#and Gyro just accepts because anything to get away with what he’s had to deal with in the past few weeks

[sikyurame]

Not gonna lie, Gyro being ex-FOWL is an au I can get behind

#I think about it constantly #imagine he’s in jail #it’s been a few weeks since the whole 2BO incident and he still feels incredibly guilty #but then suddenly he sees the guard unlocking his cell and he’s told someone has payed his bail #once Gyro exits he meets Bradford and Heron and they make an offer to him #they see his potential and how it was wasted as Akita’s intern #can just imagine he’s given some ultimatum #either go back home and live with the guilt of being the scientist who nearly destroyed tokyolk #or come to FOWL with full reign over projects as long as he meets weapon deadlines #and Gyro just accepts because anything to get away with what he’s had to deal with in the past few weeks #idk it’s an idea that gives me brainworms d:

[steppedoffaflight]

Summer’s a Knife - Chapter 13

Catch up on Chapter 12 here

“Not true!” You scoff. “I missed you! And I didn’t get to see you on your birthday!” You return your voice to normal, taking your eyes off of the road to look at him real quick. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Van laughs. “Worst hangover I’ve had in years. Or maybe I’m just too old to handle ‘em now.”

“Could be,” You tease. “27, really getting up there now.”

or

You try to make Van’s (belated) birthday special for him.

Word count: ~11k

A/N: content warning for a little bit of under-negotiated edging and some negotiated bondage :)

Chapter Thirteen August 2019

Van sends you more snaps on his birthday than he probably has the entire time you two have had each other added on there.

“Ugh!” You sigh as you sit with Mary in your usual booth at the diner. You’ve got your phone held away from you, both of you leaned over the table as you open the third batch of snapchats from Van today. These ones include photos of the cake the boys had surprised him with, and a small stack of badly wrapped gifts they’ve presented him with. You pull the phone away from Mary when the interesting parts are over, when the snaps turn to clips of Van harassing the boys; Bondy laughing as he flips off the camera, Bob shying away as Van tries to shove the phone in his face. 

“I haven’t gotten him one single fucking gift,” You groan, lowering your head onto your folded arms.

“Sit up, Alexis is back,” Mary tells you, and you pull yourself into a sitting position with another sigh, as Alexis comes back to the booth with your food. You’re absolutely starving, but can’t find it in you to dig into your club sandwich in your sour mood.

“Oh, Jesus,” Mary sighs in exasperation, watching you pick at your french fries. “It can’t be that hard to think of something!”

While Mary speaks you finally take a bite of your sandwich. “It is!” You argue after you’ve swallowed it down. “He’s a millionaire! Anything he wants he just buys it for himself! What am I supposed to contribute?”

Mary narrows her eyes in thought as she chews on a bite of her veggie gyro. “Alright. What do you guys do when you’re together?”

“We fuck, we eat, smoke, watch Netflix, and sometimes hang out with his friends.” You tick each activity off one of your fingers.

“Okay. How about you just cook him something nice? You know, have a nice date but, like, at his house? I’m sure he’d like a home cooked meal after touring.”

It’s a good idea, but still you sigh. “I don’t know what he likes.” No matter what you cook, Van both eats and compliments it. You have a suspicion that everything you make actually sucks and he’s just too polite to say. “He literally eats everything. You should see those boys on tour. They’re maniacs over the catering.”

“Plus,” You continue, “There’s no way I could cook at Van’s house. It’s a fucking dump right now.”

Mary’s eyes widen as she sips her iced tea. “What about paying someone to come clean it? He’d probably love coming home to a clean house. Especially when he thinks he’s got to deal with it.”

That’s not a bad idea, actually. You don’t feel comfortable letting strangers into Van’s house without permission, but a new idea has bloomed in its place.

“I’ll clean it,” You tell Mary. “I don’t know how he’d feel about random people coming in when he’s not even in the country.”

“Okay, so that’s one gift.”

“I’ll clean the house and…” You gaze down at your food when the next idea works its way into your mind, “I’ll get him dinner from his favorite restaurant.”

“Yes!” Mary claps her hands together in excitement. “What are you gonna get him?”

You try to spit out the name of the French restaurant Van likes the lobster dinner from.

“No fucking way, you’ve been there?” Mary’s eyes widen. “I didn’t know that’s where he took you out!”

“I’ve been there twice, actually,” You admit sheepishly. “That’s where we went for Benji’s birthday.”

“You lucky bitch! Theo and I have tried so hard to get a table there for our anniversary and their waiting list for reservations is so long! I guess the rumors are true. They really do only give a fuck if you’re famous.”

“Weird, I’d never heard of them when Van took me there.”

Mary only shrugs, but you figure you already know why she’s heard of the place when you haven’t. It’s not obvious behind her down-to-earth personality and humor that made you adore her from your first meeting, but Mary comes from money. She’s even got a degree from Stanford to prove it. It’s in accounting (because those were the easiest classes for her), it’s never been used a day in her life, and was entirely paid for by her parents.

“When’s your anniversary?” You ask, ready to change the topic now that you’ve gotten two gifts under your belt. You’ve got a little under two weeks until Van will be back in town for a couple of days, and now you were feeling more confident that you could pull something together.

“The end of September, but they’re booked until next year,” Mary sighs.

\\

When you get out of the shower that night, there are three missed calls from Van. You don’t even bother to get dressed before calling him back, sitting on the edge of your bed wrapped in your towel, the ends of your hair dripping onto your comforter.

The phone rings until it’s almost gone to voicemail. At the last second Van accepts the call, and there’s some rustling before you decide to speak.

“Hi, birthday boy,” You giggle softly down the line. “How was your big day?”

“It’s been good, yeah. Good.” You’ve heard Van stumble over his words after drinks, but never slur like this.

“You sound like you’ve had a good day,” You laugh. 

“Had a class night,” Van agrees. “Fucking class.”

You’re still not used to communicating across a time difference. The mention of nighttime brings it back in your awareness. “Wait. What time is it for you?”

There’s some rustling noises while Van checks the screen, then the phone is pressed back to his ear. “Half four. Just got back to the hotel.”

“Jeez, Van! Why aren’t you sleeping already?”

“‘Cause I wanted to talk to you,” Van replies. “It’s not right.”

You’re beaming, charmed by this drunken Van. “What’s not right?”

Van scoffs. “That I don’t get to see my best mate on my birthday!”

“You spent the whole night with them, didn’t you?”

“The lads. Not you.”

The earnesty in his voice makes your heart squeeze. “That’s okay. I’m gonna see you soon, right?”

“Yeah. Really soon. Super soon.”

You smile to yourself. “Where are you?”

“In my room.”

You cackle out loud at that. “I know that. I meant the country!”

“Right. Um. Christ, I don’t fucking know. I forgot.”

“You’re so drunk,” You tut. You expect him to deny it, but listen to his distant laughter instead.

“I’m completely fucked,” He agrees. “Beyond pissed.”

“But you had fun? Was your cake good?”

“Loads of fun. Loads and loads of fun. I don’t remember how many pubs the lads dragged me to. As soon as one closed, bam, next one. It was great.” There’s some shuffling, then: “I forgot about the cake. Gonna have some right now, as a matter of fact.”

You hear the chaos of drunk Van serving himself a piece of cake.

“Wish you would’ve been here,” He says through a mouthful of dessert. “Woulda had so much fun.”

You don’t know which one of you he’s declaring would’ve had fun, but it seems he’s still not over the fact you two have spent the day apart. “I know,” You sigh, feeling a pang of disappointment for not the first time today. “I wish I would’ve been able to see you today, too.”

“Next year.” You hear the soft gulp of Van swallowing another bite down, and then his voice is much clearer. “Better request it off work now,” He teases. “You’ll never spend another first of August without me.”

“Okay,” You agree, only to mollify him. “You should probably get to bed. Text me tomorrow, okay?”

“If I’m alive,” Van chirps.

“You’ll be okay,” You assure him. “Drink lots of water.”

“Yeah.” Van’s voice is starting to grow quieter, rumbling like he’s close to falling asleep. “See you soon.”

“See you soon,” You promise. Your heart hurts at the fact you’re both sleeping alone, the distance between you two suddenly feeling overwhelming. “I miss you.”

Van yawns, and you have a feeling he didn’t catch your words. “Goodnight. I love you,” He slurs.

His words send a cold shot of adrenaline rushing through your veins, even if you know he doesn’t mean them. You almost end the call right there, but you don’t.

“I love you too,” You say instead. “Night.”

Even if Van’s declaration only comes from a place of drunken sleep-deprivation, it feels nice to have the opportunity to say it back. There’s something relieving about admitting it out loud, for the first time, even if this’ll be the only time. 

Van’s breathing is soft on the other end as you hang up.

\\

If giving Van’s neglected house some TLC was going to be the foundation of your gifts, you had no time to waste. His place was massive- not a job that could be tackled in one day- and during the week you had absolutely no desire to do anything after your workdays. You’d have to put some real work in on the weekends to make sure you pulled this off, which is why bright and early on Saturday morning you were pulled up to his gate, struggling with the 8 on the keypad.

You’d made a trip to the store last night to prepare your arsenal, and you struggled to lug it all inside. Unsure of what horrors you’d encounter, you’d bought different cleaning sprays for an assortment of surfaces, mildew, molds. You had boxes of trash bags, not sure whether Van was stocked with his own; and plenty of air freshener to try and chase away the stagnant smell that hit you as soon as you walked in. Then there were the tools; fancy antibacterial toilet brushes, fresh sponges and cleaning cloths. Lots and lots of paper towel. You even haul in a gallon of laundry detergent (and the accompanying softener, of course) and some detergent for the dishwasher. You knew that if you were going to be efficient, you’d need to eliminate time trying to understand where Van would store the things you might need. 

His living room is just as you two had left it the night he went to the hospital. There’s a lump of blankets overtaking half of the couch, and seven mugs of tea, three with leftover liquid that was now home to some fuzzy mold. The crewneck he had changed out of is rumpled on the floor, reeking of B.O. from his sweaty fever. The briefs nearby smell similar.

In the spot where there used to be a stunning monstera plant by the front door, there’s now a yellowed, withered corpse, surrounded by dead leaves that have fallen to the floor. You inspect its limp stem carefully before solemnly declaring it dead. You really had your work cut out for you. 

Your main thought as you turn your bluetooth speaker on and get your phone connected, prepared to blast the cleaning playlist you’ve carefully assembled, is that Van better fucking love this gift. 

\\

By the time you’re heading home, you feel satisfied with what you’ve gotten done. The kitchen is cleaned, the dishwasher rumbling as it sanitizes the mugs and dishes that had been left lying around. Your biggest obstacle had been locating the washer and dryer (which are nestled in a tiny room at the end of the living room hall), but now you could hear the sound of rushing water as the washer started on tonight’s load of laundry. You’d throw them in the dryer tomorrow morning, when you’d be back to tackle the half bathroom down the hall and start on the next level of the house. You carefully close all of the windows and lock the patio doors, which had helped air the place out today, before locking up the front door behind you.

There’s something domestic about cleaning Van’s house that keeps the project from being entirely unpleasant. You pick up little quirks of his in every room you explore: wrappers in the trashes reveal his favorite snack foods, the bathroom cupboards only store one chosen brand of toilet paper. His cereal cupboard is well-stocked but with only a small variety. His mailbox by the gate is overstuffed from his time away, and while you throw away any junk catalogues you note what companies he receives bills from. All of the important envelopes are addressed to his legal name, a small detail that amuses you endlessly. 

In the process, you also manage to get a few gifts out of it. You pick up a ficus during your weekly grocery shopping to replace the dead monstera plant by the door, and while passing the candle section you decide on impulse to buy him a candle for his bedroom. He had decided not to take one of his bags to Europe with him, and had instead left the suitcase of dirty laundry to stink up his entire room. You haven’t figured out his scent preferences, but you decide on something that smells like pine trees just because you keep picking it up to sniff it. It’s in these moments- casually grabbing some things at the store for him- where your mind wanders over the what-ifs. What if he was your boyfriend? What if you two lived together? What if he had someone around to make sure all the food in the fridge didn’t rot when he was away? What if you didn’t have to squeeze time with Van into your schedule, because your life would be entwined with his? You know most of the reason he doesn’t want a relationship is because he thinks it would make things complicated, but to you it feels like everything would be much simpler. 

You sigh sadly to yourself, place the three-wick candle carefully on the child seat so that the glass can’t be damaged in the cart with your other things, and continue shopping.

\\

When Tuesday finally comes, you’re bouncing with excitement as you leave the office early, preparing to pick up Van from the airport. He had tried his hardest to resist, dead set on letting you finish the workday while he grabs an Uber home, but there was no way you were gonna let that happen. You head home to change and pack your overnight bag to stay at his, grab the wrapped gifts you’d left on the kitchen table, and head over to Van’s, where you make sure everything is ready. 

You’d be stopping by the restaurant to pick up the carry out on the way back from the airport, so you carefully set the dining table in advance. You put out two plates, two wine glasses, and you’d even grabbed a package of tealights at the store. You set three of the little tins between your place settings, and stash the rest in his miscellaneous drawer. On the end of the dining table that wasn’t being used tonight, you display his wrapped gifts. The ficus has to rest on the floor, but you’d tied a nice silk bow around the plastic trunk. Was it all a bit cheesy and over the top? Probably. But with the way Van is quite the romantic, you think he’ll enjoy it. 

\\

You never get tired of the feeling that washes over you the first time you see Van. He looks dazed and exhausted fresh off of his flight, his backpack slung over one shoulder, his worn leather jacket slipping off of the other. As soon as he sees you he perks up, starting to walk at a faster pace as you approach him.

You reach out for a hug without a second thought, and Van smiles as you pull him in, happy to have him within reach. It doesn’t feel real the way his body is solid against yours. It feels like the dreams you’ve started to have on occasion, ones that leave a fog of disappointment lingering all day. 

“Oh, I’ve missed you,” You sigh when you pull away, because those words just aren’t enough anymore. 

Van smiles, but it’s a tired smile. Suddenly you worry he won’t have the energy for any festivities tonight. “Missed you,” He croaks.

He laces his fingers with yours, swinging your palms slightly as you two head to collect his baggage. You take one suitcase, he takes the other, and then you head out to the Range Rover.

“Are you hungry?” You ask nervously, once Van’s slumped into the front passenger seat. You’d been excited for tonight, but with the way Van’s energy is off your confidence that he’ll love what you have planned has instantly dissolved. 

“Fucking starving,” Van groans. “I’ve been living off of airplane peanuts all day.”

“You didn’t eat on the flight?”

“No,” Van adjusts his jacket on his shoulders. “Been sleeping. Wanted to make sure I wasn’t shit company tonight.”

You’re busy navigating the parking lot, but still reach one hand out blindly to nudge him playfully. “You’re never bad company!”

“Yeah, right,” Van rolls his eyes. You’re relieved to hear him start to shake off the sleep, sounding more like himself. “Bet you’re just glad you didn’t have to deal with me the last couple’a weeks.”

“Not true!” You scoff. “I missed you! And I didn’t get to see you on your birthday!” You return your voice to normal, taking your eyes off of the road to look at him real quick. “Happy birthday, by the way.”

“Oh, don’t remind me,” Van laughs. “Worst hangover I’ve had in years. Or maybe I’m just too old to handle ‘em now.”

“Could be,” You tease. “27, really getting up there now.”

“Oi. Shut up.” Van grumbles, but he’s not able to keep a straight face. He gazes out the window for a moment. “Why’re we taking this way home?”

“There’s an accident,” You lie. “Got caught in stop-and-go on my way here.”

Van accepts your reasoning, lifting his hips so he can pull his phone from his back pocket. You watch him flick through different notifications, staying blissfully unaware of your route until fifteen minutes later when you’re pulling up to the restaurant. 

As your car slows, Van comes back to reality. “What’s up?” He asks, looking around. 

You avoid an actual explanation as you put the car in park and start to unbuckle. “Stay here, I have to run in real quick.”

The carryout is already prepared, a large bag with ‘McCann’ written on it sitting on a surface behind the hostess booth. You pass over your card, trying not to cringe at the price, and in return you’re passed the bag of food and a cardboard carrier with two bottles of Van’s favorite wine. It was all a bit pricey, sure, but worth it when you see Van’s eyes widen through the tinted windows of the Rover when he sees what you’re up to. 

