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gainercontent · 10 days ago

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Room to Grow Part 1: Bad Influences

Elliot had always been the skinny guy. At 23, he was tall and lean, with a metabolism that seemed to burn through food like it was nothing. He didn’t work out obsessively or follow any strict diet. It was just the way he was. His friends liked to joke that he could eat an entire pizza and still fit into his skinny jeans the next day, and for the most part, it was true. He liked being that way—easy, effortless, and always confident in his own skin.

When Elliot moved to the city for a new job, he quickly realized that finding an apartment he could afford on his own was next to impossible. After a couple of weeks, he found a shared apartment close to work and agreed to room with two guys, both of whom were a bit older than him. The rent was cheaper, and it seemed like a good deal.

The first time he met his new roommates, he was a little surprised. They were both big guys, especially compared to him. There was Ryan, with his thick arms and broad chest, wearing a band t-shirt and cargo shorts, and then there was Mark, who was tall but with a soft roundness to him that suggested he enjoyed a few too many late-night snacks. They both had warm, easy-going personalities that immediately put Elliot at ease.

“Hey man, welcome!” Ryan said with a smile, slapping him on the back as they shook hands.

Mark, with a lazy grin, handed him a plate of brownies. “We’ve got more where that came from,” he joked, “but don't feel obligated to eat them... unless you're hungry.”

Elliot laughed awkwardly, not sure what to say. He accepted a brownie and followed them inside. The apartment was cozy, decorated with posters of classic rock bands and sports teams. It was clear they had lived there for a while, and it felt like their space. Elliot tried not to think too hard about the size of the couch or the wide kitchen table that always seemed to be piled high with food containers.

Over the next few days, he got into a routine. He worked long hours and spent most evenings in his room, catching up on emails or watching shows online. He didn’t have a lot of time to get to know Ryan and Mark, but he did notice how much they loved to cook and eat together. It was always pizza night, or they’d whip up something hearty in the kitchen, from massive pots of spaghetti to giant meatloaves.

Elliot, by contrast, usually grabbed something light—a salad or a protein bar—when he wasn’t too busy. He didn’t want to make a big deal of it. He’d politely decline when they offered him a plate of whatever they were eating, not wanting to come off as rude or judgmental.

One night, after Ryan made his signature homemade lasagna, he turned to Elliot. “Hey, man, you’re gonna eat with us, right?”

Elliot froze. He had been about to grab a salad, but he didn’t want to seem like he was avoiding them. “Uh, I’m good. Thanks, though. I just ate earlier.”

Mark, who was lounging on the couch, raised an eyebrow. “You sure? This is *the* lasagna, Elliot. Don’t want you to miss out on it.”

Elliot smiled awkwardly. “I appreciate it, really. I just don’t eat as much as you guys, I guess.”

Ryan set down his fork and looked at him, his expression thoughtful. “Hey, I get it. But honestly, we’re not here to make you feel weird about it. We just like eating together, that’s all. You don’t have to stick to your salad thing just because of us. We’re not judging.”

Mark chimed in from the couch, “Yeah, man, we’ve got no problem with what you eat, but if you’re ever hungry, just join us. No pressure.”

Elliot felt a weird lump in his throat. He’d always been the guy who prided himself on being the one who didn’t care what anyone else thought. But in this moment, he realized he had been putting up walls—around his food choices, his routine, and even his relationships. He wasn’t just trying to avoid calories; he was isolating himself from them, from them as people.

The next weekend, Ryan and Mark invited him to join them for a “healthy cooking day.” Elliot was hesitant at first, unsure of what that meant in their world, but he agreed. They spent the afternoon trying new recipes—grilled chicken, roasted vegetables, and a huge smoothie bar. For once, Elliot wasn’t the only one watching his food intake. He felt like he wasn’t *on display* for his choices anymore. He was just another guy, chopping vegetables, chatting about movies, and trying to make something together.

As the evening came around, they all sat down with bowls of their homemade stir-fry, laughing about silly things from work and sharing stories about past roommates and cooking disasters.

“That was a lot better than I thought it’d be,” Elliot admitted, pushing his empty bowl aside. “I think I’ve just been so stuck in my own head, you know? About food, about what I *should* eat, what I *shouldn’t* eat.”

Ryan leaned back in his chair, nodding. “Yeah, man, I totally get it. It’s all about balance, right? We’ve both been there—stuck in cycles of eating out or trying to cut out everything. It’s about enjoying food and not obsessing over it.”

Mark added, “Exactly. And hey, if you want to keep things healthy, we’re all for it. We’re just trying to make it a little easier for everyone, right?”

Elliot smiled, feeling a weight lift off his shoulders. They weren’t just his roommates. They were his friends. They didn’t care about how he looked or what he ate. They just wanted to hang out and share good food, good company, and good times.

Over time, Elliot found that living with Ryan and Mark didn’t just teach him how to enjoy meals more freely, but also how to be more open. Their easy-going attitude about food, body image, and life in general started to rub off on him. He didn’t feel the need to be the skinny guy who had it all figured out. He could be himself—and sometimes, that meant indulging in a big meal, enjoying pizza without guilt, or laughing at a late-night snack with his roommates.

They all grew in their own ways, together. And Elliot realized that, more than anything, this shared apartment was a space where they could be who they were, without judgment. It was a place to grow—not just in size, but in friendship.

At first, it was a struggle. Elliot had never really thought about how much he could eat. He had always maintained his slender frame with little effort, casually filling up on salads, protein shakes, and the occasional light meal. But living with Ryan and Mark was a different world. Their love for food wasn’t just about eating—it was about *enjoying* eating. And they had no problem eating a lot.

In the beginning, Elliot felt self-conscious when they invited him to join their meals. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the food—they made fantastic meals, hearty and flavorful—but his body had been trained to eat only a small amount at a time. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d eaten a full plate of something. Most evenings, after just a few bites of lasagna or grilled chicken, he felt uncomfortably full and wanted to stop. But Ryan and Mark always finished their plates, sometimes going back for seconds, and then settling in for snacks, chips, or bowls of ice cream.

“Come on, man,” Ryan would say, giving him a playful nudge. “You gotta try this. Just one more bite. Don’t let it go to waste.”

Mark would chuckle, adding, “You’re not gonna be hungry later. Might as well eat now while it’s here.”

The first few weeks were an odd dance for Elliot. He’d eat slowly, trying to keep up with them, feeling the discomfort of fullness hit earlier than usual. At first, he tried to maintain his usual restraint, convinced that he *had* to stop before he felt bloated. But Ryan and Mark, with their carefree attitudes, kept encouraging him to eat more, and each time, Elliot found himself taking just one more bite—then another, and another.

After a while, it became a pattern. There was always more food than anyone could eat in one sitting, so they’d end up watching TV with pizza boxes open on the coffee table, snacking mindlessly. Elliot’s stomach would be stretched to its limits, a dull ache growing in the pit of his stomach, but he found it hard to stop. It wasn’t just about the food anymore. It was the camaraderie, the way they bonded over meals, shared jokes, and never made him feel weird for not being able to keep up at first.

At first, Elliot hated that feeling—being too full, sluggish, uncomfortable. He’d retire to his room, feeling like he was walking a fine line between fitting in and betraying his own body. But slowly, imperceptibly, something began to shift. His stomach seemed to adapt, expanding in small increments, slowly able to handle more. The next time they had pizza, he found himself reaching for a second slice without the usual hesitation. Then, on a random Tuesday night, he finished a whole plate of spaghetti—and didn’t feel as stuffed as he had before.

He noticed it during the weekends, when they would make their Sunday feast. Mark would fill the air fryer with fried foods, and Ryan would make pizza and a dessert. They’d eat together for hours, chatting, laughing, and passing around dishes, always encouraging each other to take more. It was normal for Mark to have three servings and Ryan to finish off the last of the food.

“You don’t have to keep up with us,” Ryan would say after seeing Elliot hesitate at the table. “But trust me, there’s no shame in enjoying a good meal.”

Elliot had been reluctant at first, but now he was starting to *enjoy* it, too. As much as he tried to fight it, his body began to crave the comfort of those big meals, the indulgent late-night snacks, and the feeling of sitting around with his roommates, chatting over bowls of chili or homemade pizza. He found himself going back for seconds more often. A third helping wasn’t out of the question anymore, and he no longer felt the need to rush to his room afterward to avoid being seen as weak for not finishing everything on his plate.

He also started noticing something he hadn’t expected: his body was changing. At first, it was subtle—an inch added to his waistline, his jeans feeling a bit tighter after a few weeks. But as the months went by, it became more apparent. His arms felt fuller, his stomach rounder, and he even noticed his face becoming a little softer. He wasn’t sure how it had happened, but the extra food—and the ease with which he now consumed it—had started to reflect in his body.

It wasn’t just the weight that was changing. His attitude toward food was shifting, too. Whereas he used to feel guilty for indulging, now he felt more comfortable with the idea of eating for pleasure. His conversations with Ryan and Mark had slowly shifted from just joking about food to serious discussions about eating for both enjoyment and balance. Mark would often tell him, “Don’t think of it as overeating. Think of it as living.”

One afternoon, after they’d spent hours preparing a massive barbecue spread, Elliot was leaning back in his chair, feeling pleasantly full for the first time in weeks. Ryan, who was lounging across from him, caught his eye and gave him a thumbs-up.

“Look at you, man,” Ryan said with a grin. “You’re finally eating like a normal person. Not bad.”

Elliot chuckled, rubbing his stomach. “Yeah, I guess I’ve gotten used to it. Still a bit of a stretch, but... not terrible.”

Mark, who was halfway through a third helping of ribs, laughed and wiped his mouth. “We told you. The more you eat, the more room you’ve got.”

It wasn’t just a physical change. Elliot began to feel more connected to Ryan and Mark. Food had become a bridge, a shared experience that didn’t have to be about calories or body image. It was about friendship, about enjoying the simple pleasure of a meal together and letting go of any anxiety about what or how much he ate. There were days when they all sat at the kitchen table long after dinner, talking and laughing until the food was gone, and he realized he was no longer counting the bites or trying to stop himself from eating too much.

One evening, as they were cleaning up after a particularly indulgent dinner of burgers and fries, Elliot noticed something that made him smile. For the first time, he wasn’t thinking about how full he felt or whether he should have stopped earlier. He was just enjoying the moment, grateful for the friends he had made and the space they’d created where he didn’t have to worry about measuring himself—or his food.

"You're gonna regret this tomorrow," Ryan teased, as Elliot helped clear the table.

Elliot smiled and shrugged. "Nah. I think I’m starting to get the hang of it."

And for the first time, he wasn’t just talking about eating. He was talking about life—letting go, being present, and allowing himself to be a part of something bigger than his own self-consciousness.

Over time, the changes to his body became more pronounced, but Elliot didn’t mind. The tightness around his stomach was no longer uncomfortable. It felt natural, like something that had just happened over time. And maybe it wasn’t about his physical transformation as much as it was about his acceptance of himself and his life with Ryan and Mark. It had always been about more than just food. It was about sharing, growing, and finding comfort in something simple but meaningful.

