#with Gortash tending to them

[myheartismadeofstars]

Imagine if the Dark Urge had children.

In my head Durge (default) has two eggs that were being tended to in secret, to prevent people from destroying them. Bhaal should be pleased that his favourite child is going to be a father, right?

Then Orin got to him.

He forgot everything, including his unborn babies.

He changed too. Choosing to reject his father and resist the Urge.

Scelaritas Fel brings them up randomly when they reunite (because you KNOW he is ecstatic about Durge bringing little murder babies into the world. Since they are almost certainly Bhaalspawn, even if second generation) and that's how Durge finds out he's a father.

Scelaritas tells him he can destroy them if Master wants (Master does NOT want! He wants them safe, he just wants to know where they ARE!)

Anyway here's how fans who want to keep Scelaritas on a redeemed Durge path can still win: Durge tells Scelaritas that he'd need his assistance with his future Bhaalspawn children so he might as well stay with him.

[what-is-it-to-be-pk-esque]

My partner finally finished BG3 but has no idea that his ending was actually bad cause he was a pro-Vlaakith githyanki who rode off with Lae'zel but got NO EPILOGUE where Withers points out y'all died im 😭😭😭

they have no idea what happened with Gale or anyone else (who was still alive) after flying away 🙃🙃🙃

[eastgaysian]

the thing about lemming and dak-wai's senses of morality is lemming would refuse to accept the premise of the trolley problem he'd insist that there has to be a way to save everyone while dak-wai would think on it for 5 seconds and then pull the lever to kill one person instead. however if you presented them with a dilemma where they have to condemn either themselves or a complete stranger they'll never see to death, lemming would try to work out a we-both-survive solution but ultimately take 15 minutes to decide to sacrifice himself. and dak-wai would be paralyzed by indecision for about an hour before deciding to save themselves

[nsfwarros1]

Cas needs to tend to Gortash's tits more. What do you mean you see that pillow sized mounds of fat and you are not sucking them/licking them/gripping at them!??

DAWG ITS NOT THAT HE DOESNT ITS JUST HARD TO DRAW

ok fine here u can have this followup sketch for the bathing scene that i didnt finish

[magerightsmagefights]

I know people tend to forget Wyll a lot in this fandom (I wonder why. What Could Possibly Be Different. Can you spot the difference?/s) but I'm genuinely surprised at the lack of Durge x Wyll content. Especially if you're going Redeemed, there's that inherent flavor of "My lover cannot know the truth, I am horrible and they would hate me, they would be correct to hate me." And with Wyll it's just... so juicy, he's so pure and shining, and Durge is so filled with filth and misery that there's barely a person left underneath.

Idk, as a femme romance reader I've spent so many years reading the "love redeems" arc where a FMC plays beauty to an MMC beast, in every genre, medium, budget, etc. I'm not here to yuck anyone's yum, but beauty and the beast as a story structure has never done it for me.

until it's reversed, apparently, because Wyll as the beauty to Durge's beast needs to be injected directly into my veins like yesterday. All the other companions are good and sweet, don't get me wrong, but their reactions are coded like 'i accept you,' where Wyll to me comes off much more as 'we will heal you.' He doesn't have any funny little quips about you trying to bite him, no innuendos, no "I Will Put You Down" a la Laezel, he's just... so good, and he believes in your inherent goodness, he so easily sees "you" and "your urges" as wholly seperate entities he would step between if he could.

Speaking of which!! The coronation scene, when everyone finds out you're Bhaalspawn? I never see anyone talking about Wyll's reaction compared to other companions getting angry (even Dark Shadowheart will yell at you) because Wyll seems to be the ONLY PERSON who immediately separates you(the person he knows) from you(the person you used to be). Astarion isn't angry, he even appreciates your scheme freeing him from Cazador, but he also kinda falls into the whole "I will talk to you as if you are the exact same person who did these things, this is Your True Nature and I feel positive about it."

Wyll's reaction feels like the only one saying "You WERE that," instead of "You ARE that." It also feels like the only one that kinda-sorta acknowledges Durge's actual amnesia, because he doesn't treat this revelation like a betrayal the way the other "good" companions do. They be saying "The real evil was hiding within our ranks all along" like wym hiding? Durge didn't know either, how tf they supposed to tell you?

Wyll doesn't even blink. Once he knows what you are, his No.1 priority is reassuring YOU about it. The fact you're Bhaalspawn isn't a betrayal; it's a Horrible Burden and he's sorry you have to bear it, but there have been others like you who were good, who overcame, and your blood isn't who you are. His first instinct is to offer hope, to reassure you that there's a way out, he believes so hard that your urges are a defeatable enemy and he's ready to fight them with you.

(I also fall into the Durge And Gortash Fucked camp, and I cannot overstate the tastiness of Durge waltzing into the coronation of their ex, the Worst Man Alive, while bringing along their new boyfriend, the Best Man Alive)

Idk, I've just never engaged in a romance where I played the part of the Beast. As much as people rag on pure, princely archetypes, I don't actually see them that often. I genuinely don't remember the last time I read/saw a male lead behave like Wyll, but I've seen plenty of Astarions, Fenrises, Rhysands, etc. Romance loves a fixable MMC, but so rarely an MMC who wants to do the fixing.

Anyway. Justice for Wyll or whatever. I can only cross my fingers that future DLC will include more romance content, because we all deserve to have a Beauty for our Beast sometimes.

[honest-moth-of-silver-grove]

Hc for Halsin, Astarion, Will, Gortash, (& maybe Damon and Raphael) caring for a loved one with chronic illness or like an illness that keeps them bedbound for an extended time

A/N: Oh Nonnie, do I feel this ask lol. Chronic fatigue sucks, mainly because so few people don’t understand it goes beyond being just ‘tired’. There’s brain fog, stomach issues, and body pains– so I tried to touch on each of these symptom types for each character response. However you’re doing, whether you’re in a flare or not, I want you to know your illness is not your fault. You didn't ask for this. Don’t feel guilty for having to take care of yourself. You’re worth it. I promise. 

