#oh and violence cw

[grandwretch]

a scene with absolutely no context just hit me v intensely out of nowhere but. imagine a world where Steve's dad is just a little more powerful, a little darker, than in canon. and this mr. harrington doesn't know his son has spent the last five years fighting for survival, so when he finds out steve has been running around with the munson boy, he thinks it'll be an easy fix. steve has always been a soft sell.

he gets a call from steve, his son's voice giving him no time to even answer: "you pull that shit again, I'm sending the next one home in a body bag."

before he can even put down the phone, dial tone already ringing on the other side, he gets the message that the heavy he sent to intimidate eddie munson is in their medic's office with two spiral fractures and a shattered kneecap.

maybe steve could have gone into the family business after all.

[lizardsfromspace]

After literally every act of mass violence in the US people find posts from the culprit saying "I am a huge racist and antisemite who also hates women and queer people. I love every far-right conspiracy theory, Nazis, and Donald Trump" and then everyone throws up their hands and goes "how could this happen? There's no easy answers...truly we can never understand the mind of evil..."

[samglyph]

Ghost Hunter AU Part 2/2

Prev

For @malevolent-monthly , IDs in alt text by @shadow0haven

Thanks for reading ;)

Tip Jar and Commissions

[choctalksalot]

a dirk jake? how will dirk get ajake . now

[wildflowercryptid]

DETECTIVE GRIMOIRE : V FOR VALEDICTORIAN, coming 20XX!

with summer fast approaching and graduation a mere week away, the growing excitement at chumbridge college had quickly morphed into anxiety when that year's valedictorian, victoria valentine, is found dead in the campus's grand auditorium. grimoire and sally are called in to get to the bottom of things, but will they be able to successfully navigate the secrets of the storied campus and the complex interpersonal lives of its students & staff? perhaps, the keen eye of a certain junior detective could help with that...

finally finished up the character line-up for my dg fancase. coming up with 10 unique character designs was one hell of a challege, but i had a lot of fun creating these guys! i'll try sharing more about them soon, (probably after a rest my hand for a lil bit lol)

[ character names (and roles) from left to right : sally spears & detective grimoire (detectives), j.b. decker (librarian), drew decker (junior detective), charles cadwell (chancellor), victoria valentine (valedictorian/victim), angie archer (archivist), harris henly (heir), georgie grover (groundskeeper), donna dowdy (dorm mother), dr. conrad caligari (counselor), hugh henly (benefactor) ]

[luck-of-the-drawings]

FOR A BEAT OF HEART, THE BREATH IS SHOT. AND WITHIN A BREATH, THE HEART IS CAUGHT. THE PIPES ARE BURSTING, UNDER GREAT STRESS, BOLTS TORN ASUNDER, MAKING A MESS. A FINAL COUGH, A FINAL RETCH, A GOREY SLOUGH, CLAIMED BY WRETCH.

[flymmsy]

Durgetash Baby (Headcanon/Bullet Fic)

The Dark Urge sees Enver Gortash with his child in his arms. Notes: Dark. TW infanticide (Non-descriptive but could be triggering for some). Nsfw. Slight dub-con but ultimately consensual. Imagined with a fem Durge in mind.

I can absolutely see Gortash in an arranged marriage situation which Durge would of course have very complicated feelings about. ‎‎‎‎‎‎ㅤㅤ

But Gortash is not one to shrug off appearances. He fulfills his husbandly duties and his wife provides him with an heir. ㅤ

Throughout the pregnancy, Durge is very distant. The violent urges and jealousy (which they tell themselves is merely due to their Bhaalspawn breeding instinct) are an extreme threat to their alliance with Gortash. ㅤ

When the child is finally born, Durge and Gortash fall back into their old routine for a time. Patriar children are rarely around their parents anyway, Durge does not anticipate it to be an issue. ㅤ

But one night, Durge slips into Gortash’s chambers (through the window, as they usually would), and sees him with the child in his arms. A tiny babe. And Gortash speaks to it like it is the whole world, like he would give it the whole world. Durge slips back out completely unnoticed. ㅤ

