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supersci · 2 years

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House of cards season 4 episode 4

Just when you think the character can’t get any better, she does, and she doesn’t need any sly one-liners to do it.Īt the other end of the spectrum you have Spacey, who is both delectable, and yet his shtick is starting to get old. There’s no reason for her to be his handmaiden, and to see Claire come into her own with an absolutely commanding performance from Wright was one of the highlights of the season. She knows how to hurt him the most, and she’s done with sitting on the sidelines. Wright has always been terrific, but this year lets us see that she’s probably the only person in the world who could take Francis down because she’s the only one who truly understands him. Season four kicks off with terrific drama by wisely pitting Claire against Francis, and letting her reach new heights as a character. It’s a season that provides the roller coaster we expect from House of Cards even if that means it also comes with the same frustrations. Additionally, the show relishes in the constant twists and turns, with the most notable coming in the middle of episode four when Frank is shot and Meechum ( Nathan Darrow) and Lucas ( Sebastian Arcelus) are killed.

Almost every plotline serves a purpose, delivers some kind of rewarding payoff, and it further drags us down in the muck of Frank and Claire’s life. This article was originally published on The Atlantic.While Season 4 still has the “Netflix Problem” of being a few episodes too long, it’s tough to say what should be cut this year. 'House of Cards' Season 4, Episode 10: The Live-Binge Review It certainly doesn’t remind me of Claire and Frank. She played hardball with the Vanity Fair editor, but she also authentically swooned over Tom Yates's breakout (and fraudulent) novel, while her husband sneered that its main character was a “pussy.” I wasn’t sure of what to make of that moment. The show has suggested that Frank has a formidable match in Will Conway, but I wonder if Claire does too in Hannah. Her robo-call speech on gun control again demonstrated how her political ruthlessness can dovetail with her personal magnetism and sense for when and how to feign vulnerability. She, of course, is helping that effort by taking an ever more visible role in the policy arena. Recommended: 'House of Cards' Season 4, Episode 1: The Live-Binge Review In Cards land, you can guess at why Frank pushed for chaos in the convention hall: He can manipulate it so that it seems like there’s an authentic groundswell for Claire to be his running mate. But the backroom dealing did give the chance the for the show’s creators to smirkily serve up another all-too-relevant exchange: “A Supreme Court confirmation in the middle of the election?” “Grow a pair.” The prospect of a brokered convention may also turn out to be prescient if the #NeverTrump crowd gets its way in real life. And it’s not clear to me why Cathy Durant wasn’t in the running from the start if she’s such an acceptable candidate to all involved. The Underwood’s machinations with a VP pick and a gun-control bill purposefully sunk by the NRA were, perhaps, not the easiest thing to follow. It also showed that dumb luck is sometimes essential to an investigation: Meechum’s image was on TV at the exact right moment. But Hammerschmidt’s visit to her old block (DC folks, where do we think she lived? Petworth?) turned out to be pivotal because it confirmed that the journalist was onto something. I’m not sure what the point of the phone call with her DUI dad was other than to make her into an even more tragic figure in the afterlife and to remind us of one of the most gut-churning depictions of Father’s Day ever. Tom Hammerschmidt’s investigation has kicked off what feels like the beginning of House of Cards closing its own loop, circling back to people and sets we haven’t seen since 2013. It’s enough to make you miss the astringency of Zoe Barnes, whose ghost haunts this show more than ever. Recommended: How David Hume Helped Me Solve My Midlife Crisis Get ready for more shots of people looking out windows as Paul Sparks mumbles on about clouds and ghosts and sunsets as metaphors for whatever is happening in the plot.

He, meanwhile, chooses not to sell out the Underwoods because he wants to find a new ending to his novel inspired by them. Both Frank and Claire have an inexplicable attraction to him, but they have the pretense of realpolitik reasons-blocking his book from coming out-to hire him as a speechwriter. No one was asking for the return of Tom Yates, a certified phony whose writing, one hopes, is meant only to be a parody of false depth and not the show’s attempt to offer the real thing.

#House of cards season 4 episode 4

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sonofthesaiyans · 2 years

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You wanna know what’s really pathetic?

Not just the fact that a lot of Gabi Braun fans operate on the lie that “She did nothing wrong!”

But the fact that a lot of those who adore her and still try to rationalize probably think that this looks badass?

Instead of looking every bit as stupid, out of place and worse, OVERPOWERED as it is?

All this shit gave rise to those offensively obnoxious “FAZE GABI” memes on Twitter and elsewhere, where those who say it cockily say she is untouchable. And herein lies a major problem with the defenses of the fans who honestly believe she has a relevant part in the story, they refuse to acknowledge the absurdity that a goddamned twelve-year old is outperforming veteran warriors on both Paradis AND Marley with her seemingly flawless skill with a gun.

This looks like the kind of shit the NRA would love to advertise as their poster baby if they thought they could get away with it. Child soldiers has been a dominating theme of Attack on Titan, but Gabi takes it too far. This kid relies on dumb luck that would make Jar Jar Binks call bullshit on her ass, and surviving solely by skill with a gun alone hardly is a practical prospect in this fucked up world the Titans inhabit.