**New Chapter will be posted each Thursday**

#belly gainer #gaining kink #male gaining #Elliot

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chishiyasleftnut · 4 months ago

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Oh my god this took longer than I expected, I am so sorry (｡•́︿•̀｡)

As requested by a few people in the comments on PART 3, here is part 4 to the phase 2 Chishiya fic I've been working on!

It includes everything from angst to fluff to smut at the end. What's not to like? (•̀ᴗ•́ )و I hope you'll all enjoy it!

Stuck With You (part 4)

(Read part 1, part 2, and part 3 here)

🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤 Genre: Smut, angst AND fluff. (look at me go)

Warnings: smut and gun violence. Includes penetration (female receiving), unprotected sex.

Pairing: Chishiya x fem!reader

Plot: After sleeping together twice, Chishiya began ignoring fem!reader, making her mad with worry. Does he hate her? Did she do someting wrong? Or perhaps something else was going on, something she had completely missed?

3349 words. 🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤🖤

The discussion of what you were never came. Out of fear of making your cramped living conditions more awkward than necessary, you decided not to push it and just live in the unknown. You didn’t need to define the relationship, you told yourself. You were soooo cool with keeping it casual and undefined.

With that mindset, you both continued your life at the camp as if nothing had happened. A part of you had expected there to be more touching but no, Chishiya’s behaviour seemingly completely reverted back to how he was before that fateful stormy night, never letting down his guard and showing even a sliver of vulnerability.

Every night you went to bed next to each other, crammed into a two-man-tent and your bodies somehow not connecting anywhere at all. Every morning you woke up to the tent empty as Chishiya would leave the shared space as soon as his eyes were open.

You rarely spoke much either, which wouldn’t have affected you if you hadn’t slept together twice. Although you had no intentions of confronting Chishiya with this, it did hurt you that he by all appearances felt as if nothing special happened - as if you were just a sex doll he could use when he needed to get off.

A part of you tried to defend Chishiya. Maybe he had little experience with romance - or even friendship? You had never seen him interact deeply with anyone before so that could be an explanation. He didn’t exactly seem like the lovey-dovey type either. Yeah, it wasn’t personal, you said to yourself to calm your anxiety. This was just how he was.

Although your little camp at the outskirts of Tokyo seemed like a perfect, isolated place right after the Beach’ end, the two of you had noticed more and more people in the vicinity of your tent over the past week. It started off with the occasional sound of rustling bushes and glimpses of people appearing far away, but lately you had had actual run-ins with strangers. To your luck, none of them were an immediate threat. Still, the camp didn’t feel safe anymore.

“Come with me,” Chishiya one day said during breakfast.

His words took you by surprise, mostly because you were embarrassingly deep into your thoughts about your relationship (or lack thereof) and had completely zoned him out. You quickly began chewing the big bite of protein bar that you seconds prior had mindlessly stuffed into your mouth so you could reply, but Chishiya continued before you had a chance to clear your mouth.

“Come on. We’re doing a supply run.”

The request was unusual, as Chishiya always did supply runs on his own. His usual reasoning was that you were too slow and that it would be safer if he could quickly be in and out of the city instead of having to wait around for you.

“I thought you liked doing that on your own?” you questioned once you had finally swallowed the lump of chocolatey protein bar.

“I do,” he said while gathering his things. “But not today. Hurry up, I don’t want to wait all day.”

You wanted to pry for an actual answer, but knew it was fruitless. Instead, you quickly finished your breakfast and picked up your bag so you could accompany him into Tokyo.

As expected, your walk to the nearest convenience store was both silent and uneventful. Even though you had a million questions running through your mind, you had no way of articulating them in a way that wouldn’t make you seem desperate. As much as you craved closure, you also didn’t want to scare him away. Hence, you decided silence was best.

When you arrived at the rundown and almost empty 7/11, Chishiya held the door open for you. As you walked in you paused in the doorway with wide eyes. Instantly, you felt bad for complaining about the type of supplies he brought back. In your mind, convenience stores were always filled to the brim with food 24/7, but it seemed as if the situation in the borderlands were way different than in normal life. This convenience store looked at if it had been raided consistently for months, the shelves nearly empty and the floor covered in broken glass.

“Is there even any food left?” you asked while staying in the door-opening, completely overwhelmed by the chaotic emptiness of it all - an oxymoron you until now had never experienced before.

Chishiya pushed past you with a gentle hand on your lower back, ushering you inside. The sudden physical contact sent goosebumps all over your body, making every single small hair on your arms and legs stand up straight. God, you had missed being touched more than you knew.

“I’m sure there’s some left. Help me look.”

Once you recovered, you assisted Chishiya in finding any food that wasn’t rotten. To protect your sensitive nose, you decided to completely avoid the open refrigerator section that in the normal world housed delicious tuna-mayo onigiris and microwave-heatable freshly made meals, all of which you knew wouldn’t have lasted even a week without spoiling.

With quiet steps, you walked up and down the aisles, looking for anything edible. The little, orange shopping basket that you were carrying slowly got filled with various types of instant noodles. Once you were very dead-set on which brands and flavours were worth eating, but you had to throw that all to the side now. The selection was limited, and it was not time to be picky.

With the basket now housing a decent selection of instant noodles in all shapes, colours, and sizes, you turned the corner and stumbled into the candy aisle where Chishiya’s eyes were expertly scanning over the sparse selection. He never brought back too much food out of fear of attracting the wildlife that had slowly taken over Tokyo together with the greenery.

You watched as his hand reached out for a pack of strawberry gummies - his favourite, as you had come to learn from the many times that he had exclusively brought back strawberry flavoured candy instead of the superior tasting grape. However, instead of grabbing the strawberry flavour, he instead picked up two packs of the remaining neighbouring grape variant, quickly putting it into his own shopping basket. As he went to walk away, presumably to find food that wasn’t just candy, he turned in your direction and caught you looking.

“Is something wrong?” he questioned with a raised eyebrow. You gestured down to the grape flavoured candy in his basket.

“I thought you liked strawberry,” you pointed out. “Why get grape?”

“I wanted to try something new,” he eventually said in a casual manner, causing you to roll your eyes out of annoyance.

“I’ve complained about the lack of grape candy for weeks and suddenly you’re willing to try it?”

Chishiya had just opened his mouth to presumably give a flippant reply, when he was interrupted by the deafening sound of gunshots from the street outside the store. Instinctively, Chishiya put an arm in front of you, using his own body to shield you from the far-away shooter. You both stood still as statues, using every sense to figure out how close you were to danger. As the gunshots came to a halt, you let out a breath you didn’t know you were holding.

“Okay, I think that- AHH!”

A loud, high-pitched scream left your mouth before you had a chance to stop it, as a much closer round of shots completely took you by surprise. Chishiya quickly pulled you with him on the floor behind the cash register, hugging your back tightly against his front and covering your mouth with his hand to keep you quiet.

“Shhh,” he hushed lowly into your ear, his warm breath tickling your skin. “Be quiet.”

The next few minutes were tense, as neither of you had any visuals of the shooter due to your sheltering behind the cash register. You therefore used the only sense available to you to find any auditory signs that would indicate the location of the shooter. Much to your dismay, you before long heard the store bell chime as the door got opened. The shrill of the bell was followed by the sound of a pair of hefty military boots crushing the many glass shards scattered on the floor.

You were shaking in Chishiya’s arm, trembling with fear as you inaudibly prayed that whoever was now in the store with you would just leave you alone. Chishiya hugged you so tightly against him that you were almost suffocating, his hand surely leaving a red imprint on your face. Despite the physical discomfort, his firm embrace also worked to ground you, calming you down and keeping you quiet.

It didn’t take long for the stranger to leave the store again, possibly disappointed by the lack of victims to shoot down. You both waited a few extra minutes just to be safe, before Chishiya finally let his hand fall away from your mouth, allowing you to take a deep breath, fully filling up your oxygen deprived lungs.

“I should never have taken you with me,” he mumbled while standing up, visibly distraught in a way you hadn’t seen before. Long gone was his usual nonchalant demeanour, his normal indifference replaced by panicky eyes and shallow breaths.

Still sitting on the floor, your shaken mind attempted to connect the many jumbled up puzzle pieces. Chishiya was scared. You had never seen him scared before, so that alone was adding to the confusion. It had gotten to the point where you didn’t even know if he cared about his life. And then it finally clicked: He wasn’t scared for his own safety; he was scared for yours.

“Wait, you asked me to join you to protect me?” you asked while he with a strong hand helped you up on your feet.

“I thought it would be safer than leaving you at the camp, but clearly it was not.” Chishiya walked back around the counter and picked up the dropped shopping baskets with food, neatly packing the content into his bag with uncharacteristically shaky hands. “The camp didn’t feel safe anymore. Too many people around. What if the wrong person saw you all alone? I couldn’t risk it.”

You were in shock, unsure of how to take that in. You had spent the past week worrying over Chishiya’s sudden indifference to you, and here he was admitting he cared? No scratch that, he didn’t just care, he was worried about you. This changed everything.

“I thought you hated me,” you stuttered out, still completely overwhelmed by this new revelation. “I thought I had done something wrong and that you hated me for it.”

“I could never hate you.”

Your eyes met in what felt like a tender embrace, Chishiya’s deep brown orbs showing softness and sincerity in a way you had never could have imagined. He meant it, you were absolutely sure of it.

Calmed by his newfound gentleness, you slowly helped him pack up the supplies gathered from the convenience store, your mind gradually making sense of the past week. You were pulled back to reality when your hands picked up the little plastic bag of grape flavoured candy.

“You got these for me, didn’t you?” you asked, feeling the final puzzle piece clicking into place.

“I did. I should have gotten them earlier.”

“You should have,” you declared amusedly, suddenly finding humour in his previous stubbornness. “I’ve been begging for a while, you know.”

Your remark made Chishiya smile, but for once it didn’t seem like he was laughing at your expense. Instead, he seemed fondly entertained by you, a dynamic switch you hadn’t seen coming.

Together, you walked back to the camp. The walk was silent, but this time it wasn’t an awkward silence. Instead, you both enjoyed the other’s company, using the quiet time to mentally and physically decompress from the intense past 30 minutes you had shared. Eventually you reached the camp again, flopping down in front of the unlit fireplace and immediately going in on the treasured grape candy. Chishiya didn’t comment on it, but just observed how you practically swallowed one purple gummy after the other.

As day turned to night, you both climbed back into the tent with your bellies full of a variety of instant noodles, ready for the best sleep of your life after an emotionally exhausting day. You followed Chishiya, as he laid down on the sleeping mat, sighing when you finally allowed yourself to feel the body aches that were a near constant lately. Chishiya noticed your little sigh, and gently pulled you in closer to him in an attempt to soothe you.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“Yeah. Just tired,” you replied, matching his low tone. It felt like the right volume to speak at in the darkness of the tent.

Chishiya ran his hand up and down your arm, attempting to lull you to sleep. It was tempting to allow yourself to drift off, and yet you stayed awake, not wanting to miss out on this side of Chishiya.

