#voices from chernobyl

[boydyke]

Alexievich, S. (1997) Voices From Chernobyl: The Oral History of Nuclear Disaster. Deep Vellum Publishing.

[duinlam]

“Нашою метою є щастя всього людства.”

Voices from Chernobyl.

- Svetlana Alexievich -

Chernobyl (2019).

Directed by Johan Renck.

[nicollekidman]

every time i ingest soviet art im like oh my god i have to go back to svetlana alexievitch’s works

[ainecdote]

there are so many books i need to readdddd but i also have 8000 rereads i want to do. help me

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

“My prayer is simple. I say it silently. 'Lord, i cry unto me! Give ear!' Man is crafty only in evil, but he's so simple and open in his plain words of love. Even for philosophers, the word is only an approximation of the thought they have experienced. The word genuinely attunes to what's in our soul only in prayer, and in prayerful thoughts. I can feel it physically. 'Lord, I cry unto me! Give ear!' And man too. Man frightens me, but I always like meeting one. A good man. That's it.”

― Svetlana Alexievich, Voices from Chernobyl: The Oral History of a Nuclear Disaster

[revoltinglesbians]

decided to accept i will not finish this book i initially started bc it was assigned for school. yes it is very smart and well written but i once DNF'd an assigned book written by a literal nobel prize winner. i came back to it eventually. i just don't need it rn

[hedgehog-moss]

as a "beginner" dipping g his toes into nonfiction but as someone who otherwise enjoys pretty much any genre (and as such is open to anything, from educational to biographical), what would you recommend?

Oh, that's vast! You are forcing me to cast a wide net and give a thousand suggestions... I'm going to limit myself to 3 ideas per category so I don't go overboard.

Nature / environment: Carl Safina's Beyond Words: What Animals Think and Feel; Paul Kingsnorth's Confessions of a Recovering Environmentalist and Other Essays; Robin Wall Kimmerer's Gathering Moss

Science / medicine: Holly Tucker's Blood Work: A Tale of Medicine and Murder in the Scientific Revolution, Richard Preston's The Hot Zone, Paul Lockhart's A Mathematician's Lament (I mostly enjoyed the first part in which he rants about the current state of maths education and says maths deserves better) or Carl Sagan's Cosmos (if I write "or" between two book recs it only counts as one)

Language: I liked Arika Okrent's In the Land of Invented Languages so much that I won't even nominate anyone else in this category. ... But I'll make up for it by allowing myself additional titles in the next one:

Politics / society / culture: Jodi Kantor's She Said, Frederik & Bastian Obermayer's The Panama Papers, Caroline Criado-Pérez's Invisible Women, Patrick Keefe's Empire of Pain, Michael Meyer's The Last Days of Old Beijing, Barbara Demick's Nothing to Envy: Ordinary Lives in North Korea

History: I'm realising that everything that comes to mind is horribly bleak: Jack London's The People of the Abyss, Timothy Egan's The Worst Hard Time, Svetlana Alexievich's Voices from Chernobyl... I've read some fun historical nonfiction in French but right now the only thing I can think of in English that's not depressing is Matthew Goodman's The Sun and the Moon, the subtitle of which is: The Remarkable True Account of Hoaxers, Showmen, Dueling Journalists, and Lunar Man-Bats in Nineteenth-Century New York.

About literature: Wisława Szymborska's Nonrequired Reading, Alexandra Johnson's The Hidden Writer: Diaries and the Creative Life, Alberto Manguel's The Library at Night.

(I was going to include a philosophy section but I realised I p much exclusively read philosophy in French or Spanish, and it's usually recent stuff that's not been translated... But if you've never read philosophy I recommend Jostein Gaarder's Sophie's World, it's a novel about the history of philosophy so it straddles the line between fiction and nonfiction)

Biographies / memoirs: that's the majority of the nonfiction I read so it could be a whole post, but some I've really enjoyed are: Beryl Markham's West with the Night; Gerald Durrell's My Family & Other Animals; Fatema Mernissi's Dreams of Trespass, Ryszard Kapuściński's Travels with Herodotus, Mary S. Lovell's The Sisters (about the six Mitford sisters; if you enjoy it I'd recommend reading their correspondence next—Charlotte Mosley's "The Mitfords: Letters Between Six Sisters")

Miscellaneous: Emmanuel Carrère's The Adversary; Alexandra Horowitz's On Looking. Currently I'm reading Joan Druett's Island of the Lost because it's nice to relativise your own problems in life by reminding yourself that at least you're not stuck on a subantarctic island having to bludgeon sea lions and eat your own crewmates for survival.

[nahimjustfeelingit-writes]

Finding Refuge.

Chapter One

Surrvivng a Zombie Apocalypse with Terry

He was running low on tea bags.

His ever-changing eyes glanced over at a haphazardly placed calendar within the abandoned diner, red sharpie slashes his tally of keeping track of the days. How did things turn upside down in 204 days? A general assault on civilization.

The poorly placed charcoal-gray henley he wore was hanging on by a thread. The jeans that were once his favorite pair bore holes and debris on them. He’d salvaged an old pair of Doc Martens to keep his feet protected. Hands covered in fingerless gloves carefully wrapped around the tin mug before him. He puckered his lips to blow away some of the steam wafting from the mug before taking a tentative sip.

Terry Richmond was a survivor. The collapse of society around him pushed him harder. An ex marine having to use his skills every single day. How was it that the sky turned an almost sickly green? Like he was in the middle of Chernobyl. There wasn’t a place surrounding him that didn’t smell of death and despair. The screams and cries from those once whole became quieter as the year climbed to an end.

His sculpted jaw clenched and he closed his tired eyes for a few seconds. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d had decent sleep. Traveling between the barricaded diner he’s currently sitting in alone and an old farm house in the middle of acres of land, he’s always on high alert. The faintest rustling woke him from a two minute nap. He was too afraid to start the pick-up truck he’d salvaged, not wanting those flesh-eating bastards to find him.

They’d already found his cousin.

Stop with those thoughts, he’s alive, Terry’s inner voice spoke.

In one day, the world succumbed to a pestilence that decimated the living. In its place rose a new species: vicious, gruesome, wandering zombies with an insatiable hunger for the living. What started out as a trip to Shelby Springs, turned into an apocalyptic nightmare. The world shut down. The money in a Kan Long Chinese bag wasn’t worth anything. Just thirty-six thousand dollars that can’t be used.

Terry remembered that day. It was a constant battle to keep the images from his mind. He remembered rushing into that hospital in Shelby Springs, carrying Summer in his arms, frantically asking for help while she bled out from a wound in her neck. In a matter of hours she changed. The once sweet, gentle woman he’d known turned into a monster. An undead beast. A ghoul with teeth bared, charging at him…

March 31st, 2024:

Terry’s hazel eyes popped open immediately at the sound of terror cries and pleading. His but felt numb from the hard surface of the chair he was sitting in within Summer’s room at the hospital. He shot up from his seated position, staring down at the vacant hospital bed. The tubing that was once attached to her arms, was dripping to the cold floor. His unblinking stare followed what appeared to be bloody footsteps towards the bathroom door that’s ajar.

Yellow light seeped through the crack of the door, and as Terry reached out to open it, more cries and hurried footsteps erupted again. He jerked his hand away, heading towards the door. Terry yanked it open, rushing into the chaos without hesitation. His head rotated from left to right and the imagery before him was something out of a movie. Staff were being charged and attacked by patients with a cannibalistic nature. Terry back-tracked into the room, stunned and confused.

“Summer…”

Creak…

Slowly, his head turned towards the bathroom door. There, standing within the doorway, looking like a corpse walking, was Summer. She looked as if she were rotting. Her bare feet shuffled closer, and there was this hungry look in her dark blue eyes. Terry stepped towards the door, keeping his eyes locked on her. Summer made snarling, sniffing noises and when she opened her mouth, blood poured down her chin.

