#it's very... illogical and superstitious

[death-breeds-wisdom]

There's no way to move forward without a reform of the education system but they need to start in city schools bc I (who went to a rural less-than-20-students-total school for the 1st 8 years) am more well adjusted than all of my classmates combined and that's saying something. Considering how I don't even think I'm real and all.

[seat-safety-switch]

One of the things you'll quickly learn about race car drivers is how superstitious they are. No matter how scientific or analytical someone is, they'll still have certain habits that they think will help influence Lady Luck to give them a good day at the races. And this is somewhat understandable.

When I was regularly doing legal parking lot racing (instead of illegal parking lot drifting,) the really high end guys were basically researchers dedicated to the concept of asphalt. They'd take measurements. Walk the course a dozen times. Think about the course. Tweak air pressures to within a tenth of a pound per square inch. And then, when the event started, they would be really careful to only put their helmet strap on the same exact way as that time ten years ago when they got a podium. And not wear green.

Of course, I think this is pretty weird. With the very low level of preparation that I do for racing, it's entirely luck. I've added so many variables to my shitboxes that it's basically a coin flip whether or not my rear axle will fall out on any given slalom. The marshals hate that, even though it usually falls out with the wheels still attached, so they can just push it out of the way before the next car comes by. To think that I can control any of these outcomes by doing illogical things like not putting a certain number on my car, or by actually tightening all the bolts before showing up to the event, is the height of hubris.

Which is not to say that I don't, myself, have my own habits and hang-ups about the big day. For instance, I'll always take my license plate off if I see any cops nearby who might be curious whether my insurance is current. Saves weight, too. Eat your heart out, Mark Donohue.

[vickyvicarious]

It was so near the time of starting that I had no time to ask any one else, for it was all very mysterious and not by any means comforting. [...] Whether it is the old lady's fear, or the many ghostly traditions of this place, or the crucifix itself, I do not know, but I am not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual. If this book should ever reach Mina before I do, let it bring my good-bye. Here comes the coach!

Jonathan "understating my distress" Harker is back at it again!

He can't turn back. This is his first big job and it's a very big and important one. He doesn't even have a good reason to do as the landlady suggests and delay a day or two, since his host has paid for his spot on the coach and will be sending someone to meet him on the other end. Not to mention, no one is giving him any specifics whatsoever, so all he can really say to justify even wanting to stay back would be 'the locals were acting really scared'. It would just read as getting caught up in silly superstition, and again this is his first task after his promotion, this is stepping into the shoes of his boss, this is his livelihood. There's too many reasons to go.

But he starts out the entry saying "hm, this is a bit creepy" and ends by saying (in a roundabout way) "I feel a bit unsettled... if I die and this diary is all that's left of me, Mina this is a goodbye." Like!!! Imagine how freaked out he actually is here!

This is only the second entry. He isn't at the castle yet. The only contact he has had with Dracula himself is that little note from yesterday. And already Jonathan closes his entry with a farewell to Mina. The other times he does this are when he truly expects that he will probably die before getting to write again. (And yeah, he says "before I [reach Mina]" but I tend to think that's him trying to talk down his own reaction because again he doesn't know any reason to be this worried. Why else would his diary return before him, and with only two entries in it?)

He sounds amusingly mild. But "not comforting" and "not feeling nearly as easy in my mind as usual" apparently translate to "just in case I'm about to die, Mina, I love you." Even if he reasons to himself that he's just being superstitious as well, that he's being very illogical and it's just nerves, or maybe the idolatrous crucifix, that he's probably just unsettled after all the travel and the 'queer dreams' of the other night (definitely nightmares)... in this moment he's really distressed. His alarm bells are definitely ringing.

[magnoliasandarson]

the return of light

Alfred Pennyworth was not a superstitious man by any stretch of the word. He had seen the very worst the world had to offer, but there were never any monsters or ghouls, just men. He knew how to deal with men.

That was why he walked without fear to the graveyard that night. The air was crisp; October in New Jersey wasn’t freezing, but it wasn’t warm. This time last year, Alfred had been helping Jason rehearse for his school play. How things could change in a year.

Jason Peter Todd-Wayne “for whom the world was not enough.”

Alfred had selected the epitaph. He had wept while searching for the words to sum up the short life of his grandson. His gloved fingers traced over the carved granite, “Good evening, dear boy.”

It was not his first visit to the grave, but it marked something strange. He heard a dull thump from the ground. His pulse quickened, and he surveyed his surroundings, “Is someone there?”

Another thump emanated from the dirt. Alfred landed on his knees, a sharp exhale shaking his body as his aching joints took the hit, “Jason?” It wasn’t logical; it wasn’t possible, but Jason had lived for the illogical and impossible. There was a scream. Layers of earth muffled it, but Alfred heard it. It was animalistic, raw, and terrified. It made Alfred’s spine stiffen with resolve.

White gloves frantically ripped up a clump of grassy sod, “Jason!” He wouldn’t get there in time. If it was Jason down there, if his grandson was back, he would suffocate beneath six feet of dirt. Alfred fumbled with his waistcoat; he had scoffed at the panic button when Bruce foisted it upon him, but he could nearly cry as he rapidly pressed the Bat Symbol.

He didn’t have a shovel- the garden shed was so far away. Alfred didn’t have time- Jason didn’t have time. The screams- Lord, the screams- hadn’t let up. Neither had the thumping. Jason was back somehow- and he was digging himself out.

“Bruce!” Alfred shouted, “Bruce Wayne! Damnit, Bruce!” Never had Alfred so ignored protocol, but he had never cared less about it either. He was still rapidly ripping the ground up, his previously pristine gloves in tatters.

The ground shook behind him, and he looked up to see Bruce in full Batman regalia, chest heaving, face flushed, “What are you doing?”

Alfred was elbow-deep in damp earth, not pausing his digging for a second, “Get a shovel!”

Bruce seemed to come back to his body, ripping the cowl off as he slammed to his knees next to the grave, “Is that- is- Jason?” The screams were fading, but they were all Alfred could hear. Bruce also heard them if his jumping up and running to the garden shed was anything to judge. 

Alfred was beyond any of that, “Hold on, Jason!” He was still screaming. Alfred desperately needed him to stop screaming. 

Bruce crashed back to his side, handing him a shovel before attacking the ground himself. They dug as men possessed, splinters from the handle cutting into Alfred’s hands through his ruined gloves. 

“I’m here, Jay-” Bruce was frantic, “I’m here, son, I’m here.” 

Alfred felt halfway to a heart attack, but he couldn’t stop. Another foot in, they heard, “-ad! -fie!” The shovel almost slipped from Alfred’s hands, but Bruce seemed to grow even more desperate. They were at least four feet deep, tossing dirt out of the pit. 

Dirt burst away as a bloody hand erupted from the ground. Alfred flailed back into the side of the hole, staring in abject horror at the gory mess of his grandson’s hand. It was missing every nail, at least two fingers broken horribly, and blood was covering whatever dirt didn’t.

Bruce threw his shovel away, pawing at the ground in a way that would’ve been comical in any other situation. A second bloody hand joined the first, and soon Bruce was cradling Jason, “My son-” Bruce’s tears mingled with Jason’s as they dripped from his face onto the younger’s, “my precious son.”

Jason. Covered in dirt and blood, a worm wriggling in his beautiful curls. Jason. Still silently screaming, clawing at the Batsuit, face frozen in a mask of terror. Jason. Jason. Jason. Brilliant blue eyes that had filled Alfred’s nightmares for months connected with his own, and the world clicked into focus. 

Alfred stumbled forward, his own filthy bloody fingers connecting with Jason’s face as he frantically smoothed the lines of his face. Jason, “Lord, Jason.” 

He was here, alive. Hurt, but alive, so alive.  Alfred clutched at his boys, his son, and grandson, and tilted his head back to the starlit sky, “Jason.”

[cyanocoraxx]

A sunset, a robot, and a Tellurian on a seafront.

"Hey, C-53. Based on your experience, is today a good day for sailing?"

"Well, the winds aren't too strong, no storms projected for this planet, there appear to be few hazards like large reefs nearby, red clouds tonight, it's not a Friday… I can see small birds flying in the distance…"

Pleck listened with interest, but couldn't help but pull a quizzical look as his friend went on. "Sorry, uh, what was the last bit?"

