#or if you push him towards bhaal or away from him

[kawareo]

8, 33, 37 & 39 for the tav/durge party banter asks? 👀

8. Companion/romance death reactions

Romanced: "No! Not you, not yet!" "Shit!"

Not Romanced: "No wonder Withers stays with us, with all the business we give him." "HA!" "Oh dear. ... Have we agreed on who gets their armor?"

33. Party banter with Minthara

"You fight well, for a jaluk." "You fight well too; for someone who begged for our help after we kicked her arse."

"Say, Minthy, you ever get tired of being so full of yourself?" "Not as far as I remember - you might wish to try that, sometimes." "Har har, let's make fun of the amnesiac again. So creative." "Have you ever been in the Underdark, Strike? You do claim to be a drow, don't you?" "In theory. And yes, it wasn't much to look at." "Your ears twitch when you lie, in case you haven't noticed." "Shit, they do??" "No. But now you gave yourself away." "Oh fuck off." He doesn't like her, that's the main reason why he's on the side of the grove in act 1.

37. How would they respond to a player character prompting them with, "Tell me about yourself"?

"Which one of us has amnesia, captain? I'm a blank slate, in case that somehow slipped your hole-free brain. Or did you want me to do an exercise in creative writing?" He takes it as you mocking him so you get a disapproval

39. If romanceable, what lines would they say if a player character prompted them with, "Can I kiss you?"

"Thought we were past the point of asking." tries to play it off cool but he's into it

"Really?? Now?" as he's already moving towards them.

"What, you think there's a chance I'd say no, captain?" as he swoops them up (if they're smaller body type. If they're a small race, he kneels, for big body types, he steps closer and on his toes)

"If that's an order, I guess so~" same as previous

[meanbossart]

Love Drow's camp greetings, but now I've got to know-- what would his romance path look like?

(This was a REALLY FUN thought experiment, thanks for asking about it!)

You'd get approval points by: -Picking the joke dialogue options, especially if they're dark or crass. -Succeeding intimidation checks. -Starting fights no-questions-asked with characters that don't immediately show you respect. -Defying authority. -Antagonizing drows, githyanki, mindflayers and goblins. -Being friendly towards animals. -Showing willingness to do what the dream visitor suggests. -Notable boost if you let him take on the Loviatar priest in your stead.

You get disapproval by: -Disclosing to people that you're infected with the tadpole. -Agreeing to help NPCs who aren't offering to get rid of your parasites. -Some deception checks (he doesn't always realize you're lying). -Being distrustful/pushy with Shadowheart. -Siding with the absolute. -Trusting or empathizing with the Emperor at all after he reveals himself (Yes, he will leave you if you bang the squid). -Massive point loss if you don't let him take on Orin on his own.

[More elaboration underneath the cut, CW for terrible relationship dynamics and implications of sexual coercion, especially within the context of BDSM.]

He can be persuaded to allow you to have a one-night-stand with Halsin, but will not agree to a three-way relationship or long-term arrangement.

He will stay with you if you sleep with Mizora without the need to roll for anything, but you will lose a lot of approval.

He will agree to a four-way with the twins at Sharess Caress if you ask him about it, but only after you complete his quest. If he has lost to Orin he will kill the twins during the act. If he has accepted Bhaal, he will ask if you want to kill them with him, but you can refuse/dissuade him from doing so.

In regards to his personal interactions, you would usually get choices between antagonizing him, expressing fear, not taking him seriously at all, or making flirtatious advances.

He's neutral/disapproving towards flirtation prior to triggering a romance (though he still reacts flattered). He's neutral/approving of not being taken seriously and/or being feared, as long as the PC is being somewhat facetious and not expressing outright distrust or doubt toward his capabilities. Basically, as long as what you're saying implies that he's formidable, or makes him laugh, he will like it.

After the romance is initiated, he will enjoy flirtatious dialogue options that put him in the role of the desired, compliment his looks/abilities, or express general affection. You would also get options that paint him in a kind of "sexually predatory" light - he doesn't like those.

You could encourage him to embrace his Urge at the start of the campaign for approval, then he flips to wanting you to discourage it after it grows outside his control. If he accepts Bhaal, this switches it back to where he approves of it being encouraged. If he loses to Orin, he will just agree with you whether you tell him to give into his Urges or keep fighting them.

You can break up with him at any point unless he has accepted Bhaal; In that case, he won't agree to it and say that when he takes over the brain you won't have a choice on the matter. The only way to keep him from betraying you during the ending is to either kill him or staying in the relationship with him and dominating the brain together.

As for the actual romance scenes, it'd be similar to Astarion's route where you get to sleep with him right away, then the following interactions are more focused on other forms of intimacy and developing the emotional side of the relationship. You would get the option to push for more sex every time, which he would turn down out of fear of what the Urge might do if he goes along with it - if you keep pushing even after that, it gets you disapproval.

During the scene that locks the romance path (prior to arriving at Baldur's gate) you can persuade him to have sex, and if you succeed he will lose control and try to murder you during the act. The only way to survive it is to kill him instead. You can be resurrected if you lose (he cannot) but he then breaks up with you.

The "themes" of his romance are supposed to allude to the different dynamics of a maso-sado/dom-sub relationship. If you push him to pursue Bhaal you are setting yourself up for a 24/7, lifelong arrangement. the relationship is reduced entirely to your sexual desire for each other, the pushing of boundaries with no limits, and constant one-upmanship. You are no longer allowed (and outwardly mocked) for displaying any tenderness that isn't sexually charged, and he will become angry with you if during your night together following the finalization of the quest you don't pick the aggressive/violent options during intimacy.

If he loses to Orin, he becomes entirely emotionally dependent on the player character, willing to bend to your every will and latch onto the PC as his new master whether or not they agree to it. He is terrified of his fate and desperately wants to please you so you don't abandon him before he loses himself. You can either take advantage of this and revel in the power you have over him, become frustrated, or demonstrate patience and try to encourage him to hold onto some individuality. You can also just kill him, which he will allow you to do through dialogue options at any point. During the romance scene that follows this path, you can only have sex if you restrain him completely first.

If he refuses Bhaal, you get yourself a quiet, cocky, but loving weirdo who enjoys play-dynamics a healthy amount but is ultimately in it because he likes you as a person. He's willing to compromise on the maso-thing as long as you don't put him down for it, and it is implied that while things may not be perfect, you are both willing to work on it through mutual understanding and patience because the relationship is based on more than just burning desire or co-dependency.

[forgotten-realm5]

That's all I needed to hear

(image from sorryseraphim)

Gortash x Dark Urge/f!Reader

Warnings & summary: MDNI, 18+, pre-tadpole, After a successful crown heist you realise you have feelings for Gortash, but not wanting to be just like every other conquest you make him work for it. (i suck at summaries), dominant!durge, magical restraint, masturbation (f), sorcerer durge, unprotected sex, p in v, biting, blood, choking, name calling.

Words: around 2K

Notes: This is my first attempt at writing smut ahhhh! i just wanted to try and contribute to this amazing community of BG3 fans, your artwork and writings have given me life. Gortash has taken up residence in my mind and won't leave so enjoy my brainrot ! Even if just one person enjoys this I will die happy.

The crown heist was a success. A feeling of pride and power courses through your body as you consider your partnership with Lord Enver Gortash and the full extent of what can be achieved when you work together as equals. Equals… a term that has never been used to describe you. As a child of Bhaal, you were constantly reminded by your father of your mortality compared to his omnipotence. Your mind ponders at the Chosen of Bane’s use of the word to describe your newly affirmed partnership, as he sits across you with a triumphant smirk on his face. You realise that he may be the first person to actually see you and your true worth, not just a mere slave to your father’s wishes. Never in your life have you felt a connection like the one between Gortash and yourself, the way you seem to complement each other and how he does not shy away from the darkest parts of your soul but instead welcomes it. You realise you are falling for him and feel frightened for the first time in your life, unsure of what to do, unsure whether he feels it too.

You come back to reality and realise Gortash is watching you expectantly waiting for a response to his question. When you don’t answer his face morphs into one of concern. You push your internal thoughts of love and lust to the back of your mind and focus on the object of your desire.

“Are you feeling alright my dear?”

“Just tired, what were you saying? you answer as your cheeks start to flush at being caught out.

“I was just raising a glass to us and the fine job we did in acquiring the Crown of Karsus. We are now one step closer to seeing our plan complete” Gortash explains while pouring a glass of wine and sliding it towards your side of the table.

You take the goblet of wine and raise it “To us and the future of our partnership”.

Gortash chuckles his eyes darkening slightly as he responds “Yes the future of our partnership indeed”.

You noticed his eyes roam over your body and then settle of your lips. You were concerned with your own feelings tonight but didn’t stop to examine his. Now that you think about it he may be trying to seduce you, as it was his idea to have a private celebratory dinner in his room.

Gortash sets down his goblet and walks around the table to come to a stop in front of you. He reaches down and offers his hand to pull you to your feet. You let your eyes roam his body. He is wearing his usual dark attire, but without his formal jacket you can see the lines of his strong chest and muscular arms. Your eyes settle the longest on the front of his shirt where it is has been opened to reveal chest hair you always longed to brush your hands through. Your eyes then focus on his mouth and his full lips, and you imagine taking them between your teeth. You bite your own lips with longing and reach forward to take his offered hand while you stand from your chair. You finally raise your eyes to his, and notice him watching you intensely. You can read him well after all these years, but tonight you see a slight apprehension to him that is unusual.

“Come stand by the window with me” Gortash guides you to the main window in the room, overlooking all of Baldur’s Gate and the lands beyond. It was a clear night, the moon shining bright illuminating the streets and people below. Gortash takes your hand in his and gestures with his other to the city below.

“Very soon all of this will be ours to rule together” He pauses and locks eyes with you.

“You look very beautiful in the moonlight”.

Gortash waits for you to respond with lust filling his own eyes. You know he is used to getting what he wants, taking on a dominate persona in all things. You knew this encounter was a long time coming as he had been nothing but a flirt since the first time you met. Looking at him in the candlelight, you decide you don’t want to be just another easy conquest, you want to be the one to make him beg.

Stepping closer to him you soften your voice to a sultry tone. 

“And you’re looking just as delicious” while your hand reaches up to caress his exposed chest through his shirt. It’s just as you always imagined, soft and warm. Gortash chuckles and then smirks at you and slowly, seductively he grabs the hand on his chest and brings it up to his mouth to kiss at the pulse point on your wrist, all the while not taking his eyes off you.

Your eyes shine with approval and he takes that as encouragement to lean forward and capture your lips. The kiss is an explosion of past longing coming to a head. You feel his stubble against your skin as you grab his face to deepen the kiss, his hands move to grip your hips. His mouth tastes of red wine and you inhale his lingering scent of incense and soap. Just as you are both about to pull apart to breathe again, you grab his bottom lip between your teeth and bite hard enough it breaks the skin causing Gortash to moan with approval. You lick the blood off his lips and move away from his embrace.

Gortash looks at you, his face flush with arousal.

“Gods you’re perfect, I can’t wait to hear how you moan my name”.

“All in good time, but first I want to hear you beg for me ” you smirk at the surprise on Gortash’s face, he narrows his eyes but answers with a hint of amusement.

"I don’t beg."

“We’ll see about that”. You motion for him to follow you back to the dining room and forcefully push him into a chair. He is watching you with enjoyment, his eyes following your every move. You stand in front of him close enough that your knees are touching and look down at the noticeable bludge in his pants, you smirk to yourself thinking this will be easier than you thought.

“Looks like someone enjoys a bit of pain” you tease him.

“Only if you’re the one delivering it” Gortash counters.

“Is that so?” you draw out. “You don’t have to hide it, I know you’re a kinky fuck”.

Before he has time to respond you grab his throat and crash your mouth to his. He moans loudly and you can feel yourself becoming increasingly wet listening to his responses. Gortash tries to grab at you to pull you on to his lap but you pull away, and take a step backwards, enjoying teasing him. You quickly cast hold person so he can’t move his body. Gortash chuckles at your use of a restraint and has an amused and hungry look on his face while you start to take off your clothes in front of him. Now standing in front of him completely nude his eyes roam the curves of your body, his face in awe of your physique.

“Come here so I can touch you." You note a slight hint of neediness in his voice that only spurs you on.

“That doesn’t sound like begging to me."

You note his slight annoyed expression and laugh. You then start to move your hands slowly down your body taking time to cup your breasts and play with your pointed nipples. His eyes are glued on your hands.

“Let’s see how long the Chosen of Bane can hold out for” you tease.

His mouth drops open slightly as your hand travels to your pelvic region. You lock eyes with Gortash while you slip one finger into your folds and let out a small moan. You bring the finger back out, now glistening with your arousal which causes a small noise that sounds like a whimper to come out of Gortash's mouth. You smile at him, eyes challenging him to break. He tries to shift in his seat against the restrains of the spell, his arousal threatening to burst through his pants.

“You cruel torturous woman, when I get my hands on you” he mutters, with a violent look in his eye. There is however also a slight note of defeat in his voice which makes you realise he is almost at breaking point.

You continue and pump two fingers in and out of yourself, moaning louder than needed to further torture him. You then bring your fingers up to your mouth and lick them clean slowly, exaggerating your tongue movements to demonstrate what he is missing out on. Gortash is captivated by your show, pupils blown wide with hunger. You then walk up to him and a plop yourself on his lap straddling his waist with your nipples at his eye level. You continuing to touch yourself in his lap, every so often brushing up against his achingly hard, still clothed member. Gortash moans loudly at the display looking about ready to explode.

“Alright! alright! you win” you grin at the victory and at the bitter tone in his voice. You stop your show to listen to the rest of his sentence.

Gortash pauses looking away from you

“Well, I’m waiting” you respond sharply.

“Please” you hear in a quiet voice.

