Alcohol, an irresponsible situation, and a backseat of a vehicle all optional. Teenage angst and hormones not optional. All teenage characters from any time, setting, or canon welcome, as are adult characters aged down.
Just Feeling It Out: Maybe you'll finally get to touch a boob!
Accidental Boner: Oh. Hi there, downstairs.
Deep Kissing: Heavy tongue action.
Flawless Approach: WILL YOU PLEASE HAVE THE SEX WITH ME? always works.
Party: A crazy atmosphere can lead to crazy decisions.
Goofballs: Both of you kind of suck at this, but at least you're cute.
Experience Difference: It doesn't count if it's not with you. That's what you tell yourself, anyway.
Boyfrands/Girlfrands: Finally rounding those bases with your honey.
No Play: They've told you no touching them below the belt. Oops!
Fumble: You touched the wrong place or said the wrong thing. Is this the end of your adventure.
Desperate: Please, please, please, let me stick it in.
Oral: Sometimes, you just want to kiss someone there.
Feels So Good: Let's hope you can last.
Love Confession: Now is a good a time as ever to tell them how you feel
Success: Awww yeah, break out the cigarette.
Failure: Hopefully they'll forgive you for staining their clothes.
From the time she had woken up, Wendla had known that it was going to be a warm one. True, it was summer, so mostly the days with warm and sunny. All she had wanted to do was take the day to run off into the woods and pick wild strawberries and dip her feet into the stream. However, it was Sunday, so she had to get ready for services. It meant making sure she was dressed appropriately. Now sixteen, dressing appropriately meant layering. The sanctuary let in a mild cross breeze, but it did little to offset the stifling feeling of being surrounded by other people. The sermon had dragged on until she wasn't sure she'd ever get freedom, but when the bells final signaled their release, she was glad to get up and leave.
She had spent the expected amount of time mingling with other people, only really enjoying her time with her girlfriends. They had invited her to come with them to hang out, but she had politely declined and said that she had some things she wanted to attend to that afternoon. There was really only one person that she wanted to spend the afternoon with and it was the one person who had come to services that she hadn't yet spoken too. Melchior was recently returned from Reformatory school, and though they'd grown even closer due to their private correspondence through letters, they hadn't yet gotten to spend much time together in person. They were being cautious, to the point that he was even biting his tongue and attending church just to prove that he didn't have to go back to the school. Or maybe it was just because she was there and he wanted the chance to see her.
His eyes sought hers out often throughout the service, and as she was wrapping up her conversation with her friends, she tries to send him a wordless message through her own glance to suggest he follow her. Sunday afternoons were a lazy time for her, and she can't help but look forward to spending the rest of her day in one of her favorite spots; hopefully with one of her favorite people.
As she walks down the path that's off the main road, she glances behind her from time to time to see if she's being followed. She's not sure whether he got the message or not, but they'd made a deal in secret letters to meet there when they had time. Sooner or later he was going to join her, but once she's far enough away from the church to feel comfortable, she does slow down her steps to let him catch up.
There was little in the world that Melchior hated as much as being forced to go to church services. It was hard to sit and listen quietly as the pastor droned on about a God he didn't believe in and sins he thought were completely bogus. The idea of eternal punishment for natural desires made his blood boil and the heat from the summer day wasn't helping in the slightest. His skin felt like it was itching under his suit and he found himself fiddling with his collar now and then throughout the service.
While he certainly attended in an attempt to make himself appear fully reformed, being able to take the opportunity to actually speak with Wendla was another high motivation. True, he could only keep polite topics of conversations, but it was better than nothing, he assumed. He had watched her through much of the service, taking in the new, more mature looking dress she was now forced to wear, and the way her corset kept her from even the slightest bit of slouching. There had certainly been quite a few changes since he had been gone and the way she'd grown up was the most prominent to him.
