#long distance reunion

[wardenred]

Sapphic September 11: Letters

More Post-Final Girls, and a direct sequel to this earlier snippet.

The first message arrives four months after the Grand Change, and at first, Meline thinks it's a prank. The address is encrypted. The sender’s ID is untraceable. There's no way to tell whether it was sent from within or outside the city limits. Maybe Freki could discover something; that one has always been freakishly talented. They're still not cooperating, though.

Yes, Meline does resort to asking, if not to begging. All she gets is a bout of laughter in her face.

She spends days staring at the few lines. I hear you're asking about us. Flo and I are well. It's been an interesting few months, and I have a hope that our future is only going to get more exciting. I sincerely hope you're doing well, too, and that you're achieving your goals with X-City. They're good goals, for what it's worth. I've always believed that. It's only your methods that I question, but I suppose at this point we can agree to disagree. If you decide to write back, I'll be glad.

That's all she gets. That, and the signature. 

-Jules

Meline only responds to the message because she's told it might help locate the sender. Her answering letter floats through the electronic ether loaded with tracers, interceptors, and bugs.

None of the little programs work.

Her web-reconnaissance team assure her they can keep trying. That's why, when another message comes, Meline writes back again.

Jules, assuming that's her, avoids answering any questions about her whereabouts, only occasionally resorting to a simple "You can stop trying, Mel, you know I won't tell you." She does say enough that it's clear she's not in X-City, or any of the other cities, for that matter. Or at least that she wants Meline to believe she isn't. Her descriptions of sands at night and star-peppered skies ring true, but she's always been one for vivid imagery. When they were in school together, the one subject Meline couldn't ever beat her at was essay composition.

Jules is also aware their correspondence is being watched. She slips in little notes for Meline's employers as postscripts. Better luck next time, I'd say, but I don't really want you to be in luck. That last virus was vicious, kudos for that. Oops, is someone getting desperate? Despite that, she is surprisingly candid. She talks openly about her feelings and moods. About Flo, who apparently doesn't know she's been in correspondence with Meline ("I'll tell her when she's ready"). About her anxiety over meeting so many new people and trying so many new things.

All the while, Jules's father keeps claiming he hasn't been in contact with his daughter since she left. So Meline doesn’t tell him anything either.

Weeks later, when the team is as close as they can get to admitting defeat, Meline tells them to quit. This isn't going anywhere, she tells them. This is nothing more than a distraction.

They stop monitoring the mailbox. She doesn't stop writing. Her letters get longer now. She doesn't want to open up, but she lets thing slip. How hard it's been, filling her mother's shoes. How she isn't sure these shoes fit her, even. How yes, it's about the methods, too, not just goals.

Jules doesn't stop writing either. Until she does.

At first, Meline thinks she must be simply busy. There's nothing strange about skipping on a reply for a day. For two days, even.

On day three, she's worried. On day four, she's climbing walls and cancelling meetings.

There's a lot of dangers beyond the city walls. It's not all beautiful stars.

Day five, day six, day seven. Day ten.

Tomorrow, I'll talk to Freki again, she swears on day twelve before bed. It's probably going to be of no use, but if she tries and tries and tries, if she agrees to let them go, if—

Her comm pings. 

The message arrives with the same cipher in place of a return address, but those aren't Jules's words on the screen. Same font, same background, no signature, but Mel can't imagine being wrong on the sender's identity.

So. Hey. I should have written sooner, but I was mad at you & Jules both. She's fine, by the way. Well, she will be. They’ve got great healthcare here in the middle of nowhere. Anyway, I've given it some thought, talked to some people, and maybe I'm willing to give this "communicating instead of burning bridges" thing a go. 

If it doesn't work out, I've got gasoline.

[penn-dragon]

Kyoko still regularly visits the Corn clearing because it's her happy place, and early into the production Ren goes to visit the spot for nostalgia and happy memories. They run into each other there and Ren immediately realizes who she is

[purpleneutrino]

oh i MUST ask about Eternal Pose 👀🧡💙

My girls!! 😭 This one is close to my heart and will probably take me a long time to finish. It's Nami POV and centered around how she deals with leaving Vivi behind at Alabasta, but never having confessed her feelings towards her. Vivi is desperate to stay in contact with Nami and the others (via letters or Den Den Mushi) but Nami firmly tells her no, as she is worried that it would put Vivi in danger if their correspondance was intercepted. She also wants to try and forget Vivi as much as possible for the sake of her own feelings. Vivi agrees, but she is also stubborn and makes attempts to contact Nami anyway. Nami's feelings make it hard to say no to her...

