#wait is oil 'drilled' or 'mined' or 'dug up' or what?

[tanadrin]

You're not wrong about anything wrt cost of flying, but man is it bracing to wake up to a reminder that I can never ethically see most of my loved ones in-person again.

hmm. i think this is also the wrong way to think about it. flying is not a sin. being in some indirect way responsible for a certain amount of carbon emissions does not Taint Your Soul. and absolutist frameworks for this kind of thing are not helpful to anybody, least of all the people who actually might already be contributing to fixing problems like this through positive behaviors, like voting or political organizing.

the problem with carbon emissions is that they're a difficult to solve collective action problem, where a lot of the incentives point in a harmful direction, not that they are Fundamentally Immoral, and i think that's an important distinction to make, because i think a handful of semi-scrupulous individuals flagellating themselves and depriving themselves of things that would make them happy in the long run has no real effect on big problems like this. you not seeing your family is not going to fix global warming! and there are not enough people who are willing or able to act on guilt alone to refrain from flying that it's going to meaningfully dent emissions from the air transport sector.

what we need are policies that shape collective decisionmaking. this is why a fat carbon tax (especially when coupled with a rebate for lower-income people) can be a useful policy: it might make it harder to fly to visit family, but it won't make it categorically impossible, and it will reduce air travel in general, or encourage finding lower-carbon alternatives that allow people to travel just as much, like high-speed trains or, i don't know, some kind of fancy jet fuel that emits less CO2.

honestly, if you vote consistently for pro-environmental policies and parties, if you donate a bit of spare cash from time to time to the same, and/or if you are minimally politically active in other ways, and you're not, like, the CEO of BP in your professional life, you are fine. go, free from sin. if everyone did that, the problem of carbon emissions could be solved in a few years. now, you might go, "but not everyone is doing that!" well, not everyone is sitting at home miserable because they missed seeing grandma on her deathbed; that won't solve global warming either. in fact, it will do even less to solve global warming, because it is (and i say this with compassion) an anxious, guilt-ridden, useless gesture meant to salve your own spirit, not actually a contribution to solving the problem.

in general, i am really opposed to letting a vast and nebulous sense of guilt on big, systemic problems shape your personal behaviors. none of the behaviors that these feelings of guilt ban ever contribute to significant or systemic improvements in the problem--guilt is not building nuclear plants or preventing oil from being drilled. and in my experience, the kind of people who feel this guilt are prone to anxiety, maybe as kids were made overly responsible for the emotional state of people around them, and thus feel an outsized sense of responsibility in other areas of their life, and they mistakenly think that 1) this is a healthy way to go through life, 2) if they don't go through life this way they're a Bad Person, and 3) most people (or most people they think of as Good People) feel this way.

i wish to free people from this burden. there are no individual solutions to big collective action problems! and if reading about global warming, or racism, or poverty, or any other big social problem fills you with an enormous sense of guilt and has you wracking your brain for ways you can help by cutting/reducing/abstaining from things in your life, congratulations, you are one of many people in this world who can be at least 300% more selfish and still be a certified Good Person. so, uh, chill.

[melancholymetropolis]

Skin

Summary:  Business Man Todoroki has been unconsciously neglecting his wife, due to his enormous workload. So, she decides to surprise him at home office.

A/N: Thank you guys for all the love you shared on my first piece! I didn't expect so many people to be so into it! If you want to commission me for a story, click here!

Warnings: This is pure filth with a dash of fluff at the end. Maybe, angst, if you squint. Reader is, also, plus sized! Shoto is a cocky little bastard, but a total simp for his wife. 

Pairings: AgedUp!Todoroki Shoto x Black!Reader

As I grabbed my bonnet off the nightstand, my eyes caught a glimpse of the clock. 12:34 AM. I sighed and looked at the neatly made bed. My husband was supposed to be on the other side, pulling back the sheet and climbing in along with me. But, like most days, he was still in his study, waist-deep in work. Frustrated, I walked to the closet and took a long look at the present I had picked up earlier that day. I was supposed to wear it the following day since he had claimed I would have his undivided attention this weekend. However, my patience had been wearing thin and I was seconds away from throwing myself at him in my birthday suit. Knowing Todoroki, he would’ve found it by the morning anyway and ruined the surprise. 

Before I could change my mind, I stripped out of my oversize cotton shirt and underwear. I threw the items in the hamper and unhooked the lingerie from the hanger. I slipped my legs into the lace cheekies and snapped the garter belt around my waist. After I shimmied into the strapless bustier, I rolled the thigh high stockings onto my legs and clipped the garter belt onto them. I tossed the bonnet on the bed and untied my boxed braids from its messy bun. I slipped my feet in the marabou lined heeled slippers and shrugged on the matching black, silk robe. I rolled on my homemade Love Potion scented oil and fluffed my eyelashes with mascara. I added a little bit of sparkling lip gloss and headed out of the room.

On the way to the study, I had tried to convince myself that what I had done was incredibly stupid and childish. But, I simply debunked that statement with “YOLO” and continued on my journey. The door to the study had been partly ajar. Through the crack, I could see Todoroki typing away on the laptop as if there had been no tomorrow. I took a deep breath and pushed the door open a little more. I knocked twice on the frame and waited for him to look up. He didn’t.

“I promise I am almost done, I just need to type this last statement and I will join you in bed,” his eyes were glued to the computer. “Just five more minutes.”

I looked down at my rose embroidered bustier and back at him. 

Should I just wait until he finished? He did say it wouldn’t be that long.

“Okay, darling?” he quickly shot a look over to me, before resuming his work on the computer. Suddenly, Todoroki stopped typing and stared at me. His mismatch eyes washed over me ever so slowly, taking in every detail. He took his sweet time to meet my eyes again and a smirk fell on his lips. “Lock the door.” 

I stepped into the room and closed the door behind me. I turned the lock to the left and looked back at him. The laptop had disappeared, along with the papers from on top of the desk. Todoroki loosened his tie and pulled it from his neck. He pushed his body away from the desk and leaned back in his swivel chair. 

“Come here,” his voice dropped an octave as his eyes darkened. 

I squared my shoulders and lifted my head. I stared directly at him as I took small steps toward the desk. I brushed my hands along the outside ridge before I walked in between his legs. I scooted my rear on the empty space on the desk. 

The Japanese man closed the distance between us and looked up at me. His fingers glided down the base of my thigh before wrapping around my heeled foot. Todoroki slipped the shoe from my foot and dropped it on the floor. He repeated the action with my other foot. His long fingers kneaded the stocking covered skin on my thigh. 

“I don't know if I should be pleased by this action or angered by it," his smooth voice dressed my ears. 

Todoroki had a way to speak with such authority and pose that it infuriated me. When he wanted to, he could switch on an Alpha persona and command my undivided attention. His voice would get deeper, huskier, and, when he spoke, it sounded as though it vibrated in my earlobes. The feather-like touches on my skin shot electricity through my skin as his gentle humming gave me goosebumps. Todoroki was well aware of how sexually attracted I was of him and would use these tactics against me. Sometimes even in public. The amount of underwear I ruined because of this was laughable. But he didn’t care since it meant that he would see me in new lingerie every so often. 

“Why would you be angered by this, baby?” I asked shyly.

Todoroki opened my thighs just a tab bit wider and scooted his chair closer. “Because I know—” he undid the knot on the belt of the rob. “I am gonna have to explain—” the silk slipped from my shoulders and fell on the desk. “Why my report is missing—,” Todoroki sat my heels on the arms of his chair and pulled my pelvis to the edge of the desk. “In the morning,” his hand kneaded the soft skin between my thighs. His fingers inched closer to my lace-covered womanhood and his eyes flickered to mine. The Japanese man placed his thumb on the moist area and drew small circles upon it. I took my bottom lip in between my teeth and nibbled on it. The skilled muscle slid to the top of my vulva and found the throbbing, sensitive bud. Todoroki drew bigger circles on that spot and my mouth fell open graciously. 

With a smirk on his lips, he mimicked my facial expression. “There we go. That’s the face I want,” he said as he leaned closer. “You like that, princess?”

“Mhm!” I hummed with a nod. I leaned backward on my hands and let my head fall back. 

Pushing my legs further apart, Todoroki rose from his seat. His lips left hot kisses from my navel and up my bustier. His tongue slid up my cleavage to my collarbones. My husband sucked the skin on the crook of my neck tenderly, before nibbling the skin on my neck. The bites increased until he reached my jaw. With one hand still on the sensitive bud, he found my lips. Leaning on my left hand, I laced my fingers in his hair and gave it a slight tug. I opened my mouth, greedily taking his tongue in my mouth. Todoroki flicked his thumb faster. My moans increased to desperate pants. I pulled my lips away and rested my forehead against his. I looked in his eyes as I whimpered under his touch. My legs began to shake slightly as my walls clenched against themselves. The seat of the cheekies was drenched in my arousal and clung to my vulva. My husband moved the digit faster and tingles ran through my body. My toes curled tightly as my pants became louder. I squeezed the root of his hair tighter; I never broke eye contact with him. 

Todoroki smirked deviously and removed his finger from the bud. 

“Why did you stop?” I whined with a frown.

He chuckled and unbuttoned his shirt. “Because if I don’t bury myself in that sweet cunt soon, I’m afraid I'll burst,” Todoroki said as he unbuckled his belt. 

“Well, we wouldn’t want that,” I replied with a tired giggle. 

Todoroki pulled his trousers and boxers down in one go. His member sprang free and bobbed a little. My walls clenched in anticipation. He stepped out of the pants and kicked them to the side. My husband looked down at my clothed core with the same anticipation I had. He unclipped the garter belt from my thigh highs and gripped the edge of underwear. He gently pulled the fabric from my hips and down my legs. Todoroki tossed the panties to the side and placed my legs back in their original position. He rubbed the tip of his member from my bud to my core before sinking himself into me. I inhaled sharply and exhaled with a low moan. The familiar sensation of him stretching my walls was always such a turn on. 

His mouth fell open and a groan poured from his mouth. “Fuck...”

I slowly rocked myself against his hips, hinting that I was ready for him. 

Todoroki started off with deep, long strokes. Savoring every moment of the transaction. Quiet moans left my mouth. The stimulation from earlier still stirring the depths of my being. The pleasure in my body had been reaching its limit and I knew my husband was nowhere near done. 

Bored with that position, Todoroki leaned back just a bit to lift my legs from the desk and rest them on his biceps. He gripped the edge of the surface I was on and began ramming himself into me. The breath in my lungs had gotten stuck in my throat and I forgot to breathe.

“Oh. . .  shit . . .” My mouth formed a large ‘o’ shape and my eyes rolled to the back of my head. 

“There’s the face I want,” he said cockily. 

I leaned back on my hands and threw my head back. “ So. . . good. . .” I grunted as I bucked my hips to meet his.

“Look at my naughty, naughty wife,” Todoroki mused lowly. “Desperately. . . ready to become undone.”

“Ugh~~~,” tingles began to flood my body. Stars flashed behind my eyelids as my legs began to shake again yet again.

Todoroki lifted my legs higher until they reached his shoulders. He continued his steady, but deep pace. His long, ebony locks began to cling to his forehead. Eyes drilling holes into my body. Todoroki slid his hands along the desk and gripped the edge near my shoulders. His member pushed deeper into my, brushing my cervix tenderly. My back slowly fell against the desk, and, to avoid an injury, Todoroki supported my neck with his hand. With hooded eyes, I looked up at him.

“I love you . . . so much,” I whispered as my toes curled tightly.

“I know,” he said with a wide smile. “I love you, too.”

The tingling stopped and a chill ran through my body. My back arched into his abdomen as my eyes rolled back. My mouth stretched open and hips pulsed against his. My nails dug into the wood of the desk. An elongated groan left my lips and I saw white. Todoroki continued to stroke in and out of the smooth canal, chasing his own finish. That actually, ultimately, further stimulated the sensitive area and elongated my climax. 

"Oh. . . My. . . GOD!" The whimper increased to high pitched shrieks. 

Todoroki drops one of my legs from his shoulder and hooks it around his waist. He tucked his arm through space my arched back made against the desk. He lifted my back from the surface, digging the bones from the bustier into my back. With my lifted leg in the air, I used my right hand to grip his shoulder as I lean forward, My left hamstring tingled a little at the position, but I pushed through it. 

“Thank God for Yoga,” he said with a smirk.

“Oh shut up— shit!” Todoroki resumed his deadly rhythm in the middle of my sentence. 

“Mhm, that’s what I thought,” he replied between pants.

