#T; PURSUIT OF THE MACHINE & THE MAN IN THE SUIT. ( season 2 )

[fatherofmachine-a]

@griim​ gets a Plotted Starter!

After Harold received GEMMA HARDING’S number, he considered her the runner up for the most MINUSCULE digital footprint he’d ever seen. However, what he was able to find ... it allowed him to make some reasonable guesses as to her home life, her childhood. Mostly that something had CLEARLY been very wrong from the first glimpse—she’d only been given a name, a social security number, a proper identity when she was two years old and the person who’d given it to her hadn’t been either of her parents. Her mother hadn’t been listed, but ... what Harold did find about her father, well ... it WASN’T difficult to assume that he may be the reason she was in danger.

There had already been ONE attempt on her life thus far and Harold had managed to cut off their comms—but not without a loud, SCREECHING noise that pierced through their ears, which was more than distracting enough to aid in Gemma’s escape. CLEARLY they were running out of time and Harold couldn’t keep protecting her from afar, so ... he’d tracked the phone she had on her to a motel.

It was immediately obvious that she was DEEPLY shaken, on edge; a feeling Harold understood all too well. He knew approaching her would be ... challenging. She was like a wounded animal, ready to STRIKE at the first thing that moved toward her that she didn’t recognize; it made his heart twinge painfully in his chest. This young woman had gone through MORE than her fair share of hell and here she was, still tangled up in it, trying to evade the traps. Harold had anticipated some kind of defensive response, but it didn’t stop the IMMEDIATE spike of anxiety that pierced through him when she drew a knife on him. Her gesture was loud and clear— stay back, unless you want a knife lodged into you.

Harold froze where he stood, blue eyes wide and brows lifting sharply in alarm; slowly, CAREFULLY, he spread his hands out, indicating that he was unarmed. “Miss Harding, please—you don’t know me, but my name’s HAROLD. All I wanna do is help you,” a quiet, wavering breath escaped him as he briefly glanced down to regard the knife, then back up to meet her eyes. “I know you’ve got no reason  to trust me, but I’m afraid we’re running out of time.”

[fatherofmachine]

➤ OPEN FOR MUTUALS!!

Panic began to churn within Harold’s chest at the SIGHT of two very dangerous-looking men tailing their number.  Only ONE solution came to mind that didn’t involve violence and truly,  that was the only option Harold HAD,  without John.  His uneven,  LIMPING steps came faster as nimble fingers CURLED beneath his own coat and with a few short ( and perhaps fumbling  ) tugs,  he draped it over his left arm.

❝Wait!—you FORGOT your jacket! ❞

A WARM,  friendly smile bloomed across Harold’s features as the person he was calling turned to regard his approach.  He moved in CLOSE,  pressing the heavy coat into the other person’s hands before he took a FIRM (  albeit still gentle ) hold of their upper arm,  just above the elbow.  He moved to lead them onward,  a SMILE still gracing his features;  but as Harold spoke,  his tone was QUIETLY urgent.

❝You’re in DANGER,  follow me.❞

[theparanormalperiodical]

Everything You Never Knew About The Nazi UFO Conspiracy Theory (it’s a wild ride)

Oil.

You could tell the story of the modern world through oil.

The thick, sticky liquid is the dark glue clobbering the West together. Nations go to war, governments plot and plunder, and innocent people get caught up in the crossfire. All for oil.

But the oil I’m talking about didn’t start a war. It instead leads us to a little known historical tale. A tale that in turn brings us to the front step of a conspiracy theory.

Our story starts in Queen Maud Land, Antarctica.

It’s currently -46 degrees celsius. We are surrounded by soft, white stretches of snow and sharp, mountain-esque peaks breaching the ice.

But some would have you believe there is much more to the land lying just beyond the North Pole. According to some theorists, beneath the frost-bitten ground lies an entire hidden society. And amongst the people gathering in this underground bunker sits technological advances quite literally out of this world.

In 1938, an expedition from Nazi Germany was sent out to take control of Queen Maud Land (known then as New Swabia) in order to supply whale oil for the upcoming war in Western Europe.

Theorists, however, claimed that after the war, the remaining Nazis in Europe fled to New Swabia and may have even kept and developed their advancements in aircraft technology. Yes, it is here they keep and dispatch their UFO technology, helped only by a superhuman race or aliens!

Strap in, kids. It’s time to talk about the messy, mysterious and my-god-this-is-weird-shit Nazi UFOs.

2010 was a pretty tame year by the decade’s standards.

But in late November, a meme was born. A meme that probably relaunched a conspiracy that once thrived in a postwar world: it claimed aliens paid a visit to the guys at the top during Nazi Germany’s heyday and offered up advice for advanced aircraft technology.

Ancient Aliens (season 2 episode 5) gave us innocent viewers the lowdown on the UFOs spotted during and after the war that were supposedly related to Hitler’s regime.

This theory clusters alongside other Ancient Aliens theories - that extraterrestrials have popped down now and then to help construct vast civilisations like Ancient Egypt.

Is it true?

Is it bugger.

But the theories and the evidence put forward frame a unique time in history.

What are Nazi UFOs?

The title of this theory is far from imaginative. The theory claims the Nazis were successful in advancing aircrafts and spacecrafts during WW2. But there is also talk of postwar survival of this technology, whether concealed at the North Pole or hiding in plain sight at NASA.

