#Abandoned Grain Elevator

[chaddavisphotography]

Grain Elevator in Thunder Bay, Canada.

[highways-are-liminal-spaces]

Structures in rural Montana

Taken August 2024

[whereifindsanity]

Old grain elevator in the Palouse region near Pullman, Washington state.

[donsdigitalart]

[thefinalcrownofthorns]

abandoned grain elevator, highway 195 through the palouse in wa. // dec. 2024

[vainaspaver]

How Is It Still Standing by rickwil64

[oceantornadoo]

protective ex-husband!simon, implied violence/break-in

“i know! and that’s when i told her-“ you paused, your hand halfway to the keys at the bottom of your purse. your apartment door was open, a menacing sliver of darkness awaiting you. ��hey, i’m going to have to call you back.” you ended the call with your friend, slowly backing away from your door. shit. you knew you locked the door when you left for work, and no one else had a copy of your key. a creeping sensation came over you, like someone was watching from within. slowly, you retreated, taking the elevator down to your apartment’s lobby as the anxiety crawled through your body. you wracked your brain, wondering if you should call the police. wondering if they would even believe you. there was only one call to make.

“come on, pick up.” you tapped your foot impatiently as your ex husband took forever to answer the phone. it was all you could do to not think about your home being violated, about a potential stalker or date gone wrong.

“‘ello?”

“si- simon, it’s me.”

“i know, lovie. that’s why i picked up.” you let out a quiet sob of relief at his voice, the bottle on your emotions starting to leak.

“what’s wrong?” his voice changed, immediately hearing your silent tears. he could always read you too well. “i don’t want to bother you but” you hiccupped. shit. “but my apartment door was open and i’m pretty sure i closed it, i usually do. i don’t know if im being silly but now im in the lobby and im just scared, simon.” there was a fumbling sound, the echoes of simon zipping up his jacket and pulling on his shoes.

“go to that cafe across the street, dove. go get yourself one of those overpriced hot chocolates. i’ll be there in 15.”

9 minutes later, your shaking hands were tapping random patterns on the cafe table, unable to raise your drink to your mouth without spilling it. your eyes were locked onto the wood grain, counting lines to distract yourself.

suddenly, a gloved hand covered yours. you looked up and there he was, your ghost in all his glory. you forgot everything for a second, forgot the past arguments and the strained silences, and flung yourself into his arms. you breathed in his comforting scent of pinewood that masked his cigarettes, a cologne you got him four years ago for christmas. your face was wet, and as he pulled you back to check you for injuries, his thumb brushed a stray tear away from your face. you didn’t even realize you were crying.

“‘s okay, baby. i’m here now. give me your keys.” you fumbled for your keys, purse strap sliding off your shoulder as your hands shook too much to keep it balanced. simon caught it gracefully, finding your keys in the same pocket you always kept them. “stay here. i’ll be back.” you nodded instinctively. only when you saw his figure retreat to your apartment building, clothed in all black like a figure of death, you realized you hadn’t told him your new apartment number.

twenty minutes passed. simon’s presence had worked like medicine as your heart rate has now dropped back down to normal, your hands stable enough to finish your drink. any other person would be worried for simon’s safety, but you knew the only person you should be concerned for was your intruder.

“you’re stayin’ with me tonight.” he was back, looking exactly the same. he wasn’t even winded. “thank you simon, but don’t be ridiculous. i can get a hotel. you live so far from my work anyways.” he approached you, crowding into your space as he leaned over you, even with a cafe table in between. “consider it payment then.” he tilted your chin up with his left hand as he hid his other one, covered with blood, in his pocket. “one way or another, you’re in my bed tonight, dove.” you gulped at that. “and i’ve got riley in the car. you wouldn’t abandon him, would you?” of course he had gotten your cat when he checked out your apartment. riley hated men, but never simon. cheeky bastard.

“you win.”

fast forward a couple of hours and you were getting ready for bed at simon’s, belly full from the meal he had made you. riley made himself at home on the living room couch, of course. “he’s in my spot.” you gestured to your cat on the couch. “wha’ d’ya mean?” your husband simon was now in sweats and sweats only, clean from the shower he had after you both got home back to his place. you pretended not to see him methodically wash blood out of his fingernails, reasoning quite easily with yourself that it was for a good cause.

