#fic: the long game

[euphorial-docx]

“You’re my big painting too, you know?”

#fic: the long game #jegulus #been up all night binging this fic #it’s great #highly reccomend

[hebuiltfive]

The Alaskan Train Crash: International Rescue, We Have A Situation.

Six months after the return of Jeff Tracy and International Rescue has finally come back off their hiatus. One of their first missions with their dad back at the helm? A mysterious train wreck in remote Alaska.

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences

Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Additional Tags: Artist!Virgil, Post season three, slight AU, Mentions of hospitals, Mentions of Blood, description of train crash, Light Angst

Series: Part 1 of The Long Game

NOTES: This has been MONTHS in the making and, I won't lie, I'm a little nervous about finally putting this out in the world. This is only the first chapter of the first part of (what I'm now thinking will be) quite a large story. Disclaimers to say that I obviously do not own any of the characters in this story. They were created by the wonderful Gerry and Sylvia Anderson. The only things I do own are the ideas and situations they end up in. Trust me, they'll end up in some sticky situations in the near future!

Read it below or on AO3 here.

The Hood’s haphazard approach to his criminal scheming, coupled with a blatant disregard for any life that wasn’t his own, only ever led to one outcome — disaster.

The unfortunate beneficiaries of today’s outcome were currently trapped under the wreckage of the buckled front carriage of a derailed freight train. The scene was horrific to look at, even with all of Scott’s years of experience and training that came with being in the rescue business. The whole of the train looked as though it had been flung from the tracks, and had flipped onto its side, except for the back carriage, which had somehow managed to stay the right way up, and the front carriage, which had been capsized completely. In stark contrast to the crisp white snow underneath the wreck, there was a dark patch of leaking oil developing. As Scott hovered in the air over the derailed train, guiding his jet pack over the wreckage to get a sense of the scope, he knew he had to work fast.

There had been three workers on board. Whilst two of the three had seemingly been rendered unconscious by the incident, one was still very much awake and aware of her current predicament. She had made sure that the receiver of her distress call also knew this. John had forewarned his older brother of the severity of this woman’s pleas for assistance whilst Scott had flown Thunderbird One to the danger zone at top speed; the way the woman had begged Thunderbird Five for help had sent shivers down (a normally stoic) John’s spine. Still, despite the advanced warning, nothing could have quite prepared Scott for the look of pure terror on that woman’s face as he landed himself beside the wreck and jogged over to that capsized front carriage.

Two Hours Earlier.

Virgil had just wanted the lounge to himself so he could finally finish his oil painting in relative peace. It had already taken him far longer than he’d expected to get the painting complete. Usually that was due to rescue missions interrupting him and not his two younger brothers, as was the case today. Gordon and Alan had come bounding into the lounge, as loud and as energetic as always, and then began to play the loudest alien-killing game they could have possibly found. Virgil knew that his easel and pallet in front of him had not gone unnoticed by the Terrible Two, but the boys didn’t seem to care. Or, rather, they didn’t seem to realise the disturbance they’d caused. That was normally the case, anyway.

Virgil should have known that asking for any semblance of peace in the Tracy household was very rarely answered. The villa was always a hive of chaotic activity, even when those rescue missions called half of the family away. As Virgil was usually on call in those situations, he rarely managed to find a moment’s grace unless he was up into the late hours of the day. As it was, the sun had already begun to set over Tracy Island and sleep would soon be beckoning to all of them. He only had a few hours left to get some painting done before Scott had another reason to berate him for staying up late again. Thankfully, Tracy Island was large enough to not only house International Rescue’s operations, but also cater enough room for everyone who lived there.

He had not long retreated from the lounge, away from Alan and Gordon’s loud but seemingly futile efforts to defeat an invading alien race, to finish up his work in his art studio.  He should have just stayed there this morning and not gone down to the lounge, but when that room was not occupied by bored, young adolescents, the lounge was just as serene as the quiet his studio offered. The views out onto the expanse of the Pacific inspired Virgil’s creative muse, and the colours seemed to flow so much better on his canvas when the warm, tropical breeze blew up through the open veranda. That being said, the picturesque scenery that now filled his peripheral was just as humbling.

His canvas, he’d carefully carried down from the lounge, had been placed on a new easel that stood in front of a large window. In the near distance Mateo stood, the rocks on the island glinting in the last rays of sun. Far more quieter than the disruption his brothers were currently causing upstairs. Content once more, Virgil started to mix the paints he needed on a new pallet.

He got all of two swipes of raw sienna onto the canvas when there was a gentle knock of knuckles against the wood of the art studio door.

“Virgil?” It was a voice that Virgil had thought he’d never hear again, up until a few months the back, that is. A voice that he was still trying to get used to hearing again after living so long without it.

Jeff Tracy had opened the door and was standing under the frame, his hands sitting idly in the pockets of his jeans. He looked over the artwork his second eldest was working on. To a stranger, or casual observer, they might have been deceived by the seemingly dark piece. With the shades Virgil had decided to use so far, that would have been an understandable mistake. But Jeff knew his sons, even after eight years of being separated from them, and he could see the hope that radiated through the painting. In the background, still only an outline and yet unfinished, he could make out the shape that he guessed would become Thunderbird Two. Jeff could see Virgil’s behemoth of a ship was to rise in the distance, to assist in the abstract disaster that was happening in the foreground. The smile that lit up his worn face gave Virgil a warm glow inside. “Looking good, son.”

