#Disaster Relief Roofing

[daniel90bell]

Top Reasons to Invest in Professional Disaster Relief Roofing Services After a Storm

A roof is your home's first line of defense against harsh weather conditions. When storms or natural disasters occur, the roof is often the most vulnerable part of your house, leaving your home exposed to further damage if not properly addressed. That’s where disaster relief roofing comes into play. This article will discuss the importance of professional disaster relief roofing services, particularly in storm-prone areas like Metairie, LA, and why you should act fast after a storm to safeguard your property.

What is Disaster Relief Roofing?

Disaster relief roofing refers to specialized services aimed at restoring roofs that have been damaged by extreme weather events, such as hurricanes, tornadoes, and hailstorms. These roofing services are designed to provide quick, efficient repairs or replacements, minimizing the risk of further damage.

Searching for “Disaster Relief Roofing Near Me” can help connect you to experienced professionals who specialize in assessing storm damage and providing urgent roof repairs. In regions like Metairie, LA, where severe storms are common, having access to disaster relief roofing services can make all the difference between minor repairs and extensive property damage.

Why Professional Disaster Relief Roofing Matters

Hiring a professional disaster relief roofing company provides a range of benefits, including:

Expert Assessment: Professionals can identify not only visible roof damage but also hidden issues that could lead to further complications. A comprehensive roof inspection by a disaster relief roofing expert ensures that all damage is accurately assessed and documented.

Fast Action: When you need quick repairs, disaster relief roofing companies offer emergency services to ensure that your roof is protected from further damage. This could involve applying temporary tarps or patches until a full repair can be made.

Long-Term Solutions: Instead of quick fixes, professional roofers focus on providing long-lasting repairs that will withstand future storms. By addressing all the damage and not just surface-level problems, they ensure your roof remains strong and resilient.

In disaster-prone areas like Metairie, LA, fast action is essential. By searching for “Disaster Relief Roofing Near Me,” you can find contractors who specialize in emergency services, helping you secure your home before the next storm hits.

The Dangers of Delayed Repairs

Postponing roof repairs after a storm can result in significant consequences for your home. Some of the dangers of delaying disaster relief roofing include:

Increased Damage: If storm damage is left unchecked, it can spread to other areas of your home, including walls, ceilings, and even the foundation. What starts as a minor roof leak can escalate into costly structural damage.

Health Hazards: Water infiltration from a damaged roof can lead to mold growth, which poses serious health risks for your family. Mold can develop within days, making it essential to repair any damage quickly.

Higher Repair Costs: The longer you wait to repair your roof, the more expensive the repairs can become. Small issues can turn into large-scale repairs or even full roof replacement if not addressed promptly.

Choosing the Right Disaster Relief Roofing Company

Finding the right disaster relief roofing company is crucial to ensuring your home is repaired quickly and efficiently. When searching for “Disaster Relief Roofing Near Me,” look for companies that offer:

Emergency Response Services: Choose a company that can respond quickly to your call, providing immediate protection for your roof and home.

Experience with Storm Damage: Select a contractor with experience handling storm-related damage, particularly in areas like Metairie, LA, where hurricanes and severe storms are common.

Insurance Claim Assistance: Many disaster relief roofing companies offer support with insurance claims, helping you navigate the process and ensure that you receive adequate compensation for repairs or replacement.

Conclusion

Disaster relief roofing services are essential for protecting your home after a storm. Whether you’re dealing with minor damage or a full roof replacement, acting quickly and hiring a professional roofing contractor can save you time, money, and stress. Searching for “Disaster Relief Roofing Near Me” will help you find local experts who understand the specific challenges of storm damage in areas like Metairie, LA. With the right disaster relief roofing services, you can rest assured that your home is in good hands, no matter what the weather brings.

[naplesroofingny]

The process of recovery, involving repairs, rebuilding, and dealing with insurance claims, can be incredibly daunting and stressful for individuals and communities alike. In such critical times, the role of a non-government emergency disaster relief team becomes crucial, providing timely assistance and support to expedite the restoration process and alleviate the burdens faced by the community. 

[straycatj]

I just saw how many people are suffering in the aftermath of the earthquake because it has also been very cold and raining; I remembered how branches fell through your roof and got worried... I hope all three of you and ikemen orange and white are still warm, dry, and safe! <3

We had warm new year holidays but it's gotten colder again. The disaster area is also cold and have snow, so we're really worrying about there.

Our house had damaged but we have no problems to live and she's going to repair but the damages around the disaster area is so heavy and the damage is increasing still now.

The three of us are fine, so if you would like to help, we would be very grateful if you could donate to support the effected areas.

Japan Peace Boat can be accept the donation from abroad:

Although our house in this circle but the the damage of Noto peninsula is so heavier...

[darkartsanna]

Hurricane Helene Relief Funds to those affected in the Southern Regions *will edit as I find more, please reblog as usual and check back for updates (Liking doesn't circulate it and isn't helpful)* *9/30 Has been edited! (Also, I think whenever I edit this it doesn't update the versions already reblogged?) ORGANIZATIONS American Red Cross FEMA Disaster Assistance Improvement Program Warmline Directory (Mental health resource) AKC Pet Reunite Food Not Bombs Operation BBQ Relief Partnership for Inclusive Disaster Strategies & Roll Mobility Operation Air Drop GEORGIA State and Local Level Referrals - (60 Organizations Listed) Emergency Shelter Locations Animal League

NORTH CAROLINA Brother Wolf Animal Rescue Asheville Survival Program Homeward Bound State and Local Level Referrals Beloved Asheville Rural Community funds CLT Mutual Aid Fundraiser for a NC resident to deliver food to affected areas Mutual Aid Disaster Relief Animal Disaster Relief Coalition Mutual Aid Disaster Groups

Special Note: There are 2 Wifi Stations now open for public use. The locations are: SPOT 1: DoubleTree Hilton Downtown 199 Haywood SSID: SORTOR STARLINK Pass: ncstrong SPOT 2: Asheville Shelter Ferguson Building 340 Victoria Rd SSID: HALL STARLINK Pass: ncstrong SOUTH CAROLINA State and Local Level Referrals (44 Organizations Listed) FLORIDA Volunteer Florida Disaster Fund FootPrint Project State and Local Level Referrals - (52 Organizations Listed)

TENNESSEE HellBender Harm Reduction

More supplies to consider donating in hurricane impacted areas:

Bottled water, potentially water filters

Personal hygiene items: wipes, tampons/pads/other menstrual products, hand sanitizer, mosquito spray, laundry detergent, toilet paper, diapers, and especially any products safe for sensitive skin

Medications like ibuprofen/tylenol, yeast infection medicine, cold & cough medicine, any diabetic meds that can be safely shared, etc

Individually wrapped low to no prep food items, baby formula, and Gatorade

Pet Food

Sunscreen

Heavy duty bags, Duffel bags, backpacks, and trash bags, 5 gallon buckets, coolers

Fans, dehumidifiers, moisture sensors, generators, gas, gas canisters, solar charging items, portable battery banks, first aid kits

Chainsaws, crowbars, hammers, air filters, respirators, 2×4 planks, bleach, roofing nails, heavy duty gloves, and waders.

Books, Board Games or other non electric activities for children

Double check before donating items, especially if your local drive is accepting donations of particular products and can distribute the more specialized ones where they're needed.

[pickingupmymercedes]

R for Roscoe, C for Coco - Lewis Hamilton

Quick Dog Dad Special

request: "All those posts about Lewis on "happy fathers day daddy" are sending me crazy, please do them justice" - anon 1 & "Bestie, Lewis deserves a special fluff for father's day with Roscoe" - anon 2

pairing: Lewis Hamilton x Reader!

wordcount: +1K

a/n: Late for the Father's day special because I was with my dad celebrating yesterday (thanks dad for the f1 love). But happy father's day to our favorite dog dad!

As always, I'm open for feedback, come say hi!

______________________________________________________________

The key felt ridiculously heavy in her hand, the exhaustion after the travel nightmare finally catching up. She fumbled with the lock, cursing silently when she fumbled the key twice. Finally, the door swung open, revealing a dimly lit living room and the sound of a sleepy snore from the general direction of the couch.

"Roscoe?" she called out cautiously, her voice barely a hoarse whisper. A flurry of dark fur erupted from the shadows, tail wagging furiously. Roscoe launched himself at her, showering her ankles with grateful licks.

"Hey boy," she managed, patting his head as a wave of relief washed over her. She had finally made it. Forty-eight hours of travel hell, a cancelled flight, a twelve-hour layover in rain-drenched Atlanta, and here she was, in the middle of Lewis' LA home, greeted by the overly enthusiastic bulldog.

Suddenly, a sleepy voice came from the corridor. "Y/n? Is that…?" The voice trailed off, and a rumpled Lewis emerged into the dim light, eyes squinting in surprise. "What the hell…"

Before he could finish his question, Roscoe, oblivious to the tense atmosphere, decided to greet Lewis as well, leaping onto his leg and nearly knocking him out of balance.

"Roscoe, down!" Lewis managed to say, pushing the dog gently aside. He looked at her, his face a mixture of confusion and barely contained amusement as he took her in. She was a mess, clothes rumpled, hair a tangled disaster, and a tiredness etched on her face that spoke volumes.

"Hey," she managed, mustering a weak smile. "Sorry, I… uh…"

The flood of apologies died in her throat as Lewis saw it. It was the exhaustion in her eyes, the way her shoulders slumped with defeat, that stopped him from unleashing the barrage of questions he had been building up over the past two days.

"Hey," he said, his voice softer than expected, offering his hand. "What happened?"

She didn't resist, burying her face in his chest, feeling the tears of frustration and exhaustion welling up. "It's been a nightmare, Lew. I booked the wrong flight, then had a layover in Atlanta that got delayed for hours because of the rain. I've been traveling for nearly two days."

Lewis guided her to the sofa, his hand soothingly rubbing her back. Roscoe curled up at their feet, still wagging his tail, happy to have them together.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Lewis asked softly, pressing a kiss to her temple.

"I wanted to surprise you," she mumbled; her voice muffled by his shirt. "I thought I'd get here Friday afternoon, and we could have a whole weekend together before the races are back."

Lewis pulled back slightly to look at her, his eyes filled with a mixture of frustration and tenderness. "You should have told me, babe. I would never have left you stranded in Atlanta for 12 hours."

She sighed. "I'm sorry. I just... didn't want to ask for help and ruin the surprise."

Lewis shook his head, a small smile playing on his lips. "You're here now, that's what matters. Let's get you cleaned up and into bed."

She nodded, allowing him to help her to her feet. She felt the weight of the past 48 hours lifting slightly as she made her way upstairs with Roscoe attached to her feet. After a long, hot shower, she finally felt somewhat human again, slipping into one of Lewis's oversized shirts and crawling into bed with Roscoe.

As Lewis got into bed with a tray of food in hand and his little family finally under one roof, the clock chimed midnight. She let out a small, defeated laugh. "All that, and I lost the cute balloon I had for you."

Lewis raised an eyebrow, clearly confused. "Balloon?"

"For Father's Day," she explained, her voice barely above a whisper. "It had 'Dad Dog' written on it. I wanted to surprise you."

Lewis stared at her for a moment before bursting into laughter. "You went through all this trouble just for Father's Day with Roscoe?"

She nodded, feeling a mix of amusement and love. "Not just for that. I also wanted to spend time with you. Just us before we get swarmed by F1."

Lewis's laughter softened into a warm smile, his eyes glinting with his love for her. "You're unbelievable, you know that?"

She smiled back, feeling the last of her tension melt away. "In a good way, I hope."

"A bit, well, a lot, chaotic, but definitely the best kind" he assured her, pulling her close. "Now get some sleep. We still got a whole day of just us. You, me and Roscoe."

