#Want to spread his dirty influence to the four winds ;))) | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

erodasfishtacos · 3 years

Note

has harry ever come before yn? and how did he react to it

warning: um this is straight up filth, sorry (not sorry)

CEO!H

“Baby, c’mon,” He huffs in frustration, his thumb slips once again because she’s just so wet for him.

“M’trying!” YN bites back, “You’re expecting me to come in two seconds all because you got yourself worked up by rubbing your dick on my tattoo.”

Harry can’t deny even after a few years of the ink being on his wife’s bum doesn’t make it any less hot to him.

It takes one more harsh pump of his hips before he’s groaning and coming, his fingers faltering on her bud once again.

YN is whining - these displeased, spoiled little noises that prickle the skin on the back of his neck and grit of his teeth.

“Y’sucha god damn brat,” Her husband spits out, not even enjoying his release because of his impatient, perfect wife.

“M’not,” YN retorts as she flips onto her back and lays down, not even disgusting her pout.

“Out of the hundreds and hundreds of times I’ve fucked you and made sure y’finished first - the one time y’dont you want to get all huffing and bent out of shape.”

YN squints at him, because he’s not wrong, she chooses to bite back with a bit of attitude, “Well you had some clumsy fingers tonight.”

Harry barks out a laugh, spreading her legs roughly, and muttering, “I’ll fuckin’ show clumsy fingers.”

Then continues on to make her come twice if his fingers along just because.

MLBrry

“Oh my god,” YN giggles loudly when Harry curses as he spills inside her - legitimately after only about three minutes of being in her.

“Shut up,” He whines, ego bruised a bit as he pulls out with a look of betrayal at his already softening cock, “Y’looked so good in m’jersey at the game tonight. Flauntin’ y’tits like tha’.”

YN smirks widely, turning around from where he had her bent over their bathroom counter, “I know, I saw how many times you had to ‘adjust’ yourself in your uniform.”

Harry hauls her up until her bum’s on the cold marble and her legs are spread to show him where she’s dripping from him.

“Can’t help it. It’s nearly impossible not to come the second I’m in you,” He pouts, it was the truth - usually he had amazing stamina but every once in a while his body was a traitor.

YN let’s out a quiet sigh when he tucks two fingers back inside her, twisting and curling in the way that make her toes crinkle.

“You amaze me. I’ve given you four babies and y’still as horny as ever,” YN giggles pleased and confident because of her husband’s constant want for her.

Harry pushes forward to lick into her warm, sweet mouth before he’s resting his forehead against hers and watching his fingers work into her perfect heat.

“Only horny f’you, mama. Course s’just for my wife, m’so fuckin’ in love with you. In love with your body, this beautiful thing has given us our babies - how could I not be obsessed?”

YN comes panting in his mouth and a smug smile on her face when he hardens back up against her thigh in the process.

—

Deaf!Harry

Harry’s lips are bright pink and swollen, his narrow hips pushed against the tiny counter in the frat bathroom as YN kneels in front of him.

“Baby, baby, want to fuck you. If you blow me I’ll come,” He signs in warning, attempting to coerce her into standing up but she doesn’t budge.

Her hands are quick on his belt and skinny jeans, letting his thick length rest towards his tummy as she leans forward to lick at the head.

He wasn’t joking, right as she suckles harshly on the head with her hand stroking the rest - he flexes and released with a loud loud moan.

“Didn’t know my mouth was that good,” YN gestures as she stands up with a teasing lift to her lips, thumbing a lose drop.

“You know when you grind on me it gets me going,” He accuses to justify his short span, “Don’t act like you don’t come in a second when I have my mouth on your clit and three fingers up in you.”

YN swallows harshly at the dirty talk, startling when someone bangs on the door, stating the need to use the toilet.

“I’m totally telling Niall you came in legit two minutes,” YN signs before swinging up the door and disappearing into the crowd - leaving behind her flabbergasted boyfriend.

—

Vamprry

“My leg is cramping, H,” YN complains noisily as he keeps her leg lifted a she fucks in from behind as they lay on the bed.

Harry is so so close.

His annoying little creature wasn’t going to find her end because of a god damn leg cramp.

“Bat, just let me - oh fuck,” Harry snarls loudly as he can’t control himself any longer, fucking harshly into her a few more time before he comes.

Ad soon as he’s lowering her leg, he’s met by her displeased, grumpy whimpers that make him want to bite her until she’s limp or kiss her sweetly - sometimes he can’t tell which.

He drops her leg, planning to finish her off but she pushes his hand away which has him baring his fangs and snarling fiercely at her.

“No, I’ll finish myself,” She grunts, rolling onto her back and propping up her legs, one hooked over Harry’s thigh.

Every time he tries to reach over to help as she rubs quickly and precisely at her bud with short puffs of air - she smacks him off which makes him hiss angrily as he watches on.

“You’re like a million years older and you can’t control yourself still?” YN teases breathlessly as she feels a ball of fire start to pool in her stomach.

Her grin gets wider when his eyes blacken and his lip curls completely back to reveal his glimmering white canines.

“Pest, you are not doing it correctly. Let me make you come,” Harry demands with agitation, his hands clenching to not just grab her.

“Shut up,” She snaps back, two fingers rubbing in languid circles that have her hips bucking - it really shouldn’t turn her on that her vamp boyfriend is threatening her with his fangs.

“I rarely ever come before you. Please little human, you are annoying me and I wish to make you come now,” Harry tries to use a more gentle tone.

YN finally gives in, letting him take over with his own fingers, two tucking inside and his thumb right on her nerves.

His fangs ascend back into in gums as he admires his squirmy mate who is restless until she tense and releases on his hand.

It’s only a matter of second before she is coaxing his fangs back out - because she loves to torment him, “Better luck next time champ.”

“Enough,” He growls at an ear-shattering volume before he’s biting at her mating mark to get her to submit.

Works everyday.

—

Influencer!H

Harry was getting himself overly worked up, as soon as YN pressed record for a little something that she could watch when she had to leave tour for two weeks.

“Honey bee, c’mon,” Harry rasps, voice as deep as it goes as he sits in the armchair in their hotel room - legs spread and feet planted on the floor.

“Hold on, just want a shot of this,” She replies, he was so fucking hot - couldn’t grasp that this man was her’s sometimes.

He had a firm, lazy grip on his cock - thumb circling his extremely sensitive tip every so often which made him shutter.

“Slower, tease yourself,” YN murmurs as she films him, watching raptly as he slows down his strokes but fucks up into his hand.

“Want t’be in you, bee,” Harry tells his with a wrinkle between his eyebrows as he twitches in his palm.

“Then listen to me,” She orders in a voice she rarely uses - a authorative voice that has Harry moaning as he squeezes himself.

“M’listenin’, I promise.”

“Stop,” YN replies, eyes following when he releases his grip and it sways before resting on his taut belly - pink and swollen.

She props the camera on the desk, shimmying down her underwear, and straddling him on the chair - letting herself sink down.

“Oh fuck - baby, m’gonna - bloody hell,” He moans as he comes within seconds, hand squeeze her plush hips.

His forehead is sweaty, lips puffy, and YN is so pleased with him, whispering that he’s so fucking good for her, she can’t wait to watch it when she’s away.

Cheating!H

“Y’takin’ it so good, darlin’,” Harry grunts out, teeth gritted and hand grasping her jaw to keep her mouth against his.

YN was in a mood tonight.

“C’mon, we don’t have much time before Anna comes looking, H,” YN goads coyly, her plush hips digging into the counter where her bum is pressed against.

“Hush up, pup,” Harry scolds, biting at her swollen bottom lip before hiking her up a bit more to hit her spot right on.

“She’s gonna be so bummed, y’can’t get it up for her tonight after fucking me,” YN doesn’t stop with the filth.

“Y’act like I have ever fucked ‘er. I’ve only been givin’ it t’you for the past ten years,” He mutters, tongue licking into her mouth to shut her up.

When someone knocks on the door, they don’t stop, Harry determined as he pounds into her with hard, meaningful strokes.

“Harry, are you in there? Are you feeling alright?” Anna asks from the other side of the door - it was super loud because of the party.

He comes right then on the spot.

“You’re sick,” YN giggles, pleased as he pumps in a few more times to fill her up - claiming her as he always did.

—

Gang!H

It started with the god damn fucking teasing.

Rival gang members, the police, literally nobody gets under his skin - just his bloody nuisance of a wife and she took full advantage.

She got in these moods were she would fuck with him, tease him, wind him up until he had her pinned down with a sore arse.

He loved her so fucking much.

It started at the bar, she had leaned over with way too much cleavage on display as she fluttered her eyes to get men to buy her a drink.

Harry who was currently in the middle of a lucrative deal couldn’t concentrate as a man offered to buy her a glass of wine.

He didn’t care who saw, he excused himself and pushed her harshly into the bar until it would bruise her hips.

“Cut it the fuck out now, m’busy,” He hisses menacingly in her ear, ignoring the men who were staring wide eyes at the exchange.

Her hand comes back to subtly palm at his crotch before humming, “All these nice men are willing to pay attention to me.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Harry rumbles, gripping her wrist and moving it away from his groin with force.

“Whoa, man! You can’t talk to a lady like that!” A brunette gentleman squawks after watching the interaction.

Harry steps back, a sly smile rising the corner of his lips, and he purposefully lifts his shirt just a bit to flash a shining gold desert eagle tucked in his waistband.

The man’s eyes widen in horror which makes Harry chuckle darkly, “Don’t tell me how to treat m’fuckin’ brat of a wife, she fuckin’ loves it anyways.”

With that, Harry storms back to continue his meeting and YN grins, a little flushed as she sips on a glass of water - aroused beyond belief.

After a bit, YN disappears down the hallway to the restroom, and sends Harry a text that has him excusing herself.

Please help me. Woman’s bathroom, hurry.

Harry’s reaching back for his gun, not hesitation as he rushes down the hallway - heart pounding at the thought of his love in trouble.

He slams open the single stall bathroom, gun drawn but all he sees is his beautiful wife, on her knees with lust obvious in her body language.

“Y’tha’ fuckin’ desperate?” Harry scoffs, locking the door and placing his gun on the counter - already reaching for his belt and zipper.

“Please sir.”

It sends a harsh, electric zip down his spine as he hisses when his wet tip hits the cold air, he bends down first - forces her mouth open and spits.

But his words are soft and loving after, “Brat, love you s’much. Y’the love of m’life.”

Her eyes twinkle but she can’t speak because he’s guiding himself in her mouth with a long push that has her breathing heavily through her nose.

Harry surprises himself when he ends up spilling right after she pulls off for a breath and jerks him, rasping out, “I love living life with you.”

Yeah he comes at words and he isn’t fucking ashamed.

It has him pushing her up against the wall and licking her out until she’s teary from sensitivity and legs quivering pathetically.

👁👄👁

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beelsnack · 3 years

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Bad Influence - Beelsnack's 666 Follower Special!!

(Technically I'm over 666 - shoutout to the porn bots)

But seriously, holy shit, there's a lot of you. Thank you all so much for liking my stuff, and for interacting with me and sending me good vibes and all of that. I hope I can keep giving you guys quality work!!

And yes, I am a nerd and I consider 666 a milestone for a blog for a bunch of demons. No, I'm not sorry.

-----

Lucifer: He couldn’t help but wonder when the change had set in.

When the human first arrived in the Devildom, they had been humble and meek. If anyone complimented them, they deflected it with the mastery and resignation of someone who had been doing it for far longer than they should have. And if someone thanked them? You would think their entire world was dissolving around them.

But now?

He extended a gloved hand towards them as they descended the stairs. Tonight was one of the rare nights where they had the opportunity to be alone without one of his brothers tagging along, and they had been planning this date for nearly a week now. They slipped their hand in his without any of the hesitation they would have shown at first. They knew they deserved his reverence.

“You look radiant as always, my dear,” he curled his fingers around theirs as they reached the bottom step, bringing the backs of their knuckles to his lips. “Surely there is no star in the sky that could outshine you.”

They laughed - his theatrics always did amuse them. “You do have amazing taste, after all.”

He chuckled as well, guiding the two of them to the front door. “Of course. Do you think the Avatar of Pride would associate with anyone less than the best?”

“Definitely not,” the wind that came through the door when they opened it blew their hair away from their face, and Lucifer couldn’t help but preen at the fact that he had helped that quivering little animal grow into the proud swan that stood before him.

“Speaking of the best, where are we going for dinner?”

“Don’t worry, my dear,” he laughed as they made their way out into the night. “You deserve the world, and the world you shall get.”

“Unless ‘the world’ means a steak dinner, I’m not interested.”

Mammon: “Come on, don’t leave me hangin’ out here!”

The curtain covering the entrance to the changing room rustled, and Mammon heard a faint “Fine, fine, just give me a sec!” before it finally opened and out stepped the human.

Mammon always thought they looked good no matter what they were wearing, even if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. Actually, especially if it was one of his old t-shirts and a pair of shorts. But seeing them decked out in his fashion brand - one he had both designed and modeled - was definitely making him feel some type of way.

He let out a low whistle when they stopped in front of the chair he had seated himself in. The results of his own shopping spree were tucked haphazardly into a colorful assortment of bags at his feet, but the human had taken a bit longer than he did picking out their stuff. And damn, was he glad they did, because otherwise he wouldn’t get the chance to see them modeling his clothes.

It was a private fashion show, just for him.

The outfit itself was pretty simple. A black fitted tee beneath a cropped leather jacket, a pair of faded dark-blue skinny jeans, and a pair of black sneaks with a gold stripe going up the side. But the thing that brought the whole outfit together was the long necklace with a topaz pendent resting against their breastbone.

“Well?” they asked, giving him a spin before striking a pose before him. “What do you think?”

For a moment, he couldn’t speak. The human wearing his clothes...it was the next best thing to them walking around with “I Belong To Mammon” tattooed on their forehead.

“I, uh...I guess you...um,” he swallowed thickly. “Ya look alright, I guess.”

“That’s tsundere for ‘you look hot,’ right?” they grinned before spinning around to look in the mirror. “Man, this is a whole look! I have to have it!”

If this had been a few months ago, the human would have waffled back and forth about whether or not to buy anything. It didn’t matter how much they wanted something, it was almost like they just couldn’t do anything nice for themselves. There was being frugal, and then there was deprivation. Now, though, was completely different.

“I wonder if I should get some shades to go with?” they mumbled, looking themselves over in the mirror. “I think that would really pull it together, don’t you?”

“Just don’t go for the Ray Bans, it’s a fucking scam.”

Leviathan: "Come on, come on, come on…"

Very rarely was Levi the one watching someone else play games, unless it was a stream. And as mind-blowingly awesome it would be to watch the human stream one of his current faves, he definitely didn't want other people seeing how adorable they looked when they were focused.

They had come to him with absolute determination in their eyes, begging him to help them out. There were a limited amount of UR armor sets in the event, and they needed to get their hands on one. And, well, what kind of friend would he be if he didn't help them out?

(The fact that he already scored the armor is irrelevant.)

So, here they were, camped out in the pillow nest that they often made for themselves when gaming in his room, laser focused on the screen with Levi giving them guidance. The event level was brutal, but they were in the final hours, so it was crunch time.

"Okay, this boss is easy once you know the attack pattern. Four regular slashes, a jab, then you've got about five seconds to get behind a pillar before it uses the AOE."

"Gotcha."

Even then, it was a long battle, and they had used up most of their healing potions by the time the monster let out an anguished roar and disintegrated into a pile of bones. The human held their breath as they moved towards it to gather their loot.

"Yes!!"

They practically leaped out of the pillow nest in triumph. There, right on the top of the loot list in shimmering gold font, and the UR armor that they had been coveting.

"I got it! I got it!" they cheered. "Levi, I finally got it!"

"Hell yeah you did!" the two of them shared a crisp high five as the results of the campaign loaded on the screen. It was updating in real time, so they could watch as the final moments of the event ticked away.

Levi knew what they were looking for. Early on in the dungeon, another player had done them real dirty, sniping them from a few levels above and then taunting them over VC about how they would never get the armor now. So of course that only inspired the human to work harder, and here they were.

3...2...1

Event over. Quickly, the human scrolled up to the beginning of the list, checking the names of all the players who scored the armor.

Levi sat next to them, chewing his lip. What was that person's tag again? He didn't remember.

Suddenly, the human let out a snort that turned into a full-on giggle fit.

"They didn't get it!" they cackled like a hyena. "Serves them right, the jackass!"

Levi was pretty sure it wasn't a good idea to laugh at the misfortune of others. But, he knew better than anyone that spite was a hell of a motivator. When they had first gotten themselves isekai’d into the Devildom, they had let demons walk all over them, Levi had personally witnessed a lower-level demon shove them out of the way to get a sandwich they had been reaching for, and the human just stood there and let them take it. But they had grown to be a little more selfish, and if they wanted something, they were taking it.

And maybe, just maybe, seeing them like that turned him on just a little bit.

Satan: "You want to come and say that to my face?"

Satan stood there in stunned silence as the human spun on their heel to look the demons right in the eyes. They had their back to him, so Satan couldn't see the look on their face, but whatever it was made the two lesser demons flinch.

"Hey, come on, Human, we were just joking."

"Yeah, no need to get all worked up."

They scoffed, and Satan knew them well enough to know that they were rolling their eyes. "Is that right? So you don't think I'm a...what was it? A fleshy meat sack who thinks they can get what they want by sleeping with the strongest demons in the Devildom?"

Another flinch. Satan chuckled to himself.. Did those morons really think they wouldn't hear them? Humans might not have super-heightened senses but they weren't deaf.

A small crowd had begun gathering around them, waiting to see what would happen. It wasn't every day one of the human exchange students squared up to a demon.

"You've got some nerve," the human drew themself up to their full height - which, admittedly, was laughable compared to most demons - and crossed their arms. "What do you think Lord Diavolo would do to demons who messed with his exchange students?"

"I believe there's a special spot in the Royal Torture Chambers for such demons," Satan came to stand next to them, and the other demons downright cowered. "If I recall correctly, there's an Iron Maiden down there."

"Ooh, cool!"

"Alright, we get it!" One of the demons cried, throwing their hands up defensively. "We're sorry!"

Satan opened his mouth to spit a curse at them, but the human beat him to it. "I've got Lord Diavolo on speed dial, so start running."

The two demons turned tail and booked it down the hallway, nearly crashing into Beelzebub as he turned the corner with a sandwich hanging out of his mouth. He stood frozen for a moment before he swallowed and turned to Satan and the human.

"Were those two bothering you guys?"

Satan cast a sideways look at the human before a wicked grin spread across his face.

"They took care of it."

Asmodeus: "Well, someone's feeling bold tonight."

The door had barely shut behind the two of them before the human was pressing Asmo against it, mouthing at his neck as their hands traveled down the front of his silk blouse. He shuddered gleefully as their breath ghosted against his ear lobe.

"I can't help it," they murmured, fingers skirting just beneath the hem of his shirt. "You looked so good out there."

"I look good all the time, darling," he hummed, reaching up to grab a fistful of hair to gently pry them away from his neck.

"You looked especially good," they huffed as he let go of their hair. "Dancing like that, I could barely wait until we got home."

"Aw, sweetheart, you should have come to join me." Asmo rolled his hips in an echo of the dancing he had been doing at the club, delighting when he felt them shiver against him. "We could have put on a show that would have captivated the whole Devildom."

"I don't think the staff would appreciate it."

"They would be too busy watching to care," Asmo giggled, diving down to capture their lips in a quick and dirty kiss. "Although I can't say I'm not thrilled to be getting a private show."

Beelzebub: “Man, this place has the best barbecue!”

Dinner dates were a pretty common thing for the two of them. Over the course of the human’s stay in the Devildom, the two of them had figured out which restaurants would put up with Beel’s appetite and which would visibly freeze when the Avatar of Gluttony entered the establishment. The Hellfire Barbecue was one of the good places, probably because Beel made sure to tip really well, and one time personally went into the kitchen to tip the chef. Or, well, he tried, anyway. He ended up giving the money to the human and told them to give it to the chef because he knew if he went in there he would devour everything. But the sentiment was still there.

Beel smiled down at the human as they wiped the barbecue sauce off of their face. “You finished all of it this time.”

“Huh?” they glanced at their plate. “Oh. Yeah, I guess I did.”

“You usually don’t.”

“I was really hungry, I guess.” they grinned sheepishly.

Beel distinctly remembered the human telling him that they always tried to save some food for later. Whether it was being resourceful or because they had a weird sense of shame around eating too much, Beel didn’t know, but he had never pressed in case it was a sensitive issue. But, seeing them indulge themselves and looking genuinely full and satisfied made him happy. And was probably his main motivation for taking them out to dinner so often.

Well, that and getting his own food.

“I like watching you eat.” Beel said, waving to the owner as he passed by.

“You...like watching me eat.” the human repeated, looking somewhat confused.

“You look so happy when you eat good food,” Beel smiled. “I like seeing you happy.”

Belphegor: Oh, how the tables have tabled.

“Come on, I don’t feel like dealing with Lucifer’s lectures today.” Belphie grumbled, tugging half-heartedly on the human’s arm that was flung around his waist. “We should get up soon.”

