#Chernobyl Wallpaper

[elenatria]

In reply to @fuerst-von-argot 's question.

There's a deleted scene in the Chernobyl script where Valery meets Boris in his apartment after talking to Charkov in his car.

As a matter of fact, it is Charkov himself who prompts Valery to pay Boris a visit.

I'm not so sure why Charkov had to say "Talk to Shcherbina" instead of... simply telling Valery himself why the trial had to be delayed. 🤷‍♀️

Was it just the transition Mazin needed from one scene to the next, was it to show how Charkov is sadistically enjoying showing off how he knows everyone's whereabouts? Orrrrr does he ship Valoris and wants to see them reunited?? "You idiot, don't you know Shcherbina is not in Kiev anymore, that he's in MOSCOW?? Run to him, you dumb motherfucker, ruuuuuunnnn." *kicks him out of the limousine*

Anyways, here is the Boris' grandson scene that comes next.

It is a sad sad scene really, it was probably put there to foreshadow Valery's ending. When Boris' describes how Fomin tried to kill himself "to make a statement", and when we see Valery removing his own glasses, we can tell that he's contemplating suicide. ☹

We got one glimpse of that scene when Johan Renck posted a pic he took of Stellan during filming. The wallpaper, the painting, the sofa and Boris' cardigan are not shown in any other scene so we presume this still is from the "grandson deleted scene" - and the only visual we have of it so far.

[charismaofobedience]

✏️📷✨🍪 for the ask game!! :D

♡

» ✏️ Have you ever written fanfiction?

YEAH mcnckjdkfjc i think my first one was written when i was around 10 for a brazilian fanfic site....... then years later i wrote for bnha and then i wrote some prsk ones, but no enstars one still </3 tbf most of my fanfics are never posted and always stay on the wip folder anyways so

» 📷 What’s set as your phone’s lockscreen?

currently it's just one of those plain ones that come free on theme aps cknxkdnckdj, i do have an edit for a ship wallpaper on the works for me tho (⁠人⁠*⁠´⁠∀⁠｀⁠)⁠｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

» ✨ Do you have any nicknames?

to quote my friends: if a word starts with ch, it's a nickname for me. yeah sure im cheren and chii but them youll also see people calling me churn or chair or cheese or chernobyl or chant or—

besides those, i used to have both cake and lollipop as nicknames!!!

🍪 If you were a cookie, what kind would you be?

heart shaped vanilla flavored with chocolate syrup and heart sprinkles + whipped cream and cherry on topping <3

[elanaspodstudiosem2]

WEEK 3 ARTIST LECTURE

RAUL ORTEGA AYALA

Notes:

“From the Pit of Et Cetera” -> 2012 - ongoing

Social amnesia

Memory / collective memory -> french philosopher

Personal memory, memory with family, collective memory (with society).

Taken form as videos, paintings etc

Practice is research based

develops for long periods of time

Immerses himself within his topic

Uncertainty -> doesn’t know what the outcome will be

Participant observation, embodiment of knowledge, field work -> methods / processes from anthropology

“The Zone -> 2013-2020

Chernobyl

Film, photographs, footage, archives

Made a film -> 36 mins, "The Zone”

Time capsule -> can’t move anything

Monuments + symbols of soviet era

Propaganda for future driven by atomic energy

“Let the atom be a worker not a soldier”

Became suspicious of a promised future

‘Atomic Priesthood’ -> religion to pass on knowledge

Wallpapers peeling off wall revealed old newspapers pasted onto the wall

“What do we decide to remember and what do we decide to forget?”

