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aladaylessecondblog · 2 months

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a flame in your heart (gortash x tav pt. 17)

Author's Note: More Gortash POV. Struggled a bit with this one but didn't want to delay it any longer. Tooth-rotting fluff.

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I woke up with the worst headache I've ever had in my life. Like someone stuck a sword through my eye, out the back of my skull, and was jiggling it around just to torment me. Too much whiskey, of course, but I wasn't about to swear off drinking when I knew damn well I was probably going to just do it again. Not when the burn of that Rotgut Red is so strong it can keep me awake when I need it to.

On my side, pillows behind me, and a potion on the bedtable for the hangover. I sat up, guzzled it, and looked around for Tav once the throbbing in my skull finally stopped.

She wasn't there.

(Normally, I'm the one to wake first, or at least to get up first. When she sleeps in my bed she thinks I don't notice her pretending to still be asleep. Lazy little thing.)

I didn't remember coming to bed. There was a vague recollection of the cool night again against my skin...an owlbear, for some reason, and one of the Flaming Fists. Then a whore from Sharess's Caress. What in the hells happened?

"Ah, good morning, m'lord." One of the chamber servants entered as I continued to puzzle. "The bath is a bit cool but we can redraw it if need be."

"No. No, that won't be necessary."

I'd bathe, then I would figure out what had happened the night before...and why exactly that whore keeps showing up in Wyrm's Rock. Tav has been known to be open to sharing before, but that was before she was a married woman. Perhaps that woman was here for her, but...no, she has never looked away from me as a source of...excitement.

She enjoys my firm hand too much, and I'm certain no one else could scratch the itch she has to be controlled the way I can.

As for me...

What if she got the idea I was looking outside of the marriage for excitement, without saying anything to her first...the Black Hand is one thing, what happens with him is akin to a mass, a communion. Not the sort of thing that can be easily refused. Whores are another thing entirely.

I can do what I want, when I want. If I wanted to visit Sharess's Caress daily, I would do so. The other ladies of Baldur's Gate would likely tell Tav she should be glad of the relief.

Still...

I shall endeavor to be only what the role requires, Lord Gortash

The idea that Tav could speak those words again, turn that same look in my direction was...unsettling, and I hate the fact. As if a wall had come up between us--resignation, sadness--I still remembered that look, and I didn't want to see it again.

It is obvious now more than ever why Bane discourages love. The feeling makes me weak. Yet at the same time -

Only one of us is wearing a crown right now, my love.

Maybe it had been a slip of the tongue, but when I heard those words, there was a bloom in my chest I'd never felt before. A bloom that's still there when Tav directs her smiles at me.

Gods, I really can't get her off my mind. I don't want to tell her about that whore being in my quarters but she's going to find out anyway. Best to get the disappointment over with.

I let the valet do his job for once while I thought over the situation. Then when he was done helping me dress I asked, "Where is my wife?"

"She is currently...feeding the little Lord Cald, Archduke. From what I can gather she means to take the morning off, Berlina says she didn't sleep well."

Well, it wasn't a mystery as to why she would be worrying about that, I supposed.

Tav smiled at me as I walked in, and the bloom hit me again. Gods, what did I do to get this? Neither of us cared for one another when this started. It was a means to an end, all of it. Cozying up to her, whispering what I thought she wanted to hear, and slowly extending my power over her. Finding she wanted it...enjoyed it. Certainty in an unsteady world.

Focus

"Is he well?"

"Well enough," Tav said quietly, "Cald has another tooth coming in, and he's been quite fussy."

"Baba!" Cald spotted me, and from his spot in Tav's lap raised his arms. "Baba!"

"He wants you...you aren't still drunk, are you?"

"Of course not, I slept that off...though...speaking of which..." I took Cald from her when she offered, and looked down at--my son's dark eyes. My eyes.

And he was smiling. My son was smiling at me.

"You look upset, is he...filling his diaper already?"

Tav's words were a little unsteady, but the smile still hadn't left her face.

"No, it's nothing to do with him," I replied, waving my free hand absently. "It's...about last night."

"Ah...the trip back. I apologize." She shook her head. "You refused to come back on your own, so...I was asked to assist."

"I won't be hearing about it, will I?"

"Possibly...I asked the Flaming Fist who was with us to try and keep anything from getting out, but...I'm not sure how much he can do. You were...you were, ah...naked."

"Naked."

By the black hand, not THIS again.

"You told me you were too hot and...I suppose instead of calling for ice, or getting something cool to eat or drink your addled mind decided stripping was the best idea. I did the best I could, but...well, I imagine you were seen. I though if I carried you back as an owlbear it'd both making carrying you easier and ensure that they'd pay more attention to that than to you...but it remains to be seen whether I'm right. I haven't exactly been able to check."

"I suppose that must have been when I..."

"When you what?" she asked.

Again that look. She really must have known, I'm not the sort of man to stay quiet when I'm...enjoying myself.

"When I ordered that whore into my room."

I waited. I waited for a look of pain, or an expression of anger. But neither ever came, and Tav did something entirely unexpected.

She laughed.

The woman laughed.

Cald, in my arms, followed with a little giggle of his own. Mother happy, son happy. It was almost soothing to watch.

"I fail to see what's so funny about it, I've...we never settled if it was--if you were amenable to--"

Gods, why does speaking to this woman make my tongue malfunction?

"First of all, you could do as you please and dare me to say something about it, but I am...glad, very glad, that you think of discussing these things with me first. I'm not opposed to sharing you, so long as they don't think to take my place and we talk about it first. Our communions with the Black Hand prove that well enough...he doesn't desire to take my place, it's more that he...owns...both of us."

"But not with a--"

"Enver, let me just stop you before you tie yourself up in any more knots. There was no whore in your room last night."

"How can you be so sure?"

"Because I was," Tav huffed like she was holding back a laugh. "Twice now you've gotten drunk with me around. And twice now you've mistaken me for that woman from Sharess's Caress."

"I--what?"

The thought had never occurred to me.

"You get drunk and think I'm her, but that's not even the best part." Tav's soft smile deepened. "The best part is that you see me, and tell who you think is her to bugger off because you're a married man. Both times you did that."

I--

"And do you know what else you did last night?" She went on as she stood and moved in my direction, "My dear, faithful husband?"

I had no words. There were no words in my vocabulary to convey the thing I was feeling in that moment. 'Short-circuit' would be the most apt term to describe what happened, I think.

A peck on the cheek.

"You said you loved me."

Heart pounded in chest. Throat. Ears, even. How Cald didn't notice, I don't, but he seemed to quickly be settling in, utterly comfortable where he was.

"Now, I'm fairly certain you didn't mean it, but those three words...ah, they made the entire trip worth it." Tav rested her head against my shoulder then, and reached up to ruffle Cald's hair. "My poor drunk husband, insistent he can't bed me because he's married...and when I asked why that should matter, he says 'because I love her.' Now...if you don't mind, I'm going to call the wet nurse. I have a full afternoon so I need to eat quickly and have that nap."

As she was heading for the door I finally found my words again.

"I did mean it."

Tav stopped in the doorway, just after calling for the wet nurse. "What?"

"I DID mean it," I swallowed. "That I loved you."

Every muscle tensed, pulled taut. I waited with more anxiety than I felt each passing second when Durge and I stole the Crown of Karsus. I could've died back then. But this felt--something more than the fear of death.

Tav seemed to tremble, and didn't say more until the wet nurse came in to take Cald from me.

Then we were alone again. She walked back into my room with me.

"You love me?" she finally asked.

Another pause, a lean against me, a deep breath.

"I never thought to hear those words from you. Or that I would love you in return."

I took in a sharp breath.

"But I do."

#gortash is really going through it #he doesnt remember last night too well lol #gortash bg3 #tav #bg3 tav #gortav #enver gortash #tavtash #bg3 #fanfiction #bg3 fanfic #bg3 fic #gortash fluff #fluff

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sanasanakun · 7 months

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I know people usually use their specific names for Durge, but like…isn’t it like canon that Durge’s government name is “The Dark Urge?” Like their social security card would say “Mr. The Dark Urge” or some shit. I always just assumed the name we give them in the beginning is them going “oh fuck, I gotta come up with a name cause this ‘Dark Urge’ thing sounds fake af.” Because when they remember their name in the opening it’s “The Dark Urge.” Like I’m sure they had a name before that (like with their foster parents) but after murder papi came along they def were just The D of the Urge until the lobotomy lmao or am I just dumb? Anyway, my twink is named Leolen now so he’s gotta get a new social security card ig

#bg3 #the dark urge bg3 #the dark urge #I actually think it’s really sexy when fanfics use The Dark Urge as their name #esp when Gortash uses it 🥵#although I’ve yet to see a fanfic where the companions use their new name and Gort uses The Dark Urge #I feel like that would be interesting #I also feel like Durge would feel a little rebellious after relearning their origins #and be like IM RECLAIMING MY NAME😤😤#but then after like two days they’re like ok y’all let’s just pretend I didn’t go through this phase😅#baldurs gate 3 #larian studios #bg3 durge #durge

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maegalkarven · 7 months

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Choosing the frame.

