#so you only *experience* a fraction of life in the book

[datschaos]

i didn’t see the plot twist coming

aNd i should have seen the plot twist coming

character who;s doomed form the start but not because of tragedy or anything but because they're a woman and their writer is a misogynist

[tetzoro]

SLOW MORNINGS — ༉‧₊˚.

ft. kuroo tetsuro !

꒰ SYNOPSIS ꒱ : after two years, you finally agreed to move in with kuroo and after your first night together, kuroo reflects on his perspective of love — and how much you’ve influenced it.

꒰ CONTENTS ꒱ : fluff, fluff, fluff ! — WC : 1k

꒰ NOTES ꒱ : this was lost in the abyss on kuroosdarling but i rescued this cheesy lil piece. enjoy !! dividers by @/cafekitsune ᰔ

reblogs and interactions are always appreciated ! (*ᴗ͈ˬᴗ͈)ᰔ*.ﾟ

love was something kuroo always found in fiction.

whether it would be from the stories his grandmother used to read to him as she tucked him into bed, her sweet voice filling his mind with a longing desire to one day have even a fraction of that love.

or in the books his father swore he didn’t own but yet somehow found themselves nestled in between the self help and business books that collected dust on his bookshelf. the tattered covers showing signs of wear and tear that could only come from a devoted reader.

but he never thought he’d make it here and experience a moment like this for himself. he never thought that this was something he’d ever even want at all. relationships had always been pushed back into the far corner of his heart, the fear from his parents ultimate brutal destruction overshadowed his desire for it.

so he never chased after love.

but then you chased after him. and he couldn’t help but welcome you in his arms. you were everything he never thought he needed. you brought peace and serenity into his life. kept him grounded, balanced but still somehow always knew how to push his buttons and keep him on his toes at the same time.

you were the perfect partner for him.

the day he met you, he had no idea how much you were going to infiltrate his life. you went behind enemy lines, storming towards his heart all without making a noise. the perfect stealth attack that left him questioning if he ever had any defenses to begin with.

but he supposed that all boiled down to a simple fact. he could act blind all he wanted, but his soul knew better, for it was the very thing that led you right into his heart, letting you steal it and make it yours.

he was just happy that it was finally in safe hands.

it all brought him crashing down to this moment — seeing your toothbrush innocently sitting next to his in the little ceramic glass by the bathroom sink. the little reminder that showed he shared his space with someone, actually letting them into every crevice of his heart. the thought had him getting a little emotional at 6 in the morning.

because he could easily look over to his right, through the opened bathroom door and see you still peacefully asleep in his bed — your shared bed. and it warmed his heart to no end.

as if you could sense his thoughts, you shift awake, watching him as he stared back at you.

“morning tetsu.” you whisper into the otherwise silent apartment. it took him a second to process the words as they spilled from your lips, watching as you slowly get up and stretch in a way that reminded him of a cat when they first rise from their slumber.

“morning sweetheart.” he smiles, his toothbrush haphazardly hanging out of the side of his mouth. you giggled at the sight, causing his grin to spread wider — wide enough for it to slip out of his mouth and into his hand. his reflexes from volleyball always came in handy when he needed it most. but he supposed he still looked like a fool in front of you — you just had that effect on him.

“you still asleep in there or something?” you ask, teasing him as you wander into the bathroom, wiping some toothpaste off his cheek before wrapping your arms around his bare waist.

“tell me, is it possible to get too much beauty sleep? because you’ve never looked more gorgeous.” he murmurs back, his large hand covering yours as he held your gaze in the mirror. he relished in the flustered expression you tried to hide as your face burrowed between his shoulder blades.

“so cheesy this early? my oh my, we’re off to a good start.” you giggle, your lips pressing against his bare back as the sound escapes you, sending chills all throughout him.

“you better believe it.” he smirks, happily leaning back into your touch. “how’d you sleep?”

“i slept great.” you poke your head out from behind him, smiling as you met his gaze in the mirror once again. it was hard for him not to immediately match your smile, the light in your eyes already brightening the dawn of the day. so he didn’t bother to fight it as his lips lifted upward. “our first night together in the apartment.”

“our apartment.” he quickly corrected, his palm patting your hand soothingly.

“our apartment.” you repeat. you pivot so you’re next to him, lightly bumping his hip with yours so he’d step to the side, giving you some room in the cramped space. you reach over and grab your toothbrush, the very one he was so caught up in only moments ago.

the quiet space now filled with life as you start your morning routine. he resumes brushing his teeth, watching each step you take.

how could something so mundane fill him with such joy?

your pretty eyes meet his in the mirror once again as you start brushing, slightly widening them in surprise under his watchful gaze.

and you were just so cute, sleep still clinging onto your sweet features as if you were internally fighting to stay awake. the two of you had plenty of sleepovers prior to you moving in, but this felt different.

this was the start of your lives together.

and it made him happy. so happy that he couldn’t help but chuckle, watching your face scrunch up at the strong minty toothpaste he used.

you couldn’t hold back your laughter either, lovingly looking at him through the mirror as your shared giggles fill the room.

if this was the first day to the rest of your lives together, he knew it would be filled with nothing but love. the kind of love he thought only existed in cliche movies and sappy poems. the kind in the bedtime stories his grandmother would read to him. the kind he found between the annotated pages of his father’s books.

but he found all of that within you, the love of his life.

thank you so much for reading :3

[writingicing]

Been reading a lot of posts about how much the ML in When the Phone Rings is too toxic and unromantic and how can he possibly not have learnt sign language if he loved her all this time and all of that... and here is what I think.

I haven't read the book, and although I did see some spoilers, the show might change things up a bit (and as far as we have seen, the changes made in the show has been for the better.) But, I think before judging him for being too toxic, a couple of things need to be considered.

I mean, what's the genre, guys, come on -

Everyone is entitled to their opinion but the whole point of such a story and such a show is to write weird, dark, toxic characters who are fucked up. People aren't finding his not knowing sign language as romantic because to some extent, people are just letting themselves get lost in the story and experience it first.

If that is like a genuine trigger for someone, that is completely understandable. But on the other hand, can't imagine having a stance of only watching perfectly good non-toxic politically correct characters on screen - is that not boring?

And that is the point - he is fucked up.

The way I see it, it makes sense that he has not learned sign language to communicate with. Like others have been posting, I don't think he intended to ever have a proper relationship with her.

We have only seen hong hee joo's backstory and we've only seen some of it, but because of this we have an understanding of her behavior and where it comes from.

Don't we at least owe that to baek sa eon as well?

People who are fucked in the head don't always know how to love someone best. And that's okay. I don't think that the drama is saying, "hey look we are going to romanticize another husband who won't get his shit together until his wife threatens to leave him." I think the drama is trying to say, "hey, look at both of these fucked up people who have spent so many years together refusing to communicate with each other and refusing to open up."

I find that to be one of the most interesting parts of the show actually - that BOTH of them have refused to open up to each other. She hasn't opened to him in the way she hasn't opened up to ANYONE because her mother forced her to go mute and took her agency away... her mother took her right to being herself away from her, and so she is as much fucked up as he is.

And for him, it seems like his own right to be himself has been taken away as well.

While it is absurd that he hasn't attempted to learn sign language until now, I think this dialogue gives a lot of insight into how he views her in her life: "She is a brand new language."

When you don't know who you are, when you don't know how to love, when you don't know how to receive love, when you are only a fraction of your own self, would you really learn a new language? You might have that book on your shelf... it might give you comfort... it might even give you hope that you will pick it up one day to learn it... but there might still be fear within you to commit, to put effort, to approach something as scary as learning a new language (and I don't just mean sign language, but hong hee joo herself.)

Is he objectifying her in a way? Yes, he is. But he is living an objectified life as well. This is his normal, this is the worldview that he has been taught, and nothing ever has given him the hope that taking a step, a risk, will lead him to something good.

And that is exactly what is finally happening right now. I don't think he's even seen her emote, let alone resist - I mean, he seems surprised to see her angry, to see her cry, to see her make noises, to see her be so confident in her skillset, to see her challenge him. I don't think either of them have ever had stupid playful annoying moments like switching the light on and off, her stealing back her pillow from under his head, them having a tug of war with the trash bag. They have never experienced each other this way and he has especially never experienced her in this way. I don't think he has experienced anyone in this way.

So yeah, he didn't learn it before. But the best way to bridge a communication gap is to reach across it yourself. I don't even know if he's realizing it, but to pay for her dad's new care home is taking power away from her mother....to tell her she needs to stop thinking about what their family will say and go get a job next to him, publicly showing herself right by his side as his EQUAL (not just his trophy wife, mind you) when their family has been asking her to quit her job... to bring her favorite food and telling her comforting words to the best of his abilities... to defend her worth to a random kidnapper bitch... all of this is his way of reaching across that gap himself. And now she is reciprocating, she has accepted that job and she is going to teach him how to communicate with her... she is going to teach him how to learn and understand HER, who is a brand new language for him.

And yeah, alright, maybe he didn't reach across that gap until her safety was actually threatened. But sometimes, when you're so numb to yourself and to the world around you, you need cold water splashed on your face, you need an explosion by your ears to wake you up. Maybe he needed this rude awakening as not only a warning, but a sign that he can indeed go ahead and make a connection with her. That she is real and she won't hurt him, and that he can maybe even trust himself not to hurt her.

Not everyone is perfect, not everyone is created with only green flag qualities. And hong hee joo never has to forgive him, she doesn't have to do anything - but no one can deny that she can forgive if he has earned her forgiveness.

[crguang]

ocean eyes

You’ve never seen the ocean. Kafka introduces you to it.

fluffy as fawk, recycled the idea from that fic but it’d be like a prequel technically, 2.3k words

A/N: couldn’t stop thinking about kafka loving the sea she’s made for me atp. title only makes sense because of the other fic lol

The sea breeze washes over your being, it caresses each strand of hair and softly touches your skin like gentle hands cupping your cheeks. You feel it in your ears, a sound you’re hearing for the first time; its warmth seems to enter your lungs and clear it of past impurities with every inhale, and you wish to take a deep breath to keep it inside your chest forever.

The sensation leaves you immobile. In front of you, the ocean. A myth come true, its beauty rivaling Idrila’s. It’s vast, bigger than your mind can comprehend even after so many years spent traveling the cosmos, and a deeper blue than the sky it’s reflecting. Water has never been so alive, with waves crashing on the shore and currents on the horizon, you are facing an entity larger than life. Its depths create and harbor life that you won’t ever get to see. Your mortal eyes can only perceive a fraction of it, so small and significant. You didn’t think it was possible for water to kiss the sky, having the proof before you fills you with wonderment. Among it, some strange feeling nestles in your throat. You stand as it curls around your vocal cords and leaves you mute. Words are useless in front of something so grand, you realize, they fade away as if they've never existed at all. You lose yourself in cold blues and the occasional whites of flying seagulls, in salty air that quickly becomes your favorite scent, and you can’t speak for a long moment.

Lithe fingers, laced with your calloused ones, tighten their hold on your hand. It takes a couple blinks to tear your eyes away from the boundless sea, and you turn to Kafka’s fond smile. She’s watching you, drinking you in like you’re the precious sight and not the limitless expanse of water on the coast. A thumb swipes over the crease of your eye, lingering at the corner for a second too long, and you realize she’s wiping a tear away.

“Oh,” you exhale softly, bringing your free hand to your face. Your cheeks are wet with silent tears and you sniffle as you wipe them from your skin. “I didn’t even notice.”

“What were you thinking about so intently just now?”

You look back at the sea, an ache in your throat. The sun hides behind thin clouds and paints the world in soft colors.

“I was wondering if my planet was ever this pretty. I wish my mother could have seen it.”

