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jeremiah-fisher · 2 years ago

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you and me,

—a the summer i turned pretty fic starring my first and favourite book boyfriend, jeremiah fisher ♡

「part thirty-five, reader insert」

Every summer, Jeremiah pulls out all the stops for my birthday. The week leading up to the day, he plans fun things for us to do together and with our friends, and each activity is unique.

Over the years, some of the activities he chose were dangerous (like the time we cliff-dived without following safety precautions and nearly lost our lives) or failures (like the time we drove all the way out to the end of town for a party only for it to get busted within an hour of our arrival).

But mostly, the things Jeremiah planned were fun, and they were thoughtful because he was thinking of me when he planned them. Our entire friendship, he has made me feel special. Like I’m the only girl on his mind even though I know this isn’t the truth. As long as his heart belongs to Belly, I’ll only be the girl he laughs with. Not the one he loves.

Although out of pure inclination, whenever my birthday comes around, I grant myself permission to feel loved by him anyway. For one week, I let myself believe his friendship isn’t purely platonic–it’s romantic. It’s bigger than this universe, bigger than us.

This year is no different. With my birthday landing on a Friday, Monday morning begins with his text lighting up my phone. Jeremiah, my best friend who never wakes up early enough to do anything, is texting me at 7 AM. I’m both surprised and amused. I know he has a severe case of bedhead and sleepy eyes all wrapped up in a thin hoodie.

Jeremy: good morning, birthday girl!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

With a lovestruck smile, I cuddle deeper into my pillow and let my fingers fly over the digital keyboard. Each letter in response is pressed with excitement, with a flurry of delight.

YN: i’m surprised you woke up early enough to text me 🤣

Jeremy: not just that 😏 guess where i am rn

My heart squeezes. I know exactly where he is. That’s what years of friendship do: they erase hypotheses.

YN: in bed???

Jeremy: yeah, right!!! guess harder 😫

YN: idk. where are you?

An incoming video request flies onto the screen. I tap on the answer button with hurried fingers as if I’m in a race against time. My heart thuds brilliantly in my chest. One would think I was being awarded a doctorate.

The video smooths out to the four edges of the tall screen. It showcases Jeremiah standing in line at Fishtales – the best, most scrumptious seafood restaurant. It’s the only place which opens early and closes late in all of Cousins. Other than the drive-in and McDonald’s, it’s the joint to catch a meal after midnight if you’re in search of one.

It’s also one of my favourite restaurants in the world because seafood is home to me. Fish, octopus, squid, shrimp, oysters. All of it. Jeremiah knows this better than anyone. I’ve made him switch chicken nuggets for fish sticks on many occasions.

I focus on my phone screen. His head fills up most of the space. His shaggy, I-Just-Woke-Up hairdo is a mess of curls kissed by daylight. Each ringlet is on its own adventure in wayward directions. The lengths of my fingers grow delirious with greed. I want to loop them through each curl as it’s my God-given right. I nearly moan with desire, but I catch myself in the nick of time and bury the sound in my duvet which I’ve brought up to my chin.

Jeremiah smiles into the camera and runs a hand through his hair. I could chew it off. How is it fair that he gets to do so easily what I’m desperately craving everyday? I place a hand on my stomach. The butterflies are swirling around and around. I think I might throw up.

“Hey,” he says. His voice startles me. I blush when I realize I wasn’t paying attention. “Is it because my eyes deceive me or are you still in bed?”

I roll my eyes and sit up a little. I still keep the duvet with me. He might be my best friend, but I’d never let him see my double-chin. I wouldn’t be completely in love with him if I wasn’t at least a little bit insecure. “Of course, I’m still in bed. We don’t have to leave for work until 8:30, remember?”

“On a regular day,” he contends. “Today’s not a regular day.”

“It’s Monday.”

“Of your birthday week.” He pauses to narrow his eyes at me. “Why do I sound more excited than you?”

I laugh, and the sound bleeds into the covers. “Because you are more excited than me. You always are.”

“‘Course, I am! It’s your birthday week!”

“People hardly care about their birth-days and you’re focused on an entire week?”

His eyes spin back goodnaturedly. He runs a hand through his hair again, treating the camera like a mirror. I swallow down the pain of seeing his attractiveness. I still remember when he was ten and had ice cream dripping from the corners of his mouth, but it’s not enough to sway me from thinking he’s the hottest guy in the world now. Being in love truly blinds a person.

His motions pause abruptly while a slow, mesmerizing smile pulls up the ends of his lips. I struggle to breathe normally. “It’s you, YN,” he explains, and I feel my heart stutter. “Is it a crime to be excited about your birthday?”

“Careful there, Fisher,” I chuckle nervously. My voice sounds audibly foreign to my ears. “You sound like you’re in love with me.”

“Would that be so bad?”

For a moment, my lungs stop pumping. I’m almost certain they do. But when I place a hand on my chest under the covers, the clear in and out flow of air proves I’m still breathing. Just to be extra sure, I check the pulse on my wrist, too. It’s still going strong.

Jeremiah smirks, “What? Cat got your tongue?” He examines me for a second, appearing to take me in as I lay silent. I don’t know what he’s searching for, and I’m sad when he doesn’t seem to find anything. “Don’t worry. I’m just teasing you.”

“Okay,” I whisper in return because suddenly, I feel as though I’m five years old again, learning English for the first time. “But…” It wouldn’t be so bad. It wouldn’t be bad at all. “Make sure the noodles are spicy.”

He smiles and nods. “I’ll see you in a bit. Bye, birthday girl.”

Upon ending the call, I slide down under the covers to let out a groan of frustration. The pure, unadulterated resentment I feel towards myself fizzles hotly on my tongue. I want to curse myself out for this, for everything I do to destroy my own happiness each and every time.

I’m not an idiot. I know what he wants–what he wants with me. And it would be so easy, too, for us to fall into those roles: friends who started dating. I’ve seen it happen to loads of people. It’s as normal as normal gets.

It’s the nagging thought of her, of the girl he wrote to, the one he really loves, which keeps me and my stupid, stupid brain from accepting that perhaps he’s developed feelings for me, even if not strong ones, after all this time. That maybe, from not being able to have her, he’s chosen me instead. Because I’m the choice which will always be there even if it’s not the choice he wants to make.

I think about calling him back. My finger hovers over his name on the speed dial. I’m so close to doing it that I tremble. After much mental deliberation–five minutes, to be exact–I don’t end up calling him. I’m too scared. I don’t want to be his second choice. Not when he’s been my first and only one since the day we had ice cream together seven years ago.

Still upset, I stay on my phone and click the Photos app.

After swiping past the first few folders, I find the one on my mind. I open it and scroll through the pictures. There are hundreds of them. Jeremiah has never gone a single day without sending me something. Not in several years. Even though I’ve switched phones twice, this folder has stayed with me (shout out to iCloud) and in turn, so have the memories.

There are pictures of him from all his first days of school wearing outfits Susannah picked. Until the end of middle school, those were what he wore.

He never minded his mother’s babying. He enjoyed it, and took it in stride. Those were the years Susannah was first diagnosed with breast cancer, so I know it meant a lot to her to be able to do something for her boys even if it was as small as choosing what shirts they should wear with their jeans.

There are other pictures, too. Pictures of him at parties, the ones I couldn’t go to. He’d spend whatever time he wasn’t with some girl on the phone texting me or sending me videos of people doing insane things, like Corbin from his social studies class who ate an entire pineapple while doing a handstand.

In the pictures Jeremiah sent, he started out sober but then as the night went on, he grew more and more drunk until his eyes were blurry and his face was flushed. Then he’d send me voice notes moaning about how the party was boring without me there. I always wondered if he meant it. Especially when we were freshmen and attending our first high school parties. I wondered if he meant it when he said he wanted to take shots with me. I wondered if he meant it when he said he wished it was me he was kissing.

The pictures I love most of all are the ones he sent out of the blue. The ones without context. The ones he didn’t send because of a celebration or a random party. The ones he sent because he was doing homework and he thought of me. The ones where he’s wearing warm hoodies and adorable smiles. The ones just for me.

With the back of my hand, I wipe away the few tears which fell while I was looking at the photographs of the boy I’ve been in love with all my life. I wish I could stay in bed and cry away the pain of it. Not just of not being loved by him but of loving him so much that I don’t know how to stop. That I’m willing to keep secrets to protect him even though it’s not right.

Eventually, the ticks of the old alarm clock on my nightstand command that I drag myself out of bed, so I do. I push back the covers and get into my slippers. On the way to the bathroom, I grab my oversized towel and leave my phone on the dresser. I don’t have the heart to sing along to anything today.

Once I’m showered and ready for work, I walk downstairs to find my mother and older sister watching a morning talk show. The kind where women in suits sit together at a round table and discuss politics and what to buy from Sephora this week. I end up strolling in when one of the ladies is halfway through a story about her three cats.

“YN,” my mother calls, and though I’m used to her voice being frigid, I find myself surprised by its airy quality now. Her hand waves me over. “Come sit with us.”

“I…” I glance at the two of them on the sofa. There’s inches of space between them but you know they have a good relationship. There’s sunshine on their faces. They look like they should be sisters. A sinking feeling starts in my stomach. It makes bile rise in my throat. “I need to have… breakfast.”

Esme snorts, and my mother immediately hushes her. She argues, “What? It’s true. Jere always brings her breakfast during her birthday week.” My sister sets her eyes on me. “Is it the same this year? Seafood noodles and a kiwi smoothie?” She makes a face. “I don’t know how you can eat that first thing in the morning.”

I sit at the breakfast table and set my bag on the floor beside me. I don’t know what to say to her. Everything I want to say would start a fight.

My mother turns her head to look at me. Her eyes are soft in a manner I’ve never seen before. “Happy birthday, YN,” she says, and she sounds like she means it. Where Jeremiah thinks birthdays are meant to be celebrated for the entirety of a person’s birth month, my family doesn’t care about such frivolous concepts. My mother least of all.

I’m so surprised by her sweet words that I blurt, “Why?”

The gentle nature of her eyes does not change. If anything, they burn with compassion. “You’re going to be seventeen in a few days,” she explains. “I can’t believe it.” The raw emotion in her words throws me off balance. I’m certain that if I wasn’t already sitting, I’d be on the floor.

“I can,” Esme adds. A smirk hangs on her mouth. “Mom, remember when YN was twelve? She said she would have her own car when she’s seventeen. A sports car.”

“I didn’t say that…” But even as I go to defend myself, I know I’m lying. All I wanted as a kid was my own car. I’d seen my older cousins and the neighbourhood high school kids with fast cars. I wanted to be just like them. I wanted the freedom they had. The luxury of being able to escape their family whenever things got to be too much.

“You did,” Esme laughs, nodding her head. Her hair is pulled into a loose bun and she’s fresh-faced. They both are. I ponder on the fact that I must have missed yet another spa night with my family. “A Porsche, right?”

I glance at my phone. It’s not even 8 AM yet. “I guess so. I don’t remember.” When I look up again, my mother is taking steps towards me. In my chair, I lean back without knowing why.

Her face is void of displeasure. I don’t remember the last time she got close to me for any reason apart from showing me what a disgrace I am.

Calmly, my mother sets a hand on my head. Her eyes stay on mine while her fingers sift through my waves. Tension builds in my shoulders and knees, and I tell myself I should be running, running far, far away, but I just sit still. I’m petrified in stone.

“I’m sorry,” my mother finally professes. The words leave her mouth slowly, not all at once. Almost as though she’s saying them after years of practice. I notice the well of her eyes begin to overflow. “This isn’t what I wanted for you,” she goes on, and then, like a dam breaking loose, tears stream down her face. I’ve seen my mother cry before. Despite her authoritarian ways, she cries at the end of sappy commercials and family movies quite regularly. But she’s never cried like this, like she’s really apologetic. Her fingers find my chin. “I love you more than you know, YN.”

Her proclamation spreads fire through my bloodstream. It’s too much. Too honest. Too cruel. Too sudden.

I push her hand away and stand up. “Stop, just… stop.” I take a step away from her to put distance between us, between the emotions festering in the air as they pour out of my skin. “What are you saying? Why are you saying it? I don’t…” Understand. I don’t get it. What’s happening right now?

My mother’s smile doesn’t disappear, it doesn’t lose its light, and she takes a step closer to me again. “I know,” she starts nodding and swallowing and looking at me with so much woe that it draws cracks in my limbs, “I know I was wrong to you all this time. Everything I thought I was doing right with you… all of it… it was wrong. I’m so sorry–”

“Stop saying you’re sorry!” I cut in with a shout. My cheeks weigh me down and my ears are up in flames. When a teardrop flies out, I realize I’m crying, too. “What… what are we even talking about right now? I–I don’t—” My eyes flash to my sister who isn’t looking at us. I croak out her name. “Esme–”

“YN,” my mother reaches out, trying to grab my arm which I didn’t know was whipping through the space like a tornado. “Please, hold on a second.” Her chest rises and falls at a rapid pace. Her cheeks are stained with moisture, and I feel a bludgeoning distaste for having caused such without knowing it. “Let’s sit down. I want to explain myself. To both of you.” Her nod points between me and my sister.

I don’t want to follow her anywhere, least of all to the sofa, but as I go to deny my mother’s request, her voice springs out like a prayer. “Please…?”

In the living room, Esme keeps her eyes on the ground, like she used to when she was a teenager and got in trouble for sneaking out with her friends. I know the portrayal of guilt all too well. I just never imagined it would be towards me.

“Sit, sit,” my mother requests, and she uses that voice she keeps for guests. Not just any guests, but the uber special ones with connections to big businesses. The ones she takes caution to impress. My mother sits me down between her and my sister. Esme pulls her legs away from me like I’ll burn her. When my mother goes to speak this time, her voice is lathered with remorse. She keeps her body positioned towards us and takes both me and Esme’s hands in hers. “My girls,” she says, and it turns out to be too much for her because she chokes at the end of it. “I put you both through so much, didn’t I?”

We don’t respond, and I feel Esme shift on the sofa. It’s a clear sign that she’s uncomfortable. I wonder if she knew our mother would corner us like this today. If they talked about it. If they planned it. I know they talk about everything during their spa treatments. Things my mother has never talked about with me. And I’ve always been jealous. Jealous of the time my mother gives my sister and not me.

My mother caresses the back of my hand. I’m solid as stone. I feel if I breathe the wrong way, she’ll break me. Every touch reminds me of my childhood; the one stripped away from me; the love taken too soon.

“YN,” she tries, “may I explain myself to you?” I remain silent, and she takes it as a sign to keep going. Her hand travels up my arm and finds my cheek. I sniffle, and it should feel pathetic, but it doesn’t. I’ve wanted her to care for me this way for so long. She takes a deep breath before her next words arrive. “When your sister got pregnant, everything changed. Not just for you and her, but for your father and I, too. His family… your grandparents, your aunts and uncles… they’ve never accepted me. Your father married me against his parents’ wishes, and it’s been a red mark on our family since the beginning. Your grandmother always said I’d never raise you girls well, and when Esme had Anya…” she shakes her head, stopping herself. “It’s not important. What happened, happened, but it doesn’t excuse what I did. Or how I treated you, YN. I thought I failed with Esme so I had to make you perfect.” Her fingers skim the circles under my eyes to catch droplets of tears I can’t seem to stop shedding.

My mother tries smiling again. “But you were already perfect. I couldn’t see that because I was so overwhelmed. I wanted to use you to make your grandparents happy, and when it didn’t work, it made me angry. And I unfairly took that anger out on you.” Her lips wobble, and then she’s crying, too. “I was too hard on you, wasn’t I?”

The deep-seated regret in her eyes is poignant, and heartaching. I love her but I hate her, too. I want to push her away. I want to feel her arms around me again. I want to say, “It’s okay,” but the words are too anxious to come out.

With great hesitation, I bring my mother’s hand into my own. I wrap my palm around her thumb, like I used to as a kid. Anywhere I went, I held her hand like this, even if all we were doing was sitting on the sofa watching Disney Channel. I thought she was my best friend in the whole entire world back then.

I may not always see eye to eye with my mother, but I hate the sight of her crying in front of me now, of her begging for my forgiveness.

Mothers in our culture don’t apologize. That’s what she always said, what she always taught me. Her mother never apologized to her, and neither did the mothers before apologize to their daughters.

Apologies aren’t given because they’re deemed unnecessary. A mother who sacrifices her life for her children is above such mundane appeals to the heart. I grew up hearing this. I grew up understanding it. I grew up knowing that whatever my mother did, it didn’t matter. She is my mother and I have to accept what she throws at me without complaint.

From the time I was born until Esme got pregnant, I saw my big sister do it. I saw her do it all. I saw her bow her head when our mother yelled, when she threw things, when she hit us. It was never enough to make us bleed but it didn’t matter. The damage felt worse. It felt more permanent than a scar. Because the words which accompanied her slaps were so heavy on our young bones.

And still… when she looks at me now, I don’t remember those moments. I can’t remember them. I can’t seem to recall them at all. It’s as if someone reached inside my brain and picked all those nightmares out and threw them out to the sea, never to be found again.

For the first time in ages, I whimper, “Mom…” not out of pain but out of need. Because I need her. Even if I’m still sad, even if I’m still distressed about the years she stole from us. I’m greedy this way. I’m greedy for my mother to look at me, to hold me, to love me as her daughter and not a burden.

My mother places a warm hand on my face. She brings me close to her and I fall, all in. Her chest welcomes me in an embrace I have yearned for birthday after birthday. My father would bring me a cake, my mother would light the candles, and I would close my eyes and wish that my mother could love me again like she used to. Esme would tease me about Jeremiah, but she didn’t know. She already had the gift of our mother’s love. She never had to want it the way I did.

I clutch my mother. I bury my nose in her clothes. I inhale her scent like it’s oxygen. The wistful echoes of her voice saying my name as her hands smooth my hair and back swim around me. I want to bury myself here. I want to live here, I want to exist in this space, for eternity.

“I know, I know,” my mother says, continuing her ministrations, “I’m sorry, YN. I’m so sorry, my child. I love you. I’m sorry.”

As the next few events unfold, it’s not quite like the movies. When Esme throws her arms around me and I cry harder, hard enough for snot to ruin the front of my mother’s shirt. She doesn’t say anything. Nothing about appearances or being ladylike. She just smiles and moves my hair off my forehead just so she can kiss it. And my big sister cries, too, and she tells me she’s sorry.

I breathe slowly and deeply. I don’t tell either of them that I accept their apologies. I don’t know if I have it in me to do so. Not right now at least. But I know I need them. I need their love more than air, more than anything.

The three of us only let go when my phone pings with an incoming text. I shuffle away from them with a tear-splotched face, sniffling pathetically. I check my phone to see Jeremiah’s name on the screen. The message is a picture of a bag from Fishtales and a ginormous smile worn by him.

I swipe under my nose with the back of my hand. “I have to go,” I tell my mother. I fold my lips in. “Can we…?”

“Later,” she replies. Her hands lands on my head as she sleeks my hair down. The unruly bits refuse to listen, which just makes her laugh. The tears in her eyes catch a reflection of the sunlight pouring in through the windows. “You have your father’s hair,” she says, “and his eyes.” There is so much ardency in how she says it that a sob bubbles out of me. Her hands clear it off my face in seconds. “Oh, YN.”

Esme stands up and walks to the breakfast table to retrieve my bag. “Here,” she says. Her fingers ruffle my hair, like she used to do when we were both kids. “Don’t be late. We’ll talk some more when you get back tonight.”

I lick my lips and part them to give way to a “thank you,” but my sister dismisses it with a shake of her head. “Later,” she finishes, and I know she means it. When later comes, we will talk, and we will heal. Maybe. I hope we do. I hope they do, too.

Jeremiah is on the porch when I open the door. He grins at me, big and wide and gorgeous. It takes up his whole face. Before he can say anything, I throw my arms around his neck and hug him tight. I don’t let go for a long time, and he doesn’t make me. He simply rests his hands on my back until we find a reason to let go. The reason being my mother calling his name.

I lift my head to look at her the same as he does. I hold my breath. I wonder what she’ll say to him this time.

“Jeremiah,” my mother starts with, “good morning.”

Jeremiah stands tall, like a soldier. I half expect him to salute her. Stress weighs down his eyes, his mouth, and his cheeks. Suddenly, he appears older, and more frightened. He’s gone all these summers being comfortable around my family, but now he’s the opposite.

Despite my mother’s presence, I shuffle closer to his side and slip my hand into his. He relaxes into my touch. A frog leaps in my belly.

My mother’s mouth stretches to either side with an amused smile. Her gaze drops down to our hands for a fraction of a moment. Then she looks at Jeremiah. “YN is very special to me,” she tells him.

It mortifies me. I want to run away.

My eyes shoot upward. My mother stares at me, nonchalant. “Mom–”

“I know,” Jeremiah nods. He squeezes my hand. “I’ll treat her well.”

“I know you will,” my mother nods. “Have a good day at work, you two.”

I regard her with curiosity as she steps back into the house. When the door shuts, and I don’t see her anymore, I half expect her to look out the window, but she doesn’t. I have little time to register what her non-action means because Jeremiah is spinning me around. All his previous inhibitions seem to blow away with the soft breeze pulled in from the ocean ways down by the beach.

He pulls me in by the waist until I’m up against his chest. His eyes rain down on me in rivulets of adoration. I fight back a blush so he won’t gauge how I feel. “Hey, birthday girl,” he beams. He taps my nose with his. He’s smiling so much that it makes me loopy. His brows knit together to study me. “Have you been crying?”

“No.”

“Hm, then why are your eyes wet?”

I try to pull myself out of his arms but he locks me in. His grip is so tight that it creates a ripple through my heart. “Let go of me, weirdo.”

“Tell me why you were crying first.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Yeah, you were. I know what you look like when you cry.”

“Because you make me cry so much?”

He faux gasps. It’s so dramatic that it draws a giggle from my throat. “Don’t lie like that, Daisy. It’s wrong.” He gives me his trademark smile. I lap it right up with a blush. “But if I did…” he leans in closer, so close that I have to hold my breath, “let me apologize.” He spins me around again so that my back hits the wall. He towers over me. It’s been ages since I’ve compared our heights but right now, it’s all I can think about. He’s so much taller than I am, so much broader and thicker. I don’t know where to look, although he does a good job of helping me keep my eyes on his by the motion of his two fingers under my chin. “I’m sorry.”

My heart skips a beat. “Stop–” I try to push his chest, but it’s solid and he hardly moves an inch. “You’re being dumb. I’ll kick you.”

He smirks, and leans into me again. A hint of his cologne parachutes into my nose. I feel lightheaded. “Yeah?”

Wicked swarms of butterflies, the ones reminiscent of an hour ago, flood my stomach and rush for my chest, suffocating me with their flutters. He has zero idea of the effect he has on me and I hate it. What I hate even more is that I can’t just kiss him to drown it all out–all these feelings and desires and wants which stem from him. Together or apart, I’m forever stuck in a maze of the emotions he brings out of me.

To curb my overflow of ecstasy, I kick him in the shin and run away. He curses out as I hop off the porch and race for the car. I jump into the passenger seat and start unwrapping the food he brought from Fishtales and dig in. I fill my mouth until my cheeks resemble baseballs.

Jeremiah snickers as he gets into the driver’s seat. He turns the ignition and backs out of the driveway with ease. I keep my mouth full for most of the ride so that any time he tries to talk to me, I’m unable to respond. It works for a bit, for almost ten minutes. But then we’re pulling into the country club parking lot twenty minutes early and my noodle cup is left with scraps. I’d eaten it all.

Jeremiah finds a parking spot at the very back of the lot and cuts the ignition. He doesn’t say anything as he reaches into the white Fishtales bag to pull out his own container of food. I watch him do it so slowly, with attentive eyes and a racing heart. His arm is still a bit lanky but the definition of his muscles is visible. His time at the gym these last few years shows off every time he moves his limbs. And it drives me crazy.

I gobble down the last piece of shrimp to dismiss the groan longing to bubble up.