“What was that, couldn’t quite hear you” you reply in amusement.

“Please!” Gortash almost shouts with an irritated look in his eyes. His voice then returns to his usual level.

“Please just let me touch you, let me fuck you, you cruel wicked thing” you hear the arousal in his voice, breathy and needy.

“That’s all I needed to hear” you respond as you break your concentration on the spell.

In an instant his arms are around you, picking you up and almost running towards the bed. He throws you on the bed and gets on top of you.

“You little harlot” you hear his light-hearted tone.

“Don’t act like you didn’t enjoy my show, I know you did." You smirk and grab between his legs to emphasises his arousal still tightly pushing against his breaches.

He gives you a look of hunger and hurries to remove his shirt only just realising he is still fully clothed. His body is how you imagined it, muscular yet soft with dark hair coating his body in just the right places. You can feel your desire burning inside you as you eye the patch of hair that trails down his stomach. You reach forward to undo his pants and push his undergarments off eager to see all of him. His member bounces free of its confines already slick. Your eyes widen at the thickness of it, already anticipating the burn. Gortash notices your line of vision and chuckles with pride as he grabs your chin and pulls you in for another heated kiss. He hungrily kisses every part of your body that he was denied while kneading your breasts with his hands. He moves from your mouth to your neck where he bites and sucks at you, you let out a whimper knowing it will leave a bruise. He then grazes his teeth over your nipple, licking, sucking and then finally biting causing you to cry out at the feeling. You feel his self-satisfied smirk against your skin as he continues his path downwards. His tongue enters your folds without warning causing you to grab a hand full of his hair and cry out his name. You can feel yourself about to come undone quicker than you expected .

“Fuck Enver, I need you inside me now."

“That’s all I needed to hear”, his smartass response mocking your words from before.

You let it slide for now as your need is too great, but you make a mental note to make him pay for it next time.

He lines up with your entrance and buries himself inside you in one smooth motion. You both moan loudly at the feeling of connection. You feel a sharp tinge of pain mixed with intense pleasure as you get used to his width. He starts to pump in and out of you at a quickened pace knowing it won’t take long for either of you to cum. You grab on to his body and rake your nails down his back hard enough to draw blood. Gortash hisses in pain and pleasure and bites at your neck in response. Gortash comes first moaning your name loudly, causing you to follow closely, both your bodies withering in ecstasy as you ride out the climax. Breathing heavily Gortash rolls off you and you both lie together in silence for a few seconds recovering. You move to get up off the bed but he stops you with his arm.

“Just where do you think you’re going?”

“Back to my room?” as though it was obvious.

He pauses, looking unsure of himself.

“I want you to stay, tonight and every night after that. You’re mine now”, his serious expression softens slightly.

“If you want to be?”

As you look into his eyes you are surprised see a vulnerability that you have never seen before. You realised that this night means as much to him as it does to you, and with that thought you agree to stay, content to lie in his arms dreaming of your future together.

[taygra5shaon]

If your Durge were a character that can accompany you on the adventure. How do you imagine your recruitment would be? Oh your interaction with Dark urge?

Edit: Name your Durge's mission

ohoohohoh! that's a really interesting thing, how Jacq would be as a companion. I admit, this is a thing I thought a lot even before reading this message, and @popex-springpinter thanks you so much for your interesting questions!❤️

SO! I had imagined that the player meet Jacq on the beach, or among the goblin corpses near the mind flayer stuck in the wreckage.

He is extremely confused, covered in blood and a bit dazed, with his life bar in half (he almost split his head in half by hitting it in the nautiloid's capsule to get out).

For a moment jacq almost looks like he's about to attack, but he shakes his head and stops.

Here there is the possibility of making a perception roll, and so we understand that he is confused and that it was as if an instinct was pushing him to attack.

I imagined the dialogue and the questions, which vary on: did he kill all these people, if they are okay, or what happened (or attack, it depends)

Jacq takes a while to answer, as if his voice had not been used for a while, and he answers that he doesn't know, and that he woke up on the beach with no memory and with all the dead around him.

He asks if he can be updated on what happened to them, and they need to be explained what coelomorphosis is, and then he would like to get rid of the parasite, and suggests that they continue together to find out what can be done.

if you accept him into the group, Jacq is bold, energetic and wild, kinda sweet and friendly, but sometimes , in some interactions with NPCs, he give some disturbing comments that show his dark side, commenting in a bloody and creepy way.

he is an exceptional shadow druid warrior, with a strong inclination towards arcane magic.

He have no idea of what privacy is, and he is prone to doing strange and stupid things (like drinking from auntie ethel's well, or licking a dead spider).

As said before, he is a cannibal (he and astarion have no problem eating/drinking from corpses), has no idea how to cook (he has no problem eating raw meat), likes alcohol, but has a nearly non-existent tolerance (he gets drunk easily, but drinks little, due to the severe headaches he has).

It is easy to gain approval with him, you have to be a mix between heroic, kind and cruelly bloodthirsty and chaotic.

when you have a good enough approval(25), Jacq reveals to you that he has no idea who he is, and that his memories are gone (he just see red and the only real ones he has are some faded memories of his childhood, before bhaal), but more important, he has dark instincts and very bloody thoughts, and has no idea why.

(I'll leave Jacq's romance sheet aside, or I'll never finish it)

is canon the sleepwalking murder of the bard, and Jacq wakes the player up in panic asking for help. here it's very similar to how you react with Astarion when he tries to bite the player, you can help him or chase him away (or attack him).

If you have a high approval (40) Jacq reveals to you the visits of Sceleritas Fell, and the things the little monster says.

As with Shadowheart and Astarion, you can help Jacq become a good person (repressing his dark urges and be free of bhaal), or encourage him to embrace them (and pursue the destiny of bhaal's chosen one).

The second act is interesting in his storyline, because Ketheric and a shitload of people recognize him, but of course no one really says anything (Jacq is very uncomfortable but at the same time enthralled by the moonrise towers, and he's looking for answers).

The dialogue with the bone sister is very hard for him, and if the player tries to defend him from her, there's a good increase in approval.

THEN, then, let's not forget the part with the ancient brain and the three chosen ones, Jacq dissociates for a moment, looking at Orin and Gortash, and feels anger mix with pain and longing, with a bonus of a terrible headache. He almost blows up the hideout when he tries to get closer, the player prevents him.

I imagine that in act 3, when he regains some of his memory, jacq will find himself in conflict with karlach about gortash, she wants to kill him, he instead wants to try to reconnect with him.

here the player will have to choose whether to kill gortash or not, and if he finally does, he will lose a lot of approval (-10), and if the approval is not high enough, he will leave the group.

(wow, i wrote a lot, i'll stop here for now. i hope this is enough as an idea of ​​how jacq is as a character....)

thanks again, I love when people ask me things about him, and I'm sorry if I take some time to answer it, but I will get it, no worry!

(I ask forgiveness for my English, and for any errors I may have written, love you all, Ciaoooo 👋🙃)

[bhaalsbabe]

Not all gifts are appreciated

Pairing: pre-tadpole gn!Durge x Enver Gortash

Word count: ~700

Summary/warnings: my thoughts on how the rule of "not meddling with each other's business" came to be; MDNI, mentions of killing, brief gore description, suggestive at the end, Durge origin spoilers

Perfect, you thought to yourself as you arranged a corpse in front of Gortash's desk. You made it sit upright, you made sure it could be seen right from the door that it's missing the mandible. The rest of the body was covered in cuts of various sizes from when you toyed with it, the dried blood proof that they were done when the old man still breathed. You were proud of your handiwork as per usual and you couldn't wait for Gortash to see it too. You paced around the small office, unable to hold back your excitement. When your sharp senses heard approaching footsteps, you could discern from the walking pattern that it's the recipient of your gift. You stopped pacing, pulling yourself together to look more like the Chosen of Bhaal people usually got to see. With bated breath, you waited for the door to open.

"What's th-" Gortash stopped, looking at the corpse in shock, then at the smiling you.

"I've brought you a gift!" You exclaimed, still smiling. "You said he was too much of a hassle, and how you wished he would just stop babbling and die already. Well - he won't be a problem now. See-" You nudged the exposed mouth with your foot, the head rolling to the side as you disturbed the precarious balance. "He won't be able to speak anymore, ever! Aren't you happy?" You beamed at him, like a child showing a picture they've drawn to their parent.

Gortash's perfect facade disappeared as his face contorted in anger. "Happy? You fucking IDIOT! I almost had him sign the deal. Do you have any idea how long it took me to convince old Irlentree to make me his main supplier?!" He raised his voice, still holding a bit of control over his emotions even if he was beyond pissed at the moment. "I had a feeling you might have been the one behind his disappearance but I thought - hoped - you were smarter than that." He rubbed his face in frustration. "And to bring his corpse to MY office too, have you finally lost your mind? This could easily incriminate me and ruin my entire life's work!" He walked towards you menacingly, staring daggers at your face.

You just shrugged it off, however. "Oh stop being so dramatic. I can move lifeless bodies between various locations without being seen." You wrapped your arm around his burly shoulders, bringing him closer to you. "Just tell me a name and I'll make sure they're the one getting framed for this murder. An assassination on the head of a noble house is nothing new, you wouldn't believe how often we get contracts like that. So, calm down, Enver, hm?" You kissed his lips softly, making him focus on you and your body instead of the anger your actions caused him. He tried to push you away, weakly and half-heartedly, before relenting and accepting your advances. You smiled, pulling away after a minute or two of kissing. You patted his head affectionately. "There you go~"

"Let's set up a new rule though. If we are to work together, we won't meddle in each other's businesses anymore. You'll leave the politics to me while I'll leave the cult's dealings to you." You just nodded, clearly not really listening or taking his words to heart, instead you leaned in to kiss him again but he stopped you, pressing his fingers to your lips. "I'm serious. No more murders of my potential business partners, no matter how helpful you think you're being. If I need such service, you're the first one I'll go to and then we'll talk. Understood?" He used his commanding voice at you and you had to control yourself to not grin. He was just so adorable, how he thought he had power over you when you could easily slit his throat before he could even realise what's happening. And yet you decided to cooperate. He pulled his hand away to let you speak.

"I understand." You agreed, your hand coming to play with his messy black hair. "Now let's figure out what to do with this old geezer and then you can reward me for my hard work, hm~?"

He snorted and chucked, shaking his head in disbelief. He let his hands brush over your hips, squeezing them teasingly, before letting you go. "Fine. I already have a few ideas for both."

[rosys-fans-fics]

How Gortash reacts to Durge’s new lover Part 2

Part 1 here!

Thanks to @rainbow-spinelli13 for requesting this!

Halsin

Gortash is really taken aback by this big, tree hugging, bear standing right behind you. This is what attracted The Chosen of Bhaal? Gortash gets the physical attraction, he wouldn’t mind climbing Mount Halsin himself. But he never expected his love to fall for someone so devoted to nature.

Halsin’s physical attractiveness is the only good quality of his, on every other front, him and Gortash clash. Gortash loves engineering and advancing technology while Halsin loves nature and traditional hobbies. Gortash sees himself as the greatest having never done any wrong while Halsin is always second guessing his choices.

But more than a personality clash, Halsin makes Enver feel something he hates feeling, insecure. Halsin is so much bigger, more experienced, and doesn’t have a clear flaw for him to exploit.

Gortash hates feeling less than someone, his whole climb to Archduke was to feel above everyone else. Only to have someone come in who has taken the most important person from him. He hates it.

Halsin isn’t keen on Gortash and will advice you against reconnecting with him. This tips Gortash over the edge and gives him the push to get Halsin out of the picture. If he can’t be better than Halsin, then he’ll make sure the only thing he’s competing with is a corpse.

Part of Gortash wants to believe that you chose Halsin because he reminded you of himself. A strong leader giving his all but he doubts that’s the reason.

Karlach

Gortash has to laugh at the dramatic irony of your pairing. His former body guard not only fighting along side his nearest and dearest but becoming your lover? He has to laugh at it.

That amusement quickly turns to anger once he realizes that neither of you are grateful for what he did for Karlach. He took an up and coming youth and gave her the opportunity to truly become powerful. And you not realizing that just shows how far you’ve fallen.

Gortash would reveal that you actually agreed to send Karlach to Zariel 10 years ago because you thought she couldn’t protect him. He’d even exaggerate to drive a wedge between you two.

Gortash likes to think that you fell for Karlach because you missed how he protected you. Perhaps you saw him in a similar light and subconsciously craved to be with someone strong again. It’s just a shame that you chose Karlach.

He’s willing to let you both back into his life but only if you and Karlach acknowledge how great he’s been for both of you.

Lae’zel

Lae’zel reminds Gortash of what you were like before disappearing. Blunt, murderous, and singleminded in her goals. Gortash is disappointed that you chose someone similar to yourself instead of him but beggars can’t be choosers.

Lae’zel’s intense loyalty to the Gith is something Gortash believes he can manipulate. Perhaps he can turn that loyalty toward himself and Bane? Or he may find a way to get her out of your life.

If you and Lae’zel get the Orphic hammer by killing Raphael and then kill the Emepror? Gortash is more than ready to welcome Lae’zel in as the third wheel. She may never be as beloved as his favorite but she does have a certain charm to her. Killing an abusive father figure is probably the hottest thing only could do.

Gortash is not threatened by Lae’zel being your new lover. Of course you are with her because she reminds you of your old self! And the sooner you become your old self, the happier Gortash will be.

Any pushback Lae’zel tries to use will be seen more as a toddler throwing a fit that their favorite toy is being taken away rather than a serious issue. She should be honored to view this match of two chosen above everyone and only equal to eachother.

Shadowheart

Shadowheart is another person Gortash feels jealous of. To have parents that love you so much to go through decades of torture? Even willing to sacrifice themselves for her freedom? That’s something Gortash wants so deeply that he’s willing to tadpole his parents so they’ll say they’re proud of him.

