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"Was I sweet once?"

#bg3

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“Hope is not optimism, which expects things to turn out well, but something rooted in the conviction that there is good worth working for.”

— Seamus Heaney

#quotes

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children are starving at the fastest rate that the world has ever known

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The Durgetash relationship in a nutshell.

#bg3

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Survey Time: If you played both Dragon Age and BG3, put your biggest ships for both in the tags.

#zevran/mahariel hawke/fenris inq/dorian #tho after i played awakening i rlly liked nathaniel and anders #and tav/gale and durgetash for bg3

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#im going to get violent #bg3

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i like the fact that at gortash's little workspace thing underneath mind flayer colony, there's a potion of see invisibility bcuz i like to think that he gets pissy abt durge's baby blanket granting invisibility after a kill. bro got jumpscared one too many times

#durgetash #the dark urge #enver gortash #i don't actually know if that's his workspace or balth's #but his little brain speaker contraption is there #although it's only balth's notes #BUT he complains abt gort leaving skull shavings everywhere so they might just be like underfunded teachers who've gotta share a classroom #also just the idea of gort and durge hanging out down there while gort develops the brain device is strangely domestic

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writing for the first time since 2022. apologies in advance, i feel like i've forgotten like half of my vocabulary. what durgetash does to an mf.

anyway yeah. default durge gets gortash to eat a heart. i've never written in 2nd pov before and i don't really know why i did here glhf

-

the thing pulses wet and black in your hands. it's a hot weight between your palms and for a moment your eyes are caught on its slick-sleek sheen and how it glitters like the surface of the chionthar in the meek candlelight.

then your eyes are caught by someone else's. they glitter, too, blaze red from behind his lizard pupils. slices pulled apart by dilation, yawning wide with expectation.

the dark urge stood before you, little more than a body's length away. he's wearing gloves of gore that smear up passed his wrists and glean black and red like the heart he'd laid into your palms. he'd pulled it free from said body sprawled out between you. you recognize the face, even with its expression twisted as it is now; mouth pulled open, eyes wide and cold gazing up at the white dragonborn above it. one of the last remaining will-o'-the-wisps burning for the knights of the shield, a dying animal still trying to writhe in the sewers of the city. this one does not look horrified in death. you have seen this exact expression on faces of people who believe they're witnessing a miracle. in the glassy, coldness of his dead eyes, you can see the reflection of the dark urge still watching you.

you remember the first offering your bhaalspawn left at your feet. a patriar with too many enemies to implicate just one in her assassination. she was alive you found them; he had let you do the killing. by then he'd already believed you worthy, didn't have to test your mettle to murder. you'd realized then that he took joy in something like this, an exchange of power. it was not often he herded cattle for someone else to slaughter. he only did it for you, and you for him, so long as you were both there to watch.

and slaughter you did. you bled her, in bane's name.

and this was an alliance, after all. you'd made your promise to him, given your word as he gave you blood. you wanted to give him as much as you could. there was a slow panic that needed swelling. there were useless flies of the lower city that needed murdering. he was your favorite knife to bleed them with.

you fell into bed with your bhaalspawn because you had never met an equal until him. you became obsessed with him slowly over many nights and early mornings spent discussing, comparing, rectifying the past attempts at a plot like yours orchestrated by your predecessors. the disciple of murder is more learned than one might expect; it is not all blind brutality and succumbing to bloodletting urges. his rasping voice described to you rapture, and you just couldn't help yourself.

together you tested each other's boundaries. he made you offerings of your enemies, and in return you offered their deaths in ways you thought he'd like, as he so lovingly did for you.

on a night like this he once greeted you with a body freshly dead and its heart held out to you from the open palm of his hand.

you do as you did then, bring the heart up to your lips while the blood is still slick and before the meat of it goes stiff. even so, your teeth are not like his, too blunt to tear easily. you work at it like you do everything: until it gives.

blood seeps into your mouth before your teeth puncture the muscle but when it does, it gushes. the taste explodes there, coating your tongue and then the back of your throat when you swallow instinctually, your body naturally repulsed, wanting it gone immediately. the sensation sickens you, like ripping into citrus that's rot began at its center. the skin is tight over it, paper thin, but spills hot and spoiled liquid when pierced. wholly unpleasant, but still you puncture and then you tear. your hands grip hard at the heart. it compresses in your grip, sends more fluids spilling between your fingers and the meat threatens to slip from them if you're not careful.