The morning sunlight filtering through the curtains woke her gently. Lewis was still asleep, his chest rising and falling rhythmically. Roscoe, sensing her awake, nudged her hand with his wet nose, his tail thumping a happy beat against the mattress.

She stretched, the soreness from her travels slowly fading. She glanced at Lewis, a wave of tenderness washing over her as she saw him relaxed and peaceful, free from the pressures of carrying the weight of the world.

A memory jolted her awake. The gift. The "Dad Dog" charm was still tucked away in her purse, lost in the chaos of the previous night. Carefully, she slipped out of bed and retrieved it, tiptoeing downstairs with Roscoe right behind her.

She poured herself a cup of the freshly brewed coffee, the aroma filling the air with a familiar comfort. Pulling out the small velvet box, she placed it on the kitchen counter, right where Lewis would see it when he came downstairs.

A few minutes later, Lewis appeared, a sleepy smile on his face as he appeared in his boxers. He stretched, his eyes landing on the box on the counter. He walked over, a curious expression on his face.

"What's this?" he asked, picking up the box.

"A little something extra," she said, a teasing smile on her lips. "I know it's not really the best balloon ever made, but…"

Lewis didn't let her finish. He opened the box, revealing the silver charm nestled inside. A glint lit up his eyes as he inspected the detailed charm with a tiny R and a C for Roscoe and Coco.

"Y/n, this is incredible," he said, his voice filled with excitement. "It's perfect. But really, having you here is the best part. Thank you for coming," he whispered as he enveloped her in his arms, his voice filled with sincerity. "It means the world to me."

She squeezed his hand. "I'll always find you, even if it takes a global nightmare to get me there."

"Next time, though" Lewis said, his voice a low rumble against her ear, "let me know if you're stuck mid surprise trip across the Atlantic. Maybe I can help."

Y/n chuckled. "There wouldn't be much of a surprise then, would there?"

Lewis playfully kissed her cheek as he chuckled, reaching for Roscoe by their legs to show the bulldog his new charm.

The travel nightmare, the missed flight, the long layover – it all seemed insignificant now. Sometimes, even the most unexpected detours could lead to the most beautiful destinations. And all that mattered at the end was that she was here, with Lewis and Roscoe, their little clan finally reunited.

______________________________________________________________

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[robertreich]

The Truth About Trumponomics

Trump and Republicans want to wreck your bank account. Here are 5 things you need to know about Trumponomics.

1.Trump wants tax cuts for the rich, at your expense.

Trump’s tax cuts for the rich and big corporations added about $1.7 trillion to the national debt, with few benefits trickling down to the middle class — in fact, it raised taxes for more than 10 million American families.

Now Trump and Republicans want to make the tax cuts for the rich permanent, blowing up the debt even further. And then they’ll use that debt to justify this:

2. Trump would cut Social Security and Medicare — programs you’ve been paying into!

In every year of his presidency, Trump submitted a budget that tried to cut Social Security and Medicare. And he knows that’s the only way he can even begin to pay for extending his tax cuts for the rich.

3. Trump and his allies are pro-junk fee.

When the Biden administration issued a rule capping credit card late fees at $8, Sen. Tim Scott, a Trump surrogate, tried to overturn it in the Senate. And then a Trump-appointed judge issued a temporary injunction that blocked the rule from taking effect. Eliminating that rule would cost American families an estimated $10 billion a year.

And when the Biden administration required airlines to issue automatic refunds for canceled flights, Trump’s allies in Congress fought to block that too.

When Trump was in office, his administration fought against efforts to rein in airline junk fees.

Corporations nickel and diming us like this makes inflation worse. If Trump gets back in the White House, buckle up for more junk fees.

4. Trump would send health care costs soaring.

Republicans have committed to repealing the Inflation Reduction Act, which would strip Medicare of the ability to negotiate drug prices, and let Big Pharma send the price of insulin and other life-saving medicines back through the roof.

And Trump is still fixated on repealing Obamacare, with no plan to replace it.

TRUMP: Obamacare is a disaster. We’re gonna do something about it.

That would strip coverage from tens of millions of Americans, drive up premiums, and let insurers charge more or deny coverage to people with preexisting conditions.

5, If you’ve got student debt, you’re out of luck with Trump.

In contrast to President Biden, who’s canceled more than $160 billion of student debt so far, Trump is against student debt relief. In his first term, he tried to eliminate the popular Public Service Loan Forgiveness program for people like teachers and nurses, and he’s called the idea of debt relief “unfair.”

What’s unfair, is how student debt hurts not just the roughly 40 million Americans burdened by it, but the entire economy, since Americans with debt have less money to spend, are less likely to start a business, less likely to buy a home, and more likely to rely on government assistance.

The MAGA agenda would make nearly every aspect of your life more expensive, while making the richest Americans even richer.

Teddy Roosevelt’s economic plan was called the Square Deal. Franklin Roosevelt’s was the New Deal.

What Trump is offering is simply a Raw Deal.

[reasonsforhope]

The loss of life and impact on the communities in Helene’s path is unfathomable — and both the immediate and long-term needs are vast. 

If you’re reading this, it’s likely because you want to help and care about making a difference for those who’ve been impacted by Hurricane Helene.

You’re in the right place. When we see tragedy like this happen in the news, it’s important to not tune it out. Instead, pay attention and truly feel the heartbreak of it — t​​hen, look for and be inspired by the people stepping in to help, and use that energy to make a difference ourselves.

Looking for the helpers

Instead of turning away from tragic events like the devastation from Hurricane Helene — we look closer for people stepping in using what they have, where they are, to make a difference for others.

Inspired by Mister Rogers’ famous quote, we call them the “helpers,” — and they’re usually found wherever there’s bad news in the world. Hurricane Helene is no different. Here are some people, businesses, and organizations helping right now:

Chef José Andrés and ​World Central Kitchen teams are serving thousands of meals to communities in need — from Mexico, and the Big Bend of Florida, and into Appalachia.

Volunteer pilots with the Port City Aviators Flying Club are flying supplies to storm victims in western North Carolina.

The national Disaster Distress Helpline is providing free multilingual crisis counseling to those in need.

Southern Smoke Foundation, an organization that supports food & beverage workers in crisis, is providing financial support for groceries, medical bills, lost wages, and more.

Volunteers with veteran-led disaster response organization Team Rubicon are on the ground in Greenwood, South Carolina clearing roads of trees and debris.

A local library branch in Asheville, North Carolina served as a hub for community members in need of internet service.

Workers at Waffle House were “unlikely heroes” providing food to people in need.

A local Fox News correspondent stopped his live broadcast to help rescue a woman trapped in her car in rising floodwaters.

Emergency response teams rescued more than 50 staff, patients, and caregivers from the roof of a hospital in Erwin, Tennessee.

The SPCA of Brevard rescued 20 animals from Hurricane Helene’s path — and it’s now helping them get adopted.

‍

How to make a difference

After we’ve allowed ourselves to feel the weight of the pain and heartbreak associated with bad news, and look for hope and helpers in the midst of it — we always have the opportunity to join in and make a difference, too. 

Here are some ways to help — whether you’re local or far away:

Donate to national organizations 

Here are just a few large-scale organizations that have helpers on the ground in the region.

American Red Cross

World Central Kitchen

Feeding America

United Way

Salvation Army

CARE

Donate to local organizations

Local organizations, recovery funds, and mutual aid groups have been deployed across the states impacted by Helene. Find donation links and updates below:

All States:

GoFundMe Hub for Hurricane Helene Relief

Mutual Aid Disaster Relief

Southeast Climate & Energy Network

Convoy of Hope

Appalachia Funders Network

Americares

Organizing Resilience

The National Voluntary Organizations Active in Disaster

Tennessee:

East Tennessee Foundation

First Aid Collective Knoxville

RISE Erwin

Second Harvest Food Bank of East Tennessee

North Carolina:

North Carolina Community Foundation

Hearts With Hands

Manna Foodbank

BeLoved Asheville

Foothills Food Hub

Haywood Christian Ministry

Samaritan’s Purse

Forsyth Humane Society

Hope Mill

‍

Volunteer locally

Organizations in the affected area are seeking volunteers to help distribute resources and support crucial aid efforts. While many of us are not local to the region, those who are nearby are encouraged to join in a myriad of volunteer opportunities.

(Note: If you aren't in the area, the best way you can help is by supporting local efforts with a donation. Keeping roads clear for rescue crews and local relief agents is vital in maintaining safety in these already devastated regions).

For local volunteers, check out:

World Central Kitchen

Operation BBQ Relief

Marco Patriots

Operation Airdrop

Baptists on Mission

‍

Contact your elected officials and ask them to take climate action

Climate scientists agree, the intensity and extent of the devastation brought by Hurricane Helene was made worse by climate change. 

While we can’t go back in time and burn less fossil fuels — we can make a difference now to secure a safer future and prevent future climate disasters. 

In addition to talking about how this disaster is connected to climate change in our own conversations and holding media outlets accountable for how they talk about climate change — this is a great time to tell your elected officials that you want them to take meaningful climate action.

We’re making incredible progress in the U.S. and globally in reducing emissions, but we need to work even faster — and incorporate climate mitigation efforts into our plans — to limit the most severe impacts of global warming.

[ckret2]

Chapter 39 of human Bill Cipher is SURE he's about to escape being the Mystery Shack's prisoner:

Ford's confronted with the possibility that maybe, just maybe, he's a little bit too obsessed with Bill.

And meanwhile, Bill has found a way to reach his loyal cultists... if he can find somebody willing to help him make contact.

He thinks Ford is the perfect target.

Maybe, just maybe, the obsession goes both ways.

(warning for an incident of self-harm via burning, and depersonalization and/or dysphoria (depending on how you interpret it) re: Bill feeling even worse about his body than usual.)

####

Soos, Stan, and Ford had stayed up half the night trying to generate enough NowUSeeitNowUDontium to prevent it from vanishing the moment one of them lost (or gained) focus. They'd eventually given up and stayed the night in Northwest Manor. Soos had texted Melody around midnight, and she'd immediately replied (which alarmed Ford, but Soos assured him she was used to those hours) and agreed, with some trepidation, to spend the night by herself in the shack so that the kids wouldn't be alone all night with Bill. She'd texted a half hour later to report that the bathroom was a disaster, but the kids had reassured her it was just some werewolf thing, so, not a big deal.

Ford had thought getting to spend a night without Bill under the same roof would be a relief. Instead, he found his sleep was even worse. He kept worrying about what Bill might get up to so far away and out of sight, where Ford couldn't do anything to stop him. Surely, by nighttime, Bill had to have noticed that the only humans he'd seen all day were the kids? Would he consider Melody any kind of threat, no veteran to combating Gravity Falls' weirdness?

It figured that the dream demon would find a way to disrupt Ford's sleep when he wasn't even there.

####

Ford had given up on sleep around two in the morning and gone wandering until he stumbled across a den with walls covered in bookcases, massive windows overlooking the forest below, and a pair of richly upholstered armchairs turned to gaze out the windows. He drifted between the chairs to one of the windows. It was the kind of personal library he'd dreamed of accepting esteemed guests in, back when he'd fantasized about one day being rich and famous. He suspected the Northwests had never read a book in this room.

Ford had been staring out at the still night and the dark pines for several minutes when he heard the creak of a door and soft footsteps behind him. He whirled around, raising a weapon. "Back, you spectral fiend!"

"Whoa! Easy, Sixer!" Stan held up a hand defensively. "It's just me!" He lowered his hand. "Why are you holding up a dinner plate?"

"Er—sorry." Ford sheepishly tucked the silver dish under his arm again. "I'm sure I saw a ghost earlier. I thought it prudent to arm myself."

Stan muttered, "This place sure is creepy enough for it."

