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writtenbyjeanofarc · 10 months ago

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‎ ‎‎Honor Among Thieves

Captain Hook x Fem! Reader | 2.5k

⎯⎯ summary ‣‣‣ “On an ordinary summer day my friends and I are having fun at the beach when suddenly Captain Hook and his pirates come seemingly out of nowhere and attack, causing chaos. I try to escape, even so much as to reach the car my friends and I used to get there, but I get caught and by one of the pirates and taken.”

⎯⎯ content warnings & tags ‣‣‣ dubcon, penis in vagina sex, creampie, fem! oral receiving, dom! Hook, body worship, fingering, breast kink, praise, dirty talk and pet names.

⎯⎯ requested by ‣‣‣ the wonderful @disney-girl67.

⎯⎯ banner credits ‣‣‣ the lovely @cafekitsune.

The intensifying heat of the sun today was rather unbearable for my liking—I had to make sure the amount of sunscreen I applied was just right for my skin in regards to basking in the summer heat. Thankfully, my best friends had some spare bottles of lotion perfect for our trip to the beach. We’ve packed just the best meals suitable for our picnic date; it’s been a while since we’ve taken a week off of an exhausting day of work, and an opportunity arose when we were given a discount to a beach getaway!

I drew a satisfying breath, taking in the fresh breeze that blew from the east side of the coast. Apart from the overwhelming heat of the sun, it was quite refreshing to take a time off of the monotonous city where industries and businesses collided in chaos. The palm trees danced lively by the breathtaking view, the birds chirping happily as we booked a stay at the chalet nearby.

“So, Ashley, what do you think of this spot so far?” I asked.

“It’s perfect,” my friend smiled. “Summer is a godsend, especially these days. The weather may be humid, but other than that their services are properly managed. I can’t stand always having to work under our boss lately. So I’ve decided to take a leave!”

“May I add that this particular sea stands out because there’s lots of treasure underneath.” my other friend commended. “Rumors say there used to be pirates here, but I believe they’re long dead after getting shipwrecked.”

“Pirates?” I asked, sitting upright, fixing my bikini. “Wait, are you saying, this place isn’t safe for visitors like us?”

“Relax, friend,” my other friend spoke, laughing. “It’s just a scary story spread all across this village. I’m sure that with all the legal authorities becoming more aware of the troubles they cause, they're probably thrown into prison by now.”

“Good, good.” I replied.

“Anyways, I think now is the right time to go in for a dive! The deeper, the better!”

“Wait, guys, but-“

My friends ignored me this time. They left me without any explanation to stay, leaving me to rot in my own thoughts of whether there were potential thieves roaming around the place. But I’ve decided I won’t back down. I left the patio, without any other reason to make excuses for why I refused to go in for a swim. Out of guilt, I just kept on going, leaving all my worries behind.

My friends and I ran towards the seaside, happy and carefree of the world’s stressors. We even threw some handfuls of sand at each other and splashed some seawater the moment we went for a swim.

I found it difficult to keep up with my friends this time, the way they swam around the beach and took pictures of the glittering waters. But I dared not to be a killjoy as of this moment, I complied with their requests to have fun regardless.

As we swam recklessly by the sea, I noticed the sight of a large, wooden ship approaching from a distance, seemingly approaching towards us. I felt all along that my gut instinct was right. I tried my best to not falter at first, but knowing they could kill if we didn’t surrender our belongings was something I was truly terrified of.

“Ashley! Lottie! Mary!” I called out. “There’s a ship approaching! Let’s gather around and leave!”

“[Name], you’re being incredibly ridiculous.” my friend Mary laughed. “Those can’t be pirates! It looks like a normal ship!”

“But-“

My friends ignored my pleas, so I had no other choice but to leave the seaside. I was deathly worried about their wellbeing since pirates aren’t to be trusted regardless, but I started to give less fucks about others and focus on my own needs. This is it. I left my friends and made my way back to the beach house, running half naked and sweaty from the intense blanket of heat that filled the air.

“Take a closer look, Murphy,” scoffed a pirate from the ship as he used his binoculars to zoom into the sight of my friends swimming. “We eating good tonight, aren’t we?”

“Damn right. Nothing more than a bunch of bombshells worth taking in for the night.” Black Murphy laughed loudly. “James will surely be having fun by the end of the day. From what I understand, he’s already by the shore holding some random bitch hostage.”

“Right! Hah. The Captain should consider himself lucky.”

And there I was. I finally arrived at the beach house, surprised to find the door to our room locked. Pleas of someone could be heard from inside, and I didn’t know what to do other than bang the door from outside. The voice was muffled, which made me realize that whoever the captor was turned out to be someone not to be messed with.

My heart raced upon this discovery. Who could have possibly thought there was someone else inside the compound? I tried using all of my strength to open the door. I tried, and tried, and tried…..

And with all my brute force, I managed to successfully pry the door open. I was then met with an unexpected scene.

There in the corner of the room stood a tall, dark figure dressed in red, while his other hand was replaced with some sort of hook. He apparently was holding some sort of knife with his other hand, and it turned out that the identity of who he just killed was the manager of the beach house me and my friends stayed in. The figure took a step forward, revealing himself to be none other than a pirate captain.

I tried to leave, but another one of his pirates grabbed me by the wrists from behind, pushing me to the ground and swiftly locking the door from outside. It was unknown as to how this happened, but I knew from the bottom of my heart that this was coming.

“Looking as gorgeous as you always were, lovely stranger.” the pirate spoke softly. “Say, are you perhaps here for a trip?”

“Um, yes?” I hesitantly replied. “Who could you be?”

“That doesn’t matter, my dear. In fact, your name doesn’t matter to me either. Say, what are your thoughts about a relationship of give and take? Worry not, for I won’t harm you, as long as you do exactly as I say.”

“Huh????”

“I came here to claim five million bucks from this entire resort. Provided you and your friends do exactly as we please, your lives shall be spared.”

“What???!!!” I protested, attempting to get up and reach for the door behind me. “No, I must have known…!! You-you must be the captain!!! Please, captain, spare our lives!!!”

“Why, if it isn’t the right answer, hm? My name is Captain Hook, I also go by the name James. Though this info won’t matter by the time I’m done with you.”

I froze, unsure of how to react in the face of such a threat. I attempted to stand up, only for the captain to kneel on one knee and unfasten my bikini straps.

“Please…..” I begged. “Let me go! I’ll do anything!!!”

“Is that so? Why then, don’t resist.” Captain Hook smirked.

I frankly hated how this was turning me on.

He moved his hook down my breasts, groping it with the thin piece of metal while his other hand caressed my cheek.

“Such a beautiful, sensitive little thing.” he cooed. “Gods must have sent you to serve as my personal pet.”

Tears formed in my eyes as I disobeyed his request and resisted the captain’s touch, only for him to pull me inward. He kneaded on my breasts gently and leaned closer to suckle on my nipples, which was already hard at the sight of his tall stature. He swirled his tongue around it, moaning gently as the sounds of sloppy slurps filled the room.

I hated how good it made me feel. I shivered at the thought of a random stranger’s face up my breasts, but there was no denying that he was extremely good at it. A part of my mind wandered on the scenario where he claimed a number of bodies. From the charm of his facial hair surrounding his features, to his enigmatic smile, it left me with chills—and they weren’t exactly that of the bad type.

He didn’t stop, oh, he didn’t. The more I held back a moan, he just kept sucking in long slurps that left me soaking in my arousal. My breath hitched at the sight of his unshaved face lapping and salivating against my breasts, carefully caressing it as he pulled away.

“Mmmmmhhhh~”, I groaned in frustration.

“What a cute, desperate pet.” Captain Hook whispered. “If all it takes for you to grow wet is to have someone suckle on those stress balls, then you must be a really needy whore after all.”

“Please……I need it….I need it so bad!!!” I protested, desperate for release.

“Eager for my cock?” Captain Hook asked. “Well, you might want to exercise a little patience, my dear. Good things don’t always come in easy packages. Now, let’s take this off from you, shall we?”

With that, he tore my panties off with a clenched fist, leaving my naked form to sulk in hopelessness and frustration. He wasn’t the type to give warnings, for he was quite straight up with what he wanted to do. He was all powerful. That only gave way for me to feel worthless and pathetically needy for his touch.

“Mmmmmm……already this wet? Hah. How pathetic.”

He didn’t give warnings, indeed. I knew he had it in him when he dove into my cunt, kissing the nub gently as he rubbed his finger against it. I felt as if I was about to squirt too early, but I held it in. Then comes the hard part. The fingers. He stuck two fingers in me, forcing his way in without any form of lube or prep. With the burning pain slowly melting away into pleasure, I let him swirl his tongue around my clit without any form of inhibitions after all. The captain yapped and lapped at my vaginal fluids, overflowing to an extent of it streaming down my cunt. It felt warm, pleasurable, and on top of all that, I felt like I was about to catch feelings for the man.

His digits began curling upward, making me wince at the length of his fingers, yet still aroused. The slight curve didn’t bother me in the slightest. It felt so good, and I for once didn’t mind squirting and cumming all over his face for all I cared.

“Ahhhh, I’m close,” I moaned. Captain Hook drove his mouth deeper, giving my clit a rough suck before pulling away. Leaving my entrance gaping with fluid, he chuckled smugly.

“You taste divine, pet. Hmmm….I think you’re ready to take all of me now. Just relax.”

Captain Hook let go of my figure, turning to his pants as he pulled the upper section down. I wasn’t expecting the sight of at least ten inches of trouser action, and I grew hopelessly frustrated by the fact that it still wasn’t shoved deep in me.

“Now, now, dear.” Captain Hook spoke. “This won’t be lasting quite long. After all, you’re already this close.”

Spreading my legs wider, the captain rubbed my clit with his cock, enabling me to make use of my energy in humping right back. I held the throbbing length, and felt its texture before he slipped it right inside me with force.

”AGH!!” I squealed.

“What, don’t you like it?” Captain Hook asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Keep going….It burns, but, keep….going!”

“I see. Well, then who am I to deny you what you want.”

With one thrust, he drove his cock inside me and started to slowly rock in and out of my cunt. It felt euphoric, really, the way he handled me roughly and recklessly without any filter. To compensate for his efforts of ramming through my walls, I fucked him back.

My breasts wobbled as my body grew used to the pleasure judging from the growing speed of his thrusts. He was brutal, violent, just like any other pirate would be when faced with an incoming threat. Gripping my cheeks tightly, Captain Hook used his superior strength to lift my limbs upward to gain a better access towards my core. He kept hitting, and hitting the spot, so much that I could feel myself cumming in less than five whole minutes. I arched and mewled against his grasp, the sounds of skin slapping against skin becoming more apparent. I began to develop no care for whoever overheard our little affair going on. All I needed was to reach completion at the hands of this charming stranger.

Captain Hook was also growing desperate over time. His moans grew more animalistic, muttering a ‘yes’ repeatedly as he was about to lose composure. When I felt a tinge of pleasure spark from within my heated core, that was when he chose to pick up speed. He then leaned closer to feel my neck with his face, leaving hickeys all over as he continued to bite down the layers of thin skin. I yelped in pain for a moment as the sensation slowly turned into pleasure the way he bit on the right spots.

If only he could see my face right then and there, I would have been humiliated from that point onward. Then he did.

“Ah, ah, ah, no looking elsewhere.” Captain Hook muttered under his breath, panting hard. “Eyes on me. Show me how much you crave this feeling.”

“I—Mmmmmmhhhh….!!! Please, I’m….I’m gonna…..”

“Hold it off, little one. Have your master do all the work.”

With all his strength, Captain Hook grabbed my hips tightly, the hilt of his cock ramming in and out of my heat. The slaps against my ass were wet and loud, our moans matching each other like a symphony.

“Agh!!!! Captain!!!” I trembled in excitement. “Ahhhhh~”

I wailed his name (James) as Captain Hook thrusted so deep into my core. My walls fluttered and throbbed hard that it was almost a crime for him to pull out of me. I shook against him, crying like a bitch in heat as I felt like the whole world had just shattered before my eyes. Captain Hook spurted his seed balls deep in me, his cum surrounding itself all over my dripping cunt. I let out a deep sigh, realizing the whole mess I’ve been engaging with in the company of a complete stranger.

“Hah……Hahhhhh……..”

Captain Hook didn’t even budge, his cock already retreating from my walls in a slow, yet steady fashion.

“Such a filthy, disgusting little mutt.” he said, putting his cock back in and leaving me to sulk by the edge of the doorstep. “Get up.”

Captain Hook grabbed my cute, pink bikini, tossing it before my face.

“What is your name?”

“[Name].”

“You did well, [Name],” he said. “Judging by the looks of it, you owe me several nights of complete entertainment. Come outside when you’re ready. I’m more than willing to bring you into my ship.”

#captain hook disney #captain hook x reader #captain hook x you #disney villain x reader #x reader #dubious consent #disney x reader #disney smut #peter pan smut #captain hook

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captainsarahscratches · 10 months ago

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Can we get some head cannons with Kenny omega x younger gf reader. Like reader is 27 and AEW womens champ. Something about protective Kenny

Kenny constantly hears jokes about him babysitting his girl, but he doesn't care because he's happier than he's ever been

You constantly hear comments from the other girls that you only have the title because you fuck the EVP.

Kenny hates these comments and wants to put them in their place but you calm him down and tell him it doesn't bother you. It does, but you tell him otherwise, because deep down you know he didn't have anything to do with your title.

They make jokes about him robbing the cradle, and you having daddy issues. But the two of you just laugh along, because you both know it's nothing of the nature. You two just click, and in your industry, with your scheduleds, it's rare when two people understand each other and blend the way you and Kenny do.

Kenny trains with you and it brings a smile to your face because to you it's like getting paid to be with your favorite person.

He loves it because he gets to be close to you and share something that he loves with the one he loves, even though he hasn't told you yet.

He tends to get a little more handsy when he's training with youm but you never seem to mind.

To throw him off his game, you tend to whisper "harder, daddy" when he has you in a choke hold. This gets him flustered, and gives you a n opportunity to counter him when he wasn't intending that to happen. He can't help but be a little proud when you pull that one.

When you go home, Kenny always makes sure you get into your apartment safely, but on days you've been teasing him in the ring. He tends to stay a little longer.

At your fridge you bend over to grab a cold bottle of water, and you feel him behind you. His waist against yours, his hands tracing up your back and into your hair.

"What baby, I thought you said harder?" you cant help but moan in delight, "Oh still not hard enough?" he says as he smack your ass.

In seconds, your legs are wrapped around his waist as he carries you to the edge of your own bed. Throwing you roughly onto the mattress.

"You think you can be a tease all damn day and think I'm not going to do anything about it, huh? You're lucky I didn't fuck you right there in front of everyone in the gym. Let them all see how good of a little slut you can be."

You giggle, knowing you're getting under his skin, "yeah, and then prove to him that i really am the old man's good little girl." The growl that leaves him sets you a blaze, and you don;'t even have time to react as he pounds into your body. Not a care towards your own pleasure, just his own release. but you didn't care, because the animalistic fucking he's giving you brings you over the edge twice over before he even begins to unravel inside you.

"Fuck, FUCK Y/N God damnit your going to make me cum!"

"Cum for me daddy, please. I need it Kenny I need you to-"

"FUCKKK" He floods your body as he continues to thrust inside you until he can't take it any longer.

Rolling over onto the opposite side of the bed, You rolling to meet him, head on his chest.

"God babe, fuck. I love when you let me take over like that." " I love it too."

"I love you, too" he said, kissing your forehead.

You pick up your head look him the eye, he looks nervous, not meaning to let that slip in this setting. He searches your face for a hint of anger, or remorse.

You grin uncontrollably, kissing him deeply. Rolling ontop of him, straddling his lap. "I love you too, Kenny."

He smiles, and kisses you passionately. Flipping you over onto your back, his cock hard against your body again, his mouth firmly on your neck.

Trailing kisses up to your ear, in a low gravely voice

"Let's see how many times, this 'old man' can make you cum in a day. What's my record again, five? Child's play, you better cancel whatever you had planned this week. You won't be able to walk anywhere"

#kenny omega #aew fanfiction #kenny omega smut #kenny omega x reader #the elite #bullet club #aew imagine #kenny omega imagine #aew #aew smut

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sgiandubh · 7 months ago

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Whisky, gin and beer

It was always going to be about beer, too - not only whisky and gin. And it was probably designed to be a simultaneous project, that might have been postponed for various reasons: funny how all those intelligent people across the street forget everything about COVID, when it does not fit their agendas. And by COVID, I do not mean only the prolonged lockdowns, but first and foremost the worldwide logistics crisis, with compromised supply chains and overall a huge blow on the transports' sector.

In fact, looking at those trademark websites, it becomes evident that first (now abandoned) trademark application for beer was filed in at the same time as the one for whisky, on December 28, 2018:

Separate categories, as per US regulations, need separate filings, of course. And beer is a brilliant, simple idea, with high quality local ingredients (it's really barley, water, hops and yeast) relatively easy to source. Well, spare perhaps for the hops, but that is not really a problem, anymore:

(Source: the James Hutton Institute's booklet Hops in Scotland, 2018 - well, then. The institute is based in Dundee, by the way, so I think they know exactly what they are talking about, especially after a four year long feasibility study with encouraging results: https://www.hutton.ac.uk/news/scottish-hops-viable-commercial-crop-hutton-research-finds)

As I always make a point of reminding anyone, this page does not deal in fantasy and empty, meaningless scouring of social media accounts. And cackle to your heart's content, Mordor, but S seems to have a genuine, informed interest in the industry, as shown above.

