#but even then it should still be 500 Euro. like what the fuck is going on.

[ajarofpickledtears]

bro fuck having time off bc of obligatory vacation or whatever, I don't know how to double check if I'm getting my hours then and my boss can blatantly not be relied on because I've been paid under 500 Euro second time in like three months, in a supposedly 520 Euro job

like, are you fucking kidding me

[ithacanradio]

nothing quite like your parents threatening to leave you in poverty if you don't stop doing political work and just annihilate yourself into your studies

[tardis--dreams]

How do you tell your friend you want to sell yet another concert ticket which means she'd have to go alone again-

[oldguardhc]

Old Guard hc #101

Summary: Part 2 of the Decennial Awards (Part 1)

“Our next category is the Weirdest Sleeping Spot! As the title suggests, this category is based on the weirdest spot one has been caught sleeping.” Joe turns on the TV behind him and starts the slideshow of them all snoozing in various spots and positions. “We require plenty of rest to remain youthful. This, unfortunately, means we have to catch our Z’s in some unconventional places.”

“When did you take all these pictures?” Booker asks, leaning forward on the couch. Joe glances back and sees a picture of Booker asleep on top of a fridge. The man wasn’t even curled up on top like one would assume. No, he was half-draped over the top, head and arms hanging on the other side, looking as close to dead one can be while still alive. He looked like a poor Halloween decoration. “I don’t even remember that.” 

“That’s because you’re senile,” Joe retorts and immediately wishes he can take it back. Three unimpressed faces stare back at him from the couches and Joe knows that this is going to be counted against him. Dammit. He wants to win the best host at the end of the century. Joe plasters on a winning smile. “I apologize; that comment should have been saved for after the show. All of the pictures were taken some time in the last 10 years; anything before was disqualified. Now, our first nominee, Nicolò, fell asleep in-“

Booker stands up and turns around to look at Andy and Nicky. He gestures wildly at them, some of his drink sloshing onto the floor and all over his hand. Booker slurps up what he can on his hand before saying, “Are we not going to talk about how Joe’s been taking pictures of us sleeping? For more than a decade?” 

Andy lobs a peanut at him. “Sit down!” Booker catches the peanut and pops it into his mouth. For a second, Joe hopes he chokes on it. 

When it’s clear that he will not, Joe says, “No, we are not. Please take a seat, sir.” 

Booker whirls around, spilling more of his drink. “This is an invasion of privacy!”

“You were in a public area.”

“Technically-“

“If you have to start with technically, you’re wrong,” Joe sighs, motioning to the couch more insistently. He feels like he has just finished 8 hours of customer support and was told by his manager to cover for the coworker they’re currently sleeping with. Andy snags the back of Booker’s pants and whatever was left in Booker’s cup is now sitting on the carpet. Wonderful. “As I was saying, Nicolò, over here, fell asleep on a crane that was on top of a 500m building. He had a couple of hours to kill until his target arrived and rather than playing on his phone like any other sane person, he decided to take a nap.” Everyone turns to look at Nicky. 

“I still don’t see the issue here. I even set an alarm for an hour before the scheduled arrival,” Nicky says and Andy squints at him. 

“The construction workers were using the crane. It was literally spinning the entire day,” Booker says and Joe nods. Some carousels spin less than that crane. 

“You cost me 500 euros,” Andy adds with a scowl. “It was supposed to be an easy win. You puked after the teacups.” 

Nicky gapes at her. “That doesn’t count! Booker made me eat 5 bananas and drink 2 cans of sprite!” 

“It was a projectile. You could calculate the angle of it.” You could. It was absolutely disgusting. Joe had made sure to slip the janitor an extra hundred as he tended to his violently sick husband. 

Knowing that this will lead to a full-blown argument, Joe quickly interjects, “Now Sebastien, he fell asleep in the trunk of the wrong car and ended up giving a poor old lady quite the scare. Later, I would like to discuss Sebastien’s concerning taste for younger women.”

“Yeah, she was less than half your age. That’s gross, Book,” Andy teases.

“Preying on the young and vulnerable?” Nicky tuts. “Where're your morals?”

“Fuck you guys,” Booker groans.

“I like older men,” Nicky says. “Thank you, though.”

With a smirk, Joe continues. “Next is Andromache, who fell asleep on top of a moving train and managed to stay on it the entire duration of her nap. In fact, she did not even sway an inch; not even when the train was climbing the side of a mountain.”

“Less stuffy up there,” Andy says, taking a sip of her drink.

“I believe you.”

“Plenty of space.”

“No one’s going to join you, Andy,” Booker groans, leaning back on the couch. “It’s fucking cold up there.” 

Nicky tilts his head, eyebrows furrowing. “That’s-,” Joe shares a look of incredulity with his husband and slowly shakes his head. It’s probably best that they leave this one alone for a couple of centuries. 

“For our last nominee, Yusuf managed to find a yak and fall asleep on its back.”

“You conveniently left out the part where it woke up startled and kicked you 20 feet away.”

Joe gives him a tight-lipped smile. “Thank you, Sebastien. As always, your contribution is entirely unwanted.” Joe pulls the second envelope out. “Now for our winner,” he opens it and snorts as he reads the card. “Sebastien! Congratulations! You won this decade’s weirdest sleeping spot.”

Booker slowly gets off the couch, like he expects Joe to say ‘Psych!’ and call out somebody else’s name. Andy decides he’s moving too slow and slaps him on the ass.

“Here you go,” Joe hands him the prize when he’s a foot away and Booker frowns. 

“A sleeping mask from Delta Airlines?” It’s folded in half and barely thicker than a paper towel.

“To make your sleep more pleasurable.”

“There’s a better one in the bathroom upstairs.”

“Don’t be ungrateful, it’s rude.” Did no one teach their kids manners these days? “What do you have to say?”

Booker shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “I’m sorry, Margaret. Both cars were extremely similar.” It’s not a bad apology. Joe has definitely heard worse. 

“One was a minivan, the other was a hummer, you dumbass!” Andy heckles. Sadly, she’s not lying. 

“Looks the same when you’re drunk and have your eyes 90% closed.” 

“Alright, thank you, Sebastien,” Joe nudges him back to his seat. “Continuing with the weirdest theme, our next category is Weirdest Death.” 

Andy and Nicky groan, Booker smirks. 

“Just give it to Booker already,” Andy says. “Fucker always dies in the weirdest manners.” 

“He’s won every single time since he joined us,” Nicky adds, waving a dismissive hand. “Give him his prize and let him do his speech.”

“So you guys can count me off later? No way!” Joe’s not a fool. This is their test. “Unlike our previous categories, this nominee will cover both Nicolò and Yusuf. Our dearest Nicolò and Yusuf were having a lovely picnic in the middle of the safari. They were enjoying a nice Pinot Noir with some young cantal cheese when they were rudely trampled by a stampede of elephants. ”

“Picnic,” Joe really wants to wipe that stupid smirk off of Booker’s face. Nicky, his dearest heart, reaches over to smack the bane of Joe’s existence over the back of his head. It’s a satisfying thunk too. “Ow! I only have one brain, Nicky, Jesus!”

“More like one brain cell,” Nicky responds. Joe almost bends down onto one knee right there. 

No. He has a plan. He’s not going to ruin it because he’s too impatient. 

Joe gestures to Andy, “Andromache, was taking a stroll in one of Colorado’s mountains when she accidentally walked into a cult’s trap. After being shot with an elephant tranquilizer, she woke up tied to a tree and was shot with a special marijuana filled bullet as a sacrifice to their Marijuana god.”

“Bullets filled with marijuana,” Booker says, impressed. “If I weren't here, that’d surely be the winner.”

“I know,” Andy grumbles, taking an angry swig of her drink. 

“For our reigning titleholder, Sebastien continued to drink an excessive amount of soda, despite everyone telling him that there were not going to be any bathrooms for another hour. Our stubborn Sebastien, of course, ignored us and after drinking 64oz of Pepsi, he had to pee. So in the pouring rain, Andy pulled over. Sebastien sprinted to the treeline and as he began to relieve himself, Zeus struck our poor nominee. He died in his puddle of pee.”

Nicky shakes his head, looking at Booker with a little bit of awe. “How do these things keep on happening to you?” 

“The comedic gods really like me.” Something out there really likes him, that’s for sure. 

Joe pulls out the correct envelope and is completely unsurprised with what he reads. “Our winner is, of course, Sebastien! Congratulations!” Joe picks up the prize and holds it out; Booker takes it with a grin.

“A voodoo doll of myself?” The doll has a denim jacket and the same haircut Booker has been sporting for the last six years. Booker pokes the doll’s eyes and squishes its plump body. “I’m keeping this.”

“And not the other prizes?”

“This one is custom made; it gets custom treatment.” He has a point. “As for my speech, I would like to thank myself, the greatest and worst person to exist.”

Joe shares another look with his husband. Andy, on the other hand, says, “The prize should’ve been therapy.”

“Okay,” Joe says after an awkward moment of silence. “Thank you for your speech; please return to your seat so we can continue.” 

[fencer-x]

Fencer’s Big Eva Review

Just got done watching the Eva finale, so it’s time to get out thoughts while they’re fresh! Caveat: Eva is difficult to understand for native speakers, and I’m definitely not a native speaker XD I feel like I got maybe half, and got the rough gist of like 10% of the rest, and the remaining was just no friggin’ clue. Would’ve gone better if there’d at least been JP subs, but you’ll have to deal with what I’ve got for now!

It should be obvious, but there’ll be HELLA MAJOR SPOILERS for the final Evangelion movie. Ready? Let’s go.

The movie very helpfully starts off with a ~2 min recap of the movies thus far. This was great because I didn’t have time to rewatch the previous three before going, and while I’ve seen them a few times, it took me a second the recall what had happened at the very end of Q, so I was glad to get a very brief recap.

The actual movie itself opens on...Paris! Or Paris post-Near-Third-Impact (Third Impact?), which is a red and black wasteland. It seems that Wille has been developing these things that look like Entry Plugs that they shove into the ground and restore everything to pre-all-impacts (so like, blue water and everything); couldn’t get HOW it managed that, but they had them and were attempting to restore Paris.

Would have been a walk in the park except for weird Eva-Angel-Machine hybrids that were trying to prevent them from activating the plugs. Lots of fighting happens, with Mari piloting her Eva to give them cover while the Wille staff set everything up. Eventually they manage it, and Euro Nerv is restored.

Then we switch over to right where Q left off: Asuka, Clone!Rei, and a catatonic Shinji wandering around trying to go who knows where. They eventually get picked up by...Touji! Yes, an older Touji now who lives in a commune of survivors, scraping out a semblance of a life in one of the areas protected by the aforementioned plugs (they had another name but I couldn’t get it).

In this community, Touji is the local doctor--and he’s married with a kid! He married Hikari, and they have an infant daughter named Tsubame. 

Now, let’s check in how our main three do when introduced to this relatively normal life they get to enjoy for a few weeks:

Asuka: Still in ‘fight mode’, ready to go at a moment’s notice. How she thinks she’s gonna fight when she has no Eva idk, but for this entire little bit, she’s either naked or in her plugsuit. She stays with Aida Kensuke, who’s kind of the handyman, and is generally just rude af.

Shinji: For 90% of this bit, he’s totally shut off. He’s incredibly fucked up from having JUST watched Kaworu die, essentially because of him, and Asuka has on a DSS choker, and every time he sees it, he collapses and begins vomiting violently. He stays with the Suzuharas at first but is quickly sent to stay with Asuka and Kensuke because they don’t really know how to deal with him. Kensuke manages to get him to open up a little bit, but eventually it’s Rei who gets him started on the path back to being himself. At one point he runs away and ‘lives’ alone for a while in what I think was either the building where he first met Kaworu playing the piano or one that looked a lot like it. He goes out to do odd jobs with Kensuke a lot, and on one occasion he’s taken to an ‘outdoor lab’ where some workers are experimenting with new gardening techniques. It’s here he’s meets...Kaji Ryouji. No, not that Kaji Ryouji. That Kaji DIED. This is the son he had with Misato (named after him).

Rei: Now, let me say I’ve never been super interested in Rei. I didn’t dislike her, like I did Asuka, but I wasn’t really interested in her either. She was just there. Guys.....I LOVED REI IN THIS MOVIE. I would have watched 2.5 hours of the Rei Learns To Be A Human show and been happy for the $20 I paid. Rei spends her time in the commune learning to be an individual. She stays with the Suzuharas and learns what different words mean, like “Good morning” and “Good night” and “Thank you” and “Goodbye”, she gets super close with a bunch of old ladies who essentially adopt her and teach her how to plant turnips and what a bath is, and she becomes her own person. When she first arrives, the Suzuharas think she’s “Ayanami Rei”, but she explains that she isn’t, so they call her “Sokkuri-san” instead (”Miss Spitting Image” essentially), and the old ladies find it amusing at first but then encourage her to choose her own name, and when she can’t think of one, they tell her to have someone choose one for her, so she asks the Uber-Depressed Shinji to choose one. These interactions are what eventually pull him back to himself, but ultimately he’s unable to come up with one, because “Ayanami is Ayanami”. She thanks him for trying anyway, returns his SD player to him..............................and then dissolves into a pile of LCL fluid, as apparently all clones eventually return to LCL. Fantastic, because Shinji didn’t need EVEN MORE TRAUMA.