Those same fans probably think it was badass of her to take out Sasha in the way she did, or for shooting Eren or Floch, too enamored with Gabi and her guns to stop and think of narratively any of this shit made any sense or if Gabi came off as just too flawless in her skill to be taken seriously. I mean not even the Ackermans got by unscathed for all their legendary skill. It’s Isayama’s shallow love of the age card that gets this cunt by, and her fans don’t bat an eye.

It’s every bit a ridiculous image as it is an infuriating image. Sure we’ve seen powerful kid characters all across fiction but in a setting that’s supposed to be more grounded in reality outside of the fact it happens to feature Titans, seeing this fucking stupid suicidal brat operate with near impunity and without fail in whatever she does makes this far too much to take seriously. Is Isayama getting off on how much he can push the idea that Gabi has that kind of superhuman skill?

What I would give to see this bitch pitted against Revy from Black Lagoon. Unlike the members of the 104th, she would absolutely NOT hold back just because Gabi was a kid. She’d have killed Gabi fifteen times over in the time it takes Gabi to froth and rant about who she plans to murder next.

Long story short; twelve-year old zealot with a gun twice her size: It’s right up there with Yelena’s bug eyes and Mikasa kissing Eren’s head.

Thanks for obligating me to put that FILTH on my screen, Gabi fans.

There is no Attack on Titan with Gabi Braun.

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kevin--of-desert-bluffs · 2 years

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WTNV Quick Rundown - 25 - One Year Later

This episode marks a year since the debut of WTNV. So let's see if it's got any lore, facts or quotes of interest!

Today's opening mirrors the Pilot's, which is also touching.

The quote 'mostly void, partially stars' debuts (comes from?) here. It is related to Jeremy Godfrey sadly looking out of a window on his ruined 50th birthday at the DGBAandAFC (so...long...). It's ruined because it seems the people from under lane 5 are finally on the attack.

Carlos has decided to get to the bottom of things whilst everyone else over-reacts. Cecil really heaps on the descriptions of Carlos as perfect here, especially remarking that his hair has been 'fixed' by time. He is extremely worried about Carlos and attempts to ground himself by reminding himself that Carlos 'will' attend the ceremony he invited Carlos to in order to celebrate Carlos' first year in NV.

Carlos discovers and announces, quite triumphantly, that the city is not a huge city hundreds of miles below NV, but a tiny city about 10 feet below NV that has spent a year making spires towards the upper world which (when stood in the pit) only come up to Carlos' knees.

Carlos is then attacked by the residents of the little city, who are able to draw blood and cause him to fall. Cecil, extremely distraught, goes to a pre-recorded message (which mentions the house that doesn't exist and how scientists are offering $5 to anyone who will go up and ring the doorbell) after cursing everyone and everything for letting Carlos die. Carlos is however, fine, rescued by the Apache Tracker. He is mortally wounded doing so and dies in this episode. Cecil remarks that he is still a racist and a jerk but also a good man with NV's interests at heart. His dying words (in Russian) are "It's ok. It's ok. I knew this would happen. You can have my car."

Teddy Williams is a licenced doctor.

Carlos asks Cecil to meet him outside of Arby's. Cecil cuts to the weather to do this, which must have lasted a long time for him to go there and get back. Carlos is there in a flannel shirt and jeans, sitting on the hood of his car. He muses about how he's coming to understand NV more and how he just wanted to see Cecil. Carlos puts his hand on Cecil's knee (to communicate his affectionate feelings) and Cecil rests his head on Carlos' shoulder.

Weather: "Sunday Morning Stasis" by Joseph Fink

Cecil may have the ability to teleport, as he manages to get into the locked house of Becky Canterbury to interview her about an airliner which briefly appeared in her hallway whilst she was taking a shower and may or may not be the same one which appeared in the gym before, mere seconds after the event happened (this freaks her out considerably).

The local chapter of the NRA has begun market testing some possible new slogans. These include: “Guns don't kill people. Blood loss and organ damage does.” “Guns don't kill people. People kill guns.” “A list of things that kill people: 1. Conceivably anything. 2. Not guns.” “Guns don't kill people. We are all immortal souls living temporarily in shelters of earth and meat.” and “If you say guns kill people one more time I will shoot you with a gun and you will, coincidentally, die.” To vote on the new slogan, simply fire a gun at the object or person that best represents your choice. (fun fact, some of these are/were available as bumper stickers at the store!)

'All children in Night Vale are missing this week, so there’s no current safety issues. Hope we find them!' (lmfao)

'We understand the lights. We understand the lights above the Arby’s. We understand so much. But the sky behind those lights, mostly void, partially stars, that sky reminds us: we don’t understand even more.' (often quoted and very sweet) He then signs off as usual.

