i chose this kitten specifically bc it looks like it just purposely dropped s/t on the ground it wasn't supposed to, kind of half daring you to get mad bc it just doesn't care & is angry enuf at you for making life so miserable 'cause that's how it is, it feels like #freefalling
Here is a collection of all the space station AU drabbles for anyone that needs to catch up at any point. This is set in the same universe as Freefalling (For You), now named the Gravitational Pull universe, where Ian and Mickey crew a cargo ship and Lip, Debbie, and Carl run a spaceship refit business on a station in Earth orbit. You don't need to read the fic... All you need to know is that it's Gallavich IIINNN SPAAACE.
Panic
They're in the mess hall when the station's alarms blast through the air, red lights flashing. A general alert. Possibly a hull breach.
A panel opens up to reveal breather masks. Mickey heads for it, like they're trained to.
But Ian runs for the door as it snaps shut, then turns to the bank of windows as opaque shields slam down there as well. His palm smashes the wall in frustration.
Mickey goes to him, sees Ian's eyes wide with panic.
"It's okay, man. Probably just another drill," he soothes, a hand on Ian's arm.
"Debbie's on EVA," Ian replies.
The Luck You Got (The High Strung)
Ian's normally patient during alerts. Not this time. Five minutes in and he's climbing the walls.
They try to raise Lip, but comms are locked down, and Central are not answering questions about Debbie's EVA.
So Mickey pulls open the wall panel and hooks his tablet into the comm system.
"What are you doing?" Ian asks, watching him navigate past the overrides.
"Getting hold of Lip," Mickey says.
"You can do that?" Ian says, staring at Mickey's tablet in awe.
"With a bit of luck..." Mickey taps the connection and grins. "There. Connect your earpiece."
Ian's beaming back at him.
Keeper
"Ian, that you? How is that you?"
"Mickey hacked the comm," Ian replies, still fixing his grin on Mickey. Mickey warms, fingers twitchy as he tries to downplay his effort.
"Once a felon always a felon," Lip replies, with amusement, if not affection.
"Where's Debbie?" Ian asks.
"Outside still," Lip replies. "We got breached up on G-deck and she's going round with her rig to repair it."
"The fuck? Who's monitoring?"
"Carl."
"Fucking Carl?! You've got him as her keeper?!"
"Jesus, Ian, he can hear you!"
Carl's voice is quieter, distant. "S'fair, it's not like I know what I'm doing."
Big Bang
"Ian, relax. I'm right here. Carl's doing great, and Debbie's got this."
Mickey watches Ian fidget, but he accepts the answer.
"How's she doing? Got enough air?"
"Got topped off on the way over. Good for eight hours, but she shouldn't be..."
There's a bang. A big fucking bang that could only mean one thing. The whole station shifts and shudders.
"What the fuck was that?!" Ian says.
Mickey flips his tablet to start looking into what's going on.
"Ian, you gotta let us work," Lip says, sounding more fraught. "There's a reason comms are locked down in an alert."
Whistle
Mickey feels a shift in the station's rotation, affecting their perception of gravity. Just enough to notice. But it can't be good.
There's nothing on the normal info channels, so he hacks into the restricted ones. The station log systems are showing a whole slew of orange and red warnings. An oxygen tank explosion, probably caused by the original breach.
He lets out a low whistle.
"What is it?" Ian asks, craning to look. Mickey shows him.
"Your sister's got her work cut out for her," he says.
"We need to help," Ian says, reading through the messages.
Mickey nods.
Time
Hacking the door is easy enough for Mickey, but there are 38 doors, three locked bulkheads and two deck hatches between the mess hall and the hull breach.
It takes time.
Time enough for them to get caught. Security are onto them before they make it through the first deck hatch.
First it's just a voice on the comm, but they know bodies will follow.
"Godammit, Milkovich, what the fuck do you think you're doing?!"
Mickey grimaces at the voice. Ian looks worried. But Mickey knew this would happen.
"You know what I'm doing, Arthur... You gonna help or hinder?"
Coworkers
"Look, Arthur," Mickey continues. "I'm the best mechanic on board... Explain to me why it makes sense to have me stuck in the mess hall when I could help with repairs?"
"Then why didn't you just ask?"