C perked his head up a fraction. "Hm? Which part?"

"Uhhh… the red sky, the day of the week, and uh, birds? I was following until you started talking about that stuff."

"Pirate superstitions," C-53 explained simply, but with a fondness in his voice that couldn't be denied. He seemed to realise that he had let this slip, though, and looked away.

"I didn't take you for the superstitious type. I mean, you're usually all logic and facts." Pleck commented, intrigued.

"It all sounds illogical, but when you're out there in the middle of nowhere with a bunch of insane crew members, it all just seems to make sense. It's… stupid, now that I say it aloud-"

"No, C-53, it's not stupid- it kept you safe, right? So what's the harm in a little superstition?" Pleck replied with a smile, offering understanding even if he was a little confused.

"I don't know. I just, don't talk to anyone about my Armedian ship days all that much. It's… a touchy time to revisit, but I enjoy reminiscing sometimes." C explained.

They walked on, the terrain crunching beneath their feet. As they neared the shoreline, C-53 noted that the sand became wet, sinking beneath his weight, and the increasing number of salty particulates in the air. The pair reached a dusty cliff edge.

"You want me to go down there?" C asked, leaning over the edge with his hands on his hips.

Pleck nodded. "Yeah. Sorry, I think I need to hold on to you."

C gave a small sigh. These squishy Tellurians and their lack of armour. "That's quite alright. Just, don't make it weird."

"Got it."

Pleck gingerly took hold of C's arm as the robot began the short descent. He crouched down to begin sliding, one foot out further than the other for stability. Pleck clumsily threw his free arm out for balance and grit his teeth. Sun-dried roots and bushes snagged at the two's ankles, giving Pleck a couple of scrapes here and there, and C-53 surface-level scratches in his paint. Both easily fixed, so neither one minded.

Once they reached the bottom, C stood up straight and gave Pleck an expectant, almost impatient look. Pleck sheepishly grinned and let go of C's arm.

Finally, they both looked ahead. Before them, the grand expanse of the planet's ocean laid, glimmering against the setting sun.

"Pleck, why are we here?"

The Tellurian gestured for the robot to follow him towards the sea. "Just keep following my lead, C-53. It'll be worth it, I promise."

C-53 frowned, suspicious. "Alright. If this is some prank, I'm not interested. I'd expect it from AJ, not you."

Pleck took C-53's hand and continued to lead him forward. "It's not a prank, C. You're being paranoid."

"You're acting very strange. Stranger than usual. What's going on?"

Pleck came to a stop right on the water's edge. The gentle, briny waves foamed around his feet, pulling pack slowly as if drawing them in. The sand, a gentle hue of gold, remained soft but steadfast. Around the Tellurian and machine was an abundance of driftwood that had come upon the waves as tiny earthen gifts. Seaweed was dotted all along the coastline, as deeply green as any summer sedge. All of that to say, it was a beautiful, tranquil sight, and it did ease C's concerns.

C took a step towards him, and Pleck let go of his hand.

"Turn on your waterproofing mode thingy. The one with the floaties."

C-53 halted. "No. We're- we're not swimming in the sea right now."

"Yeah, we aren't… but you are."

"What do you-"

SHOVE.

C's auditory sensors were washed out in one motion, and he squeezed his optics shut. A moment later, he cracked them open to see a blur of blue and pink above him, wobbling in the light in a disorienting dance.

Pink. Oh, he was going to slap that pink man when he was back on his feet.

And speaking of feet- Juck. His version of swimming was moving through water with a propulsion unit. The whole mechanical side of it, the one he had mocked Pleck for not too long ago, wasn't so ingrained into him. His pride kept him from trying that ineffective arm-flapping motion of a drowning Tellurian. So, a few moments later, Pleck reached down and pulled him back out. The wind swept against C's frame coolly, reducing his core temperature slightly, and he shuddered. A strand of seaweed slid down his face and plopped into the water.

The floaties installed into the Midnight Shadow finally popped out with a hiss of air. C's optics narrowed, unamused.

Pleck grimaced, feeling guilty. "Oh no- Didn't you hear me?"

C shifted his narrowed optics to the Tellurian and cocked his head aside slightly. "Water is denser than air, Pleck, so no, I didn't hear you."

Pleck's face flushed. "Right. I said, I-I thought you could swim?" (I thought you'd like it, not just sink like a brick.)

"Yes, I… can. Just, it's been a while, you know? And a little warning next time would be nice." C replied tersely. He looked away and folded his arms, defensive. Was Pleck just making a joke out of the small sliver of his past that he had revealed?

Pleck noted the defensiveness and was thus glad for his next reveal.

"Then, it's good that I brought this."

(AJ helpfully brought the object to Pleck one day, having found it in the depths of Bargie's storage rooms.)

C-53 eyed Pleck's bag. Not a black bag. Good. The Tellurian reached in and pulled out… a toy submarine? C's optics brightened involuntarily. No way. No Jucking way.

Pleck grinned at him. "Will you let me put your cube in this?"

C paused, looking at the mechanical ship in front of him. Without thinking, his hands reached out a fraction, wanting to take it in his grasp, and a strange ache in his chestplate region took hold.

"I… yes, you can. But Pleck, will this work? I…"

Pleck shrugged a shoulder. "We'll find out soon enough, right?"

C gave a nod and opened his chest plate, revealing his cube with both nervousness and excitement. His optics met Pleck's eyes and the worry-but-want was clear. Pleck patted his comrade's shoulder and gave it a small, friendly shake.

"Trust me. I think you need this. After we had to leave that pool with the pee in it at the retreat the other day, I couldn't stop thinkin' about how happy you were and-"

"Alright, alright. Do it."

Pleck took C's cube with the utmost care, being sure to support it with both hands. He took a moment to look over it, its blue hue, its subtle glow, and how the ocean waves could be seen through its translucency. He had held C's cube many times before, but this time felt much more intimate. He smiled warmly, gave it a little pat, then placed it into a slot in the submarine.

"Are you okay? How do you feel?"

"Wow. This is… Amazing. It's cramped, but it works. It works! It has SONAR, so I can see and hear everything just fine."

"That's amazing! I'm going to put you down on the shore."

"Yes, please do. And, uh, don't tell anyone in the crew about this."

"Sure thing buddy. Here we go…" Pleck gently set down the little boat and took a step back. "So, uh, go on, be free out there for a while. But be careful and come back, please?"

"Of course. Pleck, can you do me one favour before I try this?"

"Of course, anything."

"… Can you toss a kroon into the sea for me?"

"Pirate superstition?"

"Yes."

"If it keeps you safe, I'll toss two." Pleck rummaged in the pocket of his shorts, hoping his fingers would brush against metal, and thank Rodd they did. He took out two kroon, squinted against the sun, and threw them as far as he could - which wasn't very far, thanks to his noodly Tellurian arms. And with that, the small boat raced off into the ocean, propelling itself with obvious delight.

For C, it was easy to cut through the water, not like the drag of walking step-by-step on land. No feeling in the galaxy could compare to the lightness and freedom in the water. The ocean accepted him with familiarity that could not be found in the worn mud and grime of the ground. The feel of the wind sweeping over his hull, the chopping of the waves at his bow, the glint of the setting sun against his paint, and the seaspray behind him all came together with such delight that C just kept going and going.

"S.E.A-53, finest ship on the bay, none can compare with his technology… hyper proton not needed to sail fast for he, 52 down to 1 he's the king of the sea!"

C took a dive beneath the surface. The density of the water was no hindrance as he headed towards soft corals. He swam amongst the colonies of orange, yellow, pink, and blue, and the tiny fish who lived there swam alongside him, as if he was just supposed to be there. Expected there. All of it was so familiar that not a single problem in Zyxx mattered, and this unspooling came as naturally as the water's flow.

"And we'll go sailing for kroon on the high seas we'll roam, from Zyxx to Quantaris we'll never go home..."

Unbeknownst to C, Pleck could hear all of this with the little ship's radio function. He hummed along to himself as he watched his best friend soar out towards the horizon. To his side was the Midnight Shadow frame, which he kept safe with a protective arm over. He still knew nothing of the sea captain, or his best friend's time as a naval unit, for these parts of his life were too private, too intimate to let anyone in on. That was okay.

