#tableau reporting

[pythonjobsupport]

Build your first report in less than 15mins in Tableau

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[analyticspro]

Tableau: Display Top N & Bottom N Customers using FIRST() and LAST()

Discover the step-by-step process of displaying both the top n and bottom n customers on a single sheet. Utilize the power of FIRST and LAST functions to efficiently showcase your data and gain valuable insights.

[rcmclachlan]

I'd love to hear Dana and Nico discussing Tommy's latest bout of insanity with a probie if you're up for it

"... appears the LAFD helicopter is now leading the Army on a chase..."

The very moment KTLA reporter Chris Wolf says 'chase', the entire hangar erupts into pained groans and shouts of disbelief mixed with fury, plus one enthusiastic whoop that is collectively ignored in favor of the massive white board that DeJong and Goodell rolled out of Captain Ribeiro's office about ten seconds after Kinard escaped with the AW139.

The board is a veritable rainbow of imagination, mostly because it's covered in sticky notes of various colors, and standing in front of it is the most unforgiving authority figure most of the crew have seen since grade school.

"All right, assholes, shut up!" Donato shouts, then consults the board. The hangar falls silent, waiting. "Right now Myers is in the lead with 118 shenanigans, government fuckery, and a high-octane chase, but since Nguyen also bet on 118 shenanigans and a chase that would specifically involve MH-6Ms, Myers, you may have to split the pot."

Myers grudgingly nods. Nguyen discreetly pumps her fist.

Meanwhile, their two-week old probie Mona—who was given the nickname "Idol" after Kelley accidentally pronounced her name as 'Mony' and got the song stuck in everyone's head for days, despite not being old enough to know who Billy Idol even is—takes in the tableau with wide eyes. "Is this, uh, legal?"

"In the state of California? Nah." Nico shrugs, then bites into an unpeeled grapefruit like an apple. "But here? It's fine. You stick around long enough and you'll make some serious cash. Goodell made almost five grand with the cruise ship thing."

Mona stares. "And Cap allows this?"

"Allows it? Who do you think made the first bet?" Nico points to where their illustrious captain is perusing the board with annoyance clinging to his shoulders like a cloak, muttering under his breath.

"Anytime Kinard pulls something like this, we wheel out the board," Dana says, coming to stand on Mona's other side, surveying the pandemonium.

"D-Did you place a bet?"

Nico snorts. "Dane's not allowed to bet anymore. She's dead on the money every time."

"Not every time," Dana demures.

"Okay, but no one could've seen the elephant tusk thing coming." At Mona's wild-eyed look, Nico clarifies, "poacher plane over Channel Island. Kinard brought it down."

With the way everyone's clustered around Donato and the board, holding various sticky pads in the air and waving them around, it looks like the stock market is crashing and everyone's about to dump their shares.

"Oh, speaking of." Dana scrapes at something under her thumbnail. "Did you change the sign?"

Nico says through a mouthful of rind, "I think Donato did."

"The sign?" Mona echoes faintly.

With a nail sharper than any of the steak knives in the communal kitchen, Dana points to the professionally made sign hanging next to the weight room door.

__ DAYS SINCE KINARD LAST TAUNTED GOD.

The '32' that had been sitting pretty at the front of it for the last month has been flipped back to '0'.

"T-This happens often enough for a sign?" Mona looks a little dizzy, and Dana wants to tell her that if she can't cope with a co-worker stealing municipal property and pissing off the government from time to time, she's probably not cut out for Los Angeles. But Captain Ribeiro suggested on Dana's last evaluation to keep her often-correct opinions to herself, if only to keep morale high, so she says nothing.

Nico does for her. "Ever since Kinard started seeing Buckley? Yeah."

"Buckley?"

"Human dalmatian and resident heroic dumbass at the 118," Dana explains. "He and Kinard have an on-again-off-again thing going on that threatens the populace on a bi-monthly basis. If they ever do manage to figure out their shit, it'll take out half the city."

Mona squints at the TV, where the AW139 goes into a perfect hammerhead before slipping past the Figueroa at Wilshire with the grace of a shadow, leaving the MH-6M floundering in mid-air, and everyone clustered around the board starts shouting and waving their sticky notes again.

"And this is.... on again?"

"At this point, no one knows or cares. Kinard has always been certifiable; he'd been looking for an excuse to get worse." Dana glances at the TV. The AW139 banks up, executes a textbook barrel roll, and then disappears out of the range of the KTLA's camera.

"Holy BLEEP, did you see that?!" Chris Wolf cries.

"It's a shame I never really got to talk to him much," Mona says, a little forlorn. "I would've loved to learn from him."

Nico turns a confused look on her. "You still can? He's not dead."

"I mean, he's gonna be arrested and fired, right?"

At that, Dana presses the backs of her fingers to her mouth to hide a chuckle. "Oh, Idol, you're sweet. Kinard'll gently bully that out of you when he's back on Tuesday."

[wendichester]

Hi, i’m never done this before and i’m nervous lol

so i was wondering if you could write something with Sam x fem!reader, the reader is a reporter of the town where the boys have a case and she is very attached to the case because there’s a lot of murders and wanna know what’s happening so she decided to do her own research and there is when she meet the winchester

i imagine the reader sassy, impulsive and very very sarcastic (that would make Sam hate her in the beginning) but very kind, sweet and funny at the same time idk like Lois Lane type of person you know? well i don’t know if you know but yeah

well that’s it omg i hope you get the idea and i’m so sorry if this doesn’t make any sense i don’t speak english and i tried my best 😔 i forgot the grammatical tenses and everything 😭

have a good day/night you sweet person ok bye

˚ ༘ ⋆｡˚ ink-stained,

summary. you've been investigating a series of murder in your hometown. way past work-level healthy. it's getting personal now.

pairing. sam winchester x reporter!reader genre. fluff

wordcount. 561

notes / warnings. thank you for requesting bubs! i hope you like this ehe // mentions of murder investigations (no graphic content), reader gives Sam a headache and a crush at the same time

You stick your pen behind your ear, flip your notebook shut, and square up to the man currently glaring at you like you’re an inconvenient fly buzzing around his very serious man-face.

“Well, Agent Ham-and-Egger,” you say, with a sugary-sweet smile, “since the cops don’t seem to know squat, maybe you’d like to share what exactly the FBI is doing sniffing around this town’s murder scenes like dogs at a barbecue?”

He exhales hard. Tall and already regretting his life choices. “We’ve got it under control.”

“Do you?” You tap your notebook against your palm. “Because the last three victims were drained of blood and left in a perfectly staged tableau. That doesn’t scream ‘under control’ to me, G-Man.”

Sam Winchester’s jaw ticks.

You clock it. And grin.

You don’t know who this guy is—not really. He’s traveling with that other one, the smirking flirt in the leather jacket who practically winked at your recorder. But this one? This tall drink of broody fedsuit? He hates you already.

Good. That makes this more fun.

“I’m not at liberty to discuss details,” he says through clenched teeth. “And I’d appreciate it if you didn’t interfere.”

You give him your brightest, most annoying smile. “Oh sweetie, you’ll learn. I don’t wait for answers. I dig them up.”

Dean strolls over then, holding two coffees and way too much charm. “Everything okay over here, Sammy?”

You raise a brow. “Sammy? Oh, that’s adorable. I was gonna go with Special Agent Grumpy Pants.”

Sam exhales again—louder this time.

Dean smirks like he’s watching the best soap opera of his life.

You don’t mean to follow them.

Okay, that’s a lie. You absolutely mean to follow them.

There’s something weird about this case, and you know in your gut these two are more than they say they are. No FBI agent works a case this deep in the dirt, in a town this small, unless there’s something extra going on.

So when they head to the morgue, you’re not far behind.

You’re also not as stealthy as you think.

Sam catches you red-handed, lurking in the hallway like a raccoon in lipstick.

