#the steel trap 1952 | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

grim-faux · 4 years

Text

17 - Prometheus Lies

More of the floor had fallen due to rot or fire higher up on the stairs. I nearly missed it in my climb, I was still taking the steps as I flicked the nightvision on and stumbled upon the gaping tear. It was a large jump and I had my doubts about being able to drag myself up on the other side, given the slick tile, but no other options were available. This time I made sure the camera was secure in its pack before I put my back against the cool plaster and steeled myself for the short sprint. Focus on the leap, on footing, don’t hesitate—

I hit the edge of the floor with my middle and gagged, I couldn’t see in the shadows where I would collide with the splintered wood. I recovered and was able to get my elbows under my chest and hoist up. My chest ached, as did my bad arm, nothing new. Had to keep going, couldn’t stop, never again. Soft glowing candles decorated the broken shelf across from me. The usual message Follow the Blood was painted on the wall above them. I leaned through the gate examining the closed in surroundings, a gate on my far left looked locked. Probably was. A lone battery had been left to me between the candles wax drippings. I took it feeling very little gratitude to my ‘benefactor.’ It was like being given a brick in this place. Or a flashlight. Didn’t help much but to keep me going. I paused as I glanced to the darkened hall at my left. I thought…could’ve been ‘Farther’ Martin. But I didn’t linger to certify this, blood was marked to the dark hall ahead. I adjusted my hand under the cameras strap and took my time, in no hurry and with no drive for my current objective. I wasn’t certain where I was headed, only that I was in another one of the numerous and indistinct corridors. In a room someplace nearby, someone was shrieking as though their skin was peeling off. I shuddered, but felt no other sentiment toward the matter. Too preoccupied with that tingling in the back of my skull. I was anticipating the horror that awaited my presence but it never ceased to terrify me. Blood was brushed across the floor curving to the right. Follow the Blood. However, there was still a stretch of corridor to check ahead. It wasn’t worth the trip at any rate, the corpse of another patient with his head nearly twisted off his shoulders, the air rich with copper, and a door boarded up. Disquieted, I returned to my marked path and found the floor there wrecked by the fire, a light hung from above enabled me to store my camera away. I inched closer to the wall, the boards underfoot reduced to charcoal and dusted with white, creaked as I moved to the edge. A door sat nestled in the wall on the left, with the faint traces of blood marked on its sides. There was very little space to press my heels back onto, and maybe I just didn’t give a damn how dangerous this stunt was on the unstable remains of floor. But it was my path and that was all my mind had locked onto. The light overhead flickered occasionally, but its illumination remained steady. As I inched along, a shirtless patient began to patrol on the floor below bumping into walls despite the light and smashing his fist against doors. I grimaced as I moved, the path was not as stable as I had hoped and shifted under my weight. I didn’t need to fall down there with him. When I was directly across from the door, I braced for impact and leapt, hitting the ledge and freezing when the splintered wood punched into my chest. My coat absorbed most the impact, but I still lost my grip and slipped backwards. I barely snagged the edge with my hands and dangled, below the patient sobbed something about his shadows, I really couldn’t jot it down. The wood lamented my weight and creaked, I held on for dear life trying to decide what to do. It wasn’t really up for debate. I growled between my teeth and pulled my body up as much as my arm would allow, then swung my leg up over the burnt timber. I fit my heel onto a little notch that held my weight, enabling me to lift myself parallel with the side, until I could get my elbow over. I scooted the rest of the way up until I had cleared the edge, and rolled far-far from it. I had to pause and catch my breath and let my muscles a moment to loosen. I felt the familiar spreading warmth in my backside. Damn. Maybe next time I should just drop and run like a bitch. I jerked up when I caught a flash of static, light flooded the next room. I regretted it and winced as my ribs pulsed. Damn it. I heard thunder and chalked it up to the fierce weather that raged on outside. The room was large but cluttered by all manner of bed and furniture, most stacked in the center as well as along the walls. I paused when I cleared the doorway, the hair on the back of my neck stood on end. It felt like someone was watching me, though I couldn’t – could not detect a physical presence of any sort. The room was empty aside from me, and silent, the soft patter of rain outside hammered on the thick glass as my heart thudded in my chest. The feeling wouldn’t leave and I was wary to travel further within the labyrinth of disorder, fearing something inhuman would lunge out at me and shriek as my brain erupted inside my skull. I moved towards an open area on my left, crouching low and peering over the confusion of beds and mattresses. My battery was already getting low on power, I had to watch it and would probably need to change it soon anyway. Nothing was on this side, the shadows the nightvision couldn’t penetrate revealed no hidden eyes, no shifting shapes. Absolutely nothing living. I moved around the support pillar off center of the room, rising to my full height and slipped forward, ready to bolt at the first hint of movement. The floor shifted beneath me, I turned the camera down as the boards gave a horrendous groan and I fell. My spine jolted between my muscles when I hit, and I twisted in a stunned mess on the floor. Right in my ear something shrieked and I turned over in time to see that hazy form dart overhead, at the outskirts of the NV. I rolled aside and crawled behind a pillar, before I peeked out to watch it glide out of sight. It was gone. Whatever the fuck it was, it was gone. It could come back. I had no sick desire to move around too much and draw attention, but I was becoming aware of the small room I was in and its lack of doors. And escape. I moved away from the pillar scouting the open area visible. It was identical to the floor above, I’m sure, but less clutter, more boarded up doors and windows. A few items had been abandoned, a table cart and some bed frames stacked. I pressed my palm to the side of my head while examining the blocked double doors. This was one of many I had passed in the burnt out corridors, either those that had been locked inside had escaped, or there was nothing here to begin with. On the floor around a sequence of stacked bed frames, lay rotted wood and masonry. I lowered my arm to peer up the way the shape had flittered, and saw a large hole where the floor had collapsed. Maybe patients had been trapped in here, and they found a way out? The NV was dimming, I had to stop and change that before I could secure the camera and climb up. I was detecting a pattern here. It was nice to actually grip something smooth for a change rather than the splintered and rough floor surfaces of lately. I hopped up to the ragged floor boards and pulled the camera up before climbing onto the floor. The camera wasn’t necessary, light flittered through the murky windows, allowing my eyes to perceive some of the dark edges. More beds discarded, empty of mattresses and patients. I kept low as I slipped towards the obstructions, trying to see the odd flickers just beyond the perception of dark, lights that flashed behind my eyes without the storm. That odd vibration in my muscle. Maybe I just wanted the paranoia, maybe I wanted the delusions to be true. It felt more real than my current predicament. Most of all, I feared what I was thinking. I stopped when that churning sound occurred and felt myself quiver. There was nothing, I told myself. The room was empty as far as I could see, I was seeing things. I wasn’t seeing things. Or was I? It sounded like scratching, or subtly rubbing. Over and over, in a constant rhythm until I wasn’t sure if I was still hearing it or if it was the sound in my ears. I let it drone on and ignored it as I ventured around the thick pillar near the hole, and scanned the cameras visor for movement, eyes. A lone wheelchair sat beside the gaping hole I had fallen in. A few feet beyond it was a small connecting hall, with light cutting through the dark shapes I imagined shuffling around. Blood had been splattered along the floorboards, I shut off the NV to confirm the crimson hue before pushing the next door open. Somehow this room seemed darker, the shadows pressing on the NV range and giving me a feel for claustrophobe I was not accustomed to. I took a few tentative steps forward testing the depth of my view, the black veil gave and retreated as I pressed further into the room. Beds upturned, blotched with dried blood. Overturned desks and rushed shelf stacking; I took the open path along the wall at the left. On one of the beds beneath a shattered window, boxes had been dumped, more scattered files lay about the crusty mattress. I gave my perimeter a short glance before poking through what remained of the damp pages. I pulled out one file with two names that seemed familiar, couldn’t remember where I might’ve read about them. (Excerpt from the diary of Shirley Pierce, Mount Massive Mental Hospital Patient, 1952-1964) How can I not remember where the cuts are coming from? They hurt so deeply, even days later. Doctor Newhouse tells me that it’s my fault, I’m subconsciously resisting the hypnotherapy. But I want so much to get better, I don’t know how I could be doing this to myself, Dr. Newhouse says it’s another condition of my bedroom-inspired hysteria. Poor Bruce, I make him suffer so. I’ve tried, subtly, to ask Mrs. Jackson if she’s had similar “issues” with her husband, but she is loathe to talk about it. Her husband, too, has found comfort in a younger woman. I know the doctors mean well, and with the help of the government men who’ve joined the staff, I am in the very best hands possible. I should just take my pills and sleep, and hope for more pleasant dreams tonight. I was unmoving for a time, unaware that I had been standing a full minute holding the side of my ear. The date on the page. That date barely came to me. That was long ago. Long-long ago. I reread it a few times before it finally began to sink in. God, I’m an idiot. Mount Massive was shut down in the early 70s. Miles, you fuckin idiot. How did I not see this sooner? It was staring me right in the face. Right in my face. Murkoff came along and ‘reopened’ it. What was I reading again? She was committed to the Asylum from 1950 to 1960, before Mount Massive was shut down. But they were doing experiments before then. I didn’t need to linger on the subject any longer. I lost my train of thought as I knelt beside the bed, staring at the page. I was certain of what was in this note, but I couldn’t focus. Was that what the patients meant when they talked about sleep therapy? I thought this over carefully, ignoring that buzz in my head. The Whistleblower said ”Sleep therapy going too deep.” The experiments were happening before Murkoff came along, the government was involved before