Here's a small snippet!

The second-hand shop sold a variety of sailing trinkets. As Nami made her way towards what looked like an amalgamation of navigational and shipwrights tools, she caught the eye of the day-dreaming cashier—a girl probably only a year or two younger than she was—and gave her a small smile and a nod. The girl blinked dazedly for a moment, giving her a shy smile back before glancing down at her newspaper, a light pink on her cheeks. The movement caused her shimmery mane of silver hair to catch the light, making it almost appear blue. 

Nami’s heart skipped a beat.

She turned back quickly to the disorganised shelves. They heaved with everything from sextants to piles upon piles of old maps and ship blueprints alike. There wasn’t anything in particular she was looking for, she was only here to pass the time and maybe pick up a new inkwell or two, but the habit of seeking out a good bargain was something that never truly went away, no matter how much berry she gained.

Her eyes fell upon a collection of dusty log poses, all in varying states of disrepair. Probably being sold for spare parts, she reasoned. There were also a few eternal poses amongst the pile that looked to be in better condition. She picked up the closest one to inspect it, dusting off the side where the destination should be carved into it, except the wood had become so worn that the name of the island was completely unreadable.

“Useless,” Nami muttered quietly to herself as she made to put it back on the shelf. No wonder it was so heavily marked down in price. Eternal poses weren’t exactly cheap.

Just before she could replace it on the shelf, she paused. The name on the eternal pose that had been hidden behind the one she held was now fully visible. Her hand shook a little as she reached for it, tracing the letters gently with her fingertip as she wiped away the dust.

“Alabasta…”

Nami bit her lip, turning it over in her hands under the guise of checking its condition—flawless—and price tag—way more berry than she could justify—when all the while her mind whirled with a sea of emotions. She stole a glance back at the cashier again, and her hair only seemed more blue.

The cashier looked up and spoke, but Nami could only hear her own heartbeat thundering in her ears.

“What?” Nami said faintly and the cashier gave her a kind smile before repeating herself.

“Do you need any help with anything?” 

“O-oh! No, I'm okay. Sorry I'm just browsing.”

The cashier’s smile became amused as she took in Nami’s flustered look.

“No problem! I’m here if you need anything.”

Nami watched curiously as the cashier gave her another quick once over before looking back down at her newspaper. Her cheeks were pink again.

Smiling, Nami observed the girl tucking her hair behind her ear, her eyes very clearly not reading the words in front of her at all. It was always flattering to be looked at in that way. On any other day, Nami might have even pursued it further, but…

She took a breath.

Mind calmer, Nami looked back down again at the eternal pose. She gripped it tighter.

Making a decision, she turned and walked back towards the till. The cashier smiled brightly.

“Just that one?” She said as Nami passed over the eternal pose to her.

Nami nodded, heart hammering as she counted up the last of her berry in her purse—the boys would have to make do without any more handouts today. She watched as the cashier read the name on the pose, mouthing the syllables silently to herself without any sign of recognition, before placing it carefully in a paper bag. 

“Does it point somewhere nice?” She said conversationally. “Somewhere sunny? Nice beaches?” Her eyes roamed over Nami again, taking in her long hair, worn loose, and her tangerine sundress. She passed Nami the bag as she spoke, their fingertips brushing. Her touch was warm.

Nami pulled away gently. Whether the cashier looked disappointed or not, she didn’t know. She kept her gaze on the bag instead, smiling.

“Home,” she said.

[hiraethwrote]

hi dropping by with some daily tobio nation thoughts ahem -- kageyama picking u up at the italian airport, wearing a mask and trying to be inconspicuous even tho theres like at least a dozen paps followingh him around, and another few dozen fangirls just trailing behind him but all of that disappears when he sees you walking out of the gate, looking a bit tired, but smiling so wide when you see him -- the way you float in his arms when he picks you up, and sure this will def be on the tabloid front pages tomorrow morning but he doesn't care, he only cares about the way you smell like home, and how the shape of you fits into his chest like the last jigsaw piece to the puzzle that is his life and he'd kiss you without thinking, only to pull back and tug on his hat, blushing, taking your hand in his "c'mon, lets get your luggage... are you hungry? there's a good pizza place around the corner from mine."