We know that the Nazis made vast strides in engineering and weaponry. In fact, the ‘evidence’ route forward by theorists relies heavily on accounts from high-up figures in the Axis countries.

Take the Repulsine: this was a specialised engine built during the war. How far was the stretch from this feat of engineering to alien-tech? Is it possible that an advanced race of extraterrestrials stopped by with a few tips and tricks?

Apparently so, as put forward by the claims of the Haunebu flying saucer and the occult-inspired Die Glocke (the existence of both of these aircrafts is, of course, highly disputed).

Nazi UFO believers should get some credit, however - they at least did some research. They got their facts right on three crucial pieces of evidence, before losing control of the wheel and skidding off the track completely.

Firstly, yes, we know they claimed New Swabia in 1938 for the purpose of obtaining whale oil and potentially for imperial pursuits, as well.

And yeah, they researched advanced propulsion tech. They even created a prototype of a circular-winged aircraft that looks preeeeetty similar to your run-of-the-mill UFO.

They even get right that there were flurries of UFO sightings during the war by allied forces.

But as soon as 1950, outlandish claims emerged, mere years after Germany surrendered and the Allies claimed victory. But we need to start at the beginning.

The year is 1944.

The end of the war is just on the horizon. The Allies have liberated Western Europe from Nazi grip. But a new, surprising threat is in the soldiers line of sight, too.

It was a cold, November evening. Lt. Fred Ringwald was in a night fighter piloted by a fellow Lieutenant. As they soared above the Rhine valley, the two american soldiers spotted something in the hills of Strasbourg.

8 fiery, orange lights were staring back at them.

They were sure, as any fighter pilot in that situation, that this was enemy aircraft. And yet nothing showed up on the radar. As soon as they turned the plane to prepare to fight, the orange lights had disappeared.

Many would attribute such sightings to combat fatigue, St. Elmo’s Fire (weather phenomena during a storm where glowing plasma appears near masts) or the fact that pilots would have seen many aircrafts clogging across Europe's skies.

But soon, the sightings began to spread. And fast.

In December, a pilot saw “5 or 6 flashing red and green lights in ’T’ shape.” in the skies near Breisach, Germany. They followed him but quickly vanished.

Days later, two orange glowing lights were spotted by two more flight crews.

They rose from the earth to 10,000 feet before tailing the fighters for approx. 2 minutes. They then stopped following the allied planes and disappeared.

“They appear to be under perfect control at all times”

Keith Chester

These sightings would become so common, they’d be given a nickname:

Foo fighters.

Scientists would go on to investigate them, later decoding them as advanced German aircrafts and weaponry. As they were only spotted by allied forces, it was likely they were advancements such as the V-1 or V-2 rocket.

But after the war, UFO sightings continued to apparently connect the dots:

Project Sign, an official US UFO investigation team, linked the designs of the German Horten brothers to UFO reports. The head of the follow up investigation confirmed some of their findings:

“When WWII ended, the Germans had several radical types of aircraft and guided missiles under development. The majority were in the most preliminary stages, but they were the only known craft that could even approach the performance of objects reported by UFO observers.”

Captain Edward J. Ruppelt, 1959

It was only after the war that accounts from former officials of the Axis regimes appeared to support these claims.

The first newspaper report forging a connection between UFOs and the crushed Nazi regime was written by a former Italian Minister of National Economy under Mussolini’s regime:

"types of flying discs were designed and studied in Germany and Italy as early as 1942"

But this doesn’t suggest aliens airdropped a PDF of flying saucer designs. We know that flying saucer aircrafts can and have been created.

A similar account from a Czeh scientist spurred on another key element of this conspiracy theory.

Die Glocke.

December 9th 1965.

All is peaceful in the small town of Kecksberg, Pennsylvania. That’s about to change.

Six American citizens in Detroit, Michigan, Windsor and Ontario witnessed a fireball score across the sky. NASA later claimed that this was a meteorite or a Soviet satellite crashing back to Earth.

UFOlogists weren’t so sure.

Many claim they saw a large object the size of a VW Beetle spotted with strange symbols, like hieroglyphics, being carried out by a truck from the area cordoned off at the crash site.

UFOlogists believe they recovered The Bell, an occult-alien-hybrid spacecraft.

Apparently, such claims bear a similarity to the designs of an aircraft laid out in a Wehrmacht document about a vertical take-off craft. And then Rudolph Schirever, the man claiming he designed it during the war, gave a statement the same month something crashed to the earth.

He told Der Spiegel that he designed a craft powered by rotating turbine blades. He developed it until April 1945 at BMW in Prague before fleeing to the Czeh Republic, as it is now known. 3 years later, he claimed the designs were stolen.

He thinks Czeh agents nicked his ideas for a foreign power.

Could it have been for an underground society of failed Nazi war criminals stowed away in underground base in Antartica?

(That was a mouthful.)

Many have attached their own take to Die Glocke.

Some believe it was anti-gravitational, others claim it was a time-machine. Some claim a Nazi colonel handed it over to the US military to buy his freedom, and a few even allege that the US forces forced Nazi scientists to build Die Glocke and advance it’s anti-gravity technology.

This stuff is pretty out there.

Quite literally.

But the last bit does fit actual history: US forces did bring over Nazi scientists to advance their space technology.

Postwar Theories

When historians began to reflect on the war decades after it ended, new ideas banking on UFOs followed suit.

In the 1960s, one of these most infamous theories was put forward in the controversial book The Morning of the Magicians.

