#durgetavtash

[eldritchtoast]

Very challengers pilled tonight

[mariamakeslemons]

Gortash Day 3: Tyrant/Lover

for @gortash-week's day 3

It’s almost amusing, Enver muses as he and The Dark Urge stride into Bane’s Temple, that these fools continue to try usurping their God’s Chosen. Of course, it never really works, as Enver has a system in place that makes it nearly impossible for a big enough group to form to truly be a threat. However, this time is less amusing, as it nearly revealed the entire plan of the Absolute to sweet Tav.

“There are many things that I will overlook,” Enver starts, looking down at the trio of followers who tried to corner Tav in the streets, “But bringing my betrothed into a fold she shouldn’t know about until the right time? Forcing my future bride to kneel to you? Unacceptable.”

“She should be subjugated,” one of the fools snarls, “If you were a true Banite, she wouldn’t even thin—” The fool is cut off by an arrow in the eye, his mouth falling slack as his cohorts flinch back in terror, the body falling to the floor.

“Tell me, friend,” Enver drawls as he lowers his crossbow, “Would the Bhaal Temple take donations in the form of corpses for your followers to eat?”

“Sure,” The Dark Urge agrees with a shrug, “It helps the young ones learn what they can and cannot eat from the body without putting them at too much risk. A learning experience.”

“How delightful,” Enver comments, reloading his crossbow, “Is there a preferred spot to strike? I know eyes tend to be a delicacy to you and yours.”

“The neck or a similarly lethal place that doesn’t destroy an edible organ,” The Dark Urge offers, watching as Enver fires twice more, arrows now protruding from the other two fools’ necks.

“Could I ask for your help, my friend? I need to remind the rest of the delegation that I am Bane’s Chosen for a reason,” Enver requests, jerking his chin to the initial fool.

“And what do you plan to do?” the dragonborn asks as he lifts the corpse with the arrow through an eye by its neck.

“Tyranny often takes time. An iron fist must occasionally wear a velvet glove. But, that doesn’t mean the board is still,” Enver growls, “My Tav has managed to give me connections that will allow me to slip certain laws into place without causing a civil ruckus amongst the people, and she wishes to discuss ways to secure more profits without causing trouble over tea tomorrow.”

“Well, we can’t have you be too tired to enjoy tea with her,” The Dark Urge chuckles, “Just make sure to give her a kiss from me.”

“Of course, my dearest,” Enver agrees, “She is only my Tav until we can succeed in our plan. Then she will be our Tav.”

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Enver strides out of the mansion, into his own garden, and smirks at the sight of Tav looking over papers while a lovely tea set sits before her. A delicate pair of golden spectacles sits on her dainty nose as she taps at the table, her little habit to calculate something. His lovely mouse, a pretty bird content in her cage.

“Good morning,” Enver greets, striding over to the table. Tav looks up and she lights up at his arrival.

“Enver! Good morning!” she chirps, removing her spectacles as she stands to greet him. He gently catches and cradles her face, pressing his own kiss to her soft lips, then tilts her head to press The Dark Urge’s kiss to her cheek.

“From our mutual friend,” Enver purrs, grinning as she flushes dark enough to be somewhat visible under her tanned skin. Tav squeaks and fidgets with her dress, turning her gaze to the table.

“I… I see,” she stammers out, before desperately clearing her throat, “Well, we’d best get these numbers under control.” What followed was a surprisingly lovely hour of conversation, all around how best to keep the people who worked for Enver happy, while still cutting costs or bringing in more revenues of wealth. Tav pointed out how some of the ships are still being over loaded due to what was being revealed as smuggled items, costing Enver when they were found upon arrival to a harbor. Enver clicked his tongue, acting annoyed that someone was smuggling items through his ships while already planning how to get said items to where they are supposed to be without cutting smuggling entirely. She also brought up how the Guild had been harassing several of Enver’s workers for “protection money”.

“Now that sounds like a problem we have no answer to,” Enver reluctantly admits.

“No, there is a solution,” Tav waves off, “Namely, that the Guild isn’t supposed to be harassing such, and I quote, ‘low-paid peasants’. If the Guild is to harass someone, it should be the owner directly.”

“Thus these are upstarts,” Enver realizes, getting a nod from Tav, “We let the Guild know…”

“The Guild gets to deal with people ruining their reputation and your workers see you as caring,” Tav declares with a shy smile. Enver chuckles, leaning back in his chair as he sips at the tea in his cup.

