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#ella at the end of the world

jenniferjuanconfessions · 2 years

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Confession 2043

I wish Martin had died instead of Ella. All he did was bully Ella and boss her around. She deserved a better husband and a better ending!

#jennifer juan #ella at the end of the world #Martin Campbell #Ella Campbell #confessions

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philtstone · 1 year

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Sam and AJ and Cass, 29

#29 -- a story that never gets told

a prequel of sorts to my belovedly unhinged magical realism au, the original of which can be read on ao3 by clicking here. i wrote this prompt in random snippets on the subway, so hopefully its coherent. it kind of got away from me, but im leaning into the multiple indulged elements. most importantly, to answer zainabs oft asked question, "is this the one where he can turn into a whole ass wolf?" yes. yes it is.

Sam, as he has told his sister many a time, could learn — hypothetically — to be a great parent if he wanted to. Instead, he nobly chooses to fight for what’s right. This involves on occasion saving innocent lives amidst the unexpected collapse of Kingdoms, and more often petty magical crime, like that idiot who started going around stealing peoples sheep by herding them into his backyard, which he’d doused in a layer of magically un-solvent superglue. Thank God for Clint’s solvent arrows, which is a sentiment Sam brings up smugly whenever his sister expresses disdain towards the usefulness of magical items in completing household chores.

All of that was before Steve vanished into thin air, leaving Sam with custody of an ancient shield and a perpetually moody shapeshifter.

Hypotheticals are abounding just now. Hypothetically, Steve could just be on one long spontaneous vacation that he even logged in the shared magical calendar, which Bucky inconveniently misplaced on that last trek from North country down here. Hypothetically, Steve could have been kidnapped by a unicorn — those things are known to fuck with you just cause they can — and is currently being held in a magically enforced glade and subjected to a game of 21 riddles. Hypothetically, Steve could just be dead. Smallpox, common cold, unanticipated ogre attack on side of road. If Sam might say so himself, even the best of ‘em can get jumped sometimes; ain’t no shame in it.

“If Steve was dead, why hasn’t his ghost shown up to tell us that?” Bucky asks. He has elaborate theories on the matter, half of which involve the unicorn. The other half involve deep and cutting betrayal. Or murder.

“Steve Rogers did not just up and decide to play double agent,” Sam says, rolling his eyes. Bucky is never truly serious about this. He brings up potential intrigue in every conversation purely out of habit. And, Sam supposes begrudgingly, experience.

“So, murder.”

“Maybe ghost Steve is havin’ too much of a good time,” Sam says. “Remember that fae chick he was sweet on, and they got separated decades ago? Got him all stoic and single tear-y when her name came up? Carried her picture in his dumb little locket? She could be dead. They could be partying it up in the afterlife.”

“Bastard,” Bucky says grumpily, about Steve. “I’d tell you guys, if I died without you knowing.”

“Accidentally died,” insists Sam.

Bucky scowls. “I maintain we haven’t ruled out the double agent angle.”

“Oh my God!” says Sam, and throws his hands up in the air.

They have this exchange multiple times.

Sam sees the merit in the murder angle, but doesn’t necessarily like acknowledging it out loud. First of all, admitting Bucky might be right is always annoying, so he avoids doing it. Second, that shit’s bad juju, especially down here; you never know when a shadow man is listening in.

Just in case Ghost Steve really was murdered and forgot to tell them, though, Sam decides to conduct some scientific experiments. He makes Steve’s favourite gumbo (Sam’s mom’s recipe, of course – no one else’s can hold a candle) and bangs the pot lid loudly over the stove in case there are any spirits around to notice. He flips through Steve’s private sketchbook, left behind in Sam’s napsack — another clear evidence that he hasn’t turned coat — and makes childish faces at all the nude figures to trigger Steve’s artistic sensibilities. Then he leaves it out where the kids could find it, to trigger Steve’s moral sensibilities.

Bucky takes more extreme measures. He goes out into the yard and yells, “Hey, jerk! You ever thought about what a basket case I’d be without you here? You don’t even got the decency to explain yourself?” after dark, into the droopy shapes of the mangrove trees.

“Is he gonna start howling at the moon?” Sarah asks Sam one evening, though not unkindly, while they do the dishes and watch Bucky go at it through the small kitchen window.

Sam doesn’t say anything. Privately, he kind of feels like doing the same.

Then, about three months later, after a near-coup and the revelation of multiple conspiracies and a big old honking blockade being put up all through South country, the Wakandans show up. With – holy shit, Sam thinks – a message from Steve.

“Uncle Sam, you’ve already told us that story.”

Okay, so speaking of parenting. Yeah, yeah, Sam would be a great parent in some alternate universe of events decidedly different from this one. In this universe, getting his nephews to bed at a reasonable hour when only this afternoon, a bunch of fancy people in red armour were holding a super secret outlaw meeting in the barn is proving harder than it looks. Sam almost wishes he was dealing with old Paste-Pot Pete and those sheep again.

“Uh, no I have not,” says Sam. “This version has added embellishments. The Wakandan King never challenged me to a duel, that was all Bucky’s bad luck.”

“We’re calling ritual vengeance duels now?” asks Bucky dryly.

“I’m just sayin’, I’m making a bunch of this up here. I am exercising creativity. Story version number one didn’t have any flying dwarves in it.”

Bucky is sitting in the doorway to the kids’ bedroom and attempting to de-encrust his favourite boots, which went through the ringer a bit on their way down through the bayou to Sarah’s three months ago. That was just after this all started. A lot’s changed since then.

Like the fact that Bucky is even in this house, cleaning boots. Or Sam’s newly discovered inability to lull little boys to sleep via adrenaline filled adventure stories while their mother takes a care package to the neighbours’ pregnant daughter in law. Sarah was very excited to see the newest in maternity fashion, which apparently Marlene had been sporting in the village all week, purchased from traveling dressmakers who might have had fae blood. Those guys always do know how to cut a cloak well.

Bucky sniffs loudly at Sam’s defense and pulls an exaggerated face, raising the poor boot up to eye level to inspect it. “Maybe you’re just bad at telling stories,” he says finally.

While AJ and Cass giggle like the traitors they are, Sam makes a loud offended noise.

“Alright,” he says. “Fine. Fine. You know what? Just for that, I’m telling the story of how all of Petruski’s sticky sheep started followin’ your fluffy white wolf ass around.”

AJ dissolves into even harder giggles. Cass says, “Not the sheep story Uncle Sam! All you do in that one is complain!” and Bucky says, more primly than he has any right to, “I was consciously being as non threatening as possible, Samuel.”

“Yeah,” Sam says, “so non threatening they thought you were one of ‘em.”

AJ is really starting to wheeze now, so Sam hauls him into his arms to disrupt the hilarity before it gets medical. Cass brings his pillow up over his head like a crown to smother his own laughter. And Bucky winks, before – in a devastating play – letting out a quiet, plaintive pair of baas in quick succession.

Routines like this one are becoming more and more real. More and more comfortable, Sam thinks, amidst the boys’ shrieks of laughter. Being here, being in this home (their home – The home?) it fills his heart with something warm and solid and unmoving. Like he has put down a heavy load. Sometimes it is hard to imagine what is so important that makes it worth picking up sword and shield and leaving this behind. Without this, where would any of them even be?

It’s just, that thought doesn’t stop the rest of the world from banging on their door sometimes.

Just look at Steve’s cryptic as hell note. The me you know isn’t dead. Seriously. What the fuck. Sam almost wishes he really was dealing with a unicorn.

He settles on telling the story of how he and Steve once met that tiny shrinking guy and between Captain Rogers’ knightly loyalty to his friends, some of Redwing’s more heroic moments, and the addition of the brilliant mage-princess who gifted Bucky the enchantment for his arm, both boys are appeased.

“Uncle Sam,” Cass says, sleepily, towards the tail end of the story. “’S no fair that magic skips a generation. I wanna help save the kingdom like you do.”

Sam quiets, his hand stilling where it was in the middle of brushing over AJs forehead. AJ is already fast asleep. Knocked out cold, snoring and everything.

Thing is, Sam’s brand of magic is pretty limited — some gimmick, even, nowhere close to what his Titi had. All Sam’s good for, practically speaking, is translating messages from carrier pigeons. But it got him into this bigger world, tangled him up in it.

Sam can see, even though Bucky’s head is down, that his friend’s expression has taken on a slight grimness.

“Cass. Hey.” Sam knuckles the boy’s nose gently. “What do you mean, like me. You know how I keep this old kingdom safe? I help your mama do the dishes.”

“Uncle Sam,” Cass says, rolling his sleepy thick-lashed eyes.

Sam sighs. “Cass. Just because it doesn’t make for a good story doesn’t mean it isn’t important.”

More important, even. Running this old house, and its garden (with all those gnomes, little pains-in-the-ass) and its boat.

“Muh huh,” Cass manages. And then he has drifted off, the side of his face squished against the pillow.

Sam and Bucky quietly relocate to the kitchen, where Redwing is awaiting them with a new note and a dead mouse.

“Jesus,” Bucky mutters.

“You better not be about to get in a piss fight with a kestrel when there are sleeping children in the next room.”

As if on cue, Redwing flaps over lands happily on Bucky’s shoulder, startling him. The little bell on his foot jingles, and Bucky glares, which does nothing to deter the little bird’s impulse to start throwing up what appears to be more mouse.

Bucky stands perfectly still and looks awfully close to raptorcide.

Dude, can you like, be normal for once, Sam says, to the bird. Redwing fluffs out all of his feathers in Bucky’s face in response.

“I don’t get into piss fights with your kestrel, Sam,” Bucky says, gritting each word out with individuality.

Redwing twitters happily.

He’ll come around eventually, Sam replies. He scoops the bird up in both hands and re-situates him on his own arm, and begins untying the little package wired to Redwing’s foot. Out loud, he adds, “You know, he wants to be your friend so badly –”

“He’s the one who chews through my best leather breeches twice a month –” Bucky cuts himself off, grumbling under his breath and reaching over to fumble the parchment scroll out of Sam’s hand while its messenger hops in one place and nuzzles the crown of his feathery head into Sam’s armpit. Sam’s poorly concealed smile fades when Bucky openly frowns.

“Note’s from Nakia,” Bucky mutters, tapping the amulet bracelet on his right wrist against the similar shape of beaded stone etched into the scroll’s covering as Sam strokes Redwing’s head.

“It’s – what?”

“What what.”

“From another dimension,” Bucky reads aloud, looking increasingly incredulous.

“What?”

“You already said that.” Sam rolls his eyes. Bucky makes a face at the scroll. “Always gotta be another fuckin’ gimmick. Well. She’s got a guy to decode it.”

“Didn’t she cast the spell?” asks Sam, who is still processing the dimension thing. As in, like, different from their own?

Is that where Steve is?

“Yeah, but only to keep anyone else from decoding it. The bracelet itself already had a message stored in it.”

“Beyond Steve’s disembodied voice materializing outta nowhere the first time I touched that thing to prove he hasn’t kicked the bucket.”

“Which,” Bucky starts, “for the record –”

“Was not your theory.”

Bucky frowns harder. Refocuses. “Yes. The bracelet, which was clearly a magical object enchanted to respond to your touch –”

“Could’a been our touch, you never held it before I did –”

“Fine, sure, our touch – double enchantment. This thing is stolen, and someone – my guess is Steve – managed to layer another goddamn spell on it before sending it our way.”

Sam sighs, staring at the gleaming dishes in the drying rack. A box of Arm and Magical Hammer’s peroxide sits orange and to the side. Maybe this is why Sarah refuses to use any of the handy dandy domestic enchantments he brings home for her.

Because magic’s a pain in the ass.

“So?” says Sam.

“Uh, yeah. She’s got a guy to decode it …” Bucky grimaces, “on the other side of the river.”

Oh. Oh. Yeah, that’s gonna be rough.

“I can’t go through a GRC checkpoint,” Sam says. Redwing makes a mournful sound of agreement. Bucky is still turning the note over and over as if maybe reading it upside down will change its mystifying contents.

“They’d recognize your beautiful knightly face,” he agrees, reciting Sam’s proffered explanation. “And then search all your bags and spook your horse. You know, she’s way too sensitive.”

“Clara ain’t sensitive, she’s emotionally intelligent. There’s a difference,” Bucky mutters something about Sam busting out his inner kingdom social worker lingo on them and Sam adds, “and you can go through a GRC checkpoint even less, by the way.”

“To be fair,” Bucky says, “they have kinda fucked up my nose in all those wanted posters. Maybe they wouldn’t recognize me.”

They both sit down at the table, resigned. It’s a sticky problem. Sam supposes, as Bucky pulls his favourite dagger out and begins flipping it in a broody manner, that they could take Sharon’s smuggler’s detour behind the wall, but she’d ask too many questions. Sending Redwing on his own is too risky (Sam admits, begrudgingly and in the privacy of his own mind). Clint’s roped into a local problem with a gang of overall-wearing gnomes, Bruce has started teaching a yoga of ogres class, even Joaquin just set up shop marketside selling his scroll encryption services … Sam’s stomach growls, and the lingering smell of spiced rice hits his nose. Sarah’s left a potfull on the stove, for them, probably. She blusters plenty, has real right to be angry plenty, and has a mean right hook, but she loves him. And she’s a lot tougher than she looks, Sam’s come to realize. Kept this whole village alive over the years with her caring, and even after they set up the blockades she charmed the border officers better than Sam or Bucky ever could.

Sam clicks his tongue against his teeth and says, “Huh.”

“What,” says Bucky.

“Lemme run a hypothetical by you.”

“Oh no.” Bucky rubs a finger over the bridge of his nose. “You always do this to me. I started like that once –”

“And have had many terrible no good get Sam’s ass in trouble plans since, brother.” Sam crosses his arms; Rewind flaps over to his little perch by the bookshelf in deference. “Hypothetically, you don’t have to look like yourself. Right?”

Bucky looks at him warily. “Well … no.”

“And … hypothetically –”

“Sam …”

“If a familiar person, say … the nice lady who used to take her gumbo to the community house every week. Was to have that bracelet in her box the next time she went –”

“You wanna send your sister through the woods on her own in this economy?” Bucky interrupts, baffled.

Sam lifts his chin. Raises his eyebrows. Wags his head a little bit. Chirp, says Redwing from across the room, which Sam might roughly translate to it’s not rocket science, pal.

It takes Bucky a moment to get it, but when it clicks, it’s obvious.

“Oh, no,” he says, a slow horror growing in his face. “No. No, no, no, no way. I refuse, Sam.”

“I haven’t asked anything yet!” Sam says, very mildly put out.

