Hello, I'm M, and here is my Masterlist and Rules (still under construction ha)
Requests closed
Spiderverse:
Ruin / part 2 - You get severely hurt during a fight. Miguel begs for you to stay - GN reader
Like a Wild Animal - You're in an argument with Miguel regarding the situation with Miles. He doesn't know how to deal with things. - GN reader
Dragon Age:
RDR2:
Bloodborne:
BG3:
Son of God - Dark Urge and Gortash. DU asks Gortash to use the dagger on them, unhealthy interpretaions. - E - GN third person.
The Gods Must be Lying - Dark Urge x Gortash, religious guilt and trauma, addicional tags and rating by chapter. Chapter 1
Rules
Currently writing all fandoms above
18+
Mostly gn reader, but don't mind writing gendered
Kinks are more than welcomed. The few I won't write: watersports, scat, non-con or cnc.
Feel free to tell me what's on your mind, as specific or as vague as you wish. If I don't feel comfortable with something I'll let you know or update this list.
Whump, gore and angst are my passion. Let it be as horrofying as you want!
anything! art, fic, comics, cosplay, virtual photography - as long as it is made by you, it's welcome
AI is NOT allowed and will not be reshared
NSFW & SFW pieces are allowed for all prompts, be sure they are tagged correctly
how do i participate?
easy! make something using a prompt and when the day comes, share it!
late submissions are allowed and i will do my best to reshare everything here and over on bluesky (gortashweek.bsky) but i am only one person so if i miss something please tag the account!
i will be checking both "#gortashweek" & "#gortash week" tags, but when in doubt tag this account somewhere and i'll share it
any further questions, please send an ask and i'll get back to you!
The idea that they see all these places up north, not only the architecture and technology, but how magic is an integral part of these.
A Rook who takes a while to understand that this is normal. That magic isn't something to be feared or trusted or held against someone- that magic just is as much as the sun is and the wind flows.
A Rook who, depending on past experiences, hides their magic or is defensive of it. Whose small habits are strange to the Veilguard guard crew- maybe concealing their magic or staff, trying to be smaller or intimidating, who sees Templars as the default enemy.
Companions who, even if they don't understand why Rook acts this way, they try to. Because the Templar Mage war was nothing more than a page on the newspaper or an increase in groceries.
Companions who, as they learn about this different world view and grow to love Rook, begin to be more aware of the details.
where are the lucanis/spite fans who crave dramaâŠâŠiâm waiting on one of you to write the fic where lucanis is dating neve but spite is dating rook
Info: canon typical violence, Geto & Gojo, could be read as Geto/Gojo
Summary: Geto fights a curse, memories show up.
The day was cold and the air was thin. It hurt when he breathed, but his lungs worked at maximum capacity as Suguru Geto ran in the forest he was in. The trees smelled like fresh rain, the leaves under his feet cracked with each passing step.
A black cut in the air showed itself, his cursed energy ripping reality. A curse left its confines, and the sorcerer could feel the strings between him and the curse he dominates. His curse.
The tall, black-haired curse slashes through the creature hunting Geto, the blood and guts of the attacked curse twisting and spilling. He can feel a drop in his mouth.
Not as bad as what he is used to.
Suguru can finally stop running, turning to face the special grade in front of him. The two curses fight, the noises mushed in his brain, why isnât his mind reacting quickly? It should be. It always does.
"Special grade, huh?â Satoru asks with a smirk. âThatâs a lot of responsibility.â
Suguru nods, understanding the title that had been passed on to him. They always knew Suguruâs power, so this was just a formality⊠yet, his mind couldnât truly leave that idea behind.
Special grade. One of the greatest.
One of the greatest to protect, to fight.
But not the greatest. He didnât need to be.
The man shakes his head.
Tamamo-no-Mae Incarnate, the black-haired curse falls to the ground with a thud. Their opponent stands tall in front of them, but Suguruâs eyes canât quite understand the vision in front of him. Distorted, ever moving, blue-ish and white figure dancing in one place, particles interlacing with one anotherâŠ
Cursed energy, a rip in the sky, a dragon flies to Suguru. The strange cursed spirit reaches for it with its energy.
The water is warm. The sun is lazily making its way to the ground, the orange tint of the sky as beautiful as ever.
âDo you truly believe it?â He asks.
âOf course I do.â Geto answers.
âWhy?â
The sky is just as beautiful as any other day. The taste still lingers on Getoâs tongue. He wonders if others could taste it.
âHere.â Satoru offers a Daifuku. Strawberry.
Suguru takes the candy, placing it in his tongue. The taste dissolves the trash that resides within him.
âBecause of this.â
The dragon breathes heavily as if it needed to.
Suguru stands up- when had he fallenâŠ? Matters not, the cursed spirit was now gone. All that was left was a sphere, a much dreaded one. A strong one. One heâd need to learn how to use, and one he is lucky to have despite how it feels.
Geto opens his mouth, tongue sticking out, jaw hurting from the stretch of the item entering him. The way his teeth clashed with the energy, it felt like it was made of glass, or perhaps he was. The taste makes his throat contract, but over the years he has learned he needs to accept this feeling so it can end faster.
Are you still open to requests?! If so, can you do Cullen x female reader where he is too shy to show you his feelings and you have to kind of force yourself on him and show him the ropes? This has smut BTW if it wasn't obvious lol
Tags - m!Dark Urge x Gortash, cannibalism, religious trauma, religious guilt, drow durge, not beta read
The Dark Urge ponders on his affection towards Gortash, aware of his Father's disapproval.
Chapter 1
The bones are aching, hands laying upon the altar, under the blood red eyes of the Father. The ever so adoring butler stood by his side, his subordinates walking around the temple, bringing fresh, succulent bodies to his surroundings.
