#I think we’re gonna try to put together some champion classes next year

[lightsovermonaco]

His Good Sweater: Chapter 13

Masterlist

Thanks to @acollectionofficsandshit​ for being my bestie and beta reading! This would have never happened without her ❤ Make sure you read Roman Profile, set in the same universe!

Word Count: 6.7k

Recommended song: "Cupid’s Chokehold/Breakfast in America” by Gym Class Heroes

"I have to go."

"Can't you stay five more minutes?"

"I wish."

"Come on, just a few more minutes to cuddle." Pierre flings back the fluffy duvet and holds out a hand. "Please?"

"I have an exam," you say with a sigh but bend to press a kiss to his upturned palm. "I can't skip."

Pierre groans and slings an arm over his eyes. "What am I supposed to do all day?"

"I don't have a sim but I have an old PlayStation you're more than welcome to use. I think I still have one or two games."

"That won't keep me busy."

"I'm sure you'll find something. Just stay out of trouble okay? I'd like to get my security deposit back when I finally move out of this hellhole."

"Okay," Pierre grumbles, sitting up to give you a quick kiss. "What time are you getting back?"

"Four. We can go out to dinner or something." You smooth a hand over his hair, smiling lightly. "Or we can go for a picnic and take a walk through Saint James Park."

"Sounds like a plan." He turns his head to kiss your palm. "I'll be counting down the minutes."

You roll your eyes but your smile contradicts the sass. "I'll be home before you know it. Love you, champion."

"I love you too, mon coeur."

He was endlessly grateful for how easily the two of you had fallen back into each other. When he had shown up at your doorstep he had expected there to be awkward pauses and minutes of tense silence, but there had been blissfully little of either. As the days bleed into each other, your relationship only gets steadier, closer and closer to what it used to be. Maybe it was because you had been the one to break the silence or maybe it was because he had thrown himself into his career into someone's bed- whatever the reason, it didn’t matter. He was simply grateful to be welcomed back into your life. He didn't plan on leaving any time soon.

Pierre allows himself a half hour of lounging in bed before forcing himself to get up and shower. Off weeks were hard; all he wanted to do was rest and recharge but he still had to follow his workout regimen and sleep schedule or he risked falling out of the habit, making it that much harder to get back in the groove come race week.

First order of business: clean the clutter you had shoved in closets and the spare room prior to his arrival the day before. Folding the three baskets of clean laundry took an hour, washing dishes another thirty minutes, and vacuuming the entire flat took twenty. Once the counters are spotless and there isn’t a stray sock to be found, he takes stock of your pantry and notes what staples you were running low on.

Two hours later he trudges back up the three flights of stairs to your apartment, arms laden with reusable bags packed to the gills with food. His legs burn and he's slightly winded from the excursion; at least that could count as his work out for the day.

He's just about to start slicing vegetables for dinner when his phone chimes with a text from his PR agent, Sylvie.

You're supposed to be in an interview now. Where are you?

"Oh shit." He scrambles for his laptop which of course was dead. He manages to plug it in at the dining room table and angle it so the background is mostly neutral, just a band poster framed behind him. He checks his hair before logging into the interview.

"There's the star," the interviewer says, far too chipper to be entirely genuine.

"Sorry, I was having connection issues." He queues up his signature sweetheart smile that gets him out of any squabbles. It works, the woman's irritation melting into a more easy expression.

"Let's just get right into it. Since we're low on time I'll jump right in, if you don't mind."

Pierre leans back. He had an inkling where this was headed. "By all means, please."

"We just saw news of your deal with Christian Horner- if you take seventh in this year's drivers championship, it looks like you're at Red Bull Racing next year. How does that feel after being publicly demoted mid-season in 2019?"

A smirk tugs at Pierre's lips. He had known this exact question was coming. He had debated how to answer it without starting waves and still remaining truthful. If there was one thing he prided himself on, it was his ability to be diplomatic when others may have let their egos get in the way.

"Obviously I'm grateful that Red Bull has recognized the hard work I've been putting in at Alpha Tauri," he starts. "I think I've been able to push the car as far as I can but I still have pace in me, personally. So moving into the Red Bull would let me loose, so to speak, and give me a chance to prove that Red Bull is where I belong."

"Right, you have had quite a spectacular season so far with a race win under your belt and a few podiums for good measure. What do you attribute that success to? Why is it so different now in an Alpha Tauri versus that coveted second Red Bull seat?"

Pierre purses his lips. The answer he was expected to give wasn't one he was willing to voice. Instead he opts for neutral. "I've been able to focus and hone my driving this season. I've found a groove that works for me and with it has come an insane amount of confidence, which is something I struggled with for awhile after going back to Torro Rosso. I think it's really just that I'm finally comfortable in the car and with my team and that makes a huge difference."

"Thank you for that," the journalist says and Pierre nods. "Shifting gears, I have a few questions about your personal life if you don't mind."

This was the part he always dreads. Questions were often prying and he had to subtly skirt around them in a way that offered a satisfying answer without giving away too much. It was an art he liked to think he had perfected over the years but still didn't enjoy.

"As long as you don't mind me staying silent if I don't want to answer."

The woman laughs, the sound sharp and grating. "Of course. Unless I can bribe you into giving me an exclusive."

"Likely not. But you ask the right questions and we'll see."

"You've been seen hanging around a certain London neighborhood lately- that wouldn't have anything to do with you and your lovely lady, would it?"

He had been waiting for that one, too. When the two of you had returned from Red Bull headquarters he had noticed the man taking pictures across the street. He hadn't said anything to you at the time because really, there was no point in getting you worked up when he had a plan to handle it.

The question played right into his hand, in fact. 

Pierre sits forward, folding his hands in front of him. "Actually yes. We recently got back together and if you'll let me, I would like to make a request."

The woman leans back and checks her notes. "Well it's not quite what I had planned but please," she gives a flourish with a hand, "you have the floor."

"I know driver's personal lives are something that a lot of people are interested in and that's great. I don't mind sharing things with my fans or letting them get the inside scoop, but there's some things I would rather be left alone. My relationship is one of them. I know you all took note that she hasn't been around the past couple months and if I'm being honest, it's because of comments and press coverage that invaded her privacy. I think some people forgot she was more than just a name on a screen."

Pen poised to take notes, the interviewer prompts, "You said you had a request?"

He doesn’t stop to assess the damage he had already undoubtedly done. Sylvie was probably already on the phone doing damage control with every news outlet she could get her hands on, if her muted and black square at the bottom of the screen was an indication. 

"All I'm asking is that you leave her alone. If you have questions or comments you have to make, just direct them at me. Don't follow her around asking about me. Don't comment on her posts unless you're capable of being a decent human. Just… let her live her life in peace."

Maybe he was a love sick fool, but honestly he didn't care if he lost some support from fans. If they had such strong opinions on his personal life, he would be better off without them anyway. And his team could cut him and even if he was unable to secure a seat in Formula 1 after next season, he would survive. 

But if he lost you again, he would be broken. It had taken being apart from you for him to realize it and he'd be damned if he was ever disconnected from you like that again.

"That's quite the speech."

Pierre shrugs. "It was. She's the most important thing in my life, right up there with racing.” Now that he had started down the road of truth, he found it impossible to hold his tongue. “I lost her once because people couldn't be bothered to remember that their words have consequences. I won't let it happen again."

"So you see yourself with her for a long time then?" The woman's eyes glitter with the potential of getting an even juicer tidbit from him.

Pierre’s jaw sets, muscles feathering. "That's not something I'm prepared to discuss."

The woman purses her lips and tips her head to the side. There was clearly more she wanted to say. "Well, I have to thank you for what you've given me here. My boss is gonna love the exclusive. I won't push any further. Thanks for your comments, Pierre."

"Thanks for actually being respectful."

“We aren’t all monsters.” The woman shrugs. “I can’t say I haven’t had my moments but I try to be straightforward.”

“Right, yeah. I get that you have a job to do.”

“Anyway. I look forward to seeing what you can do the rest of this season. Good luck.”

He signs off and instantly anxiety washes over him. If she twisted his words he was screwed. Sylvie would be on the phone as soon as the article was printed, no doubt trying to soothe sponsors and investors. She'd give him an earful about being respectful and not poking the bear but he'd tune it out like he always did.

The sooner he got away from Red Bull, the better.

Instead of dwelling on it he busies himself with cooking. It was one of his guilty pleasures. He always requested a full kitchen when he was staying anywhere more than a few days so that if he had the chance to make a home-cooked meal, he had the option. For tonight he had selected his favorite recipe. Parmesan-Cesar chicken wasn't normally something you would ever touch with a ten foot pole but as long as he was making it, Pierre knew you'd at least give it a try.

Music blasting in the background, Pierre sings along quietly as he unpacks the rest of the ingredients and gets to work. He does a little spin between the island and the sink, rinsing the dishes and putting them right in the dishwasher as he uses them. A clean kitchen is the mark of a great chef, his mom had told him, drilling the phrase into him when he was young.

In the middle of cutting potatoes Pierre gets a call. He only has an hour until you're home so he doesn't bother stopping, just puts it on speaker and continues measuring spices.

"Hey Daniel."

"Heard you're in London," Daniel says, Australian accent thick. "And a little birdie told me you and your lady got back together."

"We did," Pierre says, a smile splitting his face. "Finally."

"Thank god, now I don't have to listen to your drunk woe-is-me rambling anymore."

Pierre laughs and sets aside the measuring spoons. "It's not that bad."

"Oh please." Pierre could practically hear the eyes rolling. "The number of times I had to send an uber to a bar after a grand prix is insane. Charles and I should be entitled to financial compensation with the amount of babysitting we've been doing."

"I can handle myself!"

"Not after a martini you can't."

He was right there. "Is there a point to this conversation?"

"Oh right- I'm actually in town today too, got some stuff to shoot for McLaren before we head to Austria for the race next week. You guys wanna come out with us tonight? We're heading to a bar or two."

"I actually had something planned-"

"She already said she's coming!" Dan's girlfriend shouts in the background.

“Well then why even ask me?”

“To be polite,” Daniel offers with a laugh. “We’re meeting at the rooftop bar at the Trafalgar hotel at seven. That give you enough time to do whatever you had planned that’s apparently more important than seeing your best mates?”

“We’ll be there,” Pierre says and hangs up. He finishes seasoning the potatoes and pops them in the oven, finally getting a chance to sit while they cook alongside the main course.

He's on his feet a few minutes later, decluttering the last bits of mess around your flat. It was clear it hadn't had a decent cleaning in quite awhile- hopefully you'd keep it tidy now that the effort had been made. The guys would tease him endlessly if they found out he was acting like a housewife.

You arrive home just as he’s setting the table. “God, it smells amazing in here.”

“Salut, mon amour.” Hands full with hot dishes, he settles for a kiss to your cheek. “I made dinner.”

“And you cleaned,” you observe. “You were a busy boy.”

“Pyry would kill me if he found out I was laying around all day. I had to do something.” 

You hang your backpack on the hook behind the door and take a seat at the table. “Well remind me to thank him again when I see him. This looks delicious.”

Pierre grins over his shoulder at you. “Me or the food?”

You throw your head back and laugh, loud and unrestrained. “The food, you goof.”

Pierre quirks a brow. "Is that the honest answer?"

"Okay, maybe both." 

The meal is filled with your ramblings about your exam and your new hobby- this month it was hiking. You went into detail about all the few trails in the city you’d been on as well as the more challenging ones that dotted the countryside. Pierre just nods along as you talk, already planning on staying up late to learn what he could about the topic so he could be a better conversation partner.

The pair of you work together to tidy the kitchen and put away any leftovers. “Did you bring something semi nice to wear tonight or do we have to make a quick trip to the store?”

“I’ve got some Tauri stuff I can wear. And not just team gear,” he adds when you groan. “You know that cream sweater you love? The one with the logo debossed on the front? I’ve got that.”

“Oh,” you say before biting your lip. Your eyes trail down his frame and back up like you’re imagining it on him. A tingle travels up his spine under your assessing gaze. If you kept that up, neither of you would make it out of the apartment tonight. “My favorite. Yeah, wear that. It’ll be on my floor by the end of the night.”

Pierre places his hands on your waist and grins. “Will it? And what will be on the floor from your closet, hm?”

“Your favorite dress.”

“The orange one?” He realizes half a second too late that you would never know how much he adored that dress from the gala. It had hugged your curves in all the right places and left your back exposed, which would leave him free to trace patterns on your soft skin whenever he pleased. He had missed out on worshipping you in it that night and he wouldn’t mind the opportunity to do so now.

You roll your eyes. “I can’t wear that to a bar.”

“Says who?” Pierre nuzzles his face against your neck, breathing you in. A light undercurrent of sweat from your walk home from classes mingles with the usual bright scent of you, only serving to rile him up further. Never in a million years would he have guessed that a simple scent could do him in, and yet here he was, completely wrapped up in yours. 

“Says me.” You sigh, tipping your head to the side when Pierre’s nose grazes your skin.

His lips follow until he reaches your jaw before he pulls back. “What one are you wearing then?”

“Does it matter?” You cross your arms, the smirk playing on your kissable lips tempting him.

“I have to mentally prepare myself.” And if whatever you chose was too sexy, he would need to get his handsiness out of his system before the pair of you met up with Daniel and his girlfriend. The last thing he needed was to be on the front of some seedy gossip column when his plan was to ease back into it. 

You smile up at him, broad and unrestrained as if knowing your answer would affect him greatly. “The cobalt blue one that makes you stutter.”

The dress in question was just as form fitting as the orange one, but shorter and decidedly more distracting. It fell mid thigh and the spaghetti straps left your shoulders exposed, which coupled with the low back displayed a downright sinful amount of skin. You had worn it at a Torro Rosso event a couple years back and he had scarcely been able to get a full sentence out around you all night. 

“That one’s a close second.” He follows you to your room, leaving you to hunt through the closet while he digs through his suitcase, thankful that he had the foresight to check out of his hotel on the way back from Red Bull and bring his things here.

Because there was no way in hell he was missing a second of being by your side while he was in town. Every moment had to count when he had no idea when he would be able to sleep next to you again, not when the season was nearly over and there were two double headers between now and winter break. When so many variables stood between him and you, he had no problem prioritizing you over a routine workout or a full night’s rest.

Pierre changes into the sweater and a pair of dark skinny jeans well before you emerge from the bathroom. He doesn’t bother responding to Dan’s text that includes an address and reminds him to be on time, instead opting to scroll through his instagram feed. He likes a handful of posts from his fellow drivers, including one of Max actually smiling at something off camera.

“Well?”

Pierre’s head snaps up at the sound of your voice. The phone falls from his hand when he drags his eyes over your body, head to toe and back again. 

Oh, he was so fucked. 

Maybe it was selfish, but with your hair done like that, the barest brush of makeup lining your eyes and in that stunningly blue dress, he didn’t want any other man to have the privilege of laying their eyes on you. 

No, you were all his.

The moment you’re within reach, Pierre places his hands on the back of your thighs, just beneath the curve of your barely covered ass. You chuckle and tap your fingers under his chin. “Close your mouth; you’ll catch flies.”

“Just so you know, if you wear that dress I can’t be held liable for my actions.” Up to and including scaring off anyone that wasn’t Daniel or his girlfriend. No one else deserved to be blessed with your radiance. Hell, he didn’t deserve it, and yet here you stood. 

“We’ll see about that.”

**********

Daniel and his girlfriend had already made their way through a round of drinks by the time you arrive. It wasn’t Pierre’s fault he couldn’t keep his hands off you and wound up getting distracted on the drive over.

"Late as always," she greets, kissing your cheek. "Dan got us here fifteen minutes early because he wanted the table with the best view."

"Like our names wouldn't have gotten us the table if we asked," Pierre says, wrapping Daniel in a one-armed hug before kissing his girl’s cheek in a traditional French greeting. "The view is pretty great though."

You were already leaning on the glass partition, hands curled over the edge and undoubtedly leaving behind fingerprints on the pristine surface, completely unfazed by the fact that the other patrons were staring. You had eyes only for the London skyline and Trafalgar square lit up below. The bar with its white marble tabletops and strict dress code was absolutely not a place that you should be standing on your tiptoes for a better view, but there was no way he could condemn you when your face lit up like that.

Pierre just places a hand on the small of your back and shoots a look at the bartender currently glaring in your direction, daring the smartly dressed man to say anything. He only raises a brow and resumes filling drink orders.

"You guys know how to pick a place," you say, "I could stand here all night."

"Right," Daniel's girlfriend says, rolling her eyes at Pierre who shrugs as if to say what do you want me to do? He was powerless to deny you anything that brought you a semblance of joy; your smile was everything to him. “Love, why don’t you come tell us about uni? You’re the only one of us currently enrolled, and I’m sure the boys would love to hear about all the drama.”

You and Pierre share a secret grin. You shake your head but allow him to guide you back to the cocktail table. “Drama? I’m an engineering major. The closest thing we have to drama is someone grossly miscalculating a structural load.”

Dan shoots Pierre a mischievous grin. “I heard Stroll might be moving next year-”

Both you and Daniel’s girlfriend groan at the same time. “No racing talk when we’re around tonight,” she says. “I’ve heard enough lately.”

“What’s new in the publishing world?” You ask, leaning into Pierre when he wraps an arm around you. He only half listens to her explain the so-called “top secret” project she’s currently working on, instead opting to get drunk on you. 

The light breeze filtering through the surrounding buildings ruffles your hair. You lift a hand absentmindedly to tuck it behind your ear in an attempt to keep it out of your face. Everything you do is amazing to him, snagging his attention even when he should be listening to whatever it was his friends were saying. Your gravity was simply too strong to bother resisting.

“Enough talk,” Daniel’s girlfriend says, waving a hand. “You need a drink, and I want to dance. Let’s go.” Before Pierre can protest, she’s dragging you away to the glass top bar. You throw an apologetic glance over your shoulder and Pierre just winks. He was fine watching you from afar for now.

Pierre’s gaze drops to your perky ass when you lean in to let the bartender know what you want, likely shouting to be heard over the music, your dress riding up a bit with the movement. For having such a strict dress code, this place sure did feel like an upper class club.

You hook your thumb over a shoulder, the bartender’s gaze darting to Pierre before the man nods. The only explanation you offer is a wink, followed by a note on a cocktail napkin and a beer delivered a few minutes later by a server.

This is supposed to be the best beer they have. Just try it.

Leave it to you to constantly push him outside his comfort zone. Pierre tentatively sniffs the foamy glass and shrugs before taking a sip. Not bad, but he still preferred his usual whiskey. 

Setting the glass down, Pierre turns back to Daniel. “Congrats on extending your contract with McLaren by the way. Should give you a decent shot at keeping up with the big boys and landing some serious points.”

“Seems like most of us are moving around, doesn’t it? Sainz to Ferrari, Seb to Aston Martin... The only one with any sort of long term commitment is Max and now me I guess.”

“And Charles,” Pierre adds. “He’s stuck in that red monstrosity for the foreseeable future.”

Daniel laughs, taking a swig from his glass. “And you’re moving too, huh? Austria should be interesting,” Daniel remarks, watching the girls at the bar nursing their own drinks. “What with the news of your new contract breaking and all.”

“Potential contract,” Pierre corrects. “Not for sure yet.”

Daniel scoffs. “Come on mate. You won’t have any problem getting up to seventh by the end of the season. Perez is slipping and the news that his seat is in jeopardy will only help your cause.”

Pierre takes a sip of his amber beer and nods. “I’m sure Perez doesn’t appreciate it, but he’s always been a good sport.” You catch Pierre’s eye and lift your fresh flute of champagne in a mock salute. Dan’s girlfriend drags you out on the dancefloor and immediately spins you. Your laugh is nearly audible, the memory of it fresh in Pierre’s mind as he watches you.

“Mate, have you been listening to a word I’ve said?”

“I’m sorry, what?”

Daniel shakes his head and drains his drink. “I really don’t know how it took you two this long to come together. You’ve been dancing around each other for years but neither of you would admit it.”

“I could say the same about you two.”

Daniel shrugs. “Fair point. At least we got it all worked out in a weekend though.”

Pierre rolls his eyes and shoves his friend’s shoulder. “Whatever. Not all of us can have a perfect love story.” 

The grin Daniel shoots Pierre is pure sunshine. “How long are you planning on waiting before you ask her to marry you?”

“What?” Pierre sputters, nearly choking on air. “Who said anything about marriage?”

“Oh come on,” Dan says, rolling his eyes. “We all know it’s coming eventually.”

Pierre would be lying if he said he hadn’t thought about it. But he wasn’t sure if it was the time for a proposal, not when you had just gotten back together. The last thing he wanted to do was go through the pain of losing you again because he was too forward.

“One day at a time,” Pierre says finally, dragging himself back to earth. “I just got her back a few days ago. I don't want to scare her off by proposing just yet.”

“Right. Well you might want to get a ring on that hand sooner rather than later,” Daniel notes, gesturing to the two men who had approached the girls. “How long are we gonna let that go on before we step in?” Neither of you paid the men any attention, instead enjoying each other’s company, but the men’s eyes roaming over your body sets Pierre on edge.

“They can handle themselves,” Pierre remarks, shifting on his feet. The weak attempt at self assurance didn’t do much to negate the red tinting his vision. “They’re fine.”

“Her sharp tongue will hold them at bay,” Daniel says, winking at his girlfriend. “For a while at least.” Props to Daniel for possessing inhuman amounts of restraint, but Pierre’s muscles were coiled and ready to interject at the first sign of trouble. 

He has to pause to remind himself he doesn't own you. You could make your own decisions about who you spoke with and who you entertained as long as he was the one to take you home. He didn't care if you wanted to flirt; he knew it meant nothing and if you got a free drink out if it then so be it. But those were the rules: flirting, no touching. He'd step in if need be if someone took it too far.

But that didn't mean he had to enjoy it.

Pierre watches tight lipped as you politely chat with the man, your body language closed off and dismissive. Pierre hates that you even speak a word to him. He knows it shouldn’t bother him because he trusts you, but the stranger is a wild card. Pierre watches like a hawk as the man inches ever closer, slowly interesting himself into your personal space. He waits for you to take a step back, to grant him that silent permission to come over and insert himself in the conversation and get his hands on you, this proving you weren't on the market.

One of the men shouts something at you over the music and you leer back at him, clearly disgusted at whatever he had said. Whirling on him, you open your mouth, likely to snap out a profanity lined retort, when his hand latches onto your arm.

"Oh, fuck no."

Half a second later, Pierre is stalking across the dance floor, no thoughts other than teaching the asshole a lesson. His hands are already curled into fists, ready to swing if the man hadn't moved by the time he arrived. Tolerating someone hitting on you was one thing, but blatantly ignoring the clear dismissals and laying a hand on you? No way in hell was he standing by and letting that happen.

The resounding crack of your open hand hitting the man’s face has pride swelling in Pierre’s chest. That’s my girl. You’d solved the problem before he’d even arrived. You jab a finger in the man’s face, Daniel’s girlfriend right there with you to back you up.

“Fuck off,” you were saying as Pierre approached, “or do you need to go back to kindergarten and learn to keep your hands to yourself? Maybe next time you’ll think twice before laying a hand on a taken woman- or any woman, for that matter.”

Driving your point home, Pierre slips an arm around your waist and pulls you in until your back is flush to his chest. You crane your neck up, the tense muscles beneath his fingertips and the fury contorting your features confirming just how rattled you are.

The lines creasing your brow are soothed away when you realize who holds you. You open your mouth to say something but Pierre places a hand on your throat, thumb and forefinger framing your jaw as he cuts you off with a kiss, his eyes locked on the guy still standing off to the side holding his cheek. 

You taste like the champagne you’d been sipping all night. It’s the only thought in his head outside of the jealousy licking through his veins like wildfire as he claims you then and there in front of the crowd. Mine, his heart sings. He flexes his fingers, taking advantage of your surprised gasp to slide his tongue against yours. Mine, mine, mine.

Pierre lets you be the one to break away, lips curling in a smug, kiss-swollen smile as you address the men. “In case you still don’t get the picture, I’m not interested. And neither is she.” You jerk your chin, indicating your friend and Daniel, who had indeed followed Pierre and since mirrored his possessive stance, one arm wrapped tightly around his own girlfriend.

The two men reluctantly slink away after mumbling something unintelligible but undoubtedly indecent. It had been a week and a half since he had been on track and he had plenty of pent up aggression to get out. He didn’t normally opt for using someone’s face as a punching back as a stress reliever, but rulers were made to be broken. Your hand splayed on Pierre’s chest is all that stops him from following and asking them to repeat themselves.

“Just let me hit him,” Pierre says, voice far more level and put together than he had expected it to be. “Just one punch. That’s all I would need.” His knuckles smart like he had already connected them to the man’s face. 

“And let you throw away your contract? I don’t think so. The last thing you need is a blurry photo of you knocking someone’s teeth in hitting the front page of every gossip mag in the country. I’m fine, so you can cut the bravado.”

“Yeah, I hear you.” 

“I was wondering how long you were gonna leave us out here,” you say, trying to regain Pierre’s attention. When it doesn’t work, you grasp his stubbled chin and force him to look at you. “I didn’t expect to be stranded for so long.”

The eye contact is what finally calms his racing thoughts. Seeing the trust reflected in your face is enough to have his grip on your waist loosening to allow you to face him. “Someone convinced me you could fend for yourself. And while it seems that’s true, I couldn’t stand it anymore.” 

Your satisfied hum is swallowed by the pounding bass but Pierre feels it rumble in his chest. “Sometimes even a queen needs saving.”

Though his point had long since been proven, Pierre’s hand slides down your back to rest on your ass nonetheless. “I knew you going out looking like this would cause trouble.”

You tip your head to the side, feigning innocence as you press your hips to his. You grin, noticing the hard on that had been bothering him all night. “Looking like what?”

“Drop dead fucking gorgeous,” he says, accentuating his point by sliding his hand up your thigh and under the hem of your dress. “You know I’m tearing this off you the second we get home, right?”

“Why do you think I wore it?”

The sound that escapes him is primal and possessive. The presence of bystanders does nothing to prevent him from palming your ass and kneading the flesh. He presses his lips to your neck and mumbles between kisses, “To torture me.”

You push lightly at his chest, laughing although your eyes dart around the space in search of cameras. Old habits were hard to break. “That may have been part of my motivation. But you’ll have to wait. I haven’t seen Dan in forever and I would actually like to have a conversation with him before we sneak off somewhere.”

At least you knew he wouldn’t be able to wait until you got home to get between your legs. “Fine,” he grumbles, hands settling on your hips. “Only because I love you.”

You beam up at him. “Love you too.”

Arm still slung around your waist, Pierre nods at Daniel and follows the other couple back to the table.

After two more drinks, you and Daniel's girlfriend are singing along to the music in lilting, off key voices, simply enjoying the night air. A stray breeze catches your hair just as you turn to look at Pierre and his heart damn near leaps out of his chest.

To his credit, Pierre’s cheeks are rosy from more than just the charged glances you throw at him as the night wears on. He was on his fourth beer, far more than he usually drank these days, and the buzzing in his head was becoming increasingly hard to ignore. When he has to squint to tell the time on his watch, he figured that was enough.

"I should probably get going mate," Pierre says, turning to Daniel. "Early flight."

Daniel laughs and beacons for the girls. He kisses his girlfriend's cheek when she returns with you in tow. "Are we leaving already?" You pout, and Pierre had half a mind to stay simply have your smile make an encore appearance.

"Car coming," he murmurs, dipping his head to give you a proper kiss. God, you were stunning in that dress- he might not be able to string together words coherently, but he knew that much. 

"Fine." You cross your arms for a split second to convey your feelings on the matter before wrapping your friends in a hug and saying your goodbyes.

Pierre's hand is already on your ass before you're in the uber. Get a few drinks in the boy and he let his guard down. You laugh and pull out of his embrace to usher him into the sleek black suv. If he had been coherent, he probably would have chatted with the driver about the specs of the engine or maybe even racing if he was a fan. Instead the ride is filled with stolen touches and sloppy, wet kisses to your neck.

"I can't wait till we're home," he mumbles. "You're gorgeous. How did I snag you? You're so far out of my league. No way should you be with me."

"I have a thing for guys that go fast in circles on the weekends." 

"Really?" Pierre frowns. "Should I be worried?"

"No. You're the only one I have eyes for." His head is fuzzier than when you left the bar but your laugh breaks through, his stomach flipping at the melody of it. "And we are home."

Pierre blinks, realizing he does indeed stand in your kitchen, with no recollection of climbing the three flights of stairs between the street and your flat. "Oh. When did that happen?"

"After I half dragged you up the stairs." You bend over to undo the straps of your heels, giving him the perfect view. He lets out a whistle that ends in a hiccup.

"Take me to bed, lover," he says in what he thinks is a husky voice. It should be impossible for you to resist.

You roll your eyes and wrap an arm around his middle. "That's the plan. I'll take you to bed, strip you out of that sweater, and you'll be asleep before your head hits the pillow."

"Nnnnnno," he protests, hand sliding down your exposed back to settle at the base of your spine. "I wanna make the most of tonight. I leave tomorrow."

"You don't leave until noon," you point out. "Plenty of time to nurse your hangover and have fun before then, after you drink some water and get some sleep."

"But baby-"

"No buts. Do as I say or I'll send you off tomorrow without a goodbye kiss."

Even in his half drunken state he knew it was a swiss cheese lie, spotted with holes and completely stale. You'd never let him leave without a kiss goodbye because neither of you knew if it would be the last time. He was a race car driver after all, and that came with risks. 

But he sighs anyways and slips off the cream sweater, letting it fall to the floor. At least one of you kept their promises. 

After confirming he was settled into bed, you retreat to the bathroom. His heart aches at the absence, even though you're mere feet away with nothing but a thin door separating the two of you. He registers the sound of the tap turning on and your soft, off key humming of the last song he remembered hearing before getting out of the uber.

"Mon amour," he croons when you re-emerge in a set of silk pajamas. He reaches out his hands for you and you slide under the covers, immediately slotting your body against his. A leg hitches over his hip, tugging him closer until your middles touch.

"Mmm," he mumbles, nuzzling into your neck. "Je t'aime. Tu es l'amour de ma vie et nous vivons d'amour et d'eau fraîche."

"I have no idea what you're saying," you whisper, running your fingers through his hair. "But I like it. Feel free to keep going."

"Tes baisers sont du feu et je fond à ton toucher." He presses his lips to your neck before resuming his mumbled French. "Je pense toujours à toi. Je veux être avec toi pour toujours. Tu as mon cœur et je ne voudrais pas qu'il en soit autrement."

"I like the sound of that." You press a soft, sweet kiss to his forehead. God, that tenderness was why he loved you. That, and your personality, and your eyes, and your… everything. "Dormir, my love. I'll be here to listen to your pretty words in the morning."

The single word of his mother tongue on your lips has him smiling. "Oui, tu le feras. Parce que tu es à moi et je suis à toi."

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[ladycatofwinterfell]

Raindrops, snowflakes, sunshine, part 3

Summary: Catelyn meets a northern boy in her algebra class during one of London’s many rainy days. Initially she doesn’t expect much, but this boy brings her a surprising amount of sunlight.

@leialannister and I discussed Scandinavian Starks and I realized I really wanted to write a fic so that’s what I did. Swedes depicted in media makes this Swede happy, and NedCat also makes me happy so why not combine it and publish him for everyone to see?

Ashara poked her head into the bathroom and squinted against the bright light. Catelyn got eye contact with her through the mirror and raised her eyebrows. Ashara had looked better. She was a beautiful woman, but at the moment she looked like seven hard years.

“Where are you going?”

“Did I say I’m going somewhere?” Catelyn asked.

She was going somewhere, but she hadn’t said a thing about it to Ashara and Cersei. She had planned to tell them about it, she really had, but then she had just never found an opportunity to do it. She had thought that she would be able to get out without them taking too much notice about it. That she thought because the two of them had a hangover from hell.

“You didn’t drink last night and you’re wearing makeup, you’re going somewhere.”

Catelyn turned around to look at her directly instead of through the mirror.

“I’m going out for coffee with Ned” she said.

Ashara smiled tiredly.

“You are?”

“Yeah.”

