didn’t mind a shiver here and there while you caught free-falling flakes that Waterdeep was ever so rarely granted. 

The garden, however, was much like Gale – hardly a fan of the cold. Gale did not have a green thumb, but he still shared similarities with the plants you tended. Those plants that, currently, were dead and buried. While you’d managed to convince him to try his hand at herbalism and gardening, he had more of Bhaal’s touch with the sprouts than the ‘magic’ touch he so often joked about. It was amusing, and a little pitiful; the exasperated sigh and the troubled frown that followed your breaking of the news, that his poorly packed and overwatered plants had passed. He was dramatic, and managed to find the humor in the situation, though vowed to let you handle anything to do with seedlings and crops from that point onwards.

It was unfortunate, as you appreciated his entertaining company (even if it came mostly in the form of griping, displeased that he had to get so up close and personal with dirt and worms) around the garden beds, but it allowed for moments like these. Truth be told, you had no intention of gardening. You would have to wait another twelve dawns until any useful plants would be back in season, so planting anything this late in winter would be a waste of both time and resources. 

Instead, you aimed to explore a small forest trail that you’d just recently discovered, not far from the tower you stayed at. To say you lived there felt like too strong, too certain, of a term. It was the only place you slept, and nearly all of your time was spent there, but you knew it wasn’t home. It was Gale’s home, and you were a mere guest. A sixteen-month-and-counting guest, but a guest nonetheless. You worked, your apprenticeship laboursome and sometimes really quite demanding, and Gale repaid your loyalty and assistance by giving you a place to stay. You’d just never planned to stay so long. 

In all honesty, you expected it to be a very temporary arrangement. You suspected Gale felt the same way. But circumstances changed, and so did minds, and you didn’t see yourself leaving anytime soon. It helped that you got along quite well with your boss-slash-roommate, despite the differences in personality and age. You were comfortable with the way things were, and Gale had just recently begun to sprout ideas of passing his own spell-casting knowledge on to you, with today’s lesson being a prime example. When you weren’t helping out around his home, or running errands for him, or tending to the garden, you were most usually subjected to reading long passages from books that were once very far above your understanding. 

If Gale was a master of anything, it was surely knowledge. You’d found it odd, at first. Spending all of his days wasting away in his tower, just reading, rotting into a hermit, you’d assumed. But you’d soon gained an appreciation for his boundless mind, and felt almost honored that he’d decided you worthy of learning from him. Being a wizard’s apprentice had never been in the plans, not even as a fleeting hypothetical, and yet you found yourself in that exact scenario – and enjoying it nonetheless! 

Glancing down at the small woven basket hanging from your arm, you frowned, lost in thought. Gale taught you a lot, and he still had plenty left to teach, but by no means did that translate over to you really knowing the man you shared a house with. He taught from books and scrolls, and on a few spare good days from his own vast experience. Even with all of the lectures he gave, you found that any details about him that weren’t related to magic, or your lessons, were all quite lacking. What you did know about his personal life was almost purely from observation. 

Well, a few times when Tara had made a passing comment about some personal detail and surely was later scolded for it, but those were few and far between. If anyone were to blame for your curiosity, it was most certainly the man himself. He loved preaching the importance of curiosity, exploration (despite rarely leaving the confines of his study), and seeking knowledge, and you’d be a rather poor apprentice to disregard such lessons. Or, arguably worse, cherry pick when you applied those lessons to real world scenarios. 

Most recently, your nose for curiosity had picked up on the notably pungent scent of Gale’s behavior. It was unusual, slightly withdrawn, perhaps a little panicked if you truly squinted between the lines. Gale was predictable, for the most part – it was one of his traits that had earned him your trust in the first place. Though as of recent, he’d been rather strange. And not the typical Gale kind of strange – an unsettling, uncharacteristic strange. One that you knew better than to ask questions about, but one that certainly sprouted confusion. 

You neared the edge of the forest, giving the pale trees a smile as if to promise your peace. Pausing just before the tree line, you peered into the woods, interested as to what you might discover. You proceeded, following a very faint trail into the woods. You had a pretty solid confidence in your navigational skills – otherwise you most definitely would’ve gotten completely trapped in the maze of a city that was Waterdeep every time you ran any sort of errand – so you weren’t particularly concerned with getting lost. 