aaaaah my tobio heart is beating out of my chest 😭 i am so thankful for you baby, feeding me so good with this

i often fantasise about airport reunions with him. so touch starved he forgets his surroundings, when he feels you in his arms again. like he has been counting down the days, the hours, until you’re reunited again. and he doesn’t necessarily want to bring any more attention the the whole scene then necessary, so doesn’t bring a huge bouquet — just one singular flower. simple, yet so thoughtful

and one of the most romantic things to me, is someone calling their so ‘home’. it tugs at my heartstrings, it jerks my tears, it makes me feel warm in a way nothing else does. so just picture he has trouble settling down in italy, not really finding any sense of peace there. it’s only when he plays he forgets he isn’t home.

until you’re in his arms again, and he’s reminded that his home is never a place but you.

no my heart 😭 it’s ridiculous how quickly he took my heart hostage like wtf who gave him the right

[transingthoseformers]

"𝙸 𝚖𝚒𝚜𝚜 𝚖𝚢 𝚐𝚒𝚛𝚕𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍", says a bi-ace Sunburst while staring at a picture of Belladonna as Slipbang and Kadatchi fuck in the next room (and they are not being subtle about it)

[in-tenebris-et-in-solitudine]

Allow people to miss you.

[lindtluirae]

Favourite Hello and Hardest Goodbye | BokuAka | rated G

Saying goodbye to Bokuto—no matter how inevitable, no matter how frequent—always feels like he’s choking on his own heart.

The usual sunshine of Bokuto’s presence wilts too as they stand in the airport, seconds away from separating yet again.

As if to match his mood, the skies outside are overcast, the clouds grey in their shared melancholy.

Bokuto shuffles, his eyes casting around. Akaashi can see the beginning of a wobble in his lips that Bokuto is resisting. He watches him swallow thickly a few times before meeting Akaashi’s eyes. “It’s only a few months.”

It sounds like he's trying to convince himself.

“Yeah,” Akaashi says softly, head dipping to shield his expression.

There they are, two people flaking at the edges as they try to hold themselves together for the other person.

���We’ll text every day,” Bokuto promises, voice rough.

Moments later, he buries his face in Akaashi’s neck, embracing him with both arms securely around his body. Akaashi’s knees buckle a little, his breath catching as he's reminded of what he's about to part with.

He can’t move under the weight of Bokuto’s familiar, strong arms—doesn’t want to, ever.

But Bokuto is going to miss his flight.

Akaashi wrenches himself away, gathering himself with the skin of his teeth. “Go, Bokuto-san. You’ve got this.”

His breaths shudder out of him at Bokuto’s gentle, comforting smile. His nod of agreement. “We’ll win, and then I’ll come home to you.”

And that? That sits with him for weeks.

I’ll come home to you.

It burns in his chest, in his cheeks, behind his eyes.

Bokuto is his home too, even if Akaashi doesn’t know how to express it so bluntly.

Akaashi remembers watching a comedy special once, where a line struck him: home is where we feel safe, because we live in an unsafe world.

Nothing can touch him with Bokuto around, because Bokuto chases away the darkness that clings to every corner. He sweeps the streets with light, and offers the warmth of his smiles to Akaashi without restraint, until Akaashi begins to feel like he's been left outside in a sunspot to bake.

He should be used to this, but he's not. He doubts he’ll ever learn to accept their separation, no matter how brief.

Akaashi drifts through life one meeting at a time, an overworked caricature of himself in between, only to feel whole again the moment he reunites with Bokuto.

“Agaaashii,” Bokuto says, picking up his phone. He can hear a commotion behind him, and loud cheers. “Hi!”

He's probably still at their game.

“Is this a bad time?” Akaashi tests unsurely.

“No way, it’s a good time! The best time, now that I hear your voice.” Bokuto can truly be shameless in expressing his affections, Akaashi can’t get used to it. “I miss you~”

As always, his heart slams into his chest. “I miss you too, Bokuto-san.”

Even though it’s only been two weeks. How is Akaashi meant to endure this?

“Bokkun, who’re ya talkin’ to?” Someone asks in the background.

Bokuto slightly pulls the phone away from his ear, his voice sounding a little further as he responds. “Oh! It’s Akaashi, remember? I told you about him.”

“Ahh! Say hi to yer husband for me!”

