#i’m still trying to find a durge i like

[moonselune]

Hello!! Could you write one with your choice of characters and there baddie. Where tav thinks violence isn’t the answer and the bg3 characters ask“ what’s your plan then..?? To defeat them with the power of friendship….oh my gods it is….

Oooo okay so I'm going to do this for what I call the durge gang because they would have the biggest- basically the companions who stick around when you go full durge

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara:

The air in the tent was thick with tension as you and Minthara sat across from each other, the remnants of a heated discussion still hanging in the space between you. You had been planning your next move against a band of marauders terrorizing a nearby village, and while Minthara had advocated for a swift and brutal attack, you had hesitated. Minthara's sharp eyes studied you, her expression a mixture of disbelief and frustration.

"You can't be serious," she said, her voice dripping with incredulity. "You honestly think we can reason with these scum? Convince them to change their ways?"

You crossed your arms, standing firm in your decision. "I believe in giving people a chance to do the right thing. Violence should always be a last resort, Minthara."

Minthara let out a harsh laugh, shaking her head. "Oh, this is rich. And what's your plan, then? To defeat them with the power of friendship?"

She paused, her eyes narrowing as realization dawned on her.

"Oh my gods, it is."

You felt your cheeks flush slightly at her words, but you held your ground. "I think we can appeal to their better nature. Maybe they’re just lost, or desperate. If we can show them there’s another way—"

Minthara cut you off with a snort, her lips curling into a smirk. "You actually think these marauders have a 'better nature' to appeal to? You’re living in a dream world if you think they’re going to listen to anything but the edge of a blade." She leaned forward, her gaze piercing. "This isn’t some storybook where the hero wins with a kind word and a smile. Out there, it's kill or be killed. And you’re risking your life—and mine—on some ridiculous notion of mercy."

You sighed, knowing how deeply ingrained her beliefs were, but still unwilling to back down. "I’m not naive, Minthara. I know the risks. But I have to believe that not everything has to be solved with bloodshed."

Minthara shook her head, leaning back in her chair with a look of exasperation. "You're going to regret this. When your plan backfires and they turn on us, don't say I didn't warn you."

The next day, you put your plan into action. You approached the marauders with an open hand, speaking to them calmly, offering them a chance to surrender, to find a different path. Minthara stood a few paces behind you, arms crossed, her expression one of barely concealed disdain.

For a brief moment, you thought you saw a glimmer of doubt in the eyes of the leader. He hesitated, as if considering your words. But then, with a sneer, he laughed in your face and ordered his men to attack.

The battle that followed was chaotic and brutal. You fought alongside Minthara, who, despite her earlier mocking, had your back through every strike and parry. But as the dust settled and the bodies of the marauders lay scattered across the ground, you couldn’t help but feel a deep pang of disappointment.

As you wiped the blood from your blade, Minthara approached you, her expression a mixture of triumph and something almost like pity.

"I told you," she said, her voice low and smug. "I warned you this would happen, my dearest. You tried to reason with animals, and they bit you. Violence isn’t just an answer—it’s the only answer with scum like them."

You felt your heart sink at her words, the sting of failure weighing heavily on your shoulders.

"I just wanted to try a different way," you muttered, more to yourself than to her.

Minthara’s smirk widened, and she reached out to tilt your chin up, forcing you to meet her gaze. "And look where that got you. If I hadn’t been there, you’d be dead. Your idealism is going to get you killed one day, and I won’t always be there to save you from yourself."

You couldn’t argue with her. The truth of her words stung as much as her mockery, but you couldn’t help but feel a stubborn resolve still burning within you. You’d tried—and failed—but that didn’t mean you’d stop believing in the possibility of a better way.

Minthara, however, seemed content in her victory. She gave you a lingering look before turning away, her voice carrying over her shoulder as she walked off. "Next time, listen to me, love. You might just live longer."

You watched her go, feeling the weight of the lesson she had driven home. But even as you stood there amidst the aftermath, you couldn’t entirely give up on your ideals. However, you knew better than to challenge Minthara’s approach again anytime soon. Not unless you were prepared for her to say, "I told you so."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Lae'zel:

The conversation had started out as a simple strategy discussion, but as it progressed, a divide between your philosophies became increasingly apparent.

Lae'zel, ever the pragmatist, had suggested an aggressive approach to deal with the band of brigands that had been terrorizing the nearby village. You, on the other hand, had proposed a more peaceful solution—trying to reason with them, to offer them a chance to change their ways without bloodshed.

As you finished explaining your plan, Lae'zel’s eyes narrowed in disbelief. She leaned forward, her intense gaze boring into you.

"You cannot be serious," she said, her voice laced with skepticism. "What is your plan then? To defeat them with the power of friendship?" There was a pause before her expression shifted to one of realization. "Oh by Mother Gith, it is…"

You felt your face heat up, her words cutting into your confidence. It was one thing to believe in the goodness of people, but hearing it framed so mockingly by Lae'zel made you question your own resolve. Her laughter followed, a deep, throaty sound that both unnerved and irritated you.

Lae'zel shook her head, her laughter subsiding into a smirk. "You’re too soft, too trusting. They’ll cut you down before you can utter a word of peace. This is not some child's tale where good intentions win the day."

Her amusement gnawed at you, your initial confidence wavering. Maybe she was right. Maybe it was foolish to think you could sway the hearts of brigands with words alone. But then again, you believed in the possibility of change, in the strength of diplomacy. It had to be worth something, didn’t it?

Seeing your hesitation, Lae'zel leaned back, her smirk never fading. "Your plan is as flimsy as your resolve. You’ll get yourself killed, and for what? A misguided hope that the wicked can be redeemed?"

Her words, though harsh, hit a nerve. The doubt she had planted began to fester, and you could feel your frustration growing. Defensive, you shot back at her, "It’s not foolish to want to find another way. Not everything has to be solved with violence, Lae'zel!"

But even as you spoke, the wavering in your voice betrayed your own uncertainty. Lae'zel noticed it immediately, her eyes narrowing slightly as if she had already won the argument. That smug, knowing look on her face was the final straw.

Without thinking, you lashed out, giving her a light but firm whack on the arm. It wasn’t enough to hurt her, but it certainly caught her off guard.

"Stop laughing at me!" you demanded, your tone more petulant than you intended. The words tumbled out in a childish strop, and you could feel your cheeks flush with embarrassment. Lae'zel looked down at where you had struck her, then back up at you, her smirk widening into a full grin.

"Oh, so the little diplomat has claws after all," she teased, her voice dripping with amusement.

You glared at her, folding your arms across your chest as you huffed in irritation. "I’m serious, Lae'zel. Just because I don’t want to go charging in with swords drawn doesn’t mean I’m wrong."

Lae'zel chuckled softly, her laughter more affectionate this time. She reached out, placing a hand on your shoulder, her grip firm but not unkind.

"You’re not wrong to want peace," she said, her tone softening slightly. "But you must understand, in this world, it is strength that dictates survival. And sometimes, that strength must be wielded with force."

You wanted to argue, to insist that your way could work, but the confidence had drained out of you, leaving you feeling more frustrated than anything. Lae'zel’s words had unnerved you, and now, with the heat of the moment passing, you felt a little silly for losing your temper. Lae'zel, sensing your turmoil, gave your shoulder a gentle squeeze.

"Do not doubt your convictions," she said quietly. "But know that I will always be there to protect you, even when your heart leads you into danger."

You sighed, the tension slowly ebbing away as you leaned into her touch.

"I know," you muttered, still feeling a bit sulky but less inclined to argue further. Lae'zel smiled, her expression softening in a way that was reserved only for you.

"Good," she murmured, brushing a stray strand of hair from your face. "Now, let’s focus on what we can do together. Whether by word or by blade, we’ll handle whatever comes our way."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Shadowheart:

The two of you had been sitting by the campfire, discussing the best approach to deal with a group of hostile mercenaries that had been causing trouble in the nearby village. Shadowheart, ever pragmatic and wary of risk, had suggested a straightforward approach—one that involved steel, blood, and as little negotiation as possible.

But you, ever the optimist, had a different idea. "Violence isn't the answer," you had said firmly, hoping to convince her that there was another way. "We can talk to them, maybe even convince them to leave peacefully."

Shadowheart had looked at you with a raised eyebrow, her expression a mix of skepticism and concern.

"What’s your plan then?" she had asked, her tone dripping with doubt. "To defeat them with the power of friendship?" There was a pause, her eyes narrowing slightly as realization dawned. "Oh my gods… it is, isn’t it?"

You had bristled at her disbelief but stood your ground. "It’s worth trying," you had insisted. "We don’t have to resort to violence right away."

She had sighed, shaking her head. "You’re too kind-hearted for your own good. This isn’t going to work, and you know it."

But despite her warnings, you had gone ahead with your plan.

When you returned to the camp later that evening, the night had already settled in, and the campfire cast long shadows around you. Shadowheart had been waiting, her eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of you. When she finally spotted you, she noticed immediately that something was off. You were walking stiffly, your movements careful, as if every step was a battle against pain. She stood up, crossing her arms as you approached.

"So," she began, her voice deceptively casual, "how did the plan go?"

You forced a smile, trying to keep your discomfort hidden. "It was fine," you lied, your voice a little too tight. "Better than expected, actually."

There was a long moment of silence between you, the crackling of the fire the only sound. Shadowheart watched you closely, her eyes narrowing as she took in your tense posture, the way you were holding yourself as if every movement caused you pain. She didn’t say anything at first, just let the silence stretch, waiting for you to crack.

Finally, unable to bear the weight of her gaze any longer, you sighed heavily.

"Alright," you muttered, dropping the pretense. "You were right. It didn’t go as planned."

A smirk tugged at the corners of Shadowheart’s lips, but she didn’t gloat. Instead, she stepped closer, her eyes softening slightly as she reached out to touch your arm.

"Are you hurt?" she asked, her tone more concerned now. "How bad is it?"

You winced as her fingers brushed against a particularly sore spot, and you nodded reluctantly.

"It’s not too bad," you said, trying to downplay it, though you knew she could see through your bravado. "But… I could use some help."

She sighed again, though this time it was more resigned than exasperated.

"I told you it was a bad idea," she said, her voice gentle as she began to examine you for injuries. "But you’re stubborn, I’ll give you that."

You couldn’t help but chuckle, though it quickly turned into a wince as she found a particularly tender spot on your side.

"I just wanted to find a better way," you said softly, meeting her gaze. "I didn’t want to hurt anyone."

Shadowheart’s expression softened, and she shook her head slightly as she tended to your wounds.

"I know," she murmured, her touch careful as she worked. "But sometimes, being too kind can be dangerous. You have to know when to stand your ground, and when to draw the line."

You nodded, the pain in your body a reminder of the lesson learned.

"I’ll keep that in mind," you said, your voice earnest. Once she finished patching you up, she looked at you with a mix of affection and exasperation.

"You’re lucky I’m here to take care of you," she teased, though there was a warmth in her eyes that made your heart swell. You smiled, reaching out to take her hand.

"I know," you replied, squeezing her hand gently. "And I’m grateful for it."

Shadowheart sighed, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips as she leaned in to kiss your forehead. "Just promise me you’ll be more careful next time," she whispered.

You nodded, the weight of the day’s events settling on your shoulders as you leaned into her embrace. "I promise."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Gale:

The two of you were huddled in your tent, poring over maps and discussing the best way to deal with the band of marauders terrorizing a nearby village. Gale had suggested a calculated approach—one that involved precise spells and strategic combat. But you had a different idea, one that made Gale pause, his brow furrowing in disbelief.

"Violence isn't the answer," you said, your voice filled with conviction as you traced a route on the map. "We can talk to them, convince them to leave peacefully. There’s no need for bloodshed."

Gale looked at you, his expression a mix of bewilderment and concern. "What’s your plan then?" he asked, his tone cautious as if he was preparing himself for something unexpected. "To defeat them with the power of friendship?" His eyes widened slightly as he realized you were serious. "Oh my gods… it is, isn’t it?"

You nodded confidently. "It’s worth a shot. If we can appeal to their humanity, show them there’s another way… it could work."

Gale leaned back, rubbing his temples as if trying to comprehend what he was hearing.

"You’re astounding, you know that? Only you could concoct a plan that defies all logic and yet believe in it with such unwavering faith." He shook his head, a mixture of admiration and exasperation in his eyes. "But go ahead, fearless one. Let’s see where your idealism takes us."

You smiled, grateful that despite his doubts, Gale was willing to let you try. So, with a heart full of hope, you set out to enact your plan.

The marauders were camped just outside the village, a rough and rugged group that looked every bit as dangerous as the villagers had described. But you approached them with open hands, speaking to their leader about peace, redemption, and the possibility of a better life.

For a moment, it seemed like they were listening. Their leader’s eyes softened as you spoke, and you felt a flicker of hope. But then, with a harsh laugh, he dismissed your words, and the marauders closed in, their intentions clear.

Your heart sank as you realized your plan had failed. They weren’t interested in peace; they wanted power, and they were willing to take it by force. You braced yourself for the worst, feeling a surge of regret for not heeding Gale’s warning.

But just as the marauders were about to strike, a brilliant light erupted around you. Gale had been watching from a distance, his keen intellect and protective nature unwilling to let you face the danger alone. With a few precise incantations, he unleashed a barrage of spells, weaving fire and force into a stunning display of magical prowess.

The marauders, caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, stumbled back in disarray. Gale’s magic surged through the camp, disarming and disabling the attackers with calculated precision. In moments, the threat was neutralized, and the surviving marauders fled into the night, too afraid to challenge the wizard who had effortlessly turned the tide.

Breathing heavily, you turned to find Gale standing a short distance away, his expression a mixture of relief and exasperation. He approached you, his eyes scanning for any signs of injury.

"Well," he said, his voice carrying a hint of smugness, "it seems my plan worked after all."

You sighed, feeling the weight of your failed attempt settle on your shoulders.

"I thought… maybe I could reach them," you admitted, your voice tinged with regret. Gale’s expression softened, and he placed a hand on your shoulder.

"Your heart is in the right place, my love," he said gently. "But not everyone is open to reason or redemption. Sometimes, you have to be prepared for when words fail."

You nodded, feeling a mix of gratitude and humility. "You were right," you confessed, meeting his gaze. "Thank you… for stepping in."

Gale smiled, his eyes warm with affection. "It’s what I’m here for," he replied. "To keep you safe, even when you’re determined to save the world with kindness."

You couldn’t help but smile at his words, despite the lingering disappointment in your chest.

"I suppose I owe you one," you said, leaning in to rest your head against his shoulder. Gale chuckled softly, wrapping his arm around you.

"Just promise me you’ll listen next time," he teased, though his tone was gentle.

"I promise," you murmured, feeling the comfort of his presence and the steady beat of his heart. "I’ll be more careful."

Gale pressed a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft in your ear. "Good. Because I’d like to keep you around for a long time."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Astarion:

As you stood by the campfire, pondering the best way to deal with the bandits who had been terrorizing the nearby village, you couldn’t shake the feeling that there had to be a better way than resorting to violence. The thought of bloodshed weighed heavily on your heart, and you were determined to find another solution.

Astarion, ever the cynic with a devilish smirk, noticed the troubled expression on your face and sauntered over, his gaze full of curiosity.

