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subbykboys · 4 years ago

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the bad boy’s secret | chanyeol

↳ pairing : badboy!chanyeol x reader

Genre ➞ bad boy AU, fwb AU, college AU, smut

Warnings ➞ sub!chanyeol, dom!reader, bondage, oral (m. & f. receiving), edging, unprotected sex, riding, mild dirty talk, mild degrading, creampie, face riding, cum eating [ sorry not sorry ], reader is in denial , overuse of the word please

Word Count ➞ 8.2k

chanyeol is a bad boy with a nasty reputation. he’s sexy, mysterious, and entirely untouchable. well... to most people, that is. to you, on the other hand-- he’s something else entirely.

posted ; 6.04.20

there was an angry chill in the air. it bit at your face and hands as you strode to the campus lot where your car was parked. all around you, brightly colored leaves fell to the earth as strong gusts of wind broke them free of the branches they so weakly clung to. they blanketed the ground in shades of vibrant reds, tempting oranges, and dull, blotchy browns.

it was actually really beautiful. you'd always been a fan of the cool undertones of fall. especially the reds. ugh, red was such a gorgeous color. practically everything you owned was red, or some varying shade of it. it was just so sexy and dangerous and—

"(y/n)!" you were snapped from your inner thoughts by a barking voice.

quickly, you averted your eyes from the ground and onto the face of the girl walking beside you. her name is Mina, you're pretty sure. you grimaced at her irritated expression, realizing you must have zoned out again. getting lost in your thoughts at inappropriate times was a pretty frequent occurrence for you.

"huh?"

she scoffed in disbelief, eyes narrowing, "where's your head at? i've been talking for a solid five minutes and i'm pretty sure you stopped listening six minutes ago."

you chuckled, scratching the back of your neck as an apologetic smile touched your lips, "sorry. i was just thinking about the leaves."

"you're so weird."

you didn't know why she felt comfortable saying that to you. you weren't even friends. at least, not by your standards. maybe acquaintances. maybe.

and that was only because you happened to have the same afternoon photography class and just so happened to sit next to each other. you supposed in her pea sized brain that was enough to qualify for a friendship. but you had standards. and she was god damn rude.

regardless, you didn't have the energy or patience to start any sort of altercation. so you shrug, head bobbing lazily in agreement.

"i know."

that seemed to satisfy her as any remaining glimmer of annoyance was swept off her features with one last eye roll and replaced by a light grin, "whatever. hey, there's this party at my boyfriend's frat house tonight and you should totally come."

"no thanks." was your swift, concise rejection. but of course, that was not enough to satisfy her.

"what? why not?" her tone demanded an explanation that you really didn't feel like giving.

sighing heavily, you kicked a pebble across the sidewalks. "parties aren't my thing."

that was maybe half the truth. you actually did like parties. just not frat boy parties. they were like beacons for girls with low self esteem and insecure rich boys with superiority complexes. they were loud as fuck and made your head ache. not to mention they reeked. apparently, a lot of guys didn't learn in high school how to put on deodorant. your preference stood with more low key parties, with a more controlled number of attendees and some chill drinking. maybe getting a little baked if you were in that vibe.

"you can be such a buzzkill," she groaned loudly, head rolling back as she stomped her foot childishly. you resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

"i know."

"do you ever just let yourself have a good time? like ever? we're in the prime of our lives for god’s sake!" and there she goes again with the 'prime of our lives' bullshit. please. maybe this was the best life would ever be for her, but you had other plans.

"i have to finish an essay for my business class." no you didn't.

"but it's friday! you have all weekend to finish it!" why was she trying to argue with you? you'd already said no, so why was she still trying to convince you. spoiler, you weren't about to change your mind anytime soon.

"i prefer not to put work off until the very last minute." also a lie.

"(y/n)," she whined, "come on, i personally think it would be pretty healthy for you not to spend another friday night pent up in that little apartment of yours—"

all at once she was cut off by the distinct roaring of an engine. both your gazes shifted towards the road ahead of you, watching as a flashy red motorcycle came tearing down the street. an excited gasp exploded from your–barely–acquaintance's mouth while a low groan escaped yours.

fantastic. just what you needed. your daily dose of—

"Yeolie!"

you winced as she squealed his name, waving energetically. you silent prayed he'd just keep going. but of course, he didn't. his bike came to a gradual halt in front of the sidewalk you stood on. it purred as he planted his feet securely on the cement.

now this next part you could almost see happening in slow motion.

he reached up with his leather glove clad hands, pulling off his sleek black helmet to reveal a pair of thick, pink lips, a sharp, defined nose, charcoal black eyes, and a head of silver locks. you could practically feel Mina swooning as he swung his head to the side, effectively flipping his hair like some kind of wannabe fetus Justin Bieber. it took less than a moment for those dark eyes to fall on the pair of you, and a slow smirk to crawl across his face.

Mina immediately rushed up to him (all too energetically for someone who already has a boyfriend, mind you), squeaking out sweet greetings as her touchy hands found purchase on the sleeve of his leather jacket.

what was up with him and the leather anyway? it was only on shockingly rare occasions that you witnessed him donning something other than his signature black leather outfit, decorated with silver zippers and complimented by a thick chain around his neck and a single silver earring. how much cheesier could he get?

you'd think after high school, people would be over the whole 'bad boys are so hot' thing.

apparently not.

because at your uni, Park Chanyeol was hot shit. every girl and every guy wanted to get their hands on him in one way or another. he was dangerous, sexy, mysterious, hard to get. he rode a blood red motorcycle and smoked blunts behind the main building for god's sake.

he was the definition of a cliche. but it seemed you were the only person that could see through his whole charade.

"(y/n), don't be rude! come say hi to Yeolie!" Mina suddenly whipped around, waving you over.

this bitch—

the corner of your lip twitched in a subtle sneer, but, ever the pacifist, you obliged, slowly moving to stand at her side. his irritating smirk widened upon your approach, tongue swinging over the corner of his lip as his eyes dropped to do a brief once over.

"Chanyeol," you grunted with a less than enthusiastic tone.

"(y/n)," was his swift reply, voice as deep and smooth as ever, "wonderful seeing you again. you look as happy-go-lucky as ever."

the sarcasm was palpable.

"yeah well, it seems i just can't contain myself with you around," you bit back with just as much satire, lips curling dryly.

"i'm flattered," he all but cooed, head tilting downward as his teeth latched onto his bottom lip.

he stared boldly into your eyes, and you stared right back with just as much fire.

"um... do you guys, like... know each other?"

"no."

"yes."

you both responded simultaneously.

confusion plastered itself across her face, eyes jumping back and forth from your face to his. a taunting smile tugged at the corners of his lips, "we actually went to the same high school, isn't that right, (y/n)?"

you huffed in annoyance, shoulders slumping, "yeah. we did."

"and you never told me this because…?"

because you weren't close in the least and you hadn't even told her when your birthday was let alone about your high school life.

"didn't seem like important information."

she gaped at you in disbelief, "anything regarding my Yeolie is important information!"

was she trying to stroke his already colossal ego? if his head got any bigger, it might just explode.

Chanyeol’s grin broadened at her statement, and you silently groaned, knowing exactly what was coming before he even opened his mouth, "yeah, (y/n). anything regarding me is important information. so why didn't you tell her? trying to keep me all for yourself? how greedy of you."

"please." you scoffed.

Mina glared at you sharply before plastering an innocent smile across her face and twirling a strand of her platinum blonde dyed hair. "ignore her, Yeolie. i was actually wondering if i'd be seeing you at Jake's party tonight?"

"wasn't planning on it," he admitted, and Mina pouted, lips puckering, over dramatically whining in protest. suddenly, his eyes shifted to you, that stupid smirk touching his features, "but maybe if a certain buzzkill was attending... i'd be more tempted to make an appearance."

buzzkill? oh, you.

"i'm not—"

"of course (y/n)'s coming! wouldn't be a party without her!" Mina rushed to cut you off, throwing an arm over your shoulder and yanking you into her side with a grip tight enough to bruise. you looked at her like she was crazy, brows furrowed, eyes wide, lip raised in a disgusted sneer. but her hold was enough to squeeze the air out of your lungs and steal away your ability to refute.

Chanyeol’s brows jumped in surprise, an amused grin spreading across his face, "really?"

"wait, no—"

"yes! i was surprised when she agreed, too! but guess she's finally breaking out of her shell!" you were going to kick her ass if she kept cutting you off.

"well isn't that great to hear." there was a mischievous flicker in his dark eyes, a look you knew all too well.

"so... you'll come?" she asked hopefully.

"sure." you were annoyed at how easily he agreed. he was still smirking smugly as he began pulling his helmet back down over his head. shooting you a wink and a two fingered wave, he spoke again, "see ya tonight."

with that final word, he was speeding off down the road, tires kicking up dust and pebbles as they spun.

as soon as Mina's grip loosened from around you, you were ten feet away, swiftly walking in the direction of your car. "(y/n)! wait!" she cried out, running after you in her five inch heels. you didn't slow down in the least.

"i'm not going, Mina," you said sternly, not even bothering to look back at her.

"b–but i told Chanyeol—"

"no."

"please?"

"not. happening."

⋄⋆⋄

you ended up going.

not because you wanted to, of course. but because Mina decided it was necessary to show up at your apartment and quite literally drag you out. she was surprisingly strong for such a small person, and fiercely persistent. she'd even gone the extra mile of forcefully applying makeup to your eyelids and lips. that's not to say you didn't put up one hell of a fight. but conflict was never your strong suite, and you eventually ended up going pliant under her ministrations.

unsurprisingly, it was just as you expected it to be. loud. stinky. and filled to the brim with horny bastards looking for a quick fuck. you'd been there for all of ten minutes and you'd already gotten your ass grabbed six times. slimy assholes think it's acceptable to touch someone without permission. all the more reason you didn't want to stick around for long.

not to mention, Mina had ditched you the minute you walked in the door to suck faces with her fuckboy boyfriend. since then you'd been gravitating from room to room, searching for the best place to sit without being squished by a horny couple practically dry humping against you.

luckily, you found your solace upstairs in an empty bedroom. the music was muffled the moment you shut the door, the stuffy air that smelled of sweat and marijuana also clearing out. finally, you could breathe.

you spotted a candle and lighter on the bedside table, and quickly moved to light it. the dull, soothing glow that filled the room, splashing light across the walls made the headache that had begun to swell at your temples ease up. exhaling softly, you fell back onto the neatly made bed, body relaxing into the soft duvet.

but of course, your moment of tranquility was short lasting.

because before you could so much as shut your eyes, the door was opening, and a painfully familiar voice was purring, "there you are~ i've been looking all over for you, (y/n), you sly girl."

"fucking hell," you growled under your breath, propping yourself up on your elbows to face him properly, "what do you want, Chanyeol?"

he gently nudged the door shut behind him, before walking over to where you lay. "isn't it obvious?" he murmured, leaning forward to press his hands against the mattress on either side of your ankles.

"spell it out for me."

he chuckled softly, knees meeting the bedding as he began to crawl upwards, until his face was hovering over yours. even you couldn't deny how beautiful he looked up close, with those big, dark eyes, boyishly grinning lips, smooth, tan skin...

"i," he began, nose nudging against your cheek, "want," his lips feathered over yours, "you."

a dark chuckle rolled off your tongue as you met his hooded, lustful gaze. "you we're so greedy last time... and still... you couldn't get enough," you replied smoothly, voice deepening as your desire for him grew.

"what can i say? i'm insatiable."

you scoffed, the corners of your lips curling as you lifted your head slightly, leaving only the tiniest of spaces between your mouth, "i don't think you deserve it." your whisper caressed his lips all too temptingly. A chill rolled down his spine, eyes fluttering as he felt himself falter briefly.

"maybe i don't... but i can earn it..."

now that caught your interest.

a smirk touched your features, "and how might you do that?"

he bit his lip, trying his best to subdue a grin, "by doing whatever you ask of me."

"you willing to take that risk? after that little stunt earlier? i might just decide not to go easy on you." your voice was taunting, but the challenge and threat were very real.

"i can handle anything you give me."

you raised a brow, amused by his naive confidence. then, in the blink of an eye, you had him underneath you, pinning his wrists to the mattress above his head. the action had been so sudden that he could only gasp in shock when his back collided with the bed. you stared down at him with dark eyes, the tip of your tongue sliding over the corner of your mouth.

"you sure about that, big boy?"

he inhaled deeply when your head lowered to the curve of his throat, lips just barely grazing over that sensitive spot. "most definitely." he let out breathlessly, eyes fluttering as he tilted his chin back, offering himself to you. something dark alighted in your eyes, a sinister gleam in your smirk as thoughts of how you could absolutely ruin him flooded your mind.

"you're going to regret saying that."

you didn’t offer him the opportunity to respond before your lips crashed down on his. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the sudden action, but quickly relaxed beneath you, returning the kiss eagerly.

see? you much preferred Chanyeol when he wasn’t running that big mouth of his. he was always so much more fun when he was choking on desperate moans and trembling uncontrollably under your touch.

truth about the infamous Park Chanyeol? he was a bitch.

in fact... he was your bitch.

it started back in high school. when you were the chill girl who wasn't too well known by anyone outside of your friend group, and when he was the untouchable bad boy that everyone drooled over.

to keep it to the point, you'd both attended a mutual friend's party your senior year, got wasted, and hooked up.

but, it wasn't what you'd expected it to be. no, because you'd expect Chanyeol to be the kind of guy to pin a girl (or guy) down and dominate the fuck out of them. but the moment your voice took on an authoritative pitch, he was putty in your hands, whining and moaning and begging... it stirred something to life inside of you that you had no idea was there.

and it was good. really good. so good, in fact, he came running back to you within the next week practically begging for more. and shit, you gave it to him. he was one of the first guys you'd dominated like that. it was empowering, controlling a guy as big as Chanyeol was. it was an addictive sensation.

but you'd made it very clear from the beginning that it was going to be nothing more than sex. it wasn't romantic, you weren't friends, and you had no intention of getting to know him on a deeper level than his body. though, he seemed suspiciously intent on worming his way into your life one way or another. the boy was relentless. luckily, you were equally as stubborn. a match made in hell, aren’t you? what a spectacle.

you drew away from the kiss at the feeling of his tongue prodding at your lips, a low whine following soon after. you scoffed softly at the sight of his pouting face, “so needy.”

“you can only blame yourself.” he shot back easily, eyes already hooded and darkened with lust. excitement glimmered within them as you reached down between your bodies, fingers slowly undoing his belt.

“is that right?” you murmured, not breaking eye contact for a single moment, a lazy smirk resting on your face. he swallowed, trembling pupils jumping noncommittally from your intense stare down to where you were making easy work of his belt buckle.

“i— yes.” you don’t think he knew what he was saying yes to, his mind already becoming a muddled mess from the promise of what the night had in store for the two of you. his rationality had a nasty habit of hopping out the window whenever you got him in this position.

“what are you hoping happens tonight, Chanyeol?” you asked softly, slowly pulling his belt from the first loop of his jeans.

he swallowed thickly, head beginning to swing back and forth is slow swoops. “i– i don’t—” his voice broke off with a strangled whine as you allowed your fingertips to caress ever so gently over the ever growing tent in his pants.

you raised a brow into a questioning arch, stifling a smirk of amusement at his already flustered state. “it’s a simple question.”

his cheeks pinkened. “i just… want you.” it almost came out more as a question than a statement, words shy and hesitant.

“want me to what?” you pressed.

“to… to kiss me.” his gaze fell onto your lips, his own parting.

“kiss you?” you repeated, tone on the verge of taunting. “asking for a lot there, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

you were teasing him, but he didn’t seem to mind, blinking slowly as he dragged his tongue over the pink swell of his thick lower lip. “want you to touch me…” his voice lowered an octave, deep, lustful eyes looking up at you intensely.

“where?”

“everywhere.” he replied without missing a beat. “anywhere. just— just want your hands. or your mouth. i’ll take anything that you give me… but you already know that.”

you really loved the sound of his voice when he got like this. it was softer than cotton and smoother than silk, rumbling so deep in his chest that you could almost mistake it for purring. it spilled off his lips like the thickest, sweetest honey, so lush and lovely, dripping with shameless desire. something about it was so soothing. and the sounds he made were even better, his guttural groans and melodic moans were nothing short of symphonies. and you were the conductor.

chuckling, you smirked down at him. “you’re right. i do already know that.” he gasped as you suddenly yanked his belt completely free. “now be a good little bitch and grab onto the headboard.”

he eagerly complied, capturing his lip between his teeth as he watched you bind his wrists above his head. his eyes slowly dragged over your face, drifting over the length of your neck, following the smooths swells of your chest beneath your black tank top. a low groan slid from his lips as you pressed your hips forward slightly, just barely grinding against his growing erection. his eyes snapped up at the sound of your soft laughter.

“my eyes are up here, sweetheart.” you hummed, pulling his belt taught before looping it around one of the vertical wooden bars.

“and beautiful eyes they are.” he grinned up at you in that boyishly charming way, shooting you a playful wink. you scoffed, hands drifting down to rest on his firm chest before one raised to grip his jaw, tilting his head upward. lowering your own head, you allowed your lips to caress teasingly over his.

“maybe i should gag you, too. keep that pretty mouth in check,” you mused, dragging your thumb slowly over his full lips, “but unfortunately i think i enjoy the sound of your voice almost as much as you do. especially when you're moaning my name. god it’s so hot.”

you almost growled as he took your finger into his mouth, moaning softly around it. you swooped down, swiftly replacing your finger with your lips. the kiss was deep, rough, and hungry. distracted by your weaponized tongue, he didn’t process that you were unbuttoning his jeans until they were being pushed down his thighs and your hand was gripping his arousal through his thin black boxers.

“fuck, (y/n),” he groaned deeply into your mouth, arms gently tugging against their restraints. you dragged your lips away from his, face lowering so that you could suck your mark onto the expanse of his neck. he sighed blissfully, hot breath rushing over your ear as he subtly rolled his hips, body temperature rising steadily. you bit down on his collarbone, hands pushing up under his shirt to feel at his toned, well built torso. he was so hard, muscles rigid and protruding, so warm to the touch.

it was rather amazing. a guy as big as Chanyeol, as strong and as confident, could easily get the upper hand over you if he wanted. he could flip you over and pin you down without so much as breaking a sweat. but he didn’t. he let you pin him down, tie him up, dominate him, mind and body. he allowed himself to submit to you, to be taken by you: slowly, quickly, roughly, gently, he didn’t care, but dammit he enjoyed every second of it. and if that didn’t give you a rush of power, then you don’t know what could.

goosebumps rose across his honeyed skin as you pushed his shirt up to fully expose his tight body to your ravenous eyes, a chill rolling down his spine when you lowered your mouth to latch onto the smooth swell of his pectoral. he moaned quietly, back arching as you peppered kisses down his abdomen, slowly shifting lower, lower, lower… until your face was level with his bulge.

a sound of excitement flooded past his lips, his breathing becoming rapid and deep. “really?�� he asked hopefully, voice breathless and light. a slow smirk crawled across your lips and you chuckled at the way he jolted with a moan when you pressed a slow kiss to his clothed arousal.