Your home world fell victim to a Stellaron, like plenty throughout the galaxy. It dried most of your rivers and evaporated many of your lakes, transforming seas into lands full of sand. Water was a limited resource and a tedious thing to acquire. You remember stumbling on a picture book with various shades of blue filling some of the pages and asking your mother about it. That evening, she explained the ocean to you; never-ending, deeper than mortals can comprehend and filled with creatures your childish mind could merely compare to alien life. You thought she was making stuff up, maybe embellishing a mundane truth, but she spoke of the sea with the same tenderness she used to tuck you into bed. As you grew, you understood that it was longing in her words, a deep desire for something she would never experience in this lifetime. To you, it felt pointless to yearn for something she didn’t know; your mother was born long after the Stellaron infected your planet and spread its cancer to the roots of your world. You didn’t understand how this desire was born, where it came from. Yet, in her eyes resided a wistfulness that was only extinguished the day she died. She left the waking world longing for the sea, and memories of her constrict your chest as you stand at the edge of it.

Kafka hums, pivoting to face the water. A gentle silence settles between you as you watch the waves rise and fall on the shore. Her bare palm is warm against yours, it grounds you to the sand beneath your feet. Seagulls make a grating sound, you discover, but even their squawking can’t ruin the view before you. You feel a sudden restlessness to touch the water, to have it envelop you entirely until you feel yourself disappear in it as if absorbed.

“Can we go in the water?”

Kafka smiles. “Sure.”

Your hand slips from hers and you step out of your slides, sinking your toes into the hot sand of the beach. Sand is something you’re familiar with, it reminds you of your mom and your broken world. Comfort fills you with every step towards the waves. Kafka follows beside you, used to the sights and the sensations. She comes here every summer, but this is the first time she’s brought you along. You understand why she’d want a place like this all to herself, it brings forth a sense of serenity best enjoyed in solitude. Or, at least it did, before. Before experience brought you closer.

You hesitate somewhat once you reach the water. Your feet are submerged in it and suddenly its vastness becomes a little terrifying. Kafka walks in further until she’s standing waist deep in the water, circling hands creating ripples around her. She turns to face you with a silent question on her stretched lips.

“…I don’t know how to swim,” you confess uselessly, prompting a chuckle out of her. She knows that, obviously, since you’re unfamiliar with large bodies of water.

“We can stay on the shallow end. Don’t want you drowning on my watch, I’d get in a lot of trouble with the others.”

Kafka holds out her hand. You take it with some reticence. She brings you close enough for wet fingers to squeeze your waist affectionately. Her easy expression makes you at ease, she seems different on this planet, more carefree. She’s not wearing her contacts and her ponytail is lower than usual, its tie looser around her long locks of hair. You’re privy to a side of her you had no idea existed and you’re honored by the trust she puts in you.

“Nice, right?”

“It’s cold,” you reply, looking down at your wobbly reflections.

“Mm, I like it.”

You dip your hands beneath the water and turn your palms to the sky. Algae brushes against your calves as you move around. Kafka lets you explore, head tilting back to face the sun. You venture a bit further until your neck is the only thing sticking out of the water. Impulsively, you squeeze your eyes shut, pinch your nose with two fingers and sink into the water. Every sound is muffled in your ears, and in the darkness everything is pointless. This is different from a shower or being caught in the pouring rain, you feel light. weightless, insignificant. You wonder if that’s what your mother longed for, this freedom to be anything and anyone, drifting through the boundless sea. You emerge with a little gasp, rubbing the water out of your eyes before blinking them open.

You’re careful not to stray too far from where Kafka is drinking in the faint sunlight. Her eyes are closed when you glance back at her, chin tilted to the heavens. Her shoulders have turned a rosier color from the sun and her dark, backless bathing suit contrasts beautifully with the clear ocean blue. You walk towards her, flicking your wrist to send water flying her way. Her brows twist for a second before she looks at you with a small smile. Kafka always smiles a lot, more often than not to unsettle her opponent or prey, but there’s a softer edge to the ones she’s had since you arrived on this planet.

“What do you usually do here?” You ask, moving closer to her.

“Float. Wanna try?” Kafka holds onto your waist when you’re close enough to reach, pulling you towards her. “I can show you.”

“I don’t want to drown.”

“You’re not going to drown.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Kafka playfully rolls her eyes and takes hold of your chin with a few fingers. Her gaze follows the movement of her thumb across your jaw, then flicks up to meet yours.

“I wouldn’t let you,” she says, leaning in to press her lips on yours in a soft kiss. Your eyes flutter shut as her mouth slowly moves against yours. She pulls away after a moment and looks at you. “Do you trust me?”

“At times.”

“Well, trust me now.”

One of her hands is placed on the small of your back to support you, the other gently guides you onto your back by applying pressure on your chest.

“What if I float away,” you say, a tinge of panic enveloping you, and you grab her wrist to stay upright.

Kafka can’t help the amusement on her face. “To where?”

“Far, I don’t know.”

“Would you miss me?”

You pout. “It’s a valid fear to have.”

“It’s really not.”

“What if I float to the deep end, then it’s too late to come back and I drown because I can’t swim?”

Kafka looks at you for a moment, eyelids lowering and an amused smile on her lips. She doesn’t say anything, just stares at you like she’s thinking of something funny.

“What?” You ask, eyes narrowing.

“You killed three flying beasts twice your size at once, last week. You're scared of a little water?”

“Fuck you,” you try pushing her away, but she only presses you further into her with her arms around your waist, a laugh escaping her. “There’s nothing little about the fucking ocean.”

“Relax,” she drawls, “it won’t work if you’re tense.”

“Maybe that’s a good thing.”

Kafka curls a hand around the back of your neck and suddenly brings you closer to capture your lips with hers. Her head tilts to kiss you better, and you can’t focus on anything but the sweet kisses she presses against your mouth. Your wet hand trails up her spine, causing droplets of water to slide down her back. Your lips part to deepen the kiss when her tongue swipes over your bottom lip. You forget the argument, your muscles relax as her chest touches yours, and by the time she pulls away with a soft exhale through her nose, you almost forget your surroundings. You chase her lips as she leans back, planting a few more chaste kisses on her mouth. She indulges you for a minute, the fingers on your nape tightening their grip for an instant. You’re breathing heavier when she separates from you for good and smiles.

“Now, let’s try it again, mmh?”

Kafka teaches you how to float in the water with firm hands and occasional teasing jabs to which you would respond if she wasn’t the one standing between you and drowning. In the end, you spend most of the day at sea, learning how to keep water from going up your nose without using your fingers and the basics of swimming. Your fingertips are pruned hours later as you emerge from the water. Kafka’s still under— you bet on who could hold their breath the longest— so you dive back beneath the surface as quietly as you can. She calls you a cheater afterwards, but you distract her with wet, slippery kisses.

You’re drying yourselves on the beach as the sun sets below the horizon. You sit on your towel next to Kafka, who’s reclined on her elbows. Her eyes are closed, not a crease between her brows, and her head is tilted upwards. Before, you thought she was sunbathing, but now the temperature is slightly lower than this afternoon and the sun is no longer visible in the sky. You think perhaps she’s simply enjoying the sound of the waves and the salty air like you did earlier. It’s funny, she hasn’t told you what this place means to her; it clearly holds some sort of significance if she returns to it annually. Her way of revealing herself is unconventional at best and a little clumsy, like a fawn taking its first steps. She presents you the sea, this part of her she keeps hidden from everyone, and says nothing else. You watch the lines of her nose, the curves of her lips and their pretty pink color. Her face is bare from any makeup, her hair loose and her expression so relaxed she might’ve been asleep. She’s beautiful. You’re no longer gazing at the ocean, though you feel a familiar sense of wonder as you observe her. Your heart is light in your chest and you suddenly understand how your mother could yearn for something she’s never experienced before.

Kafka’s eyes slowly blink open. She tilts her head to meet your stare with a smile, and you long to love her like your mother longed for the sea.

“Let’s stay a little longer.”

You nod. Your limbs move before you can stop yourself; you straddle her waist, sitting on her lap and snaking your arms around her back. Kafka lets you bury your nose in the crook of her neck, using a hand in the sand to support the both of you.

“What’s that for?” There’s a teasing lilt to her voice as you breathe in the smell of the sea on her skin.

“Nothing,” you lie, pressing a kiss to her skin.

Your mouth trails up her neck to her jaw, tasting salt, and Kafka hums when you kiss her lips. It feels different to kiss her after getting acquainted with the ocean because you finally have something to compare the weightlessness that overwhelms you with each of her fervish kisses. A hand tangles itself in your hair, pulling you closer until she reclines on the ground and your body follows without missing a beat, lips locked.

You pull away to breathe in, only slightly, reveling in the sensation of her hand up your back.

“You’ll get sand in my hair,” Kafka mutters into your mouth.

“I’ll wash it for you.”

On a deserted beach and with the sea as your witness, you kiss her until the moon ascends in the sky and the waves grow stronger behind you.

[arpmemething2]

Star Trek: The Next Generation Sentence Starters

Send one to see how my muse reacts.  Feel free to change pronouns as needed.

"He must have died in his sleep."

"I would be delighted to offer any advice I can on understanding women. When I have some, I'll let you know."

"Father said she went to a beautiful place where everything is peaceful and everyone loves each other and no one ever gets sick. Do you think there's really a place like that?"

"I said shut up! As in close your mouth and stop talking."

"When I stroke the beard thusly; do I not appear more intellectual?"

“I could be chasing an untamed ornithoid without cause.”

"I wonder if the Emperor Honorious watching the Visigoths coming over the Seventh Hill truly realised that the Roman Empire was about to fall?"

"So then I said, 'In that frame of reference the perihelion of Mercury would have preceded in the opposite direction.'"

"How old do you think I am, anyway? "

"A blind man teaching an android how to paint? That's gotta be worth a couple of pages in somebody's book."

"What a terrible way to die."

"It is possible to commit no errors and still lose. That is not a weakness. That is life. "

"It's the struggle itself that is most important.  We must strive to be more than we are."

"You are a little boy, six years old. You cannot hurt me."

"There's theory and there's application.  They don't always jibe."

"There are times when men of good conscience cannot blindly follow orders."

"With the first link, the chain is forged. The first speech censored, the first thought forbidden, the first freedom denied, chains us all irrevocably."

"Sir, I protest, I am NOT a merry man!"

“The arbiter of a demanding wargame rendered the word "mismatch" as "challenge" in his language.”

"He treated me no differently from anyone else. He accepted me for what I am. And that, I have learned, is friendship."

"Someone once told me that time was a predator that stalked us all our lives. I rather believe that time is a companion who goes with us on the journey and reminds us to cherish every moment, because it will never come again. What we leave behind is not as important as how we've lived. After all, we're only mortal."

"You share all of those qualities in abundance. Perhaps you should try to build on your similarities."

"I tend bar and I listen."

"For that one fraction of a second, you were open to options you had never considered. That is the exploration that awaits you... not mapping stars and studying nebula... but charting the unknown possibilities of existence."

"If you were any other man I would kill you where you stand!"

"There can be no justice so long as laws are absolute. Even life itself is an exercise in exceptions."

"Sharing an orbit with God is no small experience."

"Make it so."

"You see things with the eyes of a child, and that makes you more human than any of us."

“Life's true gift is the capacity to enjoy enjoyment.”

"No. Men do not roar. Women roar. Then they hurl heavy objects... and claw at you. "

"Vamoose, ye little varmint!"

"You are free to execute your laws and your citizens as you see fit."

"We think we've come so far. Torture of heretics, burning of witches, it's all ancient history. And then, before you can blink an eye, suddenly it threatens to start all over again."

"Resistance is futile"

"What you are saying... is that you are lonely?"

"There are four lights!"

"This is mutiny!"

"There are many parts of my youth that I'm not proud of... there were loose threads... untidy parts of me that I would like to remove. But when I pulled on one of those threads... it had unraveled the tapestry of my life."

"I should have done this a long time ago."

"I've seen you think your way out of worse problems than this."

"It's just that our mental pathways have become accustomed to your sensory input patterns."

"What you have done will have serious ramifications. I am truly dismayed that you told no-one of what you were doing."

“I have to set an example, now more than ever. Facing death is the ultimate test of character.”

