#but when u break them down to their bare bones they share a few essentials

[tequiilasunriise]

Love, but in the sense that you’ve spent your whole (wretched) life trying to live up to your single-minded definition of hard cornered strength, where you have witnessed enough horrors to last a few lifetimes and the unwashable blood on your hands could drown an army, where there are infinite shadows lurking within you that could never be fully chartered but- and here’s the real kicker- despite all of these traumas and tangles wrapped within and around you, the one thing that finally breaks you, the one thing that renders years upon years upon years of built up tolerance suddenly meaningless….

“Goody warned that I was destined to be alone. Maybe it’s inevitable. But for the first time in my life, it doesn’t feel good.”

-Wednesday Addams, Netflix’s Wednesday

“One idiot with a sword and an asymmetrical smile had proved to be Harrow’s end.”

-Harrowhark Nonagesimus, Tamsyn Muir’s Harrow the Ninth

…is her not being by your side.

[yoditorian]

a law divine - 1

soulmate au!ezra/reader

this is solely the fault of one single anon who called out something i put in the tags and now it’s a whole universe but you know what?? it’s the love of my life. anon i hope u see this 💛 i also just want to say i know there isn’t A Lot of soulmate talk in this one but it’s important for the narrative okay bear with me

playlist // series masterlist // main masterlist 

word count: 7.2k (a Big Boy)

warnings: swearing, my usual allusions to smut bc we keep things neutral in this house, brief food/alcohol mentions, 18+ please no babies

It might be the ugliest ship you’ve ever seen.

Not that you’re really one to judge, the one you charter out when you’re running point on a job is a mismatched patchwork of rusty panels held together with electrical tape and hope. If there’s the slightest possibility you might be a teeny tiny bit disappointed in it, it’s only because agency jobs are usually a little cushier. A little safer for once. You could do with a bit safer. 

Your family might prefer a lot safer, but you’d sooner take your chances in open space without a suit than take a job working scrapyards. At least risking your life on digs gets a decent payout.

“You the danger mouse?” 

It’s not an accent you hear often on the Pug, the majority of the station’s population is human, but you turn with a smile to meet the bright purple eyes of the Thanne. Armour-strong scales and sharp teeth, but he seems kind and mild mannered despite his clear predatory biology. You nod as you readjust the pack on your shoulders.

“I’m Iras.” He holds his hand out to you. A distinctly human gesture made a little awkward by the sharp edged scales and extra fingers, but you shake it nonetheless. He’s your captain for this job after all. You wonder where a Thanne became so well versed in human custom, the species as a whole tend to keep to themselves instead of branching out into the universe like so many others, until his crew members appear on the boarding ramp.

Iras gestures to each of them in turn. Summer, a blonde woman with dark skin and a kind smile, and Milo, an older man with a swirling tattoo above his left eyebrow that matches the navy blue of his eyes.

“Is it just us?” You ask. You could have sworn there was a fifth name on the manifest you’d been forwarded, but teams are always subject to change. You just hope you’ll have your own room.

“Ezra always leaves things down to the wire, he’ll show up right before we’re due to push out.” Summer laughs fondly, throwing an arm around your shoulders like she’s known you her whole life. You’re usually a little wary with brand new teams but the way she’s already chatting away makes you feel at home. The last agency job you were sent on got dicey, fast, somehow you’re sure the same won’t happen with this lot.

“There he is.” Milo leans out of the ship to point out into the docks. 

You turn to see a man sauntering through the throngs of harvesters towards the ship, and it’s odd. The rest of the crowd seems to melt away as he closes the distance, even the weight of Summer’s arm on your shoulders feels not quite there. You take the moment to study him. He looks all business with his dark hair and his charcoal grey shirt and the neat pack slung over his shoulder, but his pants and boots have seen better days and the streak of blonde at his temple makes you smile. It’s nice to finally be with a crew without a single stuffy addition. 

“It’s not often I get to congregate with like-minded souls.” He grins when he’s in earshot, a flash of something feline in his eyes. You don’t want to admit that you like it.

“Like-minded?” You tilt your head at him as you follow Summer up the ramp and into the ship. Ezra slips in behind you just as it starts to raise. Just like the others said.

“We’ve all got the same death wish, Sunspot.”

The launch, at least, is smooth despite the beaten up ship and it’s only about twenty minutes before you’re far enough from the Pug to punch a lane to the next system over. At least it isn’t far, there’s only a day between now and making planetfall. Somehow, you’re not surprised to find that it’s more of a barracks and bunk beds situation rather than each having a private quarters. Last time you were hired by the agency, you definitely got your own room. But it gives you a chance to chat with the others as you unpack. 

Milo explains the air isn’t breathable, so he’ll need to double check to make sure everyone’s filters are running at capacity. But he reassures you that it’s a comfortable temperature, so it’s good to know you won’t be sweltering in your suits or freezing your asses off. 

You pick the bed on the wall beside the door, taking out a few essentials from your pack and tucking the rest safely away in the storage compartment. Just as he did back at the docks, Ezra is the last to find his way to the room. He settles his things on the bunk opposite yours because the universe has it out for you, apparently. 

“Did I hear one of them call you the danger mouse?” 

You struggle not to roll your eyes at the nickname awarded to anyone stupid enough to do your job, although admittedly he doesn’t sound like he knows why. You offer him your name instead and pretend the way he rolls it around in his mouth doesn’t send a shock right down to your bones. You’re not in the habit of sleeping with colleagues, not until the job’s over at least. But you’d be lying if you said you’re not tempted.

“They call me in when a site’s unstable but too profitable to close.” You answer, tugging your sleeves up as the climate control settles to a comfortable temperature.

Ezra raises an eyebrow, waiting for you to continue, and you pull off your gloves. They land on your thin mattress as you hold your hands out between you. Not even the slightest twitch.

“Steadiest hands on the Pug.”

“So they are.” There’s a challenge in his voice that threatens to send a shiver up your spine. It’s clear he doesn’t doubt your skill in the field, but the return of that glint in his eye from the docks has you wondering exactly what else he’s thinking about as he studies your hands. It’s not hard to work out.

It’s been so long since you had to travel out of the system, you forgot how much inter-system lanes can fuck with the human brain. You’re half asleep for the thirty minutes you spend sorting your things for the morning, barely enough energy to change into the sweatpants and ratty t-shirt you call pyjamas, before you crawl into bed and settle down almost immediately.

Only you don’t get to sleep for as long as you’d like. The rest of the crew seem to have filtered in after you, the shift of sheets and snores float through the dimmed room. Except, it’s not just that. There’s shuffling and bed creaking from further down the line of bunks. A hushed giggle sounds in the silence and-

 Oh god. Oh no.

They’re not. They can’t be, they- they are. 

You’re very awake all of a sudden, eyes wide as you keep them firmly on the ceiling and wishing as hard as you can for an alarm to start beeping or something. Anything to get whoever’s banging Summer to stop. A deep voice hushes her when she laughs again. Iras. Knowing is somehow worse. The mechanics- you don’t even want to think about it. 

You turn onto your side slowly, but loud enough to hint that maybe they should find somewhere else for their escapades, and fold your pillow around your head as a kind of makeshift set of earmuffs. Whether they’ve quieted down or it muffles the noise, you’re not sure, but it seems to have worked enough. You catch Ezra’s eye in the almost-darkness, much in the same position as he holds his pillow over his own ears. 

It’s embarrassing for the both of you, even as you share a conspiratorial look. But somehow, it’s less awkward to have to hear Iras and Summer going at it when you know he’s awake. He winces when a particularly loud squeak echoes through the room, and it takes everything in you not to bust out laughing. You fall asleep again eventually, making faces at Ezra in the dark until neither of you can keep your eyes open anymore.

You’re surprisingly well rested come the morning, when the whole ship jolts as it punches into the system and you’re almost thrown out of bed. So much so that it’s easy to forget that you woke up at all until you shuffle into the main living compartment of the ship. One of the crates by the wall has been cracked open, Milo hands out granola bars for breakfast.

Summer and Iras are sitting in the same chair, feeding each other, and it might be cute if you’d been awake longer and hadn’t been woken up by their activities in the middle of the night. You slump into a free chair,  face twisted in disgust for a moment. You’re pretty sure nobody else sees until Ezra laughs and drops into the seat beside you. They’re nice people, from how they took you as a friend immediately, but that doesn’t change the fact that it’s just a bit much for your perpetually single heart to take. 

“It’s a week-long job, they can’t take a break?” You watch as they finally pry themselves apart to start, you know, actually working. But not without a genuinely gross kiss that definitely toes the line of public decency. Suddenly the half-eaten bar in your hand isn’t all that appealing anymore.

