#no idea what the ship name here is

[collineato]

what is up with legos and always being gay as hell

[starcurtain]

Hear me out. I know it's unlikely that Ratio would ever have been foolish enough to directly get taken in by a scam, but considering that we know:

One of the groups specifically tricked by Kakavasha before he joined the IPC was the Intelligentsia Guild

What he tricked them about was Tayzzyronth's Swarm remnants, the exact same thing we see Ratio investigating in his very first appearance in the game, and

The researchers were described as "extremely cautious"

I am surprised that "Ratio was at least somehow connected to the Intelligentsia Guild team fooled by Kakavasha before he was ever even a Stoneheart" isn't more popular with the Ratio and Aventurine fandom.

Like imagine being Dr. Ratio. You tell your colleagues, "This seems like a scam. Are you sure you should trust this 'local guide' you've made contact with? Tell me about him. A picture? Does this even look like an Egyhazan native to you? I won't save you fools from making idiotic decisions." (You end up having to clean up the aftermath of their idiotic decisions anyway. There is sand in places on your body you didn't even know existed before this. How mortifying for the Guild. For you, by association.)

Then, next thing you know, you get a mission briefing slid across your desk from your IPC connections. They want you to work with their new Stoneheart. You open the packet to see... that little bastard with the enthralling eyes who had your moronic colleagues scrambling in the dirt on a backwater planet for months. Apparently he's made a career out of fooling you your supposedly competent guildmates.

You run off to confront him. You never met him personally back then, but you deserve compensation for the idiocy you were subjected to nonetheless. He deserves to know how much of a pain in the ass he's been in your life already without ever having met your eyes--

He proceeds to shove a gun into your hands and tries to make you an accomplice to a suicide. Apparently, this is normal behavior for the man now called Aventurine. Somehow, it's supposed to prove to you that he is a sane and reliable individual.

Absolutely nothing in your life has been normal since Egyhazo.

You would like to have mundane problems, sometimes.

How do you keep ending up in this beautiful manic clever conman's orbit, and why, like binary stars, can you not escape the gravitational pull?

[segasys]

Ramune :]

(oops image is kinda big)

alternates under

I couldn’t decide which one was best, I’m just a sucker for blue->purple->pink blend hue whatever you want to call it

[a-strange-little-one]

real footage from upcoming Ever After High reboot. Trust me, guys— just trust me.

[the-ace-with-spades]

So, kinda Mav's POV of this silly Slimav fwb ficlet thingy?? who knows, maybe one day there will be Ice's part... (tw: non-descriptive/implied sex)

Things with Slider keep...happening? Mav isn't exactly sure this is the right word but they're certainly going well.

Contrary to popular belief, Mav isn't dumb. He knows what Slider is doing, he's just not sure it's actually working at all.

They keep on having sex, usually at Slider and Ice's house, usually at least twice a week and honestly, the arrangement is better than Mav suspected.

Slider is good in bed, he's Mav's type, at least physically — cocky, tall, blonde, smart-mouthed in all the meanings of the word, athletic, and willing to try to keep up with him — and he's by far the safest and the most convenient lay Mav could have with a guy. He knows he's clean thanks to military health regulations, he knows he's discreet, also thanks to military regulations, and he won't ever sell Mav out to his CO because he'd be selling himself out too. He's got a safe place no one is going to question them using — to the neighbors, they're just some bros from the Navy that probably get drunk together twice a week and that's why Mav is staying overnight — and their only witness is also gay and would be selling himself out if he said anything.

Now, Mav says he knows what Slider is doing because said only witness is literally an eyewitness of what they're doing and it can't be a fucking coincidence.

At first, it kinda seems to be a coincidence. Mav shows up for their scheduled sex night — what? it's not a date night, it's a sex night — and Slider doesn't wait until Mav is in his room before they start kissing and tries to pin him down to the front door. It's admirable, and so hot, that he tries, but Mav gets his arms around the back of his neck and steps in, leg wrapping around his hip a bit. Slider's hands go down, taking a resting spot on the curve Mav's ass as he leans down, kissing the corners of Mav's lips with fervor and then his arms go lower, pulling Mav's waist into an arch, and he—

He lifts Mav up by the thighs, fingers digging into his jeans, and his knees instinctively lock around his hips and Slider bounces him up in his grip like he weighs nothing. Just as he moves them away from the door, he stops the ever-going kiss and Mav leans away, enough to see behind his shoulder, and—

That's definitely Ice, standing in the living room door frame, book in hand, staring at them, frozen in a perfectly still position, but blinking rapidly, and that alone says a lot.

Mav snorts into Slider's shoulder and feels Slider's chest rumble underneath as he chuckles into his hair.

The world swirls, Slider turns around, hands suspiciously high under his butt, and takes a step and Mav is so focused on how fucking hot it is that he can carry him around like he weighs nothing that he almost misses the "Sorry, man, outta the way. Don't want to drop this idiot, won't get laid if he ends up in ER."

He bites down on his neck for the comment and Slider, like the sick bastard he is, moans a bit.

It keeps on happening, always 'on accident'. Slider tells Ice the wrong time of their meet-up so he's literally still on the couch Slider throws Mav onto first thing after he comes to their house, or he forgets to close to his bedroom and has hands down Mav's pants as Ice walks by to the bathroom at night, or Ice comes back from church and they're buck naked on the wobbly living room table, or in the morning, Slider and Mav go to take a shower, together, and once again the doors aren't closed so—

It has to be on purpose. Especially that on the one day Ice is actually out of the house the whole night — Mav has no idea where, but it's their third sex night that week so he probably is desperate enough to go to a hotel — Slider starts their second round in the morning, perfectly timed with Ice's return.

They're eating the french toast and scrambled eggs Mav made, not really that chatty, they're barely friends after all, and Mav is wearing one of Slider's giant band t-shirts, this time with Bon Jovi on it — it's comfy and this way, he doesn't dirt up his clothes, sue him — and his own white briefs.

He can hear Ice's old man car on the driveway just as Slider pushes away their plates, grabs Mav by the hips, plops him on the kitchen island's countertop like a doll, pulls his pants off, and starts trying to maul his neck, nicely prepared for him by already sticking out of the huge collar of his huge t-shirt.