"In order to defeat your enemy, you must first understand them."

"Swimming is too much like bathing."

"Let me get this straight--you want me to take off your head?"

"Remember, put your shoes away."

"You jewel. That's exactly what I hoped."

"So, five-card stud, nothing wild... and the sky's the limit."

"Space... The final frontier."

"If there's nothing wrong with me, maybe there's something wrong with the universe!"

"Oh, I know Hamlet. And what he might say with irony, I say with conviction: "What a piece of work is man! How noble in reason! How infinite in faculty! In form, in moving, how express and admirable! In action, how like an angel! In apprehension, how like a god!" "

"Villains who twirl their mustaches are easy to spot. Those who clothe themselves in good deeds are well-camouflaged."

"He wants the impossible."

"Flair is what makes the difference between artistry and mere competence."

"What is it about these squirming little infants that you find so appealing?"

"Those deaths must be avenged."

"He'd listen to everyone's opinion and then make his own decision."

"Do you think you're the only one in pain? That you have a monopoly on loss?"

"I don't have all the answers, I've never been dead before."

"I have never subscribed to the theory that political power flows from the barrel of a gun."

"Wishing for a thing doesn't make it so."

"There'll be others-but every time you feel love, it'll be different. Every time it's different."

“With the first link, the chain is forged. The first speech censured, the first thought forbidden, the first freedom denied - chains us all irrevocably.”

"You must not kneel to me.  I do not deserve it."

"I do not fire on defenseless people."

"Things are only impossible until they're not"

"You have never seen death. Then look, and always remember."

"Good tea. Nice house."

"If the cause is just and honorable, they are prepared to give their lives."

"There are still many human emotions I do not fully comprehend: angry, revenge, jealousy. But I am not mystified by the desire to be loved, or the need for friendship. These are things I do understand."

"It is definitely like alcohol intoxication. The same lack of good judgment. For example, right now I find you extremely, extremely... of course we haven't time for that sort of thing."

"You have to measure your successes and your failures within, not by anything I or anyone else might think."

"If you can't take a little bloody nose, maybe you ought to go back home and crawl under your bed. It's not safe out here. It's wondrous, with treasures to satiate desires both subtle and gross. But it's not for the timid."

"You cannot justify a wantonly immoral act by citing the greater good!"

"This is down. Down is good. This is up. Up is no"

[maruzzewrites]

magical touch.

Gale and Tav/Reader use the tadpole and the Weave to have a physical connection. n/sfw content!

It is a night like any other. Under the stars, spent at the campsite where everyone is either resting or taking the time to be friendly when the day is filled with perilous fights of all kinds.

Gale is by his tent, pacing back and forth with a book in hand as he recites another spell he is trying to memorize. So many variations to the same components, and each person may understand only a fraction of them. The way the Weave reacts to each individual is truly a sight to behold and he will never tire to sing its praises.

The only thing that can distract him from his studies is right about to come by. Gale notices them approaching, and he closes the book as soon as he is sure they are coming towards him. He smiles wide and welcoming as he finds a place for his tome and then goes to hold their face, kiss them tenderly in greeting.

The days are so packed with adventures, one may forget to cultivate interpersonal relationships.

He is about to offer to spend some time together that they raise a question that seems promising, “Do you think the tadpole along with the Weave can make us feel the same things, if we try?”

Many others would think the question odd or inopportune due to their circumstances, but Gale is on the same page about the inherent curiosity of learning more and more about magic and its applications. He ponders on the matter before giving an answer, “We can share thoughts and the Weave is powerful enough to blow away entire cities. It is my theory that we can assume magic could deepen the connection between two people infected by the same parasite.”

They nod, and they seem to contemplate the implications of that answer for a moment. They seem almost embarrassed, for some reason.

The cause of that, though, is soon evident when they pose another question, “Do you think we can use it for, you know… Physical matters?”

Gale, once again, ponders on the question. It doesn’t take much to understand what they are trying to imply with their wording, and he can understand the embarrassment linked to speaking of something so intimate where someone else could listen. Gale has to be honest and admit that, now that the idea is in his mind, he cannot really let it go without trying.

Sure, if the experiment would prove unfruitful it could be a bit disappointing, but the eventuality of experiencing something akin to magical intercourse with someone that is not the very essence of magic like it was with Mystra. To be able to overwrite even that small aspect of his past to compose another ode to his new, bright relationship is something that he cannot and isn’t intent on refusing.

“You’re thinking creatively, which is an important and laudable skill to have in life. I suppose we can say something like that could be possible if we enhance our connection,” he babbles and then stops. He thinks carefully before speaking again, “And I wouldn’t want to experience something similar with anyone else. If I can be so bold, would you like to accompany me on this stimulating attempt that could be a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity for the both of us?”

There is delight in their smile, a silent thanks for understanding immediately what they were talking about and the excitement that comes from a promise over a shared desire. Trying new things, together, is always an event that creates expectations and anticipation, despite one’s attempts to calm their own nerves, and Gale cannot help but share the trepidation that is bubbling up in his chest now.

He clears his throat before inviting them inside his tent, away from prying eyes. He knows their companions would never invade their privacy, but for good measure he does secure the closing of the tent. He hopes no one is too curious about their early disappearance, but he assumes everyone can logic the reason in their minds.

To light the space, now that they’re inside, he uses a simple light spell. Nothing he has to focus on as they attempt to create some sort of connection between their bodies through nothing but their own minds. He casts it on a stone that he finds on the ground, places it where they both can see, and then sits down in front of his partner.

They seems to follow every movement of his, and Gale can recognize something familiar in their gaze: want. It’s the same look he knows he has in his own eyes when he looks at them, but having it directed towards him is flattering and fills him with a warm sense of pride. There is always a sense of lacking within himself, there is always something to demonstrate and to reach, but to be looked at as someone to be reached and wanted is a sensation Gale will never tire of.

To be desired like a peer, how wonderful of a feeling it is. And to be proposed all sorts of new experiences not because it’s the only way things can be, but because there is a genuine desire to share and live through them with him. A feeling a man can hardly go without, once felt.

So they sit one in front of the other, silent for a while, looking at each other with longing.

Then, how he is used to, Gale speaks, “So. Do you want this to be a completely hands off experience or do you wish to hold hands throughout the whole ordeal?”

They seem surprised by the question, and think on it for a moment. Gale understands, because to act like they thought, they probably would have to not touch any part of each other’s body. However, sitting in silence in a small space without even letting their finger brush could be a bit weird at first. Gale supposes he can give his own opinion on the matter, “I would like the experiment to be as genuine as possible. We always have other occasions to hold hands.”

They blink. Then they nod, they say they can do that and sit up a bit straighter than before. It’s their turn to speak, “I’d say we close our eyes and concentrate, yes?”

“Yes. I will guide the Weave to flow between us, and you just follow my lead. Just do what comes naturally.” Gale clears his throat again, closes his eyes and raises his hands before opening just one eye to look mischievously towards his partner, “And no peeking while I do my somatic components.”

They giggle at the joke, a short and melodious sound that adds a touch of light to the whole situation. Gale observes as they also close their eyes, cross their legs in front of them, and then relaxes their body as the usual connection that comes from the tadpoles starts to be created between them.

Gale is a honest man, so he also closes his eyes and starts to motion in accordance with what the Weave asks him to do. His hands move through the air until he feels tendrils of its energy twist all around him, taking hold of his essence and slowly linking it with theirs.

He feels them shifting in front of him at the sensation, and the tadpoles seem to react to the new condition as well. They resonate and, enhanced by the power of magic, Gale doesn’t only share the same thoughts with them. Now, he feels it, he shares the same flesh and bones, the blood in their veins and the beat of their heart. He feels the sensation of the air on their skin, the hard earth under their legs, and the eagerness of a person who knows it worked.

Gale wonders only for a second what it’s like for them to share their body and feel his, before he has to bite his own lip to keep a moan in as something akin to a caress travels up his forearm, from wrist to elbow. It’s a languid movement that sends electricity up his back, not because he’s particularly sensitive in that area, but because everything feels amplified.

Every nerve under his skin reacts, and there isn’t even an actual hand on his body. He tries to do the same, to imagine his own hand reach down and push their body together by pulling his partner in, burying his head in their neck and inhaling their scent.

He feels it so clearly and vividly, so heightened by the connection that he fears he might lose his focus.

One step after the other, they touch and probe at their metaphysical bodies. And pure ecstasy pools up at the base of Gale’s stomach with each touch, with each movement he makes to brush against the shared body, and with the very knowledge that they are coming undone just like him if the little gasps and pants that arrive from time to time are any indication.

They are not even imagining anything complete, just tender and lovely touches that usually come before the event proper. Preparations, if one wants to call them that, and Gale cannot phantom what it would be like to abandon restraints completely and go into the depths of carnal (metaphysically speaking) desire.

But one step at a time. Perhaps next time they will venture further, but magic can be dangerous if one doesn’t learn with graduality and careful consideration of their own limits. Of course, Gale is a prodigy, but he wants to be sure his partner won’t be harmed by this kind of power.

So, for now, he lures them in with teasing touches as promises of more to come eventually. It’s a dance they make in unison, fingertips tracing each other bodies, an arm around the other’s chest, a kiss that barely touches the neck and leaves a wet trail behind. A lot of small gestures that accumulate into that heat that is building up in his belly, rising and rising like a fire ready to engulf him.

Suddenly, he feel the tension snap. A pleasing feeling, familiar, washes over him with a strength he never experienced before. It feels wonderful, to share such a feeling, and he hears from the other side of the tent a delightful noise of bliss in that voice he so dearly adores.

He cannot resist, he has to look. He opens his eyes just barely to look over. They are curling up on themselves, face flushed and sweat running down their forehead. They are still clothed, like he is, but there are the telltale signs of arousal that show just how much they enjoyed the little experiment.

Then suddenly, they also open their eyes and the connection wavers, then interrupts. They have a smile on their face, loose, lazy, and content. On their hand and knees, they approach Gale and throw their arms around his neck to push him down onto his back, playfully.

“Cheater. You said no peeking.”

They laugh together, and prepare for an actual night of passion with each other.

[astranite]