He'd seen her look and he'd done his best to let her get a little ahead of him, making sure to tell his mother he was going for a walk and would see her later in the afternoon. He'd followed along the path they always took into the woods, his hands in his pockets, and he made sure to walk a little faster than normal when he was out of sight of the church so that he could catch up more quickly. He gives a small grin when he sees her waiting for him, jogging slightly to get over to her. He glances back over his shoulder once as he gets close, before he goes to slip his arm around her waist as he falls into step beside her.
"I think imagining this moment is about the only thing that made any of that service even remotely bearable. I don't know how you've done it all these Sundays."
More and more these days, Wendla found herself longing for these exact moments. Not only were they a much needed break from the monotony of a small town day, but Melchior's return had only made her desire to be near him that much stronger. They had to be careful, since her mother, as well as his, had been watching carefully to make sure nothing further happened. They hadn't appreciated his letter to her after their time in the hayloft and it had only added fuel to the fire in the Gabor's decision to send him away. The last thing she wanted was to separate from him again, so they were cautious. Now that he was getting back into the daily grind, they could take a little more liberty with their time together. It allowed them moments like this; to walk and talk and spend an afternoon together.
Despite the increasing temperature of the afternoon, Wendla welcomed his warmth by her side, and leaned into his touch. The affections she had held for him before he'd been sent away had only grown through their letters and now the time they spent together and as his arm wrapped around her waist, she felt her heart leap. A smile grew on her face as she turned her head to look up at him. "I'm just used to it. It's just something that's required, like sitting in the classes that bore me. Usually I just let my mind drift and I think of more entertaining things. It's been a bit harder since I have had to start wearing all these layers."
She was looking forward to getting to their spot. As far as she was concerned, there were a couple of layers that she could take off once they were completely away from prying eyes. It was entirely improper to do so in front of Melchior, but while Wendla had grown even better at blending into society, she seemed incapable of shedding her free spirit. Despite the lectures and lessons, she still seemed to challenge the expectations put upon her. Melchior's presence in her life hadn't helped and he gave her an outlet to explore the topics and way of living that she was actually drawn to.
Leaning into him, she inhales the fresh air deeply, and lets it out just as slowly. The farther they walked into their own private world, the more peaceful she felt. Finally, she lifted her head a bit to look up at him and held up the basket she was carrying. "Oh, I packed food this time. Though, I am almost positive that the strawberries are ripe now. I thought I'd pick some for Mama."
"You've certainly turned into quite the young woman since I've been gone," he said with a hint of amusement. It was starting to feel like they were no longer on the edge between child and adult, expected to behave like one but have the innocence of the other. While they were certainly not allowed all the experience of adults, the expectations and the conversations they were slowly being allowed to partake in were becoming less childish than they had been only a couple of years prior. Wendla's expectations in dress seemed to reflect that, though he could only imagine how much more uncomfortable her clothing must have become with all the extra layers and undergarments, particularly for someone like Wendla who had always preferred the freedom of the lighter dresses when they were children. "I don't know how you haven't passed out in that thing."
He makes sure to go down ahead of her when the path gets more uneven, knowing full well she can probably handle it fine on her own, but it feels like the right thing to do. He turns once he's on flat land again, offering up his hand to her so she can use him to balance herself as she comes down the rocks and roots that jut out from the slope.
"You should let me carry that," he said after he was sure she had her footing again. "I'm sure your mother will love the berries and it'll be good for you to actually have something to carry them home in instead of trying to use your skirts as a basket." He remembered her doing so when they were children and the way her mother had lectured her for showing her legs when she'd carried them all the way home that way.
The compliment makes her cheeks flush and she lowers her eyes for a moment. Despite that they had grown so close, Melchior still had a tendency to make her a little nervous. It wasn't due to the fact that she was afraid of him or even intimidated by him, it was just that he made her feel things so deeply that his compliments left her feeling a little shy, as if she didn't know what to say or do. "When I miss running through the woods with ease, and not having to care about my legs, I'm not sure whether or not to be glad that I am turning into a woman or not." Or at least, care less. It was what it was though.
