#also thought about getting the silent hill collection but those run fine on my computer so. ithink getting my hands on snake eater is more

[tiixij]

hm i want to get the mgs hd collection but i feel conflicted abt it bc my mom bought peace walker for me but the collection comes with peace walker and while itd be cool to be able to. have it not tied to an account under my moms name that my sister also uses (and also as a disc instead of digital) i feel kinda bad abt it bc then its like my mom wasted money buying the game in the first place :(

[themficstho]

Strip Me Bare, Make Me Yours

Summary: When a mission calls for Peter to pose as a stripper in order to catch the bad guy of the week, what's Tony going to do about it?

Reposting from my AO3 account: hhisim828

This wasn’t right. He couldn’t let them do this. Not to the kid. He was too young. Okay, yes, technically Peter was 21 now, so LEGALLY he was an adult, but come on! Did he really have to be put in for THIS mission?! Tony shifted in his seat, watching Peter get briefed on the team’s newest assignment. “Jameson likes ‘em young, he likes ‘em innocent, so that’s where you come in, Peter. You’ll be posing as a fresh-faced stripper, seduce Jameson into one of the back rooms of the club, and that’s where we’ll catch him.” Peter nodded, the blush on his cheeks only becoming deeper the more Maria Hill explained the mission to everyone. He as biting his lip as he memorized the picture of the man he would have to pretend to seduce. Tony shook his head, standing up suddenly. “I don’t know if this is such a good idea. The kid is too young for this. I don’t think he’s—“ “Mister Stark? It’s fine, really. I can do it. I-I really think I can.” Peter looked up at Tony from across the table, cheeks still stained pink, offering a comforting smile. “I’m okay with it. If this is what it takes to catch this guy before anyone else gets hurt, I’ll do it.” “Then it’s settled. Tomorrow night is the night, so get plenty of rest.” Maria wrapped up the meeting, collecting her paperwork and walking out, chatting with Steve about the team plan for the following night at the club. “Kid, are you sure you’re okay with this? If you want out, just say so. We’ll get this guy another way.” Tony clapped Peter on the shoulder as they walked out of the briefing room together, heading to the elevator. “I promise, Mister Stark, I’m good. I can do it.” He still looked nervous, but Tony recognized the look of determination in Peter’s face. He hated that look in that moment. “Plus, you’ll be there if anything happens, right? I-I-I mean, the team! The team will be there. And you will be there too cuz you’re on the team! Yeah..,” his voice trailed off as the blush bloomed afresh across his cheeks. Tony nodded and squeezed Peter’s shoulder in what he hoped was a comforting manner. “I’ll be there, kid. Promise.”

10:30pm, and the club’s full to bursting. Men in various states of undress milled around, flirting with customers and delivering drinks. Tony was off to one side, near the hallway that lead to the back rooms for private dances, keeping to the shadows and doing his best to stay hidden. Everyone would recognize Iron Man, and he didn’t need to cause a ruckus when there was so much on the line tonight. “Folks, we have an up and comer heading to the stage tonight. He’s brand new and oh, so shy, so be gentle with him. Give it up for Spyder!” Cheers and applause rose from the crowd as the stage lights slowly came up. And there he was. Peter was wearing a pair of bright blue hot pants and a crimson crop top. His hair was a tousled mess of curls, and there was dark liner smeared around his eyes. He looked like he just rolled out of bed after several rounds of rough sex. Tony groaned quietly and shifted from foot to foot, trying to ignore the aching throb between his legs. ‘Now is NOT the time,’ he thought to himself. Peter started dancing, slow and sensual, rubbing himself against the pole in the center of the stage, his lithe body twisting and bending in ways that really ought to be illegal. Tony bit down hard on his bottom lip and quickly adjusted himself. He was really supposed to be watching Jameson, who was directly in front of the stage. But Tony couldn’t have looked away from the show Peter was putting on, even if there was a gun to his head. The dance was over far too fast for Tony’s liking. Peter walked across the stage, sweat glistening on his body in the bright lights, collecting his tips from the patrons closest to the stage. When he got to Jameson, Tony saw the older man grasp Peter’s wrist tightly and pull him closer to murmur something in his ear. Peter smiled shyly and nodded in response. Tony felt a jolt of white-hot jealousy shoot through his body. He glared at the back of Jameson’s head as the criminal sat back and conferred with his cronies on either side of him. The young man stood up and made his way off the stage as the announcer yelled into the microphone, “One more time, folks, for Spyder!”  The crowd screamed, whistled, and clapped in response. “He asked for a private dance. 15 minutes.” Peter whispered into the comm. Tony felt his muscles stiffen up and he stood straighter, watching Jameson more closely. “We’re all in position. Room 3.” Steve responded.

10 minutes later, Peter emerged from back stage, walking across the club toward the hallway Tony was standing in front of. He’d changed his outfit: no shirt this time, just a pair of black hot pants, black leather cuffs on each wrist, and blood red, strappy high heels. The hot pants left very little to the imagination. The heels made his long legs look even longer. ‘How the hell is he walking so easily in those?’ Tony thought, feeling his arousal flare back to life. A few men stopped him on his way, asking for their own chance at a private dance, or offering to buy Peter a drink. He giggled and thanked them, playing the part of the sweet, innocent new stripper far too well. Tony seethed at the other men silently, watching Peter closely as he slipped out of one man’s grasp. He walked past Tony, sparing a quick glance to his mentor, and then pausing in the hallway to catch his breath. Peter felt like his heart was going to leap out of his chest. He felt dizzy and nervous at what he needed to do. ‘It’s simple. Lead him into room 3, and let the team take it from there. I can do this,’ he thought, and sighed, pushing himself away from the wall. “He’s on the move. Heading your way, Pete.” Tony murmured into the comm. Peter nodded then remembered no one could see him. “Copy that,” he replied quickly.