Bringing in the Waves

Gordon Tracy, the ocean and being disabled. Gordon-centric but John is important here too and to each other. There are starfish. This has Gordon's hydrofoil accident, John's space issues and a bit of them being excited about science together. I'm drawing a fair lot on my own experiences with being disabled and that to me Gordon and John are too matters so very much.

~~~

The ocean could swallow you whole, Gordon knew this, it was his whole life’s work to know the ocean. But it could also cradle you and it would try.

The ocean was his biggest love, ever since he could remember, bubbling up to fill his entire being, shore to shore. Or second biggest: he had his family and then he had the ocean. His brothers were right there in the water with him from the start.

Before he’d ever seen it, the ocean was a part of his life, ebbing and flowing as he grew, in the illustrated stills from picture books, in animated stories people told of beach holidays, in the echo of waves in the local swimming pool or an overfilled bathtub or splashing out of the kitchen sink when he was supposed to be helping with the washing up.

The sound of the waves seeped into his dreams from before he was old enough to remember. Mum had played waves as white noise for him ever since he was a baby, it had been the only way to get him to settle then he was out like a light. He had a memory, fuzzy as if seen from underwater from how long ago it was, of climbing and tumbling from his cot, drawn to find out where the waves were. When he knocked Mum’s old phone with its cracked screen off the shelf left in his room, a tiny picture had lit up the screen with blue waves slooshing in time with the sound. Gordon had been in love. 

He didn’t actually know whether it had happened or if it was something his brain had put together from stories his brothers told about wrangling him as a troublesome toddler and the rarer ones about Mum knitted together into one by the ocean.

Even now, he didn’t sleep well if he couldn’t hear the sea. Luckily their island was surrounded by it, with nowhere on land, not even the highest of volcanic peaks where you couldn’t hear it. The hangars deep below the earth didn’t count, no matter that the ground insulated them from everything up to the rocket engines shaking the place from within. Surrounded by towering rocky walls, it was impossible to forget that this place came from the ocean and would once day return to it. 

Gordon’s bedroom window was perpetually cracked open to let in the breeze and the smell of the salty air, to hear the sound of his home outside. 

It had been John who had brought the waves to him in the early days in hospital. The ocean had nearly swallowed him, broken body and soul, but it had cradled him instead. Gordon to this day didn’t understand why. He’d floated on his back, as he’d first been taught when it became clear he couldn’t help but seek out the sea, conserving his energy and letting the ocean hold him long enough to be dragged from the water when the rescuers came. He’d died a bit after that, technically, as soon as they brought him onto dry land. Not that he actually remembered much of that either but he’d heard the story told over and over again because he had to know, to understand , somehow.

Sometimes he wondered how much he had bled into the ocean over his lifetime. Of the total, in litres inextricable from cubic kilometres, what tiny fraction of the whole was Gordon ? Sea water was salty, so was blood. Tears too should count.

Gordon had kept his tablet lying next to his head on the bleached white sheets, volume turned up to maximum to drown out the rest of the hospital screaming at him. John had remembered, even from as far away as space, that he needed the ocean to sleep. Gordon had later put together it was from as far away as NASA mission no amount of pleading could cut short even though this was his little brother that John had found his way to be with Gordon. John, calm, sensible, rational John had been ready to throw away everything to be there for him and the only reason he hadn’t was that it hadn’t been his choice. 

Of all his brothers, John was the most similar to the ocean. You couldn’t always see the currents from the surface but you could read the patterns in the water if you learnt how, if you observed: the centre of a rip—gently rippling, wave-less and perfect azure in the sunlight—was mistaken as harmless by too many, yet the water flowed deeper and strong, inevitably out to sea. 

Space and the ocean were reflections of each other if you thought about it, environments wondrous and inhospitable at the same time, and ever so necessary for life here on Earth. They’d tear you apart if you didn’t respect them. If you did, there was so much joy in loving them.

As a child, even knowing the facts from nature documentaries played on loop, Gordon had never imagined something so endless could exist. In the pictures, he’d never quite believed it didn’t all stop at the horizon line. He and John both chased their own infinities. 

Gordon let himself drift, staring upwards at the gaping, blue sky. Sea birds whirled ever so high above him and the sun was the only star they could see in the daylight because its brightness outshone all the others.

So often with the nature of what he did, he was alone out here. Though not really when it came down to it. Even when he couldn’t see them, the fathoms below him were full of an endless cycling of lives, great and tiny and every blip in between, from great blue whales to the minuscule plankton they ate. He was a part of the ocean too, his body and breath affecting the world as much as other creatures. More than them, he was aware of his place, of how he was so very human and would be even if he wasn’t in charge of the massive machinery that was the bones of International Rescue. 

No matter how well designed their ‘birds were, he was ever so aware of their potential to destroy life if they were careless. A knock to a coral reef or a scorching landing amidst prairie grasses could wreck that ecosystem. They saved human lives, that was their priority and it always would be but the need to balance out and reduce damage to the environment wherever they could was always on Gordon’s mind.

He guarded the whole world, Earth and beyond it, as best as he could. He taught others so they could lend their hands to help with this mission that wove between every other. He was only one person and drifting in the sea, rocked by waves, never made him so aware of his place in the world.

It was so big . Every time someone tried to tally up an idea of infinity, they always compared it to counting the grains of sand on a beach but to Gordon it was more like the drops of sea water that formed the ocean. Individually they were so unspeakably numerous yet together they formed a cohesive whole. One or many? singularity or a phenomenon? Gordon loved the contradictions, he was contrary like that.

He guarded their island, their home with an equal ferocity, though perhaps with more because it was so clearly theirs and so extra vulnerable to be affected by their actions. A single invasive species could ravage their ecosystem. Gordon had seen it happen before and helped with the recovery efforts, so he did his upmost to prevent the first hand devastation happening here. They all did. The protocols about cleaning down their Thunderbirds, especially of mud and plant matter, of showering straight away in the locker rooms attached to the hanger and ditching their uniforms to be cleaned and disinfected right down to their boots every single time were there for a reason. Their world was precious and hardy but also unspeakably fragile.

Water lapped at Gordon’s body, cradling him. It was easier to float here than in the pool. Whether the salt of the ocean’s embrace had been the deciding factor for why he was here now, he would never know. There were plenty of other times he was pretty sure the ocean had tried to kill him: a powerful storm burning at the back of his throat, the crushing pressure a human body was never meant to withstand, in simply clinging to him below the surface when he was running out of air. He respected the ocean, that was key if you wanted survive anything to do with it, but loving something didn’t change its nature. He wouldn’t want it to. He was here, scars, olympic medal, IR aquanaut and all because of it.

Gordon shook his head, splashing water around him in flying droplets. He wiped it out of his eyes with a hand from where it pooled on his face and stuck to his eyelashes. Enough thinking, enough retreating into his head. He had the whole day ahead of him.

He squinted upwards, blinking away the salty ocean in the bright sunlight. It seared the backs of his eyes. He was here and alive and that’s what mattered.

Folding in on himself and exhaling bubbles through his nose, Gordon sunk beneath the surface into the cooler, bluer, rippling world he loved. A duck and a tumble had him swimming on his front, arms stretched out in front of him, the familiar twinge of his back echoed in every movement.

Never again would he get to wake up and go about his day without hurting, without having to think about it all. He constantly made the calculations of what he could handle, how he moved, whether he’d slept enough, when his damn meds needed to be refilled at the pharmacy. He didn’t get a break from it or the luxury of ignoring that stuff with consequences he could live with. It’d hurt too much. That other people lived from a pain free baseline didn’t quite seem real anymore.

Except the world still turned. When he swum, none of it drifted away but sometimes it muted for a while. Even if it didn’t, he was still here. The world was beautiful and with water gentle against his skin as he slipped through it the same as the silvery fish he chased in the dappled light, it was easier to see it. 

Joy and pain weren’t irrevocably incompatible, he’d learnt over the years. On his hardest days, the small things he loved would be there when he couldn’t make it to the biggest. They’d be there when he was stranded in his bed in a spikey ball of pain, aching so deep that no matter what he did nothing would make it stop, so far from the sea. He could hear the waves through his open window though. 

Gordon kicked to propel himself down to the seabed to run a hand through the fine, gritty sand. One of his hips was acting up and swimming felt good, those sensations intertwined in the experience of being vividly part of the currents around him. Of being so vividly alive . That didn’t stop either, no matter what he did.

And his brothers, his family, they loved him and they stayed. 

Virgil helped him manage the endless medical bullshit that came with keeping his smashed up body running, not smoothly exactly but bumping along the road as best he could. The specialists appointments, the perpetual physio exercises and the post-mission injuries would be so much harder to handle without Virgil’s steady presence by his side. Gordon was still shit-scared of hospitals, yay medical PTSD, so super fun times, but not being alone made a difference. 

Virgil was one of the few people in the world who could get Gordon to smile when he was wearing a hospital gown, and one of the fewer he’d willingly let see when he couldn’t.

Alan brought his video game controllers and consoles to set stuff up so they could play together, lying down on Gordon’s bed, often enough to become their after mission routine. It was a distraction from the pain and it meant he got to be a big brother too when he couldn’t do much else. Alan had grown up a lot over the last few years. By the way he showed up when Gordon needed him most, Gordon knew Alan got what it meant. 

Those were the times they’d talk about the tough stuff that as the youngest they both found it hard to take to a big brother and not feel like a little kid again. Gordon was the best at getting Alan to admit to physical injuries too when they were at the ‘feels weird’ stage instead of the ‘needs months of rehab’ one. They were also the times they wouldn't talk about the tough stuff because Gordon was so fucking sick of thinking about his fucking back. Then they fooled about in game, messing around and laughing together easier than breathing was for Gordon.

With Scott, he’d let Gordon scream and swear and grip his hand far too tightly when the pain got too much. He’d wipe the tears and snot off his face afterwards without needing to say a word. 

In the early mornings when it was only them awake on the island, it was both their own time and their time together. Scott got how missing his morning swim threw his whole day out of whack and Gordon got why Scott was so frenetic about his runs. 

Gordon’s back was the most cramped up after it got stiff from not moving in his sleep, or from moving and fucking it up that way, before he got to stretch it out in the pool. Sometimes the short distance out from their rooms had him whimpering in pain and from the sensation of his bones clicking and grinding out of place how they very much shouldn’t be. Scott would be there whether he needed a hug and a supportive arm around him until he got into the water or to be left to it with somebody in reach to pull him out if needed, as Scott did his warm up stretches on the pool deck. That mean Gordon also got to see Scott did ‘em because Gordon had got on his case with Virge after injuries from not doing so.

His relationship with John had grown over the years, the more they worked together trusting each other’s judgement and the more Gordon got his footing on the level of his bigger brothers. As John’s space issues got steadily worse with the hours he racked up in orbit, the occasions John was down on Earth and they were both knocked out from a bad day at the same time became more often. They’d hang out lying on one another’s beds or the couches if they made it that far and the guilt over leaving IR so understaffed existed side by side with how good it felt not to be alone. 

When Gordon read up on the latest oceanic and biodiversity surveys for his environmental research, trying it concentrate in spite of the pain, it was a comfort to have John writing about his stars with him, even if it was because John was too dizzy to sit up for long, much less go out on a mission.

John had come to him, over Scott, over Virgil, when he didn’t know how to cope with being sick so much and not being able to do things like the others or like he had before. Gordon had held his brother in his aching arms when John dissolved into tears. John had never let him see him cry like that before. Gordon didn’t have any magical fixes to make everything better when John asked how in the universe he did it, and by it meant lived , but he had a few more years of learning to work with his body instead of against it under his belt. He’d been where John was too.

Some days meant trying to do everything knowing you’d pay for it later. Others meant resting up before it got to that point because that was a far better way to go on. After a while you figured out a balance, though Gordon was still working it out with each new curveball his body threw at him. That was just how it went. He’d be there to help John as he figured it out for himself too.

