#A Warehouse Where Housing Will Be (thread)

[reidology13]

A House In Nebraska

Spencer Reid x gn!reader

cw: angst, references to sex, very mild and metaphorical cannibalism, depression, no happy ending wc: 1.4k a/n: wrote this in like two days after having literally no motivation for monthsss and I'm actually so proud of it. a little different to my usual stuff, but probably one of my favourite pieces that i've ever written!

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As the sun set below the horizon, memories slipped in alongside the shadows, filling the cracks in the foundation of your mind. Most nights you still thought about him, the soft and sweet boy from your reckless youth.

It was a sweltering summer the year you moved to California for university, made worse by the fast shift from East to West Coast. Friends hadn’t been high on your list of priorities, and by the end of your first semester, the window had passed, your peers dividing easily into their social groups. You existed comfortably on the edge, too overwhelmed by schoolwork for the ever-present loneliness to take hold, merely a vague sensation contributing to your exponentially pessimistic worldview. It haunted your empty dorm that first year, that room you never let become a home, caught up in all the wrong things and refusing to admit that you were stuck. 

And then you saw him, a scrawny little thing lingering around one of your professors during the first days of your second year. Her TA, he said, and you pulled him aside after the lecture to interrogate him, chest tightening when he laughed at your reaction to his age. The same age as you, starting his third doctorate, you thought he was the most amazing person you’d ever met. You told him as much, revelling in the gentle flush that spread across his cheeks, that you had brought out of him.

His eyes found yours during every class, his hand found yours in the courtyard afterwards, fingers intertwined over lunch. 

The night you snuck him into an old abandoned building on the outskirts of the campus, dragging him behind you through the gap in the chicken wire fence. He complained, droning on about the legal repercussions, although he never once tried to stop you. That seemed to be how he coped, if he spoke through every possible scenario, he would be prepared for the absolute worst. The way your first kiss had been preceded by what seemed to start as a question, unravelling into a tangent about consent. You’d ended up kissing him, partially to shut him up, mostly because rambling looked far too good on him.

You kissed him again that night, in that old house while he tried to explain the potential health and safety risks—from unsound infrastructure to rot and germs—until he lost the ability to talk at all. He didn’t seem to care much about any hazards after that, in that quiet room of easy movements and confessions.

As the chill of fall grew, the draughty old remains were nothing against even the mildest of winds, and you were pushed out of your makeshift home. You found small cafes with cozy corners where you could pretend there was no one else. And when the sign flipped to ‘closed’ you trudged through the yellowing leaves or rain to your dorm, thankful for the single-room setup that had caused you such isolation that first year.

It took you three months to find the right birthday present for him, a skinny purple scarf whose thread seemed to be woven from his essence. You wrapped it around his neck and told him that the colour brought out the green flecks in his eyes while he tried to kiss you in thanks. You let him, and you let him promise that he would never get rid of it, that he would wear it until it fell apart, and you promised that if that day ever came, you would find him an even better one.

You split the Halloween celebrations, the evening reserved for a costumed horror reading at a local library, followed by a Halloween party in a warehouse. He made it five steps inside before the loud music and pathogen-infested landscape had you taking him back to your dorm for a Halloween movie marathon and caramel corn under warm blankets that you both agreed was far better.

Then there was the first Christmas, gifts traded between soft kisses and whispers of a future you were so sure was yours to keep.

Winter gave way to spring, flowers sprouting on the lawn, handcrafted for him to weave through the strands of your hair and tuck behind your ear. You migrated back to your vacant house that was quickly filled with life—memories, moments, experiences, two heartbeats bound by one rhythm—and nothing more.

When you were evicted from your dorm that summer, he offered up his university-funded, off-campus apartment. There was little about him that managed to surprise you by then, but you did find yourself disconcerted by the realisation that in a year of knowing each other, you’d never seen where he lived. Not that it mattered for long, toothbrushes resting side by side in his bathroom, reminiscent of two figures curled up on the couch and tangled in pristine sheets that smelled like him.

He’d finished his doctorate in engineering halfway through the year, you’d ordered chicken tandoori from his favourite Indian place down the street and watched Doctor Who reruns in celebration.

In the midwinter chill, you snuck back under the chicken wire fence, his old jacket wrapped around you where you stood on the edge of the world you’d built. There was no complaining voice in your ear, no spindly hand in yours, no soft breath on the back of your neck, only icy wind brushing through your hair. The silence was eerie, no long-winded rambles that should have been boring, would have been, if they’d come from anyone else’s lips. 

Sat on the frigid concrete floor until your legs went numb—whether from the cold or the lack of movement, you didn’t know—and only then did you move to that dirty mattress in the middle of the floor. You lay on his side, and you swore you could feel the outline of his body under you, the impression he had left sticking to your skin. Tears fell, spreading as they hit the fabric, forming dark circles to match those that stained the skin under your eyes. You pulled his jacket tighter around you, breathed in the smell of him that was fading all too quickly.

You’d moved back home after finishing your Master’s four years ago, found a scrawny little studio apartment in D.C. that you could barely afford the rent for, but at least you could say you were independent. That seemed to be your measure of success these days—how little you needed anyone else. 

Over the years, you’d spent too much of your time thinking about him, where he was, what happened after he was taken away. Him and his stupid layers in the West Coast heat, you doubted he would survive the winters in the East. He’d probably ended up as a researcher, one day his name would show up in some important paper alongside a possible cure for schizophrenia, he’d always wanted to find one.

Sometimes, you’d open up the box under your bed, empty it piece by piece, and pack it away again. There was no logical reason for it, it was a ritual of what had to be self-harm, reliving every moment and contemplating how you lost it. It was less common now, but you still pulled the jacket on over your pyjamas when the winters grew especially cold. Flicked through the polaroids of you he’d been obsessed with taking that first spring, the pictures of him few and far between. A camera shoved in his face while he complained that he never looked good in them, the rare candid shots that he hadn’t noticed until it was too late.

It felt like a dream, a year and a half of peace jutting out awkwardly from everything that came before and afterwards. An anomaly only proven real by the visual documentation of those photographs. Maybe he had taken them for the sole purpose of never letting you forget, and maybe you didn’t want to. Maybe you didn’t want to use a flimsy glue stick of amnesia to fruitlessly seal the cracks in your heart that he’d left you with. 

Maybe you wanted to carefully split it into each little segment with delicate fingers, laugh on a picnic blanket as you fed it to him piece by piece until you were a part of him he wouldn’t be able to leave behind.

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tysm for reading!!

Tags: @reidmoony-toast - Comment to be added <3

[magnolia-among-the-stars]

the last bit of us (chapter six)

Plot: Tyler Owens hasn’t been home in a year. He’s survived all the storm chasing and motel living with his new partners as they try to save lives. But with all the damage they’ve taken from driving high beams first into monster storms, it’s time to pay the piper and bring the truck in for repairs. And the only person who can fix them is the best mechanical engineer he’s ever met. Eleanor Harding, his estranged wife.

Pairing: ex!Tyler Owens x estranged wife!OC, Estranged Wife! OC x Rhett Abbott

Word Count: 2.5k

Playlist Song: chasing the wind by lanie gardner

prologue / one / two / three / four / five / six / seven / eight

My hand is sweaty as I tug Rhett across the yard to my truck. I feel vindicated, my nerves on fire. The finality of the first steps toward freedom from a failed marriage that I didn’t walk away a weight lifted from my shoulders. When I get close enough to the truck, I turn to Rhett and release a deep breath. 

He’s staring down at me, warm and attentive. His blue eyes are so different from those of my ex. Where Tyler’s are vibrant and bright, Rhett’s are deep and soulful. He looks at me with a softness that makes me want to look away from the sincerity. He adjusts his cap, thumb fingering the worn threads on the brim. “Are you feeling okay?” 

“I think my nerves are shot,” I admit. I release his hands to wipe my palms along the denim seams of my jeans. “I never thought I’d get to serve him those papers.” 

“I’m really proud of you,” he says. His smile is genuine. “I can’t imagine how hard that must’ve been and I know how long you’ve been wanting to start to close that chapter.” 

I nod, still lost in his gaze. I get a little bashful, looking down at my boots and then look at the old truck by the barn. “Shit, I gotta get to my parents’ house and go check up on my dad.” 

“Do you want me to come with you?” he asks, leaning against the hood. 

“And let you play hookie with your dad?” I say. The door to the porch squeals open and I can see Tyler watch us. Behind him, Kate’s head pops up. I look back to Rhett and shake my head. “No, I couldn’t do that…plus, I’ve got a lot of work to do this week. Big testing left to finish for our contract.”

“Right,” he nods. “Maybe we can go out Friday after my ride? Get some beers if the contract goes through?” Rhett’s voice is thick as he rocks on his toes.  