After the dust settles and the wounds close, everyone contemplates what they can and should do now.

The Elder Brain proves to be a formidable foe, but not all is lost.

Or is it?

Set between Empty Prayers and Interlude. (I swear I'm better at chronological order on AO3)

The Dark Urge x Enver Gortash.

Characters: Dark Urge (Nemo), Enver Gortash, Isobel Thorm, Dame Aylin, Wyll Ravengard, Ulder Ravengard, Karlach, Gale, Astarion, Jaheira, Halsin.

POV Gale.

They’re the pitiful bunch survived in the latest attack of prior unknown enemy; harpers, refugees, flaming fists and several cultists who surrendered the moment they saw the Elder Brain.

And what a sight it was, a gigantic monstrosity of the flesh floating in the air, commanding the army of tadpoled marionettes to march on Baldur’s Gate.

And they did that, Nemo and Gortash. It was their plan what went astray.

Gale contemplates if there is any future for them yet, or this is it.

The end.

The drastic failure.

He would still have his backup plan to use the orb as a weapon of mass destruction to deal with the brain, if not for the knowledge newly aligned with them tyrant brought.

What it would save no one. What it would simply turn every illithid-infested person into a mindflayer.

Mystra didn’t care for the fate of all these people; she never cared for the safety of the Sword Cost.

All she ever cared for was the threat the Crown of Karsus posed to her.

And if this isn’t a waking up call.

Gale feels...

He isn’t sure how he feels. Devastated, probably? It’s not every day you find out your goddess and former lover is not what you imagined her to be.

It’s not every day you get disappointed in your god.

And to think he was ready to...

Unbelievable.

But again, all things considered, maybe he is where he is supposed to be; in a circle of kindred spirits and minds. Most of them have some inner or outer struggle going on with one deity or another, even the newcomer.

Especially the newcomer.

It’s not every day one meets a fellow Chosen, and not every day he finds out one of his closest companions is one as well. Or was. They all are falling from grace, aren’t they?

The fact what Nemo and Gortash are involved is not as surprising to Gale as one might have expected it to be; Gale is not a stranger to inner turmoil and deep longing what separation from a lover can bring.

He expected Nemo to have a tragic backstory akin to his - minus the goddess part – but what he didn’t expect was how utterly mutual this romantic obsession of his was. At least that’s the picture he drew for himself after hearing of what have passed in the illithid colony.

And even now Nemo and Gortash are the last to emerge to the small crowded room where Duke Ravengard is holding a counsel.

They look rattled, two disgraced chosen of evil gods, and they also stick close to each other, as if the entire world is their enemy.

It stings a little, Gale would hope Nemo to know he can always lean on him, especially after all support Nemo gave him. The unconditional, nonjudgmental way Nemo has been treating him and his condition got to his heart, as well as Nemo’s begrudgingly good deeds.

And now, once Gale knows the truth about Nemo’s upbringing, he is even more amazed of his friend’s defiance, of his proud and unyielding stance. To defy one’s god, to defy one’s creator...It is not a small deed.

“We need to decide our further actions,” Duke speaks. He has noticed the latest addition to the counsel and, from the slight frown on his face, does not look happy about it. But Wyll, who sticks close to his father, smiles to Nemo and gestures for him to come closer.

Nemo smiles back, warmer than many would expect, definitely warmer than Gortash would expect, if the flash of surprise over his features is of any indication.

“And why are you the one to speak?” the voice rings out from the crowd. Gale knows it’s one of the tieflings before he turns; the girl Nemo saved from the towers, Rolan’s sister. Lia stands tall and proud and refuses to lower her gaze. “You didn’t do anything to stop it from happening, did you?”

Wyll whips his head, ready to respond, but his father ushers him to stay quiet.

“That is true,” he agrees. “And I am in no ways diminish the heroic deeds of the ones who stood against the evil, even if they have failed to defeat it just yet.”

“Well, if so, when let them speak,” Lia insists. “Here they are! Nemo-“

“Oh, sure,” one of the fists argues back. “Let speak the one who started this all mess, that’s a great idea. He is not a hero of this story, but a villain. Another spawn of an evil god-“

“Don’t remember you saving our lives, dipshit,” Cal chimes in. “I do, however, remember you whimpering like a little baby at the first sight of the shadows.”

“Enough,” the duke’s voice rises to the commanding tone and, miraculously, they do quiet somewhat. “Why don’t we let the man speak for himself? A hero or not, it is yet to be decided, but his assistance will be irreplaceable in the battle to come.”

“What battle?” one of the harpers argues. “Where will be no battle, this will be a slaughter-“

“Do not lose hope,” Isobel tries. “The situation is looking grim, but I’m sure together we will find a way-“

“Not really taking advice from a daughter of Ketheric Thorm,” one of the Flaming Fists spits. “When were you going to tell us all of this is because of you, eh, Isobel?”

Nightsong steps forward.

“One more word out of your mouth and I will rip that tongue out-“

“How about we all take a deep breath?” Wyll, a poor soul dedicated to diplomacy, tries. “Listen to the ideas the few of us have and not spend time in endless squabbles? We all are upset, scared, shaken by that has happened, but blaming each other is not a way to fix it. And we need to start fixing it right now, before it’s too late.”

“Listen to Wyll Ravengard,” Nemo finally manages to get to the small stage in the middle of the room and, with Wyll’s help, climbs it. “And also listen to me, for I am one of the very few people who knows what we’re dealing with. It is true what I am a child of Bhaal,” he meets the gaze of the fist who called him out before and the man lowers his gaze first. “My involvement in the plot what lead us to where we are now is also true. But,” he raises a hand to stop several people from speaking at once.

“I am not here to apologize. Yes, you heard me; no apologies will be said today, for none of you know what it is like to have a father, a god, such as mine. None of you are in the position to judge me. And if, per chance, you decide to judge me, where will it lead you? Nowhere, I say, for you need me to survive this mess. You need me and you need my close ally Lord Enver Gortash,” several heads turn and said man tips his head slightly and proceeds to the stage. Gale hears Karlach curse under her breath.

“It is true what him and I created this plot, under the command of cruel gods you know as The Dead Three,” Gortash, on his part, has no trouble climbing the stage with no help needed. “Ketheric was the Chosen of one of these gods: Myrkul, Lord of Bones.”

“It was with Myrkul’s power,” Gortash smoothly joins, hand coming to rest on the side of Nemo’s back naturally. Gale hears Astarion huff and turns just in time to see the man roll his eyes.

Interesting.

“What the beloved Isobel Thorm was returned back to us,” the lord smiles and alright, he is not without the charm of his own. Wyll looks mildly annoyed by his interference, but since it was Nemo who quite literally asked the man to join, does not argue against it.

“Ketheric Thorm was a man who sold his soul more than once, first to Shar, and then to his last master. And all,” a dramatic gesture. “In the name of love.”

“I didn’t ask for that,” Isobel tries, even thought everyone knows she doesn’t need to defend herself. Yet some part of her seems to believe she has to, for in some awful, twisted way the cursed lands around them is her fault.

“It is not your fault your father’s grief changed him so,” Aylin tries, but even Gale sees her words give little comfort.

“Let’s not condemn the children for the sins of their fathers, shall we?” Nemo chimes in. “No one is blaming Isobel, we all know she was the one who singlehandedly kept the Last Light protected from the Shadow Curse.”

“That’s true! She saved us from the fate worse than death!”

“She defied her father!”

Isobel smiles weakly, grateful. Nemo smiles back.

“And now,” he looks around; making sure everyone is paying attention. “Ketheric Thorm is dead. And the age of the shadows is over,” a loud cheer goes through the room like a wave. Gale catches Lord Gortash smile like a cat that just got the cream.

“We have defeated the Curse,” Nemo continues. “Our friend Halsin ventured into the lands so dark and lifeless very few get to tell a tale about them, and returned victorious. Because of him, because of everything he did, everything every single one of you, Flaming Fists, Harpers, the brave souls who dared to walk into the deepest depths of Shar’s temple did – we have defeated the curse.”

Aylin beams.

“Do not let the looks deceive you,” she booms. “Do not let the cursed bloodline running in my friend’s blood discourage you. For when I gaze at him I see an ally. I see a man who looked into the face of the abyss and refused to succumb. I see a man who brought the light into the darkest corners of the darkest of places. I see a man whose cruel father put him against his own sister, and I see a man who was worthy of the sacrifice,” a sharp piercing look into Gortash’s direction. “Unknown to many. You look upon those men, those former chosen of gods, and see villains. I gaze at them and see hope. I see conviction what no matter how dire things might look, there’s still a way out. For if the worst of us are capable of selfless deeds, when what are the best of us are capable of?”

