#reunion fic

[blueisquitetired]

THIS IS THE TIME POLICE!

Summary: Do you have a permit for that time machine?

(A crack Scarlet and Violet submas reunion)

#submas #blue’s writing #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #nemona pokemon #akari pokemon #fanfic #arven pokemon #penny pokemon #crack fic #oneshot #reunion fic

[klaineccfanficlibrary]

hii do you have any fics where kurt has to fight for / woo blaine after a fight/breakup/conflict ?

HI - we have so many great reconciliation or reunion fics that have been written. I can't always remember which are Kurt trying to woo back Blaine, but here are some examples which I hope are what you are looking for. ~Jen

Passed down like folk songs by dizzywhizz

A story of Kurt growing up, meeting his best friend and losing him and finding him again, discovering himself in the process.

~~~~~

A Song For Cordelia by MelissaMotown   [PDF]  [EPUB]

Kurt never called Blaine after the break up, despite Isabelle’s advice. It was not out of spite, or because he didn’t believe she was right, but because his heart didn’t know how to forgive. Five years later, when their paths cross once more, Kurt and Blaine decides to be friends again - just friends. But where the heart goes, the man follows…

Part Two: One of the Good Guys  [PDF]  [EPUB]

Part Three: Carry Me Home (never completed) [PDF]  [EPUB]

~~~~~

A Week in the Hamptons by Afvampd Read at:  [PDF]  [EPUB]

Faced with a “live or die” situation in his career, Kurt Hummel, a small fashion designer in New York City, decides to take a breather and escape the city for a week in a retreat organized by his best friend. Thinking he has left his nightmare behind, he heads to Southampton, but what awaits him there is a far bigger nightmare; the love of his life who broke his heart 6 years ago. One week stuck in the same house, will Kurt regret having left the city, or is this nightmare really a blessing in disguise?

~~~~~

The Luckiest by wordplay  

Blaine broke Kurt’s heart 3 months before high school graduation. Now, four years later, their group of friends reunites at a lake house to marry off two of their own. With luck, Kurt and Blaine will also be able to finally mend something that’s stayed broken for far too long.

~~~~~

Someone Like You by @iconicklaine

Kurt and Blaine keep up their very own version of “When Harry Met Sally” for years, a friendship fraught with sexual tension and longing, until the agendas of Adele (yes, THE Adele), a bored NY socialite and a super-sweet hetero couple bring our boys together. The only problem is… they’re both in committed relationships.

~~~~~

It’s A Wonderful Life by  DireDyre

Kurt never forgave Blaine for cheating, they never got back together, they moved on, married other people, started other families but ten-years-later when Rachel invites them to a party they realize they never moved on at all.

~~~~~

Since Sense Sensory by @gleefulpoppet

One rainy night, nestled at a patio table of a small café, Kurt broke off his engagement with Blaine in a moment of heated frustration that had been building for weeks. That was 12 years ago, and they haven’t seen each other since. Suddenly, they may find themselves reunited in a place they never expected. If you had a second chance with your first love, would you take it?

~~~~~

Stick Season by BlurglesmurfKlaine @jinglejavey

After Finn dies, Kurt leaves everything he knows behind without a trace. His hometown, his family, his boyfriend. When his dad has a medical scare, he returns to Lima, one year after breaking Blaine’s heart with no explanation.

A non-chronological series of one shots and drabbles set in this universe. Based on the Stick Season album by Noah Kahan

~~~~~

With Every Broken Bone by @spaceorphan18

After finding that living together is proving to be too difficult, Kurt Hummel breaks off his engagement, and finds himself alone in the city that summer. As his life heads in a new direction, Kurt's forced to look back at the past, and re-examine his future, where he learns a little about himself, a lot about love, and that second chances are always a possibility.

Set at the end of season 5, a canon-compliant story that examines the question -- What was Kurt's journey between season 5 and season 6?

~~~~~

Hush, Hush The world is Quiet by starsandcologne

AU Prompt: “Have you noticed how exhausting it’s been ever since you moved back in?” Blaine’s ears rang. But instead of reacting in anger that night he just quietly apologies to Kurt ending the argument. After that Blaine becomes a virtual ghost in their apartment. Its not that hard considering he’s had plenty of practice growing up. It just hurts that his Dad was right all along about him being a nuisance. Luckily he knows how to fix it. Live by the motto “Don’t be seen, don’t be heard.”

~~~~~

Reprise by  Calliope_Melpomene  Read at:  [PDF]

  During Kurt’s senior year at NYADA, a life-changing event causes him to take a leave of absence and what was supposed to be a short stay turns into years. His life certainly isn’t what he expected, but he’s not exactly unhappy. His name is not lit up in lights on Broadway, but he’s involved in community theater and LGBTQ groups in Columbus and has friends who love him and casual lovers. But turning 35 has made him restless and he’s longing for the life he had before. Burt talks him into taking some classes at Ohio State University to finish his degree and start focusing on himself again. What Kurt finds on the OSU campus is much more than he bargained for.

#klaine fanfiction #fic finder #reconciliation #reunion fic

[theseshipsshallsail]

Alrighty, Peaches, lets get these two lovesick idiots back together 🍑❤️

Summary:

He’s no longer the clueless grad-student pretending to know himself, but a tenured college educator proclaiming his truth. The pageantry of normalcy is over. Reconciliation: more than wishful thinking. So with his children’s permission - and a go get him, tiger from Micol - he’s torn up the script. Followed the siren song of redemption to its source. Spanned oceans and continents for the man who’s got him glued to his mobile like a lovesick innamorato.

Chapter 1

Hope, it has been said, is a waking dream, but of the countless scenarios Oliver’s envisioned in his parallel life, this, first and foremost, exceeds even his wildest expectations. 

There were times he’d considered himself cursed. Chronically addicted to whimsy. He could never begrudge his traviamento. Not when it led to a family he adores. Success in his chosen field. A happiness his martyr complex once deemed inconsequential. Yet fulfilment, he’s learned, exists not in doing what he ought, but in having the autonomy to do what he needs, and as the northbound regionale hurtles through Lombardy’s rustic foothills, he can’t help marvelling that his decades long odyssey is almost at an end.

No more hypotheticals.

No more conjecture.

No more fearing the nuclear fallout. 

August is peak tourist season, as the packed Trenitalia carriage can attest. Floral perfumes vie with the sour musk of travel. Coal, oil, and the bitter hint of espresso combine under the burnt-tyre haze of Gauloises. He hasn’t smoked since the cows came home - as his beloved bubbe used to say - so Oliver relishes the guilty pleasure whilst scowling at his cryptic crossword; unable to recollect the third moon of Pluto even if you paid him.

Initially, Elio’d insisted on meeting his flight at Côte d'Azur, but numerous factors have seen Annella’s condition deteriorate in recent weeks. The progressively smudged line between son and caregiver has him reeling - loath as he is to admit it - yet Oliver’s qualms about an overnight road trip on top of yesterday’s hospital appointment were sufficient to swing the debate. Old habits die hard - his protector gene is dominant - only now he’s stuck willing the powerful engine to speed up as the relentless carping from the couple behind wreaks havoc on his budding migraine. 

He’d emptied his inbox en route to Genoa. Transferred trains at Milano Centrale, and exited his solitaire program not thirty minutes later. His snacks have dwindled. His research analysis is clear as mud. Even his audiobooks fell victim to his inability to focus, and Oliver balls a fist under his jaw as he ponders the poetic vagaries of opportunities lost and found.

Of the meteoric shift that set him on this tack.

Of a voice - breathless as his own - that interrupted his jog one overcast Sunday.

“Elio…” it said.

One word. 

Just one word. 

Three honeyed syllables that pulled him up short as every barricade, every coping strategy, everything he’d told himself to justify the silence came crashing down around him. In one fell swoop the arena had changed, yet middle-age and a teenage journal brought with them a unique perspective on the past, and together, they’ve dispensed of the sword of Damocles poised so ominously above.

He’s no longer the clueless grad-student pretending to know himself, but a tenured college educator proclaiming his truth. The pageantry of normalcy is over. Reconciliation: more than wishful thinking. So with his children’s permission - and a go get him, tiger from Micol - he’s torn up the script. Followed the siren song of redemption to its source. Spanned oceans and continents for the man who’s got him glued to his mobile like a lovesick innamorato.

Pining like the Britton Forest.

Even more doe-eyed than Bambi’s mother.

And yes, alright, he’s raised a pair of weisenheimers in Noah and Jesse, but they’re not wrong. He and Elio have been in regular contact since that pivotal weekend. Emails. Texts. Meandering conversations when the disparate time zones allow. He’ll ask after his day as he sips his pre-dawn coffee. Fight a ubiquitous yawn whilst tending to the household chores. It’s a work in progress - balancing the see-saw of little things that add up to the whole - yet they’re getting better at spilling their innermost secrets. Redefining their boundaries. Upending Pandora’s box.

As a result, they’ve gone over it all these past two months. 

Michel, Micol, his kids; their careers.

Their lives apart, versus the one they aim to build together. 

Elio’s mother, and her Sisyphean struggle to stay present.

Oliver’s, and her farcical ultimatums when she learned of his forthcoming divorce. 

Each discussion was inherently painful - though there’s no denying they’re richer for them - and it’s humbling, quite frankly, to be trusted with all Elio is. Moreso on account of his transgressions. All human beings have things they regret - things that aren’t often forgivable by those who’ve felt the effects - but avoidance and supposition have cost them enough already, and come what may they’ve mapped a course through their personal minefields; triggering just a few minor explosions in their wake.

That said, some wounds slice deep - for all that the mind strives to cover them over - and the character limit of their SMS history is a palliative cure at best. To make matters worse, jet lag in his forties is a total crapshoot - not at all remedied by the piecemeal catnaps he’d caught on the plane - and thwarted by the blurry letters, Oliver soon turns to his iPod instead; selecting the dynamic strains of Elio’s back catalogue to muffle the grizzly toddler four rows along.  

It was the winter of ‘88 he last had the privilege of seeing him play in person. Juilliard's lauded Christmas recital: a selfish, one-sided affair by which he’d skulked in the shadows of the Lincoln Center’s mezzanine. That Elio forgave his audacity is a mystery in itself. That he's kindly suggested a repeat performance is a testament to how far they’ve come. A number of mornings were spent in such Spartan luxury their halcyon summer, and drumming his fingers in idle counterpoint Oliver pictures the give of that leather easy-chair in the villa’s spacious living room. 

The dizzy dance of dust motes towards the vaulted ceiling.

Elio - brow furrowed in concentration - resplendent in the saffron sunlight that pools through the wide, unshuttered windows. 

It’s a slightly static announcement on the tannoy that stirs him from his stupor, yet Oliver has no issue discerning la stazione di Clusone amidst the liquid notes of Gershwin pouring through his headphones. 

The griping Brit’s are still going at it: running an asinine gamut from Bergamo’s high humidity to the dearth of sandy beaches surrounding Lake Como. Oliver snickers when they denounce the price of an Aperol Spritz, and maybe it's an omen - one of Mafalda’s legendary signs - because right on cue a droning rhythm vibrates the laminate tabletop; Elio’s name lighting up his phone screen as he hits the green accept button like his life depends upon it.

“Suppose I were to meet you at the station?” he hears in greeting, a verbal ambrosia for his pilgrim soul. “Suppose I’ve been on pins and needles since you landed in Nice, and if one more meddling kibitzer extols the virtues of patience, I’m going to tell them exactly where to stick their conseils d'ingérence! Self-restraint was never my forte, mon ami.”

Nor his suppressor, Oliver thinks, admiring the fragrant lavender that flourishes about the bay. “God bless Annella for passing on that stubborn streak.”

