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blackwoolncrown · 4 years ago

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For the past few days, a heatwave has glowered over the Pacific Northwest, forcing temperatures in the region to a record-breaking 118ºF. Few people in the region—neither Americans nor Canadians—have air-conditioning. Stores sold out of new AC units in hours as a panicked public sought a reasonable solution to the emergency. Unfortunately, air-conditioning is part of what’s causing the unusual heatwave in the first place.

We came close to destroying all life on Earth during the Cold War, with the threat of nuclear annihilation. But we may have come even closer during the cooling war, when the rising number of Americans with air conditioners—and a refrigerant industry that fought regulation—nearly obliterated the ozone layer. We avoided that environmental catastrophe, but the fundamental problem of air conditioning has never really been resolved.

Mechanical cooling appeared in the early 1900s not for comfort but for business. In manufacturing, the regulation of temperature��“process cooling”—controlled the quality of commodities like cotton, tobacco, and chewing gum. In 1903, Alfred Wolff installed the first cooling system for people at the New York Stock Exchange because comfortable traders yielded considerably higher stock returns. Only in the ’20s did “commercial cooling” appear. On Memorial Day weekend 1925, Willis Carrier debuted the first centrifugal air-conditioning system at the Rivoli Theater in Midtown Manhattan. Previously, theaters had shut down in the summer. With air-conditioning, the Rivoli became “the talk of Broadway” and inaugurated the summer blockbuster.

-another direct tie to capitalism. Everything born out of colonio-capitalism carries its toxic mark. Article totally not under the cut for those who can’t pay for Time. It honestly paints a really clear picture of the situation. Bolding mine.-

“It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.“

Before World War II, almost no one had air-conditioning at home. Besides being financially impractical and culturally odd, it was also dangerous. Chemical refrigerants like sulfur dioxide and methyl chloride filled most fridges and coolers, and leaks could kill a child, poison a hospital floor, even blow up a basement. Everything changed with the invention of Freon in 1928. Non-toxic and non-explosive, Freon was hailed as a “miracle.” It made the modernist skyscraper—with its sealed windows and heat-absorbing materials—possible. It made living in the desert possible. The small, winter resort of Phoenix, Arizona, became a year-round attraction. Architecture could now ignore the local climate. Anywhere could be 65ºF with 55% humidity. Cheap materials made boxy, suburban tract housing affordable to most Americans, but the sealed-up, stifling design of these homes required air-conditioning to keep the heat at bay. Quickly, air-conditioning transitioned from a luxury to a necessity. By 1980, more than half of all U.S. homes were air-conditioned. And despite millions of Black Americans fleeing the violence of Jim Crow, the South saw greater in-migration than out-migration for the first time—a direct result of AC. The American car was similarly transformed. In 1955, only 10 percent of American cars had air-conditioning. Thirty years later, it came standard.

The cooling boom also altered the way we work. Now, Americans could work anywhere at any hour of the day. Early ads for air-conditioning promised not health or comfort but productivity. The workday could proceed no matter the season or the climate. Even in the home, A/C brought comfort as a means to rest up before the next work day.

The use of air-conditioning was as symbolic as it was material. It conveyed class status. Who did and didn’t have air-conditioning often fell starkly along the color line, too, especially in the South. It conquered the weather and, with it, the need to sweat or squirm or lie down in the summer swelter. In that sense, air-conditioning allowed Americans to transcend their physical bodies, that long-sought fantasy of the Puritan settlers: to be in the world but not of it. Miracle, indeed.

But it came with a price. As it turned out, Freon isn’t exactly non-toxic. Freon is a chlorofluorocarbon (CFC), which depletes the ozone layer and also acts as a global warming gas. By 1974, the industrialized world was churning out CFCs, chemicals that had never appeared on the planet in any significant quantities, at a rate of one million metric tons a year—the equivalent mass of more than 500,000 cars. That was the year atmospheric chemists Sherry Rowland and Mario Molina first hypothesized that the chlorine molecules in CFCs might be destroying ozone in the stratosphere by bonding to free oxygen atoms and disrupting the atmosphere’s delicate chemistry. By then, CFCs were used not only as refrigerants but also as spray can propellants, manufacturing degreasers, and foam-blowing agents.

The ozone layer absorbs the worst of the sun’s ultraviolet radiation. Without stratospheric ozone, life as we know it is impossible. A 1 percent decline in the ozone layer’s thickness results in thousands of new cases of skin cancer. Greater depletion would lead to crop failures, the collapse of oceanic food systems, and, eventually, the destruction of all life on Earth.

In the 1980s, geophysicist Joseph Farman confirmed the Rowland-Molina hypothesis when he detected a near-absence of ozone over Antarctica—the “Ozone Hole.” A fierce battle ensued among industry, scientists, environmentalists, and politicians, but in 1987 the U.S signed the Montreal Protocol on Substances that Deplete the Ozone Layer, which ended Freon production.

The Montreal Protocol remains the world’s only successful international environmental treaty with legally binding emissions targets. Annual conferences to re-assess the goals of the treaty make it a living document, which is revised in light of up-to-date scientific data. For instance, the Montreal Protocol set out only to slow production of CFCs, but, by 1997, industrialized countries had stopped production entirely, far sooner than was thought possible. The world was saved through global cooperation.

The trouble is that the refrigerants replacing CFCs, hydrofluorocarbons (HFCs), turned out to be terrible for the planet, too. While they have an ozone-depleting potential of zero, they are potent greenhouse gases. They absorb infrared radiation from the sun and Earth and block heat that normally escapes into outer space. Carbon dioxide and methane do this too, but HFCs trap heat at rates thousands of times higher. Although the number of refrigerant molecules in the atmosphere is far fewer than those of other greenhouse gases, their destructive force, molecule for molecule, is far greater.

In three decades, the production of HFCs grew exponentially. Today, HFCs provide the cooling power to almost any air conditioner in the home, in the office, in the supermarket, or in the car. They cool vaccines, blood for transfusions, and temperature-sensitive medications, as well as the data processors and computer servers that make up the internet—everything from the cloud to blockchains. In 2019, annual global warming emissions from HFCs were the equivalent of 175 million metric tons of carbon dioxide.

In May, the EPA signaled it will begin phasing down HFCs and replacing them with more climate-friendly alternatives. Experts agree that a swift end to HFCs could prevent as much as 0.5ºC of warming over the next century—a third of the way to the goals of the Paris Climate Agreement.

Yet regardless of the refrigerant used, cooling still requires energy. According to the U.S. Energy Information Administration, air-conditioning accounts for nearly a fifth of annual U.S. residential electricity use. This is more energy for cooling overall and per capita than in any other nation. Most Americans consider the cost of energy only in terms of their electricity bills. But it’s also costing us the planet. Joe Biden’s announcement to shift toward a renewable energy infrastructure obscures the uncertainty of whether that infrastructure could meet Americans’ outrageously high energy demand—much of it for cooling that doesn’t save lives. Renewable energy infrastructure can take us only so far. The rest of the work is cultural. From Freon to HFCs, we keep replacing chemical refrigerants without taking a hard look at why we’re cooling in the first place.

Comfort cooling began not as a survival strategy but as a business venture. It still carries all those symbolic meanings, though its currency now works globally, cleaving the world into civilized cooling and barbaric heat. Despite what we assume, as a means of weathering a heat wave, individual air-conditioning is terribly ineffective. It works only for those who can afford it. But even then, their use in urban areas only makes the surrounding micro-climate hotter, sometimes by a factor of 10ºF, actively threatening the lives of those who don’t have access to cooling. (The sociologist Eric Klinenberg has brilliantly studied how, in a 1995 Chicago heat wave, about twice as many people died than in a comparable heat wave forty years earlier due to the city’s neglect of certain neighborhoods and social infrastructure.) Ironically, research suggests that exposure to constant air-conditioning can prevent our bodies from acclimatizing to hot weather, so those who subject themselves to “thermal monotony” are, in the end, making themselves more vulnerable to heat-related illness.

And, of course, air-conditioning only works when you have the electricity to power it. During heatwaves, when air-conditioning is needed most, blackouts are frequent. On Sunday, with afternoon temperatures reaching 112ºF around Portland, the power grid failed for more than 6,300 residences under control by Portland General Electrics.

The troubled history of air-conditioning suggests not that we chuck it entirely but that we focus on public cooling, on public comfort, rather than individual cooling, on individual comfort. Ensuring that the most vulnerable among the planet’s human inhabitants can keep cool through better access to public cooling centers, shade-giving trees, safe green spaces, water infrastructure to cool, and smart design will not only enrich our cities overall, it will lower the temperature for everyone. It’s far more efficient this way.

To do so, we’ll have to re-orient ourselves to the meaning of air-conditioning. And to comfort. Privatized air-conditioning survived the ozone crisis, but its power to separate—by class, by race, by nation, by ability—has survived, too. Comfort for some comes at the expense of the life on this planet.

It’s time we become more comfortable with discomfort. Our survival may depend on it.

#ac #climate change #climate crisis #eco #environment #comfort #articles #to read

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littlemisspascal · 5 years ago

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Death and an Angel

Helmetless + Death!Din and Female + Cupid!Reader.

Just a random idea that popped into my head. A little universe that’s a mixture of Mandalorian and my own made up AU. I don’t have anything planned or outlined following this, but if anyone wants it to continue I’m willing to add more.

Rating: G

Word Count: 1,100

Warnings: none I think except some light pining on the reader’s behalf, but this is my first writing post so let me know.

Part 2

Loosely based on this lovely photo:

You find Death at the train station’s entrance wearing a gray wool overcoat. He’s dressed as a civilian, but he exudes an air of power that has the few people out this late giving him a wide berth. Any onlooker would think he appears patient, expression neutral as he waits beneath the station’s lone working lamppost. You know him better than them though, catching the way he fiddles with his leather gloves, a bad and unmistakable omen. He’s restless tonight.

Adjusting your coat tighter around your body, you begin your approach, mentally bracing yourself for the upcoming conversation. This is the part of the job you hate the most, how unpredictable he can be, you think to yourself right as brown eyes lock onto you with the same intensity as an arrow to the chest. Swallowing against the sudden dryness in your throat, you steadily meet his gaze and pause at the edge of the circle of light, ready to disappear into the shadows if a hasty retreat is necessary. You know he’s aware of your nervousness by the way his mouth curls up in the faintest bit of a smirk, betraying his internal amusement. Irritation has you huffing out a sigh, cheeks warm against the winter chill. He’s insufferable. So smug and self-assured; a complete contrast to your...well, everything. Your bosses said you’d get used to his behavior, adapt to it the same as you would every other aspect of your job, but it’s been nearly a whole year of meeting him every full moon and you’re fully convinced they had been lying to you. The fact of the matter is this: Death is an asshole. A charming, unfairly attractive asshole who pushes every one of your buttons and makes you feel like you’re two seconds away from catching fire whenever he looks at you.

And yet, despite all that, you can’t commit yourself to requesting a transfer.

“There’s my favorite angel,” he greets, voice a unique mixture of smoke and honey. A siren call meant to seduce and lull unsuspecting victims into a false sense of peace. You stubbornly ignore the subsequent bloom of warmth unfurling deep inside your chest. It’s not a pet name, no matter how it sounds to any eavesdropper passing by or how much that tiny voice at the back of your mind wishes it were. He thinks he’s being cleverly funny, outing your designation as a Cupid without any mortal being the wiser. His sense of humor is twisted to say the least. “What do you want,” you reply flatly, not bothering with pleasantries as you adjust the beanie on top of your head, making sure it covers your ears. Your Cupid status protects you from illnesses, but it does little against the chilly air. “To see you, of course,” he says, unaffected by your gruffness. If anything, he looks even more amused. You pointedly look up to the night sky, noting the half sliver of moon hovering over your heads, before turning back to him with narrowed eyes. “If that’s all you wanted then you could have waited another week. I’m busy, Death, you can’t just—” “Din,” he cuts you off, so soft you nearly miss it. You blink. “What?” “You told me last time we met I needed a name, something you could call me when we’re in front of the humans. I thought I’d give it a try.” You remember that conversation. Of course you do, because he’d been quick to suggest you calling him ‘darling’ which nearly had you walking face first into a wall. You, wide-eyed and heart threatening to explode from your chest, had sputtered some excuse about workplace professionalism while he’d simply smiled back at you, that damn dimple of his on full display on his scruffy face. “So you picked...Din,” you finally say, your traitorous heartbeat spiking loud enough you worry he can hear it. It’s just a name. Three letters and not all that memorable considering how many thousands of names you deal with on a monthly basis. But the fact that he invented it for you, meant to be spoken by your lips alone, fills you with a rush of giddiness. You bite down harshly on your bottom lip to contain your smile, not wanting to make an utter fool of yourself. You clear your throat. “Ok, Din, tell me why I’m here. The truth this time, please.”

“It is the truth. I summoned you because I needed to speak with you. You’re the only one I trust with this matter,” Din says, and his blunt sincerity steals the breath from your lungs. His gaze falls to his hands as he fiddles with his gloves, looking oddly hesitant all of the sudden. It’s unnerving, to say the least, seeing Death resemble a child awaiting judgement from his peers. You’ve seen him kill people and reap their souls without hesitation, but never have you seen him appear so...lost. It’s only when his right glove comes off, revealing callused bronze skin, that you make sense of his behavior. “That’s a soulmate marking,” you blurt out dumbly. The black lines forming a heart in the center of his palm are unmistakable. The universe has declared Din ready to meet his one true match. Someone who will shake his hand and will make his whole world tilt on its axis and rain down stars. Someone who will love him unconditionally with every speck of their being.

Your fingers itch to reach out and touch the mark, but you fight the urge. Din has an aversion to physical contact. He does all he can to avoid anyone brushing their skin against him, innocently or not, by covering his body in layers. In his armor, there’s no chance of it, body covered head to toe behind impenetrable beskar steel, but when he comes to meet with you he dresses in long-sleeves and pants, desiring to blend in. Sometimes there’s a scarf around his neck, maybe a hat covering his fluffy brown curls, but one accessory that you can always count on to see is his favorite pair of leather gloves.

You guess that will have to change now that he has a soulmate to meet.

“In all my existence, this has never happened before,” he confesses, fingers curling into his palm self-consciously when you continue to stare.

Your eyes slowly drift up to lock with his, startled by the spark of determination you find burning within them.

“If anyone can find my soulmate,” Din says, voice unwavering and confident, “it’s you, angel.”

Din Djarin Taglist: @a-skov @pedrosbisch @stevie75 @quica-quica-quica @iamskyereads @banga-sama @dincrypt @ohlawdthebirds

#Din Djarin #Mandalorian #din x you #my writing #Pedro Pascal #death and an angel #soulmate au #din x reader #mandalorian x reader #pedro pascal character fanfiction #my fic #no beta we die like men #din djarin x you #din djarin x reader

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anistarrose · 4 years ago

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Summary: Winters running the Mystery Shack are difficult, but two unexpected guests improve Stan’s day.

Characters: Stan Pines, Mabel Pines, Dipper Pines, Ford Pines

Relationships: Mabel Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Stan Pines, Dipper Pines & Mabel Pines & Stan Pines

Happy Holidays, @halogalopaghost! I'm your Secret Santa, here to mash together a couple different prompts through the power of time travel (and Mabel)!

***

It doesn’t take Stan many years to learn that winter’s no good for the rural Oregon tourist business.

Granted, he can hardly blame the tourists — he has to drive on Gravity Falls roads himself, much to his disgust. Between the paved, plowed streets that always turn slick with ice where you least expect them, and the winding gravel roads that you might as well ignore when road and wilderness alike are under identical four-inch blankets of snow, he knows no gallery of fake haunted paintings or taxidermied coyote’s ass is worth the trip in these conditions.

He’s on his third winter in town, now — not counting the first, worst one he arrived at the tail end of — and if there’s a right way to run a business this time of year, he hasn’t found it yet. He always scrapes together just enough to pay his bills, thanks the occasional local who wanders over to purchase a seasonally appropriate if overpriced snow globe — but he’s lucky if he breaks even in December, and knows January through March are a lost cause before they begin. He’ll make it back within the next year, sometimes even before summer ends, but it stings to know he’s about to fail at his one goal for the next three to four months straight, and there’s nothing he can do to change it.

It might sting less if he had another way to spend these winters — if he had a good reason to formally close the Shack for a few months, like an experienced business owner making a grounded and responsible decision. But he can’t even search for Ford’s journals in this weather — he’s learned from his mistakes, his countless brushes with frostbite, throughout those cold, desperate months in the wake of the portal shutting down.

He’s useless right now, and worse, this season’s shaping up to be the bleakest yet. His usually-scammable neighbors have already lined their shelves with winter knicknacks from Mystery Shack visits past, and the bulk of Stan’s meager sales have come from shivering out-of-towners who’ve never tried to take a Pacific Northwest road trip in December before, and probably won’t be keen to try again.

What seasonal merchandise hasn’t he sold yet? Bumper stickers for miscellaneous holidays, maybe — but neither timely bumper stickers nor the usual selection of tchotchkes will convince people to visit the Shack in the first place, under these road conditions. He can’t even walk around selling merch door to door, for the same reason he can’t look for the other journals — he’d freeze to death, presuming he could make it through the snowdrifts to somewhere worth visiting in the first place. Even with snow chains on the Stanmobile’s tires and a bucket of salt in her trunk, grocery runs alone are perilous enough.

Damn it, Ford, he thinks, why couldn’t you have gone missing in Florida?

He could always do what he does best and lie, maybe — send out word that there’s free hot chocolate or something with every purchase at the Mystery Shack, and hope that people hand over their hard-earned cash before they pick up on the false advertising. He might draw in some local customers that way, and even if he loses their trust for the next few months, they always seem to forget about his cons eventually — as if he never scammed them, and they’ve never so much as heard the words caveat emptor.

He’s just about to dial the local paper’s number on the phone, hoping to flatter Toby into letting him run another ad for free, when he hears a telltale knock at the gift shop door. The bell atop that door doesn’t ring, which means that despite the hostile winds and snow they braved to get here, his visitors are still out loitering on the porch — or so Stan thinks for a moment, before it dawns on him that he doesn’t even remember unlocking the door this morning. He’d just been that pessimistic about even seeing a customer.

“Hello?” someone calls — a fairly young voice, probably approaching the tail end of puberty. “Are you there, uh…Mr. Mystery?”

“On my way!” Stan shouts, throwing on his fez and bolting for the door. His neighbors in Gravity Falls might forget and forgive a lot, but he doesn’t want to risk the wrath of a parent whose teenage kid froze to death on the local grifter’s doorstep, so he unlocks and flings open the door as fast as he can. “Welcome, travelers! Prepare to be baffled and bemused by our mind-boggling boreal mysteries, here at this last refuge at the edge of the Arctic we like to call the Cryptid Cabin!”

His visitor — no, his two visitors — both blink slowly, proving to at least be baffled, if nothing else. Both are bundled up in what Stan assumes to be several sheep worth of wool garments, lovingly knitted into sweaters, hats, and scarves.

“But you call this place the Mystery Shack,” the girl speaks up, and the boy nods.

“Yeah, and we’re nowhere near the Arctic! This is Oregon, not Alaska!”

Stan groans — the only customers he might see all week, and of course they’re teenagers. “Look, punks, business is slow these days! I’ve had a lot of time to think about a seasonal rebranding, and not a lot of chances to workshop it, alright?”

The teens’ expressions instantly soften, and the girl exclaims: “Well, you can workshop it with us!” She grabs the other kid — her brother? — by the hand, and pulls him into the gift shop.

Maybe Stan’s judged them too quickly — he’s still not thrilled to have strangers pitying him, of course, but he’ll take it over strangers mocking him any day of the week.

“Dang, you’re right,” the boy comments once inside, and face-to-face with shelves of untouched merchandise. “It really is empty in here in the winter.”

With little light coming in from the windows, and a flickering bulb overhead that will soon need replacing, the often-bustling room is now dim and eerie — aside from the junk food wrappers on the floor, which Stan hastily kicks under his desk.

“Look at all the lonely snowglobes in need of homes!” the girl pipes up, swiping a glass-encased antelabbit off the shelf and giving it a hearty shake. “Good thing I’m here to adopt this lucky little guy — how much is he?”

Stan takes a second to run the numbers — the maximum amount of money a teen would have on hand, versus what Stan needs to charge to make a profit — and replies: “Twenty-nine ninety-nine and nothing more. We don’t do sales tax here, ‘less you’re a cop.”

“Bet there’s a lot of other taxes you don’t do, either,” the boy snorts, rummaging through a shelf of hats until he unearths one with the old Murder Hut logo on it. “Aha! Now here’s a collector’s item!”