Murkoff commissioned Dr. Wernicke. Was I just blocking this information out? Everything that was started here. Could this go any deeper? The Hypnotic transgression to alter individuals thought patterns, and the Project named Walrider for those side effects? It seemed to lock together, yet the same old holes remained in my theories. Murkoff never started this. I took a deep breath and let it out slowly. One mass hallucination. Nothing more. And I was buried deep in the center of it seeing what the patients saw, feeling what they felt. For them it was real, and for me it felt real. Too real. I lowered the camera and pressed my forehead into my palm. A massive hallucination. That was all it was. But… hallucinations didn’t tear people to pieces. Had I really seen the MHS cops murdered? I was drugged at the time, my recollection wasn’t the most credible. I stood off the bed and continued around the room, passing between stacked beds and mattresses. They must’ve been storing all this away when Project Walrider took its wrong turn, they butchered up most the patients and needed to put they vacant beds someplace. What a grotesque thought. Even though some of them did NEED to die, they were still human beings. I think. I had no idea what the female patients were like, aside from the one transgender I had come across. I hadn’t had the privilege thus yet to run screaming from a woman. I’m such a man. Another small connecting hall appeared to my left, but the door that would lead to the next room was blocked by something large and unmovable. I couldn’t budge it with my weight and gave up to resume my path to the front of the room. The sunken outline of smashed out double doors loomed ahead, and a corridor beyond that. I hastened my steps, but jerked to a halt when that dark shape drifted by. I recorded that - I SAW THAT! That was no hallucination! NO! You can’t tell me I didn’t see that! I backpedaled around the corner, until I toppled backwards over a table cart and lay staring up. That buzzing in my head was getting obnoxious. If I didn’t think about it, it would dissipate somewhat, but it was there at the back of my mind scratching at my thoughts. I sat the camera on my chest and pulled up the most recent recorded file and played back the last few minutes. Yes! A clear shot between frames, as it was at the center of the door. I stared at the image trying to make sense of what I was looking at. It looked….almost skeletal and corporal, at the same time. Like black dust, or a statue carved from obsidian. I could almost describe it as beautiful, if my mind were not so fractured. Time to go. I pulled my legs off the overturned cart and stood. It was going to the right, maybe I should try the left. The hall extended a distance and took another left. Double doors sat in the corridor to my right, but as with many doors they had been boarded up tight. I blinked as I turned, and felt a searing blaze of light behind my eyes as though I’d been hit. I didn’t understand it, I knelt to my knees and waited for the pain to subside, it didn’t actually hurt. Felt like the memory of a hard punch, like when Trager beat me out of the dumbwaiter, I was shaking all over again and my breath came labored. Anxiety attack. Just an anxiety attack. Not shock, just relax, deep breaths, get it under control Miles. I was in a bad place for this, I was totally exposed and if a patient happened upon me I would be done for. Get it together, deep breaths, rhythmic breathing. My chest felt like it wanted to splint open, and I dropped the camera beside me as I fell over. The dust tickled my nose but I kept trying to drag myself back into focus, my left leg went numb. Just anxiety, not shock, not heart attack. I’d know if I was having a heart attack. The pain in my head died somewhat and the feeling slowly returned to my leg. Good, good. Get up and move, walk it off. I fumbled in the dark for my camera and picked it up. I half expected a face to be staring right in the visor, it was almost a shock that there was none. I pushed myself up and resumed walking. Chairs, broken beds stacked, more doors tempting but going nowhere. On the wall there was the occasional dark arrow, still seeping with the fresh lines of its making. I took another left, coming to realize I was going in a circle if this route endured. Some open double doors, at least I was still headed somewhere, and apparently I could not have gone in the wrong direction. A few feet away the flicker of candles caught my attention, yes, I was going the right way. Though I think I could’ve come the other way, and still reached this place. This door would still be here when I came back, the blood stained arrows were still running thick lines down the plaster. The door left ajar, inviting me. It could wait. I crept slowly down the corridor, always aware the thing could be at any turn and suddenly spring from nowhere as though from thin air. The hall took a right and a ways down I could see light, wavering from an open door. Inside was the mother load of files. Shelves stuffed with boxes, and binders full of notes. Boxes stacked around the room, many had been torn to pieces, some still had scraps of folders and pages littered everywhere. None of them looked complete, exerts from Frankentein’s Monster, and more letters from family to patients and vice versa. Some of the pages I handled felt brittle and were yellowed with age, a few dates on letters read as far back as 1950. On the wall was a cross painted in blood and the familiar word in bold LIE The red was fresh, it still trickled down around where a trash chute was set into the wall. My shoes squeaked on the tile as I checked down the opening, then proceeded to go through the boxes. “I recognize the handwriting. Father Martin killed a man here. Are the “LIES” he’s talking about all the files missing from these boxes? The facts? The records? They look like government agency material, at least thirty years old, probably older. I start thinking MKULTRA, CIA. Mind Control. The buzzing won’t stop.” There was a file about patients claiming to see a Dr. Wernicke in their dreams, though they had never known a man by that name. There was a file of one individual that screamed so much his tongue and throat had swollen, and he had perished. Another about a violent individual that had eventually died from blood loss when he had worn the skin from his fingers away, and tore his entire face off. I started feeling sick, I wanted to stop and sit down, rest a moment. But I couldn’t. There was no telling what lay ahead, everything was coming together now. Or maybe it was the feeling I was having about this place, the hallucinations. The whispers. I returned to the marks on the wall, the door left ajar encouraging my progress. As I moved forward to push it open, someone shut it from the other side. I drew my hand back. Was the door now locked? No, it couldn’t be, this was where I was supposed to go. That just sounded insane. I took the handle, it turned easily in my mutilated hand, and I pushed the door open just a bit. My movement wasn’t unheard by the occupants of the room, and I cued in on soft foot falls just before they entered the range of the nightvision. The twins! I slammed the door shut and pulled the little cart with the candles on it and put it between the door and I. Why I did this, I’m not sure. I took a few steps back as the door opened and the first twin gave the small cart a baffled look before he scooted it aside with his machete. I took the hall I had first come down, through the double doors and paused to look back. The twins stepped into the hall, glancing one way then the other. I crept behind the corner and watched, they couldn’t see me I was certain but they knew I was here, or someone was here. The candlelight, they might have seen me standing in the doorway! One twin began down the opposite hall, while the other turned and moved in my direction. They were going to corner me like they tried in the caged hall, but this time there was no window for me to use to get around them. They were counting on me coming this way, with no other option but to follow the Priests blood trails. This didn’t hardly seem fair, but I wouldn’t get a word in edge wise if I was caught. I might still beat them back to the other room, but it didn’t change the fact I had to get by them to that door and with the two of them patrolling, it was only a matter of time before I was caught. I ducked aside when the twin reached the open double doors. I needed a way to get around them, someplace to hide and double back. The stacked beds I passed. I dropped down and scooted under them until my shoulder was to the wall. My camera was getting low on power again, damn. Why now? I held still as the bare foot falls grew louder with each step. I shut the camera off and tucked it into jacket, gritting my teeth hard when the fibers caught on the remains of my index finger. At least the bone was exposed only on that finger, the camera and loop somewhat protected it in my travel. I shut my eyes and focused on the sound of the brittle wood as the twin stalked past. Couldn’t see me, couldn’t know I was here. I exhaled a low breath when his steps faded down the hall, and I began a count once I could hear them no longer. One-one thousand. Two-one thousand. Three one-thousand. I was still counting as I slid out from under the bed and moved towards the door, and the candle light. Four one-thousand. Six one-thousand. A sharp pain filled my skull as the candlelight clashed with the NV. Couldn’t pause. Keep moving. Eight one-thousand. Nine one-thousand. The door to the room was left open, I could barely make out the extending edges through the failing nightvision. I entered and flung the door shut, all the time keeping by the wall and straining to pick up early warning I heavily relied on. I couldn’t gamble that the other twin was unaware of my intentions, and would still be out to corner me off at his brother. With the door shut I was more likely to hear of their return. Now it was impossible to see through the visor, I had to fumble and get the batteries switched out before proceeding. It was another room identical to the previous ones I cut through, the few items of furniture scattered about, broken night stands, beds along the far wall. I crept around the thick pillars, wary of what might be lurking. A door to the side of the room was jammed in its frame, another on the opposite side gave false hope. Through the window I could see broken wood and the dusty tile on the floor far below. I tried the handle out of habit, locked. It didn’t matter, there was no visible way to climb down. I pressed my palm to my head, the stress caught up to me as the revelation hit. I could easily die if the twins returned this moment, and I had still not gotten my shit together. Keep moving, keep moving. Where didn’t I check yet? It was obvious enough. The back of the room? I moved close to the wall and the windows. It sounded like the storm had lessened for a short while, but boards nailed against the wall made it impossible for the meager amount of light through. The joining corridor was on the right side, and the door beyond open. Boards had been torn away allowing chunks of light through, enough to pick out the jagged floor where the fire had eaten through the wood. The wood protested my weight but the structure seemed stable enough for my weight, at least where the damage was not as sever. Each gap of ruined floor was a distant, I couldn’t tell from a glance what sections