#impasse dubois

[fredericbrumby]

Les couleurs de la ville.

Mur

[silent-stories]

𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐀𝐇𝐔𝐈𝐙𝐎𝐓𝐋 - 𝐏𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝟏

Summary: When Y/N needs help on a hunt, she doesn't expect Bobby to send Dean Winchester to her. Now the two must work together to solve the case and Dean has to deal with Y/N's sarcastic and biting personality, that maybe he likes a little too much.

Pairing: Dean × F!Reader

Warnings: just some swearing

Word count: 2168

Series

It was early morning when Dean's phone rang in the motel room where the brothers were spending the night.

"Hello?" Dean said sleepily after glancing at Sam as he sat up on the bed next to his, his arm in a cast because of yesterday's hunt. He probably should have taken a break from work for a while.

“Dean, it's Bobby. I found you a case, well not me exactly.”

"Awesome! And I thought I could sleep for two hours in a raw."

"'Oh shut up. So, do you want this case or not?”

"What is it about?"

"I have no idea. Y/N called me, she says she's never seen anything like this, she needs backup."

"Y/N? Oh c'mon..."

She was an excellent hunter, a ruthless professional. A person perhaps a little too sarcastic and stubborn, of those who never admitted they were wrong even if they knew perfectly well they were.

"Don't complain. Y/N is a smart girl! And I know you like her even if you pretend you don't, okay?”

"What? No I…" Dean was interrupted by a low, mocking laugh.

"Okay, okay." He said rolling his eyes, even though Bobby couldn't see it. "Sam has a broken arm, he can't hunt like this."

His brother snorted.

"He can stay with me until you are dome with this hunt." Bobby replied.

Dean glanced at Sam, who didn't look really convinced.

"Okay. Where's Y/N?"

"Toledo, Ohio. You can find her at the Devil Return Motel, room 12."

Dean couldn't help but smile, he was sure she had chosen a motel with that name on purpose.

That fucking case had forced her to ask for help, something she didn't do often. Y/N was poring over everything she could glean from searches around the town but she couldn't come to a logical conclusion.

Bernard Dubois, the first victim, had been attacked in his residence and then deprived of all nails and eyes. Other pieces of flesh that appeared to have been bitten off the body were also missing.

Mark Stern, on the other hand, the second victim, seemed to have had less luck: this one had been found in the garden of his residence without teeth, in addition to nails and eyes.

Y/N had been in that town for two days now and that "thing" had already caused two deaths. One dead a day wasn't a good pace and she knew she couldn't do it alone.

When she heard a knock at the door she got up from the old brown couch and went to open it, expecting some old bearded and experienced hunter: she had specified to Bobby how weird this hunt was.

Protected by the chain, she opened the door a little, remaining impassive on seeing Dean.

Dean Winchester was one of the best hunters she'd ever met, hell maybe the best ever but working with him was always terribly difficult for both of them. But that didn't make her like him any less, she just had to put on a little show.

"Y/N, how long! Are you going to let me in or…?” and she closed the door again, almost slamming it in his face.

"Hey!" She heard him on the other side.

She rolled her eyes and moved the bolt so she could finally open the door. Moving away from the entrance they reached the center of the room.

"Don't you check that i'm not a monster or something?"

He asked surprised by such a... frivolous welcome.

When she turned to answer him, she looked up at the ceiling and Dean did the same.

"Anti-demon" nodded Dean seeing the pentacle painted in black. "I would have made it under the rug tho," he added, receiving a look that could have incinerated him instantly.

"What if I was something else?" He asked closing the door behind him.

“I've fitted a silver handle and the mirror says you're not a shapeshifter. Do you want to do your job now or do you want to continue humiliating yourself?” She smiled at him victorious, handing him the sheets with the newspaper articles.

A case with Dean Winchester. It was going to be a hell of a hunt.

Anyone in their right mind would have preferred to stay away from that manipulative and sometimes even seemingly selfish woman. Only apparently, Dean thought, he knew that behind that facade there was a part of her that she didn't show very often. Dean had known her for a long time, they had worked together several times, since before Sam left Stanford to go looking for John with him.

Dean dropped the bag on the mattress and walked over to the table covered in photos and documents, placing his hands on opposite sides of it, followed by Y/N.

On the table, photos and medical records continued to dance before her eyes, as if they were reproaching her incompetence.

"I'll set everything on fire once I find that son of a bitch" she muttered annoyed starting to move the sheets for the umpteenth time, so that they could compare the victims.

Origins, frequented places, age, job, physical traits: everything seemed to not coincide. This implied a lack of pattern.

"Which of the monsters we know prefers to eat the side dish rather than the main course?" She asked Dean, sometimes having the same sarcasm as someone else was an advantage.

Dean gave the papers one last look and then sat down on the edge of the bed. "Rugaru?" He tried passing the list over in his mind.

"A picky Rugaru? I doubt it" Y/N disagreed as she continued to stare at those papers which by now she knew by heart. “Besides, there were animals footprints at both crime scenes.”

"So-"

“Werewolves? Are you serious?" She anticipated him turning her head in his direction just to be able to throw him one of her "and I should collaborate with you?" looks.

“And I said animals footprints. More animals.”

She moved to what should have been the kitchen and picked up a book she'd forgotten on the counter while taking a snack break from her research. She threw it at him without even a warning, at least he still had quick reflexes.

"Otters" she anticipated him again when he saw him open the book, helped by the post-it that marked the offending page.

"Otters? Are you kidding me?" Dean gave her a questioning and somewhat incredulous look.

“Not this time. Otters and dogs" she added, opening the mini bar to get a beer just for her. Little sense of welcome, definitely.

She felt like she was playing Guess Who, but it was a very long and definitely not funny game.

Dean leafed through the book and then went back to reading the documents scattered on the table.

"C'mon, Sherlock. I'm sure you can do it." he teased him opening her beer and taking a long drink.

In both cases the men had been deprived of eyes and nails, feet and hands.

"What creature prefers eyeballs to human flesh?" He asked to himself, trying to remember if he had ever read anything like this in John's journal. Obviously he knew those pages, every note that John had written had been assimilated in a short time during his father's absence. So he was pretty sure John Winchester's diary wasn't going to help him. To make sure, however, he decided to take a quick look.

He sat back on the bed, and pulled his source of information from his duffel bag, the thing that had kept Sam and Dean going all those years. He leafed through it quickly but carefully until he reached the last page. He closed the journar, resigned and he sighed.

"Well, that's weird," he said. "Did the two gentlemen here have absolutely nothing in common?"

"As far as I know, no," Y/N answered after sipping his beer, shrugging. “One of them even lived outside Toledo.”

"But his body was found dead here, right?" the man asked again. Y/N nodded.

"Nah! There must be something. There's always something." He put the diary back in the bag and returned to concentrating on the documents of the victims. He turned to look at the girl, his eyes narrowed.

"Did you check if the two guys knew each other?" he asked, receiving only a suspicious silence in response.

From her guilty expression, he knew perfectly well that the idea hadn't even crossed her mind.

Dean chuckled amused and also very pleased.

“I take that as a no,” he said, patting her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, it happens to the best of us."

He turned away from her and went to arrange his things on the couch in the corner of the room.

“Tomorrow morning we're going to talk to the families of these two. Now it's late and we should sleep."

If she could, she would have hit herself.

How could she not think of such a thing? She had focused so much on love matters to understand if it could be a passionate revenge that she had totally forgotten to ask their families for confirmation. She knew everything about the lives of those fucking dudes and not if they knew each other.

And did you need a Winchester get it? She admonished herself inwardly, shaking her head.

Y/N glanced at Dean as he dropped his dark red shirt and T-shirt on the back of the armchair in front of the couch. “So, do you wanna sleep or not? I bet you haven't slept in at least fifty hours.”

He, on the other hand, hadn't slept for three days. He had had a very difficult case that had given him a hard time and he had also had to take Sam to the hospital, which hunters only did when things were really bad and he had been in the waiting room for hours and then returned at the motel with a pissed off Sam about his arm in a cast.

He hadn't even had time to close his eyes before he got Bobby's call, which was why he was there now.

“You don't need to worry about me, Dean. I have to get some stuff ready for tomorrow." Y/N retorted without even glancing at him, busy fiddling with fake FBI badges.

«No offence, sweetheart, but you don't look really good» insisted Dean, also stripping of his jeans to freely remain half naked. "You should sleep."

«Never as much as you, love. With those dark circles you have, even the monster we're dealing with would run away» she retorted choosing the most suitable badge for that case and leaving it on the table.

"Now shut up and sleep." she said firmly trying to convince him.

But Dean didn't seem to want to listen to her. Of course, he wanted to sleep and send her to hell but he just couldn't do it knowing that she stayed awake when she needed to sleep too.

Y/N fumbled some more with the things in her bag and then turned back to Dean, finding him still wide awake, staring at her.

She huffed, finally giving in and Dean had to hide a smile.

“You're a real pain in the ass, you know that?” She complained as she began to pull off her shoes, followed by her socks and jeans.

"I take the couch?" Dean said uncertainly as she pulled on an extra large t-shirt.

“Didn't you say you wanted to sleep? Well, I assure you that it's impossible to sleep on that couch» she shook his head as he approached the bed and lifted the sheets. «I don't bite, Dean» she invited him to follow her, sitting down on the bed.

"I mean, yes, I bite, but not now," she corrected herself with a guilty smile, leaning back on the bed with his arms folded. "So?"

They were just like cat and dog, except that they fought like an old married couple, but still cared about each other.

Dean raised his eyebrows, thinking about her proposal and moved his gaze to the couch which, to be honest, looked really questionable. Leather, a little scratched at the seams and with not exactly accommodating cushions. He looked at the bed and then once more at Y/N, who was patting the empty seat next to her.

Dean sighed and finally moved. He lay down next to her and rested his head on the pillow, it wasn't the first time they'd shared a bed, only it had been almost a year since the last time.

Maybe, the last time had been when, after drinking a little too much, they had almost ended up doing something else in that bed. They both pretended not to remember that night, anyway.

"Why isn't Sam with you?" she asked.

"Broken arm, he's staying at Bobby's." He murmured in an already sleepy voice.

"Now we should rest," he said then, settling on his side, facing right at her. “Try not to stare at me too much while I sleep, okay?”

Tags: @eevvvaa @spn730015 @supernatural111222 @youcancallmelily @clairenovakanddeanwinchester @dads-on-a-hunting-trip @3amstillawake @supernaturalmess @marvelandsupernatural @agirlwatchingalotoftvshows @candy-coated-misery0731 @impalaslytherin @rudy-the-winged-wolf @dean-winchester-6767 @samanddeansannoyingsis @roseblue373 @waynes-multiverse @random-spn-fan

[eruden-writes]

"I didnt know where else to go" pleasee

Okay, this doesn't exactly follow the trope. I'm sorry! Hopefully it's still enjoyable.

Also, weirdly, it ended up being another vampire x human. XD

🩸🍷🧛‍♂️🦇🧄

It was a dark and stormy night when she came pounding on his door. One wouldn’t believe a vampire lord would answer his own door. Surely, he had a servant or butler for such trivial things. Yet there he was, standing in the open entryway, a crystal chalice of blood - or red wine - in one hand and swathed in a robe of fine green silk.

Momentarily dumbstruck, Nikita stared up at Lord Ambrose DuBois of Sanguinary, known he/they, feeling her stomach somersault. Tall and pale with white curls coiffed fashionably and sharp green eyes on her, she couldn’t help but feel small. It was a strange feeling considering how most people were smaller than her, if not in height then in body. The sensation made her drenched cloak and dress weigh even heavier atop her.

“My apologies, m’lord. I was gath-gathering herbs in the woods when the st-storm rolled in.“ A tremble coursed over her body, beneath her rain-drenched clothes. Lowering her gaze, she stared blankly at a stone in the wall. “The-then a g-group of men began following me, s-saying unsavory th-things.”