Oh, how they kill for His blessing.
It is beautiful, the blood soaking the ground of this temple. All for Him. But also all for his child.
The Dark Urge.
A strange name to have, even stranger to give to other people when asked.
Urlyn, is what he eventually chose.
He wonders, hands caressing the viscera on the altar, if that was his Father's mistake. To give him free will.
Perhaps chosing his own name was a mistake in itself, perhaps choosing awareness is a sin, he still sees the God as he should, but he could feel the blessing as much as he could feel the tug of the tight leash.
His latest actions weren't welcomed on His abode.
The admiration for the uncommon ally. To have Lord Gortash by his side was an important step, the man genius allowing for the putrid future his Father so required, but Bhaal was still not happy.
And Urlyn would be lying if he said he didn't know why.
"My lord, it is time for the ritual feeding." The butler said.
Sceleritas' voice took Urlyn's attention.
"Of course." the drow stood on his feet, a last, longing look at the red eyes granted an absensse inside. It had been years since he felt that, hadn't it? The details are foggy but he knew the punishment that came after Father's absensse, the scar on his face a reminder.
He had to correct this soon.
Pushing away the trouble from his mind, the man proceeded to greet the few selected for today's practice.
Oh, how the meat danced on their mouths as he kindly put it there, how the blood tasted metallic, how the teeth raged with each bite.
He was his Father's child, but he was still a kind leader. Mass fear didn't prove half as effective when commanding his flock as well placed attention. They wanted to feed? Then feed they will, from the hand of their so beloved. They wanted to maim? Then maim they shall, and the remains of their victims will stand proudly on the temple, all in name of Bhaal.
It was important to keep each follower's name, make them earn and embrace each achievment. Make them want more.
Give them just enough for them to come back begging for more.
Make them know their offerings won't grant the blessings they want.
But that doesn't mean they couldn't get it, if only they kept their worshipping.
At the end of the day, Urlyn retires to his chaimbers, and can't help but imagine the Banite licking the feast's blood off of his body.
Just a Drabble I cant get out of my head- Durge is able to recover more of his memories along his travels back to Baldurs Gate, and Orin doesnât bother telling Gortash that her kin has returned.
âHello, Lordlingâ
The Dark Urge, Son of Bhaal, Nox leans back against the old, mahogany desk in his dear friend, Gortashâs office where heâs been waiting, ever patiently, for the tyrant to arrive.
Itâs luxurious to a point Nox had once found gaudy, but the room gives him a warm feeling in his chest now. Â Some parts of his memories echo through his empty brain as mere feelings and impressions. Some remain vivid, yet the bulk of what he could access shows glimpses of his life only in the months before Orinâs attack, but he knows they go deeper. Flashes of late night scheming, shared heists, interrogations, pools of blood, carefully plotted assassinations, then, the smell of avernus clinging to their skin amidst a first kiss. All of it went back to him- Gortash, not Bhaal. Not his fathers wishes or the Urge or even the temple. Everything in Noxâs empty brain was bringing him here.
He let his companions greet the new archduke on their own, but he watched from the shadows, the disappointment in Gortashâs eyes betraying the tyrant, but this was a meeting better had in privacy. The very same newly coronated archduke stands in front of him now for the first time in only the gods know how long.
âFuck off,â Gortash grumbles, a tight frown on his face. The large double doors of the office swing closed behind him. As their eyes meet, Nox can see the extent of exhaustion that permeates the tyrantâs being. Circles much darker than usual shroud his near-black eyes. His hair had grown in the past two months, resting on his collarbones in disarray. Even the way he breathes sings of discontent.
Nox tilts his head, unmoving from his spot on the lordâs desk âNot the welcome home I was hoping for. I can understand your anger, but-â
â-Orinâ the duke hisses sharply, âI have better things to do than this. As do you. Make yourself useful for once.â
Orin. Something in Noxâs chest sinks with the realization, âSheâs been mocking you with my face? Gods- Iâm going to kill that inbred little bitch the second I see herâ he growls.
That earned a raised eyebrow from Enver, but the duke keeps wary eyes trained on his assassin âIâm not playing your games this timeâ he sighs.
âI assure you, Enver, I am not here to play games.â
Nox watches as Gortash moves across the room to his liquor cabinet against the wall, fine wood gilded in gold. The dukeâs eyes stay trained on him, even as he begins to pour a glass of fine, amber whiskey. âYes, yes, you will slash me in two, bathe in my blood, and what was it-â Gortash pauses to take a long, slow sip, sighing once again â-wear my intestines as a scarf? No matter- all the same, uncouth drabble with you.â
âNot until the end. And not like that. I wonât kill you until- unless we are the last two living in all the realm. First you, then me.â Nox clenches his fingers, his jaw tightening and untightening as he feels the images of Enverâs death set in behind his eyes. The Urge whispers for him to take the Banite now, but he knows better. He takes a slow, deep breath, reaching instinctively to the band around his wrist. He focuses on the feelings to ground himself for a moment before continuing. âI believe that was the promise I made you before- Well, things are hazy- a lobotomy does that to you.â
Enver stops, his glass half raised to his lips as his eyes widen. Nox can nearly see his thoughts, debates. Heâs questioning if Orin could have such knowledge, if Orin could keep calm this long in a conversation, if Orin could push down her Urge. Nox gives a lopsided smile as he continues. âI donât remember everything, but I remember you. I came back for you- to stand by you. As we are meant to be.â
It only takes a few seconds for Gortash to cross the room, his glass crashing into the golden tray below it, well abandoned; and Nox smiles, allowing his shirt collar to be grasped tightly in the dukeâs hands. Gortash crowds his space, leering at him. Thereâs venom in his expression, but just below that lies hope.