Jeremiah leans his back against his seat and stares out the window. He takes one bite of food, chews, then takes another. I try not to watch him but I’m curious. I want to know what he’s thinking.

Eventually, he tells me, “My dad called today.”

“What…?”

“Yeah. He said he wants me to intern at his bank next summer. Before college.”

I think it over. Jeremiah has never shown interest in his father’s field. Not once. I think he’d like watching paint dry more than crunching numbers at a stuffy office. “And do you want to?”

He turns his head slightly and gives me a slow smile. “What do you think?”

“Tell him you don’t want to then.”

Jeremiah shakes his head and closes his noodle cup. His appetite is gone. “It’s not that easy with my dad. He’s not gonna understand that I don’t wanna work for a bank like him or go to law school or discover a cure for cancer.” He drops his head with a sigh. His shoulders lose their strength, too, and I gravitate towards him like a magnet. When I put a hand on his bicep, he lifts his head again.

“I hate to break it to you, but there’s already a cure for cancer. The government just hides it.” I feel bad for the joke even as I say it. Even though I know how close to home this hits. “We’ll figure it out.”

He picks up my hand and locks our pinkies. “You and me?”

“I’m always on your side, Jere.”

He smiles. “I know.”

. . .

Halfway through the morning, Harry informs me of the debutante dance rehearsal set to take place at 2 PM this afternoon.

He explains it in passing with Steven on his heels. The two of them have been spending a ton of time together. During Steven’s supposed breaks, Harry will pull him aside and send him off someplace else, and he doesn’t even complain. I have known Steven long enough to know this sort of thing should not fly, and yet it does. Steven seems to have no problem working through his breaks.

I catch him by the arm as he’s blending milkshakes for a group of little kids and their mothers. There are four of them and they’re very chatty. I have to come up right beside Steven to be able to talk to him.

“Hey, Steve-O,” I begin, settling my hip against the counter. “What’s up with you and Harry lately?”

Steven gawks, like he cannot believe I just asked him such a question. It makes me giggle. Are they having a secret affair? And if so, I should probably phone the cops. This isn’t Call Me By Your Name. Not on my watch!

“It’s nothing,” Steven answers, but he sort of mumbles it and it cautions me to a secret. “He’s just coaching me, that’s all.”

My brows crinkle. “Coaching you? On what?”

“Stuff.”

“Way to be vague, Conklin.”

Steven sets the prepared vanilla milkshake on the counter. Without being asked, I grab a small bottle of rainbow sprinkles and dash some on top. “Thanks,” he says and slides the milkshake onto the tray filled with three other ones. He walks over to the front counter and hands them to the group. Each mother leaves a five dollar tip. He walks back to hand me one of the paper bills. “For your service.”

I laugh, and shove it into the pocket of his uniform. That’s when I notice a crowd of pistachios lining the hem. My laugh gets swallowed up by a frown. “Steven–”

“I know,” he interjects, shaking his head. The tips of his ears burn scarlett. “I’m dealing with it.”

“Dealing with it… how exactly?”

He rolls his eyes but I’m adamant. I follow him to the sink where he flips on the faucet with a wobbly hand. I switch it right off just as the water drizzles the bottom of the blender. The water sloshes as Steven lets the blender go abruptly. His toned back is stiff with remorse and humiliation. His eyes are scattered and mine are on high-alert.

“Shay’s my friend, Steven–”

“I know,” he breathes, and it comes out sounding like something strangled it. “Shit! I know! Okay! I know!”

I nod. An immense regret fills my lungs. I know what he’s doing is wrong but he’s my friend, too. I feel bad for him without wanting to. Maybe that’s what love is–to be able to see people’s faults and love them anyway. “You can’t have them both,” I remind, using my best ‘motherly’ voice. “It’s not fair.”

He hangs his head in defeat. It speaks volumes more than his words. “I know.”

There is motivation on my tongue which expects me to investigate further, but the incessant buzz, buzz in my shorts pocket alerts me to an incoming call. I squeeze my friend’s shoulder then turn and walk out of the cafe to answer the call.

The caller ID tells me it’s Susannah. I answer it at once as a sinking feeling threatens to bring me down under. I’m quivering so much that I almost drop my phone.

“Oh, YN! Hi, honey!” Susannah chirps inside my ear. She sounds so cheerful that my heart does a big dip. Okay. She’s okay. At least, that’s what it sounds like. “Did I catch you at a bad time?”

“Uh… no. No. I’m good. How are you?”

There’s some shuffling on her end, and the slowed tunes of Billy Joel in the background. Her voice comes out crispy, like she’d been singing. Knowing her, she probably had been. Susannah loves to sing just as much as any girl does.

When I was younger, Susannah would get me to sing with her. There were a lot of songs I didn’t know which she adored. Songs from Elvis and Michael Jackson and Tom Jones. Susannah could understand why I didn’t know them. My family was from a country where English wasn’t the dominant language. The top ten hits were different there then they were in America. Although my parents knew a few chartbusters, they weren’t the best people to talk to about Western music.

That didn’t deter Susannah, though, because she made it her mission to teach me. Those summers, me and her and Belly and Laurel would dance around the house singing Thriller and Jailhouse Rock until I knew the words just as well as they did.

Through the speaker, Susannah tells me, “I’m happy. I’ve been painting.”

I switch hands and bring the phone to my left ear. “Portraits?”

“Only thing I’m good at, so yes.”

“That’s not true, Susannah. You’re good at landscapes, too, and drawing animals. Remember the dog painting you made for Jeremiah when he was in middle school? He loves that.”

“He has it framed in his room,” she agrees with a laugh. “That sweet boy.”

“Not so much sweet as reckless.” I watch with curious eyes as Jeremiah dives after Carter in the pool. He has to wrestle with the kid until he listens and gets out. I guess Jeremiah must have had enough of his antics. The irritation is written clearly on his face.

On the other end of the line, his mother hums. “He’s like his father that way,” she explains. “Adam was always doing the craziest things in college. He thought he could hold the world in his palms.”

“What changed?”

“Adult responsibilities.” Her laugh tickles my insides. “Now, enough of that. Let me tell you why I called. Do you remember what day it is tomorrow?”

Quickly, I check my calendar. We’re a week away from the end of July. Her call makes a lot more sense now. “Ah, it’s… it’s–”

“Don’t tell me you forgot!”

“I didn’t! I promise! It just… it slipped my mind. I’m so sorry, Susannah.”

“I suppose I can forgive it. You are working this year, after all.”

“I’m still sorry. Honest.”

“I know, honey. I don’t mind. As long as I know you’re coming.”

“I am. I definitely am. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

With a great deal of hopefulness, I pray she hears in the sincerity bubbled along my voice. I want her to know how important she is to me and how zealous I am towards tomorrow. In the absence of mind, I may have disremembered it, but I would never be bold enough to not attend. Not when I know what I know. Not when I love Susannah with my whole heart.

We bid goodbye after Susannah tells me she will see me tomorrow.

As soon as I bring the phone away from my ear, a thought occurs to me. A storming, miserable thought which has me clicking on my mother’s contact. The phone rings twice in succession before she answers. My fingers thunder with the effects of an invisible earthquake as I clutch the phone tight against my ear. I want her to hear every inflection of my voice. I want her to know I mean my words.

“I don’t forgive you,” I blare. I bite the end of my tongue as a cry threatens to jump out. “You don’t get to have it that easy.”

The tremor of her voice empties inside my ear. “I-I know–”

Delirious, I spin my head a full 180 degrees. All around me are people–families. Fathers and mothers and children. It’s the height of summer. Hot, blazing weather could never be enough to stop them from enjoying it. I watch a mother braid her daughter’s hair as they rest on pool chairs. The girl is chattering away while her mother’s hands move expertly through her hair, one string over the other.

I gulp down the pain dividing my chest in two. I keep my hair open all the time hoping my mother might someday want to braid it again. My lips quiver as I find the strength to speak again.

“Do you? Do you even know… what you stole from me? Do you expect me to get over it like you didn’t treat me like shit for years?”

Out of all things, I’m most surprised to not hear her call out my swearing. It’s a big rule in our house: no bad words. Not even the little ones. I wonder how much of that matters to her right now. I think about how far I can push her.

My mother seems to bring the phone closer to her mouth. “No, YN. I don’t expect that–”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“Nothing. I don’t want a-anything.”

I struggle with a lock of my hair as I twirl it around my finger. When the lock falls out, I run a hand over my scalp in frustration. “It was just one more year. One more year of it and I never had to see you again. I would have gone to college and left everything behind.”

Her hiccup dismounts me. “You weren’t going to come back…?”

I hesitate. “Mom…”

“No, it’s… it’s fine. Why would you have?”

I chew on my lower lip. “That’s not what I meant. I would have come back for… holidays.”

Though even as I say it, she and I both know I’m lying. I’d sit and cry on New Year’s Eve in my dorm room, but I wouldn’t call her. For years, I’d thought about doing that, fulfilling that exact scenario. A few times, I was selfish enough to envision Jeremiah with me, as if he didn’t have a mother who loved him more than herself.

“Would you have?” The chuckle she releases is an echo in my heart. I break into pieces for her unknowingly. “I wouldn’t have blamed you if you hadn’t.”

“Mom, I just… it’s too much. I need time. I can’t just forgive you as if the last seven years didn’t happen.” I fold my lips in as tears form in the corners of my eyes. “It’s not f-fair.”

“I know, I know,” she says, and she sounds like she’s crying, too. I tighten my grip on the phone, almost like I’m holding her. “I’m so sorry.”

Jeremiah spots me from the edge of the pool. His hair and body are soaked, but he’s smiling. I wave to him in return. I want to go to him and be next to him. I want him to hold me so I can cry. I never feel alone when I know he’s around. When we’re at home even his voice on the phone is enough to comfort my heart in ways people in the flesh never can.

His lips, wet with pool water, form syllables of, you okay? I mouth back, yeah.

I turn my body slightly so he won’t see me. I press the back of my right hand to both my eyes. My skin wipes up the tears messily. Slowly, I breathe in again. I find myself wishing things were different; that they weren’t so hard. In another life, me and my mother never lost our years together. We were close and we loved each other as well as any mother and daughter could.

“I’m still mad at you.”

“I know.”

“I’m mad at Dad, too. And Esme.”

“I know.”

I shut my eyes for a second. The sun pelts down my back. Sweat accumulates on my skin in circles of moisture. I wish I was standing beneath a cold shower. My chest burns with the desire to breathe comfortably. “Do you know… about Susannah?”

My mother stays quiet. That’s how I know she knows. I wonder if Laurel told her. The two of them have never been close, but they talk plenty. I wonder how long she’s known. I wonder why she didn’t tell me. I also wonder why I’m asking. Not that knowing if she knows will change the course of anything at all. It won’t magically heal Susannah. It won’t change the future from becoming what it will.

“Yes, she told me.”

“Susannah did?”

“Yes. Before we came to Cousins this summer, she called me and told me.”

“Why…?”

“Because… she wanted me to let you have all the time you wanted with Jeremiah.” I don’t respond. I wait for her to tell me more, though I’m unsure of how much more exactly my heart can fathom without exploding. “She wanted to see him happy with you for one last summer.”

Using the back of my hand once more, harshly, I press it into my mouth to hold back a sob. I need to get out of here. Out of the pool area. If Jeremiah sees me, I won’t be able to hide from him. I won’t be able to lie anymore.

I jog to the cafeteria then walk past the rows and rows of tables to the back door. When I reach the parking lot, I find a secluded corner by the door and sit down on the pavement. I bring my knees up and place my forehead on them. I open my mouth to speak but nothing but a choked sob falls out.

“Oh, YN,” my mother tries, and though I can’t see her, I can only imagine her face dipped in sorrow. “Please don’t cry. Please–”

“I used to w-wish,” I cut in, “all the time… I used to t-to w-wish Susannah was my mom and not you. She was nice to me. She played games with m-me, and she let me eat what I wanted. However much I wanted. She never made me feel bad.” I let out a bitter laugh. My father always says, ‘good things aren’t meant to last in this world which won’t last forever.’ That’s his explanation for so many of the injustices we see on the news, including the sports losses he felt as if they were his own. Once upon a time, I thought it was just hogwash, like something fathers say to sound dignified. But now I think he’s right. Susannah is the best good thing there is in this world, and she’s going to leave it so soon. “Why couldn’t things stay the same?”

My mother is silent for a long moment. Then she says, “Because people don’t stay the same. Not me nor you nor anyone else. We’re all changing.”

“I don’t want us to change. Not… like that…”

I lift my head to gaze out at the parking lot. Laurel’s car is pulling in. I watch her stop the car a few meters away, but she doesn’t notice me. Her entire body is turned towards Belly in the passenger seat. I watch them talk for a few minutes before Belly opens the door and steps out. Atop her head is another fascinator in the shade of gray. A very expensive-looking fascinator. And she’s wearing a dress which appears as though it came right off the rack at Barney’s. To add to it, her long fingers are wrapped in thin gloves which she uses to wave goodbye to her mother, giving her an air of sophistication which makes me want to go crazy with laughter.

All of us are changing.

My heart rate spikes when, through the phone, my mother tells me, “Even though things and other people change, YN, your father and I… our love for you never will. It’ll always stay exactly the way it was from the moment we knew you existed.”

Her words bleed into my heart. The grip on my phone loosens. I want to go home. I want her to hold me through this. I want to tell her everything. I want her to say that she’ll fix it, like she used to when I was young enough to make mistakes she never punished me for. Back when the mistakes I made could be cleaned with a mop or glued back together.

“YN,” my mother says. Her voice sounds so close, as though she’s right here beside me. “I can’t fix the past. I’m so sorry that I can’t. But the future is still coming. I can try to make that better for us. Will you let me?”

Those few words undo a million tightly wound ropes around my heart. “Okay.”

“Okay.” A pause. “YN?”

“Yes?”

“I love you more than anything. You’re my whole world.”

I hold my phone tightly again. I’m almost certain the brutal grasp creates an indent in my skin. “I-I love you, t-too.”

After the call, I place my head on top of my knees and wane into the silence my mother’s absence leaves behind. I don’t think about what comes next. Partly because I don’t know what to think, and mostly because thinking hurts too much at the current moment. I feel a headache coming on, which I know will convert me into a big baby in the near future.

Ultimately, I know I’ll have to face everyone. My supervisor, my coworkers, my family, and… Jeremiah. In one way or another, he is constantly on my mind. If I see him now, will he be able to discern the myriad of emotions illustrated on my face? Will he know everything I’m afraid to tell him?

The impact of the earlier conversations ventures through me in a blaze of hurt and fire. I dig my face deeper into my skin. I wish I could disappear into nothingness. I wish growing up wasn’t so hard.

Quietly, I manage the strength to rise to my feet. The exhausted weight of my limbs nearly transforms me into a beggar desperate for the solace of solid ground again. I’m scared to walk. I’m terrified of where I’ll end up if I do it.

I take two steps forward. Across the perfectly structured parking lot is a line of cars beginning to populate the area with debutantes. The girls step out of their respected vehicles with giant smiles and fancy outfits you would see in magazines. Soon, ballroom music will drift through the country club. I’ll float on its notes as I deliver fresh towels to the mothers of the girls and pretend I’m not falling apart on the inside wishing it was me.

There is so much on my mind, so many more things worthy of my attention, but still, I find myself thinking back to the deb tea weeks ago, and how humiliated I felt then. I think back to previous summers when I dreamed about being more than I was. More than I am.

All my life, my mother constantly reminded me of the negative effects of comparison. At the same time, she was a hypocrite because she never missed an opportunity to compare me to her friends’ and coworkers’ daughters. Even my cousins, many of whom I had never met, when they gained wealth or posed for stunning photographs at wedding events. I had decided long ago that I may never be as rich nor as beautiful, but sometimes, I wish I was. I wish I could be the kind of perfect my mother can’t fault.

With the sun ahead of me, I wipe away my tears for the third time. I focus on the task at hand. I need to get back to work before Harry texts me and threatens my firing. If I know Paige as well as I think I do after almost two months here, I know she will give me hell if I’m late. And I wouldn’t put it past her to do so in front of all the debutantes.

It takes me a few minutes to get back to the kitchen. There, Celine, my coworker, helps me position my arms so that I can hold two trays of appetizers: one with fried mac ‘n cheese balls and another with sausage rolls. To my left is Ethan, who’s holding a tray of cranberry brie bites and hush puppies. I take one look at his food and just know, I’ll be sneaking a few pieces for myself, and for Jeremiah, too.

I think about texting him as soon as I’m finished serving the debs. He’s probably on a break from pool duty and hanging out with Steven or the other guys. There’s a party tonight at Jumper’s again, but this time at his house. Even though he’s been busted for two parties this summer already, the guy’s hell-bent on throwing as many as he can before he starts college in September. From what I hear, his parents are sending him to some elite school in Washington where they treat you like a high schooler by forcing you to submit your cellphone to the professor before class begins. Jeremiah thinks attending would be the equivalent of joining the military.

Ethan walks ahead of me in the direction of the recreational room. Paige claims the dance is one of the most integral aspects of the ball so for the next two weeks, she has rented out the rec room for the debs to practice in. No one else is around to use it. Not for book clubs nor chess matches.

“Thanks,” I tell Ethan as he holds the door open for me. I slip past him with as much grace as a person can have whilst holding two big trays of appetizers. As soon as I’m inside, I beeline for the empty table in the corner and set the trays down. A sigh of relief escapes me and inwardly, I pat myself on the back for my minimal hard work.

Ethan slides in next and places his tray down, too. I spin around to survey the room. There are a bunch of debs and their dates mingling about.

“Hey, what do you think of all this?” I ask Ethan who’s now occupied with scrolling through his Apple Watch. Last summer, he mentioned he was saving up for one.

Ethan barely glances at the scene. “I dunno’. What’s there to think about?”

“Would you go if a girl asked you?”

“Maybe. Depends on who asks.”

My mouth forms an ‘O.’ I slap his shoulder goodnaturedly. “‘Depends on who asks.’ Please! I saw you with your tongue down Anna’s throat the other day.”

Ethan coughs, and I chuckle. He thought he was being so secretive but we all saw it. He had her pushed up against his car a few days ago in the back of the parking lot. If Steven and Jeremiah hadn’t walked past on purpose, they might have gone at it right then and there. Au naturel.

“That was–that was–”

“Yeah, go on. Tell me what that was.” I’m smirking so hard that I feel like the main male character in a romance novel.

Ethan rolls his eyes and taps on his Apple Watch again. “I have to go–”

“Aw, come on, Ethan! I didn’t know you were such a twerp!”

“Harry’s calling me–”

I reach back and grab two mac ‘n cheese balls. I drop the crispy food onto his palm. “Get some energy, dude.”

Ethan pops both into his mouth at the same time, making me chuckle. I send him off with a wave. He’s fortunate–Harry wants him to take over for Steven at the cafe while he’s busy doing God knows what, whilst I have to stay here amongst finely dressed girls my age, once again feeling out of place in my server uniform.

I know I should feel lucky. Too many of them were either coerced or straight out forced to partake in the event. These days, fewer and fewer girls enjoy debutante activities, like learning the correct way to hold a teacup or dressing up for ballroom dances. I should feel grateful that I don’t have to do any of that. But the truth is, I don’t. I want to be a part of this messy, dressy event. I want to prove to myself, and maybe even my mother, that I can be a girl who’s worthy of being seen.

Nicole waves me over to her. Her curly hair is pulled into a loose bun on the back of her head with long tendrils framing her cheerful face. The smile she pulls out of me simply by saying ‘hello’ is testament to the fact that we have become rather decent friends since Shayla introduced us. I don’t know if we’ll message each other after August, but I hope we do.

“Hey, YN,” Nicole says, greeting me with a short hug. Beside her is Belly who does the same. “The food looks delicious.”

“Compliments to our chef,” I chime. I look at Belly. “Hey, Bells, you remember what day it is tomorrow, right?”

Her brows meet in the middle. “No? Why?”

“It’s baking day with Susannah.”

“Uh… right. I guess I was so busy, I forgot.” She nods. “I’ll be there.”

Nicole asks, “What’s happening tomorrow?”

“We have a tradition with Susannah,” I immediately go to explain. Weirdly, I feel proud of it. Out of everyone, me and Belly are the only ones who get to partake in the day. Not Laurel or Mr. Fisher or even Conrad and Jeremiah. No one but us girls. We’ve never questioned it, never asked Susannah why us and no one else. I half-think it’s because we’ve never really had to think about it. Susannah makes us feel so special that nothing else matters. “We spend a day every summer baking cake and cookies and bread. Then we eat most of it before anyone else gets home.” I chuckle at the last part. When I was fourteen, we made thirty sugary chocolate chip cookies and ate them all. Jeremiah was hurt at first but when I showed him the cookie I saved in my pocket, he lit up like a Christmas tree.

An uneasy, dejected expression crosses Nicole’s features. “Oh… that sounds… nice.” She clears her throat. “Will Conrad be there?”

Her voice is bridled with heartache. I mourn for her. I know what she’s thinking, and it fills me with overwhelming regret. I shouldn’t have brought up the day in front of her like that. “No, um… it’s just me and Belly. Usually.” The last word is the most pathetic attempt of soothing someone I have ever made. I wish I had never opened my mouth to begin with. My happiness doesn’t feel half as good as her sadness hurts.

Nicole nods, and I watch as she stitches a new smile onto her mouth. This one looks faker than the knock-off Gucci bag Esme carried around in high school. “He’s so weird these days. He acts like he’s so into me one day and then flips on me the next. I can’t figure him out.” Her eyes find Belly. “Has he said anything to you about me?” The desperate attempt to understand her almost-boyfriend makes Nicole appear so much smaller even though she’s shorter than us already.

“No, Conrad hasn’t said anything,” Belly replies. She sounds the most awkward I have ever seen her. “He’s a little… disturbed.”

My eyes pop out. There is no way she just said that, but one glance at her and Nicole’s mutually stunned faces is enough evidence of the fact. “Belly–”

“Not disturbed,” she tries to cover up as quickly as a mouse with a scrap of food. “He’s just closed off. That’s how he is sometimes.” It’s a bitter save but a save nonetheless. It might have been worse if she had simply let Nicole believe Conrad truly is disturbed. Knowing him, he would think it’s hilarious if the rumour spread. Though I’m not so sure how he would feel about Belly having started the rumour.

Nicole nods like she understands but it’s exceptionally clear that she is more lost than ever. “Yeah, I guess I still have a lot to learn about him. It’s just hard to do when he doesn’t reply to my texts and blows me off to do whatever.”

The anxiety whisks over to Belly this time. “I wouldn’t–I wouldn’t know.”

In a desperate attempt to save the situation, I dash for the appetizers table.

Food. We need food. Food is the only weapon against bungling, awkward moments of being a human being. Or so Esme claimed when she was pregnant. Back then, she said so much stuff that didn’t make sense.

A group of debs and their escorts are crowded around the table when I get there. After mumbling several ‘excuse me’s’ and ‘I’m just going to slide in real quick’s,’ I am finally able to grab a plate and deposit appetizers on it. I grab a few extra crispy treats for Nicole more than Belly. I have a feeling she will need it.

On my way back to my friends, I bump into Shayla. I know what she’s going to ask before she says it. And still, it’s impossible to conjure up a believable lie for her sake.

For as long as I have known her, Shayla has been poised and graceful. There is a regal air to her existence other girls our age do not possess. A number of times, I had been envious of that. To be sixteen and know exactly what you’re doing and where you’re going is crazy to me. I can hardly think of what I want to do the next day or what I’ll wear. But for my friend, none of these things appeared to come with difficulty. It’s as if, inherently, she just knows. Everything there is to know.

“YN,” she says, and for a split second, I feel like I’m back with Nicole. Both my friends, or really, all three of my friends, are deep-diving into the cesspool of male incompetence, and two of them for the exact same guy. Shayla’s eyes are muddied with plight. “Have you seen Steven today?”