Allowing your thoughts to return to Gale, you reminded yourself that you weren’t really lying to him. You definitely weren’t going to the garden, but you still planned on harvesting plants. You’d known him for almost a year and a half, and you knew the gist of what he’d been through, what with his mentorship from Mystra herself – which was so cool, and he was way too casual about it – and his strange appetite thanks to the Netherese orb that had become one with him. All that aside, however, you didn’t know many details about his past. For as chatty and sarcastic as he was, you couldn’t shake the feeling he had a good number of secrets he withheld from you, and big ones at that. 

Of course, Gale was entitled to his privacy, and you didn’t want to intrude or push his boundaries, but it was impossible to ignore the signs of unease. His constantly drifted mind, his long breaks between lessons, his increasingly frequent requests. Or the way that he’d direct you to read a passage from some folktale or other, only to remain silent for several moments after you finish, gazing longingly past his balcony. He’d been consuming more artifacts than usual recently, and gained a sudden eagerness to push real world practice into your schedules. Not that you minded the inflow of new information, but it didn’t seem to come from a place of excitement. Instead, you figured anxiety; judging based off of the common rapid bouncing of his leg, the messy-and-messier spread of his books and trinkets – especially when compared to how well-kept the place always was whenever you’d started working under him – or his new tendency to forget what he had and hadn’t asked of you, or which lessons he’d already covered, or hell, where he had last placed his staff. 

Well, what better way to get someone to open up and relax than with a hand-picked bouquet and some herbal tea? 

Even if he didn’t spill his guts to you, he certainly needed a pick-me-up. Sure, you already did a lot for him, but he did a lot for you, too. Maybe even more than he realized. He deserved a treat. 

–   –   –

“Though it may be bold of me to say, I estimate they’ll be a fine caster someday.”

“Bold indeed, Mr. Dekarios. Awfully bold. They quite nearly began trembling at the idea of a mere fire bolt!” The small beast chirped back, seated firmly atop his desk, pawing at a small fuzzy ball that swung from a thin string, easily entertained by the simple contraption. 

“Even I stumbled; all beginners do. Time is all they need. ‘Time heals all wounds’, is that not how the scriptures read?” He asked, sticking his tongue out and running the tip of a long harpy feather over it. 

As he dipped that same tip in a vial half-filled with a thick, clear liquid, Tara quickly outstretched a wing, the end of it not-so-accidentally hitting her companion in the face. The startle nearly caused him to knock over the bottle of magic ink, his torso leaning forward as he just barely managed to steady it with both hands, and he glared at his familiar out of the corner of his eye. She merely stretched out her other wing, feigning obliviousness before eventually looking back at him. “You are still the same fool who summoned me all those years ago. You are a prodigy, Mr. Dekarios! You were half their age then; to compare your ‘stumbles’ to the incompetence of a commoner such as them is exhaustively inconceivable.” 

“Tara, I implore you to exercise patience. They are a fine apprentice, and they certainly have the potential for brilliance. Am I not a competent mentor?” He asked, raising an eyebrow, intending the question to be at least somewhat thought-provoking, but the only reaction he received was Tara turning her head away and murmuring something too quiet for Gale to hear. Fortunately, or perhaps unfortunately, he knew her well enough to predict it was something snarky, and he didn’t bother investigating. He dipped the large quill again, unable to recall if he’d already wet the tool, and the liquid dripped off of the tip, shimmering in the glint of the fading sun as it rejoined the rest contained in the bottle. “Why is it that you repudiate all of their attempts to bond with you? Surely you don’t think them ill-mannered?”

“‘Ill-mannered’, he says,” she mocks, her tail flicking in irritation. “It is not their civilities that I have quarrels with. It is the expectations I deplore.”

“Expectations?” Gale repeats, his palm flattening against his desk, pressing out the sides of a contorted scroll, the tip of the feather hovering over the yellowed paper. 

After solving her own deliberation, the tressym turns around, her wings folding against her sides, her tail curling around her paws. “Have you no fear that your confidence is misplaced? Mr. Dekarios, do you not worry that they may fall short in your plans for them? That they are not up to the task you have decided to burden them with?”

Gale’s irritated gaze softens, his hand relaxing, coming to join his other hand in resting on the desk. The clear liquid on the quill drips onto the parchment, becoming a black dot in an instant, the weave-infused iridescent ink soaking seamlessly into the paper. “I fear nobody could ever truly be capable. But my options are limited, and my few select choices are each disheartening in their own cruel ways.”