Ice walks into the kitchen to see Mav splayed like a starfish on the counter, his briefs stuck on his ankles, his dick covered only by the hem of that godawful Bon Jovi t-shirt and Slider's massive hand, and he just stands there for a minute as they all just stare at each other to finally hiss through clenched teeth, "We eat on that counter."

And like, Mav is not complaining, it's just, well, whatever plan Slider has, it has some holes in it.

He tries to put a little bit of a stop to it, alright, he really does, he's not about to torture himself by reading too much into Ice's expression whenever he walks on them, fool's hope, dream on and all that shit. It's just—hard. He hasn't had such regular, good sex in since before college, and never with a guy, and Slider is fucking hot, okay? It's literally his only good quality — hot and good in bed.

So when one day, during their lunch break, Ice, who is sitting pressed into Mav, thighs, arms, elbows, it all touching, says, "Can we just have one night without you two—as friends, just three guys who are friends and—" Mav agrees to just have a chill night at their place.

It's a nice evening, in general. Slider fucks off god knows where for most of the time, leaving just Mav and Ice in the kitchen — Slider can't cook, the bastard just sponges off whatever they cook. They put the radio on, do some silly dances — okay, Mav does, but it makes Ice chuckles so it's almost the same thing — and just talk and talk, preparing food close to each other enough that their elbows touch. And Ice looks at him, just looks at him, with so much fondness, with so much vulnerability in his wide-eyed expression, with that soft blush and downturned face and it is almost enough for him.

But then he leans closer and closer and Ice is no longer there, turning away from him as if burned and Mav—Mav is not dumb enough to torture himself with this forever, at least not on purpose.

So Slider comes back when dinner is ready and Mav sits next to him at the table, even though he usually would sit next to Ice, and lets Slider steal bacon from his plate as Ice stabs the food with a little too much force to be fully cool about the whole thing — Mav isn't reading into it though, he's tried and tried and tried, and he won't make a fool out of himself, Slider's plan be damned.

They move to the living room, some action movie selected, Ice already sitting at one end of the couch under a cozy blanket, book in hand, Slider on the other end.

It's the beginning of September only, but the whole day was unexpectedly cold, with a storm picking up at various hours, and now that Mav isn't moving around the kitchen or hovering close to the hot oven, he's feeling a bit chilly.

He makes a small detour to Slider's room, to snatch one of his sweatshirts, way too big on him, sleeves covering his fingers almost completely, the hem pulling under his hips.

They both turn to him and the ugly beige sweatshirt is more than plain noticeable but he just gives them an innocent smile. "What? I was cold, I know where all of Slider's shit is."

"We could've just shared the blanket," Ice says, sounding as if his mouth is drier than the Sahara.

Mav raises an eyebrow at him, pointedly, as if to say, Could we really?

Slider doesn't smirk, exactly, but it's clear on his face his shit-eating grin is held up by his will alone. He props one arm behind his head and pats the couch next to himself with the other.

Mav plops next to him and Slider's arm wraps around the small of his back. Mav grabs the remote and turns on the movie, aware that Ice's jaw is clenched as he stares down at his book.

Mav—Mav clings. Slider is warm, really warm, he's always like a space heater, and he might as well use it to his advantage.

Not even fifteen minutes into the movie, Mav feels Slider's hot hand slip underneath the sweater and his t-shirt, scorching fingers dipping into his sides and bringing Mav closer, close enough that the leg he had crossed over his knee slides down onto Slider's thigh. Mav doesn't stay passive, seeking out skin, too, reaching into Slider's collar, and next thing he knows Slider leans in and kisses him.

And then does it again, and again, and again, until Mav is fighting for small sips of air in between.

(There's a tearing sound somewhere, but Mav is pretty sure Ice the control freak would have enough control not to tear his book pages out just because Mav is getting frisky with his best friend in front of him.)

Then Slider grabs him under his thighs, lifting him up and standing up at the same time, Mav's legs wrapping around him on instinct.

"What the fuck—"

"Oh, shut up," Slider cuts off and then slaps his ass and okay, maybe he squeals a little, sue him. "I know you like it."

Like hell he's going to admit but, yeah, he kinda does. He's starting to think Slider likes carrying him around and throwing him on different surfaces just as much, he sure does it a lot.

Ice clears his throat and cooly, voice too still to not be suggest how he feels truly, says, "I asked for one night—"

Mav almost — almost — feels bad but then Slider says, "Sorry, man, he looks too fuckable in my sweatshirt." Then, cheekily, as they leave the living room, Mav now held up in just one of his arms — and isn't that fucking hot? — adds, "You wouldn't understand."

And this time, he can't just pretend he doesn't know what's happening here.

"I know what you're doing," he tells Slider, just as he's thrown on his bed and swarmed by his long limbs.

Right before he dives lower, Slider remarks, "Eh, do you really though?"

"It's not going to work," he protests, even as he lets Slider bite down his neck, his hand arching his head back for better access, strong hold keeping Mav still and making him hornier. "Even if he was getting jealous—"

"He is."

"—I think he'd be past the boiling point now," he finishes.

Slider tilts his head back, meeting his eyes. "You don't know how stubborn he can be."

"So what? You're just going to fuck the guy he supposedly wants until he breaks?"

"Yeah, basically," Slider says, fingers still gripping his hair. "Just enjoying your tight ass until my best friend decides to think with his dick and not his brain, for once."

"Nice," is all Mav adds before they go back to business.

He'd be lying to say he doesn't care. He wants Ice to do something. He wants him to admit he doesn't like whatever deal Slider and Mav have going on, that he doesn't like it specifically because he wants Mav to himself.

He wonders if he and Slider talk about Mav. If he asks Slider what is going on with them, if Slider gives him the dirty details, if he gets pissed off at Slider for continuing to hook up with him, again and again. If all those little expressions he sees on Ice's face whenever he walks in on them, if they're louder and more pronounced when he leaves the house and it's just Slider to take them on.

But fool's hope and all that — so Mav claws at Slider's sweater and pops it over his head.

As time goes on, it just feels more and more as if he's wrong about the whole, that he just imagined the way Ice looks at him.

