#mosquito writes

[azuremosquito]

Gratitude.

It was not a concept with which Astarion had much experience. Two hundred years of seducing people and luring them to their deaths for his master lent itself more to resentment and hatred. But this gratitude thing was rather nice.

Sure, he had saved Halsin for selfish reasons, of course - he had a mindflayer worm in his head and he did not fancy losing his good looks to tentacles, thank you so very much - but in doing so, Astarion and the other survivors of the crashed nautiloid had also cleared the road to Baldur’s Gate for the tiefling refugees and restored peace to the druid’s grove. The refugees had been so elated, they’d insisted on joining the camp for the night and celebrating properly.

Properly, it seemed, included a great deal of wine. The vampire had already had several bottles and mugs thrust into his hands from people who gazed at him like… like… some sort of hero.

At first it had alarmed him, his finely honed self-preservation senses tense and wary. Surely this was some sort of trap or ploy. He mustn’t lower his guard for a moment because that was how people ended up as vampire food. He should know because he’d been very good at it.

But these happy faces around the campfire seemed… genuine. He didn’t know what to make of it. All these innocents smiling at him, unafraid. Old habits urged him to lure them off in secret one by one but… Cazador wasn’t here. Astarion, for the first time in two centuries, was free.

And he had to admit, it felt good to have these people looking up to him. Very good. In fact, he could quite get used to this sort of adoration. He deserved nothing less, if he were being honest with himself. Although, it did admittedly have some downsides. He thought back to Lae’zel’s ‘proposition’ and a shudder squirmed its way down his spine.

While he had been forced to seduce women and men alike to feed Cazador’s insatiable hunger, he had a preference for male companionship, and certainly none that sounded quite so violent as Lae’zel had hinted at.

“You should be out there mingling. Everyone wants to celebrate with you,” a quiet voice spoke somewhere behind and above him.

Astarion felt another tremor through his body. How had a man as big as Halsin managed to sneak up on him in utter silence? Rearranging his face into a flirtatious smirk, the pale elf turned in place and gazed up at the taller man through his eyelashes. “I was looking for you, actually.”

Halsin was a giant of an elf, towering over him (and everyone else, for that matter), with arms like muscled tree trunks; Astarion was fairly certain those arms were bigger around than his waist, and the thought sent a tingling heat to his loins. Halsin was a powerful man who commanded respect, a renowned healer who led with fairness and kindness, not through fear and domination. And yet, Astarion had seen firsthand how ferocious the druid could be in a fight, when something he cared about was threatened.

Here was a valuable ally, if only he could properly ingratiate himself with the gentle giant. Astarion had been flattering Gale previously; what better source of protection than an eminently powerful and skilled wizard, one who had caught the eye of a very goddess? And then the blasted man had gone and revealed that he was a walking bomb, disgraced by said goddess. Astarion had enough problems without adding that to his list.

He purred at Halsin, taking a step closer into the big man’s personal space. “I thought we could find ourselves a little privacy. Get to know each other better.” He waited a beat before dangling the carrot. “Or, perhaps there’s something else you’d rather do besides talking?” The flirting came easily to him, as natural as breathing had once been. A means to make himself useful. A way to protect himself.

He saw interest kindle in the tall druid’s eyes, felt the man take a deep, steadying breath, his snug leather robes creaking around his barrel of a chest. A gentle smile played around the man’s lips as he gazed down at Astarion.

His words, however, were a gentle rebuff.

“Hmm… I’m sure there are. You strike me as extremely… resourceful. But there are many grateful people here who want to spend time with you. I must not keep you all to myself.” Astarion felt a sinking sensation in his gut, until Halsin added, “as enjoyable as that may be.”

Playing hard to get, was he? Astarion generally chose easier marks but something about this massive bear of a man called to him. Certainly, ingratiating himself with Halsin would have many advantages, not the least of which was having his very own resident healer with a great deal of knowledge about these damned illithid tadpoles squirming around in their heads.

No, he could be patient.

In the meantime, he rather thought he could go enjoy being adored.

“Some other time, then.” With a last, lingering glance at the druid, Astarion left the shadows and rejoined those gathered around the campfire in celebration.

[theshitpostcalligrapher]

whenever i feel the need to write poetry I stay up way too late and watch at least 10 scishow videos and I'm good to go

[spaceistheplaceart]

found an old ekurei comic rotting in my files, decided to finish it. upon my rewatch of mp100 i kept noticing how many times dimple was referred to as a pet- but he's not ! ! ! he's a friend :)

[ethereal-maniac]

Breakfast, Lunch, Dinner And A Midnight Snack

Non-Descript!G/n!Reader x Simon'Ghost'Riley

A/N: This was me maybe 10 minutes ago. Pain. (Please let me know if I’ve missed any triggers). (Not proof read btw).

Summary: Reader gets a fuck load of mosquito bites.