Testing the waters, Nikita peeked up at the man. He appeared unmoved, head cocked as if he were waiting for her to get to her point. Weakly, Nikita mumbled, “My apologies, again. Your castle was cl-close and I-I didn’t know where else to go.”

Ambrose stared down at the woman, his face impassive. Slowly, he raised his chalice to his lips, cocking a dark eyebrow down at her. After a leisurely sip while Nikita trembled, he finally addressed her. “I do not recognize you.”

NIkita’s eyebrows furrowed, confused by his words. “My lord?” 

“I know every inhabitant of my realm,” Ambrose stated, his head tilting to the side. His expression still hadn’t changed, making Nikita feel as if she was being eyed by a particularly unimpressed cat. He stooped closer to her, his words coming out in a short, pointed staccato as he added, “And yet, you are unfamiliar.” 

“You c-could not possibly know everyone.” Nikita smiled awkwardly as her lips trembled, trying not to cringe away from him.

“I assure you, I do.” Something in Ambrose’s eyes - a glint, a spark, something - made her heart sink. He couldn’t possibly know the real reason she was there, could he? Whatever had flashed in his gaze dissipated as he stood straight, once again reinstating a safe distance. “You may enter. Follow me to my study.” 

Before she stepped onto the marble, Nikita squeaked, “But I’ll drip everywhere.” 

With a sharp motion, he turned to her. He stared intently for a breath, eyeing her up and down, before saying. “Yes, you will. Come along now.”

And that was it. Lord Ambrose turned his back to her, continuing his effortless glide down the corridor. It took Nikita a moment to gather her wits and finally cross the threshold into the manor. Slowly, she shut the heavy door behind her before trailing after the vampire lord.

In silence, he led her through the halls and she cast furtive glances around. It wasn’t the dusty dark keep she expected nor was it overly furnished with riches. True, there were paintings and the odd statue or potted plant, but overall it was rather plain. There were fairy lanterns in place of candles and torches, which was a sign of wealth but also a safety precaution. Fire could kill vampires, after all, so the fewer sources the less danger. Then again, most beings scorched under a flame.

Finally, after traversing through the maze of halls and up a staircase, Ambrose pushed a door and led Nikita into a room.

Fire crackled in an ornate fireplace and warmed the air. Bookcases lined the walls, each filled to the brim with books and papers. More tomes laid scattered about the floor and tables, some open and others bearing an array of bookmarks. Knickknacks and mechanisms and rolled-up scrolls littered other shelves, likely for further study and cross-reference, but she wasn’t exactly sure. 

Near the fireplace sat a chaise, a plush chair, and an end table upon which another book laid. As Ambrose made his way to the chair, Nikita wondered if he had been reading when she knocked. Considering how long they walked, he must have raced to answer the door. 

That thought made her stomach flip, mentally noting ‘supernatural speed’ in her mental file for Ambrose DuBois. 

Turning her attention back to the room, Nikita narrowed her eyes. It felt more like a library than a simple study to her, but she didn’t say anything. There was just too much in the room, too much to see, for her to formulate any words. Driven to the warmth, she shuffled further into the room, closer to the fire.

Once she was well within the room, Ambrose gave a lazy wave of his hand. Behind her, the door thumped shut. Another warning bell went off in her head, but she tried to ignore it. All of the rumors involving Ambrose were a far cry from the corset-ripping terrors she heard elsewhere.

That thought flew from her head when Ambrose’s deep voice spoke once more. “Strip.” 

“Excuse me?” Her head snapped to him as indignant anger flared through her. At her throat, keeping her cloak closed, her hand tightened. 

“Get out of those wet clothes. You may place them near the fire.” Ambrose didn’t seem to notice her outrage. With a languid gesture of his hand, he motioned toward the roaring fire. “I’m sure you’ll move much easier in whatever slayer garb you’re wearing underneath.” 

Everything in Nikita stilled as she stared at Ambrose. Little to no change in his expression. Ease emanated around him as he sat perched on his chair, legs crossed at the knee and goblet still in hand. His attention seemed to shift to his drink as he took a sip.

Cold and with the cloth weighing down on her, Nikita decided to follow his guidance. She shucked the cloak and dress from her body, leaving the dry leather armor, tunic, and trousers on. She tossed the outerwear onto a rack situated close to the fire, presumably for this very purpose. All the while, she kept Ambrose in her line of sight.. “How did you know?” 

“Your hair is cropped short for battle, since long hair can be a liability,” he sighed, not even hesitating to answer her question. Her hand jumped to her hair, tugging at the short ash brown strands and wondering whether he only noticed once her cloak was off or if he knew earlier. “The garlic tonic you have on your belt is not stoppered properly, I can smell it. Along with the specially crafted vampire stakes made of cedar wood.”

Nikita’s hand went to her belt where a vial of the aforementioned garlic tonic hung. Her thumb played with the cork stopper, but she could not tactilely find anything wrong with it. At her opposite hip, the stakes hung, feeling heavier now that they were out in the open.

“You may as well throw the garlic. It will have no effect on me.” Finally, the mask of indifference that Ambrose wore broke. A droll smile curved at his lips, making Nikita swallow as her heart stuttered. How did one tell if a vampire’s influence had tainted their thoughts and body? 

As Nikita’s thoughts raced with curiosity, Ambrose continued. “Any silver on your person will do you much better. It burns my skin, though my pain tolerance is rather high.”

Her thoughts spun to the silver cross - a blade in disguise - stuffed along the side of her boot. He had easily inventoried her main weapons against him. Being found out so easily brought a bite to Nikita’s previously timid voice, “Forgive me if I do not believe a word you say.” 

“As you wish.” Ambrose shrugged, placing his empty chalice on the table beside his chair.

“What now?” Her question shot off more like a demand as her shoulders tensed, prepared for an abrupt attack. “Why invite a slayer into your home?” 

“Boredom, mostly. Though I do have a proposition.” With a push, Ambrose hefted himself gracefully from the chair. His smile seemed to inch wider, Nikita thought as she caught the barest hint of his pointed fangs. “I will allow your attempt to slay me. In turn, I will attempt to bed you.”

“Why would I agree to that?” She spat, backing away from the approaching vampire. 

“I daresay, it is more than a fair arrangement.” That placid smile lingered at his lips as he continued to follow her.

After three steps, Nikita freed a stake from her holster, angling it at the man. “I try to kill you and you try to rape me?” 

“I never said I’d force myself on you.” The brandishing of the stake didn’t even make Ambrose pause. He merely glanced at it, something calculating in his gaze, before continuing the slow pursuit. 

It was like being stalked by a mountain lion, Nikita thought. He followed her lazily, as if he were playing with her, and she continued to back around the room in an arc, stake at the ready.

“Hypnotism counts as coercion,” she snapped, a frown curving deep across her lips. It was no secret how vampires often coaxed a pretty partner to their bed. Or how they convinced humans to willingly extend their throat beneath their fangs. Enthrallment. 

“Oh, I agree. There is no delight in such a tactic.” Still undeterred, Ambrose followed after her. “I will only go so far as you desire.” 

Agitation razed over Nikita’s back. He had to think she was a joke. He certainly didn’t find her to be an iota of a threat, given the topic of their conversation. Ignoring the embarrassed heat that bit across her cheeks, Nikita snarled, “Then I’ll just keep telling you no until I kill you.”

 “I don’t believe you will.” His chuckle burned down her spine.

“Why do you believe that?” 

“You are no born slayer. There is too much curiosity in those dark eyes.” The way Ambrose’s eyes softened, his voice quieting a little, made her shudder. Nikita continued to back away, but now he was approaching faster, more confidently. “You are intrigued how I know all my citizens and why no one within my borders has sought to kill me.” 

The distance between them was shortening, but she couldn’t understand why. It felt like her body dragged as he continued forward. “I am sure you have heard the rumors, as well. Of graciousness, my kindness, my understanding.” 

Everything he said was true. She was curious to know why only outsiders were hiring hits on Lord DuBois, why no one within the borders seemed to mind his presence. At first, she thought it was a powerful enthrallment, perhaps even a spell or sorcery. Yet no matter who she encountered, what de-spelling she did, all the civilians under DuBois’s rule seemed content. 

“You’re interested in learning how I’ve made so many believe such farcities, no?” Another assertion, another step forward, another inch lost between them.

He was getting too close, saying things that made Nikita’s head spin while simultaneously feeling as if they were humiliating slaps to her face. With a sudden yell and a lunge forward, she brought the stake to the fleshy part of his stomach and pushed. It sunk into the vampire with a sickening squelch, driven farther by survival instinct. 

Ambrose’s green eyes flickered from Nikita’s face to the shaft of sharpened wood jutting out of his gut. As his eyes swung slowly back up to her face, his hands clasped over hers. He held her hands to the stake and took a forceful step forward, driving the wood deeper in. 

It felt like her heart was going to pound out of her chest, her lungs locking up as Ambrose took another step forward. A confused whimper bubbled up from her throat when her blood slickened hands pressed firmly to his abdomen.

“I don’t believe you have it in you to kill me,” he breathed, stooping closer toward her. Nikita jerked as his splayed hand touched her cheek, his absurdly cool flesh stinging her flushed features. Ambrose slid his hand to the back of her head, guiding her head back with the pressure of his fingertips and no more. In her chest, her heart thrummed hard, watching as a smile split fully across the vampire’s lips. His fangs on full display, stark white against his pale flesh.

Her skin burned as his thumb skirted over her bottom lip. Ambrose drew closer, the scent of the wine he’d been drinking tainting the air between them.

Before Nikita could even think to say anything, a bothered expression suddenly passed over the vampire’s face. Pulling back, his gaze flickered to the stake protruding from his gut. 

“Oh, damnation. This was one of my favorite robes.” Ambrose sighed, shaking his head as one hand pressed to the stained green fabric. When he pulled his hand away, his palm was coated with thick dark blood. “Allow me to change into something else.”

Leaving Nikita’s thoughts in freefall, Ambrose pulled away and headed toward the door. Acting on automatic impulse, she returned to her still soaking cloak, wiping the blood free of her hands. All the while, her brain tried valiantly to recalibrate itself. This man, this vampire, had thoroughly frazzled her thoughts. 

It seemed he wasn’t done, yet. With a snap of his fingers, paused in the door and turned back to Nikita. Her gaze met him across the empty expanse of the study. “Ah, before we go any further, may I get your name and designation?” 

For a long stretch of time, she silently stared at him. If he felt awkward under her attention, he made no indication. Within her, a battle waged between sense and curiosity. There was no good reason to tell him her name. None whatsoever. 

And yet she found herself answering him, too intrigued to be cautious. “Nikita Berunai, she/they.”

Once more, a broader smile overtook the placid grin that usually settled over the vampire lord’s lips. In spite of his injury, Ambrose bowed to her, one arm folded behind his back. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Nikita Berunai.” 

With that, he straightened and spun away. Presumably to go change into something he didn’t care about ruining. Nikita stared at the spot he had been, her mind still struggling to understand what exactly happened. 

Killing a vampire was supposed to be straightforward. Catch them unawares and stake them, unless they found you out, in which case there should have been a fight, a struggle, and then a stake to the heart. Or fangs to the throat, she supposed, but she didn’t want to think about that. 

Hands cleaned of blood, she stumbled to the chaise lounge and settled upon it. Pressing a palm to her own cheek, she realized her flush still burned fervently at her face. Glancing to the door again, her mind began chugging carefully around newly placed thoughts. Nikita hated to admit it, but he was right. From the start, she was damnably curious about Lord Ambrose DuBoi, beloved vampire lord of Sanguinary. And now that interest burned in her thoughts as something Nikita didn’t want to name scalded her center.

[lutethebodies]

LTB Worldbuilding Wednesdays: The Wilderness of Griseia

A weekly series in which two of my BG3 Tavs describe the original homebrew 5e world they live in.