“Oh, for God’s sake,” he groans.

You grin, flipping open your notepad. “So. Vampires? Or are we going full ritualistic cult?”

He narrows his eyes. “How do you even know to ask that?”

You shrug. “I was raised on myth and murder. And my ex-boyfriend was obsessed with horror movies. I absorbed some stuff.”

Sam stares at you like you’re a puzzle he doesn’t want to solve but absolutely has to. “You’re unbelievable.”

“I’ve been called worse.”

He scrubs a hand down his face. “You’re gonna get yourself killed.”

You wink. “Not if I stay close to tall, broody, and capable.”

And just like that—he blushes. Barely. But it’s there.

You smirk. “Gotcha.”

He mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “insufferable woman,” but doesn’t tell you to leave. Doesn’t walk away either.

You lean on the wall beside him, triumphant.

“What now?” you ask.

He sighs. “Now, we talk. Because if I don’t give you something, you’re gonna tail us until you get yourself eaten.”

You blink.

And then: “So it is vampires.”

His jaw drops. “I didn’t say that!”

You smirk. “You didn’t have to.”

You have him fuming, but also kind of bothered. And Sam isn't sure it's hate or something else.

ꔛ. navigation 𓂃˖ ࣪ all drabbles ; compatibility readings ; support my work .ᐟ

[reveryfics]

Neighbors

Frank Castle "The Punisher" x Male Reader

Summary: After settling into the apartment across from Frank's, a single night brought with it the startling realization of his identity.

A/N: Thanks so much for 395+ followers! Frankie is also based on my old foster dog, whom was also named Frank Castle.

TW: Blood - Injury - Comfort

The muted drone of the television painted the confines of your apartment, the sounds from the late-night show a mere backdrop to the edges of sleep tugging at your consciousness on the worn cushions of your couch. Beside you, Frankie, your steadfast pit bull companion, lay in comfortable repose, his head a warm weight against your thigh. A sudden, subtle shift in the atmosphere jolted him awake. His ears twitched, and his head snapped up, attention fixed on the faint protest of the old floorboards somewhere beyond the living room.

You offered a low groan, the sound a blend of annoyance and lingering sleepiness, as Frankie pushed himself off the couch. His tail, however, offered a different narrative, a gentle thump-thump-thump against the fabric as he padded silently across the room, his paws making soft contact with the wood as he headed towards the compact kitchen. You initially dismissed it – the building settling, a familiar creak and groan that punctuated the quiet hours. But then, cutting through the stillness, came a sound that was anything but ordinary: the unmistakable rasp of your neighbor, Frank Castle’s, voice, a low murmur that seemed strained.

Instinct overriding your grogginess, you pushed yourself into a sitting position, swiveling on the couch to face the kitchen doorway. The breath hitched in your throat, a silent gasp escaping your lips at the sight that greeted you. Frank stood just inside your apartment, a tableau of brutal violence etched onto his very being. Blood, dark and viscous, smeared across his face, mingling with a patchwork of angry red cuts. One eye was swollen and bruised, a blossoming purple and black, while the bridge of his nose was visibly crooked. His hand was pressed tightly against his side, his knuckles white against the crimson staining his fingers.

His gaze lifted, meeting yours, his hand still loosely tangled in Frankie’s fur, the dog having settled himself at Frank’s bloodied boots. “Hey,” Frank whispered, the single word rough and weary, his eyes following your movement as you rose and approached him, your bare feet silent on the cool floor.

Speech eluded you. Instead, your hands reached out, gently framing his ravaged face, your thumbs tracing the edges of a particularly nasty gash above his eyebrow. Your eyes, however, had already registered the garment clinging to his torso – a black t-shirt emblazoned with a stark white skull. A symbol you recognized not only from fleeting news reports but from the one time you’d hesitantly stepped inside Frank’s own dimly lit apartment, catching a glimpse of it discarded on his couch from the safety of the doorway. A chilling understanding began to dawn, the pieces clicking into place like tumblers in a lock: the late-night absences, the recurring bruises he’d tried to conceal, the guardedness in his demeanor, his reluctance to let you get too close.

“I can explain,” he murmured, his voice thick with what sounded like pain and a strange sort of resignation. “I didn’t know where else…” You cut him off with a gentle but firm hand on his arm, steering him towards the narrow doorway that led to your slightly cramped bathroom. Without a word, you guided him to sit on the edge of the toilet seat.

Frank watched, his gaze unwavering, as you knelt by the small cabinet beneath the sink. The clink of metal against metal echoed in the small space as you pulled out a heavy, olive-drab box, its latch clicking open with a decisive sound as you placed it on the edge of the porcelain sink. Your attention remained fixed on the contents within, your brow furrowed in concentration as you sorted through the supplies. Without even glancing his way, you spoke, your voice calm and steady despite the turmoil churning within you. “Take your shirt and vest off.”

He complied without question, his movements stiff and obviously painful. The sight that was revealed stole your breath. Beneath the blood and grime, a landscape of angry bruises bloomed across his torso, stark against the pale skin where his bulletproof vest had offered some semblance of protection. Cuts, shallow and deep, crisscrossed his abdomen, one near his ribs still oozing a steady trickle of blood, while others had begun to dry, the edges crusted and dark.

You moved with a quiet efficiency, reaching for a clean white cloth from the small rack hanging on the wall. You ran it under the hot tap, the water quickly turning a murky pink as it soaked the fabric. Crouching in front of Frank, you were about to gently dab at one of the less severe cuts when his hand shot out, his fingers closing around your wrist in a surprisingly firm grip.

“You ain’t gonna say anything?” Frank mumbled, his eyes searching your face, trying to decipher the emotions swirling within you. You looked up at him, your gaze meeting his, the concern in your eyes a silent language. “What do you want me to say?” you whispered, your voice barely audible. Gently, you eased your wrist from his grasp, your touch surprisingly light as you began to clean around the edges of the cuts, needing to see the extent of the damage before proceeding.

Frank leaned back against the cool tile of the wall, running a weary hand through his short, cropped hair, his eyes flicking towards the doorway where Frankie lay, a furry sentinel observing the scene with quiet concern. He looked down at you, his gaze softening slightly as he noted the intense concentration etched on your face, the way your brow furrowed as you examined a particularly deep gash on his side. He opened his mouth, intending to break the silence, but only a strangled string of curses and involuntary grunts escaped his lips as the antiseptic-soaked cloth made contact with the raw flesh. “Sorry,” you whispered, the word barely audible, before your voice took on a more resolute tone. “I’m going to have to stitch this one up.”

A moment of heavy silence hung in the air before Frank cleared his throat, his gaze fixed intently on you. “I… I expected you to be mad,” he finally began, his voice still rough around the edges. “Yell at me, hell, even sic Frankie on me.” He gestured vaguely towards your dog, who, as if understanding his name, glanced your way and let out a soft, almost bored huff. Frankie, despite his imposing build, was the farthest thing from a guard dog. He possessed a remarkably discerning nature, a keen sense of character that was, in no small part, the reason you had come to trust Frank as much as you did.

You reached into the metal box, pulling out a pair of sterile latex gloves and snapping them on. Your movements were deliberate as you unwrapped a small packet containing a needle, carefully disinfecting it with an antiseptic wipe. “So, what do you think?” you asked, your voice calm as you threaded the needle. You paused, your eyes flicking up to gauge his reaction. “Should I call the cops? Because, logically speaking, I probably should. Except…” You continued, your gaze returning to your task, “you’ve never given me any reason to think you’d hurt me. And we’ve only known each other for… what, less than a year? Besides,” you added, a hint of a wry smile playing on your lips, “if I were The Punisher, I’d probably want to keep it a secret too.”