For all of his complaining, Belphie didn’t move. If anything, he snuggled down deeper into the bed. He loved when the human agreed to have a sleepover in the attic with him. They got uninterrupted cuddle and nap time, since nobody dared to come up to the attic except Beel. And Beel was almost always welcome to join the cuddle puddle.

“Five more minutes…” the human mumbled sleepily, burying their face into Belphie’s neck. The soft, contented sigh they let out tickled, and he squirmed a little.

“Aren’t you usually the one waking me up?” Belphie nuzzled his nose against their hair.

“But it’s comfy here,” they whined. “I don’t want to get up.”

“You just don’t want to do the presentation in class today.”

“Your point?”

Belphie laughed. “Can’t say I disagree.”

“I did all the hard work anyway,” they shrugged. “We’ll make Mammon give the report.”

“Sounds like a plan to me.”

The two of them settled back down into the nest of pillows. The human had almost drifted back to sleep when Belphie brought his nose down to theirs to nuzzle them together.

“You’re cute when you’re sleepy.”

“You’re cute when you shut up and let me sleep.”

#obey me lucifer #obey me mammon #obey me leviathan #obey me levi #obey me satan #obey me asmodeus #obey me asmo #obey me beelzebub #obey me beel #obey me belphegor #obey me belphie

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jimlingss · 4 years

Text

Sugar and Coffee [18]

Chapter 17 - Chapter 18 - Chapter 18.5 OR Chapter 19

➜ Words: 4.5k

➜ Genres: 99.5% Fluff, 0.5% Angst, Pâtisserie school!AU

➜ Summary: It isn't hard to be a pâtisserie chef, but it's not a piece of cake either. It seems like for you in particular, life keeps throwing in one wrench after another. It always finds ways to make your sweets bitter. The cherry on top is Jeon Jungkook — a rival with a sensitive sweet tooth who always finds ways to complain about you.

cr.

It’s funny how things come and go in life. The longer you live and the more things you experience, you realize just how fickle living can be. The events that you anticipate the most come and go while the ones you dread linger. The people you expect to stay with you leave — and the people you expect to leave end up staying. Similarly, the internship that you had been so worried and excited for was finally finished. It was sad to say goodbye and to leave the shop behind. You genuinely loved being there, learning and spending your time perfecting your craft. Even bratty Yuna was sad to bid you farewell — the two of you had grown fond of each other over the months, so you sent her a card right when you got home yourself and you heard from Namjoon that she had pinned it on her wall. Luckily, you knew that this goodbye wouldn’t be a permanent one. It was different to other goodbyes you’ve had in the past. Namjoon and Sejeong assured both you and Jungkook a million times that it was only temporary — that they’d be happy to hire you back after your schooling is finished if you so happened to choose to work for them again. And it’s a proposition that still interests you greatly. You’re not sure what Jungkook wants to do — but you know you’d love to return and continue making wedding cakes under their mentorship someday. But for now you had to return on your path. The end of Summer was quickly approaching, and you find yourself coming back to where it started. Well. Sort of. In actuality, you were standing on Jungkook’s parents’ doorstep. Suitcase in hand. Full of hesitance and uncertainty. Fingers kept away from the doorbell. You’re not sure if this is a place that would welcome you again. But Jungkook had insisted. He pressed on, insisting that you should visit his family again, to at least come see him for a few days with the Summer that remained left. He whined about how much he missed you. And you had to admit, you missed him too. So here you were, like a complete idio— “God, okay! I’m throwing out the trash now!” The door opens. The boy freezes. He stares at you with rounded eyes as you stare back at him. He’s dressed in a worn t-shirt and gym shorts, flopping hair sticking out in all directions like he just woke up even though it’s well past noon. One hand is on the handle, the other is holding a black garbage bag. Slowly the corner of your mouth quirks. “Hi.” A stupidly big grin plasters across Jungkook’s face and spreads into his cheeks as his eyes light up with mirth. Jungkook’s voice softens. “When’d you get here?” “Just now.” He drops the garbage and is about to come and hug you, but something shoots out from between his legs to engulf you in a tight embrace instead. “Y/N!” Eunbi’s summer dress flutters in the breeze and you lift her up as best as you can with a smile. Lia follows quickly behind, wearing a big smile and she turns over her shoulder. “Y/N’s here!” “She’s here?” Someone comes stumbling from the kitchen, throwing her kitchen towel aside. Jungkook’s dad comes out from the backyard, having heard the ruckus. “She’s here.” “She’s here!” Eunbi repeats in giggles and your arms widen when Lia joins in greeting you with a hug. Jungkook sighs wistfully, separated from you by his overbearing family members. Yet, all the worries you had about being welcomed or not instantly vanishes. They greet you warmly — Jungkook’s dad asking how you’ve been, how exams and classes and the internship was. You’re bombarded with curious questions and enthusiastic answers, only spared when Jungkook’s mom pulls you to the kitchen where she has a whole countertop of food prepared. She wasn’t sure what you liked to eat, so she made everything she could when she heard you were coming and you can’t find it in your heart to reject her hard efforts. So you consume as much as you can before Eunbi tugs you aside to join her tea party with Lia. You find out their parents have gone for a last-minute trip, so they’ve been staying at their aunt’s and uncle’s, obviously having a blast by the looks of it, especially now with you here. It’s only when Jungkook turns on a Disney movie and makes them sit down to watch that he’s finally able to sneak you away. “Sorry about that.” He shuts the door to his room, sighing at how difficult it was to get a hold of you in his own house. “It’s okay. I love your family.” “That makes one of us,” Jungkook mutters and sulks. “You try spending twenty four hours a day seven days a week with them and see how they can drive you nuts.” “Aww, poor baby. Your family cares about you, how horrible.” Your voice drips of sarcasm and you feign sympathy, reaching over to pat him on the back. Jungkook scoffs but takes the opportunity to wrap his arms around you. He leans down enough to accommodate for the height difference and he props his chin on your shoulder. His nose digs into your hair, breathing in. You’re ticklish from his grip. “Jungkook…” “I missed you.” “It’s only been what?” You rest your head on his shoulder, giving into his warmth. “Two weeks?” “Long enough.” “School starts in another week. If I didn’t come, you still would’ve seen me.” “Yeah, but what if I died before then and couldn’t see you ever again?” he whines and it’s hard to resist the small smile tugging at your lips. But you manage to pull away from him and roll your eyes. “You’re so dramatic.” The boy grins and takes a seat on his chair by his old computer desk while you plop down onto the edge of his bed. “So….what have you been up to?” “You act like we haven’t called and texted each other every single day.” “Yeah, but I don’t know what the trip was like up here.” “Fair enough,” you hum. “I guess all that really happened is that I sat next to this really handsome man on the bus here who shared my interests and hobbies. And we had a hot, passionate summer fling and we decided to make this a long-term thing, so we’re getting married. Sorry to say, Jeon, but you’ve lost your chance.” You laugh and his eye twitches. In an instant, you’re being pinned to his mattress with Jungkook hovering above you. His knee wedges between your legs, hands pressed flat next to your head. The dark strands of his hair grazes against your forehead and you sink deeper into his pillows. But even in such a compromising position, you can’t help but muse how cute he looks feigning anger like this. “I’m trying to be nice here, but you’re always testing my patience, brat. You really think I won’t kill you one day?” “You wouldn’t.” You quirk your head to the side, hands grasping at his forearms. Your eyes glimmer with a challenge before they flicker up to the posters lining his wall. “Not with IU watching.” He grins, a small laugh coming from his nose. “Jieun would understand.” You snort and he helps you sit up. “Do your parents know…?” “No. Otherwise, you’d be on the phone with my grandma right now. They’re overbearing enough as it is.” You nod. “They don’t think it’s weird that I’m here?” “No.” Jungkook scoffs. “God, they love you. Isn’t it obvious? They think you’re a ‘good influence’ on me. Better than Taehyung and Jimin are, at least. Those two are just idiots no matter where they go, so my parents are always concerned that all of us will get into fender benders.” He uses air quotes when he says ‘good influence’ and you bat his arm. “I am a good influence on you.” “Uh-huh.” Jungkook eyes you skeptically. “They should see you when you get mad—” “I don’t get mad.” “—and when you start swearing. Or the amount of dirty, dirty things you can say…” “Jungkook,” your whine tapers off when he suddenly lays a hand on your upper thigh. Jungkook’s half-lidded eyes and heavy gaze flickers down to your lips. He starts to lean in, head angling and your breath catches in your throat in eager anticipation. Your eyes flutter shut. But you never feel the velvet texture of Jungkook’s lips against yours. Instead, there’s a loud knock that startles you both to death. Then, the door opens. And the boy, whose lap you were nearly perched on, is already back on his desk chair, whirling around. “Hey, Y/N.” Jungkook’s dad is smiling wide. “What are you guys up to?” “We’re just talking,” his son deadpans. “Is there something you need?” “Nope.” The middle-aged man who uncannily has Jungkook’s eyes leans on the doorframe with arms crossed casually. “Just thought I’d pop by, see what’s going on, let you know your mom thinks you two can bring Lia and Eunbi into town to pick up some groceries….” “Okay. We can do that later.” There’s a terrible, awkward silence as Jungkook’s dad hangs around. It makes the younger frown. “Is there something wrong?” “No.” He shakes his head, slowly starting to turn away before Jungkook dies in modification. But then he stops and looks back with a smile playing at his lips. “You guys should keep the door open though. House policy. Not mine but your mother’s. You know...she doesn’t want any funny business happening.” “Dad.” “Hey, don’t shoot the messenger.” His hands are lifted up in the air and he laughs it off. The older man pushes the door so it’s wide open and then waltzes away. Jungkook’s sigh is long enough to empty out his lungs and you giggle at their interaction. The walk to town is lovely. The end of Summer keeps the weather from sweltering or being uncomfortable. It’s warm with a brisk wind kissing against your cheeks. You consider just how cozy this town is, small houses and big lawns, white picket fences and scalloped shingle rooftops. The grocery store is modest too and several people greet Jungkook when he enters, asking how he’s been and if you're someone special to him. It’s a place where everyone knows everyone and it’s cute. You never considered Jungkook to be a small town boy, but it’s somehow fitting. “We need to get apples, cucumbers, scallions….” He flips over the list, trying to discern his mom’s chicken scratch as he pushes the shopping cart. “Uh…..that either says potatoes or tomatoes.” “Can we get this?!” Eunbi holds up a box bigger than her body. The doll inside is smiling. Jungkook doesn’t even glance at it. “No.” “Awww.” The four of you walk down the cereal aisle and Jungkook stops for a detour. He picks two to compare and concentrates too hard for such a menial task. “I didn’t know cereal was on our list,” you say while peeking over his shoulder. “I like cereal,” he mumbles. In spite of taking a full minute on deliberating what brand he wants, Jungkook ends up settling for both. He places them into the cart and continues pushing it down the aisle while humming. You keep a watch on Eunbi in the meanwhile to make sure she doesn’t get lost, but soon Lia comes back with something in hand. “Y/N, can we please make this together?” The seven year old has a bright, red box of chewy fudge brownie mix. Automatically, you and Jungkook’s faces twist in abhorrent disgust. “It says we just need...egg, water, and oil!” she reads off of it proudly. “No, we don’t need a box to make brownies,” you coax with a smile. “We can make it fresher. A few more steps and it’ll taste worlds better than the box.” “Really?” “Really.” “Yay!” Eunbi’s loudly cheering in the middle of the grocery store, arms in the air and hopping up and down. “We get brownies!” “What’s even in here?” Jungkook takes the box and flips it around. His eyes narrow in on the tiny letters of the ingredient list. “Sugar, enriched bleached wheat flour? What’s carrageenan? Pft, artificial flavour?” He arrogantly tosses it aside. “We don’t need that. We’re professionals.” You snort. “Uh-huh. A professional who doesn’t even know how to make a moist cake.” “At least I can temper chocolate,” he bites back without skipping a beat — without blinking or taking a breath. When Jungkook sees your shocked expression, he laughs heartily and throws an arm over your shoulder, nuzzling into you. “I’m kidding. Kidding.” You scoff, throw his arm off of you. “No, you aren’t.” “Are you fighting?” Eunbi grabs a hold of your shirt, tugging lightly. “Only because Jungkook is mean,” you tell with an exaggerated pout. It’s his turn to be offended. “You just said my cakes weren’t moist!” You ignore him. “Let’s go, children. We don’t interact with bullies.” Lia and Eunbi giggle, happy to go along with you and leave Jungkook in the dust, scrambling to roll the shopping cart behind you. Eventually, the groceries are paid for and the walk back turns out to be equally enjoyable. Once the four of you arrive back to the house, his parents are out working in the garden, so you and Jungkook put away the groceries together and pull out the necessary ingredients for brownies. “We can probably make two batches.” “I wanna do it with Y/N!” Lia immediately exclaims, jumping to your side. She leaves her younger sister frowning and on the verge of tears. “No, I wanna!” “How about me?” Jungkook stands in the middle of his own kitchen at a complete loss. It causes laughter to bubble from you. “Okay, all three of us can do it together and we can verse Jungkook. How about that?” They nod and Lia tells her cousin that he’s going down, teasing him mercilessly and you indulge them about how you’re better than Jungkook in everything at school — something he adamantly protests about. Soon, all of you get to work. You teach them how to preheat the oven, grease the pans, and watch as the half cup of butter is melted in a saucepan. Lia and Eunbi help you measure out one cup of sugar and they each crack an egg into the butter. Three quarter cups of cocoa are shifted into the mixture along with a half cup of flour, a quarter teaspoon of salt and a quarter teaspoon of baking powder. You show the two girls how to fold the ingredients gently together and you catch them a moment before they’re about to spoon the batter into their mouths. They give stretching smiles and you help them spread it into a pan instead to bake. It’s put in for half an hour, slightly underdone so it’s sweet and still gooey. “It smells wonderful in here,” Jungkook’s mom gasps as she enters, taking off her garden gloves and wiping her brow with the back of her hand. “Did you make something special?” “Look auntie!” Eunbi is jumping, hands jittery, on a sugar high. “We made brownies!” “Did you now?” She peers over the counter, brows raising. “My goodness, they look amazing.” “We helped make them with Y/N,” Lia announces, mouth smeared in chocolate. “Did you thank Y/N yet for showing you how to make them?” Both girls instantly whirl around, thanking you with bashful and shy smiles. In the meanwhile, Jungkook’s mom is unable to resist and reaches over for a brownie. She groans at the taste and smacks her lips together. “Don’t eat too much or it’ll ruin your appetite,” she says — much like how Jungkook often reminds you — and ironically bites into her brownie again. The woman turns to you. “These are delicious, dear.” “They weren’t too hard to make.” “You should show me the recipe, I’d love to bake these again.” “I’ve made these before!” Jungkook complains in a higher pitched voice, eating his own brownies when no one takes them out of his pan. But no one pays mind to him. Not his mother or his twirling cousins. “Of course, I can.” You, on the other hand, do pay attention to Jungkook. You grin at him as he glares. And only later when there’s a moment of privacy will he tickle you as revenge for making his entire family love you more than him. It’s then that he finally gets the chance to kiss you too. // Dinner with the Jeon family is as you would expect it to be. Everyone inhales all the food and chit chats with one another. There’s warm banter shared across the dinner table as his parents make him talk about the trip to Tahiti, how the internship was and if he was on his best behaviour. He gives you discreet, defeated looks to show how he’s so done with them and it’s hard to stifle your giggles. Afterwards, you help him do the dishes as his cousins turn on a movie to watch and his parents finish off the brownies you made. Not long after that, everybody begins to retreat to their rooms. “Aw, do we have to go to bed?” “Yes. Don’t you want to help plant the flowers tomorrow?” Jungkook’s mom smooths out her hair. “Only big girls can help and you can only get big if you sleep and get strong.” “Okay.” Lia sulks. “But can I at least say goodnight to Y/N?” “Yes.” The older woman offers a rather maternal smile. “You can.” Lia runs to you down the hall right as you leave the bathroom with your toothbrush in hand, catching you off guard. She hugs you tight. “Goodnight, Y/N!” Eunbi is hot on her sister’s heels and you stumble back when she throws herself at you too. “Night, night, Y/N!” “Goodnight, you two.” “Can we play tomorrow?” You ruffle the five year old’s hair. “Course we can.” She beams and hops back, following her aunt. Her uncle is already inside their room, holding up books. “Who’s ready for story time?” “Me!” Lia runs off and waves to you. At the same time, Jungkook leaves his room to see their retreating forms and scoffs. “Wow, are they not going to wish me a goodnight?” You slap his arm, laughing. “Stop being so jealous all the time. I can’t help that I’m so lovable.” He scoffs and affectionately pokes your forehead with his index finger. “I can’t even argue with that.” The corner of his mouth curls and you grin. Jungkook has that look in his eyes — the one you’ve learnt to recognize. He looks like he wants to kiss you, like he’s about to do it too, but the pair of you are interrupted by someone lingering in the hallway. “Y/N, you’re sleeping in the guest bedroom, right?” His mom looks at you and you nod quickly. “Yes, I am.” “Good.” She relaxes and bobs her head. “Jungkook, you go back to your room now. There’s a long day tomorrow.” He sighs, but doesn’t argue. Jungkook turns right back around into his room and keeps the door slightly open for a second, enough to give you an incredulous look. It makes you smile and mouth ‘goodnight’ to him before he shuts the door. His mom brings you to the guest bedroom, helping you set up for the night and asking if you need extra blankets and pillows. “Are you sure everything’s okay?” “Yes, it is. Thank you, Mrs. Jeon.” “If you’re ever cold, feel free to grab anything from the closet.” When you nod, she gets to the door. Jungkook’s mom is about to turn off the light, but lingers. She twists around to share a smile with you. “Thank you for coming, Y/N. I’m glad to see you again.” “No, thank you.” You’re caught off guard by her words of gratitude. “Honestly, I didn’t want to be such a bother.” “You aren’t. Trust me.” She laughs, a tinkling sound emitting from her chest. “I’ve always wanted a daughter like you. Jungkook is two more handfuls than I can handle sometimes, especially when he was young.” The older woman shakes his head with a fond expression. “He might not look like it but he’s still very much a child. I worry about him being gone so far for so long out of the entire year. So, I’m glad there’s someone like you looking out for him.” You’re touched by her sincerity, but you can’t help but feel like she’s gotten it wrong. You awkwardly shift your weight from one foot to the other. “Mrs. Jeon—” “You can call me auntie, if you’d like.” You nod timidly. “Jungkook actually looks out for me a lot more than I do for him. He really helped me through a lot of tough times, so really, I should be the one thanking him….” She smiles, the wrinkles around her eyes creasing. “Then I’m even more grateful that Jungkook’s not hopeless. It’s good that the two of you have one another.” Part of you wants to tell her that you’re unequivocally in love with her son. But by the twinkle in her eye, you get a sense that she already knows the true nature between you and Jungkook. You don’t need to say it aloud or make any announcements. Her smile becomes more tender in the small silence and then she finally bids you a goodnight, flicking off the lights in the room. You end up laying there for a while. You receive Jungkook’s text telling you this is so dumb and you laugh. The bright lights of your phone eventually burns your eyes too much, so you throw it aside, opting to stare at the ceiling and listen to his house. You can hear doors closing, footsteps, the flicker of the hallway light turning off and more doors closing. Silence settles in for a good ten minutes, but before you can completely drift off to sleep, your door cracks open. A familiar boy sneaks into your room with a soft sigh. He shuts the door silently and nimbly avoids all the creaks in the floorboards, knowing where each of them are after growing up and spending his childhood in these four walls. “You’re not supposed to be here.” You sit up, covers pooling around your waist. His feet slide and the mattress dips underneath his weight. “And I care because…?” You scoff. “Rebellious, aren’t you, Jeon?” “You don’t even know the start of it.” He grins. “I just want to lay with you for a while. It’s not like we haven’t shared a bed before.” “But your parents don’t know that. What happens if they catch you here?” you ask while peeling back the covers anyhow, happily inviting him in. “Nothing will happen. It’s okay.” “Yeah, but they might hate me...for tainting their son.” “Impossible.” Jungkook settles in and pulls the covers up to keep you warm. You cuddle yourself into him and he props his chin on top of your head. “And they don’t care about that. They just don’t want any Jeon grandkids, or at least not until we graduate.” “Psh. You’re going to have to prove yourself before you implant anything in my uterus, Jeon.” His nose wrinkles at your euphemism, but then he pokes your side, making you squirm. “Prove myself? Haven’t I already?” “Just cause I let you kiss me a few times doesn’t mean I have plans to make this long-term,” you tease and this time he’s the one scoffing. Jungkook rolls on top of you, pinning you underneath him. The soft glow of the lamp posts outside on the suburban street comes through the window and when your eyes adjust to the darkness, you’re able to discern a few of his features — especially that sulking expression of his. Jungkook’s such a baby sometimes. Or at least he likes to be babied by you. Yoongi, Taehyung, Hoseok, and Jimin would shit themselves if they saw him now. But it makes you happy to be the only one who can see this endearing side of him. “What more do you want to put me through, hmm?” You cock your head to the side. “Who knows, you might just get bored of me in a few weeks, Jeon. Better not to jump the gun.” “I don’t think so. What do you take me for? Someone with that low of an attention span?” “Well…” You draw out the syllable. “Last I checked, you still don’t know how to make flowers with gum paste.” His tongue clicks in annoyance and he starts to tickle you again at your weakest parts. You squirm underneath him, giggling as your legs kick to no avail. It makes the bed squeak, the headboard hitting against the wall and Jungkook laughs and quickly lets up. He covers your mouth with his palm. “Shush! You’re going to wake them up.” You peel off his hand, harshly whispering, “You started it.” Jungkook’s smile is big enough to make his cheeks hurt. He missed you — your company, warmth, the teasing banter. It’s hard to fathom that his best friend is actually here with him, but he wouldn’t have it any other way. Jungkook leans down, locking his lips against yours. Your soft mouths slots against each other like it’s the way it always should have been and he relishes in the groan you release. It’s a gentle kiss, one that merely tests the waters and then he pulls away. You blink up at him, breath leaving through your parted lips that now taste like his vanilla chapstick. “No funny business, remember?” “I know.” Jungkook gets off of you, resuming his place by your side. “But I wasn’t planning any ‘funny business’. Where has your mind gone too?” Your cheeks heat. “I’m just saying.” He chuckles softly, arm slung across your waist. You’re pulled close as he nestles in. It’s easy to relax and your hand lifts to wrap around his back. The both of you hold each other for a while in the comfortable darkness underneath the cozy covers. You’re lulled in his company. “Jungkook.” “Hmm?” “You can’t fall asleep here.” “I know,” he mumbles. But contrary to Jungkook’s words, he does fall asleep with you — sharing the same bed like those nights in Tahiti. Only in the morning, when dawn breaks and the morning light comes through the glass windows are you both naturally shaken awake. It’s then that Jungkook scratches his bed hair flopping in all directions, eyes swollen as he stumbles back to his own bedroom. And you drift back to sleep with a softened smile on your face.