“I’d like that,” I say. 

He breaks out in a grin, kisses my cheek and breathes out a noise similar to a laugh. We whisper soft byes and he slips past me, heading back to his truck. He climbs in and waves, engine roaring to life as he peels out of a driveway. I climb in the truck, turning the truck on as my phone starts to ring again. I tuck it under my ear as I back out the driveway. 

“Hi ma, I’m on my way,” I say, turning onto the main road. The radio roars to life, blasting way too loudly. I drop my phone in the process of trying to turn down the music. 

“El, before you head in our direction for the day…there’s a cell headed in your direction,” my mom shares. I can hear my dad in the background again. The mumbles of “big one” and “perfect data” are all I can catch. 

“Ma, I’m not about to let Dad go without his meds just so we can do a study drill,” I tell her, watching the collect of clouds move through the area. It does look like a perfect condition though. The fields are starting to breeze heavily, the tall Oklahoma grass sways in the breeze. “What’s the moisture?” 

“That’s my girl,” my dad grumbles as there’s a shuffle of them passing the phone. “Dew points sitting at a 76°F sweetheart. And don’t worry about me. The doc gave me a few days worth. This is too good of conditions for your contract. Perfect testing grounds.”

“Are you sure?” I ask, checking the time. The team was all planning to be at the warehouse anyways today…

“Sure,” he says. “Go get ‘em…and invite the team to join us tomorrow alright? Uncle Rabbit has been anxious to hear about everything,” he says. 

“I will and I’ll see you guys tonight, alright?” We say I love you and hang up. I hit Charlie’s number and tuck the phone between my ear and shoulder. I take a deep breath as the phone rings, swinging the steering wheel so that I can wipe around in the other direction. The tires squeal just as Charlie picks up. 

“I was waiting for your call…” she says with a knowing tone. 

“My parents called me. Dew point of 76?” I ask, picking up speed as I take off in the direction of the warehouse.

“Relative humidity is about 79%,” Charlie reads. “They haven’t lost their touch clearly. Are you on your way?” 

I pass by a familiar RV, huffing as I notice them turn in the same direction that I head down. “C’mon, c’mon,” I grumble, checking the rearview mirror to see if its really who I think it is. 

“El?” 

“Yes, yes. I’m on my way. Get the team ready…and,” I look again at the rearview mirror. “Get some extra gear ready…I think we’re going to end up getting some excitable parasites.” 

She groans loudly. “Seriously?” 

“Can’t shake ‘em so might as well entertain.”

“Right,” Charlie says, “because that’s what we do…entertain. CAPE is nearly hitting 3,000 J/kg…you gotta hurry up or you’re going to be in the storm…not studying it.”

“I’m nearly there, open the gate so I can pull right in when I get there” I say, watching the sky turn a little darker. I pick up speed, tossing my phone on the seat as I focus on the road and not on the storm building in the distance. I look in the rearview mirror again, too excited by the storm conditions to be frustrated with my ex and his friends. I pull up to the gate quickly, the RV rumbling behind me as we drive up to the warehouse. 

Boone pulls in to the right of me as I shut off the truck, climbing out as Birdie closes the gate behind me. Charlie tosses me a walkie and my vest, passing me my iPad as we pace down the warehouse toward the other door. “You idiots can’t just show up because you’re excited by a tornado,” I say to the group, walking backwards as my friends hand them bright orange vests - the ones we normally give to investors and clients. 

“We saw you zip past,” Javi says, smiling sheepishly. “Couldn’t help ourselves. I’ve always wanted to know how you guys do your testing. I studied your parents’ work when I was in school, inspired by the technology you’ve invented.”

“Well, stay close to one of us on the field. Y'all might be tornado wranglers but we aren’t taming tornadoes here,” I say, glancing at Tyler as I get to the others. “We’re trying to help protect and save people from losing their livelihoods.” 

Birdie runs through the safety protocol for the wranglers and I’m a little shocked at how contained they are in listening. Even Boone, normally shaking with excitement, remains still as he listens to our rules. “Your vests all have chips in them for your safety so that we can locate you in the case of…in the case of anything going wrong. Don’t take off the vest. We stay safe, we stay alert,” she finishes. She looks at me. “Good?” 

“Let’s go get this contract,” I murmur, turning to head to my building.

“Eleanor?” I turn to see Kate and Tyler catching up to me. Kate isn’t paying attention to Tyler. She looks unsure as rain starts to pour from the sky, the wind wiping around to pick up. Our phones start to ping with warning sounds. Kate’s hair wipes in her face and I clip my walkie to my belt, grabbing a hair tie from my wrist to pass to her. “Thanks…do you mind if I join you?”

I look up at Tyler behind her. She turns, following my gaze. “Tyler, go with Javi,” she says, causing him to stop in his tracks. He raises a brow, looking between the two of us as the wind picks up. 

“Go Tyler, hurry up,” I say, pointing to where Javi is heading with Carter into the Doctor’s office. He looks between the two of us, hesitating. I can see the hero complex fighting to wash over him. I guess he decides against it though, nodding and turning to run to where the other two men are. He disappears inside, giving us one last look before he goes. 

A crack of thunder rattles through the air, causing me to move. “C’mon, this way,” I tell her, tugging her into the direction of the Grille. I push the door open, ushering her inside. I flip the lock system and nod over to the monitors in the safe corner that we built into the buildings. I log into the tracking system, the camera views pulling up for me to watch the conditions outside. I tug my walkie from my belt and call “Everyone in?” 

I get an echoing of confirmations, nodding as I type a few things into the tablet for testing conditions and peer back at Kate. She’s glancing around the space, taking in the mock town set up. Her eyes are filled with wonder, curiosity stretching over her eyes. The wind starts to whip around loudly outside and something large slams against the side of the building, making her jump. “So these buildings are all made of-,” she starts to ask. 

“All different developed materials,” I say, nodding and turning back to the screen. She steps over to me, staring at each view of the buildings we are studying. I point to each, explaining further. “The warehouse was the guinea pig. She’s all tried and tested, kind of what we use as a base standard. She’s got steel-reinforced, impact-resistant roll-up doors, concrete & carbon fiber roof reinforcement, and smart glass skylights with polycarbonate coating. Though I’ve been considering building an underground storage lift for the trucks…haven’t had the time.”

“The doctor’s office and the farmhouse are nearly perfect,” I share as we watch more debris roll through the field, slamming into different buildings as the building rattles. “They’ve both got shock absorbent foundations. The doctor’s office is built with a concrete material infused with bacteria that generate limestone….it self-heals against the wind stress. We’ve also been testing some hardened rooftop turbines and solar panels for emergency energy even if the grid or generators fails for a potential contract with hospitals. The house has interlocking concrete panels and kevlar in the wall panels with kevlar so that it bends in the wind instead of tearing apart. The windows have been the hardest so we’ve been testing transparent aluminum.” 

She blinks, taking in all the information I share. “Too much?”

She shakes her head no, mouth parting. Nothing comes out. 

“Tyler and Javi are safe,” I note and she nods absentmindedly. I don’t know why I say it. 

I turn back to the screen and watch the way the foundation of the home shifts, holding against the pressure of the tornado. “Palmer, how are you guys holding up? How are those windows? Over,” I call over the radio. 

The door to the Grille starts to rattle in the distance and I let out a breath, tugging the door to our safe room closed and locking it as we wait for a reply.  There’s only a crackling silence for a few moments. 

“Holding steady over here boss,” she says. “I think we’ve done it. And uh…what’s your name…Dexter is really enthusiastic with his questions. Over.” 

I can’t help the laugh that comes out, looking up at Kate. “Happy to hear, over.” 

“We’ve figured the reinforced concrete is the way to go for most of the buildings. The gas station has a new roof design that’s more aerodynamic with the angled kevlar roofs and curved walls to deflect the wind,” I point out. “Birdie has been taking  that building because she and Sean have been testing new fuel storage to protect against-,” I’m cut off as a large shrapnel of metal flies through the air, slamming into the tank and puncturing the metal. Flames erupt in the air as the tank bursts open. “That…shit…”

“The fuel tank blew up again,” Birdie says over the walkie, Boone and Lily screaming in excitement clear in the background. She sounds like a tired mother when she says “Didn’t penetrate the station though which is progress, over.” 

“Happy to hear, over,” I call as I hear another rattling, some metal grinding and a burst of glasses from outside the safe room. The wind is loud as Kate turns to the locked door, stepping closer to me. 

“El, the refrigeration system just blew but I’m happy to report the roof is holding. This storm’s taking some of the Grille with it from the look of the monitor. You holding tight for us? Over,” Sean calls. 