It made numerous claims about the mysterious and fictional Vril Society which was based on a novel about superhuman-angel-alien beings that lived inside the Earth. In 1935, a German engineer fled to the US spouting claims that the Nazis did indeed have a society dedicated to finding the Vril.

The Morning of the Magicians claimed the Vril Society was a precursor to the Nazi party amongst other ideas. They supposedly created flying disc prototypes and had a secret base on the moon.

Oh, and about that Antarctica underground base?

It’s so the Nazis can vanish into the Earth and meet that advanced race living down there.

Jumping onto this New Swabia bandwagon was Ernst Zündel.

This Holocaust denier (*stares into camera*) wrote many books throughout the 70s claiming flying saucers were secret weapons released from this base. He even claimed he would attempt to locate the base and reveal the Earth was crammed full of aliens this entire time!

In 2002, he let slip that it was a big ruse to bring in more cash for his publishing company.

At the end of the decade, Migeul Serrano gave it a go. He was a Nazi sympathiser and believed that Hitler was the avatar (a deity on earth) of a Hindu god. Apparently he was hanging out with the hyperborean gods (Greek gods that are stowed away at the North Pole) underground until he was ready to release UFOs and bring in the Fourth Reich.

The last, infamous proponent of this theory had physical, real-life consequences.

A year after Serrano made his claims, Richard Chase professed that Nazi UFOs had forced him to commit numerous brutal and bloody crimes under threat to his own life.

Chase is one of the most infamous serial killers in history, earning the title the Vampire of Sacramento due to his reputation for murder, rape, cannibalism and necrophilia. These claims can be traced back to his schizophrenia which prompted him to believe prison officials were poisoning his food as directed by Nazi UFOs.

***

I think sometimes it’s easier for us to frame the atrocities committed by the Nazi regime within the context of something the horror genre would spit out. We’d much rather spin tales of occult rituals and far-out entities than admit actual humans did what they did.

It’s no surprise that following the war, a surge in movies detailing alien invasion emerged. It fit the fears of impending doom from a foreign, fascist government, a reality for many nations during WW2.

What do you think is the craziest claim?

If you liked this blogpost, make sure you like and reblog it. And while you’re down there, hit follow to read something spooky every weekend!

[fatherofmachine]

PERSONALS, DO NOT REBLOG!!

@anurbanlcgend​​ | DEAD RECKONING.

   Blue eyes fixed upon the computer screen,  his mind racing to find a way around  the encryption,  around the virus to find a way through—–but he already knew that a large piece of his own coded virus lay buried beneath.  Dormant for the time being,  but crafted and planted three years ago to set The Machine free from its binding … so it could save itself.  Harold would still attempt  to stop it,  if possible,  but in the event that he could not … he had a plan.  A plan that he likely wouldn’t share with John,  not yet.  For,  he still didn’t know that it was Harold’s fault  that John had almost gotten killed,  that he’d almost had to kill Miss Stanton … his fault that she’d come after John and almost blew him to pieces had Harold not gotten there in time to disarm the bomb vest.

   A few seconds after Harold finished explaining what he’d found ( that the virus would come online five months from now,  but that was all he’d gotten so far ),  he stiffly rose from his chair and limped his way around the table, reaching to gather two folders stacked atop one another.  His intention had been to retrieve the taped pictures of agent Stanton and Snow from the board,  to put them back within their designated folders since they’d received their new number.  But then—

  ( ❛Finch … ?   Thank you.❜ )

   Explanation,  context … none was necessary for Harold to know exactly what it is John was thanking him for.  Brows lifted as he turned to look up,  facing his friend,  his partner.  He felt the shift in their relationship so acutely  in that moment and with the intensity of John’s gaze,  a sudden wave of emotion  encompassed him almost entirely.  Harold’s gaze lowered briefly,  tongue swiping over thin lips before he offered a reply,  quietly  but with a great deal of softness,  of vulnerability,

    ❝Of the many things I am fully equip to handle,  Mr. Reese …. I’m afraid losing  you is not one of them. ❞

   After a moment, a smile pulled at the corners of John’s mouth,  soft  but with the familiar, nearly invisible touches of sadness at the edges—–the pure happiness of it,  albeit,  out shined it all.  Lashes swept downward as John lowered his gaze,  lips parting as if he’d planned to speak,  but … words seemed to fail him.  Instead, a soft breath escaped him and all  of it left Harold’s chest aching with fondness. 

   Their eyes met once again and John’s left hand lifted  to rest against the back of Harold’s neck  ( a way he knew  was John’s way of preventing his injuries from hurting him further ) whilst he moved in closer.  Ducking his head,  John captured his friends’ mouth with his own,  albeit somewhat hesitantly ;  Harold eased  into the kiss,  fingers lifting to brush against John’s jaw and  he was abruptly overwhelmed with how truly desperately  relieved he was to have John Reese back home,  safe and sound.

[fatherofmachine]

@anoutlicr said: ' Harold. '

❝Elias,❞  came Harold’s return greeting, dry and guarded as it always tended to be. However,  he could practically hear the smirk that no doubt colored Elias’ features, the intrigued mirth illustrating it so clearly that Harold didn’t even need to see it with his own eyes. Nonetheless, Harold’s gaze lifted to catch Elias’ in turn, bright blue meeting dark brown; opposites on the surface, but the same, sharp intelligence shining in both. He’d been leaning his chin on his knuckles and, as he’d glanced up, that hand simply hovered upright, his elbow resting on the table.