“Soulmates take no breaks, Sunspot. I’m sure yours would be hard pressed to be anywhere but in bed with you whenever they get the chance.” Ezra winks and it takes you a moment to remember where you are. A glance at the pair makes your new knowledge obvious, the way they seem to be touching, even now, on opposite sides of the room. 

“I’m not sure I believe in all that red string stuff.”

Once the ship is safely landed a short walk from the site, the days you spend digging pass with ease. The deposit is a decent size, it takes all five of you to cover it completely, and the payout should be enough to keep you all comfortable for a little while even with the agency’s cut. The crew around you fill the time enough that you barely notice the week coming to a close. 

Summer sings in the mornings as she cleans her equipment and readies her pack for the day. Miles talks gently to the cells as though they can hear him, shushing them any time he worries a gem might corrupt. Iras seems to have a secret superpower when it comes to the ration packs, they always taste better when he’s the one on lunch duty. And Ezra spends the afternoons regaling you all with tales of ancient beasts, laying eggs that fossilise into the very gems you’re harvesting. Although you’re not sure how true they are. 

You almost get through the whole dig without a hitch. Almost. But aurelac is a tricky thing, even a change in the wind can turn a site for the worst. You’re all sitting around at lunch when it happens. The telltale smoke wafts up into the air for no visible reason at all and although you’ve collected enough to cover the quota, you’d still rather not lose viable gems.

“Get to what you came here for.” Iras gestures in your direction and you dive into the pit head first.

You’re not even sure you stop to think as you follow the harvesting steps at lightning speed, salvaging half the corrupted cells before someone tugs you out by the collar of your suit. The rest of the site starts to smoke the moment you’re out of range, spitting and hissing and rendering the rest of the gems worthless. 

“Danger mouse indeed.” Ezra chuckles over the comm system, hand still fisted in the fabric of your suit. For once, the nickname makes you smile.

While you all go your separate ways after the ship has docked back on the Pug, Summer makes you all promise to meet later at a club you’ve only heard of in your friends’ messy night out stories. Still, you pinky swear when she holds her hand out to you and try to remember if you have a single item in your wardrobe that’ll pass as club attire. Or at least something that isn’t so worn there are holes in it. 

Even if it’s a song he knows, there’s no chance that Ezra could recognise it with the volume cranked so high through the cheap speaker that everything but the beat is distorted. Still, it doesn’t stop people from dancing. 

He’s a little late, as usual, but he doesn’t need to worry as Iras appears behind him and claps a hand on his shoulder, pointing to a booth across the room where Milo is looking increasingly uncomfortable.

It doesn’t take long for Ezra to spot you and Summer in the middle of the dance floor, as he follows Iras around the edge of the space to the booth Milo’s claimed. You’re both more jumping than dancing, yelling the unintelligible lyrics of the song into each other's faces. He can’t hear your breathless laughter as Summer spins you in a circle, smile wide and bright, but he can feel it in his ribs. The drums of the song kick in at the same time the swirling lights of the club light you up like some kind of celestial being, just as you catch his eye through the crowd. And everyone else disappears. The rest of the world, rest of the universe, fades into the background. Just like they did the first time he saw you, glaring suspiciously at the ship on the docks.

Summer’s dragging you back to the table when the song comes to a close, the both of you out of breath and laughing, and Ezra has to try desperately to remember how to speak when he watches a little bead of sweat slide down the side of your neck. And stop himself from just licking a line straight up it. His silent suffering only increases when Milo holds out a shot of the most potent alcohol the Pug has to offer and you down it without so much as a flinch, winking at him when you return the glass to the table for good measure. 

Milo calls it a night only an hour later, clearly only having braved the crowds of the club to celebrate the job. Summer and Iras are tangled in each other on the dancefloor, or the booth, as they keep the shots coming. You, at least, decide to keep your wits about you, declining every drink after the one Milo had handed you. Nobody’s going to fuck with a Thanne, even in as seedy a club as this, so you don’t worry about Summer as she gets sloppier and sloppier. But there’s no spiky non-human boyfriend looking out for you down here, it’s just you and the knife you keep at your hip.

You pull yourself from the dance floor, eyes tracking the room for the missing member of your party, until you feel a set of eyes on you from above. Ezra’s leaning on the bannister of the stairs, his unflinching gaze set solely on you. And you can’t help but smile. You follow him up to the mezzanine without hesitation when he glances upwards and back to you. The buzz of the shot has mostly faded from your veins, replaced by something much more dangerous by the way he’s looking at you. The way he’s looked at you since you met him.

It’s not hard to spot your friends from up here, leaning over the barrier with Ezra to people watch. He crafts stories about every stranger who catches his eye. The man hunched over the bar in a beaten up jacket, the waitress who fiddles with her necklace any time her hands aren’t occupied, the pair of lovers tucked away in the dark corner on the other side of the mezzanine. You find yourself sliding closer to him the more he talks, wrapped up in the warmth of his voice even in the rundown club. Your shoulder knocks into his as you mindlessly bop to the music and listen to his made up stories. Utterly enchanted. It’s hard to remember a time when you felt this way with anybody, if you ever did at all. To tell the truth, it’s hard to remember anyone before Ezra. And neither of you have even made a move yet.

He's got his arms braced on the barrier, and you find yourself lifting the one closest to you so you can slip in between them. Surrounded on all sides and you couldn’t feel more comfortable. To his credit, he doesn’t falter in his vivid storytelling about the group now settled in the booth your crew had claimed earlier, not even a stutter as you turn in his arms to face him. He’s decided they’re here to celebrate the beginning of a new job, rather than a successful harvest. His eyes flick to you for the barest moment, enough to notice yours are firmly focused on the way his lips move around his words, before searching the club below for another story. Another way to keep his mind and mouth occupied so he doesn’t accidentally admit all the sinful things he wants to do to you when you press your ass up against him like that. 

“Ezra.”

He shouldn’t be able to hear you over the music, but you’re nose to nose and he’d be hard pressed to ignore the way you practically purr his name. He’s expecting you to make another flirty comment in that voice that sends his mind reeling into all manner of indecent places the same way you have been all night.

“Can I kiss you?”

He doesn’t expect you to just outright ask him. 

“Yeah.” Yeah. Hell of a time for his eloquence to fail, not that it matters anyway. You’re on him the moment he stops speaking.

It’s like the sun explodes inside him, the way his stomach bottoms out the second your lips touch his. There’s nothing soft about it, not the way he might have imagined there would be. If he’d been so bold as to let himself imagine what kissing you might be like. You’re all warmth and heat and you still taste a little bit like the shot you’d thrown back earlier, and he finds himself falling. Not that Ezra minds, he hopes his parachute never opens if it means you’ll keep kissing him like this. 

You let your fingers roam under his jacket, twist themselves in the thin fabric of his t-shirt, and you sigh into his mouth. God, you knew he’d be good at this. His hands leave a trail of starlight as they trace over your body, never quite choosing a place to rest. They start to settle on your shoulders, only to skim down your arms and squeeze harshly on your waist, to play along the strip of skin he finds just underneath the hem of your shirt, to grip harder than he might mean to onto the meat of your ass through your pants. You gasp, break the kiss for barely a moment, and stop his apology in its tracks. 

He doesn’t protest when you walk him backwards, still groping at each other like it’s just the two of you in the whole club. Ezra only groans when his back hits the wall and you push even closer into him, as if there was even any space left for air between your bodies already. He’s not about to complain. He could kiss you for a thousand years and it still wouldn’t be enough. It’’ll never be enough, not for a soul as hungry as his. You pull back too soon, far too soon, and it takes a solid minute for his brain to kick in and break the vice grip he still has a little too low for the public eye.

Oh, that look on your face. He’s in trouble.

“Where are you off to?” Ezra asks, flushed and breathless, a hand stretched halfway out to where you’re backing toward the stairs.

“Home,” You say with a sly smile, “You coming?”

He can’t push off the wall fast enough. 

You don’t live far from the club, a ten minute walk at the most, but Ezra manages to make it a solid twenty with the way he keeps pulling you to him. Not that you’re about to complain. You’ve been waiting a week to let him get his hands on you. At the press of his lips on your neck, the shudder it sends down your spine, you wonder if part of you has been waiting even longer than that. 

You’re trying, desperately, to type in the keycode to your apartment. If Ezra could calm down with the grabby hands, you might have gotten it right straight away. 

“No roommates?” He asks, kissing along your shoulder, and you take the temporary reprieve to kick your brain into gear and remember the fucking numbers. 

“Hugo won’t be too upset if I make him sleep on the couch.” 