"Mm. It's built on more than its fair share of bones." Ford returned to gazing out the window, hands clasped behind his back. "I'm sorry today was a failure. When I'm staring right at an experiment on which the fate of the entire universe depends, it's hard not to think about it."

"Eh, I wasn't doing too hot either," Stan admitted, joining Ford at the window. "There's only so many times you can hear Soos whisper 'Think about the miniature particle accelerator' in your ears on a loop before you zone out and start thinking about fishing season."

Ford huffed. "Maybe we should have switched places."

"Yeah, probably. I retired from thinking about science after I got your dumb portal running, and once you get your head stuck on something you can't stop thinking about it."

Ford laughed wryly. "Unfortunately accurate."

There was a moment of silence; and then Stan said cautiously, "Speaking of you getting your head stuck on something..."

Ford didn't like that tone. "Hm?"

"I was, uh... doing some light reading..." He held up Ford's journal.

A jolt of anger and fear shot through Ford. "Give me—" He snatched the journal back.

It wasn't until it was in his hands that he registered the absurdity of his own action; for the past year, he'd given Stan free access to Journal 5. He'd used it to document their travels and discoveries as a reference for them both; he'd even asked Stan to contribute a couple of entries. Based on a prior precedent of seven months, Stan had every right to look at Journal 5. Revoking that access now was... Well, it didn't look good.

Stan didn't immediately say anything. Ford supposed his own actions said enough. He tucked the journal under his arm with the silver dish.

Stan cleared his throat. "I think we're a little past the 'superhero nemesis' thing."

"It's not a problem," Ford said tersely.

"Not a prob—? Ford, you're letting him consume your life."

"He's consumed all our lives. The kids haven't been able to invite anyone over, Melody all but runs to her car after work, you ended up in a showdown with fae nobility—"

"It was just the tooth fairy!"

"Do you know how important a fairy has to be to claim dominion over all teeth?"

"Forget about the fairy!" Stan waved off the whole fairy topic with one hand. "Look, I'm not the one who's dedicated half a journal to talking about him!"

"You don't keep a journal, Stanley—"

"That's not the point!"

"—I'm just saying, if you did keep a journal, I think he'd have come up on more than a few pages—"

"But like this?" Stan gestured toward Ford's journal. "This is turning into an obsession. And not one of your normal obsessions."

The back of Ford's neck heated up. He wanted to argue that he had to obsess over Bill if he hoped to find a way to kill him—but Stan already knew that Ford had passed off that project to Fiddleford weeks ago. "How can I be 'obsessed' with somebody I barely even see? I'm avoiding Bill like my life depends on it! I talk to him less than Mrs. Ramirez does!"

"And you're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private!" Stan gestured again, angrily, at Ford's journal. (Ford defensively tucked it further under his arm.) "You're acting like a stalker, Sixer. Not that I care about him, but, I'm starting to worry about your head."

"A st—?! I'm a scientist, he's a scientific curiosity! I'm documenting him! I document plenty of things!"

"Not like this, you don't."

"There's a lot to document!"

"Including spending a whole page trying to figure out—how to draw his—?!" Stan gestured furiously toward his boxers.

Ford pointed at him severely. "You were just as curious as I was to find out how a giant eyeball and a sentient triangle make that work, don't pretend you weren't."

Stan grimaced. "Okay, fine, I'll give you that one. But writing a full entry about his posture?"

"He's not only an alien being in a human body but a two-dimensional creature in a three-dimensional body, how he moves and gestures could tell us about how an utterly unfamiliar species perceived space! Nearly all his gestures adhere to an invisible coronal plane, that betrays worlds of information about his original anatomy. Do you know that elbow thing he does when he walks—"

"Ford. You're using your great-niece to get drawings of his childhood bedroom."

Ford raised a finger. "That's—" Ford lowered his finger. Ford sat in a nearby armchair, put his chin in his hands, and stared into space. "What am I doing."

Stan patted his shoulder.

Ford slid his journal and the dish out from under his arm and settled them in his lap. He stared at the cover, then thumbed through the pages. It was obvious when they'd returned to Gravity Falls; the drawings of Atlanteans, were-rats, shorelines, and boats immediately gave way to page after page of staring slit-pupiled eyes.

"It's just... Bill is an ancient being, many times older than our universe, and the last surviving specimen of his own bizarre species. As both an anomaly and a source of esoteric knowledge, he's an invaluable subject of study. He's going to die soon, and he should die, but... between now and then, I don't want to pass up the last ever opportunity to study him."

Stan sank down into the chair opposite Ford. "You're listening to yourself, right?" He didn't sound angry anymore, just worried. "This is a guy who tried to kill us. He isn't a 'specimen' you can add to your collection of weird stuff, you know that, right?"

"I know, I know." That was exactly why it was so important—why it seemed so important—to capture Bill in words and pictures before it was too late. (It was funny, Ford thought, how Stan's very first conversation with Bill had been a murder, and yet he was the one who talked about Bill like he was just some guy; while Ford had spent so many years obsessively trying to find out who Bill was that he'd almost forgotten he was a person instead of a terrible idea.)

"When execution day comes and you think you haven't dug up enough of his history, what'll you do? Give him a stay of execution until he's dictated his memoirs to you?"

"No," Ford said immediately. "No, of course not. I'm just taking advantage of the opportunity to learn what I can, while I can. It's no different from your 'shopping trip' at the mall—"

"Hey!" Stan pointed a finger at Ford. "Watch it! That was strictly business! It's not like I'm attached to the guy—"

"I didn't mean anything by it! I just meant—as long as we're stuck with Bill, make him useful, and—and to heck with him after that. Right?" Like Stan had said about the scratch cards: why throw away free money just because of the source? "He'd do the same to us."

Stan hesitated. "And you're sure that when the time comes, you'll be ready to pull the trigger?"

"I know I will. It won't be the first time. I'm just glad that this time I'll be able to aim at his own head."

"Hm." Stan didn't look convinced.

Ford sighed. "But, if I think I'll waver—I'll hand you the gun."

"Is that a promise?"

"Yes, yes, of course. I promise."

But he knew he didn't need to.

####

Soos drove the tired gang home just past dawn, early enough for him to open the Mystery Shack on schedule.

"Soon as we get home, I'm going back to sleep," Stan muttered crankily. Ford—eyes shut, leaning against the window—nodded in agreement. Stan yawned, "And there'd better not be any nasty surprises at the shack."

####

Bill sat sleeping in his attic window seat, knees to his chest, leaning against the window, ear pressed to the glass.

Outside, Stan wailed, "My car!"

Bill's eyes snapped open. He smiled.

He ran to the kids' room, knocked on the door—"Hey, the bigger Pines are back!"—and bolted for the stairs.

####

Soos got the door open at the exact same time Bill stumbled off the stairs and collided with the living room doorframe. Bill grabbed the doorframe just long enough to steady himself, and then bounded over to the door, shoved Soos and Ford aside, and leaned out onto the porch. "HIYA, STAN!"

Stan whipped around to face Bill. "YOU!" He gestured furiously at the wizard graffiti on his car. "WHAT did you DO to my CAR!"

"Do you like it?"

Stan let out an inarticulate scream of rage.

"Oh, you love it!"

"You massacred it! I've had this car forty-five years! I've done things in this car I can't say! And it's never, never been so—so—violated!"

Grinning ear to ear, Bill said, "What do you think of the girl wizard?"

"The what?!" Stan circled the car. He screamed again.

"Uh-huh?"

"Why does she have a beard!"

"Go on," Bill said gleefully, "tell me what you think! I want the full review!"

"This," Stan said, "is the most ugly, hideous, terrible—"

Bill glanced back at a sound on the stairs. "Oh, hey Mabel! Get over here!" He gestured proudly as Mabel joined him in the doorway. "And here's the artistic mastermind herself!"

Stan choked on his words. "—b... beautiful, stunning, museum-worthy work of art I've ever seen."

Mabel beamed. "It's not finished yet, we ran out of some colors! I was going to add a dragon on the hood!"

Stan's face went white. "No no, it's... perfect the way it is. Don't—don't change a thing."

"Really? You're sure? I don't mind!"

"Really." Looking slightly nauseous, Stan said, "I love it just like this, pumpkin."

Mabel squealed and ran outside to give him a big hug.

Bill was fighting back silent laughter so hard he almost fell down.

####

"...And I still haven't found any sign of the Nightwigglers," Dipper said, sighing dejectedly and dropping his journal on the counter next to the cash register. "So, I dunno, maybe I should give up on this one and move on."

Wendy was sitting back with her feet kicked up on the counter, but she straightened a bit to look at Dipper's journal. She skimmed the news article he'd paperclipped to one page. "Oh, I heard about this," she said. "The cops talked to me about the first burglary. I was in the thrift shop that day."

"Oh, yeah?" Dipper pointed at the picture next to the article. "Did you see anything like this?"

Wendy's eyes widened. "No—but I think one of my brothers did."

"Wait, really?"

"Yeah, he was talking about it a couple nights ago. He said it was like an armless white thing wearing pants that went up to its face. We all thought he got spooked by a deer butt or something and made up the whole story. Then dad said we should drop it and told us we should stay in at night."

"That's when they come out! At night!" Dipper laughed excitedly. "Do you think your dad knows something?"

"Pfff, not if he can help it." Wendy pulled her feet off the counter and checked the clock. "I could show you the start of the trail my brother was on. It's like ten minutes by bike and the next big tour bus isn't getting here for half an hour, wanna sneak out?"

"Are you serious?! Of course!"

"Just promise you won't tell Gus if we find something. We've been making fun of him for days and I don't want to  admit he was right." Wendy laughed. "Let me grab somebody to cover."

"I'll get my bike!" Dipper was already headed out the door. "I've been looking for a lead for days! I dug through half the dumpsters in town searching for their nests..." The door swung shut behind him.

Wendy ducked into the living room. "Hey Goldie."

"Yello?" He was sitting cross legged on the couch watching TV.

"I've gotta do something with Dipper, do you mind covering for a little bit? Just twenty, thirty minutes."

His gaze flickered to the TV, then back to Wendy's face. "Sure! Anything for you, cool girl."

Wendy had a brief, eerie sense of déjà vu. She shook it off. "I'm not interrupting anything good, am I?" She nodded at the TV.

"Naaah, it's one of those terrible specials about pyramid conspiracies." He shook a cider can, "I'm taking a sip every time they mention Fishmasons or 'ancient dinosaur-worshiping civilization.'"

"Dude. You'll be wasted before the first commercial break."

"Really, you're saving me from myself." He set the can on the TV and followed Wendy into the gift shop. (As he did, Bill checked to see if he had anything on under his hoodie. No? The Pines didn't want him to be seen in public in his hoodie; they thought it would make him "too obvious." He rolled up the sleeves to hide some of the brick pattern and surreptitiously tucked the hood and the bow tie drawstrings into the collar.)

As she headed out the door, Wendy repeated, "Just twenty minutes! Thirty tops. I'll get back before the next tour bus, promise."

"No problem!" He waved her off.

"I owe you one!"

Bill made a note of that.

He looked around the gift shop—any readily-obvious mischief he could get up to? He grabbed an 8-ball cane and took it to the counter. And then he took the stool behind the register, propped his chin in his hand, gazed toward the living room, and resumed watching TV through the wall and backwards. He didn't miss hearing the conspiracy talk—he was sure it was actively making him stupider—but credit where credit was due; they made those CGI pyramid models really hot.

A cutaway of one pyramid showed its internal tunnels and chambers. Bill bit his lower lip. Oh yeah. That's what he came here for.

Several minutes went by. The door opened and a lone tourist crept in, a middle-aged woman with a sun-damaged tan. Bill straightened up and switched his eye patch over to hide his bleeding eye. "Heya! Next tour's in..." He checked the clock, how long until the next bus? "About fifteen minutes."

