#domestic electrical cables

[rheinwires]

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[cablesolutionsbb]

When to Call a Domestic Electrician for Safe Repairs

1. Frequent Tripping of Circuit Breakers

2. Dimming or flitting lights

3. Burning Smells or Scorch Marks

4. Electric Shocks When Using Appliances

5. Buzzing Sounds from Switches or Outfits

Read More

[crying-fantasies]

Zookeeper

Masterlist

Activating in the early morning was easy, Earth and its beautiful sunrises were more than enough to activate movement protocols to catch on to the first rays of sunshine, the apricot smell in the air, the tinted particulates of water still not settling in the dirt, birds flocking above to catch their first meal, dogs yawning in the households’ gardens or the cats stretching in the windows, this was life, it was, his armor trembled slightly by the chilly air entering all systems, followed by the unmistakable scent of your body, taking your image in his processor to his spark, snuggling his face plate over your messed up hair, making it worse by the electric pull of his field and spark; your sleep at these hours has always been the deepest, and Hound takes no offense in it, relishing in the way your arms try to loop around his neck cables, fighting to not let go, “I need to go to the crops, just let me-”, he gives into temptation, snuggling you a bit more as his engines are showered in your warmth, “okay, five more minutes”.

30 minutes go by, and he fights his way out of bed with at least five kisses on his jawline and pressure under his modesty panel as incentives to stay and a still drowsy you in the covers, he feels slightly guilty for leaving you to fight off the cold by yourself but things need to be done already, who knows if the crows are already waiting for their first fuel schedule of the day? Better to go if he doesn't want the rage of the whole gang against him or you.

Easy to say, not to realize, “Ouch”, he has to mimic your onomatopoeia of getting hurt if he wants his work partners to believe they're exacting justice over his tardiness as he fills their feeder to the max, as fast as he can so they can stop the beak attack and avoid getting injured while at it, pretty sure the vet next town will have some questions if it happens again, “ouch, I’m sorry”, his digits open the external terrarium, the aurora snakes as sleepy as you, only one raising its little head when he is noticed, taking the slithering animals and putting them in his neck cables to help it raise the temperature until the sun reaches a good heat.

Once the troublemakers are well-fed for the morning he looks at the plants, thankful as all is intact, crops growing healthy at a healthy range with no snails or insects, took long enough, but no one can deny how nice it is to partner up with the fauna, still, he does believe the lasting fear of humanity in the long run of evolution has a great part in why Mrs. Parish keeps screaming when she catches a glance of the domestic aurora snakes he adopted to control the rodent's increased population, he does feel bad for the rats and mice but it is the way of life, Hound just hopes someday the little mammals would stop assaulting his crops and finally settle in the terrarium he has already done from a few weeks ago, maybe then he could try to manage a positive agreement with them in the same way he did with the crows and the snakes, even when he still isn't sure if the snakes got their benefits in real consideration in the same way the birds did, but yeah, Hound does the best he can to provide a fair place for them.

Hound takes a glimpse at the rising sun, his vents expulsion heated air as his panels retract a little, the early morning sun is finally above, and one aurora moves more energetically so he lets it go to do the job, the snake is smart and experienced enough to move away from the alien plant that is in the center of the crops; Hound mimics the sound of the crows to say “no harm” as he points at the snake and the plant “no touch”, some look at him once their fill is completed, soon going back with their flock to impart the message, with that done he begins to tend to the most delicate plants he can handle without damaging, watching absentmindedly at the pitch of land he hasn't touched yet, maybe he could use it for more crops, or maybe a rice paddy, he can go to the local library and download some knowledge, ask Mister Alunga as he has some on his place, Hound knows that books are good and that he can download, but it is also very important to learn from the people, and mister Alunga may be a tad bit grumpy but he has more experience than most as he is an elder, oh, the crows are over him now, especially the older one, leaving a shiny pebble over his helm, if she does that, then he is forgiven, his digit does its best to give little scratches over her head, “thanks”.

Meanwhile, with coffee in hand and bleary-eyed, you can only sip on the mug while watching Hound play Disney Princess blended with Steve Irvin, and yeah, that's the alien you want to marry.

[flock-talk]

If I were to adopt a bird, how much out of cage time would it need? I work from home, so is six hours enough? Is it fine for a bird to hang around an apartment? Could I leave it at home occasionally during the evening (6-10pm), or would it get lonely?

There is no clear cut answer for this one since parrots are so dynamic with what they can and cannot tolerate. Some birds adapt fine to less out of cage time while others need someone home all the time, and some prioritize strict routines over the amount of time. In general I would say 6 hours is typically accepted by most small/ medium parrots. They’re often very active first thing in the morning, nap and roost through the middle of the day, and then become active again when foraging for dinner prior to bed. They run on 10-12 hours of daylight and then sleep the other 12-14 so you can typically get them on a consistent schedule to allow yourself that freedom in the evening without much worry . (Start their day at 6 and they’ll be ready for bed by 6pm)

A bird cannot free roam in an apartment without supervision, even the little guys are notorious for chewing through drywall, electrical cables, or trying to find nesting sites in dark small spaces and getting themselves lost or hurt. It’s best to use a large cage when someone isn’t going to be home to watch them to prevent those issues. Other than that the only concern with apartment living is their volume, it’s quite common for people to have to rehome birds or be kicked out of their apartment because of how loud they are. Parrots scream when they’re excited and happy, definitely make sure you select a species that’s screams aren’t going to cause you to lose your home (or look in to domesticated birds like pigeons that are quieter and just as affectionate!)

On the topic of volume be sure that you evaluate whether or not your work from home job is compatible with a screaming parrot. If you have to answer client calls and things like that it might not be compatible with a screaming parrot

Whether or not they get lonely is again, another very individual question. Some parrots adapt just fine to not having people around, some really struggle without the presence of another bird, others need minor assistance through things like white noise machines.

[seat-safety-switch]

Imperator Butterpants, my charge for the weekend, had treed a squirrel in the park. Normally, I would help out the dog - that’s what is humans are for - but there’s a complication. A nearby toddler birthday party would be ruined by the sight of my aunt’s Pomeranian ripping a domestic rodent in half for fun. That’s the tragedy of the commons, right there. Exactly what Plato was talking about.

As a result, I squat gently and prepare myself to pick up the dog in a caring embrace. This feels natural, comforting. I am communing with my ancestors who tamed his ancestors, and in a moment I will have experienced the sensation of another living thing obeying my demands. Nothing doing. Butterpants turns around, snaps at my face, and dislodges my 3M Tekk P100 respiratory-particulate-protection bayonet fitting mask slightly. We are going home, I declare to a dog that does not understand English.

Luckily for me, I have prepared a vessel for transporting the dog. It is a sidecar consisting of an old bumper car, hastily welded with leftover Home Depot fence strapping (don't worry, I ground off most of the galvanization) to the side of a Razor Pocket Mod child's electric scooter. Well, I say "child's," but we both know that's some bullshit that I trot out to make the cop think it's impossible that I break the speed limit on this pink piece of plastic. In actuality, I know that there is no way that the officer is tuned-in enough to electronic engineering to realize that the several hundred pounds of lithium ion phosphate pouch batteries ziptied together under the seat is easily enough stored energy to launch this thing into low earth orbit should I decide to whack the throttle bare open. Plus, it means I can ride in the bike lane, which is good. Have you seen what kind of maniacs drive cars?

Despite what I just told you, I pin the throttle nonetheless, knowing that the aggregate resistance of the battery cables momentarily turning to a liquid will act as a sort of dynamic throttle control. We are off, both figuratively and literally. You might have encountered in the past a dog wearing "doggles," which is a portmanteau of the word "dog" and "goggles." Eye protection for dogs is absolutely critical at these kinds of velocities, and it is for that reason that I have placed a welding mask on the muzzle of my aunt's dog, protecting him from impacts with bugs, gravel, and other multi-use-pathway users.

We get home in quite a hurry, so much so that I have to use my neighbour's garden hose to extinguish the foam-rubber tires bonded to the rear hub motor. Imperator Butterpants is dazed initially, having reached a land speed formerly only attempted by dogs named Laika, but soon recovers. And, hey! We got that squirrel after all, although I'm pretty sure I'll have to peel it off of the welding mask and run it through a strainer before I can put it in with his Ol' Roy.

[theclaravoyant]

if you get lost (you can always be found) - buddietommy (Rated T)

When Tommy faces the daunting task of parenthood, he reaches out to Buck and Eddie for help. Could this be a second chance at the future cut short between them, and the family he's always longed for?