The potency of that new position had been lethal; each stroke caused his abdomen to briefly brush against my sensitive bud. The overstimulation caused my legs to shake violently, after a short while. A build-up of pressure found its way in my lower belly and gave off a warm sensation. I dug my nails into my husband’s shoulder and threw my head back. Incoherent words left my tongue, as water gushed from my core and onto the silk garment beneath me. Todoroki’ stroke came to an abrupt pause and a silent scream left his lips. With closed eyes, he gripped the edge of the desk tightly and pushed himself in me one more time before oozing into me. He caught his breath and ran a hand through his hair. A shallow laugh left his mouth as he pried his eyes open. Todoroki lowered my leg from his shoulder and rested a hand on my neck. Thumb on my cheek, my husband lowered his mouth to mine and gave me a passionate kiss.

I hooked my arms underneath his and placed my fingers in his hair. With his other hand flat against my lower back, he arched my body into his and deepened the kiss. He moaned against my lips.

I pulled away from the embrace and chuckled, “You never took off the bustier.”

“I didn’t want to break it,” he gave my lips a small peck. “I actually liked this one.”

“Oh. really?” I said with a raised eyebrow. “You didn’t like the pink one?”

“I mean, it was nice,” Todoroki kissed along my jawline. “But, it is something about you in black. It does things to me.” He nipped the sweet spot on my neck and a shiver ran down my spine.

“Noted,” I replied with a groan. 

“But, it really doesn’t matter what you wear,” Todoroki kissed his way up my neck and raised his head to meet my eyes, “You could wear a garbage bag and I’d still rise for you.”

“Garbage bags are black, honey,” I concluded with a cheerful glint in my eyes.

“Oh, you’re right,” Todoroki said with a laugh. After a few seconds, he paused his laughter. “I just remembered. . . I have a surprise for you, too.”

“You know I hate surprises,” I groaned. 

“But, you’re gonna like this one,” Todoroki untangled our limbs and pulled away from me. He reached into a drawer and pulled out two pieces of paper. He handed them to me. 

“Plane tickets to. . . the Netherlands,” I read aloud. 

“A two-week romantic getaway,” he declared with a nod. “I have been promising you quality time for a while now, so I decided to take off of work for a little while.”

“Looks like I gotta buy some more lingerie, huh?” I questioned with a grin.

“A whole lot more,” my husband said before pulling me in for another kiss.

[beebrainedstudios]

Killdeer

I couldn’t get this idea out of my head, and was in the mood to write something a little more menacing than usual. This is set right after Kell gets back from Grey London in ADSOM, replacing the original meeting he had with the Danes. Get ready for the twins being themselves, a surprising amount of bird symbolism, and excessive drinking. I had a lot of fun toying with a darker concept. Enjoy!

Warnings for blood, violence, sinister themes, death, and alcohol!

“I… I think I should probably stop.”

Kell’s voice was slurred, slipping out of his mouth like oil instead of its usual clipped chirp. Between the drink and the fear, he sounded less like a dinner guest and more like one of the Scorched Bone’s regulars (which, granted he was, but not for the same reasons). Like a waxwing after the dogwoods had fermented, on its back and fluttering pathetically while the cats closed in. 

Kell was very, very drunk, and surely terribly afraid, because Holland for his life couldn’t figure out why else Kell would choose to drink with the Danes; not one drink, not three, but five. Five whole glasses of wine that was stronger than most vodka, known to knock men three times his size on their backs, while dining with two of the most vicious killers in the four worlds. He’d been known to take a glass or two if they offered it- the Danes don’t take no for an answer- but this was excessive, richly so, and Holland had thought he was smarter- or at least in possession of a functioning sense of self-preservation. The Danes didn’t drink with people unless they wanted to see them drunk, and instead of being clever and accepting one drink and a few hiccups, Kell had decided to give them a show. 

“Are you sure?” Athos asked with a smile, white teeth flashing under his beard. Holland was pretty sure he’d just licked his lips. “You seem to be having fun.” 

There was an undercurrent of mockery there that Kell didn’t notice, too busy spinning his empty goblet on the table with one finger, watching as the metal runes embossed on its surface glittered in the lamplight. His face was flushed red, his eyes half-lidded as if he was going to fall asleep right in his chair. Athos raised his brows, and Kell’s head snapped up from his cup as if he’d only just registered that he’d been spoken to. He flushed deeper, and nodded before turning back to his plate. At least he’d been smart enough not to touch the food. 

Astrid leaned forward in her chair, eyes gleaming. Without looking, she raised her own glass for Holland to refill it. He wordlessly drew his knife along his arm again- twice now, tonight- and held the bleeding fount over her cup. “Rough day?” Her voice was light, laughing, spun with fake sympathy. Astrid Dane didn’t know empathy, but regardless if she had, she wouldn’t have cared; she was noting the way Kell’s head was tilted, his unmarked throat and the veins beneath. 

The Danes hadn’t eaten either, and they were watching Kell with the same eyes as a starving pack of wolves watching injured prey. Kell had just limped his way into their sight, temptingly helpless, and Holland wondered if the Danes’ would disregard their plan and just take him now.

“A little.” He hiccupped, muttering a swift apology behind his hand, his eyes drifting from Athos to Astrid and finally to Holland’s bleeding wrist. He didn’t look at his face. “The king in Grey’s getting…” His voice dipped, as if he’d forgotten it. “Worse- he’s getting worse, he’s been ill. It’s sad to watch, really. Ugh,” Kell leaned back in his chair and glared tiredly at the ceiling, wiping his hair out of his eyes. “Sanct. I guess, I guess age comes for all of us. Your glass, Astrid.”

Astrid had been so focused on Kell that she hadn’t noticed her glass had overflowed. She immediately swept her glass away and wiped the rim off with her finger, licking the blood off as Holland stooped to clean up the spill. Most of it had dripped onto his shoes; earlier orders had kept him rooted to the spot, and he didn’t see the point in stepping away even if he could. His shoes had seen enough blood before, and he had a feeling there would be more tonight if Kell didn’t stop his foolishness. 

Athos feigned interest. “Well, we’ll have to send a letter of condolences to the family for their situation, won’t we, Astrid-”

“Can you smell it?”

Athos, Astrid, and Holland all looked up at once, caught off guard by Kell’s question. He was practically melting into his seat, glassy-eyed, but he was completely focused on Astrid’s face, her lips, still stained red from Holland’s blood. Athos cocked his head, about to answer, but Astrid raised a single scarlet finger for him to let Kell continue. 

Kell blinked. “Can you?” He asked again, eagerly. “The scent of magic in it? Maktahn magic, Holland’s magic. It’s different, you know.” He yawned, and shook himself, looking then to Athos and tilting his head in a drunken parody of the king’s stare. When nobody answered, he spoke again, words spilling out in a crooked, shuddering ramble, fast and strangely loud.

“Magic, I know you can smell magic, but can you tell the difference in it? What does it taste like? The smell’s different, different for everyone, and Holland’s metal and ash and misery, but mine-” His voice dropped sharply to a mumble and he held up a hand, looked at his wrist, his blood blue beneath the skin. To Holland he seemed unable to recognize it as his own. He was so drunk. “Mine’s flowers, apparently, but I can’t tell it myself.” Kell looked back to the Danes. “There’s not even that many flowers at home.”

What does it taste like?

Holland stared, struck dumb, while the Danes only glanced at each other and then back to Kell. “Do you want to find out?” Astrid purred, one hand slowly sliding over to Holland’s knife, still wet on the table, fingers lacing around it one by one. Kell only blinked at her, as if he hadn’t understood, turning back to his wrist and tracing a finger along the veins, mapping them out. He didn’t say no.

Kell had just thrown himself to the wolves. 

The Danes breathing quickened, and both rose from their seats in sync, perfectly in tune with each other and their new unspoken plan. Holland could only stare, mouth oddly dry, but Astrid’s hand slid over his bowed head anyway. “Don’t move.” Her voice was as quiet as her touch and then both were gone. The twins stalked slowly along the table, knives in hand, making no sound at all besides the rattle of armor. The air bristled with threat, with hunger, but Kell only shrunk back slightly in his seat. A brush of fear, but only a little, a hitch in his throat, his own breaths coming faster as Athos and Astrid got closer, but it was too late now, and for some saints’ forsaken reason he hadn’t gotten up-

“Your Majesties, what-” Kell panted and his head tipped back, eyes drilling fever-bright into the ceiling before shutting closed. He was shaking now, the drink unable to suppress the dread that he had somehow horribly messed up, but he should have been running. He should have been scared. He only looked uncomfortable and timid, as if Holland was near, like a man too close to fire. Holland couldn’t fathom it. It wasn’t Holland near him now. It was the Danes, and he had asked a question that took blood to answer. 

Holland couldn’t decide if he should shut his eyes too, or if he should watch.

“Let’s find out.” Athos growled, low in his throat. Both he and Astrid knelt next to Kell’s chair, fast as lightning and one to either side, grabbing his wrists. Kell jolted at their touch but didn’t pull away, only turning to look at Astrid with drunken confusion; it took him too long to meet her eyes. He almost looked offended at the contact.

“What are you doing?” 

Her knife tapped against his skin in reply, the Danes’ smiles almost as sharp as their blades. Athos laughed like the crack of a whip in winter air. “You asked, didn’t you?” His nails dug hard into Kell’s wrist and the prince flinched, glaring at him with the barest flicker of anger, tugging his wrist away, but the white king’s grip was too strong, and Athos instead pulled him back and pinned his arm against the chair. Their knives flashed, and Kell yelped but still didn’t move away. Holland wanted to scream at him- you have your magic, use it, stop them- but nothing happened, and Kell caught his eyes and stared emptily back as blood trickled down his hands. 

Both Danes were licking it off of their knives, pure ecstasy on their faces as the stink of roses filled the air, when the prince’s eyes shifted once again to Astrid. His arms twitched once, but the Danes’ grip was firm. “Well?” His voice was a pathetic chirp among the sound of dripping scarlet.

Astrid nodded, veins and eyes dark with magic. 

Kell let his head fall back again, and sighed through gritted teeth, the burn in his arms finally pushing through his haze. “Huh. I suppose-” A tiny shudder along his wrists, a weak attempt to pull loose. “I suppose I asked for it, didn’t I? I, I ask...as…oh, saints-” He looked so tired. 

A single violent motion, a flick of his wrists, fingers brushing theirs, and a bright blue eye opened wide.

“As Tosal.”

Confine.

Nothing moved. Holland didn’t- couldn’t- and Kell didn’t either, except for the ragged breaths that came after the rush of magic. Warmth filtered into the room, bringing with it the scent of burning petals. Then Kell broke the silence and staggered to his feet, tearing himself away from the Danes with a sudden furious growl. All of his intoxication, his dazed appearance, his weakness, was gone, replaced with trembling adrenaline and something colder- rage.

The Danes were frozen perfectly still- not like coiled snakes in wait, not like cats about to pounce, but stuck. Their chests barely moved, but they were alive; Holland could practically hear their heartbeats. They just weren’t moving, as if time had stopped dead around them. Athos’ head was cocked in fiendish excitement, the same bloody smile on his face, but behind it his eyes were wide with fear. Astrid was much the same, her knife still dripping as she stared at it and her brother beyond, her hand still locked around an invisible wrist. 

Holland tried to rise and found he could not, Athos’s seal burning in response. 

Kot.

Holland swallowed, and slowly looked back to Kell. The Antari was still gasping for air, somewhere between terrified and enraged, but his movements were smooth and sure. He was rifling through his coat’s pockets, including some Holland had never seen before, pulling out two dark strips of cloth, a near-empty vial, and a single white pendant, its edges darkened with blood.

All of the pieces snapped together.

The pendant shattered on the floor beside the Danes, shards flying all over the room like glass as Kell started to bind his wrists with the fabric. The wounds were deep, but not vital; they would heal in a day or two. As he tied the knots, he slowly caught his breath, measuring them out one at a time like he was counting coins, swallowing and gritting his teeth as he tugged the bandages tighter. Then he held up the vial, and in a voice as cold as ice, explained its contents. 

“We call this glourtas, in Arnes.” Kell said, swirling the vial to drain the remaining liquid to the bottom. The dregs were a pale, frosty blue. “Meaning glutton, in case you didn’t know. It’s a common drug for any Arnesian elite who- how shall I put this- enjoys the stiffer benefits of a good harvest. It temporarily negates the effects of drinking. A rich drunkard’s best friend, at least until they start seizing.” He shrugged. “Assuming they use it a lot, anyways. I will definitely feel the hangover from our little party here tomorrow, but for now I’ll be just fine. Which brings me to this.” He put the vial away and pointed down at the ruined pendant. 

“Perhaps I never made it clear to you,” His eyes darted between each of his three frozen companions. “But my job, my real one, not this messenger role, is to protect the prince of Arnes. A prince you all tried to possess this morning.” Kell laughed, but his voice was still sharp as knives, and his eyes were full of white-hot malice. Holland had never seen Kell angry like this before. “Thank the saints he had the sense to ask me about it before he put it on, otherwise we’d all probably be slaves now.” His glare leveled on the Danes. “That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Nobody answered him. Kell sighed, the furrow in his brow deepening. He shook his head, and without another word, he grabbed Athos by the collar of his shirt and dragged him from the room. A few minutes passed, with Holland silently checking off each of his past kills, as he always did when it got too quiet, and then the Antari returned for Astrid. He didn’t seem to have much trouble pulling the Danes along; they moved like awkward puppets, bending when Kell made them but otherwise completely stationary. Even with his build, it only took a moment longer before the pair were gone. Another short spell of silence, and the room was empty, save for Holland.