The next thing Durge can remember, it is night again and they are standing in the nursery of Gortash’s estate, their hands covered in blood. The Urge begins to recede from their mind, and they faintly hear a woman’s scream receding down the hall. ㅤ

By the time Gortash arrives in the doorway, their mind is clear. He is measured, but there is something in his eyes that Durge has not seen before. Boots clatter down the hall, but they are waved away by Gortash as he steps inside and closes the door. ㅤ

Once they are alone, Gortash lunges forward. Admittedly, it catches Durge by surprise, and Gortash gets much further than he should in his attack because of it. They slam into the ground together, a flurry of fists. It is their first real, physical fight against each other. ㅤ

All movement ceases when Durge's knife glints in the dim light. They have managed to get Gortash beneath them, knife pressing into his throat. He is covered in streaks of blood - his blood, Durge's blood, and the blood of his child. ㅤ

Durge's head is pounding as they begin to roll their hips against Gortash's body, knife still firmly at his throat. His voice is venomous as he chokes, "What are you--" ㅤ

"Mine." Durge's voice is sharp and dangerous as they press their hips down harder against Gortash, "You are mine, Gortash." ㅤ

They throw their knife to the side and replace it with their hand around Gortash's throat, the blood of his child on their hands now mixing with his own from his wound. Anger still burns in his eyes, but he does not move. Durge knows this - knows him - knows he is assessing, trying to understand. ㅤ

They kiss him then, but he remains stiff against them. It is only when their other hand begins to slide down his body does he begin to stir. ㅤ

"You are mine, Gortash," Durge repeats, a whisper against Gortash's lips, "And your children will be mine." ㅤ

He pauses for just a moment longer before meeting them in a suddenly charged kiss. Durge is unsurprised to feel him harden quickly at their words. ㅤ

He takes them there, on the floor of the nursery. He brutally fucks his seed into them, a demand for a child to replace the one he lost. ㅤ

The Dark Urge is satisfied, but they are never truly forgiven.

[thecruellestmonth]

Do you guys really believe that killing is the singular bad thing that cops do?

Or even that killing is the most frequent bad thing that cops do?

Are you saying that if cops didn't kill, then they'd be the same as Batman? Because then you're suggesting that effectively Batman already is a cop, with the exception that he hasn't killed (just like the majority of U.S. cops, who have never once shot or killed anybody).

I'm a bit worried to see opinions suggesting that only killing is wrong—and that violence, stalking, and humiliation are okay. In real-life, police commit countless acts of those "little" abuses, terrorizing entire communities, before they murder anybody.

Invading people's privacy is wrong. Hurting people to the point of hospitalization is wrong. Forcibly drugging people is wrong. Putting people in cages is wrong. Torture and "enhanced interrogation" are wrong. Ambushing people in their homes and safe places is wrong. Keeping inexhaustible wealth is wrong.

Superhero comics are power fantasies. Not all fantasies need to reflect our ideology in reality. But once you apply your real-life values to fiction, once you decide that fiction showcases exemplary real-life ideology—then your praise for Batman's ideology does become a worrying reflection of your real-life understanding of social issues.

[jack-o-phantom]

If Chime got sharp teeth..will he bite you?? I'm hoping that's not a thing he can do. I can just see him ripping someone's flesh from their arm or something. Scary thought besides having back surgery.

Nope! Chime cannot bite staff or visitors, as scary as he seems he's not particularly an animal. Which is strange to answer

But why can he hug? Because to his system, that doesn't seem outright "violent", biting would register that way however. As bad as his safety protocols are at the moment, he'd lock up before anything happens

which is an inconvenience sometimes

[miasmaghoul]

oh swiss and the ghoulettes definitely stalk the sisters of sin together that’s become canon in my mind after you reblogged that hunter’s moon video

Now THERE'S a fun idea.

Creepy, evil murder ghouls under the cut!

They choose her together.

She's a young thing, willowy and pale. She never sees them, but she can feel their presence. The pressure of eyes on her, making her heart race and her palms sweat.

The song is the worst part. Lilting words in a language she doesn't have a grasp of yet, too new to have it memorized. It follows her, she swears it. In the halls, on the grounds, even in her room at night. She doesn't sleep anymore. Not since her window started to rattle in the dark.

