#chernobylhbo fanfiction

[sad-lad-posts]

A Ghost from the Past (Valana AU)

[solli-sun]

[dank-hp--memes]

A Companion: Chapter 3 (i think...)

So I obviously haven't been writing lately. I just spend all of my free time doing calculus... so... here is something.

Valery was snapped back to reality by a soft groan and Ulana moving in his lap, her hands held her lower belly and her lips parted to allow short breaths in and out. Tears rolled down her cheeks before she leaned back against Valery. He looked down at her belly and felt tears begin to well in his eyes. He knew even the slightest of movements caused Ulana to be in extreme pain and discomfort. Their child caused her an immense amount of agony, and slowly, it was killing her. Her body leaned against Valery limply as she took in deep breaths just as the pain dulled to the level she normally endured. There had been a particularly violent movement from within her womb. Valery gently rubbed the side of her belly, his chin resting on Ulana's shoulder. He pressed his nose to the crook of her neck, letting out a soft sob. Seeing her in pain was one of the hardest things for him, for there was little he could do to take away her pain.

It takes two to make a baby, but Valery could not help but feel responsible for the immense amount of pain she was in. His heart ached for her, for she was his other half. She was his soulmate and he knew they were meant to be together, one way or another.

Eventually, Ulana gently reached up and ran her boney fingers through what was left of his hair. Valery sniffled and managed to smile somberly at her. He could not help but wonder how their life together could have been different if Valery had stuck to the party line. Would she have hated him for it? Would she have aborted the child, unable to fathom being with him again? Would she have even told him about the baby? Sure he would have had his 'freedom' but would he have had his happiness? Ulana seemed to be the only source of true happiness in his life. Before her, Valery's life had been dull and colorless, for he had always spent his days alone. All of that changed when he met Ulana, for she was someone who could understand him, and her presence made his life more interesting to say the least.

A few hours passed, Ulana had gotten up and moved to a rather plush armchair that Valery had next to the window. She had fallen asleep there, sitting in the sunlight. Sasha had crawled onto Ulana's belly and proceeded to lay down, purring quietly. Valery watched her for a while. She looked extremely peaceful, her feet propped up on a small ottoman that matched the chair. The chair reclined a little, and it was at just the right angle to keep Ulana comfortable, besides the fact that her uterus was squishing her organs as she seemed to slowly wither away, her life shortened by the little life she grew within her. Valery smiled solemnly and proceeded to cover her with a blanket, which disturbed Sasha a little, but she returned to her rightful place on Ulana's large and swollen belly. Valery smiled solemnly as he brushed a few grey hairs off of Ulana's pale face.

Out of nowhere, there was a gentle knock on the door that made Valery jump. He glanced over at the door for a moment before approaching it. He pulled open the door to see his neighbour, Maritza, or Mara. She had been a nurse for the longest time before she became too old. She was a Polish woman, who had grown up. Mara was quiet and hated socializing, but she had quickly befriended Valery when he had been moved into this new, small apartment. She was on the tall side for a woman, but her frame was rather slim. She smiled kindly at Valery, her deep-set, coffee coloured eyes glimmering at him. She held up a small tray of tea and biscuits. Valery nodded and silently let her in, so as not to disturb Ulana. Somehow, Mara always had the most exquisite tea. The scent of an extravagant earl grey Mara had brewed filled the apartment, making Ulana stir slightly.

"I noticed you had a visitor" Mara whispered as she set the tea tray down on the table. 

Valery smiled and nodded response, feeling embarrassed.

"She is my… my lover…" Valery said, struggling to find the right word to describe his relationship with Ulana. 

Mara raised an eyebrow and glanced at Ulana before shaking her head, holding back a laugh.

"Your Lover?" She said chuckling softly.

"My… My soulmate" Valery whispered.

His heart began to ache horribly as he looked over at Ulana.

Mara chuckled a little. Valery knew that this woman did not believe in soulmates. Her whole life had been fairly rough, to say the least. He was roused from his thoughts by light footsteps. The strong scent of tea must have roused Ulana, for she was now making her way to the table. Valery watched as Mara went to Ulana's side, helping her silently to the table. Ulana groans a little, her hand resting on her belly. Mara looks at her, examining her closely. Ulana sits back in the chair, gingerly rubbing the side of her belly. Ulana looked at Mara silently, studying the older woman. She did not know that Valery's neighbours were allowed to speak with him, let alone come into his apartment. Mara grinned a little already liking Ulana and they had yet to exchange even the simplest of hellos.