"Something on your mind, darling?" he asked, his tone light but laced with that familiar undertone of sarcasm. You hesitated for a moment, then took a deep breath and turned to face him.

"I don’t think violence is the answer here," you began, your voice resolute. "Maybe we can talk to them, convince them to leave the village alone. It doesn’t always have to end in bloodshed."

Astarion blinked, taken aback by your suggestion. He stared at you for a long moment before raising an eyebrow.

"What’s your plan then…?" he asked, his voice dripping with disbelief. "To defeat them with the power of friendship…? Oh my gods, it is, isn’t it?"

You nodded, your resolve unwavering despite his incredulity. "Yes," you replied firmly. "It’s worth trying. If we can avoid fighting, why not?"

Astarion’s eyes widened slightly, and he stared at you as if you had just suggested sprouting wings and flying to the moon.

"You’re serious," he said, half in disbelief, half in amusement. "You’re actually going to go through with this insane plan."

You crossed your arms, refusing to back down. "Yes, I am," you insisted. "There’s no harm in trying to talk things out first."

Astarion let out a long, exasperated sigh, running a hand through his silver hair. "Darling, I adore that bleeding heart of yours, but this plan of yours defies all logic. Bandits aren’t exactly the negotiating type."

You could see the concern in his eyes, masked by his usual sarcasm, but you were determined to stick to your principles.

"I have to try," you said softly. "If there’s even a chance…"

But Astarion wasn’t having it. He stepped closer to you, his expression turning from playful to serious.

"No," he said firmly, his hand gently but firmly grasping your arm. "This is madness. You can’t just walk into a bandit camp and expect them to listen to reason. You’re going to get yourself killed."

You looked up at him, surprised by the intensity in his gaze. "Astarion, I—"

"Enough," he interrupted, his voice firm. "I can’t let you do this. I love that heart of yours, but I would much prefer it to keep beating."

You tried to pull away, but Astarion held on tighter, his grip unyielding. "I’m not letting go until you come to your senses," he said, his voice softening just a fraction. "I’ve lost too much already, and I won’t lose you too."

His words struck a chord deep within you, and you could feel the fear and concern behind his usual teasing demeanor. A moment of silence passed between you, the tension thick in the air. Finally, you sighed, your shoulders slumping in defeat.

"Alright," you murmured, "maybe it was a foolish plan."

Astarion let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and pulled you into a tight embrace. "Thank the gods," he whispered into your hair, his voice full of relief. "You had me worried there."

You wrapped your arms around him, leaning into his embrace, feeling the warmth and comfort of his presence.

"I just wanted to find a way to avoid more violence," you said quietly.

"And I love you for that," Astarion replied, his voice gentle now. "But sometimes, a little pragmatism is necessary."

You nodded against his chest, feeling a wave of gratitude for his stubbornness, even if it had annoyed you at first.

"You’re right," you admitted. "I wasn’t thinking straight."

Astarion chuckled softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. "You never do when it comes to your heart," he teased, though his tone was affectionate. "But that’s one of the things I love about you."

You pulled back slightly to look up at him, your eyes meeting his. "Thank you," you whispered, "for keeping me grounded."

He smiled, brushing a strand of hair away from your face. "Always, my love," he said, his voice full of warmth. "Always."

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

I loved writing this and I hope you guys enjoyed it! - Seluney xox

[oimliette]

my best is yours

Pairing: Gale/Durge reader

Tags: angst, guilt, hurt/comfort, love confessions

Warnings: it’s durge so you know… violence and gore, but not too explicit. suicidal thoughts as well.

Words: 3.3k

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set.

read on ao3

It’s colder than you expected. Halsin didn’t mention that. You knew that the land was cursed, that the shadows were alive and sap both your sanity and strength. You were ready for it. You didn’t think about the temperature.

There’s a chill here like something was breathing down your neck. You still haven’t gotten used to it.

You glance at your companions after fighting against a horde of necrotic plant creatures. Whatever they were, they were clearly not alive, with the glow of the rot-magic emanating from their vines.

It’s only your second day in this cursed place and your party doesn’t look any better than they did yesterday. Astarion looks wary and miserable. He probably hates this place for the same reason he didn’t enjoy the Underdark: there is no trace of sunlight here. The only light comes from your torches and the Blood of Lathander Shadowheart is wielding, casting a soft glow on your surroundings. Shadowheart, on the other hand, looks—distracted, fascinated with the darkness enveloping your party on all sides. You’re concerned, but before you can think more of it, Gale meets your eyes, like he was seeking you out.

You’ve come to rely on Gale over the course of this adventure you were all forced into. Most nights, he is the reason you have warm food in your bellies. He’s a human with a lot of knowledge to dispense, and he takes every opportunity to do that, even to the point of sounding arrogant. Everyone does their part to keep the camp, but it would be particularly difficult to imagine the journey without Gale by your side.

Gale gives you a worried look, one he’d been giving to you more and more often. You pretend not to notice and hurriedly face the other way. You feel tired all of a sudden.

You think to yourself that the fact Gale hasn’t brutally mutilated an innocent girl in their sleep is a pretty good point too.

Sometimes you wonder if it’d be better that he’d have been the one to lead your motley crew instead. He certainly has the makings for it. He’s a reliable man, usually level-headed and preferring to err on the side of caution where you might be stubbornly facing in one direction. He insists on compromise, insistent on working together even though he confessed to you, one night, that he hardly has anyone he can call a friend outside of his tressym.

“I find that hard to believe,” you said. You took the first watch, though not everyone was asleep yet. From beside Gale’s tent, you idly watched Wyll fiddling with a broken lute he found on the road. Gale can talk like he’s used to speaking to himself, expressing himself in full-bodied words more common in academia than in casual talk, but he is unendingly curious, something that, to you at least, was something that endeared you to the wizard.

“I’m glad to hear that. I thought my time spent wallowing at my tower alone had rusted my social skills.” He laughed in relief.

It had, you nearly said out loud. There are instances where it’s obvious, but you decide to keep the comfortable, shared silence.

The flaps of his tent closed after he bid you goodnight. The air was cold, but you ran hot so you didn’t mind. You thought about Gale, as you often do, these days.

He was good at that. Making you feel comfortable in his presence. Like you could trust him. He has some secrets, but who in your camp doesn’t? Every one of them has their own story half-uncovered. You didn’t even know yours, your memory extending as far as waking up on the nautiloid, and the fight to get out of it in one piece.

But the battered state of your mind makes you uneasy. The random pulses of pain and the violent thoughts were symptoms you would have attributed to the parasite, but none of your companions have experienced anything like that. It’s just you. And even in this camp, the gathering of the infected and the hunted, you were the odd one out.

You listened to the wind rustling the leaves overhead. You wondered what your mind knew that you didn't.

Ever since you awoke on the nautiloid, your memory has been spotty. Trying to separate what happened in the first tenday of your adventure from your last is a useless activity.

There is an emptiness inside you that has been there as far as your memory will allow you to remember. Nothing feels real. Almost as if you’d wake from this any moment now, to whatever life you used to live. And this would all be a dream hastily forgotten.

But it’s not a dream. You know that.

The sticky feeling of blood in your hands felt real. The smell of it, sticking to you for days. The red crust under your fingernails that never seemed to disappear.

You are a person that rings hollow, and you are terrified one of these days your companions will see you for what you are: a monster.

You don’t understand why they believe you can lead the way to salvation. You don’t know where you’re going. You can’t even see past today.

But you try anyway. To atone, if not for anything else.

Tonight is no different. Tonight, the camp is tucked into an area you guessed was a less harsh patch of the hostile environment. It felt like picking which area of the mouth of an owlbear would be better to lean your head in. You don’t know why they trust you to know.

You don’t know why they still trust you at all. They’ve never seen you the same after what happened with Alfira.

Your offering of gore, the blood drying in your hands, damning you with each second as you waited for them to wake up, one by one. You didn’t even try to hide it or wash it away. What difference would it have made?

There was still a corpse there, right in your camp. The bard, trusting and sweet, was still dead.

Was she awake when you did the horrible deed? Was she breathing when you painted the ground with her innards? When you burst her eyeballs in her skull? You could almost feel it burst under your thumbs, the sensation familiar, deep in the recesses of your mind.

The gnawing headache at your brain grows. Pulsing, pounding.

Their tolerance of you is a reflection of everyone’s desperation, willing to let you stay because they cannot afford to be picky with company now. No one in the camp’s hands were clean but you doubt they’ve ever been this stained.

She didn’t die immediately. You know this, somewhere in your broken mind. It makes you sick that you’ve never felt more alive than the morning after.

You’ve been doing good. No murders in the night since then. But you’d be lying if you said there aren’t nights when you wake up with a start, afraid to see where or who your knife-hand has fallen on.

You wonder if they’re suspicious of you, still.

You set up camp, because you are tired and Astarion is whining about the trek and Shadowheart seems absolutely taken with the curse wrapping around all of your necks, threatening to invade and twist and unmake and Gale—well. His gaze is filled with determination, though his posture betrays his exhaustion. There’s something he wants to say, you’re sure, but unfortunately for him, it’ll have to wait until camp is set.

The headache persists. Your head throbs.

After a while, you sit by yourself in front of the campfire. On any other occasion you’d prefer to have been standing to the side, away from the comings and goings of the people in camp trying to get food or putting and taking from the chest. But that was before.

In these lands, the very ground itself seems malicious, trying to lick at the skin of your boots. The light provides some comfort against the oppressive dark.

Gale sits himself beside you. You don’t acknowledge his presence but you let him sit so close your knees touch. The point of contact is nice. Comfortable.

The fire is warm, but more importantly it is bright. Already you begin to feel better. Less like your soul is being syphoned away.

Gale calls your name, staring at you with sincere eyes you cannot meet.

This is a fragile alliance. A party brought by circumstance and tied together by desperate need to live, despite it all. They are all so wildly different, each with their own goals to accomplish—but this is what you have in common. This is what brings you together: you want to live.

“It’s alright, Gale. I’m not hungry,” you say first. That is not what he wants to speak about. You know that.

You surprised yourself with how furious you became at Gale’s pathetic acceptance of the fate thrust upon him by his goddess. How could he not thrash around, rebel at the circumstance! His plan to take this with hands behind his back and his head bowed down as the blade dropped on his neck made your blood boil, made your teeth ache with the urge to tear.

Good fucking gods, every single day you’ve though about killing yourself, each method more gruesome than the next. Driving a knife through your own heart. Bathing in acid. One by one removing your senses until you die of blood loss. Eyes are the last to go, so you can see what you’ve made of yourself.

It’s a common fantasy, a permanent solution to your problem: you. But no one is supposed to die. You don’t succumb to the urge because you have people to lead. Sins to atone for. You of all people don’t get to have a break from your torturous mind. That’s your fucking burden to bear and you will bear it as long as you are able.

It’s your job to save them from this. They trust you, when they really shouldn’t, and godsdamned if you’ll let one of them get killed because some fucking prissy goddess can’t fix a problem herself.

Lot of good all these deities have done in Faerun, you curse as you look at the darkness surrounding you from all sides. You can barely see anything past it, even with darkvision. Just more twisting trees and the glowing rot leaking from the land like pus from a wound.

“You’ve been reckless lately. More so than usual—alarmingly so. Make no mistake, I am not here to complain about the efficiency of dealing with our enemies. I am most appreciative of that fact. But I do get concerned with how you tend to act after.”

“What do you mean, Gale?” You ask. He has this habit of beating around the bush and though you’d usually find his wordiness endearing, today has been long.

It weighs on your shoulders, every time you leave camp, every night you set it up again. Another day. Food. Loot. Trade. Kill. Day in and day out. Live live live. Another step in front of the other. Every day, asking you to live longer.

The light at the end of the tunnel is getting ever farther as you walk closer, but you keep these thoughts to yourself.

Your companions deserve to be alive. They deserve to hope. Just because you lost yours doesn’t mean you’re about to break their morale. You know they’ll make it.

But you? No. You don’t even deserve to see it.

“Yes, you’re right. Well, truth be told, I worry about you…” Then he says your name again, so gently, like his tongue was cradling the syllables in his mouth. “Not as our leader. As you.”

“You don’t have to.” You interrupt, uncomfortable with the sincerity. You can take care of yourself. Whoever he thinks he’s fussing over—it’s not you. You don’t need the concern, cloying and all too sweet. All too easy to use. He doesn’t know you, doesn’t understand the wickedness in your head and your heart.

“Ah, you’ll find that I want to.” He flashes a charming smile. “Clearly, you aren’t looking after yourself, so someone has to.” He points to himself.

Your headache pulses. You imagine in a world without these urges, the charm might have worked. Maybe you’d be brave enough to look him in the eye, tell him honeyed words that you have so desperately wanted to. If you were just normal, someone unburdened by the blood singing under your skin, this would go differently.

Oh, yeah? You imagine yourself saying. Do it then.

But this isn’t that world, so instead you scoff, because Gale is orchestrating his own death in two different ways and if you think about it too much you might drive yourself insane. Isn’t that fucking hilarious, that the first person you let inch into your heart is going to die, either by your foul hand or a deity that thinks him so invaluable she would ask him to kill himself for the sake of the world?

This sweet, trusting man. Arrogant and unbearable. You want to kill him yourself. You want to save him. From Mystra. From you.

He looks embarrassed with his attempt at flirting and hurt at your reaction. You want to tear your heart open. You want to atone. For this. Fuck, for everything. Maybe you’ve already doomed him by letting his affection get to you. Does he know how close he is to your heart?

You just swallow the lump in your throat. You can see some people in the camp pass a glance at the both of you, and you sigh. “Can we go to your tent?”

For once, Gale shuts his mouth and nods. He sits down after you enter the tent, quiet still. You bite your tongue. Think, if only for a few moments.

“I don’t need your help.”

“I think you’ve made that clear.” He replies curtly.

“I—“ you grit your teeth. “You can barely take care of yourself. And now you want to save me—“

“I never mentioned saving! And my apologies for daring to care about you—”

“You’re a hypocrite, Gale. You know how tough this journey’s been. You say you’ve been watching me. You know my mind is broken, possibly beyond repair. But I’m not dead! That’s my choice, every godsdamned day to put one foot in front of the other and hope that I at least get to do the one good deed of saving you before I go. My choice to stay in this godforsaken place because you’re my people.

You continue, “Did you think no one would care? That we would all proceed like normal, go about our daily lives saying thank fucking Mystra, good on her to tell Gale to kill himself and like a stupid little dog he followed through with it. You’re not on her leash anymore, so act like you have a choice, damn it!”

Your chest is heaving. There is prickling behind your eyes.

You realise you would do anything to keep him alive. You would raze down hordes of innocent hundreds by yourself if it meant the poison in his veins were cured. It would be adding to your tally of sins. It would weigh on your heart. But aren’t you already damned?

Aren’t you both?

“I don’t want you to die,” You say, voice weak and shaking. You hate how it sounds. “I would never forgive you.”

There is a pause, like he’s taking you in.

“I don’t need you to forgive me. I just need you to be alive.” He says. He says, so softly in the face of your rage, like he’s trying not to break your heart.

His mind is set. This is how it will be: you will live and he will die.

The irony of it is not lost on you. You, who have been begging for death. You, who have been trudging through this journey to lead them to a future you could not imagine being a part of.