"So, Maverick," Slider begins when Mav and Ice are chatting at their cubicles, sitting down on Mav's desk like he owns it. "You free this Saturday? Ice is stuck at work so the house will be empty."

Right behind himself, he hears a snap. When he turns around, Ice's broken his pencil in half.

Interesting.

"I'm actually going with Bradley to the beach, I'm going to teach him to swim," he says slowly. "Or at least try. The kid's been getting panicky any time we leave him without the floaties."

"Ooof, that's tough," Slider says and he actually seems sympathetic because Bradley is everyone's favorite and everyone's weak spot. "You want a second pair of hands? Might make him feel a bit more secure if he's surrounded from all sides."

And why not? It's not like Ice has any more pencils to break.

It's a nice enough day, for one spent with Slider. Bradley can't swim by the end of it, but he can float in the water without screaming his lungs out, so Mav takes it as a win. Bradley giggles at their banter and finds their insults — dialed down, there's a kid with them after all — funny, and there's just something less irritating about Slider, like this, with Bradley as the buffer.

Mav drives them in Goose's old car to leave Bradley back with Carole, they chat for a bit, and then Mav takes his motorcycle and drives them to Ice and Slider's place. They're both in jeans and there's a lot of rubbing and some more-or-less intentional grinding, so by the time Mav parks on the driveway, they're both half hard and set on one goal. They pass Ice on the way to Slider's room, and maybe he's a bit red in the face and maybe Mav arches his hips with a bit of an exaggeration but well, he's having fun and it's not his problem Ice isn't part of it.

It happens again, mostly because Ice is fighting to get the upcoming promotion and often works on the weekends, Carole gives private lessons on Saturdays, and that just leaves Mav and Slider alone, usually with Bradley for most of the day and then alone and pent up in the evening.

Slider is good with Bradley, too. Baby Goose is a soft, sensitive boy, and many men would try to toughen him up, but Slider doesn't. No, Slider stops and holds him when he gets scared, carries him around when he gets tired or sleepy, can't resist the cow eyes almost as badly as Mav and buys Bradley anything he wants, and doesn't protest last all when Bradley asks if they can swing him around — just gives him his hand, waits for Mav to grab his other hand, and then just throws Bradley in the air as high as he can.

There start to be times when they don't even retreat back to Slider and Ice's place after, just say goodbye at the door to Mav and Carole's house — Bradley always insists Mav needs a hug goodbye too, Uncle Slider — and then Slider leaves without Mav.

"It kinda seems like you're dating him, Pete," Carole says one calm evening that Mav does not spend with Slider and Ice, after Slider took them back home in his embarrassing wagon BMW.

Bradley is already asleep and they're drinking wine (from normal glasses because they still haven't managed to buy the full dishware set).

Mav obviously finds it ridiculous. "You can't date someone you don't have feelings for."

Carole raises her eyebrow and takes a slurpy sip and yeah, fair enough, there's plenty of people who are married and hate each other, not to mention ones that are dating.

"Do you want me to stop?" he asks. There's a difference between having sex and dating, even if there aren't any feelings in either.

Carole has some—thing, for Slider, he knows. It's been over four years since Goose and he knows they won't ever fully move on but they have to at least try. He'd never hold it against her if she fell in love with someone, it's just—it's Slider of all people.

"Nah, have some fun," Carole sighs. "It's not like he'll ever see me anyway."

Slider's been equally dumb about all of Carole's flirting attempts as Ice was about his, which was an achievement in itself because Mav wasn't the subtlest, but Carole wasn't subtle at all.

"What a mess," he says and then pours more wine into Carole's glass.

@woodsywarbler, hon, I think you wanted me to tag you here? idk this is a bit disappointing b/c tumblr ate the longer draft and i had no energy to write it out in detail but 🤷🏻‍♂️

[soupandsorcery]

"Astarion and I had a conversation about you once," Ciro says, seemingly apropos of nothing. They're stoking the fire higher in the hearth to ward away the chill in the air. Astarion is in the bath, which he'd promptly claimed for the next 'hour--no, two. Actually, just come check that I haven't drowned if you don't see me before bed'. Gale is sitting on the bed, making a face at the way it squeaks, even though the three of them have stayed in much worse places than this.

"Do I want to know?" Gale asks, and Ciro can feel him watching them. They've grown to learn the differences between the way Gale and Astarion look at them, though they both manage to convey their own hungry sort of awe with just their eyes.

Ciro smiles and feeds another small, neatly split log into the fireplace. "It wasn't bad. It was complimentary even. For Astarion."

"Oh, I'm sure that was interesting. Tell me."

The bed squeaks, and Ciro turns to see Gale lounging. He's shucked off his outer robe, and is just in a tunic and pants. For a man who looks so good in finery, Ciro thinks they might like him best when he's dressed down and comfortable. He looks more approachable then. More touchable.

"It was a little while after he bit me for the first time," Ciro explains. "And he was saying that after tasting me, he was wondering what the rest of our group might taste like. I think he compared you to a fine, well aged brandy."

Gale's eyebrows lift and something sparks in his eyes. It's curiosity, the same light he gets when he's about to spend the next few hours buried in books, chasing down some obscure spell or reference.

"Really?" he asks. "That is high praise from Astarion."

"I told you." Ciro smiles and comes to join him on the bed. It's going to be a tight fit for the three of them, but when the inn keeper offered them two rooms to divide up, they'd quickly declined. "I agreed that you'd probably taste very good."

Gale's cheeks go pink, and Ciro laughs softly. For a man who can weave erotic magic like no one they've ever met before, sometimes the simplest things make him blush. And maybe that makes sense. Maybe Gale has spent so much time with the grand and the ethereal that the small and mundane still manage to catch him off guard.

It bodes well for Ciro then, small and mundane as they are.

"What is it like?" Gale asks, sitting up on his elbows. "When he bites you?"

"It hurts," Ciro answers truthfully. "But that part is over quick. Then it just feels sort of...warm. Woozy. But Astarion always makes it a seduction. You know how he is." Gale nods. "He's good at distracting me from the pain of it and making it into something more tender."

Gale's eyes are very warm now, lit by the firelight and the heat of his curiosity and desire. "What does he do?" he murmurs. "Paint me a picture."