❗️CW ❗️: Reader being allergic to mosquito bites, soft Simon, non sexual nudity, reader cries, Simon's just in love.

Do not copy, translate, transfer (plagiarise) or take 'inspiration' from any of my fics.

You emerge from the steamy bathroom in your underwear and one of Simons oversized t-shirts that came about mid-thigh, you stride hurriedly to the medicine cabinet with a pained whimper falling from your lips.

"Lovie?"

You whirl around with tears in your eyes and a frustrated pout adorning your features to find Simon on the couch reading a book under a lamp with his eyes trained on you. "Si," you cry softly as you take a couple of quick steps to reach him, ignoring his obvious concern you bury your face into his neck.

His scent is comforting as you cry even though it's faintly laced with gunpowder and dust. He wraps his arms around you and engulfs your form with his own. "wha's the matter?" He asks gently, cradling you to the best of his ability.

You shake your head and pull your face away from his neck so he can hear you properly, "I thought you got back next week?"

"The mission wa’ comple’ed sooner than anticipa’ed n’ Price said I di’n’t ‘ave t’ stick ‘round f’r much paper work," he says as he studies your face for any further distress. He brushes strands of hair out of your face.

You nod before unconsciously bringing a hand up to your cheek to scratch the angry red bumps on your skin.

"Wha's tha’?" Simon's accent grows noticeably thicker as his frown deepens, gently holding your wrist and bringing your hand down to your side.

He wordlessly places you on the couch next to him before getting up and turning on the light. You squint as your eyes adjust and let Simon tilt your head to the side to get a better look at your cheek.

"Oh, lovie... When di’ this ‘appen?" His soft eyes find yours, holding both your hands in his own to prevent you from scratching any where.

"I don't know," you whine as your bottom lip trembles. Everything felt so painfully itchy you were struggling to think or focus on anything else.

"'s alrigh’, stay righ’ there f'me," he cradles your face and kisses your nose before moving away to find something to soothe your mosquito bites.

A few minutes later he come back to find you lying down and squirming uncomfortably, trying to find any sort of relief.

"Up" he murmurs, he wastes no time in wiping away your tears and placing a kiss on each eye lid before squeezing some balm onto his large finger and spreading it smoothly onto your cheek.

"Where else?" He asks, sitting on the couch and guiding you to stand between his legs.

You take off your shirt, not needing to point out the red lumps.

He works patiently, holding your hands when you get a sudden urge to itch everywhere.

"There y’ go," he smiles as he finishes applying the last of the balm onto your back. "Thank you, Si. I'm sorry you had to come home to this, everything's a mess," you say bashfully as you turn to face him.

Your hands find purchase on his shoulders and nape, playing with the soft blonde locks. "Don' worry 'bout i’," he whispers against your stomach, resting his hands on your thighs while carefully avoiding the bites, he places kiss after kiss on the soft skin of your belly.

"Love ya, darlin,'" his eyes are closed as he enjoys simply existing with you.

"I love you more," one of your hands moving up to play with his hair and give him a bit of a head massage.

He hums contentedly, "gotta pu’ more o’ tha' mosquito stuff on the shoppin’ list, my poor baby, those mosquito’s ‘ad you f’r breakfas’, lunch, dinner ‘nd a midnigh’ snack."

[aka-indulgence]

Guess who got dengue fever!!! 🤪🤪🤪

[jaguarys]

Thinking about a Jedi Maul AU where Palpatine decides to send him out too early to hopefully Kill Some Jedi and he ultimately picks possibly the worst target imaginable in going after Mace Windu. Both because Mace is inarguably the best swordsman of the Order and just not menaced at all and also because he's way too tired for a feral teenager bouncing off him with seemingly never-ending energy to continually try to kill him. And so Mace kind of picks him up by the scruff of the neck and carts him off to the Order like "Um. Evil child. Help" but at this point Maul has imprinted on him with some really warped form of respect and so. Mace ends up with a fucked up little padawan who's more domesticated than really redeemed. But if the results are the same, who really needs to know

[fsnavratil]

critters

//fs navratil

[creatore-is-an-amarena-addict]

HUMANS ARE SPACE ORCS: TREAT OF EXTERMINATION

Alien: sorry to interrup... whatever you're doing... but what exactly are "mosquitoes"?

Human: *stops trying to lick elbow* you mean mosquitoes? Oh those are a species of insects with an itchy bite that suck your blood when you are distracted

Alien: wait WHAT? you mean that there is a creature that would suck the blood out of you?!

Human: yea i don't think there is human that has never been bitten by one

Alien: you mean that having your blood, the fluid that keeps you alive, sucked by an insect is a COMPLITELY COMMON experience for a human?!

Human: pretty much

Alien: how do you survive that? From what i understoad humans die if they lose too much blood

Human: that's true, but mosquitoes are actualy really small and take an insignificant amount of blood, what is really annoying is that their bite is itchy

Alien: oh, that doesn't seam like that much of a pro-

Human: but you could also get infected with a likely fatal parasite

Alien: WHAT?!