“Fingers crossed that’s all I inherit,” Elio mutters glumly, inured to the savagery of his mother’s disease in a way that occasionally knocks him for six. “But suppose I’m waiting here,” he forges onwards, easing the Gordian knot in Oliver’s midsection. “On the same rotting bench I sat on at seventeen. Trying not to worry that you’ve missed a connection. Or the signals at Albino failed like they did in the spring. Or your train arrived ahead of schedule, and I’ve just driven eighty kilometres in Miranda’s Cinquecento -”

“- for a head-full of what-ifs and an ass-full of splinters?”

“Esattamente.” A pause. “So, am I?” Elio asks, sounding as exhausted as Oliver feels. “Fretting over nothing? Or has the universe devised yet another way to -”  

A piercing whistle cuts him off mid-flow.

The pneumatic judder of brakes ensues straight after.

“I guess that answers my question,” he murmurs, and if Oliver weren’t sitting on shpilkes himself, perhaps he’d refrain. As it is though… 

“A wise man once argued the way up and the way down are one and the same,” he answers primly, and when Elio barks something resembling a laugh and a snort he prides himself on lifting the mood. “Do you have any idea?” he asks then, scooting over to lean his forehead against the dingy glass. “How glad I am you came?” 

Compliments are risky business. Especially coming from him. But nonetheless -

“How could I not?” Elio replies: a vast improvement on his obsolete I don’t know. “The pullman might be less extortionate than a cab, but that old bus takes forever, and I just…” His vulnerability is audible. “I’m sick of being on edge,” he continues with no small amount of chagrin. “I needed to see you. To be sure this is real.”

To be sure you want me, hangs unsaid, which is ironic, when it's Elio himself who carries all the cards. 

“Do you remember the crux of my next column?” Oliver asks then, blood pounding in his ears. “That it’s not happenstance that determines destiny? But individual choice?” 

Elio’s pensive hum rumbles through the handset. 

“Well, there’s a difference, by and large, in walking a path blindly, and opting to walk it with hindsight,” Oliver explains, the simple fact resonating like a call to arms. “We can’t let our track-record hinder who we’ll become, but my path, Elio Perlman, was always destined for your door. And mark my words. To find you? To keep you?” The anticipation is glorious. “I’ll walk it to the ends of the earth…”

#cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver #journal fic sequel #new fic #supportarmiehammer #call me by your name #reunion fic

[starsarefire824]

Lay Me Down Slow

“Uhm–can you wait?” Mike asks softly.

Will smiles wide despite himself. “Yeah, sure. I can just watch TV or something.”

“Okay, great,” he responds happily. “I’ll just be a few minutes.”

With that he grabs a couple things from the bed in a rush and goes straight to the bathroom, leaving Will standing by the desk.

As soon as the door clicks shut Will lets out a giant sigh and then throws back the tiny bottle of tequila in one go. He grimaces, wipes his mouth with the back of his hand, and sets the empty bottle on the table desperately hoping it will help settle his nerves. He tentatively pads over to the bed and sits, rubbing his hands along his knees and glancing around as the sound of rushing water drifts from the bathroom. It’s insanely distracting.

His eyes catch on the remote sunken in the white duvet and he clicks the television on. The first thing that pops up is MSNBC and Will pouts, turning it immediately to something else. It’s the standard boring channels that all hotels offer, and he rests his chin in his hand and channel surfs monotonously until he comes across an old black and white film his mom always loved. He sets the remote beside him and watches, crossing and uncrossing his legs, wondering if it would be okay for him to take his shoes off. He bites the inside of his cheek in indecision before finally deciding it’s probably fine. Mike will most likely be in his pajamas anyways.

He slips his boots off, pulls his sleeves over his hands and slides back onto the bed so he can lean against the headboard. He watches in silence for a little while, the tight nervousness in his chest dissipating a bit with the comfort of the tequila and the bed. He loves the rhythm of old movies, especially in the background. It reminds him of playing on the living room floor of his house when he was little, before everything changed when he was twelve. When things were good, or as good as they could be with his father around. He settles in and crosses his arms over his belly, eyes growing a little heavy as the minutes slowly tick by.

But it doesn’t last long. The feeling is shattered when he hears the bathroom door open. The fluttering in his chest returns and he shoots straight up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed.

“Hey, Will?” Mike calls from the bathroom. The light from the crack in the door shines along the wall like a glowing skyscraper.

“Yeah?” he breathes, cringing at how his voice almost squeaks.

“Would you mind bringing me that first aid kit?”

Will turns off the movie and stands, scanning the room for the bag. “Yeah, sure.” He quickly retrieves it and pads to the bathroom, his heart beating more rapidly with each step.

Mike opens the door a little bit, and the steam hits Will right along his cheeks. It’s heavy with warmth and damp. Mike’s peeking at him through the door, opening it a little more when he approaches. His hair is towel dried in damp waves around his face and he’s wearing nothing but a pair of sweatpants. Will tries desperately and fails to keep his eyes from dropping to his shoulders, chest, and belly, noting that they are most certainly not those belonging to the teenage boy he’d known in Hawkins. His shoulders are broad and angular and his whole body has a natural yet jagged definition. His chest hair is sparse and it makes Will wonder if he can grow a beard.

But as his eyes trail further down, he notices that the line of hair trailing from Mike’s belly button to where it disappears beneath the waist of his pants is thicker and black. To the right of it, Will can see where he’s taken the punch in the soft spot between hip bone and ribs. The blow is already blooming angry and red and will be purple tomorrow.

Mike backs up a step and Will can’t read his serious expression when their eyes meet again, but it’s a moment he can’t let go. It feels like an invitation, and so Will shoves away his racing thoughts screaming at him to stop and rests his palm flat on the door, pushing it open a millimeter, an inch, another inch.

Mike observes his hand push the door and takes another step back.

“Can I help you?” Will asks, low and serious.

Mike’s mouth drops open, lips still prettily damp and flushed from the hot water. His eyelashes flutter and he breathes out nervously. Will tries not to shudder at the heat radiating off his skin.

“Yes,” he agrees, and the sound of that word makes Will’s knees want to buckle.

Yes .

Will takes a step in the room and holds the first aid kit against his thigh. “Okay,” he replies, nodding to the counter. “Do you want to sit?”

“Okay,” Mike whispers and Will watches the thin muscles of his back and his ribs roll beneath his skin as he turns and hops onto the counter next to the sink.

His back curves heavily and he rests his hands relaxed in his lap. “It’s not so bad,” he says, the high plains of his cheeks pink and dewy.

“No,” Will replies, breaking his gaze away and focusing on what he needs from the first aid kid. He thinks that bandaids are useless at his point, and so he reaches for some gauze and antibiotic ointment.

“I don’t think it needs stitches,” he says, brushing Mike’s hair back from his forehead. Will’s skin prickles on his neck where his warm breath flits over it. He makes quick and efficient work of gently drying and adding ointment to the gash above his delicate eyebrow, feeling as if they’re lost inside a fog in the steam-blurred mirrors. Once he’s finished with that, he bends a little lower to inspect his lip. Mike turns his chin up and he presses the gauze on it with gentle pressure until it comes away dry.

“I think you should get ice for this and your side before you go to bed. They’re gonna be bruised in the morning.”

Mike hums, and it vibrates his whole chest. “My side is starting to ache, but the lip doesn’t feel too bad. I think the guy kind of missed it head on.”

Will smiles. “That’s good.” He likes how his eyelashes are thick and damp as he studies somewhere below them. Suddenly, he looks up, eyes flashing with something intense. One side of his mouth turns up in a half smile.

“Remember when we were in the Upside Down with Lucas and Dustin and we were hiding in the grocery store after the demogorgon chased us and I patched the cuts on your face?”

“Yes,” Will replies, standing up straight, and liking the way Mike’s eyes follow him upwards. Dying a little bit in the way they are set ablaze with the memory. He isn’t sure how eyes so black can be so alive. So dark, you can barely discern pupils from iris. He knows to most, beauty lies in blue eyes that are clear like glass and green and gold eyes that arouse feelings of summer. But to Will, these eyes, his eyes , are the most beautiful he’s ever seen. Dark like a crow sitting in a winter tree after a snowstorm. In the gauzy light of this white bathroom he’s made up of milky light and the blackest shadows, like a charcoal drawing he might sketch out in one of his notebooks; something stolen away from the Elysian Fields. The closest Will might ever get to a place like that. It seems in his life, hell had been much more taken with him.

“Sometimes I think about it,” Mike continues softly, mouth turning up in a gentle smile.

“What?” Will asks, setting the supplies on the counter and rubbing his palms nervously along his thighs. He glances down at Mike with confusion.

“You,” Mike states, his vowels a little rough around their edges and face is pleading with him.

It’s a simple statement. One word. But as Will stares down at his childhood best friend who he barely knows anymore, it feels as if a veil has been lifted from his eyes. It feels as if Mike has said one thousand I love yous. I’ve always loved you. I’m sorry it took me so long. I’m sorry for everything. It’s always been you. Love me. Hold me. Kiss me.

So he does.

Will takes hold of Mike’s face, reveling in the way his mouth opens for him as their lips meet. Their hands are all over each other and Will pulls tight against the back of Mike’s neck, his entire body thrumming radiantly when Mike turns his head and slips his tongue in his mouth, already out of breath. He tastes like bourbon and blood

#miwip wednesday #byler #my writing #current wip #lay me down slow #reunion fic #justmyname #will byers #mike wheeler #first kisses #20s byler #90s byler

[sapphireclaw]

If you don’t mind me asking, how does the reunion between Ingo and Emmet go?

Time to write a reunion fic woop woop here we go

(Tw for depressing thoughts and a panic attack. This was meant to be more light hearted but oops I made it emotional hurt/comfort. I’ll have to write an alternate version that’s sillier)

AO3 link

That Time Emmet’s Missing Brother Came Back Home After a Month but Turns Out He was Dead the Whole Time (and also he’s like 329 years old now)

Starting today, Ingo had been missing for over a month.

30 days.

They say that the chances of finding a missing person dwindle into slim to none after 48 hours.

It had been 725 hours and 37 minutes since Ingo disappeared from the subway tunnels without a trace.

The search was still going (Emmet was no longer allowed to join the search parties), but he knew that with time people would give up on finding a living man, and reduce the parties to a few individuals and cadaver Stoutlands.

Emmet refused to think about that, though. It had only been a month. A month without Ingo. A month of hell. But Ingo was still out there. He had to be.

Ever since he was forbidden from joining in on the search, Emmet took to lazing around his their apartment. The Battle Subway was closed, and he’d been forced to take leave from work. He felt lethargic and empty with nothing to do. Had been since Ingo never emerged from the tunnels to walk home with Emmet.

That was Emmet’s current state. Draped across the couch in a daze while his Pokémon attempted to get him to eat the food Elesa had brought him yesterday. Elesa’s support was much appreciated, but not always welcomed. Emmet didn’t need a caretaker. Elesa’s efforts would be better off aimed at finding Ingo than taking care of a depressed couch potato.

“Drilll...”

Speaking of potato...

Emmet sighed, lifting his face from the cushions to look over at his and Ingo’s shared Pokémon. Excadrill was standing near Emmet’s head, holding out a cold stuffed potato skin, pinched delicately between his steel claws. How he got into the Pokémon-proofed fridge to get at the leftovers, Emmet had no idea. Still, he couldn’t help but feel touched by the effort.

“Thank you, Wilbur.” Emmet murmured, offering the ground and steel type a weak smile as he took the cold food from him. Wilbur grunted happily, returning Emmet’s smile with one of his own. He seemed pleased with himself as Emmet took a bite of the potato, and soon left his trainer alone to eat.