“Are you fucking kidding?” His voice has risen a few octaves in his typical amused/disbelieving tone. “What have you done this for?”

You set the food on the back bench before climbing into the driver’s seat. “You said you were hungry!” You laugh. “I hope you’re in the mood for lobster.”

Van is grinning so wide that his dimple is making an appearance. “Why the fuck did you do this?”

“For your birthday!” You exclaim, starting the final stretch of the drive to Van’s place.

“My birthday was two weeks ago!”

“A week and a half,” You correct him. “And I didn’t get to see you, so it doesn’t count. So today is technically your birthday all over again.”

“Ridiculous,” Van shakes his head. “You’re the worst, you know that?”

“Oh, don’t pretend like you don’t wanna celebrate with me,” You shoot him a glare. “Mr. ‘you’ll never spend a first of August without me again’.”

A surprised laugh bubbles out of Van. “Did I say that?”

You nod. “You did.”

“I’ll be honest, I don’t remember a word of that phone call.”

“Well, you were very drunk,” You shrug. “Drunker than I’ve ever heard you.”

“Why don’t we ever go out to pubs? Do you get pissed with Mary?”

“I used to go clubbing with Mary a lot,” You tell him as you turn off of the main road, the hill of his neighborhood visible in the distance. “Never really been a bar person, but we could go out one weekend.”

Van makes a displeased noise in the back of this throat. “Not here, in all these hipster cafes. You gotta come to London, we can do a proper pub crawl.”

“I don’t have a passport,” You admit sheepishly, as if that’s the only reason you can’t leave the country on Van’s whim.

“Christ. Americans never do! Mental.”

“Yet again,” You start, leaning out of the window slightly to punch the gate code in, “You hate America so much but you keep coming back!” 

“The lobster is good here,” Van deadpans as you pull into the driveway.

Van grapples with both of his suitcases while you’re busy trying to unlock the front door with the food in your hands. You hold the door to let him in first, watching him carefully. He barges his way to the middle of the room before he pauses, realizing what he’s walked into. 

“What is this?” He’s got a confused smile, looking over at you by the door. He’s gaping at the clean living room, and the surprise on the dining table.

“Surprise,” You giggle nervously, letting him take it all in.

“You tidied up the living room?” Van asks, carefully looking around. The mantle is dusted, the rug is vacuumed, and the place finally smells like someone actually lives here. 

“I tidied up everywhere, actually,” You admit. “The bathrooms, the bedrooms, the kitchen. All clean.”

“Holy shit. You shouldn’t have. Really.” He’s clearly stunned by the gesture, carefully removing his shoes and even going so far as to set them on the mat by the door. “You really did not have to do this, love.”

At the nickname, you know you’ve impressed him. You glow with pride as you bring the bag of food to the table, making a quick detour to the kitchen to grab some utensils to transfer the food out of the containers and onto the plates.

“Do you wanna open your presents before or after we eat?” You ask, carefully spooning the seasoned butter that was melted at the bottom of Van’s container onto his food. 

“After,” Van says, rubbing his hands together in anticipation as he starts to seat himself. You grab one of the bottles of wine, heading into the kitchen to find the corkscrew.

“I love the tree,” Van says when you return, nodding to the ficus standing proudly with his bow at the head of the table. “Thank you.”

“Your plant died,” You inform him, pointing to the empty space by the front door where the monstera used to sit. “It feels empty without it.”

Van frowns. “I told Bob not to give me anything that needed watering. I’m shit at remembering.” He shrugs. “He had a good half a year.”

“Bob got you it?”

Van nods. “For Christmas. It was one of his, to be fair. Got a green thumb. Great at pawning off his plant spawns to us lads.” He smiles affectionately, and you can’t help but smile as well. They were such a strange group of friends. 

You don’t sit down after you’ve poured wine for you two. “Do you have a lighter?” You’d forgotten to grab one in the kitchen for a tealights. 

Van procures one from the front pocket of his button up without question, and you light the candles before you sit down. You notice that Van hasn’t started eating without you. 

“Very posh,” He smiles at your setup, raising his glass of wine. “Cheers.”

“Cheers to 27,” You add, clinking your glass with his. 

There’s not much conversation as you two eat. Van is ravenous, and is done with his meal before you. You’re only halfway through your chicken parmesan, but you decide to save the other half for later. It wouldn’t do you any good to get all sluggish and bloated before the night’s even begun. 

You start to clear the table, Van standing to help automatically.

“Don’t help!” You scold him. “This is a gift!”

“You’ve already cleaned the place once!” Van insists, holding his dirty plate out of your reach when you attempt to take it from him. “That’s more than enough!”

He helps you rinse the dishes, marveling at how you put them directly in the dishwasher. It’s clearly not a habit he’s developed. 

You two keep the wine glasses out, not finished drinking for the night. Then Van opens his gifts while you radiate nervous energy the entire time.

He’s not someone who gets worked up over gifts, but his quiet gratitude is special in it’s own way. He loves the wooden rolling tray you’ve gotten him to replace the dented up tin one he carries around, and he laughs at the pack of THC water you’d gotten from your clients. He places the ficus by the front door, refusing to untie the bow around its trunk. When he’s done he pulls you in for a big hug.

“I know it’s not much…” You start nervously, but Van shakes his head.

“Thank you,” He cuts you off, rocking your bodies side to side. When his arms finally loosen you tilt your chin up to look at him and he leans down to give you a kiss.

“Thank you.” He repeats, giving your arms a small squeeze before releasing you.

“What do you wanna do?” You ask, now that dinner and gifts are over.

Van shrugs. He’s gazing out of the patio doors at the Hollywood cityscape. “Do you wanna go for a dip in the hot tub?”

That’s about the last thing you expected him to say. In all the times you’ve been over you have never seen Van use his pool. But you wouldn’t be the one to say no to the birthday boy himself. “Yeah, that sounds fun.”

“I’m all cramped up from sleeping on an airplane seat,” He explains. “Nothing sounds as good as those jets.”

He heads upstairs to get changed, but you’ve got nothing to change into. You’ve got your matching set of lace bra and underwear on, the same set you’d worn on your first date with Van. In any regular case you’d be strictly opposed to swimming in them, but you did have a change of clothes in your overnight bag, and you’re curious about how Van will react.

When Van comes down in his swim trunks, he realizes you’re still in your clothes. “Oh, fuck. Do you have something to wear?”

You can see he’s ready to retract his request, so you offer him a reassuring smile. “Yeah, let’s go!”

He clearly doesn’t understand what you’re up to, but leads you into the kitchen and out into the backyard. It’s the one area of the house that stays perfectly maintained no matter how long he’s gone; he’s got a landscaping company that comes over regularly to trim the grass and clean the pool. 

At the bottom of the cement steps that descend from the kitchen, Van makes a right around some lounge chairs. You don’t understand what he’s doing until he tugs back a heavy set of curtains, revealing a small cabana built right into the house.

“Are you joking?” You gape in disbelief as you check it out. There’s a seating area, a television mounted on the wall, and a door to a small bathroom in the corner. “What the fuck is this, oh my God?”

Van shakes his head, popping into the bathroom before coming back with two swim towels in hand. He passes one to you. “It’s my patio!”

“A patio is outside,” You correct him, “This is a cabana with a fucking television that’s attached to your house.”

Van gestures to the pool past the open curtains. “It’s got curtains. It’s outside.” The way he’s smiling reveals he knows exactly how luxurious it is. 

The pool thermostat is installed in one of the walls, and Van pokes at it before you hear the rumble of the hot tub coming to life, the jets starting to bubble. 

Van heads straight for the hot tub, but you start to get undressed while he’s not paying attention. You kick off the sandals you’d worn over here, peel off your shirt and shorts, and dig around in your shorts pockets for a hair tie. 

A bra and underwear set has the same coverage as a bikini, but there’s something about openly walking across the backyard in your underwear that feels forbidden. Of course, nobody’s able to see you considering Van’s privacy bamboo that surrounds the house, but the sun is still out and you still feel exposed as you approach Van.

He does a double take when he finally settles onto the stone seat that encircles the small spa. You use the metal railings to start stepping in, pretending you don’t notice him staring.

“I knew you didn’t have anything to wear!”

You smile, giving a small shrug like this is nothing out of the ordinary. “I’m wearing something, aren’t I?”

“Yeah, but now your knickers are soaked.”

You frown as you sit next to him, the hot water saturating the padded cups of your bra. “Ew. Don’t say knickers.”

He snorts, sinking deeper into the water until the ends of his hair are wet, the jet foaming directly on the back of his neck. “Fuck. This feels so good.”

The legs of his trunks have floated up around his thighs, and in the clean water your eyes can linger over him while he’s got his eyes closed, enjoying his makeshift massage. 

“So how was tour?” You ask after there’s been some silence. 

“Incredible,” Van tells you, sitting back up. His back is in front of the jet now, and he arches into it. “Europe fucking loves us. The crowds go wild every night. We only play Glasgow in Scotland, everyone loves that. It’s such a good time.”

He tells you some stories about the festivals they’ve done, some ridiculous questions interviewers have asked. You relax into the warm water as you listen to his voice, falling into a content daze. You suddenly feel like nothing in the world could feel as good as relaxing in a hot tub with Van after a couple of glasses of wine. 

“How’s work been?” Van asks when he’s finished filling you in. You can feel your muscles start to tense, your mind start to remember the numerous frustrations that have been chipping away at your sanity lately.

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” You sigh, shaking your head as if that’ll clear your thoughts. “I just wanna forget about it and have a nice night with you.”

“Fair enough.” Van shrugs. “Are you?”

You’re resting your neck against the cement edge of the tub, your body floating weightlessly in the water as you gaze up at the light-polluted sky that is rapidly becoming darker as the day comes to a close. “Am I what?”

“Having a nice night?”

“Um, yeah,” You answer like it’s a stupid question. “We should use your hot tub more often. This thing is magic.” You imagine this is what babies in the womb must feel like, completely doused in warmth and without a care in the world.

“We should. You can keep a suit over here.”

You laugh at that, sitting up and looking over at him. You shiver as the tops of your shoulders are exposed to the air. “Why do you keep mentioning my suit? Do you not like what I’m wearing?”

“That’s the opposite of how I feel, actually. Just figured an actual suit would be more comfortable.”

You smile at his admission. “Oh, so you don’t actually hate this set?”

The water has carried one of the straps of your bra off of your shoulder, and you watch Van’s eyes dart to your bare skin. 

“Course I don’t. Christ.”

Now it feels like you’ve got him where you want him. You ease up onto your knees, Van’s eyes dragging over the sopping lace as gravity pulls the cups lower, revealing more skin. You fight the urge to tug your strap up as you move closer to Van, who licks his lips.

“Okay.” Your voice is quiet, your body dangerously close to Van’s. You can feel the steam radiating off of his flushed body. “I was worried for a second.”

Van can tell you’re teasing, and he breaks out in a grin. “Shut the fuck up,” He laughs right in your face before his hands are on your hips, yanking you off balance and onto his lap. There’s the rush of water splashing around your bodies and a sickening twist in your stomach as you lose your balance. 

The first thing you comprehend is Van’s lips against your neck, hungrily mouthing at your damp skin. Your knees have found their way to either side of his thighs, your hands gripping the edge of the tub for dear life. As soon as you feel steady again you stop clutching at the cement, gripping Van’s dripping shoulders. You let your hips sink down, your thigh muscles loose and relaxed enough to open wider without any discomfort. 

You can’t feel if he’s hard through the water, but the way he groans is enough of a hint. Every noise you two make bounces off of the water, magnifying the sound.

You wrap your legs around his waist, his hands leaving your sides in order to cup your ass through the lace. You feel his fingers pinch at the fabric, rubbing it between his fingertips before he nestles his head into the crook of your neck, biting down where your neck meets your shoulder. 

“Van!” You gasp in shock. His body is rocking so you grab the ledge to steady yourself. There’d always been an unspoken rule not to leave marks. At his name Van pulls away with a guilty grin.

“Too much?” He asks, carefully watching your reaction. 

“No,” You assure him breathlessly. Your hand comes up to stroke his hair, wetting his roots in the process. You were aching for him to do it again. “But warn a girl, alright?” You breathe.

Van’s grin widens. “Yeah, alright,” He promises before his arms tighten around you, his mouth latching onto the same spot. This time the sting of his teeth makes you moan, your legs tightening around his waist, trying to press him as tight against you as humanly possible. 

You close your eyes, your nose buried in his hair. You breathe in the scent of chlorine as you let him take the lead for this brief moment. It’s something you want to savor before you go upstairs, where the dynamics will be different.

When he pulls away he presses his lips to the top of your shoulder before you start to untangle yourself from him. You watch his expression cloud in confusion.

“You haven’t even seen the bedroom yet,” You tell him, starting for the steps. Out of the water, gravity feels too strong, the air icy cold compared to the water. You regret leaving, but there’s more in store. 

The spot on your neck that Van had focused on throbs in residual pain as you grab your towel off of one of the lounge chairs, trying to dry off as best as you can. Van turns the jets in the tub off, closing the curtains to shut down the cabana.

“Want your clothes?” He asks, and you realize your shoes and outfit are slung over the couch.

“I’ll grab ‘em tomorrow,” You decide. You wouldn’t need them anymore tonight, so there was no need to waste precious time on a distraction.

The two of you struggle up the stairs to Van’s room, your muscles feeling like jelly. 

You proudly open the door to present the room for him. Fresh sheets, washed comforter, fluffed pillows, and an empty hamper. Van laughs in disbelief.

“I got you this, too,” You tell him, holding your damp towel around your body with your elbows as you pick the pine candle off of his dresser. You hadn’t wrapped this gift, instead wanting to make it a nice touch for tonight. “I dunno if you like pine-scented things, but I thought it smelled good.”

“Love pine,” Van nods, coming up behind you. He opens his hands for you to pass the candle over, and you do. He sniffs at the wax before nodding his approval, passing it back to you. 

“Hand me a lighter,” You request, and Van tosses you one before he starts to strip down, keeping the room neat by placing his wet towel and trunks in the hamper.

You struggle to get all three of the wicks lit, but you’re pleased at the warm glow the candle emits. 

Van is already tugging the blankets down, ruining your hard work in the name of climbing into bed naked. You peel away your soaked bra and underwear, dropping them in the hamper with Van’s things.

“So,” Your heart starts racing now, but you try to remain nonchalant as you stride over to Van’s closet, sliding the door aside. “Do you have a robe anywhere?”

“Yeah, you need one? I have one hanging in the bathroom.”

You didn’t actually need one, but you nod, grabbing your overnight bag from the floor. “I’ll be right back.”

You feel like you’re about to start hyperventilating as you lock the door behind you. Van’s plush robe is dangling from the hook on the back of the door. Duh. You were the one who had washed it and hung it there, after all. The nerves were clearly getting to your head. 

Your hair looks like a frizzy birds nest, every section a varying degree of damp. You extract your hair tie from the mess, and borrow Van’s brush to do some damage control. Once you’ve parted your hair correctly and smoothed it down, you look a million times better. 

The only thing left to do was get dressed. You grope around in your bag until you feel the silky cloth of the lingerie. You’d purchased it just for this occasion, a sheer scrap of black fabric that Mary had helped you choose. The website called it a ‘babydoll set’, a lace bra with a silky transparent fabric draping off of the band. The airy cloth fell just below your ass, but it didn’t really matter how low it covered because you could blatantly see through it. There was a slit directly down the front, giving Van the ability to easily push the extra clothing aside in case he needed to access your skin. It had come with a matching thong but you don’t bother to put that on. You figure the bra is enough. 

You unravel the tie of Van’s robe, your fingers shaking. You take a steadying breath before finally twisting the doorknob, turning the bathroom lights off as you step back into the bedroom. 

“Oh, Christ.” Van groans, scrubbing his hands over his face. “You want me dead.”

You head to the bedroom door first, sliding the dimmer all the way down. The room is still lit from the flickering candle and the lights of the city shining through the open window, but without the overhead lighting everything feels much more relaxed.