I push my hair behind my ear. I wonder if she notices the jiggle of my plate. I want to say, ‘Oh, he went to take care of something for Harry,’ but who knows if that’s true? I also want to add, ‘I think he might be cheating on you,’ but this is the last place she deserves to hear such a thing. Finally, I go with, “He’s been… around.” It’s a huge cop-out, and I feel awful, but between my shaky limbs and my messy thoughts, I don’t know what else I could have said.

Shayla nods. Her long hair is pulled back in a half up-do and she’s wearing light makeup. The blush across her cheeks is a reflection of her dilemma. “If you see him, could you…” her sentence trails off, and then she’s moving her head left to right in a display of withdrawal. “Never mind. Thanks, anyway.”

The obvious thing to do, especially as a friend, would be to go after her and be her comfort. And I almost do. I turn on my heel, ready to dump my plate in Belly’s hands and go after Shayla, when Conrad walking into the room forces my legs to stay resting in place.

He seems to notice me at the same time I notice him. On the other hand, two other girls have noticed him, too, though only one of them seems to garner his true interest. His eyes almost seem to skip over Nicole as she eagerly waves his way. Behind her, Belly glances away, embarrassed to have done the same.

I’m on a cloud of agitation as I practically stomp over to the older boy. His expression shifts from sweet and smiley to shock and uncertainty. I drag him around the corner so we won’t be seen by the others.

“What the–”

I narrow my eyes on him. I feel an overwhelming desire to punch his face. The last time I felt this way about a guy was when Dylan slapped Anya for crying at the amusement park we went to two years ago. My, I suppose, ex brother-in-law had always had a hot temper, but he wasn’t like Conrad. He and Conrad could never be in the same category. In understanding this, I back down a little but not without packing my comment with a decent punch.

“Susannah being sick doesn’t warrant your shitty behaviour, Conrad.”

His face twists into an equal tizzy: the strain of his jaw, the subtle huff of breath he exhales, and the staunch tensity of his broad shoulders. He is as tall as his brother but his vibrations are not nearly as friendly. Not right now, at least. He looks ready for a fight.

“Don’t talk about my mom.”

“Don’t be a douchebag.”

He turns his gaze to the side, running a hand through his silky brown hair. He looks freshly showered. His eyes seem to hang there for a minute, or rather, what feels like a minute. I have never felt comfortable in silence long enough to be able to understand it.

“Why are you always in my business?”

I can’t help the scoff which leaves my lips. The audacity of him to be asking me this. “Why are you an ass to every girl who–very stupidly–likes you?”

“What does that matter to you?”

“Because those girls happen to be my friends!”

His face scrunches up like he’s going to laugh, and when he does, it surely takes me by surprise. As kids, Conrad never laughed easily. A joke had to be two things to garner a reaction from him: be the funniest joke he has ever heard on top of having flawless execution. Mine is neither.

“Friends? What friends? Since when is Belly your friend? Since when is Nicole?”

My face heats up. “You don’t know what goes on in my life! They’re my friends if I want them to be!”

“Really? Never would have guessed with the way you ignore Belly for Jere all the time.” The venomous weight of his accusation stirs my gut. Does he truly think I ignore Belly for Jere? Does Belly think the same thing? Does everyone? Conrad notices my stricken expression and switches gears. “It doesn’t matter.”

I catch his arm as he attempts to leave. “It does matter. Did Belly say something to you…?”

“No.”

“That sounds like a yes.”

“You really love to make up crap in your head, don’t you?”

Conrad tries to leave again but I keep holding on. The debutantes and their escorts are lining up for a dance. Over Conrad’s shoulder, I notice her walking around a little aimlessly. I guess Nicole found a reason to stop teaching her the dance. I feel so bad for her that I nearly send him out, our altercation be damned. Though, it’s a useless ambition because his brother swoops in to save the day.

A tremulous, lofty rhythm of melancholy leaks a pandemonium in the depths of my heart. It takes less than half a minute for my choleric emotions to metaphorize into a woe unlike any other I have ever felt before. I had believed my morning with my family and my subsequent exchange with my mother nearly an hour ago were unfortunate culminations of years of mental torment. I suppose I did not know how much worse it could get.

This is how I come to learn Conrad is right.

Thinking back, friendship in and outside of Cousins began with and now circles around Jeremiah. Jeremiah Fisher–my bestest, most special friend in the whole entire world.

When we met, I didn’t know, and I don’t think he did either, how much we would come to mean to each other. How a simple afternoon on a moving day; how him chasing me down and calling me Daisy; and then having ice cream together on a sidewalk, would change our lives so significantly. We were just kids. We still are. That’s what people think when they look at us. They don’t know, though. They don’t know that the day we met, I fell in love with him like our souls were meeting–not our bodies. Like we had transcended human time to say hello.

Once I knew Jeremiah, I didn’t want to know anyone else. Not at school and certainly not in Cousins. Ashlyn used to pick fights about my lack of attention towards her. I would tell her she’s wrong, that I loved her just as much as I loved Jeremiah, but it wasn’t true. Not when I said it and certainly not when I tried to convince myself of it.

What I felt for her, feel for her, doesn’t come an atom’s distance to what I feel for Jeremiah.

In the same way, I think it was like that with Belly, too. Whether consciously or subconsciously, I stayed away from her, from her friendship, because I didn’t really want it. I didn’t crave it. I didn’t even need it. Because I had–have–Jeremiah.

On the dance floor, Jeremiah slips in next to Belly with simplified motions which appeal to the eyes of other debutantes whose escorts are not nearly as gracious. Their limbs do not move the same way; their smiles aren’t half as sunny.

Jeremiah twirls her around once until she falls into him. They laugh. Their giggles lift into the stuffy air and dissipate a margin of the rigidity embedded on the shoulders of the students. The waltz is no easy feat. There is so much exhaustion flooding the room. When Jeremiah twirls Belly in just the right way, everyone looks to them for guidance. Even the dance instructor sighs out a breath of relief.

Conrad turns around and meets my shoulders. His stance changes. He wants to lash out, though not at me this time.

“I hate you,” I tell him with the utmost honesty. I may never despise another person as much as I do him. The fervent emotion flows through me like a lethal injection.

His mouth twists. He replies, “He’ll hate you more if you tell him now.” He glances at me, a faint scent of apology wafting off him. Conrad does not apologize. “If anything happens, let it fall on me.”

“Saviour complex?”

He chuckles. Despite what I see happening in front of me, I loosen up a bit as a result of the small sound. “I kind of wanted to be Superman when I was a kid.”

“Bat-Man suits you more.”

“Belly thinks so, too.”

Our eyes float to the dance floor again. Jeremiah has thrown on a suit jacket now. It probably belongs to Toby, Dara’s escort, because it’s two sizes too big for him. Not that he cares. He’s dancing and laughing too much to be embarrassed by the way a jacket fits on his body. It reminds me of all the times as kids when he had popsicle juice on his white shirts and walked around like it didn’t matter.

Belly pats Jeremiah’s chest and grins. He says something which makes her smile even wider. I bite back my jealousy as much as I can, although I don’t feign half as well as Conrad. His face is almost expressionless as he watches them twirl around the room. Jeremiah’s motions are a bit frantic now because he never loved the waltz the way Belly does. But he tries. He tries his best for her.

After another minute passes, Conrad starts to slip away from the room. He digs his keys out of his pocket and swings them around his index finger.

“How long is your shift?”

“Until five.”

He nods. “Are you going to Jumper’s later?”

“Yeah. You?”

“I don’t know. Maybe. Steven might make me.”

I stifle a laugh. “Steven loves parties more than a sane person should.”

“Who says he’s sane?”

This makes us both laugh. When Conrad leaves, half of me wishes I could go with him. Perhaps if I ran away, I would not have to watch my nightmare breed to life in front of me.

Conrad thinks the only reason why Belly is not my close friend is because I have Jeremiah. He thinks I have no space for her. The truth is that, even if I did, I would never give it to her. Not when she already owns Jeremiah’s heart. The heart he will never give to me.

With my tail between my legs and my heart cracked in two, I start to walk away. Later, I will orchestrate an elaborate lie for Paige to explain my absence at her event. I don’t care if it will cost me my job. Part of me hopes it will. Maybe then, I would not have to watch the guy I’m ridiculously in love with smile at a girl I could never be.

As I’m rounding the corner for the stairs, knowing this building as a roof I can spend some time on, a familiar hand catches my wrist. I look back to see Jeremiah behind me.

“Hey,” he says, nonchalant. I know he can’t hear my heart rupturing, but I wish he could. Right now, I wish more than anything he could see directly inside of me. “You okay?”

He’s always asking me if I’m ‘okay.’ Doesn’t he know I’m never okay when he’s with her?

A pathetic scoff bounces out before I can stop it. This is not the first time my emotions have managed to get the better of me, but it is certainly the most pitiful. I don’t want him to look at me. I don’t want him to see what I’m feeling. If rejection is in my future, then let it stay there. I don’t want it now.

It’s funny that this is what goes through my mind despite the many times this summer when Jeremiah and I kissed or got close enough to do so. Maybe if I was crazy enough, I would take him as a hook-up and forget about wanting him as a boyfriend. It’s miserable to want the latter knowing the former is as good as it will ever get.

I set my fingers on his hand and push it off me. I don’t want his skin on me. I might end up fucking everything up and kissing him again. I might do it in front of Belly just to be a real bitch about it.

Coincidentally, bitchiness is the attitude I decide to adopt when answering his question. “Why would you care if I was or if I wasn’t? Shouldn’t you be worried about Belly instead? It’s like she has two left feet.” The instant repentance is fresh on my tongue, though I ignore it. Any other time, I would have bypassed my ego and said ‘I’m sorry,’ but not today. He can be angry about me bitching about his beloved Belly all he wants. I don’t care. There is a fire in my head ready to explode.

Jeremiah falls into her defence rather quickly with a stern cinch of his brows. His curls land in his eyes, and I resist the urge to push them back for him. It’s funny that no matter how furious I am with him, sometimes for things which are not his fault at all, and still want to touch and be close to him as if I am nothing but happy. “She’s actually a pretty good dancer–”

“I’m sure.”

A fire, similar to the one in my mind, burns bright in Jeremiah’s eyes. In haste, he startles me by dragging me around the corner. Here, we are just under the knook of the staircare. Away from others, away from everyone.

His body heat cages me against the cold wall. He leans into me, his breath minty as if he chewed gum recently. It melts me a little. I hate admitting that even to myself. He holds both his arms on either side of my body, pressing his palms flat on the wall’s surface.

Down into my eyes, he pours his violent gaze. I have never known him to look at me with so much sensitivity. Does he love her so much that hearing his best friend say something negative ticks him off to this extent? I know I’m in the wrong here, but some knowledge that he might care for me a little more than her would do wonders for my self-esteem right now.

“What are you so pissed about?”

“I’m not pissed. I’m just making an observation–”

“About Belly’s dancing?”

“About all of it.”

Unless my eyes are deceiving me, he moves in a bit closer. His chest is almost on top of mine. Nothing about this is innocent. He’s like a wild animal protecting its home. But when I look at him, I still see the little boy I grew up with. I think I might always look at him that way. Every memory which matters is tied to him.

“All of… what?”

Snootily, I tilt and nod my head to the side. “Whatever the hell was going on on that dance floor between you and her.” When he doesn’t say anything, I let myself get worse. I pull out the lowest card and play it for satisfaction which never comes because when I say the words, “Belly will never pick you. It’s always going to be Conrad,” Jeremiah’s face does not change. Nothing happens. No huff from his mouth. Not a single twitch of his lips. He looks as unbothered as ever. Maybe the years of knowing this truth have turned him into a phenomenal actor.

Below, Jeremiah parts my legs with the curve of his knee. It may as well be the Parting of the Red Sea because my legs go so willingly as if they are a slave to his silent commandments. His stern eyes remain steady on mine. “You don’t get to be mad.”

“Fuck you–”

His hand grabs the side of my face and turns it. I feel the swift lash of wind against my exposed neck for a mere second before he drops his mouth on it. Virulent, hot breaths of air depart his mouth and scatter their remains on my skin. He scrapes the tops of his teeth along my vein. “You don’t get to be angry,” he asserts, voice so low that I can hardly hear it. There is so much of him on me that my head is lost to its essence. He could be casting a spell on me and I wouldn’t know. “You don’t get to act fucking jealous.”

When I go to answer him with, “I’m n-not j-jealous–” he begins to pepper molten kisses to all the spots wherein his breaths collided madly with my skin.

He chuckles. The airy quality of it rattles my bones. “Yeah, you are.” He presses a long, wet kiss to the distinct curve of my neck. I would accuse him of vampire appropriation if I wasn’t so enamoured.

“I’m not–”

He lets go. Completely pulls me out of the moment only to drown me in him again when he slides a hand over my back and pulls me up against his solid chest. Inside my old Converse, my toes curl so tight that I wonder if they will ever soften again. And they do when he sets the arm from my back upon my waist. He squeezes me there, just enough to drive me wild.

“You’re jealous I danced with her, right?” He brings his other arm up and places his hand in waltz position. He spins me, similarly to how he spun Belly, but his focus is less cheerful this time around. His eyes never leave mine, and it is ferocious. On the dance floor, he was making everyone laugh with his antics. Here, it’s quiet enough to hear our mutual breaths. Inhale. Exhale. He dips me back like we’re in a movie, and I should be embarrassed, but when I come up again, all I see are his sunny, seaside eyes and I feel my heart in my throat.

“I thought you hated the waltz,” I mumble, surprised by the tenor of my own voice. Actually, I’m shocked to have any voice at all. I can still feel the press of his mouth on my neck.

I collide with him again. I seem to do so again and again and again all throughout my life. He replies, “I do. But everything I hate doesn’t seem so bad with you.” Gently, his fingers tuck my hair behind my ear. I lose myself to a shiver despite how warm this building is. It’s summer after all, and yet, the seasons when I’m with him don’t matter. I hardly notice when cold turns to flames because in his presence, I’m always burning up.

I go to respond, but Jeremiah seems to notice something on my face which he does not like. I wish I had a mirror. I wish I could read what has caused his mouth to frown. His thumb finds the bottom of my lip. “Don’t say it.” He shakes his head, utterly disappointed. “I know.”

Know? What do you know?

Again, I attempt to speak but he moves back. When his skin leaves my own, I want to drop into a puddle on the ground. I don’t know how I’m standing upright without him. I want him near me again. Over and over. Even if all I am is just another notch on his belt.

Jeremiah takes a large step back. His footwork does not stagger almost like it knew what was to come next and prepared itself. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs up and down with the force of his firm swallow. Frustration marks his face as he runs a hand through his hair. Then, he walks away, leaving me in his dust.

I try to go after him, out the door and back to the pool area, but it is as though he is a fast track runner. By the time I exert my strength to push open the glass doors, he is gone.

In the wake of his absence, I raise a hand to touch my neck. My shaky fingers find the points where he caressed me, though I may as well have wrapped my whole hand around my neck. He touched me in one place only to set fire to the rest of me.

. . .

Later in the evening, Anya is on her stomach next to me as we draw together on my bed. A few hours ago, I finished work and Jeremiah dropped me off at home with the agreement that we will meet around nine for Jumper’s party. The ride home was short, and quieter than usual. Not due to a lack of sound because there was a lot of that with Jeremiah belting Justin Bieber like his life depended on it. It was quiet because we did not talk. Me and my best friend–two of the loudest, most talkative extroverts you will ever meet–didn’t talk. About anything. It was a first for us.

Anya scribbles out her drawing of a mermaid. It had only been a sketch but I thought it was well-drawn for a kid her age.

“Hey,” I call out, grabbing her pencil as she rips the page with her harsh motions. “What’s wrong?”

Anya pouts. “It’s ugly.”

“No, it’s not. It’s pretty.”

“No, it’s ugly.” Intent upon her opinion, Anya points to my drawing of a tree with a boy in it. It’s supposed to be Jeremiah climbing Gerald but I can’t seem to get his curls right. “Yours is perfect. Mine is ugly!”

A lightbulb goes off inside my head. Easily, I pull Anya into my lap then grab ahold of her drawing. Over her dark brown hair, I tell her, “This is not an ugly drawing, plum. This is a drawing you made, so it’s perfect.” I put hers down to pick up my own. I hold it in front of us the same way. “And this is perfect because I made it. Anything can be perfect if we make it ourselves.”

Anya tilts her head up to look at me. “I wanna draw like you.”

“You can,” I nod. “It just takes lots and lots of practice, so you have to draw everyday, okay?” I lock her pinky with mine. “Promise me you’ll practice?”

“Yeah!”

At eight fifty-six, Jeremiah texts me to say he’s about to drive over. He even ends his text with a period, which is a sign of irritation if I have ever seen him display it.

In turn, his anger makes me angry.

What right does he have to be upset when he’s the one who kissed me out of nowhere? Okay, so technically it wasn’t a kiss, but it was close. When I was in the shower earlier, I had to fight every muscle in my hands just to scrub my neck. I really did not want to do it. I wanted my body to remember what my mind was forcing me to forget.

Esme looks up from her laptop and watches me pace the hallway. Jeremiah is notorious for being late, but it’s nearly nine-thirty now and he hasn’t texted me back yet.

“Just sit down,” she says. “I feel like you’ll fly away if you keep pacing like that.”

“That would be funny. Chirp, chirp.” I form wings with my arms and make a flapping motion.

Esme gives me a smirk, and it reminds me of our childhood–our banter and little inside jokes. I wonder if she remembers them the way I do. “He’s lucky to have you, you know.”

“Who?”

“Who do you think?” Her head nods towards the door. “Jeremiah.”

“He’s not–”

“Isn’t he? Everyone sees it, YN. Hell, Mom saw it from that first summer. It’s why she liked Jeremiah so much all these years. There’s not a lot of guys like him in the world.”

“Like, what? Moody and self-important?”

Esme cackles. The sound delivers itself promptly in my ears and lights up my insides. I love making people laugh. It gives me so much energy. “Trouble in paradise?”

“He’s just… you know…?”

“A guy?”

“Yeah, exactly.”

Esme lifts her fingers off the laptop keyboard. Her eyes glaze over with something unique. “He’s the one, YN. Don’t lose him.”

“He’s not.” I shake my head. “He’s just my best friend. We don’t… see each other… that way.”

“Uh huh. Sure.”

“I’m being serious.”

“I am, too.” Her manicured fingernail prances between her and myself. “I’m your sister, YN. Lying to me doesn’t work.” She leans back in her chair. “We’re okay, right?”

I nod. I lie. I don’t know when exactly we will be okay, but it’s not yet. Not now. Seven years don’t get erased just because someone apologized. “Yeah.”

“That’s also a lie.” Esme turns back to her laptop. “But it’s okay. We’ll get there. Sisters don’t stay mad at each other forever.”

As her comment begins to build a home inside a small corner of my heart, a message from Jeremiah swoops in.

Jeremy: come out.

I throw my phone into my purse and stand up taller. “I’ll be back before midnight.”

“No, you won't,” Esme calls. I can hear the smile in her voice. “But it’s okay. I’ll cover for you.” And it’s just like how it was always supposed to be–me and my big sister against our parents’ rules.

Jeremiah keeps the car idle on the driveway. His head is propped against the seat as if he has been waiting forever for me and not the other way around. He smiles a little sleepily as I hop into the car.

“Hey,” he says, and his eyes fall to my open neck for a second. I’m wearing a black mini dress with an oversized jean jacket but I know that is not what is on his mind. His thoughts are about earlier at the debutante dance practice. I wonder if this is how he is with all the girls he hooks up with. If he looks at them after and remembers what they tasted like. “Are you wearing makeup?”

“Is it a crime?” So you weren’t staring at my neck because you remembered earlier? You’re staring because I might not have blended correctly? “Why are you late?”

He shrugs and starts to pull out of the driveway. “I was playing COD with Steven. We lost track of time.”

“And you didn’t think to text me?”

“Like I said, we lost track of time.”

His response is so agitating that I want to scream. I stay quiet for the sake of my own sanity. These days, it feels like we are less best friends and more two strangers getting to know each other. One day, I look at him and I understand exactly what’s going on, and the next, nothing makes sense.

We start driving in the direction of Jumper’s house. He lives on the edge of Cousins in a big three story house with a massive yard and lots of plants. His mother is a gardener, or so he says.

Halfway to our destination, I pull down my window and set my head on the sill. The lofty summer breeze blows in and pirouettes through my hair in radiance. Overhead, the moon follows us, and I smile at its constant watchful eye.

“I’m sorry,” Jeremiah says, breaking my reverie. He clears his throat. “About earlier. That was dumb of me.”

I pop my head back in to face him. He keeps his eyes trained solely on the road but I notice the tips of his ears are aflame. He is nervous like I have never seen him prior. “What are you talking about?”

“At the club… or the rehearsal whatever. I shouldn’t have cornered you like that.”

“Then why did you?” I stick my right hand inside the pocket of my jacket. It is shaking way too much to avoid questioning. I take a deep breath and find my voice again. “I thought we made a promise.”

“We… we did.”

“Then what was all that?”

He tightens his wrist on the steering wheel. A muscle in his jaw ticks. “It was nothing. I thought you were jealous so I just… whatever.”

“Stop saying whatever and say something which makes sense.” I squeeze my hand into a fist. “I don’t get you.”

“There’s nothing to get. I danced with Belly then I messed around with you. What’s the big deal?”

I messed around with you.

I. Messed. Around. With. You.

The weight of his words buries me under. If I was not sitting down, I would collapse out of pain. “I told you not to treat me like one of your girls, Fisher!” He glances at me as my voice rises. “What the fuck is wrong with you?!”

“I’m sorry, alright? I don’t know what I was thinking–”

“That’s the problem here, isn’t it? You have a brain but you never fucking use it!”

Abruptly, he steps on the break. On the middle of the road. He is lucky there are no cars behind us because otherwise, this would have certainly transpired into an accident.

He turns to glare at me. “So you, all damn summer, get to kiss me whenever you’re drunk or pretending to be drunk or whenever fucking else you feel like it, but the one time I decide to have some fun of my own, you get mad? Are you serious?”

“I’m not a plaything! I’m a person! I’m your best friend!”

“That’s the problem, isn’t it?! We’re friends! We’re friends who’ve kissed too many times for it to be normal!”

“What do you want me to do?! Build a time machine and back just to undo all the times I kissed you?!”

“That sounds great!” His mouth snaps shut and so does mine. Our mixed loudness has thrown the car into chaos. Jeremiah puts it into drive again and we move towards the red light up ahead. “We’re even,” he says when we get there, “you and me.”

I bite back a scoff. “So all that was just a way to get back at me?”

“What? Did you want it to be something else?”

Deep breath.

“No.”

He nods and we are moving again. “Right.”

I reach forward and press ‘play’ on whatever CD is on his music player. Unsurprisingly, Slow Down by Chase Atlantic bleeds in through the speakers. A part of me wants to skip the song but I don’t do it. I just sit back and stare out the window again.

When we get to Jumper’s house, Jeremiah parks his car at an empty spot by the curb where a bunch of girls are smoking weed. The smell makes me hold my breath as we walk past them. Liquor is fine but I can’t stand the stench of cannabis. Last year, Jeremiah was hooked on it for a while. He even had a dealer. But like all fads he sifts through, he got over it pretty fast and went back to only drinking weird alcoholic concoctions.

Am I just a fad, too? Longer than most, maybe, but not without a limit.

Near the front door, someone calls my name. On the porch, I turn around as Billy, one of my coworkers from the club, walks up. Jeremiah, like the flip of a switch, slips his fingers into the pocket of my jean jacket and drags me to his side. I roll my eyes and push him off. Still, he is adamant and grabs the hem of the jacket instead.

“Hey, Billy,” I greet the younger boy. He is the same age as Belly, and super smart. He goes to a special math and science high school in Georgia, and is en route for a scholarship at any ivy league in the country. “How’s it going?”