The food tasted like ash in his mouth.

How pathetic was he? A grown man that couldn’t even eat properly without being babied by his own Pokémon. Not to mention Elesa having to bully him into completing other tasks a human needed in order to function.

Before Emmet could spiral further down such self-depreciating thoughts, there was a faint knocking at his apartment door. He looked up from his food, startled, and stared at the door. Who could possibly be visiting so late at night? Elesa had checked on him just yesterday. The thought of her visiting again so soon grated on his nerves. He didn’t need a babysitter.

The knocking came again, sounding more impatient this time due to Emmet’s inaction.

“I am Emmet, and I don’t feel up to socializing, Elesa. Please depart at once!”

There was a beat of silence, and Emmet could practically feel the hurt he caused. immediately, guilt slammed into him like a speeding bullet train.

Elesa was just trying to help, like any good friend would in his time of hardship. Pushing her away would do nothing but harm their relationship.

Even with the guilt eating at him, Emmet did not take back his words. It was true that he wasn’t in the mood to socialize. As much as he loved his dear friend, Emmet could only take so much in his current state before he risked suffering a shutdown. The only person he wanted to see right now was-

“...Emmet? Can you let me in, please? I don’t have my keys...”

Ingo.

That was Ingo. The voice was quiet, uncharacteristic of his brother, but undoubtedly his.

Emmet moved faster than he ever had before in his life, scrambling off the couch and nearly braining himself on the coffee table as a result. The subway boss practically ran on all fours to the door, never quite regaining his footing but desperate to reach his brother.

There was a split second after he grasped the doorknob and hauled himself up where Emmet suddenly froze. Doubt began to creep up his spine as he stared blankly at the wood inches in front of his face.

What if this was just another dream?

What if this was just another layer to his suffering. Emmet was no stranger to the occasional auditory hallucination, but never before had he experienced one quite as realistic as this. If he opened the door and there was no one standing on the other side, Emmet was sure that he’d break.

Another round of knocking jolted Emmet from his spiral yet again, making his ears ring with how close to the door he was standing.

If this was a hallucination, then it was a verrry convincing one.

Before he could doubt himself further, Emmet twisted the doorknob and thrust open the door. He did not blink as he did so, trusting his eyesight above his hearing at this point.

There in the hallway stood Ingo. Emmet couldn’t help but drink in the sight of his brother.

He looked different. His coat was ragged and torn, and he wore an odd pink garment under it. His face looked like it had aged years in the single month he was gone. Littered with scars and a few stress wrinkles. How verry strange.

Emmet stared at Ingo for what felt like ages while Ingo stared back.

Then, Ingo blinked, and Emmet caught the flash of purple light in his pupils, like the reflective tapetum lucidum of a nocturnal Pokémon.

Ah.

This was not Ingo, then.

An impostor.

A shapeshifting Pokémon playing a cruel trick on a grieving man.

Emmet felt faint, but mustered the strength to slam the door as hard as he could in the trickster’s face before it could cause more damage to his already fragile heart.

Or, at least he tried to.

A worn boot stopped the door from closing all the way, and the Pokémon was quick to wedge half of its body into the crack provided.

“Wait! Wait- wait- wait- Emmet it’s me, it’s Ingo!”

Verrry impressive. It even sounded like Ingo.

Emmet didn’t dignify them with an answer, and instead pressed the entirety of his (albeit slight) weight against the door, hoping the intruder would give up in trying to worm its way into the apartment. The thrashing impostor did eventually retreat back into the hallway, and Emmet was able to close and lock the door triumphantly.

Releasing a shaky breath, the man slowly slid down the wall to sit on the floor. Adrenaline still pumped through Emmet’s veins, and his legs felt like jelly. At least he could now breathe.

It was short-lived, however.

Emmet let out a shriek when a transparent arm suddenly passed through the door right above his head, quickly followed by the rest of the Ingo-lookalike. He could only watch in horror as It pulled itself through the solid wood as if it weren’t there, as if invading Emmet’s sanctuary was the easiest thing in the world.

Scrambling backward, Emmet realized that he didn’t even have time to grab his Xtrans to maybe call for help before the creature was upon him.

The cruel visage of his brother loomed over him, eyes glowing purple and white in the dim light.

“Emmet- Emmet, please calm down. Let me explain.”

Calm down? How could he possibly calm down when he was most definitely about to lose his life. Poor Elesa would surely be the first to find his body in the morning-

“Oh, for the love of Almighty Sinnoh, you’re not dying, Emmet.”

It could even perfectly mimic Ingo’s distinct exasperated tone of voice. How awful.

“I’m not mimicking anything. I am not a zoroark, Emmet. Or a ditto. This is real. Look-“

Emmet flinched when he felt a cold hand grasp his wrist. He chanced a look up at the impostor, and felt his heart ache at the worried look upon their face. It looked just like Ingo did when he was trying to help Emmet down from a panic attack. Concern and love showing clearly in his eyes even if his expression didn’t change...

“That’s it, Emmet.” Ingo the impostor murmured gently, cold fingers rubbing soothing circles against his knuckles. “Just breathe deep for me. You’ll be back on track soon.”

Oh. He actually was having a panic attack, wasn’t he? And this... Pokémon was doing an admittedly amazing job at helping him recover from it.

Emmet closed his eyes. For just a moment he let himself believe that it really was his dear brother comforting him. He had no idea what was in store for him at the hands of this impostor. It wouldn’t hurt to indulge for a second, right?

“You are verrry good at this.” Emmet croaked.

The impostor (Ingpostor, Emmet thought hysterically) snorted a sad little laugh.

“Of course I am. I’ve had plenty of practice. You were a very anxious kid, Emmet. Don’t you remember?”

The familiar voice was a pleasant rumble close to Emmet’s ear. He didn’t even notice Ingo? the impostor get closer. There was now an arm around his shoulders as well as the hand still rubbing circles into Emmet’s skin. It felt so nice. It had been much too long since he’d felt his brother’s soothing presence.

This had to stop before Emmet’s heart broke beyond repair.

“I am Emmet. You are not Ingo.”

He felt the arm around his shoulder tighten, but not uncomfortably so.

“I am. I swear I am, Emmet. I’ll prove it to you, if you’ll let me.”

Hm. That is not what Emmet expected them to say. They were putting their heart and soul into this charade. Why?

“How?” Emmet said instead.

“Like this,” that painfully familiar voice replied.

Then, the impostor began to hum.

It was a tune Emmet knew verrry well.

A Lullaby for Trains.

Their mother used to sing it to them, before she passed away. The song was dear to the two brothers, and they would often sing or hum the tune whenever they were in dire need of comfort. So many nights spent huddled together under the blankets in each other’s arms. Unsure where one twin began and the other ended. All they knew was the soothing melody and the presence of each other.

It was something they shared just between them. Not even Elesa had ever witnessed the twins at their most vulnerable.

Ingo (because it really was Ingo, wasn’t it?) wasn’t even halfway through the song before Emmet burst into tears.

He was on the other in an instant. Ingo felt cold to the touch, but Emmet didn’t care. He wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck and snuggled against his chest as if he were a small child again. Ingo in turn snaked his arms around his twin and gave him a proper hug. Despite the sudden track change, Ingo kept humming the lullaby without stuttering once.

By the time the last few notes floated through the air, Emmet’s breathing was under control, and the implications of the whole situation dawned on him.

“I am Emmet... you... you are Ingo.”

“Mhmm.” Ingo hummed. A pleasant rumble against Emmet’s ear.

The younger twin slowly extracted himself from the embrace, though only enough so that he could look up at his brother’s face.

This time, Ingo didn’t look nearly as weathered. The scars were gone, and so were the wrinkles. His hat and coat were in pristine condition. The pink garment was nowhere to be seen, replaced by the usual crisp white button-up and blue tie. The only thing that remained of the haunted-looking version of his brother he had seen at the door was the odd purple-magenta shine he could still see in Ingo’s eyes. Had he imagined his haggard appearance before?

“What… what happened to you, Ingo?” Emmet hesitantly asked. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to know the answer.

Sure enough, Ingo’s frown deepened, and he averted his eyes.

“Ah… the story of my derailment is a long one, full of twists and rough tracks. Are you sure you want to hear it now? You look exhausted, Emmet.” Ingo took in Emmet’s admittedly less than pristine condition with concern.

Emmet did not like that. He felt ashamed of himself for letting his health fall to the wayside while Ingo was missing. He was quick to distract his brother from scrutinizing him further.

“Please, Ingo. I am Emmet and I need to know what happened to you. Full speed ahead, do not hold anything back. I can handle it.”

After all, he’d only been missing for a month. Aside from what turned his brother into… whatever he is now, not many other life altering things could have happened in that time, surely?

He was only gone for a month, after all.

.

.

.

… or not.

Ingo spun his tale like a Galvantula painstakingly weaving its web.

A dark god trapped under the thumb of a madman. His dear brother thrown headlong back in time and space by accident. Losing his memories yet always knowing that someone was missing. Becoming a warden. Meeting another displaced passenger, but without knowing anything other than his new station, did not return with them. Becoming sick and unable to recover. Ingo… dying…

Ingo had to stop his tale and help ground his younger brother before he could spiral into another panic attack.

Ingo had died.

Ingo had died alone hundreds of years and thousands of miles away from his true home.

“That can’t be right.” Emmet croaked, once again clinging desperately to Ingo. “You’re right here, not dead! I’m touching you right now!” He patted his brother’s chest for emphasis. “You couldn’t have died. You’re obviously not some ghost Pokémon!”

There was a long bout of silence. All that could be heard was Emmet’s breathing. Not Ingo’s.

Emmet’s heart dropped to his stomach. He pulled away so he could once again look at his brother, but Ingo was avoiding eye contact.

“Ingo?”

The older twin drew in a shaky breath.

“Giratina felt terribly for having caused my derailment, and prevented my spirit from fading into obscurity. They offered me a gift. An opportunity to see you again.” Ingo turned to meet Emmet’s eyes. His own shining with an unearthly glow.

Ingo took his brother’s hand in his own and slowly brought it up to his chest, where he pressed it against his sternum.

Just as Emmet feared, he felt nothing beating under flesh and bone. Only an odd sort of humming. It was almost electrical. It was most certainly not a heartbeat.

Ingo was quick to explain further.

“I am what Giratina calls a Distortion Ghost. An inhuman being made of antimatter. This was the only way I could see you again, Emmet.” Ingo’s grip on his hand tightened, and Emmet could feel him shaking, “My memories had just returned to their proper station. I had to get back to you. I couldn’t bear the thought of you never knowing what became of me. I waited centuries to see you again. I know I’m not human, I know my existence is unfathomable and terrible, but I’m still me, Emmet. I promise I’m still your brother. Please believe me.”

Emmet realized with a start that Ingo was crying when a drop of glowing magenta liquid landed on his hand where it was still pressed against his brother’s chest. He looked up at Ingo’s face, heart breaking at the terrified look in his eyes. Eyes that were leaking a luminescent substance in place of tears. Ingo was trembling, and he unconsciously pressed Emmet’s hand harder against his sternum.

Oh.

Oh no.

Ingo thought Emmet was afraid of him. He was scared that Emmet might not accept him as he was now.

That wouldn’t do.

Emmet splayed his fingers against Ingo’s chest, feeling that strange thrumming energy just beneath the surface. With a deliberating hum, he gave his brother’s chest a couple of firm pats before drawing his hand away. Ingo released the grip he had on Emmet’s wrist easily enough, staring over Emmet’s shoulder instead of directly into his eyes. His whole expression screamed trepidation.

“I am Emmet. You are Ingo.”

He said it with such finality that Ingo met his gaze again, eyes wide.

