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bartletforamerica · 3 years

Conversation

How the Bartlet Administration Reacts to COVID-19

Abbey: is not taking any chances. After losing the fight to get the President to retreat to the farm or Camp David, she gets him to agree to limit himself to the oval office and the residence, with as few in person meetings as possible. Even before they’ve pulled together a White House task force, she’s made sure that everything is being disinfected and that her entire schedule is either canceled or made virtual. Her staff is the first to be working from home (and oh boy does she scold if she finds out any of them did something she thinks is foolish), with most of the rest of the White House staff following shortly after. She makes it her mission to do PSAs on what people should be doing and even does a virtual Sesame Street collaboration to teach kids how to wash their hands.

Zoey: Is not super pleased to be stuck in the Residence 24/7. She’s doing classes from her bedroom, so yay to not having to get out of bed early, but she can tell people are super disappointed that her camera is set up so that she has only a blank wall behind her [it turns out the secret service is very touchy about where you take video calls]. She also gets officially hired and given a security clearance for the sole fact that she’s one of the only people allowed to be near her dad who is tech-literate. She ends up doing some of her reading on the couch in his office so that she's on hand for when he's supposed to be skyping with the senior staff and can't figure out what link to click. She spends a lot of time worrying about Ellie, who helping do research about the virus, and texting her friends.

The President: is not happy to be closed up away from people. He also thinks that Abbey is overreacting where he's concerned. He misses actually getting to be around the younger staff. He and Zoey do a cooking from home video at C.J.'s suggestion, so that the country can see he's alive and to encourage people to not go out. They make chili and fight over whether it needs more cumin or oregano while Abbey records it and pipes in from behind the camera. The country is treated to a history of chili and a diplomatic incident nearly happens because apparently Mexicans deny having any association with it, even though most food historians say it has Mexican roots. The flaming debate doesn't stop a second episode at Thanksgiving where the country is treated to the history of the yam and all the secret spices that go into the President's stuffing. A large portion of the country gives him flack for putting Oysters in his stuffing. [In a small bedroom in an Illinois apartment a woman finally figures out why Joe Bethersonsen sounded so familiar.]

Leo: moved into the Residence because there was no way he was going to talk the President off ledges via skype for however long this lasted. He can only do so much. Zoey helps him learn to use Skype and he finds himself missing Margaret desperately even when he spends most of the day with a computer dedicated to having her on Skype so he can turn to it and ask her questions. She insists he get exercise and eat healthy (something he thinks she’s collaborating with the first lady on behind his back—they say very similar things much of the time). He skypes with Mallory on Sunday mornings over breakfast in his room and they pretend they’re at a hotel having a fancy brunch.

Charlie: is not particularly happy. He got sent home with everyone else because he’s not particularly necessary to have on hand if the president isn’t going anywhere. He’s still getting paid and he does do some work (the most important bit being hanging out on the phone with the president so he can ramble about history so Zoey can get her own reading done, Leo can browbeat the staff, and the first lady can do her own job) but he’s been ordered by the president and first lady to focus on getting extra school done while he can.

Donna: started freaking out the first day there was a rumor of a new disease in China. Then the White House shut down and even senior staff got sent home unless they absolutely needed to be in the building (basically just C.J. and some of her staff). And her roommate (not the one she'd really liked, who had a cat, but one she hopes is only temporary) works for a GOP congressman who thinks the whole thing is a hoax and bans masks in his office, so Donna is not at all happy and spends time she should be working cleaning things her roommate touches and that's sixty percent of how she ends up living with Josh.

Josh: is struggling with not being allowed to leave the house on pain of the first lady taking him to task (something about his lungs and the bullet). Even when he was putting his nose to the grindstone to make it through college and law school, he liked being around people while he studied, so he was usually in the library or a cafe rather than his room. He works best when he can bounce ideas off people and take in new ideas. When he was grounded after surgery it absolutely sucked and that was why he drove everyone crazy calling them all the time. Yeah he was bored, but he was also lonely. Plus he's not the best with technology. He very nearly went on national tv with his boxers showing, if not for Donna skyping him beforehand and making sure he fixed the camera. Between needing not to be alone and needing his assistant to be able to actually help him, the invite for Donna to stay with him slips out when she's complaining about her roommate. She shows up two hours later with two suitcases of clothes and two suitcases with pasta, toilet paper, and flour.

Donna and Josh: are handling the pandemic much better now that they're together. Josh can bounce ideas off Donna without it tying up his phone line. And she can listen in on his calls to the various members of congress about the stimulus package that they're working on. It's an even better look at Josh's job than she had before, and while it makes some of her work harder to focus on, she feels like she understands some things better than she ever has before. Josh even starts listening to her about how to sway certain congressmembers to their side. When they're not working, Donna forces Josh to cook with her so they're not entirely subsisting on delivery. They tried making bread and managed to spill half a bag of flour on the floor in the process but they ate all of it, even though it tasted pretty bland. Josh finally got Donna into baseball when it came back. Toby spit out his beer when he was on speakerphone with them and he heard Donna accurately yelling at the Mets for screwing up. Donna wears Josh's clothes more than her own, since she doesn't have to be on camera most of the time. They're platonically sharing a bed because they haven't found a convertible sofa for his living room that they like, they say, and it doesn't make sense for one of them to sleep on the couch, which they say has a spring that makes it uncomfortable to sleep on, even though Donna lounges on it all day with no problem. They are absolutely not dating and so they tell all their friends.

C.J.: spends five minutes laughing every time she gets off the phone with Josh or Donna. She loves her friends but god they're so completely in denial. It does, however, give her a much needed break. Her job has always involved a lot of people and knowing what venue to meet them in to ensure that she gets or passes on the information she needs. COVID protocols mean no more one-on-one meetings with journalists in her office, no more gaggles following her through the halls. The press corps were not happy when they moved all briefings outside and insisted on face masks and shields in addition to everyone sitting six feet apart. She gets asked about the president's health at least once a day and they start doing weekly waving from the balconies just so the press corps can get footage of him, healthy and shouting down to Danny and some of the others. Someone makes a cartoon of the president in the tower, with Abbey as his dragon keeper and though no one is willing to justify a cartoon with a comment, privately C.J. thinks it's accurate. She's always admired Abbey's fierce protectiveness of her family, even when she doesn't agree with every way it expresses itself or when it interferes with C.J.'s job. She has to come up with new ways to push the White House agenda (keep the economy afloat, stay home, no, don't listen to the GOP governors or those running for the primary, those ideas are not good, go the fuck home and stop having parties) and while some work, others bomb. It would help if everyone would stay on message and not screw up.

Sam: would like to make it clear that he did not know how many people would be at that gathering. He thought he was going for an outdoor meal with just a few old friends who could help raise money for the democratic party, not a fifty-person birthday party. The media fallout nearly gets him fired. Instead he gets yelled at by C.J., then by the First Lady. Mallory even sends him a card about how stupid he was. He's pretty sure that having Donna around is the only reason that Josh hasn't made the same mistake by now. It had to have been a toss up as to which of the two of them would screw up. Sam just isn't lucky enough to have a Donna (Sam is very happy that Josh has a Donna, Sam just wants Josh to realize that he talks about Donna the same way most men talk about their wives, because it's really hard not to respond to "why do I put up with finding her hair clogging the shower drain" with "because you love her and can't live without her, stupid"). He instead has adopted a cat for company. It tries to scratch him every time he tries to pet it. Sam spends his days trying to find a way to say "fuck the economy until we've beaten the virus" in a way that is palatable to the American people while trying to remind Toby that they can't actually say that outright. This is not an easy task.

Toby: would like to tell most of the American public to shut up, stay indoors for two months, pretty much nobody excepted, and if you don't, then you get tossed out to sea. He's come within an inch of telling anti-mask people they deserve to get sick on the record and is strongly advocating that the federal government figure out a way to mandate that every person in the country, minus those with legitimate medical exceptions, get the vaccine as soon as possible. He is also about to get evicted because it turns out his neighbors do not appreciate having rubber balls bounced against the walls for hours on end. Apparently, the thud is rather annoying. He worries about everyone, though this is delivered brusquely. Out of everyone he's taking the new work from home situation the best. No one can pop in to distract him, or comment on his eating habits. And if he doesn't want to talk to someone, he can always turn his phone to silent and pretend not to have seen they called. He's not pleased the Yankees lost to the Rays (necessitating rooting for either the Dodgers or the Rays, one of which beat his team and the other which betrayed New York), but he can at least take solace in the fact that the Mets didn't even make the playoffs.

#the west wing #pandemic #covid #jed bartlet #president bartlet #abbey bartlet #zoey bartlet #josh lyman #donna moss #josh x donna #sam seaborn #cj cregg #toby ziegler #leo mcgarry #basically there are still dumb people even with a good administration #but they try #and abbey will make sure they stay safe or else #i think this theoretically slots in somewhere in season... three?

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aion-rsa · 2 years

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Doc Ock Is Still the Best Spider-Man Villain On-Screen

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It’s the trailer that broke the internet. The first Spider-Man: No Way Home sizzle footage, which ended with the familiar sight of Alfred Molina strapped to four mechanical arms, was viewed more than 355 million times in its first 24 hours on the web, setting a Guinness world record. When Molina’s iconic Doctor Octopus (or Doc Ock) smiled, “Hello, Peter,” the whole world smiled right back.

Despite it being nearly 20 years since Molina last played Doc Ock in a movie—way back when Tobey Maguire was still Spider-Man and George W. Bush was only in his first term as President of the United States—the excitement audiences had at seeing the not-so-good doctor up to no damn good was palpable. Part of this, of course, is due to the fan theory that if Molina is coming back, then Maguire probably will too (although that isn’t confirmed). But even without Maguire, there’s something just remarkable about seeing Molina as Ock again. After all, he remains the greatest Spider-Man movie villain to this day.

It’d be easy to dismiss such a thought as mere nostalgia, rose-tinted memories of long gone times. Yet if that’s the case, Sony and Marvel Studios are keenly aware that most folks share that wistfulness about the Spider-Man 2 heavy since the new trailer greeted his return with all the reverence of Harrison Ford showing up again as Han Solo at the end of the first The Force Awakens trailer, or seeing a proton pack fire again at the end of Sony’s own Ghostbusters: Afterlife trailer. Clearly, Marvel is banking on most folks being thrilled to see Spidey’s greatest cinematic foe returned to their universe, despite Marvel themselves already taking a stab at multiple classic Spidey villains to date, including Vulture, Mysterio, and the Shocker.

No matter the continuity, or “Spider-Verse,” or even in our modern blockbuster era where Sony is giving Venom and every other Spider-Man villain their own spinoff movie…. there’s still just something about dear old Otto.

It certainly wasn’t planned that way. When Alfred Molina was cast as Otto Octavius two decades ago, he was following in the emerging Sony and Sam Raimi pattern of casting respected character actors who just received awards attention a year or two ago as the next big bad. In 2001 that meant casting Willem Dafoe—who was about to have a career renaissance after receiving his second Oscar nomination for Shadow of the Vampire (2000)—and a few years later, it was Molina’s turn fresh off the Oscar winning Frida (2002). Even so, it’s arguable that the studio which also wanted the Lizard and Black Cat in the sequel—and which would soon get its wish to overstuff a Spidey follow-up a few years later—never fully realized just how special having Doctor Octopus could be.

Director Raimi and the final screenwriter, Alvin Sargent, certainly did though. Jettisoning the other extraneous villains, as well as an awful studio note about having Doc Ock crush on college co-ed Mary Jane Watson, they returned Otto to some semblance of his comic book roots. And, just as importantly for Raimi, they took full advantage of what might be Spidey’s most visually dynamic villain.

Often drawn to be a pudgy and middle-aged introvert who hides behind sunglasses and a bowl cut, Otto Octavius has never been a “cool” looking character in the traditional sense. It’s why on the page, many young fans might gravitate toward the oily nightmare of Venom, or the demonic menace of Spidey’s technical arch-nemesis, the Green Goblin. But whereas both of those characters present a greater hurdle to make tactile onscreen, Doctor Octopus’ mechanical arms create a visual symphony of spectacle and danger. Simply put, watching the balletic movements of an agile wallcrawler dodging a litany of moving arms just looks wildly fun, especially in motion.

Raimi got the memo in that regard, relying on extensive puppeteering for close-ups and CGI for wide shots to give alternating weight and fluidity to Doc Ock’s appearances. He also made Ock the first comic book movie villain to actually be able to participate in comic book action. Dafoe’s Green Goblin from a few years earlier, while a campy delight, was somewhat hindered by that film’s smaller budget and the still nascent development of digital effects in superhero action.

But in Spider-Man 2? Doc Ock and Spider-Man could battle vertically on the side of a building for one set-piece and on top of a moving elevated train in another. Digital effects were still early enough along that Raimi didn’t feel the need to shove as much muddled carnage onscreen as possible. He thus had the relative freedom to bask in his images, savoring the vertigo of Spidey and Ock eyeballing each other while looking 40 stories down, or in the horror of just one car (and an actual car, not a CGI blob) being thrown through a window as opposed to a fleet of them. Sometimes less is more.

Yet it was more than just the visual splendor of Ock that made him a great villain. The Spider-Man movies, and superhero films in general, are littered with visually cool big bads who rely on massive amounts of computer generated effects, all of which are used to paper over how thin and disengaging they really are. Which again, brings us back to how intelligently Molina and Raimi presented this character.

Doctor Octopus is not what one would consider a “grounded” villain. There’s unlikely to be any Martin Scorsese-emulated origin stories made about his sad childhood. He’s a megalomaniacal fiend who despite building four mechanical sci-fi arms—and which are also revealed to have artificial intelligence and are resistant to magnetism and intense heat in Spider-Man 2—is still inexplicably searching for a creation that will justify his genius and get him worldwide acclaim.

Yet Molina and Raimi sharply underplay all that jazz, teasing out great depths beneath waters Molina keeps conspicuously still. This was a counterintuitive move after the first Spider-Man. Dafoe is, again, a delicious joy of scenery-chewing as the Green Goblin. But while playing Spider-Man’s greatest comic book villain, Dafoe was saddled with a ridiculous costume and ludicrous motivations, both of which were in-keeping with most comic book movie villains not played by Ian McKellen during the previous 25 years.

Molina, by contrast, played Doctor Octopus completely straight and also with undaunted conviction. The movie would poke some fun at the character’s absurdities, at times, with J.K. Simmons’ J. Jonah Jameson snarking the obvious: “A guy named Otto Octavius winds up with eight limbs. What are the odds?” Nevertheless, no character dares laugh or crack wise in Doc Ock’s actual presence. Since the beginning of his career, Raimi has been a cheeky director, turning his gorefest debut, The Evil Dead, into a dark comedy. But he knows when to dial back and he always films Octavius with an operatic sense of pathos and grandeur.

Molina comports himself similarly onscreen. When we first meet him, his Octavius is slightly more dynamic than the megalomaniac on the comic book page. He has a wife Rosalie (Donna Murphy), and a life that existed before he became a supervillain. He and Rosie share sweet memories of studying poetry in college with Peter, and both display a genuine interest in another character’s personal life—an element which has gone largely by the wayside in the superhero movie genre, before and sense.

It’s not exactly Ibsen, but it’s enough to give the accident which welds the mechanical arms to his spine and drives him insane some emotional weight. And it gives Molina enough to chew on to make the character both tragic and, eventually, menacing as he gives in to his madness.

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Why Spider-Man 2’s Train Fight is Superhero Cinema’s Greatest Action Scene

By Mark Harrison

In the 17 years since Spider-Man 2 was released, supervillains have tended to be increasingly written as glib and self-aware as the heroes, particularly when appearing in the Marvel Studios canon. There has been a clear calculation made that these movies go down easier if the films frequently make winking asides to the audience not to take it too seriously, not to engage too critically, and just generally not to worry about it. There are exceptions of course, but ever since Loki was turned into the Hulk’s yo-yo in The Avengers, this has been closer to the rule than the exception, even for straight-faced villains like Ronan the Accuser in Guardians of the Galaxy, whose self-seriousness makes him a figure prime for ridicule when he’s baffled by the concept of a “dance off.”

In Jon Watts’ Spider-Man films there have been attempts to get away from this, with Michael Keaton’s Vulture coming the closest to replicating the generational tension created by Doc Ock. Once again we had a father figure doing battle with “the kid” who won’t accept his authority. Nonetheless, the Vulture’s beef persistently being left with Iron Man, and not Spider-Man, never let that rivalry fully blossom. Jake Gyllenhaal’s Mysterio, meanwhile, returned to the typical self-referential glibness of traditional Marvel Studios villainy, with Mysterio being more concerned with how his cape is ironed before he meets the Queen of England than he is with the fight at hand against Spidey.

There is no tension-deflating bathos humor to Doc Ock’s scenes in Spider-Man 2. When Ock’s arms first awaken from their AI slumber and slaughter a room full of surgeons, it’s nightmarish, with Raimi repeating many of the horror movie tricks he learned in the Evil Dead films. When Otto awakens and finds the dead bodies, he doesn’t make a lighthearted joke which trivializes the sequence. He lives with it.

Molina plays all his scenes with this level of conviction, which is why there has never been a better onscreen dynamic between Spidey and one of his villains. Peter Parker, even Tobey Maguire’s more earnest interpretation of the character, is just a kid often in over his head who compensates with a smart mouth. Ock is a curt professional who doesn’t have time or interest in engaging with such juvenilia. Their odd couple energy makes the potential violence increasingly bitter as the movie goes along.

Take for instance the bank scene. The dialogue between the two characters is almost perfunctory, and could be found as quickly inserted filler on any CW show. Doc Ock says, “You’re getting on my nerves,” and the Web-Head retorts, “I have a knack for that.” But the cold, almost clinical way, Molina responds, “Not for long,” has such confidence it’s almost thrilling to watch his anger boil.

Molina also brings in his choices to moments where Ock is also having fun. The instinct to have him look back and forth, twice, between two passengers before picking which to toss first off a train is a clever character moment. And when the rest of the passengers on said train gather to stand up to Ock as “New Yorkers,” there is an almost infectious glee in Molina’s smile as he gets to hurt all of them in one brusque motion.

Moments like these are couched in action movie eye candy which still holds up not because of the dated CGI but due to Raimi’s intuitive understanding of film composition and using action to tell a story as opposed to just overwhelm the senses and clutter the frame. Molina likewise gives all his moments a regal sense of superiority that elevates his character and performance above even the dialogue. Like the mechanical arms attached to his spine, this is a perfect melding of director and star. And it’s created a villain who has us all at “hello.”

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The post Doc Ock Is Still the Best Spider-Man Villain On-Screen appeared first on Den of Geek.

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marlinspirkhall · 3 years

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Tomorrow Never Comes, Chapter 07: “Not A Single Friend”

Content Warning: Graphic Depictions Of Violence

Chapter Word Count: 3,799

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

Further CW: Major Character Death

Light streams through the window, and Jim rolls onto his side with a sleepy smile. “Morning,” he hums.

Spock watches him intensely, and it’s only when his eyebrows raise slightly that Jim realises he’s trying to communicate.

“The bond?” He croaks, pushing himself up on his elbow.

Spock shakes his head. “It didn’t survive…” His brow furrows. “The planet’s restorative abilities did their job too well.”

Over the next few days, Spock becomes more withdrawn. It doesn’t worry Jim, exactly; Spock always does this whenever they reach a new obstacle. Perhaps he blames himself. Hell, Jim’s been inside his mind; he knows he blames himself.

Jim throws himself back into research. He scours every archive he can find, reading the names of wanted smugglers in this sector, anyone who could have disappeared here, anyone who could have a clue. If getting out of here is the only way for them to retain their bond- and their bond is the only thing which will make Spock happy- then he needs to find a solution.

Jim sits near the guardrail, his legs dangling over the edge of the Veranda, and hears soft footsteps behind him. He turns, with a sad, slight smile.

“I was thinking about Earth,” Jim murmurs. “Being trapped here almost makes it easier to cope with. Do you find that?”

Spock gives a hesitant nod. “Earth was similar to this planet in many ways-”

A huff of laughter. “No, I mean- I can almost pretend that being trapped here is the only reason I won’t see it again,” Jim whispers.

Spock nods, and joins him beside the guard rail.

They sit in silence for a moment. The dark leaves of the forest rustle all around them; the first warning of the oncoming weather, and Spock wraps his arms tighter around Jim. When the first drops fall, they barely feel them; too lost in one another’s mind.

With storms like these, eternity is hard to weather. Jim tries to keep track of time, but, if it was hard before, it’s impossible now. He would have thought Spock’s own, immaculate sense of time would keep him in check, but, instead, he wonders if he’s rubbed off on him.

‘Or perhaps I was never as good at keeping time as you thought.’

‘Well, spending time trapped in a time-loop will do that to a person,’ Jim comments.

Spock massages his temples, as if dispelling a headache. ‘Perhaps we should practise your ability to block certain thoughts. It’s not necessary for me to know your every thought.’

‘Ah, but you love it.’ Jim kisses him.

Once it’s repaired, they take the shuttle for a short test flight over the forest. They don’t dare take it further until they have a more concrete escape plan, but Jim stays in the front seat a little longer once they’ve landed, double checking every part of the controls. There’s a lot about this shuttle he doesn’t understand- it’s got features he’s never seen before: some are experimental, some are prototypes. There’s an abundance of suspicious and dangerous-sounding subroutines. A large file size piques his interest, particularly because it’s nestled within a list of comparatively smaller files.

File Name | size

11292254qDefp.mp4 | 28.5TB

11302254RsTwy.mp4 | 22.23TB

11312254Ghtf2.mp4 | 58.334601151 PiB

12302253lCmdp.mp4 | 21.56TB

He stares. 58 pebibytes of information. It must be using all the shuttle’s available memory space. He searches through its parent folders.