#bts fanfic #bts scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook scenario #jungkook fluff #bts reader insert #jungkook reader insert #btsboulangerie #LET'S GO Y'ALL

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igorsamarskystuff · 4 years

Text

Secret pages of the Chernobyl tragedy

Author: Igor Samarsky

( [email protected] )

The secret pages of the Chernobyl tragedy.

-----------------------------------------------------

I think it would be of interest to everyone.

Why am I doing this?

Because I worked as an engineer in Unit 4, which exploded. A little later, after the explosion, as Controller. I dealt with the aftermath of that disaster among the many engineers who were involved in it.

My role was to work with the installation crews directly at Chernobyl Unit 4.

I write about it, because all information is classified by Ukrainian authorities. Now I don't care about Ukrainian authorities. I am a citizen of Russia. This work in Chernobyl gave me cancer. I'm struggling with it. It's hard.

I start writing because I believe that all people should know the truth about how the consequences of this nuclear disaster were dealt with.

Seeing how the Japanese carefully concealed and covered up their Fukushima disaster, I feel it is my duty to reveal the secrets of the Chernobyl "cleanup" project.

At the time, it was forbidden to take pictures at work near the destroyed Unit 4. But every worker secretly did it, including me. Here you will find first hand information which was not and will not be written by mass media. If you would like to see the pictures I took myself - send me your email address and I will send you the pictures.

In any case, I worked there on a contract basis. At that time there were not enough people in Ukraine to go to work in this nuclear zone. But it was a time of huge unemployment in Ukraine. The time of President Kravchuk, Yushchenko, and then Yanukovich. People were forced to look for work even in this radiation zone. Including myself.

People with higher education and knowledge of foreign languages (for engineers) were hired to work in this zone, except for simple janitors (potential suicide bombers).

I can speak a little English. Got a contract to work with seven installers from Belgium to install and mount a very large Liebherr tower crane on unit #4 to remove the exhaust pipe on that unit that survived the explosion.

The engineers and installers had to live in a dormitory on the grounds of Chernobyl itself, near unit 4 (18 km). Every day a bus on duty transported people to work. Each worker and engineer received an individual accumulated radiation dosimeter. There was a digital dosimeter in the dormitory, which showed a norm of radiation background of 30 μR per hour.

When the norm was exceeded, all personnel had to evacuate from the area of reactor No. 4, and we had to sit in the dormitory, closing all windows and doors until the radiation background dropped below 35 microroentgen per hour. These were safety measures.

There was also free three meals a day. And two bottles of red wine a week, free, to remove radionuclides from your blood.

You could move around, but you were not allowed to take pictures. Of course, everyone took pictures with caution. The police patrolled the area in cars, and they mercilessly fined trespassers if they found them.

The problem was that the old sarcophagus, consisting of a concrete box, was constantly collapsing due to radiation, wind, rain and frost. There came a critical moment when the roof and walls turned into a sieve and did not protect the environment and the area from the radiation of the destroyed reactor. The EU decided to cover the old sarcophagus with a new roof so that the emissions through the sieve of the old sarcophagus would not spread to Europe.

This would have required dismantling the old exhaust pipe, which weighed 1600 tons. There were no helicopters of such power around the world to snag that pipe and remove it.

The EU found a Liebherr and Demag crane capable of removing this pipe.

It was decided to transport one crane from Algeria in a disassembled form to Chernobyl. There, right on the site of Unit 4, it was assembled and the pipe was dismantled. After dismantling the pipe, the kamikaze crane had to be dismantled and buried in the ground.

The project looked good on paper, but at a huge cost.

The EU feared that radiation would spread downwind to Europe.

When the explosion itself occurred, the radioactive cloud rushed into Belarus and Europe. Part of it reached northwest Ukraine. Including Cherkassy, where I lived at the time.

It looked good on paper. The project originally cost more than $700 million. The EU approved the project and started financing it.

It wasn't interested in Ukraine's opinion, because Ukraine itself was in a quandary. A foreign holding company was set up to deal with the consequences. And from that moment the circus began. The point was that the pipe had to be disconnected from the base of the concrete roof. We had to unscrew the bolts at the joint between the pipe and the roof. There were 64 rusty bolts, 42 mm in diameter. The radiation on the roof was 1,200 to 1,500 X-rays per hour. Exposure to such a dose would be fatal, even for a few minutes for a person. What to do?

The European Union stalled.

A catastrophe has struck. Ukraine stands with its hand outstretched like a beggar - help eliminate the consequences.

It is important for Europe that the nuclear emissions from the destroyed reactor do not flood Europe through the atmosphere. The EU has already given the first money. As a loan. But how was it used? It was a mockery.

They quickly issued an international tender to swallow that their own money, but shifted the debt to Ukraine. Hundreds of companies around the world wanted their piece of the Chernobyl pie.

The original plan was that the corrupt Ukrainian government system would not steal the money and that EU companies would have to clean up the consequences, but with Ukraine involved. Ukrainians were to do the black (deadly) work.

The tender was won by an unknown French company Navarka, consisting of three people !!!

Let's call it #1. In turn, this company hired two more French companies to develop the project of liquidation and hire the executors. Let's call it #2.

Four more companies were found - Americans, Belgians, Italians and Germans.

Let's call them Number Three.

But Number 3 didn't want to die under the influence of radioactive emissions.

Number 3 hired 12 companies from Ukraine (suicide bombers) to do the dirty work.

Let's call them Number 4.

A total of 45 foreign companies were involved in the cleanup.

I ended up in one of the Ukrainian companies.

The EU was planning to build a new semi-circular sarcophagus on the site in front of the destroyed reactor.

This sarcophagus was to be moved into the old sarcophagus. It was to cover it. The move was to be done on rails.

But this was prevented by an old exhaust pipe on top of the ruined old sarcophagus. That's why the Liebherr crane and Demag were brought to Chernobyl.

My job was to supervise the Belgian assembly team that was to assemble the crane. After it was put into service and performed its "kamikaze" function, dismantle the crane and bury it in the ground.

In fact, these seven installers from Belgium were also, to some extent, suicide bombers. I asked how much they were paid for this dangerous job. But none of them answered.

In addition, the project involved clearing the area on the other side of Block 4, installing and mounting a new arched sarcophagus. The Ukrainians of Unit 4 were to carry out this cleanup in the face of wild radiation. The waste was to be buried.

The only question was, where and how? They asked the European Union for more money. They designed a railroad station to load the radioactive waste. They designed a cemetery for the waste with railroad access roads. That's another $620 million. The Americans in Group 3 were heavily involved in this project. We'll discuss why. Again, everything is fine on paper. But the paper project needs to be put into action...

I'm old now. I have cancer and it's hard for me. I will write because this topic is still relevant.

The half-life of cesium 137 is 30 years. Amercium 241 - 433 years (alpha radiation is lethal to all life). All of this is present in Chernobyl.

I know - all information about Chernobyl has been hidden from the public. But now I must reveal the secret sides of this tragedy

I'll tell you a funny story that happened to me.

I was standing next to a Liebherr crane installed by the Belgians. The crane was in the first stage of installation.

As I was walking along the reactor wall 1 meter away, a piece of tar from the roof of the Unit 4 reactor fell down next to me. It was carried away by the wind.

I thought I was not an athlete. It turned out to be the opposite. I started from there, like a sprinter at the Olympics. I ran 100 meters and then I came to my senses. I did it in seconds.

The fact is that all the materials on the roof were thousands of times more contaminated by radiation than on the ground near the reactor. When I was out of breath, I called a decontamination team.

A team in spacesuits arrived. It took them a long time to isolate this piece of tar and the ground next to it. Until the radiation background in the area returned to normal. Because of this incident, crane installation work was suspended for a week.

I thought - how many pieces of shrapnel like this fall off the roof unnoticed every day?

The dosimetric crews, of course, went around Block 4 every day, in the mornings. A lot of contaminated nastiness could fall from the roof before evening, and no one saw or followed it. The accumulation dosimeters in each worker's pocket did not signal danger. They were primitive accumulation dosimeters, that's all.

They read body contamination once a week and at dismissal. If a worker "overdosed" on radiation, he was fired and his contract was terminated.

After the financial reconstruction of the project, the European holding company began to have problems with the rush and rupture of finances in the European Union itself - who would get more.

Confusion and haste led to the fact that the project drawings were incorrectly translated into Ukrainian by a foreign party.

In addition, the drawings themselves were incorrectly copied (mirrored). This led to the collapse of the concrete work. In particular, during the construction of the railway station for the removal of nuclear waste.

The wagons had to come up on the wrong side. Everything was reversed, like in a mirror. Because of these mistakes, there was again a problem with financing.

A $240 million fine was announced.

The head of the French project side (Group 2) could not stand this pressure and shot himself.

But the work had to go on. The European Union was forced to finance the elimination of errors in the project.

The work continued. The site in front of Block 4 had to be prepared for the installation of the second sarcophagus.

They started digging with the help of Ukrainian "suicide bombers" and ... found a graveyard of old military and civilian equipment that was hundreds of thousands of times more contaminated with radiation.

The Ukrainian side kept quiet about it because it wasn't ...

Solvent.

Dozens of trucks, tractor-trailers, earthmoving equipment were buried in the ground in April 1986 during the elimination of the accident in front of the 4th block.

It was a real nightmare.

Where to dispose of this contaminated scrap metal? The planned cemetery was already filled with preliminary waste.

The foreign investors in this project were clutching their heads. The whole project threatened to collapse.

A solution was proposed by the Ukrainians. They proposed to create a landfill directly in front of Block 4.

For the sake of economy and not to interfere with the project. In the version of the cemetery, open to the atmosphere. Something like a temporary nuclear waste repository.

The foreigners agreed - it was not their territory, and the Ukrainians were to die later from radioactive contamination as a result of atmospheric fallout.

This was said and done.

All the scrap metal was quickly raked aside and fenced off with three rows of barbed wire.

That's where the Americans stepped in.

------------------------------------------------

Translated by Deepl

They raised the question of expanding the backfilled old burial ground as designed. They insisted on building a new, larger facility - burial ground #2 in Chernobyl. They proceeded from the idea to export the American nuclear waste from the territory of the USA. And to take this waste to Ukraine. The European Union agreed with the arguments of Americans, because they are interested in the management of their nuclear wastes. The Ukrainian rulers had their jaws dropped. No one took them into account or even considered their wishes.

The European Union, under pressure from the U.S. government, decided to create an additional large nuclear waste repository on the territory of Chernobyl within a radius of 30 km (in the exclusion zone). In fact, it was a project to create a worldwide storage facility for nuclear waste in the Chernobyl zone. The EU agreed because it was in their favor, and American capital participated in the project along with the Europeans. No one paid any attention to the Ukrainian government and its pathetic attempts to oppose it. It was like a punch in the side of a pathetic skinny dog yapping.

Next.

The construction of the new burial ground was financed.

But it was not filled. The temporary repository remained in place in front of Unit 4. A new repository was waiting for nuclear waste from the U.S. and Europe. A landfill site for nuclear waste was created in Ukraine.

But here a new problem arose.

When they started driving 32-meter concrete piles to secure the new carpet for the concrete base of sarcophagus 2.

A new stressful situation arose.

The piles were driven into the ground using a conventional pile-driving machine. On the site of Unit 4, several buildings were constructed for maintenance personnel. Buildings for engineers, surveyors, workers, concrete workers, electricians, etc. These buildings began to collapse due to vibration during pile driving. Cracks appeared in the buildings and the walls began to collapse.

In addition, collapses occurred inside Sarcophagus No. 1 itself. Because of the vibration, the nuclear fuel that was in the boiler, which leaked out of the boiler and moved along with the debris, began to take on a new shape the moment the piles began to be driven.

The fact is that some of this fuel had sublimated into balls (small metal and glass balls that were mixed with the sand that had been dropped from helicopters into the boiler in April 1986).

From the vibration of the piles, these nuclear fuel balls, consisting of cesium 137, polonium, and other fuel residues, began to pile up and form one solid mass. in different places in the sarcophagus - 1.

It's like if you took a funnel of sand, put some lead pellets in it and started tapping the funnel with your finger, creating a vibration. After a while, all the pellets sink into the sand and merge into one lump of lead at the bottom of the funnel.

Thus, from the vibration, a nuclear critical mass started to form in different places of the sarcophagus - 1, from which a nuclear chain reaction could start.

In fact, several nuclear bombs began to form simultaneously and spontaneously in different places of the sarcophagus-1.

Thank God, the Ukrainian surveyors working inside the sarcophagus noticed that cesium and polonium were flowing into one mass in several places at once and sounded the alarm.

Immediately thereafter the piling was stopped and EU leaders again clutched their heads, cursing Ukraine and the disaster. What to do?

Several governments were involved in the game.

The U.S. and the EU have quietly created a global nuclear waste dump on Ukrainian territory. And this dump pollutes the environment. Even now. The atmosphere is doing its dirty work of spreading radiation. Every day there may be whirlwinds carrying nuclear dust into Europe. It may last a day or two, and then the wind will turn the other way. It is impossible to predict where the next nuclear cloud will go. If the background radiation rises in Europe, the governments of the countries where it happened will cover it up so as not to alarm the public. Because the source of the increased background radiation is supposedly unknown. But there is one - Chernobyl.

That's why the number of cancer cases in Europe has increased. This is exactly what I said earlier - no one in the world, rich or poor, is immune from cancer. The poorly controlled nuclear waste dumps in Ukraine created by the United States and the European Union contribute to this. And no money has been earmarked for upgrading these dumps in Chernobyl because Ukraine has bored both the US and the EU with its pathetic claims.

Ukraine has entered a stage of politically progressive unruly Nazism and chauvinism, and none of the Nazi rulers are going to deal with ecology and Chernobyl.

Hence the problem with the sarcophagus 2 base. The concrete base of sarcophagus 2 was to be a huge concrete carpet three meters thick that was to be laid on a layer of gravel and sand.

It was to be a layered paste of concrete. The carpet was to be supported by concrete piles. But a critical mass of cesium leaks stopped the process. Money and a new project to install the concrete carpet was needed again. A solution was found.

It was financed. Drilling of boreholes and pouring of concrete without vibrations began. The so-called underground piles.

Ukraine watched the process and giggled from the corner.

Finally, the concrete carpet was laid. But here again there was a problem.

Ukraine complained that the rails that will move sarcophagus 2 into sarcophagus 1 will not support the load and weight of sarcophagus 2, because the foreigners miscalculated the steel (rails and rollers). Ukraine presented its calculations. Sarcophagus 2 will not be able to move on these rails. The rails and rollers will collapse under these loads. The European Union agreed and is clutching its head for the fourth time.

The political game called "disaster management" has reached its climax!

And what about the pipe?

The Ukrainians put out a tender to find self-killers who would be able to remove the pipe from the roof in conditions of wild radiation. And they found them. Eighteen volunteers agreed to do the job for big money. The crane was ready and assembled. He was ready to remove the old exhaust pipe.

This suicide crew began working around the clock. They were cutting the pipe, unscrewing the bolts. The radiation on the roof, even through the concrete on which the pipe stood, was 1200 X-rays per hour. After a week, the pipe was cut, all the bolts were unscrewed. The pipe was removed. What happened to the installers after that - I don't know. Most likely, they died for their families and children.

So what happened next, after the EU first accepted Ukraine's evidence.

The Ukrainian government demanded money for a new rolling system design to collapse the new sarcophagus onto the old one.

The EU agreed.

The first official damage estimate, made in mid-1986, put the damage at between $3 billion and $5 billion. A few years later it was estimated that up to $120 billion would have to be spent by the year 2000. (SECC, 1996). In 1990 the figure was already $358 billion (WISE News, 1990). These are the official figures. But in reality, somewhat more was spent.

But we digress...

So Ukraine got its share of the funding. The famous Ukrainian Welding Institute named after academician Paton was commissioned to develop the project. The old design (rails, rollers) was completely withdrawn. A new project was developed - a smooth granite base, on which the new sarcophagus-2 will slide in the direction of the old sarcophagus 1 and cover it by sliding on granite rollers.

The project was approved and funded.

By this time my contract had expired. Construction of the new smooth granite base had begun. For me, the process of getting out of the contract began. It went on for over a week. I enjoyed it - did nothing. Walking around, being examined by the medical team in the lab. Enjoyed the view of the empty, abandoned city.

The wild animals living in the forest around Chernobyl had mutated. Several generations of animals had mutated - they were completely unafraid of humans. There were almost twice as many of them around Chernobyl as in the regular forest. When I drank vodka with friends on the Pripyat River (the river for cooling the reactors), I even bathed in the river while intoxicated. It is understandable - a man in a state of alcoholic intoxication is not afraid of anything. My friends encouraged me and they themselves bathed in the Pripyat River. From the bridge near the reactor we threw saiki bread into the Pripyat river. Huge river catfish reacted to these loaves by surfacing like submarines and swallowing the loaves. It was fun to watch. These river catfish were up to 3 meters long. We had fun competing to see who would get closer to a female boar that was eating roots by the trees with her piglets. The piglets were as big and black as the female boar herself. She wasn't paying attention to us. Animals, cats and dogs in the city were getting wild and big. Birds would land on our hands if we had bread crumbs in our hands. Hares the size of dogs. Foxes would brazenly walk up to people and ask for a light meal.

There was such an incident.

By some miracle a huge wolf managed to break through three rows of barbed wire and tried to get to the leftover food in the bins outside the canteen building.

The police organized a military operation against the wolf with guns.

But the wolf turned out to be cunning and very aggressive. He skillfully hid from police shots among the trash bins. It was impossible to kill him from afar.

Several police officers decided to approach the wolf's ambush. But the wolf jumped out from behind the trash cans, and two policemen were wounded by its teeth. In the end, the wolf was shot. This was entertainment for the workers who were watching this military operation.

The wolf was also mutant and completely black in color.

I would like to say one more thing.

Contrary to the bans on visiting this Chernobyl zone, many people live in their abandoned private homes.

Most of them are elderly people who do not care about the banned laws and their health.

They sneak into the zone along forest trails and settle in abandoned houses. If the police catch them, they are deported from the zone.

But they show up and continue to live there.

Finally, seeing this problem, the Ukrainian government allowed a minimum quota for settlement in Chernobyl. It is now possible to get a settlement permit if a person has private property there.

But these people cannot qualify for health insurance. They have to give it up.

That's how my work at Chernobyl ended. I didn't make much money there. That was the basis of the Ukrainian policy towards Ukrainian citizens.

And now fascist nationalism is rampant, and I'm sure that no one particularly monitors the safety of closed reactors. Ukraine has entered the third stage of poverty. It has entered into a confrontation with Russia.

The European Union and the United States are fed up with claims from Ukraine.

What the future holds for Ukraine, I don't know.

The current situation is in Chernobyl.

The cemetery that remains at the site of the fourth power unit is left in the open air. Ukraine has no money to move this burial site and bury the contaminated scrap metal. The EU thinks it has accomplished its mission (to protect itself from nuclear clouds). No one wants to invest money. In spring, summer and autumn, when the wind blows, all the radioactive dust rises from the burial ground into the atmosphere and begins its victorious march across Ukraine, Europe and Russia. The authorities, of course, fix it. But they never talk about it. The whole catastrophe is gradually forgotten.