He tossed another kroon into the ocean and watched it sink, rippling golden in the amber and red light, before slowly pulling away into the depths. In doing so, the little birds on the horizon, the crimson clouds and the kroon offerings suddenly seemed to make a little more sense. He sat back into the sand and grass, the tall but soft green grass upon the dunes, and it seemed to whisper sweetly into the oceanic breeze.

Pleck drew in a deep breath, savouring the salty air, for it was a change from the usual oilslick smell of the ship, or the manure-and-hay stink of Rangus 6. He held it for a moment, glancing up to the sky to see a sprinkle of stars begin to glow from behind the clouds. He listened to the percussion of the waves, and the grass, and the little birds chattering amongst themselves, and the song coming over the radio too. Yeah, he could start to see why C-53 felt so at home in a place like this.

He let his breath out, slowly, and was glad to see C-53 reappear upon the surface in the distance. A tiny metallic dot, so infinitesimally small against the expanse of the sea, but undoubtedly the king of it all as he charged about.

"On the wide open sea, sailing for kroon with C-53, the captain and meeeeee! Juntawa juntawa juntawa, juntawa juntawa juntawa juntawa... Juck!"

Pleck sat up at the profanity. "Uh, you okay out there,C?"

"Oh- my Rodd- you heard all of that? This is... embarrassing, to say the least."

Pleck smirked to himself, holding back a small laugh. "Snrrk- it's okay, I won't tell anyone, I promise. It's your private life."

"If only all Tellurians could mind wipe themselves like AJ..."

"Not going to happen. Well, fair seas and following winds, my friend. Just, uh, please do come back at some point. It's gonna get cold soon."

"The saying is fair winds and following seas, but thank you. Give me just five more minutes."

[jonathansknife]

More Mina!

I assume you mean more headcanons, in which case here you go! Ty for the ask!!!

Link to previous headcanons

She is around 21-22 years old during the events of the book (a baby :(.)

She feeds stray animals whenever she can.

She's a bit of a jealous person, but feels her jealousy is illogical and tries never to act on it. When Lucy got engaged to Arthur, despite how happy she was for them both, she got a bit sad and thought Lucy might tire of her once she was a married woman. She tried to hide her jealousy but it wasn't very hard for Lucy to suss out. Lucy had to gently remind her that she was already engaged to Jonathan. Mina was just like, “Yeah but that's Jonathan, he's one of us, he doesn't count.”

She, Jonathan and Lucy have all known each other their entire lives. As children they would all talk about getting married and Mina had a running joke of proposing to them both. But before she and Jonathan started courting in earnest, she secretly hoped he would marry Lucy because she couldn't imagine a lovelier couple.

She was very easily scared as a child but grew to love horror. Similarly, she cried often as a child but rarely does as an adult.

Elaborating on her OCD: she mainly has moral/scrupulosity obsessions but also has occasional episodes of distrusting her food, during which she sometimes spends several minutes inspecting each piece. This is especially the case after Dracula (not being able to taste or smell anything but rot doesn't help). Sometimes she worries that her food is contaminated with blood. For this reason, she prefers to make her own food.

Since she likes both fibercrafts and papercrafts, she really enjoys bookbinding. She also finds the process of gathering up a stack of information and binding it together satisfying on a conceptual level. She's probably made at least one fully bound copy of Dracula.

She likes rhythmic counting. She uses it as a calming technique.

She has relatively short hair (about shoulder length) because it was once cut off for purported health purposes (in the Victorian era this was a common treatment for brain fever among other things). She likes having it short.

She has creaky joints.

She enjoys really cursed food combinations that disturb the people around her. Again, especially true post Drac. I'm thinking instant ramen with chocolate syrup levels of cursed.

As a child she wanted to be a priest or an undertaker when she grew up.

Don't give her your pens and pencils if you don't like germs because they will end up in her mouth if she isn't paying attention.

Her hands are very sensitive after Dracula. She used to like when Jonathan squeezed her hands but after what happened she prefers to gently hold his hand or wrist. She often wears gloves.

She occasionally writes poetry. She especially likes sonnets.

She is not genuinely superstitious, but she, Lucy and Jonathan like to cycle through superstitions together to sort of test them out. They spend too much time in cemeteries to hold their breath the whole time, but they often hold it as they enter and leave so as not to spread the cemetery air. For a while they carried pigeon feathers because they were thought to hold off death. (This was generally thought to be a negative thing, prolonging the suffering of the dying, but they thought maybe they could “hack” the superstition and use it to their advantage.)

That's all I've got for now. If you wanted a different question answered regarding Mina (or any character), let me know! My askbox is always open and I love talking about my beloved blorbo <3

Send me character asks!

[jacobsnicket]

fictober prompt 2: “it’s been a long time” | gravity falls | T

read on ao3

It’s sparked by a toy set, of all things.

Ford is wandering his way through a mall in dimension 45B&, lifting anything he may need for his journey and sneaking it into his coat pockets. It’s not stealing, he thinks. He’s merely taking enough provisions that he can sustain himself and any tools he may need for the destabilizer. It’s for the good of this universe— of every universe. If he succeeds, he’ll definitely, absolutely return the tools as quickly as he can.

And in any case, if he does get caught, he can always just disappear into another world.

He’s walking past the shelves of a store named Pom-Pom’s Big-Box Bargain Parlor when he sees it. He pauses. His hands clench.

In front of him, built out of what the box declares are William Henry Harrison Logs, is a near-perfect recreation of his house, his home back in Gravity Falls, fifteen years and an infinite distance away from him.

He gets the sudden, inexplicable urge to take the box and run. It passes just as fast. He’s not going home, not until Cipher is dead. There’s no use weighing himself down with reminders. And what the hell is he supposed to do with a William Henry Harrison Logs set anyway?

The toy cabin is depicted in a lush redwood forest. If Ford squints, he thinks he could make out a creek in the background. He doesn’t squint. There’s no use. He needs to leave.

He doesn’t leave. He keeps looking at it. He looks at it until a single pilfered protein bar slips from his coat pocket and hits the floor, and every single security guard’s head turns to look at him.

Damn it. 

Ford runs. By the time the guards have converged on him, he’s left the dimension entirely.

-

It’s a few hours later, his back pressed to the wall of a cave in dimension 912C, that his mind slips back to the cabin, back to Gravity Falls.

He can’t help but wonder what has become of his former home, now that he is alone and relatively safe. Stanley must have left as soon as he’d fallen through the portal— there was no use in him being there anymore. He could only hope that he’d taken his journal with him, but it seemed unlikely. Stanley would never listen to him.

Ford pictures Stanley going through his house on the way out, stealing anything he could carry. It’s not like Ford would miss it, he’d say to himself. He pictures his brother finding his cash, getting mad that he’d cut the triangles out of all of his one dollar bills. The thought is almost funny.

He imagines the house abandoned, falling into disrepair. For a second he thinks they might have demolished it, but he decides that they haven’t. The townsfolk always knew to stay away from the creepy shack in the woods, and that was fine with him.

(And he doesn’t want to consider the thought of anyone finding the portal, knowing of his mistakes, giving Bill another pawn to destroy the world with. So he doesn’t.)

Maybe they tell their children too, about the house. Maybe they imagine it’s haunted. The townsfolk had always been superstitious, even more so when there’s such a high chance of those superstitions becoming true.

It probably feels haunted, at the very least— trashed, in disarray, with blood on the walls and creatures in the study and doomsday devices in the basement. Ford suddenly feels a sharp pain of regret. If he’d known that he was going to… disappear that day, he might have left the house in a nicer state. Now this is how he will be remembered. 

It’s an illogical thought and he knows it, but that does not prevent him from entertaining it. There was nothing he could have done. And he will not be remembered as a ghost or a wreck or anything else except the man who destroyed Bill Cipher, if he plays his cards right.

Still, he can’t stop himself from wishing he could go back, just for a bit. Just to clean before he carries on with his work. It’s been a long time, such a long time, and no matter how many redwood forests or shining creeks or oddly shaped cliffs he comes across, he never stops being reminded of home.

But those are dangerous thoughts to dwell on, and he’s stayed in this cave too long as it is.