“I’m happy for you but I also hate you.”

Catelyn turned back to the mirror to examine her look a final time.

“What have I done to deserve that?”

Ashara leaned against the doorframe, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Cersei and I are stuck here, hangover as fuck, but you’re all pretty and have a date with a cute guy.”

Ned had accepted her following request and Ashara and Cersei had deemed him cute based on the pictures he had. Not amazingly good looking, but definitely cute.

Together the two of them had also reached the conclusion that there was no trace of a partner on his social media. He only had pictures with more than two people in them, which made it hard to determine, but after careful consideration they had said that he didn’t seem to have a girlfriend. Which of course didn’t matter to Catelyn, but they had found it very interesting.

“Thanks, but it’s not a date.”

It definitely wasn’t a date, but she was looking good. Her skin was glowing, her hair cooperated. It was a perfect day.

“Then what is it?”

“I’m meeting a person for coffee, that’s what it is.”

Ashara rolled her eyes.

“That really just sounds like a coffee date, KitKat.”

She didn’t know when Cersei’s ridiculous nickname for her had stuck, but it annoyed her that it had. She had long since given up on trying to fight it. KitKat. Sometimes that was just who she was. A chocolate covered wafer bar.

“If you insist on it, fine, it’s a friend date.”

She walked past Ashara and out of the bathroom. The flat was gloomy and the air was heavy with the smell of what Catelyn guessed was lavender, but she wasn’t sure. It didn’t matter what scented candle it was that Ashara had lit, the only thing that mattered was that Catelyn had an intense dislike of it. She was glad for that she had a good reason to get out of there.

“Is he aware of that it’s a friend date?” Ashara questioned as she followed Catelyn to the hallway.

He had to be. She couldn’t imagine him wanting to date her because why would he want that? She hadn’t exactly made a good first impression. Or second impression. She had been given multiple chances and had managed to fuck it up every time.

“Yes. I don’t think he would want to date me anyway.”

“Why?”

Catelyn tried to keep her mind off the social missteps she had made during her conversations with Ned. If she started thinking about that she would die. Well, she wouldn’t die, but she would have some trouble getting herself to their… friend date. And if she actually managed to get there she would have a very hard time looking at him.

“There’s no need to talk about that.”

A sly grin appeared on Ashara’s face.

“No need to talk about it, huh? Why’s that?”

“I’m an idiot, that’s all there is to say.”

“That isn’t like you.”

“My brain abandoned me somewhere in the middle, I don’t know.”

Catelyn really didn’t want to be that person, but she was smart. She was book smart and also did well in social situations. She was simply overall smart. Therefore she would have liked to know what it was about Ned that made her act like she had never spoken to a person before. What about him was so terribly special that she couldn’t use her brain? He wasn’t special, the only thing that made him stand out from the other people in her life was that he was Swedish. And there were literally millions of other Swedes.

“Good luck with your friend date” Ashara said when Catelyn opened the door to leave.

“Have fun here” Catelyn responded.

She was once more very happy for that she was going out instead of staying inside feeling like a corpse all day.

“We’re gonna order pizza, it’ll be great.”

Catelyn didn’t believe Cersei was awake and based on Ashara’s yawn she she guessed she would go back to bed for a little longer as well.

“Save me a slice.”

“Can’t promise anything.”

“Come on.”

“That’s what you get for ditching us for a guy.”

“Is it somehow my fault that you’re hangover?”

“Cat, honey, shut up and let me be a little bit jealous over your date.”

Why was she jealous? She had a girlfriend. And it still wasn’t a date, Ashara knew that. Catelyn would get no boyfriend out of meeting Ned for coffee.

“You have a girlfriend, go on a date with her.”

“I can’t date anyone in this condition.”

“I want dinner no matter your condition.”

Ashara almost pushed her out the door.

“Don’t keep the Swede waiting.”

“Hey, I need–“

The door shut before she had finished her sentence. She supposed it was for dramatic effect, but it wouldn’t really work as Ashara had pushed her out before she could take her bag and phone. So she opened the door and went back inside.

“Did you not get my hint?” Ashara chuckled. “I was telling you to leave.”

Catelyn snatched her bag up from where it stood on the floor just next to the door.

“I appreciate your attempt at recreating a scene from a shitty movie, but I needed my bag.”

“I knew something would ruin it.”

“Want to try again?”

Ashara looked like she actually considered it for a moment, but then she scrunched up her face.

“Nah, it wouldn’t be the same” she said.

“Sorry for ruining it.”

“I hate you now.”

Catelyn descended the stairs, cursing the fact that the lift was still broken. She didn’t even know how long it had been since it broke. Weeks, maybe months. And when it actually worked it worked for five days at a time anyway. Catelyn was a world champion when it came to running in stairs. She was nowhere near patient enough to simply walk down those stairs, that took way too long.

When she had stepped out on the street she heard her phone’s text signal and smoothly fished it out of her bag. It was a message from Ned. She had got his number after they started following each other on Instagram so that they could have more direct contact.

Is it fine if Oden comes?

Her lips curled into a smile, he wanted to bring his dog. That felt like an honor. She didn’t know if it was, but it certainly felt that way. And she was fine with his dog. It was a large dog, she wasn’t a fan of large dogs. But Oden seemed very polite.

Yeah, it’s no problem

Okay, see you soon

See you soon

She put her phone away again and happily walked towards the subway. She had hoped it would be sunny, it was not. Maybe it would have been if she hadn’t thought of it. The weather seemed to work that way. But it wasn’t raining, and according to her weather app it wouldn’t. It was just cloudy. Which was fine. Cloudy was fine. But it made her a little sad because her hair was at its best with some sunlight at it, if she could say so herself.

She arrived there before Ned. The bookshop was closed Sundays so she couldn’t browse for books while waiting. So she looked at her phone for a bit, tried not to stare at people walking past her. She didn’t know where he lived, so she had no idea about from which way he would come.

But before she knew it he was standing in front of her with Oden next to him.

“Hey” he said.

She smiled.

“Hi.”

“I hope Oden isn’t a problem.”

She crouched down slightly and scratched Oden between his ears.

“Not at all. We’re best friends, right, Oden?”

Not that a dog could answer her, but it seemed like he liked her. He wagged his tail. She didn’t speak dog, but she believed that meant he was happy. Or at least he didn’t hate her.

“He trusts you” Ned said.

She had been joking, but she saw no sign of that he was.

“I’m sorry, I’m bad with dogs, how can you tell that?”

“Oh that’s not about dogs overall, it’s just Oden. He usually doesn’t let people touch his head. His brothers and sisters were a bit mean to him, and they would chew on his ears so he’s sensitive in that area.”

Catelyn previously hadn’t believed that she would ever reach the point in her life where a dog trusted her. She didn’t like dogs, and dogs didn’t like her. It had been that way for as long as she could remember. And still she stood there with a dog who according to his owner trusted her.

“I really do not deserve that” she said dismissively. “At all.”

Ned looked at her for a moment before answering. She looked back into his eyes. Grey. They were grey. And she was certain of that she wouldn’t forget it that time around. Even more so she hoped they wouldn’t go so long without seeing each other that she had time to forget again. But she wouldn’t let that happen.

“I think you do.”

Maybe she was blushing. She had no idea. All she knew was that he was very sweet and that she liked that about him.

“Thank you.”

She had probably held eye contact with him for longer than appropriate but he didn’t seem to mind. When she snapped out of it and averted her eyes, turning her gaze to the street instead.

“Where do you want to go?” she asked.

Ned sighed.

“I’m going to confess something” he then said. “I don’t know a lot about coffee, where I come from we drink it plain and black. So you pick wherever you like.”

Interesting that he had asked her out for coffee then. Maybe that was simply the first thing that had come to his mind when he asked her.

“Okay. Well, this isn’t my part of the city, I’m rarely here, but if we walk around the area I’m sure we’ll find something good.”

She was only there when she was at the bookshop. She had no other reason to be there, she only knew they had a good bookshop there.

“Sounds good.”

They started walking down the street with Oden ahead of them.

“Don’t you have coffee shops in Sweden?” Catelyn said.

It seemed so much like an exaggerated stereotype that she couldn’t really believe it. Sweden wasn’t all winter and woods, was it? They had cities and in cities there were coffee shops. Or so she believed. Maybe Sweden was a stranger country than she had initially thought.

“We have in the cities, but my family is from the country side so I didn’t have easy access to them. I learned to drink my coffee black. In the wrong company you could get shamed for drinking it with a little bit of milk.”

“Really?”

“Proper people drink their coffee black” Ned said in a heavy Swedish accent.

Catelyn couldn’t keep herself from laughing and he smiled.

“I drink my coffee black too sometimes” she said. “But that’s mostly when I’m too tired to put anything in it because I’m studying.”

“Everyday I thank myself for quitting math.”

“I get you, sometimes it’s all pain, but I like it.”

“I’m a bit jealous, I wish I was good at it.”

She was somewhat flattered by that. So he wanted something that she had too, she wasn’t the only one who was a bit jealous of the others talents? Maybe she was a bad person for feeling that. She didn’t really care.

“Do you?”

“I have always admired academic people, but I’m definitely not one of them. My brain’s not wired that way.”

“That’s funny, because I thought the same thing about you when you said that you draw” she confessed. “I wish I was good at that.”

Ned didn’t answer, so she looked at him to see if something had happened. He didn’t look back at her, seemingly deep in thought. Which confused her. Had what she said really been that thought inducing? She didn’t believe so. They stopped at a red light, waiting for the light to turn green so that they could cross the street. The moment she wasn’t walking she realized her hands were getting quite cold. She should have brought gloves, she realized as she stuck them in her pockets.

“I could teach you, if you’d like” he offered.

By then she had almost forgotten that she was talking to someone.

“What?”

“I could teach you, if you’d like” he repeated. “I’m not amazing, and I don’t know how good I am at teaching, but I can try.”

Catelyn wasn’t a person who lost her tongue. She could always talk, even in situations where she got nervous or embarrassed. She always had her words. That wasn’t always something she considered positive, but it was true. Though she believed that what she felt then was the closest thing to speechlessness she would ever come.

They had only met a few times, that was the first time they had actually agreed to meet up. They didn’t know each other too well, they were only acquainted with each other. And still Ned offered to teach her. Still he offered to help her learn something she had wanted to learn for many years.

“Would you do that?” she asked, feeling herself smile.

“If you want to, sure” he responded, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

“I have nothing to give you in return, but thank you. I would love to do that.”

“You don’t need to give me anything in return, it’s just a fun thing.”

It could definitely be a fun thing.

The light turned green and together with the other people who had gathered at the crossing they hurried across the street with Oden leading the way.

“Are you cold?” he asked.

“What? No, I’m not cold at all” she lied.

There was no need to fuss about that. She was just too stupid to dress for the weather. Maybe she should have learned to after having been alive for quite some time, but she never seemed to do so. Her father would have shook his head if he could have seen her, he had always stooped her in the door and given her a hat and a pair of gloves.

“Are you sure? Because it really seems like it.”

She should have taken a scarf and a pair of gloves, she could definitely admit to that, but it was a little too late to think of it then.

“What makes you think I’m cold?”

“The fact that your shoulders are up at your ears and your hands are very deep down in your pockets.”

“Okay, I’m a little cold, but it’s nothing.”

If she hadn’t known herself as well as she did she would have looked in her bag to see if she by any chance had a pair of gloves in it. But she did know herself, and was therefore aware of that she would never put gloves in her bag. Looking was therefore unnecessary.

To her great horror he first handed her Oden’s leash, and then took of his own gloves off before offering them to her.

“Ned, there’s no need for that, you really don’t have to” she protested. “You shouldn’t have to be cold because I’m bad at wearing enough clothes.”

Ned didn’t listen to that. He merely took Oden’s leash back and instead gave her the gloves. When he did so his hand touched hers and she felt how warm it was. It could just have been the contrast to her frozen hand, but it felt like he was very warm. They would have made a good match if they were dating in that sense.

“God, your hands are warm” she said.

“I know, that’s why you need the gloves a lot more than I do” he said. “Put them on.”

The need to get her hands warmed up came out victorious in the fight against the want to keep protesting. And she was actually very grateful for the gloves when she put them on and felt an instant relief. They were way too large, but they were a lot better than nothing.

“Thank you, this is very kind of you, but never leave your dog in my hands again. He’s a nice dog, I like him, but I draw the line there.”

“Okay, thank you for letting me know.”

“I’m usually not this bad at planning” she then said, feeling that she had to defend some of what little dignity she had left.

“Just like you’re usually not late?” he quipped, obviously amused by her words.

So he remembered that, did he? That hadn’t been a lie, she was always on time. But the latter was a truth with modifications. She was a good planner, but not when it came to dressing for the weather.

“Yes, like that. I don’t know what has gotten into me lately.”

“I hear that’s what London does to you if you stay here for too long.”

“I think it’s Britain overall, it’s been too long since I was home.”

How long had it been since she visited home? It must have been in the beginning of the summer and at the moment it was the middle of autumn.

“Where are you from?” he asked. “More specifically.”

“Galway. Where are you from?”

“I doubt you would know it, most Swedes don’t know it. It’s a small town. And we didn’t even live in that small place, we lived a bit away from it.”

He was right, she knew exactly two Swedish cities. The two largest ones. And he said he was from a small place earlier so she had known it wasn’t one of those, but it had seemed polite to ask.

“I know Stockholm and Gothenburg, which one is it closest to?”

“Good question, uhm… Gothenburg, I think. But it’s about the same distance to both of them. It’s close to the Norwegian border, not too far from Sweden’s largest lake.”

Just then she realized that she knew absolutely nothing about Swedish geography. She had no idea about the name of the largest lake or where in the country it was. And knowing it was close to the Norwegian border didn’t exactly help, Sweden did have a long border towards Norway. That she knew.

“I’m completely lost” she admitted. “You’ll have to show me on a map.”

Ned laughed.

“Absolutely, but then you’ll have to show me Galway on a map. I have no idea about where that is” he said.

“Don’t you know Galway? There’s eighty thousand people living there.”

“I have heard of Galway, I just don’t know where it is!” he said defensively.

“Okay, small town boy” she chuckled.

He pulled a face at her, making her laugh even more.

“I know I’m not the most academic person, but you’re being unfair, big city girl.”

Catelyn smiled.

“Small town isn’t negative. I like small towns. They have an atmosphere and a feeling that cities don’t have.”

She thought of her grandparents’ house in the country side. She had been there all the time when she was a child, sometimes she had thought it was better there than in the city. Wherever Ned was from was probably lovely.

“Small towns are very different from London” he said. “My siblings dreamed of leaving, but I liked it there. It was calm, not much happened. A good place to make art.”

“You said your older brother lives here, right?”

“Yes. My brother Brandon lives here. I have two younger siblings, as well. A sister, Lyanna, and a brother, Benjen. They’re back in Sweden with my parents. Do you have siblings?”

“I have a younger sister, Lysa, and a little brother, Edmure. He’s twelve, he thinks I’m a total nerd for studying math. He thinks I should get a cool degree instead, like criminology. He still calls a lot and wants to come here to visit though.”

“Despite that you’re a nerd?” Ned chuckled.

“Yeah, despite that I’m a nerd. Apparently I’m still likable and a pretty okay older sister.”

“You’re likable. Och vacker.”

The first thing she understood perfectly, but those last two words she didn’t know. That was Swedish. Why had he started speaking Swedish suddenly? And what did it mean?

“Thank you, but I’m sorry, I don’t know what that second thing means” she said.

Ned gave her a look. She didn’t know what that meant either. There were many things about him that she didn’t know or understand.

“It was nothing” he said.

“No, that wasn’t nothing. If it was nothing you would have told me what it meant” she said, nudging him in the side. “Come on, tell me!”

“No.”

“You’ve made me cur–“

“This might be a good place, don’t you think?”

Catelyn shut her mouth and looked up to see that he was right, that was a coffee shop. She wasn’t sure of exactly where they were, she didn’t recognize it so she had probably never been there before. But they had coffee and that was the only criteria she had.

“You wait here with Oden, I can go inside and order” she said. “What do you want?”

“You already know what I want.”

“Are you sure you don’t want something more fun?”

“Proper people drink their coffee black, big city girl” he reminded her.

She laughed and then took off the gloves, handing them to him.

“Thanks for letting me borrow them, I’ll be back out in a few minutes.”

She opened the door and was met by a wave of heat. It was quite crowded, seemed like everyone had decided to get coffee at the same time. She placed herself at the end of the long line and then took her phone out of her bag, immediately taking up a translator. And then found that she couldn’t remember what that word was that he had said. Or those words. She was pretty sure of that there had been two words, but she couldn’t for her life remember what they were. And it annoyed her. It was annoying that he refused to tell her. Had it been something really insulting? But why would he say something insulting, she didn’t believe she had done anything to deserve that.

The smell of freshly brewed coffee was one she had mixed feelings for. She had worked in a coffee shop for almost a year, and had quit just before starting to take classes that autumn as her working schedule didn’t work out with the classes, and she wasn’t allowed to change it. Coffee was a good scent, but some of her worst interactions with other people had also happened in that environment. She had to get a new job though, she was starting to run low on money.

When it came down to it she got him a latte because she couldn’t bring herself to order black coffee. It was too boring, she had to teach him to drink other kinds of coffee as well.

“What do I owe you?” he asked when she came back outside.

“Nothing, it’s on me this time. And you didn’t get black coffee” she informed him.

“I knew it. Is it a latte?”

“It is a latte.”

“I’ll accept it.”

“You sure you won’t get all soft from the steamed milk?” Catelyn said teasingly.

He took a sip from his mug.

“If I don’t survive the winter it’s your fault.”

“I’ll be sure to let your family know that.”

“Thank you, I’m sure it will bring them much comfort as they’re grieving me.”

“Most definitely.”

“Do you want the gloves?” Ned asked when they started walking again.

She didn’t know where they were going, and she supposed he didn’t either. Just walking could be nice too.

“No, I’m good. I have the warm mug now, and besides they’re your gloves, you should have them.”

“I’ll bring an extra pair next time.”

He wanted to see her more times. Things couldn’t be going bad then, could they? He liked her as well as she liked him.

“Or maybe we’ll see each other indoors” she suggested.

“That works too.”

They crossed a street once more and came out to a park. Why had she never been in that park before? It was a nice park and it was probably even better in summer. She would have to remember that. Maybe she could go there with Ned again. Or she could take Ashara and Cersei there. They went to parks all the time in the summer.

“What do you do in your spare time?” Ned asked.

“If you’re fishing for hobbies now I won’t be able to give you anything. When I don’t study I read, and spend time with my flat mates, occasionally I go to a pub or meet up with other friends. Well, I bake a lot, does that count as a hobby?”

She was actually a quite good baker, but when she thought of it she lived a very boring life. She didn’t consider it boring, she liked it as it was, but it wasn’t anything spectacular. There wasn’t much variation.

“Why wouldn’t it count as a hobby?”

“I don’t–“

Suddenly he almost fell to the side and therefore right into her. Warm coffee splashed over both of them as she stumbled over her own feet. She would have fallen over if he had not quickly dropped her mug in order to grab her arm and hold her upright.

At first she didn’t understand what had happened or why he had lost his feet, but then she realized that it was Oden that had suddenly pulled at his leash.

“För i helvete, Oden!” Ned exclaimed before turning to her. “I’m so sorry, he must have seen a squirrel or something.”

She looked at him, coffee all over his chest area, then looked down at herself. She had equally as much coffee, if not more, all over her. Had she not worn her coat it probably would have burned her.

Catelyn closed her eyes and took a deep breath before opening them again.

“It’s fine, it wasn’t intentional. And no major harm was done.”

She hoped the stains would go away in the washing machine. Otherwise she wouldn’t be that happy, but she still couldn’t be angry at anyone. Neither Ned nor Oden had done it on purpose. And it wasn’t like he didn’t also have coffee all over him.

“Jag visste att jag inte skulle ha tagit med dig” Ned muttered to Oden. “Varför kan du inte bete dig när det behövs?”

The dog stood before them, looking at them with puppy eyes. Seemingly wondering why they had just stopped the walk. When Catelyn met his eyes he tilted his head, wagging his tail.

“And that means?”

“He’s not like this usually, I have no idea about what has gotten into him” he said apologetically.

She believed he had chosen to ignore her question and that wasn’t the translation for what he had said, but she couldn’t be sure about that as she didn’t know a single Swedish word.

“It’s okay, really. Accidents happen.”

He was still holding her arm, and they were standing quite close to each other. There was still some distance between them, but it was far less than when they had been walking. She was blushing, she could feel her cheeks burn. Why did she have to blush, why was that her first reaction to everything?

He noticed just seconds after she did and let go of her arm, then he backed away a step, avoiding her eyes.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to pay for the coffee?” he asked, sounding deeply troubled about it all.

“I’m sure. Next time coffee’s on you, it’ll even out.”

Ned sighed.

“I really feel like I should in some way compensate you for this.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

It felt somewhat ridiculous to stand there and talk about whether or not he should pay her for the coffee while both of them were dripping with it.

She would have laughed if she hadn’t wanted to disappear into the ground, never to appear again. Both because of the ridiculousness of the situation and because it was so far from how it had played out in her head when she had thought about it beforehand. Nowhere in her imaginations had she come up with a scenario where they stood in a park together with his dog, both of them having coffee all over themselves. She should have expected it though. Of course she couldn’t see him one time without something happening.

“Look, I understand if you don’t want to see me again–” he started.

“Why wouldn’t I want to see you again?”

His expression changed from a very anxious one to one that indicated that he believed that she had completely lost it.

“Because I poured almost all of my coffee on you?”

“I poured coffee all over you too, this goes two ways. Oh God, we look ridiculous.”

She could always take some comfort in that they were looking ridiculous together.

“I know, I can see you clearly” he responded dryly.

As if he didn’t look just as stupid as she did. 

"Take a good look then, small town boy. I've never looked better."

She had probably never looked worse. At least when it came to her clothes. It was a good outfit, but the stains didn't really go with it.

"Det är ingen dålig syn."

The whole Swedish thing was fun, she liked hearing him speak his first language, but she was also already tired of not always understanding what he was saying. Communicating in Swedish didn't really work though because she didn't know a word in that language, otherwise she wouldn't have minded at all.

"I'm sorry, Swedish is a fine language, but I don't understand and this time you'll have to translate for me."

"That feels deeply unnecessary."

There was something about the look he had after he had said it that made her even more curious. Like a child who was pretending he wasn't guilty of something he had obviously done and was having a hard time keeping the mask up. What was he saying to her? And why did he refuse to translate it?

"Well, this has been very nice, but I suppose we'll have to continue some other time, because we're both in need of a change of clothes" she said.

She crouched down and picked up the mugs they had dropped. Then she walked over to a nearby trash can and tossed them in it.

"Once again, I'm very sorry” he said.

"There's not much to do about it, so no need to feel sorry."

They began making their way back towards where they had met up, trying very hard to pretend they were not covered in coffee. They actually managed to pass by fairly unnoticed, Catelyn only saw one person give them a look as they walked past. And that wasn't strange, she had seen so much weirder things than two people who had clearly had a little accident while living in London. Maybe it even passed as some sort of fashion statement. When it had just happened it hadn't felt like it, but it could have been worse. A lot worse. She still wanted to disappear from the face of earth when she thought about it, but at the same time she knew that it was definitely a thing she could get over. It had been an accident, it wasn't something she had done or said. That was always an improvement from the times they had met in the bookshop.

"Except for the mess I had a pretty good time" she smiled when they arrived at where they would walk different ways.

"We'll have to do it again without that part" he agreed.

"Indoors" she added.

"I'll bring extra gloves in the future, just in case we need to go somewhere."

She snorted, wondering if he really was that much of an outdoor person.

"That works too."

They fell quiet after that, unsure of what to do. What was appropriate? Could she hug him? That was what seemed most reasonable to her as a handshake was way too formal but she still needed to say goodbye in some way. Hugging also felt most natural to her. Though she couldn't be sure of that he was a hugger. She had never been more thankful for her phone ringing. Maybe a few times, but she was happy to hear her ringtone in that moment. She didn't have to answer it, but it gave her a little more time to figure out what to do.

"I should probably check who it is, I'm sorry" she said apologetically.

She wished she could have just taken up her phone, but it had somehow disappeared underneath everything else she had in the bag. Old receipts, two pairs of sunglasses, a charger, her wallet, a box with a broken bracelet that she had intended to get fixed, some pads. And that was only some of it. How had her phone managed to get down under all that? And when had she put all that crap in the bag? When she finally managed to find it she saw Edmure's name and picture on the screen, and she answered the call with a small smile on her face.

"Uncle wants to know if you're coming home for Christmas" her brother's little voice informed her before she had time to answer.

"Hello to you too, Ed" she chuckled.

"Are you coming home for Christmas?"

It was more than a month and a half until Christmas, why did Uncle Brynden want to know that already? And why wasn't he calling her instead of making Edmure do it? They had regular contact, why hadn't he asked her when they talked the day before?

"I am, but why does he want to know that now?"

"He said why, but I forgot to listen, I just know he told me to ask you that."

She had to keep herself from laughing again by biting down on her tongue. It didn't get easier when she locked eyes with Ned who proceeded to wave back at her despite that they were a meter away from each other.

"Okay."

She would have to call him later and see what it was about.

"What are you doing?" Edmure continued, quickly moving past Christmas.

"I'm out with a friend."

"Is it Ashara or Cersei? Or one of your other friends?"

"His name is Ned, you haven't met him."

There was a short pause from Edmure's side.

"Can I say hello to him?" he then asked.

She could imagine him in his room back in Galway. Sitting at his desk in front of the window of the room, picking at the flaking blue paint on his chair, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. He was always like that when she told him about new people.

"Do you want to say hello to my brother?" she said to Ned.

He shrugged.

"Sure, why not?"

She put Edmure on speaker and then held up the phone.

"Alright, you can say hello now, Ed."

"Hello, Ned."

Ned leaned forward slightly to answer.

"Hello, Edmure."

"Are you and my sister actually friends or are you her boyfriend?"

Ned raised his eyebrows in surprise and she felt the moment she stopped breathing, her eyes going wide.

"Pardon?"

"And that's enough!" Catelyn interrupted, quickly taking Edmure off speaker and putting the phone to her ear again. "Say hello to everyone back home and tell them I love them, bye!"

"But–"

She pressed the button to end the call. There was the reason for why not. She should have seen that one coming, she should have known. She could have spared them both the humiliation if she had just thought it through a second time. Edmure didn't have many boundaries, she had hoped that would grow away when he got older, but it never did. Though he still had some years left before he was a lost case, he was only twelve, after all.

"I had no idea that was going to happen, please forgive me" she said in a low voice as she put her phone back in her bag.

If she looked at him she wouldn't be able to see him again. She would have to delete his contact in her phone and erase every proof of that they had ever met.

"My older brother and my sister are exactly like that, I get you."

She had a feeling of that he wasn't looking at her either, but rather up at the sky.

"There's always some comfort in not being alone, I guess."

"There is."

She took a deep breath and then went in for a quick hug. Based on the way his whole body tensed at first she thought it had been a miscalculation from her side, but then he laid his free arm arm over her back and hugged her back. They were only in contact for a few seconds, but during that short time she once more got to feel how warm he was. His future girlfriend would be lucky to have him in the winter, it was nice. He was nice, all of him.

"We'll have to see each other again" she said when they parted.

"Definitely. Will I hear from you in the near future?"

Catelyn scratched Oden behind one ear. He had patiently been standing still and waiting while they had been standing there and talking. Why weren't all dogs like him? She would have liked them a lot better if they were

"You’ll hear from me as soon as I know when I can. Take care."

"You too."

She threw a glance over her shoulder when they walked separate ways. She did so every few seconds until Ned and Oden had disappeared behind a corner and she could no longer see them. She sighed, that sure had been a lot. They had done quite well, she would like to lay the blame with Oden and Edmure for that it had gone as it did. In the future she wouldn't answer any calls from Edmure while she was around people, it was better that way. Much better. When was back home and had climbed up all the stairs to the sixth floor she was met by ABBA. She hadn't even opened the door yet, but she could clearly hear "Dancing Queen". They were probably watching Mamma Mia!, Ashara loved that movie. Catelyn was almost positive she herself had seen the movie half a hundred times just because Ashara put it one at least once a week.

"What the hell did you do in order to look even more like crap than we do?" Cersei asked when she caught sight of her. "Really, what happened to you, KitKat?"

She felt like she was doing a walk of shame. Except for that she hadn't had sex with anyone, she had just spilled coffee all over herself and the person she had been meeting with. She needed fresh clothes. And dinner, she was starving.

"I don't want to talk about it right now, I need a while to process the whole thing."

"Sounds like a successful date" Ashara hummed to the tune of the chorus of the song.

"It was eventful, if nothing else.”

"There's pizza for you in the fridge, if that makes anything better."

Catelyn stopped to look at her, almost believing that she would start crying over some pizza.

"Really?"

"Yeah, go wild."

"I love you, I'll join you in a minute, I just need to change my clothes."

[alwaysfeelingsaintlike]

Driving Me Mad [G.W] - Part 2

Series Description: You and George come up with a plan to pretend to date each other. But what happens when you actually start to catch feelings...

Pairing: George Weasley x Gryffindor fem!reader 

Word Count: 2k

Part 1

Description: After an unexpected breakup, you and George formulate a plan to incite jealousy in detention.

                                                       X

“Morning babe,” you said as you planted a kiss on Roger’s cheek. You took a seat next to him and started building your plate with breakfast items. His mouth was full and he managed to spit out a greeting. 

“Where were you last night? I thought you would’ve been at the party,” you asked casually.

“I just got carried away with some studying and I forgot,” he said. It sounded a little rehearsed but you didn’t question it.

“Well, you didn’t miss much. Although, I did get caught heading back to the common room. Detention on Thursday.”

“Mmm.”

“Are you okay? I feel like something’s bothering you.”

“I’m fine,” he said, shoveling more food into his mouth.

“So, I’ve been thinking. For the Yule Ball I might get a navy blue or a purple dress. So don’t get your dress robes until I pick one out. I just wanna make sure we match.”

“Y/N, you’re getting ahead of yourself. The Yule Ball is still months away.”

“I know, I just can’t help but be excited! And I want us to look perfect.”

Roger slammed his fork down on the table and sighed, “You’re making this so difficult.”

“What?”

He grabbed your hand and pulled you out to the Entrance Hall. “Look, I didn’t want to do this right now, but...” he spoke.

“Roger, what are you talking about?” you grabbed his arm and looked him in the eye, thinking no good could come of this.

“I…I think we should break up.”

You were speechless, unable to process what he had just said. This was the last thing you expected.

“Please don’t be too upset. It’s nothing you did. I just…I’ve found myself interested in someone else and that’s not fair to you.”  

“…Someone else?” you asked, holding back tears.

“I’m sorry. I never meant for this to happen.”

“We can work through this Roger. It doesn’t have to be the end,” you pleaded.

He merely shook his head, kissed your cheek, and walked away. You sat on the staircase and realized things were really over. You felt heartbroken, but mostly blindsided. You knew you were never going to marry Roger, but you didn’t have any serious relationship issues. Things were always great between you.

You sat there a while longer, waiting to see if someone would find you or if your emotions would change but nothing happened. You went about your day, attending classes, as if nothing had changed even though you were hurting on the inside.

                                                          X

You arrived at McGonagall's office ten minutes before your detention was to start. You sat there, waiting for George to arrive and a few minutes later he dashed into the room, out of breath and took a seat next to you.

“Excellent, now that you are both here, we can begin your punishment. This evening, you will be polishing the trophies in the Trophy Room, by hand. Once every trophy has been polished and is up to my standard, you may go.” She summoned rags and polishing liquid for you and sent you to the trophy room. You walked in silence to begin with but you knew it would be a long evening if it kept up like this.

“I’m sorry. About what I said the other night,” he said as he started on the first trophy.

“Don’t be sorry. You were right. I have been a bit of a bitch to you. I’m sorry I’ve treated you so poorly all these years.”

“S’okay,” he mumbled casually.  

“I don’t know how it got this way. I just caught up in unimportant aspects of life. I guess I wanted to be popular and now look where that got me.”