One benefit was that coming into womanhood allowed her to really feel what was between them and she enjoyed those kinds of grown up feelings. Certainly when they'd been children, their relationship had been sweet and innocent. It shows up in the little ways, like the way she feels so warm and touched by the small gesture of him helping her down the rockier parts of the path. Wendla may not have appreciated the clothing requirements, but she greatly enjoyed the attention that she was given from him. Thankfully her skirts were not yet at the floor, so she didn't have too much to lift up as she followed him down.
She offered out the basket to him, allowing him the propriety of carrying her things. She looked forward to the day that he could properly court her, but in the meantime it felt as if he already was. She laughed softly at the memory of carrying berries home in her skirt. "Isn't that why women originally started wearing skirts? As a sex, we are the gatherers and the skirts allowed us to carry home what we gathered. I think it's perfectly reasonable."
By now they were getting off the beaten path, heading in a different direction to a more secluded location where they wouldn't have to worry about having people come across them. Wendla had found this spot on her own sometime back, while he'd been gone and it had felt like a safe haven. It was laying in the clearing on a picnic blanket that she'd experienced her first orgasm, though she hadn't told him it was this exact spot. Out here they could find true privacy. With his help, she climbs down the side of a little rock wall and steps into the little clearing where the stream connected to a little pool, that she sometimes went for a swim in. It wasn't big, or deep enough for a real swim, but it was crystal clear and cool for a summer day.
"One of my favorite places." Closing her eyes she stretched out her arms and turned her head skyward. She lets the warmth of the sun wash over and fills her soul with sound of the bubbling brook, the chirping birds, and creaking of tree branches that swayed in the breeze. She felt truly free out here, and she was glad to finally have his companionship that she had dreamed so often of.
Melchior keeps a grip on her hand as they walk, holding the basket in the other as they make there way to the clearing that she had always described in such detail to him. He smiles a little when she mentions the origin of skirts, always enjoying getting to hear her think more and more critically about the world around her the longer he knows her. "Yes, well, contradiction seems to be the basis for the gender roles, I'm learning," he says with a small chuckle. "The more you become a woman, the less you're permitted to analyze those sorts of things when you receive criticism on your unladylike behaviors."
He goes to place the basket down when they reach the clearing, removing his jacket and going to drape it over a rock so that it doesn't wrinkle or get too dirty. He pauses for a moment to watch as she stretched, before he goes to reach up and undo his tie and the first two buttons of his shirt so he can breath more easily. Rolling up his sleeves is the next course of action, even if it will only mildly combat the heat bearing down on them.
"I can see why you'd like it out here so much. You could do whatever you wanted without anyone the wiser." The statement was actually meant fairly innocently, his thoughts on the books one could read or the conversations one could have without anyone overhearing. He hadn't stopped to think about the further implications of it for once. "How long do you have before you need to return home?"
Letting her hands fall back to her sides, she turns around to look at him with a smile on her face. "I'm learning that." Everything about growing up seemed to be full of contradictory messages and that certainly didn't make the process any easier. "And I have actually," she said bringing the conversation back to his comment about her passing out. "Passed out, I mean. I don't know if it was from getting used to the loss of breathing room, or if it was just too confining. I was sure I wrote you about that. The first time I ever wore one was a Sunday morning and in the middle of the service I felt as if the walls were closing in on me."
Walking over to the basket that had been set down on the ground, she unfolds the thin picnic blanket that she'd tucked on top of the basket and begins to lay it out for their use. She recalls the events to him, telling him about how she'd felt a sudden fear wash over her like an ice bath and how she'd gone to stand up because she'd known she had to get out of their, but she'd only made it to the aisle before she'd fainted. "Mama was more embarrassed than afraid I think, and though the pastor reassured her it was fine, she still decided if I was so ill that I couldn't stay for the sermon I must be sent to bed for the rest of the day. It's hard to tell with Mama." She began to pull out the food that she'd packed for them. "I must have told you, I remember writing you being the only thing that kept me sane."