Frank scoffed, a short, humorless sound. His body tensed visibly as the sharp point of the needle pierced his skin, the thin thread following its path as you began to meticulously stitch the deep laceration on his side. He nodded slowly, a grimace flickering across his face. “Yeah, I get your point.” But confusion clouded his features. “What I don’t get is… why? Why help me? Without even a second thought? You understand the risk you’re taking now, being involved with… this?” You shrugged, your focus unwavering as you snipped the excess thread and carefully placed a sterile bandage over the stitched wound. “You’d do the same for me,” you murmured, your voice matter-of-fact.

Frank didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on your hands as you continued to clean and dress the various cuts and abrasions on his chest and abdomen. Once you were satisfied, you stood up, discarding the soiled gloves and donning a fresh pair. Gently, you placed a finger under his chin, tilting his head back to get a better look at the cuts on his face and the clearly misaligned bridge of his nose. To get a better angle, you shifted your position, moving until you were practically straddling his lap as he sat on the narrow toilet seat. Frank’s hands, as if acting on instinct, came up to grip your hips, a reflexive action to steady you.

It hadn’t fully registered until this moment, the frantic hammering of his heart whenever you were near. The gentle, almost reverent way your fingers moved as you cleaned his wounds, the soft brush of your hair against his cheek. He wondered how he could have been so oblivious. Every shared walk with you and Frankie, every casual dinner in your cozy apartment, even the brief encounters over morning coffee – each interaction had been imbued with an undercurrent he’d failed to acknowledge. Now, with you so close, your lips pursed in concentration, his gaze was irresistibly drawn to them. An almost primal urge surged within him, his hands tightening slightly on your hips as he instinctively guided you down, until you were fully straddling him, the unexpected intimacy sparking a jolt of something he couldn’t quite name.

You paused, your fingers hovering just above the small cut on the bridge of Frank’s nose, having finished cleaning the gash above his eyebrow. You barely managed to get his name out, a soft, questioning sound, before his lips were on yours. The kiss was tentative, almost hesitant, as if he expected you to recoil. But you didn’t. Your own lips softened against his, your eyelids fluttering closed as you surrendered to the unexpected contact, the rough texture of his lips a surprising contrast to the gentleness of his touch moments before.

The kiss deepened, a momentary distraction that provided the perfect opportunity. With a swift, practiced movement, you gently but firmly manipulated Frank’s nose, a sharp crack echoing in the small bathroom. He flinched violently, a string of curses ripping from his throat as he pulled back, his breath still ghosting over your lips. A small smirk played on your own lips as you leaned over, reaching for the clean cloth once more to dab at the now-straight bridge of his nose. Without hesitation, you leaned in and kissed him again, a quick, decisive press of your lips against his before pulling away. “You better not make this a habit,” you whispered, your voice a playful warning, “just to get a kiss from me, Castle.” You hummed. “Can't make any promises.” Frank whispered.

[bomertheshark]

Scenting

A Clark Kent x top male reader

Short

You worked as a contract assistant for hero’s . Anytime a hero needed anything to be taken care of when they were visiting from out of town or if they just needed an assistant during their personal life while they were out fighting crime. To get into this job you had to have a certain commitment since the pros would divulge personal information about their true lives, which was no laughing matter if you were just going to sell them out.

All of this to say that your newest client was the elusive Superman also now known to you as Clark Kent a writer for the Daily Planet. With good recommendations from your boss and previous clients he decided to hire him as his assistant for around 8 months. He didn’t really want to commit to the full year but it was better than nothing. You waited on him hand and foot for anything he could need. If he needed groceries, needed a tableau submitted, for his clothes to laundered, even to contact other pros for assistance and such. In order for you to be close to him you rented an apartment near him without being so close that it was suspicious. You learned a lot about him at the 6 month mark, He loved being a reporter but hated the people he worked with, a lot of women actually liked him but the most persistent so far was a woman named Lois Lang. no matter how hard he tried to get her off his back she wouldn’t let go. It got so bad that she had started to slightly stalk him to the point where she became suspicious of you and Clark’s relationship. She actually tried to confront you about it saying things like “You should stay away from Clark he isn’t gay like you.” And “Even if he was gay I could turn him since he would never consider you.” None of it bothered you per say since you were comfortable with your sexuality and knowing the rules of your contract even if you liked him you couldn’t be together since he wanted clear boundaries after working with you for 4 months. But you were concerned for Clark just in case you were seen with him as Superman as well and some villain pieced it together, to pull the suspicion away from you both you and your boss decided it would be better if you started meeting a coworker and making it look like you were in a relationship.

Everything was going fine for the next few months even though Clark had become a bit weird around you. He stopped asking for things sometimes or he started asking for a lot from you. You were starting to get slightly suspicious when it all came to a head when he came to you wanting to break the contract. You were slightly alarmed at first but understood that since he didn’t even want to commit to the full year he must not have needed you anymore, no fuss no muss you signed the break and alerted your boss that the contract was no longer in place and that you would be moving back to your previous residence.

Thought something weird had happened the night you were to move out of the apartment, Clark had been watching you closely but not offering to help which was strange since he normally was really nice and made conversation before insisting on helping you move something around. You made a point not to point it out but it still struck you as strange. Once you finally moved back into your place you visited your coworker to tell thank them for pretending to be their partner so that it wouldn’t out your client. Obviously he had no quips about it and sent you on your way with some leftovers after you two had dinner together.

Time passed and you were just going into your room to take your before bed shower. You were startled to see your old client Clark Kent standing near the doorway to the balcony. “Oh God! What are you doing here Mr. Kent?” You said calming your beating heart. “Oh, well I’m not sure I think I just wanted to see you… I’m not sure.” He responded looking fidgety.

You weren’t really sure when he made his was over to you but he was now holding on to you as he was smelling your neck, not aggressively just almost soaking it in before you pulled away, something was obviously the matter. He almost looked like a dog with its hackles raised a look of someone had touched something that was his. “You went to go see them again?” He said in a low tone. You confused responded by asking him what he meant. “That man, I can smell him on you. Did you go to see him again?” He said almost like he was accusing you of lying. “Oh! You mean my coworker! Yeah I went to have dinner with him and talk.” He was not satisfied by this answer as he shoved you onto the bed. “You had dinner with him?! Why would you have dinner with him?” At this point you were really confused, concerned and a tad agitated, your client who broke off the contract found your residence and is now throwing you around while asking really weird questions, fed up with this you full on asked him what he meant by that, why he was in your bedroom and why he just decided to throw you onto the bed. He didn’t answer anything just standing there staring at you.

You changed your position to be sitting on the edge of the bed hands behind you holding you up with your legs spread and leaning a bit back to get a full look of his face. Once this change happened Clark seemed to have some sort of realization before apologizing to you and getting on his knees. “Clark are you okay? Do you need me to call someone for you or something?” This broke him out of his trance and now he was in between your legs staring up at you. Startled you instinctively grabbed him by the hair tilting his head back. He whined from this, he fucking whined. At this point you start to realize what all of this has been, it all made sense now. He was jealous of the fact that you were “seeing” someone else, broke the contract at the realization that he liked you because he wanted to get closer and the night your contract was officially terminated he came to see you hoping to be with you but smelt the very man he was jealous of and thought you were dating.

Once you brought this up to him he confessed and cried to you a little about how he wanted to be with you and wanted you to like him back. This also made you realize that you totally forgot to tell him why you were “dating” this guy and that it was all fake in the first place.

You also realized that your boss totally knew this and probably didn’t tell you to because she knew that the hero liked you in that way.

All of this now led to now where he’s all over you, naked just covering you in his sent while enjoying the feeling of being full from your cock. Everything was exactly as he wanted it.

You’ll thank your boss later for this but for now you have to take care of the hero who was drunk off your scent.

Sorry this one took so long! I really liked just writing more about the time together than the smut.

