#mostly for my own sake/posterity

[someone-else-entirely]

Today was an Adventure:

-ordered alcoholic beverage online a couple days ago, culminating in me running out into the wet street without shoes to catch the UPS truck

-impulse bought a heart-shaped mini Bundt cake maker (not just a pan, but a MAKER - you plug it in and pour in the batter and it cooks the cake for you)

-also impulse bought Lindoor truffles whose flavor was listed as "dark strawberry" and I know that that's just dark chocolate with a strawberry filling but "dark strawberry" sounds amazing as a concept

[gilbirda]

love when people panic and change their url on a whim and/or delete their blog and break my links in a resources post (sarcasm)

[chelseeebe]

bump n’ grind

a lil continuation to gimme a hand wherein our lovely reader helps eddie out after an embarrassing mistake.

18+ mdni. again, mostly just smut. maybe some angst towards the end i guessss. eddie munson x female reader.

eddie’s on cloud nine.

his head floating well above the pretty pink room he was currently in.

not entirely sure how he ended up here but also not at all angry about it. a night of rum and beer had lead him to this.

sarah.. savanna.. something, sits atop of his lap, bouncing off of his thighs like a jacked up rabbit.

he’s clawing at her back, trying and failing, to keep a steady grip on her wild body. appreciating the soft squeaks that left her mouth with every bounce.

and before he can really think about it enough to stop his mouth, he says it. wanting to dig his own grave the second his lips spread.

a long, drawn out iteration of your name.

she stops, immediately. breathless as she grips his shoulders, “what’d you say?”

his cock aches and his cheeks burn, any hope that she’d just ignore it and continue had flown out of the window, “what?” acting clueless, “i didn’t.. didn’t say anything.”

eddie knows full well what had slipped out of his loose lips, muscle memory from the embarrassing amount of times he had whined your name while imagining that it was your hand wrapped around his cock instead.

“you said somebody else’s name,” she frowns, sounding far too close to a possessive girlfriend rather than the one night stand that she actually was.

“did i? i don’t really remember.. does it matter?” with full sincerity, wondering if she was going to stay on his dick or climb off and throw him out.

“if i’m having sex with someone, i at least expect them to know my name,” she scowls, clambering from his lap to the empty space next to him.

“shit,” he mumbles, head in his hands, “fuck. i’m sorry,” sobering up instantly, embarrassed by his blunder.

she sighs, taking pity on his pathetic self, “is she your ex or something?” re-dressing herself with an old t-shirt, rightfully putting an end to their encounter.

“no..” eddie frowns, shaking his head, “she’s my.. my friend.”

best friend actually. making it all the more confusing and complicated. he’d spare her of all the gory details, for her sake.

“oh,” the girl gawps, stifling her laugh. “you should tell her,” leaning over to grab her phone, no doubt to tell all of her friends about eddie’s embarrassing freudian slip.

he’d deserve it.

-

eddie perches on the end of your bed, not daring to move any closer for fear of losing it and touching you like he dreamed of doing.

it had been four months, two weeks and five days since you’d jerked him off in that tiny bathroom.

not that he was counting.

and still nothing more had happened between you. a few instances where eddie had thought you were close but nothing of any real consequence.

nevertheless, a day hadn’t passed since where he hadn’t thought about it at least once.

he’s memorised every single frame of that video, all the times you pant and twist your hand. the exact second his phone falls onto the counter and the video changes to an image of the back of his head.

every. last. detail.

you jab your foot into his back, peering over your phone screen to frown at him, “what’s wrong with you?”

eddie sighs, letting his shoulders slump, still staring at the torn ac/dc poster he had ripped off the wall for you. it reminds him too much of times where things weren’t so complicated.

“i hooked up with someone the other day,” he states monotonously, uncaring anymore about telling you what had really happened.

“okay?” you jab him again, “why are you sad about that?” confusion echoing.

“i’m not sad.”

you sit up, the mattress shifting behind him, “then what the fuck’s your problem?” leaning forward to rest your chin on his shoulder, in that similar position you were in all those months ago.

sometimes he wishes you’d never touched him. that he had just settled with chrissy and you had never been an option. not that you really were now, still unobtainable, taunting and teasing him.

“i said your name,” he exhales in one big breath, “i said your name while i was having sex with her.”

his shoulders felt lighter now, despite you still resting on them. something about the relief of finally letting you know how he felt. embracing his stupidity.

“really?” your mouth falls open, “holy shit, that’s funny,” he can feel your hands creep up his back, sending shivers over his skin.

eddie shakes his head, at a loss for words. he could see how you’d find it funny, but he couldn’t see the humour in it himself. in fact, it was a marker for the absolute desperation he felt towards your new complex relationship. not only had you taken over all of his waking thoughts, but you’d somehow subliminally crept into his intoxicated mind thoo.

“what were you thinking about? when you said it,” you pry, head twisting around to look at him.

“you.”

“me?” you rasp, right into his ear. “what about me?” feeling your breath against his cheek, transporting him straight back to wayne’s cramped bathroom.

his eyes fall shut, like he’s in some humiliation ritual, getting off to the way you teased him so.

“that video.. that stupid video,” he whispers, tuned in to every twitch of your fingers on his back, your soft breaths in his ear.

“oh,” he can hear the smirk in your voice, unwilling to open his eyes to see it again, “is that it? just the video?”

he doesn’t understand why you’re asking so many questions. obviously enjoying the way he squirmed under your touch, antsy and reluctant to say anything.

“i was.. picturing you were her,” he squeezes out, blood rushing to not only his cheeks, but his cock too.

“aw,” you coo, hand sliding higher, “tell me how it felt,” voice thick with desire, fingers circling around his shaking shoulders.

“good..” his eyes squeeze together, feeling his jeans shift uncomfortably, “not as good as you did,” almost begging, pleading for it.

you hum, your other hand finding the top of his thigh, dangerously close to the tent in his jeans.

if you kept this up, he’d cum all over his fucking pants.

you squeeze the skin, a low grumble from yours lips, “what position were you in?”

oh god.

“w-why?” eddie chokes, seeing stars behind his eyelids.

“i just wanna know, eds.. so i can picture the scene.”

his head tilts back, allowing you the opportunity to creep into the crook of his neck, traces of your lips just barely touching the sensitive skin.

“please tell me,” you mumble, vibrating against his trachea, making his toes curl, grounding himself with the rough carpet.

“she was on top,” he spits, balling his fist around your blanket.

it didn’t feel real between his fingers, poorly substituting your body for the cotton.

“oh,” you shift, the bed frame creaking as you clamber into his lap, resting atop of his thighs. “like this?”

he doesn’t open his eyes. can’t, not without cumming his pants right there. but he can feel you, perched just below his crotch,

“what’d she do now? hmm?” dragging your nails down his chest, your fingers prod at his skin, forcing him to flop back against the mattress.

the space allows you to shuffle upwards, your cunt brushing against his aching cock, leaving him no choice but to turn into pure mush beneath you.

“fuck,” he breathes, daring a glance in hopes to keep the image ingrained in his mind forever.

your hips begin to grind against his crotch, groaning softly with your palms flat to his chest.

“you like that?” you purr, rocking back and forth on top for he rough denim of his jeans.

“i need you.. fuck, please,” he keens, fingertips so firmly pressed into your waist that they’d leave indentations for days.

you don’t respond, sighing softly as the friction between you grows stronger, cruel and twisted in the way you tease him.

he doesn’t understand what all of these almost-encounters mean. it’s like you want him but not fully. holding yourself back for the right moment or perhaps just trying to keep him going until somebody else came along.

his hands slide around to your ass, moving with every jerk and cant of your hips. gruff, frustrated sighs leave his mouth, mixing somewhere in the air with your whiny moans. need and urgency ricocheting around the walls of your room, yet neither one of you prepared to take it all the way.

“jesus eds, are you gonna cum?” you breathe, as much as this was for his benefit, you were getting off as well.

that alone makes this other worldly. even if he was doing absolutely none of the work, you were writhing and gasping just as he was.

it’s almost incomprehensible how much you using him to get off was frying his brain.

eddie was about to combust, the closeness of it all, so near and yet still so far apart. two layers of clothes felt like a million miles. finally brave enough to open his eyes, hoping to keep this image seared into his brain forever.

“yeah.. yeah i’m gonna cum,” he whines, jerking his hips up to meet yours, rocking against each other in perfect rhythm, “please.. oh fuck- fuckfuckfuck,” his cock positioned perfectly between your folds, covering your pajama shorts with your slick.

“good boy,” you breathe, fingers twisted into his shirt, tugging at the fabric, not letting up on your torturous grinding.

your tone is somewhere between mocking and sincere, but he doesn’t care. doesn’t have the brain capacity to if he’s honest.

his cock twitches against his boxers, hips shuddering into the air as an uncomfortable warmth overtakes his crotch.

“oh god.. shit,” the sudden realisation of the mess in his pants, how grotesquely down bad he was for you, hits all at once.

your lips curve, shuffling down to the top of his thighs. you don’t exchange words, just a sly glance that erupts into giggles. leaning down to peck his lips as your hands let go of their hold on his chest.

eddie’s hands don’t move, gripping onto your hips, hoping you’ll stay there for the rest of eternity. not only had he cum in his pants, he had done so at a disturbingly fast rate. a few minutes of what was essentially dry humping had left him sticky and full of shame.

“are you ever gonna let me fuck you?” he asks, practically begging for your mercy, needing to know for his own sake.

he likes to think that if you said no, he’d be able to walk away with his dignity, to never let this embarrassing display for pathetic yearning happen again.

yet deep down, he also knows that that’ll never happen. you could string him along forever and ever and he’d never do a thing about it other than cherish the moments you let him touch you.

your laugh topples over, slinging your leg over his waist to kneel beside his lifeless body, “one day,” kneeing him softly in the side, “go get changed, i’m hungry,” climbing off of the mattress, disappearing from his eyesight.

his head flops back onto the bed, sweaty and exhausted, ignoring the feel of his boxers clinging to his skin and the inevitable wet patch seeping through to his jeans.

an insatiable churning in his stomach for more, for you.

but eddie is eddie, so instead of doing any of the things that he really wanted to do, he rolls off of your bed with a sigh, shimmying out of his jeans just as you’d asked him to.

[yanaromanov]

in unholy denial

･ ｡ﾟ*. 18+, minors DNI . * ｡ﾟ･

pairing: wanda maximoff x reader

summary: you’re the perfect all-american girl; a good student, a weekly churchgoer, you’re even dating the high school quarter back. so it’s all a big shock to you when your family decides to send you to a conversion camp, claiming they believe you’re a lesbian. you don’t agree with their accusation, telling everyone that you don’t like girls at all. but then you meet your camp mate wanda maximoff, who seems determined to sway your mind in another direction…

warning(s): conversion therapy, homophobia (externalised and internalised), religious mentions (christianity), smut, fingering, thigh riding, loss of virginity, hickeys, slight dubcon (only kissing), swearing, pet names (princess, honey), wanda and r are in high school but of age (over 18), cheating (r has a bf), slightly innocent reader, nude magazine, etc. minors dni

author’s note: this is my first time writing and uploading smut so i really hope it’s not terrible 🙏🏻this is heavily inspired by ‘but i’m a cheerleader’, only this time it’s with teenage wanda and much more smutty :) i also took light inspiration from @imaginedanvrs and her fic ‘atonement’, and though i did take a different turn, check it out because all of their writing is amazing :))

wc: 11.7K words

The car is quite on the ride up. You stare out the window, watching as your world begins to disappear. The camp is just under two hours away from your home town; far away enough that it feels like a whole different world, but close enough that your parents can still come visit on the weekends.

You’re not being punished. At least that’s what your parents have told you. They just want what’s best for you, want to help you find the right journey in life. Apparently this camp was supposed to do that for you. Though, you could quite see how - the apparent problem they claim to be able to fix, not identifiable to any part of your mind.

When they’d first brought up the idea, you’d been quick to confusion. A conversion therapy camp? But you weren’t gay. You had a boyfriend, the football team’s best quarterback at that, and you two were very happy together. He was handsome and kind, and you loved him. Except for maybe when he tried to kiss you, always left feeling grossed out by the encounter as his tongue tried to play with yours. But he must just be a bad kisser. That was at least what you always told yourself…

Aside from that, there were so many things that couldn’t have possibly lead your parents to believe you were gay. You were one of the top students at school, always getting the highest grades. Every Sunday you attended church, said your nightly prayers each evening before you slept. You were in the church choir, for goodness sake!

Still, your parents had sat you down in the living room one night and had a very serious conversation with you. They were concerned mostly, worried that something sinister had crept in and was tainting your life. You’d used all of your excuses in protest but they’d came prepared with their own.

A few posters from your room, filled with woman in bikini tops. You liked the patterns. Songs from your playlist that held ulterior meaning. You just liked the way they sound. The fact you hated kissing your boyfriend; a few comments you’d made to your friends about other girls at church. You thought everyone felt that way…

In the end, they’d convinced you to come along to the program, claiming it was in your best interest to attend and get the help you need. Although you didn’t believe you needed any help at all, you had agreed. If this camp was going to help them feel better, you were willing to give it a go, even if it meant getting treatment for a nonexistent problem…

Still, your heart aches a little as your small family car drives away from the suburbs you are used to, the view soon replaced by dense forest trees and vibrant undergrowth. The program was set out almost like a Summer camp, out near a lake where members could swim during their free time. That was one of the activities you’d read in the pamphlet your parents had handed you, the camp explained in its entirety alongside its promise to guarantee positive results. You’d initially asked your parents how long you would have to spend there, worried about being forced to remain when there wasn’t a problem with you to begin with, but your mom had simply smiled back softly and replied, ‘let’s just see how you get on’.

You’re almost lost in thought when the car finally turns on to the last stretch of its journey. The sight ahead of you drags you back to the present moment, eyes now searching the wide opening in the trees as the camp comes into view. It’s easy to spot, the only buildings around for a long while, and the white shutters standing out vibrantly against the green trees. The lake comes into view too, shimmering in the morning summer sun.

Soon the car slows, coming to a halt outside what looks to be the main building, its size large compared to the other’s dotted around. The ranch-style house is painted a soft blue, the fixtures and wrap-around porch shining dazzling white. All in all, it looks rather beautiful.

Your parents are the first out the car, looking around as they close the doors. You follow a moment later, eyes drifting over your surroundings as you inhale the sweet smells of the forest air. A pair of footsteps soon diverts your attention, your gaze falling to a tall blonde man making his way in your direction from the large blue house. He’s dressed very similarly to the men you see at church; a pair of neat navy slacks and a matching blue and white gingham shirt. You and your parents come to stand together on one side of the car just as he reaches your feet.

“Good morning,” the blonde says, his grin reaching from ear to ear. “Mr and Mrs Y/L/N, isn’t it?” There’s an exchange of hand shakes as your parents confirm his assumption. “It’s a pleasure to meet you. And you must be young Y/N.” His gaze falls to you as he speaks, a hand outstretching in your direction.

You take it, shaking it gently as you nod your head. “It’s nice to meet you, sir.”

The blonde lets out a low chuckle as he releases your hand, his attention turning back to your parents. “What a polite little girl you have,” he says, his smile widening. Your parents seem to take pride in his compliment, inching closer together as they stand and look over at you. “But please,” the man continues, turning back to you. “My name is reverend Steve so you can call me as such. Or just Steve if you prefer.” He smiles again as he shrugs his shoulders. “Sir always feels a bit too formal.”

There’s a trade of small laughter between the adults but you don’t find yourself joining in, still feeling a little apprehensive about this whole scenario.

“I do hope your journey here was alright.”

“Oh, just fine,” your father replies in response to reverend Steve’s question, smiling easily back at him.

“Good. I’m so glad to hear that. We’re just so happy to have Y/N here. And don’t worry, your daughter is in very good hands.”

Just at that moment, you notice another figure approaching your group, a woman, originating from the same place Steve had. When she reaches you, there’s a soft smile on her face, her red hair dazzling in the Summer sun. The reverend reaches one of his arms out, bringing the woman close to his side as his hand rests on her hip. “I’d like you to meet my wife, Natasha. She helps direct things around here, especially with the girls.”

Her hand also extends out to your parents to meet in a soft handshake as she smiles widely back at them. “Hi, it’s a pleasure to meet you.” With your parents, reciprocating the sentiment, the redhead then turns her attention to you. Her eyes sparkle a bright shade of green as the morning sun hits them. “Hello, Y/N,”

You find yourself momentarily stumbling over your words, something about the woman distracting you until she speaks. “Good morning,” you manage eventually, smiling back nervously.

In the time you’ve greeted her, it seems your parents have retrieved your luggage from the back of the car. “These are your bags?” Reverend Steve asks, reaching to pick them up. In truth, you hadn’t even noticed them being moved there. “I’ll just take these up to your dorm room, Y/N.” He smiles once more at you before he turns, walking towards the house with your belongings in tow.

“I’ll give them a little check over once we get there,” Natasha says, drawing your attention back to her. She passes you a playful wink that causes a strange feeling in your chest. “But I’m sure there’s nothing in there that will get you in trouble, hm?”

“I don’t think-“ Your response is cut off by your sudden realisation you’re standing alone, your parents retreating back to the car and already starting the engine. “Wait I-“

“Don’t worry.” The redhead’s words yet again distract you, pulling your attention away from the vehicle behind you. “They’ll be back at the weekend to visit. You’ll be seeing them again in no time.” Natasha turns to stand side by side with you, her hand resting on your back as she gently begins to press you forwards. “Now how about you just come with me and I can show you around the place. How does that sound?”