Gortash also sees his life mirrored in Shadowheart’s. They both were taken by an evil servant working for a higher power, they were tortured, but Gortash escaped and chose his own god. Perhaps he would offer support for Shadowheart breaking away from Shar if you asked him to. She could make a loyal banite in her search for a new deity.

Or he’d give Viconia all the support she needs to take Shadowheart out of your life.

Gortash is fine with you keeping Shadowheart as a side thing. She can be pushed away and persuaded to back down, Gortash just needs the right thing to hold over her head.

Shadowheart’s openness to polyamory definitely wins her some favor in Gortash’s book as she can be convinced to let your old relationship flourish again.

Gortash sees Shadowheart as someone he can control. He knows the weaknesses she faces with her parents and is willing to exploit that. While envious of her parents devotion to her, he takes some solace in knowing it was her who hurt them.

Minthara

Minthara is similar to Gortash, both are ruthless, ambitious, and devoted to their goals. You missed him so much so you found someone who matches his drive. He’ll show you who has the highest goals and who will bring you to such great heights.

Minthara could make a good Banite. Gortash is willing to welcome her back into the absolute fold but with the curtain pulled back. Instead of following a false god, she can follow Bane and Bane’s chosen.

Minthara’s biting remarks and intelligent quips are greatly appreciated by Gortash. She can keep up with his and yours conversations.

But the deal breaker is Minthara’s intense possessiveness over you. Gortash is almost offended on your behalf for someone thinking the could limit your life. Enver would never try to limit your exploration, as long as you always came back to him.

If you truly want to keep Minthara, Gortash will get her to change her mind. Obviously the elder brain will need to be under his control, but once it’s is, everything can go back to normal.

[its-jaytothemee]

Could you please write something about a wood elf Druid tav getting a bad fever/sickness after collapsing just as she steps in the door of the elfsong tavern rooms from the horrible miasma of the bhaal temple and a romanced Halsin tends to her and watches over her

Finally had a chance to get this finished! Sorry for the wait, life just got a little hectic but I didn't forget about you :) Thanks for the prompt, this was fun to write!!

Have a fluffy hurt/comfort piece for this fine Monday.

Also posted on AO3 if you prefer

Pairing: Halsin/Tav (f!reader)

Tags: Fluff, hurt/comfort, not NSFW but alludes to sex toward the end.

Word count: 2,641

Baldur’s Gate goes against everything you stand for. Nature, harmony, peace, community. But not even the city itself with its walls of stone and locked doors to prevent helpless refugees from entering could compare to the horror of the Bhaal temple lying in wait beneath it.

At least on the surface you could still breathe the fresh air, listen to the singing birds flying high above the stone walls, hear the breaking of the waves in the harbor. Nature is out of balance in the city yes, but down here? Here in this wretched temple the scale has broken completely. Only death and suffering and a necrotic miasma that seeped its way into every fiber of your being can be found in the God of Murder’s domain.

The battle with Orin the Red had been vicious. You and your companions fought with brutal ferocity to end her reign of blood and carnage in Bhaal’s name. Though as the fight persisted, you noticed a corruption to your magic. The beautiful verdant vines that you would usually call forth to ensnare your enemies had taken on a sickly brown color. When you try to call on the magic granted to you by Silvanus to heal your allies’ wounds, the bright magic flickers at your fingertips before puffing out of existence. A horrible burning sensation seizes your throat for a moment before a dull ache takes its place.

No matter, we’re leaving this accursed temple. I just need some fresh air. The stench of death is simply clouding my mind.

“You okay, soldier?” Karlach kneels on the bloodied floor, clutching the large gash on her arm.

“I…I think so. This rotten temple must be affecting my connection to the Weave.” You respond as the light pricking pain behind your eyes builds to a loud pounding. Given your magic seems to be touchy here in the temple, you opt to give your friend a potion from your bag.

“This should make it manageable until we can get out of this place.” You go to take a step towards the exit, but your head swims and your vision darkens. Luckily, a deep breath steadies your legs and pushes the fatigue from your mind so you can continue your way to the surface.

You never thought you would be so happy to see the streets of Baldur’s Gate. A new appreciation swells within you after your time in the temple. Sure, there’s hardly any trees and the only animals you see running about are the stray cats and dogs or an occasional rat, but at least now you know there’s far worse things.

“Hells…” You press your hand to your temple as the sun pierces your eyes, agitating the already pounding ache you feel behind them.

“Tav?” Wyll looks at you with deep concern. “You don’t look so good, friend.”

His hand extends to touch your forehead, which you now realize is coated in a thin layer of sweat.

“I…I’m fine. I just need to get back and rest is all.” You try to inhale the surface air, desperate to clear the deathly fog still lurking from the Bhaal temple.

Your companions keep a wary eye on you as you all continue your trek through the Lower City. Normally, you’d stop at some of your preferred vendors to sell some of the bits and baubles you’ve picked up on your latest quest. Today though, everyone insists on getting you back to the Elfsong so Halsin can tend to whatever sickness obviously plagues you.

Halsin…

At least the thought of him makes you smile and helps push the pain away for a moment. Your sweet, considerate, strong, bear of an elf. All of a sudden, you feel dizzy again, but not from the incessant ringing in your ears or pounding against your skull.

The familiar sounds and smells of the Elfsong Tavern pull you away from your daydreams. Normally, the smells of wine and stew and bread would make your mouth water, but right now they cause an uneasy churning in your stomach. You gag to keep what little food you’ve eaten today in your body. With some significant help from Karlach, you make your way up the stairs.

Surely they’ve added at least twenty more since we last left?

By the time you’re standing outside the door to your large, rented room, the light layer of sweat coating your skin has drenched your underclothes. You gasp for breath, the taste of death still prevalent on your tongue from your time beneath the city.

The doors open, and you can hear your friends speaking to you, but everything is warbled in your ear. You see Halsin come running up to you, a look of panic spreading across his face.

What’s wrong, my love?

You try to form the words as you feel his arms wrap around your waist, but everything fades to black.

***

“Tav!” Halsin calls out to you, but your unconscious body remains limp in his arms. “What happened?” He looks to the rest of your companions who had accompanied you to the temple of Bhaal.

“I don’t know!” Karlach starts to pace as he picks you up to lay you down on your shared bed. “She almost seemed sick, like they couldn’t breathe properly with the air in the temple.”

“She tried to cast a healing spell on Karlach but couldn’t form the magic. Come to think of it, she seemed to have trouble casting any of her normal spells.” The alarm in Wyll’s voice is evident as your labored breaths slow with each rise and fall of your chest.

He kneels next to the bed to examine you. The ragged breaths that rise from your throat fill him with dread. A quick healing spell closes the small cuts you received but does little else.

“Talk to us, Halsin. What’s wrong with her?” Karlach continues her pacing around the room.

“I’m not sure yet. I need some fresh water and the small drawstring pouch from my bag.” Halsin swallows the anxiety threatening to block his throat. Despite his feelings for you, his years of healing experience take over.

Your breathing slows further, and he notices the pallid color of your lips. The veins in your arms start to take on a necrotic black look The others come to his side with the requested items. He dips a clean cloth into the water before running it over your sweat-slicked forehead.

“The air in the temple must have corrupted something within her. I’ve seen this only one other time.”

After the shadows were unleashed at Moonrise, he dragged one of his peers from the curse only to find they had already started weaving their way into his body. Not enough to fully corrupt them, but it had been enough to nearly kill them.

“I need someone to hold her legs and arms, keep her as still as possible.” Karlach and Shadowheart came running to your side, pinning your limbs down as Halsin started another incantation.

He places his hand over your mouth and concentrates on the deathly fog that had settled in your lungs. Moving his other hand across your chest and up your throat, he works to draw the corruption out of your body. Your legs and arms convulse, you try and thrash and writhe at the pain, but your companions hold you still.

It takes a couple of passes and intense concentration from him, but eventually he’s able to rip the disgusting miasma from your body. The horrid green vapor sits heavy in the air as he pulls it from your throat. Gale puffs it away with a quick spell.

As soon as the corruption leaves your body, you take a few deep, gasping breaths. Once again, you’re able to breathe the air around you. The color returns to your lips and cheeks, and the black color following the veins in your arms begins to slowly retreat. Despite the sickness being purged, you remain unconscious.

“Shouldn’t she be waking up?!” Karlach’s panicked voice bounces off the walls.

“She will soon, her body needs rest.” Halsin assures her as he sits next to you on the bed. He brushes the stray hair from your face as your breathing returns to normal.

The small drawstring pouch beside him was filled with various suspensions and salts for his healing remedies. A few of them get wrapped in the cool, damp cloth he had used earlier before he places it over your eyes.

He continues to assure everyone else that you will recover, allowing them the freedom to run errands in the city. The others start gathering their things so they can continue with the day. But Halsin of course stays at the Elfsong with you.

“I’m right here, my heart. I’ll be here by your side until you wake.” Halsin presses another kiss to your forehead as you rest. He moves down to the floor beside you, holding the hand closest to him until your eyes open again.

***

You startle awake, bolting upright to find yourself in one of the Elfsong beds.

“It’s alright, Tav.” Halsin’s soothing voice slows your heart rate. You look over to see him kneeling at your bedside.

“What…what happened?” Every muscle in your body is sore. A dull pain still burns in your lungs, as if the nasty haze from the temple had to be ripped out of them. Your hands clutch your chest as you try to catch your breath.

“I’m not entirely sure.” Halsin takes one of your hands and gives it a light kiss. “Can you tell me what you remember from your time in the Bhaal temple? The others said you seemed to have trouble with even basic spells.”

You recount the fight in as much detail as you can recall, but your memory is as hazy as the air you remembered breathing. But you can recall the vivid memory of your tainted magic.

Halsin looks lost in thought for a moment, his brow furrows as he considers your words. Absentminded strokes from his fingers along your hand soothe away some of the anxiety clouding your mind.

“I see. Bhaal is considered a harshly opposing source to Silvanus. Perhaps being in that temple disrupted your connection. Dare I say almost corrupted it.”

“If I never feel that suffocating fog again, it will still be too soon.” You throw yourself back onto the mattress.

Halsin smiles before breaking into a soft laugh. “At least it didn’t corrupt your sense of humor, my heart.”

“Would you come sit with me?” You desperately need to feel his arms around you.

“Of course.” He picks you up off the bed so he can sit on the soft mattress and nestle you in his lap. You lean into him, resting your head on his chest.

His large arms wrap around your shoulders easily as he pulls you close. The faint scent of herbs and fresh tilled dirt cling to the leather shirt he wears. Years of his time spent in nature weave into every fiber of his being. Warmth and affection seep from every one of his pores as he cradles you in his lap.

“Where are the others? Are they alright?” You ask as one hand moves up to stroke the hair tumbling down your back.

“They’re fine, Tav. They’ve gone out to do some trading so you can rest.”

“Thank you for staying with me.” You turn your face further into his chest as he presses a kiss onto your head.

“As if I would let anyone else watch over your recovery.”

You sit there together in comfortable silence as you have so many times before. As he holds you tight against him, he mutters a few more healing spells, taking away the soreness plaguing your body and the pain in your lungs. Each gentle kiss along your forehead and cheeks drives away the fear that had been gripping you since the temple. Despite the relief you feel, a troubling thought crosses your mind.

“You said the temple could have corrupted my magic. Do you…” You trail off for a moment. Halsin gives you an encouraging squeeze. “Do you think it’s permanent?”

The thought brings tears to your eyes and causes a shiver to run down your body.

“Only one way to find out.” He loosens his grip on your shoulders so you can use your arms freely.

With a deep breath, you draw on your power to conjure a small patch of vines on the floor. In the temple, they had appeared as brown, decaying branches, void of life and color. But now they had returned to their supple, green tendrils. Tiny white flowers adorn the vines as they curl into a content pile.

“No harm done. They’re lovely as ever.” Halsin whispers against your temple. You let out a sigh of relief.

Whatever disruption Bhaal’s unnatural sanctuary had caused was now nothing but a memory. You say a silent prayer of thanks to Silvanus for restoring your connection, for keeping you close to his vitalizing influence. Now that the issue of your magic is handled, another thought crosses your mind. One that brings a playful smile to your lips and a blush to your cheeks.

“You know, if the others are going to be out for a while, we could take advantage of the empty room.”

“Oh? And do you think you’re feeling well enough for such an activity already?” The mischievous gleam in his eye causes your heart to skip a beat. You turn so you can straddle yourself over his legs and look at him head on.

“I guess that decision would be up to my wise healer.” You lean forward to plant a tender, lingering kiss on his lips. His arms snake around your waist to pull you closer.

“I don’t see the harm, so long as he’s gentle with you.” He breathes the words into your ear, the feeling is hot on your already flushed skin.

“I make no promises for myself, though.” You try to kiss him again, but he grabs you by the hips and flips you over so he can hover over you on the bed. The movement startles a yelp out of you, but quickly turns into an eager giggle.

“Oh, but I must insist you relax.” His tone shifts to an excited growl as his approving eyes take in every detail of your face.

“Healer’s orders.”

You laugh and do as you’re told. After all, how could you resist those eyes? You find yourself relaxing into his loving, familiar embrace, and soft kisses, stealing these last few moments to yourselves before your companions return. Before returning to the responsibility of saving Baldur’s Gate, and all of Faerûn along with it.

[scuttlingcrab]

Can you pls do a Durge x Raphael after their first kill at the camp? Would LOVE to see what you do with him in that situation. ;)

Thank you for this, Anon! I’ve gotten a few Durge prompts that I hope to fulfil this month, as I’m finally making my way through playing The Dark Urge for the first time! (This run is Durge resisting the Urge, haha) Hopefully by the time they release the new endings in September, I’ll go fully evil. One thing though.. I am OBSESSING over Minthara… so I’m hoping to start writing some fics focused on her real soon because MAMA MIA!