[letsriottogether]

Silence, part 4 (Chernobyl fanfic)

Can also be found here: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19868920/chapters/47678032

Pairing: Valana, Ulana Khomyuk/Valery Legasov Characters: Ulana Khomyuk, Valery Legasov, Boris Scherbina, KGB Charkov, Sasha the Cat Warning: Strong language for now, who knows what will be later *hysterical laughter*

Big thank you for all comments and kudos/likes. And one special one to @dank-hp--memes for keeping up with my freaking out, calmly checking my Czech English and not killing me in the process. ________________________________

Moscow, present time He stirs in his sleep, turns from one side to another. Sasha is too annoyed, as she wants her peace for sleeping. She already gave up hours ago and went to the living room, most likely finding a comfortable spot on the sofa.

That's the tricky thing with the human mind. You can keep it occupied during the day as much as you want, push all the unwatned thoughts away as you practiced god knows how many times. But when the night comes, when darkness swallows you and your stupid little barriers you built up to stay sane, you have to face the reality of your own thoughts.a

During the day, there were many things Valery Legasov had to deal with. The agents who did not even bother with hiding themselves, the loneliness, the loss of his name, of normal life, of any possible projects he could ever work on, of his friends and Boris, the loss of...

He forbade himself to speak her name out loud. But his mind and soul are against him, whispering it in quiet moments, bringing the memories back instead of dreams.

 Pripyat, Polissya hotel, 2.5. 1986

Boris’ words still echo through him, the realization hitting him hard, that even though they were sent here as the chosen ones to solve this mess, their government didn’t trust them anyway. He felt almost offended for a moment. He was here, here, in the middle of nowhere with bloody reactor melting down, without any chance to say no (he knew that right after Scherbina’s phone call that first day) and most likely with zero chance to make it out of here with higher life expectancy than 5 years.

He’s standing at the edge of the stairs leading to the hotel they’re staying in. Hotel, that just a day ago was bursting with life, just like the city around him. He inhales the crisp spring air, it’s gotten a bit cooler after the sunset. He takes a look around and cannot help but feel almost in a weird dream. The street lamps are shining throughout the whole city, but all the windows in the houses are dark. Cars parked along the streets, at some places there is even laundry on the balconies, simply waiting for anyone to come, fold it and put it back into the wardrobe, where it belongs. Except that no one is ever coming back to these homes. There’s this weird heavy silence, only the wind is whispering in the trees. A chill runs down his spine, so he turns around and enters the hotel lobby.

The carpet swallows every sound of his shoes as he walks further towards the reception. Now he misses the natural sound of the wind because inside, there’s nothing. Only sometimes buzzing of the lights. He passes big glass door and sees Ulana sitting at the empty bar, all by herself, deep in thought, scribbling something on the yellow napkins.

He’s not entirely sure if it’s her or if it’s the urge not to be alone right now. It doesn’t matter, he strides with his long steps until he’s right at her, gingerly leaning against the bar. There’s a bottle of vodka and two glasses right in front of her, which surprises him. Has she been expecting him to come?

He can feel her shift her attention from the scribbles underneath her hands to him, but he doesn’t dare to look her in the eyes, not just yet. She tilts her head down again, pen still in motion. He actually welcomes the possibility of a drink, so he takes one of the glasses and reaches for the bottle, as she gestures with an almost unnoticeable motion for him to go ahead, neither of them saying a word. It feels weird to call her ‘comrade Khomyuk’, and Ulana seems familiar. For some reason, he knows making this woman angry could be fatal, even more than looking into a reactor core.

He pours himself one and notices for the first time that the glasses are bigger than the ones the waitress served him yesterday. Good. He pours himself one, puts the bottle back and turns his body to her, the smell of lilies attracting him much more than he would like to admit. Suddenly she has mercy and is the one to break the silence, never even bothering with his name. Maybe she was contemplating the same, just like him?

“You’ve seen that?” her voice is almost monotonous, pushing a piece of paper with all sorts of readings and numbers to him and focusing on her equations again.

“The fuel is melting faster than we expected,” her voice softens and gives away her exhaustion.

He doesn’t need to see the bloody paper again, he still has all the important numbers in front of his eyes, as he was reading it over and over again since he was handed this report. He turns his back to the white paper as if it would disappear if he would ignore it long enough. But that’s not how the world know. And science? With science, you can do all sorts of estimates and then the reality is different. In this case, much faster.