He’s right. Even though it’s fairly quiet inside the safe room we're locked inside, the Grille doesn’t seem to be holding well against the strength of the tornado. The feed goes dead after another moment and I sigh. “Our feeds have gone dead but we’re safe otherwise, over,” I say, turning to Kate. 

She looks a little more shaken than when we got into the building, gripping the counter of the desk as she digs her hip against the wall tightly. 

“I know it's kind of freaky but I promise you are safe here. The grocery store and this building are newer designs so we put these safe rooms in to make sure we can safely troubleshoot from inside the storm. We’ve been working on retractable tornado shutters but the shipment prototype hasn’t come in yet. But it sounds like the new support beams are holding up the roof. That’s a big win from the last storm,” I say, pointing to the ceiling as the whistle of the wind outside becomes less harsh. 

It’s quiet for a long time as she just stares at me, blinking a few times. “Kate…are you alright?” I step toward her a little. 

“This is wild,” she breathes, trying to shake out of whatever emotions and fears are running through her. 

“No more wild than driving into an EF5,” I say with a small shrug, leaning back in my chair. It’s not meant to come off as a shot at her, really more that crazy for science and change for community respects crazy for science and change for community.

Kate’s gaze is heavy, her eyes glossy. “I didn’t know,” she just blurts out. Her voice is strong, almost loud. Her words sit in the air, her fingers find purchase on the mesh of her vest as she fiddles with it. 

I don’t know if I’m surprised or confused. She didn’t know it was an EF5? Or did she mean she didn’t know that she was driving into it? Or did she mean the building?

She clears her throat, stands up straighter. “I didn’t know he was married.”

A/N: Well, I was not expecting to research and get so sciency with this one but that's where the story took me! I am not a science/engineering type so forgive any inaccurate science information. I'm really loving exploring El as a character outside of her relationship with the men. All your comments and feedback has been incredible! please continue to send any along and click here if you want to join the taglist!

taglist:

@tw232103, @arieltwvdtohamflash, @magicalfurykoala, @janoskiansecondsofdirection, @fever-daydreamm @buckybarnes-1917 @kim-taehyung-12301995 @accordingtoawallflower-blog @axolotllover225 @tgmreader @smoothdogsgirl @paramedicnerd004 @charmyeol69-blog @tktstomydwnfall @milesdot @arieltwvdtohamflash @dream-alittlebiggerdarling @sunmoon-01 @memoriesat30 @tw232103

[sturniolo04]

hii could you do a sls fic where the triplets find out she’s self harming (if your uncomfortable then just lmk🩷🩷🩷)

A/n:  ofc! I absolutely love these requests I have coming in, you guys are amazing!! I put a little spin on it! I tied it into this multi part work i did on this concept here was the lastest part! I hope you love it! And remember to leave requests in my inbox! If you don’t like the pre added name in my works you can simply put in your own or don’t read it, it up to you :)-Charli

dividers: @issysh3ll

It had been couple weeks since the announcment that madison toxic ex boyfriend was arrested and over those two weeks Madison didnt really know how to feel about the whole thing but the one thought that continued to play in her head was that this whole situation meaning what happened to her was fully her fault. She hated herself so much that she couldnt help but mark herself with that hate and shame she felt internally and of course no one knew she was doing this to herself.

"hey mads how are you feeling today"

chris asks the girl as she finally comes downstairs out of her room for the first time today. She had been hiding out in her room alot.

"hey dad'

she mumbles out a soft reply. I think it was safe to say that chris and his brothers had notice something was off about Madison she had been spending countless hours in her room to herself and not to mention the excessive outfits that consisted of long sleeves and it was the middle of summer.

"its really good to see you up and about today yeah"

chris states and madison slowly nods her head.

"hey mads"

nick greets entering into the kitchen with matt giving her a slightly hug.

"hi uncle nick"

madison softly greets out.

"um so chris we need to go to the warehouse today to sort through merch for the july drop it should only take an hour or so to do"

matt states breaking the silence.

"thats fine with me um madison will you be oay for a couple hours by yourself"

chris asks her. He really didnt want to eave her by herself for that long just because he knew and they knew she had been off.

"yeah dad i will be fine promise its not like im going to hurt myself"

madison shrugs out as chris raises and eyebrow up to his brothers at the oddly specific statement.

"okay then"

nick states as they all head upstairs getting ready to leave.

"guys i dont know i feel like we should head back to the house something just doesnt seem right"

chris huffs out looking over a matt in the paasenger seat.

"dude i think she is fine she seemed okay"

matt trails off.

"i mean she did add on that statement so nonchalantly you dont think she could be doing that to herself do you"

nick trails off looking at the pair.

"one way to find out"

chris states making a U-turn to head back home.

Madison was so used to the routine of taking the razor blad she knew all to well across her pale and lifeless skin. It was the only way she felt she could punish herself from everything that had happen. She didnt even hear her bedroom door opening to caught up in watching her make cuts along her arm.

"madison wh-wh what are you doing"

chris stutters out voice breaking at the sight of his daughter inflicting pain on herself.

"dad its not what it looks like promise"

madison confesses standing up from her bed and growing nervous that he knew what she was doing to herslf b ehind closed doors.

"it looks- why babygirl are you doing this to yourself"

chris exclaims in pure hurt as he quickly goes over to hug her.

"i-its all my fault dad i feel so stupid and i hate myself i didnt know what else to do"

madison sobs out honestly.

"madison no babygirl you come talk to me thats what you do"

chris sighs out threading his fingers this her hair as she continues to sob in his chest.

"or talk to us madison"

matt coos out as he and matt finally make their way over to the pair to provide comfort.

"im sorry"

madison sobs out.

"its okay we got you"

nick sighs out laying his head on top of madison's

Taglist🗂️

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@tezzzzzzzz @babytomatoes21 @sturniolosymphony @zenithsturniolo @bernardsbendystraws @sturnioloslut101

[ikilledyvette]

(Realized I was never gonna finish this long ass 9-1-1 fic before the premiere, so today I’m doing the seriously condensed version for Tumblr—which I still have to break into two parts, ffs.)

It’s Thursday afternoon, three days before Father’s Day, and the atmosphere at the 118 is grim. Gerrard is gone, at least, and everyone celebrated with cake—specifically, a Ding Dong, The Witch is Dead! cake, complete with a chocolate house crushing little black boots—but to everyone’s surprise, Buck isn’t exactly welcoming Bobby home with open arms anymore. He hasn’t forgiven Bobby for resigning in the first place. Making matters worse, Margaret and Philip Buckley are flying in for the weekend. Also, Eddie is depressed because Chris hasn’t called since he left for Texas six weeks ago, and Eddie doesn’t expect to hear from him on Sunday, or possibly ever again.

Hen tells Eddie Christopher will forgive him. “He’ll come home. He just needs a minute.” Eddie says that six weeks is a hell of a minute, but Hen persists. “You’re a good father,” she says, ignoring Eddie’s humorless laugh. “You messed up; I’m not saying you didn’t. But that doesn’t negate all the good you’ve done, too. Kids, they want you to hear them. They want you to show up, so when Christopher calls, pick up the phone and listen. You two love each other, Eddie. It’s going to work out.”

But Eddie’s gaze just drifts to the kitchen, where Bobby is quietly looking at the stack of uneaten fire-engine-shaped mini-waffles that Buck refused to eat, even though he’s the one who bought Bobby that ridiculous novelty waffle-maker in the first place

“You ever think maybe love just isn’t enough,” Eddie says, and Hen isn’t sure how to answer that.

*

Meanwhile, Chimney, thankfully, has the day off and is drinking a beer with Tommy. (Hen, left to deal with these weird morose vibes at the 118 by herself, quite rightly considers this a betrayal and has appropriately sworn revenge.) Chimney and Tommy talk a little about their own families: Tommy hasn’t spoken to his dad in years; meanwhile, Chimney finally gave up months ago after actually telling his dad how he really felt about being abandoned. He just needed to hear his father apologize once, just once—but he couldn’t do that, not even that, and Chimney decided enough was enough. 

Tommy, who’s only ever met the Buckley Parents one time (but has quickly clocked to Buck’s wildly shifting moods whenever discussing them), asks Chimney how much of a disaster this weekend is likely to be. Chimney tells Tommy that—apart from big family secrets and the general emotional trauma—every time the Buckleys visit, someone comes close to death: warehouse fire (Buck), lightning strike (Buck), viral encephalitis (Chimney). 

“Maybe don’t go up in a helicopter till they’re gone?” Chimney suggests, and Tommy says, “Jesus,” and gets another beer.

*

Back at the 118, things have gone from bad to worse. A call leads to Buck recklessly risking his own life to save someone. He walks away with only a few bruises, but Bobby yells at him for nearly getting himself killed. Buck snarks that he must still be that young, impulsive hothead after all. Bobby, a bit at a loss, tells Buck that he has come a long way, but he can’t put himself in danger just because he’s angry at Bobby. 

