#rancid vibes

[maxedes]

congrats to lando norris or whatever but i would have quite literally rather fucked that car into a wall than win in the presence of d*nald tr*mp

[eyra]

I deserve some sort of compensation for the amount of time I’ve had to spend in London this year.

[dewisnation]

Whoever manifested a possible ben v. foe matchup in round 3 take it back NEOW

[victorieschild]

Ok I just started listening to worlds beyond number the other day and I fully can’t stand Suvie.

Like,,, she keeps being such a dick and everybody keeps being like “suvie is right 😔 why do we keep making Suvie mad 😔 we should listen to Suvie 😔” NO FUCK THAT SHIT

Ame deserves better than this fr

[ineadhyn]

Mizora x Gortash

It occured to me that I never shared this magnificent work of mine where I imagined Mizora and Gortash in a room, trashtalking Tav whilst they wait for them to return from looting every crate in the whole city.

Read it here or below

Or dare to read the extended nsfw version here

It had been a while since Archduke Enver Gortash had entered a pub. There had been nights, in his earlier years, far before the days of the Archduke or even the Lord, that he spent drinking and amusing himself, though he had always found more fulfillment in scheming and tinkering. Now, of course, it would be madness to just walk into the Elfsong by and as himself. So, Lord Enver Gortash had renounced all gold applications on his clothes and wore a hooded cloak. It was unusual to not be the most fashionable person in the city, but it brought back fond memories of his weapon dealer days. Nobody recognized him as he parted the crowd, except for a servant girl that caught a glimpse of his face and dropped a plate. A faint smile appeared on Gortash’s face as he moved past her, making his way to the stairs that led to the upper floor. No one paid attention to him. He knew the party of adventurers had taken rooms in the Elfsong. The whole city talked about it. And also about that nobody had seen them in two days after he’d sent them after Orin. What calmed his mind was that if Orin had killed them, she would not have been able to shut up about it. She would have woken him up by sitting on his bed presumably, telling him all the gory details and licking her blade. Then she would have tried to kill him. Gortash sighed. How much he’d preferred the other Bhaalspawn. But they were dead, nothing to do about it. At this very moment they laid rotting in Orin’s sleep chamber, if he could trust his spies. Gortash pulled his mind back to the present. It was rude to let him, the Archduke and chosen of Bane, wait and he demanded to know why. It was time he took matters into his own hands. Gortash stopped in front of the wooden door and listened. Not a sound. Maybe they truly weren’t home. Well, that wouldn’t stop him. As a villain he was used to standing around, sometimes posing for hours until the heroes arrived and he could turn around dramatically. It was tedious, but never lost its effect. If they weren’t there, he would wait. And perhaps they’d left some clues he could investigate.

Gortash found the door locked, but he had his ways. His fingers fumbled a tool out of his pocket that faintly resembled a key, only it had multiple endings that could be swapped by pressing tiny triggers. Gortash slid it into the lock where it adapted its shape and turned it. The door swung open without a sound. Time to slide back the pathetic hood that probably messed up his carefully styled hair. As he entered, closing the door behind him, he looked around, maybe there was a mirror, but - The large room was not empty. A woman stood there. In fact that was not quite right. A devil stood there. A cambion. Due to unfortunate circumstances Gortash had found himself familiar with devils and their kind. The women that tracked him with bright eyes had red slicked back hair, four horns, giant wings and a perfectly sculpted body, accentuated by a slit in her dress that reached down to her navel and displayed her round tits. Of course. Devils were always so vain.