AN ~ merry christmas to @miriellesandthegiantpeach <3 written for the @buddietommydaily exchange!!

Relationships: Eddie x Buck x Tommy,

Tags: Accidental Baby Acquisition, Established Buddie, Past Bucktommy, Pre-Buddietommy, Hurt/Comfort, Mild Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Adjacent/UA (Canon Divergence) CW: contains mild references / implied domestic violence (in Tommy's past). please read with care.

title from Home - Phillip Phillips

read on AO3 (~5000wd)

if you get lost (you can always be found)

Well. This is not where he was expecting his evening to be headed.

He was expecting paperwork. Paperwork and drudgery and the frankly ridiculous amount of bureaucracy that comes with death. He was expecting to spend his night drinking and playing far too much Billy Joel and arguing with his cousins about selling Nick's estate.

Instead, he's getting -

Olivia Beth Kinard.

His name is on her and everything, on a little card attached to her swaddle. It isn't his name, obviously. It's hers. It was Nick's - She was Nick's. Nick's and Jaimie's and now...

“Is there really not anyone else?”

The lawyer exchanges a glance with the social worker, and Tommy realises how that sounds.

“It's not because I don't want her,” he swears. “I just – Nick and I haven't been close in a long time. Isn't there somebody who knows her who wants her?”

What he really wants to say, all of thirty seconds into looking at her scrunchy sleepy little face, is I can't imagine a world where she's not wanted.

“That's... not really how it works, Mr Kinard,” the lawyer points out. “You were named in the will and are her nearest biological relative. Of course, you can decline, but in the intervening time while we investigate the possibility of other family being able to take her, Olivia would go into foster...”

Tommy shakes his head, and the lawyer looks a little relieved at not having to pull out the full spiel.

“That won't be necessary,” he insists. “Please. Just. Give me an hour to make a call and get together some supplies.”

Somehow it's closer to four hours later by the time he finds himself at a diner with a baby carrier on the table, a grocery bag stuffed to the brim with nappies and bottles and pouches of food at his feet, and his useless brick of a phone staring up at him. Judging him. Laughing at him. Who on Earth is he calling? What was he thinking? He can't handle a baby.

Maybe he should just call DCP back after all.

Or maybe he should call -

No.

No, it wouldn't be fair to show up on his doorstep after all this time and beg back in. Not after the way they'd left things – not even if he knows for a fact that the kids in Evan's life make everything better. His face lights up when he sees them. He's got a potty training setup even in that bachelor pad of a loft. He's probably changed more diapers in the time they were dating than Tommy has in his whole life. He wouldn't have spent half an hour pacing the baby food before realising the age recommendations for the different ones are right there on the packages. He'd know what to do.

And God, Tommy would give anything to watch him do it. Just thinking of Evan makes the wound burn raw again; the hissing, spitting loose ends like sheared electric cables, of the future he'd cut short between them. He's such a coward. But for Olivia's sake, he can't be a coward anymore. Even if there's no future there anymore, even if Evan is mad enough to let Maddie hang draw and quarter him like she probably wants to, there's no way Evan wouldn't help a child. There's no way he could look at Livvy and not melt.

Okay. So he's still a coward, and this little one's his shield. But at least he's a coward with a plan now.

“Sorry, Evan,” he mutters, and hits dial.

-

Buck hits send on the email, and sighs. He raises his beer bottle, and Eddie clinks his against it.

“To the loft.”

“To the loft!”

“Truly the end of an era.”

It's a little bittersweet, sure; that place has been where he's laid his head for more than five years now. It's the longest he's stayed in one place since he was a kid. He has good memories there – and no shortage of painful ones too. Even still, Buck can't keep the smile off his face, or the sparkle from his eyes as Eddie pulls up the latest episode of Secretos del Corazón on the recorder. He still likes to pretend he's not as invested as he is, but apparently this week there's a kidnapping and the reveal of Sofia's baby daddy, and Buck just knows he's going to have opinions about it. Opinions that Buck is going to hear about all night. In bed. Together.

Sometimes he really can't believe his life.

“Are you ready?” Eddie asks. What he means is don't interrupt this one, and Buck loves that for him. For both of them.

“Hang on, hang on.” He jumps up to fetch the popcorn from the kitchen bench, and flicks off the lights on his way back. “Ambience, right?”

Eddie rolls his eyes, with an inescapably fond smile of his own.

Buck is about to sit back down, when his phone rings.

“Ignore it.” Eddie waves it away, almost bouncing in his seat. “Secretos time.”

But Buck can't help but stare dumbfounded at the phone. The name on the screen strikes him like lightning. He'd never removed the blue heart after his name, or changed the contact picture from the selfie of the two of them kissing on a hike at sunset. The memory of watching him walk away plays in his head like it was yesterday and he could swear his heart skips a beat. Maybe the ghost of the loft is coming for him after all.

“... it's Tommy,” he manages, and Eddie forgets the television entirely.

“What? Answer it then!”

“I can't answer it, you answer it!”

“Me?”

“You answer my phone all the time!”

“Not when it's Tommy!”

“Please?”

“Fine!”

Eddie holds up a finger and slides the bar across. Buck holds his breath, and before Eddie can open his mouth to speak there's that beautiful, familiar voice.

“Evan.”

He sounds shaken. Heartbroken. Scared.

“Evan. Please pick up. I'm so sorry. I need your help. I – I didn't know who else to call.”

Eddie passes the phone over, and grabs his jacket and Buck's and his keys.

“Tommy? Where are you? We're on our way.”

-

By the time Eddie and Evan arrive at the diner, Olivia is crying and Tommy's rapidly wearing out his welcome. He rocks and bounces like he thinks he's supposed to; he's tried offering to feed her; he doesn't know how to burp her; nothing helps. Nothing helps, except the flood of relief he gets when he finally lays eyes on them. They were together when he called, because of course they were. They're together together now, apparently, and it makes perfect sense, and call him a selfish bastard but he still can't bring himself to regret calling.

How could he, when Evan sweeps Olivia from his arms and works his magic. He bounces and babbles to her until she's babbling back, and sure, it's late in a poorly lit diner and he's avoiding eye contact like the plague, but he's glowing like he was born for this.

How could he, when Eddie's soft brown eyes find his.

“You okay, man?”

You're okay.

“Yeah,” Tommy chokes. “It's been a long day.”

Eddie beckons him back into the booth and it's way too late for coffee, but his night's shot anyway so why not. He downs a cup and starts to explain, walking backwards through the grocery store to the social worker, the will, the call, the crash. His brother and his sister-in-law had been killed in a car crash. That's what had started all this. He hadn't been on the scene, but it's not like he hasn't seen enough of them to imagine...

“Hey, where's your truck?” Eddie asks, as Tommy fights off visions of scalding asphalt and broken glass.

“In the lot across the street. Why?”

“You're coming back with us tonight. You're going to have some proper food, and a shower, and hopefully a sleep. In the morning we'll call a lawyer and a real estate agent and your tax accountant cousin and whoever else but for tonight, let's just focus on getting you home. Buck, you can drive the Hilux?”

“Hm? Yeah.”

Evan circles back down the isle toward their booth, and finally gets the guts to look Tommy in the eyes. He looks hurt, sure, but more concerned, and Tommy's never been more grateful he met the man. He doesn't dare speak as he carefully trades the settling baby for his car keys; he tries not to think about how Evan's gentle hands linger. How his eyes drag over his lips for a moment when they're close, and the air feels heavy.

“Beth was your mother's name,” Evan says.

“Yeah. I didn't name her, but...”

“It's sweet.”

For a moment, they're standing in another life. One where Tommy didn't leave, and Evan didn't let him. Then Evan clears his throat and drops his eyes and walks away, and it's Tommy's turn to be the one to watch him go.

-

Buck is already awake by the time Tommy stirs. He's dug out the baby bjorn from his days babysitting a smaller Jee-Yun, and is mumbling Big Red Car to himself, and to Olivia, as he bops around the kitchen getting breakfast. Which for her is just milk, but still.

He smiles at Tommy's familiar grumble, his muss of curls sticking every which way as he drags himself into a sitting position.

“I told you, Eddie's couch is so comfortable, isn't it?”

“Never doubted you,” Tommy promises, although his eyes fall to Olivia immediately. “Oh – thanks, I can -”

“Don't worry about it,” Buck assures him. “She's an early riser, just like- just like me.”

No, he wasn't about to say just like her dad. He hasn't even known her twenty four hours yet. And her dad is dead. And there's so many reasons why it's the wrong thing to even think about saying.

Tommy swallows something down; maybe he's about to point all this out. But he doesn't.

“Mind if I make a coffee?”