‘Overseer Protocol: Active.’

Curious, he selects it.

‘Admin override required.’

He inputs Leland’s password, but the system refuses to accept it. Whatever the overseer protocol is, it was clearly intended to keep Leland in line. It takes Jim a couple of tries to override the system without the password.

There’s a bleep.

The video files load in their raw form: dates, followed by a series of timestamps.

28 Oct: 24:23:09

29 Oct: 25:00:00

30 Oct: 19:30:03

The screen flickers, and freezes for a moment as the numbers load.

25:56:03

An error sound.

625:56:04

5625:56:05

31 Oct: 45625:56:07

He exhales. The seconds keep ticking up. His heart pounds in his ears.

He chooses the file from October 30th, and picks a timestamp towards the end. The screen pulls up two videos, side-by-side. Two cameras. One of them displays the exterior of the shuttle, the other, the interior. The int. screen is pitch black, and the ext. is extremely dim. The only sound is the faint rustle of the trees, battered by the wind. He rolls the video back, and lands on footage of the three of them on that first day, unloading the shuttle. He clenches his fist as he watches the early relationship between Leland and Spock, and he considers just how far he’s come. In some ways, it’s a miracle he ever got away from Leland at all; and a cynical part of him wonders if, perhaps, he never did. Jim glances to the entrance to the basement with an uneasy feeling.

Spock has moments like the other night- flashes of affection- and then seems to draw back in on himself. Granted, Jim never expected it to happen all at once, but he almost believed that would be it- one final mind meld, and he would be able to save Spock. He’d forgotten, of course, just how many times Spock had melded with him before. It could be that first times- all the times which were erased from Jim’s memory- are easier than the second.

He assured Spock that he’s not trying to get him to behave more human, not holding him to Vulcan stereotypes or standards, or a strict section-31 regimen, as Leland would have. But, still, there are days where he cannot reach him.

He watches as he and Spock enter the forest, and Leland begins to move the crates of power packs towards the entrance of the basement.

Jim clicks the video off, and chooses an entry from the 29th. More of the same. Leland, crashing the shuttle through the Martian dome with barely a scratch.

As for that final entry…

The shuttle must have continued recording the whole time they were in the time-loop. The internal clock is programmed for the Martian 25-hour standard, perhaps because Mars Colony was the last chartered place the shuttle landed on, though the days aren’t nearly as long on Heirin- they’re perhaps nineteen, twenty hours maximum.

There are perhaps six Earth-years’ worth of footage crammed into this one device. He wonders how many recordings there are of himself or Leland dying, and his stomach turns. He doesn’t really want to know, but the monitor could have other uses. He ends the recording manually, and switches to a new recording. He waves his hand in front of the screen experimentally. The interior camera appears to be built right into the screen.

He disconnects the monitor carefully, and weighs it in his hands for a moment. It’s small, and relatively weighty. He considers showing it to Spock, but, after a moment’s hesitation, he drags it into the server room. He’s not sure if Spock would want to be reminded of how long he’s spent here. Not yet.

He plugs the monitor into the console, though it appears to have some internal, backup power-source. The video files have disappeared- no doubt stored in the shuttle, as the monitor’s internal storage is comparatively smaller. Jim leaves it by the consoles for now.

Jim is attempting to balance on one leg.

“What are you doing?”

“I’m trying to see if I can build up-” Jim falls over with a cry. “- Muscle,” he hisses, rubbing his hamstring with a grimace. He stands back up, and resumes the position. “We still don’t know if our bodies are entirely replaced each morning, or if it only happens when one of us is injured.” He poses. “How does my butt look?”

“The same as usual,” Spock says, dryly.

“Well, it’s early days,” Jim shrugs.

Spock hesitates, then steps a little closer. “I doubt it’s possible for you to gain much more… ‘muscle’ in this particular area,” he says, tactfully.

Jim shoots him a glare over his shoulder, and promptly overbalances. “There’s that Vulcan tact, I see.”

“This could help prove it, once and for all.”

“It is futile to attempt to prove something which runs so contrary to the laws of physics-”

Jim grabs his hand, and, with one sharp tug, Spock lands in the mud beside him, and they bump heads.

“Law of gravity,” Jim says, sheepishly, as he rubs his nose.

As far as he can tell, their bodies seem incapable of going through any kind of change. Gaining/losing weight, scarring, telepathic bonds- none of them seem to stick. They really do seem to regenerate each morning, without exception, though the rest of their surroundings wither. And we’ll never age. It’s practically immortality, Jim thinks.

If only we weren’t stuck here.

The next time Spock melds with him, a bond forms almost immediately, as it did before.

‘I guess that means we’re exceptionally compatible.’

Spock tilts his head. ‘We know each other well. A bond is an inevitable side effect.’

‘That’s what I said!’

Despite its futility, Jim convinces Spock to bond with him again. And again. It becomes a strange sort of game, a dance; to go to sleep each evening aware of the other, with the ability to broadcast their every thought into the others’ head, and renew it each morning.

‘Are you familiar with Greek mythology?’ Jim asks. Spock appears in front of him, stern and disapproving.

‘If I were not, I could get the information from your mind.’

‘Right,’ Jim laughs. ‘At first, I thought we might be living the life of Sisyphus, cursed to roll the same boulder up the hill every day. But, every time I look at you, the story of Tantalus comes to mind.’

Spock’s eyebrows twitch. The landscape shifts, until Jim is standing neck-deep in water, watching ripples on the surface of a great lake. Spock stands on the shore.

A large willow tree looms over Jim, its leaves a delicate, olive-leaf green. Something flutters across his face, pale pink and soft. A single petal. Jim smiles serenely, and glances at the underside of the tree. Improbably- and, perhaps, illogically- it is covered with cherry blossoms, the like he hasn’t seen since Earth.

“Which am I, Jim?” Spock says, in a booming whisper. His voice echoes all around him, syllables melting into great, crashing waves. “The water you can never stoop to drink, or the fruit which is just out of reach?”

Jim focuses on the falling petals, their delicate red hue looking less familiar by the moment, and contemplates their similarity to the rocks on Heirin. Everything about this planet is overpowering: drenching, seeping into them, even in these stolen moments of serenity. Jim knows better than most how easily alliances can be shattered by violence, and, reaching out, he touches one of the petals.

“Neither,” he answers. He takes a deep breath. “I know what you’re scared of- that I, like Leland, view you as a prize to be won- but I don’t.” He considers for a moment. “But, I do need you. You are only like the water because I need you to sustain me. Only like the fruit because I’m willing to wait for you to fall. This… Time loop, this trap we’re caught in- I wouldn’t be able to survive it without you. You’ve demonstrated that, time and time again.”

As he’s talking, the water level shrinks to his waist.

“I don’t want to be trapped here, but there is one benefit- it gives me time to wait.”

Spock blinks. “For what?”

“You.”

Spock reaches out, and catches a falling petal. “You could be waiting for a long time.”

The echo of laughter. “As far as we know, we have eternity.” He holds his hand out, and Spock appears next to him. He wraps his arms around his shoulders and kisses him slowly.

They’re so deep in the meld that it takes daybreak to pull them out of it. Jim wakes up in bed blinking in the light. Spock is curled on his side next to him, his hand outstretched towards Jim’s forehead. It’s almost easy to believe that he fell asleep this way.

He reaches out, and cards a hand through Spock’s hair. For a moment, he allows himself to pretend that they’re just two lovers, lying together on a lazy Sunday morning with no responsibilities, and nothing else to do. But, it isn’t Sunday, and, somewhere below them, Leland is waking, too.

He kisses Spock’s wrist. He twitches in his sleep, his brows pulling together, perhaps sensing Jim’s troubled thoughts. Jim rises, and hurries downstairs as quietly as he can without sacrificing speed.

Leland’s “rise and shine” doesn’t have time to fall from his lips.

Jim spends a pleasant morning with Spock before returning to the server room for his usual dig through The Klingon archives. His Klingon has gotten really good recently, and he’s sure there must be something he’s overlooked in the top-secret war files. As he goes to input the now-familiar sequence, something catches his eye in front of him.

‘Mars-Colony gang members reported missing […] with the exception of T’Gar Taag, who was apprehended last Tuesday-”

His eyes widen, and he leans back in his chair, eyes darting around the printings and clippings laid out on the walls.

‘Crash-landing results in bloodbath […] sole survivor, Lewis McAllister-’

Sole survivor. Jim reaches forwards, bringing up the scribbled translations of the Klingon tomes he was able to piece together. It’s only legend.

A time loop, sparked by the spilling of innocent blood.

A hazy memory from that first night. Perhaps it’s so hazy because it’s the last thing he remembers before he was murdered: Leland, sitting opposite him in an unknown cave, firelight painting his face, and the walls, a deep, intense red. “When the battle ended, there wasn’t a single enemy left.”

“And not a single friend, either,” Jim had joked.

He’s not laughing now. He sits in the server room for a moment, hands trembling as he contemplates his next move. Then, he rises, tears the clippings from the wall, and heads for the door. On his way out, he doubles back, and grabs the monitor which he tore from the shuttle, hugging it to his chest as he runs through the beginnings of rain.

He enters the stronghold through the main entrance, and enters the central hall. Spock is upstairs, meditating. After a moment’s deliberation, Jim stashes the print-outs under the cushions of the sofa. As for the monitor…

He grabs an axe from the wall, and steps into the downstairs bathroom.

The shower runs. It provides an interesting background to Jim’s conversation with himself. The green light paints his face a sickly sheen, and he looks almost… Undead. It’s not entirely inappropriate, he thinks grimly, as he sets the axe and the monitor in the tub, and hits record.

Spock wakes up alone, which isn’t entirely unusual, but he feels strangely uneasy.

Downstairs, Jim sits at the dining table, papers laid out all around him, as is customary for one of their escape-planning sessions; although it’s been a while since they’ve had one. The change in their surroundings is immediately apparent.

“You’ve redecorated,” Spock observes, lightly.

The remaining knives, weapons and tools have vanished from the walls, and Jim gives him a strange smile. “I thought we could use some… Variety.”

Spock lifts an eyebrow, and settles in the chair opposite him. He only needs to study his face for a moment.

“You’ve found a way for us to leave,” he realises.

“No,” Jim closes his eyes. “Not us, exactly…”

Jim points to one of the headlines, then the others, and begins to explain. As he listens, Spock’s heart begins to pound in his chest, and he struggles to remain outwardly calm. He feels every bit as trapped as he did that first night, when Leland had pointed a phaser at him.

He remembers the clatter as the power pack had fallen into the gap in the ceiling, and his eyes dart, momentarily, upwards.

“- But,” Jim catches his breath, “There’s another option.” He swallows. “We could stay here, together. I know I’ve said it before, but- we don’t need to eat. We don’t even, technically, need to sleep. That’s paradise, to some people. Maybe as close to it as we’re ever going to get. We’d never get old, and we could live our lives in relative comfort, until one or both of us was ready to…” He swallows. “Leave.”

Spock’s face twitches. The idea is almost tempting. Except...

“Rise and shine, campers!”

He turns to the door. “There will always be Leland.”

“A small price to pay for paradise,” Jim says.

Spock purses his lips, and begins to rise from his seat.

“No.” Jim pushes his chair back, and places a hand over Spock’s. “Allow me.”

Spock slumps, and watches as Jim exits onto the Veranda.

Footsteps, quickly, down the stairs.

Voices. A scuffle.

A body hits the ground.

Outside, Jim drags Leland’s body towards the forest, and Spock watches them until they’re out of sight.

He sits. He sits and contemplates, for how long, he does not know.

He considers everything that Jim had told him. With his strength, it would be easy to kill Leland with his bare hands. But, Jim? If the man turned on him, he would certainly have the physical strength to defend himself, but there are other factors to consider.

“Theoretically, if we’re here long enough… Axes will blunt. Knives will wear down.”

They would have to kill Leland with their bare hands, day after day after day. And- if ever Jim got bored of him, as humans are wont to do- he would have to rid himself of Spock in the same, clumsy way. Vulcans are patient, Leland had said. But, he was raised by humans, and he has murdered his fathers too many times to cling onto any concept of remorse. For surely- surely- somewhere, after years of two-person solitude in this desert of companionship, Jim will tire of a world where the only person to quench his thirst is a Vulcan. Spock can foresee it with almost-perfect clarity: a day where Jim will bore, and he will only be able to repay him in blood.

As if moved by some external force, Spock hurries upstairs, and retrieves one of the empty phasers which Leland had left in the third drawer of the nightstand. Then, he returns downstairs, and pushes one of the dining chairs to the center of the room.

He climbs onto it. Blindly, he reaches into the gap in the ceiling, searching for the power pack which Leland had lost, yesterday and so many years ago. After all this time, there’s no guarantee that it will still work, and a part of him hopes that it won’t.

So much has changed since that first night. In many ways, they have become complacent of the danger Leland poses to them, a danger which is very likely to return.

And, there are so many ways that it could go wrong. If, one day, either one of them forgets to kill Leland, he could kill one or both of them instead. They have already been clumsy too many times. If it happens again, and Leland succeeds in killing one of them by mistake, they would lose their memories. Even if a mind meld could partially restore them, it would put them at a dangerous disadvantage.

And Leland need only be lucky once.

There are other things, too. Spock appreciates an adherence to routine; he does not know if the same is true for Jim. And, when one takes into account the enormity of eternity, it may not even be true for himself.

A part of him longs to put it to the test. To see how many eons they could go on thriving in this remote place. Never growing older, even as the stronghold around them was eroded by the winds of time. They could repair it, to a point, but, eventually, they would have to rebuild it from the woods that surround them. Fashioning their own tools as the old fell to ruin. That would certainly speed up the daily ritual of what must be done.

A small price to pay for paradise.

But, truly, how many times could they bear the stain of Leland’s blood? The man isn’t innocent by any stretch of the imagination, but, if there’s any truth in the terran concept of “purgatory”, has enough time elapsed to pay off his debt? At any rate, they’re not dealing with a world of terran invention, but it can’t be a Klingon one, either: in this instance, The Last Man Standing would be without honour.

How long before the ravine to the East becomes full of identical corpses, as the clearing in the woods was once overcrowded with Jim’s? And, in truth, is still overcrowded. There’s no room to start a life together on a planet littered with one another’s bones.

Mining the planet by hand if they had to. Perhaps they would even uncover the buried Time Crystal which keeps them trapped here, and a way to destroy it. But, even as he allows himself to dream, he knows it’s impossible. If there is any pattern to his life so far, any truth in the instruction given to him by Leland, it is this:

Vulcans are patient. Humans are not.

Most importantly, any exceptions aside: James Kirk is not. Jim, the man who bet the late Christopher Pike that he could graduate in four years, and have command of his own ship in five. Jim, the man who cheated on The Kobayashi Maru.

Still, the test was designed to be unbeatable. And, perhaps- perhaps- if Jim Kirk was willing to sit an unbeatable test three times- he may not be so impatient after all. Perhaps, somehow, through the combined stubbornness that’s sustained them so far, they will find another solution-

The door opens behind him. Spock swings round, still balanced precariously on the chair, and Jim stops dead in his tracks.

Without breaking eye contact, Spock slots the power pack into place, and levels the phaser at Jim.

Jim stares at him, open-mouthed. Spock steps down from the chair, and Jim settles into a grim smile. He doesn’t move. Doesn’t run.

They stare at each other like exhausted children, waiting for a drawn-out game of make-believe to finally end.

Humans are impatient, Spock assures himself. He waits for Jim to make the first move, but he doesn’t even twitch. Conceivably, they could both stand here forever.

His fingers find the trigger.

He is impatient.

He fires.

[Chapter 6] [Chapter 7] [Chapter 8]

#tomorrow never comes #star trek fic #star trek aos fic #star trek discovery fic #spirk fic

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soldierswar · 4 years

Text

Oh Baby

Dad!BuckyXReader. Angst/fluff

You could read this as either the first one-shot to my fic, sick. Or you could read this as a prologue. Either way works. :)

Plot: You have a new baby that you are madly in love with. But the baby blues are stealing some of that joy away from you. Luckily you have Bucky, a great father and husband to help you get through it.

TW: Depression

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You were madly in love. You loved your 3-week-old baby more than anyone you had ever loved in your whole life. In your eyes, she was the most beautiful human being that you had ever set eyes on. She had her dad’s sky-blue eyes, with tiny flecks of the exact same color green of your eyes around her pupils. When she was born, she had a full head of Bucky’s chocolate brown hair, your nose, your chin, and even some of Bucky’s facial expressions. You wondered what other features of yours and his she would inherit as time went on and she grew older. Suddenly the thought of her growing older than she was now started to make you feel sad. A lot of things made you feel sad nowadays.

You didn’t know why you felt this way almost all of the time. The day Frankie was born was the happiest day of your life; despite the idea of ever having a kid was one of the most unplanned event that you could ever imagine. You and Bucky had disclosed, and agreed that you never wanted to have kids. Your lives were too busy, and you both loved what you did. Plus the idea of having a kid was absolutely terrifying. You didn’t know how to be parents. But one day almost 7 months ago while minutes away from taking off on a mission that didn’t involve Bucky, you were called off of the jet only to be yelled at by your CO for trying to get on a mission while 12 weeks pregnant. 12 weeks pregnant? You had scoffed at your CO for even suggesting that that was a possibility. In fact, you laughed in his face as though it were some weird prank. Someone had obviously planted those results on you. There was no fucking way. True, you had admittedly skipped out on your bi-monthly medical check-ups three times until that day. So you came to the conclusion that someone found out about it and planted it on your medical records so that they could get away with doing what they wanted for at least a little while longer. 3 pregnancy tests later, and a follow-up doctor’s appointment the very next day confirmed their own statements. And yet, although you had both been scared out of your minds for nearly 24 hours, when you heard the sound of that strong heartbeat echo around the room, you felt an overwhelming sense of calm. You had a hard time mustering up the courage to look at the screen at first, but in Bucky’s eyes you could see an expression of awe…even love while fixating on the footage of that little form resting calmly inside you. That look alone gave you the courage to turn around and see what was your little girl. You were then both immediately in love. So why were you feeling like this right now? This was supposed to be the happiest time of your life. Sure, you were a little (very) sleep deprived, our nipples felt like raw, engorged chew toys, and you were recovering from an incredibly long, and difficult labor/birth that bordered on traumatic. It was eventually the best day of your life, but even thinking about that pain made you start to tremble. Why did everyone say that you would forget the pain in a split second? Now for the past week or so, Frankie would start wailing, and she would not stop for a long time. You had no idea what she was crying about, or how to fix it. You felt so helpless in those moments, especially when she would cry angrily as though to tell you to figure out what the fuck she needed, and now. Now was one of those moments. Her diaper was clean, you tried feeding her but she refused; you tried rocking her, and putting her down for a nap. And yet, nothing was helping. You stood in the middle of her nursery with her head resting on your shoulder as you softly bounced her, rocking her side to side. Nothing. You felt tears start to form in your eyes. You didn’t know what you were doing wrong. Maybe she just hated you. Bucky swiftly walked into the room. “Y/N, is everything oka-” “We’re fine,” you snapped. “Y/N, just let me take her for a little while,” “I said, we’re fine! You think I don’t know how to take care of her?” This caused her to cry even harder. You shot him a severe look, signaling him to go away. When he finally left the room, the tears that you tried to hold back began to flow, and you broke out into silent sobs so as to try not to upset her even more. You were failing, and you didn’t know what to do about it. . . . After another half hour, she had finally tired out and went to sleep. But God knows how for how much longer now. You made your way to the living room and plopped on the couch and hugged your knees in an upright position. You nearly started rocking yourself, but you didn’t have it in you to even do that. You didn’t even have the energy to push yourself sideways to make yourself comfortable to get some sleep. So you just stared off into space. You didn’t even have enough energy to even have thoughts at this point. “Y/N,” Bucky sighed, sitting next to you on the couch, setting a light hand on your shoulder. You jumped, not expecting the physical contact. Especially after how badly you had treated him not too long ago. “Y/N, you really should get some sleep.” You shook your head, just barely as you continued to stare off into space. “She’ll probably need me soon, so there’s no point,” “Then let me take care of it.” You shook your head once again. A little bit stronger now. “Y/N, do you not trust me with the baby?” You frowned, but didn’t move your eyes or head to his direction. “Y/N…” Now you snapped your head towards him, feeling a burst of energy fueled by anger come out. “How could you say that?” You exclaimed. “Y/N, you never let me take care of her, much less touch her nowadays. So I’m asking you again. Do you not trust me to be around her anymore?” You sighed, fighting another burst of tears attempting to make their way through. It wasn’t that you didn’t trust him with the baby. In fact, it took a little while for him to even trust himself to hold her. On the day that she was born, you decided that you needed to spontaneously enforce the sink or swim method on him. So you just handed her off to him giving him no option but to hold her, or she would fall. And you knew that he was never going to let that happen to his precious little doll. So who the fuck was he to accuse you of that? You shot up, crossing your arms. “Great, so now I’m not just a horrible mother, but a terrible wife too? Is that what you’re saying?” “Y/N,” he said softly, keeping a short distance from you. And that’s when the tears came out in loud sobs. You couldn’t control it, or hold back as you did before. You turned your back to him with your head in your hands. You suddenly felt him wrap his arms around you, and turn you around. Your head was now resting on his chest forming a large wet spot onto his light-grey shirt. He rocked you side to side as though you were the baby now that couldn’t stop crying. You didn’t deserve him. He sat you back on the couch and had you lay down with your knees curled up, and your head resting on his legs. “Y/N, I’m sorry for what I said, but please just tell me what’s going on. You act as though you have to do this alone.” That was it. You felt like you did have to. You felt an immense amount of guilt about how much you had put her in danger for the first three months of your pregnancy. You had carried on doing missions, and engaged in multiple rigorous, and dangerous fights. All because you neglected to go to those stupid check-ups. When you found out about her presence, you felt a desperate need to protect her. Since she was inside of you, it hardly even felt like a task. As long as you were safe, she was safe by default. She was comfortable, secure, and had all of her needs taken care of by default. Now that she was out in the world, it was a different story. You had been so close to her for so many months. It was the closest bond that one human could have with another human. On a technical scale, you were the only one who had any sort of physical contact with her until the moment you gave birth to her. Now that she was out in the world as an autonomous being, that thought scared you. You wanted that closeness back. You wanted her protected in your belly once again. Now it felt like she couldn’t even bond with you. She hated you now. You didn’t know how to properly be a mother. So you tried, and you tried day and night and but continued to fail nonetheless. But while trying to learn how to care for her properly, you didn’t realize that in the process you had been alienating her from her father. Or rather, you had been alienating her father from her. It wasn’t fair to him to feel that way. So, you explained the exact thoughts that you were feeling as you continued to sob on his lap. He did nothing but listen while stroking your hair. “Y/N you’re not a terrible mother,” he said in the hushed tone that he knew soothed you. “And you shouldn’t feel like you have to do this alone. You’re crashing, and I see it happening more and more by the hour. You can’t keep going on like this without eventually ending up in a hospital.” You sniffled, finally regaining the ability to stop the tears. Within a split second, he scooped you up and carried you upstairs to your bedroom to set you onto the bed, covering you up in the warm blankets. The pillows underneath you felt so soft. Softer than they had ever felt in your life. “Now rest,” he whispered before kissing you on the forehead. “What if she gets hungry?” you muttered drowsily. “Fridge.” Oh right…You had completely forgotten that you had left milk for her in there. You just felt too guilty to use it to let him bottle feed her. But the bed was so comfortable, before you could even finish the thought, you drifted off into sleep. … The next few weeks were still hard; but not nearly as much as before. You let Bucky help you, sharing the load. How you had felt before didn’t go away overnight, and you still felt tired a lot of the time. But you didn’t feel like you were going to crash as hard as before. Slowly over time, the spontaneous waterworks began to subside. Eventually the more you got the hang of things, it was much easier to take care of her. With the added help of Bucky of course. You didn’t realize how much less of a weight on your shoulders it was when you let him share some of the load. You bonded with her more and more, and so did her father. You melted when you secretly watched that tiny baby lay comfortably in his arms. One time you broke out into sobs at the sight of them. Bucky had fallen asleep with her in his arms as she slept comfortably. When he woke up hearing the tear induced gasp, Bucky thought that he had done something wrong. But it was the opposite. You smiled through the tears and explained that they were happy tears. And as the months went by, you celebrated the new milestones that she accomplished. You weren’t as sad as you thought you would be in the process of watching her up so fast. You loved seeing how much her fire-like spirit and determination to learn how to do new things and navigate the world flourished. She would give you the biggest, and happiest one-toothed smiles when crawled around the living-room floor with her chunky baby legs; and oftentimes would explode into the most infectious bouts of laughter. It was impossible for anyone not to light up at the sound of it, especially in public. As mentioned before, it still wasn’t easy adjusting into parenthood. But you set your mind into realizing that this was another journey in life that you would conquer every day, and enjoy every step of the ride. But when those moments came when you felt like you were failing, Bucky stepped in and reassured you that it was just the opposite. He reasoned that you felt that way not because you were a bad mother, but because you wanted to be the best damn mother you could be. And that you were doing a hell of a good job at it. And he was doing a hell of a good job at being the best father. Parenthood may have been a journey that neither of you had wanted in the beginning of your relationship. But now, you couldn’t imagine life without your little family.