“I know. I have a plan,” he replies glancing for a moment at her, leaning with his back against the bar. The half-empty glass lays casually in his hand, as if they were just a man and a woman in any normal bar, anywhere else in the world, chatting about things a man and a woman can chat about.

“Heat exchanger, I hope,” He knows this unperturbed tone very well, as he’s using it with his students from time to time, awaiting their solution of the problem that is more than apparent. It irritates him as if she knew the solution all along and impatiently has been waiting for him to pick up the speed with her.

“Yes,” he says, stressing that one word maybe too much. But he cannot help it, this woman is driving him mad. Ever since she first stumbled into the room with Pikalov right back at her, out of his breath, there was something in her that kept him on his toes. She was there, in the back of his mind and he would find his mind curiously wandering to her throughout the day. She was smart, there was no doubt about it. And the way she acted, all sure and confident, it was impossible to dismiss her, and God knows what a shame it would be. She had a mouthful of what to say, it was apparent, and yet she did not waste words, going straight to the point.

He glances over her shoulder, turning his body to her, the sweet light scent of lilies hitting his nostrils again. He doesn’t know it yet, but this smell has already burnt deep into his memory, connecting her presence with it. Yet now he forcefully pushes it aside, concentrating on the formulas and calculations she put together. Why the hell did she not get a notebook? Since when did people stop writing their names and phone numbers on napkins and switched to nuclear physics equations?

One glance and she doesn’t fail the impression she built herself. Oh, she’s good. Already thinking ahead, asking the same question just like him. He feels almost proud, knowing he thinks in the same patterns as she does. A tiny smile appears for a moment on his lips

“There’s something I’ve wanted to ask you, comrade, but I see you’re already asking yourself the same question,” his eyes wander back and forth from her face back to the napkins, until she puts her glasses down and finally looks at him. His heart skips a beat, he has no idea why. He’s just glad the vodka has finally started to kick in, as her blue eyes glue themselves to him.

“Why did it explode?” He only nods in response, his gaze curiously exploring her face. The tired eyes that hide the hunger for truth, small wrinkles around her witty mouth (and he wonders what she looks like when she smiles), the dark auburn hair in contrast to her porcelain skin. With these looks, no wonder she’s so cold and hard. Their male colleagues must have been hard on her. She’s a beautiful woman now, he doesn’t even want to know how she looked a few years ago (and yet he knows this thought will occupy his mind in the upcoming days, in order to ease the stress of the task he’s here to do). And her smart brain to make the combination deadly.

“I’ve worked the numbers over and over, presuming the worst possible conditions in an RBMK reactor. And I always get the same answer,” Her eyes don’t leave this, not even for a single moment, as the air gets thicker around them. Not only she has a sharp tongue, these two orbs tell a story of their own.

“Which is?” he whispers, already knowing the answer.

“It’s not possible,”

“And yet…” he shakes his head a bit, his mind going through the possible things that could have gone wrong that fateful night.

“You’re not going to solve this here,” he says and the way she drops her gaze down, he can tell she’s holding her breath, suddenly looking up at him through her eyelashes, ready to fight him if he would want to send her away. He moves closer and her body responses on her own, shifting towards him immediately.

“Not on paper,” she can feel herself relax again. He’s got more to say, but she already knows the most important thing - she’s part of this and he understands that, appreciates that and doesn’t intend to dismiss her help.

“Everyone who was in the control room, Dyatlov, Akimov, Toptunov. They’re all in Moscow, Hospital Nr. 6,” he watches her closely as he speaks, seeing the spark in her eyes setting up a fire, a hunger for the chase to find out the truth. “We need to find out exactly what happened that night. Moment by moment, decision by decision,” and he knows she’s the only person who he can trust, who won’t miss a single hesitation of the personnel. And at the same time wonders how it happened that he trusted this woman so quickly without any doubt.

“Go now, while they’re still alive, talk to them. Because if we don’t find out how this happened, it will happen again,” he gulps down the rest of his vodka, the acrid taste of alcohol spreading in his mouth.

She’s deep in thought, already going through a list of questions she must not skip, of the clothes and protection she mustn’t forget (as if it would make any difference after being here). His voice is hoarse when he speaks again, turned into a whisper:

“And Khomyuk… Be careful,” he says, remembering the whole conversation with Boris earlier. Because as much as Ulana is smart, he cannot help but feel there’s certain naivety in how this world, their world, works. He gives her one last glance and decides it is better to go to his room, the vodka seeping more and more through his system, while her eyes are burning to his soul. He needs her to find the truth, that’s correct, but he also cannot help but feel relieved that she won’t be here, that she might live a bit longer. One life that he might not waste away here, and there’s the small little feeling hiding inside of him, spreading warmth that it’s her life he gets to save. He decides it’s just the alcohol, for the sake of their situation. There’s no place for this, as much as he’d like to know how soft her hair would be under his touch.