“I heard about Roger and Fleur.”

“Fleur? That's who left me for? Bloody hell, my life keeps getting worse and worse.”

“Sorry, I thought you knew…” he muttered. 

“Is everyone talking about it?” you asked him seriously.

“I…I only overheard it from some Gryffindor girls. That’s all I know about it.”

“Yeah, word spreads so fast here,  I can’t say I’m surprised.” You moved past him to work on the next trophy. “The worst part is, I still want him back.” You caught yourself before you revealed any more. “Sorry. I’m sure you don’t want to hear any of this,” you chuckled.

“No, it’s okay. We used to be friends at one point. You can tell me things. But if you want my opinion, you can do better than Davies.”

“Hardly, he’s the school’s most eligible bachelor, behind Cedric and maybe Harry Potter now that he’s been crowned champion.”

“So what’s your plan then? How are you gonna get him back?”

“I…I don’t know. How can I complete with Fleur? She’s part veela for God’s sake.”

 “That doesn’t mean anything. You’re just as beautiful as she is. Plus I guarantee you have a better personality.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Absolutely. You’re actually funny, and you have a toughness to you which means you can stand up for yourself. Fleur’s more…delicate, fragile.”

“And since when do boys look for personality in a girl?”

“Personality is the biggest factor in looking for a lass to bring home. Guys want someone who is confident and comfortable in their own skin, and who can actually talk about things other than clothes and makeup. Someone real. And you have that quality.”

“No offense, George, but I don’t think Roger dated me because I’m ‘real’.”

“Perhaps you should be questioning your taste in men, then.” You pondered this when he added, “Do you really want to get back with Davies?”

“Yes.” At least, you thought you did.

“Then you have to get back at him.”

“What did you have in mind?”

“You gotta get even. He has a new girl, so you can’t try and win him back. Instead, you have to make him jealous.”

“Okay, okay. I see where you’re going with this. But with who?”

“That I don’t really know. Probably someone who is well known by everyone, but different than your usual type. Someone unexpected; someone who will shock everyone. Who that is, I’m not sure.”

You stopped cleaning your trophy and looked at him, a sly smile creeping onto your face. The gears were turning in your head and there was no turning back now. He questioned the look on your face and said, “What…you know someone?”

You nodded and said, “Oh I know someone alright…”

“Who?” he asked. You didn’t say anything. Instead you let your smile grow a little bit and tilted your head, hoping he would pick up what you were putting down. It took him a moment but you saw his face change when he realized who you were talking about.

“No, no absolutely not,” he said, shifting his attention to the latest trophy he was polishing.

“Oh come on. You’re perfect. Everyone knows you, and loves you for that matter. We run in different circles so it would be totally unexpected, yet we’ve known each other for years so it’s believable.”

“Y/N, this is crazy.”

“Is it really that crazy? This whole thing was your idea and I actually think it could work.”

“Okay, say I do agree to this. What’s in it for me?”

“Easy. You can get the attention of a certain girl on the Gryffindor quidditch team that I know you have your eye on. Act like an awesome boyfriend to me and she’ll be more inclined to date you. And we’ll get to spend more time together. Just the other day you said you wanted to hang out more-“

“I did not say that. I said ‘we haven’t talked in a while.’”

“Still, I make a compelling argument. So what do you say?”

He didn’t look at you; he continued to polish the already spotless trophy in front of him. You walked over to him and put your head on his shoulder. “Come on, look at how cute we are together,” you looked at your reflection in the trophy and he did the same. “And you know it’ll be fun,” you said, shooting him a winning smile. “Help me out here and I’ll owe you a favor. Or five.” You hoped your last statement might set him over the edge.

He sighed, “Okay fine.”

“Really!?” you chirped.

“But on one condition, an easy out clause. If at one point, either of us wants to end things, we end things. No questions asked.”

“That sounds perfectly reasonable. But, I just want you to know that I don’t half-ass anything. If we’re doing this it has to be believable. We have to be attached at the hip; inseparable.”

“This takes commitment from both sides. You can’t go around making out with other guys if we’re supposed to be a couple.”

“You have my word I will not make out with anyone while our fake fling is going on.”

“Then I’m in.” He held out his pinkie and you interlocked yours with his, making this deal quasi-official.

“You really are something else Y/N,” he laughed. You continued working through your punishment and you made the best of it. Somehow you forgot how funny George was. You were laughing at almost everything he said and every now and then you would send a joke or a funny comment his way. You kind of forgot what it felt like to laugh. 

The laughing made the mundane task go by much quicker. You weren’t sure how much time had actually passed but a moment later you were polishing the last trophy.

“Looks like it’s time to call McGonagall in for approval,” he said. She closely inspected every cup and plaque and gave you the okay that you could head back to the tower. 

“Any plans for tonight?” he asked as you started your trek.

“Probably just catching up on school work tonight. What about you?”

“I have some business to attend to…” he said.

“Wow, vague.”

“I can’t spill all my secrets to you just yet.”

You reached the common room and you gathered your books and started working on your latest essay as George disappeared, probably up to no good.

                                                          X

“Still up?” George asked you as he found a spot next to you on the couch a few hours later.

“Yep. Trying to be as productive as possible. What about you? Finish up with that business?”

“Ah yes, it went quite successfully.”

“Let me guess…another prank? Who was it this time, Filch or a group of first years?”

“We decided to mix it up this time and go with some Slytherins.”

“Ah, a justifiable prank. Well done.”

“So have you thought about how we’re pulling off this ultimate plan?” he asked.

“What do you mean?” you hoped he wasn’t backing out.

“Like, are we doing this gradually or just going full force?”

“Well, what do you think is more believable?”

“Personally, I think we need some sort of build up. Instead of just emerging as a couple, we should build the suspense. Make people speculate.”

“Okay, I can agree with that. So right now we just need to do a lot of public appearances. Nothing overly touchy or flirty, just spending time together.”

“Excellent. I just wanted to check with you before telling Fred about the situation.”

“Wait, what? You…you can’t tell him about our arrangement.” 

“Y/N, he’s my twin brother and my best friend. I can’t hide anything from him.”

“No, no, no. You can’t tell him. He is a key player in this situation. His reaction to us needs to be genuine.”

“I tell him everything. I feel like he’ll know something’s up if I don’t say something.”

You paused for a moment, as you realized you weren’t being fair. “Look, I know that I’m asking a lot of you, but please don’t tell Fred. At least not yet. Please.”

He looked at you with a pained expression and said, “Okay, if that’s what you want.”

“Thank you, George. Now go get some sleep and I’ll see you at breakfast.”

[arch-venus25]

The Head and the Heart, Part 4

Hello everyone,

I submitted this for @just-the-hiddles‘s The Damnit Jim, I’m A Vampire, Not A Landlord Fic Frenzy.

This chapter is less action heavy, but just as important. Thanks for hanging in there and reading!

Series Masterlist: The Head and The Heart

Summary: The twins are taking a night off from their graduate studies-- or at least Tessa is; her twin sister, Antha, is just trying to keep her out of trouble. What starts as a night of good old-fashioned fun and flirting quickly changes as they find themselves at the doorstep of the Hollow House Bed and Breakfast.

Characters: OFCs Antha and Tessa King, original characters/vampires

WARNINGS: 18+ for suggestive themes and violence, cursing, implied drug use, implied rape, stressful/scary situations, vampires, and characters with incredible hair-- you’ve been warned. Read at your own discretion.

Word Count: 3812

Part Four: The Aftermath

           The weathered professor seemed very confused but stood her ground and insisted, “Miss King, take the summer off.”

           “I just need a week, that’s all—and then I’ll get the methodology section to you—Dr. Watts I just need another week, please!” Antha pushed back. Dr. Watts set her glasses on her desk and then waved her over to a deep-tufted-leather sofa.

           “Antha,” her voice lowered, “I’ve known you for what—five years? You don’t become a valedictorian because you don’t like to write. You have been moody these past few weeks, you barely passed the final exam, and you’ve pushed back the thesis methodology three times. Last class, you were so distracted I would have rather you skipped. I know you, talk to me, what’s going on?”

           “My sister and I had a Friday night out with some friends and something happened.” Antha murmured, staring down at her feet.

           “Friday nights aren’t what they used be; did you hear about the fight that broke out at that dive bar off of—oh, what’s it called? You know the place—well, it was all over the news,” she paused gravely, “you weren’t there were you?”

           The twin nodded slowly. She felt overwhelmed in front of her advisor. She pinched the bridge of her nose and squeezed her eyes shut before replying. “Tessa’s date got into a fight with an old flame, it was a whole thing. But after…” She couldn’t continue. The advisor took her hand gently.

           “Did someone hurt you?”

           Antha’s eyes welled and all she could do was stare. As if she said the words out loud, it would become more true than it already was. The doctor’s forehead wrinkled as her brows gathered together. Having lived through the revolutions of the sixties and the proceeding struggle for equality, Dr. Watts knew the dangers women faced. She didn’t need an answer; she just wanted to offer shelter to a young woman. She knew just from looking at her student that whatever happened, it was beyond words.

           “You’re taking the summer and fall semester off—or at the very least take the summer off and go to a student counselor; its free, it comes with your tuition, so please use it. If you need anything you know you and your sister can come to me.” She wrote down her personal number and one for the counselors’ office. Antha held the little shred of stationary. She promised she would do just that.

        Shortly after, she left her advisor’s office and floated through the campus green and then waited by the bus stop. Her feet told her she was going home, yet her attention was somewhere far away. What can I say to a counselor? Who would understand what we saw at Hollow House? Without realizing, she had retrieved something from her pocket; she stared dumfounded at the pewter-colored iris that gleamed back.

        Antha couldn’t get rid of it. But in a moment of frustration, she chucked the marble-like eye into a nearby drain. She returned to her spot and tried to focus on scheduling a counselor. Moving forward, that’s what I need, she figured.

        A familiar wheezing crawled up the street. The sluggishness of a muffler that had seen better days filled her ears as she dazed at the phone number-laden scrap paper.  “—Antha!” Someone yelled. To her surprise she peered up to see Doug hanging out of his rusty Buick, looking just as timid as ever. He seemed anxious, for what reason she didn’t know. “I’ve been calling your name. You’ve gone deaf ol’ girl—you want a ride?” He asked with forced humor in his voice. She watched him blankly as his expression fell. “You alright?”

        Antha thought about it and suddenly felt stupid. All of her gusto about moving forward had evaporated; she lamely shook her head like a weary child. She felt like a little girl in a world that was too big for her. It all just seemed too much.

        The July swelter didn’t let up even with the windows down. The two didn’t speak as they made their way to their favorite pizza joint. Thrilled to be out of the unairconditioned Buick’s steel embrace, they collapsed into the far back booth of the pizzeria. All the servers knew it was Doug and Antha’s spot; they habitually kept it clean and empty, knowing they would eventually roll in. They made it to the “golden hour”. The sacred three hours between the lunch and dinner rush. It was their favorite time.

        “Whatchas want?” The straggly blue-haired waitress chewed her bubblegum like a goat.

        “The usual—uh hold on—when did you eat last?” Doug asked. Antha shrugged and realized she didn’t know. She couldn’t even think that far back. “Can we get a double order of the usual? But make two of them to-go?” The waitress didn’t even answer as she went to get drinks. “You want to talk about it?”

           “Nope. I said everything already.” Antha wasn’t mad at him, she was just tired. She was more annoyed that he would ask about the matter and then dispute the realism of what she explained. Doug grumbled when the waitress slopped the pitcher and straws down, vanilla coke-a-cola splashing everywhere.

           “—Hey, don’t we get like a punch-card or something? You know, for every hundred pizzas we buy, we get the next one free?” He politely suggested, his way of being confrontational. He was growing exasperated with the women in his life; he didn’t mind taking it from his close friends, Zoey and the twins, but he was having none of this waitress. She paused, chewed her gum, and left again.

           “Whoa, cool off killer,” Antha snarked, her spirits lifting with each sip of her fountain soda. She looked him over and thought on their friendship for a moment as he griped about that one particular server.

        Doug was a shy, lanky, ginger-bearded young man. He was passionate about things and supportive of the people he loved, but didn’t reserve much attention for the people outside of that parameter. He lived in vintage band t-shirts, had friendly light eyes, and a funny smile. No one could resist his unkempt wolfish hair or his corny sense of humor; he had a way of growing on a person. But he always showed up, his guitar in tow. That’s why Antha didn’t fight him when he asked about that night; she knew he actually cared and was trying his best to understand. He couldn’t help her though. No one could help.

        “How about we hang out this weekend, do a barbeque? Nobody grills a burger like you—and Tessa can make her sangria, huh, what do you think?” He tried to turn the conversation to open her up.

        “Uhh… I don’t know. I can’t plan that far ahead, I’m real busy.” She declined. The sausage pizzas arrived faster than expected and Doug dropped slices on their plates.

        “Busy yeah? Mmm-hmmm,” he bit into his slice, cheese tangling in his five o’clock shadow, “busy not writing your thesis, not eating, and not sleeping? Ant, the last time I saw you eat was a few days ago when I brought pizza over. You gonna talk to me?”

        Antha sighed loudly and glared at him. She was worn-through with the people in her life too. I’m too tired for this shit, she thought. She pushed her plate forward and abandoned her half-eaten slice. He saw her mild protest and his cheeks tinged pink. They silently stared each other down, him chewing as loud as he could manage while she obnoxiously slurped her soda in reply.

        Before they could hash out their issues a patron burst through the front entrance. “Hey—hic—you seen Ant? Where she at? The back?” Tessa was hiccupping and talking all sorts of loud, like she was in a club on a Saturday night. “Oh hey girls!” She pointed at the staff and sashayed herself to the booth; her bedazzled sandals slapping the linoleum like a jackhammer in the quiet place. The front door jingled again and in rushed Zoey.

        “I’m sorry,” she apologized to the front of the house and then chased after Tessa. “I picked her up because she was texting me weird messages—I thought I could calm her down with something to eat.” She explained to the table as she took a seat next to Doug.

        “I already ate today.” Tessa insisted, sliding in next to her sister and almost toppling over a pizza.

        “Oh yeah, what did you have for lunch?” Doug asked, his patience wearing thin.

        “GIN and uh—” she had to think about it but excitedly rebounded, “and uh water ice. Breakfast of champions!” Tessa thought she was quite funny, regardless how everyone else disagreed.

        “How about we have a little slice of pi—” Doug pandered but she wasn’t going to hear any of it.

        “Now who would put sausage on a pizza? Oh, no. I have enough meat in my life—you know what I’m sayin’ Zo—you feel me?” She howled.

        “That’s cute.” Doug’s patience officially went on vacation as of that second. He tore the sausage off some of the pie and then thrust the mangled slice in front of the drunk twin. “There ya’ go, just cheese—And you eat your damn slice too! This has gone on long enough—we’re going to have a barbeque and chill like we always do! It’s Fourth of July this weekend, did you know that?” He directed at the other twin.

        “This white boy’s hollering at you, oh lord…” Tessa cackled; her cheese dripped down the side of the table as she reached for some ice chips from an empty cup. Zoey was mortified and motioned to Antha for help, her friend was out of control.

        “Yeah—well this boy’s about tired of this foolishness! I don’t know all of what’s happened that night, but neither one of you will talk to me about it! Ant you’ve been practically dead, a walking zombie for three weeks—and Tessa, it’s three o’clock in the afternoon, what the hell has gotten into you?”

        “Gin.” She giggled.

        “Hey Katy? Can we get all this to go, with some two liters?” He yelled across the full length of the restaurant.

        Zoey handled the food transport as Doug buckled the twins into his car. He mumbled to himself, “…goddamn vampires my ass…” as he cleared his fogging glasses. Tessa began to mildly complain about the heat when the car stopped at a red light. They all noticed a young man struggling to get into a car at the gas station across the way.

        “Is that José?” She whispered. They witnessed his mother trying to steady him, juggling his crutches and searching for a spot on him that wasn’t bandaged. Adorned in a neck brace, shoulder sling, full posterior elbow splint, and full left leg cast. Poor José appeared like he faced-off with a combine. Doug glared at the girls in his rear-view mirror. The light turned green and not another word was said.

        He parked the Buick under the tree closest to the house and got the girls inside. Zoey did the same and brought the provisions to the shaded porch. It was too hot to do anything other than sit around by the fan or stay in the AC. Tessa went to her room when they got in; she felt awful about what she had seen at the gas station.

        They worked together to set up the tall pedestal fan on the porch, because the porch fan just couldn’t combat Mother Nature alone. They were in the midst of dawdling about when Antha accidentally fell asleep on the porch swing while Doug played the guitar. Zoey elicited his help inside to leave Antha to nap. The two were shocked with the state of things.

        Momma’s house was a frightful mess. They never saw it in its condition before: Dishes with dust, articles of clothing haphazardly dropped, laundry either half started or half done, it was difficult to tell. “Momma would roll over, I swear…” Zoey whispered. They agreed to tidy up while the twins rested, lest Momma rise up and haunt them. That woman was meticulous and was not above coming back from the grave to tell everyone what’s-what.

        As if life had been frozen in time from the month prior. The twin’s incident hit like a meteor and their friends now saw the wreckage. While they hadn’t admitted it out loud, they had stopped living too; obsessed with what happened that night at Hollow House. Grasping for a truth that they couldn’t reach.

        The overloaded dishwasher whined as it cycled and it reminded Doug of seeing José, busted up and struggling. That’s what really happens after a bar-brawl. There’s always a winner and always a loser. He half-heartedly swept the floor and thought to himself: these are the parts they edit from movies. The aftermath. The guns, the glory, the blood all made the cut; but the estranged motions we go through to try and find the thread leading back to our lives doesn’t. These are the quiet moments without answers, like loose ends dangling.

        Zoey crept into the kitchen and signaled for him to follow her to the porch. She had just hung the last load of laundry on the line for the afternoon. They were both beat and sweat through from cleaning. They shimmied the big metal ice bucket to the front, fearing they’d disturb Antha. She was so far gone that an earthquake couldn’t wake her. They popped two well-earned beers and exchanged the bits and pieces of what they learned from the twins over the past few weeks.

        “…that’s crazy, right? Like there’s no way what Tessa told me could be real, right? Did someone roofie their drinks?” Zoey asked him as she tied his wavy hair into a top-knot.

        “I’m just worried that something happened they won’t say, like they’re traumatized—I mean, Zo, I was driving to the bar and I seen them covered in blood on the side of the road. Tessa was screaming in the ER that a vampire attacked her sister—and then Antha all of a sudden, calms her down and explains to the doctors that they were lost in the woods, came upon the bed and breakfast for help, and that a strange man assaulted them there. Said they used a fireplace poker in defense, bloodied him up real good, and they escaped to the main road.” Doug took a swig of beer to recuperate.

        He was getting worked up just relaying the story, “But the cops, they investigated that place and found six bodies—slaughtered—in the basement, two of them the owners. The bodies had been sitting there for days before the twins got to ‘em. I’m scared that maniac’s out there. I mean—I’m scared in my own damn apartment when I think about it. What if they were found in that basement? What if we couldn’t find them?” He shook his head.

        “What can we do for them? Are there groups for people like this, who think they’ve seen something supernatural?” Zoey mused aloud as she pinned her jet-black pixie cut hair out of her face. The two pulled fresh beers out of the ice bucket and vowed to do some research after the weekend. They agreed their first goal was to get the twins fed and cared for.

        They watched the sun set into folds of purple, pink, and orange over the high grass. The heat of the day receded with the light, but the humidity persisted only to remind them that it was an intermission; the threat remained that the summer’s full force would return at tomorrow’s dawn.

        The grasshoppers were summoned as Doug strummed his guitar, not truly playing anything particular. Zoey brought out cards to shuffle, waiting on Tessa to play. The evening began to set in peacefully until a rumble cut through the twilight.

        A huge pickup truck barreled down the long drive and parked in front of the house. Out jumped the infamous Flake. His blond hair contrasted against the lavender sky, budding starlight glinting off his aviator sunglasses, and a tooth pick in the corner of his mouth completed his redneck-chic visage. He swaggered up to the porch and was met with a startled Antha; she had jumped up like a viper at the sound of his wheels. He donned a large patch like bandage over half an eye and his hands were wrapped too.

        “Tessa around?” Franco didn’t even offer small talk which had Antha go straight from just waking up to furious.

        “Not for you.”

“Well, I wanted to check in on her—haven’t been able to call on account of that scuffle at the bar. Them boys got my tires and my phone.”

        “Looks like they got your eye too.” She scoffed.

        “Yep,” he laughed and pulled his sunglasses down to reveal those piercing big blues, “you should see the other guy.”

        “We did.” Her disdain seemed to suck the air out of the whole yard. Franco leaned on the porch banister and pulled a smoke from behind his ear. Her eyes burned so hot on him she could have lit his cigarette.

        “I can see you’re not much for visitors, so I’ll just leave this. If you could give it to Tessa, I’d be mighty grateful.” He handed her a number, but she walked away not even considering it. Zoey jumped up and took the note. “Night ya’ll.” Franco flicked his butt into the yard and made his way back to his truck.

        Long after he left and the noise of his truck faded Antha sat, her arms crossed, on the porch swing. Her friends idled by, every so often glancing in her direction waiting for her to speak her mind. The disgruntled twin couldn’t connect the pieces of her dislike for Franco. It wasn’t as simple as his jeans were too torn, his truck too loud, or his gaze too heavy; it was the fact that she knew nothing about him. No one did. Where did he come from—and where was he going? It didn’t add up to Antha that he was the first hillbilly she ever met without a tan. What working man doesn’t have a farmer’s tan? Finally, after a good twenty-five minutes of contemplation Antha announced, “I need a drink.” With a flutter of Zoey’s sundress, she presented a liter of honey whiskey, lemon wedges, and shot glasses.

        A few shots and some pizza in her stomach, Antha started to feel somewhat whole. The four-hour nap revived her a bit, or least lessened the haze she had been wading through. She could finally take in her surroundings: she was lucky to have her friends. When the mosquitos really started to bite they brought their party inside and relished the cool—and now clean—house. “I don’t know what I’d do without you two, I’m sorry I can’t,” she paused, “I just can’t right now.” Before Antha could work out her sentiment the queen bee descended from her room.

        “That’s it! I have decided!” Tessa announced, thumping down the stairs like a sentinel charge. “I’m going to visit José tomorrow—even though it’s not my fault he got his ass beat, I still think it’s only fair to show love.” She waited, her hands on her hips, for their unyielding approval or preferably a round of applause.

        “Look at you growing a conscious,” was the general consensus of the other three. Tessa saucily tossed her braids as she dusted her shoulders. They all scooted into the kitchen table and fed her dinner. Just like a heart, she had a way of pulsing life into a room. Before they knew it, they were swapping stories like always.

        Tessa was laughing and teasing Doug when she took a shot. She threw her empty glass down on the table as was customary, but when the glass met the table it then clinked as if something had been dropped into it. They all sat forward to see a silvery-gray eye in the bottom.

        “Did you just spit that in there?” Doug’s eyes were wide.

        The twins beheld each other knowingly.

        In the beginning, they initially freaked out over the eyes returning. Now it became a sickening fascination of what they could do to them. The eyes always returned. They burned them, they drowned them, and they threw them away; every time the eyes returned to the twins.

        “I tried to tell you, but you’re not listening,” Antha began, “these eyes are following us. Ever since we killed that thing at Hollow House, we’ve had them.” Doug and Zoey’s faces were pained in disbelief.

        “Here.” Tessa got up roughly and held the eye over the sink. She turned on the garbage disposal and dropped it in; it made a grotesque metal sound and then after a few rotations, crunched like glass. Antha showed the eye that was always in her back pocket and explained she threw it away in a drain across town earlier that day. She threw hers in too, directly into the disposal.

        “Well, how long does it take for them to come back?” Zoey asked.

        “They’re not coming back—this is a trick!” Doug looked like an angry leprechaun with his reddened face and stubble. The twins’ faces didn’t even shift with the accusation.

        “Sometimes its seconds, sometimes hours, or a day. It doesn’t matter, they’ll be back.” Antha confirmed and the twins took their seats at the table. The room became solemn as Tessa popped another round of beers and poured a flight of shots for them all, knowing the liquid courage was needed. Doug jumped up from his seat and began checking under cushions, searching cupboards, and drawers. The girls sat back and waited as he processed.

        He huffed, “…you got back-ups, or hiding ‘em somewhere—I don’t know why you’re playing with me right now…it’s not funny…” But then a loud plop sounded on the kitchen table, like a golf ball dropped from the ceiling. He turned to watch a second oversized marble drop seemingly out of thin air. He returned to the table and gawked at the two eyes sitting in front of the twins. “You got to tell us what happened at Hollow House.” Doug’s voice was hushed as he shakily accepted the whiskey shot from Tessa. In unison they saluted and threw back the shots with beer chasers.

        While the four friends went over the sordid events, in gruesome detail, a mysterious figure watched from the unlit porch window. The uninvited guest crept off through the yard, down the dirt-path driveway, and made a phone call:

        “They got them eyes,” it reported, “I reckon there’ll be a war.”

Twinning Taglist: If you want to be added or removed just let me know; please share with anyone that might be interested. I would love any and all feedback so I can learn and become a better writer. Thank you!  I tagged some people that I thought would be interested in this. @myoxisbroken​ @just-the-hiddles​ @vodka-and-some-sass​ @nildespirandum​ @yespolkadotkitty​ @latent-thoughts​ @emeraldrosequartz​ @villainousshakespeare​ @hopelessromanticspoonie​ @caffiend-queen​ @poetic-fiasco​ @lokimostly​ @dianamolloy​ @marvelgirlonamarvelworld​ @brightsunanddarkmidnight2-0​ @cateyes315​ @mooncat163​ @nuggsmum​ @myraiswack​​​ @wolfpawn​​ @plastic-heart​​ @confusednerd09​

[popculturebuffet]

Amphibia: Ivy on The Run and After the Rain Reviews

Hello all you happy people! We’re into week two and after far too long we finally get some answers.. well okay not the ones we thought we were getting but hey you take what you get sometimes. Point is it’s a big week, with a fun ivycentric episode that fleshes her and Felcia out and a far more serious episode that finally explains a few things, not saying what things because spoilers. So join me under the cut for some smiles, some tears, and a bit of Muay Thai and Myagi-Do as I break things down. 

Ivy on the Run:

I was pleased as punch to find out Ivy was getting an episode. While I couldn’t say she was a faviorite of mine, I always found Katie Crowns performance exceptional, and her a delight to watch. The character wasn’t bad.. but EVERY episode up to this one involving her was about her and Sprig’s relationship which while really fucking precious left little room to flesh her out beyond a love of ambushes and being into the same kid stuff Sprig was into. 

This episode not only corrects that but also takes another suprising leap for the series in having Ivy clearly be the main character of the episode. While this isn’t the first episode to spotlight a citzen of wartwood.. it’s the first where the Plantars are side characters in the plot instead of just as important as whoever got focus or usually more important. Here Ivy is the lead of the episode: We open on her waking up for the day (Or rather having been awake for hours to trick her alarm clock), get a sense of her personality.. and of the episodes conflict: Ivy’s desire to be free and explore versus her mothe’rs constnat anal renttientve insistence she do tea related stuff like fold swans properly. IT’s a decent enough conflict that gets elevated by hte twist at the end. 

So she runs out after that to meet up with Sprig, and ambush him because that’s how thier relationship works. And what I really like here is while their relationships still present in the episode it’s thankfully not the focus or even realy lreated. Their clearly together, it’s just not the focus of the episode> Just some nice ranch dressing atop this salad. While they go to hunt for glitter beetles, Anne is teaching Polly, Muay Thai. The martial art of champions.. specifically one eyed ones who like to put tiger in front of their moves. As for why she took it up her mom wanted somewhere to put her energy, as seen in a flashback with a young Anne adorably banging on pans while singing her own version of Wannabe by the Spice Girls. It’s fucking precious. 

So the couple happily go beetle hunting i’ts precious.. but Ivy’s patience with her mother starts to run out as her mother loudly interupts her hunt to return her for tea practice: stirring it, setting tables, folding swans that sorta thing. All things she clearly dosen’t WANT to do or like and gives the impression Felcia is trying to force her daughter to become more like her and less like herself which... no. Just no. 

Ivy eventually hits her limit with this bullshit, tells her mother off and then stomps off to her room whiel her Mom fails ot understand that MAYBE being hypercirtical of your daughter, even if it turns out you have a good reason, might backfire. Ivy is encouraged by her posters, great scene by the way, to run away and leave town, and take Sprig with her.. whose relcutant as he talked himself up as being really well liked and savy out there but was just okay in practice. 

Meanwhile Polly and Anne continue training but Polly can’t get it as she just can’t calm down and focus, and Anne easily blocks her. In constrast Wally shows up, having apparently been watching them. 

And picks it up instantly. I can see why; Wally seems a bit scatterbrained due to his weird and wonderful nature.. but we’ve seen him be entirely capable when the chips are down, and to be a talented musician. So while he’d SEEM like he’d lack focus, it’s probably way easier to him than the impatient tadpole who just wants to kick ass without getting it takes a few steps. 

Meanwhile Sprig tries to talk his girlfriend out of running away together at 10 only for Sylvia to tail them with those bee phone things she used earlier.. and also be there, as once they clear those out she’s waiting and both end up at the Muay Thai class. Things finally hit their breaking point and Ivy wishes she never had family... and I think this is what finally gets it in Felicia’s head she messed up. She meant well.. but sh’es clearly been so hard on her child that, even if she instnatnly regrets it, she’s willing to disown her own mother if it means getting away from her. 

So Felica gives her a way out: Martial Arts Match. Because nothing says parental love like fighting your daughter for her freedom. Though in her defense things are pretty fair: three matches, and Ivy just needs to win ONE by getting a point on her, like in a martial arts competition. I only know that’s what they were going for because I binged Cobra Kai last month along with the first two Karate Kids. 

And that refrence isn’t for nothing as Felcia easily dominates the first two matches using Miyagi-Do esque moves i.e. pure defense, and with a Miyagi style lesson inside as for the final one.. she has Ivy repeat the various tea things she’d had her do, and just like that amazing fucking scene from Karate Kid, Ivy can now fight and realizes her mother was training her the whole time, as her mom simply wanted her to be readly and as for why Felcia herself is a karate master, she picked it up while gathering tea as naturally it’s incredibly dangerous in amphibia.  

So Felcia let’s her daughte win and expalins she just wanted her to be safe.. which is nice but while her devistaiton earlier clearly shows it, it still dosen’t QUITE justify how hard she was or not telling her why when her daughter is a clear tomboy. I do get the Miyagi-Do training style: it builds muscle memory and means you can defend without thinking, fight without having to plan every punch and kick. It’s brilliant.. but you have to match the training to the student. Daniel hated his traning too.. but Miyagi clearly KNEW he would, knew he’d give out and set it all up that way. Felcia.. nearly pushed her daughter into running away and never apologized. It’s not all terrible as there is the implciation this whole match was Felcia realizing she had to make it clera what she was doing, but it’s still fairly torubling the episode never adresses her behavior outright., even if they make up and Felciia plans to take her along next time. Also Polly punches wally in the face... eh he’l lbe fine. 

Final Thoughts on Ivy on the Run: This one was decent. As said the final part feels a bit... ehhh..as it feels they don’t adress Felicia’s controlling attitude enough.. but it dosen’t detract from a pretty fun episode, especially the Muay Thai stuff. That was an unexpected treat. And let’s face it after recently getting in deep with the franchise thanks to cobra kai, I can’t hate anything that reminds me of  the Karate Kid. In a good way at least. 

After The Rain:

Well this was both a long time coming and as painful as I expected. And after over a year and a half, we FINALLY get some answers.. not ALL the answers but some. Look you know what this episode is about, I know what this episode is about, let’s get cracking in round 2. 

So Anne’s got a letter, anne’s got a letter I wonder who it’s from. Marcy.. it’s from Marcy. Turns out she’s ready to go to the first temple, and even sent them a check list: weapons, food (check and check) and armor. Hop Pop already thought of that.. but instead of badass and practical armor.. it’s padded sumo suits that they can’t move in because “less mobility means less trouble”. Or you’ll get eaten by a hawk.. which given this show is probably also on fire and can shoot acid out of its’ eyes. Or lasers. Or acid lasers. The point is their gonna die. THey also naturally need the music box... which Hop Pop about craps himself hearing. Gee it’s almost like not getting the box sooner when you knew damn well abotu the temple thing and that they’d need it kinda bit you on the froggy bottom Hopidiah. 