Have to go to Chernobyl with a guide -> guide take a detector

Will exist past our lifetime

I loved Raul’s Lecture! It’s so interesting to hear about what our lecturers research and explore within their own practice and to hear about the journey to Chernobyl from someone most of us know quite well is really interesting. Shows how far we can all go once we’ve finished studying…

[taylastudio2022]

WK 3 TUESDAY LECTURE:

TUESDAY WEEK 3 RESEARCH LECTURE:

RAUL ORTEGA AYALA 

Raúl Ortega Ayala Field note 14-04-17—1144-1149 (Wallpaper, Pripyat, Chernobyl), 2017 (installation view) in collaboration with Roberto Rubalcava and Peter Miles photographic print adhered to wall 2970mm x 3770mm (Above). 

notes from lecture:

From the Pit of Et Cetera 

(2012) - ongoing 

what societies remember

what we don’t - collective memory

developing projects for a very long period - don’t know what the outcome will be, what the materials will be

all decided as I immerse myself in the field - great uncertainty

Research-based practice 

methods - usually anthropology 

Participant observation - embodiment of knowledge, field work, 

The Zone 2013-2020

Chernobyl - film, photographs, etc 

evacuation 

The Zone - Film - showing trailer 

Find book shelfs, libraries, propaganda, slowly decaying, going back to earth

Symbols of soviet union around the city - propaganda of a future 

television, radio, press, controlled by soviet government 

speakers around the city, messages, of the future 

Affects of radiation 

radiation spreading all over Europe 

Russia didn’t disclose it for 3 days, Sweden saw it 

some elements last for hundreds of thousands of years 

Chernobyl series 

checking apartments - determining what’s radioactive, then tipping everything. destroying everything 

Translating language, and art, over thousands of years

Religion - to pass on knowledge 

Colonial parallels

Radioactive parallels - Russia / French 

The wall paper - last memories of the people who lived there, the wallpaper reveals bland generic walls, no memory of the people who lived there

What we forget, what we decide to forget - does it reveal as much as what we decide to remember?

Screenshot from the lecture (Below). 

I really enjoyed hearing about Raul’s research projects, his methods of researching and making work, and the ideas behind this project. Historical events, such as Chernobyl, as Raul explained, that have had a collective impact on large groups of people, and how those memories survive, get passed on, or get internalised as a part of culture, is so interesting. And in turn, what doesn’t get passed on or remembered, but perhaps gets rediscovered? 

The idea of the passing of knowledge/memories, perhaps through objects and materials, is relevant in terms of my own practice. This idea of collective memory, is something to think about in what I explore and the narratives I address in my work - perhaps interesting to reflect on with a feminist perspective? This lecture also made me think of the objects/materials that I am using or am going to be using, and what memories they may reveal, what histories do they tell? 

Raúl Ortega Ayala, The Zone Archive Room, 2020 (installation view photo by Sam Hartnett (Above).

Raúl Ortega Ayala, The Zone, 2020 (installation view) photo by Sam Hartnett (Above). 

[k-i-l-l-e-r-b-e-e-6-9]

𝔄 𝔠𝔯𝔬𝔴 𝔩𝔞𝔫𝔡𝔰 𝔬𝔫 𝔬𝔫𝔢 𝔬𝔣 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔴𝔞𝔯𝔫𝔦𝔫𝔤 𝔰𝔦𝔤𝔫𝔰 𝔞𝔯𝔬𝔲𝔫𝔡 𝔱𝔥𝔢 ℭ𝔥𝔢𝔯𝔫𝔬𝔟𝔶𝔩 𝔈𝔵𝔠𝔩𝔲𝔰𝔦𝔬𝔫 ℨ𝔬𝔫𝔢 ☢️

[ashleyblackblog]

[kubrickist]

Inside ‘Chernobyl:’ how the TV show’s atmospheric sets were created

Production designer Luke Hull  explains how the show’s aesthetic conveys the mood of the tragic event, whose impact continues to this day. 

[jenex]

Radioactive Poster :

inspired by radiation & bio-hazard

[sino80]

“What is cost of lie”

Chernobyl

wallpaper with Photoshop 2019

[elenatria]

Exactly a year ago, while Kaunas was still the European Capital of Culture 2022 (and I desperately wanted to make my Chernobyl locations trip to Lithuania for that reason also), I asked the facebook page of Vytauto pr.58 (that was the name of "Valery's apartment" building back then) if I could visit the apartment. They said sorry, the apartment is a private residency. So yeah, Karolis Banys and Petras Gaidamavičius, partners in life and also partners in architectural projects, did "lend" their apartment (not yet renovated) to the Chernobyl crew for the filming of Valery's apartment scenes, but after the renovation they were planning to live there themselves. I was devastated obviously but it was understandable. I mean look at those two, you wouldn't want to disturb their peace and quiet with your crazy artistic Chernobyl-related ideas, would you?