“I haven’t done this before,” Chishiya finally said, turning his head to look at you. His words confused you.

“We’ve cuddled before.”

“That’s not what I meant.”

“Then what did you mean?” you asked, the confusion apparent in your voice.

Chishiya gestured broadly to the two of you. “This.”

You hummed in acknowledgment, finally understanding his vague remark. You had been right in assuming that he had little experience with anything deeper than sex.

“Do you like it?” you finally asked, holding your breath as you awaited the answer.

Chishiya took his sweet time to reply, leaving you suddenly feeling worried that you had somehow managed to completely misinterpret everything that had happened that day. Luckily, he eventually opened his mouth again.

“I do.”

And with that, you let out a sigh of relief. Thank God. Without thinking, you placed your lips firmly against his and initiated a kiss. He reciprocated, although somewhat hesitantly at first.

“I thought you were tired?” he asked in between kisses, his hands slowly gaining courage as they began exploring your body.

“Not that tired,” you said as you rolled on top of him, straddling him and pushing his body firmly down on the sleeping mat without your lips leaving his.

Chishiya didn’t need any more convincing. He quickly flipped you back around, your body thumping hard against the mat as he forcibly pinned you down under him. His hands got rougher as they ventured all over your body, exploring every curve and soft patch of skin that he could reach.

A moan slipped out of your mouth and into his when his right hand snaked down your body and into your pants, his fingers connecting with your already sensitive clit. He didn’t slow down, instead creating a consistent rhythm as he circled around the needy bud. Your hips instinctively moved against his hand, only further prompting him to continue.

“You like that?” he mumbled possessively into your ear, his fingers pressing harder down on you. “D’you like how I make you feel?”

Unable to use your words, you instead moaned louder. Quickly, Chishiya used his left hand to cover your mouth, suppressing any sound that came from you.

“So eager already?” he asked smugly. “I need you to quiet down, princess. We don’t want the entire forest to hear us, no?”

Once you were subdued, his hand left your mouth and instead journeyed down south to assist his other hand in freeing you of your pants. Once unzipped and unbuttoned, you helped him slide your jeans off by lifting your hips off from the floor, watching as he threw the pants to the side before sitting in between your spread legs.

His fingers traced teasingly along the trim of your panties, carefully avoiding the places that were desperate to be touched. After minutes that felt like hours, he finally trailed down from your belly button to your core, noticing how wet the fabric was.

“Desperate, are we?” he asked amusedly.

“Hurry up,” you mewed, closing your eyes to focus on the faint sensation of Chishiya’s fingers tickling your most sensitive area.

“Desperate and commanding. I better get going, huh?”

To your luck, Chishiya promptly helped you out of your underwear, throwing them over to your pants before immediately delving his long, slender fingers into your core. You moaned, quickly covering your own mouth as you remembered his warning minutes prior.

In a manner that was simultaneously careful and eager, he made sure you were adequately warmed up and stretched out, before pulling off his own sweatpants and boxer briefs in one go. Your eyes connected with his hard length, your mouth almost salivating at what was to come.

Chishiya didn’t waste any more time, his collectiveness wavering as carnal desires took over his mind. He climbed on top of you, spreading your legs to each side of him before lining his hardness up at your entrance and pushing himself in right away.

You both gasped as you got used to the sudden change of sensation. Your walls tightened up around his dick, hugging it tightly in a hungry embrace. Chishiya buried his face in your neck, fighting against his animalistic urges to remain at least somewhat in control. Once at least moderately grounded, his hips began moving against yours, his cock pumping in and out of you rhythmically and filling you both up with continuously building layers of pleasure.

Without realising it, your legs tightened around his body as you slowly but steadily felt yourself get closer to the edge - closer to the release you so desperately needed after the rather hectic day you had just experienced.

You didn’t even notice when Chishiya bit down on your shoulder in an attempt to keep himself from finishing, his body continuing working towards its goal of getting you closer, and closer, and….

“Fuck, I’m coming!” you eventually moaned, your vision fading to black as you felt pleasure rushing through your body, all your senses focused elsewhere leaving you completely oblivious to what was going on in the real world.

As the wonderful sensation sadly came to an end, you felt Chishiya collapse down on top of you, his deep voice grunting into your ear as he too came, filling your core up with his cum. For a while, you stayed in this position, both recovering from the short but intense escapade you had just shared. Eventually, Chishiya rolled off you, landing on the hard mat with a thud.

A part of you feared what would happen next. The last time you slept together, Chishiya spent the entire week after on ignoring you. You weren’t sure if you could survive that treatment again. However, to your delight, Chishiya gently pulled you back in close to him, hugging your tired body firmly against his.

“I needed that,” he mumbled, his voice already sounding calm and sleepy. You chuckled a bit, but nonetheless nodded to show agreement.

“Me too.”

Chishiya yawned and pulled you even tighter against him, hugging you like a child would hug its favourite plushie. Just as he was about to fall asleep, you decided to ask the question that was weighing heavily on your mind.

“You won’t ignore me again, right?”

He opened his eyes, looking a bit confused before he understood where you came from.

“No,” he said, grazing your forehead with his lips before closing his eyes again. “I’ll never ignore you again.”

That were the last words you remembered before you gently lulled to sleep, his reassuring words calming the last few anxious thoughts running through your mind and finally allowing you to succumb to your exhaustion.

I’ll never ignore you again.

The phrase played over and over again in your mind as you slept, even appearing in your dream. And you believed him. You really did. This was the start of something new.

#aib chishiya #chishiya shuntaro #chishiya alice in borderland #chishiya x reader #shuntaro chishiya #aib #chishiya smut #alice in borderland #chishiya x you #chishiya #chishiya shuntaro smut #chishiya imagine #aib shuntaro chishiya #shuntaro chishiya x you #shuntaro chishiya x reader #chishiya shuntaro x reader #alice in borderland smut

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iftheshoef1tz · 7 months ago

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the stars and spaces in between

Summary: Eris Vanserra is on the run from his responsibilities, separated from his traveling party in the unforgiving snows of Svalbard. Things get more complicated from there. For @azrisweek 2024 Day 2: Familiars.

Rating: E

Notes: This is a fusion fic with the series His Dark Materials by Philip Pullman. You do not need to have read that series to understand this fic. I have explained all that needs explaining from that universe in this fic, but basically: every person has a daemon (pronounced demon) that is a physical representation of their souls. As children, daemons can change forms, but when a person reaches puberty, it settles into one form that is supposed to be a clue as to their inner character. Also, this is a prequel to a fic I will be writing soon, so…forgive me. You’ll know why.

Thanks to @yanny-77 and @queercontrarian for their beta reading; to @acourtofladydeath for telling me how long a person can walk with a sprained ankle (I’m sorry i ignored your guidance); and to @secret-third-thing for cheering me on when I realized I put the sex scene in the wrong place. Title is from Many Are the Stars I See, But In My Eye No Star Like Thee by Ursine Vulpine and Annaca.

The brutal sky above him is grey and endless. Lying on his back, winded and trying to ignore the pain in his ankle, Eris Vanserra takes his time memorizing the exact shapelessness of his environment.

In his ear, a sigh that’s more of a hiss.

“Shut up, Gizem,” he says, voice calmer than he feels, but his daemon’s hissing continues anyway.

When he sits up, his fingers are starting to get cold, even through his thick gloves. There is also faint cold radiating up through the seat of his pants.

“You couldn’t have watched your feet while you walked?” Gizem’s disgust is evident, and Eris glares down at his knees.

“If you hadn’t been curled in my hood,” he begins, and the quality of Gizem’s hiss is different this time, slightly guilty.

But in the end, it doesn’t change things: he is at the bottom of a moderately-sized crevasse, isolated by a face of sheet ice from the tiny village he had stopped in two nights ago. This morning, he had left to see a fascinating trail marker favored by the inhabitants of this area without any climbing equipment. He has no food beyond a handful of protein bars stashed in his pockets and a half-empty waterskin.

Read now on ao3.

#azris #eris vanserra #acotar #azriel #fanfiction #daemon azris LOL #azrisweek2024

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rambleonwaywardson · 7 months ago

Text

Clegan Astronaut AU - Part 7

Masterpost

AU Summary: the boys as modern day NASA astronauts. Taking place in 2025, Bucky is about to head to the moon as mission commander of Artemis III while Buck is CAPCOM at NASA. Established relationship (obnoxiously in love).

Author's Note: the next chapter will be launch day! (I'm excited). For now, some mission prep, some quarantine shenanigans, some Gale pining for his husband (as usual).

---

November 4 Nassau Bay, TX

Gale’s life is about to go haywire.

He has just about 48 hours before his days stretch longer than ever, including 8 hour shifts as CAPCOM, reviewing Artemis 3 mission protocols, keeping up with Artemis 4 mission protocols, the odd media interview, and the occasional training exercise when NASA figures they can squeeze just a little more productivity out of him. Plus the added emotional weight of having a husband in space.

Which he should be perfectly capable of coping with.

For over a decade, he’s had a boyfriend in the service, flying fighter jets, or orbiting the earth on a massive and yet isolated space station. He’s also done all of those things himself and never batted an eye. The only difference now is Bucky is no longer his boyfriend. He’s his husband.

He’s his everything.

And this time, he’s not going to be even within the gravitational pull of the planet that Gale is stuck on. No rescue operations if something goes wrong; just the redundancy of a small space capsule and appropriately over-engineered suits and equipment to protect his fragile human body until he can make it home. Home to Gale. Where he’ll be waiting. Totally not an anxious mess.

Because he’s fine. He’s Major Buck Cleven. Not only is he a devoted husband, but he’s a professional adrenaline junky, a competent capsule communicator, a good engineer, and a skilled astronaut. He’s known across the agency as calm, cool, and collected. Level-headed. Aloof. Generally unphased. Always has everything under control.

That’s the image that he has constructed, the little self-portrait puzzle that he’s been putting together piece by piece since he was a child. Buck Cleven is fine. Will be fine. Has always been fine.

Buck Cleven wakes up alone in the morning, his eyes blinking open with the sunrise, and every day that Bucky isn’t here, he misses the warmth that should be at his back. He breathes deeply, rubs his eyes, turns onto his back, stretches his arm out across the empty side of the bed. Pepper, who was lying curled up at his feet, pops up excitedly and moves up beside him. She licks his face, making him laugh and scrunch his nose at the same time, and he scratches her behind the ears and under her collar where he knows she likes.

Then they start their day. Gale forces himself out of bed, throws on some joggers, a plain tee shirt, and his running shoes, and he shoves a protein bar down his throat. Pepper jumps around at his feet, nearly tripping him, as he grabs her leash from the hook by the door, and they head out into the crisp morning.

Gale has always liked quiet. A funny thing for a military pilot to say. But flying a plane is its own kind of peace, even when it’s not peaceful at all. He’s always felt calm and in control up in the air. But on the ground, he needs to force himself to slow down. There’s too many things to do, too many people that need him, too many problems to solve. Too many worries. Not enough air.