“We are a two-car train, you and I. Nothing in this world or the next will change that. I may not understand what all this-“ Emmet gave Ingo’s chest a firm poke, “entails, but know that I will be with you through it all. Because I am Emmet, and you are Ingo, and I would love you with all my heart even if you were a walking, talking patrat.”

With that blunt declaration, it was Ingo’s turn to burst into tears.

Emmet simply held his brother as he shook and sobbed against him in a reverse of their positions just a few minutes earlier.

How lonely, how daunting it must’ve been, Emmet thought sadly, to have to wander the earth for centuries in a new and terrifying state, waiting for the day he could reconnect with his other half.

Well. Hopefully now that they were coupled once again, they could help each other come to terms with their new situation. Godly interference or no, Emmet was just happy to have Ingo back.

It didn’t matter that he had no heartbeat. It didn’t matter that his eyes glowed. It didn’t matter that he cried strange purple tears. New state of being aside, this was still undoubtedly Ingo. Here in his arms again.

And that’s all Emmet could have asked for.

#wandering spirit au #submas #fanfiction #submas au #writing #ghost ingo #sapphireclaw’s art #writing counts as art right #hurt/comfort #reunion fic

[raayllum]

And in the crowd behind him, a flash of red.

A scarf.

For a moment Rayla was somewhere else, far away and safe and warm, following that red scarf instead of turning her back on it—

—and then the human’s fist struck her jaw.

X

The cold also helps her blend in, with everyone having their hoods up, Skywing or Earthblood elf alike. Everyone dressed in elven blues and greens.

Then a flash of red catches her eye one day amid the white snow and brown cabins of a town—and Rayla runs towards it before she can think better of it. Her feet carry her forward, steered by her heart that’s rapidly beating in her throat. It’s a red scarf and she misses him so much and—

She stops short. The scarf belongs to a girl holding her boyfriend’s hand, both of them bearing Earthblood antlers. Rayla cycles through emotions faster than she can blink, aching disappointment in her gut and bone deep relief because if he’s not here, he’s safe. She shouldn’t want him here. She shouldn’t want him—

X

Rayla prickled in anger. “Coward. Why won’t he fight his own battles?” [...]  “That’s different,” she protested, even though her heart knew it wasn’t. It was the same problem every time. Hesitation, sympathy, distraction… all just weakness in a different mask.

X

“Because you wouldn’t have listened! Viren isn’t your fight and we both know it! You would’ve followed me out and I would’ve been weak and stayed—” [...] “I know you’re not weak,” she says softly, gazing at the red fabric. If she looks at his face she’ll break down and they’ll never be any closer to peace. “I know that you love me. Callum—I’m the weak one. That’s why people die. That’s why Viren is still out there. All I do is hurt people.

—TDP Reflections: Chasing Shadows Ch2, 2023 / just wait for me to come home, November 2020

#chasing shadows #reunion fic #old tag i haven't used in a while #predictions achieved #raylangst #caylangst #rayllum #anyway i'm in pain thank u #tdp spoilers

[lenawin4]

“I wish we could, Rose,” said the Doctor. “But you’re not here.”

She swallowed dryly and bid herself to stay. The edges blurred; the sun paled and greyed like an ashen, sickly child. The Doctor closed his eyes, and the world washed away.

-

Rose is dreaming. But they're not her dreams.

-

for @doctorrosebingo , “projected dreams” prompt

#doctor who #doctorrosebingo #doctorrosebingor2 #doctor who fic #ten x rose #reunion fic #projected dreams #dimension-hopping rose #is a genre that can be so personal

[mrfeenysmustache]

Hearts Returned

A fluffy InuKag reunion oneshot for @superpixie42.

HAPPY HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO YOOOOU!!

Summary: A sweet moment alone after a long day of welcome backs.

Also read on: AO3

——————————————————

“Inuyasha?”

His eyes widened and his heart stopped, and he peered over the edge of his tree branch into hazy blue eyes made brighter by her soft blush.

He gulped when he noticed what she was wearing- a simple yukata that had once been Sango’s, just one more sign that today had not been a dream.

She was back.

And she was staying.

Carefully he slid from his perch and landed in front of her with a soft thud as his feet hit the ground, and she smiled, her heart fluttering nervously in her chest.

“H-hi.” She said, and he finally felt his gasping awe and aching disbelief slam into his heart all at once.

From the minute he’d pulled her from the well, they’d been swept up in a whirlwind of reunions.

Shippo, Sango, Miroku, the twins, the new baby, Kaede, Kirara, and every last blasted villager took up every spare second as he took a step back and allowed to her bask in the love and relief of everyone else at her return while he tried to keep his feet on the ground and his head out of the clouds.

He’d hovered like a shadow, keeping her in his sights but giving her space, half scared to stake a claim on her time lest the illusion of her presence shatter and prove he was alone again, and then he’d snuck away when new clothing was passed her way and she slipped inside to change.

But now it was dark.

And now she was here.

And now they were alone.

And gods, she was here.

His breath left him in a single whoosh of air, and he placed his hand over his wildly beating heart as she stepped closer, her scent flooding his nose, finally not diluted by the smell of everyone else.

“Inuyasha… are you alright?” She asked, and he nodded, unable to form or find a word to even inadequately express what he was feeling and thinking.

She was here.

She was here.

“Kagome…” he forced out, blushing at his incoherence, silently raging that all the times he’d hid in the tree tops to practice what he’d say to her when she returned (when, not if) were for nothing, but she smiled again and took another step.

She was so close now her breath brushed against the skin of his neck, and he could see clearly the delicate wash of pink spreading across the bridge of her nose.

“I thought we’d never get a moment alone.” She whispered, averting her eyes as she gripped the length of his sleeve and thumbed the fire rat fabric, grinning in remembrance as she reacquainted herself.

“Oh?” He choked out, a thousand different lines he’d crafted and rehearsed spinning round and round inside his skull and then spilling out of ears, scattering across the forest floor and under leaves and dirt and sticks.

He’d never find them again if his life depended on it.

“But I’m happy we did.”

“Y-yeah?” He was stuttering now and dammit this was the one time he wanted to have the words, the ones she deserved, the ones he’d never been able to say before but knew she would want, especially after all this time.

“I missed you,” she sighed, and she leaned forward, resting her head right over his heart.

“I… I uh… Um. Kagome, I-“

“Will you just old me?”

His jaw clicked shut and his arms wrapped around her snug and strong, a means of both affection and protection, and he sighed in relief that she’d given something tangible to do instead of scrambling to explain these things he felt so strongly but just couldn’t pin down long enough to explain.

She lived right there in the heart she snuggled against, she’d rooted there and bloomed and filled all the cracks and gaps that life had left there, until the emptiness was gone and he could just breathe and just be.

That was her.

That was Kagome.

But saying it out-loud made it seem so small, so paltry, reducing it to something palm sized when it was bigger than the goshinboku in his time or hers.

And so he hurried his face in her hair and wrapped his arms even tighter around her.

“Kagome.” He sighed, releasing even more tension and disbelief, even more of the dark nightmares that plagued him with promises of centuries alone as he waited- maybe even in vain- to get back to her side.

That wouldn’t happen, now.

“Kagome I… I have a hut.” His face burned, and he tightened his hold when she tried to pull back to see him.

If he was going to communicate this much, he would not be able to look her in the eye when he did it.

“You do?”

“Yeah. I do. I… will you… if you like… we can-“

“Can I live there with you?” She asked, and he pinched his eyes closed in both relief and shame.

She was not supposed to be taking the lead here. He was supposed to have scraped up enough courage and determination to plow through a proposal so she knew without a doubt what he wanted and needed from her.

But as usual he stuttered and stumbled, and as usual she reached between the bluster to find his true heart.

“Yeah that’s… what I’m trying to ask you.”

She giggled, but her humor didn’t sting.

Instead he grinned and finally pulled away, looking down at her upturned face as she remained in the circle of his arms. “Gods I missed you, too.” He said, his tongue finally loosened now that the major talking point was out of the way.

“You did?”

“Of course I did. Did you really think I wouldn’t?”

“No. I didn’t think that. But I’m glad I wasn’t wrong.”

“Feh. Silly woman,” he nuzzled into the hair that brushed across her forehead, and she sagged into him, closing her eyes and shocking him still with a soft kiss on his jaw.

He stiffened, and when he looked down at her again her lids were half closed and her blush had deepened.

“Inuyasha, how much did you miss me?” She whispered, and he once more felt his heart race and his tongue turn to lead.

“Uh… how much? Uh, it was-“

“Will you show me?” She asked, pushing up on her tip toes, her eyes sliding more firmly closed, and he decided to once more take the bone she was throwing him.

“Hell yeah I will,” he replied, and with no more hesitation he met her waiting lips with his own.

Like rushing headlong into battle, he set out to conquer her with a kiss that would lay his heart out plainly before her, spelling out every last corner dedicated to her and all the wonderful things she’d been to him since the moment his eyes had opened on that tree and she’d been standing in front of him.

His hands swept up her back until they tangled in her hair, and she stood up even higher on her toes, sealing their mouths more firmly together, gripping the front of his clothes and whimpering with want as her scent surged and her heart tried to burst.

His tried to burst, too.

She tugged him forward, spinning them so that her back rested against the Goshinboku, and he caged her in, a growl building in his throat that vibrated through his chest and into hers.

She whimpered again, pressing herself against him, wrapping her arms around his neck to keep him near, and he broke the kiss despite her whine of protest, resting his forehead against hers and gasping for breath.

“Do we have to stop?”

“Probably, it’s getting late, and we are outside.” He said, the reality of the roughness of tree bark or grit of dirt pouring over him like a bucket of cold water.

“Then take me inside.” She purred, voice warm and alluring, and his eyes widened.

He could take her inside.

That was something he could do now.

And everyone had been giving him knowing looks all evening.

And Miroku had gestured in the direction of his house and waggled his brows like the lecher he was.

And Sango had stopped long enough to remind him of the bundle of hand me down dishes and cloths he absolutely needed to come get from her at first light.

And he decidedly did not want to walk her back into the village and spend his first night with her back in his era trying to sleep alone and fend off the nightmares that would convince him he’d been dreaming.

“Okay. Then let’s go home, Kagome.”

Her answering smile was so bright she lit the night forest, and the smell of pure elation was followed by the hint of sweet and salt as tears filmed over her eyes.

She threaded her fingers through his and brushed a kiss across his cheek, fitting herself against his side so perfectly, as if they’d been carved from two halves of one stone.

“Yes. Let’s go home.”

#inukag #inukag fic #inukag fanfic #inukag fanfiction #inuyasha/kagome #birthday fic #reunion fic #fluff

[chierafied]

December Drabbles Day 1 - Well Met

Read on AO3.

Banner fan art by the amazing @sayuri-liu

For @drosselmeyerwrites. Thank you for being such a great friend. Love you! 💖

Day 1 - Well Met

There was a chill in the air. Kagome's cheeks prickled from the nipping cold, and she tucked her chin further into her muffler. The city around her was loud and busy and always, as she walked along the streets in the darkening evening. The autumn was finally turning into winter, and Kagome was more than ready for the change. The autumn had been a grey, tiring slog of one week blurring into the next in an endless black hole of drudgery.

Kagome was homesick -- an ache so deep she felt it in her bones. The only problem was that the place she yearned for and the people she missed from the bottom of her heart were long gone. 

A glow from the corner of her vision caught her attention. The Christmas lights had been put up, decorating the trees at the edge of the nearby park and curling over the street like joyful streamers. Kagome stopped and stared. The pain lodged in her chest eased a fraction as she gazed up at the cheerful lights and cherished the small moment, letting herself get lost with it.

Something cold brushed her forehead.