Jameson grinned when he walked into the hallway and caught sight of Peter. “There you are, baby. Time to have you all to myself.” Peter blushed and started to walk toward room 3. “Wait, let’s go into this one.” Jameson opened the door to room 1, beckoning Peter closer. Peter hesitated. “I-uh. I reserved this one for us, though? Don’t wanna get in trouble with my manager for going into the wrong room, you know?” Jameson shook his head. “It won’t be a problem, don’t you worry. I know the manager. Now come on. I don’t like to be kept waiting.” Peter hesitated again, but then followed Jameson into the room; his heart was pounding so loud that he was sure Jameson would hear it over the thumping bass line of the music coming from the club. ‘FUCK,’ Tony swore in his mind. He’d heard everything through the comm, unsure of what to do. “Cap, what’s the plan here?” “We’re working on it. Which room did he go into?” Steve replied. Tony could here a muffled rustling as the team tried to regroup and find Peter. “I don’t know. I didn’t have eyes on them. Was watching Jameson’s dumbass companions.” Tony replied tersely. ‘If anything happens to that kid, I swear…’ There was a sudden crash and yelling over the comms and Tony ran into the hallway, trying to figure out which room the noise had come from. Steve and the rest of the team came running out as well just as another crash sounded from room 1. Tony ran to the door and ripped it open. “GET THE FUCK AWAY FROM HIM YOU DISGUTING SON OF A--“ Tony cut himself off when he took in the scene around him. Peter standing over Jameson’s body, which was webbed up to the pole in the center of the space. 3 of Jameson’s crew, who must have already been planted in the room, were also webbed up on the ground. The couch and chair were both toppled on their sides. Peter was panting hard, but grinning. “Got him,” he said simply. Tony grabbed Peter and pulled him into a hug. “Are you okay? How the fuck did you do that?” Peter pulled away slightly and held up his hands. What Tony had thought were leather cuffs were modified web shooters. “Nano bots,” Peter shrugged and blushed. “You left the info about them up on your computer a few months ago, so I decided to try ‘em out. I hope that’s okay…” He looked up at Tony nervously. Tony just laughed and nodded, hugging Peter tight once again. “Yeah, kid. All good.”

