A Stray Cryptid

Dottore fic idea

3.2 Spoiler below cut

Lord Enver Gortash is rocking the fucking lesbian manicure who the hell is he fingering

Bittersweet Nothings

Pairing: Durge x Gortash, reader x Gortash

C/W: gn reader, redeemed! durge, platonic/romantic soulmates, sfw

~°•*~

It's just a glass of wine, you'd told yourself. What's the harm? You'd naively asked.

Having the newly appointed Archduke of Baldur's Gate set up in your camp was unprecedented enough, but to agree to join him in his tent for a spell was hardly appropriate. Especially now that over half the bottle had disappeared in no time at all.

You were hardly to blame, to be fair. He had a certain air about him that had drawn you in from the beginning. A comfortable familiarity with you that left you equal parts confused and amused. He was charming, as is his way. Which is why when he'd asked you to share a drink with him, the only response you could scrounge up was a shrug and a "What the hell, why not?"

Which left you here. Sprawled out on an assortment of cushions and floor mats, a slight heat in your face that spread from your cheeks to your neck, cackling at whatever sad attempt at comedy has just left Gortash's mouth.

Enver Gortash x GN!Reader - Drabble - (sub?)Gortash POV - I HAVE MANY FEELINGS ABT HIS GAUNTLET!!! - CW: Suggestive, nearly choking?

Thinking about how cold the tips of Gortash's gauntlet must feel. Delicate gold snaking around the fingers, intricate designs instilling both fear and awe into those unlucky to face it - it's a marvel of artisan skill. How lovely of you to help him appreciate its every last bolt and curve.

It’s 2am time to post more durgetash brain rot ⏰

hands you another gortash x vampire spawn!tav fic

Rated Explicit

Warnings: inexperienced reader, power imbalanced, aphrodisiacs, vampirism

The taste is bitter, alcoholic, fuzzy; your face announces your displeasure and inexperience. You try to hide it quickly but the glass is taken from you by a hand covered in decorative gold. His lips find the exact spot where your lips touched the wine glass, his eyes not once leaving that face of yours, he relishes in how expressive you are.

"It is an acquired taste," Gortash's words are smooth like the fine fabric of his clothing, "You grow more accustomed to it over time." He loves the way your hands fidget with the ring on your fingers, your eyes lowered and lips pressed thin. He has seen you both covered in blood, feral in battle, and seen you command your little team.

Yet, here you are shy as a blushing maiden with no intention of remaining an untouched maiden for long.

Though you certainly no maiden.

He has wined and dined you, as he requested of you to parlay with him. Surely you can see under his guidance and leadership Baldur’s Gate is flourishing. Of course, with you by his side, it can prosper even further.

Not everything has to end in a bloodbath and he much rather have here willingly then chain you to his bedchambers unwillingly.

Though he would relish in breaking you. Hmm, he is curious how one takes a vampiric lover.

i just wanted to do something with shane's dialogue about his name's meaning and it sort of kind of spiraled out of control maybe a little bit

hang on, hang on, I gotta go cry. This is too sweet, too wonderful

When the netherese orb in your chest ruins your love life for a SECOND time 🤣

Friendly reminder to not punish yourself for creating. 

Can you elaborate on what you mean by this?

I have a tendency to beat myself up whenever something I make doesn’t meet my expectations (which is always). The result is that finishing something = bad feelings: I am effectively punishing myself for having created something. The natural reaction to this punishment is an aversion to creation, meaning that my perfectionism is harming me, not only by causing me to despise what I do make and by impeding the creative process, but by attacking even my desire to create.

peruere and clervie

Me sittin’ here, seriously concerned for all the young kids who are gonna’ grow up in this fandom environment thinking they’re secretly evil monsters because their sex fantasies aren’t strictly pure or vanilla or because they ship something with an unhealthy dynamic. Soooooo many people must hate/be terrified of themselves.

Hey…….hey kids…….

You’re fuckin’ fine.

The human brain is weird. Sex fantasies ≠ actual desires. If you ask yourself, “would I want to act out this thing in real life” and the answer is “fuck no,” then you’re fine. Shipping is also not an indicator of what you would condone in real life. You are not secretly a monster. You are a human being. Human beings are complicated. Please calm down and treat yourself to a smoothie or something.

“What you want to read about” is not the same as “what you want to happen in your real life.” 

The murder mystery industry has no problem understanding this. 

The entire “horror” genre is built on this.  Ditto “thrillers”, and indeed most other genres.  In fact, possibly the only genre which isn’t inherently built on this assumption is “romance”, and even there… well, there’s a lot of romance stories which are basically about “I want to experience catharsis” rather than “I want this to happen to me” (consider Wuthering Heights, for example - Heathcliff and Catherine are great to read about, but they would each be hell to live with). 

This also means if you’re asexual but you still like reading stories where people fuck?  You’re still asexual.  If you’re aromantic and enjoy reading romances, you’re still aromantic.  If you’re non-heterosexual and enjoy reading heterosexual porn (because hey, there’s more of it and it’s easier to find than anything else, right?) then you’re still not heterosexual. 

The only thing your taste in reading says anything about is your taste in reading. 

obsessed with the idea of simon 'ghost' riley not being used to having someone else to come home to. for him to open the door to his flat, his senses heightened when he sees a pair of shoes at the entrance that aren't his.

he's so used to being lonely he forgets you're there waiting for him. but the reminder does him well, and he sets his things on the floor before quietly looking around for you. he forgets to take off his balaclava, as he always does, accustomed to it as though it's etched onto his skin, an extension of him until it's not, until you remind him by trailing your fingers on its edges and lifting it up when he's sitting on the couch next to you.

and he's not sure whether to be on alert when the pads of your thumbs wipe off the black smudges around his eyes so gently when he's used to grabbing a rough tissue and scrubbing it off because he had no idea he could be treated with care. no one was there to teach him or show him otherwise.

freedom from desire

Soap and Gaz for sure teach "words of the youth" to unsuspecting Price for this specific purpose.

People have written a lot of touchy-feely pieces on this subject but I thought I’d get right to the heart of the matter

[The artist, putting a simple cake next to a much fancier one: “Aw man, that guy’s cake is way better than mine.” The Audience, gleefully holding up a knife and fork “HOLY SHIT! TWO CAKES!”]

additions from the og artist (credit)

“Holy shit two cakes,” I mutter to myself as I do fucking anything these days, this post was a godsend

Jan 2023