Kagome touched the spot and saw the fluffy white flakes slowly falling through the air around her.

Snow.

A smile curved her lips. For this brief while she felt the magic.

A shiver raced down her spine. Her skin started to tingle. The well hidden within, long forgotten, now yawned open and tendrils of power slithered out, jolting her like an electric current. 

She could actually feel it.

Kagome whirled around, her eyes wide, her heart racing, hope twisting the knife in her gut as the dark energy kissed her skin.

He stood fifteen feet away, preternaturally still. Their gazes locked, his shocked eyes flashing gold.

Emotion choked her. A lone, scalding tear rolled down her cold cheek.

He staggered a few hesitant steps towards her. Something bubbled up the tightness of her throat until laughter burst from her, delighted and wild.

He took another slow step towards her, and she closed the distance.

He stared at her, his golden gaze roaming her face as if committing every pore to memory. His deep voice was devastatingly familiar and laced with incredulity, as he spoke a single word in greeting. "Miko."

Kagome laughed again and another tear joined the first as she threw her arms around his neck and pressed herself to him.

"Hello, Sesshoumaru," she mumbled into the expensive wool of his coat.

After a long moment, his arms wrapped around her and held her close, oddly gentle and a little gingerly, as if holding something infinitely precious.

She felt something softly touch the top of her head and heard his deep inhale.

"Well met, Kagome."

#sesskag #sesskag fan fiction #sesskag ficlet #reunion fic #chie writes #fic: sk #Trying to get back into writing regularly so I'm making an effort of doing daily “drabbles” in december #More ficlets than proper drabbles but I like alliteration so sue me #SessKag December Drabbles

[ghostofafruit]

Ghost's Soft April Day 16 @ghostsfanficevents Doctor Who Thirteen/Rose Rose has very few memories from her stint as the all powerful time goddess Bad Wolf, but she knows taht one day she will return to the Doctor's side. The Doctor does not hold this hope, she had come to terms with never seeing Rose again a long time ago.

Reunion, fluff, bad wolf rose tyler, 1647 words

#ghosts soft april 2024 #ghosts soft april #thirteenrose #thirteenth doctor #rose tyler #reunion fic #ao3 link #doctor who #fanfic

[masked-alien-lesbian]

Coming Home to Imtura

I think I saw where someone wanted to see a reunion fic with mc x Imtura, not sure if this was what you were wanting but this is my version of chapter 2 of Blades of Light and Shadow 2.

Pairing: Imtura x f!mc

Your pacing the length of the docks were sure to be aggravating Kade and Nia at this point but you couldn't stand still. It had only been a few days since you came stumbling through the portal, barely escaping death from the claws of the power mad Ash princess. What was days in the Shadow realm to you was an entire year in the Light realm. A year for your brother, for your friends, for Imtura. By the Light, you couldn't even imagine what it was like for Imtura, if roles had been reversed...you shudder at the thought.

Nia had sent a message to Imtura by dove as soon as you fell back into the palace's throne room, alerting the orc to abandon whatever clues or leads the gang could find about traveling between the Light and the Shadow realm and to make haste to Portnassus as soon as possible. And now here you were, waiting on the docks, just minutes from possibly seeing The Wraith approaching.

Doubts began to cross your mind. What if everything changed for Imtura? A year apart could have made her feelings fade away for you. What if looking at you was like looking at a stranger? You almost didn't recognize Nia when you were reunited with her. Nia's hair and clothing style changed but it was the new self confidence that she now held herself with that made you realize the woman you met back in Riverbend a long time ago was completely transformed anew. What had a year done to Imtura?

"Sister, look." Kade's strong and steady voice soothed you just as much as his hand on your shoulder did. You looked at where he was pointing and your heart lurched in your chest at the sight of Imtura's colors flying proudly atop the masts of her ship. The ship was approaching rapidly and you knew the orc that had captured your heart was on it.

You struggle to keep yourself from just hurling yourself into the sea to swim towards The Wraith, to make the reunion happen faster but it seems even Imtura was just as impatient, because not even before her crew could drop anchor and bring up the sails, she was swinging down onto the dock, boots slamming into the groaning wood while her hard eyes swept across all the occupants on the dock until her gold eyes met yours.

Her intense gaze that could sear through you immediately softened as she laid eyes upon you. Her jaw dropped in disbelief as she mouthed your name. Your knees buckled but Kade gently pushes you towards the orc and suddenly you're running towards her, as if Princess Valax was hot on your heels.

"Imtura!" You cry out.

"MC!!" Imtura roared and thundered towards you. As soon as she was able to get her hands on you, you were immediately swept up and lifted entirely off the ground in her embrace. You sobbed as she brought you back down and grasped the sides of your head and hungrily slammed your lips together. It was messy, it was rough, her tusks scrapped you, but it was perfect and everything you needed.

You trembled as she finally reluctantly pulled back to look into your eyes. A smile crept across Imtura's face like the rising of the morning sun and as you stood there in her arms, her forehead pressed against yours, the fear you had been feeling since you were kidnapped fell away. You knew the upcoming battle was far from over, you still had to find Mal and Tyril and discuss the looming threat of the Ash Empire. Princess Valax was not the type to quit at just one loss but right now...right here...none of that mattered. Because the woman you love, was holding you like you would break at any moment and looking at you as if she'd sail the entire ocean and fight the Dreadlord again for you. This moment in time belonged to you and Imtura.

Apologies to anyone who actually knows ship terminology and if I made any mistakes. I'm sorry but I didn't want to do any research lol.

#choices #pixelberry #playchoices #bolas #bolas 2 #blades #blades of light and shadow #blades 2 #Blades of light and shadow 2 #imtura tal kaelen #Imtura x f!mc #Imtura x f!mc fic #Reunion fic

[sleepy-shinx]

Identity Theft - a submas fic

I had a crack theory and it turned into a crack fic. Here ya go.

Summary: A story based on the events of Pokemon Legends: Arceus, except something's not quite... right. Seems there was a slight mishap when a certain amnesiac warden fell into Hisui...

Warnings: Some swearing. At the very end. I initially said there was a brief identity crisis then realized the ENTIRE FIC is one long identity crisis so plz forgive me

Pairings: none. especially not bl@nkshipping. blankshippers DNI!

AO3 Link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/44985460

His name was Ingo.

When he’d first fallen, he’d woke in a strange land, confused, injured, and with no memories except his name. He’d been only half coherent, brain muddled with exhaustion and pain. They’d asked him his name, and he’d looked down at himself in a panic, taking a moment to center himself before he spoke the only memory he’d retained from his unexpected detour. 

His name was Ingo.

He wore a black coat, with red accents and a blue band around the upper left arm. The hat that rested atop his head matched the coat, black with a red band and an odd emblem in the middle. Items of clothing that matched no other in Hisui, that made him stand out from everyone else in the region. Even the other clothes he’d been wearing when he fell had stood out from everyone else’s, an odd, white button-down shirt and black pants, accompanied by a pair of oddly shaped black shoes as well.

When he looked at the items, the name Ingo was always associated with them.

When he looked at himself in the mirror as he was wearing them, he saw Ingo. 

And yet. 

The name had never felt quite… right.

He had no justification for the feeling, no reason to believe that the only name he’d ever known since falling in Hisui wouldn’t be his own. The one time he brought it up with Lady Irida, it had only confused her beyond belief. Because how could his name not be Ingo? 

He hadn’t brought it up with her again.

But the feeling never left him.

It wasn’t enough to derail him beyond function, so he had stopped thinking too much into it long ago. 

As far as he or anyone else was concerned, he was Warden Ingo.

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

“Take care not to come uncoupled from me!” He called back to his young companion, the one he was guiding through Wayward Cave. The cave was, frustratingly enough, unlit, despite the dangers traversing through an unlit cave wrought for passengers unaccustomed to traveling through the area. He highly suspected Melli was at fault for removing them, but he had no basis for the suspicions, at least not of yet. 

The young girl nodded, trailing only slightly behind him as she followed him through the cave. 

“So you don’t remember anything from before Hisui?” Akari asked, clearly trying to prevent an awkward silence.

“Very little,” he admitted with a nod. “Though I will admit, leading a young companion through tunnels to safety… seems to ring some bells.”

Talking a lot always seemed to take a lot out of him, though he could never quite understand why. That was supposed to be his thing… right? Yet, it always felt like a chore, drawing out his words to the length he thought they were intended to be. 

“Maybe this will help you remember some other things, then?”

He hummed, letting his thoughts wander, though he still kept a watchful eye out for danger. “Perhaps…”

Something, a vague, incomplete wisp of a thought passed through his mind, and he decided he may as well tell her about it, hoping it might lead him further down those tracks. “I recall, faintly, that I had a partner once…” Lightning danced across his mind, accompanied by dancing flames. “A precious one.” He initially felt pulled to the sparks, but no, that couldn’t be quite right. His partner was the one with purple flames, it had to be… “Its name escapes me, but I remember that it wielded flames with mastery. If only it were here, I’m sure it would light the way, luring us onward…” 

Their path was impeded by an Alpha Crobat. He quickly rerouted, leading her down the other way towards the exit so they would not be forced to fight such a powerful Alpha in the dark. 

“Have you remembered anything else?” Akari asked, looking at him curiously.

Anything else… yes. Another memory briefly flashed by, spurred on by the vague familiarity of traversing dark tunnels alongside another. “I’m starting to recall a man who looked… like me. We’d battle and discuss Pokemon, I think…”

Two scripts began warring in his head as vague battle memories flashed through, too scrambled together to be anything coherent. He was almost completely unable to get anything out of it, but then… “The words ‘I like winning more than anything else’ flashed through my mind just now…”

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

He stared in the mirror, frowning. Warden Ingo stared back at him.

Frowning, he had realized, took almost the same amount of energy out of him as talking so much did. He couldn’t quite understand. He was supposed to frown, it went right alongside his words and the black of his coat and hat. 

So why did it feel so exhausting? Feel, so deeply inside, so wrong?

Without thinking too much, he allowed the corners of his lips to move, to curl up into a smile. It felt… right. 

A stranger stared back at him.

It looked wrongwrongwrongwrongwrong

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

“Now then… Follow the rules and drive safely! We’re headed for victory! All aboard!”

The script felt right and yet still wrong as it came out. He knows he’s spoken these words before, but drawing them out, carrying them on this much, felt so wrong. 

He didn’t quite understand. His brain kept telling him this was right. He was Ingo, was he not? He was supposed to be the one who talked a lot, who frowned, who expressed himself through words less than his face. Who wore black and battled with one Pokemon at a time (why wouldn’t he? One Pokemon at a time… that was how battling worked, was it not??)?

Who was he comparing himself to? Was there someone he knew back then, before Hisui, who didn’t do these things? 

He didn’t have time to ponder these things, right now. He had a challenger- Akari was stood in front of him, her first time challenging him at the Training Grounds in Jubilife Village. He sent out his Gliscor, and she sent out her Samurott (who looked… different, somehow, than he expected. He isn’t sure what it was that he expected). She had been training hard, in the time since she’d closed the rift, trying to prove to Jubilife and to herself that she was worthy of the nine stars that adorned her scarf.

When she beat him, he wasn’t able to prevent his lips from curling into a more natural-feeling smile, even for just a few seconds.

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

He walked into the cave his Lady called her home.

He enjoyed spending time with Lady Sneasler and her kits, he’d soon come to realize after being appointed Warden. She was a wonderful distraction from the thoughts that plagued his mind, stopping him from constantly wondering who he was.