Human: yea they carry some real nasty parasites, that's why them and parasites kill so many peoples in less developed countries.

Alien: wait so are you telling me that a single minuscle insect that can suck your blood whitout you noticing can infect you with a mortal parasite or illness?!

Humans: they also shit and piss on your skin witch further irritates the bite.

Alien: That's terribles! Humans had to deal with this for hundreds of generations?!

Humans: yea but over the years we found ways to cure most of the viruses they carry but the parasites are still a problem so we found a more permanent solution

Alien: oh that's inspiring, you humans usualy ignore this kind of problem after you resolve the bigger issue, what did you do? Perhaps did you ingeneer the human race to be less desirable to those creatures? Or, or you made a special repellent with a 100% rate of success? Or a special vaccine that creates a special film around your body to protect you from the bit-

Human: we exterminated them

Alien: i should have expected that

Human: at least we tried, but then we realized that would impact the ecosistem greatly so we are just back to spraying them to death whenever we get bitten

Alien: That's... That's weirdly considerated for your species standard... im gonna hope you did the same with the parasites

Human: oh no those one are basicaly extinct

Alien: normaly i would be bafled about how you made an entire species go extinct but from what i understoad those species where hazard to human health so i understand the decision this time

Human: nah i can assure you we did this only becouse they where annoying and painfull to deal with, health hazards or not.

Alien: ok so you decided to punish an entire species with total extinction just becouse they where annoying your population?!

Human: don't be silly we just eradicated the 3 main species that attack humans, also we constantly deal with creatures that we put under treat of extinction, that's kinda what we do with things we consider "ugly" or "annoying" like most bugs or small animals

Alien: *becomes the alien version of pale from fear* thank you for your time... *goes away to warn the galaxy of the human habit of extermination creatures*

[the-lonelybarricade]

This is Mr. LB’s first trip to the states and I’ve been having the time of my life getting him to try all my favorite things from childhood

Yesterday I got him to eat one of those really soft sugar cookies with the neon frosting and you would have thought I gave him curdled milk from the expression he made 😂

[merakiui]

okay but what about mangaka jade who is known for writing some of the most batshit insane stories? they’re always so bloody and graphic, scenes depicting victims having their organs removed are always so… realistic in their portrayal some internet users have begun suspecting him of the bodies found around the city! but it’s just fiction, of course - it’s not like he derives any pleasure from seeing the human body disfigured beyond belief, until it’s but a lump of flesh and organs in disarray. just don’t question too much when you receive a request to model for mangaka! jade, even if the location he sends you is hours away from the city >_<

OOOOOO imagine being an internet sleuth trying to decipher the strange and mysterious mangaka known only by the pen name: naoh. They're a very talented artist and storyteller, but they're just so shrouded in anonymity! naoh never attends any conventions or events, but they do self-publish and sell their works through doujinshi and manga websites. naoh is rather particular when it comes to their work. They never resell works that have already been published. In essence, once a work is sold out it's never going to be sold again, and they only ever create a maximum of two works each year with limited numbers of copies. naoh themself isn't very active on their social media, only ever posting the rare WIP or an update on when a new work will be up for sale. Despite their quiet social media presence, they have gained quite the following. naoh never follows anyone on their account, and it seems like they rarely engage with fellow mangaka and creators with similar interests. They work alone.

You're a fan of naoh's work. The way they draw the human body is fascinating. It's something that could be seen in an anatomy textbook; it's always so realistic and yet still so eerily beautiful and stylized! You'll never forget how they draw emaciated bodies. It's an image imprinted in your brain: horrifyingly realistic and skeletal, a figure so gaunt it's quite literally skin and bones drowning in clothing that can no longer fit comfortably. You've always wondered how they manage to draw such visceral scenes (like the ones depicting clinical dissections or decaying corpses). And then there's the way they depict fear. It's almost always raw, stretching the characters' features into something horrific. It looks so real; it feels tangible. Fans often speculate if naoh has a job in law enforcement or any other profession that deals with the more grotesque and graphic sides of humans, which could be references for some of their horror stories and could explain why they're so good at depicting details.

But then there are the fans who go beyond simple, innocent curiosity and begin to ask disturbing questions: What if naoh isn't with law enforcement? What if, rather, they're the exact opposite: a criminal? It feels like a silly theory, but when you flip through the physical copies of their work and compare the plots to the yet-to-be-solved cases throughout the past few months you begin to spot a few minor similarities. They're never glaring; after all, naoh is a master of crafting both cutthroat terrors and subtle horrors. The type that builds suspense over time. The type that crawls into your head through your ear to whisper nonsense at night. The type that slowly forms a picture over time, but once you realize this it will have been too late.