[warismenstrualenvy]

A dead body touched with the Odour of Sanctity can’t just smell ok. It has to possess the mysterious presence of a supernaturally pleasant odour. The scents can be brief or persistent, attached to the body, grave, water the body was bathed in, or objects the person touched.  In the case of St. Padre Pio, his spectral scent of roses and pipe tobacco visited people after his death and was considered a sign of his saintly intercession. All Odours of Sanctities are described as sweet, with notes of honey, butter, roses, violets, frankincense, myrrh, pipe tobacco, jasmine, and lilies being the most frequently reported accompaniments. The scent is also always culturally specific and deeply intertwined with symbolism. (...) One of the most popular of the fragrant saints, St. Therese of Lisieux smelt of lilies, violets and roses upon her deathbed. Her most often attributed quotes is, “The splendour of the rose and the whiteness of the lily do not rob the little violet of its scent…If every tiny flower wanted to be a rose, spring would lose its loveliness”. It also should be noted that during Therese’s lifetime violet absolute was synthesized, making a material that was once the most expensive fragrance component in the world, affordable for all and the de rigueur fragrance of respectable women. To the Victorian palette, violets represented chastity, modesty, and feminine virtue. Lilies and roses also have a long association with Jesus and Mary. Therese’s Odour of Sanctity creates an olfactive tableau of Therese, the respectable modest female, alongside the Virgin Mary and Jesus.  Before 1875 however, the scent of violets would not have been readily identifiable to the general population, and no Odour of Sanctity is associated with violets in any primary sources before that time. There is also an active association between Osmogenesia and Stigmata, with the floral odour emanated from the wounds. Stigmatic Osmogenesia in every case is reported as the smell of roses, which again is deeply symbolic with the wounds of Christ. While there is no way of knowing just how many people the Odour of Sanctity was associated with, in the Late Medieval and Early Modern periods ascetic mystics make up a large population of those afflicted with this post-mortem perfume. In particularly female mystics that lived cloistered lives. These women’s bodies suffered through harsh asceticism and self-inflicted mortification. Yet through the isolation, hardship, poverty, and virginity, these mystics sought to control their bodies and transform them into sacred vessels. It, therefore, makes sense from their perspective that, if successful, the discarded vessels of these perfected souls should already be touched by a whiff of Paradise. The association of the Odour of Sanctity with cloistered women parallels the profane eroticism of the earthly woman with the chaste eroticism of the sacred woman; while the worldly woman’s corpse corrupts by its nature and stinks, so the heavenly woman’s body remains pure and fragrant. However, the conversation is still about a woman’s body.

Nuri McBride, The Odour of Sanctity: When the Dead Smell Divine

[sithfox]

Today's snippet is from my Omegaverse!Empires AU again, but this time it's CodyWan's turn to shine. Obi-Wan can be a necromancer. As a treat 💀

Cody stops dead in the door, startled by the tableau before him.

Kenobi's mouth is dripping with blood, his eyes glowing bright yellow as he smirks down at the two Mando corpses at his feet. His eyes flash to Cody's and the smirk just widens. "Jag'havur Fett. Apologies for the mess. It seems someone wished to make an attempt on my life. I was just about to get answers."

Now that the initial shock has passed, Cody can take in details of the scene. The bodies don't fit in their armor; on closer inspection he's pretty sure that armor belongs to Kad Viszla, who'd been reported MIA before Sideous' death. Cody comes forward and carefully removes the helmet to confirm that this is definitely not Kad—this armor has been stolen, desecrated, and he growls under his breath. "Please do. I want to know who's dirtying our armor."

Kenobi looks a bit shocked but acquiesces. He squats over the corpse at his feet and presses his hand to their throat, a strange mimicry of choking the dead assassin, and Cody curses when the shadows distort as Kenobi chants something under his breath.

"Tsaiwinokka Hoyakut," the Sith murmurs, grip growing tighter, until the corpse gasps back to life.

[satvikasailu6]

Automating Tableau Reports Validation: The Easy Path to Trusted Insights 

Automating Tableau Reports Validation is essential to ensure data accuracy, consistency, and reliability across multiple scenarios. Manual validation can be time-consuming and prone to human error, especially when dealing with complex dashboards and large datasets. By leveraging automation, organizations can streamline the validation process, quickly detect discrepancies, and enhance overall data integrity.

Going ahead, we’ll explore automation of Tableau reports validation and how it is done.

Importance of Automating Tableau Reports Validation

Automating Tableau report validation provides several benefits, ensuring accuracy, efficiency, and reliability in BI reporting.

Automating the reports validation reduces the time and effort, which allows analysts to focus on insights rather than troubleshooting the errors

Automation prevents data discrepancies and ensures all reports are pulling in consistent data

Many Organizations deal with high volumes of reports and dashboards. It is difficult to manually validate each report. Automating the reports validation becomes critical to maintain efficiency.

Organizations update their Tableau dashboards very frequently, sometimes daily. On automating the reports validation process, a direct comparison is made between the previous and current data to detect changes or discrepancies. This ensures metrics remain consistent after each data refresh.

BI Validator simplifies BI testing by providing a platform for automated BI report testing. It enables seamless regression, stress, and performance testing, making the process faster and more reliable.

Tableau reports to Database data comparison ensures that the records from the source data are reflected accurately in the visuals of Tableau reports.

This validation process extracts data from Tableau report visuals and compares it with SQL Server, Oracle, Snowflake, or other databases. Datagaps DataOps Suite BI Validator streamlines this by pulling report data, applying transformations, and verifying consistency through automated row-by-row and aggregate comparisons (e.g., counts, sums, averages).

The errors detected usually identify missing, duplicate or mismatched records.

Automation ensures these issues are caught early, reducing manual effort and improving trust in reporting.

Tableau Regression

In the DataOps suite, Regression testing is done by comparing the benchmarked version of tableau report with the live version of the report through Tableau Regression component.

This Tableau regression component can be very useful for automating the testing of Tableau reports or Dashboards during in-place upgrades or changes.

A diagram of a process AI-generated content may be incorrect.

Tableau Upgrade

Tableau Upgrade Component in BI validator helps in automated report testing by comparing the same or different reports of same or different Tableau sources.

The comparison is done in the same manner as regression testing where the differences between the reports can be pointed out both in terms of text as well as appearance.

Generate BI DataFlows is a handy and convenient feature provided by Datagaps DataOps suite to generate multiple dataflows at once for Business Intelligence components like Tableau.

Generate BI DataFlows feature is beneficial in migration scenarios as it enables efficient data comparison between the original and migrated platforms and supports the validations like BI source, Regression and Upgrade. By generating multiple dataflows based on selected reports, users can quickly detect discrepancies or inconsistencies that may arise during the migration process, ensuring data integrity and accuracy while minimizing potential errors. Furthermore, when dealing with a large volume of reports, this feature speeds up the validation process, minimizes manual effort, and improves overall efficiency in detecting and resolving inconsistencies.

As seen from the image, the wizard starts by generating the Dataflow details. The connection details like the engine, validation type, Source-Data Source and Target-Data Source are to be provided by users.

Note: BI source validation and Regression validation types do not prompt for Target-Data source

Let’s take a closer look at the steps involved in “Generate BI Dataflows”

Reports

The Reports section prompts users to select pages from the required reports in the validation process. For Data Compare validation and Upgrade Validation, both source and target pages will be required. For other cases, only the source page will be needed.

Here is a sample screenshot of the extraction of source and target pages from the source and target report respectively

Visual Mapping and Column Mapping (only in Data Compare Validation)

The "Visual Mapping" section allows users to load and compare source and target pages and then establish connections between corresponding tables.

It consists of three sections namely Source Page, Target Page, and Mapping.

In the source page and target page, respective Tableau worksheets are loaded and on selecting the worksheets option, users can preview the data.

After loading the source and target pages, in the mapping section, the dataset columns of source and target will be automatically mapped for each mapping.