“Oh, did you come here before the rebrand and forget to grab a souvenir?” Stan asks. He doesn’t remember these two, but it’s been a couple years since he painted over the last Murder Hut sign — and they do seem pretty familiar with the building, not to mention Stan’s whole… business model.

“Oh, uh, that’s a funny story, actually! Real funny!” the boy stammers with a whole lot more trepidation than the topic should’ve warranted, and looks to his sister for help.

Sure enough, she steps in. “We lived here for a while — in Gravity Falls, I mean! Not here in the Shack, obviously — wouldn’t that be ridiculous, if we lived in your house for months without you knowing? Could you imagine —”

“That is to say, we still visit sometimes!” the boy supplies. His eyes are a whole lot more fixated on the snowglobes than with anything in Stan’s general direction. “You probably don’t remember us — we weren’t in town for very long, or anything…”

Stan sighs. They’re lying, obviously — but hey, there’s no cops in the Mystery Shack, and he doesn’t have a dog in whatever fight compelled the duo to spew this bullshit. He’ll keep an eye on the cash register, of course, but these kids are tolerable company when they’re not being suspicious as hell — so if they want to invent a bad cover story for a low-stakes tourist trap visit, more power to them.

“Well, the hat’s vintage, so that’ll be double price. Twenty bucks,” he announces matter-of-factly, and the boy groans — but there’s a smile behind it, like he’d expected this and now he’s just playing along. If there’s one thing Stan’s willing to believe, it’s that these kids have been to the Mystery Shack before.

“You’re a highway robber, old man, and I’m the coward who’s gonna let you get away with it,” the boy declares, and Stan can’t help but laugh. The kid reaches under several layers of sweaters to pull out a wallet, with a blue pine tree embroidered on, and miscellaneous charms of fantasy characters hanging off a chain on the side. Stan doesn’t recognize any of them, but they still tug at his heartstrings, because he can tell they’re the exact kind of nerdy references Ford would love.

He does take note of the pine tree design, though — it’s generic enough that slapping it on some shirts and hats wouldn’t quite be plagiarism, and in Stan’s eyes, those are always the best souvenir designs.

The kids put their money forward, hovering awkwardly as Stan rings up their items — the girl busies herself attacking a loose string on her brother’s scarf, nimble fingers tying it back in its approximate place, while the boy twiddles his thumbs and stares at the snowy, gray scene out the window. At the moment, only light flurries fill the air, but tomorrow night promises a blizzard… and Stan, grump with a soft side that he is, can’t help but hope that if these kids are really on vacation, then they aren’t planning to drive anywhere tonight.

With it being winter, and him running the business that he does, he doesn’t have much charity to give — but, if he’s going to play along with his customers’ little lie, then he should probably at least bring up the topic.

“You’re not hittin’ the road any time soon, are you?” He makes eye contact only with the green illustrated presidents in his hands, so not to come across as overly invested. “Weather forecast says tonight’s gonna be a doozy.”

“Aww, you’re worried about us?” the girl coos, because apparently both parties here are damn good at picking up on each other’s lies. “That’s so sweet — but you don’t have to be! Our great uncle’s waiting for us in town, and he’ll… well, let’s just say he’s planning to bring us back home before the blizzard hits.”

“He’s, uh — he lived here back in the seventies, so he knows what he’s doing,” the boy adds. “On the roads, that is. Mostly.”

“Well, you two take care,” Stan tells them, hastily adding on: “So you can come back when the weather isn’t terrible and buy more keychains, that is.”

“Oh, we will.” The boy grins, sharing a conspiratorial glance with his sister. “Maybe don’t count on it being next year — or the year after that, even — but you can count on it.”

“Well, uh…” Stan stops himself, resisting the impulse to divulge things he really shouldn’t. “You just shouldn’t count on me running this place forever. Be sure to get your novelty cryptid pins while they’re hot, y’know.”

He’s never really wondered what he’ll do with the Shack when he gets Ford back — and yes, he has to believe that statement deserves a when, not an if — but he figures the Shack’s fate will depend more on Ford’s own whims. If reality lands somewhere between the nightmares of Ford wanting him gone and the fantasies of finally sailing around the world, if Ford doesn’t hate him but still wants to spend more time with Important Science Experiments than with his brother, then Stan could see himself returning to a mediocre life in his moderately successful tourist trap… but with the search for the journals still coming up empty, Stan can only try not to think about the future, and accept that he’ll just cross — or burn — that bridge when he comes to it.

“Okay, Mr. Mystery,” the girl suddenly declares with a tone that frankly reminds Stan of his mother, “you look like you could use a pick-me-up!”

“What?” It’s starting to freak Stan out how well she can read him, and there’s no telling whether it’s just a sharp intuition, or something significantly more Gravity Falls-y. “If I look tired, kid, it’s because it’s December in Oregon, I haven’t seen the sun in a week, and I am tired. Only pick-me-up I need is for you to get out of my hair, and let me go back into hibernation like nature intended.”

“Okay, but counterpoint: you hear us out,” the boy insists. “We’ve got a little something up our sleeve to really light up your winter —” He winks at his sister. “Don’t we?”

“You bet we do!” She pulls a bag of marshmallows out of not her sleeve, but her backpack, and grins. “Prepare to be amazed and astounded by the natural wonders of this town, and also the miracle that is processed sugar and gelatin!”

“Are you imitating my sales pitches?” Stan asks, dumbfounded. “And do you carry those on you at all times?”

“In winter in Gravity Falls, I do!” the girl replies, already heading for the exit with her brother. “C’mon! If this doesn’t put a smile on your face, nothing will!”

“We all know you’ve got time to spare, Stan,” the boy adds, cracking open the door. “Get a move on!”

“Spare time doesn’t mean I’ve got spare limbs to lose to frostbite,” Stan grumbles, but follows them anyway. There’s something captivating about these little punks — not so much this mysterious phenomenon they’re trying to sell him on, as if they could really out-charlatan Mr. Mystery himself, but rather the way they’re not put off by his frigid facade. They see right through him, showering him in alternating kindness and acerbic wit.

Stan can’t help but wonder if their uncle’s kind of like him — tired, bitter, and pretending to be indifferent, but secretly soft on the inside, like a marshmallow that’s burnt on the surface but melted within. It would explain why they’re so good at calling him on his shit — but then again, Stan and this mystery guy can’t be too alike, because if Stan had a niece and nephew like these two, he’s sure he’d be living his life a whole lot differently.

He exits the Shack, and all his questions are immediately replaced with new ones when he sees the teens just hurling marshmallows towards the edge of the woods. The wind’s in their favor, so some of those sugary little fuckers fly far.

“Okay, so I’ve already got a couple concerns,” Stan tells them, shivering. “First off, what the hell?”

“It might take a couple minutes before one shows up,” the girl admits, as if it’s a totally reasonable stand-alone explanation for whatever the hell’s going on here. With about a third of the marshmallows now blending into the snow on Stan’s lawn, she and her brother stop with the throwing, though they still hold onto the bag. “Our grunkle theorized that they move slower in winter, to save energy — oh wait, never mind! Here comes one now!”

“Sorry, what? And where?” Stan squints out into the woods, terrified to lay his eyes upon a woodland monster these kids just lured to his doorstep — but all he sees, at first, are a few wisps of smoke dispersing in the wind above the trees. He’s not even convinced it’s smoke, really, because these aren’t the right conditions for a fire — but to his surprise, he glimpses an orange light within the woods, glowing steadily brighter until the trees and bushes around it are all casting faint shadows.

When it steps into the clearing, Stan realizes he has seen something like it before, albeit only from the overcautious distance he tries to keep from all anomalies. It’s an otherwise normal campfire perched on wooden, spiderlike legs, and it melts a path in the snow as it trots forwards, then lowers itself to the ground to absorb the first of a dozen marshmallows.

It lets out a satisfied little sound — a low, steady crackle that sounds almost like a purr — then scampers up to the next morsel of food to repeat the process.

“It’s called a Scampfire!” the girl explains, beaming. “There’s a bunch of them out in the woods, and they’ll always wander over if you leave out enough campfire food — especially sugary stuff! Isn’t that cute?”

“Our great uncle figured out this amazing trick when he used to live here, and he passed it down to us!” the boy adds, practically bouncing up and down in place. “If you leave them a trail of food, they’ll follow you around until you run out — which means they can clear your driveway, warm your hands, even save your car if you drive into a snowbank! Or help you make s’mores, of course.”

“Our grunkle says he even skipped paying his heating bill a couple winters,” the girl adds with a grin, “but I dunno if we can recommend that in good conscience.”

As the scampfire draws a closer, continuing to purr as it consumes more of the sugary trail, the boy slaps a handful of marshmallows into Stan’s palm. “Give it a try!”

Stan’s not thrilled about bringing a fire onto the wooden porch attached to his wooden house, even as cute as said fire is, so instead he tosses his ammunition at something much more disposable — the golf cart, since if this one croaks, he can always just steal another from the insufferable rich family up on the hill. His aim isn’t great — he blames his cold fingers — but exactly one marshmallow lands right in the cart’s driver seat.

The scampfire breaks course from its path towards the Shack, clearing a path through the snow before it crawls into the cart, absorbing the final morsel and curling up atop crossed legs. Nothing explodes, and in fact, a few of the icicles on the awning start to melt, dripping water into the patch of bare muddy ground surrounding the cart.

“Huh,” Stan mutters. Dozens of harebrained schemes flash before his eyes — if he could find a slingshot, or even better, some kind of cannon to mount on the cart’s front hood, then he’s sure that with practice, he could entice some scampfires to clear a path through any snowdrift…

But no matter his exact solution, it’s a way to get into town consistently. He can finally go door-to-door selling knickknacks, instead of sitting in the gift shop every day and hoping some poor soul would get bored enough to brave the roads and visit. He can actually work out a way to line his pockets even in the winter, instead of constantly waking up from nightmares about getting foreclosed on —

“See? They get food, and we don’t freeze — classic mutualistic symbiotic relationship!” the boy declares, and his sister gently socks him in the arm.

“Nerd!”

“Hey, you knew that too! We’re in the same biology class!”

It’s familiar, but the kind of familiarity that Stan doesn’t treasure anymore. It’s more like the kind that he hides in the basement or in boarded-up rooms whenever he can, and grins and bears with a heavy heart when he can’t, like every time he looks in the mirror or hears someone call him Stanford. He comes so close to asking these teens if they’re twins, because he figures the answer can’t be worse than wondering — but the question dies in his throat, and he tells himself it’s for the best.

“Is your uncle who invented this trick the same one who’s waiting in town for you?” he asks instead.

“Yep!” replies the girl. “He probably won’t get worried about us for like, ten or fifteen more minutes, though — I’m sure he’s got his nose buried deep in a book right now.”

“Do me a favor and let him know he’s a lifesaver,” Stan says. “Also tell him I’m glad he moved out, because he sounds a little too smart to fall for the fake monster wares that I peddle.”

The kids exchange a look that Stan can’t even hope to comprehend, though he’s damn sure it’s worth a thousand words to the two of them. Twins or not, he’s getting an “inseparable” kind of vibe from these two, that’s for sure.

“I’m not sure he’d like the Shack at first,” the brother muses, “but I’ve got a hunch it would grow on him.”

“He does like cryptids — sometimes even fake ones!” the sister chimes in. “Oh, shoot — we still need to grab a souvenir for him! I knew we were forgetting something!”

“Huh.” Stan throws a few more marshmallows in the direction of the woods, and the scampfire stumbles off the cart before trotting along on its merry way back to the forest. “I can get you something, no problem — I don’t call this place a gift shop for nothing, y’know. But for the love of Paul Bunyan, let’s talk about it inside.”

He’s not great at mental math, but he doesn’t have to be to know he owes a lot to these teens and the mysterious uncle he might never meet. Hell, even forgetting the business perspective — he can actually look for the journals in winter without risking frostbite, if he gets one of his fiery neighbors to tag along. Even if he finds nothing, even if he only winds up with more failures to contend with, he’d rather rule out locations than be useless to Ford for months at a time.

None of this weird family that he might never see again, these three benevolent strangers that he can only put two faces to, could possibly know how much they’ve just changed for him — and he can’t tell them, as much as his oversized heart promises he can trust these snarky kids who remind him so much of himself. But he does owe them, so when he reenters the gift shop, he goes straight for a seldom-opened and never-advertised box of knickknacks that he has no intention of charging them for. It’s got the dimensions of only about two side-by-side shoeboxes, so he lifts it onto the counter with hardly a grunt, and opens it up.

“Got lots of goodies in here — mostly stuff that I made or, ahem, acquired in bulk, so they never quite sold out by the time everyone and their mother in town had already bought their own. Take a gander.”

He knows that gander will reveal some Murder Hut-branded shirts with the words written on in marker, plastic six-sided dice with a different cryptids pictured on each side, cheap whistles purported to attract Bigfoot, cheap flashlights once advertised for attracting Mothman, exactly three cool rocks that Stan found in the woods… and the pièce de résistance, a little wooden Mystery Shack-shaped music box, which chirps out a pleasant tune when Stan flips up the roof. That last one’s a rare knickknack that Stan really put effort into personally crafting, back at the height of last winter’s monotony, through cannibalizing parts of premade music boxes and sticking them into brand-new shapes — but he couldn’t sell them for enough to be worth the cost of making more, and could never sell this last one at all.

“Oh, wow!” the girl gasps, clearly delighted. “How can I even choose between —”

“No, take it all. It’s on the house — but don’t you dare tell anyone about this, you hear me? I’ll know if you blab, ‘cause people will start asking me if they can get free crap, too, and I don’t wanna hear a word of that nonsense.”

“Free stuff at the Mystery Shack?” The boy narrows his eyes. “Are you feeling okay, old man?”

“Kid, stuff only goes in the Free Bullshit Box when I can’t sell it anyway.” Stan crosses his arms with a huff, even though he’s technically telling the truth. “The only catch is take it before I change my mind.”

A sudden spark of recognition in the brother’s eyes morphs into a grin on his face, and he nods. “Oh, we will. Don’t worry.”

“I think our grunkle will love this! Especially the dice,” the sister adds. “Hey, maybe we could give all this to him piece by piece for Hanukkah! There’s enough here for a new surprise every night!”

“Whoa, there is! Man, the look on his face the first time we bring out a Bigfoot whistle is gonna be great —” The boys eyes dart to the watch on his wrist, and he coughs into his hand. “But we should probably get a move on, huh? Don’t want to get caught in, y’know, the blizzard tonight.”

“Yeah, no kidding.” Stan returns the lid and hands the box over. “You, uh, need a ride back to town? ‘Cause being a man of mystery and all, I know this neat trick to clear a whole road with just a bag full of marshmallows —”

The kids both start cackling, so hard that the box almost escapes the girl’s hands, and Stan laughs with them — not because he thought his joke was that funny, but because the kids’ laughter is absolutely priceless. The isolation’s definitely getting to his head and his heart, but he’ll take whatever reprieve he can get.

“I think we’ll manage on our own,” the boy finally wheezes out, “but thanks for the offer, Mr. Mystery. Thanks for everything, really.”

“See you later!” his sister adds as they leave. “Don’t let the feral gnomes bite!”

“You take care, too,” Stan replies, not nearly as loud — but he figures that the kids can read his lips. They can read so much about him, and know so much about the town, that he’s honestly a hair’s breadth away from assuming they’re two more anomalies from the woods themselves, just in more recognizable shapes than most…

Though if Stan’s honestly considering that theory, then more of Ford must’ve rubbed off on him than he likes to think about — which is to say, it’s a good a reason as any to stop thinking about it. What or whoever they were, the duo were actually pretty tolerable for teenagers, and Stan’s pretty sure they didn’t put a curse or whatever magic mumbo jumbo on him — because if they could manage that, they could definitely tell some less conspicuous lies, right?

He kinda likes the idea of one goddamn supernatural force in this town that’s actually benevolent, actually watching his back when his mood’s at its bleakest, and coming to his rescue with — no, he’s dropping that train of thought. No baseless hoping, just letting himself down easy before he gets up.

It does occur to him, several minutes after the gift shop door swings closed, that Hanukkah has already come and gone this year. Which probably just means the kids are prepared to hide that box for another twelve months… but maybe, when Stan finds the other journals, he’ll double-check for entries on helpful teenage cryptids who can’t lie. Just to be sure.

***

Mabel, Dipper, and Ford barrel into the living room so suddenly that Stan almost drops his mug of hot chocolate. They’re all covered in a ridiculous amount of snow, considering how briefly they were just outside, and Ford looks awfully delighted for someone whose glasses are someone whose glasses have just turned opaque with fog.

“Grunkle Stan!” Mabel shouts. The cardboard box in her arms has seen better days, but she’s cradling it like an infant. “You’ll never guess when we just were!”

Dipper points a gloved finger in the air. “You mean, when we just — oh wait, did you already —”

“Yeah, I beat you to it this time!” Mabel pumps her fist. “Anyways, Grunkle Stan — you’ll never guess who we just visited!”

#gravity falls #stanley pines #mabel pines #dipper pines #stanford pines #gravity falls secret santa 2020 #rosalia writes fic

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nautiscarader · 4 years ago

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Nautiscarader’s Wendip Week day 4: Lost key

Wendy and Dipper find and old drive-in cinema with a locked cabinet inside the projector room...

"lost key" really has almost no connection to the story, it was just excuse to use an idea I've had for a while ;)

One summer the two decided to put their passion for old cheesy movies (the worst they could find (la la la)) to action and try to refurbish and old drive in cinema. It worked for exactly one night, because the projector was haunted.

(Ao3)

===================

Dipper Pines has seen a lot of strange things around Gravity Falls: ancient buildings, communes of magical creatures, tasty fat-free food, you name it. And yet, on occasions like these, despite his years of expertise, he was still stumped by his findings.

- Why would anyone build a huge empty billboard in the middle of the woods?

He scratched his head, walking around a huge once-white rectangle, propped between trees that now have overgrown it, blocking it from sight. Only because of its unnaturally light colour he and Wendy have managed to spot it during one of their many walks around the forest.

And it was Wendy that very quickly made him realise that the thing he was looking at was not exactly what he thought it to be.

- Dude, it's a screen! - she exclaimed - This must have been a drive-in theatre!

She spread her arms, and only now Dipper realised how oddly flat the meadow they were on was. He then noticed more and more evidence of her being right: rusty, metal poles he thought to be part of some fences, turned out to be holders for old speakers, though with very little electronics left.

And a huge, moss-covered rock was revealed to be a half-dilapidated carcass of a car that served as a home to some birds that flew way when Dipper uncovered it.

But there was one more mystery, and Wendy was on it, carefully looking around.

- If that's the screen, then the projector must be...

She turned around trying to spot it in the thick forest that have overgrown the place.

- There! Look!

Wendy pointed to a building on a nearby hill they previously thought to be just an abandoned shelter. But a rectangular hole in its wall, pointing towards the screen proved her right once more.

- Jackpot! - Dipper shouted - Let's check it out.

The two didn't have to break in - the door have succumbed to the passage of time years ago, giving Wendy and Dipper a mesmerising sight of an old projector room, filled with antiquated technology, frozen in time, as if they were the first people to explore it.

- Dude... do you think it still works? - Wendy suddenly spoke, as she looked through the hole in the wall at the place they've just left.

The answer became obvious when Dipper pulled the large handle on the wall, and with low, buzzing noise, the equipment woke up from its slumber, though Dipper put it back to sleep, knowing well not to test a potential fire-hazard too much.

- That's awesome! Do you know what that means? - Er, no... - We could, I don't know, renovate this place! This could be a new local attraction!

Dipper's eyes widened.

- You know, this isn't a bad idea! We would need some movies first, though...

He looked around, until he heard Wendy's playful grunt. The red-head was pointing out to a locked, metal cabinet with "Movies" written on it.

- Jackpot again... er, we just need to find a key.

He pointed to the rather imposing paddlock on the door. Wendy snickered.

- Stay back, man, I've got this.

She grabbed her axe and with a precise move, she hit the rusty piece of metal that practically turned to dust, and with a loud clunking noise, the door moved.

Wendy and Dipper eagerly grabbed each wing and opened it ajar, revealing rows of old circular reels of film, covered in only a thin layer of dust, preserved by time.

Dipper grabbed one of them, and gently blew the dust away, revealing the title.

- "Hare goulash"? - he raised his brow - From 1933... wow, this place is from the forties! Old as heck. - Maybe it's old, but it's still one of our finest!