“How did you get so brilliant, my dear?” he asks, “It makes it more obvious that your peers are lacking.” Again, Tav flusters, stuttering and fidgeting with her dress again. Enver smirks before cooing, “It seems almost unfair that I have the prettiest, smartest, sweetest woman on my arm, soon to be my wife. Honestly, the Gods were generous when you were made.”

“Enver!” she squeaks, covering her face, which only made Enver want to tease her more.

[m0nstarzz]

IM BACK IN THE FUCKING BUILDING AGAIN!!!!

I love Durgetavtash so much, you do not understand... especially now since I've been shipping my girlfriend's ( @archduchessgabrielle ) Tav with my Durge... they're so cute together, I can't believe Gortash fumbled not once but TWICE...Fumbled so bad he DIED..

[flymmsy]

HOW IS THERE NOT A THREESOME SCENE IN THIS GAME *throws bg3 out the window*

[mariamakeslemons]

Gortash Day 5: Public/Private

For @gortash-week's day 5

Many nobles had already heard of Lord Gortash, the prodigal inventor who rose to wealth and power through the use of his Steel Watch that works in tandem with the Flaming Fist. All nobles know about the pariah of the Ravencroft family, Lady Tav Ravencroft, who is quietly intelligent and talented. Those same nobles missed hearing the tinkling harpsicord or the strumming lyre beneath her skilled fingers, but she is striking beside her betrothed. Their clothes complement each other; their demeanors refined for their positions. By the Gods, they were a striking pair.

“My dear,” Lord Gortash purrs as he pulls Lady Ravencroft away from the fawning noble men, out to the dance floor for another dance.

“My Lord,” Lady Ravencroft softly cuts in, distracting Lord Gortash from his gathered fans, handing over a full goblet of wine after taking a purposeful sip. Many of the nobles gasped and tittered when Lord Gortash sipped from the exact same spot, maintaining eye contact with Lady Ravencroft.

“When do you think they will marry?” more than one noble whispers to another, careful not to let such word reach the head of the Ravencroft family nor their eldest heirs. However, the young Lord Anders Ravencroft could be asked and his face would turn thoughtful.

“Perhaps when Lord Gortash has power to go along with his wealth,” the young wizard offers, “Or perhaps once Mother and Father are no longer heads of the Ravencroft family. Whichever comes first, I would think.” The nobles titter at such blatant disrespect to the current heads of the family, even as they acknowledge the intelligence of such a move. After all, no one is stupid enough to argue with wealth or power, which Lord Gortash is accumulating quickly and efficiently. The older nobles watch as Lady Ravencroft leads conversations with the Old Nobility, while Lord Gortash brings the New Nobility into his folds, a brilliant networking move. However, the most thrilling part is watching the couple dance or converse with only each other. Lord Gortash watches the young Lady with such softness that it makes him look even younger, while Lady Ravencroft looks at him like he held the very stars. A love match in an arranged marriage, while not unheard of, it is always lovely to see.

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The Dark Urge arrives at Enver’s workshop, unsurprised to see sweet Tav curled up and asleep on a bench as Enver drafts schematics to mass produce the Steel Watch after how well the first five automatons have been received by the public and Flaming Fists.

“I managed to get my hands on your copy of Baldur’s Mouth, Enver,” the dragonborn drawls, smirking as his voice seems to wake pretty Tav from her sleep.

“Oh, joy,” Enver deadpans, making a note on his blueprints, “Are they bitching about our lack of marriage again?”

“Nope,” The Dark Urge pops, settling on the bench when Tav moves her legs, before gently dragging their soft mouse into his lap. It speaks of how used to the tactile nature of The Dark Urge she has become when all Tav does is settle sleepily into his lap, all docile and sweet. The Dark Urge clears his throat obnoxiously, before reading in his most lofty voice.

“Lord Gortash and Lady Ravencroft appeared at the ball as well, a matching set of night and stars for their dress.”

“It sounds like one of us was wearing nothing but jewels,” Enver sighs with a roll of his eyes, finally turning away from his sheet to listen to the mocking properly.

“Throughout the night, the other Lords and Ladies fell over themselves to get even a finger on either person of the illustrious couple.”

“And not a one succeeded because all the shit falling from their lips was simply awful,” Enver waves off, resting his writing implement on the table to truly focus on the mockery.

