#HVAC silencer

[noiseproblems]

What exactly is an acoustic underlayment?

Floor underlayment is an extra layer placed between the floor and the subfloor itself. They rest right below the wood, carpet or tile of the floor that you walk on. Floor underlays assist to lessen any mirror flaws in the subfloor for a flat and even surface, while also enabling the floor some room to expand and contract with changes in moisture and temperature. Acoustic underlayment is specifically designed to assist to lessen impact noise and is important in the construction of offices, apartments, and any multi-story building with much foot traffic.

If you have ever lived or worked in a place with thin walls where it is viable to hear the conversation next door, then you know how irritating external noise can be and how invaluable resilient channel clip is to have some privacy.

Why should we care about noise reduction?

There are various reasons why noise reduction is so vital. Suppose you are working in an office building with inferior acoustic quality. The buzz of activity around you can be extremely irritating. Nobody wants to gear about foot traffic and just want to install a HVAC silencer.

Commence by eliminating the current floor and sweeping up any debris from the job site. Make sure to remove all the dust and small particles also as the major obstructions. You might want to vacuum or dust the flooring and also to make sure the safest fit when it comes to a Technifoam. After that, apply a thin coat of primer using a paint roller for an even spread. If your underlayment doesn’t have this attribute, then you might have to mail it down with nails and hammer. Put the flooring on top, allow it sit for a while, and you are done with it!

[crow-aeris]

okay, so here's the seer!tim au i promised:

Tim, freezes on the rooftop, camera in hand as the pressure of a Vision creeps against his temples. He quickly sits down next to the HVAC unit, quietly lamenting the loss of some potentially beautiful pictures before closing his eyes.

His Visions weren't easy to deal with, and would always leave him with terrible headaches- especially if he didn't have his little ball with him. Sometimes, if he wasn't careful, the Vision would overlap with his current sight, creating a vertigo-like sensation that would NOT be good next to a freaking ledge.

So, he sits down like a good kid and breathes. Tim covers his eyes further with his forearm and gently accepts the Vision.

Does he know where the Visions come from? Nope! And neither does his parents, but Tim's still grateful he gets to have it, since-

No, focus. He has to focus. If he doesn't focus, then the Vision would remain as an overlay for up to an hour, and it would make getting down from a three story rooftop extremely difficult.

So, he focuses.

The world seemed to fall away as the sounds of the current gotham faded away to gotham, but different.

Vision-Tim opens his eyes and slips into their room. The decor was the same as Current-Tim's, and the placement of the trash was similar, though the discrepancies could be waved off as natural movements and shifting as time passed. When Vision-Tim looked at the date, Current-Tim shoved it to the back of his mind to review later.

But then, Vision-Tim looks at their laptop screen, and Tim- Both Tims- felt their breath hitch in shock, and the Vision is abruptly cut off as Current-Tim feels a hand against his shoulder.

He rips his arm from his face, ignoring how his brain SCREAMED at the sudden movement, and he looks up to see Robin- the second robin, his robin- staring down at him with a worried expression, batman hovering on the next roof over.

"Hey kid, you okay?" Robin- Jason- asks, "You're crying... do you want to talk about it?"

Tim freezes like a deer in headlights, two agonizingly long seconds filled with silence stretched between them when, in one fluid and sudden move, Tim darted away.

Jason called after him, but they weren't fast enough. Tim easily drowns in the shadows and disappears, leaving behind the confused duo and a air of quiet mystery.

But, five days later, even AFTER Tim had tried to warn the bats about Jason's impending death... They didn't listen, and the future played out like clockwork.

So, what could he do?

Well, Tim did what he does best, and takes matters into his own hands. He receives his visions, sometimes looking for them himself using his scrying ball, and deposits the information directly into the laps of the GCPD and the Bats like a cat of sorts.

on one of the nights, when he's calling on a burner phone to try and warn people of Batman's path, he says, "Rumor has it: Batman will be carving through the East End tonight. Stay home, and remain quiet."