“Evidently, you have already made up your mind. Why is it that you allow them to remain oblivious? You know better than anyone how dire the circumstances are.” Tara’s paws slide forward, her belly laying flat on the desk, and she plants her head atop of her mitts. 

Gale moves his hand, letting the paper curl up without the weight, to gently scratch Tara’s head, her pitying purr drawing a sigh from his own chest. “I am but a ticking time bomb. Hardly much of a man these days,” he chuckles dryly, looking around the dust-riddled mess that he still called a study. It would be nothing short of anarchy if it weren’t for his apprentice, and he’s seen it in far worse shape, but it doesn’t quite shake the quiet guilt that rocks in his stomach at just how far he’s fallen. Gale is usually quick to excuse his carelessness as an incurable consequence of his age, but he’s well-aware that his energy is not merely being lost alongside his youth. 

The artifacts he consumes have only ever satiated a part of the orb’s appetite. Never quite satisfied – a commonly reoccurring trait of those Gale finds himself engaging with – the sortilege feeds off of him as well. The incantations he recites and the thaumaturgy he practices only grows stronger – more powerful than Gale could have ever predicted or wished for – while his body withers away as though his very anatomy is actively being shredded, and relentlessly so, to make room for spells that he now dreads casting. 

It doesn’t help that his learned reliance was only ripped away from him when he truly needed assistance. When the man who once considered himself the smartest in all of Faerun was clueless about his own condition, the only person who could possibly have the answers disappeared. 

Now, Gale was left to clean up the pieces. He understands this is his own doing – that he was, and still is, a fool. Once blinded by greed, a greed that led him to being blinded by love, a love that led him to being blinded by desperation, a desperation that led to him being trapped by fear. A fear that now has settled, more or less. Present as ever, but no longer unfamiliar, no longer a new addition to Gale’s emotions.

His hand returns to the paper, and Tara steadies her sights on the bottom of the quill, watching as it twirls, imprinting promises and bittersweet apologies onto the scroll. Words he couldn’t possibly utter aloud, but words that couldn’t be more genuine. The recipient deserves more than a written explanation and cursive laments, and he’s aware of the injustice he’s manufacturing, but he is a terribly faded man who is cursed by a deficiency in time and yet finds himself with so much left to do. He decides it is better a raven on her doorstep than his ghost, lacking any explanation. 

Each day, he wakes to find his chest a little warmer, his hands a little shakier, his hair a little thinner. And each day feels like his last. He is entirely helpless to the foe that resides inside of him, of all places. Incapable of defending against something that has already breached his castle walls, and even more useless as it has latched under his skin, reducing him to nothing more than a habitat. He hosts an aberration that has grown far, far too large for its enclosure, and who threatens to rupture its cage with every breath that he dares to draw. 

He’s held out for long enough. He’s lived longer than he ever imagined possible, but he knows his limits. The truth stings in places untouched by the Netherese’s reaches; his forced composure starts an ache in his face, but he knows better. With a sharp inhale, Gale rolls up the paper, setting down the large brown feather as he retrieves a thin, fraying string, tightly wrapping the letter up. He even finishes it off with a neat bow, a force of habit, and he sets it aside, leaning back in his chair. 

The moon is just barely visible now, approaching the stars and creeping over the mild coverage of the stone railings on his balcony, and the wizard watches the white giant rise. Some unburied, deep sense of longing reflects in his eyes, where the moon also resides, though she is much smaller and much dimmer. There’s movement on the desk, but Gale’s eyes aren’t yet drawn away from the beauty of the night. Then there’s a weight in his lap, and a purring against his stomach, and he lowers his hand to rest on Tara’s back, gently stroking, enjoying the silent tranquility. 

‘Mystra’s moon’ he used to call it. He’d tell her he could see her in the shadowed curves, but he isn’t sure if he ever really did. Maybe in a dream, long lost to him now. The moon that watched over him tonight was certainly not Mystra’s. It was bright, encasing the room in a beautiful blue, and the gaze it returned was a soft one. Free of judgment, free of stress, free of difficulty. 

“I reckon I’ll be up there soon,” he exhales, feeling his familiar curl up in his lap. “Ruling my own section of sky. Perhaps I’ll even have purpose. I can’t help but wonder what it’s like.”

“Peaceful, I suspect. An eternity of peace, at that. What a prospect.”