Within a few minutes she'd set out a lovely spread of fresh fruit, salted pork, cheese, and bread. There was also a jug of lemonade that she'd made from the lemons she'd spent an hour squeezing and a few pieces of chocolate that she'd bought with her own money.
"It really is wonderful, isn't it? I come here to just be myself, and sometimes I feel it's the only place I can." Her own mind did not stay focused so innocently, remembering how often she'd penned him letters of a less appropriate nature or read from the books she'd borrowed from him knowing that she wasn't supposed to read them. Of course, she didn't mind sharing the space with him, because she'd longed for his company anyway. Having him there with her made her more grateful for the world than anything the pastor had spoken of earlier. "And, I have most of the day. Mama is spending the afternoon caring for one of her friends. Bruna Wagner She had a terrible fall and broke her ankle. I heard her say that Mr. Wagner likes his alcohol too much and is useless because of it. But no matter, Mama won't be home until dinner at the earliest and she did say she might eat with her friend. I think so long as I'm home by sunset, my absence won't be noticed."
[I'd definitely love to incorporate the Goofballs element either way. Slightly leaning towards Pre-serum Steve. I mean, I could be a greedy bitch and say we do both but that probably crosses an RP etiquette line, haha.
Molly's got a bit of the girl next door vibe - maybe something along the lines of party game puts them in a closet together and she decides to be a bit bold, or they're at the same party and ended up picking the same room to try and find some peace but inevitably find each other. Do we want to set it in a time period or keep it vague?]
[sorry for the delay, we've been moving house the past couple days and it's end of term - let's go ahead with pre-serum Steve and do a sort of vague/modern-ish time with them both later teens at a co-ed party? I like the idea of them getting stuck doing something in a closet together!]
[So I started writing a small novel to get into teen Molly's headspace... I'm so sorry for all the set dressing. ANYWAY, get ready. Let me know if I need to change anything, especially with the end bit.]
Molly Hooper has not ever been, nor will she ever be, the 'Cool' girl. Her propensity for facts, usually related to math and science, made her a great lab partner and tutor; her pleasant but occasionally 'mousy' demeanor meant she was typically last choice, whether it was dodgeball teams or dates. Which was fine except for those inevitable times when it wasn't. Things at home didn't exactly help; her mum was what was some psychologists might describe as "distant" when it came to love. At least she had her father - he at least had given her an encouraging wave when she told him she was going to a party - just a few friends, she'd said.
She'd even gone so far as to dress up - a black, halter-top style dress that she thought was kind of classy. And while she'd left with her hair up in its typical ponytail, she let it hang loose once she was in the car. She'd caught a ride with Mina, who promptly told her to lose the 'rainbow grandma sweater' she had over her dress. Molly was about to protest that it wasn't even a full jumper, just one of those ones that covers the arms and shoulders, but that was when they pulled up to the house.
"Mina, that's like a bajillion people! It's hard enough standing next to you, but how is anyone going to notice me in all this?" She felt like the last standing member of some silly Wallflower Brigade and she was over it. The last party she'd gone to, she'd ended up stuck in a corner between a tower of discarded beer cans and an obnoxiously affectionate couple. She still had a scar from where one of the cans had nicked her leg during her desperate escape.
As she made her way inside, she fought the urge to make six different exit plans. They were supposed to be celebrating, and damnit she was going to have fun if it killed her. The party wasn't all bad - there were a good mix of people here, some that might actually be worth talking to if she didn't have to keep Mina's party girl persona in check. It also didn't make sense - was cheap beer supposed to be an enjoyed rite of passage, or simply suffered through?
At least the music was fun, if a bit repetitive. The kind of pop songs with a heavy bass beat and a refrain about partying or being up all night. Sometimes it was hard to tell which ones were new and which ones were the classics, but she danced anyway.