Still, she never sees them.

Never sees them sitting in the rafters of the chapel, watching her kneel and pray. They, of course, take full advantage of her obliviousness.

Swiss uses his shadows to obscure them all, and to snake down the wall. Uses them to lock the heavy wooden doors to the ornate chamber they're haunting, her one route of escape. If she heard the bolt slide, she doesn't show it.

Cumulus and Cirrus send phantom breezes to rustle her habits, sourceless wind that makes her jolt. Makes her look around with wide, baggy eyes. It's been weeks since she slept through the night.

Sunshine pulls the light from the room then, the warmth pouring through massive stained glass windows fading away. Aurora adds her own icy chill, an uncomfortable stillness settling into the air. The sister shivers, hugs her chest and heads for the door.

Swiss's shadows track her, melting into her retreating silhouette to. He can taste her fear through them, can her her racing heartbeat. Can feel her breath stutter when she pulls the door and finds it immovable.

"No," they hear her whisper, rattling the heavy iron handle, "no, no no -" She pounds the door with a closed fist, shouts for help. A fruitless effort, the ghouls know. No one will answer. No one ever does.

She tires quickly, so exhausted from weeks of torment. Of invisible eyes and shivery voices. Of little gifts left on her pillow at night - rat bones, a dead rose, photos of her in the library and the kitchens. Of the constant feeling of being watched and having no one understand. Having no one believe.

Once she sags against the door, once she looses one last whispered plea, the ghouls grin at one another in the dark.

One by one, they begin to sing.

Aurora is the one to start them off, her voice high and piercing. The first notes have their prey's shoulders going stiff. She spins in place, whipping her head around for the source of that unholy melody. Sunshine sings next, and the sister claps her hands over her ears.

"No," she says again, and oh does she sound fragile. "Please, please no -"

It's Cumulus's turn then, her rich words filling the gaps between Aurora and Sunshine. The sister slides down the door with a sob, shaking her head and tucking her knees to her chest. Rocking in place while she begs for the aural torment to stop.

If only she could be so lucky.

Cirrus rests a hand on Swiss's back, uses her power to amplify his voice, the sister flinches like she's been hit. It forces her eyes open, and just as their demonic chorus reaches its crescendo Swiss finally drops his shadowy veil. Reveals himself and his fellow hunters to their poor, vulnerable little lamb.

They descend together, floating down on an unearthly breeze, and as they reveal shining fangs and razor-sharp claws the sister can't even find it in herself to scream.

She's no more than a red stain and cracked bones once they've had their fill, bones that will be gifted to Mountain for use as fertilizer. No point in letting their leftovers go to waste.

"She was sweet," Cumulus coos, licking a stray streak of blood from her finger. "Too skinny though, I'm gonna have her in my teeth for days." She sucks at her fangs and Swiss huffs out a chuckle.

"I dunno, I kinda like the chew," he lilts, running lazy fingers through Aurora's platinum waves. Cumulus snorts.

"You're hardly a food critic," she teases. "I've seen the things you put in that mouth." Swiss responds with a lewd gesture, licking at the air through a vee of his fingers, and all it does is serve to prove the ghoulette's point.

Cumulus hums to herself as she collects the bones they've left, Swiss shifting his attention to where Sunshine and Cirrus are busy grooming each other. After a moment the little ghoulette in his lap chirps, and Swiss peers over her shoulder. He finds her turning a small bone form the sister's hand between two elegant fingers. He noses behind her ear, inhaling the scent of wintry air and fruity shampoo.

"You wanna pick the next one, Ro?"

The others glance over when he says it, Aurora herself tipping her head back to look up at the ghoul. He gives her tiny waist a squeeze, and the ghoulette smiles.

"Yeah," she trills, leaning up to nip at Swiss's throat. "I think I do."

"Aww, our baby girl is growing up so fast!" Sunshine feigns wiping a tear from her cheek. "All ready to hunt, I'm so proud!" Her words are so very playful, and with a giggle she dodges the bone Aurora chucks at her head.

Tomorrow, their game will begin anew.