“A-alright,” you stumble, giving one glance back to the car that has already pulled away from the camp. You let the woman by your side guide you as you watch it slowly move further and further away up the road, officially leaving you all alone.

The tour Natasha gives you, however, helps to lift your spirits a little. The camp grounds are rather beautiful, the grass vibrant and speckled with small colourful flowers. The buildings themselves are also very pleasant, all adding to the soft summer camp feel the area had. Natasha first directs you to the small bunker home her and Steve resided in, claiming members were not allowed inside but there was a small bell if you ever needed them at any time. Next, she shows you the church; a small yet grand building with dazzling stained glass windows. As you walk the pews, Natasha tells you how their service is held each morning, directed by Steve himself.

“I hear you’re in your church choir?” Natasha quips as you take in the way the light hits the windows, spreading bright colours across the floor of the building.

“Yes,” you reply, lifting your head and smiling sheepishly. “I have been since I was thirteen.”

“You’ll have to sing for us one time,” Natasha says playfully, before beckoning you out of the church and off to your next destination. On your way, she explains a little of how their program works; a mixture of group lessons and singular sessions to help you understand your problem. “Do you still attend bible study, Y/N?” Natasha asks as you approach the main building.

Shyly, you turn to face her. “No. I stopped a few years ago when I turned sixteen.”

The redhead clicks her tongue but overall doesn’t seem too disappointed, still smiling over you. “Don’t worry,” she replies. “I’m sure our study will set you just right again.” She passes you another wink before you step in through another door that she opens ahead of you.

The building has a wide front opening, a set of grand stairs set out ahead in the expanse of the tall ceilings. At the bottom of them, you suddenly notice a tall girl standing there. She’s wearing a neat uniform, her long black hair pulled back into two braids. “Y/N,” Natasha says, gesturing towards the girl. “I’d like you to meet Kate. She’ll be your mentor while you settle in.”

The raven-hair girl smiles at you as she extends a hand. You shake it, sharing a quick greeting before she hands you a welcome packet. Natasha explains how all of the rules are written inside, alongside a list of other expectations and your schedule for your stay. You hold on to it against your chest as the pair walk you around the house on your continued tour.

Inside of the main building, it feels somewhat like a mixture of a house and a school. There are two classrooms, both filled with a set of students learning from a tutor at the front of the class. A large dining hall was also set up, functioning like a school canteen. Downstairs there were a few recreational spaces with small couches arranged around card tables, all littered with various bible verse posters along the walls. As you move upstairs, Natasha shows you the bathrooms and the couple isolation rooms they had, though she assured you, you most likely wouldn’t be spending any time in there.

“Now, let’s get you some uniform, hm?” Natasha says, moving further down the corridor. She opens a long cupboard, filled with rows of pleated skirts and crisp white shirts. She looks through the rails before handing you a set of uniform in your size. Her and Kate then give you some privacy in the cupboard to change while they step outside.

The uniform is light blue, the skirt pleated through with lines of navy. The sweater vest is a matching dark blue, the logo of the camp embroidered onto one breast. You pull it on over the white button shirt, followed by the long white socks and black patent shoes Natasha had also provided. When you step out of the cupboard, the older woman takes hold of your old clothes, claiming she’ll take care of them for you until you’d be needing them again. You’re not entirely sure what she means but she’s continuing on with the tour once more before you can truly give it much thought.

“These are the girl’s dormitories,” the redhead says as she opens another door, guiding you inside. As you step in, you notice two rows of small cots, lined up with matching pink floral bedsheets. You notice one on the end, your bags sat atop waiting for you. But what catches your eye even more, is the brunette girl splayed across one of the middle beds, a magazine between her hands. She looks up as all three of you walk into the room, her green eyes meeting directly with you.

“Miss Maximoff,” Natasha says as soon as she notices the girl. “Aren’t you supposed to be in your lessons right now?”

The girl diverts her gaze to the camp director. “I didn’t feel well so I came to lie down.”

The way the girl lay across her stomach, face perfectly amused as her eyes flitted across her magazine didn’t exactly come across to you as unwell. It seems that Natasha too picks up on her lie, simply passing the brunette a small scowl. “Nice try.”

There’s a moment where the girl stares back, almost daring the women with her gaze, but she soon gives up, instead rolling her eyes as a long frustrated sigh escapes her lips. “Fine,” she mumbles, lifting herself up from the bed and slowly walking towards you. As she does, you notice how her shirt is unbuttoned further down and how her skirt is rolled at her waist, climbing the front of her thighs.

Natasha seems unfazed by her antics, simply holding out her hand which the brunnete places her magazine into with another sigh. The redhead gives it a once over before staring back at the girl. “This is contraband. Where did you find it?”

The brunette simple smirks in response. Her shoulders briefly brushes against yours as she squeezes her way through your group, headed towards the door. Before she leaves, she turns, walking gently backwards as the smirk widens on her face. “The Lord showed me the way to it.” She turns again quickly, disappearing from the dormitory alongside her lingering gaze.

Natasha doesn’t make any move to follow her, simply inclines her head as as she shouts down the corridor. “Roll down your skirt, Miss Maximoff!” Her voice still echoing, the redhead then turns back to you, that perfect smile returning almost as quickly as it at dropped. “I’m so sorry about that,” she says, glancing down at you. “Some of the other girls are a little…challenged in finding the light. Sometimes they can be a bad influence but I’m sure if you just stick with Kate, you’ll be just fine.”

You glance at the tall girl stood beside you, her soft grin looking back. “If you have any questions, feel free to ask Kate. Or of course, me or Steve at any point,” Natasha adds, drawing your attention back to her. You nod in response and she smiles back, placing a hand on to your shoulder. “Now, how about we take a look at your bags?”

———

Settling in isn’t as hard as you thought it might be. Kate is nice, you discover quickly, and helps you get unpacked. You tuck your things away into the drawers under your bed, then some more of your belongings in to the bedside table - next to the complementary bible you find tucked inside. Kate explains you can put up some photos with blue tac if you wish, pointing out to some of the other girls’ beds who have done the same. You borrow some of said blue tac from her as you stick a photo of your family alongside one of you and your boyfriend up on to the wall.

Afterwards, Kate sits with you while you look through your welcome packet. A lot of it relates to the pamphlet your parents had given you before your arrival, talking all about the camp and its methods of tackling what they phrase, ‘the misdirection of youths towards homosexuality’. The entire idea is still a little scattered in your head, but you brush it aside as you delve further into the rules and scheduling of the camp.

There are quite a few rules written down, a lot of which you recognise from your own home regulations. No curse words are to be used, nor any other inappropriate language. The Lord’s name must not be used in vain. Members must pray before each meal and every night before bed. Uniform must be worn at all times.

Then there are other rules that make you feel a little more uncertain. There is strictly NO fraternising between members. No member is permitted in the opposite dormitory to which they are assigned. Any inappropriate belongings will be confiscated.

The last rule makes you wonder back to the girl you’d seen sat inside the dormitory. There have been something ‘inappropriate’ about her magazine, obviously leading to the confiscation by Natasha. You weren’t quite sure what about it could be so bad, the name you’d glanced at briefly unrecognisable before Natasha had quickly stashed it away from your sight. If anything, the whole ordeal had only made you more curious about the strange girl and what exactly she had been reading.

As if the universe could hear your thoughts, it’s barely a few hours later when you collide with the girl once more. It’s lunch time, Kate and you just having sat down with your plates of food after she’d explained how they were set out each meal time. The dining room is filling up, all of the other camp members filing in to take their place at differing tables. It’s as your inspecting the meal in front of you that a very particular member sets herself down in front you.

“Hey, newbie.”

Your head raises from the table as you hear the voice, looking up to meet the same pair of green eyes that you recalled from earlier. The brunette stares back at you, a small smile playing at her lips as she watches your face. “Uh…hi?”

You don’t get to say much more before Kate is speaking up, leaning over the table with a scowl. “Get lost, Maximoff. We don’t want you to sit with us.”

The brunnete turns to look at the other girl, a frown of her own appearing between two perfect brows. “Loosen up, Bishop. I just wanted to say hello to our newest addition.” As she finishes, her eyes trail back to you, the scowl dropping away to that same smirking expression. For a moment it seems as if she looks you up and down, scanning over your uniform before studying your face again. “I’m Wanda,” she says eventually, voice light. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

You smile back a little awkwardly, torn between your polite nature and the instructions you had received to avoid this exact girl sat opposite you. “Y/N,” you reply, letting your manners overtake the situation.

“Just go away, Wanda,” Kate butts in suddenly, her voice raised. “I’m her mentor, not you.”

The brunette screws up her face as she turns to the raven-haired girl, scoffing under her breath. “God Kate, you’re so fucking uptight.” She sighs loudly as she pushes herself up from the table. As she does, you notice how her skirt is still rolled at the waist. But you don’t settle on it too long, distracted as she begins to speak again. “I’ll see you around, Y/N,” Wanda says, her voice playful once more. Her eyes train on you for just a moment as she backs away from the table, another girl soon taking her place.

“Just ignore her,” Kate grumbles over to you. She begins to list a string of complaints about the girl but doesn’t get far, soon interrupted by Reverend Steve calling for grace at the front of the room. You bow your head as he begins to pray, clasping your hands under your chin just as you did with every meal you ate at home. A chorus of ‘amens’ rings out as the prayer finishes, all heads lifting once more to begin eating their lunch. As you lift yours, your gaze briefly flashes across the room, catching across the way, a pair of green eyes staring back at you. Wanda sits smirking, but you don’t see much else, quickly finding yourself flustered and looking away, turning your concentration instead to the plate of food sat in front of you.

———

Natasha’s office is very nice. That’s your first thought when you enter through the door, guided by her hand on the base of your spine. There are a few wide windows on one wall, white shutters open to give a view of the lake just down a grassy hill. Her desk sits in one corner, a plush vibrant chair close by, then across the way, a small couch. There are shelves littered with both plants and framed pictures, most depicting some sort of bible verse.

You sit yourself down on the sofa while Natasha settles in her chair beside her desk, pulling out a notebook as she turns to face you. There’s an exchange of pleasantries as she explains exactly how these private sessions will go and how anything you say is entirely confidential. You nod, sitting rather folded in on yourself, uncertainty still coursing through your body.

“So Y/N,” Natasha says eventually, crossing her legs over the other. “To start off, why don’t you tell me a little bit about the first time you experienced homosexual tendencies.”

The request is one that leaves you stumbling a little. “Oh I- well…” You swallow, landing on the same response you’d had every time your parents had suggested the idea. “I’m not actually gay. Everyone just thinks that I am.”

Natasha’s face changes, taking on a soft but curious expression. “And why do you say that?”

“Well I’m not,” you reply. “I don’t- I don’t like girls. I have a boyfriend.”

That fact alone seemed enough to you for this whole endeavour to be needless. You didn’t like girls, couldn’t like them. You and your boyfriend had been going strong for over two years. He was handsome, funny, and you were sure you loved him. Even if you did feel slightly disgusted every time his lips touched yours…

“Listen Y/N,” Natasha says, her voice calm. “I know this whole experience can seem a little daunting but we’re here to help you, okay?” She smiles softly, the intention of her words feeling truthful. “But the first step of your journey needs to be your admittance to your problem.”

It isn’t that you don’t feel comfortable telling Natasha about your problem, in fact you actually feel a strange warmth in your stomach whenever she talks to you, but in your mind, there was no problem to begin with. “I’m not gay.”

Natasha sighs at your answer. She adjusts herself in her seat, her soft gaze looking back at you. “Think about it like this; homosexuality is like a disease. These thoughts weave their way into your mind, changing your behaviour.” The redhead raises a set of perfect brows. “But we can’t begin to heal if we don’t have a proper diagnosis. Can’t administer the right treatment if we can’t admit we’re ill, right?”

Her analogy isn’t lost on you, somewhat similar to something you’d heard your pastor say back at your home church. “Yeah…I guess that makes sense.”

“Now what you’re experiencing can be fixed,” Natasha continues. “I’ve seen it fixed many times before. You can heal Y/N, break away from this and find the light of our good lord.” With his name, Natasha glances up to the cross hanging on the wall beside you. Your eyes follow too. “Don’t you want that?”

You turn back to the woman, your voice sounding small. “Of course I do.”

Natasha smiles. “That’s good.” She rearranges herself again, adjusting to hold her notebook and pen better. “Now, could you maybe tell me first time you can remember ever having thoughts about other women?”

“I don’t-I haven’t,” you stumble. “I don’t think about them like that.”

Like that. It was a phrase you’d repeated like a mantra in your head. You didn’t want a girlfriend, you didn’t want a girl to kiss you. You thought about girls the same way everyone else did. Sure, sometimes your eyes would fall to their ass when they walked to the front of class, or perhaps you got a bit hot and bothered in the changing rooms before gym, maybe even your favourite movie scene was the one where all the girls would go to the beach and play in the water. But that was what everyone else thought too…right?

“Alright,” Natasha says, sighing again. “I can see you’re really struggling with this, but that’s okay. I’m here to help you.” She smiles. “How about we take a little look at your family history, hm? See if that can get things kickstarted for us?”

You spend the rest of your session talking about your family. Natasha asks about extended members, questioning about any problems there may be down your blood line. But as far as you know, it all comes up clean, your entire family the same good Christian folks you’ve always known them to be.

Finding nothing of interest, Natasha moves on to talk about your childhood. She asks about your time at school, how long you’d attended church, what sort of friends you had. It’s all scribbled down on the notebook in her hand as you list off answers, all the perfect idiom of what a good Christian girl should be.

By the end of your session, you’ve spoke about almost everything that’s led you up to where you are now. Natasha asks again about your feelings towards women, trying to compare the reasons your parents sent you here to real acts of homosexuality. But all in all, it’s no use. At the end of the hour, you’re still in denial, refusing any accusation of your alleged problem. Thankfully, Natasha doesn’t seem angry, still smiling softly as you leave her office. She send you away with an assignment to think about what could be your ‘root’, what she terms the initial source of your unholy thoughts, determined once you figure this out, it will begin your journey to sanctuary.

———

The next few days pass by without much excitement. You begin to settle into your lessons, listening as a few ex-members of the program give speeches of their experiences, or as Steve talks about how God can help give meaning to your life. There are group therapy sessions you attend, though mostly sit quietly through, but listen while others talk about their own experiences and thoughts. It’s in them you notice a certain person who seems to stare at you from across the room. You try to avoid making eye contact but it seems each time you glance over, Wanda’s stare is trained on you.

Following what Natasha had said when you first arrived, you tried to stick to Kate’s side as much as possible, avoiding the other girl who seemed to look at you more often than not. When you weren’t in lessons you could avoid her, instead hanging around with Kate and her friends in the recreational spaces, sometimes watching one of the approved DVDs that lay beneath the TV. At meals, your group sits together, always saying your prayers before eating your food. But it seems even there you can’t escape the strange brunette, always catching her stare from across the room. It’s only in bible study, on the day that marks a week since your arrival, that you actually get to speak to her again.

Kate was sick today. She’d caught a head cold, presumably from her parents who came to visit her at the weekend. You had also had a visit, your mother and father asking every possible question about your stay and how you were finding camp. The visit had went well, but now a few days later you were left with no mentor to guide you throughout your day. It isn’t too much of a worry in your mind though, the layout and scheduling of the camp already becoming a familiar routine to your body. But what you aren’t used to, is a certain strange individual sitting in the seat where your mentor usually sat.

You don’t notice it is Wanda at first. Feeling the body slide against yours on the bench, your first thought is perhaps that Kate has made a miraculous recovery. But when you turn to face the individual and are met with piercing green eyes, you are certainly even more surprised. “Um,” you fumble, looking back at the brunette as you try to stumble for words. “That’s Kate’s seat.”

Wanda raises a brow, her head spinning to look around the room before it returns to you. “I don’t see her.” She smirks. “Besides, no seating arrangements, right?”

Technically she is correct. There is nothing actually stopping her from sitting beside you apart from your slight aversion to interacting with her. You slide your body away a few inches to the right, shifting away from the touch Wanda had initiated as she sat down a little to close. The brunette seems to notice, glancing down at the gap now settled between you, but she doesn’t say anything about it, instead just looking up at you as she flashes a set of white teeth. “So Y/N,” she begins, rolling your name easily over her tongue. “Where are you from?”

“Not far,” you reply, still inclined to politeness even with your anxiety around the interaction. You elaborate further, telling her the name of your town just two hours north of the camp.

Wanda hums at your response then crosses her legs on the bench. You try not to notice the way her rolled skirt flashes a pair of smooth pale legs. “I’m from down south,” she says. “Further than you, though. About six hours. My parents only come to visit about once a month.”

You met her eye as you try to think of a response, but before you can, you’re being interrupted. Reverend Steve calls out at the front of the class, silencing everyone so that he can begin calling the register. As names echo out across the room, you and Wanda’s conversation dies, but the soft warmth emanating from her body close to yours, does not leave for the rest of the lesson.

Having quit bible study over three years ago, you were a little worried you wouldn’t be able to keep up, but as Kate had told you last week, some of these kids had never even been to church, so the pace was definitely slow enough for you to follow along. The story Steve told today was one you knew rather well actually, one of the most prominent ones you could recall from your early teens. Still, you pay the upmost attention throughout the entire time he talks, eyes trained on his figure at the front of the classroom. What makes that a little difficult however, is the girl sat right beside you.