In those first few weeks of Jeff Tracy’s return to earth after spending almost a decade lost in the outer reaches of the solar system, International Rescue had gone on an understandable hiatus. The Global Defence Force had offered to pick up the rescue work whilst the family became reacquainted and new routines were established. After all, just having their father sitting with them at their breakfast table in the morning again gave the boys enough of a shock. Despite the stresses and occasional disagreements that naturally came with the reshuffling and reorganising of the organisation, having their dad back was one of the greatest miracles to happen to the Tracy brothers, and they all thanked their lucky stars every day for having him home again.

“Do you have a moment?” Jeff asked, gesturing forward as a way of asking whether Virgil was okay with him stepping into his space.

By the look on his dad’s face, Virgil knew that ‘a moment’ was more than likely going to last longer than Jeff had suggested in his wording, but Virgil nodded all the same. As Jeff stepped inside and closed the door behind him, Virgil placed his pallet and paint brush on the side table beside his easel. He rubbed his paint splattered fingers on his equally paint splattered apron.

“Sure. Is everything okay?”

Virgil was used to being the one everyone came to for advice and assistance in the family. Along with Grandma Tracy, he was the soundboard that his brothers, and Kayo and Brains, relied on when they needed a solid voice of reason. Virgil never minded. He never saw any of them as a burden or a bother. Whenever they needed to seek comfort in Virgil’s warmth and way with words, Virgil was there for them.

“I wanted to just let you know that Grandma will be taking me to the mainland tomorrow.”

Virgil’s heart sank a little at Jeff’s words. He knew what his father’s words were code for, knew exactly where Grandma Tracy was taking him: the hospital. Jeff’s health had been fragile upon his return to Earth. Having had to survive eight years on a rock in the Oort Cloud, it came as no surprise to any of them. They were all wise to the fact that the situation would have been a detriment to anyone’s health, and they all were sure that, had Jeff been anyone else, he wouldn’t have lived through the ordeal for nearly as long as he miraculously had. Jeff’s health had been a major talking point in the reorganisation of International Rescue. The main question was whether he was fit enough to take back the mantel of Commander In Chief, or whether it was better for him to take a backseat and oversee operations from the sidelines instead. Both Grandma and Scott had been firm advocates in Jeff taking the back seat, but Jeff Tracy was Jeff Tracy and he wasn’t the kind of man who was content with being sidelined. In the end, they had all agreed on him sharing the job with his eldest son, at least until he was in a better condition.

Hence the hospital visits. Scans, blood work, physiotherapy, drugs and tests were part of their new normal, and they’d been advised that this new normal was going to stay in place for the foreseeable future. Jeff didn’t mind, so long as it meant he was still able to be of assistance, but the constant hospital trips had the boys naturally worrying.

“If dad is so unwell that he needs to be constantly visiting Doctor Mayhew every month, he shouldn’t be placed in a position that could cause him stress!” Scott had exclaimed on more than one occasion. Jeff never listened to him, always claimed that he was fine which only led to heated debates between the two. Usually it was Grandma who managed to calm them both down, but once or twice, the unfortunate role of mediator had landed on Virgil’s lap. Whilst he still didn’t see it as a burden, it was the only time he minded. It was the one time he didn’t like being a soundboard to his family.

“How long this time?” He asked his father, arms folding across his chest.

“A week. Maybe two. They want to check my legs, I think. It’s going to require a few tests back to back and they say that it’s easier if I just stay there whilst they get the results.”

Virgil nodded. It made sense for him to remain in one place. His next question was one he didn’t want the answer to. “Does Scott know?”

Jeff held silence for a moment or two, and Virgil knew the answer instantaneously. “No. He doesn’t. Not yet.”

Virgil pursed his lips, nodded once… twice, and then began to undo his paint apron. So much for a relaxing evening with his canvas. “He needs to know, dad.”

“He overthinks everything—”

“That’s Scott for you—”

“— and I don’t like how stressed out he gets. I don’t want to add to it, or be the cause of more stress.”

Welcome to the club, Virgil thought, but sighed as he threw the apron aside. Scott never knew how to take things easy. He was a classic overreacher, constantly trying to do more than his best. That perfectionism had only got worse in the months following their father’s disappearance, but that was a fact Jeff had still not been informed about. Their father had developed a legacy in people’s minds, one that only grew in his supposed death, and Scott felt compelled to continue that legacy. He had always looked up to Jeff, but this constant need to try and make their father proud, even in death, sometimes meant Scott took unnecessarily hazardous risks, and it had nearly landed him on death’s doorstep on more than one occasion. Virgil and the others had often tried to slow him down and make him see reason, but their talks rarely seemed to have a lasting impact. Come the next day, Scott would be back to his normal, overreaching self.

“Scott’s capable of handling a lot more than you think, dad.”

Jeff breathed out a long sigh. “I don’t want him to handle so much. He should share the burdens.”

“Good luck getting him to do that. We’ve been trying for years, but Scott is way too protective. It’s one of the reasons why he doesn’t want you being so involved in the rescues right now, what with your… health.”

“I know he’s looking out for me,” Jeff began, his eyes averting Virgil’s own gaze as he took in the view of Mateo from the window. “I just wish he wouldn’t try so damned hard all the time.”

Virgil let out a deep chuckle. “You and me both, dad.” Then, he began to make for the door. “But he needs to know all the same. If you want, I can be your bodyguard.” He joked. In honesty, the thought of having to referee another match between his dad and Scott worried him, but he’d do it if it meant avoiding a bigger conflict in the future.