Sometimes Bucky – laughing, dancing, drinking, gambling, foot on the gas and not slowing down Bucky Egan – is his peace. Somehow, against all odds, Bucky makes him breathe easier and think clearer, letting him be vulnerable and tired and shy when he isn’t allowed to be any of those things to the rest of the world. But Bucky isn’t here. So a morning run is the only thing Gale has to clear his head.

No music. Few other people out and about this early. Just him and Pepper and the morning breeze. They first run around their neighborhood, and Gale focuses on the feeling of his feet pounding on the pavement, air being pulled in and out of his lungs, sweat dripping down his neck. He focuses on Pepper bounding along excitedly at his side and laughs when she gets distracted by a bird or tries to playfully jump up on him. They end up at the narrow boardwalk along the bay, run along it for a few minutes, and it’s here that they stop.

Gale lets himself collapse down onto the wooden boardwalk, his legs dangling over the edge, feet hovering above the water’s surface. Pepper lays beside him, her head in his lap, and they breathe in the salty air as they watch the water ripple in the early-morning sunlight, sending up dazzling reflections that Gale could stare at for ages. It’s one of those peaceful moments that reminds him of how special their little blue planet can be.

“Just a few more days, Pep,” he says, and she smacks her tail happily against the ground. “A few more days until John heads to the moon.”

—

By the time he’s stepping out of his car at JSC, Gale has showered, shaved, eaten breakfast, changed into his flight suit, and is carrying a travel mug full of black coffee. Everything he felt when he woke up, the loneliness and the apprehension, gets shoved into a mental bin labeled ‘off limits’ the moment he gets to work. Those things have no place here.

As he walks across the parking lot, looking down at his phone as he runs through his schedule for the morning, his coffee is suddenly plucked right out of his hand. He looks up through his dark aviator sunglasses to see Marge walking beside him, matching him stride for stride in her skirt and pumps. She’s scrunching her nose in disgust as she swallows. “This dark enough for you?”

“Could be darker.” He snatches his coffee back and takes another sip, looking at Marge pointedly over the rim of the mug.

“Have you talked to John?” She asks.

“A couple days ago. Why?” Gale has only gotten to speak with his husband a handful of times since he started quarantine. Every time, it manages to lift a weight off his shoulders and stir up his nerves all at once.

“He’s about to launch himself off the planet at hypersonic speeds. An emotionally healthy person might be a little nervous.” She tilts her head and makes a tsk sound. “An emotionally healthy spouse might be a little nervous for him.”

“He’s ready,” Gale says simply. “I’m ready. I’m fine, Marge.”

Marge sighs and narrows her eyes at him. He might fool everyone else, but after a lifetime growing up together, Marge can read him like a book. Something as small as the way he flicks his eyes away from her as he says it, the way he works his jaw the littlest bit, tells her all she needs to know. “You’re lying.”

“Hey, at least I’m good at it.” Gale takes off his sunglasses and props them on top of his head, smirking at Marge in that cocky way that says I’m charming and I know what I’m doing and you just need to trust me. Even though he knows that look doesn’t fool her. “You’re the only one who needs to know,” he tells her in a hushed tone.

The only one that needs to know that breathing is getting harder the closer we get to launch. That I wasn’t prepared for how much more difficult this would feel than every other mission we’ve ever been on. He can’t afford to let that type of emotion show. He has a job to do and he’s going to do it.

“I’m gonna talk to him tomorrow, after the press conference,” he assures her.

“Yes, the press conference.” She sighs, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. They’re at the door to building 1 now, the JSC headquarters, and Gale holds the door open for her. “Really hoping it’s less of a disaster than last time.”

“It’ll be fine,” Gale insists. “The crew will be over video call. So Curt can’t try to fight anyone this time.”

The joke falls flat on the Public Affairs Officer, and she shakes her head. “Right, it’ll be fine. Listen, remind the rest of your crew that we have the Today show interview this afternoon.” They stop outside the small conference room where Gale is starting his day, and Marge straightens up with a hand on her hip, pointing a finger very close to his face. “It should be a fun one, but I want everyone on good behavior.”

Gale chuckles as she spins on her heel to head back to her office in building 2. “I don’t think it’ll be a problem,” he calls as she walks away. He’s right, for the most part. The Artemis 3 and 4 crews are like night and day, despite being equally qualified professionals. Artemis 4 is a good group of young men and women who love to have a good time, but they’re nothing like Bucky’s rambunctious crew.

Gale, Sandra, Helen, and Macon. That’s who’s hitching a ride to the moon on Artemis 4. Gale and Helen will also both serve CAPCOM shifts for Artemis 3 starting in a few days, and they have been working tirelessly to make sure they know that mission inside and out. But today isn’t about that. Today is all about A4.

After a morning meeting discussing some updated mission logistics, the crew heads over to building 9, the Space Vehicle Mockup Facility, where full scale mock-ups of the ISS and Orion are housed for training. Gale can feel his whole body thrumming in anticipation, because for the first time today, they get to see the in-progress mock-up of Gateway, the first space station to orbit the moon. One of the main goals of Artemis 4 is to rendezvous with the Gateway modules that will be separately launched and already in lunar orbit, just waiting for a crew to add the habitation module and activate its systems. They will spend several days on board the station before Gale and Sandra descend to the lunar surface in the Starship lander, and Helen and Macon will remain on the station to conduct research and continue setting up.

Wandering through the Gateway mock-up is like getting to go on an exciting field trip. Unlike much of the other Artemis experiences, which are more like survival training. The mock up is still a bit rudimentary, but they can see all of the important things: where they’ll enter after docking Orion; where the Starship lander will dock; where they’ll sleep, eat, exercise, use the bathroom, perform basic medical procedures; the work benches where they'll be able to run experiments; and where all of the life support functions will be located.

“Welcome to paradise, crew,” Gale says as the other three follow him through the various sections. He points at a window in the HALO module. “Just imagine through that window you can see the surface of the moon. And in the distance, sunrise over the Earth.”

“You know, it hurts a little to be so close and not be able to touch down myself,” Macon laments as he looks around. “But this ain’t bad.”

“Not at all,” Helen agrees.

“I can feel it,” Sandra grins, patting Gale on the back. “It’s gonna be good.”

They just have to get through Artemis 3 first.

–

November 5

Cape Canaveral, FL

The final pre-launch press conference takes place mid-afternoon the day before the scheduled launch. Bucky, Curt, Rosie, and Alex sit together on one of the couches in their flight suits, mic'd up with a camera in front of them. Projected on their TV screen is the JSC conference room, packed with reporters. At the front of the conference room is a big screen projecting their video, so the reporters can see them as well. Marge is there moderating, along with Harding and some of the other Human Spaceflight team members.

Once the team at JSC has finished outlining the launch expectations and mission timeline, Marge opens it up to reporters. The crew gets the typical questions: are they ready?; how are they feeling?; what will they be doing during this or that part of the mission?; what are they looking forward to the most?

The first reporter to direct a question at Bucky starts by congratulating him on his marriage. Bucky thanks her even as he braces for an onslaught. But she goes on to ask him if he’s given any thought to what his first words will be as he steps onto the lunar surface, as the first man to step foot on the moon since the 70s. He laughs and says “Not as much as I should. I have some big shoes to fill, but I’ll give ya somethin’ to write about.”

Questions about him and Gale find their way into the conversation, and they’re generally innocent but they still have Bucky fidgeting and clenching his jaw. Curt can feel him tensing and leans over, covering his mic with his hand. “These fuckers are just jealous cause every one of ‘em has a crush on your husband,” he whispers, and Bucky has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing as Alex answers a question about the observation tasks he and Rosie will carry out in orbit.

“Bucky and Rosie,” one reporter says at some point. “I know you’re both big Yankees fans. Have you seen the clip of Aaron Judge talking about you during an interview yesterday?”

Bucky and Rosie share a quizzical glance before shaking their heads. A few days ago, they had enthusiastically celebrated a Yankees World Series win, the first since 2009, beating the Dodgers in 4 out of 7 games.

There’s movement and muffled voices as the reporter leans over to talk to Marge, who is nodding her head and grinning. One of the staff members takes the reporter’s phone and puts it up close to the camera, so the crew can see the video playing on it. Aaron Judge, Yankees outfielder and MLB All-Star, is nodding as a reporter mentions the two astronauts about to head to the moon, celebrating the Yankees victory in quarantine. She asks if he has anything he’d like to say to them.

“For sure,” he says. “I’m really excited about the Artemis program myself and look forward to following along with their mission. Even better that we’re sending two Yankees fans up there.” He looks into the camera. “Bucky and Rosie, wishing you all the best. Good luck up there, doing amazing things that just blow my mind. We wish the whole Artemis crew a safe mission, and we’d love to have you guys out to a game next season.”

Bucky laughs in amazement, star-struck, and he and Rosie high-five over top of Curt. They’ll be talking about this for days, no doubt. Marge makes a mental note to engage with the video on social media.

They’re almost home-free when one of the last questions of the day once again gets pointed at Bucky. “Major Egan,” the reporter says. “You’ve been getting a lot of attention around this mission due to your sexuality. I know you’ve spoken on it at length before, but do you feel any extra pressure as discourse heats up ahead of launch? How do these comments, especially the negative ones, impact your mindset?”

Bucky bites his cheek and nods, takes a deep breath. “It can be disheartening, seeing people get so wrapped up in the wrong things sometimes,” he says honestly. Then he all but lies. “But no, it hasn’t really affected my mindset too much. In this line of work, I can’t afford to let that kind of thing get to me. I know who I am, and who I am is a damn good astronaut focused on my mission.” At least that last part is mostly true. All the turmoil around his sense of self can weigh on him all he wants in his daily life, but once he’s locked into his spacesuit or strapped into a fighter jet, it all has to go out the window. That’s how he’s always been. That’s the only way to survive.

–

“God, I just want to fly,” Bucky groans in exasperation once the cameras are off and the others have moved off the couch, letting him stretch across the whole thing as he covers his face with his hands. “I just want to fucking do my job and fly. Why does it all have to be so political?”

“At least this was more… controlled,” Rosie points out as he hands one of their support team members his mic. He carefully unclips Bucky’s as well.

Bucky rolls his eyes behind his hands. Not at Rosie. Just at… the whole world. “Why does it even have to be an issue. Why does it fuckin’ matter.” He rubs at his cheeks, his eyebrows, grips his hair, and then rests his hands over his chest as he stares at the ceiling. “I’m a pilot. Why does it have to matter who I married? I serve this country, and no one ever gave a damn before. People callin’ me a fag and all. What is this? The fuckin’ 60s?”

“You could… I dunno, like, reclaim it,” Curt says as he plops onto the opposite end of the couch, lifting Bucky’s feet and letting them rest across his lap.

Bucky lifts his head to look at him, his eyes narrowed. “What?”

“Ya know, the word fag,” Curt tries to explain. “If they’re gonna call ya that anyways, just own it.”

“I-“ Bucky doesn’t even know. He shakes his head. “What- How would I even do that?”