Gordon surfaced into glorious, sparkling sunshine as he ran out of air, breathing deeply. 

On the shit days where they were still up and at it going out on rescues but everything was so much harder when you had to work through feeling like utter crap too and it felt like they were dragging themselves against the current, they had each other’s backs too. Sometimes that meant soft reassurances over comms that were comforting because the person on the other side got it , and other times it meant a joint bitching session, gallows humour and the freedom to swear as much as they wanted, regulations be damned, when it was just them.

Lying side by side on worse days, they’d listen out for the engines of each Thunderbird taking off and coming back home. On Gordon’s bed, they’d be surrounded by sea creature soft toys and posters of the ocean and on John’s they would look up and see constellations of glow in the dark stars. Sometimes they gave each other space when they needed not to touch when everything was too much but existed in nearby orbit, and sometimes they curled up together and cuddled even though they both ached. 

Gordon dove underwater again.

He and John shared pain and worry over the their brothers, but they took care of each other. The wait alone would be excruciating: that they were together was what mattered in those moments. They did their best to find joy too, even when they had to rest.

The sun was rising higher in the sky as it pierced through the ocean above and splashed gold over the sea floor. He’d have to go in soon but he had a few minutes more he could hold onto in the world.

There were starfish on the reef. The Earth was filled with so many horrible things that could happen—freak accidents, loss, and the aftermath of what people did to each other— but there were also starfish on the reef. They existed too and they proved continuing on was worth it. Moments like these were what Gordon lived for.

He should call up John. He’d want to share in this. The Star and the Fish, that was them too.

The reef had been broken down and built up from the rubble, through Gordon’s efforts to restore the biodiversity that had been swept away by pollution and warming ocean temperatures and plain old human carelessness. Since they’d first come to the island, John’s satellite imagery had tracked the years of slowly healing and work put in as he and Gordon pored over the surveys.

Now Gordon rode the waves back in to shore, body surfing them as he moved in a rippling butterfly kick propelled within the water. He loved piloting Four, he loved to sail and surf, but secretly it was his favourite when it was only him and the waves. He revelled in them, in the wake of all the things he could never do again. He had this joy so he seized it, hanging onto the opportunity whenever he got to.

The last one took him right in, carrying him close enough his stomach brushed the sand. He clambered up to stand in the shallows, stumbling over his own feet as his back disagreed with him when he twisted wrong. He cussed and cursed himself for being careless then tried to be kind. He was trying his best and so was his body. It was an accident, he would be okay.

Gathering his towel from further up on the dry sand, he rubbed it through his wet hair, causing it to stand on end before he jammed his hat on. Then he started on the walk back along the beach home. He tipped his head back to take in the bright blue sky, laughter welling up with the sheer, giddy delight being by the sea brought him even as he pressed a hand against his hip as it refused to stay in place, grinding, clicking and locking up with each step he took. 

He limped along. Right now the gentle movement was the best thing for him so he could warm up his body and stretch it out before he was running around on rescues.

Gordon watched the waves rolling in from the ocean, walking on the more even wet sand to make it easier on himself. With John on his mind, he tapped his wrist comm to connect a call with Thunderbird Five far above him.

A tiny blue-tinted hologram appeared, washed out pale in the sun until the brightness automatically adjusted. Now Gordon could see the orange. He could see John.

“International resc—”

“Heya bro!” Gordon gave him a little wave with his other hand.

John grinned as soon he saw it was Gordon calling him, mimicking the wave as he dropped the mask of Thunderbird Five until all that was left was John. His eyes crinkled at the corners in a genuine smile. The dark circles remained smudged purple on blue beneath them.

Gordon grinned back. “How’s shit?”

Sometimes a ‘how are you’ didn’t cut it when people constantly expected you to be okay fine good great in answer because that’s all they wanted to hear. Or to ‘get better soon’ like this wasn’t something you’d lived with for years. You learnt pretty quickly who would rather hear when things were terrible because they cared and wanted to be there for you, and you would rather you just lied.

“Shit’s y’know fantastic .” John’s signature sarcasm dripped from his voice. “Got a splitting headache I can’t shake and I still have to deal with Fischler-esque fucking idiots and their fuckups.

“Damn, I feel that.” Gordon did, he really did. John’s sheer patience astounded him but even he needed to vent. He probably needed the space to more so actually, with handling the calls he did.

John sighed, dragging a gloved hand across his face. “Unfortunately my circus, unfortunately my monkeys when lives are at risk. 

“That should be our new motto for International Rescue. Let’s tell Scott next debrief and put it on all our merch,” Gordon said.

John snorted. “How do you think that’d go down with Commander Tracy?” He looked far too amused at the prospect.

“What if we put it on a coffee mug big enough to drown in?” 

John gave a signature Scooter facepalm. “Don’t make him worse. Scratch that, don’t make me worse either, I’m tempted by it and he gets on my nerves about my caffeine intake enough.”

They were both kidding. Mostly. They’d bring it to Scott though anyway, when big brother most needed the laugh.

“So how’s the surf?” John said casually, no matter that Gordon hadn’t actually told him where he’d been nor were the comms transmitting anything other than his disem-backgrounded image. 

Not that the beach was an unusual place to find him in the mornings. But still, John had figured him out.

“Water was beautiful as always, though particularly with the sun today. Surf was pretty gentle but that’s kinda what I needed. How’d you know though?” Gordon asked curiously.

“Despite the whole swimmers and towel get up, it was the waves.” John relaxed as he went through his observations, floating freely within Five. “They sound closer when you’re walking along the beach right next to them versus when you’re up at the pool.”

For a moment after that, they both listened to the waves together, near and far.

“I think I should come down to Earth after today,” John said quietly. “I’m not feeling so good and I want to see you guys.”

“I’ll be right there when you get here,” Gordon replied, just as quiet. Admitting stuff like this was hard for John and making a big deal over it wouldn’t help. Gordon really wanted to hug his big brother though. He would.

“How’s shit for you though, Gords?” John asked, the focus of those sea green eyes made bluer by holographic distance switching back to him.

“I’m sore but I suppose okay enough?” Gordon paused to consider. “The whole back, hips, legs, everything that’s connected to each other shebang isn't really doing it for me today.” The emotion bled into his voice. “It really fucking isn’t. Swimming helped with me feeling like me but the rest is complaining.”

John took it and quietly nodded. John got him.

“Buuuut I saw some starfish on the reef!” Gordon swung back to grinning as he reached out to grab onto that joy and keep on clinging to it in spite of his whole life.

John lit up, hands flickering as he caught Gordon’s excitement and swam with it. “Cool! Which species were they? What did they look like? Was it on the part we surveyed together last month?”

John just got him.

Gordon loved some rapid fire questions about his area of expertise in the family.

“To answer the last one first, yes!” He raised his hand to his watch for a high five.

John hadn’t stopped grinning either and he held out his tiny holographic hand to high five Gordon. 

Starfish were John’s favourite creatures, with the star thing he had going you’d totally never guess why, but he loved them all the same. Gordon was glad to share this. He always was.

So Gordon, with his ocean sounding in a perpetual background to his life, limped along the beach and rambled on about starfish to his brother who loved him for exactly who he had become.

[asterkallium]

what is the pale blue dot?

Pale Blue Dot is a photograph of Earth taken on February 14, 1990, by the Voyager 1 space probe from an unprecedented distance of approximately 6 billion kilometers (3.7 billion miles, 40.5 AU), as part of that day's Family Portrait series of images of the Solar System.

In the photograph, Earth's apparent size is less than a pixel; the planet appears as a tiny dot against the vastness of space, among bands of sunlight reflected by the camera. Commissioned by NASA and resulting from the advocacy of astronomer and author Carl Sagan, the photograph was interpreted in Sagan's 1994 book, Pale Blue Dot, as representing humanity's minuscule and ephemeral place amidst the cosmos.

Carl Sagan comments on what he sees as the greater significance of the photograph, writing:

From this distant vantage point, the Earth might not seem of any particular interest. But for us, it's different. Consider again that dot. That's here. That's home. That's us. On it everyone you love, everyone you know, everyone you ever heard of, every human being who ever was, lived out their lives. The aggregate of our joy and suffering, thousands of confident religions, ideologies, and economic doctrines, every hunter and forager, every hero and coward, every creator and destroyer of civilization, every king and peasant, every young couple in love, every mother and father, hopeful child, inventor and explorer, every teacher of morals, every corrupt politician, every "superstar," every "supreme leader," every saint and sinner in the history of our species lived there – on a mote of dust suspended in a sunbeam. The Earth is a very small stage in a vast cosmic arena. Think of the rivers of blood spilled by all those generals and emperors so that, in glory and triumph, they could become the momentary masters of a fraction of a dot. Think of the endless cruelties visited by the inhabitants of one corner of this pixel on the scarcely distinguishable inhabitants of some other corner, how frequent their misunderstandings, how eager they are to kill one another, how fervent their hatreds. Our posturings, our imagined self-importance, the delusion that we have some privileged position in the Universe, are challenged by this point of pale light. Our planet is a lonely speck in the great enveloping cosmic dark. In our obscurity, in all this vastness, there is no hint that help will come from elsewhere to save us from ourselves. The Earth is the only world known so far to harbor life. There is nowhere else, at least in the near future, to which our species could migrate. Visit, yes. Settle, not yet. Like it or not, for the moment the Earth is where we make our stand. It has been said that astronomy is a humbling and character-building experience. There is perhaps no better demonstration of the folly of human conceits than this distant image of our tiny world. To me, it underscores our responsibility to deal more kindly with one another, and to preserve and cherish the pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known.

Earthrise is a photograph of Earth and part of the Moon's surface that was taken from lunar orbit by astronaut William Anders on December 24, 1968, during the Apollo 8 mission. Fifty years to the day after taking the photo, William Anders observed, "We set out to explore the moon and instead discovered the Earth."

[bookoftheironfist]

    In which all of the comics fans who spent this whole episode going “Heal her, dummy! Heal her!” are finally rewarded! What a great reveal this is. I mentioned in an earlier post that this season did not dig very deep into the Iron Fist power-set, but it did give us two key components: the punching and the healing, and since the healing is much less famous than the punching, it was hugely exciting to see it spotlighted in this climactic moment. 

    In the comics, pre-Immortal Iron Fist Danny was, relatively speaking, an untrained Iron Fist-- which is to say that he didn’t know about a lot of the things that the chi of Shou-Lao could do. This wasn’t really his fault, as his predecessor, Orson Randall (who we will get to next episode!) took with him the source of that knowledge, the Book of the Iron Fist, when he ran away from K’un-Lun. Both 616 and MCU Danny are forced to learn a lot of the business of being the Iron Fist through lived experience, trial-and-error, and sometimes just by accident. 

The circumstances in which Danny discovers his healing powers in the comics are different than in the MCU, but equally desperate: he gets caught in a collapsing building and finds himself trapped in the rubble, dying from his injuries. On the edge of unconsciousness and hallucinating, he receives some vital information from the image of his uncle, Nu-An, the Yu-Ti of K’un-Lun: 

Nu-An: “Save yourself, young dragon!” Danny: “H-how?!” Nu-An: “The power lies within you, as it always has, nephew. The legacy of Shao-Lao can heal as well as kill... The Iron Fist is not a weapon--it is a force of will...and used properly, it can accomplish...miracles.” Iron Fist vol. 1 #4 by Chris Claremont, John Byrne, Janice Cohen, Frank Chiaramonte, and John Costanza

    Danny’s first healing experience is extremely painful and exhausting, but it works. He survives. Over time, he grows more comfortable with using the dragon chi in this way, and after his power-up in Immortal Iron Fist he is able to do so casually, whenever he needs to, for both himself and others.  

Lei Kung: “Daniel?” Danny: “Hunh...I healed without even thinking of it. And I don’t feel drained at all.” Immortal Iron Fist #8 by Ed Brubaker, Matt Fraction, David Aja, and Matt Hollingsworth

Danny: “Your doctors did most of the hard work weeks ago... All I’m doing...is focusing your chi a bit...” Dakota: “...Whoa...” Danny: “...To speed up your natural healing process.” Daredevil vol. 2 #111 by Ed Brubaker, Clay Mann, Matt Hollingsworth, Stefano Gaudiano, and Chris Eliopoulos

    MCU Danny is at much the same state of training as pre-Immortal Iron Fist 616 Danny, and I love that his effort at healing Colleen is clearly painful for both of them, reflecting that early power level and lack of experience. And the fact that Danny just passes the heck out afterward and is unconscious for the rest of the episode means a lot to me.  

    (There is a great issue of Heroes for Hire volume 1 in which a desperate, pre-Immortal power-level Danny heals Luke from life-threatening injuries and nearly kills himself in the process. Obviously, this is not on the same level as that, but it has a similar flavor.)  