“my couch for tonight.” simon moved toward you and you avoided his eyes, trying not to stare at how beautiful he still was. muscular but thick, torso adorned with scars you used to trace on sunday mornings when you both stayed in bed until the afternoon. he gripped your chin, forcing you to make eye contact. “told’ya you were in my bed tonight, dovie.” you swallowed and he watched your throat move, memories of you swallowing something else countless times rising to the surface.

“don’t be silly, simon. that would cross a line.”

“what line?” his arms were crossed now, drawing your attention to an unfamiliar tattoo right above his heart. a small dove.

“we’re not together anymore, simon.”

“you’re still my wife.”

silence. he was always like this, pushing you until you broke. he was unwilling to compromise, even on the smallest of issues. usually you’d fight him, spit fire until you lost your voice. tonight though, you were reminded of how he was the only person you were able to call, the only one committing dark sins without asking, all for your safety. instead, you threw your hands up and walked into his bedroom, mechanically stripping as you put on one of his shirts and a pair of boxers. you felt his eyes on you, burning a hole through the fabric. you were tired, so tired of this push and pull.

“what.” you whipped around, all venom. his eyes were impossibly soft, holding yours with a peaceful caress. “you’re as beautiful as the day i lost you.” your fire went out at that. “you’re just trying to get me naked.” you mumbled, looking down as you fidgeted with the hem of his shirt. you watched as his body came into view, pressing your forehead against his bare skin.

“could see you in a thousand layers and you’d still be the most beautiful person i’ve ever seen, dove.” ever so slowly, your hands crept up his body to grab his shoulders and neck. he picked you up with ease, turning the lights off and tucking you both in bed. “when did you get the tattoo?” you asked in the dark.

“3 months and 12 days ago.” what would have been your 3rd year of marriage, your anniversary. you lowered your head and gave him a kiss right where the tattoo was. “can we talk about it in the morning?” you snuggled into him, that familiar scent calming you once again. “always, dove.” he kissed your forehead, smiling in the dark.

----

idk why im obsessed with the break-in and simon to the rescue trope but its fueling me lately

[goodlucktai]

I don’t know if you’re still taking the angsty dialogue prompts but if you are could I humbly request 18 and/or 25 with either the twins or Leo and Gio?

dialogue prompts

18. “Stop. No. Wake up. Wake up! I said wake up!”

x

When Donnie designed the broadhead arrow with an explosive tip, it was after a vision board evening with Mikey that someone definitely should have crashed before the peanut butter half of their iconic duo starting pitching chaotic and nefarious ideas to an audience of the only mad scientist in the greater Manhattan area willing to indulge him. 

A few of the trick arrows they came up with skirted the line of comic book fantasy and practicality neatly—the smokescreen and knockout arrowheads were things of beauty, to name a couple. The three hours spent in an abandoned grain elevator in Brooklyn testing the range of Gio’s brand-new arsenal was some of the most fun Leo could remember having post-invasion. 

But the explosive ones—those were unmitigated destruction in a tiny unassuming package. Gio considered one of them for all of two seconds before sliding it back into its designated sleeve. 

“Aww, what?” Mikey said. 

“We’re on the fourth floor of a derelict grain terminal,” Gio said, which was a very compelling argument. Raph looked a little greener than usual at that reminder, and glanced down at the floor beneath his feet as if visibly reliving the way the whole building had shuddered from the concussive force of the knockout arrow Gio had fired through the window into the overgrown field outside. 

Mikey still pouted about it until their eldest brother, physically incapable of not spoiling little siblings rotten whenever he had half a chance, notched one of the zipline bolts into the barrel of his bow and said, “Angie, how fast do you think you could get down to the field and back up on this?”

Brightening predictably, Mikey shouted, “Like, two minutes, probably!” 

It turned out to be more like eleven minutes, but Michelangelo was not the giving up kind of turtle. Leo had a stitch in his side from laughing by the time their youngest had clambered gracelessly back up the line, and Donnie was muttering about electric rope ascenders to add to their usual kits. That was about when a security truck rolled up to the grounds and they had to skedaddle, and those explosive arrows were left unassessed. 

Donnie built them because he could and because they sounded cool and because when Mikey says anything with stars in his eyes it makes you want to pluck it out of thin air and present it to him before common sense can elbow its way to the front of your brain and say, ‘hey, uh, is that, like, the best choice we could be making?’ 