He walks briskly to the elevator, suppressing the need to turn around and look at her one more time (what would he say, anyway?) and mutters a silent thank you when the elevator bell rings and the door open at once. When inside, he presses his forehead against the lining of the cabin. So much for his curiosity about Ulana Yuriyevna Khomyuk.

It’s well past midnight when he finally gives up on trying to fall asleep. For the last two hours, he was just restlessly rolling around in his bed, every now and then taking a gulp from the bottle of vodka he placed on his nightstand. It seemed like a good idea, or at least he hoped that the alcohol would cloud his mind enough to help him fall asleep. He sighs and rubs his face in frustration, finally giving up. He swings his legs over the edge of the bed, getting up in a swift motion. He turns on the lamp on the bedside table so he’s able to search for his pack of cigarettes, finding it completely empty. Great.

He could talk himself down, wait for the morning and have a cigarette then when he picks up a new pack downstairs. But he simply needed one now.

And it’s definitely not because the smell of cigarettes helps him get the scent of lilies, reminding him of her, out of his mind. Because it’s not working anyway.

He puts on his jacket, not even bothering to change out of his sleeping clothes. The light in the hallway is hurting his eyes, almost blinding him. He makes his way downstairs, determined to get himself a new fresh pack of cigarettes when he sees her. She’s no longer stooping over her notes, she’s just sitting there, with her back to the bar, looking into the distance. She doesn’t even notice the elevator ring. He’s taken aback, he did not expect anyone to be here at this hour, suddenly being aware of the clothes he’s wearing. His gaze fixates on her, she’s sitting straight, almost like in school, but there’s that elegance and greatness shining from her posture. Her right leg is swinging lightly in the air, the rest of her body staying still. He studies her face for a moment, her expression showing she’s lost deep in thought. He’s glad she didn’t notice him yet, as he still remembers the intense look in her blue eyes. He ponders for a moment if he should just go back to his room, but then something breaks in him. He needs to take the step outside of his comfortable bubble. Maybe this might be the first one.

He makes his way over to the bar, just like a few hours ago. She notices him in the corner of her eye, a small smile spreading on her lips. Is this woman ever surprised? He reaches down on the counter, blindly searching before his fingers grasp the familiar box. He pops himself up on the barstool next to her, searching for lighter in his pocket before lighting a cigarette, staring at the sight of the empty city in front of them just like her.

“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, his voice raspy. She chuckles and looks at her hands, joined in her lap.

“Too many things happening, too many questions inside my hand. Too many things I’m going over and over in my head, reminding myself I mustn’t forget them,”

“Such as?” he puffs out the blue cloud of cigarette smoke. He can feel that the atmosphere between them has changed. He doesn’t know whether it’s the lack of sleep, the late-night hour or something else. But now it’s so much easier just to talk to her, and he can say she feels the same.

“Calling my colleagues that I have no idea when I’m coming back. What safety protection to bring to the hospital with me. What questions to ask the men from the control room. What to tell them if they ask how are the others doing,” she starts naming all the things whirling in her head, her voice trailing off, realising she could never be able to name all of it. She finally turns to him, eyeing him from head to toe.

“Do you always dress so fancy when going out, comrade?” she is amused and for the first time, he sees her smile properly, even though her question is confusing him.

“You think I’m taking a walk outside?” he asks, one of his eyebrows shifting up.

“I don’t know, I thought you would be the type,” she waves her hand in an indefinite gesture. She turns around, pouring both him and herself a shot, pushing the full glass to him.

“You guessed right, but not tonight. Normally when I can’t sleep I do go out, enjoy the empty streets, observing the sleeping city… I’m sorry, I’m babbling, don’t mind me,” he quickly ends his sentence, gulping the rest of his vodka, surprised at how easily the words left his lips.

“No, don’t apologize. It’s actually nice to have a conversation about something else than melting reactors for a moment, as ridiculous as it might seem,” she replies, finishing her glass as well. Blimey, she loves having around someone who can catch up with the thoughts that fly inside her brain at the speed of light. This fact has made the grim circumstances under they’ve met a bit less overwhelming. He would test her every now and then, just like she would do with him, pushing each other for better result. They’ve been doing that ever since the discussion about the bubble poolers.