Gale has so many reasons to live. His mother. His tressym, Tara. His brilliant mind, which would do much more good in the world if it was lent to research than here, fighting for their lives every day. This is not the life Gale should have lived. This is not how he’s supposed to go out.

He’s supposed to be back home in Waterdeep. He’s supposed to live a full life, passing on after making great contributions to the world, remembered for who he was: an intelligent, kind man, brilliant in both the head and heart. You ache to imagine yourself with him.

You don’t deserve it.

“I love you,” your shaky voice whispers. You had all the intention to keep it unspoken until you were in your grave, but Gale needs to know how much of a hold he has on you. That the thought of him makes every day a little easier.

That, selfishly, he needs to stay for you.

He wipes the wetness from your cheeks. You lean into his hand, despite yourself, and you can’t stop crying now that you’ve started. You idly watch the slow drops on the ground, even as your eyesight blurs. You can’t face him.

You want to have this. To have him. You place your hand above his, intertwining them as they rest on your cheek. You bring it to your lips and kiss the back of his hand.

Your blood gnashes in your veins, protesting the vulnerability without violence.

You’re so tired of atoning.

His arms wrap around you, wordlessly, and your head rests on his shoulder. Away from his gaze, you speak up, voice still soft. “You deserve to live.”

“So do you.” He replies. You shake your head.

“You’ve seen what I can do. There is something wicked in my heart that I cannot cure. Every day I—“ You breathe out, shaky. You’ve never admitted this to anyone, didn’t even want to acknowledge the event to others in the fear they realise you’re a foul creature and cast you out. Remove your reason for being alive: your clan. “Every day I wake up and check my hands for blood. I don’t deserve you. I don’t even deserve to live.” You remember how blood feels. Sticky. Sweet. Familiar.

“You do.” He insists. Places his hand on the back of your head, cradling you. He treats you so gently, like you haven’t mauled and killed and lied. “Because I say so. I want you to live. I want you to have a good life, even beyond the tadpoles and the Absolute. Beyond me.”

“Then we’ve hit an impasse.” You remove yourself from him, looking him in the eye now. “You won’t die and I won’t.”

He grins in a way you can feel work into your heart.

You’re going to have to face the inevitability of each other’s deaths someday. Your adventure is a perilous one. You’ve already had many close calls, least of which the danger that you yourself pose to the others.

“I want to show you something, soon,” Gale says. You can feel his voice vibrate in his chest. You hum in response, your eyes already closed. The day has been long, taxing both emotionally and physically, and it’s only now catching up to you. “I don’t have nearly enough energy right now,” Gale chuckles. “But know that the depths of my feelings… You’ll see it. I promise.”

You trust him. Gods, you really do believe him.

You cling to his words: you deserve to live because I say so.

What makes mortal conviction any less powerful than a god? If Gale thinks you should live, then you will.

Maybe it can be that simple.

Perhaps you do deserve a slow, painful death. You know, somewhere in your broken mind, that Alfira wasn't the only victim of your cruelty. Maybe that would be the just thing to do, to wipe you off Fae’rûn. To rip this rare-found peace away from you.

Tomorrow will be another day. Another fight. One foot in front of the other. Live live live.

Your past will catch up to you someday. Your hands have committed countless unforgivable atrocities.

But tonight, your hands cover Gale in an embrace.

[thedorkurge]

Your fics and drabbles are incredible!

If you’re still taking prompts- a durgetash love confession???

Thank you! I had to sit with this one for a bit, and then this happened... Forgive me.

You can read it under the cut or on ao3.

Three I love yous (0,8k)

The first time it happened, it had been a mocking declaration. It was meant to belittle, to be so outrageous that one would never assume that there was any truth to it. An obvious taunt, meant to get under the dragonborn’s skin.

Enver hadn’t intended for them to land in the Chionthar, but the hastily scribbled teleportation sigil clearly contained a miscalculation or two. Durge was still ripping off some imps that had followed them through the portal, looking remarkably like a wet cat as he followed Enver onto the river bank. The human practically collapsed into the sand, the remaining adrenaline fading to nothing. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you.” The dragonborn’s voice was hoarse from coughing up river water, but no less intimidating for it. Unfortunately for him, Enver was not easily intimidated.

“Now’s hardly the time to flirt, my dear. Unless of course you’re finally giving into my irresistible charms?”

If looks could kill, Durge would already have made good on his promise ten times over. Nothing got under his skin quite like Enver’s complete disregard for the danger he posed. 

“Next time I’ll handle the exit strategy, since you seem completely incapable of performing something as simple as a teleportation ritual!”

Enver’s eyes rolled as far back as his anatomy would permit, as he finally got to his feet.

“Yes yes, I love you too dear. Now, are you going to move on? Or do you need a few more minutes to be upset?”

The patronizing tone clearly got on Durge’s nerves more than anything else. Enver should probably count himself lucky his spine was still in his body, as the Bhaalspawn finally stalked off to find someone more expendable to vent his frustrations on.

-

The second time was a correction, a reminder, a lie for the benefit of others. Posing as a couple at a charity ball wasn’t ideal, but it was the best way to access multiple targets in one night. 

The outfit Enver had picked out fit the dragonborn perfectly, and the coordinated colors clearly showed their affiliation to the room full of the wealthy and influential. Their disguise would be flawless, if only Durge didn’t look like he wanted to murder everyone in the room.

If Enver didn’t find a way to get him away from the main party, he might actually start killing people. But that didn’t mean the banite couldn’t have fun with it.

He put on his most charming smile as he greeted the host, engaging her in light conversation until he could finally mention what he actually wanted.

“Aurelia, darling, you simply must show my husband your art collection. Believe me, he makes a far better audience than I do. He’s got an eye for this sort of thing.”

He quickly grabbed the dragonborn’s hand in his own before it could reach for his concealed daggers.

“I’m gonna kill you.” The threat was hissed under his breath, but quite clear nonetheless.

Enver laughed slightly for the benefit of the nobles, as if he had told him a joke. “I love you too, dear.” He held up his drink to flash the wedding ring, a clear reminder of what they were meant to look like. 

The smile Durge plastered on his face was clearly forced, faked for the nobles’ benefit, as he walked off to view a collection he had no interest in. 

Enver continued his conversation, trying not to think about how cold his hand felt without the bhaalspawn’s touch.

-

The third time it happened, Enver was alone. 

Even the living halls of the colony felt cold and empty. They had felt that way for days, the chilly loneliness in the air seeping into his bones.

Sometimes it felt like he could still hear Orin’s gleeful laughter, see the glint of red on her dagger.

He had tried to throw himself into his work, wandering down to Balthazar’s laboratory to consult the trapped minds in the illithid library. 

He soon found his eye drawn to something that felt out of place. A scrolled page, torn and stained. It didn’t belong here. 

Forgive me, Father…

His previous work was abandoned as he cradled the paper in his hands. The carefully constructed dam that kept his emotions at bay finally crumbled under the pressure, as he all but fled to his workspace in the tower above. 

Now, halfway through his third bottle of wine, the lines between thought and speech were blurred. Sentiments that would usually go unacknowledged now floated just beneath the surface. The layer of sarcasm that gave them deniability was permeated by a heartache that was far too real.

It didn’t matter anymore. He was gone. Denial was pointless because there was nothing to protect. Nothing to deny. Nothing.

Just a page that said everything and nothing at all.

I cannot help but admire the chosen of your sworn foe.

It was an admission of guilt.

It was a confession.

It was too late.

For once the words fell from Enver’s lips with no twist of sarcasm or mockery.

“I love you too.”

This time he meant it. 

Maybe he always had.

[carooosa]

Bound by You: Love is Power, Love is Weakness

Part 3: Dissent

Part 2 Here

Word count: 1k Rating: Mature Pairing: Ascended Astarion x gn!AFAB Resist Durge/Reader Warnings: 18+ AO3 link: Dissent

Summary: Stressed from your duties, Astarion tries to help relieve your tension. It doesn't end well as he's forgotten something deeply important to you.

You pace back and forth in your bedroom, shifting between holding your arms and biting your nails. The anniversary celebration was in a little under two months and there was still so much left to get done. 

“My treasure, if you keep worrying about this you’ll burden your beautiful face with wrinkles,” Astarion said casually as he read a book while sprawled out on your bed.

You ignore him, choosing instead to find your journal that contains some of your notes. Quickly flipping through the pages, you try to see if there’s anything you could work on right now. Your head is so buried in the notebook that you don’t notice your lover get up from the bed. 

He snatches the book out of your hand and teases you, “My love, weren’t you the one who said ‘no work in the bedroom’?” You try to get the journal back, but it’s all in vain. As soon as you reach for it, Astarion grabs your hand and twirls you around yourself until your back is pressed against his body, his arms wrapped around you. “You need to relax, darling. Your shoulders are tensed and your jaw is clenched. And whether or not you meant it, I can feel your stress.”

You feel guilt for a second as you remember that after Astarion turned you into his consort, you were both able to speak silently to each other. You were also able to feel any strong emotion from the other, whether that be lust, despair, or in this case, stress. The guilt lasts only a second as Astarion is part of the reason you’re so stressed to begin with.

“Good,” you say with a bite, “it’s your fault I’m feeling this way.”

He releases his hold on you and spins you around to face him, and you look to the side to avoid his eyes. “What do you mean my fault.” He hooks a finger under your chin and moves your head to be facing his but you avert your gaze. “Love,” he says with a gentle sternness, “when I said that you would never need to worry or want for anything again, I meant it. Yet now you’re saying that I’m the one causing you despair?”

You sigh and pinch your brows, finally meeting his eyes as your hand falls to your side. To any other person, it would look like he’s looking at you with care, but you’ve been with him long enough to know that the concern he shows is due to his insecurity as an overlord. He gave you everything you’d ever want and anything you ever could want. He tended to your needs and would sometimes indulge you with domestic intimacy — handholding, caresses, and cuddles — anything to keep you happy. Although it’s not perfect, it’s his way of showing you love, and you appreciate it all the same.

“The planners don’t take me seriously and we’re a tenday behind schedule.” As you say this, a flicker of confusion crosses his eyes before it’s gone, replaced with a calculated smile. 

He leads you towards the bed, throwing the journal off to the side. “Little love, everything will fall into place,” he says while placing chaste kisses along your neck. “You don’t need to worry about this. Who cares—”

You push him off of you and stare at him incredulously. “Who cares? I care, Astarion. This anniversary banquet will be the first time all our friends will have the time to be together in a long time.”

He scoffs as he readjusts his night clothes. “We can always figure out another time to have your friends visit us. Besides, 17 years is a weird time to have any anniversary.” As soon as he finishes the sentence, his eyes snap up to yours as he feels the sadness from you, watching the tears start to form in your eyes.

“You’re unbelievable,” you choke out. He takes a step toward you only for you to take 3 steps back. Had he really forgotten?

“What? It’s true. Usually, anniversaries are every 50, 10, or 5 years. I’ve yet to see a celebration for a 17th anniversary, but since you were so insistent on it…” Astarion trails off as his eyes glaze over as if he’s lost in thought. His eyes are staring deep into your soul as you silently cry. It takes too long for him to remember, and as soon as he does, he looks genuinely fearful. “Our annivers-” he gasps.

You cut him off, making your way towards the notebook. “I need to be alone right now.” You push past him as he stands unmoving, his mouth opening and closing like a fish. “Don’t follow me,” you say as you slam the door behind you.

You quickly run through the hall, ignoring the questions from the servants. You make your way into the morning room that was recently turned into your own personal parlor. When you suggested holding the event planning meetings in the library, Astarion scoffed and brushed aside your idea. The next day, the room that received the most sunlight was bustling with servants moving furniture around. “What would everyone say if they saw my consort sequestered in that dreadfully musty library? Now, everyone will see your striking beauty as you command the room.”

You shake off the memory and make your way to your seat. Papers are strewn about the table, half of them containing illegible scribbles. You sit down and immerse yourself in the work until the dawn light starts to seep into the room. You decide to rest your head for a bit, your cheeks stained with tear marks and your eyes sore.

When you awake, there’s a blanket draped across your body and a glass of water on the table. You gulp down the water and shrug off the blanket before making your way to your changing room. You aren’t sure what time it is, but it’s surely almost time to meet with the caterers to finalize the menu. As you leave the room, you quietly thank the servant standing on guard for the blanket and the water.

He bows his head as he replies. “My apologies, Lady Ancunin, but it was not my doing. The Lord ordered me to keep watch after leaving the room.”

[baldursgrave69]

Watch Yourself - Mature

Rating: NSFW - MATURE, MDNI

Pairing: Enver Gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word count: 2.8K

Tags: MDNI, afab!durge, unprotected sex, piv, vaginal fingering, feelings, oral sex, bhaalspawn typical mentions of violence

While writing this I was listening to: The Summoning by Sleep Token

Find me on Ao3 here

Agnes impatiently tapped her foot as she waited for Enver Gortash to open the door. He had asked her to join him to discuss details regarding their plans to return to the Hells. She could hear his footsteps approaching, the lock on the door turning. Enver opened the door, a smile on his face as he greeted her. Agnes narrowed her gaze, his smile was suspicious, his eyes were beaming as he looked at her.

“I’m glad you could join me, come in,” Enver said, stepping aside to allow the bhaalspawn to enter. Agnes cautiously stepped into the room, immediately looking around for any exits. To her irritation, she noticed the only way in or out was the front door. Agnes surveyed the room, noticing a set table with two bowls of some kind of soup, chalices and a bottle of wine.

“This is unnecessary,” Agnes scoffed, crossing her arms.

“I disagree. It’s hardly wise to make plans on an empty stomach,” Enver said with a sly smile.

“I’m not hungry,” Agnes replied, eyes darting around the room. She felt entirely too exposed in the well lit foyer of his home, her hand resting on her dagger for safety. Enver chuckled, closing the door and walking towards Agnes. She eyed him suspiciously as he circled her, standing directly in front of the rogue.

“Your paranoia is unnecessary here. We’re partners, remember?” He said, his expression soft. Agnes was tense, studying the man’s demeanor. She was trying to decide whether he was being genuine or had an ulterior motive to inviting her here.

“Speak, then. What did you want to discuss?” Agnes huffed, removing her hand from her weapon and crossing her arms.

“Why don’t we sit. Not every interaction we have has to be about business,” Enver said, mild irritation in his voice at her immediate reluctance to join him.

“If we’re not discussing business this is a waste of my time,” Agnes grumbled, turning to leave. 

Enver reached out to her, grabbing her wrist as she turned to leave. Agnes froze, her skin almost felt like it was on fire from his touch. She turned to look at him, her free hand grabbing the dagger at her side.

“Agnes, just let me in. I’m not going to hurt you,” Enver said quietly, his hand still wrapped around her wrist while the other grabbed the hand that was on her dagger. Agnes stared at him blankly, unsure what to do. She couldn’t remember the last time someone touched her like this and she allowed them to live. Everything inside her was telling her to run, to fight her way out if she had to. But something told her to stay. She didn’t speak or move, she just stared blankly at the man in front of her. He led her over to the table, pulling the chair out for her. She looked down at the chair and back up at him. Enver chuckled, releasing her hands and placing one on her shoulder.