Summary: After Raphael witnesses Tav committing a gruesome murder, he begins plotting how he could use their vulnerability, and lack of memory, to his advantage.

Notes: Warnings for violence.

Link to my other work in the Devil's Archive.

In the Dark of the Night

(Image via red-dead-sakharine)

Raphael spent another night at Tav's camp, lurking from the comfort of the treeline as he watched them eagerly, playing with his fingers in anticipation for what he hoped would be a bloody spectacle. He failed to keep count of how many nights he stood there, spying on them since their first encounter at the Druid Grove. 

Far too many at this point, embarrassing even for a Devil’s standards. 

He obviously had other imperative things to be getting on with, he would never be able to succeed in uniting the Hells by simply dawdling about and waiting for things to fall in his lap. Though much to his chagrin, being present at that wretched mortal camp slid to the top of his priority list. Even more than his infernal duties and all the discarded contracts that piled up the longer Raphael bid his time. He could practically feel the mounting pressures digging into his shoulders, his knees buckling from the weight of it all. 

Then there was the Crown of Karsus, always that damned Crown with Raphael. Since the fall of Netheril, he had been swept away by the promises of glory, of dethroning Asmodeus and occupying his seat of power in Nessus.

The wounds of that fiasco, of letting his father get the best of him, never fully healed. The mistakes played repeatedly in his memory. Over and over. As a lesson and as a punishment.

Raphael cursed all three of the Chosen for wasting the relic’s true potential on an Elder Brain, thinking that alone would aid their plights for total domination. The crime of the millennia. Those damned imbeciles! By the Gods, Raphael laughed, cried, and raged at the notion when he first heard Gortash had succeeded in breaking into Mephistopheles' vault, stealing the one and only artefact he had ever desired. 

It would all spectacularly blow up in their faces soon enough. The Crown’s earth shattering waves, its raw power, could be felt even in his House of Hope as the strength intensified, the doomsday clock proceeding with its countdown. Raphael would be there, watching their work crumble at their fingertips, witnessing firsthand the Chosen's faces warping in horror at their doomed fates. 

Despite everything, unseen forces still managed to push Raphael in the direction of those foolish mortals again and again, and towards one individual in particular. The Devil had watched each companion closely, but his obsession grew with Tav. No magic or potion could dislodge them from his waking thoughts in the days after the Nautiloid crash, or rid them from invading his dreams.

In truth, the other companions were dull, uninspiring, and Raphael quickly discarded them like a worthless piece of garbage. Of course, he could use their souls, he would never say no to that, but he had no interest in going out of his way to secure a deal when Tav offered him so much more.

At their first meeting, Raphael instantly recognised the rotting strength of Bhaal oozing from Tav, his nose twisting in repulsion from the memories the smell elicited. Yet something was different about them, unlike the other Bhaalspawn he had come in contact with. He couldn’t quite place it at first until he focused on their visage. Their skin was pale and their eyes bloodshot, flashing nervously around the room, as if they heard voices scratching against their skull. 

When was the last time Tav killed, truly? Made a glorious sacrifice in the name of Bhaal? He had never seen someone suffer such a withdrawal or resist Bhaal’s murderous temptations. They could only go on for so long until something snapped, satisfying their urge, and quieting their God.

Something big was brewing and Raphael wasn’t going to miss a moment. 

Raphael peeked his head through some bushes as he gave the camp another once over, his eyes darting to Tav near the campfire. They still remained lying on their bedroll, sleeping soundlessly. 

Without notice, Raphael’s skin prickled and he stiffened, holding on to the nearest tree trunk as his chest spasmed. His upper body continued to be yanked forwards in an abrupt, and rather rude, summons. 

“Korrilla…” Raphael hissed.

He clenched his jaw in anticipation, loud drumming filling his ears as he flickered in between the forest at the campsite and his House of Hope. The two locations could not have been more different, the contrast assaulting his senses. Images of Korrilla filled his vision as he was pulled further from the mortal plane. She stood in his central chamber, arms crossed and impatiently tapping her feet.

“You are late for a meeting, Master.” Korrilla warned, her voice rattling through his head. 

“I am busy.” Raphael growled, practically tearing the final syllable apart in his mouth.

“I can keep them waiting for only so long before they will start asking questions… I do not want to hear your complaints when they retreat back into their Iron Tower.” Korrilla raised an eyebrow as a final plea.

Raphael paused as the pair engaged in a staring contest.

“Very well. Tell Dispater I will be with him shortly. I am willing to forfeit a few more souls to appease him, that should be an effective enough apology for the Archdevil. I will join you once I am finished with this prospective client.”

With that, Raphael viciously snapped his fingers, cutting off any further communication with the Warlock. 

Raphael groaned, removing his hand from the tree. The wood was scorched, leaving a deep charred imprint where he had grasped it. His fingertips still sizzled and he blew on them, hoping to cool himself down. Let the Lord of Dis wait. This was far more pressing. He rubbed his temples, blinking away the rest of the discomfort from the summons, the world around him finally stilling. 

He peeked through the bushes again and gasped, his heart dropping to his stomach. Tav was no longer sleeping, but stood tall. They were speaking to a bright-eyed Tiefling named Alfira, who had only just joined the camp. The other companions around the campfire, Shadowheart, Astarion, and Karlach, remained lost in their dreams, undisturbed by whatever conversation the pair were having. 

Raphael’s scalp tingled as goosebumps ran down his spine and across his arms. And he had nearly missed it! He held his breath, remaining frozen in place, on the off chance Tav might hear his quickening heartbeat. 

Alfira smiled at Tav, looking at them with adoration and warmth, seeming to have an overall pleasant exchange. As she talked, Tav reached for the dagger at their belt, slowly unsheathing it. They aimed it at the Tiefling’s throat, unmoving as their knuckles grew whiter from squeezing the hilt. Alfira jumped back, arms out wide in shock. She laughed nervously, eyes dancing between the dagger and Tav. 

The poor thing... 

Raphael barely saw it, the movement was smooth, swift, and clean; faster than lightning, but the damage was done before Alfira could even register what happened. Within seconds, her eyes grew in terror, nearly bulging from her head as a cut appeared across her throat. She held onto the wound as blood began to gush through her fingers, quickly soaking her dress. She opened her mouth, attempting to call out for help, for anyone, but she never had a chance to utter another word. Alfira collapsed, falling onto her back. Tav lunged at her, as if caught in a trance. Their stabs were deep and personal, and seemingly never-ending. They somehow found a new spot to dig their dagger in again and again long after Alfira expired.

Blood rushed to Raphael’s head, his ears pounding like war drums as Tav began gutting the Tiefling. They proceeded to use the gore spilling from Alfira to paint the markings of Bhaal around the corpse. 

So the deed was done. It all happened in a matter of minutes, but to Raphael it felt like hours had passed as he observed from the shadows. He couldn’t pull his eyes away from the scene, they sparkled with curiosity and acclaim for the sheer skill of the murder. And for the possibilities that awaited him. 

With the dagger back in its sheath, Tav stood as still as a statue, their arms outstretched, basking in the kill.

Raphael took a deep breath, running his hands through his hair. The second act was about to begin. 

He would need to compose himself before making a grand entrance, otherwise it would scare Tav away. His usual flair for theatrics might not suit their tastes on this occasion; he needed to ease their nerves, guide them back from the spell they were under and use that to his advantage. 

Snap! 

Raphael teleported behind Tav, sitting casually on one of the massive boulders next to the campfire. 

“You are quite the artist.” Raphael began, crossing his arms in front of him. “I should applaud you, but I’d risk waking the others.” 

Tav twirled around, drawing their dagger at his sudden appearance. Recognition flickered in Tav’s eyes and the weapon staggered for a split second as they nearly lowered it, but they quickly changed their mind. They took a step towards Raphael, the dagger aimed at his heart.

Raphael raised his hands as an act of surrender, he wouldn't dare trigger another murderous episode so soon. Though, he let that thought remain… wondering if they would go so far as to massacre their entire camp?

“I must admit, I was rather taken by your commitment and overall execution. The nature of your work always piqued my interests. Although I don’t think I could ever stomach something such as…” Raphael tilted his head towards the corpse. “Truly, it was an honour getting to see a master perform such barbarity in the flesh.”

Raphael rose from the boulder, giving his deepest bow as a sign of respect. 

Tav turned around, only just realising the body behind them. They backed away from it, dropping the dagger as their hands trembled. 

“I… huh? No. No! W-what is going on? What is the meaning of this? Is this one of your cruel jokes, Devil?”

“A joke? Hah!” Raphael promptly covered his mouth as the laughter escaped his lips. He looked around the camp cautiously, waiting for at least one of the companions to stir, but they all remained asleep. 

He resumed, in a quieter, hushed tone.

“No, no, my murderous friend, there is no blood on my hands. See?” Raphael twirled his digits, taking a moment to admire his nails amid the glowing campfire. “Look carefully, the evidence is all around you.”

Tav’s head dropped to their hands, their eyes deepening with dread as they took in all the blood. They desperately tried to wipe away the evidence on their trousers, their nightshirt… but it remained stuck to their skin. They fell to their knees, grabbing their head and pulling at their hair.

“Oh Gods… NO! I-I don’t know… no…I… it makes no sense, I was only…”

Shadowheart stirred in the sleeping bag next to Tav. Warily, Raphael raised his index finger to his lips. 

“Hush now, else you’ll rouse the entire camp. I don’t imagine you’d find that very helpful.”  

“This is all a nightmare. Yes. A nightmare. This whole thing, it’s not real. No. Nothing is real. You’re not real. I’ll wake up and everything will be back to normal. That’s it. You’re OK. You’re OK…”

Tav folded into a ball, holding on to their knees as they rocked back and forth, muttering nonsense. Raphael titled his head, his face a mask of serenity but his eyes burned, radiating with excitement. 

“Do you have no memory of… ?” Raphael pointed towards the corpse. 

Tav shook their head, staring coldly at Alfira’s body.

“I… I don’t remember anything. Nothing. Not from tonight or before that fucking crash. I barely know who I am. It’s like I never existed.”

Tav’s face curled with distaste at the situation, their eyes glazing over in resignation. Countless opportunities flooded towards Raphael like a dam bursting, nearly knocking him over. Oh, the things he could do with this newfound knowledge, how he could shape and mould Tav as he saw fit. How utterly delicious.

All he had to do was snap his fingers and their memory would be restored… It was that easy. But the truth would destroy them. They weren’t ready to learn what they were, what they were capable of. They’d self-destruct, surely. Dooming all his future plans, the thousands of years he spent planning, scheming. No, it was not a gamble he was willing to take. Not yet.

“Perhaps I can be of service then?”

Tav slowly looked up at Raphael, their eyes concentrating on him.

“You’re unfortunately too late.” 

“My, we give up easily. The body. Allow me to dispose of it for you.”

Tav opened their mouth, their forehead scrunching. 

“I don–”

Raphael raised his hand dramatically above him, cutting their words short as he prepared his thumb and middle finger.

Snap! 

Alfira’s body disappeared in a flurry of sparks. Tav jumped back, suppressing a scream at the sudden fiery display.  

“I’ll give you this one for free. And mind you, this is entirely an altruistic act. I don’t ever want to hear you or any other mortal say a Devil can’t be sympathetic again.”

“Why…?”

Tav’s eyes filled with tears as they looked away from Raphael, shaking their head in confusion. In denial. The Devil kneeled down, placing a comforting hand on their shoulder, squeezing it lightly. He allowed his fingers to soak up the warmth from Tav, leaving his hand to rest on their body for perhaps a second too long.

“Merely a taste of what’s to come, of what I can offer you in the days ahead. The next one will come at a price however, which we can negotiate in due time.”

“And my memory…?” Tav sniffed, their eyes locking with Raphael’s.

"It will return. You might not want to know who you really are, in the end. But when you’re ready, I will find you. I’ll be watching.”

Raphael stood up, patting away the dirt from his knees.

“Oh, I’d wash the blood off your hands if I were you. And maybe get rid of that little shrine to Bhaal while you’re at it. Your companions will be asking questions in the morning and you don’t want to cause any more suspicion.” 

Snap! 

A flaming portal appeared behind Raphael, leading straight to his Chamber of Egress.

He made one final flourishing bow to Tav, before turning away from them and walking through the gateway.

"Oh, the fun we’ll have." Raphael whispered, humming a tune as he disappeared. "Together, we’ll paint the town red."

[tragedybunny]

༺A Golden Moment༻

༺Summary༻

Astarion shares a tender moment with Aristen, his beloved Bhaalspawn, and contemplates the future

༺Pairing༻ Astarion x Aristen (Female Durge / OC)

༺Warnings༻ None

༺Word Count༻ 1018

༺A/N༻ Thanks to @icybluepenguin for the beta, as always my creative partner. This fic is for @aristenfromwarsaw as a thank you for the lovely photos she did for me of Serafina and Astarion. Aristen is her wonderful Durge. Thank you again!

“She doesn’t look like murder,” Astarion thinks to himself as he watches the elf run her fingers through the water in the fountain outside of Sorcerous Sundries.

Aristen then laughs and flicks some of the water playfully at the tiefling child she was bantering with. One of the brood from the Grove they had run across in the city, Astarion can’t remember a name, only the idol thief, Arabella and Mol, the ringleader, really stood out to him. 

“She looks like a hopeless do-good type, an aspiring hero.” It makes his stomach clench almost instinctively. 

For Astarion, there’s only two types of interactions with heroes, being forgotten by them to languish in hell for centuries or possibly being hunted by them for being what he is. 

But Aristen is different. 