“You’ll join me some day?” 

The feline purrs out a quiet chuckle, her tail curling around her body so the tip rests on her nose, bundled perfectly atop his thighs. “Of course. I can only go so long without a self-warming bed.”

Gale smiles, his hand falling still on her back, though his thumb continues to run up and down her fur. “Give them a chance, will you? They can’t do it without guidance.”

“I’ll take care of them,” Tara reassures, her tone much softer now than when she spoke of his apprentice earlier. “Do wait for me up there. I’ll be by your side before long, Mr. Dekarios.” 

“I set out tomorrow night. I’ll inform them of what they need to know.”

[meanbossart]

Ok it's possible someone has already asked this and I just haven't seen it yet

But what would it be like, if Drow was a recruited party member, and got romanced by Tav/player? How would he act? Would it impact his character arc in any way? (Is it even possible?)

Oh man I got FAR into the weeds of his hypothetical romance here. Light mechanics, how to get on his good side, and some themes.

The TLDR is that his arc is all about managing his penchant for co-dependency with allusions to Dominant/submissive dynamics. His quest has basically three outcomes:

-In one, you get a sweet, caring man who is a little shut-off and otherwise deeply flawed as most people are. He respects you, looks after you, but ultimately sees you as an equal.

-In the "accepts bhaal" route, you get an egomaniac who sees the both of you as if bound in flesh. He's overwhelmingly intense in everything he does, including his love for you, which he requires be expressed and taken loudly and violently. It's essentially what he wished he had with Orin.

-In the "lost to Orin" route you get a sad little puppy-dog who follows you around and does whatever you want, including take his own life. He's entirely dependent on you as the only person who can keep his urge somewhat in check, insecure, scared, and needy.

(dialogue from this post)

I REALLY liked Larian's decision to make the "bad" outcomes of some of the romances to be kind of... Fetishistic in a self-aware way? You want to relive your high-school years by dating that witchy-goth girl who kept you a secret from her parents until your relationship collapses because, despite appearances, she'll never be hardcore enough to stand up for herself? DJ shadowheart. You want to live out your immortal vampire lord wife fantasy until you become a dusty old fling that he keeps in his closet as eternity and power wear his zest for life and love completely down to nothing? Ascended Astarion. You want to finally Fix Him? God of ambition Gale (a joke. Kind of).

So, I wanted to keep that trend going. DU drow "bad" outcomes are definitely more of a fun fantasy, meanwhile his refused-Bhaal route is almost boring by comparison.

You would be able to affect his path both as a romanced Tav or just as a friend, BUT the only way to survive the end of the game if he's accepted Bhaal would be to be in a relationship with him. You also get to encourage him to follow either the accept or refuse path throughout the game - I'm not really sure how the "lost to Orin" outcome could occur with him as a companion though, mechanics-wise. I'll figure something out eventually.

[kirbles]

assigning crocs to the BG3 origins/companions

astarion: christian cowan x crocs he'd never fucking wear crocs and i think he would kill me in any attempt to ask but if i am going to force them onto his feet they may as well be designer. he would look good in these imo!

lae'zel: roa x crocs these crocs are designed specifically for hiking. not only does bae'zel favour function over fashion, but these crocs also kinda look like her LMFAO. she would kill soooo many enemies wearing these in sports mode.

gale: lisa frank x crocs so full of whimsy! this is only half a joke. i genuinely think he'd enjoy how silly these look. maybe not advertise it, but definitely enjoy how comfy they are and hide them under his desk as he works. also i can't really think of lisa frank without thinking about those existential memes so like sorry the funloving nihilism is very gale.

shadowheart: christopher kane x crocs i just feel like shadowheart would be one of those spiritual girlies who collects rocks. she would look cute in these. it's so easy to lean into the more goth/emo look but i think these would suit her.

wyll: MCM x crocs my boy wyll is constantly on his feet, travelling all over the sword coast to save lives. he needs something simple yet practical, but also he deserves to look stylish too.

karlach: sweethearts x crocs you thought i was gonna go with something badass huh? something with flames? well too bad. karlach has such a big heart and so much love to give! i think she deserves the cutesy fluffy crocs. hopefully they don't singe too bad.

the dark urge: little big x crocs spooky white dragonborn rocks up to the bhaal temple drenched in blood and also wearing these. idk it just works.

minthara: disney's haunted mansion x crocs i'm biased because i own these and they slay. i think she would like the purple/teal colour scheme and the spooky wallpaper pattern. also: glow in the dark jibbits! underdark reference.

halsin: shrek x crocs just as the oak father intended.

bonus withers: pleasures x crocs

[wrightingdungeon]

Old Memories, Current Feelings

I swear I'm a Halsin lover but something about Gortash and the Durge makes me go "Woof, Woof."