This is a different business plan and a different marketing model, based on affordable production costs and yield/volume (as compared to successive, 'limited batches' of tequila or whisky, where the accent is placed on the excellence of the product and know-how, as reflected in the final price tag). You can bottle that beer or you can sell it on tap, partnering with local bars and pubs first, then progressively extending that network. And I bet the farm it is going to be a premium, artisanal beer first, with options open for a more democratic product, once brand awareness is properly built: beer is versatile, like that.

Whisky and gin were expensive, carefully curated pet projects. Beer is a fun, easy and lucrative one, with a wider clientele and fast growing potential. And this is how that unknown, struggling Scottish actor who once was the face of Tennent's has a fair opportunity to strike it big. To be followed, which I might do. And this is also how his products could cover the entire price range, from luxury to affordable.

It is also always disheartening to see how all those bitter women congregating on certain Tumblr pages feel the need to dismiss anything he does. As I always said and I always will, many of them have no idea about the very basics of business and trade, no exposure to that world and, to be honest, no particular intellectual acuity. Plus I bet the farm many of them lie about their own circumstances: it's easy to pretend, on the Internet and always sexier (and lame, of course) to introduce yourself as a corporate whatever than a secretary. But I wonder how would they feel, in the unlikely situation they would be running their own lemonade stand, if passers by started cackling and bitching about their trade, out of the blue.

So, all in all, we seem to be dealing with some careful preparation, portfolio diversification and yes, taking much needed strides away from McGrandma. To be continued, of course...

PS: FMN Gin, still crickets? Ahhh...

#fandom #shitshow #booze wars

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birdfriend-theband · 29 days ago

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SOMEWHERE YOU DID, SOMEWHERE YOU WILL: Bird Friend's Our Gods at 10; or, Last Thoughts on the Albuquerque House Show Scene

Author’s note:

Okay - bear with me on this one. Ten years have passed since the events in this piece occurred. In those ten years I’d like to think I’ve picked up a few scraps of wisdom here and there, and while our culture has built an industry around depictions of untamed youth, I’m inclined to believe that those years aren’t always what they’re cracked up to be. I was far from perfect as a young man, and this memoir is not designed to suggest any differently. It is, however, partly an attempt to express gratitude towards those folks who gave me the opportunity to live something like the rich life of an artist. If this work has found its way to you, I will say this: my inbox is always open.

G. Himsel

Funeral Hill, Portsmouth, New Hampshire

Autumn 2024

Halfway through the last-ever show at the old Vassar house, someone called the cops.

Cheap Time was playing in the living room when the police banged on the door, and when the hostess took over the mic to warn the crowd, the whole place fell apart. The music shambled to a halt, and the living room - which was painted floor-to-ceiling in graffiti - became the scene of a mad scramble for the exits. Young punks spilled into the backyard, clambering over the cinderblock walls and into the alleyways, or sprinting drunkenly past the squad cars blocking the driveways. Underage kids tossed bottles and dime bags onto the neighbors’ side of the fence before disappearing into the darkness themselves. The band stood around, dumbfounded, as the room cleared, their audience disappeared, and a pair of tired-looking cops wandered into the house with their hands on their hips. The night was over, prematurely - and while the old house’s closing ceremonies were supposed to have some sort of significance, the chaos of the evening was befitting of the chaos of its era. The street was full of wasted kids, running from the cop lights. With three beers in my body, I ran, too - into the cool bronze night of the neighborhood, past the bungalows and pueblo revivals, holding my half-empty pack of cigarettes in the breast pocket of my flannel shirt. It was the fall of 2013 in Albuquerque, New Mexico, I was nineteen years old, and it was the first house show I’d ever attended.

II.

Albuquerque is about a day’s drive from anything; eight hours east of Las Vegas, seven hours out from Phoenix. Denver lies six miles to the north, and Mexico five hours south. The city rests on a massive alluvial plain and straddles the Rio Grande at its midpoint, where droughts and water-rights battles often reduce the river to a trickle. It’s bright: the sun shines four out of every five days, and at a mile above sea level, the sun can feel intimately close. Isolated by miles of Southwestern desert, it’s nonetheless a city of intersections - intersections of North American cultures, of rivers and railroads, and of highways. I-40 and I-25 collide here at the “Big I,” an engineering feat that doubles as a towering monument to the car culture of the American West. Nearly thirty percent of residents speak Spanish, and another significant portion speaks Navajo or Vietnamese. In the last hundred and fifty years, it’s grown from a railroad depot to nearly two-hundred miles of low-density urban sprawl - and many parts retain an odd 1960s or ‘70s feel. Outside of the city, they make movies and television, and test weapons for the military. Passenger trains still clatter through downtown, and bands play under gazebos in the historic district. In Barelas, Chicano pride shines. In Rio Rancho, suburban tract homes bump up against the stark, high desert. But while the city glows with a sort of mid-century American-ness, it more often feels far, far away from the mainstream culture and customs of the rest of the U.S. It’s a weird place, especially if you - like me - grew up amidst the urban renewal and suburban gloom of post-industrial New England. Out in New Mexico, you sort of get the feeling that you’ve traveled off the map.

I lived in Albuquerque from 2012 to 2016. I wanted to make art and play my guitar, and I got my wish; I spent most of those years submerged in the city’s weird subculture of underground house shows. Our neighborhood of University Heights - more generally known as the Student Ghetto, due to its huge population of off-campus UNM students - was the kind of starving-artist paradise peculiar to college towns. The neighborhood was made up of cheap, low-density rental housing. Landlords and neighbors were generally tolerant of the 18-25 crowd and whatever noise and chaos it generated. Homes were usually single-unit, with spacious yards and a sense of relative privacy. Rents were in the high hundreds, and we often had more space than we needed. The infrastructure supported public transit and cyclists and the whole area was anchored by a commercial strip with cheap food and plenty of intellectual resources.

But while while the Student Ghetto was typical of any neighborhood near a big college campus, the fact that the college campus happened to be located right in the middle of a major city - a city that, in turn, was an isolated stop on the way to the rest of the world - meant that a disproportionate amount of creative energy was funneled directly into the laps of the people living there. In 2014-15 a five-block stretch of Gold Avenue alone boasted five house venues, each with distinct programming, that sometimes threw shows on the same nights. The most important of them, Gold House, changed hands countless times but survived for over a decade as a magnet for nationally-recognized punk and indie acts. I saw Kid Congo play at Gold House, in the living room; I saw Kimya Dawson play on the porch. The loudest show I’ve ever seen in my life was at Gold House: the Cosmonauts blew my eardrums there, on a Sunday night in the summer of 2014.

A culture existed around these places. Different houses were home to different sub-families of the city’s greater punk community, and often had one or two of their own house bands in addition to a few touring favorites. My immediate neighbors hosted murky, reverb-washed psych rock bands like L.A. Witch, while the legendary Bungalow was something like a fraternal organization for strange, outer-limits outsider punk.

Beyond that, different houses had different philosophies about live music, different levels of permissiveness surrounding drugs and drinking, and varying levels of preparedness for interactions with the police. At some venues, “rules” were looked upon suspiciously. At one Fourth of July show in 2015, the entertainment options were split between outdoor American flag-burning and a basement set by a band that played completely naked. But there were more often attempts to establish some order. At the Bungalow, there was generally a volunteer at the door who checked IDs and marked hands accordingly; this protected the house and its inhabitants when the cops were called, as they were during the second Mountain Blood Fest when one hardcore punk vocalist ended up on the roof.

My Albuquerque experience eventually reached its zenith at the Bungalow, where Bird Friend recorded Cibola and I probably attended more shows than anywhere else, but it was Wagon Wheel - a miniscule pueblo house on Stanford Drive - where I first found my footing as a writer and musician.

III.

Wagon Wheel’s house band was Arroyo Deathmatch, an insane hardcore/folk-punk band that played a weird assemblage of uncommon and handmade instruments and acted as the essential masthead for the local Goathead Record Collective. Besides being the band that I most closely identify with this space, they were the first group I encountered in the Southwest who really completely embodied a DIY ethic. A lot of people coming into music feel as if they need to gather a certain amount of abstract necessities in order to reach a performance level - things like promotional materials, or a clear idea of genre, style, influence, etc. These guys didn’t even need proper instruments. They played a kind of shambling punk on a frankenstein lineup of homemade drums, bass guitars, flutes and ukuleles that was nonetheless really literary and challenging and rousingly political. They hand-printed their own CD jackets, did all their own distribution, and created their own music network before Spotify was a thing and when social media as we now know it was in its infancy.

The first time I caught them was at Wagon Wheel, on their own turf - in the sweaty, postage-stamp sized living room that felt like it was ready to burst with bodies dancing, jumping, singing along. I have no idea how long they had been a band before I encountered them, but the scene that I wandered into felt completely fully-formed by the time I arrived. Folks knew the words to their songs, knew the breaks, wore the fashion and participated fully in the music. The audience was committed to this local band in a way that I had never considered, let alone encountered, in the fragile, decentralized, conservative and suburban music community back home in New England.

Seeing Arroyo Deathmatch for the first time completely reordered my idea of what was possible as a performer - instead of meeting the expectations of an entrenched music scene, as most fledgling musicians attempt to do, they created their own scene, with its own internal logic and set of rules. Obviously this wasn’t the first time this had ever happened in punk history, but to see it happening on such a grassroots level - and with an audience that was so ready to be a part of their thing - was incalculably influential on my soft, teenage brain. I sent them an email, asking how to be a part of that thing, and they set me up with my first show in town. It was the first Bird Friend show - a last-minute addition to the opening ceremonies of the first-ever Mountain Blood Fest. I banged my way through six or seven solo songs, completely unamplified, met our lifelong friend and collaborator Nikki Barva, and was at a Goathead Collective meeting two weeks later.

IV.

Goathead Record Collective was an non-hierarchical affiliation of artists and musicians that organized gear shares, music promotion, and operated a sort of mobile recording studio whose equipment was free to use amongst collective members. They organized a weekly meeting - on Wednesday nights - where participants drew up show schedules and local promo stuff and organized workshops on everything from tour booking and zine-making to discussions about scene politics and self-policing. The location rotated, sometimes taking place at the Bungalow, sometimes at my own place, Coffee House, and most often at Wagon Wheel. A ton of stuff came out of the GRC: an organized network of merch sales, three iterations of Mountain Blood Fest, countless shows at venues ranging from living rooms to warehouses, clubs, and karate studios. That’s not to mention the recorded output: GRC was involved in early releases by bands like Days ‘N’ Daze, and a distinguished list of Albuquerque artists like the Leaky Faces, Manuka Piglet, the Vassar Bastards, and Arroyo Deathmatch themselves. Using the DIY studio setup and a refurbished 10-CD duplicator from the flea market, the collective did hand-made CD releases and promoted them in local newspapers.

If it sounds utopic, it was - and the collective disbanded after a few years. But when I stumbled into it, it was in its halcyon days. At Wagon Wheel and the other houses it felt as though there was an endless parade of bands who, although now fading into history, left a permanent impression on us. Far from the cultural centers of the country, and far even from the curated, “professional” music community of Albuquerque, the weirdest bands in the world summoned magic, effortlessly, night after night. These houses glowed with creative energy, and the more music they contained, the more their myths assumed legendary proportions.

I hoped that some of that magic would rub off when Alexster, of Arroyo Deathmatch, invited Bird Friend to record an album at Wagon Wheel. Our band was - as it’s always been - a pretty loose unit. I had one record out already, a self-titled release that I’d cobbled together with my high school band. It was a gloomy, navel-gazing collection of bummers and breakup songs that nevertheless featured “Parting Gifts,” a song that’d soon become a singalong staple of our years in Albuquerque. I’d been playing solo shows in the city for about six months, and had recruited Cody and Peach of the Leaky Faces to play with me when they were available. My then-roomate (now wife) Carson would sit in on harmony vocals every now and then.

I booked a weekend at Wagon Wheel to bang out some songs I’d been working on; I’d recently read Hesiod’s Theogony & Works and Days and some of Edith Hamilton’s classic Mythology and become really interested in the weird, flawed gods and heroes of ancient Greece. I was a young dude, very far from home and trying to figure things out pretty much completely on my own; I was very aware that I was going through a transitional period, twenty years old and particularly susceptible to self-mythologizing. I began to think of myself as entering a new epoch of my life, and through my involvement in the Collective and the music community I felt as if I were making a full break from the expectations and orthodoxies of my “old life” in New England. It became very important to me to write down what I was seeing unfold all around me.

Reading the ancient stories - which really feel so contemporary at times - pushed me to mythologize what I was living through. The writers, artists, strangers and cities of the Southwest lived on one hand, with the folks I left back in New England on the other. I started to try and fit them into the contours of very, very old stories. I may have been trying to make some sense of the weird new world I found myself in. But I was more certainly writing to my older self; caught in that present utopia, I had the bright idea to create a sort of Myth of Ages that would elevate that fleeting moment to the status of folklore. After all, the excitement of the music community back then felt so much bigger than the sum of its parts. If this radical moment of mass self-actualization was, in its essence, just a bunch of people hanging out in living rooms, it felt huge, important, essential. That meant the only way to write about it was mythologically.

Once again, it’s not like this idea was itself a radical development. Storytelling and tall tales are as old as anything in the folk tradition. But if Bird Friend’s love for the folk tradition has often pitted us against the prevailing currents of popular music, it was - in this instant - the most appropriate vessel.

We only had two days to record the material that would become Our Gods. Some elements of my music life never change, and the matter of scheduling is one of them. Alexster had a day job, a venue to run, and other groups to record; Cody had his other band, Carson was still in school, and I worked nights at the 66 Diner. Peach, who at that point had already played shows with us, may have been out of town or otherwise occupied, and didn’t get to join us at all. As it were, we had two days back-to-back in mid-October to crank out whatever songs we could. We planned a double release with the Leaky Faces in December, so the feeling was that whatever we committed to tape that weekend would pretty much be the album. The “the studio” was set up in the empty living room, and was limited to two microphones and a dining room chair. Alexster’s bedroom served as the control booth.

VI.

A few days before the release, the Collective got together in the basement of the Bungalow, and we had a CD-making party for Our Gods and the Leaky Faces’ Freak Tree. We burned blank discs ten at a time on the duplicator, and cut album covers that we’d printed for free with someone’s UNM library card. We did some beers and carefully glued the covers onto plain black CD jackets, each one stamped with the Goathead Records logo. It was December, and it was cold; in photos from that night, everyone’s wearing jackets and sweaters indoors. I wonder now if the heat was on, or if it was ever on in that house.

We did the show at Wagon Wheel a few nights later - something like eight bands played, and our resident videographer Isaac “Boose” Vallejos got the whole evening on film. That night was Wagon Wheel as I remember it: packed, sweaty, and electric with creative energy. In those days, getting a show at all felt like a blessing - every single performance felt vital, essential, and to attach a whole album to it felt triumphant. I have the videos of the Bird Friend set, and we’re loose, sloppy, full of humor, and backed against the wall by a big crowd of happy people.

The Goathead thing began to splinter apart a few months after Our Gods. Social friction amidst the growing proportions of the scene, not to mention the exhausting undertaking of Mountain Blood Fest II, contributed to a slow drift towards other projects. The atmosphere of idealism was hard to sustain as more people joined the fold, and the collective itself felt more beholden to a sense of expectation and accountability that quickly overwhelmed it.

It was tough to let it all go. It’s not like the shows and the bands simply vanished, but a growing sense of dislocation and disunity began to take over. The essential loss of a mutual support network returned the music scene back to a landscape of unfocused cliques. At this point, I was 21 years old, totally untethered and spinning my wheels. I started drinking a lot, and entered a dark stretch, turning out songs that were long, desperate, and heavy with a sense of doom. I fell down for a while. Eventually I left Albuquerque, in order to hit the reset button before I went too far down an ugly path.

A friend of mine once said that writing is a selfish act. Before he passed away, I often thought about asking him what he meant - and now that I don’t have the chance, I meditate on it often. And writing down these memories so long after the fact, I find myself meditating on it all over again. Maybe it’s selfish to attach too much significance to this brief period of my life. Or maybe it’s selfish to view something that touched so many people through the narrow window of my own, meager experience. After all, the world of New Mexican music was so much bigger than the record collective. Or perhaps it’s selfish to talk about those days like they belonged to some perfect, unspoiled era; for they most certainly did not. All of this history took place against the confused, chaotic backdrop of about a thousand peoples’ early twenties - not generally known as a peaceful or self-assured time in life. Not everyone got out in one piece, or even alive.

