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#anyways be nice to me I spent some brain cells thinking of cool activities for enrichment in the enclosure
birdmenmanga · 1 year
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excellent point!!
Prompt Week - 7 days, 14 simple prompts (2 per day). you know the drill. general is just going to be about the series at large, ship-focused is probably going to be takaeishi week electric boogaloo
Collaboration (Artswap) - Participants are paired up randomly in order to work on a single creation together. Traditionally it's a single illustration in which one person does the lines and the other does the colors, but you could also do other things like "one person scripts and colors a comic, and the other person does the linework" or "two writers pass a single google doc between them like a hot potato and they write alternating paragraphs" etc.
Podfic Challenge - A podfic is essentially an audiobook of a fanfiction. Either write and podfic a birdmen fanfiction, or ask for an author's permission to podfic (a portion of) a fic. You can get fancy, like adding sound effects or backing music, or just keep it simple and record something on your phone. Nice because it doesn't require you to create something in the traditional sense and is also a way to show appreciation to past fic writers. Not nice depending on how self-conscious you are about your voice.
Not My Medium Challenge - Create a fanwork in a medium you've never worked with extensively. For example, for myself, I'd consider illustrations, sequential art, meta essays, fanfiction, and music videos as mediums that I've worked in extensively, so I'd focus on other things such as meme compilations, music compositions, podfics, video essays, gifsets and edits, among infinite possibilities.
Draw A Comic Month - 4-week event with one week dedicated to scripting, storyboarding, linework, and colors/toning each. A comic can be as simple as a 2-panel comic to something as complex as a 30-page manga. This is one time where my comics advice is going to be ENTIRELY FREE OF CHARGE. I am going to sit in the birdmen discord at regular times throughout this event and do my best to make the comic of your dreams happen (guy who is obsessed with sequential art voice)
the collaboration is a COMMITMENT whereas the rest are things you can opt in and out at any moment. ok now go hog wild with the votes and let me know your bonus thoughts in the tags
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fanfictionbymimnim · 1 year
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Mlp make your mark chapter 2 thoughts because I just binged it and I wanna talk :
- The characters are kind of annoying at the moment, but also they all have so much room to grow and I'm really hoping we get slow but steady character development. Pipp and Hitch in particular need a reality check, but they have good intentions and weirdly are my favourites?
- Why is Sprout not in prison
- Opaline is just,,,, sooo badly written lmao. Like, I get that this is supposed to be a kids show but it really wouldn't have been hard to move her from campy to creepy. If she could actually be a bit more manipulative insteaf of the narrative just telling us that she is, I'd like it a lot more
- Like the thing with the mirror- how was Sunny not suspicious ? They so clearly were not her thoughts. If Opaline had been kind and understanding it would have made more sense as to why Sunny was listening
- I actually really love the tie-ins with G4. The mystery and the wanting to know exactly what happened is really keeping me hooked, and I appreciate that we have a character actively investigating it
- speaking of Zipp, I am getting major trans vibes. I doubt Hasbro will let them go there, but I want a whole part of Zipp's "figuring herself out" to be figuring out her gender
- that could tie in to why she's so uncomfortable with being in the spotlight if she's uncomfortable with how she looks and sounds
- I love Zipp and Pip's dynamic, although I do wish that Pipp had apologised more in their episode. Pipp is always on her phone and does kind of make everything about her, and as much I love her she needs to go touch grass. The show has made some jokes about her need for validation through clicks though, so hopefully we'll touch more on that later?
- Misty is amazing and I am on Misty redemption arc train
- oh, the dragon is there too I guess, he's kind of annoying but can be a useful tool to explore Hitch's relationship to family. I definitely think that Hitch is an orphan now, with the whole "the town is my family," and "I just want to be a good dragon-pony-dad." I'm getting major "I just want to be there for him like my paremts weren't for me," vibes, but they just couldn't put that in a kid's show
- 3D Twilight was a nice suprise, and looked better than I was expecting
- Opaline's design is just,,, why. It's so bad. People have said this before, but damn, it just doesn't work?? Like, what is that hairstyle? Wouldn't it block her hearing and be super uncomfortable? And the coat vs the mane colour? It doesn't go, at all???
-Sunny angst was very good, and I like Sunny having to figure out how to deal with her new popularity
-Are we gonna address Pipp's creative block and wanting to please her fans? No? Okay
- Zipp I love you but please get a brain cell
- Sunny has the only brain cell of the group, everyone please listen to her
-Do ponies still get cutie marks when they discover a talent at a young age? Also, how does earth pony magic actually work? Can unicorns only do telekinesis now?
-I kind of feel like Pegasi now have the short end of the stick, if Earth ponies get cool growing powers and Unicorns cam also manipulate plants with their magic
-Twilight hid equestria? Why?
- Poor Izzy spent the entire show looking exhausted, she needs to calm down and have a nap
-Anyway, this show was good, not like imcredible, but it definitely has sparked my interest and I want more and would also like spme fanfic but sadly there doesn't seem to be a huge amount, at least, not on ao3. Guess I should check fimfiction.net although I haven't touched it in years
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yoonpobs · 3 years
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bad boy good thing xiv.
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pairing: jeon jungkook x oc
genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining
warnings: smut, jungkook is really an asshole, the angst hurts a lot tbh, unhealthy relationships (?)
words: 5, 690
summary: a series of drabbles where you're confused and jungkook's confusing
a/n:
hello!!!! we’re here at fourteen chapters omg ✨✨when i first started this series it was mostly self-indulgent and now there are people who actually enjoy reading it??🥺 it almost doesn’t seem real T.T 
thank you so much for the love and support!!! just so I don't give too much spoilers for this chap - I apologise to my fellow geminis for the potential slander 🤣 this is more of a self-drag lmaooo 
anyway, I hope you enjoy this chap!!!
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“Ah. I’m getting allergies.” Yena sniffs, scrunching her nose.
You furrow your brows in concern, “Are you okay? Do you need any medicine?”
“It’s just the seasonal changes,” She brushes you off.
You nod in understanding, “I get it. My mom has horrible reactions towards pollen so—”
“I’m not allergic to flowers.” She blinks.
“Then what—?”
“It’s Gemini season. It’s like—literally the worst time of the year.” She blinks.
You gawk at her, taking a whole ten seconds to process her serious tone when she doesn’t waver under your scrutiny.
“I’m a Gemini,” You inform her slowly.
“I mean …” She shrugs all as you scowl at her, opting to throw the closest object you had, which was your favourite pen so you decide against it; simply shooting her the meanest glare you could possibly muster.
“Look, it’s not you,” She sighs, and you’re half-expecting her to finish with an it’s me to make you scoff, “It’s me.” And there you go. “I mean, it’s Gemini’s in general because they’re two-faced bitches who have the worst emotional attachment issues. Like they’re literally what the opposite of glue is. And they’re so over-analytical. How is it like psychoanalysing every person you meet only to hurt your own feelings and sulk about it?”
You blink.
“I mean it’s not you but if the shoe fits.” She says casually, plopping a grape into her mouth that you’re tempted to slap away.
“You’re so mean!” You pout indignantly.
She cackles, throwing her head back as you continue to sulk. You weren’t that bad. You just … you were risk-averse! You liked having the freedom to observe everyone and anyone and package them into tiny compartments in your head so you could understand them better. You weren’t … that Gemini.
“You’re so cute,” She coos pinching your cheeks. “No wonder Beef One and Beef Two like you so much.” She teases.
Your first reaction is to blush because you know who exactly she’s talking about, but you have more pressing matters, like—
“You have nicknames for them?” You ask, baffled.
“Hey, I wasn’t friends with many girls in high school. Don’t girls usually have nicknames for their crushes?” She says through a pout.
You stay expressionless as you try to gauge the level of seriousness you can extract from her tone.
You realise she’s dead serious.
“Yeah, but we’re in college,” You argue, scrunching your nose, “And sides’, it’s not like they’re strangers. We know them.”
She rolls her eyes, waving you off like you were the inconvenience here. Then she leans forward, her eyes twinkling as she takes a complete one-eighty that you try to adjust to.
“So … you Gemini hoe, what’s your plans?” She nudges you.
You raise a brow, “Did you just call me a—?”
“Plans, ___. Stay on track.” She scolds.
You sigh, still fond but you pretend to be annoyed. You really couldn’t get annoyed with Yena. After all, the more time you spend with her the more you realise how much life sucked before you had her in your life. You spent each moment learning more about her quirks and habits, her choice of words that made you giggle or laugh until you were crying.
And you realise that this is how she loves, a little rough but welcomed nonetheless.
“If you’re talking about my birthday then … not much. I’m probably stuck doing admin work for the college’s charity programme.” You shrug, stabbing a fork into your soiled salad.
Yena gapes at you, “Not much—excuse me? It’s your birthday! You’re turning twenty-five!” 
You look at her dryly, “I’ve been twenty-five since the year—”
She groans, “That’s not the same! You’re like—officially twenty-five. You’re literally hitting the mark for a quarter-life crisis. Isn’t that something to celebrate?” 
“Me going through an existential crisis at the end of my degree is not how I want to celebrate my birthday but okay,” You blink.
She rolls her eyes at your realism.
“That’s not the point. Point is, this is our first birthday together and I want it to be special.” She points out.
You snort, “What? Are we doubling my birthday as our monthsary or something?”
She shoves you with a brute force that has you snickering but she continues to pester you anyway.
“You’re so dumb. So smart, but so dumb,” She shakes her head, “You’re always studying or doing some form of work that requires the use of more than one brain cell. You deserve a break. Besides, you have two dudes to pick from on how you’d like to be wined and dined and—”
“Yena!” You whine.
“—it’ll be like an episode of the Bachelorette! But just with a super cool and smart best friend that’ll make the decision for you. It’s not your birthday. It’s ours.” She emphasises towards the end.
You stare at her for a long second, before the two of you are bursting into laughter at the absurdity of her statement. 
It was nice, just to laugh about things without having your heart feel so heavy. Even if it was a mild distraction, it was still wholly pleasant to be able to just talk about mindless things that didn’t require much mental gymnastics to navigate the conversation with.
“What are the two of you laughing about?” Taehyung and Jimin arrive at impeccable timing, sliding into the booth with their own packaged food. It’s very college-student-esque, a cute paper (because no plastic) container filled with an array of assortments.
“None of your XY chromosomes business.” Yena retorts.
Jimin blinks, “You are literally so hostile.”
“Then don’t give me a reason to be.” She sticks her tongue out petulantly.
You laugh, nudging her with your shoulder, “Be nice.”
Taehyung rolls his eyes but manages to keep a civil smile on his face. Always the more rational one between the two. 
“Anyway, Yena definitely isn’t going to answer me so, what’s up?” He turns to look at you.
You roll your eyes but it’s half-hearted, “She wants to celebrate my birthday like we’re on the Bachelorette.”
“Like you’re on the Bachelorette.” She corrects.
“Oh my God, our baby’s turning twenty-five!” Jimin coos at the reminder, pinching your cheeks as he coddles you. You scowl and weakly shove him away, even if you preen under the attention.
“I’m literally older than the both of you.” You huff.
Yena blinks, “There’s no way I’m the oldest person at this table.”
Taehyung furrows his brows, “Wait—how old are you?”
She sends him a scathing glare that has his arms raised up in defence.
“Jeez, okay. Don’t answer.”
“I’m going to answer because you told me not to.” She clips. “I’m twenty-seven.”
Jimin blinks, “No wonder you and Yoongi hyung are so alike.”
You almost miss it, but as Yena so eloquently pointed out, you were a sucker for psychoanalysing people (even if you didn’t want to admit it yet) that you notice the way she flushes ever so slightly as she scoffs.
“Him? How dare you compare me to that sorry excuse of a—!”
“Okay, everyone is beneath you. I’m sorry your highness.” Jimin rolls his eyes.
You make a note to ask her about it because you know for a fact that Yoongi ‘complains’ about Yena every hour he can. It’s almost as if he can’t go long enough without mentioning her.
You smile to yourself as you duck your head.
“Exactly,” She flips her hair over her shoulders before turning to face you. “Anyway, back to you—our baby.”
Taehyung nods, “Exactly, the baby.”
You scrunch your nose, “Don’t coddle me.”
He pats your head before cooing at you like he would to an actual baby, “But you’re just so cute. You’re too good for this shitty world. Too good for the likes of mere mortals like us.”
“Not me.” Yena blinks before gesturing to their bodies, “You.”
Jimin sticks his tongue out in retaliation as you sigh at their never-ending bickering.
Somehow … it felt right. You think it most of the times but you don’t know any other way to describe how it feels to be back with your friends, laughing, bickering and just appreciating their presence.
When you and Jungkook had your issues, it was like you made the conscious choice to avoid everyone and anyone as much as you could, and any interaction you had during that period was purely out of coincidences and not the intention. You remember actively avoiding Jimin and Taehyung because it felt too draining to pretend like you didn’t have a battle in your head. Even studying or spending time with Namjoon made you feel guilty, the thought of Jungkook lingering in your mind. Yena was there through it all, but even then you saw her as much as you did with any of your classmates you so happened to share a class with.
In fact, if it weren’t for Yena you’d probably have zero social interactions as a whole because she just knew. She somehow picked up on your internal conflicts but never outwardly shamed you or confronted you about it. All she did was be there for you, offering you her presence and you were grateful.
So, yeah. Things were better, but your heart was still at its core—confused. Your feelings for Jungkook didn’t disappear overnight and you knew that you were the one that asked for space.
You forgave him … you did, honestly. But there are things you can’t forget, and those are the things that you wished you could. The words he said in principle, was outright shitty. But the fact that it came from him only poked at every single one of your insecurities that you developed over the years.
You knew it wasn’t healthy to compare yourself to other women when they were living vastly different lives than you were, but it’s proven difficult when you’re forced to see these type of women every day, at college, in your community work or on the media. 
Believing Jungkook’s apparent feelings for you was harder because, well. Jungkook was Jungkook. He wasn’t just another guy, and despite his shortcomings, he had more merits than he’d let on and you knew that people saw that. It was also the fact that Jungkook had a charm that drew all types of people in. He was soft-spoken but passionate, and people loved a quiet achiever.
You … knew about the women. Way before Jennie and way before the thing between the two of you happened. Jimin and Taehyung would always update you about the new fling or girl he had tied to his hip just as he was in his final year in high school. You had to force a smile every single time they’d snicker and joke about how your Jungkook suddenly became a man overnight.
And you noticed the trend with the women he liked. They were … captivating. Beautiful wasn’t even enough to describe them because they looked like they could carry the world on their shoulders and spark immense change with just the movement of their lips. They were confident and charismatic, outgoing and just the right amount of flirty. You were anything but.
It sucked, majorly, because you spent years agonising over the fact that you were already coined with the older sister title in the group because of the way you acted—just a little more uptight than the average woman your age. You were quiet but loud in the right company; you didn’t like crowds, socialising or mingling around with people you didn’t know and based on your observations it seemed like that was the only thing that Jungkook’s been doing ever since he made it to senior year in high school, and even in the first years of college.
You don’t resent him, you think. You couldn’t blame him because you weren’t honest either. You consented, to all of the kisses and touches even if he hadn’t officially had sex with you. You wanted to, but you were terrified. Not at the prospect of penetration but at the prospect of not being enough and the fact that Jungkook was the only person you wanted to have sex with while he had options that were far more attractive and experienced than you were.
That’s why you needed time because at least you could get your shit together even if it was an uphill battle.
“Earth to ____?” Taehyung waves a hand in front of your face with a concerned expression.
You blink, snapping out of your daze as you offer a meek smile and an apology.
“We just asked you if you wanted a small get together at Tae’s and I’s place for your birthday?” Jimin asks.
“Really?” You beam. That was exactly what you preferred.
“Yeah, we know you don’t like clubs and stuff. Just a small and intimate gathering with all your best buds.” He grins.
You nod your head, but Yena beats you to a response.
“By best buds you mean the three friends she has, which is us and the two meatheads duelling for her affection.” She snorts.
You flush, “Y-Yena!”
Taehyung snickers at your embarrassment.
“It doesn’t help that both of them are literally the biggest dudes on the football team. It’s literally like watching King Kong and Godzilla getting into a fight for world domination.”
Jimin throws his back in laughter as you fold your arms across your chest at post at the way your friends are practically crying in laughter at the image. Jimin was clutching onto Taehyung for his dear life because if he didn’t then he’d fall off the chair.
“Stop,” You whine, “you guys are being mean.”
“Oh my God, you’re literally the only person on this earth that would take two people fighting for your attention as an offence.” Taehyung groans.
“I-It’s not that!” You deny exasperatedly, “I-It’s just … awkward …”
Jimin sighs with a small smile, patting your head.
“If it’s any consolation I think it’s offensive that Jungkook thinks he even has the right to breathe in—”
“Jimin!”
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“Wow. It really is like King Kong and Godzilla.” Jimin whistles lowly, eyeing the scene before him with amusement lingering in his eyes.
“Do you think they’re gonna start slamming their chests soon or …?” Taehyung trails off in a whisper, leaning into Jimin so that the two other men wouldn’t notice.
“I can literally hear you.” You say dryly.
Jimin offers you a plastic smile, “You’re meant to hear us, babe. How about you try to tame them like Jane did with Tarzan?”
Jimin nearly shrieks when you shove him so fiercely that he topples over into Taehyung’s grasp as the second part of the duo only catches him in the process. 
You sigh, completely ignoring the way that Jimin’s muttering curses that were directed to you under his breath. Instead, you were transfixed on the scene before you—which specifically is Jungkook and Namjoon staring each other down through the mirror of the gym. You were lucky that it was just the five of you since Namjoon was able to use his captain privileges to book the gym because you had no idea how to explain the fact that two big-sized men were attempting to outdo each other in their circuit reps as if they were on a suicide mission.
“Listen, when I agreed to help you out with your sets I thought I was meant to help log it in for a report.” You exasperate, but the two men continue their manly lift-off as they huff and puff their exertion away.
“Trust me, you are helping. Being the motivation is more than—”
This time it’s Taehyung who faces your wrath as you thwack him upside the head. 
From where Jungkook and Namjoon were, Jungkook can only deliver death stares into the direction of his captain who returns it tenfold. He wasn’t even sure why they were doing this but something a flicked definitely switched in Jungkook when Namjoon (purposefully) revealed that you were helping out with something. At the gym. Supposedly alone.
Jungkook’s primitive side came out because the next thing Namjoon knew was that Jungkook managed to drag himself, and Jimin and Taehyung as a diversion. He still feels his chest swell with pride when recalling the scowl on Namjoon’s face when he entered the gym, all fake smiles and a pep in his step.
“____, could you help me spot?” Namjoon breathes, sitting up from whatever the hell he was doing with the barbell. You weren’t fixated with gym language and you weren’t even sure why he was asking you when there was an entire Jimin and Taehyung right next to you.
“Uh, okay sure—“
“Noona,” Jungkook calls.
You freeze.
“Jungkook … I thought we established that you don’t need to call me that anymore.” You raise an eyebrow.
You miss the obvious glare that Namjoon shoots his bitchass friend, as well as the snorts that leave Jimin and Taehyung’s mouth.
“Pay attention to me,” Jungkook pouts. Like, actually pouts. You somehow flush because he seemed so much like the younger version of Jungkook who used to always coddle you for attention.
“Okay but after I help—”
“Yeah. After she helps me.” Namjoon interjects, and you nearly jump at the way he’s suddenly behind you, more so—pressed against your back with his hands on your hips as he moves you aside to get to another piece of equipment.
Your breath hitches because while you weren’t exactly invested in Namjoon in the romantic sense, he was undeniably attractive and … big. You could salivate in private.
“Oh my God, do you see that?” Taehyung hisses in a hushed whisper.
“Hyung is petty,” Jimin gawks.
“This is Namjoon we’re talking about. Didn’t he steal all the umbrellas from your dorm because you ratted him out to the librarian when he broke a bookshelf?” Taehyung recalls.
Jimin pauses to retract his mind to that moment.
“He’s so petty and I’m living for it. Look at Kook’s face,” He snickers, nudging Taehyung with his shoulder.
Jungkook only can clench his jaw in return because he knew that you wouldn’t be a fan of him reaching out to strangle the shit out of Namjoon. But the older boy seems fine, if not pleased with how Jungkook’s fuming in his own spot.
“Let me just …” You cock a thumb to Namjoon, before releasing a breath of your own and going to help him with whatever he needed in the first place.
“Jimin can help him. I have a more pressing problem.” He complains.
You stop in your tracks before turning around, raising an eyebrow at Jungkook who finally sits up, still staring at you like you held all the solutions in the world.
“Literally wait for your turn,” Namjoon scowls.
“My arm hurts,” Jungkook says, raising his arm to show you. 
“I don’t … see anything?” You furrow your brows.
“Because my muscles hurt, Noona,” Jungkook emphasises with a flex of his bicep and you can feel yourself get hot in the way your eyes can’t stray away.
You’re momentarily distracted by the blatant display of muscle by Jungkook that you completely miss the way that Jimin and Taehyung are struggling to breathe because of how hard they’re stifling their laughter or the way that Namjoon is contemplating on throwing the nearest dumbbell into Jungkook’s direction.
You flush, “Okay, you know what? Wait here. Let me get the first aid kit.” You mumble, quickly scampering off to alleviate yourself from the situation.
The moment you leave the room, Namjoon takes two long strides until he reaches where Jungkook’s sat, before wrapping a hand around the arm that was supposedly hurt—and squeezes.
“Ow! What the fuck hyung?!” Jungkook shrieks.
“Don’t hyung me, you brat.” Namjoon seethes, “What the fuck is wrong with you?”
Jungkook gapes, while Jimin and Taehyung watch in amusement.
“Me?! What’s wrong with you?” Jungkook retorts, equally as agitated, “Oh, _____, help spot me! Woe is me! Like she wouldn’t get crushed under you, you meathead!” 
“Like you’re any better,” Namjoon snaps, “Oh, Noona, pay attention to me. My arm hurts. You might as well have asked her to change your fucking diapers at the rate you’re acting like a damn child.”
“You’re the one that started all of this!” Jungkook exasperates, “With all due respect hyung, I love you and you’re my captain but I really feel like smashing your head into the wall right now.”
“That’s it?” Namjoon scoffs, “Well I’ll do you one better and let you know that every time you breathe in my direction I feel like—”
“Oh my God will you two idiots shut the fuck up?” Taehyung interjects, snapping at the two boys who pause, staring up at him with wide eyes.
Even Jimin is surprised at Taehyung’s intervention, purely because he was the type that usually let shit slide or let other people put problematic individuals into place. He was the mediator, the diplomat—not usually the aggressor.
“Wha—”
“Another peep and I’m going to smother your body under the dumbbells and leave you here to rot and die.” Taehyung seethes, staring straight into Jungkook’s soul.
That shuts him up.
“Both of you are acting like goddamn children, and for what? To battle out your masculinity to see who gets ____’s attention first?” Taehyung exasperates.
Namjoon clears his throat, “We were just—”
“—acting like a bunch of barbarians who’s never seen civilisation?” Taehyung retorts dryly, “Yeah. Because that’s exactly what this looks like. The two of you are so petty and for what? You two are literally rubbing the last remaining brain cells you have with each other but nothing is coming out from it. Like—nothing. Do you think she’d give a shit which one of you can lift more reps? That means absolutely nothing! She’s already freaked the fuck out at the prospect of her childhood best friend being in love with her and now we have Big Tit Number One and Two battling it out like you’re in the Greek Olympics.”
Jungkook blinks, and Jimin is mildly impressed.
“So before she comes back and tends to Jungkook’s hurt muscle,” Taehyung sneers, eyes narrowing at a guilty-looking Jungkook, “Both of you better sort your shit out.”
Namjoon flushes, embarrassed at the prospect of being called out, all while Jungkook is avoiding eye contact at all costs.
“Oh my God, do you have a crush on each other or something? Apologise!” Taehyung gestures towards the two boys who awkwardly blink at each other, feeling much like reprimanded children.
It’s Namjoon who breaks the silence first, clearly the more mature one in the situation.
“Look … Jungkook,” He sighs, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to … drag it out like this. I don’t mean it maliciously and you’re my friend and teammate, so I’d really hate if a girl got in the way.”
Jungkook nibbles on his lips, eyebrows still scrunched; and the irrational part of him tells him to ignore the apology. But with the way that Taehyung is glaring him down, with Jimin’s expectant gaze, he knows that he doesn’t have much of a choice.
“I’m sorry … too,” he winces at his own voice, “But just to let you know … I really …” He shuts his eyes, feeling his chest tighten when he tries to force the words out, “She isn’t just … a girl to me, hyung. I really, really like her. And—I know you like her too but … I fucked up and I really want to make things right and seeing you—”
Jungkook is flushing while he rambles on, fully aware that the rest of his friends are listening intently to him speaking his heart. But a hand rests itself on his shoulder, and when Jungkook opens his eyes he sees Namjoon offering him a gentle smile.
“I know,” He says, “I know I said I wouldn’t back off …” He trails off and Jungkook recalls the conversation he had with him in the very same gym just a few weeks back, “But I don’t think I can compete with a decade long love story.” 
Jungkook scoffs, though his ears are flushed.
“It’s really not—”
Namjoon waves him off, clasping a tight hand onto his back that tells him it’s okay, and whatever that was going on would get better. And Jungkook feels marginally better and allows himself to let out a sigh of release.
“So are the two of you gonna kiss or what?” Jimin asks in the midst of the silence.
Namjoon glares at the boy, “Don’t make me give you an extra ten laps.”