You approach Van then, sitting down on the edge of the mattress next to his body. While you’d been adjusting the lights he’d propped himself up into a sitting position, and as soon as you sit down his hand comes to rest against the back of your neck.

You don’t speak. You want to poke around for some reassurance that he likes what he sees, some validation that Mary had been right when she’d pressured you into adding this finishing touch. But instead you let him cradle the back of your neck while he takes you in, his neck craning so he can give you a full onceover before meeting your eyes again. 

“I’m convinced you’re trying to give me a heart attack,” He jokes, before hauling you in by the back of your neck for a kiss. “What is it with you and lace?”

“This is, like, all of the lace I own.” Per usual, you’ve got to brush off the compliment even if it’s the confidence boost you needed.

“And I got to see it all tonight? I’m one lucky lad.”

He looks annoyingly smug, the face of a boy who knows he’s about to get laid tonight. You kiss him again (and again) just so that you don’t have to look at him anymore.

You climb onto the bed completely, crawling into Van’s lap. Van startles when the robe tie crinkled in your hand brushes his ribs. 

“What’s that?” He asks, peering down at your hand for a better look. You extend your fingers, the length of cloth unfurling, tumbling onto Van’s lap. “Is that the string on my robe?”

“Yeah,” You confirm. You want to explain, but your mouth suddenly goes dry, waiting for his reaction.

“What’ve you got that for?” He cocks his head in confusion, looking between the rope and your wide eyes.

You gulp. “I was thinking, y’know- if you were into it- we could try something kind of like the last time?”

Van’s expression is blank for a few moments, no doubt trying to recall your last time having sex. You watch his expression change as soon as he’s remembered. 

“Are you gonna tie me up? Is that what this is?”

His voice has gone up in pitch, like he doesn’t really believe this is actually happening. You nod slowly.

“I mean, if you want. Just your wrists. Unless you have cuffs?” You ask the last part hesitantly, predicting Van’s answer. He confirms your suspicions when he shakes his head. “That’s what I thought.”

“You know how to tie me up with that?” Van asks, nodding at your palm. 

“Yeah. Hold on.” You shuffle off of his body, laying the tie out flat on the mattress next to Van. It’s a trick you’d learned from Mary years ago, and was easy enough to Google and relearn. With minimal fuss you’ve tied a handcuff knot, holding it up for Van. 

“No shit. You’re full of surprises tonight,” Van marvels. 

“So… do you wanna try it?”

“Oh, absolutely,” Van grins. “I’ve already told you, you can do whatever you want to me. Consider me at your mercy, always. How do ya want me?”

You giggle, rolling your eyes at his dramatics. “Off of the bed,” You instruct him. 

“How kinky are we goin’ tonight?” Van asks as he clamors off of the mattress. “Am I supposed to get down on my knees?”

He’s teasing, beaming down at you from where he’s standing. You get off of the mattress as well, trying to nudge it downwards.

“I need some space between the headboard and the mattress,” You explain, out of breath with the effort of trying to move it on your own. Van’s headboard was solid wood, not wrought iron like yours. You’d need to secure his wrists to one of the support beams holding the mattress up. 

“You really thought this out, huh?” Van gets on the other side of the bed, helps you nudge the mattress a few inches down.

You don’t answer him, distracted with rearranging his pillows nicely before patting them. “Come lay down.”

Van obliges. As he’s holding his wrists out so that you can loop your handcuff knot around them, he nods to his bedside table.

“Don’t forget to grab a condom,” He reminds you.

You pause where you’re tightening the cloth against his skin. “About that.”

“We could skip it,” You suggest, trying to keep your voice light. “I mean, I know you’re clean. I’m on the pill. And I’m clean, but I don’t have, like, the records on hand, so, if-”

“Skip it.” Van cuts you off. “Deffo.”

The robe fabric is nice and snug against his skin, and you’re pleased when Van tests the restraint and it holds perfectly. Suddenly, everything is feeling very official. 

You need your phone flash light in order to loop the extra length around the support slat you’d moved the mattress to reveal. When you’re done tying that knot you’re out of breath.

“Good?” You ask Van when you stand up. He’s got his elbows bent, his wrists comfortably resting right above his head, and when he strains to move them there’s not anywhere for them to go.

You get back on his lap, but the air in the room has changed. The anticipation is stifling. You’ve never felt so unsure and so certain at the same time. You desperately hoped everything went off without a hitch.

You could do anything to Van with the way he’s restrained, but for some reason it feels right to get a hand around him, starting to jerk him off slowly. It’s weird to think you’ve never given him a hand job before, as simple the act is. You only really get your hands on him for foreplay purposes, but thankfully Van doesn’t seem to mind, arching his back into the sensation. Then you remember his balls, and your other hand slides between his thighs, brushing against the soft skin of them. You feel them tighten reflexively away from your fingertips, Van whining when you cup them. 

You could be minimal with Van’s foreplay, let your eagerness get the best of you, but you don’t. You keep your hand slow and steady, your rhythm perfectly even, and feel him swell in the palm of your hand, his hips wiggling to chase more friction. 

You snap out of your trance when you suddenly feel Van’s thighs tremble underneath you, a small dash of precome blurting from the head of his dick when your hand brings his foreskin down. You hadn’t realized how close he was getting, too engrossed in touching him. You bring your hands away from his dick but let his balls still rest in your palm, giving them some gentle attention while you let Van back away from the edge.

Once Van has cooled down, that’s usually your cue to get started. His breathing has relaxed slightly, not so harsh and loud, and he’s not shaking anymore. But without really thinking about it you wrap your palm around him for a second time. His stomach tightens in surprise, but he doesn’t protest, so you decide to experiment with starting your slow, even tugs again. 

This time you push your luck, still jerking him off even as you feel the warm drops of precome drip onto your fingers. You wait until he’s progressed past the trembling, until you feel his thighs tighten in anticipation of his orgasm before you release him, his dick coming to rest against his belly. While he’s trying to catch his breath you release his balls, letting them hang heavy between his legs in favor of having another hand free. He groans at the loss of contact, but you’re surprised at how quiet he’s been. You rub your hands up and down his thighs, accidentally rubbing his own precome over his skin. You wait until you feel his muscles unclench, until he relaxes into the mattress again with a sigh before you start up yet again.

There’s a strange thrill at what you’re doing, a dopamine rush like you’re playing the lottery. Van is clearly coming undone, hissing through his teeth at every slight touch, twitching and tensing helplessly beneath you. This time when you withdraw your hand you’re afraid you’ve misjudged him, because he tries to buck his hips up against your weight, his dick throbbing, and you’re positive he’s about to come all over his stomach even without your touch. When he doesn’t there’s a strange rush of pride that consumes you, only adding to the adrenaline rush.

Van’s been a good sport, but when you trace the vein on the underside of his dick with the tip of your finger, giddy with the way he startles, he stops staying quiet.

“Holy shit,” He gasps, and you can see his biceps flexing against his handcuffs. “Holy shit, holy shit, holy shit,” He chants, his eyes squeezing shut so tight you’re sure he sees stars when he blinks them open again.

“Too much?” You’d assumed Van was having a good time, but your heart sinks when you realize that he had no sort of safeword, that maybe you were getting a little too power hungry. 

“You’re driving me fucking mad,” Van groans, slamming the back of his head against his pillow. 

“Do you want me to stop?” You’ve stopped messing with him in case that’s what he’s getting at, absentmindedly tucking your fingertips under one of his knees, petting the thin skin back there. 

“I would like to fuck you some time this year,” Van snorts, his voice laden with frustration.

You keep caressing the back of his knee. “So… stop?”

Van lifts his head enough to shoot you a weak glare. “You can do whatever you want. Just wondering how long a lad’s supposed to fucking hold off.”

It takes one more go to rid Van of his pesky stubbornness. He’s reduced to a flushed, sweating heap on top of the sheets, and although he doesn’t tap out you wouldn’t feel comfortable edging him any longer. 

His body jerks as you rub up and down his sides, trying to ease him into the next thing. He clearly thinks you’re getting ready to play games again, unable to settle down. 

“I’m done, I’m done,” You find yourself whispering, his body instantly starting to relax in relief. “Are you good? Still want me to fuck you?”

Van cracks a smile at that, although he doesn’t look like he’s entirely with you. “You better,” He croaks. “Don’t let that be for nothing.”

“Still want to skip the condom?” You decide to double check for good measure. It had all been fun and games until now, when you feel an increasing sense of duty to make sure Van’s taken care of. “Do you want your hands free?”

“You’re acting like you broke me,” Van chuckles. “Yes to skipping. Leave me be and get on with it.”

You offer his cheek a reassuring pat before brushing the sweaty hair away from his eyes, tucking it behind his ear as you’ve so often seen him do. You lean down for a kiss before sitting back up, positioning yourself over him. 

The absence of the condom is strange when you hold the base of his dick, and you jump when you start to position his head between your legs. He’s warm and throbbing with anticipation, and you can feel every pulse of his heart beat against your opening, your stomach fluttering as your body prepares to make room for him. 

“Oh my God,” You gasp as you start to lower down. Condoms had a tendency to make things a bit dry, to make the first few thrusts a bit tricky, but you’d forgotten how much simpler sex was without one. Van slides in without the slightest hold up, easily working his way deep even as you feel yourself tighten, your body instinctively trying to draw him in deeper. Once seated you force yourself to draw in a few shaky breaths, mentally willing yourself to relax around him.

As you’re lifting yourself back up Van moans, a vulnerable noise that has you clutching at his ribs.

“Oh, Van,” You whimper, aware that you’re losing control of the situation. But it’s been years since you’ve had unprotected sex, and that was when neither of you had any idea what you were doing, and this is a million times better, and Van is watching you with wide, blue eyes as you struggle to fuck him. “This is so good. Fuck, Van, it’s so good.”

He’s watching you in awe. “I know,” He nods, too consumed in you to fight his restraints, his wrists resting limply. 

It’s evident that neither of you are going to be able to hold on; your time apart, the hot tub makeout, fantasy turned reality and the lack of any barrier between your bodies has made tonight come to a rapid boiling point. Your hands scramble against his skin as you try to keep your balance against the shocks of pleasure that twist through your stomach, each one feeling like an orgasm that doesn’t quite make it to climax. With each exhale you’re making what you’d consider the most unattractive noises possible, crying out in desperation when each shock doesn’t make it all the way, your own body keeping you on edge the same way you’d done to Van. 

“I’m gonna fucking blow,” Van breathes after you have to pause to catch your breath against the feeling in your belly. “If you don’t want me inside get me the fuck out.”

“You’re fine,” You assure him, steadying yourself for another thrust. This time you support all of your weight on the palm pressed into Van’s chest, your other hand slipping between your legs so your fingers have access to your clit. When you meet Van’s gaze he’s gaping at you, mouth ajar.

“What?” You ask as you start quick, tight circles that combine perfectly with the fullness of Van. 

Van shakes his head. “You’re incredible,” He sighs, melting back against his pillows.

Your orgasm blooms hot and heavy between your legs, the pressure of your fingertips becoming unbearable, your legs collapsing under the weight of anticipation. You scream Van’s name embarrassingly loud, desperately wishing you had a pillow to muffle yourself. 

His own orgasm is unmistakable when it arrives only moments after yours. You have a flash of panic when you feel the warm gush of Van coming directly inside of you before you relax, remembering that it was intentional. This orgasm lasts noticeably longer than his usual ones, and with each pulse of his dick inside of you you feel impossibly fuller. When he’s done, his face smoothing out as he finally blinks up at you, you’re distracted by the syrupy heat between your legs, terrified for him to pull out.

“Don’t pull out yet,” You plead, your arms shaking as they continue to support you. 

Van gives you a lopsided grin. “Couldn’t if I wanted to.” He tugs at his tied wrists for emphasis. 

At this you can’t help but laugh. “Right.” It takes a strenuous amount of core strength to lift both of your hands, picking away at the handcuff knot until Van could slide his wrists out. His palms immediately come down to hold your hips in place, his skin warm against the wispy fabric of your lingerie. 

“I’ve got to take a shower,” You explain, your body shivering against his. You can feel Van shivering, too, the intensity of everything putting your bodies into overdrive. 

“I’ll take one with you.”

You cringe as you finally lift yourself off of him. Although things feel normal for a moment, by the time you’re standing next to the bed on shaky legs you can feel the trickle of Van’s come sliding down one of your thighs. There’s nothing to do but helplessly allow gravity to do it’s thing while Van leads you into the en suite, getting the hot water running in the shower.

As soon as your bra is a silk puddle on the floor and you’ve both stepped in, Van closes the glass door behind you before standing directly above the drain, pissing right into it.

“Are you peeing?” You ask incredulously.

Van twists his neck, grinning over his shoulder as he finishes. He gives himself two firm shakes, the shower water cascading down his shoulders and rinsing him off. “Yeah. You don’t piss in the shower?”

“I mean, yeah,” You admit, shifting your weight uncomfortably. You actually needed to pee right now, but there’s absolutely no way you’ll do it in front of Van. “When there’s not an audience.”

Van just shrugs, using his fingers to work the warm water through his hair. He reaches out for the bottle of shampoo he keeps on the small shower ledge, but before he can pop the lid up you wrap your own hand around it.

“Lemme do it,” You say quietly, not meeting his eyes as you take the bottle into your own hands, pouring an ice-blue dollop into the palm of your hand. 

Van doesn’t protest, instead stepping out of the stream of water so that you can warm yourself underneath it instead. He turns so that his back is facing you and you reach up, starting to work the shampoo into a foam over his scalp. He’s always felt so much taller than you, but his head isn’t too far out of reach, and you realize you two are closer in height than you’d thought. 

Standing in the small glass square space of Van’s shower, the events that just happened in the bedroom feel surreal. Usually, you two snap right out of your bedroom mentality, moving on to the next part of your day easily. But something about tonight lingers over you, and as you wash Van’s hair you get the feeling he’s on the same page. Everything still feels tender and vulnerable, your bodies still shivering even in the steam, and the protective urge to make sure Van’s comfortable and safe still hasn’t faded. You’re careful to use the side of your hand to smooth any suds away from his forehead, keeping his eyes shampoo free, and when you’re satisfied that his hair is clean you lean forward, planting a kiss on his shoulderblade. He switches places with you silently, rinsing himself off as you gather some stray streams of water into the palm of your hand, flushing between your thighs out as best as you can. 

“Want me to suds you up?”

You hadn’t planned on washing your hair, but considering you’d gotten it damp with chlorine in the hot tub you might as well. “Yeah.”

You shift so that you’re in front of him, your back to him. Van squeezes some shampoo into his hands, and suddenly his palms are smoothing over your head. His hands trail down the back of your neck in long, even strokes as he makes sure he distributes the shampoo all the way from your roots to the very end of each strand.

At first you’re gazing out of the shower walls at the enormous marble countertops housing the his-and-hers sinks, but once Van’s done smoothing his hands over you and starts to dig his fingertips in, really scrubbing at your scalp, your eyes lull closed. You hadn’t expected him to be so thorough, rolling your head back to lean into his fingers as he massaged every inch of your head, the foam of the shampoo running down your back. 

“Lean forward,” Van grumbles, gently tipping your head forward again. “You’re messing me up.”

You do as you’re told, disappointed when the washing finally comes to an end and Van withdraws his hands from your hair, stepping out of the water so you can have a turn to rinse. 

When you’re both finished you get to see Van’s reaction to the bathroom closet brimming with freshly washed towels. He doesn’t seem to understand the extent to which you’ve cleaned, and you suspect he’ll be pleasantly surprised for weeks to come when he sees all the work you’ve put into the guest bedrooms, not to mention what you’ve done with his favorite sunbathing patio. You swipe the towel over your skin, wiping away the excess droplets before wrapping it around your hair. You reach for your overnight bag again, this time to grab your Las Vegas shirt. You pick your lingerie up from the floor and slip it back into your bag, mentally congratulating it on a job well done. 

When you’re done tugging on a fresh pair of underwear (cotton, since itchy lace was no longer needed) and removing your contacts, you come back into the bedroom to see Van’s pushed the mattress back in place and remade the bed, his robe tie crumpled in the center of his comforter. He’s got a fresh pair of boxers on, and shakes his box of cigarettes in his hand as soon as you step out. 