were solid enough. I tried not to think of it either. I sprang forward clearing the gap easily, the floor creaked under me and I tottered as wood snapped and clattered somewhere below. Needed to stay sharp, none of this floor was stable. For now it held. I crossed to the corner where the fire had done ‘less’ damage, and maneuvered around a bed as the wood groaned, warning its lack of patience with my weight. The wall beside me had burnt out, leaving the skeletal remains of the framework within. I leaned against it certain I saw something at the edge of my vision, something there without the NV. There was comfort in my dependence of the camera, a trick of the light. A voice reverberated from the floor below and I moved the camera over the demolished room, seeking its source. A bright beam flashed over me and I met eyes with ‘Father’ Martin. “Only God needs be so mysterious. Be patient, hold faith.” As he spoke he turned away, looking across the edge of a gap of where he stood upon. I couldn’t be sure, but I doubted he was speaking to me. I moved on, reinforcing my resolve. I needed to get out of this area, with the twins geared to hunt me down. They wouldn’t hesitate to gut me on the spot, and I felt in my deepest fears that they wouldn’t kill me before they went to work. Shuddering, I edged myself onto a thin path that ran flush with the wall, I had very little room for my feet but the edge felt stable enough. The ruined timber moaned as the structure shifted under the malicious storm, it sounded like the whole place could topple at a wrong move, yet still it stood. I used the NV to make sure that I was scraping onto a solid surface, the charcoal was black and blended with the shadows. The floors center between the support pillars was still intact, not a big surprise. Another break in the floor separated me from the next door, by a distance I was leery to attempt jumping, but I was certain that I had leapt farther previously this evening. There was no easier way over. Lamps undamaged by the fire gleamed down, revealing the tile floor of the room below. I focused on the door trimmed by light, wide open and inviting with only the ominous abyss of dark beyond. I would have a moment to gather myself before I pushed resumed. The floor didn’t seem stable enough on my island, I shuffled near the edge and tested the thin boards. It made quite a bit of noise, but it felt solid. Maybe made from a different wood, from whatever comprised the asylums charred sections? I clicked off the NV and put some distance between myself and the edge, then dashed forward and threw myself out over the fissure. I hit the other side with more force than anticipated, the wind gushed out of my lungs and my arms hit the boards. Hard. I didn’t have a chance to inhale, my body began to slip backwards. I panicked and slung the camera out of my grip a safe distance and braced my hands and elbows against the splintered wood, sweat trickled into the corner of my eye obscuring my sight. I think I might’ve snapped a rib. It sounded like it. Or was that the floor creaking against my weight? As I pulled myself up, the board snapped and I fell catching the next piece with my hands. A streak of light flashed through my eyes as my ragged finger tips locked into the timber. The whole floor was falling! I clambered up, kicking and clawing for a stable grip, and finally got my torso over the edge in time to witness— My camera! My camera was skidding backwards, off the slanting floor! No! I shuffled along trying to reach it before it fell. Visions of it hitting the black tile, dashed into a million pieces of plastic and metal. All my evidence! My only source of light in this shit hole! I reached, scratching it with my remaining fingertips as it tipped, then flipped jolly like over the edge. Down, down, and down it went. Everything in slow motion as I was stuck up here, watching it get smaller and smaller, the further it descended. Any minute now, a millions pieces scattered everywhere. You wouldn’t be able to tell what it was in the first place. Scattered to the far corners. I’d never be able to find them all and put it back together. But it didn’t scatter. I watched as it bumped against a board, and held my breath, right before it hit the other side of the floor above a thin black hole. Then, vanished into the dark abyss. I reached for it. I could still feel it in my hands, solid and comforting. This couldn’t be happening. It was in one piece but it was gone. Fuck! Why didn’t I secure it? Why didn’t I remember to protect the damn thing? It was gone forever and I was the one to blame. Fucking idiot, Miles! Your life is over! The damn camera was the only thing keeping you— The floor whined as the boards gave out, and a piece clattered hollowly in the open room. I shifted, dragging myself up just as I saw the door to a room below swing open and a dark figure creep into view. Shit! Another panel snapped away before I had latched onto the next, and I was hanging by my hands snarling as hot needles pulsed through my fingertips. GET UP THERE MILES! I clawed my way up as the floor crumbled out from under me. I dug my fingers into what I could reach and braced myself, launching forward as everything under my feet snapped free. I was running on literal open air as the ground dissolved under me, I dove into the awaiting doorway and locked my hands on the frame as I spun about, to witness the last of the floor break away. I took a few deep breaths, and gazed at the open door with light pouring through. No evidence of the prowler below, I’m not sure if it was a twin or someone else hunting me. I was still shaking when I turned to the dark corridor awaiting my trespass. I had become so dependent on the camera, the total blackness was like a wall I could never pierce with my conviction. Memories of those inexperienced cavers returned to my thoughts, how they had been lost for days before they succumb to hunger and thirst. How do you get lost in a cave? The darkness is disorienting, and even when you feel you must be turned in the right direction, it is impossible to be sure. You can run in circles for days before you realize you’ve been in a room of nine by nine. I didn’t stand a chance navigating the dark totally blind, while the patients strolled about, conditioned to the dark halls that was their world. Aside from all the evidence I could not afford to lose. It would be better if I died trying to find it, rather die getting beaten to death by something I couldn’t identify. The ruined floor echoed a strange sound as the wood settled, almost like the shriek of a dying man. I pondered it, as I pondered how to go about locating my camera. I reviewed my recent progress through the asylum, deducing if I returned the way I came I would not be able to access the floor below where the camera should be. That was not considering the twins, I didn’t doubt they were still hoping to stumble upon me in that section of the hall. I wiped some sweat from my eyes, and recoiled at the blood soaking my palm. Oh god! After scrapping some of the fresh blood from my hands, I picked my way down what remained of the floor. At least ‘if’ I returned, I could still climb up easily. Small miracles. There was no sign of the creeper, this made me uneasy. He could as easily have been a spy for Father Martin, as he could have been one of the violent lunatics that’s only purpose was to shatter skulls. He had to have come from somewhere, I doubt he came from the floor above or had a way up there. This was all speculation, I had no reason to believe there was a way to access the lower floor through here. I planned to turn back if it became too dangerous, or if there was no visible way to progress. I don’t know which way I preferred more. The room was dim, light pouring through broken windows offered miniscule guidance, cutting dark lines over the beds and furniture that looked jammed into the space. I heard no sound, nothing to indicate a living body present. The path on my left was packed high with bed frames, to my right was a space I could slip through. I didn’t want to attempt climbing over anything unless I absolutely had to, my hands were shaking against my sides. They felt hollow and light without my camera. A flash of lightening pulsed from the windows, I crouched down when I though there was a shape peering over the shelves on my right, but it was already gone before my eyes adjusted. It felt like the ringing was getting louder, maybe my heart thudding harder in my chest. I crept along listening to the sound, trying to blot it out with thoughts of the mountains. How calm the night had seen before the storm. I climbed over a bed and scanned the front of the room as it brightened with a blaze from the windows. Shadows raced back into place as the light died, I thought eyes were staring back at me but I didn’t have the NV of the camera. Couldn’t be anything there. Just the noise in my head making me feel like there was something that should be there, but couldn’t be. My camera. Think about that for a bit. Where would it be? Fell through the floorboards, would be on the floor below here if it didn’t shatter into a million pieces. My quest seemed lost, everything I had been through, everything that I had witnessed was on that camera. I would go completely insane, and they’d find my body with my last words scrawled into the notebook and they’ll scratch their heads, no clue of what the hell happened here. What horrors were witnessed. The camera will be there, in one piece, because I will it to be so. With my fuckin mind! Bed frames and shelves. They filled the gaps on either side of me as I moved towards another set of open doors. It amazed me how comforting furniture could be in a place like this. It looked like the doors had been blown apart, I couldn’t find where the other had fallen. A sound startled me, the clatter of timber as something came down hard on the floor above. I knelt down and listened to the noises of footfalls overhead, silt trickled down getting into my eye. I blinked it out then checked beyond the doorframe, a soft whimper wheezed out of me at the black veil that greeted me. I would get lost forever and die of hunger, or get beaten to death by someone in the dark. By a shape in the dark. My spirits were lifted when the frail light spilled from a crack in the wall. I crawled to it, on my hands and knees, and peered inside hearing water running from somewhere. Another shower room. Lockers had been torn from the walls and stacked in odd areas, some were left along the floor. I tested the stability of the plaster that blocked me, and found I could tear the chunks out. Enough that I could easily slip myself under. I entered and stood up and made my way along the side of the room that was open, and into the shadows that devoured my form. I used my less torn up left hand and set my fingers on the wall feeling where I was going and tried not to get turned around, but my fears were unfounded, the wall gave way to the other side of the washroom and a light blazed from the ceiling. I checked a few of the stalls that would open, confirming there was no one hiding, nothing to surprise me. The drum of the water intermingled with the buzzing in my head, my body quivered despite how dry the top layer of my coat had become. It was bone quaking trembles, stemming from my muscles. I needed to shut the water off, stop the insistent white noise. I tried to figure out how to work the faucet, but the valve was snapped and spun uselessly in my grip. Beneath the