"Comms lockdown. Besides... it's better to beg for forgiveness," Mickey says, with a smile and wink at Ian.
There's a long pause, then the next door hisses open.
"All right," Arthur sighs on comm. "I'll get you up there."
Ian grins as the comm goes silent.
"You know for someone who claims to hate coworkers, you have a knack for talking people round."
Science Fiction
Mostly, Arthur gets them through on his access, but he needs senior approval to get them up to the damaged deck. Rather than wait, Mickey gets his tablet out again, but it's trickier this time... There are extra safety protocols in place, as well as the standard security restrictions.
"Can't you just... Reroute or reconfigure something?" Ian says, impatience making him spout jargon without thought.
"This ain't science fiction," Mickey responds.
"We live on a spaceship," Ian replies, blinking.
And Mickey half smiles. What he wouldn't give right now to be sat in the rec room on the Fiona Gallagher.
Prison of Passion (The BossHoss)
Mickey's not sure how long the emergency locks will take to reset, so he has Ian climb the ladder, ready to open the hatch when Mickey presses the final button.
And it takes him a moment because Ian's all stretched, arms on the hatch release above him, t-shirt riding up and exposing his abs. Mickey's seen this view in his dreams. He can imagine everything he'd like to do.
And it's not the time, it's not the place, and Ian's his colleague. It's not going to happen. Ever.
So he smiles instead.
"Ready, Firecrotch?"
Ian nods. Mickey presses the button.
In These Arms (Bon Jovi)
Mickey climbs the ladder, awkwardly holding his tablet up to Ian, then accepts Ian's hand to help him clamber out of the hatch.
With a loud rumble--the station's thrusters firing--the deck shifts slightly beneath their feet. Enough for Mickey to stumble into Ian. Ian catches him in his arms.
Mickey panics at the contact. It's not that it's unwelcome--far from it--but he was just thinking about Ian's chiseled abs and now he's thinking how he'd like to get on his knees for him.
He pushes away with a grumbled "thanks" and turns to the next door.
Sharing Clothes
They've spent nearly a year alone together on the Fiona Gallagher. Worked together. Lived together. Shared meals, shared space, even shared clothes one time when the recycler chewed up Mickey's spare flight suit.
But Mickey's never felt so exposed as he does while Ian watches him override the locks on the last safe door between them and the damaged section. Eyes on him, that soft scrutiny Ian has. That fucking trust. Like Mickey--one-time fucked for life Mickey Milkovich--will be able to waltz in and solve everything.
It makes Mickey feel like he might just be able to, too.
Jealous (Nick Jonas)
They open the last door and spill out into the organised chaos of the repair staging area.
No one questions their appearance. Ian is simply and immediately whisked off to a first aid area where walking wounded are being treated. Mickey watches him go with a swirl of irritation he refuses to label as jealousy. Because that would imply he had a claim.
But as he watches Ian slip into a different role, personable and charming and competent, cleaning cuts and checking for broken bones, Mickey acknowledges the pang. That there are sides of Ian he doesn't get to see.
Stargazing (Myles Smith)
Mickey's still staring after Ian when Rita appears at his shoulder.
"Milkovich! Tipping said you were incoming. Remind me to write you up for flagrant disregard of lockdown procedures," she says.
Mickey turns to her, sees the hint of a smile on her face. In her that basically counts as ecstatic to see him.
"For now let's get you suited up. We've got an open breach big enough for stargazing and a shit tonne of electrical damage you can help us with."
Mickey nods, following her at once towards the storage lockers that contain pressure suits. There's work to do.
Crimson
All that time hacking doors and climbing decks with Ian, everything felt at a remove. Distant. Now Mickey's in the thick of it and it feels dangerously real.
It's two seven foot long black bags laid to one side in the staging area. It's a crimson handprint staining the wall near the sealed emergency door. It's urgent voices discussing the repairs.
Mickey still hasn't seen the damage, but the litany that Rita reels off while he's suiting up is extensive.
Gallagher's sister is out there.
Rita hands him his gloves and a toolkit and points him towards the temporary airlock.
Might Be Dangerous (Tyler Braden & Kaitlin Butts)
As the air cycles, Mickey becomes acutely aware of the sound of his own breath in his helmet. He flexes his hands in the gloves and waits.