He didn’t build them for this. 

Whoever the EPF are, they’re coordinated and heavily armed, and have the turtles backed into a corner in a manner of minutes. Fighting baseline humans isn’t really their bag—their bad guys tend to be Foot Clan goons, or mutants running amok in New York City, or any random yokai from the Hidden City they manage to tick off just by existing—and Leo’s heart thuds in his chest when he finds himself on the wrong end of a dozen guns. 

What the heck, he wants to ask, where did you guys come from and where were you ten minutes ago when the mutant silverfish outnumbered us ten to one?

He doesn’t ask, because he really doesn’t think this is a situation that can be solved with their words. 

His hand drifts toward his sword, just an inch, just to see. One of the men in riot gear fires a warning shot so close that Leo feels the heat of it on his thigh. It punches a noise out of Raph instantly, a chest-deep rumble of panic that sounds, to the untrained ear, like a dangerous snarl. Leo can practically see trigger fingers getting itchier around the room. The situation is spiraling out of his control by the second. 

I just need two seconds to reach my sword, Leo thinks, mind racing for a way to pull those seconds out of thin air. 

And then a bolt shatters through the window of the warehouse behind him and hits the floor right at the foot of one of the EPF agents. The room is filled with rolling curtains of thick gray smoke instantly and enthusiastically, and Leo has his sword drawn a second later. 

He teleports to Mikey first, and then opens a portal beneath their feet that deposits them in front of Donnie, and opens one next to them like a door that Raph’s huge hands reach through instantly to scoop them up and yank them in close to the armor of his plastron. 

“Get us back up to Georgie,” Raph says, and Leo has another door open to do exactly that almost before Raph has even finished speaking.

Something makes him look back over his shoulder. A tug on one of the strings tied around his heart. 

None of the humans have pinpointed Leo and his brothers yet, despite the light show Leo has put on, and in part that’s because Donnie designed this smokescreen the way he designs everything he puts his Genius Built stamp on, so it looks like it could be dense enough to bear Leo’s weight if he were to test it. 

But it’s also in part because those humans have someone else to gun down, and that’s the spotted turtle making a clear and present target of himself on the other side of this huge abandoned packaging plant. 

No, Leo thinks in the one corner of his brain that hasn’t shuddered to a stop like a cold-stunned reptile. 

Raph’s hand on his arm starts to pull him backwards, through the portal, and it shocks Leo into action, propelling him forward, body on autopilot. Something bad is about to happen. Something bad, something bad. Something like a Krang spike piercing through shell and shoulder, something like an escape pod that wasn’t his carrying him to safety, something like a big brother left behind in the hands of people who want to hurt him. 

Time slows to a crawl. The tableau burns itself into Leo’s mind. 

No, he thinks. 

Gio’s dark eyes swallow all the light in the room, unflinching when they meet Leo’s. He slips a white bolt from the quiver and Leo’s heart climbs right up his throat. He fights the hands grabbing at his shoulders and the arm wrapped around his middle but it’s three against one and he’s hauled through the blue light a second later. 

“Leo, what the hell was that?” Raph bites out, shaking hands gripping him by the arms as the snapper crouches to look him in the eye, searching Leo’s face for any clue as to why Raph had had to wrestle him to safety. “Why would you try to—”

The explosion cuts him off. It’s the loudest thing in the universe. Leo exists outside his body. His mind is the aftermath of a flash grenade, burnt white nothing. 

It feels like watching the portal close around the Technodrome, feeling the searing heat of it on his skin before the void vacuumed even that away. He’s floating. He’s back in the dark. It’s the end of the world again. 

“Wait, where’s Georgie?” Mikey says, loud over the sound of crumbling concrete and tearing sheet metal. He’s looking around the roof they’d left their eldest brother on when they noticed the mutant silverfish making a racket, their archer in overwatch position behind them as always.

Donnie notices the zipline first. The usual rich gold of his eyes is bleached with fear, neon yellow, when he turns to meet Leo’s. As always, they’re a perfect mirror of each other. 

Leo doesn’t remember saying anything. He doesn’t stick around to see understanding creep into his twin’s face, or to listen to his baby brother’s questions get loud and hysterical, or to watch his big brother’s expression slacken with horror. He clenches his fist, feels the familiar shape of a hilt beneath his fingers, and falls through a portal back into the warehouse. 