In the quiet, Holland was surprised to find himself afraid. Not much, but some. He’d never thought his death would have come at Kell’s hands. 

When Kell walked in, despite his bloodless hands, Holland found he could believe it, if only for the look in his eyes.

Kell turned and pushed the double doors to the dining room shut, muttering a quiet As Staro to the wood and watching as the metal nails inside it grew and twisted into a snarled web of iron, locking the door closed. Holland looked away, steeling himself, but before he’d blinked, two glistening crowns fell at his feet. The Danes hadn’t been wearing them; Kell must have gone through the den. 

Kell was standing a few feet away- just out of grabbing range, should Holland’s feet be the only thing still stuck- he’d only heard the earlier command to stay put, not Astrid’s later warning. His eyes were still wrathful, but the heat in them was simmering now, calculating, looking Holland up and down as if to take his measurements. Holland resisted the urge to roll his eyes; it wasn’t that hard to kill something, or damage it, and Kell at this point was just wasting time. The seal still sat coiled in his chest- the Danes weren’t dead yet- but Holland still had no clue where they’d been taken. If he was going to find out, he didn’t want to wait, or to spend any more time kneeling over a patch of spilled blood that he would never get to finish cleaning up. 

He was about to snap at the Antari to finish it already, but Kell cut him off, his voice loud and imperious, as if he was talking to a disobedient guard. Not disrespectful, but absolutely commanding. Holland would have laughed if Kell had spoken to him in that tone earlier, but  Kell had proven himself much more wicked than he’d thought. Probably not wise to interrupt now.

“Listen to me, Holland.” Kell snapped. “The only, and I repeat, the only reason you are not dead right now is because I genuinely believe that you had no willing part in this. Arnes does not tolerate assassination. If you, or whoever else takes the throne even thinks about trying to overthrow my family again, I will come back, and I will kill all responsible in the most twisted, horrific, nasty fashion I can come up with, and if that’s not good enough, I’ll ask my king for help. Do not doubt me in this.”

Holland didn’t.

“No one touches my brother. No one. Now, I put the Danes outside, and sealed all of the palace doors-”

“Outside?” 

“Yes, outside the palace walls. On the street.” He said nothing else- there was nothing else to be said. London was London.

Holland’s eyes went to the window, to the cloudy night beyond, to the people beyond it. Eventually someone would figure out that the Danes were defenseless; maybe they already had. There was magic in their blood now, especially after their short feast, and the scent would travel far on the northern wind.

Kell was still glaring down at him, as if daring him to speak. Holland didn’t look away from the window, but he could feel the spark of the Antari’s eyes looking over him again like a bolt from Astrid’s fingers, setting his hairs on end. A final huff, and the electricity fizzled into nothing. Holland kept his eyes on the glass, but he could hear the clatter of Kell’s shoe buckles as he went back to the table, then over to the far wall. The smell of flowers filled the air again, but fainter this time, sickly sweet. 

“Correspondence will resume shortly.”

The smell faded into nothing, and Holland knelt and listened to the sounds of London at night, to the screams, the howls, and dreamed of the coming morning and the Someday King.

[itwillbeall-dwight]

tis the season

Meg Thomas & Quentin Smith; christmas fun! no tws; 1118 words

a/n: This is a gift for @little-prince-quentin for the dbd secret santa!! Sorry I waited until the end of the deadline to do this, this month has not been kind to me mentally, but I really hope this suits you just fine!!! this was super fun to write. happy holidays!

likes < reblogs, any comments in the tags are appreciated

ao3 mirror/kofi in the reblogs!

Preview: Time was a tricky thing in the fog. With no daytime, and trials taking place in places frozen in time, all the survivors had to go off of was a gut feeling, and maybe wishful thinking, to know when to celebrate a holiday from home. And so, after a handful of bad trails that sent group morale into a freefall, a genius idea from Kate to just… decide that it was Christmas was (mostly) accepted nu the rest of the campfire. Altruism was heavily practiced, old ugly sweater had been dug out of chests, and a secret santa had been organized thanks to Steve and Laurie, not to mention Meg’s current effort - decorating the realms as best she could, starting with the old Macmillan estate.

“Hey, steady, Quentin!”

“I’m trying!” came a strained and annoyed bark in response. “But you keep moving, a-and I don’t know where you’re going!”

“Sorry, sorry! Just a couple more- go right, please!”

Quentin grumbled, stepping to the right slightly as instructed, tightening his grip around Meg’s ankles as she pushed a hand onto his head, keeping herself steady on his shoulders, her other hand wrapped around a long string of Christmas lights.

 Time was a tricky thing in the fog. With no daytime, and trials taking place in places frozen in time, all the survivors had to go off of was a gut feeling, and maybe wishful thinking, to know when to celebrate a holiday from home. And so, after a handful of bad trails that sent group morale into a freefall, a genius idea from Kate to just… decide that it was Christmas was (mostly) accepted nu the rest of the campfire. Altruism was heavily practiced, old ugly sweater had been dug out of chests, and a secret santa had been organized thanks to Steve and Laurie, not to mention Meg’s current effort - decorating the realms as best she could, starting with the old Macmillan estate.

 It had been a long and arduous process - the Legion had handed over most of the old and broken decorations the resort had with much bribery from Jeff and Felix, and the Doctor had no choice but to offer the wired and electrical equipment the institute had once Nea and Jake had made their way inside. And now, with David in a trial, the athlete had turned to her next best option to make the fog more festive-

Quentin let out a quiet yell as she grabbed at his head again, this time curling his hair into her fist to maintain balance. “D-Do you mind not doing that?!”

“Well sorry I don’t wanna eat dirt, dude! Almost done, promise.” Meg moved her hand, letting it hover for a moment to check her balance before she began to file the string of lights into it, reaching above her head to hang them along the roof of the killer shack. She strained to reach the hooks to hang the final line, sticking her tongue out to concentrate as she finally hooked them on, letting the rest of the string go to fall and sway in the cold and silent wind. “OK, there we go. Done!”

The other survivor let out a quiet sigh of relief, shaking a little as he lowered himself enough for Meg to safely jump off his shoulders, grass crunching under her feet with an expert landing.

“Now onto the next one.”

“...There’s more?”

“Well, duh! There’s the old ironworks, the coal tower, the oil drill, the mines,” The athlete counted on her fingers as she spoke, not noticing the way Quentin’s already tired expression continued to fall. “-And that’s just here on the estate.”

He blinked, sighing and pinching his nose, voice lowering to a mutter as he closed his eyes. “Why me?”

And when he opened his eyes again, he was met by Meg, who had moved to meet his gaze with a well-intentioned smirk. “Because you have my back Quentin. Your heart’s in the right place, and you need some Christmas cheer, you… humbug.”

He recoiled as she reached out to touch his nose, sniffling and rubbing it with the back of his sleeve, trying to hide his already flush face that was going even redder. “I-I was talking to myself, but… thanks, I-”

 He was cut off by a noise that made them both stand to attention - the noise of a heavy, rumbling footstep, and one that was uncomfortably close. Meg spoke up first. “What was that?”

“I-I don’t know- ah!’ He jumped at another noise, his eyes darting around before he looked back at her. “I think it’s time we- ...why are you looking at me like that?”

She slowly moved her hand to grab his wrist, her grip firm but not painful, her face pale as she looked up just behind him, at the figure casting a moonlit shadow on his back, one that had ascended the stairs of the killer shack’s basement to check on the noise outside, it seemed. Meg swallowed, lowering her voice as she replied. “It’s Krampus.”

 Quentin barely had a chance to register what was happening, tripping over his own feet as Meg began running, dragging him behind her, feeling the wind of a machete swing against his back as he tried to keep up with her sprint. Daring to steal a glance behind him, he caught sight of the Trapper, purveyor of the Macmillan estate, intently in pursuit of the trespassers on his property. He swallowed, turning back to Meg again. “Uhhhh-”

“I know, I know, I’m working on it!” She barked back, clearly feeling the glare on her back as the killer got closer, panic rising in her voice. “Can you run faster?!”

“I’m trying! I was a swimmer, not a sprinter!”

They dodged through walls and what little covered the estate had, trying to lose the killer who, reasonably so, didn’t care too much for the unwarranted company. And though it seemed he was simply slashing at them to get them to leave faster, like a dog nipping at their heels, the fear of death was still very much real, all the way to the exit, where Meg and Quentin stumbled back into the fog, finally able to catch their breath as the adrenaline died down. 

 It was Quentin that said something first, letting out a breathless laugh as he crouched down, trying to stop the feeling of his chest caving in on itself, and the heartbeat in his ears. “Holy shit, we’re alive. We’re alive!”

“Yeah… yeah, we are.” Meg exhaled a sigh of relief, holding the back of her hips as she stretched her back, looking down on him. “...Maybe that was a little stupid, so I’m sorry-”

“No, I… think it was me. I was really loud.”

“Still, I- I should have known not to go there, just the two of us, so… agree to disagree?”

He looked up to meet her eyes, and her sheepish expression, tiredly smiling. “...Yeah, sure.”

The athlete laughed, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet when he accepted, keeping her grip on it for a moment as her lips pulled into a small smirk. “So… when’s the next time I can get you to do this?”

There was a pause, before they both started laughing, walking back into the fog. Quentin took his hand back as they did, shoving it back into his pocket. “Bring an army, then I’ll consider it.”

“Ha! Humbug.”

[zeltricstudio]

'DEAD LAKE'

DAWN

MAY, 2011

“We’re finally here” Jacob Foster announced to his family – which consisted of his wife Maria and their two 16-year old kids Michael and Shelly – as they pulled up to the Cabin.

“Finally, my legs were killing me” Shelly announced as she stepped out and began stretching.

“I can breathe!” Michael said and began inhaling deeply.

“Enjoy your freedom while it lasts, because we only got the cabin for the weekend” Jacob said gleefully.

“Well if you are done stretching, let us move in. I need to get started on dinner right away” Maria said, and the family began hauling their luggage to the cabin.

Jacob and Maria Foster both had the weekend off, so they decided to travel to Dawn and spend the weekend in the forest. The main plan was to go fishing, biking, and hiking and spend the weekend just enjoying nature. Once they had moved in and unpacked, it was time for dinner.

“I was expecting something out of a horror movie, but this cabin is nice” Shelly said

“Same. I mean it is in the forest near the ocean. That is a recipe for horror” Michael added

“How did you hear about this?” Maria asked Jacob

“A mate of mine recommended it. Said he spent the weekend hiking. Apparently the forest is lovely” Jacob replied

“So what’s the plan for tomorrow?” Michael asked

“How does fishing sound?”

“Fishing sounds good” Shelly replied

“Yeah I can do fishing” Michael agreed

“How about you, honey?”

“Oh no thank you. The ocean terrifies me” Maria said

“It’s a lake” Michael jokingly said

“Well unless I’ve seen the bottom of it and can confirm there is nothing there, I am staying on land” Maria retorted

“Okay, so tomorrow us 3 will go fishing bright and early” Jacob said as he finished up.

The next morning, Jacob, Michael and Sally got dressed and headed out to the lake. The lake was ginormous, and they couldn’t even see the other side. The 3 got the boat into the water and drove into the ocean before stopping in the middle. The boat was a standard propulsion-engine boat and was big enough to seat 5 people, so they had a lot of leg room. Once the boat was settled, the 3 put the bait on their fishing rods and threw their lines into the ocean.

“So Michael, excited for the game next week?” Jacob asked, trying to break the silence.

“Yeah I am! We’ve been doing the football drills nonstop and the coach is working us extra hard” Michael said, secretly relieved to be relaxing for a weekend instead of training

“You’re going to crush them” Shelly said in support

“Thanks” Michael replied

Suddenly, Michael’s hook caught something, but his unpreparedness allowed his rod to fly off his hand and into the water.

“Damn it” Michael said as he reached over and picked it up from the water just before it sunk below his reach.

“Remember what I said? Always be prepared” Jacob laughed

“It must be a really big fish, it felt like a human was tugging my rod” Michael said, both confused and surprised at what had yanked his rod as he dried his hand.

“Maybe Dawn has some type of mega fish we don’t know about” Shelly joked

“I wouldn’t be surprised” Michael replied.

As time went on, they had yet to catch a single fish and didn’t notice that the fog had suddenly began seeping in.