“Wha–what the fuck?” Terry spoke with a hushed tone.

Suddenly, Summer charged him startling Terry when she clung onto his shirt. The force knocked Terry off his heels and they barged out into the hallway. The ruckus gained the attention of the others that looked like her, and they slowly made their way over. They were seemingly satisfied with their meals. Bodies lined the floor like an open graveyard.

“Get the fuck off me, Summer!”

Terry had to wrap his large hand around Summer’s frail neck. Disgust and disbelief washed over his face when he came into contact with her sunken flesh and blood. She smelled vile, and she looked exactly how a zombie would look in movies. Terry was sure that’s what Summer was now. A zombie. The walking dead. And with that knowledge, he didn’t care to hurt her. She wasn’t Summer anymore.

Terry shoved her away and sprinted down the hall, bumping past another zombie that tried to grab his arm. His heart throbbed in his chest and his feet propelled him forward as fast as he could run. Terry didn’t even allow the sliding doors to open fully before he barged out into the humid night. He made his way towards Summer’s Volkswagen, fumbling for her keys that he had within the pocket of his jeans. He frantically looked up with wide, terror-stricken eyes at the zombies in the hospital killing and spreading their virus.

Terry forced the driver’s side door open and climbed in quickly. Starting the engine, he reversed before making a tire–screeching turn, leaving the hospital behind. Out on the road, he bear witness to innocent blood being shed. Swerving, Terry maneuvered the car away from a few head–on collisions that came at him. The only thing on his mind was to stay alive and get his cousin. That’s what he came to do anyway. He sold his truck to help bail Mike out of jail so they could make an honest living for themselves.

Looks like that won’t ever happen.

Terry flew down the road towards the police station. Once there, he left the car and ran towards the entrance. From what it looked like, there was no police in sight. They were all out trying to figure out what was going on. Terry flung the doors open, the sound of landlines ringing off the hook. He took it upon himself to look for where they were holding Mike. Sweaty and pumped with adrenaline, Terry found himself deep within the station, surrounded by locked rooms that must have been used for interrogation.

“Mike! Yo! Mike!”

Terry started banging against the doors, unable to see inside of the rooms because of how tiny the plexiglass panel is. He was ready to give up and try Town Hall when the familiarity of his cousin’s voice led him towards the last room on the right. Relief washed over him as he jiggles the doorknob, finding it locked tight.

“Mike…you in there?!” Terry shouted.

“Terry? That you?! What’s going on?! How the fuck did you get back here past these cops?!”

“M…listen,” Terry had to catch his breath, “I’m gonna find a way to get this door down—”

“No you don’t, boy. Back away from the door…”

Terry froze. He cut his eyes towards an officer he hadn’t noticed. He had his weapon pointed at Terry’s head, ready to unload at any moment.

“Hands up! NOW!”

“Officer, I need you to listen—”

“I SAID HANDS UP! YOU LISTEN TO ME WHEN I’M TALKIN’ TO YOU!”

Terry pursed his full lips angrily, eyes glued to the door that separated him from his cousin. Slowly and reluctantly, Terry’s hands rose and he placed them on his head.

“Turn around…”

Terry dragged his feet, his built body shifting. He faced the officer, a white man of average height with ginger hair and a pudgy face. In Terry’s mind, he could do some long–lasting damage on this officer. He’s a veteran soldier who is torn over the loss of many. He can be cruel and both merciless, but instead he chooses to be the bigger man. He’d had enough of the crooked cops in this fucked up town. Sick of the insults and threatens.

“What ‘til the Chief sees this—”

“Do you want to die?”

The offer stared Terry down like he’d lost his mind saying those words to him.

“DO YOU? Looks like I’m the one with the gun. I’d choose my next words wisely…”

“You see,” Terry lowers his hands, eyes menacing, “I ain’t got time for another run–in with you mother fucka’s. Now, I’m assuming you have the keys to my cousin’s freedom. Open the door, or I’m a take them off you myself.”

“FUCK YOU—”

Terry charged, dodging a bullet to the chest and one strong, muscular arm close lined the officer, knocking the wind out of him and sending him flying. Terry hovered over him, one fist yoking him up by his vest and the other delivering a nose–crushing jab to the face. He yanked the gun from his grasp and placed it in his back pocket. He couldn’t afford to discharge his weapon. He was going to need it. There were bigger fish to fry.

“KEYS. Don’t make me repeat myself.” Terry barked out with rage lacing his deep baritone.

“Ba–back pocket,” The officer tried to form words through missing teeth.

Terry viciously turned the officer onto his stomach and he pat him down until he could feel the outline of the keys. He snatched them from his pocket and put his boot against his head to keep him still while cuffing him . The officer struggled, but he was no match for Terry’s strength.

Terry pressed his mouth to the officer’s ear, “Move again, and I’ll crack your head open on this floor.”

Terry pushed himself onto his feet and with heavy, profound breaths, he marched over to Mike’s door. Once opened, Mike shot up from one of the chairs, hands cuffed behind his back. None of the keys in Terry’s hands would uncuff Mike. Mike smiled at his cousin, and Terry wrapped his arms around him, hugging him tightly.

“Listen, Mike, look…there’s some shit goin’ on out there that ain’t got time to be explained. We gotta bounce…I’m serious cuz. We gotta go. Get far away from this fuckin’ town and fast—”

“What? What’s good? Cops on your ass? Why you here getting caught up in my mess, lil’ cuz—”

“You family. That’s it and that’s all. Now let’s go…”

“Okay, okay…what about,” Mike turned to show Terry his restrained hands.

“We’ll figure it out, come on!”

Terry shoved Mike towards the door and when they stepped out into the hall, Mike’s left foot flew into the officer’s side, causing him to whimper in pain. Terry had to give Mike another push to get him to focus.

Too late.

“Yo…Terry…you seeing this?”

Dread lined Terry’s features. Zombies. A group of them. Slowly approaching the front with slow, unsteady movements. Terry dragged a hand down his face, locking eyes with Mike who stared back with a frightened look in his eyes.

“Am I tripping, or do they look like fucking zombies?!”

Terry searched the area. He had no way of getting to the car without reinforcements.

“They can’t get in,” Terry grabbed Mike by the arm, leading him into the main area of the station, “Let’s get your cuffs off right now and get as much ammo to blow every last one of their heads OFF.”

Mike stood in the middle of the room while Terry tore the place apart. Papers cascaded to the floor and chairs were overturned. Finally, he found a pair of keys on the Chief’s desk sitting next to a mug of lukewarm coffee. Guess he didn’t have time to collect them when he rushed out. Terry jogged over to Mike and fit the key into the cuffs, successfully removing them. Mike rubbed his wrists frantically while Terry used the same keys to open the property room. He wanted his money, and he wanted protection. Mike was confused and afraid, following Terry’s every move, filling duffel bags with anything they could grab.

“Just pile the shit in, fam. No time to think about the consequences,” Terry tossed Mike another empty bag, “Them cops probably dead anyway. Fuck them.”

“What did I just see?”

Mike was talking to himself more than anything. Terry paused, staring up through his thick lashes at his cousin.

“How the fuck did I end up in this town and surrounded by zombies? This gotta be a nightmare.”

Terry tried to control his breathing. He stood at his towering height, satisfied with what they grabbed.

“As much as I wanna know what’s going on, we need to get to safety. A friend of mine that was helping me is…she’s one of them,” Terry tilted his head towards the exit, “She ain’t got no life in her. You can't negotiate with a zombie. They have only one impulse—that's to eat us or our brains. And I didn’t come all this way to turn into the undead. Understand?”

“Y–Yeah…I hear you.”

“Do you? Because we gotta run for our life to that car once we hit this door behind us. Can I count on you for that, Mike?”

“Yeah…yeah. Run fast, don’t look back…Let’s do this.”

