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amidstsaltandsmoke · 3 years

Note

51&84 plss you drables are so cute. its like a comfort read

Anon, thank you 😭 that's sweet of you to say and I'm happy that you think so! Thus, here is my gift to you; hope you enjoy it!! 🥰 _____________________ Prompts: “I’m your husband. It’s my job.” & “Come on, baby, up to bed.”

Jon Snow was certain about approximately two things: one, that he adored and cherished and loved his wife more than any other living soul on the planet. And second, that she had to be the most bullheaded, stubborn piece of work he’d also ever come to know. He knew these things could not be, and were not, mutually exclusive.

At present, Daenerys was buzzing around the house, corner to corner, leaving not a centimeter untouched with her magic cleaning sponge, the vacuum practically an extra limb at this point, and a bucket full of various other cleaning supplies.

She had come down with a nasty case of the flu two days ago, and he could not figure out why (for the life of him) she was absolutely insistent that she do this. Actually, he did: her parents were in town, had dropped in last minute yesterday afternoon, and all but demanded they come over tomorrow to visit. Even despite Dany telling them over and over again that it wasn’t a good time right now, that she would get them sick (selflessly leaving out the bit where she was actually, completely miserable).

Jon didn’t much care for her parents, but he was able to survive their get-togethers thus far. Seven years and he hadn’t yet lost his mind in their presence. They were rich, snobby, judgmental arseholes who disapproved of every decision Dany made in her life because she had made them and went against their expectations. Even down to their house decor, or tidiness, which was why Dany was being the way she was right now.

They especially did not approve of her choice of husband, but he couldn’t bother to give any less fucks. She was his, and he was hers, and the Targaryen in-laws could quite honestly shove their phony, one-dimensional personalities right up their uptight asses.

...Maybe he was a little bitter.

Nothing he did could convince Dany to stop. She’d been going and going with barely a break, except when he could distract her enough to do so, whether by luring her into the family room to catch her favorite movie and fibbing a little by telling her it was on cable (it wasn’t, but there was something about them being on live telly that she loved so much, even despite owning the physical copies, which he had put on to convince her to sit her perky little arse down). Or, when he’d set up the extra bed in the guest room for her parents to stay (he prayed to all seven gods it wouldn’t come to that), that he really needed her to go lay on it for a few minutes and be sure it was comfortable enough (because, yes, her parents were that finicky and found no issue voicing their opinions). When she hadn’t come down ten minutes later, he found his plan had worked, and she had passed out.

It didn’t last; she had woken in a panic some thirty minutes later, half-asleep and still muttering that there was too much to do yet.

Multiple times did he attempt to intervene and take over, but she would not have it. And he understood it on a normal day when they might host something; she had certain things she was particular about, and he had his. But this was overkill, even on a normal day. He took to all the other chores, but not without keeping two eyes wide open on her, for fear she would exhaust herself into a coma.

At the rate she was scrubbing away every spec of dirt she could find, he was beginning to worry she’d burn holes in the walls and floors. He was exhausted just by watching her, and he decided he had enough. Her hair was frizzed and pulled away from her face, her skin clammy, her pallor more desaturated than normal and that was with a new golden tan after their mini vacation, and overall, she appeared too frail for his liking.

Jon set down the clothes he had bundled up before he was going to shower, padding over to where she was on her hands and knees, swiping away at the floorboards. “Dany...come on. You need rest, not to be worrying over parts of the house nobody notices.”

As soon as she halted her movements and cut him a glare, which was adorably terrifying despite her condition, he knew she was right, even without any words. Her parents did notice these things, for why he could never and would never even begin to try to understand, but to be reiterated, he gave zero shits as to what they thought.

They lived a perfectly comfortable life, organized messes and all.

Resuming her cleaning, he was shocked by how weak her voice sounded. “Would you rather they nag me about my inability to manage a house - or my life, for that matter - or listen to them ramble about their thousandth trip to the Virgin Islands?"

"If it were up to me they wouldn’t be coming at all,” he muttered, earning himself a look that, this time, read, ‘I know, me too’.

Jon sighed. “I’m goin’ to shower - if I find you down here still at it…,” he cut her his best implacable eye, brows raised.

Dany went to roll her eyes, then winced and squeezed her eyes shut, her fingers rubbing at her orbital sockets. She was so congested that she couldn’t even get snarky with him. Instead, she playfully, threw a wet rag in his direction, but it fell with a sad flop barely two feet from where she was kneeling. She burst into a snotty fit of giggles, whilst Jon simply shook his head at his wife and her heavy red eyes, clucking his tongue. “Am I to take that as you throwing in the towel?”

“Jon!” She squeaked, a nasally little sound as she doubled over, not an ounce of energy in her petite and fatigued frame to handle even that. “Augh, disgusting,” she mused after a minute, grabbing a tissue from the second box that had been attached to her hip and blowing her nose.

“I mean it, Dany - ten minutes. Consider that a warning. No arguing this time,” he jut his index at her, but she waved him off without acknowledging him as if she had the most mild case of a cold and not severe body aches, a sinus headache, chills, and fever. Because her parents had never supplied her with love and comfort as a child, her defense mechanism was to do everything herself as often as possible.

It was still a work in progress; she was better at accepting his help these days (except for now, when her parents exacerbated her need to prove herself, of which she most certainly did not need to do), and she was open to letting him pamper her with all the TLC he wanted to give her. He understood that desire for independence, he longed for it himself, but it was time to take matters into his own hands.

________________________________________

Less than ten minutes later, after a quick washing down, Jon came downstairs, and paused. He didn’t hear any sign of movement at all, and for a moment he panicked, the worst of his thoughts diving into his worst fears that she passed herself out from exertion.

However, to his (sort of) relief, he discovered her sitting and hunched over the kitchen table, her forehead on her arms. As he stepped closer, she produced a towel, the very one she’d tried to assault him with earlier, and flung it blindly across the table. “Yes, that’s meant to be literal this time,” she mumbled in the cave she was hiding herself in.

With a victorious smile, Jon made a quick job of switching off the lights, then tucked one arm under her knees and the other around her back. The deep wrinkle between his brow was immediate. “Gods, Dany, you’re soaked.”

She hummed a pitiful laugh into his neck where she nuzzled. He’d foregone a shirt, and her skin was blazing against his, even through her clothes. “Not the first time you’ve told me that.”

“Seven hells,” he grumbled good-naturedly, “and you’re delirious. Come on, baby, up to bed. Let’s get you a bath goin’ first though, love.”

________________________________________

After some careful finessing, Jon deposited Dany atop the closed toilet seat, then went off in search of clean, dry, cool clothes for her. While the bath filled, he instructed her to stay where she was so he wouldn’t need to worry about her hurting herself with how unbalanced she was at the moment.

He boiled her a cup of ginger sweet tea and water, dumped a couple of ibuprofen into his palm, and made his way back to her. Luckily, she didn’t try to move, and soon enough he was helping her peel away her sweat-ridden clothes and getting her into the bath. Nothing too hot so her fever wouldn’t spike further, but a little tepid.

As soon as her medicine was down and he handed her her tea, she turned her sleepy eyes on him where he knelt beside the tub, freeing one hand to gently scrape over his beard. “You spoil me,” she murmured, a soft smile tugging on her lips.

He took her hand and kissed the inside of her palm, scooting closer so he could do the same to her damp forehead. “I’m your husband; it’s my job,” he said, his own eyes weighing down as she played with the hair at the nape of his neck.

The water had begun to cool shortly after, and a chill took over her. Jon grabbed the thickest towel in their storage closet and wrapped her up like a newborn babe, swaddling her with his arms until the quivering stopped. The medicine still had some time to kick in yet.

Clothed in a tank top and underwear, dry, and warm enough, Dany let him carry her to their bed, setting her down on her side and bringing a light sheet up to her waist. Once the lights were off, he slid in beside her, the pair of them immediately seeking out the other, her back to his front. Jon sat up to lean his head in his hand, using the miniscule light from outside to see her and brush some half dry hair away from her face, running his knuckles down her arm and back up again.

Dany rolled onto her back, her eyes adjusting until she could see him clearly enough. “Thank you for taking care of me,” she whispered. His heart broke, and virus be damned, he leaned down and kissed her plump lips, though she tried (and failed) to weakly push him away.

“You’ll get sick,” she said, her hand cradling his neck.

“Worth it," he declared, giving her neglected lips several more pecks before laying back on his side. "Dany…"

"Mm?" She rolled so she could face him.

“You never have to thank me for taking care of you,” he said softly, tugging her closer, but also trying to be mindful of too much shared body heat would make her fever rise.

“Okay,” she agreed, her voice slightly hoarse.

“I love you,” he whispered against her forehead.

“I love you, too. Even when I’m a disgusting snotty, sweaty, contagious mess?”

“Do you remember our first date?” He smiled into the dark room, a chuckle already bubbling up in his throat.

“I don’t think I could ever forget you trying to pretend you weren’t on your deathbed, just to go on a date with me,” she mused, and he could hear her own grin in her words, her head tilting up so that she could see him.

Ah, yes. The ultimate game of cat and mouse. Daenerys Targaryen had been convinced she would never date again, never give a man a second look for at least another twenty years. Even after Robb introduced the two of them, and Jon was ninety-nine-point-nine percent certain he’d fallen in love with her at first sight, she was reluctant. For six months. But he was patient, and he gave her space while also being conscientious that there was a balance between coming off as far too clingy and seemingly disinterested if he didn’t at least try to find a place in the back of her mind.

Naturally, as was his luck, she finally accepted...and the next morning he’d woken up with a severe bout of the stomach flu. Fate was trying to fuck with him, but despite a trip to the toilet to heave every forty-five minutes, the gods would not win that day. Unfortunately, their plans included dinner, and nothing would stay down in the time leading up to their date. They went to a movie first, and he only had to make two trips to the bathroom to throw up all of his popcorn. When dinner came, it was so physically demanding to keep everything from not reproducing onto the shared table between them, Dany noticed the sweat on his face and kept having to ask him if he was alright

Then his anxiety spiked and he knew, for sure, he would fuck up a very important day by completely freaking her out by his odd behavior. There was bowling, and then they concluded with ice cream, and that did him in. As they took a would-be romantic stroll around the nearby park, the garbage bin never looked so appealing, and that was where he, ironically, definitely fell in love with her. Because rather than run away or laugh at his humiliation, she threw out her (and his) remaining ice cream and rubbed his back as his body seemingly caught up and punished him for holding it all in for hours.

When he tried to apologize between ralphing, she shushed him and told him to stop being ridiculous. Then she took him home and doted on him like a pitiful, helpless little boy (not that he didn’t completely eat it up - not unlike tonight, but roles reversed.

“We’ve come full circle,” he snorted, running his fingers up and down her back.

“I think it was meant to be,” she giggled.

Jon hummed and pressed his forehead to hers, shutting his eyes. “I know it was.”

#jonerys #jonerys fanfic #jonerys drabble #one of my fave tropes #I think this is a record in how quickly I was able to whip this up :')#my drabbles

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primasveraas-writing · 3 years

Text

"the holy or the broken" -Ted Lasso

I'm so sorry.

WORD COUNT: 2401

XXX

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and they’re all defined by the same woman.

The third echoes the first: Roy Kent, angry at the world with no one to pull him out of his frustration. It’s also worse, though, because before, Roy lived in blissful ignorance of the joy and sorrow that laid ahead.

Rebecca and Ted express their surprise at Roy’s anger. They thought him changed, or perhaps that grief would prevail over rage, and they were wrong. Because Roy Kent, when stripped of everything he is -his athleticism and grim humor and the love of his life- has anger. Nothing less and nothing more.

At first, he can’t say her name. He doesn’t even think it, because every reminder of her is a reminder that she’s gone. Despite her mark on everything- the furniture they picked out together, the bed they shared, her usual seat at the dining table, the compliments she gave his hair and clothes- Roy doesn’t think of her. Which means he doesn’t think at all, so he becomes his anger and his pain, and nothing else.

He stops coaching, obviously. Nobody asks him if he’ll keep going, nor does he announce his departure. His absence, professionally, personally, emotionally- is expected fully. Though people still coming to the fucking house. He tolerates her parents, and Phoebe once or twice, but eventually the visits dwindle, and Roy doesn’t check his phone or answer the door. There’s shouting, sometimes- inevitably Ted Lasso- but Roy has soundproof headphones for a reason and he’s perfectly fine with calling the cops on Ted. And he does, more than once.

His sister begs him to talk to her, or at least to Phoebe, and Roy, in all his anger, doesn’t have the heart to turn his niece away. So it’s just her and Roy, a few days a week, and they order food directly to the house and Phoebe tells him about school, and he grunts in acknowledgment. She cries sometimes too, and that’s when he holds her. No words are exchanged, but he comforts her, enough so that the sobs stop. The numb feeling he has remains intact.

The yoga moms scout his address, somehow, and drop off a wine basket- they drink in relative silence, and clean up his house and make a few casseroles. He picks at the food, but they slowly disappear, and it’s almost nice to eat more than once or twice a day.

It doesn’t get easier. People tell him it will, that the pain will start to lessen, but it doesn’t. Not three weeks after, or four, or five, or when summer emerges and the lilies bloom.

Roy’s not particularly good at adapting. He never wanted to be. And it’s bullshit that he’d have to start now, for some shit fucking luck and life-alerting occurrences he never saw coming.

Because he never expected that there would be an “after” regarding Keeley Jones. It’s not something he planned for and certainly not something he ever wanted. It’s just: one breath she’s there and the next, she’s not. Gone and the house empty, her office too, and suddenly every space at Richmond is filled with flowers because Roy doesn’t accept a single bouquet.

He does start to say her name, although only to his sister- the only adult he talks to. He spits it out, with venom, and he suspects that it’s this habit that prompts Rebecca to show up at his house.

She sneaks her way in, the stubborn shit. Apparently, she hid down the street until he ordered food, bribed the deliverer with an obscene amount of money, and rang his doorbell herself. Rebecca slips into the entry before Roy realizes it’s her, and slams the door behind her.

“What the fuck are you doing here?” He hisses, and to her credit, Rebecca doesn’t flinch. She gives her best businesswoman smile, the one that so directly contradicts the flint in her eyes, and straightens.

“Someone informed me that you made developments in your grief-

“Fuck you-”

“-so I thought a visit was due.”

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“Somebody told me once that I was always welcome in her home. Has that changed?”

“Yeah. She’s fucking dead.”

Rebecca does bristle at that one but she doesn’t challenge the statement. Instead, she clears her throat, setting Roy’s food down on the table in the foyer.

“Your sister told me how quiet you’ve been. And that any time you talk about Keeley, you do so with an incredible amount of anger.”

Roy doesn’t deign to respond, glowering at Rebecca instead. She takes a look around the room, in all its dusty glory. Lights off, trash piling on the floor, clothes strewn over backs of couches. It matches Roy, in terms of appearance. Unkept. Uncared for. Unloved.

“I’m calling the police,” Roy decides, scanning the room for his phone. “You can’t fucking impersonate a food deliverer. Or fucking be here when I don’t want you to be.”

“I paid him handsomely-”

“-illegal. And fireable.”

“-enough so that his salary for the next few months should be covered.”

“Get out.”

“I can’t do that.”

“I don’t give a damn about what you’re here to fucking do or say. Leave me the fuck alone.”

“And leave you to stew in your anger and your filth? I don’t think so.”

And Rebecca struts into his living room and seats herself on a sofa.

“Dr. Sharon proposed to me that your anger had legitimate grounds. Not just your usual brooding about playing and coaching a game for a living, but you know,” Rebecca gestures to Roy. “Real reasons to be so surly.”

“My fucking wife died.”

“Yes, well. My best friend died yet I’ve been outside over the past few months.” She gives Roy another placid smile. “Despite the fact that I’m mourning.”

“It’s different.”

“Undoubtedly, yes. You’ve been much unhealthier in your habits.”

“Fuck you,” Roy growls. “Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.” Keeley would refer to that as Rebecca’s scariest tone. “I came to talk.”

“I don’t care.” His hands clench into fists.

“You’re angry at Keeley.”

“I’m fucking pissed at you and your fucking break-in habits. Did you fucking compare notes with fucking Lasso?”

“You need someplace to direct your anger, and since fate dealt you both such a terrible hand, the only thing you can think to do is blame Keeley.”

“That makes as much fucking sense as you impersonating a takeaway driver. Fuck you.”

“So you go from not being able to say her name to saying it like a curse because you’re much more comfortable with your anger than sorrow.”

“I can say Keeley’s name.”

“Can you say it without sounding like the angriest person on the entire planet, Roy?”

“Fuck off.”

“Well?” Rebecca stands. In heels, she towers over Roy, who glares right back at her. “Show me you can, Roy.”

“I don’t have to prove shit to you.”

“No. But I asked you to.”

“I’m not fucking angry at my dead fucking wife.”

‘You’re angry at someone.”

“Yeah. You.”

“Come on now, Roy. Do better.”

“I’m NOT fucking angry at Keeley!”

Rebecca raises an eyebrow. “Clearly.”

“Fuck you.” Roy paces before her, ignoring how every step makes his knee throb. “Fuck you, fuck off. Fuck you.”

“Are you even sad?” Rebecca says quietly, and Roy freezes, his muscles clenching painfully.

“Ask me again,” he dares, his tone low. He takes a step closer to Rebecca, who remains unfazed.

“I said: are you sad your wife died in your arms, Roy?”

“Fuck you!” Roy bellows. He spins away to upturn the coffee table, sending dishes crashing to the floor.

“Do you miss her? Do you wish she hadn’t died?”

“I’ll fucking kill you.”

“So I’ll see Keeley again. How lovely.”

Roy roars, using the full force of his body to punch a hole in the wall. His fist comes out covered in plaster, bright red blood leaking from his knuckles dusted white.

“She fucking died in a freak fucking accident. There’s nothing- nothing- she could have done differently.”

“But she left you.”

“She fucking- she-” Roy’s chest heaves as he looks wildly around the room, at anything but the woman in front of him. “She was supposed to get her fucking nails done. We were going to get Thai for dinner. We had a sexy fucking weekend planned, and she was going to come home and it all would have been fucking fine.”

“And now she’s gone.”

“We can’t do any of that shit. Can’t fucking fall asleep next to her ever again. Or hold her fucking hand. We had fucking plans-” His words catch in his throat, and he looks away, examining the new damage to the wall. “We had plans.”

“Roy-”

“Don’t.” He closes his eyes. “You riled me up. Is that what you fucking wanted?”

“Yes,” Rebecca admits, and she retakes her seat on the couch, disregarding the surrounding wreckage. “Since the one person you want to talk to is gone, I figured I’d substitute.”

Roy glances around the house, at the forgotten groceries by the entrance, at the overturned table, and at the destroyed wall. “Good fucking job.”

“Thanks,” Rebecca says swiftly. “I figured I’d be better at it than Ted.”

“I’d have fucking killed him.”

“I thought so.” Rebecca sighs, massaging her temple. For the first time since her arrival, her bravado fades and her shoulders slump. It’s a familiar sight, one Roy witnessed the last time he saw Rebecca- at Keeley’s funeral, where all traces of the usually confident woman had faded away, and a grieving shell stood in her place. “Is that it, then? All the anger is for what’s never to be?”

“Yeah. That’s it.”

“And this is the first time you’re realizing it?”

Roy’s eyes narrow. “Yeah, it is.”

Rebecca shrugs. “Okay.”

Silence prevails for a long while, then Roy sighs and takes a seat next to Rebecca.

“You know, my office has quite literally never been quieter. Even with Ted bursting in at all hours, it’s just… not the same. I started to get frustrated at Higgins trying to coordinate with me simply because he’s not the person I want to see. And then I woke up angry, too. Absolutely pissed at the sun just for rising. Because every day that I experience is one I should be sharing with her.”

She looks down at her hands, which tremble slightly. “It’s not fair. And I have nowhere to put all my anger and blame.”

Roy wordlessly gestures to the wall, and Rebecca gives a soft laugh.

“There’s one option.” Then, she swipes at her eyes, and sniffs.

“Keeley would have never forgiven any of us if we gave up on you, Roy.”

“I know.” He clears his throat. “She told me as much. About me.” He rolls his eyes, then blinks rapidly. “I’m not supposed to give up on myself.”

“Good job,” Rebecca retorts, and Roy growls, but Rebecca gives another breathy laugh. “You didn’t call the police on me. I’d say that’s a good sign.”

“Don’t let it go to your fucking head.”

“No. Of course not.”

“Thank you,” Roy says very, very quietly. Rebecca takes his hand and squeezes it briefly. Her palm comes away coated in dust and blood.

“Clean up, Roy,” she tells him, standing. “I’ll be seeing you soon.”

Rebecca leaves, but she sends over a team of cleaners and a fresh batch of groceries. For the first time since Keeley died, his fridge is fully stocked with food for him to make into meals, and the house is spotless. He sends a text to his sister, telling her to fuck off in a way she’ll know means thank you, and showers. He trims his beard and dries himself off with a freshly laundered towel, then he falls asleep ass naked on the bed and sleeps for twelve hours.

He goes to see Phoebe and the rest of his family. They catch him up on all the petty bullshit he doesn’t give a fuck about, and it’s nearly normal, except that he drives home alone to an empty house.

He goes back to yoga, and every stretch feels like he’s never done a downward dog before in his life. Still, the wine after is good, and he ends up going home with a spare bottle and another casserole, and so another part of his life resumes.

It’s a slow process. Richmond is a hard place to face, with Ted trying to be casual as he checks in on him, and the boys stepping around him like glass, and Jaime Tartt in tears when he first catches sight of Roy. Her office, the lack of visits from his wife during the day, and the plaque commemorating her on the wall hurt like getting that phone call all over again. But it’s the beginning of the mourning process, Dr. Sharon will tell him, and now that it’s started, the hurt will eventually lessen.

With every end, a beginning.

Roy takes his first steps.

There are three eras in Roy’s life, and a thousand different Roys.

There’s the prodigy footballer, eight years old and scoring goal after goal in every match. There’s the Chelsea player, a championship winner, then the Richmond player, bittered by age. Injured Roy Kent, retired, coaching his kid niece’s football team. Then, briefly: professional commentator. Richmond coach.

Roy Kent, who fucking hates Jaime Tartt except usually his girlfriend is nice at least. Roy Kent, Keeley’s boyfriend. Roy Kent, Keeley’s fiancé, husband- widower.

Roy Kent- a bastard luckily enough that Keeley loved him too. Roy Kent, who lit up when she walked into the room, who smiled more during their time together than he ever had before in his life. Who wanted to start a family with her. Who doted on his wife and promised her the world and a thousand other cheesy things, because she had that power over him.

Roy, who was beside her at the very end, who evoked her last words and smile. Roy, who had that horrible, painful privilege of easing his wife’s passing with reassurances and small comforts and anything he could do to make her feel his love.

Roy, who loves her still. Who’ll die loving her and missing her, and wishing they had just one more day.

Roy, who learns to live to make her proud.

#roy kent #keeley jones #roy x keeley #roy x keeley fanfic #ted lasso #ted lasso fanfic #ted lasso fanfiction #roy x keeley fanfiction #roy x keeley imagine #roy kent x keeley jones #keeley x roy #angst #oops im so sorry yal #rebecca welton

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tinyyoungblood · 3 years

Photo

baila | peter parker

summary: peter and you spend the night together to study but after a couple hours of Going Through It™, peter has taken it upon himself to lift your mood with a couple surprises and a bulletproof plan to run away

pairing: peter parker x reader

words: 1.6k

warnings: language, fluff

a/n: is this a love letter to brazil? is it compensation for my desperate desire to travel? or just a comfort read to everyone who’s struggling with exams and assignments? it’s both. enjoy x

song: baila by now united

─── ･｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Oh my god,” you groaned. “Not even the French know how to use the damn Subjonctif. Why do I need to know?”

When the first two tries at conjugating your verbs proved unsuccessful, tempers frayed even more. You shucked your pen over your shoulder and burrowed your face in your arms.

“That’s it. I give up. This is my capitulation. France can own my soul.”

Peter quirked a brow as you ripped out a white sheet of paper and waved it half-heartedly. This had been your fourth time declaring defeat that night and it was barely 10 o’clock. Peter had kept quiet the whole time, watching in amusement as you navigated between doing Math homework and studying for your French test.

At some point, he even caught you rattling off numbers in French under your breath, and he was 90% sure you weren’t even aware of it.

Peter had suggested multiple times that you should take a break, but you had only dismissed him with a lazy wave and a string of uncoherent French vocabulary. So for the most part, Peter stayed out of it. He knew that he couldn’t help you anyway since he took Spanish.

Only now, you were humming what sounded a lot like a drunker version of the national anthem of France, so Peter picked up the pen that you had tossed on his chest and rolled out of his bunk bed to shuffle over to where you sat at his desk.

He wrapped his arms around your shoulders and rested his cheek against the top of your head. “This bad?”

“Have you not been here for the last four hours?” Your voice came out muffled. “I’m this close to selling my identity to avoid that stupid test tomorrow.”

Peter fought off a smile. “Oh yeah?” You nodded. “Where would you go then without an identity and any money?”