He backs down immediately, raising his hands up in defence. And at that moment, you return, all smiles and with a pant as you raise the first aid kit up.
“Your arm?” You smile sweetly, and Jungkook can only offer a weak on in return.
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“Can I ask you something?” 
“Depends. Will I have to run from the government if I answer you honestly?” Yena ponders out loud.
You roll your eyes but shake your head anyway. The two of you were meant to be cooking dinner but you’ve surrendered yourself to Netflix and Yena’s witty live commentary on horrible films you were scrolling through an hour earlier. Though, your head wasn’t quite in it, to begin with; your thoughts drifting to other aspects, ones that you thought too hard for and didn’t necessarily know the answer to.
It was frustrating, the way that you wanted to have a solution for everything but overthought every single case that happens to pass by your mind. 
“No one’s hunting anyone down, your anarchist,” You say, “This is a little … personal.” 
You didn’t have any girl friends prior to Yena, and that was your first mistake. You weren’t the person that actively avoided having girl friends because you thought they were dramatic or overly emotional but purely because you never knew how to befriend women. It was weird—being a woman yet being muddled with your own sense of femininity that suppressed your ability to form meaningful friendships with your women peers.
Throughout most of your childhood and teenaged life, you only had Jimin, Taehyung and Jungkook. While they were more than enough to keep your memories cheerful and filled with laughter, there were more personal things that you couldn’t quite approach them with. They had each other to confide in their ‘manly’ discussions, small talk that you’d often flush at—but you couldn’t ask them the same things you wanted to.
You knew, that on a fundamental level that your personal things were just … things. It wasn’t that deep, nor did it require a PhD in Gender Studies to fully understand the nuance of periods or apparent ‘girl’ problems; you just needed to listen. But you were timid, and you got embarrassed super easily—so that never boded well whenever you’d want to approach them with a question of your own.
But now, you had Yena—debatably the most open and understanding person you’ve met in your life; and you owed it to yourself, and her—to be honest, to live yourself vicariously in your girl best friends eyes—and ask:
“How do you have sex?”
Granted, there was definitely a smoother way of peeling off the bandaid, but you supposed if you were going to be discussing this one way or another, you’d go big or go home.
“I’m sorry,” She coughs, “What?”
You blink.
“Sorry, I guess I should’ve asked if you were a virgin first …” You mumble.
Yena stares at you with a stupefied expression as she gapes at you.
“Hey, repeat after me: candy, tree and cat.” She grabs you by your shoulders.
“I’m not cerebrally compromised, Yena,” you say dryly.
“Repeat,” She glares.
You huff, shoving her hand off your shoulder.
“Candy, tree and cat. There, happy?” You huff.
She eyes you weirdly as you sigh. 
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yes!” You exasperate, “So like … how? Do you just? Penetrate?”
Yena blinks one more time, her eyes trailing to the ceiling as she asks for a higher being to give her strength before she returns her gaze onto your figure.
“Babe, that is literally the unsexiest way to approach sex.” 
“Penetration?” You furrow your brows.
She scrunches her brows, “No.” She gestures to you, “That.”
You scowl.
“I don’t know how to approach sex! That’s why I’m asking you. I literally don’t know who else to approach. If I went to Jimin or Taehyung I’m pretty sure they’d just stare at me and cry. Namjoon is out of the picture because he’d likely approach sex textbook style and I don’t need that level of detail right now. I definitely can’t ask Jungkook because he’s the guy I wanna have sex with. So yeah. I’m here because you’re a woman and the only person I can have a full conversation with without losing my will to live.”
Yena gawks at you, jaw slack as you finish your ramble; ears flushed.
“… you …” She begins, wracking her brain for the words that seem to fail her, “… okay. You know what, the fact that you’re here and putting your big girl pants on and asking me this is a feat in itself so I’m going to just ignore the fact that you said you wanted to have sex with Jungkook.”
You flush, “I was word vomiting—”
“Ah,” She holds her hands up, levelling you with a knowing glare, “If you want honest, you be honest too.”
You slump in your seat, sighing as you nod your head defeatedly.
“Firstly, I’m not a virgin. I could never be a virgin.” Yena declares, “Granted, I’ve slept with three people and two of them were women. But the idiot I lost my virginity to was, unfortunately, of XY chromosomes so … I guess I can answer your questions.”
“I mean … I know how sex works but … approaching it …” You mutter.
“And sex isn’t this groundbreaking act that requires Einstein’s IQ to partake in. It’s both intimate and not, and that’s definitely a personal preference. You can know the semantics of how people have sex, for hets in this case, which is just the classic ol’ penetration method where the penis enters the—”
“Your point?” You exasperate.
“—okay, I got a little carried away. But really, sex isn’t … difficult. It’s scary, I’ll give you that. But you don’t go into your first time thinking you’ll be great at it. Hell, you won’t even like sex that much your first few times unless your partner is a sex demon or something.”
“I mean when Jungkook …” You shudder, “When he … I … you know, did things … it felt …” You fiddle with your fingers. Your ears were undoubtedly on fire, and you were so embarrassed saying these things out loud because it was just so awkward!
“Good? You know I’m not going to judge you for it,” she says pointedly, “That’s what friends are for, right?”
You flush, covering your face with your hands in embarrassment. You knew that Yena would never judge you for something as trivial and as unimportant as your sexual endeavours, but this was still a road you’ve yet to properly navigate yourself.
“I … came,” you wince at your breathy voice, “It felt good. And … he’s experienced, you know? I just don’t want to …”
Yena looks at you inquisitively.
“You don’t want to …?”
You sigh deeply, considering your next words with a soft murmur, “I don’t want to not live up to his expectations, you know?”
She frowns at you, “Jungkook’s made some mistakes but you said it yourself. He’s in love with you,” she says softly, “There’s no pressure to have sex with him just because it’s out in the open now, you know?”
You nibble on your lips.
“It’s … more than just that,” you tell her, “I told him I needed time, and really, I do. But it isn’t because I’m confused. I mean, kind of—but really it’s because I don’t want to walk into something and disappoint him … I’m just … scared.”
Yena holds your hand in hers while offering you a gentle smile.
“It’s valid that you’re scared. But there really isn’t anything that can come out of being scared right now. The two of you worked through an obstacle, and here you are creating another one that doesn’t quite exist yet. Trust me, when the time feels right, it does. And you’ll feel ready. Will you still be scared? Maybe. But it’ll feel like it’s meant to fit within your timeline.”
You nibble on your lips, “Is it bad that I’m overthinking this?” You wince.
Yena shrugs her shoulders, “Like everything else in your life?” She teases.
You whine, shoving at her shoulder playfully where all Yena does is snicker in response. You weren’t quite sure what you were expecting out of the conversation, even if it was vaguely about the ins and outs of sexual exploration. And she was right, you’ll always be afraid of something, whether it’ll benefit you or harm you because that’s what change does. It shifts your comfort zone into a space that may be unfamiliar but necessary.
You lean into Yena’s shoulder, and a wave of overwhelming emotion washes upon you when you look at her. You really didn’t know how you survived a time without Yena in your life. And as if she’s noticed your glassy gaze, she raises an eyebrow at you.
“What are you looking at?”
You grin at her, all teeth and gums on display as you hug onto her arm like a koala.
“I’m just really happy you’re in my life.” You sigh wistfully.
She pauses for one whole second before she snorts.
“Wow, talk about sex once and suddenly you’re in love with me?” She wiggles her eyebrows at you, “Tell Jeon and Kim that you’re mine now.”
You giggle, rolling your eyes.
“They’re not even competing in the same league as you are,” you assure her.
She smiles.
“So … does that mean I don’t need to get you a birthday gift?”
That earns a thwack on her shoulder.
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pls scream about Leo a lil bit cause my love for that man is neverending and i live for you guys' blog,,, and ur comte love fuels me??? head empty except for those two pureblood clowns
HNGNGNG I hope that both you and everyone that reads my shenanigans knows how utterly understood I feel when I see anyone stan Comte, if not both of those idiot purebloods bc good lord...I live for two tired fossil men that just want DOMESTIC BLISS. Literally they have no brain cells beyond respect women and we love that for us, it’s spectacular!!
Under a cut bc I went off and is long:
That being said I’d be happy to yell abt Leo!! Where do I even begin, this man was the reason I got into Ikevamp in the first place, and I’ve read just about every single one of his events at this point. He just makes me so TENDER!!!!!! For whatever reason the first thing that came to mind was this one time he lies about being jealous and MC is lolol u a fool if you think I can’t tell when you lie to me. And he’s so fuckiNG SHOOK?????? It’s even funnier because she’s internally like [I’m not 100% sure but for a second there he almost looked mad...time to test this theory even if it’s just A GAME T H E O R Y] And he’s so fucking pikachu meme that shit sends me. I can’t handle the fact that he’s so used to people just assuming he’s fine, that he can handle himself. That he’s lived for so long without really anyone noticing at all. (Comte absolutely notices and will lightly roast him, but doesn’t really push him about it or wants to overstep). And so when MC just actively pays attention and is so gentle with him he’s just floored???
God I’m crying now, but I will just never forget the funeral scene in his fucking rt. This asshole, this absolute moron, straight up tries to come at us with “yOu GeT uSeD tO iT aFtEr HaLf A mIlLeNiUm, i’M nOt SaD”. Like are you serious. Come here and let me hold you before I throttle you. Absolute clown. He’s just always trying so hard to get by on his own and it breaks my heart. How long...how long has he lived just getting by, nursing his own wounds and dragging himself up all by himself. HE LEFT HOME AT LIKE 14 (whatever the fuCK SOME TOO YOUNG AGE) AND RAN STRAIGHT INTO THE HANDS OF PEOPLE THAT HATED HIM FOR HIS TALENT. HE REMEMBERS HIS MENTORS DESTROYING HIS UTENSILS WHILE TRYING TO ESCAPE PARENTS THAT WHOLEHEARTEDLY REJECTED ANY EXPRESSION OF LOVE OR COMPASSION FOR HUMANITY THAT HE CHERISHED SO DEEPLY. I DON’T NEED SLEEP I NEED TO HUG HIM IMMEDIATELY FUCKING HELL.
Like.........there’s just........I don’t know how to explain it, but I once saw it explained so well in a post. It was basically talking about Castlevania, and how in that show Dracula sees humanity’s folly and develops so much hatred he just goes straight to murder rage. And while in some ways I understand that, I understand even more deeply Trevor’s response to humanity’s fear and violence. He says that he knows they’re short-sighted, that maybe we all just don’t deserve saving...but that he’s going to do it anyway. Leonardo just so much gives me that energy of knowing there’s so much pain in the world, but all we can do is keep walking--keep trying, even if we have to claw our way forward. Because if you only see the awfulness in front of you, you forget the way that strangers make silly faces at babies to make them laugh on the train, how a friend will put everything down to race over to someone and comfort them with some ice cream--do anything they can to distract them from the hurt. How the sight of a child crying will prompt careful cooing from a stranger as to their bravery, an offering of cool water, the gentle placement of a bandaid. How a pair of teenagers will spot a lost child in milliseconds and help them seek out their parents protectively. There is so much wretchedness, but also so much beauty in it all, and the older I get the more I see myself wanting to believe in the latter. I want to be hopeful, and easily impressed, and full of love. To be bitter and jaded accomplishes nothing, and only becomes a worsening self-fulfilling prophecy. The more you seek negativity, the more you will find it; and worse, create it.
I also scream a little bit bc like. I’ve gone on and on about how Comte is very obviously in love with MC all the time, and sure that may be true. But...I really don’t think Leo is exempt from that either if I’m honest lmfao. Only because what does Leonardo do when it isn’t his route? He almost never shows up. Once in a while he might appear for a split second in a scene, but he almost never converses with MC beyond those short moments. While Comte is the one to pine openly, I’d wager Leo is the opposite. He pines in absolute silence, because he knows that if he gets any closer--he’s going to fall. He’s going to enjoy it too much, going to keep seeking out more before he can stop himself. And losing another person he loves...he just can’t do it anymore. In his first meeting story he talks about seeing MC’s eyes and feeling like he’d known them all his life, and even in his MS he speaks to just being completely fascinated by and enamored of her. She doesn’t hesitate, always does her best, meets people head-on and without much hesitation. After a lifetime of people that are probably just immediately interested in him for his talents, or always seeking out his company for the novelty, this is someone that doesn’t give a single fuck if he’s Leonardo da Vinci. Sure she’s aware, and sure she’s impressed to some extent, but her respect--her attraction and admiration--is something that has to be earned. 
There’s something so refreshing about how their love was written. Sure it’s the whole fake marriage to a real relationship, but it’s also a kind of subtle enemies to lovers pulled off masterfully. MC is 100% minding her own business, just wants to do what she must in order to get home, tries to focus on her work to keep from thinking about how much she misses her old life. She doesn’t rely on anyone, doesn’t talk about how hard it is or how scary it is or how confusing. And even Leonardo forgets in his curiosity, is just chillin and also just trying to do the bare minimum to keep from getting too attached--figures he can admire her from a distance. And then he sees her staring at the hourglass. And suddenly, he can’t just watch her do that herself. Just wait for the hard times to pass, just sit with her own loneliness--that hollowing silence. There’s something so moving about it because he reaches out precisely because he knows that feeling to his fucking marrow, and literally just cannot watch somebody else do that to themselves. Sure he’s been dealing with it for three hundred years, BUT THIS GOOD BABIE CHILD DOES NOT DESERVE THIS. SHE WORKS HARD AND DESERVES NICE THINGS!!!!!!!! And so he drives her crazy as he races ahead of her, intercepting any attempt for her to preserve that silence and hide. She doesn’t see any pattern to it, and that’s just how he likes it--he doesn’t want her to worry about the how or why. 
Like I fully remembering playing in Japanese and being like oh my fucking god this is hilarious, this man is just a wild fucker and I love this. I was enjoying myself, mostly laughing and shaking my head. But then it just gets so, so serious. I was having so much fun that I, like a fool, forgot the anime effect. If you’re having fun, it’s going to come crashing down without mercy soon enough. And it does. He helps a little girl without any hope play her violin again, and maybe I’m just too English major but I was fucking FLOORED when I realized I didn’t see that that was straight foreshadowing. That little girl without hope? That was MC (and by extension depending on how you play, us). Though the metaphor isn’t quite so easily mapped without a physical space, the connection is clear when you think about it. With his careful social awareness, he makes a place for MC to exist in the mansion so naturally--as though she was meant to be there from the start, crafts a positive impression of her presence with each of the residents. And he does it with zero expectation of anything in return; he’s just happy to see her not stressing herself out anymore or trying to do everything alone. MC doesn’t fall in love with him despite their differences, she falls in love with him because they are the same in a singular and all-encompassing way that matters; they both care about other people so deeply, to the point where they will forego any personal needs in order to make that person’s life easier. Whether it be muting their own hardship, or working to involve another person in a new space (or opening up to the point of self-destruction to keep a person from feeling alone), they go above and beyond what anybody asks of them--perhaps strong to the point of their own detriment, in some cases. 
It’s why I always laugh when he says to Sebastian “That cara mia, she has a good heart.” Of course she does, Leonardo; it certainly takes one to know one. 
And because I literally have no brain cells beyond being in fucking love with Leonardo THE LAKE SCENE IS AN AFFRONT TO MY DIGNITY AND SELF-CONTROL. HOW DARE YOU, SIGNORE. HOW DARE YOU ASK ME TO SIT THERE AND WATCH YOU OPEN YOUR HEART TO ME AND NOT BAWL MY EYES OUT AND TRY TO KISS YOU ALL AT THE SAME TIME. SIGNORE “hAhA yOu’Re So SmAlL yOu LoOk LiKe YoU’rE DrOwNiNg In My CoAt.” I WOULD DROWN AND DIE HAPPY--BITCH I TELL YOU THAT.
Like. I can’t think of another route I’ve ever done where I spent a good amount of time like “lmfao this guy is so wild im gonna punch him” to just be in a whirlpool of my own tears, regretting my entire fucking LIFE days later. Like Leonardo’s cultural impact???? Fucking immeasurable, I wish every white man disaster I ever met had a hidden heart of gold in all of his boyish dumbassery, an ICONIC himbo of our time. 
Also because I remembered it before posting and I am Dying^TM. The event where MC was a pureblood and he was human. That entire fucking event. I literally can’t think about it without screaming and crying. Her just so flustered at his reaction to her like “oh look, free real estate” as he plops her in his lap, absolutely no fear, treating her like a princess because of her noble title despite NO NECESSITY BEYOND PLAYFULNESS BUT ALSO STILL MEANING IT IN AN EARNEST WAY, being charming to no END just to see her laugh or look away shyly. 
WHEN HE SAID. WHEN HE SAID “...Can’t leave you alone, or you might go off someplace I can’t follow.” I. CONGRATULATIONS, YOU STRIPPED DEVOTION DOWN TO ITS BARE ESSENTIALS!!!!!! GAH HOW MC HERSELF SAYS “I would tell him the truth but...he’s much too generous for a human. I know he would offer his life without a moment’s hesitation.” How Leo describes the aftermath of her biting him: “Lucky for you, I’m a true gentleman, Unlike my principessa, who took me like a storm” HELLO??????? H E L  L O ???????????????????????? ARE WE JUST GOING TO SLEEP ON THE FACT THAT HE LOST HIS ENTIRE SOUL WHEN SHE BIT HIM???? I--
Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.
(Also as much as I love him the cigarillos have got to go at some point, boy do you have any idea the shit secondhand smoke does good lordt)
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Girls Interrupted, Chapter 1: The Institution: 1, Katya: 0 (Vatya) 2/2 - Maeve
A/N: It’s Maeve again! I’m so freaking surprised and overjoyed at the positive reception Girls Interrupted has received. All of you who have such kind things have truly inspired me to keep going on this. I can now say I'm rewatching seasons in the name of research! As always, feedback is welcome. I write because I enjoy it but also so other people can enjoy it, too. So, really, I’d love to hear any feedback or suggestions.
P.S. I’m having so much fun writing the interactions between Katya and the other queens, but I think my favorite part of this chapter is either an especially cheeky Sharon Needles line or the gym teacher/coach that is very loosely based on a straight Santino Rice
This chapter picks up right where the last chapter left off: Violet and Katya’s ice breaker activity…
Fortunately, Violet realized that she would—at the very least—have to cooperate with the menial activity. “Violet,” she supplied cooly.
Katya tried and failed to stifle her laugh. The raven-haired girl looked at her challengingly.
“Tha-that’s a good choice. Very good. I love every color!” Katya stammered as she wrote down Violet’s response. She couldn’t be sure if her partner was filling out her own worksheet, but Katya couldn’t bring herself to care that much. She just wanted this over and done with. Each moment she spent next to the cheerleader made her feel more and more inadequate. Violet was judging her; she felt small enough on her own.
“If you could go anywhere in the world, where would you go?” Katya continued.
This one Violet was quick to answer, “Literally anywhere but here.”
Her passive face told Katya she wasn’t going to get a better answer. I’ll just put down ‘Everywhere. She loves to travel.’, she resolved. “I think it would be really cool to go to Russia,” Katya offered.
Violet’s eyes left her phone screen. They searched the face of the blonde across the table, traveled down to Katya’s communism-inspired name card, and finally met her partner’s ocean blue eyes. “No?” Her face contorted in mock shock. “Let me guess,” she pandered, “If you could have lunch with any famous person dead or alive, you’d choose Putin.”
“Good guess,” Katya shook her head with amusement, “But it’s actually Maria Bamford.” It was obvious that Violet had no idea who Maria Bamford was. However, a quick glance at the clock told her there wasn’t enough time left in the class for her to go off on another tangent. “What about you, Violet?”
“Dita Von Teese. Next,” she urged.
“What are your favorite TV shows?” Katya continued eagerly, excited that Violet was finally being an active participant.
Violet’s response was almost instant, “Forensic Files and Sex and the City.” Everything about the brunette screamed confidence and certainty—something that came through in everything that she did. Katya wished it were that easy for her.
“I really like Game of Thrones, The Heart She Holler, and Storage Wars: Northern Treasures…..It’s the Canadian version,” Katya trailed off. There was an unspoken ‘and?’ in Violet’s expression, but she couldn’t produce a single reason for why that mattered. But it had mattered. “Anyway…What’s next?” Katya pushed through her embarrassment. “Something I’m good at? Sleeping, I’m good at sleeping. I guess I’m very bendy. Flexible. I can do theater, too…”
“Just put down cheer for me,” Violet ordered without looking up from her own worksheet. The blonde hesitated at the instruction, and Violet let out an impatient huff. “What?”
Katya was quick to apologize, “Sorry, it’s just that I thought you might say something about fashion.” She swallowed thickly. “I’m-I’ve seen you in the halls before, and you look good. Great. Your clothes. You clearly put a lot of effort into your appearance, and I thou—”
“Well, you thought wrong,” Violet spat. “You don’t know anything about me, so don’t pretend like you do.”
The blonde hurriedly scribbled down the word cheer under question five on her page and grabbed both of their papers. “Right. I’ll just go turn these in,” Katya fled the table without a thought. She had clearly angered Violet. Didn’t the popular kids like it when you stroked their egos? Katya wondered. She hadn’t meant to come off as judgemental. It was obvious that they weren’t on the same level, and hopefully Violet would understand that she hadn’t been trying to judge her. She only wanted to get to know the girl better, but she knew know how stupid she’d been to think that possible. No one like Violet would ever waste time on her. Sighing, she placed the two worksheets in a plastic turn-in bin labeled ‘4th’, and made her way back to her desk.
Katya had been disappointed that she had double A Lunch, but the forty minutes were the perfect break before pre-calculus. While it meant she could eat earlier, it also meant that she had no friends to eat with. Ginger and Bianca both had B Lunch. So Katya found herself on the steps of the stairs in the courtyard by the fine arts wing, eating a peanut butter and banana sandwich. There was beauty in the simple things, though, and Katya could appreciate the warmth of the sun and the slight breeze that late morning.
Mrs. Hugh’s room was stuffy. Katya’s funfetti extravaganza was clinging to her yet again, but she couldn’t adjust the fabric too much without disrupting those around her. She wasn’t willing to risk it. Unlike in all her other classes, the blonde always sat front and center in math class. All of the numbers made a mess in her head, and it was easier if she had fewer distractions. No one else felt the same way, though. So when Alaska tumbled in just before the tardy bell, Katya was forced into yet another less than ideal situation.The sunny cheerleader didn’t share that sentiment. Alaska flashed Katya a hundred watt smile and whispered a hello.
Katya didn’t get Alaska. Alaska wasn’t your stereotypical dumb blonde. She struggled in some areas but always kept up with the pack. So she was smarter than she looked? Big deal. What Katya failed to understand was why such a kind, sincere, and smart person would allow herself to be bullied by her peers. The cheer squad clearly didn’t think she had brain cells; Alaska was practically their punching bag from what she’d observed. So why hang around?
Miss Honard, you are an enigma, Katya assessed.
Katya’s continued curiosity over the duration of  Mrs. Hugh’s introductory speech gained her a very important piece of information: if she couldn’t get the lanky blonde out of her head, she was going to have to let her in. And Katya would not be friends with a cheerleader.
Katya praised Marx for the district employee who put Bianca Del Rio in her history class. She and Bianca were unlikely friends—a high school mascot and a theater kid didn’t really run in the same circles—but made an unstoppable duo. Coach A., their teacher seemed to get a kick out of them too.
Bianca was an unexpected constant in Katya’s life. The self-proclaimed bitch was Spartacus, the high school mascot, and the two would never have overlapped if not for their shared love/hate relationship with theater. She was a year younger than Katya but that didn’t stop her from providing Katya with the tough love she needed to keep her head screwed on. Keeping her head on straight was out of the question; Bianca did what she could.
The two girls schlepped over to the far side of the school where the gym was located. Katya, who had made the dumb decision to postpone getting her PE credit for as long, was not looking forward to an entire year of physical activity. Bianca, on the other hand, basically earned herself a double off campus by taking on the role of mascot. And yes, she definitely took pleasure in rubbing the fact in Katya’s face. Sucks to suck.
The other shit thing about a 7th period gym class was that Katya would be in uncomfortably close proximity to the cheerleaders. It felt wrong—almost like she was breaking a nonexistent restraining order. What sick bastard decided the plebs in “team sports” should be forced to observe the pretty girls in peak physical capacity while they drowned in their own sweat? Katya didn’t know the answer, and you certainly couldn’t hold her accountable if they were suddenly beheaded.
One locker and a stack of unisex uniforms later, Katya found herself entertaining the musings of Sharon Needles, resident goth girl.
“‘I look spooky, but I’m really nice,’” Sharon had said when they were assigned lockers next to each other. The witchy teen had a thing for reading people—not that an anxious Katya was hard to see through—and took one look at her and saw a kindred spirit. The funfetti dress and clown shoes didn’t scream normal, either. Katya had been uncharacteristically optimistic about befriending Sharon for all of ten minutes before everything went to shit. Phi Phi O’Hara, Sharon’s mortal enemy, also happened to be in the class.
“I’m surprised you took gym, Party City. Wouldn’t want you to melt in your own sweat.” Phi Phi snarked. The playground bully reclined herself against the row of lockers across from them and examined her nails.
Katya groaned inwardly. Sharon groaned outwardly.
“Fuck off, Phi Phi,” Sharon begged. “Don’t you ever get tired of the sound of your own voice? My ears are bleeding and not in a pleasant way.”