Several hours later, the team was splitting up to head off to their rooms to go to bed. “Great work today, Peter,” Maria Hill patted him on the back as she was leaving the debrief meeting. Peter had pulled on a plain black hoodie, but still wore the hot pants and heels. He blushed and fidgeted with the hem of the hoodie as he thanked her. “Come on, kid. Let’s head up to bed. Think you earned a day of sleeping in tomorrow.” Tony led Peter out of the room and into the elevator. The elevator stopped on Tony and Peter’s floor. Tony had insisted that the kid’s room be down the hall from his. He claimed it was because he promised his aunt that he’d watch out for the boy, which was half true. The other half was so that Tony could keep a close eye on the young man for his own selfish reasons. ‘Don’t want him running around with someone who isn’t me,’ the jealous, possessive part of Tony’s brain said. They paused outside of Tony’s bedroom. “M-mister Stark. Can I uh, get your help with something?” Peter was fidgeting and blushing again, staring at the floor. “Sure, kid. What’s the matter?” Tony let his eyes rove across Peter’s face and body, looking for any signs of something wrong. “It’s just that, during the fight with Jameson, the knots on these shoes got pulled really tight, so now I can’t get them off. I just—could you help me out of ‘em?” Peter looked down at his feet and Tony followed his gaze. The straps were indeed pulled tight around Peter’s ankles, looking almost painful. “Of course I can. Come on in and sit down, lemme take a look.” Tony ushered Peter into his bedroom, directing him to sit on the edge of the bed. The older man knelt in front of Peter, pulling one delicate foot onto his knee and studying the knot in the straps. He fumbled with it and tried to get it undone for a minute or two, and then sighed in defeat. “Don’t think it’s coming loose in a hurry. You have any emotional attachment to these shoes?” Tony looked up at Peter who had been staring down at Tony with a mix of awe and arousal, his mouth hanging open slightly. Peter quickly closed his mouth and cleared his throat. “Uh, n-no. Just kinda liked ‘em, but no emotional attachment. Why?” “I’ll buy you a new pair then,” Tony replied as he pulled out a pocketknife. He slipped the blade carefully between the strap and Peter’s ankle and sliced through the leather easily. Peter whimpered and tugged the end of the hoodie over his lap quickly. Tony pulled the straps away and tugged the shoe off of Peter’s foot, rubbing at the indents left behind and looking up at Peter. “Better?” Peter nodded and squirmed in place, trying not to moan at the feeling of his mentor’s hands rubbing his ankle. Tony carefully set the now-freed foot on the ground and pulled the other one closer, giving it the same treatment, rubbing at the pink indents in that ankle as well. He watched Peter closely out of the corner of his eye and saw the boy rubbing his thighs together. Tony set Peter’s foot down and stood up slowly. He knew there was an obvious bulge at the front of his pants, but he found he didn’t care if the boy saw it. “Anything else you need help with, Mr. Parker?” Peter looked up at Tony, blushing, but feeling slightly bolder when he noticed the older man was just as turned on as he was. He stood up, unzipped the hoodie, and shrugged it off. He cocked his hips slightly, pointing at the zipper on the right side. “I think this might have gotten jammed too. Can you help me with it?” Tony smirked and ran his hand slowly from Peter’s ribs to his hip; letting his fingers memorize the soft texture of Peter’s skin. He pinched the tab of the zipper between his thumb and forefinger, tugging it down smoothly. He dipped his hand under the fabric and felt nothing but skin underneath. “Going commando, kid?” Tony teased, cupping a handful of Peter’s firm ass and giving it a squeeze. Peter pressed his body closer to Tony’s, pushing a thigh between the older man’s legs. “Don’t want any unflattering lines while I’m dancing, do I?” He stared up into Tony’s eyes, their faces now less than an inch from one another. “God forbid,” Tony murmured before sliding his free hand into Peter’s tousled curls and angling his head for a deep kiss. Tony tugged softly on Peter’s hair and pulled his body even closer, rubbing their aching cocks together, making the younger man moan around his tongue. Peter’s hands pulled weakly at Tony’s shirt, trying to remove it. The two broke away from one another briefly to toss the offending garment away before Peter all but jumped into Tony’s arms, wrapping his thin legs tight around Tony’s waist. Tony stepped forward and dropped Peter onto the bed. The young man let out a soft squeak of surprise as he hit the bed and bounced slightly, eyes widening as Tony undid his belt and shoved his pants and underwear to the ground. He crawled up the bed toward Peter’s frozen frame until he was towering over the smaller body. He rubbed his rough five o’clock shadow against Peter’s baby-smooth cheek. “What’s on your mind, baby boy?” Peter wrapped his legs back around Tony’s hips and dug his nails into his biceps. Their hard cocks rubbed together once more, only the thin fabric of Peter’s shorts in the way. “W-when I was dancing, I could see you watching me. I was hoping, maybe, you were enjoying it. That maybe…this could finally happen. I’ve wanted this—you--for a long time, Mister Stark.” Peter buried his face in Tony’s neck, embarrassed. Tony kissed Peter’s cheek softly. “Oh, honey. I enjoyed that show you put on way more than I should have. I couldn’t fucking look away. Been thinking about getting you in my bed for far longer than I care to admit.” Peter looked up in surprise and Tony took advantage of this by stealing another deep kiss. Peter pulled away and turned his head to the side, pink spreading up his face from his neck. “What’s the matter, baby?” Peter bit his lip and refused to look at Tony as he replied, “I-um. I’ve never actually…with anyone before. Like, I’ve kissed and stuff but not—“ Tony cupped Peter’s cheek and turned his head to make him look Tony in the eye. “Then I’ll just have to make sure I make tonight even more special for you, huh?” He kissed the younger man once, softly, before pulling away. Tony reached into the drawer in his bedside table and pulled out a bottle of lotion, a bottle of lube and a condom, laying them all on the bed. “Let’s start by getting you relaxed. Lay on your stomach for me.” Peter rolled onto his stomach, propping his head up on a pillow. Tony straddled Peter’s hips and pumped some lotion onto his hands. He rubbed it into the smooth skin of Peter’s back, and then began massaging deep into the muscles. “Bet all that twisting you did when you were dancing tonight made you sore. And fighting those assholes off couldn’t have been easy either.” Peter hummed in acknowledgement, feeling the tension slip away with every deep rub of Tony’s strong hands. Tony worked his way down Peter’s back, paying close attention to every spot that made Peter moan and writhe in pleasure. When he reached Peter’s hips he paused to gently tug down the hot pants Peter still wore. He tossed them away once they were off, and resumed the massage, kneading his fingers into the tight muscles and plump roundness of Peter’s ass. Peter sighed and unconsciously spread his legs a bit as Tony worked his thumbs into the backs of Peter’s thighs. He kept up his ministrations with one hand while the other grabbed the bottle of lube and flipped the cap. Peter made a curious noise at the sound, but Tony shushed him gently. “Just moving on to the next part of the massage, baby. Don’t you worry. Just say stop if you need me to, okay?” Peter nodded and buried his face deeper into the pillow, spreading his legs a little further, knowing what was coming next. Tony leaned down and pressed a light kiss to the top of Peter’s thigh where the back of his leg connected to the rest of his body. He slicked up two of his fingers and slowly teased them between Peter’s cheeks to the tight opening hidden there. Peter gasped and wriggled a bit at the cool slickness, calming again at a few soft words of praise from Tony. “That’s it, Peter, just relax. Doing so well, baby. So, so good for me.” He let his middle finger breach the opening, just to the first knuckle. Peter moaned and tried to press back against the finger for more. Tony chuckled, letting a little more of his finger slide inside the younger man. “Eager for it, aren’t you?” Peter whined and nodded in reply. Once his finger was all the way inside, Tony gently slid it in and out a few times, letting the boy get used to the intrusion. “M-mister Stark, please sir…. more, p-please!” Peter squirmed in such a way that Tony knew he was rubbing himself against the bed beneath him. “Okay, baby. Just relax, I’ve got you.” Tony slipped his finger out, added a bit more lube, and then slid his middle and fore fingers inside together. Peter let out what sounded like a squeak of surprise, his body jumping slightly at the wider intrusion. Tony hushed him again, pausing every few centimeters so the boy didn’t get hurt. Once his fingers were completely in, he started to carefully scissor them apart, opening the boy’s body up a bit more. Peter started unconsciously thrusting back against Tony’s hand, moans and whimpers spilling from his mouth. Tony crooked his fingers until he pressed against the boy’s prostate, making Peter nearly rocket off the bed at this pleasurable surprise. “Oh, FUCK, Mister Stark!” Tony chuckled softly and pressed harder onto the sweet spot inside the younger man. “The mouth on you, baby. Maybe I should stop…” he slipped his fingers out just a little, making Peter cry out. “Don’t you dare, please, please, sir!” Peter tried to reach back and grab Tony’s wrist. Tony caught the boy with his free hand, shushing him. “Sshh, baby, I’m teasing. I’m not stopping unless you say so.” Tony pulled his fingers free, quieting Peter’s soft cry of desperation by sliding three lubed up fingers back inside. After several minutes, Peter started begging softly, “Please, please, I need more. Please sir, I can’t stand it anymore!” Tony pulled his fingers free and grabbed the condom, tearing open the package and rolling it onto himself. He lubed up his latex covered cock and got in position behind Peter. “Wait!” The boy cried out before Tony could start sliding in. The older man pulled away immediately; scared he had hurt Peter in some way. Peter rolled over onto his back, staring up into Tony’s eyes. “I wanted to…to be facing you. I-if that’s okay.” Tony bent his neck and captured the boys’ lips in a searing kiss. “More than okay, honey. You ready?” Peter nodded, grabbing Tony’s clean hand and lacing their fingers together tightly. Tony lined himself up and slowly pushed in, doing his best to hold in the animalistic sound that threatened to escape as the shear tightness and heat of the boy’s body surrounded his cock. Peter arched his back and whined. Tony took advantage of this and tucked his face into Peter’s neck, biting and sucking at the pale skin, leaving a dark bruise behind. Peter squeezed Tony’s hand tight, fighting through the slight burn as the older man’s thick cock stretched him further than he’d ever been stretched before. Tony bottomed out and pressed his forehead against Peter’s, both men panting softly. “You okay, kid? Nothing hurting?” Peter nodded and wiggled his hips, making Tony moan softly and grab the boy’s thigh tightly. “I’m good. But if you don’t move in the next 3 seconds, I might die.” Tony chuckled and thrust softly against the young man’s ass. “We certainly don’t want that.” He sat up and grasped the boy’s ankles, resting Peter’s feet on his chest. “Hold on tight, baby.” He started to thrust, slow and steady, gradually picking up speed. Peter arched his back and reached up, grabbing at the slats in the headboard, using the leverage to help press him down against Tony’s cock as the older man thrust forward. Tony reached down and wrapped his large hand around Peter’s cock, tugging it in time with their thrusts. Peter cried out and moaned at the sensations flooding his body. “I’m not gonna l-last… oh fuck, Mister Stark, I’m g-getting close!” One of Peter’s feet slipped and hooked around Tony’s shoulder. Tony changed the angle of his thrusts, now pounding hard into Peter’s prostate. The boy all but screamed as his body was overloaded with stimulation and his orgasm took over, painting the pale skin of his belly white. Tony growled at the sight, and less than a dozen erratic thrusts later he filled the condom with his release. Both men were trembling from the force of their orgasms. Tony carefully lowered Peter’s legs back down to the bed and pulled out. Peter whimpered at the sudden emptiness in his body and reached out for Tony, blindly. Tony caught his hand and kissed the inside of Peter’s wrist. “I’ll be right back, baby. Just lay still, okay?” Peter barely nodded in response, too blissed out to move. Tony got up on shaky legs and made his way to the bathroom. He disposed of the condom and grabbed a washcloth to clean himself up with quickly. Once done, he grabbed a clean washcloth and got it damp with some warm water. He found Peter in the same position he’d left him in. Tony climbed back onto the bed and started wiping Peter’s belly clean. The boy moaned softly and opened his eyes to watch Tony clean him up. Tony reached down and gently wiped the leftover lube off of Peter’s ass, making the boy hiss softly. Tony stopped immediately and looked up at Peter. “You okay? Did I hurt you?” Peter shook his head and tugged at Tony to lay down with him. “Just a little sore. I’m okay though.” Tony tossed the washcloth away in the direction of the bathroom and let himself be pulled next to the young man. “Thank you, Mister Stark. For everything.” Tony chuckled and kissed the boy gently. “I think given everything we just did, you can call me Tony now, baby boy.” Peter giggled and buried his face in Tony’s chest. Tony tugged a blanket over them both, rubbing his hand over the younger man’s back. Peter’s body tensed as a sudden thought popped up in his mind. “Tony…does this mean that we’re--I mean are you and I—or was it just a—I don’t mind, if that’s what you want—I just, umm--“ Tony hushed the boy gently, kissing his forehead, his cheeks, his nose. “You really think I’m giving you up now that I’ve had you? Nuh-uh, I’m afraid you’re stuck with me now, kid. You’re all mine.” Peter grinned and buried his face in Tony’s chest once more. “All yours.”

