#Eugene Strange

[thesetwoidiots]

Eugene, to Stephen: *Quietly* Son, I understand wantin' to show off how powerful ya are now that you're a magician and whatnot-

Stephen, just as quiet: Sorcerer, Pa.

Eugene: Whatever. But didja have to "fall in love" with a Stark of all people? Sure, he's smart in his own way, but he don't have a lick of sense when it comes to this lifestyle!

Stephen: Now, Pa, that isn't true-

Eugene: *Gestures to Tony, Who's Failing Spectacularly to Wrangle and Kill a Hog*

Stephen: ...Okay, so maybe he has a bit of a dilemma going on, but he's trying.

Tony: *Nearly Gets Trampled by the Hog*

Victor: *Swoops in and Kills the Hog* Dinner's set!

Tony: I meant to do all that!

Stephen, sighing: Oh, Tony...

[doctorstrangehands]

Stevie (Pilot Chapter)

note: this will go to ao3 at some point

Tuesday, November 18, 1997

Stephen Strange woke to the sound of his mother’s soft voice carrying through the haze of sleep. “Stevie, sweetheart, time to wake up,” Beverly called, her tone warm and soothing as the faint creak of the old farmhouse’s wooden floors announced her presence. “Happy birthday, darling. Seventeen today.”

Stephen groaned, burying his face deeper into his pillow. His mother’s words were meant to comfort and celebrate but only reminded him of the weight that pressed against his chest every waking moment—especially on mornings like this. He didn’t want to be seventeen. Didn’t want to face the milestone without her.

“Stevie, don’t make me come in there. Breakfast is almost ready, and you’ve got chores before school.” Beverly’s voice held a playful tone, though Stephen could hear the tinge of annoyance in her voice.

“I’m up,” he mumbled into the pillow.

“Good,” she replied with a satisfied hum before her footsteps retreated down the hallway.

Stephen sat up reluctantly, the thin morning light filtering through the curtains of his bedroom. He rubbed the sleep from his eyes, but no amount of effort could dispel the heaviness that lingered. Today was supposed to be a celebration, but all it felt like was a cruel reminder of everything he’d lost.

It had been almost ten years since Donna died. Almost a decade since that bright, laughing girl had been taken from him. His baby sister, his partner-in-crime, the one person who had made this lonely, dusty farm feel like home. Gone, just like that and yet he was still here.

He ran a hand through his dark hair and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. The cold floorboards sent a shiver up his spine. But the shame and guilt that simmered inside wouldn’t be so easily dismissed. He’d been the one who had lived, and every year that passed without her felt like another year stolen from her memory.

Stephen glanced at the framed photograph on his nightstand. Donna, grinning ear to ear, her arm slung around his neck as they both beamed at the camera. They couldn’t have been more than six and seven, their faces smudged with dirt from a day spent exploring the woods behind the farm.

“You should have taken me,” he whispered, his voice breaking as he stared at her frozen smile. “Not her. Me.”

He’d screamed them at the sky so many times, cursed a God he wasn’t sure he believed in. If God was real, then why had He let Donna die? Why had He taken the best part of Stephen's life and left him with this aching emptiness?

“Stevie, come on!” Beverly’s voice called again.

Stephen forced himself to stand, dragging his feet as he crossed the room to pull on his jeans. He twisted around to throw on an old band t-shirt and flannel shirt. He caught his reflection in the small mirror by the dresser. Haunted eyes stared back at him, too tired for someone so young. 

“I should’ve died,” he muttered, the words bitter on his tongue. His throat tightened, and he swallowed hard, glaring at his reflection. “God, you’re cruel. You took her and left me. Why? What’s the point of this?”

He turned away quickly and was unable to bear the sight himself. As he headed downstairs, the smell of frying bacon and fresh coffee wafted through the air. The familiar scents tugged at something inside him, a faint reminder of what he still had, but it wasn’t enough to fill the void. Nothing ever was.

The kitchen smelled of butter and toast, a warmth that should have felt comforting but didn’t quite reach Stephen. He stepped into the small,cozy room and was immediately greeted by his mother, who pressed a kiss to his cheek.

“Happy birthday, Stevie,” Beverly said softly, with a smile. Her hazel eyes sparkled with affection, though there was a shadow of worry behind them, as there always was these days.

“Thanks, Ma,” he replied, his voice barely above a murmur. He slipped into his usual seat at the table, keeping his eyes downcast.