Also, this is unrelated but it’s lowkey funny that the week after I got diagnosed with a weird anemia, I write an answer for an ask about chronic fatigue. lol

TW: Mention of Chronic Fatigue/Pain, Brief Mentions of Sex 

🤕 BG3 Men Caring for a Gender Neutral! Loved One With Chronic Illness 🤕

Astarion: 

Worries. Like A LOT.

Tells you not to be so dramatic about it but will literally sprint towards you if he even hears you sigh.

He asks Karlach to carry you. 

Steals somebody’s cart/chariot if she refuses and instead makes her and Shadowheart take turns pulling that. (Jokes on him, they do it because they’re your friend, not his lol.) 

Has you come on missions because he feels more secure knowing you’re right behind him, and he can keep looking after you. Astarion makes sure to always sneak ahead so you never walk unknowingly into any danger 

Will give you massages if you’re in pain frequently, especially shoulder rubs, as he loves the view it gives him of your pretty neck. 

Speaking of necks, feeding is a huge no-no. At least, until you start feeling a bit better. And then he’ll only allow himself a taste. Gods knows you need all your strength, and he would feel terribly guilty to take what little you have from you. 

Lowkey appreciates the bags under your eyes and the way you can look like death incarnate, because well, then he doesn’t stand out as much. He also finds it strangely alluring, how you can look so fragile yet be so strong. It inspires him to find that balance within himself if he’s being honest. 

If you have trouble ‘performing’ due to your illness, he’s not upset at all! (He’s actually quite relieved.) 

Loves finding other ways you can be intimate together, like going to a spa and sharing a bath. Or finding a highly-rated inn and cuddling under some luxurious silk sheets. 

Turns out that after a lifetime of being forced to do things, Astarions is more than happy to spend his time doing nothing with you. 

Wyll: 

Is so sweet and tender when he speaks to you.

He’s literally Prince Charming, which makes you his Sleeping Beauty. 

On your good days, he’ll have you stand on his feet as he twirls you around, finding this the best way to ‘dance’ with you, given your current stamina. 

Requests for you to stay back at camp and rest while he and a few of the others handle the more taxing and dangerous missions. Gifts you some books and journals of his to keep you occupied in the meantime.

When he comes back to camp, the first thing he does is check on you. If you’re awake, he’ll make sure your needs are met before tending to his own. Doesn’t matter if Wyll’s starving and covered in guts, if you need a drink or an extra blanket, just say the word and he will fetch it immediately.  

Will recite poetry to you on the bad pain nights when you cannot sleep because everything aches too much. He knows his voice won’t stop the pain, but he hopes it provides a soothing atmosphere to just rest in, even if sleep cannot find you.

Is always so tender and gentle in his lovemaking, that it’s rarely an issue for you. However, on the nights that it is, don’t feel bad at all. Wyll adores you for much more than your body. He loves your mind, your heart, and your soul. Just being near you, knowing you love him back is more than enough. 

Halsin: 

Is always prepared with some medicinal herbs or a healing spell. 

He’s a natural caretaker, and you are no exception. However, when it comes to you, Halsin does approach the act a little bit differently. 

It’s much more personal when he makes you health potions or casts spells to heal you, you can see it in his eyes. In a way, it’s as if your pain has become his pain, and he needs the relief just as much as you. 

As long as you give your consent, Halsin prefers to have you touching him. Be it laying on top of his chest, or seated on his lap, he always wants his skin against yours, as if his touch alone could shield you from your illness. You find it rather sweet of him.

He pleads for you to stay behind in camp, or the grove- somewhere that is not the center of the action. He wishes for you to remain out of the fray, fearful that in your condition, fighters with less honor than he would take advantage of your vulnerability. 

If you need to be in a house with a room, and not camped out in the woods, he understands, although it may frustrate him a bit. He believes nature is the perfect healing environment, but he also trusts that you know your illness better than anyone. After all, you’ve managed it all these years. So instead, he simply brings nature to you. 

Haslin decorates your bedroom with plants, trees, and succulents. If you’re allergic, he enchants them to reduce their pollen production. 

Halsin understands he is rather large in the ‘down there’ department. If you cannot have traditional sex with him, it’s not a surprise to him. He knows more than one way to please his partner. He’s very giving and seems to get off on your pleasure more than his own at times. 

Halsin thinks you are one of the most beautiful gifts of nature. Your illness is just another part of you, and because it’s a part of you, he thinks it’s beautiful as well. You may resent it, but Halsin could never separate that part from you and hate it. He simply loves the whole of you too much to do that. 

Dammon:

Oh my god, he’s such a sweetheart.

But also a low-key tease. 

He has no issues getting or reaching things for you, but he does have a mischievous side, so be prepared for him to hold your things hostage, in exchange for a kiss or two. 

Has a habit of finding you curled up in bed on your worst pain/fatigue days and peppering you with kisses, and won’t stop until you laugh. 

Forges special mobility aids! Do you need help walking? Pfft. Not a problem. Dammon’s an incredible blacksmith, and he can make you armor that helps stabilize you. You know those really cool joint support braces you can get on Etsy and stuff? Yeah, he makes you DOZENS of them, all in different metals and designs, to match your mood/outfit for the day. 

While on the road, or in the grove, he always ensures you’re armed with some sort of easily gripped knife or sword, just in case anyone attacks. He does his best to keep you close, never walking too far ahead or behind, but you having that extra layer of protection makes him feel all the more reassured. 

He's not a fighter, but years of working in the forge have made his arms and back strong. He swears he will do everything he can to protect you, that no harm will come to you so long as you stay close. 

Is so relieved when you make it to the city at last. He’s so grateful that he can finally provide a real room and bed for you. He feels as if the entire journey has been worth it now that you’ll be able to rest and heal as you need, in the kind of safe and stable conditions you deserve.  