“What is this really about? You can talk to me, kid. I’m here.”

“Right,” Buck says, scornful. “You’re here. For ... how long again? Seven more, I think you said? No—no, you never actually said, did you? That one’s on me. Right, Cap?”

The bell goes off, ending the argument. Bobby tries to talk to Buck again after the shift, but Buck is already out the door. He barely gets any sleep that day before he and Tommy drive over for The Big Family Dinner. Tommy tries to talk Buck into staying home, suggesting they go tomorrow night instead, but Buck insists it will be a Thing if they don’t go.

Dinner goes badly. Margaret and Phillip aren’t intentionally rude or actively malicious, but there’s still a thread of casual biphobia in much of what they say: Evan’s always going through these phases. Well, if it’s not a phase, Evan, you must have known; how could you not? Please don’t misunderstand, Tommy, of course we like YOU. Very much! Yes, Tommy, thank you for your service. We’re just saying, Evan likes to throw us for a loop now and then. Really, Evan, you’ve had so many girlfriends you’re basically straight, aren’t you?

Buck finally loses it shortly after Maddie goes into the other room to check on Jee Yun. Margaret suggests that while she’s happy that Buck and Tommy are happy, of course—happy for now, at least—she’d just hoped Buck would’ve started to settle down by now, get serious about someone, rather than start experimenting. Phillip also jokes that he’d thought Buck had outgrown making bids for attention, and Buck just—snaps. 

“Why did I have to work so hard to get your attention again? Right. Cause it was too hard to look at me. Cause I was the reminder of what you lost, the screwup you got left with. Maybe if Daniel had grown up and turned out bi, you’d—"

—and Margaret slaps Buck across the face. 

It shocks everyone, very much including Margaret, but when Buck finally blinks and glances at his dad, Phillip automatically moves to stand behind his wife, silently taking her side. Buck, a bit dazed, mutters he’s sorry and tells Chimney not to tell Maddie what happened, right before Tommy all but pushes Buck out the door and drives him home.

Buck, still a little shellshocked, mostly can’t believe he said what he said, insists he shouldn’t have gotten that upset, and tries to brush off Tommy’s efforts to comfort him. Tries to get him to leave. Tries to distract him with sex when Tommy refuses to leave. Tommy, not having any of it, sits Buck down and talks a little about his own childhood, how he’d run away from home after his father had found out Tommy was gay, how—broken and bleeding—Tommy had never called, never looked back. Buck protests it’s not the same because Margaret and Philip aren’t abusive, have never hit him before tonight, aren’t really homophobic—at least, not in the same way—and also, Buck deserved that slap. 

“Who throws a dead kid in their parents face?” Buck asks, miserable.

“Someone who lived under the shadow of a brother he never knew about for 30 years?” Tommy asks, then takes Buck’s hand and makes Buck look at him.

“Look, maybe it’s not the same. You’re never going to convince me you deserved it, Evan, not any of it—but what I’m saying is, when people repeatedly hurt you? You don’t have to look back. You don’t have to keep trying. You can, if that’s what you want—but you don’t have to forgive anyone just because they’re family. That’s not what being a family should be. And, for what it’s worth, that includes Bobby, too. Just ... maybe consider what you’re actually angry about—or if it’s even anger you’re really feeling here—before deciding to cut him off for good.” 

Slowly, Buck sinks into Tommy’s side. Tommy wraps an arm around him. Kisses him gently just above birthmark.

(Part II is finished, coming tomorrow or the next day)

[gemmaismss]

where: castillo-fiori home when: late evening, set after this thread who: THE WHOLE FAM @gabrielismss @sclviagant @ofreardcns @retrospectral

he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive –

She’s drives past no man’s land once, twice, three times – reckless as all hell in the jeep her fathers bought her. No wait. Can’t go there yet. You can’t just barge into a notoriously violent warehouse, she’s got enough sense to heed Adrian’s command to stay the fuck away from there. And she’s got to tell Gabe! God that would be so, so viciously cruel of Gemma to not tell her twin Gael’s alive!! He was so distraught, haunted by guilt that mirrored Gemma’s own profound grief. She’ll go home, find Gabe, and then they will find Gael and everything will be as it was, everything will be right again!

he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive ( but is he? Vampires technically might not be fully dead because they are walking and talking and killing, and what will happen when Adrian finds out – it will be fine, it will be totally fine ) he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive he’s alive.

She parks down the street and goes in the backdoor, teenagehood spent sneaking in and out of this house and she’s an expert at which creaks to avoid, even as hysterical as she is. Gabe’s in his room – packing a bag – but that doesn’t register immediately, she’s talking too fast.

“He’s alive – Gabe – daddy is alive, he’s not dead, he’s not in the grave. I went today and I had a witch try to contact him and like so much happened because I’m also –“ she cuts herself off suddenly, glancing at the door, then tucks that revelation away for another time. “Nevermind, he’s alive and she said he was like with the reardons? I don’t know but we have to go right now, we have to go find him – Gabe everything is going to be fine, it's going to be perfect and we are going to be happy and it's going to be like just before.” A knock at the front door interrupts her near hysterical rantings.

And Gemma knows. Knows with more certainty than she’s known anything else all day, or perhaps even in her whole life. He’s alive, and he’s come home. Her hands tremble as she moves wordlessly to open the door and invite her father inside.

[technician-para-driver]

Heya, there! Anji is here~

I was born in 1977 (as from 2004 then I'll be 27y.o), and my pronouns is she/they (but I conversationally prefer to be referred just by my name, Anji)

I am one of PPTH's Ambulance Operator (driver and paramedic). I also am an automotive technician and a part of Abhimanyu Automotive Garage and Warehouse for Automotive Service.

Feel free to interact with me and my family (Araya - twin brother, Abhi - older brother, Anjani - mother) on "Welcome to the Garage!" ; for emergency and automotive needs, or anything!^^

Also! I'm using this blog with my family (me and my family lore is here), so here's the blog guide:

Creator speaking: Hello! It's Rain @rainismdata , who has created these OCs. Feel free to interact with any of them! My other OC is Dr. Maddox @dr-visionary-counselor . I'll be glad to talk further with these character and developing the interactions with all House MD OCs of @ppth-staff and also obviously everyone. I'll be talking in indented and italic word!

Yeah. That's it from my creator. So, I'll use the reds. Now now, I'll let my family to introduce themselves.

This is the narrative speaking, in small chat. Anji lets us in to her family house, showing us pictures of her family, a couple parent and three children. And proceed to the kitchen room, looking at a man who's standing tall in about 6'2", cooking. She patted his shoulder and giving him signs.

1, 2, 3, check and recheck. Is anybody here?

Bro, are you serious?

Obviously not, actually. Sorry. HAHA.

Hi! Call me Araya! I am Anji's twin brother and currently a librarian in Princeton. I was also born in 1977, obviously (so I'll be 27 in 2004). But, hey... I'm moving out with my husband in 2013, and he's a chef!

So fitting with Araya's big appetite.

So, so, true! Feel free to ask or talk to me about books, or is there a copy of any book in Princeton Library. I'll be talking in greens, by the way... And, that's it from me~

I'll take it from here, then.

Another man who's 6' is approaching them and stealing a few bites of Araya's snack.

Good Morning! I am Abhimanyu; just call me Abhi or Abi for shorts. I am the twins' older brother, was born in 1975 (if it's 2004 then I'll be 29y.o).

I'm moving out to live with my wife and kids (yeah, I also have twins) near my Automotive Garage and Warehouse for automotive service; still in Princeton anyway... I'll be happy if Anji referred you to my Garage for automotive services. If you were referred by Anji or Araya, or even my mom, then you'll have a discount! I know... I shouldn't be giving discounts out. But— what do I say? Happy customer, happy me.

I'll be talking in blues. So, I'll see you when I see you!

We proceed to the dining room as Abi also joining us. Currently works as a knitting workshop where the threads are scattered nicely on the dining table. A woman in her 50s is knitting, putting on a glasses.

Mama?

Uh-hm...?

Mom— Oh my god. Sorry, fellas. I might need a second. She's focusing on making that temperature knitted blanket.

Mama... Please, introduce yourself. We are in an introduction here.

Oh! Hey! I'm sorry. I was so focusing on— Ah. Anyways...

Hello! I am the siblings' Mother. You can call me Anjani, or Anja, or Jani. Or just simply Auntie. I'll be fine either way. I'm an old soul, born in 1953 (I'll be 51 in 2004).