“Sit,” he ordered, lightly pushing down on her shoulder. Agnes complied, sitting down in the chair and folding her hands in her lap awkwardly. Enver sat in the chair across from her, pouring wine in each of the chalices. He pushed one across the table to her, gesturing for her to take it. Agnes did not move, she just stared at Enver Gortash across the table.

He lifted the wine to his lips taking a sip as he watched Agnes across from him. She sat still, hands resting in her lap as her eyes darted around the room, mapping it out in case she needed to escape.

“You’re always so… tense,” he said as he watched her eyes dart about. She snapped her gaze back to him, watching a smile cross his face as she looked at him.

“I suppose I am,” she admitted, trying to relax her shoulders which were practically attached to her ears at all times.

“Allow me,” he said, setting his chalice down and standing. Agnes instinctively went to jump up, only for Enver to shake his head at her as he approached the back of her chair. He placed his hands on her shoulders, pressing his fingers tenderly into her tense muscles. Agnes froze, she felt entirely too vulnerable with the Baneite standing behind her like this, his hands so close to her throat. 

“What are you doing?” she hissed, still feeling as if she couldn’t move.

“Just let me,” he said as he firmly massaged the tight muscles in her shoulders. The pressure caused a sigh to escape her lips involuntarily, her muscles were so sore from being so tight all of the time. She stiffened back up, feeling embarrassed at the sounds escaping her.

“Stop,” she hissed, trying to stand up. Enver pushed down on her shoulders, not allowing her to stand.

“No,” he said, continuing to massage her tight muscles. Eventually Agnes gave in, the relief she was feeling was too good to put up more of a fight. Enver used his forearm to press into the tight muscles, every touch releasing years of tension. Agnes closed her eyes, feeling relaxed for the first time in… well she couldn’t remember the last time she was relaxed. After a while, Enver stilled his massaging, but his hands lingered on her shoulders, his thumb rubbing small circles along the column of her neck. Agnes had her eyes closed, not noticing as he moved in front of her, kneeling down. She opened her eyes to find the man in front of her, his hand coming up to cup her jaw. 

“Watch yourself, Baneite,” Agnes spat, attempting to pull away from his grasp.

“Just shut up for five minutes,” he hissed, pulling her closer to him. He hovered his face over hers, his eyes darting to her lips, full and drawn over with black lipstick. She glanced down at his, her heart pounding in her chest.

Enver pressed his lips to Agnes’, she was surprised at how soft they felt against hers. The hand on her jaw moved to the side of her neck, his other finding its way to her hip, squeezing slightly as he deepened their kiss. Agnes felt dizzy as he kissed her hungrily, an unfamiliar desire inside her growing intensely. Agnes felt like her chest was on fire, she needed to feel him, to touch him. She let her hands wander, one coming up to cup the side of his cheek, the stubble on his gruff face tickling her palm. She felt the tyrant's tongue press against her lips, asking for permission to enter. Agnes parted her lips, her tongue dancing with his, exploring the expanse of his mouth. Enver grabbed Agnes’ arms, placing them around his neck. He scooped his arms under her ass, picking her up swiftly without ever breaking the kiss. Agnes wrapped her legs around the man’s waist, nibbling at his bottom lip, her hands tangled in his hair. He pulled away for just a moment, eyes darting around the room for a surface to place her on. 

Her eyes were wild as she looked at him, her heart pounding so hard she couldn’t think straight. Enver brought her over to his desk, placing her down and trailing sloppy kisses down her neck and chest. She groaned against him, one hand resting behind her on the desk.

“Do you know how long I’ve wanted you?” Enver said breathlessly, his teeth grazing Agnes’ neck as his hands wandered across her body. Agnes was too frazzled for words, moaning into him as his hand groped at her breast.

“Tell me you’ve wanted me too,” he growled, pulling away to look at her. Agnes rolled her eyes, scoffing as she put a hand on his chest to push him away from her. “Don’t be a brat,” he hissed, grabbing her jaw. “I see the way you look at me, Agnes. I know how you feel. I want to hear you say it,” he said in a low growl against her lips. She chased him with her own, only for him to pull away. “Ah ah,” he tuts, shaking her jaw slightly.

“You want me to say it?” Agnes hissed, wrapping her legs around Enver’s hips and pulling him towards her with unexpected strength. He nodded, his eyes half-lidded as he released her face from his grasp. She brought her lips up to his ear, a hand resting on the back of his neck.

“Ever since I first laid eyes on you I’ve wanted to cut you to ribbons. I can’t help but wonder what your blood would feel like flowing through my fingers, your insides spread before me like a work of art,” she whispered, her teeth grazing his earlobe. He let out a groan, pressing himself up against her, burying his face in the crook of her neck. Agnes could feel the growing tightness in his trousers as he rolled his hips against her.

“You’re disgusting,” she spat, grabbing his hair and pulling his head back so that he was looking at her. He had a sly smile on his face, his eyes zeroed in on her lips. She pulled him back into a kiss, all teeth and tongues as they hungrily devoured one another. Agnes had never felt a desire like this, a need to feel someone so close, to feel his heart beating and his blood pumping. She let her hands run across his body, trailing up his strong arms, feeling the hair dusting his chest as his shirt fell open slightly. She pulled away from him, tugging at the bottom of his tunic impatiently. He smirked as he removed it, pulling hers up over her head as well. His eyes trailed across her body, her bralette falling off of one shoulder. He pulled the other strap down, exposing her breasts to the air and causing her nipples to harden. 

“Fuck,” he growled, latching his mouth to her collarbone and sucking on the flesh until it stung. Agnes’ head fell back, breathing heavily feeling the Baneite’s tongue flick across her nipple as he undid her bra, tossing it to the side. Agnes instinctively rolled her hips against him, chasing any pressure she could to relieve the tension growing below. Enver brought a hand between her legs, pressing his palm into her and pulling a guttural moan from her throat.

“You make such filthy noises, you know that?” he growled, applying even more pressure against her clothed clit. Agnes pushed the man off of her, hopping down from the desk.

“Shut up,” she snapped, circling him and pushing him up against the oak, her dexterous fingers unlacing his trousers. He watched as she pulled down his pants and smallclothes, his cock springing free with a smack against his abdomen. Agnes pushed Enver back against the desk further, one hand wrapping around his length. His breath hitched as he watched her spit into her hand and pump it up and down him, her other hand coming up to rest on his throat. She swiped her thumb across his head, causing him to let out a whimper. Her eyes darted up to his, a smirk crossing her face. She swiped her thumb along the tip again, pulling more filthy noises from him. She squeezed his throat slightly, continuing to pump his cock as he shuddered under her touch. Agnes could feel an all too familiar ache in her head with her hand wrapped around the column of his throat. She removed the hand from his throat, trying to shake that unmistakable ache from her head.  Agnes dropped to her knees in front of him, licking a strip up the underside of his length. 

“Agnes, I-” he started, immediately cut off by the sensation of her mouth wrapping around him. Her tongue swirled around his length, taking him deeper with each bob of her head. Enver went to tangle his hands into her hair, but she pulled back, the absence of her warmth pulling a groan from his throat. She shot him a poisonous look before returning to her work. Agnes braced herself against his thighs, taking his length in one swift motion, her nose buried against the patch of hair at his base. Enver let his head hang back, his hands gripping the desk, whimpers falling from his mouth as she gagged on his cock. She masterfully worked his shaft with her tongue taking him as deep as she could. He began to rut his hips against the back of her throat as he was getting closer to his release, the feeling of her swallowing around him making him dizzy. Agnes slowly and languidly pulled her mouth off of him, pushing herself up from between his legs to look at him. He was a mess, his hair pushed to one side, sweat dripping from his forehead. He looked at her with his eyes blown wide, impossibly hard, his cock throbbing with need. 

“You’re pathetic,” she said with a smirk, wiping her mouth with her forearm. A growl escaped from him as he stood up, grabbing her hips and spinning her to push her against the desk. His fingers got to work unlacing her trousers quickly. He tugged at her waistband, wrenching both her pants and small clothes down to her ankles. Enver bent down in front of her, pulling her bottoms off swiftly. He looked up at her, pressing his hand against her knees to urge her to spread her legs. As she did he could see how wet she was.

“Do I really make you this wet?” he said with a proud smirk, dragging his fingers through her folds and admiring how visibly aroused she was.

“Gods, do you ever stop talking?” Agnes growled, grabbing him by his hair and pulling him into a kiss.

“Impatient, are we?” he said against her lips, picking her up and tossing her down on the desk, dragging the head of his cock along her folds. He lined himself up with her entrance, pushing his cock inside ever so slightly before pulling back out. Agnes groaned, pulling his face closer to hers.

“Don’t tease,” she hissed, wrapping her legs around his waist and forcing him inside her. She gasped at the feeling of her walls stretching around him, the sting of his cock splitting her open causing her head to fall back.

“Look at me while I fuck you,” Enver demanded, grabbing her face to look at him as he began pumping himself in and out of her cunt. She growled at him, locking her eyes on his as he picked up his pace, one hand bracing himself against the desk. 

“Gods,” she moaned as he bottomed out, the feeling of his head dragging against her walls wrecking her each time. Enver pressed his forehead to hers as he continued to pump himself inside of her, moans and grunts falling from his mouth as he fucked her, desperately chasing his release. Agnes had one hand bracing herself against the desk, the other coming up to rest on the back of his neck. The ache in her head rushed back as images of her strangling the man in front of her flashed into her mind. Agnes closed her eyes, wrapping both hands around his neck and pulling herself closer to him.

“Fuck, Agnes, I’m so close,” he breathed, holding her tightly as he fucked into her, his pace becoming more erratic.

“Come for me then, Enver,” she whispered in his ear, feeling tears stinging her eyes as she tried to bite back the Urge to strangle him. She felt his motions still as he grunted, spilling inside of her. 

“Hells,” he said against her neck, trying to catch his breath before pulling out of her. He leaned down to kiss her, but she ducked under him, grabbing her tunic from the desk and slipping it on.

“You’re leaving?” He asked breathlessly, watching as she pulled her clothes on and grabbed her weapons from the desk. She ignored him, sheathing her daggers at her sides and turning towards the door, pulling her boots on. Her head ached, she needed to get out of there immediately before she did something rash. Enver grabbed her arm, turning her to face him. She pulled her dagger on him, keeping him at a distance.

“Let me go,” she breathed, her eyes pleading with him. He released her wrist, his hands held up in defeat. He stood, still unclothed and speechless as she pulled her cloak over her head and rushed to the door. She took one more look at him before slinking out into the night air.

Agnes leaned up against the cool stone wall outside, taking in deep, ragged breaths. Her head swam as she tried to orient herself, the bile in her stomach threatening to come up. She knew she needed to sink her dagger into someone soon, lest she lose control over her body. 

[fkitwebhaal]

A thought that exists in my head: what if after Gortash reveals who Durge is, and what they really are, and everyone has their (understandable) reactions, Durge vanishes.

Everyone wakes up the next morning ready to tackle the revelations having calmed down a bit, but Durge is gone. Their tent, all their supplies, vanished. All that is left is a note that says:

“I’m sorry. I will fix it, I swear.”

Now, a Bhalspawn MIA is not the BEST situation and they do look for Durge, but the world is also ending and they got tasks to do. So they keep on questing between trying to find their former leader. And while they don’t find them, they know exactly what Durge has been up to.

Gale wakes up one morning and finds the book he needed from Sorcerous Sundries at the foot of his tent. Casually dropped off, like it’s just a delivery. The only addition is a note tucked in the front cover that says “I once ruined everything with this crown. See that you do not add yourself to that list.”

Raphael shows up at the tavern with the hammer and a smile. Lae’zel can take the hammer, sure, it’s all hers. He did want the crown, he still does, but now he has a Bhalspawn contract at his beck and call: it’s not the worst bargain.

Karlach goes to confront Gortash and when he tries to start his traps they just, don’t work. Someone has already broken in and deactivated them all. Gortash curses Durge for not showing up to kill him themselves when Karlach cuts him down.

Wyll finds his father walking into camp one day, deeply confused. Gortash was planning to take him somewhere when someone intervened and gave him control of his own mind again. They told him to come here. No, they didn’t come with him, why do they ask?

Shadowheart finds the House of Grief quiet and subdued. Mother Superior is dead, one of them tells her. The temple is in chaos and given that, Shadowheart can reach her parents without fighting her way through howling wolves.

Astarion is unbound from Cazador’s ritual by invisible hands and while he does not see who it is who came to his aid, he knows. When the fight is over and Gale casts “detect invisibility” his rescuer is nowhere to be found.

The party all converges on Bhaal’s temple. There in the center of the room, two Bhalspawn plan to duel to the death. The Dark Urge is beaten, exhausted and so very tired from everything they’ve done. They know this fight might end them. They hope their friends take out Orin, if they fail.

The look of surprise on their face as the party bursts into the temple, jumping into the fray with them, is something to behold.

[ghostwise]

in the gardens of Thay 3.2k words, Astarion/Durge cw: blood drinking, non-consensual illithid powers, bhaalspawn, bard durge In exchange for a taste of her blood, Astarion finds himself unexpectedly recruited for a part in Aya's charade.

Shadowheart pressed her hands over Aya’s head, smoothing down her dark curls with a rush of blue healing magic. For a moment the glow of the spell held fast—then it dissipated quickly, like rainwater on parched earth.

“It would be easier,” she said ruefully, “if we knew what happened to you.”

“It’s no great mystery, Shadowheart,” the bard murmured, her sulphur-yellow eyes closing. “You don’t cheat death and come away without some wounds to show for it.”

“But your wounds from the crash are healed.” There was a tinge of frustration to the cleric’s voice as she regarded the stubbornly broken head of her companion. “Your amnesia should be resolving by now. Unless it wasn’t caused by your wounds to begin with.”

A shadow fell across camp suddenly, as clouds drifted in front of the sun. Astarion blinked and waited for the warmth to return, and it did, moments later. He was still wholly unused to it.

“I’m open to any theories,” Aya said, a small smile curling her lips.

Shadowheart sighed and ran her hands through Aya’s brown locks of hair.

The Sharran was getting rather familiar, Astarion noted. Ironic, considering the cold image she tried so hard to project, but anyone could see that their resident amnesiac had become Shadowheart’s favorite project. One she doted on quite attentively, at that.

“There’s all sorts of magic that could cause it,” Shadowheart mused. “I think if the root were physical, it would already be resolved. And the druids know about physical ailments better than most, yet they too have been unable to help…”

“That doesn’t necessarily point to a magical cause. I could simply be mad.”

“You’re too lucid,” Shadowheart said, not even entertaining the notion.

Astarion bit back a laugh.

He could not truly tell if Aya was being manipulative, but he had to commend her either way. Shadowheart was a powerful ally to have.

Come to think of it, that was exactly what he needed: allies. More than these tenuous traveling bonds, he needed someone on his side. Especially if he planned on sticking around, which he very much did.

Mad or sane, Aya said nothing.

She only turned her yellow gaze towards him, inscrutable as ever.

.

Shadowheart did not understand madness. But Astarion fancied he did.

Madness was terrible and transient. You could be mad and make a life for yourself all the same, and blend in with the muck of the day to day, with some effort. He’d felt a little mad himself when he’d first awoken after the crash. He’d felt it when he was starving and when he was alone, too.