Bucky levels the pointy end of the dagger at him. “No. You’re not entrusting me as the sole keeper of your sister’s safety in the wilderness!”

Sam leans back in his chair, eyebrows raised. “And who the hell else am I gonna entrust as the sole keeper of my sister’s safety in the wilderness?” Bucky makes a disbelieving little cawing noise, like a sad crow, to which Sam adds, deliberate: “Come on, Buck. Be serious.”

Bucky does not answer, as he seems to go through twelve different emotions at once, silently. Sam, who can acknowledge at sword-point that this is maybe a little mean of him, given Bucky’s profound loyalty to his friends and poorly-concealed devotion to said sister (hmph), gives him a minute. Finally, Bucky manages,

“Anyone! Someone who didn’t spend the last eighty years magically entrapped by a cabal of fascist wizards in the body of a murderous rabid animal!”

He waves his free hand, which was previously clutched in his hair for something to do. He’d look a bit wild if he didn’t look so thoroughly mundane sitting there in his shirts with his boots off.

Well, okay. The knife’s a little intense. But it’s not like Sarah’s kitchen isn’t stacked with em.

Sam pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Okay, first of all. Rabid is just flat out inaccurate.”

“Sam,” Bucky grinds out.

“I’m just sayin’,” Sam says. “You’re not diseased. And like, present day wolf you can even be kinda cute. You seen how fluffy you are? Those sheep definitely did.”

Bucky actually growls at him.

“That doesn’t actually dispute my point,” says Sam, “which is that this, right here, is objectively our best plan.”

“I won’t do it.”

“I’m asking you, Bucky.”

“It’s a terrible plan!”

“Says the guy who only ever comes up with the most unhinged plans ever!”

They glare at each other, for a prolonged, stone-headed moment. Sam thinks that next time he tells the kids a bedtime story, he should include a Mexican standoff somewhere in there. Then Bucky raises the knife again, very very slowly.

“Only if Sarah says yes.”

“Which,” Sam agrees, “is extremely unlikely. If magic could be wrapped up in a tiny little football, she’d probably drop kick that thing into the Mississippi like a quarterback.”

Marginally, Bucky’s face relaxes.

“Yeah,” he says, and now Sam is starting to feel some relief too, because really, what the hell is he thinking? Sending his baby sister out into the wilderness so they can all uncover some great conspiracy … “Yeah. Yeah, okay. If she says yes, I’ll do it.”

And then, of course, she does.

#the logic of this au world is essentially what if the witcher got crossed with ella enchanted #thats all u rly need to know #im retconning endgame in my own au by having steves disappearance be for correct reasons #like he got trapped in another dimension where he could have a happy ending but it was an accident and not on purpose #my writing #the falcon and the winter soldier #captain america #tfatws #sam wilson #bucky barnes #sarah wilson #steve rogers #sam x bucky #cass wilson #aj wilson #sarah x bucky is implied and def present in the og fic

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oddinary4bts · 1 year

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Drunk ella here, shouldn’t be posting this but I really wanna interact with my followers so here it is??

I’m working on Yoongi’s chapter for the Life Goes On series?? It’s going pretty well so far but it might take a few months before it’s out yet (you all know I write whole books for the fics in this series lmao smh)

I was wondering if you guys like that? I feel like it’s a little bit of a flop each time I post and it’s a little hard to stay motivated??

Also I’m working on a fic that is like the sequel to @daechwitatamic’s fic What was hidden to a certain extent. It’s going to be a multi-chaptered thing so I hope you’ll all enjoy this?? Do we like multi-chaptered things here or we prefer one shots (extremely long one shots lol) cause this thing is already 43k words and it’s not nearly done yet yahah

Anyway, let me know, I’m drunk and probably going to delete this in the morning hahaha

#jungkook #yoongi #personal #ella #i’m sorry if I’m weird #i just chugged a beer called the end of the world #it does feel like it’s the end of the world #someone send help

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eamour · 2 months

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nothing exists outside of you.

when you end up not getting what you want, it’s never because of something or somebody else. no one actually thinks "oh, you weren’t good enough" or makes things happen in your reality that go against your wants. i know this is a hard pillow to swallow but it’s no one else but you doing that. like, for an example, when you get dumped by your partner, when you get denied from your dream university, when things don’t end up going your way or even the opposite, it’s never other people sabotaging you and being in your way.

things don’t exist outside of you, remember that. it’s only you in and out there.

you are your own limit.

but this is exactly where it gets exciting. the most useful and thoughtful quote i have heard so far regarding manifestation is: "it is entirely up to you to decide how much is within you. you declare who you are." this means that NO ONE can ever tell you "no". well, i'm sure they can, but you are not obligated to accept it. you don’t have to force yourself to like things you don’t like, or to settle for things you don’t want. again, you DESIRING a state is enough for it to exist. and there are infinite states and therefore realities out there! think about it this way: there is a version of you, right now, experiencing all of your desires. they have everything you have ever dreamed of. and you wanna know what’s so cool about it? you can be that person!!! infact, you already are them for all states exist within you and belong to you only! creation is fucking done, and just as neville said, your refusal to see that you already are who you wanna be is the reason why you will remain as you are right now.

others can not hinder you.

no one can define your worth. no one can determine your success. no one can make decisions for you and expect you to obey them. no one can create your life. no one can limit you. only if you think that others have power over you, then they can do whatever they want — because you let them!

only you direct your life.

i know life gets hard sometimes. genuinely hard. sometimes it’s unbearable and you feel like being suffocated and you‘ve got a shitty 3d right in your face, demanding you to deal with it, draining you the fuck out, and and and… but that doesn’t have to stop you. it won’t stop you. the outside world is also your creation. it is nothing you have to fear babes. after all, you know it’s only your conceptions of self… it’s just you. really nothing that scary!

get back on track.

now, do yourself a favour, and stop being afraid of circumstances. stop being a slave to your senses. stop giving in. stop thinking so small of yourself. stop belittling yourself. stop being so overly submissive. stop wavering. stop overthinking about every single detail that won’t go your way and remember that there is a wonderful version of you "inside" you that wants to be embodied. how wonderful is that? to be fully in control of your world? and it will only ever be up to you what you do with it!

things can change in a day. your 3d can look so… deranged? if you will? and yet, you could still get your desire the same exact day. NO ONE CAN TAKE AWAY YOUR DESIRES FROM YOU BUT YOU!!!

with love and rage, ella.

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casuallyimagining · 6 months

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Set Me Free || myg

min yoongi x female reader

Summary: Tired of being told how to live his life and unsure of where he stands in the world, Yoongi--your soulmate--yearns to be free. When you give him what he wants, it causes a rift in your relationship that seems irreparable. 12 years later, you find him back in your life. Can you mend your relationship? Do you even want to? Word Count: 14,377 Genre: friends to enemies to lovers, supernatural au, witch & familiar au, soulmate au, angst, fluff Warnings: death of a parent (brief mention), alcohol, soulmate breakup, smooching

Notes: banner by @itaeewon. thank you to @daechwitatamic and @oddinary4bts for beta-ing and listening to me struggle my way through this. as always. and extra thanks to ella for helping me write Yoongi's letters and to my friend tanya for giving me a super helpful base for the ending.

It’s cold. The late autumn wind rustles through amber-brown-orange-yellow leaves, swirling the fallen ones into little tornadoes that scuttle across the pavement. The cold doesn’t bother Yoongi, necessarily. It’s been a while since he’s been here, in this town, on this street, but even after so much time, his body remembers the chill of November in the same way his feet remember the way to his destination. He shoves his hands deep into his pockets and pauses at the street corner.

It’s strange being back here. He’d once known this neighborhood so intimately, he could map it in his sleep. Not much has changed in the almost 13 years he’s been gone. The park on the corner is the same. The playground, massive to an eight-year-old with a near-infinite imagination, stands resolute, its plastic and paint sun-faded and weathered. Further up the block is the head of the trail that snakes its way through the forest, where he’d spent countless hours playing pirates as a kid and exploring as a teen. And there, at the end of the street, is his destination.

The closer he gets, the more his stomach roils with nerves. Thirteen years since he’d walked down this sidewalk. Thirteen years since he’d walked onto that front porch. Or rather, 12 years, 5 months, and 11 days.

But who’s counting?

There’s a light on in the front room of the house, he can see it through the big window despite the shades being pulled closed. He hesitates. He’s spent days–no, weeks–playing out in his head how this was going to go. In a moment, he’ll know if any of those scenarios were correct. And frankly, right now, he’s terrified.

What if you start to cry? What if you slam the door in his face? What if you hug him? What if you yell at him? What if you don’t answer? What if you want to talk? What if you never want to see him again? What if you invite him in? What if you have someone over?

He takes a deep breath and knocks.

It takes a second. He can hear shuffling around on the other side of the door, so he knows his knock was heard. But the longer it takes, the sweatier his hands get, and the more he considers turning and running away. The door opens before he can make a move.

You stand in the doorway, bathed in the warm light of the living room lamp behind you. And shit, Yoongi doesn’t know what to say. In many ways, you haven’t changed since the last time he saw you, but at the same time, you look so different. He can see in your eyes the moment the realization hits, and your expression changes drastically. You looked tired–and Yoongi can sense that it goes deeper than just physical exhaustion–and you were slouching, but now, you’re standing ramrod straight, and there’s a hard look in your eyes. One he knows all too well.

“Hey.” He raises a hand, offers a wave that, in hindsight, is rather pathetic. You stare at him, unblinking, and slowly, he lowers his hand. “I uh… I heard about your parents,” he says softly, scuffing his shoe against the wood of the porch. “I’m sorry you have to go through it.”

“Brave of you to show up.” You sound almost bored, but Yoongi knows–he senses, in that kind of primal, gut feeling he gets when it comes to you–that it’s an act. “You know I could turn you into a bug and squash you if I wanted to.”

“I know.”

There’s a tense moment where you stare at each other, the scowl you wear pulling your lips downward and creasing your brow. But then you heave an exhausted sigh.

“Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I…”

I want to apologize.

I’m so sorry.

I miss you.

It all catches in his throat. He coughs in a meager attempt to entice something–anything–to come out of his mouth. “I wanted you to have this.”

He holds out his hands, and in an instant, he’s holding a box. It’s full but not heavy, and he thrusts it out in front of him in your direction.

“A 10-year-old shoebox?” You do nothing to mask your surprise.

“Letters,” he corrects. “You don’t have to read them but… I wanted you to have them.” He pushes the box into your arms, leaving you no choice but to take it. Then, he steps away and nods his head. “Thank you for not turning me into a bug. I am sorry about your parents. I… guess I’ll go.”

Without another word, he trots down the porch steps. And then, in a blink, he’s gone. Disappeared into the night.

You sigh and shut the door, the box he’d given you cradled in the crook of your arm. You don’t have the energy for this right now. Honestly, you aren’t sure that you’ll ever have the energy for it, but certainly not the day before your parents’ funeral.

Whoever had decided that witches and their familiars die together clearly never thought of the ones left behind.

You collapse onto the couch, placing the box beside you. This would be easier if you weren’t alone. It would be easier with Yoongi, your brain supplies less than helpfully. You curse yourself. You curse him. After all these years, you thought you were over it, over the abandonment, over the betrayal. But all it takes is for him to show his stupid face, and you can feel it all bubbling up anew. Angrily, you push the box off the couch. It explodes when it hits the floor, what seems like thousands of pieces of paper tumble out and scatter from the force.

The forest was almost silent as you stalked the trail. Not even the birds were happy that day. Twigs snapped under your feet. You weren’t even paying attention to where you were going, your feet carrying you along the path that you’d hiked countless times before. You needed to get away, to escape, to calm down. But you couldn’t, because what you were running away from was hot on your heels.

“Would you slow down?” You could hear the frustration in Yoongi’s voice as he followed you. You ignored him. “Goddamnit,” he breathed, picking up his pace. “Will you at least listen to me?”

Quite frankly, you didn’t care what he had to say in that moment.

“It wouldn’t be a permanent thing,” he continued. “I just… I don’t know. I need to do this.”

You stopped, sliding a little on the damp new growth below your feet. “What the fuck are you talking about? You’re not being oppressed, Yoongi. No one’s stopping you from going out and exploring the world.”

“Maybe this way of life isn’t for everyone. Maybe not everyone wants their whole existence to be predetermined at birth. Maybe not everyone wants the universe to choose who they’re supposed to be with and how they’re supposed to live.”

His words stung, and until then, you weren’t quite sure why. Rejection. Not just of how you lived, and who he was, and how things had always been. But of you. Yoongi was your familiar, you were destined to be together in some way since you were six years old and the bond gem first appeared. Not all witches and familiars were in romantic relationships–your parents were, sure, and Yoongi’s parents–but plenty of them had other partners, lives separate from each other. Platonic soulmates navigating the world together.

Until a few months before, you’d been content with that. There was no doubt you’d been best friends from the jump. You’d been practically inseparable through school. Then, months before, he’d kissed you at the winter market. Right there in the park, under the aurora. Before that, you hadn’t thought of him as any more than your best friend. But the kiss had unlocked something inside you. And now…

Now he wanted you gone.

“You want to be free that badly?” By some miracle, your voice sounded positively venomous, even though you felt like you could crumble at any moment. “Fine.”

“Wh-”

There’s a saying your mother told you once, back when you were a child. You and Yoongi had found a turtle in the woods, stuck in the mud. His little turtle leg had been hurt, and you’d rushed it to your mother immediately. Familiars were excellent with animals, and she was no exception, healing the turtle in days when it should have taken weeks. You and Yoongi had both cried when you had to release it back into the wild–you’d both so wanted it to be your friend. ‘If you love something, set it free,’ your mother had said, ‘Sometimes it’s the kindest option.’

Kinder for whom?

The chain around your wrist snapped easily when you wrapped your fingers around it. The incantation meant to keep the bond gem safe became meaningless as soon as you wanted it gone. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been without it around your wrist. You loved it, with its gem of swirling, inky black and navy blue. It reminded you so much of Yoongi, deep and calm and unwavering.

Without a word, you tossed the bracelet to the ground. Yoongi’s eyes widened as it hit and the gem cracked. For good measure, you stepped on it, crushed it into dust. There was a pitiful swirl of blue magic that puffed up from the dirt. When you moved your foot, there was nothing left of the bond gem or its chain.

“What the fuck?” Yoongi’s eyes were glassy when you finally looked at him. He looked almost as crushed as you felt. “What the fuck?”

“You’re free.” And this time, you couldn’t hide your sadness behind your anger.

He didn’t follow you as you walked away, and honestly, it was for the best. It was faint, but you could still feel his emotions, and you weren’t sure you could handle that kind of heartache in person.