“Good,” he replies, glancing at the hold Jeremiah has on my jacket. “Hey, man. What’s up?” Jeremiah grunts at him like a caveman. I think Billy will be offended but he does not seem to care much for my friend’s expression at all. He salutes us and says, “Enjoy the party. I’ll catch you guys at the club next week, yeah?”

Once he is gone, I look down at Jeremiah’s fingers then back up at his face. “You can let go now.”

“Do you want me to?”

No.

“Yeah.”

He rolls his eyes and moves away, taking his fingers with him. He mumbles something about needing a drink, which makes me throw out at his back, “I thought you were DD tonight?” He does not answer and walks away with his hands in the pockets of his shorts.

For the next hour, I walk around the party meeting old friends and coworkers and making new friends, too. Everyone seems to have at least one or two drinks in their systems, and it loosens them up enough to spill secrets my sober mind knows I will giggle about later on.

When I’m leaving the second conversation of who sucked who’s dick, Nicole waves me over to her. Around her are a few of the other debutantes, minus Belly, Shayla, and Gigi. Out of all three, Gigi’s absence is the most surprising. Gigi Carlson is the queen of parties. She never misses them, and as much as I don’t want to admit it, other than Jumper, she throws the best ones. Her parents are loaded. A party at her house means everyone leaves with something more expensive than when they came in.

Not wanting to arouse suspicion, I calmly joke, “Is Gigi taking a break from partying today?”

Nicole laughs and goes, “Gig? No way. She’s probably off somewhere with her tongue down someone’s throat.”

From her left, Dara chimes, “Probably Jere. He was flirting with her at the pool today.”

Almost immediately, Nicole shushes her. Her nod blows my way. The other girls grow silent, and an awkward tension surveys the atmosphere. To dissipate it, I banter, “Guys, it’s okay. I don’t own him. We’re just friends.” Even as I say it, however, the girls seem not to trust me and the strangeness continues. I take it as my cue to leave and tell Nicole I will catch up with her later. She has enough grace to let me go without an argument.

Curiosity is a curious thing. Jeremiah hooks up with girls at parties. It is not a new concept. Ever since he learned of his attraction to the opposite sex, Jeremiah has been determined to follow through on every natural male instinct. A few times, we talked about it. The girls he fancied and the girls he kissed. But we never talked about who he lost his virginity to. He never told me and I was too sad to ask.

My footsteps seem to have a mind of their own as they venture to the back of the house. There, I find exactly the people I had subconsciously been searching for in the form of my best friend and his current hook-up. I wonder if they did it in one of the bedrooms or the bathroom. Either way, I do not want to know.

Jeremiah is alone on the makeshift basketball court with a slew of admirers sitting on chairs close by. One of them happens to be Gigi. Gigi with her big, blonde hair and pretty smile and boobs sitting perfectly in a white tube top. I wonder how long it took Jeremiah to get her out of it.

Gigi cheers loudly every time Jeremiah makes a shot. He is not bad at basketball. He plays well-enough for any guy who spends time with his friends outside. But what he is not is Michael Jordan or LeBrown James. His first few shots are decent but when he goes in again to shoot, he misses. Then he makes the next one and Gig just about loses her mind with applause and cheer.

I stand and watch them with my shoulder up against the side of the house. A thick jealousy brews deep inside me. I want to claw Gigi’s eyes out every time she smiles at him, and he smiles back like the attention is exactly what he wants.

Every little bit of it gets on my nerves. So much so that when he misses the next shot, I, very pompously, snort as Gigi and the girls shout out proclamations of, “Oh, Jeremiah, it’s okay!”

A taunt flows out of me like a river. I clap my hands sarcastically. “Yeah, Jere-Bear! You were so good! No one else could have missed such an easy shot.”

WIth that, and one measly glance at his ice-cold face as it twists into a mayhem of fury, I stand to my full height and start walking towards the car.

Fuck this, fuck them, fuck her, and fuck him.

For all I care, Jeremiah can make out with all of those girls at once and fulfil some kind of fantasy while I will go and sit in the car on my phone. I will scroll through TikTok for the rest of the night if it means I don’t have to spend a second longer around them.

The plan, inside my head, had been full-proof: go to the car, open the door, and sit and wait for Jeremiah to get back from his rendezvous. Except, when I get to the car, I find it locked. For obvious reasons. And the only person with the keys has probably already given up basketball for tonsil hockey.

Angrily, and quite pathetically, I jiggle the car handle expecting it to open as if by magic. When it does not and instead, stays locked and unyielding, I curse it out for all it’s worth.

“What’s your problem?”

I don’t have to turn around to know it’s Jeremiah. I would recognize his voice at the end of the world. “I don’t have a problem–” I begin to tell him when he walks closer and flips me around by the waist. Just like this afternoon, he cages me against a solid surface with his broad chest and musky, tantalising scent. My heart speeds up as he squeezes my waist.

His eyes narrow on mine. “This sour attitude bullshit is gonna cost you one of these days, YN.” I know a threat when I hear one but his words sound like one I wish to see to fulfilment.

“I don’t have an attitude.”

“Like fuck you don’t,” he growls. His voice frees the butterflies in my stomach. They swarm and dance and beg for him. He pushes me harder into the car. “Don’t mess with me right now. I’m not in the mood.”

I do not know what comes over me, whether it is his icy gaze or his perfect touch, but the next time I open my mouth, I argue, “Like I am? I had to watch you flirt with Belly and Gigi today!”

“Why does that matter?”

My chest pushes all my breath out. “It doesn’t.”

He squeezes my waist even tighter. I tune everyone else out. Everyone on the grass and everyone in the world. Right now, it is just me and him and this colossal mess we are in. “You won’t just admit it, will you? You’re so fucking stubborn.”

“I’m not stubborn.”

“Yeah, you are, and to be honest,” he pauses to dip his fingers inside his pocket. He appears to click a button which unlocks the car. “I’ve had enough of it.” He grabs me, pulls me away, and throws the door open. “Get in the car.”

“No–”

“Get in the car, YN.” Though his demand comes, and I tell myself I will not listen, something about the emotion behind his eyes causes me to change my mind.

The moment both of us are inside, Jeremiah locks the doors and drives away from the party. We drive and drive for several minutes until we land at the end of an empty street. He shuts the car off and stares straight ahead.

Anxiety tells me I do not want to talk about it but with the tone he used on me mere minutes ago and stiff stature his body is sporting, I know I have to face whatever this is head on. Right now, right here.

Jeremiah runs a hand through his hair, touseling it. The curls are loose, like whatever he is feeling, his hair is feeling it, too. And a whole lot of it.

“We can’t keep doing this to each other,” he finally lets out. He still does not look at me. “We kiss, we fight, we act like exes, and then we go back to being friends. I’m sick of it.”

“What do you want me to–”

“What I want,” he interjects, now finally sparing me his face. I suddenly wish he hadn’t. It is riddled with pain I put there. I know I did. “–is for you to tell me you have feelings for me.”

“That’s not–”

“Cut the bullshit, YN. I’m serious. Tell me the truth.”

“I’m telling you the truth. Whatever truth there is. You’re crazy.”

“Yeah,” he nods, and he really does look like a maniac who has lost his bloody mind. His eyes are big and round and all over the place. “I’m crazy. Crazy about you.”

I inhale sharply. “You’re lying–”

“I’m not a fucking liar. Don’t you dare accuse me of that.”

“I don’t… I…”

Jeremiah leans back against his headrest. He stops looking at me again and stares up at his car ceiling. All that is up there is grey fabric but right now, it must be the most interesting thing in the world because he refuses to look away. “Do you know how long I’ve waited for you to like me? How many times I wished for it? I don’t even believe in God and I was praying for it.” He brings his eyes back to me. “This summer, you finally let me have a chance with you. You kissed me, called me your best friend, only to just take it back like it didn’t matter. Why didn’t it matter, YN? Why was kissing me and leaving me so easy for you?”

His words set me on the edge of tears which I use every bit of power to hold at bay.

I will not cry in front of him. I will not.

“It wasn’t.”

“It was. Why else did you do it then?”

“Because I was…” Scared. Worried. Hopelessly in love to the point where I didn’t want to think about you wanting her when you were with me. “I was stupid.”

“That’s an understatement.”

“Okay.”

He shakes his head. “You just don’t get it.”

“Then explain it to me.”

This seems to hit the right chord with him. Jeremiah leans over and wraps a hand around the back of my head and pulls me closer. Our faces align, our noses almost touch. I feel his breath on my lips, and his eyes everywhere. Even the places he is not looking.

“You’re more than just a friend,” he says, “and more than just another girl. Every time you kissed me this summer, I wanted more. With you.”

The butterflies in my stomach rise in number. I hold my breath, afraid the blissful moment will slip away into time. “Are you…?”

“Yes,” he gently rubs his nose against mine. His eyes are less fiery this time. They are the sea again. The calm, deep-blue ocean of my dreams. “With you, I’m sure about everything.”

He kisses me then. Two lips press to mine. Lips I know. Lips I have felt before both in reality and in my dreams. He kisses me soft and gentle and quiet. He kisses me pure and a little needy. His one kiss makes my head fly to the clouds while his hands keep me on the ground. His hands, which are in my hair and on my neck, and just about everywhere else.

I pull away as he grasps at me. “What about our–our promise?”

He smirks, like he knew what I was going to ask. “I don’t remember any promise.”

“The promise we made. You said I couldn’t kiss you.”

He kisses me again. Full and deep. In my head, I’m somewhere in the water. “Sounds like a stupid promise.”

“It was your idea.”

“I must be pretty stupid then.” He tries to kiss me again but I don’t move. “Come on, Daisy,” he whispers. “Kiss me back, baby.”

That word. That one word. It’s all I need to wrap my arms around his neck and kiss back, just as he asks.

Jeremiah smiles into the kiss. He is so warm and so soft and yet hard in the right places. Touching him, touching him like this, is everything I could ever want. It’s everything I have wanted.

We kiss and kiss until minutes become nothing. Until our breaths are each other’s. He pulls back to tuck my hair behind my ear. His eyes are so sweet, my legs feel like jelly.

“We could have been doing this for years,” he says. “If you hadn’t been so damn stubborn.”

I grin at him lopsidedly. I’m so enamoured by him, I don’t know if my brain can compute anything other than mini red and pink hearts.

“You’ve wanted to kiss me for years?”

He slides a hand into my hair again. “Years and years. Since we were kids.”

“Liar. If you really did, you wouldn’t have lost your first kiss to Turnducken,” I grumble. I know I sound jealous but I can’t help it. I still remember the rumour like it was yesterday. The girl was older than us and followed Jeremiah around like she belonged to him. It would piss me off, and then it hurt so much when his friends joked about how he lost his first kiss to her.

Jeremiah smiles, and kisses the corner of my lip. A little voice inside my head begs for those lips to kiss me everywhere. Really, really soon.

“She wasn’t my first kiss. You were.”

“Stop lying, Fisher,” I raise my head to glare at him. “You told everyone your first kiss was Turnducken in middle school.”

“No,” he shakes his head, curls flying. “Turnducken had a thing for me and told everyone we kissed. I just… didn’t deny it.”

“Why not?”

“I don’t know. Maybe because I was a thirteen year old boy going through puberty and I liked the attention…?”

“You’re still going through puberty.”

He flicks my forehead. “Point is, you were my first kiss and it was—“ he kisses the other corner of my lip. I’m swooning. “—fucking awesome.”

“That’s such an immature way to describe it.”

He grins. “Puberty, remember?” We both laugh.

“Why’d you kiss all those other girls then?”

“I might’ve stupidly thought it would help me get over wanting to kiss you.”

“And it… didn’t?”

“Not in the slightest.”

The next question, the most daring and fearful one, hangs on the tip of my tongue.

Then why did you tell Belly you love her? Why didn’t you say it to me? Do you know what I would do to hear you say you love me?

But I don’t ask.

Because the truth is, I’m scared of knowing. It’s ridiculous of me to assume, too. He could very well be in love with her still and only like me. I’ve always known that if I were a choice, any choice to him at all, I would be the second. Never the first. That place has and always will belong to the girl he knew before me.

So I stay quiet. I don’t say anything. I bury the hurt deep down where it has always lived and I promise myself I won’t touch it again even if his kisses make me wish for things to be different.

We drive home holding hands but we don’t really talk. Not because we have nothing to say this time but because there is too much to say.

He sings a little, sings to me, and I let myself believe it’s real. All of this, all of everything. It’s real. He doesn’t just want to kiss me. He wants to be with me. He wants to love me.

When we get home, Jeremiah keeps kissing me in his car until Esme sees us from the porch. It doesn’t deter him. He just kisses me again, harder this time. Then he calls me Daisy, and tells me he will see me tomorrow.

I kiss him, the last taste bittersweet because tomorrow terrifies me and he doesn’t even know.

#the summer i turned pretty #jeremiah fisher x reader #you and me #jeremiah fisher #tsitp #conrad fisher #belly conklin #fan fiction #tsitp x reader #jenny han #belly x conrad #gavin casalegno #tsitp fanfic #jeremiah fisher x yn #tsitp fic #jeremiah x reader

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sugarcherriess · 2 years ago

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omg you're taking requests!!! im way too obsessed w/ the thought of enemies-to-lovers Sangyeon ESPECIALLY if he's the one that ended up simping over you too much 😵‍💫 smut bcos I won't accept anything else (1/2 jk) congrats on the 1k followers!! YOU DESERVE IT

Thank you so much my darling and I hope you like it😋

Enemies To Lovers with Sangyeon:

cw - smut, whipped sangsang, but he’s also a pain in the ass, Sangyeon likes to be degraded by you, messy quick fuck that scrambles your hole, he has a strength kink.

Unlike my previous statement suggests, Sangyeon is not the only pain in the ass

You are a pain in his ass and his head too

Double kill!!!!

Both of you are COMPETITIVE competitive

You know each other through a mutual friend, lets say Jacob, the angel who just wants you to get along

And because Jacob adores you both

You get invited to the same activities a lot

But the same friend is also the reason you become enemies because???

“I’M THE FAVOURITE”

“NO ITS ME. IM THE FAVOURITE”

“YOU DONT EVEN KNOW JACOB’S FAVOURITE PORN TYPE!”

“YOU DONT KNOW THE SOUND OF HIS RETCHING WHEN HE’S HAD TOO MUCH TO DRINK!!”

Yeah.

You both always try to one up each other

Out drinking at a bar becomes riling each other up over who can down more shots without chasers

Playing basketball turns into pushing each other until your sides are bruised

Even the gym isn’t left alone as you both fight over who has more muscles and can bench press more

Movie nights have you quarrelling over your apparent shit tastes in entertainment

“You text like an ancient relic”

“At least people look forward to seeing ancient relics, you midseason allergy”

He talks a lot of shit for someone who’s becoming more and more impressed by the same competitiveness that used to tick him off before

One day you’re working in the kitchen and he comes in to get some juice or whatever

And you call him a mouthbreather out of nowhere

But instead of coming back with a “That insult went out of fashion in the 1900’s just like your chopping skills,”

He just laughs

Yk that heart, very Sangyeon-like laugh?

Yeah that one

And its so fuckin out if the ordinary that you spin around to face him

“Why are you laughing?”

“Cute,”

And thats the only thing he says

And it irritates the hell out of you

“What do you mean cute you gross piece of shit,”

And he’s just staring at you all starry eyed

“Did you get hit by a bus? I’m sure your last braincell died because you’re looking at me like a dead fish”

Notice how long the insult was??

Its because you were trying to hide how furiously your cheeks heated up at a single word

Cute. Who the fuck does he think he is? He probably meant it as an insult… so he thinks he’s better than me? This huge piece of horseshit!

This entire monologue goes on inside your head as your anger keeps overcoming your fluttery heart and Sangyeon stares at you like he just got an epiphany that yeah you’re the most adorable boiling pot he’s ever seen in his life

He giggles again and you break out of your stupor

“What are you laughing at?” You snap

He would lean against the fridge and you’d take it as a challenge

Striding towards him with purpose

You’d push him flat against the fridge and he lets himself be shoved

“Never call me cute again you fuckface,”

He’s looking at you with heart eyes

You don’t know but he’s been thinking about it hard lately

Thinking about when he started getting less angry at your bitchy attitude

And started following you around like a lovesick puppy provoking you so he can enjoy your furious eyes send daggers his way

Mans has a zero thoughts, head empty kinda moment

Caught up with your forearm pushing his neck into the huge food container machine

He swallows his inhibitions and kisses you

Mouth to mouth

It ends in a flash

But you feel the weight of his lips against yours so well

“What the fuck is wrong with you today how dare you kiss me-“

To the surprise of all the stars in the sky and Sangyeon and you yourself, you cut your own self off

By pulling his collar and kissing him properly

You tug at his lips with your teeth as you pull him to crowd you against the counter

You jump on it yourself

“You’re so useless,”

Sangyeon grinds his chubbed up cock in between your open legs caging him in

Your nails scratch his pelvis as you messily try to get his cock out of his sweats

And he quickly gets your lower half naked

He has no time at the glorious image displayed for his eyes to stare at unfortunately

Because you’re hooking your legs over his arms, scooting over the edge and dragging his cock to your hole

His huge cock

His damn thickness

You make sure trace the outside of your entrance with his massive cock to tease him🫶🏼

And then you shove it in yourself

You try to set the pace too by holding his waist and pulling him to you

But something snaps in him

And he grabs the back of your thighs

Pushing them all the way back to fold you like a pretzel

And sets a brutal pace enough to bruise your insides

His cock shoves roughly into you, uncaring of your quickly bruising skin

His balls would slap so hard against your skin that he would actually consider going slow

But the way you’re panting and groaning into his chest makes him rethink

It wouldn’t be too far off to imagine him sliding you off the counter at one point and bouncing you ok his cock mid air

He likes having you lose control like this

No matter how much he likes getting degraded by you as well

Your orgasm hits you hard and explodes all over his shirt

And he shoves you to the counter, back pressed flat against against it

His hands on your chest keeping you pressed there as he ruts into you like crazy and empties himself on your abdomen.

“I guess this is one way to get along,”

Poor Jacob

But you do get along after that

Because when Sangyeon confessed that he’s started to like you a lot

Your rolling eyes couldn’t do jack shit to hide your smile

Even if you promise yourself you don’t feel the same way

You too start liking his annoying banter a few after-sex cuddling sessions later

#˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥ Adonis Speaks #the boyz imagines #sangyeon smut #Sangyeon scenarios #the boyz smut #Sangyeon hard hours #the boyz scenarios #the boyz hard hours #tbz smut #tbz scenarios #tbz hard hours

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husbandohunter · 4 years ago

Note

You want Vitamin F, then let me supply you one;

Genshin boys transform into cats.

A Furry Predicatment [Cat Genshin Impact x Gn!Reader]

♤♡◇♧☆

Synopsis: Venturing to Springvale the boys inhale the fairy dust that turns people into cats, now they must endure the consequences.

Characters: Diluc, Kaeya, Xiao, Albedo, Zhongli, Childe, Venti

(A/n): My student just sent me a video of her cat. I think thats a sign anon. This was meant to be written. part 2 here :P

=======================

[Diluc]

The grumpy cat (to no one's surprise) who wears the same iconic frown with the same matching gloomy eyes. He's grumpy about this outcome in particular, plus the fact he can't even voice his frustrations except for meowing noises and the endless craving for raw fish. RAW, how despicable.

The maids were looking for Master Diluc except that he was already there...in your arms. Just like his hair, his fur is the fluffiest as if he were a gigantic ball of hilichurl hair. You would nuzzle your face into it because he just feels so warm!

Absolutely will NOT live like a cat. The uncrowned king of Mondstadt refuses to drink water from a bowl. He cannot eat anything unless you feed him with utensils. NO, no he will not shove his mouth into the plate, its uncultured and unsanitary.

He never though taking baths would be so nerve-wracking (cat instincts). It was terrible, choosing between the feeling of water against his body or licking his paws to clean himself (a much more comfortable choice). This kind of lifestyle was miserable.

~xx~

[Kaeya]

The mischievious cat (oh no) cue pink panther music, he's the Tom with Jerry's brains. Unlike Diluc, Kaeya will ultimately fall into his cat instincts and somehow uses it to his advantage.

You bet he's gonna spy on people. At night he would jump upon the rooftops to peek through Goth Grand Hotel's windows (watching closely at the Fatui), until the Darknight Hero comes in. Diluc knows it's Kaeya, it's rather uncanny how he does it, hence the cat runs away immediately.

The type to lick you upon contact. You think this was a quirk that came with the spell but he was actually doing it on purpose. Usually targets the neck because he could get a reaction out of you (ohoho you're tickilish there eh?)

As he is roaming out on the streets, always manages to escape the dogs. Kaeya knows his way around the city like the back of his hand, he enjoys watching them bark endlessly while he licks his paws in a mocking manner. Until one of them hopped up, now things got tricky. Basically Kaeya gets himself to alot of trouble as a cat, the worst part was when a bunch of kids started to join in too.

~xx~

[Xiao]

The fiesty cat (he was always a fiesty cat) who hisses alot. Even his fur stands up like a porcupine when expressing his distastefulness. The way he meows almost sounds like a low growl, bares his fangs as if he were a thirsty vampire. Will scare alot of people away with his behaviour, even dogs.

But damn he would make a pretty cat. Golden eyes, dark green stripes and teal fur, the purple diamond still tattooed between where his eyebrows once were, it didn't take long for Verr Goldet to realize that was Xiao.

And the worst nightmare of all, while Cat Xiao roams around the city at night he happened to attract alot of other stray cats who lived in the streets. They were very attracted to his beauty, cornering him until there was no where to run, that was the only situation where Xiao was scared enough to run away.

His ears are the most sensitive. He can't help but purr whenever you pet between them. Though if anyone were to grab his tail, the outcome would not be very pleasant...

~xx~

[Albedo]

The curious cat (who does not die) that will appear from every corner, silently, mysteriously as if he teleported. Once Lisa found him between the bookshelves of her Library while seeing a pile of books stacked upon the floor. Before she could shoo him out, she realized that the cat was way too smart to be a mere cat and quickly deciphered that it was the Chief Alchemist.

Of course no one else in Mondstadt knew it was Albedo, they thought you just had a very talented pet. Margaret even decided to put him against Prince to see who's cat was the best. It wasn't even a competition. Catbedo could paint a picture just by using his paws.

But Klee found out eventually (she deserved to know). She would open her drawer, take out her bow and stick them upon his fur. It seems that Albedo can never get a break when it was against his little sister, she will find indulging activities to do without consent.

Astounded by the sheer talent your cat possessed, the Knights of Favonius offered to hire your cat to be trained as a Knight Cat because animals are very good at deciphering clues for investigation. Oh how unaware they were.

[Zhongli]

The type of cat for crazy cat ladies. It's the vibe he gives being an old man ranging to a thousand years. Zhongli is very behaving, very considerate and very calm in his cat form. His favourite activity is to snuggle upon your lap while you quietly read a book.

He is indeed a tall black cat. Has incredible and refined posture and if he were to stand up on his hind legs, he can even reach as far as the kitchen counter! Though he does not like the fact that he sheds so much fur, it leaves a huge mess behind him (in which you had to clean up)

Zhongli decided to venture into Liyue's streets and see what it's like to be a cat. He starts communicating with some of them, speaking his cat language (meow meowmewomewo? meeoooow). Needless to say, the cats had no idea what he was saying.

If there were any cat-related dish he eats, it has to be sushi. Raw sashimis if possible. You worry if the choice was even healthy for a cat but you remembered that he was still a god. He'll be fine, right?

[Childe]

The annoying cat (that you must take care of, remember) whos a little too impulsive for his own good. Childe finds the excitement running through him whenever he spots a mouse, a squirrel or even a bird. One moment he's in your arms, the next he just leapt high into the air and running into the streets.

Adventurous as always. You take him to the pond to get some fresh air. Childe is not afraid of water, at all. He plays a game with the fishes, trying to see how much he can catch in one swipe. You had to keep a close eye on him otherwise he'd fall in and drown.