That is, until Mina insisted that she and a few of the other girls join one of the games going on. Molly stood on her tiptoes to look past the heads of gathered people. It wasn't much of a view, so she knelt lower. "Oh, wow, spin the bottle," she rolled her eyes. "Are we 12 again?"
Mina made some half-coherent comment about Molly's need to get a life, and Molly indirectly acknowledged that might have some merit by not bringing up the fact that you could rig the game with a couple of magnets. No one seemed in the mood for trivia, anyway.
Apparently the bottle was just the selection device. One spun the bottle and was matched up with whomever it landed on. Then the pair were sequestered for a limited period of time. "Okay, don't have to snog in front of everybody, that's a plus," she thought. But as she observed a couple of rounds, there were definitely some pairs that were better matched than others. "Yeah, I....I dunno if this is me, I'm probably going to get a drink."
Molly shuffled around the circle to grab a soda out of a cooler, but the person sitting on it refused to get up. A cheer went up as the bottle slowed and...was pointing right at her foot.
She looked across to see who had put the bottle in motion. She blinked. "...OH."
Steve's never really been invited to a party before. Not alone, anyway. Bucky's dragged him along to one or two, but this is the first one that he's come to on his own, and it feels...about as weird as he was expecting it to? He feels about as out of place? But he's sticking it out.
The music is too loud and the beers are terrible and make him feel a little dizzy and sick, but he'll stick that out too. When he gets dragged over to play spin the bottle, of all things, he goes along with it because he doesn't really want to be that guy at a party that starts acting like he's too good to go along with whatever the game of the hour is.
And anyway, spin the bottle is better than beer pong. It doesn't rely on depth perception, of what Steve basically has none.
He was grateful when he didn't get paired off for a while. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but Steve was...particular? Considerate? Well, the whole thing was strange and he didn't want to be pressed about it, and he didn't want anyone else to be either. And there had been more than a couple guys that had deliberately reached out and nudged the bottle when it almost landed on another guy, so Steve wasn't looking forward to his spin, no matter who it landed on.
When it did get to him, he just let it go. Did it matter? Probably not. He wasn't even looking up when the bottle slowed and then came to a rest, just listening to the laughing roar of the other party goers as he stared at the bottle, and then the ankle it was pointed at. He has to look up. He has to.
"Oh," he says, a little nervously. "Hey...hey Molly."
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bakerstreet2021-04-25 11:15 am
Melchior Gabor | Spring Awakening
AU | And I couldn't not respond
She had spent the expected amount of time mingling with other people, only really enjoying her time with her girlfriends. They had invited her to come with them to hang out, but she had politely declined and said that she had some things she wanted to attend to that afternoon. There was really only one person that she wanted to spend the afternoon with and it was the one person who had come to services that she hadn't yet spoken too. Melchior was recently returned from Reformatory school, and though they'd grown even closer due to their private correspondence through letters, they hadn't yet gotten to spend much time together in person. They were being cautious, to the point that he was even biting his tongue and attending church just to prove that he didn't have to go back to the school. Or maybe it was just because she was there and he wanted the chance to see her.
His eyes sought hers out often throughout the service, and as she was wrapping up her conversation with her friends, she tries to send him a wordless message through her own glance to suggest he follow her. Sunday afternoons were a lazy time for her, and she can't help but look forward to spending the rest of her day in one of her favorite spots; hopefully with one of her favorite people.
As she walks down the path that's off the main road, she glances behind her from time to time to see if she's being followed. She's not sure whether he got the message or not, but they'd made a deal in secret letters to meet there when they had time. Sooner or later he was going to join her, but once she's far enough away from the church to feel comfortable, she does slow down her steps to let him catch up.
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While he certainly attended in an attempt to make himself appear fully reformed, being able to take the opportunity to actually speak with Wendla was another high motivation. True, he could only keep polite topics of conversations, but it was better than nothing, he assumed. He had watched her through much of the service, taking in the new, more mature looking dress she was now forced to wear, and the way her corset kept her from even the slightest bit of slouching. There had certainly been quite a few changes since he had been gone and the way she'd grown up was the most prominent to him.