Akaashi’s mouth goes dry, his eyes widening. Husband?

“Tsum-Tsum says hi, Kaashi!” Bokuto relays enthusiastically, seemingly unruffled.

Akaashi barely manages to choke out a question. “H-husband?”

“Ohh,” Bokuto makes a noise. The silence stretches only a few seconds, but Akaashi finds that he's forgotten how to breathe. “…Tsum-Tsum likes to tease me… because I always talk about you. So now everyone… everyone refers to you like that.”

His eyebrows shoot up, both flattered and stunned. “Really?”

“‘Course Agaashi! I have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world!”

Ugh, Bokuto is bad for his cardiac health. Akaashi clutches his heart and takes a steadying breath. “Don’t let them tease you too much.”

“It’s okay,” Bokuto waves off, sounding more enthusiastic. “It’s not really teasing if it’s true!”

“Huh?”

“It’s just like practice for the future, right?” Bokuto poses the question innocently, likely unaware of the way Akaashi clutches the edge of a couch to steady himself against the sudden swoop of his heart. “For when we get married.”

For? When?!

Akaashi’s mind goes into an internal screech, wheels skidding out of control, thoughts barreling into each other, a big traffic jam that brings everything to a stop. He stands there, stunned, caught in the middle of it.

They’ve never verbally discussed this, even though Akaashi hoped and anticipated that that’s where they’ll end up one day.

Yet for Bokuto to announce it so casually…

He swallows thickly a few times. Clears his throat. “Right,” his voice cracks a bit. “Of course.”

He can hear Bokuto’s beaming smile. “I’ll call you later tonight, Kaashi! I have to go now!”

“Okay, Bokuto-san… Kou,” Akaashi responds, still reeling.

There’s a pause on the other end of the line.

Then, a stream of verbal hearts pour from the receiver. “Keijiiiii! You called me Kou!”

It feels appropriate, in light of the most recent revelation. “I did,” Akaashi agrees, clearing his throat. His cheeks feel incandescently warm. “Go now, before you get in trouble.”

“I’ll call you!” Bokuto declares again, then, for all to hear, without a care or shame, entirely unreluctant, Bokuto ends the call with, “love you, Keiji!!”

The call ends, and Akaashi drops on the couch, body made of liquid.

He flops down like a limpless body and stares at the ceiling.

How? How does Bokuto do this to him?

It’s unbearable in his chest as the words glow there.

How is he expected to focus on anything else now?

*

Bokuto calls him around midnight Akaashi’s time.

He's already in bed, with nothing better to do than await this call. He answers it without a hitch, his heart kicking in his chest.

“Keiji!” Bokuto sounds delighted. “You’re awake! I was worried I’d miss you. Cap took us out for lunch!”

Akaashi curls into his duvet, smiling. “I hope you had a good time… I stayed up waiting.”

“Keiji…” Bokuto’s voice wobbles. “You did?”

“I always do,” Akaashi says softly.

“I miss you, Keijiii,” Bokuto whines, seemingly unable to stop calling him by his first name, even as violent butterflies swarm Akaashi’s gut each time.

“I miss you too… How was the game?”

“Great! We won!” Bokuto sounds like he's grinning. It makes Akaashi’s heart happy.

Bokuto is made to smile and be showered with love, he deserves it more than anyone.

“Congrats,” he murmurs, smiling softly. “I knew you would.”

“Keiji,” Bokuto says again, stealing his breath yet again. “I always win when you believe in me.”

Squeezing his eyes shut, Akaashi breathes against the overwhelming feeling rising in his throat. “I always, always believe in you.”

Bokuto makes a garbled noise, a mix of overwhelmed and happy. “That’s so unfair, why are you not here so I can kiss you?!”

Akaashi laughs, despite sharing the sentiment. “You can kiss me when you come back.”

“I’m saving up allll my kisses,” Bokuto discloses. “So far I have… twenty-five!”

It makes Akaashi choke on another laugh. “Twenty-five? That many already?”

“Of course!” Bokuto sounds indignant that Akaashi would doubt that. It’s so painfully endearing, it makes Akaashi bury his face in his pillow and try not to scream. “I always want to kiss you, Keiji!”

Good gods above, spare Akaashi’s heart some mercy.

“I miss your cute face,” Bokuto sighs wistfully. There’s a noise on the other end of Bokuto flopping down on a mattress. “Tsum-Tsum says I talk about you twenty-four-seven.”