He was quite himself now, and for that he was grateful.

But it was enough to know that those things lurked within him still, cohabiting with that wretched tadpole and liable to exert their influence over him with the right trigger: hunger, pain, fear, grief. Such things were not uncommon these days. Tragedy could befall anyone, at any time, in an instant. The little tiefling bard was a stark reminder of this.

But if only he’d managed to lap up some of her blood before it’d congealed in the mud…!

Meanwhile Aya did not yet remember anything with the exception of her songs, and perhaps this too was a type of madness. She remembered more songs every day, and had lately spent hours plucking away at her lute, singing in her gravelly voice.

“I courted a lass in the gardens of Thay,

Her voice was honey sweet

And we hand in hand spent many a day

In happiness’ blinding reach.”

Her voice crooned softly in the night. Astarion heard it from his bedroll where he lay, awake and uncomfortable, trying to ignore the ache of hunger in his limbs.

He longed to hunt. But it was nearing midnight, and when she started like this she could go on for hours.

“I slaughtered my love in the gardens of Thay,

Her blood was a symphony

And her soft hands could not allay

All of my fury and grief.”

He weighed his options. Once they set off for the goblin camp, there was no telling when or how he would feed. Could he steal a few sips of goblin blood without anyone noticing? Unlikely, as everyone would be on high alert. This could be his last chance.

Outside his tent, Aya’s voice dipped softly, swooning through the night.

“An unsent letter in the gardens of Thay

The delicate writing reads:

‘My beloved I’ll never betray.

Your wicked bribes you may keep.’”

“Ooh, a drama,” he muttered under his breath. For a moment he nearly hoped she was done but the playing and singing resumed in yet another encore. He stifled a groan.

The songs were largely about people encountering the unexpected. Betrayed lovers, gold that vanished as quickly as it was acquired, curses and prophecies going awry. Many of the songs had a morbid slant to the verse. He did not recognize any of them.

He willed her to go to sleep, but of course, she did not. By the time everyone else was awake, Aya had not slept a wink. Nor, for that matter, had he.

And he was still hungry.

A vampire’s hunger was a terrible thing. It sat not in the belly, but in the heart, and it bled over every single part of him.

“Sleep well last night?” he asked Aya that morning, voice dripping with sarcasm.

“Like a dove,” she hummed.

A liar, too. What in the Nine Hells did that even mean?

Astarion frowned. He’d have to deal with this sooner rather than later.

.

It wound up being sooner.

The goblin camp was a veritable assault on all his senses: noise and grime and screams. The scent of smoke and blood pervaded the ransacked temple, and he hadn’t eaten in days. Aya had been up every single night, singing with her lute, leaving him no chance to steal away. Nonetheless, she exhibited none of the fatigue she should; instead, she’d carved a path through the cultists like they were butter and she a hot blade.

There was something more to the amnesiac bard, that was certain. This was not the first time she’d killed. The sight of her reveling in their enemies’ deaths was enough to make him very thankful they were on the same side.

That night, when it was finally safe to make camp, and when everyone had fallen into a heavy slumber, he crept towards her bedroll.

His hunger made it hard to think. He’d hoped not to feed on an ally, but he knew what happened when he was deprived of a meal too long.

Surely she was as exhausted as he, if not more, after her little rampage. She wouldn’t stir, if he was careful. If he only took a mouthful… he could make a small cut with his blade, to disguise the bite.

Too hungry to quell his instincts, he leaned in.

Then a calloused hand was at his chest, pinching the fabric in a vice-grip.

It startled him. He jolted away, but couldn’t move; he was stuck. Caught.

“Shit,” he uttered.

Aya was looking up at him, breathing fast, and something in her gaze made him wonder if she was awake at all.

“No- no, it’s not what it looks like,” he said, anxious as her grip tightened. She’d clutched a handful of his shirt and twisted it in her hand with shocking ease, holding him still and off-balance.

“I swear! I wasn’t going to hurt you! I just- needed-” The word tumbled out, surprising and honest. “Blood.”

Aya blinked slowly. Still keeping a firm grip on him, she scooted over on her bedroll and sat up.

“Of course,” she said slowly, her voice thick with slumber. “I’m beginning to understand now. How long since you killed someone in cold blood?” Her lips stretched back, forming a half-smile. “Since Alfira?”

“What?” Astarion yanked himself loose at last—or she released him—and he fell backwards. “No! I’ve never killed anyone. Well. Not for food.”

He looked at her, suspicion flooding his mind along with the deep-seated instinct to appease her. Why bring up Alfira now? He’d never gotten the impression that he was a suspect. He chose his words carefully.

“I feed on animals. Boars, deer, kobolds—whatever I can get. Alfira’s murder was senseless, without rhyme or reason… as you, no doubt, recall.”

There was just a hint of a challenge in his words, and he held onto this challenge resolutely, meeting Aya’s steady gaze with his own.

It was a mistake. He felt something at the edge of his mind—then in the very midst of him. He sucked in a gasp of air as Aya delved further.

“What’s this-?” He looked away as if by doing so he could flee from it. “What’s happening?”

He was being mined for truth.

He’d seen her do this before, without a single care. Seen her bend others to her whims without mercy. He felt a jolt of fear at the idea that he might suffer a similar fate.

His memories were shuffled through like one would flip through the pages of a dull book. Then it was over as quickly as it began.

“You’re being truthful,” Aya muttered. “But don’t act so virtuous. You feed on vermin because you have been forced to. Not out of some noble attempt at morality.”

“I…”

The weight of what had just transpired settled on him, and he realized what she must’ve seen, what she now knew. When he looked at her again he found her alert, inquisitive, albeit tired, with a deep-seated darkness around her eyes.

And there was pity in those eyes. Vile and unwelcome, yet, malleable.

“Yes,” he admitted, gritting his teeth and ignoring the frantic spasms of his starving heart. “Yes, I ate whatever disgusting vermin my master picked. So… you can see why I’m slow to trust you.”

He paused, and thought of the fresh link Aya had just forged between their minds. It was a two-way street, if that was how she wanted to play it. So, somewhat desperate, he gave a push back along the same bridge.

“But I do trust you,” he continued firmly. “And you can trust me.”

“Uh-uh,” Aya said, tapping at her head. “Out.”

“Oh, you started it!”

“No, you started it,” she snapped. “When you tried to feed on me in my sleep.”

The tug of war between their thoughts left him nauseous. “Fine!” Astarion wrinkled his nose and aimed a short-lived glare at her. “I propose a deal, then: No more tadpole powers from you, and no more attempts from me to feed on you. Cross my heart, hope to die, pinky promise and so on-”

“Deal,” Aya said evenly, and with the cadence of someone who surely was crossing her fingers behind her back.

But for now it would do. The uninvited link vanished.

She reclined on her bedroll, and Astarion nearly sighed in relief.

“I’m so glad,” he said, attempting to recapture some of his composure. He should have tried to make a meal of Wyll instead… but it was too late now. He aimed an amicable smile at her. “I trust this can remain, er, our little secret?”

Aya gave a steely nod.

“Thank you,” Astarion sighed. “Thank you ever so much. Well! That being settled, I suppose I should go find a rat to gnaw on or something…”

“Oh, please,” Aya scoffed. “There’s hardly any need for that. I’m right here.”

Astarion frowned. He watched her for a moment, but her meaning became no clearer for it.

“Come again?”

“You’re not well, Astarion,” Aya said quietly. “I could sense it, even before I touched your thoughts. If you can’t fight you’ll just drag us down. So… have your damn meal.”

“You’re… offering?”

“I’m offering.” Aya raised a brow. “Do try to contain your excitement. And take only what you need—not a drop more.”

“Of course,” Astarion said, still in disbelief. “I shall be gentle as a babe.”

He perched himself carefully beside her and felt along her neck. Anatomy varied from person to person; he needed to bite just the right spot, or he’d risk her bleeding out. Aya regarded these preparations with an air of amusement.

When he was ready, he pierced her sweat-tinged skin with his fangs. He was met with a bloom of salt, copper, and beneath that, something he couldn’t name.

Now came the graceless part. Not wanting to waste a drop, he angled his head and clamped around the wound, and drank slowly, but deeply. As the blood settled within him it ushered away his pain, filled him with strength… it made him realize he’d been hungry for months, years, decades.

He was already sated, but the sudden high made it hard to even consider depriving himself of a few more mouthfuls of her blood.

It was like being submerged in a hot bath. It was like a chorus compared to a single voice. There was a presence in it, an awe-inspiring shiver, almost reverent, as if it were not just he and Aya in the tent.

But who else was there, in Aya’s blood?

And should it be such a surprise how different it was from that of the animals he’d subsisted on all his undeath? Not that he had any real point of reference. As he searched the sensation, he felt that there was a message in the red. A message for him, he realized in shock, twitching a little and feeling a thick droplet slide out of his mouth. Aya’s distant voice singing a wordless dirge, and a deeper voice singing with her.

Oh, if he had just a little more, he could understand…

Aya pried him off like a tick, her hand clamped around his gullet.

“Greedy,” she slurred.

He snapped back to lucidity with embarrassing quickness. “Ah,” he said, a stupid syllable mouthed around the last drops of blood he’d taken. He tried to coax his mind back from incoherence, refocusing on her with ease. “Of course. I was just- swept up in the moment.”

He glowed. How wonderful. Was this what Cazador had deprived him of all those centuries? The other spawn would surely simmer with envy and hate if they knew how good blood could taste, how beautiful an afterlife could be; powerful, uninhibited and unstarved. He grinned, flexing his fingers. He felt awareness and keen insight from the very top of his white curls to the very earth below.

Aya, blessed blood, let out a giggle.

“Oooh,” she intoned. “Bit stronger than what you’re used to, huh?”

“Just a bit,” he admitted. “But it worked! I feel good. Strong. Happy.”

She smiled, pressing a rag to the wound to stifle its bleeding. “How nice,” she said in perfect monotone. “Alright. Fuck off now, please and thanks. I must clean up and get back to my perverse dreams.”

Astarion nodded slowly. He’d already pushed his luck and succeeded; no need to push further. As he withdrew from her tent, he glanced over his shoulder, driven to seek some sort of sentimental closure, to counter her rather abrupt dismissal.

“This is a gift, you know. I won’t forget it.”

.

The next day, Aya was unsteady as a newborn fawn.

Thankfully the bulk of the fighting was behind them. As the others ventured forth to pick off the stragglers of the goblin horde, Shadowheart stayed behind to tend to her project.

Astarion pushed down an uneasy rush of feeling when their return from the field found Shadowheart and Aya waiting. There was no mistaking that look—the cleric glowered at him, and from behind her, Aya watched him silently.

“A vampire,” Shadowheart said.

Astarion pursed his lips and looked at Aya, who shrugged with a meager smile.

“That explains the pallor,” Shadowheart continued. “Though it doesn’t explain what you were thinking, feeding off the weakest in our number. Do you think I’m throwing healing magic at her for fun for you to be sapping her strength like this, night after night?”

“What-?” Astarion stammered, but he could recognize an ambush when he walked into one.

“A vampire among us?” Lae’zel asked.

“Aya has been hiding her wounds. She succeeded until this morning. Apparently she’d lost too much blood,” Shadowheart explained.

As if on cue, Aya tugged the collar of her shirt down. At the very least, Astarion could pride himself on doing a tidy job. Two symmetrical little bite wounds were visible on her neck, perfectly placed and not unseemly at all.

Lae’zel recoiled from the sight. “Tsk’va!”

“Hunting with vampires!” Wyll exclaimed. “I never thought I’d see the day.”

“Settle down, everyone, please,” Aya said.

Astarion waited, half-annoyed and half-curious. What was she playing at? Her lie hung tenuously in the air, recognized by no one but he and she. But she was a performer. So he let her perform.

“He trusted me with his secret, and perhaps we should have told everyone sooner, yes… but I saw no harm in letting him feed from me, just a little. Just until he was no longer starving.”

Appealing to their compassion, she turned with her hands outstretched and her eyes wide with feeling.

“He’s been dedicating himself to hunting animal blood as much as possible, to keep from hurting anyone. Should he suffer for what he is? I didn’t believe so. Hopefully neither do you. He fed on me at the grove, and again, the night Alfira…” Her words trailed off, pained.

“So it couldn’t have been him that killed her,” Wyll concluded, watching the display with interest.

The charade clicked in Astarion’s mind.

“Whatever the case, should I wake with so much as a drop of blood on my neck, I will end him,” Lae’zel said.

“Fair enough!” Aya quipped. Before Astarion knew it, she was at his side, one hand gracefully alighting on his shoulder. “You needn’t worry about that. Right, my friend?”

“Right.” Astarion looked at her. Her smile twitched slightly, coaxing him to continue. “And I am terribly sorry for all this?” he added, and Aya squeezed his shoulder gently.

That seemed to do the trick.

As the others walked away to process this new revelation, Astarion set a hand over Aya’s, keeping her close. In the vacuum of truth she had created, it was easy to walk her away from camp, just enough to have a private exchange.

He looked at her, noting the self-satisfied look in her eyes.

“So. That was fun. But tell me something: Why did you do it?” he asked. “Why did you kill Alfira?”

She let out a woozy chuckle. “Not sure. She annoyed me. I think that must be why.”

“I see.” Astarion mulled it over. “That does sound pretty reasonable, actually. But I can do my own lying, you know. You could have… clued me in a little?”

“And you would have played along?” Aya tilted her head, exposing, for a moment, the sinewed shape of neck. Her eyes shone with interest. “Full of surprises, aren’t you?”

Against his better judgment, he laughed.

“I could say much the same for you. Stick around and you’ll see just how surprising I can be.”

[kawaiiocelot]

Hi! It is I, currently in possession of a query

How do you interpret Durgetash with Wren and Gortash? I'd love to see more about their dinamic!

HI HELLO THANK YOU FOR THE ASK EVEN THOUGH I AM A MILLION YEARS LATE TO ANSWERING IT!! I wanted to do more art for this but alas, I have been so busy and in my free time I’ve been working on writing and cosplay stuff instead!!

BUT!! WITHOUT FURTHER ADO!! Allow me to give some info on my personal version of Durgetash aka Wrentash or Wrenver.

Some of this is kinddddaaa subject to change since I haven’t finished Wren’s playthrough yet and haven’t decided 100% what his fate is gonna be hehehe.

To me they’re both such emotionally stunted idiots who fall deeply and grossly in love. Both finally finding someone else worthy of admiration and who matches their ambition. Someone to perhaps be an equal at last.

Ughhhhh I just love the Blasphemy of Durgetash, it's delicious.

Wren definitely feels A LOT of weakness and guilt as well as confusion when he starts to catch feelings for Gortash.

He’s definitely never felt this way about another person before. Just never saw the need to tbh. Never desired to. But with Gortash something clicked intellectually and physically.

I see them having some interesting build up, both trying to make sorts of things in their heads and if this is a bad idea. But they’re both so drawn to each other. They’re fated. (Sometimes I like to say fated to die together in every universe to make myself extra sad)

Pre-tadpole Wren is a little less deadpan and a little more freaky and fiendish tbh, BUT he definitely does not handle having romantic feelings normally.

Anyways he doesn’t kill him and lets his feelings torment him.