#wtnv #wtnv quick rundown #welcome to night vale #wtnv ep 25

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nanoland · 3 years

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new chapter (supernatural fic)

(earlier parts are here; whole thing is here)

Clean Hands, part 3

Crowley/Castiel/Dean Winchester, warning for violence and spn demons being spn demons

Another day, another assassination attempt.

“Congratulations, sir,” said Paula, bustling in with his coffee and daily planner. “That brings it to eight, yes? I recall your making some remark about throwing a small office party if we hit ten before the end of the month.”

Lifting the corpse off the row of retractable spikes he’d installed in his desk, Crowley grunted, “It was a joke. On the other hand, maybe it would be good for morale. Make the blighters less determined to snuff me.”

“I’ll add it to the calendar. Sir, your ten ‘o clock is waiting in the lobby. Should I send him in?”

Technically, ‘ten ‘o clock’ didn’t exist in Hell. Time didn’t exist in Hell.

But by God, it did for Paula.

Infamous among Crowley’s minions, she ruled his appointment diary with an iron fist (well – iron talons, more accurately) and kept a horseman’s pick tucked neatly under her workstation for anyone who was more than five minutes late.

She’d been the most competent corporate PA in the business when Crowley had purchased her soul in exchange for a medical breakthrough that had beaten down her cancer and allowed her those ten precious years. It would, in fact, have allowed her a normal human lifespan, if not for Crowley’s hounds.

(Her wish was among his favourites and her contract had pride of place in his trophy cabinet. She could have just said ‘cure me’; she’d dreamed bigger. Ambition! Now that was what Crowley liked to see. Very few people who sold their souls managed to leave the world a better place than they’d found it.

Truthfully, arranging the breakthrough had taken an amount of power on his part that, ordinarily, he’d have objected to. Ever since the Zuckerberg Incident of 2004, Crowley had maintained a policy against granting wishes that fundamentally altered the pace and trajectory of human scientific development. But he’d wanted her. Reliable PAs were like gold dust and they almost always went to bloody Heaven. “And for what, I ask you?” he’d said to Dean once. “How much admin is really involved in keeping people locked in a lotus-eater machine?”)

“The ten… oh, piss. It’s Alan, isn’t it? Yes, yes. Let’s get this over with. Send him in.”

Another day, another fucking workplace harassment mess to sort out. How many more sodding seminars was he going to have to host before they all got it through their heads that biting off a co-worker’s arm was not a viable long-term conflict resolution strategy?

Sigh.

It was only after four meetings and sixteen calls that Crowley remembered he’d not yet disposed of the assassin.

“I suppose I should make an example of you,” he huffed, already imagining it.

The hassle.

The bother.

Getting an apron on.

Finding the hammer.

Lugging the stupid bastard up a ladder and nailing him to the office noticeboard by his scrote.

He could always ask Paula to do it. But, bless her heart, she’d only been a demon for six years and arranging a corpse for maximum intimidation was just as much a matter of practice as talent.

As Crowley was fetching the ladder, Gwen from Legal arrived whey-faced and dogged by two dozen assistants and interns.

“Sir, it’s a catastrophe,” she wailed.

Five minutes later, Crowley was back at his desk, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Avoidable. Utterly, pathetically avoidable. All you had to do was amend the contract to state that the phrase ‘ten years’ refers solely and specifically to Earth’s orbital period, not the orbital period of the contractee.”

Gwen hung her head. “I don’t know what to tell you, sir. Finding qualified staff to manage this sort of deal is tricky. When people with, you know, science degrees and stuff die and are damned, the assholes over at the Experimental Punishments Department always snatch ‘em up first. It’s a real problem.”

“I’ll have a word with them. Ugh – alright, alright, let’s try and sort this out. How long is a Martian year?”

“The internet says six hundred and eighty-seven days.”

“Damn. Almost twice as long,” Crowley grumbled, pouring himself a drink. “What did he even want from us? He’s a billionaire. The list of things they can’t get without our help grows shorter by the day.”

“He wanted to guarantee that he’d be the first man on Mars, sir; that none of his competitors would get there before he did.”

“Wait. Hold on. The thing he wished for and the mechanism by which he’s attempting to fuck us over are one and the same? Oh, no, no, no. I’m not going to take that cheeky bollocks lying down. Get the head of Research and Development in here, now. We’re going to find out how to crash a spaceship.”

Gwen’s gaze flickered to the assassin’s corpse. “Um.”

“Fuck,” Crowley muttered.

At which point Paula tapped on the door to ask if he wanted to reschedule his next five meetings, because unless he could deal with them all in a grand total of twelve minutes, he’d be late for his call with the NRA’s chairman.

When Castiel arrived – without an appointment, as per usual, but Paula had standing instructions to let him through – he found Crowley resting his head on his desk, fantasising about being a paperweight.

“I’ve come for more sex,” he explained.

Dragging himself from despair’s depths, Crowley slurred, “T’riffic.”

He instructed his meat suit to sit up and turn on the winning smile. Unlike more reliable vehicles, possessed bodies didn’t have dashboard lights to indicate an exhausted battery; instead, it announced its displeasure by growing three new tumours.