spout was a tear in the floor, the wood exposed under the tile and something under that. I went to the next stall over, the door taken somewhere left the access open for full view. Inside was a large hole to the level below, and where my camera must be. I dropped down onto a plank of wood, and felt the hollow vibrations of lockers through my feet. For a moment I listened and waited, that had been loud. The drum of water above enveloped my senses, I few droplets of icy water splattered my neck. Along the ceiling the thick pipes transporting the water crossed, thick calcite had formed along edges where water seeped. Rather wait and confirm my isolation I crawled down onto the next floor. It was a sizable closet to store supplies and some furniture. Everything had been dragged out into halls and used to board up doors, it was empty but for the lockers gathered into the center of the room. I walked around it before I located the door, it was a relief to escape the consistent sound rattling my mind. I gave no consideration to someone waiting outside, how reckless I was being. I didn’t care. I peeked out into the dark hall. The edges of a broken bed came into focus, the light from the closet didn’t tread far but the glow of another lamp did reach around a corner some distance away. It was impossible to tell with the wall of black. I opted to follow the light for now, until I needed to get lost in the dark. I’d save that as last option if I could. The hall that cut right was too bright for comfort, I lingered by the wall briefly, the light didn’t extended far. Beyond the shadows bars were stacked, or bed frames, silhouetted against soft light a large window. I really wanted to know that lights origins. I climbed over a broken bed frame and listened, as the crackle of thunder and the flash of static illuminated a figure darting across the room far ahead. It looked like he had some destination in mind, but I wouldn’t just stand at the edge of the shadows and wait for him to come this way. Couldn’t be certain of what I saw, I wasn’t confident in the stability of my mental faculty. A door boarded up on my left thudded as something hit it, or fought to get through. I picked up the pace before they could get through while I was there. Those boards had held all through the shit storm, there was no reason for them to give now. Light pulsed through the bars of the beds stacked at the end of a hall, cutting me off from the room. But I was certain the figure I’d seen had been there as well. A hall was to my left with light spilling like cold silver between the bars of a gate. It was too far up out of sight, I couldn’t see where the light filtered down from. I hesitate when I thought there was a voice, or someone mumbling. I listened, trying to get past the ringing in my own head. The silence without the constant drum of rain on windows to drown out my thoughts, made the walls vibrate with a resonance of silence that was almost as thunderous as the sound of clatter. No longer could I hear the voice, but it was probably my paranoia diluting my senses. I was on high alert and couldn’t shut myself out. As I neared the corner, leaning forward— A man lunged out at me snaring my neck and bad shoulder. I gave half a yelp as the air was cut off in my throat, the man yelled in my face and shook me. My vision buzzed with static as he applied pressure, I couldn’t decide which was hurting worse. The blood flow had been severely hindered by his grip on my neck and my ears started ringing. I slapped my hands down over his elbows and struggled to pull his arms off, get them unlocked as he pushed forward nearly causing me to topple. When I fell it would be all over, I wouldn’t have the leverage to throw him off. I didn’t have it now. When I reached my limit, I knew I couldn’t take much more of this, I dropped to my back on the hard tile and somersault backwards. The patient, placing all his weight against me fell forward. I jammed my foot into his stomach and propelled him along as he tumbled over me. Weak and stunned, I rolled aside not prepared for what would come next. I only heard the man climb to his feet and dart off screaming about the coming and Billy. That went well… I coughed into the floor until my throat reformed, the cold and dusty air of the Asylum a welcomed return. I was still rubbing the soreness out of my neck as I CAUTIOUSLY ventured into the next room. I felt the walls as I went, making sure I wasn’t missing any doors that could lead to the room my camera was in. I had no idea where it might have fallen, I would just go through the rooms I could find and then go into more detailed search once I was comfortable with the layout. The patients spent all of their time in this place, skulking through the dark, hiding in the shadows. No wonder they could track me in the dead black. With no other option, they had adapted to this way of life. A scary thought. A wild blaze burned through the room, and for a brief moment I could see figures, men shaped. One crouched on a table holding bars, fully focused on the world outside, a far away world. I slunk forward, the second one seemed to be staring across the room directly at me but made no action. I kept along the side of a bar, or some sort of countertop on the opposite side of the room. I lost track of the other figure that had been in here, but as the windows pulsed with storm I located a door to the side of the room. I lurched back and dropped to my side when something flashed in my vision, what exactly I couldn’t be sure. But I felt nothing, no punishing blow and heard no sound of feet. I couldn’t even be certain I had seen anything to frighten me, only that I had fallen on my side and felt the warm spot on my back. I just wanted my camera. It didn’t matter if I made it out alive, I just wanted my camera back. I crawled pathetically through the double doors that awaited, there was one tall window at the end of corridor, but the oppressive shadows huddled at the very breath of its light. It appeared to be the connecting hall, where I saw the figure dart through. I lifted to my feet and held my arms out, unable to see an inch in front of me. I kept on my toes ready to run at the sound of movement, anything that indicated I was not alone. I didn’t feel alone, but I couldn’t believe I would miss another living presence in the small space I now occupied. The concept that this was an error of my thought, terrified me. I was probably not alone, just kidding myself again. I took a shallow breath as I felt around the edges of another door, a lamp from outside glistened off the metal bars of shelves. I blinked, and saw red, blood vessels in my eyes as the storm blazed. My breath was labored and dots evaporated at my vision, contrasting with the shadows. I blinked but I still couldn’t see. I moved around the shelves trying not to linger long in the light. Another doorway opened in my path, on the other side windows cut long shapes on the tiled floor. I crouched down and put my face just far enough past the opening to see what lay ahead, but was met with the invading veil of black. I thought I heard movement, a voice, but as I bided my time and listened trying to perceive what my eyes failed to, it felt like my mind was playing tricks on me again. Something glint in the corner of my eye, and I drew back to spin on it but saw nothing. Just the beads of the metal shelves as the light hit their sides. I took a deep breath, I was shaking badly and my head pounded with the soft prattle of rain. Or was that the humming in my bones? Why’d I keep thinking of these things? I forced myself to leave the doorway and scoot away from the wall, into the indiscriminate shadows. It was some sort of commune room with tables bolted to the floor. Maybe the patients cafeteria, or some sort of indoor recreational area? Being in this room right now unsettled me, like being in an orphanage after some sort of catastrophe killed all the children there. Almost the same difference, if you considered the less violent patients. Just mentally wrong, and locked away from their families that might’ve been trying to do the right thing for them. The cold seeped through my coat, I had not nearly dried out yet, even so it just seemed to burrow into everything. It was getting darker as I moved from the windows, into areas of boarded up doors and the suppressive veil tightening over my shoulders. I slipped over a broken counter, a frame with glittering glass sat before metal slats for trays. This might’ve been the patients cafeteria, or where medicines was dispensed. It was the same thing, wasn’t it? I saw something in the furthest distance flicker against the black wall. I paused to stare and barely believed my eyes. I blinked. Was it possible? On that table beside a large cooking pot? I let out a small whine, it was! My camera! Right there, not no more than a few feet away. Okay Miles, keep it together. There’s the camera, don’t go running over there and tripping and tearing your fingers open again. But…My camera! I edged towards it, pushing my senses into the wall of black, working to determine if there was anything I could stumble over, anything left lying in my path. Something clattered to the floor, echoing off the walls in the next room. I had no idea what that was from. Might have been the floor above, the broken room my camera fell from still settling in my absence. I could sense movement. I couldn’t be sure if this was my paranoia or the unnatural state this room was in, where I was accompanied by a threat. The big fucker? I wouldn’t know until I picked up the camera, and by then it might be too late. It sounded like something was being smashed on hollow metal, or someone was trying to flush something out. I dithered for a moment, debating what I should do. It was getting me nowhere, so I continued forward trying not to imagine what was beyond the black lurking at the edges of my senses. I was distracted in my elation, finally the comfort of the camera back in my hands. But I had not reached it yet, I was still vulnerable. Too vulnerable. Keep calm, deep breaths. I was shaking, the nerves in my muscles buzzing into my mind. Get the camera, it’d clear things up for me. I began to pick up on something else as well. The typical rot of the asylum, of old bodies left to decompose into the carpet and wood, which was constant in the back of my mind. But I was sure I smelt the patients. Don’t think I’m being weird, you can go fuck yourself – but, it was that musty smell they had. The baked on sweat, filthy clothing and the disregard for hygiene they shared, with this place going to hell. It was the smell of something alive, and it was getting stronger. I put my hands on the pale light of the desk, where the NV poured out of the visor. I couldn’t quiet my breathing, I had to get the camera and turn it, locate what it was in the dark. My hands quaked on the cool wood, and I shuffled around to the backside and set my hands over my camera. It was like reuniting with an old friend that I thought was lost forever. Such a strong feeling for an inanimate object, but it still brought tears to my eyes. I gently picked it up and fitted my ruined finger under the strap, then fixed the visor; it had been jarred before it dropped through the floor. Slowly, I brought it to my eyes, reveling in the familiarity of seeing the distorted green hue of my surroundings. The buzzing in my head was thunderous now, and I slowly turned from a solid wall on my right, to the large room revealed through the visor.