“It’s been 2 hours and nothing” Michael said, slightly annoyed

“Yeah, aside from that mega fish nothing has happened” Shelly added, her disappointment in her voice

“I guess this spot might be a fluke” Jacob said, also defeated. “Want to head back and maybe get a quick hike in before we go back to the cabin?”

“Yeah” Both Michael and Shelly replied.

As Jacob started the engine up, they all heard a splash.

“What was that?” Jacob asked, looking around

“I heard it too” Shelly said

“Must be the mega fish, coming for us” Michael joked

“Well it gets to live to see another day” Jacob said as he tended to the engine again.

Jacob pulled and the engine sputtered. He tried to do it again, but another splash came, this time louder. Jacob stopped and looked around, before going back and pulling the engine cord again. This time something hit the boat.

“Woah! What was that?” Shelly asked, now scared

“I don’t know, but I am not sticking around to find out” Jacob replied and began pulling the engine cord

“Uh guys, what is that?” Michael asked and pointed to a creature in the fog.

The creature looked like a fish, except it had the shape of a human head. When all 3 turned to look at it, it went underneath.

“Dad?” Shelly turned to look a Jacob

“I don’t know sweetie” Jacob said, now scared.

As Michael put his hands on the edge of the boat to try and lean in, he quickly noticed that same creature underneath and pulled his head back in time before the creature could swipe him.

“Woah!” Michael said as he fell into the boat.

“What is that?” Shelly asked, now on the defense

“Damn it” Jacob said as he tried again with the engine, but another sputter came out.

The boat was rocked again as a creature hit it; this time much harder.

“Fuck it” Jacob said and picked up a paddle, planning on rowing back to shore.

“Michael, get the paddle and-“ Jacob was suddenly cut off as the creature jumped up and impaled Jacob’s arm with it’s fin. As Jacob screamed in pain, they all got a good look at the creature. It had the form of a human, but its skin was a dark green shade, with scales all over. It had fins on its head and elbows. Its eyes were hollowed out and it had no mouth. The creature was covered in vines and moss. Jacob instinctively punched the creature and its grip let go and fell into the water, making a splash.

“Dad, are you alright” Sally asked as she tended to his wounds.

“I’m fine, Michael try and get the engine working” Jacob commanded, and Michael got to pulling.

“Sally, get away from the edge” Jacob said and Sally moved to the center of the boat. Jacob picked up a paddle and held it firmly. A few more splashes were heard before another creature jumped onto the boat. Jacob quickly slapped it with the paddle before it could hoist itself up and the creature fell back into the water. The engine suddenly came to life and Michael pulled the trigger and off the boat went. As the trio sailed, they felt more and more bumps, each one with ferocity. To their fear they suddenly heard wood being ripped and Shelly spotted a creature hanging onto the boat. She picked up a paddle and pried it off. Unfortunately, the engine began stuttering, before coming to a halt.

“Oh no no no” Michael said, now scared. He looked over and noticed several claw marks on the engine, with a large one tearing into the engine and an oil leak.

“Those things, destroyed the engine!” Michael announced, now terrified.

“Michael take this” Jacob said and handed the paddle to Michael. Jacob pulled out a pocket knife and the 3 turned back-to-back as they waited. Eventually the water became still and silence became deafening.

“Daddy? What are those things?!” Shelly screamed, not realizing how scared she was”

“I don’t know!” Jacob replied. “I don’t know” Jacob repeated, now terrified as they were trapped.

As the three waited, a creature jumped into the boat, this time all the way and sat perched on the edge. The boat slightly rocked as Michael attempted to push the creature off with the paddle, except the creature swiped the paddle, cutting it in half. As Michael stood dumbfounded, Jacob went and kicked the creature, catching it off guard as it fell into the ocean. From behind, another creature jumped and stabbed Michael in both shoulders with its claws, before attempting to drag him down. Jacob instinctively grabbed Michael’s hands and tried to keep him from being dragged. As Shelly was about to help Michael, another creature jumped onto the boat, this time standing inside it. Shelly turned and tackled the creature over the boat.

“Ahhhh!” Michael screamed in pain, as Jacob tried pulling him up.

“Hold on son-“ Jacob tried comforting his son, but soon another pair of claws came through Michael’s abdomen. Jacob was forced to let go as the weight became too heavy and with his shoulder injury making him weaker. Michael fell into the water with a heavy splash.

“Michael!” Jacob screamed in shock. Shelly went over to Jacob to comfort him, but she was stopped when another creature hopped onto the boat. As Shelly ran to tackle it, the creature dug its feet into the boat and Shelly ran into it, but didn’t move it. It wasn’t till now did Shelly realize how big this thing was. It was easily over 6 feet and very muscular. As Shelly took a step back, the creature stabbed Shelly in her shoulder, causing her to scream in pain.

“Ahhhhhh!” Shelly’s scream pierced the silence. Jacob quickly recomposed himself but before he can rush to Sally’s aid, another creature jumped up and stabbed him in the back, before attempted to pull him in. Jacob took his pocket knife and stabbed the creature in the face repeatedly, causing it to release its grip on him. Shelly unfortunately was stabbed again, this time through the chin and her screams stopped. The creature then picked her up and threw her overboard, making a deafening splash as she hit the water.

“NO!” Jacob screamed and rushed the creature, with his knife going for the heart. The creature shrieked when the knife made an impact, sounding like a human scream underwater. The creature pushed Jacob backwards, before jumping back into the water. Jacob quickly got back up and kept his knife close to him, before moving to the center and turning around, making sure no creature got behind him. Jacob was suddenly aware of every sound being made. The peaceful silence was now terrifying as he knew it meant the creatures were waiting. As Jacob began panicking, 5 creatures jumped from the water at once. Jacob tried stabbing one, but its skin hardened and the knife just slid off. The creature slashed Jacobs stomach, causing him to stumble backwards to the front of the boat. The 5 creatures stood still, staring at Jacob, waiting for him to make the next move. Jacob stood at the edge, locked in an intense staring competition with these creatures. Suddenly a sixth creature jumped and stabbed both of Jacob’s knees from behind, causing him to buckle down. The other 5 creatures then ran and sunk their claws into his chest. The momentum and weight of all creatures was enough to push Jacob overboard.

“Arghhhggg” Jacob’s scream turned into muffled garbled as water quickly entered his lungs. The 6 creatures dragging him continued stabbing and after a grueling minute, Jacob stopped screaming, struggling, and moving. The creatures then began tearing the boat, causing enough damage and holes that it began sinking.

Maria woke up around 12:00 and was surprised to see that no one was back in the cabin. She walked down to the lake and noticed the boat was not back, so she assumed that they were still out. At around 5 they had not returned so she called the Ranger. They sent a crew out but they found nothing. A Search Party was formed and after a week, they were not able to find any evidence of what happened to her family. Maria had to return home, forever saddened that she never knew what happened to her family.

2 Weeks after the Foster Incident, the lake was closed off due to similar reports of disappearing people. “Yeah, do you think it’s time?” A man in a black suit said on his phone, standing behind the metal fencing closing off the shore. “Yes, people are beginning to ask questions and if the public knew what was in those waters, it would be hell” the man on the other end replied, sounding angry. “Affirmative, send in the S.E.C.T.” The agent replied, before hanging up.

[namjoonchronicles]

not about angels | three

↳ genre crime, thriller, angst, romance, psychological

↳ words 5.5k

↳ description --after learning that Jungkook somewhat knows the history behind the house he newly purchased, Namjoon begins to realize the weight that he shoulders all these years may be not have been entirely his to carry

↳ characters Jungkook, Seokjin, Namjoon

↳ warnings mentions of blood, domestic violence, corruption

↳ glossary *grant, legal: meaning a grant of public land, especially to an institution, organization, or to particular groups of people.

↳ namjoonchronicles’ tag list @kai-tashi @septemberalien @joon94net @yourlocalalien @snugglemejeon @yoongiseesaw @majestikblue

↳ parts one | two | three | four | five

Kim Namjoon.

Static screams in his mind. It’s hard to comprehend the lack of warmth when he was showered with it when you were around.

It’s easy to spot Namjoon. He’s the one everyone stayed away from. Through the eyes of a new inmate, Namjoon is described as, “Relentless, unforgiving, fist-first kind of guy” and apart from that, he is also “the lunatic who killed his own wife”. He has heard all kinds of versions of his alleged crime. From burying his wife in concrete, to plastering his wife’s body to the walls of the house he built; he’s heard it all. The mystery to his background adds onto the fuel. Namjoon was not imprisoned along with the other inmates. He has his own isolated cell. Rumour has it that he was given a 5 star meal despite his crime because he was the son of someone important who didn’t know what to do with their schizophrenic son. Some say he was mentally ill and wasn’t fit to be tried, that’s why there was no trial.

And to these rumours, Namjoon had said nothing. When he walks past the metal bars where the other inmates were leisuring around, always escorted by two prison wardens, they avoid staring. When he catches the new inmates’ eyes, his eyes turns dark, hooded and evil. Then he smirks. From the warden’s perspective, Namjoon was seen as charming. With his immaculate way of words, he is manipulative. He engages in a methodical approach of turning the words that came from others against themselves instead of directing them to himself.

He continues to baffle the so-called psychologist and psychiatrist with his disturbing logic.

The psychiatrist asks, “Hurting people is not normal, Namjoon.” To which he replies, “Ted Bundy wrote to Kloepfer in 1977, quote ‘I have known people who radiate...vulnerability. Their facial expression say ‘I am afraid of you’. These people invite abuse… by expecting to be hurt, do they subtly encourage it? End quote.”

Lie detectors didn’t work on him, and it was proven when he was asked if he had eaten or not; which he had calmly answered: No.

The lie detector dictates that it was true. But he did.

Thus, when he was asked if he has killed or not;

“Did you kill your wife on July 2nd, 2016?” “Yes.”

The lie detector expert says, “True.” Namjoon shot his head up and smiled eerily, “Ask me again.” “Did you kill your wife on July 2nd, 2016?” “No.”

The expert gulps nervously but Namjoon remains calm. “True.”

Mind jumbling sessions, the vast incomprehensible mind of his ushers many experts to turn away from their theories, concluding sessions with him as : inconclusive and or, undefined. They ran MRI, CT, CAT scans on him and found nothing else but extreme intelligence quotient beyond comprehension.

Namjoon is a genius.

He had spun around switching fluent foreign languages he had heard only once on the radio in the prison, mastered several other slangs, and had linguistic intelligence levels higher than the current known competitor. His actual number of estimated IQ, EQ and SQ was kept a secret. One of the reports about him, written by the nationwide acclaimed neurosurgeon concluded: incredible. That’s why he was kept in an isolated cell. Even though so, he doesn’t show any signs of aggression, or even any attempts to escape.

Namjoon is one of those ‘friends’ who seemed like they don’t belong there, but at the same time, does.

Always with books, Namjoon is a pretty easy inmate to take care of. So easy, that he was given much space when he works. Usually designing a new machine the government requires him.

His fingers are stained with oil lubricant almost always, twisting the spanner until it went past its cycles. He begins welding the metals with a welding machine, securing the bolts together. Make sure it’s stronger than his will to continue living. Given his engineering background and machinery know-hows, Namjoon has been stationed to help create metal frames and fixing any machines that goes out of service. It had been three years, so it was something routine for him.

Today however, a visit has delayed his work. The warden calls him out and told him he had a visitor. At first, he refused if it was Kim Seokjin. Or if it was another quack wanting to prove that he knows Namjoon’s brain more than the others that came before him. Namjoon isn’t in the mood. That was an amenity that Namjoon has: to turn away visitors as he’d like. He has another book to finish and he is waiting for lunch because they said it was going to be potato stew. He loves potato stew. Imagine his surprise when he heard some other name that rang no bell to him. A total stranger. He entered the room in a relaxed stride, his orange overall and striking gaze was what Jungkook caught first. He stood up at the presence of that men and stretched an arm out for a shake. Namjoon might have been an accused killer, but he is most certainly not rude. He takes the hand and gave it a firm grip.

“I’m Jeon Jungkook, I bought your house…” Jungkook introduced himself with a polite lopsided smile, unsure how to bring forth what he was planning to. Namjoon was taller, buffer, and far more experienced than he was. Judging from the age difference. Namjoon took the seat the same time he did, but unlike the psychiatrist, psychologist, quacks and lie detector experts, Jungkook was very humane-like. No disturbing smile, no creepy remarks like the warden who took him here had claimed. Namjoon was actually, in a sense of aura, quite pleasant.

Jungkook was reminded by the officer who granted Jungkook’s entrance who said, “That’s how all serial killers’ are, they’re all charming.”

“How do you find the house so far?” Namjoon engages with a gentle smile, but all he planned to do was read Jungkook from the top of his head to the tip of his toe. The only way to do that is to seem welcoming. “It’s tranquil, peaceful and…” Jungkook chooses his words carefully, provided his own linguistic skills, “outstandingly engineered.”