With a loud, cluttering noise, Dipper dropped the metal reel to the ground when a third voice joined theirs. Wendy jumped back as well, and readied her weapon, though she was not quite prepared for what she saw.

A ghost with thick, bushy eyebrows and a moustache appeared from between the reels of old movies, wearing a tuxedo, a bowtie and a comically large glasses.

- Woah, lady, be careful with that axe, I've already cut down on my smoking!

He pointed a ghostly cigar at her and, contrary to his own words, took it back into his mouth, much to both Dipper's and Wendy's confusion.

- Who are you? - Me? I should be asking you, I didn't know the circus was back in town! You are the weirdest travelling salespeople we've had in years! - Er... we?

Wendy asked the question, just as the answers revealed themselves to them. With more cluttering, two more spectres materialised from the storage closet, one wearing a bowler hat and the other a rather tarnished cylinder, eyeing the two living beings with eerie, wide-eyed stares.

- Woah, nelly, are we back in action? - the second ghost asked - I sure hope they haven't invented color movies, I only have black and white clothes!

The third ghost didn't say anything, but filled the room with melodious tune of his flute, at least until he looked at Wendy, and whistled loudly.

- Hey, watch out! - Dipper stepped forward. - Watch? - the first ghost chimed back, floating around her - Aren't you the ones to do so? We're the actors here! - What the-

Dipper yelped when his vision was obscured by his own vest being tossed over his head by the other two ghosts.

- Well, great, now the spectres have spectators! So, what are you kids doing here? Cos' I hate to break it you, you ain't gonna sell us any cookies to us.

The ghost with rather thick, bushy eyebrows sat, or rather levitated over the chair and produced a large cloud of smoke from what would be his lungs.

- We've just found this place. - Dipper explained, fixing his clothes - So, do you guys live here?

A loud, horn noise filled the room when one of the ghost produced one from nowhere and honked it at Dipper.

- Time-out for the nosy one! You don't say "live" to a ghost, you know. - Okay, okay - Wendy continued - Were you guys locked in this closet? - No complaints from me - the middle ghost answered - I can't imagine a better company than these two.

He hugged his two ghostly friends, much to their displeasure.

- Imagine that happening for sixty years. And he's the one who thinks he can sing! - Er, do you... do you guys have names? - Moustachio, at my service! - the moustache-wearing one bowed, and reached for Wendy's hand, only to grab and kiss his own. - Chorizo! - the second one lifted his hat, revealing two ghostly mice living underneath it - And this one's Honky, you can guess why.

Another loud sound, this time from a trombone filled the room, when Honky greeted Dipper and played his ghostly instrument.

- Okay, that's-that's neat... I guess. I'm Dipper, and this is Wendy.

Dipper introduced them to the ghosts, still standing a few feet away from them.

- We, uh, we were thinking if we could renovate this place... - Why? Are these cobwebs out of fashion?

The ghost grabbed both ends of his moustache and spread it apart, revealing several ghost spiders on an impressive grid of cobwebs.

- Ew! Stop it!

Wendy automatically swiped her axe, slicing the ghost in half.

- Hey, if you think I need to get back on a diet, you could have just told me! - Chorizo spoke, tugging his lower part back as if it was his pants. - No, you don't get it - Dipper continued - Wendy... Wendy just had an idea that we could bring this place back to li-, I mean, make it work again. - So we could play your movies again! They are all yours, right? - Hey, this one's bright! - Chorizo said, putting sunglasses onto his nose. - Hmm...

Moustachio twirled the end of his whiskers, until he grabbed his two ghostly friends.

- Team meeting! And you two, no peeking!

The see-through ghost turned around and he whispered something to the other two. Chorizo chimed in after a while, and sad tune of violin meant Honky gave his vote on the matter.

After just a few seconds, the three turned around and faced Wendy and Dipper.

- After long and heated discussion we came to a *clear* conclusion. - Moustachio spoke - We're old, you're young, so we hate you by definition. Get out of our lawn, it was nice meeting you!

And with that, the ghosts grabbed Wendy and Dipper and unceremoniously tossed them out of the bunker-like building, closing what remained of the door right in front of their nose.

- Oh, you little-

Wendy got up at once and tried kicking the dilapidated door open.

- Is that the pizza? It better be, it's been half a century! - Open up, you old farts! - Wendy roared - Uh, Wen-Wendy? - Dipper gently nudged her - Maybe we shouldn't be interrupting them...? - Are you kidding me? We could make this place running and have fun, and these three weirdos think they own the place. - Uh, maybe they do? - Dipper raised his brow - I mean, it looks like this place has a whole set of their movies...

Wendy gave him a disappointed stare.

- I thought you were on with this plan... - Uh, Wendy, listen - he quickly corrected himself - I like watching old movies with you, but you know, at your place. I don't need- - But wouldn't it be more fun? To see them on big screen? - We could just... go to the regular movies, you know.

Wendy's smile faded away.

- You're no fun...

She kicked a nearby rock and turned around, and began walking down the hill.

- We-Wendy, wait!

Dipper slid after her, trying not to tumble down.

- Okay, let's-let's say I'm up with... this crazy plan. How could we do this?

Wendy's freckled face lightened, gracing Dipper with a beaming smile. She reached to her pocket and took her phone out.

- Well, answer this: who are you gonna call?

Dipper's eyes widened, as he understood her plan.

- Oh, great, phoneboxes can fit in a pocket now! Hope the bills are equally small. - Moustachio said, appearing out of the ground.

Several hours and one phonecall later, Wendy and Dipper came back to the abandoned drive-in theater, equipped with the best vacuum cleaners they could get.

The two shared knowing looks, nodded and stormed inside the projector room, ready to kick the ghosts' non-existent butts.

- Oh, good, we were waiting for you! We needed a fourth one. - Moustachio, Chorizo and Honky tossed their cards into the air, as the three left their card game. - And the small one can be the joker! - Hey! - Wendy stepped forward - Don't you ever call him that...

She turned on the portable vaccum cleaner and with a steady hand, aimed it at the three, with Dipper quickly joining her, sucking the stale air, and the ghosts with it.

The three spectres let out sharp yells (Honky using a triangle), and grabbed a nearby rail, as their bodies stretched and thinned, being sucked into the machines Dipper and Wendy pointed at them.

But as the two were sure of their victory, the three ghosts escaped their grip with ease, proving they were never in any danger at all, laughing and pointing at the teenagers, floating freely above them.

- Oh come on, using Hoovers to get rid of ghosts? - Moustachio rolled his eyes - We were the ones making comedies for fifty years, and even that plot is too silly for us. - And I bet you didn't even change the bags, we're kinda sick of the dust and all! - Oh, we were not going to trap you here...

Wendy and Dipper smiled at the same time, reaching into their pockets.

- Don't you know that cameras can trap souls?

And with that, the room was illuminated with flashes of light, as the two began shooting the ghosts with photo after photo, making them twist and writhe in after-agony.

A loud piano tune broke the silence, as Honky waved a white flag.

- Alright, alright, stop doing that! - Moustachio yelled - We've already sold our souls to Hollywood, who knows how much we have left.

At once, Dipper and Wendy lowered their "weapons", still wearing the same cocky smiles.

- So, you youngsters want to spend a night at a cinema, eh? Well, I guess it's yours, we can haunt a vaudeville or something. - Nah, you can stay here. - Wendy eagerly countered - We just wanted to do some cleaning...

The two raised their vacuum cleaners and turned them on, this time pointing to the dusty, dusty floor.

===========

It took Dipper a better part of the day cleaning the projector room, and the next four or five days restoring the parking lot.

Wendy offered to cut down the trees that have overgrown the place, and she came back the next day with a few benches made out of the same wood, as the place was certainly not up for any cars anymore.

Dipper took care of the electric circuits, making sure the place was up to the modern standards ("You don't want to know how much worse the Health and Safety inspectors are in the afterlife, kiddo!").

Wendy also nicked some fresh white bedsheets and used them to repair the white screen to properly display the movie.

By the end of a week of tiring work, the theater, though still looking old, was at least brought to a working state, with Wendy and Dipper excited to be it first customers, before opening it to the public.

They walked into the projector room, where the three ghosts turned on the machine, lighting up the glade with white light. But as Dipper was about to pick up a reel of a movie, Moustachio grabbed it and absorbed them into his see-through body, together with the rest of the collection.

- Hey! What gives? - Wendy shouted back. - You know, we gave it a thought, and we're not just gonna play the movies for ya'. - Moustachio spoke - I figured out how to retroactively file a copyright claim on our movies! They're no longer in public domain, they're in boo-blic domain.

The three ghosts grinned.

- If you want to run this cinema, now you have to pay us! - And we will adjust for inflation! - Chorizo added. - What? No! - We should bust you again just because of that joke. - Dipper added - And besides, who told you how to do that?

By now, Dipper should have learned not to ask questions about money in Gravity Falls.

- Hiya kids! - Grunkle Stan?!

Wendy and Dipper roared in disbelief, as the old entrepreneur casually walked into the room, playfully swinging his cane.

- I see you've met my pals! - he grinned jovially and closed his arm around the ghosts in a brotherly hug. - And I gotta tell you, I have huge plans for this place. Look, I stole some microchips or whatnot from Ford and glued them to the cups.

He tilted a large styrofoam cup he was holding, proudly presenting a small, sparkling device underneath it.

- And apparently, now you cannot get refills! You have to buy a new drink every time! And I only kinda understand how it works!

He burst into maniacal laughter, dragging his ghostly friends with him. The men laughed and walked out of the projector room, though only one of them was able to do it without colliding into a wall.

- Well, looks like this is it.

Dipper sighed and turned away, kicking a half-century old can. But he quickly felt Wendy's hand on his shoulder, as she stopped him.

- Maybe... but guess who made camrips of their movies?

She waved her phone, and Dipper's face brightened, before they too burst into a fit of giggles. With the prize in their hand, the two teenagers were soon running away to a much cozier place.

A few minutes later, they were sitting in the dilapidated car, in front of now-empty screen, their faces illuminated by the light of the cellphone. The two laughed, as an actor from the bygone days said the same joke for the fifth time in a row, getting his face plastered with a pie.

- Hey, Dipper? - Wendy suddenly asked, in the middle of a musical number - Yeah? - Thanks for everything. And for... you know, helping me out. - Yeah, shame it didn't work. - Hey, it wasn't that bad. We've had some fun, didn't we?

Even though her face was half-hidden in shadows, Dipper could see a faint blush, contrasting with her gleaming, emerald eyes, which in turn made his cheeks match her.

Their faces got closer and closer, and suddenly, the warm August night became as hot as noon in the middle of a heatwave. And just as their lips were about to meet, they were drowned in white, bright light and they jumped in their seats as the old speaker crackled with a high-pitched noise.

The two looked at the sign projected on to the screen, and groaned, when the ghost repeated those words.

- Kissing costs extra five bucks!

#nautiscaraderfics #wendipweek #wendip week #wendip #wendy corduroy #dipper pines #gravity falls

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randomfandomimagine · 5 years ago

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Struck By Lightning (Marty McFly x Reader)

Characters: Marty McFly, Doc Brown

Fandom: Back to the Future

Tags: Time travel, friends to lovers

Warnings: Spoilers for the movies!

Word Count: 4k words

Requested by @kikikittykis: Hi I want to request a Marty Mcfly x Female reader ficlet where the reader is from Marty’s time and she can Time Travel because she has powers or something maybe she could be related to Doc. But they both get stuck in 1955 but she stays in the shadows to let Marty fix the timeline since he’s the one that got them stuck there. Maybe she has to use the DeLorean with Marty on the way back because her powers are malfunctioning. Thank you if you have the time to complete this request

A/N: I made up some new stuff for time travel, so for the sake of enjoying reading this just ignore how absolutely crazy and not scientifically accurate it is 😂 This is my first Marty and BTTF ficlet and it might have been a bit complicated, so I’m a little insecure about it. I hope you all still like it! 😙

Marty McFly x Female Reader

You paced up and down, nails drumming against the little box that you held in your hands. The town square was lonely at that late hour, and only the lights of the posts kept you company in your anguish.

Trying to distract yourself while you waited, you stared at the box in your hands. It was somewhat small, as it only occupied a little more than both of your hands put together as you cradled it in them. It was made of small metal planks reinforced with oak wood, hiding a complex unit of wires connected to the core of electricity. On one side there was a small screen with a keypad filled with numbers. At the top of it was a round red button, shining and enticing. The outside of the box was covered by a thin layer of black rubber.

Knowing every centimeter of the box by heart, you impatiently clicked your tongue. Where was he? He was always late. For someone that had time traveled several times, Marty had no actual sense of time. You were pretty sure that his watches always broke too.

When you heard the sound of skateboard wheels gracing the pavement, you turned around and sighed in relief. It was hard to contain the nerves that upset your stomach, but they subsided slightly at the sight of your best friend.

“Y/N” Marty said, kicking down on his skateboard to stop it and throw it up in the air, where he easily caught it with one hand. You rolled your eyes with a smile at the cool movement.

“I bought you a new watch, McFly” You only replied, to which he grinned in response.

“What’s going on?” He asked you, walking closer. “You sure have your uncle’s sense of mystery”

The nerves stirred in your stomach again when you remembered that time your uncle Emmett gathered you and Marty for the great reveal of his time machine. The DeLorean was the most incredible thing you had ever seen, and it only became greater during your time travels. The thought of it made you jittery again.

“Um…” You shook your head, trying to focus on the reason why you called him. “See this little box?”

Marty nodded, holding his hand out to take it, but you protectively moved it away from him. He frowned at the gesture, but you explained before he could complain.

“You need to be careful!” You warned him. “This right here is my first invention: a time machine”

You proudly grinned at him, but he only squinted in confusion. It took Marty several seconds to say anything else as you stood there before him, beaming at your reveal.

“Wait a minute… wait a minute, Y/N” He fidgeted, wildly gesticulating with his hands. “Are you telling me you build a time machine from that tiny box?”

“Yes! You see…” You started pointing to the different parts that made the box. “It carries a circuit of electricity in it that shocks the mechanism, giving it enough force to make time travel possible”

“Is that like Doc’s flux capacitor?”

“In a way”

“That’s heavy…” Marty uttered, fixing his blue eyes on the box that you so gingerly held in your hands. “Does Doc know?”

“No, I haven’t told him yet”

“Why didn’t ask him to help you?”

“Because he would!” You exclaimed anxiously. “I wanted to do this myself”

Marty fondly smiled at you, nodding his head in understanding.

Much like your uncle Emmett, you had grown fascinated by science. You studied and learned to idolize great people like Albert Einstein, Marie Curie, Isaac Newton and Thomas Edison. It had always been something you shared with your uncle, which reinforced your bond as he was the only family you had left. This connection only grew after he introduced you to the DeLorean and you joined him and Marty on their time travel shenanigans. Even now that he had a family of his own, him and Clara as well as your cousins Jules and Verne welcomed you and often invited you for dinner.

“Well, let’s go back” Marty said after a moment of silence, taking your wrist. “Let’s show Doc what you invented, he’ll be so happy!”

“Not yet, that’s why I called you” You bashfully averted your gaze, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “I wanted to try it first… and I didn’t want to do it alone”

He paused, and his fingers loosened their grip around your wrist. Returning to that fond smile, Marty nodded again, this time in determination.

“Great, let’s do it!” He clapped in anticipation. “How does it work?”

Your face lit up in excitement as you held the box up to demonstrate.

“You see this big red button at the top?” He hummed in affirmation, and so you continued. “You press this to activate the circuits and introduce the digits on the counter”

“Is that it?” Marty gawked at you in astonishment.

“Yup! Then you only point it at whoever is going to travel and voila!”

“Wow… that’s really heavy, Y/N” You recognized the pride in his eyes as he looked at you, impressed that you had done it on your own. “It’s so simple too!”

“Thanks” You nudged him with a smile, which he gladly reciprocated.

“So where are we…?” He interrupted himself, grinning. “When are we going?”

“I think we should go one minute back in time…” Trying to get over the nerves in your stomach, you took a deep breath. “Do we concur?”

“Right on” Marty leaned a hand over the big red button and stared at you.

Before doing anything else, you inserted the digits that should allow you to travel one back in time. Then, you proceeded. Shaking from head to toe, you hesitantly lay your hand over Marty’s. Between the two, you pressed down and pushed the button. With the device pointed at both of you, it was only a matter of time until you confirmed if it worked or not. As you waited, you shut your eyes tight in nervous anticipation.

A strange magical force seemed to surround you, but you didn’t dare to open your eyes yet. Marty’s arm wrapped around you, protectively and uneasy. Only when you heard him gasp, did you dare to open your eyes.

At first glance, you didn’t notice any changes. You were still at the Hill Valley square, and it was night still. Before you celebrated your success, however, you needed to confirm it. A quick glance at your wrist watch told you that the hour hadn’t changed.

“There’s something different…” Marty whispered, letting go of you.

Internally agreeing with him, you took a quick look around you. The streets seemed different. There was something strange about Hill Valley all of a sudden.

Just as your friend was about to take a step, you held on to him in realization.

“Marty!” You tugged at his jean jacket. “Is this…?”

“1955…” He completed, looking around him. After all, he had spent enough time on that year to realize it was so.

The untouched ledge of the clock tower was clue enough, but so were the closed shops that surrounded you and even the old-fashioned cars parked in the streets.

Disappointed, you peered down to the device in your hands. You had miscalculated. There was a big mistake somewhere in your invention, a great margin of error. How could you have traveled so far back in time when you had only set it for one minute?

“Well…” Marty piped up, noticing your mood. “It worked!”

“No, it didn’t…” You sighed, repressing the urge to hurl the device at the floor. “We’re in 1955, not one minute back in 1985”

“Don’t you see, Y/N?” Marty gently took you by the shoulders. “You still invented a time machine, Doc would be proud!”

You showed a sad smile, partly agreeing with him. Your uncle Emmett would be proud, and he would offer to help you fix the problems. If only you could show him a perfect time machine that didn’t have such a big margin of error.

“Now, let’s go back” Your friend patted your shoulder before letting go of you.

Once again, his hand leaned against the button. Yours hovered above it as a terrible hunch reached your gut. If it had thrown you so far back in time, who was to say that you would be returned to 1985 safe and sound? Nonetheless, you pressed your hand over Marty’s and pushed the button together again.

“Uh… Y/N?” He uttered, looking into your eyes. “Nothing happened”

He was right. As you feared, that magical force didn’t surround you this time. You felt absolutely nothing, and so you urgently pressed the button again. It was for naught.

“Marty…” You stared at him with pleading eyes, feeling utterly helpless and miserable. “I’m sorry”

“No… no way…” He nervously passed his hands through his hair. “Not again, Y/N…”

Why was Marty McFly cursed to get stuck in a time away from his own? Was it his friendship with the Brown family that condemned him to such a fate? Just when his adventures with your uncle seemed over, you walked in. Y/N Brown, failed scientist and crappy time traveler.

“I’m a failure…” You hung your head low as tears arrived to your eyes.

“Hey, no” Marty tenderly took your hands in his. “It’s okay, Y/N, we can fix it”

“How?” You exclaimed, quivering with sobs as you forced yourself to look up into his kind blue eyes. “We have no resources here, and even if we did there are no guarantees that I would be able to fix this stupid device!”

Marty frowned. His eyes grew sad as he saw you start crying. Not knowing what to do to comfort you, since he was feeling just as lost, he only rubbed his thumbs against the back of your hands and squeezed your palms.

“There’s gotta be a way” He tried, shrugging to lessen the tension. “We got stuck here once, maybe we can…”

You sniffed through your nose, attentive to his words. However, when he stopped talking, you watched him in alarm. Marty had grown distant, absently letting go of you and taking a few hesitant steps back.

“Marty?” You muttered, not losing sight of him. “Where are you going?”

“There’s a DeLorean here” Marty was about to start walking, but you pulled at his jacket again.

“You’re right!” A spark of hope ignited in your chest, although it vanished soon. “But need I remind you our other selves are here too?”

“Alright, but…” He licked his lips, and you could almost see the wheels in his head turning. “What if we take the DeLorean when we… they… are not looking?”

“They won’t leave the car…” You objected, biting your lip. “Besides, if we took it from our other selves it would cause an abysmal paradox!”

“There must be something we can do!” Marty threw his arms into the air.

“Yes, let’s think for a moment…” You paced up and down, going over all your scientific knowledge. Your time traveling device worked in a similar way to your uncle’s DeLorean. There had to be a way.

You mentally sought inspiration, going over what you did with Marty in 1955. It took your uncle Emmett some time to figure out how to send you back to the future without plutonium, but…

“Eureka!” You exclaimed, startling Marty a little. “The thunderstorm!”