Yet I’ve been playing my guitar in front of people for a long time now, and Bird Friend has been around in some form for over a decade. And though I’ve started to suspect that we’re not going to be famous (not that that’s the point), in navigating a whole range of music scenes I’ve started to double back to the questions leftover from the days of Goathead. How do we celebrate each other, and our art? How do we inhabit the role of audience, critic, and creator all with the same grace? And now, in a world whose modernity is more disenfranchising than ever, how do we do it all with dignity?

As musicians, we’re constantly being assaulted by statistics: our plays, our listeners, and their level of engagement is constantly being tracked in extreme, granular detail. Promoters use these numbers to gauge your marketability, an important task in a world where the profitability of a music venue is considered life-or-death. Less people are going to shows, less people are consuming physical media, and the network of music discovery is essentially in the hands of algorithms and AI. The context of a piece of music is often lost when a “user” only spends a few seconds with it on a reel or social media post. The act of creation is its own reward, yet I sometimes find myself asking the most frightening question: what’s the fucking point?

What are we supposed to do as artists? Why do we make music? Who’s it for? In a perfect world, it’s one pathway to building a shared philosophy. That’s what the Goathead era was for me: a forum in which a little music scene was foundational to ideas about culture, community, and mutual support. But what’s the benefit of creating a shared philosophy, if it only exists in a digital space? The town I live in now is supposedly full of artists - and I don’t see a united front against the behemoth of corporate development that’s shuttered a frightening number of venues these last few years. Art as content, art as corporate culture, art supposedly made “accessible” by an internet machine designed primarily to make money are all more dominant than ever - and I sometimes wonder if the concept of an art community actually stands a chance. When I worry, I think of the extremely unlikely success we had in Albuquerque. If it warms me just a little, I also remember that it was all a very long time ago.

Our Gods is not the greatest album ever made. It’s not even the best album Bird Friend ever made. But for myself, and my own personal history (here comes the selfish act again), it represents a little glory that we got to participate in, if only for a while. I wonder if I’ll ever experience that intensity again, but if your time is still yet to come, hear this: somewhere you did, somewhere you will - somewhere you are all together still.

VII. Belated Liner Notes

Listen to “OUR GODS” on Spotify or Bandcamp.

Overture (Muses)

The idea with “Overture” was to start the record with a reference to Greek poetry and to Hesiod’s work by including a rip-off of the kind of invocation that would commonly begin a piece of ancient literature. This little prayer was meant, in the old days, to set the tone and context of a piece and to assure the audience that a storyteller knew what they were talking about. Performed a cappella in one take, I don’t think this song was ever performed again. I still like the concept, and still think it’s clever to flip this old convention on its head by admitting in the first line of the album that the writer of these songs is an unreliable narrator.

Where Are You?

I spent a lot of my younger years wandering around the woods of New England. This is the oldest part of the country, and if a historical site isn’t preserved, it’s quickly swallowed up by nature. The area I grew up in was clear-cut in the 19th century for sheep grazing, and by the early 1900s was completely forested again. There are really no such thing as historical ruins out here, and if you do find something abandoned out in the forest, it’s probably only a few decades old. I saw some coincidence in the idea that, in both the Mediterranean and the Southwest, researchers are constantly finding throwaway evidence of really old civilizations - potsherds, petroglyphs, architectural stuff that’s all just been sitting out in the desert for hundreds or thousands of years that gives you an idea of the everyday lives of people who lived and died generations ago. You can actually just wander out into the desert and see this stuff. It doesn’t get washed away by the rain or the ocean or torn up by a tree root after fifty years. That’s the idea behind “Where Are You?,” a song that supposes what will be left of our lives a thousand years from now. When you’re young, you feel things so, so intensely - how much of that intensity lives in the objects we leave behind? What kind of half-life does it have?

Oh, Pilgrim!

This is a pretty straightforward song, message-wise. It was most likely written before I began to fixate on the “concept” of this album, and it’s more of a clear-cut celebration of my independence and my Big Desert Adventure than anything else. It’s very important in our catalog, however, as the first-ever recorded Carson performance. Her natural gift for harmony is obvious here, and I remember Alexster being somewhat stunned that she pulled her part off in one take. Recording vocals can be the most nerve-wracking element of the studio experience, and her fearlessness in performance and ability to write complex vocal harmonies is as stunning now as it was then.

The Wheel

I haven’t talked much about the dominance of folk punk in the Albuquerque scene of those days. It had already been around for years by that time, and the blank-canvas nature of the genre was well-suited to the limited resources of our little scene. For a while, it felt like folk punk was all there was in the neighborhood, since it could be played convincingly on cheap instruments, by folks with limited chops, and didn’t require anything as burdensome as an amplifier. The minor-key inertia of “The Wheel” owes something to the prevailing folk punk conventions of the day, and seems to be particularly indebted to The Leaky Faces’ “Steam,” even if it doesn’t match the energy of that band.

The Road (Forever Returns to the Heart)

“The Road” flirts with bluegrass, a style whose strict conventions and average level of musicianship are completely foreign to a band as ramshackle and inconsistent as Bird Friend. This was one of the songs that was supposed to include percussion, which is blasphemous in the bluegrass world, and there are live recordings out there that include Peach on the drums. Nevertheless, any listener of “The Road” can probably tell that I’d discovered Ralph Stanley by this point. This is one of the songs from Our Gods that I vividly remember working on; I recall flipping through Tom Robbins’ Jitterbug Perfume as quietly as I possibly could while Cody recorded the freewheeling banjo parts. “The Road” is probably only second to “Parting Gifts” when it comes to its popularity, as well as the number of times it was caught on video during this era. It’s featured in the Before You Burn documentary and on the Mountain Blood Fest II compilation.

Granite & Gold

This is an interesting track. I don’t remember much of what motivated me to write this one, although it strikes me now as some hand-wringing over the future legacy of the Goathead scene. Ten years later, Goathead is long gone, and the artists that are still active have completely evolved. Looking back at that time in such depth feels like going back to a place you used to live in; everything’s different, and a lot of people are gone, but the light still falls in the same way. An uncanny feeling, I guess. Like visiting your old elementary school.

The Fear, The Fear

“The Fear” is a weird composite of a lot of my influences at the time of recording. The title is, of course, ripped from the Defiance, Ohio album of the same name. The guitar part is totally indebted to Bob Dylan’s version of “House Carpenter,” which I played often back when I spent my Sundays busking in Santa Fe. I’m not entirely sure where we got the idea to attempt the weird, sitar-like banjo part, but I suspect it was from Mark Fry’s “The Witch,” which was on heavy rotation at Coffee House. I do also remember Cody joking that the banjo part came out “sounding like Donovan.” Our Gods is a pretty spare record, and I think this is the most ambitious we got during those recording sessions. It’s another comment on the fleeting nature of the community and the anxieties and social pressures that motivate people to choose a life of convention over a life of art.

Our Gods

The title track features Kylee Jo on fiddle. Kylee was staying overnight at Wagon Wheel during the Our Gods sessions; it wasn’t uncommon for house venues to host traveling musicians (or just travelers) even if they weren’t performing there, and Kylee was just on the way to somewhere else when we met. Having never met us before, and certainly never hearing of our band, she agreed to play fiddle on “Our Gods.” I played the song once through to teach the changes, we recorded one fiddle track, I wrote her name down on a piece of receipt paper for the album credits, and we never saw each other again. Some of the most intimate exchanges of ideas happen in your own home, far from performance spaces, and Carson and I have always tried to keep our home open to other artists. It’s a tough world out there, and a little sanctuary can go a long way. Sometimes you even make new friends, or collaborators.

Sucker & St. Joan

Sometimes you look back at a song you wrote and surprise yourself, and in revisiting Our Gods after so many years, this song seems to stand taller among the others. The intent behind this album is clearer here than anywhere else, and the composition, harmony, and structure are all about as highly-developed as I was capable of at age 20. The playing’s good, too; but what really strikes me on “Sucker” is its clarity. Hearing the chorus again, recognizing that even a decade ago we were aware of our community as a temporary junction of lives, is awfully moving - and revisiting this song is what encouraged me to write this piece in the first place. When listening to this song, I can feel my present self looking back, my past self looking forward - and we meet each other somewhere in the middle. I do my best to catch up with people from the old scene, engage with their art, listen to their bands and see what’s going on in their lives. Some folks are still permanent fixtures in the Bird Friend family, while some are like distant relatives. Still others I check in with once a year or so, or catch their shows when they’re in town. Others just cross my mind from time to time, or pass by in the social media parade.

IIX.

Spotify, music streaming, and social media all belonged to a very different landscape a decade ago. Many bands of the Albuquerque community never made it to Spotify for logistical or philosophical reasons; others never recorded much at all, or produced anything that sounded like their live performances. Practically none of the bands of those days are still active - although most of the artists involved are still working, the vast majority of them have moved onto other projects. Much of the Goathead Record Collective’s web presence has been lost over time.

Below, I’ve listed a few songs that are representative of Bird Friend’s world during the 2013-2016 era. Some of it comes from bands we played with, and most of it comes from Albuquerque. All of the bands featured were, in some significant way, affiliated with the house show scene. Bandcamp is still the best way to listen to these artists. If you have the paper edition of this piece, the QR code on the bottom will take you to the web version where you can listen to the music.

If you want the authentic experience, you can download these songs as mp3s, drag them into an iTunes playlist, load them onto an iPod Mini with a cracked screen and listen to them on a skateboard.

The Leaky Faces - Steam

Arroyo Deathmatch - Swimming the Witch

Bella Trout - Coffee Stains

Human Behavior - Crag

Smoke & Mirrors - The Godslayer

Manuka Piglet - Mr. Kelp

Crushed!? - Ethereal Horizon

Soviet Science Fair - Toast (Live 2014)

lemurtween - pee van/no one understands me

Lindy Vision - Bad Things

The Vassar Bastards - Dead Cat

Nobody Particular - Cage Wreck

Colour Me Once - 10,000 Miles to Graceland

Marissa. - Running For The Gates

Klondykes - BTSD

#diy music #folk #folk music #anti folk #folk punk #music #bird friend #new mexico #goathead record collective #personal history #essay #writers on tumblr #digital zine #punk #diy punk #2010s #playlist #Spotify

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painted-bees · 1 month ago

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Okay so, I'm more intrigued by the journey of sexual discovery when it comes to OCs. Like how did Raf come to find his preferences? I'm sure Margie and Raf regard sex differently, but how about Tess? Sure it's gotta be *different* but. Ig I'm curious about the respective povs and the individual learning curves. Significant moments, internal rationalizing and the like

oh, fun questions! I don't think Raf ever settles into a full understanding of what his preferences are...Every time he thinks he has a handle on it, something new throws him for a loop about it hahaha But his first relationship was with a boy that he had kinda grown up with who discovered his sexuality pretty early, and was remarkably unapologetic about it for his own reasons. And that attracted more folks like him into Raf's friend circles. And I think it was via this guy that Raf didn't find his own queerness to be so othering. Raf has never had a "coming out" moment--to anyone, really. Even if he was straight, it wouldn't be something he'd talk about or refer to often, if at all. It was, at least, very easy for Raf to internalize that he's bisexual. And in the entertainment/music industry (incl. classical), even in the 90's...he wasn't an odd one out for it. The realization that his attraction to people is not actually (and never had been) sexual in the way other people describe it--is pretty new, and he's not super convinced about asexuality as a valid thing. It's kind of funny that it was so easy for him to adopt a progressive attitude about gay/bi sexuality, yet is heavily bogged down by skepticism over the idea of asexuality's validity as an identity. Likely, it's because he's never seen or heard of asexuality in his life, be it through people he's met or in the media. Asexual visibility never really took off until very recently...By the 2010's, it was rarely heard of. The apparent "newness" of it is probably what's tripping him up.

Margie and Raf definitely have very different relationships to sex and what it represents lmao. For Margie, it's a fun activity you can do with anyone, you just gotta employ the correct safety equipment to ensure it remains a fun time for everyone. All she wishes is that it was more culturally accepted as a casual activity. Whereas Raf really doesn't see the appeal unless it's with someone he genuinely wants to show love to. Sex with friends or acquaintances just comes with too much emotional baggage, too much risk, and too much opportunity to be extremely, deeply humiliating. And it's kind of gross...like...picking up a half-empty water bottle off the ground at a bus stop and drinking from it. Who's water bottle is this??? Where else has it been??? What's in it???? Nasty. Nah, sex is an enormous gesture of love and trust, a really vulnerable short hand to communicate the relationship's value to him, as well as outlining how important their enjoyment and comfort is to him as a personal responsibility/desire. Tess's idea of sex is similar to Margie's...but on a vastly more...meta scale lmaooo It's a critical aspect of life, just as much as sleeping and eating--and thusly is an important activity to engage in if her goal is to experience the terrifying ordeal of living as closely as she is capable of doing! (and--if Raf wasn't shooting blanks, or if Margie didn't seem so abjectly terrified about the very idea of viable reproduction, Tess would absolutely parent children with one of them lmao. Kinda a let-down that she can't. Oh well, maybe on the next adventure.)

#nsfw-ish #hi-note #magritte #rafael #cortes #not putting this one behind a readmore because it doesn't strike me as like...idk gratuitously lewd?? lmao

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abimess · 2 years ago

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Forbidden - Part 2

Wanda Maximoff x Reader

Masterlist | Be notified of my stories

Summary: Meeting the perfect woman at a party has three complications: 1) you're married; 2) she's your student; 3) she’s too good to let go.

Word count: 6.859 || Pronouns: she/her

Warnings: smut [18+ only!]

A/N: And it's finally here! I can't believe it took me so long to finish this chapter, I'm so sorry hahaha I hope you all enjoy it though!

You do NOT have permission to repost or translate my work on any platforms (even with credit)

Series Masterlist | Previews part

───── ⋅ ✮ ⋅ ─────

“You’re home.” The surprise in your voice disguises how mentally tired you are, your hand loosening the knot of your tie as you furrow your brows. Blond hair stuffed in the refrigerator was the last thing you expected to see when you got home.

“I am.” Carol says as she fits in an upright posture, a bottle of beer in her hand and a sloppy smile on her face. “I was on the phone with your dad this morning and he told me you had settled in, so I stopped by.” The information makes you frown, setting your bag on the kitchen counter after you get rid of your shoes. “Why were you on the phone with my dad?”

“We’re closing another partnership.” She says simply, using a dishcloth to open the glass bottle. You barely give her a hum of understanding, moving to the sink so you can pour yourself a glass of water.

Ever since you and Carol started to grow serious, your father offered her a partnership. You weren’t sure what a Football player would offer a tech company such as Stark Industries, but Howard found a way to make it work, advertising more and more training-oriented products, always with your wife as the poster girl.

To say that the deal has enriched not only your father but also Carol is an understatement. And the partnership that was wonderful at the beginning, became your biggest nightmare as your marriage began to sink, and your father became more and more emphatic about you staying in it.

“You should call him, he misses you.” The blonde speaks after a few minutes of silence, turning to face you with her hip resting on the kitchen counter. You resist the urge to roll your eyes as you finish your water unhurriedly. You’re pretty sure what she meant to say is that he misses the opportunity to micromanage every single aspect of your life. “And so have I.”

“Oh, have you?” You hit back as you wash your glass, sarcasm dripping from your words, completely unconvinced. “Come on, Y/n, can we not do this right now? I just got home.” Carol complains tiredly, a loud huff leaving her lips before she speaks, but you remain silent, your back to her as you keep your place by the sink.

When your relationship with the blonde started, you were sure there would be no other woman in the world for you. No one would ever be able to make you so happy, to love you as she did. That was your truth for so many years, and although there’s a part of you that still wants to believe that, it grows weaker every time you see pictures and videos of her from the times she spent away.

Always with some other girl, her hands around her waist or neck, laughing as she used to do with you, whispers in ears that used to flip your stomach but now just made you sick. There was never something more incriminating than that - although, to you, all of those images were incriminating enough.

But with every fight, every shouted accusation and lame excuses, Carol always found a way to keep you believing her, to make you ignore the small voice in your head that told you to leave. Of course, the insistent pressure from your family helped her a lot with that. Still, she couldn’t stop it from hurting.

“I’m gonna go shower.” You let her know when you’re done, wiping your hands on the back of your pants. “I could join you.” She tries, moving closer, but you screw your eyes shut to disguise your irritation. “Today was really tiring.” You cut her off more harshly than you intended, and your wife's hurt expression makes you sigh. “Maybe some other time.” You suggest, rubbing the bridge of your nose, and the blonde forces a sad smile as she nods slowly. “Sure. I’ll make us some dinner, then.”

She doesn’t wait for a response before she turns around and makes her way back to the refrigerator. But you’re pretty sure you saw a few tears pooling in her eyes, so you sigh softly, your jaw locked as you move closer to her.

“I’m glad you’re home.” You tell her with a hand over her shoulder, and Carol turns her face to you the same moment, her surprised expression lit by the refrigerator light. “Me too.” She answers with a smile, and you force one in response before you leave the kitchen.

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

The rest of the term is hell.

Seeing Wanda every Tuesday and Thursday is killing you slowly, no matter how she chooses to behave for the day. Sometimes, she’ll ignore you completely, keeping her gaze down on the pages of her notebook for the two hours that your class lasts. At other times, she’ll keep her gaze at you, barely blinking, her jaw tensed, her expression letting you know that, if she could, she would jump on your neck.