The tiefling child laughs and flicks water back at her. The droplets in her pale hair sparkle in the sunlight like gemstones. It’s idyllic, the sun, the laughter, the warmth of the day seeping into his skin. 

Aristen is not like other people who would call themselves heroes and put on a display of the good they want to do. She’s different because she has seen real darkness. 

Even after her true nature as a Bhaalspawn had been revealed, she kept going on, trying to do the right thing. She pushed so hard, she made Bhaal himself try to take her life.

Astarion shudders involuntarily thinking of that moment. He'd stood there speechless, numb to the world, terrified to grasp what he'd just lost. If it hadn't been for Withers, or whoever he actually was, that may have been the end. 

The sun is starting on its downward path and the tiefling child waves farewell to Aristen before running off with his friends. For a moment, she stares after them wistfully and he wonders why. 

Perhaps they remind her of the simpler life she wanted, the life she thought she would have when she came to the city. The life that was all a lie. 

Or perhaps she is fearful of what could happen to them. The group will move on Gortash soon, and the confrontation with the brain isn't far from that. 

Those blue eyes suddenly turn his way. “What are you staring at Astarion?” 

He feels caught somehow, like he's almost embarrassed to have been seen contemplating her. 

“Nothing, just thinking about how delectable you look.” He smiles, trying to convince her. 

“Is that so?” She gestures to the spot on the edge of the fountain next to her, returning his smile with a knowing one of her own. 

He scoots closer to her and loops his arm around her, feeling her sun-warmed skin beneath his fingers. “But of course, my sweet. Would I ever lie to you?”

“I can think of a few times when you did,” she teases him and snuggles closer to him.  

“That has been awhile,” he insists with exaggerated hurt at the teasing. 

“Astarion, you’re playing far too innocent.” Her sweet smile hides her intentions as her fingers dip back into the fountain and she splashes him with the cold water. 

There isn’t anyone else who he would allow this from, but Aristen is different. 

“My curls, you wretch!” He lets go of her for a moment to defend himself, putting his hands in front of the watery onslaught, as the two of them both begin to laugh. 

It feels good to laugh. After everything they've been through and what was still to come, they need it. 

Gradually, it dies away and he puts his arm back around her, pulling her close. 

“What was it really, that you were thinking about?” She lays her head on his shoulder and looks back off toward the horizon. 

He’s not even sure why he’s keeping quiet, she’s seen the worst of him, what else is there to be embarrassed about? 

“Everything- the past, the future. What all of this will ultimately mean, what will our lives be from after - well after it.” He can’t quite get himself to describe what they still have to do, the grim possible outcomes weighing his tongue down. 

“That is a lot to be thinking about. Was there anything you wanted to say in particular?” 

He isn’t sure they have the time right now for all that he wants to say. He hums indecisively. “I suppose if I’m facing the end of the world, I’m glad it’s with you. And whatever comes after too.” 

“You’re too sweet, love” she says, tilting her head up to kiss his cheek. 

The square around them gradually grows quiet as shops close for the day and the crowds head home. Astarion knows from dreadful experience that other businesses are just beginning to get busy, the taverns and brothels of Baldur’s Gate will soon fill with patrons. On past nights with such mild weather, hunting would have been easy, so many targets to choose from, he might even be able to dally a bit and remain away from both Cazador and his potential victims. 

They should move on, the rest of their group is probably wondering where they are by now. But the peace of the moment is like an enchantment, one word and it all could slip away like the ephemeral strands of the Weave that Gale is always going on about. And it is so nice to watch the night fall without the dread of Cazador or Bhaal looming over them. 

“We should probably get back,” Aristen finally breaks the magical silence and the world comes back into sharp focus for him. 

“Hmm, I suppose we can’t let everyone go too long without us. Who knows what trouble they could get themselves into.” 

Astarion reluctantly lets go of her and rises from the cooling stone of the fountain. He extends a hand, the very picture of gallant chivalry, to help her up. The blue of the sky is fading into pinks and purples, colors he may not ever see again soon. But he has today, they have today. 

Arm in arm, they walk back to the Elfsong, one day closer to destiny. 

[aceghosts]

The Only One You Desire

Rating: E (Minors, DO NOT INTERACT!)

Kinktober Prompt: Biting/Bite Marks

Pairing: Max; the Dark Urge x Enver Gortash

Summary: Max drags their sharp pointed canines along his skin, at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Enver shivers beneath them, letting out a quiet groan. They raise their head, meeting his eyes as they ask for silent permission: May I?

Gortash lets the Dark Urge bite him, a risky decision.  

Word Count: 1,457 words.

Warnings: You can find more of the smut related warnings at the AO3 link, but I will give a heads up for blood, biting, and references to canon typical violence. (I think we all know what the Dark Urge is capable of.) Also warnings for possessive behavior and both Max and Gortash being assholes. I think that covers everything, but let me know if I need to tag for anything else. 

Author’s Note: Yay! My first fic for BG3! I think this came out pretty good, and I hope you’ll think so too. 

AO3  

Enver Gortash is a man rarely caught off guard. To be Lord Bane’s chosen requires a diligent, keen mind, and yet….

As he looks over plans for the Chosen of the Dead Three, Enver feels a playful tap on his right shoulder. He straightens up, turning to give whoever disturbed him a thorough tongue lashing, only to find no one there. Enver hears a familiar dark chuckle to his left, and he turns to find an Asmodeus Tiefling leaning against the table with a cocky smirk. “Max,” He starts, noticing their tail flicking mischievously, “Must you behave this way?”

“You like it when I behave this way,” They taunt, pushing off the table and coming to stand in front of him. Max is right; he does love it when they behave this way. They are the only person who pushes back against him, the only one he would allow to.

Enver mirrors their smirk, excitement in his chest. “I do,” He confirms, leaning against the table as Max places their hands on either side of him. Enver wraps his arms around their waist, tugging them even closer.  “What brings Bhaal’s Chosen to me this evening?” Max’s cocky demeanor falters, looking away with a dark glare as they bristle under his words, ‘Bhaal’s Chosen’. The atmosphere in the room shifts, casual levity replaced with oppressive darkness. Enver notices that there is a strain on Max’s relationship with their father, a displeasure at some of his orders. He sees it in meetings when Bhaal deigns to grace Max with one of his urges, the pained, nervous look on their face. Enver hopes that Max is not wavering, not when the pair is so close to executing their plan. Not when the pair are so close to having control of Faerûn. “Look at me.” Max’s eyes, one turquoise, the other magenta, both surrounded by inky darkness, meet his. “Is something the matter? Tell me what you need, and I will make it happen.” He would give Max the world if they asked; he already is. When the plan of the Absolute comes to fruition, Enver and Max will be the gods of a new world, together, hand in hand. The pair will never have to bow to anyone again, control over all. The fantasy haunts his dreams, haunts his waking hours.

“Wanted your company.”

“You have my undivided attention.” Max always does, even when more important things should occupy his thoughts. In meetings, Enver watches Max from the corner of his eyes, attuned to the tiniest shifts in their mood. (A rather important skill considering Max’s wild, unpredictable at times, mood swings.) His most loyal watch the Bhaalspawn when they can, understanding they must protect Max at all costs.

“Good.” The cocky smirk returns and Max leans down, capturing his mouth in a desperate kiss. They taste of iron, always faintly of blood. Their touch sends literal sparks through him, setting his nerves ablaze. Despite Bhaal’s blood in their veins, Max’s storm magic has always been powerful, deeply connected with the very essence of their being.

Max’s kisses move to the edge of his jaw, trailing towards his neck. Enver is playing with fire; Bhaalists have ripped their lovers’ throats out before. Gods, he has even watched Max rip out the throat of a man, a man who dared to try to lay a hand on him. He remembers the flesh in their teeth, the man’s blood dribbling down their chin as they stare him down, possessiveness and fear in their eyes. He remembers the way Max kissed him afterward, a dark declaration of their love. Enver shivers at the memory, trusting that Max will not give in to the urges, the ones they have always held at bay around him. An act of hubris or belief? He will find out. Max drags their sharp pointed canines along his skin, at the place where his neck meets his shoulder. Enver shivers beneath them, letting out a quiet groan. They raise their head, meeting his eyes as they ask for silent permission: May I?

Enver nods, Max smiling appreciatively at him. They lower their head, exhaling a frosty breath against his skin as he trembles in eager anticipation beneath them. A second later, Max bites down roughly on his flesh, sharp teeth breaking his skin. Enver lets out a deep-throated groan, pain and pleasure flooding through him. He catches Max’s tail flick, pleased, as they release him, tongue lapping at the bite mark. When Max pulls away, blood-his blood-is on their mouth. How glorious!

Releasing their waist, only to cup Max’s face, Ever’s thumb traces over their dark red lips, smearing his blood across their mouth. His loins tingle, a surge of arousal, flooding through him. How handsome they look with his blood across their face. How handsome Max looks when they only belong to him. In the new world, Max will belong to Enver, and him alone, draped in only the finest. And he will belong to them. Together, the pair will be the tyrant and the assassin, Gods of Faerûn. Kissing Max roughly, Enver tastes his blood, the fires of desire pooling within him. “Mark me,” he commands between hungry, possessive kisses, “Mark me with your teeth.” Let the world know that I am the only one you desire, the only one you crave.

Max needs no encouragement, biting down on his lip until they draw blood. He tastes more of his blood as Max roughly kisses him again. They pull away, only to return to his flesh to mark him. Every bite sparks pleasure in him, cries spilling forth. Max’s hands come to his clothes, undoing them to expose more of his flesh. Their bites are restrained, compared to what he knows Max can do.

When they feel his arms and chest have been marked enough, Max sinks to their knees. Their fingers deftly undo his trousers, his clothes falling to the floor. They sink their teeth into the soft flesh of his thigh. He groans, feeling himself harden, needing to be inside them. They trail upwards with their bites, and Enver clears his throat when they get a tad too close. “I would appreciate it if you did not bite there.”

“Do you not care to be marked there too?” Max tilts their head up, batting their eyelashes innocently at him.

He shakes his head. Enver needs Max now; he is tired of waiting. “Get up,” He orders as Max obeys, climbing to their feet, “I need to-.”

“What are you going to do about that, Tyrant?” Max taunts derisively, purposely pushing him to wrath.

Enver takes control, switching positions with Max. Roughly, he shoves them against the table, the tiefling letting out a sharp peal of playful laughter. He kisses them again, the taste of his blood still on Max’s lips as his hands push the cloth of their sorcerer robes out of his way. Undoing the padded blue trousers, he pulls them down until Max is exposed to him. Enver undoes the rest of his clothes, stroking himself a few times as they touch themself, waiting. He lines up with their entrance as they pull their hand away. Enver thrusts inside them roughly, Max laughing as they pull him in for another kiss.

His thrusts are sloppy, animalistic, Max’s thighs tight around him. Their deep red freckled skin burns warm, warm from the hellfire magic within. His hands hold onto their hips, fingers digging into their skin. The claws from his gauntlets draw blood, leaving marks on their skin, tangible proof that Max is his. Blood pounds in his ears. Max feels incredible, like they were made for him, like he was made for them. He feels their breath warm on his ear before Max cruelly teases, “Are you normally this lazy with sex, Gortash? Does Lady Jannath like it when you half ass sex?”

Thrusting harder and deeper, he earns a pleasured cry from Max. They bite down on his shoulder again, his cry echoing theirs. Their tongue flickers out, licking the wound as sparks course through him. He continues to thrust roughly as Max cries out between their bites of affection. The noises are the only rewards he needs as the pair both lose themselves in the moment.

Eventually, the pair reach their climax with Max coming first. Max shudders against him, screaming into his skin as it floods through them. He is close behind, pulling out before he spills his seed onto their thigh. Max pants, needing a minute to catch his breath as he does. A few moments later, he asks, looking up at them, “Stay? Stay the night?”

Max nods, kissing him softly, a rare occurrence. “I would love to.”

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@roofgeese

[sequesteredbhaalspawn]

hi! i really liked your analysis of durge. i think a lot of people gloss over the fact that they're innately predisposed to evil beyond just getting 'possessed' by bhaal on occasion. i haven't played a dnd game since 3.5e and am still catching up on the new lore, so i'm wondering what you think about the relationship between durge and bhaal as divine beings? my understanding is that durge and bhaal are both quasi-deities at the time of bg3 (correct me if i'm wrong), and it makes me wonder if the urges are only connected to bhaal's influence over durge, similarly to the way they work with other bhaalspawn, or if its because durge literally is bhaal, to an extent, or some part of him, at least. i feel like larian has already taken quite a few liberties with bhaal (quasi-deities shouldn't be able to answer prayers or grant powers, should they? not to mention durge's redemption literally amounting to "tell daddy no and you get out scot free" lmao) so i'm curious what's actually going on. what do you think?

@aureliaen // Bhaalspawn are more likely than being have a predisposition towards being evil. It is when they grow up in loving stable environments (Like Gorion's Ward) that they tend to be good, or not act on evil intentions (it is after all only after The player gains control of the character that traumtic things start happening to them, that can cause a change in their world view). Durge, like Sarevok, had their their life was upheavalled time-in-time again, not receiving much nurture to over come their predisposition. It would be different if they where not a divine being, they had have more freedom in their ability for self determination. That being said when this done to none divine beings it gets kind of gross and racists *points at old Drow lore*

But, yes. They would both be quasi-deties. Durge lines up well with being a Titan, while Bhaal (because he was dead) lines up well being a Vestige.

(from the 5E DM handbook)

So yeah, none of the Dead Three should be able to do what they are doing in BG3. none of them should be giving out spells, none of could have a Chosen. The main problem is that Larian doesn't know the lore for the setting they made the game for. That's what's going on, for the most part.

If we work under the assumption that The Dead Three are lesser Deities, then there are far less problems.

