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sparks-olivarpente · 1 year

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Byler reunion fics list

Here is a list of "Will and Mike haven't talked for months/years and now find their way back to each other" fics I've read and loved! If you know of other such fics or have written one, please reblog and add them :) Thanks to the writers <3

are there still beautiful things? by @aceoflanterns will attends an open mic poetry night at a local cafe, invitation courtesy of one max mayfield. this turns out the unexpected effect of seeing one mike wheeler again… and maybe also sparking a conversation long overdue.

see me (i'm waiting for the right time) by agustplz (shout_out_lou) It's been ten months since the last time Mike and Will last spoke. Mike shows up at his dorm in Chicago, determined to fix things for good.

the gaps and the silence by @parkitaco (delusionaltogether) "Oh my God, I had such a crush on you back then," Mike says, laughing a little, and sounds so easy with it that it takes Will a couple of seconds to process. or, will and mike reunite 5 years after their friendship ends

bury me in metamorphoses by @hiscleric It’s been seven years since Will Byers vanished from Hawkins for the second time; seven years since he picked up his life, moved across the globe, and finally settled. OR: Running away and the reunion of a lifetime.

anything, anything by inblue It isn’t before Will is inside Mike’s two-bedroom apartment for the first time that Mike realizes a part of him had expected the world to implode as soon as he stepped past the threshold, as if Will’s presence in Mike’s apartment would trigger some sort of ancient curse or something. Or: Five years after the Byers family leaves Hawkins, Mike and Will rediscover each other within a small apartment in New York.

things lost, buried, and found again by iwannabeyourpoetry It’s December 1993 when, in the wake of Lonnie Byers’ untimely death, Will finds himself returning to Hawkins for the first time in years—a morose husk of the person he once was.

Lost Without You by Julia_Skysong After graduating, both Mike and Will struggled to adjust to life after the Upside Down. It didn't help they had already drifted apart. But now, 8 years later, Mike finally reached out again, and the 2 struggle to rebuild their friendship while also hiding their romantic feelings for each other.

The Crossover by @futureboy-ao3 (nbfutureboy) Will Byers, a comic book author and illustrator at the very beginning of his career, initially turns down the invitation to Hawkins ‘HorrorCon’. But after hearing that a certain musician has gone missing - and despite the fact that Mike and Will haven’t spoken since their high school graduation - he can’t seem to shake the feeling something’s seriously wrong. With embeded sounds and songs! :D

More Than a Metaphor by Nikocat Will Byers returns home from college for the first time for Christmas break and he's a bundle of nerves. He's reckoned with some deep truths while away at school, finally coming to accept that he's gay. While he can be open and honest in his new city of New York, Hawkins is an entirely different story. Or Will Byers comes out to the people he loves and gets more than he bargained for.

Reunion by Nymphadoragreenleaf Will comes back after two years away and Mike can't wait to spend the summer with him! But there's someone with him… bonus: Mike being secretly good at cooking <3

The Cemetery Dance by oceanfruit Will doesn't like his memory. He calls it his inflammable wood-- No matter how long it sits out and dries, a fire can never quite catch. Even with the challenges, he tries to forget, hoping one day he'd become unrecognizable. Yet there are things, people, that exist with him in a ghost-like manner. or, Will works in a restaurant, his memories wont let him alone and he can't stand the flickering light. When someone from his past walks in… AU full of mystery!

Path of the Paladin by olliecoddle "A paladin who has broken a vow typically seeks absolution from a cleric… " or, a few hours after delivering his father’s eulogy, Mike Wheeler punched his former best friend squarely in the face.

Can This Be a Real Thing (Can It?) by Pseudologia They’d graduated and Will had disappeared — not just to Mike, to everyone. It’s not like it was mean-spirited. He needed to leave Hawkins in the rearview, to figure out who he was without the ghosts of monsters at his heels (…) Except, well, now Mike is sitting here, at a gay bar…

Fool Me Once by @queerxqueen It took nearly three years of growing apart, but Will Byers has finally gotten used to life without Mike Wheeler. He has El, he has Max, he has his art, and, as of two days ago, he has a full ride to art school in Chicago, so things are good. Right? So when Mike climbs through his window one night and stumbles back into his life, Will’s not prepared for the resurgence of old feelings…

I Wanna Be Anything You've Lost by @edelweiss-coffee (scout_thewise) Will left his hometown after graduation, determined to get to know himself in New York City. It's 1992, he has a great job as a florist at The Secret Garden, and life is beautiful and fulfilling. He wouldn't change a thing… -or- Someone familiar has been hired at the coffee shop below his loft, and Will's avoidance tactics are taking a rough blow.

meet me at memory lane by @smoosnoom Still, it’s fine. It’s all fine. He’s allowed a bad day or two. It’s fine. “Will?” What’s not fine, however, is when he finds Mike Wheeler on his front porch step. or, It's senior year, and, after three years of silence, Mike and Will find their way back to each other.

Shrike by StepfordSnarker It's the late '80s, and Will is coping with the loneliness of having left the Party behind (…) It's the early '90s, and Mike is coming to understand that there are some people worth losing your false sense of self for. But now that Mike and Will have parted ways, this realization may have come too late.

Stepping On the Last Train by @suzieburself After everything they've been through, it is Mike who rips off the final band-aid of their friendship. Years pass of Will pretending like he never thinks about Mike at all. Years pass of him forging his own life and finally letting go. But when a young boy shows up at Will's apartment, it becomes clear that he'll never fully be done with Mike Wheeler.

I’m a Wreck (Without You Here) by @talkingtothelights Mike has been living 2,200 miles away from his family and hometown for the past fourteen years. He rarely visits, but when he receives heartbreaking news, he’s forced to return home for a funeral. It’s in this unfortunate chapter of life that Mike must come to terms with the consequences of abruptly running away from home and perhaps reconnect with the one person he’s tried his damnedest to forget about.

#this took me forever to write x_x #but i love reunion fics #byler #byler fic recs #byler fic #byler reunion fics #reunion fics

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formosusiniquis · 3 days

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“This is a song off of an album, anyway,” Jeff trails off, trying to let Eddie start the riff for the next song. But he's not about to let this go unchecked.

“Jeffrey,” he drags out the name into as many syllables as he can manage, giving the end a singsong-y trill. “Jeffrey, did you forget which album the next song is off of?”

Gareth isn't mic'd but Freak is, so he can hear that at least one of them picks up his teasing with an ooooh.

“We don't need to tell them what every album is, they paid good money to see us. Hell, some of them probably saw us when we were debuting it.”

“But you announced the last one,” Freak says.

“An excellent point, Freakazoid.” Eddie agrees, “And he certainly set this one up like he was going to share again, didn't he?”

“He did,” Freak's nod is a little more exaggerated than it needs to be, playing it up for the nosebleed seats in the crowd.

“We've got a set list to get to, these people don't wanna be here all night.” Jeff tries.

“This is a Corroded Coffin crowd, my man, they don't bow to the whims of things like a bedtime.”

“Thank you to everyone who took advantage of the AARP presale,” Gareth adds, the bit has gone on long enough that he's had stage crew bring him a mic.

“Gareth had his knee replaced three months ago and he's here. These old fogies can put up with the show going an extra twenty minutes, while we dig down on this right?”

The crowd cheers, Eddie only waves them on a bit to amp them up. He sends his shit eating-est grin Jeff’s way as they shout.