There is paper everywhere. Hundreds of pieces, folded neatly in thirds. You have no idea how Yoongi had fit them all into the shoebox. He must’ve enchanted it. Groaning, you start to pick them up.

Letters, he’d said. You flip through some as you gather them up. Now that they’re on the floor, they aren’t in any particular order, but it quickly becomes clear that these letters span years. There are some from 12 years ago, written shortly after he’d left. Some are more recent. You stare at one, from December of the year he left. Glancing through it, you expect it to unearth your anger, your rage. But it doesn’t. Just like seeing him again, all Yoongi’s letter brings is sadness. Grief.

You’d spent the past 12 years grieving. Sure, he hadn’t died, but when he left, you’d lost the closest relationship you would ever have. In 17 years, you’d grown so accustomed to having him there, that when he was gone, there was a Yoongi-sized hole left in your life that you had to learn to fill. And you did your best, sewing yourself back together and moving on. But it wasn’t the same.

Glancing through his letter, it seems you weren’t the only one struggling. You aren’t sure if that’s a comfort or not.

It’s been almost a year since the night market–one year since everything started crumbling around us. I still remember it like it was yesterday. It felt right in the moment, didn’t it? I really thought you would understand.

I’ve tried to figure out where things went wrong. But shit, I can’t wrap my head around it. Why did you react like that when I told you I just wanted to be free?

At the end of the day, I guess we didn’t understand each other as much as I thought we did. As much as this bond brings us together, I guess it doesn’t reveal everything. But… that night I just wanted to kiss you, and so I did. Maybe it was selfish. Sometimes I wish the bond didn’t exist, that we could just be free to choose things for ourselves. That we weren't forced into what the universe wants from us… Maybe that’s selfish, too.

Why couldn’t you understand? I just wish I could turn back time and make you understand. Maybe then you wouldn’t hate me, and maybe then I’d stop hating myself too.

Because watching you destroy the gem nearly killed me, but it wasn’t half as bad as watching you walk away. Should I have run after you?

Would you still be there if I had?

You sigh and lean back against your couch. That damn night market. You hadn’t been back to it since the year he’d kissed you. It’s silly, but a part of you blames it for everything that happened. Because Yoongi’s letter is right. It had marked the beginning of everything going wrong. It wouldn’t change anything, but there’s a part of you that won’t listen to logic, that refuses to believe that maybe, if he hadn’t kissed you–if you hadn’t kissed him back–he wouldn’t have left.

The night market was beautiful. It always was, but that year was particularly beautiful. The park had been decorated in all of its sparkling, winter glory. Candles twinkled in the trees, suspended by sheer force of will. Through some magic you weren’t familiar with, they’d enchanted the sky, and an aurora shimmered far above, slowly swirling in greens and blues and purples. Snow fell gently, and you weren’t sure if it was natural, or if it was also magic.

You browsed the various tents and tables, going from one to the other to see the different things people were selling. Some had crafts, others baked goods, and some were even selling things like potion ingredients and spellbooks. There were a few tables dedicated to familiars–books on shifting and specialty items and insets and jewelry for bond gems.

Yoongi followed you closely, clutching a hot chocolate. You knew he wasn’t cold, the temperature was nowhere near low enough for either of you to be uncomfortable, but the way his fingers tapped against the paper cup, you knew something was up. You could sense his anxiety, could feel it in the pit of your own stomach.

“Want to go sit?” you asked softly, gesturing over to the picnic tables they’d set up under one of the sparkling trees.

His eyes widened. “No, that’s okay. You’re looking.”

“I’m done. Let’s go sit.”

“I-” He deflated a little and didn’t argue further, allowing you to lead him over to one of the tables.

You sat side by side on the bench, backs against the table, and watched the snow fall around you. The night was peaceful, quiet for the most part except for the occasional laughter that bubbled up. Most of the older crowd had left, leaving only the teens and young adults to explore the market. You watched the other festival goers in silence, Yoongi’s arm pressed against your own.

“You okay?” you asked softly, bumping your shoulder into his own.

Yoongi being quiet was nothing new. He was an observer, a listener, he took in information like a sponge. Which wasn’t to say that he was never loud and boisterous, that he didn’t talk incessantly to the people he cared about. But he was absolutely the calmest presence you’d ever been around, even compared to the adults in your life.

But you could sense what he was feeling, could feel his nerves and unease and conflict. And you knew that he’d rather explode than burden anyone with his feelings. So you prodded. Ever so gently. Because he was your best friend, and when he was suffering, you were too.

He stayed quiet, and when you turned to look at him, he was much closer than you were expecting. A moment passed. You shared a look. You’d always thought that Yoongi’s eyes were pretty, but in the twinkling light of the candles above, they were deep pools of warm, dark cedar and flecks of honey. Slowly, subtly, he leaned in–or maybe you did, you weren’t sure– as though some mysterious force was drawing you together. An emotion flashed in his eyes, but you couldn’t quite take the time to consider what it may have been because he was kissing you. Lips chapped from the bitter wind moulded against your own for the shortest of moments. It was tentative and delicate and brief, but as he pulled away, your mind reeled.

That day had affected you in ways you never would have expected. Before, you’d never considered Yoongi as anything more than your best friend, the platonic other half of yourself. And then the kiss, and suddenly, it was like you’d been awakened. For as long as you could remember, your thoughts had been filled with Yoongi. Of the things he liked, the things he didn’t, of spending time with him, of the academy (with him). Suddenly, you were suspecting that maybe there was more to that, more than just the bond of a witch and their familiar.

You sigh. The letters are all finally back in the box, though nowhere near as nicely as they’d been before you’d kicked it and it had exploded. You should get up. You should go to bed. You have to be up fairly early for the funeral. But you stay seated, the box of letters in your lap.

Seeing him again was hard. You’re willing to admit that. You’d spent 12 years convincing yourself that you were fine, harboring anger and resentment and frustration, all for it to melt away the second you saw him. The bond makes it tough to stay mad at him, but it doesn’t let you forget the betrayal.

You stand out of the way, looking out over the funeral attendees in the park. Your parents didn’t have a lot of friends, but there are enough people here that you’d officially call it a crowd. They’re all mingling–you’d bought beer and wine, and if you didn’t know any better, it could maybe be a party and not a wake. You tighten your fist around the bond gem in your hand. For as long as you could remember, your dad had worn it around his neck, tucked under his shirt. The gem is like your mother–bright pink, fiery orange, deep yellow–and when you were a child, you’d loved to look at it, mesmerized by the swirling, glittering colors.

The gems have always been a gift from a familiar to their witch, given to symbolize the soulmate-like bonds between them. Most witches–especially those who were romantically involved with their familiars–wear them as jewelry. They don’t really do anything, though some people claim it made their magic stronger (you aren’t really sure about that, seeing as most gems appear in childhood).

As a child, you hadn’t been particularly close with your parents. Especially as a teen, you would have much rather hung out with Yoongi than them. But they were kind, and supportive, and for the most part, they left you to do your own thing. They’d been almost as devastated as you when you’d crushed your bond gem.

Days after your fight with Yoongi, the doorbell rang. Your mother had opened the door. You were upstairs. You’d stayed home from school that day–sick, but not in the way the administrators would have accepted. For a few brief moments, you’d ignored whatever visitor was downstairs. But then-

“She’s not here.” Your mother’s voice drifted up to you. She sounded disappointed.

“Please.” It was Yoongi, you’d recognize his baritone from miles away.

Quietly, you’d slipped out of your room and crept down the hall, sitting at the top of the stairs. You could hear your mother sigh, could see her shift her weight from one foot to the other. Your father appeared from the kitchen and joined your mother at the door.

“I don’t think that’s a good idea right now,” he said, shaking his head. He leaned against the doorknob, pulling it a little more shut in the process so it blocked you completely from the door’s sight.

A long moment of silence passed before your mother called, “Yoongi?” You couldn’t hear his response–he must have already gone down the porch steps. Your mother continued, “It can be scary, and you’re both still young. Give it time.”

The door shut quietly, and both of your parents looked to where you were sitting. You could see it in both of their eyes. Sadness, but something else. Something that looked a little close to pity.

A laugh draws your attention, and you smile sadly as you watch your mother’s coworkers laugh at some memory. But then you notice, just behind them, a shadow close to the ground and suddenly, you’re distracted all over again. Because there, half-hidden by a bush, sits a black cat. Cedar and honey eyes watch you intently, its dark fur swirling and shining like a thousand galaxies. Your hand tightens around your parents’ bond gem, the chain pressing sharply into the flesh of your hand.

He doesn’t move, just sits there patiently. Watching. He’s there as people approach you, offering condolences and hugs that you don’t particularly want; he’s there when people start trickling out. And he’s there when you’re the last one left, all alone under the large oak tree in the center of the park.

It’s quiet as you stand there, staring down at the bond gem in your hands. This is the part you’ve been dreading. Because you don’t want to keep the damn thing–you could if you wanted to, but there’s also tradition to think about. But it’s also weird to give up the one thing that is so emblematic of your parents. You wonder if they’d felt like this when your grandparents had died.

At least they’d had each other during it.

You can sense him approach, even though his steps are completely silent. And though he comes closer, he keeps his distance. On one hand, you appreciate it. On the other…

“If you’re going to be here, the least you could do is be here,” you say quietly, looking down at the gem in your hand. It sparkles a little in the light.

Thankfully, he doesn’t ask you to explain. He takes a few slow steps forward until he’s standing beside you. It’s weird, having him this close again. You’d been too overwhelmed last night to actually observe, but now, you’re exhausted, yet alert.

His hair is longer–as a teen, he’d kept it short, but the ends curl and sit just above his shoulders now. He’s filled out and put on some muscle, and though he’s still a little on the lankier side, his shoulders have broadened. He wears cologne now, the scent light, like lavender, citrus, and sage. So much has changed, and yet it’s the same eyes that watch you with a soft curiosity.

You look up to the tree, watch its branches wave in the wind. You used to think that the centenarian boughs touched the sky, and even still, it towers above everything else in the park. The leaves sparkle, their iridescence catching the light to make the tree look like something out of a fairy tale. You sigh and tighten your fist around your parents’ bond gem one more time before opening your hand.

At first, nothing happens, but then the gem glistens and rises out of your grasp. It joins the other leaves close to the top of the tree, becoming just another sparkle in the prism.

For a while, not even the birds make a noise. You just stand there, looking up at the tree that has stood sentinel over most of your life. The wind rustles the leaves, and they shimmer as they move. You have no idea how many leaves are up there, how many bond gems have been placed over time. Thousands–maybe hundreds of thousands–of witches and their familiars, most forgotten to the annals of time.

It’s strange, knowing that you would never be memorialized by the tree.

“Let me buy you a coffee,” Yoongi whispers from beside you, husky baritone cutting through the silence.

Yoongi isn’t sure why you say yes, but soon enough, you’re walking into the Green Bean just behind him. He’s uncomfortable, people have been watching you since the park, and their stares are starting to burn holes in his back. He says nothing about it until you’re in line at the cafe.

“What are they staring at?” he whispers, leaning close so that only you can hear in the semi-busy cafe. He chooses to ignore how you tense up ever so slightly.

“You’ve been gone for 12 years, what did you expect?”

Right. He supposes he should have expected their animosity. But it’s not just him they’re watching. He doesn’t miss the way people stare at you, watch you warily as you simply exist. His mind races. Was that his fault? Did his absence cause so many unintended consequences?

You order a coffee and choose a table in the far corner of the cafe, away from everyone but still near the window. He sits in the chair across from you, the hard metal shockingly comfortable despite its harsh lines. An awkward silence settles over you both, but Yoongi’s not sure what to say, so he lets it linger. He watches you stare out the window. Which is a little weird, right? But he can’t bring himself to drag his gaze away. It’s like after 12 years of being away, he just wants to look at you.

The barista calls out your orders and Yoongi stands to grab both of them from the counter. He places one oversized ceramic mug down in front of you, and the other, he wraps his hands around. It’s warm, almost hot, and he dares not take a drink yet. You stare down at the foam on top of your drink, one finger hooked around the handle of the cup.

“What happened to them?” he asks softly. When you look up, surprised, he clarifies. “Your parents, I mean. I… didn’t hear how they…”

You sigh, tap your mug. He can sense the deep sadness you struggle with and is just about to tell you to forget he asked when you speak. “I always kind of thought it would be dad who’d go first.” Your voice is barely above a whisper. “He was always so frail when we were kids. But mom got sick last year and…” You shrug. “One of the neighbors found them.”

“I’m so sorry.” You wave him off. “No. Honestly. They were nice.”

“Thanks.”

He nods, and silence settles again. But then something you said pops into his mind, striking him as strange. “You aren’t living here anymore?” Mentally, he slaps himself. Why did it come out like he’s surprised? He supposes that he’s always just kind of pictured you still… here, in town.

“I’m over in Ashland,” you say, generally gesturing west, toward the city. “I work at the library at the university.”

“Yeah?” He raises his eyebrows. “How’s that?”

You shrug. “Mostly good. It’s a job. The library’s usually pretty quiet, so…”

“That’s really cool.”

Ashland is big, much bigger than here in square feet and at least 10 times the people. It’s a real city, with skyscrapers and functioning public transportation and one of the country’s top medical universities. He’s proud of you, he realizes. You’d always planned to leave for the city, too constrained by life in such a small town. For the longest time, he’d planned on going with you. And then, of course, he’d ruined it. It stings a little to know that you’d gone without him like that, that your life had continued as planned, that maybe he hadn’t meant that much in the grand scheme of things.

But then your eyes meet, and he’s confronted by the anxiety and sadness you’re feeling, and he knows he’s just being stupid. Again.

“So, uh…” He feels a wave of nerves wash over him–they aren’t his own. You tap your half-empty mug. “What have you been up to?”

If he’s honest, Yoongi wasn’t expecting you to ask about him. He’s shocked enough that you’d even agreed to be here, let alone that you were interested in his life. “I was traveling,” he starts cautiously, gauging your reaction. You blink slowly, watching his every move. If you can sense his apprehension, you don’t react. “But now I’m up north in Ulmae. I’ve got a pretty good thing going at this restaurant on the North Shore.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, uh…” He chuckles, a little nervous. “They’ve got me bartending on the weekends and let me do music during the week.”

Your eyes widen a little, and you lean forward. “They let you play?”

“It’s only like an hour a night-”

“No, shut up. That’s amazing!” You grin, big and genuine, but Yoongi can sense a tinge of sadness in it.

He’s disappointed when you both finish your coffees and you stand up to put your cup in the little tub by the counter. It’s starting to get late, the sun is starting to set and the streetlights have turned on. It was nice, catching up with you, short though it may have been. It’s not lost on him how strange it is, having to catch up with someone that was once practically a part of him.