“really.” you hummed in confirmation. “you said you wanted my mouth, didn’t you?”

he frantically bobbed his head. “yes. yes, god yes. please.” you almost laughed at his shameless display of desperation. he let out a deep, strained groan as you flicked your tongue over his clothed erection, head falling back.

“ah ah, eyes on me, baby.” you scolded mildly, squeezing his thighs in warning. he lifted his head without argument, face flushed and glistening with faint perspiration, lip caught in a tight grip between his teeth, brows furrowed.

from your viewpoint, he looked rather beautiful: arms bound above his head, exposed chest rising and falling dramatically with each deep breath, messy silver hair falling flawlessly over his hooded, lustful eyes.

and he in turn was also quite taken by how perfect you looked between his legs: smirking lips hovering right over where he needed them most, dark, penetrating gaze making his body tremble with an unspoken need.

your fingers slipped under the elastic of his boxers, slowly easing them down his thighs until his length sprang free. “there he is,” you murmured, tongue dragging over your lower lip as you admired him, long and thick and swollen, precum spilling over his hot, red tip. he shuddered in delight as you traced your finger over a vein.

“(y/n)…” his usually deep voice was pleading and airy, hands curling into tight fists above his head, “please.”

you smiled up at him innocently before delivering a teasing kitten lick to his sensitive tip. he whined softly, hips twitching as his need for you increased tenfold.

a slightly more sadistic side of you rather enjoyed watching him squirm. perhaps it was that hidden part of you that wanted nothing more than to tease him into oblivion with insubstantial caresses and borderline torturous kisses until he was writhing helplessly and there were tears spilling from those beautiful big brown eyes.

however, a larger part of you craved the sight of his stunning, fucked out expression. the one where his face glistened with sweat, thick pink lips swollen and red from being ruthlessly and relentlessly attacked by those pearly whites, puppy dog eyes hooded and fluttering, fighting to remain open against his mind's desire to just melt completely into the pleasure coursing like hot lava through his veins. that was the face you wanted to see more than anything.

a broken moan flooded from his gaping mouth as you fastened your lips around his tip, the taste of his salty precum immediately lathering your tongue. he trembled as you hummed lightly around him, mouth silently forming the words ‘oh god’ as the vibrations sent sparks of pleasure shooting through his body like static shock.

“feels good, (y/n),” he whined weakly, stomach tensing, “feels so good.”

your response was to thrust your head down and as much of him into your mouth as possible. he cried out, hips snapping up at the feeling of your gentle sucking. you were quick to pin them back down, a warning glare darkening your gaze.

“‘m sorry—,” he slurred, panting heavily, “i’m sorry.” he was quick to submit, fighting against the painfully strong urge to fuck himself up into your warm mouth and forcing his quivering body to go pliant beneath your ministrations. satisfied for the time being, you dragged your tongue from his base to his weeping head, tracing slow, taunting circles over his most sensitive place.

a broken moan was all he could manage as his cock twitched tellingly, precum spilling down his throbbing length. you fixed your lips back around his tip, sucking gently. his thighs trembled at the sensation it sent shooting through his veins, a breathless ‘oh’ pulsing from his pink-bitten lips.

“(y/n)— (y/n), if you keep doing that—” the warning was clear, but you wanted to see just how close you could bring him to his release before stealing it away last second. it was always fun to watch how hard he came down from his high when he was denied of it. it was delicious, the way he gasped and trembled, shuddering hips desperately seeking out more frictions, but never receiving it. he was so cute when he got like that.

“you gonna come, baby?” you cooed, replacing your mouth with your hand and shifting upwards so that you could look directly into his eyes. you wanted to be able to see the look in his pretty brown eyes when you stole away his release. he whimpered, head bobbing rapidly as he caught his lower lip between his teeth.

“please.”

you only offered a low, contemplative hum before a wicked smirk struck your features. “not yet.”

a sob broke from his lips as you drew away from his throbbing dick, his high stolen only moments before it could come crashing down over him. his hips bucked, desperately seeking the friction you so cruelly denied him of, but finding nothing but empty air in place of your warm touch. his muscles trembled, broken pleas spilling from his quivering lips.

“(y-y/n), no— please,” he gasped out, arms tugging against the sturdy binds, fingers aching to touch you, grab onto you, hold you.

you hushed him with sweet words, pressing a soothing kiss to the cut of his jaw, hands massaging the bulk of his muscular thighs and holding still his stuttering hips.

“fuck– i hate it when you do that.” he cursed weakly, glassy eyes peering up into yours.

“no you don’t.” you chuckled softly, brushing his damp bangs out of his face in an unexpectedly tender gesture.

“you’re right, i don’t.” he relented easily, the corners of his lips curling subtly.

a sudden silence fell over you, and it took you a moment to realize that he was looking at you with those eyes— the ones you knew all too well. the ones you’d told him plenty of times to drop. because those weren’t the kind of eyes you were supposed to look at a fuck buddy with. those weren’t the kind of eyes that just anybody could be on the receiving end of, most definitely not you.

“don’t look at me like that.” you warned, hardening your expression.

“i can’t help it.” he breathed. you felt your stomach twist. damnit.

“then close ‘em, Park. before I decide to blindfold you, too.”

it seemed your threat wasn’t very well received, as the smile adorning his features only expanded, the corners of his eyes crinkling endearingly.

“that doesn’t sound too bad.”

a dry laugh burst from your lips. “god, you’re so fucking submissive. how has nobody else untangled your little ruse, hm? acting all big and tough on the outside when all you really want is to be tied up and fucked like a horny little bitch. am i really the only one that’s got you figured out?” you hummed thoughtfully, tracing your fingers down his throat and caressing his collarbone.

“you’re the only one, (y/n).”

for some reason… you had a strange feeling that that sentence held more meaning than you were willing to decipher.

“you tell all your little side fucks that?” you taunted, disguising the slight tremor in your chest with a dangerous smirk.

he shook his head, gaze not wavering for a moment. “there’s no one else. only you.”

fuck. you needed him to stop talking. so, you did the one thing that always did the trick: shoving your fingers down his throat. he let out a muffled sound of surprise at the unexpected intrusion, a sound that easily melted into a low moan, his tongue immediately getting to work lapping at your digits.

“you talk too much.” you murmured, taking him off guard and eliciting a low groan from the back of his throat as you ground yourself down on his naked length. “you came to get fucked, didn’t you, sweetheart?”

he eagerly nodded his head, hips nudging up excitedly against your own.

“thought so.” you chuckled.

through wide, glassy eyes, Chanyeol watched you push yourself upright, straddling his thighs. just as he was about to ask what you were doing, you grabbed the hem of your tank top and peeled it off over your head, discarding it onto the floor, your pants fast to follow.

“fuck. you’re so beautiful.” he groaned deeply, ravenous gaze raking over your nearly naked form. you smirked at him cockily.

“i know.”

a surprised laugh erupted from his lips at your blunt reply, eyes glinting with something akin to admiration. “as you should.”

smiling to yourself, you swiftly climbed back on top of him, not wasting any time before grabbing hold of his throbbing dick. he let out a breath of appreciation at the contact, biting at the inside of his cheek. every muscle in his body tightened as you teasingly traced his tip over your clothed heat, his precum slickening the thin fabric.

“are you wet?” he asked weakly, voice so airy and strained that you almost missed it.

grinning devilishly, you toyed with the elastic. “do you wanna find out?”

“yes,” he all but hissed out, muscular arms straining against their secure restraints, “fuck— yes, please.”

“mmm, you sound so hot when you're desperate to get fucked.” you groaned softly, nudging your underwear to the side in order to slip his head through your hot arousal. he shuddered at the sensation, his pupils blown wide with lust as he watched you tease not only him but yourself as well with fleeting caresses of his needy length against your burning core.

“(y/n).” his deep voice had become little more than a breathless whimper singed with molten desire. you felt your pulse jump at the very sound of it, your own want for him swelling with every passing second.

Chanyeol let out a broken gasp as you sunk down on him, cursing weakly as you took him in inch by inch. a low hum vibrated on your lips at the blissful stretch, hot tendrils of pleasure igniting throughout your body.

“sometimes i forget just how good you feel inside of me.” you breathed out heavily, peering down at his already fucked out expression with a coy smirk.

“i could never forget.” he moaned, roughly biting his lower lip. a slow, deep grind of your hips had his head of unruly silver locks tossed back into the plush pillows, an unsteady groan of your name filling the hot, heavy air surrounding you.

“fuck, go faster.”

he realized his mistake only when your fingers were pressing into the length of his throat, all motion ceased. “is that how you ask for things?” you asked, voice dangerously calm.

he was quick to shake his head, eager to right his wrong. “please. please go faster.”

“that’s better.”

a rough sob is pulled from his flushed throat (which you’re almost certain will be raw tomorrow morning) as you fuck yourself down onto him. the pace was fast, hungry, rough. his back bowing off the mattress, hips pulsing upward, desperate to meet each thrust half way.

“(y/n),” you almost moaned at the sight of his body rolling beneath yours, muscles flexed and trembling, toned arms straining against the tight hold of his belt, the leather biting pretty red marks into his wrists, “i wanna touch you— please let me touch you. let me feel you, baby. you know i can make you feel good.”

his begging caused a playful grin to draw itself across your face. “should i?” you murmured thoughtfully, rolling your hips in slow, controlled circles. a low, throaty moan vibrated in your chest as he thrust himself up inside of you, just barely brushing over that perfect little spot.

“i can be so good for you. please… let me be good for you, (y/n).”

“well when you say it like that…” you sighed, feeling any remaining resolve come crumbling down.

excitement ignited in his dark eyes, and he watched with bated breath as you reached up, getting to work on freeing him from the binds.

the very moment the belt fell slack, releasing his hands, they were on your skin, eager and impatient, tugging you down into a heated kiss. it was messy and rough, all biting teeth and lashing tongues. not that you minded much, it was always fun reminding him who was in charge, one way or another.

his wandering hands eagerly explored the expanse of your body, squeezing, pressing, pulling. and you let him have his fun, let him push the limits, testing your boundaries with every curious prod and trembling caress.

it was only when you felt his fingers pressing into the swells of your ass and begin guiding your movements that you drew the line. it took all of a few seconds for you to have his wrists pinned down on either side of his head.

you pulled away from his lips was a disappointed sigh, tongue clicking. “still no restraint, i see? i’m disappointed. i thought you said you’d be good for me, yeolie? was that good?” he all but whimpered, his head, too muddled from pleasure to form coherent words, shaking remorsefully. “no… that was very bad. bad boy, yeolie.”

his dick throbbed so hard inside of you that you could’ve sworn he’d almost just come.

a scoff of both amazement and disbelief escaped your lips. “you like being called a bad boy?”

how ironic.

color flushed into his cheeks, embarrassment shining in his big, glassy eyes that were now refusing to meet your gaze.

“look at me.”

he gasped as you purposely clenched around him, thrusting your hips back until he was balls deep, successfully forcing his attention onto your face. you grabbed his chin securely between your thumb and forefinger, and lowered your head to the point where your lips were just barely brushing over his. his pupils were blown and trembling as they met yours.

“you wanna be my bad boy, baby?”

his jaw fell open, a thunderous moan breaking from his chest.

“yes.”

“say it.” you all but growled, tone leaving no room for argument.

at this point, he was too lost in his own desire to feel any real shame.

“i wanna be your bad boy.”

a triumphant smirk curled onto your face, and you rewarded him with a gentle kiss to his quivering lips. “you gonna come for me, bad boy?” he was already bobbing his head frantically before you’d even fully gotten the question out. you chuckled sadistically at his unabashed desperation. “should i let you?”

“(y/n), please— i don’t think i can— fuck.” he panted out, voice shuddering and breaking as you fucked yourself down on him at just the right pace to keep him teetering dangerously on the edge without completely throwing him over. you bit your lip, pleasure exploding like firecrackers in your veins as he thrusted into you. fuck, if he didn’t stop hitting that spot…

his hands curled into tight fists where they were pinned to the mattress, dull nails biting smooth crescents into his palm. noticing this, you took it upon yourself to weave your fingers through his, holding his hands in an unexpectedly tender display. only because you didn’t want him to accidentally hurt himself… that was all.

but, perhaps it was a mistake.

because that look returned to his eyes with vengeance, his features melting into bursting admiration and unspoken emotion. this time, you ignored it, too gone in your own pleasure to spare it a second thought. that’s what you convinced yourself of, anyways.

he was pulsing intensely against your slick walls, twitching cock threatening to erupt at any given second. you could tell he was fighting to hold himself back, the veins in his throat growing prominent from the strenuous effort. it was admirable in a way, how desperately he wanted to please you, even if it meant denying himself of the greatest pleasure of all. you’d encountered very few men with that kind of will power. so you couldn’t help but to respect it when you saw it in Chanyeol.

“you look like you’re about to explode.” you taunted breathlessly, lips pulled into a lust hazed smirk. “it’d be cruel of me to tell you to hold it, wouldn’t it?”

he whimpered helplessly, obviously not sure which answer would satisfy you and which would coax you into further torturing his already wrecked body.

you offered a rasping chuckled. “you’re lucky that i’m feeling rather generous today.”

something between a sob and a moan are thrown past his lips as you slam yourself down on him, purposefully squeezing your walls around him. he cries out your name desperately, imploringly. you know he can’t hold back anymore, no matter how hard he tries. his body was going to come whether he liked it or not. you felt in the way he throbbed and twitched inside of you, heard it in the way he groaned and sighed, saw it in the way his eyes rolled, body shuddering uncontrollably.

“come.”

and he fucking did.

his body stalled, back arching off the bad, hips sputtering up in sharp, quick thrusts, the sound of skin on skin contact resonating through the room. you cooed, relishing in the way he quivered and keener beneath you, mouth gaping silently for a few moments before growling moans finally broke through, rumbling so deep in his chest you could have easily mistaken it for thunder.

you let him fill you up, painting your walls with his release, knowing damn well your intentions once he was finished.

“that’s it, baby…” you cooed, releasing one of his clenched fists to caress his feverish face, tracing the lower line of his plump lip, swollen and red from his relentless biting.

“oh! look at that. you made a mess, sweetheart.” you purred, smirking wickedly as you watched his arousal drip out of you and onto his now half hard cock. he moaned at the sight, cursing under his breath. “I think it’s only right if you clean it up.”

his eyes snapped up to meet yours, excitement immediately burning with his hazy, blown pupils. that was your boy… always eager to clean up after himself. especially if it meant he could put his tongue and lips to proper use.

“fuck. ride my face. wanna taste you. wanna make you come.” he groaned breathlessly, freed hands reaching down to grip at your thighs, tugging at them impatiently.

you chuckled at how eager he was, happily obliging. you climbed up, repositioning yourself to hover over his flushed face, caging his head between your thighs. his fingers pressed into your hips, pulling you down and into reach of his greedy tongue. you couldn’t help the sigh that slid from your lips at the first contact, eyes fluttering at the feeling of his tongue dragging hungrily through your come soaked folds.

“that’s right. eat your come, baby. lick it up.” you breathed out heavily, fingers weaving through his damp silver locks.

he moaned against you, the vibrations sending chills rolling down your spine. it was like white hot electricity in your veins when he rolled his flattened tongue cover your clit, a sharp moan erupting from your throat.

“fuck, just like that. right there.” you panted, hips grinding down against his skilled tongue. “you’re so fucking good with your mouth, yeol.” his determination spiked at the praise, lips encircling your clit and sucking purposefully.

pure euphoria rushed through your veins, head falling back as your grip on his hair tightened. his rapacious hands danced across your body, fingers pressing hotly into your skin, obviously not having learned his lesson the first time around. though, you weren’t too keen on correcting him. especially not with the fire his touch was igniting across your body.

your hips stuttered as his tongue pressed inside of you, lapping at you hungrily. “tastes… so good…” he groaned brokenly against your arousal, hooded eyes devouring the sight of you falling apart above him.

if there was one thing Park Chanyeol loved– it was being the cause of your pleasure.

snagging your lip roughly between your teeth, you meet his searing gaze, your walls clenching around his invading tongue at the almost unbearable intensity of it.

“you like it?” you moaned, feeling yourself begin to climb your way towards release. he nuzzled against you, nose pressing against your clit as his tongue teased your entrance.

god… if you didn’t know any better you’d say he was trying to suffocate himself. knowing Chanyeol, he’d probably consider it the perfect way to go. perhaps you would have laughed at the thought had it not been for the molten pleasure numbing your mind and senses.

“i’m gonna come.”

at your breathless declaration, Chanyeol is quickly replacing his tongue with two of his fingers, fucking them up into you steadily while his mouth gets to work on your clit. it feels so good… you’re numb to pretty much everything else but the feeling of him, the sight of him.

and you find it’s just that that finally sends you tumbling over that ledge: the sight of those beautiful brown eyes, dark and eager, burning with unspoken emotion, pooling with crimson seduction. he’s breathtaking.

you shift off of his face carefully, a hazy, satisfied smirk settling across your face.

“what a filthy boy.” you purr softly, more so to yourself than him, delighting in the sight of his face, glistening from a mixture of both his and your own release. his lips curl upwards at the corners, sinful tongue peeking out to drag over them and savor the lingering taste of you, a low hum of appreciation rumbling deep in his chest.

his hands don’t leave your hips as you carefully lift yourself off of him, offering some much needed support for your still shaky legs. you flop down on the mattress beside him with a soft ‘oof’ and shut your eyes, taking a moment to catch your breath and gather your scattered wits. a few moments of silence pass, before your brow twitched in irritation.

“stop staring before i smack you.” even with your eyes closed, you can feel the heat of his gaze on the side of your face.

he chuckled unabashedly, not all too torn up about being caught. “sorry. i can’t help myself,” he paused, “you’re just so beautiful like this.”

sighing, you roll your head to the side, eyes fluttering open to meet his. “what’d i say about calling me beautiful?”

he pouts, looking like a scolded puppy. “not to say it after sex.”

“that’s right.”

“but it’s the truth!”

“Chanyeol.” you groan, throwing an arm over your face.

he huffs in annoyance rolling onto his side and propping his head up on his palm. “what’s so wrong with me saying that you're beautiful?”

“you know exactly what’s wrong with it.” you grumble, shooting him a pointed glare, one he is quick to return. rolling your eyes, you turn away from him. “i’m too fucked out to try and argue with you right now so can you just drop it?”

one of his arms snakes over your waist, and you inhaled sharply in surprise as he tugged you into his chest.

“Chanyeol—”

he was quick to disregard your warning tone, nuzzling his face into your neck. “i like to cuddle.”

“you know—” you began, scowling as he cut you off a second time.

“i know what we agreed to but come on… a few minutes won’t kill you.” he grumbled, low voice raspy with exhaustion.

the slight tightening of his hold around you told you that he had no intention of letting go any time soon. your features twisted into a scowl, eyes staring blankly up at the ceiling.

but your resolve to remain unphased wavered.

because, for a moment, you let yourself feel the warmth of his body against yours, allowing yourself to melt into it. it was a strange sensation, the comfort it brought you… the security. perhaps it was the aftermath of your orgasm. or maybe the exhaustion from a stressful week. or maybe something else entirely… regardless, you found yourself relaxing into him, into his hold, into his warmth. it wasn’t something you could really control. and even if you could, you weren’t sure if you would do anything different.

minutes passed. maybe two. maybe five. maybe twenty. you weren’t really sure. you could hear the muffled music still pumping through the speakers somewhere downstairs. dull footsteps and low voices passing outside the door every now and again. the soft glow from the still candle flickered soothingly over the pale walls.

a strange sense of calm had settled over you at some point. you weren’t sure quite when. all you knew was that if you listened hard enough, you could almost hear the steady beating of Chanyeol’s heart. his breathing had become slow and heavy, warming the side of your face with every exhale.