In their most recent work, a young man is out for a hike when he takes a stumble and falls down a dangerous slope, landing on a rocky outcrop that breaks his leg and leaves him trapped many feet above the ground. He tries to call for help, but no one seems to hear his voice. He spends days on the outcrop, slowly losing hope and sanity. By the end of the story, he's so certain he's going to die that he drags himself over to the edge and free-falls to the ground below. He lands in a spattering mess of shattered bone and stringy, bloody muscle. A lump of a human. The cruel twist is that his hiking partner had actually left to get help as soon as he had fallen and that the man had only been stuck up there for ten hours. Not even a full day, yet panic seized him and left him in hysterics. Had he remained calm and waited, he would have been saved.

It's a terrifying concept made even more scary when you realize there was a story just like this that hit the news. Only it wasn't a man who had slipped. A woman had been out for a run through mountainous woods; she was training for an upcoming cross-country journey through uneven terrain when she sustained blunt force trauma to the head. Many suspect her running buddy to be at fault, as she was never found, and it's theorized she's still on the run. The woman had attempted to flee, but with her head injuries her senses were vastly impaired and she took too many wrong turns. Police suspect she unintentionally ran herself to the edge of a cliff. From there, the story is foggy and difficult to piece together, but it ends terribly: she was found at the very bottom days later, decomposing in thorny bushes, her body mangled and twisted and smashed beyond recognition. The pathologist noted her body was in such disrepair that it's unclear what truly killed her, whether the fall or injuries she had sustained prior to the fall.

And it isn't just this story that somewhat mirrors naoh's works (often it's a setting or a circumstance or a facet of the true crime itself incorporated. Very rarely is it about the victim). You read up on very long threads regarding naoh and their identity, and slowly you find yourself doing research of your own. You have no idea where to start, so for now you keep track of each story you hear on the news and try to match pieces of it to naoh's works in hopes of learning anything new. Unsolved cases, though plentiful and murky, are where you turn to, as well as the discussion boards online. So many people are convinced naoh is a killer. After reading a few rational theories, you're beginning to think so, too. (Though something tells you it could be coincidence, or it could be naoh taking inspiration from reality. They might not even be a murderer like some think; it might just be hateful people trying to sully their name.)

One day, while scouring naoh's social media for any clues, you get the idea to type the pen name into the search bar as if it might yield something interesting. And the first thing that pops up is: Sodium hydroxide (NaOH), known commonly as lye or caustic soda, is... You stop reading and scramble to grab naoh's first-ever work: a work in which that same chemical plays a major role in murder. NaOH is a substance that, when heated to a certain degree, can dissolve a human body into a syrupy liquid in just three hours.

And that's the pen name of a mangaka who writes and illustrates horror stories about the sordid sides of humankind. A mangaka who might just be a murderer racking up a horrifying kill count, and no one knows anything about them or where they might be in the world. Most of all, no one knows where they'll strike next and who will fall victim to a dangerous killer.

naoh is a mangaka catalouging their murders, and you're determined to prove it.

[wilteddreamsofbaldursgate]

*takes one deep breath of vacation air* Ah, yes, is this writing inspiration? 👀✨

[azuremosquito]

The start of bad decisions...

Notes: Fic contains trauma mention, Astarion's memory of Cazador's abuse, and dishonestly leading Gale on.

Full NSFW version can be found here.

It had been marvelous, while it lasted.

For a precious few weeks, Astarion had allowed himself to believe things could be different. That he could be free, that he could make different choices. Help people, instead of hurting them. It had felt so good to inspire hope, instead of fear. Well, still a little fear; he was still himself, after all. But this time, to those who deserved it. He had savored the heady sensation every time his companions looked to him to take the lead. Even fancied himself an excellent leader.

That all ended, crashing around his delicate pointed ears, when they reached the shadow-cursed lands and came across the fallen bodies of the tiefling refugees. The very same faces he had last seen cavorting with joy around his campfire mere weeks before. How they had adored him that evening.

And now, those faces were contorted in grimaces of pain and fear, anguish overwriting the happy memories in his mind. A few dead cultists lay strewn about among the dead, showing the refugees had not all fallen in vain, but too many had, just the same. As he gazed upon the slaughter, Astarion felt the old familiar pit of despair rising up to meet him.

Even reaching the Last Light Inn, discovering some precious few had survived, meeting and saving Isobel, receiving the cleric’s blessing… none of it reached his heart as he attempted to lock it away again. He should have known it was foolish to give in to hope. Two hundred miserable years under Cazador’s thumb should have killed that pointless notion long since.

It was no surprise, then, that his memories returned to his old master when they made camp that evening. He rarely rested well, but that night something was different, unease flooding his veins. Again and again, his thoughts returned to memories of pain, of suffering.

In the meditative trance elves partook instead of sleep, Astarion remembered his small cruelties, his sadistic whims. The long, torturous night Cazador had carved ‘poetry’ into his back. It all felt vividly real again. Every jagged cut of the ‘needle’ Cazador had used, the shapes he carved into Astarion’s flesh. For the briefest moment, he started to see the pattern of the design in his mind, to make sense of it. But his panic and pain won out, pushing the vampire spawn to sitting, drenched in sweat and panting with fright.