Curt is quiet, resting his chin on his hands as he leans his elbows on top of Bucky’s legs and stares off into space. He’s quiet for so long that Bucky thinks he’s not gonna follow up with that thought after all. But just before Bucky is about to let his head fall back to the cushion in despair, Curt giggles. In a concerning kinda way. And grins to himself. “Astrofag.” The word bubbles out of him in a laugh, like he barely meant to say it.

Bucky’s face could not contort into more of a ‘what the fuck’ expression if he tried. “Astrofag?”

Alex and Rosie are laughing uncontrollably, but Curt just nods seriously. “Yeah. Astronaut. Fag… astrofag.”

“You drunk?” Bucky asks.

Curt shakes his head slowly, still staring off towards the wall, chin still propped on his hands. “Haven’t had alcohol in days.”

“Hmm, must be withdrawal then.”

Alex shrugs. “It’s not the worst idea.”

Bucky looks at him, betrayed. “Oh fuck off,” he says, and he drops his head back to the couch cushion, throwing his arm over his eyes.

He must pass out for at least a little while, cause next thing he knows he’s being woken up by a rubber football hitting him in the stomach. His eyes shoot open as his hands automatically scramble to catch the ball. “Hey astrofag,” Alex calls out. “Your boy is on the line.”

Bucky squints at the bright lights above, but is vaguely aware of a ringing noise coming from his phone. The clock on the wall says 6pm. The time he scheduled with Gale. “Oh god,” he mumbles, half tumbling off the couch as his long legs try to stand him upright. He makes it to the table, where his phone is sitting face down, on the final ring. He nearly misses the accept button in his haste to answer the FaceTime call.

“Hey,” Gale says, his eyes lighting up when he sees Bucky. The corner of his mouth quirks up in a small, fond smile as he chews on a toothpick, sitting at the desk in their bedroom. Bucky recognizes the historic plane prints on the wall behind him: A B-17 Flying Fortress, a P-51 Mustang, and a Bell X-1, the first aircraft to exceed Mach 1.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes.” Bucky grins, immediately feeling better as he sits in one of the chairs at the table. Gale looks tired and soft, his hair messy and hanging over his forehead, no doubt from running his hand through it too many times today. Bucky wants to wrap him up in his arms so bad. “You playin’ hooky, Buck? Tomorrow’s launch day. Shouldn’t you be at the space center scrambling around like a crazy person?”

Gale doesn’t answer but instead suddenly looks downwards, laughing, and the camera gets jostled around as he repositions his phone. Bucky catches a glimpse of Pepper trying to insist she’s a lap dog, half climbing over Gale’s legs. He gently shoves her off with a faint “no Pep.” She whines loudly. “Don’t you start.” Now is not the time for a screaming Husky. He pauses, though, looking down at her, and he must decide that she looks pitiful enough because he sighs deeply and relents. “Okay, fine.” Then the phone camera is shaking again as he leans it up against the back wall. Next thing Bucky sees is a camera full of excited Husky leaning across the desk, her nose bumping against Gale’s phone.

“Hold on, girl, come back here.” Gale pulls her away, and Bucky is graced with the hilarious sight of his husband, mostly covered by a husky that’s half as big as him, peeking over Pepper’s head. His voice is muffled by her thick fur. “Say hi do Daddy, Pep.”

Bucky grins and says “hi Pepper,” but all of a sudden his stomach is doing weird somersaults at the sound of Gale saying that. ‘Say hi to Daddy.’ Some weird feeling he can’t explain wells up in his chest. Some sort of longing or loss or nostalgia or hope for a future that he isn’t sure they’ll ever be able to have in this line of work. Too busy. Too dangerous. Too unreliable. Next day never guaranteed. A future Bucky has never even been sure he wants, but one he might’ve liked to daydream about. He breathes deeply, pushing the thought aside. Who knew that sending yourself into danger as a married man made you feel things.

But Gale is shoving Pepper back to the floor to lay at his feet, and he looks back up, completely unaware of how his words are sticking in Bucky’s brain like pins in a cushion. “I watched your press conference. You did a great job.”

“Oh. Yeah, thanks.” Bucky huffs, trying to mentally shake himself off. “I just wish they’d stop askin’ about… things that aren’t about the mission.”

“I know, darlin’. I-” Gale pauses, squinting at Bucky as he raises a glass of water to his lips. “You’re still in your flight suit?”

“Mmm,” Bucky nods, thankful to have an out. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to Gale about his media problems. He just doesn’t have anything left to say. And pity isn’t what he wants. “Fell asleep on the couch and no one bothered to wake me. Hey, you had an interview with the Today Show right?”

“Yeah. It was a good time actually.” A small part of Gale always wanted to be a teacher of some sort, and he loves sharing things he knows with people who are interested. “We got to show them the simulators. Let them try the controls. Scare them with the alarms.”

Bucky remembers when Artemis 3 got to do something similar with Today the previous year. How he missed the fun and simplicity of those types of interviews, when reporters mostly just wanted to know about the mission and the rocket and the capsule. “Better days,” he sighs.

“Oh! And we got to show them around the new Gateway mockup,” Gale adds. “Which is incredible, by the way.”

“Can’t believe you get to set up Gateway,” Bucky pouts. “God I’d love to see it.”

“You get to be the first man on the moon in decades. Stop whining.”

“Astrofag!” Curt suddenly yells as he walks into the common room. Bucky hears Gale choke on a sip of water, but he doesn’t see it because he’s already covering his face with one hand in embarrassment. “What are- Oh, Buck, didn’t see ya there.”

“Hey, Curt.”

“I’ll just be over there,” Curt motions to the couches, where Alex is drawing in his sketchbook and Rosie is quizzing him on protocols.

“Astrofag?” Gale is arching his eyebrow higher than Bucky really thought it could go.

He waves his hand dismissively. “Curt thinks I should reclaim the word fag or somethin’. Since people wanna throw it around like it’s 1964 and not 2024.”

“Not his worst idea.”

“Alex said the same thing.”

“Not sure I’d say it in front of the press, though.”

“Oh believe me, I will never be saying it in front of anyone.” Bucky is gay. Everyone knows he’s gay. But he is not that particular kind of gay, whatever that means. He takes a deep breath, ready to move on.

“So, big day tomorrow,” Gale says. And immediately regrets it. Obviously tomorrow is a big day. Bucky does not need to be told that tomorrow is a big day when he’s the one strapping himself onto the top of one of the world’s largest explosives. Gale shakes his head at himself, feeling like that awkward teenager again that doesn’t know how to flirt.

Bucky just bites at his bottom lip and half smiles, though, amused that his husband, who is known across the country for being charming and so sure of himself, doesn’t know how to carry on a conversation.

“Ya know, I was thinking,” Bucky replies. “You’re basically the reason I made it this far.”

Gale does this thing where he tilts his head just the littlest bit and licks his lower lip, and it makes Bucky want to kiss him. “Yeah? How’s that?”

“Woulda failed differential equations without you.”

Gale can’t help but laugh. “John, you would’ve failed every math and physics class without me. Some of our professors had to go out of their way not to fail you.”

This is arguably true, but it can never be proven. Bucky Egan was not a stellar student. Buck Cleven spent countless hours tutoring him, or at least trying to. Trying to convince John to pay attention long enough to actually be tutored – ‘no Bucky not in a dirty role play kind of way.’ – a task that became both far harder and far easier – ‘study with me for 30 minutes and I’ll give you a kiss’ – once they started dating. Arguably, Bucky started improving significantly with Gale’s help, and arguably, Gale dragged him along with a white-knuckle grip and a sometimes concerning level of loyalty that could in fact be referenced as the reason Bucky got his B.S. in engineering at all.

But Bucky was also the exact right mixture of decently intelligent and flat-out charming, with an excitable and distracted air about him that made his professors think that if he’d just apply himself properly, he could do amazing things. Bucky was always good at getting on people’s good sides. He was good at getting extra chances. He didn’t always need it, but here and there, those qualities may have saved him from having to retake a course or two.

And it turns out they were right anyways. If he applied himself properly, he’d fucking soar.

Bucky shrugs smugly. “Well now I’m going to the moon and my professors are stuck teaching calculus to idiots who can’t tell a sequence from a series.”

“So, idiots like you,” Gale clarifies.

“Yes,” Bucky agrees. “But I’m going to the moon so it doesn’t matter anymore. Ain’t gonna be no sequences and series up there. That’s what we got mathematicians and engineers for.”

“You are an engineer.” According to his degree, at least.

Bucky shakes his head though. He hasn’t thought of himself as an engineer in years. “I’m actually the best damn pilot this town has ever seen.”

“And so humble,” Gale snickers.

Curt pipes up from across the room. “Gotta fight me for that title, Egan.”

“Alright, let’s have it out on the moon then.” Bucky turns to look at him, motioning between them as he stands up so fast that the chair he’s sitting in falls over backwards. He sets his phone face-up on the table so Gale is looking at the ceiling and raises his fists. “Me and you. Landing a tin can in one-sixth G.”

Curt hops over the back of the couch and puts his hands up in front of him, throws a fake punch in Bucky’s direction as he steps closer. “You’re on.”

Gale’s voice interrupts from the phone speaker. “I believe I was the first to outrank both of you, so doesn’t that make me the better pilot?”

Curt leans over top of the phone and points a finger at the camera. “Stay outta this Gale. This is between me and ya bitch ass husband.” He throws another fake punch that lands softly on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky flinches backward dramatically.

Alex and Rosie are chanting “fight fight fight fight” in the background.

“You’re just mad cause you both know it’s true,” Gale asserts.

Bucky picks up the phone again. And the chair. He spins it around backwards in front of him and sits in it with his legs straddling the back. He smirks at his husband. “Excuse me but are you gonna be the first gay man on the moon?”

Gale smirks right back, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his desk. “As you said, you’re just an underpaid guinea pig.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, as Curt gives Gale the middle finger over his shoulder before wandering back over to the couches. “The first gay underpaid guinea pig to land on the moon.”

Gale pulls the toothpick out of his mouth, using it to point at Bucky. They may be married, but they have never been above a little competition. “And you really think that’s because you’re the best pilot around?”

“Damn right I do.”

“If that’s what gets you through the day, darlin.’”

“Buck’s sassy today,” Curt loudly whispers to Rosie and Alex.

“Oh it gets me through the day alright,” Bucky says cheekily. “It’s getting me to the moon after all.”

“Send me a postcard, would ya.”

“Anything for you, angel. I’ll sign it ‘best pilot at NASA.’”

Gale rolls his eyes. “Your call sign shoulda been PITA.”

“What?” Bucky scrunches his nose in confusion.

“Pain In The Ass. P. I. T. A.” Gale enunciates each letter and blinks at Bucky innocently.

Bucky nods thoughtfully, propping his elbow on the back of the chair and resting his chin on his hand. “Yeah, but I’m a pain in your ass.”

“We’re all screwed aren’t we,” Alex sighs as he scribbles in his notebook.

Rosie hums before saying, with an incredible nonchalance, “Actually, I believe Gale is the only one getting screwed.”

