#pre tadpole

[onepixelaway]

Thanks to Susann’s comparison of Ardreyth to a chameleon, I finally have a solid explanation for her ever-changing appearance. It actually works perfectly—her adaptability makes her incredibly effective in assassination and infiltration.

Thankee @susann-noir! <3 :D

Age: 80-90 years old

Status: Pre-canon/ Pre-tadpole

Setting: Forgotten Realms/ Baldur’s Gate 3

MODS: Petite Body and cute outfits by Sindae

[cleomigadon]

Thinking late night thoughts about Orin. How she lobotomized Durge.

Let’s not just gloss over that, think about what it really means. Lobotomy is the surgical silencing of a soul. It’s when a dangerous mind is carved into compliance. When something too wild, too chaotic, too free, gets emptied. What’s left behind is someone docile. Hollow. Stripped of fight, stripped of self. I don’t think Durge, Chosen, whatever name he clawed out of the dark, ever would’ve become the so called Redeemer if he hadn’t first been annihilated like that.

Because what is redemption, if not the final insult? He didn’t resist Bhaal out of strength. He resisted because he was gutted. Defanged. Emotionally castrated.

And Orin didn’t just break him. She designed it. She choreographed his destruction like foreplay. She wanted to ruin him with the very thing he once wielded as a weapon, the power he used to dominate, to kill, to command. She tried to kill him with it. Turn his ambition into his tombstone. That’s her poetry. That’s her kink. You know she was alone in her little shrine, planning it out in detail. Probably touching herself as she imagined it. Because for Orin, violence isn’t just about victory, it’s about performance. It has to be beautiful.

But there is more.

After that failed execution, there’s what’s left of him curled up in Moonrise Towers. Naked. A discarded thing. A broken godling. And then the Bone Daughter finds him.

If you’ve paid close attention ingame, you’ll know she’s obsessed. You can see it in how she looks at him. How she speaks to him. The awe. The fixation. She experimented on him. Cut him open. Called him “pet.” And I’m telling you now, it wasn’t just medical. It wasn’t just scientific curiosity. It was perverse. Sexual. It was personal. He was a screaming, hurt beast. Set back to some toddler state. A thing that couldn’t speak or understand. And she loved it. She kept him that way. She used him that way.

Just imagine it. This newborn thing toddler brained, getting dropped right into a functioning society. Into Act One, where people talk and laugh and slowly trust each other. Where relationships are built. Where communication is for connection, not a weapon.

[tantalizingtopi]

Snow

Gortash x The Dark Urge

NSFW

Word count: 1110

Disclaimer: characters belong to Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3

The Dark Urge discovers an intruder in their private oasis during a blizzard.

I’m longing for my bitter cold winter storms and wanted to pen a little something with two characters that live rent free in my brain. Enjoy!

The white comes in droves, the wind whipping the minuscule crystals into a raging silent blindness. Markings of those who may have ventured out into the abyss vanish almost as quickly as they appear. The streets of the city are devoid of any life as I make my way home, having quickly found my own place away from the temple so that I am not always consumed by my work, worship and surroundings.

Nothing special, a small one room house just barely in the outer city. Sceleritas had a fit when he discovered where I had been spending a fair share of my evenings. He had fretted, “Milady, this shack is so beneath your status, what will the others think of their vile leader if they knew you were staying here?”

I had slid my knife beneath his throat. “Then you will make sure they don’t find out, won’t you? You will stay away from this place, or I will cast you off.”

He had not returned for fear my threat may not be idle, and no one had mentioned my little hideaway. I had secured a more prominent residence in the Upper City as well, for dealings and clout. But my dirty little hole in the outer city is special. My little secret. Well, one of my little secrets.

So when I see the soft glow of the fire through the white, lashing out at the cold through the cracks in the doorframe, I stop short, electric alarm streaking down my spine. Someone unwanted in my space. My sacred space. Fury clamps down around my throat, my hand reaching into the folds of my cloak to pluck my knife from its strap. Flashes of beautiful blood spattering in the white snow, the heat of it melting into the white leaving behind stains that none will find until spring gnaw at my vision.