After Visual Mapping, the "Column Mapping" section displays the columns of the source dataset and target dataset that were selected for the data comparison. It provides a count of the number of dataset columns that are mapped and unmapped in the "Mapped" and "Unmapped" tabs respectively.

Filters (for the rest of the validation types)

The filters section enables users to apply the filters and parameters on the reports to help in validating them. These filters can either be applied and selected directly through reports or they can be parameterized as well.

Options section varies depending on the type of validation selected by the user. Options section is the pre final stage of generating the flows where some of the advanced options and comparison options are prompted to be selected as per the liking of the user to get the results as they like.

Here’s a sample screenshot of options section before generating the dataflows

This screenshot indicates report to report comparison options to be selected.

Generate section helps to generate multiple dataflows with the selected type of validation depending on the number of selected workbooks for tableau.

The above screenshot indicates that four dataflows are set to be generated on clicking the Generate BI Dataflows button. These dataflows are the same type of validation (Tableau Regression Validation in this case)

Stress Test Plan

To automate the stress testing and performance testing of Tableau Reports, Datagaps DataOps suite BI Validator comes with a component called Stress Test Plan to simulate the number of users actively accessing the reports to analyze how Tableau reports and dashboards perform under heavy load. Results of the stress test plan can be used to point out performance issues, optimize data models and queries to ensure the robustness of the Tableau environment to handle heavy usage patterns. Stress Test Plan allows users to perform the stress testing for multiple views from multiple workbooks at once enabling the flexibility and automation to check for performance bottlenecks of Tableau reports.

For more information on Stress Test Plan, check out “Tableau Performance Testing”.

Integration with CI/CD tools and Pipelines

In addition to these features, DataOps Suite comes with other interesting features like application in built pipelines where the set of Tableau BI dataflows can be run automatically in a certain order either in sequence or parallel.

Also, there’s an inbuilt scheduler in the application where the users can schedule the run of these pipelines involving these BI dataflows well in advance. The jobs can be scheduled to run once or repeatedly as well.

Achieve the seamless and automated Tableau report validation with the advanced capabilities of Datagaps DataOps Suite BI Validator.

[pythonjobsupport]

How To Create Tableau Dashboard from start to end part 1|Sales analytic and Detail Report #tableau

Open Tableau Desktop. Connect to your data source by selecting the appropriate data connection option (Excel, CSV, database, … source

[analyticspro]

Tableau: Dynamically Switch / Swap Sheets using Parameter

Allow users to switch / swap displayed sheets, visuals or charts within a Tableau dashboard based on their selection using parameters.

[unabashegirl]

Lycan 16 — werewolf

Y/N Y/L/N returns to her hometown, Alsfield, when her father falls ill, only to discover the town hides a dark secret—one protected by the mysterious Harry Styles. As Y/N unravels the town's mysteries, her plans to return to San Francisco are derailed. 

check out my patreon (starting at $2) and get full access to all chapters, various one shots like The Cover and much more :)

— lycan masterlist —

The moon hung low in the night sky, casting an ethereal glow over the Shadow pack territory. Harry, Niall, and a group of warriors moved stealthily through the dense woods. A sense of unease lingered in the air, a premonition of something dark.

Harry, his senses heightened, led the way. His nose twitched as he caught a scent that shouldn't be there—an unfamiliar and unsettling aroma. Harry, his expression tense, followed closely behind. The warriors, their eyes vigilant, formed a protective perimeter.

As they ventured deeper into the woods, a chilling discovery awaited them. Harry’s low growl signaled that something was amiss. The group stumbled upon the lifeless body of a teenage girl, her pale form contrasting starkly with the shadows of the night.

The scene was haunting, a tragic tableau in the moonlit woods. The victim lay sprawled on the cold forest floor, her lifeless form bathed in an otherworldly glow. The trees, their branches reaching out like spectral fingers, cast eerie shadows over the solemn gathering.

The air carried a mix of scents—the damp earth, the scent of pine from the towering trees, and the unmistakable tang of blood. The girl's body, once vibrant with life, now bore the marks of a brutal encounter. Her clothes were torn, and the pallor of death had settled on her skin. Her neck had been slit.

Nearby, the underbrush was disturbed, evidence of a struggle that had unfolded in the heart of the Shadow pack territory. The foliage seemed to whisper secrets of the night, but its secrets were elusive, leaving the investigators with more questions than answers.

The air thickened with a somber silence as the pack members surveyed the scene. The girl's eyes, frozen in terror, stared blankly into the night. Harry, a mix of sorrow and rage in his eyes, spoke softly, “It’s isabella. patrick’s oldest” He had been an omega to his father.

Harry, the weight of responsibility heavy on his shoulders, knelt beside the fallen girl. The warriors exchanged glances, a silent understanding passing between them. This wasn't just an intrusion; it was an act of violence that struck at the heart of their territory.

Niall, his voice roughened by the emotions coursing through him, reported, "She crossed into the territory and didn't make it far. Whoever did this knew our borders."

Harry's jaw tightened as he assessed the situation. An outsider breaching their territory was one thing, but the brutality inflicted upon this girl was another. The pack's safety was paramount, and this incident demanded swift action.

"Territory patrol has to get intensified," Harry declared, his eyes reflecting both determination and sorrow. " and a curfew has to get established for teenagers and kids"

The warriors nodded in agreement, their loyalty unwavering. The search for the perpetrator had begun, and the Shadow pack, bound by a duty to protect their own, would not rest until justice was served.

"He's an outsider. A rogue," Josh disclosed as he approached the grim scene. His reputation as a tracker preceded him; the uncanny ability to decipher the traces left behind in the air and on the ground. Harry's silence spoke volumes; anger emanated from him, and the primal instincts of his wolf simmered beneath the surface, seeing nothing but red.

“Cover her body and take her to Michaela. I’ll go speak to Patrick. He must already know that something is wrong” Harry's voice cut through the heavy silence that hung over the tragic scene. The lifeless body of the teenage girl lay on the forest floor, an unwarranted guest in the territory of the Shadow pack. Niall and the warriors moved swiftly to follow Harry's orders, draping a cloth over the girl and lifting her gently.

As they carefully carried her away, Harry's eyes lingered on the disturbed earth, a mix of sorrow and fury etched across his face. This act of violence within his territory was a direct challenge to his leadership, and the stakes were higher now that Y/N was in the picture.

Harry turned on his heel, striding purposefully toward the heart of the pack territory where Patrick, had his residence.

The peaceful silence of the night shattered as Y/N awoke abruptly to the jarring sound of things being thrown around. The remnants of a calm evening, where she had taken a soothing bath and attempted to lose herself in a movie, were now replaced by chaos.

Confusion clouded Y/N's mind as she fumbled to grasp the reality of the situation. The room was cast in an eerie glow from the moon filtering through the curtains. It was barely five in the morning. The distant echoes of the commotion outside reached her ears, and a knot of unease settled in her stomach.

Swiftly, Y/N rose from the bed, her senses on high alert. The room felt different, charged with an unfamiliar tension. She could hear muffled voices, urgent and agitated, echoing through the walls. The pack, normally a cohesive unit, now seemed to be in disarray.

With cautious steps, Y/N moved to the window, peering outside to witness an unsettling scene. Shadows danced in the moonlight as figures darted back and forth, their urgent movements painted with a sense of urgency and concern.

The pack territory, usually a haven of tranquility, was now a canvas of unrest. Y/N's heart raced as she tried to piece together the fragments of the situation. It was evident that something had gone awry, disrupting the fragile peace she had briefly known.

Taking a deep breath, Y/N steeled herself, the remnants of sleep dissipating. She needed to find out what was happening. The hallway outside her room was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with an unspoken tension. As she ventured out, she noticed other pack members moving with purpose, their expressions etched with a mix of determination and concern.