(PS note: Hope you enjoyed. Thanks for reading my stuff, I love you all. Feel free to send in requests!)

#buckyxreader #buckyxreader fluff #Bucky Barnes #dad!bucky x reader #dadbuckyXReader #Parent!BuckyXReader #BuckyXReader angst #Winter SoldierXReader #WinterSoldierXReader

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autisticalbert · 4 years

Text

the clothies

part two of my the office au! nearly 3k of race being love with a very drunk albert. this is based on 2x01 of the office, ‘the dundies’.

A studious person could say there were four types of managers. Jack Kelly was an exact combination of all of them.

The man wasn’t unlikeable, not in the slightest. In fact, he was almost funny whenever he wasn’t trying too hard. He cared for his employees and co-workers and gave his life for the company he worked in. He was determined to make a family out of the workplace, even if no one felt the same way. No one at all.

It didn’t come as a surprise that the New York branch was one of the youngest-employing ones in the company. Race was about to turn twenty-four and most of his co-workers rounded that number.

All except Les, of course. The kid missed out on all company parties and the blessed opportunity of alcohol. Such a shame.

Every February brought upon the New York branch the most dreaded celebration of all. The Clothies. That was its name. They didn’t even sell real clothes.

The mind of the great Jack Kelly worked wonders. In his first year as a manager, he got around the idea that if his employees got rewarded with worthless pieces of plastic once a year named out to ridiculous categories, then that would be an incentive for everyone and it would turn the New York branch around for magnificent results and numbers to come.

He thought it to be a success. People really just took every chance they got to get drunk.

Race didn’t even like the idea of getting drunk around his co-workers all that much. There were only a few people in there he’d actually call friends—there was Charlie, there was Smalls, there was Jojo…

“Hey, Racey!”

There was Albert, of course.

An arm was slung around his shoulders and he found himself smiling before even stopping himself. He tilted his head and saw a sea of freckles in a dangerously pale face.

“Hey, Red,” he said. Albert grimaced at the name and let go of him. “Excited about the Clothies?”

“Not really,” they said along with a long sigh. “Can’t possibly imagine what my award’s gonna say.”

For two years in a row, Albert had gotten the same award—World’s Longest Engagement. It wasn’t as funny as Jack thought it was. Race was sure Albert hadn’t even laughed the first time when it had only been six months. Now, it just seemed cruel.

Race nodded and patted their shoulder.

“Wanna watch the marathon with me? Twelve hours of footage,” they said, wobbling their eyebrows. “For free.”

Every year Jack made Albert watch through footage of his own video recorder of the many, many editions of the Clothies through the year. Albert and Race usually made popcorn and tried to guess the year by the number of layers Jack was or wasn’t wearing or how thick his New York accent sounded.

This year, however, Race had something in mind.

“You’ll have to live without me,” he said. Albert put a hand on their chest and gaped. “Gotta sort some things out with the boss.”

Albert shook their head, but stood up and headed to the conference room regardless.

“Traitor. Don’t get fired,” they exclaimed over their shoulder. Race smiled.

The closed door that lead to Jack’s office read a sign that said “all my gates are open 24/7”. Race couldn’t help but think, as he knocked on it, about how many levels of wrong that was.

This time, he was putting together a Rubik’s Cube. Literally. Piece by piece.

“Hey, boss,” Race said, peeking through the door as he opened it. “Got a second?”

With both feet on the desk, Jack perked up to see Race and immediately waved him inside, discarding his little do-it-yourself quickly.

“Anthony,” he smiled. “To what do I owe this pleasure?”

“Still not my name,” Race said as he sat down in a chair in front of Jack’s desk. He looked at his hands for a moment and looked for the easiest possible way to formulate his request without messing it up. With Jack, one really never got a second chance at asking the same thing. The man had a surprisingly small attention span for a branch manager.

“Let me guess—“

“No,” he put a hand up. “See, tonight are the Clothies—yay, again—and I was wondering if you could maybe, I don’t know. Switch things up a little.”

“Yes,” Jack said.

“Because—” Race stopped and frowned. “Yes?”

The man in front of him nodded and shrugged. “I’m an entertainer. I gotta give the people what they want—I’m starting to think my Harlem Shake number is getting a little outdated.”

Race blinked his urge to sigh away. “That’s not—Yes, I mean, I think taking that number out would be good. But I meant something more specific.”

“Oh, sure. I’m always up to suggestions. What’s in your mind?”

“Well, some of the categories. Albert’s, in particular. Maybe you should change their award.”

Jack squinted at him. If it was anyone else, Race would feel busted.

“Why?”

“You know, man,” he sighed, glancing back at Albert’s empty desk through the blinds. “The whole thing with their engagement… It’s getting old.”

The man stopped to think for one moment. Race looked at him, expectant.

“I’ll see what I can do.”

“No, Jack, you have to—“

“Woah, look at the time. I have a meeting in exactly—five minutes ago. Thank you for this, it’s been great talking to ya, I really need the room right now. See you tonight!”

And he was up on his feet and brushing Race out the door before any of them could get another word out. Race looked at the closed door before him and sighed thoroughly. He was feeling the trademark defeat and exhaustion that any conversation with his boss made him swim in when, from the room closest to him, Albert’s laugh filled his ears.

He sighed again. Fuck.

If anything could make the day before the awards ceremony worse, it was that by some silent agreement everyone had to stay an hour later than usual. As Race watched the clock strike five, he glanced at Albert with plead.

“I wanna leave.”

“Leave, then,” they said, not looking up from where they were typing out a form on the computer. “And lose your job.”

Race pouted. “You’re no fun today.”

“Not ‘til I get drunk, I’m not. Or drunk enough to miss out on the award, at least.”

That was hard to believe. Albert was never really one to drink in office parties—not that Race knew them all that well outside of office-related life and events. Which wasn’t the point. The point was that picturing Albert drinking their head off just to avoid having a human reaction to Jack’s jokes later in the day was an amusing idea. It would also be entirely justifiable.

Still, Race didn’t quite buy it until later that night, when Albert landed by his side with a tray of empty shot glasses.

His eyes went wide.

“Wow. Hey there.”

He’d been fashionably late, which was a fancy way of excusing himself into missing the first minutes of the ceremony. It didn’t do him any well in the end—he arrived in the middle of a fight between Jack and the audio system.

“Hey,” Albert smiled. “You’re late.”

“You smell like college.”

They shrugged. “I didn’t go to college.”

Race bit his tongue, but Albert just burst out laughing. The night seemed promising enough.

“Where’s—”

Oscar appeared into Race’s field of vision as if summoned. He sat next to Albert and put an arm around their shoulders as another man whom Race only recognized as one of Oscar’s coworkers from the warehouse sat next to him.

“This is Albert,” nodded Oscar before planting a kiss in their cheek. “And that’s Albert’s friend.”

Classy. Race turned to the stranger. “I’m Race,” he extended his hand.

“Snaps,” the man greeted.

“That’s your name?”

“No,” he smiled. “Is Race yours?”

“Ah, touché.”

Race didn’t have to put too much energy into ignoring the couple in front of him because just when the night seemed to never take off, Jack found a way to plug in the right wire and a buzzing sound made everyone cover their ears. As the noise faded away, Jack stepped up on the platform and tapped on the microphone two times before speaking.

It was like a car wreck. Race and Albert had talked about this many times over the years. The Clothies were awful, but they weren’t a thing one could look away from.

“Alright, New York, let’s get this party started!”

On company events, Les was usually Jack’s right-hand-man. Or, right-hand-boy, rather. It was on company parties, when Jack was all by himself, that the delivery of his jokes got more painfully awkward to watch.

As he narrated a story about some clearly invented hot date with an HR representative, Oscar turned to Snaps.

“This is lame. Let’s go to Jacobi’s,” he said.

Snaps nodded. “Yeah, man. I’m out of here.”

“Uh,” Albert looked between them. Race looked at them and saw conflict in their face. Part of him wished they’d stay. Part of him knew they wouldn’t.

Jack seemed to take notice of this interaction, for he stopped his skit to face the table. In the way, he nearly tripped over his foot, nearly knocked someone off with the mic stand, nearly poured his drink over his shoes. Because he was Jack Kelly.

Race sunk in his seat as Snaps stood up beside him and Oscar and Albert mirrored in the seats in front.

“Um, guys, where’re you going?” Jack asked. Oscar and Snaps walked towards the door and Albert glanced at Race before looking at Jack. “Albert, the party’s just getting started.”

They shrugged apologetically. Race felt something burn in his chest.

“Sorry,” they said before running after Oscar.

Jack blinked two times before nodding and resuming his job as an entertainer to a very unamused crowd. Race looked at the door for a moment before turning to the table next to his. Finch and Charlie were immersed in conversation.

“Is that seat taken?” He asked.

Finch smiled at him. “Nah. You’re staying?”

As he stood up to sit back down in his new table, he sighed. “Gotta eat somewhere, right?”

It was one of those nights where time flew by slowly and quickly all at once, and Race wasn’t exactly paying attention. In either fifteen minutes or an hour, Jack managed to tell thirteen jokes, wear two different pairs of fake teeth, and give out exactly one award—Busiest Beaver to Buttons Davenport. She didn’t seem especially flattered when she got up to receive an award that read “Bushiest”.

Race was waving at the waiter for another round and accepting the failure of the already fairly tough night he was facing when the door flung open.

Albert walked in, brushing a hand through their hair. Their entire face was red and their jaw was set, and they ignored the number of inquiring eyes as they made their way to Race’s table. He moved to the side just in time to leave a place for Albert to drop their full weight down.

Jack thankfully didn’t seem to notice their mood, and simply continued with the evening as Albert planted both elbows in the wooden table and stared at a fixed point in it. Finch and Charlie looked at each other and then at Race before slowly standing up and moving to find a new table.

Speaking to an upset Albert was something to be done carefully. Race was a master at the skill, or so he liked to think.

“I thought you’d left?”

Albert looked at him with words behind their eyes, but they dissipated quickly as the tension left their body only enough to let them rest their back against the seat. They shook their head.

“No, Oscar just—I decided to stay.”

“Oh,” Race said.

They reached out for Finch’s abandoned half-empty drink and gulped it down in two movements.

“I’ll get a ride from Jojo.”

“Oh—kay. Okay.”

Albert didn’t move from Race’s side even after the seat in front of them was freed. They just turned to watch Jack’s impressions and ordered a full new round of drinks, successfully ignoring Race’s worried glances. There was a science to drunk Albert—the more they drank, the funnier Jack seemed to them. Which showed how out of it they really were.

In the following hour and a half, Jack made two slightly-out-of-line impressions, gave out the award of Hottest In The Office to Finch, and the award of Tight Ass to Katherine, their HR rep. Neither seemed really excited and their speeches were awkward, but Albert cheered both of them on like there was no tomorrow.

The clock was nearing 11 PM when Jack gave Race one knowing look that made him want to drown in his glass of beer.

“This next award,” the man started. Race anything but hid his face behind his palms. “It goes out to our own little Albert DaSilva. I think we all know what award Al is going to be getting this year.”

Even with Albert not facing his way, Race could tell when the drunken elation in their moves faded and left way for realization. He almost wanted to throw something at Jack to stop it, but he didn’t. Mainly because smacking his boss in the head with bar snacks seemed like a bad decision, no matter how much he had it coming.

They watched in silence.

“It’s the Plant Junkie award—‘Cause their desk always looks like a goddamn botanical garden, ha,” Jack announced. Race’s eyes went wide, and the man winked in his direction.

For a second, Albert scrambled for a reaction inside their brain, but with a little push from Race they stood up and marched enthusiastically to get their award.

Jack stepped aside as Albert stumbled their way up on the platform. From his seat bare meters away Race could see the shine in their eyes and the flush of their cheeks—they wouldn’t remember any of it in the morning. Which only made the following speech more amusing for the sober bystanders.

Albert stood in front of the microphone and shook the award in their hand.

“Wow, um. I have so many people to thank for this award,” they said. Race laughed and shook his head. He wasn’t sure how much of his love was filtering through his eyes as he watched them. “Okay, first off, my plants. Because I couldn't have done it without them.”

People clapped. It was easy. Everyone liked Albert, they were a likable, genuinely nice person. Race cheered along.

“Thank you,” they continued. “Also, um, let's give Jack a round of applause,” they exclaimed. Race perked an eyebrow and Jack looked at them, surprised. “Y’know, for hosting this tonight. It’s a lot harder than it looks. And also because he deals with Les every day.”

Race laughed out loud as people cheered again. Albert was about to step—or fall—out of the platform, but then they faced the microphone again.

“Right. I wanna thank God. God gave me this Clothie,” they said, solemnly looking at the piece of plastic with their name written. “And—I feel God in this Chili’s tonight.”

They mimicked a mic drop and yelled a loud “woo!” in celebration. People cheered again as Jack took their place and they excitedly jumped off of the platform and nearly lost balance. Maybe to make sure they didn’t fall on their head and get a concussion, Race stood up and went to their encounter.

When Albert seemed to extend their arms towards Race for a hug, Race went to catch them and was surprised by a kiss on the lips.

It was short-lived, for Albert fell out of balance moments later and had Jack and Jojo on them immediately. Jack was rambling about killing Albert with his jokes, and Jojo was more worried about checking for a swallowed tongue.

Race blinked and shook himself out of his thoughts immediately. His mouth tasted like alcohol and he grimaced a little at it. He also felt something close to guilt set on his lower stomach. He looked at Albert and sighed before smiling and brushing everyone away to help them stand up.

Albert just laughed and let themself be carried to a stool by the bar.

“It wasn’t that bad,” they said. Race was sitting next to them when he turned and waited for them to continue. “This year, I mean. It was kinda great.”

“Yeah,” Race smiled and shrugged. He intercepted Albert’s reach for a refill of beer and they pouted. “It was actually cool. Jack outdid himself with the impressions, and he called Finch hot—very publically—which was touching. And, we didn’t have to hear him sing his rendition of Tiny Dancer.”

As he spoke, Albert looked at him and nodded with a small smirk. Race looked around, then back at Albert, and they were still staring. He laughed awkwardly.

“What?”

“Nothing,” they said.

“Okay.”

“What?”

“I don’t know,” Race said, frowning. “What?”

Albert bit their lip and started laughing with their head thrown back. They balanced forward and hit their head on the counter. Race started laughing as well.

“Oh, my god. You are so drunk.”

As his best friend flipped him off, Race stood to grab Albert by the shoulders with one hand and get their coat with another. He glanced back at where Jack seemed to be setting up a karaoke machine and then made his way towards the door.

“C’mon, let’s get you a cab home.”

#the office au #newsies #ralbert #racetrack higgins #albert dasilva #ENBY ALBERT #jack kelly #oscar delancey #snaps #(chaz's brooklyn newsie!!)#jojo de la guerra #finch cortes #crutchie morris #buttons davenport #the dundies ep is so :D

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dirtydobrik · 5 years

Text

camera shy - d.d.

plot: you and David are friends and get into a huge fight about you not wanting to be on camera and in his vlog.

requested: yes, by drawingsupernova ! Could you make an angsty one with an introverted reader where David wants to put her in vlogs and stuff but she doesn't want to then they get in a fight then it has a fluffy ending????

author’s note: hi! this was requested, hopefully it was something similar to what you wanted. again, i’m not the best at writing angst, so sorry in advance!! if you want to send in a request for an imagine about David, send me a message and i will write it

word count: 2,050

masterlist

You and David were alone in his house, a rare occurrence since your friend group was constantly coming over. David was editing the vlog that was supposed to go up tomorrow while you watched reruns of Friends on your laptop, half paying attention while you chatted with David. He was stressed about his vlog, and you told him to take a break and relax, even offering to give him a shoulder massage. But he refused, shaking his head and saying he wanted to finish. You leaned back on the couch, your eyes returning to Friends., glancing over at David every so often to watch him work. He was focused now, his fingered moving rapidly across the keyboard. You heard the same clip replay a few times before he moved on to the next clip then and played them together. It was fascinating watching him work, he was always so focused. He bit his lip and sighed in frustration whenever something didn’t flow.

"Fuck," he yelled a few minutes later, causing you to sit up.

"What's wrong?" you asked, concerned.

"I accidentally wiped the memory card and it had footage that I hadn’t imported yet. I'm screwed. I don't have enough to finish the vlog. And no one is answering me so I don't know if they have anything with me in it that I can use" he groaned, and you frowned.

"Is there anything I can do to help?" you asked, knowing there probably wasn't anything you could do to help at this point.

"Can I please record a bit with you for the vlog?" David asked, a pout forming on his lips and his eyes widening. He was trying to use the puppy dog face on you, which probably would've worked in any other situation but he knew how strongly you felt about this.

You shook your head, "You know I don’t want to be on camera."

You loved hanging out with David and his friends, but you made it clear to them that you didn’t want to put in their videos or on any of their social media accounts. You didn't like having the attention on you, and if David put you in his video people would wonder who you were and that was exactly what you didn’t want.

"Come on, please. No one else is around and I only need another 24 seconds for my vlog," he begged.

"David, no," you repeated, and he rolled his eyes.

"What's the point of hanging out with me and my friends if you don't want to be on camera?" he asked, and you weren't sure if he was being serious or trying to make a joke. Either way, his words felt like a slap in the face and you couldn’t believe they had just come out of his mouth.

"Fuck you," you spat.

"What? Come on, I was kidding!"

"It didn't sound like you were, Dave." You could feel your face getting hotter as you tried fighting back tears.

"Of course I was kidding!" he tried to reassure you, but you still didn't believe him. "I'm just stressed about not having footage for my vlog that has to go up tomorrow," he sighed.

"Find something else to film then. You know how I feel about this."

Something in David flipped, you watched as his jaw clenched and his eyes darkened. "This whole act of you being shy and not wanting to be on camera is getting really old. I am sick of having to make sure you aren't in the background of every clip I film, and I'm sure everyone else in the friend group is tired of it, too."

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" you shouted. Your blood was boiling and your eyes stung as you blinked back tears. You stood up from your spot on the couch, ready to leave. "You know I don't like being the center of attention. You don't get to use that against me."