The comm snaps on, and Mickey jolts when he hears Ian's voice.
"Thought you'd get away, huh Milkovich?"
"Thought you were busy playin' hero," Mickey says, suppressing his smile.
"Just mopping up... Everyone's being transferred now so I'm on comms. Besides, I wouldn't let you go alone. Ride or die."
Mickey snorts to cover the way his throat closes up.
"Might be dangerous, Red," he says, when he can speak.
"When isn't it?"
Sexting
Mickey works carefully, Ian's voice a constant chatter in his ear. It's so like their conversations on the Fiona Gallagher that the daunting repair feels almost mundane.
"Not exactly how I was planning to spend my day."
"Yeah? What was on the docket? Driving me insane with those fuckin' cargo distributions, then sexting your latest squeeze?"
It's out before Mickey can stop himself. He bites his lip. Winces.
Ian just laughs. "Hardly... lucky if I can get an hour on Dionysus these days, let alone a squeeze."
Mickey pushes down the wash of relief. Not the time, he tells himself.
Dancing
Structural engineers inside work with Debbie and her team on the outer hull to cover over the hull breach and make the section air tight. Mickey is making the electronics in the ruptured section safe, and inventorying further repairs.
All told, a dozen people in pressure suits work around each other in a complex dance, choreographed by Rita and relayed by Ian, and others like him.
"This is all gonna take fuckin' weeks, man," Mickey gripes as he levers another section of fritzed circuitry out of the floor.
Underneath he sees the jagged edges of the air bottle that exploded.
Temptation
Mickey surveys the ravaged section, all the parts that need to be repaired or replaced. Fixed up or torn out.
With jobs like this, where the damage seems too big, too great, there's the temptation to say "fuck it." Go back to Earth. Give up.
But Mickey spent his formative years making money from shit everyone said was junk. Almost everything could be repaired. Everything else could be recycled.
The air bottle, in several pieces, each with jagged flower edges, will never hold liquid oxygen again. But maybe they can melt it into hull plate. Remake it into something else.
Korean Poem
(the poem is here)
When his air tank registers low, Mickey is sent back through the airlock.
Ian's waiting outside. He looks exhausted. Adrenaline poisoned after their emergency trek turned into a long haul.
It's all very like them. Impulsive. The right choice to help, but they could have got there slower. Better. Followed the rules. Not given Rita an aneurysm by breaking lockdown regs.
They're imperfect. But a good team.
Mickey warms at the tired smile Ian greets him with. He feels every hour of work in that suit. Wants a cool beer and a warm shower.
Ian's smile feels better than either.
Jóga (Björk)
After Mickey's stripped out of his pressure suit, Ian is there with water and a ration bar. Mickey takes them gratefully. Chugs half the bottle.
Ian rubs his arm. Every nerve that hurts is healed.
Then Rita appears. "State of emergency is down to level five," she says. "I'll get you clearance to go back to your quarters."
"Thanks," is all he can muster.
"As to your punishment... I've put you down for six more shifts on repairs."
He manages not to smile. He'd have done more without asking. It's where he wants to be. Helping. Fixing.
He just nods.
Hope (Emily Dickinson Poem)
The journey down to their quarters is more subdued than the way up. They're tired, wrung out. Looking at a week of repairs when they're supposed to be on layover, prepping for their next cargo transit.
Mickey leans against the elevator wall, glancing at an equally exhausted-looking Ian.
Sometimes when he looks at him, Mickey's overwhelmed.
Not just by the attraction that he tries--however futilely--to suppress. It's the easy working relationship. The way they talk to each other. Banter. Friendship.
He doesn't let himself hope for more. But sometimes he lets himself hope that he can keep this.
Wherever I Go (Noah Rinker)
Ian says goodnight outside Mickey's quarters with a wave and another heartfelt thank you for the day's efforts. It lingers in Mickey's bones long after Ian's gone.
Comms are still locked down, so they can't just open a link and chatter, like they usually would. He considers breaking it again, but it feels dangerous. Feelings have been too close to the surface all day... He doesn't want to risk admitting things aloud that can't be taken back.
So he showers and heads to bed. And if he dreams that Ian's there, asleep in his arms, Ian never needs to know.