“are you…” you swallowed, throat unexpectedly dry, “are you asleep?”

you were met with silence.

sucking your lips into your mouth, you slowly turned your head. your heart faltered in your chest. “geez.” you muttered softly, a faint smile touching your lips.

he was knocked out cold, cheek smooshed up against the pillow, lips parted and puckered out, hair cast across the white pillowcase, a few locks stuck on his eyelashes. you lifted your hand carefully, gently brushing the silver strands out of his face. your fingers lingered on his skin, caressing ever so lightly over his cheek and jaw.

“beautiful.”

it took you a moment to realize that that word had just come from your lips. you jerked away like you’d been stung, eyes wide, and heart suddenly racing.

shit.

you were so fucked.

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darklingichor · 3 years ago

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Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir **MAJOR SPOILERS**

So, this is a first, I've never written a revisit this fast.

I do often read or listen to an especially good book, again, right after I finish it. Usually because I can't get into another book until I do.

I did it with Lamb, and I did it with the Martian.

This one is going to be chock full of spoilers, I really want to analyze the main characters in this book, and I can't do that without going into details. This is why I marked the hell out of this.

Project Hail Mary is even better the second time around. This is often the case. Books are like soup. The leftovers from the fridge are often even better than when you had it the first time.

*SPOILERS* *SERIOUSLY SPOILERS TURN BACK NOW IF YOU HAVEN’T READ THIS BOOK* *SPOILERS* *THE REST OF THIS RAMBLE WILL RUIN THE BOOK* *SPOILERS*

Okay, so run down.

The book opens with our main character waking up to an annoying computer asking him basic math questions. This is detecting cognitive function, that's my guess anyway.

Our character quickly discovers a few things. First, he's in a room with robot arms tending to him, including unhooking him from various life support systems as it figures out that he is awake and functioning. He's not alone in the room, there are two others, but they are long dead. And he has no idea, who he is, where he is, or why he's there.

What follows for a little while is what I would call a psychological screwball comedy. It takes him several days to work out that his name is Ryland Grace and he is a microbiologist PhD who had a falling out with the academic community and found his calling as a Jr. High science teacher. Though exploration, experiments, and memory flashes, he works out that he is on a spaceship, the corpses were his crewmates, and he is on a mission to Tau Ceti to save earth from an alien algae like creature, called Astropgage, that is dimming the sun and setting earth on the course to an ice age that will begin to wipe out humanity in 30 years. Tau Ceti, which is 12 light years away from earth, is resistant to this energy sucking algae.

We get all the backstory of how he became a crew member aboard the ship Hail Mary, in flashbacks as his memories return. A big memory that returns? Project Hail Mary is a suicide mission, he will not be going home.

In the meantime, he is slowly trying to figure out how to save earth, while he does this, he sees a very weird spaceship and meets an intelligent alien being. This being (Grace calls him Rocky) comes from a world (Earid) that is in the same situation as Earth. Together, Grace and Rocky have to work out how to save both of their home worlds.

Ryland Grace is a complex character, he’s very very different from Mark Watney (I haven't read Artimis so I can't make comparisons to those characters).

The Martian points out that Astronauts are inherently noble, willing to risk their lives for science and a good cause.

Grace is not an astronaut. That's not to say that he isn't a good person, just that he is an average person. He can be all at once self-sacrificing and selfish.

Early on he is drafted into the research team on what would be called Astropgage as a science expert by Eva Strat, a woman in charge of figuring out what is going on and how to stop it.

Once he was released from his part in this research, he goes back to teaching, only to be struck by the fact that his students would be in their early forties when all hell breaks loose, and that they might die. He then goes back to Strat and demands to be part of the research again.

This back and forth happens a few times in the story. In fact, it becomes a big part of it. See, the crew of the Hail Mary were put into comas to ensure that they would not go nuts and kill each other on the 12 light-year (four years from their perspective) journey, a medical company discovered that 1 in 7000 people have the genes to survive long comas and still function when they wake up. Grace is one of those people, but he is not volunteering for this mission. It's not that he doesn't care, or even that he doesn't want to help, it's that he's scared. And who wouldn't be? But honestly? I think Grace has imposture syndrome and is generally very sensitive. He realized that his kids would suffer, after starting to teach a class, that speed him to become a part of Strat's team again. Events happen that lead him to being the only logical candidate for the science expert aboard the Hail Mary. He refused, Strat basically kidnaps him, sets the computer induce amnesia in only Grace and plunks him on board.

Before she does this, she harshly calls Grace out.

“Do you think I don’t know you, Dr. Grace?!” she yelled. “You’re a coward and you always have been. You abandoned a promising scientific career because people didn’t like a paper you wrote. You retreated to the safety of children who worship you for being the cool teacher. You don’t have a romantic partner in your life because that would mean you might suffer heartbreak. You avoid risk like the plague.” (pg. 392 Kindle Edition)

This all seems to be true, but we don't know Grace's full story. Other than a mention of one girlfriend in college, and brief mentions of friends, There is nothing in the book about his life before he started teaching. This could be because the amnesia has left those things fuzzy, but in my head, it's because he doesn't want to think about it. Maybe he had a bad family life, maybe he had *no* family life, maybe he had an early tragedy. Maybe he realized his short comings and that, no matter his talent, he just didn't have the temperament for acidemia.

He does like being the cool teacher, he does say he likes being looked up to, but this isn't necessarily a bad thing. He's a *good* teacher.

I had cool teachers before I switched to home school. They weren't all good. I had one that would literally just let us mess around during class because they didn't want to actually grade papers. Cool to a kid? Absolutely! Good for education? Not on your life.

Grace isn't like that, he loves science, he loves teaching, and the kids are learning.

He doesn't like animal testing, he's emotional at the fragility of humanity. In short, in his quiet way he loves life.

He leaves his comfort zone to be a part of Strat's team because he knows he's good at what he does and he couldn't look at his students and knowing they could die when he could help prevent it. That doesn't mean he thinks he will be Earth's savior, just that he can help.

He's unwilling to die.

Usually in books and movies, this translates to coward, but really? It's not. Most people wouldn't volunteer for a suicide mission, especially one this pressure filled. "So, we need you to go into a coma, go to a different solar system, save your whole species, and then kill yourselves so you won't starve to death. We good? Cool."

You can't fault a living being for wanting to live. Plus, the other crew members had time to think it through, really decide, make peace with the decision and *then* carry through with the training. Grace? He was given the training, but Strat always said it was for the science of the mission. She was a little like Dumbledore, in that she was training him in case he had to go, but never told him it was a possibility. When it became clear that he was the choice for the vacant spot, he was given less than five hours to decide, and then was told he had no choice.

He makes noble choices throughout the book, but that one choice was not his own, because Strat was given absolute power and used it absolutely.

I can't say that Strat is a villain, either. She was elected to save earth and given the power to cut through any red tape. Handed all this authority, she doesn't become corrupt, she uses this power ruthlessly, but always with the only goal being Save Earth, full stop, that's it. And even as Grace, understandably terrified, yells at her she tells him that she likes him, that she knows that he is a good man, that he will give this his all. She doesn't *want* to send this unwilling and scared man on a suicide mission. She *has* to. Strat is also complex, she is not nonsense and is committed to her role in saving humanity. I like the reason she gives as to why, toward the end of the book. She got her undergrad degree in history. She takes to heart the old saying that those who do not learn from history are doomed to repeat it.

The climate scientists and their models assumed survival based on the idea that all countries will work together for the common goal. However, Strat points out that history shows that that ideal scenario, is not likely to work. She says that most wars, up until very recently, were fought over food, and resulting in famine. As the sun loses energy and crops fail, there will be wars, and they will be over food. And that is what she is desperately trying to avoid – the horror of history brought to the modern day.

I started as a history major, and history is interwoven into anthropology – I understand this perspective.

I am not going to get into politics, but I’ve experienced the agonizing frustration of watching history repeat itself, more than once in the last couple of years. Guessing at how something will probably go due to how something lines up with a similar event in the past and knowing that if someone in power would just listen it might turn out different, or that the eventual problems could at least be prepared for, and watch it happen anyway and everyone act surprised. It’s enough to make you pull your hair out.

Strat has the knowledge and the authority to act on it, I can’t say, that in her position I wouldn’t act the same way.

That is the major difference between Grace and Strat: viewpoint. By necessity of her position and by virtue of her education, she sees the big picture clearly, Grace, however, doesn’t. He’s a microbiologist, his entire career and education is looking closely at the small things and how they would translate to big things. He studies the universe by studying the smallest things in it. It is no surprise that he would need the smaller things to make the bigger things to snap into focus. When he was forced to start research on astrophage, it wasn’t until he was faced with the small scale (his kids could suffer) to make him see his part in the grand scheme of things. Strat is right, he does avoid risk, because he’s avoiding pain, he doesn’t let things in because he feels too much. Yes, the realization about the kids, puts steel in his spine, but not before he narrowly avoids a break down. For Grace, seeing Strat’s point of view, without being able to work it though to his scale, is like yelling at someone standing too close to a mountain for not being able to see the peak. It just can’t be done from where they are.

It makes me wonder, had Strat been up front with Grace, would he have willingly gone? It takes him a while to come around to the idea of helping the project in the first place. If he were told sooner, given some time, had been able to go home, and think, I feel like he would have gone. Something would have set him on the course. Maybe it would have been one of his former students, telling him about their plans for trying out for high school track, or going to college, maybe he would have gone to his usual cafe for breakfast and found out that one of the waitresses had just gotten engaged, maybe he would be told these things and see the fear and desperate need to keep life as normal as possible in the person's eyes, and then he would decide, if, on the off chance no one else could go, he would. Until he remembers his refusal, nearly at the end of the book, he accepts quickly that he volunteered for the mission. Of course, that could have been simply because he couldn't imagine someone forcing someone into something like that, but even as his memories and sense of self come back to him, he doesn't have a sense of terror or blind panic at the fact that he's not going home. I would think that if his unwillingness were something hard wired into his personality, he would know soon after remembering who he is, that he would have never considered being a part of the voyage.

So, I think, had Strat told Grace early on that he had the coma resistant genes and that there was a small possibility that he may have to be the backup for the backup, and then allowed him to come to terms with it, he would have gone without the drama. Don’t get me wrong, there is the possibility that he would have run off and had to have been hunted down, but I think, just like when he went to his class and saw his students, something would have made his conscious kick in, and he would have come back.

That might have been interesting, him running scared for a little while and then coming back? Might have given a little more background into why he is the way he is. But that’s not really what this book is about, I think it’s a forgone about conclusion that Grace would have helped, but what’s really interesting is how Grace and Rocky work together.

Rocky is cool! I love that Weir didn’t go the easy route with the creation of an alien character. Rocky is no Roswell gray with a humanoid form. No no, for our sympathetic alien, we have a spider like creature with liquid mercury for blood who “sees” with echolocation and speaks in musical notes. And it works!!

Rocky is expressive and funny and is great with Grace. It’s hilarious, other than the Russian scientist on Project Hail Mary, he doesn’t get along with anyone as well as he does with Rocky, out of everyone in the book, Grace connects most with a spider shaped rock being, he has to make a computer program to speak with.

Rocky is a tad steadier than Grace, but that makes sense simply because of the two, Rocky knew what he was getting into, and Eridens not only have more time before their star dims to the point of causing a problem, but also, they live a long long time, so, Rocky knows he is going home. But the steadiness is also built into his personality. He and Grace are both analytical problem solvers, but seeing that Rocky is an engineer, his focus is to fix things. A problem arises, and his first reaction is “I will fix that.” He won’t be dissuaded until he has all avenues exhausted.

Grace has a habit, early on, of moping for a little while before rallying and getting to work. His interaction with Rocky brings that pouting time down a bit, and he even pulls Rocky out of a slump a time or two.

The relationship between these two is interesting because Grace says flat out that he is not a social person, he feels awkward in groups with people. But he easily communicates with his students, and he easily communicates with Rocky. Rocky is not childlike, but he does have something in common with the students, Grace, like any teacher, teaches his students, and learns from them. Grace teaches Rocky and learns from him. Grace is comfortable with this sort of interaction; with his students this is where the relationship stops. With Rocky, it doesn’t have that boundary. By virtue of the fact that both are alone in space and crave interaction, they talk a lot. Also, activities that Grace is use to doing alone, Rocky’s culture requires to be done in pairs. The biggest: Sleeping.

Eridens do not sleep without another person watching them. So, he insists that he watch Grace sleep and that Grace watches him. It is not expressly said what other things Eridens don’t do alone, but it is implied (at least to me) that they work better in pairs or in groups. This is true of humans as well, but Grace in particular is a loner, even as he complains that science doesn’t happen with one scientist doing the work (and he’s right) but he does work alone even when the astrophage project opened up to more people, the feeling I get is that he still does most of his work alone unless asked to teach others, or forced to come along by Strat.

Grace quickly becomes acclimated to Rocky’s way of doing things, in an odd way, Grace is more comfortable being Eriden, than he is being human. And I really think that this is the crux of their relationship.

I read somewhere recently that family isn’t necessarily blood, but who you would bleed for.

I feel that Rocky and Grace would sacrifice themselves for their respective home worlds, but they will bleed for each other. Grace must go to a different star system to find family, which is actually really cool to me, because the story manages to have Grace have a story of growth and even a quiet redemption arc all with the background noise of a potential double Armageddon, and we manage not to lose sight of any of these elements. Add to this that the book will make you laugh, cry and think all at once. I love the Martian, but I honestly think this one is better!

#project hail mary #andy weir #book #books #revisit 21 #spoilers #major spoilers #book blogging 2021

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rosy-cheekx · 4 years ago

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Hypothetically

@aspecarchivesweek Day One: Wish

I wish to make you happy.

Jonathan Sims/Georgie Barker

This was it. Jon fiddles with the pale green collar of his shirt; eyes focused resolutely on the version of himself in the mirror that hung on the wardrobe in his student flat. Tonight’s the night I’m going to ask Georgie to…

He shakes his head to himself, wincing at the end of that sentence. He knows what he’s going to do tonight, what he wants to do tonight, what difference does vocalizing it make, even if it’s just to himself?

Glancing down at his watch, Jon chews his lip. He was meeting Georgie at the bar in thirty minutes. The bar was ten minutes away…He should probably leave now, right? In case he needed to find them seats or use the loo or if the walk ended up taking longer than the dozens of times he’s been there before? He doesn’t want to be late, that would just make everything worse-

Huh. He’s pacing. Jon forces himself to stop and stands in the middle of his bedroom, wrapping his hands around his sides, thumbs digging into his back, feeling his diaphragm push his ribs out and in as he breathes, focusing on the solid movement of his body. Why am I so nervous? His therapist had talked to him, years back, about identifying sources of his anxiety. He hates that it works, hates that it means confronting his own brain and acknowledging his faults.

Is it the bar? No. This bar, The Addison, is one of the few pubs Jon actually enjoys. It’s always got a bit of a draft so even in the busiest nights it never feels like the heat of the room is inescapable. Jon’s not the biggest fan of beer, per se, but he can knock back a pint with the best of them, so long as he has something in his stomach first, and the pretzels and beer cheese The Addison makes are his favorite. The thought of them make his stomach growl.

Is it Georgie? No. He has a lot of strong feelings for Georgie, feels comfortable being himself around her. He drops his stuffy academic persona and can be his regular, less-stuffy-but-still-academic self, the one who speaks to her flatmate’s cat in a higher-pitched voice but still with proper Queen’s English, because “they deserve to be treated with respect, don’t you Madame?” She cares about him, too, he knows that, and he’s enjoyed their months as friends and the past few weeks they’ve been a couple.

As a couple…He feels a twinge of anxiety in his chest that makes him flap his hands instinctively, a quick stim to ward off the impending doom building in his belly. Ah. Found it. He and Georgie have only gone on a few dates: a coffeeshop on a Saturday morning, and a movie night in Georgie’s flat, an evening which had been planned to be a movie marathon of Georgie’s favorite bad horror movies, the B and C rated films that were truly just a vehicle for half-naked women sprinting down alleyways and gratuitous fake blood effects. Any excuse for them to laugh over popcorn and predict the plot points, except Jon had fallen asleep partway through the second movie and had woken up the next morning on Georgie’s couch, a worn fleece blanket over his slumped form. But this? This was a proper night-time date, involving alcohol and a walk home and, Jon was sure, a “mind if I come in?” and it would be different because it wasn’t a friend he was talking to, it was his girlfriend and there were expectations and he was a virgin and didn’t want to disappoint her because he knows Georgie is experienced and she deserves to have a good time and it’s his responsibility as a boyfriend to do that, even if he’s terrified because he hasn’t before—

Woah. Jon takes a deep breath. That was a lot. He did a full Sims, as Georgie would say, letting things snowball in his head until he explodes. He closes his eyes, wringing his hands again, just a gentle flutter at his sides. It’ll be fine. She’ll understand. She has up to now. Georgie has understood his weird studying habits, his deep aversion to spiders, his need to be early everywhere, his sudden shutdowns and stimming habits and how he loves to be held and touched. She can certainly handle him being a nervous virgin.

Jon slips a condom in his wallet and then, hesitating, tears off two more and throws them in. In case he messes up the first time. Checking his watch, he sees its quarter to eight. If he leaves now he’ll only be five minutes early. Perfect.

The Addison is a healthy dose of busy on a Thursday night in late autumn, the hum of conversation and music floating over Jon is just the right amount of chaos for him to reach equilibrium, feeling enthused by his nervous energy. He’s sitting at the bartop, spinning the cap to his beer bottle, watching it whirl, whirl, whirl, clattering on the stained wood and spinning all the while. It’s entrancing.

Georgie is speaking to him now. She smiles warmly at him and feels his stomach flip. God, she’s gorgeous when she smiles. Her hair’s in braids this month, pink and orange weaved tightly together, contrasting with the tight black turtleneck dress she wears. He catches himself staring at her profile, the planes of her face animated as she tells him a story about her professor and his alleged vow to fail her this semester. His face is warm. See, he soothes himself, you are attracted to her. You’re just nervous.

“Jon. Jon?” Georgie’s eyebrow is quirked up and she’s smirking at him, like she’s caught him in a lie. “Everything alright? You’re staring.” Jon feels another rush of blood to his cheeks, prickling at how exposed he feels to have been caught up in his thoughts about her.

“Oh-uh, yeah,” he nods, hesitating before reforming his own features into a smile. “I-I was just thinking. Well. How nice you look tonight.” Georgie isn’t immune to compliments, he knows this for certain, and its reaffirmed as she ducks her own head briefly, smile shifting from teasing to soft.