Cannor’s Guide

“The Grey Coast is an enigma, no question. Long after Moreia’s devastating eruption, the Griseian countryside has returned to something like habitability, but most Griseians live as they have for the past five centuries: underground. My understanding is their heroic forebears survived through so much collective discipline, creativity, and sheer persistence that those traits have simply been ingrained in each new Griseian child. Their tunnel network is an impenetrable maze to any non-native, and the caves of Grain, Spoils, and Dust are more hospitable and hold more than those names imply, but that’s all we know from visiting Salusi traders or vindictive Goldrock scouts. Griseians see little sunshine and even less of the outside world, but they enjoy one of the most efficiently cooperative societies Nua has ever known. Certainly the Downfall’s fire has burned away many sins, to leave only the most essential Aurigan virtues.”

“Moreia itself remains a wasteland of lava and smoke, both the island caldera and its two lesser mainland siblings. This deadly triangle keeps about 200 square miles hostile to most life; it’s impassable by land and given a wide berth by sailors at sea. Even so, it’s said some of the richest Aurigan artifacts lie in its superheated vicinity. That seems impossible, but every decade or so a haggard fortune-seeker stumbles back to civilization with red-gold treasures in various stages of meltdown, so the Grey Coast continues to lure its share of adventurers despite the literal mountain of risks.”

Ruy’s Reckoning

“Like its neighbors to the north and east, the Grey Coast used to be a core province of the Aurigan Empire. Unlike Asceia and Repeia, Griseia was never densely populated. While its countryside endured the Downfall’s full physical force, nearby provinces suffered more loss of life. Griseia’s rugged landscape never supported much agriculture, but its ancient, resource-rich mountains yielded as much copper, gold, and iron as Aurigan slaves could extract. What’s left of those mines today is much different. For centuries after the Downfall, Aurigan refugees of all classes carved out a strictly-regimented, radically egalitarian society, surviving underground like some Aviridian elves and dwarves. The Griseians of today are their descendants, trading with western Salusi allies but otherwise resolutely keeping to themselves, so the historical record has significant gaps concerning the Grey Coast.”

Main settlements: Grottagrana (Cave of Grain), Grottapraeda (Cave of Spoils), Grottapulva (Cave of Dust). Rulers: The Buried Assembly. Languages: Auransi. Economy: Socio-communal, producing raw ore (copper, gold, iron) and trading exclusively with Salusceia for everything else.

All text and imagery taken from "The Nua Gazetteer, Volume 1" by Keir DuBois (2022).

[double-hoe-seven]

Conjugal Visit

Summary: Its time to visit your husband at good old Belle Reve Pairing: Robert DuBois/Bloodsport x Reader Word Count: 1,830 Warning(s): Smut, prison sex(?), allusion to violence and murder. 18+ MINORS DNI (DO NOT INTERACT)

"DuBois, you have a visitor!" One of the guards shouted while he scrubbed the floor. "I'm not in the mood to fight with my daughter and I under no circumstances want to see Waller," he growled. "Well then you're in luck, it's the only other person in your life from the outside," the guard said bored. "What? I'm not ready for a visitor." "Too bad. Let's go." The guard was getting impatient. Reluctantly, Robert got up and followed the man; at least he'd showered that morning. He followed them to one of the private visitation rooms; there you sat, wearing black boots, jeans, and t-shirt, and a midnight blue leather jacket with the black rings on your left hand. "You're a sight for sore eyes, love," he smiled as the guards uncuffed him and repeated their usual warnings before leaving the room, locking the door behind them.

"If I'd known you were coming I might have shaved," he commented as he approached you, pulling you into his embrace with he was close enough. "I don't know, babe, I quite like the beard. It makes you look distinguished," you said with a hum as you wrapped your arms around his neck loosely. "That's just a polite way of sayin' it makes me look old, innit?" He asked with a stifled chuckle. "Older and handsome, love," you corrected. "Did you come here to just take the piss at me or do you have a better reason?" He teased before leaning down and capturing your lips in a hungry, impassioned kiss. His arms wrapped around your waist and pulled you flush against him.

A deep groan left him when you gently bit and tugged his bottom lip, smirking up at him. "Needy little thing, ain't ya, love?" He hummed as he tossed your jacket aside, hastily doing the same with your shirt before scooping you up and laying you on the cheap bed in the room. His lips dropped from yours to your neck, leaving a trail of light bite marks in the wake as he trailed his lips down to your chest. "I don't know why you bother wearing bras when you visit me, love, they only get in my way," he chuckled as he unclasped the black lace of your bra, discarding it with a grin. "Because I'd rather not be led through a prison with-" your words were quickly cut off by a surprised moan when he leaned down and took one of your nipples into his mouth. His tongue circled the bud as he suckled gently, rolling the other nipple between his thumb and forefinger.

Robert alternated between the hardened peaks until you were a moaning, squirming mess beneath him. Your hips rocked against his needily as a whine escaped you "Robert..." "Use your words, love," he teased with a wicked grin. He chuckled to himself when you only shot him a glare. He unzipped your jeans and pulled them and your underwear down teasingly slowly; he pulled you to the edge of the bed and kneeled down throwing your legs over his shoulders. "I think this might be one of the things I miss most while I'm here, being able to just go down on you whenever the fuck I want," he said in a soft mutter as he ran his thumb along your wet slit. "Trust me, hon, you aren't the only one who misses it," you mumbled. Your back arched with the first swipe of his tongue. Two of his fingers teased your entrance before slowly pushing in as his tongue circled your clit slowly. What started out as slow drags of his fingers and tongue turned into him fucking you with his tongue and fingers, stretching you to prepare for him. He didn't stop until he felt your walls tensing around his digits, when he did he quickly pulled his fingers out and licked them clean, a small pleased groan leaving him as he watched you pant softly, a needy hunger in your eyes. He always did love bringing you right to the edge.

He quickly shed himself of his orange prisoner's uniform, taking his member into his hand as he climbed in bed over you. "I'll be outta here soon enough, love, then I'll take you somewhere proper and romantic," he promised before pressing a soft kiss to your forehead, followed by a slow sensual kiss to your lips as he slowly pushed his length into you. His hand stroked your cheek when he felt you tense up, your tight warmth stretching to its limits to accommodate him "that's a good pet, takin' my cock so well." You wrapped your legs around his waist tightly while your nails dug into his shoulders.

Each slow drag and push of his hips pulled gentle moans from you. His pace quickly built up and he tightened your legs around him. "Is that the best you can give me, love?" You teased when he settled into a series of long, deep, slow thrusts. "Aw, does my needy little princess want it rough?" He almost cooed in false sympathy while slowing his hips. When you started trying to move your hips against him for any more friction than what he was giving, a small whine escaped you when his hand moved to hold your hips down "use your words, pet. Tell daddy exactly what you want or I'll just keep going slowly until I'm ready to finish." "Want you to fuck me until I leave here with a limp," you managed to say after a minute of trying to steel yourself.

The squeak that left your lips when he suddenly pulled out turned into a loud moan when he slammed back into you, setting a new brutal pace. You angled your hips up some so each thrust brought the head of his member harshly against your g-spot. "Fuck, Robert!" You moaned out louder when his thumb started rubbing fast tight circles on your clit. "That's it, little bird, sing for daddy so this entire fucking shithole can hear," he husked before nibbling and tugging on your ear lobe. "Say my name, Pet. Tell everyone who's you are," he growled, pinching your clit when your only answer was a moan that escaped your slightly parted lips. "Yours, Robert! All yours!" You moaned out, eagerly trying to match his thrusts but finding it harder to keep up with his roughness and brute force.

Soon, Robert sat back on his knees and pulled your hips flush against his with each more forceful thrust managing to hit even deeper places, places that were quickly bringing you closer to the edge. "Fuck, your warm walls are squeezing me so tightly. Play with your clit for me, yeah? I want to see all of you come undone but don't you dare cum until I say," he muttered lazily. He sat up fully and spread your legs a little further apart, transfixed on the sight of his length disappearing into you and coming out with your sweet nectar. You nodded and bit your lip as you traced shapes over your little button. "Good girl," he mumbled, his thrusts getting shorter but quicker, more of a rapid rutting. He smirked when he saw how hard you were trying to hold off "alright, Pet, you can let go." He might've whispered the words but they were clear to you.

As you came, you moaned out a series of curses and his name, your entire being quaking. Groaning as your walls tightened even more, he fell forward over you as he joined you in climax. His body covered yours while his forearms kept his weight off of you, his hips slowly rutting into you as you both came down. He planted a series of soft, languid kisses up your neck and along your jawline before finally kissing you softly, one of his hands coming up to gently brush some loose strands out of your face. Robert carefully maneuvered your bodies so he was laying on his back with you on his chest, his arms around your waist while his index finger absentmindedly traced shapes along your spine. You both laid there in comfortable silence, your rapid breaths slowing down were the only sounds in the room.

"Do you really think you'll be out of here soon, love?" You asked him hopefully, looking up at him with a small frown. "I do, darling. It won't be long before Waller comes with another suicide mission for me to lead," he grumbled before pecking your lips softly "I'll be home with you before you know it though, yeah?" "You promise? I miss waking up to your face between my legs," you joked. "Believe me, love, I miss that too. You always have been my favorite breakfast, or meal in general," a sly smirk crossed his face and he chuckled when you slapped his chest. "You're awful," you joked. "Baby, I'm an assassin, I'm not exactly a role model for anyone. I mean, for fucks sake, I almost killed Superman and if given the job again I'd take it," he said casually. "I know you would baby, maybe this time you'll succeed," you teased with a grin. "Watch it love or I'll have to bend you over my knee," he warned, squeezing your ass with a wicked smirk. "Oh no, please don't sp-" you started saying sarcastically before his hand quickly came down with a loud smack. "Wanna try that attitude again, princess?" He cocked his brow while he waited for your answer, giving you a quick kiss when you didn't say anything else.

Before either of you could react, the buzzer of the door unlocking and opening sounded and a woman walked in. "DuBois, Mrs. DuBois," she greeted flatly, unfazed by your nudity as you tried to cover your bodies with the sheet. "Fuck are you doing here, Waller?" Robert growled. "You have a new mission. And this time your wife's coming along. Isn't that right, Tracker?" She said. "Excuse me?" You and Robert said simultaneously. "That's right. We know about your side gig hunting down people the law let off. If either of you refuses to come on the mission or tries to abandon it, I'll hand over our evidence to the proper authorities. You, my dear, with not only be put in jail but you'll lose your license to practice law. Even if you managed to get it reinstated, nobody will hire a lawyer who knowingly married an assassin, the same one who put Superman in the ICU," Waller explained calmly. "You're threatening my fucking wife?!" Robert shouted as he sprung out of bed and pulled his boxers on. "I'm doing it for the safety of our country and the world," her voice was so eerily calm. "Robert, calm down. If it gets you home sooner, I'll do it," you told him as you sat up, using the bedsheet to cover your modesty. He looked at you like you'd just grown another head, in complete disbelief.

Tag Team: @bdffkierenwalker​

[beyondconfessor]

Indirect Negotiations

Rating: Explicit

Pairing: the Lady/Reader

Summary: But when you had completed your duties, your only job was to ensure the Lady’s glass had wine in it, and should she summon you, you were nearby.

N.B.: Also posted on AO3. Anyway, thank you to the Dungarees Brigade for this fic idea. Special thanks to @isis-astarte-diana for assuring me that exhibitionism being my brand was not a bad thing.

In an exclusive casino, filled with assassins-for-hire, your job was loosely dictated as an assistant––but realistically an all-rounder. You ensured the accounting books were provided to the accountant, that orders were placed in for food and alcohol, that tables were kept clean and that if there was a fight, Lito was nearby.

But when you had completed your duties, your only job was to ensure the Lady’s glass had wine in it, and should she summon you, you were nearby.

You were wiping down a table––a quick job, given that only vodka had spilt––when you felt her eyes sweep over your body. Likely because you were bent over and the pants you wore prominently shaped your ass.