I think Wren never realized how touch starved he was until Gortash?? Like I never imagined physical touch to be one of his love languages but uhhhh it might actually be lol.

I always imagined Gortash being casually touchy with him at a random moment. Like a hand on his shoulder?? Or hands accidentally brushing together?? And this just HITS Wren. He feels a little feral. And I think they keep having moments like this. Gortash of course catches on. They keep pushing each other's boundaries and what not. Very back and forth, very playful, but still dramatic like a dance.

Constantly finding excuses to spend more and more time in each other's company. 

But I can definitely see them squabbling a lot and play fighting. 💕

And one day it just escalates into something more intimate,,,,,,

Lots of pent up feelings and ferality.

And I think something just SHIFTS and they really become something to each other. Not necessarily labeled but it’s SOMETHING and it's strong.

As I mentioned, Gortash makes Wren realize how touch starved he is so in time I think he becomes REALLY CLINGY with him. Wren is more of a physical being who prefers actions to words so I think he’d be all over him when they get to that point lol.

They both have their respective plans prioritized of course but they just can’t resist each other?? They fill some void for each other that neither knew they had and I think that’s why they become so attached at the hip.

Wren will?? Listen?? And somewhat behave for pretty much only Gortash??

Wren really likes to bite and claw and mark and I think most Durgetash shippers agree that Gortash would be into that. 🖤

Gortash chew toy confirmed.

 ANYWAYS I know this is getting long but I do have a few other quick tidbits about them.

I know they’re “serious baddies” and what not but I think they have many moments of just being silly and cringe and playful with each other?? To an extent?? Healing inner child vibes.

Gortash gifted Wren the dagger earrings that he wears.

Even tho they are very close, Wren still fantasizes about killing Gortash lol. Just Durge things. <3

TADPOLE WREN IS A BIT DIFFERENT. I’m still playing Act 3 so I haven’t decided how everything is handled. Wren obviously doesn’t remember him. :’) BUT he has this weird connected feeling to him still ever since Gortash’s name was first mentioned. He collects every note, letter, and book that contains Gortash’s name because reading the name makes him feel weirdly closer to remembering something. No joke, he steals every poster of him in the city as well (I can’t believe those things weigh more than a pound each!! My little twink does NOT have the strength stat to carry around much more LOL).

Upon meeting him again, Wren still does feel an inexplicable connection to him but also wants to hear him out because Gortash is the only one who allegedly remembers him but is genuinely not meeting him with immediate animosity?? And like, is actually giving him some slight answers about his past?? While everyone else just seems to want to confuse him or kill him. And he’s a bit of a control freak so he’s desperate to learn about his past and clings to anyone who can help him with this.

ANYWAYS THAT'S ENOUGH OUT OF ME FOR NOW!! Only time will tell what else I decide to write for these two but these are the basics~ They’re grossly and chaotically in complicated love.🖤

[shewhowas39]

rating: Explicit pairing: Astarion x f!durge (June)/OC fic summary: Between the nightmares, prophetic visions, and violent hallucinations, June is losing grip on reality, but she has enough awareness to know that Astarion's flirtation is part of some sort of con. He barely even likes her, after all. When she decides to call his bluff and play along, thinking he'll back down, she's surprised to discover that she and the vampire have more in common than either could have anticipated. And his touch might be the only thing that can keep her sane.

chapter title: Who Are You chapter summary: in which Halsin has answers, June makes a decision about the fate of Minthara, and we learn some definitely not tragic June lore. content warnings: canon typical violence, blood, mentioned (past) murder of children, self-loathing

A/N: here we go! time for some lore about this sad little durge - and also some Halsin bear!

***

PREVIEW

“You don’t remember me?” the druid asks. “I suppose it has been quite some time since I’ve seen you. You couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven years old at the time, but I’d recognize that hair and those eyes anywhere.” 

June stares at the remarkably tall wood elf, desperately trying to reach into the black abyss of her memory to find any recollection of this man’s kind face and wise eyes. But, much like with the familiar face of the man from June’s dream, she comes up with nothing. 

“Unfortunately, our sweet little Juniper tree here is quite the amnesiac,” Astarion says. “Try not to take it personally.”

“Amnesia?” Halsin says. “Oh. I’m heartbroken to hear that. Your grandfather was a dear friend of mine.”

“Grandfather?” June repeats. “I got a grandfather?”

“You did, though I’m afraid he passed on a few years ago,” Halsin explains, voice soft and full of grief. “He loved you and your siblings very much. He never stopped searching for you after…” He trails off, clearly holding something back, before asking, “Forgive me. I’m not sure how far back your memory goes.”

“Not even two full tendays,” June says as her mind reels, trying to process all of the words she’s hearing. “You said he searched for me? Was I missing?”

“Perhaps we should save this conversation for another time,” Shadowheart cuts in. She gives June an apologetic look. “We’re still surrounded by goblin cultists. And we still have these worms in our heads. We don’t have much time to chat.”

[moonselune]

How about a resisting Bhaalspawn fresh off being resurrected by Withers now having to contend with Minthara's mix of anger and fear from being taken by Orin. If it's too specific then either of those details (angy Minthy or post-kidnap Minthy) are fine too

Oh minthy my beloved xox

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Minthara x Durge!reader | Waking up after living the nightmare

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Your resurrection by Withers was a disorienting blur, but the memory of Bhaal's wrath and your murder was still fresh. The pain of your return was nothing compared to the torment of your lover’s reaction.

Minthara had always been possessive, but since your ordeal with Orin, her behavior had taken a dark turn. She was more paranoid, more controlling, and her anger flared at the slightest provocation. It was as if she was desperately trying to hold on to you, fearing that you would slip away again.

It was late one night when you finally decided to confront her. The camp was quiet, the only sound the distant crackling of the campfire. Minthara stood near the edge of the camp, her silhouette rigid against the dark forest.

“Minthara,” you called softly, approaching her. She turned, her eyes narrowing with a mixture of anger and worry.

“What is it?” she snapped, her tone harsher than usual.

You took a deep breath, steadying yourself. “We need to talk about what’s been happening between us. You’ve changed since… since I came back.”

Her eyes flashed, and she took a step closer, her fists clenched. “Of course I’ve changed! You were taken from me, killed by a god. Do you have any idea what that did to me?”

Her words cut deep, but you stood your ground. “I understand that, but you’ve been acting… differently. You’re paranoid, possessive, and it’s suffocating me.”

Minthara’s face twisted with a mix of anger and pain. “Suffocating you? I’m trying to protect you! Bhaal almost took you from me permanently. You have no idea how scared I was, how scared I still am.”

You took a deep breath in, knowing she was not going to like what you said next. "Minthara, I know Orin and you had a past, I cannot imagine what it was like being-"

"-Don't" Minthara cut you off, sharply, but there was something in her tone that made your heart break. "Just don't, I can't deal with that right now, I- I- need to focus on you. Please, let me-"

You reached out, placing a hand on her arm. “Minthara, I know you’re scared. I am too. But we can’t live like this. I am here, Bhaal is gone, Orin is dead, and we’re safe now. We have to find a way to move past this.”

Her eyes filled with tears, a rare vulnerability showing through her tough exterior. “You don’t understand. Losing you was my worst nightmare realized. I can’t go through that again.”

You pulled her into an embrace, holding her tightly. “I’m here now, and I’m not going anywhere. We’re safe, Minthara."

She clung to you, her body trembling with suppressed emotion. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice breaking. “I’m so sorry.”

You kissed her forehead, gently rubbing her back. “It’s okay. We’ll get through this together.”

Minthara’s grip on you tightened, and she buried her face in your shoulder. “I love you,” she murmured, her voice filled with a desperate sincerity. “I don’t want to lose you again.”

“I love you too,” you replied, your voice soft and reassuring. “And you won’t. We’ll face whatever comes our way, together.”

For the first time since your resurrection, Minthara allowed herself to relax in your arms. The fear and anger slowly ebbed away, replaced by a fragile hope. You held her close, knowing that while the scars of your ordeal would never fully heal, your love for each other was stronger than any darkness that tried to tear you apart.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: .☽ . :☆ﾟ. ───

Oh minthy baby, I'm so sorry to hurt you like this :( (I'm not I love writing you). Hope you all enjoyed this, I had to refrain putting "You're possessive and controlling blah blah... and not in the sexy way!" into it lmao. - Seluney xox

[cringecannon]

ive been reading ur posts for a while and i had a vision from god recently that i needed to share with like minds, so i hope this will be to ur taste... i've been trying to find others who i know this will appeal to (besides me)

but...... bhaalcest-- orin being incredibly possessive over durge and jealous over gortash and durge's relationship, so she changes into gortash when she knows durge is expecting him and has her way with durge, while they're none the wiser.

for the sake of everyone else (and urself) i wont get into the nasty gorey parts that really makes this so much better, i love me some knife"play" (is it really play if orin just outright stabs u) and woundfucking (that i really want to get into but!!!!! i have to find the right audience... hoping i can rant insanely about all that here i just didn't wanna outright plop it down when this scene is good by itself too LJDLASJFAL) -👻

To be fair, I already wrote about Orin fingering a wound. I’m all for insane fucked up knifeplay rants in my inbox. Anyway, obligatory Dubcon, Orin, and Improper Use of Gortash’s Body warning

Something’s wrong with Enver.

You only notice it sometimes. The look in his eyes is wrong, or his grip on you is far too tight. Whenever you mention the change in demeanor, he brushes it off. Or he gets angry. Yelling, throwing things, veins in his throat bulging kind of angry. There’s something wrong with him. The man you know wouldn’t act like this.

You love it.

You almost pounce on him the first time it happens, so turned on you don’t even bother removing anything but the bare necessities. He’s confused for only a moment, but quickly falls into place. You ride him until his eyes roll back, nails digging so hard into your hips that they draw blood. You leave your own bloody scratches down his chest, marking him.

Imagine your surprise when you get to see him again a few days later and the marks are gone completely. It throws you off- your hips are still bruised. You call him out on it, he waves his hand and says he had an image to uphold. He can’t walk around looking like he was attacked by a feral cat. The comment irritates you. You like seeing him marked up, proof that he’s yours. You reach for your knife subtly. You think he needs to be reminded of your real claws.

You’re frozen when instead an ornate dagger is suddenly held to your throat. That bastard. He’s stolen your trick.

He presses the point of it to your throat, drawing blood. You feel the warm drip of it down your skin and into your shirt. You should kill him for this. You should play in his guts while he begs for the mercy of death. However, feeling him cut through your clothes with no regard for your safety excites you more. Every thin slice into your skin as he hurries to get you nude is exhilarating. You’ll get him back for it, eventually. You just need him inside you.

He shoves you back hard, splaying you out on the table. You eagerly spread your legs for him, throwing your head back with a gasp when he bends down to lick the trail of blood all the way back up to your neck.

He groans into your ear, hips grinding against yours with a stuttered breath. He wants to savor your blood, forever remember it staining your pretty skin. He leans to the side to hold the dagger against your stomach, dragging the blade across it teasingly. The cut is thin, barely drawing blood. You arch your back, desperate for more. He laughs breathlessly, pulling the dagger away to instead hold it over your thigh. You ask what's gotten into him. He laughs again, biting down on your shoulder. He asks a question of his own- how far would you let him go?

The dagger dances on your skin and you writhe, holding back a grin. Anything. You'd let him do anything, so long as you could play with him too. He groans, mouthing at the junction where your shoulder meets your neck. Of course. It'd only be fair, he wants you to play in his blood too. Wouldn't it be divine, love?

He's never called you love, ever. You're not sure he's called anyone love in his life, but when the blade finally bites into your flesh... you can't seem to make yourself care. You just beg for more.

[imagineitdearies]

Hi dear, I hope you're doing great x

I don't think I'll ever find the right words to express how i feel about PS. I left a comment on the last chapter trying to explain but it'd need 100 pages so I'll leave it like that for now. I just wanted to say that Tyrus x Astarion is my favorite Astarion x OC/Tav/Durge in the whole fandom. I tried to get into many different variations of Astarion x Tav by other artists and authors but none of them felt "right" like yours. Tyrus truly is Astarion's soulmate, be it personality - wise, phisically, spiritually, emotionally. I'm so in love with him it hurts. You really had the fundamentals of Astarion's psychology and needs up your sleeve. And I'm just like Astarion, I have a weakness for sweet turned cruel because love and circumstances and smart characters and my addiction to Tyrus is currently dire. I can't stop re - reading PS and devour any extra content you put out.

Also I especiallly wanted to thank you for portraying SA trauma with such immense respect and maturity since many people have no idea how to do it correctly or worse, they treat it like their personal kink fodder.

I know you're dedicating your time to other projects now and you're already writing Astarion's POV and the drabbles but I was wondering if we'll ever get glimpses of their post - Cazador life? I'd love to know how they'd deal with their past and what they'd do with their regained autonomy and freedom to be individuals again.

Ps: not sure whether this should get asked on ko - fi or tumblr so I did both ahahah. Part of me wishes you could write a sequel, I'm not going to lie

Either way thank you for everything, I'm hugging you

Hi anon 🥰

Thanks so much for this message and for leaving a comment! Thanks to everyone who commented on ch40 btw, I’ve struggled to start responding to them in part because I wanted to have a general edit of PS done first (alas, with moving a decent distance, my job getting busy, and a bit of burnout, I’ve only finished part I), but also because I don’t want it to end really either, even if I know trying to write a sequel wouldn’t be a successful venture for me. Which is why I plan to continue writing “a flawed eternity” one-shots for quite some time to come! My goal of my own accord is to post a drabble at least once a month, though we’ve surpassed that thanks to a couple wonderful ko-fi supporters 🩵 So yes, plenty of post-PS glimpses to come! If you haven’t read them yet check out my pinned post, two of them do feature post-PS times 🥰

I’m so glad my portrayal of trauma and SA resonated and felt respectful for you. As for everything you said about Tyrus…well, it probably comes as no surprise to you all that I love him to death too, and had created him with the express intent to give Astarion a perfect pairing counterpart I didn’t find in the game, personally. It’s so heartwarming that many of you love him just as much too, now—this precious drow lad lives on in our hearts (and the occasional drabble, haha) 🩵🩵

Seriously, I can’t believe it’s been less than two months since PS concluded, I’m definitely not over it still and love chatting with you all about it 🥰 so thanks again for this ask anon, a big hug to you back!!

[littlelovelyra]

A Moment in the Weave (Fall of the chosen chapter 2)

Chapter two of the Gale xx Durge Female Tav (named)

Summary: After defeating the goblins and freeing halsin you and your party decide to rest before heading back to the grove. Gale invites you for a moment in the weave and some desires are shared in your connection.

"Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms. They promise things to come.”

Notes: Second chapter! I've been trying to give them a slow burn, I feel like this wont last very long because EVERY TIME I write from Gale's perspective its like hes telling me to just LET HIM KISS HER. So… maybe next chapter ;D

Warnings: Violence, Fluff, cuteness, slow burn, let me know if ive missed anything

AO3 if you prefer

_______________________________________________

Gale: 

As you and your companions journey back to the goblin camp Astarion matches his pace to yours, you glance at him puzzled as to why he is walking with you. 