#miles upshure #outlast #outlast fanfiction #outlast novelized

1 note · View note

croatian-nt · 5 years

Text

To the beat of my heart

Summary: Dejan just wants to talk to Luka and apologize for being stupid enough to get a yellow. He gets more out of it than he planned

Pairings: Dejan Lovren/Luka Modrić

Word Count: 1952

Warnings: shouting, fighting in general actually, making out, heavily implied sex, some angst(not much I promise)

Notes: Okay so I needed to write a vent fic after the last match because I was pissed as hell so this happened despite me trying to finish another project xD. Big shout out to @lovren-la-vida-luka for editing this at the last moment. Andd that would be all, I hope y’all enjoy :D

Dejan took a deep breath, debating if he should knock on the door or just enter.

Fuck it, he is not gonna be happy to see me anyway.

And with that Dejan pushed the door open, revealing Luka lying on the bed. The scowl that was etched on his face turned into a glare when he saw Dejan entering.

Luka specifically told everyone he wants to be alone after the interview to the press. Not even Dalić dared to stop him when he stormed away, despite limping a bit. But Dejan was never good at listening to instructions.

"Get out."

Luka wasn't looking at him anymore, his gaze was focused somewhere about Dejan's shoulder, as if he was invisible.

"Sorry can't do. I am not letting you beat yourself up over this in the silence of the room."

Luka's eyes snapped to his, and Dejan felt breathless for a moment. How could someone look so beautiful while being so angry? Luka was forest fire and Dejan, a frozen animal, too caught up in the beauty of the destruction to realize he could get burnt.

"Who says I am beating myself up? Maybe I am here so I don't take it out on everyone and point each and every mistake they made."

Dejan swallowed, speechless at this reaction of the usually kind captain.

"Especially you. So get out before I start talking because I could talk all night." Luka's words were dipped in poison, obviously used to push him away.

Dejan crossed his arms across his chest and held Luka's gaze.

"Go on then. I can take your insults. I am still not letting you bottle everything up."

Luka clenched his jaw and sat up. Dejan was immediately by his side.

"I don't think it's a good idea for you to get up you injured your leg-"

Luka got on his feet and, with a strength Dejan forgot he possessed, pushed him away. Dejan stumbled, his back hitting the wall roughly. He looked down at Luka, startled by the outburst.

"Why the fuck are you always so stubborn? Everyone tells you to be careful and not get a second yellow and you argue with a referee. I tell you to leave me alone and you walk into my room. Do you ever listen Lovren?!

They are standing chest to chest and Luka's eyes look like liquid gold under this light and they are burning. Dejan feels like his throat constricted and he knows, he knows Luka doesn't mean these things but it still stings.

Something in Luka's expression changes, his anger dims a bit and he takes a step back.

"Go away Dejan, before I say something I will really regret."

Dejan bites his lip as he debates if he should leave or… take a leap of faith. He goes for the latter.

He takes a step closer to Luka and gently tucks a strand of hair behind his ear. Luka's hand shoots up and grabs his in a steel grip.

"What do you think you are doing?"

Dejan doesn't shy away from Luka's gaze and just leans a bit closer instead.

"Tell me you don't feel the same way I do. Tell me you didn't just bite your tongue because you'd rather bite it off than see me hurt. Tell me you really don’t want me here and I'll walk out of the door and we'll never mention this again."

Luka watches him for a few long, long seconds. And then just when Dejan is about to urge him to say something, Luka lets go of his hand and grabs his shirt instead, yanking it down, and their lips clash together almost painfully.

He pushes him back to the wall, not breaking the kiss and Dejan gasps. Somewhere in the process, Luka bit his lip and all Dejan can taste is the copperish taste of blood, and Luka. And he gets lost in the feeling of Luka kissing him, until, as abruptly as it started, the kiss ends.

Both of them are breathing heavily as they stare at each other, and it's hard to say which one of them is more shocked by Luka's decision.

"This is a bad idea." Luka says, looking away.

"Probably."

Dejan traces Luka's bottom lip with his thumb and Luka shivers.

"Then again, it seems like today is a day made for bad decisions."

Luka looks up to him, both amused and experated. He shakes his head a bit and sighs.

"Oh to hell with it."

And with that, Dejan is pulled into another bruising kiss and soon enough, Luka is tugging at his shirt. Dejan had to backtrack a bit there.

"Are you sure about this?"

Luka rolled his eyes as he tossed Dejan's shirt to the floor and leaned against his chest. He gently put his hand over Dejan's heart and blood rushed to Dejan's face as he realized how fast it was beating.

"Well you said today is the day for doing bad decisions and you are the stupidest thing in the room so..."

Dejan laughed, hiding his face in Luka's shoulder. "Well at least I was not stupid enough to ruin the moment."

"Oh, shut up," Luka said, kissing him again.

And Dejan really didn't talk for quite some time after that.

Luka was slowly tracing the tattoo on his arm with his fingertips and Dejan knew that could easily lull him to sleep. He was starting to feel the ache in his muscles from the game, now that the adrenaline wore off. However, they still needed to talk about this.

"So now, before you tell me this shouldn't have happened and that you are the captain and as such you should be objective, and kick me out-"

"I wasn't going to do that!" Luka interrupted, shooting him a glare.

Dejan raised his eyebrows.

"Oh fine!" Luka nervously tugged at his hair, "I thought about it, but we both know you'd be too stubborn to actually listen, so it's pointless isn't it?"

Dejan flashed him a grin and pulled him closer.

"Correct."

Luka huffed, pretending to be angry, which he ruined with affectionately kissing Dejan's jaw.

That is, however, before he turned serious, looking up at Dejan’s strong features with an expression with a fond sadness.

"I didn't mean those things I said earlier. I mean...you are an idiot for getting a yellow because of arguing but you didn't deserve me yelling at you the way I did. I’m sorry."

Dejan shrugged, carefully avoiding Luka's piercing gaze by playing with his hair.

"It's alright. I mean you weren't wrong with anything you said."

Luka sighed, shifting a bit away so he could catch Dejan's gaze. Dejan felt trapped, terrified of Luka reading through him and desperately wanting him to do so. Caught between those two clashing wishes, he couldn't look away.

"You know you are allowed to show you are hurt in front of me, right?"

Dejan forced a laugh, and rolled his eyes at Luka, who didn't look impressed in the slightest.

"Oh com'on Lukita! If someone is hurt here that's, you. I was so scared when that guy fouled you..."

"I didn't mean physically hurt. At least not only that." Luka interrupted his rambling, and Dejan lowered his gaze on his hands, fidgeting.

Luka didn't say anything for a moment, as if he was debating something. He leaned in and kissed Dejan again, but unlike their previous kisses, this one was slow, and comforting in a way.

When they pulled away, Luka had a thoughtful look on his face. Dejan really wasn't about to ask, because if silence stretched long enough, maybe Luka will drop the topic.

"I kind of knew that this," Luka gesticulated at the space between them, "would happen eventually."

Dejan stared at him for a moment, trying to understand where exactly Luka was going with this.

"I knew I had feelings for you and, while I like to think I would be able to say no if I thought that was for the best, the more time passed, the more I realized you were a weak spot for me."

Luka played with his hair, obviously nervous about telling him all this, but continued.

"And I know you don't like him but Sergio helped me deal with my feelings once I actually talked about them. Which is why I am telling you this. Because I trust you and I wish you'd trust me with talking to me too, even though I won't force you."

Dejan dropped his head onto Luka's shoulder, hiding his face in his hair. Luka let him have a moment, gently stroking the nape of his neck.

Maybe it was because of how perfect the moment was, or maybe the realization that if Dejan really didn't want to talk, Luka wouldn't force him to, but Dejan realized he also had something to say, and he was no longer afraid to say it.

"It's just that...I feel like I can never do the right thing in the moment where I need to make a split decision. I envy you with how you control your feelings and objectively look at everything but I can't do that and I'm just..."

Dejan ruffled his hair, searching for the right words. Luka put his hands over his and squeezed it in silent reassurance.

I'm just scared that one day I will cross the line of things that should never be done and I will be done for. And you will be done with me."

Dejan heard Luka's sharp intake of breath but he didn't look up. He wasn't ready to face Luka's eyes peering into his soul just yet.

But Luka was having none of that, and he lifted his chin before kissing him. His lips were insistent and he continued kissing him until they were both breathless.

When he finally did pull away he immediately caught Dejan's gaze, those amber eyes burning, burning down whatever remained of the wall Dejan had built when he first fell for the beautiful man in front of him. Suddenly, his face flushed as he realised he’d once again gotten a little too lost in those eyes, but the embarrassment was soon replaced by a warm contentment spreading through his chest into his stomach as he realised he never again had to worry about Luka noticing.

"I don't always control my feelings,” said Luka, breaking through Dejan’s train of thought.