The first face that greeted Y/N in the hallway was Niall's, his usual composed demeanor replaced with a visible expression of concern. His eyes, usually calm, now reflected the turbulence that seemed to have enveloped the entire pack.

Y/N approached Niall with a myriad of questions crowding her mind. "What's happening?" she uttered, her voice hoarse from sleep and the abrupt awakening. The urgency in her tone mirrored the disquietude that echoed through the pack's territory.

Niall, caught off guard by her presence, looked at her with a mix of surprise and caution. "What are you doing up?" he asked, his tone revealing that her awakening was not expected. The worry etched on his face deepened as he motioned for her to move closer, away from the prying ears in the hallway.

The escalating cacophony of shouts and the discordant crash of objects colliding made it difficult for Y/N to focus on anything else. She turned to Niall, her expression reflecting the urgency of her need for answers.

"What's happening?" she inquired once more, the volume of her voice rising to compete with the tumult resonating from Harry's office. It was evident to her that the heart of the disturbance lay within those walls.

Stepping closer, intent on unraveling the mystery, she noticed Niall attempting to divert her attention, a subtle indication that this was not a situation meant for her ears. However, her determination pushed her forward, and she didn't hesitate to approach the door.

Niall, caught off guard by her persistence, jumped slightly, his attempts to guide her away met with resistance. "Niall, what is going on?" she demanded, her tone more authoritative as she sought the truth.

His reassurances fell flat in the face of her determination. "Nothing. Go back to sleep," he insisted, hoping to spare her from the unfolding chaos.

"Tell me now," she commanded, her voice cutting through the tumult like a blade. The urgency in her eyes matched the turmoil in the corridor, and Niall, realizing the futility of deflecting her, took a deep breath before responding.

Niall's words carried the weight of concern as he explained the situation. "It's Harry's wolf. He is angry, and we haven't been able to contain him. Something set him off, and he's just seeing red," he elaborated, his tone heavy with the gravity of the circumstance. "You can't go in there. If something happens to you, he's going to kill me."

A determined look settled on Y/N's face as she responded, "I have to. Let me see him. Perhaps I can help."

Niall hesitated, torn between the urgency of the situation and the instinct to protect Y/N. After a moment of contemplation, he nodded reluctantly, realizing that her willingness to face the volatile situation might be the key to diffusing the tension. With a deep breath, he stepped aside, allowing her access to the tumultuous scene beyond the office door.

He was enormous, his massive form barely fitting in the room. Dark as the night, only his eyes allowed her to identify him amidst the chaos. Several people were in the room, attempting to calm him, but all efforts had failed. The space was in shambles, with his powerful paws having torn through everything. The moment she entered, his intense gaze fixed on her, the sole point of focus in the turbulent room.

"His name is Zion," Niall shared as he introduced them to each other. She swallowed heavily, feeling the weight of his intense gaze on her. He stood before her, studying her, as Zion hadn't had a chance to meet her before. “Now calm him down before we all get killed”.

Zion's eyes, a deep and penetrating shade, seemed to bore into her soul. His massive form exuded power, and the air in the room crackled with tension. The other pack members stepped back, giving Y/N and Zion a wide berth.

Y/N nodded, her eyes locked with Zion's. There was an odd connection, an understanding that transcended words. She took a cautious step forward, and despite the chaos in the room, Zion's attention remained fixated on her.

Niall warned, "Be careful, Y/N. His wolf is dominant right now, and he might not recognize you as his mate”.

----> Chapter 17

[eptodaytommorowforever]

Events In The History And Of The Life Of Elvis Presley On June The 9th In 1972.

THE ELVIS PRESLEY SHOW COMES TO NEW YORK CITY.

Elvis Presley Madison Square Gardens Opening Night 8:30pm On Friday The June The 9th In 1972.

June 9, 1972 (8.30 pm) New York City, NY. Madison Square Garden

Concert Review By Don Heckman From The New York Times Saturday From June The 10th 1972

Elvis Presley finally made it to New York Friday night, in the opener of four sold-out concerts at Madison Square Gardens that represented his first live appearance in Gotham.

The show was planned with the crisp dispatch and efficiency of the various Presley enterprises, all run by the powerful pitchman's had of the singer's manager, Colonel Tom Parker, The Sweet Inspirations, a soul group, did a respectable group of songs, and an aging comedian badly misunderstood the interests of his audience and beat a hasty retreat. Then more suspense a brief intermission. Finally, the lights dimmed, the momentous production was made and Elvis Presley came bounding out, glorious in a white jumpsuit with gold-trimmed cape. For three or four minutes he moved through a series of tableau poses that would have intimidated Charles Atlas, while an explosion of Instamatic light cubes turned the Garden into a mass, stop-action strobe light show.

But the Elvis Presley dug in. No nosense, little banter with either audience or accompanists - simply a sold professional doing a job he probably can do better than anyone in the world. In his maturity Elvis Presley has developed his sense of humor to a finely honed edge. When he finally got around to singing the much anticipated, 'Hound Dog', he made several intentional false starts and finally, surprisingly, sang the song with a strong soul feeling and little of the country-boy grunting and grinding that had given the tune such early notoriety. The most noticeable development in Elvis Presley's style, in fact, was the minimizing of the country and Western elements that had been so vital to his early music. The great majority of his numbers -and he ranged from current standards like, 'Bridge Troubled Water', 'Proud Mary', among others, to older hits like, 'Love Me Tender', and, 'Heartbreak Hotel', were firmly locked in the currently trendish rock to gospel styles.

Cool Relaxed Ability

Since Elvis Presley's music was one of the motivating forces behind the early evolution of that style, he uses it with understanding and ease. But at least some of the old, coarse power has been glossed over by his cooly relaxed professionalism, and his affection for the Dean Martin ballad sound is more is evidence than ever.

It turned out to be a program with a fairly rich menu but not much staying power. After 45 minutes he was gone without an encore. The effect was almost anticlimactic. Yet in sum we had heard enough to confirm that, even after 16 years, the Elvis Presley magic was as incredibly effective as ever.

He is, Elvis Presley without question, one of the real ones.

The Tracklist Song 🎵 List Recorded By Elvis Presley 2001 Theme, Thats All Right, Proud Mary, Never Been To Spain, Until Its Time For You To Go, You Dont Have To Say You Love Me, You've Lost That Loving Feeling, Polk Salad Annie, Love Me, All Shook Up, Heartbreak Hotel, Teddy Bear, Dont Be Crue/Love Me Tender, Blue Suede Shoes, Hound Dog, Bridge Over Troubled Water, Suspicious Minds, Band Introductions, For The Good Times, An American Trilogy, Funny How Time Slips Away, Can't Help Falling In Love, Closing Vamp. Rare Live Candid Photo’s Taken Here Of Elvis Presley Taken Here By Reporter Journalist Dan Heckman From The New York Times Paper.

[reveryfics]

First Meeting

Hughie Campbell x Male Reader

Summary: When Hughie seemed unsure about Billy's plan to plant a bug, Billy pointed out that he wouldn't be venturing into the Seven Tower completely solo, which is where you came in.

A/N: Rewatching The Boys (fogot how frustrated it made me), and since I did a "How you met" with Frenchie. I wanted to do it with some of the other characters, so this takes place in episode one (obviously not completely cannon) Not to proud of this, but here you go

A/N: Blood - Supe reader - How you met

The apology video on your phone screen blurred as you stared, a hollow ache settling behind your eyes. A-Train's carefully constructed remorse for Robin's death was a performance, a calculated move to soothe the masses. You’d seen the initial, hushed crime reports that day, the callous laughter in the early, quickly scrubbed comms. It curdled your stomach.