“Actually,” Alex counters, not even looking up. “He’s not getting screwed cause Bucky is here. So maybe that’s why he’s cranky.”

“Gale’s cranky a lot anyways,” Rosie rationalizes.

“Maybe you should do something about that Bucky,” Curt says, far too loudly. He leans over to look at Alex’s drawing, but Alex tilts it away, making Curt fall across his lap as he tries to follow it.

“I’m right here guys,” Gale cuts in, and Bucky glances at him, almost bursts out laughing when he sees how hard he’s blushing.

But messing with his husband is a favorite pastime, so he looks Gale dead in the eye when he replies, “Oh I plan to do something about it. It’ll be the first thing I do as soon as I get home from the fuckin’ moon.”

Gale hides his face in his hands and groans. A month from now. That’s a long time to wait. For anything.

A lot can happen in a month.

“Alright,” Gale says, pulling his hands away. “That’s enough humiliation for one day. You better get some sleep, astrofag.”

“I know you are but what am I?” Bucky sticks his tongue out, and Gale just shakes his head in exasperation.

They bring themselves back to reality, composing themselves, and the moment lingers. “Well,” Gale finally sighs. “I’d say good luck now, but I’ll be right there with you tomorrow.” He starts his shift as CAPCOM during the launch countdown. He’ll be the one communicating with the crew as they shoot into orbit.

“Lookin’ forward to it, angel.” Bucky takes a deep breath, taking in the sight of his husband for the last time before leaving the planet. “Guess I’ll see you in the stars.”

…

Part 8

#clegan astronaut au #clegan fic #clegan #mota #masters of the air #gale cleven #john egan #bucky egan #buck cleven #buck x bucky #bucky x buck #gale buck cleven #john bucky egan #mota fic

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cloned-eyes · 2 years ago

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Lean on me a little longer

AN: This is straight up depression hours my friends. Very much self-indulged and very heavy. Seriously, don't read if you're in a negative head space already.

Pairing: Crosshair x gn!Reader 1.8k

No mentions of outer describtion in anyway

Warnings: (experienced) disorderd eating, self-starvation. Very clear hints of (past and current) suc!c!dal thoughts/ tendencies by both the Reader and Crosshair. Nothing is disscussed out loud, nor depicted in a graphic manner but be warned. Ends on a positve note.

Description: Reader get's Crosshair to eat, after observing a very concerning behaviour.

You worried about him; quite a lot actually. Crosshair probably wouldn't appreciate your worries. Getting defensive at every slight display of concern from anybody really. He didn't seem to appreciate anything any longer since he was back with the Batch, not even being here still. Of course his brothers had noticed and maker they tried to do something, anything , but the wounds endured from all the things that had happened - all of what had been said and done - were still fresh. Too fresh for them to handle any sort of healing or rebuilding when it came to their interpersonal relationships. Hunter, maker you knew he was the most effected by this whole thing, tried to make things right. You saw how he gave it all he got, desperately for rekindling the relationship with his brother. But neither he or Crosshair were ready for that just yet.

While the snipers behaviour never had been out-going affectionate at any point, you knew that what he currently displayed was severe. Very severer. The self-isolation had been something you cold tolerate at first, accepting that he needed space to sort anything out but after more time had passed by you noticed that it wouldn't get better, in fact, it got worse. You knew that Crosshair thought of himself as smart. Admittedly he was, cunningly so and really observant. It was something that gave him a sense off superiority. It was true, his senses were superior in that field but it also gave him a blind eye on the fact that he wasn't alone with those skills.

You yourself were quite observant when it came to certain behaviour patterns and the once you had picked up on him left a foul taste in your mouth. You didn't like it. Not one bit.

The sniper probably thought he was slick. Granted his brothers didn't seem to notice, bit you did. You did notice how he stopped eating, how the intake of food got less and lesser with every meal that would pass by. How he not only physically isolated himself but also mentally zoned out more and more often. How his whole being became more tense with every day, how his jaw tensed the whole time. How his teeth ground against each other and his stomach growled out of hunger while he slept and how he wouldn't fill it.

You heard it. You saw it. You felt it. And as you looked at Crosshair the man before you vanished as nothing but the husk of a prior self looked back at you. Maker, you wouldn't let it go any further from here. You wouldn't let him drown, wouldn't let him break after everting endured. If he wanted it or not, you would go into battle for him.

The Marauder was dead silent due to the fact that only you and the sniper currently were on the ship. Sighing heavy you straightened yourself, mentally preparing for the interpersonal assault you had planned on Crosshair. Would he put up a fight? Of course he would and it would be a messy one, but you wouldn't let him win on this. He wouldn't walk away from this, from you.

Armed with a high sugar protein bar you knew for a fact he liked way back when things were a bit more normal than right now, you made your way into the back of the ship. Movement carefully placed as you walked up to him. He said at the stairs of the gunners nest, cleaning his rifle obsessively while lurking in the shadows. Maybe he hoped that he would simply disappear into them if he sat in them long enough.

He didn't bother to look up at you at first. Eyes kept glued shut on the weapon in his lap. You simply stood there and waited. The advantage was on your side since you had him pretty much cornered. There would be no escape route past you and the only other available one was the exit lid of the gunners nest but he wouldn't be quick enough for that. You knew that and he probably too should it come so far.

Eventually he shot you a glance. It was meant to hold annoyance, to be hard and intimidate you. It did nothing to you. His eyes lacked the spirit, they were dull and you could see right through it. Face sharper than it should have been the hunger he endured due to self starvation finally crept through the cracks of his facade.

“What?”, he hissed, like a cornered rattle snake ready to strike.

Pulling your hand out of your pocket you held the protein bar up to him. He locked at it as if you pointed a blaster at him, ready to blast his insides out. It probably felt like exactly that for him being that you had figured out what he was doing. And of course he tried to deflect at first, to bite to get you away from him. The look his eyes held said it all.

“What am I supposed to do with that? I'm neither a kid nor a dog you can bribe with this sorta thing”, he mocked you. You didn't care.

“Eat.”

One simple word. You had spoken it in a tone that didn't allow any kind of denying you. Crosshair glared at you. His jaw tensing around his toothpick.

“The others might haven't noticed yet, but I did. You don't actually take in any food. Eat”

Like a wounded wolf he glared his teeth at you. Hitting directly into a sore spot and pushing further. By the way his body moved and tensed, how his mimic flaired up you knew that this was about to get messy. But you had to push through that too, for his sake.

“Who do you think you are to tell me what to do? I don't care what my brothers did to make you think you hold any weight of saying around here. But let me be very clear with you. I don't want anything from you. You don't hold any significance to me, so quite frankly, I don't care about what kind of kriffing delusions you come up with. Leave. me. Alone”, he hissed at you. Words drenched in pure venom, spilling out of his mouth.

They hit you, yes. A bit harder than expected but you could manage. You held the glare he spat at you, not lowering your extended arm either, not backing down one bit. Blinking slowly you gently tilted your head. An innocent gesture that seemed to irritate him even further.

“There is nothing in this galaxy you could possibly say to me that I haven't said to myself at one point. Nothing you could do that I haven't already done. I know what you're doing. I did the same to myself and worse once I crossed over a certain point. A point I wont let you cross, ever. Not as someone who just happens to know you, not as a friend, not as someone who cares. Eat”

Dynamics shifting he now held your glance. The last flare up of his unyielding nature, stuborness engraved deep into his bones. His eyes spewed hate. You let his fire rage. Let him try to burn you down. But the fundament your world stood upon was made out of the ashes of the same hateful flames. Flames that had been your own. Flames that had nearly succeeded in devouring you.

After an eternity his eyes dropped. You had won. A victory you celebrated internally as to impede feeding his already raising feelings of humiliation further. Not wanting to push him into the opposite direction of where he needed to be.

He took the bar and lacked any kind of spirit in his movement. He simply took it. No glances, no remarks, no harsh pulling away.

You watched as he rotated the bar a few times in his hands, stomach now audible growling at the sight of food. He looked so fragile, like a wounded animal that had lost it's lost ounce of will to fight back.

You sat beside him. And as you pulled the rifle out of his lap he'd let you. He also let you help him unwrap his protein bar as his trembling hands failed to do so themselves. There was no further need for words, both of you already knew anything worth knowing.

Once he took a bite of the bar a few tears spilled out of his eyes, shoulders beginning to tremble violently. Your hand found his back, travelling up to his neck to gently pull him closer to you until his head softly collied with you own.

A moment went by, then another and eventually he melted into the shared contact. He ate the bar slowly, softly sniffling between the bites. All it took was a quick glance from your side to know that it took him everything to not instantly devour the food in his hands. It was his way of regaining the last bit of composure in him.

Softly caressing the side of his scarred head with one hand, your other one found his free one, instantly inter whining both of your fingers. His body shook violently but eventually stopped.

You said there for a while. Wordlessly, connecting only through touch. He let you hold him. Sighing heavy once in a while, eyes closed as he allowed himself to receive affection. Neither of you knew how long you sat like that but it didn't really matter. You would hold him as long as he needed to, now and in the future. You wouldn't let him give up on himself.

At one point he shifted slightly.

“My head hurts”, he croaked out. Voice hoarse, sounding like it hurt him to speak. You'd understand. “My heart too.”

You pulled him even a little more close.

“I know”, you cooed softly, “I got you”

“Will it ever stop doing so?”, he asked after another short silence.

“I don't know. But it will soothe over time”, you answered him truthfully. It never stopped hurting for you. As said, once you crossed a certain line there was no hope of ever getting rid of all of it. A small part would always remain, but it was okay. You learned to live with it. Learned to live because of it. Realizing that there were people you had come to love out there that you wanted to share your short existence a little while longer with. Bath yourself in the warmth of their their love for you and the fortune to exist in this very moment with them, enjoying every second.

Crosshair only hummed. “I'm tired”

“Then lean on me a little while longer”

#the bad batch #the bad batch fanfiction #tbb crosshair #tbb crosshair x reader #tbb crosshair x you #tbb fanfiction #heavy emotional stuff #please read the warnings #tw ed #tw self destruction #tw sui thoughts implied #stay safe everyone

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eirinstiva · 1 year ago

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About emotions and science: A Study in Scarlet

Happy birthday Sherlock Holmes!!! and the best way to celebrate it is reading A Study in Scarlet from my dear friend John H. Watson, M. D.

One of the reasons I love this story is the introduction to Watson, his experience as a soldier and the loneliness that embraces him:

The campaign brought honours and promotion to many, but for me it had nothing but misfortune and disaster.

Poor Watson. The campaign left him physical an emotional scars

I had neither kith nor kin in England, and was therefore as free as air—or as free as an income of eleven shillings and sixpence a day will permit a man to be.

Oh no. He's traumatised, alone and with no money.

I was standing at the Criterion Bar, when some one tapped me on the shoulder, and turning round I recognized young Stamford, who had been a dresser under me at Bart's. The sight of a friendly face in the great wilderness of London is a pleasant thing indeed to a lonely man.