But now, she simply wanted to talk about life for a moment, not about the dangerous dance to prevent death. Her determination isn’t gone, oh no, but she realizes that if she wants to make it through this hell without going crazy, she will need to talk, to share, not to hold it back inside of her. And somehow she feels he might be able to understand much more than her words.

Today when she visited the site of the blown-up reactor, she had a weak moment, not believing her own eyes. The readings of the result she performed from the dust on her lab’s window back in Minsk were terrifying, of course, but seeing the reactor building torn apart, black smoke coming out of it... Oh god, what have they done. She couldn’t help but notice Legasov watching her that whole time, reading the expression written all over her face. When she turned to look at him, she was expecting to see a sneer, but instead, his eyes were soft, full of understanding. In that very moment, she knew he felt the same when he arrived here. And seeing the same look mirroring in her face calmed him in a strange way.

He turns to her, takes the glass out of her hand, pouring them another shot. He decides to ignore the one is not such a good idea.

“When I can’t sleep, I usually go to the lab and just work, do some experiments, or just clean the beakers. This means I spend at work much more nights than I’m normally willing to admit myself, not even mentioning what about my colleagues,” she chuckles, remembering Dimitri catching her sleeping on Saturday. She takes a sip, the alcohol burning in her throat. She can pretend her skin is burning because of the same reason and dismiss the ridiculous feeling in her stomach after he took her glass from her hands. And she thought that puberty was long gone.

“Well, I’m sorry that there’s no lab here for you to hide in,” he smiles at her, eyes twinkling just a little. Is this how Valery Legasov is with women under regular circumstances or is it the vodka talking? Would he be like that if she met him someplace in Moscow?

“It’s ok, I can make peace with whatever is offered,”

“Even an empty hotel with few guarding soldiers, a grumpy party man and a scientist? Of course, the radiation is just a bonus,” he tries to joke but knows he failed miserably, only reminding them of the reason they’re here in the first place. But her reaction surprises him. She turns to him, places her hand over his wrist in a reassuring gesture, soft smile sprawled on her lips.

“Even that. I like my silence, and if I need to break it, now I know to whom should I go to,” her hand lingers on his for a brief moment longer and he realizes he’s holding his breath. He shifts his gaze from her blue orbs down to where they’re touching and she briskly moves her hand away. It was a simple gesture, and yet it felt like so much more.

She coughs a little, trying to find her voice again. “How is Moscow this time of year, anyway?”

He welcomes the sudden change of topic, as it helps him to focus on something else, needn’t worry what would be his next steps, or if it was even appropriate. Change of subject, how clever, saving them both.

“Typical spring. I would say it’s a bit warmer than here and a bit sunnier. I think you will love it,” he says, in his mind going back his past week in Moscow. Of course, he doesn’t spend much time outside. Usually, he’s in the institute, but he likes to observe and sometimes take a walk in the evening.

“Any places I should visit?” she asks as if she was going there for a vacation, knowing that most of the time she will be locked up in the hospital, listening to the voices of dying man. But she simply needs to pretend, at least in this moment.

“Khomyuk... Ulana… I was serious earlier in the evening,” he whispers urgently, suddenly frustrated and turns to face her. His forehead is wrinkled as he worriedly frowns at her. The use of her first name surprises her and gives her courage.

“I’m not a child Valery, nor a naive person. I know I’m going there to collect as much information as possible about a thing that’s classified and that most likely there will be people who won’t want me to know,” she says, head held high, as if she was already defending herself to some KGB agent. Where does she take so much inner strength and determination from? He tilts his head backwards and exhales.

“If anything should happen, anything, tell them you’re with me. Promise me that,” he keeps on insisting. There is a battle going on in her. It’s been a long time since someone acted so protectively over her she almost forgot how nice it can feel. But on the other hand, it was making her a bit irritated. She’s a grown-up woman for god’s sake, she’s been able to take care of herself up until now. But the look in Valery’s eyes shows how much this small promise means to him, so she decides to grant him this pleasure and nods.

Silence falls upon them again, when a clock somewhere at the reception starts ringing, announcing the late hour.

“I’m gonna go sleep now,” she says, sliding down the barstool and he follows her example. He grabs the napkins with her calculations and hands them to her. She smiles gratefully and puts them into a pocket of her sweater.

Once upstairs before they part ways to enter their rooms, he suddenly stops, walks over to her, leaning at her door frame.