Jeff’s lips quirked into a smile at Virgil’s humour, but as he opened his mouth to speak, a hologram of John appeared from the holo-disc on the side table beside the easel. “Guys, we have a situation.”

Exchanging worried glances with his father, Virgil dove out of the door of his studio and made his way up to the lounge as fast as possible, Jeff following quickly behind him.

#IT'S FINALLY HERE #well chapter one is #thunderbirds fanfiction #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds fanfic #thunderfam #thunderbirds are go #fic: the long game #trust me #it's going to be really long #jeff tracy #virgil tracy #five fics

[nettedtangible]

Licking my lips and thinking about a long game re-read

#fic: the long game #jegulus #if you haven't read it you definitely should #james potter #regulus black #sirius black #remus lupin #wolfstar

[stevebabey]

Dustin denotes his plan as a stroke of genius. Steve calls it fucking crazy.

It is crazy — going down to the police station and giving a completely faux alibi for Eddie is crazy.

But then, Steve recalls the handcuffs on the hospital bed, keeping him strapped in even though Eddie’s hardly in a state for escape, all bandages and wires. Steve remembers the fitful sleeps he’s witnessed when visiting, remembers Eddie’s ashamed whisper of fear that one of the officers would smother him in his sleep if no one stayed with him.

Steve remembers the bats. Remembers all the other shit Eddie got dragged through.

And if Steve can lessen that blow… well, then maybe he is crazy for going through with the plan.

There’s no prepping Eddie for it, of course, considering he’s being guarded around the clock. Steve thinks it’s ridiculous considering how feeble he feels just looking at Eddie. When he— when they had gotten him out, there was a moment where he was more blood than boy. Just jagged skin held together by Steve’s hands and sheer will.

He shivers involuntarily. This is crazy, Steve thinks, shifting a bit in the chair out the front of Eddie’s room, waiting for the discussion across the hall to meet its end. It’s crazy, but he’s already done it now.

Sharp footsteps sound across the hallway and Steve’s head yanks up. His heart beats too fast and he presses his palms down into his jeans to wipe them, standing up quickly.

“So?” He asks, eyes darting between Chief Powell and Deputy Callahan.

“That’s quite the alibi you’ve provided, Mr Harrington.” There’s a cool expression on Chief Powell’s face, giving away nothing. “One that not many would be so willing to give.”

Steve swallows. Presses down the panic tied to the implications of what he’s told them— him and Eddie. Him and Eddie together.

“We’d like to question Mr Munson a little as well, get everything settled. You know,” He makes a little gesture with his hand. “Make sure your stories line up.”

A new strain of panic jolts in Steve’s stomach and he hopes it doesn’t show on his face. Glancing over his shoulder, he peers between the blinds and tries to find Eddie’s face. He can only see the hospital bed, stark white sheets and hundreds of tubes. Steve tries to remember that he anticipated this, he prepared for this.

“Now?” He asks, turning back to face the officers. He tries to appear like his uneasiness comes from concern, instead of panic. “He’s just had another dose of morphine, I’m not sure how up to questions he’ll be.”

Chief Powell narrows his eyes. Steve silently begs him to take the bait — he doesn’t want to defer the questioning, he just needs a little more wiggle room in case Eddie is slow on the uptake. He’s a performer though. Steve hopes that’ll be enough to convince them.

“Now is best.”

Steve nods, his face grave. “I understand. Just… if he’s a bit slow, give him time to find his answers. He doesn’t know that I’ve… told you.”

Steve’s hand presses down on the handle to the room and the door opens with a hiss. He enters the room, his eyes landing on the officer posted by the door first before they travel onto the bed, to Eddie.

The chair beside the bed is empty for now which means Wayne must be off getting some food. Good, Steve thinks. This will be easiest with a smaller audience to convince.

Eddie’s eyes are closed, resting as best he can, but at the new noise they peek open. The ripple of happy emotion will help their case immensely but Steve delights in the fact that that reaction is genuine. Eddie is happy to see him.

“Big boy!” He rasps as a greeting. He waves one hand up, wires sticking out of it and the handcuff on it clinks uncomfortably, and he begins a spiel. “Welcome back to my humble—”

He cuts himself off when he sees there are other visitors today besides Steve. The heart monitor jumps and Eddie’s hand drops, eyes back onto Steve in an instant.

“What’s going on?”

Steve strides to his side, his hand reaching out to curl his fingers around Eddie’s limp hand. His skin is cool to touch, fingers icy. Surprise jumps onto Eddie’s face but his fingers tighten their grip, holding his hand too. Steve sits down in the seat beside the bed and lets the real nerves of the situation make his voice tremble when he speaks.

“I— I had to tell them, Eddie. About your real alibi.”

To his credit, Eddie only lets confusion wash over his face for a moment before it turns to some mixture of anger and sadness. A furrow forms between his brows, his grip on Steve’s hand tightening, and Steve doesn’t think he’s acting at all when he says, “You didn’t.”

Huh. Maybe he’s figured it out after all, Steve thinks.

Steve nods solemnly, letting his thumb wander over the back of Eddie’s hand. He remembers what it’s like to dote on girls, on Nancy, and find it’s not nearly as hard to bring it all out for Eddie either.

“I had to,” He murmurs, reaching a hand out to brush back some of Eddie’s hair. The heart monitor spikes again and Eddie’s cheeks glow pink.

Behind them, Chief Powell clears his throat and Steve jumps, remembering himself and what he’s trying to accomplish here.