“See, it's fine. Now, did ye of the memory vitamin supplements forget what album the song was from?” He turns to the audience more directly, “The people want to know!”

“Fine, yes, you've written so many songs about fucking Steve, they've all started to blur together. Does that make you happy?”

“Thrilled,” and he is. It's the best thing he's heard all day, and he gets to be on stage again for three generations of fans. “This next one is off of Hunt the Freaks, and it's actually about him fucking me.”

#corroded coffin #my fic #eddie munson #steddie #steddie mention anyway #i saw heart tonight/last night and cheap trick opened #and the first line is a verbatim quote and how the situation went #they introduced the album the previous song was on and then this #so my theory is that he forgot #so this is old man corroded coffin cause who doesnt love a reunion tour #and the aarp thing is real but not for heart it was actually the stones but anyway

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cappydoodle · 1 year

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rereading my own fic and yeah I'm a comedic genius I think

#pokemon #ingo #emmet #akari #hisuian sneasel #submas #subway boss ingo #subway boss emmet #my arts #id in alt text #aaaand know what im making a new tag #my fics #ehehe i've never promo'd my own writing here i'm a lil nervous but it's fun tho!#self care is rereading your own writing and having fun doing it <3 #if ur interested in the fic it's called tag-along and yknow it's a post-pla submas reunion fic #ingo brought akari and a sneasel with him and emmet found them in the subway tunnels and now they're trying to get akari home #it's still a wip that i am slowly chipping away at again (got sidetracked cause of college bleh)#this scene in particular takes place in chapter 5 and it legit caught me off guard cause i did Not remember writing this lmao #fr i really do love writing this fic cause i get to have big emotional goodbyes and reunions and also the Pizza Argument #tag along au #2k

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tadaxii-i · 9 months

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Just spawned this because everyone’s vampire jegulus phase passed, but not mine

*explodes*

#this was how I imagined their reunion in disintegration #just feral biting and eating and kissing #i love them so much #jegulus #james potter #regulus black #marauders #vampire regulus #vampire james #vampire au #marauders headcanon #my art #:p #jegulus fanart #starchaser #fic: disintegration

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cool-thymus · 9 months

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An illustration for The New Recruit by @butter--peanut <3

“A personal demonstration of its staying power,” he said, and Kakashi swallowed at the implication. (Best Team, chapter 2)

#mydrawings #thank you butter--peanut for this fic i loved it!#Tobi Sukea interactions were so wonderful i fell in love with them again xD #this specific scene was very cool! it's my second favorite after the reunion in the last act #tobi x sukea #uchiha obito #hatake kakashi #obkk #kkob #naruto fanart #digital art

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baeshijima · 3 months

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bitches will still be crying over the high-cloud quintet at 2 am months later and never get over them

its me. im bitches.

#may the stars guide you <3 #once again reiterating how much i loathe and despise this game with my very being and entire soul bc of how emotional it gets me #i could make a full on analysis rant post abt them and it still wouldnt be enough to console me #theyre just so tragic and doomed by the narrative coded and i hate it so much like wtf hsr devs what were u cooking with this ;w;;;#anyway guess who ended up watching that jingliu companion mission cutscene and blade narative part again bc of that reunion fic in my docs #that acts as a kind of sequel to the jing yuan long fic... looking over it again made me sob and then i rewatched a flash and then i reread #what i have for the soulmate!blade fic and then i died #sighs i hate them i love hate them i love them i want them to be happy but they cant be fully happy bc they wont all be together

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tending-the-hearth · 2 months

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i love you reunion scenes in movies and books and tv shows i love you fix-it reunion scenes in fanfictions i love you reunion scenes where the entire world falls away from the person realizing the person/people they love most in the entire world is still alive i love you reunion scenes that have little inside jokes mixed in i love you reunion scenes with crushing hugs and sobs of relief i love you reunion scenes with joyful laughter and hugs that lift people off the ground i love you reunion scenes where you can see the person melting into the hug i love you reunion scenes that heal the bad that's happened during the time of absence i love you reunion scenes that show just how much people mean to each other

#rewatching the outsiders and sobbing over the cutis bros reuniting in the hospital #omega's reunion with hunter and wrecker and echo 😭😭😭#there is a REASON my first intro into fanfiction was reading percabeth mark of athena reunion fics #tyson's reunion with percy in SoM #luke leia and han reuniting at the end of the episode 1 #you wonder WHY i write so many reunion fics #they just make me so so happy #working on a new domino lives au fic #and got to the obligatory scene between echo and the other domino members #and just #it makes me so happy #reunion scenes are just cathartic for me to write #bc i love making the characters i love happy in some way #writing #the outsiders #the bad batch #percy jackson and the olympians #heroes of olympus #star wars

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xdacted · 5 months

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The theory of goodbyes

Pairing: Reader x Pierre Gasly

Warnings: emotional cheating, angst, hurt/no comfort, reunions

Word Count: 2,544

Status: Completed

Pierre was terribly bored.

His head pounding with the music that blared over the speaker, struggling to breathe in the crowded mess of the gymnasium. Sweat beads along his hairline, and he collapses in a nearby seat, raising a hand to protect his eyes from the strobing lights. He tries to take in the room, silver balloons that float above a floral archway and his former schoolmates cluster around the dancefloor. Truly, he can’t decide what he regrets most coming to the reunion or coming without Charles for support. He invited Kika, but she was swallowed in the pack, lost to other girls pulling each other apart to know, “How are you?! Let’s get lunch!”

Pierre can’t fight an eye roll, downing the rest of the burning liquid that someone had offered him - they were never friends, but Pierre assumes that they must have been friendly enough as he had taken it with a grateful nod. Racing and karting pulled him away from school far too often to ever develop lasting relationships. There was no one like that except Antoine and well -

He shakes the thoughts from his head before they can even form.

He looks around him, staring back at the old gymnasium. He’d never really been forced to be in here, never forced to drag his feet across the polished wooden floors. The walls stand tall, banners hanging from the pins in the brick announcing years of their athletic excellence.

The school mascot is painted across the center of the walls, and Pierre doesn’t stop the feelings of pride that swell within him. His days are long gone but never forgotten. They live within him, hovering just beneath his skin, something akin to a different life. A life that was filled to the brim with freedom and carelessness. When he was able -

A cackle pulls him back to himself and he sits a little straighter. He blinks, the lights passing over his face. Pierre adjusts the thin chair below him, scooting closer to the road table with a squeak of protest. Setting his elbow on the cloth, he reaches down to adjust his shoe, tight around his ankles - he just wants to go home.

But before he can commit to pushing himself up from the lone table, he sees someone through the sea of people. Sunken in her chair, legs crossed before her, she sits with an uninterested expression. To Pierre, she is the most interesting person he’s seen all night. The light dances upon her face, and he can see the line of her cheekbones and the curve of her lips. Her hair curls away from her face, coils bouncing when she runs her head. In the darkness, he can see the glimmers of rings on her fingers as they drum mindlessly against the table.

Pierre can feel the air leaving his body, mouth going dry. He stares, burning a hole through the throng of dancers.

It can’t be. She couldn’t be -

He tries to blink, but when he opens his eyes once more, she’s gone. The small window of nostalgia collapses, filled by the bodies of strangers.

Pierre doesn’t feel himself standing, craning his neck over the crown. He steadies himself on the table, raising on the tops of his toes, an ache running up his calf. Silently, he adjusts the chair, raising a leg to rest upon it, fingers gripping the back before he stops himself.