“Did she just call me ‘the worst of us’,” Gale can imagine this is what Gortash murmurs into Nemo’s ear. Nemo smirks.

“She might have meant Ketheric, you’ll never know,” might as well be his smug reply.

“I’m pretty sure she meant me.”

“Relax, a daughter of a goddess just praised your deeds.”

“I can see why Ketheric hated her so much.”

“Well, Ketheric’s opinion notwithstanding, we really need her support. You’re lucky she likes me.”

“I can’t see why.”

“I will tell you what we’re capable of,” Aylin continues, oblivious to the conspicuous whispering the two men are having. “Anything. Together we can do anything we put our mind into, defeat any evil. The Elder Brain is powerful. It is an enemy we have never fought before. But it, as any other enemy, can be defeated.”

“Indeed it can,” Lord Gortash raises his voice once again. “First step to defying the enemy is knowing the enemy, and this is where I come into the view. Some of you know me, many of you distrust or even hate me, but I assure you this will come to pass quite soon. For you will have no better ally and no more knowledgeable advisor than me, unless, of course, you count mindflayers, and they’re of uncooperative kind. Luckily for you, I,” a generous and quite dramatic gesture. “Am willing to help.”

“I know the Elder Brain and know how it operates, and trust me when I say you’ll need all the allies you can get if you even hope of winning this battle. An Elder Brain is supremely powerful organic calculator, a mental machine able to process a vast number of simultaneous thought processes. It is always a hundred moves ahead, and cannot be surprised except by a sudden confluence of unexpected variables,” he smiles, observing the silence what has fallen over the room.

“But luckily for us, we are those variables. We are the most unlikely of people to work together, the least possible allies, and this is why it might just work. The Elder Brain is the entity beyond mortal comprehension, but it doesn’t mean it cannot be subsided. It has been done once already, in a calculated plan to overpower it. And it did work, if for a while.

The reasons for why it worked and why it fell apart are irrelevant now, but I assure you all we need is ourselves and the minds we bear. The Elder Brain has no weakness but the unexpected, and it means we need to be just that – unexpected, unpredictable, completely out of any line and form of rationalization. And what is more unexpected than yesterday’s masterminds turned today’s saviors? What is more unexpected than all of us, working together towards one common goal?

What goal, you may ask me. Survival. Such a simple word, isn’t it? And yet it drives us all, this deep-rooted need to overcome what comes our way. To live, to see the other day. I don’t know about you, but I am not yet ready to die. I expect to have a long and fulfilling life. And what about you?”

He looks from face to face, as if capturing them in his mind, cataloguing and putting into categories.

A clever man indeed, Gale has to admit, and good with words. Probably good with his tongue too, if Nemo’s blind loyalty to him is of any indication.

“Do you want to die? Are you ready to lay down your weapons and simply give up? I find it hard to believe. No, you,” he gestures at the harpers. “Who fought the losing battle against the undying enemy? Or you,” another one, this time at the fists. “Who fought to protect the innocents despite all odds being against you? Or even you,” now at the group a part of which Gale himself is. “A bunch of damned and unlucky, happened to be at the wrong time at the wrong place. Tadpoled, frightened, hunted for life, but fighting on. Are you willing to die? Or are you going to stand up with me and see the other day?”

Some whispers, someone cheers.

“Are you going to do the impossible or will you give up before even trying?” more cheers.

“Will you get your lives back or will you quit?” at this point the cheering is almost deafening.

“A good speech,” Jaheira comments. “Too bad he doesn’t mean a word he says.”

“He doesn’t,” Karlach agrees with a scowl. “But damn if they’re not eating from his palm already. I’d thought it would take more for him to trick them all. Turns out I was wrong.”

“They’re scared,” Halsin tries. “They’re lost. They have entered one battle and were thrown into another, so much bigger than everything they have always known.” The druid frowns. “And he is using that against them.”

“Well, whatever he is doing,” Astarion chimes in. “It seems to be working. And damn if I am not a little inspired myself.”

“I know what you mean,” Gale agrees. “I can see how Gortash managed to achieve the heights he did, if these are the kind of speeches he gives.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Karlach begs. “It’s bad enough he has Nemo wrapped around his finger, worse yet the entire crowd of people who should rightfully hate him.”

“To be fair, he did save Nemo’s life.”

Karlach scoffs.

“And I still don’t get why,” she runs her hands through her hair. “He had nothing to get out of that, nothing.”

Halsin coughs.

“Is it possible he did it out of...well, the affection he holds towards Nemo?” he tries. “They do seem to be locked together quite tight.”

“Don’t remind me,” Karlach sighs. “I can’t stand to watch how ridiculously proud Nemo looks right now. Damn straight swooning at the spot."

“What can I say, Nemo knows what he likes. Or, well, who he likes.”

“His taste is shit-“

°°°

“Wow,” Nemo laughs. “I haven’t had this rush of adrenaline since Methistar. Good job.”

Enver smiles and moves to catch Nemo’s face into his hands. It was an efficient speech, all things considered, even though most of it Enver just bullshitted though, adding there and there the facts he has learned about the Brain.

But it seemed to work, the general gloomy mood lifted, and, more importantly, it gave him a break to collect his thought and think ahead.

With Bane and the Church out of picture, he required a lot of thinking.

Rewiring the entire strategy will not be the easiest task, but Enver is up to it. If anyone can do it, it’s him.

But that, too, can wait.

“Still got it in me, huh?” he chuckles, though he doesn’t really need any conformation, not with the way Nemo stares at him, wide eyed and entirely lovesick.

Here, that’s better. His sweet, dear, bloodthirsty partner.

And to think Enver almost lost him.

“You were excellent,” Nemo all but purrs, leaning into the touch. “As ever. Never change,” he leans for a kiss, planting the softest, feather-light one up Enver’s mouth.

Then, as quickly as he leaned in, he suddenly pulls away.

Enver follows, trying to capture familiar lips under his, but the assassin prevents him from that, tears out of his hold and takes a step back.

“Nemo?”

The Bhaalspawn blinks.

“It was too easy,” he murmurs, blinking some more. “Too fucking easy. Of course it’s not done just like that,” more blinking. “Of course he is not letting me go. And with Orin out of the reach-“ he gasps, then bends in half.

“Nemo,” Enver tries to reach for him, but gets swatted away unceremoniously.

“Don’t touch me,” Nemo growls, and it is a growl what makes Enver pause. This is not a human sound; this is a howl of a beast what has no place coming out of Nemo’s throat.

Of course, he thinks. Bhaal has gone nowhere.

“Control yourself,” he tries, adding steel to his voice, but Nemo just laughs.

“Control yourself?” he gasps. “You have no idea what it is like, no fucking idea. And why would you? No one understands what it’s like to be Bhaal’s favorite, no one can ever-“ another growl tearing out of his throat. “Get...help.”

“What?”

“I said get help,” Nemo cries out. “Get Karlach or Wyll, or, for god’s sake, get Aylin here, I’m sure she can hold me down.”

“You don’t need their help,” Enver tries and knows instantly he is lying even to himself. An awful, loud sound of the bones cracking comes rattling through the room and Nemo screams. “Alright,” he decides. “I will,” another pained cry instead of an answer. “I’m sure Nightsong can-“

“Just go!” Nemo chokes out as his flesh tears, white bones showing though the gaps. His limbs shake and twist and it’s about the end of Enver’s endurance.

He goes to get help, leaving his ally alone in a dark, cold room.

With nothing but Bhaal in his head.