“Lady Ravencroft floated amongst the Ladies, ethereal in silver even as the season’s colors are falling more into greens. A classic, timeless choice of color that manages to usually be hard to pull off.”

“Only ‘cause they wear too much real sil’er,” Tav slurs softly, her eyes still closed. Enver and The Dark Urge snickers at her comment.

“That is true, my dear,” Enver agrees, “It’s almost like no one ever thought to wear grey to a ball before.” The Dark Urge rumbles, rubbing his chin against Tav’s head, before returning to the news.

“Lord Gortash, on the other hand, looked like night incarnate, as always. The bold black continues to hide a sharp mind and brilliant heart for Baldur’s Gate.” The Dark Urge pauses to share a look with Enver over Tav’s head, forever amused by the delusion of the masses. What heart for Baldur’s Gate? Once their plan is in place, the entirety of Toril will be subjugated, before the slaughter would commence. Baldur’s Gate would simply be the beginning. The Dark Urge continues, “Together, the couple, though still holding off on a date for marriage, shows just how powerful they can be while working together.”

“And they say nothing of what we actually did, does it?” Enver snorts.

“Obviously not,” The Dark Urge huffs, tossing the paper to the side to properly cuddle Tav’s sleepy form. She mumbles and cuddles closer to his chest, getting a pleased rumble from him again. The men look up and share another look. It’s getting harder to hide the plan from Tav, thus she will need to be brought into the fold soon. The Dark Urge knows that Enver has finished the actual “cage” for Tav if she tries to argue and fight their plan, but it would be to the detriment of Tav’s sweet kindness. They will hold off for a while longer, but it must be soon, or else they risk losing the one kind thing in their lives.

[mariamakeslemons]

Gortash Day 1: Lord/ Street Rat

For @gortash-week's 2026 week

He knows he’s dreaming, but he can’t do anything. His body moves without command, shrinking and trailing down the many alleys of Baldur’s Gate. Familiar alleys, ones he fled to when his parents got too loud, ones he learned much of the underbelly of the Gate from. Ones that he first saw The Dark Urge in, already the Chosen of Bhaal and covered in the blood of sacrificed fools. The white dragonborn stared him down, a lurking and looming shadow that threatened his very being with just a look.

“Run along, little fox,” the assassin growled, allowing him to flee. And even now, in this memory, this dream, he does. His legs pump as he runs and runs and runs and runs. Over stone, over steel, over disgustingly familiar tile and marble. Abruptly, his legs give out and he crawls, sponge in hand and bucket at his side. Washing at the floor, he peers around the column, spying Tav, small and oh so pretty, at the side of her noble parents. Her soft brown eyes raise to meet his, causing her to gasp and avert her eyes.

“A pretty bride. Not for me,” Rapheal had declared with an amused chuckle, the contract that promised a pretty bride for a street rat, an unwanted wretch, unfurling beside the demon. The contract gave him a reason to escape the House. Time and dream blurs, until this is no longer a memory, but a true fantasy. Tav, pretty and sweet and soft, crying out in bliss as Durge licks at her lower lips, his red eyes staring at him in an all too familiar hunger.

“Wake up.”

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Enver blinks, staring blankly at his canopy. On his left, Durge purrs in his own sleep, claws careful to not scratch Enver’s skin. On his right, Tav cuddles into his chest, her soft brown hair still upsettingly short from the little adventure she and Durge had completed barely two months ago. Enver closes his eyes for a moment, soaking in the warmth of his lovers, before starting the shuffling he’s had to do ever since the fall of the Netherbrain into the harbor. The struggle to escape his lovers’ grasp. Luckily, it seems that today is one of the days he doesn’t wake either lover, allowing him to get dressed while watching as they seek out each other in the bed. Durge practically wraps himself around Tav, as she cuddles their dragonborn partner with a happy sigh.

“Cute,” Enver allows himself to coo mockingly, smirking when Durge cracks an eye open enough to aim a middle finger right at him. Tav makes a soft noise, pressing herself even closer to Durge, which allows Enver to watch as Durge’s pupil widen and round in adoration. Huffing, Enver finishes clothing himself and spares a moment to brush a kiss over bother of his partners’ faces.

“I’ll be in meetings all morning,” he quietly tells them, “However, we shall have lunch together.”

“Love you,” Tav mumbles softly, her eyelashes fluttering softly as a small tendril of her shadows reaches out to lovingly curl around Enver’s hand.