The woman nodded and quietly started circling the gift shop.

Bill glanced toward the living room, decided he'd better not start damaging his other eye too, mentally cursed the tourist, and pulled out one of Wendy's magazines to read. "Let me know if you need anything."

The tourist spent several minutes making a slow circuit of the room, and then crept up to the cash register. Bill looked up with a smile, didn't see any souvenirs in her hands, and asked, "Can I help you?"

Hesitantly, the woman said, "The sun sets a deep blood red."

Bill's eye flew wide open, his heart leaped into his throat, and his breath hitched. His gaze roved over her exposed skin until he spied a tattoo on her right arm: four triangles stacked atop each other, starting with an equilateral and each getting shorter and more obtuse as they descended, until they'd reduced completely and a single horizontal line underlined all four triangles. This wasn't quite the happiest he'd ever been to see the symbol of a devastatingly self-destructive high-control cult, but it was close. "Oh! Oh, this is—" He rubbed his temples, squeezing his eye shut. "I know this. I rhymed 'red' with 'pyramid.' Why do I give everyone a different code. 'But rises gold over the pyramid'—something like that, right?" Bill gave the woman a pleading look. "I'm close enough that you can tell I know what you're talking about!"

A look of relief washed over her face. "You know him." Voice low, she asked, "Is it safe to talk?"

Knew him? He was him. But he couldn't claim that without proving it—what would convince her?—telling her something that only he knew?—great, but what? Her face was vaguely familiar—he thought he might've given her a visionary dream once—but he had so many little worshipers and they were so unimportant, most of them blurred together.

So all he could do was say, "It's not safe. Everyone here is an enemy."

She nodded sharply. "Where can we meet?"

Bill paused. "We can't. I'm... trapped."

Her brows creased with worry. "They're keeping you prisoner?"

"Afraid so."

"I could get the police—"

"Everyone," Bill repeated, "is an enemy."

She paused, processing that. Bill's gaze flickered to the clock. Wendy said twenty minutes, thirty tops. She'd been gone twenty-two minutes. "Someone's coming any minute."

"Right." The cultist grabbed Wendy's magazine, tore a corner off a page, and grabbed a pen.

"How did you find me?" Bill asked. Of all the tourist traps in all the tiny towns in all the world, how had she come in hereand walked right up to him? 

"We were told a devotee was here," she said. "Someone sent the address and phone number to the Bahamian art studio."

Bill's mind spun. How? Who the heck would know to do that? The only person who knew he was here who'd come anywhere close to any of Bill's other worshipers was...

Ford? No. Did he?

The cultist shoved the paper in his hand and turned to leave.

Bill grabbed her arm. "Stay out of Gravity Falls," he commanded. "But stay close. Don't go back to Death Valley." Between the sun damage and the tattoo, she had to be one of his Death Valley girls. She looked like their usual prey: disaffected middle class white woman, probably had a dead end job and a mediocre husband and a useless degree from a liberal arts college. Maybe being able to guess where she came from would impress her.

It did. She stopped and turned back and looked at him in amazement—and then looked at him, staring hard at his eye. "You're... hosting him, aren't you?" Her voice fell to a whisper. "No. Are you...?"

"You got me." He smiled wryly—behold him, electric god bound in flesh, how low he's fallen, but at least he still has his good humor, doesn't he? "I always said you had great intuition." (It was a safe bet. He usually told the ladies that they had great intuition. Most of them ate that up, and the ones that didn't were often a little too savvy to sucker.)

It worked. She inhaled sharply. "You are," she breathed. "I knew you'd be a woman. Oh, Mary's a fool." She said this like she'd just won some years-old argument Bill had missed.

Mary, as in Mary-whom-Bill-had-put-in-charge-of-the-Death-Valley-compound Mary? Ha. She was getting on in years; maybe Bill could start a schism, that sounded fun. He opened his mouth to say something about Mary having great leadership but waning clarity of vision—

—when the cultist leaned across the counter, grabbed his collar, and pulled him into a kiss.

Okay. All right. She was one of those cultists. Got it. Got it got it got it. Wow. Definitely a "mediocre husband" convert, those were easy to seduce away with a little warmth and affection—nothing obvious, but get them infatuated with the idea of an unattainable incorporeal ideal lover and they'd chase him to the ends of the earth. Maybe a lesbian in denial that Bill had decided to push further into denial, if her assumption about Bill's gender was anything to go by. He tried to remember what he'd told this one.

He leaned into the kiss.

He'd done this before—in dreams, in puppets—he didn't prefer humans, but he could handle them well enough and earthlings had such pretty eyes. And this body he was stuck in made such insistent demands; a surge of human hormones washed over his brain so powerfully it made him dizzy. She broke the kiss to murmur, "Cipher, my lord—" and he took the opportunity to kiss her eyelid and lie, "I knew if anyone could find me, it would be you." He wished he remembered her name. She tugged his face back down to her lips. She was so eager. Cipher, my lord. Oh, it felt good to be revered again—

The door opened. "Um?"

If Bill had had one ounce of his power, he would have killed Wendy on the spot.

Instead, he seized his cultist's hands, ripped them off his hoodie, and shoved her away. "Whoa, lady! What do you think this is, a kissing booth?!" He laughed angrily. "We don't offer that kind of service here! Either get out, or—or buy a souvenir already!" He pointed at Wendy. "From her. Not from me."

Shocked, the cultist turned toward where Bill was pointing; and then turned back, understanding in her eyes.

Wendy raised her hands defensively, grimacing. "Yeah, no, I'm not serving you either. Just... get outta here."

The cultist met Bill's gaze for just a moment, then walked quickly out the door without a word.

Bill shouted after her, "And do not come back!" and quietly mourned as, for the second time in as many weeks, he had to watch helplessly as he sent away his only hope of getting any action/rescue.

"I am so, so sorry," Wendy said. "I leave for like ten minutes and you get one of the nightmare customers."

How Bill loved nightmares. "Twenty-five minutes, but who's counting."

"Psh, shut up." Wendy reclaimed her post behind the counter. "I think she's been here before, she looks kinda familiar. You okay?"

Bill hoped nobody else in town would recognize her. "I think I'll live after some mouthwash. Terrible breath." He wiped his mouth on his sleeve. "Hey, remember when you said you owe me one? You really owe me."

####

All his cultist had written for him was a phone number. Bill slid his stolen journal from its window hiding spot and copied the number down in two-tone dots and dashes. Plaintext transcriptions were usually tricky, given the vast difference between the language Bill wrote in and the languages humans used—but numbers, at least, were easy. Everyone had numbers.

And then he stared at the scrap of paper, reading the numbers over and over, until he was sure he'd memorized them, just in case he ever lost the journal.

And then he ate the paper.

And then he stacked the two cushions of his makeshift bed on top of each other, planted his face in them, and screamed.

Cipher, my lord. It had felt so, so, so good to be revered again.

His organs twisted with touch-hunger and loneliness.

####

Out in the Bahamas, along the southwest edge of the Bermuda Triangle, were two nut job hermits from Miami. Bill had convinced them that the only way they could purge their sins and purify their souls was by sculpting and selling golden avatars of God into which they could pour their guilt, and they had to keep doing it until they no longer felt guilty (and they would never not feel guilty; they needed so much therapy that Bill had ensured they'd never get). And then he'd convinced them that God's true face was an Eye of Providence in a top hat and bow tie.

Over the years he'd lost a little control over those two—in their desperation to be free of sin, they'd also started sculpting avatars to as many gods as they could find and selling them en masse to afford more art supplies—but hey, as long as his face was still mixed in with the rest, fine. Honestly, he was surprised those nuts weren't dead yet.

Somebody in this house had sent his location to them. And in a moment of what Bill imagined was stunning mental clarity, they had passed on that information to the single least dysfunctional pocket of Bill's top cult in the continental United States. Maybe when Bill was back at full power, he'd drop by the hermits' dreams to tell them they'd finally achieved absolution and could rest. Their decades of out-of-control scrupulosity would probably prevent them from believing him, but hey, he could say he'd tried. He washed his hands of all responsibility over them and their mental illnesses that he'd knowingly deliberately exacerbated for his own benefit. Not his problem.

But the question he came back to, over and over, was who had talked to them.

Bill needed to reach his Death Valley cultist. He needed a phone. Every phone in this house was well-guarded. No one would let him touch one... except, perhaps, whoever had sent the SOS on his behalf.

The only person who made sense was Stanford. Bill didn't think he'd ever told Ford about the nutty sculptors; but in the eighties he had given him the mailing addresses of some niche art dealers who would sell tapestries and statues of an obscure one-eyed god to collectors who could appreciate what they were looking at. Maybe Ford had gotten back in contact with them? Maybe he'd told them where Bill was, and they'd passed the information to the Bahamas?

Maybe Ford's feelings weren't quite so cold toward Bill as he'd been pretending.

Bill liked that idea a lot.

Maybe Bill's birthday gift had swung Ford back around to the side of reason—reminded him just how good he'd had it under a muse and mentor willing to teach him anything his nerdy little heart desired. Or maybe he'd always wanted to come back, and had just needed Bill to say it first.

He probably only pretended he hated Bill because they were surrounded by enemies—everyone in the house thought Ford was looking for a way to destroy Bill, what would happen if they knew the truth?

But the truth was there. Bill could almost seize it in his hands. All those moments where they almost talked like they were friends again, before Ford had to stop himself and leave. That one beautiful little word: jealous. And of course, there was the whole thing with the glass pyramid and the "Mysteries" that Ford had passed on—

—to Mabel.

There was another possibility.

As much as Bill would love if it was Ford, Mabel was the only person in the house who acted like she actually wanted Bill alive. Whatever "Mysteries" Ford was teaching her had something to do with Bill, the pyramid made that obvious. Maybe his lessons included the contact information of everyone else Ford knew who knew Bill? Maybe she'd taken it upon herself to call for help?

It was thin. And it was still dependent upon Ford harboring a secret loyalty to Bill that he was passing on to his great-niece. But that was where things stood: Ford was the only person in the house who definitely knew how to reach Bill's followers, but Mabel was the only person in the house who definitely might want to.

And he had to make completely sure of which one of them it was before he asked for a favor.

####

Ford had missed dinner again.

Fiddleford had sent Ford home with a pile of math. All the calculations he'd done to get the miniature particle accelerator to produce Dontium. By his reckoning, that there jar should've filled with Dontium faster than greased lightning; he just plumb can't understand why it trickled in like cold molasses. (His words.) He'd asked Ford to check his work, see if he'd missed something.

Ford was more than happy to help. It was a much-needed intellectual challenge that didn't involve Bill's underhanded birthday gift. Something that would let him feel like he was making progress. And it was comfortingly familiar. He and Fiddleford had spent weeks checking and re-checking each other's math in the lead up to the portal test, before they knew what a horror they were building.

As soon as Ford had gotten home, he'd put Fiddleford's papers in his underground study before going back to bed. Bill had already admitted he could glimpse the future, although Ford wasn't sure how far; and Ford was growing convinced that Bill's ability to perceive "higher dimensions" let him see through walls like they weren't there. He'd begun keeping Journal 5 and other sensitive materials down in his study at all times, hoping that the distance and layers of dirt and rock would keep Bill from peering in.

And when he'd dragged himself out of bed around noon—an embarrassingly late hour to get up, but he had been awake most of the night—he'd grabbed a quick breakfast/lunch, brewed a pot of coffee to take with him, and gone below to get to work.

He'd only worked seven or eight hours with a couple of reluctant breaks in the middle before his head began pounding too hard for him to ignore. He'd been neglecting his exercise regimen the past few weeks, and his back and neck were letting him know. In his thirties, he'd been able to work fourteen hours days and still want to keep going—and that was even before he'd handed his body over to Bill so he could keep working around the clock. He wasn't as young as he used to be.

