Unapologetic Gortash Redeemer

Probably old enough to be your mother. She/her, they/them. Pan. Ally. Current hyperfixation: Baldur's Gate 3. My AO3 Works

[archduchessgortash]

Now that I have played around a bit, I tweaked my Rook a little.

She's even more gorgeous now! 🤩

Look at her EYES!!!

[This is the first character creator I've ever used that can actually give my character the same shade of green eyes as I have! They look waay better on her, tho.]

[archduchessgortash]

Why does Lucanis glance over his shoulder and smirk at Bellara...

And then try to stare directly into Rook's SOUL?!

These shots are like 3 seconds apart 😅

[This Inigo Montoya-sounding mf is stealing my heart, Fen'harel dammit! I wanted to romance the women first!]

[zedtheyapper]

I think a strict adherence to canon for fanfic writing isn’t always a good thing. I mean, if you wanna bend over backward making sure that your fic is canon-compliant, then sure… knock yourself out.

But I firmly believe that plot is king, and that the story you’re telling matters a lot more than making sure every detail follows the lore to a tee. Not even professional writers for established IP’s worry about canon so much.

I dunno… I always have people telling me, “I wanna write ‘X’, but I’m not sure if it breaks canon or not.” Just write it anyway! I find fan fics that present new ideas and scenarios are far more interesting and creative anyway.

[taguroc]

What kind of video games would your OC enjoy if they were in our reality?

[missfortunetherogue]

Sexy Something/Indulgent WIP Whenever

I did not mean to hoard so many WIP tags, but thank you friends! I had a lovely couple days catching up on all your WIPs from the last week and a half or so:

@gortashsrighthand @cursed-nyxan @litsenn @optimisticgrey @riddlerosehearts @astarions-world @bladesingerlily @emmy-and-the-tieflings @lucretiouswept @perpetualmaladaptivedaydream @spillingteanotpermitted @scoldingdarjeeling @archduchessgortash

Uno reverse tags to ALL of you! Plus some for @endermal @lilhumanoid @cinder-rellish181 @chaushaus @elceewunjo @theya-art @unovafarm @andromedaancunin @careful-l-bite @lottavilja and @lolthwoven.

I've been working on something I can't share fully just yet, but I do have a small, steamy snippet from Chapter 10 of The Modiste & The Marquess and I can share a teeensy peek at the secret project, intentionally without context. If you think you know what's going on from that snip alone, I guarantee you, you do not have the full picture 😉

CW: post-orgasmic pudding-brained Astarion with references to what put him in that state

Snippet from The Modiste & The Marquess

Astarion's legs threatened mutiny as he panted, weak and wobbly, against Sasha's front door while his cock flagged against the silk of his elven trousers. His heart thundered Sasha's name while his mind, pudding-like, raced to catch up to the events that had just transpired. The most coherent thought he could cobble together in this state was that he could certainly get used to being greeted like that.

His eyes traveled downwards to the wanton, wild-eyed nymph still kneeling between his legs, and gods did he wish he could instantly rise, Phoenix-like, from the ashes of his release. With the vestiges of his seed still glistening on sex-swollen lips and hair ravaged from the anchoring grip Astarion had kept on their head, Sasha's beauty was all-consuming.

"Hello, darling," Astarion warbled; there was no point in pretending to be anything but the besotted fool he was after that performance.

"Lover," Sasha purred, smooth voice offsetting the desperation tugging at their features.

"That was…ahem. I am afraid you rendered me momentarily speechless, which is no small feat. That was incredible, darling. My only regret is that you were upon me before I could fully appreciate your after-party lingerie."

"After-party?" Sasha huffed out a low, husky laugh, ascending along the length of Astarion's body. Their stiff cock seared into him wherever it touched. They leaned in, breath hot against his neck and ear to murmur: "I've been wearing this under my suit all night. Just. For. You."

And then they sauntered backwards to give him a full view, hands cradling pecs crowned with satin teardrop pasties while a sheer zephyr skirt that covered absurdly little whispered against their thighs with every step.