Loves climbing trees but shortly realizes that he can't get down. You tell him to jump but he feels hesitant so you had to climb up and get him. However, now the two of you were stuck and Zhongli had to get you both down one at a time.

Childe has the prettiest blue eyes as a cat. They were big and bright, almost feminine. But you knew that look was the look of upcoming trouble.

[Venti]

Oh God Barbatos.

Venti can't stop sneezing. His own fur is all over the place and he just couldn't catch a break (or a breath). Every second he will hiss-sneeze, they sounded like dying noises.

You had to get him to Lisa as fast as possible otherwise the death of Barbatos would have been caused by his own self.

#genshin impact #diluc x reader #kaeya x reader #xiao x reader #zhongli x reader #albedo x reader #childe x reader #venti x reader #diluc ragnvindr #kaeya alberich #genshin xiao #genshin impact x reader #genshin impact headcanons #genshin #genshin x reader #tartaglia x reader #genshin impact scenarios #nya-writes

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heckinconfusedparade · 2 years ago

Text

The Wachowski’s Go Camping

One day Tom woke up with a brilliant idea: to take the family camping!

Maddie thought this was a great idea! It will bring their family together and teach their alien sons about Earth.

Maddie goes to make reservations on her laptop, and Tom sits down the boys.

“Alright, boys. Your mom and I have made a decision.” Sonic suddenly has a look of concern “you’re not adopting adopting another kid are you?? And PLEASE don’t tell me moms pregnant.” Laugher comes from Tom and Maddie who overheard in the kitchen. “No, no, don’t worry about that, Bud.” Tom reassures “We are going on a trip together as a family. Your mother is currently reserving for us to go on a nice camping trip!”

“Ooh camping!! That’s when you go sleep in the woods, right?” Tails pipes up. “Wait- wait- hold on. I have to sleep in the woods again?? So you’re just going to send me back out there?” Sonic stands up, hoping this ain’t the truth.

Tom puts his hand on his sons shoulder “Camping is so much more than sleeping in the woods. We get to pitch a tent, light a campfire, roast marshmallows and hot dogs, fish, and make memories. You’re not alone anymore, Sonic. We’ll never let you be alone again, whether you like it or not.” Sonic calms down a little. He’s so happy he will never have to be alone again.

“So..this ‘camping’. We are fending for ourselves in the earthly wilderness? I have experience in that. I can finally teach you proper combat.” Knuckles says, crossing his arms. Tom chuckles nervously “I don’t think we’ll be fighting anything.. the most threatening thing there is a skunk.” At the word ‘combat’ Tom immediately thinks of weaponry. He turns to tails “Tails. Buddy. You will NOT be bringing any of your weapons. No guns, gadgets, or gizmos. We are going to go mostly device free this trip.” Tails’ ears droop in disappointment “awe man.. what will I do then? I can’t sit there twiddling my thumbs. Can I at least bring my Miles Electric? I want to scan anything new i find. I want to learn more about earth!" Tom sighs "Fine, you can bring the Miles Electric. No holograms though. Besides scanning, you should do whatever kids your age do nowadays."

Tails recoils a bit "I watched a group of kids at the park play pretend with sticks. Why play pretend when I can make things and bring it to reality? Kids my age cant even tie their own shoes! Also, I don't laugh at potty humour." lil man is offended. Tom gives a thumbs up "point taken."

The camping trip goes as follows:

Tom and Sonic are setting up in the tent. Tom places down his bag "y'know, camping is a Wachowski family tradition. My father once told me that camping is a big part of becoming a man." Sonic raises an eyebrow "lemme guess. Your dad told you in this exact campground, on this exact site, in this exact tent?" "No.. the site is down the road. It got booked before we could take it." Sonic rolls his eyes as his father laughs.

Tails and Knuckles go exploring. Tails makes quite the library of things he scans in the wilderness. They locate the European Fire Bug and upon learning from Maddie that theyre an invasive species, Knuckles swears to destroy every fire bug he sees with his fists to restore the balance of nature.

Swimming in a lake is fun for everyone but Sonic who is perfectly content standing at the shore letting the waves roll over his feet. He likes to watch Tails and Ozzie doggy paddle together. its so wholesome.

They manage to get the hedgehog on a floatie, forgetting he is a pineapple with legs, and he soon goes down with the ship. No more swimming after that.

The boys' favourite activity is definitely marshmallows. They love the sugary gooey goodness!

#sonic 2 #sonic the hedgehog #sonic the hedghog movie #sonic #miles tails prower #movie tails #tails the fox #knuckles the echidna #movie sonic #movie knuckles

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stem-and-chill · 4 years ago

Text

Village Of Shadows & Yearning For Dark Shadows

– A Closer Look

At the end of the game, it is clear that the folktale story “Village of Shadows” told in the very beginning was about Mother Miranda and the Four Lords all along. Even though the characters in the folktale are different in appearance and behaviour, the key features of the legend stay the same.

The girl in the folktale is presumed to be Rose, the four monsters she encounters represent the Four Lords and the Witch is supposed to be Mother Miranda. The mirror in which the girl has been trapped in by the Witch could represent the four flasks Rose’s body has been sealed in.

This gets confirmed by the revealing of the folktale’s ending, where the father shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices his life to save his daughter. The concept artwork also confirms that the family in the folktale is based on the Winters family:

However, there are certain things happening in the folktale that are incompatible with the actual role Rose has in the game’s story.

Rose and Ethan:

The problem is that Rose has a completely passive role in the story, since she is a baby and defenseless. She can’t think for herself and is in need of protection, she is the one that needs to be saved.

But the girl in the folktale is an active character who decides her actions. This is more similar to the active role of Ethan in the game’s story. Ethan meets and fights the Four Lords, in the same order as the girl meets the monsters in the folktale:

1. The Bat Lord = Alcina Dimitrescu

2. The Dark Weaver = Donna Beneviento

3. The Fish King = Salvatore Moreau

4. The Iron Steed = Karl Heisenberg

In the folktale, the Bat Lord, the Dark Weaver and the Fish King all willingly give gifts to the girl, in order to save her or to help her endure her harsh environment. The Iron Steed though, is the only one that does not give a gift to her.

Instead, the girl apparently has become greedy and starts to take things for granted. She takes something from the Iron Steed what she thought was supposed to be another gift for her. This action in turn angers the Iron Steed:

Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.

The creature said nothing as the girl approached

and snatched what she thought was another gift.

The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.

This is also testified by the Witch saying to the girl:

“Gifts we gave, but more you took,” she snarled. “So more, in turn, is due.”

The narrator of the folktale and the Witch claim that the girl has become greedy. In the credit song “Yearning for Dark Shadows”, which is told from the girl’s POV, she confirms this:

Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,

and I grabbed what I thought was mine.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

The repercussion and punishment of the girl’s actions and greediness is to be trapped inside a mirror. This could be taken as a classical lesson that folktales sometimes try to teach children: Do not stray away from your parents. Do not trust strangers. Do not assume that everyone you meet will give you something for free.

Assuming that the active role of the girl represents Ethan, then his interactions with the Lords is in contrast to girl’s interactions with the monsters. The first three Lords did not give Ethan a gift (Rose Jar) willingly, like their counterparts in the folktale do. The only one who gives Ethan a Rose Jar back willingly is Heisenberg (even though not without further work), whose counterpart in the folktale was the only one to not give a gift.

The gift giving of the Lords is reversed in the game’s story. The same goes for their behaviour, as their folktale counterparts seem to be worried about the girl’s condition, while in the actual story neither of them cares about Ethan or Rose.

The girl in the folktale represents on one hand the passive role of Rose’s situation in the game (getting trapped by the Witch in the mirror = getting trapped by Mother Miranda in jars). But on the other hand the girl also represents the active role of Ethan throughout the game’s story (meeting and fighting the Four Lords Lords in the same order; the reversed gift giving situation).

At the end of the folktale, Ethan’s active role of the girl is now given to the father’s role, who shows up to fight the Witch and sacrifices himself:

- But the Witch was strong and Father yelled, “Save our daughter!”

- Even now, the burnt forest is a grim reminder of Father’s sacrifice.

Rose fully takes now over the role of the girl, who has been freed from the mirror (jars). This also means that the active role her father had before is now passed on to her. This is confirmed by the last sentence appearing:

- The father’s story is now done.

In the “Yearning for Dark Shadows” song, new lines are added to the folktale story and to the POV of the girl:

Hello, my tears, because of you, I am who I am.

Hello, sorrow, because of you, I am who I am.

Long, long, ago I did not know who I was.

And in the deepness, I was lost and now...

These lines are fitting for both Rose and Ethan. The girl talks about her journey seen through her own eyes, which could allude to Ethan talking about how he met and fought the Four Lords. The lines of the chorus specifically could be an expression of his emotions, the moment he found out about his true nature (having died and turned into a Molded).

Because Miranda’s discovery of the Megamycete, her studies and experiments in the village are ultimately the source for everything that happened to Ethan during the Baker Family Incident and the reason why he is no longer a normal human.

From Rose’s POV the lines could allude to her feelings about her father and also about the troubles of her own origins, as it is shown in the post-credit scene.

The gifts of the Four Lords:

However, there is an interesting note to make on the gift giving situation of the four monsters in the folktale. It is a big focus there and the turning point of the folktale’s story. The Iron Steed stands out compared to its companions, because it does not give a gift to the girl and is the one to cause her entrapment.

The same goes for Heisenberg’s role in the game’s story. Like the Iron Steed, his role in the game stands out from the other Lords, because he is the only one of them who reaches out to Ethan and honestly wants to team up with him. His backstory and motives are also different to them, since he is the only one to have seen through Miranda’s manipulation and schemes, and wants to be freed of her.

The other Lords are loyal to Miranda, fully believe in her and take actions to get her approval and love. Some time ago, Miranda approached the Four Lords, took them in as their children and infected them with the Cadou. This action is seen by Alcina, Donna and Moreau as a form of gift or recognition.

Alcina believes that she must be Miranda’s favourite child due to her generousness:

“She gave me this castle, obedient daughters, everlasting life, did she not?

Am I not her favorite? Am I not special?” - Alcina Dimitrescu’s Diary

Donna is happy to be able to make her doll come to life, thanks to the Cadou infection and is excited about the effects of the flowers, that she probably received from Miranda first:

“Mistress Donna seems happy. It might be my imagination, but I feel like her doll Angie is even more lively than before. [...] We had a mighty fine conversation.

Something about receiving a gift of power from Mother? [...] I mentioned this to Donna and she seemed thrilled by it.” - Gardener’s Diary

Moreau still utterly believes in Miranda and seems to see her as his actual mother. Even though he is ashamed of his mutated appearance, for which she is the source of, and despite himself noting that Miranda seems to not really care about him. But the thought of her abandoning him still frightens him:

“But if Mother does then... what will happen to me?

I'm not her real child... Would she abandon me?

No! I don't want that!” - Moreau’s Diary

The only one who does not see his powers as a gift is Heisenberg:

“We’re merely a bunch of failed Cadou experiments to her. [...]

What a joke. I’ll never forgive her for what she did to me. [...]

Miranda just didn’t change my body, she took my dignity.” - Heisenberg’s Diary

The four monsters in the folktale, who give a gift to the girl could be a representation of Mother Miranda, handing over the Cadou to the Four Lords and with that their future powers. Each Lord’s unique power is already depicted in the form of the folktale monster. The girl in that moment, could be a stand-in of each one of the Lords, thankfully accepting the gift:

- “So, she clothed herself and smiled with joy.”

- “So, the girl ate and smiled with joy once more.”

Village of Shadows:

Then the Bat Lord appeared! He greeted her warmly and bit his own wing.

“Come, child. Quench your thirst,” he said.

So, she drank the thick, dark blood and smiled with joy.

Yearning for Dark Shadows:

Within the darkness, cold and silent,

A voice called out to me:

“Hello, lost child, come quench your thirst and drink this pint, to bring you joy”.

It’s interesting that the Bat Lord exactly suggests what Alcina has to do, in order to control her mutation and due to her blood disease. She needs to drink blood; the girl in the folktale does the same:

The girl also gets called “child” by the monsters, which is what Mother Miranda calls the Four Lords.

Again, the part that stands out is the role of the Iron Steed aka Heisenberg:

Village of Shadows:

Then an Iron Steed appeared, bearing a beautiful, golden gear.

The creature said nothing as the girl approached,

and snatched what she thought was another gift.

The horse grew angry and summoned the other monsters.

Yearning for Dark Shadows:

Warm and full, I approached an Iron Steed adorned with gold,

and I grabbed what I thought was mine.

Mine, Mine, Mine!

As explained above, the girl has gotten greedy and now assumes something that was not yet given to her, which marks the first step into her entrapment. The growing greediness of the girl could be an allusion to Mother Miranda herself. Just like the girl, she has become greedier and more selfish over time.

In her pursuit, she took in Heisenberg as another one of her children and experimented on him. His anger and hate for her stem from this trauma and is the origin of his antagonizing side towards her. Just as the girl took something from the Iron Steed without asking, and how its anger towards her is the result of her action.

The line about the Iron Steed summoning the other monsters may be interpreted as a hint to Heisenberg’s Soldats that he creates in his factory to fight against Miranda’s lycans.

Ultimately, everything leads to Miranda still not stopping there, but taking away yet another child (Rose), tearing her body apart and sealing her in jars. She abandons an entire village that was dedicated to her, and people who were loyal to her, only to get what she is truly after. She also calls Rose “her daughter” throughout the game, and even at the end she believes that Rose is Eva Reborn.

Conclusion:

The girl and the monsters of the folktale may represent more than just one side of the story. Or they can be a metaphor for more than just one character.

Everyone’s side of the story in the game is assembled in the characters of the folktale. Together they all represent the themes of “family” and “greed”.

I am most certainly overanalyzing things, as I do not believe myself that this much thought was put into the folktale story or the song lyrics.

But who knows...

#Karl Heisenberg #Alcina Dimitrescu #Ethan Winters #Rosemary Winters #resident evil village #resident evil 8 #Donna Beneviento #Salvatore Moreau #resident evil #resident evil meta #Mother Miranda

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cg29fics · 3 years ago

Text

Pick and Mix Collection

A selection of Little Tracy fics for @gordonthegreatesttracy and @psychoseal

All can be found with other short stories in my Pick & Mix Collection on AO3 & FFNet: CreativeGirl29

School Reports. Aged 8.

Scott Tracy:

Scott is a bright young boy, who is extremely popular with all his classmates. He is always first to put himself forward for team challenges and is a natural team leader. However, Scott tends to be impulsive and rush into an activity or challenge, which on occasions as cost him a higher mark. Scott excels in English, Geography and Physical Education but tends to struggle in maths.

John Tracy:

John is a quiet, introspective and intelligent young man, who excels in Science, Maths, English and Information Technology. John as the potential to go far in life and could be moved up a grade if he was to apply himself to what he once referred to as the ‘boring subjects’ and stop correcting myself and my other colleagues when we are trying to teach.

Virgil Tracy:

Virgil is a lovely, thoughtful boy, who always listens in class, speaks when he is spoken to, and on occasions has gone out of his way to support other classmates when they are struggling. Virgil has a gift for art, music and history. He also recently earned top marks when we taught first-aid in his class. However, I would like to bring to your attention Virgil’s tendency to day dream when he is not taking part in one of his favourite subjects.

Gordon Tracy:

Gordon is a conundrum and seems to have two sides to him. On the one side, you have the sweet boy who will always be there for his friends, excels in physical education, especially swimming and did surprisingly well when we did our big baking day. However, the other side of Gordon has a habit of constantly chatting in class, despite being asked to be quiet and as unfortunately become known as the school clown. If Gordon were to apply himself in all his work instead of drawing pictures of himself as a fish, he could gain good marks in all his classes.

Alan Tracy:

Alan is a smart boy who as always got a smile on his face. When he is interested in a subject, or as been caught by an idea he is an absolute pleasure to teach. However, like his brother before him, he tends to chat in class, and on many occasions, has had his portable computer console confiscated when he has been found playing on it, instead of learning. Alan struggles in History but excels in science and maths. I would also like to bring to your attention Alan’s report on ‘Our Heroes.’ All the children in his class decided to write about a celebrity, sports personality or historical figure. Instead, Alan wrote a fantastic and touching report where he named his older brother John as his hero and who he would most like to be like when he grows up.

5 more fics beneath the cut

STAR BOY:

"John you've been told not to run in the house." His father complained, catching his 4-year-old son in his arms.

"I'm not John." John answered with a serious face.

"Oh, you're not?" Jeff remarked, observing the cape John had attempted to make out of his comfort blanket. "Well, I must say, you certainly look like my John!"

"Shush! Daddy." John whispered. No one can know my secret ident…" John paused, thinking about the word he was struggling to say. "Ident…"

Jeff smiled. "Identity."

John grinned. "Yeah, my secret identity."

"So, who are you then?" Jeff inquired curiously.

"I'm Star Boy." John shouted, as he managed to struggle free and started running around in circles.

Jeff let out a chuckle at his son's exuberance. "So, Star Boy. What powers do you have?"

"Fly in space." John cried with joy.

"And what's your current mission Jo… I mean Star Boy?"

John ground himself to a sudden halt. "Find baby Virgie!" He stated with a thoughtful look.

"Virgil." Jeff corrected. "And he's not missing, he's nice and safe in your mummy's tummy."

John stared at his dad in confusion. "But I heard you and mummy say that he was late, and then mummy said if he didn't turn up soon she would…"

"Okay, John." Jeff said cutting John off. He would have to have a word to Lucille about what John had overheard. He knew she would be mortified but John seemed to have exceptional hearing and they both knew that their boy was very bright for his age. Jeff held his arms out for his current youngest son. John happily ran into them, and let himself be pulled up onto his father's lap. "Now, Virgil is still safe in your mummy's tummy, the reason he's late is because your mum has made it so comfortable in there that he doesn't want to leave yet."

"But I want to find him, cause then I'll get to be big brother like Scotty." John frowned.

Jeff pulled John into a warm hug. "And you will be a brilliant big brother just like Scott." He assured him.

As Jeff held John tightly in his arms, a shout from his mother came from in the kitchen, followed by his oldest son running into the room.

"Daddy, Grandma said to tell you mummy's waters broken!" Scott panted.

Jeff pulled himself to his feet, keeping John firmly in one arm, and taking Scott's hand with the other. "Well, my Star Boy." Jeff said, looking at John with pride. "It looks like your mission was successful!"

"It was?" John asked with a puzzled expression.

Jeff beamed as he stood John next to Scott, who automatically took his little brother's hand in his. "Yes, you did!" He added, with a concerned look towards the kitchen as he heard his mother and Lucille call for him once more. "Looks like baby Virgil is on his way!"

Several hours later:

John grinned with joy, as with his mother's help, he held his new baby brother in his arms. "Hey, Virgie." He said softly. "I'm John, your big brother… And my secret is I'm also Star Boy." He whispered. "I helped find you today!" John looked at Virgil who gazed at him with his big eyes. "And my next mission is to be your big brother." He said with a contented sigh.

4 little brothers.

12 year old Scott Tracy stretched out in his bed, enjoying the warmth from is duvet on a cold winters night. Yes, this was his time. His time to relax after a full on day spent with 4 hyper younger brothers. His time to bask in the peace and quiet his room provided…

… THUNDERCLAP … the pouring rain began hammering at his window …

Scott sighed, threw back his blanket and began counting "5, 4, 3, 2, 1…"

… THUNDERCLAP … 4 scared little brothers rushed into his room …

"Come on then, jump in."

… THUNDERCLAP… 4 scared little brothers scurried noisily into the bed.

Pulling the blanket over them all Scott smiled when he felt each of them snuggle up to him. 'Forget the peace and quiet,' he thought to himself. He would prefer to have his 4 brothers any day!

First Day.

“Don’t want too…” Alan whined, clinging desperately onto his father’s trousers.

“But you have to,” Jeff returned, trying to loosen his son’s grip.

“Why?”

“Because…” Jeff paused, then exhaled, he had no answer for his baby. Honestly, he was out of his depth, normally this was Lucille’s job, but she wasn’t here like she had been for his other boys… He glanced at his four sons standing close by, none of them had wanted to miss this moment, none of them wanted Alan to feel like he was missing out on something, even though they knew that he was. After all, it shouldn’t be them doing this, it should be their mother. They’d all had her here for their first day, but Alan wouldn’t… And even though he hadn’t said anything they could see it in his eyes that he knew he was different from all of the other kids who were being dropped off by their moms.

“Because,” Scott said, stepping forwards, “you will get to make some cool new friends.”

“I will?”

“Yes,” John replied, “and you can play with some neat toys.”

“And when I was here,” Gordon added, “they had some awesome toy dolphins, and a submarine…”

Alan scrunched up his tiny nose.

Gordon grinned. “They also had some cars and toy rockets!”

“Wow!” Alan exclaimed.

“You can also draw and paint,” Virgil informed him.

“Without getting told off for using your paints?”

“As long as you share with your classmates,” Virgil said with a big smile, “then you can use whatever you want… And maybe you could bring me a picture back of your favourite toy?”

Alan nodded enthusiastically, then looked up to his dad. “I’m ready to go now daddy!”

Jeff knelt down so his eyes were level with Alan’s. “Have a brilliant day son.”

Alan beamed, loosened his grip, then immediately ran towards his teacher.

Standing, Jeff reached out and brought his four other boys into a warm hold. Knowing that whenever he was out of his depth then his amazing sons would always have his back.

The Beast

It was dark. Only a few rays of sunlight managing to penetrate the lair he had entered. He had been warned on numerous occasions about the beast that inhabited this area and was known to attack when woken, but he had not believed. Yes, he had seen it on many occasions, but all of those times it had been funny, friendly and caring. Surely, just because it was woken early it wouldn't attack. Especially since it was him.

He creeped closer. Currently it was lying on its stomach, eyes were tightly shut, and bizarre noises were emitting from it. Finally, reaching his destination he leant towards it, his hand reaching out, but then a sudden snort from the thing in front of him was released causing him to jump back. Maybe it wasn't best to disturb it? Maybe Gordon was right, and the beast did attack if provoked this early? Although his brother was known to make things up. This probably was just one of his jokes and the usual encounter would be received. He had to be brave and find out the truth. Straightening himself up, he stepped forwards, and placed his hand confidently on the shoulder in front of him…

"Virg…"

No movement, no signs of him waking, so he tried again…

"Virgie?"

This time a groan emitted from his brother, then once again he grew quiet…

"Virgie," he pushed harder on his shoulder, "please wake up."

A yawn, and a pair of bleary eyes opened, grumpy and nothing like the kind-hearted peaceful ones he was used to… He moved backwards… Maybe this was a mistake… But then there eyes met, and a soft gentle smile illuminated the features of his brother.

"Hey Alligator, what's up?"

"Nothing," Alan replied with a little snigger at the nickname.

Virgil regarded the three-year-old in front of him. "Nothing, really?"

"Well, Gordy said you were a beast in the morning, but I didn't believe him, so he said I should come and see for myself."

"Did he indeed?"

Alan nodded his head.

"Well, I'm not a beast."

"Knew it!" Alan cheered happily.

"But," Virgil looked at his clock, "when I am woken this early, I am known to turn into a bear."

Alan gasped in shock.

"And you know what bears do, right?"

Alan scrunched up his little nose and shuck his head…

"Well, they are known to attack."

"Really?"

"Yes, with…" Virgil paused for dramatic effect… "tickles!"

A fit of giggles erupted from Alan when Virgil pounced, flung him over his shoulder, then onto the bed where he began tickling him madly.

Baby Talk

"Hi, I'm Scott, I'm four years old, I love aeroplanes and jumping off the couch. Although mummy and daddy tell me off for that one. My best friend became a big brother to a little sister last year, he's really good at it, and I want to be the same. So, I will always cuddle you, care for you, and when you get bigger I will help you to learn all of the things I found hard. I promise that I will be the best big brother you could ask for…" He leaned in and kissed his mother's tummy, feeling a kick back in response… "Love you too!"