Trembling, he pushed himself upright on shaky limbs, thinking only to get away from the others, perhaps a late night swim in the stream to rinse free the last of the unwelcome, clinging thoughts. A faint glow at the edge of his vision halted him, however, and he gave a slight start to see a translucent image of Gale standing nearby, smiling at him. He had seen the wizard’s mirror images often enough to recognize it, but what he couldn’t fathom was what one was doing here in the camp, instead of the man himself.

“Good evening,” the image said brightly in Gale’s own voice. “I am here on behalf of Gale of Waterdeep. He wishes to extend you an invitation for a private conversation in a more suitable locale.”

Astarion blinked slowly, considered rejecting the offer. He was still shaken by his memories and uncertain he wished to be around the wizard just then. Those same memories, however, urged him to accept the offer. He wanted to feel something, anything else but that haunting pain. He remembered the way Gale had looked at him after the battle to save the inn, earlier that day. Yes, that might do nicely.

“Very well, show me the way,” he sighed.

“Gladly!” the mirror image replied. “Simply follow yonder path and soon you will find him.” The figure extended its arm toward a passage between the trees bathed in soft moonlight. They were camping in the shadow-cursed lands, there should be no moonlight at all, and Astarion knew at once this was Gale’s magic at work.

He set off down the path, and it wasn’t but a moment until a clearing opened before him revealing a stunning starscape, beautiful rainbows of aurora arcing across the sky. And the wizard himself sitting in the midst of it, hands raised in delicate, graceful gestures, plucking the Weave like a master played the harp.

Astarion sauntered closer, slipping into old seductive habits like a familiar mantle, one he had draped around himself many times. Gale lowered his arms and smiled up at Astarion as the pale elf alighted beside him. The way the wizard gazed at him, oh this would be so easy. The man had been making eyes at him since almost their first meeting.

Not that anyone could blame him, of course. Half the camp had thrown themselves at Astarion’s feet already. He had resisted their efforts thus far, luxuriating in being offered a choice, that he needn’t use his body or his looks to survive. Tonight, however, was different. Tonight, he wanted this. He wanted to feel something else, to erase the memories of Cazador’s cruelty and replace them with anything else. That he felt nothing for Gale romantically was unimportant; all that mattered was that Gale was available, interested. Obtainable.

The elf’s thoughts drifted briefly to Halsin, but he pushed them away almost as quickly. The big druid had become increasingly withdrawn as they approached the cursed lands, departing the camp as soon as they reached the inn. Astarion was good and well rid of him, then. It certainly didn’t hurt his feelings, not one bit.

“I love this time of night,” Gale spoke, drawing Astarion’s attention back to him. The wizard was leaning back on his hands, gazing up at the sky. Astarion had to admit, the man was quite fetching in this light. A suitable companion to pass the time. And what little time it was. He knew the wizard still planned to follow through with Mystra’s cruel command, more the fool, he. Definitely safe enough to dally with in the meantime.

“There’s an almost reverent silence that accompanies the peak of darkness, when you’d almost believe the dawn will never break.” Astarion stifled an eyeroll at Gale’s penchant for romantic poetry and remained silent. “The cradle… of eternity,” Gale continued, oblivious, gesturing at the aurora overhead. “The timelessness of lovers.” He paused and gazed pointedly at Astarion. “That most beautiful of fantasies.”

His thoughts on the poetry notwithstanding, Astarion knew his role well, had played it countless times over the last two centuries. He shifted slightly, just enough for their shoulders to brush together, a flirtatious smirk curving one corner of his mouth. “It’s breathtaking, Gale,” he cooed praise for the other man. “Is this starry sky your doing?” Flattery would get him everywhere with this one.

“Indeed.” Gale seemed pleased as he gazed back up at the heavens. “The curse is still present, of course. Just veiled at arm’s length, for now. Not a trick I can repeat often, but tonight? Tonight is different.” His eyes drifted back to Astarion, drinking him in. “This may be my last night alive. I wanted it to be under a canopy of beauty and wonder… and with company to match.”

Astarion smiled again, holding the wizard’s gaze and letting his pinky brush over Gale’s near his in the grass, hearing the other man’s breath hitch. Felt his heartrate stir. So simple. Astarion had whispered many such honeyed words of his own in the past, valuable tools in his arsenal of seduction. Gale had no need for them with Astarion, the man was simply a true romantic at heart. Pathetic. Astarion would have the wizard eating out of his hands before morning.

Gale blushed and cleared his throat, gazing back at the stars. “I thought this place might bring me peace. I thought it might make the weight of what I must do feel a little lighter… but I am not so sure.” His brows furrowed in pain and, for the briefest moment, Astarion felt a pang. Romantically he might not feel toward the man, but Gale had proven himself a true friend time and again.

