#durge!curu

@veinwitch cont. from (x)

The floorboards groaned under their weight, the house long since abandoned after its last offering to the Lord of Murder. The smell of old blood and viscera lingered in the walls, sweet and metallic, clinging to the damp, the marks of sacrifice etched into the walls like scars that refused to close. Broken furniture lay scattered where it had fallen, jagged wood still stained dark, a silent witness to the screams that had once filled the suffocating chamber. Through the cracks in the shutters, only a pale, sickly thread of moonlight fell across the floor, making his features a distorted mask of shadow and silver. Serenei was pinned against the boards, her back pressed hard into the splinters, wrists trapped above her head. Curumë loomed over her, his weight pressed into her chest until her breath came shallow, labored, the tip of a dagger pressed cold against her collarbone, biting into the tender flesh beneath her neck. Ribs burned with the strain of drawing oxygen, and her gaze cut up at him sharp and venomous, her lips curling as though she might spit in his face. “You're an imbecile if you wait for me to beg before I suffocate,” Sweat slid in a thin line down her neck, her voice hissed, scraped raw with the effort, yet it struck like a razor driven straight to the jugular. The knife pressed a fraction harder, a threat that could draw blood in an instant. “Just kill me already, let us be done with it.”

Kill me already.

Her words pulsated in Curumë’s mind, merging with the steady thump of her heartbeat and the creaking of the floorboards beneath him. He looked down at her, his gaze frenzied and unfocused. Blood spilled from former sacrifices, the weight of the blade in his hand, the pale, corpse-like skin it scraped against—all of it blended together before his eyes in a beautiful vision of gore and murder.

Inhaling sharply, he pressed the knife farther against the outline of her collarbone, and immediately, crimson began welling from the thin line he had cut into her flesh. Curumë swallowed at the sight. She’d make for such a pretty body, a most precious offering to the God of Murder, Bhaal.

This realization broke the spell.

With a scoff, he spun the knife around, burying it in the plank beside her neck before she had so much time as to blink. His lips pulled back in a smirk.

“No,” he said, nonchalantly, as he shifted more of his weight against her chest. “That would be too easy.” Too obedient to the Deity whose cursed blood ran through his veins and whom he therefore had little hope of escaping from. “I think I shall play with you a little longer, before I steal your last breath from your lips.”

songs to listen to for mood while reading this: (x)

They ran along the shore, a twinkle in Curumë’s eyes and the wind in Vayu’s hair. Like fox and rabbit, they chased each other, past whispering reeds and cattails, and across patches of wild thyme. At least Curumë liked to imagine this. In his mind, his maw grew wide and his teeth sharp, and he sported a bushy tail that danced behind him in the breeze as he tried to catch up with the other boy. But Vayu was light on his feet. Every time Curumë reached out to grasp his hand, he had already outrun the half-elven child again.

With a wild cry, Curumë leaned forward, heart thumping against his ribs. “I’ll get you, Vayu! Just wait!” As he made for a last, desperate lunge at his friend, he suddenly slipped and face-planted onto the ground. With a yowl, he shifted onto his elbows. “It huuuurts…” Curumë felt tears welling up in his eyes. He sobbed, took Vayu’s hand as he returned to look after him, and buried his face in the other’s chest.

They remained like that for a while, then took a swim. Then they played another game of tag. When the sun began to set, however, they settled back down at the shore of the lake, where they clung to each other’s hands and watched as the light slowly faded from the world, leaving behind but an orange lining on the horizon. “It’s time to go home,” said Vayu quietly, and Curumë felt a knot in his stomach. He didn’t want to return to the bandits. He wanted to stay with Vayu at the lake, on this day, forever.

But Vayu knew nothing of Curumë’s wistful thoughts. Rising to his feet, he turned around, ready to begin his long walk home. Immediately, Curumë’s arm jolted forward, pulling him back, close to him. Vayu spun around—surprised, annoyed, perhaps—but when their eyes met in the dying light of the sun, he fell silent. Curumë’s heart raced inside his chest.

For a moment that seemed like an eternity, he looked into Vayu’s eyes, pitch-black and yet filled with light and his reflection. He leaned forward. Without thinking, he locked his lips with those of the other boy, shuddered as their breaths mingled, hot and trembling. He closed his eyes. And then, as if the spell had been broken, he drew back, his cheeks a burning hot pink.

“I’m sorry,” he gasped, and let go of Vayu. “I don’t know — I shouldn’t have… I’ll see you tomorrow!”

Does he have a high sex drive? Or low? Has it changed since losing his memories? (And same for the above, how has forgetting about the durge impacted that, if at all?)

For sinday: Ask random NSFW Questions about Curumë!

Okay, so Durge Verse Curumë is an interesting case because he is slightly different from Canon Verse Curumë.

Curumë never really had the opportunity to explore his sexuality much. He was young (about 14 to 15) when he was found by the Bhaalists and had only just started out to explore his feelings with his childhood friend Vayu ( @halfdeadsacrifice ), who he only had one Summer to spend with, and who both never ended up being able to name their feelings except for one kiss they exchanged.

In the Bhaal Temple, most of Curumë's time was spent being indoctrinated and primed to be head of the temple (following his intended heritage and bloodline). But he discovered he had, in fact, a high sex drive.

He didn't have sex for any other reason than for distraction, however. He hated being in the temple; he hated the loss of his freedom. He hated being locked away for the remainder of his childhood until he was deemed old and skilled enough to haunt the streets of Baldur's Gate. So Sex was his one escape, almost like a drug.

After his Amnesia, he kept his high sex drive, but he didn't have to have sex for distraction anymore. So I think amnesiac Curumë rediscovers his sexuality and what it means to have Sex with a person he actually cares about. He also (re)discovers romantic attraction.

Send 🌟 for one hope my muse has for the future

𝕶𝖎𝖘𝖘 𝖆 𝖒𝖚𝖘𝖊'𝖘 𝖜𝖔𝖚𝖓𝖉 - accepting

Curumë’s fingers trailed down Vayu’s arm, playfully tracing the cuts and stab wounds that his knife had left behind on him. None of the injuries were lethal—he refused to give Bhaal that much—but they bled. Beautiful crimson spilled from them, weaving intricate patterns across Vayu’s skin.

Mesmerized by the sight, Curumë didn’t notice the weapon slipping from his grip. With a clatter, it fell to the ground, and Curumë flinched. As if hurt, he shied away from Vayu’s arm. Gone were the thrill and ecstasy that had swept him off his feet only moments ago. Left behind was only the boy from the lake. His hand reached for Vayu, this time frantic. “I can’t help it.” He buried his face in the man’s arm, blood and sweat making him dizzy. “I can’t help it, Vayu,” he repeated, and with bated breath left a kiss on one of Vayu’s cuts.

“I want you. But I want you dead as much as I want you alive.” He collapsed next to the man’s broken body. “Yet, sometimes I have wondered…” Wondered what? Wondered what could have been, had Vayu not abandoned him? What they could have become had Vayu not rejected his help? His head dropped, a quiet laugh shaking his gaunt physique.