What was he doing?

Foot dropping back to the floor, hands going limp at his sides, he can’t believe himself. He was about to make a fool of himself and to what? For a girl that probably doesn’t even remember him?

He flicks his empty cup. What kind of loser has he become?

Pierre was never reckless. Never this indulgent, cameras could be anywhere, everywhere. He shakes his head, he had Kika anyway. What was the point of reminiscing over a high school -

He sees her again.

Only this time, she sees him too. Her eyes fixated upon him, an unreadable look on her face. Something twists in his gut, heart pounding in his rings.

She is just as beautiful as he remembers.

He whispers her name, voice swallowed by the music.

It’s a secret, a declaration to the world, whispered to the timber of the gymnasium, to the steel of the basketball hoops. Before Pierre can stop himself, he’s walking. Parting through the sea of reality, ducking beneath hands, waving off conversation. With every step, he pulls himself under, below his skin, drifting back to the world long dead.

He stands before her.

A breathing memory. Looking up at him with her crooked smile, he can see the way that time has sculpted her clearer now. Carving her cheeks, her chin, hardening the lines of her eyes, darkening the color of her hair.

Beautiful.

Absolutely beautiful.

“You got a haircut,” her words startled him, a shiver running down his spine.

“I did,” He swallows, trying to calm the pounding of his heart as it threatens to burst from his ribcage, “You - uh - your hair is different too.”

She lets out a soft chuckle, a hand coming up to hold at a strand of hair, “I did.”

Pierre opens his mouth to speak, but the words are trapped in his throat, too much he wants to tell her. Too much he needs to tell her. His hands busy himself with the ends of his blazer, picking at a loose thread.

A stutter on his lips, she grabs at his hand, stopping his fingers in their movement.

“Sorry…just, we wouldn't want to ruin your fancy jacket.”

He stares down at her hand. Rings prenup at him, and he catches sight of her class ring.

A Pierre’s class ring.

She pulls her hand back with a sharp breath, blinking rapidly, almost as if she’s been burned, “Sorry.”

Don’t go, he doesn’t say.

He shrugs instead.

Silence pool covers them, and he thinks, he doesn’t want this conversation to end. He doesn’t want to walk back to reality. He gently nudges her crossed legs with his show, shoving his hands deep into his pockets, “Do you - uh…”He turns to the overcrowded dance floors, “...wanna…?”

He offers her a hand, and she takes it. He sucks in a breath through clenched teeth, his heart leaping up his throat. He waits for her to slide her jacket off, pulling it over the fabric of her turtleneck.

As they walk, sidestepping pulled-out chairs and maneuvering the in-betweens of tables, they don't speak. They don’t look at one another. Just walking until they reach the edge of the crowd. He turns to her, and the song around them slows, it’s a mellow tune. Something about love and about forever, but Pierre couldn't care less.

“You know I’m a terrible dancer,” She groans, stepping towards him.

All Pierre can do is stifle a chuckle with the back of his hand. She sends him a glare with no real malice, a smile pulling at her lips, “What?”

She gently shoves him with her shoulder, “Is something funny to you, Jean-Jacques?”

Jean-Jacques. He hasn’t heard his middle name uttered in a long time. He hates the way it makes him sound like a round-bellied aristocrat, but he desperately wants to hear her call him that again. Because she’s the only one that can, he’s her ‘Jean-Jacques.’ And only Jean-Jacques.

He shakes his head with a shrug, “Nothing, nothing.”

They settle with each other, finding an open space behind strangers. They’re hidden in bodies, encased in the music that blares over them. Pierre puts a hand on her waist and takes her hand in his. She looks up at him, she is tentative to step closer, but she does. With her so close, her name sits upon his tongue. He hasn’t spoken it in years, the very sound of it painful.

He mutters it like a prayer

She hums, never breaking eye contact, lights dancing on her skin. Pierre has forgotten his headache, he’s forgotten his boredom, his readiness to leave. He never wants to leave this place. Not now. Not when she’s here. They’re both trapped, stuck between reality and what they want. He can see it, he can feel it. He can -

“How’ve you been?”

The question creates a painful space between them.

“Good,” He lies, “I’ve been good. You?”

She nods along, “I’ve been good too,” the tips of her ears begin to glow red, the way they do when she lies, “I’ve been great, actually.”

She turns away, staring into the distance, “You made it to Formula One.”

Pierre winces, her words burn.

“Yeah, I did.”

“Was it worth it?”

There's a waver in her voice, and it grows thick with emotion. Pierre closes his eyes with a sigh, leaning his head against the pole behind him. It was and it never will be. He has a career that he excels in, all the money he could ever want, and his parents couldn’t be prouder. But he’s - he’s always known that something was missing. A feeling. A light, something to keep him afloat.

“No,” He breathes.

She looks at him, her eyes wide and full of emotion. She doesn't look angry, she just looks sad.

“Did you ever go to med school?”

“Yeah.”

“Was it worth it?”

She pauses for a moment, taking her lip between her teeth, “I’m not sure.”

He can hear her unsaid sentence, the only thing stopping the onslaught of relief is the wave of shame he feels. He wants to be happy for her, he wants for her to have everything she ever dreamed of.

But with him.

He wanted her to have it with him.

He hates his selfishness. Hates that he hasn’t changed a bit since they were in school. Ready to ask her to give up her dreams to follow him around the world. Unable to understand why that would ever be an issue. Love could only justify so much.

Silence bubbles over them. They sway to the distant song that plays, and he holds her close. He worries he’s holding her too tight, but when he tries to pull away, the grip she has on the fabric of his shoulder tells no differently. So he presses her closer still, cheek lying on the crown of her head, her ear pressed against his chest. With them like this, in the walls of their old school, he can almost convince himself he’s sixteen again. He can almost convince himself that she -

“I’ve missed you,” She whispers, her words muttering into the fabric of his button-up shirt, and he nearly misses it.

Her words are almost swallowed by the noise around them. But Pierre hears, saving the words. He feels as if he’s floating, head high in the clouds of their youth. There’s nothing that can hurt them here, nothing they have to go back to.

Nothing is waiting for them outside this moment.

“I’ve missed you too.:

He hopes that she can hear everything he wants to say. Everything she should’ve said all those years ago when their youth could have torn through it all. Everything he should’ve said when he stood on her porch that night, cradling the box of his things she pushed into his chest with a curse of his name. Everything he should’ve said when she begged him not to go, to stay.

To stay with her.

With the regret heavy in his stomach, Pierre tightens his hold on her hand. He’ll hold her here with him now. He’ll keep them together, he won’t let anything pull them apart. He opens his mouth to say something. To tell her while they’re still in the clouds, while they’re still miles away. He’s gripping her hand in his, and he wants nothing more than to pull her closer. Time has been so cruel, it has stolen so much from them, so much life, but he’s here now. And so is she.

They’re here now.

“I -”

“Pierre!” Reality cuts between them, pulling him away. Reality pecks him on the cheek, snaking her hand on his bicep, “I was looking for you!”

Pierre can do nothing but fall apart, closing his eyes with a strained sigh. He can feel them fall back to Earth, the painful crash of time against them once more.

And he feels as if he’s lost her all over again.

“Who’s this?” Kika questions, a bright smile on her face, always kind.

When Pierre doesn’t speak, reeling from the pain of the space that’s wedged between them, she does, introducing herself as, “An old friend.”