Since Titans can be "born from blood spilled by a god" it does kind of line up with Bhaal making Durge from his own divine flesh 9I guess he could have also willed Durge into being, or "substance" can be his flesh). There's nothing stating that Quasi-Deities can not create other Quasi-dities (though I personally feel like Bhaal would pushing the limits of his power in doing so. As awesome as the power of deities can seem to mortal characters, they do have their limits).

But as a creation of Bhaal, I think in the grand scheme of things they'd call into a more subservient role. Though it is not canon lore I think it makes sense to interpreter Titan's to be similar to Exarchs (mortals rasied up to Demigod-like status to serve their gods, like how Bane made Fzoul Chembryl his Exarch after the human man had died in his service). It just skips the "mortal life" part. The case does vary though. Titans can be made accidently.

Bhaal created a Bhaalspawn Titan with the intention of it being his servant, so even if Bhaal doesn't come for them personally (right away anyways) Durge still faces the possibility of being labelled not just Fairhless, but False (Jergal/Withers resurrecting them isn't going to protect them forever, it just means he gets some say in what happens when they truly die, since it seems Bhaal designed them with that being a possibility).

So yeah this was just a long rambly way of saying that I think Durge's relationship to Bhaal is similar to an Exarch to their own god (honestly the way gods are categorized from 2E is just better). Because Durge was also his Chosen (which means they also had MORE of Bhaal's divine essence put in them, but that's what gods do when they name a being their chosen, it's not just some flowery title).

It's very a master and servant kind of deal between them (on top of father & child). I just had to explain a lot of my reasoning behind to why one quasi-deity would be a servant of another (not all quasi-deities are equal to each other in power).

Bhaal being a quasi-deity also make shis whole "kill literally everyone" plan make zero sense. The only way he'd going to gain power is why getting worshipers.

There is also the whole problem of Durge having to have been created while Bhaal was dead (just due to how old the game implies Durge to be). And That default Durge shouldn't be able to be a Dragonborn (becaus ethey only came to Toriel while Bhaal was dead).

There is so many blind spots, and so much lore wrong for Bhaal, his worshipers, and Bhaalspawn in BG3 that it hard to make sense of it at times.

[blackjackkent]

Having finished the arduous task of explaining her bloodline to the whole camp, Rakha drifts back towards Jaheira's side. Cautious, at first - as if expecting the Harper to push her away, knowing what she now knows - but Jaheira looks at her steadily and simply waits.

She knows, presumably, that when Rakha has questions, it is not long before they are heard.

"I need to know more about the Bhaalspawn. About myself." Rakha's words are just as sharp and clipped off as usual - but lower, softer. There's a struggle against shame in them now, where before was simply bewilderment.

Jaheira smiles ruefully. "I am no expert on the matter, despite all my experience," she says. "But... if anything I know can help you to resist your father... only ask it."

In truth, Rakha has so many questions that she isn't really sure where to begin. Her first question, though, is remarkably revealing - it's not really a strategic question or even a factual one. It's borne of fear.

"You've... never known a Bhaalspawn to go mad, have you?" she asks haltingly.

Jaheira's expression softens. "Not... mad, no," she says. "Take Sarevok, for example. For as much carnage as he caused, there was always a cold calculation to it. He craved power, and his bloodline was just another path to achieve it."

(She remembers - the wildness in Caden's eyes as the Slayer form faded out of him, rage giving way to terror. But she remembers, too, how even stripped of his soul he fought that monster down and did not let it take him, in the end.)

Her hand shifts, as if to reach out to touch Rakha's arm; then she seems to think better of it and withdraws. "I saw that same bloodline turned to better ends than Bhaal ever intended for it. It was Bhaalspawn who threatened the Coast, and Bhaalspawn who saved it. It is possible to go on to live a life outside your father's shadow."

"Was your camp bothered time and time again by a grotesque Butler?" Rakha asks. Her lip curls as she remembers Sceleritas's mocking voice whispering in her ear.

To her surprise, Jaheira smiles very faintly, only for a moment.

(She remembers - Cespenar, the strange little imp that haunted the pocket plane where she and Caden and the others spent their nights during the War of the Five. Yes - he called himself a butler, she remembers. Rakha has told them of Fel, though, and whatever he might be, it is something much darker.)

"Bhaal had his minions, certainly," she answers. "But none that watched over their wards so diligently." The smile fades as quickly as it came. "I wonder if past experience has taught the great god to fear - that another of his children might turn against him."

Rakha nods, thinking this over. She is finding it eases her mind, just a little, to hear that there were others like her - that there was one whom Jaheira considered a friend - even if her situation is very different.

"Did your friend ever tell you of the dreams Bhaal sent them?" she asks, shifting uncertainly from one foot to the other.

Jaheira scowls, suddenly bitter. "Yes," she says tightly. "Your rancid father will try to twist your thoughts, as he did with all his children. The harder you resist, the darker your dreams become. Our camp was often roused by screams in the night, back then."

(She remembers - all the nights Caden thought his screams were muffled. All the dreams he described to them in the morning, blinking with bloodshot eyes. And of course, the night Irenicus turned one of those dreams to his purpose and sent Caden's dagger into Skie Silvershield's chest...)

There's a certain savageness in the smile that follows, and it does not reach her eyes. "We learned to take them as a marker of pride. Even gods can be resisted."

As Rakha absorbs this, her shoulders square slightly. She takes these words and files them away next to the others that give her the most strength. Even gods can be resisted.

"Did your friend live happily, once Bhaal was dealt with?" she asks quietly.

Jaheira chuckles. "Hah. Bhaal was just the beginning. Be warned - a godspawn draws trouble like iron to lodestone. There will be crusaders who wish to rid the world of your taint, or jealous minds who believe themselves more deserving of the power in your blood."

(She remembers - Sarevok and Argent and Irenicus and Amelyssan, face after face rising out of the dark to attempt to use Caden, or destroy him. In truth, his only real peace came when the solar sent from the gods finally stripped him of his heritage along with all the power Amelyssan had gathered. But there were happy times before that, too. She remembers the way he held Aerie, the way he joked with Imoen and Minsc and spoke of philosophy with Rasaad. She remembers her own conversations with him, long discussions of loss and hope in the shadows of Amn.)

"But happiness is not beyond a Bhaalspawn," she says firmly. "It simply comes at higher cost - constant vigilance."

Rakha's eyes flick almost imperceptibly past Jaheira's shoulder in the direction of another tent, where Wyll is playfully wrestling a ball from Scratch's mouth. "Did the Bhaalspawn have children?" she asks abruptly, before she's realized the words are coming out of her mouth. "Did they inherit his taint?"

Jaheira tilts her head thoughtfully. "A Bhaalspawn can sire children, certainly. Whether they *should*..." She hesitates.

(She remembers - Caden's son Quayle, a little half-Avariel with stubby wings, grinning up at her as a young boy, full of questions and imagination. And the man he has become since; she's seen him a handful of times and heard much more from Caden's letters - a lithe figure with steady hands, a woodworker and teller of tales in Faenya-Dail. A strange amalgam of his mother's gentleness and his father's mischief, with no sign of any of the darkness that plagued Caden's history. But he was born after the taint was gone. Who can say what he might have become, had Caden never been freed?

And she remembers her own daughter, too - Rion, who has grown all too much in Jaheira's own image, both for better and worse. Rion, who inherited her mother's reserve and fire by nature, perhaps - but who has also learned everything Jaheira knew how to teach, of protection and strength and resilience.)

"There are things in our nature we might unwittingly pass on, yes," she finally says slowly, visibly choosing her words with care. "But I do not believe them stronger than the things we *choose* to pass on."

She turns her head slightly, following Rakha's gaze in the direction of Wyll's tent. Then she smiles slowly. "If you are asking whether love and joy are beyond you, just because of the taint in your blood... No. They most certainly are not."

Rakha draws a slow breath and closes her eyes; when she exhales, it emerges just a little shaky. Jaheira's counsel is something she desperately needs at present, and it is reassuring, comforting... and yet at the same time she finds it tears something loose in her chest that makes her feel altogether too vulnerable for her liking.

"Bhaal frightens me," she admits in a low voice, almost too low to hear.

"Then you are wise," Jaheira says bluntly. "I will not mince words. If what you told me is true, you are already further under Bhaal's power than my old friend ever was."

She hesitates - and this time she does reach out, just barely resting the tips of her fingers against Rakha's forearm. Her eyes stay fixed on Rakha's, steady, calm. Perhaps it is the experienced Harper leader who knows how to call up answering calm in her subordinates - or perhaps merely the woman seeing the echo of her friend's pain in this new face.

"But so long as you fear that power," she says firmly, "there is hope. Fear means you are not fully mad - not yet."

[sorryseraphim]

TW: Sex

Enver was deep in his work, writing lazily unto parchment. Today, the sun shied away and slumbered, grey clouds and harsh rain taking its place. As if the weather is not enough to make his longing for Bhaal’s daughter much worse, appeasing the lords and patriarchs he has yet to conquer has proved difficult even when he holds half the court and controls them under his fist. 

A gentle knock roused him from his work, the guards announcing a guest’s arrival. Even after all this time, her visit still make the guards tremble as they announced Helene's arrival to his office. 

“The Priestess from the Temple of Bhaal, Sir Gortash.” He looked up, put his quill down on the table, clasped his hands together, and stood up to welcome her. 

“Send her in.” His voice mixes amusement and desire, the smirk growing on his face as he watches her walk in. She must have used a carriage as she was all dry from head to toe. Normally, on a rainy day, she would barge into his office, the hem of her dress caked in mud, soaking all over, irritated that her hair was damped. But today—she chooses to follow such etiquette for once. 

As the door closes, he waited for her to settle down. Lowering her hood, her eyes piercing, as if she can see through him. “Lord Gortash” she regarded him, taking her robes off and putting her dagger down on the chair facing his desk. 

With a grin, he replied softly, ensuring only Helene could hear him. “I must admit, it feels strange to be called ‘Lord’ by you. I’d much prefer it if you just called me by my name even if we’re out in public.” He watched her take off her gloves and lay it next to her blade. 

“Do the guards ever disturb you, or peek through the door if you have some guests over?” she asked him as she walked up to where he was sitting. He leaned back in his chair. With a dismissive wave, he let out a soft chuckle. “They’re smart enough to know when to take a hint. Besides, the doors are made of thick wood. I doubt they can hear anything more than the slightest of sounds.”

“Good.” was her only reply as she sat on his lap, her legs on each side, and kissed him hard. Enver noticed her hunger and desire as she pushed her tongue into his mouth, holding his neck to pull him close. His body jolted in his seat, but it only took a few moments for him to return the kiss with as much intensity as she did. 

His entire body felt warm with the heat of her. He could hear her soft moans as he ran his fingers to her hair. He can’t help but pull her even closer to him. They broke the kiss to catch their breath. “I needed a break from the temple, I hope you don’t mind,” she whispered to him as she lifted the hem of her dress, grinding her waist to his. His eyes looked her up and down, a soft sound of admiration left his lips.

“I’d expect nothing less from a woman like you,” Enver said as he took her hips in his hands, pulling her closer to him. She let his lips trail down the line of her neck, down to her collarbone, as his hands worked to undo the strings of her blouse. Once all knots were undone, he held her chin and faced her towards him, his other hand ready to pull her blouse off.

“May I?” He asked softly, waiting for her confirmation before taking anything further. She bit her lip, nodding. Finally letting her blouse fall, he started caressing every inch of skin he could touch. Slowly at first, escalating to a few rough pinches in the areas where he knows would make her yearn for more. 

He made his tongue work, too, tracing her jaw, kissing where he would stop, doing the same motion as he lowered his head to her breast. She couldn't help but moan softly as she grind her waist to him. “Fuck…” Cursing under her breath, she lifted her dress more, exposing herself. 

With one hand supporting her back, he dug his fingers between her thighs, feeling her wetness. He let out a soft chuckle as he slowly moved his fingers in circles, watching her mouth open from the sensation. Her breathing started to give chase, Enver watching as her chest rose and fell, tempted to take one of her breasts in his mouth just to tease her further.

He pulled out and carried her, laying her down on the desk. He grinned at Helene as she waited for him to undo his trousers. Once he did, he spread her legs in front of him, pushing the tip of his manhood enough for her to feel it throbbing, giving her just enough to want more. 

She moaned softly. “Gods, Enver… Just take me already.” Her brows furrowed, biting her lip, visible frustration in her face. He let out a short chuckle, whispering, “Am I being too slow for you?” 

“Yes, and it upsets me.”

“Oh, dear. How much longer can you say ‘take me’? Are you really that needy?” 

She pushed her waist up to him, pouting. She could feel him push the tip inside her tenderness, but he didn't push further, prolonging her anticipation. “Push deeper, coward.” 

“Your words, not mine,” he said teasingly as he pushed his entire length deep inside her, making her gasp, her eyes tightly shut. He held her in place by the waist, moving his in a steady motion, their skins touching as he pushed and pulled.

Moaning as she watched him do his work, she smiled slyly, her pleasure heightening. 

“Good gods…” 

“My, you're still so tight.”

“You love it,” she said, giggling between her moans. 

“Love is an understatement. Tell me you enjoy this, too.” His breath became heavier with each moment passing. Each thrust adds more pleasure to both of them. Biting her lip, suppressing her moans, she whispered softly. “Yes… Fuck, yes, I do…”

“Say my name, be a dear.” 

“Gods, Enver… You feel so good.” 

He pulled her up, not breaking their contact as they moved, each thrust deeper than the last. Their lips met again, and as if deprived for too long, they pushed their tongues in, in each other's mouths, warring for dominance. 

“Say my name again. Tell me how good I feel inside you.” Enver's breath becomes rapid; the words leave his mouth in mumbles. In reply, Helene moaned a little louder than the last, making Enver laugh softly. “My dear, you're becoming too loud.”