You could not believe David had just said that to you. He knew you didn’t feel comfortable being on camera for his millions of subscribers to see. You didn't let him or any of his friends follow you on any social media because you knew their fans would find out who you were if they all did. You loved your friends, you did. You just didn’t fit into their lifestyle and you weren't quite ready to adapt to it yet.

"Wait, I'm so sorry," David apologized, but you brushed it off.

"I cannot believe that just came out of your mouth. It isn't something to make fun of me for and it sure as hell isn't something for you to make me feel bad about," you yelled, walking towards the front door.

David hopped up, chasing after you. You felt his hand grab your shoulder, bringing you to a halt, as he stepped in front of you, "I'm sorry." His eyes were soft now, and you knew he felt bad.

"David, I don’t care," you sighed, just wanting to leave and go home. You didn't want to fight, but you couldn't forgive him. You just couldn't.

"No, listen to me. Please," David begged, and you let out a long sigh, really not in the mood to listen to him. But your feet didn’t move and you opened your mouth to say something, but nothing came out, so David took it as his cue to talk. "I feel horrible for what I said. I don’t even know why I said it. I know you don’t like being on camera. I know that you're an introvert and I know that it's hard to feel like you fit in with our friend group since we're all always filming. But you need to know that I never want to pressure you into doing something you aren't comfortable with."

"Are you done?" you asked, not impressed by his speech. If he knew everything already, he has no excuse for what he said. He glanced at you, and nodded slowly, waiting for your reaction.

"Okay." was all that you were able to say, as you stepped around him and walked out the front door. He stood frozen for a moment, before running after you again, stopping you before you opened the door to your car. You turned to face him, looking up.

"No, I'm not done," he breathed out, his face close to yours.

"David, there is nothing you can do that will take back what you said," you said, watching as his eyes flickered to your lips for a split second.

"I know. I'm an asshole. I just want you to know that I really am sorry. I'm just really stressed and I need a vlog for tomorrow and no one is around to film with me. And I just, I don’t know. I didn’t mean to make you feel bad. I know you don't like being on camera, I shouldn’t have ever thought it was a good idea to ask. I'm sorry." His words were raw and genuine and honest, and he started choking up as he rambled on.

"David, stop talking," you whispered, cutting him off. He looked at you, confusion splashed across his face. "I know you're stressed out about your vlog. And I know you're sorry for what you said." You watched a tear roll down his face and pressed your thumb to his cheek to brush it away, not moving your hand after doing so.

You two were face to face, your eyes meeting his before you quickly looked away, shaking that idea out of your head. You had no intention of being anything other than friends with David.

"Come on, let's go finish your vlog," you said with a soft smile, even though you had no clue how you were going to do that. David followed you inside, hoping you could figure out a way to help him. It was already almost 2am, and none of your friends were answering their phones so he would have to wait until the morning to get any footage they had and he wanted to finish the video tonight.

You curled up next to him on the couch, draping a blanket over your legs.

"Do you have any old footage you can use?" you asked.

David shook his head, "I posted a blooper video last week so I don't have anything that hasn’t already been posted."

You thought for a minute, trying to think of something for David to do for his vlog that was possible at 2am.

"What if you go to a fast food place and pay for people in line behind you, or buy a bunch of food and give it away to drunk people at a party?" you suggested.

"That could work," he paused. "Would you hold the camera and film? You don’t have to be in it." You nodded, and five minutes later you were in his Tesla driving through the nearly empty streets of LA.

You stopped at a 24-hour Taco Bell and a McDonald's, ordering a wide range of food, before driving to a club to hand it out.

You sat in the front seat of the car, pointing the camera out the window while David walked up to different people and asked them if they wanted food. Within ten minutes, all of the food was gone, and David returned to the car to watch the footage. He was pleased with how it turned out, and you headed back to his house.

He transferred the footage to his laptop and imported it into iMovie to finish editing. It took him an hour and half to cut it down to 24 seconds, and you had fallen asleep on his shoulder about twenty minutes in.

David lightly shook you awake, and you let out a low groan as you sat up, realizing it was almost 4am. You were planning on spending the night at your place tonight, but that wasn't going to happen now.

"I'm going to bed," David announced, standing up. "You're staying over, right?"

You nodded and lazily held your arms out for him to help you up. Instead, he bent down and told you to wrap your arms around his neck, scooping you into his arms.

"Where do you to sleep?" he asked, not realizing that you had already fallen asleep in his arms.

He carried you into his room, carefully placing you down on his bed. He quickly changed and climbed into bed next to you. You stirred, rolling over to face him and draping your arm over him. He knew you were sleeping and the action wasn't a conscious one, but his breathing still stopped for a moment. He smiled, looking at you sleeping peacefully next to him, and he had the urge to kiss you for the second time tonight.

The next morning, you woke up next to David. You were facing each other, your noses almost touching. You realized that your arm was draped over him, and you quickly pulled it away.

Nothing between you had happened physically, but there was something about last night that changed your relationship. You didn't know what to make of it and you weren't ready to talk about it with him. You rolled over and got out of bed, quietly walking towards his door. But he sat up as you reached for the doorknob, asking where you were going, and practically begging you to come back to bed.

"Come here," he whispered, and you listened. There was something pulling you towards David, and you couldn't resist it.

You sat on the edge of the bed, but he motioned for you to come closer. You were inches from his face now, and it was like this magnetic pull that pushed you closer to him. Your stomach fluttered as David moved one hand to the back of your neck and the other to cup the side of your face. You swallowed, completely aware of what was going to happen next. David leaned forward and you leaned closer to him. It felt like it was happening in slow motion, but your lips finally connected with his.

You pulled away first, and he brushed the hair out of your face. "Wow," you breathed out, before reconnecting your lips.

#david dobrik #david dobrik fanfiction #david dobrik x reader #david dobrik one shot #david dobrik fluff #david dobrik imagine #david dobrik angst #david dobrik fic #david dobrik x you #soft david dobrik

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weaselle · 4 years

Text

WORLD-BUILDING NOTES ON THE DEAD EARTH SETTING

I’M WRITING A STORY CALLED DEAD EARTH, SET IN A FUTURE WHERE MOST HUMANS LIVE ON THE MOON AND ON GIANT SPACE STATIONS, BECAUSE EARTH HAS BEEN DESTROYED BY ECOLOGICAL DISASTER AND HUMAN INDUSTRY AND WARFARE

THE STORY IS ABOUT A SMALL CREW THAT DOES SCAVENGING AND RAIDING RUNS TO OLD EARTH, WHICH IS POPULATED BY CYBORGS AND GENETICALLY DESIGNED VAMPIRES AND ZOMBIES AND THINGS. THESE ARE SOME OF MY WORLD BUILDING NOTES FOR THAT UNIVERSE (you can jump to as much of the story as I’ve written here)

Long before the Dark Decade of the 2340’s turned into the Big Jump of 2352, small cities had blossomed into large cites, and large cities had grown into and on top of each other. Every major center of population in the United States (New York, Miami, Dallas, Los Angeles, San Francisco, Seattle, Chicago) had all turned into mega-cities of giant urban sprawl folded over more urban sprawl whipped into myriad frothy peaks and towers. In some cases, like New York, these cities grew to cover the entire state and then mingled edges with the next mega-city over. The entire east coast became one giant dense urban jungle of concrete and steel from the top of Maine down until it trickled out to the vast tracks of suburbia that filled nearly all of Virginia. California became one big city all the way from it’s southern border to the bottom of the mountains on it’s north end, excepting the desert.

Europe became swallowed in City. Thick urban density in northern and southern Africa grew wings to touch cities along the coast that stretched thin arms to link in a wall of City around the continent, with a few cities the size of twentieth century Cairo scattered about the middle. Japan became one mega city, and, in an effort to keep 15% of it’s landmass parks and nature reserves, built another nearly japan-sized city off the coast. Russia, India, Turkey, Iran, Australia, Arabia; all around the world saw population expansion to the limit of available resources.

Clashes between populations in urban build up along sensitive boundaries in the middle east circa 2220 lead to the development of genetic-tactics militant organizations, or Gen-Tacs. These combat science cells designed and created pathogens and single cell organisms. This lead, in the west, to the development of LabCorp. Based in the United States, with affiliate headquarters in Europe, LabCorp, an independent contractor for the Military Science Branch of the Coalition of Nations, was itself a network of independent contractors, which developed sophisticated nano-technologies utilized in conjunction with genetically designed mold and bacteria against Gen-Tac warfare. Both groups were convinced that their activities were necessary and for the greater good. They could not have been more wrong.

In the Drop Day attack of 2227, a small cloud of rapid-breeding, Gen-Tac designed, single-cell airborn agents released in Boston killed people with compromised respiratory systems, including half of anyone on the eastern seaboard that had asthma, within 24 hours. As the percentage of people with asthma and respiratory conditions had risen to just over ten percent, this meant millions of people died, and millions more received emergency medical care.

In 2229, Lab Corp nanobots malfunctioned and wiped out three whole Iraqi villages, men women and children. U.S. officials and Lab Corp CEOs denied any involvement, despite significant evidence collected by locals and posted on social media.

In 2231, Lab Corp drones along the Afghanistan border went haywire and began shooting anything that moved, each drone moving out on it’s own trajectory destroying random things in their path. Emergency shut offs failed, and hundreds of drones wreaked havoc, killing thousands and causing incalculable damage before running out of fuel or being shot down.

In 2233, a cooperative trio of Gen-Tac super-mites ate most of the rubber and plastic in the greater Dallas area over a period of 36 hours; hundreds of thousands of deaths and millions of injuries resulted from accidents related to the sudden disappearance of such common materials, and hospitals in the area were unable to effectively treat their patients without access to so much of their equipment. People were unable to be airlifted to working medical facilities because the mites stripped the rubber insulation off the wires and the seals off the gaskets while the helicopters were in the air, causing electrical shorts and total engine failure and an inevitable crash. Thousands more died without access to adequate care. Panic only added to the death toll as life in most of the megaplex of Texas went from affluent developed center of civilization to stone-age conditions in a mere week. Finally, LabCorp nanobots teamed with a rubber-producing mildew exterminated the microscopic menace. However, nearly the whole city-state of DalTex continued to suffer for months, as all methods of transportation, all water services, most things electric, every elevator, every car, every gas main and refrigerator for more than 32,000 square miles lay useless.

As LabCorp became better at preventing these kinds of terrorist attacks, some gen-tac terror groups ( believed by many to be backed by the Eastern Alliance) started creating genetically modified animals. Rats that ate currency; snakes that injected viruses instead of venom; large hyper-breeding wasps that lay parasitic eggs in people; cats with dominant genes programed to become bigger and fiercer with each successive generation; seagulls with a taste for human prone to massive piranha-style feeding frenzies; pigeons that sought out strange things to eat and crapped corrosives everywhere- these were some of the animals used in notable attacks.

LabCorp responded with cybernetic animals: borg-dogs, AI-ants, nano-augmented spiders, robo-ferrets, cyber-hawks, centa-bots, and orangu-techs among others. Things escalated. Some of these creations were given significant improvements to their intelligence, including, it is theorized, more cognitive development than was realized at the time. By 2260, both sides were working on human test subjects.

Concurrent with the advance of genetic and nano technologies, human kind was making developments in space. The Eastern Alliance was the first to build a functioning colony on the moon in 2213, Cheng Yue, seventy-six years after the 17 month long tragedy of U.S. moon base Americo 1 and the loss of 57 brave U.S. Astronauts. In March of 2215 the Coalition of Nations established Lunis, a fully operational lunar colony of 2, 453 ‘astros’ -professionals trained for normal jobs in lunar conditions- twice the size of the Alliance colony Cheng Yue. In the years that followed, Japan, The Ex-Soviet Pact, The Central American Concejo and the United States all built individual colonies on the moon, while Lunis and Cheng Yue doubled, quadrupled, and quadrupled again, eventually becoming nearly equal sized massive industrial centers and destination points: cities with populations in the tens of millions.

Thus the stage was set for the abandonment of Earth known as the Dark Decade, culminating in the Great Flight.

In 2281 a Gen-Tac terrorist attack of large proportions took place hours before massive earthquakes and a record tsunami devastated significant portions of Mexico and much of the south-eastern quarter of the United States. Believing the time was ripe to crush the Western Infidels once and for all, many gen-tac terrorist cells put all available resources in the field, even their experimentals, a move that backfired and cost many of the perpetrators their own lives, as the micro-agents spread beyond the areas of attack to all parts of the globe, and, worse, began mutating wildly. Likewise, most of the lab-grown human mutants, many of which had been based on such old earth legends as vampires, zombies, and werewolves, went rogue, were fruitful and multiplied, each in their own way.

Panicked LabCorp Executives pushed ahead their own newest cybernetics and nano-tech without adequate long term studies in response. 'Unstable’ Augmented Agents animal and nano alike defected, upgrading and propagating themselves- some of the human cyborgs lost all trace of humanity, or became enlightened, or went insane, or just outright fled. Life on Earth became much, much more difficult.

One recorded incident of 2297 details a 7 foot tall, four-armed kill-and-contain unit, that apparently developed a loop in its programing telling it to protect the color blue under all circumstances and which burst in on a two story West Chicago laundromat and murdered everyone washing blue clothes. Then, evidently realizing it had in the process shot a blue hat, cradled the hat gently for several minutes before activating its self destruct.

A truly disturbing study from the same year in Russia was attempting to discover why all the 22-spot ladybugs were dying off, when they found that the lady bugs had inexplicably developed a taste for an obsolete LabCorp nano-bot. Even though the nano-bots had no nutritional value for the insects, as it had not become their primary food source this was not causing the extinction. Instead (the disturbing part) it was observed that mutated gen-tac mites, engaged in some kind of unspecified symbiosis with the nano-bots, were defending the bots by killing any ladybug that hunted them.

There was the famous French Vamplight Massacre vid of 2309: four minutes of footage caught by a fallen phone cam that clearly depicts the sudden and savage draining of blood from five terrified people by a like number of fanged mutants in a dark room lit by a single eerie greenish lamp.

Southern Calplex lost nearly a fifth of it’s population to the Zombie Infestation of 2312, but even though this evolved strain of the Zombificus pathogen caused the body to produce mild preservatives, fully infected Zombies only had an unlife of seven to twelve days; Government and LabCorp agencies- with the help of loyal battalions of suicide-mission borg-dogs contained and eradicated the Zombies before they could cross into NorCalplex, just south of the Santa Cruz District five months after the initial outbreak.

In 2316, a study by a group of scientists on the Portland end of the NorthWest Pact revealed not only an autonomous society of orangu-techs living inland of the Puget Sound, but also the worrisome discovery that they had formed an undefined cooperative relationship with a population of feral, gene-shifted raccoons of Gen-Tac origin.

During this time, life on Earth was difficult and uncertain at best. The Gulf area had never recovered from the tsunami of 2281. The world was enveloped in all new, human-wrought micro-entities. Genetically Shifted mutants and cybernetically Upgraded beings caused hysteria. Epidemics swept large areas of urban sprawl. Strange beings haunted a growing number of large empty areas of mega-city called Ghost Counties.

Meanwhile, as systems of services and production broke down whole states at a time and populations shrank, lawlessness and desperation exploded in pockets on the edges, resulting in anarchy, and in some instances, the emergence of various autonomous clan or familial governments within a city-state’s borders, cut off by hundreds of miles of abandoned, creature -infested cityscape. Money became something that happened in high population areas only.

In the face of such chaos, humanity pulled back, massing in its largest city-centers, leaving countless thousands of square miles of labyrinthine city-scape open to the elements and whatever else wanted it. More and more people vied for a chance to get to the moon. It was easy to control who could get to the moon, simple to decontaminate objects traveling through space, difficult for stray organisms to infiltrate the moon or escape into the harsh lunar environment and thrive. Governing bodies of several prominent nations, including the U.S., moved their government seats to the Lunar Colonies.

Children were brought up to fulfill their parents dreams of graduating as an Astro, eligible for a job in space. Harsh extra-terrestrial conditions meant a lunar lifestyle that was both carefully engineered with the latest technology, and free of Gen-Tac or rogue LabCorp agents. Earth and things associated with it began to be referred to by third and fourth generation lunar citizens as old-world, or back-world, while planetside, 'first-world’ and 'third-world’ became terms describing zones of relative proximity to the center of any CityPlex, and hence how much access one had to civilized lifestyle accoutrements like running water, or a monetary system, or an internet connection.

Things stabilized between 2320 and 2340. Briefly, the Earth rallied. Some populations experienced growth. The human immune system began evolving to compete in a world full of new and artificial infectants. A few new technologies were developed. Then, on February 17th, 2341, the super-volcano under Yellowstone Park erupted..

The initial area of effect was somewhat smaller than the experts had guessed; Wyoming was mostly destroyed, and each of the six states touching it largely became barren wasteland in short order. The true disaster was the resulting global ash cloud, which filtered out an enormous amount of sunlight- temperatures dropped an average of 19 degrees world-wide, an estimated 66% of plant life died out completely, thousands of species of animals went extinct, and less than half the remaining population of Earth survived the following nine years. Earthquakes, Hurricanes, and freak weather increased dramatically.

Animals that had evolved for hundreds of years to live hidden in human cities came out to compete openly for resources; other animals invaded from what was left of the wilds- insects ran rampant and died out by the mega-swarm in turn. Life expectancy on Earth dropped to a global average of 45 years old. Finally, after long deliberation and even longer preparation, almost all of the people from nearly every nation on earth were shuttled up to a monstrous lunar colonial facility officially named Quorum, but which soon became known as Quarantine.

Moving the estimated half billion people from the Old World to the Moon in a short amount of time was an ambitious undertaking, requiring nearly eight years of intense industrial preparation and an immense amount of resources, in the first large joint project of the Alliance and the Coalition. Not only would established colonies on the Moon have to absorb the needy, untrained, 'back-world’ masses with all their strange old world habits at a ratio of nearly one to one, but there was the very real possibility that the process would provide various Shifted, Upgraded, Micro, and Nano Entities the opportunity to infiltrate or 'infect’ the Moon.

It was these issues that caused the Lunar Colonies to spend 19 months in debate on the issue. The agency created to head the final approved project was the Planetary Evacuation and Transfer Administration, whose members were nearly all well-meaning bureaucrats and politicians, and who hired engineers, labor, and law enforcement officers almost exclusively from among their various private security firms and military associates. The plan they presented called for the building of a gigantic, bare-bones facility capable of housing 500 million people, while containing and identifying any possible infestation. Once everyone was safely off Earth, so the plan went, the Administration could process the refugees through Immigration in a manageable and orderly fashion, and provide training and a 'period of adjustment’ before distributing roughly half of them among the rest of the colonies. As half of the people transferred and population density lowered, the bare-bones facilities they left behind could be made over into the more usual state-of-the-art lunar colony for the remaining residents of Quorum.

There were problems right away. Some of the materials took too long to produce, so construction had to continue and then vital components had to be worked back in. The process took longer than anticipated, and more funds had to be raised. There was a strike, there was a violent anti-earther demonstration that halted work on the site for nearly a month, one of the Transfer Administration members was convicted of embezzling project funds, the original construction company was acquired and dissolved as part of a stock related hostile takeover, and four smaller companies had to be hired to replace it. All this before the refugees even arrived, at which point the real problems began.

The Lunar Colonies built a small fleet of carrier ships to ferry everyone up to the moon, and estimated it would take one year of continuous Flights to ferry the planets inhabitants to their new home (400 carrier ships, 25000 carrying capacity each, [10mil. per unified trip] 6 day round trip, one launch per week per ship). The Planetary Evacuation and Transfer Administration selected 100 launch sites and blanketed the Earth with announcements for a year before the evacuation began. For many smaller groups of people, it took up to a year or more for word to reach them, and some outlying bands faced at least 10 months of dangerous travel on foot to reach the nearest launch point. Realities like this in the face of the announcement that shuttles would only operate for one year, led to a panicked rush by anyone not in the larger population areas that housed most of the launch sites. News of this movement reached the Transfer Administration, prompting a hurried study and a revised estimate of total incoming people- up from the 500 million the new lunar facility was designed for, to as many as 800 million. When the revised estimates reached the populated areas of the Earth, the people of the remaining mega-cities flooded the launch sites, and when Transfer Admin. Senior Director Stanley Bishop announced a 600 million person limit to the evacuation, riots and a black market for Lunar Transfer tickets were the result.

In addition to this, Transfer Admin. Regulations prohibited any Shifted or Upgraded beings from transfer, and enforced severe restrictions on personal belongings. A significant number of Upgraded people, as well as the the Shifted and their decedents, had been assimilated by (or even founded) various clans and cultures, becoming friends, lovers, leaders and children of 'acceptable’ people seeking transfer, causing confrontations and delays. Of course, a number of these extra-sapiens snuck through undetected; some of these were found by Admin. up in Quorum and security measures tightened. Tension grew between the incoming old world population and the lunar colonies. Shuttle turn-around time was lengthened due to security and maintenance problems, and excessive personnel processing issues. By the time the Evacuation had been in practice for 8 months, it was clear it would not meet deadlines by as much as an additional year.

go to the story itself here

#dead earth notes #dead earth #scif #science fiction #writing #world building

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ao3bronte · 6 years

Text

Smutember: Sensory Deprivation

Masquerade on Ao3

24: Sensory Deprivation

Marinette leaps out of the way, grateful for her Ladybug reflexes as a suitcase, a garbage bag full of clothing and a laptop go flying out the window above her head.

"How DARE YOU!" a woman screams from beyond the open window and Marinette can't help but pause and pull an earbud out of her ear, eager to see what all the fuss is about, "You told me she was your COUSIN!"