First we had Watson talking about his loneliness and the consequences of his wound, then Stamford appears as a light and then Holmes like fireworks. Too many emotions for a start and I love that.

Now the scientific part! Guaicum test One of the first presumptive tests for blood developed. It relied on guaiacum (a resin isolated from trees) in combination with hydrogen peroxide. If a stain turned blue when treated with these reagents, it was considered a positive result indicative of blood. According to this source "The historical record credits Izaac van Deen (1804-1869), a Dutch chemist and physician (...), with having discovered the test in 1861. It was only two decades later, in 1881, that the future Sir Arthur Conan Doyle (1859-1930) graduated from the University of Edinburgh with a Bachelor of Medicine and Master of Surgery. The test was less than three decades old when Doyle wrote the story."

[ID photo: Guaiacum officinale flowers. Four light violet flowers with five petals]

Acid stains on skin There are many factors related to the final colour of a acid stain. It depends on the type of acid, concentration, your own colour skin, temperature and so on. Skin contact with nitric acid leads to specific yellow-to- brown-stained wounds by binding with complex proteins (xanthoproteic reaction) and forming a yellow substance called xanthoproteic acid. Trichloroacetic acid (the one used in chemical peeling) leaves lightcoloured scames. I met someone who had a brown stain in her hand after burning accidentaly with hot sulfuric acid. Sometimes if you have sensitive skin, diluted acids can leave pinkish stains like in my case. That's why you should handle with care acids. Many of them are colourless so it's easy to mistake them for water, and that's why in lab you should label every single container with the contents, even water!

#letters from watson #sherlock holmes #a study in scarlet #john h watson #acd canon #STUD #science #chemistry #letters in the underground

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anxiously-going · 9 months ago

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I know I've mentioned before about Pike and Scotty being latch key kids and having dealt with food insecurity in the past and whatnot and in the bit I'm editing Jim mentions that Scotty knows about Tarsus which did get me thinking about how that would have come up.

I think there is some strong evidence of Scotty having food related trauma in the films, in Beyond the first place he takes Jim when he asks for a tour of the Franklin is the mess hall. Even when we first meet Scotty there's a lot of implications going on.

Immediately he's going off about having to "live off protein nibs", when Spock Prime calls him by name he responds "Unless there's another hardworking, equally starved Starfleet officer around", and his reaction to finding out Spock is from the future is "That's brilliant! Are there still sandwiches in the future?".

Now this can be interpreted as the first time Scotty's done without, but I don't think it is. In part because of his reaction to Keenser saying that he's the equally starved Starfleet officer. "You can eat, like, a bean and you're done! I'm talking about food, real food."

To me, this is an indication that the protein nibs probably were enough for Keenser or at least more filling to him than to Scotty. Which brings me to Jim's conversation with Scotty.

The thing with Jim is he always going to try and level, he is always going to try to avoid isolating and cornering people. That's especially true when it comes to things that are similar to his own traumas. Even moreso because there is a stigma around food insecurity trauma.

I tend to think that Jim got together with Scotty and sat down to file a formal complaint about the time between food shipments to the outpost and the quantity and quality of said food along with the protein nibs situation. And it's in conversation about this that Jim let's him know why he's wanting to do all of this. He let's Scotty know about what he's been through to ease those feelings of isolation and to let him know he wasn't alone in these types of experiences, to validate that it was a thing to be upset about, it was a thing that was traumatizing to him. And that Jim understands and that he's never going to judge Scotty for having trauma responses about the subject. He tells Scotty that he and Len always have protein bars and the like on hand and helps him set up a few places around Engineering to stash snacks. And he goes out of his way to make Scotty as comfortable as he can be, because he knows what it's like when there isn't that support and he never wants anyone to face what he did in the aftermath of it all.

#jim kirk #montgomery scott #creative musings #tarsus

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mousemilf · 2 years ago

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> be me at 20

> anorexic druggie, so isolated i have no sense of normalcy, huge scholarship stipend to blow on stupid projects

> basically only comfortable eating raw fruits and vegetables but im scared of not getting enough protein and my hair falling out

> literally every vegan protein bar has a ton of unnecessary garbage in it

> recipes for high-protein versions of foods i miss, even low carb and low fat versions, start with disgusting shit like flour or coconut oil

> convinced i could do way better

> start getting into baking in order to create the safest foods possible

> before long im churning out 30 calorie oat fiber brownies and protein cookies made with pureed cauliflower and xanthan gum and shit

> edible only to a deeply sick person but i feel accomplished

> post my recipes on proana boards and they treat me like a genius

> every time im home alone for a few hours im doing my fucked up little kitchen experiments and cleaning up the evidence before my ex gets home

> its become a genuine hobby for me at this point

> i branch out into normal baked goods to bring to holidays and stuff and people like them

> my knowledge of substitutions transferred to real food and i can make things vegan or gluten free or whatever and people are so happy to have their dietary restrictions accommodated

> im the king of the world

> start getting enough calories to my brain from sampling all my normal baking projects and my brain starts working normal again

> get a job at a shitty franchise bakery decorating cookie cakes

> spend all my free time at work fucking around with the piping tips and watching youtube tutorials

> my job title there was cake decorator so i can stretch the truth a bit and i start working at higher end bakeries when i finally leave my ex and move

> genuinely love my job

> 5 years later, recovered, my own place and car and a career im passionate about

> started my own cottage bakery

> my first wedding client is in like two weeks from now

i wonder how the other girls from the proana recipe boards are doing now

#ic

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practically-an-x-man · 7 months ago

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☠☮☯◉∇ for Ophelia and Madison?

Absolutely! Thank you so much!!

Headcanon Meme

☠ - angry/violent headcanon

Ophelia: She's not a particularly angry person as a whole, or really a particularly emotional person at all. However, when emotion does hit her, it hits her hard. She's either completely chill or angry as hell, no in-between.

Madison: For a long time, it was hard for her to even accept that she was allowed to feel angry. She grew up in the 50s, and so there was a lot of pressure to be the gentle, demure housewife, and that resulted in a vicious cycle of frustration because that's just not who she is. It's also one of a few different roots into her self-isolating streak, since she was taught that anger could only be destructive and wasn't a "woman's emotion".

☮ - friendship headcanon

Ophelia: She's actually very good at making acquaintances and passing friends, but not great at connecting with others on a closer level. Upon a first meeting, she appears intelligent and witty but not self-absorbed, so people tend to enjoy interacting with her. But things tend to fizzle out on a deeper level because she's so hesitant to be vulnerable or open about her emotions.

Madison: It's well-known that she's got a bit of a shell, but once someone breaks through that shell, she'll defend them through anything. What's less well-known is how quickly people actually manage to break through that shell - she tends to keep up the facade long after they've actually grown on her, so other people struggle to get a read on whether she actually likes them or not.

☯ - likes/dislikes headcanon

Ophelia: She hates protein bars with a burning passion. When she was in college and first getting into powerlifting and hero work, she practically lived off them because they were a cheap, quick burst of protein, but she ate them to the point that she got sick of them and now she can't touch them. She'll stick to yogurt or protein shakes when she needs that quick boost.

Madison: There are quite a few foods that she actively dislikes but will still eat - it started with her upbringing, with the idea that she had to be polite and refusing offered food was impolite, and while she was living in the woods she just couldn't afford to refuse any calories. It's something she has to train herself out of once she's at the X-Mansion, figuring out whether she actually enjoys something or if she's just forcing herself to eat it.

◉ - Any other question of your choosing

Ophelia: She once briefly considered patenting her removable actuator design, thinking it would be a good tool for people with mobility issues, construction workers, electricians, etc.. She eventually decided against it, since she didn't want it to get out of hand or for any Doc Ock copycats to pop up.

Madison: She's a very good climber thanks to how long she's spent living in the woods, and once was dared to try and scale up the side of the X-Mansion from the outside. She succeeded.

∇ -. old age/aging headcanon

Ophelia: Despite the fact that she'll definitely have some chronic pain from all the injuries she's sustained over her career as Argonaut, she actually ages quite well physically-speaking. She's already in the habit of working out, stretching regularly, and eating well (she has to be, in order to keep up with those who have superpowers), so she's set herself up to be a fairly active and flexible old lady lol

Madison: She's likely to have some vision loss as she ages, since the mirrorlike reflectiveness of her eyes means she has very little protection from UV rays (and she's spent so much time outside without effective sun protection in the past). It probably will set in late and develop slowly, since her healing factor will slow the process, but her vision will begin to degrade in her old age.

#my friends!!!#answered asks #ask game #my ocs #ophelia octavius #madison douglas

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throughdarkeningskies · 1 year ago

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ok. tumblr sent my other post about this into the void. but ummm I'm going to talk about fangirl by rainbow rowell because it is a very important book to me but I take issue with SO MUCH of it and I wish it was different. so here have the longest dissection ever of a book I've read a million times

So brief context: cath, the central character, is a girl going off to college for the first time. She is a fanfiction writer, and is a BNF in her fandom (a fictional parallel to harry potter). She has mental health issues (textually anxiety, but I read it as undiagnosed autism, which we'll get back to later.) Being in college means, for the first time, that she'll be living life away from her twin sister, wren. the book charts her struggles with family, fanfiction and romance as she tries to navigate college on her own.

so point A is the racism. rainbow rowell is racist. this is known. I'm not going to go into it here, but her book Eleanor and Park is full to the brim with anti-Asian stereotypes. if u Google it you'll definitely find thinkpieces with explanations and screenshots, but take my word for it here, it's a shitshow. anyway.

so first off. there are no major characters of colour in this novel. cath in this book has an extremely limited social circle, due to the aforementioned mental health issues. by the end of the novel, she's only managed to make 2 friends that aren't directly related to her. u could argue that rowell gets away with it on these grounds, but she really, REALLY does not. I want to discuss the character of abel, who gets dealt an extremely shitty hand in this book.

abel is cath's boyfriend of 3 years. Relevant here - cath's family apparently grew up in an all-mexican neighbourhood, and yet this is as close to a Mexican character as we ever get. he appears to be the only significant friend she has, apart from her sister. is this an important relationship, though? no, not at all. they've broken up by page 75 of a 460 page book. is this upsetting for cath? not really, apparently. she doesn't even cry.

the first thing to note about this is that abel and his family almost never come up in the text without being related back to food in some way. abel's grandmother owns a bakery, and every time cath thinks about her boyfriend, she thinks about the cakes she gets from this bakery. she seems more upset to have lost access to abel's grandmother's cakes than she is to have lost abel. always, always, this relation to cake. no reflection on what their relationship was like. no happy memories. always just cake. a common criticism of white people writing POC is that the POC are described using words for food. rowell takes this a step further. described with food? no! abel is directly connected with food. you almost never see him out of this context, when he's mentioned at all.

the second thing to note is that this relationship is utterly inconsequential. you could edit this relationship right out of the book and lost nothing. it might even make more sense - cath's conviction that she is doomed to fail in a relationship would make more sense if she'd never had one. and this is extremely frustrating to me because from what little we see of it, this should be an extremely important relationship for cath, and deserving of far more than than the ambivalence it gets. The book brushes off their relationship as 'safe', as 'boring', as cath never really liking him, but it doesn't stick the landing on this point to me.

cath is deeply socially isolated. she struggles with anxiety to the degree that she cannot make herself go to the dining hall, and resorts to living off protein bars for MONTHS. she's terrified by everything and everyone. and not to out myself to the world here, but her struggles are deeply, soulwrenchingly relatable to me. so I speak from experience here when I say - there should be nothing insignificant about a relationship where she feels 'safe'. she's afraid to tell anyone about her fanfiction, in case anyone thinks she's weird. and yet not only does abel know about it, he reads it. he keeps up with it. we are told that he once got her a laptop charger for her birthday. it's laughed off as a boring gift - but cath is welded to her laptop in this novel. It's almost an extension of her. like yes as a gift it's 'boring' - but its practical, and its kind. abel KNOWS her, enough to get her things she knows she'll appreciate having. there is so much potential in this relationship that just goes completely untouched. It might be very true that they aren't romantically compatible, or can't make the relationship work long term - but that should have been explored!!! That is a genuine source of conflict that could serve as a great subplot, especially when paired with the other interpersonal issues that cath is having. like why, in a novel about your relationships with your loved ones changing as you grow up, is a three-year-relationship just... discarded? there's no weight to this relationship at all. it comes off as desperately shallow, and a bit.... amatonormative is the word maybe? misogynistic? yes you might be isolated with no friends and bad social skills, but you can't be seen to not have a boyfriend. that's a step too far.