“Don’t let them be dicks,” Durge orders, tilting his head just enough to stare Enver in his eye, “We still need them to put more money into the rebuilding of the Lower City housing.”

“Of course,” Enver agrees, reluctantly leaving the side of the bed, “Although, I am going to be an arsehole myself. Some of them don’t recall kicking me when I was forced on the streets some nights. I recall.”

“Get their asses,” Durge yawns with an unenthusiastic fist pump, something Enver knows he picked up while traveling with Karlach. Enver snorts, but finally leaves the room.

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Arriving at the meeting room, Enver sits at the head of the table, his mouth fighting to stay neutral as a good number of nobles slink in, sweating. While his own coffers are fairly depleted due to being used to rebuild, Tav had instructed him on just where to put his money to look above reproach while still manipulating the entire population. A nice chunk went to several nobles, with a reminder that he may ask for either a favor or interest in the future.

“Ladies and gentlemen,” he drawls as Ulder reluctantly sits at his side, “Thank you all for joining our meeting. Now, we need to discuss how to rebuild the Lower City now that the Upper City is more than stable.”

“Why should we?” Lady Ambrose sniffs, even as she fidgets with her hands nervously, “They are merely peasants, not people of importance.”

“Lady Ambrose,” Ulder warns, “They are people all the same.”

“And they are the majority of the work force,” Enver points out blithely, “Should word get out that the patriars aren’t helping, I wouldn’t be surprised if most of them leave without even declaring that they quit.” Many nobles balk at the reminder that they must rely on the lower classes for their income. Enver sees Ulder twitch, likely annoyed that they have to plead to pragmatism rather than goodwill to all. But, Enver doesn’t particularly care either way, as he had to argue with both Durge and Tav yesterday about taking the day off of helping the Lower City, missing his partners far more than he will confess to in public.

“Well, what are we to do?” Lord Irlentree asks, “I’ve already sent out most of my fleet to gather materials and other necessities, but many peasants don’t have the money to pay for the items.”

“Sell at a lower price,” Enver answers, slipping the Lord a sheet Tav had written up with possible temporary prices that wouldn’t net a loss, but not obtain as much of a profit as usual, “These are temporary prices that should allow for many peasants to be able to make their purchases. Some necessities might need to be sold as a loss that can be covered with some coin from coffers, but these are the best numbers that were thought up to allow you to still do business.” The Lord hums and nods, looking over the numbers himself while a few other nobles crane their heads curiously.

“Most of the major buildings have been either rebuilt or properly reinforced,” Lady Vanthampur declares, crossing her rather burly arms, “Thanks to your coffer, we’ve been able to provide the majority of citizens with housing, with those in the minority either being too stubborn to ask for help or were of the lucky few whose homes were not nearly as destroyed.”

“Excellent,” Enver nods, pleased as Ulder relaxes by his side. He turns back to the other nobles, staring them down, “Now, both Irlentree and Vanthampur are helping the Lower City rather nicely. What of the rest of you? My coin is either put into the city, or returned to me with interest.” The chaos that occurred after the reminder puts a smirk on Enver’s face, amused at the desperation of the nobles as Ulder slips over the notes about the Flaming Fist patrols and a request to push Lord Rillyn about both Enver and Ulder’s coins.

[mariamakeslemons]

Gortash Day 2: Flesh/Machine

Day 2 of @gortash-week

Enver slips into the library with a sigh, rubbing at the back of his neck in annoyance and to rid himself of the crick that is stuck there. The nobles have become a bigger pain in his arse since the proper declaration of his betrothal to Tav Ravencroft, many noble ladies throwing themselves at him while promising to be prettier than his Tav. The men scoffed and commented on how she is nearly thirty, as if she is already a spinster, as if Enver doesn’t plan to get her pregnant on their marriage bed immediately. The nobility bought into the lies her parents fed them, that her sister and eldest brother perpetuate. Of course, it doesn’t matter when the plan comes to fruition, the Absolute coming through Baldur’s Gate, Enver “defeating” them to become a hero to the people, his Tav acting as his sweet wife, helping him with the people as The Dark Urge silently kills any who would defy Enver.

Looking around the library, his eye is caught on Tav, sitting on the window seat, a book in her lap as the sun peers through. Enver pauses and takes her in, relaxing at her softness. This is his treasure, his future wife, so sweet and soft. Everything Enver deserves after being denied for so long. He strides over to his betrothed and leans down to press a kiss to her bared shoulder, so pleased that off the shoulder dresses are all the rage right now. Tav squeaks and jumps, slamming her book closed with wide eyes.