I fling open the door, intent on murderous happenings, only to freeze my blade centimeters from my partner's neck. He smiles. “I thought you might come here tonight.”

Maim, kill, destroy, murder, your spot your sacred spot your safe place violated, kill him kill him kill him! Do it now do it do it! My urge demands of me. My hand trembles, urging me to dig in, my heart screaming at me to stop. My eyes widen in fear as I fight against my nature, against what I know is best. I shudder out a noise akin to a displacer beast in agony.

His fingers wrap against my shaking wrist, pulling it away from his throat, where I can almost see his pulse thumping. His eyebrow quirks skyward as he watches my expression, his remaining neutral, if not almost pleased. He takes his other hand and pries my little finger from the handle and jerks it backwards, forcing the dagger to fall to the floor, sticking into the wood. He immediately laces his fingers with mine, quelling the shake, and bringing it to its original position, he presses his lips to the back of my hand, a flirtatious grin on his face.

A shuddering breath I didn’t realize I was holding escapes my lips, and I feel my body relax slightly, having been successful at defying the urges within. For now. I let this man lead me further into my own home, closing the door against the white sheets of snow behind us. “How did you find this place?”

“It’s merely good business sense to be aware of any and all assets my partner possesses,” his dark eyes lock onto my pale ones. “And anything that may possess them. I’m trusting you’re feeling… better now?”

“I am,” feeling the heat from the hearth beginning to warm the chill from my bones. “You are incredibly foolish, coming here, surprising me. If I don’t slay you, your dimwittedness will.”

He chuckles as he begins to put more wood into the fire, stirring errant sparks. “You find me just as brilliant as I find you.”

“That is the harshest insult I think I’ve ever received. You wound me, Gortash.”

His laughter booms throughout the small home, warming me more than the fire ever could. He finishes tending the fire and stands up, closer to me than before. He plucks at the hem of my cloak, his voice dropping lower. “Let’s get you out of these wet clothes.”

My tongue is suddenly thick and unmoving in my mouth, and all I can do is nod imperceptibly, dropping my gaze slightly. I move to pull the length of fabric from around my neck, but his fingers beat me to it, his hands skimming over my shoulders as he lets the cloak pool on the floor at my feet. He clucks his tongue. “These are wet too, just how long were you out in this weather dear?”

“I—“ My sentence dies in my mouth as he takes two fingers and pushes an errant strand of hair from my face, then trails them down my neck, running them along the collar of my top, feather light against the top of my breasts. He lets them drift down farther, hooking them into the top of my corset and pulling me forward, closer to him.

My eyes catch his again, deep dark pools of desire reflecting my image back at me. In a flash, our lips find one another, the months of coiled tension releasing. We make quick work of one another’s clothing, and his hands grab at my thighs, hauling me up and around him as he brings me to the small bed tucked in the corner. He drops me onto it, himself following right behind, hands and mouth marauding my skin, setting me aflame.

The unrelenting onslaught of his tongue against me has me shattering to pieces beneath him, and when he finally slots his hips against mine, I dig my nails into his back, earning a groan from him. He moves ruthlessly against me, pinning me between him and the mattress. I sink my teeth into his shoulder, attempting to drown my cry of pleasure with his flesh.

“Fuck,” he snarls, twisting a hand in my hair and jerking my face to his, his lips bruising my own. He bites my lower lip and metallic taste blooms over my tongue, and we come apart together.

Outside, the snow continues to fall, wrapping around the one room home, blanketing our indiscretion. Tomorrow I know we will have to face what we have just done, but tonight, tonight I let Enver Gortash hold me close and whisper sweet nothings into my ear as I drift off, completely relaxed for the first time in recent memory.