OK. So now onto my next point of contention with this book. it is WILD to write an entire book revolving around gay fanfiction and then.... just not include any LGBT characters. at all. cath writes gay fanfiction nonstop for like 5 straight years and apparently never ONCE considers her own sexuality? her own gender? she reads gay fanfiction to her eventual boyfriend to calm herself down and... what, we never probe further than that? I know this book came out in 2013, so trans ideas might not have been as high on the radar, but... idk. I would LOVE to see a trans man's take on this book, because I could certainly see cath as one. but as it is, the book is just deeply, painfully cisheterosexual. all the time. the possibility of cath being gay comes up once, as a joke. other characters express suprise at her writing gay content, and cath always approves when they are accepting.... but no gay characters. not a one. it comes off as a bit fetishing, to be honest. yes, we'll obsess over the gayness of these characters. but an actual gay person? seems a bit unrealistic idk

I have other, smaller nitpicks with the book, too, which I'll just list:

- the actual 'fandom' isn't really portrayed that well. cath is isolated there, too. she posts her own fic and reads a little bit of other fic, and that's it. And while that's fine, it might have been good to at least nod to other types of fandom experiences. this fictional fandom is the size of Harry Potter's and there's no fandom drama? None?

- her final assignment, worth fifty percent of ONE class, is ten thousand words long? in UNDERGRAD???? is that real? are American colleges crazy

- she writes romantic gay fanfiction with her SISTER? Possibly spicy stuff? girl you do you but I would sooner die

- speaking of, there's some weird parallels drawn between the gay romance and the relationship between the sisters. stop that please

- medication is not evil stop acting like it is

GRRR okay done. you may now be wondering what I see in this book at all. so here we go.

- she isnt written that way, and I don't think it was intended on the authors part, but cath is one of the best portraits of a certain kind of autistic person I've ever seen. like before I had any inkling that I was, myself, autistic, I had ONE character in all of literature I could point at and say 'this person is like me'. and I could never really explain why until post-diagnosis. this is why reading one-star reviews of this book gives me hives. you don't understand her, you don't understand ME, shut up forever.

- cath's relationship with the world of mages is textbook special interest. it makes her feel happy and safe, the one activity she can always turn to. she's been writing about it nonstop for YEARS. it's the bedrock through which she understands the world. she doesn't necessarily understand the way her sister has grown out of it, when cath hasn't. just the way in which this affects her relationship to other people is SO well done. cath not understanding why everyone else outgrew it when she didn't. her sister taking shots at the world of mages when she wants to upset cath, because that's the thing that will bother her most. at one point, cath submits a piece of fanfiction to her fiction professor for an assignment. objectively stupid? yes, of course. when the professor calls her on it, cath is most upset by the fact that she can't make her professor understand how important it is to her. other characters help cath understand why it was wrong, of course, but the point remains - she didn't turn in the fanfiction because she was being lazy or stealing, but because its the most important thing in the world to her. every single thought cath has about the world of mages reads as special interest to me

- cath being unable to visit the dining hall on own because she doesn't understand the rules, and can't Google them. she resorts to living off protein bars and peanut butter. she's only able to go to the dining hall after someone goes with her and shows her how. which. look. I avoided my college canteen for nearly two full years because I didnt understand the rules and couldn't Google them. I only got over it after someone brought me there for coffee two months ago. also developed weird eating habits because of it. maybe proves nothing but it was nice to see someone else experience that

- stunted social skills mean you don't make friends so much as you kind of drift into friendships. People adopt you, get used to you just because you're there

- the isolation. the loneliness. God I've never read another book that manages autistic loneliness like this one. the way that just showing up and going to class and having one (1) friend can be genuinely all you can do, the best you can manage, and it still leaves you so far behind compared to everyone else

- idk. I read a lot of YA when I was a teenager, and even when the characters explicitly did have mental health problems, there was always this fear of letting the characters struggle. of letting them be genuinely isolated from their peers. the weirdo always goes to all the parties. the lonely character always has a circle of friends. the loser always gets the girl. because no one could ever be that weird, that lonely, that much of a loser.

- well fuck you, man. some of us are.

- the way neurodivergence is handled in this book is kind. levi's probable dyslexia is treated in a gentle, nuanced way, and so is cath's father's bipolar disorder. I can't speak to what it's like to have either, but they're certainly not demonised here.

- I don't know. This is already long as fuck and I don't know if it makes any sense. tl;dr I wish there were more books about the autistic college experience. especially from a trans perspective

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exileseverafter · 2 years ago

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On Skykin, aka Sky Folk or Celestials

I’m doing some write ups on the giants (minigiants?) from my story The Exiles Ever After, for anyone interested. Here’s Part I!

Note: ‘Celestial’ is an archaic term rarely used in the current era.

The Skykin are so named because they primarily live in the Cloud Islands, floating structures that resemble clouds despite being solid. Their average height range is between 12 and 17 feet tall for adults. As a result, other kinfolk (particularly humans) tend to refer to them as giants. Using the term “giant” is controversial among the Skykin themselves, as it implies they are larger than “normal.”

Sky Folk who have been forced to leave the Islands and emigrate to the land, or those who choose to do so, are referred to as Exiles. Exile can occur as a result of a criminal transgression, financial issues, or even simple social pressure.

Physiology:

Skykin have the same range of skin and hair color as humans do. However, barring unusual circumstances such as albinism, their eyes are almost always gold. They live, on average, between 70-100 years and age at a similar rate to humans and Flower Folk.

Their diet varies widely based on the culture of their Island of residence. They are omnivorous, but tend to favor plant-based meals over meat ones on most Islands due to meat and poultry being expensive; beef, in particular, always needs to be imported and is considered a luxury. Eggs are common sources of animal protein, and goats are seeing increased popularity both as livestock and pets.

Pregnancy lasts one year. Throughout much of their history, Sky Folk have had difficulties with birth and fertility rates. New advances in prenatal care, midwife practices and medical discoveries have helped to amend this issue, which has resulted in a small population boom in the modern era.

Due to their size, the average Skykin is a physical powerhouse compared to a human. While many dismiss this as unimportant, some will use it as an excuse to show off and perform feats of strength as a form of art.

Politics:

The Sky is formally and collectively known as The Federated Islands of the Sky Republic. The Republic is a democracy centered in the Celestial Capital of Vox, a massive Sky Island located in the equatorial region over an ocean. All Islands with a population over a certain threshold have representatives in the High Senate of Vox. Larger Islands will themselves have a senate or a high council, while smaller, village-sized populations may have a mayor or elected magistrates.

The Republic was founded after the fall of the Golden Theocracy, a nation ruled by priest-kings and royal families entwined. While a less stringent adaptation of the Solarist religion practiced by the Theocracy is still widespread and dominant, a deep-seated mistrust of royalty and nobility lingers throughout the Sky.

The process of Exile was designed, initially, to deal with criminal elements. If a crime is serious enough to mark the accused as a ‘social danger’ but not enough to merit prison or death, the accused is sent to live on the planet and left to their own devices. Children of Exiled will follow their parents unless relatives intervene. Some manage to integrate with human-dominated cultures, while others may live in isolation. Larger cities, such as Nautilus, may have neighborhoods of Exiled Skykin with buildings sized to accommodate them. Unfortunately, the practice of Exile has become more widespread, some seeing it as a way to dispose of business rivals by spreading rumors of ‘instability’ or ‘chaos.’ As self-imposed Exile will end debts, some desperate individuals opt for a life of uncertainty on the land over potential indentured servitude

Culture:

While Sky cultures vary greatly from Island to Island and among Exiled, there are common beliefs and traditions spread throughout the Republic.

Much of their cultures center around creation of art, music, food and fashion. To create is the highest form of labor, and to strive to be the best is the purpose of work. A sense of competition, healthy and otherwise, fuels trade between Islands as a baker may seek to use “the finest sunflower oil made of the most beautiful flowers,” and the oil press will seek out seeds from “sunflowers of ancient lineage.” The baker will use the oil to create a pastry “in the shape of a great swan, filled with the finest custard and thousand-year crystallized fruit.” As a result, it’s not uncommon for human royalty and nobility to hire Sky artisans to design their wedding feasts or compose operas. (Such commissions are almost always done through a Merchant intermediary.)

The Sky Folk would deny that their size is exceptional in and of itself, but many believe it reflects something exceptional about them in the eyes of the universe and the Sun. They are largest, and from largeness comes grandiosity, luxury and excess. Everything one does, one must do in extremes. Epic poems may last hours. Fashions often reflect those of the lands beneath an Island due to trade and cultural adaptation, but often more lavish and outlandish even among the poorest Skykin citizen.

Relations between humans and the Sky are chilly in the modern era. It’s believed among Skykin, particularly devout Solarists, that the land (often referred to as The Center of the Universe, to the dismay of some astronomers) is the core of corruption in the world, the source of ‘chaos,’ that which is unpredictable and destructive. And as humans and Flower Folk live on the surface, they are corrupted with social disorder that could lead to the downfall of the Republic if it spread. In turn, humans often see Sky Folk as arrogant, difficult to deal with, and all too eager to dump their problems (read: the Exiled) on human nations while claiming moral superiority. This, in addition to the innate issues when one kin is more than twice the size of the other, lead to Exiles being mistreated and sometimes turning to violence and bullying in retaliation.

It is worth noting that physical violence itself is considered an aberration, the last resort of the weak, and most look down upon it. As arrogant as they can come across, the average Skykin is a “gentle giant.” Individuals, of course, vary. More to follow!

#The Exiles Ever After #giants #Skykin #G/t #fairy tales

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