Castiel stepped back, confused. Displeased. “You’re usually more enthusiastic than this. Why is your desk covered in diagrams of rockets? Is this a ‘new hobby’?”

Exaggerated finger quotes. Damn him to the pit, he was precious.

“Kitten, rest assured I have only two hobbies and they both dress badly.”

He expected retaliation for that. Castiel hated being reminded that Crowley regularly dallied with his favourite human. It came as a surprise, then, when the angel simply reached out and firmly gripped his shoulder, declaring, “You need to rest.”

Wings flapped. Suddenly, Crowley was standing in front of a wide, glassy lake, surrounded by dense forest, and in the distance…

“Is that Mount Fuji?”

“Indeed,” said Castiel, smiling briefly. “She’s a childhood friend. I first visited when she was little more than an unusually picturesque bump in the ground.”

There was no one around. There was nothing around. No boats on the lake, no fishermen, no families on holiday, not even the distant roar of traffic. Just them, the view, the water, and a – huh – a bright orange tent pitched nearby.

“This is where I come to relax,” Castiel informed him, opening up the zipper.

“Whose is it?”

“Mine.”

“Huh. I wasn’t aware that you…”

“That I what?”

“Owned things. Or even grasped the concept of owning things. Don’t give me that look; you’re the one who’s worn the same socks ever since you slipped into that God-bothering flesh puppet.”

Castiel sniffed. “Materialism is a disease. But I’m not a child, Crowley. For your information, in my time on Earth I have owned many things.”

Always fun to ruffle the pretty bird’s feathers. “Yeah? How many of them were hand-me-downs from the Hardy Boys?”

“Most of them,” he said, levelly. “With the exception of this tent and your ass, demon.”

A pin drop pause.

Castiel maintained unblinking eye contact for exactly twelve seconds, then turned and crawled into his neon den.

Practically vibrating with adoration, Crowley followed.

It was evident that Castiel, despite his laudable efforts to create a space for himself in a world that had no space for him, didn’t entirely grok camping.

There were no sleeping bags. Instead, the tent’s bottom was covered in duvets, dozens of them, soft and fresh as if they’d come directly from the shop – or, more accurately, Crowley suspected, someone’s washing line.

“I cured her dog’s foot infection,” Castiel said, somewhat defensively, settling into his cotton and fleece nest.

“Ah. And she was so grateful she said you could make off with all her laundry, hm?”

“She… did not say those words, precisely. But it was heavily implied.”

Thank sin this was only a meat suit. Thank sin, thank everything that Castiel couldn’t see the expression of hopeless, pitiable fondness that would have adorned Crowley’s true face at that moment.

It was a relief when Castiel, without further ado, started undressing. Crowley, copying him, took the opportunity to talk sense into himself.

Come on. Grow up. Get it together. You know what you are. More importantly, you know what he is. Ageless. Unfathomable. Demons, at the end of the day, are just distilled human nastiness, but him? He existed before humans. Before microbes. He’s nice to babies and bees and pot plants and Dean and that makes it easy to forget that… that…

Oh, yes. Remember when he came to Hell? The first time he saw Dean; the start of their epic, eternal, infuriating romance? And where were you? That’s right. You were with the others, standing there slack-jawed and helpless, like dinosaurs watching the comet hit. Like children gazing up at a mushroom cloud.

Twelve thousand. That’s how many demons he burned out of existence, without even trying. Twelve thousand.

Do you think he ever thinks about them? Do you think he even noticed?

Twelve thousand.

Do you think he knows how close you were to being one of them?

Do you think he cares?

He’s nice to babies. Bees. Pot plants. Dean. You, even, sometimes. He’s sweet. He’s got big, soft blue eyes and hair that aches to be tussled. He’s a top-tier, world-class fuck. And at any moment, for any reason, he could end you, easy as blowing away dust, and you can’t say for certain he would even remember your name in a month’s time.

“What? No,” Castiel protested when Crowley kissed him. “We’re here to rest, Crowley.”

Drawing back, Crowley leered. “That’s what you want to do, is it? Rest?”

Perpetually thirsty tart that he was, Castiel bit his lip and looked torn. “I… yes.”

Crowley pouted.

Firmer now, Castiel said, “We will rest for a while first. Then we will have sex. Is that satisfactory?”

No sooner had Crowley resignedly nodded than Castiel seized him and finished undressing him, tossing his undershirt and socks out the tent. When they were both naked, the cold air coming off the lake making Crowley shiver, Castiel burrowed into his pilfered pile and dragged the demon down with him.

“Rest first,” he ordered him. “Sex afterwards. No, no – stop that. Afterwards, I said.”

Crowley groaned and whined and fussed, but obeyed.

And bugger him gently if it wasn’t actually pleasant, very pleasant, to lie there with Castiel’s strong arms locked around his torso, toasty warm under layers of wool while, outside, the lake lapped at its bank and wind rustled through the trees. No assassins. No paperwork. No blood. Everything nice and quiet. Everything calm and clean.