    While this is all very exciting for geeky reasons, it is also a major plot point. After being teased as Colleen’s mysterious sensei earlier in the season, here Bakuto swoops in to save the day...much to the annoyance of Madame Gao, who is pissed that he’s muscling in on her Iron Fist manipulation efforts. And not only does Bakuto help, he knows about the Iron Fist-- including details that even Danny doesn’t know. That is hugely significant, a mystery that leads us directly into the next episode...

[I’ve been going through and providing in-depth commentary on Iron Fist season 1. Look here for all of the posts so far!]

[liquidluckandstuff]

I am officially going to try and read The Lord of the Rings after only ever watching the movies. I am a little tired of fanfiction and the chronically negative online takes that comes with it.

I want something that is new to me and fresh eyes and 0 experience and the delight of figuring out something new because lets face it I KNOW those movies only showed a fraction of what those books are about.

Honestly, from my experience the LOTR fandom have been the best bunch of nerds i've ever met so far and I want something like that in my life. Deep lore that keeps you up at night kind of stuff.

I mean I'm still going to write and stay with my friends in our own little corner of the world but I think i'm going to start being an official multi-fandom space for all my stuff.

[the-empress-7]

As someone who can identify with Harry's childhood (maybe not as close because I've never lived in a palace) you know dysfunctional family where both parents are too selfish to set aside their whims to prioritize their children's well-being, I used to understand where Harry was coming from, the painful experience of waking up one day and realizing you've got no family and you are forever stuck in between as your parents go on with their lives with other people whom they could potentially build a new family with. But at some point, as you grow older, you'll realize that you've actually have more control over your life than these people and that blaming them for what you've become will only work for some time but not for very long. I'm nowhere near Harry's age but I'm so baffled that he doesn't seem to know that he is now responsible for his own life.

As sad as it is, we all have varying degrees of trauma, as it's part of the human experience (heck mine could fill a few books worth).

You are right of course, you can't deal with trauma by constantly dwelling on it. Just as you can't heal a wound by constantly picking on the scab. If only Harry could demonstrate even a fraction of the maturity you seem to have.

[nothing0fnothing]

Hey! So I have some lived experience in being poor and mentally ill I had to learn the hard way in my adulthood after growing up with abusive neglectful narcissistic parents. Maybe it will help someone else.

1. Instant pot. Crock pot. Rice cooker. You only need one, but all 3 are versatile, can use very little electricity to run, and are perfect to dump ingredients into and come back later to a healthy, cooked dinner.

You can research which is best for you by looking up "crock pot recipes" "rice cooker meals" to get a feel for what types of meals you can prepare in each and how it's purposes can best fit your cooking style.

2. Get your electronics secondhand. Phone companies make so much off of poor people bc they contract us into pay plans that mean that by the time our phones are needing replacing, we've paid for it 2 or more times over. Consider going Sim only and getting your phone secondhand.

Websites like backmarket and envirophone sell refurbished phones, tablets, laptops, smart watches, TVs, consoles, headphones, all sorts like new and for a fraction of the price point you'd usually get them at. I've not bought an electronic new since 2015 and the products I get refurbished last just as long as if I'd bought them new. Plus it's better for the environment. Even if I had money I don't think I'd go back to buying new honestly.

3. Static charger. If you're Autistic and can't sit still, like me you might be finding that the first thing to go on your electronics is your charge port. It's really annoying because it's not a cheap fix and I have had to replace phones early when they won't charge any more.

Last year my girlfriend and I got static chargers. It's an adapter that sits in your phone/tablets charger slot that magnetically connects to a universal charger. Its great for us because now everything rechargeable (phones/tablets, but also headphones, game controllers, keyboards/mouses) takes the same cable. It's really handy, but for me the best part is that the adapter doesn't move. So even if I'm fidgeting with my phone on charge it won't wear down the charger pins over time. We paid £20 for 3 and it's paid for itself because I've not had to take my phone for it's yearly fix since I got it.

4. Make a cozy space outside of bed. As a bedrotting girlie I know the allure of just saying "fuck it" and curling up in bed is so strong. I also know that when I do it for days at a time my sleep quality gets worse, my days blur together and my mental health gets so much worse. Especially if I'm working, watching TV, eating all my meals and doing my hobbies all from my bed.

One thing that helps me break up the bedrotting and at least helps me get some decent sleep so I might wake up feeling better tomorrow, is having a cozy spot that isn't in bed I can spend at least some of my day in.

For me, it's the couch in my living room. I've furnished it with pillows, blankets, and a little coffee table I can rest my stuff on so I can feel as comfy as I do in bed, but not actually be in bed most of the day. For You it could be a book nook, or a floor bed, or a desk with a chair in your bedroom.

5. Giant water bottle. This one is really simple. We need 8 glasses of water a day to be healthy and hydrated. Basically nobody depressed has the energy to fill up a glass of water 8 times a day. If you can get a water bottle that holds 2 litres (65oz) of water, now you only need to fill one drinking vessel once a day to be healthy and hydrated.

It's really simple and sill but it honestly saved my life. I buy those drink flavor packets because I drink more when it tastes nice. Is it as healthy as plain water? No. Is it healthier than no water? Yes. Easy peasy.

My bottle is from Meoky, its the 64oz stainless steel camping bottle with a flip straw I got for under £20. I like it because it keeps my water cold and I'd rather walk on hot coals than take a sip without a straw, but I've bought same size BPA free plastic bottles for like £3 and they have lasted me 2-3 years too so the budget options are absolutely worth it too.

6. Reconsider what's worth getting second hand. Generally when thinking about buying secondhand we mean clothes at the thrift, and that's great, but buying pre loved can be anything, and you can buy some high ticket items at an affordable price point that way.

If I ever want an appliance I always look second hand first. My rice cooker is secondhand and it is my favourite appliance. I've also bought a popcorn maker for a fraction of the price I'd buy it new, and I'm looking for a Kitchen Aid mixer for no more than a third the price they usually sell at. My vanity houses my shark air styler, I got it refurbished second hand and it was like new when I bought it. I use it every day and it still has so much wear in it.

Generally, the bigger and heavier something is, the closer to free you can get it, because the people getting rid of it just want it gone. If you ever need a washing machine or some furniture, look on gumtree or local no buy groups first. Type "free ___" followed by where you live into Google to get an idea whats available. If you're furnishing a space it's very likely you can get everything you need for the cost of the van you hired to collect it all.

7. Frozen vegetables. Fresh produce is getting more expensive and because we neurodivergent and mentally ill people can have a habit of letting fresh produce rot in the fridge, wasting money and making more mess to clean up, it's usually not worth it. The thing is, frozen produce is cheaper because it is picked in season, healther because it is frozen at optimum ripeness, and can be safely stored in your freezer for months, it's so worth doing.

They're usually pre-cut and can generally just be chucked into your dish frozen to defrost while cooking, making them easy and accessible. You can buy mixed vegetable packs (in the UK the most common is sweetcorn/peas/carrots and broccoli/cauliflower/) for some variety too, which I like to just dump a portion into soups or broths for some added vitamins.

8. Medication delivery. I've been medicated for mental illness for years, and a regular problem I used to have was I would neglect going to pick up my meds because I was depressed, then I'd run out and be unable to collect them because the lack of meds was making me more depressed.

Now however, I'm signed up with an online pharmacy. They processes my prescriptions exactly the same way any other pharmacy would and dispense them through the post in a box that fits through my letterbox. I never have to leave the house for meds again which is actually a lifesaver, the shipping is super cheap, like free for 3 day delivery and £2.99 for next day, and it's all processed through a super simple app that I only have to use like one a month when I request my refill.

It's so worth it and if you struggle to get out like me I absolutely recommend it. In the UK it's called Lloyd's Direct Pharmacy, but I'm sure it's a service you can find in other places of the world too.

9. Laundry separation is a lie. Which isn't a big deal for people who don't care about throwing money away on extra loads or people who have the spoons to faff around separating their clothes arbitrarily, but for poor neurodivergent people, it is.

So here's the thing, the rules of separating laundry by colour came about when clothes were made of all natural materials that would stick to each other when agitated and natural dyes that would run in water. Nowadays, clothes are made of synthetic or blended materials that can handle the friction of a modern machine and synthetic dyes that hold up to basically anything. 99% of clothes on the market, and therefore probably 99% of your wardrobe, is polycotton or some other poly-blend. So generally, everything you have can just all go in together on a warm wash.

Now, if you have woolen, linen or cashmere pieces, you should be separating them and following the care instructions on the label, but everything else, just shove it in mate, nothing bad will happen.

10. Protein powder. Protein powder is cheap, it's stored dry to it basically never goes bad, it's obviously protein so it's a really good addition to your diet, it tastes of whatever flavour you buy it in so it's a good meal substitute if you're depressed and your appetite is low, and it comes together really easily.

I usually get it in big tubs because they're cheaper per gram that way and I just add them to my coffee/hot chocolate for a boost or stir it into some Greek yogurt for a quick healthy snack. Thats actually my favourite way to get protein in because it's like 2 minutes and it covers up that sour taste yogurt has. I've also stirred it into milk for my cereal to varying success but it's good because the fat in the milk and the carbs and fortified vitamins in the cereal make it basically a meal. If I'm struggling for breakfast I usually add a scoop or two to an instant porridge pot and I have a ready to eat nutritional meal ready in the time it takes to boil the kettle.

[alchemistofthenewage]

Understanding the Ego and our Psyche

Ego is the façade we need in order to operate in our waking reality, that’s why it earns its name, ‘the false self’. It isn’t the entirety of our true self (that lays buried in our psyche), it is only that fraction of self that takes on a certain persona based on the needs of a particular incarnation. It helps us focus on the task at hand and generates our sense of self-perception.

However, it does not decide for itself independently. It makes decisions to filter incoming information based on what we program it to believe. The ego acts as a mechanism that can be programmed, unprogrammed and re-programmed to either act in our favor or against us.

The primary function of the ego is to create perception filters for our waking mind so as to distinguish itself from the collective whole. The collective whole being the same consciousness of Source that has divided itself into various fragments to experience itself.

The ego is that which creates the illusion of separateness. When balanced, it helps each fragment actualize itself and when imbalanced, it can interfere with the workings of the mind by creating more illusions that necessary. The ego is the birth place of defense mechanisms. The ego responds to situations based on the perceptions of self it has accumulated and acts in accordance with that.

What the ego sees as a threat to its self-perception, it rejects and what it sees as being consistent with its self-image, it accepts. This way it helps us stay focused on our task in a particular incarnation. An individual goes through ego development and ego deaths throughout their life as they grow and evolve, and the ego needs to keep up. If it becomes too rigid and stays stuck in an old idea of self-perception, it does not receive an update in its programming. This can cause an individual to stagnate and self-sabotage their potential.

People with a diminished sense of self, continuously feed the ego with a mixed programming and are easily influenced by the trends. On the other hand, people with a very strong sense of self, aren’t willing to look at alternate aspects of themselves that may lay dormant in their psyche. They may resist having an ego death and transitioning into a phase that is more in sync with who they are becoming.

To give an example of how ego shows itself in the waking life, think of a subject you like. Think of a topic in that subject. There may be several books written on the same topic. Each author has his own style of presenting that topic. The author/book you are drawn to is determined by your ego. The ego picks based on what it feels is in resonance with its own self-perception. 

It is rightly said that, "We see the world, not as it is, but as we are──or, as we are conditioned to see it."-Stephen R. Covey

The ego helps the conscious mind make choices in various situations such as:

-who to be, who to date, which events to attend, what to do with your time, how you style yourself, how you value yourself and so on.

We need to remember that the ego is here to serve us and we aren’t here to serve the ego. A well-programmed ego can create a beautiful waking life for us.

To sum up this essay I would like to say that the ego is the illusion of self but it is somewhat essential to operate in a world that is an illusion itself.

[kairologia]

The Astrology of Twins: Parallel Lives through the Looking Glass

