see infinity.

it starts off at first with small hops, spring in step and balance at the balls of feet. a stretch and set, quick punches in succession. playful. urging for his opponent to move forward and meet him on the coloured surface. a gesture urges her to come on, move forward. 

“ let’s go. ” 

HE STANDS, A STATUESQUE SHADOW LOOMING OVER HER BED ― as if to dare her head to turn and eyes to settle upon remorse. he had grieved, searched…had done the things valentine declared undone – impossible… lips purse , an attempt to keep heart from wavering – from leaning towards a reality valentine had not ensured. they abandoned you, she can hear his voice echo throughout the empty and twisting halls of her mind, adorned with the portraits of those who had betrayed you – or, so he had said…

with doubt now planted in her mind, she cannot resist the draw to ominous shadow, fading away as steps lead him away from her bed and to the irritating gadget singing to the rhythm of her own heartbeat, monotone and blaring. gaze settles upon the man she had once called a friend mentor, wondering what truth lays beneath his words.    ‘  – what do you want to know?  ’

“ what happened, the last you were a kingsman agent? ” beginnings. it’s a question that requires answer, not only for this interrogation and investigation, but for what had been sought all those years ago. to merlin, this was no mystery to be solved, rather a mistake that he was to learn from. an error in judgement and a failure on his behalf. the watcher’s gaze had turned, his eyes gone blind, and an agent gone in more ways than one. “ your last mission. your received orders. your partners. those who sought to have you eliminated? ”

he sits nearby, their gaze far more level now. he waits, patiently so and looks for what may betray her - what may come should there be lies ( the rapid blink of eyes, the slight variation in one’s breathe, the purpose in the weight of words and story woven - though she was an agent trained and a master made, still he would observe ). trust is lacking between them, and there is the fainted desire there to release her from what guards. but merlin knows of a softened heart and a killer’s blade. 

                how easy it would have been to pull back    /     to remove himself from the flash of heat lingering at the place where jim’s hand had brushed against his own.  his expression softens for a moment     ;    warmed by the promise that bloomed like a flower       (    love,    burns warmer than it has ever done.    )      it’s like the burn of liquor in his stomach.   just enough to remind him of the humanity captured between metal walls and the threatening presence of space outside their windows.   there is humanity to be found in the presence of jim.   and he is glad to bask in it once it’s offered to him.  

the memory of a broken and bruised man lingers in the back of his mind as he   huffs   at the sight of jim pouring with a sense of carefulness which feels foreign to the man.    james t kirk is nothing if not recklessness      /        a supernova captured in the body of a man.   skin too tight to contain it’s power                  maybe this is why he  bleeds so often    ;      no,   leonard knows better.   it’s because he’s nothing but a   bloody idiot.  but if the captain is an idiot,     he would be glad to call him  his idiot  regardless. 

it’s a game of chess,   two moves forwards,   one move backwards.    a dance of the minds and   fuck    if spock wouldn’t be proud of that synonym.   he reaches for the poured glass and wishes that his opponent was close enough to warrant a stolen brush of fingertips.    fucking whisky…   it made him act like a lovesick fool.    ❝              don’t bloody test me, man, ❞    he knows his words are hollow.   he knows that he would do anything in his power to keep the other man safe.   

glass meets lips.   liquid meets courage and the buzz inside his mind meets blue eyes     (      fuck why are they so goddamn blue    ?     )       ❝  it’s your luck that i’m a doctor and under oath.   ❞ 

it’s something forged beyond paper and an oath that’s carved in one’s heart. it’s a faith that’s blind - the leap that led them both here ( in some sense at least, not quite sat there by a bar with liquid shared, but by ship, by place, by home ). comfort, something warmer than the gentle burn of liquid and the courage chased, sweeter than the caramel, oak and barrel taste of bourbon fine that’s shared. jim manages to fight the sigh and softness in a smile - instead, it’s something sharp - forever teasing. 

poke and prod and the doctor reacts ( pleasantly so, actions yield no regret ). 