Warnings: 18+, NSFW, MDNI, Solo Gortash, Dirty Talk, Half Canon Half Not, Kinda Porn Without Plot, Self Love, Tried to make Durges gender up in the air

Summary: Orin “Killed” you, or thats what she made Gortash believe, Finding you alive in the sanctuary while being beat on by Abdirak makes Gortash remember past saucy nights he had with you.

The forge was running like any other day, Gortash in his office looking over papers and the plans that he was to follow. Leaning back in his chair, kicking his feet up on his desk, looking at the scry screen Gortash signed mindlessly flipping threw them to see what was happening, needing a break from looking at papers. “Nothing with the forge….nothing…..nothing.” He loved but hated days like this. He could honestly just kick his feet up and do whatever he wanted, but he did miss getting to watch Y/N work. The Gnomes always worked harder when you walked into a room, fear in their eyes not knowing if they were just being watched or going to be grabbed for scientific research.

Bhaal he missed you, the day Orin told him what she had done he was taken back, you had been the backbone of this entire operation. Every plan, every move, everything had started with you, and now all he knew was your head had been split open and now Orin was in charge of your netherstone.

“Blood Kin was slow, took too much time to take action.” Orin’s words burned into his head as he flipped threw the scrying channels. ‘Slow because they made sure every cog was in place, not just hacking and slashing.’ He thought his brows coming together, frustration growing. After you had been killed it felt as if he was the only one to truly keep this plan going. Kethric’s mind was almost completely consumed by his daughter Isobel after they had captured that aasimar Aylin, Orin was treating this like a murder party killing whomever she wanted when she wanted, and Gortash was busy working towards one of the original plans left, Grand Duke Ravengard, to get the title Archduke of Baldur’s Gate.

Flipping past a channel that made his brain scratch to a halt he sat up in his chair, feet flying to the ground, and slowly flipped the channels back, his breath frozen, his eyes wide. He knew he had seen it, he had to of seen your face there was no mistaking what you looked like. “They aren't dead….” He whispered looking at the large screen that held your face, head tilted to the side looking into the lens of his scrying eye. “Have you never seen a scrying eye?” he heard some male out of the screen joke at you. “I thought you were Bauldern, they are everywhere.” He heard a female with black hair and a circlet say as she leaned over your shoulder. “I… don't think I have….but I'm not sure.” He could see the confusion on your face.

You are alive, Orin was wrong….no Orin wasn’t wrong Gortash knew this, he had been tricked. Orin knew He and You had become close, closer than just working together. What was her plan to kill you and hide you awa- Moonrise where they had been working on growing the mindflares army…Moonrise where you had gone missing…Orin infected you with one of the worms…. Anger started to grow, how had he been so blind. He knew Orin craved your power, he knew you had been having her help even with the hatred you knew Orin held for you, but you just had to try and teach her to think and not blatantly kill when she wanted.

He could do nothing but watch now, sending the eye to follow you, he drank in everything about you, your hair, your face, your body, everything he had missed, everything he had craved to touch after learning of your ‘murder.’ He watched as you talked to Minthara feeling pangs of jealousy watching you flirt with the Drow, he had no idea why he had always helped seduce pretty young things and bring them home, you loved watching from the shadows as he had fun and enjoyed himself only for you to come out and ravage their body and throat with your daggers. Enjoying the sloppy seconds before the bodies went cold, sometimes even before death had fully taken them.

He purred slightly thinking of those nights, maybe once he had you back in his arms he could remind you of your favorite intimate time with Minthara, she looked like she would put her guard down only to be killed after a night of passion. The memories began to wander in his mind as he watched you go about the sanctuary talking to Gut and Ragzlin. His eyes searched every curve of your body already knowing what it looked like under those clothes. He watched as you approached the Loviatar follower. “Well met, dear child. Would you enjoy some hands-on worship of Loviatar, Maiden of Pain?” He smirked knowing whatever the blonde-haired man had in mind, you could take tenfold. He watched the scene play out as you approached the wall not even taking a second to think. Heat rose in his body watching you be struck with a mace, how you teased the man saying a child could hit you harder. 