[tricksterlatte]

Chase the Joker chapter 8 excerpt for WIP Wednesday, featuring an exhausted but healing 30-year-old Akechi

[littleaipom]

"Face Yourself" 💥

[livingforthewhump]

For the ask game, could you maybe combine 3 and 5?

from this ask game

3–bridal carry // 5–protectiveness

—

“Come out, come out, wherever you are!” Whumper’s taunting voice echoed throughout the room. “I’ve got someone here who’s just dying to see you.”

Caretaker bit back the urge to cuss them out. Whumpee. They had Whumpee with them. So close, right there, and yet Caretaker was crouched in the shadows like a coward. They trembled with sheer rage.

Then they heard the click of the safety being released on a gun. Suddenly they couldn’t breathe. Whumpee’s small noise of terror was as loud as gunshots.

“It goes without saying, I should think, that denial of my requests does lead to consequences.”

A startled, pained yelp was wrenched from Whumpee’s throat. Caretaker’s hands tightened into fists. Not yet. They had to wait for the signal, they had to—

“Who was it you kept saying would come for you, little thing? What was that name?” Whumper’s smile oozed into their mocking words.

They sounded on the verge of tears. “C-caretaker.”

“That’s right! Caretaker. Imagine, Whumpee, you spend so long saying they’ll come for you, go through so much just for the hope of seeing them again, and them finally coming—only to let you get shot right in front of them, while they cower in the shadows.”

Some kind of mangled sob split through the air. Caretaker felt numb with fury.

They spoke again, softer now. “And if you’d just admitted they didn’t really care for you we wouldn’t be in this whole mess, would we, now?”

Caretaker hurtled out of their hiding spot before they had a moment to think, shoulders heaving. “Get away from them,” they spat.

Whumper’s smile was poison. “Ah, our brave hero emerges at last.”

Whumpee kneeled in front of them, hands tied, clothes hanging loosely off of their battered form. Tears soaked their cheeks, and Whumper’s free hand was wound tightly into their hair, tugging their head painfully upright.

“Well, Whumpee? Say hello.”

Whumpee’s eyes slowly flickered up off of the floor, taking Caretaker in through a glassy haze. “Careta—” Whumper tugged their hair harshly and they whimpered. “Hhh, hello.”

“Get your hands off of them, Whumper.” Caretaker’s fingers brushed the handle of their weapon, which didn’t go without Whumper’s notice.

“Ah ah ah, let’s have none of that.” Their tone was infuriatingly playful as they shoved the barrel of their gun against Whumpee’s head. “I’m sure we don’t want things to get nasty. In fact, why don’t you put that lovely little toy on the ground in front of you, and I won’t accidentally do something…drastic.”

Whumper caressed Whumpee’s cheek with the gun, drawing out a hard flinch and chuckling at the gasp of pain it caused.

Caretaker’s jaw flexed, but nonetheless they eased their weapon out of its socket and placed it in front of them, stepping away. “There. Now put the gun away.”

Whumper laughed. “Nah, I don’t think I will. It’s just too fun, seeing the both of you all jumpy like this.” They returned the barrel to rest at Whumpee’s temple. “So. Do you have what I asked for?”

Caretaker swallowed. “Whumpee first.”

“How dumb do you think I am?” Whumper quirked an eyebrow. “No. I’ll take the vial first.”

“How can you expect me to trust you not to kill them after I give it to you?”

Just a little more time.

Please.

There was that damned laugh again. “You’ll just have to trust me that I’m a lot more likely to shoot you than my little Whumpee here once I have what I want. Frankly I’ve grown quite attached to them.”

Caretaker’s skin crawled. They weren’t certain if that was better or far worse than what they’d expected.

Whumper’s finger tightened slightly over the trigger of the gun—they knew how closely Caretaker was watching. Knew that that would be enough of a warning.

“Wai—”

A bang! split the room.

Caretaker lunged forward, practically throwing themselves at Whumpee. Whumper crumpled to the floor before they were even close, dark red pooling around them. Whumpee still knelt there, looking numb, almost empty, as blood seeped around their knees. Caretaker had to hold back a cry of relief when they reached them, finally. They had them safe again.