“Sure. Make me one too? There's instant above the microwave or a HILDY in the nook there if you want.”

Tommy scoffs. Like everyone who knows Eddie does. “Eddie does not own a HILDY.”

“I bought it for him. Years ago, as a joke.” Buck feels his ears blush against his will. He should be getting used to this by now. Only, Tommy blushes too this time, a little bit.

“'As a joke'?” he repeats.

“Yeah. I know.”

Before they can wade further into the Eddie of it all, they're interrupted by another set of footsteps. Then -

“Tommy?!”

Christopher's face lights up like it's Christmas morning for a moment, but then he glances from Buck to Tommy and back and his grin turns into a frown of confusion.

“Wait. I thought you broke up?”

“We did,” Buck explains, and it's tough to find the words, ��but, um - we're still... friends?”

He grimaces, struggling to find the words. The way he'd felt alone in that kitchen with the rug pulled out from under him didn't feel like friends. But we're both self sabotaging insecure assholes who happen to have reunited in a time of need, now he's crashing on our couch and I kind of want to ask him to stay there, feels like a bit much, too.

Tommy sucks a breath in.

“I called your dad and Buck because I needed help,” he clarifies. “And they came and helped me. For which I'm very grateful, but really, I should go.”

“Wait,” Buck interrupts, before Tommy can so much as lift his bottom off the couch. And wait he does, and Buck feels something pass between them just like it had the other night. Whatever it is, it compels him to push on: “... At least stay for that coffee? Chris hasn't even really met Livvy yet. And we've all got the day off - maybe we could go down to Babies R Us, get you set up with a crib and everything.”

“First I've gotta call the bank, the hospital, and Eddie's estate guy.”

“Right.” Buck sobers. “Stay for that, then.”

At least he can make a mean casserole. He hears those come in handy, while grieving.

-

So Tommy stays.

He doesn't so much stay as not-leave, at first. Honestly, it's nice to have people to help keep him fed and laundered while he checks out funeral homes or gets a little too drunk and hollers Piano Man at the top of his lungs. It's nice to watch Howie and Maddie bounce Olivia on their knees; to have Eddie and Evan get up in the middle of the night when he can't; to have Hen or Bobby swing by the store when he's out of diapers. Which happens a lot. Babies go through a lot of diapers.

(It's nice to have someone to come home to again, too, but he's trying not to think too hard about that).

Then he keeps coming back, as more and more he finds that the good crib and the good bjorn and the good formula and the good everything is over at South Bedford. They've had a lifetime of family to funnel it all there; old toys from Denny and Christopher and Jee, their favourite brands of pacifiers and teething chews, their favourite swaddle techniques. Advice and love and Lord, the gadgets. He has to admit, he loves a gadget.

“This thing is a life saver.” Tommy all but kowtows to the bottle cleaner, watching as it works its magic to get Olivia’s bottles fresh and sterilised. Brushes and nozzles move around with an efficiency it would take all night with manual scrubbing to achieve; it's like a tiny little car wash in there. Maybe it's the baby brain, but he's pretty sure it's a miracle.

“It’s awesome, isn’t it?” Evan agrees. “We’ll need this one for the mini-Jee, but I’ll send you the specs if you like.”

Something about the way he says it tugs at Tommy's heart. (Hope?) He looks up. Evan's fingers play nervously with a little toggle on top of the machine, and he looks for all the world like there's something he wants to say. Tommy knows those big deep eyes too well not too; Evan's heart has always been on his sleeve.

Unless. Tommy wills him to say. Unless you want to keep using this one.

“I... hear there's a sale on,” is what comes out.

“Oh, cool,” Tommy forces himself to say.

-

Buck's restlessness is loud that night. He’s flat on his back, staring at the ceiling. He’s not even moving much or making a sound, but at the same time somehow he's buzzing like a power saw. Eddie suspects it has something to do with a certain firefighter pilot and his impromptu niece-daughter who have taken up residence in their living room.

“MmmBuck?” Eddie raises an eyebrow.

“’m fine,” Buck mumbles noncommittally.

“You thinking about Tommy?”

He doesn't respond, at first. The sense of buzzing sort of... quiets.

“It's okay if you are, you know,” Eddie promises.

“No, it's not,” Buck objects. “He – we broke up and it's weird that it's not weird. Isn't it? I can't just go 'round inviting people to stay in your house.”

“My house? Since when?” Eddie laughs, just for a moment. He turns onto his side and pulls himself onto Buck's chest, sobering at Buck's beleaguered expression. “Okay, first of all – I was the one who did the inviting. Second of all, you and I both know this is as much your house as it is mine, it practically has been since I met you. Thirdly. I love you, Evan. And if you love Tommy then... I'm sure we can figure something out.”

Evan unlocks something in his chest. The pining ache, the breakup, the upending revelation of it all. The feeling like he could finally take a breath. If you love Tommy? He certainly thinks about him when he's not there. Sometimes it feels like he never stopped. His concerns are Tommy's concerns – are Livvy's concerns. He can see a future, clear as day there. It's just... Eddie and Chris are there too. Can he want that much? Eddie seems fine with it. Maybe he can.

“I know you don’t believe in like… fate,” he explains at last, and honestly, he feels silly himself saying it out loud, but Eddie stays silent, prepared to hear him out on this one. “But I’ve been thinking; what if this is the universe, giving us a second chance.”

“I don’t know about the universe,” Eddie offers, “but the man inherited a baby and you were his first call. That’s not nothing, Buck.”

He gives him a brief, gentle kiss, and settles back onto the bed tucked against Buck's shoulder, and he adds -

“You were mine too, you know.”

And it's decided. Buck's going to ask him to stay.

-

It's been a couple of weeks now, and Tommy likes to thinks he's picked up a couple things. Like, he's getting the hang of the sway-rock-bounce rhythm that works best for her. He can check the milk temperature, and the baby temperature (apparently they don't self regulate well, whose idea was that), and he can change the diaper. He can tell when she's supporting herself well and when she needs help and honestly, the flush of pride he feels whenever she rolls over is a little embarrassing. It makes him want to write a letter to every early parent he's ever met, and apologise for failing to respond with the appropriate enthusiasm to this stuff.

All told, he's come a long way, and considering he'd never planned on having a baby in his life he likes to think he's handling the learning curve pretty well, actually. Sometimes he even dares to think he's doing Nick and Jaimie proud. Sometimes he can see his little brother in her smile.

“'Cause I guess I'm your dad now, Livvy,” he murmurs, over the world's tiniest spoonful of apple sauce. “Somebody's got to be, right?”

She gurgles, and whacks herself in the face with her own apple-sauce coated hand, because of course she does. She doesn't understand what a dad is, or a mom, or a car or a crash or that she's not alone – not that, never alone. She doesn't understand that he would die for her.

Wow. Having kids is intense.

He sighs, and dips a teething stick into the apple sauce for himself. It's not bad. A little bland, maybe, but apparently he's not supposed to go messing around with crazy flavours like cinnamon or yoghurt just yet. And as he chomps he pulls up the web page Activities to Try With Your Baby: Six Months. He scrolls through, contemplating several they've already been toying with and his eye catches on a paragraph about the development of proprioception and why babies like to 'fly'.

So sue him.

“Wanna try flying, Livvy? Ready?”

He starts off with a gentle little bounce. Then a little, little, big bounce - in reality only a few extra inches, and he's holding on the whole time - and Olivia giggles. Tommy feels the smile break out across his face.

“Oh, you like that do you? Let's go again.”

Little, little, big bounce. Little, little, biiiiiig bounce. She's flying, and this has never felt so easy and simple and meant to be. His little girl is happy and he thought of it all by himself. He even gets up off the couch and starts walking a lap of the room with her, lifting her up a little more and a little more each time until she's sailing over his head – still safe in his hands of course – and she tosses her tiny fists up and down and shrieks with delight.

And then with fear, and it's the worst sound he's ever heard.

It all happened so fast: both of them in clouds of sheer bliss, and then he trips on the carpet or one of her toys and it's only a split second before he catches himself and her and everything's fine and he plops onto the couch with her cradled against his chest and everything is fine but she won't stop screaming. He's made a mistake. She screams until she throws up apple sauce and teething biscuits all over his shirt, and then digs deeper and screams even more, as if to let the whole world know that she's scared. And that Tommy did it to her, all by himself.

-

“Go for Buck.”

“You need to find Tommy. Right now.”

Maddie's voice is tight – near panicked. Buck's heart drops through his stomach. He freezes right in the way of the tomatoes and upon catching his expression, Eddie drops the onion he's examining; all eyes on Buck.