âProve it or die.â
How many times had Orin tried this? How many times did she dangle Nox in front of Enver? Did she pretend to return to him just like this? Or simply take his form to berate the tyrant lord? The thought makes the teiflingâs blood boil. But he will save that rage for later.
Nox huffs out a chuckle, âIf I were Orin, I would have my fucking dagger, and this goddamn tadpole wouldnât be in my head, Enver.â
His words are enough, and Gortash yanks the collar of his shirt forward until they are pressed against each other, their lips colliding in a rough, forceful kiss that dissolves into desperation. For Nox, itâs familiar and new all at once as if he were acting out a scene he had only seen in a play; he knew Enverâs taste, his smell, the way he was rough and gentle all at once. Yet, feeling it rather than seeing it through a haze of lost memories and confusion was enough to make his knees weak.
âYou have a tadpole in your head. You gods damned idiot.â Enver smiled against his lips, words devoid of venom. His hands move up to cup Noxâs face, warm gold of Gortashâs gauntlets pressing against his cheeks. âI have missed you so, my dearest.â
âI missed you, too.â Nox chuckles, and his cheeks warm up as if the words were meant to stay inside his mind- as if he was supposed to be ashamed by such thoughts, but the way Enver pulls him closer makes him think perhaps it is okay not to be ashamed about some things. Perhaps, whatever lingering worry circles in his mind from before does not matter anymore.
Brainworms finally got to me, I caved in and wrote a oneshot on the topic of "but what if Durge and Gortash had a child prior to all that mess"
Featuring my Dark Urge Levi, pre- and post- memory loss.
There was a living, breathing infant child in his arms; and for the first time in a long while Lord Enver Gortash was in complete loss at what to do.
âWhat is it?â fell rather flat down, a poor excuse of a question.
Leviathan rolled his eyes.
âA meaty flesh of some newly created life,â he huffed, visibly annoyed. âAlso known as a child. I assume youâve met their kind?â
Enver felt anger rise alongside with deeply rooted annoyance. Whatever spectacle the bhaalspawn decided to partake in, now was not the time for that. Neither it was the time for his witty itty remarks.
âI am well aware itâs a child,â he argued back just as sullenly, the said child held loosely in his arms. In his arms. Why was there a child in his arms? They were not made for holding babies.
âIâm asking why is it a child and why is it here. The questions any sane person in my place would indulge in.â
There was something...off about the bhaalspawn.
Not only Enver hadnât seen the man for almost the entity of a year, an assassin always claiming some task of utmost importance, but now he decided to pop out of the thin air with a live child in a tow and immediately push said child into his, Enver Gortashâs, not so open arms.
It was alarming, to say the least.
âOh, that,â Levi waved him off like it was a casual annoyance and not a conversation two adults, so-conspirers - partners - had. Like Gortash imposed himself into his free time and personal space and not the other way around. âItâs yours.â
Itâs what?
âOr at least I assume itâs yours,â Leviathan followed as Enverâs thoughts came to a rapid halt. âSince I havenât touched anyone alive but you in a long time. And look where it led me,â the look of pure disdain was all the child was getting, it seemed. âA freshly made meaty cage for a new soul. Disgusting. Youâd think Father would make this shit stop and would not allow a child of banite to be born, but I guess any bhaalspawn is a good little pawn under his merciful gaze. Anyway,â a wild, excusing gesture of a hand. âI donât have any use for this...thing. Sceleritas suggested to bring it into the fold and let my men do all the work, but well, the bother. So you can take it instead,â a winning smile what would work wonders if not for the whole absurdity of the situation Gortash just found himself in. âThink of it as of a gift. A proof of my loyalty to our cause, hm?â
Sometimes the bastard was more annoying than he was charming and his presence took a toll on the man.
Sometimes Enver wanted nothing more than to break Leviâs pretty slender neck.
That was one of these times.
âAnd what am I supposed to do with it?â
âOh, whatever you want,â another wide, generous gesture. This asshole truly thought of that...child as if of a gift to be given away, didnât he?
Enver shouldnât have been surprised, not really, he knew Leviathanâs stance on children.
âTaste good, not much of use when alive, itâs funny when they die firstâ â was as good of a take as one could expect from the leader of the Cult of Murder.
âYou can throw it away or feed it to the dogs. You can raise it or give it to a hag or even sell it to the devil,â another smile thatâs more malicious than anything else. âI don't really care, if I'm being honest.â
Unfortunately, killing a bhaalspawn when you were holding just another bhaalspawn would prove to be close to impossible.
It would have to wait, and Leviathan Anchev still had his uses, bratty as he was.
And his appeal, as deadly as that ordeal proved to be. Or how complicated.
A child, huh? Well, Enver supposed every ruler needed an heir.
âBring me the wizard,â was the first order out of his mouth when bhaalspawn left. The child was safely given into the care of the first competent older servant, who looked just as bewildered as Gortash himself felt. âTell him to scan the...the-â
âThe boy, my lord.â
âRight, tell the mage to scan the boyâs heritage. Letâs find who his parents are, shall we?â
Trusting a psycho murderer was an awful idea even at the safest of times, and now were not those. Levi would lie just to fuck with Enver. Levi had to lie, because there was no way this infant boy was actually his, Enverâs, flesh and blood.
***
Leviathan Anchev did not lie.
***
Levi moved away to sprawl his body across the bed, the creature of leisure he was. He sniffed the air and then wrinkled his nose, closer to an animal than any other person Gortash has ever known. More appealing in that, in his beast-like fluid grace.
âYou still have this thing around,â the man commented, frowning. âWhy? Playing the dollhouse? How...quant.â
âThis thing has a name,â Enver couldnât not parry. âNoah.â
Leviathan groaned.