Pierre almost laughs, under the weight of reality pressing against him, he can almost burst into tears. Friends. They are so much more than that, they always were, and he always wants them to be.

“Oh!” Kika jostles him, “Yes! Pierre has told me so much about you! I am so glad to finally meet you in person!” Kika’s laughter fills their shattered bubble and she begins to laugh alongside her, stale and empty.

Then, there’s a call of Kika’s name, it pierces the noise of the bass, having filled the dance floor with a pop song, lyrics melting into the background, “It was nice to meet you!”

“You too!”

They watch Kika walk away, with unreadable expressions on both their faces.

He starts, an explanation on his tongue, eyes wide and pleading, “It’s just-”

“I’m glad you found someone, Pierre,” She wrapped her arms around herself, fingered digging into the material of her sweater, a strange look on her face, “I’m happy for you.”

He is inclined to believe her.

“I really am, Pierre.”

His name sounds so cold as it falls from her lips, almost like he’s a stranger, shattering to the ground, he winces. Pierre reaches for her, wanting to feel the warmth around his hands once more, but he pulls away, averting her eyes.

He calls her name, begging for her to listen.

She is doing the right thing.

“You look good together,” Unshed tears brim in her eyes, eyebrows pinched together, a hand pressed against her cheek, “You - you look happy.”

She is saying the right thing, but that doesn’t change the way his heart pounds in his chest.

“I - I,” His words are stuck, lodged behind the lump of emotion. But Pierre isn’t strong enough to fight against reality, not when it presses against their chests

‘I’ll never love anyone the way I loved you, the way you loved me,’ Goes unsaid.

There would never be another her. Never another woman to make Pierre feel whole, never another hand against his to hold in the rain, never eyes to stare into, never another to waste days away with. He will never be sixteen again, and he will never have her again.

An ‘I love you’ nearly comes tumbling out, and the words burn against the roof of his mouth. He can do nothing but breathe, trying to ground himself against the burn of her gaze. She sees right through him, but he can’t hide. He doesn’t want to. She’s the only one he would ever let look straight through.

“Thank you,” Is all he says.

It sounds like goodbye.

“You’re welcome.”

And Pierre knows that it is.

____________________________________

A/N:This work has been cross-posted on Wattpad and AO3. All are under the name XDACTED. Thank you for reading and feel free to request fics about any of the drivers <3

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romance-rambles · 21 days

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ROSES FOR THE BLUSHING BRIDE

Your attempt at killing your kidnapper goes awry. How tragic it is—that the man who killed your love wore his face first.

— word count: 2.1k

— pairing: [unspecified] alkaid mcgrath x little painter/you

— tags: mentions of murder, suicidal thoughts and suicide, alternate universe - vampire/vaguely historical/reincarnation, mentioned non-con kissing+biting, unhappy ending [neither of them are mentally well - possibly ooc?]

— note: inspired by my little ramble in the tags of this gif post so it's technically PL but it could just be au alkaid. not sure if i did it justice but also, i wrote this over the course of two days so!! small victories!!! 🎉

return to lbc masterlist | series: none

THE DOOR CREAKS LIGHTLY AS it opens, the warmth of your candlestick highlighting the steps beyond it. The monster that resides in this manor is foolish, and your Alkaid is—was—not. The hefty lock that once guarded against you sits carelessly beneath a portrait of a woman who looks like you—who was once you, if the ravings of a mad man are to be taken seriously.

And if they are, then you will meet him soon—the man you were set to marry, with the same bright green eyes and light blond hair, and a warmth that the lord of this manor greatly lacks.

And if they aren't, then, that is simply not possible. Because, you think, how else can this be explained?

Your fingers lightly graze over the most recent puncture wound at the base of your neck. They play connect the dots and the monster's claim draws a circle. It ends where it starts, with the gemstones on the dagger's obnoxiously decorated hilt digging into the palm of your hand and your teeth gnawing at your bottom lip.

There sits a bruise there, the likes of which you've only ever allowed one man to gift you. You can still taste your own blood upon your tongue, metallic and bitter, but you can no longer remember your lover's smile.

Yearning overwhelms you, for a man long dead. It is something you can fight off almost as well as the monster. And it is a maddening thing—the way your carefully-groomed nails desire to claw your skin off. The way your hand twitches, dagger still in hand.

It is a mistake to think of him at all.

You cannot afford any mistakes, not when your weapon has been promised a different target. You cannot afford any mistakes, when your next life is to be a happier one.

So, the candlestick lifts higher.

Heels you might've chosen for yourself in another life clack against stone, the sound echoing throughout the darkened chamber. Yet, the monster still slumbers, oblivious to your intrusion. At the very end of the room lies a coffin, and there he waits, surrounded by white and green. By roses and their stems carefully preserved, a silent mockery of the promise Alkaid once made you.

Eternal loyalty—but this is not the eternity you desire.

In hopes of composing yourself, of chasing away the familiar disgust, fury, loathing, you tear your gaze away from the coffin. The grey floor has borrowed an orange hue from the candlelight. As you cross the distance, you do not look at the portraits that line the walls, with their never-changing subject, the contents of which you know only because the monster brought you to his lair exactly once.

You, with the same dead eyes and the same dead love and the changing fashions doing little to distract from your likeness. You, who were unfortunate enough to fall in love with that monster in some other lifetime, having been blinded by his pretty face.

And the bile that climbs your throat at the thought, which you choke back with a tired grimace—that, too, is familiar.

WHEN YOU REACH THE COFFIN, the first thing you do is yank the flowers out of your sight. Your dagger comes in use much earlier than expected, handling all that your hands cannot.

It is the least you can do for Alkaid.

The monster remains asleep throughout. It's convenient—if you'd known it was that easy, you would've done it sooner. You would've avenged him sooner. Alkaid was a light sleeper, and you had assumed the same held true for the monster.

With the same hand that carries the dagger, you open the casket. It takes a bit of effort to ensure you never lose sight of your target—quite literally. The payoff lies in the way the candlelight illuminates the man resting within.

His lighter hair takes on a warmer hue, thought it's incomparable to the way Alkaid's hair would gleam golden under the sunlight. He is blue, dressed in an outfit that looks to be the furthest thing from comfortable sleepwear. Alkaid was beige and green, and he was always getting on your case about dressing comfortably.

Marking the spot where your hands should hover, you set the candlestick beside you, careful to ensure its enthusiastic flame avoids the hem of your dress. You're almost giddy with excitement.

You'll see Alkaid soon. You'll get to him, even if it takes ten or twenty—

The monster mumbles your name lovingly.

Alkaid?

The dagger freezes just before the blade can slice through the layers of fabric guarding his heart. Your heartbeat quickens. You watch the figure warily, waiting for anything that could signal his monstrous nature.

Why would Alkaid be here when he is meant to be dead?

But the monster has never said your name before. You are simply his bride, just the most recent in a long string of replacements. If you did not share the same name as all the rest, you're certain he wouldn't know what it was.

And if it is Alkaid, if he has turned into a monster, if he is just as much a victim as you—

How could you ever dare to hurt him?

You can't lose him again. His family and yours, if they're still alive, would gladly testify about the absolute wreck you'd been when he disappeared a few days before your wedding.

It was only when one of his friends mentioned that he had seen Alkaid near the monster's manor that you'd found the resolve to crawl out of your bed for the first time in weeks.