“Will you lend me that pen of yours and one of the napkins?” he asks. She stops and thinks for a moment, not sure where this is heading. Is he going to check her calculations now? He could do it tomorrow morning during breakfast. She really needs to get some sleep, but gives them to him anyway.

He swiftly scribbles something down, napkin pressed up against the wall. And then she realizes - an address, his address. He turns back to her and returns her the napkin and pen.

“Third floor. My neighbour on the same floor, Alina Markina has a spare key. Feel free to stay there if you’d like, I bet it might be more comfortable than a hotel. And hopefully, it won’t be bugged yet. My cat could also use some company,” he knows he’s rambling now, saying too much unnecessary information and forcefully stops himself. She looks curious, interested even, he was expecting her to be dismissive, to be honest. And his hand suddenly lives in its own, softly caressing her cheek. She’s staring at him, those magnificent blue eyes glued to his, her lips slightly parted.

“Stay safe, Ulana,” he whispers and takes his hand back, his palm and fingers burning from where her his skin met hers.

And then just as suddenly as the moment appeared, it is gone just like the tension.

“Thank you, Valery,” she smiles up at him and opens the door to her room, flashing him one last look before disappearing inside. A warm feeling starts spreading through his body, and this time it’s not the alcohol. It’s something much more simple yet complicated at the same time. It’s happiness.

This time sleep finds him almost immediately.

“Goodnight, Ulana,”

Moscow, present

He wakes with her name on his lips, and as if only the act of saying it out loud makes him realize she won't be able to hear him ever again.

Let her be safe, please.

[words-are-fireproof]

Ад врунов || Hell to the Liars || Chap. 1

My muse has decided that the world needs an entirely AU reason as to why Valery Legasov was an awkward small bean and why Charkov’s list of Soviet actions Valery took previously doesn’t match up to who he was in the show. So, hi, hello, have a prologue. I don’t know what I’m doing at this point. Just saying. 

****

They ruled his death as death by hanging. They wouldn't say why or when, but it happened two years to the day of April 26, 1986. I was living in Minsk then, shrouded by the shadow of the KGB and my ever-watchful guard. I could not speak to him before he died. In fact, he believed me dead, killed by the Soviet machine.

How I wish I could've told him I was okay. Charkov made sure to make life miserable. He made it miserable for me and after what happened in Chernobyl at the show trial, he made his life just as miserable. Cut off from friends, from co-workers, from the people he'd known for years, and reduced to nothing more than a showpiece at Kurchatov, he'd had a hard life after April 26, 1986.

I remember him in his prime. Valery Alekseyevich Legasov. He was a fiery man. A Soviet party man through and through. Suave, confident in the party and those around him. Confident in the Kremlin, of which he served dutifully. He advanced himself in the party by denying Jewish scientists their advancements in their jobs.

I was one of those scientists. Eventually.

Lidiya Kuznetsov. My family called my Libby when I could speak to them.

We all have our reasons for doing the things we do. Mine was to protect my career, protect me, and provide for my family, all of which I couldn't have done had I been denied my rightful place at Kurchatov.

It's why I hid my Jewish heritage from everyone, the KGB, the Soviet machine, him. Valery. Beautiful, handsome, blue-eyed Valery. A man I should've hated but couldn't. He did what he did to survive just as much as I did the same.

In the weeks following his death, the truth about Chernobyl came to startling reality.

The graphite tips at the end of the control rods in the reactor were partially the cause of the devastating explosion which killed thousands of people and which would continue to kill thousands more as the years go on.

The official Soviet death toll? Thirty-one. A dismal and wholly untrue lie.

But we're all liars in some way, are we not? We're all the liars in someone else's story. My lie was my heritage. Their lie was the death toll and so many other things. -

Valery's lie was the one he told himself every day. Every day when he woke up, he told himself the same lie over and over again.

"The things I do don't affect me."

Lies affect us all. Lies affected him more than he ever could understand.

He was no better than the ones he judged, but he was mine and for however briefly I was his.

This is his story. How he went from suave, handsome, soviet party member to a disillusioned, lonely, and withdrawn scientist.

This is our story. The story of how one betrayal, one choice could destroy everything.

[sad-lad-posts]

What should I write? (ChernobylHBO)

Kinky oneshots with weird kinks/ideas

Or

Full well rounded stories

Or

Both...

[sad-lad-posts]

I have an Idea...

So I have an idea for a sort of Valana AU type thing. They meet at a conference abroad, go out for drinks, have crazy sex, and then, he doesnt see her again until the Chernobyl disaster.