Wanda is easily distracted you notice quickly, constantly fidgeting with the pen in her hand - your pen actually, borrowed by the brunette when she claimed she had forgotten her own. You sit a little in shock as she casually graffitis the open bible sat upon the desk in front of her, mindlessly drawing squiggles and random shapes into the margin. You try your best to ignore her antics but it’s a little hard when she accidentally tosses her pen across the desk, following a failed attempt to spin it around her fingers. It lands over on your side, just to the right of your own bible. You go to reach for it to hand back to her but it seems she’s already moving before you can even get the chance.

Her body lifts slightly from the bench, stretching out across the table with one arm for her lost pen. As she does, her chest is brought closer to your face. Your eyes fall on the black cross hanging around her neck, then suddenly dip lower, catching the area of her shirt where her buttons are undone further than they should be. There’s the briefest of moments where your eyes linger there, passing over the ever so slightly visible cleavage that swells on her chest, but it’s less than seconds later you’re darting away. Wanda eventually picks her pen back up, after what feels like an eternity, and pulls back in her chair. You glance momentarily over at her, then quickly return to the bible open in front of you, trying your best to follow along with the passage Steve reads aloud while ignoring the strange sensation that has settled in your lower stomach.

———

Camp isn’t quite the way you imagined it to be. Before you arrived, you thought it would be entirely awful, like a prison only with more…God. But for most of your experience, it just feels like you’re back in school. Although, now your lessons about maths or science are replaced by those about God and the way into his heart. Just over two weeks in, you’ve picked up the swing of things quite nicely, falling into an easy routine as you move through the services and lessons with ease. The one thing you just can’t quite seem to grasp is the understanding of why you’re here in the first place.

You’ve had three private sessions now with Natasha, each of them as feeble at finding a change as the last. You’re still not ready to admit your problem, as Natasha puts it, reluctant to find the issue within yourself. But as you’ve said since before you even came, it’s a simple fact you aren’t gay. Natasha seems determined in her ways to make you see something different.

She’s handed you a book, walking out from your last session. The title reads, ‘My Sexuality and Me: Finding the Root of Homosexual Tendencies’. You’re tasked with reading it before your next session in hopes it might finally help you understand your own thoughts. For now, however, it has to wait. Leaving your session, you go up to the dorm to drop it by your bed, taking just a moment before you have to head to your next organised activity.

The camp helps run on a set of scheduled chores that the members have to carry out. It’s on a rota, something Kate had shown you on your very first day, and changes each week. There’s everything from weed picking to cleaning dishes, all work that helps to keep the camp in shape for everyone staying there. Reverend Steve mentioned something about the work ethic helping everyone be grateful for what the lord had given them.

You have to go down to check the rota, forgetting what was scheduled for you this week. Most of the others are already dotted around the camp doing their chores, apparently your one-on-one session running over slightly and causing you to be a little late. You make your way down the stairs to the main room where the rota is located, pinned into a notice board on the wall. But as you turn the corner at the bottom of the stairs, you notice that you are in fact, not alone.

Wanda turns almost immediately when you round the corner. She’s stood up against the notice board, back resting upon the wall with one foot lifted against it. A smile appears on her face as you come into view, her teeth shining around the piece of pink bubblegum she chews. “Hey, princess.”

You try not to scoff at the name - an endearment the brunette had coined after seeing you one night writing in your diary about your boyfriend, claiming you were like a locked away princess longing for her prince to come save her. You’d rolled your eyes at her comment at the time, and had to deal with its return each time you’d bumped into her in the past week. Now, you try to ignore it as you walk past her and stare up at the notice board trying to find the chore schedule. However, Wanda is speaking again before you even get the chance to locate it.

“Looks like it’s you and me this week.” You glance over at her, watching as a pink bubble forms at her lips. You want to ignore her teasing, looking back to the board to locate where you would be stationed, but when your eyes fall upon the schedule, you realise she is right. Written on the notice board, right below the date of the beginning of the week is your and Wanda’s name, then below it; house duty.

You turn back to look at her, a pair of green eyes glinting your way. For a moment you think there’s some kind of mistake. After all, you had always been with Kate before. But then, not far away from yours is indeed Kate’s name written, not on house duty, but on pantry organisation.

Wanda smirks as she rolls the gum in her mouth, eyes fixated on you as she blows another bubble. When it pops, she finally speaks again. “You’ve never done house duty, have you?”

She’s right. You’re in unfamiliar territory and you don’t have your usual mentor to help guide you. “No,” you reply simply, gently shaking your head.

Wanda breathes out a laugh, throwing her head back slightly as she drops her leg from the wall. “Come on, princess,” she says teasingly, walking to close the gap between you. “I’ll guide you.”

Her hand is reaching for yours before you can protest against it. Soft skin slips into yours, gripping hold and quickly dragging you down the corridor. You stumble slightly, surprised by the whole encounter but Wanda doesn’t seemed fazed. She simply pulls you along the hall like a lost puppy. When your brain restarts from the initial shock, you look down at the way your fingers are grasped between hers. It’s a simple interaction at its core, an innocuous hand hold as she shows you the way to go. You’d done the same thing with your own friends back home many of times, but something about this one feels a little different. Something about the way her soft skin is warm against yours creates an odd fuzz in your head.

“Here we are,” Wanda announces, suddenly dropping your hand. You try not to think about the way it now feels cold as you watch her reach for a door handle. It opens to a cupboard, full of what looks like cleaning supplies. “We basically just dust everything,” the brunette continues, turning back to look at you. “Just dust and vacuum the floors in every room in the house. Oh- but not the bathroom, someone else will be doing those.”

You find yourself nodding, the task seeming simple enough. You’d dusted plenty of times at home, this couldn’t be any different.

Wanda lets out another laugh, seemingly at your immediate obedience to follow through with your task. “Alright, princess,” she says, cracking her gum. She reaches in to the cupboard, picking up a cloth and a bottle of disinfect spray. “I’ll do upstairs, you do downstairs?”

There isn’t much room for objection even if you had any, Wanda already beginning to walk away with the cloth thrown over one of her shoulders. You reach down to grab similar materials, standing back up to watch her figure moving down the corridor. “Stop calling me that!” You call out, but the girl is gone before your sentence is even finished, the protest seemingly falling on deaf ears. A sigh escapes your lips as you close the cupboard door, determined to just ignore the other girl while you begin your designated chore.

You start with the class rooms, wiping each desk with the spray and then dusting the other surrounding surfaces. You quickly find nothing was too dirty, the uphold from the other members ensuring the work wasn’t too difficult. You move next to the dining hall, then the recreational spaces, your cloth picking up any small specks of dust that have come to rest on the furniture and surfaces. When you’ve wiped down each room, you return to the cupboard for the vacuum you’d spied earlier. It’s older than the one you have at home but easy enough to work, quickly making light work of vacuuming the entire bottom floor.

It’s probably half an hour later when you finish, at least that’s the guess you make without a watch. You tidy away the cleaning supplies back into the cupboard before doing a quick inspection of everything to make sure you haven’t missed anything. Satisfied everything is clean, you turn your attention to your missing task partner. You haven’t seen Wanda once, barely even heard her moving upstairs. So, devoid of what else to do, you decide to head up to check if she needed any help.

You check a few rooms before you find her, the closest spaces absent of her presence. It’s only when you open the door to the girls dormitory that you finally see her. Except, she’s not cleaning like you expected her to be, in fact the cloth is entirely disregarded on the bedside table. Instead, Wanda sits with her back against the headrest of her bed, legs crossed over the top of her floral sheets and a magazine sat across her lap.

The door almost slams behind you as you catch eye of her, shock and repel taking you over. “You’re supposed to be cleaning!”

Wanda’s eyes pick up as she hears you yell, meeting your stare across the room. A smirk appears on her face, her expression seeming very amused by your sudden entrance. “Believe me, what I’m doing is much more enjoyable.”

You scowl back, annoyed by the fact you’d just spent the last half hour cleaning the house while she had been sitting up here doing nothing for who knows how long. If you were more argumentative, you would think of something to say in retaliation, some quick quip to get back at her for being lazy. But you’d never been very good at arguing, never very good at holding your temper. So instead you simply hold your tongue as you walk further in the room, watching Wanda as she stared back at you. Suddenly, your eyes fall to the paper in her hand, reminded of how similar this situation felt to the first time you’d met her. Like then, the same curiosity comes over you as to what she might be looking at, particularly how it could be classified as contraband. With that in mind, the next words you utter are not with anger anymore, but instead interest. “What are you reading?”

“Oh this?” Wanda replies, closing the magazine and holding it up briefly. She smirks your way, the grin wide against her cheeks. “Playboy.”

The word was unfamiliar to your mind. “What?”

Wanda’s brow raise. “Don’t tell me you’ve never heard of a playboy magazine.”

You notice in that moment she’d lost her gum from earlier. In fact, you wouldn’t be surprised if she’d stuck it under a piece of furniture somewhere. But still trying to focus on the conversation at hand, you simply shake your head in response.

Wanda looks surprised, her brows raising even further. You think she’s going to jest you further, make fun of you for not recognising the name of her treasured magazine, but instead she simply extends it out. “Look.”

You move slowly, slightly hesitant to approach. You know Natasha had confiscated something like this from Wanda before and you didn’t presume this new magazine was much different from that previously banned material. Still, your curiosity seems to be getting the better of you because you slowly sit down on Wanda’s bed, your legs hanging off the side whilst the brunette crosses hers. Against the covers of the bed, Wanda slides the magazine between the two of you, opening it to a random page. What is plastered over it causes your eyebrows to raise completely in shock.

Women. But not just any pictures of women. The magazine was covered in dozens of images of women in differing stages of nudity. Immediately when you saw it, you felt the need to pull your eyes away, knowing that these kind of images were most definitely not the kind you should be looking at. But at the same time, it was like you couldn’t stop. There are about four models across the two pages scattered with different images, sometimes wearing sets of black lacy lingerie, sometimes wearing nothing at all. Theres a strange sensation bubbling in your gut, an odd warmth spreading through your mind as you look down at the pictures. The pure immorality of it all is enough for you to shake your head viscously.

“This is-we’re not-you shouldn’t have that.” You stutter, the images imprinted in your brain making it harder to focus and find the right words. You’ve never seen anything like that before, never looked at a woman’s body so out in the open. Now you could see why Natasha had quickly confiscated Wanda’s magazine and hidden it away from your view. “How do you even have this?”

The brunette seems utterly unfazed by the material in front of you. More so, her face looks amused at your alarmed reaction. “I steal them out of my brother’s backpack when he comes to visit,” she replies casually, as if this is something she’s been doing for months. “He’s pretty oblivious so he never notices, always thinks he lost them. Besides, even if he did know, he couldn’t tell my parents. He’s not allowed them either.”

While Wanda explains, you have to fight against yourself to hold eye contact. In your peripheral, you can still see the open page of nude women, restraining yourself from your body’s seemingly natural instinct to look down. “This isn’t right,” you reply, shaking your head. “We shouldn’t be looking at that.”

Wanda scoffs, looking displeased at your disapproval. She reaches out for the magazine, pulling it back into her own lap as she glances down at the images. Then, she’s looking back up at you, face inquisitive. “You’ve really never seen one before?”

You’re not sure exactly where she thinks you were going to find such a thing, but you’re certain you’ve never seen anything of the sort before. “No,” you reply sternly, shaking your head once more.

Wanda laughs to herself, rolling her eyes. “You call yourself a lesbian and you don’t even know what a playboy is.”

Her words cause a deep frown to appear on your brow, your voice raising to almost a shout. “I’m not a lesbian.”

A perfect brow raises in your direction as Wanda looks at you. Her expression seems particularly amused. “No? How’d you end up here then?”

The question hits you hard, the same thing you’d been pondering to yourself over the last few weeks of your stay. “I’m not gay,” you reply harshly. “Everyone just thinks that I am.”

“And why do you think they think that?”

Wanda’s eyes meet your own as she speaks, the question another one familiar to your own mind. “I don’t know,” you shrug. “Stupid reasons.” You think back to the conversation you’d had with your parents, the first time any of this had even cropped up into your mind. “A few posters I had up in my room, a couple songs on my playlist. Oh, and I told my boyfriend I don’t like kissing him. Which is totally stupid. I’m pretty sure he’s just really bad at it.”

A chuckle emanates from Wanda’s throat. You’re not quite sure why, watching as she leans in closer to you. When she speaks again, her face is barely inches from your own. “Oh honey, you don’t like kissing him because you like kissing girls.”

“What?” you exclaim, taken aback by her accusation. That couldn’t possibly be right. “No! I don’t! I told you, I’m not a lesbian.”

Wanda smirks, her eyes trained on yours. “Okay, maybe not a lesbian but I bet you’ve thought about a girl while he’s kissing you.”

The idea was entirely preposterous. “No!” you yelled back. “I haven’t!”

But your anger is only met with amusement on Wanda’s side, her smirk only deepening as she leans back on the bed. “You’re cute when you lie.”

The words have you recoilling, the inclination behind them picked up on yet rejected by your brain. And yet, you could feel a warmth spreading to your cheeks, embarrassment flushing in.

“Have you ever kissed a girl?”

You snap on to Wanda as her question rings out, watching as she casually slides her magazine back behind her bedside table. “No,” you reply firmly. “Of course not.”

“Then how do you know you don’t like it?” The brunette sits up again, leaning in closer to you. Her eyes meet your own, a strange shadow seemingly passing over them. She watches you for a moment, in almost unreadable expression moving across her face. “Surely theres only one way to find out.”

Wanda’s voice is low, barely above a whisper. You find you’re too busy watching her lips to notice her leaning in even closer, face barely centimetres from your own. Suddenly, you pull back. “What are you doing?”

Wanda doesn’t miss a beat, continuing to lean in even as you pull away. One of her hands comes to rest on your thigh, fingers grazing the material of your pleated skirt. “It’s okay,” she says lowly. “I’m just trying to help you.”

Her advance doesn’t stop, face moving closer and close towards yours. It’s only when she’s almost touching you, you realise she’s trying to kiss you. “No,” you say quickly, pushing her back by the shoulders. “We can’t do that. It’s not right.”

Wanda sighs, relaxing her posture a little. She shifts in the bed, eyes still trained on you. For a moment she simply looks over your face before that smirk appears once more. “Maybe…” she says, angling her head. “But isn’t that the whole reason we’re here?” The question slightly throws you for a loop, your confusion allowing Wanda to move closer to you once more. “Don’t do you want to be a good girl and finish the program?”

The way her breath fans across your face sends an odd shiver down your neck, goosebumps appearing on your arms. Her choice of words seems to form an odd feeling in your stomach, but you try your best to brush it off, nodding your head in response to the question. You did want to finish the program. You wanted to be able to go back home to your family.

Wanda smiles at your answer, her head angling to the side as her voice takes a caring tone. “Well we both know what the first step is…You have to admit to yourself you like girls.” She leans in closer, her eyes briefly flashing down to your lips. “You can’t heal if you don’t admit you have a problem.”

Her words mirror those of Natasha’s, the same thing she’d been trying to get through to you for weeks. But you can’t help but fight the part of your brain that recalls everything you’ve been taught about attraction. “This isn’t right,” you say quietly. “You have to stop.” And yet you find yourself making no move to pull away from the girl whose face sits mere inches from your own.

“As I said, I’m just trying to help you.” Wanda’s voice is calm, understanding. “Once you realise you like girls, you can move on with the rest of the program.” Then the brunette shrugs a shoulder. “Or hey, you maybe hate it and realise you actually are straight.”

It makes some sense in your mind but you’re still hesitant, knowing that what Wanda was even suggesting was against everything you wanted to believe in. “I don’t think that we should-“

“Just don’t think.” Wanda cuts you off before you can finish, and before you can even process what’s happening, she closes the final gap between you. Her lips meet yours, soft and warm against your skin. It’s gentle but rough at the same time, your eyes fluttering closed. Then immediately, as the warmth leaves, they snap back open.

Wanda’s staring back at you, face smiling. “How’d that feel?” You notice that her eyes look a little blown out, pupils wide against the sea of green. “Feels good right?”

Suddenly you realise what’s just happened, every part of your upbringing screaming inside your head. “What? No!” you reply, flustering. “No, it didn’t feel good. It felt wrong.”

But some part of you creeps up in the back of your mind, a part you recognised and yet wanted to snuff out more than anything, a part that knew you were lying.

And apparently, Wanda can see right through to that part too. “I can see it on your face, honey,” she says, voice now teasing. Her eyes trace over your features and you wonder what exactly gave it away. There isn’t much time to think however, as before you know it, Wanda’s leaning in again. Her lips meet yours, a hand sliding to your thigh once more.

“Stop,” you reply, pulling away. “This isn’t right. We’re not supposed to-“

Wanda cuts you off again. “Don’t think about what we’re supposed to do. Think about what feels right.”

You notice again the wildness of her pupils, only for a moment, before she leans in again. Your eyes close on impact, her lips crashing into yours in another kiss. Only this time you instinctively lean into it, pursing your lips against hers. Wanda pushes back, her mouth opening just slightly to take in your lips and you find yourself leaning in. There’s a reminiscent taste of bubblegum, sweet on your tongue as her saliva begins to mix with your own. The hand on your thigh tightens, another placed on to the side of your face. For a second you don’t think about anything other than just how good this moment feels.

It’s seconds later Wanda pulls away, her touch lingering but her lips missing. You find your eyes opening, gazing back at the smirking brunette staring back at you. “It feels pretty good doesn’t it?”