"That's not my thing." Of the three of them, Ciro is the worst with words, but they try anyway. "He kisses the spot where he bites me, and his hands wander. I don't really think about the pain when he's stroking me...you know."

Now their cheeks are on fire, a splash of red across their pink skin. Gale is still gazing at them intently, like he's expecting more, and Ciro feels the heat from the fire and the thump thump thump of their heart.

"Words are all well and good, Gale darling," a drawling voice interrupts them. "But they're no comparison to the richness of experience. Wouldn't you agree?"

Astarion emerges from the separate bathing area, draped in nothing but low slung pants. His pale skin glistens in the firelight, and his hair is damp and even curlier from the steam. He looks like a treat, but then, he always does.

He catches Ciro looking and smiles, small and tender, before winking at them.

"You ah-- You might have a point," Gale says, clearing his throat. "And I have been thinking about it."

"Really?" Astarion's eyebrows climb up his forehead. "I...didn't think you were interested."

"I wasn't. At first. Not that I'm opposed to you feeding yourself, of course, but Ciro had it well covered, and. Well, I'll admit I was being a bit of a baby about the pain aspect of it. But Ciro makes it sound very intriguing. And I've seen the way they look when you're finished with them."

"How I look? How do I look?" Ciro asks, glancing between the two of them.

"Soft, sleepy," Gale says at the same time Astarion purrs, "Ruined."

It's enough to make them blush darker, and then groan, falling face first into one of the pillows on the bed. "You're the worst," they mumble.

"Which of us are you talking to?" Astarion wants to know.

"Take your pick."

He chuckles, a low, rolling sound that does things to Ciro's body and their heart. It's not fair that he's so casually attractive. Or that Ciro is so easily flustered.

"Leave them alone," Gale says fondly.

"Alright, I'll turn my attention back to you then," Astarion replies. "Are you actually interested in seeing what it's like? I won't be offended if it's more of an...idle curiosity."

Gale is quiet for a moment, and Ciro can practically hear him thinking. "I suppose I should try it, shouldn't I? I can hardly be involved with a vampire without letting a little blood every now and then, right?"

"Well, you could. It's hardly a requirement. But I won't deny that I am still ravenously curious to find out what you taste like."

Ciro snorts into the pillow at the word choice and gets poked in the side for their trouble. Their men and their drama.

"We'll call it an experiment, shall we?" Gale declares. "I'll try it, and if I don't like it, no harm, no foul."

"No harm, no foul," Astarion agrees. "I should have done this better when it was my first time with Ciro. You won't be offended if I make this a little more romantic for our dear Gale, will you, pet?"

Ciro sits up and finds Astarion looking at them intently. It's an honest question, they realize, from the way Astarion looks at them and the little furrow of anxiety between his brows.

"I won't be offended," they promise him. "You've more than made up for it."

Astarion smiles, reaching for Ciro's hand to kiss the back of it before sweeping around the room. He grabs one of the chairs from the little side table and puts it near the fire, then stands in the center of their rented room with his hands on his hips. His eyes flick back to Ciro, and a smile plays around his lips.

"Could I trouble you to help me?" he asks. "Gale isn't as...familiar with pain as you are. It might help if he had a distraction." There's a mischievous glint to his eyes, and he picks up one of the pillows from the bed and lays it in front of the chair.

Ciro catches on to Astarion's meaning before Gale does, and they smile, sliding off the bed. They kiss Astarion's cheek, leaning into him for a moment. "I can be distracting," they murmur.

"You certainly can."

"I--oh," Gale says, finally catching on.

"Indeed. Come sit," Astarion drawls, gesturing to the chair.

Gale practically scrambles to obey, sitting down in the chair, legs spread. Ciro slides in gracefully, sinking down to their knees on the pillow. It's clear that Gale is nervous, from the way he's shifting and his eyes darting back and forth. Ciro can't pretend they didn't feel the same when they did this for the first time, but they've all come a long way since then.

"Breathe," they murmur to Gale. They slide their hands up his thighs, fingers massaging the muscles there. "We'll take care of you."

"Yes," Astarion agrees, moving in behind the chair. His long, elegant fingers slide over Gale's shoulders and down to his chest. "You are ours to look after."

"Alright." Gale takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, and his posture relaxes. He sits back in the chair and tips his head back to regard Astarion. "I'm ready."

"Hm, not yet, I think," Astarion murmurs. "Ciro?"

That's their cue. With an ease borne of practice, Ciro walks their fingers up Gale's thighs even more and starts unlacing his pants. Gale lifts his hips enough that Ciro can drag the garment down, freeing Gale's cock. He's already on his way to being hard, but it never does take much to get Gale going when the two of them are involved.

Ciro glances to Astarion, to make sure he's comfortable with this amount of sexual contact happening right in front of him. It comes and goes these days, and sometimes he wants to be involved, while sometimes he'd rather not be in the room at all. But now there's a honeyed warmth to his eyes, and a slow, pleased smile tucked into the corners of his mouth.

He catches Ciro looking and inclines his head a little, in answer to the silent question.

"Focus on me," Ciro murmurs to Gale, one hand wrapping around his cock to stroke it slowly.

Gale's eyes are riveted on Ciro as he sucks in a deep breath, hips already bucking minutely up into Ciro's touch. Ciro grazes his thumb over the head of Gale's cock, gathering the growing wetness from the tip to spread down as he keeps working him up.

Astarion keeps his hands on Gale too, fingers dipping under the open collar of his shirt, dancing over his collarbones.

"Ciro's beautiful on their knees, don't you think?" Astarion purrs into Gale's ear. It must have an effect because Gale's dick twitches in Ciro's hand. "So very eager and obedient. So ready to please you. To please us both."

There's so much promise in that tone of voice, and it catches Ciro up in it too, making them swallow hard.

"Perhaps we'll both indulge in how good you must taste tonight," Astarion says, and Ciro dips their head to lick a hot stripe up Gale's cock.

"Ah," Gale moans. His hands are wrapped around the arms of the chair, a white knuckled grip as Ciro and Astarion work him up between them.

"Yes, very good," Astarion continues, and Ciro doesn't know which one of them he's praising. They suppose it doesn't really matter.