Mirror Images, so similar yet profound in their differences. Something I’ve always been really passionate about is the astrology of twins, and this interest was rather pivotal to my understanding of astrology as a system — it made me realize that at its core, astrology is a categorization of qualia and a deconstruction of reality into an array of components.

Before I got into traditional/Hellenistic astrology 6-7 years ago, this interest is precisely what made me realize that there's more to a natal chart than a mere tool to describe one's personality. I promptly understood that what it does describe is circumstances — circumstances surrounding your life, and for twins, those will generally be the same, give or take. And as the sky moves 1° (roughly) per 4 minutes, depending on the difference in time, they'll still have some differences in their respective charts.

Different ascendant signs if there's a significant time difference at birth (or, late-early degree births), same ascendant but different decans/terms, or at the very least different dodecatemoria. Sometimes planets will change signs sometime during the second twin’s inception, owing to direct or retrograde motion, and consequently the pair of twins will have say, moon or mercury in neighbouring signs, a fraction of a degree apart, and at critical degrees (29° & 0°, respectively). What's more, is that significations for each planet, aspect, house, sign, decan, term, & nakshatra are aplenty — something could mean one thing for one person, & something else for another. Another thing I’ve observed overtime is that twins (most notably among twins born within short intervals, such as c-section births) tend to subconsciously share “their” chart among each other, hence the strinkigly different personalities that can arise at times.

As the ascendant is the primary descriptor of personality and the self, it becomes the principal, and often the sole astrological factor that is markedly different in nature (due to celestial motion) rather than expression. But even then, personality is only one aspect of your life that eventually goes on to be informed and shaped by life experiences & environmental factors. Twins may have similar upbringings, but over time they will proceed to encounter different situations, people, and opportunities, leading to diverse life paths and experiences.

A chart is, at the end of the day, a predisposition template with predictors on what one is likely to deal with and how one will deal with said encounters. But experiences and choices remain most relevant when it comes to stirring the wheel of said template into the direction you desire. It's not nature vs. nurture, it's nature AND nurture. It somewhat functions like DNA — everything is written down, part of it is inherently active, much of it is inactive, and a lot of what just is can be remodeled via interference.

Check pinned if you want to book with me!

[burningblake]

Hi :) I'm new to the chenford fanfic game and I loove yours. I was wondering if you ever wrote one about 4x01 after the hug? If wesley hadn't called tim, I bet lucy would have crawled into tim's bed (maybe I'm delusional but it would have made such a good story 🔥)

Hii and welcome, I'm so happy that you like my fics, thank you so much! (Sorry that it took me some time to reply, but I wanted to include the fic in the answer.) This prompt intrigued me a lot tbh so thanks a lot for sending it to me! I, too, believe something spicy would have happened that night if they didn't get interrupted and here's my version of it ^^

#

She didn't expect him to actually hug her when she asked him to. He's usually so guarded, so by the book, that it would be natural for him to simply offer her a polite rejection. 

But Tim said "Come here" and now his arms are wrapped firmly around her and he's stroking her hair and her nose is dipped in the clean fragrance of his chest and all she can think of is taking it a step further. 

Normally she'd reject any thoughts of the kind—Tim's mouth on hers, his breath driven out of control because of her—but the pain and loss she feels right now are like a whirlpool pulling her into a deep abyss and she's scared to find out what's in the bottom. So as soon as the distraction appears, she latches onto it with tooth and claw. 

She lets her mind flood with images of him kissing her, of their naked bodies tangled in his sheets, of her chanting his name as he makes love to her. She knows he'll be gentle with her, respectful, loving even. More than anything, she's curious to find out how it sounds to give him pleasure. She's imagined all that in the few seconds their embrace lasts. All she needs is to make the first step, plant the idea. After all didn't he compliment her at the wedding? Checked her out and asked her to save him a dance? He must find her a little desirable at least.

With that confidence instilled in her, she slowly raises her head and rests her gaze firmly on his lips. Tim looks at her and then at her mouth and for a fraction of a second, she's almost certain he'll kiss her. Her pulse quickens, her breathing stops. 

But he looks away, tells her "Goodnight" and retreats to his bedroom.

Reality comes crashing on her like a bucket of cold water. What was she thinking? What did she really expect to happen? He's her boss. 

And yet, and yet. The sting of his rejection is a much more manageable pain than the chaos she's trying to escape from. And so her embarrassment lasts only for a few moments. 

By the time her head falls on the pillow, her thoughts are again preoccupied with fantasies of him. It's not long before she starts feeling restless and hot all over. 

And what if she regrets it? Regret sounds like a healthier feeling than whatever that hole in her chest is. 

She woke up this morning with Jackson in her life. And now he isn't in it anymore. It feels unrealistic. Wrong. Like he's simply going to be home in their apartment when she returns. She doesn't want to think what will happen when she doesn't find him there. 

Perhaps if she has her thoughts flooded with something as overwhelming as having sex with her boss, it will be easier to face that reality.

But then she can't ignore the fact that part of her is also glad for the excuse, as morbid as that may be. She's relieved that she has the opportunity to experience Tim erotically and then be able to blame it on a moment of weakness if things turn out awkward. God, she's such an awful person. 

But right now, she doesn't care. 

She tosses the covers aside and gets on her feet, letting the boldness inside her take full control. She walks barefoot towards his bedroom door and raises her hand to knock. At the last second, she regrets it, goes for the handle instead. Softly, she turns it down. 

She realizes this might be all in vain if he's asleep. But when she steps inside the bedroom, Tim's eyes meet hers in astonishment.

"Lucy?" 

He's on his feet at once, his gaze filled with concern. He walks towards her, but stops at a normal distance between them. 

"Are you okay? Did you have a nightmare?" 

For a moment, as she studies his intense expression and works up the courage to name her request, she considers lying to him. A nightmare is exactly the kind of thing that would justify her mindless behavior. But she's not that far gone as to use such a cheap excuse. 

"No, I'm fine," she says, her clear voice cutting the charged atmosphere in the room. 

Tim looks at her with slight confusion, the question evident in the air. What is she doing in his room? 

Instead of an answer, she simply steps closer to him, so that they're again at the same position that they were in his living room, seconds after they hugged. 

His eyes widen in surprise. Still, he doesn't step back. 

"What are you doing?" he asks with warning. 

"Continuing from where we stopped before?" she says. It's not exactly a question, but her voice raises up a little at the end as though it is. 

His surprise turns into shock. His gaze switches frantically between her mouth and eyes. 

"Lucy..." he starts, his voice clearly affected. "You know that this is wrong in many ways and you're going to regret it afterwards. Grief isn't helping you think clearly right now." 

She knows, she knows she'll be better off if she accepts this soft, rational rejection now, instead of pushing it further. But it's like she's stepped into deep water and she can't seem to find her footing. 

"Are you going to regret it?" 

Tim shakes his head. "That's not the point. Lucy, you know me better than to think I'd take advantage of you this way."

"You're not taking advantage of me. I'm a consenting adult. I came to your bedroom." She realizes she's started sounding like a lunatic. 

His hands are suddenly on her shoulders, his head lowered to level her gaze. "This is not happening tonight, alright? Please try to get some sleep." 

She pauses, looks into his eyes, tries to find more fight inside of her. But the rejection is dampening her courage. She exhales in surrender and finally nods. A moment of silence passes and then she spins out of his hold, a little more forcibly than she intended to, and walks out of his bedroom, shutting the door in her wake. 

She had it all wrong. Rejection is what finally pushes the tears that have been gathering behind her eyes, waiting for her permission to spill. She cries silently for a while. Finally, exhausted, she falls asleep. 

Ironically, she has a nightmare.

In her dream, she's back at her apartment and Jackson greets her with a goofy smile, tells her, "I saw you dancing with Tim at the wedding." 

She nudges him and laughs. "Stop, it was just a dance."

Jackson gives her a meaningful gaze that says she can't fool him. 

Lucy pokes at him and they both start laughing together. 

"I missed you at the wedding," she tells him then. "Where did you disappear?" 

"Well, I went to see Angela. I wanted to give her something." 

Angela? 

The scene abruptly changes. It's not Jackson sitting in front of her. But her mom. Her mom telling her what a disappointment she is. Lucy can't sit and listen to her. She gets up, starts searching for her roommate, because if there's anyone who can put her mom in her place, it's him. But Jackson is nowhere and her mom keeps yelling in her head. 

Until it's not her mom at all who's yelling anymore. It's Lucy. Waking up screaming from her sleep.

"Lucy! Lucy!"

Tim's voice comes from right above her. She feels his touch on her shoulder, her cheek.

"It's alright, it was just a dream," he reassures her.

She meets his gaze in a frozen state. Slowly, reality sinks in and the tears come back. Tim sighs and in the most gentle gesture ever, pulls her onto his chest. Her tears stain the soft cotton of his top. 

They stay like that for a while. She can't help but remember another place, another time, a similar gesture. The safety of his embrace after she'd been buried alive into a desert. Somehow his arms have always meant safety for her. She realizes her hands have started shaking. 

She pulls away from him in order to meet his gaze. 

She doesn't say anything, but she can't help the pleading look that forms in her eyes. Tim's gaze turns incredulous. She expects that—the shock and rejection. What she doesn't expect is the conflict that follows  it. The clear signs that he's also struggling with desire. His expression becomes almost pained before something goes loose inside him. As though he gives up and gives in at once. 

His hand slides from her cheek to her hair where he latches on to pull her close. His lips land on hers with a soft moan of surrender. 

At first she's too stunned to react. His mouth is warm, gentle. She'd always expected him to taste like coffee. But as she closes her lips around his bottom lip, Tim tastes like warmth, like the sun-kissed aura of a summer morning. She lets out a shaky breath and brings her hands onto his cheeks, opening her mouth just as he dives in for a deeper connection. 

She grabs onto his shoulders to lift herself into a sitting position. Tim's hand slides from her shoulder to her waist, the other one still buried into her scalp. 

She can hear his breath accelerate and it makes her feel dizzy with power. She's never seen him this out of control. Tim kisses her again and again until she gasps for breath and then still he moves on to kissing her neck. 

Slowly he moves from the floor to the couch on top of her, adjusting his weight carefully so as not to crush her. He has to lift her leg off in the process and his hand lingers on her thigh, caressing her up and down, as his tongue dips into her mouth to entangle with hers. In a moment of impulse, Lucy wraps her legs around him, gratified by the groan the movement evokes from him. Tim buries his face underneath her chin, where he starts leaving a trail of wet kisses. 

She finds the hem of his top and pulls it upwards. He lets her take it off of him. Then he gets on his feet, gathers her up in his arms and leads her to his bedroom. 

She doesn't know how much of it she's going to regret later. Right now, all she knows is that it's never felt this good.

(masterlist)

[skits-things]

Scarlet Savior

In light of the fact that ao3 is under a ddos attack and thus there is no expected eta for a fix, I've decided to put this fic in text form on tumblr, as well as the other prompt I wrote for @darkkitty1208. They also betaed this work. Also @ironstrangehaven in case you wanna reblog this, even though you already reblogged my ao3 link. Fic is under the readmore.

Summary:

It was supposed to be yet another invasion of the Earth. Stephen won’t ever understand what makes his world so attractive to invaders, but it should have been standard procedure. For once though, the inhabitants of the dimension seeking to conquer Earth didn’t merely attack rampantly.

The aftermath is abhorrent. 

He despises the looks of pity that follow him around. The horror and morbid fascination of strangers. Even those exposed to the dangers of their way of life have a mere fraction of the marks on him. Trivial compared to his experiences.

The only other person with as much red on them is Deadpool, and no one expected different from the merc with a mouth. Even then, there’s the odd hole in his aura. A speck of his body that has somehow remained unscathed. 

All anyone can see when they look at Stephen, is a blindingly bloody red. 

Wong is the only one he can stand to be around nowadays. Two weeks after the nonsense and yet it seems like the staring won’t ever stop. Whether it’s the members of the Mystic Arts, the general populace, or the so-called champions from The Incident, Stephen feels their eyes like a drill to the Earth’s core. 

His friend is generous enough to allow Stephen his sulking. None of them understood exactly what they were signing up for in The Incident. Every one of the participants were stripped and made vulnerable to their cores. Wong himself had more than his fair share of scarlet on his body.

It was merely unfortunate that Stephen turned out to be extraordinary in this way too. 

The Sanctum alerts him to a visitor and he grimaces. The doors stay shut by sheer force of will, and his ill-timed guest only stays for a few minutes longer. Almost petulantly kicking the door on his way out. 