The door slides back into the wall to reveal a dark apartment, a strip of light from the hall falling on a very orange cat. He stares at you for a second, clearly not particularly pleased that he’s been so rudely roused from a nap, before he settles back to sleep stretched out on the couch cushions. Hugo. Ezra is silently relieved that the roommate is just a cat, he’s not sure he’s got the self control to stay quiet tonight. Or to make sure you do. 

You waste no time once you gesture for Ezra to walk in ahead of you, flicking the switch on the wall to slide the door shut and pulling him back to your lips. He doesn’t hesitate to crowd you up against the cold metal. 

Although you could devour each other until the closest sun explodes and swallows the station whole, Ezra has to break away. To think, to breathe, to tease you a little about the moan he just swallowed from you. But you beat him to it.

“Gotta catch your breath?” The smile on your face threatens to make his knees buckle, and with you pressed up against the closed door the way you are? He might just let them. 

“What do you want, Sunspot?” 

You left a lamp on in your bedroom, the door cracked just enough to let a little filter through to the main living space. Still, he’s almost completely silhouetted against the warm yellow glow. As if he’s some kind of ethereal being, maybe he is.

“Make me see the stars.” You pull him in as close as you can and let your lips brush over his as you whisper. His next words make you shudder almost as much as the way he drags the zipper of your jacket down, slowly, tooth by tooth. 

“As you wish.” 

And boy, does he deliver.

You’re expecting things to feel more unfamiliar than they do, as you explore each other for the first time, but it’s like you’ve been here before. Once, twice, a hundred times before. Every move feels oddly choreographed. Ezra knows exactly how to take you apart and put you back together again, the way he pulls every twitch and moan out of you so expertly. You’re no different, as your fingers map the plains of his chest like it’s muscle memory. 

You shake it off, put the thoughts to the back of your mind. You’ve been around the block a little in your time on the Pug, it only makes sense that he has the same kind of experience. But shared experience or not, you can’t deny how much having him so close feels like a homecoming of sorts.

It’s the best sleep of your whole fucking life and, honestly, you’re not that surprised. Ezra makes a damn good pillow. Even if you both wake hours later into the day cycle than either of you normally would. Even if he’s more of a morning person than you are. It’s kind of nice, to sit still snuggled in your pile of blankets and watch him potter around your apartment as Hugo winds around his ankles like he’s been there for years. 

Your fridge, however, is heartbreakingly empty and renders his offer of making breakfast pointless. Instead, he pulls his shirt on and offers to take you to the best little diner he knows, tucked away in the heart of the marketplace. It’s a hard offer to turn down.

“What kind of gentleman would I be to have so much income at my disposal and not treat such a beauty as yourself to a good meal?” He winks as he flashes his credit chit at you as if you didn’t scan in for your paychecks at the same time. You laugh as you empty a food pouch into Hugo’s bowl, and tell him he better show you all the good breakfast spots. You shrug off his raised eyebrow and mutters of a ‘next time’. As if he didn’t already know.

Still, Ezra takes you by the hand the moment your apartment door secures itself shut behind you, leading you through the hall and out into the street, and you’ve never felt more wanted.

It’s like everything’s brighter, walking leisurely through the bustling market stalls with Ezra. The smells are stronger as spices in the air cling to your nose, the cacophony of vendors calling out almost sounds like music, and you start to laugh. Hand in his, in the middle of the maze of stalls full of food and tools and trinkets. As if it’s just the two of you in the whole universe. 

At least Ezra doesn’t look back at you like you’re crazy. He smiles too, just as big, and you feel bathed in warmth the same as when the sun comes out planetside.

You’re both still grinning when he leads you deeper through the market, down an alley and up a flight of stairs to an unassuming door.

“Is this where you murder me?” You joke just as the door opens to reveal a short older woman with an eyepatch, who pulls Ezra down into a tight hug as soon as he’s in arms reach. He introduces her as Merse, the woman who’s run the best diner no one’s ever heard of on the whole station. She slaps his arm for his cheek, but her grin grows twice as wide when she spots your intertwined hands. 

Ezra pulls you through the doorway after him as he follows Merse, chatting about how she always keeps the best table open just in case he brings a friend and you try not to smile too wide when she wiggles her eyebrows at you. He says something to you, but you’re too distracted by the view from the big windows. 

The far wall is completely glass, overlooking the main docks, lined with booths. A small family sits in one of them, their two children standing up on the seats to watch the ships come and go. You’ve never seen it from this angle before, always down in the masses and scanning the boards for new jobs. It’s kind of beautiful. In a rusty, patchwork sort of way.

Merse points you towards one of the booths with a promise that she’ll bring you the best breakfast you’ll ever have, something tells you she’s not lying. 

It’s not long after you slide into the booth that she comes marching out of the kitchen with two plates, wafting steam that makes your mouth water and your stomach rumble. Rice and vegetables and eggs and all sorts of things you’ve never even seen pile high, and you’d worry you wouldn’t be able to finish it all if you weren’t so hungry. 

“You know I won’t break, right?” You push your fork around in the remaining rice on your plate as you watch Ezra absorb your words. He thinks about it for a long moment, dark eyes over you before settling on your own.

“What’s this about?” He knows, you know he knows. More importantly, you know he’s going to make you say it. In the middle of the day cycle, in this family friendly diner. 

“Just,” You exhale sharply, “Making sure you’re aware.” Your body floods with a shyness that’s alien compared to the confidence you had last night and suddenly, your breakfast is the most interesting thing on the Pug. You can practically feel him smiling at you, but you don’t dare look up to meet it. 

He was right though, the food really is some of the best you’ve ever had.

It’s not until you’ve wandered back through the market, still hand in hand, and found your way back to your apartment that Ezra decides to bring it up. He may have been more than a little distracted last night, but he’s sure he spotted a set of old books sitting on a shelf above your couch. You freeze, ready to go on the defensive about how ink and paper will never be obsolete, until you realise he’s genuinely interested. He’s not judging you by any means. Something about the curiosity shining in his eyes makes your heart flutter more than you care to admit. 

He could watch you talk about your books all day, every day, for the rest of his life. How your eyes lit up when you recognised his interest, a paperback lover himself. You can’t seem to stop yourself as you dive into the intricate details of your favourite classics, two or three hundred year old texts that make you feel like you’ve lived a thousand different lives at once. He wants so badly for you to keep talking but the more impassioned you become, the more he wants to kiss you.

You trail off at some point, he loses track when you climb into his lap to point out notes you’ve made in margins and the books lie scattered on the couch beside you as you kiss him until neither of you can breathe. You’re still a little achy from last night, deep in your bones, and you hiss when his teeth scrape across your shoulder.

“Won’t break, is that right?” Ezra chuckles darkly and nips at your jaw, “Can I try?”

“Please.”

You wake at the creak of your bedroom door, sometime in the early hours. Hugo noses his way through the narrow gap and hops up onto the bed, curling up on the unclaimed pillow by your head. Ezra sleeps deeply, face buried in your neck, and you let the warmth of him wash over you. It ebbs and flows like a tide, that familiarity. The undeniable fact that something about this just feels right. You’ve known this man a week and yet you’re here wondering, as he rests in your arms, if he might want more than just this with you. 

Oh, but you are so afraid. Afraid to put a name to anything about him because what then? Will he tell you that you’re simply a placeholder in his life for something better, or that his heart might bleed through his skin when you’re apart? You’re not sure which is worse. Not that it matters, there is no word in any language that would be able to explain exactly how you feel about the man asleep in your arms. It’s enough, you think, to have him with you at all. In any capacity. Whatever pieces of his soul he bares as your breathing evens and his mind wanders. That is enough, and you will protect it with your life.

You have to part ways at some point, of course. Another week of rolling around in your bed sheets together, on the couch, on your pitiful kitchen counter, up against the wall, and Ezra gets a call from the agency. It’s a last minute job, the crew only need an extra set of hands to fit the safety standards, but it’s several systems out from the Pug. It’ll take him away for at least a month. You trail after him at the docks, with promises of messages in his absence and all manner of unsavoury activities on his return. It’s with a deep kiss and a wolf whistle from a couple of dock workers on their break, that you wish him luck. And ask him to hurry back.

Summer’s message surprises you when it dings through on your tablet. Some gajillionaire on Dallore T53 has found an aurelac deposit on the grounds of his new estate and wants it gone. She’s preoccupied, already out on another dig with Iras and a new crew. But it’s the kindness of her even thinking to offer it to you that makes your heart swell. It’s been a while since you’ve had real, honest to god, friends. 