“Your voice sounds so sweet, dear one. Keep going.” Gortash couldn't help but feel the undertone of eroticism that was in his words. “You have no idea how sweet they sound.” He growled slightly letting his hands slip down to his pants undoing them as he watched, needing to undo all this stress and anger that hit him. Hearing the male and female talking again slightly outside the scrying field, he picked up on their conversation. “I mean, I had my hopes.” He heard the one called “Asterion” say, that only helped raise the fire in him. You were surrounded by people at arm's length listening to you, imagining you, all while he was quite a few days travel away, pining for you, thinking you dead.

Another hit from the mace, a cry from your lips, not one of pain but definitely one of pleasure. “That's it, dear one! Let Loviatar hear you!” Pulling his cock out and stroking it he moaned lowly. “Let me hear you, let me hear your voice.” He moaned out closing his eyes and imagining it was him hitting you, it was him making you cry out in pleasure. “You are doing so well - do not give in now!” Another hit from the mace another louder moan pulled from you, bhaal you sounded so beautiful with your song of pleasure and pain. “Just like that…scream for me.” His hand began to move faster and his hips bucked slightly, he could almost smell your blood, almost smell your arousal.

His eyes screwed shut, head held low, mouth open slightly, the world was lost to him. All he was focusing on was the noises you made and how long he had heard you cry out like that. “I wanna fuck you…I miss fucking you stupid…” He looked up to the screen locking eyes with you even if you didn't know it. “Im gonna fuck you…Fuck….You will come crawling back….ill fuck you….ill fuck you so hard.” His hair was sticking to his forehead now, jerking his cock harder and faster imaging you on his desk, hands pinned above your head, eyes rolled back, body bouncing and shaking from HIS cock. “Im gonna cum in you… you'll be mine…mine” Throwing his head back, his eyes slamming shut, he cried out your name. Hot white streaks flew out, onto his desk, onto his papers, and some hit the screen.

“This thing is so fucking annoying.” He heard you say, opening one eye and looking at the screen, a sting of his cum was splashed across your face, the sight immediately making him hard again. He watched as you swung your weapon, and a split second later the screen cut to black. You had taken out one of his ways to watch you. “I have more than that love, I'll find you again.” He said pushing his hair back and smirking at the thought of finding you. 

[capriclonus]

hi, i love your fics and have flown through them! any recs for others?

Hi, first off, thank you so much that is so sweet!! I am honoured you have read all of my work and enjoyed them.

As for recs, I don't have nearly as many as I should because I don't read nearly enough fanfiction. But I'll give a few of my favs. I'm adding a cut-off cause there's actually more for me to recommend than I thought. My absolute, absolute favourites are marked in purple.

Shadowzel:

True Silver - mylordshesacactus. M, with a lil smut. One-shot. A famed piece of work in the Shadowzel community and for good reason. It is so beautiful; I think this the best characterisation of Lae'zel I've ever seen. Its a comforting post-game piece, about Shadowheart riding to the Astral Plane with Lae'zel and figuring out parenting together.

though i burn, how could i fall? - Jazzfordshire. E, some smut. One-shot. Shadowheart and Lae'zel fall in love during the game, rewritten with a lot of beauty and passion and direct quotes from the game. Very tender. The first Shadowzel fic I ever read. It was amazing.

Born Again - realdustybones. So far, M. Ongoing. I was hooked on the first paragraph. Post-game, Selunite Shadowheart ventures to the Astral Plane to seek help from Lae'zel, leading the rebellion with Orpheus and Voss, as she has become pregnant with Shar's heir. Amazing description, amazing characterisation, and very intriguing plot.

to feel love (like a sinner) - mermaiddrunk. E, just very smutty. One-shot. Okay, so this is a sex pollen fic. But its got a lil twist. And the atmosphere and longing in this fic are amazing; the relationship between the two is also very well done. There's a bit where Shadowheart jokes about an owlbear that I love. And also its just v hot smut soooooo

An'geth - tieflingliker. E, lots of smut and kink. Complete. Based during the game, Shadowheart and Lae'zel have the famed Knife Scene and realise they have one thing in common: they both have a chastity belt for devotion to their respective Gods.