Last August Karolis was making Insta stories about the renovation of the apartment and I was bawling my eyes out that I would never get to see the lapis lazuli of those walls up close. TT__TT But I was like... okay? Maybe...?

Fast forward to today, when I found out that ONLY FIVE DAYS AGO there was an article saying that at the beginning of 2023, a year after my request, they turned their nest into a museum, with guided tours and everything.

😳😳😳

Here are some interesting highlights from these two articles:

We can't wait to see all 5 rooms of the apartment, especially since in 2018 In the spring, HBO filmed the series "Chernobyl" in this apartment.

in 1928 136 sq. m apartment has 5 rooms, a kitchen, a bathroom, a guest toilet, a couple of balconies and a terrace to Žaliakalnis. 

During the Holocaust, almost all the Jews who lived in the house were killed, others were transferred to the ghetto or died in exile. UNTIL THE SECOND WORLD WAR, JEWISH FAMILIES LIVED IN THE HOUSE. IN THE MEMOIRS OF THE YOUNG JEWISH WOMAN SARA GINAITĖ-RUBINSON, IT IS WRITTEN THAT IN 1941 SHE SAW HOW WHITE-COLLARED PEOPLE SHOT FIVE JEWS OUTSIDE THE YARD OF THIS HOUSE. THEY ARE ACCUSED OF COOPERATING WITH THE SOVIETS, ALTHOUGH THIS WAS NOT TRUE.

After seeing the restored colors of the walls, the new owners of the apartment were at first stunned, and then they realized that such beauty cannot be left only to themselves - they decided to open the doors to the public. (my prayers were answered, there was a reason why I saved those insta stories after all 🙏.)

Upon entering the kitchen, the founders of the museum were intrigued by hinting that in 2018 scenes of the HBO series "Chernobyl" (dir. Johan Renck) were filmed in this apartment. The apartment of Valery Legasov, the main character of the series, was located here for a short time. The filmmakers pasted wallpaper on the walls and furnished the spaces with Soviet furniture. About 20 artists created the late Soviet interior for the film. Filming lasted only a few days, but about 180 people worked on it. The desk clock ticking in the film can be seen in the kitchen. (What?? Where?? No pics? Could they mean my precious Valery clock..? 💗)

6. More details about the filming will be provided by the founders of the museum to those who visit the tours.

😲😲😲

7.  The private corridor (which connected the bedrooms, bathroom and kitchen) was also lined with boards. From this corridor you can enter the hall with the help of a waste door .

8. It is the only Amsterdam School building of its kind in Lithuania, built in a modern style closely linked to the art deco and art nouveau movements.

9. Before its restoration, apartment no.6 was used as a filming location for the hit HBO series Chernobyl, with its post-communist interiors appearing on screen. The third-floor residence has since been lovingly restored by its owners and museum founders, Karolis and Petras Banys, for its new public role.

10. ‘Petras and I bought the apartment in 2017 with the idea of living there,’ explained museum co-founder Karolis Banys. ‘But as soon as we did polychromic and chemic research of its colours and restored the entire apartment to what it was like in 1928, we understood that it’s not only our apartment, it’s the home of Henuchas Pumpianskis. [...] ‘We understood that we cannot keep it for ourselves only, but instead, we decided to open it… [to] the public, to show [its original] interior, which is very optimistic, colourful and inspiring.’

11. Through the two-hour guided tour (two hours omg), visitors learn about its colours and the mannered sculptures adorning the building’s columned portico.

12. Photographs of the apartment’s interiors during the post-communist era – and those taken during the production of Chernobyl, when it was used as the home of main character Valery Legasov – as also on display.

PS.: Is this Valery's living room where he talks with Ulana in ep. 5??

[warlord02145]

After months and months of hard work, I managed to overcome many life challenges and finally provide you guys with an animated pixel art background. Hope you guys like it! I'm trying to raise enough money to go to college which is why I'll be selling a high resolution version of the gif with a bunch of optional things such as with/without birds, or filters. I've provided a link to a free downloadable demo if you want to test it out. I would appreciate it if you guys spread the word, and rest assured, there's more to come!