“I wish it was that easy. And I admire how passionate you are about things you care about. So yes, maybe you are reckless sometimes, but", Luka put his hand over Dejan's heart, which picked up its beat, "that's because you care. Sometimes it may seem like too much but it's never a bad thing. Never. Okay?"

Dejan nodded, not finding words good enough to express how he felt. He wished the beating of his heart under Luka's palm could speak. If they did, they would never stop for as long as he lived, and that's precisely how long he would be thankful Luka existed and, by some weird twist of events, actually felt the same way.

It didn't feel realistic, being this lucky. And since Dejan couldn't speak to express it all, he did the next best thing. He kissed his lover again and hoped it would be enough.

If he was lucky enough to have Luka for the rest of his lifetime, maybe he’d eventually find the words he so desperately needed. Until then, he would just have to make sure Luka falls asleep to the beating of his heart and somehow gets at least a piece of message he wanted to give.

I love you. That would be enough for now.

Taglist:

@lovren-la-vida-luka

@mvsicbookfrxndom

@kjldrv

@igecko1320

@lovrenfc

@sad-forest

@roseszymczak

@snakesandcherries

@domo-no-domo-yes

@asensihoe

@mrsmodric

@lukamodrix

@zadarskabagudina

@tinymodric

@childsmokers

@buttlyfly

@flemishyugotalian

@living-lovren

@arduango

@winters-chiid

@modrickrama

@thelobster41

#croatia nt #luka modric #dejan lovren #long post

19 notes · View notes

girlwithaheadamongclouds · 5 years

Text

I got tagged by @vintagesimstress. Dzięki Ania! I haven’t done it in a while so here it goes.

Rules: answer 21 questions, then tag 21 people you want to get to know better.

Nickname: I never had one. My name is quite short so maybe that’s why?

Zodiac: Leo

Height: between 155 and 160 cm

Last thing searched: ts4cc lol

Favourite musicians: I’m too old to fangirl over singers or bands. I mostly listen to whatever’s on the radio or on my ipod playlists. I used to love rock, metal or punk but I’ve never been a part of any subculture. However, I do have a soft spot for Linking Park, Korn, Metallica, Slipknot, etc. I also love listening to classical music, good soundtracks from movies, tv shows, games and even Bollywood, and wrestling themes. And I could listen to anyone with a good English accent forever. Oh, and Lana del Ray.

If you had a time machine, would you go back in time or visit the future? Being born in the wrong era is the story of my life. I’d go back in time to see all of my favourite historical figures and then I could die happily.

Do I get asks? I used to. Now, I’m scarcely even here.

Following : 391 people

Would you rather be rich or famous? Rich. I’d love to build myself a castle and live there peacefully. Fame is not for me.

Amount of sleep: Never enough.

What I’m wearing: Everything black. Although, I’m not an emo or a goth. I just like black a lot. And I’ve got lots of black clothes left from the two mourning periods that have happened during the last couple of years. Honestly, everything in my wardrobe is either black or all kinds of blue with rare green/purple/grey colour accents.

Dream job: I don’t have one and that’s why I’m never satisfied with what I do.

Dream trip: A tour around European castles, palaces, and royal gardens.

If you were an animal. What would you be? A dog, a horse or a bird. Preferably a bird cause it’s free and independent. A raven, maybe?

What are some of your favourite books/films/shows/games/etc.?

Books: I’m a bookworm. I love to read. Actually, I mostly read biographies of my favourite historical people. Aside from that, I read historical fiction, fantasy, horrors, and thrillers. I adore Agatha Christie and American gothic, so authors like E. A. Poe, Nathaniel Hawthorne. But I also love good old Shakespeare and his tragedies as well as modern drama, Chekhov, etc. And fanfiction. Who doesn’t read it? My favourite book is Mists of Avalon by Marion Zimmer Bradley. Honourable mentions go to: Crime and Punishment by Fyodor Dostoyevsky; A Song of Ice and Fire series by George R. R. Martin, A Sword of Truth series by Terry Goodkind and Gone with the Wind by Margaret Mitchell.

Films: There are so many so I’ll name those I feel most nostalgic about: Gone with the Wind (1939); Ivanhoe (1952); Sleeping Beauty (1959 animated); Anne of the Thousand Days (1969); Sissi (1955); Trędowata (1976); Noce i dnie (1975); Clash of the Titans (1981); Steel Magnolias (1989); Dracula (1992); The Swan Princess (1994 animated); Braveheart (1995); Jumanji (1995); Dilwale Dulhania Le Jayenge (1995); Matilda (1996); Anastasia (1997 animated); Practical Magic (1998); The Parent Trap (1998); Kuch Kuch Hota Hai (1998); Crouching Tiger Hidden Dragon (2000); Gladiator (2000); Kabhie Khushi Kabhie Gham (2001); The Fast and The Furious (2001); Troy (2004); Van Helsing (2004); Kingdom of heaven (2005); Casino Royal (2006); 300 (2006); Pan’s Labyrinth (2006); The Wolfman (2010); Sicario (2015).

Shows: I mostly watch everything historical, Game of Thrones, Legend of the Seeker or vampires and zombies. No comedies, doctors or layer dramas. For anyone interested in historical tv series, I’ll try to list them periodically: Tut (miniseries 2015)Hercules; The legendary journeys (1995-1999); Xena Warrior Princess (1995-2001); ROME (2005-2007); Starz’s Spartacus (2010-2013); BBC’s Merlin (2008-2012); Camelot (2011); The Mists of Avalon (miniseries 2001); Viklngs (2013-2020); The Last Kingdom (2015-); The Pillars of the Earth (miniseries 2010); The Lion in Winter (TV movie 2003); BBC’s Robin Hood (2006-2009); World Without End (miniseries 2012); Labyrinth (miniseries 2012); Marco Polo (2014-2016); The Hollow Crown (miniseries 2012); Medici: Masters of Florence (2016-); Da Vinci’s Demons (2013-2015);The Borgias (2011-2013); Borgia (2011-2014); The White Queen (miniseries 2012); The White Princess (miniseries 2017); The Spanish Princess (miniseries 2019); The Tudors (2007-2010); Reign (2013-2017); Muhteşem Yüzyıl aka The Magnificent Century (2011-2014); Muhtesem Yüzyıl: Kösem aka The Magnificent Centuruy: Kösem (2015-2017); Versailles (2015-2018); Black Sails (2014-2017); Outlander (2014-); The Frontier (2016-); Крепостная aka Love in Chains 2019); Poldark (2015-2019); Victoria (2016-); Ripper Street (2012-2016); Penny Dreadful (2014-2016); Dracula (2013-2014); The Crown (2016-)

Games: TS4; Crusader Kings II; Hitman; Tomb Raider games; Assassin’s Creed games; God of War games and The Last of Us.

Play any instruments? Unfortunately, no. ;-(

Language(s): Native: Polish; Second: English; The rest: Russian, Spanish and Latin. Self-learning: Hindi and Turkish

Describe yourself as aesthetic: …”A solitary maiden whose only friends are dogs, flowers and her companions-books”

I TAG @sifixcc, @theroyalsims, @pandorasimbox, @kellymarie69, @miraraeblog whose yt royal series is my fav pastime nowadays and anybody else who’d like to participate :)

#21tag #about me #sifixcc #theroyalsims #pandorasimbox #kellymarie69 #mirareablog

3 notes · View notes

elcinelateleymickyandonie · 3 years

Text

TERESA WRIGHT.

Filmography

• 1941 The Little Foxes

• 1942 Mrs. Miniver

• 1942 The Pride of the Yankees

• 1943 Shadow of a Doubt

• 1944 Casanova Brown

• 1946 The Best Years of Our Lives

• 1947 Pursued

• 1947 The Imperfect Lady

• 1947 The Trouble with Women

• 1948 Enchantment

• 1950 The Capture

• 1950 The Men

• 1952 Something to Live For

• 1952 California Conquest

• 1952 The Steel Trap

• 1953 Count the Hours

• 1953 The Actress

• 1954 Track of the Cat

• 1956 The Search for Bridey Murphy

• 1957 Escapade in Japan

• 1958 The Restless Years

• 1964 The Alfred Hitchcock Hour

• 1964 Bonanza

• 1969 Hail, Hero!

• 1969 The Happy Ending

• 1972 Crawlspace

• 1974 The Elevator

• 1976 Flood!