She was across the other side of the room, sitting in her booth with a glass of shiraz, working through her books and spot-checking the accounts to look for discrepancies. A pile of books sat two feet high beside her on the edge of the seat. Throughout the evening you’d watched as she’d taken a logbook from one side, ran through it methodically, before setting down on the other side.

But now…she was bored.

“Darling,” she summoned. It was enough to send a thrill down your spine. You pulled off your apron, cleaning your hands on it before discarding it to the table. You walked over, watching as she picked up her glass and moved it to the other side of the table.

The casino was busy today. There was laughter, the sound of dice rolling and wheels spinning, and a fight growing in the dim corners that you knew would be sorted out by Lito before it became a bloodbath.

You stood before her, watching as she played with the stem of the wine glass, her eyes flicking to your face, drawing down low, over your body, until they flicked up again. She smiled as she tilted her head. “I have a terrible headache,” she advised with a sharp look on her face. “And I thought you might have just the thing for it.” She tilted her head to the other way, punctuating the command heavy in the subtext of the words.

You knew better than to ask here? Now? Long ago, your shyness had slipped away. It didn’t stop the thrill.

A coyness drew inside of you, a game between you both as you tilted your head and bit your lip, checking over your shoulder to see who was noticing.

No one yet, but someone would.

The Lady’s table was clean, spotless. There was no gum underneath it, no dirt caked in the corners, or blood splattered on the edges. You sink to your knees, slipping underneath the table and watch as her legs spread before you.

Running your hands up her trousers, you watched as her body shifted forward in the seat. Your hands brushed over her thighs, sliding up until you reached her hips, watching as with the ease of deft fingers, she popped her suit jacket undone as she leant back in the booth.

You leant forward, face nuzzling against thigh as you peered out from underneath the table and watched as she returned to her work of running through the accounting books, sipping at her glass of wine and otherwise feigning disinterest as if you were not even there.

Your mouth pressed over the seam of the trousers, the soft, silk-cotton blend absorbing the wetness of your tongue as you slid up purposefully. She remained still, but her fingers flicked through pages, pen scribbling in her notebook.

Your fingers worked at the buttons of her pants, flicking them undone before you slid the zipper down, and then watched as her hips lifted, allowing you delightful access to her cunt as you bent forward to taste her.

The Lady sighed, and although you could interpret it as her flicking through another page, writing her notes and checking her calculations, you knew that the sigh was summoned from you, by your mouth drawing over slick folds.

To anyone else, having their trousers pulled down their thighs should have left them vulnerable as their hips teetered over the edge of the seat, legs spread wide for you to slip between––for the Lady, there was no such edge of vulnerability. She could be completely bare on the table, legs spread for anyone to see, and you would still know that she was in control.

A hand slid down, underneath the table, combing through your hair before she tugged you closer.  Urging you to where she wanted––and you would obey. Your eyes peeked up at her, watching as her chest rose and fell, her hand tightening and then easing in your hair. She was enjoying you, despite the impassive expression on her face.

“I take it…you’re her?” There was a voice, low and deep. Uncertainty as they hovered––likely not seeing what was happening.

“Yes,” she said. “Take a seat.” And then you heard the sound of shifting behind you as the person slid into the booth on the other side.

You went to pull away, only for the hand to tug you firmer, holding you in place, insistent in where you belonged. As your Lady wished, you returned your tongue to its rightful place, licking over her slick folds. As you gave long, languid stroke, her hand eased, no longer holding you still.

“I want to hire a hitman––against the Dubois family.”

“Business or personal?”

“Business, they stand to oppose my election.”

“Ah, I see. The entire family, or just Edward Dubois?” she asked. Her voice was steady as she asked, but you could feel her thigh muscles tensing and easing. Your own body was responding, your heart pounding with the excitement of what you were doing.

You kept your hands low on her thighs, digging your nails into the bare skin and watched as lips parted with the barest moan, unheard by anyone but you.

“I don’t care. Edward is all that matters. So as long as he goes down, that’s all that matters.”

“I see. Eight hundred thousand, then. Upfront.”

“Eight Hundred thousand?” the person spluttered. “I was advised it’d be three hundred thousand.”

“Yes, well, the Dubois family is well protected. It won’t be easy to get around those guards. Eight-hundred thousand.”

“This is absurd!”

“Then you can find someone else…but I promise you, no one will be more discreet than myself,” the Lady argued, as hand tugged at you again. The negotiation was about to start into an argument, and the Lady loved a good fight with a client––it allowed her to work them up before she entrapped them into her snare.

At her direction, you stroked firmer, your tongue slipping against her entrance, teasing over it, before you slid up and kissed at her clit, sucking on it as you heard the arguments rise above the table.

You didn’t care to listen to the discussion, instead, focusing your attention on the Lady, feeling her hand comb through your hair in a steady pace, leading you to what she wanted––and then the words stopped, and a silence pulled above.

Did he know?

You peered up from under the table, tongue still stroking broadly to see the Lady’s cheeks flushing red, even in the dim light of the bar. Her thighs were twitching, body inching closer.

“Or,” she said. Her voice low and hitched as she drew in a deep breath as you mouth parted over her clit, before you began to suck on it decadently, your tongue flicking purposefully over it. You could see her eyes flutter, both from you and from the pretence that she’d just come up with an idea. “Or perhaps I could be persuaded to…oh, how about four-hundred thousand under the guidance that when you are elected, I will have a chip with your name on it, and shall I ever ask it of you, you shall do whatever I ask, no questions asked.”

“Four-hundred thousand,” they echoed. “And a favour of your choosing?”

“Mm. Final offer.” She leant back against the booth, her eyes sharp on the person, lips twisted in a smirk, but you watched as a low exhale rose and fell in her chest. You drew away from her clit, returning to broad strokes as you flicked your tongue over the labia. Her cunt was spilling sweetly onto your tongue, and in a perfect setting, you’d be on your back, with her sitting on your face as she fucked your mouth.

“Agreed,” the person spat. “When do you need the funds?”

“Two days at the latest, or the deal no longer stands.” You heard her gasp as her thighs squeezed around your head. Here, you were waiting, keeping to a set pace. You knew what she wanted, but she was in the middle of a negotiation.

A discussion broke over semantics, and then the person moved from their seat, pushing away, and you watched as the Lady watched them leave before a smile pulled over her features as she let her mask slip. “I think that went rather well, don’t you?”

Your grinned at her, and then slid two fingers inside of her, curling them as you return your attention to her clit. You watched her posture drop, the hand curling tighter again in your hair. And then, as you heard the sound of a fight break-out between occupants, a bottle smashing, as the wheels turned and dice rolled, she gave a small cry, drowned against the noise of the casino, as she squeezed around you.

And then her body dropped back, and you were pulling away.

The Lady laughed and then nodded with her head–-permitting your exit. Climbing out from under the table, you wiped your mouth with the back of your hand and felt your underwear slide against you as drew your eyes around the room.

One patron’s eyes looked at you, her eyes going wide before she looked away, finding her drink far more interesting, but other were either long-term patrons, used to your service to the Lady, or were too drunk to notice.

You stood up tall, and smoothed your clothes, watching as the Lady fixed her pants and then took a sip of her wine before smirking at you. She gave a tilt of her head, beckoning you closer, and you obeyed.

Then, with far less subtly than you’d granted her, she undid the button of your pants and slid her hand underneath the material of your underwear.

Her fingers drew down, prominently sliding over your clit, circling twice so your knees threatened to give out, and she was slipping down across your entrance, teasing over it.

Here, you wanted to ask. She’d never done this before, never so open, and you watched her eyes stare at yours. She was daring you to argue, daring you to tell it was too much. (But was it?) You bit your bottom lip, surpassing a whimper as thought about how good her fingers would feel buried inside of you.

And then she was drawing back up––pulling away.

It was bold, and you felt your body grow hot, watching as she lifted her fingers to her mouth and licked the arousal from them.

“Back to work,” she said, her voice low. However, there was a teasing lilt to it. “After all, I don’t pay you to stare.”

“Of course,” you agreed, hurriedly fixing your pants as you turned away. The room seemed quieter, the eyes all the more prominent on you. You tried to ignore them, but you heard a snicker before that faded too, and then slowly, the chatter returned to the room again.

You went over to your apron and picked it up, tying it around your waist before you ran off to the backroom to wash-up.

All the while, you could feel her eyes on you, a promise that at any time, she could fuck you in front of everyone as openly as she chose.

Knowing that you’d let her.

It shouldn’t thrill you as much as did, but as you washed your hands, you tried to ignore how wet your underwear was, and how empty your cunt felt.

And then you returned to work, feeling the knowledge sing through you. Anytime, anywhere, you were hers.

[wordywarriorwrites]

Chapter 17: Deliverance

Masterlist: The Boss of Brooklyn  A03 Story Link Author: @wordywarriorwrites​ Summary: When it comes to being The Boss, James Buchanan “JB” Barnes rules with an iron fist. For him, there’s no room for sentiment, and certainly no time for distraction, even if it is in the form of an old flame. Steve Rogers had bowed out of the life a long time ago, but a twist of fate brings him right back into the fold, and face-to-face with a man he once loved. When a game of cat and mouse turns into a matter of life and death, both will be forced to decide whether they’ll be loyal to the business, or faithful to each other. A/N: Bucky Barnes Mob Boss AU. Stucky. For: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan Star’s Multi-Fandom Follower Celebration with the prompt, “Why did you do it?” & @sherrybaby14 Sherry’s Fall Into You Challenge with the prompt, “Show me. Prove that you can handle me.” Warnings: Language, violence, drug use, alcohol, smoking, explicit sexual content, illegal activities. *Re-blogs are welcome. Plagiarism isn’t. *

Twelve Weeks Later…

Grand Bahama Island was nothing short of paradise.

Clear-blue waters and sandy shores. All-inclusive resorts, fantastic cuisine, and a population that consisted of friendly locals, old money, and the nouveau rich. Privacy, exclusivity, and luxury, all wrapped up in an idyllic package.

And now, Bucky owned a piece of it.  

The deed was discovered inside an understated, navy-blue letter storage box. It had been found crushed at the very bottom of the heap of customary tributes and gifts Bucky received on his birthday. Banner, Sam, and Natasha had been helping him sort through everything and write thank-you notes for weeks, and they were finally in the home stretch.

Those lower on the totem pole gave cash or a nice bottle of booze. Others higher up on the food chain arranged to foot the bill for more extravagant things, like a tailor-made suit or a custom watch. People at the very top spared no expense, and usually gifted items like a trip to a destination of his choice or an imported car, but in this instance, someone had decided to give him a multi-million-dollar mansion just off the coast of Florida.

“It’s from Fury,” Banner declared. “Paperwork’s legit and the place is legally yours.”

Sam let out a low whistle, “That’s one hell of a birthday present.”

Natasha opened the final envelope from the pile and pulled out a stack of papers, “And here’s another.”  

Bucky quickly scrawled a personalized message to Fury before he set his pen aside and accepted the file. The pages had little sticky-note flags that drew attention to each place that required a signature, and all corresponding lines had been properly dated, initialed, stamped, and notarized.

It had taken awhile, but Steve finally signed the documents, and had formally stepped aside.  

“I hope you’re happy now,” Natasha muttered.

Bucky sighed and turned to Bruce, “Take this directly to Wanda, and tell her to transfer the money as discussed. Sam, go with him. I want you both back here and ready to leave in thirty minutes.”

Both men nodded and hopped to it, and once they were gone, Natasha crossed her arms over her chest and gave him the stink-eye. He pointedly ignored her huffiness, left the office, and went to double-check his luggage. He, Sam, and Bruce were due to fly out to Bermuda in three hours to set up shop, and after Bucky made sure he had everything he needed, he left his bedroom, and dropped the bag by the door.

“He’s gone,” Natasha snapped as she entered the living room. “Are you satisfied?”