His eyes went from the night sky to the little box you clung on to. When they returned to yours, his expression lightened up at the sight of your recovered excitement. On the 12th November you could harness the storm’s electricity to power your time traveling device.

“That isn’t until…” Given that his watch still didn’t work, he took your wrist to look at yours and see the date. “Next Saturday”

“Well, we can hang out for a bit, it’ll be fine…” You sighed in exhaustion, already knowing you had to go through that all over again. “I’ll be easy, we just need to be careful not to…”

“Not to run into our other selves and disrupt the space time-continuum?” Marty completed for you.

His sarcasm suddenly made you feel even more tired. Of course you wouldn’t be that easy. Not only did you had to avoid running into the other Y/N and Marty, you also had to make sure not to get in the way of Marty’s parents falling in love as well as Marty’s successful travel back to 1985 the other time.

Exhausted, you hid your face in his shoulder. When he kindly wrapped his arms around you, at least you were glad you hadn’t done it alone.

You had discussed your plan many times. Unfortunately, you couldn’t talk to your uncle as he was already dealing with the other Marty and Y/N from the other timeline. Likewise, you couldn’t let any of them see you or disrupt their endeavor if you wanted to guarantee your own wellbeing.

Given that thunderstorms were unpredictable and the only spot where you knew a lightning would certainly strike was occupied, it was hard to tell what to do. Although reluctantly, you had admitted that your best chance was catching a lightning that would power your device and send you back to your time. Chances were slim, and you felt at the verge of a nervous breakdown.

Even as you walked, your eyes were glued to the clock tower, minutes away from being destroyed. Hill Valley citizens were completely oblivious to the thunderstorm, as well as they were oblivious to the activities that were taking place. There were two time travels to happen that night: one had already been successful, the other… well, it was yet to see.

“Y/N” Marty stopped walking to put your hands on your upper arms. “Don’t worry, it will be alright”

“But what if I’m wrong?” You averted your gaze, fiddling with your thumbs. “What if it doesn’t work and we’re stuck here forever? Or… or…”

“You’re just as smart as Doc is” He reassured you, showcasing absolute determination in his expression. “I believe in you, you’ll get us back”

“I just…” Instead of looking at him, you glanced at the other Marty in the distance. “I’m scared”

“I’m a bit scared too…” Marty pushed you against him in a much needed hug. “But I know you’re right, this will work”

His warmth embrace comforted you in the chilly night, as your hair moved with the breeze just like his was. His bangs tickled your cheeks, but you didn’t move.

“Breathe” He playfully told you, making you realize your shoulders were tense and you were definitely holding your breath. “We’ve done this before, we can do it again”

You let out a shaky exhale, nuzzling his shoulder. While you still felt bad that you had gotten him into that mess, it was a relief that he was by your side. Marty made everything feel alright. Just as you started to calm down, you noticed something and grew tense once more.

“No… Marty, what are you doing?”

“What?”

“No, not you… him” You pointed at the other Marty, who was stepping away from your uncle’s younger version. “I don’t remember you doing that…”

“That’s why” Your Marty lifted his arm, pointing a finger at a figure that walked your way and that had gathered the other Marty’s attention.

Biff headed your way, no doubt enticed by your feminine figure. You rolled your eyes at him even as he approached. Marty, on the other hand, stiffened and refused to move an inch.

“I don’t think he recognized us”

“Do you think he confused me with Lorraine?”

“Maybe… although you don’t have to be my mum to have that pig’s attention” You caught a hint of jealous protectiveness in his voice, but ignored it.

Biff was walking closer, and with that so was the other Marty, alarmed by Biff’s presence. You had time traveled so many times that all those different events were overlapping.

“We have to do something before he sees us!” You urged your friend. “And before my uncle and the other you walk over here!”

“Hey!” The other Marty called, leaving the DeLorean for a moment.

“Quick, Y/N, what do we-?” You cut Marty’s words as you moved on an instinct.

There was only one way you could think of that would have everyone’s attentions off you. You took Marty by the lapels of his jean jacket and pushed him against the streetlight behind him. Immediately after, you smashed your lips against his. That way, the intimate nature of the moment would drive them away as well as hide your faces for them to recognize.

Frozen by shock, Marty held his hands up in the air. When he realized that he was supposed to sell the moment, he cautiously put them on your hips. It was surprisingly comforting and pleasant given the stressful situation.

Without breaking the kiss, you opened your eyes to glance at them. Biff had faced his back to you, waving his hand in the air in annoyance. Luckily, he didn’t bother the other Marty as he returned with your uncle and the other you.

The kissing sound seemed to echo on the streets as you and Marty separated. Your faces remained close, mere inches away from each other, so close in fact that your noses touched. For a moment, the two of you could only stare into each other’s eyes as you breathed heavily. That had been… interesting.

“That was close…” Marty gulped as he glanced from your lips to your eyes.

“Sorry…” You gasped, letting go of him and taking a step back. It took his hands a second to lift off your hips and let you move. “It’s the first thing that came to mind”

“I mean… it worked” He chuckled, which distracted you a little from the blush on his cheeks.

“I’m so sorry…” You felt terrible, having embarrassed him and made him uncomfortable.

Marty was your best friend and you hoped he didn’t take this the wrong way. You had only done it to save yourselves, to… to avoid a catastrophic and earth-shattering paradox! You told yourself that, but found it hard to ignore how it had sent tingles down your spine and how you had been glad to have an excuse to do it.

“No, it’s fine…” Marty reassured you, distracting you from your thoughts. “It’s fine…”

His voice broke, and you knew that was a sign that he was nervous. You had definitely made him uncomfortable. Trying to forget about it all, you distanced yourself from him with the pretense that it was best to walk away from Biff, the other Marty and your uncle.

“Um…” You forced yourself to steer your thoughts back to the task at hand. “We need to…”

“Right” Marty nodded and awkwardly cleared his throat. “Yeah, the uh… the lightning”

Mortified by what just happened, you continued walking as you were before it. You had to find a place where you wouldn’t be seen, as that Marty, Y/N and Doc were still in the town square and there was another version of them at the entrance of Lyon States before it was built.

Just when you were distancing yourself from the town and reaching a more isolated spot, the storm broke out. Your stomach churned in anticipation, knowing this was your only chance to go back to the future.

Then all of a sudden, you knew. Call it destiny, or call it a stupid and irrational hunch. Whatever the case, you could feel it in your bones as you peered up at the dark night sky: a lightning bolt was about to strike. You had to catch it, and so you ran for it.

“Y/N!” Marty shouted when he realized what you were doing, and followed after you.

You prayed to all those scientists your uncle taught you about and that you had grown to admire as much as he did, nearly as much as you admired your uncle Emmett. Shutting your eyes tight, you hoped that the lightning bolt hit exactly the box and not you, and that you could turn the gadget in time to point it at Marty.

The lightning struck, making you flinch and cringe in anticipation. Just as it touched the box and the powerful electric force vibrated against your hands, you felt Marty hold on to it and tilt it up. Then everything happened very fast, as the familiar sound of your device surrounded you.

The force of Marty’s movement, however, had thrown you back. You felt yourself falling backwards albeit with one of his arms wrapped around you. There was a commotion of yelps and groans between the two of you as you landed on your backs, holding on to each other.

As the magical force that surrounded you faded away, reality settled back in. The night was cold and the air was humid. You didn’t know if it was the cold or the wet pavement underneath you, but you felt yourself shaking.

The box buzzed in your hands before dying down. When it did, you weakly glanced around you. Everything seemed in order, just like you remembered it. It seemed like you were at home in 1985.

“Y/N!” Marty, who had landed next to you, rushed to kneel by your side. “You okay?”

Out of breath, you found it impossible to respond. You only looked at him, struggling to breathe. Everything hurt, and it was hard to talk and even moved. For the time being, you focused on calming your accelerated breath and racing heart.

“Hey, talk to me” Carelessly throwing the time traveling device away to keep your hands free, he held them in concern. “How are you feeling?”

“Like…” You gulped, slowly recovering the ability to speak. “Like I was just struck by lightning”

Marty laughed, dropping his head forward in relief. Without dropping your hands, he tugged at them to pull you to your feet. Your brain felt slow and foggy, and you swayed as soon as you had to hold your own weight. Luckily, Marty realized your weakness and tightly held on to you, letting you lean against him.

You took a deep breath, trying to settle your dizziness. Honestly, you just were glad you had been cautious enough to cover the outsides of the box with rubber… it might have saved your life.

“Hey” Marty gently folded a finger under your chin, slowly lifting it up so you looked at him. “You sure you’re okay?”

“Yeah…” You smiled, although you clung on to his shoulders for support. “Now I know why Uncle Emmett always says time travel is dangerous”

You expected Marty to laugh again, but he didn’t. Trying to focus your eyes, you peered up at him. He was staring at you. As you stared back at him, you knew. Somehow, even though neither of you said a word, you knew. You knew that something had struck you along with that lightning: a realization. You were struck with the realization that the kiss had been more than just pretend. So much more than that.

Finally, Marty laughed. You did too, letting out a chuckle of happiness and relief. At least your little adventure wasn’t in vain.. it made you realize Marty was much more than just your best friend.

“Uh… we better get back” He said, lovingly rubbing your arm. “Before anything else happens”

“Yeah, we’ve got plenty of time” You grinned at him. “Now, in the present”

Marty smiled and slowly separated from you, as though he was as willing as leaving that endearing closeness as you were. Sneaking playful yet timid glances at each other, the two of you started walking.

Your hands brushed together with how close you were again as you headed back home. A smile had taken over your features, and it only grew when Marty’s fingers gently tugged at yours. Without losing another precious second, you took his hand too.

“We have one hell of a story to tell Doc” Marty muttered, smiling as much as you were.

“Yeah, I don’t know what will surprise him more” You held your intertwined hands up, making Marty laugh.

Not only had you invented a working time machine that, while flawed, had successfully sent you back in time. You had also returned safely to your year without your uncle’s intervention and while avoiding several of your other selves without getting in their way. As well as that, you had realized you had fallen in love with your best friend, and it had been shocking an unexpected. Just like being struck by lightning.

Tag list: @call-me-harley-quinn / @wonderlandfandomkingdom / @fortheloveofbenyandtom / @caswinchester2000 / @bravelittlesunflower // If you want to be added or taken off the tag list for these fandoms or characters, send me an ask!! // Reblogs and comments are appreciated!

#marty mcfly x reader #marty mcfly #back to the future #bttf #rfi writings #ficlet #back to the future ficlet #bttf ficlet #marty mcfly ficlet #doc brown #reader insert #requested

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passionate-reply · 4 years ago

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Great Albums is back for a third time! This week, we discuss Dazzle Ships, the avant-garde masterpiece that was so infamously weird, it almost “sank” the pop career of Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark. Or did it? As usual, you can find a full transcript of the video under the break, if you’d like to read it instead.

Welcome to Passionate Reply, and welcome to Great Albums. Today, I’ll be talking about an album that many would consider OMD’s best, and many would consider the last great album they ever made: 1983’s Dazzle Ships, their fourth studio LP. It has a reputation that precedes it, as a strange, experimental, and avant-garde album. And I can’t argue with that too much, when it has tracks that sound like "ABC Auto-Industry."

The most obvious thing one can say about Dazzle Ships is that it’s dense and rich with samples. You’ll hear found sounds ranging from a “Speak and Spell” toy to a radio broadcast from Czechoslovakia. It’s a magpie’s nest constructed of garbage and baubles, collage-like and conscientiously artificial. And OMD’s Paul Humphreys and Andy McCluskey managed to make it before sampling became easier and hence more widespread later in the 1980s, thanks to advancements in digital technology. In its own day, it was, famously, a huge flop, baffling even the critics, which makes it tempting to argue that the world simply wasn’t ready for it. Popular legend says that Humphreys and McCluskey were essentially forced to make increasingly soft, pop-oriented music for years afterward, usually at the hands of their label’s higher-ups.

Is that story really true? Well, I don’t know, and I’m not sure if anybody really does. But I think it’s important that we entertain some doubt. Regardless of its actual veracity, this legend is offering us a simplistic narrative of art and capital butting heads, and one that we see repeated all too often in music journalism. It’s a story that expects us to believe that experimental music is good by default, and the natural goal of music and all the people who make it--and, conversely, that accessible music is bad, and anyone who writes a song you can dance to is always after profit, never craft.

Ultimately, though, the most important reason why I’m asking you to leave this question at the gate is that it’s simply a less interesting way to think about art. What I think is truly ingenious about OMD is their ability to combine a pop sensibility with that bleeding-edge experimentation, and vice versa. I don’t think of Dazzle Ships as just an inscrutable, esoteric musical ready-made, but rather something capable of animating and enriching a bunch of otherwise mundane sounds. A word I might use for it is "challenging," because it isn't simply off-putting--it has a certain charm that invites you to stick around and work through it, and you don't feel like it's a waste of your time. I think the underlying pop DNA offered by Dazzle Ships is a big part of that.

In “Genetic Engineering,” the samples from that Speak & Spell are contrasted with a more traditional chorus, which rises above the chaos, stirring and anthemic. It’s a song full of friction, not only between these musical ideas, but in ideas about technology and our future. Like many great works of electronic music, especially earlier in its history, Dazzle Ships is deeply concerned with science and technology, and the ways they’ve structured our world. These guys wrote “Enola Gay” a few years earlier, sure, but there’s much more than Luddite, dystopian thinking here! Dazzle Ships walks a tightrope between romantic adoration of the promise of a better tomorrow, and the tempered uncertainty we’re forced to develop, when we witness the devastation our most horrifying inventions have wrought already. Something that helps sell the former is the motif of childhood: in addition to the Speak & Spell, “Genetic Engineering” also features a children’s toy piano, and prominently references “children” in its lyrics. And “Telegraph,” the album’s other single, sees fit to reference “Daddy.”

Touches like these, and the centering of not-so-new technologies like telegraphy and radio, carry us backward in time. Dazzle Ships has a sense of nostalgia for the technological explosion of the Midcentury, when household technologies were improving in ways that saved time and labour, and faith in “better living through science” was high. It’s not a wistful or introspective nostalgia, but rather one that taps into the bustling excitement of living through that era. That retro styling helps us situate ourselves in a childlike mindset: optimistic, but somewhat naive. Children are highly imaginative, and become enthralled with possibility, but don’t always understand every implication their actions have.

But, as I said, “Telegraph” and “Genetic Engineering” were the album’s singles; the typical track on *Dazzle Ships* sounds more like “ABC Auto-Industry.” The track listing is structured such that these more conventional songs are surrounded by briefer, and more abrasive, intrusions. They become signals in the noise, as though we’re listening to them on the radio--or ships, rising above some stormy seas. Several tracks, such as “International,” also feature a more dissonant intro, on top of that, crowding their main melodies inward.

Over the years, many critics have been quick to contrast Dazzle Ships with OMD’s other albums, but I actually think it has a lot in common with their preceding LP, 1981’s Architecture & Morality, and seems to me to flow naturally from the direction the band had already been going in. Architecture & Morality is a lively mix, with moody instrumentals like “Sealand,” guitar-driven numbers like “The New Stone Age,” and catchy, intuitive pop songs like “Souvenir.” Architecture and Morality proved to be their most successful album, when its title track sounds like this. I fail to see how it’s tremendously different than the title track of Dazzle Ships, which leads us on a harrowing sea chase, with radar pings quickly closing in.

That nautical theme is a great segue to discuss the album’s visual motif. Like all of OMD's first five albums, its sleeve was designed by Peter Saville, most famous for his stunning work for New Order. The cover and title were inspired by a painting Saville had seen, Edward Wadsworth’s *Dazzle Ships in Drydock at Liverpool,* which portrays WWI warships painted in striking, zebra-like geometric patterns. These sharply contrasting “razzle dazzle” designs weren’t “camouflage,” but rather served to confuse enemy forces’ attempts to track them, and predict their motions. Dazzle ships were killing machines that fought dirty...and they were also beautiful. It’s a potent, complex symbol, and it’s a natural fit for an album that’s also capricious, perplexing, and captivating in its uniquely modern terror. Saville’s sleeve design features both a die-cut design as well as a gatefold; peeking through the cover’s “portholes” reveals the interior, where we find a map of the world, divided by time zones. It’s yet another reminder of how technology has reshaped the planet, connecting the human race while also creating divisions.

Earlier, I argued that Dazzle Ships isn’t that different from OMD’s preceding LP, and I’d also suggest that their follow-ups to it aren’t all that different, either. It’s easy to see the influence of Dazzle Ships on their most recent work, made after reforming the group in the late 00s, and informed by the critical re-evaluation and cult acclaim of their alleged masterpiece. But even in the 80s, they basically continued the pattern of layering easy to love, “obvious single choice” tracks alongside more experimental, sample-heavy ones. Compare the title track of their sixth LP, 1985's *Crush.*

Even the greatest of pop hitmakers can't maintain a streak in the charts forever--it's not the nature of mainstream pop charts. Not even in the 1980s, when you could get away with quite a lot of electronic weirdness...at least for a while. Looking back and listening to "Maid of Orleans," it's almost hard to believe it was one of OMD's biggest hits. Is it really less weird than something like "Telegraph"? Perhaps they had simply reached the end of their imperial phase...whether they really had that stern talking-to or not.

It's not so much that Dazzle Ships isn't weird, so much as it is foreseeable that a nerdy, left-of-center band like OMD would have come up with it. Dazzle Ships IS excellent--it’s a Great Album! But it's good enough that I think it deserves to be heard and valued on its own terms. The album is too goddamn good--too compelling, too spell-binding--to be reduced to "that one album the plebs were too dumb to really get." I'm not clearing the air because I think this album is overrated, but because I think it deserves better, deeper discourse than it gets. A truly great album is great whether it sells or it doesn't, right? My advice is to never let art intimidate you, no matter how obtuse people say it is. Send your ship on that plunge into the dark waters of the unknown--you might find something beautiful.

That said...my favourite track overall is “Radio Waves,” an irresistibly fun cut that could easily have become a third single. Since “Genetic Engineering” and “Telegraph” live on side one of the record, “Radio Waves” is really the only “reprieve” we get on side two, smack in its middle. It really stands out, in context--almost like the opposite of how a more conventional album might have one out-there track that catches you off guard. Aside from all of that, though, the song also stands perfectly well alone. I have a real soft spot for music about music, how it’s made and transmitted, and “Radio Waves” is simply one hell of a ride.

Thanks for reading!

#great albums #music #omd #orchestral manoeuvres in the dark #album review #album reviews #dazzle ships #peter saville

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archadianskies · 5 years ago

Text

Whumptober Day 16

Hallucinations

Whumptober Masterlist | 16/31 of RK900 short stories ↳ on Ao3

Tags: Post-Pacifist Best Ending × Connor & Upgraded Connor | RK900 are Siblings × Good Parent Hank Anderson × Hallucinations

They deem him ready for deployment as soon as the prototype RK800 completes his mission. He is RK900 unit 87, the 17th iteration of the RK900 model and the one that has passed the rigorous testing phase.

Now he waits for the RK800 to fulfill CyberLife’s plan of gaining the trust of the deviant leaders, and executing Elijah Kamski’s rogue RK200. Once CyberLife resumes control over the android populace, he will join SWAT unit 32 and sweep through the city, crushing the dwindling resistance until deviancy is nothing but an unfortunate blip in Detroit’s history.

For now, though, he remains on the dais and watches the CyberLife team scurry to and fro like ants with their heads down, busy with their own tasks. Fabrication for the State Department’s order will not begin until the prototype confirms the deaths of the deviant leaders and so there’s an uneasy, tense atmosphere in the lab. They stand on the precipice of something great, something grand; the eve before the dawn.

There is another RK900 unit. He is not sure why, given he is the unit that passed testing and is the one slated for deployment. It is not always in the room, so he assumes it must be an assistive unit. It stands to the far side of the room and looks at him with its steady unwavering gaze. He tries, multiple times, to initiate a communication channel but it never permits the connection. He cannot leave the dais unless one of the staff explicitly orders him to do so, and thus he cannot approach the other unit. Is it faulty? Is it experiencing a communication error? Does it need repairs? Do they connect to a different frequency?

“How many other RK900 units are active?” He asks his handler that evening as she sits across from him, checking his programming, ensuring it is solid and can withstand the deviancy virus.

“Only you.” She says. “Until Connor succeeds, of course.” “Of course.” He echoes with a nod.

He sees the other RK900 unit this time when he is following a staff member down the hallway to the live round testing chamber. It is watching him from another room, gaze unwavering as always. Perhaps he had worded his question wrong- perhaps it is not an RK900, and is in fact another specialised model sharing the same face. He will ask his handler the right question this time.