“What? Did something happen? Is Liv-”

“Olivia's fine,” Maddie promises, despite said baby scream-crying her tiny lungs out in the background. “Something happened while they were playing and freaked Tommy out. He called me and told me to take her to the hospital so I am but... he's not in a good place, Evan. Something's really wrong.”

This time, Evan cuts through him like a knife. Eddie's already prying the grocery basket from his hand and herding Buck back toward the door.

“Did- Did he say where he was going?” Buck manages.

“No.” On the other end of the phone, Maddie lets out a breathy, nervous, almost bitter sort of laugh. “I think you've got yourself another fugitive.”

Everything Maddie went through to make her describe herself like that; it flashes through Buck's mind and sets his heart racing. Everything he knows Tommy went through – is probably still going through, in some ways, especially with his brother so recently passed – turns his stomach. It seems so obvious now that he thinks about it. That of course, he'd struggle with fatherhood after such a troubled relationship with his own father. He just hadn't been expecting it to hit so suddenly, so strongly. Then again, he knows all too well, the mind and the heart work in mysterious ways.

Like now, when inspiration strikes him out of the blue.

“Look after Livvy,” Buck says, “I think I know where he is. I'll call you tonight. Pinky swear.”

“Pinky swear.”

He hangs up, and snatches the keys off of Eddie.

“Where are we going?” Eddie asks.

“Call it gut instinct.”

Eddie hates calling it that, but he doesn't object. He just swings up into the passenger seat, and not for the first time Buck contemplates how lucky he is to have a partner who follows almost his every whim. Even if it means jumping on the 105 with a driver so near out of his mind with worry it seems to have circled back around into painstaking clarity and white hot determination.

He can only hope he turns out to be right.

-

The sky is clear, the sun bright and warm on Tommy's face as he sits atop the roof – a viewing platform of sorts – at the Harrison Airfield hangar. Keys to his favourite chopper sit clumped in a pile on the tiny metal table before him, next to a pretty average americano in a paper cup. His head's not clear enough to fly. Even in this state he's not that stupid. So he takes a deep breath of the breeze and wonders what on earth he's going to tell Evan and Eddie. Maybe nothing. Maybe he should just keep driving, head up to Colorado. There's probably something in wilderness rescue he could be doing up there and Livvy? Livvy would be safer here. Happy here. With dads who would love her and know what they're doing and who would never, ever hurt her.

He can still remember finding Nick hiding under the bed when they were kids – and once they got too big for that, hanging out in the garage even in the heat or the snow, just so that they weren't inside. He remembers microwave dinners, being petrified of the sound of his own rusty old screen door. The feeling of a leather belt against his skin. He remembers screaming and crying because he couldn't help it, then because it might help. It never did. Most of all, he remembers what it's like to be scared of his father. He could never do that to her again. Not for one second. Olivia deserves so much better.

She deserves better than me.

His phone, too, sits on the poor excuse for a coffee table with the message typed out, unsent. He backspaces.

Please love my little girl. I have to go.

He backspaces again.

I love you.

The door to the rooftop flies open and he jumps. He whips around, to see a very worried Evan and Eddie bursting out onto the concrete.

“Don't do it,” Evan breathes, like the words are bursting from his chest. Then he looks from Tommy – safely, if miserably, sitting and halfheartedly drinking a coffee well back from the roof's edge – and he looks if anything, confused. “What are you doing?”

“Contemplating my navel,” Tommy replies. “And the security at this place, apparently.”

“Funny,” Eddie snips back. “Walk out on everyone you love, do you?”

He steps in front of Evan like he can protect him from Tommy's prickliness and Tommy loves that, he loves them, it's what Evan deserves. His heart aches with it. And it's a low blow, but he can't say it's not deserved even as he rails against it.

“I didn't ask you to follow me.”

“You don't have to ask,” Eddie pushes. “Maddie did. Because she's worried about you. Because she cares about you, Tommy.”

You idiot.

“Yeah, well, maybe she shouldn't. Her stupid decisions aren't on me.”

“And what about Nick then, hm? Did he make a stupid decision, trusting you with his daughter?”

Savage, he should say. That's uncalled for.

But what comes out is -

“Yes! Of course he did! I left him behind, why on earth would he think I wouldn't do the same to her too?! I'm a coward, okay? I'm a coward. And I run when I get scared. Abby. Evan. Nick. I always run. That's what I'm doing here, I'm avoiding my problems like I always do. Livvy deserves better than that, so why don't you two go on home to her and leave me to it?”

It feels like ripping a scar open. It runs so much deeper than he'd thought. Walking out on Livvy didn't start with Evan, didn't start with Abby, it stared with Nick. It started with enlisting as soon as he could and leaving his little brother in the dust, to survive their father alone.

“So which is it?”

Evan interrupts this train of thought.

“What?”

“Are you cutting and running? Or are you leaving because you love her so much you think she deserves better than you?”

In a parallel world, they're standing in Evan's kitchen. Or maybe in his hall, if he'd had the heart to chase him back then.

“I love her,” Tommy promises. “More than anything.”

“Then don't leave.”

Evan nudges past Eddie, and comes to kneel by Tommy, so Tommy can't avoid his face. Tommy does his best to do so anyway.

“You know,” Evan says. “When I was a kid, I thought Maddie had abandoned me. For years I thought she'd run off with her boyfriend even though we'd always promised to leave Hershey together. Turns out Doug was an abusive dick and Maddie gave me her only means of escape to get me out of there. She loved me more than I could ever understand. I think Nick knew you loved him, too.”

He scoffs. “I wasn't as selfless as all that.”

“Not the point,” Evan assures him. “The point is, he left you his child. His most beloved thing on Earth. You must have done something right for him to do that, Tommy, and if you can't trust yourself to see that – trust him.”

“Exactly,” Eddie agrees. “I mean, Buck must have told you about my Will?”

Evan blinks and glances back at him, like he hasn't seen the parallels in this to his own lesson. Tommy frowns. Chris has always been such a part of Evan that Tommy hadn't really thought about the ins and outs of it. How there's so much love there, and trust, even despite going through the tsunami together and crying in front of him about Eddie being shot and going no contact during the lawsuit and all the things Evan feels ashamed of... It's not the same as making his own daughter cry, but it's not not the same either. And Maddie; she and Evan are so close now, too. It's impossible to imagine there was ever that sword hanging over them.

Not to mention, Tommy himself and Evan. Why had he called that night from the diner, if he didn't want to fix things?

Why had Evan and Eddie chased him out here, if not because they believe he's worth chasing?

Evan's words form a lump in his throat.

If you can't trust yourself to see that – trust him.

“I know it's scary,” Evan assures him. “Hell. It's terrifying. Just ask Eddie about the early days with Chris, he's got some horror stories. Or Maddie and Jee. That's why she called me, you know. She knows what it's like to feel like you're bad for your kid. But you're not, Tommy. You're not.”

Hot tears sting his eyes, for the first time in a long time. He can't imagine Maddie feeling like this. Or Eddie. Or Evan. Nobody in the world deserves to feel this awful except for him.

(Maybe not even him. And that's why she called. And that's why they're here.)

Tommy tries to swallow past the tears, and meet Evan's eyes at last. They're big and blue and tearful too and he feels embarrassingly, beautifully pathetic as Evan reaches up to trail his fingers along his cheek. Slowly, ever so gently, he raises up on his knees and follows his touch with a kiss.

“Stay, Tommy,” he insists. “Do the brave thing, and stay.”

[eaglesnick]

“While the invisible hand looks after the private sector, the invisible foot kicks the public sector to pieces.”  - Herman E. Daly

The National Grid's chief executive, John Pettigrew, has stated that Heathrow Airport had sufficient power from two remaining substations during the recent shutdown caused by a substation fire. Heathrow Airport’s management has deputed this claim.

Such a row was inevitable, as neither side wants to be held economically responsible for the chaos that ensued, and the massive compensation claims this embarrassing incident is bound to produce.

Having heard one commentator say the  National Grid was a privately owned company, I became curious as to who, exactly, owned this vital part of or national infrastructure, and whether, like Heathrow Airport itself, it was mainly foreign owned.

Only in Britain could we complicate things to such a degree that it is almost impossible to understand who does what within the electricity supply system.

The principle operator of the National Grid is the National Energy System Operator (NSEO) obtained by the government in 2024, and thought to be worth £630 million. This government owned business functions primarily as a management and operational entity rather than owning or maintaining physical infrastructure. This may well account for its very low value.

The actual ownership of physical pylons and high-voltage cables in the UK is divided among Transmission Network Operators (TNOs), based on geographical regions:  England and Wales, Southern Scotland and Northern Scotland.