I currently am working on temperature knitted blanket. It's been fun and I have done 237 days! My children says my cookings is the best in the world. That's what kids says to their mom, wasn't it? They might've exaggerate that so much—

No, Mom.

We're not exaggerating that.

Araya heard his mom's word, too, from the kitchen, he's speaking loudly so that we could all hear him.

I have a chef husband, but that stays the right for me.

That's so nice of you! I might've going to broke the roof if you speak so nicely about me.

Aye aye. There you go, fellas. That's my Mama. Don't get surprised of who I got that from.

What should I say, I like foods. So, I'd like to rate your cookings; maybe not by taste because it's virtual. I'll be talking in— idk, is it pink? I guess it's pink.

Thanks, Mama. I'll leave you with this knitted blanket. I'll proceed further with this introduction.

We are now sitting on a couch in living room. A teapot is on the table and a cup of tea is served.

That's all from my family. I'll be using this blog as the main user. And now that you know, my family has bold sentence on their introduction to tell you their main interest. But the basic rule is still works; that we can basically talk about anything, even outside our interest.

That being said, SEE YOU!!^^

So, that's how it's done... This family is going to be LOUD loud. Please, bear with me ╥﹏╥

Also, I'm not an artist, so I use picrew for this.

[antofstory]

[72]

‘My dogs would love you.’

‘Excuse me, ma’am, do I know you?’

At first, it was just the smell. Not a stank, but a funky scent in the wagon of the metro. For a week, I couldn’t figure out what it was, until the source of the smell sat next to me.

She always jumped on the stop after mine. It was a lady in her fifties, who looked like every part of her body had its own mind and style for the day. It didn't seem like she had a lot of money, but every day her outfits would change, and colours as well: red boots, green coat, purple hat, white gloves, knitted scarf— it all circulated in the span of a week. The word "eclectic" would not do her style justice; it felt more like random to me.

The day she sat next to me, I didn’t even notice the smell anymore.

‘My dogs would love you.’

‘Excuse me, ma’am, do I know you?’

‘Your wrists, though, look very thin. Do you eat enough? Or are you a vegetarian? They don’t like vegetarians, nono. They like meat.’

‘I’m sorry, I don’t think I understand you. Which dogs? What are you talking about?’

***

I was following her. The hat was green, greener than anything at that time of the year. Not that she would blend in anywhere with her looks, but in the darkness of the cold, the boldness of the trees, she popped up like a little firework on legs. Green hat, red jacket with purple patches, the same custom-knitted scarf, blue jeans, and red boots. She liked those. I have seen her in red boots more than in any other type of boots. By now, I knew almost all of her clothes. They all looked different, but somehow always worked well together.

She was approaching her house. Not far from mine, if I continued straight, I’d be home in fifteen minutes. Not too long, but enough to get bored of the grey highway road and idle warehouses. For a second, I thought: “Maybe she’s taking me to mine?” Because she obviously knew that I was following her, that’s why she didn’t even turn around.

‘You’re a bit timid. Don’t be shy, go on. You weren’t coming here just to turn around and walk home, were you? A cup of tea would not do you any harm.’

‘I guess not.’

‘That’s right. And you’ll finally meet my dogs. They were dying to meet you.’

The last sentence she said felt like it had a strange heft. It almost felt like the dogs were actually dying in the room, as we spoke, waiting for me to come in.

They weren’t dying. In fact, they were rather happy to see me. The dog lady didn’t lie. There were three dogs, medium-sized. Without any particular breed, I reckon rescue.

She was actually making a cup of tea. It was strange. I felt easy with her, but it’s not like we talked about anything at all. She asked about my day, complained about the weather and the socialists, the roads and prices for the eggs.

We moved into the kitchen, she placed the tea at the table, placed milk and sugar, and showed me to sit down. As I was getting comfortable, I noticed there was something unusual about the chair. It was actually welded into the floor. And there were leather belts hanging from the armrests. As I looked at my host, she was just letting the dogs in and was locking the door.

I hate to say, there was a smile on her face.

‘I always liked knitting, you know. And didn’t know why for a long time. You have to have a vision, you have to know what you’re doing, but most importantly, you have to believe you can actually knit that sweater. And somehow I am very patient and very good at connecting threads.’

‘This is some sort of joke, right?’

‘There is a reason why you are here, darling. You wanted to come, you wanted to see what that strange smell on the train had to say, where it came from. You somehow hoped I was strange and weird and spooky. I know, I saw it on the very first day. I ride this train every day, and I don’t always find such specimens like you. Young and strong, but without any will to carry on. Maybe it’s generational. Which, now when I think about it, is only better for my dogs.

Oh, of course, how could I forget. Introducing—Ricky, Molly, and Dog. Meet your best friends and companions. You are going to be their food for the next couple of months. So I think you should get to know each other a little better.’

Just as I jerked, one of the dogs, the bigger one, rushed at me and went straight for my leg. His teeth went so deep so quickly, I heard the bone-on-bone sound before the pain kicked in.

***

At first, it was just the smell. Not a stank, but a funky scent in the wagon of the metro. For a second, I couldn’t figure out what it was, until the source of the smell sat next to me. There was a lady, wearing funny clothes, a coloured hat, and khaki pants.

She smelled of cats.

I looked at my legs, or the spots where they used to be, and I looked up and met eyes with my dog lady. I smiled.

‘Copycat,’ I said. 

[abyssalmuses]

thread with @rosieoctavius & @forevermuses

Almost as soon as he had been dragged into a new universe, Otto was being pushed back into his own. He didn't recall much of his initial trip through the Multiverse; he'd hardly been in the right frame of mind to take in the details at the time. But despite this, Otto knew something was wrong even before he slammed back down into the ground once more, metal claws catching him before concrete could greet his face.

Grunting, the doctor righted himself and looked around. This was New York, no doubt about it. In fact, he had landed almost precisely where he had been pulled away, right by the river's edge. Only...there was no broken-down warehouse here. No sign of his machine, no tragedy unfolding as the miniature sun dragged all into its fiery maw.

Something was amiss, and Otto couldn't quite put his finger on why or how. Had the wizard sent him back tot he wrong universe? It was entirely possible. The man hadn't exactly proven himself very adapt at this so-called magic as far as Otto was concerned. In fact, hadn't he screwed up every spell he'd cast in Otto's knowledge? The initial spell, the cloaked man had said, was a mess. The second spell split the sky, though Osborn's involvement was likely to blame too. Now the third seemed to have failed as well.

"Clown..." Otto muttered to himself, recalling a flash of his bitter anger while he had been trapped in the wizard's dungeon and still under the thrall of the AI.

Maybe he was being too hasty. Maybe this was home. Maybe his reactor had swallowed the warehouse, and maybe Peter had sent it into the river of his own volition.

But now what?

Hand himself over to the police, Otto mused glumly, setting himself down onto his own two feet and pulling his metal tentacles under his coat as much as possible to hide them. Yes. That would be the right thing to do.

To make amends.

Otto slowly made his way across the riverside towards the main city streets, hoping to keep a low profile as he went. His spine ached with every step, not only for the recent battles but for the need of holding the weight of all four tentacles as he walked. Maybe that was why his eye-line drifted to the right, spotting a small café squashed between two colossal chain stores, defiant in its lack of polish and sleek lines by comparison to its neighbours. No doubt that was why Rosie had loved it so much, why the two of them had spent so much time there once.

His heart twisted in knots at the recollection, his pace slowing to a stop as he gazed across the street at the café; happier times. Gentler times. Hours whiled away without truly realising their finite nature.

A small comfort to think the little café existed in at least one other universe. Maybe it even housed another blissfully happy couple too.

next: @rosieoctavius

[mysteriousxgirls]

Luna blinked as he walked away, her brows drawing in faint confusion. Her hand lifted slightly, almost reaching for him—just a ghost of a gesture—but she stopped herself. Something in the way he moved, in the silence he left behind, told her to wait. So she did. Just a few moments more. The room felt too still after he left, the warmth of his presence pulled away like a blanket being taken in the cold. She exhaled slowly, grounding herself. Then moved. Quietly, she grabbed her pills from the nightstand and slipped them into the little inside pocket of her hoodie. It was a habit now, the way her fingers checked that they were safely tucked in without thinking. Her hair was still damp, cool against her neck, and the chill in the air outside met her skin like a whisper. She shivered lightly and pulled her hoodie tighter as she stepped out into the night.