At least twenty pedestrians have stopped to congregate around the pile of strewn clothes and shattered technology by this point, their eyes and ears glued to the stage before them, "I never SAID she was my cousin!"

"Yes you did! That's what you had her listed in your contacts!"

"You've been through my PHONE?!"

"OF COURSE I have and for good reason! You've been CHEATING on me!"

Marinette takes a second to glance around her, the throngs of people quickly gathering either recording or livestreaming the spectacle as the angry couple continues to hurl abuses at each other, unapologetically airing their dirty laundry for all and sundry to see.

“It’s not like I asked for this!”

“What?!” she screams, the couple move towards their open balcony, their wildly flailing silhouettes finally in view, “You married another woman!”

“And if she hadn’t screwed up and gotten pregnant, then this never would have happened!”

“WHAT?!”

The whispers rippling through the crowd abruptly shift from appalled curiosity to alarm and nervousness. Marinette winces, realizing that people are now actually discussing what this akuma’s powers might be like it’s a topic for casual conversation rather than a potentially life-threatening situation. She looks skyward, tracing pointing fingers, looking for the telltale back dot signaling the next victim. The whispers shift again, casual nervousness becoming actual fear and Marinette’s heart sinks, tracking not one but two small black harbingers of doom as they fly their way into the open window.

“How DARE YOU?”

“This isn’t my fault!” he shrieks, throwing a lamp against the wall, “You just HAD to go snooping through my things!”

“We have a child together!” she begins to sob, “There’s no excuse for this!”

“And if you had just given me what I wanted—”

The voices stop abruptly, the all too familiar black and neon purple haze erupting from the second story apartment in a flash of light. Eyes wide, Marinette breaks off into a sprint and ducks into the nearest alleyway, nearly flinging off her purse in haste.

"Tikki! Transforme-moi!"

Adrien slips his mask off his head and lowers his épée against the floor, turning his attention back towards the phone ringing off the hook in the school’s athletics office. Both he and the three other boys in training share a speculative glance as M. D’Argencourt stomps over, cursing a blue streak under his breath at being constantly interrupted, and nearly tears the hinges off the office door before disappearing within.

“What do you think?”

Adrien turns to Mohamed and shrugs, mirroring Isaac’s equally confused gesture. He sits down on the practice pads as Clement slips his gloves off and collapses beside him, beads of sweat pooling on his brow.

“It’s too hot to be practicing like this,” he complains, glaring daggers at the ceiling. Adrien cocks a brow and decides that it’s best to keep his mouth shut, knowing the larger boy’s less than measured temper.

“If Monsieur makes us stay here longer just because he’s on the phone…” Isaac trails off, sitting back on one of the nearby benches. They’d been practicing for well over an hour now for the first competition of the season and D’Argencourt was running them ragged with drills and mock duels.

“Whatever it is, it’s probably important,” Mohamed replies, “It’s been ringing off the hook for at least ten minutes.”

“Probably,” Adrien shucks his gloves off as well, swallowing against the way his stomach seems to be sinking in his chest. He watches D’Argencourt’s silhouette through the frosted window of the office door as the older man’s flailing arm seems to collapse to his side and slump. The other boys follow his gaze and exchange a worried glance.

“That can’t be good,” Mohamed says quietly, his eyes glued to the door.

Clement pushes himself back into a sitting position, “It’s probably just another akuma attack, no big deal.”

“No big deal?” Adrien can’t help himself, ignoring the way the boy beside him glares at him reproachfully, “The akuma attacks have only gotten worse lately.”

“And more dangerous,” Isaac adds, getting back onto his feet, “I’m going to sneak into the locker room and grab my mobile. If it’s an akuma attack, I’m sure it’s all over the news.”

“Don’t be too long,” Mohamed warns, still watching D’Argencourt through the glass, “You know how nasty he gets when we bring our phones out.”

Isaac nods and jogs through the door on the other side of the gymnasium, appearing a few moments later with his iPhone in his hand. He scrolls quickly and sits down beside Adrien, his eyes widening with every swipe of his thumb, “Merde.”

“What?” Adrien scoots closer and watches over his shoulder in panic as Isaac pulls up the trending livestream from the Paris Police’s official Twitter feed, the video retweeted straight from the LadyBlog.

“This is Alya Césaire from the Ladyblog,” the stream switches abruptly to the forward-facing camera, “And I have never seen anything like what I’m seeing right now!”

Alya switches the direction of the camera and zooms in on the carnage taking place some two blocks away from their school, “What started off as a married squabble ended in an all-out brawl between man and wife. Talk about taking ’till death do you part to a whole new level.”

Ladybug dodges a blast of red magic and leaps up onto the eaves of the closest structure, disappearing behind a rooftop. The angle changes and Alya focuses it back onto the raging akuma, glowing red and orange and screaming at the top of her lungs.

“I’M SICK OF YOUR EXCUSES!” she hurls another beam of energy into the air, “I WILL HEAR NO EVIL!”

Spreading her arms, she clips a series of bystanders with a burst of magic and sends them flying into the air. The footage is shaky for a moment as Alya runs towards them, dodging the screaming civilians that had flocked to see what all the fuss was about. When the camera finally stops wobbling, the lens focuses on a group of tourists clutching at their ears, desperately shouting at each other from the lack of sound.

The camera shudders again, “Are you okay? What happened?”

The closest person, a thirty something man clutching his girlfriend to his chest, shakes his head in abject horror, “HELP! I CAN'T HEAR!”

“Ladybug has her hands full with this one,” Alya can be heard behind the camera, following the akuma as it tears down the boulevard, “And Chat Noir is still nowhere to be found.”

Adrien digs his fingers into the padding of his protective pants and yanks his eyes away from the screen to track D’Argencourt. Releasing a breath he hadn’t realised he’d been holding, he inhales and gets back up onto his feet, brushing imagined particles from the fabric of his pants.

“Where are you going?” Mohamed asks, staring up at him.

“My father told me that the next time there was an akuma attack at school, he’d send a car,” he lies easily, gathering his gloves and equipment, “It’s probably waiting outside now.”

“D’Argencourt will be mad.”

“Tell him my father will be even madder if I get injured because of this attack.”

“I’ll let him know,” Mohamed gives him a thumbs up, “Be safe!”

“Thanks,” Adrien smiles and nods, sprinting towards the locker rooms, “Enjoy your weekend!”

Steeling himself, Adrien shuts the door and barely registers Plagg at his side, too busy shucking his gear off his body. He shoves it all in his locker and pulls his shirt over his head, slipping his sack over his shoulder and checking it for cheese.

“Ready?”

“Hardly.”

“Plagg, transforme-moi!”

Chat vaults over the rows of tightly packed buildings towards the screaming and skids to a stop along one of the rooftops, sending a few loosened shingles flying. He watches the fight below for a few seconds, bewildered that the akuma seem to be fighting each other just as much as they’re fighting Ladybug herself. He studies their patterns, noticing the way she seems to bring her arms into her chest right before shooting beams of energy at her targets. He, on the other hand, seems to have no tell at all.

"I am going to KILL you!"

He spots Marinette as she ducks behind an advertisement kiosk, narrowly missing a wide ray of neon green energy. The man roars and turns his attention back on his wife, ripping a bus shelter bench from its trappings and chucking it in her direction.

“Not if I don’t kill you FIRST!”

Sliding down a lamp post, Chat scurries over to where Marinette is squatting behind the stand and takes point, leading them both around the corner and into relative safety, “What’s going on?”

Marinette squints at him and hesitates for a moment before responding, “They take away your senses. He takes sight and she takes hearing!”

Chat blinks but doesn’t comment on the way she seems to be speaking louder than normal, “What have you tried so far?”

“I don’t know,” Marinette replies, her eyes widening, “Sorry, can you repeat that?”

“I said, what have you tried so far?”

Marinette nods her head, “Oh! I’ve tried to turn them on each other but they’re too fast. I’m going to have to use lucky charm.”

“Okay…” Chat trails off, “Are you sure you’re alright?”

Marinette blinks owlishly and takes his hand, “Let’s go.”

She drags him back around the bend and plucks her yoyo from her belt, releasing it and spinning it at her side. With the married couple far too distracted in their quest to maim each other, Chat takes a defensive position in front and waits as Marinette flings her yoyo into the air, calling upon her lucky charm. In typical Chat Noir style, he chances a glance backwards to see what had landed in her arms and smirks, shaking his head at the mirror lying there.

“Didn’t see that coming,” he chuckles, turning back to the quarreling duo. The civilians had long since cleared the area, the police and fire department waiting on the wings. They’d been reduced to crowd control long ago, knowing full well they were no match for the supernatural beings Le Papillon made it a habit to create.

Marinette weighs the handle carefully in her hand and flips it around a few times. Flexing her wrist, she faces the reflective part forwards and runs full tilt towards her assailants, “Stay here!”

“Ladybug, hold up!”

She doesn’t respond as she ducks in behind the bus shelter, ignoring his repeated calls as she peeks around the tinted glass. The man shoots another ray of neon light from his palms at his estranged wife and bellows when she cartwheels out of the way.

“Would you just SHUT UP already?”

“Would you just DISAPPEAR?”

Scooting in around them, Chat takes advantage of their momentary distraction with each other to check their bodies for the possessed items. Their power seems to emanate directly from their hands, their left one specifically, but they seem to be able to transfer it to both if they press their palms together. Squinting, Chat can see the way their wedding rings seem to pulsate with energy every time they hurl insults at each other and Chat doesn’t have to grasp at straws to come to his conclusion.

“It’s the rings!” he shouts from across the boulevard, his voice carrying over the racket. The couple pause and turn their attention to him, revving their energies across their fingers.

“Mind your own business Cat!” the man roars, launching another wave of raw power. Chat dodges it easily and glances over to the alcove where Marinette had been hiding, finding it empty. He uses his forward momentum to throw himself onto his back and slides between the fighting couple, ducking out of the way in the hopes of one of their beams cross firing and hitting the other.

“Sound to me like you couldn’t keep your business in your pants,” Chat quips back, scrambling onto all fours and darting away, smirking at the woman’s overjoyed reaction.

“See?” she cackles snidely, nearly clipping the man with her powers in the process, “Even Chat Noir is on my side.”

The akumatized man’s response is a wordless howl of rage, his pupils constricting to pinpoints as his gaze flicks between Chat and his star-crossed wife. His face contorts in a snarl as his left hand snaps out, acid green light firing from his palm towards his erstwhile partner, who’s hand comes up to shield her eyes even as she tries to dodge away.

Marinette chooses this moment to spring forward from behind the shelter and runs full tilt at her assailants, glass in hand. Chat’s eyes blow wide as she darts directly towards the beam, her arms outstretched to intercept the energy with the handheld mirror, forceful and determined. However, the akumatized woman is still in motion, her hand blocking her vision as she moves, sending beams of light that knock everything awry.

“LADYBUG!” Chat screams, desperately trying to warn his partner of the impending collision. She doesn’t appear to hear him, and Chat frantically wonders if she was already struck previously and he hadn’t realized it, or if she’s simply hyper-focused and not paying attention to anything else.

Regardless, his cry goes unheeded and Marinette and the woman slam into each other, their combined momentum sending them crashing in a tangle of limbs. The woman stumbles forward, slamming face first into the concrete as she trips.

Ladybug, however….

The beam hits her like a tidal wave, sending her sprawling backwards into the air. Abruptly, the bus shelter breaks her fall and she slumps forwards, bracing herself on her hands and knees as she scrabbles for purchase, viciously rubbing her eyes. Chat tears over to her with a speed he didn’t even realise he was capable of and gathers her into his arms, the severity of the situation dawning on him. Potentially deaf and blind and running on borrowed time, Chat scoops her up over his shoulder with one hand, grabs her yoyo and mirror in the other and runs for his life.

“Crapcrapcrapcrap,” he repeats the mantra, sprinting into an alleyway several meters away. Even with his super strength, he can’t leap up onto the rooftops without his baton so he shoves her yoyo into her empty hand and braces the mirror’s handle in between his teeth. He snatches the baton from the small of his back as the couple looms closer, their shouts gaining strength and volume as they near the mouth of the alley and Chat wills the baton to extend, shooting them both skyward.

He sprints across the rooftops for a good twenty seconds before dropping her onto her haunches in a shaded alcove. Scrambling, he takes the yoyo from her hand and clips in onto her belt himself, watching her helplessly as tears pour from her eyes. He waves his hands in front of her nose and she doesn’t react, not to the way he snaps his fingers near her ears nor the sound of his voice.

“I can’t see!” she yells, waving her arms around until she finally grasps one of his wrists, “I can’t see!”

“I can see that,” he rasps, taking his hands and cupping her cheeks. The gesture does little to solve her panic attack, her blue eyes roving sightlessly back and forth and Chat can’t help but panic along with her, swiping the tears from her cheeks.

He starts swearing again, settling on his knees in front of her. Her earrings are on their last pip and although she can’t hear it, he knows she must sense her waning energy with the way she tries to shake him off and curl in on herself. He can’t help but let her, his heart breaking at the anguish playing out on her features, of the desperation in her eyes as her detransformation takes hold.

The magic tingles across her skin and only muscle memory has Marinette reaching towards where Tikki normally falls as she struggles not to hyperventilate. A warm weight drops into her hands and she’s left sitting there, feeling curiously naked and terrifyingly vulnerable, unable to do anything except hold her breath and clutch Tikki to her chest in a futile effort to hide.

The feel of something touching her bare hands is a jolt to the system, too much and not enough all at once. His long fingers slide over hers, his gloved palms coming to rest along the backs of her cupped hands and they squeeze hers gently as Chat mimics her gesture. Tikki’s weight leaves her and Chat’s familiar hands are pulling her trembling fingers out and up, towards where she knows his face must be. His hands bump hers uncertainly against his nose, shifting his grip to grasp her fingertips and press them up where his eyes are. They trace the lines of his mask up, burying themselves in his hair and she pulls him to her chest like a landline, like an anchor is a sea of silence and black.

“I can feel you purr,” she gasps, clutching him harder. She can sense his breath ghost against her neck as he settles against her, wrapping his arms around her middle, “I can feel my voice.”

He nods against her and she revels in the motion, finally finding something to hold onto, “Squeeze once for yes and twice for no.”

He squeezes once and the tension in her body dissolves marginally, her breaths evening ever so slightly, “Are they still fighting?”

Squeeze.

“Did you get my lucky charm?”

Squeeze.

“Did you figure out what the possessed item is?”

Squeeze.

“What is it?”

His purr falters for a moment as he wraps his free hand around one of her fingers, “Marriage ring. Obvious.”

Squeeze.

He resumes his characteristic rumble, quelling some of the anxiety inside her. She knows her voice is still quivering, the tears she can’t quite control still dribbling down her cheeks. She’s grateful he’s not watching, his face comfortably burrowed into her chest instead, “Chat…”

He squeezes her and settles to the side, doing something she can’t quite decipher, “Do…do you know who I am?”

Of course he knows who she is but that doesn't stop her from wondering, doesn't stop her from wanting to hear it from him even though she can't. He squeezes again and it feels like she's shrinking.

“Are you...okay? With…”

There's a flurry of movement, too much to decipher and categorise and he's suddenly pressing his lips against her forehead, her temples, her cheeks. He feathers kisses against the bridge of her nose, the crease of her chin and lips, pressing reassurances into her skin. She can't help but start crying again, overwhelmed and vulnerable and helpless, knowing full well it'll be up to him to solve this. She hadn't aimed the mirror right and she'd failed them and—

“I’m sorry.”

He presses his lips against hers and takes her lower lip between his teeth, biting it as a warning. She huffs a pathetic laugh against him, tugging her own ponytails in a mixture of frustration and fear, “We've got to go back.”

Squeeze.

“Is Tikki eating?”

Squeeze.

“Good, I always pack a few extra in the front pocket of my backpack if she wants more.”

There's a flutter against her skin, Tikki’s tiny paws tapping a rhythm against her cheeks. She leans into the feeling and draw confidence from her, trying to breathe. She presses one hand against the brick behind her and uses her other to search for his hand, finding it easily.

“Use the mirror to reflect his power against him to stop him from talking. Tikki? Let him use my yoyo. I don’t know if you can because I can’t even communicate—” she rubs her hands across her face, “Just let him, okay? If he can tie him up, Chat can capture at least one of the rings and…ugh, I don’t even know what I’m talking about, I can’t see!”

Chat glances over to where he’s placed the mirror against the brick facade and lets Marinette crush him to her chest again, her breaths ragged and uneven.

Blinking carefully, he cranks his neck upwards, “Have you ever done this before?”

“Oh, Chat Noir and Ladybug have traded tools now and then,” Tikki says carefully, hovering just above his nose, “I’ll try my best to help you out.”

“That’s all I can ask for I guess,” he takes a deep breath, “Alright. Marinette transforms, I bring her back, I use the yoyo to get the man out of the picture...then what?”

“You’ll find a way.”

“See, this is why Ladybug makes the plans,” he pinches the bridge of his nose and hopes that Marinette can’t feel the anxiety coming off of him in waves, “That’s what I do you know? People tell me what to do, I do it.”

“Calm down Adrien,” Tikki responds, settling in front of him, “Have faith in yourself. Marinette has never needed you to be the best version of yourself more than right now.”

Chat closes his eyes, “How long have you known it was me?”

“Since the beginning,” she shrugs, “It’s the smell.”

“The smell?”

“Who else would carry camembert in their backpack? That, and Plagg doesn’t exactly grasp the meaning of subtlety.”

“Preaching to the choir,” he mutters, watching the red and black kwarmi fetch another cookie from Marinette’s sack, “Does she know?”

“Marinette?” Tikki’s laugh sounds like the wind chimes on the porch of his home in Saint Barths, “Of all the Ladybugs I’ve chosen, she’s certainly the most…imaginative. The two of you are drawn to each other like a moth to a flame and yet…” Tikki shakes her head, “When she does realise who you are, she’ll kick herself for weeks.”

“It’s a good thing she can’t hear us right now,” Chat hums, Marinette’s fingers tangling themselves in his hair again. His ears spread sideways, oddly attached his head as they are, and she gently scratches at his scalp, “She’d kill us both.”

“Ladybugs are known for their perseverance, even if it sometimes comes off as stubbornness, just as the Chat Noir’s I’ve had the pleasure of knowing are known for their recklessness,” she takes another bite of her cookie and chews thoughtfully, “While your flaws may characterise you, they certainly don’t define you.”

“You’re so much nicer to talk to than Plagg. Why couldn’t I have gotten you instead?”

Tikki smiles, “You’re not the first Chat Noir to tell me that either.”

“Can we trade for a day? I have a really nice garden.”

“I’ll think about it,” Tikki polishes off the last piece, having saved the bite with the chocolate chunk for last, “I’m sure Marinette would get along with Plagg splendidly. She has a soft spot for cats.”

Chat blushes as Tikki buzzes away, leaving him to his partner’s ministrations. He can practically hear her thinking, her eyebrows furrowed in both concentration and frustration, her eyes open and blank, “Tikki, are you ready?”

“I am.”

“Okay,” Chat sits up and tugs her to her feet, tapping on her earrings. She nods and Chat stands back, watching in awe as Tikki disappears into the burst of light that seems to swallow her, pulsating and compressing until it finally releases, sending red sparks up and around every which way. She holds her pose of confidence for a fleeting moment and takes a deep, heaving breath, holding out her hands.

Chat guides her forwards and turns around, pressing his back to her chest. Reaching to pat the outside of her thighs, Marinette gets the hint and climbs up onto him, wrapping her arms and legs around his neck and torso. With his hands now free, he takes the mirror in his left and his baton in his right and begins tearing across rooftops, easily tracing his steps back to the battle at hand.

“Alright,” he mutters, talking to no one in particular, “I’ve got to put you down somewhere.”

Extending his baton, Chat slides to the cobbles below and sits her down on the nearest bench, far enough out of harm’s way but still close enough to keep an eye on. Vaguely, he can hear the buzz of the crowd as he brushes his hand over her hair and forehead, leaning down to press a quick kiss against her lips. He traces his fingers down her neck, shoulder and arm until they come to rest around her waist, his claws clipping the yoyo to free it from her belt.

“Take it,” she unholsters it for him and presses it into his palms, “Just think about what you want it to do and it will follow.”

“Just like the baton,” he mutters to himself, eyeing the tool apprehensively. Slipping the string around his finger, he squeezes her shoulder one last time and heads forwards, the lucky mirror and yoyo in hand.

“Honey, I’m home!” he calls from across the boulevard, his tone light and teasing despite the heaviness in his chest. He keeps on his toes, dodging a splay of acid green light from the husband as the wife eagerly waves back, “Care to strike a deal?”

The telltale glow of butterfly wings hovers over her eyes and cheeks, distracting her for a moment, “Give me your Miraculous and then we'll talk.”

“Absolutely,” he smiles, sidestepping another attack by the husband, “But I can offer you something even better.”

The wife steps closer, ignoring her soon to be ex husband's jealous, enraged roar, “Yeah? What's that?”

“A chance to punch your husband in the face,” he winks, skirting closer, “All I need is for us to work together. What do you think?”

“I like the sound of that,” she smirks, eyes glowing red with her powers, “Shall we?”

“You SLUT!”

“Says the man with TWO WIVES!”

Chat grimaces, “Looks like she cat you red handed.”

Furious, the man howls and Chat hands the mirror over to the woman with a flick of his wrist, “What’s this for?”

“Reflect his power back at him, I’ll do the rest,” he replies, sprinting forward. Sliding to a stop, he keeps on his toes and weaves back and forth between every one of his sloppy punches and strikes.

“That’s MY WIFE,” he snarls, kicking out with his foot. Chat deflects him easily, squatting down to dodge a beam of light.