He dragged himself upstairs after sunset, when the last ambient light from the sky still faintly glowed through the windows. He could make something quick and simple for dinner, go to bed early, and get up early to continue working. He pushed through the door to the dark living room—

"Hello!"

"Gah!" Ford jumped. "You. What are you doing here?"

Bill was leaning next to the door, a dim silhouette with his elbow on the wall and cheek in his hand. Even in the dark, Ford was sure he could see Bill's wicked grin at his reaction. "I happen to live here."

Ford let out an irritated huff. "Whatever you're up to, I don't have time to deal with it. Find someone else to bother." He pushed past Bill and headed toward the kitchen.

It would have been too much to expect Bill not to follow him, wouldn't it? "Aw, c'mon, don't be like that! Would it kill you to act like you're happy to see me?"

"Probably."

Bill's laugh made Ford's shoulders raise up around his ears. Maybe that was the source of his neck pain.

Bill shadowed him into the kitchen and leaned on the table, watching while Ford rummaged through the fridge. "But seriously, Sixer—who are you trying to impress by giving me the cold shoulder? I'm the only one here. You could afford to treat me like a person for two minutes." When Ford slammed the fridge door, Bill smacked it with the tip of an 8-ball cane. "Hey, have my food privileges been revoked? Give me a turn."

How long had Bill had a weapon? Ford snatched the cane from him, but opened the fridge and left it. "I don't consider you a person. I consider you an incalculably destructive force of pure, brutal chaos." He cracked three eggs in a skillet and opened a cabinet for one of the stove knobs they kept stored where Bill couldn't reach them.

"Flattering!" Bill started pulling out his usual nauseating array of condiments: today was sauerkraut, maraschino cherries, mustard, ranch dressing, and barbecue sauce. (Why did he eat like that? Did his species usually subsist on a mostly liquid diet? Was it the flavors—?) "Hey, make me mac 'n' cheese, wouldja?"

"No."

"Fine. Leave the burner on when you're done, I'll make it myself."

"You're not allowed to use the stove."

"Then how about I sit here drinking mustard while you enjoy a hot meal." Bill waved three eggs at Ford. "At least make me eggs too. Zero extra effort on your part. I'll even crack them for you if you want."

Ford gave Bill a dark look; but he supposed, as one of the people who had agreed that Bill wasn't allowed to cook, he was in no position to complain about Bill begging him to cook on his behalf. He snatched the eggs out of Bill's hand. "How do you want them."

"I haven't eaten enough chicken eggs to have a preference. Whatever you'll complain least about doing."

Poorly scrambled eggs it was. Ford shut the fridge and returned to the stove.

Bill sat on the table and crossed his legs in lotus position while he waited. "But really, what do you get out of pretending you can't stand me! We both know it's an act."

Ford gave him a tired, sour look. "Even for you, you sound delusional."

"I know you don't really hate me."

"I could write an entire dissertation and earn another Ph.D. on the topic of how much I hate you."

Ford hated how excited Bill looked by that. "Would you?"

"No! Why would I waste that much time thinking about you?"

"It seems to me like you're already doing that."

The hair on the back of Ford's neck prickled. Surely Bill just meant Ford's research into how to kill him; but his mind flashed to the miniature grimoire he'd spent all his time poring over—the blueprints of Bill's childhood home—the face he'd absent-mindedly drawn in his journal in the middle of the night and quickly scribbled out. Could Bill still see through that face? Had Ford remembered to blind Bill's eye on the blueprints? What about the eyes drawn in his human faces? Did Bill know about Ford's other studies? What did it matter—nothing Ford was doing was wrong. "I don't know what you're talking about."

Bill's smile slowly widened. "Sure you don't. You might hate me to my face, but behind my back you're as obsessed with me as ever. You might as well lean into it."

You're using avoiding him as an excuse to obsess over him even more in private. "I am not..." Wasn't he? You're acting like a stalker, Sixer.

"Oh, Fordsy, come on." Bill uncrossed his legs, slid off the table, and was across the room faster than Ford had expected. Ford instinctively took a step back and bumped into the oven; Bill reached past him to lean a hand against the edge of the stove, inches from touching him. "You're not hiding it half as well as you think you are. Did you think I wouldn't notice?" He smirked up at Ford, exposed eye wide and eager, utterly fascinated with him. "And bringing Mabel in on it? I'll have to admit, that surprised me. Can't say I disapprove, though."

Ford couldn't tell if the heat on the back of his neck was from Bill's accusations or the stove. "I beg your pardon?" What was he talking about—their conversation in Portland? The blueprints of Bill's home? (Using his great-niece to spy on Bill, lord, what was Ford doing?)

"Quit messing around! The Mysteries, Stanford. You think I don't know I'm the star of that show?" He poked the center of Ford's chest, "There's no way you joined a cult, you're not enough of a team player! What'd you do? Invent your own cult of one? Mixed a little of what I taught you, a little of whatever you learned out in the multiverse? I know you were asking around about me." Bill chuckled. "You want to keep your little rituals private, fine—I think it's cute, really—just tell me one thing I've been dying to know: how much have you told the kid?"

Ford stared at Bill.

Then he laughed in his face. "You really bought that?"

Bill's smile immediately vanished. "What?"

Ford shoved Bill's hands away. "There are no 'Mysteries.' It was a joke."

Bill stepped back, staring at Ford, brows furrowed. "A...? No," he said. "She's got that glass pyramid—"

"She wanted it because it was pretty," Ford said. "I gave her one since I was throwing them all out."

"That's the stupidest story I've ever heard. Then why would she have brought up the Mysteries!"

"Because," Ford said, "I told her, if you asked about the pyramid, she should make up something to confuse you."

Bill's mouth was open, but no words came out. His face had rapidly turned red. Several emotions flashed across his face in quick succession, from shock to confusion to humiliation to a rage so deep it almost looked like disgust. For a moment, from how Bill's fingers were curling like claws, Ford was sure Bill was about to attack him.

But then he clenched his jaw, backed off, leaned on the table, jammed his fists down against the tabletop, and glared at the floor.

Ford turned back to the stove, grinning to himself. Some of the eggs had burned slightly. Those were Bill's now. "What's the matter? Did you forget that humans can lie?"

Bill didn't reply.

"I'm surprised you didn't expect it. I seem to remember we got you with an impressive whopper last year—"

"Shut up."

"Now you don't want to talk?"

"Now you do?"

Good point; he didn't. If he'd finally rendered Bill speechless, he should enjoy it while he could.

He'd have to thank Mabel later for inventing the Mysteries. Sometimes that girl could be genius.

Ford turned off the burner, put the stove knob away, and dumped the eggs onto two plates. He didn't even bother to keep track of which plate had the burned eggs.

He shot a quick, exasperated look at Bill—he'd sat on top of the table again—and dropped a plate next to him. "Here." He grabbed a bag of bread and looked around for the toaster.

Behind him, voice trembling but low and dangerous, Bill said, "Don't look at me like that."

Ford glanced back warily. "Like what?"

Bill violently shoved off the table. There was an awful squeal of sliding furniture. Before Ford could react, Bill was in his face, grabbing him by his turtleneck, dragging him in, forcing him to look up at Bill.

Ford's peripheral vision was filled with gold. They were so close their noses nearly touched.

"Like you don't remember who I am!" Bill stared down with wide-eyed seething rage. "Your muse!" His voice cracked, "Your god!"

Ford stared up at Bill, speechless.

Then he looked down.

Bill was standing on a chair to make himself taller than Ford.

Ford ripped Bill's hands off his sweater. "You were never, ever my god."

Bill stumbled off the chair, catching himself hard on the edge of the table to keep from falling completely. "That's not true!" He heaved himself back onto his feet with a wince. "You worshiped me—"

"I admired you!" Ford jabbed a finger at Bill's chest. "I respected you! I—I even idolized you, but I never worshiped you!"

Bill jabbed a finger back, "You're splitting hairs! You practically turned your study into a temple to me—tapestries, rugs, statues—"

"Because you said it would help me reach you!"

"And it did! That's what shrines are for, genius!"

"It wasn't a shrine! Not to me."

"You're kidding me! All the money you dropped on that gold-plated statue and you expect me to believe that wasn't an act of worship—"

"Do not. Remind me. How much. That stupid statue cost."

"If you didn't build a shrine for worship then what in the world did you build it for!"

"Friendship!" Ford took a shaky breath in. "I thought... I honestly thought you—you—were my best friend." The air in the room trembled with heat. They were standing too close to each other. Ford refused to be the one to back up.

"I was," Bill said. "I still could be if you'd stop being a moron."

Ford laughed in disbelief. "Which is it, were you my god or my friend?!"

"They're not mutually exclusive—!"

"You can't keep your story straight for THIRTY SECONDS!"

"Don't you call me a LIAR, after EVERYTHING I taught you—!"

"In all the years I've known you I don't think you've told me the truth ONCE—!"

Stan flipped on the lights.

They froze and stared at him. They had their hands around each other's throats. Bill had a foot planted on Ford's stomach like he was trying to get a foothold to climb him. They were both covered in egg.

Stan said, "Could you do this in the morning?"

Ford said, "Sure."

Bill said, "He started it."

"I st—?! You started all of this thirty years ago—"

"Guys," Stan said tiredly.

With some effort, Ford unpeeled his hands from Bill's neck.

To his surprise, Bill voluntarily let go as well. Ford snatched up what was left of his plate of eggs, took the loaf of bread—he had lighters, he could toast it downstairs—and left the kitchen, turning the light off as he went.

Stan was waiting out in the entryway. "Heading to bed?"

"No." Ford shoveled a forkful of eggs in his mouth. "Going to be up late." He was too angry to sleep. He could eat, take a painkiller for his headache, and keep working.

"More research?"

"No. Calculations."

Stan's shoulders slumped; but all he said was, "Suit yourself. Don't stay up too late."

Ford glanced back once into the kitchen. Bill wasn't moving. He sat slumped in a chair, elbows on his knees. He'd pulled on his hood. Its eye stared at Ford.

Ford wasn't about to pity Bill over a performative display of angst. He'd fallen for that already.

He returned to his study and mathematics.

####

Bill stared at his plate of eggs. He mechanically pushed them around on the plate until they formed a perfect equilateral triangle. He scooped out an empty white eye in the middle.

He stood, snatched up the plate, and smashed it on the floor.

They thought he was stupid. They thought he couldn't use a stove if it didn't have knobs, as if he was a child! The humans made it easy for themselves to think of him as a child when they treated him like one, "baby-proof the doors" and "no sharp objects" and "don't talk to strangers." He could show them.

He grabbed the stem where one of the knobs had been removed, and twisted. He heard the hiss of gas under the burner. Everyone was asleep. He could fill the house with gas. It would only take a little push to make a spark and set the entire shack ablaze. In the dark room, he could see the first glimpse of future flames flickering yellow-orange in the periphery of his foresight. No one would survive. Who's your god now, smart guy? He'd rise like a phoenix from his own corpse and he'd tear this town apart.

Where was Mabel?

Was she home tonight?

Bill turned off the gas.

He pushed up his sleeve and pressed the fleshy part of his forearm onto the still-hot burner. The pain burned away his jumbled anger so he could think clearly.

Who cared how the nutty sculptors had gotten Bill's address? He was making good progress on lucid dreaming; maybe he'd astral projected across the country to call for help and forgotten it when he woke up. He'd probably saved himself without even remembering it. It didn't matter. The important thing was that they'd received the message; and now, Bill had friends on the outside. Friends who were on his side.

If he could ever contact them again.

Bill would find a way. He didn't need Ford's help. "Never worshiped you." Ha.