Of course, you hadn't known just yet that there was a monster at all. You hadn't known of all that was to transpire—that had already transpired.

Your grasp on the dagger's hilt tightens—you don't want it anywhere near Alkaid. You want to know if he's Alkaid. You want to shake the man awake and ask, Are you him? Are you the one I've been searching for? And what about the monster?

You know that if he says he was the monster all along, you'll forgive him with an ease he would not deserve.

Again, the man mumbles your name. It does much to distract you from your spiralling thoughts.

After all, it sounds like coming home.

You want to believe it sounds like coming home.

"Al—"

As if sensing that his name is on the tip of your tongue, the man rouses himself from his slumber. The first thing he seems to gaze upon is you—and the dagger you've pulled close to yourself.

Ah.

You tremble. His gaze is cold and his grip is bruising. Alkaid has never looked at you so unkindly. You used to find it disconcerting how easily the glare on his face would slip away if he glanced at you. Now you wish for it more than anything.

What have you done wrong? Why is he upset?

In your desperation, you almost beg: Alkaid—

Then, you blink, remembering the weapon in your hands. It coincides with the moment that a sense of clarity washes over you, beckoning you to recall your mission. To remember—

This man isn't Alkaid.

"Oh." Your heart flutters strangely. You want to claw it out too. "The monster."

Alkaid is dead, after all.

"Yes," the monster agrees.

The dagger plunges into his heart.

AN ORDINARY MAN WOULD KEEL over from the pain. The monster only grunts. You might as well compare it to bumping into the furniture by accident, with the way he seems so unfazed.

His gloved hand climbs down to your clenched fist, as if hoping to wrench the dagger away from your fingers. He is a monster and your Alkaid was not—that is what makes the difference between living and dying.

"You didn't die," you note, disappointment plainly evident in your tone. "Did you know?"

Did you know this would happen when you gave me this dagger?

"I'm difficult to kill," he responds flatly.

You wonder who the scorn in his voice is directed to. His gaze seems distant—which one of your predecessors is he thinking of? But you've never learned to tell the difference, so it's not as though the answer would make any sense to you.

"Unlike Alkaid?"

The monster remains silent. It only infuriates you more.

"I hate you," you spit out. Tears well up in your eyes, though for what reason, you're not sure. "I'm sure they all hated you too."

Anger briefly flashes across his bright green eyes. Instinctively, you pull your hand away, pulling the dagger along with you. Blood drips onto your nightgown, dying its white fabric a bright red.

Beyond an sharp inhale, the monster's expression remains unchanged. You're almost surprised at how easily he lets go of your hand, at only the slightest show of resistance.

"I know they did," he says, eyeing the new stain on your dress. You don't want to put a name to the emotion on his face. A monster like that doesn't deserve it. "They all told me as much."

You fill in the blanks yourself. Before they died. But they must've been the same as the monster when they died—that is why he refrained from performing that particular act with you. That is why the blemishes on your skin have nothing to do with any sort of traditional violence.

He hates it when you're hurt.

"And how did they die?"

He doesn't care enough to see that you're past that point.

He looks haunted. "That's not something I want to tell you."

A spiteful part of you delights in watching his expression. It wonders how much more his face will crumple when you meet the same fate. Dying is the only part of your gambit that was guaranteed to work out flawlessly in the end—the only time you've ever tried to trust the monster sitting in his coffin.

(I will turn you only if you truly desire it.

...I don't believe you.

Do as you please. I will hold onto my word regardless.)

The dagger is still in your hand. You pull it away from the monster's reach and nod almost imperceptibly. You cannot kill him because you do not know how.

But you are not beholden to the same laws of nature as him.

"And you won't tell me where to find whatever it is that killed them either?" you ask, though you know it's useless to ask.

For you, it is either death or a life spent with the very monster that stole your lover away. You will remember nothing of this conversation, nor of the pain you went through when you awaken once again. And you will go through the same pain and suffering, all the while cursing your predecessors for not taking care of what should be their mistake.

But you can still meet your beloved.

You want to meet your beloved.

"You have no need for such a thing," he says, with your name on his lips.

That is enough for you.

HIS EYES ARE GREEN JUST like Alkaid's. It's something you've noticed before.

As the dagger pierces your flesh, they widen in horror. You can't feel much of anything—if your hands were not holding onto its hilt, you wouldn't know you'd been stabbed.

There's an odd expression on the monster's face. Pained and familiar. It reminds you of the time you tripped over your own two feet, leaving you with scraped knees and elbows, and your dinner for the night littered across the ground.

You'd left Alkaid behind in a hurry, the siren's call of a warm meal too difficult to resist, and he hadn't been quick enough to catch you.

But the man in front of you is not the man you love.

Your lips pull into a faint smile regardless.

You're not sure why.

THE HANDS THAT WRAP AROUND are so terribly cold. You know for certain they belong to the monster. His tears drip down onto your cheek and you're surprised to learn that he can cry. But the blood on your hands, on the dagger lodged into your stomach, is sticky and warm.

Your neck remains untouched. His previous words echo through your mind—a man can only watch the woman he loves die so many times, after all.

You think you might pity him.

That is, before the memory of his confession, of the way he killed your love, leaves you with nothing but fury coursing through your veins.

You think you curse him.

You think he welcomes it.

#fics by aya #lovebrush chronicles #lovebrush chronicles x reader #for all time #for all time x reader #alkaid mcgrath #alkaid mcgrath x reader #lbc alkaid #lbc alkaid x reader #lovebrush alkaid #lovebrush alkaid x reader #rambles from here on ->#looking up card arts and guessing what's going on seems like a very productive use of my time #i already have a second alkaid card in mind (it's wedding unascended)#but i don't know what the plot is even though ik i want it to be witch!alkaid+reunion #some kind of friends to strangers deal like my mind is saying time travel shenanigans waking up 10 years in the future #also have something for ayn but it's more mundane “oops accidentally got married and now we have to live together”#or something along those lines—there was another card where he was the most beautiful man alive but #idk how to translate that into plot #im thinking late night return from a trip turns into a proposal from mc or something—he was REALLY beautiful #that or idol boyfriend shows up at 3 am at your door for some godforsaken reason and it's still a proposal #also for some reason i really love alkaid and white roses...which—fair enough

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tunastime · 1 year

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On Life Series Season 4

for those of you who voted for jimmy and tango: this is for you.

also known as: I have very complex thoughts about rancher reunion for season 4 and monolith is a group of known enablers.

(1545 words)

It’s the end of the world. Or, at least, it feels like it.

The grass is green and the sky is orange and red and Jimmy Solidarity is alone. He’s standing, half-stilted, leaning hard against the weight of the sword in his hands. It’s stone, just like the building. The rough cobbles form a tower. A defense. It’s all he’s got, here, in another death game. He’s got that, and another chance to die for nothing.

He tries to breathe normally, like he’s taught himself to keep level headed. It’s not doing much, considering that Jimmy feels something odd and aching boiling over in his chest. He feels like an unwatched pot, tipping over his lid, and his arms shake with it. It’s a feeling that pools in his wrists and the back of his knees, sharp and prickly. He can taste something vile in the back of his mouth. Words, laughter, bile. He isn’t sure.

It’s darkening. His building is on fire.

“Jimmy!”

It’s a voice he’s memorized. Gravel on the low notes. Whispers in the middle. Footsteps in the dirt. He thinks there might be blood under his nails, but he thinks it might also be soil, because nothing smells like blood and nothing about him stings. The voice that cuts through the dusk is too familiar, too safe. He staggers.