Namjoon’s lips parted as he smiled, reclining to his seat in a smug manner. Flattery, first impression is important. Namjoon could already see that Jungkook was curious. It seemed that he had found something that he couldn’t explain.

“Which news are you from?” Namjoon flicks his nails, with the other. “I’m sorry?” Jungkook’s face contorted in confusion. “You have a pen on your left breast pocket, your hands are far too soft for a mechanic, and you have a very small voice. You’re a writer,” Namjoon shot his eyes straight at him, drilling through the young men’s skull. Also, the fact that he had come all the way means that Jungkook had used the study room, where there was traces of blood behind the bookshelf. And the fact that he is here, suggests that Kim Seokjin has told him something. Or he has found something. Or both.

Jungkook refuses to fill into the pride that Namjoon must have felt when he guesses his job correctly. So he changed the topic by sliding his fist onto the table in front of Namjoon. When he opens them, a metallic cling resounded across the room. Namjoon’s wedding band.

“You loved your wife, you wouldn’t have killed her…” Jungkook dug into his breast pocket for a stack of polaroid. Showing Namjoon with his wife, eating ice cream, riding bicycles, pictures of her sleeping, picture of her working, with children, of him sleeping next to her that she took, at the beach, in the snow, strolling autumn park, buying white carnation bouquets. This was different. Namjoon looks away.

“If you did, why did you kill her?” Jungkook tilt his head to one side. “This visit is over,” Namjoon pushes the chair back and left.

The longer the memory resides, the more likely it becomes deceptive. This is where the line between reality and delusion begins to blur. The truth and lies becomes a concoction of Machiavellian turmoil. Namjoon starts to confuse the truth of the past and the lies he had created in his mind. Namjoon’s brain was so powerful that it could create a memory with a feeling that isn’t there. To Namjoon, it was the simplicity of ‘being in someone else’s shoe’ concept. But the scientists call it brilliant. Not only was he able to convert a scrap of the recollection into a complete lie, he was able to incorporate the emotional expense that goes in it. He can make a happy memory to be sad or tragic when it wasn’t; and make a sad remembrance to a happy one--there was no telling which part is a lie, and which isn’t.

We all lie.

But tonight he didn't want to lie. As he lay on his thin mattress and the dim light from the moon, his loyal companion, he begins talking to it. Maybe it was loneliness, maybe it was longing, maybe it was regret. But Namjoon spoke in hushes.

“Mine, forever...and always.”

2013. Summer.

He had been folding, unfolding, repeatedly the silk tie he was told to use. After two knocks, the door reveals his mother walking in with an envelope. She slide them on the bedside table, muttering, “The invitation is inside, don’t forget this…” She reminded him with nasally voice, crumpled tissue in her hand. She did a quick glance of her son’s spacious room, and had a seat on the bench by the bed, next to the large window. Unable to bear the sight of him fiddling with the tie, she raises from her seat and craned her head back. Namjoon’s eyes stuck to the left and then to the right, unable to focus.

“Don’t worry, you’ll represent your father well,” her voice soothing him. The nervous splayed over her son’s face isn’t easy to ignore. Namjoon was exceptionally cautious in terms of hiding his fears, but not when he is home, like this. Heart on his sleeves, he is almost transparent in the eyes of his mother. “You like charity events,” she added.

“Yes,” Namjoon inhaled and held his breath, “When they don’t involve money.”

“Nonsense,” his mother spat with a secretive smile, “Charity events always involve money.”

“Mom, I’ve never done bidding before…” Namjoon confessed. Only 19, what does he know? “It’s not about the bidding, my child,” she pauses, smoothing her hand over his shoulders, and handing him his suit, “It’s about showing that you bid. Didn’t Seokjin ever tell you how?” “I hadn’t spoke to him in ages,” Namjoon shrugs and looked into the mirror. The suit fit snugly and comfortably. His tall stature emphasize the amount of charisma he holds. “Why not?” his mother asked. “Seokjin...well,” he stopped, shut his eyes and fasten the tie clip onto his tie, the thought of Seokjin drinking and clubbing flashes his mind briefly, “We have different principles to live by when it comes to things not involving business.”

His mom sends him to the porch where a Black Sedan is waiting with the doors’ open. He gave his mother a half hug and unbuttoned his suit before he climbs into the car. The helper shuts the door for him and the car window draws down after his mother made gestures to speak.

“Even though he’s not here, he’d want you to do well. I’m sorry we couldn’t come with you,” his mother sighed, feeling guilty. “It’s okay, I’ll be home as soon as I can. You can depend on me,” Namjoon beams. Pushing his full rimmed glasses higher up the bridge of his nose. His mother pats his hand twice.

In the car, his knees couldn’t stop shaking. Feeling his lips dry as time passes, he grabs his lip balm and applied some. The driver threw a glance at him with a smile, but didn’t utter any words of comforts. Namjoon had an aura of leadership, where he is almost always seen as someone who could take care of themselves well. That’s why his father wanted him to pursue the family business without asking him of his dreams. He was so capable. Stands tall, with magnetizing presence, excellent mannerism and fluent in many languages. Charismatic, charming, chivalrous and purposeful. But Namjoon, on the inside is anything but.

He arrives in style, the door is opened for him, he exits the car and re-fastened his buttons back on, he realises another car stops just behind his. It was Seokjin, in his black turtleneck top and beige long coat. The medias are pooled at the foot of the event, as always. The camera flashes when Namjoon walks forward, he posed for the picture and gave a little wave where soon after, Seokjin skips to him and gave a handshake. He gave a salesman smile at the cameras while muttering at Namjoon, “You punk, you changed your number without telling me.”

“Didn’t think you’d need my number now that you have the Jung Corp. only son in your best friend list,” Namjoon smiles politely back. “If you’re jealous, you should have just said so,” Seokjin wrapped one arm around Namjoon’s shoulder and again, waved at the flashing camera.

A rush of wind suddenly tickled Namjoon’s ear. That’s when he glanced over his shoulder to see far behind the luxurious hall. Another entrance, and on that entrance, there’s a school bus pulling to a stop. Children both big and small, boys and girls, exits from them, all giggly and laughing excitedly. Their clothes far too thin for the weather, colors are faded and their shoe soles were worn out. It was easy to deduce that these children were not the kind Seokjin and Namjoon grew up with. At this spot, where he stood, facing the flashes by the thirsty media who wanted to know what his lunch was and if or not he bought a car, was so different from the kids who left the school bus felt.

We were here to do a charity event for them, but those kids walk behind because their clothes aren’t pretty enough for tomorrow’s news first page. In his thoughts.

Namjoon already hated being there. Capitalism had once again shown how ridiculously merciless it is to those who are simply aren’t enough. Namjoon looks at Seokjin posing for the camera, the clickers non-stop, applauding him for his good looks, and his social status. And here Namjoon was, incredibly seen and yet… unseen.

Dinner is a full course meal, beginning with appetizers. The higher social status you are, the further up stage your seat is. It didn’t matter what your age is, if your family is influential or massive economy provider, your status rises. Namjoon sat in between Korean Airline owner, Mr. Cho Yang Ho and socialite, Ms. Han Ji Sook, whose family owns a luxury jewellery brand. Namjoon’s family has a car business and real estates around Asia while Seokjin, seated at the neighboring table, owns a fishing company. He is going to start a delivery company soon and wanted to be on the same table as Namjoon next year, that was his goals.

Another two, sharing the table with Namjoon is Jung Corporation, Chief Financial Operator, Jung Young and wife. They are owners of mobile communication company and had just started Scholarships for students aspiring to be Programmers. Namjoon’s family isn’t a shy away from all those success. Their net worth isn’t disclosed to the public because it is too large. But the organizer, Ministry of Women, Family and Community Development must have a record on all that. On the bright side, the event is to enlightened the hardships subdued by charity homes that runs welfare, free health check ups for the homeless, orphanage and families living poverties, to request financial aids from these big companies.

However, the children who were invited and ‘celebrated’ are placed in the back of the hall and sat on the floor. There are no tables or chairs for them. Namjoon looks at the children, so well behaved, sitting quietly, waiting. Some of them are sneezing because the weather is too cold. Namjoon captures the arms of a waiter, asking if the heater can be increased a bit more. The waiter replies, “No, there’s no heater in that part of the hall…The portable one hasn’t been fixed.”

And there, the children are passing one piece of tissue each, to one another. Shrugging in place to fight the cold. The audience, continues the chatter, gleefully laughing, crossing their legs underneath the table, keeping up with their friends, not noticing the things the children’s are going through. Oblivious. Not noticing, or refuse to notice?

The emcee taps the microphone and began his welcoming speech. Cho Yangho, uninterested to know the objectives of the event, leans to Namjoon to snicker, “Just say you want our money, why make it sound nice…”

Apart from an awkward smile, Namjoon didn’t say anything else. He was already placed in such uncomfortable position where the press could start a wildfire rumor of him dating 40 year-old socialite Ms. Han Ji Sook just by sitting next to her, and the person on the left isn’t any less prejudicial. He just wants to be home, but his stomach grumbles. He glances to the back where he saw the children, and a lady was passing them blankets. The gesture oddly relieved Namjoon. Finishing the welcoming speech, the dinner begins with appetizers for the VIP attendees. Well-served, well cooked. A chef probably.

While Namjoon was eating, he heard them.

“I specifically wrote on the forms that there will be 30 children, how come there’s not enough food for them?” “Look, Miss,” the waiter sighs, “We got you 20 packs of food because if we give more, we will be out of budget for the other invitees. The 10 children can share.”

Namjoon fidgets his eyes to the direction where the conversation took place. But he wasn't able to see the woman that told the waiter about the food that wasn't enough. As he was scooping another spoonful of soup, he glanced at the children and saw  that they were eating food taken out from a nearby restaurant. A fast food restaurant. Only fried rice and bottled water.

At that moment he felt guilty. Namjoon was unable to explain the guilt that he felt as he sat so comfortably on the chair while the children from the Orphanage were on the floor. And the only reason why they are placed there is because they had no parents, no social status, and no money. His table, filled with the rich, left their food unfinished and taken away while the children ensured not even one grain of rice left. Namjoon himself couldn’t find his appetite to eat anymore. Not when he is witnessing unfairness took place. Without his parents around, he found himself even more aware of his surroundings. The things that he grew up to see and the consequences of the lands they took. Money is power.

Then, a female voice came from the stage. It’s the same lady who handed them blankets. Beginning by introducing yourself, you smiled pleasantly at the audience. Your eyes were glimmering with tears but you blinked them away. It wasn’t hard for Namjoon to tell.

“I help run an orphanage in the neighborhood I lived in. I was taken away from my home at the death of my grandmother and placed in the orphanage I came from. In this house, I studied, ate and eventually got accepted to college. This year is my first year… you must be wondering why I would tell you this… We came here to live, these children we care for are, like it or not, part of our future. There are potentials, skills and talents that are not yet polished due to their shortcomings, and situations. Charity events such as these has high hopes to continue the ongoing of financial expenses that these houses handles every month. Some of them don’t go to school because we couldn’t afford school fees. We haven’t even spoken about food coupons, transportation, let alone talk about uniforms.”

“Where are these kids from?” Cho Yangho raises his voice, interrupting your speech.

“Excuse me sir?” you asked.

“You heard me. Where are they from?” He cockily smiled.

“Baby boxes, neglected children from parents who relies on medications, children whose parents are in high school, children who gets left behind because their family couldn’t care for them, physically, financially and sometimes, mentally.” Each word she stressed with a delicate power resembling a spark that could consume the hall if it wanted to

“Trash...Their parents are trash,” Cho Yangho spat, chuckling.

You feel your cheeks heating up, not from embarrassment but from anger. Whispering, you spoke through the microphone, “Get the kids out of the hall, right now please…” your helper was hesitant, but he did as told. One by one, the kids left the hall. At the sight of the last child leaving, a toddler barely two, you cleared your throat. Namjoon felt tense all of a sudden.

You looked so brave. Something, he could never be.

Balling fist and glaring eyes, you maintained a smile when he glances back to the stage where you stand.

You inhaled, “And like trash they sit on the floor,” the microphone is turned off because they wanted the millionaire to save face, so you stepped down from the podium and used only your voice to resonate through the hall,

“And like trash, they sit on the floor, eating from the floor, shivering in the cold of their cleanest clothes they could find. Like trash, they waddled inside this forsaken hall filled with the so-called ‘Nation’s Finest’, asking, no. Begging for security that they are not looked past of. I came here, entrusting the ministry to stop raising the rent for the house they owned just because they’re saving nobodies. Yes, we are trash. We are trash to breath, to live, to simply have become human. The world you created has made it impossible for these children to live. And if their petite bodies lay on the street when the government took control, their blood will be on your hands… Sir.”

Don’t call him sir. He doesn’t deserve that.