He'd seen her look and he'd done his best to let her get a little ahead of him, making sure to tell his mother he was going for a walk and would see her later in the afternoon. He'd followed along the path they always took into the woods, his hands in his pockets, and he made sure to walk a little faster than normal when he was out of sight of the church so that he could catch up more quickly. He gives a small grin when he sees her waiting for him, jogging slightly to get over to her. He glances back over his shoulder once as he gets close, before he goes to slip his arm around her waist as he falls into step beside her.
"I think imagining this moment is about the only thing that made any of that service even remotely bearable. I don't know how you've done it all these Sundays."
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Despite the increasing temperature of the afternoon, Wendla welcomed his warmth by her side, and leaned into his touch. The affections she had held for him before he'd been sent away had only grown through their letters and now the time they spent together and as his arm wrapped around her waist, she felt her heart leap. A smile grew on her face as she turned her head to look up at him. "I'm just used to it. It's just something that's required, like sitting in the classes that bore me. Usually I just let my mind drift and I think of more entertaining things. It's been a bit harder since I have had to start wearing all these layers."
She was looking forward to getting to their spot. As far as she was concerned, there were a couple of layers that she could take off once they were completely away from prying eyes. It was entirely improper to do so in front of Melchior, but while Wendla had grown even better at blending into society, she seemed incapable of shedding her free spirit. Despite the lectures and lessons, she still seemed to challenge the expectations put upon her. Melchior's presence in her life hadn't helped and he gave her an outlet to explore the topics and way of living that she was actually drawn to.
Leaning into him, she inhales the fresh air deeply, and lets it out just as slowly. The farther they walked into their own private world, the more peaceful she felt. Finally, she lifted her head a bit to look up at him and held up the basket she was carrying. "Oh, I packed food this time. Though, I am almost positive that the strawberries are ripe now. I thought I'd pick some for Mama."
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He makes sure to go down ahead of her when the path gets more uneven, knowing full well she can probably handle it fine on her own, but it feels like the right thing to do. He turns once he's on flat land again, offering up his hand to her so she can use him to balance herself as she comes down the rocks and roots that jut out from the slope.
"You should let me carry that," he said after he was sure she had her footing again. "I'm sure your mother will love the berries and it'll be good for you to actually have something to carry them home in instead of trying to use your skirts as a basket." He remembered her doing so when they were children and the way her mother had lectured her for showing her legs when she'd carried them all the way home that way.
no subject
One benefit was that coming into womanhood allowed her to really feel what was between them and she enjoyed those kinds of grown up feelings. Certainly when they'd been children, their relationship had been sweet and innocent. It shows up in the little ways, like the way she feels so warm and touched by the small gesture of him helping her down the rockier parts of the path. Wendla may not have appreciated the clothing requirements, but she greatly enjoyed the attention that she was given from him. Thankfully her skirts were not yet at the floor, so she didn't have too much to lift up as she followed him down.
She offered out the basket to him, allowing him the propriety of carrying her things. She looked forward to the day that he could properly court her, but in the meantime it felt as if he already was. She laughed softly at the memory of carrying berries home in her skirt. "Isn't that why women originally started wearing skirts? As a sex, we are the gatherers and the skirts allowed us to carry home what we gathered. I think it's perfectly reasonable."
By now they were getting off the beaten path, heading in a different direction to a more secluded location where they wouldn't have to worry about having people come across them. Wendla had found this spot on her own sometime back, while he'd been gone and it had felt like a safe haven. It was laying in the clearing on a picnic blanket that she'd experienced her first orgasm, though she hadn't told him it was this exact spot. Out here they could find true privacy. With his help, she climbs down the side of a little rock wall and steps into the little clearing where the stream connected to a little pool, that she sometimes went for a swim in. It wasn't big, or deep enough for a real swim, but it was crystal clear and cool for a summer day.