It gets worse for him as while he mentions his ‘contacts” again.. that night he goes to dig it up. Problem is, Anne follows him when she hears footsteps, and while she initially assumes i’ts just him being a weirdo and plans to suprise him... we instead get the gut punch we’ve been anticpating for the last year and a half.  Hop Pop shouts about the box being gone, clearly panicked... and Anne hears him, utterly devistated and rightfully FURIOUS. He confesses the truth, clearly feeling guilty for what he’s done and lying all this time but Anne dosen’t want to hear it and storms off. 

Yeah as you can tell this is a rough one. So next morning Hop Pop, who clearly hasn’t slept and given his surrogate grandaughter just rightfully walked out on him why would he, confesses to the kids what he did. And while neither like what he did .. they prioritize getting Anne back, sending him to go fix his mess while they find the box. 

The box turns out to not be the only thing missing: various other things around town have been stolen, including a talisman that if Maddie dosen’t get it back will have horrifying consequences. Classic Maddie. As for why Swampy Joe has the answer: the magpie beetle, a beetle that emerges once every 20 years to steal stuff to use as a shell to impress mates. They find the box.. but it’s in a seatle of beatles and soon get swamped.  Meanwhile Anne’s returned to the cave and... okay i’m just going to have to power through or this episodes going to kill me with sadness. After some bits about her and her rock rocky, Hop Pop finds her and she still has nothing to say to him, again for good reaosn, but before he can get to telling her WHY he did it, they hear the others crying for help and Anne tries to rescue them herself, only helping hop pop do so when he points out they NEED to and even if she rightfully dosen’t trust him she needs to for now. THey save the kids.. and Anne STILL wants to leave.

We then get an even bigger gut punch. It turns out Hop Pop didn’t hide the box for some big reveal.. regarding the box. Turns out it’s not the box itself, his book just says it’s dangerous and w’ell likely find out any specifics it had next week. It’s Hop Pop’s lingering trauma. While we don’t find out why the Box is dangerous.. we do find out what hapepned to their parents. And I just want to say before we get into that Bill Farmer’s acting this WHOLE episode is some of hte finest, if not THE finest in his career. HIs guilt, his pain.. it’s all so raw and palpable. Brenda Song’s no slouch either, Anne’s pain and anger is likewise very well done, but Bill is far and away the mvp of the episode.. and this scene is why. 

He reveals he’s been so cautious, so scared for the kids and so overly protective in general.. because of how the kids parents died, something they don’t blame him for but he does: He was out of town on buisness.. when a pair of herons attacked. Sprig and Polly got to the family bunker in time.. their parents... weren’t so lucky. It’s not the big bombastic arc related death we all thought was coming.. but I like it for it’s brutal nightmarish simplicity. They didn’t die some heroic death, they aren’t still here.. they just died like SO MANY background frogs have. Two wild giant animals they coudln’t possibly defend against got em. Nothing could’ve been done no matter what Hop Pop thinks, theirs no way they coudl’ve been saved, and i’ts LUCKY their children didn’t share the same fate. But their gone and it gives a new, awful meaning to Hop Pop’s overproectivness. Before it was mildly justified if a bit strict.. now.. i’ts him trying not to loose what he has left. Trying to hold on tight to his grandkids so he dosen’t loose anyone else.

He hid the box because his trauma and guilt were so severe he did something very stupid, and regretted it ever since and begs anne to forgive him in THE best line read of Bill Farmer’s long and storied career. And she does, hugging her Hop Pop gently, realizing that while he fucked up.. she gets WHY he did.. and that he’s sorry for it. He wasn’t tyring to keep her from going home or any messed up shit.. he just was trying to keep her and his other kids alive. And as Sprig and Polly say it’s not his fault, it never could’ve been.. he can’t help but feel that way. You just feel.. powerless when you loose someone, like you could’ve done something even though 9/10 you couldn’t have and it leaves a hole you never quite fill. So this hit like a truck. But our family is reconclied and the kids get a look at the entry in  Hop Pop’s ancestral book. What does it say besides it bad? what does this mean? We’ll find out next week. For now it’s just good to have them all together again. 

Final Thoughts on After the Rain: This episode is a masterpiece. It’s exepertly crafted, sticks in a few gags for flavor and only has the sprig and polly plot to help keep the main meat of the plot as light as it needs to be.. and it works. The few scenes we get with Anne and Hop Pop are just plain brutal and exactly what’s needed. It’s one of the series best, painful, raw and with a twist I dind’t see coming. I expected, again like most of us for the kdis parents deaths to be tied into it.. but instead.. it’s just trauma. But it’s satisfying enough that it feels like a great payoff, that it wasn’t some big dark secret like misdirected... it was just an old man who didn’t want to loose what family he had left. And that’s fucking brilliant. 

Next Week: THE FIRST TEMPLE BABY! The Plantars and Marcie head into the woods to fight moblins and ggghosts! I mean.. that is what the forest temple is right? 

Until then follow me for more reviews, follow me on my patreon your support would be appricated and see you at the next rainbow. 

[alolanrain]

Arceus’s Mothman!AU Part. 1

The wonderful @hiddenbyfaeries helped me with this as it’s only part 1 and I’m getting to the point where my body’s shutting down for the night. So here’s me and Tori’s take on this AU I’ve created on a whim!

- Where everything’s somewhat the same but Ash is a little more unhinged and is like a college student that’s absolutely reach the max LIMIT of putting up with Arceus shit

- More like: “Arceus you damn slut! Stop dropping other Legendary Problems on me and let me have a noRMALE VACATION”

- Ash vlogging all his Legendary BD

- and at first, everyone thinks it's a damn hoax

- he’s just so more open with all the legendary shit and everyone is so amazed but he’s like: “they eat and shit like every other living being!?”

- but then, he's 16 and just posts a pic of "I lived bitch"

- and he's just, lying next to which ever Legendary who killed him then revived him

- He just starts putting a little camera in his hat

- And so he just posts what ever happens

- Pikachu ends up wearing one

- no editing just, "that looks good"

- HE WEARS A CUTE OCEAN BANDANA AROUND HIS NECK THAT MISTY GOT HIM

- the whole world: "IS THAT FUCKING ARCEUS?!"

- Ash: "Arceus, stop trying to steal my shit!"

- "no arceus, my pot pie"

- Baking with Victini

- he’s an actual capable adultTM in this

- Which means he can bake, clean, do his own laundry, etc.

- Adult thingsTM

- "today, we're gonna see if weed can affect a pokemon"

- .... S o m e what

- he just shitposts

- he just doesn’t sleep and everyone’s now sure his blood is 87% coffee

- Like, no one has E V E R seen Ash without his gigantic traveling size mug that holds more creamer and sugar that actually coffee

- He complains about everything and Drake wheezes as Lance tries to negate the PR damage until he gives up and slowly joins with Ash and Drake

- also! he totally calls the League out on their bs and such

- he totally mocks most champions

- And they pay more attention to him now since his is the fated Chosen OneTM and in their folds now

- He has a YouTube

- And it’s just him complaining about Champions dress style

- Along with certain gym leaders

- He humanizes the Champion role a lot, but everyone else still fears him because he can call Arceus a Mew-fearing slut and not get kicked into hell on the spot

- "giratina, who is just a babey y'all, would like to be let out of their punishment realm"

- "god, I wish I could be Yvetal. Century long naps? only to wake up to wreck some shit and put the fear of God back into people? then go back to napping? Living the D R E A M"

- also, then he goes to alola

- kukui wasn't prepares

- rip kukui

- guzma, on the other hand, is a fucking F A N

- the alola kids are kinda sheltered, compared to his other friends

- except for Gladion and Hau

- who both have traveled around (even if it's just around alola for Gladion)

- Hau and Gladion have seen his videos

- Ash is a M E M E

- And he’s also not afraid to give his honest opinion about people and things

- Guzma soon becomes one of his favorite people in Alola next to Kukui, Acerola, Plumeria, and Nanu

- Because their all dead inside to some extent but Acerola

- They just speak he’ll speak at each other and cause Nanu even more pain

- Nanu is suffering

- No but that also means that Ash can actually read all the social cues people would send his way

- And Kukui is fucked because when Ash saw the Mask Royal in TV he was just like:

- “Yep that’s my Guardian, who the fuck does he think he’s fooling? They have the same fucking abs!”

- "same beard!" "same beard!"

- He’s also S O fucking tired all the time

- Like he’s literally seconds away from blacking out if it weren’t for his heightened ability and the pure caffeine pills he crushed into his traveling mug

- Because he takes on more league work from Drake and Lance so the two won’t be so swamped

- And also dealing with legendaries bs 24/7 365 days a year

- God but just imagine this 19-20 y/o fucker stumbles a little behind the Professor and is introduced as Ash Ketchum; Orange Islands Champion and the greater of the most loved shitpost the internet/world has ever seen

- And Ash just starts raining answer on questions when he looks up from other paper work

- He just creams Lillie and Sophocles. And ends up getting the top spot in the class, which also equals the top spot in the school because Ash is SMART

- He’s basically an OP human god

- But the only thing holding him back from using his whole potential is his spite for Arceus and he’s just d o e s n ‘ t want to.

- Like he caught on pretty fast to all the evil guys plots

- He totally fucks their shit up early enough to where he has time to actually focus more on helping his team grow instead of worrying about another ‘end of the world’ scenario

- I also feel like he would be VERY unnatural strong in this AU, but he’s just to tired/lazy/doesn’t give enough of a single shit

- like, no one expects him be so powerful or smart

- then he just, pulls shit outta the air all lazy like

- All that’s stopping him is the will to just

- Not Do It(Tm)

- He has no fucks left to give

- I don’t think he even had any to begin with

- In this AU he was able to repay Misty with a brand new bike

- But he was a hyper little shit until Johto with the Entie and his kidnapped mom situation

- Lance ranted about him to his colleges when Ash was younger, and the man still does. But when everyone finally meets him they’re all like: “is This the kid you were talking about?” And Lance is all excited and happy and says “Yep!”

- And Ash is just dressed in comfort clothes with a bulging backpack and coffee that you could smell the creamer a couple miles away

- Ash is just like all the Champions except Leon and Wallace mashed together into one very, very tired young adult with a coffee addiction that’s 100,000x worse than Lances

[therainroguefanfiction]

🔥 ℝise Ⱥbove I̾t ◈ Chapter 027 [Cruel and Insane]

📑 Table of Contents | ◂Backward

Word Count: 2,018

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

〈“We are the warriors, who learned to love the pain. We come from different places, but have the same name. We are the broken ones, who chose to spark a flame.” The Score, “Born for This”〉

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

“And now, we’re finally approaching the last obstacle and everyone had better tread carefully, you’re stepping onto a minefield!!”

Bitch, what?? Who the fuck puts a fucking minefield in a school competition? U.A. is on drugs, man. Maybe I shoulda played more Minesweeper growing up, I never once won a round of that shit, I’m so screwed.

“If you look carefully, you can see where those little bombs are buried, so keep your eyes on the ground, folks! By the way, those land mines are designed for the game so they might be loud and flashy but they’re not all that powerful~ Just enough to make you wet your pants!!”

“Get ahold of yourself.”

Damn it, Todoroki, I ain’t lettin’ you take first place, fam. I held my hand out, allowing flames to lick at my skin. The flames shot down into the ground before shooting in a straight line across the field, setting off mine after mine and clearing a narrow path for me to safely pass through. Pink smoke filled the air. Why did they have to choose pink? Of all the damn colors…

Bakugo went flying overhead, aiming straight for Todoroki. “Bastard! Your declaration of war… was to the wrong person!!” He aimed an explosion at Todoroki’s face, who easily dodged it.

“Just like that, a new student takes the lead! The media here is going crazy! There’s nothing they love more than an upset! Hey, hey, hey, the rest of the competitors are catching up, too! Can our two leaders fight each other and stay in front of the competition?!”

No, they can’t. I grinned, sliding underneath Bakugo when he jumped. “Later, losers!”

“Get back here, you bitch!!”

“No thanks! Wouldn’t want to ruin that sexual tension you and Todoroki got going on there!”

“Winchester has taken advantage and slipped into first!”

BOOM!!

Uhh, what the fuck was that? I glanced over my shoulder, seeing a huge cloud of pink smoke filling the back of the field.

“What’s with that huge explosion in the back?! That’s way more powerful than it should be!!”

Yo, I think U.A. really be out here trying to kill its students, man. Did they accidentally put a real fucking mine in with the fake ones? Something shot out from the smoke and my eyes widened. Izuku?!

“Incredible! What just happened?! Whatever the case, class 1-A’s Izuku Midoriya is suddenly in hot pursuit of first place!!”

Oh… oh, shit. That fucker is barrelling right toward us!

“The lead is his!!”

“Deku!” Bakugo took off after him with me and Todoroki in hot pursuit. “What the hell do you think you’re doing, huh?!”

“Look at that plot twist! Those two aren’t fighting anymore, they’re chasing Midoriya! That’s what having a common enemy will do in this competition! This fight is still far from over, though!”

Izuku is starting to lose momentum and is falling from the sky. Suddenly, he flipped in mid-air, slamming down the metal plate he had been riding on. It hit the ground directly between the three of us, smacking several mines in the process. The resulting blast sent him flying forward, covering us in pink smoke. I coughed a few times, covering my mouth and nose with my arm as I continued to run. Why the fuck does this smoke smell like a french hooker?

“In a stunning move, Midoriya has busted past his classmates from 1-A! I don’t believe it! He cleared that minefield in an instant! Eraserhead, your students are amazing!! What the heck are you teaching them?!”

“This has nothing to do with me. Each of them is powered by their own drive to succeed.”

“There you have it! Eraserhead is a terrible teacher!!”

“I’m what?”

I bit back a laugh at their antics. Poor Zawa.

“Who would have imagined at the beginning of this race that the climax would be a non-stop megamix of surprises?! The first to make it back to the stadium is the first place winner! Izuku Midoriya is our champion!!”

Todoroki passed the threshold, followed by Bakugo and me seconds behind. I leaned over, hands on my knees as I breathed heavily. Fuck, this is way more effort than walking to the fridge.

Izuku stared up at Toshi, tears in his eyes. Sheesh, kid.

“Deku… no way!” Bakugo clutched his left forearm, eyes wide as they stared at the ground. “Not again…!”

I frowned at his back, scratching my cheek. Should I try to comfort him? I’m still shit at that and it’ll probably just piss him off more… but leaving him be feels wrong. I cleared my throat, setting my hand on the small of his back. “Hey, Baku -”

He shoved me back. “Don’t fucking touch me!”

“Oi -”

“Leave me the fuck alone, Winchester!”

A bead of sweat rolled down my cheek. I don’t think he’s ever used my name before… I sighed deeply, walking away from him. He has a serious Izuku Midoriya complex, he’s gotta get over that if he wants to keep moving forward, but there’s nothing I can do to help with that. That’s all him.

“The contestants are pouring in one after the other! Let’s hear some applause for all of our competitors as we prepare the results!”

“The first game for the first years is finally over and what a game it was!” Midnight grinned as the students gathered in front of her. “Now, let’s take a quick look at the standings, shall we?”

Eh, fourth place ain’t too bad. Hiryuu got thirty-firth, yeesh.

“Only the top forty-four will advance to the next round, but don’t be too let down if you didn’t make the cut, we’ve prepared other opportunities for you to shine.”

I don’t like that sadistic face she’s makin’. Why is she licking her lips?!

“Now, the real fun is about to begin. The chance to fully move yourselves into the limelight! Give it your best!” She held her whip out to the side as the screen started to cycle through events again. “Let’s see what we have in store for you next! Will your wildest fantasies come to life?”

Not unless the next event is a taco eating competition where the winner gets a lifetime supply of Dr. Pepper and gets to meet Deadpool.

“What could it be? The waiting is torture.” She pulled her glasses down over her face. “Guard your loins and prepare for your next task!”

The only torture is listening to you, Midnight…

“Cavalry battle? I’m terrible at those…”

“You’re terrible at everything, Sparky, it’s okay.”

“You’re so cruel, Winchester!”

“Yeah, no shit,” I muttered, kneeling down and hanging my head. He’s totally right, I’ve been a complete bitch to everyone I’ve met, so how the fuck am I supposed to make it through this event? I glanced at Bakugo, but he still looks pissed off at the world, more so than usual. What am I gonna do~?

“I wonder how they’ll split us up.” Tsu wondered.

“Allow me to explain,” Midnight started, motioning toward that screen that displayed All Might being carried by Thirteen in the front, Mic on the left and Snipe on the right. “The participants will form teams of two to four people as they see fit. In theory, it’s basically the same as a regular playground game, but there is one difference – each player has been assigned a point value based on the results from the obstacle course.”

“I get it, a point-based system like the entrance exams. That seems pretty simple,” Sumo commented.

“So that means each team will have a different point value based on which students are on it,” Ochaco concluded.

“Maybe you should shut up and let me explain things to you!!” Midnight snapped, glaring at the two of them.

Midnight, you need to chill, it ain’t that serious.

“Now then, the point assignments go up in increments of five starting from the bottom. For example, forty-forth place is worth five points and forty-third is worth ten. And the point value assigned to the first place contestant is… ten million!!”

Uhh, I’m shit at math but I’m pretty fucking sure that’s way over what it should be. That’s a big oof, fam. I glanced at Izuku with sympathy as the color drained from his face. Everyone snapped their attention to him, eyes full of hunger. Can I get some Fs in chat for our fallen brethren?

“That’s right,” Midnight smirked. “It’s survival of the fittest with a chance for those at the bottom to overthrow the top! Those of you at the top will suffer the most. Of course, that’s something you’ll hear over and over again at U.A. Show us what plus ultra means!”

So, I’m worth two hundred and five points, huh? What a pain.

“First years, these are the rules that you’ll abide by! The game itself will last fifteen minutes. Individual point values will be added together to reach your team total. Everyone will know how much you’re worth thanks to your headband!”

“Wait wait wait wait,” I stood up, catching Midnight’s attention as I stepped forward. She looked annoyed at being interrupted. “I’m already wearing a more important headband, I can’t wear that.”

“You’re saying a logo for a taco restaurant is more important than the sports festival?” She cocked a brow, resting her hand on her hip.

“Absolutely,”

“I think you have a problem, Jen. Ribbit.”

“She’s cruel and insane.”

“But she’s so manly!”

“I don’t think calling a girl ‘manly’ is a compliment, Kirishima.”

Midnight’s eye twitched. “Silence!”

“What I’m askin’ is, does it have to be over my forehead?” I scratched my cheek thoughtfully. “Can I wear it on top of my head? You know, tied under my chin like Lupin III.”

“Winchester…” her eye twitched again.

“Or maybe tied around my arm like Shikamaru Nara? Maybe the wrist? But that would have to be wrapped a couple times.”

“Enough!” She slapped the whip through the air, pointing it at me. “Now listen here, you little -”

“Take that ridiculous thing off your head, Winchester.” Aizawa ordered with an exasperated sigh. “You’re not an advertisement, you’re a student.”

“I refuse,” I glared up at the commentator’s box, pointing my finger. “This has nothing to do with you, Aizawa!”

“Huh?” I could feel his glare. “Take it off or I’ll make sure Lunch-Rush never serves tacos again.”

“What kind of threat is that?”

“Y-You wouldn’t dare,” I stepped back, swallowing hard.

“Try me,”

Shit, he’s dead serious. “Goddamn it,” I reluctantly tugged the bandana from my forehead, stuffing it into my pocket.

“That actually worked?!”

Midnight sighed deeply, running her hand down her face. “If the two of you are done… Swipe as many headbands as you can to raise your team’s score! Stolen headbands must be worn from the neck up, so the more you steal, the harder it’ll be to manage them.” The board changed to show All Might with his neck completely covered by bands and looking uncomfortable. “And another thing – even if your headband gets stolen or your team falls down, you can keep playing until time’s up!”

“It’s anyone’s game, then,” Momo commented.

“And since there are forty-four contestants, there’ll be ten or thirteen teams fighting on the field the entire time,” Sumo added.

“Sounds hard…” French Fry commented, folding his arms over his stomach.

“So, if you lose your headband at the beginning, you have more time to make up a plan.”

“I don’t know, Mina. Maybe we should wait and see how the teams turn out before we start strategizing.” Tsu said.

“This is going to be rough. You may use your quirks as much as you like! But there are still rules. Make a team fall on purpose and I’ll slap you with a red card! You’ll be disqualified!! Now, you’ve got fifteen minutes to build your teams. I recommend you get started!”

Man~ Why’s life gotta force you to constantly interact with other human beings? Just let me be anti-social and live in peace with my tacos and unhealthy obsessed with Wade Wilson! I kneeled down again, hanging my head.

⊱ ────── {⋅. 🔥 .⋅} ────── ⊰

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[katedoesfics]

Shadows of Hyrule | Chapter 59

It was almost an hour before Dorephan and King Roham emerged from the palace, strolling across the manicured courtyard where the six champions waited. To their surprise, the two men seemed relatively relaxed, even cheerful in each other's company, as if an old friendship had been rekindled. Mipha stood as they approached, watching with anxious eyes to hear her father's decision.

“There is an important matter we must tend to in Termina,” her father said to her. “However; I will agree to let you stay here in Hyrule under the condition that you no longer concern yourself with the impending war.”

“Alright,” Mipha said quickly. “Fine.”

Dorephan narrowed his gaze on his daughter. “Do not take this lightly, Mipha,” he warned her. “Step one toe out of line and we will go back to Termina.”

Mipha said nothing, holding her gaze on her father until he turned his back on her. He made his way back to the palace, leaving King Roham alone with them for a moment.

King Roham turned to follow Dorephan, looking over his shoulder just long enough to issue his own warning to the Champions. “Our alliance is on thin ice, Zelda. I support Dorephan's decision to the fullest. You should know that I expect you to cooperate in the matter. However, as Hyrule's Champions, the fate of the world lies on your shoulders, and I expect you to make the decision necessary to keep this world safe. Those... decisions... do not need to be of my knowledge.” And with that, he followed Dorephan back to the palace.

“Cryptic,” Revali said.

Zelda stared blankly after her father. Once they were inside, she cursed under her breath. “That bastard,” she hissed. “Why would he put that on me?”

Urbosa shrugged. “So our choices could make or break a very important alliance,” she said. “No pressure at all.”

“Well, as long as he doesn't know about it,” Daruk offered in an attempt to be helpful.

“Great,” Revali said. “We're on our own. No surprise there. Why would anyone want to help us?” His light laugh grew slightly panicked as he continued. “It's okay. We don't need help. We got this, right guys? Guys?”

Urbosa patted Revali's head and his shoulders slumped. “It's okay,” she cooed to him. “You're a traumatized flight risk, aren't you? Well, Momma's gonna get you some beer and we're gonna work through these feelings.”

Revali snarled and shrugged her off of him. “Cut it out.” He folded his arms over his chest, still slightly sulking. In an attempt to lighten the mood, he turned his attention to Link, who had been way too quiet through the entire ordeal. “Hey! Earth to Mr. Hero. Care to weigh in on anything, or are you just going to keep brooding?”

Link glanced at Revali and narrowed his gaze. “I'm not brooding.”

Urbosa nodded in agreement. “You're brooding.”

Daruk narrowed his gaze on Link. “He's hiding something.”

“I'm not hiding anything,” Link said. He had to practically bite his tongue to keep from snapping in response and seeming more obvious than he apparently already was.

“Nah, he's brooding,” Revali said. “Almost got his girlfriend taken away from him.” He yelped when Urbosa elbowed him sharply in the rib cage.

“Girlfriend?” Mipha repeated, her cheeks warming suddenly.

“Is that not a thing?” Revali said with a disinterested tone. “I thought that was a thing.”

Link pinched the bridge of his nose. He had a headache the size of Hyrule. He listened as his friends bickered, though it was mostly Urbosa trying desperately to cover up the awkwardness that had risen after Revali's comment, and Mipha stuttering in a desperate attempt to deny all accusations. At some point, Daruk chimed in, making some crude joke to Revali, but Link hardly noticed any of this. It wasn't until Zelda spoke when his mind was grounded in reality once more.

“Alright,” she said sharply. “I'm done with you. Get out of here so I can study for finals in peace.”

“Shit,” Mipha hissed. “My first final is tomorrow!” How did the weekend get away from them?

“Suckas,” Revali said. “All we have to do tomorrow is walk across that stage.” He and Daruk high-fived.

Zelda practically pushed them through the courtyard. It was already late in the afternoon, and she wanted to use every minute she could getting some final studying in.

*****

The last week of school brought on an alternative schedule that crammed two classes worth of finals in the morning and giving the students the afternoon free. As the school rules stated, the free time was to be used for studying, or, with a note from a parent, they could be excused from the property all together. Of course, hardly any of the students had followed that rule, casually walking out of the building to meet up with their friends the second they were finished with their last final of the day.

On Monday morning, Mipha's parents left early for the airport to make their trip back to Termina, promising her that they would be home before the end of the week, though to Mipha, it seemed more of a threat. We'll be home before the end of the week... don't get caught up in any hero work or you'll be on the next plane to Termina. Of course, she had no intentions in backing out now, despite her parents' beliefs. Still, the way the media had been involved, she knew it wouldn't make her sneaking around any easier.

Mipha, Link, and Zelda made it through their first two finals, and by the afternoon, they were sitting in the bleachers outside, cheering for their three senior friends who were officially high school graduates. The speeches were long and chalked full of cliches. The ceremonial accepting of the diploma was even longer considering the number of students in the senior class. And the summer sun didn't make things any better. But by the time the pomp and circumstance had finished, the bleachers started to empty out as friends and family hurried onto the field to meet with their new graduates. Caps were thrown in the air, bouquets were passed around, and cameras and phones flashed as students hugged their parents, brothers and sisters, and fellow graduates, their images frozen in time.

They were chatting among themselves at the edge of the field when Urbosa, Daruk, Revali, and Teba found them, still dressed in their gowns with the exception of their caps.

“Hey, losers,” Revali said with a grin. He waved his diploma in the air. “See you next year, not!”

“Revali,” Mipha said, shaking her head. “Really? That's so ten years ago.”

“I'm bringing it back,” he said with a shrug. “'Not' should never have left. It's so much better then some of these other words you basic bitches come up with. Like, what the hell is a fleek?”

Zelda snorted. “Wow,” she said. “He graduates, and suddenly he's an eighty year old man.”

“Shove it, Princess,” he said. “Are we gonna smoke this joint or what?”

Teba shook his head. “You're embarrassing yourself, man.”

“C'mon,” Revali said, leading the way. “It's time to party and drink.”

“If it's at your house,” Mipha started warily, “you can count me out.”

“A guy throws one helluva rager and all you can think about is that one douche bag that had to shut it down.” He draped his arm around Mipha. “Did I, or did I not, have your back?”

“Oh, Revali,” she said dreamily. “Thanks for providing us with an escape. I had a great night throwing up my insides.”

“Thatta girl,” Revali said, patting her head. He leaned in closer to whisper in her ear, but he was still loud enough to be heard. “I know all the tricks, Mipha, and I know you were playing the jealousy game. Did it even work?”

Mipha blushed and scooted out from under his shoulder.

“Is it just me,” Urbosa started, “or is he extra douchey today?”

“That piece of paper is getting to his head,” Daruk said.

“I was starting to appreciate the more humble Revali,” Teba said.

“Yeah, but that was getting to him, too,” Urbosa said with a frown.

“Will you quit it?” Revali snapped over his shoulder. “Can't a guy have a meltdown without ya'll throwing it in his face?”

Teba shook his head. “Sorry, man.”

Revali threw his arms in the air as he walked across the parking lot.

“Where are you going?” Urbosa called after him.

“Partying,” he said simply.

[raendown]

Chapter: 8/9 Pairing: MadaraTobirama Word count: 4039 Rated: M Summary: Walking patrol around a university for mages probably sounded like a wild time but Tobirama has never found it all that exciting. He’s not even technically supposed to be here. When responding to a tripped alarm becomes a desperate attempt to stay alive, however, excitement is the last thing on his mind. All he’s ever wanted is a quiet life alone with his books until he finds himself bound to Uchiha Madara in the most impossible way and finally learns to think about more than just himself - in a way.

Follow the link or read it under the cut!

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Chapter 8

Cool evening air around them, a heaviness on their skin like the pressure before rain, symmetry in their mind and an ache in their flesh as though they had gone three rounds with a heavyweight champion. Waking was not peaceful but it was better than the darkness that lingered and reached for them still.  Voices murmured around them but whatever they were saying wasn’t half as interesting as burrowing in to themselves, arms holding tight and throats humming in quiet protest to the way foreign hands were suddenly petting at their hair.

“Tobi? Madara? Can you hear me?”

“Don’t call us that,” they murmured, unsure why but knowing that was the usual response.

“Oh no, they’re doing it again.” That voice was familiar in more than one way, attached to more than one set of memories, and that was the first hint that something was off.

Another voice that set off the same dual reactions chimed in from somewhere off to the side. “Doing what? Were they talking together like that a lot before?”

“In the beginning, yes.”

“That’s dumb. And weird. Why?”

Without opening their eyes they smiled, two foreheads pressed together, whole and safe and happy. “We are one,” they whispered.

“Oh hell no! Fuck that! I thought I told you two not to be gross whenever I was around!” A hand grabbed at one of their shoulders but the pull lasted only a moment before it was torn away again without shifting them more than an inch to one side.

“No! Izuna, no! You don’t – you can’t know the pain it would cause them! If you love your brother then please do not separate them! It has to be by their own choice or it could do even more damage!”

Brother. The voices continued to babble back and forth but they had already reverted in to their own mind to contemplate that word. Brother. It brought forth so many different feelings, identical and yet so very different, and they associated it with both of the voices speaking close to them…and yet they didn’t. How strange. Brother and yet not brother, sibling and friend and long-standing rival.

The fog of first waking began slowly dissipating for clearer thoughts to seep in. Memories of the days before came to them and the reminder that they were, in fact, two people was as painful as it was necessary. With their eyes still closed they pressed closer together and sighed. Parting as a mere concept was abhorrent but as they gradually remembered who they were they could see more and more why it was necessary to break the perfect harmony of being together. They didn’t have to like it though.

Nor did they have to do so quickly. Izuna could be heard whining about not wanting to lose his brother to the mind of some ‘frosted flaky asshole’ as the two of them very thoroughly said goodbye to each other. It wasn’t like they would be very far away from each other – obviously they didn’t have to move apart if they didn’t want to – but it was different being together like this as one person than being together as two people sitting next to each other yearning to be whole again. Still, there were things beyond their shared consciousness that they wouldn’t be able to experience the right way in this state. Things like properly greeting the brothers they both loved so deeply despite also frequently desiring to murder them.

As they both grimaced at the discomfort of extraction Tobirama nevertheless grasped at the frayed ends of his own self and pulled them all together, inevitably pulling a part of Madara deeper within himself but not caring in the slightest. They had already picked up enough habits from each other because of this bond; a few more wouldn’t hurt anyone.

“Will the two of you please just shut up?” he growled. Hashirama spun around to clutch at the covers he just now realized were spread over their legs.

“Tobi? Is that you? Just you I mean?”

“Stop calling me that!”

“It is you!” He threw himself down on the bed with no further questions, trying to draw both of them in to a hug at the same time and fending off their screeching protests with happy smiles.

Standing to one side with an irritable scowl, Izuna eyed his own brother with obvious trepidation until Hashirama was thrown off the bed at last and Madara had a moment to look over and return his crazy expression. With the hand not still clutching tightly to Tobirama he reached out to swat Izuna on whatever body part was in range.

“You can stop making that face,” he snapped. “I would suggest learning to be a bit nicer to Tobirama since this little situation here isn’t going to change any time soon – or ever, if we get our way about it. We’re a package deal now so what you say to him you are saying to me.”