“You sure have a lot to say for someone who is asking for financial aids. I shall remember your name,” Cho Yangho said from his seat and two guards grabbed you by the arm and you were told to leave the stage. Namjoon witnessed you ridding yourself of the harsh grasp and growled, “I can walk.”

The emcee resumes the event with a small performance by the local trot singers. Namjoon threw his napkin on the table and excused himself to leave the hall for a bit.

“Charity event? More like ‘let’s cuss at poor people’ event. Treated like animals,” you grumbled. It didn’t sound clear at first, but slowly, the fast steps approaching from behind made you turn around. It was the young man from the table Yangho was on. You didn’t want to have a conversation after that outburst, not at all. You begin to move away after glancing saltily at him.

“Tell him, he can sue me tomorrow,” you dashed and that’s when Namjoon realised you thought he was in the team of crazy balding owner of Korean Airlines. He sidestepped and got in front of you with ease, provided his long legs.

“...I’m Kim Namjoon, Gangneung Motors & Real Estates,” he set out his hand for a handshake as a habit but you left it hanging and instead, gave a passive-aggressive reply, “Congratulations.” And a fake smile. Moving on. “I saw what they did to you and the children,” Namjoon sputters quickly to gain your attention. But you seem to be in a hurry. “Sir, Mr. Kim…” you collected your thoughts and smacked your lips out of annoyance, “It’s a very cold night and the children have thin clothes on, I need to bring them home as quickly as I can before one of them fall sick. Will you please…”

Namjoon appears to let you go but he asked, “Which orphanage are you from?” He’d do anything to talk to you.

His question made you halt at the door of the bus, and you responded by pointing your chin at the body of the bus where it states, passing, “Didn’t they teach you how to read in rich boys’ school?”

“Take a good look at it, the bus is going to be sold no later than next Friday.” You hummed and walked in, avoiding your helpers eyes. He caught you by the coat and you had no choice but to take the seat next to him. “You know we needed the money,” Jimin huffed.

“Can’t you put your righteousness away for one night?” He whines in a husky voice, keeping his sounds low because the children were beginning to fall asleep. “They called us trash, Jimin... “ you ran your fingers through your hair, looking over your shoulders at the kids, “They don’t deserve that. They didn’t ask for this life.” Jimin took your hand and squeezed it, looking ahead to the destination.

“I sold my car to pay the bills this month. What are you going to sell?” he lands his head on your shoulder. “I’ll see what I can find,” you grinned tiredly.

Washed over tiredness, Jimin begins to drift away to his much needed sleep. But before he was gone completely, he asked, “Who was that guy just now, asking about our home?” You couldn’t answer Jimin, because you yourself didn’t know.

He is still standing there where you left him be. He hopes that the cold night can kill him and therefore he doesn’t need to re-enter that hell of a event, knowing Seokjin will be curious as to why he needed to run after the girl. He types in Naver, the web search engine, with his nimble thumbs, “Camelia Orphanage.”

Present day.

Namjoon startles awake. Sweat beading on his forehead, heart and lungs going separate ways. His warden knocks on his cell asking, “Namjoon, is everything okay?”

He nods. “Always the same dream, over and over again.”

The glass shatters upon contact on the floor. His hand grips into a neck of a woman while her hands fumbles for release. The sound of her restricted airways was the only thing he could hear. She falls to the floor and coughing, touching her neck, he went to her and delivered a slap with the back of his hands. With the broken glass, he strikes the side of her head.

And Namjoon jolts awake.

He massages his temples with one hand, eating his happy pills and went for a morning exercise. Today, instead of doing three rounds on the field, Namjoon is in his cell, given a pen and a paper. He is writing a letter, addressed to: Jeon Jungkook.

It begins with:

“You were right. I loved her. In fact, I love her, still. Before I even saw her face, I heard her words. She has a lovely, sophisticated and well-mannered voice. And there’s so many things words can say about a person. They tell us what hearts they have. She, she has a kind one. When I first laid my eyes on her, it’s like the sun came out. She was on that stage alone, standing on that podium, bravely, determined. Unlike me. That’s what I thought, how she was unlike me. She was all I wanted. I wanted to give her everything, but I didn’t know how. Funny how we are taught everything, but to love.

It was difficult at first, I researched the Orphanage she ran. I provided food they needed, financial aids, whatever they might need with the money my dad gave me for allowance. I didn’t need the half a million won in my bank. My cheques reached her closer than I ever was, but my heart was hers. Until one day, the bank said the account I transferred money to, was closed. I went to visit her college on my semester break and watched her work as a waitress, mascot, passing out flyers, as a cashier all the while studying, herself. An evening after so many evenings before, I finally muster up courage to meet her. I didn’t know how to introduce myself.

When I saw her serving grilled fish, wearing that dirty apron, wearing that tacky cap and in the same shoes she was wearing on that day I first saw her, I choked on my words, staring, eyes focusing on her. What was I doing? I’m a rich man in love with a waitress. Then the lights in that tiny canopy stall by the streets turns off. Light from the emergency rod lit up and I saw her. I saw her smiling. Smiling in the middle of mishap, assuring everyone around her that everything is alright, like she is used to this. And it struck something in me. The strength she has. To make most of what she has within her hold.

Again, I walked in that shabby pop up stall that stench of oily cheap beef, into a crowd who knew each other like families. In my expensive suit, I couldn’t fit in but my desire was strong. She looked at me, in the gaze so clear that I could see myself, familiarity sinks in, and she calls my name. My full name. I couldn’t express how happy I was to know she remembered me. There was no time for all the romantic stuff I planned, and the confession was rushed and in haste. I remember her smirking at me, I was scared for the life of me. And she asked me, to prove it. Prove that I love her. Not by my money, not by my status, but as me. As Kim Namjoon. And it silenced me, because I don’t know who that was.

Jungkook, I can call you that, right? To many, the ideas of love at first sight is often romanticized in movies. But my love to her had to be earned. And I have never earned anything in my life, on my own. So I took on part times jobs with her. Around her, always close to her. Those were our dates. Meeting during lunch hours, running into each other on the streets. Cycling on Han River, eating shared ice creams, fighting over skewers, running to the nearest bus stop in the heavy rain. You were right. I loved her. I love her.

I married her. Despite the protests from my parents. I married the love of my life, along with her sorrows, her despair, her pain and soul. I married her, with a promise… to love her, until she wants me to stop.

That day, I stopped. I think I did.”

Namjoon, in that letter continues to tell Jungkook word by word how he fell for his wife slowly, almost effortlessly. How refreshing she was to him. Compared to everything he had been raised with. He never had to worry about the future because he has his parents, knowing her, has made him realised how flawed the system was. Not only was he ready to devote himself to her, he was learning. As enthusiastic he was to understand the things he couldn’t, his parents didn't share the same excitement towards you. They were weary of letting someone ordinary into their spectacular family. The top 1% don’t simply allow any commoners in, especially without business benefits. They had plans for Namjoon already.

But quite literally, the future seems bleak because Namjoon is helplessly in love. With his brilliance, he was able to be a part of the construction and under discreet orders, had commanded a third house on that street to be erected on his behalf. Namjoon held the original blueprints to the construction while the developers held the ones he traded with. You knew nothing about it. He said he bought the place. It had only walls and floorings. Both of you built it, from the ground up. The house was yours and his. Sitting on the floor with warm mugs of coffee, the only mattress in the centre of the room, Namjoon remembered how cozy it felt. He shared dreams of the future with you. Held you tight and gently. The smell of brewed coffee filled the air. And he was home.

“I had a bad feeling about this,” was what she said. The day the letters from the government came, that the orphanage was being demolished and the children were being adopted one by one. You held him tightly in a hug that was meant to sooth you. Resting his cheek on the side of your head, Namjoon consoled, “I’m sure it’s just your mistrusting nature talking. The kids will be okay.”

All Namjoon’s defenses become construed because one day, the bad feel came true. A boy, around 13, ran to your house barefooted. His lips bloodied, face swollen and bruised, clothes torn—neglected. You turned the main door knob in a hurry and sped to the street, holding this boy before he falls to his knees. Weak, and unable.

You stared at Namjoon as he stood at the balcony. In those eyes, were hatred, distrusting and disappointment. Because even though you’re his wife, you don’t belong in this community.

Another question lingers into Namjoon’s mind, Who was that boy running from?

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copyright © 2019 namjoonchronicles do not repost

[orbemnews]