You finally lifted your head and looked up at Peter’s face. “First of all, rude. Second of all—” You rolled back on Peter’s chair and stared at the crumpled world map tossed on the ground. You couldn’t remember a time where it was properly stored anywhere else. It made you wonder if Peter had intentionally placed it there as an artistic choice, but you weren’t here to question his taste.

You bent down to pick it up, dusting some chips crumbs off it while laying it on the desk. “How about Finland?”

“You hate the cold,” Peter said flatly and leaned against the desk. “How about Italy?”

You considered it. “Sounds like heaven. But it’s too close to France.”

“So?” You gave him a long look until Peter snorted. “Just stay in the south then.”

“Can’t. The temptation’s too big. They have baguettes and croissants, Peter. I’m not strong enough to resist that.”

Peter hummed slowly and bent down to hook his chin over your shoulder. He scanned the map for a moment, then said, “Stay on this side of the planet then. Ever been to Brazil?”

You shook your head. “I haven’t, but it does sound promising. Brazil is beautiful.” You jumped to your feet. The idea of running away to travel and see the world sent waves of bliss through your body. The map was clutched to your chest. “Can you imagine living in a warm place near the ocean, watching the sunset on the beach and learning about the culture? The gorgeous nature? Trying out new food? That sounds like a dream!”

Peter donned a half grin. He made a little gesture at his chest that you thought was supposed to mean he was curtsying or bowing or something sarcastically gentleman-like. “You’re welcome, babe.”

You were positively beaming, whirling around and imagining another life for you, when you suddenly froze and your face dropped. Peter instantly pushed himself off the desk, expression worried. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I just realized that you…well, that you exist.”

Peter gave you a weird look. “Are you being a terrible flirt or is this another existential crisis?”

“Neither.” You laughed. “I meant, what about you? If I go to Brazil, what will happen to us? Will you stay here?”

Peter tilted his head and pursed his lips like he was actually thinking about it. He gave you a shrug before stepping forward and pulling the map out of your grip. It was carelessly discarded to its usual spot before he took both your hands and brought them to his lips.

“If this actually were a real plan and you’d really leave for Brazil…I’d come with you,” Peter said, an honest smile curving his lips.

“Oh?” You smiled back.

He nodded and stepped forward, forcing you to walk backward until your back hit the wall. He let go of your right hand to reach behind you and just with the flick of a switch the entire room darkened—only leaving faint moonlight to pool through the open window. Peter flicked another switch and you let out a soft gasp. Above you, fairy lights glowed brightly in the dark, lightening up the whole room. They were attached to the ceiling, dangling from the walls and spreading wide above your heads. They looked like stars taken straight from the night sky.

“Peter, this is beautiful.” Your voice was barely a whisper. “When did you—Did you use web shooters to glue them up there?”

Peter grinned. “Do you like it? I did it while you were studying.” Your heart melted at the sight of his nervous smile. “I actually wanted it to be a surprise, but you were so caught up with French. I knew you wouldn’t notice anyway.”

Peter reached for your other hand, gently pulling you toward the middle of his small bedroom. You followed without hesitation, keeping your gaze on Peter’s face as it was framed in a soft yellow light. He placed your hands on his shoulders and settled his own on your hips, pulling you closer. Instinctively, you wrapped your arms around Peter’s neck and gazed into his eyes. As if he couldn’t help himself, Peter immediately leaned forward and captured your lips in a tender kiss.

“I’d come with you and we would do everything you just mentioned,” he mumbled against your mouth and slowly began to sway your bodies. “Food, music, everything. We’d go to the beach to watch the sunset. We would stay until it would be dark and we could see all the stars.”

You sighed fondly. The thought of it was so grand; it left you unbelievably happy despite the tug on your heartstrings. Resting your cheek on Peter’s shoulder, you wrapped your arms around his torso and took in his familiar scent. “What else would we do?”

Peter didn’t need to think about it. “You’d dance in my arms like you are right now and we’d keep the music playing. We’d dance underneath the stars and act like there’s nobody else around.”

“I’d like that,” you said, eyes closing to focus on Peter’s voice and his hands on your waist. “How long would we stay out there?”

“All night,” Peter replied softly. “We’d keep dancing till the break of dawn and till the music’s out. We’d do it all night long.”

“All night long?” You echoed and lifted your head, meeting Peter’s dreamy gaze. A grin swept over your lips. “That’s a lot of dancing, Parker. You think you can keep up?”

Peter shrugged, a fond smile spreading over his face. “That’s all I want to do. All night long. Feel the rhythm in your coração.”

Your mouth fell agape. Peter had to stifle a laugh. “Since when do you speak Portuguese?”

He shrugged as if it was nothing, but you could clearly see the faint blush creeping up his neck. “Since I learnt that my girlfriend wants to run away to Brazil, leaving me with no choice but to follow.”

“You’re full of surprises,” you said, chuckling and shaking your head. “But you’d really do that for me? You’d just up and leave to illegally live with me in Brazil and dance the night away?”

Peter pressed a tender kiss to the corner of your lips, his eyes were aglow with love. “Don’t tell the others I said this, but I’d follow you anywhere.”

You were pretty sure the world had stopped spinning right then and there. Everything halted to stare at the boy in front of you in awe.

“What are you doing?” Peter asked, sounding surprised and almost betrayed as you slipped out of his arms and headed for the desk.

“If you can learn some Portuguese because I want to commit identity fraud, then I can get my shit together and conjugate these verbs.” You scrambled for your pen and flipped open your notebook. “Besides, maybe we can also run away to France while we’re at it.”

“I see.” Peter plopped on his bed, crossing his arms behind his head. “Anything for baguettes and croissants.”

You sent him a wink over your shoulder and repeated, “Anything for baguettes and croissants.” It sounded like a promise.

* * *

stay hydrated pals and good luck for everyone who’s Going Through It™ <3

#peter parker x reader #peter parker x y/n #peter parker x you #peter parker x fem #peter parker x fem!reader #peter parker fluff #peter parker fic #peter parker one shot #peter parker fandom #peter parker #peter parker x yn #peter parker oneshot #peter parker fanfiction #peter parker mcu

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diavolodigitale · 3 years

Text

The Hitchhiker's Guide to Andromeda Galaxy - pt.4 Voeld

And, finally, this is the last existing part of this pathetic piece of writing. It is even more awkward than the previous ones since here you can witness attempts at “plot”. Anyway, there is no continuation to this and never will be unless someone manages to convince me otherwise (I don’t think it’s possible though).

Genres: comedy, romance (vaguely), friendship maybe.

Pairing: m!Ryder/Evfra

Characters: Ryder, Evfra, Jaal, others occasionally

Rating: PG

Warnings: cringe alert!

Size: this atrocity is around 17 PAGES LONG so, yeah, keep that in mind

All chapters: Pt.1 - Pt.2 - Pt.3 - Pt.4 ----- All chapters in PDF

“Pathfinder, you have a new email,” rang out SAM’s lifeless voice on the bridge.

“Thanks, SAM,” replied Ryder even though he didn’t really have to.

He approached the terminal, wondering who the email might be from.

“I bet it’s Peebee,” presumed Kalo when Ryder approached the terminal, “you know how she likes sending emails instead of just coming up to you and communicating directly.”

“I can hear you!” yelled Peebee from the escape pod and loudly dropped something on the floor.

Urgent Matter

To: Ryder

From: Evfra

I received information according to which colonists from Taerve Uni attacked the Resistance Base. I do not know any details yet. The shuttle of the colonists is now being examined by my specialists.

I advise you not to spread the word on the Nexus. Come to Voeld as soon as possible. I will meet you at the Base.

“Shit,” mumbled Ryder, dismayed by the news. “Kalo, we’re changing the course. The new destination point is Voeld.”

On their way James was sweating profusely. He felt flustered and didn’t know what to expect from the situation. He was afraid that the moment they stepped onto the icy surface of Voeld, the Resistance soldiers would raise their weapons and no negotiations would be held. Ever.

“You okay?” Vetra closed the door to the airlock section where he was sitting and approached him.

“Could be better,” he answered without even raising his head.

“Who else knows?” she asked, taking a seat beside him.

“Jaal, obviously.”

“Yeah, not telling him would be stupid. If things go south, he’s the only one who can help us out.”

“I just hope everything isn’t how we think it is,” said Ryder quietly and sighed. “We cannot allow any mistakes. With angara, there are no second chances.”

“Don’t think about it yet, we’ll draw a conclusion when we see everything with our own eyes.”

“Thank you,” James exhaled loudly as if their conversation helped him to calm down a bit and looked at Vetra. “I mean it,” he said and forced himself to smile a bit.

“Stop it. I’m so used to your dumb jokes that seeing you being sincere seems freaky.”

“I knew my sense of humor isn’t that bad,” said Ryder more gaily and lightly bumped Vetra’s shoulder with his fist. “You should appreciate it while I’m here with you all, ‘cause something tells me Evfra is going to beat the crap outta me. Then I won’t be able to come up with such ingenious jokes anymore.”

“You’re overexaggerating. I think you’ll still be able to talk, hon,” retorted Vetra and returned him the whack.

“Well, that’s a relief.”

They set together until the Tempest landed. Following Evfra’s advice, Ryder decided not to tell anybody on the Nexus or aboard the ship about the reason for their coming to Voeld. He didn’t want to make the crew agitated before confirming or disproving the information he got. This didn’t include Vetra because he knew he could trust her with such matters: she was the pillar of strength in every difficult situation, always able to think clearly in spite of unfavorable circumstances. Jaal was the second one to be let in on this secret since keeping him in the dark when it came to his people was simply mean. He was the member of the Resistance after all.

“Are you going to tell us what’s all the fuss about?” asked Suvi when Ryder was hastily leaving the ship. The tension aboard the Tempest was practically palpable at this point.

“Nope,” he answered without hesitation.

“All the emails are supposedly checked by the Nexus, so if something’s up, we’ll know sooner or later,” stated Kalo, remotely closing the lock after the Pathfinder left.

“Should’ve known that…” hissed Peebee in her escape pod, rummaging in her observer.

“Wait, Kalo, open the lock!” Vetra rushed onto the bridge in full gear. Jaal followed her swiftly.

“Guys, could you have made up your minds sooner?” asked Kalo irritably.

“Hurry up and open the lock or he’ll leave without us!” Vetra was clearly pissed and couldn’t see any reason for Kalo’s incompliance.

“If you exploit mechanical parts of the ship too much, they break faster and—”

“Kalo!”

“There is really no need to be so rude…” Kalo felt like complaining, but still did what he was asked to.

Using her jump-jet, Vetra made it to James in a couple long jumps.

“Hey, Ryder! What about us?” She caught up with him and stopped on his way.

“I think it’s best if you stay on the Tempest. I’ll deal with it on my own, nobody has to get in trouble. I’m the Pathfinder and it’s my responsibility,” he said dejectedly.

Vetra clicked her tongue and crossed her arms.

“Ryder, let me come with you,” almost pleaded Jaal in a hoarse voice; he was obviously anxious. “I may be able to change Evfra’s mind. I have known him for a long time now, you won’t handle him alone.”

James had already decided to go into the beast’s lair on his own so now he was just thinking over the plausible excuses to make everybody stay aboard the ship.

Vetra knocked on his helmet with her index finger.

“Hello? Anybody in there?”

Pathfinder loudly coughed and, trying to calm himself down a bit, started his impromptu speech.

“You know, I am really grateful to you all, but there are moments in life when you just have to accept some things and be ready to sacrifice…”

“Boy oh boy, he really thinks this nonsense will work,” said Vetra in a monotonous voice.

It seemed to Ryder that she even rolled her eyes under her helmet.

“Just take Jaal and go. But I want a full report after,” she conceded, “since you’ve decided that I should know about all this. See you later, I guess.”

Ryder and Jaal exchanged quick glances as she returned to the ship.

“Fair enough.” Pathfinder wiped the screen of his helmet with his left hand. The snow was clogging it, making it impossible to see.

The Tempest had landed right near the Resistance Base. Ryder didn’t want to go to the human colony until he saw what really happened and decided what to think of it.

Evfra was waiting for him inside the construction hunched over the reports lying on the table. It was dead cold, as always, but, because James was so uneasy, he felt as if he was on Elaaden with its scorching sun and torrid sands.

“Pathfinder,” sharply said Evfra, still towering over the pile of datapads on the table. That startled Ryder who was at the moment thinking of how to initialize the conversation.

“Evfra… I already forgot how cold it is on Voeld on days like this…” James was nervously rubbing the holster of a pistol attached to his leg. Jaal tried to encourage him with a light pat on the back, letting him know that he was still there.

“I’ve inspected everything. No casualties from our side. A few angara are mildly injured, but nothing serious,” went on Evfra. Surprisingly to Ryder, he did not even sound particularly mad.

“Meaning… you are not going to beat me?” asked the Pathfinder cautiously.

“I was thinking about that,”—Evfra finally turned around and faced Ryder—“but no. Not today, at least.” He nodded to Jaal, recognizing his presence.

“What about those who attempted an attack?” asked Jaal who obviously had more control of himself than Ryder.

“Little is known for sure. They were wearing colonists’ outfits. The shuttle also belonged to the colony. Nobody survived the attack, so we couldn’t interrogate them. At the moment we have a crashed shuttle and five unidentified bodies,” emotionlessly reported Evfra.

Jaal addressed Ryder, who looked like he was awaiting further intelligence still.

“Ryder, we should take a look at the shuttle.”

“Yes, of course. Let’s go,” agreed the Pathfinder almost immediately.

Evfra led Ryder and Jaal to the crash site. A few angaran soldiers were guarding it.

“Quite far from the Base itself,” noticed Jaal.

“Yes, and only one shuttle. It doesn’t look like a well-planned intrusion to me.” Evfra dismissed the soldiers and invited the Pathfinder to examine the site.

With estranged look and blank mind, Ryder began scanning. Even though Evfra didn’t seem mad and the other angara weren’t hostile towards him, the situations worried him. He couldn’t understand why somebody would do something like this. The colony on Voeld symbolized the union of two races and served the needs of both. People who agreed to live there knew what they signed up for when they came to the planet shared with the angara.

“Pathfinder, I cannot identify these people. They are not on the list of Voeld inhabitants,” reported SAM using public channel.

“What about the Nexus?” asked Ryder, confused. “We are the only people who came to Andromeda. There is no way they are not from the Nexus.”

“At the moment I have no access to full census. You can request that the next time you’re on the station,” responded SAM.

Ryder continued to scan, desperate to find at least some useful clues, while Evfra and Jaal were examining the bodies and the equipment of the intruders.

“The clothes as well as some of their supplies indeed come from Taerve Uni. They were listed as missing a week ago,” continued SAM after Ryder scanned the leftovers of a few containers.

“Why didn’t we receive any reports about that?” he asked. It seemed as quite an important piece of information to not share with the leadership of the Nexus.

“Perhaps, the governor of the colony considered it to be too insignificant to inform the Pathfinder,” assumed Jaal.

“What about their weapons?” asked Ryder the AI, agitated.

“The colonists do not use these models. They come from elsewhere.”

Evfra was looking through the possession of one of the attackers when he found an almost undamaged datapad. He shook the snow and ashes off of it and held it out to the Pathfinder.

“Ryder, take a look at this.”

“Is it… kett?” Ryder scanned the datapad just to be sure, although he could already recognize those scribbles. “It’s encrypted. SAM, can you decode it?”

“Yes, Pathfinder. I would need a few minutes to do that.”

Ryder’s worries grew bigger and bigger starting from the minute he read Evfra’s email on his terminal on the Tempest. Worse than human colonists attacking the Resistance Base could be only human colonists affiliated with the kett.

“Hey, human,” Evfra addressed James after watching him struggling with himself for a minute or so, “do not lose hope yet. The attempt was too disorganized. I don’t think your people are planning a conspiracy against angara. Although, if we presumed that you were the one responsible for it, then all the sloppiness would be justified, and we should lock you up.”

Jaal chuckled softly. For somebody whose people have recently been attacked, both Jaal and Evfra seemed a little bit too carefree.

Soon SAM’s voice distracted Ryder from his thoughts and brought back to the real world.

“Pathfinder, I have decrypted the data. This datapad appears to hold the plans regarding the attack. It also includes the navpoints as well as the layouts of the angaran Resistance Base on Voeld as well as for the human colony Taerve Uni.”

The details SAM discovered didn’t quite fit into the picture in general, so Jaal said aloud what, perhaps, most of those who gathered there were concerned about.

“I do not understand why the colonists would need the navpoints for these locations. If they live on Voeld, they should know where the Base is situated since they cooperate tightly with the Resistance.”

Ryder was barely listening. He couldn’t apprehend that somebody on his side would commit such a treachery so he decided to get to know the truth, whatever the cost. He used his omni-tool to get in touch with the Tempest.

“Suvi, contact Priya Blake and ask her about the missing clothes and supplies. I want to know everything. Also check where one can find these weapons. I’m sending the scans.”

“Will do,” calmly answered Suvi without asking any additional questions.

“Let’s get back inside. I’ve heard humans don’t perform very well in the cold,” rather stated than offered Evfra and headed back into the building.

James silently agreed and followed. On their way inside, Jaal approached him, worried about his reaction to the events.

“Evfra is right. You should not lose hope, Ryder. Anything is possible, especially if the kett are involved. And you shouldn’t forget that he also will not abandon attempts to establish beneficial cooperation between our species that easily. Even though he tries to pretend that he will.”

Ryder simply nodded in response.

“Do all humans value our alliance as much as you do, Pathfinder?” asked Evfra inside the hideout, already nestling beside a specially constructed heater. His voice gave in his genuine interest.

“Frankly speaking, I have no idea. I just try to believe they do,” answered Ryder. He had not given it much thought previously.

“So, at the moment everything holds only on your initiative? In that case, I would really like to know about your motivation. Besides survival of the species.”

Ryder took some time to reflect on his own viewpoint. There weren’t any other species in the Andromeda galaxy with which his people could build an alliance, but it seemed to him that something made him feel a special kind of sympathy towards angara.

“You know, while on Aya, I met your chief astronomer, Maariko,” he said, confusing everybody as to how it related to Evfra’s questions. “He asked me to find several missing anagaran satellites. To cut the long story short, we found out that they were scavenged and taken to pieces by exiles from Kadara, and the team he sent to locate those satellites was vanquished. I wasn’t responsible for that, exiles aren’t part of the Nexus anymore, but still… When I told him what happened, he was so… disappointed. He was so enthusiastic about our people working together, but this news made him change so drastically. Seeing him like that made me feel the worst I have ever felt in my life,” he summed up. He sounded tired and upset having to recall this story.

Evfra wistfully hemmed. He took a seat on the chair at his desk and turned to face Ryder and Jaal.

“Is regret your driving force then? Do you do this only because you’re ashamed and want to prove that humans aren’t that bad?”

“I—”

“Evfra,” almost exclaimed Jaal, interrupting James with no remorse. “Ryder must not feel ashamed of what other humans do, the same way we are not ashamed of the deeds of Akksul and his kind. Every individual is responsible only for his own actions.”

“I see you two grew to understand each other quite well…” said Evfra and nodded to himself. “But it doesn’t matter. Your worries are groundless. I am not trying to offend the Pathfinder, Jaal. I just wanted to know what he thinks of the situation we’re in.”

Jaal’s courage and support inspired Ryder to be more confident and not to yield to Evfra’s provocations. No matter the obstacles he had to overcome, his purpose was true and he would stick to it till the end, even if everybody doubted him.

“I think that this newly established bond between our species is beneficial for everybody. It is not perfect, we still have lots of stuff to work on, sure. And this is why I will do my best. If we really are the ones to blame in this incident, I’ll pay the price and earn your forgiveness. That’s what I think,” he said, somehow making it sound as though he prepared this speech long ago.

“I can respect such an answer,” said Evfra approvingly.

Ryder’s omni-tool made a beeping sound letting him know that somebody was on the line.

“It’s Suvi,” stated James to inform everybody else in the room before turning on the public channel.

“Ryder, the supplies from Taerve Uni appear to have been stolen. The security footage shows a group of people entering the warehouse and taking some of the stuff. Presumably at that time one shuttle was stolen as well. Priya Blake says one of the colonists had to be helping the intruders since they weren’t able to find any other clues and all other footage appears to be corrupted.”

“Got it. What about the rifles?”

“They seem to implement some of non-Initiative technologies. Our best bet would be to say that they come from Kadara.”

“Exiles then,” said Jaal quietly to himself.

“Thanks for your help, Suvi,” said Ryder and turned off the communication device, not letting Suvi ask any questions about what was happening.

“I suggest we go to Kadara right away. We shouldn’t waste any time,” said Jaal.

“Yeah, I would also like to get things sorted out as soon as possible,” agreed James.

He tried to take this incident in all its seriousness. Even if it meant running from one planet to another in search of any bits of useful data. Besides, the possibility of exiles being responsible for the offense gave him courage. Believing that the colonists had barely anything to do with the incident was all that kept him going.

“There is no need to do that. I will reach out to my agents in the port immediately and let you know once they discover anything important,” suggested Evfra.

His proposal looked like a real gesture of goodwill. Even though it was a little suspicious of him to make the life of the Pathfinder easier instead of complicating it, Ryder didn’t feel like refusing.

“That would be really convenient. We will stay on the Voeld’s orbit for now then. Are you going to come back to Aya?”

“No, not now. I’ll stay here until we clarify everything. Actually, I wanted to talk to you about something else. Do you have a minute?” asked Evfra mysteriously. Ryder could not even imagine what else he would want to discuss after the matter with the colonists was settled for the time being.

“I’ll return to the Tempest, you can take your time. Goodbye, Evfra,” said Jaal, retreating before he was asked to. He felt that he shouldn’t stay. Since Evfra wasn’t really mad, his job there was done, so he decided to return to the ship and give them some privacy.

After Jaal disappeared out of their sight, Evfra offered Ryder a seat. The surface of a chair was quite cold to the touch.

“As a matter of fact, I wanted to talk about Jaal,” began Evfra. “I’m glad he left without me having to ask him to do so.”

“Is something bothering you?”

“Not bothering, no. I am wondering how he’s doing on the Tempest.”

Evfra was not the type that would talk much and especially not the type that would uncover that he worried about someone. Seeing him being open about what he cared about made Ryder feel more at ease in his presence.

“Jaal has become a valuable member of our team. He always provides us with helpful insights in situations otherwise obscure to us as newcomers. And he’s a skillful fighter, what more could I ask for,” he replied happily. There really couldn’t be too much praise for Jaal after what he did to help them.

“Good. I want to make sure he doesn’t feel left out. After our experience with kett, it was very risky to let him go with an outsider.”

The moment James met Jaal, he immediately understood that this angara is one of the most adventurous and decisive aliens he had ever seen. Nonetheless, only weeks after did he realize how big of a step had his new teammate made in terms of changing angaran foreign policy. The kett were the only aliens they had met before and that contact certainly didn’t have any positive outcome.

“You don’t have to worry,” said Ryder, waving his hand nonchalantly. “I mean, cultural clashes are unavoidable, but nothing we cannot handle so far. The Tempest crew is as diverse as it can be, so he fits like a puzzle piece.”

“Keep it that way. Or I will be forced to retrieve him. He is still an important agent of the Resistance,” said Evfra in a serious tone, although not threatening. He admired Jaal as one of the best assets in his movement and, understandably, didn’t want to lose him.

“I don’t think you will be able to do that. He seems to enjoy being on the Tempest. And, at this point, I won’t let him go,” said the Pathfinder laughingly.

“Do you like him that much?” asked Evfra. From the tone of his voice or the look on his face it was difficult to determine if it was a serious question or not.

“Well, he is a great interlocutor,” began Ryder, not really knowing what exactly Evfra expected to hear. “Considering the fact that he doesn’t know much about our customs and habits, he holds himself pretty well. Also, the female part of the crew seems to be fond of him. Especially the female part. And Liam. For some reason.”

The expression on Evfra’s face was one of confusion and incomprehension mixed together. Hearing this was definitely not something he anticipated.

“Are you saying that they are attracted to him?” he inquired in an attempt to define what Ryder meant.

“Kind of. Nothing serious, I’m sure, but he knows what to say and not say. Albeit I start doubting that when he opens a discussion about how asari reproduce. That is uncomfortable.” Ryder bit his lip looking blankly at the snowy floor beneath him and thinking of how to continue the conversation. “Anywa-a-ay,” he began in a sing-song voice, seemingly having come up with something else worth noting, “coming back to his positive sides, he smells really nice. You also smell nice, by the way. I mean… not that I’m sniffing,”—he rubbed his neck like he usually did when he was nervous—“probably, it’s because of the lotion. Or something else. Jaal told that angara use lots of different self-care thingies, a-and I probably should stop talking about that already, shouldn’t I..?”

Evfra did his best not to bury his face in his palms because of how uncomfortable he was. There was always this moment during his conversations with Ryder when he just didn’t know how to react. He thought that if all humans were so perplexing and held so little control over their emotions, communicating with them on a daily basis must have been a real pain.