You’d go in alone, normally, for something like this. But now? Now, you’re punching in Ezra’s comm pin before you can even really register what it is that you’re doing. He only got back a week ago, and you made him settle in back home before he could settle in yours. It’s not like the two of you would be doing any resting on his return to your apartment, exactly. The job was a pain, he’d told you, it ran months longer than anyone expected and you’re sure he’s still exhausted. He won’t agree, but you find you have to ask. Just in case.

“Sunspot?” He sounds happy, rested. And you breathe a sigh of relief, at least he can follow your orders when he wants to.

Hugo snakes around your ankles at the familiar voice, the same way he does any time the man himself walks through the door. If you didn’t know that the little orange devil’s alliances lie in who feeds him, you might think he loves him more than you. 

You explain about the job, make sure to stress that he doesn’t have to come. That you don’t even really need to take it if he’d rather you stay close by. Okay, you don’t say that out loud, but the smile you hear in his words through the speaker makes it known that he’s heard you. Loud and clear. 

It doesn’t matter in the end, not when he accepts before you even have a chance to give him any details. You don’t know why you were so worried he might say no.

“Any excuse to be warmed by your light, Sunspot.” Hugo brushes up against your leg at the same time Ezra’s voice practically drips through the speaker, smooth as honey.

“Is that a euphemism?”

“Do you want it to be?”

You choke on your breath and he laughs like you’ve told the funniest joke in the universe. He’ll kill you one of these days, you’re sure of it.

You charter the ship you usually take on private jobs, the space a little smaller than you remember with another person on board, but it’s not like either of you aren’t used to being in close quarters with each other by now. At least Ezra has the decency not to be mean about the beaten up exterior, she still flies true. He’d grinned at that, told you how a rough outside often means the opposite of the interior mechanics. The glint in his eye is enough to know he’s not just talking about the ship. 

At least the planet is in the same system as the Pug, so there’s no need to punch through to a lane. You fly in silence for a few hours, the familiar feel of the controls under your fingers as you guide it through the sky. Ezra’s eyes remain firmly on you although you pretend as though you don’t notice, and it takes him a moment to come back to the present when you ask him to flick a few switches and prepare to enter the atmosphere. 

The coordinates the client gave you to land are only a short walk from the house itself, a great stone castle-looking thing. It’s kind of ugly, the way the limestone juts out above the treeline. A big white block among the rich reds and oranges of the leaves. They grow that colour all year round, perpetually stuck in spring and summer. It must be nice to have the kind of money to find somewhere like that and decide you’ll build a house there. The air is breathable, and a quick look at the planet file proves it’s never too hot or too cold. A perfect place to build a house really. Although, if it were you making that kind of decision, you’d maybe go for a design that’s a little less cubist. 

The deposit isn’t huge, but it’ll be a good payout nonetheless providing the cells are all in good nick. You and Ezra wade through swathes of long grass and wildflowers until you find a spot to set up camp. At least you’re not stuck in bulky suits and having to lug around your equipment.

You couldn’t have asked for a more perfect dig if you’d tried. Each of the cells sit far enough away from each other that even if one were to fail, it wouldn’t corrupt a whole mess of the others. Although with both of your talents, it doesn’t surprise you when you collect every last crystal without a single misstep.

You’d told Ezra the profit would be split down the middle, equal pay for equal work. But it doesn’t stop him from sliding an extra gem into your pack to cover the ship charter. After all, you’re the one who was offered the job in the first place. He’s just following his heart, the one that walks around outside of his body and throws itself into deposits mid-corruption.

You hold one of the little gems aloft in the sunlight and watch as it sparkles.

“I used to think it was weird how rabid people go for these. But the more I dig the more I get it, isn’t it the most beautiful thing you’ve ever seen?”

Ezra tilts his head like he’s studying the rock, but his dark eyes don’t leave yours.

“It’s a close second.”

Sap.

Night falls before either of you realise just how late it is, clearing out the last few cells of the deposit. It’s not worth going back to the Pug now, he reasons, and you find it hard to disagree. The ache of the few days you’ve spent digging has settled deep in your muscles, the thought of having to run through docking procedure when you’re so tired is enough to make you wince. 

You let him take you for all you’re worth under the watchful eye of the heavens, and find there’s more stars behind your eyelids than you could ever hope to see in the skies. It’s all you can do to cry out the name of the only god to ever make you feel this holy. Ezra. 

He wakes with the sun, the same way he always has on jobs, to find you curled so tightly against him that it bubbles up from his toes all the way to his throat and he finds his eyes threatening to spill over. Everything in the universe seems to slot so perfectly together when you’re like this. Ezra sighs, content to never let the moment end. You are so beautiful.

He shifts up onto his elbow a little, still cradling you against him, and lets his free hand trail softly over your face. Tracing the shell of your ear, the curve of your cheekbone, the bridge of your nose. The dawn’s sunlight breaks over the trees and filters through the fabric of the tent, bathing you in soft green light. He could stay here, holding you, until the universe implodes. Ezra doubts he’d notice such an insignificant thing with you beside him. 

But end it must, and he rouses you gently with soft whispers and kisses against your temple. You stretch in his arms, not unlike Hugo, and sigh as your joints pop and settle. Packing up happens slowly, moving around each other so naturally it’s as though you’ve done it a thousand times before. Every time Ezra passes, you drop a kiss wherever you can reach. His shoulder, the arm of his jacket, that little patch on his jaw. He pretends not to blush when you catch his hand and carefully press your lips to the little tattoo between his thumb and index finger, you pretend not to notice when he does.

You’ll be the death of him, he’s sure of it. The way you keep watching him out of the corner of your eye, the way your smile is so bright when he catches you that he can barely stand to look at it. With the tent and equipment packed up, his fingers itch to thread through your own as you start the walk back to the ship, there’s not a word in the universe strong enough to describe just how much he hates that both his and your hands are too full.

It’s odd, thinking about it. How you met by pure chance, hired by the agency just because you were on the same station at the same time. Would he have ever met you if you’d chosen a different career path, if he had? Maybe somewhere, centuries before or after this moment, where you’re meeting again. Different lives, different times, spanning across all of existence. Maybe, right here and now, you’re starting to feel the way he does about you. Just a little. Maybe he’ll get up the courage to ask what you think, how far you want to take things. He’d give himself to you in a heartbeat, without question. In a way, he already has.

Ezra can’t stop himself.

“What do you make of the red string of fate?”

“All you’ve seen of the universe and you still believe in soulmates?” 

“Maybe I’m more foolish that I made myself out to be.” He shrugs, trying not to let his eyes fall to the little finger of his right hand. Trying not to clench his fist to show you exactly how much your disbelief affects him down to his bones, as though his soul itself is frowning. You’re smiling. Uncharacteristically quiet, but you seem appropriately pleased by his answer and stray a little further out into the long grass.

Curiosity gets the better of you.

“Can you see yours?” You have to call out across the gap you’ve unintentionally created, yellow stalks swishing in the breeze between you, and for a moment you’re not sure he heard.

Ezra looks at his right hand, at the thin red string tied neatly at the knuckle of his little finger, and follows the line as it threads through the grass to where it’s knotted at your left. 

“No.” 

TAGLIST (add yourself here):

@bee-dameron @keeper0fthestars @thevoiceinyourheadx @firstofficerwiggles @1800-fight-me @ew-erin @chatterbean @gotta-have-faye​ @freeshavocadoooo​ @darnitdraco​ @greeneyedblondie44​ @fire-is-catching-always

[vulcan-highblood]

((lol does dumb flirting count as being dicks or not being dicks either way I hope u like…))

Querl hated to share. He was never taught how, never really had a reason to share. Being raised by cold and unfeeling robots, your earliest memory the realization that your entire value lies in an IQuA test score, rather sets you up to be cold and unfeeling yourself. Realizing that you’re not right, that you’ve turned out to be every bit the disappointment that every other Dox before you had been… well, it wasn’t hard to not share when there was no one who wanted to share a space with you.

Even at the Time Institute, Querl remembered, he’d had entire wings to himself, and sometimes weeks would pass without him so much as laying eyes on a single soul. It wasn’t anything that Querl did that made him unapproachable, it was who he was. On Colu, he was too emotional, too interested in actually performing experiments, of moving beyond the mental gymnastics of contemplation and actually testing his hypotheses. It was unnatural, the others would whisper. How like a Dox, they would sometimes add.

That’s why Querl had been (rightfully, or so he thought) pissed when RJ Brande sent him off to join a ragtag team of high-minded, overly ambitious do-gooders he would eventually learn to call friends. He’d learned to fight alongside them to rid the universe of some of its greatest threats, and made a few mistakes along the way. Querl could readily admit that being brilliant did not erase one’s flaws, and he was no exception. Despite his shortcomings, Querl learned to help, learned to fight, learned to be a hero.