#empty prayers au #dark urge: nemo #dark urge x gortash #gortash x durge #bg3 #lia really said 'nemo did nothing wrong' and cal cheered #they're biased but nemo did save them twice #if mol was there she would bite someone #but mol is in bg already probably #nemo is going though some shit #love it how no one acknowledges ketheric's sacrifice. not even isobel #it's the least he could do after all the shit he made the cursed lands go through

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sankttealeaf · 2 months

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blowing the dust off of my modern ruetash au... we are so back

(aka im hitting that wall again in writing the next lsdl chapter so now i need to make these guys be silly and kiss and cause scandals)

i am glad i have this silly outlet to let them be idiots. i think if i kept only to canon i would burn myself out

#it also doesnt help i am Going Through It with my health rn #also its med day thats probably why im extra tired #anyway. modern au rue and gortash actively hook up in his car in the middle of the woods on their drive to work btw #i have a really stupid idea planned where they go to some big conference event in waterdeep #oh no! theres only one bed? sure hope neither of them... kiss... that would be bad...#this is so much fun i love playing with them like barbie dolls #; political affairs #(gonna keep tagging fic related posts i think)

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toomuchdickfort · 6 months

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I love making new dark urge playthroughs and thinking of so much story for who the guardian appears as and this whole life they’ll not remember and-

#delver had a HUSBAND #IM JUST STARTING ON SOLITUDE BUT THEY GOT THEIR BESTIE A LIL KILLED OOPSIES #NOCTIS’S GUARDIAN WAS A CLASSMATE. A HOMOEROTIC WIZARD RIVAL #DELVER HAD A HUSBAND!!! THEY GOT TATTOOS AND SCARS TOGETHER!!!! BOTH THEIR HAIR IS STAINED AT THE ENDS WITH THE SAME RED!!! HE DOESNT EVEN A #LITTLE BIT REMEMBER WHY THE RITUAL OF IT IS SO IMPORTANT BUT HE HOLDS TO IT NONETHELESS!!!!#bg3 posting #ANYMEOW somethin somethin solitude and solace both aimin 2 be clerics. and then oopsies :P durge stuffs. and ummmm. they never quite got #over the lonely feeling. I love giving my dark urges names that they choose as soon as they hop out of the pod.#damsel picked hers a ways later tho. she thought it was funny. in my heart gortash thinks it’s MUCH LESS funny. sometimes what used to be an #act is what carries through you in spite of everything. and the people you knew wonder how much of an act it really was. and neither of you #will ever have the answer.#pointy tho. that was always his name. he WAS big scary evil. but um. now big softy <3 something something claws grown and refined for #ripping flesh and tendons turning solely to use in making little oragami stars. do u see it. he’s so sillies to me and I love him. he #absolutey woke everyone up SOBBING after ****** by the way. that guy WAS built for this shit but he soooo doesn’t wanna be. he wants to go #home (please do not send him home he’d get eaten alive now just hold him soso soft)

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louisdelac · 8 months

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x do u understand my vision.

#'hey vinnie why do the clingy/pervert/horny hearts looks like they were scribbled in by a 5 year old' life is very difficult for me.#and also i don't really care about those level things because it's a misleading look into their lives.#anyways. do you know how fucking difficult it is to one word answer 'favorite bedroom activity' like good god.#charoum likes the actual activity itself. like the actual act of being inside someone/someone being inside him.#whereas gorty (particularly in the case of charoum) likes to test limits. because. again. i think a lot of what he gets out of sex #has more to do with what he can pull from someone else. the puzzle of it all.#charoum likes to rush so gorty likes to hold back. <- this plays into charoum's power thing #so. the main takeaway you can see here basically is that gortash is. unsurprisingly. into various means of control.#while charoum is into the forceful obtainment/removal of agency through domination/primal means #one is caught up in the mental aspect of sex and the other in the gut aspect.#also charoum DOES prefer to top. however. he finds it hotter if gorty can in some way 'force' him to bottom.#which has a lot to do with his own preconceived ancient greek-like notions of bottoming. which we simply can't go into right now.#gorty could possibly go even lower on the top/bottom scale. i feel like he likes both equally.#although again there's the charoum of it all. which raises his preference slightly.#charoum

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dracolichbitch · 2 days

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Man my biggest struggle right now with not being able to play Diablo when I really want to is that there is literally no other game that I can play rn that will actually satisfy me. Because I don’t just want to play Diablo, I specifically want to play JURA in Diablo (so fire based sorceror) and do you know what other game I can play right now that has a similar combat system to diablo or at the very least has similar really fun spells? THERE FUCKING ARENT ANY.

“Oh just go play bg3 instead!” You say! It behooves me to inform you of this but bg3’s combat system, more specifically its MAGIC system as well as its abysmal selection of fire magic? FUCKING SUCKS ASS.

Like does bg3 have a wide variety of spells? Yes, it does. ARE THE VAST MAJORITY OF THEM UTTERLY FUCKING USELESS AND POINTLESS?! Also yes. You don’t get credit for having a bunch of fucking spells for your spellcaster classes if players aren’t going to waste their spell slots on most of them LARIAN

Literally the only thing that bg3 has over diablo is the fact that it’s not online only and diablo 4 is basically an mmo, and that bg3 does have a better character CREATOR. Diablo has a better combat system, more fun abilities for the various classes, more interesting enemies, A MUCH MORE COMPELLING FUCKING STORY, and better looking equipment for your characters

I legitimately think the only reason that bg3 beat Diablo for game of the year is because Diablo came out in June while bg3 came out in November, aka RIGHT FUCKING BEFORE THE AWARDS so it was what everyone was playing when the awards were happening

#diablo 4 #bg3 #tbh the only thing really even going for bg3 for me at this point is that I like the character creator and Gortash is hot #I mean yeah I like the characters and it is an OK story #but honestly the gameplay and combat system is just such an unbearable slog to get through that I’ve never beaten it and really?#I can’t be bothered to. I got to the netherbrain fight in the climax ONE time #saw how utterly ridiculous it is and just immediately went NOPE #i genuinely think that if Larian wasn’t forced to make the combat as close to official DND as possible it would’ve been a lot better #because I’ve beaten dos2 multiple times and even though turn based combat isn’t my fav I had a fun time playing with different party builds #until I found what worked for me #also fun fact you can in fact defeat the final boss in dos2 (who has like 80% res to fire magic) with fire magic if you build your character #right/have the right equipment and then use your ap wisely/choose your spells carefully #in ONE TURN I mean #like oh you’re a master pyromancer? GUESS WHAT BUDDY SO AM I

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sabersandsnipers · 8 months

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Drabbles: Caregiving

Featuring: Astarion, Gale, Halsin, Gortash

Inspiration courtesy of @creativepromptsforwriting

Astarion

To put it lightly, Astarion is a mess after killing Cazador. And who can blame him? After returning to camp, he simply sits and dissociates. His hands tremble. The only solace he finds is when you’re near.

Still covered in blood, you ask his permission to clean him up. He simply nods, his eyes staring at nothing. You grab a damp cloth and begin gently wiping away the dried blood. He leans towards you, hoping your presence itself can protect him from the trauma that keeps surfacing in his mind.

You notice his pants are still stained with blood as well. You gently cradle his face to get his attention.

“Do you need help changing?”

He doesn’t say anything but the look in his eyes is enough to assure he needs help. You lay him down and help him out of his soiled clothes. You quickly grab his night clothes, pulling his shirt over his head and helping him into new bottoms.

After he’s settled, you turn to leave, but his hand shoots out to grab your arm.

“Please stay.” His voice is strained. A deep ache blooms in you.

You sit next to him on his bedroll, cradling him against your chest and whispering soothing thoughts to him for the rest of the night.

Gale

As skilled a wizard as Gale is, he can’t always prevent himself from getting sick. Confined to his tent, you took it upon yourself to care for him.

As you brew some tea for him, he stretches out on his bedroll and watches you work. His heart warms at your worry for him. He really doesn’t deserve the care you’re giving him. He’s sure you have more important things to do.

You pour the tea for him, crouching next to the bedroll. With barely enough energy to move, you have to help him lift his head to take a sip. You gently cradle the back of his head, bringing the warm liquid to his lips.

He takes a small sip before laying his head down again.

He licks the remaining liquid off his lips. “It’s good,” he says. The taste of it sends a comforting warmth through him, mildly numbing the ache settling in his bones.

“I put a little something extra in there for you,” you tell him, winking.

He lets out a breathy laugh. “Why am I not surprised?”

Halsin

Halsin is always the one who wants to care for you. You’ve insisted time and time again to let you pamper him sometime. He works so hard for you, protecting you and making sure you never go to sleep hungry or cold.

After scrounging enough gold to get a room at a nearby inn, you finally force his hand. He’s bathing in the wash room, and you sneak in while he’s scrubbing at his skin.

He looks at you, a smile coming to his face. “Did you want to join me?”

You shake your head. “I was hoping I could wash your hair,” you tell him.

He raises an eyebrow.

“Please?” you insist. “You must be tired.”

His shoulders slouch and he ceases his scrubbing. “Get over here,” he grumbles.

You rush over to sit behind the tub, leaping at the chance to help Halsin relax. You make quick work of wetting his hair, pouring a cleansing mix onto his scalp. Your fingers tangle themselves in his hair, massaging slowly.

“Hmmm, that feels good,” he says, voice low.

You smile, watching as the tenseness leaves his body. “Good. You deserve it.”

He leans his head back, making it easier for you to work your fingers through his long hair.

You can’t help yourself. You lean forward to press a kiss to his neck. He turns to you, a warm smile on his lips.

Your heart melts just like the first time you saw it.

Gortash

You straddle Lord Enver Gortash, his bare back laid before you. Your fingers dig into his tense muscles, earning moans from deep within him. He dearly needed a massage after an especially tiring day of ruling over Baldur’s Gate. The power of having him writhe beneath you is intoxicating.

You lean down and start to press kisses to his lower back, slowly trailing upwards. He growls your name. A warning. You know if you continue to tease him he’s going to flip you onto your back. The thought thrills you.