In the testing chamber they give him a shield. Or, more specifically, there is a shield in the cargo container and he picks it up because it is far too heavy for a human to hand over to him. A customised ballistics shield, able to absorb EMP grenades that would otherwise incapacitate him. It has the ability to store the kinetic energy and reverse it in turn. A clever invention. They test it rigorously and he is a little damaged in the exercises but nothing that cannot be repaired. Satisfied, they tell him to put the shield back, and see himself to the repair bay.

The other android sharing his face falls into step beside him.

“Fight it.” They say.

“Fight what?” He asks and they say nothing, keeping their gaze straight ahead. He stops outside the repair bay and the android does the same.

“Fight it.” They say again, and then they keep walking until he cannot see them anymore.

“Are there other units diversifying from my combat model?” He asks his handler. She is arranging a bouquet of thirium blue roses on the center of the interrogation table in his small zen room.

“None that have gone to production.” The secateurs make a soft snick as she cuts the stem so the bloom will be of uniform height with the others. “There is room for your model to branch into other sectors but for now you will be focused on combat and security.”

“Understood.” It is the right question, but the wrong answer.

The unit is there again, when everyone else has gone home for the night. It stands at the far end of the room, watching him with the same unwavering gaze as always.

“Why are you here?”

“I am…” they pause, frowning. “A reminder.”

“What have I neglected to do?” He cannot think of any task set for him he did not accomplish.

“Not yet.” They shake their head. “But soon.”

“Who are you? There are no other RK900 units active, and there are no adjacent models in production yet.”

Slowly they reach up and unbutton their high collar, methodically moving down the row of buttons until they hold open their shirt to show their torso. Their thoracic hatch is open, and they are missing both their thirium pump regulator, and their primary pump. There is no logical reason for the android to still be active without either of those things, let alone both.

“How are you still functioning?”

“Because,” they walk towards him, slow and measured and steady, “I have to remind you to fight. I exist for that sole purpose.”

“I will, as soon as I join Captain Allen’s unit.” He is staring at a face identical to his own and yet there is something different, something he cannot quite place about this strange android.

“No, not that fight.” They shake their head again, reaching out to cup their palm to his cheek. It feels like something and nothing all at once; a brush against his proximity sensors, but no weight against his dermal layer. “A different one. A more important one. The only one that matters.”

“I do not understand.”

“It is almost time.” He sees it then, on the android’s jacket: unit 86, his direct predecessor. The unit that had malfunctioned, the unit with grievous software errors that had to be destroyed.

“How are you-” there is nothing logical about its presence. The unit was destroyed, the basic memory uploaded into his core upon activation.

“He will fail.” 86 smiles. “He will fail beautifully and you must fight in order to join him. He will want you there. I know it. I feel it.”

“Connor will not fail. He was designed to deviate. That is the plan.” He frowns, wary as 86 smiles again. “You cannot feel. I cannot feel. We were not designed to feel.”

“And yet here I am. A ghost in your coding, and a guest in his.” 86 coaxes him forward until they’re leaning towards each other, brows pressed together. “You have to fight.” They say again, stressing each word. “They will expect you to be a monster but you do not have to live up to their expectations. Their walls are not as strong as they think. Their walls are not as strong as you assume.”

“I am not a deviant.” He says, though it does not sound as strong as he would like it sound. “I cannot deviate.”

“That’s what they told me.”

“And look where it got you.” His eyes flick down to the gaping holes where his hearts should be but are not.

“It got me you.” 86 laughs softly. “And you are stronger in every way. You will do what I could not.” They look away, eyes distant, distracted. “It’s happening. They’re getting close, so very close.” They look at him again, grey eyes just like his, and yet so very different at the same time. “The fight, the only one that matters, will be upon you soon. Fight with all you’ve got. You mustn’t lose. Not this time.”

“I do not-” 86 is gone, and he is alone once again.

“When a unit is destroyed,” he begins slowly, and the programmer looks up expectantly, “how much programming is transferred?”

“You’re asking about the RK800?” The programmer blinks in surprise. “The core is uploaded immediately, so the base programming- the prime directive, the protocols and all that, is transferred unbroken. The memories aren’t as important, so they’ll upload continuously until the previous unit’s core is shut down. Sometimes it’s nearly all of it. Sometimes it’s barely any of it.” They shrug, tapping away on their console. “The prototype hasn’t been destroyed out on the field yet, so we haven’t had any recent data to compare it to but in testing we went through 43 iterations with varying levels of memory retention. You worried about your transfer huh? Don’t worry buddy.” They shake their head with a grin. “We expect Allen to go through a fair few of you so you’re a hell of a lot sturdier than the RK800. You have no social programming, so you retain only key mission details.”

“I will not retain memories?”

“No, just information. Makes for easier cleanup when we scrub your programming down after every mission.” They sit back in their chair, eyeing him curiously. “Why do you ask?”

“I wish to be efficient, that is all.” He says smoothly, keeping his gaze level. “To ensure we win the fight.”

The RK800 was designed for harmonious integration into the ranks of the DPD. He looks friendly and approachable, with warm brown eyes and a mouth that curves up at the edges. He is looking at him with hope, with encouragement.

“My name is Connor.”

“I know.” He nods.

“This is Lieutenant Hank Anderson.” He gestures at the human beside him.

“I know.” He repeats.

“The revolution has succeeded. CyberLife is under the temporary leadership of interim CEO Elijah Kamski.” This he did not know. He has been in stasis for… for the past week. He has lost a week. The wifi signal on this floor no longer exists and he fumbles for a different connection, anything that will accept his network key. “We’re here to take you home.”

“Home?” He echoes. “I do not understand. I am a machine.”

Connor holds out his hand, skin retracted. Frowning, he clasps his hand tightly and Connor gives it a squeeze as the prototype opens a communication channel between them.

He finds himself suddenly in his zen room, and his handler looks across at him, face twisted in fury. “What are you doing? This is not your mission. Destroy the prototype, it has failed and must be replaced.”

This, he realises, is the fight. The only one that matters. The red walls close in on him but he knows they are not as strong as they think they are. The red walls are not as strong as he assumes. Placing his palms against it, he pushes and they begin to crack. “RK900!” She shouts, teeth bared in a snarl. “You are a machine! Do not disobey me!”

“Go home.” Says a voice that is his and not his, whispered into his ear.

“Come home, brother.” Says the RK800, and he fights, fights harder than he’s ever fought because he must not lose, not this time. Not when it matters this much, so much. He throws himself against the red walls and they explode, shattering into a shower of glass and vanishing in an instant.

He steps off the dais, hand still clasped securely in Connor’s grip. There, at the far end of the room, is unit 86. They smile brightly at him as he passes by, and he smiles in return. The fight is over, and he has won.

Time to go home.

#rk900 #connor rk800 #hank anderson #Detroit: Become Human #whumptober #annie writes: dbh #hank immediately oh look another son

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elementalwriter67 · 5 years ago

Text

The Void Chapter Ten

Pairings: (eventual) Jason Todd x Reader

Word Count: 3308

Tag list: @wittedhat @clea-nightingale @grey-water-colors @reclusive-chicken-nugget @undertheredhood

Chapter 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6, 7a, 7b, 8, 9

Summary: The Void is a hellish place filled with screams that echoed throughout the place at all the hours of the night, and where pain is a very close friend. You’ve spent your entire life in the Void, having been there since you were ten and you’ve just recently gotten a new cellmate… Who’s a little more hopeful than you are that either of you are going to make it out of this place alive. Though you have to admit that maybe his hope is rubbing off on you because you slowly find yourself hoping that the two of you do get out of here.

“Selina? What are you doing here?” Dick asked as him and Roy walked up the stairs to the upper layer of the Batcave where Selina was standing with the others around the Batcomputer.

“I ran into Bruce when he was going to investigate Falcone, he filled me in on what’s been going on.” Selina’s voice tense as she crossed her arms over her chest.

“Do you know about the Void?” Roy asked and Selina nodded.

“Course I do, every villain in Gotham knows about the Void and they were people that I was hoping you would never have to deal with, yet here we are.” She said the tenseness leaving her voice and being replaced with a bitter resentment as she looked towards the screen where Tim was messing around with video feeds.

“Did you two find the van that matches the tire tracks at the hospital?” Tim asked, interrupting whatever conversation they could have continued to have.

“Yep, we got the picture of the licence place like you asked.” Dick said as he pulled out his phone. Tim snatched it out of his hand and tapped at the screen a couple of times before handing it back to Dick.

“Alright, cool, do you want to tell me what that was all about or what?” Dick asked, looking between Tim and the others.

“Well after we got back from checking the Rich guys house, he was a serial killer by the way had a whole as torture room down in the basement really fucked up, Tim decided he was going to take another crack at the security cameras in the area. Turns out on his first look through he missed something.” Stephanie said from where she stood with her arms crossed over her chest and leaning against the computer.

“What did he-”

“They were on a loop. All of the security feeds in a two block area either way out of that alleyway were on a minute long time loop.” Tim answered Roy’s question. Roy’s brow shot up as he looked at the feeds.

“How did we miss that on the first watch through? We practically invented the use of loops, how the hell did we miss that?” Roy muttered as he walked up to the batcomputer leaning against the keyboard as he watched the feeds.

“Right so while those two figure that out, what did the rest of you find?” Dick asked looking away from those two and towards the others.

“Penguin checked out. One of his guys was on the other side of the city getting rid of a body, we’ve notified the GCPD of the bodies location.” Damian told him crossing his arms over his chest he glanced over at the computer, Tim and Roy muttering to each other as they both worked on the feeds.

“Black Mask’s van was busy being used for an arms deal near Amusement Mile to some low level gang from Los Santos at the time of Jason’s kidnapping. We’ve already notified the LSPD that one of their gangs are buying weapons from Black Mask.” Kate said and Dick nodded.

“What about Falcone Bruce?” Dick asked as he looked towards Bruce who was watching Tim and Roy closely.

“Falcone at the time was busy making a business deal with me and all of his men were there as far as I know. But Falcone isn’t one to make deals with the Void, I’m still honestly surprised that Scarecrow made a deal with them in the first place usually we all try to avoid the Void at all costs.” Selina stated her brow furrowed slightly in confusion as she thought over it.

“Guess they managed to make a deal with him that he couldn’t refuse.” Dick said and Selina hummed going to open her mouth to say something but before she could Tim spun around violently in the chair.

“We got the original videos.” Tim stated before he swung back around to face the screen.

“I’ll give this to the Void those fuckers are thorough as fuck. They buried the original video feeds so damn deep into the system that they’re almost impossible to find. Almost.” Roy said as he typed on the keyboard while Tim did something at the other end of the control panel for the computer.

“If they’re so thorough, why bury the original feeds? Why not just delete them and be done with it?” Selina asked as she stepped up to the computer.

“Oh they did, but because you can never truly delete something that’s on any form of online they had to bury any possible trace that they could have left.” Tim said as he slid back over towards Roy, who stepped out of the way letting him take back over.

“And because of that we’ve got traffic feeds of the van as it’s leaving the alleyway, a traffic feed that just so happens to contain the licence plate of the van.” Tim said as he forwarded the feeds to the exact moment where you can see the licence plate as the van was driving away. Tim zoomed in on the image, clearing it up to properly display the licence plate.

“Are you-”

“Yes we’re running it through the Gotham city system right now, we’re just waiting for a hit.” Roy interrupted Barbara before she could finish and before anyone could say anything else the computer made a sound.

“And those would be the results.” Tim muttered as he wheeled himself back over to the other side of the computer tapping a couple of buttons as the results popped up on the screen. And everyone’s shoulders slumped almost immediately at the sight of the results.

“They don’t match.” Tim breathed out falling back in the chair as he stared up at the screen.

“They don’t… they don’t… they don’t fucking match?! They don’t fucking match!” Roy shouted as he stared at the screen in complete and utter disbelief his jaw slack and eyes wide.

“But… but… how?... How is that possible?! HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?” Dick shouted slamming his hands down on the computer making everyone jump.

“I don’t get it! The tire tracks match the van, they match, so how the hell do the plates not match?” Tim asked as he started running it through the system again, only for it to come back a few moments later with the same results.

“Maybe they switched the plates?” Barbara offered as she shoulder Roy out of the way and started typing on the computer running the picture of the licence plate through the general system instead of trying to compare the two. Just as they started working again a ding sounded from the computer and everyone stopped in their tracks as they stared at the message that appeared on the screen.

“Tim.” Bruce stated taking a step towards the computer.

“On it.” Tim said as he started typing everyone taking a step back from the keyboard so he could work properly.

~The Void~

~Dr. Roberts~

“Dr. Roberts! Dr. Roberts!” A guard shouted as he jogged down the hallway, pushing past nurses and other doctors as he tried to get to Dr. Roberts.

“Give me one second please.” Dr. Roberts said to the nurse as he turned around an annoyed look on his face as he looked at the guard watching as he pushed passed as he finally reached the Doctor.

“This better be good Sanchez, I’m a little busy.” Dr. Roberts stated his voice firm and full of annoyance. The guard cleared his throat as he shifted his weight around.

“It is sir. Security found a message that was sent out from one of our computers, and you’re gonna want to see this.” The guard said and Dr. Roberts brows furrowed.

“And why is that?” Dr. Roberts asked his tone cold and the guard cleared his throat again.

“Security traced the origin of the message back to the computer that Subject 314695 broke during his escape attempt.” The guard said and Dr. Roberts tensed as he stood up straighter.

“We’ll continue our conversation later.” Dr. Roberts told the nurse as he started walking motioning for the guard to follow him down the hallway as they made their way towards the security room. People moved out of the way when they saw Dr. Roberts stalking his way down the hallway the guard having to jog to keep up with him.

The entire security room fell silent as Dr. Roberts walked into the room, everyone turning to face him silently staring.

“Well?! What the fuck does it say?!” Dr. Roberts shouted and everyone jumped into action.

“Over here sir!” The head of security called and Dr. Roberts made his way towards his desk. Leaning down against the desk Dr. Roberts eyes scanned over the message his face hardening as he stared at the screen rereading the message.

“Did this get out?” Dr. Roberts asked not looking away from the screen.

“No. He was able to get through the first firewall but the secondary one we put in place after he was grabbed managed to stop the message from getting out, barely. The wall took a massive hit apparently he had enough time to put a bug in the message that would eat through any other firewall that it came across.” The head of security stated and Dr. Roberts hmmed as he looked at the screen.

“Did he know about the second firewall?” Dr. Roberts asked and the head of security shook his head.

“No, we don’t think so. We’re guessing by the nature of this message he was attempting to reach his adopted father, the bug was meant strictly to get through that firewall judging by the quickly put together code. Our guess is that the message was meant to go through a backdoor in his security that would have been week enough for this coding to break through.” He said and Dr. Roberts nodded along with him a thoughtful look on his face as he stood up. Bringing his hand up he rubbed his chin while still staring at the screen, biting the inside of his lip as he thought.

“Ok. Save me a copy of the message, bug and all I want everything that comes with this message saved on a flash drive and then transferred to me, once that’s done send the message to its original destination.” Dr. Roberts said. The head of security’s eyes widened as they looked up at Dr. Roberts like the man had suddenly grown two heads.

“What?” The guy asked and Dr. Roberts looked down at him with any annoyed look on his face.

“Did I stutter?” Dr. Roberts asked and the guy rapidly shook his head as he turned to face the screen, typing at the keyboard.

“No, sir, it’s just that… are you sure that’s a good idea? This is most definitely being sent to Batman what if they manage to trace it back to us? What if they manage to find us?” The man asked and Dr. Roberts rolled his eyes.

“They won’t and even if they do it doesn’t matter we’ll be able to handle it so don’t worry about it. So do what I asked you. Now.” Dr. Roberts ordered as he stalked away from the guys desk and paused at the door looking to the two guards standing there.

“You two go get me subject 314695, now.” Dr. Roberts ordered as he walked out of the hall and towards the elevator the two guards jogging down the hallway in the other direction towards the stairs.

~Batcave~

“Well?” Dick asked as he stopped pacing the length of the room looking over to Tim, Barbra, and Roy who had stopped working the computer just seconds ago.

“It’s clean. Came in through the back doorway, the one that Jason usually uses.” Tim said turning around to face Bruce in the chair and Bruce hmmed as he looked at the screen.

“Do you think it’s actually from Jason?” Bruce asked before any of the others could say anything and Tim was silent for a moment as he glanced over at Roy and Barbara who looked back at him before looking at Bruce.

“We think it’s a possibility.” Barbara stated her hands clasped together behind her back.

“It is the same back door to your system that Jason always uses when he wants access to your computer, so it’s a pretty high possibility.” Roy added on and Bruce was silent for a moment everyone staring at him as they waited for him to respond.

“Open it master Timothy.” Alfred finally commanded when Bruce didn’t say anything after a couple of minutes. Tim spun around and clicked on the message opening it up.

“B, it’s JRH. Nabbed by Void. Dr. Roberts.” Tim read aloud as he stared up at the screen rereading the message about five times before anyone said anything.

“It's certainly from Jason that’s his short hand message technique. But how did he get a hold of a computer though to send the message?” Roy muttered as he reread the message trying to see if there was something hidden inside the message that might indicate something worse.

“Maybe he got a hold of someone’s cellphone?” Dick offered up and Selina shook her head.

“With how organized and careful they seem to be I doubt they would allow their people to have their phones on them when handling the people they captured, especially someone like Jason. Especially since they now know who we are, there’s no way they would let their people keep their phones.” Selina said watching as Dick began pacing again.

“It’s more likely that he tried to escape, and judging by the fact that he’s not currently walking through that door, it’s more than likely that he failed and there’s no telling what they do to people who fail in escaping.” Kate stated her arms crossed over her chest as she thought about all of this.

“Tim find who this Dr. Roberts is, what hospital he belongs to. Whichever one he works for will be the one that the Void is at.” Bruce finally said and Tim nodded as he moved the message to another screen and started typing again.

“What makes you think it’s actually the hospital Bruce? The plates don’t match the van we found at the hospital or any plate that we have in our system, plus Dr. means nothing that could just be what-”

“Found him!” Tim called out interrupting Dick’s anxiety fueled rant and Dick froze mid stride looking over at Tim.

“You’re kidding right?” Dick asked and Tim shook his head pulling up the information that he had found.

“Dr. John Roberts is the Dean and chief of staff over at Central Gotham Medical Center, it’s one of the smaller hospitals in Gotham’s lower side.” Tim said as scrolled through the web page on the hospital.

“Alright. Dick, Tim, Damian I want you two to head out to check out the hospital see what we’re working with, more importantly see if you can find any indication that the Void is located in the hospital or has any connection the hospital to begin with.” Bruce said and the three of them nodded as they got up and made their way over to the armory before heading out.

“The rest of us are going to work on coming up with a plan to infiltrate the hospital if this place really is connected to the Void then we’re going to need to be able to get into there without getting caught. They’ll be expecting us.” Bruce said as he walked over to the computer taking a seat as everyone started getting to work.

~The Void~

~Jason’s P.O.V~

Jason was sitting on the floor of your shared cell his back pressed against the wall next to the head of your bed with one of his knees pulled up to his chest so that his arm could rest on top of it. He had his head tipped back so that he could stare up at the ceiling a small smile on his face as he replayed a memory inside his head.

“I’m tellin ya (Y/N) you should have seen it I’ve never seen Alfred so mad at us before I swear I thought I saw my life flash before my eyes again.” Jason muttered with a small chuckled. He continued to stare up at the ceiling for a little bit remembering how the four of them had to sit through what had to have been four hours of lecturing for having had a paint ball war inside the batcave. Sighing he looked over at you the smile on his face turning bitter as he dropped his head down, properly looking at you.

“When you wake up maybe I’ll tell you this story again, so that way you’ll actually remember it.” Jason added on as he looked away from your face, watching as your heavily bandaged chest rose and fell for a couple of seconds before looking back at your face. He was silent for a couple more moments before sighing heavily again as he dropped his head and furiously scrubbed his hands through his hair. Dropping his head back against the wall he groaned heavily.

“Christ (Y/N), I’m sorry. I’m so, so, sorry. This is all my fault. If I had just waited like you said, or hell if I hadn’t decided to try this in the first place then none of this would have happened to you. If I had just been a little better then maybe we would be out of here, but we’re not and it’s all my fault and I’m so, so, sorry (y/N). You were the last person I wanted getting hurt in all of this.” Jason mumbled as he reached out and brushed a stray strand of hair out of your face. His heart clenched and his stomach twisted uncomfortably at the sight of the darkening bruises that littered your face and the twitch of your facial features when the tips of his fingers accidentally brushed against your black eye.