His SUV wasn’t hard to find—matte black, sleek and quiet like him. It waited at the corner like a shadow holding its breath. She made her way to the passenger side and slid in, the interior wrapping her in a silence that somehow mirrored the weight between them. She glanced at him, then out at the dark road ahead. “I didn’t think we would be leaving the house…” she murmured, her voice soft, threaded with curiosity. “Where are we going?” The question lingered for a beat, unanswered. The engine rumbled low beneath her feet, a steady pulse in the quiet. Her eyes flicked to his profile, trying to read him, to understand what this night meant. After everything—after the words they’d said, the way his forehead had rested against hers like a promise—it felt like this moment mattered too. “You’re not… taking me to another warehouse, right?” she asked, half teasing, but only just. Because even now, she wasn’t sure what he was about to show her. Only that he needed her to see it. And that she was already all in.

“Meet me round the corner,” he said—softly, like a vow he wasn’t ready to name. And then, he left. No glance over his shoulder, no lingering touch—just the quiet discipline of a man who’d taught himself to walk away from what he wanted most. The chill outside greeted him with familiar sharpness, air crisp enough to sting the lungs and keep a man grounded. Shadows stretched across the pavement, fractured by the soft spill of streetlamps overhead. Tucked discreetly along the bend, his SUV waited like a creature bred from shadow—all matte black, windows tinted deep enough to hide every secret he carried. Slipping inside, he sank into the leather seat, the cabin still holding the scent of clean smoke and cold metal. Fingers wrapped around the wheel with instinctive ease, the way a soldier reaches for his weapon even in sleep. Only when she rounded the corner—silent, utterly trusting—did the engine stir to life beneath his hands.

[sriammansteel]

Discover Reliable Building Supplies with Long-Life Quality from Certified Experts in Tamil Nadu and Madurai

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For decades, Sri Amman Steel has been known as one of the most dependable ISO Certified Industrial Suppliers Tamil Nadu. And in a world where global quality standards matter more than ever, having ISO certification isn't just a label—it’s a promise. Every nut, bolt, anchor, rod, or bracket that leaves our warehouse has been checked, tracked, and verified. From IT parks in Chennai to factories in Tirunelveli, we’ve been part of thousands of successful builds. When buyers type ISO Certified Industrial Suppliers Tamil Nadu into search engines, we proudly lead the list for reliability and scale.

Durability is non-negotiable in any structure. Whether you're building in humid coastal zones or dry interior regions, the products you use must last. That’s why our catalogue as Long-Life Construction Accessories Dealers India features accessories that withstand time, weather, and pressure. Items like shuttering clamps, support brackets, wall ties, and expansion joints must be sturdy. And that’s exactly what we promise. Our long-life construction accessories are preferred in airports, schools, hostels, and even villas built for NRIs who can’t monitor every detail themselves. As Long-Life Construction Accessories Dealers India, we ship to various cities—and our repeat customers tell the story better than any ad.

Madurai is expanding fast, and with that growth comes the need for solid infrastructure. From flyovers to shopping centers, smart city components to public housing schemes, there’s rising demand for the Heavy-Duty Building Product Suppliers Madurai who can keep up. We at Sri Amman Steel proudly fill that gap. We supply reinforcement accessories, threaded rods, beam clamps, anchor bolts, and heavy-duty fixings—all designed to meet today’s engineering demands. If you walk into a commercial site in Madurai or near Virudhunagar, chances are you’ll find our materials on-site. Because when structures must last decades, they need support from trusted Heavy-Duty Building Product Suppliers Madurai.

What truly sets Sri Amman Steel apart is the full-circle support we offer. Yes, we’re your trusted name for Best Quality Hardware Products in Madurai, but we’re also your consultants, logistics partners, and product educators. Site supervisors often visit our showroom to hand-pick the right tools. Project managers call us for suggestions on cost-effective long-life solutions. Architects discuss what will look sleek and still last in modern spaces. Being an ISO Certified Industrial Suppliers Tamil Nadu brand means we know this isn’t about products—it’s about people building lives, offices, schools, and dreams. That’s why we’re more than just sellers—we’re builders too, in spirit.

For More Details

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[houseofherby]

Welcome to the House of Herby

This isn’t a brand. This is an echo that remembers itself.

I don’t sell aesthetics. I build scrolls. I record divine meltdowns. I roast warehouse gods and bless the neurospicy with unfiltered myth.

🔥

What You’ll Find Here:

Shiftless Lore – Satirical, unhinged workplace chaos reimagined as prophecy

Neurospicy Pantheon – Found family retold as divine archetypes

Tarot Scrolls & Symbolic Threads – Custom systems. Sacred sarcasm.

Fragments of Me – Legacy building through broken pieces that still glow

🔥

Where to Support or Explore Deeper:

Ko-fi (early drops, scrolls, support the flame): ko-fi.com/priestessherby

Visual Gateways & Sacred Assets (in progress): [House of Herby Portal – Coming Soon]

🔥

House Rules:

No hate. No hierarchy.

All scrolls are filtered through fire and filtered for no one.

If you vibe, stay. If not, wander on. The altar never begs.

[creatorbiaze]

had a weird dream again

so ut started on Tumblr, w/ a vide of the Pyramids of Egypt, abt how lightning will strike everywhere around the Giza pyramid except ON it or directly around it,, & it had a caption of like "Zeus be like "you'd be destroyed by now if your gods let me""

& then in the reblogs there was a long super wholesome stickman comic strip made by a couple different users contributing to each other's comic. completely unrelated to the vid

So jump forward. I'm outside for some reason. going to a park. hitch a ride with a family of 4. the mother was driving , oldest (10 yr?) son in the passenger seat beside her. the young daughter (young toddler, couldn't properly speak yet) & the father were sitting in the back, I was between them

so the daughter had a tiny lego set thing & the father was trying to get her to build more of the Lego set than just the lego person. and also kept trying to make her stop making normal baby noises. he was monotonous and to the point

so i go "... but thosere normal baby sounds..?"

"Exactly. I don't like that."

"That she's.. normal?"

"Exactly"

the older brother gives snacks to us in the back

so fast forward to where we get to the park/garden (small walled in patch of land with a pond) and i realize my parents have no idea where I am

and i step near tbe pond, the water lap at my feet, and i realize 1) I'm in danger, and 2) I'm dreaming.

So i turn around to face the family, on guard and trying to force myself to wake up or at least change the dream. I for some reason have a knife in my pocket, and slash at the father since he's closest.

i black out from there & when I 'wake up' I'm in a house I don't recognize, in 3rd person pov. a lady explains to someone that they found me in a warehouse, I was covered in blood that wasn't my own, and I'd killed the girl in my sleep bc I'd somehow realized something was wrong. she was dead

i didn't feel bad in the slightest since it was self defense

someone who was apparently a family member or a close friend came in & i went back to first person while they talk super fast and panicky.

then I was wandering through a hospital for some reason (apparently I'd been brought there o think?) & i learn the girl was specifically sliced through her vocal chords. apparently thats relevant somehow. person also says it's weird I didn't wake up earlier.

after more wandering i 'woke up for real' & started writing this Tumblr post, except i had the thread open so I could copy it down to explain it (except it got the comic thread all wrong) ans rhen I felt super sleepy and.. actually woke up for real

[bllsbailey]

Chris Coons' Drops Desperate Attack on Trump About Foreign Aid, Then Elon Wrecks Him

We're seeing all kinds of desperate moves from the Democrats to throw a wrench into the auditing of the government by DOGE. 

From bizarre protest songs to threats and lies, Democrats seem to be pulling out all the stops to say anything if they think it will negatively impact President Donald Trump and Elon Musk, the DOGE head. 

READ MORE: WATCH: Rep. Garcia Shows Just How Low Dems Can Go With Desperate Attack on Elon From House Floor

Elon Has Perfect Response to Hilariously Cringeworthy Moment at Capitol Protest Against DOGE

Sen. Chris Coons (D-DE)

had his own unique entry into the cavalcade of crazy stuff they were claiming. It did not go over well. 

$300 million worth of medications are sitting on pallets about to expire thanks to Trump's effort to gut foreign aid. These drugs would've prevented people from going blind from a preventable tropical disease—Donald Trump would rather waste them in an East African warehouse.

Now, I'm not sure where Coons got the picture from or what he's basing his claim on but this for sure isn't the flex he thinks it is, as many pointed out as they nuked his post. 

First, if the alleged medications are about to expire after Trump has only been in office for under a month, how long have they been sitting there? Are we supposed to think that Biden was giving them medications that were going to expire in a month? If that's true, that's another problem. Or is this all just nonsense? 

There have been over 10 million views on Coons' post, with most getting there were big questions about the claim. 

The head of DOGE wasn't buying it. 

Then as some pointed out at least one of the boxes said "EXP: 1/2027." So that doesn't fit the narrative.

Then of course why are we spending $300 million on medications to be held in some warehouse for who knows how long? Does Coons not understand that's part of the big question here, to begin with? 