“Let’s smoke.” He nods toward the giant glass window that stretches across the front wall of his room. There’s a narrow balcony on the other side, bordered by a sleek glass railing. You’re confused about how to step outside, but Van easily slips his fingers against the edge of the window, which slides open to expose the bedroom to the outdoor air. 

The balcony is unfurnished, Van plopping himself down in the corner, his back against the house. He’s brought the ash tray from his bedside table out, and you sit down next to him, stretching your legs out in front of you as Van doles out cigarettes to you both. 

“I didn’t even realize that window was a door,” You mumble before inhaling as Van holds the lighter flame to the end of your cigarette. Once it’s lit he does his own, peering out at the city twinkling beyond the railing.

“Don’t really bother to come out here,” He shrugs. “Rather just go out on the patio.”

“So why are we out here tonight?” You ask, looking down between your bodies at the ash tray while you tap your cigarette into it.

“Needed some fresh air. Get my head on straight.”

He punctuates his sentence with a long drag of his cigarette. You let the silence drag on, your body feeling heavier as the adrenaline from the sex starts to wear off.

“Was it good?” You finally decide to ask. You don’t know if it’s the same for Van, but the whole handcuff thing feels like the elephant in the room. For all intents and purposes it seemed Van had enjoyed himself, but now you’ve got the creeping anxiety that the reality might not be as appetizing for him as the porn made it seem. 

“The sex?” Van asks, looking over at you. When you nod, he hooks his thumb over his shoulder, grinning as he gestures to the bedroom. “Are we talking about the same thing? Because that was clearly brilliant.”

You roll your eyes at his teasing, your arm coming to rest over his shoulders. You give his body a playful shake. “You know what I’m talking about. Would you do it again? That… whole thing?”

It’s Van’s turn to roll his eyes before exhaling a warm burst of smoke right into your face. “Christ, I hope we give that a go again. You weren’t fucking kidding about celebrating my birthday. You were absolutely mental in there!” He’s beaming right at you, nudging you with his shoulder. “I’ve never seen you act like that! With the lingerie and everything! What came over you?” 

He’s clearly having a blast teasing you, so now it’s your turn to smoke him out. It only pleases him more to know he’s embarrassed you, a blush blooming over your cheeks as you remember how it felt to be completely in control of Van. You lift your arm from his shoulders to ruffle his hair, and he snuffs his cigarette butt out, resting his head on your shoulder. 

“This is a daft question, since the deed’s been done and all…” You can feel his voice vibrating against your skin. “But you’re not fucking anyone else, right?”

You can’t see his expression while he asks, the only thing visible in your peripheral vision the part of his hair as his cheek stays pressed on your shoulder. As you ash your own cigarette out you plant a quick kiss in his hair. It’s more romantic than you would allow yourself on a regular day, but tonight wasn’t a regular night. “Nope. Just you.”

Van lifts his head from your shoulder. “You really got the shit end of the stick. Sorry, love.”

“Shit end of the stick?”

“Well, yeah! You’re in there in lace tyin’ me up, and all I’ve got to offer is some shit missionary.” 

“I like missionary,” You frown. “And you’re forgetting about the head.”

Van frowns. “You think it’s good?”

You shrug, looking away. “Best I’ve ever had.”

Van knows from your previous conversations with him that’s not a lie, so he doesn’t argue. You watch his eyelashes as he blinks, and it looks like he’s struggling to keep his eyes open. 

“You tired?” You ask, unwinding your arm where it’s snaked around him so that you can lift yourself off of the ground. 

He yawns, nodding. He takes your hands and you help hoist him up until he’s standing over you. 

Once inside, you both immediately climb into Van’s bed, the sheets still smelling like the fabric softener you’d used on them. 

Van doesn’t even go on his phone, too exhausted from today’s travels to fight his exhaustion. The lights are clicked off, and Van’s back is to you, his usual sleeping position.

You should roll over too, like you always do, but for some reason you nestle yourself against his back, throwing an arm over his side so that you’re spooning him. 

“What’re you doin’?” He grumbles, clearly almost knocked out after only five-ish minutes of silence. 

“Spooning you,” You say, as if that was any explanation at all, and kiss his hair again. You let your face linger by his scalp for a moment longer, breathing in the smell of his shampoo, before resting your head against your pillow. The skin of his stomach is soft against your fingertips, and the feeling of his body shifting rhythmically with his breathing immediately has your eyelids drooping.

You just loved him so, so, so much. And even if he didn’t love you back, you hoped he realized how much you cared for him. Because you realize now it’s more than you’ve ever cared about anyone else. 

\\

#summer's a knife #van mccann #catfish and the bottlemen #catb #van fic #van mccann fanfiction #catb fic

[duck-writer]

Aphrodite’s Broken Heart: Donald’s Slumber

You can read the first part Here 

Scrooge’s grip on Donald was like a vice, “He’s not waking up...why isn’t he waking up?”

“I placed him in a slumber,” Xandra answered.

He felt his eyes sting with emotion as anger began to rise. Never did he think he would feel this way about the Goddess of Adventure but he'll damn and curse any and all deities who dare hurt his family! His family had lost Della because of adventure. He had lost Della to adventure, and as much as he hated it and denied it, he cost Donald his twin.

Adventure was supposed to be he legacy and badge of honor, not the source of pain and heartache.

She didn’t flinch when Scrooge snapped his head at her and demanded the reason for her actions. Xandra began with, “It was his request."

Scrooge practically growled at her because he couldn't believe that. There wasn't any way that Donald would willingly allow himself to be kept from his boys. There was more to this, more she wasn't telling him!

Xandra could see how difficult it was for the older duck to accept it, so she did her best to explain. "The world's ability to love stems and originates from that heart. Not anyone's love would be strong enough to replace that of godly proportion. Donald's love is fueling the world's. I know it hurts, but it needed to be done. He did it for the world. He did it for his boys." The Three Caballeros were her heroes, and losing one of her champions was devastating. "He didn’t want the boys to see him without love...the love for them was the only thing that kept him going for over a decade. And now, that same love will keep the earth alive.”

"Wake him. Please." Scrooge pleaded quietly. "Surely it can't be that bad. We can find a way to fix this!"

"I'm sorry, Scrooge. The deed is done. There's no reversing it. There is...nothing to fix." Xandra told him sadly.

"I CAN'T LOSE HIM TOO!" Scrooge cried out. Xandra's eyes widened slightly. For all she's heard and seen of Scrooge, losing his composure or cool, wasn't really his style. At least, not with this much emotional pain. He looked at her pleadingly, "We've recently made amends...but there was still more...more..." He swallowed thickly as he blinked away the tears, "He's my boy! I needed to be there more for him. Please...as one of earth's best adventurers, I beseech you, help me save him!"

"I am sorry, Scrooge. But I will not undo Donald's last request."

~~~

Gyro looked at the machinery that Scrooge sent for him to bring the to manor. Fenton was pulling everything along, chatting but he only heard every other word. Scrooge’s tone was...different. For better or worse, depending on who you asked, Scrooge was unapologetically...Scrooge. Gyro had his moments of feeling light ire for his employer but it was mostly when his funding was affected. It didn’t last too long since Scrooge allowed him funding at all and didn’t try to tell him too much about what he could and couldn’t do...although asking him to make sure his intentions didn’t go evil every so often. Which they didn’t! They were mostly just misunderstood! Anyway, the point was, he knew how to pick his moments of when to address Scrooge about his projects and funding depending on his tone. Sometimes dealing with other board members put him in a mood. Certain dates did so as well. But he hasn’t heard the tone Scrooge had on the phone since....well, since the Spear of Selene.

“Are we not going through the front door Dr. Gearloose?” Fenton asked as he kept following the goose towards the back of the manor.

“Scrooge made the order. He wants a secure route.” Gyro answered.

“A secure route? Why? Is the front door of the manor not secure?” Fenton asked.

"I'm assuming this isn’t something the children know about and he wants to keep it that way,” Gyro spoke honestly but with a tone that he hoped Fenton would catch. He didn’t mind Fenton’s plucky attitude, at least not as much as he used to. But there was a time and a place and something in the pit of his stomach was telling him that whatever they were about to learn was on the somber side.

Fenton only paused for a moment to tilt his head before he began to understand this was a far more serious business matter than he initially thought.

As they approached a back door, they were greeted by Mrs. Beakley. She was a hard person to read, but given her background, it wasn’t too surprising. Though Gyro wished he could read more about what they were about to walk into.

“Follow me, please. And try not to make too much noise. The children are enjoying their television time.” Mrs. Beakley told them.

“So they don’t know...about whatever this is about?” Fenton asked quietly. Then followed up with, “What is this about, exactly?”

She sighed sorrowfully, and Gyro watched as Fenton’s eyes widened in a slight panic. Before he could accidentally make a scene that would make too much noise and call attention from the children, Gyro spoke, “These machines will need a proper energy source. I couldn’t bring it today, but they’ll need a generator.”

“Will they work properly tonight?” Mrs. Beakley asked as she led the way.

“Yes. Scrooge might see a spike in his energy bill though.” Gyro commented. He didn’t want to be blamed, or have their funding cut because of this.

“He won’t mind.” Mrs. Beackley said.

Both Gyro and Fenton stopped and shared a look with each other before staring at Mrs. Beakley as if she grew another head. She was very aware of what she said, so she added. “Come on. You’ll see.”

When they stepped into the room Mrs. Beakley showed them to, it wasn’t hard to spot Scrooge or the reason they were there. Scrooge was sitting next to a bed that had Donald resting on it. Or it looked like he was resting...but with how tightly Scrooge was holding his hand, it was clear something wasn’t right with the younger Duck.

“Set up the machinery as needed. Being mindful of the cords and the addition of the generator tomorrow.” Mrs. Beakley told them.

Gyro nodded and began setting up the machines. Working around Scrooge and not bothered by being ignored.

Fenton helped here and there but he was more focused on the duck lying in bed. He knew he should probably keep his mouth shut, but he couldn’t help but state, “He doesn’t look hurt. He’s not, is he?”

The machines began to boot up before Mrs. Beakley could answer. There was a heartbeat beeping, there was a rise and fall of Donald’s chest, and the numbers of other vitals popping up on screens. Fenton’s been in the hospital enough times to know what each number meant and for all intents and purposes...Donald was fine.

“My boy will be alright. He’s just...resting. He’s very tired and he’ll have his rest. But he’ll wake...he’ll wake soon.”

Fenton frowned lightly at the wording as well as the tone. It was...off somehow.

Before he could comment, however, Gyro answered Scrooge. “Of course he will.”

Gyro gave him a small stare, which Fenton’s recognized by now and kept quiet. After explaining to Mrs. Beakley what each machine did, adding information about a few others that were also set up but not connected to Donald directly, Fenton learned that one of them provided a warding barrier of some sort, while the other worked as a sort of power detector.

Mrs. Beakley walked them back out and once they reached the door and Fenton was sure they wouldn’t accidentally be overheard by anyone he asked, “What happened?”

Mrs. Beakley told them all she knew. Discovering Donald’s duties to the Goddess of Adventure, Xandra, what she’d asked of him, and what he’s given up.

“And the children do not know this?” Fenton asked with a frown.

“No.” Beakley shook her head. “Donald made an excuse about helping out an old friend and didn’t give a date of return. Scrooge is hoping to...fix this and hopes to spare the children of this knowledge.”

“He sounds...” Fenton didn’t really know what the proper term was.

“He’s been researching nonstop for a few days. Locked himself up, making excuses it was company business. The truth is too close, but he’s unwilling to accept it, no matter how glaringly obvious it is.”

“The truth?” Fenton echoed.

“Donald’s lost.” Gyro stated.

It was heated but unlike other times when hearing that tone, it wasn’t also laced with irritation. At least not with him or anyone nearby. The words hit Fenton a bit hard. “But...but he was...his vitals are fine! He’s alive and his heart and pulse are strong!”

“The heart beats to circulate the blood, the lungs inflate and deflate to allow him to breathe. He is alive...but he’s lost. The last time Scrooge was like this...” Gyro began.

It took a moment to realize, but Fenton felt his heart sink as he remembered Donald wasn’t the first twin Scrooge has ‘lost’. “But Della came back! Donald can come back too!”

“Scrooge will try,” Beakley stated.

Gyro nodded, “Let us know if there’s anything we can do to help.”

She nodded and Gyro and Fenton began making their way out of the estate. Fenton kept eyeing Gyro, really unsure of what to say.

“How can we help?” Fenton finally asked.

“Honestly? There’s little we can do. We can use science to monitor him and make sure he gets the nutrients he needs but considering it was caused by something mythical, there’s little we can do to help Donald himself. That said...he won’t be able to keep this a secret from the rest of his family too much longer. The kids will be affected the most.”

“Pobre chiquitines.” Fenton muttered. It hurt to imagine their heartache.

~~~~~~~~

"I can fix this!" Scrooge insisted.

"I know you'll mean to try, sir. But the children are beginning to worry. About their uncle as well as you. You know them. They'll begin to investigate. It won't be easy...but it will be better if they hear it from you." Beakley told him gently.

His grip on Donald's hand tightened. Whenever his eyes hurt too much from his research and he couldn't read anymore, he would sit by Donald's side and watch his vitals. Holding his nephew's hand he would obsessively watch the monitors that were connected to Donald until exhaustion took hold and he had yet another restless sleep.

It was like losing Della all over again, yet with a new spin of heartache. Donald wasn't lost as Della had been. He was right in front of Scrooge...physically there, vitals strong, and he honestly was sleeping!

Yet...

"Organize a family meeting..." Scrooge mumbled.

Beakley nodded and went to inform everyone in the house.

Scrooge remained for a while longer. "You've got a lot of adventure stories to tell me, lad. I plan to hear them. Every single last one. And maybe join you and your friends on a Caballero quest if I may..." He tried to smile and feel some hope, but his smile quickly turned into a frown. "I should have tried harder, Donald. I'm so sorry...I'm going to fix this. I promise you I will!"  

He took a moment longer to simply watch Donald before he went to do his best to tell his family what happened. Their reactions were all as he expected. Varying in shock and anger and disbelief.  

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Despite the evidence she had about what happened, she just couldn't believe it. She refused to accept defeat! She was Della Duck! Between her and Scrooge, they would find something! They had to! Though Scrooge told her there wasn't any point in visiting any of the deities that remained on Ithaquack, she still had to try.

“I’m so sorry Della...but it’s simply not possible.”

“Don’t give me not possible! Do you guys even care?”  Della cried out, tears of frustration falling down her cheeks.

Selene sighed and gently brushed them away. “I won’t take that personally, for I know how much your heart aches. Storkules is beside himself as well...”

“Then help us! Do something!” Della begged.

“We simply cannot. Even if we wanted to. Not I, nor Storkules though he is more than willing, and not father. Even if he wanted. Which...he doesn’t. But the point is my dear...no god or goddess can undo the work of another deity.”

“This isn’t fair! I came back from the moon, from practically the dead, for my family! Not just my kids! I came back for Donald too. He’s my twin! My other half! This...this isn’t how it was supposed to go! Especially not for him! He gave up everything for my boys! Me coming back wasn’t just so I can get my time with my boys, but it was to make amends with Donald. And somehow help make up for everything he’s done and has personally given up for me and the boys!" She was panting after her burst of emotions. Sniffing a few times, she continued to beg Selene to understand her plight, "I’m hurting this bad....they’re hurting even worse! Can’t Xandra understand this?”

“We’ve spoken with her...”

“You have?” Della asked, a bit shocked.

“Of course. After father refused to help and then reminded Storkules as to why he can’t, my brother went straight to her. He asked, he begged, he threatened...”

“Threatened? Storkules?” Della was glad someone was doing something, but it was still strange to hear of sweet and friendly Storkules wanting to use force.

“For his Donald? Anything...”

“What did she have to say?” Della asked as she wiped her eyes, even if it seemed futile as more tears just kept appearing.

Selene sighed again, “It wasn’t an easy task to ask of him. But Donald was a hero. Not just an adventurer. He had a lot more to do under Xandra’s guidance. A lot more than what some of the adventures with your uncle have called for. In the end, she refused to hear my brother’s pleas and told him it was for the boy’s sake...and his as well.”

“That’s bull,” Della grumbled and crossed her arms.