Comes in from a long, sweaty day of working in the forge, but immediately sets his sights on taking care of you. Draws a bath but insists you bathe first, as the water won’t be full of grime and ash after he bathes. 

Is always surprised and very flattered when you tug him in with you, still touched by your affection for him, as if you’ve just met for the first time. Dammon’s still a little shocked that out of everyone, you chose him. (Ironically, you feel the same. You’re a perfect match!) 

Insists on taking the lead during more intimate moments, and to make sure you just lay back and let him do all the work, introduces soft silk ties for your hands and ankles for whenever you feel like indulging in that kink with him. 

Gortash: 

Spoils you rotten. 

No, really.

Part of the highlight of being a Lord, soon-to-be Duke, is that he has the power to make all the other people do things for him. And no task is too costly or requires too much manpower so long as it means you’re taken care of. 

Buys the most lavish sheets and sleep sets for you. He wants you to be comfortable, the both of you deserve nothing but the best, after all. 

Assigns around-the-clock healers to you 24/7. They are always in your home, on-call, awaiting your request for relief. He wants every measure of treatment and remedy explored. If there’s a spell or herb that can reduce your pain, then you shall have it. 

Enjoys any downtime he has with you. Has his staff put a special chaise lounge in his office so you can visit him when he’s working. 

Gortash is so used to putting up fronts for everyone else, that it’s nice to let his guard down around you. You don’t judge him, or think less of him for his ambitions. Other people would run if they learned the truth, but not you. No, you’re so much more special than that. 

Of course, whenever you go out, you have your own guards and steel watch keeping you safe from anyone who’d wish to harm either you or him. All the other Lords and Ladies of Baldur’s Gate don’t dare say a mean word about you or your abilities, lest they wish to face the wrath of a peeved Gortash. 

As an inventor, Gortash invents the very first automatic, steampunk-esque wheelchair for you. It’s powered in the same way his Steel Watch is, and it is uniquely one-of-a-kind, tailor-made just for you. 

You know how in the game it’s hinted that Gortash basically stole and fucked his way into the high society of Baldur’s Gate? That many of the widowed Ladies gifted him lavish presents (like the deeds to their house?!) in response to whatever ‘relationship’ he had with them? Yeah. The man knows what he’s doing. And he does it well.

Your fitness level is no concern to him. The both of you will enjoy yourselves. He learns how to play the erogenous zones of your body perfectly, and in the event you’re too exhausted to play his, he has some, shall we say, special toys, he’s created just for himself. Course, should you ever ask, he’s more than willing to share them with you. ;)

Raphael: 

Switches between pampering you to badgering you about it.

When he’s feeling particularly generous, he makes a point to overindulge you, making sure you’re aware of how unselfish he’s being at the time. 

He’ll make sure you have not only whatever you need, but also, anything you should want. As a devil, he does have some magic up his sleeve, ready to take care of various aches and pains that you feel. 

Ensures no other beings in the House of Hope lay a finger on you. No, that’s a privilege for him and him alone. 

Of course, such benevolence from him comes at a price, so don’t expect the luxury to come freely, without strings attached. 

After he feels you’ve rested enough, he switches from being overly doting to being more curt, and even a bit cruel. 

You honestly don’t expect him to let you lounge all day, do you? Surely there’s a way you could make yourself useful to him. Your attention, your company, your body… there must be something of interest to him at the moment. Of course, Raphael won’t tell you outright what he wants, you have to figure it out for yourself each and every time. 

More than anything Raphael loves your adoration, your attention. Just sit with him in his office as he reads over the various contracts he has binding any number of sorry souls. Ask him questions, praise him. Tell him you think he’s brilliant… Darling just worship him. 

And after his ego’s been satisfied, he’ll go back to worshiping you. Relationships are all give and take after all. 

(And don’t worry if you’re too tired or in too much pain to perform well in bed. He’s certainly no good at it either lol.)

[sserpente]

The Weight of a Promise - Part II

Synopsis: One month has passed since you reluctantly became Lord Gortash's concubine. You ought to hate him--yet your heart seems to disagree.

A/N: When inspiration strikes…you gotta strike back! Took a bit longer than I expected but here we go! :D

You can read Part I here!

Words: 2523 Warnings: violence, blood, mentions of prostitution, concubine!Reader

“Good morning, dear. I take it you’ve had sweet dreams?”

You stirred, eyes flying open. You were warm, and comfortable. Cosy. Your head was resting on Gortash’s naked chest, his right arm pressing you close against his body. You had gotten so used to his presence and the intimacy between you that you didn’t even flinch away when his fingertips ghosted over your bare shoulder but instead…took relish in it.

“Morning…”

One whole month. You had been keeping an eye on the calendar on Gortash’s desk. You were surprised, to say the least. Part of you had suspected he would grow tired of you after a few days and move on to the next whore he’d be given for free. Perhaps one that would throw herself at him.

Alas, as much as you hated to admit it, you had begun to enjoy his company. Enver Gortash was as insufferable as he was megalomaniacal. But he was charming, too. No wonder the city gladly accepted him as its hero and saviour.

His mask was perfect. You very much doubted he truly did have a heart for the homeless and the poor though. Only yesterday had you overheard him talk about increasing the tax rates for small businesses for more profit to put into his Steel Watch. Now that you spent so much time with him, you would have believed his chivalry too had you not known the truth. A good man did not keep concubines, not like this. A good man did not have rumours spread about him worshipping one of the dead three.

And yet, despite everything, part of you was growing…grateful. He’d kept his promise. Thanks to him, you barely remembered what hunger was now. He had gotten you so many dresses you could never decide what to wear and every night, you shared his bed, warm and comfortable, nestled underneath his soft sheets.

The sex was phenomenal, of course. Just like the very first time he had claimed you, you would be lying if you insisted it wasn’t a pleasurable experience for you. Only it was empty, meaningless. Why else would he keep you around if not for a wet hole to fuck when he was overcome with lust?