[uncloseted]

Is there a mental illness where self created superstitions are a focus? I have lots of superstitious quirks I have made up myself lol. For example I was in a very minor car accident with my mom (no one was hurt, it was only minor car damage) and I can no longer wear the shirt I was wearing when that happened because I believe wearing it will cause another accident to happen. Its all very illogical but my brain doesn't care and believes I'm 100% correct lmao

So, disclaimer, I’m not a doctor or a therapist, and even if I was, I’m not your doctor or therapist, so I can’t make any suggestions or diagnoses as to what you’re doing through.

That said, while superstitions are usually harmless, they can be a feature of OCD. For people with OCD, they feel that they can’t dismiss their superstitious belief or go against it. The belief can cause obsessive thoughts, anxiety, or other types of distress, and make it difficult for the person to live their life. They may feel controlled by their superstition or by the actions they take to prevent the superstition from coming true (for example, flipping a light switch a certain number of times to prevent their family members from getting into an accident).

[7-milena-trajkovski-7]

Art Theory and Criticism - Journal reflection 10

pre-historic and contemporary depictions of the most used themes in art history: mortality, human life, and death.

When observing the Altamira caves in Spain and the Lascaux caves in France, one questions why these primitive people would go to such lengths and dangers to decorate the dark insides of these caves. However, it is important to put to mind that the idea of art as decorative and there for the sake of aesthetics/beauty of it, is a much more modern take on the essence of art. Sculptors and painter were in the same league as workmen and craftsmen, which held hand in hand their skills to build a functioning object and/or building along with producing a ‘good’ design. Which is why the object and functioning purposes were more important to these people as they created these objects and building with their spirit in mind. Exhibition spaces are a thing that came into play much later in our lives after humankind became more sophisticated with its representation of society and its commentary on the world constructed by it. Primitive people merged the idea of body and spirit together, where the body reaches, the spirit feels, and where the body cannot reach the spirit is affected as well. These illogical ideas of objects and buildings serving a higher purpose other then vanity and function could be considered as the ‘magical’ part of them that explains humanity’s culture and emotional turbulences were language and the scientific boundaries fail to explain. Which is why, after going into all this, the painting of the animals hunted by these people thousands of years before us feel like they are moving and are in one with their resting place. It is a recording of a time in which we can still feel its spirit in the media of choice. Using the natural material available to them from nature and their hands to extend their experiences onto a physical space make these gestural marks of these animals even more alive.

Figure 1: Bison painted around 14,000 years ago in the Altamira complex. Photo by Pedro A. Saura.

Figure 2: A horse from the "Panel of the Chinese Horses" from the Lascaux Cave. Photo courtesy of N. Aujoulat, Ministčre de la Culture et de la Communication, France.

Although we might be more focused on the idea that most of our primitive roots have dissolved into obscurity or evolved into acknowledging them as a thing of the past because of their lack of scientific knowledge, we could not be any more wrong. Although in the contemporary era, we as a species have always tackled and discussed the emotional side of our lives along with our collective/individual unconscious at work, the superstitious, and the mythological. It is very common for the ordinary person that does not think of art on a day-to-day basis, and to forget those parts within him because of the very fast way of living in this era of technology and rapid scientific advances. Which is why art is so important as a universal medium to express that which cannot be explained with reason and/or constricted language. Contemporary artists are all inspired from something or someone that came before them. These can be their experiences, injustices, memories, relationships, historical events, and other interests. Which is why the concept of death, and our fragile mortality can be visualised through art and via referencing real life tragedies, wars, injustices, fears, and emotional moments that change our lives in the contemporary era.

Although one can say that there are both old and new concepts to these themes of death and mortality. For example, one of them that has been happening for centuries is the inevitable political affairs that spark wars and the death of innocent people. A newer concept that has started blooming a sense of desperation and fear for the future in the concept of AI. Examples like how it can have the potential to eradicate certain employment, advance humanity to be lazier and unhealthier, and even the fear of AI eventually becoming aware and taking over. These ideas have been in the process of blooming along with technology’s advancements for decades now, along with art and its diversification in digital tools and multimedia. Although factually the same fears were sparked when the invention of the camera rattled artists and raised the concerns of loss of employment. However, what is fascinating about humanity is the ability to adapt to dire situations for the sake of evolving. Artists were, on a good note, free from the shackles of the academia and restricted subjects for commissions by the wealthy. They used this to their advantage to explore their humanity, emotions, spurs of the moment and even the power of expression on their thoughts and opinions. This is why Impressionism is such an important art movement as, with it suggested in the name, art became an expression of the world around the artist and his/her viewers and not trying to do the most perfect copy of one’s reality.

Figure 3: Barakeh, K., The Untitled Images, 2014, 5 digital prints on paper, 21x30 cm each

A primary example of a multimedia contemporary artist is Khaled Barakeh, and, specifically, his 2014 series of photographs depicting war in a first-person perspective with all the raw emotions to prove the point of these people’s unjustified demise. A quote from the artist that sums up the power of this work and its comments on life is:

 How might the existence, or non-existence of an artwork affect the material reality presented in a photograph? Can an act of erasure be protective; the absence of a body highlights its presence?

 The ghostly depictions of somebody’s spirit being forced out of the body is a very horrifying theme depicted in this work. By playing with absence of the body in the image and covering it with white paint to ‘cut out’ the body and replace it with the loss of said body, instead representing an empty husk is a brilliant choice that the artist made. The soul is often depicted as an ascended and transparent version of the physical body, which is why the soul that has suffered this traumatic even and has been forced out of physical life is depicted as having already left the other world for peace, leaving nothing behind. Unresponsive, yet still communicating the emotions of these shells and former humans, this artwork depicts the fragility of humanity’s mortality and attempts to speak about what lies beyond the body when it comes to communicating this message, especially from the dead.

In conclusion, humanity will always suffer its respective time’s ups and lows, especially that concerning life and death. Art has always had this notion that it is more than just a craft, or an object of admiration for its beauty, or a political statement placed in a museum for exhibiting and profit. The spiritual, emotional, and hard to grasp concept of its never-ending debatable essence, it is important to consider in this point in time that art will always be a part of humanity and extension of ourselves, as well as our world.

Reference:

viennacultgram, 2023. The Eternal Question: Art’s Take on Mortality. [online] ViennaCultgram. Available at: <https://viennacultgram.com/2023/10/07/the-eternal-question-arts-take-on-mortality/#:~:text=Artists%20use%20death%20as%20a> [Accessed 30 December 2023].

[alyjojo]

Past Life 🗿 Karmic Spread August 2023 - Libra

Gender I’m Picking Up On (in the past life): Male in the past; Female now

Who You Were: 4 Pentacles

What You Did: The Sun

How It Ended: 7 Cups

What Karma Was Brought With You: 2 Cups rev & 2 Wands

Who You Brought With You: The Lovers, 8 Pentacles rev & King of Pentacles

Additional energy: Queen of Wands

Past Life Oracle: Transportation, Spouse, Karmic Relationship

Dreaming Way: Coffin, Mice, Birds

Charm:

Leaf 🍁 on 9 Swords

Squid 🦑 on The Magician

Arrow 🎯 on 2 Cups

Ballet 🩰 on King of Pentacles

Swans 🦢 on Karmic Relationship

Your story is mostly centered around love 🧡, which isn’t unexpected for a Libra. You’ve brought a lot of people with you, an ex partner/spouse, the person they cheated on you with, and your actual karmic soulmate. In this life 💯 That’s the easiest energy check ever, have you experienced this? None of them played these roles in the past life though, you wouldn’t have entertained it for one second.