Familiar pain burned throughout the damaged vertebrae of Harold’s neck, radiating down his left side and into his left leg; today, however, it was manageable enough to be static background noise ... unless he needed it not to be.

[fatherofmachine]

TIMELINE TAGS.

[fatherofmachine-a]

@thewhiirlwind​ | DOCTOR LACHLAN’S NUMBER’S UP !!

A nervous FLUTTERING sensation had been continuously sparking  within Harold’s chest since the moment  John had asked him to take Dr. Lachlan to the safe house.  He’d been SUCCESSFULLY evading  making contact,  the refusals slipping from his mouth with casual ease  &  they hadn’t been QUESTIONED.  This time,  however ... while he’d attempted  to argue (  albeit WEAKLY,  as Harold knew for certain that John was right  ),  it had been ultimately USELESS.  

Dr. Lachlan had been the one to do his most crucial  spinal surgery shortly after the ferry incident—–Harold had not only been PHYSICALLY wounded,  but quite severely emotionally  &  psychologically  wounded as well.  It had been a VULNERABLE time for Harold,  personal,   &  he was reluctant  to unintentionally reveal any of it ... NOR was he particularly  inclined to nurture the fondness he’d felt for his former Doctor,  either.

Once he’d arrived,  Harold took steadying,  careful  limping steps forward until he stood DIRECTLY in front of the apartment door.  It was  ... a little strange  to have to KNOCK,  given how much breaking  &  entering  was required for what he’d been doing for almost 2 YEARS now  (  &  a part of him  didn’t feel  particularly COMFORTABLE about that ).  

Knuckles lightly rapped upon the door—–&  when Dr. Lachlan slowly pulled it open,  the IMMEDIATE recognition  &  shock  sent a nervous PANG throughout Harold’s upper body  (  &  as he tilted his head back somewhat to LOOK UP,  he was once again  taken aback by how tall the man was ).

  ❛ Uh,  hi,  Mr. Wren, ❜

The Doctor began,  sounding mildly CONFUSED  &  Harold's brows lifted in reply ;  he was briefly SURPRISED that Dr. Lachlan remembered the alias so quickly,  without hesitation,  but ... remembering how incredibly ATTENTIVE  &�� intuitive he was,  Harold supposed he shouldn’t have  been surprised at all.  Although,  his STANDING on the doorstep instead of being in a wheel chair  was likely QUITE the sight,  especially given his professional insight.

 ❝ Hello, ❞

His greeting was softer  than he’d INTENDED  &  while he’d intended to offer a polite  upward curve of lips,  Harold had to dampen it  slightly as it bloomed a bit BRIGHTER than he’d wanted  it to—–but thankfully,  Dr. Lachlan made the CONNECTION before Harold had to clarify anything.

  ❛ Wait.  Are you the friend I’m waiting on ? ❜  

 ❝ INDEED—–but,  I’m afraid  we’re on a bit of a clock. ❞

As Harold spoke,  his tone contained a slight  FRIENDLY lightness to it,  his expression still illustrating the DISTANCE at which he kept almost everyone,  but ... it was a great deal less severe now,  since Dr. Lachlan had seen him last.  Along with that controlled distance was,  perhaps,  the SLIGHTEST tinge of fondness,  of familiarity.   Harold held himself DIFFERENTLY,  too.  With a calm sense of poise,  elegance,  of CONFIDENCE,  but not without urgency.  Within the hospital,  he had LITTLE choice in appearance for the most part,  but now he was free to wear the expressive-looking,  but LOVINGLY crafted three piece suits that adorned his frame.  The silver,  rounded glasses he’d worn before were GONE in favor of a pair that was,  instead,   black  &  square-rimmed.

He held the air of someone who knew exactly  what he was doing  &  what he was GOING to do.  Someone who held more INSIGHT  than he was supposed  to have,  but he had meticulously COAXED it from the hands of authority anyway.   Underneath all of that,  however,  was a whisper of softness,  of sincerity ( DESPITE his apparent need to keep everyone at arms length ),  something underneath that was AUTHORITATIVE,  albeit,  with softer edges. 

When the Doctor stepped further inside,  INVITING him in,  Harold inclined his head before somewhat stiffly  following.  As the door closed behind them,  he turned to regard Dr. Lachlan with raised brows before he added,

 ❝ My SAFE HOUSE is where we’re headed —–if there’s anything you NEED,  now would be an appropriate time to retrieve it. ❞

[fatherofmachine-a]

@thewhiirlwind​ | PLOTTED STARTER FOR:  GABRIEL

The DARKNESS,  trickled  with the revived city lights,  blanketed the library,  creating a COMFORTABLE  &  quiet atmosphere.  Harold had attempted  sleep hours ago but to no avail,  the pain that ALWAYS resided within his lower back,  hip  &  left leg having dissolved  into disquieting pins  &  needles that made drifting off almost IMPOSSIBLE.  His upper body,  however,  was manageable ;  cold pain that SEEPED into damaged vertebrae  &  sent icy tendrils  throughout his chest  &  limbs,  sometimes even feeling as though they SUNK into the marrow of his bones.  Fingers GLIDED over keys as he made progress on the work from the job of his eldest  alias (  Harold Wren,  Insurance underwriter )—–MIND-NUMBING,  but it kept him busy.