The one thing he had apparently not learned was how to share, a fact that was only now coming to light as he stood in the doorway of his lab, a lab he had heretofore considered a “private” lab. But now, there was some… person, an individual wearing his lab coat and goggles, back turned, using Querl’s equipment. Was he even using it properly? Would he remember where to return the tools? How badly had this stranger rearranged and reorganized his lab? (It wasn’t his lab, it was the Legion’s lab, but weren’t the two terms basically synonymous? No one had ever shown interest in his lab before–!)

Querl cleared his throat, and the young man spun around guiltily. His brown eyes, ringed by thick, dark lashes, widened in recognition as he pushed soft waves of brown hair away from his eyes. “Grife,” he said almost breathlessly, “It really is you!”

Querl found himself looking closely too. “Lyle Norg?” he exclaimed then, surprised, still miffed at having his privacy violated.

“Q!” Lyle exclaimed. “Or do you go by B now?”

“I go by Brainiac Five,” Querl answered with a hint of annoyance.

“I heard some people call you Brainy, can I call you that?” Norg was grinning in a half-teasing way that meant he was probably serious but would play it off as a joke were Querl to unequivocally refuse.

With a sigh, Querl admitted, “I do answer to Brainy.”

Norg nodded. “You’ve got some interesting things going on down here,” he told Querl approvingly, “What’s this weird floaty stuff you made?” he hefted a small piece of a strange substance Querl had inadvertently created earlier.

Querl glanced at the material in question. “It’s an alloy that seems to have a pliable anti-gravity field,” he said slowly, “It’s a by-product of an earlier project I was working on. I hadn’t had time to properly dispose of it is all.” You don’t need to clean my messes or touch my equipment, Querl thought, but did not vocalize, feeling something akin to anxiety.

Norg shrugged, tossing the alloy back onto the bench, though it didn’t actually land on the table, but rather hovered a few inches above the surface of the lab table. Querl found himself wincing at the gesture nonetheless.

“It’s been so long, Brainy,” Norg said, almost sadly. “Why did you leave the Time Institute?”

My Patron insisted, Querl thought sourly. “I can make a difference here,” he answered haltingly, like he didn’t quite believe his own words. He could make a difference anywhere, with a mind like his. The Legion’s labs were insufficient to his needs, but he’d always made it work…until now. Querl wasn’t good at sharing. He didn’t like this. Why was Norg here? And why did it have to be him, of all people, to steal his lab right out from under him? “Why are you here, Norg?”

“I’m uh, going by Invisible Kid, now,” Norg said hesitantly, tinkering with something at the lab bench. Something dropped to the floor with a clatter. Querl winced. Norg bent to pick it up. “Sorry,” he apologized, then turned to Querl, a concerned look on his face. “Hey, you alright? You aren’t saying much.”

How was Querl supposed to answer that rationally when his whole body was screaming for Norg to get out? He couldn’t focus like this. He would use his other lab. It wasn’t as big, but it would suffice, for the moment, and it was blessedly free of intruders. “Welcome to the Legion,” Querl said stiffly, glancing at Norg’s communicator ring.

Lyle smiled, his grin shining like the sun breaking through the clouds. “Thanks,” he said happily.

If Norg’s expression was the sun, Querl’s was the storm clouds. “I need to go check on a project,” he said haltingly, almost awkwardly, gracelessly excusing himself and fleeing the lab - the lab that was rightfully his, Brande had promised him top of the line facilities and he’d barely followed through in the first place and now there was someone else in his lab, and not just any someone else, it was sprocking Norg.

Querl wasn’t sure when he’d started seeing the human as a rival - perhaps it was when his research proposal managed to win funding that Querl felt rightfully belonged to his project. It may have been when the young man’s research developed into new, revolutionary technology that was quickly adopted into common practice, winning him accolades, speaking engagements, awards… Perhaps it was the uncomfortable knowledge that Norg had become the face of the Time Institute because, unlike Querl, he was brilliant and personable, passionate and engaging, interesting, attractive, and a genius. Not like Querl, though. He was a real genius, a prodigy. It was a shock to the denizens of Earth when Norg’s IQuA score came back with an 11, a near-perfect score. They were proud of him, the universe rallied around the idea of a budding genius, the idea that anyone could be brilliant.

Everyone expected Querl to be a genius, because he was Coluan, and not just Coluan, but a Dox. His intellect was no surprise, it didn’t make him special in any way to receive a perfect 12 on his IQuA, it was just an expectation he was fortunate enough to meet. One of the few expectations he’d ever managed to meet. It stung, somehow, to realize that because he was expected to be smart, no one would ever think of his work as an accomplishment, but rather a given. And so, though Querl churned out invention after invention, new theories, new technology, and groundbreaking research decades, possibly centuries ahead of its time, his name was nonetheless relegated to a footnote in the annals of history while Norg took the spotlight.

Querl found his way to the lab purely by instinct, his mind a whirl of frustration and dismay. He didn’t like this, though he couldn’t explain why. The Legion is mine, Querl thought desperately, It’s the one place I have left to try and make a name for myself. Will you overshadow me here as well? Norg always made him feel so small. A scowl crossed Querl’s features then, a sort of bitter stubbornness rooting itself in his bones. Sprock Norg, or Invisible Kid, hah! As if Querl wasn’t really the invisible one, his entire identity rooted in that of his ancestors, his accomplishments dismissed, his very perception of self desperately tied to his intellect, gradually realizing that his mind, like everything else in his life up to this point, would invariably fail him.

Sprock Norg. The lab was his.

When Lyle stepped into the lab the next morning, Querl was already hard at work, supplies spread across the benches, formulae scribbled on the screens around the room, on the omnicoms, essentially any flat surface. The whole room had an atmosphere of ‘pointedly occupied’ that almost brought a fond, nostalgic smile to his face. Except he thought that Querl was older now, more mature. Lyle knew he’d certainly matured from his time as a scrappy thirteen-year-old with something to prove. Somehow, it felt like Querl hadn’t, that he was still desperate to prove…something, though Lyle wasn’t sure what, exactly.

As he glanced around the lab, looking for an open spot - or at least a less-occupied-looking area - Lyle didn’t miss that Querl had taken the opportunity to “correct” a few of the things he’d been working on yesterday, mistakes slashed through in bright red with phrases like ‘mind-numbingly linear thinking’, ‘asinine in the extreme’, ‘what the sprock even is this nassery’ written boldly across them in Querl’s blocky interlac.

“Morning, Brainy,” Lyle said, trying to sound more cheerful than he felt after seeing the way Querl had reamed the work he’d been doing. “Thanks for the feedback,” he added mildly.

Querl made a small noise, though one could hardly count it as words. It barely qualified as a grunt.

Lyle gathered up the files he’d been working on and sat down.

“Not there,” Querl said sharply, not bothering to look up, “that’s too close to the velonimite infusion, it’s unstable.”

Lyle scooted over a bit.

“That’s the micro-tarsec flux dampening system,” Querl spoke again, “It can’t have any vibrations in the vicinity or I’ll need to start the whole experiment all over again.”

Lyle tried to sit in five other places, only for Querl to coldly inform him each time that the area was off-limits for some reason or another. Finally, Invisible Kid decided he’d had enough. “Is there anywhere for me to sit?” he demanded irritably.

Querl coldly responded, “No.”

Lyle couldn’t believe what he was hearing. “There’s nowhere?” he said disbelievingly, “in this whole lab?”

Querl whirled around, his eyes burning into Lyle’s like twin stars. “No.” Get out, was not spoken, but implied.

Lyle felt a bit like he’d been punched in the gut. He’d been warmly welcomed to the team by everyone. Everyone, that is, except his former colleague? It wasn’t fair, Lyle thought bitterly. He and Querl had always had a bit of a rocky relationship, but he’d written it off as misplaced aggression for their respective terrible childhoods. Lyle was seventeen now, Querl sixteen. He had hoped that they would be able to move on to something more… friendly, at least. Especially considering Lyle’s feelings hadn’t faded over time.