[oogalaboogalabich]

Astarion giving in and trying a few prayers again, this time to more niche obscure gods. Just goes right down the list of the dudes hed deemed least likely to respond.

Dear, Lolth. Not exactly your type but...

Hello Gortan... look i know this is more than a Minor inconvenience, but...

I have plenty of juicy gossip if thats what youre into, Maanzecorian...

Well i bet you never expected to hear from Me, did you Lathmar...

Look i know youre technically dead, Bhaal. but so am i and we both Adore murder, so....

And then not even like a full 24 hours later:

Hes got a mark hanging off his arm when they suddenly vanish. He whips his gaze about, tense and ready to defend himself.

The body drops out of the sky (or the rooftops more like) mauled beyond recognition. And theres a voice at his back.

"You must be a very dedicated or VERY desperate soul to garner a personal invitation from my father, Vampling..." theres a kriss (squiggle blade knife) at his throat, and lips on his ear "though i could hazzard a guess as to which."

I dunno i might do somethin with it. Might not.

[onepixelaway]

ARDREYTH  MIZZRYM

Age: 80-90 years old

Status: Pre-canon/ Pre-tadpole

Setting: Forgotten Realms/ Baldur's Gate 3

MODS: Petite Body and cute outfits by Sindae

Visual overhaul to create a more youthful appearance, with a thinner body model and smaller breast proportions.

[onepixelaway]

ARDREYTH  MIZZRYM

Ard is here around 80 years old. As can be seen, she does not yet bear the tattoos typical for her, nor has the house insignia of Mother Matron Minaste been “branded” upon her.

She stands now at the edge of her final trial—expected to prove absolute obedience, absolute control.

What she does not yet realize is that control is the one thing already slipping from her grasp...

Age: ca. 80 years Status: Pre-canon / Pre-tadpole Setting: Forgotten Realms / Baldur's Gate 3

[tantalizingtopi]

On Pets

Durge x Gortash, feat Kethric

Word Count: 335

Disclaimer: All characters owned by Larian Studios and Baldur’s Gate 3

A quick little something between Durge and Kethric at Moonrise, shortly before the plot of bg3. Tensions are already brewing, and Durge is doing their best to keep the peace. Enjoy!

As always, I appreciate any and all feedback.

“We really couldn’t do this without you, Kethric,” I croon, smiling at the older man as I lean against the table. He rolls his eyes and huffs.

“You need to keep your pet Banite on a better leash then.”

I drive the tip of my knife into the wood, the smile disappearing. He doesn’t react. “Kethric, sweet senile Kethric, we both know who is at fault here and it’s not the Banite. Your necromancer has crossed a boundary, again. I suggest you have more than just a talk with him before he ends up in so many pieces even he can’t put himself together again.”

Kethric’s eyes narrow, his distaste evident. “Fine. I’ll take care of Balthazar. Now if that’s everything, I’ll take my leave.”

He pushes his chair back with force as he stands up. He turns to walk away from me. “Oh, and Kethric?”

“What, Bhaalspawn?” He turns back.

My face twists into a sinister smile. “If you or your little pets step out of line again, I’ll free that bitch myself and let her handle you.”

“H-how do you know about that? Who else knows?” Kethric’s face pales.

“Not to worry bonelord, I have no interest in exposing your dirty little secrets to anyone. You know I’ve done arguably worse. I want you to be happy old man. We need this to work. But we cannot allow our underlings to overstep and pursue their own interests and ambitions, you understand?” I pull the knife out of the table and place it into my belt loop, flashing the old man my palms.

He holds my gaze for a moment, assessing me before nodding. “Fine. In the interest of quelling ambitious underlings, I’d recommend keeping an eye on your sister. She’s a liability and we both know it.”

I laugh. “Don’t worry about Orin, I am always careful when it comes to my blood thirsty family, my friend.”

“I hope so.” I watch his retreating form, a slightly uneasy feeling settling over me.