Jimmy’s house isn’t on fire, he is. He feels it coiling in his chest, licking at the inside of his lungs, hot, too hot, or maybe not hot enough. If he breathes out he fears it might be smoke. His hands are shaking. He swallows. He can’t make his lungs inflate.

Part of him thinks he deserves this, to know he’s mocked from the start, because he can remember the words about his house, about the rumors around him, he can remember the anger boiling up to an overflow. His house is burning. He made it out of stone this time. That wouldn’t burn, he thought. But his hands are hot. There were words he said, isn’t there? Things that punched out of him as soon as he saw a familiar face that had to crane to meet his eye again. What was it that he said, when he ran into Scar first? Joel? When they told him good luck both times? Was it something cruel to match the curling in his chest? Was it the brief glee on Joel’s face, knowing he got under his skin, that made him snap back? Who else was there?

There are other words being said to him.

What happened back there? I’ve been looking everywhere for you. Someone said you nearly punched Joel? And Scar? Jimmy—

Feet on the grass. He’s not there though, on that hillside with Joel, not anymore. He’s staring wide-eyed into bright red eyes, arms stretched out, a perspective that forces him to look at only him, at Tango in front of him.

It’s Tango, terrified. It’s Tango, and Jimmy can swear he can feel Tango’s heart thudding away helplessly in his own chest. It’s Tango, and for a moment he feels like his hands are burning and that the noise is deafening around him.

Except there is no noise. He fights to get forward, lands himself into Tango’s shoulder, hears the audible thud and oof as he does, as Tango digs his heels into the earth and refuses to be pushed aside. Tango pushes him back, trying to hold him steady.

“Jimmy—that wasn’t—this isn’t you,” Tango says, and his voice borders on confusion, on despair. Jimmy makes a noise somewhere half in his chest in response. “Snap out of it.”

“He’s just—he—he’s—” Jimmy struggles for a moment, squirming against the arm that holds his elbow. He didn’t see Joel like Tango did, scared and alone. He was the sneer over a wall Joel built. He was feeling himself picked up by the scruff, unable to fight back. He was watching a town crumble and it wasn’t even his fault. He was bleeding out on a bridge and someone was laughing. It’s gloating, it’s—someone is laughing and it isn’t Tango and it isn’t him.

Jimmy struggles. Why is Tango stopping him? Isn’t this what he should be doing? Standing up for himself? Jimmy deflates. Wouldn’t Tango be proud of him? Isn’t this what he wants? Every nerve in his body feels like it’s lit up, hair standing on end. Something watches (it isn’t Tango, and it isn’t him.)

“This isn’t you,” Tango manages.

Jimmy feels himself pushed back, but the hands are firm on his shoulders as his arms start to ache. His shoulder feels aflame where Tango holds it, warmth spreading from one point of contact through his muscles. He’s looking at Tango now, just for a fraction of a second before looking away, not able to hold his eye. His vision isn’t clear. It goes fuzzy around the edges, unfocused like he might be drifting off into space. He’s seeing bright red eyes under the brim of a hat. He’s seeing blue flames across the way. There’s someone in the pocket of his side and he is safe.

He takes what feels like the first breath of air in a long minute and his mouth doesn’t taste like smoke. He feels a hand peel from his shoulder, something that slides up to his face. It cradles his jaw in one warm palm, then two, fingers curling around the shell of his ears. He blinks, even has his vision blurs completely. The back of his throat burns. He feels like his nose is pinched shut. He swallows, and it takes everything in him to focus on the warmth of the hands over his cheeks.

“Jimmy, look at me. Look at me,” Tango’s voice tugs at him, firm. He lets his eyes drift back to a face that he knows. Tango’s eyes are wide, eyebrows upturned, lips in a fine line. He’s swaying, maybe not on purpose. He’s shivering, maybe not on purpose. The sky was never burning, it was just red. Jimmy feels his weight start to drop. It’s Tango. It’s Tango.

“It’s me, it’s Tango, your rancher,” he watches the wisp of a smile form on Tango’s face, through the wobble in his voice. He inhales sharply. “Remember?”

Cows! a voice calls from the doorway as Jimmy tries to circumnavigate the small herd chewing at the bundle of hay in his hand, on the sleeve of his shirt. This was many months ago. This was the first instance. There comes a day where Jimmy will sit a little too close and Tango will decide to slot himself in the curve of his arm at night and soon enough one bed was enough space and too much all at once. Hands fitting hands. Arms fitting around shoulders. We’ll rebuild, his voice says, to wipe the look of desolation from his rancher’s face as they stand in the broken husk of a house. It was never the home, anyway, was it? It was the people inside.

Something in Jimmy’s chest twists the strings of his heart in a knot. He sees Tango expression wavers as he shuts his eyes, swaying forward. He only manages a breath before it breaks.

Jimmy collapses into his arms and the smell of burnt matches is like coming home.

Tango sags with him, sinking them to the ground. Jimmy presses his face into the side of his neck, and safe, held close, he cries. It’s a horrible sound, one that pulls from him brokenly as he buries himself in Tango’s arms. He chokes on the sob.

“It’s empty,” he says, and the words are haunting and choked into his shoulder. Tango holds to the back of his neck, to the base of his spine, even as Jimmy’s hands tangle uselessly in his sweater. It’s all Jimmy can manage. He repeats it in the inhale that he takes: It’s empty. I’m alone.

Tumble Town is empty, and he knows it’s his fault.

Or maybe it isn't. Because what else could he have done, except convince them to stay? What could’ve been done that hadn’t been already, that he hadn’t already tried? What could he have done that would’ve made any difference, anyway, besides leaving himself?

Jimmy cries. Tango’s hands run up the base of his spine. They pull Jimmy to him, holding him close, holding him tight. Tango’s voice is a barely audible thing, through the gasps for air, between the calculated inhales and exhales Tango tries to have him copy. He repeats it like a mantra, pressed into the side of his head, into his hairline: “You’re not alone, I’m here.”

I’m here now and I won’t leave. Your home won’t be empty and your hearth won’t be cold. Your arms won’t be empty and your chest won’t be cold. I’m here.

Tango holds him in the grass and the dirt. Even when the sky is no longer pink and orange, even when the stars have started to peek out in the blue that blends with the fringes of sunset.

If only by one person, he is loved.

Jimmy breathes.

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nomsfaultau · 6 months

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I adore how toxic Mandatory Family Reunion emerald duo is. They're both completely incapable of objectively viewing the situation through their respective delusions (catastrophizing vs severe denial). Techno manipulates Philza for months. Philza traumatizes Techno to the point he's a shell of the man he once was. They both have entirely warped concepts of love. Each's entire life revolves around the other. They're so wonderfully dysfunctional that by the time Techno tells Philza he loves him it's one of the most devastating scenes in the fic.

#ahhhhhhhhhhh #i can't stop thinking about them #it just gets worse!#im looking up codependency so much like ??????#but nope! Entirely different shape of toxic but i have no idea what it is!#Neither do they bc theyre both so delusional!#oh uh familial love in case that wasn't clear #except it so clearly ISNT love but yah #dark sbi #emerald duo #emerald duo fic #sbi fic #technoblade #philza #philza fanfic #technoblade fanfic #mcyt fic #something to nom on #Mandatory family reunion

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mothfables · 8 months

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Violets and Rabbits

Legend and Ravio reunite after months apart.