[eleanor-writes-stuff]

a language of its own - Day 8

“And the heart is hard to translate, it has a language of its own.”

All the ways Rey and Ben say “I love you”.

Second update of the day for my 12-day Valentine’s collection! This ficlet (plus 400 words, give or take) is brought to you by the prompt a rub my back after work kind of love, and features a bonus Han appearance. I hope y’all like it!

12 Days of Valentine’s Also available on AO3 Psst, you can also find me on Twitter and Ko-fi!

Ben tries not to take calls at his desk.

Snoke has done the best he can, assigning Ben to a desk at the far end of the open-plan office to give him as much privacy as possible, but out of sight doesn’t mean out of earshot, and he’d rather not risk his colleagues eavesdropping on him. Competitive environments are nothing new to him, but this workplace takes that a whole new level – not that surprising, given who his coworkers are and what they used to do before deciding to monetize their connections. Welcome to the cutthroat world of lobbying, Gwen Phasma had deadpanned on his first day, and it was only his nerves that had kept him from laughing at what he’d so confidently assumed to be a joke.

And then Mitaka had helpfully caught him up on all the office drama, including the fact that they’ve lost four people in the last three months due to backstabbing and blackmail, and Ben hasn’t so much as smiled at a colleague since.

So yes, Ben tries not to take calls at his desk. But when his phone starts buzzing insistently and the word Dad lights up his screen, he finds himself reaching out on instinct alone. Because Han never calls, especially not when he knows Ben is at work, which can only mean…

Rey.

“Dad?”

“Oh, good,” Han mumbles, sounding a little taken aback. “You actually answered your phone. Good.”

The lack of urgency in his father’s voice banishes the worst of his fears, but Ben remains on guard. “I thought it might be an emergency–”

“I wouldn’t call it an emergency, but–”

Ben inhales sharply. “What happened? Is she okay? Where is she?”

“Slow down there, lover boy!” Han tells him with a gruff bark of laughter. “She’s fine, just slipped on some oil and landed pretty hard on her shoulder. Chewie and I tried to take her to the hospital, but you know how she is. Even wanted to go right back to work, but I put my foot down and made her go home early.”

“Thank you,” Ben sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tries to calm down. A fall, his father said, and thank god she didn’t land on her head because there’s no way Rey would have allowed herself to be admitted for observation, not even at the risk of being concussed.

His father grunts in response, the only non-sarcastic way he has of saying you’re welcome. “Just did what any decent boss would do. Anyway, she’s probably going to try to keep this from you, so I thought I’d go ahead and let you know.”

It’s… surprisingly thoughtful of him, especially since Han and Rey are both card-carrying members of the walk it off club when it comes to injuries. “Thanks, dad. Seriously… thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Han mumbles, and he can almost see his father uncomfortably shrugging his thanks off with a dismissive wave. “Now go check on your girlfriend, will ya? Can’t have my best mechanic working with a bum shoulder.”

Out of gratitude, Ben lets the best mechanic comment slide and even considers not telling Rey about it. He powers down his computer as he trades goodbyes with Han, and makes a stop at the sole occupied desk within twenty feet of him on his way out.

“Hey, Mitaka, if anyone asks where I went tell them I had a medical emergency, will you?”

Snoke’s going to fucking skin him for this, he knows, but that’s for future Ben to deal with. Besides, he’s already on thin ice with his boss as it is for cutting back on his overtime these past three weeks, so it’s not like things can get any worse.

He hurries off before Mitaka can even form a reply, walking towards the elevators as quickly as he can without breaking into a flat-out run. In the car he thinks of calling Rey, but if she knows he’s coming she’ll just do everything in her power to act okay.

Traffic starts to build up behind him, but Ben manages to get ahead of it and reach home in less than thirty minutes. He races up the stairs, too keyed up to wait for the elevator, and unlocks the door as quietly as possible before he steps in and finds Rey on the couch, poking her shoulder with a frown on her face and an icepack in her other hand.

“Ben! Why are you–” One look at the concern on his face and a scowl appears on her face. “Han told you, didn’t he?”

“You should’ve told me,” Ben says, unable to keep from scolding her as he drops his messenger bag by the door and takes quick, long strides over to the couch. “Here, let me see.”

He shoots Rey a sharp look when she looks as if she might protest, and carefully tugs her shirt down her arm when she presents her shoulder to him. “No bruising,” Ben murmurs as he traces the area with his fingertips.

“Because it’s nothing,” Rey huffs, shrugging her shirt back up. “You didn’t need to come home. Snoke’s not going to be happy–”

Ben gets up from the couch. “Screw Snoke,” he says dismissively as he heads into their bedroom to retrieve the bottle of lavender body oil Rey keeps on her nightstand. She likes rubbing it into her arms before bed, the kind of small luxury that had been unimaginable in her previous life and brings her so much joy now, and the scent soothes them both; more than once he’s woken up from an unsettling dream only to press his nose to her wrist and let himself be lulled back to sleep.