Eugene Strange sat across from him, his presence as heavy and still as a stone. He held a cup of coffee in silence, the lines on his face deepened by years of sorrow and bitterness. He didn’t look up and didn’t acknowledge Stephen’s arrival.

Victor, who was sitting beside their father was busy fiddling with a fork, his youthful energy barely contained. At thirteen, he still had the roundness of a child’s face, but his sharp blue eyes seemed to take in everything. When he noticed Stephen sit down, he smiled faintly. “Happy birthday, Stevie.”

Stephen gave him a small smile in return. “Thanks, Vic.”

Beverly set a plate of eggs and toast in front of him with a carefulness that felt almost ceremonial. “There you go, sweetheart. Eat up. And happy birthday again. I love you, Stevie,” she said, giving him a kiss on the cheek.

“Love you too, Ma.” Stephen said quietly,staring down at his plate.

The scrape of Eugene’s fork against his plate was sharp in the silence. Stephen’s shoulders tensed, waiting for the usual wave of resentment to come crashing down. His father didn’t speak, but the way he stared briefly at Stephen—hard, cold, accusing—was enough.

Eugene hadn’t forgiven him. Stephen doubted he ever would.

He remembered the day Donna died as if it were yesterday. The shattering of the ice, the water, his frantic screams, the overwhelming helplessness as he fought to save her and failed. He had done everything he could, but it hadn’t been enough. Eugene… Eugene saw it as failure.

Beverly moved around the kitchen, humming softly as she worked. She was the glue holding the family together and the only one who still spoke of Donna with warmth instead of blame.

“Don’t forget to pick up the mail after breakfast, Stevie,” Beverly said as she poured herself a cup of coffee. “And maybe take Victor with you. ”

Victor nudged him under the table with his foot, grinning. “I’ll race you to the mailbox.”

For a brief moment, Stephen let out a small chuckle. “You’ll lose,” he said, trying to match his little brother’s energy.

Eugene’s fork clattered against his plate as he stood, the legs of his chair scraping harshly against the floor. He didn’t say a word as he left the kitchen, his presence vanishing like a storm cloud.

The silence he left behind was suffocating. Beverly’s hum lowered for a moment before she regained it, her back turned as she tidied the counter.

Victor looked at Stephen again, his smile dimming. “Don’t worry about him,” he said in a low voice.

Stephen forced another smile, but it didn’t reach his eyes. “Yeah, don’t worry about him,” he whispered.

As he picked at his breakfast, Stephen’s thoughts drifted to Donna again. To her laugh, her bright eyes, the way she used to call him Stevie and jump on his back. He missed her so much it hurt, and that hurt only deepened the rift between him and his father.

Beverly sat down beside him, her hand brushing his. “You’re a good boy, Stevie,” she said softly, her voice was full of a mother’s love. He had the unshakable belief he didn’t feel he deserved it.

“Thanks, Ma.” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

[popcorn-plots]

Febuwhump day 19: "Please don't."

Title: shattered silence

Words: 100

Summary: Stephen and Eugene’s relationship is all but healthy. So when Stephen gets home and finds his father drinking, he tries to avoid him at all costs... but avoiding Eugene is near impossible when you’re the one he’s angry at.