“Whatever, Aniki. Apparently I wasted all that time I spent worrying. If you’re gonna be all preachy about things then maybe I just pack up this investigation of mine and leave!”

“Hashirama won’t pay you if you leave,” Madara deadpanned.

Izuna paused and furrowed his brows, realizing his brother was right. He peeked over at Hashirama, still clinging to his own sibling, but all Hashirama did was shrug apologetically and nod. After only a couple days here and no real leads yet paying him at this point would just be stupid. Seeing that his threat was an empty one Izuna rolled his eyes and slumped down on to a nearby chair. It wasn’t until he did so and brought attention to their surroundings that Tobirama sat up slowly with the realization that they had woken up in the infirmary.

“Who found us?” he asked because clearly someone had.  

“Me.” Hashirama raised a hand. “You never gave me a straight answer about Madara’s class so I was coming up a little early in case I had to run down to speak with the substitute before lunch and give him time to prepare. I found you on opposite sides of the lab and you were both unresponsive. It was scary.”

Both of the bonded pair shuddered at the memory, Tobirama falling back to the mattress so they could curl a little closer together. In several hundred years of wielding dangerous magics they had both encountered their fair share of painful moments but nothing would ever compare to that moment when their connection was lost, all sense of their other half blocked by the automatic protective barrier the laboratory seals had dropped in to place.

They weren’t given much time to put those dreadful moments behind them though; Hashirama was well-known by many for his inability to read a room, a habit he freely demonstrated now.

“Was it scary for you guys too?” he asked. Tobirama scoffed and looked over his shoulder.

“I’d love it if you would talk about literally anything else in the world, how’s that for an answer?”

“Seconded.” Madara gave his brother a narrowed eye look, to which Izuna crossed his eyes and exaggerated the same expression back at him.

Hashirama offered them both a sympathetic look that they chose to ignore. Undeterred, he fussed about straightening the blankets around them until they had to shove him away again. Even then he still continued to fiddle with the corners, dodging Tobirama’s slapping fingers, while he nodded towards where Izuna was moodily sliding lower in his chair.

“I had our resident investigative expert check out your lab for foul play so we have a general idea of what happened at least, you guys don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to. Unfortunately that’s really the only solid thing we learned yesterday.”

“Not true,” Izuna said. “Your seer helped us determine that whoever laid the original seal is here in the castle, at least. That makes it an inside attack.”

“That’s a lot of people to go through, even if we’re just looking at the staff and not including the thousands of students who stay here all year round.” Hashirama shook his head.

“Well you’re the headmaster, you would know your staff best. Let’s make sure these idiots are fine and then you and I can sit down together to go over a list of your staff for possible suspects. I’ve haven’t been here for that long but I’m already sick of watching these two cuddle up like an old married couple; let’s get this shit figured out so I can leave again.” Hauling himself up, Izuna quickly ducked away when Madara and Tobirama both shot up in the bed to reach out and smack him.

After calling Tsunade over it took a bit to convince her that her two patients were okay to leave. She wanted them to stay a while longer for observation but both of them did their best to impress upon her that they would rest much more easily at home. Eventually she gave in to her father’s infamous puppy eyes and allowed them to go, one finger shaking threateningly under her uncle’s nose with instructions to take it easy for at least a day or two and not push themselves to separate again before they were ready. Her descriptions of the mental trauma she expected might result from any more forceful separations was enough to have them promising to take it as easy as she liked.

Crawling out of bed was easy. Making it to the end of the hallway was more difficult. Neither Tobirama nor Madara understood how tired they really were until they closed the door of the infirmary and realized just how far away their rooms were.

With Izuna laughing mercilessly at them the whole way they managed to stumble along the halls, fingers woven together and curled tightly against the fear that one of them might trip and accidentally pull them apart. Several dozen students who knew one or both of them stopped to watch them go by, staring at their entwined hands with the light of gossip in their eyes, but it was easier to ignore this time than it had been before. Having a taste of what it was like to be apart had only affirmed the unspoken agreement that this was just how things would be from here on out. For the rest of their lives it would be the two of them together come what may. Hashirama, at least, could be counted on to support them as he was supporting them now while they straggled their way back home.

Their brothers saw them both tucked in to bed and then headed off together with their attention already turning to which of the staff could possibly have a grudge against either Tobirama or Madara – or even Hashirama himself since he was the one who was originally supposed to be walking patrol duty that evening. It was a surprise that they even remembered to turn off the lights and lock the doors on their way out.

Finally alone again, Madara and Tobirama shuffled under the covers until they were facing each other with their foreheads touching once more before letting themselves drift off for a much needed nap.

Sleep came easily to them, although that wasn’t much of a surprise considering how tired they were. On the journey here Hashirama told them about how their bodies had gone in to shock and begun to seize shortly after they were found so it was no wonder they were feeling exhausted despite not having done anything for a solid twelve hours. In fact, it was probably lucky that neither of them were injured in any way, no bitten tongues and no heads bashed against the concrete while they jerked about uncontrollably.

The bedroom was golden with late afternoon sunlight when they finally woke up again and the covers so warm that moving out from underneath them felt like an impossibility. With no one here to remind them it took more than fifteen minutes for them to remember to pull back in to their own minds and remember who they were separately.

Laying so close together gave Tobirama an excellent excuse to trace his eyes along the planes of Madara’s face and admire the shape of his jaw, the curved cheekbones that gave him the appearance of permanent chubby cheeks and always made him look cute instead of angry when he puffed them out with rage. Tobirama studied the dark color of the eyes looking back at him and the sweeping lashes that framed them. Quiet thoughts about what Izuna had said yesterday morning crept in before he could stop them and, as close as they were both pressed against the barrier between their minds, he knew Madara would be able to hear what he was thinking.

He hated to admit it, just like he hated to admit any time Izuna was right about something, but there was a possibility that some of those things they had both denied so vehemently were true. Now that he took a few moments to really think about it he thought that perhaps they had gotten closer than he realized – and in ways he hadn’t at all expected.

Right now with his consciousness still very close to slipping right over in to Madara’s was probably not a great time to discover the fact that he might actually have romantic feelings for his partner that he probably hadn’t noticed until now simply because their bond made everything between them feel so natural and right. In that way it did make sense to him that he would fall hard and fast, much more so than if he wasn’t able to see Madara’s true self and how compatible they really were.

It wasn’t quite shame that painted his cheeks red since there was little point in being ashamed of anything between them but more of a general embarrassment for being the one to prove them both wrong after they denied feeling anything romantic for each other. Still, he held Madara’s gaze when he saw the man’s eyebrows slide up with momentary disbelief and listened carefully to the way his thoughts stopped to consider the idea. The genuine curiosity and the fact that there was no hesitance or mocking in his thoughts would have given Tobirama pause if he hadn’t spent so long at this point getting to know the man behind the scowl that he himself had once mocked so easily. Not that it failed entirely to surprise him but he was still touched in a way he couldn’t explain.

More than touched, he felt the first stirrings of hope when Madara’s curiosity rose like a cresting wave. When his partner shifted and ducked down to tentatively press their lips together he held as still as he possibly could for the first few seconds, afraid to ruin the moment, as if by simply twitching wrong he could drive Madara away from him and make the other realize what he was doing.

Their first kiss was quite possibly the softest thing Tobirama had ever experienced in his life, a slow glide of soft lips, limbs shifting to wrap around each other as tightly as they could. Slave to the drive for as much contact as possible, Madara pushed himself up to roll Tobirama on to his back. Listening to the thoughts passing back and forth between them meant that Tobirama was on board with that almost before the movement had begun. Madara touched his shoulder and he rolled without having to wait for the pressure asking him to do so. Having a thigh on either side of him and the weight of his partner pressing him down in to the mattress made him feel safe, grounded, and the sheer rightness of it left his mind free to concentrate on the incredible warmth of their kiss.

Apparently Madara was enjoying the experience as much as he was, pleasantly surprised sensations filling them both as he cocked his head for a better angle and very carefully drew Tobirama’s bottom lip in between his teeth for a light nibble. They groaned at the same time and that was their clue for what was happening.

Far too connected, their physical reactions were caught in a feedback loop where everything experienced by one was shared with the other. Tobirama pressed one hand in the center of Madara’s chest but his partner only pulled back a single inch.

“Is this- are we sure you’re not just interested in whatever this is because I am?” he asked quietly, scared of the answer but knowing that he had to ask anyway.

“Of course I’m interested because you are,” Madara said. Before Tobirama could panic he scoffed and added, “But who’s to say it’s not you that’s interested because I am and you were just the one to figure it out? That’s the whole point, Tobirama. We’re intertwined, we’re one, everything you feel I feel too. If you laugh then I laugh. If you love…then I love.”

Without the words to properly express himself Tobirama settled for pulling Madara down to meet him once more. Obviously he had been around the block a time or two in these matters but he would have felt confident even without any prior experience in saying that nothing had ever felt quite as good as having Madara’s tongue trace the shape of his bottom lip while blunt fingers drew shapes along the lines of his ribs. And by the sensations passing back to him through their bond he gathered that Madara very much approved of the way he used his own hands to skim the length of the spine arching above him.

The first time Madara rocked down against him it was hard to tell if he was being flooded with his own pleasure or his partner’s – or even both at the same time in equal force – but he found it hard to care when it felt so good that he could do nothing but shift his hands down to grip the man’s waist and encourage him to repeat the motion. Their bodies rolled together in perfect sync. Within moments Tobirama was lost to the rhythm.

It should have come as no surprise when the edges began to blur, when the separation between the two of them grew slowly indistinct. Each caress of their hands and every movement of their bodies was experienced by both of them until eventually Tobirama could no longer tell which hand was his own or whether he was the one to initiate a movement. Still he clung tighter in whatever ways he could with what limbs he thought might be his own, more and more desperate, never satisfied and always hungry for another touch. It was hard to tell whether that hunger was his own or not but he felt no qualms with following it.

Pleasure running rampant and unchecked through their veins, neither of them were paying much attention to the fact that they were perhaps getting a little too close until between one moment and the next it stopped mattering. The sensations melted together as one or both of them slipped across the barrier and they were together in the most perfect way.

From then it no longer mattered who was touching where. What mattered was that it felt good and it felt right. Hands pulled away clothes and lips pressed in to skin. Tongues and nails teased the places no one else knew about while one of their other hands reached out to dig in a nearby drawer for the half full bottle of lube they knew had to be somewhere close. Soft shameless noises dripped from their lips as fingers were slicked and one of their bodies was slowly worked open.

Which body wasn’t important. Identity wasn’t important. They both felt the pleasure of being stretched and filled as they moved together and they both felt the heat coiling in their bellies like nothing they had ever experienced before. When they peaked they did so as one massive flood of pleasure crashing down over them, muscles clenching and voices crying out together, two sets of eyes open wide yet seeing nothing but each other. There was no word in their shared mind to describe the incredible sensation except ‘perfect’.

Coming down from the high was as unique as building it up had been. At some point whoever had been inside the other slipped away and they both fell to their sides once more to wind around each other with as many limbs as possible.

Oddly, detangling their minds in that moment felt nowhere near as terrible as it usually would, perhaps because one of them felt as though they had a point to make to the other and even though that point was made as easily as thinking about it when they were still joined in this way that just wasn’t the same as saying it out loud. It did still take a bit of effort to figure out which thoughts belonged to who and what name went where but after several slow minutes they were staring in to each other’s eyes and Tobirama found it impossible to look away from the expression on Madara’s face.

“That was…intense,” his partner murmured and Tobirama couldn’t help but agree.

“I would feel embarrassed about the poor showing for my stamina but honestly I don’t know if I could survive that much intensity over long periods of time.”

“Yes I think quick but incredible trumps long but mediocre any day of the week.” Madara took a moment to stare at him again before he asked softly, “Does it really matter where the feelings came from as long as we both feel them?”

Tobirama rolled his eyes. “I suppose not. This is all just…very fast. Logically I know that anything I can do you can keep up with since we’ve both got the power of two brains to work with but…”

“But you can’t help but worry. I get it. ‘What if’ is in your nature, I suppose, what with all the experiments you do and all the research papers you’ve written. Sometimes I’m surprised you haven’t discovered the inner workings of the entire world yet just from asking too many questions.”

Squirming in place, Tobirama hummed. “I feel like I have the energy to go do it,” he mumbled.

Which was true. He’d never been one of those men who came once and then passed out. Sex had always left him feeling energized and after such an intense orgasm as the one he’d just experienced he felt like he could take on the world itself. Madara, on the other hand, was definitely one of the ones that always wanted a nap afterwards. He still made an effort to sit up and look around to see where their clothing had gotten to, bringing one leg out of the blankets to discover a pair of underwear not his own hooked around his ankle.

“I’ll come sit in the lab with you if you stay in one place so I can just sleep on the table or something.”

“Deal,” Tobirama agreed. “I might even have something soft in there you can use as a pillow.”

“Actually I was planning to just fall asleep on your shoulder.”

“Oh. Yes that…that would be preferable.” They smiled at each other and Tobirama sat up as well to capture a kiss from those inviting lips.

This was indeed all happening very fast but he supposed there was no point in denying a truth once it had been discovered. Whether it was that the connection left them no choice but to fall for each other or that it had simply shown them how compatible they really are and the feelings were all their own, wondering about it was truly pointless. All he should care about was that they did love each other – and that Izuna could never know it was his words that had sparked the beginning of these discoveries.

Just because they had found their happiness didn’t mean they had to do something as disgusting as spread it around.

[quiet-onset]

Gætir (11)

Pairing: Thor Odinson x Reader (eventually), Bucky Barnes x platonic!reader

Word Count: 4,523

Tag List: @givemeanorigami, @ktjnn, @dreamingaboutthewonderland, @whatisanniedoin, @msvega24, @champion-ofthe-sun, @art-flirt, @moose-on-the-l00se, @snowstorm8162, @loricwizardbluetoastedcake

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Chapter Eleven:

Your father was a brilliant man. And he knew it.

The difference between him and other geniuses was that he used his intelligence to help others. He had worked on many different projects over the years. Some were successes and some were failures, but that never stopped him from trying again. He was a psychologist and a scientist, both areas of expertise coming in handy for his current project.

He was making rounds around the lab, his white lab coat catching the light breeze. He marked a few things down on his clipboard at each station before continuing. He’d give words of encouragement to each of coworkers. He was listening in on a small debate between two lab techs before he heard his name being called.

“Daniel! Daniel!”

He turned to see his head assistant, Paul, rushing toward him. Your father gave him an amused look as Paul grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. “Where’s the fire, Paul?”

“This is serious! We think it might be working.”

Daniel paused when he realized his close friend was serious. They were just outside the simulation room when he placed his hands on Paul’s shoulders. “Don’t play games with me.” He warned.

“I’m not.” Paul nodded. “Come on.”

When they entered the simulation room, there were a few lab techs inside, waiting for the two men. Paul nodded to one of them which prompted them to start the simulation.

On the screen, a brain appeared, colored in many different hues in each lobe. Paul pointed to it, “This is a brain with PTSD. You know we’ve been trying different combinations for years to try and perfect the serum.”

“Of course,” Daniel said. “To try and balance out the hormones.”

“We’ve finally found it.”

Paul pressed a button on the keyboard and waited for the simulation to change. A chemical equation appeared on the side while the men watched the dark red of the brain faded into blue. Daniel let out a breath of disbelief before smiling wide. He looked at his partner. “Do you realize what this means?” Paul said.

“This could cure PTSD, reduce panic attacks,” Daniel gushed. “The impact is endless!”

The two were busy basking in their success and happiness that they didn’t notice the group of observers slip into the room. When Daniel finally saw them, he tilted his head in confusion. There weren’t any tours scheduled for today, he thought.

“Ugh, Paul, can you make sure this updated paperwork is on my desk within the hour?”

“Of course.”

Sending Paul on his way, Daniel walked up to the group, shaking the tour guide’s hand, a supervisor he recognized as Garrett. “I didn’t know we had a tour today.” He smiled.

Garrett spoke to the group. “And here we have the man in charge. This is Dr. Daniel Y/L/N.”

“Pleasure to meet you all.”

“These are the investors that just bought into Tomorrow. Meet Mr. Müller, Mrs. Schröder, and Dr. Schmidt.” He introduced your father to each of them as he shook their hands.

As Daniel shook Dr. Schmidt’s hand, he noticed the ring on his finger. It seemed to resemble tentacle, peaking his interest as it did look familiar to him. “Those are German names, right?”

“Very perceptive.” Mrs. Schröder nodded, her accent thick and heavy.

“It seems you’ve had a breakthrough.” Mr. Müller added.

“Oh,” Daniel said. “We’re just, um, putting the final touches on the research. All of this is just in theory anyway.”

Dr. Schmidt clapped a hand on his shoulder, “Don’t undersell yourself, son.”

Daniel looked into his eyes and felt an unsettling feeling in the pit of his stomach. He thanked God when Paul called him away from the group. When he started speaking, Daniel wasn’t listening but was trying to eavesdrop on the group’s conversation.

“I want him.” He heard Dr. Schmidt say. “He will be a good addition, and his research is almost complete.”

“How do we know it works? This is meant to help with mental illness, not create an army.” Mr. Müller asked.

“Obviously, we will test it. We have more than enough test subjects. It's simply a matter change of fixing the hormone imbalance.” Mrs. Schröder said.

Garrett nodded, “Hydra will not be disappointed. Dr. Y/L/N is the best of the best.”

Now, Daniel wasn’t sure what Hydra was or what army they were trying to build, but he knew that, if tampered with correctly, his research could be used to make people docile.

So, Daniel excused himself and went straight to his office. When he typed Hydra into the web search bar, he had to hold back a gasp. A worldwide terrorist organization stemming from Nazi Germany was trying to steal his research.

For a moment, he felt paralyzed, as if he couldn’t breathe. He had never been up against something so evil, something way above his pay grade. But here he was. And he knew that he couldn’t just sit idly by while his researching was being stolen.

So, he started working himself into a frenzy. He finalized his research by hand, opting not to enter it into the system. He then printed all of his essential research files before deleting them from the Tomorrow server and his computer. After gathering his work, he looked around his office for what he feared might be the last time before exiting and booking it to his own home.

When Daniel arrived home, the door slammed open and closed, perking your mother’s ears up. When she saw that it was only her husband, she relaxed. “Don’t do that!” She scolded. “You know the girls get scared like that.”

“Are they home?” He asked frantically.

“The twins are. Y/N should be on the school bus back right now. Why?”

“We have to go. Now.” He said. “I’ll go pack a bag for the twins. You pack Y/N’s. We gotta leave.”

Your mother’s brow snapped together in confusion. Daniel was usually so laid back and relaxed, so seeing him pace around the living room in a frenzy had her worried. “Woah, slow down. What’s the problem?”

“The people I work for, they’re…” He trailed off, searching for the right words. “Dangerous. We need to pack and go.”

Just as your mother was about to respond, you walked through the front door with a big smile on your face. You learned how to play a new song on the guitar during music class that day; you were eager to show them. Upon seeing the surprise and fear on their faces, your smile dropped. You were only eleven at the time, but you could sense the tension. You looked at the two, your shoulders drooping a bit. “Mom, Dad, what’s wrong?”

Your dad didn’t hesitate walking up to you and crouching down to your height. “Nothing, sweetie. Say, do you wanna go on a trip?”

“Dad, I—”

“I need you to go to your bedroom and pack a suitcase. Just the essentials. We’re going away for awhile.”

You shook your head, “What about school? What about my friends?”

Your mother looked over his shoulder and gave you a look. She knew you could argue all day. You were like her in that sense. “Listen to your father, hon.”

Only after eyeing your parents one last time do you head toward the stairs. You climbed the stairs hyper-aware of your mom and dad watching you. You waited until you were down the hall and heard their voices again to tiptoe to the edge and crouch down. Your sisters peeked out of their room to see you on the ground. “What are you doing?” Melody asked.

“You look stupid,” Harmony added.

“Any other day, I’d have a comeback that you probably wouldn’t even understand,” You whispered to the twins. “But right now, I need you to shut up so I can listen to Mom and Dad.”

Your sisters started to protest, but you shushed them, waving them back to their rooms. Your parents were finally getting back to the issue at hand, so you needed silence.

“Daniel, you know I can protect us,” Dahlia said quietly.

Your dad sighed, “You haven’t done that in years. I thought you wanted a low profile.”

“I do, but not at the expense of my family. I was born to protect others.”

“Dahlia—”

“Danny,” Your mother used his nickname, knowing that it would calm him. “I made a home here from nothing. I found you, we had three beautiful daughters, and I’m not gonna let some dangerous people run me out of my home.”

You could tell your mother was starting to get angry at the thought of anyone threatening her family, but Daniel simply placed his hands on her shoulders and rubbed up and down. They both stood there for a moment in silence, relishing the sheer presence of each other. With three kids running around, and him working all the time, it was rare that they had time to themselves. They knew, though, that this peace couldn’t last forever.

“Please. They know too much.” Daniel pleaded. “We need to take the girls and my research and go.”

“Your research?” Dahlia asked. “What can they do with that?”

“I’ll tell you on the way. Just humor me, please.”

Your mother sighed, and you knew that was her sign of conceding. You saw her nod and watched as he placed a kiss on her forehead. That was when you raced to your room to avoid being seen. You began throwing clothes in a suitcase, vaguely hearing your sisters call you weird and your mother’s footsteps coming up the stairs.

It was about an hour later that you were on the road. It had taken a bit longer than planned due to your begging to take your guitar with you. When the five of you were finally in the station wagon, you tuned out your sisters’ bickering as the car drove the road.

You watched your familiar neighborhood disappear out of your window, watching as the roads gradually became more and more unrecognizable. As if the world could sense your melancholy, it started to drizzle outside, the water droplets bouncing off the car’s exterior. You tried to make a game of following one droplet as it ran down the window, your parents’ small talk rendering you annoyed.

You knew you weren’t a grown up and that you probably wouldn’t understand the magnitude of whatever was happening. You still wanted to know. You felt like you deserved to know. Your parents were uprooting your entire life with virtually no explanation, then had the nerve to talk about the weather as if nothing had happened. Was it that easy for them?

You lost your train of thought as the car made a left turn onto a dirt road in the forest. You sat up, turning to try and see behind you. There was nothing around that you recognized, but you had to admit that you were scared. The rain was starting to pour and the fact that fog was starting to become apparent didn’t help.

“Dad, where are we?” You finally asked.

“Just trust me, sweetie.” He told you.

He found a conveniently cleared space just big enough for the car and stopped. Dahlia turned to him in her seat. “How long have you had this place?”

“Since I found out where you’re really from. Just in case.” He said with a shrug. “It’s completely off the grid. I made sure of it.”

He announced that it was time for everyone to exit the car. Your sisters jumped out, ready to play in the rain. They were always very fond of that sort of weather. You trudged out behind them and groaned when you felt the ground sink under your feet. “I hate mud.” You muttered.

You saw your parents starting to cover the car with branches and leaves. You stood behind your mother with your arms crossed. “So when will we know what’s happening?” You asked.

“Get your things from the trunk, Y/N.” She said.

You rolled your eyes and attempted to stomp your way to the back of the car, your feet slapping the mud. Your father eyed you. “Don’t roll your eyes at your mother, young lady.” He warned.

You grabbed your suitcase in one hand and your guitar case in the other. You waited for the rest of your family to grab theirs as you looked at your surroundings. There were trees all around; you couldn’t see much else past their leaves. You figured it must be much prettier and less ominous when it wasn’t raining.

A few minutes later, your father would lead your small family on a short hike. It couldn’t have been more than fifteen minutes, but your sisters would not stop complaining in their young age. Your mother would hush them with a short look in her eye as they continued. Then, you saw it.

A small clearing with an old cabin dead center.

It was a bit elevated, the front acting as a sort of porch. The wood was fading from brown to a sort of grayish color. It was a small, sad-looking cabin, but it seemed to match the situation perfectly so you couldn’t complain. This was your new home.

It took a while getting used to you. The cabin seemed much smaller when you entered, and you were disappointed to learn that you’d have to share a room with your sisters. You loved your sisters, but living in the same room as them proved to be a challenge. It took a whole year of bickering and family meetings to finally fall into a groove.

You all had a sort of routine. Your mother would teach you with what little books and material she managed to bring along. Then you went hunting with your father while your sisters learned survival skills with your mother. When the two of you came back, you would go out back to gather firewood for the tiny fireplace. Then, you’d eat dinner with your family and go to bed, repeating the entire process in the morning. It was a weird routine, but it was yours, nonetheless. You followed it to a tee.

Until one day, it was interrupted.

Your father had gone out of a shopping trip. Every few months, Daniel would have to go out and buy new clothes for you and your sisters, as you were still growing. He made sure to dress so his face couldn’t be seen and went back out into the world. Sometimes, you were jealous of him, but you knew it was for the best.

Everything was going smoothly as Daniel exited the clothing store. With two shopping bags in each hand, he walked toward the car he’d hot-wired to get there.

Then, all of a sudden, he collided with a stranger, his hat falling off in the process.

“I am so sorry.” The stranger said. He bent down to help Daniel pick up his belongings.

Daniel tried to keep his head down as his heartbeat sped up. “It’s fine, really. You don’t have to.”

“No, I insist. Besides, I’m the one who bumped into you.” The stranger picked up his hat just before Daniel could grab it. He looked up at the stranger and nodded in thanks.

Without another word, he put the cap on his head and booked it to the car, leaving the scene as quickly as possible.

Later that day, you were out hunting with your father near the clearing where your parents had parked their car nearly a year and a half ago. You separated from him but stayed where he could see you. You were aiming for a bird that settled on a low branch with your rifle. You never had great aim, but you were sure you could hit that bird. Suddenly, you saw three men. Your eyes widened as you watched them start to uncover the car that you’d left behind.

When Daniel saw the distress on your face, he silently made his way over to you. “What’s wrong?” He whispered.

You pointed and waited as your father’s reaction mimicked yours. His head snapped your way as he grabbed you by the shoulders. “You run back to the cabin as fast as you can. Don’t make any noise until you get through the clearing.”

“Dad, what’s going——”

“Tell your mother that they’re coming. Then take your sisters and hide. Understand?”

You nodded quickly, taking off with a quick shove from your father. You ran as fast as your feet could carry you, making it back to the cabin in five minutes flat. You saw your sisters smiling at the fire they’d just started as you ran across the clearing. Dahlia looked at you with concern as you frantically kicked dirt over the fire, prompting your sisters to whine. You ignored them and turned to your mother, “They’re coming.”

You watched as your mother’s face slowly changed from confusion to seriousness. She bent down to look your sisters in the eyes. “Melody, Harmony, you go into the cabin with Y/N and hide. Listen to your sister, do you understand?”

You almost cringed at the fear in their eyes. Harmony’s lip trembled, “Mommy?”

“It’ll be okay, baby. I promise. Now go, hurry.”

You followed your sisters into the cabin, putting on a brave face. Melody immediately turned to you, “Y/N, what’s happening?”

“I don’t know.” You answered honestly. “We just need to listen to Mom and Dad, okay? We’ll be fine.”

You looked around the small cabin for any kind of hiding space for the girls. You’d be damned if you hid before them. You noticed that the kitchen cabinets under the sink were small, and the twins would probably fit inside. “Here, come on.”

You let them crawl inside before crouching down. “You two stay down here and don’t make any noise unless me, Mom, or Dad says so. I don’t care who else comes in here. You don’t come out unless you hear one of us, got it?”

They nodded, tears in their eyes. You were about to say that everything was going to be okay, but you didn’t have the chance. You started to hear a commotion outside and knew you had to hide. You reminded them to be silent before you reluctantly closed the cabinet doors.

You ran to the nearest closet and got in. You were two seconds from closing the door when you heard a shout from the porch. The closet door wasn’t fully closed, but you wouldn’t be able to close it the rest of the way without being noticed by whoever was there, so instead, you peeked through the small crack.

Suddenly, you jumped as the front door collapsed, a body flying through it. In the doorway, you could make out your mother heaving in labored breaths. You let out a small gasp as you looked at her eyes.

They were dark blue. And they were glowing.

You watched as she stomped on a floorboard, pulling something from underneath. She unsheathed a sword that gleamed in the light. The light that reflected off your mother’s sword shined in your eyes, and you stumbled backward. You couldn’t see much of the fight, but when you saw your mother standing over a man, you thought it was almost over. You thought your mother had won.

But the man pulled out a gun.

Dahlia didn’t have any time to react before she felt a searing pain tear through her chest. She tried to fight against it, but it was like her body was paralyzed. You covered your mouth with your hands, tears running down your face as she collapsed to the floor. You tried your hardest to not make any noise as you watched your mother take her final breaths.

The man stood from the floor and dusted himself off as if he hadn’t just taken your mother’s life. Two men walked in, dragging your blood covered father behind them. They looked at the woman on the floor, and one of them chuckled. “We thought she almost had you, soldier.”

The man looked at him with cold eyes, his voice cutting through the silence. “What did I say about talking to me?”

The other man gulped, “Don’t.”

You only heard a deep grunt in response before the man they called soldier spoke again. “Outside. Let’s go.”

You immediately stepped back into the coats that filled the closet. You watched as they dragged your father back outside, the soldier following behind them. You could vaguely hear your father speaking as you slowly left the closet. “Please, leave them alone. I’ll give you whatever you want.”

You went up to your mom, tears in your eyes as you realized she was not yet dead. She took labored breaths as you cradled her head in your lap, careful to not make a sound.

“Y/N,” She croaked quietly. “You have to run.”

“I can’t leave you, Mom.” You whispered.

“You have to.” You could see her eyes rolling back. “Take the twins and run.”

With tears streaming down your cheeks, all you could do was murmur little no’s as her eyes rolled back in her head and closed for the final time. Quietly, you put her head back on the floor, wincing as you heard your father groan in pain. You went to the cabinet and whispered your arrival before opening the doors. “Melody, Harmony,” You started. “We have to run. But you still can’t make a noise.”

They nodded quickly, tears gathering once again in their eyes. “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” Melody asked.

You parted your lips to answer but hesitated as you looked in the direction of your mother’s body. You shook your head. “Let’s go, c’mon.”

On the way out the back door, you reached under the kitchen table, grabbing the handgun that your father taught you to use. You tucked into the back of your pants before following the girls into the woods. As you entered the mess of grass and trees, you heard of the men shout, “They’re getting away!”

You tried your best to lose them, making sure you and the girls zigzagged to confuse them a bit. However, the three men had been trained in tracking their prey. It was only a matter of time.

Believing you’d lost them, you allowed yourself and your sisters to stop for a drink of water at a stream. They sat on the edge where you could see them as you crouched down and splashed your face with water. “Y/N?” Harmony asked.

“Hm?”

“You know we never mean it when we say we hate you?”

You looked up at their wide eyes as they sit side by side, cuddling with each other. Your brow furrowed as you stood up straight. “Of course I know that. Why do you ask?”

Melody watched the water as she spoke timidly. “Sometimes, when we got mad at Mommy and Daddy, we said we hate them, but now we don’t know where they are.”

Harmony sniffed, holding back tears. “What if they think we hate them?”

You looked at them sympathetically. You knew they were too young to understand what was going on. Hell, you didn’t even understand. But one thing that you knew for sure was how much your family loved one another. You were not gonna let them feel bad for being children.

You pulled your feet from the mud under you and walked to the edge to sit. Pulling your sisters close to you. “Don’t do that. Mom and Dad know you love them. And they love you, okay? Don’t you ever question that.”

You looked up at the setting sun as the snap of a branch got your attention. When you turned your head, you were relieved to only see a squirrel. Still, you stood up and dusted your pants off. “We should keep moving. Let’s go.”

Your sisters groaned but stood up anyway. You let them walk in front of you so you could see them. You hadn’t gotten a hundred feet away from the stream when it happened.

You felt something zip past your right ear and then your left one. Just like that, your sisters were on the ground, blood pouring from their bodies. You were paralyzed with fear and with anger. The only thing that made you turn around was the command of a voice. “Move and you’re dead.”

You could hear two sets of footsteps coming up to the scene as you heard the man’s gun cock loudly. Suddenly, the booming voice who you recognized as the soldier who killed your mom carried through the air.

“I gave you one command. To capture the kids.”