“Excuse us, Mr. Munson, we have a few questions for you.”

There’s a moment where they let their words register and Eddie takes a deep breath, squeezing Steve’s hand and giving a little nod. Chief Powell continues.

“Mr. Harrington here has come forward with a statement that would place you elsewhere than the scene of the crime at the time of Miss Cunningham’s murder. Can you recall where you were that night?”

The mention of Chrissy’s name makes Eddie flinch and Steve’s glad he’s already holding his hand so he can squeeze it gently. Eddie’s gaze drops to their intertwined hands and stares hard for a moment. Shuffling puzzle pieces into place.

Steve leans down, presses a soft kiss to his bruised knuckles, and says “Tell them the truth.”

Eddie inhales sharply, steeling his nerves and turns his attention back to the officers. “I was with Steve. We were… we were at his house.”

Chief Powell nods, scratching words down in his notepad. He hums in a way that tells Eddie to keep going.

“We were…” Eddie trails off and looks to Steve, trying to follow the story already planted. Steve nods, hoping it comes off like he’s trying to be comforting boyfriend, instead of a subtle nudge.

“…Kissing.”

Steve resists the urge to snort at the absurdity of the whole situation. This whole thing is so convoluted and it’s twisted that Eddie’s even been accused but Steve’s putting his fuckin’ reputation on the line and Eddie says they’ve been kissing?

He doesn’t even need to turn around to know some eyebrows have raised behind him.

“Kissing?” Steve hears Chief Powell repeat. “Just… kissing?”

Eddie’s attention snaps forward again and Steve can see him piece together the snappy persona, the Freak, the scary dog privileges that come with being an outsider. He straightens up a bit, shoulders squaring but Steve can feel the quake in his hand.

“I’m sorry, did you want a play by play of the whole act, Chief Powell? I can go into detail if you want, who took who’s pants off first, yanno, but I didn’t peg you for that kinda guy.”

Steve can’t miss this reaction, turning his head to watch both officers shuffle uncomfortably on the spot. Chief Powell tries to keep his power, eyes narrowing, but it’s hard to maintain when Steve dots another quick kiss across Eddie’s knuckle.

“Very well.” He seems to land on. “We’ll be back to collect a formal statement later—”

Eddie gives a faint squeak, his hand grasping Steves that much tighter.

“—but I’m happy to have the guard and cuffs removed from your room for now.”

A sigh so large escapes Eddie that his chest deflates a good couple inches and Steve feels his own shoulders relax a bit. Chief Powell steps forward, key retrieved from his belt and Steve winces seeing the ring of irritated skin around Eddie’s wrist. No doubt caused from the thrashing of night terrors.

He releases Eddie’s hand long enough for it to be freed, scooping it back up in his as soon as he can, properly this time. All fingers intertwined, palm to palm. Eddie eyes their hands again and Steve pretends to not hear the jump in the heart monitor.

The officers leave, including the one holding post, the door sliding shut with a gentle click and Steve holds himself still— unsure of how to start explaining what he had sprung on Eddie. He feels bad, dropping him in the deep end, even if it was for his own good.

“Eddie—” He starts.

“Hug me.” Eddie hisses out the corner of his mouth. When Steve doesn’t react, he says it again, fiercer - it doesn’t match the way he’s smiling so sweetly at Steve. “Hug. Me.”

Steve does as he’s told, shooting up onto his feet and hesitating only for a moment before Eddie’s arms are creeping around his waist — he leans over and tries to keep his weight off him. Eddie’s frazzled curls tickle at his cheek and Steve just burrows his face in further.

There’s a faint whisper into his ear. “They were watching still.”

Steve pulls back a bit, not to check over his shoulder, but to see Eddie’s face. He’s serious, eyes skirting the window behind them but the moment Steve pulls back, his eyes shift down and he softens.

“And now… kiss me too?” He says. His tone conveys that he knows he’s being far too cheeky. Steve’s wonders if the officers are still watching. Wonders if he’d still kiss him even if they weren’t. He casts a glance over his shoulder and is met with a empty window, the officers retreating down the hall.

He turns back to Eddie with an incredulous expression. “What? Getting you off murder charges not good enough for you?”

Eddie’s face shutters for a moment, as though every emotion to do with Steve’s sacrifice floods him at once. There’s a burst of gratitude when he doesn’t mention it — doesn’t mention everything Steve might be giving up for Eddie, everything that might crumble should the details of the case become public.

He chooses the joke again. Eddie always does.

“Yes, but remember, we’re madly in love,” Eddie sings, brows wiggling about on his face and making Steve snort. “So feel free to kiss me anytime you feel like it.”

Steve snorts. “Duly noted, Munson.”

Eddie throws his head back softly against his pillow and pretends to wail in pain. “Munson? That’s all I am to you? That’s how you treat your boyfriend?”

Steve can’t help but grin a little at the theatrics and finds himself thinking that of all the people to be stuck pretending he’s dating, at least with Eddie, it’ll be enjoyable. Well, at least interesting. It will certainly be an experience.

“You have no idea how I treat my boyfriends, baby.” Steve says, voice low, just to see if he can get Eddie’s heart monitor to jump again. It does, a steady beeping as the BPM climbs up a few numbers.

Steve can feel the blush on Eddie’s cheeks, he’s so close, and it’s so nice to see colour on his face — such a stark comparison to the paleness of- well, of older memories.

Steve grins. Despite every nerve that feels singed beneath his skin, overworked from all his anxiety — despite considering every potential backlash that faces both them outside this room, outside the hospital, Steve searches within himself.