In the past life you were quite greedy, miserly, and extremely paranoid of everyone and everything. 9 Swords could be showing some level of mental illness, I’m kinda picking up on some schizophrenic energy in the past. Doesn’t have to be, that’s just what I’m feeling. It’s next level, downright illogically paranoid. Anxiety on 1000. 9 Swords shows up in both lives, I don’t know if they’re showing me the same thing though. I think in this life, everything you were afraid of in the past actually came to pass…could be trauma related, or a mental diagnoses of some kind, you’d know. I’m not a doctor 🙏

You were the kind of person that held on tightly to every single dollar and cent you ever made, for fear of thieves, tricksters, cunning manipulators at every turn. You gave these imaginary people superpowers in the “tactics” they would use to outsmart you and take everything you have, in your mind. You had some sort of habits or rituals to avoid or ward off these people that could be described as strange. Superstitious even, but not like…witchcraft or beliefs, I don’t get that. You celebrated being alone, though you had multiple opportunities, possibly even casual lovers, you never really wanted to keep them around. Eventually, they would just become another person that was “after what’s yours”, in your mind. You didn’t like being alone, but you only felt truly secure when you were alone. I get you didn’t like people in your house, they’d steal your stuff (not really but…), so you’d go over to other people’s houses and sit in massive anxiety because someone might be at your house stealing your stuff. It was a constant cycle 💯 I get very little about this life in terms of location or time, but I do feel it was either before banks were around, or you were just nowhere near one, maybe they were existing but “new” and you didn’t trust them, you literally had everything to your name under your roof…which only made a possible mentally imbalanced paranoia much worse. That was the focus of everything, every single day, you were absolutely terrified of losing everything you had materially, and because of this, you lost everything you could’ve had in order to protect your peace of mind (loosely), money, and home. Relationships, friendships, family. No one ever actually did anything to you. When you passed, you were still pretty young, 40s if that, could be late 30’s. You didn’t have any regrets, you cycled through lovers pretty regularly but didn’t settle down with any of them, a bit of a heartbreaker in at least one case.

This life is filled with romantic drama. There is a spouse or deeply committed partner initially, and they do come up as a soulmate, you’re a divine match. This may have happened very quickly, like an arrow straight to the heart and your whole life changed overnight. This person is destined to leave you waiting for nothing, and cheating or outside parties will (probably already have, I get this is over with already) end the connection, with 3 Swords and The Devil. They may have been a heartbroken lover in the past, because you never wanted to commit. I can’t gauge who the other two were to you, maybe nothing and it’s the karma not the people (that’s happened a lot), but they came too, the person your spouse cheated with is a karmic for you, and King of Pentacles. You have Spouse & Karmic Relationship here, your Karmic is your person in this life, could be an earth sign, they will go the distance, and it’s possible you have children with this person, or will, the Swans are big and little like parent/child. This King is the King of financial stability, stable foundations, career, but there’s something about how/when you meet them that’s part of your lesson, because they’re either not working or lose their job right after you get them. It’s a test & a lesson for you, being so motivated & fearful over money and everything he stands for, you may have a hard time seeing this person as the soulmate they are because of a deep bias & battle within you in regards to financial stability. They could literally be a dancer, work with dancers, or have some craft/hobby as a job, an entrepreneur of sorts. I don’t get this relationship taking off right away like the first one, because you have some major reservations about this person. But they’re the one for you, you’ll get there, after some heavy shadow work and confronting things within you relating to money, stability, financial independence, bias, judgements and shadow work, etc. That’s the lesson.

You’re still terrified of thieves & cunning manipulators, still project those traits onto the guilty and innocent alike, and most importantly, you’re terrified of a “fall from grace”, which you may have already experienced with your ex. Once you meet this karmic, you may not be quick to settle down or combine assets with them, possibly preferring to not get married again at all. Anything you’ve lost in a divorce will be remembered forever as yours and “stolen”. With Coffin, Mice & Birds, I get a funny side message about pest control, and also that you *will* encounter actual thieves, sneaky intentions, and manipulators in this life - whereas last life you just worried about it. You have to be careful who you get advice from, you’re easily duped by “fake news” and untrue stories, paranoid thinking, projections, and the like. Fact checking everything via several different sources is necessary for you to feel more secure about your decisions. If someone proves themselves as a suggestive manipulator or they act paranoid & like everyone is standing behind corners to steal your xyz…except them, “they’re your only friend” type of deal, that person has got to go immediately. There could be more than one, different temporary people throughout your life. You could be like fly paper for narcissistic personalities, or all sorts of unsavory tactics. It’s best to have others around that you know you can trust, and second, even third opinions are always helpful. Counseling could be a really good idea for you, not only for any past trauma, but just for that more detached perspective from a stranger that listens and wants you to succeed. Triple check them too, reviews and such, just in case 🙏

[kkpup]

I had similar thoughts, but consider:

Hate in and of itself is illogical and based in perception. The villagers wouldn't hate him on account of what he could do, they would hate him because of what they felt like he could do.

I mean, what is this, medieval times? It seems to be a geologically segregated village in olden tumes, so at the VERY least they're gonna be hella superstitious.

Sooo, positivity guardian? Good thing! Holy thing! Yippee!

Negativity guardian? Oooooooo, bad bad bad, demon, devil even!!!

Me personally, I think they would be nicer to dream, yeah, but he still got that ~spooky magic vibe~ so they'd be suspicious, maybe even somewhat cruel with dream. I mean, they never offered him a home, minimal assistance on day to day happenings and pretty much ignored him when he wasn't of help.

So yes, them treating nightmare like shit doesn't make logical sense, but whos to say dream was that much better off?

Idk, thats my take atleast, I reject canon.

I want to discuss Dreamtale and the powers of the twins but I have zero desire to read anything that joku wrote and/or drew... so i guess you will have to read headcanons and my speculations about what i know from people i follow here:

It never made sense to me the villagers hate on Nightmare because one: he was a child and two: their powers dont make sense?? Like, i always thought that they (Dream and Nightmare) could not only spread and increase positive and negative emotions, but like, absorb them too, so in this case Nightamare would be seeing more as a eater of "bad" emotions than the demon the villagers saw him

Meh, im a little sleepy and drunk so idk if what i wrote made sense

[magnetothemagnificent]

Sorry if this is an inappropriate or rude question, you don’t have to answer.

I’ve been dealing with internalised negative feelings about religion, due to being raised by very Christian family, when I’ve never believed what they said. It made me think that religion is an awful thing, a cult by sorts.

A few years back, I made a friend who is Jewish and he’s really cool and I respect him a lot. I also am trying my hardest to respect that he is religious but I can’t help that voice in my head, saying he’s corrupted. I don’t think I believe it anymore but I kind of want to ask, a reassurance I guess, what your views are in religion as a whole? Why do you believe it’s good?

First of all, it is not marginalized people's jobs to prove to why they deserve humanity. If you had asked any other Jew this question, they would have every right to ignore this quesiton and/or call you out on it.

However, I do put myself out there and try to educate people, so I'll answer your question.

Religion is part of human culture and history. For as long as humans have been humans, we've always had symbolic representation, taboos, and imagination. Paleolithic humans burying their dead with body paint and bead ornamentation- that's an example of spiritual belief. To be human is to be illogical, superstitious, and imaginative. Even other animals can sometimes act according to superstition or seemingly illogical motives. Humans are incredibley intelligent, and with our intelligence comes questions we cannot answer and fears we cannot explain. Where are we from? What is death? Where are we going? What is our purpose? These are all answers we seek, and having a religious belief set can help answer these questions. Religion is just a world view in the same way Western science is a world view, and they're not incompatible with each other. Many scientists are religious, I myself am a student of science and am religious.

Religion has brought people together for all of human history- it allows the sharing of ideas and resources. Harvest festivals, weddings, coming-of-age ceremonies, funerals, all these religious events serve to reinforce the bonds in a community. A relationship must be maintained and reinforced, or it becomes stagnant. Having a shared spiritual belief system and coming together for ceremonies reignites communal bonds. Religion also allows for a community to have a shared moral system. While religion isn't necessary for morality, it definately helps define the values and morals of a person and community. If a community can come together and agree on a system of values, then there's less potential for violence due to incompatible values. Religion is a social contract. Religion is also a comfort, and can help with the immense wait of loneliness we face. If the trees and water have spirits, then you are not alone. If your loved one goes to an afterlife after death, then they are not alone.

Religion has as much potential for harm as any world view. Just as there have been countless atrocities committed in the name of religion, so too have there been countless atrocities committted in the name of science. Does that mean we should just toss out all of science? No. In the same way we shouldn't get rid of religion.

Additionally, "Religion" isn't a monolith. It's not one world view, but a category of world views. There are many forms of religion and each religion is different. Monotheism, polytheism, animism, ancestor veneration, etc- these are all different kinds of religion that can overlap with eachother too. A bad experience with one religion doesn't define all religions. With all due respect, your experience is anecdotal, and you can't apply your singular lived experience to every since religion in the world.