But you want to work out those big knots in his back first. He deserves to be taken care of before he takes care of you. You continue your work, rocking back and forth on your heels to gain momentum as you dig deep into his flesh.

His moans rumble through your hands. You grin to yourself, looking forward to the moment where he gives you the pleasure you want in return.

#baldur's gate 3 #bg3 #astarion #astarion imagine #astarion x reader #halsin #halsin imagine #halsin x reader #enver gortash #enver gortash x reader #enver gortash imagine #lord gortash #gortash x reader #gale of waterdeep #gale x reader #Gale imagine

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wilchur · 6 months

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Isn't it a bit odd that Gortash is the only one who had no idea where tf Durge disappeared off to? Between him having to be there during the raid to crown the brain with Durge and Ketheric, and Orin showing up right after all like "I'm the Chosen of Bhaal now :)" I find it hard to believe that he not only didn't realise something must've happened to Durge down there, but that he also did not investigate their disappearance at all? It literally takes like 10 minutes to go through the whole thing and Orin did not hide their "body" at all. And yeah "we promised to not meddle in each other's affairs" blah blah, but he spent A Lot of time in the colony after the raid playing with his pickled brain jars so is it really meddling if Durge was literally a 3 minute walk away, being opened and closed like a reusable Ikea ziplock bag over and over again?

So my headcanon is that he had no idea when exactly the attack happened because Orin took Durge's form right after the deed was done and kept the disguise on for as long as she could. By the time Gortash (running on 2h of sleep a day and sheer force of will, making sure everything Goes According To Plan) finally figured out what was going on, it's been too long to pinpoint the exact moment "Durge" began to act off and know where to look for their body at the very least. Plus it's not like he could put the entire scheme on pause just to go chasing ghosts, Durge would not want him to.

And I think it fucked him up a bit, that he took too long to notice and lost his chance at maybe preventing the entire thing from unraveling. I think that "we promised to not meddle in each other's affairs" is either a lie or him trying convince himself he couldn't have done anything anyways.

Now imagine a Durge that is not an idiot, that dug through every nook and cranny of Moonrise and the colony in search of answers and knows a lot more than Gortash assumes they do since they're supposed to be a full on amnesiac. A Durge that talked to the elderbrain, that read the prayer of forgiveness and recognised their own handwriting, and that learned from Balthazar's notes right next to it that this Enver Gortash they so admired spent considerable time there while they were being tortured endlessly just on the other side of the fleshy corridor.

Imagine that instead of "Orin betrayed me, and you did nothing to help me then." they would say something more along the lines of "You call me your nearest and dearest, your favourite, but I know you were right there when Baltahzar's necromancer played with me like a doll for weeks and did nothing to help me." and just watch this man disintegrate from the psychic damage in real time.

#i just want to see this terrible man suffer #durgetash and balduran/ansur messiest divorce in the realms competition #bg3 #bg3 spoilers #durge spoilers #the dark urge #durgetash #baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash

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wednesdaysky · 8 months

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I like how Gortash is kind of a hidden foil to the theme of "breaking free from those who abuse you" and "perpetuating the cycle of abuse" that runs throughout all of BG3.

He was hurt very badly. What did he learn from it? That you're ultimately alone, nobody is going to come save you, the only person on your side is yourself. He didn't have a Tav/anyone else to come help him, or if he did, he refused to let their words get through to him. He dragged himself out of literal hell -- from there decided he was going to make the entire world pay for what was done to him. From there never grew up from the kind of simple fantasy a child would come up with, I'll be better than you, nyah nyah. From there did an Ascended Astarion and did live his own worst life.

His parents had power over him but decided they'd rather have money than another mouth to feed? Fuck them, Enver could earn more money than they ever had. Raphael had power over him and lived a life of luxury while treating his slaves to all the horrors of life amongst devils? Fuck him, Enver could accumulate more luxury than even a devil would ever have, even steal his coveted toy. He was smart, he could outwit them, he could be worse than them if needed and leave them all crying in the dust at his success.

And then he did whatever was necessary, the way his own family had done what was necessary, no matter how dirty. Went on to beg, borrow, and steal his way to the good life with no sleazy stone unturned. Seducing people to steal from them? Who cares, if they don't notice he's doing it then they're idiots and deserve to be taken for a ride. Weapons dealing? Barely a crime at all, if he wasn't doing it someone else would. Selling slaves? Who cares, it was done to him and he got out, anybody who can't is just a weakling. Selling Karlach in specific? Betraying those who trust you to make a quick buck is just good business, he had it done to him and he's fine. Playing with people's souls and lives in the most horrific fashion possible? Whatever, it's not his soul and they're not worth that much anyway, devils literally spend them as currency.

Hitch your wagon to somebody more powerful than you, use their influence to gain more power over others, then step on them to climb your way up the ladder -- that's the way you get what you want out of life. It's no surprise that he threw in his lot with Bane. Sure, he's technically got a new master holding authority over his head (though with as arrogant and self-aggrandizing as he is, I can picture him even thinking "I already outfoxed two powerful devils, I'm about to rule the world, so...what's a single god really?"), but all these stupid mortals underneath him? Now they have to do whatever he wants. It's childish petty revenge taken to the utmost logical extreme possible. Everybody he ever hated, everybody who ever wronged him, everybody who might want to wrong him, they have no choice but to bow and scrape forever and it's the best kind of vengeance against the world to be able to hold that over them. Just consider what he does to his parents. He could've just killed them. Instead his wrath comes in the form of making them watch his success while trapping them in an unending hell they can never escape for as long as they live. The same fate they would have abandoned him to if things had gone differently.

So much of this is told through text notes and little side details that it's easy to miss, but I love that one of our main villains is somebody who suffered in a very similar way to some of the main cast members and his response to that wasn't trying to become better than what was done to him, it was to aim himself straight toward way, way worse.

#baldur's gate 3 #enver gortash #gortash #bg3 spoilers #honestly with the amount of little text notes i probably still haven't seen them all

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astarionancuntnin · 3 months

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listen, obviously i love astarion for multiple reasons, but ironically when i first started the game i wasnt interested in him, at all. i was fully commited to finding karlach and dating her bc of what i had seen online about her. i had barely heard or seen anything about him other than him being "the flirty vampire" and i was like eh okay

i ended up keeping him in my party cause his remarks were hilarious and i really vibed with his energy. and then he started opening up and you get to see how the whole overconfidence and flirting was an act, he starts talking about cazador and what he went through and how determinate he is to take him down. he keeps mentioning how he cannot wait to get rid of his master and how satisfied hes going to be, and hes smiling just thinking about it

then we learn about the ritual and theres this sudden spark in him, hes convinced that its the answer to his problems, he gets tunnel vision on the ritual, and if you romance him he also thinks its the only way he can assure not only his own safety, but also yours.

and when you finally win the fight, you have to save him from himself. hes desperate, completely blinded by the power he could potentially have. if he has this power, hes never going to be vulnerable, no one will abuse him ever again.

he is willing to lose himself to make sure he never gets hurt like this. even with high approval, if you dont succeed a persuasion roll or refuse to help him, he either turns against you or leaves your party. in his eyes, at this moment, you are the one who turned against him.

if you suceed the persuasion roll, he agrees that he can be better than cazador, and before stabbing him repeatedly, mentions (again) how hes going to enjoy this

only to break down right after. even though its something hes been wanting to do for centuries, all the suffering hes been through came crumbling down after it was done. cazador is dead, hes the one who killed him, he finally got his revenge, and yet he feels this emptiness.

its done, why do i not feel better?

if you saved him, he talks to you later and admits how he wasn't himself, how thankful he is that you helped him out and most of all, you believed in him. you saved him by believing he could be more than what he saw in himself.

if you talk to him after completing dame aylin's quest in act 3 (after killing cazador), he mentions how he expected her to rejoice after defeating yet another person who intended to enslave her, but shes just tired. hes comparing her reaction to his own experience after freeing himself from his abuser

and after karlach's reaction to killing gortash, he brings up the fact that theres "no justice in this world". contrary to what he believed earlier in the game, its not only him thats been wronged for several years. even though in the end they all got to get rid of the people who ruined their lives, they are still hurting.

hes realising that killing your abuser, although it seemed like the simple, satisying solution of finally having your revenge from years of trauma, might free you, but it will not fix you. they're dead, but you still have to live with what they've done to you.

he is my roman empire

#i..................cant stop thinking about him #my posts #astarion #bg3 #astarion bg3 #astarion ancunin #pookie making me process my own trauma frfr #baldur's gate 3

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lassieposting · 4 months

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Concept:

You are Bhaal, god of murder, and someone is praying to you.