Then Castiel sighed, a hot puff against the back of Crowley’s neck, and said, “You know, the thing that vexes me most about Dean is the way he…”

#supernatural #crowley #castiel #crowstiel #dean winchester #drowley #destiel #drowstiel #fanfic #my fic

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politijohn · 5 years

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Get to know Michael Bloomberg

Sued for sexual harassment over 40 times

Responded to a pregnant employee’s pregnancy announcement with, “kill it.”

Was (is?) a Republican through the 2000s

Does not support a $15/hr minimum wage

As Mayor of NY, massively contributed to gentrification

Does not support the Green New Deal

Does not support Medicare for All

Endorsed Scott Brown (R) over Elizabeth Warren (D) for Massachusetts Senate

Supported MI Governor Rick Snyder (R) through and after the Flint water crisis

Supported the re-election of Senator Pat Toomey (R-PA) in 2016

Does not support student debt forgiveness

Is in Jeffrey Epstein’s “Little Black Book”

Used prison labor to run his 2020 campaign

Has not released his tax returns

Worked with Trump to open a taxpayer money pit golf course in the Bronx

Advocated cuts to social safety net programs

Friends with Donald Trump and business parter with Harvey Weinstein

Enabled and worsened racist stop & frisk program to its worst levels

Lied about stop & frisk on the 2020 debate stage

Halted a press conference because a disabled reporter’s audio device accidentally went off

On his third run for mayor of NY, he spent $108,371,685

Owns 12 homes, including properties in New York, London, Bermuda and Florida

Is spending over $5,000 per minute on his 2020 campaign

Endorsed the re-election of George W. Bush in 2004 and spoke at the convention

Favors school of choice over public schools

Supported the Iraq war and opposed setting a timeline to bring troops home

Staunch supporter of Israel

Compared a teacher’s union to the NRA

Cut funding to HIV prevention programs when infections were increasing for men of color

Believes a wealth tax would be unconstitutional

Has embraced city surveillance cameras

Specifically targeted muslim Americans

Used homophobic “jokes” to campaign against Bernie Sanders

Referred to transgender people as “it”

#More to come #Michael Bloomberg #f*ck michael bloomberg #Politics #democratic primaries #election 2020 #us politics #racism #us elections 2020 #democratic party #democrats #israel #wealth tax #stop and frisk #sexism

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hezigler · 3 years

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Once upon a time, way back in 1962, three high school friends and I went plinking in an abandoned gravel pit off Round Bottom Road, outside Newtown, Ohio. We were shooting, in order of appearance, an 8mm Mauser ‘98, a .303 Enfield Mark IV, and an old single shot .22 caliber bolt action rifle that was of early 20th century German manufacture, the tall red headed boy’s grandfather’s gun. Two of these guys have pasted from this life. One I’ve not heard of since the late 20th century. I’m the guy in the olive, brown, and tan checkered short sleeves, which are rolled up, and who’d been doing some shooting in NRA Juniors rifle competition for a while.

This video was digitized from a from a VHS video cassette tape that was recorded off of 8mm home movie film. In other words this a 3rd generation video, AAD.

#1960s #guns #8mm mauser #.303 enfield #.22lr #plinking

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iwillsithereandtrytocontribute · 4 years

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1- The Scientist

Masterlist Last Next Ao3

Pairings: Logince (not yet established at this point

Warnings: slight gore, let me know if I need to add anything

A Welcome to Nightvale and Sanders Sides crossover fic suggested by Local Carlos Stanon!

Characters: Roman - Cecil Palmer

Remus - Kevin

Logan - Carlos the Scientist

Janus - Steve Carlsburg

Patton - Lauren Mallard

Virgil - Intern Maureen

Thomas - Dana Cardinal

Remy - Tamika Flynn

Emile- There is no Emile because everyone in Nightvale and Desert Bluffs need therapy and there’s no one to give it to them.

A friendly desert community where the sun is hot, the moon is beautiful, and mysterious lights pass overhead while we all pretend to sleep.

Welcome to Nightvale.

“Hello listeners,” Roman said smoothly. “I have a quick notice from the City Council before we get to the important news.” He leaned forward, closer to the mic that hung from the low ceiling in the radio station. “The City Council would like to announce that you should not know about the Dog Park. You should not think about the Dog Park. Again, dogs are not allowed in the Dog Park. People are not allowed in the Dog Park. There is a possibility of seeing Hooded Figures through the electrified fence that surrounds the Dog Park. Do not approach the Hooded Figures. Do not approach the Dog Park.” Roman’s voice doubled in volume as he spoke, filling the station and the homes and cars of his listeners. He sat back in his chair as he completed his report. “The Dog Park will not harm you.

Listeners, a new man has come into town. Who is he? What do he and his beautiful, perfect hair want? He says he is a scientist, gesturing to his coat. Well…” Roman smirked knowingly. “We have all been scientists at some point haven’t we? But why now and why here, in our little town?” Roman cocked his head to the side, placing his elbows on the desk in front of him. “Of course, we will soon discover what he plans to do with the lab he is renting near Big Rico’s Pizza.