He'd been about halfway through  the work when the sound of something COLLIDING once against one of the distant bookshelves in one of the other rooms  (  followed almost instantly  by the sound of a couple books crashing to the floor ) STARTLED him.  There was a long,  tense pause before Harold lifted his voice,  somewhat tentatively,

❝ ... Mr. Reese ? ❞

But there was NO ANSWER.  Closing his eyes tightly for a few seconds,  allowing PANIC to sweep  over him in waves before managing to regain some control,  Harold remained still.  Exhaling quietly,  SLOWLY,  he stood eventually,  the pins  &  needles within his leg immediately  beginning to thrum uncomfortably with every limping step.  NOTHING,  however,  could possibly prepare him for who—–or,  perhaps WHAT he would find.  In the dim light,  Harold could only see a PERSON standing there,  in-between the bookshelves,   attention seemingly focused  on placing books back upon one of the shelves.  The ones he'd heard DROP,  he could guess,  but it certainly  didn't ease his rising PANIC.

When the person TURNED,  the mild  light from one of the windows ILLUMINATING him,  he seemed to startle  somewhat as their eyes met.  He'd noticed the WINGS as they'd convulsed  slightly with the apparent startle  &  Harold had been almost certain  he was hallucinating.  The man ( being ?  he wondered distantly ) was INCREDIBLY TALL,  several heads  taller than Harold  &  suddenly,  he felt a terrifying wave of vulnerability,  of insignificance.  Brows TENSELY lifting whilst blue eyes narrowed  with unease,  he attempted to STIFLE the panic  that scraped against his nerves.  Harold managed to find his voice soon enough—–&  he sounded a great deal  more calm  &  stern than he FELT,  which was a relief.

❝  I SUPPOSE I should say thank you  for putting them back where they BELONG, ❞

He began,  his curiosity feebly  lifting beneath the almost SUFFOCATING panic,  but he was ... ignoring the fact that the man had WINGS,  for now.  One step at a time.

❝ What you're doing here,  whatever you're LOOKING for  &  how you got in here,  however ... THOSE are more pressing  matters,  I think. ❞

[fatherofmachine-a]

@kingwrites​ said:   " are you hurt?  harold, are you hurt?  talk t' me. " - elliot 

 ❝ I’m—– ❞

Harold began,  his voice STRAINING,  a sharp  pain (  which left a dull ache within the wake of each PULSE ) engulfing the majority of his senses. 

 ❝ Unfortunately,  yes—– ❞ 

A shift of his upper body sent another PIERCING wave  &  he barely  stifled a pained noise.  Realizing that he was somewhat in shock,  Harold attempted to regain himself,  to calculate damage—– WHERE had he been shot ?  There was so much pain all intermingling,  mixing,  that for a solid couple of minutes,  it was DIFFICULT to tell.  Eventually,  taking note of his own hand pressed  just bellow his collarbone to the far right,   he’d been shot close to the shoulder.  

 ❝ Nothing overly DANGEROUS,  It just—–really hurts, ❞

His breathing trembling  &  coming out harshly,  Harold leaned against the wall behind him,  the back of his head resting against it  &  he allowed his eyes to fall shut for a moment.  Dark brows TENSED whilst thin lips pressed together tightly as another wave  of PAIN shot through his upper body with the movement.

 ❝ I’ll be fine. ❞

Harold added breathlessly,  NOT sounding very convincing.  It was moments like these ( albeit few  &  far between )  that made him almost  wish he hadn’t disbanded his healing ability.

[fatherofmachine-a]

@chaosveined​ |▸PLOTTED STARTER

❛ Find my name,  &  perhaps I’ll come.  Call it out  &  perhaps I’ll find you.  It might be a fun game.  & you certainly seem the type to try,  the type to try,  the type to try.  Consider it my DARE to you. ❜  

-

Harold had NEVER been very good at backing down from a challenge,  let alone a DARE.  The way she’d crafted the words made it sound like MANY had tried  &  failed  to find the folklore,  the MYTHOLOGY that had been crafted in order to describe who she was—–it took him,  roughly,  about a MONTH,  perhaps a month  &  a half of searching  before he finally found it.  He’d scoured the digital realm for it,  initially,  DESPITE his doubt of it residing there.  When he’d found nothing,  he INSTEAD turned to libraries,  shops,  a museum or two,  all of the places he knew to check when he couldn’t  find what he needed on computers.  

EVENTUALLY,  he did  find it.

It was an ANCIENT scroll,  inked words now faded  written upon fragile,  crinkled papyrus—–it was written ENTIRELY in the runic alphabet.  Albeit,  some  of the runes weren’t as recognizable,  the symbols containing a slight deviation that Harold had never seen before.  Harold WAS NOT overly knowledgeable about Old Norse,  but he could absolutely tell that it was .... STRANGE,  unusual.  

It took days  for him to make ANY kind of sense out of the writing  &  even then,  it was only bits  &  pieces.  Luminescent gaze LINGERED upon a word—–no,  it was a name  &  with this realization,  the pieces came together seamlessly.  Everything he’d learned about her during their ENCOUNTER swarmed the name itself,  blending into it  &  he knew  with absolute certainty that THIS was it.  No other name that he’d even considered  during his search fit,  not like this one.