The more time you were forced to spend with him, the more you realised that you wanted him to like you for more than your body. To know that you were more than an object for him to play with and entertain himself with and to convince yourself and your stupid feelings that he was not the villain you took him for. To soothe your own conscience.

It could be Stockholm Syndrome, you thought, chewing on your lower lip. But then again, he had told you that you were free to go the very day you arrived, made it seem like it had been your own choice to become a slave to his most carnal desires in exchange for your basic human needs to be met.

The mornings all started the same. You and Gortash had breakfast together, after that he tended to his archduke business and you remained in bed for a while longer, reading the books he owned. He’d call you over at some point, eager for your company—or your body.

As of right now, he was finished with his duties for the day. After a rich lunch, he’d insisted on taking a walk with you by the sea near Wyrm’s Rock to take his mind off things, a Steel Watcher always in close vicinity to protect him.

“You are not focusing at all, are you, dear? Could you at least put in a little bit of effort? Make it a challenge for me!”

You blinked. You’d been staring at the lance board for what must have been several minutes with your knees tucked and your chin resting between them. Gortash had insisted you played with him tonight. Only you had no idea how.

“I don’t know how to play,” you admitted.

Amusement flashed over Gortash’s handsome face. “You don’t know how to play lance board? Truly?”

You shook your head.

He took a deep breath. “Well, in that case…it is rather simple. There are six pieces in the game that—”

“Why did you increase the tax rates?” You couldn’t help it. The question left your lips before you could stop yourself. You were curious.

Gortash paused, momentary surprise marking his features. “And since when exactly, pray tell, do I discuss political matters with my concubine?”

“It’s just a question. I overheard you passing the bill.”

“You mean you were eavesdropping.”

You frowned. “You knew I was right there.”

“Ah, yes.” He chuckled. But then, nothing.

“So?”

“Protection is expensive, my dear. My Steel Watch requires constant maintenance. Maintenance that requires materials. Materials that cost money.”

“I don’t believe that.”

“Pardon me?”

“I’ve seen the documents. You have two vaults at the Counting House. Two vaults that are bulging with gold.” You’d caught a glimpse at the numbers, black ink on a fresh roll of parchment one morning while he’d made you keep his cock warm for him at his desk. You swallowed. “If you truly had the city’s best interest at heart you would be reaching into your own pockets to help out. That is true charity.”

Gortash raised an eyebrow. He appeared amused, if anything. “I am giving the citizens of Baldur’s Gate a purpose. By contributing in the form of taxes, they are contributing to keeping the city and themselves safe. And unlike my own fortunes, tax money is in constant circulation.”

You scoffed. “If that’s what you need to tell yourself.”

“I will not have you criticize my rule, my dear. Were you a lady or an adviser of mine, I could have your head for this without anyone batting an eyelash.”

Too far. You swallowed. So much for trying to convince yourself he was not a villain. “I apologise.”

“Good. Now, as I said. There are six types of pieces in the game. The first—”

Gortash was interrupted yet again. This time, however, by an airborne knife knocking the piece he pointed to straight to the ground where it shattered into a dozen pieces.

“Playing with your whore instead of working? You disappoint me, lordling.”

Gortash stiffened visibly. “Orin.”

Your eyes widened when you turned to face the unwanted visitor. She was as pale as the moon itself, with white creamy eyes piercing your soul. And her clothes…where they made of…skin? She staggered closer on bare feet, retrieving her dagger.

“You’ll find I have made much progress with our operation. But unlike you, I am a man of true entertainment. Uninterrupted murder is not up my alley.”

You blinked. Murder? What in the hells was he talking about?

“You are losing your focus, lordling. Do you need a reminder?”

Before you had processed what was happening, Orin grabbed a fistful of your hair and pulled you flush against her. The smell of rotten meat and blood filled your nostrils, the blade of her dagger pressing into your skin. Her hands were ice-cold.

You gasped for air, paralysed. You willed your legs to kick her, your fingers to scratch her, your head to shatter her chin…but your body did not obey. Fear wrapped its icy claws around you, preventing you from taking action.

One wrong movement…and you would die. Your eyes found Gortash’s, yours pleading, begging. Surely, he would not let her harm you, surely, he would care if you lived after having shared the bed with him so many times…

“Now don’t be ridiculous, Orin. She’s my concubine. The only thing you will accomplish by killing her is making a mess of my office. I can always get a new one at the snap of my fingers.”

Your face fell, heart skipping several beats in a row. Not because of your fear now—but because it broke. Your lips parted. Was that truly how he felt after you’d spread your legs for him, listened to his sorrows, and kept him company? He’d promised to treat you well. Discarding you to the first bloodthirsty killer—whoever this Orin was—would break that promise after all.

“Well…then you won’t mind if I slit her throat? Bathe in her sweet blood and feast on her intestines? Would you still like to fuck her then, lordling?”

For just a second, you believed to catch a glimpse of actual panic glistening in his dark eyes. It was a fleeting moment, quickly replaced by a mask of steel.

“Orin, no, stop it!”

The woman laughed, the stench of stale blood almost making you gag as she pressed the blade even further against your delicate skin until you could feel a slight burn and something warm and sticky running down your throat.

“Orin!” You had not imagined it. There was panic swinging in his voice too now.

With a start, she removed her dagger from your throat and pushed you. You landed on your hands and knees on the hard stone floor, a pained cry escaping your lips due to the impact.

“With Ketheric Thorm dead, you should be on your guard, lordling. Because right now, your little plan is falling apart. And I am so very eager to spill blood in your chambers.”

“Control yourself, Orin. Ketheric’s death is a temporary setback. Once the Netherstone is back in our possession, we have nothing to fear and everything will go according to plan.”

You felt pathetic, cowering on the cold floor and listening to the conversation. You only understood half of what they were saying. Netherstones? What plan? And who was Ketheric Thorm?