He can’t find one single ounce of regret.

next part.

#gay ppl in my phone…. take this humble offering to tide u over between fics #everything has become long #i cannot help it #every idea is like 5k+ words #this is me trying to combat it #ruby writes steddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #pre steddie #steve x eddie #steve harrington x eddie munson #uhhhh that’s all folks #this is indeed the trope of steve telling the police they were fucking for their alibi lmao #10 points if u can guess which line is from the hunger games! #that’s what inspired this

[baldursgate3tempobsessed]

Your stories have definitely scratched that Astarion itch that I've had since I started the game!

One thing that's diffently not sat right with me at the end of the game, is how tav and the gang don't run after astarion after he loses his immunity to the sun. I would imagine that if the player character was romantically involved with the guy they would atleast try to shield or comfort the poor guy. A short drabble on that would be awesome!

That's so sad, I heard that's what happens 😭😭 I'm in act 3 and haven't had to see it for myself yet so yes, let's do some preemptive therapy there! And just warning since I haven't beaten the game yet I'm sure this will be inaccurate as fuck, but also with spoilers somehow ~

~

It was an exhilarating feeling, to win against all odds. One that Astarion had never been confident he would experience. It felt good, final. The official beginning of his new free life, even if it was bittersweet.

This was the bitter part, the end of his illithid protection. The sun was barely peeking over the horizon, and the burn was already starting. He was being an idiot, standing there with the rest of you like he belonged, waiting for the last possible second before he had to scuttle down in the darkness. But he wanted to see this out. Hadn't he earned that right?

According to the laws of reality, no. No he hadn't, because you had barely opened your mouth before the pain started to overwhelm him. The others would be able to hear it, the sickening sound of his skin crackling.

He was out of time. But before he could make a break for it, you happened. Astarion had been a little preoccupied with his impending doom to pay close attention to what you had been mumbling. But then sudden blackness was blanketing above your heads, opaque enough to make it as dark as night.

Astarion's eyes widened as the pain subsided, surprised beyond belief.

You were looking at him with concern in your eyes, gesturing to the think cloud of darkness above your head, "Will this be dark enough? Can it still get through?"

Astarion stared at you, momentarily confused on why you would do something like that. Before he remembered, oh. Yes. The extended care for his well-being was probably included in the whole love thing. Of course. Obviously.

That was definitely going to take some getting used to.

But the reasoning didn't stop an idiotic smile from blooming on his face.

You grinned back at him, somehow still managing to read his mind even without the tadpoles, "Did you really think I would forget about you?"

He had, but through no fault of your own. One of these days he was going to actually remember that he was worth the effort to keep alive.

"Thank you darling," Astarion said, ignoring the quested as he waltzed up to you. He grabbed your hand in his, bringing it up to his lips to kiss, "Just what would I do without you?"

"Speaking of," You turned to the Emperor, a question in your eyes as you vaguely waved upward, "Is there anything we can do about this particular problem?"

"The astral tadpole is still-"

"I'll pass on that, thank you very much," Astarion interrupted, cringing at the very thought of willingly letting another worm into his brain, "But I appreciate the thought."

There were worse things than living his life in darkness. And Astarion was counting becoming a mind flayer in the top three.

He watched, participated even in everyone's final goodbyes, always eyeing you at of the corner of his eye. It's not that he thought you would leave after you both declared your eternal love for each other, but... the two of you hadn't exactly talked about the specifics of the future either.

But that didn't stop you from leaving together. Astarion hadn't expected you to keep the dark cloud above his head as you walked the streets, startling nearly every passerby. But hells, the heroes of Baldur's gate had earned the right to a little strangeness.

You both had decided on going to the nearest, most windowless inn that you could find. Astarion wanted nothing more than to scrub the brain viscera from his skin and sleep for three days. Preferably with you in his arms.

But before all that... he had to know something.

The question was out of him as soon as you both were behind closed doors, "So what happens next to the great hero of Baldur's Gate? I'm sure you have something in mind."

He was just praying those future plans still involved him.

You blinked at him, head cocked like he was asking a silly question, "We go and find you a cure so you can walk in the sun again of course. What else would we do?"

That took Astarion aback, "I-Do you think that's really possible?"

"Well," You started, counting off on your fingers, "We know that illithid powers can do it. As well as devil contacts and ritualistic demon sacrifices. If that's all possible then that means there has to be something else on the other end of the spectrum, right?"

Astarion didn't exactly share your blind confidence. But you did have a point. The two of you had managed so many impossible feats in such a short amount of time. What was one more?

"I suppose there's a chance," Astarion said, hope fluttering in his chest with every word, "And if there is a chance no matter how small, I'm going to take it. But..."

He didn't want to ask, but he needed to know, "Are you sure this is what you want? I would... understand if you wanted to go your own way."

In all honesty, Astarion would not understand. He'd be absolutely furious. Especially after everything you'd been through. This was more of a confirmation for his waning self-confidence than anything else, versus a sincere to desire to let you go your own way. He had no intention of letting you go, not if he could help it.

But his near certainty in your feelings was the only thing that gave him the confidence to ask the question in the first place. And you did not disappoint.

"No, this is what I want," You insisted, reaching out to take his hand in yours, "You're what I want."

That was exactly what Astarion needed to hear. He used your joined hands to tug you closer, face to face.