#cg29fics #thunderbirds fanfiction #Little Tracy's #TAG Pick & Mix Collection #Thunderbirds #Thunderbirds Are Go #Thunderbirds Are Go Fanfiction #Thunderfam Delivery #Thunderbirds Fandom

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bamf-jaskier · 4 years ago

Text

Who the Fuck is Philippa Eilhart?

I don’t know if you’ve been following Witcher news lately but Philippa has just been cast!

Of course, many show-only fans might not be familiar with her character and game-only fans might not know how different her story is in the books, so I’m here to give a relatively brief overview of her plot line in the books. Warning: lots of book spoilers ahead as well as the standard graphic violence that is the norm in the books.

With that, Hi! I’m Aaliyah and this is Part 6 of my WTF Series - a crash course in subject from The Witcher books.

The first time we meet Philippa in Blood of Elves, she is an advisor to the King of Redania. Dandelion is brought before The Redanian Secret Service because they wish to know Geralt’s whereabouts.

Excerpt:

Dandilion glanced at the fourth person present at the meeting, who until then had remained silent. Philippa Eilhart must have only recently arrived in Oxenfurt, or was perhaps intending to leave at once, since she wore neither a dress nor her favourite black agate jewellery nor any sharp make-up.

She was wearing a man’s short jacket, leggings and high boots – a “field” outfit as the poet called it. The enchantress’s dark hair, usually loose and worn in a picturesque mess, was brushed smooth and tied back at the nape of her neck.

“Let’s not waste time,” she said, raising her even eyebrows. “Dandilion’s right. We can spare ourselves the rhetoric and slick eloquence which leads nowhere when the matter at hand is so simple and trivial.”

Here are some of Dandelion’s thoughts on Philippa:

Dandilion divided women – including magicians – into very likeable, likeable, unlikeable and very unlikeable. The very likeable reacted to the proposition of being bedded with joyful acquiescence, the likeable with a happy smile. The unlikeable reacted unpredictably. The very unlikeable were counted by the troubadour to be those to whom the very thought of presenting such a proposition made his back go strangely cold and his knees shake.

Philippa Eilhart, although very attractive, was decidedly very unlikeable. Apart from that, Philippa Eilhart was an important figure in the Council of Wizards, and King Vizimir’s trusted court magician.

She was a very talented enchantress. Word had it that she was one of the few to have mastered the art of polymorphy. She looked thirty. In truth she was probably no less than three hundred years old.”

Then, Dandelion leaves to go back to Geralt and Philippa follows him in the form of an owl:

A big grey owl glided down to the sill without a sound. Shani cried out quietly. Geralt reached for his sword.

“Don’t be silly, Philippa,” said Dandilion.

The owl disappeared and Philippa Eilhart appeared in its place, squatting awkwardly. The magician immediately jumped into the room, smoothing down her hair and clothes.

“Good evening,” she said coldly. “Introduce me, Dandilion.”

“Geralt of Rivia. Shani of Medicine. And that owl which so craftily flew in my tracks is no owl. This is Philippa Eilhart from the Council of Wizards, at present in King Vizimir’s service and pride of the Tretogor court. It’s a shame we’ve only got one chair in here.”

Geralt is trying to hunt down a wizard, Rience, who is trying to get Ciri. When Geralt is about to kill Rience, Philippa lets Rience portal away and Geralt, Shani and Dandelion are quite upset:

“Philippa!” shouted Dandilion, still holding the weeping Shani. “Have you gone mad?”

“No,” said the witcher with some effort. “She’s quite sane. And knows perfectly well what she’s doing. She knew all along what she was doing. She took advantage of us. Betrayed us. Deceived—”

“Calm down,” repeated Philippa Eilhart. “You won’t understand and you don’t have to understand. I did what I had to do. And don’t call me a traitor. Because I did this precisely so as not to betray a cause which is greater than you can imagine.

A great and important cause, so important that minor matters have to be sacrificed for it without second thoughts, if faced with such a choice. Geralt, damn it, we’re nattering and you’re standing in a pool of blood. Calm down and let Shani and me take care of you.”

Of course, this is all a part of Philippa’s larger plan to hold a coup and gain political power. Vilgefortz hired Rience and if Geralt had found that out then Vilgefortz would be revealed as a traitor to the Brotherhood and Philippa couldn’t have that happening before her coup.

The next time we see Philippa is in Time of Contempt at the banquet on Thanedd Island. She talks to many of the guests, here is a short conversation between her and Geralt:

“There’s no caviar.’ (Geralt)

‘One moment.’ (Philippa)

She looked around quickly, waved a hand and mumbled a spell. The silver dish in the shape of a leaping fish immediately filled with the roe of the endangered shovelnose sturgeon. The Witcher smiled.

‘Can one eat one’s fill of an illusion?’

‘No. But snobbish tastes can be pleasantly titillated by it. Have a try.’

‘Hmm… Indeed… I’d say it’s tastier than the real thing…’

‘And it’s not at all fattening,’ said the enchantress proudly, squeezing lemon juice over a heaped teaspoon of caviar. ‘May I have another goblet of white wine?’

‘At your service. Philippa?’

‘Yes.’

‘I’m told etiquette precludes the use of spells here. Wouldn’t it be safer, then, to conjure up the illusion of the taste of caviar alone, without the caviar? Just the sensation? You’d surely be able to…’

‘Of course I would,’ said Philippa Eilhart, looking at him through her crystal goblet. ‘The construction of such a spell is easy as pie. But were you only to have the sensation of taste, you’d lose the pleasure the activity offers. The process, the accompanying ritual movements, the gestures, the conversation and eye contact which accompanies the process… I’ll entertain you with a witty comparison. Would you like that?’

‘Please do. I’m looking forward to it.’

‘I’d also be capable of conjuring the sensation of an orgasm.”

She is quite ruthless and cutting and while Geralt remains upset about Rience, Philippa, in true sorceress fashion, has already moved on. As well, she is explicitly queer in the books which I talk about here

Later, Geralt gets up in the night to go to the bathroom and stumbles upon Philippa attempting a coup. Triss temporarily blinds Geralt and Philippa and Tissaia exchange tense words. Philippa sends Geralt away with Dijkstra, offering him mercy despite him finding out about her coup.

However, Geralt gets away from Dijkstra and goes back to Thanedd where a full-battle is going on.

Turns out, Tissaia and Philippa’s fight cumulated in Tissaia releasing Vilgefortz and lowering the barrier as seen in this passage:

“They’re still fighting,’ said Carduin, grinding his teeth. ‘It’s hot down there, one spell after another…’

‘Spells? In Garstang? But there’s an anti-magic aura there!’

‘It was Tissaia’s doing. She suddenly decided whose side she was on. She took down the blockade, removed the aura and neutralised the dimeritium. Then everyone went for each other! Vilgefortz and Terranova on one side, Philippa and Sabrina on the other… The columns cracked and the vaulting collapsed… And then Francesca opened the entrance to the cellars, and those elven devils suddenly leapt out… We told them that we were neutral, but Vilgefortz only laughed.”

Geralt then runs in Keira Metz who was thrown out a window and she explains that after Vilgefortz was released the Scoia’tael (Elven and Non-human fighters who are allied with Nilfgaard sort of) attacked:

“Sorry. How did the Scoia’tael get here?”

“They were hidden in the cellars. Thanedd is as hollow as a nutshell and there’s a huge cavern under it; you could sail a ship in if you knew how. Someone must have told them the way—Ouuuch! Be careful! Stop jolting me!’

‘Sorry. So the Squirrels came here by sea? When?’

‘God knows when. It might have been yesterday, or a week ago. We were preparing to strike at Vilgefortz, and Vilgefortz at us. Vilgefortz, Francesca, Terranova and Fercart… They conned us good and proper. Philippa thought they were planning a slow seizure of power in the Chapter, and to put pressure on the kings… But they were planning to finish us off during the Conclave… Geralt, it’s too painful… It’s my leg… Put me down for a second. Ouuuch!”

Later, there is a flashback to Philippa and Tissaia’s fight:

‘Enough!’ Philippa slammed her fist down on the table. ‘I shall satisfy your curiosity, Carduin. You ask who is preparing a war? Nilfgaard. They intend to attack and destroy us. But Emhyr var Emreis remembers Sodden Hill and has decided to protect himself by removing the mages from the game first. With this in mind, he made contact with Vilgefortz of Roggeveen. He bought him with promises of power and honour.

Yes, Tissaia. Vilgefortz, hero of Sodden, sold us out to become the governor and ruler of all the conquered territories of the north. Vilgefortz, helped by Terranova and Fercart, shall rule the provinces which will be established in place of the conquered kingdoms. It is he who will wield the Nilfgaardian scourge over the people who inhabit those lands and will begin toiling as the Empire’s slaves.

And Francesca Findabair, Enid an Gleanna, will become queen of the land of the free elves. It will, of course, be a Nilfgaardian protectorate, but it will suffice for the elves so long as Emperor Emhyr will give them a free hand to murder humans. The elves desire nothing so much as to murder Dh’oine.”

Tissaia states, “That is a serious accusation. Which means the proof will also have to be as weighty. But before you throw your proof onto the scale, Philippa Eilhart, be aware of my stance. Proof may be fabricated. Actions and their motives may be misinterpreted.

But nothing can change existing facts. You have broken the unity and solidarity of the Brotherhood, Philippa Eilhart. You have handcuffed members of the Chapter like criminals. So do not dare to offer me a position in the new Chapter which your gang of traitors–who have sold out to the kings, rather than to Nilfgaaard–intend to create.

We are separated by death and blood. The death of Hen Gedymdeith. And the blood of Lydia van Bredevoort. You spilled that blood with contempt. You were my best pupil, Philippa Eilhart. I was always proud of you. But now I have nothing but contempt for you.”

I won’t go into detail for the sake of brevity, but Philippa ends up escaping Thanedd unharmed after her failed coup and we don’t see her again until Baptism of Fire when she is forming The Lodge.

Here is an excerpt of her pitch speech about The Lodge to the other mages:

Philippa Eilhart stood up, her dress rustling.

‘Distinguished sisters,’ she said. ‘Our situation is grave. Magic is under threat. The tragic events on Thanedd, to which my thoughts return with regret and reluctance, proved that the effects of hundreds of years of apparently peaceful cooperation could be laid waste in an instant, as self-interest and inflated ambitions came to the fore.

We now have discord, disorder, mutual hostility and mistrust. Events are beginning to get out of control. In order to regain control, in order to prevent a cataclysm happening, the helm of this storm-tossed ship must be grasped by strong hands.

Mistress Laux-Antille, Mistress Merigold, Mistress Metz and I have discussed the matter and we are in agreement. It is not enough to re-establish the Chapter and the Council, which were destroyed on Thanedd. In any case, there is no one left to rebuild the two institutions, no guarantee that should they be rebuilt they would not be infected with the disease that destroyed the previous ones.

An utterly new, secret organisation should be founded which will exclusively serve matters of magic. Which will do everything to prevent a cataclysm. For if magic were to perish, our world would perish with it.

Just as happened many centuries ago, the world without magic and the progress it brings with it will be plunged into chaos and darkness; will drown in blood and barbarity. We invite the ladies present here to take part in our initiative: to actively participate in the work proposed by this secret assembly. We took the decision to summon you here in order to hear your opinions on this matter. With this, I have finished.’

Then, later on in Baptism of Fire at the first official meeting of the Lodge Philippa discusses how she wants to make Ciri Queen of the North.

“Who, then, is to be this Queen of the North?’

‘A girl from a royal family,’ Philippa calmly replied, ‘in whose veins flows royal blood, the blood of several great dynasties. Very young and capable of producing offspring. A girl with exceptional magical and prophetic abilities, a carrier of the Elder Blood as the prophecies have heralded. A girl who will play her role with great aplomb without direction, prompt, sycophants or grey eminences, because that is what her destiny demands.

A girl, whose true abilities are and will be known only to us: Cirilla, daughter of Princess Pavetta of Cintra, the granddaughter of the Queen Calanthe called the Lioness of Cintra. The Elder Blood, the Icy Flame of the North, the Destroyer and Restorer, whose coming was prophesied centuries ago. Ciri of Cintra, the Queen of the North. And her blood, from which will be born the Queen of the World.”

After this, Yennefer, who was brought to the Lodge agains her will (although she is a member) escapes with Fringilla’s help in order to find Ciri and Philippa is furious.

The next time we see Philippa is in The Tower of the Swallows and it is when Yennefer is hunting down Vilgefortz and contacts Philippa for help:

Philippa stared at her from under lowered eyelids. “If you believe,” she said finally, “that you've won peace, time, or security with this declaration, then you've miscalculated. Make no mistake about it, Yennefer.

When you fled from Montecalvo, you made your decision. You chose to stand on a different side of the barricade. If you are not with the Lodge, you are against the Lodge. Now you're trying to forestall us from finding Ciri, and the motives that guide you are opposed to ours.

You act against us. You do not want to allow us to use Ciri for our political purposes. You shouldknow that we will also do everything in our power to make sure that you cannot use the girl for your sentimental purposes.”

“So, it’s war?”

“Competition.” Philippa smiled toxically. “Competition only, Yennefer.”

“Decent and honorable?”

“You must be joking.”

“Obviously. Though on at least one specific issue, I would like to have an honest and genuine conversation. And, incidentally, it involves a favor to me.”

“Speak.”

“Over the next few days, maybe even tomorrow, events will occur whose consequences I cannot foresee. It may happen that our competition and rivalry suddenly has no meaning. For the simple reason that one of the competitors will not be there anymore.”

Philippa Eilhart narrowed her blue-shaded eyes. “I understand.”

“Ensure that I posthumously gain back my reputation and good name. I will no longer be held for a traitor or an accomplice of Vilgefortz. I ask this of the Lodge. I ask this of you, personally.”

Philippa was silent for a moment.“I deny your request,” she said finally. “I'm sorry, but your exoneration is not in the interest of the Lodge. If you die, you die a traitor. You'll be a traitor and criminal to Ciri, because then it will be easier to manipulate the girl.”

“Before you do something that could be fatal,” Triss said suddenly, “leave something behind for us…”

“A will?” Yennefer said.

“Something that allows us to… continue. To find Ciri. Because we are primarily concerned for her health! For her life! Yennefer, Dijkstra has found some traces of… some traces of certain activities have been found. If Vilgefortz does have Ciri, then the girl faces a horrible death.”

“Be quiet, Triss,” Philippa Eilhart hissed sharply. “We are not trading or bargaining.”

“I will leave you the information,” Yennefer said slowly. “I'll leave you the information on what I've found and what I plan. I’ll leave a trail you can follow to her. But not in vain. If you will not facilitate my exoneration in the eyes of the world, then to hell with you and with the world. But at least grant me exoneration in the eyes of the witcher.”

“No,” Philippa denied the request almost instantly. “That is also not in the interest of the Lodge. You will also remain a traitor and a mercenary sorceress to your witcher. It is not in the interest of the Lodge for him to furiously attempt to avenge you. If he despises you, he will not attempt to take revenge. By the way, he's probably already dead or will die any day now.”

“The information,” Yennefer said dully, “for his life. Save him, Philippa.”

“No, Yennefer.”

“Because it's not in the interest of the Lodge.” A purple fire kindled in the sorceress’ eyes. “Did you hear that Triss? There, you have your Lodge. You see their true colors, their true interests. And what do you think of them? You were a mentor to the girl, almost – as you put it – a big sister. And Geralt…”

“Do not attack Triss’ relationships, Yennefer.” Philippa retaliated with her own fire in her eyes. “We will find and rescue the girl without your help. And if you succeed, that's fine, a thousand thanks, because you will have saved us the trouble. You tear the girl out of the hands of Vilgefortz and we will be happy. And Geralt? Who cares about Geralt?”

“Did you hear that, Triss?”

“Forgive me,” said Triss Merigold dully. “Forgive me, Yennefer.”

“Oh, no, Triss. Never.”

I know this is a long scene, but it’s so important and isn’t one I felt right in slicing up. This establishes Triss’ true betrayal of Yennefer. Just prior to this, it is practically stated that Triss and Philippa slept together and despite Triss’ love for Yennefer her loyalty to Philippa is stronger in this moment which makes this hurt so much more. Philippa is also so cruel to Yennefer in this scene, denying both Geralt and Ciri the truth of her motivations as to better manipulate them. It really showcases how her lust for power overrides her empathy.

The final time we see Philippa is in Lady of the Lake when Ciri is brought before the Lodge. Here, Philippa describes what their plans are for Ciri:

“You are coming with me,” Lady Owl (Philippa) said, breaking the heavy silence, “and Sile to Kovir, to Pont Vanis, the summer capital of the kingdom. As you are no longer Cirilla of Cintra, during the course of the audience you will be presented as an adept of magic, being protected by us.

At that audience you will meet a very wise king, Esterad Thyssen. You will meet his wife, the Queen Zuleyka, a person of singular nobility and goodness. You will also meet their son and heir, Prince Tancred.”

Ciri was beginning to understand and rolled her eyes. Lady Owl did not miss that detail.

“Yes,” she confirmed. “First of all you must impress prince Tancred. Because you are going to become his lover and give him a child.”

“If you were still Cirilla of Cintra,” Philippa continued after a long pause, “still the daughter of Pavetta and granddaughter of Calanthe, you would become Prince Tancred’s legal wife. You’d be the princess and later the queen of Poviss and Kovir. Unfortunately, and I tell you with genuine regret, fate has deprived you of everything. Including your future. You will only be his mistress. His favourite.”

Then Later:

“Your’s and Tancred’s child,” Philippa watched here with dark eyes, “will ensure the future and status of this Lodge. Take note that it will be a great thing. You will be a part of it, because right after the birth you will sit with us at this table. We will teach you. You are one of us, even if you do not want to admit it yet.”

“On the island of Thanedd,” Ciri overcame the tightness in her throat, “you said I was a mindless tool, even a monster, Lady Owl, and now you say that I am one of you.”

Then, the Lodge asks Ciri what her last name will be, Philippa and others offering theirs but Ciri declines in favor of choosing Yennefer’s:

“Thank you, Lady Philippa,” Ciri said after a few moments, squeezing the head of the sphinxes in her hands. “I also feel honoured with the proposal to take the surname de Tancarville. However, it seems to me that my new last name is the only thing that I can choose for myself, I thank the two mistresses. But I want to be called Cirilla of Vengerberg, daughter of Yennefer.”

Ciri requests to go and see Geralt and The Lodge votes on this and Philippa is the deciding vote. At first, she is hesitant but then Ciri shows her a vision and Philippa says this:

“This Lodge,” Philippa said at last in a firm voice, “is to decide the fate of the world. So, this Lodge must reflect the world. Here, equilibrium and wisdom does not always mean cold and selfish, calculation and vileness, and sentimentality is not always naive. On one hand, iron discipline and on the other responsibility, resistance to violence, gentleness and trust. Cool reason… And heart.”

“I,” she said into the silence that reigned after her introduction, “cast the last vote. I will take into account one more thing. An element that without balancing anything, balances everything.”

“Following her gaze, everyone looked at the wall, to a mosaic of many multicolour tiles depicting the snake Uroboros, biting it’s own tail.

“That thing,” she continued, staring with her dark eyes at Ciri, “is destiny in which I, Philippa Eilhart have only begun to believe in recently, which I have only recently begun to understand. Destiny is not the way to providence or comfortable fatalism. Destiny is hope. I am full of hope that it will become what we want to happen, so I give my vote to Ciri - Child of Destiny, Child of Hope”

In the pillared hall of Montecalvo the was silence for a long time. From outside of the window came the hunting cry from a sea eagle.

“Lady Yennefer,” Ciri whispered. “It means…”

“Come, my daughter,” Yennefer whispered back. “Geralt is waiting for is and it is a long road ahead.”

This is the last time we see Philippa, but based on what we hear at other parts of Lady of Lake, we know she does not have a happy ending. After this, the Witch Hunt begin, a period of time when the Clergy hunted and murdered sorceresses and destroyed their pictures and images. The Witcher Hunts themselves could be an entirely separate post there is so much there.

Many sorceresses, Philippa included as later considered Martyrs but she was killed viciously by the clergy as described in this passage from Lady of the Lake:

…As well as many of the other faithful, St. Philippa was also besmirched with betraying the Kingdom, inducing riots and plotting a coup. Willemer, a heretic and sectarian, unlawfully appointed himself the title of archpriest, and ordered St. Philippa to be thrown into a dark dungeon, and to plague her with cold and hunger, until she confessed to her sins of which she was accused and repented.

Also various instruments of torture were used to try and break her spirit. But St. Philippa with disdain, spit in his face and accused him of sodomy.

The heretic had her disrobed and whipped her with barbed wire and placed sharp splinters under her nails. While unceasingly preaching about his faith and denouncing the Goddess. But St. Philippa laughed at him and recommended to him to heal his sick mind.”

“Willemer then gave the order to have her taken to the rack and stretched, while tearing her body with sharp hooks and burning her with candles. Although thus tormented, St. Philippa showed no weakness in body and indeed her resistance and endurance seemed almost superhuman.

The executioner’s arms went limp and with fear they retreated from her. Then the filthy heretic, Willemer, began to threaten them and told them to continue the torment. They burned St. Philippa with red-hot irons, pulled her limbs out of their joints and pulled at her breasts with blacksmith tongs. And although she passed away from this torment, she confessed nothing.

The shameless heretic Willemer, we read in the books of our holy fathers, later suffered for this punishment and it was that lice and worms began to eat him alive, his entrails rotted away and he died miserably.

His carcass carried with it a foul stench and nobody wanted to bury him, and so he was dropped in a swamp.

For the suffering and death of St. Philippa the eternal memory of a martyr’s crown rightfully belongs. Let us give the Great Mother Goddess praise for her lessons and teachings. Amen.

The Life of St. Philippa, Martyr of Mons Calvus

The Book of Martyrs Compiled in the Breviary of Tretogor, For the

Contemplation of the Holy Fathers and Mothers.”

Needless to say, Philippa’s hunger for power and The Lodge end in ruin. There are very few happy endings in The Witcher and this is just another example.

So that’s my overview on Philippa! I had to cut some scenes and moments in the hope of keeping it short, but I hope it was still an enjoyable read. If you want another character/topic WTF post leave something in my inbox and I will get to it when I can.

#I tried to keep it as short as possible while still doing justice to the character and this is still so fucking long #Philippa is so goddamn ruthless #I love how people say that Yennefer's character int he show is like Philippa's because like...damn #Yennefer in the show is empathic and kind and sometimes too trusting and it just hurts #I am interested to see how they bring in Philippa considering how she wasn't in S1 #perhaps she was a student of Tissaia's from before Yennefer's time that she didn't want to talk about #or perhaps she was a student and Tissaia just didn't want to say anything #either way she's a very important character to the plot of the books #Philippa eilhart #the witcher #meta #The Witcher books #the tower of the swallow #lady of the lake #time of contempt #baptism of fire #blood of elves #the lodge #myposts #wtf series

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symphonicmetal101 · 4 years ago

Text

Brother Bonding(?) HCs

Lucifer

Mammon

He and Mammon have a bit of a complicated relationship, in that Mammon is always getting into trouble, and Lucifer always has to get him out of it, and then takes it upon himself to scold him for getting them into trouble. However, there are times when Lucifer helps Mammon pull pranks on the other brothers, under the condition that Mammon doesn't tell anyone, otherwise he loses Goldie permanently. The pranks are well executed, and often the blame is but on Belphie or Satan instead.

Levi

We know that Lucifer is responsible for Levi's obsession with Ruri-chan and anime as a whole. Lucifer is often concerned for Levi, as he is familiar with self-doubt, and sympathizes with Levi's constant stream of it. He tries to set aside at least one day a month where he will rewatch old anime with Levi, listen to his spiels, and leave him an allowance to use however he would like. If Lucifer is too busy with paperwork, he'll invite Levi to his office and ask him about the latest games and mangas, even if he isn't listening the entire time.