And for Jews, our religious identity is deeply important to us. We've been persecuted for thousands of years for our identities, and we've miraculously not disappeared from the face of the earth. You don't have to understand why your friend is religious, but you need to unpack why you think he's corrupted and why you think you have the right to apply your experience with religion to every religious person. The fact that you were raised Christian might be another contributing factor to your bias towards your friend- antisemitism is often deeply ingrained in aspects of Christianity.

[sanss-trashh-42]

Tsh analysis(*holds a magnifying glass and looks through the text with deep scrutiny*):

I have this little theory that made me sit up in bed like a thunderbolt and go oh! oh! oh!

"For, if the modern mind is whimsical and discursive, the classical mind is narrow, unhesitating, relentless."

Richard's description of a classical mind fits Henry ever so perfectly. He was unhesitant with his actions of taking down Hampden with six men, ruthless and relentless in killing Bunny and narrow-minded in the way he immediately denied the fact that people walked on the moon. He made himself an ancient, lived as such, completely denying the world infront of him to the extent of making himself totally isolated from it. He lived in the past, liked it that way. Ever only acknowledged the ancient world, learnt it's languages, believed deeply in their beliefs and relied solely on their resources.

"It was why I admired Julian, and Henry in particular. Their reason, their very eyes and ears were fixed irrevocably in the confines of those stern and ancient rhythms—the world, in fact, was not their home, at least not the world as I knew it—and far from being occasional visitors to this land which I myself knew only as an admiring tourist, they were pretty much its permanent residents, as permanent as I suppose it was possible for them to be."

To dwell deeper, he was more of an ancient Roman than of an ancient Greek. An opportunist who was deeply obsessed with greek ideas, strangely superstitious and idealized about wild enthusiasms. An orderly man and a pragmatist to begin with.

There's this paragraph where Julian talks about the Romans:

“The Roman genius, and perhaps the Roman flaw,” he said, “was an obsession with order. One sees it in their architecture, their literature, their laws—this fierce denial of darkness, unreason, chaos.” He laughed. “Easy to see why the Romans, usually so tolerant of foreign religions, persecuted the Christians mercilessly—how absurd to think a common criminal had risen from the dead, how appalling that his followers celebrated him by drinking his blood. The illogic of it frightened them and they did everything they could to crush it. In fact, I think the reason they took such drastic steps was because they were not only frightened but also terribly attracted to it. Pragmatists are often strangely superstitious. For all their logic, who lived in more abject terror of the supernatural than the Romans?"

“The Greeks were different. They had a passion for order and symmetry, much like the Romans, but they knew how foolish it was to deny the unseen world, the old gods. Emotion, darkness, barbarism.”

By bellowing Dionysus, Henry foolishly denied himself of the darkness and barbarism that would follow. He was thoroughly influenced and manipulated by Jillian into the beautiful illusion of loosing oneself, into throwing off the chains of being for an instant. He was so deeply fantasized by it that he turned a big blind eye towards the whole disaster that was to be ensued after. In a way, this was his, as well as the ancient Romans', tragic flaw, they had underestimated the powers of the mighty Gods. One had to know, Dionysus, The God of wine, theatre, worship and importantly, the God of letting go, had the ultimate power that allowed humans to let go of their troubles through wine, let go of their identities through theatre, and let go of their individuality through worship.

However, this letting go also had dark aspects as Dionysus himself, there was no inherent limits to the powers of bellowing him. Festivity could turn into destruction, without self control, his powers were capable of driving humans to let go of their sanity, to let go of their judgement and finally to let go of their very humanity!

During his lecture about telestic madness, Julian talks about the idea and the temptation of losing control over oneself and the terrible seduction of Dionysiac ritual, but he purposefully chooses to neglect mentioning the supreme importance of self-control, which is embodied by none other than Dionysus himself. In the play, Bacchae, Dionysus in the guise of a mysterious foreigner, was able to sting other men with madness while he himself was the picture of sanity. Hence, the tragedy befalls!

(Parallelly, while Julian himself was able to infect and influence the group into wild enthusiasms, he however stood there by the side calm and aloof as though all this had nothing to do with him. We shall discuss about this in detail later, this post is already too big!)

[frances-kafka]

The new social rules aren't based on "Cause and Effect" Logic. They're based on what I can only call "Adjacency and Effect" Logic.

If you are a very C-and-E based person, and can't put yourself into an A-and-E framework, then you will find the newer social world difficult to move in.

Systems thinking is C-and-E, but also, being C-and-E is going to be found lower down Maslow's Heirarchy, so there is a degree to which being "Adjacency-and-Effect" is heavily Luxury Belief.

The only reason I can wrap my mind around A-and-E thinking is because I studied anthropology and also... off and on for a long time until relatively recently in my life, various occultism and woo woo.

A-and-E thinking has elements that are similar to miasma and contagion and also functions heavily on apotropaic thinking. It backwards-causalities lots of things and builds cargo cults that you aren't allowed to question or point out the illogic of. It functions heavily on the idea that something is a thing because it could conceivably symbolize or represent another thing to which it is completely unrelated, and that speaking the magic words (which are magic words because they're adjacent to other magic words) will evoke the evil spirit.

I used to wonder why my social world got so much easier to navigate because of studying woo woo and I think it's because many middle class social spaces run on this kind of logic, and studying woo woo actually gave me deeper insight into this. So did studying anthropology.

Basically - there is a heavy element of superstitious thinking involved in the modern social sphere that's very, very baked in.

[bcnes-archived]

"Forget the crew, it's me you'd be needing to worry about." Obviously he holds all the ship's doctors - everyone he works with, really - to incredibly high standards. He's done plenty of cadet evaluations and training sessions in his time, too, and those are no different. And McCoy has faced plenty of criticism for it; aren't you pushing them too hard? You think they can handle this level of stress?

They have to, is the answer. The medical track demands a great deal of those who enter it. All their time and energy, all their empathy - so much empathy. The emotional drain only makes the physical toll heavier. And working out in space is worse. A flying petri dish with minimal supplies, species no one has ever encountered before, diseases that have no cure. If they can't handle being shouted at by a superior officer, what hope do they have under any other duress? In a crisis?

Bluebird is under more scrutiny than most. Not necessarily because her performance and resilience are a reflection of him, and more so because if - when, really - he finally up and dies on one of the miserably dangerous rocks Jim keeps dragging him out to she's going to be expected to take over the whole of sickbay. That's a hefty weight to carry.

At the woman's question, she receives a pondering, sideways glance. McCoy hasn't been asked anything like that in quite some time. Of course there's undoubtedly a fair few cases of imposter syndrome among the doctors on the ship, at least one for every dozen or so over-confident greenhorns. But it's not a matter they tend to bring to him. After some time of thoughtful silence, he shrugs a shoulder.

"I could give you the boring answer," he begins, "but it would be the more straightforward one: I was impressed by your work in the Academy. Model performance during your internships, exemplary test scores, well-researched reports - at least, the ones I read." He smiles briefly at her. Not like he has the time these days to read every single science journal Starfleet's prospective medical officers put out. Then he goes on.

"But I could say the same for all the rest of them, too. So it wasn't about the work, really. It's more like... well, when you look at the work, you start to notice patterns. You pushed back on your instructors a little harder. Worked longer shifts, never mind how it meant you were neglecting your own health from time to time. Ran tests that nobody else would've thought to bother to try - and maybe that was a waste of time, but out here it could be the difference between death and the cure. It's unconventional thinking and stubbornness that keeps patients - and doctors, too - alive on a starship."

In a way her behavioral patterns had reminded him of himself, or at least the way he was way back in medical school. That seems like ages ago, now, when he'd felt like he had more to prove - though not nearly as much as she undoubtedly does. He doesn't doubt that his colleagues would call him superstitious or at least illogical for that particular line of thinking, but it's there all the same. He's human; he can't very well up and deny his intuition when it has something to say about a decision.

"...Anyway, god knows I couldn't stand to work with somebody who wouldn't push back when she had a gut feeling that she could fix something. I had one of those feelings, too. Sometimes you can just tell when a candidate is right. Don't ask me how I know it, but clearly I was onto something."