What makes it all the worse, is that she keeps ignoring your attempts to reach her, all your calls going straight to voicemail, all your texts completely ignored. And the worst part is that you can’t even blame her. She’s right. You lied to her, even if you didn’t use your words to do so. You disregarded her trust in you and you’d forever hate yourself for it.

“You look too depressed, even for an artist.” A voice you’ve grown accustomed to sounds in your ears as you walk towards your office, and you giggle softly, slowing your pace so that the redhead can catch up with you. “I’m not an artist, I’m a professor.”

“I think this explains your suffering better.” Natalia retorts with amusement, making you laugh some more. The two of you then make some small talk as you walk together to the faculty building, greeting a few acquaintances and students you meet around the campus along the way.

“Doing anything fun for the Holidays?” The Russian Professor asks when you reach your office door, and you move the books you were holding to only one of your hands so you can unlock the door. “I’m going to visit my parents in their winter cabin, so no.” You tell her, which makes her laugh. “What about you?”

“Visiting my parents too.” She answers with her arms crossed, resting her shoulders on the door frame as you move inside the room, placing your belongings on your desk - completely messy due to the end of the term. “They said they met a ‘nice guy’ they wanted to introduce to me, so I’ll make sure to be extra gay once I get there.” Natalia tells with a roll of her eyes, and you let out a giggle. “I hardly believe someone would ever doubt your homosexuality.”

“Thank you, that’s the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me.” The redhead says in an overly dramatic tone, with her hands over her chest and pretending she’s about to cry. You laugh as you shake your head in amusement, and the other smiles before asking, “Are you going home yet?”

“No, I have some grades to double-check before I leave.” You let her know as you dramatically plop yourself down on your chair, making her laugh. “Alright. Happy Holidays, Y/n/n.” She wishes with a kind smile, to which you respond with one of your own as you say. “Happy Holidays, Nat.”

The redhead leaves your office after that, closing the door behind her. As you turn your laptop on, you check your phone once again, just in case she has answered you. Of course she didn’t, the stack of messages sent staring back at you. So you let out a long sigh and, shoving your phone back in your pocket, you start to work.

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

“Wanda! There's delivery for you! Again.” Yelena changes her shouted tone for an annoyed grumble as she says the last word, forcing a smile at the delivery guy as she signs the tablet he offers her. Wanda, from her bedroom, sighs, already knowing what it was before having to see it with her own eyes.

Not content with filling her cell phone with calls and texts, your new approach was gifting. Well, not new, exactly, once you’ve been doing it since the end of the past term. To make matters worse, your gifts were always thoughtful. First, you sent red roses and a note, apologizing again and saying you chose the flowers because you remember she had some decorating her room. Yelena and Kate suggested she throw them away, however, and they ended up on the terrace of the building, burning the flowers on a portable grill one of the neighbors lent them.

The next gift was a box of chocolates, but what surprised Wanda the most was the small golden kosher stamp, certifying that the product follows the Jewish dietary law. Living in the States and with a routine as chaotic as any college student's can be, Wanda always has a hard time following the rules that her religion sets, most of all when it comes to food. But she tries her best to do so and she couldn’t help thinking it was really sweet of you to be this thoughtful. Although her friends suggested tossing in the trash the letter that came along with the box, all the girls agreed that throwing away chocolate would be a crime, so they kept that one.

You also sent a Gray Wolf plush - the national animal of her birthplace - and a book about the history of the city of Kraków. Neither Yelena nor Kate understood what that last gift meant, but the brunette did, and she decided to keep the story to herself, ignoring her rosy cheeks and her friends' complaints to take the gift to her room.

So yes, Wanda was still very pissed off and hurt by the entire situation. But your persistent, thoughtful gifts were finding a way to get to her heart. And she hated it.

“Uh, is it chocolate again? I loved the ones she sent last week.” Kate gets to Yelena before Wanda does, leaving her place in the kitchen - where she was preparing a sandwich - to approach the blonde and whatever it is she has in her hands. “It’s not for you, Bishop.” Belova scolds, moving the silver box away from the other girls’ hands, and Wanda chuckles at the interaction.

When she’s close enough, Yelena hands her the box - which is only slightly larger than a shoebox. Kate and Yelena fall silent as they watch Wanda holding the item in her hands, and examining it for a moment before taking it to the kitchen counter. When the brunette opens the lid, the other two girls frown in confusion, but she has a small smile on the corner of her lips.

“What flowers are those?” Bishop is the one who asks, watching as Wanda takes the bouquet carefully out of the box, the small white flowers enhancing the beautiful green of the leaves. “Lilies of the valley.” The brunette answers with an easy smile, her eyes never leaving the flowers, and Kate takes no time in googling it on her phone. “It's a flower of forgiveness.”

“It’s also Sokovia’s national flower.” Wanda adds, her smile growing as she fails to ignore the butterflies in her stomach. And as Kate lets out a soft ‘awn’, Yelena crosses her arms, snorting. “That’s not desperate at all.”

“I think it’s kinda cute.” Bishop retorts to the other's sarcasm, receiving a warning look. “Don’t encourage it!” The blonde grumbles, lightly hitting her friend's arm for emphasis. “What? It is! She’s really trying!” Kate hits back, defensively, but Yelena only snorts again. “She used our friend! She just wanted someone to have fun with in her boring married life. A poor, innocent girl to discard after a one-night stand...”

“I’m right here.” Wanda grumbles with an unamused expression, earning from Yelena an apologetic grimace. “I don’t think that’s necessarily true.” Bishop responds to her friend's previous comment, folding her arms with a pensive expression. “Like, would she be sending all these gifts if it was that meaningless? I mean, it’s been months.”

Belova lets out a disbelieving laugh, rolling her eyes. But when they rest on Wanda’s face again, she frowns. “Oh no, you’re thinking, stop thinking!” Yelena warns, but the brunette doesn’t let go of her thoughtful frown. “Kate may be right though.” She says with a shrug, putting the flower back on the box, and the blonde takes her annoyed gaze to the taller one in the room. “Are you happy?”

“Look, I’m not saying she’s not wrong about what she’s done.” Kate defends herself, her gaze shifting between Wanda and Yelena. “She still lied to you and, worse, she’s still married.” The brunette can’t help but let her eyes fall on the flowers you sent as she hears her friend, and she decides to close the lid so she can think straight. “But, I don’t know, maybe you mean more to her than you think you do. What did she say when you confronted her, again?”

“She said it didn’t have to be the last time, but I didn’t let her say more than that.” Wanda recalls with her arms hugging her own body to protect herself from the memories and the messed-up situation she’s in - without much success, however. Kate snaps her fingers. “See? Maybe she does like you and wants to be with you, even if she’s married. Oh my God, this is so exciting!”

“Are you listening to yourself?” Yelena asks, completely baffled, drawing all eyes back to her. “She’s our professor. You can’t date your professor!” She reasons, but Kate just snorts dismissively. “Of course you can! It’s super hot too, everyone wants to do that.” The comment makes Wanda laugh softly with amusement, shaking her head. But Yelena is still annoyed by it all. “It’s illegal.”

“I’m not underage, Yelena, I’m capable of making my own decisions.” The brunette speaks for the first time after a while, an eyebrow raised in her direction, but the blonde shakes her head. “It’s not about that, Wanda, it’s against the university rules, she’ll be fired.” The comment makes the brunette furrow her brows, she hadn’t thought about it that way before.

“You better tell your sister about that.” Kate breaks the silence with a teasing smirk that makes Yelena almost growl in anger. “That’s it, I’m leaving.” The blonde doesn't even finish talking to start stomping away towards the exit of their shared apartment. “Lena, come on, it was just a joke!” Bishop tries to hide a smile as she follows the other girl out and Wanda laughs softly at the other two before looking at the box on the counter again, staring at it for a while before deciding to take it with her to her room.

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

Going back to school after the winter break ends also means seeing you again and Wanda wasn't sure how she felt about it. She was still mad at you for everything you’ve done to her, of course. But after almost three months - and your constant gifts and trying to reach out to apologize - the brunette couldn’t deny she was getting soft.

As she walks with her friends to your classroom - Kate by her left shoulder and Yelena by her right one -, Wanda feels her heart skipping two beats with every step she takes. The other two girls, completely unaware of the brunette’s struggles, keep talking excitedly about something she wasn’t really paying attention to, but was trying really hard to do so.

Now, Wanda wasn’t sure what was going to happen once they finally reached the classroom. Maybe your eyes would meet and you’d smile at her again, and she’d be incapable of not smiling back and everything would be fine. Or you wouldn’t even spare her a glance, having grown tired of waiting for her. What she did not expect, however, is that one of her classmates would be talking to you - or rather, flirting with you.

“I told you, everyone wants to date a professor.” Kate comments by her side as she follows Wanda’s furious gaze with her own to where you were talking to Anna Marie, who had her hand resting on your arm lightly. “What’s wrong with people wanting to date their teachers?” Yelena grumbles as she pushes her friends to some chairs close to the exit, and Wanda has a hard time taking her eyes away from you to walk.

“Well, it’s not every day we have a Professor who isn’t seventy years old.” Kate comments with amusement, placing her stuff on the table. “And, with all due respect, Wanda, but she’s kinda hot.” The girl’s elbow hitting her side playfully finally tears the brunette’s eyes from the front of the class, blinking a few times to recollect her thoughts. As Kate laughs softly, Yelena grumbles displeased. “Gross.”

“You’re just mad about it because half of your friends want to sleep with your sister.” Bishop retorts with amusement, and Yelena grumbles once again, changing her desk so that Wanda is sitting between her and Kate. “That’s it, you’re not sitting by my side.” Kate only chuckles softly, but the brunette hasn't been paying attention for a long time.

In the front of the classroom, Anna is still talking to you - and with her hand still annoyingly on your forearm. But you push her hand away politely and, although she can’t hear from that distance, by the motion of your hand the brunette thinks you told the other girl to go sit down.

As Marie finds a place to sit, your eyes scan the room, stopping when they meet Wanda’s. At first, she’s frozen, not sure if she should look away or keep staring. But you offer her a small smile - nearly invisible at that distance -, and avert your gaze the next moment when the brunette doesn’t reciprocate, her blood still boiling inside her veins.

So you start your class as naturally as you can and, as the hours go by, you have no trouble noticing that today is one of the days Wanda looks at you as if she wants to jump on your neck.

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

From the next class on, everything changes.

You were drinking from your water bottle on Thursday when Wanda arrived with her friend, and you almost choked at the sight of her. Instead of the casual clothes she usually wears to class, her lower half is very poorly covered by a miniskirt, and the tight-fitting tank top she wears exposing a fair amount of her chest have you drooling.

To make matters worse, once her eyes meet yours she sends you a smirk full of meaning, her lower lip trapped between her teeth before she looks away. The interaction is brief, but it’s more than enough to make your brain malfunction for the rest of the class. The way the brunette is clearly having fun with the whole thing doesn’t help.

And that’s how the classes went. Wanda showing up in shorter and shorter clothes, messing with your sanity whenever your eyes landed on her, either by biting the pen cap, crossing her arms with the sole purpose of making her breasts even more evident under her cleavage, or even spreading her legs apart slightly so you can see the color of her panties - sometimes, when she was sitting close enough, you could even see the dark stain of her arousal.

You had no idea where all that was coming from. But - as much as you liked it - it had to end, because you were getting increasingly distracted in class, to the point where some students noticed your uneased posture, and asked if you were alright. So, one afternoon after the class was over, you called her over.

“Miss Maximoff, do you have a moment, please?” You asked, trying to sound as unaffected as you could, beckoning the younger girl to approach you by your table. “Yes, Professor?” The brunette asks as she does so, her innocent voice sounding unnatural in the face of the little smirk on the corner of her face.

You find yourself wondering how the hell she can look so pretty all the damn time, especially with that red dress that was too short for the sake of your mental health and a black jacket over it that highlights the red locks of her hair. Your eyes almost linger on her mouth for too long until the noises of your students leaving attract your attention again. So you clear your throat awkwardly, pretending to look through some papers and missing the way her smirk grows wider. “I, uh, I’d like to discuss the third topic of your essay, I don’t think it is very clear to me.”

“Well, Professor, what I meant by that is that one of the pillars of art is desire, isn't it?” She points out the discussion you had in previous classes, but you can barely listen, too busy trying to keep your brain working properly as she rests her palms over the table with her stretched out, highlighting her cleavage… “Every piece of art seeks to arouse a craving in its consumers, an irresistible hunger they cannot deny-”

“Wanda, you’re killing me.” You interrupt with a groan, your voice low so the few remaining students won’t hear, your hand loosening your tie to try and relieve the heat - which obviously doesn’t help. “I don’t know what you mean, professor, I’m just explaining my essay.” The brunette hits back, and although her posture is dismissive, her amused tone gives her away, making you sigh in surrender. “Can we talk? Please, I-”

“I’m sorry Professor, I have another class in ten minutes.” She says with a forced apologetic grimace, checking the time on her phone. “Maybe I can go to your office after dinner time?” She suggests before you can complain, taking a step closer to you, and you have to resist the urge to take a step back, gulping harshly as you nod your head dumbly. The effect she has on you… You’d never be able to explain.

“S-sure, I’ll be waiting for you.” You manage to stutter out, your eyes glued on her lips when she offers you a broad smile. “Okay. See you later, professor.” She says her goodbyes, and doesn’t wait for your answer before walking away. Not that you would’ve been able to, too focused on the sway of her hips intentionally done to catch your eye.

⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅ ─ ⋅

You can barely focus on any of your classes after that, and all your interactions happen on autopilot as all you can think about is your meeting with Wanda after dinner. And when the time finally comes, you’re passing back and forth anxiously around your office.

The knocks on your door startle you slightly and you take a few seconds to check your reflection in the small mirror on the corner, fixing your hair as you walk to the door. The wooden piece swings to your right at your own strength, revealing on the other side the brunette you’ve wanted to see since the very first second she left the classroom earlier today.

It hasn't been long since then, only a gap of a few hours. But the atmosphere between the two of you has already changed completely, a dense cloud of uncertainty and anticipation dancing around the both of you, growing thicker with each passing moment of you staring into each other's eyes.

“Hi.” Wanda is the one who breaks the silence first, her posture - once determined and defiant now almost insecure, with one hand firmly around the bag's strap and the green irises struggling to remain in yours. “Hey.” You say back just as softly, moving to the side just enough for the girl to enter your office. She offers you a minimal smile as she does so, and it’s right there that you realize how much you’ve missed it these past months.

The click of the door closing behind you is the prelude to a long moment of silence that follows between you, broken by the faint noise of students and faculty walking around campus. Wanda stops facing you in the middle of the room, her back to your desk, appearing uncomfortable in that place she had never been before. You watch her in silence, your mind racing with everything you wanted to say right now, your chest tightening preventing you from doing so.

“Wanda, what’s happening?” You condense all your questions into one, the lump in your throat turning into a tired scoff. “One day you hate me, won’t even look at me if not to glare at me as if I were the worst person in the world - not that I can blame you for that, of course, but... In the next you are…” You point at her, remembering the stunt she pulled in class earlier, and once again the words fail you, leaving you unable to say anything but repeat the question, “what’s happening?”

The brunette remains silent. Her eyes drop from yours, her jaw locked and her expression thoughtful. She seems to be searching for the right words, you imagine, and you don't push her to do so, remaining silent, watching her with as much patience as your anxious brain allows you. A little longer than a minute later, she sighs.

“I saw you talking to Anna before class the other day.” Wanda tells, a tone almost shameful. You furrow your brows in confusion, but your obliviousness only earns you an annoyed grunt from the brunette. “She was flirting with you so bluntly, in front of everyone and I… I was so angry, I just…” You finally remember the day she mentioned, when one of your students came to you before class started. But you barely pay any mind to it, too curious about the words the girl in front of you is holding back from saying.

“I don’t want you looking at any other girl but me.” A low gasp leaves your lips at her confession, your mouth agape with surprise. “I don’t.” You say wholeheartedly, your restless mind suddenly empty. “Your wife wouldn’t like to hear you say that.” The brunette accuses bitterly, one eyebrow raised as her features contort into an angry expression. “I’ve seen pictures of the two of you. You look cute together, happy.”

“And you believe everything you see on the internet, I suppose.” You return her sarcastic tone with an amused yet devoid of humor one, a dry laugh escorting your words. Wanda looks at you with curiosity this time, and you put your hands in your pockets, looking away as you tell, “Carol and I are not happy, we haven’t been in a long time. My marriage, it’s not… It just doesn’t work anymore.”

“And why don’t you end it?” Wanda asks in a heartbeat, the expression on her face indecipherable when you look up at her again. “It’s complicated.” You answer simply with a shrug of your shoulders. The last thing you wanted right now was to talk about the misfortunes of your failed marriage. The answer doesn’t please the brunette in the slightest however, who scoffs in disbelief with her arms crossed, rolling her eyes as she murmurs, “of course it is.”