“Eat shit and die, Shar Bear,” Phi Phi called over her shoulder as she skipped off to bother some other poor shmucks.
Phi Phi the schoolyard bully reminded Katya of the villain poodle in one of those Open Season movies. Ironically, that poodle was also named Fifi, which was funny because the poodle was also a boy. Fifi the poodle was groomed like a pretty purse dog and had a little blue bow in his hair. Katya was inclined to take Phi Phi O’Hara—who was not incredibly dissimilar to a trophy pet—just as seriously.
“What crawled up her ass and died?” Katya scrunched up her face.
“If you find out, let me know,” Sharon deadpanned. “I need a smoke.” Katya watched in amusement as the locker room’s resident goth chick removed a pack of Marlboro’s and a lighter from her leather jacket. Sharon caught the blonde’s expression and raised her fist in response. “Fight the system,” she stoically decreed. Katya shrugged as if to say “what can you do?” and gestured for Sharon to walk back to the gym with her.
Their gym class had been banished to the wooden bleachers so the cheerleaders could practice for that Friday’s Back-To-School Pep Rally. The two girls tucked themselves into a far corner on the top row, and Sharon finally lit up.
Coach Rice, who had taken attendance at the beginning of class, had stepped in to assist Coach Calhoun with cheer practice.
Katya and Sharon were fortunate enough to have an unobstructed view of the girls shamelessly throwing themselves at the older man. The majority of the bimbettes were faces she expected: Detox, Roxy, Willam, Courtney, Adore, and Laganja. What she wasn’t expecting, however, was for one Violet Chachki to be the leader of the pack. Stratford’s mean queen never sought out attention, let alone fought for it. Miss Chachki was a one of a kind collectible, and the entire student body knew it. You either wanted her or wanted to be her.
Today, it seemed her flavor of choice was Santino Rice.
Katya udged Sharon with her elbow. “What do you make of that?” She consulted the other girl.
Sharon took a moment to complete her assessment. “I bet a girl that tightly wound is a real screamer in bed,” she answered smoothly. Katya had not been expecting any response of the sort and physically toppled over as she was seized by laughter. Katya’s wheezing drew the attention of those nearby, and Sharon had to hold her cigarette in her mouth so she could flip them off with both hands. They could mind their own fucking business.
Katya was still clinging onto Sharon’s thigh when her fit died down. “You bitch!” She shrieked.
“I’m not wrong,” Sharon defended, taking another long drag from her cigarette. “Ten bucks says she’s hitting on him right now.” In her best Valley Girl impression she crooned, “Oh, Coach Rice, can you help me with my form?”
Katya wasted no time in contributing to the impression. “Can we go to Red Lobster?” The blonde begged in her best Violet-esque bedroom voice.
The absurdity of the request and the thought of Violet, herself, saying those words caused Sharon to half cackle and half choke on her own smoke. Her throaty laugh bounced off of the walls, and this time, it wasn’t just a few pairs of eyes that turned to them.
Uh oh, Katya cringed, busted.
“Sharon Needles, put that shit out and march your ass on over to Assistant Principal Visage’s office!” Coach Rice demanded.
Katya facepalmed hard. What is wrong with you, you stupid whore? She groaned. It’s your fault she’s in deep shit, and she’s never going to speak to you again. The blonde was about to lose herself in an abyss of despair when Sharon’s voice filled the room again.
“Oh no!” Sharon drawled, “Whatever shall I do?” Katya had brought her head up to witness the spectacle and was met with Sharon’s shit-eating grin.
Katya raised her fist in solidarity, referencing Sharon’s anti-establishment words in the locker room. Her spooky new friend shot her a cheeky wink before saluting her corporate whistleblower and unhurriedly leaving the building.
Katya’s eyes left Sharon’s retreating form just in time to catch Violet glaring at her.
The blonde did her best not to worry. It wasn’t like Violet could have known they were talking about her, right?
The bell rang at 3:00, and Katya still hadn’t managed to put the captain of the cheer squad out of her mind. She spent her entire 8th period dodging Bianca’s questions and pleading for some all-knowing entity to tell her just where in life she had gone wrong. Definitely new year, same bullshit. Katya had attempted to begin her junior year with a more optimistic attitude, but after a first day for the history books, she was ready to call it quits.
You win, Stratford, you win. I am but a shell of a man. Woe is the poor soul who dare enter thee, Katya scowled.
The rest of Katya’s will to live vanished when she finally reached her trusty blue Beetle in the junior lot.
“Mother, I am want to commit death,” she muttered.
The cherry red convertible parked next to Katya’s car belonged to none other than Violet Chachki. The bright red exterior was blinding under the afternoon sun, and Katya had to squint to make out faces. A swarm of girls in uniform short skirts and halter tops formed a green and white sea around her only means of escape. Not wanting to engage with Violet for a third time that day, the blonde chose to turn on her heels and pop a squat on the curb.
It was going to be a long year.
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mysteli · 5 years
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es in vegas (choices crack series) part 1
A/N: This is gonna be so weird I already know! But it’s hopefully gonna be fun. This is my first crack-fic so don’t mind if it’s a little messy but this first chapter is the lead up to Vegas so it’s  bound to be all over the place. Anyway, I hope you like it! You were all really excited for this so I hope I did it justice!
Warning: the best way to describe this is probably... mature? mainly of the content in it because if it’s just clean then it ain’t really Vegas. this series will feature implied nsfw but not really anything descriptive (mostly just mentions), exaggerations on use of alcohol, strong language and... crazy behaviour? It’s just weird and I’d proceed with caution... 
PS: this chapter does feature a little bit of nsfw but it’s barely anything... it’s just a little innuendo. 
Disclaimer: most of the plot belongs to the Hangover and the characters belong to Pixelberry. I’m just mashing the two together. 
Pairings: Jake X MC, Craig X Zahra, Diego X Vaaryn, Aleister X Grace - just the OG pairings for now but things could change ;) -
Tag list: @brightpinkpeppercorn @likethetailofacomet @xo-endlessmayhem-xo @sceptilemasterr @indiacater @chyeahboy @candychoices @zaffrenotes @nicknameking @bailey-choices @szeherezada @whatsernamerps @aries-light @endlessly-searching-for-you @justboredtrash @beckettsattunement @gerrysacushla @mind-reader1 @sweet-honeybird @allykrane @seraxa @violarobics
I tagged everyone who liked the post just in case! If you wanna be removed, just let me know!
Let me know if you wanna be tagged! 💗and let me know if the tags work because Tumblr is acting up.
Masterlist
Summary: With Aleister and Grace set to be married in a matter of days, the gang decide to have separate last minute bachelor and bachelorette parties before they tie the knot. And what better place to go than... Las Vegas!
Words: 9003 (I apologise in advance)
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ENDLESS SUMMER IN VEGAS PART 1 - SIN CITY
“Oh my god... oh my god.. is this really happening?” 
The shaky excitement practically bouncing off of Grace’s usually more timid voice echoes in Logan’s ears, as she once again listens to Grace having a literal panic attack over a goddamn party. Sure, it makes sense. She sounds excited but the worry seems to shine through more than anything. It’s painfully obvious that she isn’t too experienced in parties or a lot of social events and it appears in her voice like she’s trying to hide the fact that there are any nerves activated at all. 
Grace worries about everything. She overthinks things way so much almost all of the time and ever since she and Aleister announced their engagement, she’s done nothing but excessively worry about planning the wedding. Now, with only a few days to go, the group came to the conclusion that both of them needed a break. So they all suggested separate bachelor and bachelorette parties so that the two of them can cool down and at least enjoy their last few nights as single people. With this idea in this place, Grace and Aleister were pretty up for it... until Jake chimed in with the addition of going to Vegas. 
Of course he would be the one to announce that sort of idea and everyone was really excited about that and Grace and Aleister had no choice but to accept, no matter much they tried to say how much they wanted something quaint and simple. They’re crazy if they think a trip to Vegas is gonna get put aside when it comes to their group. Besides, it seems like a great chance to bond together again and enjoy a nice weekend in America’s most sinful city. 
Now they’re around an hour away from leaving and Logan has been trying to finish her packing while Jake is on the phone trying to get out of work for the weekend. Should be pretty busy, even if he is the world’s worst liar. Logan basically give him that trait by pointing it out. He’s too dedicated to this Vegas trip to not be determined enough to get outta work so he should be fine. Meanwhile, Logan hasn’t been able to finish her damn packing since she’s been on the phone with an extremely anxious Grace for about an hour now. The girl is doing nothing but panicking. Clearly she doesn’t believe she can summon the courage to go to Vegas and actually enjoy herself. Maybe it’s the thought of being without Aleister for a night or maybe she’s just socially awkward or maybe she doesn’t wanna waste her money. She’s mentioned all those things and not settled on one. 
Logan huffs in annoyance at Grace’s constant panicky state. She’s spent an hour now trying to keep Grace calm but nothing seems to be fucking working. She grabs her heels from the bottom of her closet and tries her best to keep up with Grace’s repetitive tangents. 
“Logan... I am not prepared for something as huge as this.” Grace suddenly says and Logan rolls her ocean eyes, really not sure what to make of this entire scenario. 
“What do you mean something as huge as this? It’s Vegas. You get drunk and have fun. That can’t be as difficult as getting married.” Logan points out, impatience running around her tone and she runs a hand through her platinum hair out of frustration. She can’t pack with all these damn distractions. 
“Of course not but... I’m just nervous. What if we don’t come back? What if we get too drunk and make some dumb mistakes? Oh shit... what if we kill someone?” Grace is really starting to sound like an idiot now. It’s like she thinks they’re taking part in the fucking Hunger Games or something.
“Listen, Chidi... this is Vegas.” Logan smirks at the actual good nickname she just used. Wow... if only she said it in front of Jake. He would be so proud.
“Exactly. It’s Vegas. You’ve heard all the horror stories, haven’t you?” Logan can practically hear Grace biting her own nails and gritting her teeth because of how damn worried she is about this trip.
“You haven’t been watching those, have you? Cause that’s called clickbait, Grace.” Logan warns Grace and rightfully so. If Grace is worrying about what fake people are saying on the internet than this is just ridiculous. 
Grace is silent for a moment and that is all the answer that Logan even needs. “...No.” is all Grace manages to mutter and Logan just rolls her sapphire eyes at the thought, stuffing her last shirt into her bag. 
With a heavy sigh, Logan composes herself and tries to actually provide Grace with decent advice. “I’m gonna tell you this right now. Nothing bad is going to happen. It’s just all twelve of us having a fun time in Vegas. And remember you’re celebrating your last few days as a single woman, which means you gotta make the most of it! I suggest you loosen up and shed all those nerves because you’re gonna need your confidence when you’re out there.” Logan nods to herself proudly when she catches the sound of Grace sighing with a sign of relief, which clearly reveals that she’s calmed down at least a little.
“You’re right... I shouldn’t be worrying. I shouldn’t be panicking. I should be ecstatic because we get to go to Vegas and it’s my bachelorette party. This will be fun!” Grace seems to be trying to energise herself now with reassuring words and motivation. She’s not really talking to Logan anymore.
“Good. That’s the attitude we want, Grace.” Logan appreciates Grace’s sudden mood change and she releases a deep sigh when she realises this is a good time to hang up and finish packing. “Ok... well I’m gonna let you get to it and I’ll meet you at the—“
“Wait!” 
“What?!” Logan questions, suddenly worried that something’s happened. 
“What if Aleister hooks up with a stripper?!” Grace alarms Logan for no reason and she is left just completely fed up.
“Bye Grace.” 
Logan swiftly hangs up her phone before she loses her sanity and the last of her brain cells. Exhaling sharply, she tosses her phone on the bed and tries to remember what the hell she was doing before. That conversation with Grace might have completely messed her up. Luckily, a lightbulb goes off in Logan’s head and she quickly gets back to finishing her packing. After about fifteen minutes of finishing everything up with her bags and cleaning the bedroom, Logan makes her way out of the bedroom, hooking her bag on her left shoulder as she exits the area. When she reaches the living room, her sapphire eyes glance over a familiar figure pacing back and forth, with a phone pressed against his ear. Of course its Jake and Logan can’t help but form a weak smile at the sight of him. He looks proud of himself and it probably means that he was successful in his plans to get out work. 
From the corner of his eye, Jake spots his wife with her own ocean eyes fixed on him. He shoots her a flirty wink and a clean thumbs up before quickly finishing up on the phone.
“Yeah ok. I’ll see you Tuesday morning.” Jake ends the call and stuffs his phone in the pocket of his jeans before making his way over to Logan, who is eyeing him with expectancy. “I got out of work.” Jake declares with a natural confidence (something Grace definitely doesn’t have).
“Oh I know. I could tell by the sly smirk on your face.” Logan counters with her own smirk crossing her lips and she presses her palms against Jake’s chest after letting her bag drop to the floor. She doesn’t really seem to notice though and neither does Jake. 
Jake responds to her action eagerly by snaking his hands around Logan’s waist and letting his hands explore the curves of her body. “That’s always there, Princess.” He whispers before leaning in and briefly bringing their lips together. He chuckles lowly as they pull away when he spots the clear excitement in his wife’s eyes. “Guessing you’re ready for Vegas.”
“Of course I am. I’m so glad we’re taking Furball as well!” Logan exclaims excitedly and Furball is propped up against the sofa, dancing with glee.
“Mmmmrf!”
“I’m also ready to down every drink I buy and...” Logan takes this an opportunity to have some fun with the moment they’re having. “...maybe see some strippers.”
“Oh really now? You’re lucky I won’t be there to kick their ass if they even look at you.” Jake retorts, a little surprised that Logan is choosing now to play a game like this. He leans in again, lips pausing inches away from Logan’s - their heavy breaths bouncing off of the other’s lower lip. 
“You’re not gonna be there though, are you?” Logan pouts as she continues to torture Jake, meeting eyes with him and she can practically see his own darken with desire. Damn, they aren’t even in Vegas yet. 
“Trust me on this though, darlin...” Jake begins, letting his eyes roam over Logan’s heavenly features and allowing his hands to be dragged up her back until they’re tangled in her hair. “...I’ll leave you so damn satisfied, you won’t even know those strippers are looking at you the way they will.”
With that, Jake yanks Logan in for a well overdue kiss, immediately building up a steady rhythm and the passion inside them both is let out the second their lips connect. They got about twenty minutes and that’s plenty of time to just get in some... rounds before they head off to Vegas. Besides, they’re gonna be separated most of the night so it isn’t a bad idea to just have fun with each other before they leave for Vegas. Hell, they don’t even know how they’re gonna survive at a party that is about Grace and Aleister. No offence to them but they aren’t exactly the most lively in the group. They’re the ones that tend to keep to themselves the most and reject the offers of everyone hanging out together but this whole thing they just couldn’t get out of. They prefer solitude and that’s their problem honestly.
Logan roughly bites down on Jake’s lower lip, taking it between her teeth for a few seconds and letting him know that she’s ready to spend the next few minutes using their more wild sides. Jake obliges, sweeping Logan off her feet in one swift motion and steadying her in the air by her waist. Logan helps by wrapping her legs around his waist, as Jake leads her over to the kitchen and carefully places her on the counter. The kiss never breaks and the heat never dies. It’s impossible for that to happen when it comes to them because they’re always wanting each other and needing each other. Maybe they’re just crazy but it also makes sense for people like them. Just shows how much they love each other. 
Logan blindly uses her hands to guide Jake’s jacket off his body and he smirks against her lips as she carries that out. He breaks the kiss momentarily, letting his lips drift down her neck and his lips linger in one place for a moment. He’s almost preparing to leave some sort of love bite but before he can... 
“Holy mothertrucking poop on a wenis!” 
The sound of a very traumatised voice forces Jake and Logan apart and just the extreme exaggeration of the reaction to them gives away the identity of the intruder. Carefully and slowly, Jake turns to where the witness is standing and he barely manages to hold back a laugh, while Logan is left with complete embarrassment flooding her expression.
“Raj...” Of course it’s Raj. “Chill. You didn’t see anything gross. What you saw is what... pigeons do in broad daylight and I don’t see you getting mad at them.” What the fuck is Jake talking about?
Logan facepalms hard and her humiliation only grows. “Jake... please stop talking.” 
Raj’s chestnut eyes are wide with disbelief, that natural innocence lost the moment he walked in on... this. Jake presses his lips together and avoids all eye contact with Raj as an attempt to stop himself from laughing his brains out. Logan cautiously hops off the counter and tries to bring back Raj back to the real world. The dude seems dazed and completely out of it. 
“Raj?” 
No answer.
“Mimosa Man? You okay?” Jake just has to chime in with that nickname. 
“I thought you weren’t supposed to call him that.” Logan reminds Jake with arched eyebrows. 
“No that’s the one he likes. The one he didn’t like was Tequila Stealer.” Jake responds and revisiting that nickname only makes it more difficult to not laugh. 
At last, Raj manages to blink and breathe and gather himself finally. He flicks his gaze between the two lovebirds before him and he cringes a little when he reminds himself of what he walked into.
“Jesus would be disappointed in you...” Raj states randomly. It almost comes across like a joke but his solemn expression tells a completely different story.  “...and the kitchen?! Really? That’s where you cook, dudes.” 
“We’re sorry, Tequila St— I mean Mimosa Man.” Oof. Jake almost released the devil of all nicknames again. 
Raj is really coming off as intimidating right now. This whole moment is just unbearable and awkward. “Ugh... okay. Come on, guys!”
“Where?”
“Vegas! Duh!” Raj rolls his brown eyes as a reaction to Jake’s stupidity. “We’re all going one of Grace’s mom’s limos so come on!”
Logan is taken aback a little by that statement. “But I thought we were taking Quinn’s minivan.” 
“Catch on, my dudes.”
After what feels like forever, the oh so amazing limo that Grace’s mom had set up for them to drive in - with Grace being the only one who is allowed drive it because if anything happens to to it... well someone will get hurt - finally passes the memorable Welcome of Vegas, completed with a description of the city in one word... Fabulous! The limo is pretty sweet though but it does have one price. They didn’t even get an arranged driver. Grace has been bugging her mom about having her own responsibilities lately instead of having everything handed to her. Well her mom granted her wish by giving her the responsibility to drive the limo there and back and not damage it all in the process. What the fuck does she think they’re doing? They’re in Sin City.
Grace is starting to get frustrated with the amount of traffic that’s building up in their surroundings and they aren’t even that far from the hotel. Luckily, she’s a calm driver but if anyone else was driving this car, we’d have many problems and many arguments. Lots of noise. With the slight pause, everyone (yeah everyone is in the limo and even Vaaryn decided to tag along) takes this as a chance to talk about their plans for the parties. 
“So... what do you all wanna achieve tonight?” Quinn challenges the group to name their goal for the night and everyone’s faces just light up at the thought of what they might do in Vegas - well everyone aside from Aleister. Grace is now a lot more into the idea than she was before and Aleister is really the only one left who is in denial. At Quinn’s question, everyone else is pleased to answer but Aleister just rolls his icy eyes and hangs his head, tuning out of the conversation. 
Raj starts things off with some kind of far away fantasy that he seems really serious about achieving but no one could be drunk enough for it to happen. “My goal is to be drunk enough that I will somehow wake up and end up in Disneyland.” He tells the idea to the group rather confidently and he seems really proud of something like that. Quinn seems fascinated by it and she knows she’d love to do it too.
“Disneyland?! I would do it even if I wasn’t drunk.” Quinn exclaims, giddy and excited and her sky blue eyes sparkle with excitement.
“Pretty sure you’d need more than mimosas for that, buddy.” Jake points out, causing Raj to roll his eyes.
“What is with you and comparing me to mimosas, Jake? I like other things too.” Raj questions, raising his eyebrows bewilderedly at Jake.
Jake merely forms a devilish smirk and just that look is enough to know that a comeback is coming. “Like tequila?” He retorts, only earning a rough nudge from Logan who shoots him narrowed eyes of annoyance.
“Says you. Before I saw you and Logan fucking on the kitchen counter.” Raj randomly points out, completely exposing Jake and Logan and they are suddenly washed over with humiliation, as all their friends react about the way you’d expect them too. 
“What? Why would you do that? It’s so unhygienic.” Michelle pipes up and it’s surprising that she’d be the one to say something as dismissive as that. 
“Dude! We weren’t even fucking. We were barely even kissing!” Jake snaps, folding his arms out of irritation and eyeing Raj with complete disbelief, not finding the strength to believe he just exposed them like that. 
“You looked like you were about to suck the blood out of poor Logan.” Raj counters, a sympathetic look on his face as he looks directly Logan’s way and she just shrugs her shoulders, unsure how to even react to whatever the hell just happened. 
“You think I was trying to turn my wife into a fucking vampire or something? Actually that’s called giving someone a hick—“
“—Okay! Moving swiftly on...” Quinn cuts Jake off before he can completely tamper with Raj’s innocence. He don’t deserve that. “Let’s not ruin anyone’s lives today Jake.” 
With that, Jake scoffs mockingly and leans back in his seat, his back sinking into the soft leather. Maybe he’ll learn that his comebacks are not needed, especially in times that are supposed to be fun like these. 
“Who wants to go next?” Quinn surveys the sight of the limo, smiling faintly when her eyes land on one specific person. “...Aleister. What about you?”
Aleister doesn’t even glance up, shaking his head defiantly as his icy gaze remains fixed on his phone screen. “I’m not gonna participate in some ridiculous game, where you make up stupid fantasies that you’d never have the true guts to do anyway.” He snaps in a cold tone. It’s been so obvious from the beginning that he isn’t really up for this whole Vegas thing but he could at least pretend to be onboard for the sake of the rest of the group having fun.
In truth, everyone really needs this time to take a break from all their hectic lives. Everything has been going really well career wise but nobody has the time to relax or enjoy themselves for a while. That’s why this time away is so important to most members of the group and with the wedding so close, you’d think Aleister would be more eager to participate. 
“Al... come on. Just tell us what you wanna do in Vegas.” Grace tries to reason with him since she’s the only one who ever has any success. 
“I wanna sit around and do nothing. I’m aware I’ll be the only one who is sober throughout the night.” Aleister states solemnly, lifting his head momentarily and staring pointedly at Jake as he mutters those last few words. Damn, what a low blow. 
“So wait... you’re not gonna drink?” Sean questions, raising his eyebrows with disbelief.
“Why the hell would I want to?” 
“Um... because it’s your bachelor party.”
Aleister is flooded with a tension as those words come out of Sean’s mouth. “I never even said I wanted this but you all dragged me along anyway. I’d rather just be married but no... you all just had to hit me with the lie that celebrating my last few single days mattered.” 
“Were not saying it’s a requirement. We just want you to have fun for once.” Logan points out, slightly offended since she’s the one who supported this whole idea when Jake suggested it in the first place. It’s actually a great thing but Aleister is too guarded to see that. 
“Whatever, Logan. Just know that I won’t be drinking. I’d rather be sane, thank you very much.”
“Watch us spike it.” Zahra hisses, a devious smirk planted on her face and Craig high fives her in response. 
Eventually, the traffic clears and the group finish up their conversations as the limo edges closer towards the hotel. Grace calms her frustrations with the traffic and you can tell she’s keeping it bottled up inside so she doesn’t lash out. She seems to be the type of person you wouldn’t expect to have a mean streak or a dark side but would have one anyway. Don’t judge a book by its cover is the lesson we’ve learned today. Now there is still one more matter to address...
“Oh my god... I still can’t believe you wanted to come to Vegas with us, Vaaryn.” Diego exclaims, probably the most excited out the lot. Mostly about the fact that his one true love was joining the group for Vegas. It sounds like a great thing and an amazing opportunity but at the same time... it could be devastatingly scarring.
“I’m mostly doing for you, my love, but it would be nice to experience more human things and Vegas you speak of, is a very popular place for sinning and I know that sinning is something humans do a lot of.” Vaaryn responds and he sounds completely clueless. He really doesn’t know what’s in store for him. 
“Vaaryn... do you even know what’s in Vegas? Has Diego taught you anything?” Estela questions with a knowing smirk, shooting Diego a pointed look, who facepalms at what Estela is insinuating. 
“He hasn’t told me much. Just that it has an Eiffel Tower and it’s very easy to lose yourself.” 
Zahra sees this as the perfect oppurtunity to chime in. “Well then let me know tell you about the wonders of Vegas.” She declares, learning her chin on her fist and revealing a genuine look of interest. 
“Please... don’t.” Diego pleads anxiously and Logan pats him on the back apologetically. “He probably won’t even understand what you mean.”
“I’ll explain it then. Very vividly.” Zahra counters, folding her arms. 
“Oh man! Diego... your dude is so screwed.” Craig exclaims, obnoxiously laughing in the background at the scene and pointing mockingly at Diego, who’s head is now in his hands. 
“Oh come on, this is mean. Just let Avatar find out for himself. Telling him is too easy.” Jake suggests and that causes Zahra and Craig to smirk and giggle in unison.
“You’re on. Have fun, Vaaryn.”
When Grace successfully parks the limo outside the Caesar Hotel, everyone leaps out and makes their way inside. The lobby is absolutely fucking huge and they have to really search using their eagle eyes in order to even locate the front desk. Luckily, they manage to spot it and Michelle leads the group over to the front desk, since she was the one who offered to pay for their reservation. She ends up paying for a villa, which is probably the most they could get out of Michelle since she isn’t great on spending all of her money on the room. But she’s a doctor! Who else was gonna pay?