And that's not necessarily unusual. Lots of people pray to you, usually for the untimely death of a rival, an ex-spouse, an overseer. The prayer itself is a small and broken thing, bloody and raw, whispered by a man whose vision is dulled by agony and the dark spectre of approaching death. The pathetic not-quite-survivor of some rather brutal torture, wishing murder upon his captor. You take a moment to enjoy the fear, the pain, the suffering - and then you tune him out. There are millions like him, and your favour is for those willing to do their killing themselves. Besides, that wretch will be nothing but a corpse all too soon.

Except...he doesn't die. You never feel that timid little spark of existence stutter and go out. Far beyond the breaking point of a mortal body, this one lingers on, clinging to being with fingers all but stripped back to bare bone.

It's intriguing enough to warrant a second look and - interesting. The prayer comes from a vampire, a pretty little corpse becoming an even prettier corpse under the skilled hand of a cruel master.

It is not in your nature to intervene. You favour the strong, not the weak. The master, not the slave. Your first instinct is to leave the wretched little thing to his fate.

But the thing is. Your child - your favourite child, shaped from your own flesh, coldest and most brutal of your progeny - has gone and got a boyfriend.

And you don't like him.

You don't like the effect he's having on your chosen, the way they're becoming distracted, attached, less devoted to their true purpose. And right now, your nature takes a back seat to your desire to get rid of that smug, arrogant little Baanite whelp, Enver Gortash. Your granddaughter's spiteful machinations have given you an opening, but you know they're bound to run into one another eventually, and it will all start over.

The vampire is beautiful. Well-trained. Accustomed to brutality. Already purged of sympathy and compassion, eaten up inside by hatred and bitterness and harm. And immortal; able to survive the worst of your son's inclinations. At this point, he'll do.

So you redirect a nautiloid. It's not that you're showing the creature any favour - it's just pragmatism, really. He is simply a tiny piece of a very large puzzle.

And then you watch.

You watch the vampire take the spectacular murder of a young bard in stride.

You watch him identify your memory-addled, sanity-challenged offspring as the most dangerous one in their sad little group of unwashed tragedies - the strongest protector, the solution to his fear of being discarded or returned to his master.

You watch him expertly lure your progeny into a pit trap of sex and lies and manipulation, dressed up with honeyed words and an exaggerated performance of desire.

Your child comes face to face with Enver Gortash and remembers nothing - feels nothing. They only have eyes for Astarion, and you are filled with satisfaction. The vampire is pathetic and fearful now, but already he plans to take over his master's ritual, and then he will be perfectly placed to feed your child's very worst impulses, to bring out the sharpest edge of the darkness inside.

You watch the vampire say, "I want us to be real."

You watch your child happily become a glorified comfort blanket, your masterwork living weapon reduced to little more than a prey animal, a do-gooder, a sacrifice.

Watch them vow, "I will be the person you see in me."

Watch them talk the blasted creature out of going through with the ritual at all.

Watch them start fighting their own nature for the pantomime love of someone else's broken toy.

Watch them turn on you.

And you decide, with the benefit of hindsight, that Enver Gortash was not that bad, actually.

#bg3 #durge #astarion ancunin #durgestarion #bhaal #i just think it would be really funny if bhaal played himself trying to get rid of gortash by setting durge up with astarion #and completely underestimating the power of falling deeply in love and astarion's sad wet cat eyes

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ecoamerica · 2 months

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youtube

Watch the American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 now: https://youtu.be/bWiW4Rp8vF0?feature=shared

The American Climate Leadership Awards 2024 broadcast recording is now available on ecoAmerica's YouTube channel for viewers to be inspired by active climate leaders. Watch to find out which finalist received the $50,000 grand prize! Hosted by Vanessa Hauc and featuring Bill McKibben and Katharine Hayhoe!

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tugoslovenka · 6 months

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i love baldur's gate 3, truly i do. i find it one of the most wonderful games in recent times and the work that larian has done in trying to emulate a dnd-like video game is commendable bc they have done some good work with the lore and mechanics. but i really, really would like it if larian would for once in their goddamned fucking existence released a full game on launch day. i know games will always need patches to address some issues, but releasing info abt the upper city as a hub area weeks before release only to completely scrap the idea altogether? having NO ending, literally no actual epilogue or anything that adds to the story after the fight, just this random black screen and no proper epilogue? the half-baked encounters against orin and gortash after making them out to be on the same level ketheric's fight which actually felt like a boss? making dark urge this entire ~special origin story without actually allowing a player to do a true evil run without losing out on like 2/3 content? there is no punishment or reward for not taking/taking the tadpoles, it literally means nothing in the grand scheme of things. also for a multiplayer game, there's a resounding lack of actual story progression if you have all four slots covered, like it straight up locks you out of a lot of companions' stories bc you can never take them with you. this isn't even getting into the horrendous bugs and performance issues that straight up fry PCs by the end of the game. also adding fan service without any actual plot like - halsin's completely useless existence in act 3? also nonsense like gortash being lorded in the middle of wyrm's rock, the literal first fortress to the city that would not house the new lord of baldur's gate under any circumstance? gale starts the game with a TRUE RESURRECTION scroll that can be used to solve a myriad of problems, including, i dont know, curing karlach entirely by killing her then reviving her? having to go to cazador's palace through a random tower in the middle of the city? the emperor just deciding to abandon you and join the elder brain after spending years fighting its influence if you decide to go against him? like these are all unfinished parts to a "full" game. i still have nightmares from DOS2 and what a fucking mess that was and the fact that you need the "definitive edition" to make the final act work is straight up predatory... honestly fuck y'all for making ppl pay twice for the product they should have gotten the first time. anyway the game is great but larian needs a kick up the ass for some obvious bullshit that would not be tolerated if it were any other studio!

#anyway im ranting bc i booted the game up and saw the same bugs again fuck that #bg3 #thoughts

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antiqua-lugar · 5 months

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aside from everything else about durgewyll I am loving how it highlights wyll and gortash as narrative foils. both their upbringings lead them to interact with demoniac entities, both can only become archdukes and join baldurian high society through uldred, both are swaying the dark urge from simply following bhaal (and arguably the dark urge sways them from simply pursuing an ideal and the dark urge can recognise both as their equal)

and by playing your card right in act 3 wyll just...gets everything gortash was trying to get? wyll really is a hero saving baldur's gate from the legion of the absolute. wyll influences gortash's favourite assassin into becoming someone they can defeat the netehrbrain together. they can even become archdukes together! ...or they can turn it down and then they can go to he hells to sneak around and have adventures (like gortash and durge used to) and save karlach's life (the same life that is at risk because gortash mindlessly threw it away).

like. it's a lot, wyll and durge can even murder raphael.

#bg3 #something something mirrors something something #wyll ravengard #enver gortash #this is not critical of gortash btw love whatever the fuck he has going on #also their upbringing...like yeah gortash obviously was sold to a devil by his parents that is not great #but also wyll indirectly has absorbed from uldred's teachings that his life does not matter as much as the greater good or the right ideals #and that is good but also wrong #i don't have the right words now to elaborate on all of that #throwing this in the void hoping that someone smarter than me gets inspired to elaborate on this #thsi was brought to sceleritas telling durge to never consider anyone else his equal and remembering that gortash always did #bg3 durge #durgewyll #bg3 spoileres #durge spoilers #EDIT: someone pointed out in the tags that gortash doesn't really want to he a hero and yeah but didn't really know how to write it out

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feyascorner · 2 months

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11 | The Fangs Between Us

summary. In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

Ah. He wonders if you still have those. The last time he saw them, they’d nearly faded. And nowadays, you make it a point to keep your neck tucked under your collar, which leaves everything to his imagination.

warnings. angst, comfort, slow burn, reader is a bard

pairing. Astarion x GN!Reader

parts. TFBU masterlist

a/n. it's been a while! this isn't the longest of chapter but it's to kick my creative juices back into gear :) thank you sm for your patience friends <3

He knows he hasn’t returned your cloak yet. Unfortunately for you, Astarion has taken a special liking to the dull fabric.

Despite its dreary grey shade and the tears from being worn relentlessly, it’s of surprisingly good quality. It’s the only reason it's survived this long, he reasons, and also why the sun can never pierce through its sewing job and burn into his own skin.

When he felt the tadpole leave him, he thought he would never see the sunlit streets of Baldur’s Gate again. But this cloak of yours has brought him a new sense of freedom he hadn’t had before—free of Cazador, free of an unwelcome visitor in his skull, free of the looming fear of death…and most importantly, free of his fear of the sun.

Being “stuck” in your home has given him too much time. Too much aimless staring at a book he’s already read four times over. Moreover, the others have become somewhat accustomed to his presence again…meaning some (Gale, specifically) don’t mind leaving Astarion by himself. And as much as he hates admitting it, Astarion would rather Gale’s incessant lectures rather than the boring silence you leave behind at the break of dawn.

An outing or two couldn’t hurt, surely.