“You say your crewmates are discussing ways of reproduction,”—he tried to skip the embarrassing bits of the conversation and get to what really interested him—“I recon Milky Way settlers don’t know much about angara. We are not used to affairs with other species. Isn’t it too early to talk about such matters?”

“Humans discovered the intergalactic community less than 30 years ago and… well, plus 600 years we spent to get here, but let’s disregard that for now. All I’m saying is it didn’t take us long to fully adapt. Even though previously we too thought we were alone in the world. And, dare I add, our first contact with an alien race developed into a 3-month war. At least you’re not willing to fight us just ‘cause you don’t like us,” said Ryder without giving it much thought. Evfra was quite surprised at how confident the Pathfinder was in his words, almost as if he had previously considered this problem.

“Then that is your standpoint. I see,” replied Evfra and crossed his legs. For James it looked a bit weird considering angaran anatomy, but he tried not to stare. It was already awkward enough.

“Back at the Milky Way there were some species not compatible with human physiology at all,” began Ryder again. “Having all kinds of strange tentacles and rows of sharp teeth. And the batarians… Just imagine something staring at you with four eyes”—James twitched sharply—“I still have chills. So, yeah, angara don’t seem as such a bad option to me.”

“But isn’t survival of your race a priority now? There is no future for you if you don’t create great families and develop a new community,” objected Evfra. However persuasive the Pathfinder was, some of his opinions just did not sound practical to Evfra.

“I look at how angara cherish every member of their huge families and I aspire for us to live that way. But you just cannot force yourself if you strive for something else. Or somebody else,” said James without prevaricating.

Evfra narrowed his eyes and started drumming his fingers on the desk.

“That’s an interesting thought to hear from a person holding a position like yours. I don’t think your superiors would like it.”

“Well, I’m my own person.” Ryder leaned on the back of his chair. It didn’t seem so cold anymore. “And I still don’t get paid for the job so the least they could do is letting me date who I want to.”

“Be careful, Ryder. Now you make it sound as if it never was about the choice of others but rather about your own decision regarding this issue,” warned him Evfra. Despite his serious tone, he had no intention of revealing what Ryder told him to anybody else.

“Even if it is, what’s then?”—James tilted his head to the left a little—“unions between separate individuals of our species would have a great influence on our affiliation in general. If we can feel sympathy towards each other, then we are not so different after all. Sometimes you have to sacrifice something to have something else instead.” He sighed and slightly disappointedly added, “and my genes aren’t special or anything, so the humanity won’t lose much.”

Evfra checked the time on the terminal on his desk. He then stood up, implicating that it was probably time to wrap up the talks.

“It’s already quite late so I won’t hold you here any longer, Pathfinder. Your crew has waited more than enough.”

“Guess you’re right.”

Ryder stood up as well and quickly adjusted weapons hanging on his leg and back.

“I’ll accompany you to the Tempest if you don’t mind,” said Evfra.

“Not at all. Sometimes I get lost in your caves here so it’s always nice to have somebody show me the way around.”

They exited the room and set off into the network of icy caves, filled with equipment and appliances belonging to Resistance as well as a great number of soldiers and researchers occupied with their individual tasks.

“When we first came to Voeld,” said Evfra, observing his people at work, “we didn’t bring much resources. It was difficult to operate here, so we thought using these caverns would be a good start. Later we were able to equip everything with necessary facilities and make life here more comfortable. It indeed goes to show how far the ability to use surroundings to your own benefit can bring you.”

“I think you did a really good job surviving here. Can’t imagine how difficult it had been before we activated the vault,” commented Ryder, sincerely amazed by the job that the Resistance did on Voeld.

“It was extremely cold. We couldn’t make ten steps from the heaters unless we had special equipment. But, perhaps, even worse than that was what the planet looked like. Deserted and dead-white. The kett were there somewhere, we knew it, but through blizzards and snowstorms it was impossible to see anything. Lots of soldiers couldn’t handle such desolation for long.”

Evfra looked thoughtful for a few moments. The topic of colonization of Voeld brought back some memories about how it used to be. One look at his scarred face was enough to understand that it was anything but simple.

“The cold here is still unbearable, but… I don’t think it looks that bad. The beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder,” mused Ryder.

“Is that another human saying?” asked Evfra curiously.

“Yes.” They’ve finally reached the exit from the cave. Ryder dreamily stared at the white sky almost melting together with white mountains and slopes. “It means that nothing is really objectively beautiful or hideous, it depends on your perspective. You just need to learn to see good in everything. Even if there isn’t much of it.”

“My dislike for Voeld mostly came from the fact that it was so different from my home. But now it is better. Now that you are here,” said Evfra casually.

Ryder abruptly turned his head, shifting his gaze from the sky to Evfra’s rigid face. He felt that he was blushing under his helmet because of how astonished he was. The words sounded dubious, not like something Evfra would say.

“I mean the human colony,” added Evfra calmly. “We are not alone on this planet anymore.”

“Yeah, that’s what I thought,” nodded Ryder and coughed awkwardly.

Barely noticeable notes of discontent in Ryder’s voice didn’t escape Evfra’s ears. It was strange to hear that, but he tried not to overthink. After all, it was impossible to know what humans had on their mind.

After a moment of puzzlement Ryder went on, “I’m also glad we’re not alone on Voeld. It would be a hell to maintain an outpost on such a secluded planet.”

“Yes, it would.”

They walked the trail to the landing area in silence. Frozen snow was creaking under their feet and dim lights that defined the way flickered through blizzard, hardly noticeable. Guards were on their duty, constantly checking the perimeter for potential intruders. Even though it wasn’t so cold anymore, they tried to keep close to the heaters and stayed mostly in pairs.

Approaching the Tempest, Ryder made the last attempt to heat up the conversation. He hated to leave things the way they were.

“So-o-o, do you want to know a strange fact about humans?” he asked, pretending like it was a perfectly normal thing to ask after not talking for five minutes.

“Why would I want to know that?” Evfra turned around and faced Ryder, baffled by the question.

“Jaal once asked Liam and I thought… It’s okay if you don’t, really.”

“Go ahead then,” said the angara. At the moment he did not really care much about knowing more about humans, but rather wished to hear what Ryder wanted to tell him so eagerly.

“When humans are on the last stages of freezing, they get naked.”

This time Evfra couldn’t keep himself from closing his eyes and rubbing his forehead for a few seconds, feeling weary and jaded. Communication with humans really did make him think harder than usually. His brain just couldn’t handle such pressure every time he tried to analyze what was really going on in their heads. Particularly it applied to Ryder.

“Well, anyway, I’m looking forward to hearing from you,” said the Pathfinder and got aboard the Tempest. Evfra stood outside for some time, thinking, before returning to the Base.

Surprisingly enough, nobody aboard the Tempest was mad at Ryder for not sharing the reason for their come. Kalo tried to complain about the Pathfinder not trusting his team, but it didn’t take long for him to accept the fact that Ryder just didn’t want them to worry about the whole case. They stayed on the orbit of Voeld in order to be able to get back to the planet as soon as possible in case the situation needed them to.

James talked to Vetra and Jaal, convincing them that Evfra really didn’t say anything offensive and really didn’t threaten him. Hardly did they believe him when Ryder said, that the leader of the Resistance just inquired about the whole air aboard his ship. Realizing he would probably not say much else, they left Ryder alone.

The day went on with nothing noteworthy. Drowning in different reports from colonies and the Nexus, Ryder didn’t pay attention to the passing of time and soon found himself the only one staying awake. He was exhausted because of all the anxiety and jitters he had to experience today, so calling it a day didn’t seem to be a bad option. Although it took him some time to fall asleep because of all his spinning and turning in bed, he slept quite calmly and didn’t see any dreams.

He was woken up by SAM early in the morning.

“Pathfinder, you have new emails at your terminal.”

“Are they from Evfra?” asked Ryder, yawning.

“One of them,” answered SAM without getting into details.

James used to the terminal in his quarters to check the emails.

Some info for the captain

To: Ryder

From: Reyes Vidal

Yesterday I got a task from Evfra (don’t worry, it’s not classified, I wouldn’t write you otherwise). As soon as I heard the details, I immediately knew it had something to do with you, so now you’re reading this.

It happened so, that a friend of mine wanted to take part in a shady venture. I, being a kindly person I am, told him not to. Some of his other friends weren’t as smart as him and didn’t listen to my advice, so they ended up dead in a stolen shuttle near the Resistance Base on Voeld. Do you follow me? I hope so, because it seems like if it hadn’t been for me, more exiles would have attacked the angara pretending to be your people. And we all know where that could lead.

Now I hope you’ll acknowledge my assistance in this matter and pay me back for being this good of a friend and taking care of your image so professionally.

Let me know when you have a free minute to chat.

Reyes

Ryder blinked a few times. His eyes hurt from starring at the terminal screen right after waking up.

“I think I’m now more confused than I was before if that makes sense,” he said rather to himself than to SAM. “Okay, let’s see what the second one has for us.”

Update on Urgent Matter

To: Ryder

From: Evfra

I have some intel we were looking for. I recon Reyes is now writing an email to you as well. I couldn’t deny him the pleasure of doing that, but you can never be sure of what he is going to tell and what he isn’t, so I’m writing as promised.

People who attacked our Base were indeed exiles from the Kadara port. They managed to get in contact with kett who saw a great opportunity to use them and had promised them power and resources in return for undertaking this offense. My assumption is that they wanted to disrupt the alliance between humans and angara by making it look like your people attacked mine. However, I think their commandos didn’t know about this plan. It looks too irresponsible and lacks elaboration.

Someone in Taerve Uni helped exiles get in and steal what they needed. Reyes mentioned one of them having a relative in the colony, so it’s best if you investigated this further.

Angara do not blame you for what happened. Some of them feel for you and send their support.

In case you need me, I’ll be on Aya. I am flying back today.

I am glad there is no reason for us to be at war.

“Somehow, imagining his face while he writes it makes it sound even better,” mumbled Ryder to himself and closed the email. He was too sleepy to be able to answer it properly right now.

#Mass Effect #Mass Effect Andromeda #Andromeda #Fiction #Fanfiction #Evfra #Ryder #Ryder/Evfra #Ryder x Evfra #Vetra #Jaa #Kalo #Suvi #Peebee #HGTAG

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stoplookingatmeblog · 3 years

Text

twenty-one

It was around that time that all my friends went to work in different chapters of what you can call ‘the filming industry’. P-G shot beer adverts which used some kinds of robotics to get the right shot, flip the bottle right, and then slept with this girl who offered him a paid internship in managing pretty much everything on sets of a bunch of movies, ads and whatnot. My own mother, finally getting out of the convenient but unemancipated housewife life, got a job in supervising the shoot - making sure the costumes were right, the scenography, all that stuff. It was pretty much, you could call it, the time of Life On Set Then - everywhere you went, ads, movies, Netflix series, all of it wrapped up in fake police ‘do not cross’ kind of tape, horses and knights from our beer-bottles riding the streets, and the catering busses with food that was (mother told me) ‘absolute horeshit’. Whatever. The time was of living in a reality created for money, by money, with money, because of money, giant heaps of money, distributed unequally (of course) to all my student friends who didn’t even need the money except for that feel of ‘life on their own’.

I didn’t have a job. Before not working, I worked a couple of cafes, restaurants and the like. That was the vibe. I hated it. Each time I began working in one of these places, I ended up sleeping with someone (first time a guy, and then a girl or woman that was honestly too old for me) and that I hoped marked the end of relationship with gastronomy for me. So I didn’t work, deciding not to decide what to do next, not putting myself on the road to one kind of future or another. I didn’t want life to go anywhere directed. I thought about writing but then I thought about the seriousness and stiffness of writing, whether or not it’s a purely natural act, all that, and decided on trying to squeeze the last drops of childhood (it was adolescence, but adolescence is really a final sigh of childhood) and live what was left of the kid-life to the fullest.

I was twenty-one years old.

A group of friends convinced me to go with them surfing (on my parents’ money), to Victoria, a place which location doesn’t really matter, except that I thought, and still do, that the spot is an actual a piece of heaven on earth. A nearly imaginary point on the increasingly smaller map of this melting planet. My age, too, was melting away like icecream - not having a job and surfing in Victoria, like a teenage pimple, some place that popped up and presented itself in its complete and vulgar form and purpose that you initially didn’t believe and then wept after at that airport because you could never come back. It was an actual speck of heaven on the map.

Even though everyone was younger than us - four of us, me, P-G, J, and Stone (the last one, a tired intellectual I could never get tired of, except you could see he was really both bored and exhausted by being born and living as himself. And his nickname surprisingly not derived from the astronomical amounts of weed he smoked but his actual god-given surname (which he thought of changing, because of his father) - even though everyone who came to Victoria was younger than us by something like three or four years, we surprisingly didn’t have trouble at least getting along, and at most sleeping with girls there. It was even more grand in that way, even if absolutely not true, when you saw yourself in their eyes as someone older and somehow experienced, who somehow kept going on, and somehow knew what was going on. The same lie made most of us, (excluding me, as I mentioned) get a job around that time. In movies and advertisements, with no creative input or control, but like actors that nobody knew about, playing their own invented parts backstage.

I was twenty-one years old and completely aware of both how small and how big that was. I knew about the kinds of things I probably should be doing and that’s why I sometimes did them, for a minute putting my feet into that creek too, but most of the time staying at the bank and just watching. I knew what being twenty-one meant, so I decided to sit back and watch it.

My friends all surfed a lot, which would normally bother me because I did it only for the first week of our month-long stay, but quickly dropped it and decided to stay at the beach and read, and drink and look at some really beautiful girls who passed me by, and for once enjoy that stranger-life. By the second week, after seeing in a restaurant a shirt with a ‘SeXsurfing ‘00’ inscription on it (‘00 being the year we were born, which made us inspect our parents’ lifelines to check for the possibility that at that time some of them were in Victoria), and in the twenty-one-year-old drunk epiphanius inspiration, all four of us decided that we would lead the ‘SeXsurfing ‘21’ lifestyle, not thinking about the ‘42 and the ‘63 and all that shit.

I wasn’t the most successful one when it came to girls, but I can say that the stories I had with them were the most absurd and worthy of telling. Even though it was J who (and he too asked himself why in the world that was) was able to talk with someone new every evening, somehow perhaps betraying my unwanted by nonetheless existing monogamous attachment, I slept with only one girl over the course of the last week, picking her up (or perhaps her picking me up) through a conversation about our shared borderline-sociopathic or rebellious outlook on reality. That was very twenty-one.

Our first meeting (like every meeting since) was going to one of the three tourist shops on the beach and stealing something. And that too was very twenty-one. We were rich enough (our parents were) and far away from home enough to do all that. And we were both young and beautiful enough to want a mugshot we could keep from an arrest by a Victoria Police County Jail or whatever it might have been called. We were never caught but we did steal something every day, and then get drunk in the evening, and then fuck in the night. While my friends had these singular, although beautiful, encounters I would drunkenly burst into the closed restaurant with my temporary girl-friend, steal absolutely vile icecream from the fridge, and then play chess with her on the hotel rooftop at four AM.

The four of us were twenty-one years old and born in the year 2000 which in the same way made sense - our lives were easy to calculate, clearly-definededly started, and even if they had to end with no thing coming back or being repeated, the twenty-one points we scored didn’t mean anything except the joyride and experiment, and meaningless game that it was. We were taking our shot at living, taking our shot at playing, and even when we didn’t win, it still didn’t mean anything. We lived on our parents’ money, or on advertisement money, or cafe-sleep-with-someone-there-and-then-leave-because-you-don’t-need-money money, all of it a mystification, but that those twenty-one years led to nothing we suddenly did not care.

Well, and then being woken up by the police, although surprisingly not because of the icecream dream but for the crime of sleeping in a hammock on the dunes which (I learned) was territory of both the military and part of some natural park.

What made me go home with something in the end were the conversations we had at that time, and in particular the conversations with Stone. Like me, Stone had a feeling of injustice done to him by his family, not having a real father and hanging down on the tired gray hair of our housewife mothers and all, and it made us connect on a level we didn’t with either P-G or J, who were most often busy surfing or thinking about the jobs they had or would one day have, and the girls they met that weren’t my girls so I didn’t care that much.

Stone kept affirming that both of us (although him in particular) were in possession of superior intelligence, which I instinctively tried to discourage him from saying (because I didn’t like sucking my own dick like that), but nonetheless accepted as at least potentially or partially true. In my case, it was not intelligence that me connect with Stone but some kind of a shared understanding of what was going on, that we were twenty-one and what that meant, like a filthy two-pigeon flock of pigeons flying above the waves, knowing the fact of the creature swimming underneath the surface. I thought, and still do, it had to do largely with coming from an unhappy or non-existent family, which really makes you understand that all you do, with even the most meaningful and beautiful things, is just this game that you play but holds no particular meaning beyond it. That and that love, no matter how beautiful or true, can slip away from you like shit.

‘It is completely lonely’, he said one night as we chugged down the bottles of beer drunk rich kids left behind running away from the police - bottles half-empty to me and I think half-full for him, but I still haven’t quite figured that one out, ‘Because you never really see things the way the rest of them do, and each conversation almost the same, you begin to think the only way to be is to be alone’

I agreed. I usually did, being aware that he was slightly more intelligent than me.

‘Back when I was in the Institute, they told me I would have problems with getting out of relationships with people what other people get from other people because what I want is to be understood and that is problematic when you think you want it but also think it’s impossible to ever understand anything’

I too thought you could never understand anything, but had a sense he perhaps only said it to keep me on the same page. Stone chugged down another half-full beer and kept talking. I stayed silent, in part because I would probably say the same things he did.

‘When I was seventeen and worked in a factory, I gained a sort of awareness of how my life would look like’

‘What kind of a factory?’, I asked

‘A cake factory, I would work in the hot section and pull out cakes out of the oven and then fill some of them with cherry, and some of them with apple-cinnamon. And then, because I was seventeen and my work was fundamentally illegal you could say, they’d let me work in the cold section in the night, and I applied sugar coating on these doughnuts, you know’

‘Yeah’

‘And then wrap them up in plastic covering, you know’

‘Yeah, yeah’

‘when the coating was dry, and send them to another section of the factory. And so over and over.’

‘So, what does your life look like because of that, do you think?’

‘I don’t know…’, he took a puff from one of the cigarette butts we found that night in the ashtray, ‘... I guess working in the factory was a kind of almost psychedelic experience that really made me aware what my attitude towards suicide is. You’re young, and you step into that thing, and you do those things because you want to, you don’t need to. Well, you might need to but the need is still your choice, it isn’t honed into your life like… Like I recognised at some point that each cake I filled with the stuffing or coated was an expression of the same kind of thing I did when I smoked weed (a lot), or drunk (a lot) or had sex. That, ultimately, I would never be able to not think about it.’

‘I mean, I think the position we are in - if I understand you correctly - of being relatively well-off - I mean our parents - would make you unable to really plunge into anything that you’re doing, right? Because you ultimately don’t have to do anything, like, really, like here, you always sort of treat it as a game’

‘Not even a game’, he said, and the sun was already slowly creeping up the mountain in front of the shop where we were sitting, ‘But just not a challenge. Because of our intellect, both yours and mine, the only challenge you really face is whether to continue being or not, and the rest is just, you know, stuffing these cakes. But that decision, you know The Myth of The Sisyphus?’

I did.

‘Yeah, so that decision you have to and always will have to make fundamentally alone. And so either go and work - work in any kind of way and do those things and hand them over to others to complete them and you don’t really ask questions (but we can’t do that, neither you nor I) or you step out of the factory and face the living sun, like you’re definitely going to feel after we leave this place, and decide whether you’re more happy alone or with others, or whether you want to keep on handing things to others or not, and all that.’

‘I mean this is the reason I think people shouldn’t have children - I’ve written a piece about it, you should definitely read it - because it’s kind of like juggling with a hot potato and handing it to someone else, so that they have to confront these questions, instead of you, but what you really do is give up.’

At that point I don’t think I understood his cake factory metaphor or didn’t want to believe that I did in the fear that it wasn’t very profound.

‘So what do you think you’d like to actually do?, if you could pick anything at all?’

‘I don’t know’, again inhaling another cigarette butt and handing one to me. And the sun almost rolled its own boulderous weight to the top of the mountain. ‘I think I would like to have a family, especially since meeting May (he was the only one of out SeXsurfing quartet with a girlfriend), I started thinking that maybe I can, and I’m recognising this, give someone something that my father never gave me, hoping to do it right this time’

‘Yeah, I mean that’s literally the ending of my book - have I told you already I’ve written a book? - that the main character thinks he can do it right this time and he of course fucks it up, but I don’t know if I still think that. You know, life is sometimes surprising.’

‘Exactly’, he exalted the smoke, and the sun, previously rolling up the mountain to sunrise, seemed to have fallen back again to the bottom of the mountain, and began its journey anew.

‘I mean, when I was seventeen I worked in a factory…’

‘What kind of a factory?’

‘A psychedelic cake factory’

‘What does that mean?’

‘I worked in this factory and I worked in the hot section and my job was to take the cakes out of the oven and then pump them full of acid, or pot, or sex, or anything you could get your hands on. I guess it was illegal, but then again I was seventeen so my work was all fundamentally illegal.’

‘Where did the cakes later go?’

‘Later? Well in the factory I sent them to another section that I never really saw, but later later to homes, parties, rich people who really wanted to try the kind of stuff their kids were taking, I guess’, he chuckled, ‘It’s interesting, I wonder if my father ever tried one. Maybe in some alternative universe or something. Maybe he ate it and became like me, and dropped everything and went to work in a factory and in that reality they stuffed the cakes with shit like cherry and coated them with sugar, you know, maybe that was the right reality, and later he dropped that job, and went outside of the factory, and made the choice and threw himself under a bus or something.’

‘The right reality.

Maybe.’

Lou from the restaurant (the SeXsufring tshirt we found was in that restaurant) was the kind of man you’d always want to be. We travelled to him for dinner hitchhiking from the beach, in twos, usually P-G and J, and then me and Stone, around seven, or all together if we could sit in the trunk of the car when we travelled in one of the rich-kid rented cabrios, and you would feel the day (same day, every day) a winding road under our feet (like gods, treading on forever) cutting through the mountains and the sunset rolling his boulder somewhere and when you finished eating you’d lie down on the warm good night asphalt with a can and listen to music on one of our phones and wait for someone to take you back to the beach.

But gods that we were, Lou from the restaurant was the kind of man you’d always want to be. It was always a show, too. He would come by people’s tables (our table in particular, because he knew and we knew), this enormous older man dressed in a white sweaty shirt with eyes that looked blind but saw everything, and told us stories about all that he knew, which was pretty much the town, and the town hall, and the restaurant, and everything. And the girls also came there to eat, and everyone too. And everyone knew Lou from the restaurant.

I always ordered things I could not afford because P-G and J were always happy to lend me money, so I ate octopuses and steaks, and everything was everything you’d ever want to eat. There were half-blind, strangely-speckled cats that roamed under the tables, not even expecting guests’ dinner cat-food enjoying the company, like we did, and there were kid cats and mother cats and they would fight on the backdrop of the white-painted summer trees, and some girls would say the cats’ were really poor and imply their lives were wretched and miserable to which I would reply with something like natural selection and they would say that’s a horrible thing to say and then all of us would bite into the steaks that Lou brought us.

After P-G asked him to tell us his version of the legends we heard of from the girls, about his old restaurant, and how someone ruined it and how the paradise moved from Victoria to this new town (I don’t know the name, but it was simply Lou’s town), and it seemed like god himself was telling us the story, dusting it off, driving away the spiders and the snakes, an old book or a chapter in a book that everyone on the beach talked about but it seemed nobody actually heard. Except the four of us.

‘Well so you know I’m really electrician’, he began, ‘but at one moment I tell my wife - let’s build restaurant. So I go to the town hall, here’, and he pointed to a building not ten meters away, ‘and the auction close at 12, I go in at 11:56 and the price is 12000 and I go in and say 60000. So I get the restaurant and everyone crazy and angry at me but I have it.’, I cut out the portion of the steak and chewed on it orgasmically. Everything Lou cooked was good as hell. ‘So I build restaurant…’

‘But not here, right, on the beach?’, P-G, who heard most versions of the story interrupted

‘Yes, the beach. So I build restaurant and first year I make so much money I put it in…’, his broken eyes and mad half-blind english were both looking for the word, ‘like bags, plastic bags, trash bags, and it is so much I count it then in winter, because I have no time in summer. So it is good, so much money, going great. And then in year two thousand and… two thousand just, maybe, I go away for holiday and they call me “your restaurant is destroyed”, I say “no you’re kidding me”, and they say “no, no, they burn restaurant down, come back”. So I come back, and true, the restaurant is destroyed, and you cannot build it again because the law that was there changed so you cannot build now.’, as he was telling the story, Lou’s eyes stayed monotonously bland, bright and staring somewhere beyond. A true restaurateur, he never stopped looking at what was going on at the other tables so at that point he stood up, saying ‘I finish the story in moment’, and went to take care of something in the kitchen.

Then when he finally came back, he said:

‘So where was I now tell me.’