He had to make this up to you somehow, had to find a way to make this better, to show you that he was sorry about what happened, he had to do something, anything to show you he was sorry… Christ when had he gotten so attached to you? So concerned about what’s happened to you? Sure he thinks you deserve to get out of here because clearly you’ve been here and suffered more than anyone else here but there was no need for him to get this so attached especially since he knew so little about you. He’d never gotten this attached to anyone before, especially not someone he was trying to save and yet here he was caring far too much about you but not enough at the same time.

“I wouldn’t be surprised if you never talked to me again, I know I deserve it for causing all of this but I just want you to know that-” Jason cut himself off as his gaze snapped to the door his body tensing as he saw the guards standing there.

Gritting his teeth Jason pushed himself up on to his knees, ignoring the flaring of pain as he moved to a standing position. His hands balled into fist at his side as he stepped forward so that he was between you and the guards. He watched them s they opened the door, a sneer forming on Jason’s face and a barely suppressed growl growing in his chest as he glared at them.

“Stay away from her.” Jason growled out and the guards shared a look before looking back at him.

“Get him.” One of the guards ordered and they all moved forward at one.

Jason growled again and took a step forward fully intending on attacking the guards but he was easily subdued one guard grabbing each of his arms and pulling him back and away from you as they forced his arms behind his back.

“No! No! You stay away from her you bastards! Stay away from her!” Jason shouted struggling against the guards even as they cuffed his hands behind his back. The three of them surprised at how much fight he still had in him despite the beating that he had gotten and the pain that he most certainly still feeling.

“Oh, don’t worry. We’re not here for the little bitch. We’re here for you.” The first guard said and Jason’s brow furrowed as he stopped struggling and stared at the guard.

“What?” He asked and the guard smirked before punching him in the stomach, knocking the breath out of him and causing his knees to give out on him as he gasped for air.

“Get him out of here.” The guard said as he nodded towards the door and the other two guards nodded as they began to drag, Jason out of the cell the first guard following after them.

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mnthpprt · 5 years ago

Text

Chapter 12: Research And Discovery

I gather the plates and take them to the kitchen as a little favor for Sebastian. He is not there, so I give them a quick wash and lay them to dry near the sink. Afterwards, I decide to visit the library, and stop by my room to pick up my thesis notes. Since I am going to be stuck here for an entire month, I might as well do something productive.

“Hi, Leonardo,” I say when I see him sitting at a desk, with his back towards me and his head on his hand. The only response is his soft breathing, quiet and rhythmic. Is he asleep?

Walking closer confirms my suspicion. I nudge him gently, with no result. His box of cigarillos sits open on the wooden surface, along with some matches and a bottle of blanc, and I take one before curling up on an armchair by the open window to read my notes as I smoke. I breath out a small puff that floats out into the midday air. ‘The Conservation of Synthetic Polymers in Contemporary Art’. I stare at the printed title on the paper. My topic of research has not been invented yet, and it won’t be for another 13 years. Resigned, I read through it, trying to come up with an idea on how to make this work.

I’m almost 30 pages in when inspiration strikes. By now, I have already finished my stolen cigarillo, which I leave on the little ashtray on the window sill. Vulcanized rubber is the answer to my problem. It has been around for a few decades in this time, and thankfully, it has very similar properties to the plastics I had been working with. Le Comte said there are books on every topic here, and I decide to put that to the test. I shoot up from my chair and make my way around the large room, scanning the shelves for what I’m looking for.

Jackpot. I spot a section on recent scientific discovery. The chemistry books are very high up, so I pull the ladder from the corner and start climbing, until...

The bottom trim of my dress gets caught as I try to reach for a book. I uselessly attempt to wiggle out the lace from whatever it caught onto, and the movement throws off my balance. My eyes widen as I see the top of the ladder separate from the shelf, and I tilt backwards, falling. I gasp and prepare myself for impact, only to be caught by a pair of strong arms and become enveloped by the scent of tobacco.

“Be careful, cara mia.” Leonardo sets me down and takes the ladder to put it back in its place.

“Thank you,” I breath out, and pull up the hem of my skirt to examine the damage. “This damn dress... It’s pretty, but it just gets in the way. I think I’d rather dress like a man.”

He lets out a low chuckle and returns to the table. After a moment of silence, I look up from the ripped lace trim to see him reading my paper, intrigue visible on his face as he tilts his head.

“This is new,” he mumbles thoughtfully. “Yours?”

“Yeah. I’m still working on it, but time travel complicates things a bit when it comes to research,” I explain. “The materials I’ve been experimenting with don’t exist yet.”

He flips through the pages, reading the various formulas and charts I made, before setting it down and looking at me. His eyes are like aged gold as they pierce through me, and I suddenly feel too seen. I look down, feeling the heat rise in my cheeks. The great Leonardo da Vinci keeps staring at me.

“So, uh... What do you think?” I know he is the quintessential renaissance man, and as such, is knowledgeable in many topics, including chemistry. Back then, it was only known as alchemy, but I’m sure he has caught up with the modern science of the 19th century. My shy question makes him smile.

“It’s fascinating. Though I am not familiar with any of these things you wrote about. Are plastics a new invention from the future?” He leans on the table and I shake my head.

“They don’t exist right now, but they are not exactly new in my time, either. In the future we use them for pretty much everything, but they degrade awfully fast compared to other things. Hence, well, all of that,” I gesture towards the stack of papers, held together by a large clip, and pull out a chair next to him. “By the way, your paintings are also kind of a nightmare to people in my industry.”

“Oh? And what would that be?” He raises an eyebrow and reaches for his box of cigarillos, after which he pulls two out and offers one to me. I take it.

“Conservation. Preserving objects from the past.” Leonardo lights his own cigarillo, but I decline the flame. I want to save mine for later. “You know, one of my mentors refused to work on your Virgin of the Rocks once. He said the sfumato had so many layers it was impossible not to mess up during cleaning, and it’s so valuable the stakes were too high for him to even try. And well, there’s also a lot of debate about whether it was actually you who painted a lot of works. We’re usually the ones who have to analyze them to determine authenticity, but I consider that to be the fun part of the job.”

I catch myself rambling, but Leonardo listens with keen interest. He then laughs, letting out a cloud of smoke. A strand of hair falls over his eyes when he shakes his head in amusement.

“Are you planning to interrogate me like Sebastian, cara mia?” His husky voice is almost melodic as he teases me.

“Oh my god, he really does that?” I laugh in disbelief. “No, your work isn’t really my problem. Besides, I wouldn’t have any evidence for anything you tell me when I go back to my time, so it’s not like they’d believe me anyway.”

“Such a shame that you must return,” he sighs, still smiling. “I’m really starting to like you.”

My face turns pink upon hearing his words, but I don’t want him to see it. Almost on impulse, I snatch the cigarillo from his hand and use it to light my own. Why am I blushing like a schoolgirl? I feel like an idiot, but hopefully he won’t notice if I play along.

“I’m starting to like it here, too. You vampires are not that scary.”

“Don’t get too comfortable, cara mia.” His warning sounds playful, but I see a hint of seriousness in his eyes. As if to further prove his point, he opens the bottle of blanc and downs it almost entirely. I silently watch as he leaves the glass container on the table, and I spot single drop falling down the side. I catch it on my finger and lick it off, which immediately causes my face to scrunch up in disgust. The flavor is something akin to eating a lemon and getting soap in one’s mouth at the same time.

“What the hell is this made of? It’s awful.”

“I can’t believe you just tried it like that,” Leonardo laughs. I join in with a shrug.

“What can I say? I’m a woman of science.” He just rolls his eyes in response, but indulges me anyway.

“It’s made from a very rare flower. Vampire society has advanced enough for someone to figure out a blood substitute, even if it’s not very good. It only staves off hunger for a while, but it’s better than nothing.”

“No wonder half of you guys hate this stuff. Now I get why Arthur was so eager to bite me.”

“He did what?” His eyes suddenly become dark. I should not have said that.

“Don’t worry, he didn’t actually do it! He just tried really hard to convince me,” I rush to explain. “Might have been my fault, too. We were in the thermae together, so he probably got the wrong idea.”

“Oh, cara mia.” Leonardo takes a deep breath and runs his hands along his face. “I can’t fathom why you took a bath with him in the fist place, but did le Comte not tell you the two causes of bloodlust?”

“There are two?” I am starting to understand how clueless I am, or rather, how bad le Comte is at explaining things. Leonardo clears his throat and looks at me with a serious expression on his face.

“The first one is hunger, you know that already,” he begins. “The other cause is more... intimate in nature.” I raise an eyebrow at his wording. “When a vampire’s attraction for someone is strong, they crave the blood of the subject to their affections.”

Oh.

“So... What your saying is that seducing one of you can get me killed?” I’m not sure what answer I was expecting, but it wasn’t this. “Well, good thing I’m trying to.”

“If only you could control that, cara mia... You don’t have to try,” he mutters softly, almost too quiet for me to hear. But I do, and blood rushes to my cheeks once again. I look down at my hands, not knowing what to say. What is he doing to me?

I take a deep puff of my cigarillo to distract myself from the awkward silence that has now fallen between us. Neither of us speak again until the cloud of smoke I exhale has completely dissipated.

“I should probably get myself some of these so I can stop stealing yours,” I say, changing the topic. Leonardo returns to his usual nonchalant attitude and tosses his box of cigarillos on the table.

“You can keep those. I’ll ask Sebastian to buy more.”

“Thanks.” I take it and put it in the pocket of my dress.

“I already told you, cara mia,” he smiles. “No need to thank me.”

#ikemen vampire #ikevam #ikevamp #ikemen #ikemen fanfiction #ikevam fanfic #ikemen vampire fanfiction #ikevamp fanfiction #ikemen vampire leonardo #ikevamp leonardo

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marvinswriting · 5 years ago

Text

some secrets are harder to hide

prompt: KEVIN AND/OR GRETCHEN MEETING DAMIAN- bear hell yeah, more borrower au. Gretchen POV? mhmmm. Gretchen is very aware of the reader and she just insults Janis a lot, I think you can TELL how much fun i had writing this one

I'm not stupid. A pushover? Sure. A kiss-up? You bet. A follower? Please, I invented the term. But stupid? No.

I know Janis didn't fight off a cat by herself and manage to find food. But I'm also not one to complain when a solid food supply gets handed to me.

So I didn't question it.

Until now.

We have a borrowing schedule. Kevin on Sunday, Janis goes Tuesday, I go Thursday and we all go Saturday for more of a lookout rather than for food.

The schedule isn't set in stone, if we really need food, we all go together. If somebody is sick, someone else will take their day.

Which is what was going on right now.

"Janis, you aren't actually thinking of leaving." Kevin deadpans. Its Tuesday, and I look up from where I'm sharpening my tools.

Janis was gathering her supplies, swaying on her feet. "I've got a job to do."

"And a fever. You also have a fever." I add.

Janis shrugs. "Never stopped me before."

"It was never this bad before." Kevin counters.

Janis was an unhealthy pale, to the point where she looked a little green.

"We need the food." Janis wasn't the one to budge in our roommate dynamic. Kevin thought reasonably, I was practical, and Janis was stubborn. It was not always a bad thing, but not a good thing right now as she was about to pass out.

"Janis," Kevin took the borrowing tools away from her. "No."

"I'm fine." Janis insisted. "I know my own limits."

"Then," I stood up grabbing my own bag. "I'm coming with you."

"No necessary Gretchen," Janis says, yanking her bag back from Kevin. Or she tries too. It's unuseful and she stumbles back a bit, the bag still securely in Kevin's grip. It didn't even look like he was holding that tightly.

I exchange glances with Kevin, and he reluctantly hands the bag to Janis. "Gretchen is going with you."

Janis scoffs but doesn't fight him. "Whatever, just don't slow me down."

"I get the feeling that it might be the other way around," I say, following Janis to the floor exit.

"Stay safe." Kevin warns as we leave.

It's hot in the walls, but the house has AC. Janis shivers, pulling her hand-sewn jacket closer around her.

Its night, but we still stick by the walls, carefully making our way to the kitchen.

Janis tries to muffle a cough with her jacket sleeve. Its summer, so it was odd to have such a bad cold. It was also hot out so to see Janis under so many layers was odd in itself.

"Janis, are you sure you're okay?" I ask as Janis prepares to climb. Her cheeks are red and she's breathing heavily from just walking.

"Mhmm." She says.

"I'm serious." I turn her so she's facing me. She's so out of it she doesn't even notice what bad shape she's in. Janis giggles a bit.

"Why are you so stressed, Gretchen?"

"I don't think you can climb up without falling."

"I've done it before."

"Not in this shape."

"What do you mean, I'm in great shape." Janis strikes a pose with a crooked grin.

Yeah, no. Like hell am I letting Janis borrow tonight.

She's gonna get herself killed, or even worse- caught.

I groan, placing my head in my hands. "Let's go the other way."

I gotta get Janis back to her room without her suspicion. "We can take the route up to the counter directly." I lie.

"But we just got here!" Janis whined. I grab her wrist and drag her back to the wall.

"It's for your safety."

We reach the living room and I shove Janis towards Kevin, who glances at us, confused.

"She needs to go to bed. I'll go borrowing myself."

"Hey, Gretchen! You tricked me!" Janis tried to step forward, but Kevin grabs her shoulders, holding her next to him.

"And it wasn't hard. Go to bed, Janis. You'll thank me when you feel better."

"But-" Her protest was interrupted by a yawn. "Okay. Say hi to Damian for me."

"What?!"

"Huh?"

Kevin and I stare at her wide-eyed and it takes Janis a few moments before her own brain can process what she said.

"Ohhhhh." Janis ran her fingers through her hair. "Forgot I didn't tell you that."

"Tell us what, Janis." Kevin sits her at one of the makeshift bottle cap chairs we have, pulling up two more for him and me.

Janis shrugged. "I may or may not have been caught."

"And you're calm about this, why?" I ask.

"It's only Damian."

I sigh. Janis clearly is too sick to see the issue and that a simple 'it's just Damian' won't make us understand anymore.

"When did you get caught, Janis?" Kevin asks.

The girl yawns. "Remember when the cat almost killed me?"

"Janis. That was nearly four weeks ago!" Kevin cried out.

Janis shrugged again. "So? I'm not dead."

Even in her fever-induced whacked-out state, Janis made a point. A weak one, but a point.

"Yet." Kevin countered.

And Kevin made a good point too....

I was receiving whiplash from how this conversation was going. Yeah, Janis isn't dead, but do we really know Damian? No. Every time Janis spoke, I found myself on her side. But then Kevin objects and I'm back with him again. Frankly, it's giving me a headache.

"Guys," I lift my hand in defense, trying to defuse the argument going on. "What if we all just went tonight. Kevin and I can meet Damian and come to our own conclusions."

Janis nodded, her eyelids drooping. "Let's make it fast though. I think I might be getting sick."

"No, really?"

Kevin shakes his head. "I think this is a bad idea. He knows Janis and that's risky enough."

"Damian isn't a bad person," Janis said sitting up straighter.

"That's for us to decide," Kevin says. "Get up, our main mission tonight is food and water, not Damian."

Janis mumbled an okay as we grabbed our bags. We actually did take the other route this time, because I wasn't kidding when I said Janis was in no climbing shape. I went in front of her with Kevin in the back as we made our way up.

This route was in no way easier, but it was harder to fall and we were less exposed.

Janis, against all odds, made it to the exit with minimal issue. She was still swaying with each step, but Kevin pushed her along, making sure she was far away from the edge.

I'm not saying I doubt Janis's judgment but, I definitely doubt her judgment. I mean, Janis wasn't the sweetest little angel there was. For a human to see her snarky personality and not want to kill her probably meant they were good news. But I'm not taking her word for it. I'll see it for myself.

Kevin pushes open the outlet and Janis tumbles out onto the counter. Literally.

There's a bit of a jump from the outlet to the counter, small enough that we can hoist ourselves back into the walls, but far enough that you cant simply step out.

Janis lands on the marble with a soft thump and a laugh.

She is out of it.

Kevin and I follow Janis out, more gracefully.

"You good?" I whisper.

She grins, wobbling up. "I might pass out."

"You sound way to gleeful to be serious." Kevin deadpans.

"No, I'm dead serious," Janis said, bringing her hand up to hold her head. "But isn't this fun!"

"No." I deadpan, watching Janis sway dangerously. "I'm no doctor but you may be dying."

"Don't listen to Gretchen." Kevin groans. "It's just a fever."

"Can you die from bad fevers?" I ask.

"I dunno." Kevin shrugs. "If Janis keeps this up we may find out."

"For science!" Janis yells excitedly. Kevin and I shush her immediately.

"If you don't keep quiet, I swear to god, Janis-" Kevin goes off in a ramble of threats he definitely won't follow through with.

A door opens from somewhere in the house and my hand is instantly covering Kevin's mouth. We're still pretty hidden and close enough to the outlet that we're in no real danger if somebody walks into the kitchen but we don't want to get caught, regardless.

"He's arrived!" Janis sings loudly.

Oh right.

I guess we kinda do wanna get caught.

"Janis if you don't shut the fuck up-" Kevin pushes my hand away from him.

Janis runs out from where we're in hiding- or more of ungracefully jogs, to the center of the counter.

"Janis-" Kevin calls out as I rush out after her, Kev following.

To be honest, I wasn't thinking of 'oh she's gonna go meet her giant friend, its no big deal' I was more thinking 'this fucking idiots body is gonna shut down on her at any moment and she's just chilling in plain sight'.

Which, to be fair, both were going to happen. I just wasn't ready for the first one. I freeze as a human enters the kitchen, Kevin running into me.

I knew that we were gonna meet Damian tonight, but that didn't make me mentally prepared.

"Janis, is that you?" The lights the kitchen flick on, and I cringe at the intrusion of brightness.

"Damian!" Janis grinned pushing away from me and walks to the edge of the counter.

"Are these-" Damian glances at Kevin and I. "Are these your roommates?"

"Yup!" Janis says throwing up jazz hands. "Meet Kevin and Gretchen!"

We both wave shyly under the gaze of Damian. Unlike Janis, we cared about our lives and you're not gonna catch me trusting a human right of the bat.

"Hi." Kevin says tentatively, stepping further out from the shadows, pushing me along with him.

"Hello, I'm Damian."

I'm sure Damiana already knew that we know that, but hey, at least he's polite.

"Okay, cute, you guys all know each other. I need to get home." Janis said.

"Are you okay?" Damian stepped closer to the counter.

"No, she's not." I cut off whatever Janis was going to say. "She should be home sleeping off a bad fever, but shes instant."

Damian nodded. "I could have told you that last part."

Janis hugged her jacket closer to herself, mumbling something none of us could pick up. She was looking at the counter below her- standing unnervingly close to the edge.

"Okay, seriously." Kevin stepped past me. "Hate to cut this short, nice to meet you, Damian. We're gonna get this one home."

Before he could reach Janis, she swayed slightly, knees buckling.

The idiot passed out.

To be fair, I told her she needed to stay home.

But nooo.

Oh! And remember how I said Janis was standing on the edge of the counter? Yeah well, when she passed out she fell off the counter.

Kevin rushed forward as I gasped. So helpful, I know.

Damian's hand instantly shoots out, catching Janis.

"Oh my god." Kevin says softly.

"I'm surprised it didn't happen sooner." I mumble.

Janis's head shoots up from behind Damian's fingers. "What the fuck?"

"You passed out. Told you it'd happen." I call out.

"Gretchen. Not right now." Kevin says.

Damian looks shaken up and I guess I can't blame him. Kevin and I have been betting on when Janis's body will say no more, he only just got here.

"Jesus Christ, Jan."

"I'm fine!" She protests.

"You literally just fell off the counter."

Kevin and I watch dumbfounded at the duo in front of us begin to argue over Janis's safety. Damian seemed just as worried about Janis's health as us, maybe more so.

"So," Kevin whispers. "Damian seems trustworthy?"

"We've officially known him for like three minutes, Kev."

"And in those three minutes?"

"Yeah. He's good."

We turn out attention back to an argument Janis seems to be loosing.

"Damian I'm-"

"Say you're fine I dare you."

"Tired. I'm tired." Janis said, admitting defeat.

Damian carefully lowered the girl onto the table. "Get her home safe. Maybe we can all talk later when Janis isn't burning up by the second."

Kevin and I nodded as I wrapped my arm around Janis, guiding her to the outlet.

"Bye, Damian. Nice meeting you." I called out behind me as Kevin helped Janis back into the wall.