“Seriously, babe, it’s nothing to be worried about,” Rey insists as he returns with the oil, and the way she bites down on her lip when she spots the dark bottle in his hand is all he needs to spur him into action. If she truly weren’t in pain, she would’ve turned down his offer before he could even make it.

Instead she remains silent as Ben helps her out of her shirt, carefully maneuvering around her shoulder so that she doesn’t have to move it too much, and turns to present her back to him without prompting.

She hisses a bit when he first applies pressure, but the tension soon flows out of her shoulders once her muscles are warm and loose. Ben works in silence, stopping only to place a kiss on her temple when Rey leans back and melts into him with a sigh.

“Thank you,” she whispers, lips brushing against the curve of his shoulder.

“It’s nothing,” Ben assures her as his hands travel further down her back. As sore as he is from sitting at a desk all day, he can only imagine the kind of strain her work puts on her muscles; might as well help her deal with that while he’s at it.

“Ben,” Rey says sharply, sitting up straight and turning to look at him over her shoulder. “You left work early and pissed off your boss just to come home and give me a back rub. That’s not nothing.”

But it is to him. It’s such a small thing compared to everything else he would do for her, to all the things he wants to give her. One hand settles on her waist and gently turns her around to face him. “You know I’d do anything for you, right?”

Rey stares at him for a moment before she leans in to touch her forehead to his. “I’m beginning to see that,” she mumbles against his lips.

Are you? Ben wonders. Is she really beginning to see just how ridiculously head over heels, would-die-for-you in love he is? She pulls back to smile at him, and there’s too much serenity in her eyes for her to be in possession of that knowledge.

What he feels for her… it would send her running for the hills. Hell, some days it makes him want to run for the hills. It’s all too much, too soon – Rey doesn’t even want to talk about the future yet, and here he is, ready to marry her right this second if she’d allow him the privilege.

Too much. Too soon.

“Turn back around,” Ben tells her after a quick peck. “I’m not done yet.”

“You’re too good to me,” Rey sighs happily as she settles back into her earlier position.

You’re too good for me, he thinks, and wonders if she’ll ever stop feeling like a dream that’s too good to be true.

Second update of the day! I'm hoping to post Day 9 later tonight, but that one's gonna be a bit heavy to write so we'll see how it goes.

Some (okay, most) of you have expressed concern for the remaining ficlets, but rest assured that this is first and foremost a fluffy love story so the HEA is guaranteed. There will be ups and downs, since this follows the first year of their relationship and the first few months of their lives post-college as they try to figure things out, but they'll figure it all out together and come out stronger for it, I promise.

As always, thank you for reading and I hope you liked it! And please don't hesitate to like/reblog/comment, because those give me something to smile about while I'm stuck in bed coughing my lungs up.

[grizzbe]

Outbreak

How about Fallout, guys? What a freaking great movie! I’ve already seen it a few times in theaters and was so inspired by it that I wanted to know if I could write my own sort of Act 1/Act 2 Mission: Impossible heist! I’m afraid I might’ve tried to be a little too funny with Brandt’s and Luther’s back and forth, and there might be a little too much exposition, but I hope it worked out! Also, it’s touched upon lightly in the following fic, but Ethan x Ilsa is wonderful, and you all should expect a hefty helping of it in Pt. 2. Please let me know what y’all think in the comments! Thanks for reading!

On an unnamed island roughly 65 miles off the coast of Venezuela, a boat docks at a small pier, and a general debarks. He flashes a salute to the contractor holding the door open to the black car, his tie flapping in the wind. The general climbs in before it takes off towards the facility at the other end of the island.

The island is sparsely vegetated and entirely flat other than the large hill immediately next to the dock. The only other feature of note on the mile-long stretch of land in the middle of the Caribbean Sea is a heavily-guarded facility. Inside the car, with the partition up, the general fusses over his bushy mustache and rearranges his hat and glasses.

“I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but my Spanish is a little rusty,” whispered the general. “I’m fairly certain I’m mixing in quite a bit of Portuguese, as well.”

“You only mentioned it about a dozen times at the briefing Benji,” said Ethan. “And if you had wanted to infiltrate the facility by SCUBA, you should’ve said so.”

Ethan went back to working the torch on the grate, the fire oxidizing into bubbles that floated up, a variety of the more curious species of fish swimming around him.

“I’ve only had to fend off three barracudas so far,” added Ethan, the smile in his voice unmistakable.

“Barracudas you say?” said Benji. “Yeah, I think I’m okay in the car.”

“Are you sure?” chimed in Luther. “I’m pretty sure we could land this prop plane on the island, and we could switch. You can land a plane, right?”

Luther sat cramped in the back of a King Air 200 flying a mile away from the island, surrounded by monitors and electronic surveillance equipment, security footage and computer terminals rolling across the various screens.

“Yes, I can land a plane,” an exasperated Brandt crackled in over the comms. “They don’t just give licenses out to people that can’t actually fly.”

“A license you’ve had for a whole month. Why couldn’t I do this on a boat?”

“And I was the top trainee in the program, Luther! I don’t see what you’re upset about!”

“I’m sure Luther has full confidence in you, Brandt,” chimed in Ethan, slicing through another bar on the grate. “And besides, you can’t really outrun that storm in a fishing boat.”

The plane buffeted against the increasing winds, the tell-tale dark clouds of a tropical storm gathering off the plane’s starboard side.

“Yeah, Ethan, I meant to have a word with you about that,” said Brandt.

“Don’t worry, Will,” said Benji. “It’s not even a hurricane! Yet…”

“Yet? Benji, did you just say yet?” asked Luther.

On an island not too far north, a few old men sit in a bar, its shutters flapping in the wind and rain starting to come down. They watch an old TV as the weatherman talks about how Tropical Storm Marco is now officially a Category 1 Hurricane, with winds exceeding 75 miles per hour and shifting course quite unexpectedly towards a chain of uninhabited islands. The old men continue to drink their beers, unconcerned with the development.

“The storm is supposed to miss us by 50 miles,” continued Benji. “And I don’t know why anyone else is complaining. If my cover gets blown, the only person looking out for me is the rookie.”

“Rookie?” asked Brandt.

“Yeah, the rookie,” said Benji. “You know, the newbie, the greenhorn, the raw recruit still wet behind the ears.”

“I’m not sure I’d say any of those things,” said Luther.

“Oh, come on guys! What’s a little good-natured ribbing between colleagues?” said Benji, his smile skewing his mustache.