Terry tightened his jaw and gave Mike a firm nod before extending his hand out. Mike dabbed Terry, clinging on tight before letting go. They threw the heavy bags across their bodies, and took long strides towards the exit. Terry peeked out, and he couldn’t see any zombies, but he made sure the gun in his hand was ready to fire. Gently, he pushed the door open, his eyes casing out the area. It was dark and silent. Terry looked back at Mike over his shoulder, bringing a finger to his mouth to shush him as they walked.

Crouching low, they quietly walked towards the front of the station. Terry smoothed his hand against the concrete wall, sweat dripping from the tip of his nose and onto his bottom lip. He looked back at Mike, thankful that he did because there was a zombie far behind them, sniffing the air like an animal to its prey. Terry didn’t alert Mike, not wanting him to panic. It were far enough away from them both.

Terry pressed his back against the wall and slowly peeked around the corner. The zombies were scattered, but none were hovering around the car. Sirens blared in the distance, and the sound acted as a distraction. The blue and red lights drew closer and the zombies took notice, rerouting themselves towards the dirt road. Terry kept his eyes locked forward on his target, but his left hand made a come–hither motion at Mike.

With no time to waste, at a breakneck speed, the cousins made a beeline for the Volkswagen. Two police cruisers began to approach and they were centimeters away from the car. Mike lost his footing on gravel and that didn’t fall on deaf ears. Two Zombies turned their undead eyes towards their direction. Panicked, Mike pushed up from the ground, dragging the bags against the dirt. Terry rushed over to help, eyes wide when a Zombie picked up speed.

They moved fast?

Terry aimed the gun and fired, blowing the zombies head off and painting the dirt with its non–functional brain.

Whoop! whoop!

“TERRY RICHMOND?!”

Fires let off. Terry crouched down behind the car.

“THERE’S MORE! THEY’VE SWARMED THE STATION!”

“CALL FOR BACK UP—”

Pop! Pop! Pop!

Bang! Bang! Bang!

“CALL FOR BACKUP ALL UNITS TO THE STATION! THIS IS 105! DO YOU COPY?!”

Terry remains low to the ground and it was only a matter of time before they were either gunned down or eaten. Zombies ranked them from all sides. Police shooting. Terry opened the back door and flung his bag and Mike’s into the seat. Slamming the door, Terry aggressively shoved Mike to move into the car.

“GET IN THROUGH THE DRIVERS SIDE! NOW!”

Spit flying and veins popping out of his neck, Terry unloaded the clip into Zombies that were close enough to do damage. He could hear glass shattering behind him and some of the shards fell over his body. With all possible haste, he dropped the empty gun to the ground and climbed into the drivers side just in time to slam the door on a Zombies fingers. He started the ignition, Mike keeping himself low to avoid gunfire. Terry picked up speed, flying out of the area.

It didn’t matter that he crashed into police cruisers, he needed to get away. Bullets ricocheted off of the car, Terry hoping that a bullet won’t pierce a tire. This was their only transportation option. A bike would only get them killed and walking was much worse. Once they made it out onto the main road, Terry brought the car to a slow stop. Engine roaring, Mike and Terry sat in solemn silence. No room for conversation. After some minutes, Terry put the car back in drive, Summer’s home their destination and hiding place.

She had a little girl.

She was fighting to stay clean for her little girl.

Terry was thankful for the darkness. He didn’t want Mike to see his tears.

Calloused hands gripped the leather steering wheel to stop himself from breaking down…

Day 201:

“Hello? Mike? Do you copy?”

Terry peeked between the wood planks he nailed into the window frame from the outside of an old farm house. Nightfall was approaching.

“Come in, Mike. It’s Terry. Are you waiting out?”

Terry clicked off on his walkie talkie, waiting two minutes before speaking again.

“This is Terry. I spell, D-U-B-L-I-N. Do you copy?”

That’s where he was currently located. In rural Georgia. Far from Louisiana. He knew staying here for as long as he did was dangerous. Their plan was to keep moving at all costs. Terry flopped down on the sofa, facing defeat once more. He snatched his black beanie from his head and stared forward into the fireplace. The orange embers warmed his skin. As his eyes dragged up the fireplace, he stared into the face of a family of five.

The creeping sensation of vomit left a bad taste in his mouth. He pushed himself up to his boot–covered feet, stomping over to that picture. Terry flipped the framed portrait over, just like he’d done the others. His piercing eyes shut tightly, flickers of what he’d done to this family a painful memory. They weren’t themselves anyway, Terry had to remind himself of that as his lids slowly opened.

A single tear cascaded down his handsome face and before it could reach his overgrown mustache, he flicked it away with a scarred knuckle. Sniffling back his remaining sadness, Terry brought the walkie talkie to his mouth again. He exhaled, clenching his jaw with frustration. How could he just up and leave like that?

Terry knew the reality of their situation from day one. Mike never accepted it. He wanted to go back home to his girlfriend and his parents. He fought day in and day out to keep moving. While Terry already formulated in his mind that the people he once knew were most likely dead and gone, Mike couldn’t face that reality. Tension grew between them, and soon raging arguments. Terry woke up one morning while they were staying in an abandoned warehouse to Mike gone. Terry could only deal with it like he had to deal with his new life.

Surrounded by death.

And with all of that, he still had hopes that Mike was alive.

“Mike. This is Terry…are you safe man?”

He couldn’t shadow the tremble in his voice.

Silence.

Terry squeezed the walkie talkie to the point of shattering it.

He needed some air—oh wait—he can’t step outside or else they’d spot him.

He wanted to scream—oh no—they’d hear him and come searching.

Back on the couch, Terry sat the walkie talkie down on the coffee table. He picked up his bowl of beans and continued eating. Canned goods were essential. He planned on finding refuge some place safer soon so he could plant food and hunt. Even through the apocalypse, Terry kept himself in shape. He needed to be. Without endurance and strength, how else would he defend himself?

Semper Fidelis.

Latin for ‘Always faithful’

the motto of every Marine—an eternal and collective commitment to the success of their battles, the progress of their Nation, and the steadfast loyalty to the fellow Marines they fight alongside. One of many things he couldn’t shake from the Corps.

“Ooh-rah.”

Saying the battle cry always seemed to remind him that he was in constant danger.

After eating his beans, Terry cleaned up and made his way to bed. He set a timer on his watch, making sure to be up by a certain time to wash. Without proper plumbing, he had to result to his outdoor survival skills. Luckily, there was a creek nearby that he could escape to for a quick cleanse every morning.

He slept in a white T-shirt and black sweats. Terry glanced over at his walkie talkie sitting on the night stand. His anxiousness got the best of him, and he grabbed it, pressing the button for the final time that evening.

“D-U-B-L-I-N.”

He held his finger firmly on the button, the static loud within his ears. Just when he was about to give up, a voice on the other end had him sitting up in bed.

“Hello? Hello?”

Terry didn’t recognize that voice. His pulse rate was through the roof. Finally. Finally after almost two months of no contact. But who was this? Even through the static and bad signal, he could tell it was a voice of a woman.

“This is Terry. Who is this?”

It was silent for five seconds before they responded.

“Are you somewhere safe?”

“You answer my question first.” Terry replied angrily.

“My name is R–”

“Say again?”

“My name is Rae. Are you somewhere safe?”

Terry hesitated answering. Rightfully so his trust was lost. This Rae had Mike’s walkie…

“Hello? Terry?”

She had the most sincere voice with a captivating southern drawl.

“Hello?”

“I’m safe.”

“Dublin?”

“Where is Mike?”

“I don’t know a Mike. I found this walkie talkie. Here in Senoia.”

Terry scrunched his face in confusion. That’s nearly two hours away. He must of been on his way back to Louisiana. Terry’s stomach tightened with worry. Maybe something got to Mike before he could get to Louisiana…

“Mike is my cousin. He left me in Dublin for almost two months. I’ve been trying to reach him.”

“I’m sorry, Terry. I’ve never met your cousin.”

“Where in Senoia did you find this?”

“Near a work zone.”