"One of my favorite places." Closing her eyes she stretched out her arms and turned her head skyward. She lets the warmth of the sun wash over and fills her soul with sound of the bubbling brook, the chirping birds, and creaking of tree branches that swayed in the breeze. She felt truly free out here, and she was glad to finally have his companionship that she had dreamed so often of.
no subject
He goes to place the basket down when they reach the clearing, removing his jacket and going to drape it over a rock so that it doesn't wrinkle or get too dirty. He pauses for a moment to watch as she stretched, before he goes to reach up and undo his tie and the first two buttons of his shirt so he can breath more easily. Rolling up his sleeves is the next course of action, even if it will only mildly combat the heat bearing down on them.
"I can see why you'd like it out here so much. You could do whatever you wanted without anyone the wiser." The statement was actually meant fairly innocently, his thoughts on the books one could read or the conversations one could have without anyone overhearing. He hadn't stopped to think about the further implications of it for once. "How long do you have before you need to return home?"
no subject
Walking over to the basket that had been set down on the ground, she unfolds the thin picnic blanket that she'd tucked on top of the basket and begins to lay it out for their use. She recalls the events to him, telling him about how she'd felt a sudden fear wash over her like an ice bath and how she'd gone to stand up because she'd known she had to get out of their, but she'd only made it to the aisle before she'd fainted. "Mama was more embarrassed than afraid I think, and though the pastor reassured her it was fine, she still decided if I was so ill that I couldn't stay for the sermon I must be sent to bed for the rest of the day. It's hard to tell with Mama." She began to pull out the food that she'd packed for them. "I must have told you, I remember writing you being the only thing that kept me sane."
Within a few minutes she'd set out a lovely spread of fresh fruit, salted pork, cheese, and bread. There was also a jug of lemonade that she'd made from the lemons she'd spent an hour squeezing and a few pieces of chocolate that she'd bought with her own money.
"It really is wonderful, isn't it? I come here to just be myself, and sometimes I feel it's the only place I can." Her own mind did not stay focused so innocently, remembering how often she'd penned him letters of a less appropriate nature or read from the books she'd borrowed from him knowing that she wasn't supposed to read them. Of course, she didn't mind sharing the space with him, because she'd longed for his company anyway. Having him there with her made her more grateful for the world than anything the pastor had spoken of earlier. "And, I have most of the day. Mama is spending the afternoon caring for one of her friends. Bruna Wagner She had a terrible fall and broke her ankle. I heard her say that Mr. Wagner likes his alcohol too much and is useless because of it. But no matter, Mama won't be home until dinner at the earliest and she did say she might eat with her friend. I think so long as I'm home by sunset, my absence won't be noticed."
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Reimu Hakurei | Touhou Project | OTA
Ben Solo | Star Wars | OTA
Rey | Star Wars | OTA
Sabriel | Abhorsen series | OTA
Henry Cheng | The Raven Cycle | OTA
Joseph Kavinsky | The Raven Cycle | M/M
Neil Perry | Dead Poets Society | M/M
Inej Ghafa | Grishaverse (books) | OTA
Steve Rogers | MCU | OTA
OOC
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Molly's got a bit of the girl next door vibe - maybe something along the lines of party game puts them in a closet together and she decides to be a bit bold, or they're at the same party and ended up picking the same room to try and find some peace but inevitably find each other. Do we want to set it in a time period or keep it vague?]
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Molly Hooper has not ever been, nor will she ever be, the 'Cool' girl. Her propensity for facts, usually related to math and science, made her a great lab partner and tutor; her pleasant but occasionally 'mousy' demeanor meant she was typically last choice, whether it was dodgeball teams or dates. Which was fine
except for those inevitable times when it wasn't. Things at home didn't exactly help; her mum was what was some psychologists might describe as "distant" when it came to love. At least she had her father - he at least had given her an encouraging wave when she told him she was going to a party - just a few friends, she'd said.She'd even gone so far as to dress up - a black, halter-top style dress that she thought was kind of classy. And while she'd left with her hair up in its typical ponytail, she let it hang loose once she was in the car. She'd caught a ride with Mina, who promptly told her to lose the 'rainbow grandma sweater' she had over her dress. Molly was about to protest that it wasn't even a full jumper, just one of those ones that covers the arms and shoulders, but that was when they pulled up to the house.