âOh, spare me the details; I want nothing to do with that flesh meat. Having to carry it inside my body for almost a year was a bother enough. Almost cut it out myself on multiple occasions, but Sceleritas insisted the internal damage Iâd deal would be too great to handle. Idiot.â A moment of a thoughtful pause.
âYou know what my destiny is, right?â
A searching gaze, reaching hands, clawed fingers cupping Enverâs cheeks almost gently. Something changed between them some time ago, but what it was Lord Gortash could not pinpoint.Â
Yet something...Shifted.
Levi searching his face for some kind of acknowledgement was a sign of this.
Leviathan Anchev Enver first met would not care less about his approval. Leviathan Anchev of now was Enverâs nearest and dearest and it was pretty much a mutual kind of thing.
âI know.â
To kill everyone in the world and then himself. In Bhaalâs name. A gruesome fate, and pointless. Dull, lacking of any grandiose his, Enverâs, path had.
If only he could break off this deadly conviction in his dear ally, if only there was a way to make him stray out of this path...
They could be good for each other. They could rule together as the gods of the new age; glorious, undefeatable, perfect.
The rulers Toriel truly deserved.
âThen you know Iâll have to kill this...thing,â a moment of barely noticeable hesitation. âThis... Noah.â
Enver also knew he would rather see his lover bleed on the altar of his dreadful father than let it happen.
âI do.â
âI,â another uncertain pause. âI was planning to leave you for last. To kill you and myself in one final blow; a perfect tribute to Father. But,â and really, those damn pauses were starting to get on Enverâs nerves. Levi was never short of words before, so what in the nine hells had happened? âWould you rather prefer Iâd do you and...Noah... together? To kill you two in one blow?â
Ah.
Enver saw it for what it was, in the uncertain, searching gaze of his unlucky lover, in the carefulness with that he produced words.
Something warm flooded out the irritation from before; something warm and soft and entirely fragile.
It was mercy, the only kind of mercy the bhaalspawn could know. Leviathan Anchev, the man fully capable of destroying everyone and everything on his wake, offered him a tiny piece of his own surrender. A confirmation of his affections, almost a confession.
In some ways he did care.
âThat would be very considerate of you, yes,â he agreed, bringing his bhaalspawn close. His bhaalspawn, his ally, his lover. The father of his son.
If there was a way of bringing Bhaal down without bringing Levi with him, Enver would find and utilize it. Otherwise heâd have to kill the best partner in crime he has ever had.
And that would be...unfortunate.
Levi leaned into the touch, soft and gentle in a way he never was before; almost fragile.
Trusting.
âDoes it...know about me?â came out in a whisper, almost unbidden.
âHe knows you exist,â was all the response Enver could give, enveloping his assassin into his arms, holding him closely, firmly, painfully so.
The bhaalspawn squirmed for a moment before finally settling in.
âOh,â he breathed out. âI didnât think you would...What you would tell him I do. Exist, I mean. Iâd expect youâd spin a tale of some tragically dead wife or-â
âThere is no tragically dead wife,â Enver cut off, feeling rather irritated. A mystery of complications, his dear murderer. âOnly a lunatic of a murderer for a father. Not what Noah knows that, he knows weâre working together and what youâre a very busy man.â
âHmph,â Leviâs breath brushed Enverâs neck. âI guess that is true.â
âDo you want to,â and now it was his time to be a hesitant bother. âMeet him?
At that Leviathan actually laughed.
âOh, absolutely not, keep him and that strange dollhouse of yours as far away from me as possible. I have things to do, people to kill, empires to rule. I donât have time for meat-things, of my own creation or not.â
And just like that, it was as if nothing has changed.
***
The alarm goes off the moment Karlach finishes the last of the Hands and flies into a wall by the force of the explosive detonating right into her face.
Enver doesnât stop to register that, or to look around at the bodies of his faithful, to mourn his perfectly constructed plans â his watch, the Iron Throne, the little fireworks shop â because the alarm in Noahâs private chambers went off and it only means one thing.
Intruders.
He skips one step at the time climbing up the steep steps to the higher, more private level.
Could that be the remaining of Orinâs assassins?
Levi said he dispatched of them all, but surely some had to survive by the sheer luck of not being in the temple at the moment. Are those Ravengardâs forces, Florrickâs?
Is it Leviathan, finally coming to sniff out the life he himself created?
He is vaguely aware of the younger Ravengard and the pale elf taking the chase after him, of Karlach joining in.
They think he is escaping.
Idiots.
Enver tries not to think what he is leading the enemies right to his son; heâll deal with them later. Right now thereâs blazing alarm shrieking what something is wrong â and indeed it is, as he discovers with the first body lying dead on the floor. Then the second. Then the third.
All of them â with their throats ripped open, Leviathanâs favorite style.
Enver turns the corner and reaches for the door handle â the door is unlocked and half open: this is bad, bad, bad-
Then he hears laughter and pauses.
He opens the door slowly and carefully instead of ripping it open as he intended at first.
And sees...
Levi is sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning slightly forward.
Across of him, sitting in the exact same â ridiculous â pose sits the boy not older than five. He has a dark messy hair, blazing green eyes what betray his nature, and the new game Gortash brought to him just recently. He is trying to explain the rules to the tiefling in front of him, who listens attentively, nodding here and there.
âWow,â Leviathan Anchev comments with an air of nonchalance he didnât have before. âI did not understand a thing. But good for you, lil one, good for you.â
âItâs really not that difficult,â Noah insists. âI can teach you! We can play together.â
Enver steps closer, somehow is still not detected neither by his son nor by his...his what?
Karlach almost crashes into the doorframe after him, but somehow manages to steady herself, takes in the view in front of her â and freezes.