Somehow, the above doesn’t break Shinji, and he resolves to go back to Wille and face his father I guess?? I’m not entirely clear on why (gotta go read some reports of my own I guess lol). Back on the ship with Misato et al., Shinji isn’t forced to wear a choker but he’s put in a cell with like explosives in it I guess. He starts having visions of Kaworu helping him accept things.

At this point it’s getting close to the climax, and Wille are going after Nerv/Gendo once and for all. During the final fight, Asuka tried to take out Unit 13′s core, and then she’s not managing it, she rips off her eyepatch, and we see that the patch was keeping the 9th angel bound within her eye, so she decides to throw away her humanity and let it take over to destroy Unit 13. Unfortunately, she’s killed in the end--how? She’s approached by a vision of her ‘original’. Yup, Asuka was a clone herself, like Rei, and she turns back into LCL and she and unit 02 are absorbed by Unit 13.

Eventually the fight comes down to Shinji vs. Gendo, who has thrown away his own humanity and bonded with Unit 13 in the hopes of completing the Human Instrumentality Project. He and Shinji go head to head as Shinji summons (???) Unit 01 from inside Unit 13, and there’s a really REALLY WEIRD final fight between the two that involves some weird animation choices. Lots of storyboards and overly CGI’d CGI, and some bits that seem to take them through the different incarnations of the Eva series.

We also get Gendo backstory by the boatload as he and Shinji have an actual goddamn conversation for once. Mari features prominently in Gendo’s flashbacks so she was definitely one of his classmates it seems, who introduced him to Fuyutsuki. I’m still not entirely clear on who she is/was.

However, through this conversation, Shinji gives the people he’s interacted with most closely/been closest with closure I guess? Gendo, Asuka...Kaworu.

So about Kaworu. Their conversation was VERY VERY WEIRD; it’s made clear that Shinji is also now aware of all the different iterations of their meeting. When they talk, it’s set at the beach where they first met in the TV series, and Shinji says he remembers all the times they’ve met before. Shinji mentions that Kaworu reminds him a lot of his father, and then there are some very strange flashbacks (????) of Kaworu’s that I feel like imply he’s to Gendo as Rei is to Yui. At one point, he’s seen talking to Fuyutsuki, trying to decide on a name for himself and settling on ‘Nagisa’ as it means ‘beach’, where the ocean meets the land. Fuyutsuki later addresses Kaworu, who’s sitting in Gendo’s desk, as “Commander Nagisa”. Kaworu reflects to Shinji that he failed so many times to make Shinji happy, but he’s realized now that that’s because he doesn’t know what would make Shinji happy and it was arrogant to think he knew better. He was looking for his own happiness all along.

In the end, after all these goodbyes, Shinji is left with the decision of what to do with, well, reality. He decides, in a conversation with Rei, that he’ll reset everything--create a ‘neon genesis’--to a world without Eva or Angels.

Our last shot is an older Shinji meeting his (presumed??) girlfriend Mari on a train platform. On the opposite platform waiting for their own train are Kaworu, Asuka, and Rei. Shinji and Mari hold hands and run, laughing, from the train station.

NEON GENESIS EVANGELION GOT A HAPPY ENDING. 2021 REALLY BE OUT HERE WILDING.

My final thoughts:

Okay I’ll say it: the fuck with Shinji/Mari endgame? Believe me, it was completely out of left field even in this movie. They just happened to be the only final survivors. Mari flirted a hell of a lot more with ASUKA and was distraught at her death than she did with Shinji. They were a kind of cute couple in the end, but very ????? 

I’m disappointed Shinji wasn’t the one to give Kaworu his happiness in the end, after Kaworu spent so long and so many lives and realities trying to make him happy and failing. I’m choosing to believe, since these multiple realities/resets are canon now, that he did it in one of them. They all deserve the happiness of their choosing, not just Shinji’s, and Kaworu showed us time and time again that his happiness definitively involves being with Shinji.

I’m sure I missed a lot, because yanno, Eva, and it was long enough as is, but gosh I wish I could’ve understood more of everything that was going on, cause there was SO MUCH WEIRD SHIT.

If I watch this movie again, I will 500% just be watching those “Rei learns to be human with the help of a bunch of old cackling biddies” bits :> Those were THE BEST PARTS OF THE MOVIE.

[randomingoftherandomness]

Fic: All we do is think about the feelings that we hide

Fandom: The Old Guard (2020)

Pairing: Booker x Joe x Nicky, Booker x Nicky, Booker & Nile, mention of Andy x Quynh

Tags: Secret Relationship, Established Relationship, Angst, Booker’s Self-Worth Issues, Mentions of Double Penetration, Otherwise no graphic sex in this fic

A/N: For the always darling @bewires who is a delight and a gem. I made this more Booker x Nicky focused coz... My brain needed some streamlining and so here it is? I hope you’ll like it nonetheless x

--

When they walk together, Joe and Nicky take the lead up front while Nile hooks an arm around Booker’s. He is careful to keep his eyes from following them when they move through the crowds of locals and tourists alike that pack the Christmas market and doubly more deliberate in his attempts to cajole Nile into trying a sausage or a cup of mulled wine, or what about that shop with those knick knacks?

If her indulgent smile is anything to be judged by, Booker thinks it’s not working.

Coming to the Christmas market had been Joe’s idea. A chance for them to spend some time together. The exact thing Booker had been wanting to avoid at all cost. Since his return, Joe, Nicky, and himself had taken a weekend off to have the screaming and sparring and sex sessions that resulted in a mutual agreement to take things slower this time. As if everything they’d done prior to his exile had been wrong footed and untrue. Desperate with want - which in fairness, he had had Nicky’s cock in his ass and Joe’s waiting to press up against it at the time - Booker had agreed to it.

“-buy as Christmas gifts?”

Nile’s question hangs in the winter air between them before Booker inelegantly mumbles a, “Hm?” to her incredulous amusement. “I was just asking what Joe and Nicky would buy as Christmas gifts?” She repeats, bumping their shoulders together. He had been infinitely grateful that when Joe posited the trip to the Christmas market, Nile had piped up and said it was a great idea. At least he wouldn’t have to walk alone while Joe and Nicky held hands and strolled through the crowd together.

“They usually try to make things for other people during Christmas. One year, Joe painted Nicky in that pose that Kate Winslet did in Titanic. I think it’s still hanging in their house in Malta,” Booker says with a fond smile as the memory comes to him. “You should visit them there when you have a chance to.”

“Have you ever been to Malta?”

“A few times,” Booker hedges carefully, guiding her towards a stall that is selling some Christmas candy. 

“How many times is a few times?” Nile asks, completely undettered. God, he should’ve known she would have latched on to that little tidbit. 

“I’ve known them almost the entirety of my immortal life, Nile,” He says with a careful smile while he picks up a bag of chocolate peppermint sticks and pays for it. “It would be only natural for me to know how their favourite safehouse looks like.”

Nile frowns but doesn’t continue that thread of thought because Joe is cutting through to them with a glint of unholy glee as he declares that they’ve found an ice-rink.

-

The thing is, when Joe, Nicky, and Booker agreed to take this relationship slowly, only Booker was paying attention to the rules of the game. The agreement to try was still fresh and Booker can still feels the phantom weight of their cocks in him as they came, filling him up in this covenant they’d made.

He’d been beyond relieved and grateful that they’d even wanted to try at all that he knew that he would have rather died a true death than allow himself to fuck it all up again. Booker had barely survived that first heartache of being sent away. He knows he won’t a second time.

So, he plays a game with himself; how many times can he stop himself from looking at them? How many times can he resist from reaching out them and asking for some reassurance or comfort? To fall easily against them on the sofa and tangle their limbs together? To have the simple pleasures that comes with being in a relationship with another party; to know their kisses, their hands in his own, the weight of their embraces, their laughters and gazes. Booker packs all his yearning and focuses on maintaining the facade that for anyone who cared to look, it was Joe and Nicky and no one else.

When he had gone through this the first time around, he knows or at least had the suspicion that Andy knew why he’d always slept close to Joe and Nicky, or why there had been a fair few times when they’d gone out together as a foursome and disappeared together as a three. She’d never spoken to him about it. Booker misses her for that.

With Nile, that bag of rules went out the window the moment he had a second to truly know his sister.

Now that Andy was off galivanting the world with Quynh on some long, protracted second honeymoon, they’re lucky to get her on the phone for more than 15 minutes sometimes. But she is happy, and they will see each other again. This left Nile in charge and she takes to it like a duck to water. Which is perhaps the reason why she clings to Booker and tugs him to the ice where a slew of laughing and screaming people are having their wintertime fun out on the town square.

“Nile, leave him be,” Nicky says with a gentle smile, prying her away from Booker. 

Joe suitably distracts her by pulling her to join the line for the skate rentals. “Thanks,” He says, tucking his hands into his coat pockets, carefully angling his body away from the ice. “You should go join them. Have a bit of fun. I’ll just get myself a hot drink and wait for you somewhere nearby, okay?”

Nicky shakes his head, still smiling. “Ah, I don’t feel up for it. I think I’ll stay with you.”

“But you like ice-skating,” Booker replies with a frown. “Andy and I had to convince you not to make a bid for the Winter Olympics, remember?”

“I remember, yes. You always had a good memory for things like that, Basti,” Nicky laughs fondly. Taking him by the elbow, he guides them both to the nearest hot chocolate stand. “Perhaps I want to spend some time with you instead, hm? Joe had been a bit upset that Nile wanted to join us. He’d been talking about how romantic it would be to visit the Christmas market with us both.”

Booker orders their drinks and does his damndest not to look at Nicky when he says, “That’s very nice of him to want that but wouldn’t coming here with you suit him better?”

Nicky doesn’t say a thing to that and they wait for their drinks, absconding to find a free bench to wait for Joe and Nile. “Sometimes just when I think we’re alright, you say things like that that make me think that we’re stil back at square one.” He shrugs when Booker turns to him. “I think we’re okay and then you... Avoid Joe and I. Turn away from our kisses, look away when we catch you looking, hide your hands when all I want to do is hold them and kiss them.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Do you even know what you’re sorry for?” Nicky asks, eyes clear and devoid of judgement. “Basti, we love you so much. We are ready to shout it from the rooftops and scream it to anyone who would care to listen, but everytime we think you are ready for that, you seem to shy away from us.”

“It’s just easier,” Booker breathes, exhalation coiling in the cold air between them to mingle with the steam rising from their hot chocolate.

“Easier for who?”

“For all of us. I-I... I want to be loved, I do. But for so long now I have found myself not being worthy of you and after London,” He pauses. “After London, I believed I had lost any hope of being with both of you. Then, we had that weekend away and we said we would try, that we would do this differently. So, I tried.”

“Oh, Booker,” Nicky sighs. 

He sets his drink down by his feet, swallowing tightly. Nicky does the same after a moment and takes Booker’s hand in between his own. Keeping his gaze fixed on their palms pressed together, he glavanises himself to speak.

“The first time we got together, you never asked me for any intimacy when we were in public, and I was alright with that. It had been just the both of you for so long, of course it would feel weird with a third. It was okay. Now, this time round, I taught myself not to want it because...”

“Because?” Nicky urges him on, shuffling closer. 

“Because I don’t think I can survive being sent away by you again,” The truth tumbles forth in a whisper. “Because I drank myself to death twice before Quynh showed up and I know if I have to leave you again, I won’t survive a third.”

Nicky leans in, wrapping him in an embrace that Booker accepts with his arms around Nicky’s waist. He buries his nose in his scarf, trying to stop the shaking of his limbs. 

“I love you both so much, but I’m scared. All the time. What if I kiss you and Joe, and I’m turned away? I know you love me, but will you love me if I make a mistake again? Because I will, you know I will. I don’t think I can do this if I fuck this up again.”

Careful fingers curl through the back of his head, keeping his face tucked to Nicky’s shoulder. After a beat, he speaks. “Do you trust me? Do you trust Joe?”

“With my life.”

“Then, trust me when I say that we’re never going to give you up,” Nicky says, turning his lips to the shell of Booker’s ear as he continues. “Never gonna run around and desert you, never gonna make you cry, never gonna say goodbye-”

“Oh, fuck off,” Booker gasps, choking on a wet laugh as he pulls away only to be dragged back into a quick press of a kiss tinged with happiness. 

“Hey, I want a kiss, too!”

Booker startles and makes to jump apart at the sound of Joe’s voice but Nicky holds firm. “Well darling, take a number,” He says sweetly, turning Booker’s attention back to him and sliding their mouths into another kiss that leaves him melting into Nicky’s arms.