"Mina, that's like a bajillion people! It's hard enough standing next to you, but how is anyone going to notice me in all this?" She felt like the last standing member of some silly Wallflower Brigade and she was over it. The last party she'd gone to, she'd ended up stuck in a corner between a tower of discarded beer cans and an obnoxiously affectionate couple. She still had a scar from where one of the cans had nicked her leg during her desperate escape.
As she made her way inside, she fought the urge to make six different exit plans. They were supposed to be celebrating, and damnit she was going to have fun if it killed her. The party wasn't all bad - there were a good mix of people here, some that might actually be worth talking to if she didn't have to keep Mina's party girl persona in check. It also didn't make sense - was cheap beer supposed to be an enjoyed rite of passage, or simply suffered through?
At least the music was fun, if a bit repetitive. The kind of pop songs with a heavy bass beat and a refrain about partying or being up all night. Sometimes it was hard to tell which ones were new and which ones were the classics, but she danced anyway.
That is, until Mina insisted that she and a few of the other girls join one of the games going on. Molly stood on her tiptoes to look past the heads of gathered people. It wasn't much of a view, so she knelt lower. "Oh, wow, spin the bottle," she rolled her eyes. "Are we 12 again?"
Mina made some half-coherent comment about Molly's need to get a life, and Molly indirectly acknowledged that might have some merit by not bringing up the fact that you could rig the game with a couple of magnets. No one seemed in the mood for trivia, anyway.
Apparently the bottle was just the selection device. One spun the bottle and was matched up with whomever it landed on. Then the pair were sequestered for a limited period of time. "Okay, don't have to snog in front of everybody, that's a plus," she thought. But as she observed a couple of rounds, there were definitely some pairs that were better matched than others. "Yeah, I....I dunno if this is me, I'm probably going to get a drink."
Molly shuffled around the circle to grab a soda out of a cooler, but the person sitting on it refused to get up. A cheer went up as the bottle slowed and...was pointing right at her foot.
She looked across to see who had put the bottle in motion. She blinked. "...OH."
Molly recognized that face.
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Steve's never really been invited to a party before. Not alone, anyway. Bucky's dragged him along to one or two, but this is the first one that he's come to on his own, and it feels...about as weird as he was expecting it to? He feels about as out of place? But he's sticking it out.
The music is too loud and the beers are terrible and make him feel a little dizzy and sick, but he'll stick that out too. When he gets dragged over to play spin the bottle, of all things, he goes along with it because he doesn't really want to be that guy at a party that starts acting like he's too good to go along with whatever the game of the hour is.
And anyway, spin the bottle is better than beer pong. It doesn't rely on depth perception, of what Steve basically has none.
He was grateful when he didn't get paired off for a while. It wasn't that he didn't want to, but Steve was...particular? Considerate? Well, the whole thing was strange and he didn't want to be pressed about it, and he didn't want anyone else to be either. And there had been more than a couple guys that had deliberately reached out and nudged the bottle when it almost landed on another guy, so Steve wasn't looking forward to his spin, no matter who it landed on.
When it did get to him, he just let it go. Did it matter? Probably not. He wasn't even looking up when the bottle slowed and then came to a rest, just listening to the laughing roar of the other party goers as he stared at the bottle, and then the ankle it was pointed at. He has to look up. He has to.
"Oh," he says, a little nervously. "Hey...hey Molly."
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[eek sorry I keep dropping off the planet ;; ]
You keep coming back, though! <3
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Lyle Bennet | Heroes | M/M
John Connor | Terminator (SCC) | M/M