Dividers by @/anitalenia

From the secret project:

 “It is all rather grand, isn’t it?” you say from where you lean against the doorway to the bathroom. “I’m glad you recognize your fortune, my lord,” they say with a dreamy smile. “I can’t help but notice, however, that you’re missing something.” Ha! You doubt it. All the money, thralls, and resources you could ever desire, there isn’t a thing you’re lacking. But all right, you’ll bite. “And what, pray tell, might that be?” “Someone to share it with.” The sincerity in their tone strikes you square in the chest, burrowing beneath your rib cage and taking root. For a moment, the twinkle in their eye almost appears to be an entirely different sort of invitation, and you’re reminded that you’ve yet to take either spawn or consort. You’ve been waiting. For the right moment. The right person. Eternity is by its very definition an indeterminate amount of time, after all. Best not to rush into forever. But you’re not about to let them know they’ve struck a nerve. Straightening your cravat, you cast your brightest smile in their direction. “Don’t be ridiculous. Why would I wish to share all this?!"

[optimisticgrey]

Well, this was scheduled for tomorrow, but editing scheduled posts on mobile automatically leads to publishing, apparently. Happy early Wednesday. I am sure it's Wednesday somewhere.

On Wednesday, we wip

@litsenn @denesmera @nw39 @ghost-of-a-dream-girl and @onepixelaway

Thank you, dears! 🫶

featuring one of the many many many shots I took for the events

Warning: mentioning of mental decline, alcohol abuse and ptsd

Over the following days, I unraveled in small, painful increments.

There was no singular collapse. No dramatic moment where everything broke apart at once. Instead, it happened quietly, piece by piece, until I found myself standing amid the wreckage of a mind in a life I could no longer reliably navigate.

Sleep, when it came at all, was brief and unkind. Most nights I drifted between exhaustion and wakefulness, trapped in that miserable space where the body begs for rest while the mind refuses to grant it. The memories I had unearthed lingered behind my eyes whenever I closed them. Faces, too many of them. Blood. Voices. The realization of who I had been. What I had done. What I was.

Gale scarcely left my side.

Under different circumstances, I would have cherished it entirely. I have loved few things more in my life than waking to find him beside me, a book forgotten in his lap because he had fallen asleep waiting for me to rest. Yet worry changes people, it narrows their world. Every time I looked up, I found his gaze already on me, filled with concern so profound it bordered on fear.

I loved him for it.

Gods help me, I loved him for it.

But eventually even love becomes heavy when it is mixed with helplessness.

I could see him searching for solutions that did not exist. Watching me constantly for signs that I was improving, hoping every morning would be the one where I woke up more myself than the day before.

And each morning, I disappointed him.

Not intentionally, though. Simply by continuing to fall apart.

Alcohol became my most reliable companion during that time. Wine, mead, even whiskey—whatever happened to be within reach. If I drank enough, the edges softened. The memories grew distant. Sleep became possible. On nights when drink failed me, Halsin quietly offered remedies strong enough to force rest upon me.

I took those, too. Not because I wanted to sleep, quite the opposite.

I wanted desperately to remain awake.

Sleep meant dreams.

Dreams meant remembering.

And remembering had become unbearable.

Of course, none of them were fooled.

I noticed the glances. The silent conversations conducted across rooms when they believed I was not paying attention. I noticed Gale's growing concern every time I reached for another bottle. I noticed Halsin gently redirecting conversations whenever the subject wandered too close to my drinking.

Most of all, I noticed the way he occasionally restrained Gale from speaking.

A hand on his arm. A look. The slightest shake of his head.

As though reminding him that some battles could not be won through argument. As though reminding him that pushing too hard would only drive me further away.

I saw all of it. I simply lacked the strength to address it.

Yet for all the misery of that period, for all the sleepless nights and self-inflicted wounds disguised as coping mechanisms, there was another story unfolding beneath it.

Rachel used to tell me that where there is shadow, there is light.

At the time, I often found the sentiment irritating. Years later, I have been forced to admit she was right more often than I cared to acknowledge, because while I was busy losing my mind, something beautiful was happening directly in front of me.

Halsin and Soren were falling in love and neither of them seemed aware of it.