So, what do Y'all think?

[sad-lad-posts]

Dark Oneshots: Chernobyl “Stolen Life”

This occurs after the first chapter of @dank-hp--memes “Pulling at Heartstrings” This contains dark content related to forced abortion and depression, READ AT YOUR OWN RISK.

 -------

Ulana came too a few hours after Charkov had left, her legs were in stirrups. A blonde man, obviously a KGB agent, was standing and supervising as an older, male, doctor prepared to numb Ulana’s cervix. Ulana began to squirm as what was happening became obvious.

“What is going on” she mumbled, still quite out of it.

A young and scared looking nurse approached Ulana.

“We are going to perform a D&C,” The nurse said sheepishly.

“No… No, I want to keep my baby” Ulana mumbled, beginning to struggle more.

“If she does not stop moving, I will not be able to numb her” The doctor said, getting frustrated with Ulana, who was already restrained.

The young nurse swallowed nervously, frozen to the spot. An older nurse, with a particularly cold expression, pushed past her and held Ulana down.

“Trust me, little kitten, you will want to be numbed for this” She grumbled in a very husky voice.

Tears began to roll down Ulana’s cheeks. The only thing she could say was, “I want to keep my baby.” The numbing did little to prevent the immense pain Ulana felt as the doctor began to scrape out the lining of her uterus. Ulana began to squirm again, the harsh restraints cutting into her arms and legs.

“No, please!” She screamed, overcome with an almost crippling pain.

Tears streamed down her pale cheeks as she continued to scream and squirm. She could feel as they tore the life from her womb. Ulana sobbed as hot and sticky blood began seeping from her as the doctor scooted back, removing his mask and gloves. At that moment, Ulana wanted to die with her baby, for she could not fathom continuing with her life. In a small tray lay the contents of her uterus that had just been scraped out. Ulana was still shouting and sobbing; even though, she could hardly hear herself. Her ears had begun ringing and the whitewashed room had begun spinning. Fear and anger had taken their hold on her, and she could not calm herself. The older nurse had quickly whisked away the tray, to keep from aggravating Ulana further. The blonde man quietly slipped from the room, as though he had never been there in the first place. The young nurse upped Ulana’s morphine a little, in the hope of calming her down. In the end, they sedated Ulana, for she would not stop screaming about her baby. As easily as the life had been planted within Ulana, it had been ripped out and extinguished.

Ulana awoke in the midst of the night, her stomach was cramping and the space between her legs was warm, sticky, and soaked with her blood. When she tried to sit up, the pain in her abdomen intensified. Her head was throbbing, and it felt as though she had a bad hangover. She laid there quietly as tears welled in her eyes. Her hand rested on her stomach, over her now desolate uterus. Her world seemed to have descended into chaos. It seemed, as though, all of the happiness had been extracted from her life with the loss of her child. It felt as though this was the end of the line. Was this truly what her life had come to?

Days passed and Ulana refused to move from the bed. She would not eat or drink, and anyone who came to visit was promptly turned away. She had become thin and sickly looking. Her skin was pale from blood loss, and her eyes looked dark and sunken in from lack of sleep. Originally, Ulana was seeking her own death. The doctor had tried prescribing her anti-depressants, but they did very little to help Ulana. It was not only depression that had overcome Ulana, for a deep rage now burned within her. Her anger was indescribable. She yearned to seek revenge. To make Charkov pay for what he had done, and to make him feel the pain that she felt. But her body defied her commands, and she just laid there, drowning in her anguish.

A few days turned into a week, Ulana’s condition had not improved much. She was now eating and drinking, but the portions were abysmal. She turned down almost every visitor. The only person she had allowed to see her was Dimitri. He was one of the few people Ulana knew could lift her mood.

After first laying his eyes on Ulana, Dimitri dedicated himself to helping her recover, for it was obvious that she had been through something unfathomable. He would come for hours on end every day to keep Ulana company. The first time he visited her, he held her for hours in his arms as she cried. He had been overwhelmed with worry when she had begun sobbing. He had never seen her cry before; at least, not like this.

As she recovered, Dimitri was the one who took Ulana home. Every day, Dimitri would either come to check in on her or call her, to ensure she did not need anything. It had been just over a month since Ulana had gotten home, she was extremely thin and sickly looking. She was eating, but not very much. She had resorted to consuming copious amounts of alcohol to dull her pain. Ulana believed that it would help, but her moments as a sober woman continuously became worse. Dark thoughts constantly swirled around her head, and Ulana felt as though she could not continue living.