“I refuse to believe this is the end. We’ll find another way, I promise.” The words were out of Astarion’s mouth before he could stop them and he silently cursed himself. Not that they were a lie, per se. He didn’t wish for Gale to blow himself up to save the gods' damned world, but he failed to see why he should stop the man if it would save all of their skins.

“Thank you,” Gale sighed, turning his hand over and curling his fingers against Astarion’s palm. “But, even if we do find another way, perhaps this is the right way. The end fate wishes for me.” Gods preserve him from melancholy fools determined to be martyrs. “There is no point in running from it,” Gale continued his mournful monologue, gazing away. “Better to meet it on my own terms.”

“Why are you so sure it’s inevitable?” Astarion demanded, hearing the petulance in his own voice and scowling faintly. “We haven’t even found this ‘Heart of the Absolute’ yet.”

Gale ignored his question, perhaps reciting a speech he had rehearsed in his head for days, and would not be swayed from it. “One moment with you could sate me for a lifetime, and prise the fear from my heart. I’m so very glad you came, to share this with me.” He nodded back at the magical sky overhead, bathing them in shades of teal and indigo. “I know this is all unreal, but I created it for you. You must know that you’re…” Here, his pretty words finally faltered. “That you’re very special to me.” His brows knit together, his gaze earnest as he turned back to Astarion.

Oh no.

“If things were different, if we were home, I’d have taken the time to do things properly. To say it all better,” Gale continued. “But time is short.”

Oh no. Stop, don’t say it! Astarion begged in his mind. “I’m in love with you.”

No…

Astarion swallowed a painful lump in his throat. This wasn’t right. He didn’t want this. Not… not that. Not love. Absolutely not. This ridiculous wizard, wearing his heart on his sleeve, giving it to anyone who wasn’t cruel to him for five minutes!

He couldn’t stand to hear it, not another word. Instead, he closed the distance between them, palm sliding up the side of Gale’s neck, thumb gently caressing the man’s jaw and coaxing his head up before sealing their lips in a hungry kiss. He felt Gale’s breath hitch, the man tense against him for the briefest moment before his own hands came up to cradle Astarion’s face, kissing him back urgently.

Yes. Yes! This was more like it.

Astarion began to push Gale back into the grass, but the wizard struggled free. “Wait, wait!” He rose to his feet, shaking his head. “I want it to be perfect - to bond with you in the way that gods do… intertwining our spirits in visions of the Weave.”

Astarion growled under his breath as he followed Gale to his feet, impatient with the unwanted romance. “I don’t need illusions.” He reached for the wizard again and felt the other man’s confusion.

“...are you sure? I could conjure up any sight that you could dream of, and a few you could not. I could use the Weave to make us feel sensations beyond reckoning. I could do more than woo you - I could wow you.” The man gazed at him so earnestly and Astarion stifled a sigh. Gods preserve him from romantic fools.

“You don’t need to impress me, Gale,” he sighed, drawing the wizard into his arms again. “I’m no god.” The admission brought a faint hint of bitterness to his tongue and he ducked his head, hoping to rinse it away with another kiss.

“Yes you are,” Gale murmured, adoration in his eyes, and Astarion felt his own dead heart stutter painfully, against his better judgment. “Alright then, let’s do it your way. So long as it’s with you.”

Astarion moved to draw Gale toward the ground once more, suddenly desperate to stop this beautiful mooncalf from saying another word, but the wizard got one final say in.

“A small gesture to your comfort.” He nodded over Astarion’s shoulder and the vampire turned his head to discover a plush, luxorious canopied bed had appeared in the center of the clearing. Well, that would certainly be more pleasurable than in the grass…

Smirking, he took hold of Gale’s hand and backed toward the bed, drawing the wizard along with him. Falling back onto the soft cushions and trusting Gale’s magic, he pulled his companion down atop him, kissing him heatedly once more. At last, Gale finally seemed content to let the conversation die, kissing him inexpertly but with an eagerness that more than made up for skill.

Astarion rolled limber hips and was rewarded with a desperate groan from the wizard atop him, the man’s need rock hard against the rogue’s leg. Beyond impatient by this point, he slid his hands down to unfasten Gale’s belt and pull that gaudy tunic off over his head and cast it aside. The wizard cuddled shyly against him but Astarion’s hands wandered appreciatively over the man’s skin, deft fingers tracing a map of his body and finding all the places that made Gale sing. Oh and what a vocal lover he was, the noises bubbling up from his throat guiding Astarion with ease.

Hooking a leg around Gale’s waist, Astarion effortlessly flipped them over, gently pinning the wizard beneath him as he bent for another kiss. Gale’s fingers twitched and threads of the Weave began loosening the elf’s clothing, the wizard dividing his attention between the kiss and magically undressing the man atop him.