“Oh? Now, why did you slam the poor book?” Enver drawls with a smirk, peering down at the cover and spine. Tav starts to fumble with the book, obviously flustered at the fact he had managed to sneak up on her. Enver takes her fumbling as the perfect opportunity to swipe up her book, smirking as she squeaks again and reaches for the now revealed To Love the Royal Artificer.

“Is this truly that good of a read, my dear?” he teases.

“Enver!” she sputters out, pouting up at him. Enver flips to a random page with a curious hum, before laughing.

“Oh, and the author knows nothing of artificing at all,” he huffs, amused more than anything.

“You know that’s not why anyone would read that,” Tav mumbles, averting her eyes from Enver’s own amused gaze. He hums, flipping through the pages some more, before a rather lecherous smirk crosses his face at the filthy description on the page.

“Ho ho ho,” he chortles before clearing his throat and reading, “His hand trailed between her legs, finding a perfect pearl that begged to be teased. Her moans fell then, like a waterfall at each brush of his fingers.”

“No! Shush! Stop!” Tav shrieks, leaping up from her seat, reaching for the book desperately. Enver raises it above his head, still amused at how much shorter his betrothed is despite being just as human and only a few years younger.

“You don’t want me whispering such sweet nothings in your ear?” he teases, “Don’t you want me to follow such tantalizing rhetoric to its end?”

“I want you to stop being a jerk,” Tav huffs, rising on her toes to try taking back the book, even hopping cutely. Enver, however, decides he’ll take offense to being called a jerk from such pretty lips.

“A jerk?” he gasps, carelessly dropping the book to grasp his betrothed by her arms with both hands, and leans down to growl, “I’ll show you jerk.” He bites on her shoulder, right where he had kissed her before, relishing in the squeal she releases.

“Enver!” she cries out, laughing when he releases his teeth and blows a raspberry to her skin. He relishes in the silly playfulness that Tav allows him. His innocent Tav, free of his plans. His pretty bird, blind to her cage. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Enver is welding the last panel on this new version of the Steel Watch when The Dark Urge appears, his cloak bloody from likely hunting down another sacrifice.

“Are you here to see how sturdy the newest Steel Watch is, or are you here to stare at my arse?” Enver asks, peering at the dragonborn from behind his goggles.

“Can’t I do both?” The Dark Urge comments, tilting his head just so to peer at Enver’s arse. Snorting, Enver purposefully wiggles said arse, before activating the Steel Watcher he just finished.

“Then you can do both,” Enver declares, before ordering the Watcher, “Try to take down my friend here.”

“Affirmative,” the Watcher croaks out, moving toward The Dark Urge as Enver finds a relatively safe place to hide within the lab. He watches as The Dark Urge flings off his cloak with a wicked grin, lunging at the automaton with his blade outstretched. Each attack of the blade bounced off uselessly, barely chipping at the armor of the Watcher. The glee of a challenge is practically palpable from The Dark Urge as the dragonborn throws his dagger into a wall before attacking the automaton with various magical attacks. The ice did cause some slowing, but not enough to be concerning. The poison and psionic attacks practically bounced off the Watcher. The fire melted the ice and caused some parts that aren’t covered by the melt resistant metal to, well, melt. But then, The Dark Urge calls upon his most natural magic, the very lightening that flows through him, and the Watcher is truly defeated, slumping uselessly to the ground.

“Well, now I know what to work on,” Enver idly comments, quickly making notes as The Dark Urge pants from exerting his magic. He manages to place the last period on his paper before the dragonborn yanks him against a warm chest.

“You do,” The Dark Urge growls, “But I deserve a reward for my part in helping you figure out what you need to do.”

“… I suppose you’re right,” Enver agrees, shuddering at the feeling of the twin cocks against his hip, both unsheathed. Licking his lips, Enver slowly sinks to his knees and bats his eyes up at The Dark Urge, “Although, this might be more of a treat for me.”

“How about you start and we find out,” The Dark Urge growls, his hand winding its way through Enver’s hair to press his face against the swell of his trousers. Enver complies quite happily, mouthing at the cocks even as he plans how to flip this to fucking The Dark Urge. Always a pleasant enough challenge to take on.