Ethan stopped his torch a few bars short, “Benji, do you really want to be ribbing the person sitting behind the high-powered rifle?”

On top of the hill next to the dock, nestled between a rock and some brush, Ilsa Faust lay perfectly still in a ghillie suit, practically invisible and cradling her sniper rifle, slowly tracking the car as it drove towards the facility through her scope.

“Right,” Benji said as he considered Ethan’s words. “Sorry about that, Ilsa. Have I mentioned how excited I am that MI6 so generously loaned you to the IMF?”

“A few times, Benji,” said Ilsa. “You might want to remember that I can take the hat off a man at three kilometers, though.”

Benji gulped and unconsciously took off his hat. A mile away, Ilsa smiled as she watched him through the scope.

“Three kilometers?” asked Benji, noticing his hat next to him and putting it back on. “I thought you said two?”

“The three-kilometer shot was unofficial,” said Ilsa. “Off the books. Now eyes up, Benji, you’re at the first guard post.”

“Just remember, Benji, the guards are South African, they probably don’t hear Spanish that much,” said Ethan as he sliced through the final bar, removing the grating.

“Or Portuguese-” interjected Benji.

“Or Portuguese,” said Ethan, swimming through the grate towards the facility. “They’re not even supposed to talk to you. General Santos is known to be a bit of a hot head, just give them a good glower, and you’ll be fine.”

“A glower?” asked Benji.

“You know, a glower,” said Luther, who proceeded to make a low-timbre guttural noise into comms.

“You sure this isn’t a glower?” asked Brandt, making a similar noise in a slightly different tone.

“Guys-”

“No, it’s gotta be lower than that,” said Luther, continuing to make low growls in the back of his throat.

“Guys, I think Benji can manage!” interjected Ethan. “Luther, I’m at the entrance point.”

“Wouldn’t want Ethan to fry down there, would we, Luther?” asked Brandt, at least somewhat pleased that he wasn’t the one potentially getting barbecued for once.

“Well, it would be more ‘cooked’ than ‘fried,’” said Benji, taking a brief moment to stare down the nearest guard in what he hoped was an intimidating manner. “There’re at least 3,000 milliamperes flowing through that tunnel. If it hits Ethan, his heart will seize up, his other organs will cook, and he’ll be covered in severe burns.”

“Benji,” said Ethan.

“Yes?”

“Shut up.”

“Right,” said Benji, looking up as his car came to a stop next to the entrance. “Good luck.”

“Let’s make sure that doesn’t happen, Luther,” said Ilsa, tracking a pair of guards moving to open the door for Benji. “Ethan still owes me a Manhattan.”

“Oh, a Manhattan?” asked Brandt, his flight control shaking as the wind from the storm picked up. “Do tell.”

“We were at dinner,” started Ethan.

“Eleven Madison Park, actually,” added Ilsa. “I had to call in a favor for that reservation.”

Luther whistled, not looking away from his computer and doing his best to ignore the rattles from the plane, “Eleven Madison Park? Fancy.”

“We were only at the first course when the Maître D’ brought a pair of reading glasses and asked if we wanted to look at the rare wines list,” finished Ilsa.

“You’re going to have to make that one up, Ethan,” said Brandt.

“Agreed,” said Ethan, still gripping the handle to the electrified tunnel. “Now, Luther, could you please -”

A mile away, Luther worked furiously at his keyboard, typing in commands and rerouting systems.

“Done,” said Luther, turning to a different monitor showing the feed from Benji’s glasses. “We’re reading you clear, Benji. You remember the layout?”

Benji almost growled as he walked past a pair of guards at a door emblazoned with warnings of ‘BIOHAZARD’ and gave a heavily accented, “Sí.”

At the same time, Ethan had made his way past the electrical conduits and up to a maintenance station, where he was stashing his SCUBA gear and taking stock of the drybag he had brought with him, mainly the explosives, before taking out the pistol and swinging the bag over his back.

At a security station three levels up, the feed for Ethan’s level shimmered as Luther executed more commands on his computer.

“We’ll have control of the security feed on your floor for the next 15 minutes, Ethan,” said Luther. “Anymore and they start looking into it.”

Ethan approached the door that led to the rest of the facility with characteristic quiet and waited while Luther scanned the undoctored security footage from the plane, waiting for a patrolling guard to pass.

“Now,” instructed Luther, watching as Ethan made his way to a corner down the hall. “Wait three seconds.”

Ethan waited precisely three seconds, his pistol at the ready, as the guard down the hall turned around and began pacing the other way. The IMF agent turned the corner, his gun trained on the guard as he quickly and silently made his way to the door and inserted a keycard with wires running to a mini-tablet. In 10 seconds, the locks on the door gave off a pop and Ethan slid into the room.

What met him were four large chambers, each marked ‘BIOHAZARD,’ with a variety of different liquids, syringes, and tubes in them. Ethan slung the bag from his back and went to work, placing the small explosives at crucial points of the machines and activating them.

“10 minutes and counting, Benji,” said Ethan.

“And only three more rooms to go, Ethan,” added Luther.

Ethan collected his bag of explosives and pistol and returned to the door.

“And… You’re clear,” said Luther, as Ethan slipped back into the hall, making his way to the next room filled with deadly bacterial agents.

Meanwhile, Benji, as General Santos, continued on his way to the big lab at the end of the wing, where a man in a white lab coat waited for him.

“General Santos,” said the scientist in English, the common language between the South African and the real General Santos. “The latest batch is very promising, we should be done at this facility in less than a week’s time once we’ve finished follow-up tests, but those are a mere formality.”

“Excellent,” said Benji, going maybe a little too heavy on the accent. “Please, show me this iteration.”

Within a mile of the facility, three IMF agents’ eyebrows arched up silently at the performance, the fourth was too busy to notice. Benji walked in behind the scientist, listening to his spiel as the man guided him toward the wall of test tubes, picking the last one from the lineup, it’s brilliant orange color shining in the light.

“We’ve already sent it on to our labs in Johannesburg, they’ll be able to duplicate it from there in quantities large enough for field use,” stated the scientist, oblivious to the slight shiver Benji had given off.

He continued talking about his benefactor’s plans before finishing, “There is another test that I think you would be very interested in, General. It’s at the lab in the east wing. Please, follow me, it’ll only be ten minutes of your time.”

He started walking for the door, missing Benji expertly lifting the test tube from its slot and sliding it into his jacket.

“Looks like you owe Benji that $20, Brandt,” said Luther, watching the footage like a hawk.

“No. He got it?” asked Brandt. “I’ll be damned.”