Nevertheless, the catastrophe has consequences.

The same thing is happening now in Japan at Fukushima. Only it's even worse there.

The Japanese are hiding everything and keeping it a secret. Radiation pollution occurs not only through the atmosphere, but also through the ocean. The Japanese are good students of Chernobyl.

What happened to that notorious Greenpeace? Was he bought with all his guts? Yes, it probably was!

We are all ordinary people in the world - hostages of power and oligarchs who think only about their personal gain and personal well-being. They absolutely do not care about the problems of ordinary people in the world, and the Chernobyl disaster proves this.

The way people live now is the answer for everyone. People live in Chernobyl and grow gardens and vegetable gardens. Of course, growing food on contaminated soil is a mistake. I tried to go into such an abandoned house with friends along with a working dosimeter. But even approaching this house, the radiation dosimeter "squealed". We rushed out of that house. But in Chernobyl, radiation levels vary. There are places with high levels, there are places with low levels. But the ground is all contaminated. We walked on the contaminated land with a level of about 40 microroentgen per hour. All the animals (wild and domestic) ate food from this ground. Hares were gnawing on tree bark. Moose ate poisoned mushrooms. The animals did not live long, but they multiplied quickly. With each new generation of offspring, the mutation increased. It's not as fast as it's shown in Hollywood movies, and it's not as scary. But it is still real. And people living in their abandoned and infected homes don't live as long, and neither do animals. They have accepted their fate. I was talking to an old man who lives in his own house (there is a picture of my house). Their philosophy: I live alone. I don't get in anyone's way. I buy my groceries at the store that works for the Chernobyl victims. I grow a garden on this land. I don't disturb my children in Kiev. As long as God gives me life, I will. He was 74 years old at the time. Who buried him after his death, I don't know. The zonal administration had to take the dead outside the zone and give them to relatives. That must have been the case. It's a scary story. That's the life of Chernobyl. All information about modern Chernobyl is still hidden.

#Cytrnobyl #Tragedy #Chernobyl #accident

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thegoldofyourheart · 5 years

Text

The Gold Of Your Heart Chapter 63

Word count:

Pairings: Romantic Roceit

Warnings: Minor Character Death, Violence, Language

First | <== Previous | Next ==> | Masterpost

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Tony ripped his cape from his shoulders and gripped it in his hands. He eyed the Self-Doubts passing him by as they strode into the Imagination. Apathy, no doubt ahead of them. He scowled darkly. He didn't have much Belief left but he could pull a few more tricks.

He pushed just enough to hide his presence into his cape and held it to his chest. He slid into the crowd around him and let them carry him into the Imagination. The golden light caressed him as he entered and he allowed himself one moment to bask in the feeling, in the quick surge of energy before the familiar feel of wind brushed against his cheek.

Tony glanced around and noting grimly that they had entered near the swamp. He slipped away from the army and glanced around. He needed to do something about the numbers. Roman's forces would never be able to stand against all of these. The swamp could be something that he could use.

Maybe.

Tony eyed them all again once more. Ropes looped around their backs, each one of them. They shuffled forward single-mindedly, just like-

Just like Patton.

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. Apathy had influenced them somehow. Tony narrowed his eyes. Apathy had been taking food and ropes from the Mind Palace, the waters from the River. That meant he needed them for something. Tony hung his cape over one shoulder and wadded into the deeper part of the swamp. Muck and water reached his thighs.

Tony closed his eyes and dipped a hand into the water. The Imagination thrummed around him. For a moment he could feel the curious tug of Remus, familiar as the connection that Tony had made with him. Tony shook his head and bared his teeth.

He could deal with this himself.

The feeling of Remus disappeared. The Imagination thrummed with fear and anger.

"Use that," Tony whispered. He wanted to Believe. He Believed that the Imagination could hear him. He could remember the way that Roman made it tug Luke away into the depths. "Protect him. Protect yourself. You know you can."

Creativity thrived when encouraged. Tony knows that intimately from two different Sides. He could feel the energy that both Remus and Roman had sunk into this section of Thomas' mind. He couldn't call it alive, but it could definitely act without direction from either of them.

Like the Constructs, only so much more vast and so much more simple.

Tony simply gave it the push that it needed.

He bared his teeth triumphantly as the ground rolled underneath him. The feeling of the Imagination brushed around him like a comforting wind before it roared past him. Trees creaked as the ripped themselves from their roots. The water gurgled as it rose, a tentacled monster of its own.

The very land turned against the Self-Doubt that wanted to tear Roman down. Tony let out a triumphant cackle and turned his sight to the flying Self-Doubts that had already reached the Capital. He didn't know where Roma or Remy were, which meant that Apathy had the advantage over him. Apathy had more forces to look with. But.

Tony did know where Apathy was. He could do something about that. He tried to straighten and bit down on his lip to keep from crying out in pain from his wound. He pressed his hand against it and let out a slow breath. He didn't have too long, but he had to do this. He closed his eyes and braced himself.

Then he slogged through the swap and took to the skies. The form that he twisted into felt strange and weird. The greyscales weighed down on him, but when in Rome, and all that shit. Tony felt dirty taking the form of a Self-Doubt, and he doubted that any true Side wouldn't be able to tell the difference. But it worked for him for now.

He let out a roar and dove towards the Capital. He slid past the warring defensive and offensive fighting, eyes fixed on Apathy's form standing on the back of the Self-Doubt hovering over the city. More of them circled Apathy, diving down into the City and bringing screams with them. He took a deep breath and took a risk. He shifted forms again, making a note of it in his mind. Four. He had four left.

His feet landed on the Self-Doubt that Apathy towered over. The beast was large enough that Tony barely felt the way that its wings flapped. He gasped as Apathy's hand snapped out and wrapped around his neck.

"I thought," Apathy said softly, "I told you to stay put."

"Yes-" Tony wheezed as Apathy's grip loosened just enough to let him talk, "But you see-" His eyes skittered over the city. The way that smokes started to rise as fires spread. Hecate roared and dove at one of the large Self-Doubts. More dragons rose over the horizon to meet the army. It wouldn't be enough. Or it might be.

It would be enough for the Self-Doubt but it wouldn't work if Roman died.

Tony took a deep breath.

"See, I think," Tony wheezed, "That you know the truth." He took a gamble. "That I never loved Roman." Apathy's head turned to him and tilted to the side. "But see-" He spasmed as Apathy's grip tightened for a moment.

"God, you have no sense of drama," Tony muttered, "But see, there's a reason I did the whole little lovey-dovey song and dance. That idiot-" Tony swallowed as Apathy faced him fully, "I know where that idiot keeps his core now."

Apathy's eyes glowed.

"And I-" Apathy dropped him, and Tony fell to his knees with a cough. He rubbed his hand against his throat and took a shuddering breath. "I know when to jump a sinking ship. Can't beat them, join them. Just-" Tony hesitated. "Just keep Thomas alive."

"I will help Thomas the way that none of you have," Apathy said softly. Tony bit back a snarl at the implications. Bastard. Fucker would tear Thomas apart. He pressed his hands against the rough scales of the Self-Doubt and bowed his head.

"You really are a snake," Apathy mused. Tony held himself steady. "Show me."

Tony felt his mouth twitch into a smile, hidden by his hat and bowed head.

“Glady," he murmured. "It is to the east." He pointed away from the city. Away from the mountains. Away from where Roman and Remy would feasibly be. He just needed a Construct. Any would do.

Apathy nodded. He stomped his foot down on the Self-Doubt and it twisted, flying off in the direction that Tony had pointed.

"Know this," Apathy said softly, "That if you are lying, you will feel pain that you have never imagined."

"Oh," Tony muttered, "You don't have to worry about that."

He closed his eyes, feeling the way that the Imagination stretched around them. Longer and longer. They might even stretch into infinity, just the two of them, for the rest of time. Tony would probably get discorporated over and over again until he went insane, but at least Thomas' Passion- at least Roman would survive.

Then, suddenly-

He felt it wrench.

He glanced down at the sudden road that appeared beneath them. His heart sank as he took in the two Constructs there. He would recognize those sunglasses anywhere.

"Well, then," Apathy whispered, "It seems for once you were telling the truth." Tony's stomach dropped as they swooped down. The Self-Doubt’s claws dug into the road as they landed. He met Remy's eyes as Seth pushed Remy behind him. Their faces paled and eyes widened.

Tony clenched his jaw. No turning back now. He oozed off of the Self-Doubt and sauntered forward.

"Well, well, well," Tony waved a hand at them," Roman's core and his bodyguard.”

"Tony, what the hell-"

"I told you," Tony cut Remy off, raising his voice. "Though it seems that Roman's better at keeping his core safe than I thought." He sidled up next to Seth's wary gaze and grinned. He knew that it didn't reach his eyes. Behind his back, he crossed his fingers. He heard Remy breath in sharply.

"Don't you dare-" Remy muttered.

"See, I would have thought you'd be in some town," Tony said, looking Seth in the eye. "Roman does like to keep you in places that he can check up on and last I knew, you were in the town down the way there." He waved off into the distance. He had no idea if there was actually a town but, god, he needed Seth to play along.

He watched Seth’s throat bob. He could feel the way that Seth straightened under his arm. He met his eyes and nodded. Just enough that up close, Tony could see it, but Apathy on his towering Self-Doubt wouldn't.

"I was visiting Roman after you broke his heart," Seth accused quietly. An answer without being an answer. Tony almost wished that he had more time to get to know the Construct. At least now, he had no guilt throwing him to the wolves.

"Ah, well you know, things happen," Tony said breezily.

"Wait!" Remy shouted and Tony felt his face fall blank. Not now. He couldn't let Remy prove just how much he was like Roman right now. "He's not the Core! That's-"

"Ah ah ah," Tony waggled his finger in Remy's direction. "I can't believe that you're trying to lie to me. Me! Master of lies. I do appreciate that Roman's instilled you all with the greater good. Makes it so much easier to trick you."

"You won't get away with this," Seth said quietly.

"Ah, darling," Tony patted his cheek. Half an apology and half an act. "I already have." He stepped away from Seth as Apathy towered over them. He swept his hat off in a bow and backed up as Seth stared Apathy down. He let his feet carry him back to Remy.

He swept his cape off and threw it over Remy's shoulders.

"Get ready,” he hissed.

"You," Apathy said and Tony did his best not to stiffen. Seth straightened his shoulders and met Apathy head-on. Steady and reliable as the month he was named after. "Executing you will lead to my ultimate success."

"You won't get away with this either," Seth said. Tony grabbed Remy's arm and started to tug him away. Remy struggled against him for a moment. Tony glared at him.

"Now is not the time," Tony whispered. "If you die, Roman dies. Let Seth do this for both of you."

Cruel. Tony watched the way that Remy flinched. He would be alright with losing Remy's friendship if it meant that he survived. He glanced over his shoulder and caught sight of Apathy placing a hand on the Self-Doubt’s scales. The Self-Doubt’s claws raised into the air.

He glanced away as it came down, catching the light as it did. Seth's screams rang through the air. Tony's jaw ached from how hard he clenched it but he didn't turn back. He tightened his grip on Remy's arm and lead Roman's true Core farther and farther away from the danger.

Apathy would make it hurt. Apathy would make it last. Seth would die screaming and bloody but it would buy them much needed time. Tony took a deep breath and pushed the image of Seth's arm dropping to the ground away. He wanted to forget the white of bone and how blood turned greystone a brilliant red.

He felt the Imagination shift around them again. He let Remy go as they stood outside the ruins of the Capital’s walls. He turned to face Remy. Remy’s fist collided with his face. Tony let out a wheeze as he stumbled back. He squeezed his eyes shut and tried to ride out the pain. Remy shouted something but he couldn’t make it out through the way that his ears rang.

“Bastard!” He caught and Tony breathed in sharply. “You had- you had no right!”

“Does it matter?” Tony snapped. Remy trembled in front of him. “You’re alive.”

“Just because you love Roman-”

“It’s not just about Roman!” Remy stared at him. Tony closed his eyes again and tried to steady himself.

“Thomas, then,” Remy said flatly.

“Oh my god,” Tony said, tilting his head up to the sky. “You’re as moronic about Roman. Do you think I would go out of my way for just anyone? I wouldn’t hurt you for Thomas but I don’t-” He slammed his mouth shut. He pressed his hand against the wall, feeling the rough texture of it. “Excuse me for choosing my best friend over a complete stranger.”

Tony pushed himself off the wall and looked away from Remy.

“Keep the cape on,” he muttered, “It will keep you hidden. Find a safe place to hide. Once you’re in the shadows, no one will be able to find you. I need to-” He turned towards the Capital and the chaos inside. He needed to find Roman. He needed to make sure he was fine. Then he’d figure out how the hell he’d deal with Apathy.

Remy’s hand caught on his arm. Tony froze. He appreciated the fact that Remy didn’t grip his broken wrist.

“You don’t get to run away from this,” Remy said, his voice wavering. “You have to come back. You have to come back so I can kick your ass over your choices.”

Tony looked at him. He carefully pried Remy’s hand from his arm, and he smiled. He wondered what it looked like from Remy’s end, but he hoped that it was convincing. He knew of one way to defeat Apathy now. It might not come to it, but Tony didn’t survive this long on hope. He leaned in and pressed his forehead against Remy’s before pulling away.

“Of course,” he murmured, the lie sweet against his lips. “I’d never do anything else. Stay safe.”

He turned and vanished into the smoke before Remy could say anything else.

#Sanders Sides #Roceit #Deceit Sanders #Remy Sanders #Minor character death #Blood #Violence #mild gore

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madscientistjournal · 5 years

Text

Fiction: In Communion with the Invisible Flock: Erasmus Karl and the Nidificant Manuscript

An essay by Luisa Sontag, as provided by George Salis Art by Leigh Legler

“If thy heart were a nest, thou would begat many birds.” –The Purloined Philosophia by Boris of Aventaria

There has been much controversy, even mythology, surrounding the so-called “nidificant manuscript.” A few notables, including the biolinguist Norman Mast, have clamored to call it “an anachronistic masterpiece of scientific literature” (34), suggesting it has been passed down to us from the future, or an alternate past. Many others have deemed the work “a hoax of adolescent caliber” (Mare 25). But by studying the work and delineating its influence on human society, we can say that the truth exists somewhere between fantastic worship and ignorant dismissal. First of all, we know that this some 1,600-page manuscript was composed in the early 19th century by the naturalist, or “supernaturalist,” Erasmus Karl, and details the existence of a species of bird-human that inhabits an archipelago called the Beak-born Islands. A number of its pages include baroque maps of the islands in question, along with illustrations of alien flora and fauna and, most importantly and prominently, the winged beings themselves.

This year marks the 150th anniversary since the first bottle, containing a page of Karl’s manuscript, was discovered, specifically between the pincers of a bleached crab on the coast of Budva, Montenegro. This, the method in which Karl “published” the manuscript, has only added to the idiosyncrasy that has either converted or disgusted relevant experts. Each and every page was rolled into its own bottle and cast into the sea. During the intervening century and a half, around a dozen bottles washed ashore on all countries with a seaside (their contents now published en masse for the first time). The bottles were molded with aid of fire from a translucent shell later identified in the manuscript as a “Clay Conch, a most copious & convenient Resource of Nature.” Ascertaining the location of the archipelago based on the appearance of the bottles has proved to be impossible, and the results obtained by oceanographers inexplicably suggest that the islands are capable of nautical mobility, like a flock, perhaps with occasional murmurations. Because bottled pages are still being discovered almost every month, the nidificant manuscript is most definitely incomplete, its prospective length up for debate. Some have purported that an infinite number of bottles will find their way to land, that they will continue to do so far after human civilization is but dust.

The Wind Calleth: A Brief Biography of Erasmus Karl

Before I begin my exploration of the manuscript and its influence on human society, I find it necessary to relate what is known of Erasmus Karl’s life. Born in the Netherlands circa 1770, his mother was appalled at newborn baby Karl’s full head of white feathery hair, his thin, elongated body, and the downy web between his taloned fingertips. She blamed the sins of the unknown father, while others whispered that Karl’s appearance was the byproduct of a professionally prurient mother. Regardless of their origin, the unfortunate mutations condemned Karl as an outcast, something to be shooed, ogled, or at best tolerated. It wasn’t long until young Karl despised his reflection, taking extreme measures to change it, as is written in his unpublished journals. First he shorn his hair, which highlighted his teardrop-shaped skull, then he filed his fingernails, sometimes with such desperation that he exposed and bloodied the nail beds, and finally he searched for a type of glove that could hide the finger webbings. Deeming the search futile, he excised the vein-thin skin as if it were the film on a Dutch custard. He bled profusely the first time, but afterward it was merely a matter of maintaining the V-shaped scabs.

Aside from his repelling physical characteristics, Karl was a relatively normal and healthy young boy, until, later in school, he became obsessed with nests, spurred by one he had witnessed being constructed outside his bedroom window. He was amazed to see it built with not just twigs and leaves, but clothespins, apple slices, strands of a stranger’s hair, the string from a cup-and-ball, and other miscellaneous objects. The peculiarity of it inspired him to craft his own nests, which he planted, waiting for random birds to make them home. Impatient, he began to track down authentic nests in trees and the nooks of buildings and replace them with his synthetic ones. Some of his nests resembled the real thing, while others were of odd shapes, pyramids and Klein bottles, or made from strange materials, such as quasicrystals and gaseous gelatins. He was compelled to record the birds’ reactions to their new homes. Some of them simply moved elsewhere, while others were driven to infanticide, either eating their younglings or dashing their unhatched shells against rocks. He was further horrified to discover that sphere-shaped nests of chlorophyll caused the birds’ wings to deteriorate into stubs but was later pleased to determine that alabaster dodecahedrons produced birds with wingspans up to five feet. Other nests also seemed to have a positive effect, causing the inhabitants to sing more beautifully, to love their chirping chicks more so than ever before.

Being neglected by his mother, and without a father, the young Karl couldn’t help but wonder why humans didn’t live in similar nests of compassion, and through some such lines of logic he extrapolated that certain humans do live in those nests, bird-humans that exist in isolation from the rest of the world, on top of a mountain higher than Olympus, or on an island better concealed than Atlantis. Thereafter, he dedicated his time to further study of all birds while simultaneously looking for clues as to the whereabouts of the theoretical bird-humans, whom he soon thought of as his vanished ancestors.

Hence the term “nidificant manuscript,” the adjective coming from the Latin nīdificāre, meaning “to nest” or “to build a nest,” the impetus of his life’s work. There is an irony here, in which the curse is also the gift, or vice versa. This is embodied most of all in events that occurred in the final years of Karl’s formal education. Bullying became a constant impediment to Karl’s mental stability. When required to change into athletic wear, the other boys gagged at Karl’s mangled hands, smacked him on his goose-pimpled scalp, and poked him between his peninsular ribs. They spread rumors, asserting that his mother never carried him in her belly, but incubated a yellow-spotted egg for nine months, after having performed coitus with a chicken. Enveloped in that negative atmosphere, an incident brewed. Some said Karl wanted to defy the rumors, transcend them, while others said he wanted to reinforce them, integrate them as a form of truth. Whatever his beliefs or intentions at the time, he found himself standing at the edge of the school building’s roof and, after yelling something, he jumped off, falling two stories as he flapped his phalanges. The webbing between his fingers had been regrown, which suggests experiment on Karl’s part, yet a few witnesses reported that he was thrown off by a group of bullies and had no desire to fly. After being carried on a stretcher to the hospital, he was diagnosed with a broken hip and a slight fracture of the femur. During his bedridden months following an operation, he would repeat the following phrase, sometimes in a slow whisper, other times so loudly and quickly it sounded less like words and more like squawking: “The Wind calleth!” “The Wind calleth!” Such is also what he presumably shouted before his failed “experiment.” One of the nurses claimed that when she put an ear to his bedroom door during those more boisterous moments of layered chanting, the birds outside his window squawked in response, initiating conversations that ceased the second she knocked.

It is thought that those cross-species conversations provided the first clues Karl needed to find the bird-humans (whom he subsequently labeled Homo sapiens avis: “wise bird man”). Not much is known of his life after he recovered from his fall. He did drop out of school in favor of more private research, and afterward his mother formally disowned him, wanting to distance herself as much as possible from his reputation for eccentric and anti-social behavior. He was rarely seen outside the wooden dome he built for himself at the edge of the forest. The few papers he attempted to publish in those early years are lost. We know only the title of one as it appeared in a letter of rejection: “The Nidus & the Fowl: Mutations of Mind & Body by way of Avian Architecture.” A decade later, in 1801, Karl’s “nest” was noticed as dilapidated by curious locals, who peered inside to find a mass of miasmic ingredients and piles of hastily scribbled notes, some of which might have contained proto-maps. Tucked in the walls of the nest as if part of the very structure were items pilfered or “recycled,” such as human hair, newspapers, jewelry, and a pair of dirty women’s underwear. There was no sign of Karl himself. Astounded and infuriated, the locals thought the nest a bastion of black magic and quickly burned it. They also assumed that the witchery had consumed the practitioner, that a cacodaemon snatched Karl from his bed at night. In truth, once Karl’s preliminary research was completed, he left for the Beak-born Islands, an archipelago consisting of four large islands and some thirteen islets. Viewed from above, they vaguely form the shape of a bird’s beak.