“What does it matter?” You heard the man turn around. “Two less witnesses.”

“Do you know what happens to people who disobey me?”

“Please, tell me. What hap—“

He didn’t get the chance to answer. While they were talking, you’d turned around and pulled out your gun. With shaky hands, you’d aimed at the man’s head, your teeth grinding in anger. You pulled the trigger, and the man fell face forward onto the ground. 

Just like your sisters.

That was when you finally saw the man who killed your mother. His hair was long and brown, his eyes a shade of blue that seemed to pierce through to your soul. What caught your attention though was his arm, the metal clicking into place as he straightened the limb. Letting out a huff, he leaned over to the last man. “Go prep the van.”

As he went to follow orders, the soldier stared you down, not worried about the gun you pointed at him. “You’re not gonna win this, kid.”

You said nothing as you simply cocked the gun once more. He sighed and watched your hands shake. You pulled the trigger once, your brow raising in shock when he catches it and drops the piece of metal to the ground.

With tears welling up in your eyes, you pull the trigger again. And again. And again. The soldier uses his metal arm to deflect them all, careful to not send then ricocheting back to you as he steps closer and closer with every shot.

Finally, the barrel is empty, and he is towering over you. He roughly grabs the gun and throws it to the side, causing you to jump.

“Let’s go, kid.”

Everything else was a blur of your screams and your family’s dead bodies. You vaguely remembered him throwing you over his shoulder, hardly flinching as you punched his back and kicked at his front. Once back to the clearing, he threw you into the back of a van and looked down at you. You thought you saw a glimpse of sympathy as he placed his hands on the doors. He then avoided your gaze and looked down at the ground. “Just be glad you’re alive.”

When he closed the doors, you were only left with a reflection of yourself.

Your eyes were dark blue. And they were glowing.

Forever Tags:

@jockarchie, @kimmy-h-life, @ben-platt-deserves-the-world , @thewordofthenerd , @wishuponastarlana, @yumel21, @here-for-your-bullshit, @bethbat, @iamafangirlofeverything

[gukyi]

pen pals | jjk

⇒ summary: to put it simply, pretending to be jungkook’s pen pal when you were both eight just so he wouldn’t be disappointed was a bad idea, because now he’s in love with them. or, well, you, he just doesn’t know it. 

⇒ friends to lovers au

⇒ pairing: jungkook x reader

⇒ word count: 11k

⇒ genre: fluff, light angst, lighter smut

⇒ a/n: no, i don’t have an obsession with writing cute jungkook fics, idk what you’re talking about. this is unedited, as per usual. 

Lies. They’re a pretty damn funny thing, if you’re being honest. Some lies can ruin lives, while others can save them. Some mean the entire world to people, others are about as insignificant as the pebbles that crumble off of the edge of the sidewalk. But one thing is for certain, and it’s that all lies, every single one of them, have the ability to take something as small as a ladybug and turn into something as big as a whale.

It starts when you’re eight, sitting at your desk at school. Actually, you’re not really sitting, you’re doing that thing where you push yourself off of the ground and balance on the chair’s hind legs, which never really works out, because you always fucking fall every time you do it.

Truthfully, the whole thing starts a long time before that, a whopping two years prior to the inciting incident, when you first met Jungkook as little children marching into the first grade together, but who cares about that? The eighth year of your lives is where things really begin to kick off.

“We’re getting pen pals,” your teacher says to the class, making all of the children gasp in excitement. The mere mention of it makes you fall flat on your back, though that would have happened had she not said a word.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m fine, I’m fine,” you reply, rolling off of your chair and pulling it upright, sitting back in your seat like the well-behaved child you should be.

“There’s an organization that connects kids like yourselves to others all over the world, meaning none of you will have a pen pal from the same place. I have the names and locations assigned to each of you, and I will be handing them out, along with a blank sheet of lined paper, for you to write to them.”

You turn to Jungkook, who is bouncing up and down in his seat excitedly as he waits for the slip with his own pen pal’s information on it. When the teacher places it on his desk, he shows you with a rectangular grin on his face.

“Look! Look, they’re from South Korea! Isn’t that neat? I wonder if they know Korean,” he says aloud. “Maybe I can get Jeonghyun to write to them in Korean.”

“But then if they responded in Korean, you wouldn’t know what they’re saying!” You point out.

“Oh, I guess you’re right. I’ll just ask them.”

And then off he was, pulling a pencil the length of a decently-sized ant out of his backpack’s front pocket, and writing away.

Having pen pals is one of those things that you read about in books meant for higher-grade elementary-schoolers, where you think it’s super cool and exotic and special until you actually do it yourself, and it turns out to be none of those things. Your contact with your pen pal dies exactly one week after you receive their letter back, one of those standard ‘Thanks for writing to me! Hope we can continue speaking!’ that you never follow through with. Your pen pal is from somewhere in Europe — Italy, if you’re not mistaken — but it’s not as if the place interests you so much that you desperately want to keep talking.

Jungkook, however, ever the overzealous and over-engaged eight-year-old, finds himself enchanted by the basic information his pen pal provides, avidly writing back everytime he gets a letter from them in the mail.

Eight-year-old Jungkook is a pretty dynamic fellow, if you do say so yourself, the boy involved in nearly every extracurricular on the planet. You feel so bad for his poor mother, who has to drop him off at swim practice only to pick him up and immediately drive to chess club, then to the mathletes, then to his piano lessons, then to dance. Kid only gets home at nine at night, even for an elementary schooler, so it seems pretty typical for him to be equally as intrigued with the concept of pen pals as he is everything else.

And, as his honorary best friend and the only one willing to put up with his ridiculous schedule in order to plan play dates, you hear all about it.

“Y/N!” He shouts, bounding down the hallway as you sit patiently on his couch, let into his house by his mother as you wait for him to leave his room to greet you. He’s holding a torn envelope and an unfolded letter in his hand as he rushes over to you, pulling himself up onto the couch next to you. “Look! She wrote back.”

“What’s her name, again?”

“I told you, it’s Hari,” Jungkook reminds you, like it’s such a big deal that you’ve completely forgotten everything about his pen pal. “Look, look what she said,” he repeats, shoving the letter into your hands.

“Dear Jungkook,” you begin to read. “I can’t believe you’re also Korean! Just my luck. It must be very cool to be Korean but not live in Korea. Can you speak Korean? I can. What’s your favorite color? Mine is purple, but I also really really like pink. Do you have any pets? I want pets, but I can’t because my younger brother is very allergic. Do you have any brothers or sisters? What are their names? Hari.”

“Isn’t she just the coolest?” Jungkook beams as you hand the letter back to him. “She’s so fun to talk to.”

“Isn’t this only your first letter from her?”

“Yes, but she responded very fastly.”

You open your mouth to tell him that that’s not a word, but you close it, deciding that it’s not worth ruining his mood to point out one of his mistakes.

“What are you going to write back to her?”

“I don’t know,” he says, huffing as he looks down at the letter. “Help me?”

“Okay,” you agree, following him to his room as he brainstorms all the answers to Hari’s questions. Once he’s closed the door, you lie on your stomach on his carpet as he sits at his desk and writes, keeping your eyes focused on the way his feet dangle off of the chair, too short to reach the ground.

The letters go back and forth for the next couple of months or so, Jungkook easily being the only kid in your entire class to somehow manage to maintain a relationship with their pen pal past the first few weeks. He talks about Hari like she’s actually there with you, sitting in the same class and listening to the same lesson. Any average person would probably grow to be a bit jealous of his relationship with a girl he’s never met, but considering the fact that you know Jungkook would never drop you, his only friend, you’re pretty unfazed by the whole thing.

“I’m trying to get her to send me a photo of her,” Jungkook admits to you one fine day outside, the two of you sitting under the shade of a thin birch tree as you watch the rest of your grade run around on the field, playing something along the lines of ‘Chase the Girls’. You’re glad you have Jungkook to guard you from being dragged into that mess of a game. “But she won’t. Why?”

“Maybe her mom won’t let her.”

“But my mom let me send a photo of myself to her,” Jungkook whines, throwing his head back in anguish and knocking it right against the bark, an unsettling hollow sound echoing by your ears.

“Maybe her mom is different,” You suggest.

“I’m gonna keep asking her. Maybe she’ll send one eventually,” Jungkook decides firmly, like every other eight-year-old when they make the decision that they want something, and they’re gonna get it.

“You shouldn’t make her feel bad for not showing her face,” you inform him. “That’s rude.”

“I won’t, you sound like my mom.” Jungkook frowns at you, raising a disappointed eyebrow your way.

You choke back a snort. “Maybe she doesn’t want to send you a photo because the one of you was so ugly, that she didn’t want to make you feel bad.”

Jungkook scoffs, as if the scenario is impossible. “That’s dumb. I’m the cutest eight-year-old you’ve ever seen. Don’t you agree?”

“I don’t know, I mean, I’m sitting right here.”

Jungkook places a hand over his chest in mock offense before he pushes you over and into the grass. You retaliate by grabbing the edge of his cobalt blue shirt and pulling him down with you, leaving the both of you in a fit of giggles as the teacher opens the door to signal the end of recess.

Much to your relief, Jungkook receives a glossy photo of Hari by the next week. She’s grinning from ear to ear in the photo, messy bangs covering the top half of her eyes with fairy pink icing all around her mouth and almost none on the chocolate cupcake she’s holding. It’s one of the photos printed from an old camera, you can tell by the orange letters at the top right corner, signalling the date it was taken. You’re just glad you don’t have to hear him whine about it anymore.

The day he receives the photo is the day that Hari officially cuts off all contact with him, only he doesn’t know it yet. He’s too busy gloating in your face about the photo, getting his oily fingerprints all over the nice, shiny paper as he waves it in your face at his home.

“And you said she wouldn’t send me one,” he taunts, marching around with the photo like a damn champion holding a trophy.

“I didn’t think she would,” you reply, squinting your eyes at him. “What are you gonna say back to her?”

“I think those cupcakes look delicious.”

“That’s it?” You say, furrowing your brows.

“Am I supposed to say anything else?”

“Tell her she has nice hair.”

“Do girls like being told they have nice hair?” He questions, scrutinizing the photo.

“Some of them do.”

“But I think she has bad hair.”

You take the nearest throw pillow you can grab and fling it at him from where you stand, throwing it over the couch in between the two of you as it socks him in the jaw.

“Hey!” He shouts from where he’s fallen over.

“Trust me, Jungkook. I know girls, and she’ll like being told she has nice hair, even if you don’t think it’s very nice,” you insist. “No one cares about what you think.”

Jungkook purses his lips in disgust, very obviously not wanting to compliment her hair in the letter he sends back. “Do you like being told you have nice hair?” He asks, turning his attention towards you.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” you state, standing up tall.

“Well, your hair looks ugly today, too.”

This prompts a full-on pillow fight between the two of you, knocking each other over with every pillow in sight, as well as a couple tissue boxes. Hopefully, his mother doesn’t have anything very expensive sitting on wobbly tables in the room, because neither of you will relent until the other surrenders.

Spoiler alert: you win.

Nearly two weeks pass and Jungkook still has no response letter from Hari, him informing you of this as he mopes about having to visit the mailbox every day, only to be let down every time he opens the flap.

“Maybe she’s running late. Maybe Korea is busy and can’t send letters right now because something came up. You know, sometimes, when my mom has a really important letter to send, she waits an extra day just to proofread it like five times. Maybe she’s doing that.”

“But it’s been so long,” Jungkook whines. “I complimented her hair just like you told me. I want to know if she likes it.”

Truth be told, you never find out if she likes his compliment about her hair, because by the third week, you can pretty much tell that she’s given up, just like every other eight-year-old on the planet who ever attempts to maintain a relationship via pen pal. The only thing is, is that Jungkook is still as hopeful as ever, his faith in her not dwindling even the slightest.

You have to admit, it’s a little bit disheartening to see some girl give up on a guy as involved and genuinely interested as Jungkook, but you give Hari the benefit of the doubt anyway, as she likely has much more enjoyable things to do than write letters to a boy who once bragged to you about he could fit his entire foot in his mouth, and then proceeded to show you.

It’s still a shame, because Jungkook truly seemed pumped about his pen pal, and for it to just vanish in front of his eyes can be a punch to the gut to any child.

If anybody asks you, you do it because you can’t bear to hear the kid moan and groan about how the mailman has started to tease him for always waiting for the mail after school, and not, under any circumstances, because you actually care for the boy’s feelings and don’t want him to get hurt. You’re doing this for you, not for him. The greater good. Taking one for the team.

As you sit down to get writing the letter to Jungkook, praying that he’s too stupid to recognize the differences in handwriting, your mother opens the door to the reserved computer room you have, and you get an idea.

There’s no way Jungkook can call you out for handwriting similarities if you type the thing.

Dear Jungkook,

Sorry for the late reply! My family just got a new computer, so I was busy figuring out how it worked instead of writing to you. We even got it connected to the printer, how cool is that?

Thank you for the nice thing you said about my hair. It was kind of a mess that day, but I’m glad that you like mess. Those cupcakes were really good! I wish I could send you some. I’m sorry if I stop replying for a while. I’m getting very busy these days. Korea keeps me occupied. But I hope you are well! Please send my regards to your friends and family.

Hari.

Okay, so you do feel a little bad about lying to the boy, but it’s all for his good. If he gets the message that she’ll stop replying, then he’ll stop feeling the need to send letters to her, and eventually he’ll forget, problem solved. The plan is foolproof.

What isn’t foolproof is how you’ll manage to fake the return address so it seems like the letter is coming from South Korea and not your house, but if you can do anything, it’s come up with a plan.

Jungkook once opened one of the letters from Hari at your house, meaning the envelope was likely strewn somewhere on your absolute disaster zone of a desk. You sift through papers and papers, math worksheets and torn coloring books and arts and crafts from book tutorials, until you finally manage to locate the envelope under a large pile of what appears to be every single thing you worked on in the second grade. How it got there, you haven’t the slightest idea.

The return address on this envelope is handwritten and in English, which is good, because you were not about to copy Korean characters onto the top right corner of the crisp new envelope that sits on your unmade bed. However, getting the right return address is only half the battle, because now you need a way to mail it to him, without worrying about where it will get redirected should the mail folks lose it.

Eventually, through precise timing and a quick Internet search of the local mailman times, you decide that the best time to leave the letter would be when your mother drops Jungkook off at his house after picking the two of you up at the end of the school day. The mailman would have just arrived, the new mail fresh in the mailbox, and Jungkook walks into his house through the garage, meaning he can’t see you once he hits close on the garage door. This leaves you the perfect window to slip the letter in the mail.

The plan follows through with pretty decent success the next day, if you do say so yourself. Not to toot your own horn, but everything went exactly as planned and Jungkook did not notice a single thing. Your mom did ask what you were doing, snooping in the Jeon’s mail, but you merely replied that you had something to send to him, and that was that.

What you did not foresee coming was the excitement the next day at school as Jungkook runs over to you right before class starts, waving the letter frantically in his hands, held high above his head. He nearly falls over as he darts towards his seat to show you the letter as he glows.

“I knew she would respond, I just knew it!” He says, pointing at the letter as if you need reminding that he was right. “It’s so fancy now that it’s typed.”

“Wait, but look here,” you say, pointing to the line where you wrote that you would be busy. “She said she’s gonna be busy, so she won’t be able to talk to you.”

“No worries,” Jungkook says like it’s not a very big deal at all. His reaction frightens you, making you raise an eyebrow in panic. “I’ll just keep sending letters to her. She doesn’t have to respond.”

This was definitely not in the plan. Not at all. Oh no.

“Are you sure? You’re wasting the money your parents spend on stamps,” you say, wracking your brain for any valid reason as to why he should not do that.

“I’m the only one that sends letters in the house,” Jungkook proudly proclaims. “My parents use e-mail, which I’m not allowed to have, and Jeonghyun texts on his phone. He makes fun of me for sending letters, think’s they’re ‘old fashioned’. All the stamps go to me, anyway.”

“But… But…” You say, at a loss for words. There goes your hope that all contact with Hari would cease after what was supposed to be a final letter.

“Why, is something wrong, Y/N?”

Jungkook may be dynamic, but he is a little bit oblivious at times, a quality that saves your ass more often than you’d like to admit.

“Me? I’m fine,” you say, coughing to distract from your stutter.

“Really? You seem stressed,” Jungkook notes.

“I’m stressed these days,” you quickly spit out. “It’s fine, just a little bump in the road. Hey, we should go get ice cream today after school. My mom has a coupon.”

Any mention of food is enough to catch Jungkook off guard and change the topic completely, something you desperately need.

“Sounds good.”

At the ice cream place, Jungkook informs you that he’s too busy to respond to Hari today, so he’ll have to do it tomorrow, when swim practice doesn’t meet. That makes you breathe a sigh of relief, thrilled to hear that you have at least a bit of time to plan how you’re going to go about this.

You try and wean him off the topic of Hari by asking him about the moving truck in front of a house a couple of doors down, the one you saw for the first time yesterday, as you dropped him off.

“Oh! We’re getting new neighbors,” Jungkook says cheerfully. “No one’s lived in that house since before I was born, so it’s nice that they’re moving in. I hope they have a kid my age.”

Jungkook doesn’t suspect a thing, and if it makes him a little bit happier, you suppose there’s really no harm being done.

Is there?

Just as planned, Jungkook leaves a letter for Hari in his mailbox the very next day, and just as planned, you pick it up the following day as you drop him off after school, his new neighbors keeping the mailman stalled for just the right amount of time, so you reach the letter before he does. You don’t know how things are working out so well for you, but you’re glad they are.

“Stop fishing in the Jeon’s mail,” your mother instructs. “It’s rude.”

“Jungkook is giving me letters, though,” you try to explain.

“Then why isn’t he sending them to our house?”

“I’m tricking him.”

You refuse to elaborate further, but your mother merely sighs, probably dropping the topic because it’s just one of those kid things that she won’t understand.

You tear open the letter on the drive to your house, but when you pull out the piece of paper, another falls onto the car floor. When you pick it up, it’s a photo of you and him, one that his mother took at your school’s spring fair. The photo actually makes you feel a little bit nostalgic, looking at your smiling faces as if you were not one of the people in it.

Dear Hari,

I hope Korea does not keep you too busy! Even if it does, I will still send you letters, but you don’t have to respond super fast if you can’t. I still like to talk to you.

I hope you like the photo I’ve sent! It’s from my school’s spring fair. Do you have fairs in Korea? We have them every year, and they’re lots of fun even if the prizes kind of suck. I only go there for the hot dogs, to be honest. The girl in the photo with me is my best friend. Her name is Y/N. We spend a lot of time together! She helps me write my letters to you. I really like playing with her. She’s the best.

I’m going to send you another letter next week, if I can. Don’t feel pressured to answer me. I just want to keep you updated on what’s going on in my life.

Jungkook.

It’s weird to see Jungkook talk about you to a person neither of you have ever met, as you never imagined you’d be present to hear him describe you as a human, let alone his best friend. He speaks to Hari as if she’s just another new friend he’s showing around his house, and it’s reminiscent of when you first met each other and completely new all at once.

“What did he say?” Your mother asks as you begin to fold the paper back up.

“Nice things,” you reply, staring down at the letter in your hand, never meant for you.

In order to conquer the problem that is preventing the mailman from picking up your response letter and whisking it away for it to get inevitably lost in a flurry of envelopes, you leave a note for him on a Post-it attached to the inside of the Jeon’s mailbox as you stuff the letter inside while Jungkook walks into his garage the following week.

On it, in your tilted handwriting, says, ‘The letter in here is already adressed addressed to the Jeons. Please take this Post-it with you but do not remove the letter. This will happen every now and then, so pay no attention to it! Thanks’. You believe that a lime green Post-it won’t be particularly difficult to miss, so you can only hope the mailman follows your request.

You get your answer the next day during recess, when Jungkook gambols over to you, opened letter dangling from his finger tips. You’re more than relieved to see him, especially after finding yourself confronted with a game of ‘Chase the Girls’ without him by your side.

“She mailed me back!” Jungkook says, whistling pleasantly. “I’m glad she did, even if she said she wouldn’t.”

“She probably didn’t want you to be the only one sending things,” you tell him as he plops down in the shade next to you.

“That’s exactly what she said!” Jungkook cries, a surprised look on his face. Your eyes widen, but you say nothing in response and hope that he’ll forget about it as soon as possible. Sure enough, he does. “Wow, you really do know girls.”

You simply beam in response, hands under your chin to display your angelic qualities. “You gonna keep writing things to her?”

“Of course,” Jungkook says, rocking back and forth on the grass contentedly. “She’s so easy to talk to,” he continues, taking the silence between the two of you as a perfect cue to keep speaking. “Like, I feel like I’ve been talking to her for ages. Especially recently, you know? It’s like we’ve already known each other for years. I don’t think I’ll ever want to stop talking to her.”

And for once, under the shade of the tree as you watch the other kids dash around the field, you wish that you were apart of ‘Chase the Girls’, because then, maybe you wouldn’t feel so bad for lying to a boy after hearing about how something that’s not real makes him so happy.

The charade carries on into your higher levels of schooling, the lie only ever snowballing. Jungkook, despite your outward refusal of the fact, has become something of a looker as he’s gotten older, filling out the meat on his bones and growing a good several inches taller in the transition from middle to high school, nearing six feet tall. But, regardless of the self-awareness of his good looks, the only two constants in his life in terms of girls happens to be you and Hari. Well, you and you-but-not-you. His schedule is still as hectic as it’s always been, meaning he hardly ever has time to actually go out and date.

Over the past eight years, you’ve amassed quite the collection of random photos Jungkook decides to include whatever letter he’s sending Hari, the photos ranging from him at one of his swim meets, sopping wet with a Disney branded towel wrapped around his shoulders, to one of him taking a selfie with a fresh head of lettuce. You sometimes wonder if you would ever be able to see such photos if you weren’t posing as his pen pal.

And while your horde of both flattering and unflattering Jungkook photos is quite impressive indeed, it’s been getting increasingly difficult to hide the entire thing from Jungkook every time he stays over at your house after school on the off chance that he’s free for the afternoon. You store all of the extra things he sends you in a shoebox at the bottom of your bed and the letters reside in another shoebox at the back of your closet, behind all of the shirts that you buy on whims but never fucking wear, and you just have to keep Jungkook away from those areas.

By now, the conversations between the two of you as pen pals are just like old friends reconnecting, no basic nonsense like what your favorite colors are and how many pets you have. No, the two of you have started writing to each other about the mindless things, like when Jungkook did a school presentation on anime just to see how many weeaboos he could find in your class, or when you got totally socked in the head by a dodgeball he had thrown during gym.

Admittedly, it’s sort of fun being this ‘Hari’ character, because you’ve been able to fabricate her life into whatever you want, since she’s not physically there to call you out on it. You’ve taken your brief knowledge of her, from what Jungkook told you when you were mere children, and you’ve made a whole new life. She plays tennis, she acts, she loves classic English novels, but hates poetry. She has friends who are twins, she stinks at math, she’s never had a boyfriend before. These are all things you’ve turned her into, and who’s to say you can’t?

One thing that hasn’t changed is the guilt.

Every time you open your laptop to type up another letter, every time you hit print, every time you sneak the envelope into his mailbox when he’s walking up his driveway, you are guilty. Guilty of lying to your best friend, and guilty of letting it catapult into this huge, ridiculous, act that you are too afraid to drop. People always told you that lies only get bigger and never smaller, but you never believed them. Until it happened to you, of course.

What makes the guilt a thousand times worse, however, is how happy Jungkook is every time he gets a letter. He’s already a cheerful boy, always lighting up whatever room he’s in and charming everyone’s pants off with that smile of his, but the happiness he gets when he sees a letter from her is like nothing else. It’s the same excited feeling he had when he was eight, eleven, thirteen, and now, sixteen, and you hate that it’s all fake. You hate that you’re the reason it’s fake.

Jungkook’s over at your house, just after having received a letter from ‘Hari’ the day prior, and he is glowing.

“What’d she say, this time?” You ask as you sit down next to him on the floor, where he leans against the side of your bed, your textbooks and homework strewn all around you, practically untouched.

“She was just telling me about the antics that the twins get up to,” Jungkook tells you, sighing as he lets his head fall back, just making your mattress. His hand is on the floor, a little too close to the shoebox right beside it, and you need to move it, stat. “They’re so funny.”

“You’ve never even met them,” you say, carefully trying to push the shoebox further back with your fingertips.

“But they do such funny things! They break out into song and dance in the middle of class and always make jokes about the teacher,” Jungkook says. He has not noticed the box yet.

“They sound very entertaining,” you say, like a mother talking to her child about something she doesn’t care about, but the child does. “You get along with her well, you know?” Wonder why.

“I know, I just — I feel like I can tell her everything. I could tell her my whole life story and she wouldn’t judge me. She’s so easy to talk to, like you,” Jungkook says, smiling at the mere mention of her. “I never disagree with her on anything. She’s like a fucking dream.”

“Well, dream on, kiddo,” you tell him, patting his back. The shoebox is successfully out of reach of his hand. Crisis averted.

“I can tell you anything, right, Y/N?” He asks out of the blue, turning to you.

You scoff. “Of course. We’ve been best friends for years, I’d never betray you.” The words taste like bile in your mouth. You swallow them down without missing a beat. “Unless you’ve killed someone, Jungkook. Then I’m sorry, but I’m turning you into the police.”

Jungkook laughs at that. It rings through your ears, making you grin at the sound. “No, I haven’t done anything illegal just yet.”

“Then, what’s up?”

“Uh, you know the one girl in our English class?”

You roll your eyes, making wild gesticulations to emphasize the fact that you don’t know which girl he’s talking about. “Oh yes, very specific, I know exactly the girl you’re talking about. The one girl from our English class. Wow.”

He frowns at you, glaring and unimpressed. “She sits right behind you. You know her.”

That you do. Just last week, she asked you if Jungkook had a girlfriend.

You think you know where this conversation is headed.

“Mmm,” you hum in response, letting him continue.

“Yeah, anyway, um—” he begins, scratching at the nape of his neck, “—she asked me out yesterday.”

You figured as much. Jungkook was incredibly easy to read and you were also well aware of the fact that she liked Jungkook anyway, so it was only a matter of time before she made a move.

“And?” You ask, knowing that there’s more to the story than he’s letting on. “Obviously you didn’t say yes, I know you. But you’re hiding something in that tiny brain of yours,” you say, poking him in the noggin as he scrunches up his nose.

“Hey! My brain is not tiny, thanks very much,” he defends. “I think it’s above average, actually.”

“Explains your big head.”

Jungkook sort of walked into that one, if you’re being honest. It looks like he knows he just got played too, because he’s tackled you almost instantly, pinning you down on your hardwood floor with his hands right by your ears. You can see the muscles just barely bulging out of his arms, likely a result of the countless hours he spends at swim practice, and you laugh. This is a compromising position for anybody, especially when dealing with unresolved emotional anguish and sexual tension, but for you, it’s laughable.

“I did not ask for this disrespect,” he tells you, pretending to be incredibly offended as he hovers over you. “Who do you think you are, telling me I have a big head?”

“Your best friend,” you retort. Neither of you are very uncomfortable despite the otherwise incredibly suggestive position you’re both in. “You had something else to tell me?”

“I didn’t say yes because I think I have a crush on someone else,” he admits.

“Oh God, alright,” you say, pushing him off of you and sitting up, rubbing the spot on your lower back that first made contact with the floor when he tackled you. “Lay it on me, who is it? A senior? Another girl from our English class? An artsy emo kid you’ve never spoken to?”

“Hari.”

If you were concerned about the slight bruising at the bottom of your spine before, you most certainly aren’t now.

“Hari?” You ask incredulously. Suddenly, you feel a lot more guilty.

“Yeah,” he admits softly, rubbing the nape of his neck again, an action he does whenever he gets hesitant about something. “I like her.”

You hate to be that friend, but, “You’ve never even met her, Jungkook.”

“I know, I know, I just…” He says, trailing off as he turns away from your perplexed gaze. “I was thinking about all the things we’ve told each other, all the secrets I’ve spilled that only you and she know, and how she just accepts me for who I am and listens to every word I have to say, and I think I like her.”

You’re speechless.

“No, I — I know I like her,” Jungkook decides firmly. A weight lifts off of his shoulders the second the words leave his mouth, and you can see it. “I know it’s weird. I know. I’ve never met her but I wanna kiss her. I know.”

“Jungkook, this is insane,” you say, desperately trying to think of something else to tell him, but your brain comes up empty. “Are you gonna tell her?”

“Should I?”

“Beats me.”

“I don’t know if I should,” he says. “I’m worried she’ll think I’m weird, or stupid. Or if she’ll think that it’s not possible since we’ve never met. I don’t want her to think that.”

You roll your eyes. “No person wants to be outright rejected, you’re the same as all of us. Just do whatever you feel makes you comfortable.”

“I—I don’t think I’ll tell her,” Jungkook says, and it makes you breathe a metaphorical sigh of relief. Thank God. “Not yet, at least. I don’t want to come on too strong.”

“Sounds like a good decision if I’ve ever heard one,” you say, stepping all over your homework as you collapse on your bed. “You sure you’re okay with not telling her?”

“I’m sure,” he tells you, joining you as he climbs onto your bed, sitting up straight and maneuvering your head so that it rests on his thighs.

“So what are you gonna do about all the girls that ask you out on a weekly basis?” You wonder aloud. Surely, it will break their hearts to hear that Jungkook is desperately in the throes of love with a girl he’s never met who lives thousands of miles away.

“I’ll just say I have my eye on someone else,” he says, shooting you a wink. You chuckle, knowing that that ‘someone else’ is you that he’s referring to.

You don’t notice it, or, maybe you just refuse to allow yourself to notice it, but the wink that he sends your way has your heart fluttering just the tiniest amount, a single butterfly taking residence in your stomach.

It’s too bad Jungkook likes no one more than a character you’ve created.

You’re in English, packing up your school stuff five minutes in advance for the end of the day. It’s Friday, and you’re desperate to get out so you can go home and take a nine-hour nap on your couch. Your notebook has just made it into your backpack when you see Jungkook walking over to you, a happy grin on his face.

“Hey, Y/N,” He says, hands in the pockets of his grey jeans (“They’re a faded black, not grey!” “That’s what grey is, Jungkook!”).

“And why am I being graced with the presence of the one and only Jungkook today?” You ask without even glancing towards him.

“I have a free night tonight,” he says. “Wanna go out to get something to eat?”

“Like a date?” You scoff. “What makes you think I also have a free night tonight, huh?”

Jungkook nearly laughs. “When was the last time you stood me up because you already had plans on a Friday?”

“You got me there,” you say, pointing a finger gun at him as you zip up your backpack. You turn your head ever the slightest, and see the girl who asked him out a week ago, pouting. Jungkook truly has absolutely no shame. “Sure. Where to?”

“How about that Greek place downtown?” He suggests.

“You hate Greek food.”

“I’m trying to broaden my horizons, here. Stop calling me out.”

“Alright then, Greek it is. Dress code? Do I have to wear something expensive, Jungkook? A pearl necklace, diamond ring? Six inch heels?”

“You know what you wore for the awards ceremony last year? Wear that. It looked good on you. Your hair looked nice.”

“Is that what you say to all the girls, Jungkook?” You joke, an eyebrow raised.

“You bet,” he says back. “A good friend of mine told me girls like that kind of stuff.”

“They were right.”

It doesn’t really occur to you that you’re going out on an actual date with an actual boy until your mother asks you where the date is, making you stop dead in your tracks as you fix your hair in the mirror in the main living space.

You’re going out on a date. With your best friend. Nothing wrong with that of course, it’s just that this particular date happens to be very romantic, despite your insistence that what you and Jungkook share is strictly platonic. He’s picking you up, taking you to a moderately fancy Greek place downtown, and the both of you are wearing some of your nicer clothes.

The doorbell rings, and when you peek out of the window, Jungkook’s terribly old car sits outside.

“Look at you,” you say, foregoing any sort of greeting as you open the door. Behind it stands a dare you say, dapper looking Jungkook is a pretty decent getup, playing with the collar of the dress shirt he wears. “I don’t think I’ve seen you dress this nice since our elementary school graduation.”