"Oh I don't doubt you and the crew would be on my tail- I know my position holds significance and importance, there's a reason I'm working under you." If anybody had told Blue when she was first starting in the academy she'd be working under McCoy, a notable doctor in space history, she wouldn't believe it. The Filisophlite recounted being vastly surprised that the Enterprise, of all ships- let alone being McCoy's request, chose her. It made her the first Filisophlite doctor to one, graduate from the Starfleet academy. And two, the first Filisophlite doctor for Starfleet as a whole. It was history- revolutionary, highly looked up to despite her not holding any powers!

"Doctor McCoy- I've been meaning to ask this for a long time. Why did you choose me from the academy? I'm not doubting your ability to pick I'm just...curious." Bluebird didn't doubt her abilities, seeing how she passed the academy with flying colors; but to put her on one of their well known ships with experienced crewmen and Captain Kirk. The Famous Doctor McCoy who has a good record of being a doctor; it was only making the woman question more. Why was she picked? There wasn't anything really revolutionary with her other than, well, her background. Coming from a planet where Starfleet randomly planted an Academy out of the blue. A place most didn't have information of.

It was odd to say the least, the blonde beauty thought that too. But it was the only work she could get through without needing any sort of magic. Or destiny either. But then again...maybe this was her destiny?

[slightlycrunchy]

Written for the @startrekwintergiftexchange for my recipient, @lokilenchen. I adore your art, Lena, and I hope you enjoy mine.

read on ao3

Leonard pounds on the door again.

He stands in the hallway of Deck 5, outside of a very particular room and taps his foot impatiently, blending into the chaos around him hinting of a shift change. Beings of all shapes and sizes rush from their cabins to their assigned posts which—he looks at his holowatch—are set to begin in three Standard minutes.

“Jim, do not make me medical override this, dammit. I’m leaving in ten seconds whether you’re out here or not!” Leonard hears what sounds to be a muffled shout and something heavy hitting the floor. He would have thought the bulkheads were more soundproof than that. 

Just as the countdown in his head reaches one, a shock of blue greets Leonard from down around his waist, Jim’s crystal stare colored with mirth as he fumbles with the boot he is failing to zip up.

Jim’s smile is blinding. “Sorry, Bones.”

Hazel eyes roll. “Yeah, I would believe you other than the fact that you do this a few times a week,” he grumbles, turning away to begin walking down the hall and towards the turbolift that hopefully isn’t full of ensigns. Chapel has first watch and Leonard has seemed to make it a habit of late to hang around the bridge for the first portion of Alpha for no other reason than to keep an eye on the accident-prone captain currently trailing behind him. He hears Jim stumble into the wall with a low curse, the final zip of his boot sounding out clearly.

Leonard doesn’t stop to wait. “Three years into this and you’d think the captain would have his shit together.”

Jim catches up to him, breathless. “The captain may have stayed up too late last night and drank too much bourbon on doctor’s orders.”

“Pretty sure I told you to slow down at one point, kid. You should have learned by now not to try to keep up with me,” Leonard smirks.

The turbolift opens to a—thankfully—empty compartment and Jim stands close, shoulder touching Leonard’s own as he huffs a laugh. Leonard feels warm down to his toes, his exasperation little more than a front he wears like a practiced actor would play the role he has chosen. Thing is that Jim’s in on the farce, and that’s half the fun.

“Kid, huh? Haven’t called me that in a while.” 

Leonard simply shrugs.

They do this almost every day, trailing through the ship together, a strange ritual Leonard can’t remember the start of since the whole thing makes no sense given sickbay rests on the exact deck they’re vacating. Yet, the thought of not accompanying Jim to the bridge and checking that everything seems fine before he slinks back below decks to slave away in the bowels of the ship (alright, maybe he’s being a bit dramatic) seems counterintuitive. Like he’s fighting instinct and not doing this will end in some sort of disaster. Doesn’t make much sense when Leonard has never been known to be a superstitious man. He has no plans to stop, regardless.

Jim pushes the button that’ll take them to the bridge and then sidles close once more, a comfortable silence blanketing over the compartment. Only the low hum of the lift detracts from it, that and Jim’s breathing. Leonard goes to place his hands firmly behind his back in parade rest but doesn’t hesitate to brush at the skin just over Jim's knuckles as he does so, eliciting a small smile; the ones Leonard is so familiar with, yet guards jealously. 

With Jim so close, the smell of him is apparent, notes of warm skin and the cologne he prefers, the synthesized smell of fresh laundry that is—as Spock would say—‘illogical’, but is appreciated all the same coming off of his clothes. And mixed in with it all is…something new.

Leonard sniffs audibly, brows furrowed in thought…recognition. Jim being only slightly shorter puts his hair just at the line of Leonard’s nose and it isn’t long before he’s narrowed in on just where the smell is coming from.

“What is that?” He sniffs again. He turns and takes Jim by the shoulders. “What the hell is that—I know that smell.”

Jim is squirming now, snickering as he tries to twist away from Leonard’s grip, playing up the innocent act with a look on his face that has removed him from many a sketchy situation. 

“I don’t know what you mean, Bonesy,” he teases. 

“The hell you don't!”

Leonard releases him with a small shove, Jim’s shoulders coming up and shaking with barely suppressed laughter.

Leonard narrows his eyes in suspicion. “How’d you get it?”

“Get what?”

“Those blue eyes won’t fool me, where’d ya get it, Kirk?”

“Ooh, he’s mad.” Jim raises one eyebrow.

Leonard steps back, hands on his hips. He’s not mad, not truly anyway. Mostly it’s confusion that has him acting this way—an act quite unbecoming of a senior medical officer, he can admit. He takes a deep breath. “I’m not and you know it. Where’d you get it, Jim? I’ve been out for months, we haven’t been back to Earth since we left almost two years ago. I’m just confused, is all.”

Jim straightens, using one of the handles to pull himself upright completely, his expression turning serious. “I wondered if you would even recognize it.”

“Funny you think I wouldn’t.”

Jim fingers at his own hair, fixing what has come loose in their tussle only to come away with a small amount of product between his fingers, rubbing forefinger and thumb in circles as a smile grows on his face. “What if I told you I’ve had it for a while?”

Leonard can feel the warmth radiating off of Jim’s body as his captain steps forward, his chest coming to touch Leonard’s own as Jim looks up at him through long lashes. Hands circle around Leonard’s waist, fingers splayed against his spine. He can’t help the way he sinks into it, nor does he want to stop it, no matter they’re about thirty seconds away from the doors opening to a very public bridge. Jim’s arms have been home for a long while now, after all. They’ve both grown up since their academy days but the years have been short, and with their careers—and the uncertainties guaranteed them—Leonard doesn’t like to waste time. His eyes darken.

“Didn’t know you liked my pomade, darlin’.”

With Jim so close, Leonard’s voice is little more than a purr, and he knows that he doesn’t imagine the shiver that runs through Jim at the intimate gesture.

“You know I’ve liked it since day one.”

And yes, he supposes that’s true.

Leonard is lost for a moment in time, then. Like a holovid playing before his very eyes he can see that day, crystal clear in sense memory. 

The smell of recycled dormitory air circulates, midmorning sunlight draping across the mess of sheets tangled around Leonard’s legs, the feeling of stretched muscles familiar as he awakes from a most restful night. Well, not all of it had been restful.

He can hear Jim puttering around in the bathroom, the mattress under his palm still warm from where he had been not minutes before. The smell of sex still permeates the air, and Leonard smirks. He’s overcome with a sudden feeling of content, fuzzy and molten all the way to his bones as the thought of hours spent in darkness and pleasure come rushing back.

This is the first time he has ever had Jim. Now that he knows the taste of the confounding man, first his closest friend and now something more, he doesn’t think he can give it up.

That fateful day aboard the shuttle bound for San Francisco had Leonard meeting a twenty-two-year-old delinquent and yet against his better judgment they’d been inseparable ever since. He didn’t even try all that hard to push him away once he realized Jim was determined to stick around. They spent two years getting to know one another amidst Academy regulations shoved down their throats, long nights spent in study turning into longer nights filled with honesty. Jim asks about Georgia and Leonard about Iowa, about parents and mothers and family that feels as far away as the stars they’re so destined to explore. They've been leading up to this moment for a while, gentle touches and Leonard’s incessant worrying over Jim’s health the brackets containing something more that they both have been dancing around.