“Please don’t drive Miya-san crazy.” Akaashi imagines what it must be like. Bokuto’s boundless enthusiasm spilling over, his generous love pouring out at the slightest provocation. “Especially if you plan to introduce us one day.”

“I do!” Bokuto agrees, voice booming with excitement. “We talked about it yesterday. I told him we should grab lunch together sometime cause he keeps asking about you.”

“He does?”

“Yeah. Said something about wanting to meet the man that can keep up with me.” Bokuto is laughing, clearly not offended by that. “I think Tsum-Tsum is just looking for an excuse to tease me again!”

Yeah, Akaashi gathers that much. “Does he tease you too much?”

“Nah, don’t worry Keiji!” Bokuto reassures. “It’s harmless fun. He likes showing everyone my lockscreen. The one where you’re kissing my cheek. He also tells everyone that you’re really pretty, which is true!”

Akaashi flushes.

“And he always introduces you as my husband,” Bokuto adds after a moment.

There it is again. The breath catches in his throat. “You’re okay with that?”

“Why wouldn’t I be?” Bokuto huffs. “I plan to marry you one day, Keiji.”

This time, there’s no stopping the influx of things clawing up his throat. Akaashi smushes his face into a pillow and makes a garbled, choking noise, muffling a scream.

He can hear Bokuto exclaiming on the other end of the line, wondering if he's okay.

Shakily, Akaashi pulls the phone to his ear again.

“—aashi?!”

“I’m okay,” Akaashi says hoarsely (he’s not). “I’m here.”

“What happened?” Bokuto demands.

“I just needed a moment,” Akaashi clears his throat, face hot. “…to process.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

“Are you… is it a good thing?” Bokuto sounds a little vulnerable, and Akaashi can’t reassure him fast enough, tripping over his own words.

“Yes—of course—yes. I’m happy, Bokuto-san—Kou. You make me so happy.”

From the moment he met him, Akaashi recalls fondly, Bokuto has made him the happiest he could ever be.

*

Akaashi hasn't seen Bokuto for two months. They call frequently, sometimes day and night, sometimes over video, but none of it sates the ache in his chest.

There’s not enough of Bokuto to hold over such a large distance, and Akaashi misses the simple act of being close to him.

The way Bokuto smells so warm and nice, the way his arms are so strong they can lift Akaashi up effortlessly.

By the time those two months have passed, Akaashi swears he feels less human and more zombie, deprived of Bokuto’s bright presence for far too long.

Now only a few hours separate their reunion, and Akaashi is vibrating in his seat. He'sd been too anxious to sit still, and has arrived at the airport too early—hours too early.

He finds himself sitting in one of the caf’éès sipping on coffee and trying to stay awake after he had spent the night tossing and turning, unable to sleep in his excitement.

It’s cold here, he regrets wearing a thin cardigan, andas he holds his coffee close, leaching warmth from it.

Soon, Bokuto will be here.

Soon, Akaashi will feel warm again.

He doesn’t realise he's dozed off on the table until his phone vibrates in his pocket.

He startles, nearly spilling the remainder of his drink.

“Kou?” he picks up the phone, his breath catching.

“Keiji,” Bokuto says warmly. “You look so beautiful.”

Akaashi straightens instinctively. His head swivels around, and his heart careens into his ribs when he catches sight of Bokuto standing across the café.

He stumbles to his feet, his chair skidding back. Each breath puffs out of him like a little gasp as his feet carry him across the café, right into Bokuto’s waiting arms.

Oh.

Akaashi’s knees fully buckle at the soft impact with Bokuto’s warm, solid chest, but Bokuto catches him, one hand tangling in Akaashi’s hair as Bokuto nuzzles his neck and holds Akaashi against him. “Keiji…” he breathes.,

He can’t breathe, let alone talk, so he just clutches him closer, sucking lungfuls of his comforting scent.

“You’re here,” Akaashi chokes out, tangling his fingers in Bokuto’s hair and leaning back to look at him. At those glittering golden eyes he missed so much.

“You’re here,” he whispers again, awed and moved, his fingers skimming lovingly across Bokuto’s cheek.

Bokuto’s smile is radiant. “Of course I am,” he cups Akaashi’s cheek, leaning closer to impart his next words against Akaashi’s lips. “I came home to you.”