You’re lost for words, sure of your answer to her question but so reluctant to admit it. Wanda smiles back at you, her grip on your leg slowly raising up, ever so slightly bunching the fabric of your skirt. Before you can formulate a response, she’s moving in towards you. Her face disappears into the crook of your neck, her warm breath fanning out across your skin before her lips attach. Without thinking, your head falls back, only giving the brunette more access to nip at the skin of your neck. Your eyes feel heavy, an odd sensation pooling deep in your body. “I can make you feel so good…”

The words reverberate across your skin, sending shivers down your neck and across your chest. A small whine exits your throat, unintended by any part of you but seemingly drawn out by the gentle touches of both Wanda’s lips and her fingers dancing across your skin. “Wanda…”

The brunette slowly pulls back, her face rising to meet with yours. Theres a look in her eye you can’t identify. “You’re already a sinner now, right?” she says, voice husky. “No harm in twisting the knife.”

There’s a moment where you want to turn away, to listen to the rational part of your brain that tells you this is all wrong. But right now there’s only one thing you can truly think of; just how good it felt with Wanda’s lips against your own.

Your hands grab at the brunettes shoulders as you pull her in, the pair of you colliding before you even recognise what you’re doing. The kiss comes fast, clashing together in your desperation for the girl to stop talking and just to feel her against you again. Wanda smirks against your lips, humming an amused noise before she’s all over you.

Her hands find purchase in your hair, entangling in the strands at the nape of your neck as she pulls you in closer to her body. Her kiss becomes fiercer, control quickly being regained as she presses her lips into yours. A small hum of your own escapes as she presses her tongue into your mouth, quickly taking over as you simply let her in without protest. And in that moment a thought crashes over your mind; gay or not, your boyfriend was definitely bad at kissing. Furthermore, Wanda was very, very good.

Your hands grips slightly at her shoulders as the brunette domineers the kiss, her lips almost possessive against your own as her hand clutches as your cheek, manipulating your position to give her full control. You feel her other hand begin to drift further up your legs, pushing your skirt up to your hips before climbing even higher. Delicate touches grace over your stomach, then softly against your chest. You release a small whine as Wanda nips at your lip with her teeth, at the same time, reaching to unbutton the top clasp of your shirt. Her fingers work faster than your mind can even process, too distracted by the touch of her lips to notice her quick work of opening your entire shirt. It’s only when she reaches to touch your chest, a gasp of realisation releases from your throat.

Wanda however, continues without missing a beat. As you gasp, she lets her lips leave your own, reappearing quickly on the side of your neck. Her hand tightens around the skin beneath it on your chest, fingers squeezing around your bra and grabbing hold of your breast beneath it. Her soft kisses continue to move lower as you whine softly, her touch against your chest sending shivers down your body.

Then, her mouth turns more aggressive, resting just at the curve of your breast she begins to suck on the flesh harder, nipping with her teeth before smoothing it over with her tongue. You whine softly, the new sensation novel to your body but so intrinsically intuned. For the first time your eyes open, looking down to where the brunette resides again your chest. You notice the way your necklace rests between the wisps of her hair, a silver cross that you’d worn every day for years. The image is enough to remind you of how wrong this is, how under no circumstances you should be letting a girl kiss you or touch your body like this. But before you can fully wrap your mind around the forbidden nature of the act, a new sensation is stripping a small gasp from your chest. Wanda’s fingers move back to your thighs, slipping up the exposed skin before coming to rest on your underwear underneath.

“Wanda…” you breathe heavily, worked up by her touch and yet knowing how wrong it all was. You shouldn’t be doing this, any of it, especially what Wanda was insinuating as she slipped her hand beneath your skirt.

“Shh, it’s okay.” The brunette replies with ease, her voice low and sensual. Her eyes raise back up to your face, meeting your gaze with a blown out expression. “Let me make you feel good, Y/N.”

And with that, her mouth is on yours again. Her kiss is enough to distract you from forming a response, eyes closing as the sweet taste of bubblegum coats your tongue once more. Then you feel her fingers again, pressing lightly against the material of your underwear, tracing the lines of your folds underneath. Small noises travel from your mouth to hers, receptive to her touch, but it’s when she presses her thumb to your clothed clit, a moan finally slips out.

The situation is entirely new to you, never having been touched by anyone this way before. You and your boyfriend had always said you’d wait till marriage, just like you knew you should. But here with Wanda, her lips against yours and her fingers tracing your most delicate areas, the endorphins flowing through your brain are enough to say to hell with it all.

You push harder into the kiss, grasping hold of Wanda’s shoulders as you try to gain the upper hand. But the brunette is much more experienced than you and doesn’t let up easily. Her hands move to your own shoulders and quickly begin to push the open shirt from them. Her lips remain on yours, strong and fierce, until the shirt has been slipped from your body. Then Wanda pulls away, her eyes drifting down over you for just a moment before she’s grabbing at you again. She spins you around, pulling you fully on to the bed as her hands press your shoulders down into the mattress. In a swift movement, she’s kicking off her shoes to the floor, then pulling yours off too. She comes to settle on top of you, knees placed either side of your legs as she looks down. Her hands are quick as she unbuttons her own shirt, tossing it to the side. Then, she’s moving to unclip her bra.

You feel your eyes widen slightly as Wanda’s bare chest is revealed to you. Before the magazine she’d shown you minutes before, it’s the first time you’ve looked at another woman so nude. And in that moment, despite what your brain is screaming out to you, you can’t help but think about how good she looks.

Wanda seems to notice your staring, her face pulling an entirely amused expression as she looks down at you. “I don’t see why you deprive yourself of this, Y/N,” she says, beginning to lean in. Her lips meet your neck, sucking gently as you feel her fingers slip behind your shoulder blades, seeking the clasp of your bra. “Can something truly be so wrong if it brings you so much pleasure?”

You try to reply to her question, brain racking all of the answers you know you should be saying. But then her lips are sucking at your neck and you’re arching into her touch, once again taken over entirely by the flush of pleasure underneath her control. Theres a release against your chest as Wanda unclips your bra, tossing it easily to the side along with her own. “So gorgeous,” the brunette murmurs, one hand coming to grab at your chest. Then her lips are on you again, kissing at the skin around your nipple. When she pulls it into her mouth, teeth grazing over the bud, a needy whine erupts in your throat. Wanda smirks against you, breathing out a laugh. “So sensitive.”

Her mouth continues to work around the skin of your chest, before you notice her fingers crawling over your stomach. They take hold of your skirt, pressing it up to bunch at your waist. Then Wanda is moving away, fingers quickly hooking themselves under the sides of your underwear as she begins to slide them down.

For a sudden moment, you’re acutely aware of what’s going on, of how you are quite literally in a dorm at a camp where this type of behaviour was attempted to be corrected. Not to mention the rule of any sort of fraternisation being entirely banned. “Wait,” you say, looking down at the brunette between your legs, suddenly afraid of what you were about to do. “I don’t think-“

“I told you to stop thinking,” Wanda replies, eyes snapping to yours. She continues to pull your underwear down, throwing them to the floor once they’ve passed your ankles. Before you can say anything more, her lips drown you in a kiss. The sweetness of it all is enough to wipe any of the doubt from your mind, so when Wanda’s hands dip between your legs, you don’t hesitate to let her. Deft fingers run between your folds, teasing you slightly as they brush gently across your clit. You sigh breathily between the breaks of your kiss, Wanda’s touch like electric to your skin.

“God, you’re so wet, Y/N,” the brunette whispers, pulling her face away to smirk down at you. “Is this all for me?”

She’s teasing you, making you think about how hesitant you’d been to this whole idea, and then about how receptive you were under her touch. But you don’t want to think about any of that, don’t want to remind yourself of how wrong this all was. All you want is for her to keep going. “Wanda…” you whine, squirming under her as her fingers teased your entrance. “Please.”

You don’t even truly know what you’re asking for her to do, all you know is you need her. Thankfully, the brunette is proficient in picking up your body’s signals. “Shh, it’s okay,” she whispers, breath fanning across your face. “I know what you need, princess. Don’t worry, I’ll take care of it.”

It’s only seconds later you feel her middle finger plunge into you. You let out a loud gasp at the contact, feeling her finger begin to move inside of you like nobody’s had before. Her name drips off your tongue, laced with pleasure, as her head moves back to your chest, tongue playing with your hardened nipple. Theres a mark resting there, red and throbbing below the skin of your cross. In the heat of the moment, you hands reach out to grasp the back of her head, intertwining with her hair as you feel her add another finger inside you.

The pleasure rolls of you in waves, Wanda’s touch like a skilled professional highly attuned to draw sweet subtle moans from your mouth. Her thumb circles your clit as she continues to pump her fingers inside of you, curling them to reach that spot that sends shivers up your spine.

“Fuck, Wanda,” you murmur, nails lightly scratching at her bare back.

The brunette chuckles, raising her head from your chest. “Now that’s not a very holy word, is it Y/N?” She smirks, and for a moment her touch is gone. You whine, chasing her fingers as they leave your needy core. Theres a second she lifts her weight and you see her reaching to remove her own underwear, then she’s back on you, this time sitting against just on of your thighs. You can feel her wetness against your skin, a soft moan escaping as she makes contact. “I wanna cum with you, okay?” she says, eyes meeting yours. You nod eagerly but your reply is swallowed up by a low cry as her fingers suddenly sink back into you.

Her speed picks up as she begins to curl inside you once again, a soft stream of curses leaving your lips at the unexplainable pleasure of her touch. You can feel Wanda begin to grind on to your thigh as she works, soft gasps escaping from her lips each time her clit brushes beautifully against your skin. She showers your praises as you whimper noises of your own, breaths heavy and moans unrestrained as she brings you closer and closer to that edge.

“You’re so fucking gorgeous, princess,” Wanda husks over you. “Such a pretty girl for me.”

Her words only add to the building feeling in your lower stomach, that familiar coil building from the times you’d reached down to pleasure yourself after your parents had went to bed - not that you would tell anyone that.

“Please, Wanda,” you whimper, back arching into her. “I’m close-please…”

One hand continues to pump inside you, paced perfectly as her curled fingers reached that spot with each thrust. The other come up to play with a perked nipple, the bud rolling though Wanda’s fingers as helpless whines spill from your mouth. “Just a minute, princess,” Wanda replies, her breathing heavy. “I’m almost there.”

Surprisingly, her pace doesn’t falter as she too climbs closer to her orgasm. Her moans grow louder, her cunt grinding harder against your thigh as she continues to swirl your clit at the perfect speed. It’s when you finally tense the muscles in your leg, that she finally falls apart.

You feel her soak your thigh, gasping desperately as she cums. You watch mesmerised as her face screws up, her jaw hanging loose as she rides out her orgasm on your leg, drunk on pleasure. It only adds to the bundling arousal pooling in your lower stomach.

“Cum, pretty girl” Wanda whispers, still coming down from her high. “Cum for me.”

And you do. With her fingers curling just right inside you, you finally tip over the edge. Your orgasm comes hard, crashing over you in a tidal wave as Wanda slowly circles your clit, guiding you through it. A guttural moan elicits from your throat, Wanda’s name lacing your tongue. That pleasant buzz takes over your mind as you feel her fingers slow, riding out your high, drunk on her touch. You’re on the brink of overstimulation when she finally removes her hand entirely. Eventually your eyelids flutter open, heavy from exhaustion, and you spy the brunette with her fingers deep isnide her mouth, her tongue lapping up every last bit of your arousal.

“So sweet,” she murmurs above you, both of your minds still fuzzy from the resounding pleasure. Eventually, the brunette moves herself away from your thigh, whining slightly as her core is exposed to the cool air. Her body flops down next to yours, shoulders touching as you lay cramped in the single cot. Your heavy breaths are the only sound for a long while, loud in the silence of the dormitory. Then finally, when you’ve managed to right your body again, your face turns to look at the girl beside you. Wanda is already staring back, green eyes wide as a huge smirk settles across her lips. She looks you up and down, her grin only widening as she husks, “You still wanna believe you’re not into girls?”.

[shoyudon]

BEFORE YOU FOLLOW .ᐟ

i am a pro palestine blog, if you are a pro-isr@eli or support isr@el in any kind of form and way. please go ahead, exit my blog, and block me. there is no space in here for you :)

this is a sfw blog for jujutsu kaisen, most i'd do is a little suggestiveness !

i mostly write female readers !

i have no update schedule, i am a college student with an actual life going on — please, do not rush me to update or to do your asks.

english is not my first language, i apologize for any grammar mistakes or typos.

i reblog other writer's fics and post things which are definitely not fics here, so feel free to block certain tags. thank you!

DO NOT INTERACT .ᐟ

basic dni criteria.

zionists, pro-isr@eli, do not interact with me or my posts.

porn link posters

PLAGIARISM. and if you justify it, honestly, what's wrong with you?

interact with me if you are 15+ please, do not message me if you are under the age of 15- or 25+ — feel free to interact with my posts but refrain from interacting with me, thank you. my posts are fit for 14+ for pure fluff. but slight suggestiveness will be fit for 16+

hi, if you think you fit any of the criteria above, feel free to block me. don't bother coming into my ask to bash me about what i can or can't do in MY own blog.

OHO, GET BLOCKED .ᐟ

i'm setting my boundaries here in my blog, if you get blocked, that's your part to find out WHY. because, i don't block people for no reason.

you reblog + post porn links. honestly, that's just weird, idek why they're a thing (no offense). i don't care if you're a mutual, i will HARD BLOCK you. i don't mind if you reblog + post nsfw content as long as it doesn't consist shit like stepcest / incest / r@pe / sexual-assault / aging up a canon minor character to write smut about them / etc.

you justify and do plagiarism. it's pretty self-explanatory, right?

you write + reblog stuff like incest, step-cest, r@pe, sexual assault, intense age gap (pedophilia), etc. romanticizing these stuff doesn't make you look cool, it's weird and disgusting. seek help :)

the anon feature is not a place for you to be a coward and start hating, the least you could do is turn the feature off and start hating!

blank + ageless blogs. i know this is an sfw blog, but still, convince me you're not a bot; don't come at me for blocking your account by justifying that "you're just a reader". thanks!

SPAM LIKING 5+ POSTS. reblogs are very much appreciated, it means a lot to us. tumblr will think i am a bot and will throw me into the shadow realm, that's not a great experience!

hating on my works. let's keep the blog peaceful!

tag abusers. i don't want to see smut on the fluff tag, or an "about me" post on the tag meant for fluff or angst, get blocked.

straight up problematic. honestly, if you instigate drama or if you troll for no reason for the sake of gaining attention — that's just really not cool. i've had my share of experiences having a mutual "faking" their deaths for attention and then getting caught on different platforms, it's just embarrassing.

telling me to help you + support you in a drama you made. no. just no. i don't like drama and i'm not going to help you or support you in a situation that you created on your own, you're on your own (unless you didn't and you have solid proof).

PRIVATE MESSAGES .ᐟ

feel free to message me as long as you're respectful about the approach, i'll be glad to reply to you :)

DO NOT message me just to ask me to support you because you're in a drama, or if you need support to do any other problematic things. or to ask me to go report someone else because you're losing the fight you made.

DO NOT message me to ask me or force me to be mutuals with you, i follow who i want.

DO NOT message me to ask if me you can translate my works in other platforms, i used to allow that thinking there was no harm. boy, oh boy was i wrong. i do not allow translations or reposts on other platforms.

i don't want to be related in dramas or discourses, so let's make this blog a peaceful and anti-drama one!

MUTUALS .ᐟ

like i said, i follow who i want to. so please don't force me to be your mutual.

if you have a problem with me, talk to me. don't go all pissy and talk shit about me in your blog when you have the option to directly talk to me regarding it.

if you WANT to break the mutual line, HARD BLOCK me. this is like unfollowing me from ig without removing me as your follower. don't soft block me so i do not refollow you or interact with your posts by accident.

if i cut the mutual line, i will HARD BLOCK you. i don't block people without a reason, so if i did break the mutual line — it must have been something you have posted, said, or done. DO NOT try to reach out to me from another account because i will block that account as well. if i did block you, i do not want anything else to do or to be associated to you.

please remind me if a mutual of mine is someone problematic or have posted, said, or reblog any that fits in here so i could be aware immediately. thank you :)

keep in mind to NEVER associate me with the people i used to follow / supported before or were mutuals before. i only associate myself with the people i follow NOW. thank you :)

𝜗𝜚 . back to navi ⋆ masterlist !

[yourhumblemusicaltheatrefan]

Young love hold on, Young love so strong.

Rafe x FemPogue!reader

Synopsis: Eleanor and Rafe have been best friends for years. But what happens when Rafe gets confronted by his feelings?

Word count: 4,174

Warnings: Pogues being treated badly (surprise surprise), Topper being actually decent, a bit of mean!rafe. Mostly fluff!

Eleanor crossed her arms, watching as Kiara pulled JJ and John B away from another fight. She turned her head, locking eyes with Pope. They both roll their eyes.

Just once she'd love to come to a party with her friends without a fight breaking out and ruining the mood.

"Apparently some kook was making fun of John B's dad" Pope said, coming up behind Eleanor. She shook her head in utter disbelief. "How do people like this exist?" Pope shrugged his shoulders.

Eleanor scanned the crowed, a mix of pogues and kooks all trying to get drunk and get into each others pants and skirts. You could tell these people apart by something as simple as their shoes. The pogues' shoes are scuffed, off coloured and falling apart. The kook' however, pristine, clean and without a spec of mud. The same can't be said for them though.

There were people like JJ, John B and Kiara who'll fight against the kooks till the day they die, even though Kiara is one. And then there are people like Eleanor, who just wants the feud to be done. She thinks the kooks suck, but she doesn't want to fear for her life when she's trying to buy her groceries.