The TNO for England, worth £40 billion, is listed on the London Stock Exchange, and made an operating  profit of £4.47 million 2023/24.

The Southern Scottish TNO is worth £70 billion, is mainly Spanish owned, and made a reported profit of £1.2 billion for year ending December 2023.

Northern Scotland TNO, worth £20 billion, is listed on the London Stock Exchange and made a net profit of £1 billion for financial year 2023.

To complicate matters further, a totally different set of companies own the generation plant that supplies the electricity to the power cables owned buy the TNO’s. Companies such as French EDF, Spanish owned Scottish Power, etc..

We have yet another set of companies at the regional level, known as Distribution Network Operators (DNOs)   These entities own and operate the cables that deliver electricity from the national transmission system to independent sub-grid operators. Basically, these businesses are responsible for the cables in the street that we are all connected to.  Needless to say, these companies are privately owned, often by foreign shareholders: American, Chinese and Spanish, being some of the larger shareholders.

On top of this layer of companies are the Interconnect Operators (IOs). This group of companies own and  manage the high-voltage transmission lines that connect the UK's electricity grid to other countries' grids, thereby facilitating international electricity trading.  Many of these companies are internationally owned.

Finally, we have the Energy companies you and I have dealings with – British Gas, EDF, Octopus etc. These companies compete in the domestic market offering the consumer various services and tariffs. Again many of these are foreign owned.

Once upon a time, in a land time has now forgot, the UK had a unified system for electricity generation and supply. Before the privatisation of the electricity industry in the 1990s, the sector was largely centralized. In those halcyon days ALL profit went to the government and was used for the benefit of the people.

Privatisation, and the accompanying slicing and dicing of the UK electricity generation and distribution services, wherein each sector takes a cut of the profits, has resulted in the UK having some of the most expensive domestic electricity prices in the world. 

As complicated as our power generation and supply is when looked at on paper, the underlying rational is simple – the maximisation of profit regardless of cost to the consumer.

[trans-beast]

Computer biology

Computers and similar pieces of modern tech have tons of wires, circuits and cables among other things that all need to fit together just right in order to function. They are powered by electricity and have innards that can be very fragile if not handled properly.

There is an entire network of delicate innards that transmit electrical pulses from one spot to another, much like neurons within a human brain. If something malfunctions, the cause could be all kinds of things, be it damage or alterations to the inner workings of their mechanical nervous system, or internal errors within the ephemeral digital mind’s eye that is the internet, programs and the virtual plane upon the monitor as a whole. A bit like how a brain can be damaged from direct physical damage or tampering, or from trauma that comes from events that don’t leave bruises.

If not properly cared for, computers can get “injured” or “sick”. They can catch a virus if you don’t take the proper precautions when rooting through parts of the internet that are “unclean” or “contaminated”. Like rooting through garbage and choosing not to sanitize anything.

If a computer works too hard, it can overheat and shut sown. People also have a habit of doing that when they get heatstroke. If made to stay turned on for too long, the computer may begin to slow down. Sleep mode doesn’t fix the problem, just puts it off til later, like how one might nod off into microsleep after prolonged periods of sleep deprivation.

Your organs don’t work so well if the veins and arteries don’t plug into ‘em. Moving the position of some of your arteries just a few centimeters to the left may be catastrophic, or it could be negligible. Some wires in your devices might cause very little change if they get a bit loose, but depending on which wire and where, it could also render a device more sensitive or in need of repair.

Therefore, technology is a subcategory of domesticated organism, and it’s absolutely normal and essential I light incense for the 2DS I lost as a little kid.

RIP to my pokeball pouch that I kept my 2DS and many DS games in, you were well-loved before you were tragically lost at the airport when I was a kid 😔

[allthecanadianpolitics]

Promoters unveiled the first proposed offshore wind project for Nova Scotia in Halifax on Wednesday.Nova East Wind wants to install 20 to 25 floating wind turbines 25 kilometres off Goldboro on the province's Eastern Shore and supply up to 400 megawatts of electricity to the province's power grid by the end of the decade.

The company is a partnership between majority owner SBM Offshore, a global ocean energy service company based in Amsterdam, and developer DP Energy of Ireland.

Ambroise Wattez, SBM director of project development, told reporters the project will cost between $1 billion and $1.5-billion.

The electricity is intended for domestic consumption to replace energy currently generated by Nova Scotia Power's coal-fired plants, which must close by 2030. The electricity would be transported along the ocean bottom by an undersea cable. The route follows an abandoned offshore gas pipeline corridor. [...]

Continue Reading.

Tagging: @politicsofcanada

[1004sface]

TV Guide 1997.01.23 - 'Solving the H.O.T. Syndrome' (pt. 1)

Scans credit: hot.dataclub.net (but the opening section is missing!) · part 2, part 3

[Measuring their popularity]

1,000 fan letters in a day

Companies scrambling to cast them in commercials

The 5-member boy group H.O.T., who after "Warrior's Descendants" are furthering their popularity with "Candy", are gaining 5 times the popularity of a solo artist with their individual characters, good looks, and exceptional talents.

In a single day, over 1,000 fan letters rush to their company's office. They're the sole group where posts related to them gather explosive amounts views on PC communication networks like HiTEL, Chollian, and Nownuri. They've dominated the net to the point where finding posts about other celebrities is near-impossible. Not only is their every move both on-stage and off shared, but rumors and guesses about the group are prevalent too. A fanclub on PC communication fanclub "Oh Bang Jang Gun" meticulously provides news about H.O.T. and also serves the role of leading public opinion.

There were a few instances where Seo Taiji and Boys released new music after eight to nine months of silence and livened up PC communication, but H.O.T. are the first singers since them to integrate themselves into the public view. H.O.T. are also setting audience attendance records for public live broadcasts and events. Not just in Seoul, but also in other districts are H.O.T. gathering audiences ranging from 500 to over 1,000 people, even though they lack an official fanclub. During the MBC Starry Night public broadcasts last December that toured Korea's major cities, H.O.T.'s popularity was unrivaled. Particularly at the Daegu stop, H.O.T. fans flocking in roves waiting for the group's appearance led to two deaths and a number of injuries. Upon hearing the news, H.O.T. had to cancel the performance and hurry back to Seoul.

Damin Planning is the company in charge of H.O.T's portrait rights. The company says that "H.O.T. postcards and posters are so short on supply we can't sell enough of them." Companies that focus on celebrity portrait rights like Wi Productions, Star Focus, and Pudaim are operating in large numbers domestically. These companies produce merchandise targeted towards primary and middle schoolers like postcards and posters, and according to them H.O.T.-related products sell three to four times as much as the few top class solo singers. 

In the commercial industry, advertisers are picking H.O.T. as their "number 1 target." Offers are piling up from over 20-30 companies, and the group have already received down payments of $150 to $250 million won from companies they've signed with. Their appearance fees have been reaching the sky.

"Candy" is dominating the charts of the big 3 TV stations' music programs, and it's the same on music-focused cable channels like KMTV, M.net, and Downtown. It doesn't seem like there's anything in the music industry that can stop H.O.T.'s rise.

[Dance & Music]

Comical motions, "double hammer dance" fever

A sweet, melodic change to their singing style

The boys of H.O.T. have reigned the streets as famous dancers since high school—it's no wonder their choreography is nothing short of extravagant. The members have 5 at least to 9 years of experience at most, and they favor hip hop dance the most.

Right after their debut, H.O.T. offered a stunning performance in the form of "Warrior's Descendants", whose choreography contains 3-4 high level techniques. A hip-hop based group dance with many twisting movements, the main point then was the "fan dance." The five members would dance using isolating motions, then suddenly fall down and spin on their knees. Next was Jang Woohyuk's "eagle dance", a type of electric boogie (in which one follows the beat with slow movements). The movement, like the spread out wings of an eagle, conveys a tremendous strength.

In the follow-up track, "Candy", Moon Heejun presented the "power racer", while Jang Woohyuk presented the "hammer dance"—the key point is the "double hammer dance", which Heejun and Woohyuk perform together. A creative "needle dance" (imitating the motion of being shot by a needle) also shows up here and then. The comical hammer-hit movements that seem to recoil to the person next to them, which match the song's cute mood, have also been key factors in H.O.T.'s rise to popularity. Back in "Warrior's Descendants", H.O.T hit our ears with a unique assortment of raps—Tony's nasally English rap, Kangta's so called "Jeong Joo-young style" twangy rap, and Jang Woohyuk's rock-style shouting built variety and tension. But unlike "Warrior's Descendants", which stood out for its intensity, "Candy" puts softness above everything else. As Kangta and Moon Heejun lead vocally, all of the members contribute to the vocals and rapping, building a solid harmony.