She closed her eyes, throwing her head back. “You're just so good, you're making me —”

“Making you what? What am I making you feel as I fuck you at my desk?” He whispered against her ear, his voice filling with amusement, smirking at her as she watched her head lull back, her body engulfed by pleasure. She can't even complete her sentence without feeling the urge to moan. 

“You're going to make me come…” She reached for his lips, kissing him. Their moans trapped in each other's mouths. His hands crept up towards her chest, pinching her nipple softly to add more tension, more pleasure to drive her higher than she was already in. 

“Isn't this what you want? Let me see it, let me feel it, Helene.” 

His grip on her chest tightened, his body pushing deep inside her, his movements becoming more erratic. “Fuck! It's coming…” In shaky breath, her moans become rapid.

“Sshhh… let go, Helene. Come for me.”

With a few more pushes, he felt her climax rush out. As she let her release flow, he kept licking her neck, his hand fondling her breast still. Helene can't help but let out a short cry from the ecstasy she's feeling.

He didn't stop pushing further; he was desperate for his too. In a swift motion, he pulled out. Moving her around, bending her down the table. Helene was still dazed from the sensation of her release, but she didn't protest when he pushed her body under him.

He held her hands behind her back and took her in once again. It didn't take long for him to reach his climax, as he was already near his peak when she came. And so, after a few more thrusts, combined with their moans, he let his climax reach the edge, collapsing on top of her.

Both of them panted hard. Enver's grip loosened behind her as they recovered from the experience. After a while, Helene giggled softly. At first, there was confusion, but he couldn't help but giggle, too. Her laughter always makes his heart flutter a little.

“What is it?” He asked as he stood up, slumping back to his chair. He pulled Helene from the desk and helped her sit on his lap, her head resting on his neck.

“I just thought… you needed this just as much as I do.”

He smiled down at her, caressing her arms as he giggled between deep breaths. “Oh, I don't really, but someone's a bit needy that she came here despite the rain.”

Helene slaps his chest softly, smiling back. “Jerk.”

“You can't get rid of me that easily by just saying I'm a jerk.”

She lifted her head, facing him. “Well, do you want me to get rid of you?” 

“Would you really want to get rid of me?” He replied immediately, leaning his face forward to hers, their noses touching. He could feel her breathing slowly going back to normal.

She giggled softly, resting her head on his neck, sighing and smiling. They might not say it to each other, but whatever they’re doing, it feels right. It feels natural for them to be pulled by one another. As if they’re born to find each other, despite the circumstances they’re currently in; their Gods sworn foe turned allies to end the world.

They sat there for a while, quietly. Helene felt his heartbeat, listening to it as her fingers pressed his chest, following its beat, as her lips left small kisses on his neck.

“I think I'll sneak in again tonight. Would you like that?” She asked him as she looked up at him. He smiled in return, kissing her forehead. A gush of warmth flooded inside her chest. She felt not lust but something else—peace, calmness— in the tenderness of his kiss.

“That would be most pleasing, my dear.” 

The rain stopped as their bodies became more relaxed, the afternoon cool filling the room. In the back of their minds, they wished they could stay like this for a long time, but they knew better than to let their desires overcome duty. 

It could wait. This could wait until they take over the world. Until then, they must hide themselves from the world to feel short, blissful moments in each others’ arms.

[hellcatalex1]

Part 2- The Journey to The City of Splendors (Unbinding the Curse)

Astarion x Female Elf Durge

Post game, one year after the fall of the nether-brain, spawn Astarion, rejected bhaal durge

Triggers: Blood, adult language, adult themes, fluff, alcohol, trauma.

"So it's settled, we leave within the hour," Gale declared, his words slightly muffled as he stuffed a slice of bread into his mouth.

Astarion eyed Gale suspiciously, his curiosity outweighing his usual disdain for the wizard's antics. "How did you travel here from Waterdeep?"

Gale gulped down his wine, the liquid sliding down his throat to wash down the buttered bread, which he licked from his fingers one by one. "Any good wizard travels by a scroll of teleportation," he replied, a hint of pride in his voice. "I brought one for the journey here and one for the return."

He began rummaging through his bag, pushing aside various items as he searched for the scroll. The process took longer than expected, his brows furrowing with every passing moment.

"Oh... oh dear..." Gale eventually muttered, pulling his hands out of his bag with an innocent, sheepish look. "We might have a slight problem."

You exchanged a glance with Astarion before asking, "What is it, Gale?"

"Well, it seems I might have... forgotten the return scroll," Gale admitted with a guilty chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck.

Astarion's patience snapped like a taut string. "I thought wizards were supposed to be smart?"

Gale sighed, a resigned look on his face. "It’s possible Tara, my tressym, got into my backpack again. She knows I bring her treats, and she might have knocked it out."

Shadowheart approached the table, her presence commanding attention. She slid into a seat with a casual grace, her eyes narrowing as she assessed the situation. "How did you arrive here from Waterdeep?" you asked, hoping for a solution.

"I traveled with Gale," she replied, her tone clipped. "We met up in Waterdeep to teleport here. Why do you ask?"

Gale frantically shook his head, silently pleading with you not to reveal his blunder. But the temptation to betray him was too strong.

"Gale lost the teleportation scroll," you announced, barely suppressing a grin.

Shadowheart’s reaction was swift and severe. "Gods damn it, Gale! I told you to check everything before we left!" she yelled, her eyes blazing with anger. If looks could kill, Gale would have been skewered on the spot, pinned to a spinning wheel while Shadowheart hurled daggers at him. She slammed her goblet on the table, the sound echoing through the room.

Gale raised his hands defensively. "Listen, I know everyone’s upset, but there’s an easy and logical solution!"

The table fell silent, all eyes on Gale as they awaited his supposedly brilliant plan. The tension grew as seconds ticked by, his hesitation betraying his lack of preparation.

"Well?" Astarion prompted, his tone sharp.

"We’ve done our fair share of traveling," Gale began tentatively. "We could take the High Road, the main trade route, and walk to Waterdeep."

You arched an eyebrow, incredulous. "Gale, walking to Waterdeep could take weeks! And let’s not forget that Astarion can’t go out in the sun anymore."

As much as it pained you to acknowledge it, Astarion’s inability to venture into sunlight posed a significant challenge. Where you once had the luxury of daylight travel, you were now confined to the cover of night. Even then, there was no guarantee you’d find shelter before dawn,a risk you weren’t willing to take.

The table fell silent once more, the weight of the situation sinking in. Astarion, ever the pragmatist, glanced toward the inn’s door. "I’ll be right back," he murmured before slipping away with the grace of a shadow.

Minutes passed, the tension palpable, before Astarion returned, a small smirk playing on his lips. "It’s all settled. We have a caravan waiting to take us to Waterdeep."

Everyone at the table stared at him, wide-eyed and astonished. "What? How?" you asked, stunned by the sudden turn of events.

Astarion’s smirk widened. "It’s really quite simple, darling. I’m a master of persuasion. A little charm here, a little gold there, and they agreed to take us."

Gale stood up, slinging his backpack over his shoulder. "Color me impressed, Astarion," he said, though his tone held a hint of suspicion. He began digging through his pack, only to pause and glare at Astarion. "Really, Astarion?"

You realized what had happened just as Gale’s glare deepened. The gold Astarion had used to secure the caravan was undoubtedly Gale’s, taken with expert skill on Astarion’s way out of the inn. You and Shadowheart exchanged amused glances, both secretly impressed.

Shadowheart was the first to speak. "Gale, it’s your fault. It’s only right you pay our way back to Waterdeep."

Gale didn’t argue, simply sighing in defeat. The group dispersed, everyone heading to their rooms to pack their belongings.

As you and Astarion gathered your things, you couldn’t help but wonder aloud, "So, what do you think is awaiting us in Waterdeep?"

Astarion, his back turned as he stuffed clothes into his pack, responded thoughtfully, "I’m not sure. Gale didn’t give me much information, but whatever it is, if it benefits me, it benefits us and our life together. It’s worth hearing out."

You finished packing and walked over to him, wrapping your arms around his waist and resting your head against his back. "Just promise me, whatever it is, we take our time and make the decision together."

Your mind flashed back to the Rite of Profane Ascension, a memory tinged with fear and relief. Astarion had been so close to losing himself in the pursuit of power. You only wanted him to make the right decisions for himself, but he always valued your opinion.

Astarion turned to face you, his arms encircling your waist as he looked down at you. "I know, darling. I promise not to do anything rash."

He placed a soft kiss on your forehead before resting his forehead against yours. "If it turns out to be nothing, I won’t be upset. You are all I need in this life."

A blush crept up your cheeks as his words filled you with warmth. You breathed in his scent, bergamot and rosemary, a familiar and comforting fragrance. Even after a year together, he still made you feel as if you were falling in love for the first time. Butterflies fluttered in your stomach, and your heart raced at the sight of him. As the warmth of Astarion’s kiss lingers on your forehead, you close your eyes and allow yourself to savor the moment. The world outside might be unpredictable, with its dangers and uncertainties, but here, in this quiet, intimate space, you feel a profound sense of peace. Astarion’s presence has a way of anchoring you, even as the future beckons with its mysteries.

“I still can’t help but be curious as well,” you say softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “What could be so important that Gale would drag us all the way to Waterdeep? He’s not usually one to keep secrets.”

Astarion chuckles, a low, melodic sound that sends a shiver down your spine. “Gale has always had a flair for the dramatic. It could be anything from a new spell to some ancient artifact he’s uncovered. But whatever it is, I’m sure it’ll be worth the trip. The look on his face when he realized I spent his gold was worth the trip already"

You laugh, the sound easing the last of the tension that had been coiling in your chest. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“That’s why you love me,” Astarion replies with a smirk, pulling you closer.

The two of you finish packing in comfortable silence, each lost in your own thoughts about the journey ahead. Once your bags are ready, you sit on the edge of the bed, staring at the packed bags and feeling a strange mix of excitement and apprehension. Waterdeep, the City of Splendors, was a place of wonder and danger, a city where anything could happen.

Your hand instinctively reaches out to touch Astarion’s, and he squeezes it gently. “Whatever happens,” he says, his voice unusually serious, “we face it together.”

“Together,” you echo, finding strength in the word.

As you make your way downstairs, you find Gale and Shadowheart already waiting in the inn’s common room. Gale is fidgeting with his pack, muttering to himself about forgotten scrolls, while Shadowheart watches him with a mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Are we all set?” Gale asks as soon as he sees you.

“As ready as we’ll ever be,” you reply.

“Good, because the caravan won’t wait forever,” Astarion says, striding toward the door with the confident air of someone who’s already secured the best deal in town.

Before leaving the inn you say your goodbyes to your other fellow companions, giving them hugs as you're uncertain when you will see them again. You say goodbye to Dame Aylin and Isobel, thanking them for the invite and wishing them a wonderful marriage.

After saying your goodbyes your party leaves the tavern. You, Shadowheart, Gale and Astarion.

The journey to Waterdeep is long, but the caravan provides a semblance of comfort. Allowing cover from the sun during the day. The rolling landscape passes by in a blur of greens and browns, the nights spent huddled around campfires under a canopy of stars. One night the caravan travels through a small storm, you lean against Astarion's chest as you both watch the gentle rain fall from the back of the caravan. Feeling ever content in that moment with him. Conversations with Gale drift between the mundane and the arcane, his excitement for his discovery palpable even as he tries to keep it under wraps. Shadowheart, ever the pragmatist, keeps a wary eye on the road ahead, her thoughts clearly occupied by whatever lies in Waterdeep. And Astarion, well, Astarion remains his usual charming self, though you can sense an undercurrent of anticipation in him as well.

After what feels like an eternity of travel, the spires of Waterdeep finally come into view, rising majestically against the horizon. The city is a bustling maze of activity, with merchants hawking their wares, adventurers boasting of their exploits, and the scent of exotic spices and sea air mingling in the streets. Even at night it seemed the people of Waterdeep were ever lively.

As you arrive in Waterdeep your group exits the caravan. "Ah home, the City of Splendor, the Crown of the North" Gale says taking in the city.

You look around at your surroundings and everything is astounding. City guards were directing traffic of incoming caravans coming into the city. The streets were full of people despite the late hours of the night. Vendors along side every road and every corner. "So this is Waterdeep." You say out loud. Still scanning your surroundings. "This is just the entrance, there are so many different sections of the city." Shadowheart chimes in. "Perhaps once you have concluded your business with Astarion I'll show you both around." She offers.

You smile at her and nod. "We would love that, it was nice to see you again Shadowheart." You lean in to give her a huge but she stops you.

"Oh I'm not leaving just yet, I'm quite invested in this little adventure you both have found yourselves in, I'll stick around." She says inviting herself to join your group back to Gales tower.

Gale leads you through the streets with the ease of someone who knows the city well, his tower looming in the distance like a beacon. As you approach, you can’t help but marvel at its intricate architecture, stone and magic woven together in a structure that seems both ancient and alive.

“Welcome,” Gale says, pushing open the heavy wooden doors with a flourish. “To my humble abode.”

The interior of the tower is as grand as the exterior, filled with shelves of dusty tomes, strange artifacts, and the occasional floating candle. But it’s the central chamber that draws your attention, a circular room with a large, ornate pedestal in the center. On the pedestal sits a small, unassuming box, carved with intricate runes.

“This,” Gale says, his voice tinged with reverence, “is what I wanted to show you.”

You exchange a glance with Astarion, who raises an eyebrow. “A box?”

“Not just any box,” Gale corrects, stepping forward. “This is a relic from the Netherese, a civilization that mastered magic in ways we can barely comprehend. Inside is an artifact that could… well, it could change everything.”