He can’t see it but he hears the absolute triumph in Nile’s voice when she says, “Oh my god, Andy owes me 500 euros.”

[bopinion]

2021 / 29

Aperçu of the Week:

"You can tell a person's character by the jokes he laughs at."

Alfred Biolek

Biolek is a veteran of German television. In the 1970s, he produced the most successful TV show, "Am laufenden Band," and then he was in front of the camera himself: first talking and hosting, later also cooking, in each case as the first (!) in his field. Thanks to him, people in this country know Monty Python and The Police, for example. A great man, a star without airs and graces, an innovator and cultural leader, a man who was never prejudiced, never unfair, always in a good mood, always interested, never superficial, always friendly, who stood by his homosexuality - at a time when it was still considered disreputable, not only in his industry. I had the privilege of meeting him almost 30 years ago, as we both shared a valuable experience as exchange students with AFS. Dr. Alfred Franz Maria Biolek died yesterday in Cologne at the age of 87. Rest in peace!

Bad News of the Week:

The fourth wave is coming. It's already there in the UK and Spain. In France and Italy, the values are still (reasonably) low, but the growth is rapid. Thanks to the delta mutant, formerly known as the Indian. Here, everyone is watching spellbound for the infamous "7-day incidence," which so far has been slow to increase. That's about to change. Especially because the longed-for herd immunity will remain a utopia - because immunization above 85% is impossible if all children and adolescents are not considered for vaccination. And more and more so-called skeptics refuse - whereby an obligation to vaccinate would be an immense encroachment on fundamental rights, the justification of which is difficult. But is there a fundamental right to ignorance? I'm torn apart...

What is currently taking place in the UK is a large-scale medical experiment. Not under expert supervision in a laboratory, but completely detached in public. All Corona protections such as mask wearing or social distancing have been completely removed. At a time when the incidence is approaching 500 - the highest since the all-time high in January. In our country, it's under 15, and we're worrying about how to organize the start of school after the summer vacations. And Boris Johnson basically says to that, "Why not now? When then?". Well, for example, when the vaccination campaign is more advanced and the numbers are lower. But he'll know what he's doing - even if it's irresponsible. Let's see how British voters will remember this decision in his upcoming re-election.

But this is not the only area where the British government lacks logic in Corona measures. A work colleague of mine is Irish and was supposed to visit his mother next week. But she lives in Northern Ireland. Since he already has full vaccination protection, he didn't expect any problems - and now he would have to spend ten days in a quarantine hotel without being allowed to see his mother. That's over 70% of his total two-week stay. The reasoning is remarkable: according to British regulations, he is considered unvaccinated because a vaccination in an EU country is not recognized. Although it is the same vaccine in the same dose in the same schedule. But the stamp in his vaccination certificate is just the wrong one.

Good News of the Week:

"Pragmatism and melancholy" is the Tagesschau's headline about Angela Merkel's last federal press conference - a kind of forum for free questions from journalists - as chancellor in Berlin. After all, she will not be running again in the federal elections in just under two months. It was therefore not surprising that, in addition to current political issues, many media representatives primarily took stock of Merkel's 16-year term in office. The financial and the euro crisis, nuclear and coal phase-out, the EU and China, Corona and digitization, and so on. Life without crises is easier, but when they are there, they have to be dealt with, Merkel replied to the question of whether she felt flattered by the title "crisis chancellor." After all, last week U.S. President Joe Biden, another old hand in world politics, had remarked that she would be missed.

In an interview today, climate activist Luisa Neubauer, the German face of "Fridays for Future," accuses Merkel of not tackling the climate crisis in the proactive manner that is her style in other crises. Although this one is by far the biggest and most urgent. One might add, even though Merkel was once environment minister. And seems to overlook two things: first, nuclear and coal phase-out ultimately serve climate protection. And secondly, there is no patent remedy, no reference, no example, no role model. Perhaps that's the point: who should be able to tackle the issue in a decisive way if not someone who is internationally acknowledged, respected across party lines, unpretentious and without any self-interest, scientifically sound, moderating and balancing, pragmatic and energetic? So who, if not Merkel?

Dr. Angela Dorothea Merkel turned 67 two weeks ago. Unlike Helmut Kohl - the other chancellor who ruled for what felt like an eternity of 16 years and ended up looking powerless and burnt out - it's hard to imagine Merkel going from one day to another just reading books and trying out potato salad recipes. And we have learned from the U.S. that the political zenith is apparently not reached until the age of 70+. And from demography we have learned that women live longer and are more efficient in old age than men. So: starting this fall, there will be an "elder stateswoman" in waiting on the world stage, who I personally would like to see again in every conceivable position. EU Council president, UN secretary general, pope, conductor, chef - I don't care. But give her something to do. She won't screw it up. Thank you, Mrs. Merkel, for providing a solid counterbalance to all the testosterone and alpha dog behavior in our nation, in Europe and a little bit in the whole world all these years. Of course, not all that glitters is gold, and even you haven't done everything right. But your taking stock is positive, and that's what remains at the end of the day.

Personal happy moment of the week:

I have never owned a purse. Probably because I never had enough money ;-) So coins always end up in a big box that the kids carry to the bank by the kilo on World Savings Day. And for bills, I had a plain money clip by Danish designer Georg Jensen, whose functional-style silversmithing helped shape industrial design in Scandinavian countries. I had already lost it once and after much research was able to purchase one again. A good half year ago I scatterbrained lost it again. Fuck the 20, 30 euros - but my beautiful clip was gone. And this time it was impossible to find another one. Yesterday, I put on a suit that I obviously hadn't worn for a long time - because in my pants pocket I found my money clip. Empty, but valuable. I got it back. And my personal happy moment of the week.

I couldn't care less...

...for the Olympic Games. Because they are so far from the original ideal of the sporting high office of the amateurs, endlessly commercialized, run by a corrupt organization, without any grounding and leaving the same too often burnt. I can still remember the promises made before the Summer Games in Beijing in 20008: sport would be an ambassador of peace and democratization, the Olympics would have a lasting effect on politics and society. Really? Nothing at all has happened. Except that the 2022 Winter Games will once again be held in Beijing. Bravo!

As I write this...

...it's thundering and lightning in the mountains again. And everybody is afraid that there will be heavy rain, squalls and hail again. Because the soils, especially in the disaster areas of the last week, are still waterlogged and loose and many dams no longer exist. So it only takes a comparatively small amount of rain to have mudslides, rivers overflowing their banks, and flooded homes again. I'm keeping my fingers crossed for all of us.

[boreothegoldfinch]

chapter 11 paragraph x

In the car, out on the main road again, all was jubilation: laughter, high fives, while my heart was slamming so hard I could barely breathe. “What’s going on?” I rasped, several times—gulping for breath and looking back and forth between them and then, when they kept ignoring me, babbling in a percussive mix of Russian and Ukrainian, all four of them including Shirley Temple: “Angliyski!” Boris turned to me, wiping his eyes, and slung his arm around my neck. “Change of plans,” he said. “That was all on the fly—improvised. We could have asked for nothing better. Their third man didn’t show.” “Catching them short-handed.” “Flatfooted.” “Pants down! On the crapper!” “You”—I had to gasp to get the words out—“you said no guns.” “Well, no one got hurt, did they? What difference does it make?” “Why didn’t we just pay?” “Because we lucked out!” Throwing up his arms. “Once in a lifetime chance! We had the opportunity! What were they going to do? They were two —we were four. If they had any sense, they should never have let us inside. And—yes, I know, only forty thousand, but why should I pay them one cent if I don’t have to? For stealing my own property?” Boris chortled. “Did you see the look on his face? Grateful Dead? When Cherry whipped him back of the dome?” “You know what he was complaining about, the old goat?” said Victor, turning to me jubilantly. “Wanted it in Euros! ‘What, dollars?’ ” imitating his peevish expression. “ ‘You brought me dollars?’ ” “Bet he wishes he had those dollars now.” “I bet he wishes he kept his mouth shut.” “I’d like to hear that phone call to Sascha.” “I wish I knew the name of the guy. That stood them up. Because I would like to buy him a drink.” “Wonder where he is?” “He is probably at home in the shower.” “Studying his Bible lesson.” “Watching ‘Christmas Carol’ on television.” “Waiting at the wrong place, most like.”

“I—” My throat was so constricted I had to swallow to speak. “What about that kid?” “Eh?” It was raining, light rain pattering on the windshield. Streets black and glistening. “What kid?” “Boy. Girl. Kitchen boy. Whatever.” “What?” Cherry turned—still winded, breathing hard. “I didn’t see anyone.” “I didn’t either.” “Well, I did.” “What’d she look like?” “Young.” I could still see the freeze-frame of the young ghostly face, mouth slightly open. “White coat. Japanese-looking.” “Really?” said Boris curiously. “You can tell apart by looking? Like where they are from? Japan, China, Vietnam?” “I didn’t get a good look. Asian.” “He, or she?” “I think is all girls that work in the kitchen there,” said Gyuri. “Macrobyotik. Brown rice and like that.” “I—” Now I really wasn’t sure. “Well—” Cherry ran his hand over the top of his close-cropped hair —“glad she ran, whoever, because you know what else I found back there? Sawed-off Mossberg 500.” Laughter and whistles at this. “Shit.” “Where was it? Grozdan didn’t—?” “No. In a—” he gestured, to indicate a sling—“what do you call it. Hanging under the table, in some cloth like. Just happened to see it when I was down on the floor. Like—looked up. There it was, right over my head.” “You didn’t leave it there, did you?” “No! I wouldn’t have minded to take it except was too big and had my hands full. Unscrewed it and knocked the pin out and threw it in the alley. Also—” he pulled a silver snub-nosed pistol out of his pocket, which he passed over to Boris—“this!” Boris held it up to the light and looked at it. “Nice little conceal-carry J-frame. Ankle holster in those bell bottom jeans! But to his misfortune he was not quick enough.” “Flexcuffs,” said Gyuri to me, with slightly inclined head. “Vitya thinks ahead.” “Well—” Cherry wiped the sweat from his broad forehead—“they are light and slim to carry, and they have saved me many times shooting people. I do not like to hurt anyone if I don’t have to.” Medieval city: crooked streets, lights draped on bridges and shining off rain-peppered canals, melting in the drizzle. Infinity of anonymous shops, twinkling window displays, lingerie and garter belts, kitchen utensils arrayed like surgical instruments, foreign words everywhere, Snel bestellen, Retro-stijl, Showgirl-Sexboetiek. “Back door was open to the alley,” said Cherry, elbowing off his sports coat and swigging from a bottle of vodka which Shirley T. had produced from under the front seat—hands a bit shaky and his face, the nose particularly, glowing a flagrant, stressed-out, Rudolph red. “They must have left it open for him—their third man—to come in at the back. I closed it and locked it— made Grozdan close and lock it, gun to his head, he was snivel and crying like baby—” “That Mossberg,” Boris said to me, accepting the bottle passed over the front seat. “Evil dirty thing. Sawed off—? sprays pellets here to Hamburg. Aim it way the fuck away from everyone and still you will hit half the people in the room.” “Good trick, no?” said Victor Cherry philosophically. “To say your third man is not there? ‘Wait five minutes, please’? ‘Sorry, mix up’—? ‘He will be here any moment’? While he is all the time in back with the shotgun. Good double cross, if they had thought of it—” “Maybe they did think of it. Why else have the gun back there?” “I think we had a narrow miss, is what I think—” “There was one car pulled up front, scared Shirley and me,” said Gyuri, “while you were all in there, two guys, we thought we were in the shit but was only two gays, French guys, looking for restaurant—” “—but no one in the back, thank God, I got Grozdan on the floor and cuffed him to radiator,” Cherry was saying. “Ah, but—!” he held up the felt-wrapped package—“first. This. For you.”