In her quest to find Sarah in the crowed of people, she locks eyes with another Cameron. The older Cameron. Something in her stomach dropped.

"Ow! Miss Marks! Rafe pulled my hair"

Tammy clutched to her pigtail, running circles around the room crying out in despair. Rafe smirked, looking at his friends as they all laughed at the little girl.

Miss Marks turned around, assessing the situation before turning to the boy with a look om his face that lacked any guilt. "For goodness sake Rafe. You are 7 years old now. You know not to pull on the girls hair. If I hear it happens again, I will be calling your father in"

This shut the boy up.

"Now class, we have a new student joining the class today. Her name is Eleanor. I'm sure she is very nervous about joining today, and I am hoping all of you will look after her, and make sure she feels very welcomed here. And that includes you Mr Cameron"

The little girl gripped her sparkly backpack as her other hand was being dragged by her mother. "Right Ellie, I'll pick you up at 3. You're lunch is in your bag" Eleanor's mum placed her hand gently on her cheek, giving it a little pinch.

The girl grinned up at her mother, her little baby teeth shinning in the blazing sun that was beaming down on them. She nodded her head, reaching up to smack a kiss to her cheek.

"Ah, Mrs Lake?" The mother turned to face the teacher. "Yes, nice to meet you" The two women greeted each other as Eleanor looked around the space. The many posters hanging on the wall that varied in quality, photo's of the many teachers with big cheesy grins and a 'Welcome to the cosy corner' sign hanging above a little cubby filled with blankets and pillows.

"Okay Ellie, are you ready to go with Miss Marks?"

She bit her lip, nodding her head with a little hesitation. Eleanor was an only child, and up until this point she was home-schooled. So she wasn't used to being around children her own age. So she was relatively nervous about being around so many of them.

"I'll see you soon, baby"

Her mother waved her off while Eleanor gripped her new teachers hand. "There's no need to be nervous Eleanor, you're going to be surrounded by some lovely people" They both turned a corner, a door with a tree mural painted on the front stood before them. 'Miss Marks, Class B' painted in swirly welcoming letters.

Miss Marks felt some hesitation when she went to pull her inside. "Come on sweetheart, everything will be fine. I promise" After 5 seconds she took a deep breath, gripped tighter onto her backpack and shifted. Miss Marks opened the door.

What was once a loud bustling room, became silent. Everyone's heads turned to face the front. Eleanor could feel every eye locked to her. It was very intimidating.

"So class, this is Eleanor. She has been home-schooled up until this point. Like I said earlier, I am sure you will all treat her with the upmost respect"

Miss Marks scanned the classroom for an empty seat. She internally sighed, only one seat looked unoccupied. "Eleanor, why don't you take a sear over there...next to Rafe"

Eleanor looked over at her new seat mate. His hair was was a very distinct dirty blonde. His skin was kind of tanned and his clothes looked very nice, nicer than anything she owned that's for sure. But what she picked up on immediately was his eyes. They seemed unnaturally blue. Sure she had seen her fair share of blue eyes. Her mother had blue eyes for heavens sake. But his were different. They didn't just shine in the sunlight, they seemed to light a fire on the surface of her skin.

She began walking over to where she was going to be for the next few years. He watched the entire time, taking her in. He'd never seen that shade of red before. It was almost the shade of the cherries his mother puts in his lunch box. They were always his favourite part. She was very pale, the blue sort of worn out dungaree's she was wearing popped against her skin. The graphic tea shirt she was wearing underneath was clearly too big for her. 'The Smiths' imprinted on the front. His mother listens to them. He's woken up many times to 'Frankly Mr Shankly'.

She sat down, facing head on. She didn't look at Rafe, too afraid to make eye contact with him. Too afraid she'd go up in flames due to his eyes. That didn't last long though.

"Hey, Eleanor?"

Her heart picked up speed a little. She couldn't ignore him. She didn't want people's first impression of her is that she was a total weirdo who doesn't talk. She still felt like everyone was watching her. When actually no one was looking at her, except one person.

"What's your second name?"

She had to answer, she was taking too long now.

"Lake"

She mumbled, turning her head so they were now making eye contact. Ice meets olive.

"Hmm, it's pretty"

A feeling in her stomach erupted, something unfamiliar. Now they were looking at each other, he could see extra detail. She had freckles sprinkled across her face, over her cheeks and her nose. Almost as if they were painted on. He knew he was staring.

"T-Thanks" She whispered.

Eleanor couldn’t tear her eyes away from the boy. He’s recently let his hair fall more into his face. She never liked the styled way he did his hair before, it just didn’t suit him. An idea his father had no doubt. She was almost surprised he wasn’t involved in the fight himself. Although she had heard through the grape vine that he’d recently took a new turn in life. The boys who would once purchase drugs off him now were left without a dealer. It was also clear based on his knuckles that were usually painted with blood, seemed to be clean. The fire behind his gaze was sizzling under her skin. She was familiar with this look, she’s been on the receiving end of it many times. To Rafe, she was a magnet. Always has been. Ever since that day in the first grade. But he’d fucked that all up. And he knew he had. Eleanor finally found something within herself to bring her eye sight back to the JJ and the boy trapped within his strong grip. She rushed over because it seemed John B wasn’t able to handle it by himself. “JJ stop! I think he gets it” She stressed, grabbing onto his shoulders. Usually JJ snaps out of it when one of the girls yells at him, but whoever this boy was must have really pissed him off, JJ was gone on his rage. The next thing Eleanor knew, she was flung back, her crappy sandals folding under her feet cause her to stumble further back that she would usually. Luckily she managed to reach her hands out behind her to catch her fall slightly. But she still landed hard on her behind, scratching up her legs and palms. There was also a rather large shooting pain going up her ankle. “Ah shit” she mumbled to herself, looking over her injuries. They weren’t deep or anything, but they stung, rocks and sand getting between the broken skin. She felt someone rush beside her, gently clutching onto her shoulder. “Are you okay?!” That doesn’t sound like Pope. She looked up. Once again, that fiery gaze. “Rafe” She whispered, unable to raise her voice any louder. “Is your leg okay? I saw you landed partly on it” “Uh..” she didn’t know what to say, she hadn’t prepared to talk to Rafe today. She thought she’d never talk to him again. She suddenly felt like her younger self again.

“Rafe, how many times do I have to tell you, you can’t push others out the way to win!” Mr Malark the PE teacher had had enough of watching an 8 year old Rafe push his fellow racer down. He watched Rafe huff, roll his eyes and make his way over to the spectators. Eleanor blushed as Rafe jogged over to her. His knees were scraped and grass covered, aching to be cleaned. Luckily, he had his own personal helper ready with her first aid kit. “Hey Ellie, my knees are bleeding! Look!” She scrunched her nose, unzipping the first aid kit and pulling out the cotton buds and plasters. “Come sit next to me please?” He followed her orders, sitting beside her. She pulled out a wipe, softly working her way around the cuts. Rafe hissed, the sting vibrating all around his knee. “Shit that hurts” Eleanor widened her eyes, swotting the boy on the shoulder. “That’s a bad word Rafey, you’ll get in trouble” He shrugged, focussing his attention on the daises around them. Eleanor noticed he’d gone quiet. By this time she’d patched his knee up. “There we go” she kissed his injury “All better” she smiled to herself, looking back up at Rafe. She was suddenly greeted with a daisy chain fastened into a crow. “Thank you princess Ellie, here is your crown” she grinned, eagerly accepting her crown. The daisies complimented her fire red hair perfectly, the white and yellow popping gorgeously. She averted her gaze, not being able to maintain his fierce eyes. Nothing but passion behind those sky blues. “I hope you help me if I ever get hurt?” She uttered, fiddling with the first aid kit in his hands. Rafe’s small hand reached down and held onto her chin, lifting her head so they were eye level. “Of course I will”

“Come on, I’ll take you away from here”

She hadn't spoken to Rafe in about 3 months, which was unlike her. Unlike them. They spent so much time together for over ten years. And everyone knew that. Even the pogues were well aware of the budding friendship between the two. While they never approved, they knew how much he meant to her. So they never troubled her with it.

"It's..uh..it's okay I can handle it, It's fine"

Eleanor had always been stubborn, he should've expected this wasn't going to be easy, but as she cursed when trying to get up, he knew she needed help.

"Please Ellie"

She sighed. Not even the rest of the Pogues called her Ellie. They knew that name was reserved only for Rafe. She looked up at him, the second time that night they had had a real look at each other. Which is more than the past few months. She nodded, allowing the boy to help her to her feet. She grimaced, shooting pains running up her leg. At this, Rafe leaned down, scooping her up in his arms.

"What are you doing?" She hissed, looking around to see if anyone was looking. They weren't.

Rafe smiled, making sure she was secure. "I don't want you walking on your leg, I'm taking you to mine to clean you up" Eleanor hadn't been to Tannyhill since the night she told him she never wanted to see him again. She scrunched her eyes, deciding that if she couldn't see them, they couldn't see Rafe wrapping his arm around her waist. He knew she hated when all eyes were on her. He's always been surprised by this, surely she was used to people staring at her. She was the most beautiful person he's ever seen.

"Hey Rafe! Put her down!"

He turned his head to see Kiara with her arm crossed, a scowl decorating her face. Everyone was aware of Rafe and Eleanor's budding relationship. Ever since that day when they were both seven, it was clear that she was his, and he was hers.

But after that night, there was a new energy in the air. The whole island knew something was wrong. That first time Rafe showed up to the country club without the girl beside him, rambling on about how the tv blew out in her house during the most recent episode of Grey's Anatomy, everyone knew something had happened.

He was was pale. His eyes remained permanently facing the floor and he spoke to no one except the waiter, where he ordered the strongest thing on the menu.

He sat at the bar for 4 hours, ordering and consuming the drinks as if they were glasses of water.

That became his routine for the next 3 months. Drinking and sulking. Topper decided enough was enough. Luckily for him, a party was raging on at the boneyard tonight. Perfect, something to distract the miserable young man.

Which brings us to this. Rafe with his strong grip, wrapped around the pogue princess. A name she hated, but such a name naturally came when you were so closely connected to the kook king.

"It's okay Kiara, I'll call you in the morning." The girl gave her a look as if to say 'I'll be fine', which Kiara knew was the best thing she was going to get out of her. But if she was being honest with herself, she knew she could leave Rafe in her care. When Eleanor was involved, Rafe was always on his best behaviour.

Eleanor kept her eyes down, head rested on her chest. Rafe couldn't help but look down at her and smile. He loved it when she rested on him, relied on him. She was the only person that made him feel he had any worth.

The two made it to his car eventually, sleep washing over her. Rafe could see her eyes fluttering closed as he buckled her in. "You don't have to do all this Rafe, my leg doesn't hurt that bad." Rafe lets out a soft chuckle, securing it properly before looking her in the eyes.

"If you're hurt, nothing else matters to me except making sure you're okay" He meant it with his full heart, and Eleanor knew that, she's always known that.

"Okay"

Rafe circled around the car, hoping in and began the engine. "You okay to come back to mine? I've got ice packs in my bathroom for your leg" Eleanor laughs, "I know, I put them there" Rafe smiles, his chest feeling less tense knowing she was still able to laugh with him.

After a short drive, filled with a comforting silence between the two, the only thing filling the air was the radio, quietly playing Lana Del Ray, which Eleanor realised was part of a playlist she had made for their road trips, they arrived at Tannyhill.

Rafe quickly ran to her side of the car, ready to help her out. She scanned her tired eyes across the building. Truthfully, she'd missed the building, somewhere she found comfort in. All the times her and her mother had gotten into fights, which left her without somewhere to stay for the night, Tannyhill was her safe space.

But all the building did was bring back memories from that night.

"Come on Ellie" Rafe whispered, hoisting her up into his arms like he had done at the party. "I can walk Rafe, I'm fine for god sake" He shook his head with a soft smile gracing his face. "Nice try Ellie"

The house was empty. Wheezie at a friends, Sarah still at the party and Rose and Wade out of the country. Rafe walked the two up the stairs, down the many winding corridors until they landed outside of Rafe's room. She sighed, kicking the door open herself with her good leg.

His room looked the same, the same white walls that had no decoration other than a few photos of New York. His desk was pristine, as well as his floor. But she knew he kept all of his secrets in his desk draws. Photos of his friends, photos of her. The multiple friendship bracelets she'd make him for his birthday every year, as well as the handmade cards she'd spent hours perfecting for him.

He gently placed her on his bed.

"Are you sure they'll be okay with it?

Eleanor bit along her nails as they approached his house. Rafe tore her hand away from her mouth, keeping it in his grasp as they made it to the gate.

She'd never get over the size of his home.

"Yes they'll be fine with it, just say you didn't have anywhere else to stay for the night. There's no way Rose is gonna turn you away" Rafe opened the front door "Dad! My friend needs somewhere to stay for the night" Instead of Wade however, Rose came strutting out of the kitchen.

"Oh hello Rafe darling, who's this?" She smiled sweetly, her soft pink lipstick opened to reveal her pearly whites. Rafe rolled his eyes, crossing his arms over his chest.

"Eleanor ma'am. I'm sorry for just randomly showing up" Rafe ushered her into the kitchen. "You haven't Ellie. She didn't have anywhere to go tonight Rose, I thought she could stay here".

Rose looked at her stepson, her smile forming into a smirk. She watched as the boy filled a glass of water for her. She'd never seen the famous Eleanor from across town, only heard about her through stories told by the young boy. Now she was finally getting to meet the girl Rafe cherished.

"Of course you can say here honey, do you want to call a parent to tell them you're here?" Eleanor bit her lip, her hand inching towards her mouth again. Rafe stops her though, giving his step mother a look that say's 'don't go there', Rose presses her lips together, nodding her head. "There's some left over mac and cheese in the fridge if you guys want any food", with that the women smiled and left the two to hang out in the kitchen.

"Thank you Rafey" Eleanor smiled, reaching across to wipe some cheese that had smeared across his face. His cheeks warmed as he took in his friends face. Her beautiful face.

"Let me just grab the icepack"

She watched as he retreated into bathroom, catching herself smiling at his domesticity. But then it dropped.

"How could you say that Rafe?"

"How would you know?"

He came back not long later with a first aid kit in hand. Kneeling in front of her, he propped up her leg on his knee.

"I thought I meant more to you than that!"

"Eleanor.."

His soft gestures made Eleanor's skin start tingling, a common issue she faced when around her Rafe. She looked at him. His face that showed complete concentration, his hands trying their best not to shake while he pressed it onto her skin. He cared so much. Why couldn't he just say it?

"Why would Topper lie? He's my friend too"

"He just misheard me! He wasn't even in the conversation?"

Her eyes turned glassy, water coming to the surface before it dripped onto her thigh. Rafe's head shot up, looking with concern at the girl. Their eyes were fused to each other.

"You really hurt me Rafe" She whispered, crossing her arms in her lap. Rafe blew through his nose, dropping his head , unable to look her in the eyes.

"I know"

"You'd never date a dirty pogue? All they do is fuck everything up for the rest of us? They're worthless wastes on space?" Her voice was getting weaker and weaker.

Once again, Rafe's inability to own up to his mistakes rears it's ugly head. "So what you believe Topper over me now?" Eleanor rolled her eyes. "Why wouldn't I? It's not like you've been terrorizing us for years!"

She stormed over towards her jacket, finished with this conversation. But Rafe can't let someone else have the last word, especially when he knows he's in the wrong.

"Well...it's true isn't it?" As soon as the words left his mouth, the dread started flooding in. Eleanor looked him dead in the eyes, devastation filling them.

"Wow" she uttered, wrapping her arms around herself. She looked down, shaking her head. She turned to his bedroom door, grabbed the hand before turning back to him.

"Never talk to me again" She said, so quite Rafe was surprised he caught it. How could he not.

"I'm sorry"

She bit her lip. There's a first. An apology of Rafe Cameron.

"I was scared"

She shot her head up, her eyebrows furrowing as she looked over his face. Scared? Of what?

"The boy's realised..." Eleanor scooted further down the bed, closer to him as he struggled to speak. "Realised what?"

"Realised I was in love with you"

"So where's the lady, Cameron?"

Rafe turned around to see Jamie, a boy he'd played golf with a couple times stood with a smirk in his face. Rafe threw him a confused look.

"The pogue. Eleanor is it?" the boy chugged his drink. "Oh right, she's in the bathroom"

After grabbing a new drink, Topper began making his way back over to his friend.

"So you aren't fucking her?" He recognised that voice. Jamie Luther. A bit of a gobshite around figure 8. Loves to spread shit for his own entertainment.

"Eleanor? No! I'd never fucking do that..."

Topper listened as Rafe ripped into who he thought was his best friend. It hurt to hear for Topper. Eleanor had always been nice to him. Especially during the rocky years with Sarah. And to hear all of this coming from her best friend? He couldn't handle it. He saw Eleanor walking towards him, a bright smile on her face. That made it even more heart-breaking. "Hi Top, you okay?"

She could read these boy's like a book. Topper looked guiltily at her. "Uh...you should probably know what Rafe said.."

"They started grilling me about you. They could tell from a mile away how I truly felt. You know what I'm like when it comes to talking about my feelings, shut off and deflect. I know It's not a good enough explanation, and I hate that you heard something so incredibly untrue. But I hate more that I made it worse afterwards. When you confronted me, I should have just come clean right there but I did that stupid Rafe thing where I just fight back. I'm sorry Ellie. I'm so sorry"

Eleanor took in each word as she assessed the new situation she's in. Rafe was in love with her? "Since when?"