You feel a chill run down your spine as you approach the pedestal, the air around it humming with latent power. “What is it?” you ask, your voice barely above a whisper.

Gale hesitates, his gaze flickering between you and Astarion. “I’m not entirely sure. But I do know that it’s connected to Astarion’s condition… and it might hold the key to something far greater than any of us could imagine.”

Astarion’s hand tightens around yours, his eyes fixed on the box with a mixture of fear and longing. “Are you saying… this could cure me?”

Gale nods slowly. “It’s possible. But there’s only one way to find out.”

The room falls silent as the weight of Gale’s words sinks in. The possibilities, the risks, pit all hangs in the air like a storm waiting to break.

Finally, Astarion speaks, his voice steady despite the turmoil in his eyes. He looks over at you. “Then we open it. Together."

Click for part 3

[its-jaytothemee]

WIP Wednesday

Part of a one shot for an anon request I received that I hope to have completed in the next couple of days <3

Word count: 800

Tags: Halsin x reader, wood elf Tav, druid Tav, loss of magic, will include hurt/comfort and fluff in full fic.

Summary: Tav struggles to regain their strength after the encounter with Orin in the Bhaal temple.

Baldur’s Gate goes against everything you stand for. Nature, harmony, peace, community. But not even the city itself with its walls of stone and locked doors to prevent helpless refugees from entering could compare to the horror of the Bhaal temple lying in wait beneath it.

At least on the surface you could still breathe the fresh air, listen to the singing birds flying high above the stone walls, hear the breaking of the waves in the harbor. Nature is out of balance in the city yes, but down here? Here in this wretched temple the scale has broken completely. Only death and suffering and a necrotic miasma that seeped its way into every fiber of your being can be found in the God of Murder’s domain.

The battle with Orin the Red had been vicious. You and your companions fought with ferocity and courage to end her reign of blood and carnage in Bhaal’s name. Though as the fight persisted, you noticed a corruption to your magic. The beautiful verdant vines that you would usually call forth to ensnare your enemies had taken on a sickly brown color. When you try to call on the magic granted to you by Silvanus to heal your allies’ wounds, the bright magic flickers at your fingertips before puffing out of existence.

No matter, we’re leaving this accursed temple. I just need some fresh air. The stench of death is simply clouding my mind.

“You okay, soldier?” Karlach kneels on the bloodied floor, clutching the large gash on her arm.

“I…I think so. This rotten temple must be affecting my connection to the Weave.” You respond as the light pricking pain behind your eyes builds to a loud pounding. Given your magic seems to be touchy here in the temple, you opt to give your friend a potion from your bag.

“This should make it manageable until we can get out of this place.” You go to take a step towards the exit, but your head swims and your vision darkens. Luckily, a deep breath steadies your legs and pushes the fatigue from your mind so you can continue your way to the surface.

You never thought you would be so happy to see the streets of Baldur’s Gate. A new appreciation swells within you after your time in the temple. Sure, there’s hardly any trees and the only animals you see running about are the stray cats and dogs or an occasional rat, but at least now you know there’s far worse things.

“Hells…” You press your hand to your temple as the sun pierces your eyes, agitating the already pounding ache you feel behind them.

“Tav?” Wyll looks at you with deep concern. “You don’t look so good, friend.”

His hand extends to touch your forehead, which you now realize is coated in a thin layer of sweat.

“I…I’m fine. I just need to get back and rest is all.” You try to inhale the surface air, desperate to clear the deathly fog still lurking from the Bhaal temple.

Your companions keep a wary eye on you as you all continue your trek through the Lower City. Normally, you’d stop at some of your preferred vendors to sell some of the bits and baubles you’ve picked up on your latest quest. Today though, everyone insists on getting you back to the Elfsong so Halsin can tend to whatever sickness obviously plagues you.

Halsin…

At least the thought of him makes you smile and helps push the pain away for a moment. Your sweet, considerate, strong, bear of an elf. All of a sudden, you feel dizzy again, but not from the incessant ringing in your ears or pounding against your skull.

The familiar sounds and smells of the Elfsong Tavern pull you away from your daydreams. Normally, the smells of wine and stew and bread would make your mouth water, but right now they cause an uneasy churning in your stomach. You gag to keep what little food you’ve eaten today in your body. With some significant help from Karlach, you make your way up the stairs.

Surely they’ve added at least twenty more since we last left?

By the time you’re standing outside the door to your large, rented room, the light layer of sweat coating your skin has drenched your underclothes. You gasp for breath, the taste of death still prevalent on your tongue from your time beneath the city.

The doors open, and you can hear your friends speaking to you, but everything is warbled in your ear. You see Halsin come running up to you, a look of panic spreading across his face.

What’s wrong, my love?

You try to form the words as you feel his arms wrap around your waist, but everything fades to black.

[baldursgrave69]

Let Me Take Care of You

Summary: Agnes (the Dark Urge) is a mess, Enver Gortash’s distraction making it hard for her to focus. She needs to end it with him, but he makes that rather hard. 

Pairing: Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 1.8K

Tags: angst, pre-game

While writing this I was listening to: Talk Me Down by Troye Sivan

Find me on Ao3 here

“Agnes, just stop for a second,” Enver huffed, following the bhaalspawn down the hall in Moonrise Towers. She continued her quick pace, keeping her head down as she trekked towards their office. As she walked past a broom closet, Enver caught up to her, grabbing her by the arm. “Just talk to me,” he pleaded, his dark eyes filled with hurt.

“I.. I can’t do this,” she whispered, eyes welling with tears as she looked at the ground.

“What are you talking about, Agnes?” Enver asked, trying to look her in the eyes.

“I said leave me alone,” she snapped, trying to pull her arm away from him. Enver opened the closet door and pulled Agnes inside.

“Please, what is going on?” He searched her face for any indication of what she was thinking. Her good eye was red, makeup running down her cheeks. He went to wipe the tears from her face, but she moved away from him. 

“We have to end this. I can’t do this anymore, I’m a mess,” she said quietly, pulling away from his grasp. Enver took a step back, looking her over. Her normally neat braid was a mess, it was matted, strands sticking out everywhere. Her clothing was disheveled, one sleeve pushed up while the other was torn. He could see blood dried in her nose and deep circles beneath her eyes.

“Agnes, what happened to you? You disappear for days and come back looking like this?” he asked firmly.

“You!” she shouted, pounding his chest with her fists.

“You happened. I was fine before, I had everything under control. And then you got into my head and now… now I’m a mess. I can’t focus, I can’t do what I need to do!” she barked. Enver could feel her distress in the air, her voice was frantic. He stepped closer to her, knocking over a broom.

“Just, stay away from me,” she whispered, pushing him away from her.

“I can’t do that,” Enver said quietly, looking into her eyes. His expression was wounded, she could see the hurt within him. “Tell me what I can do, I’ll do anything,” he whispered, a hand coming down to rest on her hip. Agnes let out a frustrated sigh, bringing her hands up to rub her temples. The ache in her head welled, the Urge within rising to the surface. Despite her efforts, she couldn’t satisfy the Urge, it wanted so badly for her to kill Enver Gortash.

“Nothing can be done. There is only one way this can go, and it ends with you dead by my hand,” she said quietly, looking up at the man. He sighed, letting his head hang. She was right, of course. There was no way this could go for them to have a happy ending. She would never be free of Bhaal’s hold on her, the Urge would continue to come back and there was no guarantee she could fight it. 

“I know there is no way for this to end well. I know that. But I refuse to let you go. I can’t,” Enver said, moving closer to Agnes. She stepped away from him, her back hitting the wall behind her.

“Enver, please,” Agnes said quietly, looking into his dark eyes. He leaned his forehead against hers, their noses touching. Agnes closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath.

“I know how this ends. And I don’t care. Now that I have you, I can’t let you go,” he whispered, moving his lips to hover over hers. Agnes closed her eyes, letting out a shaky breath and nuzzling her nose to his. She gently pressed her lips to his, tears streaming down her face. Enver could taste the saltiness of her tears as he kissed her, a hand coming up to rest beside her on the wall. He pulled away, looking deeply into her eyes.

“I love you,” he whispered, his eyes searching hers for a response.

“Don’t,” Agnes whispered, pushing the man away from her. He remained unmoving, pressing his forehead to hers.

“Agnes I know you feel the same way, don’t push me away,” he said quietly. Agnes let out a frustrated sigh, wrapping her arms around his neck, pulling him into an embrace. Enver pulled her closer, burying his head in her neck. The pair held each other for a moment, before the man pulled away.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, his hand stroking her cheek. 

“I can take care of myself,” Agnes replied, her hands still wrapped around his neck.

“I beg to differ,” Enver said with a smile, holding her matted braid in his hand. Agnes rolled her eyes, kissing his nose before slipping under his arm and heading towards the door of the closet.

“Ketheric is going to be pissed,” Agnes said over her shoulder, pulling the door open. Enver’s face dropped, realizing they were most definitely late for a meeting with the undead general. As Agnes turned to walk out the door, she jumped.

“If I find you two in a closet one more time I am going to-,” Ketheric’s voice trailed off as he looked over Agnes, noticing the disheveled state she was in. “Are you aware your nose is bleeding, bhaalspawn?” He asked, his tone softened.

“I’m fine, Ketheric. Let’s just postpone this meeting, hmm?” She grumbled, pushing past the general and heading for her office. Ketheric sighed, rubbing his temples as Enver approached the door of the closet.

“This distraction must cease, Gortash. You two are going to put everything in jeopardy,” Ketheric said in a low, irritated tone.

“Oh cheer up, would you Thorm?” Enver said, looking behind Ketheric trying to find where Agnes went. Ketheric braced himself in the doorway, blocking Enver’s view of the hallway.

“Do you not see the state she is in?” He said quietly but firmly. “That’s because of you,” he added before moving to the side to let Enver pass. The Baneite waved his hand at Ketheric dismissively, heading towards the office. 

Agnes tugged at her matted braid, trying to pull the hair apart to untangle it. She looked up at herself in the mirror, shuddering at her own image. Her face was sunken in, deep bags so dark they looked like bruises under eyes. She hadn’t slept in several days. Or had it been a week? Agnes couldn’t keep track anymore, she was too tired to think about it. She let go of the braid, bracing herself against the mirror and inspecting her face. The dried blood in her nose looked almost black, her makeup had run down her face all the way to her chin.

“Agnes?” The bhaalspawn spun around to find Enver entering the room with a bucket and some rags in hand. She turned back towards the mirror, hanging her head as the man approached her.

“What?” she hissed, pressing her forehead against the cool mirror.

“Let me take care of you,” he said, placing the bucket and rags down beside the tub in the bathroom and approaching her. He wrapped his arms around her middle, pressing a kiss to the back of her neck.

“I don’t need your help,” she said closing her eyes.

“I know you don’t need it, but I am offering,” he said into her neck. Agnes took in a deep breath, decidedly too tired to fight with Enver.

“Fine,” she whispered, leaning her head back into him. He smiled, pulling away from her.

“Sit,” he said, gesturing towards a stool beside the tub. She hesitated for a moment before obliging, sitting down with her back facing the wash basin. Enver dipped a rag into the bucket of water, wetting it and ringing it out. He knelt down beside Agnes, bringing the rag up to her face. He was gentle, wiping the makeup and caked up blood from her face. Agnes closed her eyes, letting her shoulders relax for the first time in days. 

“That’s it, just relax,” Enver encouraged as he cleaned up her face. Agnes let a hand rest on his shoulder as he continued to wipe her face, cleaning off any remnants of her distress. Once he was satisfied with her face, he set down the rag and moved to untangle her braid. Agnes opened her eyes as he was gently tugging at the hair, his dexterous fingers making short work of the tangled mess. He looked up at her, a smile crossing his face.

“What?” she hissed, eliciting a laugh from the man.

“Am I not allowed to smile?” He asked with a tut, combing his fingers through her now unmated hair.

“Certainly not,” she laughed, her hand caressing his face. He grabbed her hand, bringing it to his lips and gently kissing her knuckles.

“When was the last time you slept, pet?” He asked, looking at the bags under her eyes.

“I-“ she started, trying to think of a quip back at him. “I don’t know,” she finished, too tired to come up with something clever to say.

“Then let’s get you to bed, hmm?” He said softly, standing and extending a hand to her. She rolled her eyes, placing her hand in his. In a swift motion, he scooped her up into his arms, cradling her against his chest.

“This is not necessary,” Agnes said, bringing her arms to rest around his neck.

“Let me,” he said pressing a kiss to her neck, “take care of you”.

Agnes relaxed against him, laying her head on his shoulder in defeat. Enver smiled, holding her tight as he carried her into the room. He brought her over to the bed at the back of the room, placing her down gently.

“Sleep would do you some good,” he said, pulling away from her. Agnes held onto his neck tightly, not allowing him to move.

“Don’t go,” she whispered, her eyes pleading with him.

“Agnes you really need to rest,” he said, looking into her eyes.

“I can sleep with you here,” she said, pulling away and patting the spot next to her on the bed.

“I suppose that’s true,” he said with a smile, moving to the other side of the bed. Enver kicked off his shoes and sat down on the side of the bed. He made his way next to her, his back leaning against the headboard. He opened his arms and Agnes crawled into them, laying her head on his chest. Enver wrapped this arms around her, holding her close, feeling Agnes relax into him, her body unwinding for the first time in days. Enver pressed kisses to the top of her head as he felt her melt into him. He pulled the blanket up over them and leaned his head back against the headboard. Quiet sounds began to escape from Agnes as she started to fall asleep, her breath evening out.

“Sleep well,” Enver whispered into her hair.

“Enver,” she said, pulling her head back to look at him.

“What is it?” he asked, concern crossing his face.

“I,” she started, looking down. “I love you, too,” she said before laying her head back down on his chest. He pulled her into him once again, holding her tightly as he felt her fall asleep.