It had been a long, long few months. The Chain had had little time for rest and they’d been nowhere close to finding reprieve with any friendly faces in any of the eras they’d been dumped in. Everyone was tired, sore, and more than a little grumpy as they pushed themselves through yet another portal. They kept their weapons at the ready; being dropped in the middle of a monster camp or hostile situation one too many times had made them more than a little wary.

It was thus an unexpected surprise to step out into an empty clearing, the surrounding woods quiet except for the echo of birdsong. No one relaxed just yet, though- they’d been caught off-guard enough in similar situations that a moment of peace was suspicious. After a few tense minutes passed without something happening, however, weapons began to lower as the Chain cautiously allowed themselves to relax.

“Anyone have an idea for whose Hyrule we’re in?” Time called after a quick headcount. Everyone except Four and Hyrule seemed to be doing fine, and even those two were recovering quickly. One less thing to worry about, then. The Chain took that time to look around and see if they recognized anything in their immediate surroundings.

“...It’s mine,” Legend confirmed after about a minute. He went to take a step only to stagger and have to brace himself on a nearby tree. He swore under his breath, waving off a concerned Warriors. “Jus’ my stupid joints. The constant portals made ‘em worse than usual. Gimme a minute, I’ll be fine.” The admission didn’t stop Wars’ hovering but he did at least try to stop being too obvious about it, knowing the Vet hated being coddled.

Eventually they started moving, Legend taking the lead with Warriors right behind him. It didn’t take long before they found themselves leaving the cover of the trees to step onto a firm dirt road. Legend took a moment to look around before setting off down it, his expression settling into badly-hidden hopeful excitement. The rest of them hurried to keep up, Twilight and Warriors exchanging grins. That expression could only mean one thing.

Sure enough, within minutes a cozy little cottage came into view, smoke puffing merrily from the chimney. A large sign decorated with purple lettering sat on the thatched roof, and plants flowed over the walls and along the path. As they drew nearer, the door opened to reveal a person in a hooded purple robe, and Legend’s breath caught.

The figure looked up and gasped. “Link!” The Chain exclaimed in surprise as Legend broke into a sprint. The hooded figure did the same, running up the path to meet Legend halfway.

They collided, wrapping their arms around each other with relieved sounds. They stayed like that for a moment before Legend pulled back, taking Ravio’s face in his hands and looking over him worriedly.

“No one tried anything, did they? The knights-?” Ravio shook his head.

“No, no, I’m okay. What about you?”

Legend gave a short, bitter laugh. “Who cares?!”

“I do!” Ravio leaned forward and kissed away the tears that had gathered in his partner’s eyes. Then he gave a surprised laugh as Legend grabbed his waist and lifted him up to spin them both around.

The Chain watched in surprise as the two of them spun, laughing in delight. They slowed after a few moments, Legend putting Ravio down but not letting go. Ravio wrapped his arms around him again as they leaned into each other. He pressed a kiss to Legend’s hair, humming contentedly. There was a moment of peace before Twilight whooped and Wind let out a piercing whistle, making them jump.

Legend grumbled, burying his face in Ravio’s shoulder. “Your family is easily amused, Mr. Hero,” his partner chuckled. “Aren’t you going to invite them in? It would be rude to just leave them out here, you know.”

The Veteran just growled. “If I don’t look at them, they’re not there.”

Ravio burst out laughing. He pressed one last kiss to Legend’s temple before pulling away and waving to the eight heroes standing further up the path. They quickly made their way towards them, laughing and jeering good-naturedly. Legend just scowled, though he brightened when Ravio took his hand, which only elicited more teasing. The Veteran ignored them and started walking, tugging the merchant back towards the house.

“Feel free to make yourselves at home! I won’t even charge for room and board!” Ravio called over his shoulder as they passed through the door. The heroes gladly took the invitation, filing after the couple and settling in with the knowledge of at least one night of safety and comfort. Packs and weapons were leaned against the wall and shoes piled in the hallway at Ravio’s insistence.

As for their hosts, the two of them put themselves to setting up the house for their guests, passing between the hall closet and the living room where most of the Chain was gathered. They rarely strayed far from each other’s side, keeping some form of contact at all times: from a hand on a shoulder or waist, to linked arms, to a gentle headbump once or twice when their hands were too full.

The gathered heroes couldn’t help but smile at the sight. Their prickly brother rarely allowed himself to be so soft or physically affectionate, so it was a rare treat when he did.

By now, Legend and Ravio had moved to the kitchen - shooing Wild out from where they’d attempted to start dinner - and from the sound of it had started their own preparations. A few moments later soft humming drifted through the house, interspersed with muffled laughter and chatter.

Warriors leaned back in his chair as he listened to the sounds of his brother’s happiness, closing his eyes with a soft smile. Already he could feel himself unwinding, the stress from the road melting away in the warm, homey atmosphere that enveloped the house. He could only imagine how it felt for Legend. It was clear how much he loved Ravio, and try as they might their brothers couldn’t compare to the feeling of coming home to a loved one. The Veteran had been away from home longer than the rest of them, and looking back it was easy to see the distance and separation taking its toll.

His musing was interrupted by the subject of his thoughts reentering the room, followed by a fragrant cloud of what smelled like fresh bread.

“Dinner’ll be ready in about an hour,” Legend announced, moving to sit on one of the plush chairs by the fire and sinking into it with a relieved sigh. By the looks of it he didn’t plan to move anytime soon; Wars couldn’t blame him. Between the numerous fights and constant walking, the Veteran’s joints must be making their displeasure known with a vengeance. He was sure someone - at the very least Ravio or Hyrule - would make sure Legend took something to ease the pain before bed. Nobody liked seeing one of their own hurting.

Speaking of Ravio, he appeared from the kitchen to sweep through the living room with a swish of purple robes to Legend’s chair, waiting for his partner to lift his arms before sitting on his lap and cuddling close. Legend wrapped his arms around him with a soft smile.

“So, Link tells me you had an exciting few weeks,” Ravio mentioned. Wind immediately groaned, taking a deep breath to complain extensively about their recent travels. The rest of them chuckled, settling in for a night of good food, comfortable beds, and more-or-less pleasant chatter. Warriors glanced at the couple across the fire and caught Legend’s eye, giving him a smile. His chest warmed when it was returned, and he sat back to enjoy the evening surrounded by his family.

#moth’s tales #fanfiction #linked universe fanfiction #linked universe #lu legend #lu ravio #lu warriors #legend and ravio are in a queerplatonic relationship in this!#warriors made himself a worrier and wouldn’t leave #that’s okay though i love him #so does legend. he just won’t admit it #fun fact: this whole fic was inspired by ruby + sapphire’s reunion in steven universe #qpr legend x ravio #queerplatonic relationship

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aniwahstan · 11 months

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1999 muggle AU

A Jegulus reunion: how Regulus Black ended up having positively filthy reunion s*x to the tune of Third Eye Blind

(Fic)

James finally shakes himself from delusion, and is the first to step toward Regulus. He doesn’t say hello, or ask what he is doing here. He doesn’t ask if he’s back for good, or when he arrived. James wraps his arms around Regulus’ lower back and hauls him off his feet, using one arm to wrap under his leg, forcing him to open his thighs and lock his legs around James’ back.