• 1977 Roseland

• 1980 Somewhere in Time

• 1983 Bill: On His Own

• 1987 The Fig Tree

• 1988 The Good Mother

• 1990 Perry Mason: The Case of the Desperate Deception

• 1993 The Red Coat

• 1997 The Rainmaker

Créditos tomados de Wikipedia:

https://es.wikipedia.org/wiki/Teresa_Wright

0 notes

mercedesitatimolina · 4 years

Text

Journal # 6 Architecture

1. Picture - Architectural Design – Art Deco

Wisconsin Gas Light Building 626 E Wisconsin Ave, Milwaukee WI Eschweiler & Eschweiler Built in 1930

This 20-story Art Deco skyscraper has a stepped-back, ziggurat-shaped form. It is decorated with brick patterns, terracotta designs, and organic foliage patterns. The flame at the top predicts the weather with signals in red, gold, or blue neon tubes

Source: Web page created by Mary Ann Sullivan with Art History Webmasters Association https://homepages.bluffton.edu/~sullivanm/wisconsin/milwaukee/gas/eschweiler.html

2. Notes - Architectural Design – Romanesque Revival and Gothic Revival

Our Savior’s Lutheran, 1952 3022 West Wisconsin Ave Architect: Hugo Haeuser Our Saviour’s Lutheran is a transitional church design. The building form and proportions are similar to other Romanesque Revival and Gothic Revival churches. The walls lack of ornaments, the design is simplified and modern in appearance. The main feature of the building is a high-relief sculpture of “The Inviting Christ” above the entrance door. The interior of the building is tall and relatively narrow with vaulted ceiling and axial orientation, contemporary and modern design, with the structural concrete. Source: Architecture of Faith website http://architectureoffaithmilwaukee.info/V-Modernism/61-Our-Saviors-Lutheran.aspx

3. Picture – Architectural Design – Renaissance/Baroque

St. Josephat’s Catholic Basilica, 1897 601 W Lincoln Ave, Milwaukee Architects: Erhard Brielmaier and Sons

Richly ornamented walls, ceiling vaults, and colossal dome. Among pre-World War II buildings in Wisconsin. Inspired by St. Peter’s Basilica in Rome, a Renaissance/Baroque church constructed in the sixteenth and early seventeenth centuries. It has a gold cross that surmounts the dome. The dome is framed in structural steel for the construction of a large dome. Sources: Architecture of Faith website http://architectureoffaithmilwaukee.info/I-Classical-Tradition/6-St-Josaphats-Catholic-Basilica.aspx

4. Picture - Architectural Design – Modernist

War Memorial Center 750 N Lincoln Memorial Dr, Milwaukee

The War Memorial Center, completed in 1957, was designed by Finnish-American architect Eero Saarinen to create a new home for two previously separate art collections and a veterans’ memorial. The modernist building is shaped like a floating cross, with wings cantilevered from a central base. Saarinen’s innovative design won praise for its dramatic use of space. Eero Saarinen’s innovative design for the War Memorial Center was influenced by the abstract geometry of modern French architect Le Corbusier. Saarinen incorporated many of Le Corbusier’s ideas: lifting the bulk of a building off the ground on reinforced columns; eliminating load-bearing walls to allow a freeform façade and open floor plan; and using plazas, courtyards, and rooftop terraces to allow an interaction between internal and external spaces. Source: Milwaukee Art Museum website https://mam.org/info/details/war-memorial.php

5. Sketch – Architectural Design – Moorish Revival and Indian Elements. Moorish Architecture style also called “Western Islamic architecture”

Tripoli Shrine Center

3000 W Wisconsin ave, Milwaukee, WI Completed in 1928. Ornate interior, trappings & fixtures. Moorish Revival and Indian elements designs. An architectural replica of India’s Taj Mahal with an ornate interior, including stunning mosaics and original art and furniture, this landmark was built in 1928 and remains the home of Milwaukee’s Shriners International. Its entrance has a wide pointed arch, the roof has a wide yellow dome with light blue decorative paint. Source: Visit Milwaukee website https://www.visitmilwaukee.org/partners/tripoli-shrine-center-1108/

6 – Notes – Architectural Design – France Second Empire Style

Name of the building: The Mitchell Building Architect: Edward Townsend Mix Address: 207 E. Michigan St. Milwaukee Year built: 1876 In 1875 Mitchell asked Edward Townsend Mix to design new quarters for the organization. Mix chose to employ a bold, flamboyant style made popular in mid-19th-century, and his works were characterized by profuse decorative detail, projecting pavilions, and mansard roofs. By 1876 Mix was well known on the Milwaukee architectural field. Decorative details included in his work are iron cresting on the roof, heavily bracketed cornices, quoins, and the general effect is monumental and ornate, appropriate to the style’s Napoleonic roots. Second Empire residences often had a simple box form, square or rectangular, and highly symmetrical. Source: Urban Milwaukee website https://urbanmilwaukee.com/building/mitchell-building/

7. Notes – Architectural Design – Victorian/Italian Renaissance Style Name of the building: Mackie Building Address: 225 E. Michigan St Milwaukee Year built: 1879 Also known as the Chamber of Commerce, the building is a Victorian landmark built in 1879 to house what was once the world’s largest grain exchange. The Italian Renaissance-style space is rich with frescoes, stained glass, columns, arches, and carvings. Gargoyles guard each corner of the bell tower atop the building. The Grain Exchange, located in downtown Milwaukee, features soaring ceilings, beautiful granite, limestone, and sandstone, and is described, architecturally, as simple Italian. The room radiates the elegance and grandeur of a bygone era, and our expertise in food and hospitality present a partnership that will create a memorable event for even the most discriminating critic. Source: The Grain Exchange Historic Milwaukee Event Venue https://www.bartolottas.com/catering/venues/grain-exchange

8. Sketch – Architectural Design – Neo Renaissance/Renaissance Revival

Milwaukee Public Library

Address: 814. W Wisconsin Ave Milwaukee Architects: Ferry & Clas Established in 1978 First opened in 1898, this imposing structure is a combination of French and Italian Renaissance styles, built of Bedford limestone and featuring a hand-carved limestone staircase. An official Milwaukee Landmark and listed on the National Register of Historic Places, the original 1898 building was designed by architects Ferry & Clas in the Beaux Arts style. It features a spectacular rotunda dome and mosaic floor and interior highlights in oak, mahogany, and marble. Source: Visit Milwaukee website https://www.visitmilwaukee.org/partners/milwaukee-public-library-320/

9. Notes – Architectural Design – Gothic St. Joan of Arc Chapel on Marquette University 1442 W. Wisconsin Ave Milwaukee

Design elements are pointed arches and windows. Stein, painted, decorated glass on windows Believed to be the oldest medieval structure in the Western Hemisphere dedicated to its original purpose, this chapel stood for more than 500 years as part of a French estate and was moved to the U.S. stone- by-stone in the 1920s and to the Marquette University campus in the 1960s. Legend has it that Joan of Arc prayed before the early Gothic altar and kissed the stone where she stood, and that stone has forever remained colder than those that surround it. 15th-century chapel was originally in France and later reconstructed on the campus 1965

Source: Visit Milwaukee website https://www.visitmilwaukee.org/partners/st-joan-of-arc-chapel-1160/

10. Picture – Architectural Design – Post and Post Modernism

The Quadracci Pavilion at the Milwaukee Art Museum Address: 700 N Art Museum Drive, Milwaukee. Added to the existing building in 2001

The iconic sculptural addition to the Milwaukee Art Museum was designed by the Spanish architect Santiago Calatrava. Highlights of the building, completed in 2001, are the magnificent cathedral-like space of Windhover Hall, with a vaulted a 90-foot-high glass ceiling; the Burke Brise Soleil, a moveable sunscreen with a 217-foot wingspan that unfolds and folds twice daily; and the Reiman Bridge, a pedestrian suspension bridge that connects the Museum to the city.

Design elements are the resemblance of a sail boat, functional (control the level of light), iconic (creates a memorable image for the Museum and the city). According to Santiago Calatrava the structure responds to the culture of the lake: “the sailboats, the weather, the sense of motion and change”.

Source: MAM.org website https://mam.org/info/details/quadracci.php

0 notes

project1939 · 5 months

Text

100+ Films of 1952

Film number 111: Steel Town

Release date: May 9th, 1952

Studio: Universal

Genre: drama

Director: George Sherman

Producer: Leonard Goldstein, Ross Hunter

Actors: Ann Sheridan, John Lund, Howard Duff

Plot Summary: Steve Kostane will soon take over the family steel mill and decides to get to know it from the bottom up. He meets a gorgeous redhead, discovers she has a boyfriend, and determines to win her love anyway.

My Rating (out of five stars): ***

This is described as a “noir,” so that’s what I was expecting. I was surprised to find it was more of a light drama set against the backdrop of a steel mill. Even its look defied expectation- are there any Technicolor noirs? The plot was fairly slight, but it’s still basically enjoyable to watch. (Some spoilers)

The Good:

Ann Sheridan. Her distinctive voice is deep and rich and makes me melt. She is strikingly beautiful, but she also has an appealing toughness; she won't take any shit from people. She can push away any man with a deliciously silly line like- “Why don’t you try that glass slipper on someone else- my tootsies are much too large.” !!!

Seeing the minutia of working in a steel mill was kind of cool.

Howard Duff. He played the second romantic lead, and I wish Sheridan had chosen HIM rather than the other guy.

I enjoyed the scenes in Red’s (Sheridan’s) Diner the most. They were colorful and fun.

Nancy Kulp (from The Bevery Hillbillies and The Parent Trap) had a small role as a waitress, and she was cute and funny. She also got to play a more traditionally feminine character for once. (She was fairly open about being a lesbian in real life, which is awesome.)

The rescue scene in the steel mill near the end was pretty thrilling.

The mom’s introduction was hilariously random- she was lying on the roof of her house trying to adjust her TV antenna!