Your gaze drifted to the rearview mirror, catching Billy's knowing smirk. "You hate 'em, don't you?" It wasn't a question. He'd seen the simmering fury beneath the practiced smiles you plastered on for the cameras, the barely concealed disdain for the manufactured heroism of the Seven. He’d witnessed the clandestine meetings, the hushed phone calls, the shared glances that spoke volumes no one else understood.

A sigh escaped your lips as you powered off your phone, the dark screen reflecting your own troubled expression. "Hate feels…understated. Loathe, with a burning passion, is closer." You punctuated the 'p' with a dry chuckle.

Billy had been a knot of suspicion from the start. A member of the Seven, a heavy hitter at that, offering help with a casual "felt like it"? It didn't compute. He'd watched you, a hawk sizing up prey, searching for the angle, the ulterior motive. But as the weeks bled into months, witnessing your quiet acts of defiance, the genuine, albeit clumsy, attempts to right small wrongs the Seven carelessly created, a different picture began to form. He saw past the glossy veneer of the supe, glimpsed the raw edges of a broken kid clinging to a desperate need for validation, a naive hope that maybe, just maybe, your folks would finally see you as something other than a weapon. He still didn't fully grasp the "why," but the "what" had become undeniable. You were on his side, and for that, he was grudgingly grateful.

The sudden click of the passenger door jolted you from your thoughts. A lanky young man with wide, startled eyes stumbled into the backseat. Hughie. Billy had filled you in, a raw nerve he poked with a surprising gentleness. Hughie’s gaze locked on you, his Adam's apple bobbing as he pointed a shaky finger. "You're…you're one of the Seven," he mumbled, his eyes darting between you and Billy like you were a ghost.

You didn't offer the practiced, dazzling smile the cameras loved, the saccharine greeting Vought drilled into you. Instead, you crossed your arms, your expression neutral, and gave a curt nod. "Nothing gets past you, does it, genius?" A wry amusement flickered in your eyes as Billy pulled away from the curb.

"My…my girlfriend, Robin…she, uh, she really liked you," Hughie stammered, a painful tremor in his voice. "She…probably had a crush." You watched his forced smile waver, the unshed tears clinging to his lashes. You knew your platitudes would be hollow, but the silence felt heavier.

"I'm sure she was a great girl," you murmured, your tone surprisingly gentle. "Nothing I say will bring her back, or make what A-Train did hurt any less…but that doesn't mean I'm not sorry." You offered a small, genuine smile, a flicker of understanding in your eyes.

"It's not like you killed her," Hughie whispered, his voice barely audible.

The rest of the ride was a hushed tableau of grief and unspoken plans. Billy finally pulled up to the imposing monolith of the Seven Tower, his instructions to Hughie a low rumble. You stepped out of the car, the casual indifference in your posture a shield against the curious glances of passersby. Hughie shadowed you, his unease palpable as you steered him towards the entrance.

"Aren't they going to, like, notice you're with me?" he questioned, his voice tight with anxiety.

You shrugged, a careless flick of your wrist. "You honestly think I care? Worst they'll do is eye-fuck me to death." You murmured, pushing open the heavy glass doors and gesturing for him to precede you.

He walked through the metal detectors, his body stiffening as the shrill beep echoed through the lobby. The security guard started to speak, but his words died in his throat as you followed, the alarm blaring once more. You gently nudged Hughie forward. "What? Gonna ask me to take my suit off, officer?" you sneered, your tone laced with bored disdain.

Hughie had to admit, there was something…different about you. Cocky, undeniably, but your arrogance felt less like malicious superiority and more like profound annoyance. "Isn't your suit, like, carbon fiber or something?" he asked, staring at the sleek, dark material.

"Yeah, but what do they know?" A low chuckle rumbled in your chest as you jabbed the elevator button.

A couple of Vought lackeys met you at the elevator, their eyes flicking over Hughie with undisguised suspicion before settling back on you with a mixture of deference and apprehension. You were a known quantity here, prone to unscheduled appearances and disruptive pronouncements. Your presence in the conference room raised no immediate alarms. You settled into a chair beside Hughie, kicking your feet up on the polished table, your gaze fixed on the ornate painting adorning the ceiling. The silence stretched, thick with Hughie's escalating anxiety. He fidgeted, his knuckles white as he clenched his hands in his lap.

You tapped his shoulder, the sudden contact making him jump. Leaning closer, your breath ghosted against his ear. "I'll make you the same promise I made Billy," you whispered, your voice low and serious. "If you ever need me, just call…I'll always be there." You patted his shoulder and leaned back, watching the gears visibly turning in his mind. The weight of the room seemed to lessen, replaced by a flicker of something akin to hope.

"Why?" he whispered, his eyes narrowed, searching yours.

You offered him the same small, genuine smile from the car. "I made myself a promise years ago, that I'd be a real hero, not the puppet Vought parades around…and that means helping those who need it, when they need it."

Hughie didn't get a chance to respond. The conference room doors swung open, and A-Train swaggered in, flanked by Ashley and a nervous-looking lawyer. A-Train's eyes landed on you, standing slightly behind Hughie. "Seriously? What are you doing here?" Ashley's voice was sharp with irritation.

You shrugged, your gaze still fixed on A-Train. "Bored." You settled back into your chair just as A-Train began his practiced spiel, only to be interrupted by Hughie's ragged breathing. You saw the panic tightening his features, the almost imperceptible tremor in his hands, before he forced a weak smile. "All good, man," he mumbled, extending a hand to A-Train. The handshake was brief, the smile unconvincing. You knew it was an act.

After A-Train and Ashley had made their exit, Hughie mumbled an excuse about needing the restroom, setting Billy's plan into motion. You remained in the conference room, your eyes scanning the dense legalese of the NDA on the table. "Fucking bastard," you whispered under your breath as Hughie returned. You watched him sign the papers, a subtle movement as he placed the small device beneath the table.

Back in Billy's beat-up sedan, he eyed you through the rearview mirror. "Haven't you got better things to do?" he grunted.

"What, like polish Homelander's ego? I'm fine, thanks." You fell silent as he drove, listening to Hughie's shaky recounting of his forced pleasantries with A-Train. Eventually, Billy pulled up outside a small electronics store. "Right, you know the drill," he told Hughie, adding, "I'll be in touch." As Hughie opened the door, you scribbled your number on a scrap of paper and quickly pressed it into his hand.

You and Billy hadn't driven a block before he broke the silence. "What'd you say to him back there? What promises are you makin' now?"

"The same one I made you," you replied evenly. "He's gonna need it, just like you did." Without another word, you pushed open your door and started walking down the sidewalk. Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the flickering fluorescent lights of the electronics store. The front door swung open and closed, an unnatural rhythm, no one entering or exiting. A prickle of unease skittered up your spine, a primal warning. Without conscious thought, you changed direction, heading towards the store just as a figure was hurtled towards the front window. Hughie.

You slammed through the storefront, shattering the glass, the jagged shards of glass exploding outwards as your body collided with something solid, sending shelves crashing. Translucent. You whirled around, your fists clenching at your sides as you saw Hughie standing frozen amidst the debris. "Don't tell me you're protecting him!" Translucent sneered, his voice a low growl. You didn't dignify his accusation with a response, your focus narrowed on the almost silent slide of his bare feet against the tile. His fist shot out, a blur of motion, but you sidestepped it with practiced ease, your own fist slamming into his gut, the air whooshing from his lungs. "Almost like I'm doing my job," you retorted, your voice dangerously low.