She didn’t quite have kits at this point, however. The eggs that laid comfortably in her nest were due to hatch any day now. Akari, who he’d surprisingly found himself growing closer to over the last few months, was beyond excited to see them after they hatched. She’d started calling him Uncle of all things, which felt strange yet still incredibly endearing. He hadn’t seen her for a few days, however, as she had told him she was heading out with Volo, one of the Ginkgo Guild merchants, to look into the local legends. She said she should be back in only three days.

Today was the third, and she had not shown up in Jubilife that day while he had been situated at the training grounds. To say he was worried was a slight understatement.

Lady Sneasler mewled contentedly at him as he entered, curled up near her nest as she watched her unmoving eggs. Well, not quite- one wobbled right after he thought that. A good sign! He hadn’t quite understood why helping his lady with her eggs felt so… right, to him. Like he’d done this before. But he never questioned it, just lent his assistance to his noble whenever the time for a new litter came around.

“No major changes?” he asked, approaching her nest. The eggs had been moving slightly for a day or so. Lady Sneasler shook her head, but didn’t seem worried. Things were progressing on schedule. 

Suddenly, they both heard the frantic call of a flute from somewhere above the cave. He recognized Akari’s tune for Lady Sneasler almost immediately, and alarm bells went off almost immediately in his head. He’d never heard his niece’s playing sound like this. 

Sneasler jumped to action immediately. He desperately wanted to accompany her, to see why Akari sounded so desperate- but he knew his Lady would feel a lot more comfortable if her eggs were not left completely unattended this close to hatching. 

“I will make sure nothing happens to them,” he promised her as she nodded, knocking his hat over his eyes before taking off quickly.

His answers came not long after, as it turned out Akari asked Lady Sneasler to bring her straight to him for comfort. Volo had betrayed her, had turned on her as soon as she’d had the 17 plates he didn’t have and likely would have killed her if she hadn’t managed to scrape a win. His blood boiled with anger, but there was nothing to be done now. Volo had disappeared after his loss, and left her with the last plate she’d needed. 

He hugged her close as she sobbed into his shoulder.

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

Akari was missing.

He had spent the last week or so frantically scouring every corner of Hisui for his niece, alongside what felt like the entirety of the Galaxy Team (and Irida and Adaman).

The last time he’d seen her, she had told him she’d almost completed the Pokedex, had only one more Pokemon left to catch. Arceus. Creator of all. She had been heading to fight it, had stopped to ask him a question.

“Do you… want to go home?”

He hadn’t given her a definitive answer and had spent the rest of the day pondering it (getting no closer to making a decision) before growing worried over the fact that he hadn’t seen her by the time night fell. He’d went back to Jubilife to see if she’d gone home, and Laventon thought she was with him.

She hadn’t been seen since.

He was beyond worried, had barely ate or slept as he helped search for her, only taking breaks to stop and refuel and recharge when his Lady physically forced him to. He could tell she was worried as well, but didn’t let that stop her from making him take care of himself. 

It reminded him of someone. He wasn’t sure who, but more flashes of electricity and also soft yellow fabric danced through his mind.

Right now was one such occasion, as she’d forced him into her basket and brought him back to his tent to eat before he collapsed on her. 

He was nibbling on an oran berry when he heard it.

The familiar pattering of running feet, but that wasn’t quite all, there were… multiple sets? 

All he knew is one belonged to his niece, and he leapt up and threw the door to his tent open as Akari launched himself into his arms.

“Uncle!” she cried happily, throwing her arms around his neck. 

“Akari! I was so worried!” he exclaimed, relief exploding through him.

“I’m so sorry I disappeared, Arceus accidentally sent me back home before I was ready, but you’re never gonna believe who I found and brought back to Hisui with me!”

“Who?” he asked curiously, setting her down.

“EMMET!”

…

“Emmet, why are you wearing my pants?”

Emmet looked down, coffee in hand, still waking up. “Ah! It would seem I grabbed the wrong pair.”

Ingo snorted, grabbing a tie and throwing it around his neck. “Well, you’ll want to change quickly, so we still make it in to the station on schedule.”

Emmet stood to change, then had a mischievous idea pop into his head. His smile turned sly as he leaned over and pulled Ingo’s hat off his head, putting it on his own. 

“Or maybe I will go as Ingo to work today!”

Ingo looked exasperated as Emmet snickered. “We are not swapping places again today.”

“Aw, but why not?” Emmet made his way over to the coatrack, grabbing Ingo’s coat and throwing it over his shoulders with a dramatic flair. 

“We have never been able to pull off a successful swap ever in our lives,” Ingo pointed out, walking over to snatch his hat back. “Mostly because someone can’t be loud enough to save his life.”

“Says you who can’t be quiet enough to throw suspicion!” Emmet countered, pulling Ingo’s shoes on. He threw his arms up in a mirror of his own normal pose, raising his voice as loudly as he could get it to go as he yelled, 

“ALL ABOOOOARD!”

It was not nearly as loud as Ingo’s, and he even heard his voice crack. Ingo snorted, and it quickly turned into laughter. “See?! Case in point!”

Emmet pouted, but the mischievous light refused to leave his eyes. “Well, let’s see what the depot agents have to say about your theory!” He threw the door open. Ingo rolled his eyes. 

“Well, don’t blame me when you get caught in less than a minute.”

Ingo headed back down the hallway as Emmet cackled and walked out of the door to make his way to work ahead of his brother, who clearly was not going to play along. He could at least have a little fun before his brother inevitably joined him there and brought his harmless ruse to light.

Unbeknownst to either of them, Emmet would never make it to the station.

…

A man, frowning, in a black coat and hat and slacks and shoes, stood in front of him, looking like he was about to completely fall apart.

“Ingo,” Emmet breathed, realization and subsequently, memories crashing over him like a tsunami.

Ingo broke, throwing himself at Emmet, who was more than happy to catch his sobbing brother in his arms. He soon found himself joining him in his cries as memory after memory of his twin brother played through his mind, memories of the subway, of their beloved partners (his first partner was Eelektross, not Chandelure, the lightning that he had recalled suddenly making much more sense), of their friends and family. The two of them collapsed to the ground in each other’s arms.

“You’re alive,” Ingo sobbed, clutching Emmet close. “I was so scared, Emmet, I thought I had lost you, that- that you’d-”

“I’m alive,” he whispered, holding Ingo just as tightly, his quiet voice making sense to him for the first time in years. “I’m here, Ingo, I’m here. I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to leave.”

“I know, it’s not your fault, Dawn- er, you still know her as Akari- explained everything she could. I’m just so relieved. I missed you so, so much.”

They didn’t move for several minutes more, until they both had calmed enough to break from their hug, but they didn’t move far. Emmet held his brothers trembling arms as Ingo cupped his face, the two of them touching their foreheads together. 

“So, I guess you’re Uncle Emmet now, huh?” Akari piped up. Emmet looked over at her with a smile on his face (it felt so much better, so much more like himself), and nodded. 

“Though I guess you do still have an Uncle Ingo, if that’s what you want.”

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

Explaining the situation to everyone in Hisui had been an… odd experience, to say the least. Lady Sneasler at least didn’t seem to care, more interested in the new coat he wore (Ingo had brought his regular white coat for him, which Emmet felt so much more at home in) and the identical man in black who refused to leave his side. She could tell them apart with ease, which didn’t surprise him much. For his team, it was much the same. 

Lady Irida and the other Pearl Clan wardens had been confused, to say the least. It had required quite the explanation to fully get across to them that the man they had known as Warden Ingo for the last four years was, in fact, named Emmet, who had remembered his brother’s name before even his own. But eventually the point got across, and it especially helped having Akari there to back them up. The Galaxy Team and Diamond Clan had, at one point, just decided to stop questioning it and just go along with it. 

At the very least, it had been easy to prove that Ingo wasn’t a Zoroark.

Being called Warden Emmet was odd. But in a verrrrrry good way. He definitely was struggling a bit with identity, having grown so used to accidentally pretending to be his brother for four years. But Ingo was helping him to remember what being Emmet meant, and he was most certainly happier than he’d ever been before in Hisui.

And as more and more of his memories returned to him, he quickly grew more and more homesick for the life he’d left behind when he disappeared. He had a whole team of Pokemon waiting for him, dozens of Joltik who Ingo had spent so long caring for in his absence. Elesa, Uncle Drayden, and Iris waiting to welcome him home with open arms. An entire subway full of trainers stronger than he could ever have imagined in Hisui.

He missed it so, so much.

So it was to no one’s surprise when he decided, only days after Ingo had appeared in Hisui, that it was time for him to go home. Akari- who also had not been going by her real name in Hisui, he’d discovered, and was actually named Dawn- had already had her happy reunions with everyone she’d left behind, and had only come back to Hisui to help Ingo get there and to reassure everyone there that she was okay, that she had found her own true home again.

Lady Irida had taken his resignation better than he expected, admitting she knew that it was an inevitable possibility. She saw no reason to prevent him from returning to his own space when he so clearly longed for it. 

Lady Sneasler had promptly decided not to accept his resignation at all, and decided she was, instead, coming along with him, along with three kits from her most recent litter. She handed her title down to her eldest child. 

Emmet vehemently refused to admit he had cried a bit when she had told him. Leaving her was going to be the hardest part of leaving Hisui, and now he didn’t have to!

After that, he’d only had a few scarce goodbyes to say, his Hisuian team also deciding to join him even after he gave them all the opportunity to stay behind with Zisu (the third hardest goodbye out of all of them). 

Then, as soon as he was ready, with Ingo and Dawn by his side, Arceus sent them all back home.

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

“YOU ABSOLUTE FUCKING DUMBASS!”

This was exactly the reaction he had been expecting from Elesa, Emmet realized, as she threw her arms around him, and he snorted as he returned her embrace, holding her tightly and not even trying to stop the tears that formed in his eyes. This was the reunion he was most looking forward to. 

“You scared the shit out of us, you asshole,” she sobbed. “Don’t ever do that to us again.”

“I won’t. So long as I have any say in it. I promise I won’t.”

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

His Pokemon had been left in Elesa’s care while Ingo had gone to find him, he found out. Elesa, much more calm than she had been not even thirty minutes ago, handed him one Pokeball in particular with a soft smile. He cradled the ball carefully, eyes shimmering as he let his beloved partner out.

Eelektross spun on him, screeching with joy as it slammed into him, wrapping its body around him in its own version of a desperate hug. Emmet curled around the Pokemon. “I missed you, too,” he whispered.

⇅ ⇅ ⇅

“So you ended up in Ancient Sinnoh, with no memories, except Ingo’s name?” Drayden’s eyebrow rose. “Because you were wearing his coat and hat when you disappeared.”

“Yup!” Emmet popped the p. At his side was a very clingy Iris, who he had one arm around. His other hand was in Ingo’s, as it had been for most of the last week or so.

Elesa buried her head in her hands. “I cannot believe this. You two are so identical, you mistook yourself for Ingo. Despite remembering nothing about him or yourself.”

He looked at Ingo with a smirk on his face. “See? I told you I could pass as you if I really wanted to.”

“NO ONE IN HISUI KNEW EITHER OF US BEFORE YOU FELL THERE.”

#submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #warden ingo #... kinda #warden emmet #except not in the way you'd expect #canon adjacent #emmet accidentally becomes warden ingo #ingo's just happy he's alive #irida is confused #lady sneasler doesn't fuckin care #she still gets two wardens for the price of one #it's a win win #submas fic #reunion fic #fluff #crack fic #in a way #swearing #identity crisis

[theseshipsshallsail]

When he visited in ‘94, he couldn’t bring himself to make this specific trek - just as he couldn’t bear to set foot in the bedrooms upstairs - but after several greedy clinches against the bike shed door it was inevitable they’d find themselves here, ensconced on a craggy outcrop as the mugginess of the day dissipated, permitting a cool prickle of reprieve in its stead.