Satan

Ah, this is a little more complicated. Truthfully, they don't spend much time together. However, if Satan happens to mention a book he wanted, even offhandedly, Lucifer will make sure it ends up in Satan's possession somehow, even if it's through MC. Satan notices this, and as much as he wants to hate Lucifer, those days he makes an extra effort to try and not tease or humiliate Lucifer. It's almost like a silent truce.

Asmo

Yeah, yeah, Asmo paints everyone's nails. But Asmo also knows massage and aromatherapy. When Lucifer is particularly stressed, he'll take it upon himself to try and help him relax. If he has the patience, Lucifer will listen to Asmo explain the science between different scents and how they help the mind and body. Sometimes Asmo isn't sure if Lucifer is actually listens, but within three days of their chats, he finds a small package on his bed with different oils, and a note that says, "I look forward to learning what these oils can do." - Lucifer

Beel

Beel likes to cook, bake, etc. Because Lucifer is always on the go, Beel tries to come up with meals that are easy to walk around with. Lucifer is always the one Beel asks to taste test, (if Beel manages to resist eating the entire thing himself), because Lucifer will give him an honest opinion. It's rare that Lucifer has anything but praise for Beel, but on the off chance he doesn't, he'll walk him through a couple of ideas he could do to improve it, and Beel will deliver.

Note: this is also how Beel found out that Lucifer has the lowest spice tolerance out of the brothers, and he is not to mention it to anyone.

Belphie

Another relationship that serves to be more complex. Lucifer often finds himself wanting to reconcile with Belphie, almost to restore the kind of relationship they had when they were angels. But when you lock someone in an attic against their will, (even if it was to protect them), they tend to hold a grudge. Again, they don't really spend time together unless Beel is present, but Lucifer tries to help Belphie in little ways, like switching his linens weekly, fluffing his pillows, making sure he actually makes it to a bed when he goes to sleep. Belphie just assumes it's Beel doing these things though, and Lucifer lets him. He hopes one day Belphie will realize how much he really does care for him.

Mammon

Levi

They usually don't get along, mostly because of financial issues between them. However, when they are able to put that aside, they can actually enjoy each others company. Mammon has a lot of energy, and Levi likes video games. As a compromise, they regularly play games such as DDR or Just Dance. The whole time, they will insult each other, but lovingly.

Satan

Satan will actively look for books on finance, budgeting, business, etc. To help Mammon. He pitches it as ways to help him get rich, and they will spend hours together trying to form a business plan. While Mammon doesn't usually have the patience, for the sake of spending time with his little brother, he pushes through. Satan usually does this only after one of Mammon's bigger schemes fell through, or when Lucifer tells Mammon to stop.

Asmo

These guys both model. Mammon will set aside some money and time to go spend with Asmo on clothes, accessories, etc. Mammon is just as skilled behind the camera as he is in front of it, so whenever Asmo wants to model, doesn't matter where, Mammon is ready. Sometimes when they've planned their outing with enough notice, Mammon will have saved enough money to buy something for Asmo.

Beel

Whenever Beel is cooking for himself, he usually adds a lot seasonings. Sometimes, it's in hopes that spice will slow him down. Other times it's because he really likes the food, but has almost become desensitized to the taste😥 however, when he makes these batches of food, he'll sometimes invite Mammon to join him. Mammon has an ungodly high tolerance for spice, at least when he's eating. (His stomach may or may not suffer later). Mammon sometimes foolishly challenges Beel to a speed eating contest. Beel tries to decline; he just wants to eat, and he does not want to watch Mammon give himself indigestion or heartburn, but Mammon, persistent as ever, will try and eat as many servings of Beel's food as quickly as possible. This is one of the few times Beel doesn't get mad, he just watches with mild amusemeny and concern.

Belphie

Belphie and Mammon are surprisingly close, despite being complete foils of eacb other. Mammon has lots of energy, Belphie has none. Mammon likes to go out, Belphie likes to stay in. However, building forts? Hell yes, Belphie has enough energy for that. They usually build pillow and blanket forts in the observatory. Belphie will direct Mammon in how to build it for the most amount of comfort. Usually they'll just end up plugging in their headphones and listening to their own music in each other's company until they fall asleep and/or Beel joins them.

Levi

Satan

Levi introduced Satan to VR, and their relationship has taken a turn for the better since then. Satan is more interested in medical simulators and animal simulation games. Levi once made the mistake of playing Mario Kart with Satan, and his room was left in shambles, so now they only do sims to avoid the competition with other players. Satan also likes to play Among Us, as it gives him a chance to flex his detective skills. His self-control is much better with this, for whatever reason.

Asmo

Levi and Asmo are constantly at odds. Not like Mammon, but Asmo cringes every time he sees the way Levi is sitting, every time he hears Levi has ruined his sleep schedule, and every time he sees him sleeping in tje goddamn bathtub. Yes, it has lots of pillows, but none of them are really good for support. He is constantly trying to get Levi to at least stretch or do yoga every once in a while, as well as sit properly in his chair. These stretching session are also when Levi starts to talk about the next cosplay he's working on, which Asmo will undoubtedly want to help with.

(Ik that its implied that Levi taught Asmo how to sew and stuff, but that hc is everywhere, otherwise I would elaborate. It's really cute though.)

Beel

Although Levi spends a lot of his time in his room, he is still the Grand Admiral of Hell's Navy. He does dedicate some time to working out, and when he does, he does it with Beel, because he knows Beel will help keep him on track. Beel is also Levi's biggest source of encouragment. Levi thanks Beel in mass quantities of food from Akuzon later, sometimes in hopes of winning something from a draw, other times as a genuine thank you.

Belphie

Introvert buddies! Belphie doesn't really care for video games, Levi doesn't have the same speed as Mammon for building a pillow fort, but sometimes Belphie will ask to come into Levi's room to look at his aquarium. He finds it relaxing. They don't really talk to each other, they just enjoy each other's company. If Belphie is feeling curious or notices Levi is kind of upset, he'll start asking Levi about the different fish in his aquarium, which quickly cheers Levi up. Belphie's favourite thing about Levi though, is that he is usually awake the same time he is, helping him feel a little less lonely.

Satan

Asmo

I've mentioned this before in my random hcs post, but Asmo and Satan like to study astrology together. They find it fascinating in how accurate it can be, especially since they only get to see the *real* stars, moon, sun, and planets when they're in the human realm. Asmo actually introduced it to Satan, as he used to study it in the Celestial Realm as well.

Beel

Beel is constantly coming up with new recipes, so Satan documents them all for him. He'll be a scribe, while Beel tells him exactly what he's doing the whole time. The other brothers don't know, (Beel asked to keep t a secret), but Satan has helped Beel publish 3 cookbooks already.

Satan also attends Beel's games whenever possible, and Beel has attended Satan's debate team or sometimes book club meetings whenever possible. Because Satan and Belphie are close, so are Satan and Beel.

Belphie

>:)

They are constantly coming up with ways to inconvenience Lucifer, which is their main form of bonding. However, Belphie also taught Satan the constellations when they were younger, so now they will often go stargazing together. Satan doesn't remember, but he used to make up stories about the constellations, and Belphie has a written record of all of them. Sometimes, Belphie will retell the stories from memory to see if Satan recognizes it, but to no avail. Instead Satan will tell another story he has read about the stars. They tell each other stories and stargaze until they fall asleep.

Asmo

Beel

Beel will do warm ups with Asmo; basic stretches, a jog, etc. They will sometimes do yoga together. However, Beel works out a lot, and sometimes his muscles get sore, so Asmo gets to work. Being around Asmo brings out the gossip girl in Beel, so while Asmo is giving him a massage, he's also getting all the tea from all the clubs that Beel is a part of. Beel is very careful with his delivery, but he trusts Asmo to never spin his words the wrong way and to use the new info for good.

Belphie

Asmo has his own fashion line. He often asks Belphie to rate the comfort of his clothes, as he wants them to be fashionable, functional, and comfortable. Belphie never pulls his punches, and Asmo is grateful for the honest criticism. However, sometimes it does get on his nerves, but Belphie makes up for it later by getting Asmo new linens, often silk, because Belphie knows Asmo's preferences. Asmo always asks him where he finds it, but Belphie never answers.

Beel + Belphie

These two can bond almost over anything. However, one of their favorite things to do together is make Quetzalcoatl brain soup. Belphie stays awake long enough to remind Beel to leave some for him.

(My brain just left me here to rot apparently, I'm sorry.)

Oof

Masterlist

#obey me #obey me shall we date #obey me headcanons #obey me thoughts

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woah-were-halfway-there · 4 years ago

Text

Our Last Summer - B. Boeser

A/N: just a girl who thought she’d try writing for a different player. Shocking, I know. Also this is an OC and I love her, enjoy!

Yes, after the ABBA song. Also shoutout to my least favourite Taurus @brockadoodles for convincing me to follow through with writing and posting this and being an A+ beta reader always.

Word Count: 9.2k

To Brock, summer was the best time of year. As much as he loved hockey season, summer gave him the chance to unwind, relax and spend time with his friends and family. It also allowed him to be at one of his favourite places all the time, the lake.

The lake was a sanctuary of sorts for him, his little piece of paradise. Even before he moved to Vancouver, he spent every summer there, which is why he ended up buying a home on that lake to spend his off-seasons in. It also happened to be where he got to see Lennon—the only place.

Brock and Lennon first met almost ten years ago. Right away, Brock could tell that she wasn't from the area based on her lack of a so-called Minnesotan accent but eventually learned how her family started vacationing on the lake the same year they were both turning fourteen.

Lennon's family has been back every year since. How she and Brock first crossed paths was on the beach one fateful afternoon at the end of June. Brock was standing in line behind her, waiting to buy a bottle of water while she ordered ice cream from the man operating the little stand. Once Lennon was handed her snack, she turned around and went to walk away but didn't realize Brock was standing right there and ended up knocking into him, which resulted in her ice cream spilling down the front of the t-shirt he wore. She quickly grabbed some napkins and tried to clean up the mess she made all over him, but he just laughed it off and told her it was fine.

The two of them parted ways after that, not thinking much of the interaction and didn't cross paths again until the following summer. When they did meet again, it was on that same beach, at the same ice cream stand, but Lennon didn't spill anything that time. Instead, the pair just stared at each other as they were both hit by the most intense wave of deja vu either of them had ever experienced. After that initial shock, they talked and properly introduced themselves because what were the chances they'd run into each other again. After commenting on how he assumed Lennon wasn't from there, Brock learned that she only came to Minnesota in the summertime with her parents and twin brother because her dad was from there and her parents owned a lake house they wanted to retire to one day. It was one of Lennon's favourite places to be and had her looking forward to summer every year because of it.

That summer, Brock and Lennon saw each other on multiple occasions after the run-in on the beach, and a friendship gradually began. That friendship only grew with each summer that passed as Brock's friends became Lennon's friends too after being invited to hang out with them as they went boating, jet skiing, exploring and had bonfires each night. These activities made Lennon's summers even more memorable than before.

However, as they got older, things began to change.

The summer before Lennon turned 19 was the last summer she spent entirely at the lake for a few years. Brock had already turned 19 that February, and Lennon would be doing the same in early November. However, that fall, she began going to university and spent the summers working. Lennon didn't get as much time off but still managed to squeeze in at least two weeks at the lake to spend with her family, friends, and, of course, Brock.

Four years later, once Lennon graduated from her bachelor's program, she returned to the lake for the whole summer. Lennon also mainly spent that summer with Brock as he sat with her for hours while she applied to various jobs in her field and did phone interviews with possible employers. It was odd for him, though, because it wasn't until then, Brock realized how even though he felt like he knew Lennon very well, he hardly knew anything about her life outside of the lake. Sure, he knew that she took English and Literature at university, but he didn't know what school she attended. He also didn't know where her family lived the rest of the year. Brock only knew Lennon and summer.

There was a massive disconnect between the two of them when they weren't in their little summer bubble. Brock and Lennon didn't speak when they weren't at the lake. They had each other's phone numbers, but the thought of using it while he was in Vancouver felt foreign, and although Lennon did cross his mind, he knew the two of them would pick up where they left off like they did every summer once both of them returned to the lake.

That's what happened last summer too. Brock and Lennon were reunited on her first day back and spent almost every day together, seeing as it had been four years since the last full summer she spent in Minnesota. It was a summer to remember for sure. They somehow became even closer, which naturally led to them feeling a sense of dread as the days became shorter and summer gradually came to an end.

But, everything became ruined when Brock and Lennon slept together on her last night at the lake. Then Brock woke up to a cold and empty space next to where he laid in his bed the morning after.

The piece of him that Brock didn't realize Lennon had a hold on broke that morning. She left him feeling hurt and confused. He texted her, but she didn't reply. Then when he took his jet ski out on the water and rode by her family's house, only to see it completely dark and no cars in the driveway, he knew summer was officially over and that he wouldn't hear from her again.

That is why he was looking forward to this summer. There was no guarantee he'd be seeing Lennon. He didn't know what had gone in her life over the past ten months but was sure he'd get filled in on it once he saw her family, but he had this unexplainable feeling that she was going to be there, and that was enough to get him nervous. However, Brock was still excited even with those nerves because his summer just wasn't complete without Lennon in it. Regardless of how the two felt towards each other.

Brock's first day back consisted of getting everything ready, and the house opened up for the season. With his roommates and family's help, the boat was launched into the water and docked, so were the jet skis, and everything just slowly fell into place. The only thing missing was Lennon.

However, he tried not to think of things like that. He was convinced he'd get some closure about what happened between the two of them last summer, but when he casually brought her up in conversation, no one knew if she was back or not. Lennon's family was at the lake, everyone knew that much, but no one had seen her yet, which made Brock feel a little less hopeful.

Once everything at the house was finished getting ready, all of his company stayed for dinner but then headed back to their own homes, his roommates included. They'd be back on the weekend and be staying there for good afterwards, but for the next few days, it would just be Brock and his dogs, which was fine by him.

After everyone left, Brock headed out to the back yard, letting Milo and Coolie run around for a bit before going back inside for the night. The sun was setting, leaving warm pink and orange trails of light chasing after it while slowly disappearing in the distance. A few boats still drove around on the water, finishing up their rounds before it got too dark. Brock could also hear chatter from somewhere nearby where he assumed people were outside having a bonfire or just socializing as they enjoyed what was bound to be a beautiful evening.

Brock then wandered to the edge of his dock and sat down, letting his legs hang off the side then swaying them slightly as he continued taking it all in. Not too long after, Coolie joined him as he took up the spot next to him and rested his head on Brock's lap while looking out at the water as well. Meanwhile, Milo continued wading in the water, ready to attack any fish that dared come near him.

About ten minutes later, after Milo had gone up onto the dock as well, Brock spotted a boat heading towards him. As the boat got closer to shore, he could hear the familiar voice of Wesley Schultz as a song by The Lumineers played and watched as the boat slowed down then took a wide right turn before coming to a stop about 20 feet from the edge of his dock. Confused, Brock looked around for someone else because surely whoever was on the boat wasn't stopping to talk to him. But then he remembered that he was at his own house and that there was no other explanation for what was going on.

"Hey!" A voice greeted over the music, then a man, who Brock assumed was around the same age as him, came into view. He had dark brown hair that wasn't quite as long as Brock's but still long enough to noticeably be pushed back away from his face with a pair of sunglasses and wore only a pair of green swim trunks and an unzipped white sweater. "So you're the person who lives here. I'm Max. My family just bought a house around the bend over there. It's nice to meet you."

"Oh, cool!" Brock responded, a wave of relief washing over him as he realized the guy was just being friendly. "Nice to meet you too. I'm Brock. I live here with a few friends, but it's just me here right now. I'm sure you'll see the others around soon. Have you been to the lake before?"

"No, this is my first summer here," Max explained and smiled. "But, I know someone who's been coming here for a while and told me all about it. I must say, it's living up to its hype."

"Your friend sounds like they know what they're talking about," Brock chuckled, then heard a voice say something from where they must've been sitting out of sight on the boat. But what really surprised him the way Coolie perked up at the voice and caused a low whine to leave his mouth.

"Yeah, I'd say she does," Max replied, then leaned to the side and looked down into the boat's cabin. "She's right here actually, said it was too cold then went inside—Babe, wanna come say hi to my new neighbour? Maybe the two of you know each other."

The thought of how Brock might know the other person on the boat made sense, he knew the area so well and had met lots of people over the years, but that still didn't prepare him for the way he felt once Lennon stepped into view.

"Lemon?"

Brock's nickname for her fell from lips so quickly as he took her in, he didn't even have to think about it. Lennon's deep brown hair was longer than it was the last time Brock had seen her, that much he could tell even in the messy fishtail braid she had it in. Usually, Lennon liked to cut her hair going into the summer because she always complained about how hot it made her feel whenever it was down and not being held back with the hair tie that usually resided on her wrist.

He then took in the rest of her appearance. She wore bright yellow crocs, a pair of white terry cloth shorts and a baggy pullover that had Minnesota written in a large yellow font across it as well. Brock recognized the sweater because it belonged to him until the last night of the previous summer.

It was a simple look, but to Brock, Lennon still seemed stunning in the evening glow surrounding her.

That was when Coolie stood up and barked, snapping Brock out of the trance he'd fallen into upon seeing Lennon again. Coolie recognized her. That much was evident with how he whined and started wagging his tail just at the sight of her, Milo joining in soon after.

"Hi Coolie, hi Milo," Lennon spoke softly and smiled at the two dogs, making Brock feel as if he walked into a brick wall just by hearing her voice again.

"Oh, you two do know each other!" Max exclaimed, snapping Brock back to reality once again.

Then Lennon looked Brock in the eyes for the first time, and her smile fell slightly.

"I guess you could say that," she stated, not breaking eye contact. "Hey, Brock."

"H-hey," was all he could reply with, still recovering from the initial shock of how Lennon, the person he spent the last ten months thinking about, was finally standing in front of him again, but with another guy. "You're back."

"Yeah, I am," she nodded, then looked back at Max. "We should probably get going, though. It's getting dark."

"You're right," Max agreed. "I'm sure I'll be seeing you around, Brock. Have a good night."

"Uh, yeah, you too," Brock responded, whispering almost as he observed Max start the boat back up and begin driving off.

He watched the two of them go, refusing to take his eyes off of Lennon, which was how he didn't miss the way she looked back at him too or how she didn't look away until the boat rounded the bend and disappeared out of sight yet again.

~*~

About a week went by before Brock saw Lennon again, and he hated it. He saw her family, who all asked when he'd be stopping by again. But Brock didn't know how to explain that he and Lennon had barely spoken or the reason behind it all. It then got worse when his parents came over that weekend and told him how they ran into her while they were at the store and that she seemed to be doing well.

It sucked for him because all he wanted to do was talk, but he knew Lennon. And he knew that if she wanted to talk, she would. However, it was clear that she didn't, so Brock didn't push her into talking with him regardless of how badly he wanted to.

The thought of just messaging Lennon and asking her to come over crossed his mind many times that week, but he couldn't bring himself to send the text he typed out and would end up deleting it instead. His summer was already off to a very different start than he was hoping for.

One day, while he was out boating with some of his friends, things started to change again.

After being out on the water for most of the day, Brock and his friends all decided to dock the boat at the marina near, of course, the beach that Brock couldn't step foot on without thinking about Lennon. Once he saw that beach, he was reminded of how much time he and Lennon spent there together over the years since first meeting. Brock would've been lying if he said he didn't want to run into her again on that same beach, but he tried not to get his hopes up.

However, to his luck, Lennon was walking along the dock at the marina the same time Brock was hopping off the boat to help tie it up. Brock spotted her first, but she was busy scrolling through her phone, her eyebrows furrowed with an unreadable expression on her face as she did so, and she didn't notice Brock or the others as she continued walking towards them, but then came to an abrupt stop.

Whatever Lennon was looking at on her phone seemed important, and Brock didn't want to interrupt, but then one of his friends, who also knew Lennon, spotted her.

"Lenny!" Sam exclaimed as he brushed past Brock, making Lennon jump, but still, smile once she saw who was approaching her and accepted the hug she was about to be pulled into. "You're back!"

"Lennon's here?" Someone else asked, and soon enough, everyone who Brock was with rushed by him to see their friend.

"Hey, guys!" She greeted happily, a much different mood than how her reunion with Brock was a week prior.

"Are you here all summer?"

"I am," Lennon confirmed, still smiling.

"That's awesome," said Claire, Sam's girlfriend. "We've been waiting to see when you'd get here. We missed you! Is Mick here too?"

"Yeah, he is," Lennon responded, letting the group know that her brother had returned to the lake as well. "He's at the house right now helping my dad get the new barbecue set up. I was sent here to pick up things to get grilled tonight."

She then held up the plastic bag she was carrying for emphasis, earning chuckles from the rest of the group.

"Well, we won't keep you then," stated one of Brock's roommates. "But come over to the house soon, and we'll all hang out."

"Sounds like a plan. I'll see you guys later!"

Everyone said goodbye to Lennon, then continued on their way, but Brock stayed back. She still hadn't noticed him, and he didn't want her to feel cornered by him, especially around their friends, but he needed to talk to her. Just the two of them.

He observed her as she watched their friends walk down the dock, taking in the jean shorts and mint green tank top she wore, then cleared his throat, making Lennon snap her attention in his direction and not missing the way her eyes widened as she did so.

"Hey, Lemon," he greeted her and felt an instant wave of relief wash over him while he saw her expression soften as he said that.

"You're never going to drop that nickname, are you?" She asked while shaking her head and smiling.

Brock pursed his lips and looked away from her as if he was deeply considering her question but couldn't help the small laugh that left his mouth as he did.

"No, I don't think I can."

"Right. Whatever you say, Broccoli."

At that, Brock's grin grew much wider. Hearing Lennon call him the nickname she's always said in response to him calling her, Lemon, hit differently this time because, although he knew things weren't normal between them, it almost seemed like it was. But, it was short-lived because his nagging thoughts about the girl standing in front of him started creeping back, making his smile falter a little bit.

"Brock?" Lennon asked, noticing how he was getting too deep in his thoughts. Something she knew he did often. "You ok?"

"Yeah," he replied and shook his head slightly. "I was just thinking. Um, listen, can we talk? You know, about… everything?"

Lennon let out a sigh, knowing this conversation needed to happen between the two of them, but still not sure if she was ready to have it just yet. "I don't know what to say."

"Me neither, to be honest. But maybe we can start with what happened last summer and how you're seeing someone else now?"

"Brock, me and you aren't in a relationship. You can’t corner me like that. I don't owe you an explanation."

"Lennon, that's not fair and you know that’s not what I’m doing," he stated. "I'm not saying you have to explain yourself. That's your business, whether I like it or not. But, I would like to know where we stand because I have thought about you every day for the past ten months and seeing you on that boat last week sucked. I was caught off guard, but that doesn't matter. I just miss my friend and don't want this summer to be weird because we slept together when clearly it didn't mean anything."

Once Brock finished his spiel, Lennon took a shaky breath then let her gaze fall to the ground, knowing he had a point.

"I'm sorry," she spoke softly. "You're right, it's not fair, and I'm also sorry for just leaving you last year. But Brock, I don't know what to tell you right now because I know it's not going to be what you want to hear."

"The least you could do, as my friend, is tell me why. Why did you leave and act as though nothing happened between us and avoid me completely?"

"I panicked, ok!"

"About what?" Brock questioned, feeling even more lost than before. "Len, what are you talking about?"

“Because Brock, before we slept together, it was just you and the lake,” she explained. “It was easy. It was like we lived separate lives, and that worked until they crossed paths again in the summertime. Maybe having sex messed that up, but I don’t want it to. I want things back to the way they were.”

“Why do we have to live separate lives outside of the lake? You’re one of my best friends. I would love to share all of my life with you. But I feel like I know nothing about you.”

“Why now, though? Why didn’t you want me to be part of your life or know more about mine away from here before last summer?”

“I never said I didn’t!” He stated firmly and stressfully pushed his hand through his hair. “That’s just always been how we worked. How can you expect me to know that was something you wanted when you didn’t express it either, Lennon? But I will say this; I care about you. I have feelings for you, alright? If I didn’t, I wouldn’t have asked you to stay over on that night last summer. That all seems pretty irrelevant now, though.”

"I-," Lennon started but had to stop as a voice cut her off.

"There she is," Max said as he and another guy that Brock didn't recognize approached them. "And Brock! Good to see you again."

"Uh, yeah," Brock replied hesitantly, suddenly not knowing what to say as he watched Max casually walk up and wrap his arm around Lennon's waist. "You too."

"Did we interrupt something?" Max asked while glancing at the other guy he was with, then moved his gaze between Brock and Lennon.

"No," Brock spoke and looked Lennon dead in the eye. "I guess we're done talking. I'll see you guys around."

"Brock, wait," Lennon said and pulled away from Max as Brock walked past them.

"Just like you, I don’t know what else to say, Lennon. Say hi to your family for me."

And with that, Lennon was left watching Brock leave her behind this time.

Later that evening, Brock was at home with his roommates, putting some plates into the dishwasher after they were all finished eating when Milo and Coolie started barking like crazy. He wasn't sure what was going on and looked at the rest of the guys, who all shrugged in response, then went over to the glass sliding door the dogs were standing in front of and saw what had them acting the way they were.

Outside he saw a woman hopping off a jetski, then watched as she pulled it up to the small shore that met his property. Once she was sure the jetski was beached enough and took off her lifejacket, she walked up the slope that led to the rest of the lawn, then walked across the grass onto the dock before sitting down at the edge of it and facing the water like she owned the place. It didn't take long for Brock to realize the girl was Lennon.

He then looked back at his roommates, all of who were watching him intently, almost as if they knew this was coming, but they all quickly looked away and pretended to be busy looking at something else. Brock rolled his eyes but didn't say anything. He didn't want to give them the satisfaction of a response, so instead, he stayed silent and opened the door so he could step outside.

Milo and Coolie continued barking as Brock slipped by them but didn't let them outside with him. He knew that Lennon wouldn't have just shown up unannounced after the talk they had earlier that day unless she really needed to get something off her chest, and Brock wanted to hear what she had to say without any interruption.

Lennon didn't look back as he walked across the grass and onto the dock. It was like she knew he'd join her regardless of how rough things may have seemed between them. And she would've been right for assuming that. As much as Brock wanted to be mad at Lennon, it still seemed like magnets pulled him towards her, and it just wasn't possible for him to fight.

Brock didn't say anything as he sat down next to his friend, just joined her in silence while they both looked out over the water and observed the sun as it began its descent in the late evening sky, but he couldn't keep himself from observing Lennon out of the corner of his eye and taking in how she looked.

Her hair wasn't tied back or anything. It just fell down her back in loose natural waves that shifted ever so slightly whenever there was a breeze. She wore a faded red Beatles pullover, which was somewhat ironic seeing as she was named after one of the band's members, making Brock smile because that was just a very Lennon thing to do. The sweater was paired with some jean shorts and Nike slides, but what caught his attention the most was her eyes. Lennon had light brown eyes that Brock thought were stunning all the time, but when the sun hit them just right, like it did in that moment, they seemed golden almost, and it was so hard to look away. He's always loved her eyes.

However, his moment of observing her in silence was cut short when she let out a sigh and then glanced towards him.

"New York," Lennon stated, earning herself a confused look from Brock.

"New York?" He asked, genuinely unsure of what she was implying. "Lennon-."

"That's where I'm from," she elaborated, then looked from him to the water again. "Upstate New York, to be exact, near the Buffalo area. My birthday is November 2nd. I was actually born in Minneapolis, but my parents moved when me and Mick were about ten months old for work and I hadn’t been back until they bought the lake house. Uh, when my parents found out my mom was pregnant, they thought they were expecting twin boys at first. They wanted to name me John after the Beatles still and then Michael after Mick Jagger, but when I came out a girl, they had to improvise."

Brock was speechless. He was so shocked. Lennon was telling him everything that he's always wondered about her and then some. He was intrigued, and there was no way he would stop her from sharing whatever she wanted to say.

"As you know, I took English and Literature in university," she continued. "I took that program at NYU and have been living in New York City for the past five years because of it. I have a freelancing job, which has been paying the bills. I've also spent the last month and a half applying to various master's programs at different schools, and it's been pretty discouraging if I'm completely honest. Since moving to NYC, I've made many trips to Toronto to visit Mick, seeing as that's where he went to school, but coming back to the lake each summer remains my favourite place to be, and you are a huge part of why Brock."

"Lemon, I didn't know any of this," he replied, shaking his head as he still processed everything she said.

"I know, that's why I'm telling you."

"Wow, I, I don't even know what to say. I've always wondered these things about you, but other than seeing you here; you've always been like a blank slate to me. I've known you for so long now, but I've never known so much about you. I just figured you never really wanted me to be part of your life outside of summer, y'know?"

"Yeah, about that," Lennon started and let out a small laugh. "That is so incorrect. You don't even know."

"What do you mean?" Brock questioned, feeling puzzled by her again.

"My friends in New York are huge into sports," she explained. "I can't even begin to explain how many times I've been dragged to a Yankees or Knicks game, but when it comes to the Rangers, I always look forward to it a bit more. They're not my team, I've got to give props to the Sabres for the hometown representation, and because of Mick, I started not entirely hating the Leafs. What always surprises my friends, though, is how adamant I get about going to the Rangers games whenever Vancouver is in the city. But I haven't told them I have a friend that plays on the team. They just think it's odd that I have a Boeser jersey."

"Woah, wait a minute. You've seen me play hockey?"

"Every time you've been in New York since starting with the Canucks, yeah."

"Lennon, what the hell?" He asked disbelievingly. "Why didn't you ever say anything?"

Lennon just shrugged before responding. "Like I said earlier today, Brock, it's always been you and the lake. I thought about messaging you but then figured you might not want me to and chickened myself out, so I never did. I don't know why I didn't just reach out, but now you know. So, please, never assume that I don't think about you when I'm not here. Because I do, all the damn time. And what happened between us last summer did mean something to me. You are way too important for it to not. I could never consider you as just a random hookup, Broccoli."

Brock could feel his heart swell an insane amount as she said that, but before he could say what he really wanted to in response, he needed to know something still.

"What about Max?"

"Max is not my boyfriend," she stated, not missing a beat. "He's one of my best friends from school, yeah, but we are not together. He's from Minneapolis, which was how we actually bonded when we first met after telling him my dad was from this area. And let me tell you, I've told him if I'm still single by 40, we're getting married, but I don't think that'll be happening. He's very happy with his boyfriend, Connor, who was on the dock with us earlier, and I would've happily introduced you to if you hadn't stormed away before I got the chance."

"For fucks sake," Brock said, not being able to stop himself from grinning at how stupidly he overreacted. "I am so bad for jumping to conclusions, aren't I?"

"You always have been."

They laughed together as Lennon nudged him with her shoulder teasingly, then a comfortable silence fell amongst them again. However, it didn't last too long because Lennon was speaking again soon after.

"I really am sorry for just leaving you last summer," she told him softly. "It's just- I knew I was going back to New York, and I figured it'd be easier if we didn't talk about what happened for both of us. I shouldn't have assumed that. It wasn't fair to you. But, I also have spent the last ten months thinking about you constantly. I like you too, Brock, more than I can explain, and I just feel stupidly vulnerable admitting that, but I'd be lying to myself if I said I didn't have feelings for you that weren't entirely platonic. I don't expect things between us to be like they were last summer, but I missed you a whole freaking lot this past year and will be glad to have my best friend back."

"I would love nothing more than for that to happen," Brock responded and waited for her to look at him again before continuing. "Maybe we can; I don't know, take things slow? We can see what happens over the summer, what it all leads to and you know, actually talk after. I also want to know as much about you as I can, but only if you'll let me.”

"Please. And yes, I'll tell you whatever it is you want to know. I want to get to know more about you too if that's ok."

"Of course it is, I'd like that," he replied before falling silent again as his gaze dropped to her lips. Brock was overcome with the urge to close the already small space between him and Lennon by kissing her, but he didn't. Although he was pretty sure she wouldn't necessarily be opposed to him doing that, he didn't want to fuck this up by rushing into anything again. She, too, was way more than just a hookup to him and Brock wanted to make sure she knew that. "Will you stay over tonight?"

Lennon's eyes widened in surprise at Brock's question, but she quickly realized he wasn't trying to make a move. He just wanted to spend more time with her, and honestly, she loved the idea of just hanging out with him all night.

"Yes, absolutely," she stated. "I'll also never say no to Milo and Coolie snugs."

"Good, because I'm pretty sure I can still hear Coolie whining over the fact that he can't come out here and see you."

The two of them laughed, then stayed sitting together for a few more moments before Brock eventually stood and helped Lennon up, then made their way back to the house together.

~*~

Although nothing intimate happened that night between Brock and Lennon, aside from some cuddling as they both fell asleep in his bed, it set the pace for the rest of their summer. The two, once again, became inseparable.

The next few weeks went by very quickly, and everything was great. Lennon was over at Brock’s all the time, and he made sure to go over to her family’s house and visit with them lots too. Things were normal again. There was no tension as they hung out with all their friends. Brock even got to know Max a bit better, who, to Brock, ended up being a really cool guy. It was nice for him to hear more stories about Lennon’s life outside of the lake, and Brock loved every minute of it.

However, as good as things were with the two of them while keeping their relationship platonic, there was no denying both Brock and Lennon had intense feelings for each other.

From an outside perspective, it was apparent how much those two cared for each other, and it was often shown in the little things. It was gestures like Brock pulling Lennon onto his lap and wrapping her up in the blanket he had with him while having a bonfire. Or the time Lennon briefly gave Brock his Minnesota sweater back for a few hours while he was over at her house because she wanted it to smell like him again. It was so obvious the two of them had a thing. And yet, nothing more happened between them. They were both afraid that it may get fucked up again, which neither wanted. Especially with how fast summer seemed to pass by.

One Friday afternoon in late July, things hit a rough patch again.

Brock and Lennon were at his place, hanging out on the stairs of the back deck with Milo and Coolie, when Lennon dropped the bomb about having to leave the lake in the upcoming days.

Understandably, Brock was confused. He knew that he’d have to return to Vancouver in a few weeks to get ready for training camp and the upcoming season with the Canucks, but Brock thought he still had a few weeks left with Lennon at least. Brock took the news pretty well, but when he asked her why, feeling like he could after the talk they had on the dock over a month prior, she started shutting him out again.

“I’m moving,” Lennon stated as she shifted away from Brock, not getting up from where she sat between his legs on the step in front of him, but enough to let his arms, which he had wrapped around her shoulders as she leaned back against him, fall to his side again. “I have to go back to New York on Monday and start packing up my apartment. My master’s program isn’t there, and I knew this was coming. I just didn’t think it’d be so soon.”

Brock understood, he really did, but then he got thinking and became confused.

“You never told me you got into your program, Len. That’s great,” he replied and leaned forward so he could look at her better. “Where are you moving to?”

“Oh, um, you know, nowhere spectacular. Just the west coast.”

“Nice, what school? Maybe if it’s near a city with an NHL team, we can meet up when I play there. I’d also love for you to visit me in Vancouver if you’re able to or up for it.”

“Yeah, maybe,” she replied, smiling because she really liked that idea, but then it was like a switch went off in her mind, and that expression soon fell as she stood up from the stairs and turned to face him. “You know what, Brock, I have to go. I think my mom needed my help with something.”

That puzzled Brock even more.

“I was at your house with you yesterday when your parents left for Minneapolis,” he reminded her with a small laugh. “They said they were going for the weekend.”

“Oh, right.”

“Yeah. Uh, Is everything alright? You’re acting weird all of a sudden.”

“Everything’s fine,” Lennon lied, which Brock was aware of with the way she started picking at her nails and avoiding making eye contact with him. “I just have a lot on my mind, I guess.”

“Lemon,” he started softly. “You know you can talk to me, right? You don’t have to block me out again.”

Lennon let out a sarcastic chuckle.

“Why does everyone always say that? Lennon quit blocking people out. Lennon, no one will continue breaking down those walls you put up all the time… But, no one gets that it’s just easier for me that way. I feel safer. It’s nothing personal.”

Brock’s expression fell at that a bit. “I get that, I do. Sometimes it is easier that way, but it’s also very lonely. You have people in your life that aren’t going to hurt you the way you think someone could. I want to think I’m one of those people.”

“You are, Broccoli,” she assured. “You always have been. I just, I can’t help but always think of the worst possible situation when going into new things. That’s just how my mind works. And even when it comes to you, when it comes to us and whatever we are, I’m still scared because there are so many unknowns. We don’t know what will happen when I leave for New York again, and I know I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t want to dampen the rest of our time here together. This has been the best summer I’ve had in a long time, and I didn’t want to ruin it.”

“You’re not ruining it,” he explained. “We know we both can’t stay at the lake forever, but that doesn’t mean we can’t bring what we have here with us when we leave. Lennon, I want you in my life all year round, not just when we’re here. I wish you realized that. And now, once you leave, it’s like I know nothing all over again because you won’t let me in enough to tell me. Which honestly sucks a lot.”

Lennon just looked back at him, not caring that her eyes were on the brink of overflowing with tears as she processed what he said. Brock cared for her. Probably more than any other guy she’s ever felt this intense of feelings for, but she was still absolutely terrified of accepting that for some reason.

“I’m sorry, Brock,” she said, then took a shaky breath as she stepped further away from him and started backing down the stairs. “I- I’m going to go, and please, don’t come after me. I promise I’ll say bye before I leave, but I just need to think.”

She then turned and rushed down the rest of the stairs without looking back. Brock immediately stood up and went to call after her, but Lennon was already rounding the corner that led to the driveway and soon disappeared out of sight. Milo and Coolie were about to go after her, but Brock stopped them as he heard a door close and the sounds of a car pulling out of the driveway. She was already gone again, and there was nothing he could do about it.

That night, Brock went to one of the bars nearby with their group of friends for a karaoke night. Lennon was initially supposed to join him and his roommates to venture over there together, but he knew that would no longer be the case after what happened earlier.

After Lennon left, Brock went back inside the house, and his roommates just knew something went down between them. However, when they asked, Brock didn’t want to talk about it and just kind of went to his room alone until it was time to leave later on.

He thought going out with their friends would make him feel a bit better and at least get his mind off the situation, but Lennon’s absence was way too noticeable for him even to try to enjoy himself. Brock didn’t take part in karaoke. Instead, he sat at one of the tables nursing a seltzer that was room temperature because he just wasn’t in the mood.

After an hour passed and Brock still hadn’t finished the drink or taken much part in the group outing whatsoever, he figured he might as well call it an early night and head home. However, before he could, someone sat down next to him and started talking to him.

“What are you doing over here by yourself?” Asked Michael, Lennon’s twin brother, before he sipped on his beer and gave Brock a judgy look that resembled the same one he’d received from Lennon many times before.

“Hey, Mick,” Brock greeted with a smile. “I’m just not feeling it, I guess. I think I’m going head out soon.”

“Fair enough. It seems like my sister felt the same way. What a no-show.”

Mick scoffed jokingly, then looked around at their friends. Brock let out a small laugh and shrugged in response, but then he figured that maybe he could ask about Lennon seeing as he knew her twin probably knew more than he did.

“Speaking of your sister, do you know why she didn’t want to come out tonight?”

“I’m surprised you don’t,” Mick deadpanned. “But no, I haven’t been home. I figured she’d be here with you, actually, but I guess you never really know with her. I don’t know how you’re going to put up with living in the same place as her beyond the summer.”

“Same place as her?” Brock asked.

“Yeah, Lennon got accepted to do her master’s at UBC in Van,” Mick replied, then watched as Brock’s eyes widened in shock. “Woah, wait. She didn’t tell you, did she?”

“No, didn’t mention it at all.”

“Fuck, of course not. I honestly wish I could say I was surprised, but then I’d be lying.”

Brock glanced down for a brief moment, still processing what he just told, then shook his head before responding. “Mick, I say this in the nicest way possible, but Lennon gives me fucking whiplash, I swear.”

“Join the club,” Mick laughed. “I’ve been president for almost 24 years now.”

“I just, how could she not tell me?”

At that, Mick’s expression turned a bit more serious than it was before, then he sighed.

“I know it may not seem like it right now, but she really does care about you, Brock. More than she’ll let herself admit. You’re someone that’s important to her and has been for a very long time.”

“I wish she had a better way of showing it. Then I wouldn’t have to doubt so much.”

“I know,” Mick replied. “It’s a lot. But, let me tell you that what Lennon feels for you is very different from what she’s felt for any other guy before. My sister has been in a relationship with a fair share of people. I’m talking frat guys to Wall Street douchebags, she has had a few what could have been serious relationships, but those guys were not it for her. They betrayed her trust, belittled her for getting too in her head at times and then left her in the dust after they broke her. She’s always blamed herself for that and hated that she even bothered putting her heart out there, so it’s something she struggles with. But with you, Brock, she can be herself. I see Lennon at her happiest when we’re here, and it’s because of you. That’s not even something I have to think about because it’s always been that way. You’re her best friend, but what she feels for you is more than that and what it is, is that she’s scared to admit it. She doesn’t want to ruin what the two of you already have or risk getting hurt in doing so.”

Brock didn’t know what to say. He hung on to every single word that Mick said and took a moment for him to wrap his head around it all, but he already knew what to say. He’d known for a while.

“Mick, there is not a single part of me that would ever want to hurt her,” Brock explained. “Lennon is just such an important part of my life, and after what happened last summer, I also didn’t want to fuck up what we have. But, I really want to.”

“I know,” Mick stated. “And I trust you with her, Brock, that’s why I told you all of this. I don’t think you’ll hurt my sister, and she deserves someone like you. Now, I know you probably have more that you want to say on that topic, but why don’t you say it to her. She’s gotta be at home, and I just think the two of you need to not lie about how you feel anymore.”

As Mick said that, Brock couldn’t help but smile, then nod in agreement before standing up and grabbing his keys. “You’re right. I’m going to go talk to her. Thanks, Mick. I’ll see you around.”

“Make good choices!”

It didn’t take long for Brock to drive to Lennon’s house, but everything was dark when he got there. He thought about texting her but decided against it because he knew she wouldn’t answer. So instead, he got out of his car and listened. Sure enough, he could hear City and Colour’s The Girl playing softly from the backyard and knew she was there.

Brock shut the car door, knowing that Lennon would hear it, then walked down the driveway on a mission.

By the time he reached the backyard, Lennon was leaning over the railing, trying to see who it was that just got there, and Brock didn’t miss the way her eyes widened in surprise after realizing it was him.

“Brock?” She asked, then moved over to the top of the stairs as he climbed up them, still not saying anything. “What’re you-.”

Before Lennon could finish asking her question, she was cut off by Brock as he wrapped his arms around her middle and pulled her towards him, not stopping until their lips met in a very firm yet delicate kiss. He took her by surprise, but Lennon reacted by closing her eyes and melting into his touch, then wrapped her arms around the back of his neck and kept him close as she deepened the kiss.

After a moment, the two of them broke away slightly, and Brock leaned his head against her’s, smiling like crazy.

“I wish I didn’t wait a month to do that again,” he said, making Lennon laugh.

“I’m not complaining,” she replied. “That’s definitely one way to make an entrance, though. But why do I have a feeling there’s more to why you’re here besides just wanting to kiss me?”

Brock smiled at that because she was right, but before he could respond, he needed to think about what he wanted to say first. As he did that, he noticed that she was wearing the same outfit as she was earlier, right down to the messy bun, but now she wore his Minnesota sweater again, and his smile grew at that. Although the sun had already set, Lennon’s eyes still glowed with how the fairy lights strung around the deck reflected in them and that mixed with the Dallas Green’s voice still singing in the background. It was tough for Brock not to just lean down and kiss her again. But he knew he couldn’t, not right away at least.

“You’re right,” he told her, then let out a breath and smirked as the song changed to She Will Be Loved. “There’s something else I want to talk about, something we haven’t discussed yet.”

“What’s that?”

“Come back to Vancouver with me. After you’re packed up in New York, let’s go to Van together.”

“Wait, you know that’s where I’m moving?” Lennon asked, surprised. “Mick told you, didn’t he? Brock, I didn’t tell you because I thought-.”

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Brock cut off her ranting and smiled. “It doesn’t matter. I want you there, Lennon. I want to be with you while you’re there, as more than just your friend.”

A surprised gasp left Lennon’s mouth, but she recovered quickly by smiling and pulling him in for another kiss.

“As long as I get to do that all the time, I’m game,” she responded after she broke away from him briefly, then let him close the space between them again.

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

Without even having to voice it, Lennon started leading him back towards the house, hinting at how she wanted him to stay the night, and there was no way Brock was going to say no to that.

~*~

“I had a feeling you’d have a lot of things, but I was not expecting this,” Brock huffed as he peeked out from behind a stack of moving boxes. He and Lennon were standing in the living room of her new Vancouver apartment, getting ready to unpack everything. “This is excessive.”

“Shut up, the place was unfurnished,” she grumbled in response. “What did you expect?”

“I’m just saying, this would’ve been a lot less of a hassle if you had moved in with me.”

Lennon gave her boyfriend an unimpressed look, which he responded to with a wink and a smirk before he walked towards her and pulled her into his embrace.

It was the end of August, and Lennon was finally ready to move into her new place. After she left the lake for New York a month prior, it took her about a week to get everything packed up and organized for the move to British Columbia. Lennon already had a storage locker rented in Vancouver to keep her stuff in until she was able to start moving into her apartment and had plans to go back to the lake until her lease began on the first of September and spend the rest of the summer with Brock. However, when she, Mick and their parents landed at the Vancouver airport, he was already there waiting for them.

He helped them get everything to the storage locker. Then, after Lennon’s family left to go back to the lake, she stayed with Brock at his condo with Milo and Coolie for about three weeks before getting the keys to her place.

“That’s a little forward, don’t you think?” Lennon teased him. “What a strange thing to say to your girlfriend of what, a month?”

“I mean, I’ve also known my girlfriend for almost half my life, so does that month really make a difference?”

“Cheeky,” she responded, then stood on her tiptoes so she could peck his lips before moving away from him and over to where her phone rested on the small breakfast bar. “We can see where we’re at when this lease is up. But for now, I hope you’re ready to listen to the entire Lumineers discography as we start tackling these boxes.”

“Oh, you know it,” he told her as a matter -of- factly. “And let’s not forget about the wine in the fridge.”

“Yes, we can enjoy it once there’s room to sit down somewhere.”

Brock laughed in response and shook his head as Lennon pressed play on her phone and Sleep On The Floor started playing from her Bluetooth speaker.

The two of them then started moving the boxes labelled ‘clothes’ to Lennon’s bedroom and started there. All of the furniture Lennon bought was set up already, so it was just a matter of putting things away and getting them organized. They got right to work, and although Brock was going to leave putting the clothes away to Lennon, so they went where she wanted, he figured he could at least unpack them so that she could just grab the items and go. Lennon grabbed a box and started unpacking it, so Brock did the same but had to pause once he opened the box closest to him and saw what was there.

Laying on top of a pile of sweaters was the Boeser jersey Lennon told him about. Until that moment, Brock completely forgot that she had one, but it sure made him feel good seeing it for himself. A smile tugged at his lips as he lifted it from the box and set it on the bed, then glanced at Lennon to see if she saw his reaction. She was busy getting ready to hang things up in the closet, proving that she hadn’t seen him, which Brock was perfectly content with. He did, however, feel himself getting overly happy at the thought of seeing her wear the jersey that upcoming season and grinned even wider because of it. Brock had a really good feeling about them as a couple and couldn’t wait to see where things went from there.

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