“Not even a second glance from our mad scientist friend,” said Luther, noting the unmistakable smirk from Benji on the security feed. “I wouldn’t be gloating too much just yet, Benji. You’ve got seven minutes to get out of there.”

The scientist led Benji along a different path, walking past a security station buzzing a little more than the IMF Agent was comfortable with. As he walked past, he looked inside giving Luther a clear look at a radar screen from his glasses, an ominous blip popping up roughly a mile from the station.

“Is that what I think it is?” asked Luther.

Meanwhile, Ilsa was clocking the different guards making their rotations around the walls of the facility, each shrugging on raincoats as the hurricane began bearing down on the island. As she was making adjustments to her scope to account for the increase in wind speed, Ilsa spotted several guards moving quickly around what looked like a large shed by the perimeter. They slid the doors open before rolling out what looked like-

“Guys, we might have trouble,” said Ilsa, tracking the two drones as they were wheeled out onto the courtyard. “Predators, two of them.”

“They have drones? Since when have they had drones?” asked a flummoxed Luther.

Ethan paused at the third door, “Brandt, can you handle it?”

“I think so,” said Brandt, taking stock of his controls and looking past the rain driving into his windshield.

“Alright, do what you have to do,” replied Ethan. “Plan stays the same for everyone else.”

“You think so?” said Luther, who leaned around a monitor to get a clear line of sight to his pilot. “Even if you were a real pilot, each drone can carry two missiles, and we only brought three flairs! That math does not add up!”

Luther held up corresponding fingers to punctuate the point.

“First off, I am a pilot. I’ve offered to show you my license several times, Luther,” started Brandt, who looked off his starboard wing at the encroaching hurricane. “Second, I’ve got a plan.”

[jessiewre]

Day 6

Fri 10th Jan

I could barely eat at breakfast which is obviously very much NOT like me. I was too nervous and excited. I honestly had no idea what this gorilla experience was going to be like.

We walked down to Ruhija gate and the tourist vehicles were pulling up with all the Muzungu’s. We had read the day before that anyone needing to go to the toilet on the trek in, lets say, a big way, would need to ask the guide to dig them a hole and then the guide would cover it up again. AWKWARD.

So basically everyone turning up was heading to the loos to attempt to avoid having to publicly request a forest shite.

There was a community group who danced and performed in traditional style for everyone to start things off, but there was one tourist couple sat right next to the stage side who had completely straight faces the WHOLE time while these (mainly) women were jumping up and down, smiling, singing, banging their feet and throwing their bodies around with massive enthusiasm. It was WEIRD. So Phil and I tried to look doubly enthusiastic, which also must have looked a bit weird. A lot of teeth.

After that there was one SUPER ANNOYING girl who kept talking when the main guide did his introduction and we made a quick pact via eye contact and eye rolls that we would avoid whatever group she was in at all costs.

Thankfully we succeeded and our group looked like the perfect level of boring. Bang on, this was ideal.

Our guide Steven’s face was slightly lopsided and he was missing some teeth, while only one half of his mouth seemed to work. Having said that, we could understand him completely and he seemed very knowledgeable and experienced. We just hoped that he hadn’t been on the losing end of a few fights with some gorillas. Though perhaps it would bode well for us to know that he’d survived a few gorilla wrestles come to think of it.

The guides explained that there was a maximum of 8 people allowed in each group (plus any porters or guides attending) and that the trackers would go out each morning to find the gorillas ahead of us trekking. There were 4 gorilla groups in the forest, the one we were looking for was called Kyagurilo.

We were driven to a starting point based on the trackers location and guidance and we began to trek into the forest. We had an armed guard with us all the time. Apparently this is to shoot into the air to scare off animals if necessary - such as wild elephants. It would be useful if that annoying girl had been in our group too.

It was a slight gradient at first, which then became steeper downhill. Not too tricky though. It seemed bizarre to imagine that we would see gorillas there, it really wasn’t that different to a walk in an English forest..

After only about 45 minutes, we met some trackers who gave us the 200 metre warning. This means that they are close by and we must now do the final checks, take drinks of water (no food and water when close to the gorillas). Steven told us we could leave our rucksacks there and we’d come back and get them later.

Then we looked up and in a tall tree, we could see a gorilla! Wow it was amazing, climbing through the trees, just being a gorilla an that.

Then we saw another, and another!

After 10 minutes we got the go ahead to move deeper into the forest so we obeyed and followed Steven and the trackers.

We stood under a tree with a gorilla in and looked up to try and work out its movements.

Suddenly something heavy landed on the ground, maybe a rock or something, then it happened again. We shifted back a bit as they had landed quite close to Phil and then I saw a spray of liquid leave the top of the tree.

‘It’s pissing!!!!!!!!!!!!’

Turns out those rocks....were gorilla turds.

Phil was like ‘A GORILLA JUST PEEED ON MEEE!’

He definitely thought he’d been blessed by a gorilla and accepted into the group. Maybe not that surprising.

We were surrounded by trees and plants and foliage and then suddenly Steven pointed and under some greenery was a gorilla sat there. We moved past it and another one appeared and walked past us. There were two gorillas nearby, then one lay down on its back and scratched while the other ate some fruit. We then saw a mother and baby pass us and climb up a tall tree to explore up in the trees.

It. Was. Mad.

All the gorillas had by now moved up the trees so Steven said that it was a waiting game and we should just sit still. We should wait to see when the silverback came down, as it might give us then chance to see the group closer up.

Well I’ll be honest, I had my doubts. I thought we’d had an amazing time and seen lots of them and pretty close too and that we were going to end up heading back soon.

But we waited.

I mean I didn’t have any other plans like.

We sat/stood in the same spot for about an hour and a half, looking around, asking questions and listening to the longest largest loudest farts you have EVER heard in your LIFE.

BOY gorillas have got GAAAAAS.

These farts would last like 20 seconds no lie.

Our group didn’t even seem to laugh very much but I swear to god when you are stood in a silent boring group doing nothing and a giant gorilla fart echoes through the forest for longer than you ever thought possible, I challenge you not to laugh. Phil was proper lolling.

After like 1.5 hrs, a large black back gorilla climbed down a tree and began to venture deeper into the forest, so we all went into action mode and our guides said ‘Right lets go! Lets follow!’

It was super exciting as we kind of chased the tracker through the jungle, trying to stay on the gorilla’s tail. Just when you thought the gorilla would stay still, it would move deeper into the undergrowth.

I looked at the gorilla disappear and I thought Well there’s no way we can follow him.