“ hey, ” the captain begins defensively, glass raised - ice clinks against it’s crystal, and free hand lifted, palm faced forward towards mccoy. “ i’m keeping my crew sharp. ” he argues, feigned innocence paired falsely with the air of professional purpose ( a bad lie, he knows it ). but expression is quick to drop, and admission slips. it’s trouble, laced in a subtle suggestion the flirt is fleeing. “ can’t help if i’m enjoying it, just a bit. ” 

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄 ’𝐒    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐓𝐔𝐆    𝐎𝐅    𝐆𝐔𝐈𝐋𝐓    beneath    her    breastbone,    and    roxy   tucks    her    bottom    lip    beneath    her    front    teeth.     she    reads    the    affection    behind    the    gleam    of    merlin’s    frames,    the    politeness    he    willingly    gives.     but    still,    the    intrinsic    feeling    of    being    a    woman    in    a    predominantly    men’s    space    &    the    distant    twinge    of    not    belonging    that    roxy    still    has    to    quell    at    times     (    less    and    less    these    days    as    she    excels,    proves    that    she’s    the    𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐋 𝐃𝐄𝐀𝐋    )    flits    briefly    across    her    mind.

❛      thank    you,     merlin.     i    won’t    stay    long     ––     i    know    you    have    lots    to    do.     ❜       she    settles    into    the    plush    of    the    sofa,     a    low    whistle    and    the    flick    of    her    index    finger    summoning    athena    to    her    heel.

trained    precision    melts    away    and    roxy    lets    her    spine    curve    into    the    rare    treat    of    non - barracks    seating    supporting    her,    lets    the    scent    of    tea    steeping    cleanse    the    remnants    of    irritation    from    her    being.       ❛      boys    will    be    boys,    and    other    nonsense    like    that.     digby’s    upset    i    beat    him    sparring    yesterday    and    made    a    stunningly    tone - deaf    quip    about    me    playing    nurse    for    him;    something    about    how    i    should    heal    what    i    deal…?     ❜       roxy’s    fingers    curl    into    the    soft    warmth    of    her    dog,    huffing    out    a    breath.       

❛      but    honestly,    i    just    needed    to    get    out    for    a    while.     eggsy    and    charlie    are    especially    at    each    other’s    throats    today,    and    i    needed    a    break    from    defusing    the    constant    landmines    of    conversation.     ❜

for a moment, merlin looks to be unimpressed. there it is clear, he is one intolerant of belief embedded among some of the would-be agents. boys will be boys, a long grown excuse cut short - severed under his tutelage. the pause is long, his eyes shifting attention from her for a moment before the small curve of lips. his gaze falls to his table, pen in hand, the silence is filled with the scratch of pen on paper. “ i’ll be sure to talk to digby about his lack of expertise in immediate medical attention. ” 

new tests and trials are a fleeting thought, not meant to teach those selected on the meaning of their knighthood, but also as a gentle form of disciplinary action. but he tucks those ideas away for now. another time, at another date. for now, he raises pot and collects a tea set and wanders to sit on the other side of the sofa. 

“with regard to eggsy and charlie, that’s another matter entirely.” 

unsurprising, but still, there is the subtlety of exhaustion in the drawn breath and soft sigh. getting along was never easy. 

a thick brow rises, eyes sliding from her notes to the image of her face peeking over the edge like a fierce horizon. curiosity can be a dangerous thing, especially out here in the endless darkness he’d still wonder why he dragged himself into if not for the acrid nothingness he’d left behind. Leonard feels his mouth screw into a hook of distaste. not in Carol. or even her work for that matter. but he knows a bad feeling when he hears. hell, he sees it clear as day. ‘ what d’you mean they’re weaponizing genesis? ’ sharply, Leonard skims through the padd in his hands. all there is reads at regrowth and new life and developing energy, ‘ i thought this was supposed t’be a good thing? ’

rare are the moments when one finds themselves in the presence of carol’s anger. it is a quiet thing, something that’s small at first - but there are the tremors that then come, a fire in eyes as her hands curl. jaw clenches. her lips are pressed tight. she swallows before there is a breath. 

it’s not something she likes to show. so, body remains turned. her eyes remain focused. 

“ they’re using my bloody work for their own gain. ” she says. “ it’s meant to be. everything is --- ” she can feel the rise of anger once again, electric surge and static charge. “ what i’ve been working on is dangerous. and... the volatility of the earlier stages of the genesis cycle i suppose has caught the interests of those with... a different idea of what it should be used for. ” 

fractalmind​.  |  sulu.

bruising’s are both healed and hidden; a body littered tells of tales but hikaru is not one to divulge. he scratches at his cheek, lets out a laugh - a look like a cat caught with the cream. whilst a firm believer that he is no seeker for trouble, it generally finds its merry way in his direction. “ — you could say that.” operations often settle in the grey areas of ‘the less you know the better’, but he is not one to coddle. 