[mariamakeslemons]

Gortash Day 6: Torture/Pleasure

For @gortash-week's Day 6

Enver hums idly as the fool screams under The Dark Urge’s blade, his eyes more focused on his welding. The noble beneath the dragonborn’s frame sobs pathetically, surprisingly rhythmic with the work that Enver is currently securing into place. This particular fool was arguing about the law that Enver put forth, while trying to push basically the very same law that only allowed an abuse of said law for himself, which lead to the idiot to now be on The Dark Urge’s table.

“Enver, is our pretty mouse doing anything that could cause problems with our plans?” The Dark Urge asks abruptly, yanking out one of the noble’s teeth. Enver pauses in his welding to go over the plans Tav sweetly provides every tenday. Nothing comes to mind, although…

“She is going to check on the food pantry she managed to put together with a few of the civil minded Lords, this afternoon I believe,” Enver comments, “Other than that, she shouldn’t be in the way of anything vital to our plan.”

“Good,” The Dark Urge replies, clicking his tongue in annoyance as the noble sobs pathetically, “Hypothetically, do you think our pretty mouse would handle this better than this fool?”

“Looking for material for later?” Enver asks, even as he mulls the question over. Tav is definitely of the sturdier sort, having taken whatever abuse her parents and eldest siblings gave her, only finding respite in Anders and Julian, her brothers closest to her in ages. The Dark Urge grunts, encouraging Enver to continue, “She’d take it better than this idiot, at least. While I think she’d sob if you ripped out her teeth, our sweet girl would handle the cuts and bruises with far more dignity.”

“Gods,” The Dark Urge moans, his pants tenting suddenly as his cocks escape his sheath, “She would, wouldn’t she? Our pretty mouse, taking this and being so good.” The dragonborn looks down at the noble with a scornful sneer, “Although, this prat does nothing but cry like a babe. Hells, even a babe would handle this better.” The noble babbles, pleading for his life, even offering to help them get whoever the “mouse” they’re talking about. Both Enver and The Dark Urge pause at that, sharing a bewildered look, before cackling at how pathetic the noble is.

“You fool, she’s already ours,” The Dark Urge rumbles gleefully, “A final treat for the true end.”

“My dear is currently off being a far more useful citizen than you ever could dream of being,” Enver comments, watching as The Dark Urge picks back up his scalpel, “Although, your death will be useful. My friend, save the liver for me? I need to check if the Steel Watch can hold an acid that burns through such an organ.”

“Of course,” The Dark Urge agrees, pressing the blade into the clavicle, “I want to watch though.”

“Fine, fine,” Enver agrees, turning back to his work as the noble screams and chokes once more.

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Enver relaxes, his head cushioned on Tav’s lap as she reads through some papers, enjoying her delicate hand running through his hair. His eyes are closed to the sun peeking through the window of the library, resting on the couch after far too many meetings without his Tav at his side.

“Your friend,” she hesitantly starts.

“Hm?” he hums, his eyes remaining closed even as his eyebrow quirks.

“Does… Does he have a favored tea? Or a sweet?” she asks, so shy as she obviously plans a tea party for just the three of them. Enver smirks, amused at his betrothed’s attempts at playing hostess.

“He enjoys the lavender fog tea you had left over from the meeting with Lady Vanthampur and the other civil minded ladies,” Enver admits, easily recalling The Dark Urge staring at him with wide eyes in the kitchen that night. Biscuits shoved in his mouth with an absurdly large mug full of the tea on the counter, the normally collected dragonborn looked like a child caught with their hand in the cookie jar, although covered in the blood of some fool as well.

“Oh? Well… huh,” Tav mulls over, stopping her petting. Enver grunts in annoyance, relaxing again when she starts to gently scratch at his scalp and gently run her fingers through his hair again. Although, he tenses again when she asks, “How do you know?”

“…I may have realized I was hungry while working late,” he reluctantly admits, although his wounded pride is softened by a soft laugh and gentle lips brushing against his own lips.

“I see. Perhaps that’s why Rosealine continually overstocks snacks and samples,” Tav muses about their chef’s purchasing habits. Enver hums in agreement, settling back in her lap, soaking in this soft moment, a sweet treat as he continues to build the perfect land to rule for his God. Even though Bane occasionally looks at him in disdain, having Tav at his side will strengthen Enver’s rule, no matter how soft her velvet glove is around his iron fist.