It is a mystery as to how Karl made it to the Beak-born Islands, though some allege that for part of his journey, he sailed with the crew of an unnamed British schooner, where he learned English. Whether true or not, it is generally believed that he never left the archipelago. As I will explain in detail later, the Beak-born Islands were his one true home, his “rapturous Nest” (47). Reinforcing the settlement theory, Karl became proficient in their immensely difficult language: “Subsequently bonding with these avian Beings as though I too were bless’d with Wings, I learn’d Their Language, a coalescence of shrill & protract’d Clicks, but with myriad Quavers & what can only be describ’d as Loops & Spirals, tallying a Complexity unheard of in any contemporary Language. Aye, One could only do these Beings Justness by chronicling Them in Their own sacr’d Tongue” (vi-vii). Which explains why some of the manuscript’s pages include cryptographic ink marks consisting of curlicues, crests and troughs, and hypnotic helixes. Translators have yet to decipher them. But, as we will see, even though we can read a majority of the manuscript, it still births many more questions than it answers.

Begetting Many Birds: The Winged Beings and their Influence on Human Society

Some of the questions that the manuscript creates are due to the nature of history, others the nature of science. Yet most, perhaps, are the product of the nature of Nature. For example, it remains to be determined as to why, throughout the manuscript, we are given numerous descriptions and illustrations of the beings’ wings, all of which contradict each other: “The foremost Magnetism of Their pseudo-primitive Rituals were indubitably the arcing Wings, resplendent with feather’d Colors the like of which no Man has ever laid Eyes upon” (261), “& when They alight on the sheer Tips of Their two-digit’d Feet They fold Their iridescent, scaly Wings & seem well-nigh Human, for as cumbersome as the Appendages may appear, they are afford’d the Ability to retract into two large vertical sun-on-the-horizon-shap’d cavities in the Back, flanking the spik’d Spine” (333-334), “To my Dismay, some of Them Drown’d in the Waters betwixt Land–in what could only be christen’d as Rivulets in contrast to the mighty Ocean that enclos’d Them, isolat’d them from all Civilizations. Such Calamities were ow’d to the tuft-laden Nubs which were so infantile in Structure, though mature in their Growth. These superficially suppress’d Extremities only permitt’d Them to drift diminutive Distances, to fleetingly hover forward” (455-456), and “In Stretches of Jubilation They were beheld to fly as high as the Sun itself, encircl’d in the Incandescence, Their Wings the extent of a mythological Bird, fleck’d with fiery Eyes” (999).

In the context of these quotations, evolution is neither discussed nor acknowledged, and we are led to believe that every being possessed every type of wing, although not exactly simultaneously. One colleague of mine conjectured that time in this archipelago is not like we know it, that the experience of time is disjointed, perhaps utterly capricious. Even physicists are uncertain as to whether our Laws are universal in the ultimate meaning of the word. If this hypothesis of chaotic time is true, then Karl observed the evolution of wings in a relatively brief period but processed the gradualism as a stasis. This evolution must have been guided heavily by the development of their nests’ structure, descriptions of which also suffer from contradiction: “Their Nests, which grac’d the tops of decapitat’d Trees, were hierarchical, bas’d upon the breadth & altitude of said Trees, with the Dimensions of the Throne Nest rivaling the almightiest Redwood” (200), “Evoking the Greek Phoenix, They slumber’d in domestic Groupings within grandiose Campfires, roosting upon the heat’d Coals in Symbiosis, for those Coals were the Backs of Combustible Crabs, who were also commission’d in Spells of Conflict” (606), and “Never had I beheld such gargantuan Leaves, affix’d to such slender Stalks. Sounder than Diamond, the wing’d Beings carv’d Spears from them. I was further mystifi’d when I hearken’d to how Winds, lac’d with twilit Sea Salt, caus’d the bamboo Trunks to knell, soaping the Air with soporific if inhuman Mantras. More like Flies than Birds, They made Homes of the Leaves’ Undersides, adhering with a viscous Substance that secret’d from both Palms & Soles” (1,122-1,123). For this reason, and others previously mentioned, chronology in the manuscript as a whole is defied. What the reader sees published is but one construction of many possibilities, a snapshot of the flock in flight, as it were.

Of course, another question is: Why did the bird-humans–if capable of flight, depending on the type of wing they possessed at a given time–remain only on the Beak-born Islands? Why did they not migrate to other lands, make contact with human civilization? According to Karl:

Their Religion bequeath’d to Them the Knowledge that Nothing exist’d beyond Their Islands & Sprinkle of Islets. As such, They believ’d I arriv’d from either Above or Below. I was either Mole or Swallow. Devil or Angel, if you will. To divine my Color They subject’d me to a Trial. They serv’d me a Bowl of Their own gourmet Delicacy, White Worms, which I willingly ate out of Respect, & dare conclude their Flavor was akin to spic’d Raisins. Such a Worm, I later learn’d, is pestilential to the Mole Stomach. Afterward, They slic’d my Palm with a Clay Conch Blade, taking turns at tasting my Blood. They seem’d repuls’d at first, Their Owl Eyes flaring more so, Their Heads revolving 180 Degrees & back again, but it must have been the Rush of the Aftertaste that made Them Hoot with Hedonism. ‘Uh-Uh-Above!’ (8-9)

Aside from Karl, there is the possibility that contact between humans and the winged strangers occurred again, although much later, and in the unlikeliest of locales. One might say, in heaven. (An earlier and quite different encounter, one of both confrontation and conviviality, will be mentioned later.) To understand, we must learn more from Karl about their beliefs and intentions:

As much as They play’d & pierc’d the Clouds from within, Their Kind had more than mere nubivagant Tendencies. Rather, They worshipp’d the Stars, longing to fly amongst them, to fertilize the scintillating Surfaces like a Bee upon the Flower, for Their Conception of those distant Dots of Light was akin to an infinite Meadow in which the Center of Flowers coruscat’d o’er altitudinous Realms, and thus beckon’d, perchance even taunt’d, the Beings to Pinnacles anew. Legend had it, One of Their Populace did indeed sunder the Surface of the Sky & found Herself floating among the Stellar Flowers. Her Constellation, eponymously nam’d ¡Khoro[1], is delineat’d by Seven Stars, One of which is Man’s Northern, thus She was subsum’d within that Meadow of the Cosmos. Other Acolytes were martyr’d but not beatifi’d in the same Manner. Flapping through the Spheres of the Sky, They would succumb to the Wintriness & fall back as icy Gargoyles, shattering upon an Island or buoying in the Sea ’til They liquefi’d into crystal-ridden Spume. Naturally, They mourn’d Their Dead & would orchestrate aerial Funerals, prancing & pirouetting at such a colossal Elevation that They resembl’d Motes in a Glass of Water. Using Clay Conches or other sundry Materials, grieving Mothers would jar a modest Portion of the Sea a Day after a frozen Martyr fell into it, Their equivalent of Ashes in an Urn. (78-79)

The winged beings’ propensity for spacefaring might explain the “vision” astronaut J.P. Torring claimed to have witnessed while on the moon for Apollo 14. Ridiculed and disbelieved by friends, family, and most of the public, Torring explained what he saw in an interview, “I’d call it, you know, like one of those damned harpies. Something, you know … something your parents might scare the bejesus out of you with to make you behave. A damned big closet monster with … with tiger claws, chicken feet, you know, and wings made of alloy or something. It looked part machine as much as poultry. But with, oh gosh … with a human face” (39). According to Torring, the bird-human stared him down with equal parts fear and curiosity, before beating its wings in a storm of moon dust and heading for the stars. Unfortunately, Torring’s fellow astronauts did not corroborate his story. For a period after that infamous interview, people across the U.S. and some abroad claimed to have been bound in their beds, gagged with silver powder, and sat on by chromium angels, although such claims of abduction or visitation are dismissed by skeptics as frauds and delusions. Amateur astronomers also interpreted at that time certain spectral data as vast fleets of them soaring between galaxies in the formation of a luminous arrowhead a thousand earths wide, but this scientific conclusion is controversial (Krasznahorkai 24-59).

It wasn’t long until young Karl despised his reflection, taking extreme measures to change it, as is written in his unpublished journals.

Controversy seems inseparable from any notion of the bird-humans, however distant in relation or idea, as with their method of copulation. Karl explains that sexual intercourse was never a taboo in that isolated society. Rather, they indulged quite often in a variety of positions, many familiar, if not shunned or banned, by human civilization. Yet only a specific sexual act produced offspring, whereas the rest existed for pleasure’s sake. In no sparse prose does Karl illuminate the bizarre act:

Much like the Red-tail’d Hawk, They would Woo each Other by flying in Circles, Triangles, & Hexagons. The Male & Female both would dive steeply & rise steeply. O, Gloriousness! Then, when the Volition struck at the Center of Their Souls, They would hold feather’d Hands, entangle Talon’d Feet, & dive in a Blur of phantasmal Colors, pecking each Other’s Cheeks & Beaks with love-saturat’d Smeerkins. But, O Foulness!, not all Unions end’d in unanimous Life. If, perchance, They become too enraptur’d in Rapture to perceive impending Ground, such Soul-dives on Occasion result’d in a bespatter’d Death for the Lovers. Yet, O Propitiousness!, an inseminat’d Egg would still hatch & rise as a human Phoenix, not from the Ashes, but from the Gore of the Hatchling’s Progenitors, Born an Orphan. These strange & estrang’d Offspring, who possess’d a crimson Complexion, were treat’d as Lepers by the rest of Their Kith & Kin, forc’d to fend for Themselves or form minuscule Factions with a more savagely-inclin’d Temperament, enduring on the Edges of Islets. Contrariwise, a Child born from a Soul-dive which end’d with a Plunge in the Ocean would be a Child Born to different & deeper Doom. Though lungless at the Moment of Conception, come Accouchement its Lungs would be chock-full of Seawater. O, ill-fat’d! A Child born Drown’d. (171)

Somehow, this way of lovemaking has thrice seeped into human society in the form of controversy as much as tragedy. An obscure French filmmaker named Absolon Dubois, who begrudged and attempted to compete with Georges M��liès, can be credited with making one of the first pornographic films. Yet it wasn’t his intention to be lewd. Rather, he thought the film a “testament to pure science,” and based the premise on what he deemed, without elaboration, a “divine source material” (Oro 10). Titled In the Sky of the Tesseractyles, it was shown at the brink of a millennium in 1898 to an elite audience of intellectuals. The actors in the film, devoid of clothes, hang upside down by well-concealed wires. With a vertical scrolling sky of painted clouds in the background, the pairs thrust in and out of each other as a wind-machine from below blows their hair and wings about. Some of the pairs screech sweet nothings to their mates in the form of clicks and whoops that a linguist in the audience later called “ethereal Morse code, as mesmerizing as it is unintelligible” (18). Starting with cirrus and continuing through stratus, the green-brushed ground finally appears, but rather than creating nests of gore, a substitution splice allows the death-diving bird-humans to disappear in a plume of blue-stained smoke. The scene then transitions to a close-up of a golden egg branded with sacred geometry. A time-lapse of the hatching reveals a newborn baby boy with an albatross’ beak for a mouth. There the film ends. Many praised the uncanny wings of the actors, which were made of glass and contained a representation of four dimensions or higher, a tesseract in wing form. One viewer, a distinguished physicist, said the “wings have more than a life of their own, they have the Cosmos in their curvature” (18). A paleontologist, who sat in the back and scrutinized the film with the aid of a monocle, was stuck on what he called the “terrible pterodactyl pun. These humanoid birds are anything but similar to my winged reptiles,” although he later admitted that “the film has penetrated my dreams in ways that the bones of prehistoric monsters never could” (19). Almost a year later, Dubois was found dead in his home, any sign of foul play absent on his body, but with the incinerated work of a sequel four feet from his outstretched hand. Méliès was interrogated by the police but presented a viable alibi, leaving the circumstances of Dubois’ death forever ambiguous, his cinematic potential snuffed.

Upon rediscovery, Absolon Dubois’ In the Sky of the Tesseractyles was shown in 1930 on a week-long loop at a gallery of cinema in lower Manhattan. Perhaps inspired by the film, a rash of romantic suicide pacts occurred, wherein nude couples tipped themselves over a steel rib of the Empire State Building’s embryonic skeleton, tumbling while linked at the loins. Later, the same style of self-slaughter transpired on September 11, 2001, in which co-working lovers undressed themselves, embraced each other, and dove from the tower into funnels of fire-flaked smoke, their intertwined bodies an expression of life and love against the presence of cult-inspired death. While writing this paper, a colleague brought to my attention a missing page of the Kama Sutra, recently discovered, that describes the “upside-down lovers, suspended in wind,” whose sexual organs were secondary to the “tumescent wings of their hollow spines” (69). Love between souls, claims the text, is fully realized in this mystical position, during which “all else dissolves” (70).

Yet for all the influences from the society of bird-humans that I have noted, the most clandestine and far-reaching is found in Charles Darwin’s seminal work. Readers might find the following quote familiar: “There is Grandeur in this Way of Life, with its avian Powers, having been originally breath’d into a few Forms or into One; & that, whilst this Planet has ignorantly gone cycling on according to the fix’d Laws that Man knows, from so simple & hidden a Beginning endless Wings most beautiful & most wonderful have been, & are being, Evolv’d” (1,631). This is the final paragraph of, not On the Origin of Species, but the published arrangement of Karl’s manuscript (and the only time Karl mentions evolution, which suggests that he may have adapted to the islands’ nature of chaotic time, in mind as well as body, a phenomenon described later). A paragraph which Darwin, were he still alive, would have to answer to. That is, if the similarity were to be taken at face value. Far from plagiarism, a different story is told in Karl’s manuscript:

Due to the Essence of the Beak-born Islands, I am certain that if a Man had discover’d Them, he must in some Capacity be Pure of Mind & Heart. However, as in the Mythologies of bygone Civilizations, there exists Techniques to sneak into Utopia. Thus, when an Eagle-ey’d Sentinel station’d at One of the Wind Towers first spi’d the Beagle on the Skyline, He warn’d the Fowl Lord, who then command’d His Flock to assume the long-practic’d Formations, encloaking Themselves in Their chameleon Wings, proficiently camouflag’d with the Texture of Stones. While many masquerad’d Themselves as the inanimate Landscape, Others imbib’d shamanic Potions which shape-shift’d Them into Mockingbirds, Giant Tortoises, & most disgusting, clumsy Lizards. When the Man who identifi’d himself as Darwin came ashore, I was strangely unsurpris’d to find that he resembl’d me, minus the avian Mutations that I have long since embrac’d. But his Familiarity inspir’d in me further Distrust, & I could sense the living Rocks beating as dispers’d Clumps of my own Heart. (807-808)

At that point, Karl’s wariness of strangers is the product of a mother’s affinity for her children’s welfare, and so he decides to “destroy Darwin & the Others, burning their Bodies in the Ship from whence they issu’d” (809).

However, Karl is not a murderer, and his adopted kinsfolk are not readily prone to violence either. The foreigners make camp with Karl and eat the combustible crabs they catch near the rock-bird-humans. As Karl relates, “Miraculously, the Crabs did not detonate in their Mouths, which germinat’d in me the Judgement that Men dampen the Magick of Existence, & that those living Rocks were not living after all, but as Dead as those in the dreary Village I hail’d from” (810). Even with this awareness, Karl befriends Darwin, admiring his “Fascination with the false Fauna.” All is going well when, as night begins to fall,

a rogue Band of Four Gore-borns emerg’d, descending from the Shadows, & stabb’d a few of Darwin’s Companions in an attempt to eradicate the Mole Invad’rs, but ere they could slay Darwin & the rest, the Fowl Lord manifest’d, who, Five Meters in Height, possess’d the full Body of a Condor, the Neck of a Swan, the Head & Face of a Man, & the Eyes of a Hawk. Most Regal was His Hair, which was the Tail of a Peacock, like a Chieftain’s Headdress. They cower’d in His Presence, but, with Resolve, the murderous Rogues swoop’d toward the Fowl Lord, & with a single Wave of His Wing He smote Them all. (823)

Believing the crabmeat to be tainted, all but Darwin board the ship in mortal fear of the hallucination they witnessed. However, Karl allows the inquisitive Darwin a keyhole-shaped glimpse into the islands’ secrets, an inkling of truth patched with excuses and fabrications. It is correct to say that Karl indeed develops a bit of trust toward the fellow naturalist, who later refers to him fondly as a “supernaturalist,” but the potential dangers of full disclosure were too great. Thus, an implicit, although obfuscated, knowledge grows between them, and they continue to correspond long after Darwin’s departure, communicating by way of magnetic bottles, which, when tossed into the sea, could find any shore or ship deck that supported the feet of his friend. Along with messages of a personal nature, Karl divulges just enough information, albeit encoded and amalgamated, to produce Darwin’s great observations and theories, with any inaccuracies the product of a necessary opacity.

Regardless, the momentous visitation of the Beagle helped foster in Karl a festering suspicion, at times a loathing, of human beings, which further complicates not only his relationship with Darwin, but his perception of the outside world as a whole. Tensions, too, increase between the bird-humans and their incarnadine counterparts, who attempt several more coups against the Fowl Lord, all ending in their butchery. On a night when the Fowl Lord assumes that he executed the last of the insurrectionists, claiming to have “clipp’d the wicked Wings of Mutiny,” Karl writes:

With the Facsimile of Flight inevitable in Man’s Progress, my Bird-humans, my Kin, will surely be imperil’d. The dim Shadow of Man is visibly ruffling Their Feathers. Yet They seem prepar’d for It, prophetic in the Belief that They will rise & dive, dive & rise. Half of Their Quantity schemes to construct spherical Nests of Wind & Air with the Scope of Cities, adapting to Life at the nethermost Region of the Sea, Their Wings twisting into stunning Fins. (830)

When contemplating this underwater nation, Karl compares them with the winged fish and mermaids he heard tell of (perhaps aboard the unnamed British schooner). Flying, he thought, was not exclusive to air, but with the right adjustment could occur in any and all elements. Regarding the rest of the population:

They have been tempering Themselves in the Fringes of the Atmosphere, predicting the Chill will crystalize Their Skin into Something Metallurgic, & then They will fly higher, nesting in Craters on the Moon, in Spots on the Sun, & Yonder. These are Dwellings in which Man will eternally be one Step behind, but whose pertinacious Progress will eventually force my Bird-humans to fly-swim ever Downward, ever Upward, ever Onward. (831)

Over the course of his studies, a romance ensues between Karl and a bird-human. This not only convolutes his perceptions further, but might have contributed to the alteration of his existence:

In the Beginning, the Females were prone to a social Snub of my Presence, save for a Female who seem’d Herself an Outcast, although not of the crimson Complexion, not Gore-born. She, my darling ¡Vhinda, spent most of Her Time perch’d in the Trees or transfix’d by the tantalizing Stars, gripping the edge of a cliff on the Island’s south Side so that She may sense both the speckl’d Void above and the wet World below…. Only She had been Audacious enough to lip-peck the nova-shap’d Seeds from my quivery, scarr’d Palm, once even permitting me to Stroke the Top of her felt Wing, reminding me, oddly enough, of a high quality Fez of Turkey that a Man in my Village donn’d. (951-952)

Following this are several chapters in which he worries and envisions the extinction of the winged beings, wondering and dreading if that Turkish headwear he knew of was not indeed manufactured from the wings of his creatures. He describes multiple dreams that are clones of each other, plus or minus minor distinctions:

O, They came to me. They had only me. I would have murder’d whomever committ’d such a demoniacal Deed. My wing’d Family, reduc’d to a dying Crawl. O, They crawl’d, Scores of Them, Their Claws rending the Soil & Sand, edging toward me, the entirety of Them wingless, with twin Geysers of hazel Blood flying forth from Their Backs. O, flying! All that flew was Their Lives, Rivers at a time, Rivers & Rivers of depleting Life. (979)

The dreams were the byproduct of a fever caused by Karl’s metamorphosis. His bones were becoming more hollow, his jutting lips thinner and harder, and his shoulder blades ached with emerging cartilage, which were, like a goat’s horn buds, the beginning of wings. The bird-humans’ consensus was that love acted as the ultimate shamanic potion, or, rather, as an antidote to the anthropological curse. Like a dying man who holds within his head mere scriptural knowledge of paradise, Karl was both fearful of his transformation, at times considering it an illness, and enthralled by it, wondering if he wasn’t passing into a different type of hereafter, a region of divinity populated by appointed avifauna.

Before the initial signs of his change, Karl and ¡Vhinda attempt to copulate, to perform a soul-dive. “She clutch’d my Hands and sent me aflight, leading me in that sidereal Dance, around & around, cradling me as I enter’d Her and we soul-div’d, enwrapp’d in Wind” (1,307). But the resulting child was stillborn, with random body parts belonging to either the anatomy of a bird or a human: “The lower Lip the Bottom of a Beak, the Hair as serpentine Feathers, one shrunken Wing, & a chicken-clubb’d Foot” (1,333). As far as is revealed, they did not try again, even after the completion of his metamorphosis, although they did sometimes fantasize about the fertility of their innards, the incubatory power of their insides if turned outward. Suicide as nativity.