Chapter 6

If anyone were to ask when he’d checked-in at Portsmouth International - which Oliver’s sincerely glad they hadn’t - if he intended to spend his afternoon making out like some horny frat boy, his response would’ve been a resounding no. 

Yet here he is. 

Safe from prying eyes in a utopian meadow. 

Blood streaming south at a gallop as he drinks from the fountain of his misspent youth; each groan Elio feeds him a one way ticket to his personal San Clemente Syndrome. 

Only this time, there’s something else, also. 

Something deeper. More profound. 

Elio kisses like a symphony - less a grace note pealing in the dark - and Oliver? 

Oliver feels reborn.

“Fuck… how I’ve missed you,” he whispers, the fast bracket of Elio’s thighs spawning vibrant fantasies of taking him right there in the open. “All of you. Not just your body, but your mind, too. Your spirit. Your voice. God…” Oliver breathes him in: bergamot shampoo, and the token hint of cologne. “Your voice!” he declares. “Absolute madness. My Nokia doesn’t do it justice…”

Elio mewls at his carotid; dexterous fingers carding his still-damp hair. “Salvalo, Casanova... we’re well past the point of stroking my ego.”

“Your ego?” Oliver eases up on his elbows. “Believe me, my little dissolute, I’m seconds away from stroking your -”

An intrusive beeping exudes from Elio’s phone. 

“Accidenti…” he grouses, flinging his arm out. “That’s my alarm,” he explains, hurriedly cancelling the polyphonic tone. “Maddalena prefers we cement dinner plans in advance. Decreases the odds of confusing Maman with last-minute amendments.” 

“Wise woman,” Oliver says, cheeks aching from a besotted grin. “Does this mean I’ll have to let you up?”

Elio offers a phoney pout. “Either that, or get chided by Mafalda for having to remove our place-settings?” 

“Perish the thought…”

It’s sweeter than manna - the fire that kindles in his belly - and Oliver can’t help laughing when Elio clambers to his feet, makeshift bathers drooping low - and sublimely tented - on his narrow, grass-stained hips.

“This spot is probably what I’ll miss the most,” Oliver’d professed once, clutching his knees as the surf’s brackish spray saturated his clothing, and with the obvious exception of Elio, himself, he’d been correct. 

When he visited in ‘94, he couldn’t bring himself to make this specific trek - just as he couldn’t bear to set foot in the bedrooms upstairs - but after several greedy clinches against the bike shed door it was inevitable they’d find themselves here, ensconced on a craggy outcrop as the mugginess of the day dissipated, permitting a cool prickle of reprieve in its stead. 

Annella - it transpired - had opted to take supper in her quarters, and with neither of them especially peckish thanks to their post-riposo apéritifs, Elio’d assured his culinary tag-team that yes, the leftovers from lunch would be plentiful. Yes, he’d remembered to stop by the butcher’s to increase Saturday’s order. And no, he had zero inclination of squirrelling la muvi star away for the foreseeable future.

The last was delivered with a brazen pinch to Oliver’s buttock. A retaliatory swat before his attacker scurried out of reach. They’d had that discussion - or something similar - umpteen times since June, and every cell of Oliver’s being radiates with contentment; knowing Elio’s rebuttal couldn’t be further from the case. 

They’re committed for the long haul. All seven blessings; should a progressive law change allow. Oliver’d mentioned it in the journal: how on the sixteenth of November each Fall, he’d devote a few hours to commemorating Elio’s birthday - honouring his inner Poseidonian and the life they might’ve lived - and despite the severed ties and burned bridges that could still cost him dearly, the gamble, he’s positive, is more than worth the risk. 

With Elio. For Elio. For them. It’s worth everything.

“I felt sick about it,” he says, the sun-baked rock pleasant at his back. “I wanted you - I’ve always wanted you - but I couldn’t have kept you; not then.”

An elderly couple trudge by with their dogs - three Yorkshire terriers and a doddery greyhound - but Oliver pays them no heed as he cuddles Elio tight, both arms enfolding his torso as their legs dangle free of the bluff’s eroded edge.

“I feared I’d forget your face, your voice, your smell, even,” he continues, chest seizing at the admission. “But I found a new spot wherever I was living. Somewhere not far from my office. Usually overlooking a lake.”

The soothing weight of Elio’s palm envelops his bicep. “A vigil, my father would have called it.”

“And rightly so,” Oliver says, cozying into his collar. “Because I was wrong. I’d forgotten nothing. I couldn’t.”

“Did you try?” 

Oliver frowns. “In the early months, perhaps.” When he was drugging his sins with dime store bourbon, blasting the Furs on a loop, and marathoning Battlestar Galactica when sleep evaded him to the brink of deprivation. “But then I realised my reluctance to seek you out was due to us never really parting. Not up here,” he insists, mouth brushing Elio’s temple. “Or here.” A firm hand splays above his heart. “That regardless of where we were - who we were with - whatever stood in our way… it wasn’t over for us.”

Elio swallows hard, pain clouding his gaze. “How could it be?” he asks, magnifying the sting behind his eyelids. “You’re my Polaris.”

“My guiding light,” Oliver agrees, staring at his chiselled profile. “There is nowhere else for me, Elio Perlman. Nowhere but you. So when the stars aligned - when you sent me a battered notebook one dreary Friday morning - what sort of fool would I be to squander the chance to prove it?” 

“Which you did.” 

“Which I did.” 

And woe betide he somehow gives him cause to doubt.

There’s a family with young children on the flaxen stretch to the east; their extensive parade of lopsided sandcastles invoking flashbacks of day trips to Shakoma Beach when Noah and Jesse were small.

“I wish my father were alive to see today...”

To anyone else, the segue could seem baffling, but Oliver’s well-versed in Elio’s trips to left field. “So do I,” he says, the grief ever raw. 

Pro wasn’t just a mentor, but the shrewdest man of his acquaintance, and while Samuel hadn’t questioned his judgement in marrying Micol, he’d been a staunch advocate for Platonian other halves: cleaved at the middle and bleeding though they might be. 

“For years I worried I’d let him down,” Oliver mutters absently. “By leaving, that is.”  

The you isn’t so much implied as showcased in neon letters, yet Elio just snuggles in, running his thumb along Oliver’s knuckles. “How unhappy is he who cannot forgive himself,” he quotes, caressing the undersides of his wrist. “You left because you had to, amore mio. You wed because it wasn’t our time.” His breath hitches on a sigh. “It was the presumption that bothered me, moreso. The fact you made the decision for us both. But you did what you needed - wanted - to do… and I respected that.”

“Elio…”

“I didn’t blame you,” he says, burying his face in his fuzzy jaw. “Not for pursuing the road most travelled. I simply wasn’t ready to let you go.” 

It’s the god’s honest truth if he’s ever heard it, and Oliver’s choked reply is silenced by a kiss so toe-curlingly decadent that when it eventually ends inestimable minutes later, he’s largely convinced his consciousness has transcended to a higher plane.

#call me by your name #cmbyn fanfic #elio x oliver #new chapter #reunion fic

[starsarefire824]

I Held On As Tightly As You Held Onto Me

Chapter 3: A Whispered Request

“You’re pretty good at this,” Will says, wiping his mouth with his napkin. Mike eyes his plate. He’s eaten all of his salad, had about three pieces of bread and butter, and there is only a small amount of pasta left on his plate. 

“You want more?” Mike asks with a raise of his eyebrows. 

Will chuckles and shakes his head quickly, sitting back in his chair. “Oh my god, no,” he chirps. “I won’t be able to move.” 

Mike smiles and takes another sip of his wine, feeling all fidgety under Will’s honey’d gaze. It’s playful and direct. “It was really good, Mike,” he says earnestly as he grabs his own wine. He squints at him slightly over his glass. “How did you become such a good cook anyway?” 

Mike grins at him. “Are you surprised?” He wants him to be surprised.

Will takes a sip and smiles. Mike’s gaze drops to his bottom lip that’s stained purple. “I am surprised,” he says lightly. “Very.” 

Mike straightens his shoulders and presses his lips together against the huge grin that threatens to spread across his face. His eyes stick to Will’s, and whatever floats between them is growing heated and tense. “Good,” he says. 

Will bites his bottom lip and swallows, and then the moment is shattered by a shrill ring. Mike startles so hard he bumps the table with his knee and his fork clatters onto the wood when it falls off his plate. His eyes widen, watching Will set his glass down and quickly lean back in his chair and lift up his sweater. He can't help himself as he stares at the flash of bare skin, the lean bone of his hip, the smallest glimpse of the old, raised scar that lives there. But then his eyes drop to where his fingers fumble with removing... a phone? He pulls it off the holder he has attached to the waist of his pants. 

He looks at the tiny screen for a second before rolling his eyes and hitting a button to silence the loud ringing, his cheeks flushing pink. “Sorry,” he says sheepishly with a tiny shake of his head before clipping it back at his hip. “My publisher made me get this stupid thing.” 

Mike huffs a small chuckle. “It scared the shit out of me.” 

“I could tell!” Will laughs. “The truth is I’m not used to it either. Do you have one?” 

Mike shakes his head. “I have a pager and that’s enough for me.” 

Will widens his eyes and takes another sip of his wine, it sloshes a little when he jerks his other hand out emphatically, and Mike suddenly wonders if maybe his cheeks aren’t only flushed from embarrassment. The thought of that only makes his smile widen. 

“Right!” Will exclaims around a big sip of wine. “You know me—” he says with a little bounce in his chair. Mike’s heart quickens at his words. “I like being left alone. It’s hard to hide from the world when it’s literally attached to my waist.” He sets his glass down and settles back into his chair and crosses his arms, his face resting into something a little more serious, hazel eyes big and sad and oh so watchful. He brings one shoulder to his cheek shyly in a small shrug. “I don’t know.” 

Mike shifts in his seat and pulls down his pant legs from his thighs with both hands. “Maybe you should stop hiding,” he suggests before he can stop the words leaving his mouth. 

#byler fic #reunion fic #byler #will byers #mike wheeler #mike cooks for will #slice of life #fluff and romance #complete

[bubblegumbeech]

Preparing for Harvest

Read it here on AO3

Flynn makes it home. And then thinks about what that might mean.

Part of my Exploring the Zone series

---

 Flynn let himself be led through the portal by the wrist. It was honestly too late to try and stop everything from happening anyways. Mother would find him and punish him whether he rushed back to her side or hid out here in the Realms’ boondocks.

 So he might as well take up Danny’s offer. At the very least it would be interesting to see a mortal realm after so long.

 On the other side of the portal was a lab, sterile bright lights and all sorts of mechanical devices. It … wasn’t very clean though, and Flynn found himself inching away from some of the ectoplasm covered walls.

 It was weird, breathing in air again. It felt lighter in his chest, a slight burning ache as his lungs worked to filter out the ambient ectoplasm they had gotten used to using in its stead.

 He hadn’t even gotten the chance to steady himself before a door above them slammed open and a woman in a terrifying jumpsuit ran down to point a large weapon at them.

 Flynn reacted instinctively, shoving Danny behind him and grabbing his staff to hold in front. It was difficult, but he’d gotten good at redirecting ectoblasts and the like with it.

 Except… he recognized this human. The purple eyes and vibrant red hair that was so similar to his own…

 “Aunt Maddie?” Flynn said, his voice cracking. It couldn’t be— no. It was      impossible. There was no way this random kid took him back to the same mortal realm he’d been taken from. Especially not to the basement of his      Aunt.  

 Aunt Maddie looked at him in confusion for a moment, her arm lowering. “It couldn’t be...”

 Flynn bit his lip, holding back questions as they bubbled incessantly to the forefront of his mind.