“I mean it.” You hit back firmly, and wait for her to look at you again to speak. She's reluctant to do so at first, but when her eyes finally meet yours, they're hurtful, and you sigh wearily. “I wanna end things. I do. I just… I’m just finding it hard to find the right time to do so.” Your words are honest, but they don’t convince Wanda, who merely nods in understanding, looking down at her feet once again.

“Did you, hm, did you like the gifts I sent you?” You try to change the subject, because the last thing you want right now is to see her sad, even if you can’t do much to change that. The brunette seems to have a similar line of thinking, because when she looks up again, her expression is playful.

“Was that you?” The teasing question makes you let out a chuckle, looking away at your shoes and missing the way she smiles at you. “I did.” She answers finally, her tone softer this time. “Kate loved the chocolates, by the way, she’s been looking for them everywhere. Where did you find them?”

“I had a friend help me out.” You answer vaguely, and Wanda doesn't want to think too much about the butterflies in her stomach at the mere thought of you talking about her to other people. Fortunately for her, she doesn’t have to, because your approaching footsteps catch her attention, and having you so close again makes her brain stop working for a second.

“I’m really sorry, Wanda.” You change the tone of the conversation once more, the glint behind your eyes as pleading as your tone when you reach out for her hands. “I never meant to hurt, much less to use you.” You assure her honestly, and the brunette tries not to be so distracted by the soft caress your thumbs offer the back of her hands. “I should’ve been honest about my situation and about what I want.”

“And what do you want?” The younger girl asks, her tone so low you’re sure you only heard her due to your closeness. “You.” You don’t think twice before you answer, appreciating the way she holds her breath. Her pupils are blown and they fall to your lips that same second, but you fight the urge to kiss her to keep talking. “And I know I’m married and I’m your professor, the situation couldn’t be any worse. But that doesn't make me want you any less.”

“I want you too.” The brunette confesses back, a short smirk at the corner of her lips at the low gasp you let out. “I-I don't care about these things. I know I should, but… I just want you, in whatever way you can be mine.” She finds herself saying, surprising not only you but herself at the sudden utterance.

“Are you sure about this?” You ask, your eyebrows frowning in a way that displays all your uncertainty. But Wanda’s smile only grows, nodding her head in an almost silly way as the words make more and more sense to herself. “Yes.” She answers verbally not long after, her eyes coming back to your own in an attempt to reassure you further. “Yes, I’m sure.”

“I’m gonna kiss you now, then.” You’re smiling as you let her know, a smile that only grows as she lets out a silly little laugh, nodding her head again as she agrees, “okay.”

You take no time in leaning in, and the brunette takes even less to meet you halfway, your lips touching for the first time after so long. The muscles of your bodies relax in untold synchrony, your mouths finding a perfect rhythm as easily as the first time they did so, all those months ago.

Her hands find the sides of your face at the same moment that yours take a hold of her waist, pulling her closer to your own body. The sigh she lets out makes the hair on the back of your neck stand on end, but before you can deepen the kiss, she is pulling away to say, "God, I missed you so much."

"I missed you too." You confess equally breathlessly, your lips brushing together as you speak. "There hasn't been a moment in these last months that I haven't been thinking about you." The brunette's contented giggle is all you get in response before she leans forward again, kissing you harder than before.

The fabric of her dress slides up as you caress her sides, and you instantly remember the scene from earlier, pulling away once again and chuckling softly at the small whimper of protest she lets out. “You look beautiful in this dress by the way.” You praise, letting your gaze descend on her figure as you admire her briefly.

“You’ll like me better without it.” Wanda’s words are rushed against your mouth, and she gives you no room to speak as she kisses you again, her hands firmly in your hair to prevent you from escaping her again. To her delight, you had no intention of doing so, kissing her harder instead.

As her tongue dances around yours, you push her gently yet hurriedly, walking a few steps with her until her hips hit the hard wood of your desk. Wanda doesn’t hesitate when they do so, sitting atop the piece of furniture and wrapping her legs around your middle, pressing your body against hers further. One of her hands untangles from your locks only to tug at your tie, and you lose all your sanity at once, groaning against her lips as your hand invades her dress without warning.

The brunette breaks the kiss with a loud gasp as she feels your fingers push the fabric of her panties aside, and lets out a sinful moan when you stick two of them into her at once, your digits sliding with ease through her arousal. You are quick to kiss her again, swallowing her moans as they escape her throat. But the wet sounds of your hand fucking her so hard echo around you, making your own core burn.

As her orgasm approaches, Wanda leads her hands to your shoulders, her nails digging into your skin through the fabric, her mouth failing to keep the rhythm on yours. So you move your own to her jaw and neck, biting and sucking on her skin just enough so it wouldn’t leave a mark.

The brunette, on the other hand, focuses all her strength on being quiet, her eyes screwed shut and her lower lip trapped between her teeth to prevent any of her moans and whimpers from coming out. But it’s all in vain once you press your thumb on her clit, and Wanda has to bury her face on your shoulder, biting your skin to muffle the sounds she’s unable to keep to herself.

You only stop when her trembling hand rests over your wrist, and you smile to yourself at the mess you made out of her so quickly, missing her warmth the same instant you pull your fingers out of her. The brunette sighs at the lack, her walls clenching around nothing as she tries to recover from her climax. You kiss her sweaty forehead as you wait, smoothing the skin of her thighs with your hands, unaware of the way the touch makes her tremble.

Not after long, Wanda lifts her face from your shoulder, and her smile is the last thing you see before she kisses passionately. You barely have the time to reciprocate it before her fingers find your belt, and your grip on her thighs immediately intensifies in anticipation. But before she can go any further, her phone is ringing.

"Shit." She grumbles as she pulls away, hastily engaging in finding the device inside her bag. "H-hi, Pietro!" She greets as soon as she finds the cell phone, an excited and surprisingly innocent tone. You, on the other hand, blink a few times, trying to keep up with the sudden change of events, your hands still on her legs under her dress as you try to catch your breath.

"No! No, I'm coming, I just..." You watch as the brunette talks to the person you don't know, your chest tightening a little in anticipation for the longing you know you will be left with after she's gone. "I had an inconvenience to sort out." She finishes her own sentence finally, and when you raise a single eyebrow, she rolls her eyes with a smile. "But I'm done, I'm on my way... Okay, bye."

"An inconvenience?" You ask teasingly as she hangs up, taking a few steps back so she can stand up. The question earns you a brief chuckle from the brunette as she gets to her feet again. "Sorry, would you rather I told my brother I was busy fucking my Professor?" You laugh back at her joke, grimacing a response that makes a smile grow on her face before it fades away. "I have to go now."

"Five more minutes." You mumble as you pull her close again, your arms secure around her waist. "I can't." Wanda says amidst a giggle, even though she makes not the slightest effort to disengage from your embrace. "I have to pick my brother up at the airport." She tells you, laughing some more when you grimace in displeasure.

"I'll return the favor, I promise." The brunette promises, her hands over your chest and a suggestive tone that matches her smirk perfectly. "Hmm, it's the second time you say that but who's counting?" You tease with an easy smile, biting back a laugh when she narrows her eyes in your direction. "I will return all of them, okay." She lightly slaps your shoulder to display her own displeasure, taking advantage of the action to wrap her arms around your neck. You let out a low chuckle, murmuring in understanding before rubbing your nose against hers affectionately.

"But now I gotta go." Wanda comments against her own will, her stomach doing somersaults at the display of affection. But she doesn't comment on it, and you sigh in surrender. "Okay." Your arms leave her middle to give way to your fingers intertwining with hers as you guide her toward the door.

"Oh, wait!" The brunette snaps the fingers of her free hand as if remembering something before you reach the office exit, earning her a curious look from you in response. "Is there really something wrong with my essay or was that just an excuse?" she asks worriedly, and you can't help but giggle before assuring her, "I haven't read it yet actually."

Wanda murmurs in understanding, but it doesn't take long for a smirk to grow at the corner of her mouth, looking at you mischievously. "I'm hoping you'll be nice while grading it, professor." She comments suggestively, tracing her fingertips lightly down your collarbone. You swallow dryly, pushing away the effect she has on you to smile teasingly back. "Are you using me for good grades, Miss Maximoff?"

"It's more of a bonus, really." She retorts with a shrug, and you let out an amused laugh with a slight roll of the eyes that makes her smile. "Well, I'll have you know there will be no favoritism." You retort with a playful tone of reprimand, but Wanda doesn't back down, raising an eyebrow at you instead.

"Is that so?" She steps forward to ask, her breath brushing your skin along with her nose on yours. "But I thought I was your favorite." She comments with a pout, giving you puppy dog eyes that you have no trouble realizing would make her get you to do anything for her.

"You are, but we can't let other people know that, can we?" You retort with amusement, tilting your head to the side and adjusting your posture so as to put a little more distance between the two of you. Although she tries to disguise it, you can tell by her expression that she's annoyed that her teasing hasn't worked, and you have to hold back a giggle as you admire the scene.

"Besides, it's not like you need it anyways, you're already my best student." You praise wholeheartedly, earning a contented smile and rosy cheeks in return. The adorable sight makes it impossible for you to hold back any longer, and you soon lean forward, capturing her lips in a soft kiss. The brunette giggles as she reciprocates it, but before she can even bring her hands to the sides of your face, you are pulling away.

"You should go now." You comment, and the brunette's eyes widen slightly as she remembers that her brother was waiting for her at the airport on the other side of town. "I should." She agrees with a nod of her head, but soon her countenance softens, looking at you with sparkling eyes and an easy smile. "Bye, Y/n."

"Bye, Wanda." You say goodbye in the same tone, a smile on your face matching hers perfectly and that only grows when she pecks your lips goodbye. You finally open the door for her then, and the brunette casts you one last look before walking out of your office. You watch her walk away until she is out of your field of vision before returning to work at your desk. And for the rest of the evening, you have a silly smile on your face.

Part 3

#wanda maximoff x reader #wanda maximoff #elizabeth olsen x reader #elizabeth olsen #wanda maximoff au

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maximumwobblerbanditdonut · 5 months ago

Text

What to Expect from the New Sassenach Member of Staff.

The decision to recruit an additional staff member always this new staff member has a responsible role to play too.

Ashley Hearn met new people recently, so she gave publicly her resume an introduction that no one asked for but here she goes anyway. You know her on IG by @spiritswithash despite her name being Ashley, some might call her - Ash, Smashley, Shley, and the list goes on.

She’s 36, but mentally She’s a 26-year-old -her words- (There is no room for debate, she has given evidence on this point) She’s a drinks devotee, (along SH’s path) workout fanatic (that remains to be seen), paddleboard enthusiast, and travel addicted, She was a math teacher in a public school and also coached volleyball and basketball.

Although she's not a professional photographer, she picked up her first camera in 2020 taking photos of friends in the bar industry, different spirits, and cocktails. Even though you see her drink a ton of gin whisky, and cocktails, She worked for Jägermeister the popular German Herbal Liqueur brand in the US.

As she said, She has been a jack of all trades for Jägermeister. In the 1980s, Jägermeister introduced the concept of the "Jägerette," who was essentially the embodiment of the Jägermeister spirit. As part of the brand's strategy to appeal to young party-goers, these attractive "shot girls" in distinct Jägermeister uniforms were tasked with visiting bars and distributing drinks to increase awareness of the brand. This initiative has since become a tradition in the Jägermeister market.

If that is the concept she has for The Sassenach market, It will be a tireless party mission, with outfits different and a program adapted to the respective party crowd at her friend’s bars.

Later on, as a PR and Culture Manager, she organised events. This opportunity in the Jägermeister gave her a start in the industry particularly enjoying an ice-cold shot. Remember that Jägermeister is best served straight from the freezer at -18⁰C.

However, she lacks the experience needed as a marketing manager within the spirits industry, as it is so competitive. In the meantime, she has been after SH until to get what she wanted to join Sassenach Spirits’ team.

If anyone is not sure about her interests: she has more interests than you can imagine, but not naturally, they are all planned. It seems like a good time to see her “friend' from the 90s, Chrissy Beaudette Tinelli probably knows Ashley's interests. Or not? 🤔

This means that her position in the SH business is essential for making herself known. She has clear ideas about what she wants to pursue with SH, not the brand itself. Is it fair to describe the situation as "ambitious" if you don't know how an ambitious person acts to achieve their goals? You're looking at one.

She travelled to Scotland around Tartan Day in April this year and then signed up for Hyrox America (NYC) held on June 1st, 2024, on Pier 76 in Hudson River Park to compete in Hyrox women's doubles. Who knows if she is interested in MPC? 💁‍♀️ She does everything she can to promote herself in front of SH, and since SH has lately been losing his head over several things, this decision could be one of them.

There are no individuals here for business meetings. This hire lacks good ideas, a portfolio of contacts, or a solid promotional plan for Sassenach spirits. She only has experience with one spirits brand, which is not sufficient for the whisky, gin, or tequila market. In Scotland, no one knows Miss Hearn from working closely with marketing colleagues.

Perhaps, She has a design on the top of her head quite different from her Sassenach duties like bringing water to the boss while he signs his bottles of whisky or gin and organising rows of SH’s fans, her job will be like Chrissy a sales promoter, she illustrates Sassenach drinks uses, offer free tastings and hand out flyers. She also approaches passers in a trade show area with a dedicated display where potential customers will see the Sassenach products, but it seems her idea in mind is quite different and this will be an impossible dream.

Looks like she has already started her job at the Bar Convent Brooklyn, (BCB) an international bar and beverage trade show in Industry City, NY at the beginning of last week.

Marketing managers represent the marketing team to cross-functional groups including product management, sales, and customer service. So, on her first day as Market Manager at Industry City, which groups did she collaborate with to create an offering message for Sassenach’s products? Additionally, what new channels did she identify to reach new customers in Brooklyn, New York?

Or is she just taking photos of Sassenach bottles for that job? SH already has a photographer with a free tourist guide included for that purpose in Scotland. Why are women around SH in this business so annoying?

The figurehead of the Sassenach brand is SH. The brand's success rests on him. Miss Hearn is not involved in public relations, but rather focuses on marketing and growing the company's sales by reaching customers. If Chrissy, who is backed by her family a beverage alcohol importer, and distributor, in New York not reach expectations, what can be expected from an unknown person in the alcoholic drinks market?

Ashley indicated her affiliation with Sassenach Spirit on her identification pass. She talks a lot about her position, and she seems to think it's very important.🙄 It appears that BCB included the promotion of the “Outlander Cocktails” book by James Shy Freeman and Rebeccah Marsters and the Foreword by Diana Gabaldon.

“Don’t mix business" is very appropriate in a trade show. Mixing business with a professional career can lead to conflicts of interest. One should maintain a clear boundary between work and personal business, as it can be beneficial for both. However, SH relies heavily on Outlander. How he’s going to cope once the series ends. What will happen to his business when his popularity ends and all fly the coop? 📉

Also, with OL ending, there are only a few months left until SH's popularity fades away. After that, she will have only her imagination. Photography will continue to pursue their Midsummer Night's Dream in Glencoe, Scotland.🏴󠁧󠁢󠁳󠁣󠁴󠁿

“Outlander Cocktails” book by James Shy Freeman and Rebeccah Marsters and the Foreword by Diana Gabaldon.

Definitely in SH’s business, There is no worse blind person than the one who does not want to see.🤫

Posted 18th June 2024

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priyankap0018 · 10 months ago

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Bottle by Bottle: Unraveling the Size of the Global Bottled Water Market

The Bottled Water Sector encompasses the production, packaging, and distribution of bottled drinking water. It addresses the growing demand for convenient and portable hydration solutions. With a focus on quality, safety, and sustainability, the sector plays a crucial role in meeting consumer preferences for clean and accessible water sources.

#Bottled Water Market #Bottled Water Industry #Bottled Water Sector #Bottled Water Market Major Players #Bottled Water Market Analysis #Bottled Water Market Revenue #Bottled Water Market Growth Rate #Bottled Water Market Size #Bottled Water Industry Competitors #Opportunities in Bottled Water Industry #Bottled Water Market Future Outlook

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skzoologist · 1 year ago

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Bumping into a fan in public

word count: 1.6k

warnings: none

genre: fluff

a/n: Here you go anon deary, the first of your asks now done at last 😄Hope you like it, since I felt like these two boys didn't get enough content on my blog. And as always, feel free to drop by anytime if an idea is tickling your mind, I'll get to it eventually!

Please let me know if I left a warning or anything out, I will add it in! Reblogs, likes and feedback are greatly appreciated!

!I don't condone anyone stealing my work and posting it anywhere without my permission, or feeding it to AI!

!This is just fiction, my interpretation of Stray Kids. By no means is this how they are and how they behave in real life!

‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹‧˚₊꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒷꒦︶︶︶︶︶꒦꒷‧₊˚⊹

It was another day of work and practice, something that only seemed hellish from an outsider’s perspective. Idols were more than used to it, the industry and their own pride demanding it endlessly. Bae had no problem with it, only when those he cared for overworked themselves and stepped over a line they shouldn’t have.

That was why he’d been glad that day, his schedule overlapping with the others frequently, granting him the best opportunity to silently observe and care for them. This meant passing their towels and water bottles over to the members in each small break during dance practice, helping them execute a particularly tricky move, or just silently letting them cling to him when they had the chance. A comeback was breathing down their necks, the stress in the air basically palpable.