‘Your restaurant was burned down when you were out of the country’, I reminded him

‘Yes. So I move here and build new restaurant, and it is small but people come like before and they even fight for to eat, and they ask “you finished already, let us eat”, and my restaurant again now is doing well, very well, and people come, and still I don’t have space, but people come’

‘And is it going better or worse than in the previous location?’, P-G asked

‘No, there there was more money but here is good. Very good.’, he waved his grubby big hand at all the tables packed with people, girls, others like us. And he laughed with his tongue flying up and down in his mouth in a way some people find repulsive, but to us it was Lou from the restaurant, and Lou from the restaurant could honestly laugh in whichever goddamn way he pleased.

‘Ok, I’m sorry but I have to go again, the people’, he pointed to the kitchen, ‘don’t know what they do’

Our twenty-one year old quartet replied ‘of course, of course’, in unison and for a while we sat there chewing our steaks, and fish and octopus, and another steak, silently, only saying a couple of words of admiration for Lou from the restaurant, the man you’d always want to be.

‘There are snakes and scorpions here’, P-G told me one time we went to the more rocky part of the dunes near where our tent was pitched. ‘So we have to be super careful, especially during the day. In the night they sleep in their wretched little caves or among the rocks, they won’t bother us in our sleep.’

But they will bother us when we’re awake, or when we think we are, but are someplace else, like Lou from the restaurant who went for holidays. You stop paying attention to what is slithering or crawling in the sand and one time as you are looking for a nice and fresh cigarette butt lost in the sand, BAM, and you are dead, like that (Lou’s grubby old hand falling down on the wooden table with a thud).

We were twenty-one years young and on holidays from either a job in advertising or not yet having a job in advertising, and there were girls and waves, and sand, and scorpions, and it was all a joyride so we didn’t really think about that. Well, to be honest, not much could go wrong - another day, like groundhog day, would be more or less the same, always better and better and better. And the shrinking, melting map - warmer and warmer and warmer.

The worst that could happen, we knew, was the police coming in and chasing us away from the dunes (because it was both military grounds and a national park at the same time). But that wasn’t that bad, after all, it was police in paradise, and we felt so much love for them as we did for the scorpios and the snakes and it was just impossible for them to not love us back.

Well, hen one day it happened. It was after I woke up with her, for the first time in two weeks sleeping in an actual bed, but more importantly for the first time in perhaps a year sleeping with a warm body next to my heart, next to me, in my hands, falling asleep with my lip still in her teeth. I woke up in the morning and having the bare level of awareness of my state, that I must stink and will not be fun to be around in the morning (although the fresh air made hangovers impossible - what can I say, it was paradise), I decided to go back to the our camp on the dunes and sleep off the night in a hammock I usually inhabited.

There were usually some locals (working in restaurants and the shops I stole flip-flops from) who like devils crawled out in the night and tried to party with the twenty-one year old us, drinking our booze and smoking our smokes, so when the white-poloed guy woke me up like bad sunrise saying ‘Police, wake up, police’, in sly english and a broken smile, my instinctive reaction was to reply with a classic ‘Shut the fuck up, you’re not police’, but after seeing one of them who definitely was police, with a uniform and gun and all, I complied with their request for my ID and let them write me a pink slip of paper demanding a fine so astronomic that none of them could not possibly believe I’d actually pay it. A younger policeman (also not uniformed) asked me what happened to my neck and, explaining a bruise that could only look like a love bite (and indeed it was), I replied that I was bitten by a wild animal (and indeed I was). He said that with that bruise-like love bite and a half-unbuttoned shirt I looked like a ‘star, rock star, you know’, and we both laughed, and I decided none of it was that bad after all. He looked like a ‘star, rock star, you know’, as well, slightly unfashionable but at the same time completely incredible in bluish sunglasses, a pink polo shirt and slightly silver but naturally black hair. In Victoria, the snake, too, was quite handsome, and what he ruined, at the end of the day, was only an hour of my sleep.

I met Lou from the restaurant - he saw some creature, and its wretched work, destroying his restaurant, but his bright, half-blind, all-seeing eyes burned with nothing but love. And mine, slowly but surely, started to shimmer with it too. The days, or the same day, grew brighter and brighter, and the nights drunker and drunker and the driving drunk on the beach got faster and faster, and more and more people fitting into one car, with no winding-road end in sight.

There was no hangover in Victoria, but going anywhere in the morning was especially difficult, as if the gravitational force doubled, or thriced, or quadrupled.

Stone, who had an admirable ability to make contact with any kind of an alien species of a person (that I really envied), found himself one night in a conversation with a russian maths student (the Russian started university well before the usual age, he was like 17), and when the next day we asked what the two talked about Stone only said ‘I think we are a week away from merging the theory of relativity with quantum mechanics. But give me another bottle and it will be one day.’

The Russian, Stone told us, was one of the ‘exceptionally intelligent’ ones (which Stone, had the habit of identifying and cataloguing into his set of people ‘worth talking to’). The Russian was younger than us - perhaps sixteen or seventeen, as I mentioned which really gave everything he said an additional benefit of seemingly prodigy-like, but also made Stone wonder whether he was a kind of a father-figure to the exceptionally intelligent maths student, that considering leading Stone to the two days later declaration that it was undoable, stemming from Stone’s own desire to redeem his father’s abusive absence et cetera et cetera.

The Russian was so socially inept, that even I was doing quite well (it was not superior intelligence, that barred me from connecting with others, as Stone asserted). A prodigy, the Russian spoke not just maths and Einstein, but quite good english, french (from my limited knowledge I could confirm also quite good), spanish and bulgarian (which I had absolutely no idea about but he sounded possessed and speaking in tongues when he presented his abilities to us). He could play giftedly most instruments you could think of, but playing, he said, never really excited him. He was one of those kids who know and can do so much they would really rather not do it at all.

Because of our groups’ incidental and unexpected but intense interactions with girls, the Russian treated us with an unjustified reverence, but it was not any kind of envy, with a mind like that you don’t really envy anything except being able to rest from what’s in your head and for once have a good night’s sleep. There is a scene in the movie Beautiful Mind where the main character, a schizophrenic, lays out to a girl he likes, very systematically, astrophysically like, why she should sleep with him. I bet that’s what the Russian would do too in the future.

There is another scene in a movie - Interstellar where a group of astronauts looking for humanity’s potential new home (the map contracting, the world getting small since the year ‘00, now twenty-one, then ‘42 then ‘63, warmer and warmer and warmer), the group of astronauts lands on a planet, of constant, unending sea, sees in the distance what they think is the great mountains of a new found land. After a couple of minutes of advancing towards the mountains, Matthew Mcconaughey says in hollywood style ‘these are not mountains. These are waves’ and the four astronauts have to flee the slowly approaching catastrophic demise of the wave, which, due to a fucked-up gravity on the planet, rose to that catastrophic height.

At six AM, after one of the exceptionally drunk nights, with the sun already in full swing, and the alcoholic gravity fucked-up in their heads, Stone and J went to catch a wave bigger than at any time of the day.

While I was sleeping off the night in the hammock, with God knows what dreams, or maybe even no dreams at all, and P-G tossing and turning in the tent, and Stone and J surfing the morning wave, the Russian sat solemnly and alone on the sunrise beach and looked up at the starless sky, wiped clean by one gigantic white star which at that point (he knew, we didn’t know) was so big and close to the contracting map that it sucked out some of the time and some of the space from the air, making the tide rise more than at any time of the day. He knew why that was and we didn’t know but we were looking at the same thing, the earth getting warmer and warmer and warmer, and the wave growing higher and higher and

And we would sometimes go away from Victoria, to a nearby town where the waves were always bigger and we marvelled at how they whip-cracked, splash-fell and rocked against the concrete-lined shore and drowned the air underneath with all their might, worked it into white foam. He knew and we didn’t, and while we lay down with girls looking into the stars and talking about constellations (only to then laugh about how drunk and absurd it is to think three stars can possibly represent the shape of a great bear or big dipper or any kind of stupid shit like that), The Russian tried to crack the code written in the stars. Looking for a new home for us. The four of us walked the shore and wondered about the origin of colorful pebbles spat out by the lapping magnificent waves, and he could probably tell us everything about each of them, trace lines from each falling star to each stone we cast mindlessly into the sea.

He could explain the shifting realities when the morning came, and why, at seventeen, you have to do certain things and not the others, and now, too, why we did all those things, why we worked in psychedelic factories and sung our hearts out to the bass of the speaker. Why we ran after girls beach-length and back, why we hitchhiked to Lou’s restaurant, why we came to Victoria in the first place, why we had jobs in advertising, why we were twenty-one, but Stone was right about one thing - the Russian was ‘fundamentally alone’

There is another scene in Interstellar, the next one after the giant wave, where Matthew Mcconaughey comes back to the spaceship waiting in the orbit of a water-mountain-these-are-not-mountains planet, discovers that time, tied with an invisible string to the fucked-up gravity) passes differently on the surface of the planet, in its orbit, and in general completely differently back on the contracting earth’s map where he left his children. How old were at the time he left in that movie - I can’t remember, let’s say twenty-one. Having spent only half an hour on the surface, he now plays the received messages from back home and sees his children’s lifetimes growing older and older and older and finally sees them surpassing them in age. He breaks down in tears and I suppose you could say he, too, was ‘fundamentally alone’

The Russian, Stone told us, was taught privately by a tutor who’s line of mathematical origin could be traced all the way to Gauss or someone. He could speak Einstein, french and spanish, and although his tongue got tied in human conversations, one day, as we drank beer on a small patch of grass in front of the local hotel, he proclaimed there was something very important we wanted to tell us. Concluding that the Russian was most definitely possessed by something (you could tell when he spoke bulgarian), we all decided listening would do no harm but at worst would be so incredible that we would not believe it.

‘You guys are now young and strong and you surf and all, but seriously, you have to do sports’, he began, ‘I don’t mean just any sport but something that really puts weight on your muscles. Like rowing or pumping on the bench, you have to train and now prepare for the rest of your life. And cardio, too, it will save you from heart disease and such.’ - and you can imagine mine, our surprise and feeling of absurdity that a being like that was uttering sentences such as these at that moment.

And that was it, the only normal set of words he ever uttered in front of us, which in his mouth was not normal at all - this man, trained by Gauss himself, had one recommendation to us and it was to do sports because it will help us to stay healthy in the future.

In space, the state of weightlessness makes the unused muscles grow weak, and the astronauts have to use the special gym machines installed on their spaceship so that their bodies don’t entropy, and heart is a muscle, too, I think, and I wondered, briefly, after what the Russian told us, if it too can die with no gravity. And it seems that time is a muscle too. It contracts and then it unfolds, it squeezes and releases and lets you breathe and suffocates, and ultimately things seem neither good nor bad but just what they ended up being. Time can definitely die away and fall from you like a dead leaf. Or it can end up a pretty stone under the feet of a giant wave. You don’t feel how it squeezes and unfolds, how it lays you down in a warm bed in the arms of someone you didn’t ever know but who reminds you of everything.

Matthew Mcconaughey - seeing messages from the future, past, present, now, never, always, and breaking down into tears, his heart breaking from weightlessness.

I was twenty one and I knew what it meant.

And in a year I would be twenty two, and in another year twenty three, and in three years twenty four. And the astrology girls, going with us skinny dipping in the midnight water, they will disappear somewhere under the waves and start slowly fading away from our lives like an unused muscle.

J loved quoting this one scene from Matthew Mcconaughey's first movie:

‘You know what I love most about college girls? I get older - they stay the sameeeee age’

And each time he said it, he laughed with the greatest, purest laughter you could find on this now planet.

‘And I got caught one time’

‘For what?’

‘Well, maybe two, but only one time involved the police. Second time. And that was me trying to steal an album, well, it was called Steal This Album’ - I was lying, although I did also steal that album, but having trouble with the police was for an attempted theft of headphones though that didn’t sound as sexy. And for some reason which made me feel real good I was flirting with the most beautiful girl under the good sun by us recounting our thefts both real or invented.

We both quickly settled that we had some borderline immoral thread running through our veins but drew the line at actually killing someone. We were rich and young enough to say those things and be all sexy about it. We knew we didn’t have to steal but arranged we should do it together and some point (‘ok, why not tomorrow?’) and it was beer first, and then flip flops the next and then another day a pink swimming mattress from the backseat of some rich and young and abandoned rented cabrio. And we took it swimming, drunkenly in the night. Rich and young, and full of stars.

We stepped into the calm sea, small waves, shallow, and took off our clothes, most of them, and took our pink stolen mattress against the waves, her covering small breasts with only her hands, our sociopathic personalities meeting somewhere under ridiculous notions of astrology. We kissed, and that was that.

The mattress lay once again abandoned (has someone left the rented cabrio just as we left the shore?) where our friends would say it was ridiculous to steal it. We only stopped kissing when she said we have to look for the damn pink abandoned thing (apparently it was rented by one of her friends) after which we dived deep into the shallow sea.

I remembered all those things other than sex best. The kiss in the sea. The conversation about stealing shit, the hand covering breasts. And after sex, the interruptions of it by my taking sips from a big bottle of booze, and playing chess on the rooftop of the place we stole from.

‘And I got caught one time’

‘For what?’

‘Stealing mattresses, and flip flops, and beer, but it was good, the time I did treated me well’

‘How long were you in for?’

‘Hmm I don’t know, around eight decades’

‘Woah, how old were you when you got caught?’

‘Like, twenty-one’

‘Shit, but you say it was good?’

‘Yeah. It was good life’

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cromulentbookreview · 3 years

Text

I See What You Did There

What’s two plus two?

Huh? What? What’s happening?

What’s two plus two?

Oh, shit, right, I have a book review blog, don’t I? I mean, things have been a bit hectic these past few months and I’m also trying to be a real writer...

What’s two plus two?

Yeah, you’re right, I shouldn’t neglect my tumblr, even if nobody reads it. And come on, computer, it’s not like I’ve been in a coma for four years, two plus two is clearly five and we all love Big Brother, OK? Gah.

Uhhh...And by that, I mean: Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir!

Dr. Ryland Grace wakes up in a spaceship with no memory of how or why he’s there. He’s a junior high school science teacher, what the hell is he doing on a spaceship? Also, the other two astronauts are dead. Like, really dead. So far as how things are going for Dr. Grace right now, I’ll let Pete Campbell give you a hint:

Slowly, veeeery slowly, Grace’s memory starts to come back to him: he’s on a mission to save the Earth. There’s this nasty space bacteria-thingy called Astrophage that’s dimming the light of Mr. Burns’s archnemesis: the Sun.

There’s a lot of science involved, but Weir explains, in great detail, just how Astrophage dims the Sun and why that’s really, really, really, really bad for the Earth. Like, apocalyptic-bad. Billions will die bad. Famine, disease, war, rocks fall, everyone dies and freezes to death bad. Only not right away. Over the course of several years. So everyone will die, but they’ll get to do it real slowly.

Yay?

Like so, but it ends with everybody dead and the Earth being rendered uninhabitable. All of Grace’s wee little students will grow up watching their Earth slowly die. Unless Project Hail Mary finds a solution. And there seems to be a solution out there - Tau Ceti seems to be the only star not infected with Astrophage. Why? How? What? So this all powerful woman called Stratt, who has been given authority by just about everyone (how? Reasons. Don’t ask questions) yanks Grace out of his classroom - first to study Astrophage, and then, somehow, he can’t remember exactly, roped him into going on a dozen-light-year journey to Tau Ceti with the crew of the Hail Mary.

Only the rest of the crew is dead. Something went wrong while they were in a coma during their four-year space voyage. Grace is alone.

Inside the Hail Mary.

Full of a dude called Grace.

I see what you did there, Weir. Don’t think I didn’t see what you did there. I mean, you don’t even have to be Catholic to see what you did there.

Anyway, long-winded flashbacks and lots of science ensues. I struggled with the first quarter of the book - not for any particular reason other than I started reading this book in the latter half of 2020 and I was having a hell of a time concentrating on...well, everything. Remember 2020? Yeah, it wasn’t great. I mean, I’d need a lot of “not great, Bob!” gifs to describe just how bad those last few months of 2020 were.

And then I thought 2021 would be better. Ahahaha we barely made it six days. Seriously, everything is terrible and how do I even concentrate on a dumb book blog let alone a book all about science and the Earth slowly dying because the sun is dimming and -

Soon enough, however, Grace spots something on the Hail Mary’s radar. It’s...another spaceship? All the way out by Tau Ceti? At first, Grace thinks maybe its another ship from Earth, like a backup plan, that’d make sense, right? Only it’s not.

Who could it be?

Aliens?

Yeah, it’s aliens.

Our friend Grace gets to be the dude to make first contact with the sentient, spider-like creatures of the first planet in the system 40 Eridani. Turns out 40 Eridani is also infected with Astrophage, which is causing all sorts of problems for the Eridians, and their ship just happened to be around Tau Ceti at the exact same time as the Hail Mary. Crazy, right? Anyway, after the initial first contact and the long, drawn-out process of learning to communicate with one another (with no help from Amy Adams or Jeremy Renner), Grace and the lone Eridian, whom Grace christens Rocky, team up to save their respective worlds.

Science and plenty of flashbacks ensue.

I’m not a scientist - well, I have a master’s degree in library and information science, which, I guess, is a science? I mean, uh...I could tell you where all the sciency books are in the library. 500s if you’re using Dewey, and if you’re using Library of Congress, it will depend on what you’re looking for - you’ll want to start with Q for general sciences, QA for math books, QB and QC for astronomy and physics, QE, GC, GB, QC, TN for earth sciences, QD, TN, TP, and TR for chemical sciences, GE and bits of GF, QE, QH, QC, and TD for environmental sciences, QH, QK, QL, QM, QP, and QR for life sciences, QA75-76.9, TK5101-TK6720, TK7800-TK7895, and Q334-Q390 for computer sciences, telecommunication and artificial intelligence, Q, R, S, and T for the history of sciences and if you’re looking for bibliographies and finding aids for topics in the sciences, look under Z.

You know. Science.

OK, so I may not be a scientist. I may be bad at math because numbers somehow magically switch themselves around on paper whenever I look at them. Why? Because my brain sucks, that’s why. I may have spent most of my chemistry classes reading YA books under my desk (worth it!). I may have only passed high school physics by cheating off a girl younger than I was, but hey, the joke was on me: my high school physics teacher wasn’t even qualified to teach physics.

Gotta love rural public schools.

My point is, while the science may be lost on me and my brain which is full mostly of Simpsons quotes rather than actual knowledge, I do loves me a fun story where Science (with a capital S) saves the day. And, make no mistake, this book is fun. You might get a bit bogged down by the science, but once you get past it, this is a highly enjoyable story of one dangerously unqualified guy desperately trying to save the world with his new BFF, alien spider guy who speaks in musical notes. It’s up to them and them alone. Good luck, guys! Don’t forget that billions upon billions of lives depend on you. No pressure.

Seriously, if you loved The Martian, you’ll love Project Hail Mary. They’re similar, but Hail Mary is on a much larger scale than The Martian - there’s a lot more at stake in the hands of one guy. Plus: aliens!

Without spoiling anything, I’ll just say I would have loved more from the ending. I would’ve loved an epilogue from some of the other character’s perspectives or something. I mean, I could even go with a sequel! Maybe something where Erid and Earth are finally able to communicate? There’s a lot of potential for short stories or novellas set in the same world as Project Hail Mary - there’s got to be bonus material there and I want it. More, please? That’d be nice. I’d definitely read it. So... Hop to it, Weir!

One last complaint: Grace doesn’t swear. Like, at all. Meanwhile, Mark Watney is over here like

Come on, Grace, would it kill you to say “fuck” or “shit” every now and again? I mean, I sipped coffee that was too hot and let out a bunch of words that’d make a 19th century whaler blush. Geez.

RECOMMENDED FOR: Fans of The Martian, science-y people, people who enjoy a heavy dose of science in their sci-fi, people who just want a fun story

NOT RECOMMENDED FOR: People with no mind for science, people who are against fun, anyone who doesn’t like sci-fi, aliens, fun, etc.

RATING: 4/5

ALIEN RATING:

RELEASE DATE: May 4, 2021 (HEY! Don’t think I didn’t see what you did there, too, Ballantine Books!)

ANTICIPATION LEVEL FOR SPINOFFS / SEQUELS / BONUS MATERIAL OF ANY KIND: Olympus Mons.

DID I SEE WHAT YOU DID THERE?

#project hail mary #andy weir #fiction #book review #science fiction #hard science fiction #sff #sci-fi #tau ceti #rocky #adrian #hail mary #ryland grace #apocalyptic fiction #first contact #aliens #global dimming #astrophage

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singeramg · 4 years

Text

Midnight: Chapter 9

Pairing: Clark Kent- Superman/ Metahuman! Black! OFC

Story Rating: M

Warnings: Overall this is a slow burn story with Angst all throughout. This particular chapter has brief mention of smut, plenty of aforementioned Angst.

A/n: Welcome back everyone! I have loved all the support this has been getting and I swear I am working diligently on the next chapter. Enjoy this one...

CATCH UP HERE!

Midnight: Chapter 9

“You gave him my middle name”

Clark is standing in front of me and his emotions blend together so fluidly I can’t tell them apart to get a grasp on what he is feeling.

“Yes. He could not share your last name, so I gave him something he could share with you.”

“You wanted no one to know he was my son. Not even him.”

His voice is calmer than I ever could have anticipated it would be. Then again I never expected this to happen.

“Nobody could. It was too dangerous, I couldn’t risk it, and to be honest Clark who would believe that he was your child.”

Clark looks away, unable to make eye contact for a moment because he knew I was right.

“Even now you still believe its dangerous don’t you?”

“Clark I just...”

“You weren’t even going to tell me were you?” He asked me, clearly irritated.

“You want the nice version or the rude one?”

I ask heading over to the nearby chair and away from him.

“I just want the truth Gia.” For once Clark Kent sounds exhausted. Honestly I was too, I didn’t expect any of this when I started my day this morning. It seemed like it had been going on forever.

“The truth was and still is that a long time ago the man I thought would never abandon me did.”

“Gia...”

“Wait Clark let me finish. You abandoned me. Then you died Kal-El. You died and left me here by myself. Even though you left me, Kalen was the only part of you I had left. I had to protect that.”

Clark felt extreme amounts of pain and grief.

“You did it alone when you didn’t have to.”

I laughed incredulously, bless his heart but he didn’t understand.

“Clark do you understand the Hell that would have broken loose if I showed up on Mrs. Kent’s doorstep with your baby?”

He gives me a nervous smirk.

“I’d imagine she’d give you hell for calling her Mrs. Kent.”

“Not funny.”

“I’m doing my best not the flip out right now. Less than 20 minutes ago my son that you failed to tell me about ran into the room and you can’t even look me in my eye and admit that you weren’t going to say anything!”

“I WASN’T GOING TO TELL YOU!”

Clark’s face falls and clearly he’s hurt.

“You wanted the truth there it is. The other side of that truth is that I had changed my mind. Forget that you’ve not been awake a full 24 hours yet and this is not just something you shout out. This is why I wanted to talk to you alone when you arrived. My son...”

“Our son.”

I ignored the flutter of my heart at hearing him claim Kalen. The flutters reminded me of a time when all he had to do was be in the same general vicinity for me to feel them. I pushed it back down, I no longer have the time for these feelings.

“Am I to believe you were actually going to tell me? Excuse me if I’m not apt to believe that, considering you have been doing your best to push me away.”

“Believe me or not Kal. You are going to believe whatever you want. At the end of the day I have done everything in my power to keep MY son safe. I’ll be damned if I apologize for keeping the child that I pushed out of my body safe. You Kal-El slash Clark Kent slash asshole can go fuck yourself.”

Surprisingly he starts laughing at me.

“The fuck is so funny?”

“You only break out my Kryptoian name when you are pissed at me.”

If he only knew how pissed I was, he wouldn’t be making fun of me.

“You can stop laughing Clark. This shit ain’t funny. Do you understand what people will think given his age? What those on this team have already thought? Let me give you a hint. They think I’m a dirty hoe or did you forget about the fact that nobody knows the timeline about how this happened? How I could call myself Lois’ friend? How do you think she will respond once she finds out you have a child with someone that’s not her?”

“But Gia we did not cheat together.”

“I know that, you know that. Nobody else does! To the world you were and still are Clark Kent and Lois Lane the Daily Planet power couple and me I was the lowly barista who slept with you. A dirty whore.”

“Don’t CALL YOURSELF THAT!”

I scoffed at his anger.

“Why not Clark? That exactly what you reduced me to. Me. I can live with you walking out my life. I made peace with losing you. It’s always been her over me, and that’s the card I have been dealt. What I won’t do however is watch you come into his life and then leave again to save face after she and the world tells you it’s wrong.”

“What makes you think I would leave our son behind? I care less of what the world thinks of me.”

“It’s not the world I worry for anymore Kal. It’s the people that you love I worry about. I won’t let you break his heart.”

Clark looks at me, his anger radiating from him, as his chest puffs out and walks closer to me.

“WHY DO YOU BELIEVE I WOULD ABANDON MY SON?!”

“BECAUSE YOU ABANDONED ME! You are capable of breaking hearts because YOU BROKE MINE!”