That was the truly remarkable part.

Everyone else noticed.

Everyone.

Gale and Jenn certainly did and even I, in my ruined state, noticed. We were placing wagers by the end of the second week.

Yet the two men involved appeared blissfully oblivious. Or perhaps merely unwilling to acknowledge what was becoming increasingly obvious.

It began with glances, small things, the sort of moments most people overlook: a smile lingering a second too long, eyes seeking one another across crowded rooms, or the unconscious softening of expression that occurs only in the presence of someone deeply cherished.

Soren began finding reasons to accompany Halsin wherever he went. Halsin, despite being a man with more responsibilities than seemed remotely fair, somehow always found time to accompany Soren in return.

When Gale required something from the market, Soren invariably volunteered before anyone else could. Halsin would then discover a sudden and urgent need to visit the market as well.

Entirely coincidental, I am sure.

More than once, I walked into the kitchen only to discover both standing there, engaged in conversation so engrossing they had forgotten whatever task originally brought them there.

The bread remained unbaked, the tea went cold, the vegetables sat untouched and neither seemed to notice, while they simply talked. Sometimes for hours.

Watching them became my favorite pastime, not because it was amusing—though it often was—but because it was normal.

Wonderfully, beautifully normal.

While my world was being torn apart by revelations about murder, blood, destiny, and all the horrors attached to my father's name, two people I cared for were slowly, inevitably finding their way towards one another.

There was something profoundly comforting about that.

Love continued to exist. Life continued to move forward. People still smiled at one another across rooms. They still found excuses to spend time together. Still forgot themselves in conversation. Still fell in love.

And somehow, during one of the darkest periods of my life, that simple truth kept me afloat.

I could not save myself then, I was far too lost for that, but I could watch them.

I could cheer silently from the sidelines. I could delight in every shared smile and stolen glance. And in doing so, I was reminded that despite everything I had remembered about myself, despite every terrible thing lurking in my past, the world remained capable of producing gentle things.

For a little while, watching two people fall in love became the thread that kept me tethered to the person I wanted to be.

gentle tags for @theya-art @c-e-p5315 (if you like) @alliskit @lucretiouswept @archduchessgortash @graysparrowao3 @mesmerisingpurple @spillingteanotpermitted @defira85 @deianestormborn @wasteful-sam @bladesingerlily @kt-catt @thepalelawyer @lotus-ignis @renofdragons @citruskushh @alrendriablaze @dutifullylazybread and, as always, @lilhumanoid

[itwasabeautifulwebbing]

the best part about durgetash is this meme works in reverse too, they're versatile that way

[litsenn]

WIP Whenever

Thank you @lucretiouswept @archduchessgortash @scoldingdarjeeling for the WIP tag 🫶 Tagging you back sweeties!

Also tagging: @ranger-jahen @missfortunetherogue @elceewunjo @burnt-by-marigolds @optimisticgrey @riddlerosehearts @lilhumanoid @spillingteanotpermitted @quinthebard @gortashsrighthand if you want to share your WIPs 🌟

Still working on that EllithxAstarion piece -- And that's what I meant when i said the smut was turning into angst.

TW: PTSD, mentions of Astarion's past abuse

The atmosphere between them was becoming poisonous, heavy with a tension none of them could properly dispatch yet.

 “Stop with this nonsense.” Astarion hissed, fangs showing behind his lips. “I don’t need you to tell me what to do.”

Ellith was fuming, and they folded their arms against their chest to give themself an illusion of grounding. All they’d wanted was to make sure Astarion was enjoying the experience, and protect him from himself. And now he was resenting them for that? It felt unfair, and positively hypocritical of him.

“And so? I should let you use me to hurt yourself?” They snapped back, repressing the sadness that threatened to break through their voice.

“I am not…! This is ridiculous.” Without a single gaze toward the bard, Astarion picked up his underwear and put it on hastily. “We have a safeword for a reason! If I don’t use it, El, it means I’m fine.”

“But it’s not about being just ‘fine’; it’s about enjoying it fully. And you weren’t enjoying it!”

“How would you know?!” He rose his voice, agitating his hands confusingly. “You have no idea what’s going on in my body!”