“O-Oh. Thank you, Jon.” She sips her drink, preferring something a little harder than Jon’s beer, usually a vodka cranberry she can nurse throughout a night or throw back when she needs a little something more in her bloodstream, fogging her mind. “You look really nice too, you know. Your green shirt is my favorite.” She gestures to the button up and he nods absently, glancing down at it. When he looks up, her face is close to his, hand weaving into the curls by his ear. He sighs and leans into the touch, feeling a shiver run through him when they kiss. He tastes the cranberry on her lips, vodka on her tongue, her liquid courage enthusing him as well as her (not that she needs any excuse to be bold, really), and makes a choice.

When they pull away for air, he grins wildly at her, the face he makes when he knows he’s about to a very Not-Sims thing. When the bartender makes his rounds again, a pale man in a black button-down, Jon orders his own ruby-red drink. Georgie’s eyebrows meet her hairline as he does so, folding her hands together. “Who are you and what have you done with Jonathan Sims?” The chuckle behind her voice balances the sternness of her words. He just grins at her and takes a sip of his newly-acquired vodka and cranberry juice, the dry flavors curling on his tongue and making his head feel light and warm after even half the glass.

Jon is drunk. It doesn’t take a genius to see that. He knows he’s a lightweight and even the divine soft pretzels he’s been munching on since his arrival can only handle so much. He’s finished his second hard drink on top of the beer and is feeling properly light and airy. Like a cake, he giggles to himself. He’s having fun, chatting with Georgie about life and cats and uni and their plans for the future. Jon’s entertaining a couple of options, a few research jobs in London, and Georgie is poking his side, making him laugh as she teases him about his studying skills being useful for something more than exams.

“At least I have studying skills!” He says, pushing her off his side, linking their fingers together to inhibit her from poking him again. “You can’t ride my coattails forever, you know.”

“I won’t have to! It came in today.”

“What did?” His thoughts are clouded, edges of anxiety smoothed over into something more ignorable.

“My microphone! So I can start my podcast about spooky shit, remember?” Georgie squeezes his hand and finishes her own drink, far along as Jon in liquid consumed but not nearly as affected as he is. “I’m going to uncover the world’s mysteries and teach my faithful audience about the supernatural. I’ve got the title nailed down, too.” With her free hand she paints a banner in the air. “What the Ghost. ‘Cause it’s like ‘what the fuck’ and I can talk about all sorts of weird shit.” Georgie swears a lot, and more when she’s tipsy.

“Can I see it?” The words are out of his mouth before he can think them through. “The-the microphone, can I see it?”

Her eyes widen and she nods, “Oh, yeah of course! I haven’t been able to test it out yet, so maybe you can help me.”

Jon insists on paying. So does Georgie. They resign to splitting it, each vowing to pay next time and knowing they will never outsmart each other.

Jon doesn’t realize how drunk he is until he’s walking the five minutes to Georgie’s flat. Tucked into her side, the air is cool around his face, the wind an icy hand cupping his cheek. Everything feels smeary, liquid, warm. Hands in the pocket of the peacoat he knows he bought for the aesthetic and not to keep him warm, he fingers his wallet, feels the circular outline inside, and feels…nothing. Good. He can do this.

He’s always loved Georgie’s flat. It is warm, all orange and yellow lamplight, houseplants, and a cosy cluttered look. Her roommate exists only in residuals, the sneakers she leaves by the door and the dishes she does at odd hours more proof she exists than anything like conversation. Jon respects that. Georgie’s room is a lot like the rest of the flat, which means it’s a lot like Georgie herself. Warm, dark, soft, and scattered, with hidden elements of cat hair no matter how many times she cleans. Jon throws his coat over his desk chair and collapses onto her bed, reveling in how her pillows feel under his back. He takes a moment to greet the weird smile-faced stain on her ceiling before sitting up, watching Georgie fold herself next to him and open a carboard box, taking out a chunky black microphone with a USB cable. She brandishes it like a sword, before angling it to her face.

“This is BBC 4 with breaking news,” she intones into the microphone, putting on a crisp RP accent and lowering her voice an octave. “Ghosts and ghouls have been discovered at King’s College, Oxford, residing as university professors. News anchor Jonathan Sims has the story. Sims?”

Jon presses back his giggles and leans into the character, accent already pretty close to the posh voice she puts on. “There’s been an error, actually. They’ve been the students all along. Journalism student Porgie Parker has been found out to have been a ghost. These discoveries were made after her boyfriend, English Literature student…Bonathan Bims, realized she had never picked up a textbook because she couldn’t! Her hands went right through them!” By the time he’s gotten to the word textbook, Georgie has pounced on him, microphone forgotten as she wrestles him to the bed, alternating between poking and tickling him until he lets the bit trail off, voice a mix of giggles and pleas for her to stop.

When she lets off, Jon abruptly realizes the intimacy of their position. She’s straddling him, her hands pinning his wrists to the plush pillow behind his head. They’re both breathing hard, cheeks flushed, and smiling.

Jon isn’t sure who started the kiss, but it doesn’t really matter. His arms are wrapped around Georgie’s neck and her hands are cupping his face, cool to the touch, nails lightly scratching his jawline. The bed is soft and Georgie is warm, pressing in from all sides, and it feels good. This he likes.

She kisses along his jawline and he feels heart rate pickup, flexing his hands (when did he curl them into fists?) as she presses against his neck. He wishes vaguely she’d put her hands back in his hair, he likes that soft feeling of pressure on his scalp. The smile on the ceiling is smirking at him now, the curve of the water stain looking more vicious than it had earlier.

Her hands are on his chest, she’s unbuttoning his shirt. Her hands feel too cold now, the shiver running through him one of anxiety, not desire, and Jon is sitting up before he knows what he’s doing. Fuck. Georgie, the saint, backs off him and kneels beside him on the bed. Jon’s hands flit to the undone buttons, fingertips circling them, suddenly unsure what to do.

“Are you okay, Jon?” Georgie’s voice is softer, eyes searching his face as she wedges her hands underneath her knees. He watches her wrists, the swing of her braids as she cocks her head, anything to avoid her eyes.

“I-” he gestures to her vaguely. “Y-You know I haven’t before, right?”

“Oh. Oh.” Georgie nods, understanding maybe a little better than he expected. “No offense, but I kinda figured, Jon. Not in a bad way!” She backpedals. “I just figured, you know, there’s no rush.”

“I mean, there’s a little of a rush,” he admonishes under his breath. At her hum of confusion: “You know, the whole-” he gestures again, as if he could pluck the word from the air. “-third date…thing.”

“Jon,” Georgie sighs his name, voice soft and so patient, a voice he doesn’t think he’s heard used anywhere else. “There’s no rule saying what we have to do when. Or how. Or ever, for that matter. It’s no one’s business what we do except ours.” She reaches out a hand, waiting for a slight nod, before taking his thin hands in her own. “Is that why you drank more than usual today?”

Jon nods, feeling a sag of relief spread throughout his body. “I just- I want to make you happy.”

“You do make me happy, you twit. That’s why we’re friends and it’s why I’m dating you.” She presses a kiss to his knuckles. “Contrary to popular belief, I don’t need sex to be happy. Is it fun? Yes. But not necessary.”

Jon frowns, chewing on his lip and eyeing the window of her bedroom, tracing the rectangle with his eyes over and over again. “I-hmm.” Georgie watches him search for words; she knows how he ticks well enough to know they’re coming if she waits. “What if, hypothetically, I never had sex with you? Ever.”

“Well,” she gave his hands a light squeeze. “Hypothetically, I’d be totally okay with it, though I’d ask if you were asexual and make sure we had appropriate boundaries.”

“Huh?” The word draws him back to her face, the deep brown eyes that search his own. “Asexual. Like, no sex?” She nods, again, ever-patient. “Huh. Asexual.” He drops the pretense. “Maybe.”

Asexual. The word felt good as he rolled it around in his mouth. He traced the letters with his fingertips in cursive against his thigh as Georgie let go of him, rolling off her bed to pull on sweatpants and a t shirt instead of the dress she was wearing

“Let’s look into it, if you want. Together.” Georgie grins at him now, rye and warm. “I will have to ask you if want hypothetical crisps, because I’m hypothetically fucking starving.”

#aspec archive week #jonathan sims #Georgie barker #cw alcohol #cw internalized acephobia #/confusion #just some good confusing feelings #based on my own experiences? said who?#also! important note: Jon's stims are reflective of my own habits #just sayin #asexuality #ace #ace flavor: who knows? not even Jon

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sncwbaz · 4 years ago

Text

left on read.

Once a year I rise from the ashes to write a fic for the Carry On Countdown. This time about troubled boys and their unexpected late night texts. I hope you enjoy.

(This takes place somewhere before Wayward Son I think? Maybe?)

link to ao3

+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+•+

He felt stupid about it, but there were times when Baz missed the Watford catacombs. He specifically missed them as he lay awake at unreasonable hours, with his head full of worries. He knew it wasn’t a good place to long back to. Not a good time in his life to long back to, either. However, it had been nice to have a place to retreat to when the voices in his head wouldn’t quiet down. It had been a good place to feel lonely; in the catacombs his loneliness just became part of the scenery, whereas in his London flat it turned the air so heavy that he felt constantly weighted down.

It had been good to have a physical place to put his emotions. Now that he lacked such a place, he resulted to outsmarting and outrunning all the feelings and thoughts that tugged at him.

Baz rolled over in his bed and reached for his phone, that he unwisely kept on his nightstand where it could act as a perfect distraction from sleeping. He knew he wasn’t sleeping tonight anyway, though, so it didn’t matter if the brightness of his phone screen kept him further from a proper night’s rest. If he found himself feeling nostalgic to his angst-ridden days at Watford, then he truly was in a bad place.

He unlocked his phone and, without much thought, found his way to his text conversation with Simon. The conversation was mostly one-sided, as had been normal the last few months. Both with texting and real life conversations. Most of the texts were Baz asking Simon practical questions: If he wanted something from from supermarket (butter), if Baz should come over on Friday to cook dinner for him (sure), if Simon wanted back his hoodie that he’d left at Baz’s flat way back when (no answer).

Looking at the text only made Baz feel lonelier, but he still clung to them like they were a life line. Simon was still there, just… less.

Baz scrolled all the way down again, to the last text he’d sent Simon the previous evening.

Baz (21:39) - Will you let me know if you need anything from me?

He’d sent this unprompted. The fact that it had gone unanswered was answer enough for Baz. Simon wouldn’t ask for help, which left Baz with a permanent furrowed brow.

Baz stared at the texts long enough that his screen almost turned to black again. He was about to close out of the app when a tiny speech bubble with moving dots appeared at the bottom of the chat. It took him a moment and a held breath to figure out what this meant. Simon was typing.

Simon was awake, with his chat to Baz open. And Simon was typing.

Baz’s heart was suddenly racing. He sat up in bed as he waited for Simon to finish typing.

But then the speech bubble disappeared, and no text followed. Baz waited for a bit, but nothing came. Baz considered the option that he might have imagined the little speech bubble, but his breathlessness told him otherwise.

Even more awake than before, Baz kept staring at his lit phone screen.

Will you let me know if you need anything from me?

What if Simon had been trying? Baz decided to bite the bullet and typed out a message himself.

Baz (03:12) - Hey, are you awake?

The longer he waited for an answer, the more he regretted sending the text in the first place. Something in Baz kept telling him that he shouldn’t push Simon. That he should follow the pace Simon set for them. That he shouldn’t ask more questions than Simon would have the energy to answer. That he shouldn’t want more from Simon than Simon was willing to give.

But he felt alone and sad, and his inability to reach Simon was eating at him more than the voice that told him that he should leave Simon alone.

When Baz almost lost hope that Simon would reply, the little speech bubble with the moving dots reappeared, causing Baz to still completely.

This time the speech bubble really did turn into an actual message.

Simon (03:29) - Yeah

It wasn’t much—barely a word—but it was something. Baz took a few deep breaths, and decided to take Simon’s short reply as an invitation.

Baz (03:30) - What’s keeping you awake?

Baz’s heart did a leap as Simon started typing back almost instantly. Simon had been typing for a while, but Baz only got a one word reply.

Simon (03:32) - Caffeine

Baz snorted despite himself. Considering the time it had taken Simon to type such a short message, it had probably gone through many revisions. Baz knew he wasn’t getting the full truth. However, it was an answer nonetheless, which was more than Baz could have hoped for.

Baz lay back down in bed, and wondered shortly how to follow up on Simon’s text, but he didn’t get the chance to come up with anything.

Simon (03:32) - What’s keeping you awake?

Baz (03:33) - My head won’t quiet down. It’s full with uni stuff.

Baz contemplated for a moment before sending an additional message, his fingers shaking with adrenaline as he pressed send.

Baz (03:33) - And you.

Simon (03:34) - Oh

Baz (03:34) - Yeah.

Baz couldn’t stand the idea of allowing a silence to fall between them at this moment, so he continued typing.

Baz (03:34) - Perhaps I was missing you

Simon (03:35) - You were here yesterday

Baz (03:35) - Well, yes. You’re saying you don’t miss me after not seeing me for a single day?

Simon (03:35) - Don’t be ridiculous

Baz (03:36) - And how exactly am I being ridiculous?

Simon (03:36) - I always miss you.

Something stilled in Baz. He didn’t know if it was his heart, or simply his breathing.

Baz (03:36) - You don’t have to, you know.

Baz (03:36) - I mean

Baz (03:36) - You can always reach out to me when you miss me.

Simon (03:37) - Okay

Simon (03:37) - I think I know that

Baz (03:37) - You *think* you know?

Simon (03:37) - Things aren’t always clear in my head. Not used to thinking. It’s tiring.

Simon (03:38) - I used to be better at not thinking.

Baz felt at a loss for words here. He felt like Simon was finally saying things to him—really saying things. He was finally showing him a little of what was going on in his head, and Baz didn’t know what to do with it. His inability to act as proper support for Simon left him feeling hollowed out.

In a panic of not knowing what to reply he ended up pressing the call button. If he couldn’t find the words to comfort Simon, then he at least wanted Simon to know that he was really there with him.

The call got denied within seconds.

Simon (03:39) - Did you mean to call?

Baz (03:39) - Yeah.

Simon (03:39) - Oh right. It made me jump. Sorry.

And then a call came in from Simon.

“Hey,” Baz said as he answered the call.

“Hey,” Simon’s voice sounded, cracking through the speakers of Baz’s phone.

“I figured listening to me could maybe help you a little with the thinking problem?”

“You sound unsure.”

“I am unsure.” Baz sighed. “I just didn’t want you to think that my silence would mean that I was leaving you on read. I’m here with you even if I don’t know what to say.”

Simon makes a snorting sound at that.

“Are you laughing at me, Snow?”

“You don’t seem like someone who’d have trouble with finding things to say.” Simon’s voice had a sleepy kind of roughness to it, over the phone like this. Baz melted a little at the sound of it.

“I do when I want the things I say to mean something.”

“Oh, okay.”

“Yeah.”

A silence fell.

“I think I’m getting sleepy,” Simon said after a while.

“I can stay on the phone until you fall asleep, if you want?”

“Really?”

“Of course,” Baz said, soft enough that it could almost pass as a whisper.

“Won’t it be weird?”

“I don’t know, Snow. Won’t it be?”

Simon made a huffing sound, which Baz guessed was the audible version of a shrug.

“Maybe it’s better if we hang up. What if the call stays on the entire night?”

Baz couldn’t help but feel a little disappointed. “Yeah, okay.”

“Okay.”

They were quiet for another moment.

“Well, good night then, Simon.”

“Good night,” Simon said back, and Baz thought he could hear a smile in Simon’s words. Though, maybe it was just wishful thinking.

“See you tomorrow, right?”

“Right.”

“Okay. Good.”

Another silence fell. Baz had already firmly decided that he wouldn’t be the one to hang up.

“Okay, bye then,” Simon said.

“Bye, love,” Baz whispered back and Simon ended the call.

The feeling that spread out from Baz’s chest to his throat was one he couldn’t quite understand. He was happy. Simon had properly talked to him for what felt like the first time in ages. Yet he felt heavy in a way that came too close to dread.

He wondered if the conversation they’d had just now would change anything between them when Baz visited him tomorrow. He wondered if anything about Simon’s state would be improved tomorrow. If Simon would come greet him and kiss him at the door when he arrived. If Simon would talk about his day and actually listen while Baz told him about his.

But the heavy feeling in his chest told him not to hope. Simon was not okay, that much was clear. And Baz didn’t really know how to help him, that was clear too. But maybe, he’d made Simon understand that he would still be there for him, even if he didn’t really know how to, and maybe that was a good start.

#y'all im so sorry if there's typos or something im an idiot without a beta reader pls forgive me #but yes he's my yearly fic have fun with it #idk how i feel about it #i think it was better in my head but oH WELL #i hope you'll get some enjoyment out of it #anna writes #carry on #simon snow #baz pitch #carry on countdown #coc 2020 #snowbaz #snowbaz fic #snowbaz fanfic #snowbaz fanfiction #carry on fic #carry on fanfic #carry on fanfiction #simon snow series

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orangerosebush · 4 years ago

Text

What’s in a name?

[ao3 link]

Juliet Butler was used to sharing. The weight of her last name. Her brother. Her space within the manor. It seemed that just by being born at this time, within this family, she was expected to follow a certain path in life that was so far tangled up in the Fowls as to not really be hers at all.

It didn’t surprise her brother when she sat him down at age 18 and told him she was going to try a crack at something new in America with the wrestling circuit, but it did surprise him when she came back a mere three years later. It was shortly after when Artemis checked into the psychiatrist in Haven — she had come to the clinic with Butler and Artemis, and she took the shuttle back to the manor with Butler.

Butler didn’t want to say anything too pointed. They’d have to talk about if she was here to stay for good eventually, but she had just gotten back; he knew that she was proud enough that she’d pack her bags again if she felt he was suggesting her experiment in the U.S. with carving her own path had failed.

So they didn’t talk about it. They both went on, carefully watching each other as they circled around the elephant in the room.

It had been a week since she arrived at the manor, and it looked like they could avoid the subject altogether if they tried hard enough. Their patterns during the day were certainly different enough that they could rely on their interactions being brief enough to make having a conversation about what Juliet was going to do easy to sidestep.

He was far busy enough trying to explain to Mrs. Fowl why her son was staying with a psychologist a few thousand kilometers under the earth’s surface. Neither the mental health conversation nor the magic conversation was going particularly well, he winced. Of course, Mr. Fowl was significantly out of the loop, but he’d never really been in any loop regarding his son. At least with Myles and Beckett, he could trust that Juliet was enough of a distraction from Artemis’ second leave of the family. Both the boys had noticed, of course, that their brother was gone again, but they were too dazzled by the newness of Juliet to ask either their mother or him about where Artemis was.

Butler leaned back in his chair, looking out of his room’s window at the sunlight. The clouds had cleared for the first time in a while, and the Fowl estate sprawled out across the surrounding acres of land. The wing that his room was in faced the old forest on the grounds, and he could just about make out the distant scene of Juliet and the boys by the pond at the edge of the trees. Juliet appeared to be allowing Becket to sit on her shoulders while Myles sat on the grass and looked at the water.