Selene gave her a sympathetic smile, “Your brother was so full of love, Della. It fueled him as much as his anger did. He melded the two, and used his love to fuel his fury and wielded it like a weapon to protect his family. That...is the brother you remember. That is the Donald my brother and your boys know and love. That is not that Donald they will meet should we wake him.”

“Wha...I....but....”

Selene reached over and gave her hand a squeeze. “I’m sorry. I am. And though Donald without love wouldn’t immediately mean he’d be cruel...but he would be indifferent. I’ve only met him once since you two stopped visiting after your accident. And trust me, with Storkules, I’ve heard plenty of him in between and since...and even filtering out my brother’s feelings for him, he was an amazing person. Who cared. Despite how angry he could get at their actions of heroics and dangerous deeds, under it all...it was worry. Because he cared and loved those who did those dangerous heroics. All of that is gone, my darling. He won’t care if the boys are ill, or if they get hurt, he won’t care if they did well in an event or if accomplished something incredible...”

“That would hurt the boys.” Della relented.

“I know...and so did he. It was his choice, Della.”

“I won’t stop looking for a way to fix this!” Della declared, anger burning behind her desperation, along with love.

Selene smiled gently at her and repeated, “I know.” The doors to the pantheon opened and an exhausted, dirtied, bruised, dejected, and defeated Storkules stumbled through. Selene and Della watched him pass silently, before Selene added, “Trust me...you’re not alone.”

~~~~~~

Huey:

“I made this for you today,” Huey said as he placed the new sleeping mask on his uncle’s closed eyes. “Violet helped me with the elastic band. It’s really tricky. I remember you used to do it for me...I kinda wanna learn it to impress you when you wake up. But I also want you to be the one to help me master it. Violet says hi, by the way. She’s actually helping Webby research. I promised to join them later...I just had to check on you first. I’ve made sure all the monitors are working and calibrated. I’ll check them again before I go to sleep...we’re gonna find an answer. Ducks don’t back down! You taught me that...and there’s so much more. We’re gonna be hitting puberty soon and honestly, I want to learn to shave from you. No offense to Scrooge or Launchpad...I also just miss you, Uncle Donald.” ~~~~~~~

Dewey:

“And it was all so epic! But in the face of danger, I did the responsible thing!” Dewey exclaimed, but then he lost his confidence a bit as his shoulders sagged as he looked at his uncle’s unreactive and unmoving form, “At least I think I did. I uh...It’d be nice having you seeing me try to be responsible...so I’d know it was the responsible thing to do.” He closed his eyes and sighed before opening them again and pleading, “Please wake up Uncle Donald...” ~~~~~~~~~~

Louie:

It was late at night and Louie didn’t care if he looked like a baby at all. He was curled up to his Uncle Donald’s side, holding on tightly and hiding his face in his uncle’s chest. Small sniffles could be heard in the spacious room that didn’t feel as much as Uncle Donald’s room as his hammock on the houseboat.  Into the darkness and against his uncle’s form, he whispered, “If I promise to be good from now on, will you come back to us, Uncle Donald?”

#Aphrodite's Broken Heart #Fanfic #Ducktales 2017 #Donald Duck #Huey Duck #Dewey Duck #Louie Duck #Della Duck #Scrooge McDuck #Gyro Gearloose #Fenton Crackshell #Bentina Beakley #Selene(Ducktales) #Mention of Storkules #Feels #Xandra Goddess of Adventure

[slapshot-to-the-heart]

Flatbush & Atlantic: part i

Quick note: This is taking place in the 2020-21 season, as if the Islanders still play at Barclays; I know they won’t in actuality. In the story, I’m also going to be taking some liberties with what the duties of a team’s general counsel and legal team would actually be in charge of. My understanding, as a pre-law student, is that it’s more on the corporate angle, dealing with contracts and stuff — in addition to that, Cass will also be dealing with some more immigration and employment law as well. 

part i

October 1

“Adiós, mamá. Hablamos pronto. Te amo.” Cassidy hung up, breathing out a tense sigh and rubbing her temples with the heels of her hands. Talking to her mom usually helped to calm her down, bring her back to Earth, but for whatever reason it wasn’t taking. She took a brief glance at the casebook open on her dinged-up Ikea desk. Federal Indian Law. She liked the class, genuinely, but her day had started off bad and gotten worse pretty damn quickly. First she was out of her favorite tea, then her advisor cancelled their meeting, then it started raining as she walked back to her MTA stop, so she had missed the train. Another came fifteen minutes later, but the damage was already done. The only bright spot in the day, aside from calling her mom, had been the cute guy at the Polish deli down the street who had put extra peppers on her Philly cheesesteak. She unwrapped the sandwich, taking a moody bite out of the end. A caramelized onion dropped to the floor. Sighing, she leaned down to pick it up, hurtling it in the direction of the trashcan but only half-looking to see if it reached its target destination. Despite the name, Cass had never had a cheesesteak before she moved to New York, and it wasn’t even because she wasn’t a sandwich person. No, Cass loved a good sandwich, but between her proclivity towards a good BLT and her mom’s homemade Mexican food, she just hadn’t gotten around to it. 

Her laptop dinged with an email notification. What now? She swiped over to the mail page, taking another bite as she read the subject line. Experiential learning requirement - unmet. Her brow furrowed. Unmet? Clicking it open, she scanned the email, clearly something automated from the registrar’s office. Yet to complete Columbia’s experiential learning requirement...We suggest you connect with professors...You have until October 8 to submit...Cassidy never finished her sandwich. “Oh my God,” she muttered to herself, feeling her cheeks heat up. “How could you do this? How could you be so stupid, Cass?” She was normally so on top of everything, never missed a date, never forgot an assignment, so how could she have missed one of the only things left to do to graduate? Her law school required all of the graduates to complete some sort of experiential learning requirement — some kind of externship, clinic, summer associate position, anything to get them “out in the real world.” That’s when it hit her. She had coached her high school’s mock trial team the summer after her first year, and interned at the Hartford County DA’s the summer after. But they paid her. Her school had a weird ‘double-dip’ policy, where you weren’t allowed to take a position for class credit and get paid at the same time. It was a confusing rule, convoluted and bizarre and probably a little bit elitist, but it was a rule. As if the day couldn’t get any worse, and then somehow it did. 

Turning to her laptop, she started searching for just about anything that could possibly help her. The school’s website, the Manhattan District Attorney’s, state offices, NGOs, federal prosecutors, anyone that might have a lead. Frantically dragging over her resumé and throwing together a cover letter that probably (hopefully) looked way more interesting than it actually was, Cassidy fired off email after email after email. Two hours later, she had sent off some twenty-odd applications, hoping that at least one or two would end up panning out. Glancing at her watch, she let out an exasperated breath. 12:22 A.M. Her classes didn’t start until nine, but it took almost an hour and a subway connection to get to Columbia, and she had to eat and shower before. So, really, it meant getting up at about seven. She needed to go to bed. 

Stomach reeling and feeling more resigned than anything, Cass haphazardly brushed her teeth, flossed — it didn’t matter how tired she was, she’d never forget to floss — and clambered into bed, wearing a faded, way-too-big Rangers t-shirt. I’ll be okay. She took a deep breath. It’ll be okay. It has to be. Cassidy Cabrera Shaw was tough as nails and stubborn as hell, and she wasn’t going to let everything she had worked so hard for fall apart so easily. 

Whenever Cass was nervous, or anxious, or afraid, she was never able to sleep well. She ended up waking up at ten past six, sitting in her bed for fifteen minutes praying that she’d fall back asleep, and finally accepting her fate that sleep just wasn’t going to come. Rolling over, she grabbed her phone from where she had left it charging on the nightstand. Nightstand was maybe a generous term for it; technically, it was a wooden milk crate that she had spray painted white when she and the other girls had moved into the apartment two years prior. She had a little bit of money set aside from college, but every penny possible was going towards tuition and those ungodly-expensive books that she had to buy every semester. The mattress and frame were from Ikea, and Cass had brought some things like bedding and a desk from her old room. The rest of it — rugs, lighting, and decorations like her six-inch ceramic peacock (his name was Charles) had come from a combination of Goodwill runs and senior citizen yard sales. 

Wincing as she did so, Cass pulled up her email, bracing herself for the inevitable barrage of rejection. After scrolling past ten or so automated “no longer hiring” and “position has been filled” messages, one caught her eye. She had sent a few emails to professors of hers, not expecting to hear anything back for a few days. It wasn’t perfect by any means, but there certainly were advantages of going to school in a city as massive as New York. All of her professors knew someone and had some kind of connection from their own education, or days in the practice, or childhood summer trips to the Hamptons with someone who just so happened to be a judge on the Second Circuit Court — that last one was last year’s employment law professor. One particular subject line caught her eye. Thought you might be interested, Professor Murakami had written. David, as he preferred to be called, was her Sports Law professor from last year. She didn’t go into the class expecting to enjoy it all that much, if she was being honest. She had gotten a crappy registration time and most other classes were filled, so it had started out as a placeholder and nothing more. Over the semester, though, it had quickly become one of her favorites, combining pieces of everything else she had studied into one cohesive course. Cass also wasn’t in a position to be turning down any potential offers, so she opened the email and started reading. 

I got your email, Cassidy, and think I might be able to help. Okay, so far, so good. I happen to have a contact in the counsel’s office of one of the professional sports teams in the city. That’s exactly what Cass was talking about — where do these people meet each other? Is there some kind of exclusive speakeasy you’re given the password to as soon as you’re admitted to the state bar? Chris Cohen works for the Islanders, and I remember you talking about how interested in hockey you are. Okay, true, but the Islanders? She had practically been born with a Ranger’s jersey on. Beggars can’t be choosers, she thought. I gave him a heads-up that I’d likely be sending a promising candidate his way, so just let me know if this sounds like something you’d be interested in and I’ll send along your contact information. 

Cass couldn’t respond fast enough. Yes, please! 

---

Wednesdays were her ‘easy’ days, if you could say that. She had Environmental Law and Human Rights back-to-back, but anything after noon was pretty much fair game. That being said, it certainly didn’t mean that she was any less stressed. There were at least a hundred pages to read before class the next day, she had a sample essay due for bar prep, and her mind was still racing about the email. Grabbing a gyro from the cart outside of her last class of the day, Cass stress-ate with one hand while continually refreshing her inbox with the other.  Food wasn’t allowed in the library, so she ate the last few bites right outside the doors, throwing away the wrapper and squeezing past the hordes of clearly overwhelmed first-years running to get to class on time. 

Popping her Airpods out of their case and into her ears, Cass briskly made her way up the stairs to the third floor, crossing her fingers that her usual spot, a big blue chair over by the research desk, was open. She was in luck, pulling out a water bottle and laptop and getting to work on editing. Four hours later, she had reached some semblance of satisfaction with her work, shutting off her computer and making her way to the subway. There was about half an hour before she had to transfer to the line that would take her to the apartment; squeezing into one of the last free seats, she tugged out a textbook and a highlighter. Why her professor insisted on assigning the entire text of the United Nations charter was a mystery to her, but she’d rather jump off a cliff than be cold called on without an answer. Transferring at Grand Concourse took about ten minutes — it was rush hour, so the first train to come was entirely full — and another twenty or so minutes later, she was letting herself into her shared East Bronx apartment. 

Hanging up her denim jacket by the door and toeing off her sneakers, Cass let out a not-so-subtle exasperated sigh. 

“One of those days?” Alicia piped in from the kitchen. Alicia also lived in the apartment, one of the four sorority sisters-turned-roommates who had made the move from Connecticut down to New York after graduation. Cass padded into the kitchen, where she was greeted by Alicia in front of a skillet and rice cooker, intensely sautéeing some vegetables.

“You have no idea,” Cass said, hugging her from behind. “Whatcha making?” There were obviously some nights when not everyone was home — most often either Cass or Ryanne, who was in med school — but they always tried to have a few nights a week where someone would cook a meal for the whole house. 

“Japchae, it’s my mom’s recipe,” she replied. “I called her and asked how much sesame oil to use, and she just said ‘until it tastes right.’ Like, I love you, Mom, but that doesn’t really help my cause, does it?”

Cass snorted. “Oh for sure, it’s the same way with me. Do you remember the first time I made tamales down here?” Cass had grown up eating and making tamales with her mom and abuela, but she had never been allowed to really take the reins. She had the recipe, though, so the first night after they were moved in, she ventured down to the closest bodega, bought the ingredients, and decided to try her hand making them from scratch. The recipe, however, left out the key piece of exactly how much water to use for steaming — Cass didn’t know, and her mom had always just eyeballed it. So she had ended up putting in way too little and setting the stove way too hot, and to make a long story short, ended up setting off the fire alarm. The one saving grace was the extremely attractive police office that came to double-check the false alarm, but even he couldn’t wipe the mortified expression off of her face. 

“How could I forget?” Alicia responded with a grin. “Go put your shit down, it’ll be ready in a few.”

Cass playfully rolled her eyes, heading towards her room in the back. “Yes, mother.” Their apartment was a three bedroom; while obviously it would have been amazing for everyone to have their own, it was still New York City and none of them were exactly rolling in the dough. Cassidy and Ryanne were obviously still students, and while Alicia and Stella had actual jobs  — Stella worked international business down by Wall Street and Alicia did something with satellites in Queens — none of them were exactly inclined to set out on their own just yet. So Stella and Alicia shared a room, and she and Ryanne had their own. She shrugged off her jacket, slinging her backpack onto the bed before chugging the rest of her water bottle and checking her phone. Two new emails. A 20% off coupon to Lush, and one from Chris Cohen. Chris Cohen? It took her a minute to remember, but when she did, she couldn’t read it fast enough.

Honestly, Cass didn’t read the whole thing, but got enough information to know that she had an interview Friday afternoon at the office in Brooklyn, that Chris  — he had said to call him Chris — said she came with a stellar recommendation from Professor Murakami (an old law school buddy, figures) and that there was no way in hell she was going to fuck this up. She wouldn’t let herself. 

---

Cass was lucky her Thursdays were so packed; if she had any extra time to stress over her impending interview, she would have, but she couldn’t. She had two ‘free’ hours in between classes, but after she had scarfed down lunch (Alicia had, mercifully, made plenty of leftovers) it was the only stretch she had to hit the gym. Coupled with the time it took to walk there, change, and shower after, there really wasn’t much in the way of downtime. After classes was her bar prep group, and the day was so exhausting that it was pretty much all she could manage to take the train home, microwave dinosaur chicken nuggets, and stumble into bed. After flossing. 

---

If Cassidy lived in any other city, she would have felt wildly out of place on her morning commute. Who shows up to school wearing a suit? She wasn’t an absolute masochist, so her heels were in her bag. But for once in her life she didn’t feel so out of place among the presumably-highbrow, presumably-making-six-figures crowd surrounding her. The suit had been her first big purchase for herself  — she had scraped by without one in college, but invested as soon as she had a little saved up from her summer job at a boutique in town. Her mother had always told her that it was the woman who made the clothes, rather than the other way around, and Cass always did what her mom said. 

Samaira, one of her friends and another editor on the Columbia Law Review, caught up to her as they both left the twice-weekly morning meeting. “You seem kind of jumpy, Cass. What’s up?”

Cassidy wrung her hands and shrugged her shoulders. “I told you that I missed the internship requirement thing, right?” Samaira nodded. “Well, I have an internship in,” she paused to look at her watch, “two hours, and I’m so nervous I’m going to mess this up. I don’t know what I’m going to do if I don’t get it. There’s not time to look for something else, there’s no alternative, and I don’t know what to do if my own stupidity and forgetfulness is the only thing standing in between me and something I’ve worked so fucking hard for—”