Fantasy
Mickey wakes still lost in the fantasy of being held by Ian. He doesn't normally indulge it... It's been a year of ignoring those feelings, so he's got good at shifting his attention.
This morning he's achy from yesterday's work, and there's more ahead. It makes him weak. So he sinks into his mattress a little, imagines warm hands wrapping around him. Caressing his skin. Drifting south.
He breathes into it, imagines it's Ian's hand rather than his own that slips into his boxers.
Just then an open comm request chimes. The lockdown lifted in the night, and Ian's awake.
Drive
Mickey doesn't even consider ignoring it. That's the hold the redhead has on him... Doesn't even deny the request for long enough to jerk off. Just grabs his earpiece and taps to accept.
True to usual form, Ian skips the pleasantries.
"Lip's disconnecting the drive on the Fiona today."
"The fuck?!" Mickey sits up, almost smacking his head on the top of the bunk.
"They're almost done with the aft manifold. Need to hook it in."
"That smart when the station still has a hole in it?"
"Station's still gonna have a hole in it when we have to leave."
Cake
They talk while they get ready for the day. Discuss the shift schedule Rita sent through. Mickey's sitting at his dining table sipping coffee when Ian gets pensive.
"Fiona's visiting next week," he says.
Mickey scoffs. A family visit means Ian will be busy.
"Yeah? So? Want me to bake a cake?"
"I want you to meet her. She wants to meet you."
Mickey freezes, swiping a hand over his mouth.
"I'm prob'ly still gonna be busy with these repairs, man. Why's she coming while we're holed anyway?"
"It's contained. And otherwise it'll be another year till I see her."
Just Say Yes (Snow Patrol)
Mickey thinks he gets away with it. Ian drops the subject. They talk some more, then check in with Lip.
Only later, when they're heading up for their repair shift does Ian bring it up again.
"So I was thinking you'd join us for family dinner. When Fiona's here."
Mickey cringed. "You sure, Red? I ain't a Gallagher."
"Honorary. You're part of the crew."
Mickey tries to cover what that proclamation does to him under a strangled cough.
"I dunno..." He scratches his nose, trying to think of excuses.
"C'mon, Mick. Just say yes! She just wants to meet you!"
Guy.exe (Superfruit)
Mickey caves. Of course he caves. When Ian Gallagher asks him nicely to do something he's gonna do it. Was never going to be able to say no.
Because when he agrees, Ian grins at him. Eyes dancing. Six foot of happy redhead. Could be a fucking model with a face like that. Picture perfect.
Mickey tries to bask in it without showing that's what he's doing. Frowns, rolls his eyes. Flips him off for good measure. All that shit that hides the way his insides are swirling.
He's gonna meet Fiona. The woman they named a whole-ass ship after.
Hairdresser
The repair shift is intensive, working on everything from soldering damaged circuitry, to welding deck panels. And Mickey's doing it in a pressure suit.
Which means he's got Ian yapping in his ears. It's normally fine, but the redhead is freaking out about flight prep.
"And we've still got to fill eight containers..."
Mickey needs to calm it down. Distract him.
"You forgot something. You need a haircut."
"What?"
"Getting shaggy. 'Less you want me to buzz it."
"Fuck no! Why are we talking about my hair right now, Mick?"
"'Cos you always bitch like a motherfucker when it's long."
Pumpkin Spice
At the end of the shift, Mickey pulls himself out of his suit and shuffles through the staging area.
Ian is chatting with another comm tech. When he sees Mickey, his face lights up in a way that makes Mickey flush.
"Sue made pie! Want a slice?"
Ian holds up a plate and Mickey gets a nose full of cinnamon and nutmeg.
"What kinda pie?"
"Pumpkin, I think. Hydroponics had a glut."
Mickey snorts and takes the plate.
"Reward for our efforts?" he says, smiling.
Gallagher slides a forkful into his grinning face.
"Better than ration bars."
Mickey can't disagree.
Trick or Treat
It's a week of shifts up in the repair zone. Soldering and welding, removing parts and wiring in new ones. Even after they fully seal and safety rate the breach, it's gruelling work.
In the off hours, he's still working with Ian on cargo manifests, securing cargo. Reconfiguring the plan to properly balance the containers of... Liquids.