Excited and energised, everyone rushes to get to the designated room, clutching the straps of their bags and being as careful as possible so they don’t drop them. But once they get to the room, all the carefulness and caution is pushed away and everyone just throws their bags to the side, amazing at the sight of the huge room. There’s thirteen of them so some of them may still have to get together in bunks but they would much rather just have one room together than be in separate ones because once the two parties travel back to the room, they can all celebrate together afterwards. It’s a strangely thought out system but it works for them so who is to judge?
“God fucking damn. I missed Vegas.” Jake suddenly points out and Logan raises an eyebrow at her curiously when he says that.
“When was the last time you went?” 
Jake smiles at the thought of reminiscing. “Mike and I went to Vegas once when I brought him back to visit my family for the first time. We had a crazy fucking time in Vegas, I’ll tell ya that. Don’t actually remember much though.” Jake explains, laughing under his breath but exhaling sharply when he sees himself talking about Mike again. 
Noticing, Logan wraps him in a hug and briefly brings their lips together in a reassuring kiss. “I’m sorry he couldn’t be here for this, babe. He just couldn’t get out of work like you could.” 
“Yeah well... sometimes plane jobs suck.” Jake laughs before knocking his forehead against Logan’s and smiling. “You gonna be able to have fun without me, Princess?”
“I’m sure she’ll manage, cabron. Sometimes she’s tougher than you.” Logan and Jake turn to find Estela smirking at them, both hands resting on her hips. 
What’s very different about Estela though is that she’s already fucking dressed?! It only feels like they’ve been in the room for 10 minutes or so. She done her makeup and her hair and everything in a matter of minutes. Aside from the timing, she also looks pretty fucking hot. For the first time in forever, Estela is dressed in a clean, skintight dress that is completely pitch black and pauses halfway down her thighs. At the front, in the centre, a golden zipper travels from the top to the bottom. To complete this whole ensemble, Estela has paired the simple yet so sophisticated dress with a pair of leather black heeled boots with zippers down their side. Her silky brunette hair has been let out of the normal ponytail and straightened ever so perfectly. This look appears like it took her hours when really she only spent a few minutes doing this.
Jaw dropped, Logan struggles to speak at the gorgeous sight that is Estela Montoya. “How the fuck did you get ready so fast?” is the best reaction Logan can summon. 
Estela just giggles aloud, dusting off her dress and smoothing our her hair. “I’m just fast, ok? The others are being so fucking slow and you haven’t even started yet!”
Logan flicks her gaze between Jake and Estela, clearly confused. “Well I’ve been—“
“Eye-fucking your husband. I know and I get it but you gotta move your ass before I make sure you lose it!” Estela warns, arching her eyebrows and narrowing her dark eyes at Logan, causing her to panic a little.
Logan swiftly turns to Jake and he just laughs at the fact that she’s asking for his permission. “Go ahead, darlin’. I’ll be out here to see you before we go.” Jake urges, planting a quick kiss on her forehead before letting her go get ready. 
Jake watches her walk into the other room, biting his lip at the sight of her and his cerulean eyes darken slightly. It’s Estela’s exhausted groan that suddenly brings him back to reality. He glances back at the brunette to find her staring at him with disbelief. 
“What? I love my wife. What’s fucking wrong with that?” Jake questions, his intentions appearing rhetorical and Estela notices that.
“Nothing. The look on your face is what’s disgusting.” Estela retorts, shaking her head at Jake with an expression where you can tell she’s been cringing. 
“Ha. Ha.”
Logan finally finishes touching up her makeup with the rest of the girls and she’s finally ready to take on Las Vegas. Turning towards the mirror, Logan admires her chosen attire. She’s gone for something rather classy but still great for a fun night out. A clean, crisp white romper, is what she’s gone with, that contains a semi-deep dip of cleavage but not overboard. She’s aware that will drive Jake crazy. Then she’s paired it with white strappy heels and a silver necklace that is longer than most you’d see. It’s one of those more layered ones and it matches her outfit perfectly. Her platinum blond hair has been curled exactly to her liking, curtesy of Michelle. And her makeup is mostly natural because she doesn’t trust herself to go for something bolder. 
Taking one last glance at herself in the bathroom mirror, it’s time for her to reveal her look to the group. She’s the last one to finish getting ready of course, even indecisive Michelle beat her to it, so everyone is waiting for her and they’re excited to see what’s she chosen to wear. All the rest of the girls have gone for slutty and glam because it’s Vegas. Hello?! Even Zahra decided to wear a cocktail dress of sorts and it’s a beautiful deep crimson colour that matches her hair perfectly.
Finally, Logan collects herself enough to find the strength to exit the bathroom. She wanders out of the other room carefully, determined to stay steady on her heels and when she opens the door to the main area, all eyes are on her. 
Some eyes widen and some jaws drop but the most continuous thing is everyone’s silence. Everyone is speechless. No one will talk. All Logan can do is question their well-being and not really focus on the fact that they’re in that current state because of her walking out of a goddamn room. Jake, especially is just shell-shocked and it’s painfully obvious. Logan takes advantage of the silence and decides to admire everyone else’s appearances since they all look hot. 
That deep red crimson dress that Zahra is wearing looks even more captivating on her than Logan noticed from a first glance. Her ombré hair is left to rest on her shoulder and she’s caked in a lot more makeup than she usually would be, probably because she never typically wears it anyway. She looks so damn different.
Then there’s Grace, the featured guest of the bachelorette party and she’s decked in a bronze, glittery dress that is haltered at the top and it goes down to the floor. The revealing thing about it is the slight slit at the side. The dress hugs her figure carefully and the way she’s styled her hair only makes her look more beautiful. Everyone was scared that Grace would dress like she’s going to prom or something but no... she surprised everyone and she did herself justice. 
Of course Quinn managed to blend a beautiful elegance with a little bit of a daring approach so perfectly. It’s like a natural talent to her and she’s successfully made herself look beautiful again. She’s rocking a deep indigo dress that almost matches the one she wore at the New Years Party on La Huerta. She’s gone for more of a deep cut down the middle and the dress fades into a lighter blue at the end. It’s only a slight gradient that could easily be missed. Her auburn hair is gracefully cascading down her shoudlers and each curl you can tell was done with care. Hell, even the dress matches her eyes. There’s nothing this girl can’t wear. 
And finally we have Michelle, who has literally outdid herself again. She’s decked in a long, black jumpsuit that hugs her curves ever so perfectly. There’s also a more revealing approach that is shown through the sight of more cleavage. Though she wears it well, amazingly well. She’s paired it with more pointy nude heels and a black choker at the tome. Her ombre hair is tied back into a loose ponytail with two pieces hanging like strays at the front. To complete it, she’s wearing large silver hoop earrings that just give it that extra amount of sophistication.
Basically, all the girls look like fucking queens and this is their night to shine. As for the guys... well there’s not much to say. They’re wearing suits. Yeah, that’s their description done. Though there is one strange thing that stands out and that is Craig’s extremely colourful shirt. It’s a fucking double rainbow up in there. So many vibrant colours and patterns. It’s very difficult to not go blind just by looking at it. Like damn... another thing is how weird it is seeing Vaaryn in a suit. Like what? And Furball... looks so fucking cute and he’s not even in a suit. 
After what seems like forever, the only thing Logan can summon up to say is... “Nice shirt, Craig.”
Craig almost blushes. He’s so flattered by the little compliment. “Aw, Lo. Thanks for noticing, dude.”
“Pretty sure the gorillas in Africa noticed your goddamn shirt, Craiggers.” Zahra retorts coldly and Craig’s eyes widen with hope.
“Oh my god. That would be so cool!” 
Sean rolls his eyes and places his hand on Craig’s shoudler idly. “Let’s make sure you don’t drink anymore tonight.”
“You guys are no fun.”
While the bickering commences, some of the gang hurry over to Logan - that includes Quinn, Estela, Michelle and Jake. “Holy shit, Logan. You look so hot!” Michelle exclaims with a rare enthusiasm barely used but she’s been like this a lot for Vegas.
“Thanks, Meech. I did what I could.” Logan dusts herself off and takes a quick glance at Jake, noticing how his cerulean eyes constantly drift up and down her figure and his gaze burns into her body so eagerly. Oh fuck... she knows what he’s thinking. “You ok there, Aragorn?”
Estela scoffs at the look on Jake’s face. “Ha. Pretty sure he’s dead after seeing you like that.” She points out and correctly, mind you. “We’re leaving in five so we’ll let you say your goodbyes.”
The girls take off to the other side of the room, leaving Jake and Logan alone for the last few moments of their time together before they separate for a few hours. Jake finally snaps back to reality as the girls leave, clearing his throat in order to compose himself but it feels like there’s a rock planted deep in his throat. 
“I am so close to not letting you go anywhere tonight, Princess.” Jake whispers in a low husky tone that sends shivers up Logan’s spine. In response, Logan bites down on her lower lip and admires Jake’s chosen suit. It reminds her of the one at the La Huerta New Years Party - except everything is black. 
She reels him in by his pitch-black tie for a long, slow kiss that lingers more than it should. As they pull away, she smiles innocently against his lips. “Nice suit, Aragorn.” She whispers back, knocking their foreheads together sweetly.
“Goddamnit, can I swap Aleister for you?” Jake questions, almost like he’s begging and he almost looks serious. “I can’t handle more than an hour with that bore.”
“Don’t worry, I’m sure you’ll manage.” Logan assures, rolling her eyes at his exaggeration of the situation. “Just remember that this is about Aleister. It’s his goddamn party.”
“Well I’m the one who suggested it.” 
“Which gives you more of a reason to make it about Aleister. Even if he is a bit of an asshole, remind him that he’s supposed to be having fun.” Logan suggests, wrapping her arms around Jake’s neck and dragging him in for another kiss, biting down on his lower lip this time before pulling away. 
“Watch me try and watch me fail.”
“Jake.” Logan says his name as firmly as possible. 
“Fine but as long as you torture me when I get back. It’s more fun than being tortured by Aleister‘s dull taste in fun.” Jake retorts, rolling his eyes at the fight that he just lost. 
“I promise.” Logan swears, planting one last kiss on Jake’s lips before finally letting him leave her. 
The bachelorette party has been active for about an hour already, with the girls already having a little alcohol in their system but not enough that will make them wanna do anything so crazy just yet. Well all except Logan Mercer because she’s the oddest of them all. 
All of the girls are pacing across the street, having had just experienced a wonderful meal in the closest restaurant. Now they’ve got the fancy shit out the way, they can move on to the more fun part. 
“That fucking food was too damn fancy for me.” Zahra points out, executing a fake vomit-like noise with her hands and everyone just roll their eyes at her expected remark. 
“I know you wanna get drunk, Zahra, but you still need to eat.” Grace replies, hands on her hips. 
“We can eat! But we’re in Vegas. We should be eating somewhere trashy like... Burger King or Pizza Hut!” Zahra exclaims and no one can really make out what point she’s trying to get across here. 
“Zahra, all you eat back home is Burger King and Pizza Hut.” Michelle bites back, flipping her hair to one side and giggling at the ridiculous context of this conversation.
“What exactly do you wanna do now then, Zahra?” Quinn questions, genuinely curious. 
“Anything that isn’t boring and fancy!” 
A lightbulb suddenly goes off in Logan’s mind and a sly smirk crosses her lips. “Ok... I might have an idea.” 
“Yes, Mercy! Someone smart. What is it?” Zahra eagerly enquires, showing interest in Logan’s insane idea.
“I know we agreed earlier with the guys that we wouldn’t... go see strippers but they can’t exactly stop us when they’re not here.” Logan points out correctly and all of the girls match her level of deviance with their expressions, all except one. Grace, of course.
“Um... Lo. Im not sure I can agree to that. What if it’s like I’m betraying Aleister?” Grace asks with anxiety in her chestnut eyes. 
“Grace, you’re not hooking up with strippers. You’re just watching them. Besides you’re the guest of honour, you should let yourself have some fun!” Estela assures, rubbing Grace’s shoulder comfortingly and that causes her to release a sigh of relief. 
“But just so you know, even if you don’t agree, we’re gonna go to the strip club anyway. I don’t care if you’re the guest of honour. So you either come with us or we leave you on the street?” Michelle warns, a solemn look in her hazel eyes. Clearly she’s not kidding and Grace actually respects that attitude. 
“Agh, fine.” 
“Woohoo!” Zahra reacts, clapping her hands together like a fucking seal. “This what I came for!”
“Really? You didn’t just come for booze?” Logan jokes, her smirk widening.
“Nope. Strippers too.”
The bachelor party is dying pretty quickly, even after the guys’ tacky meal in Pizza Hut but everyone still enjoyed it because its good fucking pizza. Well, everyone besides Aleister. He’s been such a goddamn buzzkill during the first hour and it’s impossible to have fun when the dude is constantly telling someone to shut up and when Jake dares to make a joke about offering Aleister a drink and he almost tosses it on Jake. But he resists, shooting the pilot an icy glare instead. 
Jake is trying his very best to make this all about Aleister, just like Logan asked him too. But it’s impossible to make this dude happy! Everyone else is having fun. Diego was teaching Vaaryn all about pizza and all the different flavours while they were there. Craig was trying to see how many pieces of pizza toppings he could get in his mouth. Raj has been telling lots of fun stories and Jake has managed to not mock any of them, no matter how crazy they are. Be proud of him. Even Sean has managed to not be a buzzkill and he’s actually turning out to be a lot of fun, with plenty of banter and jokes to go around. And Aleister is just being... petty and ungrateful.
Now they’re here, semi-drunk and trying to figure out what the fuck they’re gonna do next. Everything has been pretty low-key so far and maybe this is the time to kick things up a notch. 
“Well that meal was absolutely atrocious.” Aleister is of course the first to comment on the food and it’s not even a compliment.
“Al, I know you hate all of this but could you not trash the food because I paid for that.” Sean asks as politely as his voice will let him and Jake is surprised and maybe even impressed that Sean could call Aleister out like that.
“Of course. This whole thing is sleezy anyway.” Aleister responds, his shoulders slumping back in a hopeless manor. He’s naturally stiff. 
“Well, what do you wanna do then, Aleister?” Raj questions with a genuine curiosity. Usually that type of thing would come off as sarcastic and rude, especially if it came out of Jake or Craig’s mouth. But no, Raj is the only one who could ask such a question and Aleister would actually take it as a real request. 
“Well I—“
“Bro, don’t ask him that!” Craig pipes up before Aleister can say anything else. “He probably wants us to play a game of chess or something. I hate chess.” 
Aleister’s expression sinks at Craig’s hurtful assumption. Don’t think he meant it that way however. “Nevermind. I’ll just let you airheads guide me through his hell hole of a night. It’ll all turn out fine when I wake up.” 
“Harsh, Malfoy,” is all Jake has managed to say throughout this entire situation until an entire new idea pops into his head. “Wait... since Jack Frost is giving us total control... how ‘bout we hit up a strip club?”
“We can’t do that. Didn’t we promise the girls we wouldn’t—“
“Diego, don’t ruin this.” Jake urges, folding his arms in a confident manor and smiles faintly at Diego when he silences himself. “I know we did. But they ain’t fucking here so what’s the problem?”
“I see Jake’s amazing logic here, bros.” Craig agrees, a bright smile fixed on his features.
“Me too. Let’s do it.” Raj is also ready for this as well, it’s clear from the eagerness in his tone.
“Sorry, my love, but what is a strip club?” Vaaryn dares to ask Diego, who just looks at him bewilderedly.
“I’ll explain on the way or I’ll just let you see for yourself.” Diego responds, careful with his choice of words and he pats Vaaryn on the shoudler reassuringly. 
Happy that most are on board, Jake expectantly turns to Aleister with a hopeful glint in his eyes. “How ‘bout you, Frosty?”
Aleister barely tilts his head, in disbelief that Jake has even dared to ask for his permission. “Absolutely not. It will be like I’m betraying Grace.” 
“Seriously? That’s your excuse.” Jake reacts, raising an eyebrow pointedly.
“Wouldn’t you feel as if you’re betraying Logan?” Aleister challenges and Jake just scoffs mockingly.
“Me and Princess got an understanding. Trust me.” Jake lies a little bit at the same time they kind of do. They always have. Even if Jake let Logan know, she’s probably gonna be okay with it. 
The ongoing argument is interrupted by a soft bark echoing from the ground and into the ears of the members of this weird bachelor party. Jake spots Furball curling up by his foot and a smirk immediately crosses his lips when he finds him. Furball has a choice which party he wanted to attend and he ended up going to Jake so this is where he ended up. Recently, it’s been like Jake is Furball’s all time favourite and they’re developing a real special bond. It’s cute.
Jake squats down so his finger can gently stroke the little fox’s teal fur and that gives Jake an idea. “Ok... this is it. The fox has the final say.” He declares in a proud tone and everyone around seems to nod along, all besides Aleister.
“What? That’s preposterous.”
“You have no say, Malfoy. Animal rights are talking now.” Jake pushes Aleister’s out the way completely and blocks his protests out. All that’s left is for Furball to announce his opinion. Jake turns to Furball with hope but also certainty because he knows he won’t be betrayed. “So Furball... ready to lose your innocence by going to a Vegas Strip Club?”
With no hesitation, Furball responds with an eager yelp. “Mmmmrf!!!l” With that, he crawls up Jake’s back and props himself up on the pilot’s shoulder, smiling widely. 
“Then it’s settled, kids.” 
Having much more fun than they were before, the girls have taken the bachelorette party to one of Vegas’ finest strip clubs. They’re all gathered around a booth, sipping on champagne and enjoying the sights before them. Grace is a little uncomfortable but she’s lightening up the longer they’re there. Meanwhile, the rest of them are having the actual time of their lives, especially Zahra. Everyone is starting to feel the alcohol now. 
“Can I tell you guys something?” Michelle suddenly asks, a slight shakiness in her voice. It’s extremely obvious that the alcohol is starting to get to her head and she’s not even the lightweight, she’s just had a lot more than any of the others.
“Sure.” 
Michelle forms a crooked half-smile and holds up her glass eagerly. “How about we make a toast and also an agreement that Sean is an absolute ass?” 
“Wow, Meech. Didn’t take you long to point that out.” Zahra scoffs, her dark eyes roaming over all the pretty sights before. Following her gaze, Quinn can’t help but let out a humoured giggle, not able to hold it in. Zahra catches the sound of her laughter and raises an eyebrow questioningly. “What?”
“You do realise you have a boyfriend right?” Quinn points out and rightfully so. “Pretty sure he wouldn’t appreciate you eye-fucking those strippers like that.” 
Zahra just scoffs mockingly. “You kidding? Craig would love it.”
“Kinda sure that doesn’t signal a healthy relationship, Z.” Logan counters, chugging down half of her champagne and pressing her lips together in order to contain the bitter aftertaste. 
“What can you say, Mercy? Would Jake want you sniffing around strip clubs?” Zahra retorts, folding her arms in a confident manor. 
Logan smirks at the comment, an unreadable look in her ocean eyes. “Me and Jake have an understanding.”
“Ok, all of you need to calm down. This is about Grace remember.” Estela calms the situation and raises her glass, gesturing to Grace with a faint smile. “To the guest of honour! And let’s hope that her marriage to Aleister is enough to make him at least a little more fun.” Everyone laughs along at Estela’s words and join in raising their glasses. 
“Aw, thanks guys. You’re all crazy but I really do love you all.” Grace performs a little speech and that’s when everyone clinks their glasses together. It really is memorable when they all hang out together, especially for a special occasion such as this. They’re all there to watch one of their best friends get married and it’s truly a great chance for them to bond. 
“You should. We’re amazing.” Zahra points out proudly, a smug smile on her face as she lowers her glass.
“Holy shit... guys look.” Estela’s voice interrupts the heartfelt moment, as her dark eyes widen at another sight. Curiously, everyone follows the brunette’s gaze, only to find a familiar group entering the strip club. 
“Oh no...” Grace reacts, covering her face with her hands out of shame. “Aleister is not gonna like this.”
“Well it looks like they had the same idea.” Logan points out, shaking her head at the sight of the guys standing at the entrance of the strip club and you’d expect to look a lot messier than they actually do. Jake looks so damn guilty. This has to be his idea. “Jake has gotta be the mastermind behind this.”
“So basically, you’re both as bad as each other.” Quinn counters, hiding her smirk behind her glass but Logan still manages to spot it anyway. 
“Jake knows what he should and shouldn’t do and at least he’s actually making Aleister have fun.” 
Michelle throws her head back and scoffs at that. “Ha! Aleister doesn’t look like he’s having fun at all.” 
“That’s because he hasn’t had a single drop of alcohol.” Estela points out, gesturing to Aleister with her glass. “Trust me... he’d be much paler.”
While everyone is discussing the current state of the guys, Logan surveys them carefully, trying to resist the urge to laugh at them. But her cover is blown when she locks eyes with Jake, who finally spots her and immediately a natural smirk crosses his lips. Of course, he’s smug about it already. 
“Oh fuck...” Logan mutters under her breath and nudges Quinn as discreetly as possible, a lot harder than she intended. 
“What the hell, Lo?”
“The guys have spotted us.” Logan tells Quinn, slight panicky about what their cocky reactions might be. It will be unnecessary but it will happen. Then it just gets worse. “Shit. They’re coming over.” 
Logan leans back in the velvet booth as she notices Jake and the guys are starting to pace over towards the girls. Clearly they’ve been skeptical and suspicious about why the girls are there just as much as they were about the guys. Now it’s come down to some sort of face off and this is just bound to get awkward, especially with Aleister following behind with an icy expression fixed on his face. It’s obvious he isn’t happy to see his soon-to-be-wife messing around at a strip club and she’s clearly having fun as well, which only makes the tension worse.
After what seems like forever, the boys reach the girls and both parties look like they’ve been caught red-handed, which they have. You’d expect one of them to be pretending it isn’t their fault but no, everyone looks equally guilty, which means no one has a good excuse.
“Look who we found.” Sean pipes up first, arms folded and an amused look on his face. “Guess you couldn’t handle the no-strippers rule either.” 
Michelle simply narrows her eyes. “You are a little late to the party though.” She retorts, a light scowl on her face but it’s hidden enough that Sean doesn’t notice it. 
“Was this your idea, Al?” Estela chimes in with joking intentions but Aleister merely rolls his eyes, not amused. 
“Obviously not. It was all Jake’s doing.” Aleister responds, shooting Jake the side-eye and at first, you’d think Jake would be more angry at Aleister but no... he’s more proud and only Jake Mckenzie would be proud of such an idea in this situation. 
All eyes move to Logan as Aleister rats Jake out. Her only reaction is a knowing smirk reaching her lips. “Oh really, Jake.” 
“Well ours was all down to Logan.” Grace pipes up, causing Logan to flinch a little, especially when Jake’s smirk only widens at the revelation. 
“Oh really, Princess.” He reacts, folding his arms in a condescending manor and he tilts his head cockily. 
“Oh my god... you brought Furball?!” Logan reacts, gesturing to the little blue fox curled up on Jake’s shoudler with nothing but excitement in his magenta eyes. He’s more excited about this then Aleister ever will be. ““Looks like you got into his head Jake.”
“He was the true mastermind.” Jake admits, high fiving Furball proudly.
“Ok... since you’re all here and we got booze and strippers around us...” Zahra begins and everyone suddenly realised what exactly she’s getting at. “...how ‘bout we combine these two parties into one?” 
“That’s... not a bad idea. Pretty sure it’s too late to go to another strip club anyway.” Jake jokes and he seems to be the only one who’s laughing at his comment. 
“This is just... madness! Can’t we just give up and end this little waste of time?” Aleister protests for the millionth time. He’s sulking like a mere child now. 
“Aleister, hunny. I mean this in the nicest way...” Michelle begins, easing Aleister into her comment. “You’re being so annoying and we don’t really care for your opinion.”
“Then looks why we’re gonna compromise.” Logan confirms, raising her glass once more. “To not getting too drunk.” 
“Hey! At least wait until we got shots before you toast.” Craig interrupts Logan before she can perform a toast.
Just as that is mentioned, Vaaryn comes bounding around the corner with a tray of around twelve glasses. Damn... good timing. He looks extremely proud of himself but also a little clueless like he has been this entire time.
“Holy shit! Blue Bro got shots!” Craig exclaims excitedly, his hands rising in one swift motion and he leaps out from the booth, heading for the tray of shots like a cheetah chasing prey. 
“Is that what they are? I was standing beside them before and this man in a bow tie asked me to fill them up and bring them to a table.” Vaaryn explains and everyone’s eyes widen at what he just implied. 
“So wait... you stole them?” 
“I am no thief. I did what I asked. I brought them to a table.” Vaaryn corrects and most seem on board with that idea. 
“I’m liking Avatar’s logic.” Jake points out, stroking his jaw thoughtfully before he sneakily swipes one of the shots. “I say we toast now. Go ahead, Princess.” 
Everyone grabs a shot while Logan clears her throat, preparing for her toast. “As I was saying... to not completely ruining our lives tonight.”
“And to a night we’ll easily forget.” Michelle adds and everyone laughs along. 
That light-hearted comment seems like a really good laugh at that moment. An easy joke that passes everyone by. Little do they know, that forgotten statement... is about to become a reality when morning arrives. Besides... no one can escape Vegas. 
trust me... the next part gets even weirder
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anghraine · 6 years
Text
“whatever we deny or embrace” - part one
I just saw a screed about the evils of genderbending, which reminded me to update the final (“final”) version of the queer AU!
title: whatever we deny or embrace verse: queer Rogue One/f!Cassian AU (2/6) characters: Baze Malbus, Chirrut Îmwe, Cassian Andor, Jyn Erso, Kaytoo; Chirrut/Baze, Jyn/Cassian stuff that happens: Baze and Chirrut both love Jyn from the start. It’s Baze, though, who likes Cassia. After Eadu, that’s a problem.  previous sections: prologue
PART ONE
“Does he look like a killer?”