“I have a great repurr with the ladies,” he taunts, dancing just outside of his personal space. Skirting to the right, he aims his body so as to make sure his next blast heads for the wife, “I’ve been told I’m a regular catsonova.”

“AAAAUUUGHHH!!!”

Ducking, Chat flattens himself to the cobblestones and closes his eyes as the blazing ray of light skyrockets overhead and promptly beams back like neon boomerang. It smacks the husband like a freight train, the force of his own power sending him sprawling up into the air and into a neighbouring storefront, smashing its windows. Swearing and praying to every deity he can come up with, Chat throws the yoyo with all the force he can manage and hopes it wraps around his prey.

#miraculust #miracusin #ml fanfic #mlnsfw #smutember #smutember2017 #adrien agreste #marinette cheng #miraculous ladybug #brontewrites

16 notes · View notes

projectalbum · 6 years

Photo

Art is Resistance. 149. “With Teeth” (Halo 19), 150. “Year Zero” (Halo 24), 151. “Y34RZ3R0R3M1X3D” (Halo 25), 152. “Ghosts I-IV” (Halo 26), 153. “The Slip” (Halo 27) by Nine Inch Nails

The 6-year gap between Nine Inch Nails studio albums saw the Internet become truly ascendant in popular culture, for better and worse.

Napster took a bite from the music industry and was put down like a mad dog. The Pirate Bay first unfurled its flag. Radio play and music videos were still the main avenue for displaying the wares of major label musicians to the general public, and success was still measured in units of CDs sold, but more and more people were becoming hip to the underground access provided by a DSL modem.

But the power of the Web to empower artists and connect them to their fans still evaded most of the recording industry; honchos and artists alike were largely clueless. Trent Reznor, the big ol’ nerd, was a notable exception. Posting on early message boards on Prodigy, embracing torrents, creating an online gateway for the band’s fans, leaking material from the archives, experimenting with an optional-pay release, even being an early adopter of Twitter— it was a white-hot fiber optic cable running through the life of the band. While this technological engagement didn’t always translate into sales (The Fragile was considered a financial disappointment), it was a 21st century incarnation of the connection between what the artist creates and how the audience consumes it, internalizes it, and hopefully finds some emotional release in it.

This uneasy alliance between organic emotion and technological chilliness is reflected in this era of Nine Inch Nails’ aesthetic, both musically and through the packaging. Where Downward Spiral and Fragile dealt in decaying earth tones, the releases starting with 2005’s reemergent With Teeth (#149) are shades of blue, black, ghost white, and slate gray, dirtied up by belching factory smoke, or distorted by broken pixels and lines of computer code. The songs are likewise colored by pulsating synth accents, digital distortion, hums and drones and beats. The instrumental stems for Reznor’s compositions were offered up to remixers both professional and amateur, so that even the boundary of artist and audience member became liminal. He had his carefully constructed versions of “The Hand That Feeds” and “Only,” but suggested that there were infinite alternate permutations to be created at the click of a button. For the once angry, brooding Prince of Industrial Rock, it was downright egalitarian.

“All The Love In The World,” a title that might suggest a big-hearted power ballad on a cornier band’s track list, is in Reznor’s hands an electronica-inflected paranoid dirge. Where crunchy guitars would have provided the backbone in the past, here woozy piano figures are the main melodic backup to the vocal, before shifting into driving major chords to signal minute 3’s complete tonal transformation. With its layers of harmonizing Trents, it’s completely unlike anything else in the band’s repertoire, but it was the perfect next course to stimulate my appetite. And then Dave Grohl’s superhuman drumming on “You Know What You Are?” kicked me through the door. The wailing chorus presented an aggressive musical release for me that I’d never had access to before.

“Right Where It Belongs,” the keyboard-driven closing track, is spooky and introspective, and one of the best songs in NiN’s catalogue. A stripped-down, electric piano and vocal version, originally exclusive to the Japanese release but eventually uploaded by Reznor to his website, captures that dark night of the soul uncertainty even better. This recording made its way into the end credits of my senior thesis film, at the point where it was obvious it wasn’t going to go anywhere and that I should at least put copyrighted stuff I liked into it. I also set a live version against grainy deleted footage from Pink Floyd - The Wall, a mashup I figure ol’ Trent would appreciate (the idea was to then do the reverse, matching “Hey You” to the visuals cut together for NiN’s stage show, but the result wasn’t as compelling).

I don’t have any supporting evidence, but Year Zero (#150) may well have been the first time I ever plunked down money for a physical copy of a NiN CD. Also lacking sufficient empirical backup: I’m convinced this speculative fiction about an increasingly plausible American dystopia represents some of Reznor’s strongest songwriting. Inhabiting characters like a brainwashed foot soldier, an underground Resistance fighter, a religiously-inflamed demagogue, even a judgmental alien intelligence, he moves away from the diary page introspection that could occasionally curdle into lyrics of questionable taste (Sorry, please don’t slip on all the tears I’ve made you cry).

The release of the album was notably attached to a labyrinthine “Alternate Reality Game” campaign, with in-character websites, USB drives hidden at concerts, and music videos with secret messages, adding plot strands and world building to the lyrics. (I missed the boat on all that, but the work that the same marketing company did for The Dark Knight was sure something to experience.) All of which would be near-impenetrable, if the actual music wasn’t so compelling. You don’t have to read the wiki pages to feel the apocalyptic beats and glitchy cacophony of “HYPERPOWER!,” “The Good Soldier,” and to pump your fist to the chorus of “Survivalism.” “I got my propaganda / I got revisionism” hits harder in a time, 10 years on from the album’s release, in which the most powerful voices in the U.S. government disregard reality on the reg, occasionally try to downplay the Holocaust. “Capital G,” a gleefully sociopathic near-rap by the forces of greed, could soundtrack one of Paul Ryan’s dead-eyed workout photoshoots.

“In This Twilight” and “Zero Sum” are the shattering two-part coda, in which the squabbling remnants of humanity face the end, whether by divine intervention or nuclear fire. The first juxtaposes crunchy, distorted percussion and fuzzed-out bass with perhaps the most perversely light and melodic vocal performance Reznor has ever delivered. He’s singing about encroaching extinction, but in a blissed-out religious reverie, optimistic for the afterlife. The character at the center of the closing track is not so sure: this is the End of this ridiculous human experiment, and we’ve brought oblivion on ourselves. “Shame on us / For all we have done / And all we ever were.” There’s the Nine Inch Nails nihilism we know and love!

Y34RZ3R0R3M1X3D (#151) filters the previous album through Hip-Hop and EDM, to uneven effect. The collection of remixes never quite sustains the highs established by the first two tracks: Saul Williams’ fiery rap verses turn the instrumental “HYPERPOWER!” into a polemic against a legacy of American violence, “Gunshots by Computer,” while modwheelmood frees the vocals of “The Great Destroyer” from the squealing synth breakdown and creates a whole new paranoid anthem. While it’s also interesting to hear the Kronos Quartet reinterpret “Another Version of the Truth,” the rest is largely skippable. The physical set includes a DVD with the multitracks for the original Year Zero recordings, so you too can fuck with the raw materials! (I’ve been trying to remix things for years, and I’m awful at it, but it’s fun to hear the individual instrumentation.)

After freeing himself lyrically from his old methodology, the next release from Reznor eschewed words and melody completely. Ghosts I-IV (#152) is nearly 2 hours of ambient experimentation, a precursor to the Oscar-winning film scores with Atticus Ross (a few tracks were literally reworked for The Social Network, and several others continue to be licensed for film and documentaries). The buzzsaw distortions, dark piano chords, oddly organic synthesizers, and industrial beats identify it as a NiN record even in the absence of vocals. Though good luck recommending your favorite tracks, with titles like “26 Ghosts III” and “09 Ghosts I” not exactly sticking in the memory.

The Slip (#153), originally released free of charge, is more of a return-to-form. Arguably too familiar— it’s essentially With Teeth Part 2, but leaner and meaner. It’s not held in especially high regard, but it was there right at the outset of my fandom, and as such I continue to have a soft spot for it. I even bought the physical copy after years of listening to the decent quality MP3’s. “Discipline,” with its uncommonly funky bass line and high hat-favoring drum beat, is my number 1 “trying to sneak it onto a party playlist but not very successfully” NiN song. Along with the following track, “Echoplex,” the dark dance floor vibe is a preview of the sound Reznor and co would explore with How To Destroy Angels. “Lights in the Sky,” “Corona Radiata,” and “The Four of Us are Dying” create a kind of suite, insinuating and ethereal. I can understand if you bow out of that middle, 7-minute-and-33-second, ambient track before the library sample of fighting cats kicks in. But “LITS” is Reznor’s sparsest, prettiest piano lament, announcing the eminent “retirement” of Nine Inch Nails as a touring/recording entity.

Wave goodbye. They’ll be back.

#Nine Inch Nails #Trent Reznor #rock #hard rock #industrial #electronica #CDs #cd cover #album art #alternative rock #With Teeth #Year Zero

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sonofdu · 6 years

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In Search Of…

I didn’t realize the TV series In Search Of… which was hosted by Leonard Nimoy had such a long life. I only discovered the show which originally ran from 1977 to 1982 in syndication when History Channel began airing old episodes of it in the 1990s alongside things like Arthur C. Clarke’s Mysterious World. But while there were just 13 episodes of the Arthur C Clark series, there were more than 140 of In Search Of….

In Search Of… covered everything in the pseudoscience arena, from UFOs, to ghosts, the Bermuda Triangle, Atlantis… and everything in between. Most of episodes asked a lot of questions but didn’t provide a lot of answers. Hence pseudoscience.

Ironically, where In Search Of… was an oddity on a channel in the 1990s that aired lots of documentaries and series about historical things, nowadays the simply titled History instead aires a lot of reality series like Forged in Fire and Mountain Men along with pseudoscience series of their own like Ancient Aliens. So I suppose it makes a lot of sense to reboot In Search Of… for a new generation.

Hosted by Zachary Quinto — who ironically like Nimoy also played Spock in Star Trek — this new 21st century version is essentially the old series all over again. The first episode covered UFOs and had the ubiquitous interview with three people who claim to have been abducted; one failed a polygraph test about his experiences, the other had an “implant” in a toe that turned out to be a rock while a third built a contraption so non-abductees can feel what it’s like to have that experience. There were also interviews with scientists too who were searching for extraterrestrial intelligence. Spoiler alert, nothing found… yet.

There’s nothing new in this overly long and drawn-out at an hour 2018 version of *In Search Of…” that hadn’t already been done before 40 years ago in the old. Since we’re living in 2018 and not 1977 the questions I would’ve liked answered are — if we live in a world that’s increasingly being constantly recorded from security cameras outside businesses to cameras within people’s doors and if essentially everyone on the planet are carrying around cameras in their mobile phones 24/7, then why aren’t we recording evidence of UFOs and abductions on a regular basis rather than less than before? To me that would’ve made an interesting episode, not the same thing that’s been done over and over and over again for decades now.

So far the new In Search Of… is just that, a lot of looking but not a lot of finding.

Doctor Who “Shada” animated special

I don’t think people are ever going to uncover a “lost” episode of Star Trek. All of the episodes of that show that were ever shot have aired, are available in many home media formats and it’s not like there were any episodes that were aired once and never seen again. Sure, maybe they’ll find clips of episode or reels of henceforth unknown behind the scenes footage of DeForest Kelley eating a hamburger on the bridge of the Enterprise, but not a whole episode people haven’t seen in years. However, that’s not the case for classic Doctor Who series. That show has nearly 100 episodes that are considered lost that aired a few times but the original archival tapes either went missing, were destroyed or taped over.

Shada

But just because those episodes are lost today doesn’t mean that they won’t be found tomorrow. In fact just a few years ago a batch of episodes were uncovered in Africa. However, not all episodes like this can be found, case in point “Shada” which originally was set to air during the 1979–1980 season. That episode, written by Douglas Adams, yes, that Douglas Adams, was partially shot but never finished due to a work strike. So with “Shada” it’s the case of BBC having some completed footage but not enough for a whole episode. What they’ve done is to put together an episode that’s partially composed of these already filmed live-action elements as well as portions of the episode that were created via animation like “The Power of the Daleks from a few years ago to fill in these gaps.

“Shada” is interesting if a bit difficult to watch for a non-Doctor Who fan. In fact, I think even fans of the modern Doctor Who series probably wouldn’t dig “Shada” — Matt Smith obsessives probably need not apply here. “Shada” is difficult to watch partially because the classic stories were always a bit slow — there’s a part of the episode that features the Doctor and his companion taking a long, leisurely boat ride down a river — and also because the switch from live-action to animation can be quite jarring. Because TV shows aren’t filmed in order means that a character can be outside one second in a live-action scene and walk through door into an animated scene.

“Shada” is for die-hard Doctor Who fans only, and luckily since I’m a die-hard Doctor Who fan it means “Shada” is for me.

Killing Eve

Can I talk about Killing Eve for a moment? This series has won loads of critical acclaim and an Emmy nomination and was a show I was excited to see before it premiered. That was before BBC America advertised it into the ground for me. Before the first episode aired BBC America began promoting the show like most networks do for new and upcoming series. But they didn’t just promote it, they promoted it several times each commercial break. Which meant that every time I watched an episode of The X-Files or Star Trek I’d see ten commercials for Killing Eve every hour. Watch a few episodes of anything on BBC America and you can see why I quickly grew tired of Killing Eve before it ever aired. I can still hear that, “I have to kill you, I’m really sorry,” song echoing around in my head from hearing it so much on the commercials.

So I never watched an episode of Killing Eve. And again, it’s getting great reviews so it’s my loss, but I figured that once the first season ended in May BBC America would be done with it until next year. Except they weren’t/aren’t. They’re still airing promos for the show only this time telling views to “binge” Killing Eve this summer and ones congratulating Sandra Oh for her Emmy nomination.

I give up, BBC America, you win. If I publicly say that Killing Eve is the best show on the planet even though I’ve never seen an episode will you please stop airing commercials for this show?

If this works for you contact me via this website. I am not joking.

Doctor Who season 11 commercial

Stranger Things season 3 teaser

Titans commercial

Nightflyers series promo

Better Call Saul season 4 teaser

Young Justice: Outsiders promo

Star Trek: Discovery season 2 promo

The Orville season 2 promo

Movies

Patient Zero trailer

Overlord trailer

Glass trailer — aka Spilt 2 or Unbreakable 2

Godzilla: King of the Monsters trailer

Aquaman trailer

Shazam! trailer

The Reading & Watch List

Astronomers discover 12 new moons orbiting Jupiter – one on collision course with the others

Cool Movie & TV Posters of the Week

Direct Beam Comms #137 TV In Search Of… I didn’t realize the TV series In Search Of… which was hosted by Leonard Nimoy had such a long life.

#aquaman #better call saul #doctor who #glass #godzilla #in search of #nightflyers #overlord #patient zero #shazam #star trek #stranger things #the orville #titans #young justice

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foursprout-blog · 6 years

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35 Fascinating Things Most Horror Fans Don’t Know About ‘The Exorcist’

New Post has been published on http://foursprout.com/happiness/35-fascinating-things-most-horror-fans-dont-know-about-the-exorcist/

35 Fascinating Things Most Horror Fans Don’t Know About ‘The Exorcist’

youtube

1. The movie is based on a book, which was inspired by a real-life exorcism. The novel, also titled The Exorcist, written by William Peter Blatty, was first published in 1971. It was based on the 1949 Maryland case of a 13-year-old boy, only known under the pseudonym of Roland Roe. The boy was suffering from an inexplicable ailment after the death of an aunt who had introduced him to the Ouija board and started presenting extreme signs of demonic possession. The first attempt at the ritual was performed by Roman Catholic priest, Edward Hughes, at Georgetown University Hospital (a Jesuit institution). The exorcism was unsuccessful and stopped when the priest was physically harmed, as the boy was said to have broken free from his restraints and slashed the priest using a mattress spring. Rev. William S. Bowdern, in St. Louis, was granted permission to perform another exorcism by the Catholic church. The boy is said to have undergone around 30 exorcisms, many in which he succeeded in breaking free from his restraints and becoming violent. Roland had no recollection of his possession or exorcism when breaking free and went on to live a normal life.

Cover of The Exorcist. (YouTube)

2. The book on which it is based was initially a failure when published. The author hit some luck when he was invited as a last-minute guest on late night show, The Dick Cavett Show. Subsequently, the book hit The New York Times best-seller list.

3. The author of the book also wrote the screenplay for the film and acted as producer. Previous to making the bestseller list, Hollywood studio after Hollywood studio rejected his screenplay for the film. After his book became a success, Warner Bros bought the rights to the film, and Blatty acted as producer.

4. The demon’s name in the film is Pazuzu. The name of the demon is never explicitly mentioned in the film. At the beginning of the film when Father Merrin stands in front of a statue in an archaeological site in Iraq, he is actually in the ancient Nineveh. The statue is that of Pazuzu. He is an ancient Assyrian and Babylonian demon, king of the demon winds and son of the Hanbi, the god of evil. He had the power to control winds that could cause destruction and famine. Though Pazuzu was an evil force and was to ascend the underworld throne, he actually protected pregnant women by keeping the demon goddess Lamashtu at bay, who was said to harm pregnant women and babies.

5. The Macneil house caught fire during the shoot, except Regan’s room. A very mysterious fire left the WHOLE set damaged, but Regan’s room was completely unharmed.

6. The iconic eerie scene of the priest’s arrival, as he steps out of a cab and in front of the Macneil home, is actually inspired by a series of three oil paintings. Director William Friedkin took inspiration in The Empire of Light, painted by surreal artist René Magritte.

The Exorcist

7. A real-life suspected serial killer makes an appearance in the film. Paul Bateson, a real-life X-ray technician, played the role of the radiologist’s assistant in the scene where Regan is having a carotid angiography. He was arrested for homicide in 1979, after meeting film critic Addison Verrill, having sex with him, and proceeding to bash his skull in with a skillet. Bateson boasted about killing other men while awaiting trial, claiming that he did it for fun and dumped their bodies in the Hudson River. Authorities suspected him of being a serial killer that had been targeting gay men in the years of 1977 and 1978, and wrapping their chopped up remains in plastic bags. These were known as the Bag Murders. Though they had a confession, they couldn’t link any evidence to his claim. Sentenced to 20 years for the murder of Addison Verrill, Bateson became a free man in 2004.

8. Linda Blair secured the role of Regan Macneil, having defeated 500 other actresses. WOW! There was actually a point during the search for the right child actress, in which the director considered auditioning adult dwarfs, as it was proving to be a challenge.

9. Willy Wonka’s Violet, actress Denise Nickerson, almost played Regan, before being pulled by her parents because they found the script so disturbing.

10. The role of Chris Macneil, played by Ellen Burstyn, was originally turned down by both, Jane Fonda and Audrey Hepburn.

11. The role of Father Dyer is played by real-life priest William O’Malley. He also served as technical advisor to the film.

12. Director William Friedkin actually took deliberate measures to abuse the cast for a fear effect. He went as far as firing guns without warning behind the actors to frighten them. He slapped Father O’Malley across the face to catch footage of his shocked reaction for the film. He also put Ellen Burstyn and Linda Blair in harnesses and had them shook and yanked violently.

13. The screams you hear when Regan’s mother is thrown to the floor after the possessed girl slaps her, are actually genuine. She permanently injured her spine during the shooting of this scene because she was pulled too hard by a cable.

14. Linda Blair also injured her back while filming. A piece of rigging broke while shooting one of the infamous possession scenes.

The Regan MacNeil Mechanical Puppet from the 1973 film. (Pollack man34/Wikimedia)

15. Regan’s room was literally freezing. The director wanted it to appear genuine that the room was cold and literally chilled it to achieve this effect. The entire room of Regan was refrigerated to catch the breath of the actors on camera. The room was actually 30-40 degrees below freezing.

16. Mercedes McCambridge went to extreme lengths for the voice of the demon. She provided the vocalizations of the demon and in order to perfect the distorted voice, she actually gave up sobriety. She chain-smoked cigarettes, drank heavily, even ate raw eggs to master the Satanic voice. She was also physically bound to a chair with torn sheets by arms, legs, ankles and writs to achieve a more realistic sound.

17. Jason Miller, who played Father Karras, had actually studied to become a priest before dropping out because a loss of faith.

18. Stanley Kubrick turned down directing the film.

19. Max von Sydow, who played elderly Father Lankester Merrin, was only 43 years old. He actually had to undergo 5 hours of makeup every day before shooting.

20. Actress Mercedes McCambridge ended up suing Warner Bros because they failed to credit her for the voice of the demon.

21. Linda Blair’s double, Eileen Dietz, also sued for not being credited for the vomiting sequences. The shooting of these were actually so complex that Dietz couldn’t even close her mouth. There was an actual “vomiting apparatus” involved.

22. During the first day of filming, Max von Sydow (Father Merrin) actually forgot his lines because he found Linda Blair’s crude dialogue so unsettling.

23. Linda Blair received an insane amount of death threats. The majority of these were from religious zealots, many who believed her to be Satan’s voice and helper. These threats got to be so horrendous that Warner Bros had to hire bodyguards to be with her 24 hours a day, seven days a week, for nearly 6 months. The threats actually didn’t stop after the movie was released or when buzz died down, they continued on for years.

24. Warner Bros originally wanted Marlon Brando for the role of Father Merrin. The director wasn’t keen on the idea because he thought Brando’s involvement with the film would overshadow its importance.

25. Jack Nicholson almost got the role of Father Karras before Jason Miller landed it.

26. People actually believed the film was cursed. The popular belief was that even playing the film could invite demonic possession. Televangelist Billy Graham said, “There is a power of evil in the film, in the fabric of the film itself.”