He handed it over the seat to Gyuri, who—gingerly, with his fingertips, as if it were a tray he might spill—passed it to me. Boris—downing his slug, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand—chucked me gaily in the arm with the bottle while humming we wish you a merry Christmas we wish you a merry Christmas. Package on my knees. Running my hands all around the edge. The felt was so thin that I sensed the rightness of it immediately with my fingertips, the texture and weight were perfect. “Go on,” said Boris, nodding, “better open it, make sure it’s not the Civics book this time! Where was it?” he asked Cherry as I began to fumble with the string. “Dirty little broom closet. Piece-of-shit plastic briefcase. Grozdan took me right to it. I thought he might fuck around a bit but burner at the head was all it took. No sense getting popped when all that good space cake still around for the taking.” “Potter,” said Boris, trying to get my attention; and then again: “Potter.” “Yes?” Lifting the briefcase. “This 40 rocks is going to Gyuri and Shirley T. Keeping them green. For services rendered. Because it is thanks to these two that we did not pay Sascha one cent for the favor of stealing your property. And Vitya—” reaching across to clasp his hand—“we are more than equal now. The debt is mine.” “No, I can never repay what I owe you, Borya.” “Forget it. Is nothing.” “Nothing? Nothing? Not true, Borya, because this very night I carry my life because of you, and every night until the last night…” It was an interesting story he was telling, if I’d had ears to listen to it— someone had fingered Cherry for some unspecified but apparently very serious crime which he had not committed, nothing to do with, perfectly innocent, the guy had rolled for reduced prison time and unless Cherry, in turn, wanted to roll on his higher-ups (“unwise to do, if I wish to keep breathing”), he was looking at ten sticks and Boris, Boris had saved the day because Boris had tracked down the slimebag, in Antwerp and out on bail, and the story of how he had done this was very involved and enthusiastic and Cherry was getting choked up and sniffing a bit and there was more and it seemed to involve arson and bloodshed and something to do with a power saw but by that point I wasn’t hearing a word because I’d gotten the string untied and streetlights and watery rain reflections were rolling over the surface of my painting, my goldfinch, which—I knew incontrovertibly, without a doubt, before even turning to look at the verso—was real. “See?” said Boris, interrupting Vitya right in the heat of his story. “Looks good, no, your zolotaia ptitsa? I told you we took care of it, didn’t I?” Running my fingertip incredulously around the edges of the board, like Doubting Thomas across the palm of Christ. As any furniture dealer knew, or for that matter St. Thomas: it was harder to deceive the sense of touch than sight, and even after so many years my hands remembered the painting so well that my fingers went to the nail marks immediately, at the bottom of the panel, the tiny holes where (once upon a time, or so it was said) the painting was nailed up as a tavern sign, part of a painted cabinet, no one knew. “He still alive back there?” Victor Cherry. “Think so.” Boris dug an elbow in my ribs. “Say something.”

But I couldn’t. It was real; I knew it, even in the dark. Raised yellow streak of paint on the wing and feathers scratched in with the butt of the brush. One chip on the upper left edge that hadn’t been there before, tiny mar less than two millimeters, but otherwise: perfect. I was different, but it wasn’t. And as the light flickered over it in bands, I had the queasy sense of my own life, in comparison, as a patternless and transient burst of energy, a fizz of biological static just as random as the street lamps flashing past. “Ah, beautiful,” said Gyuri amiably, leaning in to look at my right side. “So pure! Like a daisy. You know what I am trying to express?” he said, nudging me, when I did not answer. “Plain flower, alone in a field? It’s just —” he gestured, here it is! amazing! “Do you know what I am saying?” he asked, nudging me again, only I was still too dazed to reply. Boris in the meantime was murmuring half in English and half Russian to Vitya about the ptitsa as well as something else I couldn’t quite catch, something about mother and baby, lovely love. “Still wishing you had phoned the art cops, eh?” he said, slinging his arm around my shoulder with his head close to mine, exactly as when we were boys. “We can still phone them,” said Gyuri, with a shout of laughter, punching me on the other arm. “That’s right, Potter! Shall we? No? Maybe not such a good idea any more, eh?” he said across me, to Gyuri, with a raised eyebrow.

[castillo-adrian]

A Rainy Day in Paris | Part 2

December 23rd. Morning.

An escape wasn’t really a possibility. These weren’t some gang of street fighters who got lucky, these were professionals who had been responsible for sustaining the national security by neutralising their enemies in the most proficient way possible. Adrian would know, they’d done it together. The method with which he’d been chained to the chair had been straight out of the GIGN handbook, too – if you tried to break free and pull at your hands, the rope on your throat would choke you to death before you could break away. In some morbid, prideful moment, Adrian felt relieved he’d be going out this way – by the hands of men he once called his brothers and sisters in arms, not random mobster muscles. As far as dying went, this would be as good as he could get.

Adrian did wonder why they were taking their time. They weren’t the type to make a spectacle out of a murder. Then, as if they’d heard his thoughts, Philippe provided an explanation, not before his fist clashing with Adrian’s abdomen, leaving him unable to breathe for a few seconds.

“Drink,” Philippe held a bottle of water near his face, “I need you to last until 26th. You’ll be our Christmas present for Laure and Varden. He’s been through enough shit, we’re going to let him have Christmas in peace. Laure, too. So she can spend it with her kids, instead of having to be reminded of you,” Philippe said with resentment, “Aren’t you a godfather to Olivier, by the way? Fucking shame. At least he’s alive, unlike Varden’s son.”

The assassin’s jaw clenched. Not out of anger at anyone in particular, rather the tragedy of the situation. Adrian didn’t carry much guilt, but not being able to prevent Gabriel’s death hadn’t be easy to write off. 

He stayed silent.

Samir, who’d been hanging in the back for the most part, rammed a plank of wood into Adrian with so much force, it wouldn’t take a medical examination to guess he’d cracked a rib or two.

It wasn’t the pain that was too much to handle, it’s the fact that he couldn’t fight back.

On the flipside, it was his silence that make his former friends snap. 

Minute after minute had passed, maybe hours, even. Adrian had lost count how long the absolute frenzy of violence had lasted. After all, they’d been taking out six years worth of frustration.

December 23rd. Noon.

They’d been taking shifts. Agnès had been the first. He knew it was because she still hoped to hear the answers. An attempt had been made, a genuine one on his part, to give her some clarity, for the first and the last time. All the reasons leading to leaving the St. Clair Organisation – losing his father early and having to support his family, hating furthering the agenda of the mob that had the city he loved wrapped into its tentacles, losing purpose and sense of belonging, and finally, not being able to kill a man in front of his child. All the reasons he stayed with the Rutherfords – newfound purpose, a chance to teach, a chance to lead, new friends.

As expected, it hadn’t been enough for Agnès. Not that Adrian could fault her – after all, their experiences in life couldn’t have been more different. She, simply couldn’t relate, couldn’t empathise. Nevertheless, he’d hoped it brought her some semblance of closure.

December 24th. A few minutes past midnight.

A metallic sound of chair being dragged across the floor woke him up. When Adrian raised his head and looked up, Agnès was gone, and sat in front of him was Cédric. 

“Believed it not, none of us are enjoying this. Not really,” the Frenchman rubbed his face and let out a sigh. “We were no Laure or Julien, or Évelyne, but Agnès and Philippe, and me, we considered you a friend. Samir, he looked up to you. When he thought you died, he cried, and I’ve never seen him shed a tear. Ever,” Cédric crossed his arms against his chest. For a moment his mind drifted off somewhere else. Adrian wondered if he was thinking about Évelyne. 

“You haven’t told Év, have you?” Adrian asked. “It’s fine. I’m sure she won’t be upset with you. At this point, she may want me dead, too.” The last conversation they had got heated. It was better not to dwell on what happened when he last talked to Évelyne.

“No,” Cédric didn’t elaborate. “Do you remember that mission in Lybia?”

“Sure. Harmattan?”

“You saved my life.” Cédric’s words carried a myriad of emotions – nostalgia, hesitation, regret, compassion. “I told you back then that I owed you one.”

“And I told you that you didn’t. It was my job to have your back.”

“No, you’re not understanding what I’m trying to say,” Cédric pulled out a combat knife.

Adrian gave him a puzzled look.

“I owe you one,” the Frenchman repeated as he got up from his chair and walked behind Adrian. “But now we’re even.”

When the assassin felt the rope around his neck loosen, he realised what was happening.

“Are you sure?” Adrian rubbed at his wrists, trying to get back the normal blood flow after hours upon hours of being tied up. 

“I pay my debts. Always.” Cédric tossed the rope on the floor. “But if we meet again, there will be no mercy.”

Adrian nodded. There was still honour among thieves, turned out.

“Wait. Before you go, I need you to stab me,” Cédric handed him his knife. “I need to make it look like you stole the knife off of me and got away. You might be comfortable with being branded a traitor, but I’m not.”

He obliged.

December 24th. Half an hour later.

The 24-hour pawn shop was still at the same address where Adrian remembered. He woke up the owner with a ‘ding’ of the counter bell and flashed a Rolex original in the man’s face. A gift from Andrew Rutherford and one of the most valuable possessions Adrian owned, but if he were to get out of country before his former friends caught up to him, he needed money and the watch was the only thing Adrian had on him.

“This is a real Rolex,” the man declared after examining the item for a few minutes, “I just made deposit at the bank today. Don’t have that much cash right now. You should come back tomorrow.”

“Wait,” Adrian pushed the watch back towards the pawn shop owner, “How much do you have?”

“500 Euroes,” the man said suspiciously. 

“I’ll take it,” Adrian tried to wrap up the world’s worst bargain as soon as possible.

Well, five hundred Euroes had been just enough to buy a burner phone to call Johnathan and get a cab driver to drop him off at the nearest city close to the Swiss border. 

Escaping via the Channel wouldn’t have been smart, he thought. That’s where they’d expect him, not all the way to Switzerland, where by some kind of miracle was exactly he’d been expected.

The driver dropped him off in Dijon.

Hours disappeared into on another, he sat in the highway café, hoping one of the passing trucks would take him to Swizerland.

Finally, his luck started to turn. The man who agreed to let him tag along was a rather loud Corsican with a terrible sense of humour.

“I promise I’m not a murderer,” the Corsican burst into a headache inducing laughter as he put the truck into ignition.

“Good to know,” Adrian leaned into his seat. Five more hours and he’d be in Zermatt. 

[elenatria]

OKAY BUT FOR FUCKS SAKE WE NEED ALL THE DETAILS OF WHERE, WHEN AND HOW YOU MET THE GOD!!!!!!!!!!!

I still haven’t processed everything, not because I’m starstruck that I saw Stellan for 3,5 seconds but because it was a miracle that it even happened. So this is not a “Stellan made me feel like a queen for five minutes” story (there was no time for that), it’s a “setting an impossible goal and achieving it” type of story. 

 @alyeen1 and I were discussing Stellan attending the Gothenburg festival back in January, and I was lamenting the fact that, despite learning about it three weeks in advance, the beginning of the new year had left me broke. I was totally regretting not having the money for that trip and Alyeen1 and I were comforting each other, making “what if” scenarios for the veeeery distant future, like “hey, don’t you guys have the Berlinale...? What if Stellan attended the festival for one of his new films...? Just an idea.”

Not long after that, Google alerts notified me on “Hope”, Stellan’s new film, having its European premiere there. Talking of getting my wish granted right away, I mean I had talked to talk, now I had to walk the walk, right? I’ve never taken such a big decision on such short notice - super scary, super urgent.

“Soooooo is Stellan coming?” was the obvious question. There was no way for us to know. We started spamming the Berlinale people with emails until someone pointed at the right direction, the film’s PR agent who said that the cast would be attending the premiere. Then @stellan-pip-69 suggested I should ask Andrea Bræin Hovig herself, Stellan’s co-star in “Hope”. Andrea is a total sweetheart, she answered right away and said that they would indeed be there. I mean, I couldn’t possibly be taking two days off work, spending four days and 500 euro on a whim no matter how much I love Berlin. 

However, we had no further info on where exactly Stellan would be. What we did know according to the Berlinale site was the time and place of “Hope”’s press conference and premiere. Thank god for Alyeen, the Valoris fandom’s resident Berliner, who had bought tickets for “Hope”s screening at the box office.

One day before the screening we were making plans and thinking of routes and timetables, and also we gained some experience from Hildur Guðnadóttir’s talk (who is an absolute darling as you can tell from her vids and acceptance speeches). 

See, after Hildur’s event we waited for her in the cold rain for about an hour and realized it’s not enough to be there early enough or to know which exit the celeb will use, or to run fast enough to get to them first: we also had to deal with autograph hunters who were bigger, stronger than us, outnumbering us, pushing us aside to get dozens of autographs signed by Hildur. They were pushy and persistent and had control over the situation, over what Hildur signed and for whom. Giving me permission to get  that selfie with her. It was almost nightmarish. 

After that, and as we dragged our feet back to the subway soaking wet, we were dwelling in despair and uncertainty. There was no way we could fight off guys who were doing this for a living. And what if Stellan had HUNDREDS of fans screaming his name? What if Stellan lost his patience with all those autographs he had to sign, like Hildur lost hers?

However, I got a glimpse of hope while waiting for the metro when I thought... “You know what? We’ve come so far. We’re doing everything right. We even rehearsed our moves, elbowing people and stomping on toes and screaming Stellan’s name as loud as we can to get his attention. We’re even willing to camp outside the fucking press conference hotel. We can’t possibly fail.”

But for all our meticulous planning, I was responsible for an almost-failure because of my delay the following morning. Remember what Stellan said? Never be late. Never ever. 

So, although my goal was to be at the press conference almost an hour and a half before, we got there only an hour before. That almost cost us everything.

Alyeen knows her way around Berlin and she knew the hotel had various entrances and exits, not just one. Lo and behold, as we approached it from the side, we noticed the road was closed and alongside the pavement there were bars draped with red and yellow Berlinale banners, with small groups of people hanging from them like ripe fruit. As we kept walking, I noticed a spot close to the hotel’s exit where it was getting a bit more crowded, so I peered across the street to see which celeb had attracted their attention and--

-- f-uuuck.

When you see Stellan Skarsgard’s head for the first time in your life hovering over a bunch of fans who are shoving things to sign in his face , there’s only one thing to do.