“No. He has the face of a friend.”
If asked, Baze could not have explained what he saw in Cassia Andor’s face. It was sharp, hard, unsmiling, her gaze alternately suspicious or vacant. Not friendly by any stretch of the imagination. Nor was she friendly; at best, she snapped out commands without pausing to question whether they would be obeyed.
The face was attractive, but that had never been something to sway him. Certainly not in a woman. Her half-shy, wholly charmed looks at Jyn went further, snuck throughout the long week to Eadu.
Within those few days, he cared about Jyn as much as he had anyone but Chirrut. Baze made quick judgments and lived by them, and his snap judgment of Jyn was of a quiet firebrand fighting to survive without losing herself. He couldn’t have seen more of himself in her had she been his sister by blood. In Jyn’s circumstances, he would have been—Jyn. But in his own, he had Chirrut, and she had no one. Without thinking too much about it, he found himself sticking near her in silent solidarity.
Not quite as much as the captain did, however. The two girls constantly hovered together, amorphously concerned and not appearing to much notice.
(“Women,” Chirrut corrected, and Baze scoffed in the face of his evident amusement.
“Children, the lot of them.”)
From his supportive lurk, he couldn’t have missed Cassia’s stolen glances had he tried. He wasn’t sure how Jyn managed it, in fact. But in fairness, Cassia—who rarely missed anything—seemed no less oblivious to Jyn’s stares.
(“We’re watching a farce,” he grumbled.
“I’m not watching anything,” said Chirrut.)
Then, they reached the Imperial facility on Eadu, and … well. That happened. Baze sided with Jyn as far as he did anyone; she wasn’t right, exactly, but he remembered the bodies of the Temple’s dead too well to blame her. Cassia could spare some modicum of pity for a woman she had exploited, a woman whose father had just died in her arms. Still, it didn’t alter his opinion of Cassia, either. He remembered, too, those last years as a Guardian, clinging to unbending faith under the grip of the Empire. That kind of conviction was not a forgiving thing, and it burnt at both ends.
Captain Andor had not burned up yet, but she was well on her way. Baze knew the signs; he’d been there, and found only Chirrut on the other side. She would find what? The droid? More than Jyn had, to be sure—except Jyn had herself, stubbornly whole. Cassia, cool and clear-headed, seemed a creature of fragments.
“The face of a friend, eh?” Chirrut asked that night, because he always had to have the last word.
Baze thought of just agreeing—he was tired, long day, they only had three days more to the Rebellion, which he did not recall volunteering for—but his soul revolted.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You’re the one who said she carries a prison with her.”
Chirrut sobered. “She does. I’m sorry for her. But this woman is more dangerous for that, not less. It doesn’t make her a friend.”
“She’s a nice girl,” insisted Baze, halfheartedly pretending that most of his attention lay with unwrapping his repeater cannon. He had space for it. On both ships, Cassia had consigned them to the one set of full quarters available—unnecessarily, but he wasn’t about to give it up to any of these twenty-something children. “They both are, underneath.”
“Far underneath,” Chirrut said. True enough. “The captain, anyway. That nice girl just about put a blaster bolt through an innocent man’s head.”
“So have I,” said Baze.
To his immense satisfaction, his husband had no answer to that. Baze, who could not care less about Galen Erso in himself, undressed and crawled into bed in an excellent mood. He closed his eyes, vaguely soothed by the clatter of Chirrut’s staff and the rustle of his robes as he tossed them aside. He’d always been incurably careless.
Baze was just drifting off when Chirrut spoke again.
“I hope you’re right.”
Longing for sleep, he grunted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“They have choices waiting for them at the Rebel base, both of them.”
“Probably,” said Baze.
“Choices that could change the galaxy.”
He opened his eyes just so he could roll them. “Uh-huh. Go to sleep.”
All right, he didn’t believe Chirrut’s nonsense. Awake, though, he knew only too well that this Death Star business was galaxy-changing. They had to bring that thing down. That meant Jyn had to play nice with the Alliance, and Cassia had to back her up. He certainly didn’t pretend that his or Chirrut’s word would go far, much less an Imperial pilot’s. And the droid would tear out its own wiring if Cassia told it to.
Both women had choices to make, after a fashion. It didn’t require any Force delusion to see that. And both choices seemed somewhat uncertain prospects at the moment. Jyn and Cassia spent the two days after their fight sulking on opposite ends of the shuttle.
Not that they said so. Jyn sat in the quiet, meditating with her crystal. Cassia talked over hyperspace lanes with Bodhi and K-2SO, and calculated coordinates.
Sulking.
Chirrut mumbled some absurdity about them finding their own paths in their own ways. But nobody had time for that. Baze stalked around the shuttle, never eager for conversation, less eager for the one somebody needed to have with their fearless leaders. When he ran into Cassia’s droid, it was almost a relief.
“Baze Malbus,” K-2SO intoned. “You have walked the same route seven times in the last hour.”
Baze didn’t bother responding.
With a distinct note of irritation, it added, “Is this merely a pointless waste of time and energy, or do you expect to achieve something by it? I can tell you that the odds—”
Ignoring this, he said abruptly, “Can you tell me the odds of the captain apologizing?”
Its eyes flashed, recalibrating. “That depends on more factors than you could contemplate.”
“And?”
“Without additional input, nineteen percent in generic circumstances. That number does not incorporate data relating to espionage activities. I assumed you only referred to her present role.”
“That’s right,” Baze allowed.
“Of course.”
“And how likely is an apology to Jyn?”
The droid managed to infuse deep indignation into the slight shift of its head. “What for?”
Baze and K-2SO stared at each other for long seconds. Finally acknowledging that he was unlikely to outwait a droid, Baze said,
“Galen Erso’s death.”
“Cassia did not end his life,” said K-2SO. “In violation of a directive from the acting head of Rebel Intelligence, I might add. If Jyn Erso cannot grasp that fact, it is her failure, not Cassia’s. I rate the chance of the captain apologizing at four percent.”
“That’s your analysis? Or a hunch?”
“I am a strategic analysis droid,” K-2SO snapped, its usual slouch straightening up. “I do not have hunches. Not that you deserve the details, but three percent is the margin of error I allowed for unknown variables. The raw probability is one percent. Rounded up.”
Baze eyed it skeptically.
The droid said, “Apologies indicate regret.”
“The captain likes what she does?” From what he’d seen of her, he found that extremely unlikely. Even Chirrut knew better—well, particularly Chirrut.
“It seems that your ears are decaying with your brain cells,” said K-2SO. “I did not say that. But she does not regret anything that furthers the aims of the Rebellion. She certainly does not think she should waste our valuable time and power sources on useless guilt.” Unnecessarily, it added, “And neither do I.”
“Surprise,” Baze muttered. “So how, exactly, was Erso’s death going to further the aims of the Rebellion?”
K-2SO paused. “It wasn’t. That’s why she didn’t do it.”
And Jyn had nothing to do with it. Sure. But he didn’t feel the need to hear Jyn or himself insulted by a hunk of metal and grease, so he only replied,
“You’re telling me that she’s got nothing in that prison of hers that isn’t for the Rebellion?”
“I don’t know what you mean by prison,” said the droid, primly. “The Empire has never caught us. But she does not do anything that isn’t for the Rebellion.”
“Never?” asked Baze, out of purely disinterested motives that had nothing to do with another young woman on the shuttle. He cleared his throat. “She doesn’t watch out for anyone unless they’re useful?”
The droid tilted its head. “Why would she?”
“Then nobody’s going to be watching out for her when she isn’t,” he said.
It managed to draw itself up into further heights of indignation. “Cassia is always useful. And she has me. I am superior to any collection of organic matter.” Muttering to itself, K-2SO swivelled and stalked off.
A jealous droid. Wonderful.
Unfortunately, Baze suspected that its judgment of their captain could be trusted. Jyn, the injured party, had a much better chance of hearing good sense.
Hearing was perhaps an overstatement. He wandered to her end of the shuttle, and stationed himself in her general vicinity. Neither said anything for a good ten minutes, though the stiff line of Jyn’s shoulders relaxed. A little.
“He must have had all sorts of information,” she said at last.
Baze eyed her from his corner. “Eh?”
“My father,” said Jyn, quite conversationally. “Imagine all the things he could have passed onto the Rebellion. Do you suppose she ever thought of that?”
“Perhaps,” he replied. The Force couldn’t be real. If it were, surely he would not be having this conversation. “Maybe it’s why she didn’t take the shot.”
Jyn’s eyes settled on him, hard and focused. “Did she send you?”
“No,” said Baze. Then he scowled. “Nobody sends me anywhere.”
Though she remained impenetrably grave, the wariness in her face faded. “Someone should let Chirrut know.”
Baze snorted.
They fell silent again, more comfortable with quiet companionship than speech. Beyond that, no sure approach came to Baze’s mind. Another few minutes passed before either roused themselves to speech.
“So you believe her?” Jyn asked.
“Yes,” said Baze. He would have left it at that, would very much have liked to leave it at that, but at Jyn’s ambivalent scowl, forced himself on. “I’ve seen the captain upset before, in Gerrera’s cell. But she kept a cool head.” Until she realized Jyn might get crushed to death, anyway. “She didn’t at Eadu. She was angry, unreasonable. Something shook her.”
Jyn exhaled. Tucking the crystal away, she said, “I suppose so. It could have been what happened, though. It was chaos down there.”
“She’s an assassin, Jyn,” said Baze, as kindly as he knew how. “For a cause, but—a Rebel spy. For decades, if we can trust her that far.”
Her mouth twisted. “So what’s one more dead Imperial to her?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, though … yes. Pretty much. “Back in our cell, she told us that she’d never been in one before. If that’s true, she’s good at what she does. Very good. A raid on an Imperial facility wouldn’t rattle her. But she was rattled.”
“Orders,” muttered Jyn. “That’s what she said.” She sounded unimpressed, but not as uncompromising as before.
Maybe.
“She’s a good soldier girl,” Baze agreed dryly. It was true enough, though; Cassia seemed to receive and deliver orders with equal intention of seeing them carried out. “I don’t imagine they’d keep her in the field if she weren’t.”
Jyn flinched. But she said in her usual firm tone, “No place for rebels in the Rebellion?”
“They keep their secrets close, everyone knows that.” He folded his arms, knowing he stood on shaky ground and disliking it. “Their spies know enough to carry out orders, and I’d bet not a drop more, unless they run over it themselves. Rogue pilots, maybe. Rogue spies, no.”
“Cassia knew more,” she insisted. “She was the one with the intel this time.”
Baze, following his instincts, kept his mouth shut.
“If that’s why she didn’t shoot—” Jyn paused, hands and lips compressed.
He didn’t risk a direct answer. “For what it’s worth, the droid’s opinion is that she decided your father’s death wouldn’t help the Rebellion.”
Jyn, given the opportunity to deflect onto K-2SO’s many failings, ignored it. She stared up at him with pale cheeks and wide green eyes, looking impossibly young.
“That would mean that Cassia believed me. Believed that Father didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t … she … ”
“Captain Andor is the only one who can answer that,” said Baze.
Jyn didn’t seem to hear. “If she trusts me, then—they’ll listen if she backs me up. Her commanding officer’s a general, and the leader of the Rebellion introduced her to me. We have to get those plans.”
With some skepticism, Baze listened to the exact conclusion he’d hoped she would reach. “True.”
“And …”
Jyn seemed content to let the sentence trail into the infinity of space. He cleared his throat again.
“And?”
Colour flooded her cheeks. She tilted her chin up, hope and determination hardening over her face.
“Trust goes both ways.”
Baze had the good sense to leave Jyn to her epiphany. Considerably more doubtful about Cassia’s end of the business, he arrived in the cockpit to find Bodhi gone and Chirrut perched in the co-pilot’s seat, amidst various switches and signals and technological paraphernalia. He looked both ridiculous and smug, and Cassia more haunted than usual.
“What did you do to the pilot?”
“Nothing,” said Chirrut virtuously. “The poor man fell asleep.”
Cassia lifted her gaze to Baze. “Bodhi just about collapsed once he had nothing more to do. He’s had a long few weeks.”
“One way of putting it,” muttered Baze.
“I know these routes, anyway,” she went on, “so I can manage well enough from here.”
Remembering their escape from the Death Star’s destruction, he said, “Right. Where’d you stash him?”
“The captain carried him to a bunk,” said Chirrut. He tapped his staff against the floor, the familiar rhythm both irritating and soothing. “I didn’t see it.”
Baze rolled his eyes. Chirrut aside, he couldn’t envision it. Bodhi Rook might not be a large man, but neither was Cassia Andor a large woman. At most, she stood at the tallish end of average, a good few inches shorter than Baze. He suspected she’d lost muscle mass lately—all her regulation clothes hung on her—but her frame would never have been anything but narrow.
“Carried?”
“He was still conscious,” Cassia said. “More or less. I helped him.”
Unperturbed, Chirrut smiled. “The captain is stronger than she seems.”
Cassia slanted him a wary glance. Since Baze would have felt exactly the same in her position, and often did in his own, he let it pass.
Behind him, the door to the cockpit slid open. He half-expected the pilot had already woken, but no: it was Jyn. Good.
Maybe good.
Jyn slouched into the chamber. She didn’t seem to have thought beyond that; for one long and intensely uncomfortable moment, she and Cassia just stared at each other.
“Any news?” she said.
“No,” said Cassia, her gaze not so much as twitching from Jyn. She wet her lip. “There won’t be, barring a disaster.”
“Good, then.” Utterly stoic, Jyn folded her arms. “Nothing from the Force either, Chirrut?”
The Force doesn’t work that way, Baze almost said, but closed his mouth on it. It wouldn’t work that way if it were real, which it wasn’t.
“No,” Chirrut said. With a tap of his staff, he rose to his feet, while choices that could change the galaxy ran through Baze’s head. Chirrut had his own concept of truth. “Thank you for your time, captain. I enjoyed our conversation.”
“I’m delighted,” said Cassia, dryly.
Chirrut beamed in her direction nevertheless, nodded in Jyn’s, and headed to the door. Without a word, Baze trailed after him, only pausing once to glance back.
Jyn had flung herself into the co-pilot’s seat, the rigid set of her shoulders just visible from the angle of the chair. Cassia remained in her own seat, her body stiffly upright, and the entirety of it tilted towards Jyn.
The girls might be all right, after all.
“You ‘enjoyed your conversation’ with the captain,” Baze said, once they accumulated a good distance from the cockpit. They’d never lost money underestimating Imperial craftsmanship.
Chirrut, graceful as ever, seated himself on the nearest bench.
“We had a nice talk.”
“I thought you didn’t like her,” said Baze.
“I never said that.” Chirrut leaned his head against the wall of the shuttle and smiled. Of course he did.
With nothing better to do, Baze sunk onto the bench beside him. It occurred to him that Bodhi was asleep somewhere, Jyn and Cassia busy brooding at each other in the cockpit, the droid off doing whatever it was that it did. There was nobody here to draw conclusions or scent vulnerability. Not that Jyn and Cassia … well, they’d see about Jyn and Cassia. If they all lived long enough.
Very casually, he slung his arm about Chirrut’s shoulders.
“You’re an old fool,” he said gruffly.
Chirrut, not bothering with subtlety, leaned against him. “You should know.”
18 notes · View notes
chainsawbettyloo · 6 years
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Title: Pink Glove 
Pairing: SidLink | Rating: Everyone | Written from prompt above!
Tags: AU - Modern Setting, AU - College, Confessions, Love Confessions, Kissing, First Time Kiss, Fluff
Summary: The night started out as a ghost hunting adventure, and ended at a gas station, chugging down sugary, caffeinated garbage. Link's happy enough to just be spending some quality time with Sidon but when he gets a text from Zelda, who insists he tells Sidon how he feels or she'll do it for him, the night is about to take a turn for the surprising...and better
Cross posted on my AO3!, Prompt requests are still open, btw! 
-
The pink glove lay on the ground, almost completely covered by dust. Link briefly glanced at it, wondered how it got there then immediately lost interest. Probably belonged to part of a pair of horny teens who thought an abandoned hotel was the sexiest place to swap DNA. Swinging his flashlight upwards towards the ceiling, he took in the cracks, cobwebs, and sighed heavily. A puff of white steam swirled around his face as he exhaled. This was probably the least adventurous adventure he had ever been forced to go on. Well, forced was probably too strong a word: manipulated was probably better.
Come hunt ghosts at a creepy abandoned hotel where like, five people totally died for realsies, and a bunch of people had reported “activity”. He had absolutely no idea what that meant, but the whole thing was just intriguing enough to get him interested enough to actually accompany his friends along this ghost hunting outing. Not that he had expected anything to happen (but, admittedly, a tad bit hopeful), and, not surprisingly, absolutely squat had. There were a few times when Riju, Yunobo and Mipha had sworn up and down that they had seen something or heard something but as for him, there were no paranormal experiences. He was pretty sure everything those other three had, supposedly, seen / heard was because they wanted something to happen.
Go into a creepy hotel at night expecting ghosts and you’re gonna get ghosts. Simple as simple gets. Pretty much, his entire night had been entirely wasted. He could have been at home, cocooned in a mass of blankets on his coach, warm as a bug in a rug, with a video game or movie, and a big bowl of something incredibly unhealthy but nooooo, he let Riju talk him into fucking ghost hunting. Well, least this was something he’d be able to say he did: ‘oh yeah, I went ghost hunting once - oh, nah, lol, it was a total bust. Don’t know what the fuss was all about’. Also, well, there was another reason that made this cold, miserable night pretty alright.
Turning, he raised his flashlight to chest level as Sidon walked in from behind him. Now there was the real reason he had decided to tag along. Sure, the ghosts were cool and all that, but a chance to spend time with Sidon was totally worth it. Course, they already spent a shit ton of time together but he was always up for that being extended indefinitely. Even luckier for him, they had been paired up in a buddy team to explore the upper floors. He had even scored a hand holding moment when Sidon led him to a room where there was some rustling, which wound up being just a raccoon. That alone made this pretty much the best night ever.
“Find anything?” Sidon asked, turning his flashlight towards Link. In the dim light, he could see he was smiling faintly. Golden eyes twinkled with mischievousness underneath a thick shock of vibrant red hair.
Smiling in return, his heart fluttering a bit more than it probably should, he replied, “Nothing of note. You?”
“There’s a nest of rats in the other room. That’s about it.”
“I hope we don’t get sick from being in here.” Link commented, sliding the concentrated beam of light around, looking for hints of black mold or other toxic filth.
“We should be fine. Though, being in all this dust probably isn’t good for us.”
They both fell silent, glancing around, taking in their surroundings then Link casually asked, trying very hard to sound like he didn’t care what the answer was going to be but really hoping it would be in the positive, “You wanna ditch and go get some drinks from the gas station?”
“Uh, yeah, that sounds good.” Sidon replied back just as casually. “Definitely down for that. This was fun at first but honestly getting a little bit bored. Plus, I’ve banged my knees on so much random fucking shit. Getting really tired of that.”
Link laughed sympathetically, “Yeah, I feel you. I’m gonna have bruises all over tomorrow. Lets ditch this dust trap.”
“Right behind you.”
“You’re in front of me, though.” Link teased, pointing the flashlight beam at the doorway.
Sidon turned, saw that he was then chuckled, “You are correct. Then,” he turned back to Link, held out a large hand and flashed a smile that was so lumniscent that Link could clearly see it in the dim light, “allow me to lead you to non-dustdom, where you no longer have to fear assault on your knees and toes.”
“Then, I shall trust the wellbeing of my shins, knees, toes and elbows to you, kind prince.” Link dramatically responded, his cheeks and the tips of his ears tingling with heat. God, he could be so goddamn charming. No, that was incorrect. He was always goddamn charming - there was never a moment when he wasn’t charming. Charming was basically his default state. Even when he was being an annoying shit, he was charming. Sweeping forward with profound, exaggerated grace, he slipped his hand into Sidon’s and let himself be lead out of the dark, musty room. Sidon’s hand was warm, a little rough, and his hand fit perfectly into it. Mental note: find more opportunities to hold hands. It would be difficult, but so totally worth it. They wove through the dark hallways, nimbly darting around various debris, and made it outside far quicker than they had gotten up to the third floor.
Pulling in a deep breath of cold, crisp, clean air into his cobwebbed lungs, Link let it out as a happy sigh. Okay, yeah, he was discovering that he truly did not like wandering around an old, moldy, dark building. Probably was not going to be doing that again in the immediate future...unless Sidon was going to be there, then yeah, he’d go without a second thought. Though, considering Sidon looked much the same as he did - relieved to be out of that dankness - he was pretty sure he wouldn’t be agreeing to anything similar either. Only way he could see them agreeing was if Riju invited them out for ghost hunting at the mall or Food Lion.
On the second floor, he could see a hint of flashlights belonging to the other groups. He briefly considered texting Zelda, but decided against it. If he did, she’d probably want in on going to the gas station since she was probably just as bored with this play of boringness and nothingness, then everyone else would most likely follow. No doubt, it would be fun, and it was probably more than a little selfish of him but right now, he wanted more time with Sidon. Zelda would understand, hopefully, maybe. Anyway, when she figured out a group was missing, he’d get a text, explain himself and promise to buy her a hot chocolate as an apology. That should be enough to get him off the hook.
Still holding onto Sidon’s hand, Link took the lead this time. Above, the moon was bright enough to light their way. Plus, he knew this side of town - cleaned the whole area for a summer as part of his probation for punching a dude in the face. Charges were absolutely shit - it had been self defense but the judge went hard on him because of his asshole father, who had more DUIs than brain cells - but he had, admittedly, enjoyed the punishment. Guys he worked with were excellent, gave him a lot of perspective on things, it was nice to be out of the house during summer break, doing some good, cleaning up the prettier areas of his industrial little town, and really, could have been worse.
Much worse since the judge originally wanted to send him to juvie. Counselor at his high school talked him out of it. Not really sure how she managed it, since that judge was an arrogant old dude who obviously thought the only way to straighten out the “rowdy young”, as he liked to refer to Link, was to scare them shitless, regardless of consequence. Missus Hye came to his rescue, got him probation time to be spent doing community service, and the subject was dropped. Judge had ended the “trial” with a stern warning to Link: get your act together and you might just be Food Lion’s employee of the month at some point.
Joke was on him, though. Four years after the fact, he was a double major junior in the local college, consistently boasted a GPA higher than a 3.5, somehow managed to support himself on two part-time jobs and without a single penny from his parents, and had an advisor who would tear down walls if it meant getting him a job straight out of college. Not to mention, he had an awesome group of friends, amazing teachers and, despite life being fucking hard most of the time, he was enjoying himself immensely. So, basically, fuck that judge. If he ever saw him again, he was going to give him the double bird.
“You okay, Link?” Sidon’s voice floated in from somewhere overtop him, wrenching him back to the present.
“Huh? Oh yeah, just thinking. Sorry.” Link laughed embarrassedly, scratching the back of his head.    
“About what?”
“Just how some piece of shit basically told me to my face that I’d never amount to anything and how I’d rub everything I’ve managed to do in his face if I saw him again.”
“If you ever do, let me know. I’ll hold him down while you shove it down his throat.”
Link flashed a thumbs up, “Of course. We’ll get Zelda involved to. She can film the entire thing.”
“You’d probably have to hold her back from doing it yourself.”
He laughed at that then nodded in agreement, “Yeah, you’re right. We’ll have to invite Mipha too. Zelda can film, Mipha can restrain her.”
“Sounds like a good time, over all.”
“Oh yeah, one for the scrapbooks.”
They both chuckled then fell silent as they closed in on the gas station. Only one in town open 24 hours, and he actually wasn’t too certain as to why. They were downtown, away from the hustle and bustle of the bars, mall, and stores. Most of the stuff around here was industrial buildings, so maybe the workers there stopped by? That was the only thing he could figure. Not that he really cared. It was open, he was thirsty so everything worked out just fine. There were no cars at the pumps, no one idling about, the whole place looked to be deserted. For a moment, he was nervous that he had been mistaken but when they got to the front, he peeked in to see an exhausted looking woman sitting behind the counter, slowly flipping through a magazine. Tugging open the door, a tingling sound ding a linging from above him, he held it open for Sidon to step through then stepped in behind him.
Inside was a gas station. Nothing really spectacular about it. Smelled faintly of bleach, floor was a bit dirty, illuminated by harsh fluorescent lights, it was standard and unextraordinary. Shooting the tired clerk a smile, and not bothered at all when she didn’t return it, Link followed Sidon over to the fridge section, where sugary drink after sugary drink were lined up. Without any hesitation, Sidon picked a cold brewed coffee. Link considered getting the same then, ultimately, picked out an energy drink he really shouldn’t be drinking this late at night but was going to anyway.
“Do you want a snack?” Sidon asked, eyeing the chip aisle.
He would, but the drink was probably all he could afford right now. Shaking his head with a smile, he quickly scurried over to the counter so he could pay before Sidon could offer. Zelda always told him that there was nothing wrong with letting others pay for things. Didn’t change the fact that he couldn’t stand it, and would actively try to avoid it as best he could. He had to take handouts in a lot of different areas so he’d prefer to keep his pride intact in some places.