“Okay…I don’t know you, Rae, but…I could use some…some help. Maybe Senoia will give me that…”

Terry paced the bedroom, walkie pressed against his mouth. He scratched at his scruffy beard impatiently, waiting for Rae to speak.

“Radio check. What’s your signal, Rae?”

His nerves were a wreck. His patience was low.

“I’m sorry. Bad signal where I am. Uhm…meet me near the famous train tracks…I can help.”

“Train trac–listen, I’m gonna need more than that.”

“It won’t be hard to miss. I gotta go—”

“Negative. I need to know that I can trust you and that I’m not walking into a trap.”

“How else will you know if you don’t take a chance? If you want my help, you’ll show up. I have to go, it’s too many ears close by. Goodbye for now, Terry.”

“Rae. Stand by…I’ll be in contact.”

Terry waited for a response, but none came.

@theereina @bombshellbre95 @planetblaque @trippyscotch @megamindsecretlair @thesweetestdrug @theblulife @blackerthings @deja-r @kanafunee @helloncrocs @kaylabuggggg06 @skyesthebomb @blyffe @gwenda-fav @beenathembo @dremmmm @blackpinup22 @novaniskye @melaninhawtie @urfavblackbimbo @avoidthings @rose-bliss @xo-goldengirl @kinginwithbreezy-blog @mysecertdiaryofableedingheart @sirenmouths @kokokonako @creartivefairy @soulfulbeauty19 @therealmrsrhodes @hrlzy @nayaesworld @playgurlxoxo @gg-trini @brattyfics @flydotty @writingsbytee @shiania @browngirldominion @notapradagurl7 @madamzola @kismet83 @aristasworld @sl33p-deprived-princess @erynnnn @itssbrie @melaninangel @withoutmusiclifewouldbflat @sweettea-and-honeybutter

[callooopie]

CALLOOOPIE‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️❗️‼️❗️

DROP A MODERN!CREGAN HEADCANON LIST. AND MY LIFE, IS YOURS. 🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶🫶

Modern!Cregan Stark headcannons (pt. 1)

Forgive my northern attitude, oh I was raised on little light — Northern Attitude // Noah Kahan

okay… we did not get much Cregan.. so these modern vibes might be a little off. I looked long and hard (🤨) at a photo of him and these were the vibes I conjured up.

This man.. is so serious. Whenever you look at Cregan he looks like he’s going to pop a blood vessel with how tense he is. He’ll tell you not to worry, this is his natural state (“natural state?!?!”) you don’t think you’ve ever seen him relaxed… although there are times he lets loose, it’s reserved and calm. If he does relax it’s still oddly tense or as if he’s on edge. He’s mastered the art of being both chill but perceptive of his surroundings to a headache inducing degree. “Hm? Yeah I’m fine. Don’t worry about me, honest. One of us needs to be alert here.”

Immediately dipped after college. He got his degree in environmental engineering, he’s out of there. You, Jace, and Davos once planned a summer trip to Cregan’s cabin way up north. Now, way up north? Think like the Yukon or the bush of Alaska—that’s where Cregan would make his home. It’s secluded, no one bothers him, and he can live off the land in relative peace. You three get lost, of course. It’s like you have to take a seaplane, and then hike for a bit to the nearest town, and then you’ll have to wait for him to pick you all up. “You guys kept running around town. It took me forever to find you. Texts? I don’t get those traveling from the cabin… oh well—you’re all here now. The air will do you idiots some good.”

Dog dad. Dog dad. Dog dad. Cregan’s got big dogs, he’s got little dogs. A livestock dog to care for his chickens, some other big dogs for hunting, and a lap dog for emotional support purposes. It’s a hearty mix of Labrador, Pyrenees, mountain dog, maybe even a shepherd of sorts. But the little dog? I feel like it’d either be a dachshund or a corgi. A corgi is a reliable herd dog on top of being just a little guy. But a dachshund would be something he would hold as he walked around the perimeter of his land. Or even better he would have both. But this is his herd, his squad. “Hey!—settle down everyone. Sit down.. down now! Sorry about them, they’re just excited to see you. They’re usually pretty lax, except around you it seems.”

Terrible driver. But not because he’s bad at it, but because he’s literally in the wilderness, there are no traffic laws to obey. He’s driving down a hill full speed no braking. You’re in the passenger seat holding on for dear life as the car literally shakes and jolts you around. But Cregan? He’ll be holding a simple conversation with you, voice not even shaking from the sudden movements of the jeep or truck as he navigates the country road. I cannot figure out if he has more truck vibes or more Jeep vibes. I feel like either would work—as long as they got the job done. And either way, both cars would be muddied and somewhat damaged—filled with survival gear, winter gear, more things tied down on top with bungie cords and hooks. “What do you need? Oh, yeah that should be in the back.. somewhere. Probably in one of the bags—lemme go check for you. Hang tight, be right back.”

This man fishes. Not like “leaving my bitch wife to go fishin’ with my boys” more like “I’m catching the radioactive catfish of Chernobyl and no one’s stopping me” type fishing. He gets into it, he goes crazy. Cregan’s out on a boat at sea looking for Cthulhu. Y’all know the show River Monsters? That’s Cregan’s type of fishing. Sure he does more ‘relaxed’ fishing once in a while, he enjoys the mix of adventure but also the quiet and the patience of the fish. He will talk about how beautiful the fish is, like Steve Irwin levels of talking to fish (and animals in general). Cregan’s a catch and release king, but if he does choose to use the fish he will use all of it from the head to the bones. Everything’s getting used and processed into something. “Let’s see what you caught.. oh nice, that’s a chinook salmon. A beauty too, look at the size of that thing. You caught that beast yourself without my help? It’ll taste better on an open fire, c’mon I’ll teach you how to gut it… don’t frown at me.”

Master chef I would think. It’s not Michelin star cooking, but cooking with the freshest ingredients possible? Cregan makes a mean salad from the veggies in his garden (a pretty big garden too, he built those wooden garden beds himself) and when he hunts he uses all the meat and bones from the animal as said before with the fish. He’s not overly hunting either, he gets enough for you and him to last a while. “Good harvest today, real good—everything was ripe and ready. What do you think? It all looks good? ..that’s.. that’s good. I’m glad.. save room for dessert too then. Have you ever had acorn cake?”

You know what? He’s a park ranger. Or a state ranger. He’s got a job where he can take care of the land and teach people about the environment and how to respect it. Cregan’s all about teaching little kids what plants are poisonous and then on the next call he’s busting folks for throwing litter into a river. He is the type that if he spots you maybe hiking or doing something while he’s on duty he will pretend to bust you over for something heinous or embarrassing. Bonus if there’s people around you, now you’re getting arrested for leaving a dildo attached to a tree. But usually? It’s silly reasons laced with compliments that make you blush or smile. “..Whatcha doing out here? Hiking? Suuure. Y’know we heard some reports about a.. a very um—beautiful person wandering looking lost.. just saying, I know my way around..”

Such a good listener. Cregan is for the people who just need an ear to listen to them. If something’s bothering you, upsetting you, or you’re just not feeling like yourself; he’ll lead you out to the back porch, gesturing for you to sit down on the step beside him. It’ll be quiet, except for the sounds of nature surrounding the cabin and the woods. You can see mountain ranges in the background, the midnight sun casting a hazy glow over the land. And the next thing you know is you’re pouring your heart out to him. Cregan would remain silent, unless you ask him for advice or support. He’s the type to not want to impose on you if you don’t wish to hear unsolicited opinions or comments on a matter—so you’ll need to tell him you want to hear his advice.