Together, you stand outside in the chilly early evening air, looking down the street toward the park. Over the roofs of the shops and houses, Yoongi can just barely see the centinel tree with its sparkling leaves. People walk past–people he recognizes but couldn’t possibly name–some are more subtle about it, but others practically break their necks to stare at the two of you. Suddenly, Yoongi feels exposed outside the cafe, like there are eyes everywhere. He hates this, hates feeling like he’s doing something wrong just for wanting to talk to you more.

You sigh, scuff your shoe against the concrete of the sidewalk, shove your hands deep into the pockets of your dark jeans. “I… probably shouldn’t even ask,” you start warily. “But do you want to come back for a drink?”

The house is the same, yet somehow also different, like one of those spot the difference puzzles come to life. The layout of the living room is the same, but the couch is a different style and color. There’s a blanket folded the same way under the coffee table, but it’s clearly a different pattern than he remembers. Most of the photos are the same, but there are 12 years’ worth of more of them.

Apparently, the stash of alcohol your father kept in the built in cabinet beside the television hasn’t changed.

You pull out a bottle of whisky and two glasses, setting them on the coffee table with a gentle ‘clink.” The shoebox he’d given you sits on the floor. The lid is off, the letters contained within are a mess. Have you read them, or did they spill out? There’s no way for him to really know.

Silently, you hand him a glass and sit on the other side of the couch, grabbing one of the throw pillows to hug in your lap. You sip at the double in your glass stoically, and for a moment, you stare at him. He has to resist the urge to squirm under your gaze. There’s something different about how you’re sitting, something in your aura that he didn’t notice in the cafe. Maybe you’d been saving it for private, but he can sense that you’re reining your emotions in.

But then finally, after what feels like an eternity, you turn over your hand. Two pieces of paper sit in your palm. “I’m going to need you to explain these.” The two letters float over to him and open themselves in front of him.

The first is dated only a few years after he’d left.

I’ve been struck by a thought. I had tacos earlier, and I just know you would have loved them. Which made me realize that there’s still part of me that thinks about you at every turn. Your friendship was such an integral part of my life, and not having it anymore feels like there’s a piece missing. Last week it was a song on the radio. Before that, a stray cat I saw that I know for certain you would have loved. Everything reminds me of you, everything leads back to you. You’re everywhere and nowhere, and…

I would like to see you again. Someday.

How have you been doing? Where has your life taken you? I can only hope it’s treated you kindly. It’s what you deserve.

The other is from the day he turned 25.

A quarter of a century, and for some reason I feel incredibly old. With it comes some realizations, things I didn’t understand before. Maybe I was too young, too blinded by my own need to feel free… but it never was about being free from you. I can’t even begin to imagine how hurtful it must have been for you…

I never wanted to make you feel like I was giving up on you, like I didn’t want you. I never wanted to make you feel rejected, because it wasn’t you I was trying to be free from.

I was so scared of having my whole life laid out in front of me. I never took the time to think what my life could be with the bond–I only ever thought about what the bond meant for my life. All of the expectations, what comes with being a familiar, our roles in society and the universe…

I realize now that I could have–should have–communicated it all better. If only so that I wouldn’t have lost you. So that it wouldn’t have led to me making you feel like I was rejecting you. Maybe it wouldn’t have mattered; at the end of the day I was still walking away from you. But at least maybe I could have made it more clear that it was never you that I wanted to be free from.

I’m sorry. I feel like it’s useless to say, but I am so sorry for not realizing any of this before.

Wherever you are, I hope you’ll understand. Take care until I see you again.

I hope I see you again.

Yoongi sighs. The letters–all of them, not just these two–tended to be rambling diatribes, a snapshot of his thoughts as he worked through his feelings about his own life and everything and you. He’d been an idiot when he left–he was 17 and full of himself and terrified of the world but too proud to admit it–and it had taken him far too long to realize a lot of important things.

For a moment, it’s quiet as he thinks of what to say. How should he even begin? But apparently, he’s quiet for too long, because you wave your hand and the letters fold themselves back up and float back down to the shoebox. When you speak, you sound exhausted. “Why are you here, Yoongi?”

“I-”

“Because if the roles were reversed, I don’t know that I’d have the balls to come back. On one hand, I’m impressed. On the other…” You trail off and shrug.

He’s quiet, not sure how to respond. He’s got lots of thoughts, lots of feelings–of course he does–but right now, you’re a wall, and he’s not sure how to read the situation. He’s not sure what you need to hear right now. So he says nothing.

You laugh, but there’s no humor in it, and you look down at the glass in your hand, stare into the dregs of the amber whisky you’ve nearly finished. “I’m running on like two hours’ sleep,” you admit. “But fuck, Yoongi, I… I was so convinced that I’d never see you again. I wasn’t sure I wanted to.” Then, softer. “I’m still not sure.”

“Why?” It’s out of his mouth before he can even think and god, he just wants the Earth to open up and swallow him whole.

It takes a second for you to process his absolute trash heap of an asinine question. But when you do, your face contorts into somewhere between anger, disappointment, and heartbreak. “What do you mean, ‘why’?” You practically spit the question at him. “You… you… Do you know what it’s like to have the most important person in your life tell you that he wants rid of you?”

“I never said-”

“You wanted to be free. From all of it. From me.” You pick at the corner of the pillow in your lap. “And then you just come back out of the blue like nothing happened and drop this damn shoebox at my feet-” from where it sits on the floor, the shoebox explodes, letters flying everywhere, “-and you just… What did you expect, Yoongi? What do you want?”

“I don’t know!” He sounds a little desperate when he says it, and he hates that, hates how pathetic it makes him sound. So he shrugs, takes a deep breath, leans back a little. “I don’t know,” he repeats. “I just… I missed you. And then mom told me about your parents, and…” He runs a hand through his hair, pushing it back off his forehead and out of his eyes. “And then I was on a train.”

You stare at him for a moment, a little gobsmacked. You have no idea how to respond. What do you say to that? Where do you even start? There are a hundred things you could say. You’ve played this scenario out a thousand times in your head over the years–what would you do if he came back?–but somehow, it never played out like this. In your mind, he’d never told you that he missed you.

You’d never considered that he would miss you.

But you should say something, right? It’s weird that you’re sitting there, just staring at him in complete silence. Has your jaw been clenched the whole time? Does he think you’re angry with him? Quickly, you school your face into something a little more neutral and say the first thing that comes to mind.

“How long are you here for?”

Truthfully, you probably should have asked sooner. You’ve been wondering since he showed up on your doorstep last night, but it never seemed like a great time to ask.

He sighs. “‘Till tomorrow.”

You nod, probably longer than it makes sense to, but it takes you a bit to process. Tomorrow. He’s back in your life for two days, and then he’s gone again. That’s not even enough time to catch up, let alone actually talk with him. And that’s… you aren’t sure how to feel.

Yoongi watches you quietly and takes a sip of his drink. He’s barely touched it. “Maybe…” he says after a moment, leaning forward to put his glass on the coffee table. “Maybe I should go?”

Part of you wants to tell him no, to ask him to stay, to tell you more about his gig working at the bar. Anything to keep him here and talking to you. But there’s a more logical part of you that’s overwhelmed, that needs some time to think. He’s offering to go, which means that he’s either uncomfortable or his train leaves early in the morning. Or both. He stands, thanks you for the drink, and you follow him to the door. He hesitates just outside, opens his mouth as if to say something and closes it almost as quickly.

You say nothing. And for the second time in as many days, you watch him leave without another word.

The playground was almost empty. Mama said it was supposed to rain, but she’d also said that you would go anyway, for a little bit. You were trying to learn how to swing on your own, and plus Yoongi and his mom were going to be there, and he’d said he’d bring his trucks to play in the sand.

But he wasn’t there yet, so you were on the swing. Mama pushed you, her hand firm on your back, and you closed your eyes. You were flying, wind in your face as you launched forward into the air. And then, just as suddenly, you were falling, swinging backward.

“Remember what I said,” mama said softly. “Kick your legs.”

You weren’t quite sure what she meant by that. Your legs were little, and when you kicked out, you felt more like you were going to slide out of the swing seat than anything. You heard her laugh a little, but her hand was on your back once again, propelling you forward.

A few minutes passed in a blur of forwards and backwards. You still didn’t quite understand the whole swinging on your own thing, but mama’s rhythmic pushes kept you going. But then, a small voice at the edge of the playground yelled your name, and you heard excited footsteps in the wood chips. Mama helped you slow to a stop, and you jumped off the swing.

A little boy, his dark hair cut short by his own mom, ran toward you. He was carrying an armful of small cars and larger trucks. He skidded to a stop in front of you, a wide, gummy grin engulfing his face and crinkling the corners of his eyes.

“I brought all my trucks!” he announced, looking down at the toys in his arms. “You can be the green one. Here.” He tried to hand it to you, and another fell in the process.

You picked it up and took the green truck from him. It was bright green–the same shade as the lime popsicles Yoongi’s mom usually bought–and it had big wheels. You followed him to the sandbox and you both plopped down. It didn’t take long to have a whole city constructed. Granted, it was all made from rocks and wood chips and other small things you found around the sandbox. But it was a city and it was beautiful.

Yoongi drove his truck over a bump, making engine noises as he pushed it toward you. As he drove the truck down another sand hill, bumping and bouncing it over sticks and rocks, something fell out of the sleeve of his jacket. It was perfectly round, and it rolled to a stop in front of you. You picked it up and inspected it. It was some kind of rock, hard and shiny, but it was also colorful, and you were pretty sure rocks couldn’t be blue.

One look at the rock and he frowned, calling for his mom. She came over immediately and crouched down to see what he was so concerned about. Your mama followed her, and she was the one that saw the rock in your hand first.

“Oh,” she said, her hand gently smoothing down your hair. “You two have found your gem.”

“Wha’s that mean?” Yoongi asked, looking up at his mom.

She smiled and sat in the sand beside him, pulling him into her lap. She held out her arm, twisted her bracelet around so that he could see it. “You know how I have this from your dad? It’s like that.”

“But-”

“Your friendship is special,” she continued, pinching his cheek. Yoongi laughed. “It means you’ve gotta look out for each other now.”

For a moment, he was quiet. But then he nodded, just once. “Okay!” He held out his hand to you, tiny palm face up. “Can I have it?”

“It’s not yours anymore,” his mom said softly, brushing his short hair back. “It’s a gift.”

You looked to your mama and she nodded. “Take care of it,” she told you. “You only get one.”

Middle school was the worst. Everything was difficult. Social situations, interactions with your parents, school. At the time, it all seemed like it was unfairly hard. Making it worse, of course, was getting sick. As a kid, you were never sick that often. Yoongi was a different story. For whatever reason, familiars were just more susceptible to illness, and when he got sick, he got sick.

It was the middle of the semester, and Yoongi hadn’t been to school in days. Your teachers hadn’t even asked, they’d just started giving you packets–homework and printouts of their lessons and extra materials–so he wouldn’t fall behind. So you stopped by his house after school. His mom let you in, offering you some of the snacks she was making for Yoongi before you headed up the stairs to his room.

You knocked gently before entering. The knock was a politeness–you were close enough with him and familiar enough with his room at this point in your life that you could just barge in without warning and you knew he wouldn’t mind. He looked like hell, stuck in his bed buried in blankets. It was clear he’d had a fever at some point, because his hair looked damp and sweaty.

But he sat up when you walked in, coughing deeply before speaking. “You’re going to get sick, too,” he protested weakly.

You waved him off. “Everyone’s sick.” You pulled over his desk chair to the side of his bed and started to go through your bag. “Ms. Miller gave me your math homework, but if you understand it, you’ll have to explain it to me because I have no idea what she’s talking about.” He giggled at that, gummy smile soon hidden by his hand as he coughed. “Here’s the novel for Brown’s class. She said she’d talk to you about making up the paper when you’re back.”

It took a surprisingly long time to go through eight classes’ worth of homework and assignments, but you’d put sticky notes at the front of each packet explaining things, too, so the fact that he was half-asleep for most of your explanation didn’t really matter.

“Will you stay?” he asked when you were done. “Help me with some of this?”

“What happened to not wanting me to get sick?” you teased.

“I mean, you don’t have to. If you want to go home, that’s fine, too. I just-” He coughed, burying his face in his blankets.

“You staying for dinner, hon?” Yoongi’s mom called from the bottom of the stairs.

“Yes please!” you responded, shuffling through the stack of packets you’d brought for Yoongi. “Wanna take a stab at math?”

Halfway through the fall of your senior year, Yoongi started to get… weird. Cagey. Like he was trying to hide something and figure out particle physics at the same time. You’d tried asking him about it a few times, only for him to wave you off with a quiet “just thinking about some things.” After that, he’d be back to normal for a few days. But every time, like clockwork, he would fall back into it.

Finally, on the third day of the new year, he pulled you aside. Tucked back into the dormant foliage of the park, away from prying eyes, he stood, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. He was nervous, you could feel it deep inside you, but to be honest, you didn’t really need your bond to tell you what was plain to see.

“I…” He trailed off, unsure of how to continue. His brows furrowed in thought, and after a moment, he motioned for you to sit. “I need to tell you something.”

“Okay?” You sat on the edge of a big rock, confused.

“I…” he started again, sitting beside you. You could feel a spike of nerves, and he took a breath to steady himself. “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking, and I think… fuck, this is harder than I thought it would be.”

“You can just say it,” you told him. “It’s just me.”

He nodded and mumbled something that sounded a lot like ‘that’s the problem,’ but after a moment, he continued. “I need to be free of all of this.”

“What?”

“Haven’t you ever thought that maybe the universe doesn’t know what it’s talking about? That maybe you’d be happier if you chose things for yourself?” He frowned. “There’s rules for gifts. We’re only good at certain types of magic because of how we were born. We have to celebrate holidays certain ways, we have to do specific things on our birthdays-”

“-and we get told who we’re to bond to.”

He recoiled at your words. “That’s not-”

“But it’s true, right?” Your gaze fell from him to your hands. “It’s just one more thing you don’t get to control.”

Yoongi sighed. “I just… want to be able to choose for myself.”

Suddenly, you were sick to your stomach. This was the last thing you’d expected. You didn’t particularly like all of the traditions, either, but you were 17. What the hell were you going to do about it? But this felt like he was saying he didn’t want you. You hadn’t yet talked about the kiss at the night market a few weeks prior, but you’d never guessed that he’d do such a sudden about-face.

“Right,” you said softly.

“Just… think about it?” he asked, dark eyes pleading.