The perfect excuse for being lenient with the members and their shenanigans, caring for them silently.

Bae was watching Jeongin through the glass silently, his hands already working on mixing the sweet honey into some warm tea. Seungmin’d been enjoying the taste of his by then, only a few sips remaining in his mug as he was scrolling on his phone with an indifferent face.

The oldest member in the room’d been the first to have his singing practice, leaving Seungmin and Jeongin to have theirs later, providing their hyung ample time to get his hands on some tea and brew it up for the two. It wasn’t hard to do, since he kept some filters stashed away in the room for this exact occasion, being a regular there and all.

A little snort broke him out of his mindless stirring and staring ahead, a lit up phone entering his line of vision. It was a tiktok video, the edited face of his menace of a hyung greeting Bae back. He couldn’t help the quiet, strangled sound that left his throat, somewhere between a giggle and a cough. Nobody blamed him for it though, and certainly not Seungmin, the two quietly cackling at the short compilation.

The quiet giggles continued with every video, the two sitting next to each other, the younger letting all his weight fall onto the older.

It was peaceful, something rare amidst these chaotic days.

The door opened and both boys turned their heads towards the sound, watching their precious maknae exit the room and talk with their teacher. They only exchanged a few sentences, the young one soon joining them on the couch. Bae didn’t hesitate to gently push the still warm mug into his hands, gently smiling when he got a quiet thanks in return.

Bae went up to their teacher next, exchanging some quiet words and making plans for their next practice session. It was both a necessary and the most comfortable solution, since he could just convey the now modified plans to the young ones and let them take a small break at the same time.

Once he was done, he politely said goodbye to all the staff members, earning cheerful smiles and waves in return. He looked at the two on the couch, sat close to each other, probably watching a video from the same phone, not an unusual occurrence. The mugs were now empty and set to the side carefully, so no one would accidentally sit on them or push them onto the floor.

Just as Bae was about to go and get the mugs, fully intending to clean them, one of the staff members -a kind, middle aged lady, always willing to help- grabbed them and winked at him playfully. He froze in his spot, in disbelief, but soon he shook his head gently with a small smile dancing on his lips.

“Ready?” - his voice was quiet, yet the two young ones immediately heard it and looked up at him with a nod.

It didn’t take long for them to reach the bottom floor of the company, having made plans to eat an early dinner together at a nearby restaurant. A pleasant conversation was freely flowing between them, ranging from their just finished singing practice to movies they all enjoyed. Bae mostly watched the two in silence, only nodding and humming from behind the layers of his scarf and mask.

He always enjoyed watching them animatedly talk about something they liked, a bright light shining in their eyes captivatingly. Even when the topic of the conversation eluded him, as if he was trying to catch water with his bare hands, that fond look never escaped his face.

“Hey, Dal hyung, you wanna come over and watch some marvel movies with me and Felix hyung?” - Jeongin asked and Bae knew he could never say no to those puppy eyes.

Seungmin merely snickered behind his hand -even though his mask muffled the sound already-, amused by the quick nod his hyung gave their maknae. The older playfully glared at the puppy, both knowing that the whole dorm would join in on the movie marathon anyway, if not the whole band, regardless of their own nightly plans and wishes. Nobody could say no to Jeongin, especially when he teamed up with Felix, creating an impossible challenge filled with puppy eyes and pouty lips.

While Jeongin celebrated his victory animatedly, Bae ruffled Seungmin’s hair, earning a whine from the boy. The older’s hand was batted away, but he could tell Seungmin was just pretending to be annoyed by the lightness of his expression, eyes still as bright as ever.

Just when the small restaurant came into view -it was slightly hidden away in a narrow street, its brightly lit sign the only indication of its existence-, a meek little voice stopped them in their tracks.

Turning around, the three were met with a younger girl, form petite and small as she was anxiously fiddling with her sleeve covered hands. There was a faint dusting of pink on her cheeks, either from the chilly autumn wind, or her nervousness.

Even though he doubted there was a problem or danger, Bae still unconsciously stepped lightly before Seungmin and Jeongin, his voice soft as he prompted the girl to speak up.

“I- I’m sorry to bother you, but I’m a huge fan and, uh, I was wonderingifIcouldaskforapicture?” - her words were rushed together at the end, making it hard to understand them.

The three looked at the overly nervous girl, afraid she would worry herself sick at this rate. With a quick, shared glance, Bae stepped forward just a bit, careful not to startle her with their huge height difference.

“Sure, who did you have in mind?” - he asked as if he was talking to a startled animal, thankful that her shoulders slightly slumped down at that. “Ah, uhm, all three of you? If that wouldn’t burden you too much, of course! You’re my bias, Oppa, while Jeongin and Seungmin oppa are my bias wreckers!” - she replied, the faint colour now prominent on her faint skin.

Bae could only blink down at her with slightly widened eyes, a bit caught off-guard for a single second before he tamed his emotions and leveled his face. If he let his skin flush even a bit and showed how flustered he was, he knew his younger members would not let him live it down for at least a day or two.

Looking away from their excited fan, Jeongin and Seungmin nodded back at Bae, their eyes now crescent shaped. They all loved to meet with their fans, always glad to interact with them and take selfies with or give them an autograph. Usually those who approached them on the streets were kind and respectful, like this fan, making the experience all the more pleasant.

The four huddled together more, the petite STAY in the front, while the idols were behind her, with Bae in the middle. He was the tallest, so he was the one who took her phone and held it up, his height granting him the advantage for the perfect angle. Jeongin poked his dimples, Seungmin showed a V-sign, while Bae put up bunny ears for the puppy at the last second. His side was poked in annoyance, as subtle as Seungmin could be with the fan still in front of them.

Holding back a flinch, Bae lowered the phone and handed it back to the little STAY, watching with delight as her whole face lit up and she lightly jumped in place a few times. Catching herself, she pocketed the phone as if it was the most precious thing in her possession and bowed at them deeply, wishing them a good day and thanking them once again. The boys thanked her for her support, truly honoured to be her favourites, and waved at her leaving form.

“Did you really have to do that, Hyung?” - Seungmin’s annoyed voice could be heard, prompting Bae to step behind Jeongin and away from approaching hands.

Bae merely nodded, an unseen smile widening on his lips. Seungmin huffed, trying to circle around their confused baby bread to get to his hyung, yet to no avail.

‘Wait, what happened? Can you–” - Jeongin’s question was cut in half, the two around him too fast to follow. “Hyung, stop running away!” “Don’t want to.” “Then at least stop running around me and dragging me with you as if I’m your doll!” - Jeongin whined out desperately, having had enough of the two’s shenanigans.

Needless to say, Bae paid for the entire meal and carried the rightfully angry maknae back to their dorms. It was the only way to placate Jeongin, the ache in his muscles stronger than his dislike towards skinship.

#your other requests kinda bled through into this one ngl #hope you dont mind!#🐿️ anon #at least i think #request #stray kids #skz #stray kids oc #skz oc #stray kids 9th member #skz 9th member #glacial prince #kim seungmin #yang jeongin #stray kids fanfiction #skz fanfiction #stray kids fanfic #skz fanfic #also depression has been kicking my ass and i dunno if i can do what i've been planning for this blog

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hypersonic04 · 2 years ago

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Part One:

I haven't written anything in so long, but today I had a sudden burst of inspiration for an enemies-to-lovers series with Ross? If anything, this is for me to simply live my fantasies (lol). word count: 1,467

My shoes are squeaky on the floors, and it's like the fluorescent lighting of the hallway makes me even more conscious of the nails-on-a-chalkboard noise emanating from my footsteps. I cringe to myself and pray that the band aren't recording anything important right now - I don't think the sound of rubber against wood flooring in the background of his song is something Matty would see as valuable to the band's development.

I try to blame my lack of sleep and hydration for the swirling feeling in my stomach, however I reckon it's probably more to do with the fact that today is my first day working with them. Working in music is something I've always wanted, but throwing myself in at the deep end with one of the biggest bands in the industry was not exactly my plan. When someone like Jack offers you the opportunity to write with The 1975, you don't pass it up.

I reach the room that Jamie pointed me in the direction of, a sign stuck on there with blu-tack - 'WRITING IN PROGRESS'. My lungs feel like they can't fill up properly as I attempt to take a deep breath, my hand drifting to the doorknob.

It was almost like I commanded the door to open with my mind. It swings open aggressively before I can even touch it, and I'm met with what I can only describe as a biblically-accurate Jesus.

He's frowning, and I can't help but feel like I'm already in their way. He excuses himself past me with pursed lips and a raised brow, slipping past me and swiftly making his way down the hall I had only been nervously pacing minutes ago. His shoes didn't squeak, though.

"Uh, hi!" I say, perhaps a tad too sprightly for the atmosphere of the room. "I'm Iris, I-"

"Lovely to meet you, Iris. I'm Adam," He stands up and holds his hand out, the first out of the four of them to greet me. It seems like they were having a meeting of sorts, the three remaining men in the room each sat on sofas. Adam almost seems relieved that there had been a change of topic upon my entrance, the tension in the room easing slightly as he shakes my hand. "This is Matty, George..." He gestures between them and they give me a friendly smile each, the kind you might give to a new colleague in an office.

I stand awkwardly in the doorway, and it's at that moment that I begin to question everything. What was I thinking? Why did I possibly think that writing music with a very established, very successful band was a good idea?

"I, uh-" I wrack my brain for what I'd practiced to say next, but the whole situation is nothing like I had expected. I mean, there's only three of them here, for a start.

"Jamie played us a few of the songs you've worked on, you're really talented." Matty states matter-of-factly, still sat with his legs spread wide, an acoustic guitar leaning against the side of the sofa.. "I didn't realise you'd worked with Phoebe."

"Thanks," I smile quickly and subconsciously run my hands over the denim around my hips, immediately stopping when I realise how visible my nerves are. "Yeah, we met through Jack."

"How do you know Jack?" He asks, and it takes me a few moments to recognise that his bluntness is not a reflection of his opinions of me, but rather just his general manner.

"We met at The Brits. I was there on a uni placement, and we just kind of got talking." I nod, as if the gestures affirms my place in the room.

"Do you want a drink or anything, before we start?" George stands up suddenly and it's almost a comfort, a swift diversion from my professional accolades and connections.

"Yes, please," I smile. "Just water will be fine, thank you."

I take a seat on the sofa and grab my notebook, scraps of verses and snippets of bridges scribbled down in virtually unintelligible hand-writing. Looking up as George hands me the bottle of water, I notice the look they exchange between themselves.

"I'm really sorry, I don't mean to be forward, but isn't there supposed to be four of you?" I break the silence, an airy chuckle masking my anxiety.

"Uh, yeah," Adam starts, but is quickly cut off by Matty.

"Yeah, Ross." He looks at me with a face that suggests he's pissed off. "but someone's in a bit of a mood today, so he's not going to be joining us." He sighs.

We start by discussing what their main focus is at the minute, the direction they want their fourth album to go in, their usual creative process. It feels like a priviledge to have such knowledge, my brain simply a sponge for information like this. I think Matty can sense me engagement as he talks, going into detail as I make notes like it's a lecture. The icy atmosphere in the rooms thaws gradually, as do my nerves and apprehension at being in a recording studio alone with three strange men. I admire their respective passions for music, whether it be playing it or producing it, and it's as if there's a sense of respect between the four of us as we discuss our plans for writing.

The conversation flows easily, until it doesn't.

The door swings open, exactly as it did about an hour ago when I was on the other side of it. My breath hitches as he enters the room, my eyes glued to the notes sat in my lap. There's an almost frosty silence creeping in, and I wonder what could have possibly happened between them to cause this.

"Ross, this is Iris." Matty introduces me as offers me an apologetic smile, his eyes creasing at the edges.

I look over to where he's stood, the door closing behind him and suddenly making the room feel a lot smaller. Ross' eyes are dark - really dark. Nearly as dark as the hair he wears pulled back, and the beard that decorates his face. I swallow nervously as I give him a smile, the twisting feeling in my stomach worsening when he doesn't return it. I look away, half because of the anxiety pooling in my chest, and half because I'm convinced that if I'd have stared for any longer, I wouldn't have stopped.

"Nice to meet you." He replies, his back turned to me as he fiddles with the knobs and faders on the dashboard. I hear George inhale sharply, his frustration clear. Adam shifts uncomfortably in his seat, clearing his throat.

"We've just been showing her some of the songs we're working on. Feel free to join us." Matty says sharply. "You know, seeing as it is actually your band, too."

Ross turns around quickly and rather that aiming his stare at Matty, it finds me. I involuntarily raise my eyebrows in surprise, looking to the other boys in search of answers, perhaps. His icy glare lands on me for a few seconds before he appears to give in to something, huffing loudly and making his way to the seat furthest from me. I wonder whether it's intentional as he folds his arms across his chest and looks between the four of us expectantly.

The discussion carries on, and it takes everything in me not to get up and run. His mere presence makes my muscles stiffen, and every time I look up and see him staring at me from across the room, I feel sick.

"So are we all ok to meet again tomorrow? I think it would be better if we use Real World, it's better for recording the strings and stuff." Matty talks as he gathers his notebook and belongings from the coffee table in front of him. We all agree, and before we can make further arrangements, Ross is already leaving the room. I stand there, my hands by my sides, a sense of disappointment overwhelming me.

"It's nothing personal, Iris." George tries to justify, raising from his seat as frowning at me. I nod, also gathering my things and stuffing them into my tote bag. "Honestly."

I don't know what I expected - they've known each other forever. It was naive of me to think that I was going to swan in and connect with them all immediately, writing some gems and leaving with a paycheck and four new friends. Nevertheless, the disheartened feeling that swells in my chest hurts.

"We'll see you tomorrow, yeah?" Matty rests a hand on my shoulder, and the whole sense of familiarity in the exchange makes me feel a tad better about the impression I've made.

"Yeah, I'll be there, 12pm on the dot."

#1975 band #adam hann #fanfic #george daniel #matty healy #ross macdonald #the 1975 #matty the 1975 #bfiafl #atpoaim

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tmbswhodunit · 11 months ago

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WHO DUNNIT MBS CHALLENGE: The Interview

Sticky received the letter months ago, but had never acted on it. Indecision was the primary party responsible for his inaction, but Curtain’s Ten Men has been kind enough to provide him with a convenient excuse for delay by breaking out of prison. When everything had finally been resolved, he’d assumed the window of opportunity had passed. Surely they would have found someone else to fill the position, and he could move on with his life without ever confronting that uncertainty. In this assumption, he was wrong. One morning, Sticky Washington was distributing mail to the proper recipients within the Benedict house when he discovered a letter from Acriton Chemical Testing addressed to himself. It was identical in every way to the earlier letter, exclaiming how “thrilled” the prestigious laboratory was to interview him for an “exclusive” head research position.

From the moment he’d slit the paper seal, his fate had been decided. Sticky Washington would interview for the job. If he had truly wanted to decline, he knew his family would have still supported him, but Sticky couldn’t live with himself if he didn’t take the opportunity. For everything he’d been through, for all the times he’d thought he would never live to see his 18th birthday, Sticky refused to let his fear keep him from this. He owed it to himself to apply.

Now, he sat alone, simply waiting inside Acriton’s industrial headquarters. The room he was in was sparse of both furniture and comfort. Resting on the gray carpet was just one table, two lightly cushioned chairs, and a dying houseplant that silently begged Sticky for a drop of water. He took pity on the poor thing and gave it a splash from his bottle. Besides his own thoughts, the only sound in the room was the steady hum of the air conditioning system, which was chilling Sticky thoroughly. He thought ruefully of his mother’s insistence he take a jacket with him. At the time, he’d declined, insisting on professional dress and pointing out the warm weather. Now, however, he was wondering when he’d ever learn to start listening to her. Deprived of mental occupation, Sticky’s senses focused on the increasingly vivid, lemony scent of carpet cleaner. It smelled nearly identical to the one his father used when renovating homes. Mr. Washington’s was a powerful bleach, capable of removing any sort of stain or blemish: dirt, juice, paint, even blood.

The door opened. In stepped a smiling, elderly man Sticky had seen on the brochure. Dr. Arnold, he recalled.

“Doctor,” he extended his hand. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Haha! Good firm shake you’ve got there.” The man let go and flexed his hand approvingly. “You’re Sticky Washington?” “Well, it’s only my friends and family that use my nickname. I mainly go by George.” “Hm. Very well, George. Have a seat.”

Sticky went to pull out his chair, but it caught on a bump in the carpet and nearly tipped over. A flush rose to his face as he caught it, but Dr. Arnold appeared not to have even noticed, his mind working away at some inner calculations, gaze locked on Sticky.