Caretaker wrapped their arms around Whumpee, sweeping them up in a hug. Whumpee took a shuddering breath that had the sound to it of coming awake out of a dream. Or a nightmare. Trembling hands found Caretaker’s torso, grasped loosely at their shirt.

“You came,” Whumpee breathed. They sounded reverent, like they couldn’t have been sure it would ever happen.

“I came. I will always come to find you, Whumpee.” Caretaker lingered on the name. On the sheer elation of being able to say it while holding them, trembling and traumatized and sitting in a pool of blood but okay now.

And Whumpee suddenly wailed. They abandoned themself completely into Caretaker’s arms, curling against them and sobbing. It was all Caretaker could do not to copy them.

Footsteps clattered down an echoey hallway.

“What the hell was that?” Sniper snapped. Whumpee jerked in a harsh flinch against Caretaker. “I barely finished clearing the location and you had already thrown our plan to the dogs!”

Caretaker stood, leaning Whumpee against them and scooping them up into a bridal carry. They weren’t sure how far they would be able to walk, but they knew for sure they didn’t want to push Whumpee until they found out. Whumpee just readjusted their grip on Caretaker’s shirt, eyes drooping. Some kind of adrenaline crash.

“I didn’t have a choice,” they said firmly. Leader and Fighter had walked up beside Sniper.

“The plan was there so you wouldn’t have to make any choices.” Leader had a makeshift bandage wrapped around one arm. They looked more than a little miffed.

Caretaker grit their teeth, pulling Whumpee in closer to their chest. “It all turned out the way we wanted, didn’t it?”

“That’s not really the point. In order to be part of a team—”

“No,” Caretaker interrupted, furiously. “It was either sacrifice the plan or sacrifice Whumpee. They could have died, and none of you have even asked if they’re okay!” They paused for a moment, but no one filled the silence. Another tear slipped down Whumpee’s cheek.

Caretaker started for the door, but no one moved to follow. They turned around slowly. “What are you all doing? We have to make sure they’re not injured.”

Leader’s jaw flexed. “There’s still work that needs to be done here.”

“Whumper is dead!”

“And there are things we must attend to because of that. You can wait with Whumpee in the transport if it will make you feel better.”

Caretaker looked down at Whumpee again. They hadn’t noticed before how pale their skin was, how their cheeks were more gaunt than they’d seen them before. Even if they weren’t injured, they deserved to be put before everything else.

“No.” Caretaker spat the word, decisive enough to stop the team in its tracks. “I’m not waiting for you. I’m leaving, and I’m taking them back to my house. And if any of you decide to come visit them, it’s on you to explain to them why being ‘part of a team’ means you put dead trash bags above your own hurt members.”

Sniper looked furious. “Caretaker—”

“Don’t. talk to me.” They spun on their heel and left without looking back.

—

General whump taglist: @castielamigos-whump-side-blog @twistedcaretaker @lonesome--hunter @poppys-writing @endless-whump @multifandoms-multishipper @shadowylemon @utopian819 @whumpkitty @journey-the-panda @freefallingup13 @prettyboysinpain @1becky1 @temporary-whump-sideblog @chartreusephoenix @thelazywitchphotographer @mylifeisonthebookshelf @badluck990 @lockedupuniverse @luna-rein @broadwaybabe18 @pinescales-whumps @silverwhisperer1 @embersalive @the-bloody-sadist @batfacedliar-yetagain @nicolepascaline @whump-angst-fluff-repeat @susanshinning @didieatyourdog @corvid-voidbur @insane-writing-things @thebaffledtiewriter @morning-star-whump

[revvywevvy]

Hey so... important thingy real quick pertaining to sharing f/os.

I get it- sharing f/os can be hard for some folks. Whether you get self conscious, jealous, nervous abt it, etc etc. I totally understand- I can open up here and admit that I get really self conscious and a little nervous when I see people who ship with the f/os I am uncomfortable sharing or have selective sharing with. However, that's a normal thing to feel, and you shouldn't feel bad about it at all! It's okay to be sad, or anxious, or jealous, or anything else along those lines. That's why we block and move on, and try not to let those negative feelings hurt us too heavily.

That being said, when it becomes NOT okay, is when you're posting on any of your blogs about wanting people who ship with your f/os dead. Or posting about wanting to cause bodily harm to other self-shippers. Oooor posting about said f/o harming other shippers. Or anything under that umbrella.