"Good, because as selfless as I am, I really did not want to let you go," Astarion smiled, leaning in to lightly press a kiss to your lips, "I hope you realize that my love has made me a tad bit obsessed with you my dear."

"I'm sure it's no worse than me," You sighed, resting your forehead against his own, "You've really ruined me for anyone else haven't you?"

Astarion grinned, leaning in for another kiss. He had every intention of making it stay that way, for as long as you would have him.

#astarion #astarion x reader #astarion x tav #baldur's gate 3 #long fic #asks #im feeling these asks #a mix of real dialouge and orginial #i make them so touchy feely #i feel like he kind of would be #but i dont blame the game guess that would be so much to animate oh my god

[crazy-fangirl2524]

My biggest flex will always be how I knew Neil was the more feral and dangerous one than Andrew this whole time even before tsc and seeing the entire fandom freaked out makes me want to kiss and hug Nora and just thank her for finally finally showing everyone and I’m not just crazy

#seeing all the post about like omg Neil is so feral?! like brother did you not read aftg did y’all forget aftg is from Neil’s pov #ofc Neil wouldn’t say he’s feral in his own pov tf😭😭😭 #and remember in aftg Neil still has to hide part of himself BECASUE his father and eveyrhhing but now he’s literally free from his biggest #fear and he could do whatever the fuck he wants #Istg the fandom is like the foxes man idk why everyone is so shook #literally cant thank Nora enough for showing everyone finally #Idc if I sound proud or whatever but I fucking knew it this entire time and I have been shouting it for so long like finally #that’s why so many fics annoyed me so much like #I just needed to say this because I finally felt seen and heard andFINALLY LIKE URGH #tsc and aftg supremacy #tsc #tsc spoilers #the sunshine court #the sunshine court spoilers #aftg #all for the game #tfc #the foxhole court #aftg series #aftg fandom #aftg incorrect quotes #neil josten #andrew minyard #andrew joseph minyard #neil abram josten #aftg neil #aftg thoughts #aftg textpost #aftg shitpost #incorrect tfc

[asterixer]

#lies of p #lies of p romeo #lies of p pinocchio #promeo #my art #exposing all of you to my promeo agenda while simultaneously NOT working on fic #couldn't believe how long it took to colour this and why?? #maybe by the summer I'll finally finish and post the fic #until then have some art #lies of p spoilers #fun but useless fact: all the references screenshots i used in game were of carlo after the real boy ending and it felt SO WRONG #felt like i was playing dress up as P and it was very uncomfortable

[milksnake-tea]

good morning reaper kissers i bestow upon you amnesia angst

"Sorry, do I know you?"

Instantly, something behind those red eyes shatters. The stranger's hand stills, and for a moment, time ceased to exist. Inside, you see blood welling from the cracks, a healed heart cut open once more. His mouth opens and closes, again and again, but no words find his tongue.

Your heart squeezes. Already, you want to take your words back, to throw away all reason and embrace this stranger and tell him that everything is alright. But your body refuses to move, frozen on the empty street.

You don't know this man.

That is something you know for sure. No matter how much your heart may weep, no matter how badly it screams at you to comfort the white-haired stranger, to love him, you yourself have no recollection of him.

And so you stand there, staring at the man you've forgotten.

"I..."

He stutters. He hesitates. He curls back, back into his shell. You don't know why, but you hate the tears forming in his eyes, glistening like pools of water.

Your hand reaches towards him, but you pull it back.

"I'm sorry." You step back.

He shakes his head, his gaze dropping. "Don't... Don't be. I should be the one apologizing."

Despite his calm facade, his voice quivers. His shoulders shake, trembling like a leaf in the autumn wind. Again, your heart screams, twisting at the mere sound of him.

"No, it's okay," you say, your voice soft in an attempt to ease his worries. "That person, they must mean a lot to you."

Broken eyes meet yours once more.

"They... were everything."

You can't help but think he meant to say something else.

Bleeding red burns into your irises, expecting something, anything that would indicate - even by the smallest bit - that "you" were still there.

But you could never give him what he wanted.

You try for a smile. "Well, I hope you find them."

He doesn't answer to that. Grief swirls in his eyes in a whirlpool of mourning, trying to pull you into them, trying to pull you back.

But something keeps you from diving in.

Your feet move on their own. By the time you finally come to, you've already left him.

reblogs w comments are appreciated !!

#a date with death #a date with death x reader #casper #grim reaper #grim reaper x reader #casper x reader #x reader #y/n #reader insert #sorry this like shoved itself into my mind and i had to get it out immediately #I DO HAVE ANOTHER DWD (do we have an acronym this names game long af) FIC IN THE MAKING THO !!! thats hopefully not as angsty #anyways heres my first offering to the reaper kissers love yall

[snurtle]

I've been thinking about the templars lately. they were promised honor, virtue, told that they would be charged with protection of the innocent... And then those same people are systemically exploited and abused, abuse others because they're taught to regard everyone else as either sheep who need to be lead or potential threats. Never equals, except in their brothers/sisters-in-arms. They act as the guard-dogs and military arm of an entirely different organization that they're only a functionary member of but have no governing say in. Even the chantry aren't their equals- they function as the templar order's supervisors! And all this isolation and closing of ranks ends in disability, addiction, death, and abandonment by the system they spent their bodies in service of.

To top that off, retaliations against them just confirm the paranoia they were taught to embrace. It's probably a long hard road to get out of that hole.

Like, listen. the dichotomy of mage vs templars is a satisfying and easy one, but the system is tearing them apart too. have you ever heard of a retired templar?

at the end of it, mages and templars need to unite against the real threat. the chantry.