“Hey, you’re wearing the thing,” he says. “It looks good.”

“It looked good last year, it’ll look good this year. Ready to go?” You ask, grabbing your wallet from the coffee table and wrapping the strap around your wrist.

“Let’s do this,” he replies, letting you link arms with him as he leads you to his car.

Sure enough, at the restaurant, Jungkook turns his nose up at every single dish on the menu, muttering to himself that there has to be something better (there never is). He eventually settles for the saddest salad you have ever seen, while you go for a selection of appetizers you’re hoping to coax Jungkook into eating.

“You’re so uncultured,” you comment as his salad arrives, simply a heap of lettuce with some tomatoes decorating the edge of the bowl. “We’re at a nice Greek place and you get a salad.”

“I hate Greek food,” he says, like that makes it any better.

“Then why did you suggest this place?” You ask, taking a large bite of one of the several dolmades in front of you. “Here, eat this.”

Jungkook scrunches his face up as you shove the fork in front of his mouth, hand under it to catch any drips as you force him to take a bite. He doesn’t immediately spit it out, so you call that a win for you.

“I wanted to focus on you instead of the food,” he says, mouth full.

“Oh, stuff it,” You say, though you can feel your cheeks heating up at the comment.

“No, I’m serious. I feel like we’re losing touch,” Jungkook insists. “We don’t talk as much anymore.”

“We text every day.”

“We don’t talk about deep shit anymore,” Jungkook rephrases.

You chuckle. “Did we ever talk about ‘deep shit’? What’s your definition of ‘deep shit’, Jungkook?”

“Why don’t you ever go out on dates?”

“What kind of an asshole question is that, hey?” You frown, stuffing another dolmade into his mouth.

“I’m not kidding, Y/N. You’re funny, pretty, easy to talk to, you could get lots of dates if you wanted to. Why don’t you?”

“I guess everyone just thinks I’m dating you,” you shrug, like it’s no big deal. The compliments he laid on you are making that butterfly in your stomach lose its butterfly mind.

“I guess they do.”

“How’s Hari been?”

“Good, good. She just finished reading Macbeth.”

“Did she like it?”

“She thought Macbeth was kind of an asshole.”

“I agree.”

“I wasn’t joking when I said you were funny and pretty,” Jungkook says randomly.

“I know.”

By the end of the night, the butterfly has friends.

First things first, you do not have a crush on Jungkook. No way.

Okay, so maybe you have a slight crush on him. But it’s manageable, it’s fine. No big deal, you’ll get over it. Maybe you’re just confused after the mess that was your date-not-date with him. Yes, that’s it. Your brain’s just playing games with you.

The main reason as to why you have to get over your crush as soon as physically possible is because Jungkook doesn’t seem to be giving up on Hari anytime soon. Despite not confessing directly to her, he’s definitely made a show of how much he truly likes her when he’s around you, and it’s not helping your case whatsoever. The faster you stop liking Jungkook, the easier it is to clear up this whole mess whenever you decide you need to.

The Hari thing has been going on much, much longer than you wanted it to, but you can’t stop just yet. Imagine how that would break Jungkook’s heart.

You and Jungkook haven’t really discussed your whole date-not-date since it happened, and it’s been several weeks. Neither of you appear very keen to bring it up, pretending like it never happened. You’re not exactly sure why, though, since it’s been pretty damn clear to the both of you that you’re just friends.

So, you’re essentially stuck, trying to worm your way out of having a crush on your best friend, watching him fall in love with another girl, who just so happens to be you posing as someone else, and the cycle endlessly repeats.

You have to admit, you most certainly did not foresee this when you were eight-years-old and writing a letter to Jungkook just to get him to stop his whining.

Having a crush on Jungkook isn’t all that rare, anyway, since you could probably list ten girls off the top of your head that also fancy him. The problem is that you actually talk to him, all the time, which makes falling for him even worse.

“Coach is letting me have the pool to myself on Wednesday, after school,” Jungkook says while you’re over at his house. You’re actually doing your homework this time, but you can’t seem to say the same thing for him. “Wanna come?”

“Am I allowed?” You ask, sort of laughing. You already know you’re not, but Jungkook’s never been very good at following rules.

“What Coach doesn’t know won’t hurt him,” Jungkook reasons, and you take those words as a ‘yes’.

“If we get caught, will you take the blame?”

Jungkook sighs, knocking his head back and into a picture frame, making it fall to the floor. “Why do I always have to take the blame?”

“You’re always the one that comes up with the dumbass idea in the first place,” you retort, but you notice that he’s not really listening to you anymore. When you finally look up from the notebook in front of you, you see that he’s looking at the photo, expression soft and fond and regretful all at once. “You good?”

“What?” Jungkook says, spurred out of his trance as he places the picture frame face up on the floor. A closer look, and you see that it’s the one he framed of the photo Hari sent when you were eight.

“You good?”

“Yeah.”

You motion to the picture frame, pointing the end of your pen towards it. “Has she sent any more photos?” You feel terrible just asking the question.

“No,” Jungkook sighs. “But she doesn’t need to, I mean. I’m not gonna force her. I just wish I knew what she looked like now.”

You’re looking at her, you think to yourself.

“You could use one of those age progression websites,” you suggest jokingly.

“Yeah, and come up with a shitty Photoshop job,” Jungkook says, laughing to himself at your recommendation.

“You really like her, don’t you, Jungkook?”

“Of course,” Jungkook replies, eyes crinkling up at the mere mention of her. “I think she’s amazing. A best friend, just like you.” He nudges your shoulder, flashing his pearly-whites towards you in the warmest of smiles. You take it in, letting the memory of his glowing face sink into your mind, and you think that perhaps, crushing on him isn’t so terrible after all.

Jungkook swims like a maniac. You’ve been to his meets, watched his performances, and he’s like a shark, tearing through the water at almost an alarming rate. It’s no wonder he’s his coach’s favorite, the pride and joy of the school’s swim team. There’s no other way he could be hooked up with free time in the pool. But you’ve never seen him swim just for fun, so you wonder how this could be any different.

“Is it cold?” You ask as you leave the locker room, seeing the boy already doing laps around the pool.

He stops mid-freestyle. “No. But that’s probably the swimmer in me talking.”

“So, it is cold?”

“Why don’t you see for yourself?”

What a tempting offer. You tentatively step towards the pool, dipping a single toe in before pulling back sharply, nearly toppling over.

“Holy shit,” you say. “It is so cold. How do you swim in this?”

“You get used to it,” Jungkook says. He swims up to you gracefully, an elegant butterfly from where he stands at the opposite end of the pool. “Come on, jump in.”

“I don’t want to,” you decide. “You said absolutely nothing about the temperature of the pool water.”

“Oh, come on, Y/N,” he says, pouting. “Just jump in. You’ll warm up straight away.”

“No.”

“Please?”

You can’t resist him. Goddamnit. You inhale a deep breath and brace yourself before jumping right in, splashing Jungkook with the force as you pop your head up, drenched.

“I knew you could do it,” he says, shaking his head, water droplets flying every which way.

You thought Jungkook looked pretty good in his swimsuit from afar, but up close he looks practically irresistible. The water rolls down his neck, shoulders, chest, glinting in the fluorescent light of the indoor pool and making his torso shimmer.

“It’s so cold, I hate this,” you say, arms zooming to your sides as you rub them up and down, moving around slowly in the water.

“You’ll warm up in no time, you know,” Jungkook says. “You just have to get used to the water.”

“And how do you expect me to do that?”

Before your mind can even register it, Jungkook splashes you, letting you stand there, mouth gaping wide, as he cackles to himself.

“You’re in for it now, Jeon!” You shout, barrelling towards him as he begins to make his getaway. You already know you’re toast, since Jungkook could probably lap you if he really wanted to, but you chase him down anyway, fuming.

He’s giggling the entire time he’s running away, stepping through the water rather than swimming, splashing behind him as a defense mechanism. You let yourself get soaked, following the path he makes in the water as the two of you laugh your heads off, a full-on splash war on your hands.

Later, when the war comes to a truce — not an end, it’s not an end until one of you surrenders — you find yourselves in the middle of the pool. You’re lying flat on your back as he holds you up, soft hands pushing onto your skin, like a coach helping a child learn to float. It’s strangely intimate for the two of you, though you imagine any sort of conversation you’ll have will ruin the mood instantly.

“Is this how you charm the pants off of all the girls, Jungkook?”

“Oh yeah, this and splashing them until they’re screaming ‘bloody murder’ is a real smooth move,” he responds.

“I can do this myself, you know,” you remind him.

“I know. I just like holding you up.”

“Makes for a nice view,” you joke.

“Oh yeah? My double chin looking good today?”

“Especially handsome.”

The exchange leaves the two of you in giggles, the low rumble spreading from his chest to his fingers as he moves you up and down ever so slightly. It’s certainly a view, where you float to where he stands beside you, drenched hair, gleaming torso, warm smile.

You wonder if he wishes Hari were in your place.

But you savor this, savor the view and savor the feeling, because platonic or not, it’s something worth treasuring.

“You’re cute like this,” he says, removing one hand from under your back to poke your nose.

“Am I?”

“Very. If you want boys to date you, you should get them in the pool like this.”

You actually at the comment. “As if. I don’t need the school’s ugly pool to attract boys. I’m irresistible.”

Besides, you think, the only boy I’d want to date me is you, and you’re already here.

Remember when you said you’d get over that tiny crush you had on Jungkook?

Liar.

You’re nearing the end of high school, the idea of university and moving away looming over your heads, and you can say with too much affirmation that you have fallen, head over your goddamn heels, in love with your best friend. Nice going.

Unfortunately for you, nothing seems to have changed about the relationship between Jungkook and Hari, and if she weren’t thousands of miles away, he probably would have taken her to prom.

But here you are, a collection of photos of your best friend sitting under your bed, growing by the month as he unknowingly adds to it with each letter he sends. You’ve got photos from prom, winter break, sports meets, summer vacations, stacked up in a careless pile in a box, and you’d be lying if you said you don’t look through them on occasion. There are pictures in here that you, as his best friend, haven’t even seen, pictures meant for someone who he likes, not someone who he hangs out with.

Jungkook’s opinion of Hari hasn’t changed in years.

“She’s wonderful,” Jungkook muses as the two of you walk through the nearest mall. “I feel like I can tell her anything and everything, and she’ll always listen, never judge me. She teases me sometimes, like you do, but she’s easygoing and heartwarming. She’s so easy to get along with, even if we don’t have all of the same interests. I feel like I’ve known her my entire life.”

“Haven’t you, though?”

“Not as long as I’ve known you.”

“But you like her?”

“Well, I mean I like you too,” Jungkook says. “But I just feel that—that thing with her, you know? You know that thing?”

“This must be why you’re in an AP Literature class,” you say, “ your descriptions of things are simply outstanding.”

Jungkook frowns, shoving you a little as he fights the smile growing on his face. “I’m serious, Y/N.”

“So am I,” you insist. “But I know what you’re talking about.”

“Have you ever felt that thing?”

“Once or twice.” The with you goes unspoken, and you’re glad.

“With who?”

“It was when we were children, Jungkook. I don’t remember.”

“That’s fake. Surely you remember your first love.”

“Not really, no.” I don’t need to remember you when you’re right in front of me.

“Well, that’s what I feel with her. I don’t know man, I feel like she’s just the person I was waiting for.”

“So, he thinks she’s funny, easy to talk to, and that it feels like he’s known her for a lifetime?”

You nod along to your friend’s words as the two of you sit on a bench in the local park. You’re lamenting your Jungkook troubles to her, since you obviously can’t go straight to him, and she’s providing insight as to what you should do.

“Sounds like he’s in love with you, not her.”

That makes you bolt up from where you were slouching back, like a dog hearing the word ‘squirrel’.

“What?”

“I’m serious,” she says. “If he likes her for all of those reasons, there’s no reason he shouldn’t like you as well. He basically described you.”

You have neglected to tell her about the whole pen pal fiasco, finding it too long of a story worth telling. The less she knows, the better. She’s already told you enough information, anyway.

“You think he’s talking about me?”

“Sounds like it.”

Maybe he is.

You are Hari, after all.

Maybe he likes you, too.

(Jungkook sits in his room, surrounded by college acceptance letters and textbooks he still needs to turn into his teachers. The blank piece of paper stares back at him as he glares at it, twiddling the pen in his hand.

This is what he writes in a letter to Hari that never makes it into the mailbox:

Dear Hari,

This is going to be a weird opening sentence, but I think I like my best friend. Actually, I think I’m in love with her, but I don’t know how to go about it. She’s been getting a bit distant from me, though I suppose that’s my fault as well, since we’re nearing graduation. What do I do? Do I confess?

I think I’ve loved her for a while know, but I didn’t realize it, hung up on another girl.

I think she’s funny, easy to talk to, and pretty.

But I think you are, too.

Jungkook.

Jungkook stares at the finished letter, wishing that it could respond to him. He crinkles it up and tosses it in the trash.)

The last letter Jungkook ever sends Hari includes a photo of him, his family, and you together at graduation, dressed up in your gowns and caps and grinning happily, and a sentence that catches your eye:

Don’t expect any more letters for a while, if that’s alright. I think I’ll be a bit busy.

It’s unusual for him to take a break from writing to her, the letters being weekly for almost ten years, now. You wonder what he might have in store, but you shrug it off. If anything, you’re glad for the respite. The lying has gone on for too long, anyway.

The two of you stroll along the sidewalk, high school graduates with coffee cups in your hands, passing by the local park. He suggests that you sit down with him, pointing to an empty bench in the distance, before making a dash to it in order to prevent anyone else from taking your spot.

“Can’t believe we’re going off to university,” you say, sighing as you sit down. “It feels like just yesterday you were walking up to me on the playground in elementary school, asking me if you thought the shade under the tree was big enough for the both of us.”

“I remember that. You stood out to me because you weren’t playing ‘Chase the Girls’ like everyone else,” he says, the memory popping back into his head.

“I never really liked that game.”

“Neither did I.”

It’s weird, some kind of out-of-body experience to be talking about your relationship with Jungkook over the years. You feel as though you’re watching yourselves grow up from a third-person perspective, watching you fall in love with him the same way he’s falling in love with Hari.

“Are you doing anything this summer?”

“Packing. Crying. Stressing.”

Jungkook chuckles at your response. “No, anything fun?”

“Hanging with you, I guess?”

“How would you feel about taking a vacation with me?”

You look at him, an incredulous expression on your face. “What, to the beach?”

“I was thinking something more along the lines of South Korea.”

Your mouth drops open, like it’s been pressed down by weights. “Korea?”

“Yeah. It’s been something I’ve sort of been keeping a secret from you. I think it’ll be fun,” Jungkook says, grinning.

“Why Korea?”

“I have family there I haven’t seen in awhile. But mostly, I want to meet Hari.”

If your eyes widen, he makes no comment, but you’re totally, one hundred percent, absolutely, without a doubt fucked. To meet Hari?

The charade ends here.

“You were hiding it from me?”

Jungkook shoots you a guilty smile. You bet you could top it in an instant. “I wanted to make sure everything was in order before I asked you.”

“I’ve been hiding something from you, too, Jungkook,” you say, bracing yourself for the worst while foolishly hoping for the best.

“What?” Jungkook asks, more curious than shocked. You hate to wipe that interested smile off of his face.

“Hari—Hari hasn’t spoken to you since you were eight,” you say, shrinking in on yourself as you wait for his reaction.

Jungkook scoffs. “What do you mean? Of course she has. I sent her a letter just a few days ago.”

“No, she hasn’t,” you repeat. “The person writing you those letters, she wasn’t Hari. She was—”

“You,” Jungkook finishes, and sure, you were prepared for anger, sadness, fury, but you weren’t prepared for the look of absolutely betrayal scrawled on his face as your words set in. “You were writing those letters. For ten years, you sent me things under her name.”

“Jungkook—”

“Why did you do it?”

“I care about you, Jungkook,” you insist, grabbing onto his arm so he can’t leave before you explain yourself. “I didn’t want to see you sad.”

“So you kept it up for ten years? You lied to me for ten years? I don’t think that’s better than me being sad for a day,” he says, heartbroken.

“We were eight, Jungkook! I didn’t know it would turn out like this. I didn’t know you’d start to fall for her,” you say desperately, trying to salvage the friendship you already know you’ve knocked down.

“Still, you couldn’t have just told me? What else did you do, huh? What other things are you hiding from me?” He says, eyebrows raised, not angry, just hurt. How can you do this to him?

You wonder the same thing.

“I’m in love with you,” you whisper. The words settle around you like dust, dust he’s about to walk over and forget about.

“You what?”

“I’m in love with you,” you say again, louder. “That’s what I’m hiding from you.”

“Y/N, you don’t—you can’t just go around telling me that,” he says, and for once his expression is unreadable. “You can’t just say these things.”

“Why not, Jungkook? I’ve lied to you enough already,” you reason. “You ought to know I love you.”

“You can’t just—you can’t just—”

“I can’t just what, Jungkook?”

“I love you, too.”

God, if you thought you had the biggest surprise of the afternoon, he has you beat.

“Can we take a break?” You ask, mind swirling. “We need a break.”

“No, Y/N, we have to sort this out,” Jungkook says, grabbing onto your wrist as you stand up. He won’t let you go without a fight, you know that much. “We can’t just let it go.”

“We’ll sort it out another time, okay? I need to clear my mind. I need to think about things.” You try to wriggle out of his grasp, but he refuses to part with you, keeping you firmly planted to your spot. “Please, Jungkook. I can’t do this right now. Please.”

Jungkook relents.

For a week, the thoughts fly in and out of your head, leaving you dazed and confused.

He loves you.

You lied to him.

He likes Hari.

You were Hari.

You love him.

You lied to him.

Jungkook leaves you breathless without even being by your side.

Eventually, as the new week dawns on you, he convinces you to talk. You suppose you kind of need to, anyway.

He meets you back at the park, same bench, same foofy coffee drink in his hand, grinning as you jog towards him.

“Hey stranger,” he says. “I think this week was officially the most boring week in my life.”

“I don’t think we’ve gone a week in ten years without contacting each other,” you say, taking a seat. “It feels like I don’t even know you.”

“How are you feeling? Mind cleared up?”

“I think it’s always gonna be a bit fuzzy, but I’m feeling better. You?”

“Fantastic, now that you’re here.”

You purse your lips, letting the silence fill the air around you as you think about what to say next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt out, catching his attention. “I don’t think I ever apologized to you for lying. So, I’m sorry for deceiving you. I shouldn’t have.”

“Apology accepted.” He beams. “I’m sorry, too. Sorry you had to hear me gushing about Hari when really, I was gushing about you.”

“No, it’s fine, I understood,” you assure him.

“You know, I originally thought I started liking you earlier this year, but I realize now it was a long time before that. I just didn’t know it was you.”

“You still love me?”

“How could I stop?”

And then you’re kissing, pressing your lips together in the heat of summer, sitting on a park bench covered in bird poop, kissing. It cools you down and warms you up all at once. Jungkook tastes like chlorine and coffee and happiness.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he sheepishly admits when you break apart.

“You can do it again, for all I care.”

He leans into you, noses brushing. “I think I might just take you up on that offer.”

And take it he does.

To say that, post-kiss, the two of you part ways calmly and happily and head home is a complete lie. It’s quite apparent that neither of you can resist each other, sneaking kisses onto each other’s skin the entire way back to Jungkook’s, where he presses you against each wall in his house before you stumble into his bedroom, giggling.

“I’ve never done this before,” you say.

“Never been this close to me, hey, Y/N?” He says, winking.

“I’ve been this close to you before,” you say, thinking of the time he tackled you on this very floor. “I’ve just never been kissed while doing it.”

“There’s a first for everything,” Jungkook tells you as he presses you into his mattress, pulling off his shirt in one fluid motion.

If anything, his body’s only gotten better since the last time you saw it, floating in the school’s pool.

“That there is.”

Needless to say, he gets even closer to you. Toying with the hem of your shirt, he takes it off, relishing in the view below him as he presses his lips wherever he can, from your lips to your collarbone to your bellybutton.

“God, I knew I wasn’t kidding when I said you were pretty,” he smiles down at you, and you giggle, slapping his arm. “You’re gorgeous.”

“You’re stating facts, Mister,” you respond. “Get me out of these clothes.”

He is more than willing to follow your orders, ridding you of your bottoms and flinging them to his bedroom floor before moving his lips down even further. His nose is right by your drenched center, and he smirks to himself as his fingers hook onto your underwear.

“Ah, wait,” you say, tugging lightly on his hair to catch his attention. “You too, you know.”

Once the two of you are fully naked, reveling in the glory that is each other, Jungkook presses his body into yours, making you gasp at the feeling.

“Do it again,” you whisper into his ear, begging. He is happy to oblige, letting you grind down on him as you openly moan, brokenly moan.

“You have no idea how much I’ve wanted to do this,” Jungkook admits, honest and whole and nervous. 

You grin, letting your eyes rake up and down his body. He’s beautiful. He always has been. “I think I have somewhat of an idea.”

In order to wipe that cheeky grin off your face, he presses a kiss to your lips as he slides home, making you sigh at the feeling.

“I’ll go slow, alright? Neither of us have a very good idea about how to do this,” he promises, and you nod as you feel him pull out, little by little.

He gets a good rhythm going after a while, enough to make you moan with each thrust but not to hard to cause either of you any pain, and it’s not long before the both of you reach your highs, climaxing with gasps and promises escaping from your lips.

Afterwards, when the towel he came in with to clean the two of you up is hanging over his desk chair and you are lying comfortably in his bed, head resting in the space between his arm and his chest as he pulls you in close, he whispers.

“Do you think you would have still fallen for me without Hari?”

“Do you?”

“Can you stop responding to my questions with more questions?”

You giggle into his skin, warming the spot. “I think we were meant for each other.”

“Yeah,” he says. “I think so, too.”

“You know I love you, right?”

“You know I love you, right?”

“And here I was, the one who responds to questions with more questions,” you joke, earning yourself a flick on the forehead, followed by a kiss to the exact place where his fingers met your skin.

“I love you,” he tells you.

You snuggle in closer. “Yeah,” you say, the words feeling like falling asleep after years of being awake. “I love you, too.”

You sit on the airplane as you watch it drive away from the gate, rolling along the tarmac to where it will take off. Next to you sits Jungkook, already dozing off despite having only been on the airplane for less than an hour. He rests his shoulder on your chest, little snores escaping from his lips. You worm your hand into his and he makes a noise of satisfaction as you prepare to head to South Korea.

The butterflies are back. You hope they never leave.

⇒ leave any feedback/requests here and check out my masterlist here!

[cynergy-laughter]

Dream Daddy Fanfic #2

Lasagna Nights (Hugo x Dadsona) [Word Count: 2437]