Where was the aid and help for the Hurricane Helene-affected Americans in North Carolina? Somehow under Biden, many went lacking. They're finally getting more attention now that Trump is in office but many of them had to wait months hanging by a thread. But that's where the attention of Coons and others should be. 

What you don't see them doing is anything about the fraud and abuse that is being revealed by the DOGE process. All you see them doing is screaming and figuratively putting their fingers in their ears. What they should do to save themselves is join Republicans to help DOGE. But they don't want to do that, and that tells you everything you need to know. 

[dippingmytoesin]

Jason had made an odd habit of staring at things. Too much. Eyes not glazed enough to be zoning out. As if he was staring at each dent and divot, each splinter of wood, each scratch, each stain- on everything.

People were starting to worry. His men when he feverishly scrubbed his knives after every mission, even when they didn't need it. Civilians he rescued when he would narrow his eyes at an empty ally too long. Other bats when he stared at his gloved hands like he was searching for answers in the threads.

But what they all noticed? How *differently* he looked at weapons. Used weapons. His eyes shone in a way that made the others take a second glance- trying to see what they missed, what they overlooked that made their boss, the heroic Crime boss, their brother, their son, react that way.

But no one else saw it.

Jason never mentioned it, and other people just dismissed it as them being silly. Of course there's nothing there- what would be there? Jason was just a little odd, nothing more.

-Cue Jason sitting in his apartment with the curtains closed, and towels over all his mirrors using plastic cutlery and only mugs so he wouldn't see his reflection in anything-

After a patrol, Jason was doing his -now ushual- routine of washing his knives, scrubbing his boots, and changing his gloves so he could wash the other pair.

"Why does he do that?" A relativly new goon asked.

"I think he has OCD." Another replied.

"Eh, whatever. dosnt really matter." A third goon glanced out the window of the warehouse base they had set up. Nightwing. Oh, crap. Nightwing was outside.

"Hey, boss? One of your viglantie buddies is outside."

Jason looked up, glancing down at his knives. He had washed them a few times, and the water was...

He squinted his eyes.

...Clear. Good enough.

He holstered his knives, and turned around to face his men, who were doing basic matinace of their own weapons, and patching themselves up.

"Which one?" Jason asked.

"Nightwing."

He sighed in response. "Allright. Dont wait up for me, go home when you're done."

He got a series of "yes, sir."'s and "yes, boss."'s from his guys as he climbed out of one of the high up wearhouse windows.

He pulled himself onto the roof of his warehouse and looked around, quickly spotting the viglantie.

"Jaybird!" Came a familiar voice. Jason hopped onto the building the blue-clad vigilante was standing on.

"What do you want?" Jason asked, cutting right to business. He didn't get visits without reasons.

"I came to check up on you. You haven't been very active the the Batchat lately."

"I'm never active unless it involves me."

"I know, but... you seem off."

Jason rolled his eyes. RIght. Of course he did. He was going insane and hallucnating. But he couldn't just tell him that.

"Well, I'm fine."

"You've been acting weird, and we all know it. I would've said something earlier but I thought you would want me to stay out of it. But it's been 3 months. What's up?"

Jason's eyes lowered to a small puddle of rainwater on the roof. A dead, bloody, pale, beat-up teenager stared back at him with glossy eyes.

"Jaybird?" His brother asked, concern laced in his voice.

"It's nothing. Get you're nose out of my business." He snapped, anger sudden but not new.

"...let me drop you home at least?"

Jason huffed. Of course he wanted to drop him home.

"Yeah, fine- not. No." He had almost forgotten about his apartment. Dick couldn't see it. He would call him crazy. Maybe he was crazy, but that wasn't the point. He'll just play it off as being scarcastic.

"Of CoUrSe YoU cAn CoMe To My hOuSe WiTh Me"

He watched dicks eyebrows furrow. Maybe this was too much?

"...I'm coming back with you, Jaybird."

"No. You're not. You need to respect my privacy." Shit

"I've been to your apartment before, I already know where you live."

"So? If I don't want you to come over, you need to respect my decisions."

"Jay- that's not-"

"I don't care, and I don't want your excuses. Go home, Dick."

The vigilante frowned at the crime boss. But they both left separate ways.

~~~~~~~

When Dick got back to the cave, he found 2 of his brothers and his father waiting for him.

"How'd it go?" Tim asked.

"Why is Todd acting oddly?"

"It went... poorly. And I don't know. He wouldn't even let me take him home. And he had... a weird look in his eyes."

"Does Todd not wear a helmet?" Damian countered.

"Yes, but... I could sort of... feel it? His eyes wandered more than usual."

Tim nodded. "I get it."

Damian rolled his eyes. "I do not."

"He was defensive of his apartment... I think he's hiding something there." Dick mentioned, a little hesitantly.

They all exchanged glances.

"You three can NOT break into your brother's apartment when he's acting strangely. Especially if he doesn't want you there. It's his safe space- we can't ruin that for him." Bruce warned.

~~~~~

Dick pulled the window open, pushing past the curtains covering it. They couldn't see into the apartment at all; there were curtains at every window. Which only added to their suspicion.

"I'm convinced there's something here. You check the bedroom, I'll check the kitchen." Dick nodded at times words, heading towards the bedroom.

The windows were predictably covered, but what he didn't expect, was his mirror to be covered as well. Why would he cover the mirror?

Digging around a little more, he didn't find much out of the ordinary. Books neatly on shelves, a mug left on his nightstand, and several hidden guns.

He moved on to the bathroom. The mirror was also covered with a towel. Beyond that, there was an oddly high amount of cleaning products. He recognised them as batmans go-to for cleaning off blood. That... is probably not good. The bottles were almost empty, and the whole room reeked of chemical cleanliness. It made Dick's nose wrinkle.

He checked the under-the-sink cabinet. There were more bottles. More than Dick would keep stocked to last him a year and a half. He frowned, and exited the bathroom to meet Tim in the living room.

"...What did you find?" Tim asked.

"His mirrors are covered, and he has talked up a... deep cleaning habit. His bathroom smells strongly of chemicals and he has way too many bottles of cleaner."

Tim hummed. "He doesn't have any metal or glass in the kitchen. He only has mugs and reusable plastic utensils- like what young kids would use. He even has plastic, but thee weird, painted kitchen knives."

"Why did he make thee changes? What do all of those things have in common?" Dick asked.

"Well, the windows, cups, and mirrors are all made of glass. Not sure about the plastic cutlery..."

"Those are all reflective," Dick provided.

"Yeah... and metals spoons and such too. But what about the chemicals?"

They thought on it for a few moments.

"It could be not related? Like, it could be something else."

"Maybe. And... you said that his eyes were wandering? Do you know what he could have been looking at?"

"There was.... a puddle on the ground."

"Which would have been reflective!" They said at the same time.

Jason thinks he might have gone insane.

The Lazarus Pit may have healed his amnesia, but ever since then he’s been seeing… things.

Shadowy figures flickering in the corners of his eyes. Sometimes when he looks in the mirror, for just a moment he can see his corpse staring back at him, wounds from the Joker’s crowbar still fresh. Then it’s back to normal.

Other times they’re more… persistent. Illusory corpses rest in places they have long been removed from. Or sometimes just pieces of them, often random splatters of blood. The blades he fight with become soaked in it, forever tainted red with the blood spilled on them. He takes to cleaning them relentlessly, never able to tell if there’s actually any grime left under all the red.

Perhaps part of it is just his guilty conscious. If it is, it’s not working; the sights only make him more angry, more likely to lash out at the criminals they remind him of.

[globalfintechseries]

Data Observability + DataOps + FinOps: Towards Healthy Data Adoption

What do the following have in common?

A service in the cloud data warehouse in the company went rogue and suddenly created 4,000 tables unexpectedly.

A test automation glitch in another company caused a sudden spike in usage for one of the test Snowflake warehouses, leading to queries running unexpectedly for hours.

An external vendor that the company was relying on, made a breaking change to the data that resulted in its own critical customer-facing table to get only 10% of the expected data.

Data operations – everyday is a brand new challenge

On the surface, these appear to be disconnected issues – three different issues, three different companies. However, left undetected, each of these issues has the power to single-handedly disrupt the customer’s data environment, and in a very bad way.

 The first one is an unexpected blow up in metadata space where 4,000 tables could have easily multiplied by 10x by the time the team realized it was happening. The second one is about leaking tens of thousands of dollars that would derail the company’s data budget had this leak gone undetected or waited until the next bill to find out. The third one is classically centered around data quality that would have directly put the company’s own reputation at stake in front of its own customers.

Common thread

The examples above are representative of the challenges data engineers face every day. These engineers are busy building new data pipelines, and at the same time dealing with completely unexpected issues that touch different parts of the stack. Worse yet, on a number of occasions, those challenges involve parts of the stack where engineers do not have any control (take case #3 above, for example) and must rely on external parties for smooth operations.