He has to pull the collar of his jacket up to breathe through the dust, squinting to see anything. There are still wafts of thinning gray smoke, and the disconcerting loose-gravel sound of broken concrete giving way. It’s disquieting to feel a structure made up of tons of concrete, among other things, wobble above and around him.  

“Gio!” he shouts. The call reverberates and goes unanswered. A first time for everything. 

Running footsteps thunder past him, too many and too heavy to belong to his brother. Leo slips around behind an upstanding pillar and watches the humans appear through the grit and gloom like spectres as they beat a hasty retreat. A few of them are supporting the weight of a few others, but a quick headcount proves more or less all of the agents are accounted for as they pile back into the armored cars outside. 

Leo wouldn’t lose any sleep if a few of them had been turned into pancakes, but he’s pretty sure of his math, and—and the warehouse is still standing. If Gio had fired it at the roof, or at the ground where the agents were standing, the building would have come down matter-of-factly. 

But, Leo thinks, heart remembering how to beat and doing a really messy job of it, all uneven and in his ears. But—if he’d fired it away from himself—if it went off outside—it would have been enough to scare the goons away without anyone getting hurt. 

Still a risk he shouldn’t have taken, still a call that was much too close, but better than the alternative. Better than the waking nightmare Leo almost had to live in.  

“GIO!” he screams, hands cupped around his mouth. 

His phone is ringing in his pocket, he realizes belatedly. The ringtone is Kesha’s We R Who We R, which means it’s his twin trying to reach him. He scrambles over a collapsed metal shelving unit with tinny synthpop blaring from his hoodie and feels detached from reality. He feels like a studio audience is waiting for the cue to laugh. It doesn’t feel like real life. 

Then he feels a tug again—that muted gray string in the multicolored skein of his soul, pulling him forward—leading him right to the crumpled form of his oldest brother. 

The music cuts off and starts up again. The strength goes out of Leo’s legs and he folds to the floor. He cuts his knee on something sharp, and as he crawls over to Gio’s side, the cut stings every time he puts pressure on it. It shakes him out of the strange haze he’s in. His hands tremble as he rolls Gio over. The music cuts off and starts up again.

Shaking fingers wrap around Gio’s wrist and find a pulse. Leo plants his finger at the pulse point beneath Gio’s jaw just to double-check. That stubborn heart is beating loud and clear. Leo has to blink a few times, because for some reason his eyes are all wet. He runs a careful hand over the back of Gio’s head and doesn’t find anything broken or bleeding. The facts are presenting a tentative case that the world isn’t ending after all, but the fear is loud and clear and shouting over everything else.

Gio’s face is slack and still manages to look tetchy, two spots on his forehead drawn low above his eyes. Leo has only known him for the better part of a year and he can’t imagine life without him. He can’t imagine waking up from a bad dream and not having Giorgio’s steady presence beside him at the dinner table at two o’clock in the morning, tireless and patient, like he had nowhere else to be when Leo needed him. 

“Stop,” Leo says thickly. He feels stupid. He knows better. It doesn’t stop him. “No. Wake up. Wake up!” His voice climbs into a shout, echoing around the empty cavernous room, “I said wake up!”

He’s not expecting it when the hand in his turns, and cold fingers close around Leo’s tightly. He’s startled into silence, staring down at the proof of life he’s holding. He doesn’t miss it when Gio’s expression twitches, brow furrowing, like he’s fighting sleep. 

“Oh,” he mumbles. “You’re okay. Sorry for shouting. You’re okay.” 

His ringtone goes off for the hundredth time. This time, S.H.E.L.L.D.O.N.’s voice pipes up over the music, announcing, “I’m pushing this one through, boss.” 

“Nardo,” Donnie says on speakerphone. 

“Tello,” Leo parrots automatically. “He’s okay,” he adds. 

There’s a loaded second of silence. He doesn’t have to hear his twin’s relief spoken out loud to know it exists. 

“Disappear like that again and I’ll disappear you,” the softshell bites. 

“Can you get the two of you out of there, big man?” Raph says with that forced calm that has never fooled Leo once in their lives. “Can you, uh, meet us back up here now? Please?”