Without a word, the clerk rang him out, then returned to her magazine. Floating over the door, he popped open his drink, took a huge swig, eyes falling closed in relief as the cold, smooth liquid slid down his parched throat. Future him would probably regret present him’s actions but that was future him’s problem, not his. Gasping hard as he pulled the can away, he wiped access liquid from his top lip and watched as the clerk checked Sidon out. He had grabbed a couple snacks, two small bags of chips, a packet of cookies and a candy bar.
“Do you need a bag?” The clerk asked, sounding like she was going to fall asleep at any moment.
“No, thank you.” Sidon replied, gathering up his items. “Have a nice night.”
The clerk hummed distractedly in response, eyes already back on her magazine. Joining Link over by the door, he flashed a grin, jerked his head to the great big outside, and asked, “Back to the hotel or take momentary possession of the curb?”
“Curb.” He replied, returning the grin. Leaning over, he addressed the clerk, “Is it alright if we sit outside?”
“No smoking. Don’t be loud. If someone complains, you’ll need to leave. Other than that, feel free.” She flipped a page, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and sighed.
“Thank you.” Holding the door open for Sidon once more, he followed after into the cold night, shivering slightly as the warmth of the inside was shooed away. Walking over to the far edge of the slight elevation surrounding the front of the gas station, he plopped down, took another long sip of his drink then jumped in surprise when Sidon dropped one of the bags of chips and the packet of cookies into his lap. Looking up at him in surprise as he sat down beside him, his only response was a big smile.
Frowning, he said, “You didn’t have to get me anything.”
“I don’t have to do anything.” Sidon said, ripping off the plastic ring around the top of the glass bottle. Unscrewing the top, he paused for a moment to sniff then took a swig, “I wanted to.”  
“Thank you.” He said after a short pause, picking up the bag of chips. Momma didn’t raise no ungrateful shit, after all. Plus, he was hungry, so he couldn’t really complain to much. He would find some way to replay him later. There were still some homemade cookies that he had made earlier in the week left over so those could easily go to Sidon. Seemed like a good trade, and Sidon would be happy, which meant he’d be happy too.
Pulling open the bag, he started to munch down. This was good, he liked this, this was something he was fully content with - enjoying, etc and so on, the point has been gotten. Smooshed up close to Sidon, close enough that he could smell his deodorant (something manly and musky), experiencing a quiet moment of togetherness that he normally wasn’t allowed. Sure, they hung out a lot but it was usually with their group. Private moments like these were hard to catch hold of. Without a doubt, though, he was going to have to make this a more regular thing.
“We should do this more often.” Sidon commented casually, as though he was reading Link’s mind.
“We should!” Link replied, then flinched at how enthusiastic he sounded.
“I’m off from work next weekend. Do you want to come by my place? We can go out, wander around wherever then head back, watch some movies? Just me and you?”
His heart jumped with excitement. With a huge grin on his face, cheeks tingling with heat, he nodded, putting a lot of self control behind the movement so he wouldn’t start flopping around, “Yeah, that sounds like fun.”
Fucking score! Fridays for him were most concentrated in the mornings, while Saturdays were evenings heavy so he had more than enough time to hang out with Sidon. He needed to reign himself in, though. This wasn’t a date. It obviously wasn’t a date, they were just hanging out, as friends, nothing else. And that was okay. It was, regardless of what the uncontrolled, emotion driven child inside of him was wailing otherwise. And he was grateful. Grateful for the chance to spend more time with this awesome guy.
Glancing over, he took in the said awesome guy. There were a good amount of people of an array of genders at their college who would kill their own mother for a chance to spend quality time like this with Sidon. To say he was popular was a goddamn understatement. Handsome to the point that it was actually a bit irritating - muscular, dark skinned, long red hair and those intense golden eyes that were always sparkling with curiosity, warmth and excitement - smart, charming, a leader who could rally people to do just about anything. Course, Link knew the less appealing aspects of his personality (rushing forward without thinking, not taking other options in consideration, not really realizing sometimes that being positive about stuff wasn’t enough sometimes, etc), which he did personally feel honored to know.
Despite being on opposite ends of the academic spectrum with Sidon in Marine Biology and him in Agriculture, and Culinary Studies, they met up in Link’s freshman year in a random elective class, became fast friends and from there on was history. Even after he graduated in Link’s sophomore year, they remained close (helped by Sidon remaining in town, and within walking distance from Link’s dorm) and started to hang out even more after - still not as much as he would like, they were both busy people, after all, but still, good.    
From his pocket, his phone dinged. Zelda’s ringtone, someone had obviously caught onto the fact that one of the groups were missing. Tugging his phone out, he swiped until he got to the screen he wanted.
‘Where are you?’
Brushing his crumbs coated fingers off on his jeans, he typed out a reply, then decided there was a better way to convey his and Sidon’s current location. Pulling up the camera, he switched around to the front facing, leaned over until his back was resting against Sidon’s arm, held the phone up and took a quick joint selfie. Despite the abruptness of the picture taking, it ended up being a really good one. Sidon caught on quickly, and flashed a bright smile that practically twinkled. Oh yeah, that was definitely becoming his home screen wallpaper.
“Will you send me that?” Sidon asked, popping a chip into his mouth.
“Yep, will do.” Link sent it to Zelda first, accompanied with a smiley face, then to Sidon.
Sidon’s phone dinged. Mimicking Link, he brushed his fingers off, got his phone off and laughed, “I love it. Do you mind if I make it my wallpaper?”
“Only if you don’t mind if I do the same.”
“Go for it.” He replied with a laugh.
Link’s phone dinged again with another message from Zelda. He was expecting some serious scolding for running off without telling but instead, the message only contained two words. Those two words immediately made him pause, eyes going huge.
‘Tell him.’
‘No way’ He quickly replied, the pace of his heart picking up considerably. Despite Sidon not being able to see his screen from his hunched over, focused on his own phone position, he shifted away to make extra super sure that there would be no accidental seeing.
‘Tell him.’
‘Nope’
‘Link, either you tell him right now or I will call him and tell him myself.’
‘You wouldn’t dare’
The final response didn’t surprise him in the least: ‘Try me.’
He knew better than do that. Once Zelda got her mind set on something, not even the end of the world would stop her. Regardless, what she was asking him to do was impossible. A dictionary definition of a ‘bad fucking idea, do not do’ would be to do what she wanted him to. Tell Sidon...someone he was 99.99% that viewed him as a friend and friend alone, that he was in love with him, had been since they first met during his freshman year. How was he supposed to say something like that? How could he possibly risk their friendship, especially now when they had developed to a point where they were so comfortable with one another?
Not possible. He wouldn’t do it.
As though she was sensing his hesitation, Zelda sent him one more message. It consisted of two, simple words: ‘Trust me.’
His fingers curled tightly around his phone. She might not believe it, but he did trust her. There was probably only three people in the whole wide world he trusted, and she was at the very top of that very short list. Still…..still, could he really say it? Was it really alright for him to say it? There were a lot of challenges he had faced in his life, a lot of uncertain plunges into shady water that could have resulted in a broken neck but came out okay, even good sometimes, in the end. Was he brave enough to plunge into something like this, knowing full well that it could easily wind up being disastrous?
Zelda could say ‘tell him’ and ‘trust me’ all she wants but that didn’t change the fact that he could very well lose Sidon if he told him. Rejection he could take. He could handle Sidon saying he didn’t feel the same, that was just the way of fucking life. It sucked. It definitely sucked. Did that make it unbearable? Hell, no - he’d take the negative, get over it, move on, suck it up, etc etc, point fully gotten. It was Sidon getting grossed out, disgusted, uncomfortable by the thought that a friend being in love with him that he couldn’t stand the thought of. That would drive a wedge between them, they’d drift apart - he didn’t want that. He’d rather stay silent then have that happen!
But...could he really stand to stay quiet? For years, he had been hiding it. Swallowing it down so that Sidon wouldn’t notice how stupid he made him. How much longer? How much longer could he hold it in? How much longer could he deny it? How much longer was he going to keep asking himself those dumb questions? He did love Sidon, he loved him so much, from his charming ways to his obnoxious habits. Could he? Could he do it?”
“Link? You okay?”
“I love you.” The words were out before he could stop them. Realization hit him a split second after, his brain almost on a delay. Every muscle froze, his heart did a dramatic faint inside his chest, swooning over like a traumatized southern belle, cold dripped sickeningly into his stomach and he was pretty sure he might vomit up all the sugar and carbs he just gobbled up. Screwed up, he just screwed up so much. His thoughts had been so preoccupied with telling Sidon that it had just come out, spilled out, like fucking word vomit.  
“I love you, too.”
“...huh?” Link slowly raised his head to look over at Sidon. The words were in his ears, but he couldn’t fully comprehend them. Was he hallucinating in a moment of stress? That did seem possible.
There wasn’t a hint of anything negative on his handsome face. In fact, Link was surprised to find he looked...happy. Incredibly happy, even. There was a pleased glimmer in his golden eyes. Strong lips were pulled into a soft, sweet smile that made his face even more gorgeous. Reaching up, he brushed the backs of his fingers along the curve of Link’s cheek, sending a pleasant tingle over the surface of his skin, then tucked a length of blond hair behind his ear. Okay, yeah, definitely not the reaction he had been expecting but definitely the one he had dreamed of. Not mad, farthest thing away from mad, that was good. No, not good. Amazing. It was amazing.
Breathless glee flooded into his chest, bringing with it a supreme warmth that drove away all hints of cold, “You aren’t mad?”
Sidon gave him a confused look, “Why would I be mad?”
Nervously playing with his fingertips, he said, “I thought you’d be against it or like, disgusted or something…”
Glancing up, he found Sidon’s confused expression had morphed into an odd one. He still looked thoroughly confused, but there was a strangeness along with that. Opening his mouth, he started to say something, thought better of it, clicked it close, knitted his brows together then let out a brief chuckle and said, “Link, we’ve been dating for a month now.”
“...huh?” Now it was Link’s turn to look confused. Dating? Them? They had been dating? Since when? Well, Sidon said a month but he didn’t remember ever agreeing to something like that. Seemed like a kind of hugely important thing that he wouldn’t forget. He was swamped with work and school, but that didn’t mean his brain had stopped working.
A disbelieving smile spread across Sidon’s face, “Did you not realize?”
“No, I thought we were just like two buds, hanging out! We’re dating?!”
“Remember when I asked you out? We went to the movies together? Got dinner?”
Yes, he did remember that, it had been a great time, but, “I thought we were just hanging out as friends! I didn’t know it was a date! Wait, how did you not realize that I didn’t know?!”
Sidon stared at him for a moment then burst out laughing. Clapping a hand over his forehead, he yelped, “I thought you just wanted to take things slow!”
“But, you genuinely thought we were dating?”
“I did!” He chortled, coughed hard then sighed, shaking his head slowly, “Well, this explains a lot.”
“Are you mad?” Link asked again, struggling to comprehend the whole thing. Dating, they had been dating, and he hadn’t even been fucking aware of it. How dense was him?! Then again, he couldn’t recall Sidon ever saying that he liked him - well, no, that was actually incorrect. When thought back, he could remember three times where, very clearly, Sidon had conveyed to him that he did, in fact, like him. But his gay, dumbass hadn’t caught on. He was never going to live this down. Once Zelda found out, he would never hear the end of it.
“I’m not mad. Just surprised, and a little baffled.” Giggling, Sidon tucked a strand of red hair behind his hair, “So, I was thinking we were already established, and I’m guessing you’ve been struggling with trying to confess to me. Is that correct?”
Blushing a bit, Link nodded.
Sidon thought for a moment then continued, “Alright, lets start over.” Clearing his throat, he shifted around until he was fully facing Link. Reaching forward, he took Link’s hands into his own, looked him straight in the eyes, and smiled widely, “Do you want to be my boyfriend?”
Returning the grin with a goofy one of his own, Link nodded enthusiastically, “Yeah, I do.”
“I love you, Link.”
Hearing those words, it was just as amazing as he thought it would be. Letting out a long, shaky breath, he squeezed Sidon’s hands, “I love you, too.”
“Can I kiss you?”
The question startled him since he wasn’t expecting such a quick development but nodded again nonetheless. There were a lot of things he wanted; right at the top was a good ole kiss from Sidon, who was now, officially, his boyfriend! His heart practically sung at the thought. Giddiness whirled around wildly inside his mind, spinning around and around like an out of control merry-go-round. Excitement thundered through his veins as Sidon slowly leaned forward, closing the distance between them. Five inches, four inches, three, two, one then, finally, their lips were pressed together.
Breathing out sharply through his nose, a jolt racing through his body, sending tingles weaving along the lines of his nerves, Link unconsciously pulled his hands away from Sidon’s so he could reach up to settle them on his broad, strong shoulders. Underneath his palms, he could feel the thick, powerful muscles. Against his lips, Sidon’s were a little cold, firm but somehow, remarkably, soft and supple. They felt incredible. Breathing in, he was able to pull in Sidon’s scent: the manly deodorant, a small hint of piney shampoo and a unique tang underneath that he knew was uniquely Sidon. With his hands freed, Sidon wrapped his arms around Link’s waist, tugging him even closer. Warmth soaked into his skin through the fabric of his shirt. Hazily, he wished that Sidon would let his hands roam, to touch him all over, to spread that heat to every inch of his body.  
His first kiss, and it was with someone he absolutely, one hundred percent adored. Two minutes ago, he hadn’t even thought this would be possible. Now, he was fucking kissing Sidon, who was now his boyfriend, who, admittedly, thought they had been dating for a month while he hadn’t been aware of that at all, but still! Boyfriend, together, love, his brain repeated those words continuously as their lips lightly, gently slide over one another. Looked like there was some merit in jumping head first into shady water because, even with the risk of breaking something, the end result could be kissing a person you’ve been in love with for three years, and who loves you back.
“I’ll make a deal with you.” Sidon breathed, moving back just an inch, close enough that their lips were still brushing together.
“What?” Link asked, breathless, a bit dizzy and happier than he could ever remember being.
“Move in with me, and I won’t tell Zelda or Mipha about any of this.”
Link laughed, “Blackmailing, are you?”
“Just using the information I have been given.” Sidon replied with a teasing smile, which sent a jolt of heat racing down Link’s spine.
“Uh, that’s blackmail.”
Sidon shrugged, “Blackmail, persuasion, call it what you like.” Leaning forward, he bumped their foreheads together, never breaking eye contact with him, “Move in with me, okay? I’ve wanted to live together for over a year now.”
“Only if you let me pay half the rent.” Link tried to negotiate but Sidon was immediately shaking his head.
“Nope. However, I will compromise. No paying for rent, but I would like to eat your cooking.”
Okay, yeah, that was a compromise he could get behind. Cooking was fun, cooking for Sidon was even better. Course, if Sidon insists on him not paying rent, then he was going to insist that he did more around the apartment then just cook. He’d be a goddamn maid if need be. Regardless, that was an offer he was most definitely going to take. Pushing back against his now boyfriend, he heaved an overly suffering sigh, slumped his shoulders in mock defeat and said mournfully, unable to keep the smile off his face, which didn’t really help the atmosphere he was trying to get across, “I suppose that’d work.”
“Good.” Sidon planted a quick kiss on his forehead then leaned back with a bright grin, “So, just so we’re clear: we are dating?”
“Yes.”
“And you’re moving in with me?”
“Yes.”
“And you love me?”
“I do.” The tips of his ears were burning now, but he could hardly feel it over the happiness flowing through him.
“Good.” Sidon leaned forward for another quick kiss, “I love you, too. Spend the night at my place, okay?”
Without waiting for a response, Sidon stood, held out his hands for Link to take then tugged him up when he did so. Feeling like he was walking on sunshine, like the world beneath him had turned into clouds, Link held onto enough rationality to pick up his trash, not wanting anyone to have to clean after him. Halfway convinced he was in a dream, he let Sidon lead him just as he had before, tossing their garbage away in a local trash can as they head back towards the hotel. Boyfriends, they were now boyfriends, love fulfilled, no rejection. At the moment, he couldn’t quite believe it. However, the next morning, when he woke up next Sidon, wrapped up in his warmth and scent, then, he was sure it would finally hit and he might do something embarrassing. In fact, he knew he was going to something embarrassing and it didn’t matter an inch. Sidon was his boyfriend. He was Sidon’s boyfriend. They loved each other, in love with one another. That was all he could ever care about.
He would need to thank Riju for inviting him out on a ghost hunt. It turned out to be one of the best nights of his life.  
187 notes · View notes
benegap · 7 years
Text
Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet?
Even having finished and printed The Keto Reset, the quest for deeper understanding continues. I keep researching, thinking, revisiting, and discussing the science and practice of ketosis. My writing partner, Brad Kearns, and I maintain a running dialogue on all things keto. The latest conversation revolved around two very common questions or “problems” that keep coming up in the ketogenic community.
Why do some people on a keto diet blow high numbers of ketones while others eating the same way blow low numbers?
and this one…
Is ketosis glycogen-sparing or glycogen-inhibiting?
I won’t offer definitive answers fit to etch into stone. I will offer my exploration of the research, some educated speculation, and actionable advice you can ruminate on. And by all means get back to me with your take on the questions and my explorations, please. Dialogue is essential to understanding.
Why do some people on ketogenic diets produce low ketone readings when they test?
One theory is that some keto-adapted people are so adapted to producing and burning ketones that they don’t leave any extra to spill into the urine and breath. They make only as many as they can use and their cells gobble up almost every ketone they produce. Under this argument, low ketone numbers on a ketogenic diet are a reliable sign of full ketone adaptation.
This sounds plausible, but I haven’t seen any empirical evidence that it’s the case.
Another theory is that the keto-adapted have built so much fat-burning metabolic machinery in their muscles that they can burn free fatty acids directly and don’t require much additional fuel from ketones. They make enough ketones to fuel the brain, since our brain can’t run on fatty acids directly, but your muscles no longer require as many. Many people who have been in long term ketosis can get by quite nicely on 20-30 net grams of carbs a day and might only show .4 or .7 millimolar ketones on a blood test, but they have plenty of energy from burning free fatty acids and maintain muscle mass on relatively fewer calories than when they were dependent on carbs.
Keto pioneers Stephen Phinney and Jeff Volek found that keto dieters blew higher readings early on in the diet when they were still burning ketones in the muscle. As they grew adapted to free fatty acids as a source of fuel and produced ketones primarily for the brain, ketone levels dropped. It was totally normal. If anything, they were more fat/keto-adapted at lower ketone readings.
Consider the energy requirements of the brain. Whether it’s running on glucose (most of the population) or mostly on ketones, the brain is a steady state organ that never spikes energy demand. It’s a slow-burn 24/7 at nearly the same output whether you are sleeping, exercising hard, or concentrating hard. While the brain has a substantial caloric requirement (at roughly 2% of our body weight, it uses 20% of our resting metabolic rate), you don’t need a ton of glucose or ketones at any one time to power your brain gracefully all day long. That’s why people can “get away” with lower ketone production and still reap the benefits we expect from eating this way.
There’s almost certainly a genetic component to ketone production, too. Take the Inuit, who were rarely in ketosis despite traditionally eating a very low-carb diet. It takes several days of deep fasting for them to produce measurable ketones. Yet, they are adept at burning free fatty acids, almost as if they “skip” keto-adaptation and proceed directly to burning fat. Other variants that affect ketone production have yet to be discovered, but they’re out there.
What about people on long term ketogenic diets who still get astronomical readings? What’s going on?
A major factor not often mentioned in whether someone on a keto diet blows high or low ketones is overall calorie intake. How much food are you eating?
Ketones are generated when the amount of dietary fat available to be burned exceeds the supply of oxaloacetate (provided by protein or carbohydrates). It’s not that the body thinks, “This woman needs some ketones, stat.” It’s more like, “I’ve got too much acetyl-COA from all this fat, and I can’t find any oxaloacetate. Guess it’s ketones!”  If you’re the type to use keto to justify chugging olive oil, you’ll generate lots of ketones simply because your fat intake is outpacing the supply of oxaloacetate. Keto athletes eating tons of calories will probably produce more ketones simply because they’re eating so much fat.
If you’ve attained the much-desired “caloric efficiency” I espouse and eating fewer calories overall, you’ll generate fewer ketones but still be “keto.”
Another factor is the use of exogenous ketones. Dean Ornish could take keto esters and blow big numbers.
Above all else, focus on the symptoms.
Can you go without a meal and maintain steady, even energy and concentration?
Are you losing body fat or happy with your body composition?
Are you thinking more clearly?
Has the keto flu come and gone?
Are aerobic activities easier than ever?
If any of those are happening to you, there’s no need to fret over some numbers on a device. The numbers can’t negate your real world experience.
How does ketosis affect glycogen? Does it spare it? Impair our ability to utilize it?
A 1983 study by Steven Phinney gives us a few hints.  He put people on a typical high-carb diet for 4 days, ran a 65% VO2 max endurance test, then switched them over to a ketogenic diet with 20 grams of carbs and about 80-85% of calories from fat for 3 weeks and ran the test again. There was no difference in time to exhaustion after either dietary arm, but glycogen storage and usage changed a ton. During the high-carb arm, the group began the workout with 150 grams of glycogen and ended it with 50 grams. While eating ketogenic, the group began the workout with 75 grams and also ended it with 50 grams.
In a modern setting, the high-carb guy could just squeeze some glucose goo in his mouth, replenish the lost glycogen, and be ready for the next race. But in a setting where glucose goo isn’t available, the keto guy has the advantage. He’s still got 50 grams of glycogen left in the tank—enough for two more races—while the high-carb guy’s 50 grams of carbs will only last him half a race. And the low-carb guy doesn’t have to eat. That’s pretty cool.
It is the modern world. You can grab some glucose goo and win the race. But there’s something special about utilizing the metabolic machinery developed over hundreds of thousands of grueling, blood-and-sweat soaked years.
Sparing glycogen is one thing. Does keto inhibit our ability to utilize the muscle glycogen we’ve spared?
Free fatty acids sure don’t, according to this study. Healthy young males spent a couple hours depleting their muscle glycogen through exercise, after which they were split into two groups. One group got a high-fat breakfast, giving them elevated free fatty acids. One group got a low-fat breakfast, giving them low free fatty acids. They measured glycogen before and after exercise in both groups, as well as markers of the pathway responsible for burning glycogen. Normally, free fatty acids impair glycogen burning. Not this time. Exercise was sufficient to overcome the inhibitory effects of FFA on glycogen-burning.
Semantics enters the fray here. One man’s spared glycogen is another’s inhibited glycogen. We spare glycogen by using less of it—by inhibiting its metabolism. That doesn’t mean the ketogenic athlete can’t burn glycogen when required. It means there’s less to go around, and that’s probably okay because, once again, the ketogenic athlete can do more with fat and ketones and doesn’t need as much glycogen.
Confusing, isn’t it? That’s biology for you.
Still, we know a fair bit. The sparing/inhibiting effect keto has on glycogen metabolism doesn’t impair endurance performance and probably even bolsters it. Long-term elite keto athletes can burn up to 2.3 times more fat at peak oxidation and 59% more fat overall than non-keto athletes, and they do it at higher intensities.
We know fat-adapted athletes beat sugar-burning athletes at high-intensity intervals due to their increased ability to burn fat and retain glycogen. These aren’t 100 m sprints—they’re 4-minute intervals on an incline treadmill—but they’re still glycogen-intensive.
We know low volume, high intensity strength training doesn’t suffer on keto.
What we don’t know is how the delicate balance between glycogen sparing and inhibiting affects high volume, high intensity glycolytic work. I suspect you’re going to lose some performance at the upper echelons of intensity. I also suspect you can regain most, if not all of it by incorporating well-placed carb refeeds.
Anyway, folks, that’s what’s been on my mind these past few days. I wanted to get it out there on the blog so you folks can mull it over and kick it around, and hopefully come back with some good feedback and insight of your own.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
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watsonrodriquezie · 7 years
Text
Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet?
Even having finished and printed The Keto Reset, the quest for deeper understanding continues. I keep researching, thinking, revisiting, and discussing the science and practice of ketosis. My writing partner, Brad Kearns, and I maintain a running dialogue on all things keto. The latest conversation revolved around two very common questions or “problems” that keep coming up in the ketogenic community.
Why do some people on a keto diet blow high numbers of ketones while others eating the same way blow low numbers?
and this one…
Is ketosis glycogen-sparing or glycogen-inhibiting?
I won’t offer definitive answers fit to etch into stone. I will offer my exploration of the research, some educated speculation, and actionable advice you can ruminate on. And by all means get back to me with your take on the questions and my explorations, please. Dialogue is essential to understanding.
Why do some people on ketogenic diets produce low ketone readings when they test?
One theory is that some keto-adapted people are so adapted to producing and burning ketones that they don’t leave any extra to spill into the urine and breath. They make only as many as they can use and their cells gobble up almost every ketone they produce. Under this argument, low ketone numbers on a ketogenic diet are a reliable sign of full ketone adaptation.
This sounds plausible, but I haven’t seen any empirical evidence that it’s the case.
Another theory is that the keto-adapted have built so much fat-burning metabolic machinery in their muscles that they can burn free fatty acids directly and don’t require much additional fuel from ketones. They make enough ketones to fuel the brain, since our brain can’t run on fatty acids directly, but your muscles no longer require as many. Many people who have been in long term ketosis can get by quite nicely on 20-30 net grams of carbs a day and might only show .4 or .7 millimolar ketones on a blood test, but they have plenty of energy from burning free fatty acids and maintain muscle mass on relatively fewer calories than when they were dependent on carbs.