You didn’t like where this was going, didn’t like how it made you feel. But you nodded anyway. Maybe he would change his mind.

Days gave way to weeks and months, and before you knew it, spring had come. Yoongi hadn’t changed his mind. If anything, he’d gotten more insistent.

“I want to find myself,” he’d told you once. “I need to make sure this is how I want to live my life.”

“I just need to get away,” he’d said one day while you were doing homework together. “Start fresh somewhere new.”

And then, on the way home from school one day, he’d said, “I need to be free of it all.”

And you’d snapped. Three months of hearing him talk about it, three months of him basically saying that your entire way of life was wrong and that he was chafing to get away. You couldn’t help it.

“Fuck off,” you’d told him, taking the trail behind the houses at a faster pace. Despite being so attuned with nature thanks to his familiar genes, he’d had trouble keeping up with you.

He’d pushed. And eventually, you’d given in. Because despite everything, you’d loved him, and if he was unhappy, you wanted to fix that. And now…

Now you’re sitting alone at the train station at ass o’clock in the morning. The train station has just barely opened, and already you’re inside, clutching a cup of coffee. There are a few other people here, milling around, waiting for their early trains to god knows where. You can feel them watching you, can feel them trying to make it subtle that they’re staring. At this point, you’re used to it. Word travels fast in small towns, especially when that word is as earth-shattering as a broken bond gem and a falling out between a witch and their familiar.

You try to ignore them, focus on your coffee and the posters across the waiting area from you.

Report any unattended or suspicious luggage to National Rail personnel.

Bags larger than this poster must be checked into the train’s luggage car.

Please remain seated until your train is announced and National Rail personnel give authorization to enter the platform.

You scroll through the news on your phone. Read the posters again. Stare out the window at the coffee shop across the street. And wait. A train arrives, and the couple that had been staring at you leaves. You sigh and stand to throw out your now empty cup.

Just as you do, the door to the train station opens. You turn to look, and there stands Yoongi. He’s wearing a black shirt, a bag slung across his body. His hair is pushed back off his face and he’s wearing his glasses. He’s clutching an absolutely massive travel mug and his phone in one hand, the other rolls a small suitcase behind him. He looks sleepy, but the second his dark eyes land on you, he jolts a little, as if electrocuted into being awake and alert.

“Hey,” he says cautiously, approaching you.

“Hey.” You wave slightly–awkwardly.

“What are you doing here?” His voice is soft, still a little gruff from sleep. You get the sense that maybe he hasn’t said much of anything to anyone this morning.

You sigh and gesture for him to follow you to a bench. The next train–his, you presume–isn’t due for another 20 minutes. You have time, but not much.

“I didn’t like how we left things,” you admit. “I… I wasn't sure if you were serious.”

“Serious?” His head falls to the side slightly, confused. But then, it seems, he understands, and he nods. “I did miss you–I do. I spent the entire ride here thinking about how seeing you again was going to go.”

“Were you right?”

He chuckles. “Not exactly.”

You hum and nod, and for the briefest of moments, silence settles over you. The stationmaster types away at his computer, the clacking of the keyboard the only sound in the entire station. But then you force yourself to say something that’s been on your mind since he showed up on your doorstep two days ago.

“It’s been good seeing you again,” you say, and even though you mean it, you can’t bring yourself to look at him. “I… think in a way, after so long, I made you the villain in my head. It’s good to see that you’re… not that.”

“I am sorry,” he whispers. “That was the worst thing I have ever done, and I just…”

“I get it.”

“What?”

“I think I kind of always did, but… it just hurt too much to think that you were including me in everything that you wanted to get away from, and I just-”

“You were the last thing I wanted to get away from.” Maybe it’s the waver in his voice, maybe it’s the way he ducks his head to make sure he makes eye contact, but you believe him. He sits his mug down on the bench beside him and gathers your hands in his. “I was so fucking dumb. I would have taken you with me in a heartbeat, but god I was too stupid and selfish to take ten minutes to think.”

“I thought maybe I’d done something,” you admit quietly. “I thought that maybe after the night market-”

“No! Oh my god, no,” he exclaims, his hands tightening around your own. “You’re my best friend! I lo-”

“Train 49–the Northern Limited–will be arriving on the platform in five minutes,” the stationmaster announces, not even bothering to use the building’s intercom. “I’ll take you over to the platform when you’re ready.”

Yoongi groans.

“Here.” You pull your hands away from him and immediately miss the warmth of him. But you reach into your pocket, unlocking your phone and shoving it into his hands in one motion. “Put your number in.”

For a moment, he stares at you, dumbfounded. But then the stationmaster opens the door to his office, and the noise jolts Yoongi into action. He types quickly and hands you your phone. You don’t even look at it, just lock it and shove it into your pocket. He hands you his phone and you enter your own contact information before giving it back.

You stand at the same time, and for one brief, quiet moment, you worry that maybe he’s just going to leave it at that. But then he rubs the back of his neck and glances toward the stationmaster.

“I’ll text you,” he promises.

You nod, almost mechanically. You weren’t expecting it to hurt this much to see him leave again. As he turns to gather his things, something comes over you.

“I- Can we-” You sigh, take a deep breath. “Can I have a hug?”

He makes a noise somewhere between a hum and a squeak, and it takes almost no time for the pink to start blossoming on his cheeks. He sputters for a second, and you can feel his shock. But then he opens his arms, and you find yourself taking a small step forward.

It’s shockingly easy to fall back into him, to step into his arms. He’s warm, and solid, but still also somehow soft. His cologne lingers on his clothes, all lavender-y and citrus-y and sage-y. Your arms fit around his waist, and for a moment, you let yourself pretend that this is normal, that nothing ever happened and that he isn’t leaving. But you hear the train horn in the distance and you pull away. You kiss his cheek as you part, and his eyes go wide in shock.

“Text me,” you tell him firmly, reaching down to grab his coffee mug and hand it to him.

“I will. I promise.”

And with one last, fleeting look, he steps onto the elevator with the stationmaster to go over to the platform.

You stand outside the station long after the train departs, feeling very much like you did when he’d left the first time. You should be feeling optimistic–for the first time in a long time, you feel like maybe there’s hope. For you, for your friendship, for… whatever comes next. But it’s hard to feel any sort of positive when he’s on a train back to a city seven hours away, and you have to go home in the exact opposite direction in a few short days.

As you’re walking back to your car in the lot down the street, your phone dings. When you unlock it, you get the sudden feeling that you’re flying, like a horde of butterflies have erupted within you. It’s nerves and it’s excitement and maybe, it’s also a little bit of hope.

Yoongi 💙: thanks again for not turning me into a bug

“I’ve been thinking,” Yoongi says one late night, his deep, sleep-deprived voice distorted ever so slightly by the distance and the speakers of your phone. You can barely see him–there’s a dim light that just slightly illuminates his face, but the rest of the room is dark.

“Dangerous,” you joke.

“Rude.” He nuzzles down further into his pillow. “I’d like to come visit,” he admits softly.

For a moment, your mind goes blank. There’s a fluttering in your stomach, hundreds of butterflies trying to escape at once. He’d kept his word after the train station, texting and calling you frequently over the past couple weeks. You’d text throughout the week–little messages about bad days and delicious lunches and cute dogs–and then on the weekends, one of you would inevitably end up calling each other. You’d spend hours on the phone, sometimes talking, sometimes just existing in the silence between you.

The video calls were a recent development. Since they began, you’d watched him cook dinner, he’d played piano while you worked on a spreadsheet for work, and one early morning, he’d called you on his way home after bartending so he wouldn’t fall asleep on the train.

“What do you mean?” You laugh a little. Maybe it was a little obvious what he meant, but you wanted to hear him say it.

He groans a little, stretches one arm up before covering his eyes with it. He peeks out at you through the cook in his elbow, one singular, dark eye sparkling, even in the poor quality of the video. “I miss you,” he mumbles, and you almost don’t catch it, it’s so muffled by his arm and your phone’s speaker.

You hum. The butterflies in your stomach make themselves known again. “I guess you could come.”

“I don’t have to if you don’t want me to.”

“Hey now. It’s against the rules to take something like that back.”

He laughs. “What rules?”

“You know. The rules.” You gesture vaguely before pulling your blanket up a little further on your body. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten the rules?” He grunts. “Being away for so long has rotted your brain, I’m afraid.”

“So rude.” His arm is still obscuring his face slightly, but you can see his big, gummy smile as he laughs. “No, but seriously. Are you busy next weekend?”

You frown. You’d been trying to forget about next weekend. “Normally I’d go home for the new year,” you say softly.

“Why don’t,” he begins, stifling a yawn. You’re a little surprised he’s made it this long without seeming tired. It’s almost 3am. “Why don’t I come hang out? We can do new year’s stuff together.”

“You’re sure?”

“Of course.”

“What about work?”

He shifts, the arm that was over his face now supporting his head under his pillow. “I make the schedule. They’ll deal with it.”

“Yoongi.”

He continues on, ignoring you. “I can work the day shift and get a train right after work on Friday, but I wouldn’t get there until late, is that okay?”

You sigh. It would be nice to not spend the holiday alone. And it would be nice to see him again. Sure, you’ve been talking to him in one way or another, but it’s different than having him in person. You finally agree, and he shoots you a smug, sleepy smile.

The week passes at a glacial pace. Work is slow because of the break in classes for the upcoming holiday, and spending time in an empty library is infinitely less entertaining than you’d expect it to be. Most of your coworkers have taken off, so you’re mostly alone with your thoughts. You fill the time with paperwork, completing literature loan requests for the University’s faculty and doing intake for the newly released journals the library has subscriptions for.

In the small handful of weeks since you’d seen him last, you’d replayed things in your mind. But mostly, you’ve been stuck on how nice it is to have him in your life again. You aren’t fooling yourself. You haven’t forgotten. But there’s a part of you–a large part, if you’re honest with yourself–that hopes that this is a step forward, that you can be close again. Maybe not how you were, but something that resembles a friendship.

After an eternity, it’s Friday. You sit outside of the train station in your car, parked in one of the pick up spots just outside of the main door. The trickle of people into and out of the station has slowed significantly now that it’s dark out–you’ve never seen it this dead. It’s late, the station is getting ready to close, but there’s one last train that has yet to come in. There’s another car parked a few spaces to your left, and you wonder briefly about who they’re waiting to pick up, but it’s fleeting.

The door to the station opens automatically, and out steps Yoongi. He rolls a suitcase beside him, a messenger bag slung across his body, his other hand shoved deep into his hoodie pocket. He looks around, confused, his gaze going back and forth between your car and the one to your left. You turn on the dome light and wave and he nods.

He gives you a quick greeting as he opens the back door, shoving his bags in the back seat. When he finally climbs into the passenger seat, he sighs deeply, resting his head against the headrest for a moment before turning to you.

“Hey,” he says softly.

“Hey. How was the train?”

He groans. “Long.”

You hum. He’d worked a short, early shift so he could catch the last train from Ulmae to Ashland. He looks and sounds exhausted. But he’s here. He’s not a face on a screen, he’s in your car. You resist the urge to reach out and touch him. It’s strange. You’d been without him for nearly 13 years. It’s only been a few short weeks since you’d seen him last, but you’re giddy, practically bursting with excitement at the fact that, for the next two and a half days, he’s here. With you.

You drive in relative silence, willing the lights to be green more for Yoongi’s sake than your own. The radio plays a soft hip-hop song, and you vaguely recognize it as one of the bands he’d been obsessed with in high school, but you don’t turn it up. You’re fairly certain that he’s fallen asleep, his head lolled slightly to the side so that he’s facing the window.

It’s a damn miracle that there’s an open spot in front of your building, but you gladly take it. There are people in your building who don’t know how to parallel park—who refuse to do it—but you’d taught yourself just for instances like this. For a moment, you think you’re going to have to wake Yoongi up, but just as you cut the engine, he unbuckles his seat belt and stretches.

Your apartment isn’t large, but it’s bigger than most for what you pay for it. You’re on the seventh floor, the top floor of the building, and your bedroom has a lovely view of the building beside you. But if you lean a little to one side and press your face up against the glass, you can see out into the city beyond, and the university campus in the far distance.

He sits his bags down in your living room and plops down on the couch. You’ve already set out some blankets and a couple pillows for him. The clock on your microwave says 11:05.

“You’re probably exhausted,” you say. “I’ll let you get settled.”

Immediately, he picks his head up from the back cushion of the couch. “’m not tired.” Ever defiant. But you can tell he’s lying. You can see it in his eyes how groggy he is. Normally, he’s up much later than this–you know, because sometimes, he calls you–but between working an early shift and the six-hour train ride, you don’t blame him for being a little sleepy.

“I put some towels out in the bathroom,” you tell him, gesturing down the hall. “It’s the door on the left. Let me know if you need anything else.”

“Thanks.”

And with that, you leave him there in your living room. You can hear him unzipping his bag as you retreat into your room.

An hour later, you find that you can’t sleep. Not that you’ve even tried. You aren’t even sure why you’re so wired. But you’re sitting in your bed, legs covered by a sheet, in the dim light of your bedside lamp. You’ve had friends stay over before. But this… you feel like you did as a kid, having your first sleepover. Except back then you were wired on soda and sugary snacks and it was a treat to stay up late. Now, you’re just…

You hear the bathroom door open and shut, and after a moment, Yoongi stands in the doorway to your room.

“You have the softest towels in the world,” he says, hair hanging in damp strands in front of his eyes. He pats and scrunches it dry with one of the fluffy grey towels you’d set out for him.

“Would you believe I got them on clearance?”

“I’ll just have to stuff one in my bag, then.”

“I charge a 5% fee for any towels that leave the premises.”

At that, he laughs, a groggy, squeaky sound that shakes his shoulders and crinkles his eyes and leaves a wide, gummy smile in its wake.

“So… what’s the plan for tomorrow?”

“I haven’t really thought about it.” He shoots you a look that says he doesn’t believe you, and you relent. “Well,” you pat the bed beside you, inviting him to sit, “There’s this thing every year in the park to watch the meteors,” you say as Yoongi eases himself onto the mattress. “But it doesn’t start until late.” He hums. “Was there something you wanted to do?”

“No, just-” He stifles a yawn. “Curious.” He leans back against the headboard, settling in.

Just like that, you fall easily into conversation. It’s comfortable, calm. Just two old friends chatting. He likes your apartment, thinks the tile in your bathroom is really nice. He asks about your job, nods along as you tell him about working in the library and your coworkers.

And slowly, his reactions become slower, delayed, until he finally doesn’t respond at all. You look over, and his chin is tucked against his chest, his breathing gentle. Asleep.