Realization dawns on him and he tries to move closer to me. I toss up the strongest shield I am capable of. Clark can’t get through, and just holds his hand against the invisible barrier. His forehead drops against it.

“Let me in Gia. Please.”

I hadn’t even realized the tears had come back. I shook my head no.

“I can’t Clark. Besides this is no longer about us. It’s about Kalen. Now your son is waiting for you to read him a bedtime story. I am going to bed, goodnight.”

“Gia...please just talk to me...”

“We can discuss telling Kalen about you in the morning. Goodnight Clark.”

I walked away, the shield still holding strong. Thankfully he didn’t follow as I locked myself in my room.

Once inside memories I had long sense suppressed came to the surface.

*Flashback* Nearly four years ago

I woke up slightly disoriented. The only thing that I knew for certain was the soreness in between my legs. As I adjusted to the light streaming in my newly acquired solo apartment, I rolled on my back, my nudity covered by my beige sheets, the comforter sprawled across my floor. The night's events came rushing back to me all at once. The memories of feeling Clark’s hands on me, roaming the expanse of my body, the feeling of his strong, hard body in between my legs, the cries of my multiple climaxes as my nails ran down his muscled back.

I spent the night with Clark.

I was still trying to wrap my head around what had happened, but I still also wanted to live in this moment. Reminiscing on how wonderful it had been to lay with him.

Thinking of him made me wonder where the man himself had gone? My bed was cold enough to indicate he had been gone for a while, at least not in bed with me.

“Clark?”

I called out softly, knowing if he was nearby he would hear me. I heard no response nor did he appear. I looked around the bedroom, taking note that my clothes were still scattered while his were gone.

‘No big deal, he was Superman he couldn’t exactly wait until I woke up to go save the world.’

With that in mind I got up to take a hot shower once out I spent the day floating in a cloud until it got later and later in the day and he hadn’t reappeared. Then the next day when he wouldn’t call or text me back letting one week went by as I became steadily more depressed. I wasn’t sure what was wrong? Had I been that trash in bed that he had to ghost me? I mean even if it wasn’t as good for him as it had been for me, I mean we could work on that, what was burning me up was that at the bottom of it all was that we were better than this. I thought he was better than this. It was almost a week to the hour since Clark and I had fallen into bed, and I had just finished watching Love and Basketball, wiping stray tears away. I had blown through my snacks and I needed more before I started watching Love Jones. I decided to make a run to the store.

Donned in yoga pants, an old t-shirt and a men’s hoodie that I fell in love with from the Goodwill , I walked to the store. My apartment wasn’t far from the coffee shop where I worked along with a bunch of other cute little shops. I found my convenience store. Settling for the chocolate brownie Ben and Jerry’s along with Gummy Bears and chips. I headed back to my apartment, looking down at my phone, scrolling Instagram, when a shop door opens in front of me. The guys coming out of the bike shop apologize but I don’t care because upon looking up I see Clark spinning Lois in his arms, her head tipped back in a laugh as her red delicately curled hair swung around.

My breath catches in my chest as he leans down and kisses her soundly on the lips.

I almost dropped my bag. I literally feel my heart break, I think Clark must hear it break because he looks up spotting my face from the under the hoodie. His guilt hits me full force furthermore confirming what I am seeing, but it gets buried under my emotions.

I back away from where they are coming toward me, finding an alleyway. He can’t follow me without looking suspicious to Lois. I jump from building to building, sliding down the fire escape and into my hallway, where I let myself into my apartment and tried to block out the rage and pain I felt, cutting on my movie as I intended before I left. Shutting down was the only thing I knew how to do properly.

*3 hours later*

I fell asleep on the couch, my package of Lorna Doone cookies sitting open on the coffee table, I almost screamed upon seeing a darkened figure standing in the corner of my room. It was only the familiar scent that calmed me, then pissed me off.

“What in the fuck are you doing here?”

Clark came out of the corner of my living room and I waved my hand, the lights coming on in the apartment. Dressed in the same blue plaid shirt and Henley, with jeans I saw him in earlier with...her.

“Well I’ve been trying to call you for two hours and when you didn’t answer I got nervous. So I came over.”

I glared at him.

“So let me get this straight. You, Kal-El have sex with me over, how many days ago...what is it now, like 7 days and then ghost me. No explanation or anything, and in the middle of your ghosting, you run into me. Then let me guess, you decide you need a booty call from the side chick, call me and when I don’t jump when you say jump , NOW you get nervous. “

I scoff and say

“Pfft, Clark I think you should go.”

“Gia. I owe you an apology. I never meant to hurt you. It wasn’t supposed to go that far.”

“Good to know you didn’t plan to break my back and then leave.” I scoff with an eye roll.

“I’m serious Gia. I am sorry. I got so caught up and then Lois came back into town the next day wanting to work it out. She and I have been through too much to leave it on the table.”

“But you will sacrifice my feelings though.”

“It’s not like that. I care about you Gia, so so much. I haven’t called because to be honest, I look at you and see how this will hurt you and Lois. I came to tell you that I think it’s best if we don’t see each other. At least for right now, just until Lois and I can get settled.”

I was crushed, the man I loved was the one breaking my heart.

“You will never be settled if you lie to her.”

“I will tell her eventually, Gia it’s just temporary.”

I glared at him, and walked into my kitchen. Clark watched as I drank a glass of water. I gave myself a minute to compose, then said some of the hardest words to come out of my mouth.

“No it’s not temporary.” I sigh

“Yes, yes it is Gia. Besides you deserve to have a chance to live your life. You have been wrapped up in my Superhero business since I rescued you. You deserve to enjoy the life you clawed your way to without me around. Just let me handle the bad people out there for now. Maybe you can find someone to love you just as you without the baggage I bring.”

The ‘ because I don’t love you ‘ hung in the air like smoke and the fact that he couldn’t even say it out loud pissed me off. He even thought he could tell me to give up Midnight. She being an extension of me, it told me he didn’t care at all. He couldn’t have asked that of me if he did.

“I said it’s not temporary Clark. You see, I thought you would be different because you aren’t from Earth. Turns out your biological parents’ goal was accomplished because you are just like the rest of the men in the world Clark Kent. You get what you want and you leave. As women we give and give until we are depleted. I gave to you until I was almost lost in the shadow of you. I’m done giving to you Kal. I’m done waiting for you to realize I am not some fragile flower in need of your protection anymore. If cutting me out your life was so easy now, then who am I to think you won’t do it again when it’s convenient? Bold of me to assume you give two fucks about me at all. So when I say it’s not temporary, it’s because it’s not. This week without you proved one thing to me and that is that I don’t need or want you in my life anymore.”

“But Gia I care I just...I mean just a few short weeks ago I was going to propose to Lois. I can’t just walk away from her. Why can’t you of all people understand that?”

I laugh again which only makes him nervous. I knew about the ring. He had shown me a while ago and while I ignored the flicker of pain, I had congratulated him and given him a proud hug. I had finally begun to make peace with Clark only being my friend. I was almost over the crush, then this had happened.

Now he was not about to lay his guilt on me like all of this was my doing. I loved him more than I thought was possible, but I loved myself more, at least as of this moment I did.

“Kal I understand perfectly. I never asked you to choose between she and I. All I ever asked was that you be my friend. You can’t even manage that. Come on let’s face it, you’ve been pulling away from me for a while. I am tired of digging my heels in the dirt, begging you to return my friendship as you had in the past. So I agree it’s best we do not see each other, but this time Kal-El make it permanent. Get out of my life and don’t EVER come back.”

His face fell, I imagined the tears in his eyes, probably to make myself feel better about all of this.

“Gia. I don’t mean forever.”

“It’s not up for discussion because I do. I mean forever. Enjoy building your perfect life with Lois. I hope she is all the friend you will ever need, maybe you will make more, better than how you’ve treated me, but to be honest I don’t care if she is or not. Please leave my apartment and don’t come back.”

“Gia.” He says his voice almost pleading.

“GET OUT NOW KAL- EL!”

I said finally frustrated with him. I was on the verge of tears. I can't break down with him here. I needed him to go.

“I’ll go Gia because it’s what you’ve asked of me, but I can’t not see you as in forever. I am...not... that strong.”

I imagined I could feel his disappointment and heartbreak. I knew I was trying to make myself feel better.

“You are going to have to be. Besides Don’t be so dramatic, I am only giving you what you wanted from the beginning when you asked me if I had anywhere to go. I’m setting you free of me for good just like you would have the night you rescued me. Goodbye Kal-El.”

I couldn’t even look at him, I shut off all incoming emotions as he stood there looking at me for another minute or so. Finally he opens the front door.

“Goodbye Gia.”

As soon as the front door closes I slid to the kitchen floor. Face in my hands, knees almost touching my chest as I cried, the position reminding me of the night he found me and asked me to trust him. I did and look where it got me.

How did I lose my best friend and the man I loved in one night?

I was stupid to even let them become the same person. The worst part was that subconsciously I knew this would be the outcome. Okay maybe not the whole sex thing but even still I ignored my gut, and latched onto the idea that he loved me the way I loved him and I gave him a part of me that I could not get back.

I could never fully forget Clark Kent because he had been my first. I knew I would always love him, he could just never know that...

*End Flashback*

We had no clue about the life we created the same night I lost my virginity to him. He wore protection and I was on birth control, so I still don’t know how Kalen came to be, but every time my son looks at me I am grateful. I would go through heartbreak again and again if it meant he didn’t feel an ounce of pain. Seeing Clark again after all these years had only proved I had buried the hurt, not gotten over it.

I had to keep Clark at a distance at least from me. I had to stick to my decision that was made a long time ago and that was to not give a damn about this situation.

My son had to be the priority. I couldn’t handle it if he wasn’t...

A/n: So what do you think? I hope it was enjoyable despite the heavy angst....

Love you all!! And remember the taglist is open just let me know -Singeramg

TAGLIST:

@bloodyinspiredfuck @romyr4

#Henry Cavill #henry cavill x black ofc #Clark Kent xOFC #Clark Kent #fanfiction #SUPERMAN X OFC #superman

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tessatechaitea · 4 years

Text

Justice League Annual #1 (1987)

Martian Manhunter has five thousand different super powers compared with the one super power of the rest of the team (Black Canary's sonic scream. The other "super powers" are just technological accessory based).

If this comic book isn't about Martian Manhunter's addiction to Oreo cookies then what am I even doing with my life? The only reason I love Martian Manhunter is that he loves Oreo cookies and I view him as the father I never had. Whenever I had a problem growing up, I would think, "What advice would Martian Manhunter give me?" And that's why I was so fat in Junior High School because the answer was always "Eat more Oreos." I know Martian Manhunter's eventual addiction is to "Choco's" but fuck Choco's. Fuck them like every other off-brand Oreo cookie. They fucking suck. Speaking of things that suck, this dick isn't going to suck itself. Now picture me pointing at the comic book because I need to read it. That's how I begin reading all of my comic books. And I say it loudly so the neighbors will think, "Oh boy! That guy next door isn't a nerd at all! Total sex maniac!" The "Hunting the Manhunter" blurb on this cover reminds me that Millennium is coming up and I think I hated that? No, no. I'm sure I loved it! There are two things I couldn't get enough of in my teen years and comic books was the second one of them. Kord Industries has bought some property in the middle of Ultra-Nowhere, South America, and some of its employees have gone off to scout the location.

Wasn't that the episode with the shape-changing hottie who loves sucking the salt out of men? You know what I'm talking about. Also she was probably a male monster posing as a female monster. Proof of that theory is that every single episode of the first season of the original Star Trek could also have been the name of a gay bar.

Inside the abandoned research facility, the Kord employees encounter pretty much the same thing Kirk, Spock, and the other one encountered:

Vampire John Travolta! It's possible I'm misremembering the Star Trek episode.

While on monitor duty, Guy Gardner discovers that large groups of people on four different continents seem to be under the control of a single will and Batman asks Martian Manhunter, "Do you think this is League business?" What the fuck else would be, Bat-Turd?! A new Internet fad like planking or the Harlem Shuffle? I mean, it totally could be that except that the Internet doesn't really exist during this story. I mean if you want to be a pedant about it, I suppose the teenage Internet across college campuses. But nobody likes a pedant so just shut the fuck up and live in my reality while you're reading my stupid comic book review. Just take the fucking Red Pill and relax! Except don't do that because the idea of The Matrix Red Pill has been co-opted by the worst of humanity who think they're somehow the most logical and philosophical people on the planet when they're really just awful monsters rationalizing all of their mean desires.

How did people come away from reading this comic book hating Guy Gardner and not also despising Batman?

The Justice League splits up into teams of two to cover the mass hypnosis issues in Paris, Tokyo, Sydney, and Los Angeles. I'm not sure Batman knows how to balance teams because he sends Doctor Fate and Martian Manhunter together while leaving Mister Miracle with Blue Beetle. Here are my teams: Guy Gardner with Blue Beetle because Blue Beetle is effectively worthless and Guy Gardner has the most powerful weapon in the universe. Batman would go with Black Canary because her sonic scream is sort of like a bat's echo location. Martian Manhunter would go with Scott Free because they're both aliens. And Booster Gold would team up with Doctor Fate because their outfits match. Blue Beetle and Mister Miracle head to L.A. with some, um, problematic dialogue? I think?

This is an "anal sex/everybody in Hollywood is gay" joke, right?

With newer comic books, a scan of 620 pixels (basically the width of the main column of the blog (although I think the width changed when I added the Goodreads app. I should probably fix it so the 620 pixel pictures stop bleeding off into the right-hand frame (if you're reading this on Tumblr, just ignore it. Just ignore everything since Tumblr fucked up their code and now I can't even center pictures or get the captions to sit snugly right up underneath the scans))) was usually enough to read the dialogue clearly. But with these old comics on newsprint, they're fuzzier and the font seems much smaller. Sorry about that but I won't betray my artistic integrity by scanning less than the full panel! At least not in this case is my defense against the pedants who can easily find many examples of me doing exactly that. First Black Canary is treated like shit by Batman and now she teams up with Booster Gold who can't stop hitting on her until she reminds him she's a competent limb-breaker. This must be the kind of comics Comicsgaters wish we could return to! "Remember when women were treated as sexual objects and not one member of the Justice League was Black and constantly said, 'Booyah!'? What great times!" Black Canary and Booster Gold become John Travolta Vampire slaves almost immediately because Batman chose the improper team pairings. It's bad enough that Batman would fail at making proper pairings but it's extra bad when Batman is being written by a writer and the writer made that choice. I mean, how do you pass up the opportunity to team Booster Gold with Doctor Fate?! They would look so fucking good together! Batman and Guy Gardner (you know how you can tell Hal Jordan is the real Green Lantern? Because people will say "Green Lantern" when discussing him instead of "Hal Jordan") wind up in Tokyo where Doctor Light is all, "Hello, boys! I'm a vampire now!" Then she blinds the fuck out of them because Batman forgot to put on his Bat-sunglasses.

Batman steals this move from Doctor Light in the next regular issue.

Doctor Light kisses Batman and he's all, "Yeah, yeah. Okay. Okay. I get it. Being a vampire is pretty awesome. No wonder writers write vampire versions of me every other year or so."

I don't think the editors briefed Willingham on what Beetle's Bug can and can't do.

Beetle lands at Kord West and is immediately swamped by John Travolta Vampire's thralls. So he does the thing he does in nearly every comic book except the one where Maxwell Lord shoots him in the head: he runs away. But he doesn't run fast enough and winds up possessed aboard the Bug with Mister Miracle. The story hints that Miracle gets possessed just after the scene changes but he's Scott Free, the world's greatest escape artist! I would guess he'd be the one to save everybody else but judging from the cover, it's Martian Manhunter who keeps from getting possessed. In Australia, Doctor Fate wades into a group of infected people because he's a gigantic arrogant prick. He's all, "I'm a frickin' Lord of Order, assholes! I know a spell that can get to the root of this problem!" And then the Vampire John Travolta is all, "I'll kill Kent Nelson if you don't leave his body." And Doctor Fate is all, "Well, J'onn, I've gotta go! Nice hanging out with you! Ta ta!" Which leaves Martian Manhunter as the only person left on Earth who isn't infected (or at least the only person left who is in this story). I bet that's pretty lonely. But Martian Manhunter is used to being lonely. I wonder if he's capable of making his right hand into a female martian so he can fuck it? Martian Manhunter has no idea what he's dealing with so he puts on Doctor Fate's helmet to gain all of the other powers that he didn't already have without it. But only for a few seconds because Superman would never be able to get an erection again if he found out Martian Manhunter had all of his powers and could also do magic. J'onn wears the helmet just long enough to learn what Doctor Fate learned about the contagion: it's a sentient cell! It's smart cancer! And I guess Vampire John Travolta was Patient Zero. Now J'onn just has to figure out how to fight Smart Cancer. I don't even know how he'll defeat it because I just looked up Smart Cancer in the Who's Who to read about its weaknesses and wouldn't you know it? There's no entry for Smart Cancer! Maybe it was in an update that I don't own. Like that version of Who's Who that was just loose pages to stick in a binder! I have that one too but it's possible I just didn't buy all of the expansion packs. Martian Manhunter heads to the source of the contagion to meet Smart Cancer head on. What he finds is a boss from Castlevania.

When you have thousands of people at your disposal, is the most effective way to use them shoving them together into one giant person?

The first thing Smart Cancer's Granfaloon does is try to smash J'onn with its people fist. In effect, it's smashing a dozen people head first into the ground so that dirt sprays up all over the place. So I guess a dozen or so people are now dead, right? It's not like Smart Cancer gave them invulnerability to massive head wounds.

I think this panel is the one where all the Justice League editors through their hands up in resignation and sighed, "I guess the Justice League is ridiculous now."

Martian Manhunter realizes, like me, how fucking stupid Smart Cancer is to put all of its people in one gigantic people-shaped basket. Since all the minds are linked, he realizes he can throw the Fate helmet on one of the people and Doctor Fate can possess Smart Cancer. It works but only for a limited amount of time. Doctor Fate can't hold that many people under his sway. But Doctor Fate does know who can control Smart Cancer: the martian! He can shapeshift his cells into some kind of prison or something. I don't know. It was explained in the most basic medical and scientific terms but they were still beyond my attention span. In the end, Martian Manhunter contained the Smart Cancer in him and that's where it lives now? Oh, and speaking of "the end," check out this clever and titillating final panel:

"Why's it gotta be the ass of the only woman on the team?" I say while pulling my pants down.

Justice League Annual #1 Rating: What?! I don't rate annuals! I mean, maybe sometimes I rate annuals. This one was okay. It was sort of interesting but I was disappointed that Vampire John Travolta wasn't the actual enemy. I hope Smart Cancer fights its way out of J'onn and makes another appearance later.

#Justice League #DC Comics #DC #Keith Giffen #J.M. DeMatteis #Bill Willingham

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superman86to99 · 4 years

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Action Comics #691 (August 1993)

REIGN OF THE SUPERMEN! The Superman in Black and the black Superman (Steel) infiltrate the giant mega-fortress made by the black-hearted Superman (Cyborg) over the ruins of Coast City. Steel and the Man in Black didn't seem to get along when they first met two weeks ago, but they quickly bond as they battle of hordes of robots and alien warriors together.

Meanwhile, we find out Superboy survived last week's missile explosion over Metropolis and landed on a dump by the bay, where he's warmly greeted by Lex Luthor II. Lex wants to know where Supergirl is (she disappeared around the time Team Superman left for Coast/Engine City), but Superboy isn't much help in his current condition.

Back in the robo-fortress, Steel marvels at the Man in Black's incredible luck: whenever a robot's about to shoot him, its gun seems to malfunction and explode. It's like some invisible superbeing is following them around and helping out! Because that's exactly what's going on -- Supergirl's been tagging along the whole time in her invisible form, helping the Supermen while snooping all over the Cyborg's fortress. Now that's she watched enough aliens pooping, she's ready to reveal herself.

Elsewhere in Engine City, the Cyborg's lackey, Mongul, has grown tired of being bullied by his boss and is like "screw this, I'm out". He plans to go back to space after prematurely activating the engine that gives Engine City its name, even if it destroys the planet. Oh, yeah, and said engine is powered by... a huge chunk of Kryptonite! Somehow! TO BE CONTINUED.

Plotline-Watch:

Hey, wasn't this the Eradicator's series? Where is that guy? Still recovering at the Fortress of Solitude, where the robots tell him he should be in tip-top condition in a few weeks or so. Unfortunately the Eradicator, too, goes "screw this, I'm out" and uses up all of the Fortress' juice to heal himself early. He then emerges from the Fortress' ruins looking like Clint Eastwood in a swimsuit.

FORTRESS DESTRUCTION COUNT: 2. The previous Fortress-destroying instance was also caused by the Eradicator (back when he looked like a space egg), but hey, he built the place, so it's okay.

GOOF: The Man in Black claims he hasn’t felt this helpless since the dashing Mr. Mxyzptlk took his powers away in Superman #49, but that didn’t happen to him, that happened to Superman. Who’s now dead. Duh.

As of this issue, Steel, Supergirl, Superboy, the Eradicator, and even Mongul are in the "Man in Black is the real Superman" camp. Don Sparrow says: “I like that so many characters take the time to acknowledge that there’s just something about the Man in Black that makes them feel like this is the real Superman. Even villains!” FOOLS!

Gonad Face and Lil' Lion Guy from Superman #81 are helping Mongul in his escape/sabotage plan. The Cyborg doesn't inspire a ton of loyalty in his subordinates, it seems.

Maybe everyone should have seen the Cyborg's heel turn coming, given that the dude talks like Doctor Doom.

Wait, holy shit, just realized something. In Jonathan Hickman's Fantastic Four comics it's established that all alternate versions of Reed Richards from across the multiverse eventually go mad and turn evil, except for regular Marvel Universe Reed. And, as you know, Hank "Cyborg" Henshaw started out as a blatant Reed copycat. Damn, this Superman era is so good at pre-planning that they foreshadowed an event happening in another company decades before the fact.

More commentary and stuff I missed from Don Sparrow, after the jump!

Art-Watch (by @donsparrow):

We start with the cover, and it’s a pretty good one, if a little busy. We get a nice central image of the man in black breaking through, with images of the other Supermen among the shards. The white teeth on the cyborg look a bit off, but otherwise a pretty good cover (note that they even fractured the title dress, which is a rare thing!)

The issue opens with a pretty cool full page splash, showing the enormous scale of Engine City I’m still confused how large expanses of flat, smooth surfaces could “grow” out of the techy little pods they showed during Coast City’s destruction, but clearly I think about this too much.

This issue is mainly a lot of slugging it out with a crew of alien mercenaries, the bulk of which appear to be Gordanians, alien slavers from the pages of Teen Titans, to my eye, which is a nice in-universe touch. [Max: Ha, you’re right! I thought they looked familiar but couldn’t place them.]

There’s a maybe visual callback to an earlier issue, where Superboy fails to fly after his confrontation with Lex Lunior. It reminded me of way back in Adventures of Superman #480 when Superman couldn’t remain aloft after narrowly escaping vapourization in the sun when fighting the Eradicator.

Nobody draws Cyborg Superman better than Jurgens and Breeding, but Jackson Guice does a pretty great job on page 9, showing the metalhead in profile.

I love the cutaway view of the Fortress of Solitude on page 11—these blueprint-like illustrations of lairs were a lot more commonplace in old comics, so I love the effort to show how expansive the place really is. Or, was, for the next five minutes, as the Eradicator once again trashes the place to absorb more power. I suspect Eradicator’s apparently blinking eyes are a colouring error on the following page, which is a shame, because it’s an otherwise excellent drawing. I also like that they make the Eradicator look different from this point on, as it would be weird to have Superman, Cyborg Superman, AND Eradicator more or less all be sharing the same features (and Superboy looks more than a little like the real steel deal as well). Keeping with Eradicator’s vigilante justice vibe, he looks for all the world like Clint Eastwood, circa 1994 here.

Some great colour work on page 20, when we see Superman and the Man of Steel as viewed with Cyborg Superman’s infrared vision, as well as a nice in-story callback to the poster from the Cyborg’s first full issue.

STRAY OBSERVATIONS

Godwatch: Roger Stern is the most consistent user of Biblical imagery and quotations, and he leans into that on page 14, as Bible-sounding phrases like “power and…glory”, “vengeance shall be mine” and even the narration says “Heaven help us all.” Steel invokes a deity when Supergirl is revealed, on page 16.

It’s a nice detail that Superman takes time to reload his weapons, as mentioned on page 17. It also adds a practical use to his badass Image-comics-y bullet belts.

I like that Supergirl helping Superman with flying and leaping explains some of his ability, but it’s also exciting that we get little hints that he’s slowly regaining his powers, as when he leaps the 30 feet on page 18. [Max: I just assumed she was gently carrying him down there.]

The issue is mostly Superman and Steel duking their way into Engine City, where not a lot else happens. This makes the intrigue between the Cyborg and Mongul all the more interesting.

Mongul is a big talker, but as discussed on the message boards for this very site, he does more than bow to the Cyborg when they meet again much later on.

[Max: The back of the Cyborg’s hand must be worn down by now from all that smooching.]