So do the other two of Leviâs unruly companions. Gortash especially doesnât like the pale one; he has a habit of sticking way closer to the bhaalspawn than it is proper.
âI am not that good at these kinds of games,â Levi admits as his tail flips from side to side and nostrils flare; he has detected him. Probably smelled before sensing. âBut I have a friend with a real knack for them. He is a wizard and knows a lot of fun things; I think youâd get along.â
Noah looks uncertain.
âAre you sure?â he looks down. âI donât think...Iâm not allowed outside.â
âReally? And why is that?â
âWell,â the boy fidgets with his game. âFather says people who oppose him would try to use me against him, if they knew I existed. So I am kind of...a secret? Itâs for my own safety!â he immediately adds, seeing Leviathanâs face blank out. âThereâs a murderer on the loose, she really doesnât like father despite supposedly working with him. Father says she will kill me if she finds out I exist.â
âOh,â Levi looks taken aback at that. âI donât think you need to worry about that anymore. If youâre talking about who I think youâre talking about, then she has been dealt with already.â
âOh!â Noah brightens. âBy whom?â
âBy me. But say,â the spawn looks quizzically at the child in front of him, frowning slightly. âIs it just your father and you? Whereâs your mother?â
âI donât have one,â and this is definitely the moment then Enver needs to intervene, but he is just...frozen in place, turned to stone.
Leviathan Anchev he knew hated children.
This Leviathan Anchev is talking to a child as it was his best friend.
âI have a dad though!â Noah is a sweet fool, Enver taught him much better than telling complete strangers his entire liveâs story. Stop. Talking. âHe is...working a lot and is too busy to visit,â the boy looks down gloomily. âBut! He and father are very close; they even stole from the devil together!â
Levi blinks. Then blinks once more. Then again.
âThe devil, you say?â and is it just Gortashâs imagination, but did the manâs voice just rise up an octave?
âYes! And not just any devil, the achdevil Mephistopheles!â Noah looks so absurdly proud of that it hurts. âThey snuck right into his home, stole a crown from his vault and returned here. Unspotted, unstopped. Victorious.â
âWhat the fuck?â Karlach lets out and both the boy and the bhaalspawn who created him turn to the door.
Noahâs face immediately brightens.
âFather!â he exclaims, hastily getting to his feet and rushing to him. Behind the boy Levi gives the man the most bewildered stare he has ever seen.
âYou have a child!â young Ravengard speaks out with the accusation in his voice. Enver really isnât sure whom the man is addressing.
Noah is unperturbed.
âFather, I met a really cool guy, his name is Levi and he must be your friend because he came here with no problem at all; and he has children at his camp, two girls named Yenna and Arabella. Arabella is a druid because she stole the idol of Sylvanus and it gave her powers, and Yenna has a cat! But the cat is anxious so I shouldnât pet it, but I can look at it! Please, can I look at Yennaâs cat? Levi said the evil murderer is dealt with, so itâs probably safe. And Levi can guard me if needed. Also thereâs a vampire spawn in his camp and-â
The pale elf coughs.
âHello there,â he tries, pulling a not entirely convincing smile up his lips. âA vampire spawn speaking. And you would be...â
âI am Noah!â says Noah right away; and did Enver shelter him too much? Damn, he has sheltered him too much. Look at the boy, he wants to befriend a vampire spawn. âIâm the son of the Archduke! Hello.â
âYes, hi,â the elf looks at Levi uncertainly and back. âSo...â
âSo,â the bhaalspawn steps forward, a bewildered look stuck to his face. He crouches down to Noahâs level and takes his hands into his calloused and clawed ones. âSo Noah...Your dad is the man who helped your father to steal the crown from the devil, is that right?â
Noah nods vigorously and Enver takes his time to observe the scene; the two bhaalspawns in front of each other, Leviâs posture, his relaxed shoulders, his slightly shaking hands. The tail that seems to have a life on its own and moves agitatedly behind its owner.
Three companions of the bhaalspawn, all somewhat stuck in place, with different levels of surprise stitched up their faces. The pale elf â a step closer, almost lingering at Leviathanâs side. Annoying.
Yet somehow, no matter how hard Gortash looks at it, he doesnât sense any danger. Doesnât see it, even with Karlach still aflame by the doorframe.
âYep,â Noah agrees eagerly. âI wish heâd come to meet me soon. He will come, right? Once the work is done and all,â the boy sighs. âI mean, I am his son, surely he would care to come to meet me.â
âUm,â the tiefing looks uncertain. âAnd what if...something happened to him? What if he, say, lost his memories?â
âHow? Did something hit him in the head?â
The vampire spawn chokes on a laugh and Levi rolls his eyes at him.
âSure,â he agrees. âLetâs call it that. So...what if he doesnât...exactly remember having you?â
âYou mean if heâs lost and doesnât know he needs to come back?â
âSomething like that.â
âWell, I guess Iâd come looking for him. He is my other father. Itâs important.â
The force of conviction behind these words hits harder than a thunderwave.
Leviathan blinks hard, clears his throat, and then-
âYou...donât have to. I donât remember much about my life before...certain events, but it was made adamantly clear to me I was the one to break into the Mephistophelesâ vault with your father. And if your dad is who did that, then,â he stops. âThen I guess- Enver, are you really just going to stand here like a fucking statue? Tell me if this is what I think it is or not.â
âYou swore!â
âNo, the fuck, I did not. Enver-â
âNow you swore twice!â
âOh, for fuckâs sake-â
âSo,â Gortash steps forward, a lazy smile dancing on his lips. Gods only know how much this smile costs him. âYou have known your son for the entirety of twenty minutes and already taught him a swear word. Really impressive.â
Religious cannibalism, my Dark Urge was a (The) priest for the temple and that one follower who says "you fed my first peace of meat but Orin doesn't let us feast" has been living in my mind rent free.