All of that, and that's all she had to say? She was known to be a girl of few words. "What?"

"Since when have you been in love with me?"

Rafe sighed, getting to his feet before sitting next to her. She watched as he struggled to speak. His mouth opening and closing as he tried to conjure up thoughts. "I think it was when you asked me if I would take care of you if you needed it. It was then that I realised that I would do anything for you" She had a watery smile.

"Rafe we were 8" He chuckled, wrapping his arm around her shoulder. The girl leaned into his touch. She'd missed it more than she thought. They sat in comfortable silence, just enjoying each others company.

After 5 minutes, she looked up at the boy. He met her eyes.

"I love you too" she whispered before leaning up and planting a kiss that's been years in the making.

The two had always been inseparable, but now instead of teasing punches to the arms, pining looks and many close calls, it was the two being caught making out at parties, seen sneaking out of dinners and many naked rendezvous at the beach.

[thekatebridgerton]

I don’t think I can ever forgive Eloise if she does becomes friends with Cressida. I mean this is the girl who bullies Pen, it just seems too cruel for her character to become friends with her friend bully. Or maybe it is realistic for Eloise to become friends with her since I also had experience with one of my friends backstabbing me and becoming friends with one of my bullies and making fun of me. Idk it just seems to cruel and I don’t think I would ever forgive Eloise if I were Pen (especially if she teams up with Cressida to make fun of her please no)

You know I've never understood girls like that, who drop a friend and become friends with someone who bullied said friend. Mostly because by that point I realize they lack self identity and are looking for it in the wrong kinds of people.

I think the only logical reason why Eloise would team up with Cressida is because she doesn't want to have anything to do with Penelope anymore and she may think that befriending Cressida is making a statement.

Yeah she'd do it to hurt Penelope, I mean, before s2 I would have said, omg no, Eloise would never, she's the most ride or die friend. But this is the kid who in s2 disregarded all common sense to saunter around the red light district in nobleman finery, ignoring her servants distress and her friend well meaning warnings, (and putting her family in danger by hanging out with a political radical).

The writing team made Eloise into a frankly unfriendly person to be around in s2. For the sake of (manufactured drama) fake feminism, so do I believe they would take her in the Cressida direction? The optimist in me says, not really, Eloise, even at her worst has better common sense than hang out with a person who likes to bully others, but Shonda likes her drama, you all know I disagree with the writing for s2 Eloise and she's already butted heads with every female that cares about her. So at this point teaming up with Cressida would be believable, disappointing and sad, but believable, for the sake of drama.

I think Eloise has potential to be so much more than a poster girl for fake regency feminism and not like other girls posturing. But she needs to grow up and start caring about other people's happiness. not just her own. I remember in tvwl when Anthony is having his misery fit over realizing he loves Kate, it's Eloise who is sitting outside his door worried about him, because she cares for her brother. I would like to see more of that side of her, the girl who cares about the people she loves so deeply she picks up on the emotional cues of all her siblings and worries about them

But that's just me

[quixoticall]

This Could Get Ugly 2. The Beginning

Summary: It's 1983 and The Downsides need another lead singer and you just happen to need a band--it's a perfect match. The only issue? You have to pretend to be in a relationship with your bandmate, Steve Harrington, but you can't help but be drawn to the band's broody guitar player.

pairing: s.h. x fem!reader, e.m. x fem!reader, j.b. x n.w., r.b x n.w.

SERIES MASTERLIST🎤

Previous Chapter🎺

WC: 2.4K

Warnings: Sexism, Murray Bauman

***

NANCY: Nancy Wheeler, former keyboardist for The Downsides.

  I had been playing piano since I was eight, it was just one of those things my parents signed me up for to make me more well-rounded for college applications but I ended up loving it more than they had hoped.

I auditioned for the band on a whim, I was going to Indiana State at the time, getting my teaching degree but I loved playing the piano more than I would ever love being a teacher. To be honest, when I auditioned, I didn’t think they were going to take me, not even after I saw they had another girl in the band. Don’t get me wrong, I knew I had the talent for it, I just didn’t necessarily give off Rock and Roll vibes, but they accepted me anyway.

  I had a feeling Steve liked me from the moment we met, I would be lying if I said I wasn’t attracted to him then. He’s Steve Harrington for God’s sake. Girls had posters of him up on their walls for the better part of the 80s. I just—I didn’t want people to think I got the spot because I was involved with the lead singer. I wanted people to know that I earned my place through talent. Steve was really disappointed when I turned him down, but he was always really respectful about it.

  That didn’t mean he stopped being interested or that I didn’t feel his eyes on me during every rehearsal in the summer of ‘81.  

1981

Of course, you knew that when you had been signed to Starcourt Records it wasn’t completely because of your talent.

You had started to wonder, however, if Starcourt had given you a shot because they didn't want to risk litigation or maybe because those record execs had seen your name floating around in a magazine or, more importantly, your picture.

The more you thought about it, the more insecure about your place you had felt, like an imposter among others who had earned their spots. But, after one week of rubbing shoulders with the musicians over at Starcourt, you realized that to be able to make it, you were going to have to ooze confidence, even if that confidence was fake.

***

NANCY: We started playing gigs together around the Midwest. In the beginning, we mostly played covers but eventually, we started writing our own music. I’m not a great songwriter and, to be frank, neither is Steve, so a lot of the stuff we were coming up with was pretty simple but it worked for us. We went from playing weddings to actually getting gigs that paid money. I mean it was barely enough to cover gas to get there but it was something. I guess, for the sake of transparency, there is one more thing I have to talk about while we’re talking about this time in the band’s life.

Steve and I spent a lot of time writing music together. It was great, being able to get close. I thought we were becoming friends. He was still a bit hung up, though and one night, when we were up late writing at his tiny apartment, he kissed me. And I kissed him back.

The next day, I told him that that couldn’t happen again. I gave him my reasons and he respected that but still, I could tell he was crushed. I think that between the kiss and us having this talk, he had begun to hope that something would happen between us.

I think that’s what made me and Jonathan hurt him so much more. 

1982

You didn’t necessarily like Murray when you first began to work with him but you did trust him. In the professional capacity at least. He never tried anything with you, which you appreciated although that bar was abysmally low.

You hadn’t known what to expect on your first day in the studio but you had a feeling that as far as the music was considered, you were in decent hands.

Boy, were you fucking wrong.

The moment you had stepped into the studio, Murray had handed you a stack of music, all unfamiliar and definitely nothing you had written.

“What’s this?” You had asked, eyes crinkling in confusion.

“A few contenders for an EP. The team over at marketing came up with some branding concepts and this is what we landed on.”

He then pulled out a thick folder overflowing with pictures of what you assumed the studio had wanted to mold you into. It was all bubblegum and teased hair and not at all what you had envisioned.

“Wait, Murray, I don’t understand.  I have a brand, one that I've spent a lot of time curating along. This isn't me and this is definitely not my music.  You said I could sing the music that I’ve written.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Murray hummed, condescendingly, “I never said that.”

“Well, if I can’t sing my music then I just won’t sing at all.” You were the full image of a petulant child, arms crossed and lips dangerously close to a pout.

Murray feigned concern for a moment before hunching down so that he was at eye level with you.

“You signed a contract,” he spoke slowly, “Starcourt owns you, and if you don’t like it, then talk to a judge.”

He turned away from you, leaning against the mixing console. He speaks again after what seems like an eternity.

“Listen, sweetheart, I’m not saying it’s ethical or right, but if you want to make it in music, you got to play the game. You can’t come in here, swinging your metaphorical dick around, calling the shots when you haven’t proven you can rake in the dough.

“Sure, you’ve got talent, but who doesn’t? Right now, there’s a line of girls around the block who can sing and write and are probably better at following directions, waiting to take your spot.

"Plus, I read the songs you sent over, you have some good lines but there's not a single song worth attaching Starcourt's name to. Take this as an opportunity to learn, to be better, to actually work for something for the first time in your life. You have nothing right now, so nothing is below you, not even this pop dribble they're giving you to sing.

"I’m not saying it’s always gonna be this way, but you have to prove to them that you can play before they take you seriously, and then if you got what it takes, you can start writing your own music. Hell, if you make them enough money, they’ll let you play the fucking didgeridoo and go out in a nun’s habit… well, maybe not the habit, but the point stands. So, can we stop acting like the spoiled princess we are for just one afternoon and get to rehearsing?”

You snatched the book of songs from his outstretched hand and with a smile on your face, tore it down the middle before stomping off.

It had taken five days of Murray, along with various other executives at Starcourt, pounding on your door at the Chateau Mormont—the hotel that was your permanent residence since you had turned 18— before you had even considered setting foot in Starcourt again.

All it took was a gift basket full of Champagne and half a dozen threatening letters from their legal team.

***

NANCY: Jonathan came on as our second guitarist. I remember when he came to the audition he was this quiet, super shy kid who barely managed to make eye contact, but once he had a guitar in his hands, he had this way of coming alive. He wasn’t a showman like Steve, but he was electric when he played.

We—I never meant for things to turn out the way they did but with Jonathan, it wasn’t much of a choice. I know this sounds so cliche, but we were drawn to each other. I remember, during rehearsals, even before we really knew each other, he and I would lock eyes from across the room and I would know exactly what he was thinking.

Soon, we were sneaking around together. We were getting more and more serious, it was only a matter of time, honestly, before the others found out. Jonathan wanted to come clean early on, he could tell it was causing me so much stress, but I didn’t want to tell anyone else. Part of it, was Steve, of course, but also, what Jonathan and I had felt precious and personal and ours. I wanted to stay in this bubble we had built for ourselves.

Of course, it was Steve and Robin who eventually caught us, making out in Jonathan’s car after rehearsals one day.

To say that Steve took it hard is probably an understatement. He skipped rehearsal for five straight days and when he showed up he had this new song he had written, this ballad called, “Regret You”.

“If I never had you, then why can’t I forget you / I hate myself because I could never regret you.”

Yeah, that was an awkward one to rehearse but, to his credit, it was a great song. It was the song that got us noticed.

1982

You had spent months recording your first EP, a five-song collection the studio had decided to name “The Setlist”. It was meant to be a play on your groupie status, or at least that’s what some intern over in the marketing department had claimed, a little too proud of himself for your liking.

While you couldn't ignore the sense of accomplishment that bubbled below the surface, you mostly felt empty. 

The whole thing made you think of your father, whom you hadn't spoken to in years but had a very staunch view on artistic integrity. He despised artists who 'carelessly churned out poor imitations of real art for money'.  "To make art is as close as one can get to being god," he had explained to you once, with self-important tears in his eyes, "why would anyone sell that off? Art should mean something to the artist. Otherwise, they are a peddler of fake divinity." 

Your father had never had to worry about money a day in his life. 

That empty feeling was only exacerbated when, the Friday after you had officially finished recording, Murray had invited you to lunch with a particular proposition in mind.

“No, Murray, not gonna happen. Over my dead body and all that,” you spat from across the table.

“Listen, I don’t want to pull the contract card on you, but I will,” he warned with no real heat as he swirled his gin martini in one hand.

“Nice try,” you mirrored his pose, martini and all, “but the contract doesn't cover this, only original work. Not duets. You know that, I know that, so why don’t you try again and give me one good reason why I would even consider a duet with The Letterman’s.”

Murray gave you a look you had come to familiarize yourself with—one that was equal measures of pride and annoyance. It was the look he gave you whenever you bested him.

“How about the fact that they’re one of the hottest acts right now and being on a track with them would guarantee you a spot on the charts which is a great place to be at any point in time, but especially when you’re about to release an EP?”

Your face dropped in the way it only did when you knew Murray was right about something you didn’t want him to be right about. A look he had been starting to familiarize himself with.

"Fine, I’ll do it, but I want to spend as little time as possible with Jason. He’s a pompous ass.” “No disagreements there, sweetheart.”

The day you were scheduled to record with Jason and the rest of his band, he was an hour late. You hadn’t doubted for a moment he had done this on purpose.

When he finally had shown, he pretended not to know you, a game you had quickly caught on to, and made sure to respond with, “It’s so nice to meet you, Jackson” after he made a show of introducing himself to you which made the rest of his band and Murray guffaw.

Jason narrowed his eyes at you, his voice struggling to stay level, and said, “Watch it. We’re the ones doing you a favor here, remember?”

“I did you one first,” you responded, your eyes meeting his gaze, “remember?”

It had taken 20 minutes for his bandmates to calm him down, but eventually, the two of you got into the booth.

Your only priority had been to do your best job in as few takes as possible because you did not know how much longer you could tolerate being in Jason’s presence.

In the end, after a two-hour session, Murray had sent you both home, either happy with the finished product or at his wit’s end with the tension. Either way, three weeks later you had a duet with The Letterman’s called “It Was You” and just as Murray had predicted, it was quick to climb the charts.

You were getting noticed.

***

NANCY: Not long after Steve wrote “Regret You” we got noticed by a scout from Starcourt Records. I think at first we thought it was some sort of scheme, but it was legit. They had us record a few demos and in something like six months, they moved us to a house in Culver City.

The whole thing had felt like some sort of fever dream. I had to quit school and tell my parents. They didn’t even know I was in a band. Or seeing anybody. Needless to say, they didn’t take any of it well. When we got to LA, we did more test recordings and they even had us playing some shows at a few clubs on the strip.

Like I said: total fever dream.

But, when you’re under the thumb of a label like that, there are certain stipulations. One of the first things they told us was that they wanted to make our sound more modern and pop. We kinda

had an alternative, experimental sound back then. They said synth was going to be the new thing so they wanted Robin to learn how to play the synthesizer which meant that on certain songs, Jonathan would have to take over for bass. Also, they wanted Steve to be more of a frontman and less of a guitar player. Steve could always work a crowd, and they wanted to use that, especially with this new sound they had envisioned for us. All of this meant we needed another guitar player and, believe it or not, the label already knew who that was going to be. Eddie Munson.

NEXT CHAPTER 🎸

Taglist: @rexorangecouny

[savventeen]

to build a home

pairing: jihoon x gn!reader rating: T (for swearing) wc: 3.7k summary: on the train ride back to meet jihoon's parents in person for the first time, you realize you don't really know what it's like to have a childhood home — at least, not in the sense that most people seem to have. but it's okay, because you've found a home in jihoon instead. warnings: talks about divorce (reader's parents) tags: fluff, this is so sappy guys, kind of emotional hurt/comfort, soonhoon best frienemies (they’re ride or die dw their friendship is just based on mutual teasing lol), vaguely implied asexual reader, a truly excessive amount of handholding, i really made jihoon into a hand-holding fiend and i'm Not Sorry a/n: this might be one of the most self-indulgent things i've ever written since reader's experiences are 100% based off of my own lmao. also i can't believe i wrote almost 4k of them just talking on a train, like??? wow. also also, i listened to sleeping at last's cover of i'm gonna be (500 miles) on repeat while writing so i recommend giving it a listen for the Vibes haha

Jihoon was nervous.

Not in a bad way, of course. But he was taking you back home to stay with his parents for the next four days and they would be meeting you in person for the first time and he was nervous.

Soonyoung, the bastard, could definitely tell and had made it his mission to embarrass the hell out of him until the last possible second.

It was only supposed to be Seungcheol and Minghao dropping the two of you off at the train station, but Soonyoung had physically crammed himself into the backseat between you and Jihoon and refused to let go of either of you until you’d reached the train station. Even then, you had to physically pry him off of Jihoon and promise to tell Jihoon’s parents that Soonyoung loved them and missed them and—

“—make sure to take lots of pictures of all his cringey old anime posters!”

Soonyoung’s insistence is only diminished by the effort he’s exerting not to be forcefully dragged back into the car by a disgruntled Minghao. Jihoon knows Soonyoung’s being even more of a handful for his sake, and Jihoon is both filled with love and also the desire to strangle his best friend with his bare hands.

Minghao is able to get him mostly back in the car, Seungcheol watching on with a slightly fond but mostly concerned smile, but before they can get the door closed, Soonyoung claws his way back to the doorframe to tell you, “Also, his mom keeps all of his baby pictures in a bunch of photo books by the—”

“And that’s enough from you,” Jihoon interrupts, forcefully shoving Soonyoung back into the car by the face, Soonyoung screeching with poorly disguised glee, and slams the car door shut.

Jihoon waves at Seungcheol who he can see laughing through the glass as he pulls away from the curb, leaving the two of you standing with your suitcases.

He hears you giggling, and turns around to face you with a sigh. “Ignore him.”

You give a thoughtful hum, drawing it out as you grab the handle of your suitcase and wait for Jihoon to grab his and start walking with you through the station.

“No, I don’t think I will,” you finally decide, a mischievous grin tugging at the corners of your mouth.

Jihoon groans, tilting his head back as if to ask the universe why me?

“Why,” you continue, “embarrassed about your Nami posters?” 

Like Soonyoung, Jihoon knows you’re just teasing, and he falls into your easy banter with a smile threatening to tug at the corners of his mouth.

He glares at you half-heartedly. “It’s poster, singular. And no, I’m not embarrassed,” he adds as you both make your way across the platform and into the closest empty train car (the only benefit of leaving at the ass-crack of dawn). “Why would I ever be embarrassed about Nami? She’s badass.” He grunts as he stands on his toes and lifts his luggage to store on the overhead rack and then reaches out to take yours as well. “Plus, you’re one to talk, with your weird shrimp god poster—“

And this argument is familiar, too. He can’t help but smirk as you roll your eyes in exasperation and slide into the seat next to the window.