And now, traffic.

There is a cactus in the desert. There are many cacti in the desert, but only one that matters. You will wander the desert. Searching. Searching. Searching. The sun will beat down on you, slowly melting your skin, your organs, your bones. The freezing nights, solidifying your remains until you are a shambling mess of what you once were. And still you wander. Searching for something that isn’t there and perhaps never was. You don’t remember why you’re in this desert, what you’re searching for or how you got here. How did you get here?

An update on the new visitor to our town. The...” Roman paused, savoring the word, “... scientist’s name has been revealed to us through the use of the Secret Police’s monitoring systems.” Roman shuffled some papers on his desk, looking through them until he found the right one. “A quick reminder to speak as loudly as possible when having private conversations. You don’t want the Secret Police to miss anything important after all. And do your best to have interesting conversations. Maybe discuss owning a writing utensil, or acknowledge the existence of angels. Brighten your agent’s day.

Returning to the scientist. His name is Logan Sanders, and he is perfect in every way.” Roman sighed wistfully. “His lab coat is crisp and clean. His perfect hair is complemented by his blindingly perfect smile. Logan called a press conference today, which of course, I attended. He told us that our little town is the most scientifically interesting community in the U.S. by far. The perfect, beautiful Logan told us that he and his team of scientists were already busy studying a house in the Desert Creek housing development that doesn’t exist. It seems like it exists, like it's just right there when you look at it, and it's between two other identical houses, so it would make more sense for it to be there than not. But it does not exist, according to Logan and his team of scientists.” Roman shrugged. He was well aware that his audience couldn’t see him, but he shrugged anyway. There was something nice about the motion of shrugging, so he shrugged. “Existence is a tricky thing.

“He said more, but I was busy watching him. He smiled and grew animated talking about something scientific. Everything about him was perfect, and I fell in love instantly.

A quick reminder to parents out there; keep an eye on the color of the helicopters while your kids play in the Sand Wastes. Are they blue? That’s the Secret Police, your kids are safe to play. Are they black? Probably the world government. Return to your homes and cower in fear. Are they red with orange stripes? Return to your home and cower in fear. Do they have images of hawks and falcons all over them? Well, no one knows what those helicopters mean best to-

just a moment listeners, I’m receiving a call from—” Roman gasped excitedly— “Logan!” He flapped his hands energetically. “While I take this, let us go now, to the weather.”

***

“Welcome back listeners. Now I don’t want to take up time from our final story or our sponsors, (we have to pay the bills somehow), but I just have to tell you about the call from Logan,” Roman gushed. “I gave him my number at the press conference and told him to ‘Call anytime. Like literally, anytime.’ He looked at me strangely, but he took the slip of paper and he called me! Just now!

He said that I need to tell you that the sun didn’t set at the right time today.” Roman laughed. “I told him that the sun doesn’t have a schedule. But he persisted, telling me that it was important that I inform my listeners that the sun did not set at the correct time. So here I am. Informing you. I asked if he had anything else to say to me and he muttered something about needing to write some numbers on his new whiteboard and hung up.” Roman shrugged again. “You win some you lose some am I right?

And now a word from our sponsor.

You are a human. Probably. This message is for humans. If you are human you are made of up to 65% water. Therefore, water is required to make you human. Without water, you are not human and should not be listening to this. Stop listening. Stop it. Now. Brought to you by Clorox. Humans are not the only sentient beings composed of water.

The NRA is selling bumper stickers as a part of their annual fundraiser. They sent one to the station for some publicity, and as we are a community radio I’m happy to read one for you now. The bumper stickers read, ‘Guns don’t kill people. People kill people. Guns have nothing to do with it. Stop blaming guns for your actions. They don’t like it. There, there guns, the mean people can’t hurt you anymore.’” Roman sat a little straighter, and leaned towards the microphone.

“Someone took my advice to discuss the hierarchy of angels and they are now being taken to a reconditioning facility somewhere deep beneath the desert. Thank you for making your agent’s day,” Roman said smoothly with a smile. “As always, you are reminded that you should not know about the hierarchy of angels as they do not exist.” He nodded at the camera in the corner of the room and at the car that never moved from outside the station.

“Stay tuned next for silence followed by wallowing in your own thoughts.” Now came his favorite part.

Until next time. Goodnight, listeners. Goodnight.”

Not far away, a scientist stared at the radio. He hadn’t turned it on when he arrived this morning. In fact, he hadn’t even known there was a radio in this lab. This morning someone introducing himself as Roman had suddenly blared out of the radio, scaring Logan half to death. Somehow, this stranger knew that he had come to town and… Logan felt his cheeks get hot as he remembered what Roman had said throughout the day.