Chilean Mine Rescue Fast Facts (CNN) —   Here’s a look at the 2010 rescue of 33 miners from a collapsed mine in the Atacama region of northern Chile. August 5, 2010 – A collapse of the main ramp into the San Jose mine leaves 33 miners trapped 2,300 feet underground. Emergency officials are unable to communicate with the trapped miners. August 6, 2010 – A statement from Chile’s National Emergency Office says 130 people are working to rescue the miners. August 7, 2010 – Rescuers face a setback when another cave in blocks the path they were using to reach the miners. Chilean President Sebastian Pinera travels to Copiapo, where the mine is located, to meet with officials. August 22, 2010 – The miners send up a note tied to a probe which was lowered by authorities earlier in the day. Written in red ink, it reads, “We are fine in the shelter, the 33 of us.” August 23, 2010 – A second probe reaches the miners. Rescuers are now capable of relaying communications and can send food and water to miners. Before this, the miners survive by sharing small amounts of tuna and mackerel that were in the shelter, along with water. August 24, 2010 – Experts from NASA and Chilean navy submarine experts are called to help address the psychological toll the isolation can take on the miners. August 26, 2010 – Miners send a video message to their families expressing thanks for the efforts underway to free them. August 27, 2010 – Miners are told for the first time of the lengthy process rescuers expect it will take to extract them from the mine. Officials announce that they are working on a “Plan B,” which could help speed up the rescue process. August 29, 2010 – Each of the trapped miners is given about 20 seconds to speak directly with family members for the first time since the accident. August 31, 2010 – Plan A drilling starts. September 3, 2010 – The Schramm T-130 drill, otherwise known as Plan B, arrives at the rescue scene. The drill is usually used for boring water holes. September 6, 2010 – Rescue officials temporarily stop the Plan B initial drill due to a damaged drill bit. September 9, 2010 – Miners record a new video to show their families a glimpse of what their routines are like. The three minute clip shows them in good spirits. September 14, 2010 – Elizabeth Segovia, wife of trapped miner Ariel Ticona, gives birth to a girl she names Esperanza, Spanish for hope. September 17, 2010 – The Plan B bore hole reaches the 33 miners. However, the hole is only 12 inches wide and will need to be widened on a second pass. September 22, 2010 – The Plan C drill starts drilling. September 25, 2010 – The rescue capsule expected to haul the miners back to the surface arrives at the mine. Named the Phoenix, it’s painted red, white and blue – the colors of the Chilean flag. September 28, 2010 – The Plan B drill passes the halfway point to the trapped miners. September 30, 2010 – Rescue crews successfully test the capsule. One test subject declares it “comfortable.” October 1, 2010 – Mining Minister Laurence Golborne announces that officials expect to reach the miners as early as mid October – sooner than previously expected. Crews could reach the miners between October 15 and October 30. Officials earlier prediction put the date as far away as November or Christmas. October 5, 2010 – Rescuers say they are within 160 meters of the trapped miners. October 6, 2010 – Two additional capsules and a winch, a device used for winding and tension adjustments, arrive at the mine site. October 7, 2010 – A source close to rescue operations says the Plan B drill is now less than 100 meters from the target. October 9, 2010 – The Plan B drill breaks through the roof of the mine. October 12, 2010 – During a press conference, Mining Minister Golborne announces that the rescue is expected to begin during “the last quarter” of the day. October 13, 2010 – The first miner rescued, Florencio Antonio Avalos Silva, 31, reaches the surface at about 12:11 a.m. ET. Shift foreman Luis Alberto Urzua Iribarren, 54, is the 33rd and final miner to be rescued, approximately 22 1/2 hours after the rescue operation begins. July 25, 2011 – Representatives for the rescued miners announce that the official and authorized film rights to their story have been sold to producer Mike Medavoy. August 30, 2011 – Fourteen of the miners are awarded lifetime monthly pensions of 250,000 Chilean pesos (approximately $540), by Cecilia Morel, Chile’s first lady. The government chose which miners would receive the lifetime pensions based on health, age and the opinion of the group of survivors. August 1, 2013 – Chilean prosecutors announce they have closed the investigation into the mining disaster without filing any charges. August 4, 2013 – San Esteban Mining Company agrees to sell the now-closed San Jose mine to pay the miners and reimburse the Chilean government for the cost of rescue efforts, in addition to paying the company’s other debts. October 14, 2015 – The group of miners, who are in Rome promoting a new film about the mine disaster, “The 33,” pose for photos and present gifts to Pope Francis at the Vatican. November 13, 2015 – “The 33” premieres. Alex Vega Salazar, 31Ariel Ticona Yanez, 29Carlos Andres Bugueno Alfaro, 27Carlos Mamani Solis, 23Carlos Barrios Contreras, 27Claudio Acuna Cortes, 34Claudio David Yanez Lagos, 34Daniel Esteban Herrera Campos, 27Darios Antonio Segovia Rojas, 48Edison Fernando Pena Villaroel, 34Esteban Alfonso Rojas Carrizo, 44Florencio Antonio Avalos Silva, 31Franklin Lobos Ramirez, 53Jorge Hernan Galleguillos Orellana, 56Jose Henriquez Gonzalez, 54Jose Ojeda Vidal, 46Juan Carlos Aguilar Gaete, 49Juan Illanes Palma, 52Jimmy Sanchez Lagues, 18Luis Alberto Urzua Iribarren, 54Mario Nicolus Gomez Heredia, 63Mario Sepulveda Espinace, 40Omar Alejandro Reygada Rojas, 56Osman Isidro Araya Araya, 30Pablo Amadeos Rojas Villacorta, 45Pedro Cortez Contreras, 25Raul Enriquez Bustos Ibanez, 40Renan Anselmo Avalos Silva, 29Richard Reinald Villarroel Godoy, 27Samuel Dionisio Avalos Acuna, 43Victor Antonio Segovia Rojas, 48Victor Zamora Bugueno, 33Yonni Barrios Rojas, 50 Mining Minister Laurence Golborne described for CNN the rescue efforts, the three holes – called Plan A, Plan B and Plan C – being dug in an effort to open a passageway to safety for the men. Plan A and Plan B each required two holes to be drilled – a small hole first and then a wider one about 26 to 28 inches (65-70 centimeters) in diameter. Golborne said the second pass would progress more slowly than the first pass. Plan A involved using a drill placed directly above the shelter where the miners were holed up. Under Plan B, a hole was drilled at a roughly 80-degree angle into an area of the mine shaft that was used as a mechanical workshop. That distance, engineers estimated, was around 2,034 feet (620 meters). The drill used in Plan C needed to cut through some 1,969 feet (600 meters) of rock and earth. Plan A drill was a Raise Borer Strata 950, usually used for drilling ventilation shafts in mines. Plan B drill was a Schramm T-130, usually used for boring water holes. Plan C drill was a Rig 421 drill, usually used for drilling for oil. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Luis Hidalgo/AP Relatives stand by as rescuers work to free 33 miners trapped inside the San Jose mine near Copiapo, Chile, on August 6, 2010. The mine collapsed a day earlier, and the miners ended up trapped 2,300 feet underground for more than two months. See how the rescue operation unfolded. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Luis Hidalgo/AP Miner Daniel Espinoza waits outside the collapsed copper and gold mine to help in the rescue efforts on August 7. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Luis Hidalgo/AP Miners carry an effigy of Saint Lorenzo, the patron saint of miners, before a Mass outside the collapsed mine on August 10. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Hector Retamal/AP Chilean President Sebastian Pinera holds up a plastic bag containing a message from the miners on August 22. Translated from Spanish, it read: “We are OK in the refuge, the 33.” The miners were confirmed to be alive when rescue teams reached them via a tube that was sent down a small hole. The same hole was used to provide the miners with food, supplies and letters. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: MARTIN BERNETTI/AFP/Getty Images Drilling machines work in the rescue operation on August 24. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: ARIEL MARINKOVIC/AFP/Getty Images Marion Gallardo, the granddaughter of trapped miner Mario Gomez, writes a letter to her grandfather on August 25. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: HECTOR RETAMAL/AFP/Getty Images Relatives watch a video of the trapped miners on August 26. Chilean television aired footage of the miners, showing them in good spirits and explaining how their underground shelter was set up. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: ARIEL MARINKOVIC/AFP/Getty Images Minister Javier Soto dedicates one of the 33 Bibles that would be sent down to the miners on August 31. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: ARIEL MARINKOVIC/AFP/Getty Images On September 8, volunteers install heating and water purification systems at the La Esperanza tent city that sprang up outside the mine as news of the collapse spread. Esperanza means hope in English. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: ARIEL MARINKOVIC/AFP/Getty Images Margarita Segovia, the wife of miner Ariel Ticona, rests beside their newborn daughter Esperanza at a hospital in Copiapo on September 14. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Luis Hidalgo/Reuters/Landov People celebrate the arrival of part of an oil rig on September 16. Soon, an escape route would be drilled for the trapped miners. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Ivan Alvarado/Reuters/Landov On September 25, a worker tests a capsule that would be used as part of rescue operations. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Nicolas Torres/LatinContent/Getty Images A rescue worker walks past a banner with pictures of the trapped miners on October 11. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Nicolas Torres/LatinContent/Getty Images Media vehicles are parked on the outskirts of the mine on October 11. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Natacha Pisarenko/AP Loreto Campbell, a relative of miner Jorge Galleguillos, reacts while watching his rescue on a TV screen at the camp outside the mine on October 13. Galleguillos was the 11th of 33 miners who were rescued. Photos&colon; 2010 Chile mine rescue PHOTO: Hugo Infante/Reuters/Landov Miner Alex Vega hugs his wife after his rescue on October 13. All 33 miners were rescued. Source link Orbem News #Chilean #Facts #Fast #Rescue

[thegodthief]

My hubris caught up with me and I took a nap this afternoon. I dreamt of an oil well rig being set up in the middle of Fuck You County (some back-ass part of Texas) in an area that the First Nations peoples had warned was No Good™.

The first week of drilling was one broken thing after another. If it was a hose, is burst or got clogged. If it was a pipe or a shaft, it broke. If it was electrical, it fried. Every day some poor soul passed out from heat stroke despite all the legitimately best efforts by the foreman to keep his men safe. The second week was double the first week’s costs.

The Suit (read: upper management) didn’t care about the increasing costs of drilling. He bragged that not only was the rig replaceable, but so were the men, and he didn’t care if it cost them their souls to get the well dug, that well better be dug on time because the projected profits would greatly overcompensate for the financial cost of digging it.

“You willing to bet your soul on that, Sir?”

“What?”

“You said you didn’t care if it cost us our souls, Sir. Do you care if it cost yours?”

“If I could get this well dug and pumping on time, I’ll gladly give up my soul, if anyone could actually find the damn thing first! Ha!”

“We’ll get it done, Sir. We’ll get it done.”

“You better, or your blood is gonna lube the next rig!”

The Suit left with orders to resume drilling but the foreman told everyone to go into town for the night. He paid everyone several hundred dollars cash and said he wasn’t going to ask how it was spent as long as everyone was back on site before 6am. Those who knew him well immediately grabbed the youngbloods and raced away from the site in fearful silence.

The foreman went in the operations trailer and came out with his thermos of coffee. He moved to stand alone on the platform and looked up to the hanging shaft above him, then down into the connected drilling shafts standing still under him. He took off the plain gold chain and crucifix he wore in defiance of the safety rules about jewelry and began fingering the delicate links. He sipped his cold coffee and watched the still dry scenery alone.

The sun set, and he remained standing on the platform. His lips barely moved as he muttered well practiced words to himself and no one in particular.

The night embraced the land and the rig. He had a flashlight clipped to his belt but he had not activated it. The only sources of light were the red safety lights on the console reflecting off his dry unfocused eyes.

A stillness rose off the ground shortly after midnight. As if all of physical existence was trying to lie low and not be noticed. Something was near. Something was listening. Something was reaching for the immobile standing man on the drilling platform. The man held out a glinting thing in his hand and took a breath to speak.

“With Christ as my witness, you heard his offer. His soul for the successful completion of the well. If this is not suitable for you, I give you my treasure for the safekeeping of my men. Let the equipment fail, but touch not those who hold faith in me.”

The glinting thing turned. The red safety lights gave the gold crucifix the appearance of being smothered in blood. The foreman opened his hand, and the crucifix and chain fell into the exposed drilling shaft. Even if it had been caught by the lubrication mud and was recoverable, the moment the drilling resumed, it would be torn into pieces and made part of the lubrication driving the invasive steel deeper into the virgin earth.

The old hands returned to the rig at five in the morning. Each one bore an offering of a full thermos of coffee for the unusually drowsy and pale foreman. A youngblood spied a newly healing scar on the foreman’s exposed arm and pointed in preparation for making an inquiry. He was quickly slapped by the veterans and told to stop making up stories before he earned scars of his own to tell.

The drilling began without harm to men or equipment, but the ground under them fought back. For all the crew’s best efforts, the drilling proceeded slower than anticipated. They were not going to make the deadline at this pace.

A few mornings later, the foreman was studying the readings from the previous day’s work. He wondered if what he gave wasn’t going to be enough this time. He had been warned when he learned the skill that eventually he was going to have to start offering pieces of himself instead of just trapping fools with their own words. His nearly faded scar on his arm itched as he reflected on the piece of himself he already gave, but it looked like he would have to give more.

Instead of the usual offering of coffee from his crew, he heard terrible shouts and a few screams. He grabbed his shotgun and shouldered open the door ready to retaliate against the perceived attack.

“You the foreman? Sorry I’m late, man. I was supposed to be here two days ago, but the ground is really fucking hard to get through. No wonder you’re having problems.”

A large, thick, and muscular… man… dressed only in trousers made of sackcloth stood barefeet at the feet of the stairs leading to the operations trailer. The foreman thought this was the most severe case of sunburn he has ever seen in his life, because the barely dressed man was as red as a cooked lobster from the curled stubby horns on his head to the spaded tail idly sweeping behind him.

The foreman blinked.

Horns.

Tail.

Around the red creature’s neck was a very familiar gold chain and crucifix.

“Yea, I’m the foreman. Call me ‘Fuck’, cuz if I hear anyone yelling that, it better because something is really fucked up or I’ll fuck him up. You the Devil?”

“Nice to meet you, Mister Fuck. Naw, I ain’t the Devil. Just a demon. Assigned to your crew for the duration of the drill. I ain’t got a name like you folk have names, so whatever you wanna call me is good with me.”

“Demons start shit. And I ain’t having that. That weren’t the deal.”

“Unbonded demons start shit, Mister Fuck.” The demon fingered the necklace collaring him. “See this? It’s the mark of a covenant. I ain’t here to start any shit with you, or with the men under you. I’m here to help you dig this well and to dig it on time. I take it you’re a couple days behind already, so I’m here to push you back on time and finish the job. And when the rig is done, I leave, and you and those who hold faith in you remain untouched by me and mine. Someone else’s soul is liened for payment.”

The foreman lowered his shotgun and uncocked it in a show of peace. “Well, ain’t that precious. Yea…. that’s your name. LISTEN UP GUYS! THIS HERE IS PRECIOUS, AND HE’S GONNA GIVE US A HAND. YOU ALL HAVE TWO HOURS TO FIGURE OUT WHERE PRECIOUS IS GOING TO BE BEST AT WORKING AND THEN IF YOU ALL DON’T GIVE ME SOME PROGRESS TO TRACK I’M GONNA THROW ALL OF YOU DOWN THE FUCKING WELL! I figure two hours is gonna be enough time for me to figure out if you’re gonna be first or last down the well if I don’t get some payback on my investment, Precious.”

The eight foot tall demon shifted as he absentmindedly flexed in glee. “You’ll get your payback, Mister Fuck! You’ll see!”

“That’s BOSS FUCK to you! And I don’t see you doing anything other than NOT FUCKING WORKING ON MY RIG!”

“Yea, Boss! On it, Boss!” The demon turned around in preparation for crossing over to the platform but the foreman yelled at him to wait a bit.

“CHRIS! DON’T YOU BE FUCKING HIDING FROM ME NOW CHRIS, I NEED YOUR HEAD OUT YOUR ASS YOU CHICKEN SHIT MOTHERFUCKER! IF I AIN’T SCARED YOU AIN’T GOT NO RIGHT TO BE SCARED EITHER! CHRISTOPHER! DON’T MAKE ME SAY YOUR FULL NAME, YOU FUCKING BASTARD! I WILL FEED YOU TO THE WELL!”

The veterans of the crew were a superstitious lot, but they were more afraid of the foreman than of any supernatural force, divine or infernal. Chris pulled his head out of his ass himself from his hiding spot and ran to stand beside Precious. “Yes, Boss!”

“Get Precious some boots and gloves that fit.”

“Eh, Boss, I don’t need….”

“Shut up, Precious. You’re on my fucking crew now, may whatever god or devil you fuck with have mercy on you. And ain’t no damn soul, or any saintly ones either, stepping on my rig without non-slip boots and all-grip gloves. Everything else is on you.”

That command was all the crew needed to be able to accept the demon as an equal among them. (Though the youngbloods had to wash the piss out of their overalls before the veterans let them back on the rig.) Though the foreman gave them two hours to see where the demon Precious would fit best, the crew found their new formation in twenty minutes.