“I will gut you if not, Gortash.” She disappeared in a mist of black and red as if her flesh erupted into a million pieces before evaporating.

Only now did you realise how heavily you were breathing. Gortash bent down, one of his hands resting on your shoulder.

“Are you alright?”

“No! No, I’m not alright!” you exclaimed, biting back a sob.

“You would have let her kill me!”

“I would not.”

“Yes! That’s what you said!” Another sob, one you were unable to hold back. You were trembling. You could feel a small trickle of blood running down your cleavage right between your breasts.

Gortash grabbed a hold of your chin, forcing you to look at him. “Showing her I care for you would have been showing her weakness and that I cannot afford. I apologise you were caught between the lines.”

Care.

“How am I supposed to believe that? Am I not a means to an end? You keep acting like I should be grateful you took me in and gave me a roof over my head in exchange for sex and now I almost…” You did not dare finish the thought. Died.

“You stupid girl. Do you truly think I would keep just any woman around my private quarters where I conduct important city business? Do you think I would share my private bed with just any prostitute?”

“I…I…” You hesitated. He was not wrong.

“I am not the kind of man to pursue, my dear. I learned the hard way you simply have to take what you want in life. I liked you. So I had you brought here.”

“Why didn’t you just say so? Why must everything you do be a power trip?”

“A power trip? Exercising dominance is crucial to survive in this world. I want you here, by my side. Is that not enough? What else do you want me to tell you?”

He helped you up, retrieving a cloth from the cupboard next to a wash bowl. The gentleness with which he wiped at your throat and your chest to clean the blood off of you surprised you so much yet another sob escaped you.

“I…I want you to tell me…you care about me? I’m not just a whore you can easily replace?”

“I don’t want any of the other whores. I wanted you. And I still do. I have no reason to lie to you, my dear. And you care about me too. I can see it in your eyes. You like the things we do together. Am I right?”

You nodded, unable to utter words for a moment.

“I hate myself for it.”

“Oh? And why is that, my dear?”

“You’re not a good person, Gortash. I can see that. I can feel it with every fibre of my being.”

“But…?”

“But…”

He threw the cloth away and cupped your face, planting a tender kiss on your lips.

“I wouldn’t have stayed if I didn’t…”

He smirked. He understood.

“I will have some servants fetched to run you a hot bath. I have some business to attend to. Then I will join you.”

“Gortash?”

“No.” He lifted a hand, a thoughtful expression decorating his handsome features for a moment. “I want you to call me by my first name when we’re in private. Enver.”

You frowned, lips parting in shock. The archduke of Baldur’s Gate wanted you to…call him by his first name?

“Enver.” You tasted the name on your tongue. It felt strange and yet…oddly familiar.

“That’s better.”

“Who is Orin? And don’t even think about telling me it doesn’t concern me given she just almost killed me.”

Gortash sighed. “She is…the Chosen of Bhaal, the god of murder and a reluctant ally of mine.”

Your eyes widened, shock rippling through you. Bhaal? The god of murder? One of the dead three?

“And who is…was…Ketheric Thorm?”

“The Chosen of Myrkul, a general who ruled over the Shadow Cursed Lands. Another reluctant ally.” Myrkul. He too was one of the dead three. The rumours you had heard about Gortash… Could that possibly mean…

“Go-…Enver…what deity do you worship?”

He smiled at you wickedly. “You have a sharp mind indeed, my dear. You might just be able to best me in a game of lance board in time.”

“Tell me what deity you worship.”

“You already know, do you not? You have asked me before, when we first met. And I am indeed, my dear, the Chosen of Bane. I will lead this city to glory.”

You took a step back, shock spreading in your veins like spiked vines. “What is this plan? What are the Netherstones?”

“That’s enough questions for now. Go and rest. The servants will be with you shortly.” He strode off, yet before he wrapped his hands around the doorknob, he turned his head and said, “Let me say it again: You belong by my side now, my dear. You have my protection. You have nothing to fear from me—or Orin, I will make sure of that. You might not agree with my methods but you cannot fight your own heart. You can trust me.”

With that, he was gone. Another promise. One that the growing butterflies in your stomach hoped he would never break. You belong by my side now, my dear.

You could leave, he had said a month ago. You should leave. Instead, you found yourself heading over to the wooden tub get rid of your now bloody dress.

[orinfucker]

12:52 AM

thinking about gortash corrupting an innocent, naïve tav. they always tried to see the good in everyone around them, even if said person wasn’t necessarily a positive influence.

enver watched as they walked into the audience hall with a welcoming smile on their face, their companions trailing behind them with less then happy expressions. the chosen spoke with a sense of faux sympathy, his words striking meaning into the adventurer stood in front of him.

gortash knew he had them wrapped around his finger before the conversation even ended, easily convincing them to hunt down orin’s netherstone for the ‘better good’ of his people. he knew your companions could see through his lies, but what did that matter? he’d just tell tav to ignore their concerns, because he obviously knew what was best for them in the end!

when he finally got his hands on them, their would be no need to convince them any further - not when his hands caressed the length of their torso, or when his cock slid into the warmth of their cunt. tav’s mind was only filled with satisfying him, believing every word that he spoke.

gortash always looked forward to hearing those little knocks on his office door, knowing it was the little adventurer coming to fulfill their needs. he knew it was morally wrong to be playing with their head like this, but how could he stop when his name sounded so delicious on their lips?

what enver loved the most, however, was how obedient tav acted around him. if he needed an errand to be run? tav would get it for him almost immediately. someone owed him money? they’d have it for him by the end of the day.

while all that was lovely, gortash’s favorite was when he asked them to tend to his more intimate needs. tav would be on their knees instantly, their jaw falling open as enver thrusted his cock down their throat, fucking into them to release his stress from the day. he could never get tired of watching them struggle to take his entire length, their cheeks stained with tears while they gagged against him.

and he could never get over the feeling of their cunt stretching open as his cock pushed into them, his name falling from their mouth like lyrics of a song. enver fucked into tav like he hated them, his dick bruising the walls of their pussy with every thrust. he would whisper small praises into tav’s ear, telling them how much of a good pet they were for taking him.

whenever tav had their doubts about gortash’s plans, he would always reassure them that there was nothing to be worried about. he was going to save baldur’s gate. he was going to rule over the city; and they’d be right by his side while he did so.