You can also read this piece on AO3.

[bloggingboutburgers]

I'm about a month and a half from my flight to visit my partner in Europe. This will be the second time we see each other in person but this time it'll be for 2x as long. I'm excited but nervous cause it'll be my first time traveling alone and my first time going to Europe

Aaaaa TwT You're doing great!!! I really wish you the best!!! When my partner visited me for the first time it was also their first time traveling alone to such a distance, and their first time going to Europe too, so this goes straight to my heart! We had a wonderful time and I hope you guys will too!!

[theluckywizard]

Happy friday lucky!! For some Rose Backstory, "We were always meant to say goodbye" (could be with her old fiance or the gamemaster or some other tryst)

Maybe not the backstory you were expecting, but here's another random chunk of distraction fic I cooked up last Friday! For @dadrunkwriting

WC: 892 Ship: Rose Trevelyan x Garrett Hawke Characters: Rose Trevelyan, Garrett Hawke, Bethany, Varric, Bann and Lady Trevelyan. Leandra Hawke 🥺

CW: Major character death (canon)

Rose weeps for him. Still unclear about the details other than that they were too dark to share in any sort of public announcement, she watches him through the hungry flames of the pyre and lets her tears wash her cheeks. Bethany stands beside him, and her Templar escort behind her. 

And Garrett watches Rose.

His look is carried on more than a year of their letters. Thick ones with words and doodles crammed up the margins. Letters that had taken all the embers they’d left behind and fanned them into a steady blaze. Ones her parents tolerated with worn out hopes that she might come around to the idea of marriage after all. But the news of Leandra’s death had reached the Trevelyans and they’d departed for Kirkwall before Garrett's own letter would have arrived.

All the color and spunk is banished from his gaze, leaving behind an agonized, depleted look that reaches desperately across for hers. It pleads with her for a thousand things and hers offers them all, bare before him in all her stiff Wintermarch finery.

Kirkwall’s first families make a show of mourning her while Hawke’s friends hang back behind him in a mix of armor and formalwear. The Chantry’s high cleric, Mother Elthina reads from the chant.

I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade

For there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light

And nothing that He has wrought shall be lost. 

Rose lets her words slip into a hum in the back of her mind as she focuses on Garrett through the pyre, working out how she might slip from her family later to see him. What could she possibly say? Their reunion was never supposed be like this. They’d joked in letters that he’d make the ride and they’d steal away to some secret corner of Fenwick to forget about everything for an afternoon. The undercurrent of more flowed steadily under their exchange

Rose moves along with the rest of the Trevelyans in the receiving line, her parents leading her. The line lumbers to a simple dirge, a lone chantry sister singing to the soft, hollow tones of a tom. She hurries to gather the right words, ones that might capture the morass of feeling that twists inside her, but she’s suffocated by them. And when he touches her hand would everyone see what lies between them?

First her father shakes Garrett's hand in his and then her mother clasps his in both of hers. And then she steps before him, her cheeks shining in the mute light of an overcast winter day. He accepts her hand but then reaches up to brush a tear of hers aside with his thumb. The curious looks of his friends and others present bear down upon them, pressing their time together.

“It wasn’t supposed to be like this,” he murmurs, hanging on to her gloved hand with his.

“I know,” she says, observing that his hair is cut much shorter than it had been the last time she saw him. His eyes were somehow bluer than she remembered, but all around them is creased and darkened by exhaustion. An incipient beard adorns his jaw, evidence he’s been too preoccupied to care for himself since his mother passed.

“Where are you staying?”

“The Flying Harp.”

He nods. “I’ll come visit.”

“We’re leaving tomorrow,” Rose tells him. The protest in his eyes is immediate. He’d had her for a week last time.

“So soon?” Bethany asks, her cheeks mottled and lashes sticky. “I was hoping you might get to spend some time here.” She glances up at her brother and then back at her Templar keeper behind her. Rose presses Bethany’s hands between hers like they’ve known each other longer than the scant few hours they’d sat together the last time.

“Fenwick is but two days’ ride,” Rose tells her and then flicks a meaningful look back to Garrett. 

“You’re holding the line, dear,” says Alsatia over her shoulder, tugging on Rose’s elbow.

Varric hurries after her in such a way that he draws sharp looks from each of her parents.

“Lady Rose, wait,” he says. “You’re not really leaving tomorrow, are you?”