But the guides with the machetes just thrashed away at the undergrowth and we followed on. No matter where the gorilla went we would just attempt to follow. IT WAS CRAZY.

At one point the undergrowth was SO thick I thought Right this is it, NO WAY can we follow, this MUST be where we turn back. But again, the guide thrashed through the plants and trees as it continued downhill and we sort of created this kind of jungle staircase slide. It was like Jungle Book the ride I swear. Phil and I had darted to the front of the group to try and get the best views of the gorilla before it moved on each time so we were scrambling and sliding down this leaf slide with tree logs crossing its path. IT WAS ABSOLUTELY AMAZING.

We ended up stood in the middle of this undergrowth, with the gorilla sat completely submerged in it on our right just munching away on the plants.

The group took photos and tried to catch their breath from the thrill of chasing a gorilla through the jungle and the whole adventure of the scramble. 
Then the gorilla moved on again, and we continued!

Steven said he could hear other gorillas coming to join so we should try and find the group together.

Phil and I decided to hold back to let others be at the front of the group and we continued downhill.

Suddenly we heard the gorillas screeching and shouting, if you can call it that, and we looked down to see some of the group running back. They were the ones in the group that you would expect to run, even if nothing was actually happening so we weren’t overly freaked out. But even so, rule number 1 if gorillas charge you is to stay still and NOT to turn your back and run so it was a risky move to make!

We reached the group and everyone was fine, the gorillas had just charged the guides but the guides knew now to respond. They constantly made a low growl noise like they were clearing their throats - fluent in gorilla chat. We’d missed all the drama but you could see everyone else had adrenaline pumping for sure. Apart from the guides who were completely calm and relaxed, finding it a little amusing to see the Muzungu’s panicking which was kinda funny.

We got to the bottom of the hill and climbed over a small stream before climbing uphill the other side.

I could not see how we would get back to our bags but didn’t massively care at this point.

After climbing up and scrambling through more plants and undergrowth, we finally stopped on a steep hill of plants and the SILVERBACK was sat next to us having his lunch. MENTAL.

There were 4 gorillas around us and somehow Phil was at the front of the group like he had a VIP ticket to the gorilla show. Well after the toilet incident and then the fart show, I think Phil felt right at home.

Steven then pointed out to the other side with the hill, where we had just come from, and two of the trackers and porters emerged from the trees with EVERYONES bags and walking sticks. God knows how they had carried it all to us but there are constant reminders here that people are SO strong and able despite having SO much less compared to us.

The gorillas eventually left, walking right past Phil, and we all took a big breath to try and compute what had just happened.

Thankfully there was an alternate route out of the jungle that the trackers could lead us to so we didn’t have to go back the way we’d come and we trekked out of the jungle, eventually stopping off for a sit down and packed lunch. Once out of the jungle, the same driver from the morning called Cedric collected us and he could see how happy we were - so he changed the music to his favourite band. 
Westlife.

Yep, we listed to I have a Dream by Westlife followed by My Love.

I can’t say I did not enjoy it and I may have also sung along.

Phil managed to constain his cringe suitably.

Back at Ruhija gate, we all ‘graduated’ and received a certificate LOL. This was their chance to reiterate the importance of their work and to encourage us to encourage others to visit Bwindi to ensure they can continue their important work. And to ensure they all had a job at the end of the day.

Then Cedric said it was no problem to take us back to the village, so we tipped him with a Boost bar ( I know, so generous) and 1000 ugandan shillings (that’s about 20p) and jumped back in for more Irish tunage.

Back at the hotel, Phil realised his hunger levels were getting serious so I decided to quickly wash my hair. He was thrilled. Then we agreed to head back to the Little Angel’s school while we were still in mucky clothes to check in on the poster update, as we’d promised to come back to see how much the photocopying quote was.

As we walked through the village, I spotted the tailor again and remembered that my button had come off - so I quickly popped in to get it fixed. Phil’s hunger levels had not improved so he stood outside counting to 100 and practising some mindful breathing techniques. He seemed perfectly fine, so I asked the tailor to reinforce the other button. Might as well I thought.

It started to rain which was a brilliant turn of events as I was the only one that had a raincoat with me.

We got to Little Angels and Happy the Director was not around but her colleague tried to phone her to get a cost for us, as we explained we needed to go soon due to Phil’s hunger (try telling a group of hungry orphans that your boyfriend needs to go because he’s hungry, not awkward at all). Eventually the woman told us that the cost for the photocopying was 170,000 USH which is about 50 dollars!!! We told her that was crazy expensive and to tell Happy not to go ahead with this cost and that we’d make multiples of the original poster ourselves!

So they gave us some blank paper and we walked back to the hotel, slightly dreading the evening ahead of recreating another 7 copies of the poster I had made, and then feeling guilty for dreading it in equal measure.

We bought an avocado and a beer on the way back (meal deal) and Phil nearly smiled so that was good. And once we were back, we turned our packed lunch sandwich (which was a tomato sandwich with about half a small tomatoes worth of slices) into an open tomato and avocado sandwich with chilli sauce, accompanied with an all-the-way-from-Tesco’s-Twickenham golden vegetable cuppa soup. When you’re that hungry, anything tastes amazing.

Phil’s happiness spiked right up and he told me about 17 times how amazing the view from our balcony was. The sips of Golden Nile beer may have helped too.

Before dinner, we sat in the restaurant and began the task of recreating the posters, Phil doing one section, me doing another. We were doing pretty well then the food arrived so we paused.

Halfway through dinner Phil suddenly looked over my shoulder and said ‘Someone’s here to see you’.

I turned around and Happy was sat in reception, with Pius and Arenas poking their heads round the corner. I went over to speak to her and she pulled out an envelope to show me 8 card copies of my poster, but the design had been recreated on like Clip Art 97! So it had obviously been too late to cancel the copying and they’d done this instead. We showed her our progress, half-hoping she would say that she didn’t need us to continue, but she was like ‘Oh yes these will be great too!’.

We gave her another donation to pay for the posters as she said it was about 20$ in total - which is definitely a crazy price for photocopying - but actually, someone had sat down and made a digital version of my design. It was heart warming and also a little funny to see the things that I’d flippantly drawn that they’d painstakingly recreated, like the detail on the roof or the sun shape. They were super sweet about it all and we spoke to our hotel who promised to put up a poster the next day when they had located some sellotape.

We negotiated a taxi price with an annoying guy for the next morning, as couldn’t face the only option of a 6am bus. He wanted 80$, ended up on 50$, but we were not quite sure how badly we were getting ripped off. Oh well, left it at that and went to bed.