The fight was a whirlwind of close-quarters combat. Translucent, agile and surprisingly strong, lashed out with quick strikes, his invisible form a frustrating advantage. "You're betraying the Seven!" he snarled, his fist connecting with your jaw, sending a jolt of pain through your head. You staggered back, spitting out a mouthful of blood. "They had it coming," you growled, lunging forward, your own fists finding purchase against his unseen torso. You could feel the impact, the grunt of pain he couldn't fully conceal. He shifted, attempting to grapple, but you were quicker, using the momentum to flip him onto a display case, sending electronics scattering. He roared in frustration, his invisible limbs flailing. You pressed your advantage, a flurry of punches and kicks aimed at where you knew he was, guided by the subtle shifts in the air, the almost imperceptible sounds of his movements. He managed to land another blow, catching you in the ribs, but you absorbed the pain, your own counterattack sending him stumbling backwards. "You think you're a hero?" he spat, his voice laced with disbelief. "You're nothing but a glorified thug!" "Maybe," you retorted, dodging another strike, "but at least I'm not a perverted peeping tom who gets his kicks watching people take a piss."

You clattered to the floor, Translucent suddenly on top of you, his invisible hands tightening around your throat, cutting off your air. You clawed at his arms, your vision blurring at the edges. Through the haze, you saw Hughie, his face a mask of desperation, creeping up behind Translucent, a thick electrical cable ripped from the wall clutched in his hands. It was too short. "Fuck you, you perverted bitch!" you choked out, a surge of adrenaline giving you the strength to shove Translucent back just far enough. The exposed end of the cable connected with Translucent's bare backside, a sickening thwack followed by a violent surge of electricity. His body convulsed, his invisible form flickering into a distorted visibility before he collapsed onto the floor, twitching uncontrollably.

You lay sprawled on the cold tile, your hand pressed against the sticky warmth seeping from a gash on your forehead. Hughie scrambled towards you, his face pale with shock, and helped you sit up just as Billy's car roared through the gaping hole in the storefront. Billy's eyes scanned the scene – you, bloodied but conscious, Hughie trembling beside you, and Translucent, a grotesque tableau of involuntary muscle spasms amidst the shattered displays. "Bloody hell," he muttered, shaking his head.

Billy, ever the pragmatist, quickly took charge. He convinced a wide-eyed and stammering Hughie to help him move Translucent's convulsing body, his reassurances about disposal methods vague but somehow convincing. You slumped against the remnants of the front desk, watching their hasty departure. Minutes later, the wail of sirens grew louder. You spun a flimsy tale of being on walk, witnessing a group of thugs ramming a vehicle through the storefront before fleeing. The arriving officers, more concerned with the visible damage and the frantic apparent civilian, didn't press too hard.

Later that night, the sterile calm of your apartment felt suffocating after the chaos. A tense meeting with Madelyn Stillwell had yielded nothing but veiled threats and thinly disguised suspicion. You frantically dialed Billy's number until he finally answered, his gruff voice immediately handing the phone to Hughie. "Do you need help? I can be there in two seconds, just say the word," you urged, your voice tight with concern. A long pause stretched between you. Finally, Hughie took a shaky breath. "We…we got it covered," he mumbled. "Thanks…thanks for being there." A small, weary smile touched your lips. You let the relief wash over you for a fleeting moment. "Do me a favor?" you whispered into the phone. "Yeah?" Hughie's voice was barely audible. "Tell that dickhead Translucent I'll see him in hell." A choked sound escaped Hughie. "Yeah," he whispered back before the line went dead.

You leaned back against the worn cushions of your couch, rubbing a hand across your aching forehead. The adrenaline was fading, leaving behind a dull throb and a profound sense of unease. Deep down, you knew this was more than just a one-off incident. This was the beginning of something bigger, something far more dangerous, and a terrifyingly exhilarating thrill coursed through you. The game had changed.

[creepinonmen]

Screenplay: "The Silent Haul"

FADE IN:

EXT. COUNTRY ROAD - DAY

A desolate stretch of rural highway winds through rolling fields, the sky cloaked in heavy, gray clouds. A delivery truck sits crookedly on the shoulder, its hazard lights flickering weakly. The crunch of gravel announces the arrival of two police cruisers, their lights flashing silently. OFFICER JENKINS (mid-30s, stern) and OFFICER MALLOY (late 20s, eager) emerge, hands hovering near their holsters.

OFFICER JENKINS (adjusting his cap) Looks abandoned. Let’s check it out.

They approach with caution, peering through the tinted windows of the cab. No movement. Malloy taps the truck with his flashlight.

OFFICER MALLOY No sign of life. Door’s unlocked.

Jenkins nods, and Malloy swings the driver’s side door open. A stale mix of coffee and leather wafts out. The officers share a tense glance before stepping inside.

INT. TRUCK CAB - CONTINUOUS

The cab is a mess—crumpled fast-food wrappers, a spilled energy drink can, and a faint smear of grime on the dashboard. A tattered curtain separates the cab from the sleeper area. Jenkins pulls it back, revealing a horrifying sight.

CLOSE-UP: TRUCK SLEEPER

The truck driver, a young man in his early twenties, lies in a grotesque tableau across the sleeper bunk. His plaid shirt is ripped open, buttons scattered, exposing a pale, sweat-slicked chest marred with angry red rope burns that spiral across his torso and arms. His pants are yanked down to his ankles, tangled in a heap, revealing thighs streaked with dirt and shallow cuts, as if he’d thrashed against his bindings. Thick, coarse ropes bind his wrists behind his back, the fibers embedded in his flesh, and his ankles are lashed together so tightly that the skin around them is purple and swollen. A gag—torn fabric from his own shirt—chokes his mouth, soaked with saliva and stained with blood.

His face is a mask of violent death. Bloodshot eyes, their whites a chaotic web of burst capillaries, bulge from their sockets, wide and unseeing, the irises clouded with a milky film. His tongue protrudes grotesquely, swollen and blackened at the tip, jutting past cracked lips that are crusted with dried blood and foam. Dark, finger-shaped bruises encircle his throat, the skin torn in places where the strangulation was relentless, leaving a raw, glistening wound. His cheeks are flushed an unnatural purple, veins bulging beneath the surface, and a trickle of blood has dried from his nose, painting a stark line down his chin. His head lolls to one side, hair matted with sweat and grime, resting against the bunk in a final, pitiful slump.

OFFICER JENKINS (voice low, horrified) God almighty… Call it in. We’ve got a homicide.

Malloy stumbles back, fumbling with his radio, his breath uneven as he reports the scene. Jenkins steps closer, his boots crunching on a scattered pile of change. A crumpled McDonald’s receipt lies near the driver’s bound hands, smeared with a rusty stain.

OFFICER MALLOY (into radio) Dispatch, this is Unit 12. We’ve got a 187—male, early twenties, found strangled in a delivery truck off Route 17. Requesting CSI and coroner immediately.

Jenkins pulls out a notepad, sketching the grim details. The driver’s boots, scuffed and caked with mud, lie upended near the bunk, one sole worn through as if he’d kicked futilely. The air hangs heavy, broken only by the static of Malloy’s radio.

OFFICER JENKINS (to himself) Who did this to you, kid? And why out here?

CUT TO:

EXT. TRUCK - MOMENTS LATER

Additional police vehicles roll up, their lights casting jagged reflections on the truck’s chrome. Detectives emerge, and the area is sealed with yellow tape. Jenkins stands by the cab, staring through the window at the young driver’s ravaged face, his expression a mix of resolve and disgust.

DETECTIVE HARRIS (approaching) Any witnesses? Footprints?

OFFICER JENKINS Nothing yet. Just him and this nightmare. Looks personal—brutal.

Harris peers inside, his jaw tightening. The camera zooms in on the driver’s face—those bloodshot, lifeless eyes, the protruding tongue, the brutal marks of his end etched in every detail.

DETECTIVE HARRIS Let’s canvass the area. Someone had to see this.

The officers fan out, their footsteps fading into the rustling grass as the wind picks up.

FADE OUT.

END SCENE.

NOTES: This revised version adjusts the driver’s age to early twenties and provides a more graphic, detailed description of his body and the scene, emphasizing the violence and desperation of his final moments. The tone remains investigative and tense, leaving room for further narrative development. Let me know if you’d like additional changes!