“So, you and our dagger-happy friend have been… close.” His eyebrow arches suggestively as he waits for your reply. “Do I detect some sexual tension? Because if you need some tips Gale I’m more than happy to teach you a thing or two-.” You hold up your hand stopping him mid-sentence. 

“Astarion. There is no sexual tension, she is my ally… my friend. It may not come naturally to you but helping people is not as taboo as you think it may be.” You pinch the bridge of your nose as you talk in hushed tones with the pale elf. 

“Oh, then I suppose you don’t mind if I make my move, hmmm?” His smile is cunning like he’s trying to bait you into a trap. 

“If she wants you to make a move then who am I to stop her? I am certainly not her keeper.” At this point, you have chosen to keep your head forward ignoring his petty games. As you slow your pace you notice Astarion has moved forward to walk beside Kyla. He wasted no time in making his move. You think to yourself, slightly irritated and very frustrated. Out of curiosity you quicken your pace and listen to their conversation. 

“So, Darling, how are you faring?” He places his hand on her arm, gently squeezes it and puts on his charming smile. She turns to him returning his smile with her own but it does not quite reach her eyes. 

“As well as I can be. Is there something you need, Astarion?” Her tone is matter-of-fact and displays no interest in small talk. You softly chuckle as you watch him shake his head and excuse himself. As you walk past him and lock eyes you raise your eyebrows at him, Astarion scoffs at you, rolls his eyes and mutters something about him still having a better chance with her than you. Interesting. You think to yourself. Without thought you find yourself now walking beside her.

“Gale? Did you need something?” She turns to you and touches her hand to your arm. Her voice is soft and mildly concerned. 

“No, no I’m alright. I wanted to check in with you to see if we need to discuss anything before we arrive at the goblin camp.”  You bring your other hand to touch hers softly, assuring her you are okay. 

“Oh, no I think we all know the plan.” Her brows crease as she gets lost in thought as she stares at your hand.

You lower your hand and the two of you walk in a comfortable silence. After about thirty minutes of walking side by side, you arrive at the entrance of the goblin camp. 

__________________________________________

Kyla:

You make your way through the goblin camp towards the doors and enter the stronghold. It’s not long before you spot Priestess Gut waiting at the altar. After a brief conversation, you convince her to take you to her private quarters. This might be easier than you thought.

You waste no time unsheathing a dagger from your boots and pinning it to her back. “Say one word and I will kill you. Swiftly.” You whisper in her ear your words sound excited and you feel a wave of adrenaline course through your body. “How good it feels to press a blade to a creature’s skin again…” The thought rushes through your mind as your perception turns hazy. Your head twitches slightly to the left as a smile spreads across your face. You bring the blade up and swiftly run it across her neck and the sound of her gurgles sends electricity pulsing through you. Your vision blurs and a high pitch ringing starts sounding in your ears as the body drops to the floor.

“Kyla… Kyla…Hey!” You feel warm hands on your arms shaking your body, they travel up your face gently cupping either side and you feel their thumbs sweetly stroking your cheeks. “Hey… come back to me… there we go… hello.” Your vision slowly refocuses and you see Gale’s concerned face come into focus. His eyes have darkened with worry as he stares into yours. 

“Did I… did I blackout?” Panic twists your stomach, and your heart feels like it will beat out of your chest. Gale continues to hold your face, lazily running his thumbs across your cheeks, and your pulse slows. You raise your hand to touch his, close your eyes, take a deep breath, and ground yourself. When you open your eyes and meet his gaze, you see it has softened back to his usual rich brown.

“Well, yes, but at least you took care of the Priestess so… well done? I guess? If there is ever a time for those… urges to take over it is best when we are dealing with our enemies.” He tries to relax and a smile spreads across his face. His smile always makes you feel better. 

“As… touching as it is watching this moment unfold with the two of you, need I remind you we still have two targets left and the entire bloody goblin camp. You can continue eye fucking each other later.” Astarion throws his hands up dramatically and then drops them at his sides. 

Gale’s cheeks flush, he clears his throat and takes a step back from you trying to compose himself. “You have such a way with words, Astarion. I can see why everyone finds you so irresistible.” Gale bites back as he makes his way out of the room, the rest of you following his  lead. 

As you make your way around the building, Astarion stealthily cuts open all the war drums in preparation for the upcoming fights. And you finally come across a room with the Drow, named Minthara.

You quickly knock out Minthara and tie her to the table. Before leaving the room, you give the restraints a hard tug to ensure they are secure. Satisfied, you nod to the group and move on to the hobgoblin. 

As you enter the room you notice that Dror Ragzlin, the hobgoblin, is performing a speak with the dead ritual on a deceased Mindflayer on the floor. You nervously look to your companions and harness the tadpole’s powers to sabotage the hobgoblin’s questionings. You easily infiltrate and influence his mind, stopping him from gaining evidence against you. 

Talking with Dror Ragzlin has proven to you that this is a situation where the art of persuasion would not work. You mentally send a note to your allies to ready themselves for a battle through the tadpole’s connection. 

Gale slowly moves to the side of the Hobgoblin, glances at you and gives a small nod asking if you are ready to initiate battle. You nod your head in response and Gale wastes no time.

“Detono!” Gale yells as a thunderous wave knocks Dror Ragzlin off to the side sending him spiralling down a crevice. “Haha!” Gale exclaims loudly turning to you, his eyes beaming with pride. To the right, you notice a group of goblins heading towards the war drum and you ready yourself to interrupt their plan.

“I don’t think so! Perure!” Your voice calls out as a loud crack rips through the room and a ripple of blue lightning strikes down all three goblins. Turning back around you watch as a male sneaks up behind Gale, you grab your dagger and fling it towards him. It glides swiftly across the air and as it hits its target he releases a huff of air and falls back. Gale spins around looking at the male on the floor, turns to look at you and you notice his face is several shades paler. You wonder for a moment if he thought that blade was meant for him. 

You fight your way through the main area of the building where Priestess Gut’s thrown was and make your way to the cell where the druid is being held. A large brown bear breaks down the gates squashing a goblin underneath the heavy iron just as you clear out the last of the creatures in the room. The bear throws its head back and shifts out of form into a very large elf. Your eyes widen at the sheer size of him, you have NEVER seen an elf this big. The gods must have smiled on him the day he was born because surely this was some divine intervention. You feel Gale peer over at you as he clears his throat ripping you from your thoughts. 

The large elf holds your gaze as a charming smile settles across his face. “You must be Arch Druid Halsin?” You can feel your cheeks flush as he continues to hold your stare. “I’m Kyla, we were sent by the Grove to find you.I heard you are an unmatched healer, we need your help.” 

“Yes, I am the Druid Halsin, pardon the viscera, one should cherish all of Nature’s bounty but goblin guts are quite far down the list. Not only do you speak with a bear but you free it too? Haha, a true friend of nature or perhaps a lunatic. Either way, I owe thanks.” He extends his hand towards you, closes his eyes and a golden glow appears between you. The light disappears and worry settles over his features. “Oak father preserve you child, you’re infected, aren’t you? The Mindflayer’s spawn, but somethings different. You’re aware of the monster inside you, you don’t bow to the Absolute like the true souls do. How is this possible?” He watches you carefully.

You take the time to explain all that’s happened as you show him the artefact. “You weren’t speaking lightly when you said you needed help.” He says his voice sounding grim as he explains his findings on the tadpoles. “I’m sorry to say I can’t undo that magic, I can’t cure you. But that doesn’t mean I can’t help. I’ve heard that they send their captives to moonrise towers and they return as servants to the absolute. If you want to find a cure, you must head there to discover how the tadpoles are being manipulated. I will join you.” 

“The grove needs you. I’m afraid Kagha, driven by desperation, has been led down a darker path with the shadow druids.” You say softly breaking the news. 

“I feared Kagha would take things too far, I’ll deal with her once I return to the grove. I will meet you there and we can discuss the next steps later.” Halsin shifts his form as you nod in response and you watch him leave.

“Did anyone else think he is rather large for an elf?” The words leave your mouth absent-mindedly. 

“Large is an understatement.” Astarion chimes in. “I mean did you see his arms??” His facial expression almost seems bewildered. 

“I think you would be blind if you didn’t notice his arms.” You feel your cheeks flush at the thought and from the corner of your eye, you see Gale shift uncomfortably as he clears his throat.

“Yes we get it, he’s massive. Can we please just clean out this camp and then get some respite? It’s been a long day.” Gale pinches the bridge of his nose and closes his eyes, and you feel the subject needs to be changed. 

“You’re right Gale. Let's clear out the camp and get some rest.” You pat his arm affectionately 

Ridding the camp of the remaining goblins was easy, especially after befriending the ogres as they gladly came to help and had their fill. Before journeying back to the grove, as a group, you have decided it is best to rest here making sure no other threat arises. 

You enter the goblin camp building again, check on Minthara and she is no longer there. On the table, there is a note that says:

“You forgot about Misty Step, fools. When we meet again, you will die.”

Placing the note on the table you tell yourself that this is a problem for another day. Right now, resting seems like a great idea. You have taken out the entire camp and you are definitely feeling exhausted. As your companions set up their tents for the evening you notice that Gale is conjuring up a spell of some sort and it peaks your interest. You walk closer to his tent and notice that he has an image of a woman's face hovering over the palm of his hand. 

“Pretty.” Your voice is soft as you approach him.

“Oh! My, you startled me… I was miles away” Gale’s brow scrunches slightly.

“Is everything alright?” You make sure not to pry further about the face he was looking at but you hope he would explain further. 

“Just pondering what I lost. Mystra commands all magic. Salvation, if such a thing exists, is hers to bestow or withold. And yet, even now, more than I fear losing my own self and soul, I fear losing my command of her art. Magic is… my life. I’ve been in touch with the weave as long as I can remember. There’s nothing like it. It’s like music, poetry, and physical beauty all rolled into one and given expression through the senses… perhaps I can show you what I mean, by reaching into the weave together?” Gale holds your gaze, you take in the soft richness of his brown eyes and the glint of passion that dances around them as he talks about the Weave. 

“By all means, I’d love to.” You smile at him enthusiastically and watch as excitement spreads across his face. 

“Then follow my lead.” He confidently positions himself next to you. He moves his hands fluidly and a purple wisp of light shimmers. “Now you.” He turns to you and gestures for you to begin.

After watching his movement, you manage to replicate the same purple light however your hands do not move as gracefully as his.  A familiar feeling settles in the air, like a kind word and a kind touch at the same time, it feels warm and comfortable. As you turn to Gale his rich brown eyes are swimming with pride at your success. 

“Excellent! Now repeat after me: Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.” His voice is commanding yet smooth. 

“Ah-Thran Mystra-Ryl Kantrach-Ao.” You imitate the same tone as Gale but again, you cannot quite reach his expertise. The scent of rosewater and a sense of well-being envelops you, a sliver of the weave tastes sweet on your tongue. 

“Very good! Now I want you to picture in your mind the concept of harmony. As true as you can.” His pride swells as you watch the excitement on his face. 

What is harmony? This is something the hole in your mind cannot reconcile. As you close your eyes you begin to think of a moment in which you felt harmony. One memory springs forth, it was the moment Gale held you close in his tent the night you lost Alfira to your urge. Although you had done something terrible, in that moment, everything faded away. 

Suddenly waves of purple light encircle you and Gale and you sense the unmistakable presence of Mystra. There is something like the anticipation of a kiss, then the pleasure of being cloaked in peace. 

“You did it. You’re channeling the Weave! How does it feel?” Gale chuckles in unbelief and awe as he eagerly awaits your reply. 

“Magical. Sensual even.” Your face flushes.

“Oooh I know.” Gales's smile turns subtly sultry. You feel the back of his hand brush against yours and a wave of heat runs through your body. You turn your head to steal a glance and find him already looking at you.

As you stand there connected in the warmth of the Weave, the moment feels intimate and you linger a while longer. It is a beautiful night for intimacy you think to yourself as you and Gale gaze at one another. The weave is making you one, all you have to do is imagine your desire and Gale will know it. Your eyes fall to his lips and a thought flitters across your mind. You picture kissing him tenderly and then with passion. Before you can tame the thought you watch as Gale’s face turns a deep red. 

“I… I didn’t think…” he trails off as you watch quick-fire gusts of embarrassment, apprehension and finally… elation. “Sorry, I wasn’t expecting… But it’s a pleasant image to be sure! Most pleasant, in fact. Most welcome.” There is a moment where he lingers forward and before your lips could touch the Weave evaporates, and as it does the night feels cold and suddenly empty. 

“Oh, there it goes. How easily things slip away from us, no matter how hard they were in obtaining. Goodnight, I enjoyed sharing a moment of magic with you.” He places a soft kiss to your cheek and enters his tent. 

You stand there placing your fingertips where his lips made contact with your skin, still feeling the slight tingle they left. You close your eyes and hope that perhaps one day you will know his touch and a twisting nauseating pain churns in your stomach “Weak. To love is weak. Disgusting, you my child should know better.” The voice drowns the once peaceful moment you shared with Gale and you vow to yourself again that you will end these thoughts. They will not consume you, not when you feel so alive. 

____________________________________________________________

Gale:

How petty she is, ruining a perfect moment the way she did. You had almost kissed Kyla, once you learnt that she too felt the same pull towards you… your lips were so close but Mystra ripped the moment away from you the minute she dispelled the Weaves presence. She knew what she was doing, you felt her presence. It was her reminder that you could never have Kyla no matter how deeply you wanted to. The orb within you wouldn’t allow it. You curse yourself for the thousandth time of your folly. Greed, power and… “love” was what got you here… Love… if you can even call it that. 

How you wish you could take it back because, for the first time in your life, you feel as if someone genuinely cares about you. Kyla has been so attentive, even in the slightest shift of your mood she is at your side asking you if there is anything you need. She is so nurturing, which makes her urges all the more difficult to understand. How can someone as caring as her have such dark thoughts? You were not certain what the answer may be but you know that for her, you would walk down the darkest paths of Faerun if it meant saving her. 

You need to find someone to assist you with this orb issue, now more than ever. However, on the other hand, you know you have to have caution. One wrong move and it could mean the orb detonates. As you lay there with your thoughts it takes a while for sleep to find you but eventually it does and your dreams are filled with tender moments between you and Kyla. 

*****************

As the morning sun peaks through a slight opening of your tent you are awoken from your slumber by the sound of Kyla’s voice outside your tent. “Gale? Are you up?” She respectfully lingers outside waiting for a reply.

“I am indeed, is something the matter?” A wave of anxiety hits your chest and you pray to whatever gods are listening that she hasn’t murdered someone else in her sleep.

“Everything is fine… I… I made you a cup of tea.” Her voice trembles with nerves and you smile at the sweetness of it all.

“Come in! I was just thinking of tea. You must have read my mind.” You call out trying to compose yourself and tame the childish grin painted on your face as she enters your tent. 

As she enters you notice she must still be in her sleepwear. Your heart stirs seeing her half asleep and comfortable wearing the shirt you lent her. She hands you one of the two mugs she is holding and you gladly accept the hot beverage. She lingers a moment as if unsure if she should stay or leave. 

“Please, take a seat, some company would be nice.” You give her a warm smile and she sits opposite you. “Are the others awake yet?” You ask and take a sip of your tea.