“So Sticky—” “George.” “So George,” the doctor corrected. “You know why you’re here, yes?” “I was under the impression that I’m here for a background check.” “Yes, yes” Doctor Arnold waved a hand dismissively. “Security and formality and such. Always a bother, but a necessity. We can’t just welcome any old fellow in here, you know? Our work is of critical importance.” “Of course. I appreciate your structure.” This he said with complete honesty. “I understand how my history could raise a few alarms, but I am honored that you still considered me for the position.” “No need for humility, George. We would be fools to turn you down after seeing your extensive portfolio of independent studies.” A flicker of pride swelled in Sticky. He reached into his bag and began to draw out a collection of papers. “I’m glad to hear you were impressed,” Sticky said. “Here, I’ve got the proper documents with me; all officially authorized. They should account for any concerns.” Sticky passed the papers over to Doctor Arnold. He gave them a cursory glance, skimming their titles, and then he tossed them over his shoulder with a light throw. Sticky watched as they scattered, gliding slowly through the air before settling on the ground. He opened his mouth, but found he had nothing to say and closed it, waiting for an explanation.

Doctor Arnold folded his arms and reclined. “I’m not interested in paperwork, George. Too tedious. Gives me a migraine. I’d rather hear the facts straight from you.” “Oh, well, if that’s what you prefer.” “It is. Tell me about the infamous Ledroptha Curtain.”

Sticky, who’d been fully prepared to launch into a discussion of his radioactive byproducts research, hesitated. “I beg your pardon?” “Tell me about him. What he was like, what your interactions constituted of, what your impressions of him were…” “My impressions?” “Yes.” “Well I can’t say I’m terribly fond of him. He seemed like a nice fellow besides the whole mind-control thing. And the kidnappings and the cover ups and the—.”

Dr. Arnold snickered, the creases on his wrinkled face doubling. A chill crept up Sticky’s spine. “Come on, George,” He smiled, “You can do better than that.” “I don’t know what you want from me.” “What was the Whisperer like? Did you see it? Feel it? Use it?” “How do you know all this? This is confidential—” “I’m your friend, Sticky.” That name, his name, felt wrong. Wrong in this man’s mouth. It was a mushy, rotten, poisonous word.

“Were you afraid, George?” Sticky looked up and met the doctor’s gaze. “Yes,” he paused. “Yes, I was afraid, of course I was afraid.” “Are you afraid right now?” For the first time in many years, Sticky felt the urge to polish his glasses, but didn’t dare allow himself to flinch. “No,” He whispered.

Dr. Arnold watched him intently for a moment, assessing his veracity, before relaxing with yet another irritating laugh. Sticky fought the urge to ask what was so hilarious. “Very well, Mr. Washington. That will be all for now.” Dr. Arnold rose from his chair and smoothed the creases of his lab coat. “If you’ll just wait here a moment more, we can finalize the details of your employment and…”

“That won’t be needed.” The words left him in a rush. Dr. Arnold turned back to him, confused. “I beg your pardon?” “I haven’t the faintest idea who you think you are, but I want nothing to do with you. Give the job to someone else.” Sticky got up from his chair and began moving towards the door. “George, come back. I’m sorry—” Dr. Arnold caught his arm. Sticky turned to him with a steely glare. “I’m not.” He yanked his arm from the man’s grasp and pushed out of the room.

Several people in the starkly clean hallway beyond jumped as he came striding out, Dr. Arnold close behind him. Men toting clipboards and women pushing unwieldy carts of chemicals all stepped aside as their boss chased after the new recruit. “George, this is the opportunity of a lifetime!” He called after Sticky. “Don’t care.” “No one could do the job like you!” “Too bad.” “Sticky…”

Sticky had reached the end of the hallway. He rested a hand on the door that led out into the parking lot. Turning back he saw every set of eyes locked on him, including those of Dr. Arnold, who had finally abandoned his grin. “Sticky please. I can’t let you leave. Don’t force my hand.”

This wasn’t how it was supposed to happen. Sticky had spent weeks, months, imagining this day. Stepping into the future, making a difference. Acriton Chemical Testing was supposed to be the resolution to all the wandering thrums of his heart that ached for purpose. But even here, with all his hopes realized, there rose that familiar undercurrent of malice that threatened to sweep him away from all the people he held dear.

“Thank you for your kind offer.” His voice reverberated through the still hallway. “But I’m afraid I must decline.”

“Don’t walk out that door, Sticky.” The doctor warned.

Sticky smiled apologetically. He opened the door. And just as the warm August air enveloped him, the most peculiar thing happened. Everything went dark.

#the mysterious benedict society #tmbs #who dun it mbs challenge #sticky washington #warnings for some hurt #who dunnit 2 electraboogaloo

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panickinganakin · 1 year ago

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stepping stones to hell ch.1 (ronance fic)

a ronance fic in which robin buckley is the drummer for famous band corroded coffin

rating: mature for language word count: 2,010

.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

“Good morning,” Steve said, taking the seat across the table from Robin. She was focusing on the nail brush in her hand, trying very hard not to get the black polish on her fingers.

“Eddie always makes this look so easy,” she grumbled.

“Here, let me help,” he offered. Steve reached across the table and took the nail lacquer. He moved his hand steadily, being careful to not get paint on her skin.

“How’d you sleep?” Robin asked. She glanced out the window and watched as the trees passed in a blur. Last night Corroded Coffin had a show in Atlanta and now they were traveling toward Chicago. She knew they were almost there but traveling on the tour bus always made her feel uneasy. She never slept great on the bus, not even when she had a two hour performance on the drums each night.

“Okay enough, I suppose. I would ask you but I heard you leaving your bunk at six this morning. Have you had coffee?” he dipped the brush back into the bottle before moving on to the next nail.

Typical question. Even though Steve had been her best friend since the summer of her junior year of high school, he was the band's manager now. He was always asking them about their caffeine intake, their water drinking habits and somehow always finding food to shove in everyone’s face. She was grateful to have him on the road, that she couldn’t deny.

“I have. I also ate some toast and I’ve already started drinking water.”

“Nice,” he grinned proudly. “Okay, I don’t want to spring this on you but we do have interviews today.”

Robin shrugged, being careful to keep her hands flat on the table. They did interviews frequently on tour and at this point she was used to it. It didn’t make her anxious the way it did at first. She was good at letting the guys take the lead so she normally got away with minimal talking.

Steve sucked in a breath, “Okay don’t be mad.” She raised an eyebrow and he continued, “It’s an article on just you.”

Robin looked up at him quickly, “What? Why?”

“Well, the magazine wants to do an article on women in the industry. They have a few questions for you. They want to do a feature specifically on you and how successful you are. The band of course, but how you rose to fame and how you’re making a place in the industry.”

Different thoughts ran through Robin’s brain. The music scene was known for being misogynistic, especially to females who weren’t fronting the band. Not to mention feminism was lacking seriously everywhere, not just in music. She felt honored and wanted to speak up but doing an interview alone made her feel sick. She was so used to letting everyone else do the talking. She was content with being partially silent.

“Come on, Robs. It’ll be great,” she knew Steve was just trying to be encouraging but she felt nauseous.

“What if the interviewer twists my words? What if I say something and he takes it the wrong way? What if this is a trap to try and make the guys look bad,” she started spilling out her worries.

Steve wrapped his hand around Robin, rubbing the palm of her hand. “Hey, listen. That’s the point of this isn’t it? Your first concern is making the men in the band look bad? That’s not going to happen because they aren’t bad. And I doubt they’ll be asking about them, this going to be about you and what being a woman in this scene is like. Also, the interviewer isn’t a man. This is a fully female run magazine.”

Weight seemed to lift off her shoulders learning that information changed things. “It is?”

“Yes. I think it’s a great opportunity and I already agreed to you doing it. I’m sorry I didn’t ask first. If you decide it’s not for you, we will cancel.”

Robin bit the inside of her cheek in thought. How many shows had they played when young girls and women came up to her after the show asking for her signature on posters or drumsticks? How many times had she heard a variation of ‘You inspired me to start playing music.’

Even if this was out of her comfort zone she knew she needed to do it. She could picture women reading the magazine and feeling hopeful. Not just her article but knowing that a magazine fully operated by women was possible. Robin nodded slowly, “I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.”

Steve smiled big, then continued with painting her nails. “I think this is a great idea. They’re going to meet us at the venue. We are set to meet at three.”

“Good morning,” Eddie joined them in the front of the bus. He walked over to the fridge, pulling out a bottle of water. He joined them at the table, leaning down to kiss the top of Steve’s head before sitting next to Robin.

“Did you say yes?” Eddie asked her.

Robin jerked her head toward Steve, “You told Eddie already?”

Steve shrugged quickly, “He may have been around when I took the call.”

Robin rolled her eyes before elbowing Eddie in the side, “Yeah whatever. You two are insufferable.”

Robin didn’t mean that, of course. She was so glad Steve was happy. He and Eddie had come out almost three years ago as a couple and not only did it make Robin feel over the moon for her friend; it also made her feel safe.

She had come out years ago to Steve but had been nervous to tell anyone else. However, now the whole band knew. Everyone had been so loving and accepting of Eddie and Steve and her as well when she told them. She had truly been blessed in finding the group.

Life was funny in the way it led you to people you needed. She remembered the day she had started drumming.

“I still don’t know why we are going to see them practice,” Robin took large steps to stay caught up with Steve. They had parked a few houses down the road from whoever’s house the practice was at.

“Because Eddie asked us to.” He stated matter of factly.

“When have you ever done something because Munson asked you too?”

Steve’s cheeks turned pink and Robin had almost confused it as a blush but decided it must have been because they were practically running down the sidewalk. “This is their first practice since Jason broke Gareth’s arm.”

Robin flinched at the memory. She hadn’t been there when it happened but she remembered how scary Jason was in those weeks after Chrissy Cunningham died. It was too easy to picture the scene in her head. “That doesn’t explain why we are here.”

“We are here to support our friends.”

Robin tilted her head, slowing her stride. Is that what they all were? I mean, it was true they had been through a lot of shit together. After saving Eddie and helping clear his name of course they were more than acquaintances. But, it wasn’t like they were always together. She knew then she was missing something. Something she knew all too well about herself. She knew it wasn’t her place to push any further and knew when the time was right she would understand everything after Steve had that talk with her.

They had finally reached their destination except no one was playing music. They were standing around, the mood was obviously dull. “What’s going on?” Steve asked Eddie as he and Robin approached the practice space.

“Gareth’s doctor said he can’t play anymore.” Eddie said flatly.

“This is so fucked up,” Gareth said. He walked past a metal garbage can and threw it down before using the garage entrance to the house to leave the group.

“Like, ever?” Robin asked, confused.

“Yeah. They said his bones grew back funky, I can’t remember what they called it. They told him if he played he risked losing all use of his arm in the future. I told him we would figure it out. We could find something for him to do. He’s a part of the band,” Eddie choked up and paused. He let out a sigh and shook his head.

“Robin can play,” Steve said quickly.

The group looked at Robin and Robin laughed, “What? No. I can’t.”

“Oh whatever you play the- that thing,” Steve shrugged. “Which means you can probably play the drums.”

Robin rolled her eyes and shook her head, “No, I can’t.”

Gareth walked back into the garage. His eyes were puffy but there was no sign of tears. “Why not? What if I taught you? You already know notes and rhythm, the rest can come with time.”

“How can you train me if you can’t play?”

“I don’t need to play if you can follow directions. Come on, Robin, at least try. We have a gig next month and if you can just learn a few things. Please? If there’s still a chance of us making it… I can help write songs and help manage merchandise or something.. Please?” he asked again.

Everyone was staring at her now. She wasn’t sure if she could learn enough to play in a month. She wasn’t sure if she even wanted to be in a band. And, on the off chance that they did start to actually go somewhere she sure as hell didn’t know if she wanted to tour or be famous.

She looked at Steve, the only person she had ever really cared about or trusted. He gave a small nod and she took a breath, “Fine. I’ll try but.. I don’t know. It feels wrong? I don’t want to take your place?”

“You could never do that. I’ll still be a part of the band just in a different way.”

It was history after that. Gareth taught her how to play the drums and Robin was surprisingly good at it. It took her awhile but she did play the gig. The gig also got them signed. Everything happened so quickly after that but she practiced all the time. She even taught Gareth how to play the keys which they incorporated into the tour so he could still play with them.

She had been so scared at first he would resent her and her time in the group would be short lived. However, he had been a good sport the whole time. He had been her biggest hype guy other than Steve. And, the two of them had grown pretty close. They were a big family and Robin couldn’t imagine what she would be doing now had she not agreed to playing that day.

“Can we swap out? I gotta piss,” the driver called from the front of the bus. Steve looked up and passed Eddie the bottle of nail polish.

Steve had gotten his license to drive buses shortly after they signed just in case it was the only job he could manage getting. It was still a wonder how Eddie was able to work it in the contract with the label that Steve could be the band manager.

“Sure man,” she could hear Steve say as he walked to the front.

“At least the interview won’t be awkward. Familiar faces and all,” Eddie said reassuringly.

Robin raised an eyebrow. Did Eddie think that all women just knew each other? “Right,” she said, not questioning him any further.

He finished up on her nails then clapped his hands together, “Come on. We have to pick out your outfit,” he stood, holding his hand out for her to take. She hesitated then took his hand.

“It’s just an interview, right? No photos?”

“That I can’t say. I don’t think they talked about pictures but most times you have a two page feature there are photos involved.”

“Two pages?” Robin’s mouth widened in shock.

Eddie rolled his eyes, “Come on. Clothes.”

ch 2

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rabbitcruiser · 2 months ago

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World Coconut Day

Discover the tropical taste and versatility of this round, hairy fruit with a hard shell. From coconut water to oil, there's so much to love about them!

A popular fruit consumed around the world, the coconut is healthy and tasty, and it grows in tropical regions. World Coconut Day celebrates everything that has to do with this delicious and nutritious fruit!

History of World Coconut Day

Coconuts are a food that humans have found sustenance in for at least 2,000 years. Probably native to Indonesia, the name coconut translates to “walnut from India”. While coconuts would have traveled throughout the Indian subcontinent and even to Africa in the early years, they didn’t make it to Europe until some time around the 16th century.

It is likely that coconuts were introduced to Europeans through the Maritime Silk Road, which connected the East with the West. Marco Polo may have been one of the many travelers and explorers who would have brought coconuts back with them.

When the Asia Pacific Coconut Community (APCC) was founded in 1969, it was created in an attempt to help support and promote the tropical countries that are high in growing, producing, selling and exporting coconuts. Located in Jakarta, Indonesia, this group stays connected with the production and export of coconuts. Sharing scientific expertise and coordinating activities within the industry, the members of the APCC are responsible for the growth of more than 90% of the coconuts produced and sold all over the globe.

Founded in 2009, World Coconut Day was started by the Asia and Pacific Coconut Community to promote the activities of coconut growers while raising awareness about the fruit for those outside of the growing community.

The celebration of World Coconut Day offers plenty of opportunities for this important product of the Asia-Pacific region to enter into the forefront of conversation of people around the world!

World Coconut Day Timeline

1st Century BC

Coconuts are present in Indian subcontinent

Historical records from Sri Lanka show that coconuts existed before this time.

16th Century

Coconuts are introduced to Europe

Arriving as many exotic foods did, through the Maritime Silk Road, Europeans were exposed to coconuts through traders like Marco Polo.

1946

Almond Joy candy bar hits the scene

This candy bar combines the sweetness of shredded coconut with an almond and then covers it in delicious milk chocolate.

2004

Vita Coco introduces coconut water

Offering a delicious and nutritious beverage, Vita Coco begins a trend of bottling coconut water and making it commercially available.

2009

World Coconut Day is first celebrated

Started by the Asia-Pacific Coconut Community, World Coconut Day aims to raise awareness and bring harmony to the growth and distribution of coconuts.

How to Celebrate World Coconut Day

Getting involved with World Coconut Day is easy – all it takes is tasting and enjoying this delicious fruit. Consider some of these ideas to celebrate the day:

Enjoy Eating a Coconut

Some people who haven’t grown up around this delicious fruit might be intimidated by its brown, hairy shell. But once it is broken into and the creamy white flesh is exposed, it is a fragrant delight to behold.

First, start by poking a hole in the coconut at the end near the ‘eye’, where the shell is the thinnest. Use a screwdriver or hammer with a clean nail to make the hole. This will allow for the water of the coconut to be drained.

Pro Tip: Strain the coconut water through a cheesecloth and into a cup, and then drink it up!

Once the juice has been drained out of the coconut, one of the easiest ways to break open the fruit is by using a handsaw to cut it in half. Other people might want to simply put it into a sturdy bag and bang it against a stone or concrete until it breaks. This method is a bit messy, but it works.

Once the coconut is open, remove the meat from the shell and enjoy eating it fresh!

Cook or Bake with Coconut

One way to enjoy National Coconut Day without having to go to the trouble of cracking open the fruit is by purchasing the coconut in bags that are shredded or chipped. These are often pre-sweetened and ready to be used in recipes. Since the fruit is a tropical one, and the day falls at the end of the summer, many recipes are cool and refreshing.

Consider cooking or baking with some of these recipe ideas to celebrate the day:

Coconut Cream Pie. This classic pie contains coconut flakes or chips, coconut milk, heavy cream and eggs, and is topped with mounds of sweet whipped cream.

Coconut Ice Cream. This refreshing dessert is so simple, all it needs is 6 ingredients: whipping cream, sugar, vanilla, milk, salt and, of course, shredded coconut.

Coconut Milk Pudding. This delicious recipe is similar to the consistency of flan, but is made with coconut milk, gelatin, mango, butter, grated coconut, condensed milk and other simple ingredients.