“I’m at the mercy of my parents,” Rose explains.

“He needs you,” says the dwarf. “I mean— I could use the back up. He hasn’t taken any visitors.”

“I’ll try to see him. No guarantees. They’re not easy to escape,” she says softly, glancing back at them.

“You know if you’d stayed last time, things would be different,” mutters the dwarf. “You know that right?”

Rose feels her indignance rise against such an obvious conclusion. “Maybe. But even you know he and I were always meant to say goodbye. It was a mutual decision.”

Varric looks admonished, troubled by the whole affair, Rose suspects. If it hadn’t been obvious from her first visit, Garrett's letters confirmed that Leandra was their a mother hen, welcoming and attending to Garrett's odd gang in spite of the antiquated judgments she’d unleash when they weren’t around. The dwarf pleads with her again. “You gotta try, Freckles.”

The nickname takes her back— Garrett Hawke the Nug King and his lady friend Freckles. She flushes at the remembrance and flicks her eyes back to his.

“The Flying Harp, Varric. Tell him to find me there.”

[aftgficrec]

We had despaired of ever finding this, but our teammate S has amazing powers of recall and was able to sleuth it out! It’s a super fun fic with soft, happy andreil and jerejean, plus solid Kevin friendship with everyone. By popular demand the author added an epilogue where the couples play The Newlywed Game with Kevin as host. (The second couple is jerejean, not katelyn/aaron.)

We screenshot the original rec because it contained an email address and hope the submitter sees this -A

Secrets and Honesty by fullyvisible [Rated T, 42780 Words, Complete, 2021]

Part 1 of the Better Together series

Neil and Andrew aren't on the same professional teams, but that doesn't mean they're any less together. When a photograph gets taken out of context, they decide to go with it, as long as they're both having fun. And they are. Right?

[dutybcrne]

I need to write up a thing ant how Kazu treats relationships like there will Never be enough time

[sociallyawkwardfoxwriter]

Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Archive Warning: No Archive Warnings Apply Category: M/M Fandom: Critical Role (Web Series) Relationship: Orym/Dorian Storm Characters: Dorian Storm, Orym (Critical Role), Fearne Calloway, Laudna (Critical Role), Ashton Greymoore, Chetney Pock O'Pea, Cyrus Wyvernwind, Imogen Temult Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anxiety, Long-Distance Relationship, Angst, Worry, Conversations, Trauma, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Loss, Romance, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Panic, Reunions, Crying, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Angst with a Happy Ending Series: ← Previous Work Part 6 of Dorym Week 2023

Summary: While Bells Hells is separated, Dorian and the rest of the Crown Keepers find their way to one half of the group. He is devastated to hear that Orym isn't with them and hasn't been for weeks. Thousands of miles away, Orym hears from Imogen of Dorian's arrival after silence from the inert sending stone he still holds, hoping it will work again. The longing and the pain is there, but they continue to move closer to each other. Eventually growing nearer with each step they take.

Fic Preview “Dorian?” After weeks spent traveling to a place none of them knew because of a rumor, the relief of hearing Fearne's voice calling his name almost caused him to collapse on the spot. “Dorian! Is that you?”

“Fearne!”

The swirl of Fearne’s dress and hair filled his vision when he turned, giving him just enough time to prepare for impact. He leaned into the familiar warmth of Fearne wrapped around him for a hug that smelled of poisonously sweet flowers and ash. After taking a few seconds to enjoy it, he lifted his head from being buried in Fearne's hair to look over her shoulder. A few feet away Imogen, Chetney and FCG waited patiently for them to have their moment together. The fact three people he expected to see with them were missing immediately caused his heart to plummet.

Pulling back from Fearne enough to see her face, it still took him a second longer to get the words out of his mouth. “Where is everyone? Where's Orym?”