“Not yet, it’s still quite early. I thought I should allow them to sleep, it was a long day yesterday.” She smiles sheepishly as she realises what she has just admitted to. And you can’t help but smile knowing she wanted to spend time with you. 

“Listen, Gale, about last night, in the Weave… I’m sorry if what I pictured offended or… startled you.” She bites her lip nervously as she lowers her gaze. 

“Offended? Gods no. I consider myself very lucky to have found you. I could not stop thinking about last night. That moment we shared… it meant a great deal to me. A stolen glance - that sudden heartbeat… Sometimes the little things are worth more than kingdoms. They promise things to come.” Your voice is low keeping this moment between yourselves. You watch her cheeks flush and a small smile appears on her face. 

“I like you very much, Gale.” Her voice shakes as she taps her mug nervously with her fingers.

“Well, Gale Dekarios, likes you too. Very, very much.” You want to kiss her but your concerns over power your need to feel her lips against yours. Instead, you reach your hand over and tuck a stray piece of hair behind her ear running your thumb along her bottom lip. Another flush stains her cheeks and you use every ounce of restraint to hold back. 

You hear conversations outside your tent as the rest of your companions have woken up and are making their way to organise breakfast. With a nod to Kyla, you signal that the two of you should join the others. Before exiting the tent you take her by the hand, pull her in for a hug and bury your face in her hair inhaling her scent. She smells of vanilla and lavender. You feel her nestle her face onto your chest just like she did the night she stayed in your tent after what happened with Alfira. 

You need to tread carefully, it’s not the right time to make a move with her. She deserves you at your best and right now you cannot give her your best with this orb in your chest. You have to wait until this is sorted. You are determined to do anything to rid yourself of this.

Hopefully, she will wait for you. 

[vinff7]

Wrote a short whump fic for Durge/Gortash because I just love torturing those two. Is AU and altered the control Bhaal has on the Durge a little.

Summary: Rather than Orin tadpoling Durge, Bhaal wanted to take a more hands on approach to the punishment given his failed weapon.

Warnings: not to descriptive torture, bone breaking, and implied non-con.

Have fun!

——————

Rather than Orin tadpoling Durge, Bhaal wanted to take a more hands on approach to the punishment given to Durge. Orin being able to shift into Gortash to take down Durge with ease is proof that he weakens him so Bhaal demands Durge kill him if he wants a chance to reclaim his heritage.

Durge tries to bargain, explain the plan to his father and insist Gortash will die; it just needs to be later. When Bhaal continues to press Durge pleads and begs him not to ask it of him, that he’ll murder anyone and anything else. Bhaal declares sacrifices need to have meaning and Gortash is the one he demands. At this point Bhaal starts to torture him as well, reminding Durge that he created him and can unmake him just as fast.

It eventually devolves to Durge realizing no matter what torture he is put through or what reward is promised, none of it would be worth it if it means Enver was dead. He and Enver had contingencies in their plans if one of them dies. He knows even if Bhaal kills him Enver will still succeed. The dream of ruling was one he knew Enver could accomplish with or without him. He trusted Gortash would see their dream through as long as he lived. Bhaal’s torture and threats of debasement mearly steel Durge’s resolve to refuse his farher in his demand of killing his partner.

Enraged, Bhaal has Orin take Durge away to be punished and breed as that’s all he is good for now. She takes him to a cave by Moonrise towers near the growing army Ketheric is gathering. Durge is tortured and tormented by the monsters in the army but his primary purpose was when he would be drugged into a frenzied state and breed, spreading Bhaals seed through many in the abhorrent army of the Absolute.

—

Many months later Gortash hears rumors of a Bhallspawn breeding in the Absolute’s ranks and investigates. Finds his lover chained to a wall, emaciated and mutilated. As he goes to free him Durge seems to have a seizure, violently thrashing and convulsing until his eyes glow red as Bhaal possesses Durges body.

“Ah, the Banite who ruined my perfect vessel. I hope you know he is here because of you. My perfect blade weakened by sentiment. A weapon that won’t attack is worthless, and no matter how I forced him, he refused to strike you down as I commanded. Wouldn’t lay a finger on you let alone murder you in my name, no matter what I would do to him.”

“So have your fun with him now, if you mean to rescue him, fine. Just know that while you stole My Blood’s heart and mind, I own his body. I created him and can torment and claim his soul when I see fit. But don’t worry I don’t plan on killing him, not when you can kill him for me.”

“This boy endured 8 months of torture to avoid the risk of killing you in my name. I’m itching to know how long you will let him continue to suffer before you murder him for me.”

As the haunting voice fades Druges eyes flicker back to his own, Gortash can see the relief and love mixed with fear and pain in his glossy eyes “Enver.” He whimpered out blood dripping from his lips before his whole body tenses again as he screams. As though to prove a point of the amount of control Bhaal has over him Durges legs twist and crack. Durge hyperventilating as his tibia bones snap inside his legs. Gortash curses reaching to try and help but Durge screams as wherever Enver touches reacts to Durge skin like acid, burning him as he tries to carry Durge away from this torture chamber.

[baldursgrave69]

3 in the Mourning

Summary: Enver Gortash is gripped by the loss of Agnes (the Dark Urge). Her memory lingers in everything he does, the grief is overwhelming.

Pairing: gortash x fem!durge (named)

Word Count: 1.2k

Tags: heavy angst, grief

While writing this I was listening to: While writing this I was listening to: Creatures in Heaven by Glass Animals

‘Scared of the crack where the light comes through, I'm only really me when I'm here with you’

Agnes traced her fingers along Enver’s face, down his cheek and across his lips, smiling to herself as she took in every inch. In the dim candlelight, shadows danced across their skin as they lay bare with one another, Agnes lying on top of him, one hand resting on his chest. She hummed to herself, her finger tracing over the bump of his nose.

Enver sat still, the tenderness of her touch causing him to hold his breath. Agnes was a lot of things, intelligent, clever, beautiful, lethal, but not tender. Not often. He could watch her like this forever, deep grey freckles peppered across her skin. The black tendril tattoo on her face was nearly hidden by a wave of raven hair falling over her eye. He lifted his hand, tucking the silky hair behind her ear and gently stroking her cheek. He wanted to savor the moment, to be in this moment. She leaned into his touch, her finger falling to his lips as she smiled at him. They stayed in comfortable silence, hands wandering as they lay entangled together, mapping out each other’s bodies as if trying to memorize one another.

“What time is it?” Agnes asked, peering over to Enver’s night table at a pocket watch. It was nearly 3 in the morning.

“Too late for you to have me awake,” Enver chuckled, his fingers kneading into the plush flesh of her backside. She rolled her eyes, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. He chased after her, cocking an eyebrow at her as she pulled away. Agnes nuzzled her nose to his before dropping her head to his chest, one hand tangled in his hair.

“I’m only really myself when I’m with you,” Agnes said, her head leaning against Enver’s bare chest, listening to the beating of his heart. She twirled a piece of his dark hair in her fingers, eyes closed as she took a deep breath.

“What do you mean?” He asked, wrapping his arms around her, his fingers ghosting across her back.

“You don’t cower when I reach out for you. You aren’t scared off by my… tendencies,” she said with a sigh, nuzzling her face against his chest. “I can just be with you. I’m not The Dark Urge, I’m not Bhaal’s Chosen. I am just me, just Agnes,”

“I like ‘Just Agnes’,” Enver said, his fingers carding through her long hair. He felt her pull herself up closer to him, her arms wrapping around his neck. She looked at him, her expression turning more somber than before. Her gaze dropped as he felt her stiffen up, attempting to pull away from him. He held on to her, letting out a sigh. He knew that expression all too well, the way her demeanor shifted and her gaze dropped. She was thinking about the inevitable end to the two of them. She usually was.

“Don’t do this, not now. Just be here, be in the moment,” he said, holding on to her tightly. She looked back up at him, her good eye finding his gaze. He pleaded with her silently, his thumb resting against her bottom lip. Agnes took a deep breath, pressing a kiss to his thumb before nodding and resting her head back on his chest. Enver held her as closely as he could, feeling her relax back into him. He sighed in relief, cradling her head against him.

Enver opened his mouth to say something, but the words disappeared into thin air.

Enver awoke in a cold sweat, his hand falling to the empty space in his bed. A small dip where Agnes once would lay was now cold and empty, his fingers gripping the sheet in frustration. He wondered how long these memories would haunt him, trickling their way into his subconscious over and over again. Waking him out of a dead sleep with an ache in his chest.

3 in the morning. It was always 3 in the morning.

He’d only said it once. Such small words, they flowed off of his tongue so easily for her. Love was not something he was sure he had felt before. It was a weakness, a distraction. He had used those words, ‘I love you’, plenty of times in manipulation, of course. He knew what love did to people, how it clouded their judgement, how easy it made it for him to get what he wanted.

It clouded his judgement, too. Agnes’ sheer presence was enough to distract him, his eyes falling on her in meetings where he was meant to be paying attention. Feeling her foot nudge his under the table, a smirk crossing her lips as she watched the way he reacted to her touch. It was a visceral reaction, the feeling of her touch electric against his skin. Now she was gone, but her memory lingered. His breath would hitch at the sight of her belongings, a dagger hidden under his pillow, that red dress he had convinced her to wear hanging in his closet. He couldn’t get himself to get rid of them, though it might have made things easier.

Wherever she was, if she even still was, he wondered if his absence haunted her in this way. If she felt the same pang of grief that would tear through him, knocking the air from his lungs. He hadn’t imagined heartbreak to be so incredibly loud, leaving him feeling even more hollow than before. Each time taking something else with it. He felt himself become more numb as the days passed, feeling her slip through his fingers as he struggled to recall the finer details. Enver cursed to himself, sitting up and resting his head in his hands.

Why did everything remind him of her? Each success in his grand plan felt that much less sweet with her gone. Each step closer to victory was marred by her absence, nothing felt right anymore.

Enver stood from his bed, walking towards his desk. On it sat a journal, the binding stretched thin from papers stuffed inside. He reached for it, carding through the pages and landing on a neatly folded piece of parchment. Enver sank into his desk chair, unfolding the paper and laying it out in front of him. A sketch of the Banite sat at his desk, hearts littered about in red ink. On the bottom of the page in neat, small writing read

“-From your favorite assassin”

Enver traced his finger along the words, her handwriting was surprisingly neat and orderly. You’d never guess the destruction she was capable of by the way she wrote so beautifully. He could feel anger boiling inside as he thought about the night Orin informed him of Agnes’ undoing. How the changeling came to him covered in bits of her, flitting about his room and causing destruction. He slammed his fist on his desk, folding the drawing back up and shoving it back into the journal. He grabbed the book, standing swiftly and walking towards the crackling fire place across the room. Enver stood, watching the flames, holding in his hand the most real pieces of her he had left

Perhaps burning what was left of her would bring him peace. Maybe it would stop the dreams, the thoughts, the grief. He held it out in front of him, watching the light from the fire flicker off the worn leather cover.

“Damn it,” he hissed, pulling the journal to his chest. He couldn’t. This was all he had left of Agnes.

He couldn’t get rid of her like that, like Orin had.

[mournmeal]

Good evening my mourning doves! I’m in the market for some longterm roleplay partners / friends for Baldur’s Gate 3! Please read it all to avoid confusion BEFORE reaching out. If this all sounds good to you then feel free to message me! I won’t bite. …. I’ll bite you if you ask. THE VOICES. Sorry it was my demons.

Also wanted to add just in case this may apply to someone’s interest, if you are seeking for a Tav ( or Durge ) to write with, are fine with them being a woman and you are wanting to write Astarion ( Spawn or Ascended ), Raphael, Haarlep, any of them you can also reach out to me!

( And for anyone who finds this and recognizes me, I promise to work on your reply early tomorrow or at some point tonight. )

ABOUT MYSELF :

• I’m 24 and you can call me Asta. Any pronouns are fine by me.

• I will only write with adults who are 20 and will gladly accept older. Please do respect this boundary.

• I’d say my style is Multiple Paragraph Novella. A sucker for details and tend to get carried away when enjoying the roleplay. No need to match length, but do give me something to work with. I write in third person.

• Currently unable to work, but have intentions to work from home. Though this means I will be very active. And at ungodly hours …

• I have decided to no longer be ghost friendly. This goes for myself and others. So, to avoid wasting handing out my discord I’d prefer we feel each other out before that exchange. If I get busy with anything I will properly give a heads up. Should I be away for a long period of time.

• I am comfortable writing mature content ( whether that be dark themes. containing violence, blood, dead dove, to smut. ) However I do not want mainly smut focused roleplays. And I do not want to be thrown in head first into smut. Rich Plot with smut my beloved. THOUGH we can still make nsfw headcanons whenever we please.

WHAT I OFFER :

• A longer term writing partner and friend. I’d love to vibe with you ! Match each other’s energy. I don’t want the connection to be transactional. Let’s bond over our silly little game with our silly little characters.

• Love writing OC x CC. And would love to hype up the ship of your Tav / Durge with the character you want.

• Currently accepting double ups! I am more than happy to play any origin character you desire. Or any other characters. Examples being Rolan, Raphael, Haarlep, you get the idea.

• Parings can be MxM. FxF. FxM. NBxF. NBxM. Whatever! This is a safe space. Trans Tavs/Durges are always welcome!

• Me being absolutely down bad for your Tav / Durge. I will hype that babe up like my life depends on it. If you can’t tell, I adore when people create their own characters and give them lore. Flood me with pictures of them, with your headcanons, ALL OF IT. I crave sustenance. Me having to resist the urge of saying our Tav’s should kiss.

• We can have our own little discord server to send moodboards, headcanons, music, videos edits, and the list goes on. Let’s gush over our characters and ships like insane friends do. Literally. Go crazy. I will chime right in any hour. … As long as I’m not napping.

• I enjoy sprinkling other characters into my writings to really help set the scene or add some more depth / detail to our storyline. So if we end up in a situation where they are needed or if we just want them there from time to time for plot - I can do that.

• Also? If you have BG3 on computer WE SHOULD PLAY IT TOGETHER SOMETIME. Let’s go create mass chaos. But be warned I do encourage trying to fight everything.

WHAT I’D LIKE :

• Honestly damn near everything I already stated above. LMFAO.

• Longterm writing partners / friends only. Consistency will be important. As I’m also going to try and be that way too. So if you know you ghost don’t bother.

• I’d like to write as my Tav / Durge who is a female. ( I plan to make more with various gender identities for other runs! And sexualities. This one is pansexual.)

• For her love interest in think maybe Astarion? ( Spawn or Ascended. ) Raphael? Haarlep? My answer may change depending on my muse at the moment so who knows. ( You can still want for me to write as them for you! )

• Would love for our Tav’s / Durge’s to interact! Love making headcanons for them. Creating a dynamic for them.

• Anyone who wants to write dark themes here and there! Dead dove is allowed! We just need to discuss it of course for each other’s comfort. Eat up whatever drama we want going on.

• Speaking of drama. Should you want some where some other character seems to have eyes for your Tav / Durge to get some jealous action … I will fuel that fire. As I’ve said before. We can go crazy. It’s roleplay, let’s have fun!

• Let’s make moodboards, throw / bounce headcanons, share music, create au’s even, whatever we want.

• If anything else comes to mind I’ll throw it here or in our messages. But yes. Message me if interested!! Look forward to meeting you!