“Then TELL ME!” Before Ellith could realise it, they were kneeling up on the bed, their naked body tensing but still proud and determined despite the cooling sweat that covered their skin. “Tell me what’s going on!”

Astarion winced. “Forget it.”

After a dismissive shake of his head, he headed to the bathroom and smashed the door behind him, leaving Ellith alone with their own confusion and shame. And anger. Not against him, or at themself, but against everything that kept on tormenting Astarion. Against Cazador. Against the marks the old bastard had left upon his body and mind.

They knew they shouldn’t feel frustrated; they should accept whatever contradictory feelings were haunting the vampire spawn's mind. But it was hard. Being targeted by his spite for trying to protect him from himself.

The bard hissed silently.

It felt like Astarion was using Ellith’s natural cruelty – that very cruelty they were trying to discard – only to redeem his own crimes through a revival of his past abuse. Dragging himself on a path that only led him back to what Cazador had made of him: a puppet for others to play with.

Divider by @fihyn 🌟

[waterdeepwhiskey]

💋💋💋

[waterdeepwhiskey]

Remember to kiss your wizard 😘 🪄

[waterdeepwhiskey]

PSA: Kiss your Wizard 💋

[my-dailydreams]

[lucretiouswept]

Daily Halsin

Same light, slightly different angle, hair texture ruined on both photos, so you can have both.

[e-louise-bates]

Children’s novels, to me, spoke, and still speak, of hope. They say: look, this is what bravery looks like. This is what generosity looks like. They tell me, through the medium of wizards and lions and talking spiders, that this world we live in is a world of people who tell jokes and work and endure. Children’s books say: the world is huge. They say: hope counts for something. They say: bravery will matter, wit will matter, empathy will matter, love will matter.

Katherine Rundell, Why You Should Read Children’s Books, Even Though You Are So Old and Wise

[pansyfemme]

WHIMSY IS NON-NEGOTIATABLE

[archduchessgortash]

I honestly adore the fact that I can import my Lavellan Inquisitor who romanced Solas into Veilguard.

Then, I can imagine that my Rook, who has spent the game being talked-down to from across a monochrome chasm by this dude who stabbed her boss, shows up to the meet with Lavellan and just deadpans:

“Come get your man. He's doing things.”

[fwizard]

[allthingswhumpyandangsty]

reblog if you love ao3 exactly how it is and you don’t want it to “update” or change in any way♡

[ele-millennial-weirdo]

Self-indulgent Sunday

Tagged by the lovely @gortashsrighthand @archduchessgortash @optimisticgrey @tynithia (Wip Friday) and @cinder-rellish181 (Wip Wednesday) Tagging all of you back!!! <3<3<3

Just a lil snip from Ch. 3 of my "odd creature" (which I'm deeply ambivalent towards) Night Blooming Jasmine

"Maybe there are better ways to keep darkness at bay," she whispered, hiding her face in the crook of his neck. Torn between hope and apprehension, desire and vague discomfort, Gale pulled her closer, his fingers gliding down her half-clothed spine, before pausing at the small of her back, right above the base of her tail. "Are you sure you want this?" he politely inquired, deliberately ignoring his own, painful need. "The recent events left you exhausted and emotionally drained," he added, "and there is no need to push yourself like this just to reassure me that everything is fine. Once we're home, we'll have all the time in the world, and I'm perfectly willing to wait until you feel like yourself again. There is no reason to hurry. Not after everything you've been through. Your emotions and needs will always come first to me," he concluded, placing a soft kiss on her shoulder. "I know," she murmured, "but that's exactly the reason why your loving presence is such an invaluable treasure to me. I need your help to wake up from this daze threatening to swallow me whole. I need your gentle touch to chase all these visions away. I need you to remind me that I'm still alive. Please".

First two chapters of the "thing" here (I did not share ch. 2 because I'm in a violent love-hate relationship with it, sorry!) 😬😅

An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works

Gentle tags also for @arlynx @carnivaley @ghost-of-a-dream-girl @aryriddle @saylofwaterdeep and any of my beloved writer moots who has a wip to share