“Ts Ts”, she said. Her voice was high and unpleasant. “Isn’t that the Archduke himself, breaking and entering on a quiet afternoon. How naughty.” Gortash did not react to her words. Instead he walked over to her. “Forgive my manners, but who are you exactly?” He wiggled the fingers of his hand, so she could notice the Netherstone on his glove. She knew he had no need to fear her. “It seems you haven’t introduced yourself.” “Correct.” The devil answered. Her glance wandered up and down on him and for a moment he wished he wore his regular fancy attire. Anyways, he still looked splendid as always. “I haven’t. I am Mizora.” “Zariel’s.” “Correct again.” Mizora flashed a false smile. “Mmmh… I wouldn’t walk over these part of the floorboards if I were you.” Gortash was smart enough to stop in his tracks. He looked down. “Is that oil?” "Again, correct. Eager to get the full score I see.” “Why is there oil on the floor?” “Why are you wearing a hood?” Gortash slid it back immediately. “Because breaking and entering, as you phrased, is better done unrecognized as an archduke. Answer me now.” “You think you can command me?” Mizora tilted her head. “How sweet.” Then she rolled her eyes, showing something like genuine annoyance. “One day it’s oil, the other grease. Worst has been poison, though I am mostly immune to that. Still, it stinks.” Gortash narrowed his eyes. “They throw stuff at you?” “Why yes. The party thinks it is exceedingly funny to tease the devil. Some days I’ve to clean myself a dozen times. They say it’s what I get for gracing them with my presence.” “And you still stay?” Gortash tilted his head. Interesting. “Of course I do.” Mizora raised her chin. “I said I’ll keep an eye on my pet and his friends. What they do is only a minor inconvenience. I control hell's magic.” Speaking these words, red flames covered her right hand for a moment. “Your pet?” Gortash queried. “The warlock with the horns. My doing, by the way.” Gortash nodded in recognition. “There’s also one of my former watchdogs in the group. The tiefling.” “Ah, yes. You were the one who sold her to Zariel.” Now the approval came from Mizora. “A dog understands the yank of a leash and the hand of its master, but once they think they’re free they go feral. I am here to assure this will not happen with mine.” “Funny, my words exactly. Tell me now, what else do you know about the group?” “Everything.” Mizora started moving towards Gortash in small steps. “Too much one could say, even for my taste. But it is amusing -” A small scream, a flutter of wings and the magnificent devil hit the floor boards cursing in infernal so vile that Gortash, who knew the language, didn’t understand half of it. Or perhaps he was distracted by the sight of Mizora on her back right before his feet. He could barely contain his schadenfreude. “Every time!” Mizora grumbled, then raised her hand towards Gortash in a demand. Gortash made a note in his head and reached out to help her up, regretting it just a moment later, because it was covered in oil. Mizora came to her feet, shaking herself like a wet dog for a moment, then letting go of him and sending a shiver of hellfire over her form to clean herself. Too bad, the slick film had looked quite nice on her purple skin. And by nice Gortash meant degrading. “What have we been talking about?” “What are they doing?” Gortash repeated his question. “I could tell you.” “You know it?” “I put a little sending stone in my pet's eye socket so I always know what they are up to.” “Tell me then.” “Hmmm.” Mizora tilted her head. “What could you offer me in return?” “Ha”, said Gortash. “Do you take me for a fool? Making a deal with a devil, because I'm bored? “Ts”, countered the devil. “Disappointing.” “Just like you.” “What a high horse you sit on,” Mizora commented. She had crossed the oily plains and instead made her way to one of the red and white beds, seating herself. “You forget I saw everything the group did. So …” She looked at him with an expression Gortash didn’t like at all. “I know about the little detour they took in your palace.”

Shit. Gortash would have rather concealed he’d also fallen victim to the adventurer’s shenanigans. ‘Shenanigans’ might not do the situation justice. Gortash had invited them to his coronation and, despite seeing the tiefling, all went according to plan. Only when he returned to his chambers did he find that, whilst he had been busy talking to the patriars and signing papers, he had been robbed. Stripped bare to the last crate of spare torches. Gortash had no clue how they’d managed to trick their way into every single chamber and less how they’d managed to walk away with half his house in their pockets. He grunted. “Yes.” Mizora smiled, crossing her legs. “It’s the pale elf, you know. Sneaky little pup. And wait until you know why they leave you waiting.” “You are going to tell me now?” “I am feeling generous. And I feel I might have met a kindred spirit.” If Gortash hadn’t known devils, he would have taken her smile for a real one. “At this very moment”, Mizora continued, staring into nothing for a second, “they are in the temple of Bhaal.” “Still? I sent them there two days ago!” “Oh, they only arrived this morning. Don’t you want to sit with me?” She patted the fabric next to her. Gortash sighed internally, but it seemed like he would be here a while. So might as well. He carefully avoided the oil and accepted her invitation, keeping a cautious distance. “As I said, they arrived today. Their leader, Tav, found themselves distracted by a bunch of sad zombies they’d decided to help, searching through every single house on their way and Gale’s cat eating pigeons.” “What?” Gortash needed a moment to process. “All of that is deemed more important than getting the nether brain back under control? There are earthquakes happening. And what is that nonsense about someone's cat? Is that why my letters never arrive?” Mizora shrugged, as amused by his anger as he’d been when she slipped. “And what exactly are they doing now? Is Orin dead? I guess so, because the brain seems even more destabilized, but -” “She is.” Mizora’s tail flicked. “And this very moment our mighty hero is searching every nook and cranny of Bhaal's temple. If you’ve ever been there you might remember it’s quite spacious.” At this point Gortash just groaned as an answer. He barely dared to ask and did it anyway. He was no coward. “What for?” “Ohhh.” The sound was full of pity. “As far as I can tell, for the purpose of collecting every rotten carrot that may be hiding in a vase.” Gortash placed his face in his hands.