Yet Karl’s heart was indeed a nest, and during his life it begat many symbolic birds, including one in the form of understanding both the overt and clandestine influence of Homo sapiens avis on our society, which we are only just beginning to fathom. Perhaps, camouflaged, they live among us, betrayed by reports of invisible wings bending the light behind politicians’ backs, although this has not been confirmed. Unfortunately, the extent of such overall influences, concrete or abstract, is limited by deleterious effects. The reason for this is DNA’s envy, the irresolvable discrepancy of the winged and the not, which is epitomized in the following: there existed a nameless scientist, perhaps a descendant of Darwin, who, extrapolating from the texts of his keyhole knowledge, attempted to recreate a kind of bird-human. All that remains of his work is crazed, haphazard jottings about the process, and a photograph of what some believe is a patient, others the scientist himself, cowering in the corner with bony wings stitched to an oozing back (Mingles 641-666). In the context of Erasmus Karl’s work, we can view this image as, not irrefutable evidence of the creatures’ existence, but a demonstration of a universal truth within us: we, the wingless beings, envy those with the power of aviation separate from supplementary invention; we long to join in communion with the invisible, omnipresent flock and forever migrate from the woes of terrestrial life, but we cannot.

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Mare, Kate. “The Ineffective Forger: Hoaxes throughout History.” Skeptical Magazine. 40.4 (2011): 25.

Mast, Norman. “To See the Unseeable: Inferences on Alien Knowledge.” The Cosmic Cortex: A Journal of Ancient Biology & Related Disciplines. 20.1 (1989): 34.

Mingles, Jarvis. Again and Again: Failed Experiments Since the Dawn of Science. Axiom Books, London, 2000. 641-666.

Oro, Hal. Word of Mouth: Unofficial Reviews and Criticism of Vintage Films. Shift Publications, New York, 2014. 10, 18-19.

Vātsyāyana. The Complete Kama Sutra. Pearl Editions, London, 2017. 69-70.

Notes: [1] According to Karl, “The tospy-turv’d Exclamation Mark betokens a helical Whistle most conventional in the Bird-humans’ Elocution of formal Addresses.” (3)

Luisa Sontag holds multiple PhDs from a variety of universities. Her wide range of knowledge is reflected in her published work. For example, her essay on time’s golden spiral shape was published in Quark, her research on the gene-popping of rare squids was featured in Subaquatic Studies, and her six-volume history of vanished continents was published by Samurai Books. Up until his death, she was collaborating with Stephen Hawking on a book about theoretical flora and fauna titled A Brief Visit to Neighboring Planets. Dedicated to Hawking, it is scheduled to be published next year.

George Salis is the award-winning author of Sea Above, Sun Below (forthcoming from River Boat Books, 2019). His fiction is featured in The Dark, Black Dandy, Zizzle Literary Magazine, The Sunlight Press, Unreal Magazine, and elsewhere. His criticism has appeared in Isacoustic, Atticus Review, and The Tishman Review, and his science article on the mechanics of natural evil was featured in Skeptic. He is the editor of The Collidescope and is currently working on an encyclopedic novel titled Morphological Echoes. He has taught in Bulgaria, China, and Poland. Find him on Facebook, Goodreads, and at www.GeorgeSalis.com.

Leigh’s professional title is “illustrator,” but that’s just a nice word for “monster-maker,” in this case. More information about them can be found at http://leighlegler.carbonmade.com/.

Fiction: In Communion with the Invisible Flock: Erasmus Karl and the Nidificant Manuscript was originally published on Mad Scientist Journal

#Cryptozoology #George Salis #Leigh Legler #Luisa Sontag #Ornithology

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sunflowerseedsandscience · 6 years

Text

D’Un Nouvel Oeil: Chapter Seven

ORADOUR-SUR-GLANE, HAUTE-VIENNE, FRANCE FEBRUARY 1944

"Is there anything else that you need right now?"

Walther Skinner is leaning against the butcher's block in the cafe kitchen, a rucksack resting at his feet, watching Scully work her way through all of the tasks that must be completed before she opens for business in an hour. He'd arrived at the back door first thing in the morning.

"I don't think so," Scully says, cutting cheese into thin slices for sandwiches. "Mulder's been able to get me the medicines I need, for now. And my other contacts have been helpful, as well." She sets the platter of cheese off to the side and checks the bread that's baking in the oven, filling the entire kitchen with its intoxicating aroma. She turns back to Skinner and dusts her hands off on her apron. "I'm as well-supplied as I've ever been." She thinks of the stash of condoms upstairs, secured for her by Byers, the only one she could have requested to procure them for her without incurring a great deal of innuendo and leering. She still can’t believe she’d let them slide and forgotten one, that first time. "Better supplied, really," she amends, hoping she's not blushing. Skinner nods.

"That's good to hear," he says. He bends to open his rucksack, and from within, he withdraws three bottles of very expensive wine, a bottle of brandy, and a bottle of cognac. "Can you use any of these? Serve them in the cafe?" Scully's eyes widen as she examines the wine labels.

"I definitely could," she says. "I could charge a premium for them, too." She picks up the brandy. "The extra money could go to getting more chloral... stitching up lacerations and setting bones would be much easier if I didn't need three people to hold each injured man down." She looks up at Skinner. "Thank you, Walther. These will help tremendously." Skinner shrugs off her gratitude.

"Think nothing of it," he says... then shifts his feet, suddenly uncomfortable. "You should put it about that Mulder got them for you, in exchange for your... arrangement." Scully frowns.

"Have the men at camp been asking questions?"

"There have been comments, here and there," says Skinner. He shrugs, doesn't meet her eyes. "They see the way he looks at you. We don’t want anyone thinking you’re in a position to influence him."

"He's not very good at hiding it," Scully concedes, blushing. Even though she knows it's not something she should be encouraging, she can't stop the small smile that creeps onto her face; Mulder's worshipful gaze has quickly become something of an addiction for her.

"Well, he'd better learn," says Skinner gruffly. "I can only do so much trying to spread rumors if he's disproving them every time his comrades see you together."

"I'll talk to him," Scully sighs. She transfers the bottles of alcohol to the cupboard under the stairs. "These will help, I'm sure." She takes down a bag of coffee and latches the cupboard, then brings the coffee to the counter and sets about measuring it out for the day's first pot. "He's not going to like it, though. I can promise you that. He'll hate even the idea that he could be using me... that people could think that of him."

"I know he will," says Skinner. "But he needs to remember it's also for your protection, not just for his. That ought to arouse his protective instincts." Scully nods. "He's been helpful, then? In getting you supplies?"

"Yes, he's been wonderful," Scully says. "And I think it's good for him, what he's doing." She sets the coffee pot on the stove. "He seems more at peace. Happier."

"I'm not entirely sure that's just from helping out," says Skinner, his eyes boring into her. "I think I'd be happy and at peace, were I in his situation right now." Scully blushes deeply and looks down.

"Walther," she murmurs, her voice soft. She doesn't know how to respond when he says things like this. Saying that she's sorry would be dishonest; she's completely certain, now more than ever, that Mulder is the only man for her, and she can't possibly regret being with him. Skinner, though, seems to understand. He waves his hand dismissively.

"You don't need to be sorry," he says, pulling the words right out of her mind. "You're good for each other. Never be sorry for finding happiness, especially not at a time like this."

"Why do you do it, Walther?" Scully asks him. He frowns.

"What do you mean?"

"My mother and I," says Scully, "we do this because it's our country that's been taken over, because it's my brothers who are at sea fighting the Germans. Mulder does it because of what the Nazis did to his sister, because this is the only way he knows to fight back. But what about you?" Skinner smiles wryly.

"Is it so hard to believe that I might be doing it simply because it's the right thing to do, Dana?" he asks.

"Frankly? Yes, it is," Scully says. "Otherwise, I think we'd have no trouble at all finding people to help." Skinner looks at her a moment longer, then drops his gaze.

"My brother took ill when I was a child," he says quietly. "We had no money to pay our usual doctor, and he refused to help. One of our neighbors, a Jew, was also a doctor... and he treated my brother for free. He saved his life." Skinner crosses to the kitchen door, slinging his rucksack over his back as he goes. "After that, my father wouldn't hear a word against the Jews. He didn't live long enough to see Hitler come to power, thank God... but I never forgot that doctor and what he did for our family. My mother and I used our family's book shop as a cover to aid refugees fleeing the country, and since I've been conscripted, I've done what little I can to keep on helping."

"You do a lot more than you realize, Walther," says Scully. Skinner shrugs.

"It's still the right thing to do," he says. "Not because a Jewish man once helped my family. Even if I'd never known a single Jew in my life, it would still be the right thing to do." Scully nods as he opens the door. "Talk to Mulder," he advises her. "Don't let him get himself in trouble." And with that, he's gone.

------------------------

Scully spends much of the next Saturday evening avoiding Mulder's gaze as she finishes with her final customers of the night. Skinner has not been exaggerating: Mulder's feelings are written all over his face for the world to see.

"You need to stop looking at me like that when there are still customers in the cafe, Mulder," she tells him firmly, as she finally closes and locks the door after the last customer has left. "Your face is practically shouting to the entire German army that we're lovers." He grins over at her from his usual table.

"Lovers?" He stands and crosses the dining room, standing behind her with his hands on her waist. "I like that. Lovers." She suddenly feels his lips on her neck, and twists away quickly, giggling.

"Mulder! Not in front of the windows, someone could see!" She gathers up an armload of dishes and heads for the kitchen. Behind her, she hears Mulder doing the same.

"You think there's anyone out there who doesn't know something's going on between us, Scully?" he asks, depositing the dirty dishes in the sink of soapy water. "You don't want to know the kinds of things I get asked about you whenever I'm at the camp." Scully decides not to point out that she doesn't need him to tell her- she's heard enough from the soldiers themselves, during the day. Safe in their assumption that she doesn't speak enough German to understand them, they don't hold back in their speculation of what they think that she and Mulder get up to in the evenings.

"They know you share my bed sometimes, yes," she tells Mulder, "but they don't know it's anything more than the same thing half the men in your regiment get up to with any woman who's willing." She puts her own dishes in the sink and starts up the stairs- she'll deal with them later.

"Or desperate," comes Mulder's voice from behind her as he follows her up the stairs. "Most of them are only doing it because the soldiers are offering them food and money. I don't want them thinking that of you, Scully." She heaves a sigh, turning to face him and putting her hands on his shoulders. She's going to have to spell it out for him, clearly.

"Mulder," she says, "we need them to think that of me. In fact, it's exactly the sort of rumor I've asked Hauptmann Skinner to spread." He looks every bit as horrified as she'd expected him to be.

"What?"

"I want them to think you're paying for food and supplies for the cafe," she explains. "That's the sort of relationship people like your commander can understand you having with me. It gives you power over me, leaves me at your mercy."

"I don't want power over you, Scully," Mulder says. "And doesn't it bother you? To be seen like that?" She winds her arms around his neck and shakes her head.

"I don't care what any of them think, Mulder," she tells him firmly. "I have no respect for any of them and I'm not wasting a single second worrying about their opinions of me. Men like that, who can see to it that a woman and her family starve, and then look down on her for doing what she has to in order to keep them alive?" She leans her forehead against his- standing a step above him, she's only a few inches shorter. "They can't know the truth. At best, they'll be suspicious and your friend Spender will never tell you anything his father says again. At worst, they could accuse you of treason. You know the truth, Mulder, and that's all I care about." Mulder looks mournful.

"I'll do my best, Scully," he concedes. "But I make no promises." She knows him well enough by now to know that that's the best she can hope for. Smiling in resignation, she takes him by the hand and leads him upstairs.

Hours later, they're settled naked on Scully's bed, their passions sated for the moment- though, in Mulder's case, not completely. She's trying to read to him as he lies with his head in her lap; he's trying, repeatedly, to direct his attention elsewhere. After she's thwarted his attempt to bury his face between her legs for what has to be the fourth time, he sighs and flops onto his back, looking up at her.

"Scully, can I ask you something?" She nods at him, waiting. "How many...." He trails off, frowning, and suddenly Scully knows exactly what he's going to ask. Her gut clenches. "How did you learn-"

"You want to know how many men I've been with before you," she says, cutting him off. She's not sure this is a conversation she wants to have. "I thought you said it didn't matter to you?"

"It doesn't," he reassures her. "I'm just... I'm just curious, that's all." For a moment, she doesn't speak. She'd like to think he won't care about her past, what she's done before they'd met, but she can't help but think back to her time in Paris, to Sebastien, to the things he had said.

"Men don't like a woman who's too forward, Dana," he'd told her, repeatedly, when she had tried to be vocal about what she'd thought would please her. "No man wants to be directed, to be told what to do in the bedroom. You need to learn to trust that I know what I'm doing."

As though sensing her insecurity, Mulder sits up and embraces her warmly. "Let's face it, Scully," he tells her, smiling, "you know your way around my body better than I do. I was just wondering if that's the sort of thing they teach in medical school these days." She feels the tension abate and she sinks against him, chuckling.

"I suppose you could say I did learn it at medical school, after a fashion," she says. "To answer your question... I was with one man before you." Mulder looks skeptical, and for a moment she feels guilty about the lie. She wants to trust him not to judge her, to not be disappointed in her, but she's never quite been able to shake her sense of shame over the two men she'd been with after leaving medical school. Not for having slept with them, not really... but for having used them for comfort when she'd felt nothing for them. Sebastien, at least, had been a long-term relationship. "It was for over a year though," she tells Mulder. "He was one of my instructors."

"A year?" She nods. "Who ended it?"

"I did," she says. "He wanted us to get married... and he insisted that if we did, I would have to give up school, give up on becoming a doctor. He said it was all right for unmarried women to pursue a career, but that as his wife, my place would be in the home." Mulder laughs, shaking his head. "I think you can imagine how well that idea went over with me."

"No wonder you ended it." He nuzzles into her hair, momentarily quiet. "Did you love him, Scully?" She leans her face into his neck, thinking.

"I thought I did at the time," she says at last, and it's the truth- Sebastien had seemed, then, to be everything she should want in a man. "But now... I think I must have been infatuated with him, maybe a little in awe of him, nothing more than that." She draws away just long enough to sit up and meet his eyes. "Because this, Mulder, what I feel for you, this is love, I know it is... and what I felt for him can't hold a candle to this."

The way Mulder's face relaxes tells her that he believes her, and even as she's straddling him, preparing to take him into her body for the second time tonight, she feels guilty for not being completely honest. She trusts him, doesn't she? Enough to know he won't think less of her? She stops kissing him and pulls back.

"You okay, Scully?" he asks, frowning in confusion. She nods.

"Mulder," she says quietly, "I wasn't completely honest with you just now." Mulder is immediately worried.

"Which part?" he asks.

"I've had two other men," she confesses, looking down. If he's disappointed in her, she doesn't want to see it in his face. "After I came back here, to take care of my mother. One was a man who helped on my mother's farm, while I was nursing her back to health. He went away to fight not long after. The other was a British soldier, passing through at the start of the war." She risks a glance at his face, but his expression is unreadable. "I didn't feel anything for either of them, I promise you. They didn't mean anything. I was just... I was lonely, Mulder, and worried about my mother, and my brothers, and trying to run the cafe and the farm on my own, and I had no one to turn to and-" Mulder stops her with a finger to her lips.

"Scully," he says gently, "it doesn't bother me. It doesn't make me think any differently of you." She's so relieved, she could almost cry.

"You don't?" He shakes his head, stroking her cheek.

"No," he says. "I wasn't a virgin, either, Scully. I've been with a few women before... and I can't honestly say I felt anything for any of them, either. I was lonely, and I needed comfort. Why would I think less of you for having the same needs as me?"

"I've been brought up to believe that I should be able to rise above that kind of weakness," she says.

"Needing someone isn't a weakness, Scully," Mulder says.

"Rationally, I know that," says Scully. "But in practice... I have a hard time remembering it." She smiles weakly. "I have a bit of an independent streak."

"You? I hadn't noticed," quips Mulder, and they laugh together until Mulder kisses her again, effectively ending the conversation.

--------------------------

They eat dinner with Maggie on Sunday night, as they do nearly every week, and after Scully has sent Mulder back to camp with a kiss and a promise to see him on Tuesday, since he's expected for cards on Monday, she returns to the kitchen to help her mother with the washing up. They work in a companionable silence for a time, Maggie washing and Scully drying.

"I feel like I spend every evening drying dishes these days," Scully remarks, and Maggie chuckles.

"Would you rather wash?" she asks.

"No, that's fine," laughs Scully. "Mulder usually does the washing, when I close the cafe at night." Maggie shakes her head, but she's smiling.

"I still don't think I'll believe that until I see it," she says. "A good-looking man who stands up to bullies, and does housework?"

"Did Papa never wash dishes, then?" asks Scully. She had been only eight when her father had passed away, and most of her few memories are of him doing the things typically reserved for fathers: presiding over family dinners, roughhousing with his sons, doling out discipline as directed by their mother, policing Melissa's wardrobe choices... and reading stories with his youngest daughter.

"Oh, he'd lend a hand if I asked, if I was really overwhelmed," Maggie concedes. "But it certainly wasn't a nightly occurrence. I think you've gotten more than a little bit lucky, my girl." They work in silence a bit longer.

"Maman," says Scully, as they're finishing, "do you think... if Papa hadn't...." Maggie quirks an eyebrow at her. "Do you think Papa would have liked him, Maman? If he'd gotten to meet Mulder? Do you think he would have approved? Even though he's a German soldier?" Maggie looks thoughtful.

"He would have been impressed with what Fox did the night that soldier had his hands all over you," she say, finally. "And he would be very impressed with Fox's decision to-" She stops herself and looks around. "With what he's been doing lately. But what I think your father would have liked the most, Dana, would have been the way that Fox treats you. No one, seeing the way he is with you, could ever doubt that he loves you and respects you. That all by itself would have been enough to win your father's approval." Scully fights back the tears that have begun to gather in her eyes and nods. Her mother reaches out and takes her hand. "Come on," she says gently. "Come and sit in the parlor with me for a bit before you go up to bed. I scarcely get to see you these days."

No sooner have they sat down before the fire, however, than they're startled to their feet by the sound of the front door being thrown open.

"Scully! Maggie!" She and Maggie leap to their feet at Mulder's call. His footsteps pound down the hallway, towards the kitchen, and the women hasten to follow. "Maggie!" "Mulder, what are you doing here?" asks Scully as she rushes into the kitchen. "What's going on?" Mulder's face is red and sweaty, in spite of the chill outside, as though he's been running hard. He's leaning heavily against the wall, panting, his eyes wild. Scully's stomach clenches in fear: whatever's happened, it's nothing short of catastrophic, if Mulder is this panicked.

"The father and son that left here last night, they were caught, they were questioned. The son told them where he and his father stayed." There's a roaring sound in Scully's ears, and for a moment, she thinks she might pass out. "They're coming, Maggie. You need to get ready to leave. The priest is sending someone to get you to safety." Her mind goes immediately to her emergency bag, full of clothing and forged documents obtained for her by Frohike... tucked in her armoire in her apartment across town.

"We have to take her to my apartment!" she says, grabbing her mother's arm, but Mulder shakes his head.

"That's the first place they'll look, you know they will," says Mulder. "You've got to leave town, Maggie." Scully opens her mouth to protest, but at the firm touch of her mother's hand on her arm, she stops.

"He's right, Dana," she says. "You know he is."

"Then I'm coming with you," Scully insists. Mulder will come with her if she asks, Scully knows she will, but there's no way she can leave her mother to fend for herself. But Maggie is shaking her head, laying gentle hands on Scully's shoulders.

"Dana, you need to stay. There are too many people counting on you. You need to help them." Scully knows her mother is right, that there are people here who need her, who won't be able to pass safely through without her assistance... but right now, at this moment, she doesn't care. They all come second to her mother.

"I need to help you, Maman," she insists.

"You've been helping me for years, my darling," says Maggie, taking Scully's face tenderly in her hands and kissing her forehead. "But when I leave here tonight, you'll be helping me most by staying with Fox and keeping safe. Right now, there's nothing to make them think you've been involved in any of this. We've been careful... that boy and his father never even saw you here, they couldn't have told the soldiers anything about you. But when I leave here tonight, I could be caught, and if you're with me... they'll know. Our being together will be all the proof they need that you're involved." She takes Scully's hands in her own and squeezes them, looking her directly in the eyes. "You must do this, Dana. For me." And Scully cannot refuse, no matter how much it feels as though her entire world is crashing down around her shoulders.

It's been just the two of them for so many years now. Scully doesn't know if she remembers how to get through each day without her mother there to turn to.

"Maman," she cries, embracing her mother, sobbing. Maggie holds her tightly, rubbing her shoulders.

"I am so, so proud of the woman you've grown into," she whispers. "And if your father could see you, he would be even prouder." She tries to draw back, but Scully clutches at her, unwilling and unable to let her go.