Seriously. I feel like it's already pretty obvious that you should never do that in the first place, but those who don't care and want to actively participate in said behavior should just stay in their own damn circle- away from the people who aren't harming anyone; who are just shipping and minding their own business.

We absolutely do not need those kinds of people running around and literally wishing death on folks, whether they think they're being sneaky about it or not. Nobody deserves to die for the 'crime' of loving the same character as someone else.

[alaskaartz]

What’s the lore of your modern AU? Like what’s the state of things and everybody and how did they meet? Sorry if that’s too broad a question 😬

Good question

I have a LOT of lore for my AU but I'll make it short, in a list. It's long so get ready

Lore events:

Godseeker killed every wyrm but PK (because she couldn't find him)

PK met WL after rolling down a hill and getting knocked out

WL taught PK how to do everything

PK allied with the local police in the 1920s to attempt to take down the nightmare mafia

PK became king in the 70s

PK and WL got married and moved into the palace in the 90s

The infection became a problems in the early 2000s causing PK to need to put Kin and Hollow's egg in the abyss

Hollow and Kin were born(hatched), Hollow was a normal kid while Kin was empty of everything, the only indication they were alive was a faint heart beat

Kin gets sealed at the age of 6

Hornet is born(hatches) after Herrah legit tried to kill PK

Hollow loses their arm in a failed assassination attempt made by Markoth when Hollow was 14

PK gets stabed by Xero, another assassin sent by the same boss that sent Markoth after Hollow

Ghost hatches while PK is still recovering from being stabbed

Current time, The royal family is doing well and the kids are living pretty normal lives all things considered

Random:

All gods have their own dream realms

Kin's shade is sentient and very sassy, but also a sweetheart

Nightmare king is in prison for many crimes

Godseeker was sealed into godhome by PK (the fight lasted an hour, PK went home and WL never found out that happened)

The royals have a TikTik named Tik that they got at the shelter

Cars exist in this AU, stagways still exist too

[flymmsy]

Gortash Sex Party WIP

Proof that the Gortash Sex Party fic is alive and well, just slow going. Here's a sneak peek! Not explicit (the final fic will be very very explicit), but mentions of sex.

The Dark Urge sat across the desk from Gortash, as had become their routine. They would often sit and watch as the Banite scribbled furiously upon parchment after parchment, his brows furrowed in concentration, breaking only to raise his gaze in response to one of Durge’s more clever comments. Tonight, however, it was Durge’s turn to knit their brow, their gaze sweeping over the man before them as if he were a relic in the Hall of Wonders.

“Something the matter, dearest Bhaalspawn?” Gortash did not look up from his papers. Instead, he merely quirked an eyebrow in Durge’s direction, the hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips.

“No,” Durge quickly replied, flicking their attention back to the dagger held lazily in their hand. They inspected it with great care, the glint of steel in the light now suddenly the most interesting thing in the room. The longer their gaze stayed on the weapon, the heavier the air in the room became. When a few moments had past, Durge looked back up to see a smirk now fully blooming across Gortash's face.

An exasperated sigh escaped Durge as they straightened themselves, clearing their throat before they spoke.

“Some interesting rumors have reached the Bhaal Temple, lately.”

“How curious,” Gortash was quick to respond, but his attention remained on his work, “I wouldn’t take Bhaal as one for idle gossip.”

“Regarding you, actually.”

At that, the Banite finally put down his quill, slowly bringing his gaze up to meet Durge’s own. He held it for a moment, smirk still clear as day, before leaning back in his chair.

“Go on.”

“They speak of rather interesting…parties,” At that, Durge shifted in their seat, dipping their eyes to focus on Gortash’s gauntlet now resting on the arm of his chair, “held here, at your manor.”

The gauntlet lifted as Gortash shifted his weight. His chin came to rest in his own palm as gilded fingers curled against his lip, his index finger bringing one claw to rest against his temple. Durge’s eyes followed the movement, the last claw locking them back into Gortash’s gaze. The Banite nodded once, prompting Durge to continue.