He needed fresh air. Even if it wasn't safe to escape yet, he needed to breathe. He carried himself backward through doorway into the gift shop, pulled aside the curtain hiding the ladder to the roof—

The trap door was shut. He stared up in despair.

He shot a glare toward the vending machine, and angrily crossed back into the living room.

The air was so stuffy inside the shack. "Never worshiped you." Liar. If it wasn't worship then what was it?

Bill took himself upstairs. Hunger gnawed at his stomach. He lay on his makeshift bed curled up around himself, arms wrapped tight across his stomach, his burn pressed hard against a layer of knit yarn, thighs pulled up against his arms. It was a wholly alien position. It felt unnatural and bizarre. This body had curled like this of its own volition. It seemed like the only thing that briefly smothered the ache of emptiness and the hormonal inferno screaming loneliness through every vein. The loneliness wasn't his. He wasn't lonely. This body was. 

Cipher, my lord.

He hated this body.

He ached to be revered again.

####

It was two in the morning. Ford sat at his desk, pages and pages of math scattered before him, glasses off, hand rubbing his eyes.

He didn't want to be checking a mountain of math like a human calculator. He wanted to be studying strange magic and researching new anomalies. He wanted to be digging through Bill's grimoire.

He wanted to be awed again.

####

(I've been waiting to write/draw Bill screaming his grief over not being worshiped since literally April. I hope y'all enjoyed! This is one of my favorite chapters so far, I'd love to hear what y'all think!!)

[yaut-jaknowit]

Hiya! Was wondering about a bad blood that takes a woman from earth but she's fine with it? He expected more fighting from her but is pleased. Not sure how you feel about soulmates but maybe he's been drawn to her for awhile and finally just took her?

Are We Meant To Be? Part 2

Pairings: Cew’voc (Male Yautja) x AFAB!Reader

Word Count: 2995

Summary: So much time has passed since you last saw that mysterious figure. He saved you then abandoned you. You had discovered he was your soulmate too late. When all hope was lost, he comes back to you. Is it too late?

Author Note: Okay, I know this isn't entirely what you were asking for. But, I hope it's still okay. If not, let me know and I do another for you. I wanted to use this as an excuse to write a part two for this story.

Masterlist

Ao3

Part 1

All the years since that faithful day offered no relief. Since then, you’ve had your ups and downs. From ending up jobless and homeless, you were able to barely bounce back to a decent life. It wasn’t normal. It would never be normal again. Not without what you saw that night. Who or whatever that creature was… he was yours. As much as you were his. Two souls destined for one another.

The reminder made your heart ache. You gritted your teeth and rubbed the heel of your hand over your sternum. Some of your co-workers gave you a puzzled look before shaking their heads and going back to their business. You cleared your throat before squaring your shoulders to face the lobby and customers all over again.

A pain that’ll be with you till the end of time. You were used to it.

Twelve hours in the building was an average shift. It was the minimum you needed to work five days a week just to make do.

From living an average, normal life, meeting what had to be your soulmate had ruined everything. Despite the longing to see him, just a glimpse every so often, there was no chance. He abandoned you. It was unheard of. Usually soulmates for the first time they meet each other can’t leave each other. Some say its physical and others say its emotional. But to break apart within even the first day was beyond cruel. It’ll leave someone, yourself, broken and hollow.

That’s exactly what you are. A shell of the person you used to be. Now, here you were, a beggar for any change, even a penny. It could mean the difference between having a roof over your head or being homeless.

No one wanted you. Not even someone destined to be with you until you died.

The plates in your hand wobbled precariously. Your attention returned to your surroundings only to watch the four plates you had been carrying slip off of your arms. They came crashing down onto the ground. The porcelain shattering into tiny pieces at your aching feet. Food smears across the ground.

In the moments after that, you could only look down at the mess you’ve created. Your shoulders slumped. There was gasps that sounded through the lobby of the diner you worked out. But, you heard nothing. Stuck in your own world again while all you could do was look at the disaster at your feet.

This was it. Your last straw that broke the camel’s back. It seemed like you couldn’t hold down a job anymore. The pains in your chest only growing worse with the passing time. No one understood. This didn’t happen. Worst of all, it’s not like you had any insurance to work with. There was no help. All you did was suffer through the pain.

Over the white noise in your ears, you heard your name shouted at the top of someone’s lungs. Avery. Your boss. She came stopping around to stand in front of you with a heated glare in her eye. You simply lifted your head to look at her, dead and emotionless.

Her gaze flickered for a moment but returned to steel. One of her hands whipped out to point towards the door. “Get the fuck out of my establishment. You’re fucking useless,” she bit out with a ferocity you didn’t know she had. You blinked at her before finally picking up your feet and making your way to the door. Not even clocking out or taking off your apron.

There you had done it again. Lost another job. Useless. Just like she said. You couldn’t do anything right. Not even your own soulmate wanted to stay with you.

The concrete was harsh on your knees despite the jeans you were wearing. You had collapsed in the middle of the sidewalk. No one gave you a second glance; only giving you a look of disgust and going on their way. A broken sob left your chapped lips. The world around you closing in. You tilted your head backwards to gaze at the darkening sky.

It wasn’t long before day morphed into night. Sometime during the transition you had pulled yourself up and meandered along the path set in front of you. It was random and leading you further and further from the dingy apartment called home. The city you resided in offered nothing of relief. It allowed you to stay on a decently lit path through the side of town you resided in.

In your heart, something tugged you to stop. Your head finally picking up to find the street deserted. You had walked so far that not even those brave enough would venture out. A whine built in the back of your throat. This was pointless. Now, you were somehow lost. Your head tilted back to look at the dark sky. There was little to no stars that would dot the night sky. “What am I doing?” Your voice was hoarse. It lacked the warmth it had years ago.

All the hairs on the back of your neck stood up. The muscles that lined your back tightened. Your breath caught, body prepared for the worst while your mind hoped for the best. But, your luck has shown you how well that’ll go.

You neck creaked while it turned towards the dark alleyway. Nothing could be seen down the endless path. Either it turned off or ended towards the end.

A loud thump echoed off the walls. Your entire boy turned towards the entrance. The soft clicks of something entered the air. Your brows furrowed while you tried to deter was creating that noise. In your careless state and defense, you weren’t of sound mind. There was one thing in the world that would solve all of your issues.

It wasn’t here.

At the crest of the entrance, you eventually spotted the silhouette of a humanoid figure. Oh, not again. You took a couple of stumbling steps away and nearly fell over your own two feet. It seemed your lucky wasn’t the greatest.

Light shined off metal. Faster than a blink of an eye, your throat was snatched. Your back was pressed to a firm, hot surface. Humid heat washed over the top of your head and ran down the back of your neck. A shutter ran its course. The muscles in your body only tensing more.

Yet, in this moment, after everything that’s happened after four years… you didn’t care. Not any more.

Sharp clicks and growls vibrated into your ear. The firm grip around your throat tightened only fraction. “Mi-ne.” A voice growled that it could be felt in your bones. The declaration strong and firm.

A voice you recoginized. Your hands instantly go to the one holding you in place. Try as you may, you couldn’t tilt your head far enough back to look at the figure. But, the lack of an ache in your chest only solidified your thoughts.

This had to be him.

As your mouth opened to speak words he deserved, his free hand pressed something into your mouth. Two fingers coaxed you to swallow dryly whatever he had placed on your tongue. His palm still covered the lower portion of your face. You tried to speak and began to fight him. Anger filled your veins at not only past action, but his current ones now.

When the hands left you, you believed there was a chance for escape. Your entire body whipped around to face the towering creature. Only, for you to sway from the sudden, unwise move. Strong, capable hands grasped your shoulders before you could slam into the ground. A haze took over your mind and left you unstable.

The ground left the bottom of your feet. Then, you were hoisted onto a thick, muscular shoulder that dug into your waist and belly. The move caused you to wheeze and grab onto the a fish net like material that covered at least his toned back. “Let me go!” you screamed at the top of your lungs then began to beat on his back with clenched fists.

He takes it. Without complaint. The humanoid figure spins on his heel and lets the darkness engulf him again. Your cried for help and desperate attempt for freedom begins to fade. Whatever he forced you to ingest was starting to take effect already. Your movements turned sluggish. Every beat was weaker than the last.

“I… hate you,” was what you could say before the darkness consumed you. Your body falling limp on his shoulder.

Warmth. Comfort. Those were the first two things to greet you when your consciousness finally decided to wake up. A soft blanket swaddled your entire form and kept you safe from the lurking monsters. A groan left your lips. You squirmed in the swaddled you’ve been placed in until it loosened.

It took a monstrous amount of strength to open your eyes and blink away the fatigue sitting in your bones. What greeted you made you believe the night still claimed you.

Metal from ceiling to floor made up the room you were in. The blankets on your shoulders slipped off when you sat up to fully take in the space. Your jaw dropped. Five skulls were line on the wall behind you. All were creatures you didn’t recognize. You gulped and kept taking in the room. Weapons decorated some parts of the wall. A bean bag like chair was shoved into one corner. A fur like blanket draped over it.

That’s when you realize the blankets you had been covered with are fur from an unknown creature. You shuttered to think of all the death that was proudly displayed in here. Why… why would he take you in here? Surely, it wasn’t to kill you? No. Your head shook in the negative. He wasn’t. He would’ve already done that if so. Plus, something in your heart told you he wouldn’t harm you.

You were in the process of shuffling to your knees when the door slid open. The entire room filled with tension. It was him. Face still covered a metal mask.

He doesn’t move. The two of you engage into a staring contest.

Thoughts were running wild in your mind. From the last time you had saw him, there had been slight changes. Mainly scars. He was already adorned in them and proudly presenting them. But, more had been added to his collection. A nasty looking one started from an inch above his right collarbone and descended with small jags mostly downwards.

All of them… made him look good, despite not seeing his face yet.

Your first move was to tug the blanket tighter around you, like some sort of shield. He wasn’t terrifying. Not an ounce of fear in your heart at the sight of his towering form.

But, you were nervous, unsure of the whole situation. The most of all. You were angry. Four years. It’s taken him four years to come back into your life and decide you were worth something after all. Tears pooled in your eyes at the thought.

A glare set over your features. You sat back down on your butt and looked away from him. The creature doesn’t deserve your attention, let alone a second of your time. For all you could care, you were going to completely ignore him until he gives up. Let him feel the pain of being abandoned by the one you thought was supposed to your other half.

Out of the corner of your eye, you watched at the mustard yellow figure stalked forward. Your ears strained to listen to each step as he made his way towards you. You strengthened your walls. The beast stopped at the edge of the mattress and gazed down at your figure. Then, he gingerly sat down a couple of feet away from you.

His scaly hand reached out timidly. A move you observed closely. When he got in range, you swatted at the approaching limp. The creature snatched his hand back and made an offended noise. You didn’t need to see his eyes to know he was looking at you as if you had grown a second head. To go against someone three times your mass was obviously stupid. Yet, here you were, protecting yourself from his touch in what could be taken in an aggressive matter.

Except, he held back and took the sign completely. The figure bowed his head. “I-I kn-ow… you are u-pset.” It sounded like he was struggling to speak English. Not as it’s a language he does not know, but like his mouth and throat can’t make the sounds well. “I have reasons. I-it shouldn’t b-e possi-ble. Can’t be.”

If his words were meant to be soothing he was doing the opposite. You hugged your knees tighter with a scoff and a roll of your eyes. You wanted to ask him the reasoning but felt like that would give him too much attention. Despite what your soul wanted since it finally get’s to see your other half again after so long.

“It’s wr-ong. You’re ooman. I’m…” he trails off and glances over at your curled up form. A position meant to protect you from incoming harm. “I’m not.”