#superman #roger stern #jackson guice #denis rodier #steel #coast city #supergirl #superboy #hank henshaw #mongul #eradicator #gordanians #blinking clint eastwood in a swimsuit #lil lion guy and gonad face #reign of the supermen

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gffa · 5 years

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(1/2) Hey GFFA question for you... I haven't read "Master and Apprentice" yet, but I've been following your metas avidly. I agree that Qui-Gon's half-baked desire to just start running around unilaterally fixing every injustice in the galaxy by force is CLEARLY not the way to go. Obviously there was lots of interesting discussion in "Queen's Shadow" as well about the ethics of working within a flawed system and accomplishing less vs. the dangers of going rogue as Padme grappled with her choices.

(2/2) In one of your metas you said something interesting about how the New Republic’s failure to thrive and fix the galaxy’s pervasive problems also showed the pitfalls of radically trashing the old system instead of affecting change from within. My question is: DO you think the Republic could have been saved/successfully reformed through internal activism (given the sheer scale of corruption, greed, and impotence near the end of the Clone Wars) and if so, HOW?

I HAVE BEEN TURNING THIS OVER AND OVER IN MY HEAD because it’s a really fascinating question to ask and, at the end of the day, I’m not sure there’s really an answer, partly because it’s complicated and we’re missing so many huge pieces of Star Wars and also, if there were easy answers, god knows we’d be doing them IRL already.I’ve been turning over the question, “How do you effect and keep actual social change?” and I keep coming back to one thing at the heart of it–you have to have a general public that has a majority of people onboard with it. Without that, if the majority of the public doesn’t care or disagrees with a social change, eventually it’s going to fall through and revert back to the way it was before. You can leeroy jenkins it all you want, but if there’s no system in place to support those changes, if there’s no public widespread demand for it, it’s going to revert within years, if not months.That’s the big problem with the Republic, that the general public was apathetic about holding senators to responsible law-making and law-enforcement. There were pockets of people who were protesting things like the clones being a slave army (as the Propaganda book showed us) but they were not the majority, the majority of people seemed apathetic on it, so long as they didn’t have to fight. I mean, even with Padme’s big speech to the Senate, slavery wasn’t a part of the conversation (despite that it was the perfect place to bring it up and she says nothing about this, show how little a part of the conversation this was), but instead about how “buying people is making us poor”.As important as Palpatine was to this whole process, he didn’t invent the corruption that was in the system. I do tend to believe that the Republic could have been saved if he hadn’t been there, that the war polarized everything and took the good-hearted politician’s jobs from difficult to basically impossible, that the sheer scale of the war kept everyone from having the time or resources to do more than put out immediate tire fires and never getting time to address deeper roots of problems. But, had the general public reached a consensus on an issue and been willing to hold the government to it, not even Palpatine’s manipulation of the system could have held up against the uniting of quadrillions of beings.This isn’t to say that individual action had no place, because people like Bail and Mon and Padme and the Jedi are working with the system, bettering it or helping people when they can, which is important to do. Queen’s Shadow was fascinating because it did bring up the idea of going rogue politically (which was a much gentler version of what Qui-Gon seems to be suggesting), that she did basically do exactly that during TPM, she went around the Senate after they didn’t immediately act, and Padme pays for it for years, which stymies her ability to actually get anything done or help anyone, because she’s put on the outs for it. It sets her back and she has to work really hard to gain trusted allies--and this is her full time job, to work on this kind of influence and policy-making. And it’s difficult, but she does make some progress, she does make the galaxy a little better, through using the system so that their can actually stand.Without Palpatine’s influence, I think more instances of this could have helped steer the Republic back from the brink. It would be harder towards the end of the war, once everything was so fucked up, but the whole point of the war was that everyone was pouring their energy in the wrong directions and becoming increasingly unwilling to listen to anyone else, so the Separatists just kept digging in their heels as much as the Republic did. And that wouldn’t be easy to change. For example, you know it was his influence that had the Senate voting for making negotiations with the Separatists illegal, which meant that both sides got further entrenched in their arguments. You take Palpatine out of the equation and it doesn’t magically get fixed, but Padme and Bail and Mon’s efforts suddenly have a chance of reopening negotations, which has a chance of settling things with the Separatists.It does make things further complicated by some of the things happening in the war, though, like, a lot of people joined the Separatists because of disenfranchisement with the Republic, but they’re also part of a group that’s literally enslaving entire planets and murdering rulers. They try to murder King Katuunko, they try to enslave Mon Cala, they funnel support to the Zygerrians who start up their slavery again, etc. The Separatists don’t want to just be left alone, they planned to have war from the beginning, that’s how they were found out on Geonosis in the first place.Basically, once the war started, it got a hell of a lot harder to clean this mess up because the corruption got so much worse. But I do think it was possible to have reformed the Republic through internal activism and working within the system, had Palpatine not been there. We see glimpses of how people start to make a real difference through it (like Padme in QS, as a most recent example, or how the Jedi help free the people that the Separatists want to enslave), but the problem is that nobody knew Palpatine was evil. We, the audience, through hindsight, foresight, and omniscient point of view know it, and sometimes it’s easy to forget that it’s not super obvious in-world, that the vast majority of people were entirely fooled by him, so their point of view looks like they have a chance to reform it through internal workings, they have a chance to make real, lasting help to people through crawling forward in progress, but they have no idea that Palpatine is roadblocking them and making it impossible.So, ultimately, the answer is yes and no. The Republic was worth saving from the point of view of those who were in it, because the alternatives were far worse, there was no feasible alternative, the Separatists were oppressing more people, the Empire was the ultimate in oppressing people, even burning it all down and starting over DOESN’T FIX ALL THE PROBLEMS.You have to get widespread public sentiment (and willingness to actually enforce) onboard, you have to make sure the entire thing isn’t falling apart around you, you have to get the politicians to actually do their fucking jobs, and all of those are different roles done by different people and all of them need to be in place. And, like, radical activism does sometimes have its place, but that’s when democratic options are off the table, which can be complicated to figure out when that is, but widespread public sentiment still has to be on your side for that to actually hold--like the worlds that don’t elect a senator and get a corrupt one, then, yes, radical activism might be your only option, to rebel against the non-elected government, but if the public of that world doesn’t really care, then all the leeroy jenkinsing it in the galaxy isn’t going to hold it in place and it’ll just revert right back to where you started.Without public sentiment being onboard, you’re doomed to fail. And I think that was ultimately the far more difficult problem that never got fixed, because there’s no easy answer to it. If there were, we’d already be living in a utopia, we wouldn’t have gone through the shit we went through in 2016 onward. And who the public listens to, who they should listen to, who they’re willing to listen to, who has the experience to avoid a full on smear campaign, who has the experience to speak of these things and who should be governing the people, is a hell of a complicated thing.

#kingofattolia #republic #meta

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loxxxlay · 4 years

Text

@summon-daze replied to your post “lukewarm take but idk... nobody (at least not this century) says shit...”

Great post but whats the game mentioned? I'm curious

Thank you! I was super nervous to make it so that’s reassuring. <3

The game I mentioned is Rimworld!

The premise of the game is that you’ve crash-landed on a foreign planet and must build a colony, survive raiders, and prosper long enough to build a ship to get back off-planet. All this time, there are events that have a mathematical risk of happening (such as volcanic winters, cold snaps, flashstorms, and so much more) to make it a sort of storytelling game for your colony!

But honestly the beauty of this game is in the details and the lore! It’s like a dark scifi-esque galaxy of planets outside of the planet you crashed on. Imagine Le Guin’s Hainish Cycle but less literary and more bent towards the portrayal of tropes in fanfiction/pop culture, like prostitution, space pirates, and human traffickers. The darkness of the lore is exactly what appeals to me and what makes this game more intriguing than any other sandbox/colony-building game I’ve ever seen or played.

For example: with the base game, you can capture the raiders who periodically come to attack you, and you can either recruit them, release them, execute them, or harvest their organs for profit lmao. Sometimes factions will come by to trade and you can sell your prisoners to them, too. When things get tough and you don’t have food, you can also butcher human corpses and cook them into meals. Another example: mental breaks! If your colonists become unhappy enough, they can do anything from hiding in their room to digging up a corpse and displaying it on the dinner table (depending on how severe their mental break is). So yeah it’s clearly very dark and morbid gaming that isn’t often done and doesn’t appeal to everyone. (Hint: It definitely appeals to me. XD)

Another thing I really like about Rimworld is it’s blend between strategy games and more Sims-like games. You can control every single colonist individually, which makes it like Sims, but you can also set up the colony’s work priorities in a way that makes them act optimally without you having to guide them!

If you are the person that liked to drown your Sims in the swimming pool or light houses on fire, I highly, highly recommend this game to you!

Of course, Rimworld is not a perfect game and I will never claim it is such! It’s very heteronormative (honestly pushing lgbt-phobic). The game (which was an early access steam game) was made by what feels like the exact stereotype of a reddit dudebro-nerd coding from his momma’s basement because it’s the feeling of progressiveness (or the lack of) that his game gives me lmao. (No offense to such people, I have a severely mentally ill family member who is one of them. My family member knows bisexual ppl exist though lmao.)

The other problem with Rimworld is how boring it gets after playing it enough. There’s only so many events, so much mystery, before it kinda starts to lose its thrill.

However, this is where mods come in. And I’m telling you, this is literally where the game shines the hardest - the modding community. If you play Rimworld without Mods, then you’re not really enjoying the full experience lmao. The Psychology Mod for example adds in a lot of shit, including more sexualities, social interactions, and mental illness that the base game doesn’t have. There’s the Prison Labour mod where you can make your prisoners do work for your colony (haha, perfect for my Grandmaster-led colony). There are mods that add children/pregnancy, gladiator arenas, and the need for showers&water. That honestly doesn’t even begin to explain how many mods I use and how much they enhance the enjoyability of the game! I use like 50 mods and I’ve logged almost 500 hours in gameplay now soooo yeah, haha. Playing without mods is like playing Sims without expansions.

Anyway this finally brings me to the point of the original post, sigh. There is a mod called Rimjob World that I have found recently that adds noncon and sexual slavery (and even prostitution game play) to Rimworld. This mod was created by people who... equally fit the reddit dudebro-nerd coding from their momma’s basement stereotype. T_T I don’t agree with a lot of the language that the mod uses (i.e. adding trans characters but calling them “traps” or “futas” -_-) or a lot of the systems that the mod has set up (i.e. the default settings categorize women in a way that implies only certain women rape and only certain women get raped).

I’m very frustrated with this! I’ve spent a lot of time trying to find another mod that puts the lack of noncon into this barbaric and violent world of Rimworld in a less problematic way. But when I look for it, there is nothing. And instead I’m always hit with comments (especially on reddit) like the one I mentioned in the post.

It always comes down to people thinking it’s okay to have games/mods with slavery, cannibalism, and organ harvesting, but making those games include rape is a step too far. -_-

It’s disgusting and just as rape culture-ish as the opposite expression imo.

Anyway sorry to ramble about this, I know I’ve complained about a lot of these things a few times, but it never ceases to infuriate me lmao so I figured I’d just consolidate all my thoughts (along with the positive ones) about Rimworld into one post! So thanks for the opportunity and I hope this was helpful! Have fun if you play and also:

Anyone feel free to hit me up for my recommended mod list lmao because this game can get so boring without it.

Also if you’re not sure about the game and wanna see some gameplay, I do play rimworld on stream sometimes lmao, but I’m a lame newbie streamer so feel free to find... other sources to watch let’s play videos too XD

#summon-daze #lox replies #tw rape #cw noncon #rimworld #the rimworld post #for reference later in case anyone asks lmao #there's a lot of shit i probably need to blacklist here but i'm too dumb right now #so sorry #lmk if i missed anything

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dbphantom · 4 years

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BACKSTORIES BACKSTORIES BACKSTORIES BACKS-

Amara layers on the bravado and 'wants a bigger fight' shit not just because she's confident but also because she feels bad about leaving Partali since she was basically the only thing protecting her friends/family there, but she believes if she succeeds at Vault Hunting that she'll be able to bring the wealth back and help the community in a bigger way than just punching bad guys. Its sort of a 'I'm incredibly strong physically, but clearly not enough because I can't even help with this simple little problem' situation.

- the art book confirmed Amara is wearing a vial of water from Partali around her neck- I like to imagine the city has some significant statue/fountain with water in/around it that she finds comforting/inspiring

- Amara got her Siren powers in grade school during a schoolyard fight (she won, obviously)

- Amara's family has been threatened more times than she can count. She's always ready and has defended them before but sometimes she worries, especially now that she's not there. She spends a lot of her free time getting in touch with them. I like to imagine she has kid brothers who look up to her. She gives me an older sister vibe, I dunno.

- Amara is lowkey glad her fame hasn't followed her to Pandora/beyond because she was getting tired of interrupting her fights to take selfies and sign posters. She stills likes seeing just how far her name has traveled tho. Is a good confidence buff.

- Amara is sorta like Axton with her bravado. She also believes she's the 'main character' of the four Vault Hunters. It makes her a very good leader, but it can get slightly overwhelming.

Moze runs away from the Vladof army and 'abandons' (they think she's dead) her responsibilities to live her life and do what she wants with IB and also lives with the crushing (ha! Oh no.) knowledge that her poor leadership skills are what killed the squad she had just become captain of and definitely was not the Vladof corporation trying to keep their IB mechs from leaving circulation. Definitely not. She gravitates to Amara because Amara is pretty much the group leader and a v good one at that, and Moze likes that Amara is a lot of things she isn't. Also nice arms. She needs the money from Vault Hunting to support her free lifestyle cuz she doesn't want to work.

- Moze will cook and eat literally anything. Her family grew up poor so her palette is pretty much open to anything at least twice. She sent the money she got working in the military back home to them. When she fakes her death she contemplates moving back but she knows they'd spend money they don't have to make her stay with them so she watches from afar, mailing them her most expensive loot anonymously to make sure they'll be okay

- Moze really enjoyed video games as a kid, like the free ECHOnet ones where you played against other people. She ends up joining the Vladof military a) for money and b) because she doesn't have a viable career path after playing video games all of her youth

- Moze is a really good liar. She can make up anything on the spot and get away with it. On a totally unrelated note, Moze was a little delinquent as a kid. Smoking (-> bubblegum to break the habit?), underage drinking. Wasn't doing anything bad, just breaking laws she thought were dumb- passive anarchy. She fit in great at Vladof.

- Moze is super protective of the other VHs, to the point she's willing to self-sacrifice to ensure they survive even the smallest squabble. Amara is always like 'no wtf stop'. But Moze still tries anyway, in spite of the group's blood pressure. Which I guess maybe she ought to be taking into consideration.

Fl4k slowly gains sentience over time and begins to realize they despise their job despite being programmed to enjoy it (their hardware had begun to malfunction as the biologist researchers were using them long after their expiry date- so replacing bits with more modern parts led to some unintended interactions. they were found in an abandoned factory on the planet that was so dilapidated/overgrown nobody knows which megacorporation it belonged to). They were working on a species preservation planet, basically a giant safari/zoo planet where a bunch of species were brought to ensure they didn't go fully extinct because the borderworlds are crazy. The planet has lots of history books to see how the animals were meant to behave/look/be cared for and it's how Fl4k gained their affinity for animals. Long story short, during a walk in the jungle where they contemplated their newly-gained sentience, Fl4k met what is essentially the personification of death (not the grim reaper- he's different, like uhhhh the Raven Queen and Kravitz from TAZ- literally death itself) watching them nurse a dying spiderant back to health and they became obsessed with The Hunt (TM) in order to win her affections (and also pay back their debt to her for keeping a soul from coming her way because Fl4k gaining sentience wasn't supposed to happen, so that spiderant is off schedule but whatever mannnn).

-Fl4k is the best healer on the team because they know so much about biology due to the hours of reciting scrolls and sorting books they had to do. They also have a lot of obscure, random history knowledge

-Fl4k can eat, they have taste receptors (given they know greeble snot is mild), they just prefer not to because it is inefficient and not worth anything to them. I'm also not sure how yet.

- Fl4k was allowed to choose three more animals out of the thousands dying on their home planet the day they met death and nurse them back to health in order to have four companions join them on the hunt. Because. Idk. Sounds cool to me. They chose a jabber, a skag, and a rakk hive. Death didn't vibe with the rakk hive, so she gifted Fl4k the ability to summon a couple rakk instead, just like the hive.

- Death doesn't want the Destroyer getting loose because that's a lot of paperwork ahead of schedule, and Fl4k is more than happy to oblige and go on the greatest hunt to stop it. Death gifts them with some powers (gamma burst, rakk summoning) to help them on their mission. Also just to keep things tidy Fl4k is unaware of their end goal until it's mentioned in the story. All they know is that Death wanted them to become a Vault Hunter and go to Pandora to go on The Hunt (TM).

- Fl4k can be fairly bossy/commanding and does tend to tell the other VHs what they should do like they are part of The Pack. They had tried to take the leadership role in the beginning, but it did not work and Amara naturally fell into that position. They're still commanding, but the others take those more as general suggestions now and everything works fine.

And you already know Zane's, is pretty much just: 'How to Develop Trust Issues: the 7th edition (Written by the LGBT+ Community, Anotated by Cryptids)'. He gave it to Zer0 once during a full moon and he's 90% sure it was used for assassination practice. He gave it to Hammerlock next because at least Hammylock can treat a book right, you fucking heathen.

#Bl3 #Borderlands #H2o au #Why the heck isn't this post showing up in my tag search anymore #Dang it tumblr you suck

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punkscowardschampions · 4 years

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Rio & Buster

Rio: Do you think I need to report or tip the deliveryman for taking advantage of the unlocked front door? Rio: can't decide Buster: Are you sure it was unlocked? Rio: Well I was sure I locked it actually but apparently not Rio: Indie also swears she didn't forget so must've been me Buster: Unless she swore on her stash there's no reason to take it as gospel, babe Rio: True Rio: thanks anyway 😚 they look really pretty in the kitchen window Buster: Hold on, I didn't send you anything Buster: What kind of delivery was it? Rio: Yeah, tbh, I didn't think it was you Rio: but I was hoping Rio: [the picture] Rio: they look kinda cheap Rio: cannot work out who they're from Buster: Is the address right? Maybe they're for next door but yours was open Buster: Fuck it, throw them out and I'll replace them for you Rio: There isn't one, there's like nothing Rio: Maybe Drew's planning to give 'em to someone Buster: Ask him Buster: Could also be one of Indie's friends, you said they were cheap, like Rio: Awh, how sweet Rio: yeah, I'll ask Rio: how are you anyway? Buster: Better before I was worried about your home security Rio: Don't be Rio: You've never forget to lock up before? Rio: Be Drew that'd be 😥 Buster: Course not Buster: My parents would kill me Rio: Guess you have more stuff to steal Rio: luckily we've just been gifted something so that's as good as you can hope I suppose Buster: No bullshit, are you okay? Rio: It just shook me up a bit Rio: but now I've had time to calm down Buster: You can stay here any time and for any reason Buster: You know that Rio: I know Rio: I promise I don't need that though Rio: even though I miss you Rio: wish you were here Buster: I miss you too Buster: I'll come and see you this weekend Buster: Move some shit around Rio: Can you? Rio: don't if you can't Buster: I can Buster: And I want to Rio: I wish they were from you Rio: not an unsubtle hint Buster: I don't need any hints Buster: I just ordered some Buster: But we can track the delivery on these, like Rio: I love you Rio: see who gets here first, you or the flowers Buster: I love you Buster: But they better or else we are gonna have to have a word with whoever the fuck delivers shit to your place Rio: 😂 Rio: its not quite that rough that the postie throws it and runs Buster: Says you Rio: What does that mean? 😏 Buster: It means I've only got your word for it since I can't exactly forgo the hotel and sleep over Rio: You'd prefer your hotel, I'm not gonna oversell it that hard, like Buster: I ain't gonna deny that either Buster: Unless you stayed there and left me alone at the hotel Rio: That just ain't gonna happen Rio: never ever Rio: least no one here is really keeping that close a check on where I am Rio: much easier Buster: Yeah fuck knows where I'm gonna say I am if anyone asks Buster: I'll obviously think of something as per but the standard excuses are gonna start sounding like they are exactly that one of these days Rio: I know Rio: be easier if visiting your sister was a little more in question Rio: but that would require actually doing that so Buster: As much as I love you, babe Rio: I know Rio: she's settled well though Buster: No need to try and make any friends when she's got Junior, is there? Buster: He more or less guarantees her an easier life Rio: Alright for some Rio: lucky he's such a nerd they let him skip Buster: Exactly Rio: Why you gotta be so overachieving, huh Rio: I'm so bored without you Buster: I didn't get put forward a year, I'm clearly not working hard enough actually Rio: Nah, you just don't have crazy genius brain Rio: which I think is probably a good thing Rio: and your school would never, doing everything by the 100 year old book Buster: Cheers Buster: For the compliment and the reminder Rio: You know you're still going to get everything you want Buster: Course I am Buster: I've earned it despite my lack of a genius level IQ Rio: Are you mad I called you not a genius? Buster: Like you said, it's a good thing Buster: Fuck being a weirdo Rio: Bit rude Buster: Come on Rio: You don't need to call anyone a weirdo if you're not mad Buster: You know what I mean Buster: I'm perfect as I am Rio: Okay Buster: Don't get mad Buster: Just 'cause I ain't Rio: 🙄 I'm not Rio: shh Buster: Convincing Rio: Well I will be if you keep going on Buster: Behave Rio: Come over and make me Mr. Perfect 😏 Buster: Friday afternoon Buster: Soon as school's over and done with Rio: 😾 I guess I'll behave then then Buster: Are you gonna be perfect? Rio: Aren't I always? 😇 Buster: You know you are Buster: But you also know I wanna hear you promise Rio: I promise I'll be perfect for you Buster: Good girl Rio: Buster Buster: Rio Rio: You're so rude Rio: distracting me Buster: What are you doing that needs your full attention? Rio: I'm trying to cook Buster: I'll leave you to focus then, yeah? Buster: Wouldn't wanna be even ruder or anything Rio: Don't you dare Buster: You know I always dare Rio: Oh, so we're playing now? Buster: Yeah Rio: And you aren't playing nice Buster: I didn't make any promises to be Rio: Me either Rio: 'til Friday Buster: You can't help yourself though Buster: You're an angel Rio: For my sins Rio: and yours Buster: What sins are those? Rio: If I need to remind you, then its really been way too long since we last did a visit Buster: Or I need to remind you how heavenly everything we've ever done together is Rio: I wouldn't mind that reminder Buster: Call me Rio: [does] Buster: Tell me the kitchen ain't on fire Rio: It ain't Rio: Dinner is gonna be late Rio: but we'll all survive Buster: Well I'm not sorry about that Buster: I've gotta wait til Friday to have dinner with you Rio: I can't wait to cook for you Buster: Don't make me miss you more Rio: You wait 'til I have my own place proper Rio: treat you like such a 👑 all day every day Buster: I'm not sure I can wait, baby Buster: Jesus Rio: Next time your parents are away, tell me and I'll get the next flight Rio: never guaranteeing a free house here but we can play then Buster: Hold on, I'll check the calendar Buster: [a date] Rio: It's done Buster: Easily Rio: then when you go uni we can be together all the time Buster: Every day Rio: Can't we just be 18 now? Buster: I swear I feel older than that already Rio: Me too Rio: its crazy we've been doing all this over 2 years now Rio: never mind everything else Buster: Yeah Buster: Looking at their calendar only proves that my parents treat me like I'm older when it suits 'em Rio: Good for parties Rio: good for me and you Rio: but it must feel so big when its just you in that house Rio: my poor baby Buster: Technically not good enough though 'cause I can't move out or change schools Buster: But I ain't complaining Buster: Especially when I've got you to keep me company if it gets lonely Buster: Just one call away, like Buster: And like you said, the parties and visits mean I rarely am alone anyway Buster: We'd definitely have gotten closer to getting caught if I had different parents as well Rio: It won't last forever, even if it feels like it Rio: best place for you to be right now Rio: and I'll always be here Rio: no matter what Rio: sometimes I forget no one knows Rio: when I'm talking to you Rio: but then its painfully obvious again when we have to hide it Buster: I know Buster: Me too Buster: But that doesn't have to be forever either Buster: We can tell 'em when we're older Rio: We'll have to Rio: I can't just suddenly decide I wanna move to America when you happen to be going too Buster: And when I propose, you won't be able to hide a diamond that big Rio: You can't just say things like that Buster: Don't you wanna marry me? Rio: Of course I do Buster: Good Rio: You really want to marry me Rio: and be with me forever Buster: Of course I do Rio: Buster, I love you so much Rio: how are you real Buster: I could ask you the same question Buster: But I reckon whatever you think makes me unreal does the same to you Rio: You're just Rio: I'm just so glad you're in this as much as I am Rio: we want the same things Buster: I've never half arsed anything in my life, I'm not about to start with the most important part of it Rio: That's why I love you Rio: you're so dedicated and passionate and Rio: fuck Buster: It's for you as much as it is me Buster: I ain't forgotten the future you want Buster: I'm gonna give you everything Rio: Just marry me now Rio: Jesus Buster: Not until you can openly wear the ring every single day Rio: Okay Rio: deal Buster: I'll get you something else to wear in the meanwhile Buster: A ring that's not so obvious Rio: Baby Buster: I fucking love you Buster: There needs to be another word for it that's more descriptive or whatever Buster: Just more everything Rio: I get it Rio: I get you, you get me Rio: There's nothing I wanna do where I don't want you with me Rio: other people don't even register, never mind compare Buster: I feel that too Buster: Since I was a kid Rio: No one else could hold my attention like you Buster: 'Cause there's nobody else like me Rio: Not even close Buster: You won't ever regret choosing me Buster: I'll make sure you don't Rio: I know Rio: but it was never a choice really Rio: not in a bad way just in a Rio: I don't even know Rio: like we was meant to be from the start Buster: I know Buster: Like you said, we're the same in that and loads of other shit Rio: Plus you're the hottest boy to ever walk the planet so obviously, you're mine 😋 Buster: Yeah, that too, like Buster: But even if you weren't the most beautiful girl I've ever seen, I'd still want you to be mine Buster: 'Cause you're the best in so many other ways as well Buster: And I'll never be over how perfect you are or what you make me feel like Rio: Stop being perfect and sincere when I'm just trying to live over here Buster: We've established I can't Buster: Or won't Rio: How do you do that Rio: cheer me up Rio: make me forget Buster: 'Cause I always get what I want Buster: And I want that for you Rio: You're the best Buster: I know Buster: So I deserve you Rio: What do you wanna do when you're here? Rio: Aside from have me be perfect, obviously Buster: We need to get you a ring, of course Buster: Unless you want me to surprise you with it Rio: 😁😁😁 Buster: If that's what you actually look like, show me Rio: [the most excited selfie] Buster: Baby Rio: Daddy Rio: tbh Buster: Tell me what you wanna do when I'm there Buster: Aside from saying that again, obviously Rio: 😏 and again and again Rio: Hmm Rio: just be with you Rio: I don't care what we're doing, as long as its what we wanna do Rio: makes a change from my routine Buster: Well that's the least I can do Buster: Don't worry Rio: I'm never worried Rio: not when I'm with you Buster: Good Buster: You're safe with me Buster: Even if you forget to lock every door Rio: I won't Rio: I'm not a total idiot Buster: I know how smart you are, babe Rio: 🙄 Buster: Don't Buster: I'm serious Rio: Its whatever Rio: I don't need to be smart Rio: just work it Buster: You are though regardless Rio: Whatever you say, babe Buster: You gonna listen to whatever I say? Rio: 🙉🤭 Buster: Alright then Rio: Awh, you mad at me? Buster: Is that what you're trying to do? Rio: Maybe Rio: has it worked? Buster: Try harder Rio: 😤😠💪 Buster: Come on Rio: . Rio: That's me not replying, 'cos nothing makes you madder than being ignored Buster: Well played Rio: Thank you Rio: If I do it for real will you call me again? Buster: How could I resist? Rio: Don't Rio: only me who's gotta resist talking to you Rio: which is really really hard Buster: I'll make your efforts feel worth it Rio: 😣 Buster: I promise Rio: Okay Rio: I can do it Buster: Prove it Buster: [calls]

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riding-alpacas · 4 years

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Tierra del Fuego

My route through Patagonia leads me from south to north - starting in the southernmost city of the world: Ushuaia. As usual in South America there are some debates if this is really the southernmost city, given that there are a few more towns and villages further south in Chile. Population wise it certainly is one of the bigger southernmost places.