!!!The zip file has 4 different gifs, both with and without the noise filter and without the birds. Also, files contain images when combined make these gifs so you can add stuff or delete as you wish!!! I want to thank Hybrid818 for helping me with this animation. The same goes for my lad Vukašin Andjelković(aka u/okkoinu) for giving me excellent pixel art tips. And the famous stalker communities that helped keep the spirit of the zone alive were 100 Rads bar and Project S.T.A.L.K.E.R.

Please do, sit back, relax, grab an AK, and enjoy the background.

Peace out :)

Download link: https://dusan-pavkovic-warlord.itch.io/skadovsk

Ps: For a version which has the  noise filter(much more atmospheric) check out the link above :)

[adamchernobyl]

Chernobyl HBO Walpaper. Made by me( @adele_andrasova )

Chernobyl HBO Cast ☢️☣️🏭

Jared Harris

Stellan Skarsård

Emily Watson

Adam Nagaitis

Jessie Buckley

Con O’Neill

Barry Keoghan

Sam Troughton

What a Great Actor Team ♥️☣️☢️🏭

Masterpiece Series ☢️☣️♥️🏭

#ChernobylHBO #HBO #HBOOriginalSeries #Cast #SkyAtlantic #Chernobyl #JaredHarris #EmilyWatson #StellanSkarsgard #AdamNagaitis #JessieBuckley #ConOneill #BarryKeoghan #SamTroughton #CraigMazin #Prypiat #Ukraine #Uk #Actors #Actor #OriginalSeries #MiniTvSeries #Bestof #Csernobil #HBOHungary #wallpaper #madebyme

[darinakesh16]

- ok, i'm crazy, but tell me I'm not the only one!

[mcmansionhell]

Underground, Part 1

[Author’s Note: A year ago, when waiting for the DC Metro, I came up with an idea for a short story involving two realtors and the infamous Las Vegas Underground House, typed up an outline, and shoved it away in my documents where it sat neglected until this month. The house recently resurfaced on Twitter, and combined with almost a year of quarantine, the story quickly materialized. Though I rarely write fiction, I decided I’d give it a shot as a kind of novelty McMansion Hell post. I’ve peppered the story with photos from the house to break up the walls of text. Hopefully you find it entertaining. I look forward to returning next month with the second installment of this as well as our regularly scheduled McMansion content. Happy New Year!

Warning: there’s lots of swearing in this.]

Underground

Back in 1997, Mathieu Rino, the son of two Finnish mechanical engineers who may or may not have worked intimately with the US State Department, changed his name to Jay Renault in order to sell more houses. It worked wonders.

He gets out of the car, shuts the door harder than he should. Renault wrinkles his nose. It’s a miserable Las Vegas afternoon - a sizzling, dry heat pools in ripples above the asphalt. The desert is a place that is full of interesting and diverse forms of life, but Jay’s the kind of American who sees it all as empty square-footage. He frowns at the dirt dusting up his alligator-skin loafers but then remembers that every lot, after all, has potential. Renault wipes the sweat from his leathery face, slicks back his stringy blond hair and adjusts the aviators on the bridge of his nose. The Breitling diving watch crowding his wrist looks especially big in the afternoon glare. He glances at it.

“Shit,” he says. The door on the other side of the car closes, as though in response. 

If Jay Renault is the consummate rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xer trying to sell houses to other rich, out-of-touch Gen-Xers, then Robert Little is his millennial counterpart. Both are very good at their jobs. Robert adjusts his tie in the reflection of the Porsche window, purses his lips. He’s Vegas-showman attractive, with dark hair, a decent tan, and a too-bright smile - the kind of attractive that ruins marriages but makes for an excellent divorcee. Mildly sleazy.

“Help me with these platters, will you?” Renault gestures, popping the trunk. Robert does not want to sweat too much before an open house, but he obliges anyway. They’re both wearing suits. The heat is unbearable. A spread of charcuterie in one hand, Jay double-checks his pockets for the house keys, presses the button that locks his car. 