When Fiona arrives, the Gallaghers treat her to an evening out at the nicest of the station's handful of restaurants.
Mickey still feels like he's been tricked into it as he dresses up as smartly as he knows how and gets dragged along.
Sensual Sin
It's hell, is what it is. Mickey's being punished for his sins.
Mickey's dressed in his smartest black shirt and slacks, just trying to look presentable for his coworker's sister.
And Ian? Well Ian's dressed in a perfectly fitted maroon shirt, left unfastened over a tank top so Mickey can see the fuzzy edges of chest hair poking out. His hair is newly cut and styled in fluffy spikes. Mickey wants to run his hands through it. Wants to feel those soft red strands between his fingers. Taste that chest, those lips.
He's fucked, and Fiona isn't even here yet.
Endure
Lip is his usual condescending self, talking as though Mickey doesn't do the same job but better. Carl and Debbie squabble at the end of the table. Normal Gallagher shit, except for the teenager watching him, and the woman smiling thoughtfully across a plate of kibble.
“I like to eat space food while I’m up here,” Fiona explains, as if Mickey had asked. “Makes these visits more of an event.”
Mickey nods. Doesn't roll his eyes. Tries to endure her curiosity, even as he wants to flee. Make some excuse. Be anywhere else.
Ian smiles at him, and it's bearable.
Photo prompt: gaming
Mickey tries to disappear into his food, but Fiona keeps asking him questions. Where he's from, what he did before he joined them. How he’s managing the old ship.
He hates it, like he’s playing a game that Fiona’s controlling, and he doesn’t fully understand the rules.
With each question, she gets more suspicious and invasive.
He doesn't need to get defensive; Ian trusts him. That's worth more than approval from Fiona. But she's Ian's big sister. Part of him wants her to like him. When he glances at Ian, Ian looks furious. Mickey frowns. Did he say something wrong?
Shameful
Just when Mickey is thinking of running out, Lip butts in.
“Why don’t you ask how Mickey got his apprenticeship?” he says, eyes twinkling like he’s asking him to bare some shameful secret.
And sure, Mickey’s done many things he’s not proud of, but that doesn’t qualify. It may have been illegal, but he’s not ashamed.
“Why’s that, Philip?” he shoots back. “Because you’re impressed I can repair scrap parts, when you can’t even keep Fiona working with a stocked machine shop?”
The ship’s name jars up against the woman sitting opposite him. He looks at her, bold and challenging.
Competition
"I kept that ship running for two years," Lip bristles.
"Yeah, and I spent the next year sorting out your shit," Mickey replies.
"Hey, it's not a competition," Fiona interrupts.
Mickey looks back at her, eyebrow raised.
"Then why does it feel like I'm performing for the judges?" he asks, letting his annoyance seep into his voice. "Pretty sure I passed my interview a year ago... If Ian wants to fire me, he can let me know. Otherwise, I don't need this shit."
He pushes himself back from the table and walks away.
"Mick, wait!" calls Ian.
Mickey doesn't stop.
Why Would You Say That?
Ian catches up halfway round the concourse, though he has to run to reach Mickey before he gets to the lifts.
"Hey, Mickey! Stop, please!" he almost yells, hand brushing at Mickey's elbow.
"I'm not in the mood, Gallagher. Your family hates me. Message fuckin' received. This was a bad idea, like I said."
"Why would you say that? They don't hate you!"
It gets Mickey to stop, if only so he can level his raised eyebrows to full effect.
"All right, Lip possibly hates you," Ian concedes. "Fiona's overprotective. She was out of line, but she doesn't hate you."
Crazy Possessive
It still stings, but knowing Ian is on his side makes Mickey feel better about the disastrous dinner. He softens, shrugs.
"Whatever. You should get back. Enjoy your sister's visit. I'll see you tomorrow."
Ian looks like he'll argue, but eventually nods.
"Sure. Lip says he's done with repairs. We can inspect."
"Cool. Gotta check what the grunts have done to my ship."
"Your ship?" Ian says, though he's grinning.
"Yeah. My ship. Problem?" Mickey replies, almost smiling back, eyebrows raised.