This moment from the autogenerated subtitles: Red said, “I’m a regular Florence Nightingale!” and it got translated to, “I’m a regular farts Nightingale!”

The Bad:

John Lund’s character (and the actor himself, really). I despised Steve- he was repulsively sexually aggressive and little else. I didn’t find John Lund charming enough to offset that.

I hated that Red ended up with him! Why??

Sometimes there was a little too much steel making stuff. It felt almost like a documentary at one point, and the plot came to a virtual standstill for a few minutes.

And speaking of the plot... it was pretty thin. "Boy works in a steel mill, meets a girl, and woos her away from her current boyfriend." There were no high stakes until the very end.

A smaller thing, I know, but... why did Red’s family just give her bedroom to Steve? If my parents took in a lodger and kicked me out of my own bedroom so he could have it, I would be furious!

Going in and expecting a noir, when it wasn’t. No crime, no moral ambiguity, no complicated heroes, no cynicism, no dark and shadowy aesthetic... kind of a disappointment.

#1952 #1952 movies #100 films of 1952 #ann sheridan #200 films of 1952 #200 films of 1952 film 111

0 notes

gatutor · 3 years

Text

Joseph Cotten-Teresa Wright "Trampa de acero" (The steel trap) 1952, de Andrew L. Stone.

#Teresa Wright #Joseph Cotten #Andrew L. Stone

9 notes · View notes

hayscodeviolation · 7 months

Text

THE STEEL TRAP (1952) dir. Andrew L. Stone

#the steel trap #teresa wright #*

9 notes · View notes

syrduav · 7 years

Text

My 15 favorite books

I made a Top 15 of my favorite books and explained why. They are listed as they came to my mind.

1. Dancing on our Turtle's Back (Leanne Simpson, 2011)

With this book, Leanne Simpson shows a path towards an Indigenous resurgence. She does it by exploring the philosophical thoughts and sociopolitical theories of her people, for instance, through the study of the etymology and epistemology behind words, intergenerational meanings associated with Creation stories and systems of governance such as breastfeeding as a treaty, that I quoted in my earlier post Allaiter, un acte de résurgence. This book got me into thinking about how can we (e.g. Les Québécois) resurge? How are we infected by colonialism? How do we clean ourselves from it? How do we update and live our ancestors’ ways of seeing and being in the world? This is the reason why I started to focus more on my positionality and on my own family story. It’s something I’ve been reflecting on after reading the impacting article Decolonization is not a metaphor and Vine Deloria Jr’s Custer Died for your Sins.

2. A People's History of the United States [Une Histoire Populaire des États-Unis] (Howard Zinn, 1980)

Take a look at this video, and you’ll get why it came right away. It’s inspiring as it exposes the development of settler colonialism and imperialism in the US.

youtube

I simultaneously read Zinn’s short autobiography You Can't Be Neutral on a Moving Train: A Personal History of Our Times. He is such an inspiration for me as a person, as an engaged researcher, an organic professor, and a militant.

3. Les Damnés de la Terre [The Wretched of the Earth, Los condenados de la tierra] (Frantz Fanon, 1961)

I highly recommend this book to activists and engaged researchers. He’s the heart of national liberation or decolonizing thinking. Frantz Fanon is a psychiatrist from Martinique who participated in the National Liberation Front of Algeria at the of the 1950′s. He died from Leukemia in 1961. He left a great legacy as an analyst of the pervasive grips of colonialism on our minds and of its traps as it intertwines with nationalism (fabricated by the national bourgeoisie). He also exposes results from his work with patients who’s colonial violence experiences are reflected in their tensed and muscular dreams. If there is something i always recall from that book, is that according to Fanon, you see people’s decolonization as they recreate themselves, through arts for instance. I see it as the beginning of the resurgence process. Like me, Fanon was very skeptical of the uses of history in national liberation processes.

4. Settler Sovereignty (Lisa Ford, 2010)

Comparing “settler colonialism” in Georgia and New South Wales, Lisa Ford reflects on how settlers (I would also say colonizers) consolidate their sovereignty on the Indigenous lands and peoples through state building. It’s close to what I have been researching in Uruguay by putting together colonialism, capitalism, and nationalism.

5. Red Skin, White Mask (Glenn Coulthard, 2014)

I have to say I was first attracted by the title but was rapidly aligned with Coulthard. In his work, he focuses on colonialism and capitalism as interdependent socioeconomic phenomenon. He also takes a look at the “Identity Politics” in Canada by exploring the relationships between his people, the Diné, and the government of Canada.

6. Peau noire, masque blanc [Black Skin White Masks, Piel negra, máscara blanca] (Frantz Fanon, 1952)

Here Fanon explores how colonial thought influences relationships, intimacy and interbreeding among people who’s gender and skin color vary. He takes his own experiences in Martinique as a sample, then in France as he was studying to become a psychiatrist. He suddenly realized how Black people were “surdéterminés de l’extérieur” (”overdetermination from the outside”).

7. The Autobiography of Malcolm X [L'autobiographie de Malcolm X] (1992)

Malcolm X or Malek El-Shabazz deeply impacted the Black Power Movement with its incisive critiques of US colonialism, racism, and imperialism. He made me conscious of the importance to be open-minded and humble so to change my perspectives and ways of being since it is necessary for becoming “righteous” or coherent with our vision of the world. I like X because he not only puts emphasis on decolonization as a public struggle but also as an inner collective and personal process.

8. Thérèse Raquin (Émile Zola, 1867)

It’s funny how we sometimes refuse to do something because we “have to”, no? We’ll I’m a bit like that. I had to read this book in College (Cégep) in a Literature class, but only read it completely years later. Zola impulses naturalism as a literary movement. He not only shows how the ambiance is or feels like but also how people’s mind is distorted and what they are willing to do for freedom and love. I can re-read this book on and on.

9. The Dispossessed [Les Dépossédés, Los desposeÃdos] (Ursula K. Le Guin, 1974)

I was introduced to Le Guin at the ls Librairie lâInsoumise, an anarchist bookstore on Saint-Laurent in MontrÃ©al. I was looking for a political science fiction book. In The Dispossessed, she shows us what an anarchist setting could look like and she sometimes highlights it through its interaction with a capitalist one. Sheâll make you dream and think of âdecolonial loveâ, relationships and knowledge. This is the kind of book that impacts your political walk of life, how you will, later on, deal with decision making and relationships.

10. The Caves of Steel [Les Cavernes d'acier, Las bÃ³vedas de acero] (Isaac Asimov, 1954)

Asimov and his sÃ©rie Foundation is about human relationships with robots. The Caves of Steel is about the necessary filiation of a human from the earth and a robot detective to investigate the murder of a detective on a planet where professionals once got to migrate in order to save their lives. I like this book because he made me think of our relationships with technological developments and to go beyond appearance.

11. Caliban and the Witch: Women, the Body and Primitive Accumulation (Silvia Federici, 2004)

I met Silvia Federici at the 2017 Anarchist Bookfair in MontrÃ©al. It was love at first sight. But I first got to know her through a Charrua friend who dug the relationships of Indigenous women and colonialism. Federici explores how capitalism separated men and women as a subaltern unit and dispossessed women from their political power in order to commodify land and work. To do this, she investigates witch hunting in Europe. It was quite relevant to me as most Charrua women I met during my fieldwork were descendants of midwives and healers... and I descend from voodoo and tarot practitioners. Her work associates well with the Indigenous feminism movement and its stance on colonial traditionalism.

youtube

12. WasÃ¡se. Indigenous Pathways of Action and Freedom (Taiaiake Alfred, 2005)

Alfred introduced me with Peace, Power, and Righteousness to the Indigenous resurgence movement and how to contribute as an âorganic intellectualâ to remove consent to the system that oppresses us. I like WasÃ¡se, the warriorâs dance because it offers us a path to a resurgence that works through cleaning our inner self, reconsolidating relationships within our collective and confronting oppressive external powers according to our own philosophical principles and as a political unity. Itâs quite similar to what Malcolm X was advocating for. Alfred does so by exploring individualsâ path to resurgence and the possibilities of being autonomous towards colonial powers.

This one can to my mind because Escolar shows how settler colonialism and nationalism affect our settler and Indigenous minds in seeing and living an Indigenous present.Escolar does so by exposing Indigenous oral histories and settler colonial archives in the light of the return of supposed Indigenous extinct groups in Argentina.

14. Roots of Resistance. A history of Land Tenure in New Mexico (Roxanne Dunbar-Ortiz, 1980)

This is a brilliant book if you want to know the history of the south of the United States, you know where Trump is building his fence. Dunbar-Ortiz looks at an Indigenous territory that has been colonized by multiple interests and empires through time and how its Indigenous peoples were used to protect foreign sovereignties, but also how they resisted to colonialism.

15. Little Red Book, Petit livre rouge, Libro Rojo] (Mao Tsedong, 1964)

I think Mao ended up here because I had the Black Panthers Party in mind. Iâm not a Maoist, but I am curious. This book, along with The Wretched of the Earth, put up the table for national liberation movements in the 1960â²s by advocating for an armed and cultural revolution. The 1960â²s are the golden era of activism.

2 notes · View notes