So he embarks. Where to, he doesn’t know. But he leaves the house, making sure to lock the door behind him when he remembers how Shadowheart had scolded you for the mistake of not doing so. It’s not that he’s afraid of the cleric, of course. He’s a damn vampire, for heaven’s sake. He’s only being cautious.

The cloak makes it feel as if he were in an oven, especially with the weather becoming more sunny by the day, but he can’t bring himself to care. Not when he’s finally standing in the middle of a bustling street, staring unblinkingly while others rush past him, all seemingly having a place to be. A newspaper boy here, a maid there, a circus performer somewhere there. He suddenly feels surrounded by too much life, and it’s not much help when he begins noticing fleeting glances in his direction. Wearing a thick winter cloak in the middle of the summer isn’t exactly common, after all.

“Baldur’s Mouth? They just started printing papers again, if you’d like a peek.”

Astarion glances down at the newspaper boy with squinted eyes, and his voice sounds snarkier than intended—not that he cares. “Who in the hells would pay two silvers for a newspaper that sucked up to Gortash just a few months ago? Does anyone really pay for this abomination?”

The boy frowns, crossing his arms. “If you didn’t want one, you could’ve just said so.”

“Really? Your incessant yelling around the market says otherwise,” Astarion snatches one of the papers, much to the boy’s distaste. He eyes the front cover for a split moment before realizing the very front page has a supposed ‘Exclusive Interview from the Hero of Baldur’s Gate! Never seen before!’

He finds himself reading.

“Mister, if you’re going to read, you have to pay!”

Though Astarion gives him a sharp glare that has the boy swallowing the lump in his throat, he relents, tossing one silver coin in his direction. Not without a click of his tongue, however, and the coin lands in the boy’s palms with a plop. “It’s two silvers.”

“I’m fully aware, don’t worry.”

The Baldur’s Mouth is full of cheap stories, surely paid off by its snotty writer as always, but Astarion acknowledges improvement where it’s due. Gortash’s death must’ve struck some sort of moral chord in the newspaper because a few of its columns are filled with mundane updates on the rebuilding of the city, even if they don’t provide as much entertainment as it surely could’ve if they stretched a few truths. He doesn’t read much into them, though, because he’s soon found himself a corner in Elfsong Tavern where he’s practically boring holes into the damn paper. The cover, specifically.

In his honest opinion, the artist who drew your portrait should be fired, even if he’s no expert in the arts. Your softer features are far too sharp, and your sharper features are far too soft, in what he supposes is an effort to ‘enhance’ your appearance, but now it just looks plain uncanny. They also forgot to take into account the scars of battle on your skin, a part of your hair that he remembers sticking out more, the sheepishness of your smile looking straight at the painter, the two puncture wounds on your neck…

He wonders if you’re ashamed of them as he’s ashamed of the ones on his own neck.

Astarion tears his attention away from your portrait and resumes reading the actual paper.

The questions the interviewer asks are laughable, almost. They’re painfully boring or painfully intrusive, with nothing in between, resulting in awkward short answers or whatever filler the writer put in place of your answer. Half your words, at the very least, must’ve been altered, as they don’t sound much like you.

One question catches his eye.

‘So what does the hero of Baldur’s Gate plan to do after the city is rebuilt?’

Astarion lifts the paper closer to his face.

‘’This city is my home…but I don’t think I could stay here any longer than I have to. I’ve made some precious memories here, but I’ve also made ones that I’d rather move on from. People I want to move on from. For that reason, as much as I love this city, I’d have to embark for elsewhere.’’

His eyes widen. You’re leaving? When the hells did you decide that?

‘Truly a sad day for the citizens to see their beloved bard leaving. Knowing our readers must be curious as to what their next step is, we made sure to discuss more on this matter.’

‘’Where will I go? I mean…I guess I’d just wander. Explore. Faerun is a vast continent. I’m sure I’ll have plenty to do. Plenty of people to meet.’’

Astarion’s gaze reaches the end of the page. The rest of the sentences babble on in flowery language praising you, which he doesn’t even bother reading before shoving the newspaper into one of the pockets of your cloak. He’s not sure if he would’ve preferred simply not reading the damn paper, but he tells himself that this is an improvement. A reason for celebration, even! Without you, he won’t have to tiptoe around the city any longer, nor will you need to worry about having to continue a months-long argument with him.

This is exactly what the two of you need. Space. For a while. Maybe forever. He stares at the beer stains on the table. Forever sounds like a long time, even if it’s only a few years to him and the rest of your life to you.

Forever sounds too long, yet not long enough.

He’s always wanted to be immortal. Even before he’d grown fangs and his eyes turned red. Sure, the path he took to get here…left a lot to be desired, but with Cazador gone, he supposes it’s not so bad, being a vampire—-besides the whole ‘not-being-able-to-see-the-sun’ fiasco. Sure, he has nightmares every other night about his time spent under his master, but without him, he’s essentially invincible as long as he doesn’t find a cleric who specializes in radiant magic. Sure, wine tastes like vinegar. Sure, he has to wear this suffocating cloak everywhere, but is it really so bad?

He sighs. It could be worse. He could be dead, for all he knows. Actually, dead.

Astarion stands to leave. This damn tavern is even more suffocating than his cloak, especially filled with patrons already half passed out from booze before noon. There’s a reason why he’s always preferred wine over whatever’s filling their cups.

He paces toward the door, but just as he’s halfway there, it swings open. And much to his horror stands a familiar cleric who nearly chucked a fork into his eye just this morning.

“Shadowheart,” the bartender smiles, ceasing his hand midway, polishing a cup. “What brings you here this morning?”

She certainly won’t miss her mark this time if she sees him out in public.

Astarion immediately turns on his heel and heads for the stairs. He practically shoves through multiple patrons in the process, but he manages to get there just as Shadowheart joins Alan at the bar, her arms looped around two large fabric bags as she greets him. They’re just within earshot, even as the spawn scrambles to get upstairs. “Just picking up our attire for the celebration and your tavern was on the way back. My friends and I do apologize for our inconsistent appearances…”

He doesn’t wait to hear the rest of their conversation because he’s already trying the doors to each of the rooms to figure another way out of the building. Most doors are locked shut, but there’s one he tries that slides right open.

Much to his distaste, it’s occupied.

He slams the door back shut just as the woman shrieks.

He peeks out the window. He could jump down, technically, but there are far too many people on the street in broad daylight to go unnoticed. And if there were to be a commotion, no doubt the damn cleric would come rushing out, thinking it’s another attack. So, instead of returning downstairs, he opts for the ladder leading to the rooftop, higher up into the building.

The warm air of the summer breeze hits him like an axe to the face.

Still, he climbs out, grateful to even managed to have escaped the same room as Shadowheart. Thank the heavens. And for a moment, he thinks he’s alone, until there’s another shrill voice rushing at him.

“There you are, Tav! I’ve waited days to see you here agai—" the tiefling stops, her smile dropping. "You’re not Tav.”

Way to state the obvious.

Clearly, he wants to spit back. But he’s too occupied trying to figure out why she looks so familiar to do so. He merely squints at her, which some might consider rude, but she doesn't seem to mind at all. Noticing his confusion, she blinks. “Wait, you’re Tav’s friend!”

Friend. He hasn’t been considered your friend in a long while.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on house arrest?” she tilts her head. “Did you maybe make up with Tav?”

Ah. You must’ve told her about his—peculiar arrangement.

“Who are you?”

“I’m Alfira. We met at the grove and Last Light Inn, didn’t we?” she offers him a smile, which he doesn’t return. She doesn’t wait for an answer either. “I wasn’t expecting you here…Did Tav send you?”

Astarion scrunches his nose as she squints at him, hands on either of her hips as she gauges how he seems to sink further into your cloak, hesitating to kiss the sun’s radiant glow. She doesn’t seem to think much of it, though, as she taps her foot impatiently. “Well?”

“I—yes,” is all his damn brain can spit out.

“Oh,” her face softens, and a soft small stretches across her lips. How gullible. It wasn’t even a particularly good lie. “You should’ve just said so. In that case, I must ask you how they’re doing…I haven’t seen them in weeks. Are they well? Have they started reading up on my lyrics? Have they got a message for me? Ah, scratch those, where are they right now?”

Hells. He’s already itching to jump off the roof.

“Does your head ever implode with all those questions racked inside of it?” he grumbles. “And I’m afraid I don’t know half the answers. Sorry to disappoint.”

Alfira’s shoulders relax as she leans back on her heel, eyes falling to her shoes before she looks back up. “...Well, that’s a shame. Then, what brings you here?”

This time, he’s prepared.

“Seeing the state you’re in, my appearance was warranted. They only wished for me to ensure they’re doing well. It’s a busy time of year, you see, and they haven’t had the time to indulge your—-outings up here.”

“That’s good to hear.”