“— more interesting than the paperwork. but paperwork at least gets me a coffee break. ” 

paperwork sounds dull, and it makes his head hurt just thinking about staring at words as a job. (staring at words, in any capacity, is painful for him. he doesn’t know why, has since decided it’s because he’s stupid.) the moment passes, and he darts his eyes down to his feet, to his worn shoes. “ – i’m glad you’re back. “ and safe. “ glad you didn’t do anything stupid and get yourself killed. “ there, he saved himself from any potential display of unwanted emotion.

“I’m good at keeping to myself, these days.” Practiced in the art of taking up as little space as possible, Bethany ventures out only when necessary and interacts with neighbours only enough to not appear suspicious. For something too hidden can draw attention just as easily as a spectacle. Perhaps Anders can understand that; Bethany imagines that circle life too is a balance between staying out of the way of templars but not enough to look like you have something to hide. Then again, he has subverted her expectations of what circle mages are like in several ways. 

She smiles as he makes himself comfortable, grasping for a subject to distract from the evidently gloomy matter of warden business. “–Oh!” A hint of pride beams. “I have gotten a little bit better at what you were trying to teach me. It’s like a different type of control, if that makes sense. And –” voice hushes a little, as if there were someone else other than an orange cat within the walls who could overhear, “Last night I think I somehow connected with one of the spirits who was helping me? It was – interesting.”

“Oh?” There is a shift, twist of body and a turn so that shoulders may prop upon the back of the chair and he may settle his chin to hands. It’s quick for him to change, what had once been a look of irritation, frustration, and the forming of a pout now gone - instead there he is with a grin that’s wide and eyes focused and bright. 

TOUGH SHELL

bruised knuckles.    bloody noses.    eye rolling.    empty bottles.   messy hair.   sarcasm.   lip biting.     unwashed jeans.    coffee breath.    loud music.   broken neon signs.    chipped nail polish.  leather jackets.    always wearing headphones.    swearing.   sneaking out at 3am.  dark lipstick.    frown creases.    burning cigarettes.    plaid shirts.   under eye circles.   dark colors.

SOFT INSIDE

honey tea.  flower crowns.   giggling.    blowing kisses.    dancing without worries.    white lace.   soft textures.   fluffy throw pillows.    using too many heart emojis.   empathy.   constant daydreaming.   handwritten letters.   fairy lights.    bullet journals.   designated driver.    warm hugs.   garden picnics.    quiet.    smile lines.   optimism.    flowy clothes.    pastel colours.

bold what applies.

I. THE FAIRY.  chipped nail polish. glitter highlight. tall trees with smooth bark. tangled hair. the taste of cinnamon sugar. talking too loud and too fast. overgrown flowers in your hair. crumbling buildings reclaimed by nature. flirting. walking home at 3am with no coat. platonic hand-holding. blowing smoke out of your nose. dragonfly wings. chaotic good. freckles. fairy rings. secret meetings. gender nonconformity. leather. smudged eyeliner. forbidden fruit.

II. THE REAPER. computer errors. a shiver down your spine. haunting beauty. hard liquor. crowns of thorns. shadowed alleyways. decaying plant matter. shattered mirrors and broken glass. corrupted memories. stopped clocks. the scent of stale cigarettes. tattered black hoodies. walking your friends home. the crescent moon. the sea. a graveyard on a foggy day. cold rings on cold fingers. absolution. looking out the window of an airplane. soft kisses.

III. THE WITCH. graffiti. pretending to know what you’re doing. worn paperback books. growing up too fast. parsley, sage, rosemary, and thyme. lace and combat boots. moth wings. candles on every surface. a weathered deck of cards. turning the music up. fireflies in jars. calloused fingers. drawing on your skin. sunlight filtering through clouds. petrichor. a dying rose in a jar.  wearing a crystal pendant. illusions and spells. black cats. mint gum. chapped lips. dirt under your fingernails. the cycle of life and death.

IV. THE WOLF. murders of crows. frost-bitten leaves. wolves howling at midnight. knocking on your door. leaving food out for stray animals. the twang of an acoustic guitar. honey. tiny red buds on trees. claw marks on the walls. golden eyes. slightly too long stubble. sharp canines. soft, thick fur. hunger. a small cottage in the middle of the woods. knitted fingerless gloves.  sleeping on the forest floor. always finding your way back home.