Both men sigh, and their eyes slowly trail up to the little stucco house sitting smack dab in the center of an enormous lot, a sea of gravel punctuated by a few sickly palms. The house has the distinct appearance of being made of cardboard, ticky-tacky, a show prop. Burnt orange awnings don its narrow windows, which somehow makes it look even more fake. 

“Here we go again,” Jay mutters, fishing the keys out of his pocket. He jiggles them until the splintered plywood door opens with a croak, revealing a dark and drab interior – dusty, even though the cleaners were here yesterday. Robert kicks the door shut with his foot behind him.

 “Christ,” he swears, eyes trailing over the terrible ecru sponge paint adorning the walls. “This shit is so bleak.”

The surface-level house is mostly empty. There’s nothing for them to see or attend to there, and so the men step through a narrow hallway at the end of which is an elevator. They could take the stairs, but don’t want to risk it with the platters. After all, they were quite expensive. Renault elbows the button and the doors part. 

“Let’s just get this over with,” he says as they step inside. The fluorescent lights above them buzz something awful. A cheery metal sign welcomes them to “Tex’s Hideaway.” Beneath it is an eldritch image of a cave, foreboding. Robert’s stomach’s in knots. Ever since the company assigned him to this property, he’s been terrified of it. He tells himself that the house is, in fact, creepy, that it is completely normal for him to be ill at ease. The elevator’s ding is harsh and mechanical. They step out. Jay flips a switch and the basement is flooded with eerie light. 

It’s famous, this house - The Las Vegas Underground House. The two realtors refer to it simply as “the bunker.” Built by an eccentric millionaire at the height of Cold War hysteria, it’s six-thousand square feet of paranoid, aspirational fantasy. The first thing anyone notices is the carpet – too-green, meant to resemble grass, sprawling out lawn-like, bookmarked by fake trees, each a front for a steel beam. Nothing can grow here. It imitates life, unable to sustain it. The leaves of the ficuses seem particularly plastic.

Bistro sets scatter the ‘yard’ (if one can call it that), and there’s plenty of outdoor activities – a parquet dance floor complete with pole and disco ball, a putt putt course, an outdoor grill made to look like it’s nestled in a rock, but in reality better resembles a baked potato. The pool and hot tub, both sculpted in concrete and fiberglass mimicking a natural rock formation, are less Playboy grotto and more Fred Flintstone. It’s a very seventies idea of fun.

Then, of course, there’s the house. That fucking house. 

A house built underground in 1978 was always meant to be a mansard – the mansard roof was a historical inevitability. The only other option was International Style modernism, but the millionaire and his wife were red-blooded anti-Communists. Hence, the mansard. Robert thinks the house looks like a fast-food restaurant. Jay thinks it looks like a lawn and tennis club he once attended as a child where he took badminton lessons from a swarthy Czech man named Jan. It’s drab and squat, made more open by big floor-to-ceiling windows nestled under fresh-looking cedar shingles. There’s no weather down here to shrivel them up.

“Shall we?” Jay drawls. The two make their way into the kitchen and set the platters down on the white tile countertop. Robert leans up against the island, careful of the oversized hood looming over the electric stovetop. He eyes the white cabinets, accented with Barbie pink trim. The matching linoleum floor squeaks under his Italian loafers. 

“I don’t understand why we bother doing this,” Robert complains. “Nobody’s seriously going to buy this shit, and the company’s out a hundred bucks for party platters.”

“It’s the same every time,” Renault agrees. “The only people who show up are Instagram kids and the crazies - you know, the same kind of freaks who’d pay money to see Chernobyl.” 

“Dark tourism, they call it.”

Jay checks his watch again. Being in here makes him nervous.

“Still an hour until open house,” he mutters. “I wish we could get drunk.”

Robert exhales deeply. He also wishes he could get drunk, but still, a job’s a job.

“I guess we should check to see if everything’s good to go.”

The men head into the living room. The beamed, slanted ceiling gives it a mid-century vibe, but the staging muddles the aura. Jay remembers making the call to the staging company. “Give us your spares,” he told them, “Whatever it is you’re not gonna miss. Nobody’ll ever buy this house anyway.” 