Keto pioneers Stephen Phinney and Jeff Volek found that keto dieters blew higher readings early on in the diet when they were still burning ketones in the muscle. As they grew adapted to free fatty acids as a source of fuel and produced ketones primarily for the brain, ketone levels dropped. It was totally normal. If anything, they were more fat/keto-adapted at lower ketone readings.
Consider the energy requirements of the brain. Whether it’s running on glucose (most of the population) or mostly on ketones, the absolute energy requirements are quite modest. You don’t need a ton of ketones or glucose in absolute terms to power your brain. That’s why people can “get away” with lower ketone production and still reap the benefits we expect from eating this way.
There’s almost certainly a genetic component to ketone production, too. Take the Inuit, who were rarely in ketosis despite traditionally eating a very low-carb diet. It takes several days of deep fasting for them to produce measurable ketones. Yet, they are adept at burning free fatty acids, almost as if they “skip” keto-adaptation and proceed directly to burning fat. Other variants that affect ketone production have yet to be discovered, but they’re out there.
What about people on long term ketogenic diets who still get astronomical readings? What’s going on?
A major factor not often mentioned in whether someone on a keto diet blows high or low ketones is overall calorie intake. How much food are you eating?
Ketones are generated when the amount of dietary fat available to be burned exceeds the supply of oxaloacetate (provided by protein or carbohydrates). It’s not that the body thinks, “This woman needs some ketones, stat.” It’s more like, “I’ve got too much acetyl-COA from all this fat, and I can’t find any oxaloacetate. Guess it’s ketones!”  If you’re the type to use keto to justify chugging olive oil, you’ll generate lots of ketones simply because your fat intake is outpacing the supply of oxaloacetate. Keto athletes eating tons of calories will probably produce more ketones simply because they’re eating so much fat.
If you’ve attained the much-desired “caloric efficiency” I espouse and eating fewer calories overall, you’ll generate fewer ketones but still be “keto.”
Another factor is the use of exogenous ketones. Dean Ornish could take keto esters and blow big numbers.
Above all else, focus on the symptoms.
Can you go without a meal and maintain steady, even energy and concentration?
Are you losing body fat or happy with your body composition?
Are you thinking more clearly?
Has the keto flu come and gone?
Are aerobic activities easier than ever?
If any of those are happening to you, there’s no need to fret over some numbers on a device. The numbers can’t negate your real world experience.
How does ketosis affect glycogen? Does it spare it? Impair our ability to utilize it?
A 1983 study by Steven Phinney gives us a few hints.  He put people on a typical high-carb diet for 4 days, ran a 65% VO2 max endurance test, then switched them over to a ketogenic diet with 20 grams of carbs and about 80-85% of calories from fat for 3 weeks and ran the test again. There was no difference in time to exhaustion after either dietary arm, but glycogen storage and usage changed a ton. During the high-carb arm, the group began the workout with 150 grams of glycogen and ended it with 50 grams. While eating ketogenic, the group began the workout with 75 grams and also ended it with 50 grams.
In a modern setting, the high-carb guy could just squeeze some glucose goo in his mouth, replenish the lost glycogen, and be ready for the next race. But in a setting where glucose goo isn’t available, the keto guy has the advantage. He’s still got 50 grams of glycogen left in the tank—enough for two more races—while the high-carb guy’s 50 grams of carbs will only last him half a race. And the low-carb guy doesn’t have to eat. That’s pretty cool.
It is the modern world. You can grab some glucose goo and win the race. But there’s something special about utilizing the metabolic machinery developed over hundreds of thousands of grueling, blood-and-sweat soaked years.
Sparing glycogen is one thing. Does keto inhibit our ability to utilize the muscle glycogen we’ve spared?
Free fatty acids sure don’t, according to this study. Healthy young males spent a couple hours depleting their muscle glycogen through exercise, after which they were split into two groups. One group got a high-fat breakfast, giving them elevated free fatty acids. One group got a low-fat breakfast, giving them low free fatty acids. They measured glycogen before and after exercise in both groups, as well as markers of the pathway responsible for burning glycogen. Normally, free fatty acids impair glycogen burning. Not this time. Exercise was sufficient to overcome the inhibitory effects of FFA on glycogen-burning.
Semantics enters the fray here. One man’s spared glycogen is another’s inhibited glycogen. We spare glycogen by using less of it—by inhibiting its metabolism. That doesn’t mean the ketogenic athlete can’t burn glycogen when required. It means there’s less to go around, and that’s probably okay because, once again, the ketogenic athlete can do more with fat and ketones and doesn’t need as much glycogen.
Confusing, isn’t it? That’s biology for you.
Still, we know a fair bit. The sparing/inhibiting effect keto has on glycogen metabolism doesn’t impair endurance performance and probably even bolsters it. Long-term elite keto athletes can burn up to 2.3 times more fat at peak oxidation and 59% more fat overall than non-keto athletes, and they do it at higher intensities.
We know fat-adapted athletes beat sugar-burning athletes at high-intensity intervals due to their increased ability to burn fat and retain glycogen. These aren’t 100 m sprints—they’re 4-minute intervals on an incline treadmill—but they’re still glycogen-intensive.
We know low volume, high intensity strength training doesn’t suffer on keto.
What we don’t know is how the delicate balance between glycogen sparing and inhibiting affects high volume, high intensity glycolytic work. I suspect you’re going to lose some performance at the upper echelons of intensity. I also suspect you can regain most, if not all of it by incorporating well-placed carb refeeds.
Anyway, folks, that’s what’s been on my mind these past few days. I wanted to get it out there on the blog so you folks can mull it over and kick it around, and hopefully come back with some good feedback and insight of your own.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
0 notes
cristinajourdanqp · 7 years
Text
Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet?
Even having finished and printed The Keto Reset, the quest for deeper understanding continues. I keep researching, thinking, revisiting, and discussing the science and practice of ketosis. My writing partner, Brad Kearns, and I maintain a running dialogue on all things keto. The latest conversation revolved around two very common questions or “problems” that keep coming up in the ketogenic community.
Why do some people on a keto diet blow high numbers of ketones while others eating the same way blow low numbers?
and this one…
Is ketosis glycogen-sparing or glycogen-inhibiting?
I won’t offer definitive answers fit to etch into stone. I will offer my exploration of the research, some educated speculation, and actionable advice you can ruminate on. And by all means get back to me with your take on the questions and my explorations, please. Dialogue is essential to understanding.
Why do some people on ketogenic diets produce low ketone readings when they test?
One theory is that some keto-adapted people are so adapted to producing and burning ketones that they don’t leave any extra to spill into the urine and breath. They make only as many as they can use and their cells gobble up almost every ketone they produce. Under this argument, low ketone numbers on a ketogenic diet are a reliable sign of full ketone adaptation.
This sounds plausible, but I haven’t seen any empirical evidence that it’s the case.
Another theory is that the keto-adapted have built so much fat-burning metabolic machinery in their muscles that they can burn free fatty acids directly and don’t require much additional fuel from ketones. They make enough ketones to fuel the brain, since our brain can’t run on fatty acids directly, but your muscles no longer require as many. Many people who have been in long term ketosis can get by quite nicely on 20-30 net grams of carbs a day and might only show .4 or .7 millimolar ketones on a blood test, but they have plenty of energy from burning free fatty acids and maintain muscle mass on relatively fewer calories than when they were dependent on carbs.
Keto pioneers Stephen Phinney and Jeff Volek found that keto dieters blew higher readings early on in the diet when they were still burning ketones in the muscle. As they grew adapted to free fatty acids as a source of fuel and produced ketones primarily for the brain, ketone levels dropped. It was totally normal. If anything, they were more fat/keto-adapted at lower ketone readings.
Consider the energy requirements of the brain. Whether it’s running on glucose (most of the population) or mostly on ketones, the absolute energy requirements are quite modest. You don’t need a ton of ketones or glucose in absolute terms to power your brain. That’s why people can “get away” with lower ketone production and still reap the benefits we expect from eating this way.
There’s almost certainly a genetic component to ketone production, too. Take the Inuit, who were rarely in ketosis despite traditionally eating a very low-carb diet. It takes several days of deep fasting for them to produce measurable ketones. Yet, they are adept at burning free fatty acids, almost as if they “skip” keto-adaptation and proceed directly to burning fat. Other variants that affect ketone production have yet to be discovered, but they’re out there.
What about people on long term ketogenic diets who still get astronomical readings? What’s going on?
A major factor not often mentioned in whether someone on a keto diet blows high or low ketones is overall calorie intake. How much food are you eating?
Ketones are generated when the amount of dietary fat available to be burned exceeds the supply of oxaloacetate (provided by protein or carbohydrates). It’s not that the body thinks, “This woman needs some ketones, stat.” It’s more like, “I’ve got too much acetyl-COA from all this fat, and I can’t find any oxaloacetate. Guess it’s ketones!”  If you’re the type to use keto to justify chugging olive oil, you’ll generate lots of ketones simply because your fat intake is outpacing the supply of oxaloacetate. Keto athletes eating tons of calories will probably produce more ketones simply because they’re eating so much fat.
If you’ve attained the much-desired “caloric efficiency” I espouse and eating fewer calories overall, you’ll generate fewer ketones but still be “keto.”
Another factor is the use of exogenous ketones. Dean Ornish could take keto esters and blow big numbers.
Above all else, focus on the symptoms.
Can you go without a meal and maintain steady, even energy and concentration?
Are you losing body fat or happy with your body composition?
Are you thinking more clearly?
Has the keto flu come and gone?
Are aerobic activities easier than ever?
If any of those are happening to you, there’s no need to fret over some numbers on a device. The numbers can’t negate your real world experience.
How does ketosis affect glycogen? Does it spare it? Impair our ability to utilize it?
A 1983 study by Steven Phinney gives us a few hints.  He put people on a typical high-carb diet for 4 days, ran a 65% VO2 max endurance test, then switched them over to a ketogenic diet with 20 grams of carbs and about 80-85% of calories from fat for 3 weeks and ran the test again. There was no difference in time to exhaustion after either dietary arm, but glycogen storage and usage changed a ton. During the high-carb arm, the group began the workout with 150 grams of glycogen and ended it with 50 grams. While eating ketogenic, the group began the workout with 75 grams and also ended it with 50 grams.
In a modern setting, the high-carb guy could just squeeze some glucose goo in his mouth, replenish the lost glycogen, and be ready for the next race. But in a setting where glucose goo isn’t available, the keto guy has the advantage. He’s still got 50 grams of glycogen left in the tank—enough for two more races—while the high-carb guy’s 50 grams of carbs will only last him half a race. And the low-carb guy doesn’t have to eat. That’s pretty cool.
It is the modern world. You can grab some glucose goo and win the race. But there’s something special about utilizing the metabolic machinery developed over hundreds of thousands of grueling, blood-and-sweat soaked years.
Sparing glycogen is one thing. Does keto inhibit our ability to utilize the muscle glycogen we’ve spared?
Free fatty acids sure don’t, according to this study. Healthy young males spent a couple hours depleting their muscle glycogen through exercise, after which they were split into two groups. One group got a high-fat breakfast, giving them elevated free fatty acids. One group got a low-fat breakfast, giving them low free fatty acids. They measured glycogen before and after exercise in both groups, as well as markers of the pathway responsible for burning glycogen. Normally, free fatty acids impair glycogen burning. Not this time. Exercise was sufficient to overcome the inhibitory effects of FFA on glycogen-burning.
Semantics enters the fray here. One man’s spared glycogen is another’s inhibited glycogen. We spare glycogen by using less of it—by inhibiting its metabolism. That doesn’t mean the ketogenic athlete can’t burn glycogen when required. It means there’s less to go around, and that’s probably okay because, once again, the ketogenic athlete can do more with fat and ketones and doesn’t need as much glycogen.
Confusing, isn’t it? That’s biology for you.
Still, we know a fair bit. The sparing/inhibiting effect keto has on glycogen metabolism doesn’t impair endurance performance and probably even bolsters it. Long-term elite keto athletes can burn up to 2.3 times more fat at peak oxidation and 59% more fat overall than non-keto athletes, and they do it at higher intensities.
We know fat-adapted athletes beat sugar-burning athletes at high-intensity intervals due to their increased ability to burn fat and retain glycogen. These aren’t 100 m sprints—they’re 4-minute intervals on an incline treadmill—but they’re still glycogen-intensive.
We know low volume, high intensity strength training doesn’t suffer on keto.
What we don’t know is how the delicate balance between glycogen sparing and inhibiting affects high volume, high intensity glycolytic work. I suspect you’re going to lose some performance at the upper echelons of intensity. I also suspect you can regain most, if not all of it by incorporating well-placed carb refeeds.
Anyway, folks, that’s what’s been on my mind these past few days. I wanted to get it out there on the blog so you folks can mull it over and kick it around, and hopefully come back with some good feedback and insight of your own.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
0 notes
milenasanchezmk · 7 years
Text
Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet?
Even having finished and printed The Keto Reset, the quest for deeper understanding continues. I keep researching, thinking, revisiting, and discussing the science and practice of ketosis. My writing partner, Brad Kearns, and I maintain a running dialogue on all things keto. The latest conversation revolved around two very common questions or “problems” that keep coming up in the ketogenic community.
Why do some people on a keto diet blow high numbers of ketones while others eating the same way blow low numbers?
and this one…
Is ketosis glycogen-sparing or glycogen-inhibiting?
I won’t offer definitive answers fit to etch into stone. I will offer my exploration of the research, some educated speculation, and actionable advice you can ruminate on. And by all means get back to me with your take on the questions and my explorations, please. Dialogue is essential to understanding.
Why do some people on ketogenic diets produce low ketone readings when they test?
One theory is that some keto-adapted people are so adapted to producing and burning ketones that they don’t leave any extra to spill into the urine and breath. They make only as many as they can use and their cells gobble up almost every ketone they produce. Under this argument, low ketone numbers on a ketogenic diet are a reliable sign of full ketone adaptation.
This sounds plausible, but I haven’t seen any empirical evidence that it’s the case.
Another theory is that the keto-adapted have built so much fat-burning metabolic machinery in their muscles that they can burn free fatty acids directly and don’t require much additional fuel from ketones. They make enough ketones to fuel the brain, since our brain can’t run on fatty acids directly, but your muscles no longer require as many. Many people who have been in long term ketosis can get by quite nicely on 20-30 net grams of carbs a day and might only show .4 or .7 millimolar ketones on a blood test, but they have plenty of energy from burning free fatty acids and maintain muscle mass on relatively fewer calories than when they were dependent on carbs.
Keto pioneers Stephen Phinney and Jeff Volek found that keto dieters blew higher readings early on in the diet when they were still burning ketones in the muscle. As they grew adapted to free fatty acids as a source of fuel and produced ketones primarily for the brain, ketone levels dropped. It was totally normal. If anything, they were more fat/keto-adapted at lower ketone readings.
Consider the energy requirements of the brain. Whether it’s running on glucose (most of the population) or mostly on ketones, the absolute energy requirements are quite modest. You don’t need a ton of ketones or glucose in absolute terms to power your brain. That’s why people can “get away” with lower ketone production and still reap the benefits we expect from eating this way.
There’s almost certainly a genetic component to ketone production, too. Take the Inuit, who were rarely in ketosis despite traditionally eating a very low-carb diet. It takes several days of deep fasting for them to produce measurable ketones. Yet, they are adept at burning free fatty acids, almost as if they “skip” keto-adaptation and proceed directly to burning fat. Other variants that affect ketone production have yet to be discovered, but they’re out there.
What about people on long term ketogenic diets who still get astronomical readings? What’s going on?
A major factor not often mentioned in whether someone on a keto diet blows high or low ketones is overall calorie intake. How much food are you eating?
Ketones are generated when the amount of dietary fat available to be burned exceeds the supply of oxaloacetate (provided by protein or carbohydrates). It’s not that the body thinks, “This woman needs some ketones, stat.” It’s more like, “I’ve got too much acetyl-COA from all this fat, and I can’t find any oxaloacetate. Guess it’s ketones!”  If you’re the type to use keto to justify chugging olive oil, you’ll generate lots of ketones simply because your fat intake is outpacing the supply of oxaloacetate. Keto athletes eating tons of calories will probably produce more ketones simply because they’re eating so much fat.
If you’ve attained the much-desired “caloric efficiency” I espouse and eating fewer calories overall, you’ll generate fewer ketones but still be “keto.”
Another factor is the use of exogenous ketones. Dean Ornish could take keto esters and blow big numbers.
Above all else, focus on the symptoms.
Can you go without a meal and maintain steady, even energy and concentration?
Are you losing body fat or happy with your body composition?
Are you thinking more clearly?
Has the keto flu come and gone?
Are aerobic activities easier than ever?
If any of those are happening to you, there’s no need to fret over some numbers on a device. The numbers can’t negate your real world experience.
How does ketosis affect glycogen? Does it spare it? Impair our ability to utilize it?
A 1983 study by Steven Phinney gives us a few hints.  He put people on a typical high-carb diet for 4 days, ran a 65% VO2 max endurance test, then switched them over to a ketogenic diet with 20 grams of carbs and about 80-85% of calories from fat for 3 weeks and ran the test again. There was no difference in time to exhaustion after either dietary arm, but glycogen storage and usage changed a ton. During the high-carb arm, the group began the workout with 150 grams of glycogen and ended it with 50 grams. While eating ketogenic, the group began the workout with 75 grams and also ended it with 50 grams.
In a modern setting, the high-carb guy could just squeeze some glucose goo in his mouth, replenish the lost glycogen, and be ready for the next race. But in a setting where glucose goo isn’t available, the keto guy has the advantage. He’s still got 50 grams of glycogen left in the tank—enough for two more races—while the high-carb guy’s 50 grams of carbs will only last him half a race. And the low-carb guy doesn’t have to eat. That’s pretty cool.
It is the modern world. You can grab some glucose goo and win the race. But there’s something special about utilizing the metabolic machinery developed over hundreds of thousands of grueling, blood-and-sweat soaked years.
Sparing glycogen is one thing. Does keto inhibit our ability to utilize the muscle glycogen we’ve spared?
Free fatty acids sure don’t, according to this study. Healthy young males spent a couple hours depleting their muscle glycogen through exercise, after which they were split into two groups. One group got a high-fat breakfast, giving them elevated free fatty acids. One group got a low-fat breakfast, giving them low free fatty acids. They measured glycogen before and after exercise in both groups, as well as markers of the pathway responsible for burning glycogen. Normally, free fatty acids impair glycogen burning. Not this time. Exercise was sufficient to overcome the inhibitory effects of FFA on glycogen-burning.
Semantics enters the fray here. One man’s spared glycogen is another’s inhibited glycogen. We spare glycogen by using less of it—by inhibiting its metabolism. That doesn’t mean the ketogenic athlete can’t burn glycogen when required. It means there’s less to go around, and that’s probably okay because, once again, the ketogenic athlete can do more with fat and ketones and doesn’t need as much glycogen.
Confusing, isn’t it? That’s biology for you.
Still, we know a fair bit. The sparing/inhibiting effect keto has on glycogen metabolism doesn’t impair endurance performance and probably even bolsters it. Long-term elite keto athletes can burn up to 2.3 times more fat at peak oxidation and 59% more fat overall than non-keto athletes, and they do it at higher intensities.
We know fat-adapted athletes beat sugar-burning athletes at high-intensity intervals due to their increased ability to burn fat and retain glycogen. These aren’t 100 m sprints—they’re 4-minute intervals on an incline treadmill—but they’re still glycogen-intensive.
We know low volume, high intensity strength training doesn’t suffer on keto.
What we don’t know is how the delicate balance between glycogen sparing and inhibiting affects high volume, high intensity glycolytic work. I suspect you’re going to lose some performance at the upper echelons of intensity. I also suspect you can regain most, if not all of it by incorporating well-placed carb refeeds.
Anyway, folks, that’s what’s been on my mind these past few days. I wanted to get it out there on the blog so you folks can mull it over and kick it around, and hopefully come back with some good feedback and insight of your own.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
0 notes
fishermariawo · 7 years
Text
Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet?
Even having finished and printed The Keto Reset, the quest for deeper understanding continues. I keep researching, thinking, revisiting, and discussing the science and practice of ketosis. My writing partner, Brad Kearns, and I maintain a running dialogue on all things keto. The latest conversation revolved around two very common questions or “problems” that keep coming up in the ketogenic community.
Why do some people on a keto diet blow high numbers of ketones while others eating the same way blow low numbers?
and this one…
Is ketosis glycogen-sparing or glycogen-inhibiting?
I won’t offer definitive answers fit to etch into stone. I will offer my exploration of the research, some educated speculation, and actionable advice you can ruminate on. And by all means get back to me with your take on the questions and my explorations, please. Dialogue is essential to understanding.
Why do some people on ketogenic diets produce low ketone readings when they test?
One theory is that some keto-adapted people are so adapted to producing and burning ketones that they don’t leave any extra to spill into the urine and breath. They make only as many as they can use and their cells gobble up almost every ketone they produce. Under this argument, low ketone numbers on a ketogenic diet are a reliable sign of full ketone adaptation.
This sounds plausible, but I haven’t seen any empirical evidence that it’s the case.
Another theory is that the keto-adapted have built so much fat-burning metabolic machinery in their muscles that they can burn free fatty acids directly and don’t require much additional fuel from ketones. They make enough ketones to fuel the brain, since our brain can’t run on fatty acids directly, but your muscles no longer require as many. Many people who have been in long term ketosis can get by quite nicely on 20-30 net grams of carbs a day and might only show .4 or .7 millimolar ketones on a blood test, but they have plenty of energy from burning free fatty acids and maintain muscle mass on relatively fewer calories than when they were dependent on carbs.
Keto pioneers Stephen Phinney and Jeff Volek found that keto dieters blew higher readings early on in the diet when they were still burning ketones in the muscle. As they grew adapted to free fatty acids as a source of fuel and produced ketones primarily for the brain, ketone levels dropped. It was totally normal. If anything, they were more fat/keto-adapted at lower ketone readings.
Consider the energy requirements of the brain. Whether it’s running on glucose (most of the population) or mostly on ketones, the absolute energy requirements are quite modest. You don’t need a ton of ketones or glucose in absolute terms to power your brain. That’s why people can “get away” with lower ketone production and still reap the benefits we expect from eating this way.
There’s almost certainly a genetic component to ketone production, too. Take the Inuit, who were rarely in ketosis despite traditionally eating a very low-carb diet. It takes several days of deep fasting for them to produce measurable ketones. Yet, they are adept at burning free fatty acids, almost as if they “skip” keto-adaptation and proceed directly to burning fat. Other variants that affect ketone production have yet to be discovered, but they’re out there.
What about people on long term ketogenic diets who still get astronomical readings? What’s going on?
A major factor not often mentioned in whether someone on a keto diet blows high or low ketones is overall calorie intake. How much food are you eating?
Ketones are generated when the amount of dietary fat available to be burned exceeds the supply of oxaloacetate (provided by protein or carbohydrates). It’s not that the body thinks, “This woman needs some ketones, stat.” It’s more like, “I’ve got too much acetyl-COA from all this fat, and I can’t find any oxaloacetate. Guess it’s ketones!”  If you’re the type to use keto to justify chugging olive oil, you’ll generate lots of ketones simply because your fat intake is outpacing the supply of oxaloacetate. Keto athletes eating tons of calories will probably produce more ketones simply because they’re eating so much fat.
If you’ve attained the much-desired “caloric efficiency” I espouse and eating fewer calories overall, you’ll generate fewer ketones but still be “keto.”
Another factor is the use of exogenous ketones. Dean Ornish could take keto esters and blow big numbers.
Above all else, focus on the symptoms.
Can you go without a meal and maintain steady, even energy and concentration?
Are you losing body fat or happy with your body composition?
Are you thinking more clearly?
Has the keto flu come and gone?
Are aerobic activities easier than ever?
If any of those are happening to you, there’s no need to fret over some numbers on a device. The numbers can’t negate your real world experience.
How does ketosis affect glycogen? Does it spare it? Impair our ability to utilize it?
A 1983 study by Steven Phinney gives us a few hints.  He put people on a typical high-carb diet for 4 days, ran a 65% VO2 max endurance test, then switched them over to a ketogenic diet with 20 grams of carbs and about 80-85% of calories from fat for 3 weeks and ran the test again. There was no difference in time to exhaustion after either dietary arm, but glycogen storage and usage changed a ton. During the high-carb arm, the group began the workout with 150 grams of glycogen and ended it with 50 grams. While eating ketogenic, the group began the workout with 75 grams and also ended it with 50 grams.
In a modern setting, the high-carb guy could just squeeze some glucose goo in his mouth, replenish the lost glycogen, and be ready for the next race. But in a setting where glucose goo isn’t available, the keto guy has the advantage. He’s still got 50 grams of glycogen left in the tank—enough for two more races—while the high-carb guy’s 50 grams of carbs will only last him half a race. And the low-carb guy doesn’t have to eat. That’s pretty cool.
It is the modern world. You can grab some glucose goo and win the race. But there’s something special about utilizing the metabolic machinery developed over hundreds of thousands of grueling, blood-and-sweat soaked years.
Sparing glycogen is one thing. Does keto inhibit our ability to utilize the muscle glycogen we’ve spared?
Free fatty acids sure don’t, according to this study. Healthy young males spent a couple hours depleting their muscle glycogen through exercise, after which they were split into two groups. One group got a high-fat breakfast, giving them elevated free fatty acids. One group got a low-fat breakfast, giving them low free fatty acids. They measured glycogen before and after exercise in both groups, as well as markers of the pathway responsible for burning glycogen. Normally, free fatty acids impair glycogen burning. Not this time. Exercise was sufficient to overcome the inhibitory effects of FFA on glycogen-burning.