Something about the green-skinned blonde - his drive, his passion, his quiet diligence, his awkward attempts at socializing… as a pre-teen, Lyle had found himself growing strangely fond of the Coluan. He wouldn’t call it love, barely even a crush, but as he’d raked his eyes down the Coluan’s lithe, sinuous body yesterday, Lyle had felt a stirring of attraction, different from his childhood crush, but no less potent. Mentally, Brainy may not have aged, but physically…

Unconsciously, Lyle wetted his lips, thinking of those slim, not-quite-broad shoulders, his slender waist and delicate hands… He shook his head abruptly. It was useless to fantasize when the Coluan apparently couldn’t even stand the idea of being in the same room with him. But Lyle was stubborn. Rather than leave, he plunked himself down in the middle of the floor, spreading his work out to look at it pensively. Sprocking grife, Brainy was right. He had made a few dumb mistakes in his work yesterday, and Querl had picked them out in no time flat. Lyle knew if he looked over Querl’s work it would take him hours to even follow along, much less critique the process. He knew the fact that he could follow the Coluan’s process at all was something of a miracle, but the speed and precision with which the younger man worked was still leaps and bounds ahead of Lyle’s own skill.

He fingered the strange metallic alloy from yesterday contemplatively. Brainy had considered it a useless substance, but Lyle was taken with it. He wondered if it might behoove him to run a few tests on the strange substance. After all, it might come in handy.

Querl stiffened when Lyle walked across the room and began dividing out samples of the material. Lyle was trying his best to be unobtrusive, but… it seemed like any movement at all was sufficiently obtrusive to irritate Brainy. He decided he couldn’t spend his entire Legion career walking on eggshells around the moody Coluan, so Querl would just need to learn to put up with him. Lyle could be stubborn too.

Querl could feel his patience rapidly evaporating as Lyle continued to move around the lab. Querl was usually able to lose himself in his work, all twelve thought-tracks processing in tandem, sharing ideas and solving dilemmas as they arose. Instead, at any given time, at least one of his thought-tracks was preoccupied with tracking Lyle as the dark-haired human moved around the lab, taking samples, scratching down notes, humming interestedly, wrinkling his nose when something didn’t make sense to him. There was an intensity in his eyes that Querl couldn’t seem to ignore, and the young human was poring over the details of Querl’s experiment that had produced the unusual alloy. Before he’d quite realized it, he wasn’t even looking at his work anymore, his gaze instead trailing down the human’s thin shoulders, slumped tiredly, taking in the curve of his back as he sat cross-legged on the floor, chin perched on one hand, the other dragging across a omnicom.

Lyle looked up then, catching Querl staring. “What?” he demanded irritably. “Something the matter?” his eyes snapped with an inner fire. For a moment, the Coluan was lost in those deep, warm brown eyes. Lyle’s forehead crinkled a little as he glared at Querl. The human bit his lip then, ducking his head to hide a spreading flush. He was still not good at confrontation, whereas Querl cared very little for others’ opinions of him and thus had little problem with being pushy or even confrontational should the need arise.

Lyle cleared his throat awkwardly, running a hand through his hair, rubbing at the back of his scalp. His eyes flitted between the omnicom and Querl’s face several times, his mouth dropping open ever-so-slightly.

Querl didn’t quite understand the sensation that rolled his stomach then, couldn’t account for the heating of his cheeks. He knew, colloquially speaking, that he was blushing, that he was hyper aware of Lyle in a way he was not aware of any other Legionnaire. He also had no idea what to do with this information.

Lyle ducked his head again, turning his attention back to the omnicom before innocently commenting, eyes still locked on the screen, “What If we used this alloy as a substitute for the anti-grav belts and jet packs?”

Querl blinked. “Pardon?” He couldn’t have heard that correctly.

Lyle looked up then. “It seems to have psychokinetic properties, and given the proper technology and functional access routes…” he shrugged weakly. “Thoughts?”

Querl considered the idea. “It has…merit,” he managed finally, not liking to admit that the human had once again come out on top when it came to creativity. Querl knew he could be short-sighted, that his intense focus had the unfortunate drawback of blinding him to potential alternatives. Again, Lyle was throwing Querl’s failure in his face, all with a hesitant, hopeful smile that felt more like a slap in the face than an attempt to diffuse the tension between them.

He knew that wasn’t the intent, he wasn’t so emotionally stunted that he actually thought Lyle was mocking him. But it felt that way, and so it was with great effort that Querl forced aside his wounded pride, walking across the lab and crouching next to Lyle, picking his way around the scattered omnicoms and other various bits of equipment. He leaned in a bit closer, trying to get a clear view of the data on Lyle’s omnicom, accidentally bumping the other’s shoulder with his own. The human made a small sound, not quite pain, but not exactly pleased. Querl could have apologized, but he was still feeling vindictive and so he chose not to, though he did glance at Lyle to make sure he hadn’t actually injured him. The human was blushing furiously. He seemed otherwise unharmed. As Querl could see no reason for the flush dusting the young man’s cheeks, he brushed the detail aside, considering it statistically irrelevant, though it bore mentioning that he found he rather liked the way Lyle’s cheeks pinked, especially when he hummed lowly, commenting in a dry tone, “It looks promising.” Querl glanced at Lyle then, enjoying how the human seemed to struggle to meet his gaze. “Have you considered the conversion method?”

“Physical contact is the best bet for activating psychokinetic properties in otherwise inert substances,” Lyle suggested, his warm eyes gazing at Querl from beneath thick, dark lashes.

“I agree,” Querl said lowly, observing the way his voice sent a shiver down Lyle’s spine with some enjoyment. “Embed it in the suit?”

Lyle frowned a little. “I feel like flexibility might end up being an issue.”

Brainy considered this, a look of smug satisfaction settling across his features as an idea took hold. “Why not combine it with the communicator ring?” he asked. “All Legionnaires are already required to wear one, and the internal circuitry would only require minor adjustments to accommodate the alloy.”

Lyle twisted the ring on his hand thoughtfully. “Do you think the surface area will be sufficient for what we have in mind?”

Something in Brainiac Five thrummed excitedly at the phrase “we”. This was a joint project, wasn’t it? Not another chance for Querl to prove himself, or worse, lose to Norg yet again. This was a joining of ideas, cooperation… sharing.

Querl glanced suddenly at Lyle. “I’m sure if a problem comes up, between the two of us, we’ll be able to solve it.”

Lyle ducked his head, blushing furiously. “Yeah?” he managed weakly, his voice cracking a little. “That’s, uh, great.”

Querl stood then, leaving Lyle on the floor staring up at him dizzily. “For now, I think we’d better move this - our project - to one of the benches,” he said. “We wouldn’t want to leave the room a mess.”

“No, just blow it up later,” Lyle smirked as he also stood, groaning and stretching his back out. Querl did nothing to hide his enjoyment as he ran his eyes along the curve of Lyle’s spine.

Lyle glanced at him, a sly smile crawling across his features. “Like what you see?” he purred.

Querl raised one eyebrow. He might appreciate a nice view, but he wasn’t one to be fast and loose with his compliments. “Adequate,” he answered dryly, bending over to gather an armload of omnicoms, feeling the other’s gaze on him as he did so. He straightened slowly, turning to look at Norg and raising his brow again. “If you’re quite done, Invisible Kid,” he said, noting with some satisfaction the way Norg’s eyes widened at the use of his codename, “I believe we have work to attend to.”

Lyle gathered up the remaining omnicoms, glancing at Querl. “Lead the way, Brainy.”

Querl decided his nano-symniotic conversion complex could wait a day or two, clearing the area to make room for his - and Invisible Kid’s - project. He glanced at Lyle, who was practically glowing with pride.

“I can’t believe you liked my idea,” he breathed, depositing the remaining data. He pulled out one of the lab stools, glancing at Brainy.

Querl took this as his cue to take a stool as well, the two of them sliding onto their respective seats, once again bumping shoulders. This time it was Querl’s breath that hitched, as he had a surprising revelation. He didn’t mind sharing space with Lyle. In fact, he thought, as the other’s fingers gently brushed his, reaching for an omnicom, he rather thought he liked it.

Fascinating.

[hermanwatts]

Sensor Sweep: Viking Bikers From Hell, Lovecraft & Hemingway, Hadon of Ancient Opar

T.V. (Bare Bone E-zine): But Milius’ mark on Sutter’s creative process may go far beyond simple story and dialogue.  A more concrete clue lies in Milius’ end credits when Miami Vice scenes and the superimposed B-movie episode title “Viking Bikers from Hell,” pseudonymously written in 1987 by Milius, flash across the screen with other clips from his filmography.  Though Sons of Anarchy is stylistically, tonally, and philosophically different from Milius’ episode, it is not a leap to see how it put the gas in the tank of Sutter’s imagination.

  Horror (DMR Books): One of Lovecraft’s earliest stories written as an adult is “Dagon.” After his ship is sunk by German U-boats, a castaway finds himself on an unknown island. There he encounters the title creature. This story is one of Lovecraft’s earliest and one of his lesser ones; however it still has elements of genuine terror.