 She stepped closer, dropping the weapon entirely to raise her hands to his cheeks. “Flynn? You… you’re alive?”

 Flynn nodded, tears finally breaking through as Aunt Maddie pulled him into a spine-crushing hug.

 “Jack!” she half shouted, half sobbed. “Jack, come down here right now!”

 Uncle Jack… he was here too. Then, was it possible? He buried his face deeper into Aunt Maddie’s shoulder. It was strange, having to lean down to reach her. The last he remembered she had towered so far above him.

 When Flynn had finally managed to pull himself away he saw Danny frozen beside him, his eyes wide in confusion. Okay, so he hadn’t known either.

 Aunt Maddie sniffed, her violet eyes rimmed in red. “Just a moment dear,” she said, picking up her weapon. “Let me get rid of this scum real quick.”

 “What-?”

 Before he could react she was attacking Danny, who looked completely not surprised and just faded through the ceiling, scorching ectoblasts following after him.

 There was a loud crash and Uncle Jack, this time just as large as Flynn always remembered him, rushed down the stairs.

 “I’m here dear, where’s the ectoplasmic scum—“

 He froze, his weapon falling loudly to the ground. “Flynn? Kiddo? What are you doing here?”

 “I uh …” Flynn honestly didn’t know how to answer that.

 “He’s not a ghost Jack! I already scanned him!”

 Uncle Jack’s eyes went wide. Mouthing the words not a ghost. Then his eyes caught on Flynn’s ragged clothing.

 “We gotta get you help kiddo!” he said suddenly, walking forward mechanically and picking up Flynn like he weighed nothing at all. The touch startled him, not used to casual contact when he was decked out in his blood blossom flowers.

 Uncle Jack pretty much just carried him upstairs to a bathroom, where he set him down carefully in a bathtub. It was clear he was panicking, acting in some kind of paternal instinct at seeing his missing nephew after…. After a decade at least. It had to be.

 “I’ll uh,” he backed away, bumping into Aunt Maddie on his way out of a room never meant to accommodate his size, “I’ll get you some clothes. Danny never really hit his growth spurt but Jazz is around your size—“

 He fled.

 Flynn got out of the tub, awkwardly, to close the door and turned on the shower. It was strange, how mundane it was and yet how different from what had become Flynn’s life.

 Not cleaning himself in melted ice from the melted-glaciers, but in a shower that just—had water. An unending supply of it. Flynn tilted his head back and drank gulps of it. Quenching what felt like a permanently parched throat.

 Eventually he managed to clean himself off, and grabbed a ridiculously fluffy towel to dry off so he could put on the decidedly feminine clothes that had been left piled messily by the sink for him.

 They fit close enough and Flynn wandered out to see Danny in his human form waiting just outside. His eyes went wide.

 “Danny why—“

 “Relax,” Danny said rolling his eyes, “they don’t know I’m Phantom.”

 Flynn frowned. “They’re your parents?”

 “Yup,” he said, popping the p.

 “… So we’re… cousins.”

 “Yeah, well… we already kinda knew that—“

 “I meant on the human side.”

 Danny grimaced. “I guess?” He rubbed awkwardly at the back of his neck. “Honestly I didn’t even know I had a cousin? Much less one that went missing over a decade ago. They don’t talk about you. Never have.”

 That was a bit painful in its own way, knowing he didn’t even leave a legacy behind, amongst his human family. Was he not important enough? Or did their grief hold their tongues?

 Flynn thought back to some of his other siblings—his ghostly siblings. (He didn’t actually know if he had human siblings now. Did he want that? He really didn’t know.)

 When Fido faded… it had hurt, he had been grief stricken and heartbroken and— he never stopped talking about him. Telling his story and keeping his memory alive. Even Mother didn’t just ignore that he had existed. He had failed, but he hadn’t been forgotten.

 It left a bitter taste in his tongue.

 Then again, perhaps the dead were simply better at grieving.

 “Do you know…” Flynn felt his words dry on his tongue and fought to finish his question, “where my-my parents are?”

 “They got divorced.” A new, unfamiliar voice answered. A young woman stepped around the corner. She smiled softly and held out a hand. “Sorry, thought you should know. I’ve been looking into certain things since you and Danny got back— I’m Jazz by the way.”

 “Flynn,” he took her hand. It was smooth, then again everyone’s hands were smooth compared to his. “I remember you as quite a bit younger honestly.”

 “I’m sure,” she smiled again, this time more honestly and let go of his hand. “Honestly the parents don’t know what to do, they’re both having two completely separate meltdowns. So if you want to see Aunt Alicia you’ll have to hitch a ride with me and Danny.”

 “Oh?” Flynn asked, ignoring the loud pounding of his heart screaming that he was going home he might finally be going home.  

 “She has a farm down in Spittoon, Arkansas. It’s a few hours away but we can make it before dinner if we head out now.” Then her eyes moved over him, assessing. “Unless you want to get changed?”

 “I’d rather head out now actually,” he said, biting his inner cheek as his heart grew louder.

 Jazz sighed. “I thought so.”

 Danny snickered and grabbed him by the wrist, headed to the basement. “We’re stealing the spectre speeder, it flies so we’ll get there in no time.”

 “You won’t get in trouble?” Flynn asked, raising an eyebrow.

 “Ha, good one.” Jazz opened the basement door and led them down. “That would require our parents having a sense of responsibility.”

 Flynn felt off center at that comment. Something wasn’t right here, behind the scenes. He looked at the exhausted expression both of his cousins had and how different it was from the curious energetic brat Flynn had gotten to know Danny as.

 It was easy enough getting buckled into the speeder, and honestly the flight itself wasn’t particularly long either.

 Watching the scenery was something special though, the way it weaved so seamlessly together—instead of the different hod-podged together pieces of the Infinite Realms that always felt like the wrong parts of a poorly put together puzzle.

 The farm they landed in front of was unfamiliar to Flynn, and he found himself mourning once more for a childhood home he already knew he would never see again but now knew no longer existed.

 “Stay here,” Jazz said, laying a comforting hand on Flynn’s shoulder before approaching the front door.

 He did so. Frozen by fear, by indecision. He’d spent so long trying to forget his past, trying to cling to it… building up his memories of his parents as a perfect family to compare them to Mother.

 Flynn could almost feel her watching, judging. Waiting for the other shoe to drop and to welcome him back into her open arms after he broke apart once again.

 Maybe it was another trap? This one, specific to him alone. A lesson to learn—      I am your Mother. This is your family.  

 The door opened loudly and a deep voice rang out. “Now how in tarnations did you two get all the way out here?”

 It hurt all of a sudden. A sharp stabbing pain in Flynn’s chest and if he were truly a ghost he might have thought his Obsession was going haywire or that his form was destabilizing.

 He must have zoned out or something because he didn’t notice when hard, calloused hands cupped around his cheeks—a mimicry of her sister’s own actions.

 “Flynn? Sweetheart?” His mom said in a soft voice, still steady, still confident, still as strong as he remembered.

 “Ma?” he just barely managed to choke the word out when she pulled him into a bone crushing hug that made him feel so wonderfully secure he never wanted to leave these arms again.

 But…

 He pulled himself away. “I’m sorry for disappearing like that, Ma. I got… really     really lost.”

 She punched him in the shoulder, hard. It looked like it might have hurt her but she didn’t flinch, just kept smiling despite the tears clearly running down her face.

 “You went and grew up without me… gotcha grandpa’s height too, and…” her thumb brushed away some of the tears collecting in his lashes, “you’re such a fine man now.”

 He looked away, his gaze lingering on the farm itself. “I have a home,” he finally said, “built it with my own two hands. It’s got a garden, and a pretty cool, uh… fence?”

 “Well,” she pulled him down into another tight hug, “you just make sure you keep coming to visit okay?”

 And that was when he broke, desperate and weeping, sobbing into his mom’s shoulder like the child he truly felt he was.

 It was dark by the time he ran out of tears and his mom led him and his cousins in for dinner. She made it herself, along with a rhubarb pie that wasn’t quite sweetened enough.

 He knew Danny was sneaking glances over towards him the entire time, fighting back a confused expression. Flynn sighed, and ignored it.

 After dinner his mom sent all three of them to bed. Jazz and Danny shared the guest room. Flynn… had his own.

 It might as well have been a guest room, except it had all of his old things. At least the things that wouldn’t have rotted with time, or that he would have outgrown.

 His mom had kept a room ready for him, as if he’d just moved out rather than disappeared. It was something about that, the level of trust, of implied freedom, of being a place he could come to when all of it was too much, that made everything feel like a dream— a bubble about to pop. It was too good, too kind. He didn’t know how to feel about it at all.

 There was a magic in her easy acceptance of him back in her life, without the chains he’d almost expected to tie him back down.

 Honestly, he was so scared to stop moving, he didn’t think he’d ever truly be able to. And his own little farm, so similar to this one, he made that, crafted it from the ground up. He’d be loath to let it rot without him. The Blood Blossoms were so hard to cultivate and it wasn’t like he could get Dokkaebi to help. Or any of his other ghostly siblings.

 Siblings he didn’t have to weigh against his mom, didn’t have to choose between the life he’d had and the life he’d made.

 He went to sleep on a bed just a bit too soft, with dreams just a bit too dark. But it was the best night of sleep he’d had in a long time nonetheless.

 The next morning he helped his mom out on the farm. He was used to the labor and she was appreciative. Jazz and Danny were still asleep.

 Flynn wasn’t really surprised, Danny looked like he needed it especially. And it was nice to just be alone with his mom.

 They didn’t talk much, caught each other up on the big events in life. His mom mentioned the divorce, Flynn mentioned being taken in by a sort of ‘foster’ system and all his new siblings. She mentioned starting the farm, he mentioned making his house.

 She asked when he was going to leave, he said he’d like to stay for a few days more. She nodded, and mentioned getting him some real clothes before he heads back out. He had gone from wearing a spare outfit of Jazz’s to a spare outfit of his mom’s. A bit shorter, but it fit better around the shoulders. A bit loose around the waist and chest though.

 They were making a late breakfast when his cousins came downstairs. Both of them whispered quickly back and forth in some kind of argument.

 Luckily, they stopped when they noticed Flynn could hear and he didn’t have to try and break them apart or anything.

 “Aunt Alicia!” Jazz said, stepping forward, “I can help in the kitchen, Danny has something he wants to talk to Flynn about.”

 Danny nodded and grabbed Flynn by the arm, not bothering to hide his strength as he dragged him outside and into the fields.

 “Danny, what—?”

 He stopped and turned around, a betrayed expression on his face. “You’re going back.”

 It wasn’t a question.

 Flynn sighed and answered as if it was, “It’s my home.”

 “Your home is here! This is your family! Why would you go back to—“

 “Danny,” Flynn cut him off, voice sharp. “You don’t get to choose my life. No one gets to choose my life but me. Not even well-meaning family.”

 “But…”

 “I’m sorry, but I’m my own person. I have a life, and I don’t hate it. I’m really,      truly    grateful that you brought my Ma back into this life, but she and I don’t need to change who we are for a happy ending.”

 He ruffled the kid’s hair until his expression morphed from confused guilt to something that better suited a fourteen year old.

 “You already gave us that.”

#Danny Phantom #Flynn Walker #Aunt Alicia #Reunion fic #Bee's Writing #flynn Fenton #DP

[nell0-0]

Finally finished the second chapter of Traversing the snowy icy lands !!!

Emmet's side of things as the depot agents unionize against him for his own well being.

A pair of twins reunite.

#submas #my fanfic tag #subway bosses #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #ingo #emmet #ingo and emmet #pokemon legends rei #gym leader elesa #elesa #pokemon #pokemon arceus #post pla #reunion fic