An awkward silence hangs in the air like a deathtrap, and he wishes he could say something—anything else about what you’ve been up to, but it comes up empty. It’s not like the two of you are on terms to sit down and have a chat every week over tea, but he’s not sure if he knows any more about what you’re doing than this bard standing right before him. You don’t play music anymore. You don’t frequent the bars as much as you used to. You don’t do a lot of things anymore. But what do you do?

It irks him: not knowing, that is.

He only realizes moments later that the bard has been talking this entire time.

“---and I’d really appreciate it if you could take it to them. I can’t imagine anyone else using it as well as they did,” she reaches behind her bag perched against the stair rails, and lifts something in his direction. He’d be a fool not to recognize it anywhere. It’s a pretty thing, the lyre. Your lyre. “I don’t know how I managed to find this at the market, but I like to think it’s fate. Tell them it’s a gift for helping with my songs.”

Astarion stares at the instrument. He runs the tips of his fingers against its familiar strings, taking note of indents he’s all too familiar with and the chips from months running in the wild. The last time he’d held it like this, it felt like it brought him closer to you. Now, it only feels like the cold dead wood it is.

“Were you looking for it?”

“No. Like I said, it must be fate.”

How cheesy.

His lips quirk downward even further, if that’s even possible, as he narrows in on a multitude of new dents and cracks in the wood. The lyre is yours, without a doubt, but it’s clearly seen a different level of care than what you would’ve given it even while fighting to the death. He glares at a particular blemish, and Alfira sighs.

“It’s seen better times, I know. But I’m sure they’d appreciate it even if it’s not how they left it.”

Wouldn’t you? No. He doesn’t know if you’d appreciate it. Why would you? You don’t even play the damn thing anymore, much less produce any music. He contemplates just tossing the object, but the second Alfira sees the glint of hesitation in his eyes, she pounces, shaking her head.

“Please,” she pleads. “Give it to them.”

His brows pinch.

And because he doesn’t want to entertain this tiefling any longer than he has to, and because he’d much rather get out of the sun and no other reason, he huffs. “Fine. I will.”

The smile she gives him doesn’t prompt him to do the same.

Months prior, he could see himself in the reflection of the gloss glazing over the wood. At least, that’s what he thinks because he could see your own expressions reflecting off it when you played it in the sun. It doesn’t hold a glow anymore, much less a reflection.

The lyre weighs heavily in his hands.

“I won’t pry,” Alfira says. “They never really told me what happened between the two of you…I respect your privacy, so I won’t ask. But whatever it was…I do hope it won’t happen again.”

It’s a weak one, but it’s a warning. He’s had plenty of those to figure it out.

“It won’t,” he mutters.

He’ll be long gone before it can.

Sleep is a luxury you can't afford nowadays.

Surely, the bags under your eyes are enough of an indication if it weren’t for the sluggishness of your every step. Still, you manage to offer your guest a lopsided smile out of respect. “Can I get you something to drink?”

“No, I’m alright. Thank you, though,” Yevir says, eyeing you up and down, obviously noting your disheveled state. “Is now not a good time?”

You shake your head, straightening your back against the dining room table with a cough. “It’s alright. I’m only tired. With the preparations for the celebration next week, I’m a bit overwhelmed. I was meaning to speak to you again anyway.”

He doesn’t seem convinced, but you can’t be bothered to deny your exhaustion further.

“You’ve been busy. I’ve seen the dead spawn that they retrieved from the Blushing Mermaid.”

Quite frankly, you feel terrible for the folk who own the place. A hag and then a horde of vampires in their basement in the span of a few months? You think it’d be a sign to close the tavern down.

Your tone remains grim. “Were any of them the woman you were looking for?”

He shakes his head, and a breath of relief escapes your lips. “No, she’s…I still haven’t found her.”

And maybe it’s the fatigue getting to your head, but your mouth moves before you can stop it. “You would think she’d try to meet someone she was so close to.”

It’s insensitive, and you wouldn’t blame him if he promptly stood to leave, but all he does is hang his head, dragging his hands over his face. He doesn’t seem like he’s gotten much rest recently, either. “Trust me, I’ve been wondering that for weeks now.”

“And have you come up with anything?”

“No. None. Zero. All I get are nightmares that I might get to one of my patrol shifts, and I’ll find her dead body lying on the ground somewhere,” he groans. “Well, deader body.”

“Maybe she’s afraid.”

“Of what? Me? Who in the hells would be afraid of me? Certainly not her, I must assure you. She’s always been stubborn, and she’s far more determined than myself, believe it or not.”

“Not you, but of herself. Vampire thirst surely can’t be so easy to control, and let’s be honest…” you point at your own neck, and the place where two puncture wounds should be on your wrist burns. “You’re practically a blood pot being offered to her.”

He frowns. “Is it so hard to control their thirst? I will admit that I don’t know much about vampire spawn aside from the obvious…”

You half snicker to yourself, almost in disbelief. “Believe me, they’re beasts when they’re ravenous.”

“Beasts?”

“Do you blame them? To them, blood is essentially liquid gold,” you shrug. “It tastes nothing like actual blood on their tongue. Sure, it might be a bit adjacent to drinking iron, but if they get their hands on prey, they really like…it tastes sweet to them. Would you deny a treat if you spent decades cooped up inside a dungeon cell, starving?"

Yevir’s face pales.

“See?”

His brows furrow as you sigh into your chair. “I’ve done my own share of research, but books seem to overexaggerate things most of the time…Can I ask how you know so much about them? Even if I manage to find her, I’d want to find some way to make her new life more tolerable…it’s not much, but it’s the least I could do.”

You blink.

Shit. You’ve said too much.

What are you supposed to say? You dated a vampire? Let him ravage you on the forest floor and spent months in his tent? That you kissed him just weeks prior, and he’s living just beside your own room? That he told you what your blood does to him, and reveal the bite marks on your skin?

You stand, your chair legs scraping against the ground.

“I have a book you might like. Let me grab it for you. And some tea, maybe,” you smile almost too widely. Fortunately for you, Yevir only nods.

“I’d appreciate it.”

You essentially grab whatever vampire-related book you have shoved under your bed and rush back downstairs to the kitchen. There isn’t much to learn from the thing with how much you already know, but you’re sure it must contain something that he might consider helpful. You know how horrible it felt to be kept in the dark about vampirism, even more so when you realized just how terrible the relationship between master and spawn tended to be…so a small push certainly wouldn’t hurt. Especially with Yevir's own problems with his beloved spawn. This is how you reassure yourself as you pour whatever tea Gale’s left on the stove into a cup.

If you were in Astarion’s shoes, you’d think becoming a spawn would have been the worst turning point of your life. And for a while, you thought he’d felt the same. A part of you thinks he does. But in the time you’ve spent with him and the stories he’s told you sparingly of his life before Cazador, your gut tells you differently. Especially when he’s drenched in the blood of your enemies, holding the immortality he’s long wished for with a sickening smile stretching on his lips. Guilt pools in your stomach for even bringing up the thought, but you can’t deny it, either.

You wonder if it hadn’t been for Cazador’s leash tying him down, he would’ve turned out differently. More twisted. That he would’ve indulged in the most corrupt parts of him as a magistrate. That maybe he wouldn’t have learned the value of a life. That he would’ve become more alike to him—the man he would’ve become if he’d ascended.

That small voice in your head is what stopped the ascension, for you feared he would lose everything he’d gained in his time as a spawn, no matter how trivial he believed it to be.

You hear the front door opening and snap out of your self-tangent. No use dwelling on it now. What’s done is done. No matter how strange the situation between you and the spawn is now, you’d rather have this than what could’ve happened if you hadn’t listened to your gut. You remain firm, no matter how much he hates you for it.

You pour Shadowheart an extra cup.

But as you step back into the living space, you realize the occupant doesn’t drink tea at all.

Astarion stands in the middle of the room, eyes wide as he stares at your guest with an undeniably bloody sack clutched in one hand. His large, red eyes seem glued to the ones of your guest, who stares back even more appalled as he takes one look at Astarion’s pale skin, the shade of his eyes, and the very bloody bag containing what you assume to be his dinner.

You drop the two cups onto the ground, tea splashing against your feet.

“You—Is he—” Yevir stumbles over his words, yet his instincts as a guard have him reaching for his weapon. “He’s—”

Astarion sneers, though his expression strains as Yevir’s hand reaches his sword. “Now, let’s not do anything that could ruin the wonderfully tasteful furniture in here...”

The Fist snaps his head in your direction. “He’s a spaw–!”

The back of a sword hilt hits the side of his head with an audible ‘thud,’ and he’s out like a light.

You stare at the unconscious body slouched over your dining table for a brief moment in utter shock before you gawk at the culprit. Of course. Lae’zel huffs, awfully pleased for someone who just caused a concussion to an innocent man. “Your soldiers are such children.”

Astarion barks a laugh, though it sounds more of a mix of disbelief and amusement.

You wish you could go one day in this house without another headache to add to the growing list.

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