Samaira cut her off. “I’m going to stop you there. That’s bull, Cass, and you know it. You are the furthest thing from a disappointment. You’re one of the kindest, sharpest, and most creative people I know, and you’re not going to let something as petty as a deadline stand in your way. Time gets away from all of us sometimes, and it’s nothing to beat yourself up over. I want you to be confident and have faith in yourself, because you deserve it, but if you don’t, it’s okay. I get it. I believe in you enough for the both of us.” She squeezed Cass’ hand. 

She managed a watery smile. “Thanks, Samaira.”

“Any time,” she replied easily. “I’ve got to run to class now, but I want to hear how it went the second you get out, okay?”

“I will.”

Samaira rolled her eyes. “I mean it. You’re going to crush this, Cass. Love you!” She added, waving goodbye as she turned the corner.

There was half an hour before Cass needed to head over to the interview, and before she knew it her feet had taken her to her favorite spot on the north side of Central Park. Grabbing a bagel, she thankfully found the bench empty. After finishing the bagel — she would have preferred cheese, but they were out, so cinnamon raisin it was — and the better part of her Hozier-dominated acoustic playlist, it was time to catch the train. She jumped on with barely a second to spare, grabbing a strap and trying to avoid bumping into anyone. 

A seat opened up about halfway to Brooklyn, and Cass took the opportunity to unceremoniously tug off her much more practical flats and switch into the much more professional ankle-strap heels that had been stuffed in her backpack all day. For a fleeting moment, she was worried what everyone around her would think; she was, after all, technically changing on public transportation. A man got on at the next stop who was dressed head-to-toe in neon orange while carrying a Pomeranian in his purse. Nobody batted an eye. She got over herself pretty quickly.

Getting off at the Barclays Center station, Cass pulled out her phone, opening up the camera to give herself a quick once-over. As much as she hated it, first impressions really were everything. Lipstick? Not smudged. Hair? Minimal flyaways. Teeth? No spinach to be seen. Triple-checking that she had the time right, Cass walked through the doors of the office building, Islanders logo emblazoned on the wall behind the secretary’s desk. 

“Hi,” she said tentatively, catching his attention. “I have an interview with Chris Cohen at 2?” 

The secretary nodded, smiling warmly at her. “No problem. I’m Josh, you can have a seat over there,” he nodded to the small waiting area off to the side, “and I’ll call you when he’s ready for you to be sent up.”

Cass didn’t wait for more than five minutes before Josh gave her the go-ahead, and she was soon headed up the elevator to Chris’ office. “Fourth door on the left. It should have his name on it,” Josh had added. 

She raised her fist, knocking quickly on the frosted glass. It swung open a second later, a kind-looking man with glasses and salt-and-pepper hair answering. “You must be Cassidy. I’m Chris Cohen, so nice to meet you. Come right in,” he said, ushering her through the room, where several other associates sat at desks, and into his office. 

“David’s always good at keeping an eye out for me in his courses, and I was happy he passed you along,” Chris said, pulling out her resumé. “And you’re a 3L, correct?” She nodded. “Good. So let’s dive right into it. What courses and work experience do you have that you feel best position you for success in this position?” Much though Cass was loath to admit it, if there was anything she was good at, it was talking herself up. There was a reason her high school superlative was “Most Likely to be Able to Talk Their Way Out of a Ticket.” She launched into a well-rehearsed response, making sure to lace in her love for hockey once or twice. If nothing else, it would hopefully at least get her some brownie points. He had a few questions about her resumé, asked about her work on the law review, a few hypotheticals about contract law. She was batting a thousand until he asked the dreaded final question. “Do you have any questions for me?” 

Cass was wracking her brain, trying to come up with some intelligent-sounding thing to ask, but nothing came. “Uh—” she started, but was saved by the bell. Or, rather, saved by a frantic door opening and a panicked-sounding Mat Barzal bursting into the room. “Chris, I’ve got a problem.”

#hockey imagine #hockey #nhl imagine #mat barzal #mat barzal imagine #nhl #hockey writing #nhl writing #hockey imagines #nhl imagines #islanders #mat barzal imagines

[pilyarquitect]

War for Genius - 4.- I’ll never fail you again

And as I promised, here you have chapter 4, I hope you'll like it!

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Fenton was in pain, it seemed that there wasn’t a single part of his body that wasn’t screaming in pain. What had happened? Oh yes, the explosion, it was luck that he was self-ejected just before the artificial processor exploded. If he hadn’t, the explosion would have killed him.

But everything else hadn’t been so lucky. Despite not receiving the direct impact of the explosion, the shock wave was enough to make him collide on the water’s surface. He bounced across it several times like a skipping stone before he finally fell and sank under the sea. Any other duck might’ve been carried away by the current or would have given up. But Fenton wasn’t going to give up. He had to get to the shore. He couldn’t leave his mother alone.

Swimming as hard as he could with the pain, the Hispanic duck managed to reach the pier and laboriously climb the ladder. Once he managed to reach the platform, his strength failed him and he collapsed. The last thing he saw before losing consciousness was one of the reporters and the boy who had helped him take control of the suit.

Slowly, Fenton's eyelids parted, and a hospital room appeared before his eyes. Looking to his right, the duck saw that his mother was there, asleep next to him. How long had he been in that position? In a raspy voice, indicating that he hadn’t used his vocal cords for quite some time, the Hispanic duck spoke:

“¿Mamá?”

Instantly his mom woke up and straightened, when she looked at him, her face alighted with radiant joy. She excitedly exclaimed:

“¡Pollito!”

Fenton looked forward again, while his mother rose from the chair, and said:

"I think I was fired,”

And after a few moments of silence added:

"I was definitely fired.”

His mom kissed his head and softly told:

“Just rest right now. Someone sprung for the best VIP hospital suite.”

A sudden voice joined the conversation saying:

"Need a word with you.”

Mother and son looked towards the door and there they saw the richest duck in the world. Imposing, leaning on his cane as usual. Fenton saw him and spoke surprised:

"Mr. McDuck?”

His mother sounded more excited when she said:

“Scrooge McDuck? Oh, I’ll leave you alone.”

And picking up her belongings she walked towards the door. Scrooge took off his hat to say goodbye, but the woman turned to her son and whispered:

"See if you get money out of it, he's loaded.”

Those words provoked a disapproving look on Scrooge's face, although the woman didn't notice. Fenton smiled apologetically, not knowing what to say after what his mother had just done.

Scrooge suddenly returned to his serious expression and walked towards the window of the room, saying:

“You know, I spend a lot of time abroad I won't always be here for Duckburg…”

Then he turned to Fenton and picking an eye, said:

“I need someone to make sure this place is still standing when I get back.”

Unsure what he could be hinting at, Fenton stared at him question ally. Scrooge seemed to understand his bewilderment, because suddenly he turned to the door and shouted:

"Gyro!"

The scientist entered with a canvas bag in his hands. Dropping it on the ground he opened it and took out the helmet of Gizmoduck's suit, saying:

"Mr. McDuck is very impressed by my hero armor and he feels that despite literally every conceivable piece of evidence to the contrary, you are the best person to test the new model.”

He put the helmet on the bed and added:

"The armor is self-contained using your brain as the core processor, arg, go ahead.”

Fenton looked at the helmet and then he said the words that activated the armor:

“Blathering Blatherskite.”

Instantly the helmet flew over his head, making him laugh with happiness, the rest of the armor's pieces were also placed in place, which caused Fenton to exclaim:

"I think I need a new plaster.”

When he finished his transformation, Fenton stood up and looked at Scrooge and Gyro with a radiant smile on his face. Scrooge nodded and said:

"Looking good lad, you work for me now, I just need a name to write in the paychecks."

While smiling, the Hispanic duck answered the question by saying:

"Call me Gizmoduck!"

Another nod from the main duck before he responded:

"It's good that it's Gizmoduck."

Gyro closed his eyes and shook his head. Fenton knew that the scientist disliked that name, but what could Fenton do? It was the first name that came to his mind and so it stuck, apart from the fact that he did like that name.

Gyro opened his eyes again and spoke:

“Anyway, I'm leaving.  I’ve a lot of work to do, and don't forget that even if you now work for Mr. McDuck, you're still my intern. I want to see you in the lab as fast as you’ve the medical discharge, understand?”

Fenton swallowed nervously and replied:

"Yes Dr. Gearloose.”

With that said, Gyro left. Fenton saw him leave, and when Scrooge and himself were alone, Fenton sighed. There was something he’d to say to his new boss, so, in a serious voice, the Hispanic duck spoke again:

"Thank you very much Mr. McDuck, but I must be honest, none of this would have been possible without someone's help."

Scrooge raised an eyebrow and spoke, although his voice seemed more curious than angry:

"Oh yeah? Whose?"

Fenton fiddled with his thumbs and replied honestly:

“A boy of about ten years old with a red shirt and a red cap over his head.”

Scrooge grinned. Why did he seem happy with that news? Was there something Fenton had missed? Scrooge asked then, with a hint of fun in his voice:

"And what makes you think that without him ye wouldn't have achieved it, lad?"

Fenton sighed, lowered his arms on both sides of his body and explained:

"It was him who came up with the idea of using my brain as the central processor."

Scrooge nodded and simply said:

"I see, I like your honesty."

Then he looked back at the door and called:

"Ye can come in now.”

Fenton looked over in surprise and then he saw him. The same duckling he’d been talking about. He was standing at the doorway hesitantly, unsure of whether he should come in.

As soon as he recognized him, Fenton turned his body completely to face the boy and exclaimed:

"It's you!"

The boy took a deep breath before venturing into the room. He said:

"Hi, Fenton... I mean GizmoDuck, I'm Huey."

Scrooge moved to stand beside the duckling and placed a hand on his shoulder. He told Fenton:

"GizmoDuck, I introduce you to my grand-nephew Hubert Duck.”

Fenton stared at them both, the boy... Huey, had called him by his name, did he know his secret identity? How? Who told him? Looking at the rich duck beside him, Fenton asked:

"Did you tell him who I am?"

Before Scrooge could respond, Huey came forward and spoke quickly:

“No, I figured it out on my own, but I promise to keep the secret. Junior Woodchuck word.”

Scrooge then explaining:

"Huey insisted on coming to thank you for saving his life."

That said, the older duck replaced his top hat and said goodbye:

"Well, I leave ye alone, I think ye’ve things to talk about.”

Scrooge left the room closing the door behind him. After this, the two ducks were left alone. Fenton encouraged Huey to sit in the chair beside his hospital bed. Once this was done, Fenton scratched the back of his neck nervously and asked:

"So... you wanted to thank me? Why?"

Huey smiled kindly and responded:

"For saving my life! And for saving everyone's life there in Waddle."

Seriously? Was that what he wanted to thank him for? If Fenton considered everything that happened that day as a failure. If he hadn’t agreed to work for Beaks, there would’ve been no disaster to begin with. And, in fact, if they had managed to get out of it alive, it wasn’t thanks to Fenton, but precisely thanks to the duckling that was now sitting in front of him.

Sighing, Fenton closed his eyes and replied:

"But I... I don't deserve that thanks, really. It's me who should thank you, Huey.”

Huey looked at him with the widest eyes Fenton had ever seen and said:

"Thank me? But I didn’t do anything.”

Fenton giggled and responded:

"Nothing? You were the first person who truly believed that I could be a hero! Not to mention how you were able to connect the suit to my brain.”

Huey smiled slightly at the mention of the last part, and responded:

“Yes, I’ve a small and painful memory of that moment.”

Fenton’s eyes widened in horror. He had forgotten that the boy had been electrocuted when he rewired the suit. In a slightly anguished voice, the older duck asked:

"Are you okay?"

The duckling hurried to answer:

"Yes, yes, I'm fine, it was nothing too bad."

He offered the Hispanic duck a sincere smile. Fenton in turn also smiled. That boy was too kind to him. Looking away at his hands, the older duck said:

"Let's make a deal, I accept your thanks if you accept mine, okay?"

Huey's smile widened and replied:

"We have an agreement!"

And after this he threw himself on Fenton to give him a hug. Fenton was surprised by the sudden action. The rapid movement made him groan in pain, because at that moment he remembered that despite wearing the suit he still had several parts of his body seriously damaged.

Huey immediately pulled away, fearing that he’d been responsible for harming Fenton, although the other duck assured him that it wasn’t his fault.

With Huey's help, Fenton took off GizmoDuck's suit and put it back in the bag. As the adult duck had anticipated, he now needed another plaster. While he was calling someone from the hospital staff, he asked Huey to hide the bag in the closet. He didn't want anyone else to know that he was GizmoDuck.

The duckling immediately did what Fenton had asked for and when he finished, he checked the time on his phone and announced that he had to leave. But before doing so, he asked Fenton if he could visit him again. The Hispanic duck smiled broadly and assured the duckling that he could come whenever he wanted. This brought a smile to the little duck and promised that he would visit again soon.

Fenton was left alone again until a nurse arrived who, seeing Fenton’s state, screamed in horror and called for more staff to help replace the broken plaster of the badly injured duck.

When the nurse asked how that had happened, Fenton simply replied that he tried to move and ended up falling out of bed, which caused a good part of the immobilizations he was carrying ended broken.

Fortunately, hospital staff seemed to buy his excuse, so no one in that environment would know how the plaster actually. His secret was safe.

Several days passed and Fenton recovered quickly. Huey came to see him whenever he had time. The duckling was very considerate and affectionate in that sense, always trying to bring the adult duck things to entertain himself; or telling stories of his adventures or ideas of how to improve the suit...

Actually, that boy had very good ideas. Maybe it’d be good if Huey could present those ideas to Dr. Gearloose. Surely, they'd be good implementations for his suit. But in addition to all those ideas, Fenton was mostly pleased with Huey’s kindness and generosity. Of all the times he came to visit him, not once did Huey do anything of his own interest. He always tried to satisfy him as much as he could. To Fenton, it was a truly admirable character trait, and Fenton secretly increasingly felt that the real hero was Huey, and not him.

When he was finally discharged from the hospital, Fenton actually felt a little sad. He’d become accustomed to Huey's almost daily visits, and now he couldn’t enjoy the company of the duckling anymore. Unless he came to see him at the laboratory, but that would be a different environment. They would no longer have the chance to speak in the same way as they did in the hospital. But on the other hand, being finally out of that building, allowed him to start his hero duties as GizmoDuck. He was willing to do the best he could. He didn’t want to disappoint anyone, especially, not the first person who believed in him.

When he went out into the street, with the canvas bag hanging over his shoulder, he breathed the outside air for the first time in several days. Fenton felt strengthened. He’d missed walking down the street. Suddenly, a car with some Beagle Boys passed in front of him, the police got in pursuit. That made him smile. It was time to start his new job. Moving behind a corner, the Hispanic duck left the bag on the ground and shouted:

"Blathering Blatherskite!"

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And this is all for this week, I hope you liked both chapters. If so, please don't doubt on share your thoughts.

Just one thing more, this translation wouldn't be as good as it is without @empro-8's help. I'm really, really thankful to her!!!

#ducktales 2017 #War for Genius #Fenton Crackshell Cabrera #gloria cabrera #scrooge mcduck #Gyro Gearloose #Huey Duck

[vulpinmusings]

Ski’tar and Friends part 20: Show Stoppers of Songbird

This week, Ski’tar, Vemir, and 6 attend the biggest concert event of the year.

Part one Previously Archive

Following our mission to Apostae, we took a couple of days to rest and restock. Vemir decided to get a prosthetic arm to replace the one he’d been missing since before we first met.  As he was showing it off to us, we received a rare surprise: actual physical mail.  There was an envelope of each of us, and inside were invitations to join Zigvigix in attending a Strawberry Machine-cake concert, one of the biggest entertainment events of the Pact-year.  Since it would be a nice change of pace, and because Vemir is a massive closeted fan of the band (he was trying too hard not to look interested through the whole event), we decided to accept the offer.

Our hopes for a relaxing day of no trouble were dashed the morning of the concert, when Historia-7 commed us for a last-minute mission.  By happenstance, Historia had tracked one of the mystery people hiding behind Arch-energy Consortium to a private villa attached to Songbird Station, the very venue where SMC was performing.  Since Vemir, 6, and I were going to be in the area anyway, Hisroria wanted us to hunt down the man and grill him for everything he knows, and to do so without letting Ziggy know about it.  It seems our Shirren friend’s depression over the Scored Stars incident has interacted poorly with some augments he has and put him at a high risk for a stroke if he were to get too stressed by, say, his favorite band’s concert being ruined by shenanigans.

I was very close to refusing to work on a “vacation,” but my friends just agreed to the task and I wasn’t about to leave them hanging.

