Fic: The Littlest Fan (Ikeaverse)
Title: The Littlest Fan
Rating: K
Word count: 300
A/N: Happy, happy birthday, newnumbertwo! I hope you don't mind me borrowing your Ikeaverse and your adorable OC for a little bit.
“You’ve gotta be frakking kidding me,” Kara growled from the couch. “C’mon!”
“Let's go, Owange!” Judy chimed in. “Shoot. Shoot!”
Having successfully ignored the game for much of its duration, Laura finally tossed aside the education journal she’d been trying to read. While she hadn’t as much as attempted to fill out a bracket, it sounded like things were getting interesting. Upon walking into the living room she saw her daughters, both decked out in identical shades of orange and blue, fairly bouncing on the couch cushions with nervous energy.
A buzzer rang out, and Judy joined Kara’s wailed “fraaaaak.”
“I thought he had it,” Kara said despairingly.
“I tot he had it too,” Judy said.
Laura wasn’t sure how much the toddler actually understood of the game, much less the tournament, but she was certainly as emotionally invested as her big sister. Kara and Sam had indoctrinated her as a baby; Judy’s third word had been “Boeheim,” according to Kara’s version of their family lore.
“Dayton,” Kara said to Laura, shaking her head incredulously. “Dayton. Who the heck ever heard of Dayton?”
“Let’s not malign the fine cities of Ohio in front of the impressionable one,” Laura said.
“Sowwy, Kawa,” Judy said, giving Kara a hug. “Dey win da next one.”
“That’s the thing, baby,” Kara explained. “This was the tournament. Once you lose, you’re out.”
“So who are we gonna cheer for now?” Bill’s deep baritone joined the conversation, and he came into the room and sat next to his girls. Judy scrambled into his lap.
Kara scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Ugh. Who’s left?”
Judy pointed at the flat-screen excitedly. The game had already changed. “Owange and bwue! Owange and bwue!”
The three adults looked at one another.
“UVA it is,” Laura said, sitting down to join her family in their fair-weather fandom.
Rating: K
Word count: 300
A/N: Happy, happy birthday, newnumbertwo! I hope you don't mind me borrowing your Ikeaverse and your adorable OC for a little bit.
“You’ve gotta be frakking kidding me,” Kara growled from the couch. “C’mon!”
“Let's go, Owange!” Judy chimed in. “Shoot. Shoot!”
Having successfully ignored the game for much of its duration, Laura finally tossed aside the education journal she’d been trying to read. While she hadn’t as much as attempted to fill out a bracket, it sounded like things were getting interesting. Upon walking into the living room she saw her daughters, both decked out in identical shades of orange and blue, fairly bouncing on the couch cushions with nervous energy.
A buzzer rang out, and Judy joined Kara’s wailed “fraaaaak.”
“I thought he had it,” Kara said despairingly.
“I tot he had it too,” Judy said.
Laura wasn’t sure how much the toddler actually understood of the game, much less the tournament, but she was certainly as emotionally invested as her big sister. Kara and Sam had indoctrinated her as a baby; Judy’s third word had been “Boeheim,” according to Kara’s version of their family lore.
“Dayton,” Kara said to Laura, shaking her head incredulously. “Dayton. Who the heck ever heard of Dayton?”
“Let’s not malign the fine cities of Ohio in front of the impressionable one,” Laura said.
“Sowwy, Kawa,” Judy said, giving Kara a hug. “Dey win da next one.”
“That’s the thing, baby,” Kara explained. “This was the tournament. Once you lose, you’re out.”
“So who are we gonna cheer for now?” Bill’s deep baritone joined the conversation, and he came into the room and sat next to his girls. Judy scrambled into his lap.
Kara scrunched up her nose in distaste. “Ugh. Who’s left?”
Judy pointed at the flat-screen excitedly. The game had already changed. “Owange and bwue! Owange and bwue!”
The three adults looked at one another.
“UVA it is,” Laura said, sitting down to join her family in their fair-weather fandom.