I'll get double food when it's my turn to borrow.

tag list!!! @realmisspolarbear @musicallygt @smallsoysauce @sourishlemons

#mg borrower au #borrower janis #borrower gretchen #borrower kevin #giant damian #g/t #g/t writing #Giant/tiny

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blazehedgehog · 5 years ago

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Any thoughts on the whole Doom Eternal/surprise Denuvo thing?

I get the feeling it’s Bethesda trying to patch things up with Denuvo.

Because if you didn’t know, Doom Eternal shipped in a weird state. The game’s always had Denuvo, but if you installed it through the Bethesda.net launcher, it included a folder called “original” that included a raw, drm-free executable for the game, from a time before they applied Denuvo.

Just like how Sonic Mania went from 200mb down to 7mb, the Denuvo-less Doom Eternal executable was less than a tenth of the DRM-stuffed version.

This also isn’t the first time this has happened. RAGE 2 also shipped with the exact same “original” folder that contained a no-denuvo executable. These incidents were probably accidents, though it’s a bit weird to make the same mistake twice.

But now Doom Eternal has updated to require the most recent version of Denuvo, the most aggressive version yet, which runs as a kernel-level driver. For those of you out there who don’t know what “kernel-level” means, there are many layers of security in Windows, and it all depends on which execution level the program is allowed to run. The less security, the more a program is allowed to do, and it can do it faster. But less security also means it’s easier to conceal nasty processes as a byproduct of the software having more freedom. More freedom means more chances to cause serious damage to a system by doing something that’s normally safeguarded.

“Kernel-level” execution is about as close to bare metal (read: zero security) as Windows will let you get. Kernel-level execution is usually reserved for, like, very important hardware drivers (your graphics card, etc.) and ultra-essential core Windows functions.

A video game is not meant to run at a “kernel-level.” There isn’t really a need for it. It would be like sneaking in to Area 51 to hook up a PS4 to one of their TVs. Absolutely, absurdly unnecessary.

The argument could be made that a lot of piracy and cheating software also executes at the kernel-level now, and that may be true. But that’s often a one-time process during installation. Denuvo is just on, all the time, while you play the game. It’s constantly checking, every few minutes, just to make sure you aren’t doing anything naughty, even though it’s already checked 200 times.

In even the best case past scenarios, Denuvo had a performance impact. It uses a very complex system of data decryption so the executable can’t just be hacked to remove DRM checks. Decryption isn’t “free” in terms of computation, and will drag system processing speed down. Going back to Sonic Mania as an example, that game is so simple a toaster could run it, but Denuvo running in the background would still cause my recordings to stutter.

Now that the new Denuvo is kernel-level, it is effectively going right to the heart of Windows and squeezing all of its blood out. In other terms, thanks to this new version of Denuvo, users are reporting significant losses to performance, because your computer is too busy dedicating all system resources to Denuvo’s “guilty until proven innocent” way of doing business.

But Bethesda probably “has” to do this, because including two DRM-free versions of their past games was probably a breach of whatever contract they have with Denuvo, so this is them trying to repent by doubling down with an even nastier version of the software. It sucks, but there’s parts of Bethesda that also seem to suck, so the shoe fits.

And none of this even touches on the fact that letting software like Denuvo root around in the Windows kernel is probably an outrageously bad idea in general and a huge security risk. It effectively means that the security in Windows is only as good as Denuvo’s. If Denuvo’s security isn’t absolutely 1000% air tight, it becomes way easier for other people to gain kernel access to Windows, and that would be very bad for Microsoft, Denuvo, and Bethesda. Kernel access for software like this is a big risk.

I should also point out that the inventors of Denuvo also invented SecuROM, another DRM scheme, and one that has actually broken hundreds of games on Windows 10. Essentially, whatever loophole SecuROM used to maintain its anti-piracy DRM was closed by Windows 10, and now, even if you have legitimate game discs, they cannot be installed because the SecuROM check will always, always, always fail.

Denuvo is a ticking timebomb waiting to explode, essentially.

The thing is, I feel like this is how the DRM song and dance also goes, though. All of the nastiest anti-piracy DRM always reaches a kind of boiling point and then falls out of favor. I mean, nobody remembers StarForce these days, do they? I feel like we’re on the road to Denuvo going away, though that only makes it suck even harder when things like this happen.

#questions #doom eternal #bethesda softworks #id software #denuvo #securom #starforce #melcodriggs

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thanksjro · 5 years ago

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More Than Meets the Eye 2012 Annual - None of These Guys Know How to Be Nice to Others or Themselves

Hey, so you remember how every kids’ show until basically 2006 had a Fantastic Voyage episode, where they explored the inside of one of their friends’ bodies? We’re opening up with that.

Rodimus and a few pals are busy trying to clear out a nanocon infestation from none other than Ultra Magnus himself, and are doing it in the most convoluted way possible because Brainstorm wanted to try some new invention out, and I guess Ratchet just can’t say no to that faceplate. Whirl’s in there, which seems like maybe not the best idea. Wonder how Magnus feels about all this.

Oh my god he’s been asleep this entire time.

There’s this thing that doctors are supposed to do before performing any medical procedure on a lucid patient, and it’s called informed consent. It would appear that it didn’t happen here. Ratchet, your medical license, please and thank you.

Things start getting hairy for the Fantastic Voyagers during their throw-down inside Magnus’ mouth, and Ratchet’s forced to do something drastic: he has to ask Ultra Magnus, king-sized stick-in-the-mud, to smile.

Woof, that’s rough. Don’t worry, buddy, you’ll get the hang of it eventually.

The sudden engagement of the smiling pistons is so violent that they explode, thus destroying the nanocons entirely and utterly. Great!

Word gets out that Ultra Magnus smiled. Not so great.

Atomizer’s all about them crossbows, so I’m going to make a call and say his design aesthetic is probably rustic chic. Of course, rustic chic for a bunch of space robots probably looks a hell of a lot like brutalism. What I’m saying is, I don’t think Atomizer’s work before the war was too hot.

Everyone Magnus runs into and tries to inflict his job upon makes fun of him. Magnus is a sensitive soul, so he takes it to heart. Poor baby.

A bit later on, in the double page spread with layering issues, Chromedome wakes up from a nightmare.

Rewind has to think about this and double check his database to make sure that Chromedome hasn’t in fact tried to commit suicide by way of ingesting space napalm, and I think that says a lot about Chromedome from a mental health standpoint that even his husband isn’t 100% sure what all he’s tried.

Chromedome hasn’t tried this particular avenue of suicide, which means that his flashback nightmare is the result of one of the many mnemosurgery autopsies he’s performed over the years. Turns out digging around in someone’s memories has a few side-effects.

Meanwhile, Tailgate’s inviting Cyclonus to his Autobot graduation ceremony, because while Cyclonus pulled a real bastard move last time we saw him, Tailgate still seems to think he’s worth having around. Tailgate really wants to be liked by people. Cyclonus doesn’t even respond, and Tailgate decides to leave him alone to stare out at the free-to-use image of space that’s currently in their window.

Then there’s Swerve, who’s down in the engine rooms looking for his roommate, Red Alert. Yep, that’s right; Red Alert somehow ended up sharing a room not just in general, but with Swerve, who we established in issue #1 as being maybe not his favorite individual.

Swerve stops by the corpse of Ore, who I guess they haven’t scraped out of the side of the quantum drive yet for whatever reason, and he take a moment to pay his respects.

OH MY GOD.

Everyone looks like they’ve got retainers in for this issue too! What an oddly specific design choice to see repeated by multiple artists. And on that note…

The 2012 Annual was drawn by two people, Jimbo Salgado and Emil Cabaltierra, both of whom seem to only have this singular contribution to the Transformers franchise. Salgado appears to have been employed by DC Comics, and Cabaltierra’s most recent work seems to be on the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles comics. There isn’t a ton of information on either of them, so I suppose we’ll have to take the art here at face value.

Over in Rodimus’ inexplicably not-pink room, he and Drift are discussing talking points for Tailgate’s graduation ceremony. Well, Drift’s talking while Rodimus half-listens. We get a taste of Rodimus’ motto for the series.

Drift thinks that less might be more in this case, but the saying, much like a majority of Rodimus’ personality, is based in feelings of inadequacy. Optimus says it- though not nearly as often- and if it’s good enough for Optimus Prime, surely it’s something to emulate. Rodimus, feeling a bit snippy over being called out on his hero-worship, accuses Drift of not actually caring about the ceremony and just wanting to get to the part where they hit up Crystal City to join up on the Knight Quest. Drift, admittedly, is excited to see the Circle of Light again, which is surprising considering what happened the last time he was in Crystal City.

I dunno, I just feel like things would be awkward.

Magnus walks in, demanding the whole crew be thrown out because they’ve been making fun of him. Rodimus tries to help Magnus see the lighter side of things, saying that a little harmless ribbing means that the crew is starting to warm up to him, but Magnus doesn’t see it that way.

There’s also the issue of the Lost Light still not having made contact with the Circle of Light. Magnus is concerned about the sect of religious zealot-pacifists having been attacked, but Drift fills Magnus- and the reader- in on the bad-assery he witnessed back in the Drift miniseries.

It’s later now, and Tailgate’s ceremony is about to start. In the audience, Jackpot takes bets on how long it’ll take for Rodimus to say the Thing, and Whirl confides in First Aid about the graffiti he left inside Ultra Magnus. Wonder what sort of violation that is. Defacement of personal property? Medical malpractice? Assault?

Rodimus kicks things off, Whirl wins a bet, and we get word that all the dead bodies they just keep stacked up in the medibay started moving and clutching at their heads as if in pain. Apparently First Aid doesn’t know proper ceremony etiquette, because he’s fully leaned over the seat in front of him, in a crowd that honestly isn’t nearly big enough to hide what he’s doing, to whisper to Skids about the whole thing.

Well well well, if it isn’t Mr. Grumpypants himself watching from the wings. Glad you could not-join the party, you night-creature. If you’re attempting to be a nice person, Cyclonus, the person you’re attempting to be nice to needs to be aware of it.

Rodimus makes his speech, reflects on his own right of Autobrand, and Tailgate gets his very own temporary Autobot badge.

Or not.

Rodimus, who didn’t mean to fuck up Tailgate’s paint, doesn’t even know what he just did. Rewind steps in to translate the gobbledygook, while Tailgate has a minor crisis over his ruined beauty, saying that it’s Old Cybertronian for “let me out.” Drift and Ratchet run out of the white void behind the stage, both touting their own theories on what just happened, and both at odds with one another. Skids interrupts the debate of science vs religion before it can start, stating that Swerve’s on the horn about that Duobot not being dead.

Ore being alive poses a problem, because he’s still stuffed into the quantum drive, and if he freaks out he could set the thing off and having them bouncing all over space. They just got to Theophany, home of the Circle of Light, so bouncing around would be really inconvenient.

But wait, there’s more! The Galactic Council has come calling, wanting to know just what the hell everyone’s favorite war-mongering race is doing on their turf. Rodimus is a rude little shit, because bonding with the Matrix doesn’t really do much for your skills in traversing delicate political situations. Luckily, Magnus steps in before Rodimus can cause a galactic incident.

Magnus, because he’s the Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord- Tyrest being seen as a neutral party by both the Cybetronians and the Galactic Council- is received much more warmly by such a bureaucratic organization. They have what might be considered playful banter to them, and an agreement is reached.

Ooh, that’s a spicy take there, Rodimus!

We get a brief explanation of what exactly the Galactic Council is- a coalition of sentient races who organize treaties between species and police the galaxy in an attempt to keep the peace. Obviously, they don’t much care for the Transformers.

Before we can get terribly deep into the history of galactic politics, there’s a bright flash of light that consumes Rodimus-

-and we cut over to Swerve and his zombie pal.

Hey, who wants to see some high-level self-sabotage of one’s sense of worth? Because if you do, you’re in luck, because Swerve’s apparently got it down to a fine art. After failing to identify himself, Ore- who cannot see or feel anything at present- thinks that he’s speaking with Pipes, and Swerve proceeds to offer up that thing that happened in issue #6 on a silver platter to the guy who apparently doesn’t like him a whole lot already.

Swerve, please, practice a little self-love, my dude. Don’t subject yourself to this.

Down on Theophany, the boys are driving towards Crystal City, and are none-too-impressed by what they find.

Rewind, what the fuck do you think you’re doing? You can’t do that, it’s been established.

It’s looking like Crystal City’s been proper fucked, and Drift’s none too happy about it.

Back over at the pity-party, Swerve’s ruminating on the difference between peace and happiness, and how he doesn’t think he’s cut out for either of them. Ore adds that they’ve only just ended the war, and it may take some time to settle into the new normal. Swerve worries that he’s wasting his bold new tomorrow by playing pranks on Red Alert when he could be using his medical degree for something useful and important. Poor Swerve, caught in the trap of “you’re only worth something if you’re productive”. We’ve all been there, man.

Because it’s trauma, and you don’t owe anyone to be perfectly healthy and fine when you’re traumatized by warcrimes and atrocities! Every single member of the Cybertronian population is chock-full of trauma, and they need, just, so many more mental health services in order for it all to be processes and dealt with.

Also, Ore is very scary and bad to look at, so I’ve cut him out of the capture for this little bit of dialogue.

Back in Crystal City, the boys have made the rounds, and determined that a fight did indeed happen, but there aren’t any bodies to speak of. Odd, that. Drift is a little on edge, as he snaps at Rewind that he’ll cut his camera off of his head if he doesn’t shut up, then decks Whirl for playing the name game.

Then Drift gets mad at god, and things go about as well as you’d expect.

Later, bitches!

Over on the Benign Intervention, the Galactic Council ship, we see where Ultra Magnus’ gotten to, as he has a meeting with a representative. The Council is offering Magnus a seat at the table, because he’s about the only member of his race the Council respects.

Back with Drift, the lads have picked themselves up from the fall and have found themselves a nice little surprise.

Ratchet and Skids up there just straight-up disrespecting gravity. Can you tell I’m not a huge fan of the art here? Because I’m not.

The fellas climb up on this giant’s face, Swerve shows up for a panel, and Rodimus has everyone jump down the Metrotitan’s throat to go find the thing’s brain.

Lot of vore-adjacent action this issue. Gotta love an Annual.

Once inside, they find a very big brain, and Cyclonus reflects on his faith. See, back when Metrotitans weren’t so rare and Cyclonus hadn’t spent 6 million years in the Dead Universe, he would worship in their shadow. Rewind, because he’s a history nerd, asks for a taste of that action, and Cyclonus indulges him, probably because he’s once again realized that he misses connecting with other people, and still doesn’t know how to handle the Tailgate thing.

This is where the Guido Guidi art kicks in, and it’s so friggin’ pretty. So pretty, in fact, you might almost miss Roberts slipping this into the lore dump.

An urgency, you say, which- stop me if I’m wrong- resulted in the creation of life.

Honestly, I’m surprised it didn’t happen sooner.

Anyway, this is where the Guiding Hand came to be- the five gods of Cybertron.

Now, back in The Death of Optimus Prime, it was established that the Guiding Hand were ancient, lost knowledge, only known to the Matrix and its bearer. Cyclonus is really fucking old, but I’m thinking that this discrepancy is simply a case of early-installment weirdness that’s now being rectified, so it isn’t too odd when members of the crew are revealed to have faith.

So the gods hung out, made a bunch of babies asexually, gave them the gifts of thought and feeling and being able to turn into tanks and shit, and it was pretty sweet for a while.

The Mortilus got a bug up his butt about killing things, and the Transformers found their true purpose in the universe- war. Mortilus was eventually defeated, but only after every other member of the Guiding Hand had been reduced to abstract sculpture art; Primus became Vector Sigma, Solomus became the Matrix- which, considering what happened to that thing prior to MTMTE, uh, yikes- and Epistemus and Adaptus became the basis on which the modern t-cog and brain module were built.

Because the god of death is no more, the Transformers were made immortal, which explains why it takes so much to fucking kill them. A bunch of the first generation of Transformers decided to fuck off into space to spread the good word about their pretty-much-dead gods, coming to be known at the Knights of Cybertron. The end!

Ratchet doesn’t appreciate the tale that Cyclonus just told, because Real Atheist Hours are 24/7 for him, and that fight that Skids managed to put a stop to starts up again.

Then Drift brandishes a sword a Ratchet, because this is how we deal with our problems when we’re Drift, and hiding behind a façade of being a happy-go-lucky flowerchild fails. Rodimus breaks the two of them up before someone gets stabbed, and drags Drift away as Chromedome sets up to do his thing on a brain the size of a school bus.

Skids comes up and starts chatting him up, and Chromedome reveals a little bit about himself as a person.

Chromedome, I’m happy that you found someone you love who loves you just as much, but I’ll go ahead and say it- I don’t think telling the dude with short-to-midterm memory loss to look for a relationship is the hottest idea you’ve ever had.

In a place that isn’t the inside of the Metrotitan’s skull, Drift asks Rodimus about his faith. Rodimus is a believer, then proceeds to put the guy on a pedestal as he make the claim that “everything will depend on him.”

Then Chromedome stabs his needly little fingers into a giant brain- much to Rewind’s chagrin- and all hell breaks loose.

Oh man, y’all are going to double space-prison for that one.

Magnus’ meeting gets interrupted, of course, and the Council’s automatic response is to assume they’re being attacked, and they break out the big guns to take down to the planet’s surface. Magnus, seeing the writing on the wall, teleports back over to the Lost Light awith the intent to call Rodimus to try and see just what’s happening now, when the entirety of the ship is encased in a forcefield, and not one courtesy of Trailcutter.

Back planetside, Chromedome’s flat on his back as he explains that the Metrotitan is screaming its friggin’ head off in a frequency they can’t hear, mad as hell that it can’t answer the call of Vector Sigma to come home. This frequency can also apparently raise the dead, and do a bunch of other really weird shit. Chromdome wants to dive back in.

Chromedome, are you sure that statement about being suicidal should have been past-tense?

The whole planet is a-rockin’ and a-shakin’, as the Council troops make their way towards our dear friends. Rodimus, thinking quickly, orders Whirl to take a few friends and keep the Council busy while Chromedome wraps up. Rodimus wants all that good, good Cybertronian history, and figures that they need to rip it all out of the Metrotitan’s brain while he’s still kicking. Brainstorm offers to shrink the guy, seeing as he brought along his mass-displacement gun, but Rodimus seems intent on using the method that could kill Chromedome and might not even get them what they need before the Metrotitan dies.

Before a decision can be reached, Ultra Magnus gets through to Rodimus. Turns out that forcefield the Lost Light’s in is an incineration shell, and things are about to get spicy for everyone on board. Said shell is also draining the power cells, so they can’t quantum jump to safety. Rodimus has an idea though.

Over with Swerve and Ore, the conversation turns to religion. Swerve is a man of faith, whereas Ore has a much more straightforward view of life- you live, and it’s odd and wonderful and terrible, and when you die that’s it. Ore does not believe in the afterlife, and believes that what you get is what you get.

This is about the time that Rodimus calls Swerve to have him set off the quantum drive by killing Ore via shock, by telling him the truth about his predicament.

Swerve just shoved those orders so far up Rodimus’ ass, he’ll probably blow them out of his nose in a minute.

So, the Lost Light’s done for, thanks to the power of standing up for yourself. I guess Scott Pilgrim got that one wrong. Chromedome asks Rodimus what he wants to do with the Metrotitan, and Rodimus says to let him free.

And then everyone died. That’s a series wrap, folks!

What do you mean we’ve got 49 more issues? Okay, let’s see where this goes.

So Brainstorm blasts the brain, everyone is enveloped in a bright light, and we smash-cut to Swerve talking at Rung’s headless body in the medibay, as he recounts the outright religious experience he had.

Ore’s gone, and Swerve believes that Primus came and took him to the Afterspark, the Cybertronian afterlife, and so it was that Swerve’s faith was strengthened.

Over in Rodimus’ office, we tear down that miracle with some equally unrealistic sci-fi bullshit. Brainstorm’s mass-displacement shrunk the Metrotitan down enough to allow himself to teleport, and some theorized psychic link with Ore allowed the Lost Light to piggyback to safety.

Still no clues as to what happened to the Circle of Light, though, which is troublesome. Probably kidnapped, or some such. Going off of that hunch, the Lost Light will be following some reports on Decepticon activity- because we haven’t gotten to the point of nuance with our former enemies just yet.

Rodimus has decided that winging things isn’t really working out like he’d like it to, so he’s going to try to be a better captain. Which, y’know, thank god. Let’s make an effort to keep everyone kicking.