He smiled to himself, feeling the lines under his eyes crease upwards. From a distance, she could have been their older sister. Pulling his eyes away from the glass, he glanced back at the inside of the room. He sighed. Rolling his shoulders, he reached for the book he’d set down on his coffee table last night.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢ The manor was quiet. Juliet paused at the bottom of the staircase, hand ghosting over the handrail. If she looked close enough, she could make out the scuffs that Artemis and her brother weren’t quite able to get out of the wall after the troll wrecked the hallway during the hostage situation. She exhaled slightly, a grin quirking the sides of her mouth upwards as she imagined Artemis getting snippy over her usage of ‘hostage situation’. “Please, Juliet,” she remembered him sighing a while back. “It’s rude to leave out the nuance of it all like that”.

She tightened her grip on the banister. Slowly, Juliet made her way up towards her room.

⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢⌢

There was a knock on the door. Butler set his book on his lap.

“Come in,” he called out, fully prepared to see Angeline.

The door opened cautiously, and there was Juliet, her hand lingering on the doorknob.

“Hey,” she scuffed her feet against the carpet. Butler blinked.

“Er, hi.”

They both stood there, self-consciously waiting for the other to say something.

“I took the twins outside.”

“I saw. They seemed to have a good time.”

Juliet shrugged, finally walking all the way in to the room. Letting the door close slowly behind her, she sat down gently on the edge of his bed. “Yeah, I guess. They like the pond. I remember liking getting into whatever was muddiest on the property when I was their age.”

He grinned. Butler remembered taking Juliet outside to run before dark when she was young — she’d always had a wild child energy to her.

“Beckett reminds me of you,” he smiled. “He’s very determined to find trouble somewhere on the grounds I’ve worked so hard at child-proofing.”

Juliet rolled her eyes. “They’re both troublemakers.”

“True,” Butler laughed, leaning back in his chair. Juliet grinned. She stretched slightly, flopping back onto the bed.

“It’s weird being back,” she sighed. “Like, I’m back in my old room, and what’s still up on the wall? The Spice Girls poster I had when I was, what, eight? It’s like a time capsule I don’t even want.”

“I’m sure most twenty-somethings coming back from university feel the same way about seeing the stuff they plastered up all over their room when they were younger,” he chuckled softly.

At that, she sat back up to look at him, putting her weight on her right arm. “I’m not most twenty-somethings, though. I didn’t even go to uni—“

Butler scrunched his face up in confusion. “Do you even want to go to uni?”

Juliet groaned, gripping the duvet in annoyance. “I don’t know if I want to go to uni, that’s the thing! I thought I wanted to go to America, be a wrestler, but then something happened with Artemis. And, a-and I was sitting in the hospital cafeteria with Mulch, and you know what I realized? I’d tried professional wrestling, and now I was bored! I love wrestling! I love my teammates! I love traveling and seeing new people, and getting to be Juliet instead of Juliet Butler. But I still woke up each day loving the gig a little less than I did the night before, and I can’t live like that. You know that, Dom.”

Juliet’s eyes were shining, and she loosened her grip on the bed sheets. Butler set his book down gently on the floor. Standing slowly, his knees cursing him, he moved to sit next to her.

“I missed you,” he said simply. “I’m sorry about America.”

She reached over, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I missed you, too.”

“I want you to know that you can stay as long as you need. I can also help you find an apartment nearby if what you need to is to be here without being here, if that makes sense.”

Juliet let out a small grin, retracting her hand from his shoulder to rub the wetness from her eyes. “I like my old room, but thanks.”

She grabbed a pillow, holding it on her lap and looking up at the ceiling pensively. “I don’t want to just be a Butler for Myles and Beckett, though. That’s never going to be me, I know that.”

“I know. I think the Fowls know that, too.”

Juliet nodded earnestly. “Cool. That’s good.”

“Thank you for talking to me about this, by the way,” Butler sighed, looking at her.

“I don’t care what happens — at the end of the day, I’m still your older brother. I want you to let me in when you’re hurting—“ Juliet scoffed, but he continued. “I know you’re not a child anymore, I know that! But I hate the idea of you feeling as though you have to go it alone because you need to prove something to the world,” he finished, eyes pleading.

The two of them sat in silence, the sound of birds outside filtering into the room the only noise in the room. Finally, Juliet sighed, leveling her gaze on him.

“Okay.”

He started. “O-okay?”

She snorted, throwing her pillow at him. “Yeah, okay, nerd. I’ll keep you in the loop.”

Butler caught the pillow, laughing incredulously. “Okay!”

Suddenly, Juliet’s eyes widened. “I still have to tell my manager that I’m dropping out, shit”

Butler stared at her. “You didn’t tell him?”

She waved a hand dismissively. “I think he knows, considering it’s been, what, a couple of weeks by now? But after you showed up,” she jabbed him with a finger pointedly. “I was so caught up in whatever end-of-the-world business Artemis had gotten us caught up in that I never gave my ‘official’ two-weeks notice, or whatever.”

Butler sat there in silence for a moment, thinking. “I… don’t think you should call him, actually.”

“Me neither.”

“I think he’s going to be pissed.”

“Wow, really? Because I think he’ll be psyched one of the best acts in the group just dropped out without letting him know. Dom, obviously I’m gonna get yelled at by him if I so much as look at my phone.”

A side of Butler’s mouth quirked upwards. “One of the best acts?”

Juliet sniffed. “I was being humble. I’m a Butler, it’s clear I’m the best.”

At that, he laughed, and she shoved him. “Shut up! I am going to let him know eventually. I’m telling Sam that I’m not rejoining the troupe tonight—”

“Sam?” Butler frowned, and Juliet stuck her tongue out at him.

“Don’t be annoying. She’s my teammate. You saw her and I sparring before you dragged me off to Haven. We’re scheduled for matches together, so she, out of everybody, deserves to know first about my decision,” she chided.

“I wasn’t prying!” Butler said defensively.

“Fiiiine, you weren’t prying,” Juliet teased. Butler rolled his eyes.

“So, she’s your teammate. That’s nice! I’m glad you have friends in the troupe.” Butler tossed the pillow back to its original place on his bed.

“Yeah, it is nice. She’s cool, you’d like her. It’s… stupid, but I already kind of miss her,” Juliet’s tone softened. Butler’s eyes widened slightly. Oh.

“You could ask her to visit sometime, if you’d like,” he offered, trying to be nonchalant.

Juliet hummed. “Maybe. I’ll see how things go tonight with her.”

With that, she stood up from the bed. “I’m going to get ready for dinner. I think we’ve had enough awkward sibling heart-to-heart conversations for today,” she grinned, and Butler knew that eventually, things would be okay. Maybe they wouldn’t go back to normal, but that was okay. He had his sister back.

Pausing at the door, Juliet turned to face him. “It’s nice to be back home with you, Dom.”

He smiled. “Love you, too, Jules”

Juliet grinned, closing the door after her, and Butler was left alone. The sun was starting to get low in the sky, and the light cast shadows across his room.

He picked up his book again, running his fingers down the spine to stop at the name of the author. Violet Tsirblou. The book was, in all honesty, quite bad. The dialogue was awkward, the plot stilted, and the characters alien-feeling. Butler felt the smile lines on his face deepen. Artemis must have written it when he was about ten.

Butler put his hand on the window sill, his gaze falling on the pond. Myles and Beckett. Artemis and Juliet.

It would all be okay, in the end. It had to be. Butler let his hand fall from the sill. Sitting back down tiredly, he opened the book to where he had left it.

#dont mind me just using r+j as insp for fic titles re: juliet #juliet butler #domovoi butler #artemis fowl #long post

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sothatmyocshauntmealittleless · 3 years ago

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No time to die - part 2/2

->part 1

author's note: the story is finished for now, and I don't think that I would go back to them in the near future. While writing it, at some point a voice in my head tried to convince me to turn it into something more, but I don't think I have the material for it, for now. Anyways I hope that you enjoy it.

~1600 words

The night passes peacefully, or at least what's left of it. And when morning comes, I can’t really tell who wakes up first, because we fall fast into the easy routine of making breakfast. Nothing fancy but it’ll do for now. She puts the cheese on my side of the table and the blackberry jam on hers, like how we used to trade them when we got the same package on school trips. Jam for her and her love of sweet flavors, and cheese for me because I never understood how could people eat something that sweet and I could eat cheese on every meal.

We chat while we eat, mostly about silly little things in our lives that aren’t too impersonal that it’d be awkward but aren’t truly intimate either. Beside talking about the general state of our families, she tells me about her weird classmates or funny moments in uni, and then asks me about my neighbor, an old lady who is always source of bizarre tales. And then we go on to talk about the latest news and events that happened in the world, carefully avoiding sensitive subjects, because we both know that our newfound proximity is too fragile to be tested like that yet.

This is an easy dance, one we had mastered before. Casual conversations for tiring days when we didn’t have energy for anything serious. But I guess now, after being apart for so long this acts as a shortcut to how we used to be back then and without even noticing we grow closer as it goes, and the room has gone silent.

The stillness of this moment freezes time for me, and then breaks it completely. I’m thrown back in time and we’re seventeen again. It’s the day before it all changed, or the day that changed it all, depends on your view. It’s the launch break before the last period on a Tuesday and we were sitting on the school yard’s floor. I can’t exactly remember what we were talking about, but back then we could never be spotted apart from each other. With our heated conversations and ambitious plans, discussing latest political changes and saying how if we were older we would do something about them. For once it felt like I knew which way things were going and I was less afraid to face what was to come. Maybe our dreams my dreams sound a little naïve now, but we were going to study humanities and we were going to make the world a better place. And well now I know for a fact that how I felt wasn’t just because of my dreams for the future, a big part of it was because of her. Having someone to share the scary and exiting parts of being a teenager with, felt truly special.

Then the bell rang and we had to go back to our class. We were crossing that last hallway and I realized that we were all alone, I was delighted, and felt like I was walking on air. I so desperately wanted to share this feeling with her, to let her know that she was part of the reason why, but I didn’t quite have the words for it. As our voices got quieter and our steps grew slower, we were turning towards each other, until I was facing her and she was looking at me. I can’t really remember what finally pushed me off the edge, but I took a step toward her and slightly rose up on my feet, and touched our lips very gently and briefly together, then pulled back to wait for her reaction. But before she could say a word or do anything a loud shouting made us both jump from where we were standing. I couldn’t register it at first but when I looked at the direction it was coming from, I understood that it was one of the school staff yelling at us to go to our class.

I felt so whiplashed from the contrast of those moments that I went straight to the class. During that period, which was one of the few ones that we didn’t sit together because the teacher had assigned the sits, I tried to make eye contact with her but she wouldn’t look at me. And when the period finally ended before I could reach her, they paged her from the office and she stormed out, and I couldn’t see her again that day. It seemed like an unfortunate coincidence back then, but now it makes sense considering what she was about to do, needed some paper work.

That day when I got home, I couldn’t bring myself to text her and thought that it would be easier to talk to her in person. Little did I know. The next day when she was absent in the first period, I was so close to breaking down crying in the hallway in the break after, when one of the girls from the other class found me and asked me if I had seen her. When I said that she hadn’t come to school that day, the other girl replied with a bit of confusion in her voice that “She was in our class today. She transferred subjects yesterday, I thought that you’d know.”

“What do you mean?” I was so shocked I was nearly shouting, and the other girl wasn’t having any of it so she shrugged and said “go see for yourself she will probably go back to our class soon.” She was indeed in the biology class, and she was sitting with one of their groups, laughing and chatting like it was something she would do every day. She wasn’t exactly cold with me but there wasn’t any of that previous intimacy either. “You didn’t tell me that you were changing your subject to biology?” bitterness and confusion bleeding out from my voice, “Yeah, it happened fast. Now you know.” She said it so casually that I was starting to doubt that this was all a dream. “And since when do you even like it?” “I never hated it, I’ve just decided it’s the best path I can go.” And well that argument (if we can even call it that because she couldn’t be more calm about it) and the next ones when I was trying to figure out what had changed her mind so abruptly led to nothing. She treated it like the most normal thing in the world. And she didn’t exactly change or end our friendship directly but from that point on, she wanted to do everything with her new group of friends, and mostly ignored all the little intimate things we used to share, and well of course I was welcome to join but it was never like how we were before. She also dogged all of my attempts at talking about what had happened that Tuesday in the hallways.

After a month or so I couldn’t take it anymore. I started ignoring her offers to join them at launch, and stopped responding to her texts. I found a natural group in our class to spend the breaks with and buried myself under studying. Nothing really happened in the last month left of eleventh grade and twelfth grade. We both got accepted in the universities that we wanted, she was going to be a doctor, and I was going to study law. I never stopped chasing what she was doing from afar, from this other friends’ Instagram or that other one in common group chats, but we never made direct contact for more than five years.

Until now, that she is in my kitchen, in a dead silent morning, and we’re just inches apart. It is kind of like how it was in that hallway, but this time I don’t have it in me to initialize anything. My breaths slow down and she is looking directly at me, not pulling away. I can’t tell how she feels from her expression, I hope mine doesn’t give away much either, but even assuming she hasn’t already sensed my rapid pulse, I can bet that my eyes are screaming to her to do something. Anything. But neither of us does anything.

Finally, we break apart when her phone dings with a notification sound, and she stands to pick it up.

“I should probably get going. He has arrived.”

“Um you called a ride?”

“No, it’s a friend.”

“Oh okay, do you need anything before you go?”

“No. Is it fine if he comes up?”

“Yeah, it’s totally okay.”

When he comes up, she introduces us briefly. Apparently, he’s a friend from university, she hasn’t told me anything about him during breakfast. It takes all of me to not roll my eyes at his bland comments, and not stare at them holding hands. I thank her one last time for what she did last night, not exactly mentioning what it was, suspecting that she hadn’t told him the whole truth. We say our final goodbyes and they go where ever they’re heading.

After she’s gone I don’t know how to feel about the whole situation. At least I didn’t die bleeding out on my floor. But I don’t know which would be more painful, trying to mend our relationship, knowing it’d never go where I want it to, or abandoning it again after having a taste of it after so many years. Well maybe, just maybe, I’ve become less stubborn from when I was seventeen, and with missing her so much I would just accept whatever piece of her she decides to give me.

-the end-

#I can't believe I got away in this one with just naming one of the characters #lets pretend that it was an artistic choice rather than the result of my disability in picking name for my ocs #writing #my writing #writers on tumblr #writrblr

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tsarisfanfiction · 4 years ago

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Long Way From Home: Chapter 12

Fandom: Thunderbirds Rating: Teen Genre: Family/Friendship Characters: Scott, Tracy Family

Watch me forget to update again last week, whoops. This is also the final chapter of this ‘arc’, so we’ll be taking another break for a while because uni means I don’t have time to keep writing at the moment (and a certain character is being awkward in the next chapter). Still, I hope you’ve enjoyed this pile of Scott&Other-Gordon, and I’ll get back to work on this when I’ve got the time.

For now, enjoy!

<<<Chapter 11

The subject wasn’t broached until they were back in the car, Scott feeling comfortably full as the food settled in his stomach.

“I guess there’s nothing I can say to persuade you to finish the trip now?” Other-Gordon sighed.

“I’m not quitting,” Scott said firmly. “It’s just some sneakers. I’ll try them on, find the ones that fit best, and we’ll be done.”

He half expected Other-Gordon to contradict him and tell him something was different about buying shoes in this universe, but he didn’t.

“That’s the spirit,” he said instead. “I’ll keep them talking, like the last shop.”

“Thanks.” Scott appreciated the thought; if they were distracted with Other-Gordon, then they’d be focusing less on him.

He was looking forwards to being able to wear comfortable shoes. Other-Scott’s fit well enough, but after several hours in them he was starting to feel the rub of an unfamiliar style.

“Mr Tracy!” he was greeted as they stepped through the door upon arrival. “Is there a problem with your last purchases?”

“Oh no, not at all,” Other-Gordon cut in, inserting himself slightly ahead of Scott and into the flustered-looking man’s line of sight. “You’ll have to forgive Scott, he’s gone and lost his voice, but he really liked them, so we’re here to get a couple more pairs,” he assured them.

The fluster turned to relief and then delight as the man no doubt realised he was going to be making another expensive sale to round off his day.

“Of course!” he beamed. “If you’d like to follow me.” They were chivvied along to a section of the shop lined with various designs of sneakers all along the wall, which Scott immediately started to eye up. The designs were varied, and none of them looked exactly like he was used to, but he could definitely see a few that looked hopeful.

Ignoring both Other-Gordon and the salesman, he walked over to the wall to get a closer look. You’re Scott Tracy. He just had to take the initiative instead of hovering awkwardly and waiting for a cue, and then it would be fine.

No-one would suspect he was the wrong Scott Tracy.

Behind him, Other-Gordon was talking a mile a minute, playing the distraction he’d promised, and after the day they’d had it was almost effortless to trust him. The other man had proven time and time again that despite the bizarre nature of the situation, he cared and wanted Scott to be as comfortable as possible.

It wasn’t even a case of just trying to preserve his brother’s reputation. Just as he was Scott Tracy, Other-Gordon was Gordon Tracy. They might not be each other’s brother, but they didn’t need to be related to care. The man that had guided him out of two panic attacks and subtly grounded him at the first sign of other ones had done it because he cared about him.

Scott was used to being the rescuer. He was used to being the one picking up strangers, helping them find their feet and offering whatever aid was needed until they were safe. He’d never been so thoroughly on the other side before. It was terrifying, he realised as he picked up a hopeful looking sneaker for a closer inspection. Putting all your trust in someone you knew of but didn’t know was much, much harder than he’d ever realised.

What Other-Gordon was doing for him wasn’t quite the same – his life wasn’t in danger; he didn’t need snatching from the jaws of death – but the parallels were there. Scott was lost, and there was no denying that he was scared of what had happened, why it happened, what it would be doing to his brothers right then, and Other-Gordon was offering a life line. Something he could cling to while he found his feet, and caught him when he stumbled.

“Scott?” the man in question asked, appearing beside him. “How are you doing?”

Scott looked at him, the heart-achingly familiarity of his face even though it wasn’t the same, and the searching amber eyes that were exactly the same, right down to the concern shining through, and nodded. He’d only known him for a few hours, but Scott trusted him, and that was enough to keep what-ifs and concerns about recognition at bay.

He could do this.

The sneaker in his hand looked like a good start, so he held it up, drawing attention to the selection.

“Would you like to try that pair on, sir?” the salesman asked. Scott nodded confidently, and handed it over so he could bustle over to the store room to retrieve its partner.

Other-Gordon didn’t say anything, even after they were left alone, so Scott continued looking around, searching for another design that looked hopeful. He could feel the other man’s eyes watching him, but he wasn’t asking if he was doing okay, or attempting to provide other reassurances, and Scott wondered if he could tell that he was, as much as he could be, relaxed.

He probably could.

By the time the salesman returned – this one called John, it transpired, but with black hair and brown eyes it was just another man with a common name, and not a painful reminder of his younger brother – he’d found another three to try on.

Four times pacing and then jogging around the room, jumping up and down and feeling a rush from being active, even if it was just rather aggressively putting through sneakers through their paces, and he ended up walking out the shop with all of them. It was easier than picking two when they all felt right.