The isolation of the library no longer feels like a safe haven from the world. Tony Stark has a way of making his presence felt, merely by reminding people of his existence. Stephen grabs his books and prepares to leave for his rooms, but stops short at the unimpressed look Wong levels at him. 

“What?” Stephen snaps, irritated and perhaps a touch defensive. 

Wong doesn’t say a word for a long minute. Stephen turns to leave, holding his books carefully in his arms. Usually his hands were able to give some support, but it was a bad day. Levi subtly curls underneath his arms to relieve some of the pressure. 

“He’s not going to stop.” Wong says just as Stephen reaches the door. The words freeze him in place. “He’s been visiting every day since. Avoiding him is not going to solve anything.” 

Stephen grits his teeth and whirls around, eyes alight with fury. “Then he should learn to mind his own business!” 

Wong lowers his eyebrows a fraction, somehow appearing more disapproving than before. “He was there too, if you recall. The tournament-” 

Stephen hisses, shoulders bunched up to his ears. “That was not a tournament. That farce could barely be considered combat.” And only because of how the other side defined the event. 

A sigh rings through the room, long, deep and tired. It makes the part of Stephen that’s finally learned to care sit up and pay attention. A closer inspection of Wong has Stephen frown. He really hasn’t been aware of his surroundings lately. There was something almost disheveled about Wong’s appearance. Ties too loose, layers just slightly off. Lines of stress stretched his features tighter. 

He purses his lips. He’s never been very good at showing concern. Stephen clicks his tongue. “How are you holding up?” Stephen throws back, almost carelessly. 

“About as well as I can be.” Wong shakes his head. “If I’m ever able to get my hands on the person who botched that translation…” 

Stephen snorts. The books shift in his arms and Levi pools more of itself underneath them. He adjusts to let the cloak take more of the weight. “You and everyone else there. Personally, I think some time in the Dark Dimension would do them some good.” 

He stiffens immediately. His mouth ran faster than his thoughts, because once the words were out he couldn’t take them back. Wong pointedly tilts his head in Stephen’s direction. “That. That’s something you need to clarify with Stark. The man’s persistent. If you don’t take the initiative, he’s liable to do something drastic.” 

Stephen glares at the floor, shoulders already inching back upwards. He doesn’t know when they even dropped. “I don’t see why he needs to know. I don’t see why anyone needs to know. It’s in the past.” 

“Don’t be purposefully obtuse. You know why.”

Wong’s not wrong, but Stephen will deny it for as long as he can. It’s a mistake to flee from this conversation – Wong will get him back for this – but he could swear he was getting hives from it. It’s only in the safety of his own room that those hateful reminders hit home. 

The worst part of this whole ordeal - more than the vulnerability, more than the lack of choice, more than even the kerfuffle of a choice of words causing this disaster - is that of everyone possible, the person closest to him at the time of The Incident was Tony. 

His thoughts inevitably take a turn and, involuntarily, he remembers the day of The Incident. 

It was supposed to be yet another invasion of the Earth. Stephen won’t ever understand what makes his world so attractive to invaders, but it should have been standard procedure. For once though, the inhabitants of the dimension seeking to conquer Earth didn’t merely attack rampantly. 

The Impralians had superior numbers, firepower and technology. As much as Stephen hates to admit it, it was for the best that the Impralians also had the highest respect for champions of society. Or at least that’s how it was interpreted. 

In the end, the governments of the world had agreed to send fighters to represent them for the right to remain unconquered. While the Earth might be able to find a way to survive regardless, millions of lives would have been lost from the confrontation. Everyone with even the slightest desire to increase the chances of victory showed up.

Only the best of the best were selected. As a warrior race with regenerative durability, there had to be enough heavy hitters to make an impact, but also a small enough number to remain manageable, as every fighter sent out would be matched with another enemy. The major media outlets practically went rabid and had their own tournament for the chance to broadcast the event to the world. 

One hundred people were chosen to represent the Earth. Of those, ten were from Kamar Taj. The minimal number necessary to pull off some of the techniques that required multiple masters working together to accomplish. 

Tony was among the number chosen. His intelligence and resourcefulness was determined to be an asset in the case of their enemy using unknown technology. Peter, thankfully, was not. Spiderman might be strong, smart and scrappy, but he also didn’t have many directly damaging methods of attack. When Spiderman was removed from the list of possible combatants, Stephen could see the disappointment on Peter’s face as clear as the relief on Tony’s face just behind him. 

Though at least some of the ability to read the man came from time spent in proximity. After Thanos was defeated, Stark badgered Stephen until he threw his hands up and resigned himself to the man’s company. Somewhere along the line, Stark became Tony. It grew more difficult by the day not to slip up and reveal something from the fourteen million futures, but Stephen’s self control is impeccable. While the genius no doubt suspected something, Stephen was sure he had no clue just how intimately Stephen knew him. 

And intimate is certainly the correct word to use. Stephen doesn’t blush easily, yet some of those futures slip past his iron grip and manage to throw him into a flustered mess. 

They might have been treading the line towards something more between them in this future as well. After Tony and Pepper publicly broke off their engagement, Tony poured on the charm even more than he normally did just by being himself. Stephen was just starting to believe that their engagement was really over. That by some twist of fate, they might actually have a chance in this timeline.

Stephen fell in love with Tony Stark over and over and over again. In fourteen million different ways, but all leading towards the same end. Heartbreak.

There’s something about Tony that makes you want to put your trust in him. To take a chance. Stephen had bet the winning future on Tony’s ability to pull off a miracle with the right information and they succeeded. It made him want to take a chance on them too.

Fat chance of that happening now. 

The biggest problem Stephen Strange ever has, is that he’s never quite sure what to do about his own emotions. Other people’s emotions, which he’s also terrible at handling, are easier to deal with than his own. At least their emotions are an outside factor he has to adjust for. His own responses to his emotions are limited to ignoring them or becoming an angry defensive mess. Christine could attest to that.

So when Stephen returns from a standard trip outside of their realm to handle a task only capable by the Sorcerer Supreme, it is, perhaps, not entirely unexpected that his reaction to Tony in his room is to spit out vitriol.

“Get out.” The words are packed with as much venom as Stephen can fit. He doesn’t look at the man, just moves swiftly past him towards his attached bathroom. The barest amount of care he can spare towards Tony is keeping his words short. Stephen’s well aware Tony doesn’t deserve being treated like this. That doesn’t stop him from doing so.

He never learns his lesson.

“Stephen.” The soft cradling whisper of his name pulls him up short. Back stiff, Stephen closes his eyes and internally curses the way he can feel them tear up. He knows if he opens them, the shine would be damning evidence.

“Stephen.” Tony repeats, and Stephen can hear him stepping closer until he can feel the warmth of his presence at his back. “Stephen, look at me. Please.”

He doesn’t want to. Stephen still vividly remembers the look on Tony’s face. A curse of his perfect memory. The horror and despair was on a level he hasn’t witnessed in any of the possible futures. He never wants to put that look on Tony’s face again.

In the end, he doesn’t move or say a word. But he also doesn’t move further away. Tony takes that as an invitation to wrap his arms round Stephen and press his face into the back of his neck.

“Alright, you don’t have to look at me if you don’t want to.” The pained lilt to Tony’s voice is nearly enough to make Stephen turn around. If he wasn’t so sure of the expression he would find on Tony’s face. If he saw the pity, Stephen would shatter like fine china.

“But let me apologize. I’m so, so incredibly sorry, Stephen. I shouldn’t have reacted like that.”

The bitter laugh is involuntary. “Like what then? You didn’t do anything that anyone else hadn’t.”

“And if I could I would have each and every one of them apologize too.” Tony swears with fierce protectiveness.

“Don’t.” Stephen shudders with something akin to pained resignation. “Everyone there was subjected to the same treatment. Your own horrors were put on display.”

Tony tightens his hold around him. “But no one else died countless times! No one else had an endless montage of suffering lasting over three weeks!”

“And what, that makes me entitled to special treatment?” Stephen hopes he manages to convey the sheer distaste he has at the thought. “Trauma isn’t comparable.”

“Yours was so bad it won us the victory by a landslide.” Tony counters and Stephen immediately tries to pull away. Tony’s grip manages to keep him in place. “Fuck. No. I shouldn’t have- Look, we’re clearly both terrible at this; just give me a moment.”

Stephen’s tempted to not, but then again, if at least some small part of him didn’t want to stay right here in Tony’s arms, he would have vanished long ago. The master of the Sanctum doesn’t have to be anywhere within it that he doesn’t want to be.

After a few minutes Tony says, “I pulled apart the platform the second I was given the green light. I might have bribed more than a few people to get permission for it too, but we don’t need to talk about that. I can’t pull the videos off the ‘net – infringing on too many human rights apparently – but there isn’t a monument to your pain on display anymore.”

The words fill Stephen with more relief than he thought himself capable of feeling. In exchange for a numbers disadvantage, the Impralians negotiated building a stage on Earth where the competition would be held. After seeing the layout, it was determined that there would be no environmental advantage in combat for them.

It turned out, it wasn’t an environmental advantage they had to worry about. The Impralians used it as a double edged sword. Their technology managed to harness emotional energy – most specifically pain – and use it as a weapon against their opponents. For whatever reason, they couldn’t make it one directional and use it unilaterally against them, but the Impralians relied on their superior regeneration to endure anything their enemies would throw back at them.

They’ve almost made it into an art form. Culturally, the display of their most vulnerable moments was seen as an honor. Something to be respected for. By syncing psychic energy waves in conjunction with the emotional energy, the respective combatants' most marked fighters would have those moments projected for all to view. All persons on the stage would have this signified with red auras located just above the location where the injury occurred. The more frequently the area was injured, the deeper the color and size of the aura.

Stephen’s aura was a dark crimson and stretched meters. It was no wonder he was selected as tribute by their system.

It wasn’t even a fight, really. For once in their history, the Impralian’s defeat was instant. They were prepared for much, but multiple successive ways of dying isn’t something anyone is ever prepared to experience.

Apparently, the Impralians were so impressed by what he managed to survive that they insisted on his presence during the final negotiations. The overwhelming victory won them more than a few concessions of reparations from the Impralians and so Stephen was wrangled into being put on display like a circus act.

It was for the sake of the world, so Stephen grit his teeth and bore it, but he vanished the second he could. He refused to be sucked into something else “no one but him” could assist with. If he wasn’t faced with solemn respect by the Impralians the entire time, he’s sure he would have snapped. What a world when his enemies were more tactful than his own species.

Stephen sags back into Tony’s hold a bit. “Pain is an old friend.” The words are barely above a whisper, but in the quiet between them it might as well have been shouted. “And it wasn’t countless.”

“What?” The confusion was audible.

Stephen sighs. A moment of silence. “17 million, five hundred forty-four thousand, three hundred twenty-six.”

It takes a heartbeat of time, but Tony’s sharp inhale tells Stephen he got the point. “You remember all of that?”

“Every last one.”

This time, when Tony tries to turn him around, Stephen lets him. He’s tired of fighting. At this point Stephen just wants to get this over with. “Stephen, look at me please.”

The desperation in Tony’s voice has Stephen open his eyes and look into Tony’s. The horror isn’t quite gone, but the pity he was so sure to exist was nowhere to be found. Instead, a deep and enduring sort of concern and care (and dare he say love) was all that was reflected back. It crumples his defenses more thoroughly and rapidly than any empathetic response ever could.

He breaks down, right there in Tony’s arms. The stress and suppressed emotions boil over, silent tears streaming down his face as he finally lets himself feel everything he’s ignored since this living nightmare began. Shoving his face into Tony’s neck to hide, he lets Tony hold him together until he can find it within himself to face reality again.

When he returns to awareness, they’ve migrated to his bed. Tony rubs his back gently and has Stephen tucked under his chin. Levi is wrapped around both of them and when Stephen looks up, he spies the dried tears running down Tony’s face too. There’s some comfort in knowing he wasn’t the only one to become overly emotional, even if he’d prefer this hadn’t happened at all.

“I had hoped to at least take you on a date before ending up in bed together.” Tony weakly jokes.

Despite the terrible timing, Stephen finds himself cracking a grin. He really is gone on this man, Stephen thinks helplessly. Mildly put out with himself, he says, “I’m usually not this easy.”

Tony snorts. “Stephen, babe, you’re anything but easy. It’s a good thing I like a challenge. So?”

“So?”

Tony rolls his eyes. “Will you go on a date with me? Or at least stop avoiding me?”

If the literal horrors of Stephen’s life aren’t enough to drive Tony away from him, he doubts anything will. It’s the easiest thing in the world to say yes. Even if the path to getting here was the hardest.