Karlach wants to kill the man; June has another idea.
TW: tadpoling (not graphic), June refers to Gortash solely by his name.
What are you doing?
The Emperorâs voice rings in his ears - in his mind - slightly tinted with suspicion. Funny, for how much the mindflayer insists June can trust it, it doesnât seem to trust June at all.
You said I need to gather my allies, he replies absentmindedly, hands working on taking this damn cork off and opening the bottle. Such a small thing it is, and how much it contains.
Enver was personally responsible for the creation of this new, nether-touched illithid parasite.
Enver and him; the details are hazy, but June can easily see himself fit into the narrative the lordling painted for him. He can see himself, on top of the world, with crown of Karsus in his hands, ready to conquer the entire Toriel for his father.
What a fool he was.
Itâs changed now. He is a changed man.
âJune?â Karlach looks uncertain and that hurts.
Hadnât she learned by now to trust his judgment, had he not proved himself to be a good, loyal friend? The mere fact what she doubts him still is simply unacceptable.
Sheâll see, June knows. Once he puts his plan in action, she will see the brilliance of it.
What use Enverâs death would be to her? It would not turn back the time, it would not give her back her heart or ten years of her life.
But this? This can turn the tide.
âItâs alright,â he smiles, but for some reason she doesnât smile back. Damn it, did the smile come out wrong again? âJust hold him firm.â
She complies, but looks even more unsettled.
âThis is...Not what Iâve expected,â Karlach admits. âYou...What are you going to do with this thing?â
June smiles; this time the smile comes out right.
âI am going to fix it.â
Enver lets out a deep, throaty chuckle.
âAnd there I was, concerned theyâve somehow ruined you,â for a man beaten bloody and pressed down the cold tile floor he looks surprisingly content. âWorried Orin damaged your brain too much and somehow turned you into...â he trails off. âBut I was a fool to fear that. No, youâre just as youâve always been.â Another annoyingly long pause and then- âYouâre going to tadpole me.â
âYes,â June smiles.
Of course Enver of all people would understand.
He pulls the specimen out of its glass cage and holds between his fingers. Gently, ever so gently.
Enverâs eyes trail the movement.
âWe worked so hard on these curious little things; youâve worked so hard on them. It would be a shame for you to not test out your own creation, would it not?â
âJune,â Wyll calls out and June doesnât need to turn around to know his friend looks downright horrified.
Why canât they see?
This is the right thing to do. Death is too simple, too easy. This? This will give Enver a chance to atone for his crimes. No, it will downright force him to cooperate.
And cooperation is exactly what June needs.
He is in your head, comes out an echo of a conversation long passed. Gortash, Gortash, Gortash â this damned lordling is all you can speak of these days! I doubt father approves of that, brother dear.
But June doesnât care if father approves anymore. June doesnât do his fatherâs bidding.
He is a free man, a free and a good man. And if he can change like that, who knows how Enver could?
âThis is a chance,â he thinks and realizes heâs spoken aloud. âTo work together. To fix the mess weâve started. To make things right.â
âThis is wrong,â Wyll argues. âYou know this is wrong, June-â
âJuniper,â Enver speaks. Thereâs a strange glint in his eyes and it takes June some time to decipher it. Thereâs dread, of course, but also...Satisfaction? Like this is expected outcome. Like this aligns with Enver Gortashâs image of the world.
June frowns.
âYou look entirely too pleased, my dear,â he comments lightly, crouching down to Enverâs level. The parasite dangles from his fingers, sharp jaws opening and closing in a rather rhythmical manner. As if it senses the prey nearby.
Enver manages a weak shrug, still pressed firmly down; Karlach looks distressed but her hold does not waver.
âNo sense to panic over something I canât change, is there?â True, but that does not explain the smugness. âAnd itâs a relief.â
âA relief?â June slowly reaches out, hand getting closer and closer to Enverâs face. Did he caress this face before? Were they that close?
The deep, annoying longing inside insists they were.
Close. Closer than Bhaal would permit, perhaps. Was he the reason for Juneâs little rebellion?
If so, itâs only right to repay for that.
âThis thing with SelĂ»ne,â Enver frowns. âIt was entirely...anticlimactic. I am glad youâre as ruthless as I recall you to be.â
June frowns right back.
âYouâre delusional,â he replies. âI was ruthless once, but no more. This is mercy. I am sparing you, sparing your life. Enver, I am your savior.â
That makes the lordling look even more smug.
âOf course you are,â he smiles as if he knows something June does not. Annoying. âNow, shouldnât you cut this âwill he, wonât heâ business and finally-â
His voice cuts short as June drops the parasite on his face, as close to the eyes as he manages.
The creature crawls up and immediately buries itself into the depths of Enverâs skull. Clever little thing.
June watches, fascinated, as the man struggles while parasite takes a hold on him.
Then he raises an artifact.
Emperor? He calls out. Will you do the honors?
Of course.
A wave of pcionic power washes over them and Enverâs mind clears. He blinks; once, twice, brushes the uncalled tears away. Then looks up, straight at June.
âNot too bad,â comments plainly, asshole. Like June didnât just turn his life upside down. âI assume youâll force me to comply with your clever plans now?â
âOf course,â June thought it was rather obvious. âNow weâre going to save the day like the true heroes we are,â he smiles. âWe donât need any gods for that, we donât need any cults. Bhaal and Bane can fight over the rubbish all they want, but we know better. We are going to have Baldurâs Gate eating from our palms. But first,â he feels his smile turn slightly malicious. âWeâll visit an old acquaintance. Halsik has everything prepared and stands at the ready.â
At that Enver perks up.