There was also the nagging feeling that Other-Scott didn’t test shoes quite the same way he did, judging by the look on salesman-John’s face, and the panic had started to bubble up when he abruptly remembered that Other-Scott had only been there recently. Grabbing all four pairs and nudging Other-Gordon into paying for them so that they could leave – a nudge that, yes, might have comprised of four smaller ones that instantly sharpened amber eyes – had been the easiest way to avoid questions and quell the panic.

Other-Gordon didn’t outwardly hurry them out of the shop, but Scott felt the underlying determination as he quipped about getting late and the flight home as an excuse for their departure. The amount of money the quartet of sneakers cost definitely went a long way towards distracting the salesman from anything else.

“Are you okay?” the ginger asked once they were settled back in the car. He didn’t mention that Scott had been fine for most of the time, but the unspoken observation hung between them.

Scott took a deep breath and pressed his head back against the headrest, feeling the hat digging in. He was looking forwards to taking it off. “Yeah,” he said. “I’m okay.”

“Too much cooped up energy?” Other-Gordon asked, clearly determining that he wasn’t about to panic and turning the engine on. “You were mighty energetic in there.”

“They’re nice sneakers,” Scott defended, not responding to the secondary observation.

“So it seemed,” Other-Gordon shrugged. “Well, unless there’s anything else you need, I’d say it’s time to head back to the airport.”

Scott glanced at the backseat of the car, where a small pile of bags nestled.

“That should be enough,” he agreed. “I don’t suppose I can persuade you to let me pilot back?”

Other-Gordon did a double-take.

“What happened to ‘different technology’?” he asked. “You’ve not understood anything here. I saw you looking at the car earlier.”

Scott shrugged. “Apparently the only thing that is the same are plane controls,” he admitted.

Other-Gordon groaned. “You mean you actually were judging my piloting?” he whined.

“I didn’t say anything about your piloting,” Scott defended. Other-Gordon huffed.

“You didn’t need to, but I figured you were just comparing it to what you were used to,” he said. “It didn’t occur to me that you knew exactly what I should have been doing when.”

“So you’ll let me pilot back?” Scott tried hopefully.

“Sorry, fella.” He couldn’t stop his shoulders slumping in disappointment at Other-Gordon’s firm answer. “Look, I would rather you piloted, because I’m not daft enough to think you’re not better at it than me, but you don’t have a pilot’s license here, and it’s not my call whether you sneak by on Scott’s.”

The argument made a frustrating amount of sense, and Scott sighed. “Can’t we ask him?”

“He’ll say no,” Other-Gordon said confidently. “Unless you’re telling me you’d let someone pilot on your license with only his word he’s as good as he says.”

The ginger, annoyingly, wasn’t wrong. Scott wouldn’t.

“We can add it to the things to talk to him about when we get back,” Other-Gordon pointed out. “Still, if planes aren’t so different, maybe that’ll make the training easier.”

He had a point. Scott hadn’t considered that the Thunderbirds might have the same controls, when the jargon seemed so different. “I saw a few external differences,” he said. “Didn’t get a good look at the cockpit, and her engine makes a different sound.”

“Why aren’t I surprised you took all that in?” the ginger asked rhetorically. “Then again, I suppose in a way she’s ‘yours’,” he mused. “Good luck fighting Scott for her.”

Scott groaned, well aware that no matter how good a pilot he proved to be, he was never going to wrangle primary pilot of this universe’s Thunderbird One.

“I don’t think I’ll bother,” he muttered. “He won’t give her over unless he has no other choice.”

“Voice of experience?” Other-Gordon asked, amused. Scott raised an eyebrow at him.

“The last time I let Gordon near her he tried to turn her into a submarine. Virgil hates piloting her, Kayo is banned from going near the pilot seat, John prefers being a passenger in Two if he’s down from orbit and Alan’s too inexperienced,” he listed. “No-one pilots my girl except me. No exceptions.”

Other-Gordon laughed. “That doesn’t surprise me; Scott’s the same,” he confirmed. “But who’s Kayo?”

Scott had forgotten he hadn’t mentioned Kayo to anyone except Tin-Tin yet.

“My Tin-Tin,” he said. “She’s a hell of a pilot, but her ‘bird gets damaged even more than Three. Too many stunts.”

“Hold up.” Other-Gordon even raised a hand to emphasise his words. “Her ‘bird? Do you have six or- but Three? No, you said more than Three. Who pilots Three?”

That was entirely too many questions, and Scott dodged most of them.

“Tin-Tin doesn’t have her own?” he asked in return. “I know she’s an engineer, but so’s Virgil.”

“Tin-Tin co-pilots Three sometimes, but otherwise she stays on the island,” Other-Gordon told him. “Your- Kayo goes out?”

They think we’re delicate flowers, Tin-Tin had more-or-less said. Scott hadn’t made the connection with participating on rescues.

“I get the feeling Kayo would give you all a heart attack if you ever met her,” he said. “There’s no stopping that girl when she gets an idea in her head.”

He should know. He’d tried. It normally ended in shouting matches and her doing whatever she wanted anyway. Sometimes he wondered if building Thunderbird Shadow for her had been a mistake, but then he remembered how miserable she’d been without her own reliable transport.

Other-Gordon eyed him. “There’re more differences than technology and fashion, aren’t there?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed. “I haven’t decided if more is the same or different yet. Most of it seems to be small things. Just enough to be off from what I’m used to.”

“Like us,” Other-Gordon sighed. “Sounds like we were too hasty with this trip,” he added. “Even if you needed new underpants.”

Scott shrugged. “We were never going to know all the differences.” He wouldn’t have thought to ask about the minor details, and none of them had even considered that the family business – the actual one – would have a different name.

“I guess that’s true,” Other-Gordon conceded. “But we should still have given you a little longer than a few hours before taking you off the island. Sorry about that.”

He wasn’t wrong, but, “what’s done is done,” he said. “I survived.”

“Get yourself straight in the Ladybird when we get to the hangar,” Other-Gordon said. “If anyone tries to get in your way, ignore them. I’ll get Scott to soothe any ruffled feathers later.”

“I can handle it,” Scott protested. “Jones, right?”

“You don’t have to handle it,” Other-Gordon told him firmly. “It’s been mighty awful day for you, and the last thing you need is Scott’s airfield buddies bothering you. Those fellas know Scott better than anyone else we’ve seen today.”

Scott had almost forgotten that. Other-Gordon was right; returning to the Ladybird was when someone was most likely to notice something wasn’t right. The sandwiches from earlier felt uncomfortably weighty in his stomach all of a sudden.

He couldn’t afford a panic attack in the hangar; Other-Gordon wouldn’t be able to take off, so they wouldn’t be able to get away from Other-Scott’s so-called ‘airfield buddies’.

It would be an absolute disaster.

“Okay,” he agreed. “But I’m not leaving you to load her alone.”

Other-Gordon rolled his eyes. “Maybe it’s different where you’re from, but here we have valets for that sort of thing. Appearances and all that – although Dad’s got them trained to be extra vigilant if it’s me. They won’t let me pick up a single bag, just you watch.”

Other-Gordon’s back hadn’t even occurred to him, but if even his family were treating him like glass, Scott supposed it was no surprise there was hired help to stop him straining himself.

“I don’t know how you stand it,” he admitted.

“Aw, it’s not always so bad,” Other-Gordon admitted. “Helps with the cover. No-one would expect poor, crippled former Olympian me of still being an active aquanaut, let alone be capable of pulling the stunts those fine young men in International Rescue manage.”

That was true, Scott supposed.

“Look,” the ginger said. “If it makes you feel better, you can run through her pre-flights while I’m dealing with the chaps on the ground.”

Scott startled. “You trust me to do that without supervision?”

“I know you were watching me when we left the island,” Other-Gordon shrugged. “I figure if you do come across something unfamiliar, you’re not daft enough to let me take off without getting it double-checked it first.”

Scott could accept that.

“Besides, no-one’ll find that strange around here. It’ll look more strange if Scott Tracy isn’t doing all the checks himself.”

“You could have just said that in the first place,” Scott pointed out. Other-Gordon scoffed, but said nothing.

Jones wasn’t amongst the men that seemed to be waiting for them when Other-Gordon rolled the car up behind the hangar. Scott supposed his shift was over for the day, and in a way that made it easier to reluctantly leave the car and head straight for the hangar. The T.A. was a beacon, and once the door opened, the red of the Ladybird stood out amongst the many planes housed inside.

“Hey, Scott!” an unfamiliar voice called. He ignored them, remembering what Other-Gordon had said about them all knowing Other-Scott and knowing he couldn’t handle trying to interact with any of them without the ginger to act as a buffer without making them suspicious.

Pre-flight checks. Those, he could do.

He slipped into the cockpit, taking the pilot’s seat for the moment although Other-Gordon was doubtless going to shove him over when he arrived, and immersed himself in the blessed familiarity of flicking switches and running all the checks that had long since become second nature to him. While the Ladybird was a far cry from Thunderbird One, she wasn’t so far from more conventional aircraft that he couldn’t work her out.

Engrossed in the task, he barely noticed the ground crew flitting around as their shopping was loaded into the cargo hold under Other-Gordon’s supervision, or the questions about him being fired the ginger’s way, only to be expertly deflected.

He did notice the jab in his shoulder when Other-Gordon clambered up to join him.

“Finished?” the ginger asked. Scott ran his hands over the controls one last time, before reluctantly pronouncing himself satisfied.

“She’s good to fly,” he said.

“Then budge over,” Other-Gordon retorted. Scott reluctantly shimmied over into the passenger seat. “Everything’s fine?”

“Just like our training jet at home,” Scott promised. “I taught Alan to fly with controls like this.” He glanced over at the ginger settling himself into the pilot’s seat. “Gordon, too.”

“You’re calling the Ladybird a training jet?” Other-Gordon asked. “I’d like to see you tell Tin-Tin that.”

Scott chuckled. “Anything’s a training jet compared to my usual ride,” he pointed out.

Other-Gordon rolled his eyes. “I’d like to see you tell Virgil that.”

“His girl’s not a jet,” Scott retorted. “Not unless that’s got a very different definition here.”

“I suppose you have a point,” Other-Gordon conceded, before reaching for the radio. “Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control. We’re ready for take-off, over.”

Static crackled for a moment.

“Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird,” the radio responded. “Clear to proceed to runway three-bravo, over.”

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control. Understood. Proceeding now, over.” The hangar door opened and Other-Gordon taxied them out onto the tarmac. Scott occupied himself with looking out at the other planes as they travelled past. Some designs were instantly familiar, while others looked very different to anything he’d seen in his own universe.

Other-Gordon made a few more calls over the radio as they finished taxiing into position, and Scott settled back in the seat comfortably as they waited for permission to take off.

He had to admit he didn’t miss all the bureaucracy with Thunderbird One, and John acting as his ATC wherever he was in the world. VTOL launches helped.

After another half a minute or so, the all-clear was given, and the Ladybird rumbled to life, surging forwards and up under Other-Gordon’s hands.

“Auckland Air Traffic Control to Tango Alpha Ladybird, your route is clear,” the radio crackled again. “Have a safe flight. Over.”

“Tango Alpha Ladybird to Auckland Air Traffic Control,” Other-Gordon replied. “Thank you. Over and out.” He fiddled with the radio for a moment. “Ladybird to Tracy Island, come in.”

“Tracy Island receiving you, Ladybird,” Not-Dad’s voice filtered through. “How’s it going, Gordon?”

“We’ve just left Auckland, Father,” the ginger said. “Estimated ETA in two hours.”

“I’ll let your grandmother know,” Not-Dad replied. “You boys didn’t have any problems?”

“No, sir,” Other-Gordon said, to Scott’s relief. “No problems.”

“Well, I expect to hear about your trip when you get back,” the man told them. “I’ll see you then. Tracy Island out.”

“Thanks,” Scott said after the connection ended.

“I’m still telling Scott,” Other-Gordon reminded him. “But you can thank me by not judging my piloting the whole way back. Stare at the clouds or something.”

Scott chuckled. “I’ll do my best,” he said. Other-Gordon just groaned.

“I am never piloting you anywhere ever again,” he swore. “Cloud watch. Don’t you dare look at what I’m doing.”

Scott rolled his eyes but obliged.

Like the outward journey, their return one passed in mostly silence, Other-Gordon focusing on piloting and Scott doing his best not to make idle comments whenever he didn’t react to changes in the air currents the same way he would.

He liked to think he was successful at it. The aquanaut would no doubt disagree.

“I can still feel you judging me,” Other-Gordon grumbled eventually. Scott wasn’t sure how much time had passed, but it seemed like they should be nearly there.

Up ahead was a small, rocky island. It looked utterly unfamiliar, but Other-Gordon was straight on course for it.

“Home sweet home,” the aquanaut commented when he caught him looking at it. “The same?”

“The only similarity is that it’s volcanic,” Scott answered. “Ours has twin peaks, to start with.” This Tracy Island seemed to have some sort of plateau mountain, rather than the jagged peaks he was used to. It also seemed less like it was making up part of the lip of a caldera.

“That’s interesting,” Other-Gordon hummed. “Your house is nothing like ours either, is it?”

Considering he’d needed a map to find Other-Scott’s room earlier, Scott thought that was rather obvious.

“Not at all,” he said. “Even the pool’s a different shape. Ours is a regular Olympic-size pool.”

“Really?” Other-Gordon asked. “I suppose that makes it easier to retract, though. Easier to pilot through, too?”

“If I ever get the chance to compare, I’ll let you know,” Scott replied. Other-Gordon laughed.

“I should let them know we’re on approach,” he said, reaching for the radio again. “Ladybird to Tracy Island.”

“Tracy Island receiving you, Ladybird.” It was Other-Scott on the line this time. “You’re clear to land.”

“F.A.B., Scott,” Other-Gordon acknowledged.

“How much damage control have you left me with?” Other-Scott continued. “Dad says you said there were no issues?”

“I’ll give you the run-down once we’re down,” the aquanaut told him. “There was paparazzi.”

“If I don’t like what they publish, you’d better watch your back, Gordon,” Other-Scott warned. “I’ll meet you two in the hangar. Tracy Island out.”

“Well, no sense in putting it off,” Other-Gordon commented as the line went dead. “You want to hang around for the debrief?”

Scott shook his head, having no wish to stand around and listen to an account of what he’d already lived through. “Just him,” he reminded. “I’ll get changed while you do.”

“You finally get to change underwear,” the ginger commented, and Scott rolled his eyes. “Coming up on the landing now.”

Sure enough, there was the runway, protruding out onto a pier and lined with palm trees. Definitely Thunderbird Two’s runway, and now that they were approaching it, Scott could see the cragged rockface that no doubt moved somehow to reveal the giant cargo plane. A little way up was a white building, built into the cliff.

He filed that away to ask about later, not wanting to interrupt the aquanaut as he brought them down onto the tarmac with a slight bump, decelerating until they were taxiing towards an open hangar door. It wasn’t quite central to the runway, further cementing Scott’s conclusion that Thunderbird Two was just behind the cliff face.

To his relief, Other-Scott seemed to be alone, standing next to the blue beauty he’d spotted earlier, as Other-Gordon brought the Ladybird to a stop and started the post-flight checks. Wherever the rest of the family were, it didn’t seem like they’d planned a welcoming committee, at least.

“So?” the older man asked once they left the cockpit, already at the cargo hold and looking at the bags. “Dad seems convinced everything went fine, but you didn’t tell him about the paparazzi, did you?” He was clearly talking to Other-Gordon, but his eyes flicked to Scott.

Scott shrugged and reached past him for the bags. “Gordon’ll give you the run-down,” he said. “I’m getting changed.”

“Don’t forget the underpants!” Other-Gordon chirped at him. He rolled his eyes and walked away, but not fast enough to avoid overhearing the start of the conversation. “I’m sworn to silence to everyone except you, and you’re only the exception because he’s your clone, so don’t even think about telling anyone,” the ginger said, quietly but not so quietly Scott couldn’t hear while he waited for the elevator to swallow him up. “Which definitely includes Dad, by the way, but-”

The elevator doors clanged shut, cutting off the conversation. Scott jabbed the button labelled second, which was also the highest option, so he assumed that was the bedroom level.

It was, and to Scott’s private delight there was no-one in the landing, so he managed to slip past the door to the lounge – out of which piano music seemed to be coming – and into the guest room designated as his without being intercepted.

Once there, he upended the bags over the bed, letting the neatly-wrapped parcels of clothes fall out haphazardly, before picking up clothes to get changed into.

It was a relief to finally get out of the waistcoat, shirt and slacks belonging to his counterpart, and even more of a relief to find himself wearing something that much more closely resembled his idea of casual.

Setting the discarded clothes to one side, he rummaged through the rest of the new clothes and set about hanging them up in the closet. His uniform was where he’d left it, he was pleased to see. No doubt Other-Brains would request it at some point, but Scott intended on supervising his investigations. It was good that it hadn’t just been taken while he was out.

A knock on the door startled him just as he was hanging the last pair of jeans.

Who would that be? It could have been anyone on the island – although he suspected Other-Alan might be less inclined to seek him out, and Other-Gordon would probably announce himself, if he didn’t walk straight in.

It was honestly weird having anyone knock rather than just walk in. His brothers had long since stopped waiting to be invited in, although Virgil and John did at least announce themselves with a knock most of the time.

“It’s me. Can I come in?”

Other-Scott.

Scott supposed he should have expected that one. Did he want to talk to his doppelgänger? Most of the island’s residents he could probably predict how the conversation was going to go, but ironically, Other-Scott seemed to be the hardest to read.

He guessed it was because he had no idea how he’d react if things were the other way around, and Other-Scott had ended up in his universe.

His gut told him he probably wouldn’t give up trying to have a conversation if he was going out of his way to initiate it.

“Yeah,” he called back, closing the closet door. The door opened and Other-Scott walked in, closing it behind him.

“Is that what you wear at home?” he asked, blue eyes scanning the clothes Scott had changed into.

“As close as I could get,” Scott shrugged, sitting on the bed next to Other-Scott’s discarded clothes and folding them up, mostly for something to do with his hands.

“Dad’s not going to approve,” Other-Scott warned him. “But if it makes you more comfortable, I don’t see the problem.” He picked up the hat and discarded sunglasses. “You’ll have to stay out of sight whenever we have visitors anyway, so no-one’s going to see you.”

There was an awkwardness about the other man that Scott thought was uncharacteristic of himself, until he realised it was the same awkwardness he was feeling, because there were no guidelines in any training he’d undergone about how to interact with an alternate universe version of yourself.

“Are you checking up on me?” he asked abruptly. It made sense if he was, after getting Other-Gordon’s account of the day, and Scott thought they’d do a lot better if they stopped trying to test the waters.

From the quirk of Other-Scott’s lips, it was a shared opinion.

“I heard what happened,” he confirmed. “Gordon was adamant you don’t want anyone else to know, and I can understand that.” He sighed. “This is weird,” he said, and Scott gave a wry smile in agreement. “And maybe, considering you’re literally another me, I’m not the best person to talk to, but. I’m here. If you have questions, or want sane conversation.”

“After a day with Gordon, sane conversation is sorely lacking,” Scott quipped, and Other-Scott laughed.

“I owe him a billiards match or ten now,” he said. “Remind him he can’t actually beat me.”