Warnings for child abuse :/

~~~

“Stephen Vincent Strange!” Stephen flinched at the sound of his full name, slurred and mangled by the liquor in Eugene’s throat. "Get back down here, ya filthy rat."

Stephen sighed. He shrugged off his backpack and set it on the stairs. He had gotten so close this time, so close to his room where he could hide from his father's drinking. He slunk down the stairs, head hung low.

"Yes, sir?"

"Coming home late, got an A- on the test… dumbass. Turn around."

Stephen nodded. "Please don't…" He whispered. Eugene yelled, the bottle exploded. Stephen cried, the glass drawing blood.

Ao3

[krampus-chai]

Tappert x Eugene, pencils

[star-trek-fandom-confessions]

#1145

Eugenics and genetic modification are not the same thing. The terms are not interchangeable. Eugenics is the practice of erasing perceived ‘undesirable’ traits in the gene pool. It is motivated by racism and ableism and is horrific. Genetic modification is one possible tool that eugenicist could use to achieve that end. Another tool which has actually been used by eugenicists to advance their awful goal is compulsory sterilization. This is also horrific and recognized as such - compulsory sterilization is a Crime Against Humanity in the Rome Statute. However, sterilization procedures such as tube tying and vasectomies are not practices that people generally call for to be banned, because people may want to prevent themselves from getting pregnant or from getting another person pregnant for all sorts of reasons and we recognized that people should have autonomy over their own bodies and be free to make their own reproductive choices. Consensual vasectomies and tube tying being legal in a country does not mean that country is endorsing eugenics. A country in which there is a government program of coercing or using incentives to get members groups perceived as undesirable to have their tubes tied or have vasectomies is practicing eugenics. The legality and use of tool in general does not necessarily mean that the tool is being used for eugenics. Now, let’s take that one step further with a hypothetical on genetic engineering. Imagine that we determine that if one gene was removed from the human genome, those without that gene would no longer get dementia and there were zero other impacts. Would a country that made that genetic modification procedure available for free to everyone who wanted it and the doctors performing that procedure be practicing eugenics? Now imagine that procedure didn’t work in adults or even children. It had to be administered during fetal development to be effective. Would a parent choosing to have that gene removed from their unborn child so they would never get dementia be practicing eugenics? I'm not going to weigh in on those my point is that it’s a complex issue, there are very flew easy answers available and you really have to consider motive. Eugenicists are motivated by the view that certain people are superior and other people are inferior and they want to get rid of the latter.

Applying it to Strange New Worlds, Una has specifically stated that the Illyrian motivation for genetic modification is so that they fit in with their environment, rather than terraform (this intersects another really interesting scientific ethical discussion happening around climate engineering and the potential consequences). There is no evidence in canon that Illyrians are motivated by the need to be superior or are getting rid of undesired traits. They took up modification to live on planets that would otherwise be unhospitable to them (beta canon is that their home world is no longer inhabitable even with modification due to environmental collapse outside of their control, they’re essentially environmental refugees). While Illyrians modify themselves genetically, there is no evidence that Illyrians are practicing eugenics. In the context of DS9, Bashir’s parents believed it was undesirable to have a son with intellectual disabilities. They modified him to get rid the trait they perceived as undesirable. They were practicing eugenics. In Star Trek canon, billions of people died during the Eugenics Wars. When it comes to the law, it is incredibly difficult determining motive and therefore it is understandable that they banned genetic engineering as a way of stopping eugenicists and preventing a repeat. But in doing so, they accidentally created a legal regime in which entire families could be arrested.   The point Star Trek has been making lately with the Illyrian storyline is sometimes shit is complicated, and that a law that is meant to protect, can also sometimes harm and we need to be able to listen, think and consider complex situations. And I also hate myself a bit for writing this. I should just be able to ignore all the terrible takes and ‘I haven’t watched but…’ people.

[kaykishi]

sorry for underworld office posting y'all puyoposting will be back

[moondaepuppy]

[the-random-man]

Unlike strange new worlds prodigy understands that the federation’s laws against genetic modification are there to prevent eugenics and that eugenics is bad.

[trekkie-polls]

[thesetwoidiots]

Beverly: Stephen!

Stephen: Mom! *Sees Eugene* Father. *Sees Victor* Victor.

Victor, obviously just as disgusted: Stephen.

Tony, trying to prevent an argument: Tony, Peter, Morgan!

Peter and Morgan: Hi!

[wiltedprayers]

I tried to warn you when you were a child

I told you not to get lost in the wild

I sent you omens and all kinds of signs

— “The Yawning Grave” by Lord Huron.