Coconut Rice Pudding. A special blend of coconut milk and rice, this dessert is delicious when served with a homemade rhubarb compote or jam. The coconut and rhubarb flavors just meld together on the tongue!

Drink a Piña Colada

A classic tropical drink, the piña colada contains delicious ingredients like pineapple juice, coconut cream, rum, lime juice and ice, all blended together into a delicious frozen beverage. Throw the ingredients in a blender at home and mix it up. Garnish with a drink umbrella and skewer with red cherries for a vibrant presentation.

Try Out Some Coconut Water

A fairly new product on the market, bottled coconut water can be found in many places around the world now. Coconut water is actually the juice or liquid that comes from young coconut plants. Some brands of coconut water that might be worth trying out in celebration of National Coconut Day include Vita Coco, ZICO, Naked Coconut Water, and C2O.

Listen to Some Coconut Themed Music

One fun way to enjoy National Coconut Day is to enjoy a few songs that were written around the theme of coconuts. Try out some of these ideas to get started making a tropical playlist just for this day:

Coconut by Harry Nillson (1971). Probably the most famous song about coconuts, the lyrics are “put de lime in de coconut and drink ‘em both togedder”.

Cocoanut Woman by Harry Belafonte (1957). Released on his album called “Belafante sings of the Caribbean”, this song is about a lady on the island who is selling coconut water.

Coconut Telegraph by Jimmy Buffet (1981). Appearing as the title song on the album of the same name, this song speaks of a Tuesday on the island when information and gossip is exchanged.

I’ve Got a Lovely Bunch of Coconuts by Merv Griffin (1950). With lyrics that make a story out of a coconut toss at a fair, this song is a silly and playful classic from a bygone era.

World Coconut Day FAQs

Is coconut a fruit?

Even though it has the word “nut” in the name, coconut is a fibrous, one-seeded fruit that falls into the drupe, or stone fruit family.

Is coconut oil good for you?

Yes. Coconut oil has a variety of nutrients that are healthy when consumed by humans, including fatty acids, healthy cholesterol, ketones and more.

Do coconuts grow on palm trees?

While coconuts do grow on a certain type of palm tree, not all palm trees are coconut trees.

Is coconut water good for you?

Coconut water offers many healthy benefits, including electrolytes, magnesium, potassium, antioxidants and more.

Should coconut oil be refrigerated?

Coconut oil is long-lasting, up to two years, and does not need to be refrigerated.

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imfearlessfics · 1 year ago

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Chapter 6: The First Post

Song: Antifragile by LE SSERAFIM, No Celestial by LE SSERAFIM, Sour Grapes by LE SSERAFIM

Pairing: Yunjin x female reader

Genre: Romance, forbidden love

Warnings: Language, angst

Word count: 3.2k

The day was finally here. The first TikTok post of the new comeback schedule! We’ve been working tirelessly putting together dozens of drafts that we can post over the next few weeks. Getting to spend time with the girls was a huge bonus, but getting to do what I enjoy every single day with such an incredible support system was at the center of it all. I’ve been so proud of the work that I do, and it wouldn’t have been possible without their music pushing me through. We’ve been joined at the hip so that I could capture the “behind-the-scenes” style videos of them getting ready for the comeback. If they were awake and conscious, I was there with my camera or phone capturing as much of it as they were comfortable with.

There were obvious benefits to being around them so much over the last two months, not the least of which being my growing friendship with such amazing women. As a unit, they’re unstoppable. Hardworking, dedicated, and so freakin’ talented. But part of this comeback is stripping back the curtain, and getting to understand their individual approaches to their work. Though they all share a common dream, each of their motivations for being here and their execution of their work is unique, and it’s important to show that to the fans. I hope it humanizes them a little, and it also gives me ample time to develop a true friendship with them, which will make our lives much easier as time goes on and I continue to make content for them.

Working with Kazuha was humbling. To see her take charge of her goals despite being far from her home and her family was so motivating. She would sometimes stumble here or there, forgetting a phrase or vocabulary word, but I made it my mission to be a support in those moments. We developed a bond over our shared experiences of leaving home to pursue a career here, and I couldn’t be more grateful for it. I wanted her to feel comfortable, so I encouraged her to speak Japanese and share parts of her culture in some of the videos and insisted we’d find a translator to add subtitles later. She seems appreciative of the opportunity, and it’s only helped us grow closer. I love asking her questions about her hometown, and she does the same with me. I can’t wait to keep showing the fans what an incredible woman she is.

Sakura was no different, though she’d had more experience with working here in South Korea, so I tried to focus on that. How has her perspective of the industry changed over the years? How have you grown as an artist in South Korea? Would you ever want to have a hand in writing some of your Japanese singles? She was so eager to share her ambitions, and I fell in love with her enthusiasm. Her energy is just so magnetic, and she is a hustler at heart.

It took a little longer to develop that same rapport with Chaewon, but not for any bad reasons. She is the leader, so she has a ton of weight and responsibility on her shoulders. I knew her focus was ensuring that all the members have a fun and safe comeback, and that’s exactly what I wanted to highlight. The way she cares for each of the members was incredibly endearing, and her love for them is an everyday thing, so finding those moments where her leadership shines wasn’t difficult at all. Filling up Eunchae’s water bottle when she noticed it was running low, giving the last bite of her meal to Kazuha to ensure she wouldn’t get hungry during practice, and so many more moments that I was able to capture. Even if we didn’t develop a super close friendship over the last couple of months, we’ve grown to respect and admire one another, and that meant the world.

Working with Eunchae was … an experience. She really is a maknae in every sense of the word! A carefree spirit with so much wonder and excitement to be working in this industry - she must be protected at all costs. With her being the youngest in a group with two seasoned members, it’s easy to attribute her professionalism to having unnies with more experience. And while they absolutely play a huge part in helping to guide her, I really wanted to shine a light on her individuality. What does she like to do when she’s not being an idol? When does she have a spare moment to just be a kid? She was thrilled to have small pockets of the day to show me her hobbies outside of performing, and I can’t wait for people to get a whole new perspective on her.

And of course, working with Yunjin was…not like work at all. It was effortless, in fact. Getting content figured out for her was probably the easiest since she knew from the get-go what she wanted to showcase, which was her songwriting. She let me see what her writing process was like, how it always starts with her and a guitar and a story, and it was so beautiful to be a part of that. But between getting shots of her playing the guitar or writing lyrics in her journal, hanging out with her was like hanging out with your closest childhood friend. We’d paint each others’ nails, watch our favorite music videos - being around her was like when you’d meet someone in Kindergarten and instantly become best friends. I suppose we both missed out on those kinds of experiences growing up. She worked tirelessly to follow her dreams of becoming an idol, and I was … well I was too anxious to try and make friends growing up. Now that we get to do what we love, we have some time to do what we never got to. We’d go to the convenience store down the street to grab our favorite snacks and just talk for hours about anything and everything. Yunjin and I were almost inseparable, and I know it’s dumb of me to let my heart think for me, but it really seems like she feels it too. I don’t know what “it” is, but I know that I’ve never felt so comfortable with anyone in my life. The way we can laugh about absolutely nothing. The way I wanna tell her every secret I’ve ever known. The way that I trust her when she tells me I’m doing a good job - I just can’t help but wonder if …

It was clear that we had become the closest, but I was careful to keep it professional. There is no way that anyone could chalk it up to anything more than a friendship between two people who happen to share a home country. That being said, I know I shouldn’t have, but I sometimes let myself forget that at the end of the day, my time with her was technically work.

Oh shoot - I was talking about work, wasn’t I?

Anyways, after several hours of editing, the first post looks something like this: various shots of the members getting hair and makeup done, clips from the dance practices, outfit fittings, recording sessions, and clips from my one-on-one time with them. Snippets of their upcoming single cut in and out until the screen goes black and the audio cuts out altogether - then a clear shot of them performing the killing part of the choreography as a single line from the chorus plays. I was SO excited about how it turned out, and it even went over really well at the meeting from hell that Ha-Rin made me conduct. The girls absolutely loved it, so that was all that mattered to me.

We were about two hours out from making the post, so there was a meeting to go over the final details before our lives became a (functional) garbage fire while we navigated the comeback. Ha-Rin sauntered in to begin the meeting, and before I knew it, I was just 5 minutes away from posting my first real piece of work for the entire world to see. I stared at the clock with a pit in my stomach and counted down the minutes until -

5…4…3…2…1.

The comeback has officially started, my dream is finally coming to fruition, and I … am pretty sure I’m gonna throw up. Our meeting ends with applause from the whole team, but there is a collective breath being held. LE SSERAFIM’s rapid global success is only (ridiculously) intimidating, and all of us have a part to play in keeping the momentum going.

I rush to the dorms to celebrate with the girls, and as soon as I knock, all 5 of them sweep me into the biggest hug. I wanted to make sure that they felt confident and had a say in their content as well, so I even invited them to edit alongside me so I could get their input.

“Y/n - we have to celebrate! Dinner tonight? On us?!” Eunchae exclaims.

“Well, technically it’s dinner on daepyonim, but still,” Chaewon chimes in. We all laugh and that thankfully pulls me out of my ridiculous thoughts of my … friendship with Yunjin.

“I think it would be fun if we all hung out before tomorrow. It’s gonna get crazy!” Yunjin says as she hooks her arm with mine, and I’m pulled back into my ridiculous thoughts of my friendship with her, and I remember a moment from a couple weeks back.

-Flashback-

“Jen! Can you focus for two seconds? I’m so close to getting this shot perfect!” I playfully complained. Whenever a schedule is taking a particularly long time, she gets a little stir crazy, and it’s impossible to calm her down. But fuck if it isn’t the cutest thing I’ve ever seen. Right now, she’s sprawled out on the couch in the dressing room between takes, and she refuses to move. She has the biggest shit-eating grin l’ve ever seen, and everytime I try to get near her to pull her up off the couch, she reaches out to try and pull me down with her.

“Y/n it’s been like 4 hours since we started!” She pouts. I remind her that it has in fact only been a whopping 45 minutes, and we are almost done. She laughs and tries again to yank me down.

Could I have put up a bigger fight? Absolutely. But she was just sooo fast and I “somehow” ended up falling down on the couch next to her and -

“YES! I finally got you! You have to learn to relax and enjoy the little moments of peace, y/n. In just a couple of weeks, we’re barely gonna have time to breathe!” The irony of that statement is that I actually can’t breathe RIGHT FREAKIN’ NOW because we are closer than we’ve ever been before on a little couch in a tucked away dressing room and I’m getting so red and I don’t know if she can tell how much I am freaking out right -

“Y/n, are you okay? You’re so tense!” She sits up abruptly and pulls me to sit up in front of her.

“Oh my gosh it’s because I mentioned the comeback, huh? Listen, I know you must be terrified. I was too right before debut, but you know what helped a ton? Breathing exercises. Let me walk you through some. Close your eyes and hold my hands.” She’s doing this on purpose. She has to be doing this on purpose. Can she seriously not see that it’s not the comeback making me this way but her?

“Breathe in your nose for 5 seconds, hold for 5 seconds, and breathe out for 7. We’ll do it together.” She gently says, and for a few minutes that’s all we do. It works, of course, but she has no clue that I needed to calm down for entirely different reasons.

We finally open our eyes only to find the other staring right back, but we don’t pull away. We just kind of … lingered there. She’s still holding my hands when she says, “How do you feel now?”

“A lot better, Jen.” I shyly reply. “Thank you.”

A few more beats pass and it hits us just how close we are. I also can’t help but get that same eerie feeling that there was another pair of eyes on us, but it’s gone before I can give it a second thought. She gently takes her hands back leaving coldness in their wake.

“You probably already know how to do those kinds of exercises, huh? I know that you get pretty…nervous before meetings sometimes with the higher ups.” She notices so much, even when it seems miniscule to others. It’s one of the things I lov - really admire about her.

“You’ve seen that, huh?” I look down to avoid the embarrassment that comes with talking about my anxiety. Even though I feel so much more comfortable with her than I have with anyone in a long time, it’s still difficult to talk about. “I’ve had anxiety since I was little. It’s not a big deal or anything - just … always there. Always making the really small things feel really big, you know?” I don’t admit to her that the “small” thing making me so anxious is actually my raging crush on her, and the fact that this crush could ruin not only my career, but hers if it ever got out, so I let her believe it’s still about the upcoming comeback.

“I don’t think those things are small, y/n. If they’re big to you, then they’re big. And that’s okay.” She looks almost offended that I downplayed it, but it’s quickly replaced with such warmness I forget to breathe for a second. “Y/n, you know you can come to me with anything, right? Shoot me a text at any time of day and just know that even if I can’t respond right away, I will always read it as soon as possible. You’ve done so much for us - let someone else do something for you, okay?”

Why does she have to make it so damn difficult to not fall for her?

“Thank you, Jen. Seriously. Your friendship means … so much to me. You have no idea.” I say sincerely. Even if I wasn’t ready to give my whole heart to her, I truly do value these past couple of months. Getting to know her and the other members has been the highlight of my time here so far, and I know it’s just going to get better and better. That is, if I don’t ruin this whole thing by ever sharing my feelings with her and I keep my heart on a strict lockdown until the end of time.

Easy enough.

-End of Flashback-

“Dinner sounds great! Lead the way!” I say cheerfully, though deep down I know that more time with Jen means less and less of a chance that I can ignore my growing feelings for her.

We head to a restaurant a few blocks from the company to save their driver a ride, and we spend the next few hours laughing and chatting and relishing our last day before the hectic schedules start tomorrow.

“That’s not even true! Oh my gosh you’re such a liar!” Chaewon jokingly shouts at Sakura, who’s sharing a very interesting story about a small-time crush she apparently had on a staff member when she first joined the company.

“Chaewon?! Chaewon are you still there? I can’t see past the redness emanating from your cheeks right now” Sakura throws back, and we all giggle until our stomachs hurt.

“Get real, Kkura - we barely have time to focus on ourselves, let alone a crush!” Eunchae giggles, but she shoots an almost imperceptible glance my way, and my heart drops a little. No one at the table noticed it, but it was crystal clear that she wanted to send a message, however small.

“I have to pee SO bad, oh my goodness. Anyone else need to use the restroom?” Kazuha says. Yunjin, Chaewon, and Sakura follow her, and the universe manages to leave me and the only other member who seems to have an inkling of what’s happening at the table…alone.

A silence ensues for just a few moments, but it feels like the weight of an elephant rests on my chest before Eunchae finally speaks up.

“Unnie. You know I love you, right? That we all do?” She looks at me with so much sadness in her eyes that I know the next words out of her mouth won’t - can’t - be taken back, and that somehow makes everything so much more real.

Maybe if I play dumb - if I deny that anything is happening at all - then this conversation won’t bring any illusions I may have had crashing down to the ground beneath me.

“Of course I do. I … I love you guys too, of course. And - and I’m so excited for tomorrow and …” The sentence dies on my tongue, and the look on her face twists into one of pain.

“Unnie - please. If you think the last few months have been busy…the next few will feel almost impossible. We barely get any sleep, we hardly get a chance to even sit down. It’s hard to find a moment for ourselves let alone … for someone else.” I can tell that she feels horribly guilty for what she’s saying … without actually saying. But it hurts all the same.

“No of course. I - I want to help in any way that I can. I’ll be there - for each of you - whenever you need! Are you worried that I won’t?” Playing dumb can only get me so far, but the truth is a hair’s breadth away from being put out into the universe, and the second that it does, I don’t get to pretend anymore.

“Y/n unnie, I - I see the way you look at her.” Eunchae reaches over to grab my hand. “At first, I truly believed you two were getting so close because you both are from America! That’s why I pushed so hard for you two to have some alone time on that first day! I loved that she had someone that she could relate to and could share stories with but…but, a couple weeks ago. In the dressing room? I saw the way you looked at her. And she -” She cuts herself off, but what was she about to say about Jen? And how could I have been so careless as to not notice that someone had stumbled upon our … moment? “It doesn’t matter, unnie. And I am so sorry but please - please - promise me, you won’t act on this.”

I can see in her eyes how guilty she feels, so I simply nod. “Eunchae?” I whisper.

“Yes, unnie?”

“Does anyone else know?”

“No, unnie. Just me. I think the other unnies truly believe you’re just friends.” Her head is hung, and I wish I knew why her heart seems to be just as broken as mine right now.

I can’t say much else because we hear the girls coming back, so we quickly adjust ourselves and pretend the last few minutes never happened. An almost impossible feat.

The night goes on and we continue to enjoy our time together … as friends.

Because as Eunchae so delicately reminded me, that’s all any of us will ever get to be.

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HOLY HELL Y'ALL I am so sorry for the 3 month disappearance. Life has been wildly busy, but I finally found it in me to get some writing done, so here we are! I made it longer than usual, so hopefully that makes up for the fact that I GHOSTED everyone. So sorry again! Hope you enjoy!

#angels and their secrets #chaewon #eunchae #heartbreak #kazuha #kpop fluff #kpop #lesserafim angst #sakura #yunjin #kpop angst #kpop fanfiction #kpop fanfic #kpop scenarios #kpop x reader

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