âYouâre dragging me to Hell,â he comments rather cheerfully. âAgain. If I didnât know better, Iâd think a trip to Hell is your idea of a date.â
June snorts, and Karlach snorts, and even Astarion, who was mostly silent through the entire encounter, snorts, though his snort is more unkind than the others'.
âNo, silly,â June drags his hands up Enverâs torso until they lay placidly on his chest. Warm, he notices absentmindedly. Warm and familiar. SelĂ»neâs Grace, am I in love with this man?
That would be...unfortunate, all things considered. But not entirely unexpected.
âWe are going to break into the House of Hope,â he feels Enver stil underneath the touch. âI assume youâre more than familiar with the place, are you not?â
The lordling wets his lips, then grasps June and uses him as a leverage to stand up. Karlach almost doesnât let him, but June waves her off and she, rather begrudgingly, lets go of the man.
Thereâs still a sense of unease about her, unease and...A hint of distrust? Of him, of June? Â But he is fixing things, surely she knows that!
âAnd what exactly are you planning to get there?â
Enver is close, gods, he is so close and his breath is warm on Juneâs forehead and itâs hard to think- Fuck, they definitely were lovers and June is definitely not over it. Astarion is going to kill him. Or worse, going to be hurt by him, by that. Stop, stop, stop, he needs to stop-
Two things happen at once.
Enverâs hand finds its place on Juneâs waist and takes a sure, firm hold of it.
Astarionâs mind, gentle in a way a mind of a man intimately familiar with all the ways personal boundaries can be broken, making damn sure he is not breaking and entering into the depths of Juneâs mind unwelcome, brushes past him.
June lets him in.
Stop fucking fidgeting, his glorious lover complains immediately. Youâre giving the bastard a leverage over yourself.
Iâm sorry, June immediately blurts and does it with such a force he is sure both Karlach and Wyll heard him. He avoids thinking of Gortash being linked to them the same way now. Iâm sorry, I didnât know, or maybe I did, but didnât want to acknowledge it, but heâs here and he is so close and I- I am sorry, I am so, so-
Do you take me for an idiot? Comes out a huff and how did Astarion manage to huff through a mental link? You might have emotional intelligence of a redcap, but Iâve been aware you two knew each other on a level whatâs far beyond any niceties the moment Gortash stopped his own coronation to gape at you.
He didnât gape at me, June argues, thought he isnât so sure now. Was Enver gaping at him? He sure looked friendly, much friendlier than Ketheric and Orin combined. But gaping?
He stopped his coronation, Astarion repeats. To come down from his high horse and chat with you. To welcome you back. He took control over one of his steelwatchers simply to invite you to the damn thing. And you- now thereâs an actual, visible huff coming from his lover.
June catches Enver watching Astarion closely; a loose, entirely self-satisfied smile on his lips, hand still on Juneâs waist, head leaning on his. Enver invades Juneâs personal space like itâs his life goal, like instilling his presence in Juneâs life is something he has at his top priority.
This is...flattering.
âNo, the fuck, it isnât,â Karlach says aloud, and itâs a cue for June to realize he might have been thinking too loudly. âThis is disgusting is what it is, I canât believe you would-â
âMy sweet June has his strong suits and his weak ones,â Astarion speaks, giving Gortash the smile so sharp it shouldâve splinted the man in half. âHis awful taste in men is, admittedly, one of the later. Not me, of course,â he chuckles, but June hears the underlying self-degrading tone noneless. They shouldâve made Cazador Szarr suffer more. âBut other,â vampire spawn gestures at Gortash. âLesser men.â
âLesser, you say?â And of fucking course Enver would take the bait. âI would-â
âEnough,â Wyll all but barks and for once they all comply. âWe have bigger things to worry about but you two fighting over Juneâs affections,â June catches Karlach make a gagging face at that and Enver sending her a rude gesture in response.
Children, he is surrounded by literal children. Worst of all, these children are the ones saving the world with him. Ridiculous.
âRight, right,â he sends a grateful smile Wyllâs way and is relieved to see the man smile back just as warmly. At least someone is in his corner. Someone other than Astarion, but thatâs given; June and Astarion are bound for life now, for as long as both of them live.
Admittedly, said life might include Astarion murdering Juneâs former, current â who could tell? â tyrannical lover in a cold blood. Or hot blood. In a pool of blood, definitely.
June isnât even sure he would be very angry about it, mostly just...sad? He does seem to care for the said tyrant a lot. Oh, bother.
âWe are going to break into the House of Hope,â he reminds these literal children who now are making faces at each other. If anything, seeing Karlach and Enver flip each other off would work for an evening entertainment. June will have to work on this destrusting undertone of her; talk her through it, explain things.
Karlach is a good person, she will understand. June is sure of it.
Theyâre doing this for the greater good.
âFor what?â Enver cuts the chase off. âI assume not to make a deal with Raphael, he usually comes to his victims himself.â
âNo,â June agrees. âNot for that, though he tried to strike a deal. He needs the Crown of Karsus, you see? And has something we need. But luckily, Raphael was kind enough to let us know he has it.â
âAnd why would we strike a deal with him,â Astarion hums. âWhen we can simply take what we need?â
âExactly.â
Enver smiles.
âYou are planning to steal from him.â
âNo,â June leans into him almost involuntarily. He smells...good. He smells familiar. He smells like home. âWe are going to steal from him. You,â a sharp nail hits Enver in the chest. The hand is immediately grabbed and held firm. âAre going with us. Care for some heist, my dear lord? Not Mephophelesâ vault, Iâm afraid, but just enough for an evening entertainment.â
Enver smiles, wide and sharp and entirely wicked. An evil smile, people would call it. How he managed to convince people of the Baldurs Gate he is not villainous villain is beyond Juneâs comprehension. By brainwashing them, most likely.