RUN, MOTHERFUCKER.

That’s all I could whisper to Alyeen1 in utter panic. 

“--run. Run! Ruuuuuuuuuuun.”

I’ve never left a friend behind so quickly.

So we ran like hell. 

We got behind the crowd and I tried to pull my cellphone out but it was too late, Stellan was already thanking the fans and disappearing into the building. If only I wasn’t late that morning!

Years of stress and running and being late have taught me to take a deep breath, give myself a second chance and try to find peace in the eye of the tornado, so I pulled out of the bag a piece of cardboard Alyeen had given me to draw “Hope”s poster with a sharpie. That would calm me down a bit and the wait wouldn’t be so unbearable. Besides we were front row and there was no one between us and the hotel exit, although we still didn’t know which side of the corridor Stellan would pick first, left or right?..

So here’s my reasoning behind the drawing: the previous evening I had wasted my sleep trying to figure out how Tom Hiddleston’s fans were able to stalk him in filming locations (you see, Tom has a wide network of fans reporting on his every move, Stellan doesn’t). Also I wanted to see how his fans got front row on the red carpet and how they got his attention, how they made him do things like kneel for them. I noticed that in order to do that you had to 1) be a flashy cosplayer who catches the eye 2) nag Tom persistently with a voice that’s higher than your usual tone until Tom indulges you. It has to work, right? Like a baby crying for food.

But I’m no cosplayer, I’m an artist, so the idea was to hang a big-ass drawing of mine in front of the barrier to get the attention.

Turns out... I didn’t even need it.

After waiting for about an hour and a half and worrying that Stellan had already left through another exit,  after watching the door open and close half a dozen times and seeing busy celebrities rushing off without signing a single autograph, we were on the brink of despair. 

Until the door opened one more time and 

Stellan was there.

I don’t remember what we did or what we said,  all I remember is that we called his name and dammit, that did get his attention. So we were the first he approached. Fuck.

As soon as he heard us calling him he gave us a broad welcoming smile and was ready for the selfies -  but guess what! I had forgotten to turn off the fucking timer, so Stellan moved on before the pic was taken.

God no. Not now. 

As he was taking a pic with Alyeen I begged him to come back for another try. He said he was too busy and had other fans waiting for him, there were too many of us, but I begged for like 2-3 seconds (a lesson I learned from that Loki cosplayer) so he came back and indulged me one more time.  X__X

After that I was dead inside, not only because I had to beg (I don’t do begging) but also because I had to be a burden to Stellan Skarsgard himself. Like, give me what  I want but please kill me afterwards, okay?

So yeah. Dead inside.

This is why I couldn’t relish the triumph right away, and to Alyeen’s enthusiastic “We did it, we DID IT!!!” my response was a numb “... Did we...?” >__>; 

Inevitably, I had my stress attack after I got what I wanted. Also, I was just realizing that my stupid ancient phone couldn’t use the data I paid for before flying to Berlin so I had to desperately look for free wi fi and post the selfie before... someone stole my cellphone or something. 

For all the mishaps, we got to the red carpet so early that there were very few people waiting before us. Lucky for us 1) this is Berlin, not L.A., where people flock from all over the U.S. to take selfies with celebs they don’t even care for 2) this is Berlin, in February, so it was freezing cold and not many people were willing to freeze their asses off at the red carpet 3) this is Berlin, and crazy screaming fans are scarce. Unless you’re Johnny Depp but thank god Stellan is not Johnny Depp.

Andrea was the first to walk the red carpet and I was really bewildered by the fact that no one was screaming her name. So I called her. And she came! I thanked her for answering my PM and asked for a selfie (I must admit I take better selfies with women than with men). 

She was so sweet with me that I actually gave myself time to think and pull the cardboard sketch out of my bag to show her. I was like, whatever, you have it there, just show her.

She was so excited that she pulled out her phone and took a pic of my sketch. *___*   Crazy, right? I went to Berlin to find a king and found a queen instead.

The rest was like playing out a script. A couple of minutes later, Stellan came out of the car and started signing autographs and taking pictures so I had my second chance at a better selfie. Phew.

So nice of him, so so nice of him.

And oh, look at us lol.

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A post shared by Stellan Skarsgård Fan Acc (@stellanskarsgarddd) on Feb 24, 2020 at 11:32am PST

After the red carpet we could finally breathe. To my surprise, we even had access to the photo call itself in the Zoo Palast lobby.

Stellan was being playful with the photographers, knowing it was his job to pose but also being “whatever” about it, having done it a million times. He gave them one last pose going “Hey hey heyyyy!” and disappeared behind the blue panel until we saw all of them again after the end credits.

The only thing I kinda regret is the fact that Megan was right there, right there, a few meters away from me as her husband was being photographed, but I didn’t dare ask for a selfie because the seats weren’t numbered and we had to rush into the theatre to find a good place. Damn. 

Until next time, I guess. Because there will be a next time, dear comrades. And hopefully Alyeen1 and I won’t be alone. 

[tricktster]

Bruh don't leave us hangin' on the happenstances that took place in the frat house, fill us the fuck in.

Oh sorry I put this part in another post but we got there and were brought into the frat house’s private bar, where we talked with the guys who had invited us and a few of their frat brothers for maybe 20 minutes and drank a beer or two. This is a weird sense memory, but I clearly remember that they had an 80s style boombox on a long banquet table, and they were using it to play a David Hasselhoff cassette tape. I don’t remember what we talked about, other than them all being excited for a barbecue the next day.

I also don’t remember what happened to trigger this, but eventually there was some cue that caused all of the frat brothers in the room to exit through the (only) door, which led back to the main frat house. This left me and Y on our own in this elaborate, wildly well appointed bar. Keep in mind that German frats are, in many cases, better understood as sort of private, wealthy clubs/semi-secret societies that are entirely unaffiliated with the university. This one was sitting on a piece of real estate worth a few million euro, easily, and unlike American frats, this place was NICE. Framed photos on the wall, lacquered bar tables, hardwood floors, restaurant grade keg system... and there’s just me and Y in this space, all by ourselves, kind of bemused as to how we ended up there.

Y spotted it first, the only thing in the bar that immediately leapt out as janky and weird besides the boombox/Hasselhoff situation. “Is that Bert?” She said, pointing to a small tabletop ornament in the corner of the room opposite us. It was. I know this is the goofiest part of the story, but it was a 1.5 foot tall Bert from Sesame Street, and Bert, we simultaneously realized, was dressed in an SS uniform, a tiny mustache, and had been made to pose like he was heiling.

So, like, it’s 2019 now and you can’t throw a stone in America without hitting some edgy asshole white boy who thinks it’s funny to appropriate Nazi imagery. But this was 2008, it was Germany, this was pre-populism/white nationalism gaining a foothold in europe again, and we had enough of a sense of the culture at large to know that nobody, no matter how edgy, joked about Nazis - at least to us, and at least not so casually as dressing Bert up like fucking Hitler. It was an actual taboo, and seeing it openly broken like that was genuinely shocking.

We were taken aback for a long moment, and then I, filled with equal parts beer, buttweed, and genuine apprehension, began poking around more seriously, like a character in a goddamn horror movie. The photos? Alumni of the 500+ year old frat, many in their own SS uniforms. Nationalist banners, fucking swatstkas, all fully represented on the walls of this bar with one exit, in a private club’s mansion surrounded by a ten foot wrought iron spiked fence.

We didn’t know at the time that these frats had a reputation for viewing the Nazi party in a pretty sympathetic light. Y had just wanted to see what the inside of one of those swanky, multimillion dollar houses looked like. I’d only wanted to distract myself from the fact that I’d just smoked marijuana that had been smuggled into the country inside an Egyptian bouncer’s butt. And now we were out of our element, in enemy territory, and the only non-frat members in that house were me and Y.

It stands mentioning again that, while I am a relatively tall, relatively strong, admittedly aryan-passing white woman, the person the frat brothers had been intending to bring back to the house until I got yanked along for the ride was Y, and Y was (and remains) a four foot tall, dark skinned, obviously latina woman, and in the context of being in this Nazi fucking beer hall, that scared the shit out of me. Again, these guys were openly flouting the biggest cultural taboo we knew of, in a house located less than 1000 feet from the empty space memorializing where the town’s synagogue had once stood, which meant that we had ABSOLUTELY NO IDEA what their intentions had been (or still were) towards Y, but had plenty of reason to suspect that they were NOT GREAT.

So I’m there, trying to figure out an exit strategy and simultaneously trying to figure out how many Nazi sympathizers I can reasonably hold off to give Y time to make a break for it if anything broke bad (realistically, even being in the best shape of my life and by that point absolutely swamped with adrenaline, zero), and Y’s just kind of staring down at her beer, glassy-eyes and muttering “holy fuck, okay, fuck,” and about ten of the brothers suddenly file back into the bar.

“We have decided,” one of the original two guys we’d met downtown said, very formally. “To invite you to our barbecue tomorrow.”

“Since you both live in [relatively distant suburb] and the busses have stopped running, it really isn’t safe for you to go home.” Another guy said. “And besides, the barbecue starts at 10:00 am tomorrow. You should just spend the night here.”

Now, in retrospect, these were almost certainly just profoundly shitty wealthy dudes that wanted to sleep with us. There was almost certainly nothing more sinister intended in that invitation than like, the threat of having to discover what a bunch of Nazi sympathizers trying to seduce us would look like. But that’s the fucking thing; when you’re dealing with people willing to openly break one essential social taboo so openly and without any apparent fear of consequence for doing so, you really can’t predict what their intentions or actions will look like.

And so, at that point, all Y and I cared about was getting the fuck out of there. I can’t remember what excuses we came up with for needing to abruptly split. I know we definitely promised to return the next day for the barbecue (no fucking way), I know I gave a Nazi my (fake) phone number, and I know that I had never felt such relief as I did at the moment that we were safely on the other side of the 10 foot iron fence and all we had to contend with was navigating the five miles back to our student apartments in the dark.

On the way home, we grabbed some falafel from the doner place right before it closed at 3 am, and that falafel, my dudes, was the only good decision we made that night.

[comiiical]

gotta love always being broke when my birthday hits, gotta love being the fucking last asshole in this stupid house. whether i study or not, i’ll forever be useless. it’s amazing. let’s expend “200 euros on your brothers every year so they can feel they’re rich in my hometown!!! oh right, your birthday is in 5 days... well, we’ll celebrate it after”. ONE year that this was not going to happen... and it happens nonetheless because my brother is still a fucking asshole. i am... done. why would you have me? seriously, why did you give birth to me? you made me wrong, i am full of health issues, born with a heart defect, unable to breath, 30 years older than i should be due to the abuse that your husband’s and sons and friends smoking around me FOR YEARS without caring for my health have put on my body. why. should. i. be. alive? why? oh yes, because you finally allowed me to adopt a dog 12 years ago RIGHT AFTER I almost die to a heart attack. and what after that, uh? the dog is not even tended as he should. he hasn’t had any single shot in 10 years, and the anti bug collar that we have to protect him run out of effect four years ago. fucking. hell. every single time that there’s something that can be expend on me i decide it’s better gone for home or my dog. I go for the cheapest stuff on my birthday, for the 10 euros games. for the 30 euros games. and what for? what for? my siblings go for the 80 euros shoes, for the 90 euros trousers, shirts, for the 500 euros phones. FOR THE FUCKING CAR THAT IS THE MOST EXPENSIVE that BLEEDS US 400 euros a month. But hey! If I ask something something for my entertaining? That? that’s being selfish. they earn their money, sure. They also waste it. In fucking cigarrettes and alcohol. I, for once, I do not drink or smoke. I eat little, I can easily ignore any drinking soda that i like in order to save us money. I can fucking go without eating, I HAVE FUCKING GONE WITHOUT GOING TO CLASS FOR WEEKS SO YOU WOULDNT USE YOUR MONEY ON ME. but i am always the one wasting it. 

i 

am

done.

32 years old. I am older than jesus got already? No, because I am not yet 32. cos it was 32 right? or was it 27? IDC, whatever.

32 years old and ever since i turned 13 you began to treat me like I had to fight for everything and even then that was never enough. i DREAD to ask for my birthday gift this year already because that FUCKING CAR has left our bank acount in minimums. And we still have things to pay. And it’s may 4th. It’s not may 15th. It’s may 4th. The whole month ahead of us for me to require 100 euros to be used on me. WELL THEN. fuck me. I want nothing.

[nautilusopus]

The Number I

Chapter 12: Cloud Hangs Out in a Bathroom and the Piss Joke Comes Full Circle Sort Of

I figured out how to use the AO3 googledocs script and it's a fucking lifesaver. No longer do I have to spend an hour at a time reformatting every single chapter. That would have especially been a problem because man there's a lot of italics in this next bit. .

Another title I seriously considered for this fic was GHOST PISS: THE PISSENING, especially back when this thing was a catty 500-word jab at someone's whack-ass headcanon. I still think that's better than "To Live". I'll figure something out.