Logan had done some rudimentary tests around town to see if there was anything of interest. He found a surprising amount. The screams at the post office, the ghost cars, the house that doesn’t exist, and the pit behind the Ralph’s which wasn’t so much scientifically interesting as just weird. He also met a very kind Faceless Old Woman who was secretly living in his new apartment. He called a press conference (you could just do that here by thinking about having one) and explained what he found out about the house in the Desert Creek housing development. No one had seemed… concerned. Which was, in itself, concerning.

After the press conference, Roman had slipped him his number, explaining, (with a wink that made Logan glad his skin was too dark to show a blush), that it was his personal number, and that he was welcome to call whenever he wanted. Logan left the conference feeling dazed and wandered back to his lab.

He started unpacking. He needed something easy to do while his mind churned away at the strange town he had found himself in. And of course, there were chemicals to place in their exact spots, whiteboards to set up, computers to plug in... all the usual work that went into getting a lab ready for work. He hadn’t paid much attention to the radio, but he stopped his work when he heard his name. How did Roman know his name? He tried to remember everything Roman had said. Something about the Secret Police. Secret Police? Monitoring him? That’s how they learned his name?

He glanced down at his watch. He almost went back to work before he realized that it was nine o’clock. Logan glanced out the window to see that the sun wasn’t even close to setting. He pulled out his phone and looked up the time of today’s sun set. 8:33.

Logan furrowed his brow. He pulled out the piece of paper he had carelessly shoved into his coat pocket. Beneath the hastily scratched numbers was a barely legible name "Roman Palmer." He punched the numbers into his phone and held it up to his ear.

"Hello?"

"Is this Roman?" Logan asked.

Hey all! This crossover is happening due to the amazing Local Carlos Stanon! They proposed the idea and I had to write it. This will consist of a series of oneshots, hopefully deviating from the original material a bit more than this one. Please. Please. Please listen to Welcome to Nightvale and talk about it with me! It’s an amazing podcast with very queer characters (in both senses of the word).

If you need a warning added, would like to be added to my tag list, or have any questions or requests shot me an ask or message!

Taglist: @katelynn-a-fan @dwbh888 @royal-stormcloud @thefivecalls @dragonleesupporter @emo--nightmaree @7-slights-at-virgil @lokiamorstuffs @underthesea73 @smileyzs @robinwritesshitposts @thatgaydemigodnerd @callboxkat @k1ngtok1 @somehow-i-got-an-account @silverobsidion-speaks @a-fandom-trashdump @averykedavra @k1ngtok1 @potatsanderssides @sign-from-god-complex

(Some of these are from @the-taglist-repository. Just ask if you’d like to be removed.)

#sanders sides #welcome to nightvale #wtnv #wtnv fanfic #wtnv fanfiction #sanders sides fanfiction #sanderssidesfanfic #ts fic #ts roman #ts logan #sanders sides crossover #welcome to nightvale crossover #mild gore

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alkaliyogi · 4 years

Text

WE ARE CURRENTLY IN HELLS PIT OF FIRE AND MISERY…

How did we get here?

2020 is shaping-up to be quite a year; we lost Kobe an important figure to sports yes, but more importantly a role model for black fathers and especially fathers to beautiful brown skinned girls. Now we have COVID, deaths, social distancing and possibly (and I shudder at this thought) mandatory vaccines in the near future.

Many people lack the vitality and life-force energy required to participate in a democracy. This is not by accident. It was designed this way.

There is a long history of manipulation of the human race at the hands of the 1% of the 1%- this is what I predict will happen on the other side of COVID;

Travel will become more of a nightmare than it already is. More abuse at the hands of underpaid/overworked security personnel and undignified body searches. I worked in aviation for over 10 years- if you still believe that Arab men flew those aircrafts into the Pentagon and World Trade Towers you are ignorant of the concept of protected air space. The planet’s only Superpower had comprehensive protected air space before, during and after the “attack” on America. Military and law enforcement of this great land long adopted the motto of “shoot first, ask questions later” long before Bin Laden was a spec in his father’s testicles. Besides, who spends more on their military and the protection of their own country than the world’s Superpower?

Already, we are subjected to unnecessary liquid restrictions- you can’t even bring a tub of hummus onboard with you...pause for reaction. If you choose to believe that restricting liquids has saved your life, I invite you to watch a lighthearted episode of “Adam Ruins Everything” where they covered ‘security theatre’ designed to provide you, the average citizen, with little more than a false sense of security. And if you look at what constitutes a ‘potential terrorist’-it’s a pretty broad net covering how you wear your baseball cap all the way to facial hair grooming standards. Seems like legalized stereotyping, unless of course you’re a polished white male in corporate America.

But perhaps in the fight against mandatory vaccines- even the average white male may find himself in the trenches with us.

Will it be vaccines passports or vaccines with hardware implanted in our bodies? Will we eventually replace handheld passports for data stored in a fingerprint, retina or swab sample? Is that where we’re headed to already? Let’s keep things in perspective, shall we? Thousands of people died on September 11th. Millions more have died at the end of a gun- but the policy makers are very selective with what tragedies they will amplify and how they’ll pick and choose (based on their own agenda) when to introduce new bills or change laws. So even though innocent children die every single year in the greatest country on earth- purchased votes by the NRA (formerly the KKK) prevent amendments to the Second Amendment. Ain’t that something? An Amendment that can’t be amended. You’d think it was written by God and not men. Illusions of grandeur coupled with idolizing the forefathers of America is the exact opposite of being Christian, spiritual, a person of faith, etc. The is the same type of fandom associated with pre-adolescent girls and boy bands.