By: Brendon Cetinkaya ( @cynergy-laughter )

~~~

It’s three weeks since you threw the graduation party for Amanda, when you sat under the cherry tree and spent the rest of the party with Hugo. You two were so happy to be a part of each other’s lives and to just be a good match. You sigh as you realize that you are sitting at home, no pants on, word jumbles in hand, and Shark Hunter Lip Sync Battles going on in the background of your living room. It’s been three weeks man, organize yourself, you haven’t even gotten your coffee yet! You thought about Hugo some more, and decided to hit him up. You go to your computer and type away at your keyboard to Hugo’s Dadbook messenger.

“Hey babe, I know it’s kinda weird for me to be messaging you since we’re practically boyfriends, do you think you’d wanna have a family dinner, Amanda’s gonna be coming home this weekend, and it would be nice if we got together.”

You hit send and not 2 minutes later, a reply came:

Hey babe! It’s not weird at all. I’m glad that you sent me that. Ernest and I are having Lasagna Night, we can always put it off until Amanda comes home.”

“Actually, she’ll be coming home tomorrow morning, we can make it a whole family time kinda shindig.”

“That works! Although Ernest usually looks forward to Lasagna Night, so I’m gonna have to find something else to eat…”

“Hmm… try… ooh! Try pizza! Can’t go wrong with pizza.”

“That’s true, thank you so much! I shall see you and Amanda tomorrow.”

It’s all set now, two families coming together to form one single family, if only for a single day. Maybe one day, it could become a reality. But until then, you and your word jumbles had to retire for the night. You turned the TV off and after shutting off the lights, you began to text Amanda about what was going to be going down tomorrow. You couldn’t even wait to go over. As you lay your head to rest and closed your eyes, you suddenly open them, and turn to look up at the ceiling and wonder what you were gonna bring to the dinner.

The next day, you grogged yourself awake, got your bathroom and coffee routine over with and got dressed. You worked on jumbles until you heard the familiar rumble of Amanda’s car, and then proceeded to Dad hug all throughout your reunion with Amanda. But before you both left for Hugo’s you decided to gather up some ingredients at the store for dessert.

“So, Dad, we’re having dinner with Hugo and Ernest, huh?” Amanda asked as you went through the market.

“Yeah… I thought it would be a fun thing to do, you know, get to know Hugo on a side that doesn’t determine whether you pass or fail in life.” You say as you began to grab some ingredients for brownies, you experimented a lot of recipes with Joseph and finally found the perfect ratio of sweet to bring the confections to life standards rather than Type 2 standards.

“Alright, sounds like it could be fun… But just to remind you, I will headlock Ernest if he talks crap about my favorite Dadtron.” She said as she pushed the cart, leaning into the child’s basket and cart handlebar.

“Easy, Panda. He’s like 14, he’s just going into freshman year of high school after the summer.” You said, touched that she’d defend your honor.

“Well, what would you do? He’s an angry, angsty, and not afraid to say what he wants. How can I combat that?” She asked.

“Well, pop quiz, what is the best way to torture a little brother figure when he annoys you or your siblings?” You ask, smirking, especially since you are her father. Amanda put her hand on her chin, leaning more into the cart, then, a light bulb turned on.

“Ah! Hehe, I gotcha. This is gonna be an interesting day.” Amanda finger gunned you as you both continued to shop, eventually changing the subject about how Amanda was doing in college. After paying, you both drive back to the cul-de-sac and park right in Hugo’s driveway. As you get out of the car, you could hear a loud vacuum sound coming from the open windows, it was like an alarm, but for every dog that feared that dastardly machine.

“How much you wanna bet that it’s Hugo cleaning up?” You ask quietly to Amanda.

“I don’t need to bet, Hugo’s definitely cleaning up.” Amanda chuckled as you both went up to the front door and knock. The vacuum was still going on while the door opened, revealing Hugo’s smiling face, he looked like seeing you was the highlight of his day.

“Ah, babe! Come on in, sorry we thought we had a lot more time.” Hugo invited, holding the door open for them. “Ah, Amanda, I hope you’re doing well at the university.”

You both went inside and exchange hellos before you actually see Ernest vacuuming, but only for a second before he turns it off and scurries away to put away the vacuum. You guess he didn’t want anyone else to witness that him actually cleaning. You both thought it was a weird to get a glimpse of it, hell, you could have sworn that you saw Ernest with his hoodie around his waist, actually showing his hair. Well, when he came back he had his hoodie back on,  he was back to his usual, aloof self. After getting greetings out of the way, you and Hugo went into the kitchen and started making dinner. Meanwhile, Amanda was sitting with Ernest in the living room, watching Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers.

“...What is this show even about?” Ernest asked Amanda, raising an eyebrow.

“If the show’s title isn’t clue enough, then you are really missing out. Luckily, my dad hooked me up with the complete series.” Amanda smirked and showed the box set. “You have a long way to drive, junior Ice Road Ghost Trucker.” She was determined.

Meanwhile, in the kitchen, you were busy making your brownie recipe and Hugo was working on layering the lasagna.

“The trick to good lasagna is a good sauce, and start the layering off with that sauce, you don’t need any cooking spray.” Hugo explained.

“Really? I thought everything in a glass pan needed cooking spray.” You assumed.

“Oh not lasagna, I maybe a bad cook, but the one thing that I’ve practiced on is Lasagna, I’ve made every mistake in the book, and I feel like I’ve gotten down to the best cheeses to use for it.” Hugo assured, as he put on the pasta sheets, then a layer of ricotta, another layer of pasta, and some more meat sauce, “And boiling lasagna noodles? Don’t even, the sauce cooks the pasta.”

“Umm, I’m pretty sure everyone knew that, babe…” You rose your brow, a bit taken back about what you heard.

“I did that in my first culinary class, and my teacher always said it was a... extreme beginner’s mistake… The lasagna was overcooked when it was done…” Hugo admitted, blushing embarrassed.

“So, is lasagna the only thing you know how to cook?” You asked, as you sprayed another glass pan down for your brownies.

“Yeah, that’s why Ernest always looks forward to Lasagna night, which is every 4 weekends, when I’m not grading or working.”

“You know, I could always help teach you to cook some more if you want. I’m sure Ernest would appreciate more home-cooked, non-Italian foods.”

“You think so?”

“I know for a fact, Amanda grew tired of us always going out, and she wanted me to cook. I knew nothing about it, so I always asked Alex to help teach me to cook. Amanda loved it! Now she can’t get enough of eating out. I think Ernest is the same.” You finished mixing, poured the brownie batter into the pan, covered it and put it in the fridge. Then you go over behind Hugo and wrap your arms around his waist. He turns his head with a blush and smiles at you.

“I would always be willing to learn something new with you…” Hugo said, kissing you on the lips. You kiss right on back, but not before there a sound of disgust from the doorway of the kitchen.

“Eww! God, that’s fuckin gross, next time I want a soda I’ll just send Amanda in there.” Ernest sweared, but then, Amanda’s arm came in like one of those canes that pull bad acts of the Shark Hunter Lip Sync Battle stage, and pulled Ernest back into the living room.

“That’s enough outta you , Kenny.” She teased, you and Hugo couldn’t see past the corner, but you both saw Amanda digging her fingers into Ernest’s sides, which made Ernest squeal, a sound Hugo never heard in a long time. They somehow made it into the living room, past the corner but you could hear everything that went on.

“GAHAHAHA! I’LL KIHIHIHILL YOU, YOU BI-AAHAHAHAHA!” Ernest hadn’t been tickled in a long time, and he didn’t finish his thought before Amanda spidered his belly and skittered her finger in his armpits, his hoodie not giving him any defense.

“Oh, first you ruin a perfect moment, then call me a name when I call you out on it? Heh, I’m so gonna enjoy being your big sister.” Amanda said, keeping her iron grip as she kept on teasing him. You taught her well, even Hugo smirked at his son getting what he deserved, a good punishment that didn’t involve violence or grounding.

“N-NO-NOOOOHOHOHOHO! NAHT MY PIHITS! DAHAHAHAD!” Ernest called out for help. He just called Hugo dad… you had to act fast, because he was sure to go after Panda after that father’s summon spell. You wrap your arms around his waist and proceed to squeeze into his sides, hips, and skitter along his waistline.

“ACK! Hehey! Lemme go! He called me Dahahad! Bahabe Stohohop that!” Hugo wiggled around, trying to pull away, but because you exercise with Craig regularly, you were able to keep your grip up.

“I will not have you stop their soon to be brother-sister bonding! Get him good, Panda!” You and Amanda were having your own battle and you both were determined to fight to win, no one shall beat you guys as the tag-team tickle-fighting champions of the cul-de-sac. You wrap your leg around his leg to try and bring him to the floor. But it wasn’t until you wiggled your fingers into his ribs that he lunges forward, and falls into your trap. Quite literally. As Hugo lay on his stomach on the kitchen floor, his slippers fall off his feet, and you sit down on his back and raise his legs up behind you, ankle locking them in your armpits.

“GAhahaha! B-Babe, gehet off, p-please, anything but that! Why did you have to catch me off guahard?!” Hugo asked, trying to move, but he could only move his head and his arms.

“Heh, remember that time when you wrestled me that one time, and you found out I was ticklish, and proceeded to tickle me until I tapped out?” You asked, but didn’t give him the chance to answer as you begin to skitter your fingers on Hugo’s trapped feet. Hugo was even louder than Ernest, in fact both Amanda and Ernest stopped everything and peaked out to see the scene, and see that Hugo laughing his head off.

“AHAHAHAHA! BAHAHABE! STOHOHOP! WE GOTTA FINISH DIHIHINNER!” Hugo tried to overpower you, but his weakness was being exploited, and a skitter along his arches and under his toes weren’t helping at all.

“This is payback, babe!” You yell triumphantly as you keep tickling all over his feet.

Ernest smirks and jumps into the fray and starts wiggling his fingers in Hugo’s armpits. You and Amanda were so surprised.

“This is for taking my vape!” Ernest stated mercilessly, as he intensified the tickling.

“AAAAHAHAHA! ERHRHRNEST! PLEHEHEASE!”

“Panda, any vendetta you wanna bring out onto your former teacher?” You ask, as Amanda smirked and gave you the finger guns.

“This is gonna be for my last english paper, the one that you gave me an A minus on!” She said as she went over and reached under him to get his sides and his ribs. Hugo was officially tapping out as he banged his right fist into the floor and screaming at the top of his lungs with laughter.

“STAHAHAP STAAAAHAHAHAP! STOP!” Soon, Hugo could take no more and he gotten a sudden burst of energy and he pulled his feet out of your grip, and started to get up with a noble Dad Roar. You fell of his back as Amanda and Ernest jumped but landed on their butts on the kitchen floor. Hugo leered at all three of you for a moment, before he just started snickering, which grew to chuckling, which grew to full on laughter. Soon you joined in the laugh, followed by Ernest and then Amanda. After the laugh fest, all four of you began to help finish the lasagna. After the lasagna was done cooking, you put the brownies in for 20 minutes. All four of you had a slice or two of lasagna and cut up italian bread. All the while you had dinner, everyone was having a good conversation, heck even Ernest chimed in a few times. Soon, it was night time, dinner was winding down and the brownies were cooling down. Amanda got up and winked at Ernest.

“So, Pops, we’re gonna be going to the movies tonight, Ernest, Lucien and I.” Amanda announced, “We actually wanted to do that before I gotta leave back for college Sunday. So… don’t wait up.” She puts on her jacket, and grabs her keys, and heads for the door, with Ernest jumping up and following her.

“Smell ya later.” Ernest smirks as he follows Amanda to the car and begins to pick the others up. You two look at each other and chuckle.

“Ah, kids.” You say.

“I hope it won’t be R-rated.” Hugo chuckled a bit more uneasily.

“It probably will, but I know that my daughter can take care of herself, and hold those two in line.”

Soon you two sit down after making yourselves some brownie sundaes, and stayed up watching Long Haul Paranormal Ice Road Ghost Truckers. You two eventually fall asleep in front of the TV, cuddled up together. And in the morning, you two would wake up to yourselves covered by two blankets.

[junker-town]

Everything wonderful about Tim Duncan becoming a Spurs assistant, ranked

Photo by Ronald Cortes/Getty Images

We have that and more in Tuesday’s NBA newsletter.

On Monday, the San Antonio Spurs announced two new assistant coaches would be joining Gregg Popovich’s staff to fill vacancies left by Ime Udoka and Ettore Messina. Those two new assistant coaches: Will Hardy, who has climbed the ranks within the organization, and Tim Duncan, yes that Tim Duncan.

How wholesome and beautiful is Tim Duncan joining Pop’s bench in San Antonio? Let us count the ways, starting from the bottom.

11. The spectre of Tim Duncan, future NBA head coach

Is Duncan doing this only to be around Popovich and the Spurs more, or does he have aspirations to become an NBA head coach (maybe of the Spurs when Pop retires in three years or so)? Are we prepared for Duncan arguing calls from the bench, for Duncan giving the in-game interviews? I don’t think we’re prepared for that.

10. The Spurs staff could win the BIG 3 title

I don’t know anything about Will Hardy’s game. But Tim Duncan and Becky Hammon are two-thirds of a killer 3-on-3 squad. What a pick-and-roll duo.

9. Picture Tim Duncan keeping Spurs players from running onto the court during an altercation

One of the most important jobs assistant coaches have during games is keeping players from running onto the court during altercations. (Tim Duncan knows this intimately well, he may owe one of his five rings to the Suns failing to keep their players on the bench when Bob Horry hip checked Steve Nash!) I’m trying to imagine Duncan jumping up to hold back, like, Lonnie Walker. Glorious.

8. DeMar DeRozan bank shots!

”Alright guys, today’s drill is 15-foot bank shots.” “Again???”

7. The Spurs still have guys who played with Duncan

These players who played with Tim are going to bust him so bad. And vice versa. To be a bat on the wall.

6. More Tim Duncan!

There has been a painful lack of Tim Duncan in our lives since his retirement a few years ago. No longer! Now we know we can just put on the Spurs on League Pass and get a dose of Big Fun.

5. Tim Duncan has to wear a suit, like, every day

Bwahahaha no more jorts with long-sleeve tropical print button-downs, my man. (In reality, Duncan became a much more snappy dresser in his later years in the league. I miss island casual Tim, to be honest.)

4. Best assistant coach ever

We ran through the ranks and determined that there has never been a better NBA player than Tim Duncan serve as an assistant coach. Guys like Larry Bird and Magic Johnson went straight into head coaching jobs when they took the bench. Bill Russell was a player-coach. No. 2 on this list might be, like, Patrick Ewing? Think about it: in a league where any number of players have gone straight into head coaching jobs fresh out of the league, one of the five best players ever is taking an assistant coach job. It’s wild.

3. How the Spurs describe Duncan’s path in the press release

The top three most wonderful things about Duncan becoming an assistant coach are all from the Spurs’ master-class press release announcing it. (That’s right: this wasn’t leaked, the Spurs and Duncan got to announce it on their own terms. Spurs gonna Spur.)

First, here’s how Duncan is described in the release: “Duncan, a 1997 Wake Forest graduate, played 19 seasons with the Spurs before retiring in the summer of 2016.”

That’s it! Nothing about the five rings, the two NBA MVPs, the three Finals MVPs, the 15 All-Star nods, the 13-year streak on the All-NBA and All-Defense teams. In a league where every achievement is screamed from the rooftops, this is just hilarious.

2. The Spurs’ press release leads with Hardy

Tim didn’t even get his own press release: the Spurs’ press release -- the headline, the release itself, the tweet promoting it -- all lead with Will Hardy. What a come-up for Will Hardy! Bonus wonderful thing: the URL path for the press release on the Spurs’ website is “spurs-announce-assistant-coach-updates.”

1. Pop’s quote about Duncan in the press release

And finally, here’s Popovich’s quote about Duncan in the press release: “It is only fitting, that after I served loyally for 19 years as Tim Duncan’s assistant, that he returns the favor.” Pure, unadulterated Pop. I love it.

Three cheers to the Spurs for a shower of sunlight in dark times.

Programming Notes

While the NBA has turned into a 12-month sport, we do have about a month here where less is happening and it’s hard to put together a robust newsletter five times a week. So for the next month or so, Good Morning It’s Basketball will be a twice-a-week affair. And, in fact, next week it will take a full break. Expect an issue Thursday and then again on August 6.

If something big happens, you can certainly expect a special edition or two. Thanks for subscribing.

Links

More stars, including Bradley Beal and Tobias Harris, have dropped out of USA Basketball’s quest to defend the FIBA World Cup in China next month. I wrote about why USA Basketball is struggling to get top-level guys to play. Here’s Dan Devine on Damian Lillard needing to save the day.

The Wizards have a front office now. A very interesting one! Kudos for trying something different after being a very static, old-fashioned franchise for so long.

Meanwhile, Wizards governor Ted Leonsis is arguing this could be a quick rebuild (possible, sure) and heralding the importance of depth over star power. Leonsis bemoans his previous belief in the power of getting three stars, as if that strategy were the problem and not the fact that he thought in 2011 that his three stars were John Wall, Andray Blatche, and Jordan Crawford. I’m not making that up. He wrote that.

The talented Kennedi Landry asks a crucial question: what type of basketball does the BIG3 want to be?

It’s the most wonderful time of the year: Grainy Footage of Ben Simmons Shooting Jumpers Season! Can some clips of Markelle Fultz in central Florida be too far behind???

CANDACE PARKER ANALYST ROLE BIDDING WAR.

How Russell Westbrook in Houston can work.

Kevin O’Connor on the supremacy of LeBron and Anthony Davis in the new era of dynamic duos.

Chris Herring is worried about the Warriors’ defense next season.

Surprising no one, the Wizards will offer Bradley Beal a 3-year, $112 million extension when they officially can on Friday. It’d be a surprise if Beal took it.

How close is the NBA to fully sanctioning the use of cannabis?

All the big NBA stars have people pulling media and entertainment strings behind them. Meet Stephen Curry’s guy.

Are the Thunder too good?

On Zhaire Smith’s development. I’m going to write about this when we get a little closer to training camp, but Zhaire Smith and Thybulle Matisse are the players that can turn the Sixers into a superteam.

The Lakers claimed Kostas Antetokounmpo off of waivers. People are noting this could be about chasing Giannis in 2021. That’s true. Also, Kostas might be the ninth best player on the Lakers roster even though he spent last season in the G League.

Not basketball but wow do I want the next NBA champion to adopt this high-speed parade format from the Tour de France and please throw sausages too.

Be excellent to each other.

[alittle-re-in-ven-tion]

hey.... you got any.... fics???? *pokes head out of internet and makes awkwardly creepy face*

Hey there! Actually, I do *opens coat sneakily* rn I have something slightly based off of a convo @lord-of-potatoes and I had. Enjoy!

As long as he could remember, Evan hated gym class. He hated the sports and games they had to play, hated the anxiety of having to pick teams (surprise: he was usually among the last few), hated how uncoordinated gym made him look, and he hated the uniforms. But most of all, Evan especially hated having to change in the locker rooms. Or, god forbid, use the public showers. Evan avoided them like the plague. So when Evan reached junior year, he opted out of gym class as soon as possible. (Jared, of course, continued taking it, on the excuse that he had to maintain his record as champion of capture the flag.) Evan had never been a very body positive person, when he was younger he was lanky, all uncouth long limbs he couldn’t use quite right with no visible muscles anywhere. That didn’t change when he supposedly “grew into” his limbs, Evan still felt awkward and uncomfortable in his own skin. It didn’t change when summers of climbing trees and running and swimming gave him toned muscles in all the right places. It didn’t change when row after row of little white and red scars began to decorate his hipbone and upper thigh. Evan didn’t like changing in front of people, just as a general rule, and no one knew that better than Jared. So although Jared had a tendency to burst into rooms unannounced, he generally tried to knock when going over to Evan’s. This went out the window, however, when Jared got excited. Jared couldn’t remember what he was going to tell Evan, just that it was very important and very, very urgent. “Hansen!” Jared yelled, tearing into the room with laptop in hand, “You’ll never believe the idea that I– oh. OH!” Jared stopped, taking in Evan’s appearance. The poor boy looked like he had just gotten out of the shower and was about to change: his hair clumped together and wet droplets ran down towards his neck, a towel was wrapped around his waist, leaving his torso uncovered, shirt in hand as id he was about to put it on. “Uh, I’m so sorry, I’m just gonna–ah, wait out there and uh,” Jared stammered, clutching his laptop and backing out of the room. Evan grimaced and flushed as Jared left the room and pulled the door shut behind him. “Oh my GOD, keep it together Kleinman,” Jared scolded himself. “It’s just Evan, you’ve known him forever…” But since when had Evan looked like that?? Jared swore he would have noticed those toned abs and muscles had they been there before…the summer had definitely been good to Evan. “Maybe I should take up tree climbing,” Jared thought to himself, thinking of how Evan looked in– No. No, Evan was his best friend he was not about ruin one of his only friendships on some passing…thing. “Hey, you can, um come in now,” Evan said, opening his door out into the hallway. “Right, thanks,” Jared said, trying (and failing) not to make it awkward. He walked into the room and sat down on Evan’s bed. “So, you said you had an idea? For the anatomy project, I assume?” Evan supplied. “The anatomy project– OH YES RIGHT, that I had the idea for, ” Jared attempted to remember what it was. “Uh, I was thinking, ” Jared began, wracking his brain to try and remember what the idea was. A new one suddenly came to mind. “I was thinking that, because its a project on the muscles, we could, like, take a human model and paint the names of the muscles on the actual muscles.” Jared paused. “For, y'know, easy visualization and whatever.” He finished lamely. “Okay, that sounds kinda cool, but who are we…” Evan trailed off, turning to meet Jared’s gaze. Jared raised his eyebrows slightly and nodded towards Evan. “No, absolutely not, I’m not being the model.” Evan protested. “Come on, you’ll be great!” Jared encouraged. “No. Why can’t you do it? O-or, we could get someone else…” Evan trailed off. “Well, first of all, I don’t know if you noticed but your muscles are bit more pronounced than mine, as climbing trees and shit tends to be more physically strenuous than gaming. Second, have you forgotten how bad you are with paint?? You/ve gotta remember the Great Painting Fiasco of Sophomore Year–” “Hey, Jackson Pollocks are hard to be neat with!” Evan interjected. “–and third, who would you have do it? Our entire anatomy class is already paired up, so its just you and me buddy. Whaddya say?” “…Fine,” Evan conceded with a pained expression, “But I’m going to hold this against you.” “Oh, i sure hope you do” Jared replied with a smirk. “It’ll be just like that scene from titanic, y'know, ‘oh Leo DiCaprio, paint me like one of your french girlss!” Jared drawled with an exaggerated falsetto, reclining back to imitate the iconic position. Evan blushed scarlet. “How about I come by tomorrow with the paint and we do it then? I can start with one side and then do the other once it dries.” “A-alright,” Evan agreed, “My mom is working late as usual tomorrow, so we’ll have the house to ourselves.” Evan paused, drawing in breath. “What, ah, w-what should I wear?” “Probably just like, a pair of shorts,” Jared replied, swallowing the urge to simply say ‘nothing’. ~~~~~~~ “Hey, Evan, I’m here,” Jared knocked on Evan’s door the next day, balancing a tray of paints on his arm. “Oh, yeah, come on in,” Evan called from inside as Jared pushed open his door. Evan was perched on the edge of his bed, scrolling through his phone with a bored expression. He was wearing a faded t-shirt with words Jared couldn’t quite make out and a pair of shorts so short any girl who wore them would have been dress coded. “I, uh, brought the stuff,” Jared declared, setting the paints down gently on Evan’s desk and pulling newspapers, an assortment of brushes, and his laptop out of his backpack. “How do you want me?” Evan asked, setting his phone down and sliding off the bed. Jared’s mouth went dry. “Uh, I was thinking we could lay the newspaper on the floor in case of drips, and I can paint you standing up or laying down, whichever one is easier,” Jared responded in a rush. “Standing up might be easier,” Evan decided after a moment. “So, do you want to pull up the chart and get all the paints ready, and I can lay out the newspaper?” “Yea sure, sounds great.” Jared said, busying himself with getting the muscle diagram and stirring all the paints. When he turned back around to face Evan, he was standing shirtless on the newspaper, arms hugging his sides and and a blush creeping across his cheeks and down his torso. Jared took a deep breath. “Okay, let’s begin.” Jared pulled Evan’s arms open, pleading them out perpendicular to his torso. Evan, much to his chagrin, was surprisingly pliant. Jared started with the little muscles on the hands, then the muscles on his lower and upper arms, coming back to the torso after. Evan shivered as the brush ran down his side. “It’s cold,” Evan breathed, goose bumps breaking out across hid arms and legs. “I bet,” Jared responded. “Luckily for you, I only have to finish doing the abs and where they connect to the hip, so you’re almost– done.” Jared said, glancing down at a spot on Evan’s hip where the skin felt uneven. Upon closer inspection, Jared could make out rows of faint white lines, too orderly to be accidental. “Evan, are these–?” Jared began, running his thumb over a scar as he looked up at Evan from where he’d been painting on his knees on the floor. “They’re not, I mean they are, b-but not recently, I haven't–, not for a while, anyway, I’ve been– g-getting better,” Evan stammered. “I–I’m not proud,” Jared shushed him by pressing a kiss to the scars. “We’ve all done things we’re not proud of.” Evan’s breath hitched in his throat as Jared pressed another kiss to the area, then slowly began working his way up, careful not to mess up his work. “Jared,” Evan sighed as Jared mouthed at his neck. “We really need, n–need to, oh, work on this project, I–ah, don’t want to mess up your work, Jared–!” Evan stumbled over his words. Jared pulled away, looking Evan over. “You are completely right, and for once I hate that you’re right, so lets finish this up and then,” Jared continued, pressing a hard kiss to the spot behind Evan’s ear, a promise of what was to come.

[katedoesfics]

Shadows of Hyrule | Chapter 18

“What?”

Mipha blinked at Link. She raised a brow. “Huh?”

He furrowed his brows. “You're staring at me.” She had been for some time, now, and seemed to be lost in thought. At first, Link figured she was just checking on him; checking to see if he was actually studying the careful notes she had taken in class in the days prior, which he was now borrowing to copy during class. But when he finally looked up and met her gaze, it was clear that she had completely spaced out, and was simply staring at him.

She blushed and turned away. “Oh. No I wasn't.”

“What's wrong with you?”

She sighed and leaned back in her seat, not looking at him. “Nothing.”

Link crossed his arms. “If you have something to say, then say it.”

Mipha picked up her pen and began to doodle in her notebook. “How's karate?”

Link regarded her for a moment, then turned his gaze to the board. The notes from the class were still scribbled across, yet his own notebook was just as empty as ever. His eyes moved from the board to the clock – only five minutes left to the period – then to Zelda. While the rest of the students were chatting among themselves, waiting for the bell to ring, Zelda had her nose in her notebook. She looked up, briefly meeting Link's gaze, and offered him a smile.

Link let his chin rest in his palm as he turned back to Mipha, offering her a single shouldered shrug. “Thrilling.”

Mipha looked passed Link, catching the short exchange between him and Zelda when he did not answer right away. She quickly turned back to her notebook to resume her doodling. “Really?”

“I don't think that's what you wanted to say.”

“What do you think I want to say?” she asked casually, avoiding his gaze.

“I don't know, but I'm sure it has to do with all these rumors you mentioned.”

“They're just rumors,” she muttered.

“So you don't believe them?”

“Should I?”

“Do you?”

She glanced towards him and held her gaze for a moment. “I don't care what you do,” she said, turning back to her notebook. “Or who you do.”

“For the love of Hylia,” he muttered. He stood just as the bell signaled the end of the period, and without waiting for Mipha, he left the classroom.

Mipha stared after him blankly. She cleared her throat as Zelda approached her and quickly gathered her things together.

“He seems more in a hurry than usual,” Zelda remarked, grinning at Mipha.

“What do you want?” Mipha snapped – rather unintentionally. She immediately turned her gaze down, but did not offer an apology to Zelda.

Zelda's head cocked back slightly, surprised by the rude and unexpected remark. “I'm sorry,” she started slowly. “I just thought we could talk.”

Mipha shrugged and threw her bag over her shoulder. “About what?”

“Link told me what you said yesterday. About the rumors. I just thought you'd want to know that they're not true.”

“All of them?”

“Well, I'm not sure of any others, but I can assure you we are not sleeping together. So, you don't have to worry.”

“Why would I care who he sleeps with?”

“Oh,” Zelda said softly. She shrugged. “I dunno. You seemed upset by it. I just thought -”

“I couldn't care less,” Mipha said, pushing passed her.

Zelda's brows furrowed together and she turned to hurry after Mipha. “Did I do something to upset you?”

“No,” Mipha said simply as she navigated through the crowded halls.

“Well, you don't seem to like me very much. I just thought it was because of Link.”

“Why would you think that?”

She shook her head. “It doesn't matter.”

Mipha paused and regarded Zelda for a moment, her face softening. “I'm sorry,” she said. “I didn't mean to come off that way.” She sighed. “Things have just been kinda weird the last few weeks. Link was being secretive, and hanging out with you a lot.” She hesitated and shrugged. “I feel bad for following you guys, but I didn't know what else to do.”

Zelda offered her a smile. “I can't say I blame you; I probably would have done the same thing. To be honest, its weird for me, too. In a million years, I'd never think I'd be friends with him.” She hesitated, then added quickly, “No offense. He's not as bad as I thought.”

“Then you don't know him well enough, yet,” Mipha said. Her lips pulled into a smile.

Zelda laughed. “He can't be that bad if you're friends with him.”

“I don't think I have much of a choice,” she said, rolling her eyes.

Zelda looked down the hallway as it started to empty. She checked her phone – she would be late for her next class, but she wasn't particularly bothered by that. She had a feeling she'd be seeing a lot more of Mipha now that she and Link were... working together. And she would be lying if she said she didn't want to be friends with Mipha, too.

“So, we're cool, then?” she asked, turning back to Mipha.

“Yeah,” Mipha said. “As long as you help me talk some sense into him. He couldn't care less about his grades.”

“Well, I don't know how much help I'll be there. But he's in for a rude awakening when he realizes being a big hero isn't gonna pay the bills.”

Mipha raised a brow. “Hero?”

“Oh, you know,” Zelda started quickly in an attempt to fix her slip up. “I mean, like, this karate thing. I don't know what he thinks he's going to do with it, but, you know. Karate won't pay the bills. Unless he becomes some world champion.” Zelda laughed, more loudly than she had intended to. “And let's be honest – that's not gonna happen.”

“Right,” Mipha said, slightly skeptical of Zelda's strange explanation. Perhaps she was just more quirky than she let on. She looked over Zelda's shoulder as Urbosa turned the corner, waving to Mipha before slipping out the door into the courtyard. She turned back to Zelda. “Guess I'll see ya around, then.” She shifted her bag onto her other shoulder.

“Okay,” Zelda said with a nod. “See ya.” She watched as Mipha hurried down the hall, taking the door that lead to the senior court yard. She made her way down the hall, turning her gaze to the window and watching as Mipha made her way to the table where Urbosa sat. She recognized a few of the others that were there; Revali, Teba, and Daruk. Link, however, was not out there.

She turned and made her way down the hall, bumping into Link as she turned the corner. She sighed loudly at the interruption and rolled her eyes. She was never going to make it to her next class.

“Jeez, what the hell is wrong with everyone?” Link sneered.

“What are you talking about?”

“You women are all cranky today.”

Zelda narrowed her eyes at him. “Us women?”

“Yeah. First Mipha. Now you.”

“I didn't do anything!”

Link put a hand on his hip and sighed dramatically.

“Are you trying to imitate me? Because that was terrible.”

“Whatever.”

“Look,” she hissed at him. “I just had to deal with your girlfriend.”

“My girlfriend?” Link raised a brow.

“Mipha.”

“She's not my girlfriend.”

“Well, she's awfully upset about all these rumors. And for the record, I could do a lot better than you.”

Link laughed sharply. “You know, I'm a catch.”

Zelda rolled her eyes. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

He ignored her. “And Mipha doesn't care about the rumors.”

“I beg to differ,” Zelda said. “She practically bit my head off. But don't worry; I set her straight.”

“Why would she care?”

Zelda shrugged. From the way Mipha had acted, she was almost certain that she had feelings for Link. Judging by Link's response, however, that seemed to be a one way street. Regardless, she wasn't about to say anything to Link. She stepped around him and moved down the hall. “I don't know,” she said over her shoulder. “See you in karate.” She turned to wink at him before letting herself into a classroom.

[junker-town]

Tyson Chandler has found his calling as the old head for the baby Suns

Most veterans like Chandler want to play for title contenders, but he’s perfectly content to be the mentor for one of the youngest teams in the NBA.

BROOKLYN, N.Y. — Earl Watson remembers when he first met Tyson Chandler. Watson and Baron Davis were the first set of freshmen to start at UCLA in over 20 years, and a young Chandler, then in eighth grade, wanted to be just like them.

“I used to go pick up Tyson to go eat. ... I mean, free food man, you gonna jump in the car, right?” Watson reminisces. “Tyson was coming up and he wanted to be like us, but obviously he couldn’t dribble. He could only dunk at that time. Tyson was just like our little brother.”

Back in 1997, Watson and Davis lived together in a garage in South Central, Los Angeles. Whose? He still doesn’t know. But he remembers fostering a unique relationship with a young player, one he had no idea would go on to become an NBA All-Star.

Chandler isn’t forgetting those times, either.

“It was a great time with them,” Chandler says. “I already looked up to him and Baron, and being able to go on UCLA’s campus and have them show me around. They were like my big bros.”

Watson and Davis didn’t have much before they struck gold with their NBA career, but they took Chandler to eat every time they hung out. Those sessions served as mentorship opportunities for the pair of Bruins guards, who prepared an eager Chandler for life both on and off the court. The frugal college freshmen chose between two chain restaurants: McDonald’s and In-N-Out. Mostly In-N-Out.

Chandler got the same order every time, one indicative of his playing career. “A double-double. Tyson used to get two of them,” Watson says now. “I was like, ‘damn bro, you breakin’ us.’“

Those broke days are long gone. Watson and Davis each enjoyed fruitful NBA careers. The little brother is on the tail end of his.

In his 16th NBA season, the Suns’ big man is averaging 8.4 points, 11.4 rebounds and just a half-block per game. But Chandler’s impact this season has transcended the stat sheet. Now the oldest player on a Phoenix team that played the youngest starting lineup in NBA history, Chandler is the oracle.

“This is a group of young, great guys that I think are gonna have long, amazing careers in this league,” he says. “A couple guys have a chance to be big faces in this league. Being on this team is a blessing really. I get a chance to pass out some of the knowledge.”

**

Derick E. Hingle-USA TODAY Sports

Chandler is sitting in front of his locker moments before his Suns take on the Nets. Chandler isn’t playing tonight. The Suns are resting him for the final games of a fruitless season.

Chandler, now 34 years old, signed a four-year, $52 million deal with Phoenix two summers ago. Phoenix nearly signed LaMarcus Aldridge that same offseason, but the All-Star forward chose San Antonio in a decision he said “came down to the final minute, to the final day.” Now the Suns finds themselves with a 22-50 record one season after finishing 23-59.

Most players of Chandler’s experience would have asked out by now, but the Suns’ defensive anchor hasn’t grumbled, nor is he chasing rings. He already has one, thanks to his role as the rim-protecting big man on a 2011 Dallas Mavericks team that took down LeBron James and the Miami Heat.

Instead, he follows what his heart tells him in the moment. That thought could change next season, but at least for now, it’s telling him to embrace Phoenix.

“My mindset is just kind of wherever I feel my heart is at the time. Whatever I feel like is best for my career or what’s needed,” he says. “That’s kind of how I’m gonna play out whatever years I’ve got left.”

Chandler isn’t the same teenager Watson had under his wings during his UCLA years, even if he’s still the same height. The seven-footer’s NBA resume features an NBA championship, as well as three gold medals (one Olympic, two FIBA), an All-Star appearance in 2013, and the 2012 Defensive Player of the Year award.

But Watson says his little brother is the leader of this young Suns team. Save for MVP honors, Chandler has claimed an NBA accolade in every category. His success is contagious.

“Tyson has been amazing for these young guys because he’s been there and done that. And he’s not a coach, he still puts on a jersey,” Watson says. “So he has that presence of legendary player, championship, gold medal. He came in the league when he was 18, so he can relate. They follow his voice, they look up to him.”

***

Jennifer Stewart-USA TODAY Sports

Suns youngsters are taking notes from their elder statesman.

In two years, Devin Booker’s run out of space in his notepad. It’s no coincidence the second-year shooter has taken a leap forward since his rookie season.

“[Tyson’s] like a voice you go to. You always hear his voice in the locker room,” Booker tells SB Nation. “He’s giving us tips on life, tips on basketball. He’s everything all of us wanna be: NBA champion, Olympic gold medalist, All-Star. So he’s done everything. Now he’s just helping us out each and every day. He’s leading by example.”

Booker’s 20.8 points per game is seven points higher than his output from last season — the largest jump in production of any player drafted in 2015. His play has been the shining beacon in an otherwise dull Phoenix season.

Barely through his second year, the super scorer considers himself a veteran already. As this season comes to a close, Booker wants to improve in a non-skill area.

“Just working on leadership,” he tells SB Nation. “I know even though we have a lot of veterans around here, I feel like on the court, I’m one of the older guys now. So leading by voice is something I need to work on.”

“He’s giving us tips on life, tips on basketball. He’s everything all of us wanna be.” -Devin Booker on Tyson Chandler

Booker knows he has an ever-flowing fountain of leadership in his locker room. He listens to the stories Chandler tells about his championship run alongside Dirk Nowitzki in Dallas. He soaks up Chandler’s tales of winning an Olympic gold medal with Kobe Bryant in 2012.

But Booker’s a guard, and as long as Chandler’s been in the league, there’s only but so much he can teach him. Chandler has a sponge, though, in Chriss, an 18-year-old, 6’11 rookie who Phoenix selected eighth in last year’s draft. With him and the other young bigs, Chandler can be a little more hands on.

“Trying to show them the fundamentals of the game,” Chandler says. “The small things, the details. I’ve been watching them and they’re really learning how to be a big man. Both of them are young dudes learning the game.”

Chriss averages 8.7 points per game this season and has shined in extended playing time. In Phoenix’s last five games, he’s averaging 18.6 points and 8.2 rebounds. While he wants to develop into his own player, he wants to model areas of his own game after Chandler’s.

“Tyson is a competitor. I think that’s his strongest attribute,” Chriss says. “He’s emotional. He’s expressive. And he’s a leader, in all aspects of the word. Even when he’s not playing, he’s telling us things we need to do on the court. He’s visualizing it as if he was actually in the game. And he’s trying to walk you through it and just instruct you as best as he could.”

Mark J. Rebilas-USA TODAY Sports

It all sounds good until the product touches the floor.

Then it becomes a mess, one compounded by a 126-98 loss to a league-worst Nets team on Thursday.

It marks the eighth defeat in 10 games for Phoenix, which has gone 7-21 since Jan. 24. The Suns shut down Chandler and Eric Bledsoe for the season, leaving them with only eight players available on Thursday.

Chandler knows what time it is. He’s been through the ringer before.

“This time of the year when you’re not in the playoffs. It’s important to develop the young talent,” he says after their loss. “We have hopes of making the playoffs next year. They have to come into the season ready to be big contributors. We don’t have to waste so now is the time for them to get their opportunity to develop.”

Still, a blowout loss to the league-worst Nets is problematic. Teams have begun resting players in the tail end of the season. The Lakers shut down their veterans in early March. The Knicks are reducing Carmelo Anthony’s minutes. Phoenix isn’t running Bledsoe or Chandler for the remainder of the season.

But Watson insists the team isn’t tanking.

“We have to execute a vision from above, but when we take that court, we compete,” a candid Watson says. “We play the right way. So we’re not just out here to get the game over.”

The compounding losses have blurred Watson’s vision of the future. He can’t even think that far, he said, especially not after losing by almost 30 to Brooklyn.

“Who am I, Nostradamus?” he asks.

Photo by Christian Petersen/Getty Images

In truth, the Suns are set up nicely for the near future.

Phoenix has just $65 million committed in guaranteed salaries for the 2017-18 season. The salary cap is projected to increase to nearly $103 million. They also own the third-best odds at the No. 1 overall pick in the loaded 2017 NBA Draft, which could potentially yield either Washington’s Markelle Fultz or UCLA’s Lonzo Ball.

The Suns have picked a guard in each of the last five draft classes, and a potential Ball-Booker backcourt is enticing. But even if they get lucky, the Suns must decide what to do with Bledsoe, who turns 28 in December and just had a career season.

Booker feels the team has a good young core and that the second half of the season has given them time to jell as a unit.

But this year has opened his eyes to what can go wrong in a season. The Suns weren’t expected to be a playoff team, not in the heavy-hitting Western Conference. But the team didn’t expect to finish so far below .500.

“We don’t ever want to be in this situation again,” Booker tells SB Nation. “So, just building off this as we’re kind of getting ready for next year. I feel like winning will start right now and it will translate over to next year.”

Re-enter Chandler, whose contract extends through the 2018-19 season. By that time, he’ll be 36 with 18 years of NBA experience. Chandler’s in Phoenix to stay so long as the team continues along the right path toward contending for a playoff spot.

“I think that’s the next step that this team has to take,” Chandler says. “Young guys right now are getting the opportunity to play minutes and build. And next year, they’ll be able to take it to the next level.”