Leo’s knee-jerk reaction is to respond to that particular tone with reassurance. To spring to his feet and create a solution. To banish his brothers’ fear with a dumb joke or a silly scheme. But when he tries to pull himself up, his limbs wobble like jello and he gets exactly nowhere.

“I, um,” he admits, embarrassed, “I don’t think I can stand up.” 

“Oh, buddy,” Raph says, his whole heart in it. “Raphie’s coming.”

“Yeah, sit tight, Lee,” Mikey’s voice rings through, force-of-nature cheerful. “I’m the master of this zipline thing now. I’ll be down in two shakes. Maybe a shake and a half.” 

Leo hums, grateful to have their overlapping chatter keeping him company. It’s not the end of the world. It’s not the prison dimension. It felt like it for a second back there, but he’s sinking slowly back into his body now. His knee stings from whatever he cut it on, and his eyes are itchy from all the dust and smoke, and Gio’s grip on his hand tightens as his eldest brother claws his stubborn way back into consciousness. 

They have a new bad guy to be on the lookout for, and since they don’t do anything by halves, this new bad guy is an entire evil organization. They have explosive tip arrows to dispose of, since clearly Giorgio can’t be trusted with that much firepower any more than Donatello can. Dad’s gonna have a conniption when he hears about the events of this evening—if they manage to make it past the part about the EPF agents drawing guns on them without being grounded until their thirties it’ll be a miracle. 

But they’re all okay. It could have gone so differently. It could have been a lot worse. 

Leo has a brand-new understanding of what that view from Staten Island had looked like for three of his brothers, and he hated every second of it. There has to be another way to do it. To keep them safe without hurting them. To be the kind of hero that comes home. 

Gio’s eyes finally open, two narrow slits. Usually so quick to alertness, his gaze skates muddily over Leo’s face for a few seconds before finally focusing. 

“You’re not allowed to disappear, Gigi,” Leo says quietly, feeling bruised and fragile and one harsh wind from coming completely apart. “‘Cause I’m not going anywhere without you. You made me your problem and now you gotta live with it.”

If Gio held his hand any tighter it’d probably hurt.

“You are my problem,” Gio mutters through gritted teeth. “All of you. And if anyone ever tries to tell you otherwise, I’ll blow them up next.” 

“Uh, we’re gonna have to have a serious talk about that one,” Leo says. “I don’t think it’s gonna be a viable option. Ever again.” 

“Hm,” Gio says, very clearly a ‘we’ll see about that.’  

The laugh that bubbles out of Leo is entirely involuntary, and probably makes him look like an insane person when their brothers arrive to extract them from the structurally unsound warehouse they’re hanging out in. 

But it could have been worse.

[davidnajewiczphotography]

Was out riding in New Albany Indiana, and found this abandon looking building in an industrial area - along the railroad tracks, that are to the left of the building - not sure what it is - but kind of interesting. Another Tumblr has noted that it is a grain elevator,

[staticspaces]

Bulwark Ghost Town

You can find the detailed video walkthrough here!!

Let's introduce this brand new location by taking a look at some drone photos of this abandoned Ghost Town!!

In the middle of nowhere and completely surrounded by farmland as far as the eye can see, we find what is left of the ghost town of Bulwark. Located in Alberta, Canada the area was first settled in the early 1900s but it wasn't until 1914 when the rail line came to town, that it officially became a village.

At its peak the town had no more than 100 residents but boasted a busy downtown, with two general stores, post office, a school, butcher shop and even a dance hall among others. Although the climate in the area is semi-arid, the town became the centre for a busy grain industry and even had 5 grain elevators!

But by the 1960s with Bulwark's population already in decline, the railway that created the town shut down and its residents continued to leave.

With most of the town's buildings long since demolished, there remains only a small handful left including the teacherage and a sign where the school once stood. There are also a few cars left in the former townsite including a 1968 Plymouth Fury.

One day this town will disappear completely and all that will be left are stories, photos and videos.

[chaddavisphotography]

Grain Elevator in Thunder Bay, Canada.

[carrionfourth]

you won't even go to abandoned grain elevator with me...