“It’s shrimp heaven,” you exclaim, “we’ve been over this.”

Jihoon just shakes his head, and he knows he sounds more than a little besotted when he says, “You listen to the weirdest shit.”

You give him a Look that manages to be both deadpan and undeniably fond, and no one except a few untitled projects saved on his external hard drive knows exactly how much he adores that particular look. “I am aware, yes, thank you.”

While this is the first time the two of you are traveling back to where Jihoon grew up, it is not the first time the two of you have traveled together. There’s a well-worn ease to the way your shoulders draw together like magnets, Jihoon offering up one of his earbuds as he balances his iPad across your joined knees.

It had scared him, the first time he felt himself leaning into your presence without a second thought — as easy and unthinkingly familiar as pulling on his favorite hoodie when he’s cold or the sound of his keys clinking against the countertop every night when he gets home. He’d never been one to seek out physical affection before, not unless he was desperate. But now he can’t help but feel like a flower seeking out the sun whenever he’s with you.

He leans his head against yours as he asks, “Want to watch some Bonobono?”

“Yeah,” you reply with a happy hum.

Jihoon presses play without further ado, and the two of you settle in for the next few hours.

You get through a few episodes quickly before taking a quick snack break, and it’s only a few minutes into the next episode that Jihoon notices you aren’t really paying attention. He turns his head where it's resting on your shoulder to get a better look at your profile, but he’s not able to see much since you have your own head turned to look out the window.

He finishes the episode and gets halfway through the next one, glancing over at you every few minutes, before deciding it’s time for him to check in.

Starting conversations is still not one of his strong suits, but he’s discovered interesting ways to wiggle himself into them, mainly by tricking you into getting the ball rolling for him. It’s in these moments that he channels his inner Soonyoung (he is taking this train of thought to his grave, mind you) and asks himself “How would cat-me ask for attention in this moment?” (Again, taking this train of thought to the fucking grave.)

So Jihoon leans away from you just enough for him to be able to turn slightly in his seat and gently plonk his head against your shoulder. When he gets no reaction, he does it again. And again, before doing it one more time as your turn to look at him with an amused smile. “Hi? You having fun, there?”

“Yep,” he says, popping the “p”. “The funnest.”

You snort and shake your head at him. “Okay, babe.” You turn your attention back out the window and Jihoon frowns.

With a quiet huff, he plonks his head on your shoulder once again, pushing in with his forehead and rubbing it back and forth against your sweater.

You start giggling — and god, it’s still one of his favorite sounds, he doesn’t think he’ll ever get tired of hearing it — and you turn to look at him again with a single eyebrow raised. “Yes, Jihoonie?”

He moves so his temple is resting on your shoulder and he can look at you properly. “You okay?” he asks, lighthearted and warm. “You’ve been staring out the window for a while, missed the last couple of episodes.”

You blink, a little surprised, and look down at the iPad still balanced between the two of you. “Oh, yeah, I’m fine, sorry.” You give him a smile and shrug the shoulder he’s leaning on. “Just thinking.”

The automatic retort of “oh, dangerous” is on the tip of his tongue, but he holds it back with a small frown. He’s never liked when you apologize unnecessarily, but he knows it’s something you’ve been working on, so he decides not to bring attention to it this time.

“What about?” he asks instead.

You’ve turned your attention back to Bonobono at this point, and you respond with a distracted “Hm?”

Jihoon pokes your temple with one finger. “What’re you thinking about?”

“Oh.” You look at him, considering, and then you huff out a short laugh as you reach over to pause the video. “You actually,” you tell him, tucking the iPad into your lap as you turn in your seat to face him fully.

That was not what Jihoon was expecting. “Me?”

“Yep,” you say, popping the “p” just like he did earlier. “Your bedroom, more specifically.”

That was definitely not what Jihoon was expecting. Both of his eyebrows shoot up in surprise. “My bedroom…” he trails off, voice dry and seeming to ask, are you really implying what I think you’re implying?

Your expression morphs into one of disgust so quickly Jihoon barks out a startled laugh. “Ew, no, don’t look at me like that, that’s not what I meant.”

Jihoon lets out a few of his own giggles as he asks, “What did you mean, then?”

He almost coos at the adorable way you pout as you cross your arms in faux anger. “Ugh, no I’m not telling you anymore if you’re just gonna tease me.”

“Aw come on,” he cajoles, reaching out to pry your crossed arms apart. “I only tease those who deserve it.”

You roll your eyes even as you let him pull your hands into his own. “Tell that to Soonyoung.”

“Are you kidding? He deserves it just for existing.”

You lift one of your conjoined hands to awkwardly point at him. “I’m gonna tell him you said that.”

Jihoon narrows his eyes. “Good. He needs the reminder.”

You fold over as you snort, falling into Jihoon’s space for a moment before you straighten back up with a beaming smile. “You’re such a terrible friend, Lee Jihoon.”

Closing his eyes, he nods solemnly. “I am aware of this, yes. It is my curse.”

“Oh my god,” you laugh, making him smack himself in the shoulder with your still joined hands. “You can be such a dramatic little shit sometimes.” There’s a glint in your eyes that tells Jihoon you’re about to say something purely because you know it’ll rile him up, and he’s proven right when the next words out of your mouth are, “Soonyoung must be rubbing off on you.”

Jihoon’s jaw drops in offended horror. “You’d better take that back right now, I swear to god, y/n—” He doesn’t give you a chance to respond as he untangles your fingers and digs them mercilessly into your sides.

You squeal at the onslaught and try your best to deflect, but Jihoon’s relentless and you’ve always been extremely ticklish, so it’s only a few moments later that you’re choking out through strained laughter, “Yield! Yield! Fuck, I yield, you absolute ass!”

Jihoon glares at you as he stops and generously lets you trap his fingers in your hold. “Take it back.”

“Yes, I take it back, geez,” you pant. He’s pretty sure he hears you follow it up with a near silent “Why are both of you so insane?”

He raises an eyebrow. “What was that?” He wiggles his fingers pointedly.

“Nothing,” you say quickly, glaring at him half-heartedly before rolling your eyes. “Absolutely nothing.”

“Good,” he smirks, wiggling his fingers again, but this time so he can lace them once again with yours. He brings each of your hands up to his face and kisses your knuckles before bringing them back down to his lap and letting himself drink you in.

You’re looking at him with something teetering the edge between incredulous and fond and over-the-moon, and Jihoon thinks he probably looks like a smitten fool just based on the way his cheeks ache and his ears feel like they’re on fire.

He’s come to love moments like these, where the both of you take a moment to just… take each other in — to simply exist in each other’s presence and soak it all in like sponges. And he doesn’t know if he’ll ever be able to put into words exactly what it feels like to look and be looked at like this. To see and be seen.

Jihoon doesn’t try to find the words this time, just lets himself bask in your glow with a soft smile.

After a few moments, he brings himself to break the ambient quiet of the train. “Hey,” he murmurs.

Your response is as soft and quiet as the smile you tuck into the corner of your mouth. “Hi.”

He stares at you for another moment before saying, “You never ended up telling me, y’know.”

“Telling you what?”

“What you were thinking about earlier.” He starts idly rubbing his thumbs across the skin of your hands, tracing gentle arcs with the pads of his thumbs.

“Oh.” You scrunch up your face a little before smoothing it out with a small shrug. “Eh, it wasn’t anything important.”

“Hmm.” Something tells him it probably is something important — to you, at least. And even if it isn’t, he still wants to know. “Tell me anyway?”

You tilt your head and look at him with a confused sort of amused smile. “Why do you wanna know so bad?”

Because I’m highkey obsessed with you and always want to learn more about you and how you think, is what he doesn’t say. At least, not out loud and not right now. He knows it’d probably fluster you and he doesn’t want to distract you from answering any more than he already has. (And maybe he’s still struggling with saying his sappy thoughts directly to your face instead of hoarding them in various notebooks, but that’s a problem for future Jihoon to work through.)

“Just curious,” he murmurs with a shrug. “And we still have a couple of hours left on the train.”

You stare at him for a moment like you don’t quite believe him and are trying to find the lie somewhere on his face. But eventually you mutter, “Okay.” You take in a deep breath and let it out slowly through your nose. “Well,” you start, after a moment of collecting your thoughts. “I said I was thinking about your bedroom, right?”

“Mhm.”

“Okay, so.” You purse your lips as you tighten your hold on Jihoon’s fingers, just for a moment, before loosening your grip with a quiet exhale. “I was mostly just trying to imagine what that’s like.”

Jihoon blinks at you. “...What having a bedroom is like?” His tone comes across more deadpan than he means, confusion flattening his question into more of a statement.

“No, no,” you shake your head. “What having a childhood bedroom is like.”

Jihoon blinks again, furrowing his brows. “...I don’t understand.”

“God, I’m not explaining this right,” you mutter, chewing on your lip in obvious thought. “Okay, so like… You know how in movies and books and stuff, a lot of times there’s this— trope, I guess, where a character goes back home and stays in their childhood bedroom and it’s like a glimpse into their past? A lot of times for comedic reasons?”

Jihoon slowly nods his head. “Yeah, I know what you’re talking about.”

“Yeah, well.” You give a self-conscious little half-shrug that makes Jihoon’s chest hurt for some reason. “I was wondering what that’s like. Like…” You trail off for a moment, gaze drifting off to the side and focusing on the middle-distance. Jihoon forces himself to wait patiently as you try to find the words you need to explain, his thumbs continuing their silent metronome across your skin.

“What— what’s it like to have lived your entire childhood in the same house?” you start, gaze still locked somewhere off to the side. “To have the same four walls watch you go from toddler to kid to preteen to moody teenager and then reluctant adult? And to know those same walls are still watching you grow up.” You give a wistful little sigh and focus back on Jihoon with a crooked smile. “I’m trying to imagine what that’s like. Hadn’t realized how much of a foreign concept it was to me until I really started thinking about it,” you finish with a small huff.

During your whole little spiel, you hadn’t sounded sad or bitter or anything other than genuinely curious, but it still pokes at that little ache in Jihoon’s heart. He knows your parents divorced when you were young, and there’s a part of him that wishes you could have had the perfect childhood he knows doesn’t actually exist. He also knows you’re not one to really talk about yourself or your past, so he’s grateful for the vulnerability you’re sharing with him in this moment. Softly, he encourages you to share more with him. “You went back and forth between your parents a lot, right?”

“Oh, god yeah,” you laugh. “And not only that, but my mom could never stay in one place either. Growing up, I think my dad only moved like… four times? But my mom moved… uh.” Your brows furrow deeply for a moment. “Hang on, I need to think this out.”

Jihoon almost whines when you detangle your fingers from his, but manages to turn it into a pretty convincing cough. (It’s actually not at all convincing, but luckily you’re too preoccupied to properly clown him for it.) He watches you mutter to yourself with a small pout and then he looks back down at your hands like he can make them hold his if he just stares hard enough. Your fingers extend one by one as you count, and his pout falls away as one fist and then the other blooms fully. And then one fist closes again, leaving a single finger standing.

“So… eleven? Eleven times.”

He’d known you’d moved at least a few times as a kid, but… “Holy shit.”

“Yeah.”

Gently, he reaches out to hold your hands again. Squeezes. “And how often did you go back and forth?”

“Oh, god. That was a mess, too.” You’re laughing, but that ache in his chest keeps spreading, digging deeper. “We had different schedules that would change like— every few months. We did three days on, three days off, alternating sundays; we did two days on, two days off, with alternating weekends; at one point we even did every other weekday with alternating weekends… it was insane. Looking back, it seems even more insane.”

“Jesus.” He can’t even begin to imagine what that must’ve been like — almost constantly being on the move. Especially as a kid. “How old were you when they split again?”

“Five.”

“Jesus.”

“Yeah.” You sigh, long and gusty. It doesn’t sound sad, at least, just tired. Maybe a little bit like release. Then you send a small, amused smile in his direction. “So you can kinda see why the whole “childhood bedroom” thing is such a foreign concept to me, right?”

He can see why. And it aches. “Yeah,” he breathes.

Some of that ache must show on his face because you gently scold him, “Hey, don’t look like that.” You untangle your fingers once again to cup both of his cheeks, thumbs pressing into the corners of his mouth and smoothing out his unconscious frown.

You look at him, soft and warm and so full of love Jihoon’s breath catches in his chest. And then you adjust your grip so you’re pinching his cheeks, and you wiggle his face a little bit. “This wasn’t supposed to be a sad thing, Hoonie. Just a “we had vastly different experiences” kind of thing.” You stop pinching his cheeks and go back to simply holding his face between your palms. “Like, I know it helped me understand the concept of “home is where the heart is,” yanno?”

And, oh. Oh, Jihoon is so very head-over-heels in love with you. He can feel that love pooling and swelling inside him, curling up between his ribs and tickling the tips of his fingers as reaches up to cover your hands with his.

“Hmm.” His mouth moves before his brain can catch up. “And where is your heart, y/n?” he breathes.

For one infinite moment suspended in time, you and Jihoon are the only two people to exist. The world around him disappears as your eyes bore into his, and Jihoon gets to watch something in them soften, melt — pool into something that looks a lot like love as you turn your hands to let go of his cheeks and hold his fingers instead.

You bring his hands to hover in front of his face, and you roll your lips between your teeth like you’re trying to hold back a smile. What you’re trying to say finally clicks in Jihoon’s mind when you glance down at his hands and then back up at him with a raised eyebrow.

All of the blood in his body rushes directly to his face and ears so quickly that Jihoon thinks he might burst into flames.

 “Nooooooooo,” he whines, hiding his blazing blush behind your entwined hands and ignoring the way you’re outright laughing at him now. He lowers your hands just enough so that he can glare at you from over the tops of your knuckles. “How are you able to say the cheesiest things without actually saying anything? I can’t stand you.”

“Then sit,” you giggle, like the absolutely adorable little shit you are.

Jihoon growls in frustrated adoration before licking the back of your hands in retaliation.

You screech and try to yank your hands back, but he’s the stronger one between the two of you and he refuses to let go. “Lee Jihoon, you animal, what is wrong with you?!”

“Vengence,” is all he mutters.

You splutter. “Vengence for what?”

He continues to half-heartedly glare at you as he brings your hands down and presses them to the left side of his chest. Vaguely, he wonders if you can feel the way his heart is pounding against his ribs. “For stealing my heart,” he pouts.

The sound that comes out of your mouth reminds him of a dying seal, and that’s how Jihoon knows it’s over for him — because he’s never heard a more endearing sound in his entire life and he thinks that maybe he’d do anything to hear it over and over again.

You continue to tease each other back and forth, your love for each other a steady undertow, and Jihoon realizes that while they may be heading back to the house he grew up in, it’s not home in the same sense any more.

Not when he looks at you and his heart sings a steady home, home, home inside his chest.

The thought doesn’t scare him nearly as much as he thinks it should.

Home, home, home.

He likes the sound of that.

[overlordraax]

I do honestly think the final villains of the Mortal Kombat franchise should have been the Elder Gods.

Like, I don't trust them. Not one bit. At best they are useless and at worst actively malicious.

Let's start off by examining the main thing they're known for: creating the Mortal Kombat tournament. This was supposedly put in as a fair way to protect all the individual realms from being invaded and taken over. Solid in theory, but in practice it's horrible and doesn't work. The problem is it's a system that only ultimately benefits those with the most might and ruthlessness. Outworld has Tarkattans, and the Shokan and Centaurs and all sorts of just really horrible beasts. No other realm can really stand against any of those. Certainly not in direct combat, so ultimately this system just leads to realms that can't withstand this sort of might getting destroyed. First Edenia and then nearly Earth. In fact consider how close Earth has gotten to losing and being absorbed several times. It's only through the skin of their teeth that Earth manages to pull out a win.

But also despite the idea of this all being to 'protect' the realms from invasion, in both MK3 and the section of MK9 that adapts those events, Outworld just invades Earth anyway. And in MK9 we have Raiden straight up begging the gods to do something about this, but they're basically like "Due to a loophole in the wording of the contract we can't be bothered to do anything", and Raiden only gets their help after tricking Shao Kahn into basically breaking yet another part of the wording in the invasion contract.

When I first saw MK9 I kind of hoped the story would develop into them realising that the Elder Gods were the real enemy and we would eventually get some narrative where they just decide to kill the gods. Like, I wanted Johnny Cage, one of the few survivors of MK9 to lead the charge and help Raiden see that being devoted to the Elder Gods was a mistake and really what we should do is punch them really hard until their skulls explode out of their heads. I'm honestly disappointed that didn't happen. (Also cos it feels like Johnny has killed several gods by this point)

Cos also just in general the Elder Gods are really underdeveloped. It's surprising how integral they are to the lore and yet it seems we only know two of them. (And it doesn't help that we mostly have Shinnok and Cetrion, so not exactly poster children for the idea that the gods can be trustworthy).

I also feel like they could have just made Kronika an Elder God. Like, honestly why couldn't she have just been the Elder God of Time? I feel like that would have worked in a way more than just adding "new thing that has never been mentioned before but is totally better than a god we swear", especially when the Elder Gods are already such blank slates. I think it could have also tied into Raiden's arc from MK9 nicely, where we can have him finally realising that putting his faith in the Elder Gods was a mistake from the start and all the gods are happy to just throw away everyone's lives for the sake of making their own little 'perfect timeline'.

But also considering in the new timeline the Gods aren't even really there. They're barely a presence and the focus is predominantly on Liu Kang's godhood. Wouldn't it have been neat if the reason why they're barely mentioned is because the cast killed them all in the last game and now we've placed someone else actually decent in charge.