[daemon-in-my-head]

Once again, reading into shit, but Gortash tending to flowers in hell is actually cruel as fuck rather than the comedic relief it's supposed to be.

That man does not value beauty beyond being useful. He does not do delicate things, much less does he simply sit down to admire smth nice. He's incredibly restless, always doing something, creating and perfecting massive machines and weaponry, he despises the patriars and their indulgences. Even his old home lacks decorative beauty and that stuff. His office is scarcely decorated, and even the few paintings in it serve a purpose masking the locations of hidden vaults. But now he's forced to take care of it. He's forced to spend time admiring the little, beautiful things of life he couldn't have and later chose to run from. Delicate things that easily wither and die if he makes a mistake, but he's meant to make them bloom now. To protect those 'lives'. To see the beauty his efforts would conjure. To see the beauty for what it is, rather than to simply serve a purpose.

But worst of all, flowers are short-lived. They take weeks, months to grow until they can finally bloom, just for a few days, only to wither and die right after. Unlike his eternal machinery, they're frail. They vanish into obscurity quickly. And they leave him behind. The man who's been abandoned by everyone and everything being forced to care for something, nurture it, only to be abandoned by it again soon after. In an endless cycle, he can't escape from. Again and again, losing and being abandoned by the things he created, the things that kept him company, the things he sacrificed so much for. Things he was forced to 'love' by powers he could not control.

Carefully tending to something, protecting the little beauty he did not have in life, only for it to die in front of him again and again, leaving behind nothing but ashes. Incapable of stopping this vicious cycle of pain and abandonment that he sought to escape since he was cast into it back in the Flymms household, which he struggled his entire life to escape. Just to fail, and be forced to entertain this cycle even in death.

Realistically, I know it was just meant to show Karlachs 'goodness' and perhaps some comedy. But if you think about it further, it's just really quite painful.

[bhaalble]

Indulgent as the concept of Gortash mourning Durge is I tend to resist it a little in my own canon. Largely on the back of "Orin told me how she humiliated you". Two things can be true at once: Gortash has a lot of history with and affection for Durge. And Gortash plans to WIN. His plans for the moment need the alliance of Bhaal's Chosen. For the time being: that Chosen is Orin. Its why he works with her without much complaint after Durge vanishes, why he has the line "we agreed not to meddle in each other's affairs" ready to go when Durge asks him why he never looked for them. This is also why I believe he makes beating her a requirement for properly reviving the old alliance (the vows are renewed, but you're not getting any active help from him until you work out succession issues with your sister). He would prefer it be Durge! But he can't afford to publicly move against Orin. In the event that Durge loses he'll be in breach of contract enough that she'll have the go ahead to kill him. He'll hedge his bets rather than risk backing the wrong horse, because he knows too well the consequences of getting on the bad side of Bhaal's champion.

What compels me, though, are the little potential moments of self-betrayal. The flickers of wounded ego when he sees them with their companions, and the smugness when he reveals who they are. Did they really think they knew a thing about you? The poor fools have been wandering around with a lion thinking its a house cat. They don't know what it really means to stick their hand in your jaws and emerge unscathed. No one but him ever truly has.

Nostalgia and some kind of unnnameable complexity when he hears from his sources that you've been busy in the hells. A reminder of where this all started....and his old host dead at your hands. Did you remember, he wonders, the little things he'd let slip about his time in the House of Hope? Was it on your mind when you did your bloody work on Raphael? He wonders what it would have been like to see it. If you would have let him come with if he had known to ask. Hardly your first journey to the hells.

Not his only parental figure you encounter. Its when he realizes you're at his parents (seen through the eyes of his Steel Watch, he can't resist checking in from time to time. He assures himself its to make sure the wheels are still in motion) he feels real dread. He never told you the Flymms were alive, much less tadpoled. But is the prickling he feels fear that you'll uncover something? A childish irritation that you might break his least favorite toys? Or shame that he's not there to soften this revelation for you, that his humiliating origin is known while he can't say a thing to paint over it as inconsequential?

The unexpected pride he feels when you return with Orin's blade. Even addled and physically deteriorated by everything that was done to you these last months, you triumphed. No more looking over his shoulder for Orin's blade.....and, he realizes privately. All those pretty words he's said about a future ruled by the two of you may suddenly not just be words anymore.

Maybe, just maybe, there is something like destiny at work here.

[alpaca-clouds]

Something I find super interesting when it comes to the way Durgetash is depicted in fanwork, is how differently it gets depicted in terms of power dynamics depending on whether it is a male Durge or a female Durge.

Most people do seem to very much agree that Durgetash is an inherently toxic ship - where the fun of the ship is that it is toxic. I very much agree with that.

However, the thing I find very interesting, is the fact that Gortash x female Durge tends to have a dominant, sadistic Gortash with a more submissive Durge, while Gortash with a male or even non-binary Durge (though I have only seen like two or three of the latter kind) tends to end up with a submissive Gortash and a dominant Durge. And that is... very fascinating to see.

Fascinating, because it kinda does fit into the entire Dark Romance theme there, and into societal expectation, that women have to be submissive to men, and also cannot want sex and stuff. (It is a whole big research area apparently for sociologists.)

And now, judging by anything but the main tags on Ao3 is not perfect. Because a lot of people do not properly tag the kinks and stuff in their fics. (And just to note this down here: Please tag your kinks when you write smut. For one, it helps people with those kinks to find them, but also it helps those for whom these are squicks to avoid them. Just please.)