The next evening,  once he  &  John had finished  with saving another number (  &  while John was engaged with tying up loose ends with Detective Fusco ),  the scroll had caught his eye,  having been CAREFULLY laid out atop his desk.  He’d made a space  for it specifically where it WOULDN’T be disturbed or touched until it was the right moment.  Taking the time to mute  his earpiece so that he COULDN’T be overheard,  he glanced around the room at what he could see without   moving head  &  shoulders.  He seemed to hesitate,  if only for a few seconds.

 ❝ Muninn, ❞

Harold spoke it ALOUD as she’d suggested,  his voice lifting  into the silence around him with an air of confidence.  Remaining seated within his desk chair,  he waited,  listening.

[fatherofmachine-a]

@thewhiirlwind​  | ❛ Could I maybe steal a kiss,  before you go ? ❜  from Dr. Renard Lachlan

It was a QUESTION that Harold honestly hadn’t  expected.  Not only because of it’s gentle DIRECTNESS (  which,  oddly,  he appreciated  ),  but because this had been their FIRST TIME out,  together,  since Harold had finally given in  &  EXPLAINED the risks  Renard would be taking to get this close.  It could ruin the normal,  conventional life he’d worked hard to build,  after leaving the Russians.  Renard had ACCEPTED the risks regardless,  as if getting closer was worth it—–which,  Harold could hardly BELIEVE,  but it elicited a unfurling,  fluttering  warmth to EXPAND within his chest all the same.

A part of him had WONDERED,  afterward,  if he’d offered the same honesty  &  CHOICE,  if Grace would’ve done the same ?  Perhaps he hadn’t because the mere thought  of any kind of harm coming to her stirred up emotions so uncontrollably strong,  emotions that TERRIFIED him ?  Would this be any  different ?  Harold was somewhat AFRAID to find out.

They’d arrived to the cafe some time after  3am,  as Harold had FINISHED with a number shortly beforehand,  his usual  bouts of pain WORSE from the excessive activity  &  a particularly difficult  experience with a patient had been keeping Renard awake.  They’d shared the experiences of their day  &  it didn’t take long at all  until their hands rested upon the tabletop,  entangled QUITE earnestly.  Conversation flowed between them EASILY,  albeit it was engrossing  &  addicting,  to the point where they’d long since forgotten about TIME in it’s entirety. 

The faint light  of DAYBREAK was what finally  reminded them that the world was still turning—–&  that Renard had a very normal job to get back to in the morning.  It was then,  after they’d both stood,  when the question drifted between them within the practically DESERTED cafe.  Harold was quite  private,  especially in regards to RELATIONSHIPS,  but ... the only other people in the building were a waitress  &  cook who were out of sight,  likely preparing for customers.  Customers that wouldn’t  be in for another few hours. 

 ❝ You wouldn’t have to steal  one, ❞

Harold found himself saying,  chin tilting upward whilst dark brows ARCHED.  He stood with his normal  rigidity,  his heavier jacket having been DRAPED over his left arm whilst his right hand rested atop,  fingers curling  into the fabric.  Taking a couple LIMPING steps forward,  a smile,  reserved  &  careful,  curled at the left corner of his lips as he continued,

 ❝ It’s YOURS,  if you want  it. ❞

Renard’s answering expression was RADIANT,  nearly beaming  with warmth  &  an undercurrent of giddiness.  The sight practically swiped  the AIR from Harold’s lungs  & ... a brief whisper  of FEAR dug it’s claws into him.  Would the depths  at which he slowly SUNK into harbor emotions deeper  than he could fathom ?  He had no idea,  but Renard’s gaze swept over him before he moved in CLOSER  &  he found himself leaning forward still—–

The press of lips was SLOW,  gentle,  with a soothing kind of softness  &  Harold utterly,  HELPLESSLY,  melted.  Worries  &  fears dissolving entirely,  he reciprocated in kind,  curious  &  now confident,  but at a GRADUAL pace that was simply  ... perfect.  The feeling of Renard’s hand carefully  resting at the back of Harold’s neck did something TIGHT  &  twisting  within his heart—–an attempt to PREVENT extra nerve pain.  Letting go of his own  jacket in order to REACH OUT  &  curl his fingers into Renard’s jacket lapel,  Harold was once again dangerously  close to completely losing track of TIME ( especially  as Renard’s fingers lightly threaded throughout the short hair at the back of Harold’s head,  eliciting the SLIGHTEST shiver ).

It had technically  been MORE  than just one kiss as,  just like their conversations,  kissing was quite  addictive—–but they managed to part,  STILL lingering close.  Harold exhaled,  his breath barely wavering  &  the words slipped  out of his mouth before he was able to think BETTER of them,

 ❝ That ... was more than one, ❞

The light,  TEASING edge of his tone was followed by a quick  upward curve of lips ;  albeit,  this time,  the wideness of it lingered  a couple seconds longer before somewhat SHRINKING.

[fatherofmachine-a]

41. Resting foreheads together ( could be so not platonic xoxo )  for Reese via @thewhiirlwind​ | PLATONIC TOUCH MEME !!

CALLOUSED fingers dragged  against the back of Harold's neck,  against raised surgical scars  &  it elicited a LIGHT shiver  to move up his spine.  His shoulders pressed  against one of the doors in the library that was only a foot away from the caged gate  &  he STAYED there because John had slowly,  carefully,  backed him into it.  Fingers CURLED into John's white dress shirt at his sides,  hands having slid  beneath the crisp,  black suit jacket that adorned John’s torso.