âWhen letâs rob the devil,â the lordling speaks.
Warnings: dom/sub dynamics, knife play, blood, using "bdsm" (aka whatever these two have going on) for what could be interpreted as self harm, emotional hurt.
The weight of the dagger sat heavily against his palm, the look on the spawn in front of him, new, although unsurprising.
"You want me to use it on you?" he asks. Just a few months ago, he might have laughed, put the dagger on their neck and pushed them against the bed as soon as the offer was made, but now?
Now, the Bhaalspawn had left a mark on him, one that didn't allow for such thoughtless eagerness. Their posture was different, more subdued, eyes low.
"Yes." A straight answer, a heavy chest.
The dagger found its way to their neck, tracing the same path that had left a scar on the Banite. It grazed their skin gently, a hint of menace.
It tests the skin, soft, a murmur.
"Please."
The window is foggy above their bed, the drow's tears staining the sheets, their blood unique, touched, smirred.
Their ass high, hands bound by ropes that had become familiar.
Gortash noticed their wrists weren't quite as red, weren't equal to the other wounds he had inflicted after low moans turned to screams, begging for his touch, for his pain, for his choice of punishment.
They wanted to be bounded, to have no choice, to have this.
As the old tears dried, new ones formed. The Bhaalspawn's spine curled in fetal position, the dried blood carried a metallic scent. Enver didn't quite know what to do with this.
Sharp blades weren't uncommon to the two, although it was mostly the other one who wielded. They seemed to enjoy believing to be in control, Gortash enjoyed knowing he was in control. It worked well, at least it used to.
Unsure of what to do, he stays still in bed, the black around his eyes smeared, the sweat on both their skins lingering of pleasure, but the way the other clung to himâŠ
He wasn't made for this. Were any of them made for this?
Hello everyone, my apologies on not delivering the requests. I got unlucky with life, losing people close to me for the first time, and processing some stuff. Thank you for understanding, and I'm getting better :)
I promise I'm writing the resquests, just a little slow bc I had to travel for 7 hours for father's day! And, if you allow me to be that one wild writer, I'm restarting my final project. Again. At the last semester. And maybe starting another college course who knows :)
Prompt: You're in an argument with Miguel regarding the situation with Miles. He doesn't know how to deal with things.
Tags: Miguel & gn reader. Angst, grief, he raises his voice, a bit of physical violence.
Drops of rain fell from the clouds above, painting the sky in shades of gray and blue. The rooftop held a kind of beauty, with the smell of water hitting the concrete, birds flying to their homes much like the people bellow on the street.
Youâd appreciate the scenery so much more if you werenât arguing with Oâhara, who just raised his voice at you. Not in the âyou fucked up in a missionâ way, no, much worse. You just touched an open wound, and like a wild animal, he showed his teeth and claws, clearly telling you to stay away.
He wasnât disappointed, he was defensive.
Suppose thatâs what you get for bringing Gabriella up. Or maybe for disagreeing on the âMiles subject.â Likely both, though.
âYou know Iâm right, Miguel.â You recover your previous poise, the one you held before you tuned out as he screamed. âYou know it.â
âDo not compare my situation to this.â his posture tells all you need to know. Heâs ready. Alert. Angry. Who were you to even mention his family, let alone mention them in this context.
In reality, he is still grieving. You had been through something so similar, the pain that reoccurs can break a vein in half, shatter your lungs and take you out for a days, but Miguel insisted on keeping on working and looking at old pictures, and he just⊠Heâs grieving.
And grief is an abyss.
One that threatens to swallow even the highest of hearts. You knew the urge to throw yourself into work, to revisit old memories, to keep moving forward just to keep from sinking. And thatâs what he is doing.
âThis is different. Miles is different.â You say, mouth now aching and throbbing.
âIt isnât.â he turns to the exit, so high and strong, he almost looks fragile. But you continue, pushing through the pain in your mouth.
âWe could help him, imagine what that would mean for the society- he wasnât even supposed to be spider -man, and, if itâs the Spot thatâs killing his father, wouldnât that make his death the consequence of an anomaly- donât - Miguel!â
The exit door makes a click when opening.
He fucking walked out on you.
You go after him, walking through the pale corridors of the spider society, almost screaming.
âYou know damn well this isnât the same, Oâhara!â
He doesnât answer, he only walks, always walking, always running, always facing but never feeling. Oh how he would hate you for your next words.
âHe isn't doing what you did!â
His steps slowed, his back rigid. The words mustâve hit him like a punch to the gut.
He froze, his fingers trembling almost imperceptibly. And then, as if the weight of your words had cracked something open within him, he turned back to you.
The tension in the air was thick, charged with unspoken history.
And then it happened.
His fists collide with you, your body crashing to the ground. The pain was sharp, the taste of copper in your mouth strong, warm, coming from above.
âYou donât know shit about my family.â He looms over you, presence almost suffocating. He could kill you if he so wished. And maybe you wanted to make him wish that.
Your head rests against the cold floor, accepting the physical loss.
âYou know what makes people like us?â you ask, âWe try, Miguel. We always try. Isnât this worth a try?â
For a second, a maroon, cloud gazed, second, you catch his eyes shifting from anger to something softer. But just like summer rain, it goes away, and he threatens:
âI wonât let him break the universe more than he already has. Donât make me repeat myself.â
And then he left.
The corridor was silent, save for the rain hitting the walls and the sound of your ragged breaths. You gingerly touch your nose, your fingers coming away red.
Your words hung in the air. Hopefully you had planted a seed.
And as the rain continued to fall, a steady rhythm seemed to mirror your heartbeat. You contemplated the path ahead. Perhaps Lyla could help.