“Don’t start,” he warned.  

“Given enough time, you two could’ve taken the whole of New York. You could’ve been an unstoppable, untouchable powerhouse, and your influence at home and abroad would’ve been limitless.”

“He wanted his freedom,” Bucky bit out lowly. “And I granted it.”

She laughed and threw up her hands, “Well, if you won’t have him, others will. I know some guys here who’ve been chomping at the bit for years, and they just can’t wait to get their hands on him.”

Somewhere on the fringes of his brain, he heard Natasha point out that Steve was smoking hot, filthy fucking rich, and had that whole “wounded, bad-boy” thing going on – all of which his future bedmates would find exceedingly attractive. She also surmised Steve was bound to fall in love again eventually, and might even get married someday. Natasha then went on to say she hoped to be invited to the wedding, and that if Steve and his future husband ever adopted children, she would be the best auntie.

Bucky wasn’t entirely too sure how it happened. One minute, Natasha was prattling about baby clothes, in-home nannies, private schools, and how expensive college tuition was; the next, he had her by the throat, and slammed up against the wall. How the gun got in his hand was a mystery, and he didn’t know how the barrel ended up pressed to the center of her forehead, either.

All it took was one look into her triumph-filled eyes for Bucky to know she’d keyed him up on purpose. Natasha was the only person in his life he truly trusted and cared for, and Bucky had never raised a hand to her before, but his violent overreaction was proof he’d let his emotions overrule his reason yet again.

Bucky immediately released her and lowered the gun, “Nat… Shit, I didn’t…”

“An unacknowledged weakness is a dangerous thing,” she wheezed.

He cleared his throat and took a step back, “I just… I need you to leave it alone, alright?”

Natasha closed her eyes and leaned her head back against the wall, “What you need to do is nut up, go to Steve, and beg for his forgiveness. You know he belongs here with you, so, stop fighting it.”

The long stretch of heavily-weighted silence was broken by the return of Sam and Bruce. Both men had been laughing and chatting excitedly about the upcoming trip, but when they saw the cannon in Bucky’s hand and the abrasions around Natasha’s throat, they fell silent.

“Everything cool?” Sam wondered.

Natasha coughed and waved him off, but it wasn’t until Bucky holstered his weapon that the tension dissipated. While Banner examined Natasha, Sam approached him, and asked if he was all good.

Bucky nodded and clapped him on the shoulder, “Just a misunderstanding. Won’t happen again.”

A few moments later, a text announced the arrival of their car, and as it was Sam’s job to ensure it was actually their ride and not some sort of ambush, he shouldered his rucksack, and headed down first. After Bucky received the all clear, Bruce picked up his duffel, mumbled that travelling with the Boss was a pain in the ass, and followed suit.

Bucky gathered his bag and told Natasha he’d text when they landed. He’d been waiting in the hallway for the elevator for some time before the door to his penthouse opened, and she came out to join him.      

“Can you forgive me?” he requested solemnly.

“Bring me back something pretty and I’ll consider it.”

“Just let me know what kind of jewels you want.”

Natasha said, “diamonds and rubies,” and on the heels of her quip, the elevator door parted. As they descended, she linked arms with him, placed her head on his shoulder, and confessed she didn’t want him to be alone. When he pithily told her that she’d end up with wrinkles if she didn’t stop worrying, she pinched his bicep hard, and called him an asshole.

Bucky grinned and pressed a kiss to the top of her head, “Stop busting my balls, alright? I’ll be fine.”

Whatever she may have said by way of response was cut off when the elevator signaled that they’d reached the ground floor. The driver was quick to stow his bags and open the door for him, but before he could get in the back seat, Natasha tugged his arm, and halted him.

“Just promise me,” she insisted. “Promise me you’ll think about what I said.”

Bucky was saved from having to lie to her when Sam leaned out and yelled that they needed to get a move on. The last thing he heard before Natasha slammed the door in his face was, “Steve’s in Île Saint-Louis,” and her blurted declaration caught not only his attention, but Bruce’s as well.

“That’s not good,” Banner spluttered. “If Steve’s in Paris… Oh, that’s bad. Very bad…”

Sam glanced at him and made a motion with his hand for him to continue, “You want to fill me in?”

Bruce launched into what could only be described as an impassioned tirade that lasted for the entire drive to the airport and all the way through take off.  

He informed that Mason Dubois, the only child and beloved son of multi-billionaire and former mob Boss, Luc Dubois, lived in Paris. They were direct descendants of Jules Bonnot, who founded the Bonnot Gang in France in the 1900’s. Luc had followed in his ancestor’s footsteps, but unlike Jules, he hadn’t been an anarchist, and he’d never been caught. Before his untimely death, Luc ran the biggest game in the country; when the father passed away, the son stepped in, and his political ties, fortune, and Bonnot lineage meant he had more money, status, and power than God himself.

It was common knowledge that the Hornec gang was the most active and notorious crew in Paris, and though Dubois received a cut of the profits, racketeering, drugs, and illegal slot machines weren’t his stock and trade. He and his associates were definitely upper-crust, white-collar criminals, and they were extremely well-funded and very well-connected.

Sam still couldn’t see what the problem was, which prompted Bruce to reveal that Mason Dubois was Wanda’s cousin by marriage. He’d been in town the night of Bucky’s party and Wanda had introduced him to Steve. They were both in the business, knew some of the same players, and had common interests. Mason was also considered one of the most eligible bachelors in France, and for all intents and purposes, Steve was single as well.  

The not-so-subtle implications of Banner’s long-winded diatribe made Bucky close his eyes and pinch the bridge of his nose. As soon as the plane landed and they got checked in to the resort, he retreated to his suite, and poured himself a more than liberal drink.

Bucky had done the impossible. He’d reclaimed Brooklyn; restored his people’s confidence in full; asserted complete control over the West Indies; and had come back from what could’ve been a very costly and fatal mistake. He should’ve been glad his long-term plan had succeeded, but he wasn’t, and the more he examined the reasons for his uneasiness, the more uncomfortable he became.

Steve’s acquiesce to the terms and subsequent departure to Paris meant he’d decided to free himself from the last vestiges of their strained, complicated relationship. He was no longer under any obligation to Bucky or the Families, which meant all bets were off. Wanda could play match-maker all she liked, and as a free-agent, Steve could conduct business -- and climb into bed -- with whomever he wished to.

And there was nothing Bucky could do about it.

His former best-friend, past partner-in-crime, and soon-to-be-lost love of his life was in danger of being taken off the market in more ways than one, and Bucky knew Natasha’s parting words had been a last-ditch effort to make him come to terms with it. She wanted him to not only admit his feelings, but also face the consequences of his actions, and repair the damage.

If Bucky had been honest – if he’d, just once, put Steve first – maybe things could’ve been different. If he hadn’t pulled him back in; hadn’t lifted him up just to screw him over; hadn’t betrayed him and rejected him and broken his heart so many fucking times…

The sound of his phone going off prodded him out of his thoughts; he’d forgotten to text Natasha, which explained why she’d reached out first, but before he could type a reply, another message came through.

The words, “Let me handle Bermuda,” appeared, along with a URL that redirected Bucky the website of his preferred airline. According to the departure schedule, if he booked the ticket immediately, and hauled ass to the airport, he could be in France just after sunrise. Natasha followed up again mere seconds later with, “You go get him and bring him home.”

Bucky scraped a hand over his face, took a deep breath, and let it out slowly. With his heart somewhere in the vicinity of his fucking throat, he penciled himself into first class, checked in before he could change his mind, and called down to the lobby for a car.

Though the prospect of an uncertain outcome terrified him, Bucky was going to Paris, and in twelve hours, he’d know for sure whether or not his change of heart was just in time, or far too little, and much too late.

Chapter 18: On Va Voir

Everything: @jennmurawski13​​​ @nerdy-bookworm-1998​

Steve Rogers: @patzammit @hearttoearth​ The Boss of Brooklyn: @star-spangled-man-with-a-plan​ @jamesbarnesappreciationsociety​ @captain-rogers-beard​ @lilliannaansalla

[realitv]

EPISODE FOUR REWRITES: THE GREATEST STORY EVER TOLD. 

  UNLIKE YOU, MEDIA KNOWS THAT THEY’RE A GOD. Cracks in the foundation; a splinter; quarrelling within Black Briar and Social Media’s lips part, #ROASTED / #DRAGGED 😘😉; send tweet. “And who is The God? Are you the god?” It’s a sing-song voice that drifts in like a Mississippi breeze; the unsteady, faltering step of someone who’d never been whole to begin with: BLANCHE DUBOIS fresh off A STREETCAR NAMED DESIRE, come to rest her nerves in New Orleans. Something gleaming in those grey-scale eyes; hands dragging against the consoles and they drop papers to the control panels unceremoniously, watching them both like an alley cat about to strike and the static buzzes: “Why look at you both, all grown up. SURVIVORS OF THE STONE AGE: are you going to bring me raw meat from the jungle? There isn’t any sense of enchantment here: what separates us from them? Come on, now!” RELEVANCE. Says The Technical Boy: it’s just another high school class that they’d run from. Blanche nods, a slim, trembling finger pointing in approval and thin lips part -- WHICH YOU NO LONGER HAVE. Two pairs of eyes turning to the younger, the newest; one deadpan, impassive; a hundred spotlights and cameras all bringing her into focus. The other nervous, vindicated. Finally, some action. “Little fish, big pond. Oh, you want me to make a left on the bank and come to gobble you whole, honey? I give them magic. I DON’T WANT REALISM. I WANT MAGIC! YES, YES, MAGIC. I try to give that to people. I DO MISREPRESENT THINGS. I DON’T TELL TRUTHS. I TELL WHAT OUGHT TO BE THE TRUTH.” Smile for the cameras! Wide and bleached grin and it’s all teeth, another glance to The Technical Boy. “The Boy understands. I don’t see why it has to be so hard for you! We’ll be needing you to work together. In harmony. Otherwise, well, one of you will have to DEPEND ON THE KINDNESS OF STRANGERS.”    It’s a step that echoes their own: heavier, surer; the world bending and twisting around the halls and the lights flicker, buzz, hum. Anticipation gracing Blanche’s features; earnestness in their smile. Technical Boy’s hands clasp, gaze drops: Social Media mirrors them. It’s a strange tableau; Blanche Dubois reclining, hovering upon a console while the younger two quiet. I TRUST YOU KNOW WHY I SUMMONED YOU. Glances shared; Blanche Dubois nods, lights a greyscale cigarette and it paints their face with harsh shadows. The fumes are NOXIOUS. A setback, a loss of network: ARGUS, DELETED. Can’t do much when you’ve only got the mouth, huh? NO. All three flinch, jump; the sound echoes and Blanche’s eyes squeeze shut. NO MORE EXCUSES. Grey hands unrolling the papers they had so carefully brought upon their lap. WAR IS WON... WITH WHAT? “Information!” Better than a merger! YES. YES. INFORMATION. A manic joy within World’s eyes that they mirror. DO YOU KNOW WHAT THIS IS? “A closed curtain. Blindness.” YES. THIS IS BLINDNESS. The World shakes! Quakes. Social Media inching away from The Boy and it’s quick, it’s brutal. YOUR NETWORK. A gasp in the dark and World’s hands gouge into pixellated eyes. Back up, back up: Mass Media shifting, standing next to Social Media and it’s an impassive, blank look from the both of them. Not on the chopping block just yet, a reminder of what could be. I KNOW A GUY IN SILICON VALLEY. Do not fail me. Hands withdrawing and The Technical Boy lays still: The World sets off without a sound. The quiet hangs between the three remaining like a SHROUD; broken only by the quiet steps of Blanche as they follow behind World, hand reaching out to brush against The Technical Boy’s jaw. They flinch. “SOME THINGS ARE NOT FORGIVABLE. DELIBERATE CRUELTY IS UNFORGIVABLE.” A glance back. “This is our story. Our network. We want to renew these contracts. Your contracts. We want you here. Now prove to us that you deserve to be here.”    ENTER SILICON VALLEY: sleek lines and a minimalist's daydream. The Technical Boy struts through like the company is a palace, like they own it. Bounding up stairs and the image on an advertising screen shifts, blurs; grey-scale and film noir. The Boy passes by: it’s CITIZEN KANE delivering speeches to an adoring crowd. WE MADE NO CAMPAIGN PROMISES! Shifting, type changing; the crowd silently cheers to the freeze frame. Glitching in, out; pixels rearranging themselves. DON’T FAIL US. The boy stops, gazes; the stern face of Kane delivering hollow, empty promises and the fools hopeless enough to listen. Their iPhone buzzes: Social Media come to taunt them and with a scoff, The Boy continues on. The last screen flickers: DISAPPOINTMENT MAY RESULT SOME NEW CODING! Mister Lonely? A friend? No. World’s plan unfolds with ease and Social Media gains another devotee: it’s HOLLOW worship. It’s a hollow feeling within The Boy. Fuck. On the run: Citizen Kane’s laughter echoing from the boards and they clap on screen: DO YOU THINK ART IS IRRELEVANT NOW? Locate. Capture. The Technical Boy: quarantined by Norton!   An INTANGIBLE brings bad omens in threes; the distinct whisper of World distorting the light in the background. YOU’VE DONE WELL. Citizen Kane bows their head, nods; side by side with The World; back where they belonged: at their right again. Two spooks in matching suits and America’s little Girl Guides fix them both with a stare. NAME? ACCOUNT? Their voices chipper, infinite. I have just retired a God. Pivot on those patent leather heels: face to face with Citizen Kane. NAME? ACCOUNT? Silence. The static ripples. “MASS MEDIA, THE. Executives do not leave paper trails when they funnel money out of budgets these days. Suspended.” Their image flickers: bends; bad signals and static clouding them. PART OF THE CATHODE RAY AGAIN: The World is left alone