Thanks a bunch to @fury-brand, @cateringisalie, and @limbostratus for making sure this thing remains up to snuff.

There are holes in the world, and spaces between numbers. Neither should exist. Cloud starts noticing them, and he isn’t the only one who has. And unfortunately for him, he’s both. (Contains graphic depictions of violence.)

"Does it hurt?" asked Tifa.

Cloud had been sitting in the bathroom with her for an hour, with Barret standing guard out front. Best to keep it in one place as much as they could. It had to be soon. They'd been waiting all day. It would be soon. They knew it would be soon --

He forced himself to actually pay attention to Tifa and shrugged, as though he weren't a bundle of nerves at the moment. "Not really. It's just... it's really unpleasant."

"Like Jenova?" asked Tifa.

"...A little," said Cloud. "I don't really... it doesn't make me want to be used, like Jenova. And it's a lot clearer, too." He set down the shampoo bottle he'd been reading for the sixth time so far. "I do hear things, though. Sometimes it sounds like Her."

"Can you hear it now?"

Cloud shook his head. "Just Mother. And She's not very loud right now." It took him a moment to figure out why Tifa was staring at him. "I mean --"

"I know what you meant," said Tifa. But now she looked worried again. Perfect.

"It's not what you think," he said quickly. "I just got used saying that."

"...How much do you remember about your ******************," asked Tifa. Cloud blinked hard a couple times as a searing white light crossed his vision, and Jenova's whispers momentarily peaked into shrieks.

"...Not a whole lot. I think I looked more like her than Father," he said, as a dull ache settled into his temples. "I don't remember how, though." He strained harder, trying to recall anything about Ma that he had left, which wasn't particularly a lot. "...The folks in the village called her a whore a bunch. I don't know if she was an actual prostitute or not." He looked at Tifa expectantly.

Tifa looked away. "I don't know. I never really bothered with you much in those days. Papa said if I hung out with bastards I'd get knocked up, and that was good enough for me."

Cloud looked at her incredulously. "He said that to you? You were, what... five?"

"Not in those exact words, but yeah," said Tifa, relaxing a bit. This was always a sore subject for her. "And you scared me. I didn't want to deal with you back then anyway. Especially after you bit Argos."

"Wish I remembered that."

"You probably don't," said Tifa. "When it started bleeding they shoved you in the supply closet of the general store."

"Maybe not," said Cloud. He considered reading the conditioner again, just for a little variety, and decided against it. "...It's -- I wish I felt worse about it. I remember it all ending but I just don't remember... them." He looked back at Tifa nervously. "Sorry if that sounds kind of dickish."

"Let me out," said Tifa.

Cloud blinked. Maybe he'd lost track of the conversation and said something especially rude. "The door's right there. Barret won't listen to me, though, so --"

"Let me out," said Tifa again, and this time her voice didn't just come from her mouth. It came from the walls, and the ceiling, and inside his head. "Let me out. Let me in. Let me out." Tifa was staring at him, but he got the horrible sense she was full of something -- that it was moving under her skin, ready to burst. The walls, too, had things behind them. This little pocket in the bathroom was the only thing between himself and the vast, roaring space surrounding them. There shadows were there, slipping themselves into his flesh -- no, out, he was leaking like the walls would be soon; and the noise of it all was unbearably loud, so loud it was sure to tear through the walls and the floor and the horrible thing that only looked like Tifa. He wanted to scream to let some the noise out of his head, but his jaw didn't seem to be responding to him anymore.

"Let me in. Let me in. Let me out. My child."

Shut up! thought Cloud. Just shut the fuck up!

And, miraculously, the noise stopped. The walls were no longer hiding something horrible, and Tifa was standing there, looking rather alarmed. "...Are you okay? Is it here?" she asked.

I think so, he thought. No. That wasn't right. He'd wanted to --

His mouth opened, and what came out instead was:

"No, I'm fine."

Something touched her.

She knew something touched her, she was sure of it. She looked around frantically to see what it was, but suddenly there was the sensation of cold tile beneath her, and she let out a sharp gasp.

She made a note of it anyway, because if they needed any more reason to be sure they were doing something terrible it was hallucinations filled with bad omens. Round two of invading someone's personal life. Here goes.

"...Are you okay? Is it here?" came a voice to her left.

She turned and saw she wasn't alone. There was a woman here with her, one she hadn't seen before. She was, Aeris decided as she looked at the arms coming out of the camisole she was wearing, the kind of woman that could probably rip apart a telephone pole and use it as a toothpick. This was almost definitely the person that had body slammed her into the floor.

Aeris immediately panicked.

"No, I'm fine," she blurted.

She felt something stir in her head. Her vision went strange for an instant and her head swam, and she realised it was because she was feeling two emotions at once. One of them was hers -- the one involving guilt and fear of being thrown out a window. The other one was white hot fury.

...You lied. You lied to her, said a small voice. Cloud, she remembered. This person was called Cloud.

I'm sorry. I didn't mean -- Aeris faltered.

Yes, you did! said Cloud. Why... why would...

Fear, this time. Defeat. Something that felt like sadness but much uglier. She was surprised she hadn't noticed him doing this last night because it was absolutely unbearable and, more importantly, distracting. The woman was saying something else. Aeris focused harder on it, and the voice quieted down.

"...sure? We can wait somewhere bigger if the size is getting to you," said the woman.

"Okay. That's fine," said Aeris. This was unworkable. The door opened, and Aeris realised she was sitting next to the toilet.

"...I'm gonna be a minute, actually," she said, gesturing to the toilet. The woman nodded and left the room, closing the door behind her.

Aeris turned her attention back to the voice in her head that was, for all intents and purposes, screaming.

Please be quiet and listen to me for just a moment, she thought.

Fuck you.

That seemed to be a universal gesture, then. At least Cissnei would get a kick out of the transcript.

I'm sorry. There's nothing I can do about this, but --

You can go away and never come back.

Alright. That’s true. I can go away and never come back. And then someone else will show up to replace me and do the same thing. And maybe they won't want to listen to you and try and make this as painless as possible for both of us.

...What are you --

Listen, thought Aeris, I'm part of a multinational, multi-billion euro effort to explore other worlds. This is... a lot more than we ever expected to find. Maybe interesting plants, or some sort of sponge. Maybe even complex animals. Never people. Never... whatever species you call yourself.

...We're humans, it said, after a moment. Aeris's stomach did another flip.

...Well, that settles that, I suppose.

What?

Just -- I didn’t think… I mean, I suppose it makes sense now, obviously, that we’re both human, and -- you know, it’s really interesting that -- it’s just that before all this started --

You’re a human, he said incredulously.

Yes -- anyway, we just... the pattern we're using is... you, I think. We don't entirely understand it. But the whole project hinges on... your cooperation, I suppose. If you'd be willing to offer it.

I'm not, it -- he said.

I understand, said Aeris. I'm sorry. But there's no way around doing this right now. And then she did something she knew no scientist should ever do, and she twisted the evidence to suit her views. ...Yet, anyway. Not without your help.

What do you mean? He had calmed down enough for her to think straight, and she quickly pressed on.

We don't know what it is about you that makes you're the only contact point we have, and we don't know much about you personally either. If you can just give us information for a little while, we can try other methods of contact that don't involve you or your... your family, at all. Alright?

There was a pause. How do I know I can trust you? he said.

...I promise. I don't want this any more than you do. I swear, none of us knew.

Silence. Aeris pinched the bridge of her nose, which felt different under callused fingertips. She caught a glimpse of herself in the mirror then, and started slightly. Blond flyaway hair, pale complexion, very fine features. Crooked downturned nose, as though it had been broken more than a few times. Clean shaven. A scar above the eyebrow, and another one by the jawline. Pierced ears -- both in the same spot on each ear, also worth asking about. Nothing out of the ordinary, except for the eyes; the pupils were slitted like a cat's, or perhaps a snake's. What she'd at first thought was simply a vibrant shade of blue actually appeared to be paired with a natural bioluminescence. She continued staring, and she could have sworn there were tendrils of acidic green moving and twisting around the pupils. She shivered involuntarily, and then noticed the bags under said eyes, and the sallowness of the skin, and the worry lines etched into his face, and the steady contamination of fear into her thoughts. She looked away from the mirror.

How about... we'll compromise. You can talk to me and help us both out. And I won't do anything you don't want me doing anymore. I didn’t know you were -- well, a person, and… and if I’d known, then... you tell me where to go, and I'll go there. Okay?

...Okay, came the reply.

Good. She prepared to leave the room, then quickly turned around and flushed the toilet and ran the sink for a few seconds, then opened the door to the enormous man with the metal arm. So... let's try again. My name's Aeris. What's yours?

...My name's Cloud, he said nervously. The man looked at Aeris uncomfortably, and she gave a small smile and a wave in response. The man seemed stunned by her (perhaps waving wasn't a recognised gesture here), and she quickly walked past him into the hall.

...And that was Barret. His daughter's Marlene.

I remember them from last night. She looked down the hall and made her way into another room. They live here?

No, said Cloud. They visit sometimes. The whole family is over right now.

Is there any special occasion?

You could say that, said Cloud coldly. The coma, for starters. The wandering off in the middle of the night. Smashing up the walls.

I'm sorry -- began Aeris, and then stopped. Wait... how long ago was the crash?

Few days.

...You're in really good condition, then, said Aeris. She decided to actually sit down until she knew where she was going in this building. What are your doctors like? What kind of medicine do --

I got released and we healed the rest back home, next question, said Cloud rather bluntly. Aeris tried again.

What do you mean by "healed"?

...You know. Made it so I wasn't bleeding everywhere. Wiped the blood off. Bandaged what needed bandaging. Stuff like that.

Did you use any kind of medicines to do that?

You're awfully interested in all that doctor shit, aren't you? said Cloud, and the way he phrased it it seemed almost like an accusation.

Aeris wanted to scream. Of all the people to make first contact with, and it was some stick-in-the-mud alternative medicine whackjob. Probably unvaccinated.

No, that wasn't fair. She was in his space. She threw him under a car. Of course he was angry. Still, he could stand to be a bit more cooperative about it.

...I am, actually, because we noticed a few things while we were doing this. We want to make sure you're not sick... apart from the physical injuries.

Uh huh.

Look. Aeris forced her hands to unclench. I’m sure this is going to sound terribly rude, but... do you have a brain?

Fuck off.

Deep breaths. Handle this professionally. I am doing my best, Mr. Strife. You're going to have to work with me.

What kind of question is that?

The kind where we detected the bare minimum of brain activity required to function. Look, where… the way things work where I’m from is, when we think, there’s electrical impulses that travel in our heads. And if someone isn’t thinking as much, there’s less --

I know what a brain is. I have a brain.

Well… we didn’t find as strong of a reading as we would from someone in my world. Not that I’m saying you aren’t thinking as much. Maybe you’re thinking differently. We know what we're measuring is correct, but we don't know if maybe we're measuring the wrong things, and you're somehow still functioning like this. We'd like to know if this is typical of... er... humans. From what she'd seen in the mirror earlier, she still wasn't sure if that term meant the same thing to Cloud as it did to her.

...I have a medical condition, said Cloud. It was the first time he hadn't sounded snide. If anything, he seemed about as confused as she was. ...A few medical conditions, actually. I think -- I mean, maybe that's why you're not getting as much... I dunno, thinking, as you would from people without something like that.

...I'm not sure that's how it works, said Aeris.

Well, since you’re so damn smart and you know more than me I guess you can just leave now. So much for that, then.

Sorry. Let’s just… your ears. You got them pierced. Is that commonplace? Are there any reasons people do it specifically?

...Some parts. In Nibel and Gongaga and around Corel. They do it when you’re eleven. Makes you an adult.

Who does it? Your parents? A religious leader?

Your father if you’re a guy, your mother if you’re a girl.

So your father did yours? How did he do it?

He didn’t, and I didn’t want Ma doing it because everyone would laugh. I wound up doing my own with an ice cube and a sewing needle. A lot of guys started getting it done in the city, but it’s just a trend for them.

So, would you say there’s a stigma against --

I’m not comfortable talking about this with you.

Oh. That seemed to be a yes, which meant she’d probably been rude again, which meant he was probably no closer to trusting her. Well… let’s try a different question. What... what kinds of technologies would you say your society most excels at?

Huh?

Well... it looks like you have electricity and running water... Simple concepts, she reminded herself. Chances were he hadn't spent years of his life researching the concept of technological development in extraterrestrial species. He was just some blue-collar bystander that was unfortunate enough to get caught up in all this.

A thought suddenly occurred to her. You mentioned you're a mechanic, right? Could you show me some of the work you do?

There was a small jolt of excitement -- the same kind she'd get when someone asked her about a show she liked. It was quickly replaced by hostility again. I mean... you'll have to go there.

Yes -- sorry. She got to her feet and looked around the room she was in. ...Tell me where.