Generally there are about 1700 Durgetash fics on Ao3. Of those about 830 are E-Rated. (Not a big surprise.) Generally speaking most Ao3 Durgetash fics are M/M (probably because canon Durge is male), though generally speaking F/M is not that far behind - even though of course the statistic can be a bit messy due to some fics having multiple categories attached. If you just look at the E-Rated fics the Categories look like the right image.

Now, as I said, a lot of folks don't properly tag all the kinks and stuff in their fics. Just for general reference: The ten most common tags in those E-Rated Durgetash fics are like this:

All kinda makes sense in the context of the fandom. Duh.

Now, the interesting thing happens, when I go "Sub Enver Gortash".

Suddenly there is only 20 fics left (again, I do assume if people actually tagged this stuff there would be more), but the statistic looks like this:

While before M/M and F/M with the ship were kinda comparable, now... Well, now it isn't.

Meanwhile, when I use the tag "Dom Enver Gortash" instead, I end up with 51 fics and this line up:

And as I said... It is fascinating. I do not meant that in any judgemental way, but it is a really interesting ship to see this phenomenon on.

Because it really fits well with some theories put out by social scientists on patriarchy, gender dynamics and how it interacts with smutty literature.

[kawareo]

Have a ramble about my Durge and his issues with sex because why not

TW for mentions of sexual assault and abuse, attempted incest, grooming and mentions of underage stuff; nothing is graphic but it does get dark so please don't read if you don't feel like you're in the right space for it

Strike is a very sexual guy as I'm sure you've had the chance to notice, but honestly, his relationship with sex and sexuality is complicated to a degree that he completely refuses to even acknowledge.

His Urges and Bhaal-given 'Ectasy of Murder' make it practically impossible for him to seperate between his own desires and those of Bhaal. He was way too young when he first got them, practically when he hit puberty, and then he was immediately encouraged to 'explore' and 'experiment' with either corpses, other Bhaalists, or still living victims. Sceleritas was the one to encourage and 'guide' him and Strike stopped feeling sick about the new need that overcame him whenever he killed well. He had to practically gaslight himself into seeing it as a gift from Father, or he would dislike it, and you can't afford to dislike something your god wants when you're his Chosen.

He also doesn't really know how to say no to sex. The way I try to write him is in a similar way of how society expects a cishet guy to always be down to fuck, except it's cranked up to a thousand - he is Bhaal's seed, scion, his breeder - there is no reason for why he would ever want to say no, is there? If you asked him for any reason he could think of for him not wanting to have sex, he genuinely wouldn't known the answer.

He said no once though, only once - when the temple attempted to match him with Orin once they were in their late teens. Orin would've pushed through with it even though she was obviously less than enthusiastic, but Strike was the one to push her away that time. It wasn't the incest aspect of it that turned him off, tbh; that really isn't a value the temple of Bhaal would consider abnormal, but Strike just... Orin was always the only relationship he's had where he never felt like it could turn sexual at any moment - they've bathed together, they slept cuddled up on the same bed, they straddled eachother when beating the shit out of the other and none of it was ever sexual, for either of them. But that was the first time he refused Bhaal's will and also the first time he lied to Him - he made up that he didn't think Bhaal's blood should get even more diluted and defiled than it was in Orin's veins. After that, Orin never forgave him for thinking he was above her (as she interpreted it) and their relationshio only strained more when Strike met Gortash a few years later.

Gortash is a whole other can of worms that I don't think I have to get into right now, but Strike's religious upbringing makes every sign of weakness, such as signs of softness or affection (for an enemy, especially) a sin and having sex reduces the sinfulness of it. Holding hands, kissing? Unforgivable. Intertwining fingers during sex, or cuddling right after while they're both still chasing their breath? Not ideal, but it can happen. Not the worst thing. It's not like he was doing something intimate just for the sake of intimacy, you know?

He's very hypersexual now as an adult because of all the above mentioned things combined, and when I get to Godsbound (my bg3 timeline fic has a name now btw!) He likes to joke and flirt and fuck literally whoever, that doesn't change end after tadpoling, he still has no idea how to be close to anyone without it being sexual but also he is so horrifically touchstarved that he wakes up screaming if he doesn't have a body next to him to hold onto it. I would like to explore how much of an actual issue that is for him, especially when he has forgotten all of the excuses he told himself through the years and the decades of religious fanaticism. But then again, he does tend to push his problems away to 'deal with later', so who knows.

[crossdressingdeath]

But remember, the Fist only did anything wrong because that mean ol' Banite tricked them.

I really don't understand what Larian was thinking. There are so many moments across all three acts that make a point of talking about how the Fist are incompetent at best and actively abusive as a general standard and then we're still expected to buy that Ulder is a saint and the Fist were innocent victims of Gortash's manipulations. Sure, based on this Ulder didn't personally take part in the abuse the Fist heap on the populace but it's such common knowledge that they're awful that... yeah, there's no good explanation for him missing it. Either he didn't pay any attention to what the people he commanded were doing despite their long history of being generally awful, or he chose to ignore what they were doing. But the game just... refuses to engage with that. The whole game seems to be setting up a story where Gortash and Durge only managed to get as far as they did because the Fist and the city's leadership were too incompetent to catch them or too afraid of Bane and Bhaal to challenge them or just benefited too much from their presence and non-Absolute-related activities to want them gone (Bhaalists are the best assassins in the business and Banites are great for helping people gain power, and neither church tends to attack the nobility) and then... nope, apparently those mean old cultists did all of this right under Ulder—before anyone mentions it, his little sojourn into Avernus happened the same year as the events of BG3; the plan was definitely well underway by then—and the Fist's nose! They were innocent! Don't ask how none of the city's law enforcement or leadership noticed them, those horrible manipulators were... horrible! And manipulative! Ulder and the Fist are totally innocent and were not wilfully blind or incompetent in the slightest!

[featherwurm]

Even when things are alright, old grief pops up every now and again (Tav's parents are also both deceased, although she didn't loose them as young* as Karlach.) Things mellow with time, but sometimes it's late and you're tired and it stings again.