I didn't have the highest expectations when I came here. Ushuaia is clearly a very busy, touristy place in summer. Lots of cruise ships stop here and it is also the starting point for Antarctica expeditions. I considered doing one of those as well, but when I researched the cost and what kind of trip it would be, I backed off. They are ridiculously expensive and pretty much all of them are targeting a more senior audience. If Antartica still exists when I'm 60, I might consider it again at that age.

Closer to Straya than to Canada

On my first day there was only a limited amount of people in the hostel. Well, that's what I thought. It turned out that during the day almost nobody was in the hostel ever. In the mornings and evenings though the place was buzzing. In one of the Backpacker groups on Facebook I found Corinna who also just arrived in Ushuaia and was looking for hiking buddies. During the following days we spent the majority of our time together as we got along really well. It's a shame that we have very different plans for our time after Ushuaia, but we figured that we might meet again in Central America.

The first hike we attempted was the one to Laguna Esmeralda. It gave me a first taste of the landscape so far south on our wonderful planet. If I'd have to describe it with one word it would definitely be rugged. There is something quite harsh but beautiful about the environment here - which makes sense, given that we had hardly more than 15 degrees during the day and it's basically winter down here most of the time. The tree line is super low (500m or so), the brownish colour above it is quite unique and the mountain peaks are just spectacular. And best of all, it's all pretty much untouched.

Felt a bit like Lord of the Rings

The hike itself was a lot of fun but not only due to the beautiful surroundings. It was muddy like hell. Parts of it led through peat bogs which I never hiked through before. First we both tried to avoid getting into the mud as much as possible by doing ridiculous detours (we actually almost got lost on the first 500m in) but for me at least the tolerance limit got lower pretty quick. My boots were waterproof and in my hostel they had boot brush cleaners anyway. Walking through peat bogs was pretty weird at first. They have a spongy, springy texture and no matter how dry they look, once you step on it you basically press out a lot of water. The lake itself was pretty nice. Many of the lakes I saw in Canada had the same blue, milky colour but that doesn't make it any less beautiful. Unfortunately I wasn't super lucky with the weather during the whole week but again: It's still just beautiful being out there in the spectacular outdoors of the Land of Fire.

A little bit of mud

Mystic

Next day was rest day. And rest day usually means checking out town and its museums. The first museum I tried was an old prison that Ushuaia is famous for. They've split it up into multiple sections, grouped by topic. I was very disappointed. Firstly, it was totally overpriced and secondly it was just... random. I expected some sort of golden thread when walking through the different prison cells but it felt just like a random collection of stuff. And it wasn't even good stuff. I was hoping to learn a little bit about the history of Ushuaia, the indigenous people who lived here etc. but it was very underwhelming. On the way to the city I had a quick look at a "museum" about the Islas Malvinas which was a huge flop, too so I almost skipped the last museum I had in mind. But thankfully I didn't because that one was finally a good one. Historia Fueguina tells four storylines that are related to Ushuaia’s history:

The indigenous people

One of the first European expeditions

The prison

An unbelievable rescue story about Ernest Shackleton and the Endurance

You wander from section to section, each one consisting of life-sized historic figures while listening to the story on the free audio guides. Most of the exhibits can be entered and you can pose for pictures. It was quite quirky but very educational and a lot of fun. Spoiler: Most indigenous people are now eradicated because the Europeans brought diseases and bullets when they discovered gold in the area. Same shit, different country.

Almost as comfy as my hostel beds

Next thing I did was a little hike up to the local glacier in town: Glaciar Martial. I did this one by myself because I really wanted to start it early and Corinna didn't want to pay for the taxi. It's very popular and I wanted to avoid the crowds. Surprisingly life generally starts late here, mostly around 10am. For this one I left the hostel at 8 and was on my way up at 8:30. And I am very happy about my decision because I had the whole trek for myself. Initially I felt a bit meh about this hike. Most photos in the web are quite underwhelming and the start of the hike is basically just walking along a ski slope. Luckily one of my room mates told me about some side trails and that the hike generally is actually quite nice. I'm glad I listened to him. At the beginning I walked along a beautiful creek with some of the clearest water on earth. After getting to a little viewing area, I continued up to the actual glacier. It became quite steep here, but it also wasn't a particularly long section. At the top I had a wonderful view of Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel. I found a beautiful section where lots of small streams of water merged and just rested here for about 45 mins to soak in the view and some of the sun when it showed itself for a few seconds.

If I remember correctly this was also the very first time that I was making full use of my layering system. I started with my insulated jacket as it was pretty cold in the morning. Halfway through I added my windbreaker as it became quite windy above the tree line. On the way down it gradually became warmer but it also started raining, so I removed both jackets and changed into my rain jacket. Yes, you truly need a good layering system when in Patagonia.

Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel

More Lord of the Rings

The next day was the highlight of my time in Ushuaia. Corinna, the couple that she shared her Airbnb with and I rented a car and we made our way to the Tierra del Fuego National Park. Corinna and I had a crack at the Cerro Guanaco Trail which literally took our breath away. The hike starts at a glacial lake, then turns into a forrest and climbs up pretty steeply. After a while we reached a little viewpoint before going through some muddy terrain again. With the tree line behind us, we were now in pretty exposed and rugged territory and the trail became extremely steep. But we continued, slowly and steadily until we reached the top and a jaw-dropping view to all sides. We could see Ushuaia and the Beagle Channel in the distance, the glacial lake with some impressive mountains below us, ragged cliffs right next to us. It was just spectacular and very close to what I had in mind when thinking about Patagonia.

Ragged

My favourite view so far

Corinna and I

Beagle Channel

After our return we continued to explore the southern part of the National Park, took some dorky pictures at some touristy signs and returned back to Ushuaia. By the way: If I wouldn't know that the water is freezing cold down here I would just love to jump into all the little lakes and inlets here. The water is crystal clear and when the sun comes out and you actually feel a bit warm it is just too inviting...

The end of the road

Second best thing to do with these water conditions

Jump in!

What stroke us the most during our time down here was the very limited amount of wildlife on land. We saw a couple of brumbies (or whatever they call them here), some birds and a few flies, but that was basically it. No guanacos, no armadillos, not even a bloody worm or ant. I actually digged a little hole at one point to see if there is anything hidden in the soil but there wasn't anything. Corinna and I started building a theory that everything we saw was just fake and we were actually in some sort of TV show. I hope you are all very entertained by now!

The last activity I did was a rather disappointing one. Corinna had now left town and I decided to do a little trip to an island full of penguins and a cruise along the beagle channel on my last day. Little Penguins are quite common in Australia and I already saw a lot of them in Melbourne and on Phillip Island. I was hoping that the species they have here in Ushuaia would be a bit more different, but it turned out that the Magellanic Penguins (by far the biggest group of penguins here) are very, very similar. I also saw Gentoo Penguins and a King Penguin though, which was pretty cool. After spending about an hour on the island and some other random stuff on the way there (trees that were shaped by the wind, a museum about marine mammal skeletons (creepy (especially when they showed us the fresh carcasses (let's just add more brackets because I can)))) we started our cruise. And the cruise was just 100% meh. Towards the end we stopped at the famous lighthouse and at a few rocks with sea lion colonies but I guess I'm just too used to these animals so that in hindsights I'm a little angry with myself spending so much money on that activity.

Looks like it's a bit windy out here

The lady was very excited about skinning this skull

Gentoo Penguins

Spot the king!

Look at this ugly fella

That was my adventure at the end of the world. I started making some good friends and it was a great start to get to know Patagonia. Next up is El Chalten, the hiking capital of Argentina. Apparently they have really bad internet there, so it might get a little quiet here. Apart from that I also managed to get sick (Coronavirus?), so I'll probably have to rest a bit in the next few days.

I might meet Jean (who I met in the hostel) again in Bariloche

#argentina #ushuaia #tierra del fuego

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ancientbooshartifacts · 5 years

Text

Like a Hole in the Head

Author: IDeserveYou

Year: 2012

Rating: NC-17

Pairing: Naboo/Saboo

He doesn’t know where he is: somewhere in London, presumably. There’s nobody in sight; no demons, but nobody to help him either. How long has he been left to wander around like this? It could be days. It feels like days. He’s starving, wet through, shivering, disoriented, and very, very pissed off. Fucking Board of fucking Shamen. It's all coming back now. How on earth he can be expected to work with people like that – Harrison. Dennis. Kirk. And most especially that little tit Naboo. Where are they when you need them? When it comes to the crunch, they’re all fucking useless. Muttering savagely to himself, he sets off down the narrow street. The pavement is cracked and uneven, making him stumble and wince at the pain in his blistered feet. He trips over a doorstep and almost falls: saves himself by grabbing onto the doorpost. At last. Somewhere with signs of life. There’s the heavy pulse of music, and a waft of stale booze and smoke: some sort of seedy club. Not Saboo’s usual scene, but the door is half-open and there’s no bouncer to turn him back. And the air coming through the door may stink, but at least it’s warm. So warm… he needs warm, he’s cold without the wrappings of Nanatoo's woolly scarf. He slips through the door and wobbles down a corridor into a gloomy, black-painted room. At first he feels a bit conspicuous teetering around in high-heeled shoes, but he's still too cold to take them off. Anyway the place is full of goths and nobody takes much notice of him. He waits for his eyes to adjust to the dim light. Hang on a minute. Is that a gorilla over there with those two girls? Then someone bumps into him. Someone small. “Evening gorgeous,” the someone giggles, “fancy meeting you here.” Oh, shit. This is just what Saboo needs. He needs this like – “Do you know you’ve got a hole in your head?” Saboo can’t understand why anybody would be giggling. This is serious. Very, very serious. “Yes,” he snaps back, “I do know, I could hardly fail to be aware of it.” “It’s a good look for you. Very cool. You can see the lights through it.” Feeling terrible, Saboo leans on the wall. “Are you high, Naboo?” he asks severely. Naboo giggles more. “Yeah. Good to see you too, Saboo. You look great, you should wear a dress more often.” “It isn’t a dress, it’s a coat.” “Whatever, it goes well with the heels, you got a ladder in your tights though.” “I’m not surprised, I’ve been walking the streets for days…” The room spins, and Saboo slides down to the floor. Naboo kneels beside him. “You OK down there?” “Do I look like I’m OK?” Saboo snarls. “Why couldn’t I bump into someone competent, you plum duff? Why did it have to be you?” “Magic. It was meant to be.” Naboo is laughing outright now. “No, it sodding well wasn’t. You know I’ve never liked you.” The little shaman shrugs. “OK, I’ll go an’ call Tony then, I’m sure he’ll be happy to – take care of you.” “No way.” Saboo heaves at the thought. “I am NOT letting Tony bloody Harrison see me like this. And if you EVER tell him…” “What you gonna do? Bludgeon me to death with a shoe?” Naboo is laughing and laughing and Saboo can’t do anything except lie on the floor; the lights are dancing with the music and is that a gorilla over there with those two girls? He groans. Naboo puts a hand on his forehead, beside the hole. The touch is cool and Saboo can feel the power in it; he’d never known Naboo really had any, always thought he was only on the council because Dennis fancied him. Naboo smiles. “Yeah, it is a gorilla over there. It’s Bollo, you idiot. Yeah, I do have the power, how d’you fink you ended up here? An’ no, Dennis don’t fancy me, he fancies you. Don’t tell him I said that.” Saboo tries to sit up, and heaves again. Naboo leans down; speaks very clearly in his ear. “Tell you what we’re gonna do, OK? I’m just gonna tell Bollo you’ve finally showed up, leave him to get some action, then I’m gonna take you home an’ fix you. An’ if you ever tell the H-Man that I chose you over two hot goth chicks…” “What are you going to do?” But Saboo can’t think what comes next. Naboo shakes his head. “No comeback? Oh, dear. You're in a bad way. Don’t go anywhere.” He’s gone, Saboo feels the loss, the music is arguing with the lights and he wishes they’d both shut up. He shuts his eyes. “Hey,” a voice says in his ear, “don’t cry, it’s gonna be OK now.” “I’m not crying,” he sobs. “I – never – cry –” “Have it your own way.” Naboo passes him a tissue, and hauls him to his feet, one arm across Naboo’s shoulders. Naboo feels strong and solid and Saboo feels as though he’s floating… then he opens his eyes and realises it’s because he is floating… It makes him feel more nauseous than ever. He holds on tight as Naboo tows him out of the club, chatting away as though this is something he does every day. “Got the carpet parked out the back. I’m not s’posed to use it for personal transport, but seein’ as I’m rescuin’ a fellow shaman, I don’t expect Dennis’ll mind. An’ it’s a beautiful night for flyin’.” “You’re flying all the time anyway, you little stoner,” Saboo mutters. “Look who’s talkin’. You’re the one glidin’ along two foot off of the floor.” He has a point. And he’s right about the night. It’s truly beautiful. The clouds have cleared away, the stars are dancing with the moon and is that a glimpse of the Xooberon Nebula away up there between those two planets? Saboo hopes so. And he also hopes – Hang on just a minute, he must really be in a bad way. Naboo lets him sink gently down on the carpet, and smiles. “Don’t worry.” “I’m not.” “Are too. Your thoughts are all leakin’ out of that hole in your head, I can hear ’em loud and clear.” The smile turns into yet another of those infuriating giggles. Oh, fuck. “It’s all right.” Naboo clambers on board, and bends down low, so low that his silky hair brushes the other shaman’s cheek. His breath is warm against Saboo’s ear. “Dennis ain’t the only one,” he whispers, and launches the carpet up into the glittering sky.

~~~

Saboo never thought he’d be happy to be back in Naboo’s squalid little flat; but then, today has been full of surprises.

Naboo’s two waste-of-space employees are sitting very close together on the sofa when the shamen walk in (or rather, when Naboo walks in; Saboo is still floating). They move rather hastily apart and Vince says, too brightly, ‘Alright, Naboo?’ Howard is blushing. And wearing eyeliner. At least he looks better as a goth than he did as a nana. Knee-length floral Crimplene is not a good look for anybody, especially anybody with a moustache. ‘Oh, er, hi Naboo, you found him then.’ Howard crosses his legs elaborately. Probably hoping nobody will notice what’s happening inside his skin-tight black trousers. ‘Well, it was more like he found me, actually. Budge up a bit, Vince.’ Naboo shoves Vince along the sofa until the gap between the two humans is wide enough for him to push Saboo into it and sit him down. ‘Sorry to interrupt your romantic evenin’, but I need you to keep him warm while I get some things to fix him with. An’ be gentle with him, he’s been to the crunch an’ back, remember.’ Vince pulls an insanitary-looking rug from the back of the sofa and drapes it over all three of them. Saboo hates to admit it, but the warmth of the primitive fabric is welcome; he’s still chilled to the bone, and a carpet flight through the frosty winter sky hasn’t helped. ‘Blimey, you’re cold. I can feel the cold comin’ out of you in waves. Hey Howard, snuggle up a bit, this poor sod’s freezin’.’ ‘I thought you didn’t even like Naboo,’ Howard says in a puzzled voice, as he shuffles closer under the blanket. The cold makes speech impossible; and anyway, Saboo doesn’t know how to answer that. Or even whether it’s a question at all. ‘Do you like him?’ Vince asks, all guileless blue eyes. Saboo shakes his head and wishes Vince would shut up. Vince smirks. ‘Do you love him?’ ‘Shut up, Vince,’ Howard says, and Saboo gives him a grateful glance. ‘He does love him though, Howard. Or why would he be here?’ ‘Just… shut up about it, Vince, not everything revolves around sex.’ ‘Yeah, it does.’ Vince grins wickedly. Saboo relaxes against Howard’s shoulder. The warmth of these primitive humans is welcome, too; poor things, they have to keep themselves warm, their crappy planet doesn’t even know what hot is, you can’t rely on its pathetic local star like you can on the suns of Xooberon. Vince quivers with laughter, and says very quietly: ‘Did you kiss him?’ Shut up, you tit, just shut up, this isn’t funny, it’s too much on top of everything that’s happened, the demon invasion and the stress of working with Tony and the feeling of knitting needles thudding into flesh and the cold and the floating and the stars and awakening to a swift, delicate press of lips and a small voice whispering wake up, ballbag, we’re home… and the pain… The binding spell that held it all together finally fails, as Saboo gives in to the exhaustion he’s been fighting for days. ‘You’re bleeding.’ Vince’s voice is high with sudden alarm. ‘Naboo, he’s bleeding. What’s happening? Do something!’ There is warm wetness seeping through the coat or dress or whatever it is, and oh shit, it hurts, it hurts… ‘I’m sure it does. Hang in there, we’ll take care of you.’ Fuck, must’ve said that out loud. ‘Yeah, you did. It’s all right.’ Howard takes the hand Saboo didn’t even know he was holding out, and holds tight. ‘Hurry up, Naboo.’ Vince sounds panicky. ‘I’ll be there in a minute, OK? Just findin’ the potions I need. Can’t plug a demonic wound with just any old rubbish, you know.’ It’s more like two minutes and it feels like two lifetimes, but at last he is there, and Howard’s hand is warm and solid as Vince helps to strip away that ridiculous outfit, thankfully without comment. It could be worse. At least that damn gorilla isn’t here. He didn’t need to see this. ‘You idiots,’ Naboo squeaks, ‘you only told me about the one in his head, you never said he took four needles to the chest as well.’ ‘Sorry, Naboo. We forgot, there was a lot else going on… But you can fix them, right?’ ‘I dunno, Vince, this looks bad, I might ’ave to call Dennis.’ ‘Please don’t,’ Saboo whispers, and bites his lip with the pain. ‘Well, alright, I’ll do my best. We need to lay you out flat. Vince, if you’re gonna puke, go an’ do it somewhere else.’ ‘I’m not.’ ‘Good. Go an’ boil the kettle, we need hot water. Howard, can you…?’ ‘Like this?’ ‘Fine, yeah.’ Saboo finds himself lying with his head across Howard’s knees and two big warm hands holding him down as Naboo cleans away the blood and then does something with an evil-smelling potion that makes Saboo arch his back in agony, and also swear his tits off. ‘Sorry ’bout that, it does tend to sting a bit.’ Was that a tiny tremor in Naboo’s level voice? ‘It should all go numb in a minute, then I’ll just squeeze this frog over it…’ ‘Does the frog’s slime have healing powers or something?’ Howard asks. ‘Nah, but look at its stupid expression, if ever an amphibian deserved a good squeezin’ this one does. Then I’ll put some fillin’ in the holes an’ it’ll all be fine… Vince, quit fiddlin’ with those jars, that’s powerful magic stuff in there.’ ‘Shouldn’t this one be in the kitchen? It says “cherry pie” on the label.’ ‘Course it does. It’s the best fillin’ there is. Hand it over, an’ get us a teaspoon. An’ if you manage not to faint, you can scrape the jar out afterwards.’ Nobody faints, not even Saboo, although having your brain and lungs reconstructed with a teaspoon is not a pleasant sensation. Howard draws the occasional sharp breath, but he doesn’t let go of Saboo’s shoulders until Naboo drops the spoon back into the jar with a faint ‘clink’ and hands it to Vince. ‘There you go, knock yourself out, pity to waste it… Cheers, Howard. Saboo, ya ballbag, you still with us?’ Saboo forces himself to croak: ‘Yes.’ ‘Sit up, then, an’ we’ll see whether it’s worked.’ ‘It had better have worked.’ Saboo groans as Howard helps him to sit up and swing his legs to the floor. ‘I’m not going through that again. And I much prefer rhubarb, anyway.’ ‘Beggars can’t be choosers, sir,’ Howard intones sanctimoniously. Saboo is about to point out that this is something he neither begged for nor chose, but something in Naboo’s expression stops him. Little tit’s actually worried. ‘He looks alright to me,’ Vince says, sucking thoughtfully on the teaspoon. ‘You look a bit peaky, though, Vince.’ Howard gets off the sofa and puts a hand on Vince’s shoulder. ‘Bit pale.’ Vince is indeed very white and wide-eyed, his mouth stained a vivid cherry-pink. He looks at himself in the mirror. ‘I do, don’t I?’ His expression brightens. ‘Genius. It’s just perfect for the goth look.’ ‘Is that all you can think about – how you look?’ Naboo snaps. ‘Howard, get this idiot out of here before I shove a frog somewhere he didn’t even know I could.’ ‘Sorry, Naboo,’ Vince mumbles. Howard whispers something in his ear, and he nods. ‘I’ll – we’ll see you in the morning, yeah?’ ‘Whatever.’ Naboo turns his back on the two of them, and bends over to check Saboo’s injuries. ‘Those don’t look too bad, if I say so myself. I’m not really trained in magical surgery. Good thing you didn’t get a hole in the heart as well.’ His face is intent, professional, concerned. Those black-and-silver robes are stunning, even crumpled and stained from a night’s hard partying followed by a life-or-death rescue mission; and someone (Vince, most likely) has artfully applied eyeliner and just a touch of makeup, to emphasise Naboo’s wide dark eyes and fine-boned features. There’s still a trace of lipgloss on his mouth, that soft mouth, so gentle, Saboo knows he didn’t imagine it… Naboo looks up, smirking slightly; evidently not worried any more, then. ‘We need to get your core temperature back up. You’re still shiverin’. You wanna have a hot shower?’ ‘Won’t the holes –’ ‘Nah, they’ll be fine now. Look.’ Saboo steals a hasty glance, and is reassured: a large area of his midriff is covered by multicoloured bruising, but the four little round knitting-needle scars are already almost invisible. A chance to be warm again is tempting, very tempting… ‘I’ll wash your back.’ That shouldn’t sound as tempting as it does. ‘I can manage.’ ‘Yeah, I know, but I’ll do it anyway… I’d offer to wash your front too, but I don’t wanna push it.’ Naboo is giggling again. Saboo suddenly feels very weary. ‘All right, you know what? I give up. Just do – whatever.’ He wriggles free of the rest of his outfit and gets unsteadily to his feet. ‘Happy now? I’m standing here in my underwear, completely at rock bottom, and all you can think about is your own smutty little fantasy. Well, I hope you’re enjoying this. Because I’m most certainly not.’ ‘I didn’t mean it to sound like that.’ ‘Oh, and what did you mean it to sound like? No, don’t tell me, I don’t care. Just get me fucking well warm and then let me sleep. Just – ’ Naboo puts an arm round him, to hold him up. ‘Hey. It’s all right.’ ‘No, it’s not. It’s not…’ And now Naboo has both arms round him, and he’s resting his cheek on Naboo’s sleek hair, and choking out: ‘I’m sorry.’ Naboo gives him a friendly squeeze. ‘ ’S’OK, I know you’ve ’ad a tough week. Come on. Bathroom’s this way. An’ I promise I won’t look if you don’t want me to.’