#this is an anti chantry post i want that temple exploded NOW #the chantry controls the lyrium; benefits directly from the formari enchanter system; has a financial incentive to make and use tranquil #the templars are breaking themselves in service of a system that functionally does Not care about them in any way except #their ability to hold a sword and counteract fade magic and that messes me up #thedosians need a fucking cross-field labor union NOW #of course the kalna would probably send the carta after any potential organizations of that nature #and the coterie #cant kill em all though!!! #actually that would be a hilarious fic #dragon age #canon dont interact i dont pay attention to discrete facts here we operate on half remembered game knowledge and vibes #if there are any retired templars out there: uhh... enjoy that. happy for you king (alistair) #cullen rutherford fundamentally represents 'no retirement plans' for me #the man is fifteen chronic illnesses ptsd shit withdrawal and interpersonal abandonment in a trenchcoat with fur trim #text it #long tags

[arkiwii]

here's your order of burritowls

#im tired rn i wanted some burritos #i will continue the requests soon irl life remind me i should be adult #smh i wanna play games all day long #arknights #stalkiwiart #olivia silence #ptilopsis #also im working on like 3 different fics rn LMAO

[jacqcrisis]

I can't stop thinking about the rings on Hermes' fingers. I can't. Whats the story behind those? Did he start wearing them because Charon gave them to him as a job well done? The weirdest gift imaginable to your professional associate?

Did Hermes steal them to be a cheeky bastard and got them fitted and put them on for the jokes? Did he start wearing them apropos of nothing? Just happen to start accessorizing like his professional associate? Is it part of a shared uniform? Can we see the employee handbook?

Did Charon go out and get rings commissioned to look exactly like his for not one, but two of his partner in crimes' fingers, slide each lovingly onto Hermes' corresponding digits, and then gently hold his now bejeweled hands in his own to see how they match, knowing Hermes will now carry something of Charon with him when he leaves him for his dangerous work?

I'm just. Asking. Questions. But I swear to God, if we get Charon's portrait and he has a feather or an orange ribbon somewhere on his person, I will be inconsolable for days.

#charmes #hades game #hades 2 #charon hades #hermes hades #i dont even necessarily want answers to these questions #i enjoy that this ship is about piecing together a scattered puzzle and inferring something from it #they dont even need to be canon for me to go feral again #so long as they still just as weird about each other as the first game and the same kind of mystery surrounds their partnership #ill be so happy without my favorite boys being canon #but dear god if they are. if we get even a scrap of them being explicitly sweet to each other #i just AH ill be ripping and tearing at shit #im gunna write fic again i can feel it in me bones

[numnue]

hc that andrew is really good at jeopardy and whenever it's just him and neil sitting in the dorm living room - and eventually their own living room later on - he'll just sit and answer each one word-for-word while neil watches, amazed

maybe neil is also super good (idk man i just think he holds on to useless info since he'll never know when he might need it) and they compete to see who can get the most points between the two

whenever neil beats andrew he just gives him the most smug smirk that andrew has to kiss off his face (and it has nothing to do with the fact that the smirk maybe makes andrews knees weak and ears hot, and maybe he lets him win sometimes just to see the easy confidence that neil takes on, maybe)

and one day the foxes are there to witness the back-and-forth between them and they're like "you guys should go on the show" and i just know that andrew would think that winning jeopardy would be the funniest thing ever and neil would like that it showed his new freedom in that he could go on live tv with no risk.

so they apply and get on the show (idk how that works) and immediately act like they don't know each other, they're just contestants to each other. and quickly they start trash-talking each other, i mean come on, and the host probably mentions that they're both professional exy players and have been on teams together in the past, so they probably trash talk each other about that even more

and it gets to the point where the old (or maybe new idk) minyard-josten rivalry hashtag starts trending again and at this point they're not publicly out so everybody believes they just really hate each other

anyways, andrew eventually wins (IM SRY BUT I JUST THINK HE'D BE BETTER BECAUSE OF HIS MEMORY) and they ask what he's going to do with the prize money and he turns to neil and is like "i'll probably take my husband on vacation, but i wouldn't know where he'd want to go" and neil smiles at him and is like "anywhere is fine as long as i'm with you" and thats how they come out to the public

"minyard-josten marriage?!" trends for a month after that

#THIS GOT SO LONG IM SORRY #anyways why do i kind of want to write a fic based off of this now #aftg #aftg headcanon #andreil #andreil headcanon #neil josten #andrew minyard #all for the game #andrew minyard headcanon #aftg fandom #aftg andreil #tfc #trk #tkm

[hebuiltfive]

The Long Game WIP Sneak Peak

The last time he had to do this sort of intervention was when Alan had been eleven. Their father had been missing, presumed dead, for a few months by that point. None of them were taking it well. The older three tried their best to appear put-together whenever they were around Gordon or Alan, but they were all hurting. Every single person on that island was hurting. The night before the funeral and memorial service, Scott had heard muffled sobs from beyond Alan’s bedroom door. He’d gone in. They’d spoken. They’d cried. The intervention helped them both feel a little better, even if the hole their dad had left still hadn’t quite healed over.

This particular chapter I've been working on (which won't be out for some time still) has been rewritten 4 times now. I'm hoping this one will be the lucky one that sticks.