Semantics enters the fray here. One man’s spared glycogen is another’s inhibited glycogen. We spare glycogen by using less of it—by inhibiting its metabolism. That doesn’t mean the ketogenic athlete can’t burn glycogen when required. It means there’s less to go around, and that’s probably okay because, once again, the ketogenic athlete can do more with fat and ketones and doesn’t need as much glycogen.
Confusing, isn’t it? That’s biology for you.
Still, we know a fair bit. The sparing/inhibiting effect keto has on glycogen metabolism doesn’t impair endurance performance and probably even bolsters it. Long-term elite keto athletes can burn up to 2.3 times more fat at peak oxidation and 59% more fat overall than non-keto athletes, and they do it at higher intensities.
We know fat-adapted athletes beat sugar-burning athletes at high-intensity intervals due to their increased ability to burn fat and retain glycogen. These aren’t 100 m sprints—they’re 4-minute intervals on an incline treadmill—but they’re still glycogen-intensive.
We know low volume, high intensity strength training doesn’t suffer on keto.
What we don’t know is how the delicate balance between glycogen sparing and inhibiting affects high volume, high intensity glycolytic work. I suspect you’re going to lose some performance at the upper echelons of intensity. I also suspect you can regain most, if not all of it by incorporating well-placed carb refeeds.
Anyway, folks, that’s what’s been on my mind these past few days. I wanted to get it out there on the blog so you folks can mull it over and kick it around, and hopefully come back with some good feedback and insight of your own.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
0 notes
cynthiamwashington · 7 years
Text
Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet?
Even having finished and printed The Keto Reset, the quest for deeper understanding continues. I keep researching, thinking, revisiting, and discussing the science and practice of ketosis. My writing partner, Brad Kearns, and I maintain a running dialogue on all things keto. The latest conversation revolved around two very common questions or “problems” that keep coming up in the ketogenic community.
Why do some people on a keto diet blow high numbers of ketones while others eating the same way blow low numbers?
and this one…
Is ketosis glycogen-sparing or glycogen-inhibiting?
I won’t offer definitive answers fit to etch into stone. I will offer my exploration of the research, some educated speculation, and actionable advice you can ruminate on. And by all means get back to me with your take on the questions and my explorations, please. Dialogue is essential to understanding.
Why do some people on ketogenic diets produce low ketone readings when they test?
One theory is that some keto-adapted people are so adapted to producing and burning ketones that they don’t leave any extra to spill into the urine and breath. They make only as many as they can use and their cells gobble up almost every ketone they produce. Under this argument, low ketone numbers on a ketogenic diet are a reliable sign of full ketone adaptation.
This sounds plausible, but I haven’t seen any empirical evidence that it’s the case.
Another theory is that the keto-adapted have built so much fat-burning metabolic machinery in their muscles that they can burn free fatty acids directly and don’t require much additional fuel from ketones. They make enough ketones to fuel the brain, since our brain can’t run on fatty acids directly, but your muscles no longer require as many. Many people who have been in long term ketosis can get by quite nicely on 20-30 net grams of carbs a day and might only show .4 or .7 millimolar ketones on a blood test, but they have plenty of energy from burning free fatty acids and maintain muscle mass on relatively fewer calories than when they were dependent on carbs.
Keto pioneers Stephen Phinney and Jeff Volek found that keto dieters blew higher readings early on in the diet when they were still burning ketones in the muscle. As they grew adapted to free fatty acids as a source of fuel and produced ketones primarily for the brain, ketone levels dropped. It was totally normal. If anything, they were more fat/keto-adapted at lower ketone readings.
Consider the energy requirements of the brain. Whether it’s running on glucose (most of the population) or mostly on ketones, the absolute energy requirements are quite modest. You don’t need a ton of ketones or glucose in absolute terms to power your brain. That’s why people can “get away” with lower ketone production and still reap the benefits we expect from eating this way.
There’s almost certainly a genetic component to ketone production, too. Take the Inuit, who were rarely in ketosis despite traditionally eating a very low-carb diet. It takes several days of deep fasting for them to produce measurable ketones. Yet, they are adept at burning free fatty acids, almost as if they “skip” keto-adaptation and proceed directly to burning fat. Other variants that affect ketone production have yet to be discovered, but they’re out there.
What about people on long term ketogenic diets who still get astronomical readings? What’s going on?
A major factor not often mentioned in whether someone on a keto diet blows high or low ketones is overall calorie intake. How much food are you eating?
Ketones are generated when the amount of dietary fat available to be burned exceeds the supply of oxaloacetate (provided by protein or carbohydrates). It’s not that the body thinks, “This woman needs some ketones, stat.” It’s more like, “I’ve got too much acetyl-COA from all this fat, and I can’t find any oxaloacetate. Guess it’s ketones!”  If you’re the type to use keto to justify chugging olive oil, you’ll generate lots of ketones simply because your fat intake is outpacing the supply of oxaloacetate. Keto athletes eating tons of calories will probably produce more ketones simply because they’re eating so much fat.
If you’ve attained the much-desired “caloric efficiency” I espouse and eating fewer calories overall, you’ll generate fewer ketones but still be “keto.”
Another factor is the use of exogenous ketones. Dean Ornish could take keto esters and blow big numbers.
Above all else, focus on the symptoms.
Can you go without a meal and maintain steady, even energy and concentration?
Are you losing body fat or happy with your body composition?
Are you thinking more clearly?
Has the keto flu come and gone?
Are aerobic activities easier than ever?
If any of those are happening to you, there’s no need to fret over some numbers on a device. The numbers can’t negate your real world experience.
How does ketosis affect glycogen? Does it spare it? Impair our ability to utilize it?
A 1983 study by Steven Phinney gives us a few hints.  He put people on a typical high-carb diet for 4 days, ran a 65% VO2 max endurance test, then switched them over to a ketogenic diet with 20 grams of carbs and about 80-85% of calories from fat for 3 weeks and ran the test again. There was no difference in time to exhaustion after either dietary arm, but glycogen storage and usage changed a ton. During the high-carb arm, the group began the workout with 150 grams of glycogen and ended it with 50 grams. While eating ketogenic, the group began the workout with 75 grams and also ended it with 50 grams.
In a modern setting, the high-carb guy could just squeeze some glucose goo in his mouth, replenish the lost glycogen, and be ready for the next race. But in a setting where glucose goo isn’t available, the keto guy has the advantage. He’s still got 50 grams of glycogen left in the tank—enough for two more races—while the high-carb guy’s 50 grams of carbs will only last him half a race. And the low-carb guy doesn’t have to eat. That’s pretty cool.
It is the modern world. You can grab some glucose goo and win the race. But there’s something special about utilizing the metabolic machinery developed over hundreds of thousands of grueling, blood-and-sweat soaked years.
Sparing glycogen is one thing. Does keto inhibit our ability to utilize the muscle glycogen we’ve spared?
Free fatty acids sure don’t, according to this study. Healthy young males spent a couple hours depleting their muscle glycogen through exercise, after which they were split into two groups. One group got a high-fat breakfast, giving them elevated free fatty acids. One group got a low-fat breakfast, giving them low free fatty acids. They measured glycogen before and after exercise in both groups, as well as markers of the pathway responsible for burning glycogen. Normally, free fatty acids impair glycogen burning. Not this time. Exercise was sufficient to overcome the inhibitory effects of FFA on glycogen-burning.
Semantics enters the fray here. One man’s spared glycogen is another’s inhibited glycogen. We spare glycogen by using less of it—by inhibiting its metabolism. That doesn’t mean the ketogenic athlete can’t burn glycogen when required. It means there’s less to go around, and that’s probably okay because, once again, the ketogenic athlete can do more with fat and ketones and doesn’t need as much glycogen.
Confusing, isn’t it? That’s biology for you.
Still, we know a fair bit. The sparing/inhibiting effect keto has on glycogen metabolism doesn’t impair endurance performance and probably even bolsters it. Long-term elite keto athletes can burn up to 2.3 times more fat at peak oxidation and 59% more fat overall than non-keto athletes, and they do it at higher intensities.
We know fat-adapted athletes beat sugar-burning athletes at high-intensity intervals due to their increased ability to burn fat and retain glycogen. These aren’t 100 m sprints—they’re 4-minute intervals on an incline treadmill—but they’re still glycogen-intensive.
We know low volume, high intensity strength training doesn’t suffer on keto.
What we don’t know is how the delicate balance between glycogen sparing and inhibiting affects high volume, high intensity glycolytic work. I suspect you’re going to lose some performance at the upper echelons of intensity. I also suspect you can regain most, if not all of it by incorporating well-placed carb refeeds.
Anyway, folks, that’s what’s been on my mind these past few days. I wanted to get it out there on the blog so you folks can mull it over and kick it around, and hopefully come back with some good feedback and insight of your own.
Thanks for reading, everybody!
The post Why Am I Getting Low Ketone Readings on a Ketogenic Diet? appeared first on Mark's Daily Apple.
Article source here:Marks’s Daily Apple
0 notes
anghraine · 7 years
Text
“the sea that divides us” - fic
I meant to write this one through RO (well, to the point where they escape, obviously) and not post until I got there, but... *shrug*
fandom: Star Wars
characters: Baze Malbus; Jyn Erso, Cassian Andor (as Cassia), Kaytoo, Chirrut Îmwe; Jyn/Cassian (pining), Baze/Chirrut (grumpy marrieds)
verse: the queer Rogue One AU, of course, featuring f!Cassian :D
length: 2860 words
stuff that happens: Baze and Chirrut both love Jyn from the start. It’s Baze, though, who likes Cassia. After Eadu, that’s a problem.
This was driven about equally by a) the anon who first asked me about f!Cassian, ty, b) everyone who has enabled me along the way, c) the great fics I’ve gobbled up in the last couple of weeks, particularly @brynnmclean​’s and @incognitajones​’s, d) my interest in the different ways that Baze and Chirrut relate to Cassian and being generally charmed by You Are My People Now murderdad Baze, e) my firm opinion that some transition must have taken place between Jyn and Cassian’s fight and their arrival on Yavin as partners, and f) asthma trouble, because this AU is my happiest of happy places :D
THANK YOU ALL. Except the asthma.
“Does he look like a killer?”
“No. He has the face of a friend.”
If asked, Baze could not have explained what he saw in Cassia Andor’s face. It was sharp, hard, unsmiling, her gaze alternately suspicious or vacant. Not friendly by any stretch of the imagination. Nor was she friendly; at best, she snapped out commands without pausing to question whether they would be followed.
The face was attractive, but that had never been something to sway him. Certainly not in a woman. Her half-shy, wholly charmed looks at Jyn went further, snuck throughout the long week to Eadu.
Within those few days, he cared about Jyn as much as he had anyone but Chirrut. Baze made quick judgments and lived by them, and his snap judgment of Jyn was of a quiet firebrand fighting to survive without losing herself. He couldn’t have seen more of himself in her had she been his sister by blood; in Jyn’s circumstances, he would have been—Jyn. But in his own, he had Chirrut, and she had no one. Without thinking too much about it, he found himself sticking near her in silent solidarity.
Not quite as much as the captain did, however. The two girls constantly hovered together, amorphously concerned and not appearing to much notice.
(“Women,” Chirrut corrected, and Baze scoffed in the face of his evident amusement.
“Children, the lot of them.”)
From his supportive lurk, he couldn’t have missed Cassia’s stolen glances had he tried. He wasn’t sure how Jyn managed it, in fact. But in fairness, Cassia—who rarely missed anything—seemed no less oblivious to Jyn’s stares.
(“We’re watching a farce,” he grumbled.
“I’m not watching anything,” said Chirrut.)
Then, they reached the Imperial facility on Eadu, and … well. That happened. Baze sided with Jyn as far as he did anyone; she wasn’t right, exactly, but he remembered the bodies of the Temple’s dead too well to blame her. Cassia could spare some modicum of forgiveness for a woman she had exploited, a woman whose father had just died in her arms. Still, it didn’t alter his opinion of Cassia, either. He also remembered those last years as a Guardian, clinging to unbending faith under the grip of the Empire. That kind of conviction was not a forgiving thing, and it burned at both ends.
Captain Andor had not burned up yet, but she was well on her way. Baze knew the signs; he’d been there, and found only Chirrut on the other side. Cassia would find what? The droid? More than Jyn had, to be sure—except Jyn had herself, stubbornly whole. Cassia, cool and clear-headed, seemed to exist entirely in fragments.
“The face of a friend, eh?” Chirrut asked that night, because he always had to have the last word.
Baze thought of just agreeing—he was tired, long day, they only had three to the Rebellion, which he did not recall volunteering for—but his soul revolted.
“Yes,” he said firmly. “You’re the one who said she carts a prison with her.”
Chirrut sobered. “She does. I’m sorry for her. But this woman is more dangerous for that, not less. It doesn’t make her a friend.”
“She’s a nice girl,” insisted Baze, halfheartedly pretending that most of his attention lay with unwrapping his repeater cannon. He had space for it. On both ships, Cassia had consigned them to the one set of full quarters available—unnecessarily, but he wasn’t about to give it up to any of these twenty-something children. “They both are, underneath.”
“Far underneath,” Chirrut said. True enough. “The captain, anyway. That nice girl just about put a blaster bolt through an innocent man’s head.”
“So have I,” said Baze.
To his immense satisfaction, his husband had no answer to that. Baze, who could not care less about Galen Erso in himself, undressed and crawled into bed in an excellent mood. He closed his eyes, vaguely soothed by the clatter of Chirrut’s staff and the rustle of his robes as he tossed them aside. He’d always been incurably careless.
Baze was just drifting off when Chirrut spoke again.
“I hope you’re right.”
Longing for sleep, he grunted. “Could’ve fooled me.”
“They have choices waiting for them at the Rebel base, both of them.”
“Probably,” said Baze.
“Choices that could change the galaxy.”
He opened his eyes just so he could roll them. “Uh-huh. Go to sleep.”
All right, he didn’t believe Chirrut’s nonsense. Awake, though, he knew only too well that this Death Star business was galaxy-changing. They had to bring that thing down. For Jyn, that meant playing nice with the Alliance, and for Cassia, backing her up. He certainly didn’t pretend that his or Chirrut’s word would go far, much less an Imperial pilot’s. And the droid would tear out its own wiring if Cassia told it to.
Choices, after a fashion. It didn’t require any Force delusion to see that. And both seemed somewhat uncertain prospects at the moment. Jyn and Cassia spent the two days after their fight sulking on opposite ends of the shuttle.
Not that they said so. Jyn sat in the quiet, meditating with her crystal. Cassia talked over hyperspace lanes with Bodhi and K-2SO, and calculated coordinates.
Sulking.
Chirrut mumbled some absurdity about them finding their own paths in their own ways. But nobody had time for that. Baze stalked around the shuttle, never eager for conversation, less eager for whichever one somebody needed to have with their fearless leaders. When he ran into Cassia’s droid, it was almost a relief.
“Baze Malbus,” K-2SO intoned. “You have walked the same route seven times in the last hour.”
Baze didn’t bother responding.
With a distinct note of irritation, it added, “Is this merely a pointless waste of time and energy, or do you expect to achieve something by it? I can tell you that the odds—”
Ignoring this, he said abruptly, “Can you tell me the odds of the captain apologizing?”
Its eyes flashed, recalibrating. “That depends on more factors than you could contemplate.”
“And?”
“Without additional input, nineteen percent in generic circumstances. That number does not incorporate data relating to espionage activities. I assumed you only referred to her present role.”
“That’s right,” Baze allowed.
“Of course.”
“And how likely is an apology to Jyn?”
The droid managed to infuse deep indignation into the slight shift of its head. “What for?”
Baze and K-2SO stared at each other for long seconds. Finally acknowledging that he was unlikely to outwait a droid, Baze said,
“Galen Erso’s death.”
“Cassia did not end his life,” said K-2SO. “In violation of a directive from the acting head of Rebel Intelligence, I might add. If Jyn Erso cannot grasp that fact, it is her failure, not Cassia’s. I rate the chance of the captain apologizing at four percent.”
“That’s your analysis? Or a hunch?”
“I am a strategic analysis droid,” K-2SO snapped, its usual slouch straightening up. “I do not have hunches. Not that you deserve the details, but three percent is the margin of error I allowed for unknown variables. The raw probability is one percent. Rounded up.”
Baze eyed it skeptically.
The droid said, “Apologies indicate regret.”
“The captain likes what she does?” From what he’d seen of her, he found that extremely unlikely. Even Chirrut knew better—well, particularly Chirrut.
“It seems that your ears are decaying with your brain cells,” said K-2SO. “I did not say that. She intensely dislikes our work. But she does not regret doing anything that furthers the aims of the Rebellion. She certainly does not think she should waste our valuable time and power sources on useless guilt.” Unnecessarily, it added, “And neither do I.”
“Surprise,” Baze muttered. “So how, exactly, was Erso’s death going to further the aims of the Rebellion?”
K-2SO paused. “It wasn’t. That’s why she didn’t do it.”
And Jyn had nothing to do with it. Sure. But he didn’t feel the need to hear Jyn or himself insulted by a hunk of metal and grease, so he only replied,
“You’re telling me that she’s got nothing in that prison of hers that wasn’t for the Rebellion?”
“I don’t know what you mean by prison,” said the droid, primly. “The Empire has never caught us. But she does not do anything that isn’t for the Rebellion.”
“Never?” asked Baze, out of purely disinterested motives that had nothing to do with another young woman on the shuttle. He cleared his throat. “She doesn’t watch out for anyone unless they’re useful?”
The droid tilted its head. “Why would she?”
“Then nobody’s going to be watching out for her when she isn’t,” he said.
It managed to draw itself up into further heights of indignation. “Cassia is always useful. And she has me. I am superior to any collection of organic matter.” Muttering to itself, K-2SO swivelled and stalked off.
A jealous droid. Wonderful.
Unfortunately, Baze suspected that its judgment of their captain could be trusted. Jyn, the injured party, had a much better chance of hearing good sense.
Hearing was perhaps an overstatement. He wandered to her end of the shuttle, and stationed himself in her general vicinity. Neither said anything for a good ten minutes, though the stiff line of Jyn’s shoulders relaxed. A little.
“He must have had all sorts of information,” she said at last.
Baze eyed her from his corner. “Eh?”
“My father,” said Jyn, quite conversationally. “Imagine all the things he could have passed onto the Rebellion. Do you suppose she ever thought of that?”
“Perhaps,” he replied. The Force couldn’t be real. If it were, surely he would not be having this conversation. “Maybe it’s why she didn’t take the shot.”
Jyn’s eyes settled on him, hard and focused. “Did she send you?”
“No,” said Baze. Then he scowled. “No one sends me anywhere.”
Though she remained impenetrably grave, the wariness in her face faded. “Someone should let Chirrut know.”
Baze snorted.
They fell silent again, more comfortable with quiet companionship than speech. Beyond that, no sure approach came to Baze’s mind. Another few minutes passed before either roused themselves to speech.
“So you believe her?” Jyn asked.
“Yes,” said Baze. He would have left it at that, would very much have liked to leave it at that, but at Jyn’s ambivalent scowl, forced himself on. “I’ve seen the captain upset before, in Gerrera’s cell. But she kept a cool head.” Until she realized Jyn might get crushed to death, anyway. “She didn’t at Eadu. She was angry, unreasonable. Something shook her.”
Jyn exhaled. Tucking the crystal away, she said, “I suppose so. It could have been what happened, though. It was chaos down there.”
“She’s an assassin, Jyn,” said Baze, as kindly as he knew how. “For a cause, but—a Rebel spy. For decades, if we can trust her that far.”
Her mouth twisted. “So what’s one more dead Imperial to her?”
“I didn’t say that,” he replied, though … yes. Pretty much. “Back in our cell, she told us that she’d never been in one before. If that’s true, she’s good at what she does. Very good. A raid on an Imperial facility wouldn’t rattle her. But she was rattled.”
“Orders,” muttered Jyn. “That’s what she said.” She sounded unimpressed, but not as uncompromising as before.
Maybe.
“She’s a good soldier girl,” Baze agreed dryly. It was true enough, though; Cassia seemed to receive and deliver orders with equal intention of seeing them obeyed. “I don’t imagine they’d keep her in the field if she weren’t.”
Jyn flinched. But she said in her usual firm tone, “No place for rebels in the Rebellion?”
“They keep their secrets close, everyone knows that.” He folded his arms, knowing he stood on shaky ground and disliking it. “Their spies know enough to carry out orders, and I’d bet not a drop more, unless they run over it themselves. Rogue pilots, maybe. Rogue spies, no.”
“Cassia knew more,” she insisted. “She was the one with the intel this time.”
Baze, following his instincts, kept his mouth shut.
“If that’s why she didn’t shoot—” Jyn paused, hands and lips compressed.
He didn’t risk a direct answer. “For what it’s worth, the droid’s opinion is that she decided your father’s death wouldn’t help the Rebellion.”
Jyn, given the opportunity to deflect onto K-2SO’s many failings, ignored it. She stared up at him with pale cheeks and wide green eyes, looking impossibly young.
“That would mean that Cassia believed me. Believed that Father didn’t deserve to die. She didn’t … she … ”
“Captain Andor is the only one who can answer that,” said Baze.
Jyn didn’t seem to hear. “If she trusts me, then—they’ll listen if she backs me up. Her commanding officer’s a general and the leader of the Rebellion introduced her to me. We have to get those plans.”
With some skepticism, Baze listened to the exact conclusion he’d hoped she would reach. “True.”
“And …”
Jyn seemed content to let the sentence trail into the infinity of space. He cleared his throat.
“And?”
Colour flooded her cheeks. She tilted her chin up, hope and determination hardening over her face.
“Trust goes both ways.”
Baze had the good sense to leave Jyn to her epiphany. Considerably more doubtful about Cassia’s end of the business, he arrived in the cockpit to find Bodhi gone and Chirrut perched in the co-pilot’s seat, amidst various switches and signals and technological paraphernalia. He looked both ridiculous and smug, and Cassia more haunted than usual.
“What did you do to the pilot?”
“Nothing,” said Chirrut virtuously. “The poor man fell asleep.”
Cassia lifted her gaze to Baze. “Bodhi just about collapsed once he had nothing more to do. He’s had a long few weeks.”
“One way of putting it,” muttered Baze.
“I know these routes, anyway,” she went on, “so I can manage well enough from here.”
Remembering their escape from the Death Star’s destruction, he said, “Right. Where’d you stash him?”
“The captain carried him to a bunk,” said Chirrut. He tapped his staff against the floor, the familiar rhythm both irritating and soothing. “I didn’t see it.”
Baze rolled his eyes. Chirrut aside, he couldn’t envision it. Bodhi Rook might not be a large man, but neither was Cassia Andor a large woman. At most, she stood at the tallish end of average, a good few inches shorter than Baze. He suspected she’d lost muscle mass lately—all her regulation clothes hung on her—but her frame would never have been anything but narrow.
“Carried?”
“He was still conscious,” Cassia said. “More or less. I helped him.”
Unperturbed, Chirrut smiled. “The captain is stronger than she seems.”
Cassia slanted him a wary glance. Since Baze would have felt exactly the same in her position, and often did in his own, he let it pass.
Behind him, the door to the cockpit slid open. He half-expected the pilot had already woken, but no: it was Jyn. Good, he thought.
Maybe good.
Jyn slouched into the chamber. She didn’t seem to have thought beyond that; for one long and intensely uncomfortable moment, she and Cassia just stared at each other.
“Any news?” she said.
“No,” said Cassia, her gaze not so much as twitching from Jyn. She wet her lip. “There won’t be, barring a disaster.”
“Good, then.” Utterly stoic, Jyn folded her arms. “Nothing from the Force either, Chirrut?”
The Force doesn’t work that way, Baze almost said, but closed his mouth on it. It wouldn’t work that way if it were real, which it wasn’t.
“No,” Chirrut said. With a tap of his staff, he rose to his feet, while choices that could change the galaxy ran through Baze’s head. Chirrut had his own concept of truth. “Thank you for your time, captain. I enjoyed our conversation.”
“I’m delighted,” said Cassia. If Baze had ever heard a drier tone, nothing came to mind.
Chirrut beamed in her direction nevertheless, nodded in Jyn’s, and headed to the door. Without a word, Baze trailed after him, only pausing once to glance back.
Jyn had flung herself into the co-pilot’s seat, the rigid set of her shoulders just visible from the angle of the chair. Cassia remained in her own seat, her body stiffly upright, and the entirety of it tilted towards Jyn.
The girls might be all right, after all.
“You enjoyed your conversation with the captain,” Baze said, once they accumulated a good distance from the cockpit. They’d never lost money underestimating Imperial craftsmanship.
Chirrut, graceful as ever, seated himself on the nearest bench.
“We had a nice talk.”
“I thought you didn’t like her,” said Baze.
“I never said that.” Chirrut leaned his head against the wall of the shuttle and smiled. Of course he did.
With nothing better to do, Baze sunk onto the bench beside him. It occurred to him that Bodhi was asleep somewhere, Jyn and Cassia busy brooding at each other in the cockpit, the droid off doing whatever it was it did. There was nobody here to draw conclusions or scent vulnerability. Not that Jyn and Cassia … well, they’d see about Jyn and Cassia. If they lived long enough.
Very casually, he slung his arm about Chirrut’s shoulders.
“You’re an old fool,” he said gruffly.
Chirrut, not bothering with subtlety, leaned against him. “You should know.”
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