There's a door that leads behind the building through the back room, said Cloud. Aeris strode down the stairs, and quickly pulled up short at the bottom upon being met with an older man sporting a five o'clock shadow and a strong aura of cigarette smoke about him, who immediately began to follow him as though this was perfectly natural.

...What does he want? Should I say something? she asked, glancing nervously at the man.

That's Cid. And he wants to keep an eye on me. Someone has to constantly.

Why?

Because I asked them to, because you keep happening, and it's freaking everyone out.

"Where the hell do you think you're going?" said the man, Cid, suddenly. He stepped between her and the door, giving her a judging look.

"Er..." Right. The mob bit.

You want to fix Fenrir. She's still all dinged up.

"Just... gonna fix Fenrir a bit. I won't go far," said Aeris. It was strange, speaking aloud in a voice that wasn't hers.

Cid shook his head. "If you lose it again, we need you in here. Ain't no one in here that can outrun you if it gets going."

"Well..." faltered Aeris. "I mean, you might be able to. If you got a good pace going."

Perhaps there was some double entendre involving running in this society that she wasn't aware of, because Cid sniggered loudly and began laughing.

"Yeah, just fuckin' maybe. Just get a good stretch in. Drink some water. Quit smoking," said Cid. Aeris blinked in confusion. Cid must have interpreted it as offense, and he continued.

"Too risky. I'm real sorry, but... actually, maybe we could clear a space in here. You'd have to move the damn thing, obviously, but..."

"Yes, that would be fine," said Aeris.

Cid gave her another look, and stepped away from the door, muttering something that sounded an awful lot like "dumbass" under his breath. She was finally allowed outside, at least, and took her first look around at the world, which was no longer blurred and distorted. In fact, it seemed almost too sharp...

She had a brief moment to catch a glimpse of the sky -- heavy overcast, it seemed, with bits of pale blue peeking through. It was very warm, even then -- perhaps thirty degrees or so. She couldn't see much from the alley she appeared to be in, but there were pedestrians out dressed in light summer clothing, save for one oddball with a heavy jacket. She couldn't see any cars parked on the side of the road, but she could hear the roar of an engine off in the distance. Something still seemed odd about the street, though she still couldn't quite put her finger on what. Then she took her first breath of fresh air.

The information hit her before she even knew what it was, and her eyes widened as a flurry of some sort of unknown stimulus from an equally unknown source bombarded her. It took her a moment to realise it was scent, but it was unlike anything she'd experienced with it before. There were smells she recognised like dirt and soap and cooking meat, and there were scents that were completely alien to her, ones she knew meant things like humans and dog and the woman-from-the-bar and grass-from-far-away, but didn't know how she knew those things. And the noise -- more and more of it, pouring in from every direction; until between the sheer cacophony of her surroundings and the sudden experience of apparently having scent as a viable source of information about the world, she could barely think straight.

Cid was saying something to her. She could hear him quite plainly but she was distracted by how he smelled like Cid who smelled like Cid who smelled like Tifa who smelled like soap Tifa bar Cloud human Cid --

"While I'm still young, Cloud," drawled Cid. Aeris forced herself over to what was probably the largest motorcycle she'd ever seen, still nonplussed.

"...Something wrong?" he asked.

"It's -- yes. Noise --nose -- no," was all she managed to stammer out. God, she would have given anything for a sinus cold right now. She was going to blow this whole thing already.

Strangely enough, Cid didn't seem to think anything of this, and simply gave her a reassuring pat on the back as she stood there looking confused and overwhelmed. "C'mon. I'll get the tools. You just take care of the bike."

She looked down at the bike, then back up at Cid, who had already turned his back to her and did not appear interested in helping her move it. She looked back down at the bike.

Pick it up, said Cloud. Aeris didn't have much room in her thoughts at the moment to argue, and bent down to get a good grip around the middle before giving it an enormous yank.

Aeris nearly fell flat on her back as she wildly overcompensated and the motorcycle was effortlessly lifted into the air. She looked over at Cid, who seemed to be barely managing with the heavy toolboxes he'd tucked under his arms, and strode in after him. Aeris shut the door behind them, somehow not even having much trouble holding it with one arm, and gently set it down on the floor. The tortuous smells had already leaked inside, but they were being slowly replaced with ones that were apparently familiar enough for her brain to filter them out.

It was then that Aeris suddenly realised she'd lifted about 200 kilos of metal as though it were little more than styrofoam.

She looked back at Cid. His pupils were rounded. Come to think of it, Tifa's had been too. And Barret's. And nothing had been glowing on any of them.

Several questions. But for later. Cloud seemed to be trying to get her attention.

Here’s how this is gonna work: I don't want you dinging out dents you don't know how to ding out and making everything worse, he said, and if you touch her and I haven't told you to, I swear to every last god I'll kill you. So we're going to open her up and check if the engine is okay, and then we're going to not touch a single fucking thing otherwise. Alright?

I wasn't going to, said Aeris, gritting her teeth. Deep breaths. She owed him for the car. This is fine. Thank you for your cooperation. This is really helpful.

He continued onward without a moment’s hesitation. Pop open that panel with the big scratch on it.

They passed the next two hours (or whatever passed for hours here) carefully disassembling their way towards the inner workings of the motorcycle. If this had accomplished anything, it was that it seemed to relax Cloud quite a bit. He seemed more focused on instructing her which tools (some familiar, some not) to ask Cid for and what parts went where than he did about his current situation. Most of it made very little sense to her, particularly when Cloud started talking about materia and currents, but she took careful notes of every last bit of it. Whatever it was all about, he seemed to know a great deal about it, and a detailed account of how this particular engine worked, what developments had been made how many years ago, and how common certain elements were in general society (apparently the motorcyle, Fenrir, was a particularly fancy handmade custom job) was waiting back on the server in the fifth ring. Cloud wasn’t exactly a political leader, but a mechanic wasn’t a bad substitution for the time being.

So, what kind of car hit you? she asked as he was enthusiastically going over the internal gyroscope he’d installed.

I never said it was a car. It was a semi.

...A what?

A semi. It’s a kind of vehicle they use to --

No, I know what a semi is, that’s… you were on a motorcycle. You should be dead. How did you --

That’s what the doctors said, too. And the mob.

...How did you survive?

There was a long pause. He was wary of her again, and ashamed of something else.

Guess I was just lucky, he said finally. I’ve always been pretty tough, you know. And they were able to sew my arm on in the ambulance ride over.

Your arm came off?!

I put it -- I mean, they put it back on. Like I said. So it’s fine.

Seems like you’re in good health now. That’s… She experimentally waggled the fingers, and reached up to touch feel her arm. Towards the shoulder she found a mass of scar tissue.

...Are you sure you don’t want to talk about the medicine you had access to? We don’t have anything like it where I’m from. You could save a lot of lives with that kind of knowledge.

I’m sure, he said tersely, and there was a note of finality in his voice. She let it drop for now.

Halfway through Cloud giving an impassioned speech about how Fenrir's power supply worked, and how he got the idea from "mako", something that people used to use before it was outlawed, Cid spoke up, making her jump slightly.

"...I meant what I said earlier," said Cid. Aeris blinked again. Should she have known this? She probably should have known this.

Cid didn't seem bothered by her confusion, either. "When we spoke a couple days back, I said you were welcome to crash at my place until this all blows over," Cid recapped, without a hint of the annoyance or sarcasm she'd expected to continue over from earlier. "There's nobody there that'll give you shit for setting foot outside your own damn house if I tell 'em not to. You worked hard, getting where you got. And I'm proud of you, even if all those assholes ain't. You know that, right?"

What do I say? asked Aeris frantically. But Cloud either didn't want to tell her, or was at a loss for words himself. Something swelled in her chest and crept up into her throat. She was sad? Happy? Disappointed? This one felt more complicated. She wished he'd stop doing it.

Aeris nodded, doing her best to look as though this were a normal conversation between... brothers? cousins? in-laws? What exactly constituted a "family" in this culture, anyway?

It was a normal conversation, right? Maybe it wasn't. Maybe someone had died recently.

"You're a good kid, Cloud," said Cid, beginning to pack up the tools. The swelling feeling intensified again, and she finally recognised it; it was love. The same kind of feeling Aeris had experienced over things like her mother applauding her at her graduation, or her father carrying her home from the hospital when she'd dislocated her arm even though he'd always said she was much too big to be carried, or those two years with her ex when things seemed to be going amazing.

Over "you can sleep on my couch for a while", apparently. And yet here he was acting as though this man had just proposed to him.

She'd take the outdoors again in an instant before she had to sit through another second of this. It was gawking at a funeral times a million.

"...Thanks," she said eventually, though she was sure it sounded insincere.

There was movement above her -- god, there was way too much movement everywhere -- and a moment later the woman from earlier, Tifa, reappeared at the bottom of the stairs.

"There you are. I thought we were gonna try to limit collateral damage."

Aeris looked at Cid uncertainly.

"Thought we'd get some work done," said Cid. "This way he stays inside, yeah?"

"You're right next to a door," said Tifa.

"I was watching him!"

"I'm not gonna go back outside," said Aeris. She'd had enough of that nightmare to last a lifetime.

Tifa frowned. "...I'd still feel better if you were closer by than that. C'mon." She disappeared up the stairs again. Aeris nervously followed.

They were shut up in the bathroom again with little fanfare. Tifa sat on the edge of the bathtub, and Aeris sat down under the towels against the wall.

How are your families typically structured? Are all these people blood relatives? It was as good of a time to ask as any.

No, was the unhelpful reply she got.

...I see. Well... how do families typically form?

Well, my mother laid a clutch of about thirty eggs, said Cloud. Then when we hatch we dig our way out of the broodhole. We're raised communally by all the fathers, and whoever manages to eat their siblings the fastest gets to pupate and reach adulthood.

And... how long would you say each phase is? This was a lot to write down...

About three months as an infant, six years as a larvae. I'm twelve years old.

Oh. Really? You're very articulate.

No. All of that was bullshit. And about tonberries.

Aeris sighed heavily. Sir, I am trying to -- why are you making this difficult on both of us?

Because I hate you, said Cloud. Because -- because this is all I have, because I can't move or fight you off or ask for help or anything. You could make me slit my throat or someone else's right now and I wouldn't be able to stop you, and the only guarantee I have that you won't is that you want me to "trust" you. Like I have a choice not to. Like... as though it would matter even if I didn't. Which I don't.

...I wouldn't do that, Cloud. I would hope you'd believe no one would do something like that.

They would, he spat. If someone had that kind of power, they would in a heartbeat, just to prove they could.

"Are you okay?"came Tifa's voice again, making her jump and interrupting her reply. She was staring at her concernedly. "You seem upset about something."

"It's nothing," said Aeris. Tifa simply crossed her arms.

"Cloud, you were in a coma over this, and you're still... we promised, didn't we?" She moved from her spot on the bathtub and sat next to him. Very close. Very very close.

"You can tell me. I won't hate you, I just want to know. I'm worried," she said.

You made her worry, came the bitter reply in her head. It wasn't me. It was you. You made her worry.

"It's..." Aeris faltered. Tell me what to say.

I don't know what to say.

Is she your sister? Is she your wife? Do you have either of those things here? She's still staring at me.

She's not my sister. I don't have any relatives.

"Cloud? If there's something wrong, you can let me know about it," repeated Tifa, but this time her words were tinged with suspicion.

"I'm perfectly fine," said Aeris.

Tifa's eyes narrowed. "...Really."

"Yes."

"So, if you're fine, you won't mind going back to a hospital for a quick check-up."

"Yeah that's -- that's fine."

Tifa's eyes widened -- whatever she had been expecting, it apparently wasn't that.

And just like that, Aeris was forced onto her back and pinned to the floor, her head impacting with the tile with a loud crack.

"You're not Cloud," she said. "You're not Cloud, you're --" and then she did something odd, and used her free hand to grab Aeris's left arm and yank it into view. The arm -- Cloud's arm, was absolutely covered in scars. The vast majority of them appeared to be some sort of acid burn.

Tifa looked from the arm back to Aeris. "What..."

"He's safe," she said, trying her best to sound calm and reassuring. "He isn't in any pain. He can hear you."

"Give him back," she demanded, and Aeris was certain there was fear undercutting her tone. Tifa moved her hands to his neck. "I thought -- I thought you were dead. I thought we killed you."

Aeris frowned. "Killed...?"

Tifa was staring at Aeris now, looking rather upset. She hadn't actually started squeezing yet.

"...I won't do it, you know," she said. "I know what you're trying to do, and I won't do it."

Do what? What is she talking about?

I tried to make her promise that if anyone ever did to me again what you're doing to me now, she'd kill me. She didn't want to promise.

Aeris was now staring at Tifa, alarmed and confused and still aching slightly. What do you mean, "again"?

...None of your business.

No help. None at all. Absolutely ridiculous. "...I don't -- I don't want you to kill him. I'm going to sit up again, alright?"

Tifa did not move. "What did you do to him?"

"I'm not sure. That's what Cloud is supposed to be helping me find out," said Aeris. The sarcasm seemed to confuse her further, and she sighed again.