Busted ass cabin. It’s so good. There’s a nearby lake, there’s mountains in the distance. The woods are thick and beautiful. The people yearn for such a place. It’s such a relaxed vibe too, take off your shoes in the house though. There is a lot of cleaning that goes on however on account of the dogs around the home. But the cabin is lived in and homey. It’s cool and refreshing in the summers with the windows open, and it’s warm and cozy in the winters with the fireplace roaring. It’s not too big, but it’s not too cramped either. “Not too warm? Too cold maybe? …well if you’re cold there’s a good way to fix that—“

Cregan loves teaching you how to live off the land. It’s basically a part of what he does for his job. But with just you? It feels more special, more intimate. You’re eager to learn, and he’s more than happy to show you how to start a fire in an emergency, how to skin an animal and use all its parts for different things. What to do if you’re in a bind in the woods and what you should do first. It’s good advice honestly. Pure survival skills. His hands would be over yours, guiding them through the motions of something. His chin resting atop your head or on your shoulder as he explains each step or how something can be utilized to its fullest potential.

Don’t take his silence or his lack of reactions as something negative. Cregan’s just the type to silently revel in your presence first and foremost, no talking required. Most of your fishing or hunting trips are filled with silence, save for the sound of music from an old portable radio and the occasional sound of a beer can opening. Sometimes you read, sometimes you fish alongside him. But know that he does enjoy your company heavily, and if you do say something don’t worry he’ll respond. Sometimes he does worry maybe he’s a little too aloof or reserved when it comes to you. Reassure him that words aren’t always needed, and sometimes it’s good to just be next to one another without adding anything to it.

With you he can get a little silly. Cregan would lean against your side of the truck, a stupid smile on his face as you talk to him. If you’re hiking and there’s a muddy spot, he will pick you up and carry you over it. He’s the type to serve you food first before him, and if he’s having a snack he’s the type to share it without needing you to ask him. It’s like the phrase to be loved is to be seen. Fresh flowers for you every day, he wakes up early to make you coffee in bed. If you’re the squeamish type about hunting/fishing, he won’t go into the details of your dinner. And if you’re with him, he’ll take care of the food far off from you so you don’t need to see it.

[llovelymoonn]

hey sweet pea, can we have a complication of poems/excerpts that make you fall in love with love and all mushy and gooey inside?

casey reiland my boss informs me that moose are dying \\ james baldwin if beale street could talk (via @morepeachyogurt) \\ virginia woolf the years (via @weltenwellen) \\ keaton st. james rural boys watch the apocalypse \\ sayaka saeki bloom into you \\ james baldwin giovanni's room \\ peter gizzi lines depicting simple happiness (via @typewriter-worries) \\ @typewriter-worries \\ lizzie cernik how we met: 'it's like waking up to sunlight every day. i yearned for a soulmate - and i've found her' (via @havingrevelations) \\ jules ryan gravecleaner: "bloodwater" (via @springmyth) \\ @nobaracore \\ ladan lakshiri what does love mean? see how 4-8 year-old kids describe love \\ svetlana alexeivich voices from chernobyl (tr. keith gessen) [lyudmila ignatenko speaking about her husband, deceased firefighter vasily ignatenko] (via @papenathys) \\ aimee nezhukumatathil lucky fish: "baked goods" \\ thomas campbell \\ @soracities \\ vladimir nabokov in a letter to his wife véra, jul 8 1926 (via @saintesorciere) \\ anne carson recreation \\ victoria hannan kokomo \\ victoria hannan kokomo

kofi

[parasolyaa]

Mischa Bachinski is a completely wrong spelling of his name. Misha Bachynskyi is the correct form.

To put it simple, it just doesn’t make sense in Ukrainian language at all. Instead of the soft “sh” (ш) that is supposed to be in the name Misha (Міша), for some reason there is “sch” (щ), which not only is less appealing to the ear, but also the name Mischa (Міща) does not exist. Could it have been just made up on purpose? Theoretically yes, but I feel icky about foreigners making up a name that sounds so ridiculous and has no background whatsoever. Besides, it is pretty obvious that they were going for the name Міша, but messed up the transcript. The surname ending -ski is an outdated Russian-sounding version, -skyi is a much more accurate one for a Ukrainian surname. The Ukrainian letter "и" never translates as "i", only as "y".

Talias name was completely butchered too, more here (there's actually a wholeass rabbithole from there on). The name of the city where she comes from is spelled wrong (it's supposed to be Kyiv, not Kiev), and so is Misha's (it's Odesa, not Odessa), also it’s Chornobyl, not Chernobyl. Characters frequently say "the Ukraine", even though the name of the country is supposed to be said without the adjective. Basically, not a single Ukrainian name was spelled correctly, and many things about Ukraine also were completely messed up.

And these are not just wrong spellings! These are the remnants of Russian oppression, specifically in Soviet times, when all non-Russian names had to be transcripted from Russian, all non-Russian languages were stripped of their originality, forcefully made to sound more Russian, and advocating for the use of your language could get you deported or killed (and now the same thing is happening the occupied territories of Ukraine, Sakartvelo, Chechnya etc.). Using the correct version of Ukrainian names is at least a sign of respect and recognition.

I am not saying that back in 2008 when the musical was made the authors deliberately decided on using the Russian forms of city names and, well, people names. Back at the time the voices of people advocating for correct forms were not heard, and this didn’t seem like a big deal. But in the context of the modern world it is very important, specifically because there is a literal full-scale genocidal war in Ukraine right now. As a Ukrainian, the nuance of those names and spelling matters a lot to me, and it is the same way for other Ukrainian fans I’ve met. Some didn’t want to get into the musical specifically because of these issues, plus the fact that Misha is kind of a harmful stereotype for Slavic people in general, which is yet another topic to explore at some point in the future. And he is still the BEST representation we’ve got and I love him dearly.

I believe that using a correct form of his name is a battle worth fighting

[valtsv]

if you dont mind sharing, can you talk more about your experience being haunted?

well it was definitely influenced by my paranoid delusions, but after i watched the chernobyl hbo miniseries back when it came out i developed this fixation on the idea that i was being haunted by the judgemental spectres of the real people who'd died in that disaster. it was so real to me that i couldn't even take a shower without feeling like they were in there with me somehow, just silently watching. i started showering in my clothes and barely slept at night because i was certain that there were eyes on me as i lay there, crowded around me. i hardly left the house because i couldn't bear to bring this congregation of ghosts i'd gathered anywhere and try to pretend that nothing was wrong.

i was terrified and visibly unwell but i didn't feel like i could tell anyone or it'd be a betrayal somehow. i didn't think the ghosts would harm me if i did, i wasn't scared that they had any ill intentions towards me at all, but i felt so unbearably guilty at the idea of exposing them to anyone and forcing them to be a spectacle. i think that might have been what induced the delusion in the first place; my guilt at participating in that spectacle (ironic considering i'm obsessed with the terror now, and historical rpf is an ethical minefield but hardly the root of all evil). that and a combination of extreme stress and isolation convincing me that my entire flat was haunted because i would hear noises at night with no discernable source coming from the other rooms - voices and music and activity, despite all my roommates being on holiday and denying anything when i asked them.

i didn't know what they wanted from me, but i eventually started to try to accept that it was irrational to feel so much guilt for an event that happened before i was even born and had no possible way of preventing or changing the outcome of, and the haunted feeling stopped bothering me so much. that's why i think that ghosts are psychological manifestations of emotion, especially guilt and grief. you can be haunted without it necessarily being supernatural in nature. and to me, those ghosts were real and very much present. they were never visible, but their presence was overwhelming. it feels like an insult to myself to deny that they had a real effect on me, even if they were just a delusion, and that's what a ghost is to me.

[teeth--thief]

Google Drive full of book PDFs about Chernobyl

Link to the Google Drive if you don't want to click the title: https://drive.google.com/drive/folders/1kscKFciW6almJA8p-0sUQPO3c0A4AQYe

Note: It will be updated regularly - for as long as I'll be able to find/get new things =) So far I've compiled 41 books in three languages.