[metalshockfinland]

FRACTAL UNIVERSE Announce "The Impassable Horizon - Alive" Livestream Event

FRACTAL UNIVERSE Announce “The Impassable Horizon – Alive” Livestream Event

Photo credit: Anthony Dubois After releasing their latest album, The Impassable Horizon, last month via Metal Blade Records, Fractal Universe is now ready to announce an upcoming livestream event in support of this new release: “The Impassable Horizon – Alive”. Set to take place on Sunday, July 25th at 11AM PST//2PM EST//8PM CEST, this show will be the one and only time that the band…

[theart2rock]

Fractal Universe launchen Video zur neuen Single, "Symmetrical Masquerade"

Am 25. Juni werden Fractal Universe ihr neues Album The Impassable Horizon via Metal Blade Records veröffentlichen. Einen Eindruck vom Album könnt ihr mit Hilfe des Videos zur neuen Single “Symmetrical Masquerade” (animiert von Costin Chioreanu / Twilight 13 Media) gewinnen:

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Ry9R3HAGCmo

Mit ihrem 2019er Album Rhizomes Of Insanity haben die Franzosen Fractal Universe eines der musikalisch, lyrisch und emotional komplexesten und fesselndsten Progressive-Metal-Werke des einundzwanzigsten Jahrhunderts erschaffen. Die Band tourte im Februar/März 2020 zusammen mit den Schwergewichten Obscura durch die Welt, was eine der letzten Tourneen vor der Pandemie bedeutete, und sättigte damit ihre treuen Fans, während sie gleichzeitig Legionen neuer Anhänger gewann. Mit dem Nachfolger The Impassable Horizon sind sie sogar noch tiefer gegangen und folgen mühelos dem Weg, den sie selbst eingeschlagen haben, um ein Album zu erschaffen, das von Anfang bis Ende fesselnd ist.

“Wir wollten unsere musikalische Persönlichkeit und den natürlichen Sound, den wir auf ‘Rhizomes’ erreicht haben, weiterentwickeln“, sagt Schlagzeuger Clément Denys. “Es ist ein sehr vielseitiges und komplexes Album. Musikalisch gesehen gibt es eingängige Songs, die sehr direkt sind, progressive und geheimnisvolle Balladen mit epischen Saxophon-Soli und technische Songs mit kompliziertem Riffing.” Weiter erklärt Sänger/Gitarrist/Saxophonist Vince Wilquin: “Obwohl die Platte noch vielfältiger und dynamischer ist und mehr Clean Vocals enthält als der Vorgänger, ist die Gesamtatmosphäre auch etwas dunkler und melancholischer.” Und mit der Einführung von Wilquins neu geschliffenen Saxophon-Fähigkeiten in ihr Live-Set, neben der Zusammenarbeit mit Gojiras Christian Andreu bei Bühnenbild und Produktion, wird die Band, sobald sie wieder auf Tournee ist, eine Combo sein, die man nicht verpassen sollte!

Die ersten Riffs und Ideen für The Impassable Horizon entstanden im November 2018, noch vor der Veröffentlichung von Rhizomes. Die Komposition des gesamten Albums dauerte etwa ein Jahr, wobei die letzten sechs Monate vor dem Eintritt ins Studio im Mai 2020 der Vorproduktion/Arrangements der Vocals und der Fertigstellung der Gitarren- und Saxophonsoli gewidmet waren. Das Schlagzeug wurde im bandeigenen professionellen Aufnahmestudio – Boundless Production Studio – in Florange, Frankreich, aufgenommen, während die anderen Instrumente in den persönlichen Heimstudios der Band eingespielt wurden. Überwacht wurden die Aufnahmen von Produzent Flavien Morel, der von Anfang an mit Fractal Universe zusammenarbeitet und die Vision der Band wirklich versteht. “Die Sessions waren gut“, sagt Denys. “Wir waren nicht in Eile. Dies war die erste Platte, die wir komplett in unseren eigenen Studios aufgenommen haben, so dass wir zum Beispiel zwei komplette Tage für den Soundcheck des Schlagzeugs verwenden konnten, was sehr angenehm war.” Der anspruchsvollste Aspekt des Trackings war der Gesang, dessen Aufnahme so lange dauerte wie die aller anderen Instrumente zusammen. “Flavien hat mich wirklich ermutigt, die Gesangsproduktion auf das nächste Level zu bringen: Es gibt Chorus-Abschnitte, in denen es etwa dreißig Spuren Backing Vocals gibt, wobei jede Zeile vierspurig aufgenommen wurde, damit es wirklich massiv und ‘chorusartig’ klingt.” Da das Abmischen Wilquins Lieblingsteil des Realisierungsprozesses ist, der Punkt, an dem die Platte wirklich anfängt, lebendig zu werden, war er froh, eng mit Morel zusammenzuarbeiten, und das fertige Produkt ist alles, was sie wollten. “Es fühlt sich wie die natürliche Evolution unseres Bandsounds an, wobei wir unsere unverwechselbaren Trademarks beibehalten und neue Sounds und Ideen einfließen lassen“, sagt Wilquin, und Denys fügt hinzu: “Wir hoffen, dass das neue Album neue Fans erreicht und unsere jetzigen Fans erfreut, die uns sogar während der Pandemie erstaunlich unterstützt haben, und dass es die Band auf die nächste Stufe bringt.”

The Impassable Horizon Tracklist 1. Autopoiesis 2. A Clockwork Expectation 3. Interfering Spherical Scenes 4. Symmetrical Masquerade 5. Falls of the Earth 6. Withering Snowdrops 7. Black Sails of Melancholia 8. A Cosmological Arch 9. Epitaph 10. Godless Machinists 11. Flashes of Potentialities (Unplugged)

Foto: Anthony Dubois

Fractal Universe line-up: Guitar/Vocals/Saxophone: Vince Wilquin Guitar: Hugo Florimond Bass: Valentin Pelletier Drums: Clément Denys

Fractal Universe online: https://www.fractaluniverseband.com https://www.facebook.com/fractaluniverseband https://twitter.com/FractalUni https://www.instagram.com/fractaluniverseband https://www.youtube.com/user/FractalUniverseMetal https://fractaluniverseband.bandcamp.com https://www.twitch.tv/FractalUniverseBand https://open.spotify.com/artist/4xP1ALrFSYLVCUiRA0xzMy

Quelle: Metal Blade Records

Fractal Universe launchen Video zur neuen Single, “Symmetrical Masquerade” was originally published on The Art 2 Rock

[topworldhistory]

In 1804, Lewis and Clark set off on a journey filled with harrowing confrontations, harsh weather and fateful decisions as they scouted a route across the American West.

With the Louisiana Purchase in 1803, the territory of the United States doubled overnight. Months before the $15 million deal was finalized, though, President Thomas Jefferson won approval from Congress to send a team of intrepid explorers to find a passable water route west to the Pacific Ocean.

Jefferson tapped his personal secretary, Meriwether Lewis, to lead the “Corps of Discovery,” and once Lewis grasped the full scope and challenges of the expedition, he called on his Army friend and fellow Virginian, William Clark, to be his equal in command.

“If therefore there is anything… in this enterprise, which would induce you to participate with me in it’s fatiegues, it’s dangers and it’s honors,” Lewis wrote to Clark, “believe me there is no man on earth with whom I should feel equal pleasure in sharing them as with yourself.”

Below is a timeline of Lewis and Clark's extraordinary expedition.

Meriwether Lewis and William Clark on their Keelboat known as 'The Boat' using poles to navigate the Missouri River in May 1804.

Lewis and Clark's Journey Begins

May 14, 1804

The Corps of Discovery embarks from Camp Dubois outside of St. Louis, Missouri, in a 55-foot keelboat to begin the westward journey up the Missouri River. Among the 41-man crew of volunteers, soldiers and one African American slave, is Patrick Gass, a carpenter from Pennsylvania. Gass writes in his journal about the expected dangers ahead, including “warlike nations of savages of gigantic stature” and impassable mountain ranges.

“The determined and resolute character, however, of the corps, and the confidence which pervaded all ranks dispelled every emotion of fear, and anxiety for the present,” writes Gass, “[and] seemed to insure to us ample support in our future toils, suffering and dangers.”

August 20, 1804

Sergeant Charles Floyd, the youngest man on the expedition, dies of a suspected ruptured appendix near modern-day Sioux City, Iowa. Incredibly, Floyd’s is the only death during the entire two-year expedition.

A Tense Encounter With the Teton Sioux

September 25, 1804

Of all Lewis and Clark’s encounters with Native American tribes, the meeting with the Teton Sioux (Lakota) near modern-day Pierre, South Dakota, is among the most tense. Jefferson had charged the Corps with Indian diplomacy, which consisted mainly of announcing the Louisiana Purchase and presenting tribal chiefs with peace medals and American flags.

But communication breakdowns are common during the expedition, given that Lewis and Clark often rely on three-way translation (native language to French to English and back) or sign language to converse with chiefs who often have their own political agendas.

On this day, the Teton Sioux mistake the explorers for merchants and don’t like the idea of the Americans selling weapons to rival tribes up the Missouri River. A young Teton Sioux chief, trying to insert himself into the confrontation, feigns drunkenness and stumbles into Clark, who rashly draws his sword. In an instant, Clark’s soldiers raise their rifles and the Teton braves draw their bows and arrows.

After exchanging angry threats and boasts through nervous interpreters—at one point Clark claims that he has "more ‘medicine’ on board [his] boat than would kill twenty such nations in one day"—the elder Chief Black Buffalo breaks the tension and calls for peace. After three restless days at the Teton Sioux village, the upriver journey is allowed to proceed.

Lewis and Clark Meet Sacagawea

November 11, 1804

With winter fast approaching, the Corps construct Fort Mandan in North Dakota among the hospitable Mandan and Hitatsa Indians. On November 11, Clark makes a hasty scribble in his journal about the arrival of "two Squars of the Rock Mountain, purchased from the Indians by...a frenchmen." One of those nameless squaws is the famous Sacagawea.