[whereifindsanity]

[ilbound]

a commonality in several verses is that kaen ( purposefully ) fights with a handicap. in their mha verse , this is elevated to 2 :

refraining from using their quirk

and not wearing their glasses

neither of these are because kaen is cocksure or confident in their fighting abilities ( though they make for a decent combatant , if not a wholly destructive one ) , but rather because they - to this day - think they've got SOMETHING TO PROVE . remember , if you will , that ceres abandoned them and include in the fact several other members of the clan disregarded them as a "runt" , an "improper breed" which would "sooner die than control the fire". so. why should they use their quirk ? when they've got the strength otherwise to take someone down regardless ? THEY DON'T NEED IT ; or so they say , and they work against the grain constantly to try and make that the point , straining against the output of the all-fire , to force it back purely to say , "see ? i can do so much better without it !"

as for the sight thing : it's no big secret , to the public , that kaen has POOR VISION , and has had poor vision since they were young. very much one of those kids that was relegated to wearing big ol' glasses since literal grade school. but going out ? kaen doesn't wear them ( though keeps them in-case , in their bag ) . kaen will instead "view" the world as determined by their other senses - particularly scent and hearing - and will often defer to sloan or kadai , "y'got eyes ?" periodically during their travels , letting the two of them become their source of sight. when kaen fights , they will often close their eyes to block out the blurry vision and keep the rest of their senses attuned. it's genuinely just second-nature to them at this point. and besides , they could break their glasses fighting with them on ( why would they do that ? that's just silly ) ; plus contact lenses aren't made for their absurd body temperature ... so ! walking around in a blurry daze it is !

[ryanfrogz]

Trains Down South, 10/23/24: Henderson Station, Old Steel, & Bad Luck (part 1)

Mankato is a city located 60-some miles south-southwest of Minneapolis. It's not all that big, but it definitely isn't small. That being said, there are some pretty cool trains there. Unfortunately, said trains are not easy for the public to access. The easiest way to see them is with a camera drone, which I just happen to have recently acquired. And thus, my journey began.

Henderson, Minnesota is a small town about 25 miles north of Mankato, located on the west bank of the Minnesota River. Henderson Station, Minnesota is an unincorporated community directly across the river from Henderson, and as its name suggests, it was home to the town's train station. Henderson Station is most well known for being home to Lake Minnetonka, a purifying body of water featured in Prince's film Purple Rain. Also an abandoned grain elevator. I stopped here to photograph said grain elevator because I'm a total sucker for historic grain elevators.

Directly adjacent to the elevator is a nature preserve & public park with access to the river, separated only by an active rail line and historic spur track. The spur track, once a short siding, passed between the former depot and the mainline. Boxcars full of goods for Henderson would be parked & unloaded there. In the modern day, it's occasionally used to store maintenance equipment. As I was pulling into the park to park, I noticed a green signal by the tracks. Train time! Soon enough! After walking around the grain elevator, I took to the spur. It was night & day compared to the well-kept mainline: the ballast was made of oily sand and fine gravel mixed with shards of long-gone ties. Loose spikes and unidentifiable pieces of rusty metal littered the area around the tracks. Two long sticks of 1937-made rail sat off to the side, awaiting installation (or conversion to spoons).

The rails complimented the spur quite well, with all the ones I could read dating to the 1920s and 1930s. I also found a joint bar from 1919, and some tie plates from the early 20s. Most of the rail sticks were made by Lackawanna Steel, with a handful of other (unrecognized) names thrown in as well. Halfway down the track lay a big, heavy-duty brake shoe for something railroad related. Alas, the part number was too far gone to find out what exactly.

After waiting for more than an hour, I decided to get back on the road. I checked the signal one last time before pulling away: still green. I looked down at my phone to check the time, and when I looked back up, the signal was RED! This signal was double-sided, and I thought I might be able to see the other side from the park. I drove down to a closer entrance gate, and just as I opened the car door, I heard a horn. A close horn.

Leaping back into the car, I drove back up to the crossing and got ready. Finally, after all that time, a train! Three big road diesels appeared from around the nearby curve, and they were FLYING! The head end was gone almost as soon as it appeared. And just my luck, the elastic band on my lens cap holder had slid forward, making it impossible to zoom in. This is the best shot I got. And then came the worst part. The train was tiny! Couldn't have been more than 20-some cars, I wasn't counting. The cars were super boring, too. All that time for nothing.

[eopederson]

Abandoned grain elevator, enterprise, Utah, 2020.