~~~

‘Naboo, you plum, what on earth are these supposed to be?’ ‘They’re Howard’s pyjamas. You’re both tall… I thought they’d prob’ly fit you OK. An’ they do, look.’ ‘I am looking, and they don’t.’ Saboo glares at his multiple and extremely unflattering reflections in the bathroom’s many mirrors. ‘They’re a baggy nightmare. And for fuck’s sake, they’re paisley patterned. I cannot go out of this bathroom looking like this.’ Naboo’s mouth twitches. ‘Might look better if you put the matchin’ top on as well.’ ‘Somehow I seriously doubt it.’ ‘Well,’ Naboo says calmly, ‘you can walk round the flat naked if you’d prefer that. I know I would…’ ‘Well, I wouldn’t.’ ‘Thought not. But a shaman can dream, can’t he?’ Naboo passes the pyjama jacket, and watches Saboo shrug his way reluctantly into it. ‘Hmmm. Maybe I was wrong about that lookin’ better... Here you go, cover it up with this.’ He holds out a fluffy brown dressing-gown. At least it’s warm, and it does hide most of the offensive pattern. Naboo’s doing his best, even if it’s a bit crap. ‘Thank you,’ Saboo growls. Naboo smirks. But only slightly. ‘You’re welcome… and hey, Howard an’ Vince are makin’ us dinner, it was Vince’s idea to make you feel better an’ make me not be pissed off with him any more, which means Howard’ll be doin’ most of the actual cookin’, so don’t diss his terrible taste in nightwear in front of him.’ ‘I won’t. But you have to promise me not to laugh.’ ‘At you? I wouldn’t dare.’ Grinning openly now, Naboo pulls his robes on over his head, and jams his turban back onto his damp hair. ‘Come on, whatever it is it smells great.’ Whatever-it-is turns out to be macaroni cheese, great creamy mounds of it, and it tastes even better than it smelt. After his first few desperate, ravenous mouthfuls, the subtlety of the flavour has fully registered, and Saboo is able to withdraw his attention from his plate for a few moments, in order to look at Howard with a new respect. ‘This is delicious. Thank you.’ Howard looks back at him with mild puzzlement. ‘Are those my pyjamas?’ ‘I borrowed ’em,’ Naboo says unrepentantly and indistinctly, through a mouthful of cheese. ‘Knew you wouldn’t mind. An’ it’s not as though you’ll be needin’ em tonight, is it?’ ‘Ummm… well, actually…’ ‘Oh, c’m’on Howard,’ Vince laughs, putting a hand on Howard’s shoulder. ‘Naboo’s right. An’ they look better on Saboo. Still pretty ridiculous, but better.’ Howard blushes, mumbles ‘You’re welcome,’ shrugs off Vince’s hand, and starts fussing with the saucepan, doling out second helpings. Saboo takes refuge in diplomatic silence, trying to be sensible and eat slowly, sneaking glances at Naboo every so often as the little shaman checks his mobile phone – ‘Twenty-three messages from Dennis, anybody’d think he was worried about you, better send ’im one back to say I found you I suppose’ – while he tucks away a second and then a third helping. Naboo really is an enigma. How is it possible for someone so small to eat that much macaroni cheese without exploding? And how is it possible for an eccentric midget you don’t even like to wreak such havoc on your well-trained shamanic mind? Not to mention your body… He watches Naboo’s small hands flickering over the phone buttons; the same hands that had spread the shower gel across Saboo’s aching back, carefully going so far and no further, the power of the little shaman’s touch unknotting the tension until it washed away like the bubbles. It was bliss. He’d turned round to thank Naboo without even thinking about it. Only to find that Naboo was standing actually in the bath, which hadn’t actually been part of the deal, and that he was stark naked, which hadn’t been part of the deal either. How had he even got out of those robes without making a sound? And as to what was inside them – Saboo’s face must have registered his shock: Naboo frowned, and said quietly: ‘What is your problem with me? Is it this?’ ‘What makes you think I have a problem?’ At least I have fucking genitals… He turned away, staring at the crumbling grout between the off-white tiles on the wall. Naboo snorted. ‘Here I am, offerin’ you the smoulderin’ sexual release you so clearly need, an’ equally clearly haven’t had in years, an’ you look at me as though I’m a bat-dropping on your shoe, an’ then turn your back. Makes me wonder why I bother.’ ‘Why do you?’ ‘Dunno really, I just… Does there have to be a why?’ ‘Perhaps there doesn’t.’ Saboo had carried on staring at the tiles, while the water sluiced down and filled the bathroom with steam. ‘Haven’t you seen a third-sexer before?’ It wasn’t a challenge, or a condemnation; it sounded, if anything, sympathetic. Saboo shook his pounding head. ‘I didn’t know.’ ‘Not many people do. It’s not exactly somethin’ you shout from the rooftops. Even on Xooberon, which this isn’t.’ ‘Do they know?’ ‘Vince’n’Howard? Not unless Bollo’s said anythin’. Mind you, they’re unusual for humans, they take all sorts of other weird stuff in their stride, if they found out I ’ad no tackle I don’t think it’d even make ’em blink. Vince might ask a few embarrassin’ questions, but Howard’d tell ’im it wasn’t any of their business, and we’d all just make another pot of tea an’ carry on.’ ‘I’m not like them.’ ‘I’m not expectin’ you to be. Listen, I’m getting’ cold stood ’ere, an’ we need to sort this out one way or the other.’ ‘But I don’t even –’ ‘Oh, change the fuckin’ record. How do you know you don’t like somethin’ you’ve never even tried? I’m not a bat-dropping on your shoe, I’m Naboo, that’s who. Gimme a bit of respect. At least look me in the eye while you’re tellin’ me you don’t want me.’ Saboo had turned round and taken one look, and then dropped his gaze, his cheeks burning. ‘Go on, look all you like.’ Naboo’s voice had lost its waspish edge. ‘I know the timin’s crap an’ I won’t bother you if this really isn’t what you want. Or if you need more time to think. Third-sex isn’t everyone’s bag… but I never had any complaints before…’ Somehow Saboo had forced his eyes to meet Naboo’s, and he’d wanted to say something lightly humorous, like ‘I’m not surprised,’ to prove that he was still in control of this situation, but his throat had seized up. And as for being in control… ‘Alright, you don’t need to say anythin’, your body’s doin’ the talkin’ for you. An’ it’s told me all I need to know for now.’ Naboo’s grin lit up the steamy bathroom. ‘Now move over, I wanna do my hair. Towels are on the rail, an’ I borrowed some pyjamas for you…’ ‘You OK there?’ Howard’s voice cuts through Saboo’s reverie. ‘Can I get you anything else – more food? I think there are some biscuits somewhere if Vince hasn’t eaten them all.’ ‘Shut up Howard, I’m not a total pig, I always leave at least one just in case.’ ‘No, I – I’m fine.’ Saboo makes himself focus on the humans across the table. ‘That was great. Thank you. I hadn’t eaten for days.’ A huge yawn wracks him. ‘You look like you need to sleep for days,’ Vince says. ‘Tell you what, how about bedtime cocoa an’ a hot water bottle? You’ll go to sleep quicker if you’re warm. I always do. An’ I don’t need the hot water bottle any more, not since I’ve bin sleepin’ with Howard, he’s always warm...’ ‘There is such a thing as too much information, Vince,’ Howard cuts in. ‘There certainly is.’ Naboo wrinkles his nose in disgust. ‘Leave him alone, he’s making very sensible suggestions.’ Saboo yawns hugely again, and staggers over to the sofa. ‘Thank you, Vince. A hot drink and some non-human portable warmth would be very welcome.’ ‘Do I fall within that definition?’ Naboo asks very quietly, as Howard and Vince are bickering amicably over the kettle and the clearing-up and who’s done what with the stopper for the hot-water bottle. Please, no more tonight. There’s been enough to deal with today. And the thought of lying next to that small smooth body… so tempting, but also so terrifying. Saboo’s not entirely sure why he’s afraid. After all, it’s not as though Naboo could physically invade him. But the little one is already walking around in Saboo’s mind as though he owns the place, even though the hole is mended and Saboo’s thoughts are no longer leaking out… Naboo looks at him with those fathomless dark eyes, and he wonders how true that last thought is. ‘OK then,’ Naboo says. ‘Not tonight. Stay on the sofa – I’ll get you another blanket or three.’ Four blankets and a hot-water bottle render the lumpy sofa tolerably comfortable. It’s the first time Saboo’s feet have been properly warm since he broke into that charity shop and stole those ridiculous high heels. He’s barely got under the covers and already his eyes are closing. He murmurs a sleepy goodnight to Vince and Howard, but he’s not sure they’ve heard him, they seem very focused on each other… ‘G’night, ballbag. Sweet dreams.’ Naboo is smiling down at him. ‘No, shut up, don’t say anyfink you’ll regret in the mornin’. Just go to sleep.’ There’s a command in his words that Saboo is powerless to disobey. A dark tide of sleep rolls over him and carries him away, and he’s not sure whether the silken touch of lips on his cheek is the last impression of reality or the first of dreams.

~~~

On the sofa, Saboo dreams. He dreams of lights dancing with gorillas, of stars and music streaming across the sky. He dreams of a sleek white body and silken dark hair jewelled with raindrops, of kohl-rimmed eyes looking into his soul. Then the lights and the stars fade to dimness, and he is alone in echoing silence. His feet are cold. He looks down; he is standing up to his ankles in a dark pool. A tiny, fragile body floats just out of reach, its dead hair tangled around its neck and its dull eyes gazing sightlessly at him: black holes leading into nothingness. It sinks below the surface as he watches, and the last of the stars go out. There is nothing left. He wakes abruptly, shuddering all over and drenched in icy sweat. The hot-water bottle at his feet is no longer hot, but cold and unfriendly. He boots it onto the floor with a dull flump that sounds too loud in the echoing silence of the lounge. His heart is thudding wildly. He has a sudden urge to go and check on Naboo, to open the bedroom door just a crack, to see that he’s breathing; maybe to lean over, close enough to see that the pulse is still beating in his neck… Stupid, really. Of course Naboo’s perfectly all right. But it’s impossible to sleep without knowing. And his feet are cold. And the thought of the dream returning – Saboo pulls the dressing gown close round him, and creeps down the passageway. There’s a giggle from the bed, the moment the door creaks open. ‘Swallowed your pride, did you?’ ‘I’ve none left.’ ‘Hey.’ Naboo turns on the bedside lamp; he is no longer laughing. ‘What’s wrong?’ ‘I was cold,’ Saboo mutters. ‘An’ you had a bad dream.’ ‘How did you know?’ ‘I saw it too. My shaman-senses picked it up. Either that, or we’ve both had too much cheese.’ ‘I’m sorry I woke you.’ ‘You didn’t. Those two did.’ There is a muffled thud and the sound of faint laughter from the next-door bedroom; then an unmistakable, rhythmic creaking, as of elderly and much-abused bedsprings. Naboo rolls his eyes. ‘At it like bloody rabbits. That’s the third time tonight, an’ it’s not even midnight yet. I mean, I’m happy for them an’ everything, but there are limits… Listen, I can hear your teeth chatterin’, you better get in ’ere, you won’t heal properly unless you’re warm.’ Saboo takes a couple of steps towards the bed. ‘Don’t pretend you didn’t come in here for this. Cos I won’t believe you.’ Naboo turns back the bedcovers, and looks down at himself. ‘D’you want me to put somefink on, though?’ ‘No, it’s all right, I –’ Explaining is just too complicated. Even to himself. Saboo strips off the dressing gown and drops it on the floor. ‘You get better heat transmission skin to skin,’ Naboo says, very seriously. Saboo sighs, and takes off the pyjama jacket as well. The bed is soft and welcoming; the covers smell of incense. He lies down, cautiously, flat on his back. ‘This way, I think.’ Naboo pushes him onto his side, facing the door. ‘More contact. I’ll turn up my metabolism f’r a bit.’ He pulls the blankets back over them both and presses close against Saboo’s back, with one arm over him. He takes several deep breaths, and his temperature starts to rise, and rise, until he’s as hot as a blue desert rock basking under the suns of Xooberon. There’s a sharp cry from the bedroom next door, then more laughter, and footsteps stumbling down the hall to the bathroom and back again. A door clicks shut, and then all is quiet. The warmth soaks through Saboo’s skin, through his body, right down to his freezing toes. ‘Better?’ Naboo murmurs, his breath tickling Saboo’s shoulder-blade. ‘Much better. Thank you.’ ‘You’re welcome. ’S’only a bit of energy.’ ‘No, I mean, thank you for all of it – rescuing me, and all that. I have to admit, I was pretty much at the end of my resources. I don’t think I’d have survived another night.’ ‘Yeah,’ Naboo says thoughtfully, ‘you were a bit wrecked by the time I called you in.’ ‘Called me in?’ ‘Told you I had the power. I was puttin’ out a subconscious signal irresistible to any other mighty shamanic mind on this primitive planet. Trouble was, you were out of it an’ not receivin’… Tony Harrison showed up days before you did.’ ‘Was he all right?’ ‘When’s the H-Man ever not all right? Thought ’e’d never stop drivellin’ on, the pink ballbag. He had some cock’n’bull story about you kickin’ ’im off the carpet for getting’ you lost, an’ then him landin’ on top of the O2, bouncin’ off into the Thames an’ bein’ rescued by the Royal Yacht.’ ‘I did kick him off the carpet. He’s a crap navigator, and bloody annoying to boot. But I expect he’s making the rest of it up.’ ‘He said the Queen invited him to dinner and plied him with champagne and caviar…’ Saboo snorts. ‘Tony has a remarkable ability to home in on alcohol. The rest of it’ll be pure bullshit. He probably raided a skip at the back of Tesco, like he did on the way to Kirk’s birthday party.’ ‘He did have a hell of a hangover. But he wasn’t in anywhere near as bad a state as you were. He’d missed all the demon action.’ Naboo shudders, and holds on a little tighter. ‘When that came to the crunch, it wasn’t pretty.’ ‘You can speak to me of the crunch?’ ‘Reckon I can now. I hit rock bottom too, you know. Six hours on the Northern Line an’ two bottles of tequila… an’ no magic. You’ve never had your powers revoked, you don’t know –’ ‘What it’s like to be helpless? I think I do, actually.’ ‘Maybe you do an’ all. Don’t mind admittin’, it teared me up a bit, seein’ you like that.’ ‘You disguised it very well,’ Saboo says drily. ‘Yeah, well… I’ve had a lot of practice at that. Keepin’ deadpan, not sayin’ anyfink. Makes life simpler.’ ‘You won’t say anything about all this, will you?’ ‘To the Board, you mean?’ ‘Yes. I – I’ve got a professional reputation to maintain. I can’t afford to have the others finding out that I’ve been – ’ ‘Dressin’ up in tights? Pretendin’ to be a nana? Fraternising with a council colleague?’ Naboo shakes with laughter. ‘Nah, don’t worry, I won’t tell ’em. I texted Dennis that you needed three days’ peace an’ quiet to recover from the evil killer knittin’ needles. Gave him way more medical information than he’ll have wanted. We’re not goin’ to get interrupted. Even though this is much more irregular behaviour than dj’ing with my familiar.’ ‘Talking of which… we’re not going to get interrupted by a gorilla, are we?’ ‘No way, I don’t sleep with my familiar. What sort of perve d’you fink I am? Bollo sleeps on the beanbags in the corner. Or in the broom cupboard if he’s been on a bender. Like tonight. He’ll come rollin’ in at four a.m. an’ crash out among the hoover bags. If he comes home at all… Is your back warm yet?’ ‘I’m fine now, thanks. Should I go back to the sofa?’ ‘Not unless you want. Plenty of room in this bed. An’ I don’t mind. Look, why don’t you roll over this way, then I can warm your front up too.’ Not even hesitating any more, Saboo rolls over and pulls Naboo close, hot and comforting against the dull ache of the needle-scars. ‘Can’t keep this up much longer, I’m afraid.’ Naboo’s breathing hard, as though he’s been running; his forehead is damp with sweat. ‘You should stop right now.’ Saboo puts a hand on Naboo’s chest. ‘Your heart’s going like a hammer. That can’t be good.’ ‘It isn’t. Generatin’ heat uses up a lot of energy. Good thing I had a third helping, thought I might need it… might have overdone it a bit there… Gimme a minute.’ He’s shaking all over. Saboo holds him while his breathing calms. His skin’s soft and smooth and his hair feels like silk and he fits into Saboo’s arms as though he belongs there and… oh. Fuck. Saboo shifts away, too late. ‘’S nothin’ to be embarrassed about,’ Naboo murmurs. ‘I’m the same.’ He takes Saboo’s hand and places it over his groin: firm and swollen and pulsing slightly. Saboo lifts his hand hastily away again. ‘But I thought you didn’t –’ ‘Just cos you can’t see it, don’t mean it ain’t there. It’s all internal. Adaptation to conserve water, apparently. Genetic remnant of our desert past. Rare, now. We can be fathers, but it needs a lot of ingenuity an’ an understandin’ female.’ ‘Stop being so blasted technical,’ Saboo grits between clenched teeth. He shivers. ‘You cold again?’ ‘No, it’s not that. It’s… it’s this, it’s you, it’s the dream, it’s being tired, it’s… I don’t know what it is.’ His throat feels tight. He’s losing it. He’s lost it. He should never have let this happen. He should be getting out of this bed, right now, and running away, far away. But he’s so tired… so weak… ‘Don’t cry.’ Naboo brushes the tears away. ‘I never cry. I told you.’ ‘Yeah, right. Well if anyone asks me, I never saw it ’appen.’ ‘Help me.’ The last shreds of Saboo’s pride are dissolving under those gentle touches to his cheek. ‘I can’t fight it, I can’t…’ ‘Then don’t.’ Naboo strokes his hair; kisses him softly, open-mouthed, until Saboo pulls away. ‘But this isn’t right – we’re professionals, colleagues on the Board, we shouldn’t, we can’t do this.’ ‘Stuff the Board. We’re mighty shamen, yeah? We can do whatever the fuck we want. As long as we’re sure we do want.’ Saboo buries his head in Naboo’s shoulder. ‘I do want.’ ‘I know you do. Just had to wait for you to work it out, didn’t I? Now, get your arse out of those ludicrous pyjamas. They don’t suit you.’ Saboo obeys happily, and stretches out under the covers, naked and hard and no longer embarrassed. ‘Beautiful,’ Naboo murmurs, running a hand down from nipple to navel, careful to avoid the bruising. ‘Just beautiful. Can I…?’ ‘Of course. That is, you don’t have to, but if you want – Oh.’ ‘Told you I ’adn’t ’ad many complaints.’ Naboo’s voice is warm with affection. ‘Go on, touch me too, you’re goin’ in there in a minute and you should know your enemy.’ ‘You’re not my enemy.’ Saboo strokes over the strange, smooth mound between Naboo’s thighs; dares to reach lower, tracing a fingertip around the edge of the opening that’s there, feeling it quiver at his touch. ‘You’ve come a long way from the bloke who turned his back on me in the shower.’ ‘We live and learn.’ Saboo thrusts against Naboo’s grip. ‘If you want me to fuck you, by the way, you’re going to have to stop doing that.’ ‘OK.’ Naboo stops doing that, and rolls onto his back. ‘I do want you to fuck me. An’ I want you to look at me while you’re fuckin’ me, an’ all.’ He kicks the bedcovers off and lies there smiling and slender and irresistible. ‘Do we need…’ Naboo shakes his head, grinning wickedly. ‘Just lookin’ at you makes me wet.’ ‘Don’t be coarse. Not when we’re about to – to make love.’ ‘Is this love?’ Naboo asks, as Saboo kneels above him. ‘Don’t ask me that. I don’t know. I’ve –’ Saboo looks away, blushing. ‘I’ve very little by which to judge.’ ‘Fair enough. I guess sex’ll have to do.’ Naboo reaches down to touch himself, and slicks Saboo’s length with wet fingers. ‘An’ maybe later on there’ll be more to it than that.’ ‘Do you want there to be more?’ ‘Well, yeah. I know, surprised me too, but like I said, there doesn’t always have to be a “why”.’ Saboo hesitates. ‘Stop over-thinkin’ it, it’s very simple an’ it goes like this. You want me, I want you, we’re gonna fuck an’ we’re gonna enjoy it, end of story.’ He takes firm hold of Saboo’s cock and guides him in. End of story? It feels more like a beginning. The opening is smooth and tight. It feels awkward and a little disconcerting: not quite where either a first- or a second-sexer’s would be. ‘Bit weird, huh?’ Naboo is smiling up at him. ‘At least it means we can do it face-to-face. An’ we can do this…’ He reaches up to caress Saboo’s cheekbone; draws him down for kisses, deep and sweet. When they break for air, Saboo has somehow worked all the way into Naboo’s body and it doesn’t feel awkward any more. ‘Are you all right? You’re still hot. And your heart’s racing.’ ‘That’s… not a bad thing, in this context. I’m fine.’ Naboo lifts his hips and pushes against Saboo’s weight, slowly; muscles ripple deep inside. In all Saboo’s sexual experience (three times if you don’t count Tony Harrison, and he always tries very hard not to), he’s never felt anything like this. ‘Open your eyes,’ Naboo whispers. ‘I wanna see…’ Saboo looks down at him, seeing Naboo with his veneer of cocky assurance stripped away, with his tangled hair fanned out around his flushed face, and his eyes wide and dark. He looks… vulnerable. And very, very sexy. Naboo smiles. ‘You look pretty fit yourself an’ all.’ Those small hands are everywhere, touching, searching, stroking; and something inside Naboo is tightening, drawing up. It’s not going to be long. The lights are dancing with the stars and Saboo can’t remember why he was afraid of this. Naboo gives a sudden sharp gasp. ‘Am I hurting you?’ ‘Yes. No. Don’t stop.’ Naboo rolls his head from side to side on the pillow. ‘That’s good. Fuck, that’s good…’ The lights blaze bright; Naboo’s smile brighter. ‘Little one… oh, little one…’ Naboo shudders and lets out a faint squeak. All the lights go on in a burst of whiteness; someone is yelling and sobbing. There is a thump on the wall. ‘Oi, keep it down will ya, we’re tryin’ to sleep in ’ere.’ Somehow this strikes Saboo as incredibly funny, and once he’s started laughing he can’t stop. Beside him Naboo is laughing too; they try to stifle the noise with pillows, but they can’t help but quiver and snort until they’re limp and weak. Finally they get a grip, breathless and tearful and tangled together. Naboo pushes Saboo’s damp hair out of his eyes and says very seriously: ‘I was right. You fucking well did need that.’ ‘Much though it pains me to admit it, you were. And I did.’ ‘Me too.’ Naboo stretches languorously. ‘Oops, I seem to’ve stuck to you a bit.’ ‘Did you…?’ ‘Yeah. Didn’t you hear me? Here you go. Share the proof.’ Naboo trails a finger through the wetness between his thighs; brings it up to Saboo’s lips. It’s musky and sweet and to Saboo’s surprise, utterly delicious. ‘I don’t always, an’ I didn’t expect it tonight, but seein’ you like that…’ ‘Like what?’ ‘Like’ – Naboo throws back his head and puts on an expression of utter bliss and abandonment – ‘like, “Oh, little one…” Tipped me over the edge, bein’ able to do that for you.’ He leans over for a kiss, warm and affectionate. ‘An’ now – ’ ‘And now I think we need to clean up.’ Saboo shifts uncomfortably in the stickiness on the sheet. ‘Got the perfect thing right here.’ Naboo reaches down beside the bed and picks up the paisley pyjama trousers. By the time Saboo comes back from the bathroom, Naboo is curled up in bed with his eyes tight shut and a peaceful smile curving his mouth. Saboo slides under the covers without disturbing him, and watches the pulse beating in his slender throat, the flickering of his long lashes, the even come-and-go of his breath. This is love. It is definitely love; and there doesn’t have to be a ‘why’. Naboo opens one bright eye. ‘Yeah, I know. Good, innit?’

#the mighty boosh #mighty boosh #boosh #naboo the enigma #naboo #naboo/saboo #vince noir #vince noir/howard moon #howince #howard moon #howard moon/vince noir

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