Songbird Station is built out of an asteroid and probably had a past life as some sort of temple, given the slap-dash way the technology was set up behind the scenes.  But I’m getting ahead of myself.  As our shuttle was making its final approach, Ziggy showed us a hologram of the friends he’d lost at Scored Stars and revealed his desire to ask Strawberry Machine-cake to put on a public tribute of sorts for them after the show.

The lobby was packed with beings of all descriptions, creating a living sea of pink and red, loud music, and spontaneous dance parties. After making sure Ziggy was properly distracted by the fan activities, 6, Vemir, and I held a quick conference to decide how to go about locating our target, Lansio.  I hacked a computer to see if he was on some sort of guest list, but came up empty, so we tried to find someone official-looking to ask.  We chose a harried-looking security guard who was posted by the door to the maintenance and station power area, but as we tried to make our way over we got caught up in a dance mob. Well, 6 and I got caught in it.  In the name of maintaining cover, we bowed to the mob’s pressure and danced for a bit.  Well, 6 danced and won himself a t-shirt. I tripped over myself.

You’d think an Ysoki would be more naturally agile than an android…

There was another momentary detour as I bumped into a tele-view done with a misaligned balance gyro and felt compelled to fix it for the sake of the Ysoki using it to attend the concert remotely.  He transferred me some credits for my trouble, so that was a nice bonus.

We reached the security guard as he was arguing with a couple of lashunta about needing to apply pacification mods to their weapons. When the lashunta left, Vemir went up and offered up his sniper rifle for pacification, and 6 and I followed suit with Sixer’s sword and my laspistol.  Having thus charmed our way into the guard’s good graces, we asked him if he knew Lansio.  He told us Lansio had a villa in the residential section, but didn’t know if he was home.

Right then, the power went out for a couple seconds.  When asked, the guard told us that had been happening intermittently in the last few hours and no technicians had gone to check on it yet.  Concerned about Ziggy’s health and remembering a similar problem from Elytrio, I convinced the guard to let us into the maintenance area to check the station’s power generator.

After heading through a hallway thick with wires that had been strung onto the walls and ceiling, we entered the reactor room to find three strange, pale figures that were glowing and seemed to have only a passing familiarity with the concept of materiality.  For lack of a better identifier, I termed them “Gremlins” for their child-like but innately destructive nature.  They were clustered around the reactor, chattering among themselves, until 6 got their attention. They spoke of the reactor as if it were an egg about to hatch, and then one of them came up and poked me.  Its finger phased into my chest and I felt something in me change in a most unpleasant way.

I flipped out and shot the gremlin.  While my laspistol had been pacified, it still somehow set the thing on fire.  It laughed as if being tickled, and its two buddies started to advance on Sixer and Vemir, curious what would happen if they got touched.

We weren’t going to have any of that, of course, but defending ourselves proved difficult because the gremlins kept phasing through things and easily reforming from being sliced or shot through. Toosie managed to hold the first Gremlin’s attention away from me and whatever had changed in me decided to pop out and off me, but Vemir got mutated twice – first with some kind of external and very stinky gland and later with a second set of eyes – and Sixer’s hand was changed into a bio-mechanical claw.  The scuffle only ended when one of the Gremlins got the idea of jumping into the reactor and 6 seized the controls to keep the power stable.  That gremlin wound up evaporating, and the other two quickly surrendered when I told Toosie to try dragging one of them to the reactor.

The gremlins promised to stop playing around, but said the reactor had already been messed with by someone else and was building up to something.  I took over the controls from 6 and took a look at the code.  I found a foreign algorithm, but I couldn’t make much sense of it because it involved a lot of magic.  What I did manage to decipher revealed a process to vent the atmosphere out of the villa owned by Lansio.

Vemir cut the stinky gland off of himself, but couldn’t do anything about his new eyes despite them being so light-sensitive that he was effectively blind.  We guided him back out to the lobby and over to the gift-shop area to buy a bandanna to cover the eyes.  We then forded the sea of fans to reach the entrance to the private villa section.  Vemir had to shove off an over-enthusiastic collector of SMC merch and I was waylaid by another dance mob and, rather make a further fool of myself, I had Toosie bull through the crowd so I could continue walking.  Somebody found that to be a crime worthy of throwing a full can of soda at my head, but I shrugged it off.  Vemir then wound up playing taxi for three little snake-like girls for a bit and earned a crystal headdress for his trouble.

The door to the villa area was only blocked by a simple rope and nobody that we passed inside gave us more than a brief glance, so we had no trouble getting to Lansio’s address. Nobody answered my polite knock, but Vemir heard frantic movement inside, so we invited ourselves in.

Lansio was working hurriedly at a laptop, so 6 rushed up and threw him against the wall.  I moved up in the android’s wake and checked the computer, quickly determining that it had been rigged to explode.  As Toosie and Vemir came in and took up positions, an attack drone like the ones we’d fought and obtained from the bad weapons deal emerged from a hidden spot in the wall.

Lansio drew a cane-sword and tried to attack me, but I blocked the blow with my prosthetic arm and decided to take the laptop to a less busy part of the villa to disarm it.  Toosie and 6 busied themselves trying to subdue Lansio and get the wrist-watch I would need to finish my work, while Vemir tore the attack drone apart with his retractable wrist-spike.  In short order, Toosie got the watch for me, the drone was disabled, and 6 had thrown Lansio out the back door.  I disarmed the laptop’s explosive countermeasures, but the data it held had already been wiped.

6 started to drag Lansio back inside for questioning, until I reminded him that the place might still lose atmosphere at any moment.  Vemir handled most of the interrogation.  Lansio didn’t know anything about the malicious code and the only name he had for his boss was “the Benefactor,” but it was at least something.

We debated a bit about what to do with Lansio, weighing the risks of leaving him to alert his compatriots to what had occurred against the difficulty of getting him back to the Society without tipping Ziggy off to our mission.  Finally, we decided to kick the problem upstairs into Historia’s lap.  After we filled her in, she said she had some strings she could pull to have station security handle Lansio for us.  She also told us that the malcious magic-code had a degree of artificial intelligence and was trying to escape into the info-sphere.  It was currently contained inside the holographic projectors being used for Strawberry Machine-cake’s show, and so long as it was there we would be able to “kill” it by destroying the hologram that it would inhabit.

We rushed back to the theater area and used out Starfinder credentials to get backstage in the hopes of being able to deal with the evil hologram before the show began.  Unfortunately, according the band manager, there simply wasn’t time for that and the show simply could not be delayed.  Our only option was to battle the hologram on-stage as a pre-show performance, with SMC providing a musical back-drop.

It was the coliseum of Brilliance Station all over again, but there was no other option, so I accepted the holo-costume projectors given to me and walked out with Vemir and 6 to hopefully not make a complete fool of myself.  

The malicious code decided to take the form of a giant pink robot armed with a plasma sword and large rifle.  When the music started up, the thing struck a pose before engaging us, which was a nice touch.

I opened with a couple of grenades that bounced off and exploded harmlessly, while 6 landed a good shot with his frostbite rifle and Vemir sniped it in the head.  The hologram-bot reeled to the beat before momentarily shifting into a tank-like form and unleashing a shockwave of electricity that knocked Toosie over.

As my drone picked itself, up, Vemir and I moved to flank the bot while 6 hacked at it with his sword and got smacked by the large plasma sword in response.  Toosie and 6 then hacked at the bot’s feet until it fell to its knees, and Vemir blasted it with his arc pistol, to great effect.

In a desperate position, the hologram raised its rifle and fired in an arc that hit everyone but me, and the Vemir took it out with another arc pistol shot to the head.  The hologram exploded in a shower of sparks and a wave of electricity, and the lights went down as the music stopped.

After a moment to raise the audience’s tension, the lights came back up to reveal a large holographic image of Zigvigix’s lost friends, and Strawberry Machine-cake’s lead, Captain Carmine, came out to deliver a moving tribute to those Starfinders lost to Scored Stars. At this point, I figured that Historia had pulled a few more strings than she’d implied to us, for the sake of Ziggy.

Vemir, 6, and I were given an unprompted moment to say something, which we muddled through, and then we quickly got off the stage so the actual show could go on.

We made our way into the audience to join Zigvigix, gave him some vague explanations, and finally got to enjoy the show.

Afterward, the band gave us some of their merchandise along with some actually useful gifts.  We had to fend off some reporters looking for details of what had happened before we could get onto out shuttle and return to Absalom Station.

I complained a lot throughout this adventure, but looking back on it now, it wasn’t really that much of a headache.  At least, after putting aside the mutations caused by those gremlins.

#ski'tar #Starfinder #Vulpin plays

[ylla]

Green Isn’t Your Color

Series: JJBA Characters: Josuke Higashikata, Okuyasu Nijimura, polnareff is kinda there Pairing: Josuyasu Tags: modern AU, jotakak mentioned one whole time, josuke is protective and okuyasu is a culinary student who’s working his ass off Rating:

AO3 tag

I farted this out in record time today. I’ve been trying to bang out fics before school starts back up and all my free time is eaten up by it. If I manage to get into the flow of writing, I’ll keep writing, but if I fall out of it, then I just stop and never write again for like, a million years.

Please enjoy Polnareff’s advice and Josuke shitting all over someone’s life because they picked the wrong person to fuck with.

Josuke didn’t believe in getting jealous. Why would he? He knew he’s a good looking guy; has the best taste in fashion, music, and men (better than the rest of these chucklefucks on campus at least). Heads turned wherever he went, girls fell over themselves to just be near him; hell, people even offered him modeling jobs. He was always showered with compliments, but he really didn’t give a shit about other people’s opinions of him (unless it was about his hair, then he would go to war over that).

He only cared what Okuyasu thought. Josuke knew he wasn’t just a handsome dude, but also an incredibly lucky one at that. No one could find a better boyfriend than Okuyasu Nijimura. It was impossible. Oku was the piece he never realized he was missing. And as long as Oku thought he was sexy, then that was all he needed.

So yeah, why would Josuke Higashikata be jealous of anyone?

That was question he asked himself, as he once again found himself grinding his teeth down to nothing at the sight of a pack of girls flirting with his boyfriend.

His classes for the day had been cancelled; he had the same professor all day and she had informed them that she was very ill and wouldn’t be in for the rest of the week. So, he decided to surprise Okuyasu, but lo and behold, his boyfriend was slammed with legit customers and a horde of females, and didn’t even notice when Josuke walked in.

Okuyasu was one of three freshmen that was accepted into the very prestigious, only accepts 5 students every other year, culinary program at their university. He busted so much ass and worked so goddamn hard to get in, and Josuke was so fucking proud of him.

A bonus to getting into the program (or a curse, depending on who you asked) was working in the culinary program’s café. It was completely ran by students, with only some oversight from the department, so students got carte blanche on the menu. Typically about 3 to 4 students were assigned together in a group, and the schedule rotated who took orders and who cooked. And every single time Okuyasu was manning the cash register, the same pack of girls would hog up all the seats at the counter to talk to him.

Josuke knew that Okuyasu loved him more than anything. And he could plainly see how uncomfortable his boyfriend was, surrounded by a fawning crowd of women who kept trying to touch him.

If he was honest, he couldn’t blame them and he wondered if Okuyasu felt the same way he did when Josuke was accosted by girls.

Okuyasu didn’t really do his hair up like normal due to food reasons, so he wore a snapback turned backwards to keep his shorthairs from falling out of his ponytail. If it was anyone else, it would look bad, but Oku was so cute in it. Tomoko had nagged him into going to the eye doctor after learning that he had never been to one in all of his 19 years of living. So it turned out he needed glasses, and now wore thick, black square-shaped frames whenever he had to do a lot of reading or writing. Work didn’t require a uniform, but he had to wear plain, solid color t-shirts, which was paired with nice skinny jeans and he usually wore Converse low-tops with it. To top it off, Josuke had went with him a few weeks ago to get his ears pierced.

He was every hipster’s wet dream. Which was the exact type of girls he was attracting: girls with piercings, multicolored hair, and tattoos who talked to him like he was this unemotional hardass, when in reality, he was the softest person Josuke had ever met. Gruff on the outside, gooey on the inside (a good example of this is like how Okuyasu always bawled his eyes out when Josuke brought him home sunflowers, then called him a sappy little shithead before giving him a kiss).

They had talked about this flirting problem before. Oku had made it very clear from the beginning that he had a boyfriend, whom he was madly in love with. This did help some, but the biggest, thirstiest offenders only became more aggressive in their flirting. He was too nervous to ask them to leave, in fear that they would kick up a big fuss and he would lose his job and thus, his place in the program. Most of the upperclassmen just teased him about it, rather than actually help. The only ones who cared was the other two freshmen, and they ran interference when they could.

Josuke didn’t want to jeopardize anything, so he had to suck it up and watch from afar as the ring leader, who was super-duper thirsty, stroked Oku’s arm. He immediately felt his blood pressure rise and decided he needed to have a smoke before he lost his damn mind.

The only good thing about a cold ass February morning was that the frozen wind did wonders in calming someone down. Mostly because your thought process devolves from “I’m so goddamned mad” to “JESUS CHRIST, IT’S COLD”. Unfortunately, it was only slightly working with Josuke. He paced in front of the entrance of the building, muttering cusswords to himself, feeling like a real McAsshole for being so pissy.

He needed to talk to someone, he needed some honest to god advice.

Josuke pulled out his phone and scrolled through his contacts: not Koichi, definitely not Jotaro or his husband Noriaki, not his mother because she would personally come to campus to wreak havoc, not Johnny or Gyro, not…

Well it’s not like he had many options after this.

He placed his call, feeling like a bastard because it was probably about 1 am in France.

The phone picked up on the second ring, “Bonjour, Josuke. This is a surprise.” Polnareff sounded wide awake.

“Hey man, uh, I didn’t wake you up, right?”

“No, you actually caught me at a good time,” there was an inhale, then exhale of breath, “I was just having my post-sex cigarette.”

Josuke groaned, “Gross, I didn’t need to know that.”

“Well, you are the one who called me at 1 in the morning, so forgive me.” Polnareff spoke in rapid French to someone in the background, “Anyways, what is on your mind, my pompadoured friend?”

This was a mistake, but it was too late. He had to soldier on, “I need…advice.”

There was a sharp, pleased squeal on the other end, “Really?? I’m so touched. I should have this moment bronzed so I can always remember this—“

“I’m hanging up.”

“Non non non, don’t be like that,” Polnareff said, trying to be placating, “Tell me, what’s wrong? Surely, you’re not after love advice?”

“Well…”

Josuke relayed the problem with Oku’s aggressive fan club. Polnareff listened without interrupting, only speaking when he was done, “So let me get this straight. You are upset that Okuyasu has all these fangirls after him, and he can’t get them to go away, in fear that he will lose his job?”

“Yeah.”

“And you don’t want to do say anything that could get him in trouble?”

“Pretty much.”

He heard Polnareff light up another cigarette, “And you also feel bad for feeling, as you put it, jealous over all the attention he’s getting?”

“It’s not because he’s getting attention,” Josuke was working on his second cigarette, “It’s that these harpies won’t leave him alone and keep flirting when he’s clearly uninterested.”

“Worried about competition?” Polnareff chuckled.

“No! I mean—I guess? I’ve never had to deal with this before,” Josuke said, frustrated that he felt unable to articulate how he felt without sounding like a complete toolbag, “Oku’s never had a lot of attention paid to him, which is a travesty—“

“Clearly not that big of a travesty, considering how you’re feeling right now—“

“He’s just such a sweet, good person! And so good to me! Not to mention, he’s hot as fuck, and stacked like a brick shithouse. It’s fucked that I’ve been the only person to see that…“

Polnareff made some assenting noises, before speaking in rapid French to whomever was there with him again. He turned his attention back to the phone, “Your colorful description aside. Are you worried that he’s going to find someone better and move on, now that he has all this new found attention?”

Josuke took to pacing again, “…I guess. But I mean, who could be better than me, am I right?” His laugh was hollow sounding.