At first, Sacagawea is an afterthought. She is the 17-year-old, pregnant wife of Toussaint Charbonneau, a French Canadian trader hired by Lewis and Clark as a Hidatsa interpreter. But she soon proves to be an invaluable member of the expedition.

“Sacagawea helped [Lewis and Clark] in a number of ways,” says Jay Buckley, a history professor at Brigham Young University and author of several books about Western exploration. “Both in letting native tribes know that they came in peace, as well as helping the men with their diet, finding edible plants to improve their health.”

Two days after the Corps depart Fort Mandan in the spring of 1805, Lewis writes in his journal that “[Sacagawea] busied herself in serching for… wild artichokes… by penetrating the earth with a sharp stick… her labour soon proved successful, and she procurrd a good quantity of these roots.”

Sacajawea guiding the expedition from Mandan through the Rocky Mountains.

June 2, 1805

Lewis and Clark rely largely on navigation tips from Indians and white traders to chart the fastest and safest route westward toward the Pacific. But they are fully unprepared for a major fork in the Missouri River in north-central Montana. Only one fork is the true Missouri, and they will know it by a series of majestic waterfalls upstream mentioned by the Mandan-Hidatsa.

Lewis and Clark call for a vote. Thirty-one people vote for the right fork and only two vote for the left—those two were Lewis and Clark. Not willing to defy their men, Lewis and Clark send exploring parties up each fork and have them report back. A second vote is taken with exactly the same result.

“But the men, to their credit, say, ‘We’re going to follow you,’” says Buckley.

June 13, 1805

Anxious to prove he’s right, Lewis scouts ahead of the rest of the Corps and is overjoyed (at first) to find the Great Falls, describing them as a “truly magnifficent and sublimely grand object, which has from the commencement of time been concealed from the view of civilized man."

But it soon becomes clear that the portage (carrying canoes over land) around the Great Falls is going to be far more difficult and will require more than the one day he planned. To help with challenge, the men fashion crude wagons from felled trees and drag the canoes and equipment across miles of unforgiving, cactus-strewn terrain.

“It takes them almost a month and a half to take all of their gear 18 miles,” says Buckley. “It’s probably one of the slowest parts of the whole trip.”

The Expedition Finds the Shoshone

August 8, 1805

Before she was kidnapped by the Hidatsa at age 12, Sacagawea lived among the Shoshone people along the border of modern-day Montana and Idaho. By August, 1805, Lewis and Clark believe the fate of the expedition hangs on finding the Shoshone and buying horses from them. It’s the only way the Corps can hope to cross the Rocky Mountains before winter.

While Sacagawea doesn’t “guide” the expedition, her childhood memories provide valuable clues that they are on the right path. On August 8, Lewis writes in his journal:

“The Indian woman recognized the point of a high plain to our right which she informed us was not very distant from the summer retreat of her nation on a river beyond the mountains. . . . this hill she says her nation calls the beaver's head from a conceived resemblance. . . . she assures us that we shall either find her people on this river on the river immediately west of it's source. . . . as it is now all important with us to meet with those people as soon as possible.”

August 17, 1805

After Lewis and Clark finally make contact with the Shoshone, Sacagawea is joyfully reunited with her brother Cameahwait, who is now the Shoshone chief.

Sacagawea (TV-14; 1:45)

Crew Gets Lost in Snow, Nearly Starves to Death

September 11, 1805

Even with horses and a Shoshone guide named Old Toby, the crossing of the Bitterroot Mountains in Idaho proves to be the most grueling and life-threatening section of the entire journey.

It was only mid-September, but the snow on the western flank of the Bitterroots is already deep and Old Toby gets lost. Horses slip and tumble down the mountain. The men, who have grown accustomed to eating five to seven pounds of meat daily in the game-rich plains, begin to starve. They become so desperate they start eating the colts.

Eleven days later, they stumble out of the forest snow-blind and weak with hunger, and are taken in by a village of Nez Perce Indians. Buckley says that the Nez Perce debate killing the half-dead intruders, who are accompanied by a Shoshone woman, their bitter enemy. But a Nez Perce woman named Watkueis, who lives among white men as a captive, convinces them to spare the strangers and befriend them.

The Nez Perce hospitality has one drawback. Lewis and Clark’s men make themselves sick from overindulging on piles of dried fish and boiled roots.

Clark writes in his journal, “I find myself verry unwell all the evening from eateing the fish & roots too freely.” A week later, he adds, “Capt Lewis & myself eate a Supper of roots boiled, which Swelled us in Such a manner that we were Scercely able to breath for Several hours.”

They Reach the Pacific...or Not

November 7, 1805

After paddling dugout canoes down the treacherous Columbia River for weeks, Clark believes the men have finally reached the Pacific.

“Great joy in camp we are in View of the Ocian,” writes Clark with his trademark creative spelling. “This great Pacific Octean which we been So long anxious to See. and the roreing or noise made by the waves brakeing on the rockey Shores (as I Suppose) may be heard distictly.”

Alas, to Clark’s dismay, they have only arrived at the edge of Gray’s Bay, a storm-tossed brackish estuary 20 miles inland from the Pacific. Powerful waves and strong winds swamp and paralyze the canoes.

In a typical journal entry marked November 14, Clark writes, “rained all the last night without intermition, and this morning. wind blows verry hard but our Situation is Such that we Cannot tell from what point it comes—one of our Canoes is much broken by the waves dashing it against the rocks.”

The Corps finally crosses the estuary with the help of local Clatsop Indians and their large, ocean-going canoes.

Fort Clatsop in the Oregon Country near the mouth of the Columbia River.

Lewis and Clark Reach the Pacific Ocean

November 24

After finally reaching the Pacific Coast, it‘s time to hunker down in Winter quarters. Lewis and Clark put the decision to a vote as to where to build Fort Clatsop, their home for the next five months. A tally of the votes is recorded in Clark’s journal, including historic votes from York, the African American slave, and Sacagawea, an Indian woman.

“Janey [one of Sacagawea’s nicknames] is in favour of a place where there is plenty of Potas,” wrote Clark, referring to Wapato, a type of native root vegetable.

December, 1805 - March, 1806

Conditions at Fort Clatsop are “horribly miserable,” says Buckley. “From December to March, it rained all but 12 days. They were stuck in cramped, smoky quarters subsisting on lean elk meat. They were ready to start the return journey as soon as they thought possible, and they actually left too soon.”

Long-Needed R&R With the Nez Perce

May, 1806

Returning to the Nez Perce, Lewis and Clark go against the natives’ advice and try to cross the thickly forested Bitterroots before the snow fully melts. “It was their only retreat during the whole expedition,” says Buckley.

June 8, 1806

The month spent with the Nez Perce waiting for the snow to melt is one of the most enjoyable and leisurely of the entire two-year journey. By day, Lewis and Clark’s men and the Indians compete in foot races and boyhood games like “prison base,” a type of tag. And by night, they stay up late dancing and playing the fiddle around the fire.

"Last evening the indians entertained us with seting the fir trees on fire,” writes Lewis, describing one of their last nights among the Nez Perce. “This exhibition reminded me of a display of fireworks. The natives told us that their object in seting those trees on fire was to bring fair weather for our journey."

A map depicting the route taken by Lewis and Clark on their first expedition from the Missouri River (near St. Louis, Missouri) to the mouth of the Columbia River (at the Pacific Ocean in Oregon), and their return trip, 1804 - 1806.

July 3, 1806

After easily crossing the Bitterroots with the help of Nez Perce guides, the Corps split into four different groups for the next leg of the journey. Clark leads a group to explore the Yellowstone River. Lewis takes another up the Marias River, which includes the northernmost edge of the Louisiana Territory. Without any way to communicate with each other, they plan to reunite at Fort Mandan.

July 25, 1806

Clark etches his name and the date into a sandstone outcropping near modern-day Billings, Montana that he names Pompy’s Tower after Sacagawea’s son. It remains the only physical evidence of Lewis and Clark’s expedition that survives today.

Lewis Kills a Blackfoot Brave

July 26, 1806

Lewis’s group is met by a small band of Blackfeet warriors in Montana. After camping together overnight, Lewis catches the Blackfeet trying to steal their guns and horses, and kills a young brave.

“That was the only native death on the whole expedition,” says Buckley. “And Lewis was so concerned that the Blackfeet would come after him, he and his men jump on their horses and ride for almost 24 hours straight to get down to the Missouri River and meet up with the rest of the party.”

Lewis and Clark Arrive Back in St. Louis as Heroes

September 23, 1806

A month after Lewis and Clark reunite at the confluence of the Missouri and Yellowstone, and weeks after saying goodbye to Sacagawea at Fort Mandan, the Corps of Discovery arrive back in St. Louis, where the exhausted explorers are greeted as heroes.

“Even though there were all these difficulties with mountains and rivers and climates and natives, they all live—they all come back,” says Buckley. “And the Lewis and Clark expedition becomes America's odyssey.”

from Stories - HISTORY https://ift.tt/2QXBWzs January 17, 2020 at 02:09AM

[itsfinancethings]

(PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti) — Opposition leaders are calling for a nationwide push Monday to block streets and paralyze Haiti’s economy as they press for President Jovenel Moïse to give up power, and tens of thousands of their dedicated young supporters are expected to heed the call.

People stood in lines all day Sunday under a brutal sun to get water, gasoline and other basic supplies before the next round of protests that many worried would turn more violent than a demonstration Friday during which several homes and businesses were burned as police fired tear gas at protesters.

Several people have died in the past three weeks amid the political clashes.

“I have a feeling that the country is going to change,” said Yves Bon Anée, a mason standing next to eight empty plastic gallons that he would fill with gasoline at $2 a gallon for friends, family and himself. He planned to resell his portion to make some money because he hasn’t been able to find work in weeks amid Haiti’s crisis.

“My kids are suffering,” he said of his three young boys.

Opposition leaders and supporters say they are angry about public corruption, spiraling inflation and a dwindling supply of gasoline that has forced many gas stations in the capital to close as suppliers demand the cash-strapped government pay them more than $100 million owed.

Protesters also are demanding a more in-depth investigation into allegations that top officials in the previous government misused billions of dollars in public funds that were proceeds from a Venezuela subsidized oil plan meant for urgent social programs.

Moïse, who took office in 2017 following an election redo, has said he will not step down despite the unrest and instead called for calm, unity and dialogue during an address televised at 2 a.m. Wednesday. It was a rare appearance for the president since the new wave of protests began about three weeks ago.

Laurent Dubois, a Haiti expert and professor at Duke University, said he believes the country will face an increasing impasse unless the parties find a way to reach some kind of resolution.

“There’s a lot of fear, a lot of anxiety … that things are going in a direction in Haiti that we haven’t seen in a while,” he said. “It seems like we’re going into some kind of new phase in Haitian history, but what it holds will be difficult to predict.”

Opposition leaders demanding Moïse’s resignation say they envision a transitional government after the chief justice of Haiti’s Supreme Court takes over as dictated by law if a president resigns.

André Michel, an attorney and professor of human rights, said Haiti’s current political system has generated misery, underdevelopment and corruption that have led to poverty, noting that the country’s middle class has shrunk.

Michel said Haiti needs to rebuild a new society and state as he called on the international community to back the goal of opposition leaders to oust Moïse.

“The will of the people is clear,” Michel said. “If he insists on remaining as president, he will lead the country into chaos.”

At a news conference Sunday, opposition leaders urged the dozens of supporters gathered around them to start blocking streets and to help them look for Moïse, whom they contend has gone into hiding.

Among those leading the call to find Moïse was opposition Sen. Youri Latortue, who has denied corruption allegations that U.S. officials made against him more than a decade ago and once led a party allied with Moïse’s Tet Kale faction.

“We’re going to search for him everywhere,” Latortue said.