Games (Walker’s Retreat): Ghost of Tsushima is out now. In case you missed it, it’s this: Yep, a game set during the Mongol invasion of Japan. Gameplay is very reminiscent of the well-regarded Breath of the Wild for the Nintendo Switch blended with the more recent Assassin’s Creed games. Yes, playing in Japanese with subtitles is an option, as is playing in Black & White for the Full Kurosawa effect. This has the Death Cult in games mad, especially when Japanese outlets have been positive about this game. The meme below summarizes aptly.

Fiction (Rough Edges): A while back, I read SON OF GRENDEL, a novella that’s a prequel to this full-length novel. Now I’ve read BATTLE FOR THE WASTELANDS, and it’s a fine post-apocalyptic yarn, just as I expected based on my enjoyment of the novella. It’s the future, of course, after some disaster that has left vestiges of what people call the Old World. The countries, states, and cities that we know are gone, but firearms technology remains (although at a much lower level for the most part) and dirigibles are still around.

RPG (RPG Pundit): The newest issue is out, and RPGPundit Presents #102: The Woodsman is a very short issue, but it’s also only 99 cents! In it, I present a brand new character class for Lion & Dragon, that can also be used in other OSR games: the Woodsman! This is essentially a non-magical ranger-style class, based on Medieval-Authentic concepts of what a Woodsman was and did. If you want to play a native English (or Welsh) character who has ability in hunting, trapping and wilderness lore, this is the way to go!

Lost Race (Cirsova):   In Hadon of Ancient Opar he presents a tale of the Ice Age in Africa. Some readers will not care for the earthy, rough sexuality which still has the power to shock and disturb, despite the passage of decades.  Willy Ley’s “Chad Sea” and “Congo Lake” (Engineer’s Dreams, 1954) are present here as Mediterranean-like basins, while cities of a Jakob Bachofen-type matriarchy (Mother Right, 1861) flourish all around. Hadon, a sports champ/gladiator, is to become king but is instead sent on a deadly mission, and we’re off into whitest Africa, with Rider Haggard’s characters Laleela and Paga appearing alongside the Hercules-like Kwasin and the mysterious “grey-eyed god” Sahhindar.

Writing (Wasteland & Sky): We’ve talked many times about the awful state of art right now in the modern world, but we haven’t offered much in the way of solutions aside from the obvious: just keep trucking. Today that changes as I introduce to you my newest book due out at the end of this month: The Pulp Mindset!

  RPG (The Other Side): Astonishing Swordsmen & Sorcerers of Hyperborea (AS&SH) is more closely aligned with “Advanced Era” D&D, but its feel for me has always been more OD&D, though over the last few years I have been treating it as another flavor of Basic.  I have mentioned in the past that I see AS&SH as a good combination of B/X and AD&D rules.  Essentially it is what we were playing back in the early 80s.

Writing (Pulprev): Updated Call for Submissions: Pulp on Pulp. Misha Burnett and I are working on a free collection of essays for writers. Titled Pulp on Pulp, this collection offers practical advice on creating fun, fast-paced fiction. This collection is aimed specifically at writers who want to create pulp-style fiction, though writers from other genres may learn something new from this collection. This project is a labour of love, allowing writers to share everything they have learned.

Fiction (Tentaculii): Ernest Hemingway published his first novel in 1926, just as Lovecraft was writing “The Call of Cthulhu”. Over time Lovecraft’s star dimmed away almost to nothing, while Hemingway struck the world like a meteorite. So much so, that Robert Bloch once remarked that it was difficult to conceive that Lovecraft had actually been living and working in the same era as Hemingway. Another protege, J. Vernon Shea, also observed that… “Part of the reason for Lovecraft’s unpopularity with the literary critics of his day lay in the fact that mainstream literature, following Sherwood Anderson’s and Hemingway’s leads, was turning more and more toward simple sentences and action–packed narration”.

Non-fiction (Marzaat): In “Slaves of the Death Spider: Colin Wilson and Existentialist Science Fiction”, Stableford talks about Wilson’s Spider World series in a way that convinces me there’s probably not much of merit in them. He finds them not that original – specifically derivative of Star Wars and Murray Leinster’s “Mad Planet”. He finds it ironic that Wilson, who once accused science fiction of being fairy tales for adults who have not outgrown fairy tales, has written, inspired by his occult interests, a story that seems to suggest, a la L. Ron Hubbard’s Dianetics, that mankind’s salvation will come. In short, Stableford says Wilson neither delivers a new plot or anything conceptually satisfying.

Fiction (Jon Mollison): Celebrate your independence from authors that hate you, the good, the beautiful, and the true.  You should pick up your copy of The Penultimate Men today, and I’ll tell you why. or starters, it includes a new Morty and Kyrus story from Schuyler Hernstrom.  If you have read any Hernstrom, you already know his entry is worth the price of admission alone. In addition to that story, you get Jeffro Johnson’s inimitable break-down of the post-apocalyptic genre, a pair of tales from my own pen, and something you’ve never seen before.

Art (DMR Books): The artist, John Byrne, turned seventy today. I would reckon most DMR Books fans know him from his work on superhero comics like The X-Men and The Fantastic Four. However, Byrne has a long history of drawing heroic fantasy characters. Back in 1971, barely in his twenties, Byrne wrote and drew his first published comics story which was published by the Alberta College of Art and Design in Calgary. The protagonist of the comic was called “The Death’s-Head Knight” and the plot was firmly within heroic fantasy parameters. Check it out here.

Pulp Fiction (Adventures Fantastic): I read “The Black Gargoyle”. It was the cover story for the March 1934 issue of Weird Tales.   It is available in the collection of the same name. Set on Borneo, the unnamed narrator and his companion, Martin Gow, are traveling upriver to join a museum expedition. They stop to rest at an outpost run by a man named Gomez. Gomez is an evil man, the very stereotype of the white oppressor. Gomez has given them a hut in which there are several skulls and a shrunken head on a shelf above the beds. Also staying in another hut are a man and his wife.

Pulp Fiction (Pulp Net): I have posted previously on the prolific H. Bedford-Jones (1887-1949), who is considered the “King of the Pulps,” having written over 800 short stories, 200 novels, and more. While he had several series of works with single characters, many of his longest series were instead around certain themes. Kind of fictionalized histories or docu-dramas. Many of these were done for Blue Book, one of the “Big 4” of pulps. The longest of these series was his “Ships and Men” series that ran for 34 parts from January 1937 to November 1939.

Fiction (Superversive SF): Probably the best known of the series, THE BLACK CAULDRON follows the Companions as they seek to stop Arawn from acquiring more cauldron born. It is very different from the Disney movie version. The silent, stalking soldiers cannot be slain but weaken the further they get from the land of the dead. The companions have a mission—steal the cauldron and destroy it. That’s not as easy as it sounds. However, the one who jumps in must know it will cost his life. One of Prince Gwydion’s main allies turns traitor, and one of Taran’s new companions is out for his own glory.

Culture Wars/RPG (Grey Hawk Grognard): Sometime over the last couple of days, Wizards of the Coast decided to put up the following disclaimer on all D&D products earlier than 5th edition, plus a few 5E items as well. Setting aside the typos and grammatical errors of this hastily-done disclaimer, I can’t say I’m surprised that Wizards of the Coast has decided to bend the knee to the SJW crowd.

Fiction (Pulp Serenade): Robert Silverberg’s criminal past has been coming to light—and I, for one, am thrilled, just as readers were undoubtedly thrilled decades ago. In 2011, Stark House Press republished two of the sci-fi master’s earliest novels,  Gang Girl (1959) and Sex Bum (1963), both of which originally appeared under the pseudonym Don Elliott. These are from the heyday of smut paperbacks, a time when rising talent (like Silverberg, Donald Westlake, and Lawrence Block) were cutting their teeth on T-and-A-tastic yarns, honing their writing skills and getting paid for it.

Sensor Sweep: Viking Bikers From Hell, Lovecraft & Hemingway, Hadon of Ancient Opar published first on https://sixchexus.weebly.com/

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New Post has been published on https://shovelnews.com/adam-driver-snl-sketches-ranked-worst-to-first-matt-damons-brett-kavanaugh-pete-davidsons-summer/

Adam Driver 'SNL' Sketches Ranked Worst to First: Matt Damon's Brett Kavanaugh, Pete Davidson's Summer

Adam Driver may have been the host of this premiere, but it kind of felt like musical guest Kanye West got way more attention. Not only did he get his usual two musical spots during the show, he even took over the stage for a third performance at the end.