“Oh my,” Astarion purred with a grin, breaking the kiss to shimmy out of his billowy shirt, his lean muscular chest on display. “That’s certainly new.” Bracing his hands on Gale’s chest, he gave another deliberate roll of his hips, grinding their bulges together and earning another pretty moan from the wizard. “I trust you brought along supplies for this little… seduction…”

Gale tensed beneath him and blushed in adorable embarrassment. “I… er… that is…”

“Oh gods help you,” Astarion sighed with a playful eyeroll. “You thought of everything else.” He reached into one of many hidden trouser pockets and produced a small vial of oil, pressing it into the wizard’s hand. “It’s a good thing you’re cute.” He leaned down to nibble on the man’s ear before adding in a sultry whisper, “and that I am always prepared. Now. Get naked for me, darling.” 

[caker-baker]

Sign

They didn’t actually need to look to see who it was, nor did they need to move from their leaned position against the railing. “Do me a favor and fuck off for a minute.”

“Now, now, Hero. That’s no way to treat an honored guest.”

“Fuck you. We both know that identity isn’t yours.” The hero ran a hand over their tired face. “I don’t care, whatever angle you have tonight, but if you kill someone–”

“That would be a spectacle. You should have already guessed that tonight is about espionage, considering the stolen identity and all.” The villain rested their hands on the railing next to the hero, but did not fully relax.

“Fantastic.” The hero’s voice fell flat. “Go back inside, then.”

Despite themself, the villain’s eyes wandered over the hero’s slouched form.

Even in their current crumpled and defeated mannerism, the hero was a sight to behold.

Nothing but the finest of clothes these days, a hair and makeup team had undoubtedly fussed over the hero for hours to get the current superstar affect, and of course, those fine clothes highlighted those hard earned muscles, but funnily enough, the scars seemed to have been hidden.

“You look miserable.”

The hero took a sharp breath in. “You don’t get to say that.”

“I told you what it would be if you signed, if you gave yourself to the government, say the word and I’ll fix it.”

The villain nearly jumped when the hero’s head swiveled towards them, expression close to feral.

“Fix what?” They spat. “I never have to worry about another bill in my life, medicine, housing, food, they do it all, Villain.” The hero turned away. “And all I have to do is dress up sometimes? Pose for a picture so they can put my face on a lunchbox?”

“You’re a product, Hero. They wave you around to show off their new attack dog.”

“I am not–!” They slammed their fist on the railing. It cracked, startling the hero, who stumbled back a few steps.

The villain reached out a hand, only to retract it when the hero pulled away.

“Whatever. It’s an equal exchange.”

The villain’s typically wide and watchful eyes softened. “Why didn’t you take my offer?”

Huffing, the hero turned, straightening out their form as they prepared to go back inside. “Go to hell.”

The villain reached out, gripping the hero’s arm, determined not to let them pull away this time.

“You used to be happy! You used to take pride in doing good!”

“I also used to be hungry and on the verge of homelessness. Let go.”

“I would have helped you. Why didn’t you let me help you?”

The hero ripped away their arm, turning and coming face to face with the villain, a mere inch apart.

“You don’t know what it’s like to owe someone.” The hero stepped forward, the villain stepped back. “All of you rich assholes are the same. If you had helped me, me, your enemy, it would have meant something else entirely. I can’t do that.”

Another step, another, and another.

“I never would have held it above you, Hero.” The villain had to keep walking backwards until they bumped into the railing. “I’m not like that–”

“You are! You’re an awful person. Do you think that I believe you’d make an exception for me? And why? Just because you enjoy villainy? Because you find all this entertaining?”

The hero’s eyes watered. “For them, I take pictures, I sign autographs, I wear the brand sponsored clothes and go to stupid galas, and yeah, sometimes I’m just there to look scary, but you know what I’m not doing? Giving myself away in a sense that I could never regain. What would it be for you?”

The villain opened their mouth, and closed it again.

What would it be for them? They didn’t like to stop and think about these unspoken feelings, the feelings that drove them in an unfamiliar and warm way, feelings that made them go on espionage missions that weren’t actually important.

What were they hoping to gain by helping the hero? Praise? Gratitude? Admiration?

Love?

As if reading the villain’s mind, the hero spoke.

“What would it be for you? Because for all the money in the world, you can’t buy that.” The hero scoffed, backing away. “You know, they really try to play up the strong but dumb image, makes it easier for sponsors to buy into, but I’m not an idiot.”

“Of course you’re not.”

Suddenly, the hero’s eyes turned upwards, looking, looking, looking.

“Doesn’t look like there’s any cameras up here.” The hero’s shoulders dropped a little. “If someone found out I damaged the railing, they’d probably…”

The villain raised an eyebrow. “They’d probably…?”

“It doesn’t matter.” They held their chin high. “I’m going inside. Have your fun tonight, but any deaths and I will fly your sorry ass straight into the sun.”