“Interesting as in…” Durge sighed, “…of an intriguing nature…”

Gortash raised his eyebrows, shaking his head innocently as one claw continued to trace the line of his lips, “I’m afraid I don’t know what you mean, dear Bhaalspawn.”

“Sex,” The words escaped Durge in an embarrassing burst. They cleared their throat again, tempering the rising heat at their neck, “an evening of carnal indulgence.”

“Ah,” Gortash nodded, seeming to consider the words for a moment. Then, in one fluid motion, he dipped his head and returned his attention to his parchment, his expression otherwise one of disinterest.

Durge could feel the deep lines between their own brows as they watched Gortash continue to scratch away. Had he heard them? The silence made them uncomfortable. It wasn't the sex itself that concerned them, sex was nothing. Well, everything and nothing. But the thought of Gortash...he was their business partner, and thinking - hearing - about him having --

“Well they are correct, of course.”

Durge was grateful that Gortash’s eyes were still on his paper as surprise flashed across their face. A few moments passed in silence, Durge trying and failing to process the response. A sigh escaped the Banite, accompanied by a rather large scratch across the parchment, the sound stirring Durge.

“Ah,” was all that escaped their lips, echoing his earlier reply. At that, Durge could see the smallest crack in the aloof façade that had settled upon Gortash.

“Does this concern you?” Gortash gathered the papers on his desk before lazily tossing them aside.

“I had dismissed the rumors as some Banite ritual,” Durge began, now uneasy as Gortash’s full attention returned to them. He leaned back in his chair once more, but this time his expression was perfectly measured.

“But the report,” Durge continued, “the report says it is a mix of people throughout the city. Banites, patriars, priestesses…”

Gortash had steepled his hands but flexed them in a gesture for Durge to continue.

“It seemed…uncharacteristically risky of you.”

At that, a smile split across Gortash’s face. His voice was smooth but full of amusement, “You’d be surprised at how discreet people will be for their own pleasure.”

“But the rumors reached me,” Durge retorted.

“That they did,” Gortash held their gaze for a beat, and Durge felt the heat rising again within them. Just as Durge was about to break the silence, Gortash spoke again, “I suppose I’ll have to find that pesky leak.”

Durge attempted to retreat with a shrug, turning their attention back to their knife, but Gortash was quick on their heels.

“You seem troubled, dear Bhaalspawn.”

Durge rolled their eyes, eager to be done with this conversation, but turned back to Gortash regardless. They hesitated, searching for the right words, “I just didn’t take you for one to mix business with pleasure.”

When Gortash’s grin turned razor sharp, they realized they had found the wrong words.

“Oh, you are quite mistaken,” Gortash’s eyes were truly alight now, “I delight in mixing business with pleasure.”

“Yes, well,” Durge swallowed hard, “I just thought you should know…about the rumors…”

“How thoughtful,” Gortash cooed mockingly, eliciting a snarl from Durge. They were increasingly feeling like a mouse caught in a cat’s claws. The mockery broke them, prompting them to rise from their seat and slam their hands down on the desk.

“I don’t like being played with, Gortash.”

“No? A shame, really,” Gortash quipped but tempered his smirk, rising from his own chair, “However, I’m afraid you have reminded me of a rather important engagement I must keep.”

Durge’s head swiveled incredulously as Gortash circled them to move toward the door.

“One of my attendants will see you out,” the Banite flicked his wrist back in acknowledgement as he departed the room.

Durge seethed in his wake, their hands curling into the wood of the desk. Gortash had made their blood properly boil now. Someone, a Banite servant, called to them from the door frame.

***

“Are you sure I can’t offer you a –”

“No,” Durge allowed the second of Gortash’s servants to lead them out, now trailing blood in their wake. When they arrived at the garden door, the servant reached out one trembling arm, a delicate envelope in their hand.

“The master wished I present you with this,” the servant flinched as Durge took the envelope from them, quickly scurrying down the hall now that their duty had been fulfilled.

Durge flipped the envelope over, nose crinkling at the distinct smell of vanilla and rosewood. They retrieved their dagger, wiping it first on their leg, and popped the elegant seal.

Lord Enver Gortash requests the pleasure of your company at his upcoming salon…