"Nah. I love how crazy possessive you are about her. Makes me feel safer, knowing she's your home too."
Fairytale of New York (The Pogues)
Mickey smiles all the way back to his quarters, thinking about Ian's comment. That the Fiona Gallagher is home.
It's odd to have a home after so long. Like he can see a better time, dreams coming true.
Mickey never used to think about the future. He used to just get by, work to survive to the next thing.
Now he maybe has dreams.
Small dreams. About hauling cargo, building a business that will last them into a future he might see. Other dreams that will never happen, but that he entertains when he's alone.
Dreams he's built around Ian.
Grinch
Next morning, Mickey's checking the provision list for their upcoming flight when Ian arrives in the mess hall for breakfast. He hasn't even got his coffee when Mickey starts.
"What the shit is this? Turkey? Roast potatoes? It's like twice the price of any other meal, and keeps half as long!"
"We're gonna be in transit for Christmas. Thought we could have a nice meal, at least."
"Jesus, Gallagher. I swear you weren't so festive last time. You gonna put a fuckin' tree up in the rec room?"
"Depends. You gonna be a Grinch if I decorate the exercise bike?"
Countdown
After the dinner, Mickey is reluctant to meet Fiona again. All her judgemental questions left him with a bad taste.
But she finds him before she leaves, catching Mickey as he comes out of his last shift helping on the station repairs.
"Hi. You've been avoiding me," she says, smiling awkwardly.
Mickey gives her a blank stare, but has just enough tact to avoid agreeing with her.
"Ian tells me you've got your countdown. Flying out next week?"
Mickey nods.
"I wanted to say... Thanks. For lookin' after him."
Mickey softens, the tiniest bit, and shrugs.
"No problem," he says.
Date Night
After person-Fiona and Liam leave, there are just a few days to get ship-Fiona ready for their cargo run. Ian supervising cargo loading, while Mickey checks the final repairs.
It's busy, but it's also the least busy they'll be for a while.
"I was thinking of hitting the concourse tonight," Ian says, as they're finishing for the day. "Eat out. Maybe go to the arcade or something. Wanna join?"
A traitorous part of Mickey's brain suggests it's a date night. The more rational part knows it's just making the most of the station's facilities before they leave.
"Sure," he agrees.
Mardis Gras
Before his first trip out on the Fiona Gallagher, Mickey had gone over to Dionysus station for a last blast... Treated it like mardis gras and had a fucking ball.
This time, he eats steak and drinks beer with Gallagher. He beats him at shooting games, and loses at racing. He doesn't feel like he's missing out on anything.
Sure he could be getting railed by a stranger, but he'd rather spend his evening in the vicinity of Ian's easy laughter.
They'll be alone on a ship for a year... It's just as well he's nowhere near sick of him.
Drama Queen
On departure day, Mickey enters the Fiona Gallagher's airlock and it's a homecoming. They talk about home being Earth, or Notos. But for Mickey, home is now this janky-ass ship, even after one round-trip.
So he's not best pleased to find Lip in the engine room with Ian.
"The fuck are you doing to my ship?!" he yells, stalking over and snatching his tablet out of Lip's hands.
"Jesus, could you be more of a drama queen? Just checking final diagnostics."
"Off my fuckin' boat, Philip!"
Lip is affronted, but Ian smirks in amusement, guiding Lip towards the spine lift.
Gravity (Vienna Teng)
They leave the station, still with that hole under repair. They say goodbye to the other Gallaghers, and their friends in security and maintenance.
They leave rotational gravity for zero gee, thrusters gently pushing them away from dock. Soon the main engines will take over, heading them out towards the edge of the Solar System.
As Mickey sits in the copilot's chair, watching the station recede, he can't help but think he'll still be rotating. Orbiting around Ian, his very own blazing sun. Obeying his law of gravity.
Always trying to resist. Never knowing if he really even wants to.
Why Hell is a constant (like gravity) and why it's a conscious choice:
and why hell is like jumping out of a plane,
then refusing to repent -
to confess your sins before Christ,
believe Him to be your Lord and saviour,
believe He is the Son of God,
believe that He died on the cross for us,
believe He was resurrected after 3 days,
believe that noone goes to the Father except through Him
-- is like choosing to not pull the cord of a parachute.