Just to repeat what I said in the first post: I'm open to any requests or suggestions or even PDFs themselves, if someone wants to share theirs from their collection. Message me, send me an ask, throw a rock through my window - whatever you prefer, just please, do it yourself because I'm too scared to message anyone, thanks. No fiction - that's the only rule. Any language is welcome - if you want me to look for a certain book in the language of your choice, I'll do that. If you have a book in language other than English, I'd love to add it to the Drive! If you have a better version of whatever PDF I've already got, then I'd be more than happy to do a swap.

Now, some of my reasoning, if anyone's interested: first of all, I think it's important for everyone to be able to access stuff like this. Think of it as a library, minus the "give these back" part. Secondly, I get soooo mad when people are like haha, found this super rare, basically impossible to find, very expensive book! ...I shall now keep it exclusively to myself. Ma'am, you're ruining the vibe and stalling everyone's hobby research but I guess you do you...

List of all the books (under the cut):

In English:

Voices from Chernobyl - Alexievich S.

Chernobyl Reactor Accident - Source Term

Chernobyl - Insight from the Inside - Dr. Chernousenko V.M.

How It Was - Dyatlov A.S.

(ENG+RUS) Chernobyl Booklet

Chernobyl: The Devastation, Destruction and Consequences of the World’s Worst Radiation Accident - Fitzgerald I.

Final Warning. The Legacy of Chernobyl - Gale R.P.

Midnight in Chernobyl: The Untold Story of the World’s Greatest Nuclear Disaster - Higginbotham A.

INSAG-1

INSAG-7

Interesting Chernobyl - 100 Symbols

From Chernobyl To Fukushima - Karpan N.

Manual for Survival. A Chernobyl Guide to the Future - Kate Brown

Chernobyl. Confessions of a Reporter - Kostin I.

The Politics of Invisibility. Public Knowledge about Radiation Health Effects after Chernobyl - Kuchinskaya O.

Memories - Kupnyi A.

Chernobyl 01:23:40 - The Incredible True Story of the World’s Worst Nuclear Disaster - Leatherbarrow A.

Chernobyl Notebook - Medvedev G.

No Breathing Room - Medvedev G.

Chernobyl Record - The Definitive History of the Chernobyl Catastrophe - Mould R. F.

Wormwood Forest - A Natural History of Chernobyl - Mycio M.

Life Exposed: Biological Citizens After Chernobyl - Petryna A.

Chernobyl: History of a Tragedy - Plokhy S.

Ablaze - Story of Chernobyl - Read P.P.

Producing Power: The Pre-Chernobyl History of the Soviet Nuclear Industry - Schmid S. D.

Chernobyl: A Documentary Story - Shcherbak I.

The Vienna Report

Chernobyl - Crime Without Punishment - Yaroshinskaya A.A.

In Russian:

Chernobyl: Kak eto bylo. Preduprezhdeni - Kopchinsky, Steinberg

Chernobyl. Tak eto bylo. Vzglyad Iznutri - Voznyak Ya. Troitskiy N.

Лучевая болезнь человека (очерки) - Гуськова А.К., Байсоголов Г.Д.

Чернобыль. Как это было - Дятлов А.С.

Чернобыль: 30 лет спустя - Кравчук Н.В.

Живы - Купный А.

Чернобыль - Щербак Ю.

(ONLY Pages 367-383) Чернобыль, 10 лет спустя. Неизбежность или случайность?

KGB files - pre and post accident (includes additional information in Ukrainian)

In Polish: 

Jak to było - Diatłov A.S.

Czarnobyl - Plokhy S.

Czarnobyl - Sekuła P.

Katastrofa w Czarnobylu - Sekuła P.

Czarnobyl. Od katastrofy do procesu - Siwiński W.

[the-californicationist]

a safe house

(Price/Reader) SFW - But MDNI on my blog please!

“Ghost! How copy? Riley, come in!” Price shouted into his headset. 

You were sending cover fire over the fallen tree that you and your captain were hiding behind. Unfortunately, you’d been separated from the rest of your team. Soap, Ghost, and Gaz were on the other side of the large, icy ravine, and they had done a good job drawing the enemy away from the target zone. Price kept trying to connect, but there was too much snow cover. A nasty blizzard was rolling in, and you needed to find better shelter, quickly. 

“Captain! Enemy has been eliminated. We need to find shelter,” you tried to pull him up off of the ground. 

He looked up at you, frustrated,

“Aye, Corporal, but they’ll be back. We need to find a way to warn the boys.” 

“Look,” you showed him the map on your datapad, “Laswell said there’s an old town…I think she called it Khabnoye? It’s been abandoned for years, about two klicks away. There might be some old technology, radios, whatever. We can reach them on some long-range.”

“Alright, let’s move.”

It was a short distance, but the terrain was brutal due to the snow. You made it there by nightfall, and carefully approached the outskirts of the town, following Price’s lead to scope out possible enemy combatants. There was no one in sight. It truly was a ghost town, and you were justifiably creeped the hell out. 

A small house was mostly intact near the very edge of the town, plenty of empty space around its edges, and only one broken window. You began to sweep the rooms, of which there were only three, noting that its prior occupants had left in quite a hurry sometime in the late 80s. You were fighting a nameless, secret war inside of the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone, so most of the towns you came across were similarly abandoned. 

You stood in the kitchen with Price, catching your breath and unpacking your bag. He was starting up the small, convective space heater checking for high levels of radiation in the room, making sure it was sustainable for the night. 

“Alright, let’s go dark. No lights, no comms until we get a better idea about what happened,” he said in a low voice. 

“Yes, sir. I did get a notification from Soap, but the message is unreadable,” you showed him the datapad before you powered it down. 

He sighed,

“At least we know he’s alive and stable enough to send comms. We’ll work on connecting when this storm blows through.”

“Yes, sir.” 

“Drop the formality, Sparrow. Not spending the whole night listening to your sirs.”

He was upset. The operation was ruined, and he had no idea where his team was or if they were even alive anymore. You said nothing, letting him unpack two MREs and prep the bags for you. You checked the other rooms. There was a tiny, filthy bathroom without running water, and a bedroom with a dingy full mattress without sheets. You set to work arming the windows with night vision motion cameras - much good may it do you with all this snow - and rigged the front door. 

“No use,” Price muttered, digging into his chili and beans MRE, starving.

“Why? You think we’re safe here?”

“No tracks in or out. No trash younger than me, and no pings for ten miles,” he showed you his passive EMP monitor, “Our tracks are covered by now with the storm. They’ll assume we rendezvoused back at the base. It was closer and easier to access.”

“Closer? Why’d you come here then?”

“Base might be compromised,” he shrugged, “Couldn’t reach McTavish, so we can’t assume anything at this point. Might as well get comfortable and wait til morning. This’ll clear once the sun comes out, and we’ll send an AM ping.”

You sighed a breath of pure relief, 

“I know I’ve only been with you guys for a few months, but honestly, I don’t know what’s more impressive, your technology or your level-headedness under insane fire. Feeling very much like the amateur I am, Captain.”

“You handled yourself well out there, little bird. I’m impressed,” his praise rushed through you like adrenaline, and you basked in it. 

“Thanks, Cap,” you smiled, drinking the broth of your soup and packing up your MRE trash into its bag. 

“You smoke cigars, love?”

It was midnight before you even considered going to bed. You and Price had stayed up in the kitchen, smoking and chatting in the dark, only illuminated by the glow of your ashes. The snow fluttered down outside, layering itself on the ground like a pile of white sheets. There’d be at least two feet of it at the door tomorrow morning. 

“...and I got this one in Amsterdam, chasing some smugglers out of the wharf. Motherfucker stabbed me right through the arm. Missed the bones, thank Christ. But, that’s not the bad one.”

You were telling each other stories about your scars, and you were in all states of dress. It was warm with the space heater, and you were comfortable around each other. Aside from admiring the mountainous swell of his shoulders and chest, you tried not to think much of it. He was hot, but he wasn’t interested. You just had a small crush. It would pass. 

Okay, maybe a big crush. But, you had some self-control. 

Some. 

