This is how I imagine Boris’s and Valery’s attic flat in Vienna.
(Maybe I’ll drive also their cottage in Bonifacio, even if drawing houses is much more complicated than it seems, especially when you have zero drawing skills )
It’s a Sentinel / Guide AU, where Boris is a Sentinel and Valery his Guide. For most of the story, the main characters are younger compared to the age they have in the HBO TV series (imagine them between 20 and 40 years old), as you can see from the cover.
I’ve done some world-building work here, but as I wrote in the preface, basically mine is a tale of two people with their own flaws and issues, two people who learn to know each other, overcome differences and fall in love. In the end it’s a tale of much needed hope.
Tag stash under the cut. As usual, please, let me know if you want to be tagged or untagged. If you don’t feel like reading this story I totally understand ♥
It was wonderful, the closest we could possibly get to the historic conference room where Legasov spoke and answered questions for hours.
A minor drawback was the fact that the souvenir’s booth of the IAEA is inside the complex, so as a visitor you only get there during a tour and then there’s no time to pause and shop ♀️.
But one of the participants of the tour actually worked at the IAEA and offered us to go back inside after the tour and buy us some souvenirs , the wonderful person, so nice of him!
I’m not so good with souvenirs, so I said “I just want a postcard” and what does he bring - and oh my gosh, @litttlesilkworm you gonna laugh about that one - a card with fricking roses on it . Come on, what are the chances?
Immediate throwback to our awesome convo, and all those that followed, from way back about Valoris, roses and their symbolism:
A message from Letjaha, a network of assistance for people fleeing the war, created by activist collectives in Kraków: “A group of several organizations and individuals working locally to help the world, decided to organize their own network of assistance for people fleeing war. For the time being our actions are based on voluntary transport of people from the Polish-Ukrainian border and bringing them to Cracow or nearby – depending on the shelter we have organized and the needs of the people escaping war. We are also trying to reach social activists who are in Ukraine and may need our support. The money from the fundraiser will cover the cost of fuel, but also any other expenses that we are not able to predict at this time.”
my peace offering to the fic writers and shippers of valery and boris (hands down you guys make my day, i’ve been stuck in AO3 for almost 3 mos now bc of your writings and there’s still someone who wrote a fic about them just last year?? please,, you’re doing god’s work)
Boris took a drag off his cigarette and palmed himself through his pants. He made sure Valery was looking when he did it. “What?” he said, when Valery made a sound like he’d just been shot. “We’ll all be dead soon enough, anyway.”
Valery crossed the room with intent and purpose in his eyes. The only other times Boris saw him look like that was when he was angry about the power station. Those times as now as now his eyes burned like radiation ionizing the air. Wasn’t that one of the first things he’d said to him? He could tell the core was exposed and there was graphite on the roof because the radiation was ionizing the air and making it glow that weird color. The color he saw now in his dreams most of the time, along with the ever-present taste of metal.
Valery was kneeling between his legs. He took Boris in his mouth and Boris made the same gut-shot sound. His hips jerked forward. Valery kind of choked, or something, but he stayed down. Comrade, you’re doing the Soviet Union a service by your valorous attempt at suffocation. Here’s a reward.
Boris began laughing before he could stop himself. Valery didn’t pull off, and Boris finished down his throat. Valery swallowed it all, then wiped his mouth, leaning back on his heels. He looked up at Boris with those same radiation-glow eyes.
“What’s funny?”
Boris told him. Valery made a horribly failed attempt at not laughing. This was unsurprising. Valery seemed unskilled at most things that weren’t science. When he laughed he leaned a little further back and Boris saw the swell in his own pants. He reached out with one foot to press in at it with the sole of his shoe and Valery stopped laughing. He looked down. Then back up. His eyebrows were raised behind the glasses.
“Come here,” Boris said, and Valery climbed up on the narrow bed. They had to be quiet about it, because the room was bugged, but Boris got him off, Valery shoved down against the mattress, mouth pressed into the pillow. Boris’ hand trapped between his belly and the sheets, wrist moving jerkily, a little bit cramped due to the awkward position. When Valery finished he made another one of those slowly dying noises. Boris thought he was crying, or something, but when he rolled over his eyes were dry.
Still. Boris knew he was good at hiding things.
Boris retrieved a fresh cigarette which he lit and took a drag off before offering it to Valery. The sight of Valery’s mouth where Boris’ had been sent a shocking little electric thrill up his spine.
All these noises, Boris thought wryly, were apropos, considering. They would both be in the ground within five years. Why not make sounds like they were being shot, like they were bleeding out, burning up from the inside? It wasn’t Boris’ fault that being around Valery gave him the same feeling as being poisoned by the air.
At least this particular brand of poisoning was more productive.
Oh wow, a hot wild ride with a good sprinkle of angst . Niiiice!!!