[whileyoureinschoolidothisallday]

touya dying and endeavor living with basically zero consequences IS wild tho

[krampus-chai]

Cold Hands.

Summary: Eugene teaches Tappert how to play a little song on the piano.

Warnings: canon typical violence, allusion to sexual content.

Word Count: ~ 1.4k.

A/N: uhhhh enjoy? I might do a sequel or two. Apologies for any errors I haven't written fanfic since,,, forever lol.

If only Eugene knew how to tune a piano. But then again, who knows when their relief would come? It's like Butchie always said, ‘don't get attached’. Don't get attached to women, places, clothes, objects - fellow soldiers. Besides, that would take forever, and eugene highly doubted they had the proper tools to do that, in the mansion. Still, it was a shame. Such a beautiful thing deserved to be treated better, cared for.

The ivory keys were cold under his fingers as he played, his red-rimmed eyes tracking the notes on the sheet music before him - some waltz he didn't recognize, but it fell wondrously upon the ears. The music filled the mansion, and just for a heartbeat, he almost felt like he was home again. Or at least - safe.

Eventually, the music had to end. It wasn't a very long song, and Eugene found himself wondering if it would be impolite to write in a few suggestions on the sheet music.

The floorboards creaked behind him, and Eugene flinched. But it was just Butchie, booing him from the doorway. What did that lumbering oaf know, anyway? Eugene sighed, and pushed his glasses up his nose with his index finger. The floorboards creaked again, heavy boots on brittle wood as the man approached.

“Butchie, I get it-”

“I liked it.”

Those three words, so simple, and so innocent, sent a shiver down Eugene's spine. He could smell him, from across the room. Tappert. He reeked of blood, metallic and rotten. Sweaty, smokey, vomit-y. His voice was wheezy and high, and Eugene reckoned he'd die of lung cancer before he was sixty.

Assuming any of them got to live that long.

“Really. I thought it was nice.” Tappert said, and Eugene shivered, suddenly cold, even in all of the standard issue layers he wore. If Tappert liked something, what did that mean? Tappert liked horror movies. He liked drinking. He liked morphine. He liked mutilating dead bodies.

Immediately, Eugene felt a wave of guilt wash over him. That wasn't fair. Tappert didn't deserve that. He's just another cog in the war machine, like Eugene - he deserved better.

Eugene turned, glancing at Tappert over his shoulder. There he was. Standing like a ghost, his beanie pulled down over his ears, that awful, empty look in his eyes, the permanent tear tracks on his dirty face. There was something so comical about Tappert being as short as he was. The shortest of the group, the shortest man in the room, nine times out of ten, but capable of so much more inhuman violence than the other nine men could ever dream of.

Fuck. They didn't have anything better to do at the moment, and Eugene felt bad for his private thoughts about the man. Eugene licked his dry lips, and waved him over. “I can show you how to play something. Something easier, not - not that.” He said, a nervous laugh falling from his lips.

Tappert didn't say anything. He lifted the bottle of wine to his lips, and practically chugged half of it. Eugene winced. He should really pour it into a glass, and let it breathe. Tappert smacked his lips, and nodded. “Tastes like shit.” He declared. He moved, slow and deliberate, like a lion. His heavy boots tap-tapped the floor as he walked. He sat next to Eugene, the stool creaking, the floor creaking, their bones creaking. Tappert set the bottle of wine on the piano with a heavy thud. Eugene winced.

“Well, I think we can start with Frere Jaques.” Eugene said.

Tappert rolled his eyes. “Brother John? Like what, Robin Hood?”

“That was Little John.”

“Mm. Right.” He drawled, staring down at the keys like they might bite him.

Eugene swallowed. And he began.

One two three one. One two three one. Three four five. Three four five. Five six five four three one. Five six five four three one. One five one. One five one. He didn't bother to teach Tappert the notes, nor how to read a music sheet, only which keys to press, and about how fast he should be pressing them.

Tappert, for all of the strange things he said, the violent things he did, he henpicked the keys, and Eugene’s sensibilities simply couldn't stand it. “Like this.” He instructed, grabbing Tappert’s hand without a second thought. Oh God, his hands. How many times had he seen them covered in blood? Not just covered, soaked in it. Stained by it. Bits of flesh and gristle stuck under his fingernails. Not just flesh and gristle. People. His fingers, shiny and slick with Nazi saliva. Purple from the cold. Reeking of local pussy, sometimes. Smelling like his cock, more often.

He splayed Tappert's hands out over the keys, his fingers between Tappert's. His hands trembled. When was the last time he'd been this close - this intimate with someone else? Christ, they were practically holding hands. Tappert's fingers were cold.

“Like that.” Eugene said.

“Shit, like Little Richard.” Tappert said.

“Sure.” Eugene said.

Tappert smiled.

For the first time since Eugene can't remember when, it's a genuine smile. Gen-you-ine, in Tappert's voice. It wasn't that creepy, faraway grin that he got when things got grisly, it wasn't sarcastic or sardonic, he was just - happy. Sure, Tappert always looked like he was crying, thanks to the two pale streaks of skin that his tears left at night, but for right now, his face was dry, and almost serene.