“Little brothers,” Scott shrugged. “Give them an inch, they’ll take a mile.”

“Some things don’t change wherever you are,” Other-Scott agreed. “Gordon said you recognised the Ladybird’s controls?”

“Yeah,” Scott confirmed. “We’ve got a plane like that at home.”

“I’ll talk with Dad about taking you for a flight,” Other-Scott said. “Once we’ve established how much is familiar, we can figure out anything else.”

“That sounds like a good plan,” Scott agreed. Other-Scott grinned.

“I wonder which one of us is the better pilot,” he said. “I’m looking forward to seeing you fly.”

That thought hadn’t occurred to Scott. “Best pilot gets primary dibs for Thunderbird One?” he dared.

Other-Scott laughed. “If it’s my ‘bird on the line, I’m not going to go easy on you,” he warned.

“I wouldn’t expect you to,” Scott replied, and they both laughed.

“Well, I’m going to go teach Gordon a lesson or ten now,” Other-Scott said. “You’re welcome to join us if you’re not sick of his company by now.”

Scott chuckled. “I’d like to see that,” he said. “He might be better at chess, but if he’s anything like mine, billiards is not so much his territory.” He stood up, gathering the dirty clothes. “Where’s the laundry room? Might as well drop these off.”

“I’ll show you,” Other-Scott said, opening the door again and stepping into the hallway. “It’s next to the games room.” Scott followed him, letting the door close behind him.

Chapter 13>>>

#thunderbirds are go #thunderbirds are go fanfiction #thunderbirds #thunderbirds fanfiction #tsari writes fanfiction #scott tracy #long way from home #gordon tracy #jeff tracy

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v-hope · 3 years ago

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How did you cope with not feeling good enough while studying law? (if you ever felt like that)

Three weeks passed since I started and I already feel that I'm not living up to it and think I might be extremely unhappy if I continue to study law.

I don't know how it is in other countries but in Germany the grading system is absolutely brutal and the only thing that matters is that you pass, a good grade is something you don't even dare to dream of (there are points 0-18, with 18 being the best, but most people don't even get a 10 and normally you just focus on passing but even that is difficult. I understand that it is brutal because you have a lot of responsibility but it really is discouraging)

It's very interesting but I don't know if that will be enough.

By the way the post about people not sharing notes is so true. There was a lecture which we all thought was not going to take place but in the end it did and some were not able to attend and so there was someone who asked in the group chat if somebody might be able to share their notes. One person gave a brief summary, but a girl asked another question and then they immediately took it to the privat chat.

oh, i’m sorry you’re feeling like that :( unfortunately that happens a lot in law school, usually from 500+ students that make it to first year, only less than 100 of them end up finishing the career, either bc it was not what they wanted or they got discouraged. just know that it’s completely normal to feel the way you do.

i may make it seem easy but i’ve struggled A LOT with the career, and i’m a year and a half behind bc the first year i made it to my dream law school and i hated it, ever since the first day i found myself wondering “what am i doing here” and by the end of the semester i went back home crying and refused to go back there bc i felt so anxious just by thinking of going there that i couldn’t cope with it at all. my parents ended up taking me to the psychiatric and turned out i had general anxiety plus depression, so i started being on medication and my parents convinced me to stay until the end of the year in said uni, but i kept feeling just as bad (when i tell you i would go to the bathroom just to lock myself there and cry in between classes), so by the end of the year i told them i couldn’t do it anymore.

i ended up changing to my second option law school on the second year and although some of the courses i had taken in my previous uni were validated so i wouldn’t have to take them again, i still had to start off from the first year all over again.

then everything seemed to go well bc i really liked my new uni and i made the best friends i could’ve found and my grades were great, up until the third year when i got another anxious/depressive breakdown and i wasn’t able to make it out of bed and i would just cry bc i couldn’t stop thinking bs to the point my head hurt like hell. SO, i took a semester off and got back on meds, and here we are now.

and honestly, up until this day, with me being a last year law student, i sometimes find myself wondering if this is truly what i want, but i’ve made it this far already so the least i can do is finish it lmao.

i’m telling you all this bc like i said, it’s normal to feel that way, my classmates are the same way, especially during exams when there’s a lot of pressure on our shoulders. just try to figure out whether you truly like this career and if you see yourself finishing it or not, because i’ve seen classmates drop out on third and even fourth year and that’s a lot of wasted time and energy so :/

and if you decide that you do like this career and it’s what you want to do, know that even then it’s normal to feel discouraged from time to time and wonder if you’re following the right path.

also, if you feel like it’s too much and your mental health starts deteriorating, don’t hesitate to get some professional help, it’s actually really usual for law students to seek professional help or to be on meds (unfortunately, honestly the system sucks for us to have to reach this point).

law is just a very competitive area, and the pressure is a lot. it consumes you, so try and get a healthy amount of sleep (trust me, i gave up sleep over studying for three years and that drove me to the breakdown i mentioned) and find a hobby, give yourself at least one hour a day to do something you enjoy and forget about the career, that way you’ll feel recharged to do your best in school.

so that’s how i’ve been coping these past few years. sleep a healthy amount, find a hobby, if you can try and work out (it helps me with anxiety), rely on your friends if you feel like this is all too much, take some time off if you need it, and don’t feel pressured to finish the career if you truly don’t like it or you just don’t feel like it. you’re still on time to follow another dream of yours.

i hope you feel better, bubs 💕

#ask #moonliivee

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kimikitty96 · 4 years ago

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Goodbye Letter to my Eating Disorder

It’s been hard. The past 3 years were so difficult, I’m surprised I haven’t completely lost myself. From having relationship problems, to deaths in my family (my brother and kitty died), to being sexually assaulted in the gym, to almost losing my mom this past year...suffice it to say, it’s been rather difficult.

I turned to my old “friend”, Edward. We “met” when I was 8 years old, and lost touch when I started working at 21 years old. Or, at least I thought we lost touch; he just put on a mask. But here he was again. He was there for me when I was struggling the most. No one else understood my pain the way he did, and no one numbed me like he did. He gave me the drive and motivation to get out of bed and to go to the gym; he kept me from faltering on my diet and turn to comfort eating; he continued to cheer me on when I made mistakes and would tell me to keep going. When I have injuries, he’d tell me that my initial weight loss was not due to me exercising, but my eating habits and to not worry, I can still continue! When I got sexually assaulted at my gym, he said to me that I never have to go back to that gym, and that I can go anywhere else to get my “Brazilian Booty”. He suggested I take a trip to Vegas and just enjoy myself, then come back and get serious.

He comforted me when my fiance would reject me, saying if I listened to him, I won’t need my fiance because I’d be able to attract the guy I really wanted, that all I needed was a little push. When my kitty passed away, Edward allowed me to grieve and to celebrate her life by going to a buffet and enjoying seafood, on one condition: I had to make sure that I was right back on track by making sure that I would “let my body rest” from food for a couple of days.

Last July (2019), I went into PHP because I knew something was seriously wrong. Edward was no longer helping me. His voice grew louder in my head, and what used to be gentle nudging became more forceful, more frustrated. Here was his evolution:

-”Oh, you want carbs? Well, that’s okay! You can have carbs and use it as energy for the gym when doing cardio/lower body workout tomorrow! Just make sure you lower your fat intake, okay?”

-”Yes! There’s a food festival! Make sure you get your 10k steps before you go, okay? We’ll eat everything we want, just like those fitness people do on YouTube! You’ve earned it!”

-”Oh, you gained weight...again. I mean...maybe you should lower your calories again. You’re eating a bit more than you’re supposed to, so just make sure your weekly calories are where they’re supposed to be.”

-”Lord, you failed an exam??? Okay, you need to hit the gym harder so you can focus better.”

-”[Fiance] refused to touch you again? It’s been a month since the last time? Why do you even want him to touch you at this point? You should just think about that guy who molested you at the gym, since that’s all you can get at this point.”

“You failed another exam? Jesus christ, you need to focus harder. You’ll never finish community college and get into [#1 dream school] if you continue like this! But if you let your body rest from food, you’ll have mental clarity and will remember your course material better.”

-”Oh, fiance said no to you again. You really need to stop having these “cheat days” or “cheat meals”. He’s getting more and more grossed out by you every day.”

-“Why can’t you just stop eating the junk foods you’re eating? You were able to do it before. You’re so stupid, you can’t even get this right. You know what? I’m going to test your willpower. Go out and buy junk food, and stare at it and say no!”

-”See, he’s flirting with so many other women at his work. This is why he won’t touch you. You’re stupid and ugly; you’re worth nothing unless you are at the top of your class, and weigh less than [UGW]!”

-”Why can’t you stop eating?!?! Why do you have the willpower of a drug addict?! You’re nothing! Get rid of that! You don’t deserve your meal! GET RID OF IT NOW!”

-”JESUS CHRIST, YOU ARE FUCKING STUPID! IT’S YOUR FAULT YOUR FIANCE DON’T WANT YOU! YOU’RE WORTH LESS THAN NOTHING! YOU DESERVED BEING GROPED AT THE GYM BECAUSE THAT IS YOUR WORTH!”

-”See? You failed a class you already took! This is how stupid and [ableist expletive] you are. You can’t even do that shit right. YOU ARE NOTHING. YOU HAVE NEGATIVE WORTH.”

-”Your brother died because he had diabetes. Your mother almost died because of diabetes. They couldn’t control; the shit they put in their mouths, and you will end up with the same fate because your dumb ass can’t even say no to a chip.”

-”Oh, you lost another friend? That’s because you’re a piece of shit. You’ve always been a piece of shit. You deserve to be alone. No one should be subjected to the bullshit that is you. You should just KYS.”

-”No, you can’t have that! You can’t touch food unless I say so! I don’t care that it’s been a week!”

-”No don’t touch food! It’s all poison! It’s going to kill you! Look what it did to your mom and brother! You’re gonna lose your dad too because all food is poison! DON’T TOUCH ANY FOODSTUFFS!!!”

*Me, fainting, at home alone, because I haven’t eaten in a week and my heart rate is in the low 50′s*

-”Why are you being an attention whore? Stop your bitch ass whining and go pee.”

*My response* “Bitch, there’s no one here! Who am I being an attention whore to, my cats?!”

-”Yes! Now stop being a whiny bitch and go pee!”

-”Why are you still here? Why aren’t you doing everyone on this earth a favor and disappear. No one would miss you. They’re not even thinking of you right now. No one misses you now. Everyone is just pretending to like you because they feel sorry for you. They actually really hate you. Just disappear. They don’t want you around anyway.”

-”Leave. Disappear. No one wants you. Just take [redacted], and go to sleep.”

Edward was not helping me. He made it seem like he was, but he wasn’t. He entered my life during a time when I was vulnerable and made me believe he would be my redemption. He knew me; he knew what was best for me. He could make me better/stronger/more beautiful/more desirable/smarter; all I had to do was listen.

That’s not who he is. He is a monster. He’s worse than that; he is pure evil that nothing and no one should ever allowed in. He took what I give him, and it’s not enough. It’s never enough. Once I did what he told me to do, he tells me to go farther because while it’s good, I can do better; I can be better. He destroyed everything I touch and turned it against me so that I couldn’t rely on anyone but him. He isolated me and introduced me to his partner-in-crime, Shame. The more Edward spoke, the more Shame consumed.

When I thought Edward was giving me drive and motivation to go workout so I could improve myself, in reality, he was telling me my body was grotesque and that I needed to punish myself because I mistreated my body. When he tried to keep me from faltering on my diet, he was telling me I shouldn’t eat [xyz] so I can be healthy, when in reality, he was encouraging me to binge/purge/restrict/fast, causing heart palpitations, unstable-low blood pressure, gastrointestinal distress, brain fog, increased bouts of depression, and severe low self esteem; instead of being healthy, he made me extremely unhealthy. When he continued to cheer me on whenever I injured myself due to too much physical exertion and would tell me to “reign my diet in”, the reality was that he caused these injuries by telling me that I had to keep going no matter how hard I trained, that I couldn’t eat enough calories so I could heal and recover, and that even though I was injured, I couldn’t rest and had to continue to exercise. When I got sexually assaulted at my gym, he graciously allowed me to transfer gyms and continue to workout and ignore my mental health when in reality...he wanted to keep me mentally weak so that I would continue to rely on him because he made clothes fit better.

He made it so clothes can fit better; clothes I bought, that I wasn’t allowed to wear, because my body wasn’t where he wanted it to be, therefore I didn’t deserve to wear them yet.

The past few months have been the most difficult out of the 3 years I’d been struggling; COVID, finishing school and transferring to uni, cheating on my fiance, my mom almost dying (twice), and really delving deep inside me to come to terms with everything I went through and being completely honest with myself...I never want to go through that again. But I am extremely grateful I did, because I saw who Edward really was. I saw him for the toxic, vile, awful evil entity he always was, and now I get to say goodbye.

To Edward:

Thank you for who you were when you back into my life (again). Thank you for helping me cope with my issues, and for keeping my head afloat; you did the best you could, given the circumstances you had. I was broken, hurt, lost, and saw nothing good in me. You showed me that I can be better, and that I can do better. I just have to push a little harder, and I’ll eventually get what I want.

You gave me something to hold on to in the beginning, and thankfully, I figured out your toxicity before it was too late for me. This is me telling you that I want to part ways. I know you’ll still be around, because you are my oldest “friend”, and I know you will do your very best to get me to succumb to your ways. But like you taught me, if I just have a little bit of willpower and a little bit of strength and perseverance, I can achieve what I want; that the only person stopping me is myself. I can either move forward, or sabotage myself once more; it was, and is, completely up to me, isn’t that right?

Thank you for the lessons you taught me. I will utilize them to fight you every single day of my life. Yes, I will have setbacks. Yes, I will falter. But like you taught me; if I falter, I need to keep going. What was it you used to tell me? If I miss a workout, or eat something I wasn’t supposed to, that I needed to work twice as hard the next day? That’s exactly what I’m going to do. If I let you in, I will tell myself that it’s okay to make a mistake, and that I can always turn my back on you whenever you appear. The only difference between your lesson and my OWN words is that I will forgive myself for allowing you back in.

I want to thank you for all the vitriolic words you’ve shouted at me. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve never seen the kindest words uttered to me by the ones who do love and care about me (yes, the people in my life love me despite your insistence that they don’t). I want to thank you for the discipline you’ve instilled upon me. If it weren’t for that, I would’ve never remembered the drive I have at succeeding at endeavors that mean a lot to me. And you know what means a lot to me?

I MEAN A LOT TO ME!

So I will work my hardest to make sure I fight you every single god damn day of my life, and in doing so, empower me to be the best me I can. And you know what it means to be the best me? It’s to be my most authentic and honest and forgiving self. I means I can finally love and appreciate me the way I love and appreciate everyone in my life.

This is my goodbye. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out.

Kitty

#eating disorders #recovery #ed recovery #pro ana #promia #proana #proed #binging #ana #mia #anamia #anorexia #anorexa #bulimia #bulimea #can't stop won't stop #self love

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claraoswaldfics · 4 years ago

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Halloween Night

The throbbing in her neck was the first thing Clara noticed as she woke up. The second was that she was naked. What had happened last night?

As she pushed her fringe out of her face, she noticed a trail of clothes winding their way from the door to her bed. Heels, jumper, skirt. She lifted the covers, where she discovered her bra and underwear, neither of which were still on her body. But strangest of all were the orange knee-socks on the unoccupied pillow beside her. Were they hers?

On her bedside table, her phone announced it had finished charging. That should have taken it about one and a half hours, so either there had been a power cut last night, or someone else had recently plugged it in for her. Clara looked at the screen and saw on it a message from her flatmate, Priya.

“Noticed a redhead sneaking out of your room this morning. Congrats on losing your gay virginity!” Dozens of emojis followed; huge blocks of pride flags and fireworks lit up her screen, then the message continued, “Not going to tell the group chat until you’re ready of course, but girl, I am going to need all the deets!”

There may have been more to the text, but it was then that Clara noticed the date. November first. Suddenly it all came rushing back.

It was Halloween at Glitz.

The club itself had been dwindling for a while now and most of the cool young people had probably moved away to venues that were more ‘hip’ or ‘fresh’. The fact that Clara assumed that was still the lingo was part of why she still came to Glitz. Not often, granted. It was strictly on an annual basis now. An ersatz tradition dating back to their university days (back when they’d all briefly experimented with paganism) to dance at this increasingly outdated, overpriced discotheque every 31st of October.

Even in the rain

Clara was as usual the first to arrive. It wasn’t so much that she was always early as everyone else was always late. The whatsapp group had assured her a few hours ago that they’d be there though, so there was still a chance (however small) that they were already inside.

She flashed her ID to the bouncer, who made a point of studying it. She was 26 now, old enough to appreciate being mistaken for someone younger, but still young enough to be impatient about the delay. Or maybe it was the costume that was holding him up. Thinking about it, it must be hard to tell if someone is who they say they are when they’re dressed as Velma Dinkley.

Ever since she’d gone for a more bob-like haircut, she’d been getting a lot of comparisons to the Scooby Doo character, so it was an easy decision to lean into it for Halloween. This didn’t mean it was an easy or cheap costume – Clara Oswald never did things by half, after all. She’d been nosing around high streets and second-hand shops the last two weekends putting it together. The orange jumper was baggy but sewn so as to give a good impression of her figure. The glasses made her eyes seem even wider, and combined with the freckles she’d drawn on took five years off her face. Surprisingly it was the little red skirt that had taken her the longest to find, only appearing in a last-minute lunch-break scrabble in Oxfam, and between it and the knee-socks, she was showing a lot more thigh than she was used to.

I mean it looks damn good, she thought to herself, but it isn’t half cold…

The bouncer finally nodded her through, and soon she was enveloped by the warm haze and pounding bass of Glitz. Maybe two dozen people were on the dancefloor, jumping and swaying to a song Clara was fairly sure had come out this year, but not one she knew the name of. I’ll dance at the next one, she thought, or maybe wait until the others get here.

It seemed that almost the moment she found a seat at the bar, her phone pinged. Naomi and Ellen weren’t coming. Apparently some couple had been trying to book their wedding venue out from under them so they were resigned to staying in and shouting down a phone all evening.

That wasn’t good. Those two were the lynchpin of all group planning. It was always worth going out with Naomi and Ellen because there would always be a story the next day. This was because the drunker they got, the more they’d dare the other, and those dares usually involved even more drinking. Clara had even had to bail them out once after they got arrested for shagging on a pool table.

But without them, the group dynamic fell apart. Priya loved nothing more than when a plan got cancelled. For her it was an excuse to shrug her bra off and fall asleep in front of the tv. Clara herself only owned two bras, one good but itchy and the other comfy but old, but Priya could have five littered around the living room at any one time. She’d hidden them on one occasion to encourage future tidiness.

And Emerald, the last of the group, Clara didn’t know particularly well. She knew they kept up with Yugioh (somehow) and read PG Wodehouse, but they’d joined the group in Clara’s last term at uni and she’d had her nose too deep in books to get to know her in any great depth. No doubt they’d have put a lot of effort into some anime costume, but if it was just her and Emerald left, they wouldn’t come.

Okay Clara, it’s not too bad. Shake it off, get a cocktail in you. This night could still go well.