Though Precious handles the pipes like any other roughneck, there was something about the demon personally escorting the pipes into the ground that made the entire procedure flow exceedingly well. By noon, they had already made as much progress as the twenty-four hours prior to Precious’ appearance.

In the days that followed, Precious was a surprising cheery presence on the rig. He told stories about the First Nations peoples that were there before and hinted to why they considered the area to be a cursed place to be avoided. “Some things were buried for a reason, and not just to decay, as if it could decay at all.” He learned new expletives that delighted him, and his laughter at a successful prank shook bones and steel frame alike.

The foreman liked him because he could reheat coffee with just a glance, regardless of the container obscuring direct line of sight.

When the Suit came to inspect progress in person, Precious could not be found. So the Suit saw the men struggling to make any headway against the recalcitrant bedrock just as they had struggled before the demon’s appearance. The arrogant manager felt that hard work made for good servants, and nodded his approval at the excessive toil on men and equipment in his presence.

Precious would reappear after the Suit left, scowling and muttering words that decomposed the gloves and boots he was wearing requiring replacements of both. The moment he laid a hand on the pipe, the process would become smooth and easy again. However, Precious’ mood would not return to its regular gay levity until the next day.

Three days before the deadline, the drilling rig struck the target depth. Veteran, youngblood, and demon all exchanged high fives, chest bumps, and ass slaps. The foreman would not report the success until the test pumping rig was installed. If the flow met a certain level of measurement, then and only then, would the rig be considered complete.

Precious assured the foreman that the flow would be constant after the demon left. There was more than enough pressure under the ground to support demand, the demon said calmly before warning the foreman to expect to use reinforced pumps after his departure. “My presence is tempering more than just resistance.”

The well passed the test, and the results were sent back to corporate headquarters for confirmation. Precious removed his gloves and boots in preparation to leave.

“Well, Fuck. Got a question for ya.”

“What, Precious.”

The demon fingered the gold necklace collaring him. “Want it back?”

The witnessing crew held their breath. This was more than just about the necklace, they understood. The foreman swished cold coffee between his teeth than spat it on the ground. “No.”

“It’s yours, isn’t it?”

“It was. I gave it up, free and clear. On the first day we met, Precious, you said that an unbonded demon starts shit, and that necklace is the mark of a covenant that I’m assuming is keeping you bonded and at peace with us. I didn’t remove it then, and I ain’t removing it now. Your assignment with me is completed. Report to your overseer for the next.”

Precious smiled and showed sharp triangular serrated teeth. “You know, Boss Fuck, you ain’t a stupid man. And that’s why we like you. You know how to make, and keep, a deal. I’m off, then. As commanded. Pleasure working with you and your men, Sir.”

The foreman stuck his hand out towards the demon. “Pleasure having you work with us. If you ever get bored of being a demon, you have a spot with us.” 

Precious looked at the outstretched hand and slowly took it. He did not answer but shook the mortal man’s hand with an honest grip. He released the foreman, pulling the last hues of the scar off the foreman’s arm as he moved away, and walked away from the rig towards the uninhabited depths of the desolate land.

The next day the Suit appeared with several acolytes sycophants subordinates in tow. The Suit took credit for the success of the rig after revealing the corporation had already written off the rig as a loss and had ordered the crew to be reassigned elsewhere. “But my persistence and dedication to the company inspired these men to complete my vision and achieve the impossible! This is the achievement that has me now in consideration for the board!”

The foreman’s stern glare kept the youngbloods from adding their observations to the Suit’s speech. The veterans just smiled kindly and nodded their last respects to the man who was going to pay for Precious’ assistance. It was said that within the hour after the Suit returned to his air-conditioned office in a downtown tower of some major city, he fell and was dead before he even hit the ground. The only clue to what ailment had struck him was a strange, deeply infected wound on the inside of his forearm. Yet no one could place when or where the wound was incurred.

The crew broke down their drilling rig and moved on to the next assignment. When the foreman went to clean out his coffee thermos, he poured the dregs of a muddy fluid into the sink, followed by a sudden clunk and the sound of a small chain slipping over the metal lip of the thermos.

His gold necklace and crucifix had been returned to him again.

-fin-

[deniscollins]

What Needs to Happen Before Electric Cars Take Over the World

Merrill Lynch analysts now expect electric vehicles in the United States will be cheaper than their traditional counterparts by 2024, while just a year ago, they estimated it would take until 2030. There are already about 16,000 public charging stations in the United States, up from a few hundred in 2010, compared to 112,000 gas stations. Electric cars are quiet, nearly vibration free and they don’t smell like gasoline or exhaust. They don’t need oil changes. They cost less to operate — about 1 cent per mile compared to 10 cents per mile for a gasoline-powered car. If you were responsible for buying company cars, would you begin buying them now or wait longer before doing so? Why? What are the ethics underlying your decision?

On the slope of a thickly forested Czech mountain, three men in hard hats and mud-spattered fluorescent vests dig for the metal that could power a new industrial revolution.

They watch carefully as a mobile rig, mounted on tank treads, hammers and spins a drill bit hundreds of yards into the bedrock. Water gushes from the bore as the bit punctures an underground spring.

The men are prospecting for new sources of lithium, a raw material now found primarily in China and Chile that could become as important to the auto industry as oil is now.

Faster than anyone expected, electric cars are becoming as economical and practical as cars with conventional engines. Prices for lithium-ion batteries are plummeting, while technical advances are increasing driving ranges and cutting recharging times.

“Once the trend gets going, it can happen very fast,” said Guido Jouret, chief digital officer at ABB, an electronics company based in Zurich whose businesses include constructing charging stations.

But this electric-car future is still missing some pieces. Some crucial raw materials are scarce. There are not enough places to recharge. Battery-powered cars still cost thousands of dollars more than many gasoline vehicles.

Car companies are racing to overcome these obstacles. They, and the millions of people they employ, risk becoming irrelevant.

“Many people are nervous about how fast this is coming and how much they have to invest,” said Norbert Dressler, a senior partner at Roland Berger in Stuttgart, Germany, who advises the auto industry.

Here’s a look at what needs to happen before electric cars take over the world.

Electric cars will go mainstream when the cost of the powertrain — the motor and other guts that make the vehicle move — is the same as owning cars that burn gasoline or diesel. How soon that day arrives is almost solely a function of the price of batteries.

Battery prices, measured by the power they produce, have already fallen by more than half since 2011, according to analysts at Bank of America Merrill Lynch. The unexpectedly rapid drop in prices has sped up the timetable.

Merrill Lynch analysts now expect electric vehicles in the United States will be cheaper than their traditional counterparts by 2024. Just a year ago, they estimated it would take until 2030.

One reason battery costs are falling is that manufacturers are ramping up production. The greater the supply, the lower the price.

Car companies like Daimler are getting into the battery business. Daimler has invested $590 million in a new battery plant in Kamenz, a sleepy city in a rural part of eastern Germany.

“This is an important investment in the future,” Chancellor Angela Merkel told Daimler executives and other dignitaries at a groundbreaking in May. Within a few months, workers had erected prefabricated concrete walls for the enormous new building and assembled the roof girders.

“We could buy batteries,” said Jupp Kaufer, head of quality at Accumotive, Daimler’s battery unit.

But Daimler would rather earn the profits than pay them to a supplier like Samsung or Panasonic. “The battery is a crucial part of the vehicle,” Mr. Kaufer said as he walked through the assembly line of another factory in Kamenz that is already running at capacity.

Carmakers are racing to secure the essential ingredients in batteries like cobalt, lithium and graphite. They need to avoid shortages that would drive prices too high, making electric vehicles unaffordable.

But manufacturers are also dealing with a geopolitical dimension. Three-quarters of the world’s reserves of lithium, a crucial ingredient in the most common kind of electric car battery, are in China and Chile, according to the United States Geological Survey. As demand surges, China could deploy its natural resources as a diplomatic cudgel the same way that Saudi Arabia uses oil.

The risk that a few countries could control most of the ingredients for electric car batteries is what spurred the drilling crew to the mountainside in Cinovec in the Czech Republic. As early as the 1300s, miners dug tin — “cin” in Czech — from the mountains around the town. Later, the area was an important source of tungsten, but the last shaft closed in 1993. Demand for lithium has made mining in the area attractive again.

European Metals Holdings Ltd., an Australian company, is drilling into the bedrock and hauling out core samples to map deposits. The company plans to complete a feasibility study next year and begin mining and processing the ore in Cinovec soon after.

“We are already in touch with some battery makers,” Richard Pavlik, manager of a European Metals subsidiary overseeing the work in Cinovec, said as he watched the drilling crew.

As for cobalt, it comes primarily from the Democratic Republic of Congo, one of the world’s most war-torn and unstable countries. Illegal mining operations there have been accused of using child labor.

Mining companies are hunting for sources in less problematic locations. First Cobalt, based in Toronto, has announced plans to reopen a former silver and cobalt mine in the aptly named town of Cobalt, Ontario. “We think we are at a point of no return with electric vehicles,” said Trent Mell, the company’s chief executive.

Even when people can buy an electric car for the same price or less than a gasoline model, they face another problem: where to plug it in. And they won’t want to wait all day for the car to recharge.

Electric cars will become commonplace once there is a dense network of high-voltage charging stations where drivers can refill their batteries in the time it takes to use the restroom and drink a cup of coffee.

At the moment, a cross-country drive in an electric car is an adventure.

Edwin Stafford, a professor of marketing at Utah State University in Logan, Utah, carefully plotted his charging stops before setting out recently in his Tesla S for Berkeley, Calif., with his family.

Tesla S owners have free access to Tesla charging stations and can use the waiting time to have a meal or shop. In half an hour, a high voltage Tesla “supercharger” can supply enough juice to travel 170 miles, according to Tesla. But the amenities at charging stations varied, Mr. Stafford said.

At one in Nevada, the only nearby business was a casino, he said. At another, the charging apparatus was blocked by an illegally parked truck. Close to the Bay Area, there were sometimes lines of other Tesla owners waiting to charge, he added.

But an array of start-ups and established companies like ABB are busy installing charging stations around the world, and they are on their way to becoming commonplace. There are already about 16,000 public charging stations in the United States, up from a few hundred in 2010. That compares with about 112,000 gas stations.

Surprisingly, Volkswagen’s emissions scandal has accelerated the rollout. As part of its settlement with diesel owners in the United States who bought cars with illegal software, Volkswagen agreed to spend $2 billion to promote electric cars and build infrastructure. Electrify America, a company established to invest the settlement money, plans to install more than 2,000 fast chargers nationwide by mid-2019 in a first phase, with thousands more to follow.

One of the biggest barriers for electric vehicles is psychological. People are used to internal combustion engines and the sensations that go with them — the odor of the fuel, the shifting of the transmission, the sound of the engine as the car accelerates.

Electric cars have a different personality that people need to get their heads around before they will buy one.

They may be pleasantly surprised. The physics of electric motors give them exceptional acceleration. A $135,000 Tesla S clocked by Motor Trend magazine went from zero to 60 miles per hour faster than Ferraris, Lamborghinis or Porsches costing hundreds of thousands of dollars more.

Electric cars are quiet, nearly vibration free and they don’t smell like gasoline or exhaust. They don’t need oil changes. They cost less to operate — about 1 cent per mile compared to 10 cents per mile for a gasoline-powered car. Electric cars hug the road because heavy battery packs, typically arrayed underneath the passenger compartment, provide low centers of gravity and high stability.

“There is no question that an electric car gives you significantly better performance,” Mr. Stafford said. “I don’t think the mainstream driver is going to understand that unless they experience it.”

The industry is racing to invest in the future, as electric cars portend sweeping economic and societal changes. The transition will be painful for traditional carmakers and suppliers, potentially even catastrophic.

Electric cars have about 25 percent fewer parts than conventional autos. Companies that make engine parts like pistons, fuel injection systems or spark plugs will have to find new products to sell, or die. Some workers’ skills will no longer be needed.

Governments will lose fuel tax revenues. Filling stations and auto repair shops will go out of business. To compete with Tesla, which allows customers to buy cars online, car companies will have to radically streamline their dealership networks.

“The cake will be smaller,” said Volkmar Denner, the chief executive of Bosch, the auto parts maker.

Established carmakers will face new competitors taking advantage of the technology shift to break into the market. Chinese companies are investing heavily in electric cars. Dyson, a British company hitherto known for its innovative vacuum cleaners, has announced plans to develop an electric car.

Big car companies recognize the threat and argue that they can deploy their enormous manufacturing networks to roll out electric vehicles faster than Tesla, which has struggled to meet demand.

“We won’t have a problem building one million cars,” said Herbert Diess, chief executive of the division that makes Volkswagen brand cars.

But the automakers’ existing expertise — building internal combustion engines — will no longer give them a competitive edge.

“They are losing a lot of their intellectual capital,” said Geoffrey Heal, a professor at Columbia Business School. “And they have to find a way to replace it.”