They ease their mouth over the head of Gale's cock and then take him all the way down to the root. Not having a gag reflex has come in handy many a time with their lovers, especially Gale, who is surprisingly well endowed.

They hold it there for a moment, taking in the feeling of Gale in their mouth, the way the head of him hits the back of their throat, the way they can feel the tension climbing in his body.

Then they pull off, sucking in a gasp of air before going back to it.

Astarion just waits. Watches. Occasionally offers praise in his low, seduction edged voice. When Ciro glances up, they can tell that Astarion is thumbing Gale's nipple under his shirt, and that Gale is sprawled in the chair, almost boneless with pleasure.

"If you keep this up--" Gale chokes out. "I am not likely to--ah! I'm not likely to last."

"That is the goal," Astarion says. He sounds a bit breathless now, but is otherwise composed. Ciro knows that if they looked into his eyes there would be a million different emotions in them, but they focus on their task, sucking Gale down and swirling their tongue around the head of his cock.

He leaks a salty drip, which Ciro laps up eagerly, letting themself get lost in it. Gale's little moans of pleasure are almost musical, and Ciro knows from experience that he's beautiful when he falls apart.

He's close now, Ciro can taste it, and apparently Astarion can too because he chooses that moment to bite him. Ciro hears his voice, a low, "Breathe, love," and then Gale's gasping sharply.

Ciro looks up, but it's not pain on Gale's face. At least not entirely. He looks like he's in a harsh sort of ecstasy, sharp and brutal, but like he's enjoying every second of it. His body arches a bit, and Astarion keeps a hold of him, not letting him buck too hard.

He's learned, from his time feeding on Ciro, how to really refine this art. How to walk the line between pain and pleasure, and wait for the moment when the two can blend together beautifully.

Gale's there now, wrapped up in it, and Ciro has just enough time to pull back a bit before Gale comes undone, coming hard in their mouth.

Ciro works him through it, licking him clean before they pull off. Astarion pulls away a moment later, dragging his tongue over the small drips of blood that have spilled down Gale's neck. He presses a kiss, tender and soft, to Gale's neck, and then lets out a pleased sigh.

"Well?" Ciro asks, sitting back on their heels. "Was it everything you expected?"

Astarion smiles, and he almost looks drunk with it. "And more, darling. We were right, all that time ago. He's positively exquisite."

"I'm flattered," Gale says. "And spent."

"It's a very good look for you," Astarion tells him.

Between the three of them, they manage to bank the fire and move their way to bed in various states of undress. By an unspoken agreement, Gale gets the middle, and Astarion and Ciro curl up on either side of him. It is a tight fit, but Ciro has never complained about having to huddle close with these two.

It's several minutes later when Astarion speaks again. "Was that...was it alright?"

Gale chuckles and turns his head to kiss the tip of Astarion's nose. "'Alright' doesn't do it justice in the least. That was an experience. One I would be happy to repeat, if you're all willing."

"Count me in," Ciro murmurs sleepily.

"I suppose I could be convinced," Astarion replies, and he sounds very pleased behind the flippant words.

"Then it's settled."

Like so many things between the three of them, it comes down to a conversation and mutual agreement, and Ciro smiles, happy and eager to see where life leads them next.

[cartsandhorses]

Those aus where the characters never meet but it’s hannigram and they just don’t have a reason to. Not that that would stop them but maybe Will was recommended a different psychiatrist or left the field entirely, dropped off the face of the earth. He would be the talk of psychiatric circles but Hannibal would never have a reason or opportunity to seek him out. Hear his name in passing and move on, never see his face and fall in love. And maybe they walk by each other but by the time they look back it’s too late. A brushing of shoulders Hannibal would find rude and that Will would go out of his way to avoid but didn’t. A scent that Hannibal inhales and can’t let go of (he wants to, it bothers him) but can’t trace its source because Will already walked away. But he had gone still. Just for a moment, uncertain of why…

They never do get an answer. Not this time. Perhaps they’ll both feel something missing, distantly and locked away.

It’s like outside forces divine intervention are keeping them apart.

[omori-headspace]

has anyone ever considered a gregory + tony + ellis poly relationship

[emmavakarian-theirin]

hi i'm very normal about them

[moo-savr]

hello boomer shooter nation how are you

[basilibino]

Season 8 was like 6 years ago(I feel old) and I know ppl have differing opinions on the Mr Echo thing (but it was intended, made it to storyboard and blocked animation and then dropped, soooo) but. I can see his recruitment p easily tbh. Bc the whole reason Dr J was in that lighthouse was because he was resurrected, forced there, and ordered to build Skulkin vehicles by Samukai. But Samukai in the flashback we see has already been deposed as leader of the Skulkin/Underworld. Which means the orders to do so most likely came from Garmadon.

And since Mr. E is one of the head honchos, he's likely an early arrival to the team, so I don't think Harumi has a whole lot figured out at this point, she's just got her Trauma and some Bad Influence Friends and an obsession with Lord Garmadon. So. Like. Plausible deniability road trip that she's just visiting important markers of Ninjago's recent past, all of which involve Lord Garmadon in some meaningful way; its sightseeing, its cathartic, and it gives her time to develop her dream Motorcycle Gang/Resurrection Cult. She's not looking for anyone at the Lighthouse, but she is looking for vehicle blueprints so she can be the Koolest leader on the block. But oops she looks in the basement and there's an Echo.

And she's flipping out bc??? A Ninja???? In the Lighthouse basement??? I mean it makes sense that it would be this one but???

Except this rusty old robot has no idea what she's talking about with this Ninja stuff, he's just waiting for his dad to come back.

And Harumi pauses.

Because how long has he been waiting? He's not sure, he had no proper way to measure time in the basement, and he doesn't have the best view of his clockwork heartpiece. But it was after his father saw a strange ship docking; Echo was worried it was the People who had locked up his father in the first place, but instead his dad sounded happy when he saw whoever was out there. It could have been a front, though, as clearly it was never safe to let Echo back out. Then Dr J popped down briefly, while everyone above was resting, to tell Echo he was desperately needed elsewhere, that it wasn't safe to bring Echo, but that he'd be back in no time.

And the pieces are fitting together for Harumi. And she's like. Your dad's dead, bro.