Harold was CERTAIN that John had easily  figured out that he quite ENJOYED the feeling of his neck being touched.  He also  knew that the gesture was a PROTECTIVE one,  to prevent any added pain.  When he realized this,  it nearly left Harold’s heart aching.  Harold was GRATEFUL for it as,  being pressed  against a hard surface would normally cause EXTRA pain,  likely sharp stings of cold  pain.  He would be able to manage it with extra  effort,  but .... what he was feeling NOW was normal,  relatively easy  to fade somewhat into background static.

After the accident,  his neck was a place he’d GUARDED quite fiercely  &  he’d initially ( perhaps SUBCONSCIOUSLY ? ) decided not to let anyone  make contact there,  if he could HELP it.  The fact that Harold ALLOWED it,  let alone encouraged  it spoke volumes of the DEPTH of the emotion that John Reese elicited from him. 

He seemed,  SOMEHOW,  to know intuitively exactly  how to make Harold MELT into him,  how to leave his breath  catching within his throat.  John’s kisses had gradually eased  into something INCREDIBLY intense,  but never too fast.  In fact,  the pace of it all was almost MADDENING,  only heightened with the deep,  almost SUFFOCATING affection,  fondness,  l o v e,  that washed  over him in continuous waves.  

Harold had been SO TERRIFIED of anything  like this for such a long time  &  he STILL was,  despite how these fears had begun to fade.  He had NO DOUBTS that they would never fully  vanish—–his existence was putting people he cared about in danger.  At this level of emotional investment,  losing John would cause an unbearable amount of pain that he wasn’t certain he could survive.  His love for Grace still quietly burned,  like a carefully hidden  &  cared for candle .... it was painful to think of her  &  he could never go back.  These were FEARS  &  concerns  that,  while they still caused stings of pain  &  anxiety,  Harold had mostly made PEACE with them.  As much as he could.

One hand RETREATED from its hiding place beneath John's jacket to slide upward,  thumb dragging  against his partner’s jaw whilst fingers GENTLY slid through dark tresses at the back of John's neck.  With his other hand,  Harold gradually  pulled him in closer,  dark brows TENSING with the intensity  of the emotion he was feeling.

Harold's breathing was somewhat  heavy as they finally broke apart to BREATHE,  each mildly  shaky exhale followed by DEEP inhales.  John leaned forward to press  their foreheads together,  the gesture eliciting a TIGHT warmth  to unfurl within Harold’s chest  &  blue eyes fluttered closed.  John’s voice LIFTED between them after a brief pause,  soft  &  somewhat raspy,  but also now containing a quiet undercurrent of breathy DESIRE.  The sound of it caused Harold’s next exhale  to come out a great deal more shakily than he’d INTENDED.

❛ Come back to my place tonight ? ❜

Brows LIFTING,  Harold licked his lips briefly before barely  nodding his head  &  offering a quiet,

 ❝ I’d really  like that. ❞

[fatherofmachine-a]

@yourlovingspy​​ |›PLOTTED STARTER

A DULL-SOUNDING clang  rang out as a thermal coffee carafe collided with the back of the man’s head—–it was the closest  thing at hand  &  Mr. Sherman had given Harold very little time  &  not much choice as,  he’d begun to reach for his firearm.  THANKFULLY,  dusk had begun to descend  &  there weren’t  many people around within this particular part of the city.  No cameras,  during a time where the area would almost be deserted  .... 

Steven Sherman seemed like a relatively ORDINARY person,  working at a department store handling the shipments of goods through airline,  train,  trucking  &  boat—–but he’d been using this travel  &  access to do very distressing  jobs for whomever would pay.  He eventually accumulated a close group of TRUSTED cohorts (  or,  as trusted  as one can get within organized crime )  &  eventually  they’d been contracted to build dirty bombs for terrorists.

EVAN PARIS had apparently stopped them,  having to KILL Mr. Sherman’s team members but unfortunately,  Sherman was left alive to hold a grudge.  As there wasn’t  a reasonable explanation for Mr. Paris to be connected to various AVERTED acts of terror as a system security analyst,  Harold had quickly begun to suspect  that Even Paris WAS NOT who he appeared to be.

He’d realized the social security number he’d received was an ALIAS shortly after looking into Mr. Paris’ finances.  Unless he’d decided to purchase human necessities purely  in cash he had stashed somewhere,  this identity WAS NOT a real one.

As the man crumpled  to the ground,  a GRIMACE  briefly flickered across Harold’s features whilst the hand clutching  the coffee thermal sunk to rest at his side.  Having moved as QUICKLY as his damaged body would allow,  Harold’s breath now escaped in somewhat heavy gasps as if he were WINDED.  Familiar sharp,  tingling pain had long-since settled into his lower back  &  left leg  &  NOW it was considerably more agitated.  His upper body,  in contrast,  was mostly engulfed in a vague,  dull ache which was MANAGEABLE,  but a little  sharper as he’d used a great deal of upper body strength.  Glancing upward,  dark brows lifting with emphasis as thin lips parted,  Harold’s voice drifted between them with a light undercurrent  of authority.