For him to confirm your suspicions, you weren’t surprised. Not after finally getting to see him in a better light. The dark, mustard yellow of his skin was dotted with scales. The color and texture wasn’t normal. The size of him wasn’t normal. The blonde rubbery-like dreads that poured from his head weren’t normal.

“I-it’s aga-against ev-everything I know. I came back. I sh-shouldn’t have.” The masked creature made a noise of agony. One of his hands came to rub at his sterum. “But the pa-in. A-after s-so long. I grew weak. Co-uldn’t handle it. I-I ne-needed to lay e-eyes on you.” Words kept tumbling from him. Words you barely understood while he struggled with your language.

They almost, almost softened you. The same pain you endured the last four years was what he experienced as well. But, there was a difference. He purposefully abandoned you. He deserved the pain. You, on the other hand, did not.

You were only human, after all. “Where am I?” Your voice was barely about a hoarse croak.

He perked, only slight, at the sound. “My s-hip. I’ve h-idden us-us from your go-vern-ment senses behind a plan-et you ca-ll Jupiter.” Him clarifying he was an alien though, wasn’t on your list of possibilities. At least, not very high. The most you thought of him was a mutated, escaped human experiment. Not… that.

“Y-you’re an alien?” you gaped before reeling in your shock. There was no reason him to give the benefit of the doubt. He doesn’t deserve it. He doesn’t deserve you.

“Yes,” he confirmed and dipped his head. The strange, rubbery dreads slipped over his shoulders to sway. “I a-m a Yautja. No-t t-that you know w-hat that is.” You bristle at his offensive words and sent a heated glare at the alien. He brushed it off with a shrug. “My name is Cew’voc. A-and yours?” You turned your head away again as your answer. He has not earned that right to know you.

Newly named Cew’voc purred with mirth. It took every ounce of will not to spin around and punch him. How dare he laugh!

“That is-is okay. I-I can just look-k it up.” Whatever he had for a face, there had to be a smirk on it. You could hear it. You bristled against and huffed. This surely couldn’t be your soulmate.

A new silence fell over the two of you. For a moment, tense peace. Until you heard a mechanical hiss. Your head whipped over to find Cew’voc’s hands gripping the metal mask that adorned his face. Carefully, the alien tugged the cover free and let his features be revealed.

Alien. He was completely alien. Three mandibles tipped with sharp fangs protruded from where what looked to be a mouth. The mouth area had an animal like jowl but the front area was open. Similar to a person, he had a jaw. Teeth protruded from both the jaw and upper side of the mouth. Terrifying teeth that looked deadly.

Then, his eyes. Those felt like a predator was staring directly into your soul. You couldn’t help the shutter than ran its course. They were a bright, scary yellow that almost seemed to glow in the calm lighting of the room.

After you exploration of his face, you find the alien with its only upper mandible quirked up. As if he was smirking at you. You glowered.

In broken, struggling English, the Yautja spoke your name. You swiftly got on your knees to be the same height as him and pointed a finger at him. “You don’t deserve the right to say my name! You abandoned me,” you grounded out. Cew’voc simply raised a brow in your direction then amusedly shook his head. “Oh, no you don’t! You don’t get to brush me off like that. Four years of misery because of your scared little ass running away.”

Now, that got a reaction out of him. The alien stood up to a lumbering height above you and glared down at you over his mandibles. “I am n-o co-coward. I’m Yautja. S-strong, mi-ghty.” He thumped a fist over his chest. “Do not a-cused me with fa-lsehood.”

You didn’t fear him. Not one bit. You stood up to be eye with him on the bed and got into his face. “Yes. The fuck. You are! You ran away with your tail between your legs like a little sissy crying to your mom!” Despite nearing twenty-three, you used some middle school insults that hopefully did the trick.

The anger that covered his features melted away when he slumped back with another smirk. “Oh, we may g-et alon-g yet.”

Oh, you doubted that.

[catherinetcjd]

SEMA Container Apts

Sims Emergency Management Agency Disaster Relief ...for when you need shelter fast and cheap! 1B/1B - 3 units community amenities include: picnic grill, dining table, chess set, easel, and 1 parking space No CC!

I built this last week while Hurricane Milton was sitting in the Gulf gathering power, before he barrelled right over the top of us. The eye of the storm crossed over our roof around 2am - it was eerily quiet... then the howling wind started up again after 3am - with a vengeance!

Thankfully my family and our house made it through with only very minor damage. (We lost our Papaya tree.)

Others in our area, and across the state, were not so fortunate. I have several friends in North Carolina, who are still without power from Helene blasting through there last week... If you are in a position to donate to relief efforts, please do!

Read more on my BLOG »

Cross-posted to MTS and Simblr.

No Custom Content Included

Lot Size: 10X30 - Built on one of my Lot-Adjusted Empty Lots Lot Price: $56,868 Rent: 3 Apts = $721 - $753

DOWNLOAD @ SFS

Enjoy! 🦚

[visionsthatdance]

Support for Western North Carolina

This is the text body of an email from Carolina Jews for Justice, a grassroots organizing group based in Durham, NC. I thought I would share it here.

Monetary Donations = Direct Aid

Please consider making donations to the following mutual aid and support efforts or on-ground organizations, and please share widely:

Day One Relief is mobilizing and a trusted source sending direct aid via plane to hard hit spaces. 

*Monetary and Direct Item Give*

 Donate to Day One Relief

Operation Airdrop

Mutual Aid Disaster Relief

Triangle Mutual Aid (coordinating with Asheville Mutual Aid)

BeLoved Asheville - needs funds and is coordinating volunteers with trucks who can drive supplies to people, out of 32 Old Charlotte Hwy Asheville, NC

Organizing Resilience (benefits Down Home NC, and other rural organizers doing the deep, year-round work, and partaking in community assessment surveys right now)

Items Needed

Water

Life Straws

Chainsaws

Heavy-duty storage totes

Heavy-duty tarps (the blue ones are less good)

Generators

Roofing nails

Baby formula

Non-perishable food

Manual can openers

Coolers

Gatorade

Wire brushes

Trash bags (the heavy ones are sometimes called "contractor bags")

Brooms

Mops

Laundry detergent

Washboards

Batteries, power banks

Mosquito spray

Toilet paper

Dehumidifiers

Box fans

Solar charging items

Diapers, baby wipes

5 gal buckets

Respirators and N-95 cartridges

2x4s

Bleach

Drop-Off Locations

Triangle Area

+ Carrboro, NC: 

Back Alley Bikes

100 Boyd St, Carrboro, NC 27510

Open Tues - Sat. 11am to 6pm

+ Durham, NC:

The Scrap Exchange

2050 Chapel Hill Rd, Durham, NC 27707

10:30am - 6pm Tue-Sun.

Art Post 

718 Iredell, Durham NC 27705

Starting Monday, Sept. 30th

Open Monday-Saturday 12-6pm

Maverick’s Smokehouse and Taproom

900 W Main Street, Durham NC 27701

*on street parking and free parking available in Brightleaf Square Lot*

Sunday 11am-9pm

Monday-Tuesday 11am-2pm

Wednesday-Thursday 11am-9pm

Friday-Saturday 11am-11pm

+ Raleigh, NC: 

RUMAH 

415 Hillsborough St., Raleigh

Drop off during events. See calendar on website raleighmutualaid.info

Triad Area

Taking donations over the next few weeks. Accepted Items include: sports drinks, hydration packs, baby wipes, diapers, baby formula, bug spray, sunscreen, plastic utensils, manual can openers, large trash bags, non-perishable foods, cleaning supplies, plastic sheeting/tarps, toothbrushes and toothpaste, toiletries/sanitation items, pet food, hand sanitizer, sanitizer wipes, feminine hygiene products, heavy-duty work gloves and unworn socks. 

+ Greensboro, NC: 

GetOutdoors Pedal & Paddle

1515 W Gate City Blvd., Greensboro NC

AND: 

241 Summit Avenue

11am - 1pm Tuesday-Friday

+ Lewisville, NC: 

The Coffee Mill 

6275 Shallowford Road, Lewisville, NC

Charlotte Area:

+ Concord, NC:

Drop offs for Operation Airdrop at Walmart Parking Lot

5825 Thunder Rd NW, Concord, NC 28027

[nirbobharvey]

Hurricane Milton Resources, Emergency Contacts, and Recovery Assistance

Hurricane Milton is making landfall in Florida, and residents across the state must prepare for the potential devastation it could bring. With forecasts predicting high winds, torrential rain, and widespread flooding, Hurricane Milton could leave communities struggling to rebuild.

New Image Roofing Atlanta gathered information about Hurricane Milton, the damage and devastation it will likely leave in its path, valuable emergency resources, and what New Image Roofing has invested to assist the urgent upcoming recovery efforts.

New Image Roofing Florida 352-316-6008 is ready to assist residents and businesses with roofing and recovery needs. Below is a breakdown of the potential risks, necessary resources, and emergency contacts to help Floridians navigate this challenging time.

Potential Devastation from Hurricane Milton

Hurricane Milton’s impact on Florida could be catastrophic. Forecasts show a Category 4 storm, and officials urge everyone to prepare for the worst. The potential damage from this hurricane could include:

Winds up to 150 mph – These extreme wind speeds can tear roofs off homes and businesses, uproot trees, and snap power lines. Flying debris could cause significant property damage and put lives at risk.

Torrential rainfall and flooding – Milton is expected to dump up to 20 inches of rain in certain areas, leading to flash flooding in low-lying regions. Coastal areas face the added threat of storm surge, which could inundate homes and infrastructure.

Watch this video to grasp the dangers of storm surge (a storm surge of 15 feet is expected with Hurricane Milton).

Power outages – Downed power lines will likely cause widespread outages. These outages may last days or weeks, leaving communities without access to essential services.

Tornadoes – Hurricane Milton’s powerful system could spawn tornadoes, particularly in the eastern parts of the state, causing additional destruction.

Watch this video to see Hurricane Milton’s approach to Florida’s west coast.

New Image Roofing Florida’s Response

New Image Roofing Florida has a strong history of helping communities recover after hurricanes. The company is prepared to assist with Hurricane Milton’s aftermath. As part of their commitment to helping Florida rebuild, New Image Roofing teams will be deployed to the most affected regions as soon as it is safe to begin repairs.

Rapid Deployment – New Image Roofing Florida teams are on standby, ready to travel to hurricane-affected areas to begin emergency repairs. Their teams specialize in patching damaged roofs, installing temporary tarps, and providing long-term roofing solutions.

NEW IMAGE ROOFING FLORIDA 352-316-6008

Residential and Commercial Assistance – New Image Roofing Florida is equipped to handle residential and commercial properties. Their priorities are to rapidly secure buildings, prevent further water damage, and help businesses reopen quickly.

Free Inspections and Estimates – The company offers free roof inspections and damage estimates for all affected Floridians.

Experienced Hurricane Recovery Teams – With years of experience handling the aftermath of powerful storms, New Image Roofing Florida will work efficiently to secure homes, schools, businesses, and critical infrastructure.

Federal and State Resources

In the wake of Hurricane Milton, Floridians will rely on various state and federal agencies to provide essential services. Below is a list of important contacts and resources for emergency assistance, shelters, and recovery support:

Federal Emergency Management Agency (FEMA)

Website: fema.gov Phone: 1-800-621-FEMA (3362)

Services: FEMA provides disaster relief assistance, including temporary housing, emergency financial aid, and infrastructure repair.

American Red Cross

Website: redcross.org Phone: 1-800-RED-CROSS (733-2767)

Services: The Red Cross offers shelter, food, and medical support during and after disasters.

Florida Division of Emergency Management (FDEM)

Website: floridadisaster.org Phone: 850-815-4000 State Assistance Emergency Line: 1-800-342-3557 Florida Relay Service: Dial 711 (TDD/TTY)

Services: FDEM coordinates state-wide emergency response, disaster recovery, and evacuation orders.