Once Regulus is secure in his grip, James walks him into the kitchen and away from prying eyes. He pauses there, letting Regulus support himself on the counter and kisses him. It’s quite frantic - how their hands grab for every inch of skin on the other. It doesn’t take long before their noises pull snide comments from the living room.

“Yeah, it’s not like any of us haven’t seen Reggie in months either. Not like he’s my brother. Go ahead, have him all to yourself, you selfish prick!”

James laughs against Regulus' mouth and picks him back up. He takes him down the hall, and sets him down just inside the door to his room. Before closing the door, he flips Sirius a middle finger for the comment and slams the door closed, locking it for good measure.

They spend a solid hour in bed. Or rather, on the bed. Because neither of them had the patience to get under the covers before ripping each other’s clothes clean off. James did have the good sense to pause long enough to throw in the first CD he could find and turn the knob up to maximum volume so they could be loud without more reprimand. And that is how Regulus Black ended up having positively filthy reunion s*x to the awful tune of Third Eye Blind.

Art by amazing @industrations ❤️

#I love music-centric fics and I love desperate reunions #at this point they both are like fuck Sirius he’ll just have to suffer #jegulus #regulus black #james potter #jegulus fic #marauders #starchaser #regulus fanfiction #ao3fic #jegulus fluff #jegulus smut #jegulus fandom

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l-wandering-etranger · 10 days

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okay but does helian yi even know of wenzhou? I know practicaly and canonically they would never see eachother as long as they live nor would have any contact. bUt- imagine if he recieves a wedding invitation on a random tuesday with no prior context and wonders why his friends are Like That. what if he goes in disguise and sees xiyuan there, freaks out and immediately starts cursing out wu xi

zzs freaking out and shaking wkx: I TOLD YOU YOU NEEDED TO GIVE LORD SEVENTH A DISGUISE-

wkx who wanted chaos: i just wanted to see what would happen-

lu ta coming from behind wu xi and running to jby: Dad!

jby: ...

wx: ...

zzs: ...

wkx: ...

helian yi: *starts hyperventilating*

#i love zzs and helien yi reunion fics #it always goes smth like #“this man? zishu you really wanna spend the rest of your life with HIM”#“atleast im with sm i ACTUALLY love”#faraway wanderers #word of honor #wu xi #jing beiyuan #lord seventh #xiyuan #lu ta #wen kexing #zhou zishu #wenzhou #helian yi

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somebluemelodies · 4 months

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since we're probably finally gonna be seeing spiderbit back together in a couple days, here's my personal take on their reunion :> just to be safe: tw for talk/implications of suicidal thoughts (under the cut)

They stay there for God only knows how long, holding on as tight as they can, in fear of what could happen if they let go.

(It could all change in the blink of an eye. Heaven forbid.)

They’d started their embrace standing, but it was short-lived, the weight of everything crashing down on them as their legs gave out, water building behind their eyes.

For now, it’s finally over. For now, it’s finally just them. And that’s enough.

It’s Roier who finally moves first, lifting his head from Cellbit’s shoulder but not pulling back far enough to leave his husband’s arms. No, he’s not ready for that yet.

He holds Cellbit’s face in his hands, brows furrowed as he stares him down. “What the fuck happened?”

“I didn’t—” the investigator pauses, seeming to rethink his words— “I chose to stay there.”

(He can never lie to the spider-hybrid, in any capacity.)

Roier’s brows furrow even more, if possible. “¿Qué—? Hijo de puta, what were you thinking?”

Cellbit glances away from him, eyes flickering down. He looks… guilty. Conflicted. “I… I saw Richas die in front of me. At least, I thought I did. And honestly?” He swallowed. “I wanted it to be over after that. I didn’t care anymore. As long as you made it. And you did. That was the only thing that mattered to me.”

Roier purses his lips, chest heavy. He understands, in a morbid truth - he really does. He thinks of how he felt immediately after Bobby died and the days that followed. The hours spent in the damn pool, hoping, praying for a way out. Falling from the heights of his castle without a care. The pain that still plagues him.

(He understands better than anyone else.)

But it was Cellbit who started to make him feel alive again. Cellbit who made his world even just a little brighter, even with the storm clouds of his own past.

And he’ll be damned if he loses him, too.

(They’re together. For better or for worse.)

There’s a question on the tip of his tongue. Why didn’t you tell me you wanted to stay?

(He feels like, deep down, he already knows at least a small semblance of the investigator’s answer. And it makes him upset. For Cellbit.)

(Why does this happen to any of them?)

But Roier doesn’t even have to ask. He knows Cellbit knows, somehow, by the way his husband studies his expression.

(They’ve become eerily good at reading each other. That’s just how they work now. But he wouldn’t have it any other way.)

The thoughts come pouring out of Cellbit before he can really stop them; the same ones he’d relayed to Baghera. “I knew you would've stayed if I told you. And I didn't want you to do that. I didn’t want to take the chance of you around me when I was… like that. And this isn’t much better. I’m still—” he recoils, retracting his arms from Roier, who nearly grabs for his hands at the loss of contact. “You deserve better than this, guapito; you deserve to be free, not stuck there on that fucking island, stuck with me— you’d be happier without me.”

“¿Qué?”

(Roier feels like someone just submerged him under icy water.)

“I thought you’d be happier without me. I didn’t think you could be happy around me like this. I still don’t— I—”

Cellbit is interrupted by a sudden hand against the back of his neck, pulling him forward as lips crash against his, and he’s nearly overwhelmed by all the emotions behind it, intertwining with his own.

But he kisses back immediately, melting right into it; of course he does. He knows he can talk all he wants about not wanting Roier to be around, but what he wants and what he needs are two separate things.

They're breathless when they pull apart, and Roier's hands settle on Cellbit's shoulders. “You’re an idiot, Cellbo, you know that? So brilliant, yet so stupid sometimes."

He breathes in, out, catching his breath and trying to gather the right words. “I spent so long looking for you. Hours and hours, every single day, trying to find some sign of you. Anything.

Why? Because I was fucking miserable, man! I felt like shit without you! I missed you, I missed you so much.” His voice falters slightly.

“But—”

“Pinche pendejo—” Roier hisses under his breath— “I don’t care what you think I deserve. I want you. Always. We stick together, no? Not because we're stuck and we have to, but because we want to, no?"

Cellbit nods slowly after a moment, remaining quiet. "Exactamente." The spider-hybrid reaches up, cradling his husband's face in his hands and catching a stray tear with the pad of his thumb. "I will always help you, no exceptions. Remember? Always here, for anything you may need."

The investigator falls into his arms, muttering tearful apologies, and they're right back to clutching each other tightly, securely.

(They're both crying, now. The tears stream freely, knowing they can be. Together.)

(It's not okay right now, but maybe in time, it will be.)

"Desculpa—" Cellbit chokes out— "te amo..."

They hold on tighter still. Roier's voice is muffled slightly, but Cellbit can make out the words as clear as day as the piece he's been desperately missing for weeks slides back into place.

"You and I against the world, gatinho."

And so it'll be.

#i feel like we've gotten so many angst-heavy reunion fics #which i get it the situation IS super angsty but like the comfort ??? have you also considered the amount of comfort potential ???#really tried to tread carefully with this one tho these cubitos are very emotionally complex and i'm still learning how to write them #but at the end of the day they love each other more than anything #and i think that's certainly worth noting yk?#qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #spiderbit #qsmp #blue writes qsmp #tw sui ideation #tw sui talk

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