[Fashion]

A flashy, candy-colored pastel style

Mittens and overalls trending big

The promotions of "Warrior's Descendants" had all 5 members wear the same hip hop-inspired, black-colored street fashion. But with "Candy", the group's made a change by using colorful palettes.

This "candy fashion" has recently gotten popular with the young generation, and is the newest fashion item selling like hotcakes.

When a star is born, it's natural for their hairstyle, fashion, and every little move to start a trend. Moon Heejun's sun cap and the mittens and overalls H.O.T. wear have boomed in popularity, thus creating the name "candy fashion" or "H.O.T. fashion."

Like the name implies, "candy fashion" puts candy colors, i.e. bright and cute pastels like pink, orange, and chartreuse on artificial mink to give a soft, comforting feel. The jumpers worn by the group are mostly popular with girls, probably on account of their colorful hues. But individual items like Moon Heejun's sun cap, Jang Woohyuk's bucket hat, Kangta's bag, as well as all five members' oversized mittens, are in with teens regardless of gender.

H.O.T.'s fashion items can be seen from shops in Shinchon, Dongsung-dong, and Myeong-dong, all the way to handcarts, with names like "the Jang Woohyuk hat" or "the Moon Heejun hat". "The doll-shaped claw pins on Jang Woo-hyuk's hat aren't being sold just on hats, but also as stand-alone hair pins," says a shopkeeper in Sinchon, explaining the H.O.T. boom in street fashion, "and hairbands imitating the duck shape on Moon Heejun's sun cap are also popular."

These items differ in price depending on the area and shop, but their cheap costs, ranging from ₩3,000 to ₩15,000 won, make them more tempting for youths to buy. It's also a trend amongst schoolgirls to tie their with colorful rubber bands, imitating Lee Jaewon's babyish and slightly dowdy hairstyle, and the color painting on all 5 members' faces is seeing explosive popularity in ski resorts.  clothing, items, and style are trending en masse, giving a brilliant color to the previously grey winter streets.

Stylist Go Kyeong-min speaks about H.O.T

Every member has a clear-cut image

They can pull off any style of clothing

H.O.T.'s biggest strength is their members' fair, bright skin. Accordingly, they look good no matter what color they wear, from dark blacks to brilliant primary shades. The members aren't all the most handsome faces, but their baby faces and distinct images make them able to pull off even the most unconventional styles. Lee Jaewon's "fountain hair" or Moon Heejun's sun-cap, for instance, may look old-fashioned, but it accentuates their cuteness and gives them each a strong impression. Kangta wasn't given any special accents due to his clean-cut, manhwa character-like image, but that serves to differentiate him from the other members.

Their unique, individual impressions and styles that allow them to try experimental fashions make me say as a stylist that they're the perfect models.

[Their debut process]

Members scouted through newspaper and magazine ads

1 year of "free housing" while practicing choreography

H.O.T. are the idol stars of the future, born from the thorough, perfectionist calculation of their production team. The music industry, too, has now reached the stage where commercial strategies need to be planned through precise market research. One can see H.O.T. as a "character product" created with that marketability in mind. Jeong Haeik, SM Entertainment's head manager, formed a dance group in snatches of time while managing the R&B singer Yoo Youngjin.

"I planned it to be a five member group from the start. There were already many duos and trios in the music scene. I did think of making a quartet, but thinking about the group's on-stage appearance, I figured a five member ensemble would look the most cool and balanced."

Jeong started by printing recruitment ads in newspapers and magazines. The first members he scouted were Moon Heejun and Kangta. It's said that the two most popular of H.O.T. immediately caught Jung's interest. The next member to be chosen was Jang Woohyuk, who won over 700 people to become the 3rd H.O.T. member.

Feeling the need to add a member who can rap in English, Jeong printed an ad in a Korean-American magazine in LA. The two people who passed by sending in their pictures and documents were Tony Ahn and Lee Sunho. Lee Sunho was a middle school senior at the time, and his parents refused to let him join the group, so he quit and only Tony was added. Lastly, Lee Jaewon's scouting completed the framework for H.O.T. Tony, who lived in America, trained by watching videos he was mailed of the other members dancing, and in June he came to Seoul, officialy becoming a member.

The only members without living places in Seoul were the Korean-American Tony and the Gumi resident Jang Woohyuk. Jeong Haeik accommodated the two with meals and lodging in a boarding in Bangbae-dong. Ever since then, Jeong Haeik has done Woohyuk and Tony's laundry and made their food.

H.O.T.'s first TV appearance was through Saturday Night Music Show, broadcast on September 7 last year. But their real TV debut was on KBS 2's Super Sunday, which broadcast on the 8th but was recorded two days prior. When the MCs of that show asked the group to introduce themselves to the audience, H.O.T. responded with "please let us grow." These words promptly became a hot topic, and they've come to signal the H.O.T. craze.

[woolieshubris]

how do the autonomous robots get power? are they solar powered or do they plug in every night?

it depends on which kind of robot! there are domestic helper bots (largely outlawed in city-states) that look like people. they have a variety of power sources and can be modified, but they largely plug into the electric grid, similar to an electric car.

the kind that does maintenance also plug into the electric grid, or they continuously receive power, similar to a cable car.

because the maintenance bots usually live in close proximity to people, if something goes wrong then a human worker will go to fix them. these workers are typically employed by the city-state and have to be certified

the plastic armymen use an unknown power source. The people who created them died out long ago and since the governmental collapse, the documents/manuals have been lost. there are different kinds of armymen, so there are ones that fix broken down armymen, ones that attack, and ones that drive vehicles, to name a few.

Because the armymen can essentially fix themselves it makes them difficult to get rid of, since they were built to be extremely resilient. Because their command center went offline, they are fully automated now, due to the governmental collapse and the loss of documentation, it would be near impossible to create a new command center to force them to shut off.

[riptide-kid]

Domestic December 2023 - Day 29 Power outage

Pairing: Swiss x Aurora

Summary: Aurora gets surprised by a power outage at the abbey.

Warnings: -

Words: ~ 500

Notes: -

You can also read this on Ao3!

Usually, Aurora was energetic. The life on tour suited her well, dancing every night, always on the move, she loved it and never got tired of it. But since they had returned and she had really had the time to get adjusted to the life around the abbey she had to admit – a quiet life wasn’t that bad either. Of course some day they’d be going on another tour again, but right now she was perfectly content with spending a relaxing evening by herself, listening to her favourite music and working on some bracelets she was making for her friends. She had seen some of the fans of the Ghost project trading bracelets at the concerts – they even had gifted her some with her name on it, she already had a small collection now! – and thought it was incredibly cute and fun to make.

In the soft glow of her bedside lamp she choose the beads for a bracelet she was making for Phantom. She had settled on mainly dark purple, and some small bat-shaped charms she had found at a craft store the other day, certain that Phantom would love them, when suddenly, the light went out. At the same time, with a soft buzz, her music went out too and Aurora found herself in complete darkness and silence.

She froze in her spot, holding her breath, her slit pupils widening, trying to get any light in. What was going on? This was not normal. Carefully, she blinked, looking around herself, and started breathing again very softly and quietly. Everything seemed to be as it was before... What had happened? Aurora jumped as someone knocked on her door.

“Rora? Are you okay?” she calmed down a little as she recognized the familiar voice.

“Swiss? What’s going on?” she asked softly.

The other ghoul came into her room. “It’s just a power outage. Happens sometimes. Do you need some candles?” “What’s a power outage?” she asked.

“Electricity doesn’t work anymore. The cables and everything are old so it does that sometimes. They usually get it to work pretty quickly again though,” Swiss assured her.

“Oh.. Okay,” Aurora said, but she was not able to hide the slight quiver of her voice. Of course she wasn’t afraid of the dark but the sudden change of events had startled her somehow.

“Here,” Swiss lit one of the candles he had brought, the flame reflecting in his amber eyes. He put it down on her nightstand. “It’s not much, but at least it’s a little brighter now.”

“Thank you,” she forced a small smile onto her face as she stared at the flickering flame. Her head shot up at Swiss, who had also noticed that something was off. “Stay with me?” she asked timidly.

Swiss sat down next to her. “Of course.”

[drdemonprince]

how is it having a chinchilla? How does it compare to a dog, rabbit, lizard, or other pets? I'd like a pet when I'm more financially stable, but idk if I'll ever be mentally stable? I worry about meeting its needs, but something like a fish is too low interaction for me.