Meanwhile, Driver really only got a few chances to shine throughout the night. He was in a lot of the sketches, but he was subdued in most of them. His “Career Day” appearance was easily his most over-the-top and it showed how much he’s willing to throw himself into these characters. It was both ridiculous and hilarious.

Kanye was joined by Lil Pump for “I Love It,” but they skipped the boxy suits for bottled water costumes instead. If you thought this song barely worked as a music video, Kanye was basically saying, ‘Here hold my water’ with this performance. It worked much better when he premiered new song “We Got Love” with Teyana Taylor jumping all around the stage. They sounded stronger and the song held together much better.

For a season premiere, many of the sketches felt half-baked, as if they hadn’t quite come together fully, which is crazy. Last season, weeks that allowed this group more than one week to come up with the show were some of their strongest outings, but that just wasn’t the case here. We did enjoy Pete Davidson talking about what he did over the summer.

And we got some sneak peeks into the camaraderie of the cast behind the scenes, which is always fun. They also introduced new featured player Ego Nwodim, but she did virtually nothing this week. We’ll keep an eye on her to see how she grows throughout the season and hopefully finds her voice.

As usual, we’re ranking all the sketches from worst to first, including the Cold Open and the regular “Weekend Update” segments. We’ll skip the musical guests, because they’re not usually funny – unless Ashlee Simpson shows up. We wrap up with a look at the cast-member who had the strongest week.

MONOLOGUE – Adam Driver

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“One huge spoiler about ‘Star Wars’–” Adam Driver said, before getting interrupted by Beck Bennett, who wanted to talk about his summer. That was essentially the thrust of his monologue, the entire cast wanting to gab about their summer and Adam really hating small talk.He suffered through Kenan Thompson and Aidy Bryant, but when Pete Davidson came out, Pete wasn’t interested in sharing. “No, you’re the one person who’s summer I really want to hear about,” Adam said. But that was the end. It wasn’t hugely hilarious, but it was kind of fun watching Adam sear burning hatred into Kenan, who did his classic “Kenan face” in response.

Vermont

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Beck Bennett proposes white people leave and form their own nation, but Adam Driver says there already is a place like that: Vermont. And then the whole sketch just described “white paradise” and how much it looked like Vermont. It never got to be too much or too funny or too silly or even a little over-the-top. It was just white supremacists thinking Vermont sounds really nice. We can’t imagine Vermont loving the sketch, but otherwise it was disappointingly bland.

Fortnite

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We suppose it was inevitable considering how insanely popular it is, but “SNL” went all in on this “Fortnite” sketch. They had Kyle Mooney, Pete Davidson and Adam Driver as players, but we didn’t expect them to bring the characters to life, too, with Mikey Day as Driver’s character, and Chris Redd and Heidi Gardner rounding out the digital cast. Adam played a middle-aged father who’d never played the game before, so that was it. Mikey mimicked the ridiculous things Adam was making him do, while the other guys got irritated until they all died. But at that point, it was a mercy killing. The sketch could have been funny or had a fun twist, but it had that one visual joke and nothing else.

Rad Times at Frat U

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So that was a weird one. A pre-taped sketch of an 80s frat party with constant freezes to drop notes on the screen about what happened to the people after; none of it good. From the innocent, like a guy who was excited to see girls now being married to a man, to the more serious — though never going so far as assault beyond a forced kiss. We thought the sketch was going somewhere with all of this, but it never really did. Clearly a reference to Kavanaugh’s partying days, but it didn’t skate the edge to drive home any sort of point.

Pete Davidson’s Shadow

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If it wasn’t intentional that announcer Darrell Hammond didn’t even say Kyle Mooney’s name during the opening credits, it fed perfectly into this early-show sketch about his insecurities. After Pete Davidson got engaged to Ariana Grande, Kyle Mooney realized he might never get the recognition he so desperately craves on the show in one of his pre-taped introspective videos. These are always weird and funny and awkward, but it’s where we got the sordid saga of his long romance with Leslie Jones, too, so we’re here for it. This time, he decided to solve his invisibility problem by becoming Pete, complete with blonde hair and slacker attitude. But rather than get a pop star to date, he brought out the real Wendy Williams as his girlfriend, complete with a pig. We also got an inside look at how “SNL” handles internal problems, and it is medieval and not pretty.

Weekend Update

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“If you’re drinking a bunch and you keep a calendar, it’s probably to help piece together what’s happening in your life,” Colin Jost said, as he and Michael Che went in on Kavanaugh’s blustery and angry hearing responses, though we don’t think Michael’s “might be” argument quite holds water.

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They saved a few moments to get into some of the other terrifying news of the summer, like that new and absolutely horrifying mascot for the Philadelphia Flyers. Who approved this monstrosity?

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Kate McKinnon then dropped by as Justice Ruth Bader Ginsburg to comment and fire off some Gins-burns at everyone from Kavanaugh to Republican Senator Jeff Flake, who pushed for an FBI investigation to, as she sees it, protect his ass before he votes yes anyway.

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Out of nowhere, Leslie Jones interrupted as Serena Williams, despite the bit being cut. This kind of banter always helps to bring us deeper into the world of “SNL,” helping us connect to the cast-members behind the characters, and we are here for them. Plus, she did look great.

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Finally, and we all knew it was coming, Pete Davidson dropped by to finally answer the question Adam Driver wanted in the “Cold Open.” How did he spend his summer vacation? Well, we all know the details, but he said he hates all the attention. “It’s Malcolm X, Martin Luther King Jr. and Pete Davidson. All people who’ve gotten death threats,” he said. When asked about the prenup situation, Pete said he wanted one. “God forbid we break up and she takes half my sneakers.” He then joked he swapped her birth control for Tic-Tacs. “I believe in us and all,” he said. “I just want to make sure she cant go anywhere.”

COLD OPEN – Kavanaugh Hearing

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With no sign of Alec Baldwin’s Trump, we instead got a fresh and energetic exploration of the Kavanaugh hearing, with Matt Damon absolutely killing it as the Supreme Court nominee. “”I’m gonna start at an 11 and I’m gonna take it to a 15 real quick!” he shouted, setting the stage for alternating anger and tears as he cited Kathy Griffin and Ronan “Sinatra” as part of the left-wing conspiracy against him. The Senators were played by a who’s who of the cast (including Rachel Dratch), with Kate McKinnon coming unhinged as Sen. Lindsey Graham, though we’re not sure she has a completely successful take on him yet. It went a little long, but every time Damon was glowering on-screen, we realized we could take just a little bit more. If Kavanaugh is going to stay in the news cycle, here’s hoping Matt is game to keep playing him.

Career Day

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Pete Davidson’s 82-year-old father, played by Adam Driver, brings the fire as an oil baron who crushes his enemy and grinds their bones into the dirt. Turns out the other kids think he’s a lot cooler than either Pete or the teacher (Aidy Bryant). This was absolutely bizarre, but Adam was so committed to his ridiculous, screaming character that we found ourselves as unable to hold it together as Pete and some of the other students. This recurring sketch has always been hit or miss, but when your “parent” character is this ridiculous and played this well, it’s always going to work.

Coffee Taste Test

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We’ve seen this before, where Mikey Day surprises taste-test participants with a product that isn’t nearly as fancy as they think. This time, it was Burger King coffee, and this time it was Adam Driver and Cecily Strong who got to lose their s–t over it. “You fed my wife this garbage, this burger juice?” Adam shouted incensed, while Cecily kept insisting hers must be the fancy coffee. We’re not sure why these are always funny, but it’s how worked up one couple always gets over being fooled, and Cecily was hilariously clueless throughout.

PLAYER OF THE WEEK

Pete Davidson may have been the most anticipated cast-member in this premiere, if just to hear him make jokes about Ariana Grande, and he did not disappoint, but he didn’t really shine beyond his “Weeked Update” appearance. Remarkably, no single cast-member stepped up in a huge way in this very balanced episode.

So we’re going to give it to the cast-member who sold their spotlight sketch the strongest, which narrows it down to Kyle Mooney and Cecily Strong, with the edge going to Cecily for her ridiculously clueless coffee taster. Yes, we know Kate McKinnon gave us Ruth Bader Ginsburg and Lindsey Graham, but we didn’t love her Graham as much as other characters she’s done.

“Saturday Night Live” continues next week with host Awkwafina and musical guest Travis Scott, Saturday at 11:35 p.m. et on NBC.

Got a story or a tip for us? Email TooFab editors at tips@toofab.com.

View Photos Getty ‘The Walking Dead’ Cast Looked Killer at Season 9 Premiere

Source: http://toofab.com/2018/09/30/adam-driver-snl-sketches-ranked-worst-to-first-matt-damons-brett-kavanaugh-pete-davidsons-summer/