An inside job designed to illicit fear of a common enemy (and weapons of mass destruction) became justification for us giving away many of our personal freedoms (i.e. fingerprints scans, eye retina scans, mass surveillance by our smart phones, email providers, search engines, CCTV, etc.). Does this sound familiar? It’s happened before and millions were executed as a result. Hitler wanted complete control of his people- unwavering compliance and that’s exactly where we are headed if The Gates Foundation and the WHO have anything to say about it. China is already practicing this type of population control with their face-recognition software and social behavioural grading system that assigns citizens a credit score that impacts your ability to navigate everything in your life from career, to housing to who and how one travel. Is this what we want? Who benefits? Not you, not I.

There is growing evidence that COVID is a man-made (military controlled) virus. To many this may seem utterly ridiculous. I would invite you to research this information as discovered by numerous holistic doctors (who have been censored on Google but are searchable on Qwant, a reliable search engine free from the prying eyes of Google surveillance. If you’re wondering why the government would allow for something like a manufactured virus to be unleased on it’s on citizens let me help you. It begins with big pharma and ends with decreasing the human population.

As it stands today over 300,000 people have died- not from COVID but from underlying health issues. Like an episode of Black Mirror- doctors and health professionals are threatened if they don’t adhere to naming COVID as the cause of death. It doesn’t take a genius to observe that the overwhelming majority of people that contracted COVID recovered because they did not have underlying health issues. The Italian Parliament recently went viral for stating this. I’ll say it again, the COVID virus does not kill. Ask any self-respecting health professional/scientist that is not on the receiving end of grants issued by big pharma. Even the CDC has been corrupted, pick-up a copy of Marcia Angell’s book; The Truth About the Drug Companies: How They Deceive Us and What to Do About It. Marcia Angell was the first woman to serve as Editor-In-Chief at The New England Journal of Medicine, the most influential science journal in the world. She’s done her part to warn us of how drug companies collude not for the benefit of the public, but for their own gain. History will show unequivocally that the real tragedy was not COVID- but the mandatory vaccines that have polluted our bodies for years with unsafe levels of heavy metals, formaldehyde, MSG and more to render your well enough to stay alive and on medications until you die. Newer vaccines will also render you sterile. That is the pandemic we’re headed towards.

Big pharma is greater and more powerful than any government on the planet. And what’s more, they’ve purchased almost every single politician there is to be purchased. In medicine, the first rule is ‘Do no harm’. In Aviation the first rule is ‘if we don’t know, we don’t go’. Thousands of people have had their lives permanently changed when their once healthy children were exposed to vaccines that left them autistic, some children have even died. Unless you can prove without a shadow of a doubt that vaccines are not harmful and toxic (which they have not proven) why do we agree to subject perfectly healthy, clean bodies to foreign matter? And no, vaccines did not eradicate polio- you can still catch that shit. The difference is more people have access to clean food and water today than ever before. As more and more countries develop, more of the planet’s population can practice better hygiene. Vaccines have cured nothing. Measles, malaria, hepatitis are still around!

Fun fact: the US government actually owns more patents of the measles virus than anyone else. Something to chew on.

Are we going to roll over and pretend that the supposed benefits of a vaccine for a non-lethal virus outweighs the damage is can have to the nervous system and reproductive functions of millions of people? We’re already dying a slow death with pollution in the air, water, food and soil we’re consuming. A great portion of the population is already unable to conceive naturally- which is your body’s way of telling you your currently too sick to create new life. So, what do we do? We employee fertility specialists to implant us with embryos instead of addressing the foundational causes and habits for our body’s rejection of bringing new life to our sick planet.

The world’s population is nearing 8 billion- very few people have died during this pandemic relative to deaths associated to lung cancer, breast cancer, heart disease, medical drug overdoses, etc. It’s sad that we lost anyone. I live in Brooklyn, New York so I’m not removed from the collective loss we’re experiencing. Let’s also take a moment to step back and take a deep breath. This was never a reason to make us anxious, depressed and fearful of each other. This is how they separate and then conquer us. And it’s certainly not a reason to change our way of living and give away more personal freedoms (that were fought and paid for).

I’m calling on citizens of the world. Stand-up! We are many in numbers- they are few. Don’t let them violate you or anyone else in a way that is not humane.

One last interesting fact to research- the United States Supreme Court or Congress (depending on which article you come across) that vaccines are ‘unavoidably unsafe’. And the kicker? If you or a loved one are damaged from a vaccine you can’t sue the vaccine manufacturers. How’s that for democracy?! Look it up for yourselves, but not on Google.

Stay up!

Alkali Yogi

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