It was afternoon, Ulana was curled up on the sofa and covered in a fluffy knit blanket. A bad hangover plagued her. She stared blankly at the hideous curtain’s that kept most of the light from filtering into her apartment. There was a gentle knock at the door. Ulana looked over at the door for a moment before forcing herself to get up and answer it. The gentle nature of the knock signified that it was likely not someone from the KGB. A list of names ran through her head as she wondered who was on the other side of the door. Upon opening the door, it seemed as if her heart had stopped. Standing just outside was Valery, and he was the last person she had expected to see. He had a cigarette resting between his lips. They stared at one another for a few minutes as Valery’s cigarette smoldered into nothing. Slowly, Valery wrapped his arms around Ulana and pulled her into a gentle hug. The sight of her in such a horrid state made his heart shatter. He could not begin to imagine what would have made her recede into such a state. Ulana was wearing a powder pink slip dress that would have hugged her once curvy body, but now it hung loosely around her frail frame. Valery held her bony body against him, stroking her hair gently. He could feel many of her protruding bones. This filled him with fear and worry. Ulana had begun to sob softly, her tears soaking into Valery’s jacket.

“What is wrong” Valery whispered as he continued to hold Ulana in his arms.

This question caused Ulana to sob violently, her grip on him tightening as the memory of the forced abortion flashed through her head. After a few moments, Valery managed to move them to the sofa where he sat, holding Ulana, who was still crying. Once she had managed to calm down, Ulana somehow managed to tell Valery about the baby, Charkov, and the abortion. Valery sat in silence, listening to her. He was hardly able to comprehend what he heard.

Once she had finished, Valery silently stood up and walked into the next room, a dark rage quickly building within him. He grabbed the almost empty bottle of Vodka and downed the rest of it before turning and throwing the bottle at the wall, causing it to shatter. In his fit of rage, Valery sent his fist flying through the drywall with a crunch. In those few moments, he wanted to make Charkov suffer, just like he had made Ulana suffer. Valery pulled his fist out of the wall and shook it off, his hand aching horribly. Valery ignored the pain in his hand and returned to Ulana’s side. Despite wanting to seek out Charkov and make him suffer, Valery knew that Ulana needed him now more than ever. Ulana looked numb and emotionless, and tears rolled down her pale cheeks. Valery sat down beside her and looked at her for a moment before laying her back on the sofa and enveloping her in a tight embrace. He planted soft kisses over Ulana’s chest, making his way up to her lips. Their lips locked in an absolutely suffocating kiss. Valery smothered her with his love, wanting to take all of her grief and pain upon himself.

“I love you” Valery whispered as they parted.

Ulana was sobbing as she managed to say: “I love you too”

Somehow, they managed to lay on Ulana’s sofa and cuddle. Valery never wanted to let go of her. He held her tightly against him, caressing her thin stomach with his thumb. He wanted to protect her and ensure her safety.

“We could still have a family… If you wanted” Valery whispered, as he rested his nose against the top of Ulana’s head.

A radiant yet somber smile that crossed Ulana’s face, for his words had filled her with hope. The idea of growing old with Valery after having a few children seemed better than the best of dreams. Valery could not help but smile. It was like he had breathed life back into Ulana, and the very sight of her smile caused Valery’s heart to ache.

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Turning my oneshots into a full fic???

So, I have written 2 chapters of (what was meant to be) a Valana oneshot. And it got some great responses. So, would you all like me to turn it into a fic?

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Losing you... where should this go?

Would you all like to read about Ulana's recovery from the accident in "Losing you" or would you like the story to follow something different. Let me know what you all think 😊

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SEND ME YO SHIT!

I am open to people anonymously sending me story prompts and ideas in my asks. I was them to be INSANE. I am running low on inspiration and have about 4 half finished oneshots that are extremely shit. So shoot me your ideas and I'll see that I can do... (and yes they will likely all be Valana oneshots or stories...)

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Looking for Editors!

Hello all, I am looking for anyone who would like to read, review, and edit my works when I write them. It can be anyone. I'll just talk with you a bit first to ensure you are the right person. Have a wonderful day.

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So I took an internet brake...

I took a break from the interwebs and I lowkey forgot what I've been writing about? So... you all got any suggestions?

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Story Suggestions

Hello everyone, I would like you all to leave me suggestions for what I should write. I am a big Valana shipper and am working on the continuation of the oneshot i have already posted. Your feedback is valued and i would love to hear your suggestions.

[solli-sun]

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