Losing My Religion - Rina114. E, lots of smut and mild kink. Ongoing, last updated in Jan. Two lonely gals, abandoned by their goddesses, seek that reverence in each other. Lovely. Shadowheart teaches Lae'zel to 'let go,' shall we say.

The Favourite Princess of Murder and Loss - Heckpup. E, violent and dead dove. One-shot. Shadowheart is the chosen of Bhaal and Shar alike. She puts Lae'zel through the torture. Not for the faint-hearted and very fucking tragic. But I do love my angst; fics being able to make me feel so much pain is very talented and reminds me I am an itty bitty baby human.

I Wanna Be Your Dog - meowff. E, lots of smut and horniness and longing. Ongoing. Last updated Nov. Maintenance worker / cam girl porn set up. Shouldn't work nearly as well as it does, but it is a masterpiece. Amazing description. Amazing modern characterisations. Has one of my favourite descriptions of Shadowheart, comparing her to old oil portraits. Beautiful. And, yes, very hot.

Bleeding Hearts - calorem. E, some smut. Ongoing. Last updated March. I've only read the first 3 chapters of this but its amazing so far. Fake dating Au with a dashing of murder and intrigue. We are all hungry for fake dating aus, lets face it.

Gone. - teiflingliker. M, pure fucking tragedy. One-shot. Selunite Shadowheart waits for Lae'zel, still loyal to Vlakiith, to come home. I just read this and oh boy do I need a cuddle. So sad. So beautiful. So hard to get through. Just so tragic.

Now, there are loads more amazing Shadowzel fics out there that I simply haven't had the chance to read. Cellphish, ToriWritesStories, larissel---everyone on the Shadowzel server does amazing work. They are all very passionate writers. Read any of them!

Other Pairings:

Dame Aylin's Home for Wayward Girls - SheOfBadIdeas. Shadowheart/Aylin/Isobel. E, very tender smut and lots of fluff. Very minor angst. Complete. What can I say about this fic? Converted me to the OT3 instantly. It is so tender and loving, and respectful and funny and healing. The characterisation, descriptions....it's all amazing.

Be My Comfort - MiPur. Shadowheart/Tav. E, tender and longing galore. Ongoing. Shadowheart works as an escort at Sharess' Caress, based in modern day. She meets Naivara, who hires her, and there's an immediate and intense connection between them and Shadowheart does not know why. Just very intriguing fic that has me trying to figure out what's going on. And for real, it is very tender. And we have Nym, who is a rare character in BG3 fics!

broken glass to diamonds - within_a_dream. Shadowheart/Aylin/Isobel. E, kink and mild smut but no sex scene. One-shot. Look, I read the 'human furniture' tag and I clicked on it without hesitation, ok? Its a nice lil one shot.

Break You In My Image - QueenMills. Shadowheart/Viconia DeVir (but also not really). E, dead dove. Complete. I've posted about this in an ask I received. The writer is just so smart and poetic. Its about Shadowheart's time at the cloister as an adult, immediately before she leaves on her mission to get the githyanki artefact. Its not for the faint of heart, though, because it is messed up (in the best way possible, you could analyse this fic for a literary essay I s2g).

Haunt Me. Love Me. Take Me Home. - QueenMills. Shadowheart/Shar. Shadowheart/Viconia DeVir. E, dead dove and strong themes of alcoholism, drug use, suicide. Ongoing, last updated Feb. Again just fuuuuuuuck, man. Shadowheart, messed up after her divorce from Lae'zel (and fucked up from an abusive relationship with her mother Viconia) goes to therapy. She falls in love with her therapist. Her therapist? Shar. Modern au. This author is a genius. I seriously feel like I'm reading a poem when I'm reading it; their writing style really gets you into the mindset of POV, and it's beautiful and fucked up.

Oh also, I like a few works by anotheropti - just read anything by them and you'll enjoy it. They got a lot of kink and I very much appreciate that. Most work centres Shadowheart/Tav.

And, obviously, I'm just going to say you should read any and every F/F Dark Justiciar fanfic that exists. The complexity and depths of her character are tragic and beautiful and amazing. And sadly I HAVEN'T READ ENOUGH OF THEM BECAUSE I'VE BEEN TOO BUSY WRITING MY OWN. (also pls pls pls people write more f/f dj shart fics I'm on my knees begging, I need more of this like the blood in my veins)