And he's like. What? Did he die doing what was needed of him?

And she's like. Oh, no. He died a few years later.

And he's like. Why didn't he come back for me????

And she's like. Probably because they kept him away.

And he's like. Who's they?

And she's like. The Ninja I was talking about earlier.

And it surely can't be hard in universe to find pictures of Zane and Dr J post s2-pre s3, so she pulls one up and shows Echo who is freaking out bc why is that one kind of like him and Harumi explains that that was the droid his father created first, that he became a Ninja, and that hes probably the one who took their father away and kept echo waiting for years.

But Echo has doubts, shocked as he is abt a new older brother, he wants to believe the good in the situation so he's unsure. But Harumi mentions that the Ninja's failures to uphold more than their self preservation/interests has led to uncountable losses and devastation in Ninjago time and time again, before delving into her own story. And she seems so kind, and so hurt, and I do think there's a genuine connection btwn these two that forms from this shared emotional torment that they decide came from the Ninja, and now Echo is more receptive.

And then Harumi gets to start her Garmadon pitch because wait! If Echo was made here, then that could only have happened because of Lord Garmadon. And she reiterates that he's the reason she and her city could have even survived The Great Devourer. And maybe Echo's family-by-creation left, maybe they were untrustworthy and lacking, but that's OK bc if you look at it all a certain way, Garmadon is more of a father to Echo than Dr J was. And Echo is a vulnerable, overwhelmed mess who just found out his dad fucked off for years without him and also died, and also he has a brother??? Who their dad clearly seems to have favored??? Did they even know about Echo??? Did they delight in their life free of him???

Basically. Kinda Spinel-core but getting abandoned and left completely alone does that to you. Especially when the first person to find you after being abandoned is a deeply hurt and misguided teen who is probably kinda desperate for someone, anyone else to see the Ninja the way she sees them.

[verdantglow]

Fuck it, time to be loudly cringe & find my 30 weirdos.

Trafficstuck AU

Because even 12 years after starting Homestuck, I still found myself in bed one night, trying to sleep, but unable to because all I could think about was Griann <> Gudtym Wiscar.

(I’ve got so much figured out for this AU that I don’t know how to share. Please send me asks about your fave/anything you’re curious about so that I can have some direction for this lore vomit!)

[starcurtain]

The Kinda Unhinged Ratiorine Fic I Want to Read

In an (admittedly very contrived) AU situation, Dr. Ratio finds out he's about to be cut out of his (mostly estranged) family's inheritance forever because of his complete lack of interest in continuing the family line. Which, all factors considered, does make perfectly logical sense. Investment of capital should go to the branch of the lineage most likely to benefit from it, and Cousin Tiberius has five sons and daughters already. Let the house and the trust fund go to them.

But the library.

There's absolutely no way Veritas could bear to be permanently parted from the staggering assemblage of paper volumes under his collected family's auspices. Not only would being separated from tomes so full of memories be heart-wrenching, but think of the devastating blow to his research! There are records in those archives that no other mortal eyes have ever gazed upon!

So there's only one solution for it: He needs to pass on his family name, immediately.

(Andddd the rest is under a read more because what is brevity?)

Problem 1: Veritas Ratio is very gay.

Problem 2: Statistically, single men have the lowest chance of being selected for adoption placement, and this Child Welfare Agent is looking at his alabaster head very, very strangely.

Think, Ratio, think. What is the most efficient way to solve such a tedious quandary?

The obvious first step is to increase his likelihood of being selected by the adoption agency, and the quickest way to do that is... Eureka! How elegant a design! He just needs to enter into a (temporary) committed and stable partnership to demonstrate a degree of domestic dedication and home-building prowess!

Problem 3: ...Where in the universe is he going to find a stable and committed man willing to marry him?

Ratio does not exactly possess the world's most endearing personality. He might... never have had any form of romantic relationship lasting past a one-night stand even, because it turns out most people don't like being scored a 2/10 on their technique during intercourse.

So he's probably not going to find a stable and committed man.

But... He might at least find someone willing--for the right price.

Enter Aventurine (stage left). He's as expensive as they come, the greatest reward saved for the highest bidder, but despite his festering ambitions, he's still trapped as nothing more than a high-class escort, owned by a company the IPC has on the books as selling everything but what they actually trade in: Avgin slaves.

Sigonians... The reputation--and sleazy men's curiosity--precedes him, and though he only has to get on his knees for the truly bold nowadays, he hasn't yet been able to make the ultimate gamble, pull the last string needed to finally gain his freedom: the freedom to live his life as he pleases--and to enact every ounce of vengeance he's been storing for decades like cards up his sleeves.

Until now.

Until an absolute madman shows up at the underground headquarters waving around an offer that no average person would possibly make: He wants to buy Aventurine and wed him.

(Because marrying a Sigonian thrall is a safe and sane thing that safe and sane people do.)

The offer is far too good to be trusted: A real marriage certificate but a perfectly fake marriage, a no-fault divorce once an adoption is finalized, and a guaranteed sponsor for his citizenship documents. A year or two of fake homemaking, this Veritas Ratio claims, and then Aventurine can walk away a completely free man, no strings--no chains--attached.

Well, Aventurine of the Myriad Stratagems has always held one skill dearer to his heart than any other: a crystal clear knowledge of when to fold--and when to go all in.

(...Problem 4: Amber Lord help him, Aventurine's new husband is the most irritating man in the entire universe.)

Alas, if only that was their biggest problem. Somewhere between learning to navigate the citizenship process, the adoption process, a truly unacceptable level of systemic racism, and also, increasingly, each other, Ratio and Aventurine discover that the circumstances of their lives might be far more entangled than they ever could have imagined from the beginning, and the same shadowy parties that profited off Aventurine's existence might have a vested interest in parting Ratio from valuable research secrets--permanently.

While struggling to maintain a charming and loving facade and struggling not to kill each other behind the scenes, Aventurine and Ratio also end up having to out-roll and out-plan a particularly dangerous enemy; something they can really only do together.