“Oh,” he leaned across the table to get closer and look at your arm, “What was the bad one?”

You blushed, not that he could see it, 

“It’s in a certain spot. Not sure you want to - ”

“Don’t make me beg, little bird,” he smirked, rolling his eyes at your modesty. 

He was right, of course. You weren’t sure why you were shy. 

Liar. You were shy because you had an enormous, filthy crush on your commanding officer. 

You tucked your elbow beneath your shirt and pulled it up over your chest, showing him your sternum,

“This one. It’s a - ”

“Flare burn,” he whispered, his demeanor changing from jovial to serious very quickly. 

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

He was silent for a long time. You watched as Price too a big mouthful of cigar smoke before letting it billow around him, looking like a big, brooding dragon in the quiet room. 

“How’d you get it?” He asked, avoiding your question. 

“Enemy trap. They rigged the door to blow a flare. My vest, all my plate, none of it mattered. The flare burned so hot that it cut right through the gear like butter. If it wasn’t for our medic knowing that he needed to knock it out, I would’ve died. Three weeks in the med bay. It was bad.”

Price reached out slowly, almost as if not to scare you, and touched the circular wound. It wasn’t sexual, but that didn’t stop you from immediately feeling aroused by having his hands on you. You shuddered involuntarily, and he jerked his hand back. The silence in the room was suffocating.

“Sorry, little bird,” he whispered his apology, “Did I hurt you?”

“No,” you chuckled, taking a drag of his cigar for yourself, trying to calm down, “Uh, no.”

“What?” He prodded, not realizing what truth he was asking you for.

“It’s nothing, sir,” you stood up from the table, trying to escape, and forgetting you were in a 200 square foot house. 

He stood with you, reaching out to touch your shoulder. You sighed into his contact against your will, feeling the stress of the day melt away as he did. 

“It just…” You tried to throw him a hint, “Feels good, you know. To be touched. Been a long time… sorry, sir.” 

“Told you to swallow those sirs, little bird,” he whispered in a low rumble, putting his other hand on your other shoulder, grabbing you gently. 

There was very little space between your bodies now that you were away from the table, standing in the no-man’s-land between the bed and the kitchenette. It smelled like sweat and tobacco and 1987 in there, and you were breathing hard, nervous and desperate for him to do something to you that he couldn’t take back. 

“Sorry,” you said under your breath, not knowing what else to tell him.

Price lifted your chin up to meet his eyes, grabbing your jaw firmly, but gently. In the blackness of the night, the moon reflected only a little of his icy blue eyes, and the glow from his cigar made his face appear sharp and saurian. You didn’t expect for his touch to be so light. Just hours ago, he’d snapped a man’s neck with these same hands, and now he was passing the pad of his thumb over your bottom lip like you were the petal of an orchid, careful not to bruise you. 

“I’m trying,” his breath was ragged as he confessed, “I promise, I’m trying to let it go, little bird.”

“Let what go?” You put your hands on his hips, trying to steady yourself, feeling dizzy with lust and fear. 

“My desire,” he put his forehead against yours, closing his eyes, struggling, “Turn me away. Please, little bird. End my fucking torment. I’ll never mention it again. I swear it.”

You kissed him, pressing your lips into his chastely but firmly, enjoying the heat and the smoothness of his skin, the smell and the feel of his beard, coated in tobacco smoke and his own sweat. The comforting spice of the chili lingering on his mouth. He breathed in like you’d pressed a hot iron brand into him, blissful pain radiating through his body, pulling you in close to his chest. He deepened the kiss, slanting his mouth against yours, moving your skull with his powerful jaws, leading you, commanding and strong in his desire. 

“Love, don’t… don’t do this. Not unless you mean it. I’m bloody beggin’ you.”

You smiled, resting your nose alongside his, kissing him again slowly and carefully before answering him, 

“I mean it, John. I mean it.”

Reblogs and comments deeply appreciated! <3 <3

AO3 Link

[101maverick]

Prompt request: Secretly Atlantean gothamite saving Dick Grayson Robin from drowning in the bay. She recognizes his voice as her classmate crush.

They would ideally be 13-14 ish

A/n: okok this is soooo original i’m in loooveee. I did some research to find out where exactly the Gotham bay is in terms of city area and I hope i got it right :)) Also let’s ignore the fact this took me a whole month to finish, okay? Very sorry about the wait, life has been kicking my butt recently😅

Fishy Business

The water in Gotham was shit.

The pollution typical of every big American city was one thing, but whatever the heck Gotham had was ten times worse. Like, Chernobyl level bad.

Whatever filth was thrown in the waters of the Gotham Harbour on the daily definitely saw a lot of local chemical creations, the ones the city’s rogues were so fond of coming up with to terrorise the population.

Needless to say you would not be swimming in open waters any time soon.

You missed the ocean. You missed being in your element.

The fact you weren’t stupid enough to dare a swim in chemically spiked water didn’t negate the fact the Gotham Harbour was the only body of water you had available though, if not only to look at wistfully while mourning what you had before having to come to this forsaken city.

And that’s what you were doing when it happened. You had been stood up by your classmate and crush, Dick Grayson, for your chemistry study session. Neptune only knows how much that boy sucks at the subject, and the fact he skipped out on your study session made your insides flare up in indignation. Coming to the nearest body of water and reminiscing was the best way you knew of for letting go of ugly feelings.

Just letting your hair be lightly whipped around by the wind, staring wistfully into the last blazing scorches of the dying sun, standing on one of the docks and pretending the overwhelming smell of fish came from the dredges of the seaside market you used to camp out near as a kid.

Then, of course, it happened.

A loud crash startled you out of your musings, and you turned around just in time to see a figure splashing in the water a ways away.

Who the hell goes for an evening swim here? You thought to yourself as you made your way closer to the perturbed water, keeping to the elongated shadows born of the fish crates scattered around.

Once you were close enough to distinguish more of the figure, your eyes widened considerably.

The body flailing around in the murky water of the docks was none other than Robin, infamous sidekick to Gotham’s resident bat-themed vigilante.

Gotham’s resident vigilante that was very clear about his stance on super-powered beings in his territory.

You considered your options. If Batman knew his sidekick was saved by someone with very obviously atlantean powers he no doubt would clock you as somebody who wanted to mess with him, who was probably even spying on him due to the conveniency of the coincidence.

You did not want to find out what Batman did to people who not only disregarder his rules by merely existing in the wrong place, let alone what he did to people he thought were meddling in his business.

Plus, surely Robin could swim, right? He would have no problem getting out of the water by himself, so there was no need for your water-manipulation abilities anyway.

Despite your self-reassurances and the fact you should have been hightailing it out of there as fast as possible, uncertainty kept your feet rooted to the rotten wooden panels.

And so you kept watching, growing increasingly worried as Robin failed to keep his head outside of the water for more than a few seconds at a time.

You made it approximately thirteen seconds before saying ‘fuck it’ and stepping in, emerging from the shadows you had found refuge in just enough time get a good stance, planting your feet and raising your arms while letting your abilities reacquaint themselves with the water near you.

It was a fast affair, getting your powers to grasp at the water Robin was perturbing and pulling, violently yanking both the liquid and the boy out of the Harbor and onto the dock.

The vigilante gasped, gripping the material under him while hacking coughs wracked through his chest as he expelled the water from his human lungs.

You remained hovering above him, watching him, immensely glad the visible part of his face was regaining its normal colour instead of the red-purple it had previously been.

You had always looked upon Batman and Robin as pretty unapproachable, two beacons of justice and penance for Gotham’s criminals, who struck fear into even the most hardened thugs this rotten city had to offer.

But- but Robin was light to Batman’s darkness, and he always had a smile on his face in the grainy pictures that sometimes appeared in the newspaper, and if you focused your inhuman hearing on your surroundings late enough at night you could hear laughter mixing with the swoosh of the wind and the rustling of heavy fabric and the rhythmical zapping of a rope through the air.