[celestial-signals]

Countdown to Love - Making the Most of the Days Until Your Long-Distance Relationship Reunion

This is your chance to ignite the passion and build anticipation as you count down the days to your Long-Distance Relationship Reunion! You’ve thought about this moment for ages, and now it’s time to maximize every second until you’re in each other’s arms again. Don’t let the distance drain your excitement — instead, use it to channel your energy into creating unforgettable experiences that can…

[khioneee]

tap out.

simon doesn’t expect anyone to tap him out. a ritual where loved ones step forward to release a soldier from duty, creating a chance to reconnect.

based on this.

simon stands in formation, a soldier among countless others, each bound by discipline, each carrying their own story beneath a stoic exterior.

in the unyielding line, he’s silent, gaze fixed forward, while around him, families reunite: sons embraced by tearful mothers, women lifting their children into their arms, couples lost in long-awaited kisses. joy and relief fill the air, carried on quiet laughter and murmured words of love.

but simon is an orphan now.

there’s no one to step forward for him, no one to break his stance. he watches it all, standing alone, feeling like a stranger in this crowd of reunions, this world of connections he never belonged to.

over the years, the military has stripped him down, rebuilt him into something hardened and unbreakable. this new self is his armor, a wall between him and the life he left behind.

the tap-out tradition is a formality he’s only ever heard about, something he’s watched from a distance but never expected for himself.

he stands motionless as soldiers around him are tapped out by loved ones. he watches quietly, feeling a distant sense of satisfaction for them, grateful that they have that in their lives.

maybe soap would tap him out after he’d seen to his own family.

no matter how many times simon tried to keep him at arm’s length, he’d come to accept that soap wasn’t leaving him behind. coerced into the friendship or not, soap was a friend. until soap has been tapped out, there’s no one in simon’s life to come pick him out.

still, simon knew he was alone in ways he couldn’t change. or so he believes.

then he feels it—a subtle shift in the air, hesitant footsteps halting just in front of him, carrying a weight he doesn’t understand. his breath catches, but he doesn’t move. he’s trained to hold his position, but something in him almost falters as he senses a presence just inches away. slowly, he lets his gaze shift, barely, enough to catch a silhouette he thought he’d left behind a lifetime ago.

it’s you.

you. his childhood best friend. the love of his life.

you. the only person he thought of when he escaped his broken home. you. the guilt that wracked him when he ran, unable to say goodbye after the night he barely escaped after being beat nearly to death. you. the only reason he wanted to be alive, and the person he hadn’t been able to look back for.

—you. you. you.

and now here you are, standing before him, eyes wide with hope and uncertainty, tears gathering at the corners like unsaid words held back for too long.

he doesn’t understand, not fully. he thought he’d locked that door, left that part of him sealed away. and yet, here you are, holding everything he thought he’d left behind.

you hesitate, the weight of the years pressing down between you, unsure if you’re allowed to do this. if you can reach out to him after all this time, to be the one who taps him out.

he senses your uncertainty, feels it as if it’s his own, and in that moment, he lets a flicker of vulnerability break through—a slight furrow in his brow, a subtle nod. silent permission.

and you know, in that instant, it’s okay.

with a trembling hand, you reach forward, closing the distance. your hand hovers over his shoulder for a heartbeat, the air between you heavy with everything left unsaid.

then, gently, you tap him out. a simple touch, light and fleeting, yet it breaks something open in both of you.

in an instant, simon moves. his arms come around you, his grip unyielding as he pulls you close, lifting you off the ground. the soldier falls away, and he’s just simon again, holding you as if you’re the only real thing in a world that’s constantly shifting.

his head lowers, his face buried in your shoulder, and he breathes you in, lets the walls he’s held up for years fall away.

‘you’re here,’ he murmurs, voice rough, thick with emotion he can’t hide anymore.

his hand cradles the back of your head, fingers threading through your hair, each touch soft, a silent promise. the weight of years and regret presses against him, but he holds you tighter, as if to make up for every moment he was gone.

you feel the warmth of his tears against your shoulder, silent and raw. he pulls you closer still, as if afraid to let go, his voice barely a whisper as he breathes, ‘i’m sorry, lovie. i’m so damn sorry. i’ll never leave you behind again. i promise.’

and in that moment, surrounded by echoes of lives left behind, he’s just simon again, the boy who belonged with you.

. ִֶָ𓂃 ࣪˖ ִֶָ🐇་༘࿐ an. i know the tap-out tradition isn’t common in the uk and is usually done at the airforce but oh well. read part 2 here.

[wickedzeevyln]

Words Are Things

Counting Seconds I once knew how to pace myself.But you had to come along and disrupt the rhythm of the routine.Now, I’m counting the seconds to the hour and the day,as I inch closer to that moment with you.It takes getting used to peeling my eyes away from the screen of my phone and detaching feelings from clipped words condensed in the interest of time.As you launch yourself into my arms and…

[isai-64v16]