[newstechreviews]

(PORT-AU-PRINCE, Haiti) — Opposition leaders are calling for a nationwide push Monday to block streets and paralyze Haiti’s economy as they press for President Jovenel Moïse to give up power, and tens of thousands of their dedicated young supporters are expected to heed the call.

People stood in lines all day Sunday under a brutal sun to get water, gasoline and other basic supplies before the next round of protests that many worried would turn more violent than a demonstration Friday during which several homes and businesses were burned as police fired tear gas at protesters.

Several people have died in the past three weeks amid the political clashes.

“I have a feeling that the country is going to change,” said Yves Bon Anée, a mason standing next to eight empty plastic gallons that he would fill with gasoline at $2 a gallon for friends, family and himself. He planned to resell his portion to make some money because he hasn’t been able to find work in weeks amid Haiti’s crisis.

“My kids are suffering,” he said of his three young boys.

Opposition leaders and supporters say they are angry about public corruption, spiraling inflation and a dwindling supply of gasoline that has forced many gas stations in the capital to close as suppliers demand the cash-strapped government pay them more than $100 million owed.

Protesters also are demanding a more in-depth investigation into allegations that top officials in the previous government misused billions of dollars in public funds that were proceeds from a Venezuela subsidized oil plan meant for urgent social programs.

Moïse, who took office in 2017 following an election redo, has said he will not step down despite the unrest and instead called for calm, unity and dialogue during an address televised at 2 a.m. Wednesday. It was a rare appearance for the president since the new wave of protests began about three weeks ago.

Laurent Dubois, a Haiti expert and professor at Duke University, said he believes the country will face an increasing impasse unless the parties find a way to reach some kind of resolution.

“There’s a lot of fear, a lot of anxiety … that things are going in a direction in Haiti that we haven’t seen in a while,” he said. “It seems like we’re going into some kind of new phase in Haitian history, but what it holds will be difficult to predict.”

Opposition leaders demanding Moïse’s resignation say they envision a transitional government after the chief justice of Haiti’s Supreme Court takes over as dictated by law if a president resigns.

André Michel, an attorney and professor of human rights, said Haiti’s current political system has generated misery, underdevelopment and corruption that have led to poverty, noting that the country’s middle class has shrunk.

Michel said Haiti needs to rebuild a new society and state as he called on the international community to back the goal of opposition leaders to oust Moïse.

“The will of the people is clear,” Michel said. “If he insists on remaining as president, he will lead the country into chaos.”

At a news conference Sunday, opposition leaders urged the dozens of supporters gathered around them to start blocking streets and to help them look for Moïse, whom they contend has gone into hiding.

Among those leading the call to find Moïse was opposition Sen. Youri Latortue, who has denied corruption allegations that U.S. officials made against him more than a decade ago and once led a party allied with Moïse’s Tet Kale faction.

“We’re going to search for him everywhere,” Latortue said.

[torentialtribute]

Lyon 0-0 Barcelona: Messi and Suarez miss gilt-edged chances to grab crucial advantage

Lyon 0-0 Barcelona: Lionel Messi and Luis Suarez miss out on unprecedented opportunities to win crucial advantage in Champions League after Marc-Andre ter Stegen made two beautiful saves to deny hosts

The leaders of the La Liga dominated the match in the Groupama stadium but lacked accuracy Barcelona was held to a frustrating 0-0 draw in their Champions League

And they were grateful to their goalkeeper Marc-Andre ter Stegen who made two great rescues in the first half

Pete Jenson for MailOnline

Published: 21:57 GMT, February 19, 2019 | Updated: 22:29 GMT, February 19, 2019

The faces of the players of Barcelona on the last whistle signal told the story – Lionel Messi and Jordi Alba exchanged confused & # 39; how we did not & # 39; and Luis Suarez curled his lip and frowned his forehead painfully.

Barcelona had fired 25 shots at the goal of Lyon, although only five of them on goal, but had failed to get away with an out goal on Tuesday night. Lyon in the group phase and Barcelona had suffered just as much. Barcelona will be a favorite in the second stage, but the Ligue 1 side will ensure that they go to the Camp Nou with at least the puncher's chance of making the quarter finals.

Lopes, Dubois, Marcelo, Denayer, Mendy, Traore (Tousart 68), Ndombele (Cheikh 84), Aouar, Terrier (Cornet 75), Depay, Dembele. ] (19459026)

Not used subs: [] [] [] [] [] [] [] [] 8] Ref: Cuneyt Cakir (Turkey).

There were 17 shots just in the first half and 13 of them were from Barcelona. No sooner had Cunyet Cakir blown his whistle than Lionel Messi flew into the center of Lyon's defense and was knocked down by Houssem Aoaur.

From the stairs – now with the usual player behind the wall to make sure Messi does not throw it in all jumps – he drove it over.

Aoaur then showed fast feet on the other side of the field and forced Marc-Andre to Stegen to push the ball out for a corner. It was only at Stade de Lyon and the place was really jumping when Martin Terrier's thunderous ride was pushed to his bar by Marc Andre Stegen, who gratefully grabbed the ball as he bounced down and turned back to his goal. .

Messi then fired from the cross of Jordi Alba He was furious at his own inaccuracy. Ousmane Dembele fired just as guilty in the hands of Lyon goalkeeper Anthony Lopes.

Not all attacks ended in shots. Gerard Pique's brilliant block tackle on Moussa Dembele came just as he was about to test Ter Stegen. No one was more scared to score than Luis Suarez who came into play after 23 hours and 38 minutes absent without a Champions League goal – giving a new meaning to the sentence: we could play all day and not scoring

Leo Dubois cut Suarez into pieces and he was fully booked, but Lyon kept him and Messi and Dembele at a distance from the break.

It was almost Sergio Busquets who broke the deadlock just in front of the door half of the whistle but Jason Denayer blocked with his thigh seconds before the time was blown out

Memphis Depay had it first shot of Lyon in the second period just outside the far post of Ter Stegen. The former Manchester United winger enjoyed the anarchist end-to-end.

Clement Lenglet tried to slow him down with a kick to the back of the calf and was fortunate not to be booked. The quality did not always match the energy – one free kick went straight and straight out of the game – but his direct running caused all kinds of problems to Barcelona and from one cross Ter Stegen had to run the ball away.

Ousmane Dembele was a constant threat and went twice close to breaking the impasse in an absorbing first 45 minutes

Barcelona brought in Philippe Coutinho for Dembele with 25 minutes. They slowed down the change as Sergio Roberto changed blood-stained shirt and shorts after encountering the Dubois elbow.

[OnceCoutinhozoumismaybehavescoredafewtimesSuarezreachedAlba'skateforthemleftoverandovercrowdedbehindthegoalCoutinhokegegegegegestegotestbyBarcelonamaarLopeskwamergoedbehind

Alba was next to shoot over. Only after a beautiful weighed pass over the defense of Lyon from Suarez, Messi found Lyon alone, to clear the ball before he could finish.

[1] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5]

At 89 minutes Messi had a free kick in a good position for his left leg left, but

He can still be the difference in this draw, but there is very little for the second stage of next month.

Lyon ahead Memphis Depay keeps Barcelona midfielder Sergio Busquets in the grip during the first half in France on Tuesday

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[mikemortgage]

One year later, ABI smelter lockout continues and town fears for future

MONTREAL — As workers marked the one-year anniversary of the lockout at the ABI aluminum smelter in Becancour, Que. Friday, the impact of the lengthy conflict was being felt throughout the region.

In addition to upending the lives of the plant’s 1,030 workers, the lockout is creating concern in the municipal administration and complicating life for local businesses. The slowdown has also deprived the provincial utility, Hydro-Quebec, of an estimated $215 million in revenues from sales it would have normally made to the smelter.

The town of Becancour, hit by the closure of the Gentilly-2 nuclear reactor in 2012, relies heavily on ABI, which accounts for about 20 per cent — $4.5 million — of its tax base. It would be a “catastrophe for the region” if the smelter closed for good, Mayor Guy Dubois said.

“We prefer not even to think about that,” Dubois said in a telephone interview. “But like it or not, we always have that at the back of our minds. For the moment, we have built our budget as though ABI was a corporate citizen as was the case in the past.”

In 2018, despite the fact ABI gradually cut production and is now operating at one-sixth of capacity, Becancour did not see a drop in tax revenues coming from the company.

But the plant’s unionized workers, whose average annual salary is around $80,000, are big contributors to the region’s economy. Currently, they are getting just $600 a week from their union, less than half their usual wages.

The situation has had repercussions on local merchants, in particular restaurants, Dubois said, but so far none has been forced to close its doors. “The current context of full employment has helped a lot,” he explained. “It would be very different if the unemployment rate was higher.”

Still, the lockout has had a negative impact in Becancour’s industrial park and port. ABI’s production cuts have meant a drop of about $1 million in revenues for the port, though this has been partly compensated by the development of new markets.

There are no signs that the labour conflict is close to being resolved. The two sides show little sign of budging despite negotiating sessions and a mediation process that ended Dec. 21.

The opposing sides are the United Steelworkers and ABI, which is 75 per cent owned by Pittsburgh-based Alcoa Corp. and 25 per cent by Montreal-headquartered Rio Tinto Alcan Inc. The main issues dividing the union and the employer are the pension plan and seniority provisions covering the assignment of workers.

“I’ve joked in the past that the only thing we can do is pray,” Dubois said. “We hope that each side will be able to compromise a little. That’s the only way out of this.”

After a year living on a much lower salary than usual, more and more workers are struggling to make ends meet. They say they have no intention of returning to work without a negotiated collective agreement, so many are turning to part-time jobs.

Martine Gauthier, who has worked nearly 31 years at ABI, will soon be eligible for retirement, but she refuses to leave before the conflict is resolved.

Her 25-year-old daughter is a graduate student at the Universite de Sherbrooke, and to help cover her tuition expenses, Gauthier is taking on a part-time job in addition to her picket duties. “Is Mom going to stop paying for her studies? No. My daughter is a good student. I cannot abandon her,” she said by telephone.

Clement Masse, president of the union local, said the workers’ resolve is not cracking. But he acknowledged that he did not expect the impasse to last so long.

“It’s been long,” Masse said in a telephone interview. “You can’t say that people aren’t fed up. What they want is a negotiated agreement. Naturally, we are going to meet our members in the coming weeks.”

Union members planned a demonstration Friday afternoon outside the office of the local member of the provincial legislature, Donald Martel, who represents the governing Coalition Avenir Quebec. Their aim is to remind the government how long the conflict has dragged on.

This week, the government announced the creation of a three-member working group drawn from bureaucrats in the Labour Department to examine the situation. But Labour Minister Jean Boulet said the government is not yet prepared to try to force a settlement.

“I will not impose a solution,” he said in an interview. “I spoke up and expressed my huge disappointment at the way the two sides behaved during the mediation. But I can’t do the job on my own.”

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[sablesouls]

This was DuBois' first trip south. And in those three years at Fisk (1885–1888) his knowledge of the race problem became more definite. He saw discrimination in ways he never dreamed of, and developed a determination to expedite the emancipation of his people. Consequently, he became a writer, editor, and an impassioned orator. And in the process acquired a belligerent attitude toward the color bar. Also, while at Fisk, DuBois spent two summers teaching at a county school in order to learn more about the South and his people. There he learned first hand of poverty, poor land, ignorance, and prejudice. But most importantly, he learned that his people had a deep desire for knowledge. After graduation from Fisk, DuBois entered Harvard (via scholarships) classified as a junior. As a student his education focused on philosophy, centered in history. It then gradually began to turn toward economics and social problems. As determined as he was to attend and graduate from Harvard, he never felt himself a part of it. Later in life he remarked "I was in Harvard but not of it." He received his bachelor's degree in 1890 and immediately began working toward his master's and doctor's degree. #williamedwardburghardtdubois #blacknationalism #panafricanism #sablesouls #blackhistory #webdubois #harvard #germany #segregation #south