Eugene wondered if he looked like this a lot, before the war. Did his smiles used to be boyish, cherubic, even? Did his eyes used to shine with some semblance of a soul inside? Did his hands used to be warm, and soft? Eugene tried to imagine it. He couldn't.

“I think I got it, sunshine.” Tappert said, nodding to their hands. Shit. Eugene completely forgot to let go. So unlike that night, that night where he'd found Tappert like that, in the pile of kid bodies. Not kids. Monsters. He had to keep reminding himself of that.

That night, once Tappert had been pulled away from the carnage, and into a bathroom to clean up, he had begged for Eugene to stay. Eugene didn't think he'd heard a more pathetic string of “Please, please, pleasepleasepleaseplease-” in his entire life, and he'd seen plenty of people beg for their life at the wrong end of a gun. Those words ran through his mind, every night, invading his dreams, invading his very being. He was pretty sure he knew which key on the piano matched the tune of Tappert's pleas.

Anyway, Eugene couldn't possibly say no. Not with Tappert's teary eyes, his wrecked, broken voice. So he stayed. He gave Tappert a bath. He peeled his grimy clothes off of his grimy body. He lowered Tappert into the tub, ignoring how frail Tappert felt beneath his fingers. He washed his face, the blood, the vomit, the tears. He washed his hair, his body, doing his very fucking best to avert his eyes. He cleaned his hands, and that took the longest, by far. Weeks of dirt and blood caked under his fingernails, in the lines of his knuckles. He'd dried Tappert off, herded him to bed with a bottle of vodka. In the morning, he gave Tappert his gloves, without a word. Tappert hadn't taken them off, since, and Eugene couldn't tell if he was grateful, or if he was wearing them like a trophy, a metaphorical severed ear on a necklace.

Tappert hadn't mentioned it since. That night, the gloves, fucking anything.

And Eugene was guilty. Guilty of so many things. Judging Tappert. Caring for Tappert, maybe more than he should, even by Butchie's low standards. Knowing too much. Never knowing the right thing to say, the right thing to do. Wishing he could tell Tappert what he thought. Wishing for too much.

He pulled his hands away, and gestured for Tappert to try again. Tappert met his gaze, and Eugene felt like he was staring down the barrel of a gun.

“You should really drink more than you do.” He drawled, jerking his head toward the bottle of wine. Eugene licked his lips, and decided that Tappert was right, at least for now. He leaned over and grabbed the bottle, and he could have fucking sworn that he heard Tappert sniff his neck. Before he could say anything, Tappert began to play, stilted, unsure - but it was music, nonetheless.

Eugene tipped the bottle back, his lips pressed against the cold glass. Were Tappert's lips as cold as this bottle? He could taste Tappert in the wine, there was no mistaking that slightly acrid taste.

He chugged it, nearly finishing what was left in the bottle. Tappert played the song again, and Eugene had to admit, he was learning pretty damn fast.

[prettylittlelifeforms]

The thing that really sucks about the whole eugenics thing in strange new worlds is framed as ‘eugenics is a cultural practice for these people and it’s okay actually’ and not ‘una was genetically modified before birth and therefore cannot have consented and should not be punished for someone else’s decision’

In my opinion DS9 handled this really well with Julian, makes it clear how eugenics is very clearly a BAD thing but he did not consent to the practice and just wishes to contribute as he is capable.

I don’t think the topic needed to be explored again from the other point of view. That’s not to say that these stories shouldn’t continue to be told but framing eugenics not only as a good thing but as a metaphor for antisemitism and literally making holocaust parallels it’s really, really disgusting considering how it has been used historically.

[aroaessidhe]

2023 reads

The Deep Sky

scifi mystery thriller

on a deep space mission traveling from an environmentally devastated earth with hope to restart humanity elsewhere

when they’re halfway, an explosion kills 3 crew and pushes them off course

the only witness is the Alternate who has no specific role, and she has to figure out who caused it & if they might continue to sabotage, while they're figuring out a way to get back on course with limited resources

flips between present and the past: of her childhood and training for the mission, her identity struggles, and relationship with her mother

questions the ethics of ‘restarting’ humanity elsewhere vs putting resources into fixing earth

[spirk-trek]

Your tags on the snw post... You're right and you should say it!!!

With all the shit I've seen about it online was really surprised how much I actually liked snw, it's really a solid show. Yeah the chapel/spock romance is questionable but they did so many things right and really captured the spirit of the TOS (it being a good mix of serious and whimsical)

yes!!! so much whimsy!!!

i actually feel guilty about not voicing my compliments as loudly as my complaints. i'd hate to be the reason someone doesn't at least give it a chance. i think i'll make a post about some of the parallels to tos that i thought were particularly clever/well done before season three comes out :) also, the new characters are great!