Anyway, thank you for listening to my rant about how I would rewrite the MK timeline.

[imagine-a-life-like-this]

Okay babe im back at 1:44 Am

with IDEAS

Everything below this is complete fiction

So I have this idea of stray kids originally being planned as a many-member group as well as both female and male group

Now when Chan had gotten a chance to find his own members for a team, he wanted a bigger one that could function separately within the group itself, so he called in his long-time friend (reader) who was known throughout the company to be one of the most interesting trainees, she found 3 other girls that would join her, but as the survival show grew closer, two of the younger girls had their parents pull them out, which left the other one to leave too, (reader) learned this in the office meeting with JYP himself with such short noticed she couldn't find other girls, JYP was hoping shed stay considering her immense talent but he would blame her if she didn't, after all, Mnet was already eating shit when the idea of a group with a bunch of guys and only 4 girls were in planning, how would they react if there was only one

she thought about the three years she spent training at JYP

her friendship with chan

She quit, not just for her sake but for the boys, it wouldn't help their careers at all if she stayed.

She asked to write a letter to them, wishing the best to them all (mostly Chan since she was only really close with him)

After that she didn't have much to do, school sleep, dance at the side of the street maybe sing just to earn a few cents (some of yall get an allowance from your parents and I don't get that cause i was selling bracelets and shit when I was 14 for cash🤨) She kept in contact with Chan but as he grew more successful... he grew more busy and well distant. until eventually he had to change his number for privacy reasons. Now her life continued again until she saw a poster that Hybe was taking in trainees'

timeskip cause its 2:04Am now

It was 2019 and she finally debuted with her team who luckily popped off fairly fast

mama 2019 awards

her group wins the new up-and-coming artist award and as she looks into the crowd of famous idols and sees...chan

but

He didn't recognise her

I mean, new hair, new vibe and older too that's fair enough

still didn't hurt any less

doesn't help he only knew her English name, now she goes by the Korean one

is this part of my ocs storyline yes deal with it i like writing angst

Babes I am OBSESSED !!! I love this. Love the idea. Love the angst. The pain hurts so good and I need more 😭

[aita-blorbos]

AITA for repeatedly scamming my neighbors?

Okay! This sounds bad! Seriously, though, it’s really not a huge deal. I mean, I’ve barely ever gotten to keep the money I get from it anyways.

Me (12?M) and my buddies, who I’ll call E1 (12?M) and E2 (12?M) for privacy, have this little thing going. Basically, whenever there’s a convenient money-making opportunity, we hop on it, get as much money out of the other kids in the neighborhood as we can, and buy candy.

Honestly, though, even though this sounds pretty stupid, it’s mostly just because for some reason we don’t really fit in with the other kids. E1’s got a brain the size of a packing peanut and his sister (10?F) bad-mouths him to everyone else in the neighborhood, and E2 is the poster definition of a nerdy loser- he owns an ant farm, for Pete’s sake! Me? I wouldn’t say I have anything wrong with me, I’m pretty cool. Maybe it threatens everyone.

That aside, the only way we really get noticed is if we combine our strengths and do weird, off-the-wall stuff, and scamming is a pretty fun way to do that. Are we really doing anything wrong here?

[mesopelagos]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon - All Media Types, Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Pocket Monsters: Black & White | Pokemon Black and White Versions Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Kudari | Emmet & Nobori | Ingo, Kamitsure | Elesa & Kudari | Emmet, Hikari | Dawn & Kudari | Emmet Characters: Kudari | Emmet, Nobori | Ingo, Kamitsure | Elesa, Hikari | Dawn Additional Tags: Alternate Universe, Pokemon Gym Leaders, Reunions, Hurt/Comfort, Post-Canon, Temporary Amnesia, Panic Attacks, Family Feels, Affection, Trans Character(s), Male-Female Friendship, Sharing a Bed, Fluff and Angst Summary: “Your name is Emmet, you’re a Gym Leader. You use Steel types.” Dawn clasped her hands in her lap, tangling her fingers together and squeezing with enough force that her knuckles turned white. “Are you… the only Gym Leader here?”

Emmet went still.

“…No,” he eventually said. “Well, I am right now. I am not supposed to be.”

(Emmet has been Nimbasa's sole gym leader for the past three years. He's come to terms with it, but he still misses his brother more than anything.)

mostly posting here for posterity's sake/so i can have all the Content for this au under one tag. reunion fic for my gymmas au <3

[selamat-linting]

Hello Actually I would like to hear your thoughts on Gin Minowa 😊

well alright you did ask :) but beware this is mostly going to be unstructured rambling.

anyway, her death basically caused the taisha to upgrade the hero system, introducing mankai and giving the girls immortality at the cost of their own bodies, thats the main conflict of the first season of yuyuyu. it drove togou into despair because she lost the memory of her friendship with gin and sonoko and will probably lose her new friends again to a fate worse than death that she's willing to end the world just to stop it all. and we all know how that eventually caused the wedding of the shinju and yuna and basically everything else. also, her death spurred the taisha to actively recruit more girls to be grinded into the hero system, so her death is also responsible for karin to join the hero club and the rest of the sentinel squad to be formed.

like, gin minowa's impact is massive. she's genuinely haunting the narrative. my first exposure of the yuyuyu franchise is the anime, and even without knowing her name, or seeing her grave, the traces of her life and death is everywhere. karin is using her terminal!!! sonoko and togou's entire friendship during the second season hinges on their mutual guilt complex over gin's death. hell, togo does not remember gin at all in the first season, but she knows she lost her and thats enough to kickstart togo's murderous rage and despair.

also thematically, she really is the poster girl of a human sacrifice. i've seen a meta post somewhere about how the shinju and the mankai system can be read as an allegory of how women ultimately commit slow suicide from making themselves small and palatable for the male gaze and doing all of the invisible labour for the sake of patriarchy. and the way yuyuyu keeps portraying in universe that being a hero is a way to protect the country, spesifically using a rather political word like the country, not humanity or life itself, it reminds me a lot of how fascist propaganda present itself to women. conform to the gender binary, fulfill your god given role, sacrifice your body and your life for the sake of your society. it seems familiar. the magical girls are chosen yes, but theyre lambs to the slaughter in the service of the shinju and the taisha (patriarchy metaphor)

disclaimer, im not japanese, and i dont know the behind the scenes trivia or the author or even played the yuyuyu games, so i know im working off partial information and im looking at something with a perspective unlike my own, im well aware i could be wrong and the authors' intentions might be different, but that is what i get from the anime. the metaphor did fell apart towards the last few episodes, especially when we consider the taisha was formed because they have to survive against the apocalypse, they might be a corrupt and fucked up organization that grinds children into an eternal suffering machine but they did try their best against an impossible situation, but overall i do feel like the hero system can be read as a metaphor for gender roles in patriarchy.

back to gin minowa, out of the trio, she seems to be written as the most down to earth / relatable of the two. she's smart and clever, but only when its useful to other people, i.e when she's helping and when she's fulfilling her role as a child soldier. and she never ever blames anyone for anything. nobody ever stops to ask if she has better places to go, nobody ever asks if she's tired from all the help and chores she's required of doing, and she never seems to mind. only smiling and blaming herself for being late and forgetting her studies. its only her friends who actually find out whats going on with her and tried to help her. she is the picture perfect idea of a heroine and the taisha and the shinju took advantage of it and it ultimately killed her. she is the number one proof that this is the bitter end of all magical girls if they let themselves follow the orders thats been given to them. god fucking damn it, theyre all heroes, they's the chosen one, but theyre chosen as a hero the way a lamb is chosen and lead to the slaughter. rip gin minowa you will always be famous 😭

[cookies-over-yonder]

Quiet, Calm, Still

CO-WRITTEN BY @silverlistenstothings

Hermie catches Taylor zoning out.

Part 21 of The Mortifying Ordeal of Being Roommates

[title from Birds from Ultimate Storytime]

ao3

If there’s one thing Hermie has learned about living with Taylor, it’s that a quiet Taylor is always a bad sign. It’s not unusual for him to sleep in on the weekends, but when the time ticks past noon and there’s not a sound from Taylor’s room, they know there’s a problem.

 

They try to play it off for as long as they can—Taylor’s fine, it’s none of Hermie’s business, they probably won’t be able to help anyway, maybe he’s out with his friends—but eventually they figure that they don’t really have anything better to do than check on him. 

 

They wander out into the hallway, and knock their knuckles gently against the door. There’s no response. Maybe Taylor is still asleep? 

 

"Taylor?" they whisper-shout, leaning in close to the door. Still nothing. They twist the knob, slowly opening the door. 

 

Taylor is sitting on his bed with his knees drawn to his chest, staring off at nothing, and his breathing is a little unsteady.

 

He doesn't acknowledge them at all. Hermie waits there for a while, before moving cautiously over to the bed.

 

“Hey, Taylor?” they say, softer this time. Still no response. 

 

The vacant stare, the wide eyes, the unsteady breathing, the complete lack of acknowledgment… it’s a familiar sight, if not necessarily from this side of things. They've never seen Taylor like this before, though it doesn't come as a surprise, all things considered.

 

They sit down beside Taylor, and bump their shoulders together. They need to ground him, and Hermie’s typical solution for their own dissociation—tearing at their skin until it feels like their own again—isn’t really something they want to pass on to Taylor. Luckily, he usually seems to respond well to a far more gentle form of physical contact. A bit of contact and some idle rambling about their surroundings should bring Taylor back to himself. 

 

“I wonder if I could program my lights to change colours the way yours do,” Hermie says softly, as if it’d been anything more than a passing thought. 

 

They were perfectly happy with the consistent shade of chartreuse they’d chosen for their fairy lights, but it was the first thing to come to mind as they looked around Taylor’s room and spotted the LED strips around the baseboards. 

 

“I never noticed that that poster is signed,” Hermie continues, gesturing vaguely at one of the posters across the room. “I guess it’s harder for you to get things signed by people who worked on your favourite stuff than it would be for me, considering they’re mostly in Japan, probably.”

 

God, this is harder than they thought. Still, it seems to be working as Taylor finally moves, his tail coiling around one of Hermie’s wrists. Now that the contact is properly reciprocated, Hermie throws an arm around his shoulders, pulling him closer to their side. 

 

“The birds seem to be a lot more active since the sky cleared,” Hermie says, glancing at Taylor’s open window. “I wonder if they knew, or if Code Purple glossed over their memories like it did for people.”

 

Taylor shifts against Hermie, and even if it's just an idle movement rather than a sign of discomfort, Hermie changes the line of conversation anyways.

 

“I think that’s a spotted towhee. They kind of look like robins, except for, you know, the spots, and they sound different obviously.” Usually, Hermie would take a long winded ramble about birds to the grave, but they are just talking for the sake of talking at the moment. “They’re a type of sparrow, actually, just big ones. They’re fun to watch, they just bounce along the ground and throw leaf litter around. It’s cute.” 

 

Taylor shifts, cuddling closer to Hermie’s side. Hermie hums softly along with the trill of the birdsong outside the window. 

 

“There’s two different families of sparrows, actually, there’s New World sparrows and Old World sparrows and then there’s like—Java sparrows, which aren’t actually sparrows at all. A lot of bird families are divided into New World vs Old World species, mostly just based on where they’re found. So. That’s… birds…” 

 

Hermie trails off, glancing over to Taylor. Taylor's head tilts, and he's finally looking at Hermie directly, without the glazed over look from earlier. 

 

"Hey," Hermie says, still soft but audibly relieved. 

 

"Hi,” Taylor replies weakly. Hermie waits for more, but he doesn’t say anything else. 

 

"You wanna watch something…?" Hermie offers, because that tends to be a safe bet with Taylor. 

 

Taylor nods, and Hermie moves to pick up his laptop. As soon as they shift away from Taylor, a pair of arms wrap around them, and a face is buried in their side. 

 

"Mmm!" he grumbles, completely incomprehensible beyond the disgruntled tone. 

 

"What do you want?” Hermie says, more indulgently than they’re used to hearing from their own voice, “I need to get your laptop if you want to watch somethi—"

 

Taylor continues whining and mumbling nonsense into Hermie's side, holding them tighter. 

 

“I suppose I’m stuck here forever, then,” Hermie sighs, exaggeratedly put-upon. “Such is my life, to fulfil the same role as a pillow or perhaps a plush.”

 

Taylor simply hums an agreement and hugs Hermie tighter, entirely unrepentant. 

[pdalicedraws]

I have both ‘significant time skip’ and ‘character redesigns’ on my bingo sheet, and realized that with the new ep coming out on Saturday it’s my last chance to take my own swing at what those designs could be! So here’s a shot at the gang, six months later, and some headcanons. 

(Yes, I know there’s a trailer and promo images out, and this might all already have been jossed, but don’t tell me so. I’m a liveblogger so I’ve been avoiding spoilers like the plague; I did briefly see the poster but all I saw was “spooky graveyard vibes and Luz is wearing a beanie”.)

Gus is not coping well and is trying to hide it. He knows about Grimwalkers and hasn’t told Hunter he knows— he’s not even sure Hunter knows— so he’s been holding that in, he’s the youngest, and he misses his dad, plus he feels guilty about everything from ‘I always wanted to go to the human realm so it’s somehow my fault we’re stuck here’ to ‘I cast the illusion that let Luz sneak out to the Head’. He’s had another growth spurt and become an absolute beanpole, and he also has a bunch of patchy facial hair starting to come in but he hides it with an illusion because he does not want to learn to shave from anyone but his dad. 

Hunter also had a massive growth spurt, but instead of regular Witch Puberty it’s just because he can actually digest the food here. He shot up and filled out and dyed a red streak into his hair with Amity’s semi-grudging help. He still cuts the underside short but has let the top grow out a bit, and wears it in a little topknot; he won’t admit why but everybody knows. He insisted on getting a part-time job, but he can’t have Flapjack with him on the clock so he wears one of their shed feathers. He likes wearing tight clothes, which is mostly genuine and because the pressure helps keep his scars from aching, but there’s also a little bit of the fact that he and Gus both had growth spurts and Camila doesn’t have a ton of money for new clothes. On the outside, it seems like he’s coping the best out of the group, but it’s pretty much just because his big brother instinct and guard training kicked in at the same time and he’s suppressing his own emotions for the sake of looking after everybody else. Eventually he’s going to crash. 

Luz is… a disaster. Girl already blames herself for everything, and at this point? Hell. She feels like she’s failing the only friends she has because they’re having trouble acclimating to the human realm, she’s terrified that Eda and King might be dead, that the whole isles might be destroyed, and because she’s her she’s pretty sure it’s all her fault. Her glyphs don’t work here, she’s remembering just how out of place she was at home, she’s watching her basilisk baby sister get along with humans better than she ever did, and it’s… rough. She’s putting all her energy into trying to find a way home. Well, the one other constructive thing she’s doing is that she’s picked up the clarinet again, which she used to play in sixth grade— she’s determined to be able to play something for Raine when they meet again. Which they definitely will. Eventually.  She’s the only one of the group who hasn’t let her hair grow out longer, which wasn’t planned, I just gave everyone else longer hair bc I’m salty about the omnipresence of ‘cut off a characters hair to show she’s Matured’

Amity is handling it. She’s okay. Well, she’s okay as could be expected, which isn’t really okay. She’s worried about Luz, she’s trying to make a good impression on Camila (she’s not really aware that she made a fantastic impression on the first day— not with her careful, heels-together, carefully rehearsed introduction in Spanish, though that was adorable, but with the moment she doesn’t know Camila saw when she was sitting with Luz, holding her hands in hers, whispering to her that she did everything right and they’d make it in the end). She’s studying up on all the human realm trivia she can find— they recognize her at the library— helping Camila with the house, being there for Luz, trying to be helpful in every way she possibly can. She’s been carefully maintaining her lilac hair with her natural brown underlayer, and she’s been helping Hunter and Willow with their streaks too. It makes her feel like she’s succeeding at something. 

Willow is being crushed on by every wlw in the greater Gravesfield area who doesn’t already have a partner, and she has no idea. That’s not relevant, though. She’s trying to be the strategizer and team leader, she’s trying to be mom friend, she’s trying to grow enough produce out behind the house to relieve Camila’s grocery bill, she’s trying to let Gus stop pretending he’s fine, she’s trying to keep it together. Hunter still calls her Captain, and it’s wonderful because it’s a sign of how much faith he has in her but it’s also a lot of pressure. She quickly learnt how to play human soccer and drags the others out for a kickabout every weekend in order to keep them all active, and because she remembers something Viney said once about endorphins. She’s been keeping a meticulous journal for the sake of telling her dads everything that’s happened, when she eventually sees them again. 

Vee is conflicted and feels bad about being conflicted. She genuinely adores Luz, she knows she’s such a good person, she’s so grateful for all her help, but she also fears that her return means that her space in the world is disappearing again. She’s changed her human appearance up a little— made her skin a touch darker, closer to Camila’s, given herself her spots back, made her hair the same blue as her ear frills in her true form. She’s also getting steadily femme-r as she differentiates herself from Luz, and has been watching a lot of 90s horror and getting style cues from the final girls. She spun a convoluted yarn to her friends about having been Parent Trapped as a wee child, raised by her and Luz’s crazy great-uncle, and taking her place at camp when she ran away to hang out with a friend out of state; they don’t believe a word of it but they don’t suspect the truth either, and if it turns out their friend is actually named Valentina, not Luz? They’re cool with that. Her sister’s fun too, but Vee is cooler.