Are chinchillas considered an "exotic" animal? I know some states require licenses to have them as pets, like hedgehogs

Chinchillas are in the sweet spot of low maintenance but high engagement, in my opinion. When you're busy, you can keep em in a cage with water, hay, pellets, a few chew toys, and a wheel to run on pretty much indefinitely ; when you want to play with them you can let them roam around a chin-proofed room and enjoy watching them jump, roll, and dart around the room bouncing off the walls.

Chins are curious and fearless, and they are *fast* and can jump as high as four feet off the ground, and quite high energy, so they can be a lot of fun to have around. They however are NOT LAP PETS and will chew up every single wood baseboard / electric cable / book / pair of shoes they can find, so you have to keep an eye on them or else cover everything with cardboard. Don't let the cute tiktoks fool you, most dont want to sit still on a countertop holding things for videos. Chins are like cats: they do want they want to do, and they choose when they want to make contact with you and where they want to go.

Chins are also hypoallergenic! and relatively cheap to keep, aside from the initial start up costs of buying a good Critter Nation cage and a Happy Chilla metal wheel and the pet itself. They are very long lived for a rodent, some making it into their 20s, so be prepared for a long term commitment. (my last chin made it to 13, but we didnt feed her well when I was a child. Dump Truck, who we give hay and Oxbow pellets only, is 7 but I expect him to be around a long time. He's still very youthful).

There are no "exotics" restrictions on owning chinchillas, because they have been domesticated since the 1800s. All chinchillas come from breeders, none are captured from the wild, and there are many reputable breeders in the US, the UK, Canada, Australia, Germany, and Japan, as well as rescues. Here in Chicago we have Northwest Indiana Chinchilla Rescue just a few miles out.

One final note: chinchillas need a cool environment. If the room they are in gets about 85 degrees, they will die. They evolved in the Peruvian mountains and are built for a cold, dry environment. If you can't afford to keep them in air conditioning all summer, do not get one. In the winter, they will post up for hours beside an open window. Ice chips and a cool marble slab in their cage can help them regulate temp too.

To learn more, I recommend Let's Love Chinchillas. It's a website, a subreddit, and theyre on facebook/instagram etc.

[kiaroscuro]

Title: as the world caves in

Warnings: descriptions of violence, major character death

Rating: Mature

Main Pairing: Ren Amamiya / Arsene

Main Tags: post-canon, zombie au, angst, hurt / comfort, road trips

Warning:

· · ─────── =^.^= ─────── · ·

The persona is nothing if not attentive over the next few days, always around Ren to make sure that his side and eye didn't get worse; there was little to do for the lighting-strike other than to keep the surface of Ren's skin soft and flexible, and they've started treating it like the burn wound on Ren's arm. They don't speak much, basking in each other's presence while the wind howls outside, rattling the metal carcass of the plane and howling in sorrow. Once Ren feels as if he can walk for more than two steps, Arsene takes him to the pilot's cabin, making Ren sit down in the seat while the persona occupies the other, and then he starts talking about the controls of the plane. Arsene recites from not-memory how to fly a simple one, how many of the little devices were used by the military first. After some time, he started taking apart and inspecting the radio unit of the plane in the hopes of repairing it. Ren listens to him, watches the snowstorm swallow everything in white while the voice of his other half washes over him, and imagines a simpler life, one where he could've finished high school and then gone back to Tokyo for university. Sometimes, flecks of the star-lit sky become visible, and Ren's eyes search out familiar constellations, the North Star always a focal point, Ursus Major another he recognizes.

Ren closes his eyes and imagines meeting Zenkichi and Akane and the Yoshizawa twins in another life; maybe a new Metaverse would've emerged over summer vacation, and he and his thieves could've met Zenkichi as an officer working on the same case. Akane and the twins could've joined them as persona users, and Zenkichi and Sojiro could've met and gone along splendidly. Maybe Konoe would be one of Ren's confidants, the man a broken mess even before the cataclysm. He ruminates on their possible code-names, imagines how his thieves would've reacted to meeting them, imagines how Mona would've gotten along greatly with Akane. Arsene's voice has fallen into a steady rhythm, and he shifts ever-so-often to adjust his wings in the seat, claws drawing over the console and plucking around electrical wires without any power left.

Maybe, maybe, maybe...

Ren closes his eyes, feels his side dull to a slow throb, and listens as Arsene fumbles around with the broken radio unit while talking about his adventures of long past, telling tales about the world war because both of them were in a maudlin mood. It's a strange camaraderie, almost domestic in how at ease he finds himself in the persona's presence, and Ren thinks that he could grow used to staying like this forever.

(What a dangerous thought.)

Deft claws take apart the front panel of the radio, more wires exposed, a tangled mess that has Arsene hiss in displeasure. Ren eyes it, watches cables and wires twine together and destroy each other, and closes his eyes, exhaling once while he lets his weight sag against the seat. "...it's all such a mess," Ren murmurs, and Arsene's wings twitch and his fire flickers before he turns towards Ren with a low-burning confusion.

I can untangle them just fine, do not worry, mon cher. The persona says, but Ren shakes his head. "Everything had been perfectly fine, and then it got-- tangled together, and now I don't know--" he stops, stares down at his hands and imagines the blood of the nebiros and mithra on them. He can still taste the blessed flesh, insides protesting at the sense-memory. Arsene is silent for a moment.

...we aren't talking about the radio unit, are we? He asks, softly, and Ren breathes in shakily, tries to keep his voice even. Arsene's fire softens, before he puts the mess of cables and wires down on the console again, turning towards Ren.

"I should've listened to you and leave, but--" He shudders, "-- I really thought I could trust him. I just don't know why--"

He paid attention to ye, Arsene comments, still soft. At thy exploits and thy knowledge, and he allowed thee to use it for the people in a way that made a difference. My dear, this was not a trap thou could've known how to escape, because Maruki made certain to slather the oil with honey. He exploited natural human need for companionship and thy natural desire to help people -- for that, I cannot be sorry enough.

Ren draws in another shaky breath, eyes blinking because he can feel the tears stinging. "But--"

My greatest regret is not being there for ye throughout all of it.

I let him touch me--! Ren cries, unable to voice it out loud. He clenched his hands into fists before winding them around his elbows, pressing them against his stomach at the sick feeling surfacing. The wound on the side gives off a dull throb almost as if in warning, but Ren ignores it, relishes in the pain. "...I let him touch me," a broken murmur, "even though..."

Claws carefully pried his fingers off, smoothing them out one by one, Arsene's finger pads trailing over the palm of Ren's hands until they stopped clenching and lay flat on his thighs. Ren glances sideways at his persona, who had never looked so human as in that moment, regret trailing down over his mask like tears of golden ichor as he knelt next to Ren. Did what happened with Mademoiselle Shiho or even our own Panther make them weak in thy eyes? The persona asks gently. Ren hiccoughs and shakes his head. Of course not, but Ren's fallen for Takuto's soft words and machinations while Ann and Shiho had been forced into compliance...

Arsene thrums, lowly. His head tilts to the side, claws gently squeezing Ren's hands. Like this, Ren can see the cut on his throat, the thin line of discolored flesh. Had Fox not believed that Madarame was a honest and just man because he was raised under pretenses? Had he not cared for the artist almost like a father, because he was at one point treated as such? Ren, what happened to thee is in no way thy own fault. Thou should know this.

And the thing is-- the thing is: rationally, Ren knows this. But Ren also knows that he'd enjoyed Takuto's attention, his soft and ready touches and gentle smiles and adoring gaze -- his and Sumire's both. Ren also feels distinctly used and manipulated, and he wants to do nothing more than scrub the memory of that last dinner off of his skin. He hates himself for his feelings, because that silk-thin strand of possibilities that had been growing between him and Arsene--

Ren isn't sure he deserves it, anymore. "Even though--" he tries again, tries to get Arsene to understand, because Ren feels wretched and hollow and so, so greedy for taking all of his persona's attention, and--

"Ren, my dear," Arsene rasps softly, "seeking out a connection in these circumstances is not something I would ever begrudge thee." I will be happy with whoever thou decide to settle with, as long as both parties consent to it.

Ren shudders. "...even Akechi?" He asks, half in jest and half because there had been something between them, amidst all the murder and subterfuge and deceit. Arsene makes a noise, wings twitching. He's got them pressed tightly against his back, Ren notes, which has to be uncomfortable. Even Crow, though I would  question thy sanity on that matter. He admits, and then adds, softer still: I mean it, though.