The result is eclectic – a mix of office furniture, neo-Tuscan McMansion garb, and stuffy waiting-room lamps, all scattered atop popcorn-butter shag carpeting. Hideous, Robert thinks. Then there’s the ‘entertaining’ room, which is a particular pain in the ass to them, because the carpet was so disgusting, they had to replace it with that fake wood floor just to be able to stand being in there for more than five minutes. There’s a heady stone fireplace on one wall, the kind they don’t make anymore, a hearth. Next to it, equally hedonistic, a full bar. Through some doors, a red-painted room with a pool table and paintings of girls in fedoras on the wall. It’s all so cheap, really. Jay pulls out a folded piece of paper out of his jacket pocket along with a pen. He ticks some boxes and moves on.

The dining room’s the worst to Robert. Somehow the ugly floral pattern on the curtains stretches up in bloomer-like into a frilly cornice, carried through to the wallpaper and the ceiling, inescapable, suffocating. It smells like mothballs and old fabric. The whole house smells like that. 

The master bedroom’s the most normal – if anything in this house could be called normal. Mismatched art and staging furniture crowd blank walls. When someone comes into a house, Jay told Robert all those years ago, they should be able to picture themselves living in it. That’s the goal of staging. 

There’s two more bedrooms. The men go through them quickly. The first isn’t so bad – claustrophobic, but acceptable – but the saccharine pink tuille wallpaper of the second gives Renault a sympathetic toothache. The pair return to the kitchen to wait.

Both men are itching to check their phones, but there’s no point – there’s no signal in here, none whatsoever. Renault, cynical to the core, thinks about marketing the house to the anti-5G people. It’s unsettlingly quiet. The two men have no choice but to entertain themselves the old-fashioned way, through small talk.

“It’s really fucked up, when you think about it,” Renault muses.

“What is?”

“The house, Bob.”

Robert hates being called Bob. He’s told Jay that hundreds of times, and yet…

“Yeah,” Robert mutters, annoyed.

“No, really. Like, imagine. You’re rich, you founded a major multinational company marketing hairbrushes to stay-at-home moms, and what do you decide to do with your money? Move to Vegas and build a fucking bunker. Like, imagine thinking the end of the world is just around the corner, forcing your poor wife to live there for ten, fifteen years, and then dying, a paranoid old man.” Renault finds the whole thing rather poetic. 

“The Russkies really got to poor ol’ Henderson, didn’t they?” Robert snickers.

“The wife’s more tragic if you ask me,” Renault drawls. “The second that batshit old coot died, she called a guy to build a front house on top of this one, since she already owned the lot. Poor woman probably hadn’t seen sunlight in God knows how long.”

“Surely they had to get groceries.”

Jay frowns. Robert has no sense of drama, he thinks. Bad trait for a realtor.

“Still,” he murmurs. “It’s sad.”

“I would have gotten a divorce, if I were her,” the younger man says, as though it were obvious. It’s Jay’s turn to laugh.

“I’ve had three of those, and trust me, it’s not as easy as you think.”

“You’re seeing some new girl now, aren’t you?” Robert doesn’t really care, he just knows Jay likes to talk about himself, and talking fills the time.  

“Yeah. Casino girl. Twenty-six.”

“And how old are you again?”

“None of your business.”

“Did you see the renderings I emailed to you?” Robert asks briskly, not wanting to discuss Jay’s sex life any further.

“What renderings?”

“Of this house, what it could look like.”

“Oh. Yeah.” Jay has not seen the renderings.

“If it were rezoned,” Robert continues, feeling very smart, “It could be a tourist attraction - put a nice visitor’s center on the lot, make it sleek and modern. Sell trinkets. It’s a nice parcel, close to the Strip - some clever investor could make it into a Museum of Ice Cream-type thing, you know?”

“Museum of Ice Cream?”

“In New York. It’s, not, like, educational or anything. Really, it’s just a bunch of colorful rooms where kids come to take pictures of themselves.”

“Instagram,” Jay mutters. “You know, I just sold a penthouse the other week to an Instagram influencer. Takes pictures of herself on the beach to sell face cream or some shit. Eight-point-two million dollars.”

“Jesus,” Robert whistles. “Fat commission.”