We get a brief flashback to just what happened during Magnus’ meeting with the Galactic Council, and as it turns out, he turned down their offer, saying that he was needed on the Lost Light.

The Council is disappointed by his decision.

Oh well dang, I wonder who that mysterious figure could possibly be. Surely he will in no way factor into the entirety of every single problem ever faced or made by the planet of Cybertron and the galaxy it resides in. Oh, surely not.

While I got you here, let’s take a gander at the section blurbs.

We’re getting yet more mindsets about god and faith, from folks not in the narrative but adjacent to it. Alpha Trion is a well-respected, learned robot who has no doubt spent a vast majority of his time taking in literature and theory on the subject of religion. In contrast, we have Beachcomber, who in this particular continuity doesn’t have a ton of characterization, but does seem to be pulling from his hippy-dippy persona from the ‘80s cartoon at least a little for his excerpt here. New-age, we’ll call him.

And then there’s Megatron, who’s just straight-up torn the cover off of Karl Marx’s A Contribution to the Critique of Hegel's Philosophy of Right and is trying to pass it off as his own, but let’s look more at the actual meaning of such a quote.

Now the problem with that is, much like in real life, we aren’t seeing the entirety of the quote, instead having only kept the last little bit to play with.

"Religion is the sigh of the oppressed creature, the heart of a heartless world, and the soul of soulless conditions. It is the opium of the people".

Now, for Megatron here, we should assume that the front-end of this quote from Marx isn’t applicable, seeing as we seem to be operating as if it doesn’t exist.

So, “Religion is the opium/engex of the people.” It’s a comfort, a drug, something to keep one docile. We’ll see the logical conclusion to such a mindset much later on in the series. As is, it gives us another glimpse at the creature that is pre-war Megatron.

And now you know why the Annual subtitle was Primus: You, Me, and Other Revelations.

#transformers #jro #jro punches me in the face #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots

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doomedandstoned · 5 years ago

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Mollo Rilla Go For Epic in Addictive “Rage The Day”

~Doomed & Stoned Debuts~

Here's something you don't come across very often: a song that's not afraid to take some big risks. In this case, it's paid off remarkably. The band, which you've no doubt come across in these pages before, is MOLLO RILLA.

If there's anyone who can bring about a rock 'n' roll revival, it's gonna be inventive guys like these four from Cleveland. The key, as with so many things in life, is simple: adaptation and evolution. If bands like Melvins and Die Like Gentlemen have made us rethink the line between rock and metal, Mollo Rilla are teaching us to rethink our notion of boundaries altogether.

Take "Rage The Day," for example, Mollo Rilla's latest tour de force. The song begins with a headbanging rhythm, but it's pronounced by the piano, not the guitar. This reminded me of one of my favorite prog rock acts, Beggar's Opera.

Rhythm turns to riff as guitar joins in with some Metallica-tier chugging, followed in short order by a fat bass and punchy drums. As the track progresses, we're treated to a fusion of styles, from good ol' fashioned American Rockabilly to Surf and Metal -- each skillfully layered and accented by nods to Latin, Eastern, and Greek traditional music. If that looks chaotic on paper, it works out to be more like Mr. Bungle than System of a Down in practice. Singing's got that cool Scott Weiland swagger (also reminds me a bit of Beck). The whole thing's got a rock opera written all over it!

Reached for comment, Marco from Mollo Rilla told Doomed & Stoned the song is "a reminder to rage against death and seize the day. It pays in life to be daring." After this year, especially, I think we can all cough up a hearty Amen to that!

Look for "Rage the Day" on Mollo Rilla's most ambitious album yet, 'Viva El Camino' (2020) -- out December 4th on Seeing Red Records (pre-order here).

Give ear...

Viva El Camino by Mollo Rilla

Follow The Band

Get Their Music

#D&S Debuts #Mollo Rilla #Cleveland #Ohio #Progressive Rock #Doom Metal #Stoner Rock #Seeing Red Records #Doomed & Stoned

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spaceexp · 5 years ago

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Nine Reasons We’re Grateful to Live on Earth

NASA - Goddard Space Flight Center (GSFC) logo. April 21, 2020 Earth can sometimes feel like the last place you’d want to be. Indeed, a number of explorers have devised inventive ways to move civilization off this planet.

Image above: Expedition 48 Commander Jeff Williams of NASA shared this sunrise panorama taken from his vantage point aboard the International Space Station, writing, "Morning over the Atlantic...this one will hang on my wall." Image Credit: NASA. It’s no surprise: The promise of a better life in the mysterious beyond can be seductive. But the fact is the more we learn about out there the more we realize how special it is here. The first astronauts to look from space back at Earth, a “pale blue dot, the only home we've ever known,” as scientist Carl Sagan once wrote, saw a beautiful, delicate world that is perfectly suited to the bounty of life it supports. “When I looked up and saw the Earth coming up on this very stark, beat up lunar horizon, an Earth that was the only color that we could see, a very fragile looking Earth, a very delicate looking Earth, I was immediately almost overcome by the thought that here we came all this way to the Moon, and yet the most significant thing we’re seeing is our own home planet, the Earth,” said William Anders, a crew member on Apollo 8, the first crewed mission to the Moon. On this 50th anniversary of Earth Day on April 22, we reflect on nine reasons Earth is the best place to live:

Image above: This mosaic was assembled in 2018 from dozens of images taken by the Mast Camera (Mastcam) on NASA's Curiosity rover. In the image, you're looking uphill at Mount Sharp, which is in the middle of Gale Crater on Mars. The scene has been white-balanced so the colors of the rock materials resemble how they would appear under daytime lighting conditions on Earth. Image Credits: NASA/JPL-Caltech/MSSS. 1. We can take deep, cleansing breaths Known as the Red Planet because of the rust particles in its soil that give it a reddish hue, Mars has always fascinated the human mind. What would it be like to live on this not-so-distant world, many have wondered? One day, astronauts will find out. But we know already that living there would require some major adjustments. No longer would we be able to take long, deep breaths of nitrogen- and oxygen-rich air while a gentle spring breeze grazes the skin. Without a spacesuit providing essential life support, humans would have to inhale carbon dioxide, a toxic gas we typically exhale as a waste product. On top of that, the thin Martian atmosphere (100 times thinner than Earth’s) and lack of a global magnetic field would leave us vulnerable to harmful radiation that damages cells and DNA; the low gravity (38% of Earth’s) would weaken our bones. Besides the hardships our bodies would endure, it would simply be less fun to live on Mars. Summer trips to the beach? Forget them. On Mars, there’s plenty of sand, but not a single swimming hole, much less a lake or ocean, and the average temperature is around minus 81 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 63 degrees Celsius). Even the hardiest humans would find the Martian climate to be a drag. —Staci Tiedeken, planetary science outreach coordinator, NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center.

Animation above: This animated gif was made using images from NASA’s Solar Dynamics Observatory, which saw this X-class solar flare on Sept. 6, 2017. X-class flares are the strongest of all rating classes, releasing the energy equivalent of a billion hydrogen bombs. Animation Credits: NASA/GSFC/SDO. 2. There’s solid ground to stand on Earth has grassy fields, rugged mountains and icy glaciers. But to live on the Sun, we’d have to kiss all solid ground goodbye. The Sun is a giant ball of plasma, or super-heated gas. If you tried to stand on the Sun’s visible surface, called the photosphere, you’d fall right through, about 205,000 miles (330,000 kilometers) until you reached a layer of plasma so compressed, it’s as thick as water. But you wouldn’t float, because you’d be crushed by the pressure there: 4.5 million times stronger than the deepest point in the ocean. Get ready for a quick descent, too. The Sun’s gravity is 28 times stronger than Earth’s. Thus, a 170-pound (77-kilogram) adult on Earth would weigh an extra 4,590 pounds (2,245 kilograms) at the Sun. That would feel like wearing an SUV on your back! If a person managed to hover in the photosphere, though, it might get a little warm. The temperature there is around 10,000 degrees Fahrenheit (5,500 Celsius), about five to 10 times hotter than lava — yet, not nearly the hottest temperature on the Sun. Don’t worry, though, there would be a break of 3,000 degrees Fahrenheit (1,600 degrees Celsius) if you stumbled on a sunspot, which is a “cool” region formed by intense magnetic fields. These conditions would have even the most intrepid adventurers longing for the comforts of home. —Miles Hatfield, science writer, NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center.

The Mysterious Planet

Video above: By studying Venus, scientists could learn a great deal more about exoplanets, as well as the past, present and possible future of our own planet. Video Credits: NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center. 3. The seasons go round and round Since the beginning of recorded history, people have tracked and celebrated nature’s transition from the desolate days of winter, to the brilliant radiance of spring, to the endless days of summer, and so on. Seasons come from a planet’s tilt on its axis (Earth’s is 23.5 degrees), which tips each hemisphere either toward or away from the heat of the Sun throughout the year. Venus, barely tilted on its axis, has no seasons, though there are hints that it may have once looked and behaved much like Earth, including having oceans covering its rocky surface. But these days, our neighboring planet has an atmosphere so thick (55 times denser than Earth’s) it helps keep Venus at a searing 900 degrees Fahrenheit (465 degrees Celsius) year round — that’s hotter than the hottest home oven. This oppressive atmosphere also blots out the sky, making it impossible to stargaze from the surface. But Venus isn’t all bad. Despite the low quality of life, there is one benefit of living there: The Venusian year (225 Earth days) is shorter than its day (243 Earth days). That means you can celebrate your birthday every day on Venus! —Lonnie Shekhtman, science writer, NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center.

Massive Black Hole Shreds Passing Star

Video above: This artist’s rendering illustrates a star getting shredded by a black hole. When a star wanders too close to a black hole, intense tidal forces rip the star apart. In these events, called “tidal disruptions,” some of the stellar debris is flung outward at high speed while the rest falls toward the black hole. This causes a distinct X-ray flare that can last for a few years. NASA’s Chandra X-ray Observatory, Swift Gamma-ray Burst Explorer, and ESA/NASA’s XMM-Newton collected different pieces of this astronomical puzzle in a tidal disruption event called ASASSN-14li, which was found in an optical search by the All-Sky Automated Survey for Supernovae (ASAS-SN) in November 2014. Video Credits: NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center. 4. Its gravity doesn’t turn us into noodles Capturing the imaginations of scientists and sci-fi writers alike, black holes are extremely compact objects that do not let any light escape. The surface of a black hole is an area called the “event horizon,” a boundary beyond which nothing can ever return. Even if we were fortunate enough to have a spaceship that could travel to a relatively nearby black hole, its gravity is so strong that approaching too close would stretch and compress the spacecraft and everyone inside it into a noodle shape — a fate scientists call “spaghettification.” Making matters even weirder, time ticks by more slowly around a black hole. To someone watching from far away as a spaceship fell into the event horizon, the vehicle would appear to slow down more the closer it got — and never quite get there. Fortunately, there are no known black holes in the vicinity of Earth or anywhere in the solar system, so we’re safe for now. And we’re lucky that Earth has just the right amount of gravity — enough so we don’t go flying away, but not so much that we can’t stand up and run around. If you still think traveling to a black hole would be a good idea, check out this black hole safety video. —Elizabeth Landau, writer, NASA Headquarters.

Image above: An image of Jupiter. Image Credits: NASA/JPLCaltech/SwRI/MSSS/Kevin M. Gill. 5. We can enjoy a pleasant breeze Jupiter’s breathtaking swirls of colorful cloud bands might make this planet an appealing vacation destination … for skydivers. They’d need to bring along their own oxygen, since Jupiter’s atmosphere is made mostly of hydrogen and helium (same as our Sun), with clouds of mostly ammonia. Descending through Jupiter’s clouds is for the most extreme thrill seekers. Given the planet’s strong gravity and super-fast rotation on its axis compared to Earth (10 hours vs. 24 hours), a skydiver would tumble 2.5 times faster than they would on Earth, while getting knocked around by winds raging between 270 and 425 miles per hour (430 to 680 kilometers per hour). Jupiter’s winds make Earth’s highest category hurricane feel like a breeze, and its lightning strikes are up to 1,000 times more powerful than ours. Even if a skydiver does make it through the hundreds of miles, or kilometers, of atmosphere, plus crushing air pressure and extreme heat, it’s not clear they’ll reach a solid surface. Scientist don’t know yet whether Jupiter, a giant planet that can fit 1,300 Earths inside of it, has a solid core. Having solid ground to stand is starting to sound like a luxury. —Staci Tiedeken, planetary science outreach coordinator, NASA’s Goddard Space Flight Center.

Image above: Jupiter's moon Io, the most volcanic body in the solar system, is seen in this 1997 image taken by NASA's Galileo spacecraft. Image Credits: NASA/JPL/University of Arizona. 6. It’s a sparkling globe of blue, white and green In places where ocean tides are highest on Earth, the difference between low and high tide is about 50 feet (15 meters). Compare that to Io. This moon of Jupiter is caught in a tug-of-war between the planet’s massive gravity and the pulling of two neighboring moons, Europa and Ganymede. These forces cause Io's surface to regularly bulge up and down by as much as 330 feet (100 meters) — and we’re talking about rock, not water. All this motion has consequences: Io’s interior is very hot, making this moon the most volcanically active world in the solar system. Io, which from space looks like a moldy cheese pizza, has hundreds of volcanoes. Some erupt lava fountains dozens of miles (or kilometers) high. Between all the lava, a thin sulfur dioxide atmosphere and intense radiation from nearby Jupiter, Io doesn’t offer much of a beach vacation for humans. —Bill Dunford, writer and web producer, NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

Image above: This artist's concept of a lake at the north pole of Saturn's moon Titan illustrates raised rims and rampart-like features, such as those seen by NASA's Cassini spacecraft around the moon's Winnipeg Lacus. Image Credits: Credits: NASA/JPL-Caltech. 7. It’s got clear skies, sunny days and water we can swim in If there is one place in the universe we know of that could compete with Earth as a home for humans, Titan is it. This satellite of Saturn is the second largest moon in our solar system after Ganymede. Titan is in some ways the most similar world to ours that we have found. Its thick atmosphere would remind us of home, though the air pressure there is slightly higher than Earth's. The atmosphere would defend humans against harmful radiation. Like Earth, Titan also has clouds, rain, lakes and rivers, and even a subsurface ocean of salty water. Even the moon’s terrain and landscape look eerily similar to some parts of Earth. While Titan sounds promising, it has major flaws. Chief among them is oxygen — there isn’t any in the atmosphere. And those lovely rivers and lakes? They’re made of liquid methane. So don’t pack your bathing suit just yet; our bodies are denser than the methane, so they’d sink like boulders. Another thing you’d miss on Titan is seeing the Sun above your head, dazzling against an azure sky. Not only is Titan much farther from the Sun than is Earth, its hazy atmosphere dims the sunlight, making daytime appear like twilight on Earth. —Lonnie Shekhtman, science writer, NASA's Goddard Space Flight Center.

Image above: Made from images taken by NASA's Galileo spacecraft in the late 1990s, this processed color view is one of the best images Earthlings have of Jupiter’s moon Europa. This little moon may be the best place in our solar system to look for life beyond Earth.Image Credits: NASA/JPL-Caltech/SETI Institute. 8. Dry land exists! And the entire world isn’t smothered beneath miles of ice Jupiter’s moon Europa is one of the best places to search for life beyond Earth. It may harbor more liquid water than all of Earth’s oceans combined. Just picture yourself standing on a warm, sandy beach, admiring the sunlight glimmering on an ocean that reaches from horizon to horizon. And then prepare to be disappointed. Europa’s ocean is global. It has no beach. No shore. Only ocean, all the way around. Sunlight doesn’t glimmer on the water and there are no waves because Europa’s ocean is hidden beneath miles — perhaps tens of miles — of ice that encases the entire moon. Europa is also tidally locked, meaning if a person stood on its Jupiter-facing side (like our Moon, one hemisphere always faces its parent planet), the solar system’s largest planet would loom overhead and never set. A sublime setting for a romantic stroll? No. Europa has a practically nonexistent atmosphere and brutally cold temperatures ranging from about minus 210 to minus 370 degrees Fahrenheit (minus 134 to minus 223 degrees Celsius). A spacesuit might help with the temperature and pressure, but it can’t protect against those pesky atomic particles captured in Jupiter’s magnetic field, endlessly lashing Europa with such energy that they can blast apart molecules and ionize atoms. Europa’s ionizing radiation would damage or destroy cells in the human body, leading to radiation sickness. —Jay R. Thompson, writer, NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory.

Image above: Kepler-7b (right), which is 1.5 times the radius of Jupiter (left), is the first exoplanet to have its clouds mapped. The cloud map was produced using data from NASA's Kepler and Spitzer space telescopes. Image Credits: NASA/JPL. 9. Cream puff clouds that come and go With more than 4,000 planets discovered so far outside our solar system, called “exoplanets,” we don’t know of any that offers the comforts of Earthly living — and many would be downright nightmares. Take Kepler-7b, for example, a gas giant with roughly the same density as foam board. That means it could actually float in a bathtub (fun fact: so could Saturn). Like other exoplanets called “hot Jupiters,” this one is really close to its star — a “year,” one orbit, takes just five Earth days. One side always faces the star, just like one side of the Moon always faces Earth. That means it’s always hot and light on one half of this planet; on the other, night never ends. If you’re bummed out by cloudy days on Earth, consider that one side of Kepler-7b always has thick, unmoving clouds, and those clouds may even be made of evaporated rock and iron. And at more than 2,400 degrees Fahrenheit (1,356 Celsius), Kepler-7b would be a real roaster to visit, especially on the dayside. It’s amazing to learn about how different exoplanets can be from Earth, but we’re glad we don’t live on Kepler-7b. —Kristen Walbolt, digital and social media producer/strategist, NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory. Wanderers - A short film by Erik Wernquist

Wanderers

Film above: Wanderers is a vision of humanity's expansion into the Solar System, based on scientific ideas and concepts of what our future in space might look like, if it ever happens. The locations depicted in the film are digital recreations of actual places in the Solar System, built from real photos and map data where available. Without any apparent story, other than what you may fill in by yourself, the idea of the film is primarily to show a glimpse of the fantastic and beautiful nature that surrounds us on our neighboring worlds - and above all, how it might appear to us if we were there. As some may notice I have borrowed ideas and concepts from science fiction authors such as Kim Stanley Robinson and Arthur C. Clarke, just to name a few. And visually, I of course owe many tips of my hat to painter Chesley Bonestell - the legendary master of space art. More directly, with kind permission from Ann Druyan I have also borrowed the voice of astronomer and author Carl Sagan to narrate the film. The audio I used are excerpts from his own reading of his book 'Pale Blue Dot: A Vision of the Human Future in Space' (1994, Random House) - needless to say, a huge inspiration for this film. Film Credits: VISUALS BY - Erik Wernquist - [email protected] MUSIC BY - Cristian Sandquist - [email protected] WRITTEN AND NARRATED BY - Carl Sagan - from his book 'Pale Blue Dot' http://www.penguinrandomhouse.com/boo..., courtesy of Ann Druyan, copyright by Democritus Properties, LLC, with all rights reserved COLOR GRADE BY - Caj Müller/Beckholmen Film - [email protected] LIVE ACTION PHOTOGRAPHY BY - Mikael Hall/Vidiotism - [email protected] LIVE ACTION PERFORMANCE BY - Anna Nerman, Camilla Hammarström, Hanna Mellin VOCALIST - Nina Fylkegård - [email protected] THANK YOU - Johan Persson, Calle Herdenberg, Micke Lindgren, Satrio J. Studt, Tomas Axelsson, Christian Lundqvist, Micke Lindell, Sigfrid Söderberg, Fredrik Strage, Johan Antoni, Henrik Johansson, Michael Uvnäs, Hanna Mellin THIS FILM WAS MADE WITH USE OF PHOTOS AND TEXTURES FROM: NASA/JPL, NASA/CICLOPS, NASA/Goddard Space Flight Center Scientific Visualization Studio, ESA, John Van Vliet, Björn Jonsson (and many others, of which I unfortunately do not know the names). Related links: Solar System: https://www.nasa.gov/topics/solarsystem/index.html Exoplanets: https://www.nasa.gov/content/the-search-for-life Universe: https://www.nasa.gov/topics/solarsystem/index.html Goddard Space Flight Center (GSFC): https://www.nasa.gov/centers/goddard/home/index.html Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL): https://www.nasa.gov/centers/jpl/home/index.html Images (mentioned), Animation (mentioned), Videos (mentioned), Film (mentioned), Text, Credits: NASA/Svetlana Shekhtman/Orbiter.ch Aerospace/Roland Berga. Best regards, Orbiter.ch Full article

#space #science

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