"I don't want anyone else's attention," Ren admits, lowering his lashes and eyes growing distant. "I... for a long time now, I think, I didn't want anyone else's attention but yours." He's still fixated on the cut, remembering how soft the skin had felt under the touch of his lips. Arsene's exhale is a breath of warm air.

"I know, mon cher."

"I know I'm never going to have all of it," Ren continues, haltingly, because it is in Arsene's nature to be flighty. He is a magpie with treasures of gold and women, hoarding one shiny thing until something new catches his eye. Ren's read the novels, and moreover, Arsene is part of his own heart, and-- "but if I could have it for now, I'd..."

Oh, Ren, Arsene murmurs, squeezing Ren's hands before carefully turning his kneeling into a crouch, his mask pressed to the side of Ren's face. "I cannot promise that you'll have me forever, but for as long as I am by your side, you'll have me." You've had me ever since the day we've met for the first time, Arsene adds, softly.

Ren breathes out a weight he hadn't noticed holding. "Oh," he murmurs, before closing his eyes and turning in his seat until he can hug Arsene, until he can feel the persona's claws trail through his hair and over his cheek while Ren burrows his head in his neck. Thank you.

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[bu1410]

''Mr. Plant has owed me a shoe since July 5, 1971." - Chapter IV.a - March 5th, 2024

Some photos of Iraq I've taken on 1983. We can recognize Baghdad, - Nassiryah - Ur - Euphrates river.

IRAQ 1983 In January 1983 I was then informed that my new destination would be Nasiryah, Iraq. I left for Rome, and then in Fiumicino - late in the afternoon - I boarded an old Boing 707 of IRAQI Airways, the only company still serving Baghdad: the war with Iran was underway, and the international airlines had suspended flights to Iraq. Baghdad airport was only open at night, so we landed with the lights off, and when we began the descent towards the landing strip we were ordered to darken the windows. Having completed the customs and immigration procedures quite quickly (considering the fact of being in an Arab country and in a state of war) I went out into the deserted hall, where I easily saw the sign with my name hoisted by a local driver. He took me to a hotel on Sadoun street, in a ghostly Baghdad: all the lights were off, very few vehicles were circulating, security forces checkpoints at every intersection.

DEPARTURE FOR NASSIRYAH The next day the Project Manager – a tall, lanky Italian, with an unkempt beard – came to pick me up at the hotel. He told me to pack my bags, we would leave for Nassiryah immediately by car, since domestic flights were suspended due to the war. Our destination was 380 km away from Baghdad, and the highway was damaged by the continuous passage of military vehicles heading South, to the border with Iran. Just outside Baghdad, we passed alongside a high earth barrier, a couple of kilometers long: inside, it was explained to me, the Tammuz nuclear plant, destroyed by an Israeli air force incursion in June 1981. The journey was monotonous, and we only stopped once to refuel and eat shawarma. We arrived in Nasiryah in the late afternoon, and immediately checked into one of the two villas that VOLANI had rented for the expats. Here, towards the evening, I met my Italian colleagues: around ten people in total, which would soon be reduced to 5 given that the project was in the finishing phase.

THE PROJECT In essence it involved the rehabilitation of a plant for the production of electrical cables. When I arrived, in January 1983, the work was almost finished. All that was missing was the installation of a heavy overhead crane in the main warehouse, the completion of the new electrical system, the covering and infilling of some buildings. In consideration of the recent departures, and the fact that there were only 5 expatriates left, it was decided by the Management in Baghdad that we would leave one of the two rented villas, and concentrate on just one. I received the instruction from the Project Manager to rent couples of trailers locally, load the furniture and air conditioners owned by the Company present in villa No. 2, and ship everything to the warehouse in Baghdad. Having rented the trailers (far from a simple matter in a country in a state of war), they were accompanied to the villa and dismantling and loading operation began. I was at construction site, it was already a hot afternoon even though it was only the beginning of March, when I saw in distance a guy dressed in a Western style, jacket, white shirt and black tie. He was chatting with a local worker, who was nodding in my direction. When they got close, the guy – clearly a policeman – asked me:

Are you the boss here?

Yes – I replied – what do you need?

Come with me – he said in a tone that allowed no replies. I followed him in my pick up until we arrived in the parking lot of a low building, steel bars on the windows. The policeman motioned for me to follow him. We entered the building, there were cops everywhere, and photographs of bad guys sticked to the walls, with writings in Arabic indicating how much money the police would pay if information was given leading to their capture. I was taken to the office of the Commander, Mr. Abdul Karim Al Jalaani. The office was enormous, the Commander sat behind a large mahogany desk installed on a riser. I was made to sit on an Arab sofa, at the other end of the room, I was perhaps fifteen meters away from Major Al Jalaani. He looked at myself like you look at an insect, and then he said to me in English:

Are you the one who gave the order to vacate my villa that I rented there?

I organized the transport - I said - but the order left from Baghdad.

Good - he replied - I stopped the transport, come back here as soon as possible with your managers, the ones who gave you the order to vacate the house without my permission. Major's assistant, who had remained near the door, motioned for me to follow him. I went out into the street, breathing a sigh of relief: I had just entered and exited the headquarters of the so-called ''Mukabarat'' or Saddam Hussein's Secret Service, and I was still alive and in a good shapel! I went to the villa, and saw the trailers parked on the corner of the street - the watchman came to meet me:

Sir - he told me - we were loading the furniture, when a car with some policemen arrived - they stopped us and then asked what we were doing - I said that we were loading our furniture to send it to Baghdad - they ordered us to stop and they said:

''If one of these trucks dares to move we will arrest everyone''

Understood Sir?? We couldn't disobey, Sir – these people don't joke!

I understand, I understand, don't worry.

I went to the Central Post Office, I absolutely had to call the Baghdad office. In the old post office, a building with broken glass, dirty and with peeling walls, there was no one except the employees. I was able to get through the Baghdad office pretty quickly. I explained to the PM what had happened - he tried to reassure me, and I told him that I wasn't worried at all.

Be sure - he said - tomorrow evening I will be in Nassiryah and we'll solve the problem.'' And so it was: in the evening the Project Manager arrived at the villa, accompanied by the head of our security service, a tall and large Iraqi, who had been a comrade in arms of the Major of Nassiryah Mukabarat. The next morning at 10.00 we were in the mega office of Major Al Jalaani. The meeting between the former comrades was warm: kisses on the cheeks, hugs, pats on the back, questions about the health of the family members, and then more hugs and then questions about the health of the family members all over again……Then we sat down on the usual sofa at 15 meters from the Major's desk, while the two old friends went on talking about old times, they exchanged phrases of which the PM and I understood nothing, and then burst into resounding laughter. All this for more than half an hour, then our Head of Security said, as if by chance:

Ahh sorry…Abdul Karim……by the way …I came to see you after so many years yes…but also for that stupid matter of the rented villa…you know…the one we want to leave…you know?

Abdul Karim as if falling from the clouds: ''Ah yes yes… I was informed by one of my collaborators that there were trailers ready to take away the furniture… but this is not done my friend… you should have warned, right?

You are perfectly right akooya (brother) but you know these Westerners don't always know what our customs are, so I ask you as the brother you are, to forgive them from the height of your goodness that everyone recognizes in you (How could he be the head of the Secret Services and being ''good'' no one has ever explained it to me)

Sure, sure - replied Abdul Karim - but you agree that there are conditions to be respected so that everything can be settled, right?

Of course akooya – said our Chief of Security.

Well - the Commander continued - come closer and I'll tell you what these conditions are (I didn't understand this, they could have continued to speak to each other ''remotely'' in Arabic, given that neither I nor the PM understood what they said to each other when they spoke their language)

The Head of Security sat down on a chair immediately prepared by the Major's attendent, and so began a dense exchange of sentences, which our friend only interspersed with ''naam…naam'' (yes…yes) Then it all ended, we got up and with big bows, touching our hearts with our right hand as a sign of ''how good of you to receive us and you didn't even let us get whipped'' we left the police station. In the car, our Head of Security informed us of the ''conditions'' posed by the Major to ''forget'' the nasty rudeness we had tried to do to him, taking away OUR furniture and OUR air conditioners from his villa, where we paid 6,000 USD /month rent + all expenses, including security. (We suspected that it was the watchman who alerted the police that the trailers had arrived for the move). Well for 4 additional months in cash, the complete re-painting of the house (exterior/interior/surrounding wall) and OUR air conditioners, the Commander would have forgiven our ''offence''. The PM muttered "WTF......" but we had to put on a good face because there were no alternatives. The next day - once all the furniture had been loaded onto the trailers - the painting work began, under the supervision of an Al Jalaani representative.

[dariyasite]

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