 ❝ Mr. Paris—–I’m afraid  we don’t have TIME for explanations at the moment,  but as I’m sure you can surmise,  somebody’s trying to KILL you.  I can help  you,  but for the time being—– ❞

Harold lowered his gaze,  moving to step OVER his victim  &  taking a couple limping  strides to set the coffee thermal down upon one of the outside tables.  Pausing to glance around them with a touch  of unease,  he continued,

 ❝ We should go.  ❞

[fatherofmachine-a]

It's only been two nights since they got Finch back from Root and he was tapping his fingers at 2 AM while trying to convince himself not to go and physically check in on Finch. It was hard not to. He debated for several minutes before lifting a hand to his ear wig and clicking it on. "You there, Finch?"  @the-man-in-the-suit​

While for the MOST part Harold had begun to ... adjust  as best he could,  sleeping soundly was still only a concept  now.  A concept that was DIFFICULT to reach beyond three,  sometimes  four hours.  Abrupt,  LOUD sounds from the city bellow still made him flinch  ( MUCH  to his damaged vertebrate's  displeasure as,  every sharp jerk of muscle left an equally sharp burning PANG that ebbed into a long-lasting ache  ).

Harold had managed to get a few hours,  but he CONTINUED to see things lurking within the shadows  that weren’t there.  His mind continued to drift towards thoughts that left ANXIETY scraping  against his nerves ;  the sound of Denton Weeks’  pleas to be let down as his shoulders popped out of place,  the things Root had said that had REMINDED Harold of their similarities,  the sound of a gunshot far  too close,  his rising wave of PANIC as she’d drugged  him into being almost helpless,  the sting of the needle in his neck—–

John’s voice DRAGGED him out from the panic  that was again starting to pull him in  &  he was incredibly  relieved.  Harold inhaled SLOWLY,  attempting to ease the tremble that had begun to seep  into his breathing  &  blue eyes dropped downward whilst tension he hadn’t noticed simply MELTED away.

  ❝ Always,  Mr. Reese. ❞

Harold’s voice sounded QUIET,  tired,  but still a little guarded.  He SHOULDN’T feel the need  to guard himself from John,  not anymore,  but ... old habits die hard.

 ❝ Something on your mind ? ❞

[fatherofmachine-a]

@anoutlicr |‣ PLOTTED STARTER

 ❛ I'm  afraid you have me at a DISADVANTAGE ... Mr. Crane,  is it ?  You know something about me but I know nothing about you. ❜

What a SURREAL moment this was. Mr. Crane  sat patiently,  palms settled flat upon the small table top  ( both index fingers barely touching  ) as he held the gaze of someone he once  knew,  sitting across from him.  He hadn’t been ENTIRELY certain initially,  but with the first glimpse  of Elias’ body language up close,  Harold knew.  Blue eyes NARROWED minimally whilst the last three fingers of his right hand lifted with vague emphasis,

 ❝ The man I work  with ?  He saved the LIFE of someone close to you.  CHARLIE BURTON, ❞

He paused briefly then, uncertainty  digging it’s claws into him,  pulling him BACKWARD before he revealed something far more dangerous.  However,  they were now in a controlled environment—–&  DESPITE who Elias had now become,  seeing him,  holding his gaze  &  listening to him speak .... Harold had a difficult time imagining that he would use anything AGAINST him.  In fact,  revealing the truth  could bring forth quite the efficient alliance  &  he suspected that Elias would see it,  too.

They had been friends,  once.  They’d been something else,  too,  something similar but altogether DIFFERENT.  Even into middle age,  he had a difficult time naming things,  labeling them like most people did.  Pristine lines  &  levels that separated specific feelings ;  Harold desperately  wished,  sometimes,  that it could be that easy for him,  but ...

 ❝ Or,  perhaps you’ll remember a mutual  friend .... HAROLD ?  ❞

The EXCESSIVE URGE to avert his gaze nearly swallowed him whole,  but Harold pushed back against  it.  By mutual friend,  he OF COURSE  was speaking of himself,  but he assumed Elias would pick up on that almost immediately.  Head tilting minimally  whilst his expression remained under TIGHT control to appear .... curious,  but ultimately neutral,  Mr. Crane  watched Elias closely,  waiting.

[fatherofmachine-a]

@myxcenterxstage |‣ PLOTTED STARTER

The CLANG !!  of metal against skull  &  bone cut  through the room,  followed by a heavy THUD as the assassin fell to the ground,  unconscious.  The previous times things had ended this way (  one or two times ),  it had been someone like a security guard of some sort,  someone who was simply at the WRONG place  &  the wrong time.  Harold would be inclined to APOLOGIZE,  technically to no one  considering they were seldom conscious to hear him—–but he felt NO such inclination with a person who was about to murder  an innocent person for financial gain.

Priscilla Kimbleton was simply the HEIR for her Uncle’s multi-billion dollar corporation,  a corporation where meticulous plans were set in motion to usurp it’s leadership.  Harold had received Miss Kimbleton’s number as well as her Uncle’s,  Thomas Kimbleton.  They had come for Priscilla first,  given they believed she would be an EASY target.  Infuriating the corporation was simple enough once Harold had bought just enough shares of the company to be NOTICED  &  eventually contacted for a meeting.

NOW he stood,  slightly  breathless as he returned the vase to it’s place on the shelf.  The vigorous movements to get  him here soon enough  (  along with the FORCE he’d just had to use to knock the man unconscious )  had begun to take a toll on damaged vertebrae  &   nerves,  the familiar pain searing throughout his limbs.  It made breathing  a little more difficult,  but he hadn’t the time to DWELL on it. 

Brows LIFTING with emphasis as their gazes met,  Harold began,

 ❝ You don’t know  me,  but I’m here to HELP.  We’ve got to get you out  of here. ❞