27. The film was banned in the UK. The movie was released with an X rating in the UK in 1974. It was later banned by a few local authorities, and in 1988 the sale of the film was banned under The Video Recordings Act. It wasn’t until 1999 that the film was legally released again in the UK.

28. It was banned in every Middle Eastern country except Lebanon. The re-release went on to be banned there too.

29. The sound of the demon leaving Regan’s body is actually recordings of pigs being led to slaughter.

30. The scenes where Father Karras visits his mother in Bellevue actually contain real mental patients and some were recorded using hidden cameras.

31. There was quite a number of deaths surrounding the movie. Actor Jack MacGrowan died from the flu shortly after shooting ended. Actress Vasiliki Maliaros also died during post-production, due to natural causes. Both of their characters died in the film. Linda Blair’s grandfather and Max von Sydow’s brother both died during shooting. The son of Mercedes McCambridge murdered his wife and two daughters before taking his own life in 1987.

32. A woman was so frightened at a showing of the movie that she passed out and broke her jaw. She later sued Warner Bros and ended up settling for an undisclosed amount.

33. The movie made people so nauseous that theatres started handing out bags to vomit in with every movie ticket.

34. The cast and crew believed the set to be actually cursed and a priest had to come bless it.

35. This was the first film to be nominated for Best Picture at the Academy Awards.

#Happiness

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zeroviraluniverse-blog · 6 years

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Avengers: Infinity War Super Bowl Commercial Is Pure Marvel Insanity

Visit Now - http://zeroviral.com/avengers-infinity-war-super-bowl-commercial-is-pure-marvel-insanity/

Avengers: Infinity War Super Bowl Commercial Is Pure Marvel Insanity

Ok, this is getting out of hand. Super Bowl 2018 keeps dropping insane trailers and it appears that Marvel didn’t want to be left out, so they treated us to the Infinity War TV spot. While Black Panther is one of the most highly anticipated movies of 2018, Infinity War is the most anticipated movie of 2018. The hype surrounding this movie is unparalleled, which was proven when the first trailer broke YouTube records for the most amount of views in a 24-hour period and is still the most watched trailer in YouTube history.

The TV spot for Infinity War is basically a shortened version of the original trailer that was released back in October of last year, and that is definitely not a bad thing. We still have some waiting to do and we don’t need to see a ton more footage. Marvel and the Russo Brothers have been masterfully promoting the movie and holding back on sharing new footage. The tactic angers a certain faction of fans, but it will pay off in the end when moviegoers are treated to a spoiler-free experience.

Marvel first unveiled footage from the mighty Infinity War in July during the D23 Expo and again during San Diego Comic-Con, which nearly started a riot in both instances. Fans at home who were not lucky enough to be in attendance at either event had to wait until October to see any footage at all, which was a pretty dark time for hardcore Marvel fans. The footage began to take on mythical status and some of the scenes that were shown in the initial footage was not shown in the recent trailer, so fans are still freeing out to a certain extent.

Josh Brolin and Kevin Feige are promising that the true power of Thanos will be revealed within the first 5 minutes of Infinity War, which has led to some speculation about the fate of Thor‘s brother Loki. In the clip, you can see Loki handing over the Tesseract, but Thor is later seen alone, discovered by the Guardians of the Galaxy. Some casualties are to be expected in Infinity War and the still untitled Avengers 4, so Loki could very well end up not making it out of the first movie alive. This is speculation at this time, but it seems logical.

Infinity War is all set to hit theaters on May 4th, and as previously noted, the hype is off of the charts. Marvel could probably go the whole rest of the time between now and the release of the movie without promotion of any kind and still have a monster success at the box office. Thankfully, they continue to tease us with some little morsels of new footage. While we wait to see the true power of Thanos, you can check out the brand-new Infinity War TV spot that made its debut during the Super Bowl below, courtesy of Marvel Studios.

#Best Offers

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trendingnewsb · 6 years

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41 Of The Creepiest Unsolved Mysteries Of All Time

Settle in, this is a long one. These “scariest” unsolved mysteries are based on the opinions of the people over on r/unresolvedmysteries who know enough about unsolved cases at large to be experts on the creepiest ones. If you’re looking for a lengthy thread of bite-sized “true scary stories”, we’ve got one of those too.

The woman who recorded other people’s voices on her sleep app

Here’s how she describes what happened:

“This night I was sleeping in my bed – my 3 year old was with me that night as he is scared of the dark. It was just the two of us in the whole house. The next night I decided to go through and delete my recordings and saw this particular record. In it, you can here some clicks that start to get louder over the course of the recording. Eventually you can hear me say “What are you doing??” and immediately after there is a deep voice that says “Nothing”. The clicks become very loud at that point and at the very end of the recording you hear the same voice say “That’s them” (I think?). I am pretty creeped out by this. I don’t remember being awake that night. The only plausible explanation is that I answered my own sleeping talking but the voice doesn’t even sound like me or something I could emulate. It definitely doesn’t sound like a voice my preschooler could emulate, either. I have no idea what the clicks could be. I keep a fan going at night for white noise but the clicks sounds like they’re coming from right near my phone (which is placed right by me on my bedside table). I want to say that I’ve picked up the clicks a few times on recordings before but deleted them thinking it was nothing – this is the first time I’ve ever heard anything, though.”

Here is the audio of the recording. The woman has since moved to a new house, but one Redditer who followed up with the story said:

“I actually private messaged with the OP of the sleep app story. She was happy to say that things were going well in their new home, and her son was doing well. However, if you look at the more recently dated comments after the story was posted, OP says her son had started asking where “Ho” was and seeing “the black guy with no face.” OP and I exchanged some PMs about a year after their original post to discuss what could be going on, and apparently “Ho” followed them to their new home.”

UVB-76

Also known as “The Buzzer”, UVB-76 is a radio signal of unknown origin. No one knows what it’s purpose is or why it’s happening. They suspect it may be of Russian origin. Here’s what it sounds like:

youtube

Dutroux

“Last one: a somewhat bigger mystery, but truly terrifying. Dutroux is a well known Belgian child abuser that was caught in the 90’s. It turns out the circle of abuse is much bigger and influential than one can imagine. This is a very long and well documented read about how the investigation into child abuse is being hampered by government, police, upper class figures, etc. It takes a strong stomach to digest the witness accounts (highly nsfw) and a strong stomach to digest the injustice.” — IamScuzzlebut

The murder of Mark Kilroy

Wikimedia

From Wikipedia:

He was taken by his abductors to a ranch where he was murdered in a human sacrifice ritual. Kilroy was killed with a machete blow and then had his brain removed and boiled in a pot. His killers then inserted a wire through his backbone, chopped off his legs, and buried him at the ranch along with 14 other people who had been killed there before him.

Jodine Serrin

From Reddit:

Serrin lived on her own, but depended on her family for help due to her mental challenges. Late in the evening of Valentine’s Day 2007, Jodine’s parents went to the condo they had purchased on Swallow Lane for their daughter and walked in on what they thought was an awkward situation. Art Serrin went to find his daughter in her bedroom, and saw a man having sex with her.

According to a 10News report, Serrin told the man to get dressed and then he and his wife, Lois, went to wait for what they expected to be an embarrassed couple to join them in the kitchen. After several minutes, Serrin returned to the bedroom and found his daughter murdered, having been beaten and strangled to death. The man had escaped, possibly through a back door.

In fact, as investigators later found, she had been dead for between 12 and 24 hours.

Dale Kerstetter

YouTube

From Reddit:

At 11:00 PM on September 12, 1987, 50-year old Dale Kerstetter showed up to work the overnight shift as security guard at the Corning Glassworks plant in Bradford, Pennsylvania. Dale was a divorced father of six who worked at the plant for 29 years, but had recently been transferred from his position as a trades worker to a security guard, which involved him taking a pay cut of between $5,000-7,000 per year. At 7:00 AM the following morning, Dale’s relief arrived and discovered he was missing. Dale’s truck was still in the parking lot with the keys in the ignition. His daypack and a full carton of cigarettes were inside the truck, along with the holster for a .22 caliber gun he carried which was never found. Dale’s keys to the plant and a newspaper were found on a table in the cafeteria, along with his lunch pail, which still had all his food inside. A police dog was brought in and tracked Dale’s scent from the cafeteria to the second floor, but it came to an end at the plant’s glass furnace.

The security tape from that night was later checked. The plant had three security cameras and the feed would alternate between each camera at random intervals. The footage revealed an unidentified masked intruder walking through the plant at various points between midnight and 1:00 AM. In one of the shots, the intruder was seen meeting up with Dale in the back of the plant. They both walked past the security camera together, where Dale appeared to look up and stare directly at the camera before they disappeared out of frame. Dale did not show up in the security footage again, but one shot showed the intruder heading towards the glass furnace, the same area where the police dog tracked Dale’s scent. There was also a shot of the intruder wheeling a large bag through the plant on a manual forklift. It was soon discovered that $250,000 worth of platinum lining had been stolen from the furnace.

On the surface, it appeared the intruder had forced Dale to escort him to the area containing the platinum before he subsequently murdered him and disposed of his body. However, Corning’s management believed that Dale was actually involved in the theft.

When Dale walked through the plant and stared directly into the security camera, some people interpreted this as a signal for help, but Corning thought Dale might have been taunting them about his crime. At the time, Dale was in debt and unhappy that his employer had cut his pay and given him a security position, so Corning believed Dale willingly escorted the intruder to the furnace, helped him steal the platinum, and then skipped town with his share of the profits. Of course, Dale’s family did not believe he would get involved in anything illegal and abandon his children, so they feared he was an innocent victim of foul play. Whatever the truth, there has been no trace of Dale Kerstetter in nearly 30 years.

The Circleville Letters

A woman and her husband in Circleville, Ohio started getting creepy letters. One day, the husband received a letter and got riled up enough that he got his gun and left the house. He was letter found dead in a car crash, his gun had been fired. The husband’s brother was eventually charged with the crime, but began receiving the same letters once he was in prison.

Here’s a nice write-up on the whole store from The Line-up.

The Sodder Children

Wikimedia

From Wikipedia:

On Christmas Eve, December 24, 1945, a fire destroyed the Sodder home in Fayetteville, West Virginia, United States. At the time, it was occupied by George Sodder, his wife Jennie, and nine of their ten children. During the fire, George, Jennie, and four of the nine children escaped. The bodies of the other five children were never found. The Sodders believed for the rest of their lives that the five missing children survived.

Dave Bocks

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A factory worker at a nuclear power plant went missing during his shift. Many people suspect foul play as he may have been a whistle blower for illegal activities taking place at the plant.

Blind River Killer

I remember this as the scariest episode of in which an elderly couple on a cross country road trip stopped at a rest area to sleep for the night. In the middle of the night attacked the couple and shot and killed a bystander to came to their aid. He drove off in a blue van and was never caught.

East Area Rapist / The Original Nightstalker

American Law Enforcement

A serial rapist and killer who raped at least 50 women in northern California in the 70’s. He has never been identified.

A few things that make this killer a bit creepier than the rest:

1. The East Area Rapist sent letters and drawings to newspapers in the area taunting citizens. Here’s a map he drew of what is believed to be his “ideal” suburban neighborhood stalking grounds:

Sacramento Police Department

2. He would call and taunt his victims or intended victims. He called one woman he raped to wish her a merry Christmas, saying:

Merry Christmas, it’s me again! (hangs up)

You can listen to some of the phone calls here, but please be warned, these are very disturbing!!

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3. There was a town meeting to discuss the rapist/killer at large. During the meeting one man stood up to say that the East Area Rapist could never harm his family because he wouldn’t “let” something like that happen to his wife. His wife was latter attacked leading people to believe the actual East Area Rapist attended the town meeting. A photo from that meeting exists.

Keddie Cabin Murders

3ternalist01

From Wikipedia:

Glenna “Sue” Sharp, 36, and her five children had been renting the cabin since November 1980. At approximately 7:45 AM on the morning of April 12, Sheila Sharp, upon returning from the sleepover next door, discovered the tied-up bodies of Sue, John and Dana in the home’s living room. Plumas County Sheriff’s deputies later determined Tina Sharp was missing from the location. The murders have been commented upon for their particular viciousness.

After approximately 4,000 man-hours spent on the case, it grew cold but, in 1984, the cranium portion of a skull was recovered near Feather Falls in neighboring Butte County, a distance of roughly 63 miles (2 hours 12 minutes) from Keddie. Butte County Sheriff’s Office released both the original and back-up copy of the audio recording of the ‘anonymous call’ to an undisclosed member of law enforcement.

As of May 2017, no arrests have been made in connection with the Keddie murders, although two suspects who had criminal records, now deceased, have been proposed. In 2004, Cabin 28 was demolished.

There’s been a recent break in the case that, for many, may explain what happened:

On March 24, 2016, a hammer matching the description of a hammer suspect Martin Smartt said he lost shortly before the murders was taken into evidence by Plumas County Special Investigator Mike Gamberg. Sheriff Hagwood stated, “the location it was found… It would have been intentionally put there. It would not have been accidentally misplaced.

The Mothman

From Reddit:

The Mothman sightings of 1966 was always a favorite story of mine and still is this day. If you go down the rabbit hole there are soooo many weird pieces including MIB showing up to this tiny town. Some of it might have been mass hysteria but damn if it isn’t a wild ride until the very end.

Morgan Nick

Wikimedia

From Wikipedia:

On June 9, 1995, Morgan Nick and her mother, Colleen Nick, went to a Little League baseball game in their town of Alma, Arkansas. At around 10:30 p.m., Morgan asked her mother if she could catch lightning bugs with her friends. At first, her mother was uncertain, but eventually let her go. She was last seen at 10:45 p.m. by her friends, emptying sand out of her shoes alone near her mother’s car while her group of friends emptied their shoes a few dozen feet away. Morgan’s friends reported seeing a “creepy” man talking to Morgan as she was putting her shoes back on.

When the game ended shortly thereafter, Morgan’s friends returned without her. They told Colleen that Morgan was at her car, but when Colleen returned to the car, Morgan was not there. She has not been seen or heard from since.

Pedro Lopez

A Columbian criminal known as the “Monster of the Andes” is out of prison after serving 13 years of a 16 year sentence for murdering as many as 300 little girls. No one knows where he is now.

Brian Shaffer

The medical student who went to a local bar for a drink and was never seen again. Security footage showed him entering the bar, but not leaving. He was by all accounts happy and had plans to propose to his girlfriend the following week. He hasn’t been seen since that night.

Hinterkaifeck murders

Andreas Biegleder

From Wikipedia:

A few days prior to the crime, farmer Andreas Gruber told neighbors about discovering footprints in the snow leading from the edge of the forest to the farm, but none leading back. He also spoke about hearing footsteps in the attic and finding an unfamiliar newspaper on the farm. Furthermore, the house keys went missing several days before the murders. None of this was reported to the police prior to the attack.

Six months earlier, the previous maid had left the farm, claiming that it was haunted; the new maid, Maria Baumgartner, arrived on the farm on the day of the attack and was killed hours later.

Exactly what happened on that Friday evening cannot be said for certain. It is believed that the older couple, as well as their daughter Viktoria, and her daughter, Cäzilia, were all lured into the barn one by one, where they were killed. The perpetrator(s) then went into the house where they killed two‑year‑old Josef, who was sleeping in his cot in his mother’s bedroom, as well as the maid, Maria Baumgartner, in her bedchamber.

On the following Tuesday, April 4, neighbors came to the farmstead because none of its inhabitants had been seen for a few days.

Dorothy Jane Scott

From Wikipedia:

Dorothy Jane Scott disappeared on May 28, 1980, in Anaheim, California. She had driven two co-workers to the hospital after one had been bitten by a spider. While they were waiting for a prescription to be filled, Scott went to get her car and bring it around to meet them. Her car approached them, but it sped away; neither could see who was driving as its headlights had blinded them. They reported her missing a couple of hours later, after not hearing from her. In the preceding months, Scott had been receiving anonymous phone calls from a man who had reportedly been stalking her. He had threatened to get her alone and “cut [her] up into bits so no one will ever find [her]”.

Dyatlov Pass Incident

Soviet investigators

From Reddit:

The Dyatlov Pass Incident is the unsolved disappearance of nine hikers in the Ural mountains in Russia in 1959, and subsequent discovery. There’s a whole lot of details to this case which are mentioned in the link, but for a brief summary:

Ten experienced ski hikers embark upon a trek through a mountain pass that locals describe as “Devil’s Pass.”

One of the hikers returns on his own due to illness. The others continue ahead. After the party don’t return when expected, a search party is sent out into the mountains to look for them. Their campsite was eventually found, abandoned and slashed open from the inside, and the bodies were eventually all found at various points nearby in various unusual states, including some naked or undressed, some with their heads basically smashed in (which later investigations showed were impossible to have been done by humans).

This is a conspiracy theorist’s wet dream, with details that don’t add up, Cold War/KGB cover-ups, UFO sightings, cryptozoology (yeti theories), weapons testing, nuclear radiation emanating from the bodies, stories of local savage tribes etc. But even without all that, it’s still a pretty eerie story on its own.

Dyatlov Pass is a total rabbit hole and it’s one of my personal favorite mysteries.

Laureen Rahn

From Reddit:

14-year-old Laureen Rahn was last seen in her apartment in Manchester, New Hampshire on April 26th, 1980. She spent the evening drinking beer with a male and female friend while her mother Judith was away at a tennis tournament. At some point, the boy heard voices in the hallway and left through the back door, thinking Judith was coming home. He stated he heard Laureen lock the door behind him.

When Judith finally returned at midnight, she found the building completely dark because the light bulbs on all three floors had been unscrewed. She checked Laureen’s room and thought she saw Laureen asleep on the bed. In the morning, however, this turned out to be Laureen’s friend, who said that she had last seen Laureen going to sleep on the couch. Laureen’s clothes and new sneakers were in the living room, and the back door was open.

The police investigation went nowhere until Judith looked at her phone bill and discovered she had been charged for three phone calls made from Santa Monica, California on October 1st, 1980, three months after Lauren went missing. Two of these calls were placed from a Santa Monica motel to another motel in Santa Ana. The third call was to a teen sexual assistance hotline run by a plastic surgeon. Authorities in Santa Monica questioned this surgeon, and he denied knowing anything about Laureen.

Judith hired her own investigator in 1985, who questioned the doctor again. This time he altered his story and said that his wife was sometimes visited by runaway girls (!?) and that one of these girls may have been from New Hampshire. He also believed that a colleague of his wife’s named Annie Sprinkle knew more about these runaways. Authorities looked into this and found that Sprinkle was involved in the pornography industry, but nothing was found linking her to Laureen.

Another investigator traveled to Santa Monica in 1986 and learned that the two hotels may have been used by a child pornographer named “Dr. Z.”, but authorities couldn’t find a connection between “Dr. Z” and the doctor who ran the hotline.

For a year after the disappearance, Judith reported getting regular phone calls at around 3:45 a.m., but there would be nothing but silence on the line when she answered. She received similar calls around the Christmas holidays for several years until she finally changed her number. According to Charley Project, a childhood friend of Laureen’s received a call from someone claiming to be her in 1986. His mother answered the phone, but unfortunately the article doesn’t elaborate on what the caller said.

In the previous thread about this, the OP quoted someone from a forum post who claims that her mother was the friend who was with Laureen when she vanished. Her mother said that they were hanging out with two guys that day (not one as stated in Charley Project) and that Laureen may have left with one of them. The guy who left through the back door committed suicide in 1985 and is not considered a suspect.

It is also worth nothing that other women, Denise Denault and Rachael Garden, of similar physical appearance to Laureen, disappeared from the same area within a six-week time period. Their cases are also unsolved and have never been linked.

The “30 Minutes or Less” murder

From Wikipedia:

Brian Douglas Wells was an American pizza delivery man who was killed by a remotely controlled bomb fastened to his neck, under coercion from the maker of the bomb. After he was apprehended by the police for robbing a bank, the bomb was detonated.

“Down the hill”

From Wikipedia:

On February 14, 2017, the bodies of Abigail “Abby” Williams and Liberty “Libby” German were discovered on an American hiking trail in Delphi, Indiana, after the young girls had disappeared from the same trail the previous day. The murders have received significant media coverage due to the fact that a photo and audio recording of a man believed to be girls’ murderer was found on the cell phone of German. Despite the photo and audio recording of the suspect being released to the public by police, and an estimated 18,000 tips being sent to police, no arrests have been made in the case.

One of the girl’s Snapchat photo:

Two Indiana teen were murdered shortly after taking these eerie photos. Today at 3, @DrOz looks at the cellphone of victim Liberty German. http://pic.twitter.com/cEdB4PZ7sk

— WSB-TV (@wsbtv) October 17, 2017

The audio:

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Lars Mittank

Findet Lars Mittank

From Reddit:

a case about a 28 year old man from Germany, Lars Mittank, who visited Bulgaria with his friends. This place in Bulgaria is very famous for young people from Germany and England, same as Mallorca or Ibiza.

Mittank got involved into a fight and hurt his ear. Something that happens always at those places where many young people are partying.

He stayed there and enjoyed the rest of his holidays with his friends. When they had to leave though, the doctor said he can not use the airplane because of his ear. He decided to stay in Bulgaria and rented a room in a hostel while his friends left.

He called at night his mother and said he fears for his life.

Here is a footage from the airport. Mittank wanted to leave again and catch his next flight. He went to the doctors office though, with all his stuff, suitcase etc. After that, he runs out from the doctors office.

People outside saw him how he climbed over a fence and disappeared in a nearby forrest. Till today, no one knows what happened or where he is. His family is still searching for him, there is even a facebook page.