“If it makes you feel better, you’re not jealous, you’re just being territorial.”

“Isn’t that like, bad?”

The Frenchman tutted, “A little possessiveness is fine, as long as it isn’t abusive or damaging. You’re also naturally protective over people you care about, so it feels worse when you notice that Oku’s uncomfortable.”

“Damn, that’s true,” Josuke sighed, finishing his cigarette.

“Also, he’s head over heels in love with you, kid. You don’t have anything to worry about as far as him ‘finding someone better’. He lives and breathes for you.”

Josuke glanced down at the bracelet on his right wrist. On their 1 year anniversary, Okuyasu had bought him a delicate little gold bracelet that had 3 small golden stars linked together. You’re the stars in my sky, and I love you is what Oku whispered to him when he clipped it on; Josuke may or may not have cried a disgusting amount of tears.

“I know. Just…feeling insecure I guess…” Josuke paused, “If you tell anyone what I just said, I will fly to France and shave you bald.”

“Yeesh, no need for threats. I have no plans on repeating this to anyone.” Polnareff sounded like he was wincing, nothing hurt him like threats to the hair, “Everyone feels insecure at some point in their life, even us beautiful people.”

“Just making sure.” Josuke sat back down, and fought the urge to smoke a third cigarette, “So, how do I deal with all this…” he made a gesture, but remembered Polnareff couldn’t see him, “all this horse shit?”

“My advice? Stake your claim. You don’t have to be a total dick. You don’t have to get loud or aggressive. All you need to do is get one of those seats at that counter, and mark your territory in front of all those girls.”

“What if they get pushy?”

He could hear the grin in Polnareff’s voice, “Just be your sweet self. Do everything I would do.”

“Don’t think I’m gonna get that adventurous, but I’ll keep that in mind. Thanks Pol, I owe you one.”

“You sure do, but that’s a conversation for another time. Goodnight, kiddo.”

“Night, man.” With that Josuke hung up, already scheming.

When he reentered the café, it was still earlier than he normally did, but the rush had died down considerably. All of the girls were gone save for the ring leader, who was sitting in the second nearest seat to the cash register. Josuke made a beeline for the one right beside it. Oku had looked to the door with a faint scowl, clearly not had having a good day until he saw it was Josuke that had walked in. His scowl melted away into that bright, sunny grin that had earned him his pet name, “Look who it is. Did class end early?”

Josuke took a seat and just made himself right at home, “Hey sunshine,” he smirked at the color that flooded his boyfriend’s face and pointedly ignored the death glare he was getting from the girl beside him, “No, my classes with Professor Kuhn got cancelled for the week, so I decided to stop in early. How’s your day been?”

“Bad, but now that you’re here, it’s a million times better.” Oku put his elbows on the counter, laced his fingers together, and rested his chin on them, “What do you want?” His glasses were slightly sliding down his nose; he was so cute.

“Hmmm, I dunno…” Josuke looked up at the ceiling, tapped his chin, pretending to think really hard before looking directly into Oku’s eyes, “Are you on the menu?”

If Oku went any redder, Josuke would be slightly concerned, “M-Maybe later…” Josuke heard a huff beside him but ignored it, “Uhm, how about for now though?”

“Well, I guess I can settle for my usual.” He slid Oku’s glasses back up into place for him.

“Gotcha. You want any fruit with it?”

“Hmmm, gimme strawberries, with a chocolate drizzle.”

“Aye aye. Hey guys,” He hollered into the open window, “I need a plate of crepes, with strawberries and chocolate drizzle, please and thank you.”

“Is it for your maaaaan?” called out what appeared to be a sentient high ponytail, since that was all Josuke could see in the back.

“Yeeeahhh…” Oku answered, blushing hard.

A buff, surly looking dude walked into view, “I suppose you’ll want to cut the strawberries to arrange them in a heart? Or sprinkle the confectioners’ sugar on with love?” he teased, light French accent coloring his voice.

Okuyasu sputtered, “S-s-shut your mouth!! Maybe I do, what’s it to you??” The buff guy winked at Josuke before walking out of view again. Looked like Josuke wasn’t the only one who had put up with an obnoxious Frenchman today. “Bastard,” huffed Okuyasu, still smiling and flushed despite the insult, “I’m gonna go cut the strawberries and shit. Holler for me if anyone walks up front, okay?”

“Go do work, sunshine, I’ll be waiting.” Josuke blew an obnoxious kiss at him. Okuyasu’s ears and neck were blood red as he skittered to the back.

Now that Oku was out of earshot, Josuke finally peeked at the girl beside him. She had gorgeous lime green colored hair; nose and lip rings, with a tattoo of some kind of dragon snaking up her arm. Very pretty, but her face was twisted into a sour glare, determinedly not looking at Josuke.

“I’m a lucky guy…” He sighed dreamily. Greenie didn’t even spare him a glance. “Hey,” he said, as if he was realizing for the first time he had seen her before, “You come in here a lot, right?”

“Yep.” She didn’t even look at him, pretending to be very interested in her phone.

Josuke turned his head towards her, resting it in his right hand, “Don’t you think Okuyasu’s the greatest?”

“Yeah, he’s cool.” She grunted, clearly not wanting to have this conversation.

“You know, my mom always told me to find someone who knew how to cook, was cute, and could kick ass. Never imagined I’d find all of that in one person.”

Greenie finally turned towards him, a thin, insincere smile on her face, “Must be nice.”

Josuke gave her a shit-eating grin, “Hell yeah it is… Hey, between you, me, and this counter,” he leaned in closer, speaking softer, “No one ever flirted with Okuyasu or pursued him except for me. Most people don’t realize how wonderful he is until they get to know him.” Josuke faced forward, watching Oku work in the kitchen, laughing at something the girl with the ponytail was saying. “He never had fangirls until…” Josuke’s eyes slid back over to her, “He started working here.”

She had the decency to look guilty, but it snapped into a sneer, “What, you wising up and realizin’ you got some competition?”

Unable to help himself, Josuke threw his head back and guffawed, “Oh honey, like you even stood a chance.” He looked back down at her, “There isn’t a chance in hell you could ever get with him. You’re not even his type.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re scared I’m gonna steal him away—“

Josuke started cackling again, “That’s too funny, you think you are remotely close to my level.” He leaned over again, going for the kill, “Green really isn’t your color, especially with your complexion. It washes you out and brings out those bags under your eyes.”

Honestly, Josuke expected her to either: A) start throwing punches or B) start crying. He got option C, which was her looking ready to murder him, but instead of acting on it, she threw all of her shit into her bag, and stormed off without paying.

“Don’t let the door hit your sad, flat ass on the way out,” Josuke called after her.

Okuyasu came back out carrying his food, “Did she leave without paying?”

“Looks like it. Can I get some water, babe?”

“Thank god,” Okuyasu sighed in relief, “She’ll be banned from coming here again. No more havin’ to deal with that shit anymore.” He slid Josuke the cup of water, “Tell me what you think.”

Josuke took a bite out of his lunch: fabulous, as usual. “You made these, didn’t you?”

“Maaaaybe. Do you like it?” Oku looked into his eyes, searching for a lie he assumed was coming.

“It’s amazing,” Josuke smiled up at him, “You’re amazing, and I love you.” He picked up one of Oku’s hands and kissed it, “Mine.”

His boyfriend went bright red, “Yours.” Oku pulled out his phone, “Alright I gotta clock out and get to class, I’ll be done around noon. You wanna go back to your place after I’m done?”

“Yeah babe, sounds like a plan. I’ll be waiting right here for you.”

Okuyasu walked into the back to get his stuff. When he returned he kissed Josuke’s forehead, “Enjoy lunch, I love you.”

“Love you too.”

There was a chorus of OOOOO’s from the kitchen; Oku flipped them the bird and kept walking. Josuke chuckled to himself as he finished his food.

“Oku’s got it baaad~” sang ponytail girl.

“Good job on getting rid of that girl,” The French guy was hanging out of the window, “Never thought we’d be able to get her out of here.”

Josuke held up three fingers, “There’s three things in in my life you don’t fuck with,” he started ticking down digits as he spoke, “My hair, my mother, and Okuyasu. If you fuck with them, I will ruin your whole day.”

“Sounded like you shat all over that girl’s life.”

He sniffed, “Wasn’t the worst thing I could’ve said to her.”

Like a good boyfriend, Josuke did homework and waited patiently for Okuyasu. He didn’t even realize how much time had passed until Oku plopped down beside him, “I hate math. I don’t get that algebra shit.”

Josuke patted his shoulder before putting his books into his bag, “You’ll do great in business math next semester.”

“If you say so.”

“I do say so, and I’m right all the time.” Josuke hopped up, “Let’s go home.”

Okuyasu sighed and heaved himself up, “Only if we stop and get ice cream on the way, I’ll pay.”

“You spoil me…” Josuke gave him a smooch on the cheek before intertwining their fingers. He pulled his boyfriend close so he could whisper in his ear, “And I’ll spoil you when we get to my place.”

Josuke could feel the heat radiating off of Oku’s ear, “O-oh? You…you got anything in mind?”

“A lot of things, actually. But that’s all dependent on whether or not you’ve been a good boy—EEEE!” Josuke didn’t expect Okuyasu to pick him up like a bride to haul ass home.

They ended up saving ice cream for later.

#okuyasu nijimura #josuke higashikata #josuyasu #josuke x okuyasu #jjba

[thebottomoftheapple]

The Comeback Kid

HELLO... It’s.Been.AGES.

I owe myself a hugeeee apology for not writing since mid 2017. The Year is now 2019 WOW. Kinda unreal, kinda exciting since welp 2018 was nottttt itttttt. BUT before we go let me recap– as much as I can– of where I left off.

Shortly after my last post (finishing off junior year) I went to Altanta (Suwanne) to stay with Tio Edwin + family WHILE I interned with Resolve Media Group ❤️❤️and it was honestly one of the most amazing yet ordinary taste of adulthood to this day! I first work on the LifeTime movie (Oscar Pistorious) for the first month which was a great learning experience and met some great people. After that, I worked more at Resolve and the amazing Chad, Will, and even Mac. And ofc Jay and Summer! I was an Office PA, Overall Set PA, and Art PA. And honestly though the hours were sometimes unbearably long, I was happy! I was in a grove, I enjoyed getting up and going to working and driving hours through Atlanta traffic everyday. I’m pretty sure I was at my lowest weight at the end of that summer and tan(ish) ugh I miss it a lot. BUT, God willing, I may be back there soon enough, doing what I love! Ahh and after I came back to NY, I went right to another one of my favorite places LONDON💙💙 

London and abroad was something else and there’s no way I could write it all down but the best and worst of those memories I’ll never forget. From LIVING in a London flat to seeing my Dad in Barcelona, running away from the Florence police, looking for my phone off the train tracks of Italian campos, trying my first (and still only) gyro in Greece, birthday peeing in the streets of Budapest, living one of my absolute favorite fairytale lives in Amsterdam, and playing house and thinking I found the love of my life off a foreign tindr swipe 😂. Abroad was truly an amazing experience and I can’t wait to (because I definitely will!) go back for more adventures!

I came back to NY at the end of 2017... with a boyfriend lmao. Well at the time I would have been soooo gee and happy, I really thought I was part of that statistic of people who come back from abroad in a long distance relationship lol.... and then eventually go back and live happily ever after. But nope that didn’t happen but absolutely for the best. But i was really happy and you could tell, I just felt lighter and less mentally/emotionally strained like I had been with previous lovers. WHICH!! is so bad because I feel like that means I put too much emphasis on having romantic relationships in my life. But I think the switch was so different because I had been dealing with BS for so long... Nabil treated me better than anyone, spoiled me tbh, but also gave me more attention and affection than anyone had before... definitely the funnest sex lol, humor, music, and real conversation about real things... which also turned out to be the core of why he was definitely not the one aha... But back to emphasizing relationship, that’s really evident now especially because I haven’t dealt with anyone for almost a year but if I’m being honest it’s actually like 6 months (the devil never stops working haha), which is still long for me and honestly I wouldn’t have it any other way because my life right now has no room for any of that–literally. So that’s been fine... that was a secondary concern, ya know a lil heartbreak but a lot of more lessons learned about myself. And now I’m so used to not dealing with anything of that nature all together that it’s definitely not a priority coming into 2019. (OFC I get in my bag sometimes, think about an old ting, but none of that was ever going to be what I wanted it to)

Thank U, Next! lol no but to get into my biggest concerns this past year, has been about me. Specifically my future/career and what steps to take because now I absolutely have control on what’s next. Oh yeah I graduated college btw, which is the reason why I was (am) so lost because it’s not school! I mean it could be, but I really don’t think it’s necessary. That weighed on me heavy throughout the summer because I did eventually get an internship at NowThis Media, which is where I’m still freelancing at now, but I knew that wasn’t what I wanted to be doing long-term. Lmao yet here I am 🤦‍♀️but no honestly it’s not terrible, it’s great experience/for my resume and money is good enough for someone saving and not paying real bills rn (shoutout to my amazing mother 😭). I have a better plan now but things could change maybe if the position/MONEY is right but we’ll see. The plan is to go back to Atlanta, stay with family again, and see if it’s possible to do what I love and make a living out of it and officially move there. And to do that by the summer I need to start planning now but I’m trying to time everything out. SO there’s that.. I’m praying for the best 🙏🙏🙏

Last but not least, ME, mentally, physically, spiritually ME. Honestly coming out of the great year that was 2017 I thought I was on such a great path and I was but things happen aha... it wasn’t until after graduation that I started to get really sad because of of the whole ‘what am I going to do/what’s my calling’ but I thought it was pretty normal because it is for a lot of people. But I underestimated that sadness because it definitely got worse going into the Fall. I mean not 100% unbearable sadness like 2015 💆Thank God. But I had my moments, like just feeling lost and out of place, not enjoying my daily routine (inc. work, social media), car L’s of course 🙄, friendship tribulations, and just unfortunate events that have messed with my spirit and energy. 

BUT! definitely some good outcomes... health wise: I joined a gym! and have gone at least 1-4 times a week ever since so that’s really good. An interesting/sus older man once told me to invest in yourself and I def have lol. Started being in control/paying for more ‘big girl things’ you could say. Learned to leave some things alone that needed to be left. Got closer to some of the more important people in my life. Went out a little more I think, which is deb(t)atably a good thing. A lots more reflection, which I think is where I’ve been lacking because I stopped writing and sorta lost a little sense of self. And I think I did embark on the self-love journey and work on my confidence and speaking up but I think I approached that as my main issues. And yes those are some but I believe I overlooked some other character issues. I was too focused on speaking up and being more out there but sometimes that gets me into worse situations. Sure, I need to speak out more but also I need to be more mindful about what I say and also about what and how much I share with people who are honestly not good for me and my inner peace. It’s a hard balance but that is something I’ll be tackling from now on. And learning it’s ok! to remove myself and not explain doing things that are good for me ( but also knowing when to let go of my pride sometimes). It’s all a balance that I have yet to master but I at least I am aware of it now. Following my gut and making sure internally that I’m good will be a good goal for the year. 

So I guess I’m into goals now 🤗

- Use social media less, way less! I really think this is the source of some of my lost feeling because of the undeniable idea of comparison and blah blah but yeah I feel like I could be doing much more healthier things like reading again!

- Keep up my gym life, and try to do better when it comes to eating too.

-Really try out this Atlanta thing because it’s honestly very accessible and worth the try especially at 22, this is my time to following my dreams and take risks and be afraid but also be brave because my happiness short-term/long-term actually depends on it!

- The last big thing is really that inner peace thing, trusting my gut, being a better me and not something that isn’t me. Addressing my ‘toxicity’ and flaws to be a happier and healthier spirit. 

- Oh and go out less meaning like lituations because honestly clubs, lounges, party functions are really not for me and I’ve accepted that but I think once I  get my life together I will easily avoid those situations bc the fomo/desire to be with the people I care for really be putting me in situations I don’t enjoy lmao wasting so much money, when I can be with them and have fun in actually fun events. 

- And write more duh!

Okay 🙂I think this post is long enough. A good ‘last time in Kiara’s life’ recap of the last ~18months. This is a good start to getting back to a healthier but even better me. I should also start writing down and keeping track of some of my goals. Hopefully through writing here but regardless still writing because I do believe this is a worthwhile, therapeutic outlet. 

SO HERE’S TO 2019 🥂

A prosperous and happy life-changing year! I know big things things are coming. Having patience and facing my fears are really my determining factors of what the year will bring but I know can overcome them. 

Until next time, which will be soon I promise!

#to health happiness and love #to a life changing year #to a better ME #we back in this bitch! #1/1/2019