And then Jim kissed him last night. And Leonard knew they were done playing will-they-won’t-they.

The sink water turns off with a hush and Leonard sits up, dragging his body to the edge of the bed, the sheet barely covering his cock from hanging out as he splays his legs and rests back on his palms. Jim is naked as the day he was born as he exits the bathroom and Leonard has no issue looking his fill.

“Well, good mornin’, sunshine,” Leonard says.

Jim squints, clicking his tongue. “Don’t use that southern charm on me this early, I just got out of that bed, I don’t have time to get back in it.” But by the way he walks across the room to sit beside Leonard shamelessly, drawing close, Leonard knows that’s a lie.

He takes a moment to look at the visage that is James Kirk. Jim folds up his legs and leans forward, that confident grin on his face apparent as Leonard takes in golden skin, scant freckles on slightly summer-burnt shoulders, curving lips that are just this side of dry. As if he can feel Leonard’s gaze like a physical thing, Jim licks at them, blue eyes shuttering into something sensual and tempting, and by the way his mouth quirks up he knows just what he’s doing to one Leonard McCoy. 

When they kiss, Leonard thinks he knows what to expect but, as it always seems to be when it comes to Jim, he’s mistaken. Last night had been a well of passion, suppressed desires flowing out of the both of them like a dam set free but in the here and now, Leonard feels his breath catch for an entirely different reason. He feels comfort. Instead of insistent need he only feels a sense of rightness, of finality. As if the meeting of their mouths and bodies had been written a long, long time ago and now that they have given in to the plot, things are going to go right.

Leonard has never felt so right.

It’s the work of a moment for him to lean the rest of the way forward and grasp Jim’s arms, the healthy muscle of his biceps soft and giving beneath doctor’s hands, his supple skin like suede to his touch. Jim hums into his mouth and his tongue darts out to coalesce with Leonard’s own, their breaths coming quicker as Leonard presses Jim into the mattress, hands sliding down to paw at a well-formed chest. Leonard’s tongue is soon to join, dipping down to mouth at a pebbled nipple, Jim arching up beautifully to meet him, his legs parting wider to welcome Leonard closer, their cocks touching in passing. Jim gasps and Leonard smiles against spit-slick skin as sensation, bright and electric, rolls up his spine. Leonard drags his teeth, nipping at flushed skin as Jim wriggles underneath him, the sensation bordering on being too soft. When Leonard makes his way up to a sharp jawline, tonguing at day-old stubble, he’s brought up short.

He buries his nose in the soft hair just behind Jim’s ear, following his hairline upwards into the gentle coif Jim must have created within his short time in the bathroom. Leonard’s eyes narrow and he brings a hand up to muss up the little that Jim had accomplished.

“Hey!” Jim squirms, trying to get out from beneath Leonard’s body even as the doctor doubles down, placing all his weight onto the younger man, the air leaving Jim’s lungs in a huff.

Leonard sniffs again. “And just what is this, sweetheart? Dipping into my stash?”

Jim goes abruptly still. His cock twitches between their stomachs and Leonard smirks. “My hair was a mess, I saw it on the counter—thought, why not? Where’d you get it anyway, the container makes it look homemade.”

“It is.”

The container of pomade is one of a handful Leonard has, picked up from the last time he visited Georgia, a local friend of the family making the mixture from scratch. He’s one of her most loyal customers, or so she says and he chooses to believe her. He’s got credits out the ass, the least he can do is give them to someone who can actually use them when his daily needs are taken care of by Starfleet and they tend to just hang around in his bank account. He buys half a dozen or so and they last him the year. He doesn’t know what he’s going to do about this particular arrangement when they finally leave on a spaceship to the stars—Jim would say he’s going to be ‘grumpy’ about the whole thing. The kid’s probably right.

Bright blue eyes soften incrementally, Jim looking up and down the length of Leonard’s face with blatant tenderness, a soft smile turning up his mouth. 

“I wanted to wear some. Smells like you. Always wondered what it was that gave you that special something, I just figured it was some cologne I’d never heard of.”

Leonard runs his fingers through Jim’s hair, fixing what he’d just finished ruining. Jim’s hair will be longer in a few years, but right now it’s barely grown enough to welcome the product with any useful efficiency. Once Leonard has finished, he looks on his work with pride.

Leonard kisses the tip of Jim’s nose, a perhaps uncharacteristic show of affection coming from him but hell, it’s a special occasion. “Suits you. What’s mine is yours now, I’d say. I can buy a few extra next time I’m off home if you think this is gonna be a repeat offense.”

The gentle smile on Jim’s face quickly turns wicked, the gleam in his eye turning predatory. “I can think of something else that’s gonna be a repeat offense right about now–”

And with a burst of power Leonard didn’t know he had, Jim flips them both, two sets of hands and mouths creating heated paths of lust and want, Jim’s loose and welcoming body allowing Leonard entry with little preamble from last night’s activities. Leonard’s cock buries into Jim and still that scent surrounds them both, an omen of something like comfort—like home.

When Jim comes with a shout and Leonard is quick to follow, the warmth in his chest matches that of his core, bursting with more than just fleshly satiation and blinding heat. His heart sings along with his skin, and all he can think of is JimJimJim. Leonard wraps two firm hands around his lover’s heaving back and draws him close when he collapses, spent entirely atop Leonard’s torso. The doctor squeezes firmly. Jim laughs, breathless.

“I’ll take a container of it…if you’re buying.”

Leonard thinks of the simple domesticity two side-by-side pomade bottles can symbolize and he buries a helpless smile into Jim’s shoulder.

“Whatever you want, Jim.”

The memory is vivid, rushing in and gone before a few seconds have passed in real time. Jim still stands against him in the turbolift, the soft hum making its way into his awareness again.

Jim looks at him with a knowing eye. “You thinking of our first time?”

Leonard raises a single eyebrow—sometimes he really hates that Spock has rubbed off on him in certain ways. “The first time, what? That you committed your thieving ways?”

Jim snorts. “Yeah, that first time.” He sighs, drawing away slowly, his hand grasping Leonard’s as they come to stand shoulder to shoulder. “I stashed a couple extra containers away. Would you believe I forgot about them? They were just there, in my duffle at the back of the closet.”

“With the way you pack? Yeah, I can believe it.”

The display screen on the control panel shows they’re coming up on the bridge and Jim drops his hand with a soft lingering of fingertips. It isn’t that the crew doesn’t know of their relationship, neither of them have specifically tried to keep it a secret, but their deep understanding of one another and tendency to yell at each other across the open space of the ship has placed them firmly within an untouchable sphere of ‘we don’t talk about it’—self-imposed by the crew, of course. Leonard assumes this is partly due to Jim’s status as Captain and his own high ranking position, but suspects the rest may be due to the possibility of bodily harm should their relationship become ‘fleet gossip. Leonard will neither confirm nor deny these suppositions. Regardless, as they do every day, both men allow the veil of responsibility to come down between them with a parting glance and as Jim squares his shoulders and lifts his chin minutely, Leonard is at once struck with the changes only a few years have made. 

Jim is no longer that impulsive, reckless young man Leonard first fell for and though the memory of him is forever encased in the brightness of nostalgia, Leonard is happy to accept this version of the man he loves, here and now. Though, Jim hasn’t left all of his impetuous spark behind him.

Right before the doors open, the lift slowing, Jim places himself between Leonard and the door with a knowing look in his eye as he bites his lip suggestively.

“I’ll bring them by later. In the meantime, I’ll think of a few highly inappropriate things I want you to do to me as payment for a very special delivery.”

The doors begin to open and as Jim turns, straightening his shirt slightly as he takes a step out, Leonard’s fingers dart forward and give Jim’s ass a little pinch. Jim hardly flinches (professional as always) and with a surreptitious look around the consoles directly by the lift, Leonard knows he got away with it.

Again.

Leonard keeps his face carefully impassive as he whispers just loud enough for Jim to hear, “Wouldn’t expect any less of you, Captain.”

And if every time he passes by Jim and gets a whiff of his own pomade which drags a few ‘inappropriate’ thoughts of his own into his mind, well…no one has to know but himself.