Or, tl;dr: Dr. Ratio chooses the most efficient but most unhinged method of finding a husband that intelligence could possibly contrive, only to determine that marrying a guy whose track record for unexplained deaths matches his track record for card counting really is the encyclopedic opposite of "committed and stable." Ridiculously enough, the trouble they get into is almost entirely Ratio's fault, the only one who is remotely convincing in front of the Child Welfare Agency is Aventurine, and sometimes it turns out the guy you married for the library ends up being the guy you married for life.

[his-writing-blog]

Crazy for you, oh boy | Shane x Harvey

Quick tags not in tags: suicidal thoughts mentioned, getting together, mostly fluff, bit of dark humor, they were friends before that, ooc sewers

Shane stood by the Saloon's bar in his usual spot. Also as usual, he was holding a pint of beer in his arm. And in his usual manner, Shane took a sip of his drink. Usually, his mind would be plauged by the visions (getting to work at jojamarkt next day).

Yoba, how he hated that place. He wouldn't work there anymore if he had any say in it. Sadly, he needed that money. Plus, he can't just leave poor Sam alone within the land of Tartarus under the lead of Krotos (Morris).

What was unusuall tonight, was the lack of thoughts regarding his little hell. Tonight his mind was stuck in the purgatory of longing after a feeling. A feeling that he wished for harder with each gramm of the alcohol in his blood.

Shane wasn't prone to those soul minglings before being brought back from the dead at The Clinic. The sight of his momentary guardian asleep on the fucking plastic stool, leaned agains the wall, legs curled to his chest and prepped against Shane's bed frame, made the ex-alcocholic stirr something deep inside of his chest and reset in his brain. He didn't think he could go back to looking at the man the same way he did before. In seconds, Harvey got promoted from being this mystical doctor seen by Shane once when he was running late to his job, to a real person that Shane wanted to get closer to.

Shane wouldn't have known what to call his current feeling if it wasn't for the new farmer, Laura. For someone so disorganised as him, Laura could muster up some good advice when coherent enough.

"The desire to be desired. And the desire to desire that thing the same way." Laura told Shane. He stopped in his track after hearing that. And then he burst out laughing. "What? If I didn't desire to pass down my legacy and Guiliermo didn't desire to be owned by me specifically, we wouldn't have each other!" She picked up her cat up to Shane's face. The orange cat looked at him right in the eye, as if challenging him. To what, Shane had no idea. But the devil's youngling must have sensed his lack of defense and meowed loudly in victory. Shane just turned around and went back to Marnie after loosing the one sided battle. He heard the farmer's laughter goes quiet as he walked.

Closing his eyes, Shane could almost see Harvey's face staring at him fondly. His mind tried to imagine his expression change to more passionate one. Shane tried not to let his mind take control. The more thoughts of this calliber, the most likely he was to send his addictions to the bottom of the cliffs alongside with him.

He looked down at his glass, half full with a beer. It was supposed to be his first and only one tonight. But with how things were going, Shane was tempted to throw the glass across the whole local and preach the words of his soul. How he felt because of the booze. How the will feel because of the booze. How it could ruin their life as hard as it ruined his. How one drink led to another to another to another to another to another to another to anot-

Warm chocolate eyes blinked at him right before his face. Shane relaxed his grip on the glass. He pushed it towards Gus, dropped some coins on the counter and left. He ignored the looks given by the townfolks and let himself fall into the fresh breeze outside. He stood in front of the darkness that loomed over the town at the edge of the forest. Without any more thought, he let himself be swallowed by it. It wasn't long before his eyes got used to the lack of the warm radiation of laps lit up around the town. The sky was truely one of the main reasons why Shane didn't get with his plans. Constelations of unwandered paths streched right above his small and meaningless life. Glittering and saying that maybe it was worth being there even if just to marvel at their beauty for a fleeting moment.

Shane wandered around the forest, his gaze lost in the stars, mind still by the fond eyes it couldn't bare to leave behind. He didn't know how long he was out there untill he saw the edge of the cliffs. Instead of heading acrossthe grass, Shane followed the overgrown path. It led to a narrow stairs that led to the large pipe that finished (or started?) the maze of sewer canals spread under the town. Drunk Shane liked to joked that it was an underground mirror reflecting the spiralls and labirynths made by stars. As if an artist scribbled down the unseen paths between stars and the pages landed on the desk of a rough engineer who tried and failed to recreate their grace.

As Shane marveled upon the genius of the cosmic blueprint, a quiet song was to be heard. He looked around, trying to find its source. After seeing nobody at the forest's clearing and no soul on the beach below, Shane was sure that it was coming from inside the pipe. His body tensed up, ready to initiate a fight or flight revalation at whatever might come from the sewer. The thing is, Shane would be nothing wothout his brain. And his brain, soothed by the strange melody, didn't want to response accordingly. So he sat at the top of the stairs, entranced by how sweet the sounds were. He was almost lulled to sleep by it when he started to sway to the rythm lightly. He got startled when he heart someone sing along the tune. What shocked him more was the fact that the voice was coming from his mouth. The words to the song came to him with a blink of an eye. Shane let himself be taken by the melody's current. And with a small smile on his lips, he sang.

"Harvey, nobody knows what I see."

[lost-in-fandoms]

Logan and Max have another talk, or 'does kissing count as free therapy?' Part 2 of whatever this was. I couldn't fall asleep last night because of how hard I kept thinking about these two. I blame @girlsdads for giving me the brainrot in the first place.

cw: the tiniest bit of implied sexual content

It's another bad race. Fucking 16th, only ahead of the two Saubers, and of the Haas and Alpine that had crashed each other out. There was no reason why his pit stop had to be 4.3 seconds, when Alex's had been 2.7, no reason why he had been fucked over by not one but two undercuts because of shitty strategy, no reason why Alex's side of the garage had to be celebrating 8th place while his was sullen and quiet.

Logan fears he's going to throw up when he steps in and James claps him on the shoulder, saying sorry, next time, as if Logan doesn't know his contract is on the line. Fucking. Next time?!

Logan feels like he's trying to swim with his hands tied behind his back, desperately trying to make it to shore. Nobody cares he's drowning.

He can barely look up during the debrief, feels like he's choking the whole time on the words nobody is saying. As soon as he's free, he escapes, fumbling for his phone as usual. Only this time, he doesn't call his mom.

Are you free?