For a moment, you consider going out to the couch. It would be weird, right, to stay here with him? But as you’re about to kick the blanket off, you pause.

We’re adults. Adults can share a bed. It doesn’t have to mean anything. You’re mature enough to let this just be two people sleeping in the same space.

At least, you think you are.

But as you settle in yourself, snuggling down into your blankets and turning off the light, you’re suddenly faced with the quiet peacefulness of his face. He’d always been handsome, and now that you’re both older, you can appreciate just how beautiful he really is. He sighs and slides down a little, his hand brushing against your arm as he gets more comfortable.

Oh no.

You sit on the floor of your living room, a box of pizza on the coffee table that you’ve shoved out of the way. Yoongi’s beside you, your backs against the couch as you watch some anime he’d been trying to convince you to watch back in high school. You’re three episodes in, and you don’t have the heart to tell him that you don’t really care for the basketball-themed show. Part of you is still afraid that if you say something wrong, he’ll be gone again.

His arm rests casually behind you on the cushions, far enough away that it’s more a comfortable way to sit than any sort of advance, but that doesn’t stop the smallest of butterflies from making itself known in your stomach. This Yoongi is so different from the Yoongi you knew—the one who, as a kid, got excited by construction equipment and the concept of ice cream, and as a teen spent his free time hiding from his parents, playing the piano and hanging out with you (though neither were mutually exclusive). He’s quiet, comfortable in the silence, comfortable with letting things linger.

You’re a little jealous of it, to be honest.

Yoongi leans forward slightly, and a piece of pizza meets him halfway, floating gently into his grasp. “Do you remember,” he begins, settling back in against the couch, “when we were 16 and we went camping?” You hum an affirmative. “We spent most of the week playing old board games with my parents.”

You smile at the memory. If anyone had asked back then, you would have told them it was lame that you’d had to spend the whole time with Yoongi’s parents. But now? That was one of the more fun summers you’d ever had. “What made you think of that?”

He shrugs, mouth full of pizza. “I dunno. But I’ve been thinking about it a lot recently. Things were so much simpler then…”

You nod and hum softly, but ultimately, you say nothing. Much simpler indeed.

“You know,” Yoongi begins, zipping his coat up to his chin, “when you said ‘park’, I was kind of expecting it to be in the city.”

“I think technically it is.” You lock your car and meet him at the front of it.

“We drove for an hour!”

You shrug. “Big city.”

He laughs and shakes his head, incredulous. He can’t tell if you’re being serious or not, but there was a sign on the way in with the university logo on it, so he supposes that whether it’s part of the city or not, it doesn’t really matter. There’s a well-lit trail that runs from the shale parking lot up a hill slightly to a clearing that overlooks the city and the rest of the park. It’s busy–people mill about around the parking lot, and he can see a steady stream of visitors on the trail up to the clearing.

He adjusts his coat–it’s cold, and both his shoulder and his senses ache with the impending snow–and when he’s ready, the two of you start walking toward the trail. It’s astonishingly busy, and as you weave your way through the crowd, leading him up the hill, he grabs your hand.

So we don’t get separated, he tells himself. For a moment, he expects you to pull away. Not maliciously, he’s not expecting you to scoff and throw his hand away. But what he isn’t expecting is for you to tighten your grip on him and tug him this way and that as you get closer to the clearing. His hand is warm where your skin touches his, like he’s holding a candle a little too close to the flame.

The clearing is massive, mostly flat but not entirely, with gentle rolling slopes that provide some extra elevation here and there. On one of the little hills, a few food trucks are set up, though how they got there, Yoongi isn’t really sure. Someone must have magicked them through the path or up the hill or something. There are picnic tables scattered around, mostly near the food trucks, but throughout the clearing, as well. Towards the edge of the clearing, there’s a cliff with an overlook that has a spectacular view of the city vista below. People are everywhere. Of course, there are a lot of college-aged kids hanging out in big and small groups. But there’s also a shocking amount of people that are Yoongi’s age and older–professors, he assumes, and university staff here to enjoy the evening. Almost all of them are holding drinks, and just about every one of them seems to be paired with someone.

It’s subtle sometimes, seeing bonded witches and familiars. Of course, the ones who are romantically involved tend to be more obvious, but the ones that are just friends are just as easy to spot once you know what to look for. It’s the people who stand so close together they’re almost touching, the ones who lean in a little extra close to whisper something. And the clearing is full of pairs standing in each other’s personal spaces.

You tug on his hand to direct him off to the left and he blindly follows, squeezing your fingers ever so gently as a response.

There’s a pair of people at one of the tables by the food trucks. They spot you almost immediately, and one of them stands to greet you. He’s a little taller than you are, made even more obvious when he gives you an awkward, one-armed hug over the picnic table’s bench. The other one–a woman–remains seated, eyeing Yoongi.

For a hot minute, it’s weird, as he stands there in silence while you chat with the man and woman. It’s not even the side-eye that the woman’s shooting him. The man is handsome–Yoongi’s not blind–and you are friendly with him. But there’s a moment, the briefest of moments, where you gesture somewhere off to your left. And when your body moves, Yoongi’s arm moves, too, and a little part of him, a silly, childish, hopeful part, soars.

You’re still holding his hand.

Eventually, you introduce him to the two. Alice works the reference desk in your library while she’s doing a doctorate program in linguistics. Her partner is gone in the winter, fighting fires in the far south. Despite her harsh side-eye, she greets Yoongi with a smile and a polite handshake. Jihwan, on the other hand, is the head baseball coach at the university. How the two of you met, Yoongi can only guess, but you make no mention of Jihwan’s partner, and Yoongi doesn’t see a gem anywhere. He almost–almost–starts to feel bad for the guy, but then he opens his mouth.

You ask a simple question, gesturing with your head to the food trucks. “What do they have good?”

“The pierogi guy from last year is back-”

Jihwan interrupts Alice. “Too much butter.”

It’s not even what he says. It’s how he says it. Like you and Alice are toddlers, like you can’t be trusted not to drown yourselves in carbs. But you roll your eyes and Alice scoffs playfully, and Yoongi realizes that this is not the first time Jihwan has done something like this. And suddenly, Yoongi hates this guy.

“Apparently, he’s got a new flavor this year,” Alice says, continuing like Jihwan never interrupted. “But the taco guy is also back-”

“Is the popcorn guy back?” you ask. laughing. “Because I kind of want a front-row seat to that.” Yoongi must look confused, because you explain. “Pierogi guy’s daughter was engaged to taco guy’s daughter. But last year, pierogi guy and taco guy just started yelling at each other-”

“-It was amazing,” Alice adds.

“It was ridiculous,” Jihwan mumbles.

You push him. “It was a little like having our own little telenovela here.”

Cautiously, Yoongi asks, “Why were they fighting?”

“No one knows.” You shrug. “But it launched a campus-wide food war. Everyone was choosing sides. It was like the year the Moondance tried to change its logo.”

Jihwan and Alice look at you, a little confused. But Yoongi knows exactly what you’re talking about. Somewhere around when you were preteens, the owners of the Moondance diner decided that its logo was outdated and wanted to update it. The whole town had been in an uproar, whole neighborhoods entering into a Cold War-esque stand-off over their preferences. People who had been friends for 50 years were suddenly in an unsolvable, unending argument. All over a color palette swap and a slightly newer font. Yoongi hadn’t cared much one way or the other–all businesses change their logos at some point, right?–and he always suspected that you didn’t either, but you’d both gotten swept up in the chaos of it all. It was stupid, ridiculous fun, and he’s pretty sure that his parents still have the buttons you’d made somewhere in their house.

You finally let go of Yoongi’s hand when you’re standing in line at the taco truck, and he’s painfully aware of how empty it feels now. You don’t go far, though, standing close enough that your elbow brushes against his every once in a while. You’re scrolling through your phone, reading some news article to pass the time. It’s gotten darker since you’ve been there, and looking up, he can just barely make out a couple pinpricks of stars in the sky. The clearing is fairly bright, with little flickering balls of light criss-crossing the space like bistro lighting, and the lights from the city below don’t help to make the night sky visible.

You pay for his tacos–”I get an employee discount,” you say, brandishing your university id like it’s a black card–and Yoongi doesn’t think that you were in line that long, but when you return to the table, Alice and Jihwan are gone.

“Where’d-” He’s not even asked the question, but you’re already shrugging.

“Alice’s probably off calling her fiance,” you say it like you’re back in high school, all singsong-y and mockingly, “and who knows where Jihwan got to. Probably trying to take someone home tonight.”

“He seems…”

You sigh. “Yeah.”

“How’d you meet him?”

A pang of… something hits him. Your expression falls, ever so slightly, and he regrets asking. But after a brief moment, you clear your throat. “He and I are the only two on campus without gems.”

Oh.

Well.

That makes sense.

“So they…”

You pick a piece of red cabbage off your taco and eat it. “Yeah, they know.”

Which explains Alice’s side-eye earlier. The weird emotion he’d gotten from you is gone now, and you seem to have just brushed right past the awkward feelings.

He hums, not really sure what to say. What’s there to say? So instead of saying anything dumb, he does the safe thing. He changes the subject.

“No wonder they didn’t kick the taco guy out of the festival this year.” He takes another bite of his taco. “This is the best al pastor I’ve ever had.”

“His chimichangas are amazing, but he only makes them on special days.”

“More special than…?” He gestures vaguely. Around you, the lights have started to dim. Yoongi isn’t really sure when that started, but things are definitely less bright.

You laugh, and something inside of him warms.

He hasn’t even finished his tacos yet, but the vibe in the clearing starts to dramatically change. The crowd gathers tighter, a palpable buzz in the air. Alice has returned and stands alone near the head of the table. She’s looking up at the sky, and when Yoongi looks up, he sees why. There’s an aurora in the sky, gentle waves of effervescent greens and blues swirling through the heavens, just like the night market all those years ago. It has to be magic of some sort–the city isn’t far enough north for it to be natural–but he can’t tell who’s doing it.

A hand on his shoulder pulls his focus back to the ground. You’re there behind him, bathed in the dim glow of the floating lights around you. By now, it’s almost dark, but even in the low light and deep shadows, you’re beautiful.

“Come on,” you say softly. “Let’s get a good spot closer to the lookout.”

He follows you through the crowd, weaving around the bodies to get closer to the edge of the clearing. It’s tight, and you grab his hand so you don’t get separated. Normally, Yoongi isn’t a huge fan of crowds like this. You’re a small island in a sea of people, and he barely has room to turn in a circle without bumping into someone. You stand close–close enough that he can feel your warmth through the chill of the night.

The city spans the valley below, a forest of metal and windows and concrete. A bright spot in the middle of an otherwise dark night. But then, individually at first and then more, the buildings’ lights begin to flicker out.

“They’ve been doing this festival since before the city got public electricity,” you explain, answering his question before he could even ask. “It’s kind of a big deal.”

With the lights of the city mostly out, the stars above are much brighter. He can almost see them twinkling and winking as they burn, millions of billions of lightyears away. The night sky is beautiful, and his eyes drift around to locate the constellations he’d learned as a child. Almost immediately, he finds Perseus, right beside his wife Andromeda. You’d loved the myth of Perseus slaying Medusa when you were kids, and even though he hadn’t looked for the constellation in over a decade, finding it is still ingrained in him.

He nudges you slightly, pointing up to the constellation. But just as he does, a pinprick of light streaks across the sky. You squeeze his hand as more streaks start to appear and the gathered crowd buzzes with ‘ooh’s and ‘aah’s. The meteors are all sizes. Big and bright. Small and thin. They aren’t constant, only a few show up every minute, but it’s beautiful to watch.

There’s a strange sensation growing in his chest, something warm and fluttering and all-encompassing. You lean a little closer and the feeling grows. You must sense something–he’s never really been sure what his emotions feel like for you–because you look up at him. For a moment, you look confused.

Yoongi isn’t really sure how it happens, but what he does know is that suddenly, your face is centimeters from his own. He thinks that maybe someone bumped you and you took a step closer, but maybe that’s just his brain trying to fill in the gaps. He also knows that he’s the one that closes the space between you, leans in and brushes his lips against yours. It’s quick, a little impulsive, and truthfully, it feels a little forbidden.

He pulls away, not far enough to make it seem like he’s made a mistake, but enough that it gives you an out, if you want it. His brain starts making all these calculations–what he should do if you back away, what he should do if you slap him, what if you don’t react.

But then you whisper, “Why’d you stop?” and your hand slides up his chest to grip the lapel of his coat. You tug with a surprising amount of force, and when your lips connect, he feels himself soaring.

His entire world narrows to the points where your bodies connect. The firm touch of your knuckles against his shirt, the way your leg presses against his, but mostly the heat from your lips as he deepens the kiss. You fit against him perfectly, as if you were made for each other. He’d only kissed you that one time, but somehow, he’d missed it, missed you.

When you finally pull away, you stay close, pressed against his chest–though whether that’s fully your choice or because of the crowd tightening around you is anyone’s guess. He can feel your heart pounding, and when you shoot him a small smirk, he’s pretty sure that you can feel the pace of his own pulse. Your grip loosens on the collar of his coat and you smooth it down coolly before your arm wraps around his back. Without a word, you cozy in, pressed close as your gaze returns to the sky and to the stars.

For a moment, he stands there, unmoving, mind empty. But then it’s like he snaps out of a trance, and he snakes an arm around your waist, holding you tightly. His focus shifts to the shooting stars above, catching one just as it streaks across the sky. As he stands there, staring at the heavens and feeling your steady breathing, his mind begins to wander.

12 years, 7 months, and 3 days. He’d spent most of that time wondering what would have happened if he hadn’t left. If, after he’d kissed you at the night market, he’d been satisfied with whatever life had come after that. He’d been so scared back then, of losing control, of his life not being his own. But now, none of that matters.

Now, he’d give up almost anything to stay here, in this moment, in your arms.

okay so like... what do we think? how are we feeling? I was originally planning on having this be much longer, but I was so stressed out from grad school, I just wanted to get it out now. I'm so excited to hear your thoughts! and let me know if you want to see a part 2 (and if so, what you might want to see in it!!)

#yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #bts x reader #yoongi fanfic #yoongi fic #suga fic #suga fanfic #bts fanfic #bts fic #min yoongi fic #min yoongi fanfic #myg x reader #bts soulmate au #bts supernatural au #set me free

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datura-tea · 5 months

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i read this whole thing! a few takeaways:

was developed for tv by the westworld show creators; the showrunners wrote for captain marvel, tomb raider, portlandia, the office, silicon valley, and baskets

one of the leads, lucy (ella purnell) from vault 33, is naive and "doe-eyed" and left the vault for a rescue mission

the other leads will be a brotherhood of steel squire (aaron moten) and a bounty hunter ghoul (walton goggins)

vault boy will be there - he even gets an origin story

it's set in los angeles

todd howard was an executive producer on the show

everything in the series is officially part of the lore. direct quote from the article: “We view what’s happening in the show as canon,” says Howard. “That’s what’s great, when someone else looks at your work and then translates it in some fashion.” He admits to being envious of some of the TV show’s interpretations and additions: “I sort of looked at it like, ‘Ah, why didn’t we do that?’”

most of the characters are "chasing an artifact that has the potential to radically change the power dynamic in this world"

the article's pretty cool and made me a little cautiously hopeful about the show... we'll see on april 2024 whether it'll be good though

#i bet the artifact is a geck lol #shh peri shhh #fallout show #there are bits that i'm still iffy about but. thinking positive here

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leahsgf · 18 days

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Can you write Alessia Russo x reader where reader has known her and Ella toone for years and is always watching their matches no matter what but reader and Alessia fall in love behind Ella’s back and then get found out?!

caught out

alessia russo x fem!reader

the way i started this in december and am just editing it now..

i loved writing this and am thinking of making it a mini series - so if you have any reqs for this ‘universe’ let me know! i’m up for anything

since before you could even remember, it had always been you and ella, the pair of you being practically attached at the hip from when you were babies, all the way up into adulthood. your bond only grew with time, and when she introduced you to alessia as young teenagers, the three of you very quickly became an absolutely inseparable trio - falling into eachother’s stride with ease.

you weren’t entirely sure where you ended and they begun.

even as you all got older and couldn’t physically see each other as much as you used to - with them both at the peaks of their careers, and the travel and demands that came alongside that, and you caught up in your own career - you still remained a solid unit. your family.

you didn’t play football, you never had, having always been the scrawny little kid who was terrified of pe lessons, earning yourself the lifelong nickname ‘tiny’, which still stuck even as a fully grown adult. but you were there for every single one of your girls’ moments. rain or shine, no matter what side of the world, or how busy you were with work, you’d be in the stands, cheering them on.

today was no different - finding yourself sat at wembley, a stadium you’d come to learn inside and out, to watch them play. you always adored being at games, seeing your girls flourish always made you want to burst with pride. and likewise, they loved having you there, always playing their best when you were in the crowd- branding you their ‘good luck charm’, and constantly bickering over whose jersey you’d wear to the matches.

being such a tight knit group, and having such a set routine when it came to games - alessia’s transfer to arsenal changed things for the three of you. many things, in fact.

for almost the entirety of the time you’d known them, they’d played for the same teams - the only exception prior to this being alessia’s college days. for you, it came as an adjustment, a new team to learn about so you’d be able to fully understand and appreciate her future stories, different games to go to, and the realisation that your two favourite people were going to play against eachother at some point. at multiple points.

this also meant that most of the time when you were going to one of their games, you wouldn’t see the other. this didn’t make a difference when it came to the times you would go to watch ella play, but with alessia, it changed things. it blurred lines that the pair of you had previously forced yourselves to draw, using ella as an almost reason, signifying the fact you were best friends, and that’s all it was.

in fact, you actually had no idea at what point exactly you and alessia became more than friends. from the secret stolen kisses at sleepovers as teenagers for ‘practice’ to the lingering glances and touches that lasted just a second longer than friendly ones should, you weren’t even sure that you had ever truly been just that.

however, with the sudden absence of the pair of your’s best friend, and the physical representation of the walls put between you, said wall came crashing down - within alessia’s first week at her new club.

your relationship very quickly blossomed from that moment, a decades worth of hidden, suppressed feelings from both sides pouring out.

despite how obviously in love with each other you were, you had been terrified to reveal it to the world, specifically your world, not wanting to lose, or even slightly affect your friendship with her.

the arsenal girls had figured it out instantly the first time they met you, and had been sworn to secrecy by a very flustered and panicked alessia, which made matters even worse, and made what you were doing feel like even more of a betrayal to your best friend.

the months of sneaking around and not being able to tell ella about a relationship you were in for the first time in your life was killing you, and the more time that passed made it more awkward to come out and say to her.

there had been many close calls that didn’t help your stressing over her reaction, from the one time you had to climb out of alessia’s bedroom window when ella unexpectedly showed up demanding a girls night after training, and then had to wait twenty minutes outside before going around to the front door to pretend you’d just arrived, to the time you’d had to practically leap apart mid drunken make out when you had hosted a group of your friends at your apartment and one of them stumbled into the kitchen without warning, and thankfully (for you, not for her) it was only leah.

your cheeks flushed furiously as alessia spun you around, her and ella both immediately finding you after the final whistle had blown, and the lionesses solidified their well earned win.

“see tooney our little good luck charm always comes in handy!” the blonde patted your head after releasing you from her grasp - giggling when ella immediately latched onto you in response, ordering you to ‘pick her up’ after you’d already caught her in your arms.

“my girls! this calls for celebrations, come on, we’re going out!” she yelled, almost ear piercingly loud - quite literally for you, as you foolishly held her right next to your ear.

there was a group of the younger players who always went out to party after wins, and you naturally went along every time - having known most of them for the same time you’d known your best friends, practically being an extra limb to either one of them.

you hung around the locker rooms waiting for them to change and shower, rolling your eyes at the winks and nudges of beth and leah as they passed you, and shoving them away - catching a glimpse of alessia and ella closely behind them, particularly focusing on the former’s panicked expression.

the journey back to the team’s hotel was one that could only be described as loud and chaotic. you were sat on your girlfriend’s lap, squished between her and the seat in-front of you, and ella was sat next to you, so close that it was practically a pile up.

thankfully, she was too busy bellowing an interesting rendition of ‘islands in the stream’ to notice the blonde’s hand on your hip, pulling you flush into her and drawing little hearts and stars onto the exposed skin from where your shirt had risen up.

you and your best friends had always been touchy, so you on one of their laps was a regular occurrence, therefore there was no way in your mind that ella could find out.

you were back and being ushered into their room to get ready for the night ahead before you knew it - desperately attempting not to blush furiously as alessia helped you top up your makeup, following ella’s strict orders so you could all match.

“right i need to find mary she said she’d curl my hair! less, remember what i said! i know how clumsy you are just follow what i told you, yeah? mary! mary!” she didn’t even give herself a chance to finish her own sentence before she was darting out of the room, voice echoing the corridor and most likely gaining a future noise complaint in the process.

not even a second after she was out of sight, alessia turned to you with a grin that only you could read - pulling you into her.

“oh i’ve been desperate to get you alone all week, i’ve missed you baby.” she grinned, throwing her arms around you and peppering kisses all over your face before finally meeting your lips.

you melted into her touch, instantly being returned home just by the slightest trace of her fingertips in your hair, and laughing as she playfully pushed you down onto the bed.

you barely had time to register her the feeling of her lips, and the comforting weight of her on top of you before the sound of a door being flung open and a following gasp hit your ears.

alessia practically flew off of you as you threw your head back onto the pillow and scrunched your eyes closed. you knew exactly who it was without even needing to look.

“el we can expl-”

“MARY YOU OWE ME SO MUCH MONEY!”

and she was gone just as fast as she stumbled in, cackling as mary groaned from the next room.

#alessia russo x reader #alessia russo #alessia russo imagine #lionesses x reader #lionesses #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso fanfics #arsenal wfc x reader

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barcaatthemoon · 2 months

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everlong || lucy bronze x reader ||

you and lucy spend some time together after a few months apart.

minors dni, 18+, smut ahead

it felt nice to be back in europe after so long. your american club teammates liked teasing you that you'd been over there so long you were eligible for their national team. being away from home had been hard at first, but that wasn't the part that bothered you. you had played all over the world, but you had never left a girl back home before.

your relationship with lucy had been a bit like a whirlwind. one moment, the two of you were screaming at each other outside of a nightclub. the next, she was pinning you against the wall kissing you more intently than you'd ever been kissed before. after that, the two of you had spent the rest of your time at the world cup sneaking around with each other.

lucy had been a bit apprehensive about entering a relationship with you. of all her reasons, the distance hadn't been a factor for her. she had tried to give you a million stupid reasons as to why it was a bad idea for the two of you to date each other. however, as you walked over towards her through the airport, you knew that she had just been afraid then.

"hi," you greeted lucy with a soft kiss and smile. lucy immediately reached to take your your suitcase from you. it was rare for lucy to be able to sneak away and pick you up like this. usually ella or alessia would have come running alongside her to see you. it was hard being away from your best friends, but that was a big part of what made international breaks your favorite part of the year.

"hi lovely." lucy put her free arm around your shoulder. a part of you would have liked to hold her hand, but having lucy that close was even better. "how was your trip?"

"decent. i got a good nap in," you answered. lucy smirked as she glanced down at you. the look in her eyes was unmistakable. lucy wanted you, and now that she had you in her arms, she was going to have you in every other way that she'd been thinking about since you left her three months ago.

"good, we've got a long night ahead of us." there was a reason that you had flown in on the earliest possible flight. the team would fly in at the end of the week, giving you and lucy a few days to just spend some time together. you knew that lucy would keep you in her bedroom for as long as she could, doubtful that the two of you would get to room together for camp. usually, you ended up in georgia's room for camps, and your best friend was not the type to give up a moment of her time with you for anybody, including lucy.

you had expected feverent kisses and lucy's hands clawing at your clothes in a desperate attempt to get you out of them. instead, she moved slowly with you, like she was trying to savor every second. it was you who ended up pushing kisses further, more than a little desperate to taste her on your tongue.

"can we take this slow?" lucy asked you. she seemed almost nervous to ask, so you were quick to reassure her. you cradled lucy's face in your hands as you leaned in and placed a feather-light kiss to her lips.

"as slow as you'd like," you said. lucy pushed forward until she was laying on top of you. she was careful with her kisses, savoring every little sigh and moan that she pulled from you. lucy spent a lot of time kissing up and down your neck, but you knew from the feeling that there wouldn't be marks everywhere. lucy was simply enjoying the feeling of your skin against her lips.

"can i take this off?" lucy asked as she reached towards your shirt. you nodded as you lifted your arms up to help her get it off of you. lucy's head dropped down again to pepper your skin in kisses. "i don't ever want this to stop. can i stay with you like this forever?"

"as much as i'd love that, we have lives to lead outside of your bedroom," you sighed. lucy chuckled as she shook her head. it wasn't like her to get so lost in her head like that, and even less like you to pull her out of it. being around you again after so long was making her sappy. if it was anybody else, lucy would have tried to run away, but there was something about you that kept lucy stuck in place.

you placed your hand in her hair, softly combing your fingers through as she trailed kisses all along your ribcage. she worked around your bra until you decided that it was too close to teasing for your liking. lucy didn't say anything when you unclasped your bra and flung it across her bedroom. there wouldn't be much need of it for a little while anyway.

"god, you're so beautiful. you're like a work of art, or something." you noticed the sheepish look in lucy's face. it was endearing, how she still got awkward giving you genuine compliments like that. you tugged her head up gently to give her a kiss, one that had lucy pushing her hips against yours just enough to make your jaw drop.

"lucy, please," you whined. the last thing that you had needed was the reminder of how badly you'd been wanting her. lucy seemed to understand and moved down your body a little quicker. she took your pants off, but left your underwear on as she focused her hands and mouth on your breasts. her fingers teased and tweaked your nipples while she pressed kisses and a couple of little bites elsewhere.

lucy could feel your wetness pressing against her thigh as you ground against her. the feeling of it made her head spin a little, nearly distracting her from her goal of going slowly with you. still, she persisted slowly with a trail of kisses moving down your stomach and across your hip bones. the feeling of her hands settling on your thighs made the muscles flutter with excitement.

"can i take these off?" lucy asked as her fingers hooked into the waistband of your underwear.

"please do." you sounded breathier than you had originally thought you were. lucy's touches had always been methodical, apparently even at a snail's pace. you were certain that she could have secrectly had you coming undone if she had wanted to. instead, she drew out the entire experience so that by the time that she took your underwear off, you were absolutely glistening.

"oh you're such a pretty little thing when you're soaked like this," lucy said. that sounded more like the woman that you were used to. the dirty words mixed well with the extra husk to her voice. the only thing that seemed to be missing was the look that lucy was going to blow your back out. you noted that she hadn't given you that look once, instead choosing to look at you with complete love and adoration. "my pretty little babe."

lucy rubbed her hands along the insides of your thighs as she licked her lips. you sat up on your elbows to watch as lucy moved one of her hands in between your legs. she cupped her hand over your center, fingers just barely pressing against your entrance. she could feel a little bit of your wetness drip down just from that. she rubbed her fingers back and forth, slowly pulling little whines from your lips.

"do you want me to beg because i'll do just about anything to feel you inside of me." you were usually too proud to admit whenever you needed lucy like this. lucy shook her head before she dipped it down to lick between your folds. her fingers kept teasing at your entrance as she continued with the languid strokes of her tongue.

her name was on the tip of your tongue, spilling out each time that she pressed a little harder or let her tongue venture a little further. lucy's fingers pushed inside of you slowly, going all of the way in before she pulled them out of you almost completely. lucy pumped them in and out of you at an almost maddening pace. the saving grace for you seemed to be the way that her lips wrapped around your clit as she gently sucked it into her mouth.

"shit, luce, don't stop!" you cried out loudly, uncaring of the way that your voice echoed around her room. lucy seemed to double down on her efforts a little as she began curling her fingers inside of you. she still moved them slowly, but the added sensation was more than enough to have you crying out as your body began to shake.

"shh, it's okay. it's okay," lucy repeated again and again as she worked you down from your orgasm. it wasn't violent or anything, but the trembling continued far longer than what you were used to. lucy managed to calm you down enough for you to catch your breath and pull her up to lay beside you. usually, she would have moved to hold you, but all you wanted to do was hold her instead. you peppered her face in kisses before capturing her lips in a searing kiss. you were exhausted, but the energy from feeling relief after so long was starting to kick in.

"where did that come from?" you asked her. lucy shrugged as she pulled your thigh over her body. she started to trace little patterns on the outside of your thigh as you ran your fingers through her hair.

"was it something that you enjoyed?" lucy seemed a little nervous, like she was still out of her element. "because we don't have to do stuff like that if you don't like it."

"i liked it, i promise. i don't know how to explain this, but that made me feel really loved, luce. it was nice, not that everything else you do isn't," you said quickly. lucy smiled as she tilted her head to press a kiss over your heart. "i love you."

"i love you too." lucy said it with much more confidence than she had ever told you that she loved you before. the distance was hard, but if it helped lucy come to terms with how she felt about you, you'd endure it for a bit longer.