"I just want to help," she said. "I'm going to sit up, and hopefully we can talk about this."

Tifa stared at her for another moment, then slowly moved off to the side. Aeris sat up, rubbing the back of her head. Her fingers lingered over the outlines of several more scars she could feel under the hair. Perfectly curved -- maybe surgical in nature? They seemed to be from before the recent accident, given she couldn't feel any bald patches. Odd.

"Introductions are in order, I think," said Aeris. "What's your name?"

Tifa stared at her. And stared. And stared.

"You mean you don't know?" she said eventually.

Aeris opened her mouth to reply and got a lungful of warm tank air. Zack was leaning over her.

"Sorry for cutting you off, but we didn't wanna keep you drugged for too long," he explained.

"That's alright," she said. She felt as though she'd hit a wall with that particular session anyway.

"This is -- this is incredible," said Zack when they were going over the data half an hour later. "I mean, it's -- wow. You know?"

"I think I do," said Aeris. She looked around at the team -- they seemed elated. She envied them a bit -- they hadn't had to also endure someone panicking into their head for the last few hours. "Where's Tseng?"

"'Compiling data.' Sulking, more like," said Cissnei. "He's a bit disappointed to find out it's just humans."

"Your idea of smoothing things over is interesting," said Angeal dryly. "They don't seem to like you much more than they did before."

"They probably never will," said Zack, shrugging. "This guy clearly has a chip on his shoulder about the whole thing."

"Well they'll need to if we want to keep this project going," said Aeris, setting a dry towel down on a desk a bit too hard. "How are we supposed to get information like 'atmospheric makeup' and 'cultural basics' from someone like this? There's -- he can tell us something, I suppose, at least about himself, but he doesn't seem to want to."

"You'll have to compensate for damages somehow."

"How am I supposed to do that?" grumbled Aeris. "Run back home, pick him some flowers, and take them into the tank with me? If you're so smart, you figure it out."

"Well for starters, you can loosen up a little," said Zack.

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You're treating this like it's customer service, and he's mad because his food had a hair in it," said Zack.

"Show me where I made light of --"

"Nah, not like that. I mean, look at what you're saying." Zack quickly went back over to a computer and scrolled up through her transcript. "'I am doing my best, Mr. Strife. You're going to have to work with me.' 'I understand you are frustrated.' Seems like he's got an issue with authority figures, and you trying to be one of those and getting mad at him probably isn't helping. You gotta pick one. At least then he'll know where you're coming from."

Aeris eyed him amusedly. "Do you have a psychology doctorate as well?"

"Nah. I think Lazard does, though. Right, Lazard?"

"I don't," said Lazard. "Please remain focused."

"That's no good. Six people cooped up in one tiny space and no shrink for any of us." Zack leaned back in his chair and spun back around to face Aeris again. "Honestly, though, if it were me, I wouldn't want a professional anyone giving me orders."

"I assumed, if it were me, I'd want to know someone in the equation knew what they were doing," said Aeris, yawning as the drugs started to creep up on her again.

"But you'd want it to be you, right?"

"...I would."

"You don't get out much do you?" asked Zack. "No offense."

"...Not really," admitted Aeris. "Between the constant moving and getting jumped a bunch of grades, it was hard to find anyone to talk to. Why, do you?"

Zack snorted. "I wish. Been on a bunch of teams with testosterone-fueled asshats, though, and you've gotta be good at handling people that don't wanna be handled."

"Oh?"

"Hey, if you're reading into that for anything about you, that's on your end, not mine," said Zack, switching off the monitor. "Just saying, it's worth a shot. Not like he's gonna hate you more."

"Alright," said Aeris. "With a couple changes."

"Deep breaths. Come on."

It had been a good thing they were already in the bathroom. One of the first things Cloud had done upon regaining his senses was hunch over the seat and spit up the contents of his stomach into it. The nausea hadn't been as bad this time. It seemed to mostly be from nerves.

"I'm okay," said Cloud. "I'm fine." He was still shaking, he knew. But there was something he'd had this time that he'd been missing the last several times, and that was control. Or at least the illusion of it, which was still better than nothing.

They'd finally moved him out of the bathroom, given the danger had passed, and they had him back in his room sandwiched between Tifa and Cid, who hadn't made eye contact with either one of them.

Cid took a deep breath. “...I shoulda said something, and I didn’t. Just figured you were outta your head like normal.”

Cloud nodded. “It’s okay.”

Tifa cleared her throat nervously. "How long were you...?"

"Since before, in the bathroom," replied Cloud.

"Barret told me to check on you." Tifa hadn't looked at Cid, either. "He said you were acting weird."

"Where is he now?"

"Out with Marlene," said Cid. "He's trying to get someone to watch her while he deals with this. No sense in keeping her cooped up here with us."

"He can leave if he wants," said Cloud. "I wouldn't mind." It wasn't fair to either of them. Not to anyone here, really, but especially Barret and Marlene.

"Well, he's staying here. His choice. Ain't nothin' anyone can do about that."

Cloud nodded. He didn't really understand why. If any of them had a right to bail on this dumpster fire, it was Barret. He thought back, trying to come up with a single moment that would explain any of it.

As incidental as it was, Jessie had been the first one to actually touch him.

He realised months later that it must have technically been Tifa, carrying him home from the Sector 2 landfill while on a supply run, bringing home a body and an extra mouth to feed instead of the raw materials for weapons she was supposed to have been salvaging. But Jessie had been the first one he'd been conscious of.

"You've got soot on your face," she'd said, and before he could actually reply she'd already spat on the corner of her shirt and carefully wiped it off. Her hand had lingered for perhaps a bit longer than had been appropriate, but Cloud hadn't noticed. The unexpected contact had come as a shock, as was the question it had prompted -- when was the last time anyone had actually touched him? It must have been a few weeks before he'd signed on with Avalanche, hadn't it? He was pretty sure he'd had plenty of friends in Soldier. Someone had probably brushed up against him or shaken his hand or something. But it still felt like a lot longer, somehow.

The second one had been Barret. Tifa had been asking him all sorts of questions -- questions he knew the obvious answers to, but she hadn't stopped staring. He wasn't sure if she was displeased with him or not. She was so hard to read. Barret, he could deal with because Barret was uncomplicated -- Barret hated him because he was an asshole and an "expensive leech", and Cloud did his best to live up to that reputation, because who cared what Barret thought? Nothing complicated with that, and Cloud liked things uncomplicated.

So it had come as another, even greater shock when they were in Kalm when Barret had approached him as they were packing up to leave.

"I know none of that was easy to talk about, but I'm glad you did. And I want you to know, I'm seein' this through to the end if you are."

And then he'd put his hand on his shoulder.

Barret said something else after that. Cloud didn't remember what it was, because all he'd been paying attention to was the warmth of the hand on his shoulder.

It hadn't been anything remarkably intimate, he knew -- he'd had loads of squadmates in Soldier that had definitely done the same thing. And he was sure they liked him better than Barret did.

It just seemed like a long time, was all. And it actually felt really nice.

And he found himself badly wanting it more.

Barret took his hand off his shoulder after he was finished saying whatever it was he was saying and walked away, and Cloud didn't know how to ask him to please do it again, for longer this time.

It was such a juvenile thing to want, too; Soldiers probably didn't care about that sort of thing.

And just like that, the notion was gone, and he barely remembered thinking it in the first place.

[doodlepip1]

Fucking driving

Hello. I am going to talk about something which is near and dear to my heart. Which is fucking driving. When I turned 17 this year, I was twitching in my sleep because I finally knew I would be able to get behind the wheel of my new baby.

 My birthday is in January and I was adamant, insistent, (and I’m stubborn) I would have my P plates by March. Sorry, can someone remind me of the month? Oh, is it March? Oh, golly I am naïve. Anyway, long story short I drive every day, managed hit a curb yesterday (with my instructor in the car! He wasn't happy), and I’ve failed my theory twice. It’s utter bullshit, I pass the multiple choice every single time. But the devil of the 21st century won’t let me pass through the gates of freedom. It’s called hazard perception. Oh, yes I’ve heard it all, ‘But that's the easiest part, everyone struggles with the questions.’ Oh do they? You judgmental fucker. It’s clearly not, BECAUSE I CAN’T DO IT!! I’ve chucked £46 at this now, along with the £8 app and I’m going for round 3 in 2 weeks, and if I don’t pass this time I’m pretty sure I’m getting disowned. My lovely and supportive mother has already started planning to find a girl who looks like me who’s not as thick as her own darling precious apple of her eye to take it for me. (DVSA don’t come arrest me.) The other highly annoying part is, I’m actually a very good driver. Well as long as:

1)     I’m not tired

2)     I’m not hangry – check it in the urban dictionary.

3)     There aren’t cars around me.

Nah I’m kidding I challenge you all to a race and I’ll win you pedestrians.

 Right so now my personal issues are out of the way, I would like to discuss the real issue with driving in the UK. Plus, worth a read because I’ve actually done a fair bit of research in this (like F. Brucey herself would.)

 For my masses and masses of followers, if anyone of you who aren’t in the UK here’s a quick explanation of how our shitty driving system works. You either hire an instructor or drive with your parents (or both.) It’s advised to have 47 hours, which is, and I can assure you – ridiculous! Someone I know had 40, (failed on Tuesday sadly, he was going to be my taxi). He didn’t have a car or use his parents though. Purely using his lessons alone. I have got 20 lessons, and I drive with my mum every day, either just coming home from school or we go for hours on a Sunday, (and I mean 6-8 hours!) but we always get ice cream or biscuits or grab a treat from the Lidl bakery which is bloody amazing. Bit risky at the moment though because people’s grubby hands could have touched my brownie and no way am I getting corona off some prick who can’t use the tongs. So, no Lidl bakery for a while.

Completely off on a tangent. Basically in the UK you need to take a theory test which has 2 parts (changing in April though), your hazard perception which is where you watch a video with the view as the driver and you just need to click the screen when you see a hazard emerging. Its scored between 1-5, (the sooner you click the higher mark you receive.) There are 13 videos with 5 marks available, and 1 question worth 10 with 2 hazards. You need to get 44/75. Which is an average of 2.9 per video (rounding to 3). I got 36 both times. It is not as easy as it sounds. The next section is straight forward multiple-choice questions. You must get 43 or above out of 50. This is easy as the questions are all pre released but the hazard perception is not. There are also approximately 500 questions you must learn, (not as bad as it sounds, you just have to dedicate time).

Anyway, driving is nationalized. Meaning it is owned by the UK’s government, (as Stormzy rightly said, ‘fuck the government and fuck Boris’ I am in complete agreement when it comes to driving). The government say you shouldn’t be waiting more than 6 weeks for a driving test. My theory tests were a matter of weeks. This is because it is approximately 15 people to 1 or 2 members of staff as you are using computers in one room. Imagine an exam hall. However, I have been told I could be waiting for a driving test until May or June before the corona virus even became an issue for us Brits. That’s fucking ridiculous. The government states you should wait no longer than 6 weeks for a test. You have to pay for tests, pay for lessons, and then you have to wait. What if you don’t have a car and are needing to pay for lessons so you feel confident enough to drive. (Driving lessons can cost up to £35-40 per hour. Mine are £25 and considered cheap.) I can’t see how that is very fair, but then again, I am blonde, and failed this so-called theory twice, so why am I credible? (If you’re not sensing this sarcasm you don’t deserve to be on my page.) So basically, a piss take.

 I understand the multiple choice. I have learnt a lot which is needed and has made me a better driver, ie: road signs, foggy conditions and if there’s animals what to do if they’re on the road but I don’t think hazard perception is a good indication. A lot of the time I notice the hazard before it’s a hazard and then just keep it in my mind. I usually click before it is classed a hazard which is actually why I get poorly scored on my practice tests. I don’t understand by what time you click a screen is relevant to your driving skills.

 In Australia you must log 100 hours of driving with an adult and 10 hours of night driving. Then take a practical test. I understand it could be a drag and take time, but I’ve been driving 2 months and have done at least 150 hours and I am not completely test ready.

 I have driven to France for my holidays before, and they are pretty strait laced when it comes to driving (to put it nicely. I would say anal but that’s not a nice word to describe something.) But still learning to drive is still much nicer than the UK. The jidst – you have to do 20 hours mandatory driving lessons, which have to be from state approved driving schools. You must be 17 to take the test and a resident of France. However, you can start learning from 15 which is called the AAC, you must be 17 to take your test though. The issue is 20 hours’ worth of driving lessons can cost approximately 1300 euros. The recommended number of hours is 40 but that would be a pretty steep bill! (Sugar daddy anyone?)

 Sweden, however, wouldn’t want to take my test there. They have to take 2 risk courses, a driving theory and a practical.

 I completely understand safety is important, and a country shouldn’t slack on something as important as driving where 1.25 million road collisions happen a year worldwide. 3287 deaths a day. But come on DVSA please give me a chance, I need to bloody pass. And I need to get a slot to take my practical test before June!

 Bye chaps.