Anyway, best you can do is ride it out, then maybe go for a distraction (there's time between these, promise). Tav is amenable to be a distraction.

*Canonically in her teens, I tend to think of it as late teens since she mentions working for Gortash not long after her dad passed and you don't have a child as a body guard (could even be possible her dad passed in her early 20s.) Tav's parents passed in Tav's mid 30s, her father due to an "untreatable" illness (cancer - diagnosed only as dropsy) and her mother a few years later due to a bad bout of pneumonia she just didn't come back from owing to complications from already existing issues. Tav's aunt is a cleric and did all she could for her sister, but it wasn't enough.

[chronurgy]

Gortash Week Day 4 - Relax/Work

He needs to work. There is more that needs to be done and not enough hours in the day with which to do it. His agents have brought in reports on the latest movements within the undercity, there are design notes to be compiled on the latest version of the Steel Watch, some minor Dreadmaster has been flouting his reporting requirements and must have his punishment for it, his current “paramour” has written some dreadfully soppy letter that requires a response in kind, and the claw rings he has made for Vesper require more polishing. But he is tired. He is so, so tired. It has been… days, perhaps, since he last slept. But there is more to be done, always more, new schemes and ideas to set in motion and returning plans to be leveraged into yet more ploys. It is perpetual motion and he must keep up. Even the stimulants have started to do nothing more than increase his heartrate without touching his exhaustion.

He resents the limitations of his flesh.

But he does acknowledge them. He used to ignore them, back in his younger and more impetuous days, but experience has been a keen teacher. This body will have its due, whether he wishes it or not. He can only choose how that due will find him. A decade ago he would have kept at it until the last moment, sought to squeeze every last second of work from the damned thing until he collapsed at his desk. A decade ago he might have been able to survive that. These days, for all it galls him, he must pay heed to the changes the passage of time has worked upon him. Passing out at his desk now means he can expect his neck to stiffen for days, the delicate and important tendons in his hands to tighten near snapping, and the old injury in his leg to ache like hellfire (not exactly, but close enough to bring its sting to mind). He can push through it all if he must, of course. Never let it be said that Lord Enver Gortash does not keep mastery over his own body. But he must admit that it is easier if he does not need to.

So he sets all his work aside. Distributes orders to his lieutenants, triages what can wait and what he must be notified of immediately. And then he sets out for his Upper City manor home. His servants are well trained - a bath already awaits him. The water is hot but not scalding, and he groans as he sinks down into it. The heat slithers into his joints as he soaks, soothing overtaxed muscles and old aches. It is so easy to habituate to the pain. There are always more important things to be done, more important concerns to ponder. It is so easy to section off a piece of his mind, drag his focus onto other things, that he sometimes does not notice the weight of it until it is lifted. There are exercises, he knows, that help limit the worst of it, but they require time and he is a busy man. He manages well enough, besides.

He climbs from the water once it begins to cool. He longs to climb straight into his bed and the blissful embrace of sleep, but he cuts that nonsense off with a sharp thought. Those who do not properly tend to their weapons are like to watch them fail, and his appearance has always been one of his most useful weapons. He sits at the vanity, in front of the neat, long row of pots and bottles. He starts at the left and works right, mechanically applying each cream, serum, and unguent in the proper amount and order. Once that is finished, he runs a comb through his hair, carefully unworking even the smallest knots and tangles, then follows it up with a balm to keep his hair soft, smooth, and shiny. He ensures things, he does not leave them to chance.

Routine completed, he is free at last to retreat to his bedchamber. He examines it for signs of Vesper’s passage and finds none. They have not been here. Or they have, and have disguised their tracks for some reason knowable to them and them alone. That would be their sort of game, a fun little challenge for the both of them. A smile tugs at his lips at the thought of it. Perhaps, when he wakes, he shall look a little closer. Either way, he is sure that no one else is in here for the moment. He is alone.

He crawls into his featherbed, curling beneath silken sheets. His mind races still, even here, presenting him with plots and ploys and projects aplenty. He breaths slowly, in and out, allowing it all to flow over and through him but grasping for nothing. It will all be there on the morrow, he reminds himself. And at last the currents of sleep begin to lap upon the shores of his mind and, bit by bit, he allows them to bear him into the depths of slumber.

[animentality]

"I don't want you to die. Please stay with me." post made me think of Gortash taking care of injured Durge (precanon). And that's the first time Durge is taken care of so it's like tending to a wild animal. Especially if it's default dragonborn Durge baring his teeth and hissing and wanting to leave and not to feel careful hands cleaning and bandaging his wounds. Not trusting Gortash not to hurt him when he's at his weakest.

Let's forget healing potions work too well, I need them to have their sickfic moment

I also think Durge is the one to just wait till it heals naturally and they'd want to leave immediately. And Gortash goes "no way, the temple you live in is probably all grime and stale blood, so you are staying here for tonight"

anon this has the potential for comedy and tragedy, and it's brilliant.

on the one hand you have Durge snapping at Enver while injured like a mangy street dog and the man has to be very careful not to get bit, and maybe he even says behave yourself or I'll be getting the muzzle :)

and then they snarl at him and maybe the two do a silly little dance, where he tries to get at their bloody bandages and they try to both evade him and maybe get in a passing bite or two.

Vet Gortash could be hysterical.

but then the tragedy.

when you said.... the dark urge doesn't trust him not to hurt them at their weakest.

like since the dark urge killed their parents, they don't know how to be touched gently.

to be handled softly.

they don't trust caring hands because they've forgotten how to be taken care of.

and it's hard for them to allow someone close to them when they're hurt. they haven't done that in a long time.

but Gortash proves to them that he can take their pain away. that he can be trusted to help. that he is worthy of seeing them when they're vulnerable, and he will not take advantage of them.

he won't hurt them.

he will heal them, and make them feel safe.

and he's the only one who can do that.

anon can we kiss