There's a loud pounding at the kitchen door, and Scully jumps back, her heart in her throat, until she recognizes Frohike's voice.

"Scully, open up, it's us!" Mulder rushes to open the door, and Frohike, Byers and Langly rush in. "Maggie, it's time to get you out of here. Are you ready?"

"Yes," says Maggie. "Just give me one moment, all right?" She turns back to Scully and cradles her face again. Her face is hard, set, though the tears are flowing freely down her cheeks. "You need to go with Fox now," she says. "Never forget I love you."

"I love you too, Maman," sobs Scully. "So much."

"I promise you, one day, we will see each other again," says Maggie, and she embraces Scully one last time before passing Scully's hand to Mulder's. "Take care of her, Fox," she says, and stretches up to kiss Mulder's cheek.

"I promise I will, Maggie," says Mulder. He looks to Frohike. "You'll keep us informed? Let us know when she's safe?"

"The moment we have her securely on her way, we'll be back to tell you," promises Frohike. The other two nod in agreement.

"Get moving," says Mulder. And before Scully has a chance to protest, before she can even look once more on her mother's face, Mulder has rushed her out of the kitchen door.

Later, Scully has almost no memory of the desperate flight back to her apartment. She's crying throughout, held tightly to Mulder's side, but she's barely conscious of the passing landscape as he rushes her through the deserted streets and through the cafe's back door. By the time she's once again aware of her surroundings, she's lying on her bed, crying so hard that her chest hurts, and Mulder is wrapped protectively around her. He looks as though he's about to speak... but before he gets the chance, there's a pounding on the front door to the cafe. Scully's sitting upright in less than a second, shaking with fear.

"They're here for me," she says. They're going to arrest her, question her, question Mulder, and send men out into the surrounding countryside until they find her mother... and then they will kill all three of them. Mulder, however, puts a calming hand on her arm.

"They're here to see if you've been home all night," he says. "I saw Skinner before I came to get you; he told me to do what it takes to make them think you've been in your apartment all evening, that you weren't with your mother tonight, that you don't know she's gone on the run."

"What if they think I was there last night, when that man and his son were hiding there?" she asks.

"They already know you weren't," Mulder reassures her. "There were soldiers in here when it was time for you to lock up the cafe, weren't there? And it was after curfew. They know where you were last night."

"And tonight?" she asks. Mulder bites his lip, thinking. "Do you trust me, Scully?" he asks. She nods, and he stands. "Then take off your blouse and get under the covers. When they come in, cover yourself with the blanket, but let them see your shoulders are bare. Let them think you're naked." Mulder unbuttons his uniform jacket, dropping it to the floor, and takes off his boots and socks. Standing, he unbuckles his belt, pulling his undershirt out of his pants to hang loose around his hips. He looks, Scully thinks, as though he's thrown his clothing back on in haste after being caught at a delicate moment... and suddenly, she realizes that that's exactly what he's going for. She loses no time obeying him, stripping off her blouse and camisole, dropping her boots to her bedroom floor. She pulls the duvet up to her shoulders.

"Won't you get in trouble, flaunting it like this?" she asks. Mulder shakes his head.

"Not much. Maybe night guard for a week again." He kisses her gently, then stands. Downstairs, the pounding on the door sounds yet again. "Don't worry about me right now. There's nothing, anywhere in here, that can implicate you, is there?" Scully shakes her head.

"Nothing. I never keep anything written down," she says. He nods.

"Stay here," he says. Before she can answer, he's gone, running through her flat and downstairs. Scully can just barely hear muffled voices- they're at the front door, and her bedroom is in the back of the house- but before long, there's the heavy sound of many boots tramping up the stairs, and she hears Mulder addressing someone in German. "But if you just wait a moment...." he's saying... and to Scully's immense relief, it's Walther Skinner's voice that answers him.

"Down that way?" Skinner is asking.

"Yes, but Sir, I really think that-" That's as far as Mulder gets before Skinner throws open the bedroom door. Scully has just enough time to jerk the duvet up to cover her chest and let out what she hopes is a convincingly frightened shriek. She comes within half of breath of turning the shriek into a laugh... because Skinner's eyes are squeezed tightly shut, lest he catch even a glimpse of her naked body.

Over Skinner's shoulder, Scully can see Mulder and another man, with a pinched, rat-like face. Mulder has pointed him out to her once before as Jeffrey Spender, his childhood acquaintance, the son of his commander.

"Fraulein Scully," barks Skinner, "please put on your clothes and join us in the parlor. We have some questions for you." He shuts the door, and letting out an enormous breath, Scully gets out of bed and pulls her clothing back on.

Skinner is in charge of the questioning, which the young Spender doesn't seem happy about. The entire affair takes twice as long as it should, because Mulder keeps having to translate each question from German to French, and each of Scully's answers back into German, to keep Spender in the dark about Scully's fluency. It's over an hour before Skinner is finished, and at the end of it, Scully is completely exhausted.

"We have no further questions at this time, Fraulein Scully," says Skinner, finally. "But we do ask, should your mother contact you, that you inform us immediately. For you to attempt to keep her whereabouts from us would be unwise." He looks to Mulder, who translates, and Scully nods. Skinner turns to Mulder. "Obersoldat Mulder, you'll see us out," he says. "Then you'll get yourself cleaned up and get back to camp. Understood?"

"Yes, Sir," says Mulder. Skinner and Spender nod to Scully, then go back downstairs, Mulder behind them. The moment they're gone, Scully stands woodenly and makes her way slowly back into her bedroom, where she collapses onto her bed and curls in a ball. She feels drained, numb from the shock of the night's events, unable to take it all in. When Mulder comes back, he lies next to her on the bed, taking her in his arms and stroking her hair.

"You should get dressed and go back," she says finally, though it's the last thing she wants him to do. "They'll be looking for you."

"Not tonight, they won't," says Mulder. "Not in all the excitement. And I'm sure I can get Skinner to claim to have seen me in camp, if need be." He strokes her hair and presses a gentle kiss to her forehead. "Speaking of Skinner, why were you trying not to laugh when he opened your bedroom door?" At the memory of Skinner's flushed, embarrassed face, Scully manages a tiny smile.

"Because he had his eyes closed," she says. "He was standing there, in my doorway, belting out orders at me with his eyes shut tight and his cheeks bright red." Mulder grins.

"Protecting your modesty. A real gentleman," he says. It's true, Skinner is a gentleman, and Scully can't help but chuckle a little. The lightness in her heart is short-lived, though, as the loss of her mother comes crashing down on her yet again... and in moments, she's sobbing.

Her mother is gone. If, by some miracle, she is not caught tonight, brought back and questioned, before being put to death, she'll be making her way through countryside that's crawling with German patrols... and even if she reaches safety, there's no guarantee Scully will ever see her again. And even if she does, it's likely to be years from now.

Next Chapter >

#My Fic

4 notes · View notes

asidian · 7 years

Note

I... woke up with a prompt? @_@ One of the bros dies at some point in the journey, but the spirit of this bro follows the group around and is still able to influence the surroundings. (like he can still move things with the same strength as when he was alive) However, Noctis is the only one who can see/hear this spirit.

Author’s Notes: Thank you for this lovely prompt. I… kind of got carried away with it, and it ended up a bit longer than drabble length. >.>

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Someone to Watch Over

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It only takes a second.

In a single missed strike – in a single call for backup on the radio – the tide turns.

The metal soldiers of Niflheim arrive, and they stream out of their drop ships like water from a faucet. Standing on the edge of Insomnia, backed up against a cliff overlooking the city that used to be their home, the crown prince of Lucis and his retainers struggle to stay alive.

They keep it up until Noct's arms tremble when he tries to lift his sword. They keep it up until Prompto asks for a potion and Ignis calls back, "I'm afraid we've reached the end of our supply."

They keep it up until Gladio says, "We can't stay here," and starts cutting his way through the snipers blocking the narrow canyon they came through.

They all follow. Prompto is bleeding – stumbling – barely on his feet. Noct is scraping the very end of his magic reserves, so exhausted he can scarcely put one foot in front of the other.

Gladio clears the path, and Ignis brings up the rear, and they almost make it.

Almost.

But the next drop ship holds a swarm of MT assassins and a mech the size of a small house, and in a flurry of screaming missiles and the heat of the ensuing explosion, everything changes for good.

===

The first night is the hardest.

They set up camp outside Hammerhead, three where there used to be four.

"I could, uhm," says Prompto, hovering by the empty cook station. "I know how to make salad?"

No one answers, and finally he sits back down.

At quarter till midnight, Gladio adds some hot water to a pack of Cup Noodles and shoves it Noct's way.

He stares at it until it goes cold, and they throw it out in the morning.

===

They get lost in the Weaverwilds, out in the hot dusty desert.

None of them know the lay of the land, and Ignis had the map.

They spend the better part of a day out there, wandering across the packed, parched earth, and by the time they stagger into the hotel room at Longwythe, they're all footsore and filthy.

They drop their clothes onto the scruffy hotel carpet and leave them where they fall. They take turns in the shower, one after the next, and then they crawl, exhausted, into bed.

No one bothers to pick up the clothes.

But in the morning, when the sun's rays first peek in through the battered hotel blinds, the discarded shirts and pants make a trim line across the table, folded crisp and careful.

===

Prompto's sitting cross-legged in his camp chair, hunched over his phone, when the paper bag falls off the cook station and into his lap. It tips too far before he can grab it; a pot lid clangs out onto the stone ground of the haven, and a cascade of spoons follow.

Prompto jumps – yelps – knocks his phone onto the ground and manages to get his arms around the bag before anything else spills.

"Hey," says Noct, barely glancing up. "Tone it down."

"It wasn't me," says Prompto. "It just fell."

Gladio snorts. "What, like the wind blew it over?"

"I guess," says Prompto, uncertainly.

He kneels down and repacks the paper bag, one piece of cutlery at a time. He sets it back up by the cook station, and he ignores the fact that there's not so much as the hint of a breeze.

Five minutes later, the bag's in his lap again, and this time half of what's inside is spread across the glowing runes, stretching out toward the campfire.

"Okay," says Prompto. "Dude. That was not the wind."

Noct's tapping at the screen of his phone. He makes a quiet "hm" sound, noncommital, without so much as looking up.

Gladio rolls his eyes and says, "No one cares if you knocked it over. Just pick it up again."

Prompto opens his mouth to say that he didn't knock it over, but one look at his friends' faces makes him change his mind.

Careful hands reach to retrieve Ignis' cookware from the ground. He tucks away pots and spoons, and he wonders how Iggy always made it look so easy to find space for everything.

Prompto's just trying to cram in the last frying pan when he catches sight of the scrap of paper.

It's nothing special – just the torn out page of a notebook, covered in small, immaculately neat handwriting. At the sight of the letters, so painstakingly formed, Prompto's eyes well up with tears. He ducks his head so that Noct and Gladio won't see, and he reads through a recipe for chilli that Ignis never got to make.

Then he scrubs the back of his hand across his eyes, and he says, "Hey, guys. I'm gonna try and make dinner tonight."

He gets no answer from Noct, and Gladio fixes him with a strange, lingering look. But no one says not to, so Prompto stands up with the paper bag.

He unpacks the pots and the spoons. He digs out the meat and the beans. He follows the directions with more care than he's ever spent on anything in his life.

The chilli's not great. He burns it a little, and it sticks to the pot.

But it's the first real meal they've had in a week and a half, and nothing else knocks itself over for the rest of the night.

===

"Okay," says Gladio. "Which one of you assholes touched my sword?"

Noct shoots him the kind of dirty look he used to reserve for getting woken up at 6 am on a weekend. He says, "You think I'm gonna do weapon maintenance for you?"

And Prompto puts his hands up, the universal gesture for "I'm unarmed, please don't kill me," and says, "Don't look at me, dude. If it doesn't have a hammer and a barrel, I don't know how to clean it."

"Well, it had to be someone," snaps Gladio. "I sure as hell didn't do it in my sleep."

Noct's still scowling down at his phone, but Prompto's got this bemused sort of expression on his face. "Could've been the wind," he says, and the corners of his lips creep up a little.

"You get weirder every damn day," says Gladio. "You know that?"

===

They can't afford a hotel room, not really – but it's been a rough couple of weeks, and Noct says they can make it up by taking a hunt or two.

No one has the heart to argue with him. He doesn't really insist on much of anything anymore.

But even with a clean bed calling, he plunks himself down in one of the room's chairs and bows his head toward the faint white light from his phone's screen.

Hours slip by. Gladio finishes his book and calls it a night, and not much later, Prompto finally gives up on staying awake and crawls under the covers.

"Dude," he calls, half muffled by the pillow. "Come to bed already. You know your back's gonna kill you in the morning if you fall asleep there."

But Noct just says, "In a little bit," and hunches over further.

He drifts off around 2 am, still stretched out in the hotel room chair, chin on his chest and legs sprawled out, like a child who couldn't handle being up past his bedtime.

When Prompto wakes in the morning, the first one to greet the new day, he finds that the spare blanket from the top of the closet is draped over Noct's sleeping form.

===

"Just one," says Prompto. "Come on, dude. I haven't asked for a photo op in like a month and a half."

He hasn't asked for a photo op since Galdin Quay, that day when all four of them stood on the overlook by the ocean. He still has that picture, with the sky wide and blue behind them, smiles on their faces. The water stretches away into the distance, light shining on the placid surface, and Ignis is raising a can of Ebony as though in salute.

Maybe Noct remembers, too, because his face goes shuttered and still, the way it always gets when he thinks about Ignis, these days.

That would have been enough to make Prompto wish he'd kept his mouth shut all by itself, but then Gladio's turning toward him with a flat sort of look, the kind of stare that could wilt a cactus.

"You know what?" says Prompto, all in a rush. "Nevermind, it's cool. We've got places to be, right?" He's already fumbling to put the camera away, fingers clumsy.

"It's fine," says Noct, and his tone has just enough of an edge that Prompto knows very well it isn't fine. "Just take the picture."

Prompto ducks his head and bites at his lip. "It's really – it's no big deal. The lighting's no good, anyway."

"Prompto," says Noct, and he sounds so tired.

Prompto cringes a little, because he did that. He made Noct sound like he needs to lie down and nap for the next century and a half. He opens his mouth again, to try and wave it off, but Noct says, "Just do it already," and the words feel like shards of broken glass.

The last thing Prompto wants anymore is a stupid picture.

But Noct's watching him, and so's Gladio, and trying to back out is only making it worse. Better to get it over with.

So he gets the camera out, and he props it up on a nearby outcropping of rock so he doesn't have to waste time fiddling with the tripod. He sets the timer, and he tries for a smile, and he says, "Okay, guys. We're go in fifteen seconds."

Then he darts around to join Noct and Gladio, standing there with the Duscaen arches stretching away behind them.

The camera clicks, and whirs, and Prompto circles back around to get it.

"Sorry for the holdup," he says.

Noct inclines his head in acknowledgement and turns to start walking. Gladio falls in behind him him.

And Prompto brings up the rear, still cradling the camera. Usually, he checks the shot – but this time, he doesn't want to look.

This time, he wishes he'd never asked.

===

"How was it?" says Noct, three days later, sometime close to midnight.

His voice seems too loud in the quiet dark of the campsite; gone are the nights when they filled their idle hours with poker and King's Knight. Now there's only the silence, and the endless echoes of their own thoughts, and – very occasionally— Prompto's awkward, hopeful attempts at making conversation.

Prompto glances up at the words, blinking owlishly. "How was what?"

"The picture," says Noct, and holds his hand out, expectant.

Prompto doesn't know. He still hasn't looked at it. He hasn't turned the camera on at all, since then.

But he fishes it out and hands it over – tries for a smile. "You tell me," he says.

Noct rolls his eyes and presses the on button.

Prompto waits. He expects some kind of comment on the scenery, maybe, or the light.

He doesn't expect Noct's voice, low and shaking, to say, "Is this some kind of joke?"

He doesn't expect Noct to look up at him, jaw set and eyes bright with rage.

He doesn't expect that anger to disappear in the space of a single heartbeat, or for Noct to scramble to his feet so fast he knocks over his own camp chair, eyes wide and shocked, face so pale he looks like he's been struck.

"What?" says Gladio, looking up from his book for the first time. "What is it?"

"There," says Noct, and Prompto looks where he's pointing – sees only the forest surrounding the haven, half lost in the darkness. "Don't you see him?"

"See who?" says Prompto, but he thinks of the wind, and he watches Noct press a trembling hand to his mouth, and he knows the answer to that already.

===

Things are better, after that.

Noct talks again. He stirs himself out of the depths of his phone, and he engages in conversation, and sometimes, when they need to make a decision, he'll pause for a bit too long before laying out a plan that's actually quite tactically brilliant.

Prompto cooks, most nights – follows the instructions on scraps of paper that always seem to be tucked away in the bag with the cooking implements. He's not good at it, but before long the notes start to include helpful pointers for the things he struggles with. In time, the burned sauces and lopsided pastries become edible.

Gone is Gladio's perpetual scowl. He doesn't point fingers, now, when he wakes to find that his swords are cleaned and sharpened, set all out in a row. And every night, when they make camp, he unfolds the fourth chair.

===

The light of dawn streams in through the high windows in a wash of brilliance.

It catches the dust motes in the throne room, soft and lovely; it paints the two men standing before the throne like something from a book of children's fairy tales, picking out their Crownsguard insignia in glittering strands of silver.

Gladio's face looks carved from granite, somber and stern. Prompto's cheeks are wet with tears.

Noct watches them for a long moment.

It will be harder for them, he thinks. His part is over, but theirs – theirs has just begun.

"Highness," says a voice, softly.

Noct knows that voice. He's known it since childhood, when it tried without success to talk him out of kitchen raids and late night expeditions into the gardens.

When he glances up, past the place where two of his friends are mourning, he sees Ignis: prim and proper, eternally twenty-two. He's wearing the button-up and suspenders that he died in, and his glasses, broken on impact after that long-ago missile launch, are clean and whole.

"Hey, Specs," says Noct, and he's proud when his voice only wavers a little. "I was wondering if you'd show up."

"Honestly," says Ignis. In his tone there's a mild, fond sort of reprimand. "You know as well as I do that I've been here all along."

He takes the stairs to the throne at a stately pace – comes to stand in between Gladio and Prompto, the final missing piece of an incomplete puzzle. He holds out his hand, an offer of assistance, and Noct hesitates only an instant before he reaches out to take it in his own.

When he rises, the remnants on the throne stay behind, still pinned by his father's sword.

"Shall we?" says Ignis.

Noct glances back to where Gladio and Prompto stand, heads bowed, paralyzed in their grief. "Will they be okay?"

Ignis' hand settles on his shoulder, warm and reassuring. "We're quite capable of checking in on them from time to time, you know."

"Yeah," says Noct, and his smile is crooked and uncertain. "I guess I knew that already."

He spares one last, lingering look for the two they'll leave behind. He swallows, hard, and he silently wishes them well.

Then he says, "I'm ready," and he follows Ignis down the stairs and out the Citadel doors, into the bright light of the dawn.

#ffxv #ignis scientia #Noctis Lucis Caelum #prompto argentum #gladiolus amicitia #drabble

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buckybabybaby · 7 years

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Everything Backwards (Chapter 2/12)

Summary: When you make-out with a ‘James’ on a night out, you don’t expect to see him again, so imagine your surprise the next day when it turns out he’ll be your new sort-off-flat-mate. As Nanny for Peggy & Steve’s three children, you’ve lucked out, but now the guy across the corridor is threatening to ruin it all. This is the story of how it works out.

Chapter 2 summary: Day two of living with Bucky isn’t any better…

Pairing: Bucky Barnes/Reader (gender neutral) Slow burn.

Word count: 1318

Warnings: Swearing, and Bucky’s still a bit of a dick. Actually, he’s worse here… sorry!

Catch up: Chapter 1

Everything Backwards Masterlist | Masterlist.

Monday morning is obviously hectic at the Carter-Rogers’ home, and as this is only the second one you’ve dealt with, you are understandably stressed. After your unpleasant reunion with Bucky yesterday, you’d spent the rest of the day in your room, skipping dinner and getting an early night. Which means you’re now well rested but very fearful of bumping into your new house mate.

Steve and Peggy have already gone, a quick kiss to their children’s heads before rushing out the door, so you’re left alone to get three energetic kids ready for the day. Sports kits and history project waiting by the door, and jackets fastened against the early morning chill, you chivvy everyone out of the house and breath a sigh of relief when you glance at your watch. Plenty of time.

Taking the hand of the youngest, Joe, you begin to lead them along the road towards their school. Sarah, the oldest, skips ahead and her other brother Michael rushes to catch up. The very expensive street you now live on looks particularly pretty today with the new leaves blowing in the Summer wind, and you almost forget your worries until a quiet voice breaks through your thoughts.

“Did you meet Uncle Bucky?” Joe is only just four, and quite shy with you, but he’s slowly getting more confident as the days go by. His question has you realising just how big a part of your life Bucky will be; not only is he living with you all, but he’s close enough to the children to be thought of as an uncle. You smile down at Joe and nod.