He should have known. He really should have known by now. How excited he had been to finally meet the group of adventurers he’d heard so much about, just a few days ago, and then - Gortash recalled that morning vividly. He stood on a balcony of Wyrmbridge and watched an eager person stack every chest and chair in Rivington in front of the gates, climbing up and down the ever growing tower like a mad squirrel. That they fell more than once and spilled blood on his cobblestones didn't stop them. Tav. The whole group was … special to say the least, but their leader was the worst. He should have known. One of his guards had approached. "Lord, are you sure we shouldn't intervene? They might give the refugees ideas." Back then Gortash had just waved it off. "You keep the rest out. That’s what I pay you for, but let this one continue. I want to see if this works." Maybe he had been intrigued by the creative engineering. Maybe it almost made up for the fact that after successfully climbing the Wyrmbridge, the group let him wait two whole days till they joined his coronation. Why do I always have to wait for them? Again the guard approached. "Do you wish for us to get them, archduke? Just say the word. It will be the easiest task." "I wish I could, but you know the protocol. And I'd rather not lose guards to a party that has already obliterated true soul Nere and Raphael himself." Gortash had killed the annoying man a little later. As the nobles of Baldur’s Gate grew impatient, he ordered them to be murdered, too. Little did it help. Tav and their gang were again on their own mission of solving every problem this city had, no matter how trivial. Gortash must have made a sound because Mizora reacted.

“Na na”, she cooed. He got a grip on himself before she could pat his back or worse. “Look now. I spy with my little eye that they are finally leaving the temple. They’ll be back soon.” “Are you sure about that?” “It might take them till the evening.” Mizora leaned to the side of the bed and opened a chest next to it casually. “Ah, yes, full of garlic. They are obsessed with garlic. Is this a mortal thing?” “I guess that at least is normal. Although it explains the smell.” “They’ll be back for dinner. That’s when they make a child serve 14 cloves of this garlic, a lemon and a full crate of Chultan Fireswill.” “I take it back. I take everything back. This is not what mortals do. This is -” He broke off. There were no words anymore. Finally he sighed. “Although this explains a lot.” This was the very moment Gortash scrapped all his plans of forming an alliance. Sure he would pretend to - and then kill them. Someone needed to. Kill them before they lay eggs or something. Kill them with fire. “I saw that look,” Mizora remarked. “You want to kill them.” “And what if I do?” “I guess, I’ll watch.” She reclined slowly. “Save me the pup.”

[kidrat]

Being a transmasc who doesn’t know/ have community w transfemms is EXACTLY the same as being a gay man who’s weird to lesbians or a straight guy who is only ‘friends’ with women he thinks might sleep with him. Hanging out with and dating cis women doesn’t make it better either it makes it Worse. I hate all of u and I hate the ‘preferences’ you have ‘because of my trauma’ you know EXACTLY what I mean

[44prop]

sonny should have been vice captain all along what exactly was big headed barry bringing to the party

[alita-blue]

Ummmm

Do Not Like

[teenagemonster]

being forced to see that noahwaybabe dude when i know the lore he's a reddit 4tran user + dabbles in the "system/fake disorder cringe" stuff, and that a few years back he did some (alleged) weird thing with posting risky pictures on his stim tumblr blog with a bunch of kid followers

[polarpics]

[f1-obsessed333]

[carrieway]

i forgot why i have this person blocked let's check

*thousands of posts about how frank is being tortured and mistreated by gerard n gerard is an evil conniving villain bent on destroying mcr*

oh ok!

[jesterbells]

Mina's canonical reaction upon first seeing Dracula: "His face was not a good face"

Some adapters, apparently: OMG Mina's so attracted to Dracula!

[fancymeatcomputers]

I have no real reason for why I dislike bo burnham so much he just has bad vibes

[voidsumbrella]

this was a home, once

some (adapted) photo studies of some lonely-looking rooms; original images sourced from @roomhole

[scratching92]

So, I don’t talk about it much, but I am autistic, and I have a bit of a weird relationship with that fact. Although I was diagnosed pretty early in life, I guess in my adolescence I picked up some weird ideas about that and carried this attitude of “Well, even if I’m autistic, I’m still Normal”, which mostly just led to me not really acknowledging it and as a result seperating me from anything that might help me understand certain aspects of my life.

As a result, I’ve spent the past few years in a sort of state of playing catch-up with understanding what autism even is, educating myself and occasionally going “oh, wait, is that a form of stimming?” etc. And basically all of this is a long-winded way of saying I think my hatred of styrofoam might be an autism thing. Seriously cannot fucking stand the texture or the noise it makes.