“Naturally.” The villain smiled gently, although they were positive that if the hero could somehow survive in space, they would, in fact, fly the villain’s sorry ass into the sun.

But the hero didn’t respond, didn’t give any notice to the villain’s existence as they slipped through the door, a full photo-op ready picture of grace.

The villain let out a shuttering breath once the door closed again, heart hammering in their chest.

No, no, no time for that. The villain couldn’t let this new feeling distract them, there were things to be done, olive branches to be offered, and signatures to be burned.

[antisociallilbrat]

Will ‘never gets bit by mosquitoes’ Byers dating Mike ‘gets eaten alive the moment he steps outside’ Wheeler.

[hastalavistabyebye]

Don't lose your anchor

Spiritual sequel of The Keychain story (part 1 and part 2 here). I think it can be read as a stand alone, but only at the same degree as any other ficlet of this universe 😅 it's better to have read some others at least, but can be managed on its own.

Neyo wasn’t one to lose his composure easily. But this campaign was hell warmed over. It had been supposed to be a simple recon mission, two squads, backed up by the rest of the Battalion to take the city, once the path was clear. Of course it went tits up faster than it takes him to change his ammo. 

As any Clone Commander, he hated when someone (generally his jetii) said they had “a bad feeling about it”. For once, he had been the one with a bad feeling at the start of the mission. It was getting worse now. Like a jittery, itchy feeling in his fingers, crawling up his arms and down his back. Admittedly, the blaster fire they were receiving didn't help. 

He ducked under cover at Allie’s side, both of them covered in red dust, making them blend with the surrounding walls of stone that formed the canyons they had retreated in.

“What’s the situation, sir ?” He shouted more than asked, over the loud detonations of the fight around them.

“We’re getting there, Commander. We just need to clear the path a bit more and we’ll be able to blow up those rocks, up there, and close the entryway.”

He barely had the time to think “If they don’t explode it before us” when a loud detonation ringed in the entire gorge. 

“Kriff. Sitrep !” He ordered through the comms. 

“It was us, Commander. No casualties from our side,” was the quick answer he got.

He didn’t have the time to sight in relief when a second explosion made the stone tremble behind them. This one came from the corridor Windu and Ponds had disappeared into with a squad, to secure the path and hopefully acquire them an escape route.

Neyo and his General exchanged a look, before both commed the two officers of Lighting in a single movement. Neither of them got an answer.

It didn’t take long for them to get a report on what happened -Ponds and Windu followed a small group of clankers who ended up blowing up the passage on them. It took them even less time to make sure everything was settled on their end, organize the research for a way out of this labyrinth and run to the second explosion’s site. 

Thankfully, only four people had been trapped under the rubble. Of course, Neyo’s ori’vod and his Jedi were part of those four people. 

The dread growing in him only got worse when he found a small salamander keychain half buried between a few rocks. Bacara was going to kill him, he thought derisively, while carefully freeing the little talisman. It was a bit scratched and the leather rope crooked, but still in good shape. Small mercies. It should still have protective capacities even if a bit banged up. Surely it wasn't supposed to be its owner’s anchor and compass thanks to the straightness of the rope. He stood there, observing the precious object cradle in his palm, when General Allie came at his side. 

“I can still sense Mace, Commander, even if weakly. We’ll find them.”

Neyo nodded once, before turning determined eyes to his general. The visor of his helmet never stopped her from perceiving his gaze.

“Could this help you establish a more precise area of research ?” He said while showing her the little salamander head. The gorge was wide here, and there was too much rubble for them to clean it all up, especially not quickly enough to be of any help. “Ponds always has it on him.”

Neyo knew for a fact that his ori’vod only put it down long enough to shower, and not a second more. And that was only because he didn't want to damage the leather. He always had it with him. That knowledge definitely didn’t help with the icy worry eating at his mind.

“Yes, yes it could !” The Jedi smiled at him, a little less stiff and concerned than it had been seconds ago. 

She thankfully didn’t try to pry it from Neyo’s hand, just placed her fingers delicately on top of the purple stone, eyes closed. A minute later, she was lifting a massive stone out of the way, revealing a small cavity hidden in the middle of the rubble. Neyo and a few of his troops extracted the four rescapies -injured but thankfully alive- in record time. 

Once the medics cleared from Ponds’ side, Neyo lightly threw the keychain into his lap. His ori’vod was in a too pitiful state for him to smack the back of his head, like he would have loved to do. The dikutla would have deserved it, jumping under explosions like a kriffing jetii -that it was to save someone else was irrelevant. 

“Don’t lose your anchor ever again, dikut. Bacara would kill us both.”

The small, warm chuckle that earned him made the last of his worry dissolve.

[bifbm]

Bradley, sitting in bed reading: done yet?

Jake, standing in the middle of their room a magazine in hand looking positively murderous: i just have to kill this last mosquito

Jake: i've got you in my fucking sights now motherfucker