“Did you like him? He’s really funny isn’t he! He took me skating once and it was really fun!”

His enthusiasm is adorable, and you laugh along with him as he babbles. Your glad it seems like Bucky is not a dick around the youngsters. You feel kind of awful that you had considered he may be a bad influence on the minors in your care, but, after the interaction the two of you had had yesterday, you don’t know what to expect. Joe is telling you about his time at the ice rink and you make sure to listen intently.

When you arrive at the school, he looks like he still has more to say and you promise to let him tell you it all when you pick him up at midday, being in preschool and finishing early meant you’ll be back to collect him in a couple of hours. He smiles brightly at that and runs of happily to where his teacher is waiting. You hand Michael his sports bag, and ruffle his hair, sending him on his way before turning towards Sarah.

She’s gone a little pale and you resist the urge to pull her into a hug, you’re not sure you’re that close yet. You know why she’s frightened. On Saturday afternoon you’d helped her with homework all about Victorian Britain and today was the day she had to present it to her class. Aged nine it’s understandable she’s nervous. You know how much it means to her and your heart breaks a bit at the look of terror on her face.

“Your project is great, Sarah, really.” She doesn’t look convinced so you lead her away from the main gate before crouching down to her height.

“Your mum looked it over, didn’t she?” She half nods. “Well then, obviously it’s amazing if Professor Rogers, head of history at the countries top University, didn’t find any faults in it. You put together a really great presentation and I’m excited to hear how it goes, and so are your parents. Honestly, you’re going to be brilliant.”

She looks a bit overwhelmed by your little speech, but the change in her mood is immediate, thanking you before accepting her backpack and running off to find her friends. Once you’ve made sure she’s safely inside, you turn around to make the short journey home.

With no one to look out for on the walk, you’re left with your thoughts and find yourself slowing down the closer you get to your street. This is ridiculous. You’re not going to allow a potential run in with Bucky make you scared to enter what is essentially your home. With that thought you jog up the steps and unlock the front door.

It’s silent inside and you’re about to relax when you hear a crash from the kitchen, followed by swearing and the running of the tap. You really don’t want to know what he’s done, but, as it’s the quietest day at the supermarket, and you have 3 hours to spare, you had decided that a shopping trip was the best job for this morning and you need to know what you’re short off.

Closing your eyes briefly, you collect yourself before walking round the corner and promptly choking on air.

Bucky isn’t wearing a shirt. You feel your heart start racing as you take him in, the pyjama bottoms he’s wearing clinging to his impressive thighs, and as he turns from the sink you get a brief view of the bulge at his crotch.

You follow the line of muscles there up to his chest and shoulders and finally his un-styled hair. He’s got his thumb in his mouth and you frown at the look of pain on his face, evidently he’s too distracted by whatever he’s done to himself to notice you checking out his half naked body.

Glancing around, you see the cause of his injury. All the ingredients for a cooked breakfast are spread over the work surface, and the knife that was cutting tomatoes and the remaining uncut ones are strewn across the floor. You sigh and face him again.

“Do you need a plaster?”

He jumps, clearly not noticing you until you spoke. His eyes go hard when he looks over at you and you try not to flinch. “No.”

“No, thank you.”

“What?” He looks confused and you feel a jolt of satisfaction at that.

“I believe strongly in good manners,” you answer, reaching round him to open the fridge and scrutinise its contents.

“Fuck you, I’m not exactly one of your clients kids.”

At that you close the refrigerator door a little harder than necessary, making something inside it rattle, stepping to the side and opening the pantry. “I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t swear around the children.”

Bucky looks pissed when you say that. “Of course I don’t fucking swear around the children, who do you think I am? And who the fuck are you to tell me what to do?”

“I am their nanny, so I do have some say in regards to them.”

“And I’ve known them their entire life so I’m not going to start listening to advice from you.”

He’s moved closer to you and you watch his chest moving up and down as he breathes heavily. How did this conversation end up here? Is it going to be like this every time you have to talk? All the fight goes out of you at that thought, and, not being sure what to say, you finish your list and grab the car keys off the peg.

“Do you need anything? I’m going to get groceries.”

He doesn’t reply so you leave, sitting in the car for a full minute to calm yourself down before driving away. If the items are thrown a little too hard into the trolley when you’re in the shop, well, it’s better than throwing them at Bucky’s face.

By the time you get home you’re feeling a lot better, and the house is thankfully quiet. The pile of dirty dishes on the counter makes your mood slip a bit, but you’ve already decided that there’s no way you’re going to let him ruin the best job you’ve ever had.

Chapter 3

Tagging: @tieddown-withbattleshipchains @i-had-a-life-once

#bucky barnes x reader #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x y/n #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes au #bucky fic #bucky x you #bucky x y/n #buckybabybaby #everything backwards

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imagineclaireandjamie · 7 years

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Mac Ruaidh - Part Five

Part One, Part Two, Part Three, Part Four

“Da!”

Jamie raised his head as Willie repeated the syllable in various volumes as Sabrina approached the field where Jamie had one of the work horses harnessed to the drum that spread manure.

For a moment his heart lurched as the sun dipped behind a cloud and Sabrina’s hair darkened. In another world he would be doing this at Lallybroch and it would be Claire coming to check on him with their bairn in her arms––though Claire would be sure to have a wee basket over her arm for her herbs as well.

He coaxed the horse to a stop and let the creature rest as he watched the wet nurse carry a squirming Willie closer. He pulled off the pair of gloves he wore while working and tucked them into the back waistband of his breeks; they could make it trickier to maneuver with the stiff fingers of his hand but it was easier to use them than worry about how filthy he was whenever he found a chance moment to see Willie during the day.

The little legs kicked and straightened as Willie’s arms reached for Jamie. The lad had mastered the art of pulling himself up to stand but any steps still required the assistance of adult hands or something solid to hold onto for balance. Jamie caught him under the arms and lifted him high, both father and son smiling and laughing in their customary greeting. Then Jamie settled Willie in his arms and kissed his forehead. Willie smacked his lips together and made a kissing sound to himself as he’d taken to doing in response.

Jamie turned to Sabrina as Willie started to pick at the sweaty collar of his worn shirt. The woman smiled but exhaustion and exasperation were written over her face.

“She was there again,” Sabrina said quietly.

Jamie bit his cheek as he reflexively clenched his teeth.

“He was just waking from his nap and I’d gone to get him some food. She was free with her opinions on your choosing to wean him so soon.”

Jamie rolled his eyes and rubbed Willie’s back. “Da?” the little voice asked until he looked down at him. Willie pointed at Sabrina who smiled. “Beena.”

“Aye, mo chiusle,” Jamie nodded and smiled. “I’ll be finished wi’ this field in another ten minutes. If ye dinna mind fetching me something to eat, I’ll meet ye down by the stables and we can see how Willie here likes it.”

Sabrina nodded and reached to take Willie from Jamie. Willie clung to Jamie and started to fuss. “Nononononono, Daaaaa.”

“It’ll be fine, lad,” Jamie coaxed. “Ye’ll want to watch me wi’ the horses later, aye? I need to finish here first. Can ye tell me what a horse says?”

“Neeeee,” Willie droned baring six little teeth––two on the top and four on the bottom––nestled in his gums.

“Tha’s right,” Jamie encouraged.

“And what about the cows?” Sabrina took over, drawing Willie’s attention away from Jamie and starting to walk back to the house.

“Ooooooo,” Jamie heard as he slipped his gloves back on and returned to his work.

He would need to find the right way to have a word with Dunsany about his wife and the way she was interfering with Willie; the other servants were starting to talk about her attachment to the lad and her mourning for Geneva was losing its effectiveness as a means of explaining it away. It had been over a year and they thought it a shame hadn’t found more comfort in her remaining daughter who was becoming a young woman in her own right and could do with more attention and guidance from her mother.

Sabrina was the one to suggest getting William out of the house more.

“Out of sight, out of mind,” Jamie agreed. So Sabrina had taken to bringing William outdoors for walks when the weather permitted and to observe Jamie at work with the horses. As the boy grew and became more active, the question of who should watch him during the day began to grow as well.

“Lady Dunsany will want to provide you with a proper nursemaid for the boy,” Sabrina noted one evening. She had been corresponding with her sister in London who was expecting her fourth child and was trying to find a delicate way to ask for help.

“I’ll find a way,” Jamie frowned. “I dinna want to give her more influence on him if I can help it––not that I’m no grateful to her and Lord Dunsany both,” he added hastily, “but it willna do for Willie to grow accustomed to such things.”

“You mean to have him with you?” Sabrina’s question came slowly, the skepticism leaking from the pauses.

“I’ll find a way,” Jamie repeated with greater determination.

And as he went about his work in the following days, Jamie had examined his tasks and tried to think of ways he could have William about while he accomplished them. Jenny managed to run Lallybroch with only a little help and a flock of bairns about her; there had to be solutions that would work for him as well.

Having finished the field and brought the work horse back to the stable to rest and eat, Jamie slipped up to the loft where he’d stashed the pieces of his solution. He had them secured in place on a shaded patch of grass a short distance from the paddock fence where he’d be working with some of the younger horses during the afternoon.

Willie’s squeals drew Jamie over to help Sabrina as she struggled to carry both the child and a small basket of food.

Jamie deposited Willie into the small penned in area and then helped Sabrina spread out a blanket and the basket to see how Willie reacted to the constraints of his own paddock.

He crawled over to the small fence wall and peered through the gaps in the slats to see Jamie and Sabrina. Finding them, he giggled triumphantly and stuck his hand through to try and reach them. His senseless babbling got louder as he realized he couldn’t get to them. Jamie bit his lip nervously as Willie pulled himself up using the fencing until he stood and could peer over the top edge. “Da! Da-da,” he called, slapping the smooth wood with the flat of his hand. He became fascinated by the grain of the wood and started poking it with his finger, tracing the lines and following it to the corner where that first piece of low fencing joined to another.

Jamie watched the wall sway a little under Willie’s weight as he held to it for balance but the structure held and so far, Willie appeared to be safely contained.

“It works,” he declared quietly to Sabrina.

“Don’t speak too fast; it’s only a matter of time before he tries to climb it,” she warned then laughed at the look of fear and exasperation that crossed Jamie’s face at the thought.

“Beena, Beena, neeee!” Willie cried pointing to one of the horses that had come to investigate at the paddock fence.

Jamie got up and plucked a fistful of grass to bring over and offer the inquisitive mare. When he turned to look back at Willie, he noticed that the lad had bits of grass stuck to his lips and was pushing something around his mouth with his tongue.

“What do ye think ye’re doing, Willie?” Jamie asked. Willie stuck his tongue out and started spitting to rid himself of the blades of grass he’d attempted to eat. Unsatisfied with how long it was taking, he tried to claw them out with his dirty fingers and nearly gagged. Jamie picked him up and wiped the lad’s mouth with the cuff of his shirt. “It’s not so bad when ye’ve got the proper teeth for it but you’re prone to wind enough wi’out tryin’ to digest grass––and ye can trust me on that as I’ve personal experience.”

He kissed Willie on the head before setting him back down in the enclosure, listening for the little smack of Willie’s lips in reciprocation.

“She’s not going to like it,” Sabrina reiterated. “But… I think we can work on getting Willie to adjust. You’ll need a way to carry him with you that will leave you with your hands free.”

“My sister used to carry a bairn strapped to her chest while she went about her kitchen but tha’ was when they were wee things. Willie willna keep still enough I dinna think,” Jamie frowned.

Sabrina’s brow furrowed. “Once he starts walking he’ll be able to help you with small tasks. As long as you’re mindful to his being there, the boy should do fine and not be too much underfoot. He’ll learn his place from you well enough, I imagine… You’re good with him and he responds to you.”

Jamie felt himself flush and ducked his head, fishing in the basket Sabrina brought for some bread and bringing it over for Willie to gnaw on instead of the wooden slats of his pen.

“Even if what ye say is true… I remember how much grief I gave my father wi’ gettin’ into trouble. Well-intentioned or no, I expect you––my wee man––to be the same.”

Aware he was being talked about, Willie grinned broadly holding tight to the crust of his bread.

Looking down into the face of his smiling son, Jamie’s heart clenched with that bittersweet mix of joy and sorrow. The child Claire had carried would be so much older than Willie by now, and yet, once… once he––or she––had been this small, had smiled at Claire this way and held the promise of so much mischief in his––or her––eyes.

“What would Claire make of ye?” Jamie whispered as he reached out and brushed the brown locks from Willie’s forehead. As Willie held out the crust of bread for Jamie to share, he hoped that she would have loved the lad for his sake, for the comfort it gave Jamie every night to have the love of the lad close at hand.

“We’ll have it all figured out by the time ye’re needin’ to go to yer sister’s,” Jamie promised Sabrina. “And there’s naught Lady Dunsany can do to change my mind. I followed my da around to learn the business of a farm; Willie’s goin’ to do the same. What do ye say, mo chiusle? Do ye want to ken all there is to know about horses?”

“Neeee!”

#;mod lenny #Mac Ruaidh AU #jamie keeps william #featuring: william #alternate universe #canon divergence #get ready for more time jumps #and more clashes with the dunsanys

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mhsn033 · 4 years

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Americans, go home: Tension at the Canada-US border

Image copyright Getty Pictures

Image caption The Peace Arch used to be erected in 1921, to commemorate the Treaty of Ghent, which ended the War of 1812

As the pandemic continues to brush the US, Canadians are getting an increasing number of captivated with what American company shall be bringing with them over the border.

Built directly on the border of Blaine, Washington and Surrey, British Columbia, the Peace Arch is a 67-foot excessive (20 metres) testament to the finish ties between Canada and the US.

Inscribed on one aspect are the phrases “May well simply these gates by no methodology be closed”, a reminder of the simply about 8,891 km (5,525 miles) of un-militarised border that separates the two nations.

For nearly 100 years, these phrases were heeded – till the coronavirus pandemic successfully shut the border indefinitely.

The closure came into operate on 21 March, and used to be agreed upon by every governments. After being prolonged quite loads of cases over the summer season, it stays in operate till 21 August – though most count on it to be prolonged but again.

“I by no methodology understanding I would be sitting right here mid-August and that border continues to be closed,” says Len Saunders, a dual citizen who lives in Blaine.

“It unswerving appears to be dragging on and on and on with no cease in sight.”

Whereas the border closure has had basic economic and inner most repercussions for the tens of millions of these who’re dwelling along it or maintain cherished ones on the more than a few aspect, the overwhelming majority of Canadians want it to cease shut.

Image copyright AFP by the usage of Getty Pictures

Image caption The US-Canada border has been closed since March

A July ballotby Ipsos Reid came all the procedure by that eight in ten Canadians wanted the border to cease closed till no decrease than the cease of 2020.

And because the pandemic has persisted to spread all the procedure by the US, so maintain tensions between American drivers and Canadian residents.

Whereas non-very basic experience back and forth is forbidden, commercial drivers turning in goods and these that work all the procedure by the border in very basic products and services are accredited to frightful.

Other folks with American licence plates maintain reported being careworn and having their autos vandalised, even in the event that they’ve every lawful to be on the Canadian aspect.

Mr Saunders, an immigration attorney who has many patrons who frightful the border on a typical foundation in suppose to work, says many contributors are afraid.

“They’re all greatly surprised of driving their autos in the decrease mainland thanks to vandalism, dirty appears to be like and unswerving getting treated as some ‘frightful American’,” he informed the BBC.

One in every of his prospects, an architect who used to be allowed to practise in Canada for the duration of the shutdown, says he used to be informed to “return dwelling” thanks to his vehicle.

The tensions are so excessive that British Columbia Premier John Horgan instructed that Canadians with American licence plates must bag the bus or tear bikes as an replace.

In the Muskoka location of Ontario, where many contributors maintain summer season homes, the hostility has garnered police consideration.

Ontario Provincial Police dispute a Canadian in town of Huntsville filed a complaint after two men allegedly accosted him over his Florida licence plate.

“Most lately this weekend, there used to be a gentleman up in direction of Huntsville getting gasoline in his vehicle, and two gents approached him and acknowledged, ‘it’s possible you’ll maybe well perchance be American experience dwelling.’ And he acknowledged, ‘I’m Canadian. I are dwelling right here.’ And so that they actually acknowledged, no, we produce now not imagine you point to us your passport,” Phil Harding, the mayor of internal reach Kuskoka Lakes, informed CP24.

“It unswerving turns into somewhat bit aggressive, and they terror for his or her lives somewhat bit.”

Tightened border security has also led to a pair distinguished arrests.

In Abundant Forks, British Columbia, the Royal Canadian Mounted Police spent over two hours chasing a man, who allegedly had crossed illegally in a stolen vehicle on 24 July, down a river. The “experience in conjunction with the drift crawl” ended where the river narrowed, when police, with the support of bystanders, were in a situation to wade into the river and escort him wait on to shore.

Image copyright RCMP

Image caption The ‘experience in conjunction with the drift crawl’ suspect

Costs are pending, but anyone caught breaking the border restrictions can even be fined up to C$750,000 ($566,000; £434,000) and be sentenced to six months in reformatory, or C$1m and three years if their actions “scheme off threat of impending death or excessive bodily wound”.

Those hefty fines are now not unswerving for wilful rule-breakers.

On Wednesday, police warned American citizens collaborating in an annual experience in conjunction with the drift down the St Claire River strategy the Michigan border that even accidentally crossing into Canada may maybe maybe well result in a hefty swish. In 2016, for the duration of additional carefree cases, Canadian police congenially escorted about 1,500 floaters wait on to the US aspect after winds blew them off beam.

Aloof, the results of the border closure on the cramped towns along either aspect have to now not insignificant.

Sooner than coronavirus, around 300,000 folk crossed the border every single day, in conjunction with Canadians who mechanically made daytrips to score a deal at US outlet malls or petrol stations, and American vacationers exploring the surprise of Niagara Falls.

Since March, non-commercial land border crossings to Canada maintain dropped by simply about 95%, in step with the Canadian Border Services Agency (CBSA).

“It be going to decimate all the pieces up there,” Mr Saunders says.

Nevertheless the commercial influence of closing the border to travellers is nothing when put next with what would occur to Canada if one other wave of coronavirus forced a second shutdown, says Ambarish Chandra, a professor of economics at the College of Toronto.

“This experience back and forth does maintain quite loads of economic influence on the communities where travellers experience to,” he says.

“Nevertheless given the pandemic in the US, and the replace of cases there, it makes sense to ban experience back and forth to the US – potentially indefinitely.”

Prof Chandra says government must give aid to frame towns whose economic system relies carefully on foreign tourism, but defend actual with the border closures till the pandemic is over.

“In the long term it be system more cost effective to bail out all of Niagara Falls, Ontario, than to finish down Toronto for even one other three or four weeks,” he says.

After months of shuttering most firms, Canada’s coronavirus cases are shedding and the nation is in the guts of re-opening its economic system. Each day cases maintain dropped from a excessive of two,760 on 3 May well simply to a pair hundred.

Eating areas and retail outlets were originate for at least a few weeks in most significant cities, and to this point, cases are tranquil trending downwards.

Meanwhile, the US is attempting to tame its outbreak, which reached a top of 75,821 on 17 July and is seeing about 40,000 fresh cases a day.

Coronavirus: US vs Canada

Those numbers are what’s fuelling the unease many Canadians maintain with American travellers.

“Montana is directly south of us, is having a second spike of cases lawful now, and I produce now not feel sorry for any one which will get stopped at the border, let’s attach it that system,” says Jim Willett, the mayor of Coutts, Alberta.

“I’m afraid if we opened up the border too soon, we would maintain extra of a enviornment admire what’s happening down south.”

His town is one in all the 5 border towns where US residents travelling to Alaska can enter Canada, since the CBSA cracked down on the so-called “Alaska loophole” at the cease of July.

Since Alaska shares no borders with assorted US states, American citizens want to drive by Canada, hence the “loophole”.

After the border closed, many maintain expressed effort that drivers were exploiting the loophole to explore some of the nation’s most scenic areas, admire Vancouver Island and Banff, Jasper, and Lake Louise.

In June, RCMP issued seven tickets price $1,200 ($906, £694) every to American citizens who broke the foundations by sightseeing in Alberta.

“Construct now not experience experience. Trot directly to Alaska,” Premier Horgan acknowledged for the duration of a news conference in July.

Image copyright Getty Pictures

Image caption American vacationers were spotted in scenic spots admire Banff Nationwide Park, despite the border closure

Complaints relating to the loophole and the shortcoming of enforcement led to the crackdown.

On the cease of July, the border authority presented that Alaska-certain travellers had finest little parts of entry, must bag the most enlighten route to their vacation situation, and may maybe maybe well also advise tags in their vehicle figuring out them as US drivers going to the northern stammer.

They also are little to a “cheap duration of cease” in Canada, and are forbidden from visiting nationwide parks, leisure sites and various tourist destinations, with rule-breakers going by the stiff penalties.

For the reason that tougher principles were enacted, Mr Willett says he’s now not “too alive to” relating to the web explain visitors coming over the border.

“[We] bag a entire lot of folk by all cases of the day and evening. Most of them are somewhat co-operative,” he says.

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