you rip off what you can stomach, the rest squelching in your grasp. you can't swallow yet. your insides churn over and over on themselves, squeezing tight around the bile already there as if to refuse passage for the chunk of flesh between your teeth. this nausea has your mouth watering, diluting the syrup of blood and making it sticky-full, swimming. it's hot, your tongue convulses, your throat clenches, your nostrils flare. the taste fills them there, too.

you stop breathing. you force yourself to relax; you've hunched your shoulders, tensed your back. you let them slump, you straighten. this is not the first discomfort you've ever suffered. it's not even the worst you've had to weather. every hardship is a lesson. the first thing you ever took control of was yourself.

when you swallow, the experience is slick and smooth. you feel every minute shift. it sits heavy in your stomach and you breathe deeply around the feeling.

footsteps approach. you open your eyes - when had you closed them? the weak candlelight burns at you - in time to see the dark urge dipping his head down. he noses close to your panting mouth; you can feel his exhales against your face. there's wetness there, a mess of ichor that spreads from your lips and drools down to your neck.

a flash of ice blue, the dragonborn's tongue swipes at the corner of your mouth, presumably collecting that mess on the very tip. it streaks a slow and deliberate path from there to your cheekbone, a wet stripe. you don't come away any cleaner for it. you hold very still and treasure the closeness.

there's a rumbling, a deep lizard-like trill that vibrates the red stained scales along his throat. you place your hand over it to feel, and as the hum warms your skin you wish the handprint you're leaving behind wasn't that of blood. you wish it a deeper color, fingerprints of ink pressed around his windpipe. a black claim outside of him to match the bloody hot red one coating the inside of you.

as you did last time, you hold what remains of the mangled heart in one hand between the two of you. when the dark urge leans down again, it's to cup both his hands around yours. his hands are as cold as his breath, as his tongue, as the death that's coiling about your ankles like a fog over the body. he bows his head toward them and takes the entire heart into a mouth much more accustomed to rending flesh between its teeth.

you feel the gore on your face more now that a smile stretches your lips. you watch your bhaalspawn devour his share of your enemy's heart and wonder about the implications of this. why he shares this with you. what it means to bhaalists, to split a murder. if it means the same as a banite dividing power like you have for him. you flex the fingers around the dark urge's throat, thinking that it's only a matter of time before your lords take issue with your joining.

but you're quick to push that thought away, because unpunished it has gone and you will not take a gift from a god for granted. until the ire of bane shifts, you and the dark urge will continue to make temples of dark alleys and tavern basements. he will give you your share of sacrilege, and you will swallow it whole.

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gort: what kind of bhaalist ritual am i taking part of, i wonder durge, who thinks eating a heart is hot and is making his buddy do it too: haha fuck yeah!! yes!!!

sorry this is paced weird, i was very excited to post something again. i didn't read through it very well so i wouldn't start hating it so if u caught on to any errors or read a sentence that made absolutely zero sense, shut up about it or i'll really do it this time (jk)

and i would be remiss not to mention this fic that is so mf good that it broke me out of a near 2 year writing slump and inspired me to do this stupid shit(sorry to the author for implicating u in this). it's THE default durge/gort pre lobotomy fic and i have not stopped thinking abt it since i read it. if u got thru my shitty little thing and thot it was bearable, go and read this fic bcuz it's going to rock ur cock clean off

(gort is ooc here bcuz it's almost like 1k or over and he doesn't say a fucking thing.)

#durgetash #enver gortash #the dark urge

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MEME TIME

#bg3

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What if after a meeting or party with a bunch of people, Durge sniffs Gortash like a dog when their owner has been around other dogs

Just need a proper long investigation and Gortash just has to wait it out

#does the one long intense sniff in the hair #keeps very still #then continues smiffing #bg3

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dark urge comic

#bg3

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this is dogshit, sorry

#durgetash #i just love this meme

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When you love, you become like each other.

#bg3

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I am sooooo normal about him. *eye twitches*

#bg3 #hes like 'no im so cool. im only suggesting an alliance bcuz it would be beneficial :)' #but then durge shows a second of hesitation a NANOsecond #hes throwing himself on the floor crying and screaming in his heart and soul

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noticed something with villain designs in this game. did someone at larian have a grudge towards people with this hairstyle??? do they all go to the same evil hairdresser?????????????????????????

#see he's so normal #bg3

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perpetual state of unshaved-ness

#bg3 #whore <3