The two pings of doom arrived before she was even halfway through her pina colada. Two more cancellations. Urgh. This calls for a consolation drink. And make it a pint this time.

It wasn’t even nine yet and it felt like the night was over. Clara sighed audibly. Such a shame, she thought. It’s my first Halloween as an out bi woman. This should have been like gay Christmas! I had all this Sapphic energy built up inside me tonight and I’m going to waste it fingering myself in the bath reading Jane Austen again. I’m even wearing the bi flag underpants Ellen got me for my birthday!

She’d been considering the idea of a second pint for around five minutes when she got a tap at her shoulder.

“Velma!”

A jolt of electricity raced up Clara’s spine. She knew that voice, didn’t she?

She turned around in her stool just as the lights above the dancefloor shifted. The woman behind her was briefly illuminated from behind, her face a shadow, but her hair a fiery red halo. Putting a hand in front of her face for a second, Clara took in the rest of her body; a purple dress and go-go boots. Her brain rushed to piece it all together, arriving at the costume before the face.

“Daphne?” She replied, weakly.

As the lights shifted again, Clara was blessed with another view of this woman, who was somehow more dazzling out of the spotlight. She stood imposingly tall, her soft moon-like face looking kindly down on Clara. Taken altogether with her vibrant red hair, Clara felt like she was looking directly at a solar eclipse, and one she couldn’t look away from.

“Hi, I hope you don’t mind. My Shaggy’s gone off with my Scooby.” The woman smiled apologetically. “Thought I might go and make some new friends and well… the costume…”

Clara blinked. In fact she blinked rather a few times. She was still trying to process the fact that an angel had descended from heaven right in front of her.

“I beg your pardon?”

The redhead explained herself again. Clara made a note to focus on what she was saying, which, she justified, involved looking at this woman’s lips a lot.

“I did a group costume with these two guys. One was Shaggy, one was Scooby; we thought we’d come here for the night, have a few drinks, have a few laughs, but instead,” the next part of the sentence involved turning her head to shout pointedly “they’re GETTING OFF IN THE TOILETS!”

Clara let out a nervous giggle. It was a good cover for the big red wave of excitation that was coursing through her body. There was something about the way her Scottishness had just announced itself in her voice that made Clara’s thighs shudder. That woman could shout!

“Shaggy and Scooby-Doo?” Clara repeated. “The dog and the dog owner?”

“Exactly!” she bellowed. “Isn’t that mad?”

“That is so mad.” Clara nodded. Agree with everything this woman says, she thought. If she asks you to rob a bank, do it.

“And after only one drink as well!” She continued, exasperated, “They. Are. Terrible!”

“I guess that’s why they call him Shaggy?” It was a weak joke, Clara knew. And I fumbled the delivery. But frankly the fact that I managed a straight sentence around this woman is a miracle. Managing a straight anything was a challenge, to be honest.

And she laughed! She laughed at my dumb joke! I made that sound come out of her! That brogue-y Scottish cackle! Oh this is the best feeling in the world!

“I know! And that dog will do anything for a Scooby Snack!”

God, me too, thought Clara, as she unleashed a laugh a lot less cool than she hoped she would.

Ahem.

“Can I get you a drink?” Clara asked, thankful she still had any rational thoughts left.

“Ooh, yes. Rum and Coke, please.” She smiled. Such a lovely smile. “Do you have a name, or should I just call you Velma all evening?”

“Only if I can call you Daphne” Clara replied with a grin, signalling to the barman. This was a bit of damage control. It was suave and flirty, but she’d missed the window to introduce herself properly, or find out this charming redhead’s name.

“Oh, you want to play that game, do you?” Clara braced herself for the next word, as the redhead’s lips formed around it. “Velma.”

Beads of sweat started to form under her jumper. It was then that Clara realised where she’d heard that sexy Scottish brogue before…

The kissogram from Naomi and Ellen’s engagement!

Six months on and I’m just as flustered.

The drinks came and Clara positively snatched hers off the table. As long as her mouth was occupied with alcohol, she had more time to think. And as always, Clara, try and play it off as glamorous and mysterious.

The more strategic side of Clara’s brain spoke up; so you know who she is, but she doesn’t know who you are. What does that mean? You know what she does for a living – is that an okay thing to bring up? Does the fact that she hasn’t recognised me yet mean my costume is too good…

…or was that kiss unmemorable?

She chanced a look. The woman in the Daphne costume was nursing her rum and coke, but her eyes were still fixed on her over the rim of her glass.

Right. So what if she didn’t remember that kiss. It was half a year ago and in her line of work she couldn’t be expected to remember everyone she’d ever kissed. Clara could hardly do that herself. What it meant was that Clara could make another first impression. A confident, in-control one.

“Miss Blake.” She congratulated herself on remembering that scrap of Scooby Doo trivia.

“Is that Daphne’s last name?” The redhead half-giggled. “I’m sorry, I haven’t watched Scooby Doo since I was a wee bairn.”

Aha! The strategic part of her brain roared into force again. I know more about Scooby Doo than her! I can leverage this to my advantage… somehow! Strategy brain realised it should probably shut up for a bit, and that the reason it had been allowed to think so long without interruption was because the rest of her brain was once again cooing at the Scottish turn of phrase.

“So why Daphne, then?”

“It was a group costume with a bunch of friends, but there were a few no-shows, you know?”

Clara made a gesture to the four people who were definitely not standing next to her “I do know.”

“Between you and me, I’d have quite liked to come as Velma.”

The seriously unstrategic part of Clara’s brain practically roared: Come into the bathroom with me! We can swap clothes right now!

She continued. “besides, what other characters are there to dress up as, as a tall ginger woman?”

Jessica Rabbit, said Clara’s brain.

“Jessica Rabbit” said Clara.

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain.

“Naughty” she chided. “But I don’t think so. Not two years in a row, anyway.”

Oh shit, said Clara’s brain again, but with purpose (and without vocalisation). This is definitely flirting! This could go well! I haven’t made an embarrassing mess of myself!

Tonight, I’m going to rock her world.

“Would you like to take a seat?”

High on her own hubris, Clara hadn’t noticed the seats either side of her were taken. Um…

“I’d love to.”

Sirens blared in Clara’s head as ‘Daphne’ draped one arm over Clara’s back and slid both her indigo tight-clad legs over Clara’s until she was Sitting! In! Her! Lap!

“Oh, you don’t mind, do you?”

In a moment, all of Clara’s newfound confidence melted and words stuck in her throat. Clara worried for a moment maybe her nose was bleeding, or her entire lower body had turned to steam, or worse, that her damn traitor face might be giving Amy some reason to stop sitting on her.

“Oh, not at all.”

THINK OF SOMETHING TO SAY!

“So…”

SOMETHING WITTY, FLIRTY AND MAYBE TO DO WITH HER COSTUME!

“Daphne…”

HERE WE GO! SHOOT YOUR SHOT!

“Would you like to get in the van with me?”

THE VAN???

“The van?”

“The um… the mystery machine.”

“Oh, the van from the show”

“Yes”

“So you want me to get in the Scooby Doo van with you?”

“Yes.”

“Do you have a van?”

“No.”

“But you just invited me to your van.”

“Yes.”

Clara blinked a few times while her brain rebooted.

“It’s a metaphorical van.”

“And what exactly is it a metaphor for?”

“I don’t know.”

“Truly, this is one mysterious machine.”

“…Yes.”

A few mortifying seconds later, her strategic brain came back online. As did her non-strategic brain. They both made this noise: AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARGH!

The Daphne impersonator slid her legs off Clara and stood crouched at eye-level.

“Look, can I propose something?” asked the redhead “Instead of you trying to entice me out of the club, into a dirty alley, and into the back of your metaphorical van, why don’t we just get a taxi back to my place?”

Clara fell off her seat.

“Oh my God, your little flustered face!” She belly laughed. “Oh we are going to have such a lot of fun tonight! Come on, Clara.”

Their hands touched as the redhead reached down to help her up. In all future memories of this moment, it seemed to Clara like she was in Michelangelo’s The Creation of Adam. Any hints of the reality, that a wide-eyed, shakey-legged sex-addled Scooby Doo cosplayer was being picked off the floor of a bar, were quickly purged from her mind by a greater realisation.

“You know my name.”

“Of course I do. I don’t get to snog many girls in my line of work.” She winked “And I make a note of the cute ones. I’m Amy.”

Clara nearly fell to the floor again.

But Amy kept her on her feet, one arm pulling her whole body to her.

“How about we get you into that taxi, I let you calm down for a little bit, and then you and I can get to know each other, okay?”

A sigh of relief from Clara; this was going well at last!

“Okay.”

“And then after that we can make out a little and I’ll put my hands up your jumper, sound good?”

“Oh God yes.”

END OF PART 1

#clara oswald #amy pond #clamy #amyxclara #claraxamy #femslash

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solrosan · 4 years ago

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solrosan’s fandom year 2020

I’m just going to start this off with a huge thank you to everyone I’ve interacted with in a fandom space this year, both old and new. To those of you who have been around since Before, your continued presence in my life has contributed to a sense of stability and I’m so grateful for that (special shout out to @zedille here, because I think I’ve used the rock most of the year...). To those of you who I’ve met this year, thank you for showing me that there are still good things to come.

So, now. 2020 was the year I...

...made up large group of friends for almost all characters I write about

...started the Kilt Verse

...got a visit from @spectralarchers and we visited Viking graves

...worked as an OTW translator

...signed up for another year as an OTW translator

...started editing Wikipedia again

...saw a movie I thought was okay and then let it consume my entire life

new fandom energy is the fucking best y’all!

...didn’t create a new blog for that new fandom

I apologize to all of you who doesn’t give two shits about The Old Guard

...found out SPN is still a thing

...put up a reoccurring donation to the OTW

...went to a bookbinding workshop via Zoom

yes, this is for fanfic purposes

...had a Nobel party via Skype

...found the ruins of the unfinished Great Haga Palace

...started tagging my Sherlock posts

...joined @finalproblem‘s anniversary watchalongs

...binged Outlander

...started to have movie nights with @elletromil and @insanereddragon

at least I think we started this year? it’s been one of the best things this year no matter when it started

...fell madly in love with Tan France... again...

...I wrote a bunch of smut!

...published over 90k words on AO3

making this my second most productive year in fandom ever

...wrote in three new fandoms

...wrote Sherlock again!

...finished my second history class at uni

...updated the links to the Chess på svenska subs and translations

...finished Black Sails

I still feel robbed

...tried Twitter again and again and again and gave up

...started a new themed sideblog

...tried to kick off a gift exchange with @sal-si-puedes

(it didn’t work, but it was fun trying)

...created a Reddit account for research purposes

...joined and left a lot of Discords

...joined a group chat with @spectralarchers and @ohmystarsy

...started to cross stitching

...got a lot of my fandom joy back

Some stats! During 2020…

...I, as stated above, published 92 844 words on AO3 making it my second most productive year since I started writing fanfic in 2011

most productive so far is 2015

...I published fics in seven fandoms

Sherlock, Kingsman, The Old Guard, MCU, James Bond (Craig movies), Black Sails, The King: Eternal Monarch

...Words, Signs, and Symbols got the most hits and the most kudos

...anchor reached 100 kudos faster than any other of my fics has ever done

It took less than 20 hours

...I made two edits on this blog and eight on @agentsandbutterflies

this and this got the most notes

Just to jinx the shit out of this, but I have 3 WIPs I’m hoping to finish this year!

#about solrosan

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all-of-the-above · 4 years ago

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COVID-19 and You

The Pandemic, the one and only COVID-19, it’s affected each and every one of us in a number of ways. We have all undoubtably lost something…

a) A loved one or friend

b) A job

c) A friendship

d) A relationship

e) Our motivation

f) Our hope

g) Maybe even all of the above? (If you have, my heart goes out to you)

This life changing event has had so much impact on people of all ages, and for myself it greatly affected what I thought would be an exciting time in my life. I was supposed to finish sixth form, have fun, go to May ball (I’ve never even been to prom so was definitely looking forward to this- but yeah not the biggest issue in the world I know), sit my a-levels, have my 18th birthday and go out, enjoy summer and prepare for uni. Instead, it all got cancelled. My birthday spent at home with my family, no goodbyes at school, most of my summer spent at home, and planning for uni…online. These ‘problems’ may see ridiculous to some of you, however I lost out on this time in my life I think so many of us look forward to. This loss, whilst still struggling with my mental health after the loss of my mum took a huge toll on me. My motivation left entirely, and I didn’t want to do anything, let alone help myself. I was in a state of depression and bad mental health, but for some time I didn’t even realise it. I didn’t care for myself, and since then I’ve learnt to recognise when my mood changes, when I need a little extra love for myself, and when I need to keep an eye on how I’m doing in order to prevent slipping back down that spiral (I still have bad days of course this is normal! Just not to the extreme of bad months). As I wrote about in my blog on keeping on the upwards spiral, it’s all about mindset and recognising your needs and emotions and acknowledging them to help yourself. However, back then it wasn’t so simple, I held onto the hope of seeing people and although it was crushed by news so many times, a small glint of hope was still there, a small light in a place full of darkness. Holding onto hope in times like this is something so crucial, if you can’t care for yourself in any other way, just have hope, no matter how small, because that will get you through. If you don’t think you even have that communicate it with somebody, anybody. Ask for help. Don’t feel guilty, we all need help at points and lockdown has proven to be such an isolating experience, so don’t fear reaching out. Do that small thing for yourself and you will benefit. I believed I wasn’t helping myself at all, yet that hope I had was a small portion of help. There was more I could’ve and should’ve done, but its all about learning and growing from our experiences, realising our priorities, and then learning how to care for them. Our number one priority is ourselves and often we realise this after going through bad time, commonly because we don’t want it to happen again and we want to do anything to prevent it, which means caring and looking out for ourselves. So, if you’ve struggled in lockdown, 1, 2, 3 or all of them, you’re okay, you’re here, and you’re learning, and you will get there. You are never alone, and don’t judge yourself if it’s taken time for you to learn you need to have more self-care, and more self-love. The fact is you have realised or are realising and that is such important, brilliant progress.

This pandemic has enforced an abundance of things as well as causing losses. It’s forced more alone time, less freedom, delayed plans, serious relationships and all-round new ways of life. More alone time can have serious effects on mental health like I just shared, however I have come to learn what a great opportunity it has been and will continue to be (just because were not in lockdown forever doesn’t mean you can’t continue spending some serious time with yourself!). Being alone enforces us to be more reliant on nobody but ourselves, more independence is gained, and even new skills are formed. It took me to become really down and lost to see I needed and wanted help, I reached for it and tried my upmost not to let go, I worked on myself and slowly found new methods of healing myself to become a better me. I’m not all the way there yet either, I’m still learning and understanding myself more and more every day. This is an ever-changing process with infinite goals, and by having the knowledge and ability to critically view ourselves we are able to continue this growth. Alone time now is less daunting, but do not worry if it still is for you, it’s a case of understanding what you want and realising that your mental health is important, and only you can care for it. Once you have that mindset you can begin a number of things to help, you can read books if you’re into that, especially self-help ones (trust me and give it a go, even if it’s an audio book, they really can inspire!), you can pick up new hobbies like drawing or sewing or baking, you can exercise, you can become mindful and practise meditation, you can take time to understand you. In changing my mindset and learning more about self-love, self-care and positivity, I myself have picked up new hobbies; I’m enjoying reading a lot more, especially these motivational self-help books like ‘Good vibes Goof life’ by Vex King, I love cross-stitch, it’s so relaxing and I’m a very creative person, I practice mindfulness, and most importantly to come out of this is my writing and starting this blog. I was inspired by others, but I also inspired myself. So, my advice is to you is to become your own inspiration, strive for your goals and have confidence in yourself.

As well as enforcing alone time, the lockdowns have also caused many people to have very serious relationships when possibly that would’ve been further down the line. This will of course lead to tensions and possibly even a loss of the relationship entirely. But its key to remember although you and your partner may have had to make serious decisions like moving in together or staying apart, putting a label on it or not due to covid, all of it was still your choice. It’s important to be there for one another and if you’re having doubts or feel an argument boiling up, communicate it, its not an easy situation but if you want it to work you have to find ways around it. Having alone time is key, that’s important for any relationship, but especially if it seems as though you’ve had to dive in the deep end because of the pandemic. What’s also important is spending quality time together, making date nights at home or on facetime, whatever you can do to feel a bit connected again, a bit normal. Sadly, the pandemic has also forced a lot of losses of relationships, both romantically and platonically. This may be from being in too-close-a-quarters or simply being too far away. Both scenarios are difficult, and it takes maturity and knowledge in yourself to tackle the situation as which is best. If you’ve lost people because of covid, I understand it is hard, its isolating enough never mind losing the people closet to you. However, we need to remain optimistic and look at the positives; if you tried your best to keep that relationship going, you made sacrifices, you communicated, then it is simple enough to see it was not you, and that person was not right for your life. Don’t put out energy if you don’t receive the same back. This isn’t always easy to recognise or understand but overtime you will notice a drag on your own mental and even physical state, and that’s when you can see your energy is depleting whilst you haven’t received anything in return for your hard efforts. In other cases, you may be the one not rewarding the other person with the same energy, this is ok too, it’s all about understanding where you are on your own journey. The best thing you can do is assess all your relationships whilst you have the time to do so. Think about what either person is putting in, and then what is being taken out, if its not even, assess on who’s side and then bring it up (tell that person and try to get them to understand how its making you feel and even suggest, if there is, ways of preventing it, or tell yourself, assess your actions, make your friend/partner aware that you know your mistakes, so to speak, and chose to act on them). The final key is deciding if that relationship is right for you, whether you’re putting in more or less effort than the other, take time to see why and try to come to an understanding on if your unhappy or need something to change, whatever it may be, assess that relationship and act on what is right for you. And don’t fret, seeing whether its right or not doesn’t happen overnight, it takes time and effort, just like the relationship. If you’re unsure, don’t rush a decision, and always keep in mind what has happened to thus allow you to come to a better decision after some time.

Whatever may have happened to you in the course of this pandemic there is no doubt it will have impacted your mental health, and this why I talk about self-love and self-care in such an extensive way. Although there’s been a lack of freedom, we can still do things, we can still expand our minds, expand our capabilities and ensure we care for ourselves along the way. Needing a bit more down time than usual in these circumstances is ok, it is understandable and the fact you recognise that for yourself is proof of your progress. If you haven’t been doing this then go do it now, take some reflective time and think about your needs and act on them.

I’m sure we are all now feeling much more optimistic as of the news and it truly is fantastic! We have so much to look forward to but remember not to get ahead of yourself, yet also don’t panic that it will take time to get there, it may not be back to normal tomorrow or the next day, but small steps of progress are better than none. The same goes for your mental health. Just stay optimistic, change those negatives to positives, keep occupied and learn something new, and most importantly hold onto your hope. Never feel alone, there are hundreds of millions of people who feel just as you do, reach out to friends, family, even strangers, even me, we are all here to remind you of how wonderfully you are doing and will continue to do.

If there’s anything I haven’t touched on well enough or anyone has anything to say, leave a comment or send me a message. I’m here as a friend and thank you to all of you that are a part of this growing community.

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