Elisa Lam

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From Wikipedia:

Her disappearance had been widely reported; interest had increased five days prior to her body’s discovery when the Los Angeles Police Department released video of the last time she was known to have been seen, on the day of her disappearance, by an elevator security camera. In the footage, Lam is seen exiting and re-entering the elevator, talking and gesturing in the hallway outside, and sometimes seeming to hide within the elevator, which itself appears to be malfunctioning. The video went viral on the Internet, with many viewers reporting that they found it unsettling. Explanations ranged from claims of paranormal involvement to bipolar disorder from which Lam suffered; it has also been argued that the video was altered prior to release.

The circumstances of Lam’s death, when she was found, also raised questions, especially in light of the Cecil’s history in relation to other notable deaths and murders. Her body was naked with most of her clothes and personal effects floating in the water near her. It took the Los Angeles County Coroner’s office four months, after repeated delays, to release the autopsy report, which reports no evidence of physical trauma and states that the cause of death was accidental. Guests at the Cecil, now re-branded as Stay on Main, sued the hotel over the incident, and Lam’s parents filed a separate suit later that year; the latter was dismissed in 2015.

Paula Jean Weldon

From Reddit:

Paula Jean Weldon was a sophomore at Bennington College in Bennington, Vermont in the fall of 1946. On December 1st, she told her roommate, Elizabeth Johnson, that she was “through with studies; I’m taking a long walk” . Dressed in a red parka coat with a fur lined hood, blue jeans, Top-Sider shoes with thick soles, and a gold Elgin wristwatch with a black band, she made no indication she planned on staying gone for very long.

She was supposed to walk part of Vermont’s Long Trail. Danny Fager, who owned a gas station near the college gates, said he spotted Paula. He said he had seen her run up then down the side of the gravel pit near the entrance of the college around 2:45 P.M. 15 minutes late, Louis Knapp claimed to have picked up a young girl matching Paula’s description on Route 67A and let her out on Route 9, near the Long Trail. Just after 4 P.M., she was spotted by several people in Bickford Hollow, seemingly headed toward the trail. When Paula did not come home later that night, Elizabeth was not yet worried, and did not warn anyone. The next morning when Paula had still not come back by the next morning, she contacted College President Lewis Webster Jones. Jones then phoned Paula’s parents to ask if she had gone home for the weekened.

Mrs. Welden collapsed with worry. Her father, W. Archibald Welden immediately left the family home in Stamford, Connecticut. He helped organize a massive search party, but their search turned up empty. He then called the New York and Connecticut state police forces, as VT did not have a state police force at the time.

Days passed and Paula was still missing. Then, a waitress in Fall River, Massaschusetts claimed to have served dinner to a “disturbed” women fitting Paula’s description. Strangely, after hearing this, Mr. Welden vanished for 36 hours. After his return, people began to suspect that he had something to do with his daughter’s disappearance. It came to light that Mr. Welden did not approve of a boy Paula had been seeing. He claimed this boyfriend had to be the responsible party, but his only proof came from a clairvoyant. He then began to trash the police for their lack of professionalism and lack of records. Mr. Welden soon returned to his home in Stamford.

Poor weather eventually halted the search for Paula, but 9 years later, a lumberjack came forward saying he knew where her body was buried. After being questioned, he eventually admitted making it up for publicity. Then, in 1968, a skeleton was found. It was later determined it was far too old to be Paula.

There have been many theories as to what happened to Paula that fateful December day. Did she simply get lost in the woods and die in the elements or did she run off with her boyfriend? Or did the so called Bennington Triangle, where 5 people vanished between 1945 and 1950, have something to do with it?

Sadly, as more and more time passes, it seems very unlikely the case of what happened to Paula Jean Welden will ever be solved.

Grave Robbing for Morons

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From Reddit:

In the early 1990s, a homemade VHS circulated around called “Grave Robbing for Morons”. It features a young man explaining how to rob graves without getting caught, what bones are most valuable, and other grave robbing “tips.” In the video he shows what appears to be an actual human skull that he’s stolen and at the end he gives the nicknames of himself and his grave robbing crew: “Anthony, “Gino, “Taco”, and “Pucci” and vows to continue robbing graves for the fun of it. To this day, no one knows who made this video or who the narrator is. There is a site dedicated to finding out the origin of the video and the identity of the narrator, but they don’t have any additional information to add.

Because of the over-the-top nature of some of the advice, some believe that the video is an act intended to cash in on the pseudo-reality television craze that was going on thanks to things like Faces of Death. But others seem to think that at the very least the narrator has robbed graves, and that this could be a “legit” (i.e. not faked) video.

Kathryn Ott

From Reddit:

This missing person’s case does not have much coverage and I am hoping to bring some interest back to this 3 year old unresolved disappearance.

In 2014, Kathryn Gayle Ott was 56 years old. She was 62-64 inches tall and weighed around 125-140 pounds. Kathy had brown eyes, that may appear hazel and wore eyeglasses. She avoided driving at night. She underwent a hysterectomy in 2013 that left her with an abdominal scar. She had a bad left knee cap with noticeable scarring from where a wire was placed to keep the knee together. She had been losing her blonde, graying hair and wore a wig. Her family believes she had been recently diagnosed with a serious medical condition in 2014, although she had not disclosed any details of an illness to them.

Kathy packed up her things and left her husband at their home in Lapeer, Michigan, in May 2014 after receiving social security disability with back pay. CORRECTION: She received supplemental security income with back pay. She drove her 2003 gray Chevrolet Impala with Michigan tag 2JS N90 to her son’s home in Gulf Shores, Alabama arriving in the end of May 2014.

On June 17th, 2014, she left Alabama after finding out she would not be able to receive her SSI checks. Her wig was left behind at her son’s home. According to family, a missing person’s report was filed and her children have not spoken to her since she left Gulf Shores.

But in late August 2014, Kathy called her father from St. Thomas Rutherford Hospital in Murfreesboro, Tennessee where she was receiving treatment for unknown reasons. This is the last time anyone heard from or saw Kathy.

Her NamUs case file has Murfreesboro Police Department as the investigating agency and her missing person’s report was filed February 27th, 2015.

What did Kathy do for 2 months with no incoming money? How did she end up in Murfreesboro?

Where is Kathryn Ott?

Barbie.avi

youtube

From Reddit:

Allegedly found on a computer in a dumpster, the whole clip remains mysterious.

An amputee can be seen on camera, she gets emotional throughout the video. During the video text can be seen which says B.I.I.D after analysis it was found out this stands for Body integrity identity disorder, this is a disorder which makes people feel as if they need to have there limbs amputated because they believe they do not belong on their body.

People have speculated that the woman is discussing her next operation with rogue doctors.

Jessica Haddix

From Reddit:

Jessica Haddix, 29, went missing in late April of 2009 from the Perry County area of Kentucky. In early May of the same year, her body was found in the Knott County area on an old strip mining area. She was wrapped in a tarp and stuffed in a drain pipe. I don’t think they ever released her cause of death, but IIRC she was killed around the same time she was reported missing.

She was last seen arguing with her ex-husband, who she had been living with. Jessica had two kids, one with this ex. She was reportedly threatening to leave him and was planning on taking their son with her. Her ex was also seemingly abusive. Jessica had even showed up to her daughter’s soccer game with a black eye on time.

After she was last seen, her ex-husband was seen on camera using her food stamp card at a local grocery. Her car was found not far from his house.

A local woman who did Jessica’s taxes tried calling her, not knowing that Jessica was already missing and presumably dead. She was calling to inform Jessica that she needed to come in and sign some papers. Jessica’s ex-husband answered the phone and simply said Jessica was not there, and hung up.

After her body was found, her ex-husband received custody of their son. The woman who tried calling Jessica reported the phone call to the police, and they said they would look into it. They never followed up with woman.

Most people are convinced her ex-husband killed her to stop her from taking their son.

His parents were well known, and had many connections in the community. The investigation into her death was virtually non-existent, and it seems to point to a cover up by the local PD. It seems plausible, because how do you put no effort into what seems to be a murder that seems easily solvable? No DNA tests were ran, ex-husband has no alibi, no arrests were made and nobody was thoroughly questioned. So was it shotty, inexperienced officers? Or a cover up?

Her daughter was barely 9 years old and her son wasn’t even a toddler when their mother was murdered. They had to grow up without a mom. Jessica and her family deserve justice.

Missy Bevers

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From Reddit:

On April 18th, 2016, 45 year old fitness instructor, Terri Bevers (who often went by the name Missy) was brutally murdered inside Creekside Church located in Midlothian, Texas in the early hours of the morning.

At the time, she was getting preparations ready for a fitness class — Camp Gladiator — before her students were to arrive at 5 in the morning. Once class was soon to begin, that’s when Missy’s students discovered her lifeless body. Her death was caused by puncture wounds to the head and chest.

As the investigation went underway, the police discovered surveillance footage [inside the church] with the suspect dressed in tactical gear [SWAT]. This person was dressed to the nine, from the vest, pants, boots and even a helmet, along with a hammer that was used for Missy’s murder.

This is where things became peculiar. Whomever this POI is, they had a very unorthodoxed and unnatural posture/stance, especially when walking aimlessly. Whether this was intentional or not, it cannot be confirmed.

Nevertheless, this footage did allow the police to build a timeline of events.

Surveillance shows the suspect inside walking around casually and opening the many doors. Not only that, this incident took place at approximately 4:15 in the morning, just 45 minutes before Missy’s class was to start.

Although presumed to be male, officers are still unsure on the gender of this individual. Subsequently, investigators started to look into Missy’s personal life. Due to search warrants the police were able to find — possible — motives.

Missy was a mother of three kids and having a lot of troubles financially and with her marriage, specifically on her part with unfaithfulness. Texts and other forms of messages found her being flirtatious with another male(s?). With that being uncovered, police finally had their biggest break in the case, yet unfortunately that avenue didn’t provide any substantial clues that would help determine Missy’s killer.

Missy’s husband, Brandon, told police he strongly believes that the murderer is a female and knew her on some form of personal basis. Furthermore, he suggests that this unidentified person attempted to make this tragedy look like a burglary gone wrong, mainly due to surveillance showing this individual opening doors and breaking glass windows.

The strangeness of this case didn’t stop there, however. A few days after the murder had happened, Missy’s father-in-law, Randy Bevers, went to the dry cleaners bringing in a women’s XXL long sleeve shirt covered in blood. He told the employees that it was merely from a Chihuahua dog that was recently injured and taken to a vet.

Out of suspicion, employees contacted the police and the shirt was subjected to DNA testing for evidence. Nonetheless, the vet was able to confirm this incident. Although the shirt became ruled out, investigators still had their eye on Randy.

More interestingly enough, Randy, the father-in-law, is roughly the same height and weight of the stranger captured on surveillance. While this crime was making its coverage on various television news channels, the family of Missy were brought into the public eye.

During a particular broadcast, the father-in-law was interviewed. As such, many people noticed that his demeanor was slightly different in terms of emotion. Not only that, the way Randy walked was practically identical to the POI in the surveillance footage. Eight months has since passed by and despite all of this information, the case is still unsolved as of today, December 28th, 2016, and no updates have been made that’s been released to the public. Missy’s murderer is still free.

I think this case deserves a lot more attention than it’s receiving. Whether the killer is a male or female, I cannot say for certain. That being said, in my eyes, this case should be solvable. I can’t fathom the notion of this simply being an act of sheer randomness.

To me, it was methodical, deliberate, and personal, with the killer knowing Missy on a level of friendship or simply acquaintances in one way or another. This unidentified person had an idea of Missy’s schedule and planned their attack accordingly. I’m hopeful this case will be solved soon.

More footage of a strange vehicle driving around the area before the murder:

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Here is a chilling comparison to the gait of the person on surveillance footage and Missy’s father in law:

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Gareth Williams

A spy who was found dead locked inside a gym bag in his own apartment.

Jennifer Kesse

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From Wikipedia:

Jennifer Kesse was last seen on January 23, 2006, at approximately 6pm, leaving her place of employment, Westgate Resorts, in Ocoee, Florida. That evening she made several calls to family and friends; the last call around 10 p.m. was to her boyfriend. Typically, Jennifer would call or text her boyfriend every morning on her drive to work to talk and wish him a good day. On the morning of January 24, Jennifer never called or sent a text message. Any call to Jennifer’s phone went directly to voice-mail. When Jennifer failed to arrive at work that morning, her employer contacted her parents, who immediately made a two-hour drive from their home to her residence. Her parents noticed that her car was missing, but upon entering her condo, they saw nothing that looked out of the ordinary. Evidence at her residence, including a wet towel and clothes laid out, indicated that Jennifer was at home the morning of January 24 and had showered and dressed for work.

Alistair Wilson

From Reddit:

Alistair Wilson, he was shot on his door step in Nairn, Scotland in 2004. His wife answered the door to a small, stocky man who asked for her husband by name. Once Alistair got to the door the man handed him an envelope, which Alistair took inside for a brief moment and then came back out and was shot dead by the unidentifed man. Who took the envelope with him.

The silent twins

From Reddit:

June and Jennifer Gibbons were identical twins born to a Caribbean couple in 1963. The family moved to Haverfordwest, Wales, shortly after the children’s birth. From the time they learned to speak, June and Jennifer had a particular high-speed patois that made it difficult for people to understand them. Being the only black children at their school, they were frequently bullied by their peers. The bullying led to their special language becoming even more irregular, to the point where no one could understand what they said.

At 14 they were sent to separate boarding schools, to encourage them to thrive on their own. Both girls became catatonic and were quickly reunited. Following their reunion, they spent several years locked in their room, playing with dolls, putting on operas for one another, and writing.

They wrote several short stories that they self-published. The stories tend to revolve around criminality and sex. After the stories failed to garner any attention, they left the confines of their room and started living in the real world. They continued to speak with no one but each other. They started committing crimes such as arson, theft, and assaulting one another. A judge ruled that they need to be committed, and they were sent to Broadmoor Hospital, where they remained for 14 years.

In 1993 it was decided that the twins would be transferred to Caswell Clinic, a lower-security facility. When the twins arrived at Caswell, Jennifer was found to be unresponsive. She was rushed to the hospital but later pronounced dead. The cause of death was acute myocarditis or a sudden inflammation of the heart. No drugs or poisons were found in her system.

A few days after Jennifer’s death, June was reported to say, “I’m free at last, liberated, and at last Jennifer has given up her life for me.”

Bill & Dorothy Wacker

From Reddit:

Bill and Dorothy Wacker lived in a small town in Stark County, Ohio in the same house they have lived in for most of their 48 years of marriage. Despite being quiet, unassuming people, they’ve been subject to a campaign of harassment which began in 1984. On January 16, 1985, their home was ransacked. Though this had happened twice before, Bill informed the sheriff this time. In July of that year, Dorothy was home alone, recovering from heart surgery, when she heard a knock on the door. She didn’t recognize the visitor but allowed him in to use her phone, as he told her that his car broke down somewhere down the road where she couldn’t see it. After making the call and saying goodbye, she believed he had left. However, he was actually still in the house and managed to sneak up behind her and knock her out with a blow to the head. She woke up bound and gagged on the kitchen floor. She managed to crawl to an open window and alert her neighbors, who called emergency services. She was not seriously injured from the ordeal, but Bill returned home to find some possessions stolen: a .22 caliber revolver, an antique watch, a movie camera, and a radio scanner. In the dining room, the message “cheaper, but will do” was scrawled in crayon on the wall. About four months after the assault, Bill found the revolver on the front porch, wrapped in a plastic shopping bag. Over time, the other three objects were quietly returned as well. Notes left by harasser Notes left by the harasser The harasser began calling the house, sometimes threatening them with violence and sometimes simply breathing deeply. Changing their phone number several times failed to make the calls stop. The harassment began to escalate. Occasionally after dark, they would hear a series of banging on the side of their house, though they never saw or heard anything unusual when they’d check outside. Eventually, they put up a security light but later found a note on their front porch saying “your lightz are a laugh.” Periodically, notes began appearing on the front porch, threatening and mocking them. Police noted that the uneven, jagged style of the writing appeared to be due to someone using their non dominant hand to write, as if to conceal their handwriting style. No fingerprints have ever been found on the notes. On the night of October 27, 1993, another attack on Dorothy sent her to the hospital with skull lacerations. Police searched the neighborhood and questioned residences but failed to find any clues or witnesses.

Why would someone stalk and attack this old couple? What are your thoughts and theories?

Candace Hiltz

youtube

From Reddit:

Candace Hiltz was a seventeen year old single mother, a junior at Brigham Young University and a newly accepted student to be at Stanford Law School. She dreamed of becoming a Supreme Court Justice. She had a brilliant level of intelligence, a ferociously protective personality and a great affinity for the law. All of that was destroyed when she was brutally murdered. Her family sought answers, but ultimately discovered that the men charged with solving her murder may have in fact been involved in it.

On August 10th, 2006, a Deputy from the Fremont County Sheriff’s Department in Colorado arrived at the Hiltz family home. He questioned Dolores Hiltz in regard to the whereabouts of her son, James. Sometime during the questioning, Dolores’ daughter Candace became angry by his demeanor and told him to leave. The Deputy threatened to arrest Candace, who then threatened to expose him for taking bribes from local drug dealers.

Three days later, the Hiltz family dog went missing. It was later found tied to a tree and had been killed with a hatchet or small ax. Two days later, on August 15th, Dolores left the home to run some errands. She arrived home three hours later and found her granddaughter unsupervised and crying in her crib. There were pools of blood on the floor and drag marks. Dolores made the grisly discovery of Candace’s body. She had been shot multiple times, wrapped in a green comforter and shoved beneath a bed.

The investigation was shoddy from the beginning, with the lead investigator being the same Deputy who had the verbal altercation with Candace just days earlier. The crime scene wasn’t protected and sealed, evidence was left behind and the prime suspect was Candace’s brother, James. After he was apprehended, he was charged with for breaking into a home and stealing some items, but not the murder of his sister. Over the next ten years, no new leads were developed nor evidence discovered. The Hiltz family and the Fremont County Sheriff’s Department engaged in a rather public exchange of contradictory statements.

Candace’s autopsy showed she had been shot by two to three different weapons and at least two assailants as several shots were projected into her front and back simultaneously. However, there were several errors and contradictions in the report. Then, out of nowhere, a man who purchased an abandoned storage unit discovered vital pieces of evidence related to the murder which had been stolen from evidence and kept there but the Deputy who ran the entire investigation, the very one who had that altercation with Candace.

Theories began to build up accusing the Sheriff’s department of a cover up and even of being complicit in the murder itself. The lead investigator retired amid a torrent of accusations, and just months after, was brought up on charges for his mishandling of evidence as well as tampering with official paperwork.

Was Candace Hiltz murdered in a random act of violence? Did the father of her daughter lash out and take her life? Did her brother James lose control and murder his own sister? Or did the lead investigator play a much more vital role in the very murder he was investigating?

Nacole Smith

Crimestoppers

From Reddit:

On June 7, 1995, 14 year old Nacole Smith left her home in Deerfield Apartments in Southwest Atlanta to walk to school with her sister and a friend when she forgot her book report. She left her friends and took a shortcut through the woods back to her home when she was attacked by a man who assaulted her and shot her. Security guards in the area found her at 9:20 AM but her killer was long gone.

Several years later on June 20, 2004, a 13 year old girl was preparing for Father’s Day in East Point, Georgia. She was lured by a man into the woods on Connally Drive where he then assaulted her. She was able to escape and get help. DNA linked this man to the 1995 murder of Nacole Smith. This crime occurred 3 miles away from the first.

The second victim provided investigators with a description of the man. The black man appeared to be in his late 20s to early 30s, was 5-feet-10 inches tall and weighed approximately 190 pounds. He had a medium complexion, a gap in his front teeth, and was wearing round, gold-framed glasses, according to police.

In the “On the Case” episode, the detectives working on the case stated that they believe the man is someone from the area. The detectives were able to obtain school records for the day of Nacole’s murder and they were able to narrow down the male students who were absent from high school that day. One man named Steven Boris (sp?) piqued their interest because he was arrested for statutory rape and false imprisonment. They were able to interview him and he willingly offered up his DNA. His DNA did not match.

It’s really scary that this man has never been caught in all these years. I assume he didn’t stop after the second crime unless her escaping spooked him. The detectives seem convinced that the man is someone in the area but what’s the likelihood he’s not from the area? He’s pretty distinctive looking (if the sketch is accurate) so I don’t see how he could go unnoticed in the area.

Relisha Rudd

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From Reddit:

Relisha Rudd is a young African American girl who disappeared from Washington DC in approximately 2014. Relisha Rudd stayed at a homeless shelter in DC with her family where her mother, Shamika Young, handed over her daughter (allegedly) to Kahlil Malik Tatum, the janitor there. The last day Relisha Rudd was seen alive was March 1, 2014. Due to many missed absences from her school, a school counselor calls DC Child & Family Services Agency to inquire about Relisha’s repeated absences as she had missed more than 30 days. Shamika Young, excused her absences by noting that Relisha was ill per “Dr. Tatum”.

TIMELIME:

February 26, 2014, Relisha is seen walking toward a room in the Holiday Inn Express on Bladensburg Road, NE.

March 1, 2014: Last day Relisha was seen alive. There are no other confirmed sightings of Relisha or Tatum together after this date

On March 19, 2014 a social worker calls, Tatum in order to set up a meeting, however Tatum does not show. The social worker finds out that “Dr. Tatum” is actually a janitor.

On this day DC police begin a missing-person investigations. Around 9 PM an officer tries to call Tatum’s cell however it is powered down and never gain activated.

On March 20, 2014 somebody returns to the motel and finds Tatum’s wife, Andrea Tatum, dead. The source indicates that he helped Tatum do internet search for a handgun.

March 31, 2014, Tatum is found dead in a park in DC.

So what happened to her? Where did Relisha go in the thirty days she was missing?

The legs