“You’re telling me. My oldest daughter turns sixteen this year. She’s getting a Mazda for Christmas.”

“You ever see that show, My Super Sweet Sixteen? On MTV? Where rich kids got, like, rappers to perform at their birthday parties? Every time at the end, some guy would pull up in, like, an Escalade with a big pink bow on it and all the kids would scream.”

“Sounds stupid,” Jay says.

“It was stupid.”

It’s Robert’s turn to check his watch, a dainty gold Rolex.

“Fuck, still thirty minutes.”

“Time really does stand still in here, doesn’t it?” Jay remarks.

“We should have left the office a little later,” Robert complains. “The charcuterie is going to get –“

A deafening sound roars through the house and a violent, explosive tremor throws both men on the ground, shakes the walls and everything between them. The power’s out for a few seconds before there’s a flicker, and light fills the room again. Two backup generators, reads Jay’s description in the listing - an appeal to the prepper demographic, which trends higher in income than non-preppers. For a moment, the only things either are conscious of are the harsh flourescent lighting and the ringing in their ears. Time slows, everything seems muted and too bright. Robert rubs the side of his face, pulls back his hand and sees blood.

“Christ,” he chokes out. “What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know,” Jay breathes, looking at his hands, trying to determine if he’s got a concussion. The results are inconclusive – everything’s slow and fuzzy, but after a moment, he thinks it might just be shock.

“It sounded like a fucking 747 just nosedived on top of us.” 

“Yeah, Jesus.” Jay’s still staring at his fingers in a daze. “You okay?”

“I think so,” Robert grumbles. Jay gives him a cursory examination.

“Nothing that needs stitches,” he reports bluntly. Robert’s relieved. His face sells a lot of houses to a lot of lonely women and a few lonely men. There’s a muffled whine, which the two men soon recognize as a throng of sirens. Both of them try to calm the panic rising in their chests, to no avail.

“Whatever the fuck happened,” Jay says, trying to make light of the situation, “At least we’re in here. The bunker.”

Fear forms in the whites of Robert’s eyes.

“What if we’re stuck in here,” he whispers, afraid to speak such a thing into the world. The fear spreads to his companion.

“Try the elevator,” Jay urges, and Robert gets up, wobbles a little as his head sorts itself out, and leaves. A moment later, Jay hears him swear a blue streak, and from the kitchen window, sees him standing before the closed metal doors, staring at his feet. His pulse racing, Renault jogs out to see for himself.

“It’s dead,” Robert murmurs. 

“Whatever happened,” Jay says cautiously, rubbing the back of his still-sore neck, “It must have been pretty bad. Like, I don’t think we should go up yet. Besides, surely the office knows we’re still down here.”

“Right, right,” the younger man breathes, trying to reassure himself.

“Let’s just wait it out. I’m sure everything’s fine.” The way Jay says it does not make Robert feel any better. 

“Okay,” the younger man grumbles. “I’m getting a fucking drink, though.”

“Yeah, Jesus. That’s the best idea you’ve had all day.” Renault shoves his hands in his suit pocket to keep them from trembling.  

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[prisonerposting]

ukraine news in my shitter country be like. fifteen clips of nightmarish warzone five of which absolutely contain a dead body that is barely obscured. guy playing soft anti-war song by a guy who beat the shit out of his japanese wife bukowski style. footage of small group of white guys who are going to go get torn to shreds for no good reason and almost seem reasonable by virtue of at least doing something. interview with a ukrainian woman who is the first person here to display a full understanding of what war is and means. fuck me man i cannot fucking do this anymore so true westie shut the fuck up. jesus fucking christ same shit different day no we shouldn't send our massive bloated military to help we should watch this fun montage where death happens so regular citizens who can't afford healthcare might send a charity $5. you can get a tax write-off. you can die a good ol' quiet death while the nuclear power plant gets blown up and chernobyl 2 poisons an entire population of people you will never meet in ukraine and beyond. you can go to work tomorrow (covid is ok now because somebody wants it to be) and fade into the wallpaper bit by bit.

[evilbuildingsblog]

Chernobyl FHD wallpaper for your desktop. :)