Max has his motorhome this weekend, and Logan doesn't wait for an answer before heading over. If he doesn't answer, he'll just take a walk.

Yes come over

He's knocking on Max's door before he can rethink it, before all these feelings catch up on him and he decides he's going to break down alone instead. When Max opens his door, Logan immediately regrets it. He's wearing a black t-shirt, hair styled, looking ready to go out. Of course he's heading out, he has a win to celebrate. Unlike Logan. Who should have just gone home.

He opens his mouth, ready to apologize and turn around, when Max's hand closes on his shoulder, his mouth downturned with what would be worry, if it wasn't absurd for Max Verstappen to be worried about him.

"Come in," Max says, doesn't leave space for arguments when he pulls Logan inside, closing the door behind him.

For a long moment they just look at each other, as Logan's waves lap at his neck. He doesn't know why he's here anymore.

"Are you okay?" Max's hand is still on his shoulder. Logan feels like he'll keel over if he takes it back.

"I might be out of a seat."

It's not an answer to Max's question, it's not even what Logan meant to say, it's not something he should be telling to the competition, but really. Logan is barely Max's competition at all, and who wouldn't know that after this season's disaster? Nobody is counting on him to race next year.

He waits for Max to say something, even if it's just empty platitudes, but the other just squeezes his shoulder and nods, and suddenly it's much harder to hold back his tears.

"I just..." he breathes in, willing his voice to not crack, "I don't know what I am doing wrong."

It comes out more desperate than he meant it to, but he's just so tired and upset, and nobody is seeing him drown. Why is nobody paying attention?

"You have a shit car, get bad strategy calls, and have a teammate with years more of experience. You are not the one doing it wrong."

Max says it so matter of fact, as if he's the one driving the shit car, the one with the better teammate, the one having to fight through the back of the field with no success, and suddenly Logan is angry. He shrugs Max's hand away, fists clenching. What does Max know about being the second driver in a bad team? How dares he say he knows Logan's hunger?

"Fuck off," he spits, wrapping his arms around himself to hide the way his hands are trembling. He shouldn't have come.

"You have potential, you are not doing it wrong," Max says again, stubborn and bull-headed as always, jaw set and eyes clear. Logan's anger spikes again. Max Verstappen, the prodigy child, talking to him about wasted potential? This must be a joke. He scoffs, ready to turn around and leave, but Max grabs him again, gets a hold on his elbow and keeps him where he is.

"Why are you angry?" he asks. And yeah, this must be a joke, for sure. Why is Logan angry? Why is he angry?!

"You don't get to..." he starts, but Max interrupts him, squeezing his elbow.

"No. Why are you angry?"

"The team..."

Max takes a step closer, narrowing his eyes.

"Not the team, I do not care about the team. Why are you angry?"

As if there was a right answer to the question that Logan isn't getting! It's his own anger! And Max doesn't care about the team? Of course he doesn't, it's not his team fucking up! Why can't Logan be angry about the team?!

"Alex gets..."

"No. Why are you angry?" Max interrupts again, steadfast in a way that grates on Logan's nerves.

They're too close now, and for a second Logan entertains the idea of punching three times world Champion Max Verstappen. Anger burns in his chest, and suddenly, without knowing who closed the gap, they're kissing. It's not a nice kiss, all teeth and spit, and it almost feels the same as the punch he hasn't thrown, until Max moves his hand from his elbow to his waist, the other one coming up to cup the back of his neck, turning his head slightly. Gentling him.

His anger is back in his lungs, but it's no longer anger, it's back to salt water, and Logan is drowning again. He breaks the kiss, gasping, but Max doesn't let him go.

Logan doesn't remember the last time someone held him like this, like being here matters.

"Why are you angry?" Max asks again, breath soft against Logan's bitten lips. He smells vaguely like minty toothpaste.

"Because..." he hesitates, but at this point he might as feel say fuck it, and give it all. All his fleshy insides in Max's hands, bleeding on the floor between them. "Because I could do better, but I can't do it like this."

This time Max nods. "You could do better."

And Logan knows his parents and friends have said it before, have kept saying it for years. Knows his time in Formula 2 speaks for itself. But it's different, to have Max say it like that, so surely. It's a different kind of validation, and a different kind of heartbreak, because they both know his time to prove it is running out. It's hard to breathe again.

"It is good to be angry. It makes you want to take it," Max says, maybe mistaking the way his breathing has gone funny. But Logan doesn't feel angry anymore. He's tired, and scared, and lonely. He drops his head on Max's shoulder, who moves to card his fingers in his hair, bearing his weight with ease. Logan wishes anything would come easy to him instead.

"I don't know how to be angry," Logan confesses. He doesn't want to say it, doesn't want to disappoint Max, but he disappoints better than he lies anyway. What's one more person.

"That is of course still okay," Max says, instead of some sort of rebuke Logan is expecting. For a second, he thinks about the stories of Max's childhood, of angry men and steel hands. Max's fingers are gentle in his hair.

"What do you want right now?"

It's too big of a question. Logan wants his seat to be safe, he wants to end in the points, he wants a good car, he wants to not feel so distant from everyone else, he wants to go home. He wants someone to tell him it will be alright and mean it.

He shakes his head, forehead dragging against Max's t-shirt. Disappointing again.

Max holds his hair a little tighter, uses the grip to pull Logan up, to make him open his eyes.

"What do you need?"

And it's the same, but it is different, and Logan needs...he needs...

"You can take it. What you need." Max sounds so sure of it, Logan can almost believe it. Maybe Logan doesn't know how to take, doesn't know how to fix it, but here, now, he at least knows what he needs.

"I need to be better," he says, words bleeding out from his split-open chest. "I need to be good."

They both know what Logan means, because the thing with Max is, that it's always about racing, even when it isn't, and it is also always both at the same time.

Max nods, letting go of his hair, and Logan pushes him around, back against the door. Gentle, because he needs to be, but firm, because he wants this.

He eases himself to his knees, and feels Max's hand cup his cheek. His raspy voice isn't disappointed, or pitying, or even sad when he speaks, only fond. A little proud.

"Good boy."

[beaulesbian]

Mariner & Boimler in Lower Decks 2x5 || 3x10

bonus: