#sorry one of my favorite gags is when they know a spanish translation and how much funnier it is if they dont explain it

[blood-gulch]

it's that time of the year again

[seasonsofeverlark]

Spreading Christmas Cheer

Author: @mega-aulover​

Prompt: Everlark the movie Elf [submitted by @alliswell21​]

Rating: G

Author’s Note: This is a story based off of the movie Elf as requested by @alliswell21​ It’s from “Jovie” i.e. Katniss POV, what she would have seen and fell in love with one Peeta ‘Buddy’ Mellark. 

Special thanks to @norbertsmom​ for her betaing skill and for the name of the story. Parts 3 and 4 will post separately.

_____________

Pt 1

I watch Peeta gently kiss the top of our first born’s head. Holly’s dark hair is braided into two plaits; her blue eyes closing softly. 

“And Papa Elf said, grandpa was on the naughty list…” his voice is soft.

Suddenly Holly’s eyes widen as she remembers something. Her blue eyes are laser focused on Peeta. “Papá, es verdad que mamá estaba en la  lista de los niños malos?”   

“Y quien te dijo esto?” I ask from the door. We never discuss my role in Peeta’s adventure, or the fact that I was on the naughty list. Ever. 

“Santa,” Holly says.

Ese gordo, Santa has loose lips. I think about teaching him about keeping secrets until it’s time to explain to our child about the past. But before I can say anything, Peeta gives me a look. He always knows when I’m having evil thoughts. I sigh, and redirect my thoughts, because Peeta made me believe in love, joy, and Christmas.    

“Your papa saved more than grandpa that Christmas. He saved me too.”

Holly’s eyes lit up like her father’s before the sleepiness creeps back into their depths.

“Now go to sleep so Santa can come down the chimney.”

“Night, mama, night papa,” Holly whispers right before she drifts off to sleep. 

Together we walk out of our daughters bedroom. Peeta slides an arm around my shoulders. He dips down and nuzzles my cheek. He steers me to the living room. I drag my feet. Peeta is up to something.

“Okay, spill it, Mellark.”

He gives me a wide eyed smile.

The hair at the back of my neck stands up straight. 

He’s got that look, that please tell me a bedtime story stare, and not just any story. 

“No.”

Peeta pauses and gives me a puppy dog look with a full lip pout.

“No.”

“Come on, Sweetums, my li’l sugar plum,” Peeta says in an excited whisper.

“No…no don’t waggle your eyebrows at me, Peeta. Buddy. Mellark.” I pronounce each one of his names.

Peeta’s grins so brightly; his eyes shine brighter than Christmas lights. His hat is slightly crooked as he hops and does that stupid little dance of his that makes me want to tear off his green tights. Yep, I said tights. My husband was raised as an elf, a six foot two, blond, wavy haired, giant with broad shoulders, washboard abs, and is genuinely sweet. Sweeter than eggnog.

He grabs me by the waist. “You know you wanna,” he says in that sexy time voice of his that’s reserved only for me. 

Canasto! 

I should clarify for everyone listening to my tale; you should know canasto isn’t a vulgar or bad word. It means basket. But I like the way it sounds in Spanish. So I say it with real vehemence. It’s like peaches in Spanish sounds like a curse word. Melocotón! Tu eres un Melocotón! Which translates into you’re a peach. 

I digress.

I let out a big sigh. There’s no way I can say no to him and he knows it! Canasto!

“I love it when you tell the story of how we met from your point of view.“ 

"You’re an evil gremlin,” I say with no heat in my voice. It’s my personal nickname for him. As in the gremlins when they ate after midnight. However to be fair, if you see Peeta, he’s not scary at all, he’s more like a big teddy bear.  

Peeta laughs and my heart flip flops. Because he is anything but; he is so congenial.

Peeta puts his hands on my belly, my very big belly. It’s baby number 2; actually it’s baby number two and three. They are counted as one until they’re born. I know what he’s doing, the evil gremlin! He’s trying to distract me because I’m due to give birth. I have mild pangs because I’m carrying twins and I’m nearing my due date.

He carries me and sits me on his lap. “Now start from the beginning.”

“From the candy cane forest?” I ask.

“No from your point of view,” his eyes dance gently as he rests me against his chest, rubbing my bulging belly.

“Okay,” I say quietly.

“Don’t forget to start with once upon a time,” Peeta insists, trying to contain his excitement.

“Once upon a time.”

“This is going to be good,” Peeta whispers.

“Are you going to let me tell the story?”

“Oh yea,” Peeta placed a kiss on my nose. “Go ahead.”

Closing my eyes I picture the year things changed. Because everything in my life was about others and never myself. I was always trying to be someone else, what everyone expected of me. 

It’s hard being a foster kid, and getting out of the system is kind of like getting out of jail. Suddenly you have all this freedom, but you’ve been conditioned to follow all of these rules, so when you are free, you do one of two things. You get in trouble, and try to get sent into an institution; some of us call it the iron college. Or you try to keep your nose clean and learn in the school of hard knocks. In my case, I kept my head above the water for my sister’s sake.  

“I love my family,” I muttered underneath my breath. 

I muttered it again as my sister destroyed, no scratch that, mutilated Mariah Carey’s “All I want for Christmas."  

Did I forget to mention that I love my family?   

I do. I love my family and there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for them, but at that moment I wanted to scratch my ears out with dull spoons.  

My perfect baby sister is a smoking hot blonde runway model and the muse for Karl Lagerfeld, but she has the worst singing voice known to man. You want to torture someone, hire my sister, and have her sing to the person you want to torture. Within 3 seconds flat, she can have even the most hardened of spies spilling their guts like a canary.

The one thing I could not stand beside my sister’s singing was Christmas. 

I loathed Christmas.

I was not ashamed to say it.  Every fiber of my body I hated Christmas!   If I had ever met the real Santa back then, he had better hoped that I was not holding my bow and arrow, because I would have shot him through the eye. Not that I believed in Santa then, but if I had known there was a real life Santa Claus, I’d have hunted him down, and burned the fat man’s jolly red outfit. I would then gleefully take a joy ride in his sleigh into his workshop like Bill Murray did in Groundhog Day when he allowed the groundhog to drive him off the cliff into a fiery death.

At this point you are wondering why I hated Christmas so much.

There were many reasons why the holiday was so contemptible to me. One, my father died on Christmas day. Two, my mother checked out on us that same Christmas day. The next Christmas Eve was when my sister and I were separated into different foster homes.  It took me a few months to find my six-year-old baby sister. I had been sent to a foster family who used foster kids for slave labor, to have them wipe and clean their floors while the Mrs. of the family spent the whole day in luxurious spas and getting Botox treatments, as if that was going to improve her mug. 

My baby sister was luckier. Primrose was placed in a foster home in the middle of suburbia with a 2 story house with a picket fence. A woman named Cecilia and her husband Ronald had never been able to have kids, and they doted on my sister. They brought her up to be the princess she always said she was. Honestly, they were rather shocked when my twelve-year-old cynical self rolled up into their home screaming for my baby sister, Primrose. Prim came running out of nowhere and latched herself on to my leg like an octopus. Best Spring ever, so I do love the Spring. 

But before you think we were reunited, we weren’t. The family that had Primrose never wanted me. And even if they did, we technically didn’t have the same last name. Primrose carried my mom’s last name while I carried my dad’s. My sister was Primrose Emmerson and I was Katniss Everdeen. Our parents had a silly agreement. They were also foster kids, so they decided that I would take dad’s name and the next one born would take our mothers name. 

They didn’t have family, and her parents lived a common law marriage. Their childish decision caused havoc. There was a mix up and we weren’t processed as sisters. Plus, I never stayed in the same foster home for long so even if they wanted me, they never knew where I was, but no matter where I was, I found a way to talk to Primrose, because as long as Prim was loved and cared for, my situation didn’t matter.

After our brief reunion, I had to go back to the family that I was placed in, and my sister stayed with her family. I didn’t stay with mine for very long; I became a statistic. A rolling number on someone’s computer screen. I was bounced around from one family to another in all sorts of seedy homes. 

So you can see why I’m so jaded. Every bad thing that ever happened to me, has happened on that freakin’ holiday. And there was one more reason I disliked that holly jolly holiday so immensely. For some reason, the universe hated me. 

No matter where I went, what city, what town within the state, I could guarantee you that it was a racket, a billion dollar racket to make parents crazy and buy things for their kids they didn’t need. For some reason, it pleased people to take my olive skin, dark hair, scowling self and put me into a sparkly Christmas cheer, “gag” pointy eared elf costume.

So with a week until Christmas, I was listening to my sister butcher another holiday favorite song. Then Prim screeched. And I sighed in relief.

"Katniss,” Prim said, coming out of the bathroom. “The water is cold!”

I looked heavenward. “The pipes. I forgot they’re working on the water main outside. They said there would be interruption to service.”

“Oh, you know I can get us a hotel room,” Prim said toweling dry her pale blonde locks. 

My studio apartment wasn’t what my sister was used to. She was a freaking couture runway model, six foot one, so slim nothing off the rack fit her. “I’m sorry Prim, I was so excited to see you.”

Prim smiled. “Look, I only have a few hours left. How about I treat you to lunch before I go back up to Connecticut to spend Christmas with Cecillia and Ron.” Prim smiled at me. “You know you’re more than welcome to come. They always ask about you.”

I loved my baby sister. She was amazing. And I was damned glad that the Henderson's were an amazing couple, but I knew the score. They didn’t know what to do with me. “As long as you don’t mind me wearing my elf costume.”

Primrose chuckled. “You make the cutest elf though.” She patted me on the head using a baby tone with me. Prim was taller than me by a foot. I was tiny, or as Prim said, compact size.

“I could still put you over my knee, little duck,” I growled. “Así que mira ver.”

My sister laughed and she delighted in taunting me. Prim no longer spoke Spanish, but she understood the language. “You’re adorable when you’re angry, an angry little elf, aren’t you?”

“Primrose,” I said in Spanish. I rounded my ‘r’s’ when I said her name. 

“Awe, I don’t don’t get why you hate Christmas so much.” Primrose winked going to the screen divider to get dressed. My sister was used to dressing and undressing in front of dozens of people. I, on the other hand, was not so free with nudity. Primrose said I was a prude. If I hadn’t I told her to use the screen, she would have changed right in front of me. 

“Did you know there are only three jobs an elf can have,” Prim said from over the screen. 

I sighed. Unlike me, Primrose loved Christmas. Hell, she even suggested that there might be a real Santa Claus. I told her the only people who look for ways to sneak into people’s houses were criminals. 

Prim continued her story about elves. “The type of elves that live in trees and make cookies, the types that make shoes, and the best type.”

“Let me guess, Christmas elves,” I said, rolling my eyes.

Prim grinned. She came around the screen wearing thigh high red boots, jeans and a camel tunic sweater that looked like cashmere. “Come on sis, let me treat you to breakfast so that you can go terrorize the children of Macy’s toy department.”

  Pt 2 

Peeta grins excitedly, breaking the narration. “You know she’s right. Papa says the cookie elves have high insurance premiums because their tree catches fire all of the time.” 

“Peeta,” I huff. “Do you want me to finish the story?” 

“Absolutely,” he hugs me closer. “I’m so sad you and Prim never got to grow up at the North Pole with me.”

I can’t help but smile at his sincere wish. “Oh Peeta,” I kiss his cheek.

“The only thing I would never let you do was toy testing,” Peeta whispers.

I chuckled. Peeta hated Jack-In-The-Box’s. They scare the dickens out of him. I lay my head on his shoulders. “Are you going to let me finish the story?”

“You know,” he says, blue eyes twinkling. “I’d spotted you in the city that first day.” 

“You were jumping across the lines of the cross walk, “ I grin at the memory. 

“I followed you until I saw the Empire State Building. Then I went to see my father.”

“I know,” I caress his face.

“Start from that point.”

“Okay, you ready now.” My babies were moving in my belly.

“Right, you were in your father’s office delivering the most awkward Christmas gram.” 

Peeta chuckles. “I don’t have your pretty voice.”

I sigh. “Peeta.”

“Right, I’ll be quiet.”

I give him a look. 

“But just so you know, when those guards told me to go back to Macy’s, I was curious as to why you were dressed as an elf.“

I roll my eyes. Did I forget to mention my husband is a talker. He is a chatterbox. I swear Peeta is the type who’d make friends with a paper bag.

"I thought your elf name was so pretty,” he sighs happily.

“Peeta, if you want me to tell the story. You have to hush!” I admonish, if I didn’t we would be here until tomorrow.

“Oh,” he gushes. “Yes, tell the story.” 

“So, there I was in the middle of New York, like a morsel in shark infested waters. I.E….”

“That passion fruit spray is horrible,” Peeta grumbles. “I do not know how women drink that stuff.” 

I want to laugh. There are still things that Peeta doesn’t understand about human society; perfume was one of them, and that fact endeared him to me.

“Can you start at the moment our eyes met?” Peeta gives me a wobbly smile. 

Ah, now I know why he’s interrupting so much. “Okay.”

Sighing I recall that day. Prim and I were out to breakfast. She was harping on me to find someone. Did I fall to mention Primrose was only twenty years old at the time, and at that age I was ancient at the tender age of twenty six. Seriously twenty-six. So what if I had never dated, never had a boyfriend, and never kissed anyone. My sister was right. I was a prude, but I’d seen how love could screw you over. My mom never recovered and she died alone in some home of a broken heart. All I had in the world was my sister. My Prim, and she was the only person I would love. Until that afternoon. 

“Seriously Katniss, you’re twenty-six,” Prim said. 

Eye rolling was a national pastime when speaking to a glamazon who thought I needed to date.

“Don’t roll your eyes at me,” Prim said, removing my sunglasses. “And also, sunglasses in the middle of December, so not tre chique.” 

Eye roll, eye roll, eye roll. Fake smile. CANASTO!

“You are the worst,” Prim hissed.

I knew my sister wasn’t mad at me. Annoyed, yes. Mad, no. “Prim, it’s just I’m not interested in dating anyone.” 

“Katniss, I just don’t want you to impersonate elves for the rest of your life, and when you’re like forty-six, you’ll realize you’re alone with a cat, who pisses in your shoes, and scratches your furniture.” 

I moved to pay our bill.

“No way,” Prim said, slamming her hand on the bill. “I make what you make in a month in two hours of work. This is on me.”

“Fine,” I grumbled. 

“Also, stop closing yourself to Christmas. Santa isn’t going to leave you anything under the tree.”

“Like Santa exists,” I snorted.

Prim gasped. “You take that back. Santa Claus is real Katniss, just like the rainbows, and pigs and frogs having a long term, caring relationship, and love exists.” 

My sister’s wide eyed passionate confession shook me, but the only words that came out of my mouth were, “a frog and a pig?” 

“Miss Piggy and Kermit are together, and if they can make it, no matter what the media says, anything is possible.”

“Huh,” I said, leaving the luncheonette near Penn Station. We walked to the corner, where she’d take the stairs to the lower level. 

I took a look at the stairs, knowing this was the moment I would say goodbye to my sister once again. My eyes filled with unwanted tears. I could still recall the little girl with the untucked shirt that looked like a duck tail. It’s where the nickname li’l duck came from.

“Don’t cry,” Prim whispered. “Quack, quack.”

“I hate it when we have to say goodbye,” I said quietly.

“It’s not goodbye, Katniss; it’s until the next time.” Prim grinned then she took my elf hat and put it on my head. “Go on, terrify the poor children of the city with your menacing scowl. But you better watch out, better not cry.”

I groaned. “Prim, I would rather hear seagulls squawking then you singing.” 

“I know, that’s why I do it,” Prim said.

“You’re a brat.”

“Brat, I’m on Santa’s nice list. You’re the one on the naughty list.”

“There’s no such thing as Santa…” the words died on my lips as I saw a huge man dressed in an elaborate elf outfit jumping on the lines of the crosswalk gleefully. I was struck by the joy on his face.

He looked like an angel with wavy blond hair and innocent blue eyes. It was one thing to see a six-year-old child with that wide eyed innocence, but a tall, broad shouldered man with large hands made me think perhaps he’d escaped his caretakers. His elf outfit wasn’t like the cheap one I had to wear. It was made from a rich fabric with elaborately embroidered gold thread. 

If there was something I knew about, it was fabric. I never had soft fabrics growing up and I was obsessed over soft materials. I dreamed of cashmere, Egyptian cotton, mulberry silks, and linens. His green tunic was made from merino wool, like the ones they made in England in those bespoke shops.  Even his hat, although a ridiculous cone shape, was not some cheap fabric covered cardboard that you’d find in a costume shop. It was made from genuine thick green wool felt with a yellow satin ribbon wrapped around it. A red feather bobbed up and down as he jumped.

He was so happy. He looked up, as if sensing my presence. Our eyes met and he smiled jovially and waved at me. My mouth went dry, because, gaw, Canasto!

This man-child was gorgeous. 

“Earth to Katniss.” Prim snapped her fingers in my face.

“Sorry.” I looked back to my sister.

Prim looked over her shoulder. “Are you okay.”

I dipped out of my sister’s way. “I think I saw an elf.”

Prim laughed. “It’s Christmas, Katniss. Santa’s elves are everywhere.” Prim gave me a hug before descending the stairs to the lower level of the station. 

Seeing my sister go was difficult, but I couldn’t shake the tall man dressed as an elf. He even had on yellow tights with black elf shoes. 

I made my way to Macy’s. I could see the Empire State building in the background as I took a left to head to the employee’s entrance. 

When I arrived, the floor manager Brutus headed straight to me. He was a ridiculous man with muscles in his neck and a bald head. His meaty fingers held a tiny clipboard. 

Brutus did not believe in technology. He refused to use a tablet. He said the muckety-mucks, as he called them, were out to get him. He wore dark brown pants that were too small for his large frame and even when he stood you could see his white socks. He wore a sweater vest with various pens in his front pocket and a cheap plastic necklace that was supposed to look like tree lights.  

“Jovie,” Brutus said looking over his shoulder.

“Yes, Brutus,” I smiled. Jovie was my elf name.

“Our last Santa quit, and we have no one, so until then I need you to help out in gift wrapping. Don’t forget to make sure the ribbon curl is six inches.”

“But you need more than six inches, to make a good curl.”

“Six inches.”

Sighing I walked to the station and nodded to the girls who were at the gift-wrapping station. I sat there trying to make six inch curls. People were insane at Christmas; they were stressed out to buy things, and things never made anyone happy. Things were just things.  

The line of people got shorter and I noticed the tree in the center of the sales floor was looking a little sad. So getting the ladder, I rearranged the ornaments and noticed one of the lights was out. From this vantage point I saw Brutus drag him in, the elf I saw on the street.

Heat rushed to my cheeks and I focused on the tree, eavesdropping the entire time. 

“Buddy, you need to remember you get a half-hour break when you work under six hours and a one hour break when you work over six hours. If I catch you on the floor again I’ll have to write you up.” 

His name was Buddy. My lips formed a goofy smile at his name. Up close he was prettier, his wavy hair curled up at the ends. A shiver ran up my spine at all of those curls. I could picture little boys with blond ringlets and a little girl with dark tresses in green colored elf clothing. I held on to the ladder as I swayed. 

“Wow, what’s this?” HIs eyes quickly darted to the crowded sales floor. 

“This is the north pole,” Brutus said looking at his precious clipboard.

“No it’s not,” Buddy waved at a pair of babies inside of a stroller. 

“Yes it is,” Brutus said.

“No it’s not,” Buddy eye’s traveled to the tree and I hid behind it so that he didn’t see me.

“Yes it is,” Brutus put his hands on his wide hips.

“No it’s not,” Buddy said smiling. “Where’s the snow?”

“He’s right, there’s no snow,” a six-year old girl said. She’d been listening to the conversation.  

I nearly snorted. 

“Why are you smiling like that?” Brutus brows knit together.

“I just like to smile, smiling’s my favorite thing,” he said. Bouncing to the Christmas music that was being pumped through the speakers. 

“Well stop smiling, and make work your favorite thing to do. And who gave you that outfit?”

“It’s mine,” Buddy said, splaying those large hands on his chest looking down at his elf outfit. 

Brutus looked at the intricate gold embroidery. “Fine, if that’s your story. You should make work your priority instead of shopping.” Brutus sighed, looking at his clipboard again. “I have to make the announcement.”

Buddy nodded, but once more was looking around. 

I was working on the tree lights by now and really didn’t want to get down because I wanted to keep staring at him. At his great legs. Normally tall guys had spindly legs. Not his, yum. 

“Okay I’ve got an announcement. Santa will be here tomorrow at 10AM. Keep your receipts so you can see Santa.” 

“SANTA!” Buddy yelled. He jumped, clasped his hands and a little girl next to him joined him. Soon there was a flock of kids doing the same thing, all speaking at once and he was nodding and speaking to them as if he knew Santa. 

I chuckled cause I’ve never seen Brutus look so stunned and speechless. He was carried away by Chaff, his second in command. 

Buddy turned and focused on me. I pretended that he wasn’t just a few feet away from me. I could feel his gaze as I fixed the bulb that was not letting the string of lights to turn on. The tree lit up and I swear his eyes seemed to glow brighter than the lights on the tree.

My stomach did a little flip-flop. “What!” I said defensively. I turned and saw how big his eyes were and the genuine smile. “Are you enjoying the view?”

“I love Christmas trees,” he said hesitantly. “It’s nice to see someone else who enjoys elf culture as much as I do.” 

Of course the guy that would make butterflies dance in my stomach was a wackadoo. I scowled. This wasn’t happening. Getting down from the tree, I quickly walk away, grabbing a few stuffed animals that were discarded and putting them back on the display.

“Looks like someone needs Christmas cheer and the best way to do it is to sing.”

“I don’t sing,” I muttered.

“Of course you can.” He chased after me.

“No,” I said trying to get him to stop, but liking that he’s walking after me like a wide eyed puppy-dog.

“Anyone can. All you have to do is put a group of words together in a tune,” he said sweetly.

I hopped on up on the stage where the guy in the red suit would be seated tomorrow. I turned to look at him. As I spoke to him, I couldn’t keep the hurt from my voice. Because the last time I sang a Christmas song it was with my dad, hours before he died.  “I know that, I can sing, but I choose not to sing.”

“Look, I’ll do it for you maybe it will make you smile,” Buddy said. He takes a deep breath, “I”M SINGING. I’M IN A STORE AND I AM…”

It was horrible, but I couldn’t help but smile. 

“THERE’S NO SINGING IN THE NORTH POLE!” Brutus comes running out from behind the registrar.

“Yes there is,” Buddy says grinning at me. “I’m Peeta.”

“Wait I thought your name was Buddy?”

“That’s my middle name,” Peeta said. “Is Jovie your name?”

“No,” my voice sounds breathy. “Jovie is my elf name.”

“So what’s your real name?” His voice sounded deeper and I swear I could see nothing else but his big blue eyes tenderly gazing at me.

“Katniss,” I said, wondering why my knees were so wobbly. I couldn’t fall for a guy who thought he was an elf. A very good looking, broad shouldered guy with the face of an angel, but nonetheless, a complete wakadoo.    

The ten minute warning came on letting people know they needed to go home.

“Oh I’ve got to get ready for Santa,” Peeta muttered under his breath. But before he could move Brutus appears. 

“Buddy,” Brutus grabbed him by the arm and hauled him away. I was left standing on that stage with a big old goofy grin on my face.

[p1nkwitch]

Hello if I can still ask for the ask game 175 and 200?

Yes! You can still ask!!

175. Favorite video game?

There are many that i love! But the one that i always end up replaying and having just as much fun as the first time is The curse of Moneky Island 3!! I love graphic adventure games, my brother got me them when i was a kid, the humor and the weird solutions to problems always make me laugh. Honorable mentions are Deponia and Sam and Max hit the Road. Wonderful games that i love to go back to every once in a while.

Now favourite games to play with friends, that would be dont starve together, the amount of times we fucked up with my group of friends while trying to survive was delightful. i always end up setting things on fire by accident.

200. Tell something about yourself most people don’t know.

Mm, Im fairly open with my things, i guess irl would be the fact that im ace? Like only a few of my friends and my oldest sister know. Er perhaps i question a little bit my own tastes from time to time, im still trying to figure things out.

I hated english for awhile because my teacher was an asshole when i was young, but i liked reading fanfiction a lot. Eventually i realized that there were more fics in english than spanish while browsing fanfiction.net, so my twelve year old mind went- read them in english and profit. I ended up learning how to read english better than in school by forcing myself to read short fics everyday.

Finally I was a rather lonely child so i spent a lot of time watching cartoons on my own, thing is back then they were all translated from Venezuela which meant the spanish words they used were different, so because i didnt socialize much, i spoke like that all the time. My family didnt thought it was bad, only weird, so they played along. One day i was in the bank with my mom and a lady in the line heard me talk and asked my mom when did i come back from Venezuela.

Apparently they though i was from there from the way i spoke and just recently came to live here. I got better when i got in first grade and had to adapt, because the other kids said i spoke weird. To this day i still sometimes use words like that, i did not realize until my best friend pointed it out, so now its more like a running gag.

Sorry for rambling but those were the ones at the top of my head. Yes i was a very odd child.

[louisapennyfeather2021]

Newsies Teen Wolf AU, but as scenes from different seasons that I find slightly hilarious even though they have zero context.

1) Anchors, season 3 episode 13. This is the first episode of 3b, or the second half of the season.

Brief: Basically Jack, Sarah, and Race are seeing things now and are being haunted by nightmares because of a ritual they did to save their family. Race has night terrors, Jack's werewolf abilities are acting up, and Sarah sees her dead older brother.

Warnings: Mentions of death, PTSD, panic

___

"Okay, so what happens to a person who has a near-death experience and comes out of it seeing things?" Jack sighs as he sits across from Albert and next to Race, Sarah and Katherine filling in seats to the bench they sit at during lunch.

"And is unable to tell what's real or not." Race mutters, shoving a pretzel in his mouth and tapping his foot anxiously.

"And sees dead relatives." Sarah stares at the table of the bench, a far off look on her face.

"They're all locked up because they're insane." Katherine doesn't flinch at the unappreciative looks she gets.

"Can you at least try to be helpful, please?" Race doesn't withhold any of the sarcasm he's known for. He stares Katherine in the eye, neither backing down.

"For half my childhood, I was locked in a freezer, so, being helpful is kind of a new thing for me." Katherine offers Race am equally sarcastic smile, her arms crossed on the table.

"Alright, come on, are we seriously still milking that?" Race huffs. Katherine stares at him like he's grown a second head, the other three teenagers at the table trying not to laugh or scold Race.

"Yes, we're still milking that." Katherine deadpans. Everyone is so invested in the pending argument between Race and Katherine, they don't notice that they've been joined until the newcomer sits down next to Jack.

"It's Bardo." Everyone jumps as Davey sits next to Jack and across from Sarah, receiving a panicked look from his twin. Jack tenses, knowing Davey is only just now accepting Jack as an acquaintance. "It means In Between, quite literally between life and death."

"David, I'm sorry-"

"Save it, nothing surprises me anymore." Davey offers Sarah an understanding expression, making the girl immediately relax. "But if you ever hide something like this from me again, I'm taking back my copy of the Avatar movie."

"Hey, wait a second-"

"So do you mean Bardo in Tibetan Buddhism or Indian?" Albert interrupts Sarah before she can start an argument with her brother.

"Either, but everything you guys were talking about happens in Bardo. There are different progressive states that range from seeing things, hearing things, and even being visited by peaceful and wrathful deities." Davey shrugs like it's the most commonly known thing. Jack stares wide eyed, knowing the only other person at the table who might know about this is Albert. Is this what Davey learned while he was homeschooled last year? No wonder Sarah wanted to go to public school.

"Wrathful deities?" Katherine inquires, glancing to Sarah in concern.

"Demons, essentially." Davey matches Katherine's expression, although his moves around the table to Race and Jack. Jack's neck heats up as Davey looks at him, although he quickly frowns when he doesn't understand why.

"Demons. Why not?" Race runs a hand down his face.

Just when they thought they could catch a break from all the excessively crazy supernatural stuff.

____

2) More Bad Than Good, season 3 episode 14. This is the second episode of 3b.

Brief: Spot and Oscar have been kidnapped by hunters while in Mexico. That's about it.

Warnings: Torture and maybe a bad word. Mentions of death

Notes: Oscar is Spot's older cousin who he has a strong hate/tolerate relationship with. Spot is two years older than Jack and Race, making him nineteen. Also note, I'm interpreting the spanish used from my years taking Spanish and from how the show translated it, please correct me if I'm wrong so I can fix it!!!

____

"Why are you looking at me like this is my fault?" Oscar borderline whines as Spot glares at him.

"Because it is your fault." Spot pants, his body hanging almost limply as his wrists stay tied above him to the chain link fence. A switch flips and Spot's entire body seizes, pained grunts passing his lips as electricity travels through his body. Oscar is not different, both boys arching their bodies away from the fence that the electricity courses through. After what feels like an eternity, but was only five seconds, they both slump against the fence, catching their breath as their bodies twitch uncontrollably.

"Yeah. You're probably right." Oscar breathes heavily, his muscles spasming. Suddenly there's another switch and Spot can't hold back a scream from the pain that courses through his body, his wrists straining against the cuffs holding him to the fence. It's gone as soon as it comes, but the pain seems to only increase once Spot can feel his body again as it heals itself. Oscar is all but hanging from his wrists now, hardly supporting himself.

"I've seen some crack their teeth. Others, they just shake and shake even after their heart stops. Sometimes we don't even know they're dead." Spot and Oscar both groan, recognize the voice as the man who had been torturing them for the last two days. And all over some dumb myth. "But nobody wants to play a guessing game. So, why don't you just tell us? Where is El Lobo?"

"We don't know where El Lobo is." Spot strains to look the man in the eyes, his body heavy like lead.

"Maybe you need a different method of persuasion? Maybe we cut one of you in half, the other talks?" The man smirks. Spot clenches his jaw, thinking of any way possible to get out of his current situation. Of course, his smart mouth of a cousin has to start talking.

"I would love to volunteer, but we really don't know what you're talking about. And honestly, isn't bisecting people with a broad sword a little medieval?" Oscar squints at the man. Spot knows Oscar's only going to get them killed if he doesn't shut up, although he also knows his cousin's ability to mouth off while simultaneously not dying is almost a superpower.

"A broad sword? We're not savages." Spot glances nervously over to Oscar as the man winks at them, although Oscar seems pretty happy with himself.

Until a chainsaw whirls.

It takes every fiber in Spot not to use all his power to break his restraints and strangle Oscar. Even if he could escape, there are far better things he could do than waste his time on his sorry excuse of a relative.

"Boys." A new voice makes both boys chained to the fence drop their shoulders and the man with the chainsaw to turn it off and step back. An older woman walks closer and starts saying something in Spanish.

"No hablo español." Spot pants, he body still recovering from the electric shocks.

"Tu hablas muchos idiomas, Sean Conlon. You know exactly what I'm saying. And you know who we want. Where is The Wolf?" The woman glares at Spot. Spot shakes his head in defeat, having had this conversation countless times in the past two days.

"We don't know any Wolf." Spot looks the woman in the eyes, hoping in vain that this time she'll actually believe him.

"I know you won't talk, lobito. But this one? This one loves the sound of his own voice." The woman steps in front of Oscar, a calculating look on her face.

"You should hear me sing." Oscar grins. Spot clenches his jaw, knowing Oscar could very well have just signed their death certificate.

"We want to hear you scream." The woman's grin is wide.

"No one ever wants to hear me sing." Oscar mock pouts, receiving a wide eyed glare from Spot.

"What could we do to persuade you? Where is The Wolf?" The woman seems to ponder the thought and Spot notices her hands moving behind her back. Suddenly she moves and not even two seconds later, Oscar is screaming. Spot wants to gag when he sees what appears to be a finger on the ground.

"Think about it. I'll only ask nine more times." Spot watches her leave, eyes still wide and brows furrowed. He watches the woman exchange a look with the man and the man smirks at him whole Oscar pants heavily next to him, occasionally whimpering.

The man reaches for the dial.

And everything flashes white.

____

Hey all! So these are just some of my favorite scenes from Season 3b of Teen Wolf. They aren't necessarily funny by any means and they probably don't make sense if you haven't seen the show, but I hope these were enjoyable to read.

Please send me any scenes you want to see or any recommendations you have! I'm open to anything!

[mellicose]

That Woman Over There - Chapter 3

A You Me and Him Fix-it Fic

Rating: Teen, for language

Word count: 2924

Warnings: none

Summary: ~ Set after the birth of Monty, Olivia’s baby ~ A dear friend of Olivia comes to visit for a week, and she disturbs the fragile peace between her, Alex, and John.

Chapter 1 | Chapter 2

Chapter 3

They spent a nice morning in, since Olivia was still on her extended pregnancy leave. Connie reveled in their domestic rhythms, and it made her wistful. She missed it. The unhurried affection, the unspoken knowledge of each other’s habits.

After breakfast, they sat around chatting again, but before lunch, Connie was yawning and rubbing her eyes.

“You’re still jetlagged,” Olivia said, picking up Monty from the play seat on the floor “You should have a little nap before lunch.”

“I dunno,” she said. “Then I won’t be able to sleep tonight.”

“I’ll wake you in an hour. Monty’s looking like he needs a nap too,” she said, and kissed his sticky cheek. “It’s been a busy morning.”

She leaned over and poked Monty’s belly. “What up, friend,” she whispered. “We’re nap buddies.” He yawned, then gave her a grin. She looked up at Olivia. “Yeah, I think I could use a sueñito.”

Olivia smiled. “A little sleep, si?” she said.

“Precisamente,” Connie said. Olivia had loved their Spanish lessons back in the day. And she had been a very, very good student.

“Hasta luego,” she said, waving Monty’s hand at her. “Until later, Aunt Connie. Bye bye…” she said softly, then walked out.

She got comfortable on the giant sofa and pulled a woven blanket over herself. The sun warmed her feet, making the burns sting a bit. She tucked them in the blanket.

Aunt Connie, she thought, and closed her eyes. I like the sound of that.

Slow, pulsing pink. 

Her cheeks burned with sunlight. She turned to her side and it was dark again. Singing, soft, and in an unfamiliar cadence, kept her from sinking back into unconsciousness. It was sweet, and vaguely reminded her of late nights in her childhood, when her father sat by her bed after coming back from parts unknown, still smelling of good tobacco and bay rum. He sang to her to let her know he was there, hoping it would sift through to her dreams and comfort her.

She missed her papa. But he had gone to a place she would not follow.

She sniffled, and her closed eyes filled with tears. One of them finally dripped to the batik pillow.

“Ye okay?” John said, voice gentle with concern. She opened an eye. He was sitting on the floor, in front of the coffee table. Her ball of necklaces was now neatly organized on the table by metal type and length. He smiled at her, thrusting his bearded chin at his handiwork. “Brilliant, right?”

“Don’t touch my things,” she said. She leaned forward to grab her necklaces, and clumsily slid off the sofa.

He took her hand before she got a messy fistful and tangled them again. “I’m sorry about this morning. I was trying to be funny, and failed miserably. You’re beautiful. Really,” he said, his brows knitting with sincerity. She yanked her hand away and crawled back onto the sofa.

“I don’t need your approval. Just leave my stuff alone,” she said, turning her back to him. He tried not to stare at her bum, but her jean shorts left little to the imagination. It was a very nice bum. She groaned and threw the blanket over herself, although her legs were still exposed. He wrapped a string of coral beads around his wrist and sat at the end of the sofa. His fingers ghosted over the fading red of the burns.

“You should put more aloe on those,” he said. She kicked at him, but lightly. “Where’d you put the other aloe leaf I gave you?” He went to the kitchen. It was shriveling on the sill of the window facing his back yard.

Interesting.

He peeled it and sat back down beside her. She was still and her breathing was deep, miming sleep.

He smiled. “You know you snore like a ploughman, right?” he said.

She grunted and flipped him off. “Go home, Juan.”

“One what?” he said. She turned to scowl at him, and he held up the slimy leaf. “Do you mind if I…” he pointed at her legs.

She sat up and tried to take the leaf from him, but it slid out of her fingers to the carpet. Her wavy hair stuck up in the back, and it was thoroughly charming. He stared at her a beat too long, and she stuck her tongue out at him.

“You go to bed with women, but I doubt you see them wake up much,” she said. It was petty, but she was irritated. And embarrassed. Did she snore that loud?

“I was married for 13 years. I saw bedhead enough,” he said. “And dealt with morning mouth. And popping back pimples. And the gun-loud sleep farts? Fuck, I’d wake up thinking she finally shot me,” he said.

She snorted and put her hand over her mouth, but refused to laugh outwardly. She knew all about those. Ella had startled her many times with her vegan wind.

He  winked. ”Made you laugh.”

“No you didn’t,” she said. “It was a yawn.”

“Sure,” he said, and picked up the aloe. It was covered with dust bunnies. “Ugh. I’ll get you more.”

“Don’t worry about it-” she said, and out of habit, put her hand over his. He gave her a look that made her walk in front of the window to scrutinize him. He was a misogynist ass. Completely. A mouth-breathing nerd trying too hard to be a dudebro. But still, her stomach did a flip. “Gimme my necklace back. My mom gave it to me.”

He pulled it carefully from around his wrist, where the coral looked like prayer beads. She was loathe to admit they looked good on him.

“It’s coral, right?” he said, holding it up to the light with long, delicate fingers. “Medusa’s blood.”

She leaned against the windowsill. “What?”

“In greek mythology, when Perseus finally succeeded in cutting off Medusa’s head, the blood dripped to the sea and formed red coral.”

She loved mythology, and for a second, she forgot herself and sat by him. ���I don’t remember that,” she said. He took her hand and dropped the beads in the cup of her palm, where they clicked and pooled like blood. “My dad used to read mythology to me when I was little. In Spanish, though.”

“I didn’t get to school much when I was wee, so I read a lot. I loved reading about Hercules and Perseus and Odysseus. Big, brawny, brave men.”

“Why not?” she asked.

He patted his back. “The brace made it … difficult for me to do certain things on my own when I was a little, so my mum home schooled me. Later, in high school, I was able to go often enough to graduate. Lucky me,” he said, but a shadow crossed his eyes. She noticed immediately because, ordinarily, they gleamed with good humor.

“Oh,” she said, nodding. “Was it that bad?”

He pooched his lips and rolled his eyes. “A boy need a proper backbone to deal with all the shite the world throws at ‘im,” he said. He used a heavier brogue that wasn’t his own. “You oughtta quit whinging and straighten up, lad. I’m starting to you’re using that contraption as an excuse to linger ‘round yer ma’s skirts.”

He smiled, but it was bitter.

“Fuck,” she said softly. She thought back on last night. After coming back into the house, she was rinsing out her coffee cup and saw movement in his yard. He did a series of stretches, reaching up to the moon, exhaling until his ribcage was visible through his stained t-shirt, then twisting slowly from side to side, hands on his waist.

She hadn’t meant to stare, but she did. There was graceful deliberation to his actions that made her feel herself in a way she had not in months. She rarely saw men who moved like that except dancers, and they were mostly gay. In any case, she knew he wasn’t trying to impress anyone with the movements - he didn’t know he was being watched.

“I wish I was homeschooled,” she said, finally.

“Oi?” he said, distracted.

“Home schooled. I went to a fancy school, but so much for good breeding - the teachers were as vicious as the students,” she said, putting the coral beads around her neck.

“Oh yeah?”

“It was running gag. Whenever I said something, they would pretend they couldn’t understand. They would make a face and say ‘No understando’ or ‘someone get the maid to translate’. Or my dubious favorite, ‘Shakespeare might be too hard for you. You should just stick with Cantinflas,’”she said, and sniffed.”That shit got old the first day, but it went on for years. The fact that my father is a diplomat made it worse.”

“Who is Cantinflas?” he said.

“A really popular Mexican comedian who did a bunch of movies in the 40’s and 50’s. His thing was playing poor country bumpkins, but he turned the trope on its head. He did broke but clever. He was a cultural icon, really.”

“So, not as much an insult as they thought,” he said. “Some kids are assholes. I didn’t grow up anywhere near rich, so… it was all ketosis-breathed gobshites.”

She giggled. “Gobshites,” she said.

“Cockwombles. Numpties,” he said. She started to laugh.

“That’s hilarious,” she said. “Hijos de la gran puta. Pendejos de la vela, toditos se pueden ir al carajo.*”`

“Those sound dirty,” he said. “I recognized puta.”

“You would, bitch,” she said. He gave her a mock hurt look. She winked.

“You’re getting along famously,” Olivia said loudly. “How wonderful.”

Connie jumped up and stuffed her hands in her pockets. “Pfft. He was stalking me while I slept.”

“I was untangling your horrible ball of necklaces,” he said, pointing to the coffee table.

“Did you hear her snoring? She’s like a bear,” Olivia said, giggling.

Connie’s mouth dropped open. “Olivia!”

“My vote’s for ploughman,” John said, scrunching up his nose.

Olivia sat down on the sofa. “When we had sleepovers, I got in the habit of listening to my Discman so I could get some rest,” she said.

“You said you couldn’t sleep without music,” Connie said. “Dirty liar.”

“It wasn’t all a lie. Without music, I couldn’t sleep … with you.”

“You guys suck,” she said, and stomped into the kitchen.

“I love you too,” Olivia yelled after her.

Olivia pointed at the organized jewelry. “Did you really do all that?”

“Yeah. Seeing it was setting my teeth on edge,” he said. He picked up the pearls. “Did you really give her these?”

“Yes. Those are the pearls I was wearing the day we met,” she said.

“How sentimental,” John said in a sibilant falsetto.

“Totally gay,” Olivia said. “Where’s Alex? I fell asleep with Monty and she disappeared.”

“She went to the shops to buy ingredients for dinner. Her famous spag bol.”

“Ooh, yummy,” Olivia said, clapping her hands.

John shrugged. “Don’t know why you can’t just get it out of a can.”

“She makes it with homemade tomato sauce and italian sausage. You can’t get that out of a can.”

He shrugged and worked the pearls like prayer beads. Their smooth coolness was exquisite. He wondered why men didn’t wear them.

“Oh, about tonight. I’ve been meaning to tell you some news.”

“Really. You’re not moving, are you?”

“You wish. Nah. But it’s big. I think you’ll be proud.”

“You’re going to rid of your deep v t-shirt collection?” Olivia said, in fine form. She wished Alex was there to hear it.

“Never,” he said. He resisted the urge to tap a pearl against his teeth.“Her snoring. It’s not that bad, is it?” he said softly.

“Nah. You get used to it.”

“Did you?” he asked. 

She wasn’t expecting the question. “I suppose,” she said. “I didn’t care at the time. And we didn’t do much sleeping anyway.”

John hooted.

“Get your head out of the gutter.”

“But that’s where it lives,” he said.

“We would listen to music, read to each other, and talk for hours and hours. I would help her with her pronunciation, and she would help me with my French and Spanish.”

“She knows French too?” he said.

Olivia smiled. “Her mum’s french. You know, like, Paris French.”

“Insufferable,” John said, but he tilted his head to try and get a glimpse of her in the kitchen.

“She’s got a good heart. She’s one of the warmest people I’ve ever known.”

“And yet I’m freezing my lads off,” he said, making a face.

“Well, she’s angry at you.”

“Why? I heard what you said last night, about her not blaming me individually. What did you mean by that? I didn’t know her from Eve two days ago.”

“Eavesdropper,” she said. Olivia gave the dramatic sigh she always did before a story. He leaned back and crossed his legs.

“A little more than a year ago, her father filed for divorce from her mother after almost 37 years of marriage. She took it really, really hard.”

“But what does that have to do with me?” he said.

“It came as a huge surprise to everyone, including her mum. She thought everything was business as usual. But during the course of the proceedings, certain facts started to come to light that proved that it had been a long time coming, for him.”

John looked lost. Olivia leaned forward and grabbed his wrist.

“He said he was done with the increasingly misandrist tilt of the world he lived in, and declared that he is now part of MGTOW.”

John’s heart began to sink again, as he knew exactly what it stood for. At one point not too long ago, he felt the same way.

“Men going their own way,” he said softly. “Fuck.”

Olivia nodded.

“He exposed aspects of his relationship with his wife with which he was very displeased, and said he was tired to lugging her dead weight, citing her re-occurring depression and substance abuse problem as intolerable. In short, he was convinced he could do better. Furthermore, he brought proof of instances of verbal and emotional abuse due to the substance use before the court, and he nearly got everything. Her mum went from an Upper West Side brownstone to a one-bedroom flat in Flatbush, since she refuses to move in with Connie. She’s deeply humiliated.”

He was afraid to ask the question. As far as he knew, politicians and diplomats didn’t frequent his humble site - it was mostly insecure college guys and bitter divorced men.

“But why me, Olivia?”

“He mentioned your site as the catalyst that helped to make up his mind. ‘Thousands of men speaking the truth to power about women in a safe space, free from judgment.’ He said he felt solidarity. He said you were a saint and a hero for refusing to be a white knight to screeching misandrists.” Olivia rolled her eyes.

“Fuck,” John said again, more vehemently. “So he mentioned Mannism? And my name?”

She nodded. “I got a screaming phone call, since I had already told her about you and Alex. She was hysterical. It took me hours to talk her out of flying over her to castrate you.” Olivia hugged herself. “What she failed to realize is that it put me between a rock and a hard place. You were the father of-” she nodded quickly, “-the damage was done. But honestly, I hated you. Not only for her, but for everything else. For a while.”

“And you kept that to yourself for all this time?” he said, genuinely surprised.

“What could I do? I fucked up, then Alex fucked up and you fucked up...” she pointed at him. “Everything was fucked. And I didn’t have much sympathy left for her at the time.”

Olivia didn’t usually swear like that.

“We didn’t talk until right after the baby was born, and still, it hurt that she wasn’t going to make it to the birth. We promised each other as girls that we would be present at the birth of our first born. But-” she hiccuped, “she said if I insisted you be there, even after what happened with Alex-” she sniffled, and fat tears dripped down her cheeks.

“Damn it, why didn’t you tell me?”

“Because at the time, you were important to Alex, and since Alex was the most important thing in the world to me…”

John stood up slowly. He shook his head. “I didn’t know.”

“Now you do,” Connie said from the doorway, wiping her eyes.

Olivia wept on the sofa, her hands palm up on her knees. Connie ran to her, already crying.

“I’m so sorry,” she said, falling to her knees in front of Olivia and hugging her waist. “I was a selfish, stubborn, unfair, foolish bitch,” she said, and buried her head in Olivia’s chest. Olivia hugged her back, whooping with emotion.

“I missed you,” she said, hiccuping. “I missed you being there…”

Connie’s body trembled. “I didn’t see Monty ... being born …” she clung even harder to Olivia. “Your little baby…”

They wept passionately in each other’s arms. At any other time, their wailing might almost border on comical, but not now.

He knew it was because of him. It was all because of him.

He walked out the back door quietly and let them make it up alone.

Read Chapter 4

*Sons of bitches. Bunch of dumbasses. They can all go to fucking hell.

[ramblingthoughtsofayoungadult]

Talk Norwegian to Me-Chris Schistad Imagine

Requested: No

Warnings: Mostly fluff, some sensuality

A/N: I just finished the first season of Skam and I love it. Vilde is the most adorable thing ever! Anyway, if you like this imagine, don’t hesitate to request more Skam imagines!

Mitt navn er= My name is

Hva heter du= What is your name?

Gratulerer, du vet noe norsk= Congratulations, you know some Norwegian

Takk skal du ha= Thank you

Og så kom hun opp til ham og slo ham= And then she slapped him

Foran alle= In front of everyone

Vel, han burde ikke ha hatt sex med henne og henne= Well, he shouldn’t have had sex with her or her...

Du ser veldig bra ut, Chris= You look very good, Chris

Nå vet jeg at du er full= Now I know you’re drunk

    As I sat outside the headmaster’s office, I couldn’t stop thinking about all the possibilities as to why I was sitting there. In my entire academic career, I had never been in trouble, not once. Back in America, I had perfect attendance, straight As, and I had an active social life thanks to volleyball and theater. I had only been attending Hartvig Nissen for about a month now and the only thing I had done was join Eva, Vilde, Noora, and Sana’s Russ Bus and that only got me into a tiny amount of trouble. 

    My heart stopped beating for a second.

    Maybe that’s why I was here. The headmaster found out I had been drinking and dancing at The Penetrators’ party. 

    Was that going to get me expelled?     “What are you doing here, Yankee?” Chris teased as he slid into the seat next to me.

     Ever since I transferred to Hartvig Nissen, it seemed as though Chris Schistad’s mission in life was to annoy me to death. He was always teasing me about how American I was and made sure to comment every time I would pass him with my friends. He was like an annoying toddler combined with a douchebag and I had no idea why so many girls liked him.

      “Not that it’s any of your business, but the headmaster asked to see me before classes start. Why are you here? Did someone finally catch you smoking on school property?” I shot back.

      Chris smirked that crow eating grin that got under my skin. “I don’t know, could be for anything really.” 

     I felt Chris’ beady eyes roam over my body and hugged my thick gray Burberry sweater tighter around my waist. “Stop staring at me like that.”

    “Can’t help it, you look hot in that sweater. Makes me wonder if you look this good with it on---”

    “Stop it,” I hissed.

    “...how good you would look with it off?”

    Before I could respond, the headmaster stepped out of his office. “Good morning, Miss Y/L/N, Mr. Schistad.”

    I stood immediately and shook the older man’s hand. “Good morning, Headmaster.”

   “Morgen,” Chris said.

   We followed the headmaster into his office and sat down in the two seats in front of his desk. Then, the headmaster sat down and leaned forward on his desk.

    “Y/N, you have shown great academic performance even though you just came here from America,” he said in a thick Norwegian accent. 

    “Thank you, Headmaster,” I said with a smile.

    “However, I think it would be much better for you to be in classes with the other Norwegian students here.”

     I blinked. “But, all of those classes are taught in Norwegian, besides foreign language classes.”

    “Which is why I’ve asked Mr. Schistad here as well. He is one of the only students who is nearly as proficient in English as he is in Norwegian.”

    It felt like the ground had fallen out from underneath me. Chris Schistad was going to tutor me. Had I fallen into some sort of Twilight Zone? I was doing just fine with the mini translator device I brought to classes and the girls in my bus helped me in the classes that we had together.

    “Noora also knows good English, headmaster, couldn’t she help me?”

    “While that is true, she does not have as extensive of a record as Mr. Schistad.” The headmaster cast a glance in Chris’ direction and all he could do was smirk in return. “You will practice every day after school but when and where are entirely up to you two. Any questions?”

    I shook my head, grabbed my bag, and wandered out of the office. How was this happening to me?    “Well, it looks like we’ll be spending more time together, Yankee.”

    “My name is Y/N,” I said through gritted teeth. “I’m free at five o’clock, or, seventeen o’clock your time. We’ll meet at a cafe or something.”

    “Can’t at five, I have plans.” Chris smiled suggestively and I nearly gagged.

    “Cancel your booty call, this is more important. You better not make me sound like an idiot.”     “Never,” Chris said. “I’ll text you.”

    I nodded and hurried off to my first class. Unfortunately, the news of having Chris Schistad, the school f--kboy as my Norwegian tutor threw me for such a loop that I couldn’t really pay attention to European History, and it was one of my favorite classes. I shouldn’t let anyone, let alone Chris Schistad, stand in the way of my academic career, but I couldn’t seem to get him out of my head.

    “What?” Noora, Sana, Eva, Vilde, and Chris exclaimed.

   We were sitting in the cafe for lunch and I had just told them the news. They all had the same look of shock on their faces and I nodded.

   “Why couldn’t one of us teach you?” Noor asked.

   “Because the headmaster wants to help Chris be a better person I guess,” I said, picking at the sandwich on my plate.

   “I could teach you,” Chris said slowly.

   “You barely speak Norwegian, Chris, and most of the English you know is from music,” Eva teased.

    Chris rolled her eyes and took a big bite out of her croissant and muttered something in Norwegian.

    “But, this meeting won’t interfere with the Russ bus, right?” Vilde asked nervously.

    I shrugged. “I’m supposed to meet him today at five so I have no idea.” 

   Vilde sighed and burst into some anxious Norwegian before being hushed by Sana ad Noora. 

   “What did she say?”

   Noora shook her head. “Nothing, she’s just freaking out about the bus.” Noora leaned forward. “Anyway, having Chris as a tutor might not be that bad.”    “Might not be that bad? He tricked me into drinking a bottle of pickle juice after I already had several shots of vodka at the party last Friday.”

   Chris burst out laughing while everyone else tried to hold in their laughs.

   “He was only messing with you,” Eva said.

    “In America, that’s borderline bullying,” I argued. “He’s making me lose my appetite.”

   I set the plate at my feet and groaned. The worst part was I was really looking forward to lunch that day. 

   “Don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of Norwegian in no time,” Noora said.

   “Now that’s a load of bs if I ever heard it.”

   The other girls burst into laughter and we started talking about something else. However, I couldn’t help but dread working with Chris later that day. I hoped that something would happen between my journey to school and the cafe we were supposed to meet at that would delay this process. Unfortunately, everything went smoothly and before I knew it, I was sitting in a booth in a cafe, hot chocolate set in front of me, scanning over the Norwegian language books I had gotten from the library.

    “Look at you, such a diligent student.” Chris slid into the seat across from me and I glanced up at him.

   “We both have to do our parts,” I muttered. “So, what is the first lesson?”

   “We’ll just go over the basics. Repeat after me, Mitt navn er.”

    It rolled perfectly off his tongue but seemed to get all jumbled up in my own.

   “Try again, Yankee.”

    “Mish nav er?”

    Chris burst out laughing and I rolled my eyes. “Sorry, it’s just, I’ve never heard someone sound so bad at Norwegian before.”    “If I do, it’s because I have a bad teacher.”

   Chris arched an eyebrow. “Look who has claws. Fine, let’s sound it out: Meet.”

    “Meet.”

    “Nav.”

     “Nav.”

    “Er.”

    “Er.”

    “Now, just put it together,” Chris said.

    “Mitt navn er.”

    “Perfect.”

    “What does it mean?”

   “My name is. Hva heter du?” 

    “Mitt navn er Y/N.”

    “You sound almost native.”     “Bull.”

    “You caught me.”

     I couldn’t help myself but laugh before sipping some hot chocolate.

    “Am I going crazy or did I just make you laugh?”

    “It was a cough.” Chris kept giving me that knowing look that unnerved me and I averted my attention to the books. “Shouldn’t we be going over tenses and irregulars?”     “We will not be using books as long as I am your tutor. You just need to practice with me, it is the best way to learn.”     “But, that’s how I learned Spanish back in America.”

    “Really, say something in Spanish right now.”

    I hesitated before saying, “Gracias....para ayudame, uh, apprender su lenguaje.”

    “It took you awhile didn’t it? That’s the problem with Americans: you worry more about learning grammar than the actual language. Don’t worry about it so much.”

    As much as I hated to admit it, he was right. I would have to loosen up if I was ever going to learn Norwegian and end these lessons. Chris taught me a few more basic phrases before we decided to call it a night. 

   “Your homework will be to work these phrases into every day conversation,” Chris said.

    “Fine, Mr. Schistad,” I said.

    I began packing up my books when Chris stopped me, “We’re having another party Saturday. You should come, practice more.”     “I’ll think about it.”

     The lessons for the next few months seemed to go the same as that: Chris would teach me phrases and make me practice them. I got homework every day but I practiced as much as I could. Eva, Noora, Vilde, Sana, and Chris noticed that I was getting slightly better after a while.

    “Gratulerer, du vet noe norsk,” Sana praised.

    “Takk skal du ha,” I replied. 

    “Chris is not a bad tutor,” Eva noted.

    We were sitting in the cafe for our Russ meeting and the conversation quickly switched from the budget to my Norwegian lessons.

    “No, it’s kind of weird how good he is.”

    “Do you get a prize when you are good student?” Chris teased.

    I rolled my eyes. “No.”

    “He is being nicer to you, Y/N,” Noora said. “And I see him staring at you when you aren’t looking.”

     I shook my head. Noora couldn’t possibly mean that Chris liked me, could she? I was only a first year, an international first year at that. Wouldn’t Chris prefer a girl in his own year, from his own country?

    “He’s probably looking at something else,” I said.

    “Please, he undresses you with his eyes every chance he gets,” Sana blurted. 

    “No, it’s sweeter than that, Sana. He likes you, Y/N, really likes you,” Vilde said.

    “Stop lying. He’s just being nicer to me because we hang out more and he probably isn’t looking at me the way you all are thinking.”

   “Whatever you say, Y/N,” Eva sang.

   I rolled my eyes again as my friends dissolved into laughter. They were crazy for thinking Chris liked me. If anything, we had become friendly associates who occasionally partied together. However, I had noticed that he wasn’t hooking up with girls at parties like he used to, but maybe he was sick of being with the same kind of girls at parties.

    An hour after the meeting, Chris and I were sitting in his room, talking solely in Norwegian.

    “Og så kom hun opp til ham og slo ham!” Chris exclaimed.

    “Foran alle?”     “Ja!”

    I burst out laughing at Chris’ story and shook my head. “Vel, han burde ikke ha hatt sex med henne og henne, um, henne.”

    Chris leaned towards me and put his hand on my shoulder. “Relax, Y/N, don’t sweat it, it’s just me.”

     “Henne...oh forget it!” I folded my arms across my shoulders. “Two months of tutoring every day and I forget the simplest term in Norwegian. There’s no way I’m gonna pass that proficiency test.”

     I buried my face in my hands and sighed. The bed shifted underneath me and I heard some rustling around.

    “You’re doing so well for someone who came into this country not knowing any Norwegian. And you’re the smartest girl I know so some stupid proficiency test isn’t going to hold you back,” Chris said.

    When I looked up, he had a bottle of vodka in his hand. “Thanks, Chris, but what is that for?”

    “To help you relax.”

    My eyes widened. “No, we shouldn’t.”

    “It’s fine, it’s legal here. The more relaxed you are, the better you’ll be.”

    He did have a good point, but how wrong was it for me to be drinking with a known player in his room when his parents weren’t home? Wasn’t it a bit dangerous and crazy? On the other hand, if I did drink, it was solely for the purpose of getting better at practicing Norwegian.

    “This is just for practice,” I said.

    “Of course.” Chris handed me the bottle and I took a swig, wincing a little at the burning sensation and bitter taste. “Why do you people like vodka so much?”

    “No idea,” he said as he took a swig.

     I quickly lost count of how much I had to drink. The room looked a little hazy and everything Chris said seemed to make me laugh. Plus, he suddenly looked really good with his playful dark eyes, chiseled jaw, and fantastic brown hair. 

    “Du ser veldig bra ut, Chris,” I chuckled out.

    “Nå vet jeg at du er full,” Chris said with a laugh.

    “No, I mean it, you’re actually really attractive when you’re not trying to hook up with girls or tease me,” I said.

    “Thanks, Y/N.” 

    The bad thing about my being inebriated is that I said anything and everything that was on my mind and I couldn’t stop thinking about how all my friends thought Chris had a thing for me. 

    “You wanna hear something funny?”

    “Sure.”

    “Noora, Eva, Sana, Vilde, and Girl Chris think you like me because you look at me a lot. Are they right?”

    Chris stopped smiling and looked serious for a second. “I thought you were the prettiest girl in school when I first saw you. I just teased you because you aren’t like all the other girls. You’re serious and you don’t take anything from anyone. Plus, you’re the smartest girl I know. I’m actually glad that headmaster put us together.”

    “But do you like me?”

    “Do you like me?”     I paused for a moment. “I mean, I’ve thought you were a jerk since we first met, but, now I know you’re actually kind of nice and still every bit as cool as everyone thinks you are. And you’re smarter than you let on.” I smiled. “Plus, you are super hot, I just didn’t like you because you tease me all the time.”

   “And now?”

   “Now, I like you.”

   Chris smirked for a moment. “Are you ready for a new phrase, Y/N?”

   “Always.”

   “Kyss meg.”

   “Kyss meg.”

   A second later, Chris’ lips were on mine and i didn’t know whether it was the vodka or not, but he was really good at it. Almost immediately after, I kissed him back, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer. He pulled me into his lap and we quickly began making out. Soon enough, I was lying ontop of him, but our tongues were involved now. Usually, I avoided tongue kisses because it was always so sloppy and slobbery. But with Chris, it didn’t feel that way at all, it was smooth and nice.

  All I can say is that the next morning, I woke up with a headache and in Chris’ bed. I jerked up in the bed and almost immediately regretted it since it just made my head hurt worse.

   “Ow,” I said.

   “Sleeping Beauty is finally awake.” Chris walked into the room and handed me a cup of coffee.

    “Did we, you know----”

    “No, we didn’t, I wouldn’t take advantage of you like that ever.”

    His words sounded sincere and I nodded.

   “I’m so sorry about last night. Must’ve been the vodka.”

   “Really, because it seemed like you actually liked me.”

    “Alcohol does that to you.” I took a long swig of the coffee, praying that it would dull my headache. 

    Fortunately, my dad was in Paris for a business trip and my mom had gone to Geneva to visit one of my cousins. I could only imagine what they would’ve thought if I hadn’t come home today. Plus, I couldn’t believe that I had drunkenly made out with Chris. 

    “Do you remember anything else from last night?” Chris asked, looking dejected.

   “Kind of, you said that Noora and the other girls were right about you liking me, but you were pretty drunk too.”

   “What is that saying: a drunken mouth speaks sober thoughts?”

    “Something like that.” I crawled out of his bed and continued sipping coffee. “I should probably go.”

    Chris nodded and I began gathering my things. It was awful how awkward it was and I could only hope that it wouldn’t interfere with our future lessons. Before I could leave, Chris grabbed my arm and I turned to him. “I meant everything I said last night, Y/N, drunken or not and if you need me to repeat myself, I will: Y/N, I thought you were the most beautiful girl when I first saw you and I think you’re one of the smartest, cleverest, and kindest person I’ve ever met. You’re also way out of my league but you can’t blame me for trying, so yeah, I like you a lot.”

    “That’s so sweet, Chris, I...I don’t know what to say.”

    “Say if you like me back. Tell me the truth.”

    “What can I say? We’ve gotten close over the past couple months and I suppose I like you in some way.”

    Chris shook his head. “No, we both know this goes deeper than that.”

   “Chris---”

   “I’ll see you Monday.”

   As I walked away, I couldn’t help but feel dejected. On one hand, I had one of the most desired guys at school liking me and on the other hand, I had no idea if I liked him. For three months, I have detested him and thanks to some alcohol, I made out with him and told him I liked him. This was all much too confusing and it was making my headache worse the more I thought about it. However, I couldn’t help but wonder if that saying “Drunken mouths speak sober truths” had any truth to it.