#woso fanfics #woso x reader #woso imagine #woso smut #lucy bronze x reader #lucy bronze imagine #lucy bronze smut

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jenniferjuanconfessions · 2 years

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Confession 2023

I know that Jennifer said the two characters aren’t the same but it’s still my headcanon that Aaron from Beach Boy Blues is an mirror universe version of Aaron from Ella At The End Of The World. Him getting to grow up and become a doctor makes my heart glow.

#jennifer juan #beach boy blues #ella at the end of the world #fandom #confessions

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omgthatdress · 3 months

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The Cisgender, Heterosexual Cross-Dressers of the Victorian Era

(NOTE: This post was deleted and then re-edited because GASP I fell for some misinformation I found online. A lot of photos of "cross-dressing Victorians" that are common on social media are photoshop works that originate from one specific gender reversal fetish blog. So that's something else you have to look out for when research queer history online. I knew this blog existed and I still ended up posting some of its fake history. Forgive me.)

Victorians absolutely loved cross-dressing as a gag.

But none of it was considered queer. Because it was considered fun and not subversive or perverse, it was carried on in public by heterosexuals without any fear or hatred.

More than anything else, drag flourished as a comedy act on the vaudeville circuit. Many of the biggest names in entertainment were opposite-sex impersonators.

Julian Eltinge (who I will get back to later)

Vesta Tilley

John Lind

Bessie Bonehill

Bothwell Browne

Ella Wesner

Bert Errol

Pepi Littman (left)

At this point in time, drag was more closely associated with comedy than it was with queerness. It was generally considered a somewhat low art, but it was nonetheless immensely popular with the entertainment-seeking masses. Acts usually poked fun at the gender roles and stereotypes of the day, and could even be quite bawdy.

While undoubtedly many queer people engaged in this popular act, drag was not seen as inherently queer. In fact, the term "drag queen/king" wasn't popularly used outside of the theater world until the 1970s. Until then, the act, and people we'd call "trans" today, were referred to as "female/male impersonators."

Even though drag wasn't yet associated with queerness, a few notable queer people did manage to express themselves through the art of drag.

#drag #history of drag #queer #gay #lgbt #queer history #gay history #lgbt history

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uniquedinosaurdreamland · 4 months

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Ingrid Engen & Mapi León x Reader

-Annoying-

yay (kind of hate the ending but lol)

Ingrid Engen & Mapi León x Reader -Annoying- 🩷

🌸

“Who pissed in your coffee this morning sunshine?” Lucy smirked as she caught sight of you walking into the change room with a scowl covering your face. “Where are the other two, thought you guys were attached at the hip.” Lucy continued to tease.

“I can’t deal with Mapi right now, so I am going to stay far away from her otherwise I will kill her.” You said to your national teammate trying to control your emotions and stay calm. The morning started like any other waking up between your two girlfriends, engulfed in warmth until you all had to get up and get ready for training.

You don’t know why but Mapi had woken up in an extra annoying mood and her sole purpose was to make you want to pull your hair out. She knew how much you hated to be poked and tickled so all she had been doing those exact things, in the bathroom, when you were making coffee, when you just passed each other in your morning routines and even when you were walking down the stairs causing you to almost slip as well as lose your shit. Mapi had also turned to making fun of your height, you were only a few centimetres shorter then the older women but that was enough for her.

You had grown up with three older brothers who took pride in how ticklish you were and who sit on you and poke and prod until you couldn’t breathe. They had traumatised you so much that you hated anyone even making the movement of poking or tickling as it made you squirm. Yet Mapi didn’t care, loving your pouting face when she did it.

She had riled you up so much you had decided to drive yourself to training instead of getting driven by Ingrid. “You're an idiot.” Ingrid directed to Mapi, shaking her head as she watched you pull out of the driveway.

“Come on, it was just a joke, Corazón.” Mapi said, trying to defend herself.

“You know how much Y/N hates you poking and tickling her, and yet you continued.” Ingrid replied, grabbing her keys from the counter to take the other car to training since you had taken the main one.

“She’ll get over it.”

You in fact did not ‘get over it’ instead you worked hard to ignore your Spanish girlfriend through the entire training session, moving away when she stood too close, ignoring her calls from across the field, deciding to only speak to the older woman when you were placed on the same team for a game at the end of training.

Ingrid watched from the sidelines with Frido and Keira sat on either side of her, she laughed lightly as you scored a goal moving to high five your team members except for Mapi who had her hand up for you only to get brushed. “What's up with your girls?” Frido asked.

“Mapi was annoying Y/N and now Y/N won’t speak to Mapi so I’m just leaving them to sort it out, like always.” The three watched as Mapi ran by you pushing out a finger to hit your side, you scowled, hitting her hand away while Mapi smirked back winking.

“At the World Cup Ella and Alessia tried to tickle Y/N, she almost killed them. Lucy can vouch for me, she was the one having to hold little miss sunshine back from strangling them.” Keira said remembering the time you had been napping on one of the couches at national camp and Ella and Alessia had woken you up by tickling you under your arms and around your neck.

“Mapi needs to learn when to stop and she will learn her lesson once she takes it too far. Y/N did grow up with three older brothers.” Ingrid said shrugging her shoulder, she’d seen enough of Mapi teasing you and she knew you always got the last laugh.

Not even a minute later Mapi had snuck up on you and proceeded to tickle you, you let out a scream as you tried to get out of her tight grasp. You had finally been pushed over the edge and once you finally got out of her grip you turned around using all your force to tackle your Spanish girlfriend to the ground. Mapi wasn’t a typically ticklish person but you knew of the one spot on her neck that was very ticklish.

So with Mapi’s arms pinned under your knees your hands made their way to that spot that made the defender laugh and squirm underneath you. Mapi begged you to stop, being too weak from being tickled to throw you off. After a few moments she finally mustered the strength to get her arms from under your knees to grab your waist and flip you over onto your back.

“Calm down mi amor.” Mapi laughed as she now had your hands pinned down.

“I hate you.” You said through gritted teeth.

“I am sorry I have been annoying you. I will stop now if you calm down.” Mapi said looking down at you with her signature smirk plastered on her face.

“I hope you know I will get you back.” You stared back up at her as she got off you offering you her hand to be pulled up.

“I’m sure you will Cariño.” The slightly taller woman said, pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, smirking as she noticed you trying to hide your smile at the action. The whistle had been blown to end the game without you two realising so you both started to walk to your other girlfriend who stood talking with Frido and Keira waiting for you both.

Mapi stopped to talk as you grabbed a water bottle to drink from, before you made your way to the locker room you had one last plan. Turning to Mapi once again who had her back faced to you, you put your foot up and pushed it into the back of her knee successfully giving her a dead leg. You laughed loudly as her knee crumbled, with the mix of the dead leg and the hard training session her leg wasn’t working.

You weren’t sticking around to deal with Mapi’s annoyance, ignoring her colourful language and laughing as Ingrid hit her on the back of the head running to fall into step with Lucy. You were quick to move to the shower once you got back to the locker room. You had finished getting dressed in your (Ingrid’s) hoodie and some shorts.

“You are annoying.” Mapi said as the three of you said your goodbyes and moved to the parking lot to head home.

“I know.” You smiled back. “But I’ll go get some stuff for dinner on the way home, so you can’t stay mad at me.” You said as you walked to the car you had taken while Ingrid and Mapi walked to the other one.

Starting the car and pulling out, sending light smiles to the fans that were hanging around the entrance. Your shopping trip was quick, grabbing the last few things to make your mum's famous soup recipe before making your way back home. Quickly grabbing your training bag and shopping bags from the boot you unlocked your front door and headed into the kitchen.

Blowing a kiss to Ingrid who sat on the couch reading a book, not knowing where your other lover was but just figured she was in your shared room somewhere. Not having to start dinner for another two hours you put all the groceries away before moving to the couch flopping down so your head was sat on Ingrid's lap.

“Hei Kjære.”(Hello Darling) Ingrid smiling down at you moving to press a soft kiss to your lips, you smiled against hers as she pulled away to continue her book. You smiled as Bagheera jumped up onto your lap, your fingers threaded themselves though his fur getting a satisfied purr from the cat.

You were too focused on Bagheera to notice Mapi finally made her way from the bedroom to the lounge. The older woman smiled at the scene in front of her before moving to take Bagheera away. “Hey, give me my precious boy back.” You whined as Mapi moved the now sleeping cat to his bed.

“No cause you need to hug tu novia.”(your girlfriend) Mapi smiled, moving to lay down.

“You're annoying though.” You looked up at her teasingly.

“Lástima.”(Too bad) Mapi said before running full speed ahead to launch herself on top of you. Immediately burying her head into your neck, your hands made their way up her hoodie to scratch her back lightly.

“Why can’t you get along like this all the time.” Ingrid said, looking down at the two of you.

“Because my love, Maria is like a child she needs attention all the time and she thinks in order to get the attention she wants she has to poke and tickle.” You smiled up at your Norwegian lover, Mapi didn’t seem to like your comment as she grabbed onto your sides and dug into them with her fingers.

You immediately tried to get her off and you did which meant that Mapi was now on the ground. “I take it back.” Ingrid mutters under her breath as she once again watches the two of you get into a play fight. Which ends up with you over Mapi’s shoulder as she pokes you in the stomach over and over.

“STOP PLEASE STOP.” You yelled.

“Say I am the best most amazing person ever.” Mapi said, stopping her movements for a moment.

“No.” You squealed again as Mapi started to poke you again, not letting you move down from over her shoulder as you banged on her back. “Fine, you are the best most amazing person ever. Happy.” And with that you were placed back on your feet.

“Very.” Mapi looked down at you, as you moved to get out of her grip and return to your position on the sofa she pulled you in and connected your lips. Mapi moved to deepen the kiss, your legs feeling weak as she squeezed your hips, but before she would get carried away you pushed her away gently.

“I have to get dinner ready.” You said simply pecking her lips one more time before moving to the kitchen, Mapi happily making her way over to Ingrid to cuddle into her side.

You spent the rest of the night eating and watching a new movie that Ingrid had picked out, you were first to call quits and head to bed finishing your night routine before hopping into bed while your lovers finished the movie. An hour later the movie finished and Ingrid and Mapi headed up to bed, catching sight of you snuggled into the sheets made their hearts flutter.

Ingrid climbed into her side on the left after she was finished, closely followed by Mapi who took her side on the right on either side of you. Ingrid and Mapi’s hands intertwined over your waist as Ingrid snuggled into your neck and Mapi pulled your head gently to rest on her chest, the three of you now in a deep sleep tired from the fun but annoying day you had.

#woso x reader #woso community #woso imagine #woso fanfics #woso #mapi leon x reader #mapi leon #ingrid engen x reader #ingrid engen #barcelona femeni #fc barcelona #lionesses #lucy bronze

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sitzfleischh · 2 years

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I live in a household of chronically ill and/or disabled 20-somethings who all work in theatre tech or administration. And let me tell you the vibe right now is truly “we are paid peanuts to be overworked to death as part of an industry that absolutely should not be up and running right now and are watching as person after person around us gets covid because all the masking protocols are gone, but we keep working because there are so few people left and we know without a shadow of a doubt that if we stopped our respective theatre companies would fall apart and go bankrupt and then receive nothing in government aid”

#it’s the end of the world as we know it and I feel… exploited? depressed about capitalism #anyway I’m on tumblr to distract from the fact that I’m absolutely neck deep in work rn #and have been putting in 9-hour work from home days every day this week #ella writes a text post

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etherealstar-writes · 2 months

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I WANNA BE YOURS | WOSO X READER | PT 14

pairings: woso x reader

summary: in which you're accidentally added to a random group chat, not knowing they're all actually famous footballers, and obliviously end up having many of them competing for your love and attention.

part: fourteen

part one here

✦ ——— ✦ ——— ✦

THE NATIONAL DIVING TEAM

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ you guys back me up here

lotte y/n absolutely not

neev oooh what's gotten lotte acting like this

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ so i made this insane connection yeah lotte is literally a female tom holland but miss wubben-moy here is denying it

the REAL karate kid huh?

mccard hold on you might be onto something here

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

LOOOK it's not the best photo to compare from but tell me i ain't the only who sees it

stairway OMG

brightness oh yeah i'm seeing it

stephy YESSS it's the side profile

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ exactly!!

meado that is insane

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ seeee lotte! i meant it as a compliment when i said you look like tom holland's twin

elton changed lotte's name to tom holland's twin

tom holland's twin

neev

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ 😔😔

tom holland's twin niamh do i need to remind you of this afternoon at the beach? because i will

hempo oooh i wanna know what happeneddd

daly

stairway WAIT YOU GUYS WENT TO THE BEACH?! AND DIDN'T INVITE ME

the REAL karate kid that is so sad we must've completely forgotten about you

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ OMG YESS I HAVE AMAZING PHOTOS TO SHARE

neev Y/N NO

tom holland's twin Y/N YES

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

this one and jessie were STRUGGLING for an hour trying to place their mats 😭😭 it was so funny

flaming hot STOPPP DONT REMIND ME

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

and miss fleming here even gave me the bird guys she's not as innocent as she looks

flaming hot oh shut up y/n

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ you're just sour that the wind loved me

flaming hot yeah i really am

the imposter aka y/n ❤️

i'm justfdghjkem ehyu tyuiolkjehsyuikmdrnh

willybum um y/n you good?

elton are you having a stroke rn?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ sorry y/n's a bit busy rn

neev WHERE'S Y/N MY BAE AND WHAT HAVE YOU DONE TO HER

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ if you want to see her alive again i'm gonna need y'all to venmo me 10k each

stairway 10k?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ is that too much for you?

stairway oh no no it was just surprising how you didn't go for one 1 million like everyone usually does

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ oh well i guess if you want it that way then 1 million each from y'all

willybum STANWAY WTH

neev had to open that big mouth of yours

ona we'll save y/n just what is this venmo and how do i venmo you money?

elton i mean do we have to ..... she'll be fineee

neev you know what how about 1 m for y/n toone will pay for it on behalf of us all

elton HUH excuse you i ain't venmoing anyone a million dollars i'm positive i don't even have a hundred dollars in my bank account

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ wow glad to know how much i'm worth 😔

ona y/n! you're okay! do i still have to venmo for your safety?

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ oh no no don't worry about it ona you're too sweet for this world 🥺 kyra and charli were being jerks and snatched my phone and ran away

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ added kyra and cha cha

kyra aw man you ruined the fun 😔 i could've earned some money

the imposter aka y/n ❤️ nahhh ona's too precious to be scammed by you but i mean ella on the other hand ....

elton OI