New Image Roofing Florida

Website: newimageroofingfl.com Phone: 352-316-6008

Services: New Image Roofing Florida provides full-service emergency roof inspections, patching up damaged roofs, installing temporary tarps, and providing long-term roofing solutions. The company will also coordinate/attend adjusters meetings with your insurance agency.

Florida Power & Light (FPL)

Website: fpl.com Phone: 1-800-468-8243

Services: FPL provides power outage reporting and updates on restoration timelines.

National Flood Insurance Program (NFIP)

Website: floodsmart.gov Phone: 1-888-379-9531

Services: NFIP provides information about flood insurance policies and assistance with claims after flood damage.

Florida Department of Transportation (FDOT)

Website: fdot.gov Phone: 1-850-414-4100

Services: FDOT manages road closures and traffic conditions. They provide real-time updates about safe evacuation routes and road repairs after a storm.

Local Florida County Emergency Services

Each Florida county has emergency management teams coordinating shelters, first responders, and relief efforts. Check your county’s website for specific contact numbers and resources. At-risk counties include:

Charlotte Citrus De Soto Flagler Glades Hardee Hernando Hillsborough Manatee Pasco Pinellas Sarasota Sumter

Visit WUSF (West Central Florida’s NPR station) website for valuable local information, emergency shelter, and guidance.

Website: wusf.org

Hurricane Season Risks and Preparedness

Florida’s hurricane season runs from June 1 to November 30. Hurricane Milton is hitting just as the state braces for more potential storms. The danger doesn’t end when the hurricane passes. After a storm like Milton, communities are left vulnerable to future weather events. The risk of another hurricane striking Florida before Milton’s recovery remains high.

Weakening Infrastructure – After Milton, homes and businesses will be more susceptible to damage from weaker tropical storms or hurricanes. Unrepaired roofs and weakened structures could collapse or fail under minimal pressure.

Flooding Risks – Milton’s heavy rainfall and storm surge will saturate the ground and fill waterways. This will leave communities vulnerable to even small rain events, with the potential for additional flooding.

Power Restoration Delays – With Milton causing widespread outages, the power grid may remain unstable for weeks, making it difficult for residents to recover fully before the next storm hits.

Preparing for Future Storms – Residents must begin making plans now for the rest of hurricane season. Stock up on supplies, make sure your property is secure, and stay informed about future weather developments.

Additional Tips for Hurricane Preparedness

To ensure the safety of yourself and your loved ones, follow these guidelines when preparing for a Hurricane:

Evacuate if Ordered – Listen to local officials and immediately evacuate if you are in an evacuation zone. Delaying could put your life at risk.

Secure Your Property – Install hurricane shutters, trim trees, and secure outdoor items. Consider having your roof inspected by New Image Roofing before the storm hits.

Prepare a Disaster Kit – Include essentials like water, food, medications, flashlights, batteries, and important documents.

Stay Informed – Official sources like FEMA, FDEM, and the National Weather Service offer updates and information.

Read more about hurricane preparedness at newimageroofingatlanta.com/hurricane-preparedness-a-comprehensive-guide

Hurricane Milton Resources and Recovery

In this article, you discovered information about hurricane preparedness, potential severe damage to roofs and homes, post-hurricane emergency services and resources, and how to repair your home and roof after the storm.

Your awareness and preparedness for Hurricane Milton (and coming storms) will minimize damages and help you return to normal in the storm’s aftermath.

Lack of proactive measures and delayed action will leave you uninformed, in life-threatening situations, and severely challenged to get your home and roof repaired after a hurricane sweeps through your community.

New Image Roofing Florida – 352-316-6008

Sources: fema.gov/disaster/current/hurricane-milton climate.gov/news-features/event-tracker/hurricane-milton-rapidly-intensifies-category-5-hurricane-becoming nhc.noaa.gov/refresh/graphics_at4+shtml/150217.shtml?cone

New Image Roofing Atlanta

2020 Howell Mill Rd NW Suite 232 Atlanta, GA30318 (404) 680-0041

To see the original version of this article, visit https://www.newimageroofingatlanta.com/hurricane-milton-resources-emergency-contacts-and-recovery-assistance/

[naplesroofingny]

Disasters, both natural and man-made, can occur suddenly and lay behind devastation, relocation, and sorrow. Emergency disaster relief teams serve as the lifeline for impacted communities during these trying times also non-government emergency disaster relief team is one of the best way for disaster relief.

[leahnardo-da-veggie]

Goodbye (But not actually)

It is the first day of the rest of my life. Or perhaps it is the last. I suppose it is all a matter of perspective. In mine, the dawn hangs in the air, thick as a smoker's cough. I can taste the exhaust of the cars on the highway. It tastes of disaster, of tangled flesh and metal, of a flaming car crash.

The street I walk down is cluttered with potted plants and trees poking out from yards. At one point, a cat notices me, and stops to wind its way around my legs, narrowly avoiding leaning against my shins. I used to feed that cat, and it is with a pang of loss that I walk away. I have no food to give that cat, not anymore.

The streetlights are only just beginning to turn off, leaving the grey morning as my only source of light. I keep meandering, patiently making my way down to the highway. I have a task to get to, after all.

Part of me wonders where my emotions went. I feel… empty, for lack of a better word. Floating away like a balloon. It is an effort to overcome the lassitude that commands me to stand and watch the world go by. 

It is with the slightest tinge of relief that I come upon the great grey bridge. I stroll between cars stuck in the morning traffic jam, letting the breeze carry me down the road. Every now and then, I peer into the window of a car.

The people inside are all the same, irritated businessmen in their suits and button-up shirts, listening to the radio and grimacing at the car before them. For a split moment, I want to demand they snap out of it. I want to scream at them to get up, get out of the little compartment they are cramped in, get away from the prosaic nightmare they have worked themselves into and see the world. I want to demand they make the best of the life before them, before it is all too late.

The feeling passes soon, however, whisked away by a truck's honk. I continue moving, far faster than the vehicles trapped in their rut. I might even make it in time, I think. Not that time has any meaning anymore.

My feet do not ache, though the sun is out in full force and the asphalt sizzles with heat. It warms me to the core, stirring something within me, and at last, there is an urgency in my movement. I can see my destination, after all, my final quest before I meet my destiny.

I crawl atop the bonnet of a car, unnoticed by its occupants, and take a running leap off the side of the highway. There and then, I might well have been a bird in the sky, looking down at the cars and the buildings beneath. 

And I land, my feet bending under the impact of my fall. I want to marvel at my ability to move, but there is no time to waste. The sun is burning away dawn, and I can feel its gaze on my skin.

The airport is right before me, looming overhead with its great glass windows and lanes of taxis. I slip past them, hurrying for the arrival area.

The roof overhead does nothing to lessen the sun's impact, and I am slipping away. I wonder if I have failed; if it is too late to say one last goodbye.

Then I see her, all grown up, clutching her suitcase, passport in hand, tapping her foot at the check in counter, and all the colour in the world rushes back into me. Instinctively, I reach out to grasp her shoulder, to pat her on the back like I did so very often, but my hand goes right through her. I suppose it is a testament to the love I held for her that it stirs grief in my unbeating chest. I do not know if I arrived too late to wish her one last farewell, or if I were just in time.

Either way, I have only one thing to say. "Goodbye,” I tell her, my voice not even a whisper in the wind.

Then the dawn breaks, and a new day washes me away.

Taglist:

@coffeeangelinabox, @dorky-pals, @calliecwrites, @kaylinalexanderbooks, @shukei-jiwa

@thewingedbaron, @pluppsauthor, @cowboybrunch, @wylloblr, @possiblyeldritch @ramwritblr, @urnumber1star, @fortunatetragedy, @bigwipscholar, @ratedn

@vampirelover890, @possiblylisle, @illarian-rambling, @the-ellia-west

@finicky-felix, @evilgabe29, @glitched-dawn, @rivenantiqnerd, @dragonhoardesfandoms

@drchenquill, @everythingismadeofchaos, @owldwagitoutofyou (Anyone else who wants to get added can tell me in the comments, pm me, or send me an ask about it!)

[bobcatmoran]

So a lot of you have probably seen this image from Lahaina, Hawai'i:

And aside from the historic Waiola Church (the triangular roof on fire on the left side of the photo), you might notice that there's another large building on the right side. Those two towers are — or rather, were — part of the Lahaina Hongwanji Mission, one of the earliest Jodo-Shinshu Buddhist temples in Hawai'i, established in 1904.

The main temple building, school, and minister's residence are completely destroyed, as are the homes of many of the temple members.

They're doing an online fundraiser for relief efforts on Maui, which can be accessed here: https://hongwanjihawaii.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/08/Maui-Wildfire-Disaster-Relief-Fund-Drive.pdf

[cal-daisies-and-briars]

Cal the imagery of Eddie petrifying in this disaster has invigorated me, I'm yearning to watch him crumble to dust

🔼◀️🔽▶️🔼◀️🔽▶️🔼◀️🔽▶️🔼◀️🔽▶️🔼◀️🔽▶️🔼◀️🔽▶️🔼

Ahhh yay! Well he may recover slightly in this snippet.

Here 75 for 🔼:

---

Eventually, though, it happens. He breathes. The surface finds him; because he certainly isn’t the one to find it. 

The only problem is, when he opens his eyes, it’s dark. He has no idea where he is. And no idea how to signal for help.

▶️

Eddie gets his answer before too long. It’s a relief that might have taken him out by the knees if he’d been standing. 

They see him before he sees them. 

“HELP! HELP US!” 

Their voices echo from the top of the flooded building. Shannon’s. Christopher’s. Not Buck’s. If Eddie was clearer-headed, he might have noticed that last fact. But all he latches onto, really, is the sound of his son calling for rescue. His boy. Terrified but alive.

There’s no way to describe the sensation coursing through Eddie’s body. Something so intrinsically linked to the love he has for his son. He knows it’s different from anything in the world. He spent his childhood caring for his sisters like a pseudo-parent. He loves them, Sophia and Adriana, deeply. But he can remember one time when Sophia was in a car accident in highschool - her friend had been driving and Eddie was the one who told her she could get in the vehicle with him - half the panic had been about whether or not she’d be okay, and half had been about how much shit they’d both get in. She was fine. They both got in shit. It’s different with Chris. Eddie doesn’t care about anything else. It’s total tunnel vision. All that matters is that his son is going to be okay. 

Of course, Shannon matters, too. Their baby matters, too. Buck matters, too. He’s not insane. He just needs his arms around his son before he worries about anything else right now. His brain has zeroed in on that without permission. 

“CHRISTOPHER!” Eddie hollers out over the roar of the boat motor and the water.

“DAD!” 

“EDDIE?” 

Shannon’s voice. 

“WE’RE COMING!” Eddie calls out to them. “WE’RE ALMOST THERE! JUST HOLD ON!” 

The rest of the journey to them is a blur. Eddie’s head is full of the sound of Chris screaming for him. He hardly focuses on anything else.

They tie off the boat to a drainpipe and erect the portable rescue ladder, hooking it up over the side of the restaurant’s roof. 

“HOLD ON!” Eddie shouts up to them. “WE’RE COMING TO YOU!” 

Eddie is up the ladder before Bobby can instruct them on a game plan. He throws himself over the side of the roof and before he can even take a full breath, he’s holding Christopher. 

“You’re okay,” he breathes into his son’s hair. He’s not even that wet. “You’re safe. You’re safe.”

“I was so scared,” Christopher cries. 

“I’m so sorry, buddy. I’m so sorry you were scared.”

“Did you find Buck?” Christopher asks.

Eddie freezes. He pulls away from Chris. 

“What?” He asks.

“Eddie, he fell,” Shannon says. No. She cries. “He fell after he got us up here.”