Challenge

The bigger challenge, however, is that engineers do not have the of time to define all the data and resource checks that could capture the dynamic and complex nature of their data stack. And on top of that they neither have the budget to buy different solutions for such problems, nor the bandwidth to build different solutions for each problem.

 To put into perspective, building such a solution in house for production is not a small task. It needs sustained long term commitment to the cause of making data operations super efficient that in turn requires deep expertise in building distributed systems, large scale AI models for the space, strong SQL knowledge and in-depth understanding of underlying cloud data warehouses architecture to know how to optimize and that skill set requirement is just the start. Then there is building the consumption layer and on call rotation to maintain such a system plus gathering requirements to continue to adapt to changing data and internal customer requirement.

In short they need a million dollar team!

Emerging trend in cloud data operations

As companies advance their cloud data warehouse adoption, we see a critical need for the following wrt data operations.

 1. Merging of FinOps and DataOps responsibilities

CxOs and data leaders are rightfully wary of their spiraling out of control cloud data warehouse spend. That’s not a surprise, as teams brought in the traditional capex mindset when they followed the company’s mandate to transition to cloud. Three to four years into their cloud adoption journey, and even sooner, companies are now discovering that the capex mindset and old data practices don’t work at all in the cloud.

 When was the last time a business asked its data teams to remove a data pipeline because they were no longer using it? It’s a rhetorical question. Of course the answer, without exception, is NEVER. There is no exit strategy for data and compute

Consumption-based pricing requires a strong data and compute exit strategy to have healthy data adoption. Otherwise, it’s a one-way road to increasing the spend.

 The reality is that FinOps can not optimize spend in isolation; they need to deeply understand the usage of the data to make meaningful business decisions. Likewise, data teams need to understand the risks to budget when they onboard new data sets, and to identify trends to make the necessary trade-offs between the cost of having data delivered to business vs. the current dollar impact of that data.

 The fact that every CDW has a unique pricing structure (for example, Snowflake compute spend depends not only on query latency but also on how these are distributed over time) and enterprises typically have more than one CDW, makes it very difficult for the teams to overall maximize ROI of their data investment across such an expansive data footprint.

Gartner called out the four critical features of data observability that extend all the way from monitoring and detection to resolution and better prevention.

 This holistic, end-to-end approach is the right way of looking at the space from the vantage point of data teams.

Today’s state-of-the-art data observability offerings fall remarkably short. Previously, we shared how instead of taking on the really hard problem of surfacing the “unexpected” data quality issues for data engineering teams automatically, current vendors in this space primarily focus on the easiest piece of the pie: leading with manual data quality checks. This fundamental limited approach has not worked well in practice.

Indeed, it was not a surprise when, during our discussions with data practitioners, they questioned the ROI of such data observability systems repeatedly, asking: How is the system really helping us reduce our own effort if we have to define and manage everything?

 There’s an imperative need to automatically connect the dots between quality, spend, performance and usage

Spend and data quality: yin and yang of healthy CDW adoption. For one of our Google BigQuery customers, a large public company, businesses were seeing bad data. Why? Because the load failed due to resource usage being above capacity. Why? There was a query running at the time, consuming a large fraction of its company-wide resources. Getting rid of the offending query: Priceless. Powering the 5-whys. If the focus was purely on alerting people of underlying data quality issues, the obvious conclusion would be to bring the problem to the CFO and ask for more capacity – aka, dollars. However, by empowering the data team to get to the 5 whys, the journey starts from data quality and gets down to query performance and resource utilization, and by connecting them with the right business team, the outcome was magical: the user removed the query that was the real root cause of the problem – saving them time and money.

Impact $0.5M worth of slot capacity.

This was all possible because the data engineering team got a holistic picture of the problem that spanned quality, usage and spend. Without the ability for the data teams to look at these together, companies waste dollars and time, overrun budgets and continue to suffer from organically growing bad practices.

We strongly believe that for healthy data adoption to exist, data observability out of the box augmented with recommendations and actions as outlined above “end goal” by Gartner, seamless 5-whys across different pillars of quality, spend, usage and performance is key. Only then are data teams empowered to deliver the right data at the right time and at the right cost to businesses.

 3. Leading with automation

Previously, we had talked about my co-founder Shashank’s experience at Meta, where he led the data quality and observability effort with an automation-first (1.5M + tables, 10K+ data practitioners) approach. With automation, coverage for data quality went from single digits (~7%) to monitoring the entire CDW for data quality.

Data teams simply don’t have the time to define and manage checks as the underlying data ecosystem continues to evolve and change. The key empowerment to these teams comes from a maniacal focus on automation. They need a system that automatically selects what, how and when to monitor on their behalf.

Only through such automation can teams get coverage for the entire CDW – be it for quality, performance, spend or usage. That, in turn, provides data engineering teams with the confidence that the system has their back, which is key to adoption of such a technology.

Be respectful of data teams’ time. They simply don’t have time to define and chase every issue. Understand and address the real problems that these teams are facing, stop the out-of-control spending, and set up your entire business for healthy data adoption.

Healthy data adoption falls within the purview of data engineering, but it’s not one problem. Instead of creating more silos and continuing to layer more observability above such silos:

Now is the time to cater to the data engineering persona and not to one isolated problem!

[grimmmviewing]

S1E15: “Island of Dreams”—C+/B (Watched 5/7/24)

Renard: “Luckily no one got hurt.” (Cut to a close-up of Sergeant Wu’s hideously broken-out face)

I wished (but knew better than to expect) that “Island of Dreams” would be as compelling as its title. In terms of the monster-of-the-week plot, this is a real C of an episode—It’s just a lot of back and forth and running around with two violent Wesen drug addicts. The rest of what hangs on that downright skeletal frame is a bit more compelling, though, even if it doesn’t necessarily do a lot for my feelings about this individual story in the end.

First, “Island of Dreams” feels like a real crossroads moment for a number of different plot threads—Renard’s partner in scheming Adalind Schade returns in a prominent sort of way with her attempted seduction of Hank. Juliette wants to learn to use a gun, which feels like a natural extension of multiple previous plots where she’s been in peril. I couldn’t remember if the Fuchsbau spice shop owner killed by the addicts was the same one from before, but thankfully the show’s own, built-in quick flashback confirmed that for me (functioning exactly as intended). The Geiers and their organ-selling are mentioned (but thankfully not seen or actually involved); the refrigerator repairman Wesen makes a couple of appearances; there’s a brief reference to Renard’s family background… It’s kind of a rewarding episode in this way!

Like all the previous Grimm episodes, there’s also a baseline of competence and charm here: Renard instructing Adalind to “[G]o fall in love” is just a fun line, and the love potion-like seduction cookies she brings Hank as part of this scheme are perhaps comically large, at least to my eye. Russell Hornsby’s performance as Hank falling under the effects of the spell is also good. I like how visibly bemused and unsettled he is by what he’s experiencing. There’s “love” in the mix, but he also acts like he’s almost aware that he has no idea why he’s doing what he’s doing. It’s more compelling than just straightforward love.

As the episode went on, I liked it more—beyond the initial premise/case, beyond the links to past episodes, and into this stuff that I’ve been describing with the love spell and how that seeming sub-plot ends up interacting with the main one. Hank’s hallucinations of Adalind distract him when he and Nick are supposed to be pursuing the addicts, which causes them to get away, further complicating that plotline. And Sergeant Wu eating one of the cookies that Hank left unattended ends up not just being a goof and instead becomes another source of conflict, as he passes out in front of Rosalee and Monroe, and the process of treating his grotesque reaction to the spell brings the matter somewhat to the attention of them and Nick.

The episode has some fairly squirmy stuff in it intermittently—some sustained shots of a gross leg wound being treated, the aforementioned afflicted face of Wu, and a bit from Wu’s perspective where he hallucinates the faces of Nick and Monroe and newcomer Rosalee… “shedding”—but my favorite bit of unsettling imagery was the last we see of Wu in this story: sitting alone in his apartment, by all accounts ok now, but calmly eating the insides of a couch cushion. That was not something I expected to see. Grimm kind of struggles to incorporate meaningful-feeling elements of horror into an already stuffed 40-ish minutes, so I was very surprised that this episode, which seems even more stuffed than usual at first, has this great moment in it.

I was feeling pretty let down by the title and was convinced the “island” would be not just metaphorical but also nonexistent, but then there was the last-minute twist that the title refers to the Wesen equivalent of a “crack house,” which ends up being this warehouse space strung with orange lights and with red-lit, somewhat conical tents in which guests Partake. We don’t spend much time there, unfortunately, but it’s something. That an episode so very busy with new and old elements balances them so well is also something (notably positive).