Gravity is constant : it doesn’t care about your intentions. If you jump out of a plane, you’re going down whether you meant to or not.
Hell is the same way : the “default” isn’t heaven. The default is falling, because sin weighs everyone down (Romans 6:23).
The parachute (Christ) is right there. God doesn’t shove it on you, but He’s yelling over the wind, "Pull the tab! Trust Me, it will hold!"
If you refuse to pull it - whether out of pride, denial, or thinking you don’t need it - you’re not being "sent" to destruction.
You’re choosing to freefall without the only thing that could save you.
Romans 3:23
for all have sinned and fall short of the glory of God
-- therefore we all have jumped out of the plane.
The grace of God is the parachute. It's your choice if you want to be saved.
Your knowledge of gravity will not save you.
Neither flailing with good deeds,
nor yelling slogans or excuses will save you. The ground is still rushing up.
But that unfailing parachute (Jesus Christ) is your only hope.
He's not only a parachute, He's your wings! By His Spirit, He gives you wisdom that turns survival into flight. Through Him, you don’t just avoid destruction - you also learn how to truly live.
Wisdom succeeds true faith. Thus by wisdom you will soar like eagles.
Hell is less about God gleefully "sending" people somewhere, and more about people refusing rescue. The love of God is the parachute. The cross is the ripcord.
Hell is a default destination. Damnation is a conscious choice.
It's like 2 A.M. and the bars all close at 10 in hell, that's a rule I made -
That’s Called: Freefalling
–
The phone buzzed on the nightstand beside me, filling the dark room with its blue light. I threw my arm over my eyes, waiting for it to go silent. It continued buzzing.
Finally, I rolled over and grabbed it, trying to see the screen through squinted eyes. It was 2 am. Who the fuck was calling me at this hour? The picture display was of a woman with long, brown hair.
“Why are you calling this late?” I asked as a greeting.
The woman’s voice on the other end of the line was soft, heavy with melancholy. “I thought you’d be up. Sorry. I can go.”
I struggled to sit up, grunting. “You’ve already woken me up. Why are you calling?”
There was silence on the other end for a long moment. I rubbed at my eyes, tempted just to hang up and go back to sleep. “I needed some company.”
I groaned into my hand. “That’s what bars are for.” Though she didn’t make any noise, I could hear the disappointment on her breath. That wasn’t the response she wanted. “Why are you calling me? Why not call Loverboy?”
I pushed myself out of bed and stumbled towards the hall. I needed a drink of water.
“I thought you’d be awake.”
“So you said.”
The air was cool against my skin as I wore nothing but boxers. I moved into the bathroom, then got myself a cup of water from the tap. She said nothing as I gulped the glass of water down. I threw the cup haphazardly into the sink, grimacing at the loud clanging.
“I guess I just needed some company.”
“Funny. Usually, you avoid my company.” I moved back to my dark bedroom and climbed back into my warm bed.
She didn’t hang up on me, despite me being an ass. She must have genuinely been lonely.
I sighed, “why don’t you try to get more sleep, eh? I’ll stay on the line. I’ll be right here.”
“Would you do that?”
“I just said it, didn’t I?”
I heard shuffling on the other end of the phone. Once she was presumably comfortable, she murmured, “it’s nice to have company. Y’know, a lot of times when I’m alone, something bad happens.”
She was talking about me. As she should. The irony was not lost on me, and it made me chuckle. “Go to sleep, Civilian.”
“Goodnight, Villain.”
It wasn’t long before her breathing changed from its melancholy shortness to deeper, quieter breathing. She had fallen asleep. My finger hovered over the button to hang up the call, but if I hung up, her phone would beep loudly. And that would wake her up.
So instead I set my phone back on my nightstand and resigned myself to suffering her loud breathing.
One of my OCs from my original story "Freefalling"!
This is the wife of Dr.Chirp (the yellow fella there). Dr. Chirp misses her a lot ever since she was stolen from her world by a greater being, forced to serve as a mechanical engineer for her own gain.
Blip misses her too... It's been many many years apart from each other...
The highest recorded fall without a parachute happened in 1972 at 33,333 ft. The victim, Vesna Vulović, was in the hospital for 16 months after the fall. #FACT