#work in progress update #fic: the long game #thunderfam #thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds 2015 #thunderbirds fanfiction #five fics

[the-dangerous-mute-lunatic]

Portal Drawtober 2023: Day 13

Favorite Fic

Yeah this took me, far longer than I anticipated it to take. But I couldn't decide on just one fic when there are so many incredible pieces of work that have inspired and truly been a joy to read. So, multiple fics it was!

Please go give these fanfictions a read!! Each one of these is such a unique and really incredible take on Portal and they truly deserve to be checked out!

The fics shown:

The Future Starts With You - @fuchsiamae

The Long Game - @silverstreams

Reversal - Obvious Octopus

Schrödingers Cave - @sciencewife

The Resurrection Project - @sarcasticgaypotato

Testing Maintenance - @wheaterz

Liminal - @99thpercentile

#portal #portal 2 #my art #chell #glados #wheatley #fics #the long game #tlg #the Resurrection Project #trp #schrodingers cave #sc #cave Johnson #Caroline #portal stories: mel #psm #portal drawtober 2023 #virgil #mel #testing Maintenance #it's been a bit since I've read some of these but #i love them all dearly #thank you guys for writing such INCREDIBLE work #and for sharing it #Also i know that testing maintenance virgil has a canon design #but i forgot until after he was lined my bad!

[eskildit]

my current headcanon is that from ianthes pov corona has just been baiting judith all these years. like 'pretend to like the weird kid' style. because ianthe clearly had no clue corona had any real affection for judith in ntn even though shes been invited to every birthday party for years. but ianthe used her party invites for psychological warfare, why wouldnt corona?

#ianthes thinking like oh we're bullying the fleet admirals daughter? nice i can get on board #oh youre sending judith flowers for her promotion? nice youre playing the long game #who knows maybe it actually did start that way and then the dynamic changed #i just think its so interesting how baffled ianthe was in ntn #because coronas attention to judith didnt start while they were in captivity even if it changed the relationship #something about corona that ianthe didnt see coming! fascinating! #also would totally write a fic where ianthes assumption is actually correct and corona WAS being a bully and just later changed her mind #the locked tomb #eskildit posts tlt #judith deuteros #ianthe tridentarius #coronabeth tridentarius #ok to rb

[theminecraftbee]

hermit horror week day 1: season 8 or game mechanics

His teeth still taste like blood.

He's locked inside the belly of the Octagon. He doesn't know when he got there, but whoever wrestled him into it was smarter than Ren. They realized the full moon's light didn't reach the wiring. They realized it would give him time to down wolfsbane and silver nitrate. It also gave him time to throw it all up in the corner. If Doc were here, he'd be scolding Ren on the fact that silver nitrate is still a toxin and a disinfectant, and he should still be taking it in small doses, no matter how badly he wants to poison the wolf.

He curls up, shuddering, against the wires and pipes that power the shop. He feels thin and gaunt. He hopes he has not had much to eat. He doesn't have a phone or communicator on him. He doesn't know the day. It doesn't matter what the day is. The moon's visible during the daytime, too. It may have only been a night. It may have been weeks. It's probably at least been days.

He throws up again, because wolfsbane is poisonous too.

Most things that can keep a wolf down are poisonous. Ren doesn't have to take them often. He's normally... controlled. A tamed wolf on the full moon. He has a pack to run with. He doesn't need to poison himself to keep the wolf at bay. He doesn't need to take silver nitrate like it's a medicine and not a reagent.

But none of this is making his teeth stop tasting like blood. His shirt is covered in it, too. His legs. His face, he thinks--he can't see his reflection in here. He wouldn't know. But it would have to be. There's so much blood on him.

He doesn't have a scratch on him.

The only thing that stops him, then, from taking more silver nitrate is that if he respawns from the poison damage, he'll respawn out under the moon. He'll respawn back out there. And then--

He shudders. He folds himself into a tighter ball against the belly of the Octagon. In a shaking voice, he cries out for Doc again. Doc has to be nearby. Doc has to be nearby. Because if he isn't--

No one answers. Ren doesn't know who locked him in here. He wonders if it was a struggle.

He's covered in blood.

It smells horribly good. Ren feels dizzy. He's gaunt. He's so hungry. He'll hold that to his chest. He's hungry and sick, not simply sick. If he weren't hungry--if he weren't hungry--

But he's not as hungry as he should be, if it's been days, and he's covered in blood, and he resists the urge to howl, a long, mournful thing. He doesn't want to howl, or bark, or anything else right now.

Instead he cries, a human thing, and holds onto it tightly while he waits for the pain in his stomach and the shudders over his skin and the grey stains where he'd grabbed the bottle and the vomiting to end, so he can take another dose, and force the wolf further down. Down enough to be safe.

Down enough that he didn't maul his friends to death.

Down enough that he can know if he did.

Down enough that he won't try to leave again, as he knows he will, as the moon shines outside, and as soon as someone tries to open the door to rescue him, letting that light back in.

#hermithorrorweek2023 #a bee fic #hermitcraft #rendog #okay so if i'm gonna do a prompt week apparently i have to ease into it gently. by going back to my horror wheelhouse #and simply doing Weird Big Moon Stuff #i fought for TOO LONG to come up with game mechanics as a prompt when season eight was RIGHT THERE #anyway. more stories where the horror of the werewolf isn't that there is a wolf. #but that you are a wolf. and you do not know what you have done. #anyway. ren the werewolf during big moon huh. #gore #horror #emetophobia #self harm #...this is basically just whump more than horror but LETS GO I NEEDED TO WRITE THAT TOO #moon's big #ask to tag