And plus, Robin looked so human in this moment, so defenceless while he coughed his lungs out, that you just couldn’t reconcile the boy in front of you with the pillar of rambunctious justice fixed in your mind. And above all else, you couldn’t leave a human, one with so many enemies at that, alone while there was still the risk of him not being completely out of danger.

So you stayed.

You stayed, sat on an empty crate beside him, and kept vigilant with your enhanced senses to avoid any unwanted attention. As he calmed down he seemed to slowly gain awareness of his surroundings.

After what seemed like an eternity, he got his arms under him and slowly lifted himself up into a sitting position. That’s when he took notice of you, still watching him intently.

His eyes weren’t visible through the white-out lenses of his mask, but the way his forehead creased and his mouth opened a little more around his still heavy breaths made you able to accurately guess his surprise. “You- you just…what was-“

You interrupted him before he could keep voicing his question. “Look, just don’t tell the Bat about me and we’re good, okay? I really don’t need the trouble, plus you owe me one.”

Robin just kept looking at you, chest rising and falling with each deep breath, tiny shivers coursing through his soaking-wet form.

After a few beats that felt like eons, he nodded. “Yeah, yeah, don’t worry.” He half-gasped out, voice breathy with exertion. “Won’t tell a soul.”

His voice… it was achingly familiar.

You studied the unmasked portions of his face more closely, more attentively, your superhuman eyesight undisturbed by the darkness.

You were able to make out sun-kissed skin, soaked inky locks you fantasised about running your fingers through every day during chemistry, a defined jaw, high cheekbones and lips that pulled into semi-rare but blinding smiles. Lips you dreamed about kissing at night, while you lay on your bed thinking of your life.

You were sitting face-to-face with Dick Grayson. Robin.

You nodded, looking right into those white lenses. “Good.” At that, you looked around the empty area of the docks, spying the area sounds of fighting were coming from. “Well, I, uh, better go.”

You turned to him. “Try not to drown again, thanks.” And with that you stood.

Before walking away you turned around one last time, unable to stop yourself. “And, by the way, you stood me up for our chemistry study session. We’ll catch it up tomorrow.”

Before he could reply, you ran away from the docks and into Gotham Proper.

Gosh, you really were an idiot, weren’t you?

——————————

A/n: If you like my work, please consider reblogging and checking out my other works through the master list in my pinned post<3

[richiekirschs]

SHE’S MY BABY — Spider-Man!Lottie Matthews

and i hope you don’t save some other girl…

warnings— fem reader (she/her used), typical spider-man shenanigans, gun mentions, ooc lottie probably

[part 1]

lottie: when did you want to get coffee

lottie: 11:15 at little collins?

you: isn’t that in the city?

lottie: yeah but i can venmo you for the ferry fee

you: no it’s fine i can take the bridge

lottie: ok see you tmrw

you: here

you: sitting in a booth towards the back

Lottie’s late.

You’re anxiously checking your phone screen over and over, trying to make sure you haven’t missed any rain-check texts.

11:28. Nothing.

You fidget in your seat, bouncing your leg, looking at the door with hopeful eyes whenever the bell chimes.

At exactly 11:30, the door swings open, a frantic Lottie rushing in from the other side.

“I’m sorry!” she immediately says, collapsing into the booth. “This guy stole an old lady’s purse, and then—“

“Lottie,” you interrupt, “calm down. I’m not mad, I just thought you forgot.”

“No,” she promises, still a bit out of breath. “No, I actually swung over here.”

“What, like, with your webs?”

“Would you lower your voice?” she hisses.

“It’s New York, Lot,” you deadpan. “I literally saw a man taking a shit on the sidewalk.” You lock eyes with a man at the counter, leaning back to stretch his arms. You jerk your thumb at Lottie as you say, “She’s Spider-Man.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he says before turning back to his phone.

You sip from your drink. “So how exactly did this happen? Is this your weird attempt at a fursona?”

“It’s not a fursona,” she mumbles defensively. “I got bit by a spider. I guess it was, like, radioactive or something.”

“Radioactive?” you repeat. “Like the dogs in Chernobyl?”

“Yeah,” she replies, “except I didn’t grow any extra teeth like those fish. I fell onto this lady on the subway the night after and my hand got stuck to her shirt, and I… ripped it off…” She flushes pink.

“How the fuck did that happen?”

“I’m, like… sticky,” she informs you, embarrassed as she flexes her hands. You wrinkle your nose at sticky. “And I get these weird tingles right before something happens.”

“Does the web come out of you?” you question, genuinely intrigued.

“Yeah,” she shrugs. “I don’t have extra legs, though, before you ask.”

“How’d you get out last night?”

“I put the suit back on in the shower, then went back out the window. I went down the balcony into your bedroom. Natalie came in, though, so I hid on… the ceiling…” As the words leave her mouth, she clearly realizes how weird it sounds.

“I’m impressed, Lot,” you admit. “It’s been a year, and I never would’ve guessed it was you. I thought you had some secret lover and that’s why you were sneaking around.”

It’s her turn to wrinkle her nose. “God, no. I felt really bad about always leaving you, though.”

You shrug. “It’s definitely not as bad as when Tai and Van coincidentally sneak off to go have sex. They’re not even subtle about it.”

Lottie laughs, but she shifts uncomfortably, like someone just licked their finger and stuck it in her ear.

You frown. “You okay?”

She looks up, but it’s almost like she’s looking through you. Her eyes track movement in the window at your back.

She grabs her backpack. “I have to go.”

You turn around, but there’s nothing there. You whip back around to face her. “What the hell, Lottie?”

“I’m sorry!” she insists. “I’ll—I’ll call you, okay?”

She doesn’t give you time to respond before she’s sprinting out the door of the café, chasing down whatever she’d seen behind you.

You’re upset, to say the least.

You walk back to the ferry parking garage where you’d parked, grinding your teeth. If it were a cartoon, you might have steam coming out of your ears.

You have to take three laps around the garage before you finally find your car.

But as you approach your car, you can see a figure yanking at your driver’s side door.

“Hey!” you shout. “What the fuck?”

“This your car?” he asks.

“I’m not shouting at you for fun,” you snap.

“Give me your keys,” he commands.

“No, I’m not gonna give you my keys!”

He shoves his hand into the pocket of his jacket and points it at you. “Give me the fucking keys!”

“I can see your thumb sticking out, I know you don’t have a gun! It’s a piece of shit anyway, just back off—“

He starts forward, but he only gets a few steps in before something shoots past you—you literally blink and miss it, and when you look back at the man attempting to carjack you his hand is stuck to the wall with a fucking web.

Fucking Lottie.

“I thought she told you to back off, man,” Lottie sighs.

“Why do you sound like that?” the man asks, which is the same thing you’re wondering.

You know it’s Lottie, of course. But she’s using some weird, Ghostface-esque voice modulator.

“Sound like what?” she bluffs.

“No, I heard you earlier,” the man insists, “when you were chasing me. I know what a girl sounds like.”

“I’m not a girl!” Lottie shouts. “I’m a boy! Fuck—a man!”

If you hadn’t just been a victim of an attempted carjacking (and possibly murder), you would’ve bust out laughing. Lottie’s voice sounded very Mickey Altieri—it’s time, girlfriend!

“Man, I really don’t care,” the man shrugs, defeated.

Lottie mumbles, “Interrogation mode, off,” before turning back to you. “Go home, okay?”

You nod, surprisingly relieved by Lottie saving the day. You get into your car and turn the key.

“That’s gonna dissolve in 2 hours, okay?” Lottie tells the man, who’s still stuck to the wall.

“What?” he exclaims. “No, I need to get home!”

She jogs off. “2 hours! You deserve that!”

You can’t help but laugh as you start your drive home.

KITTY MEOWS! I pray this was as good as y’all wanted it to be… the second half is very heavily based on the scene of Donald Glover in Homecoming I thought it would be silly for Lottie 😞