And then, people start referring to him as Rumor, and it wasnt hurting anyone, so Tim never intervened and the name just... caught on.

Little did he know, Rumor was now on a certain Oracle's radar...

[belle--ofthebrawl]

For @forlorn-crows Mushy May 2023 day 23: Watching the other sleep

FOR @forlorn-crows MUSHY MAY 2024 DAY 2: MIDNIGHT SNACKS

Pairing: Mountain/Dew

Rating: T for mild sexual humor and dew complaining he doesn't have a libido.

Tags: Attempted Laundry, Attempted Robbery, Midnight Snacks, Mountain is silent but deadly, Fresh Mountain Air (derogatory). Arguably slice of life?

Summary: Yeah I don't even know what to tell you with this one. Dew and Mountain do laundry, get snacks and save the day...?

Word Count: 3252

They've been laying together in content silence for probably an hour. Mountain's the little spoon; Dew's shimmied his way up to throw an arm clumsily over Mountain's shoulders with a leg flung over the big guy's hip in a classic jetpack position. They're both naked save for boxers but the heat of skin on skin isn't really doing anything for them like it usually does. Dew's playing with Mountain's hair, Mountain's enjoying the sensation but. Just laying there without sleeping or fucking is making Dewdrop kind of twitchy. 

Don't get it wrong, Dew loves a good cuddlepile but that comes with the sensation of being sandwiched between a bunch of other ghouls, something always moving, someone always purring and while he loves to play with Mountain's hair quietly like this, just the two of them, he can't relax if everything is too still. Even the HVAC unit in the room isn't working so the air is tepid and stale.

He takes a deep breath in to ask Mountain if maybe he wants to go for a walk or whatever when Mountain shifts and asks, "You wanna grab some snacks from that place across the road?"

Dew grins against Mountain's neck and praises Satan for the earth ghoul's ever hungry stomach. The day (or night) Mountain doesn't get up for a midnight snack is the day (or night) Dew will finally believe in body snatchers. 

"There's a laundromat next to it, I think." Mountain continues. "Should probably wash whoever's clothes are in the suitcases."

"It might be shirts from Swiss." Dew says nonchalantly. "Some from Cumulus too, I think. Maybe." As if he didn't routinely pilfer everyone's clothes and was in fact using Aether's shirt as a pillowcase. Mountain makes a little "hrm" that tells Dewdrop he can't get away with anything.

"And your hoodie." Dew adds, rushed and quiet.

"You might as well keep it." Mountain says, shrugging off Dew's limbs so he sit up and stretch. Dew's eyes immediately go to the way his shirt rides up, exposing his happy trail covering the scant amount of pudge Mountain carries on his beanpole of a body but still. Nothing happens down south. He must be tired. "I like my clothes without burn marks.'

"That was one time and I said I was sorry." Dew snapped without any real bite, shrugging on the aforementioned hoodie while Mountain threw on jeans and a shirt. Dew shimmies into something that fits him, he's pretty sure it's Sunny's by the smell of mangos and when he sticks his hand in the pocket he fishes out a half eaten pack of dried strips. He places them respectfully on the nightstand; hell spawn he might be but other people's snacks were sacrosanct. Especially Sunny's.

"Grab your wallet." Mountain says, hefting three duffel bags with ease. "It'll be pay per load and hopefully they have a coin machine there."

"Wish I was pay per load." Dew mutters as he slips his cracked leather billfold into the hoodies pocket. They probably have enough to get a few rounds done, he thinks.

"So do I." Mountain says, going for the door. Dew tries to kick him but the bastard's long stilty legs take him quickly out of range and Dew has to take three steps for just one of his.

“That doesn't even make any sense, asshole.”

“Your asshole doesn't make any cents. That's why I said it.”

“I am not making a fart joke Mountain.”

“I wouldn't judge you if you did.” Mountain says with a shrug and they continue their walk in the same companionable silence of the bedroom. The night clerk gives them a quiet nod as she folds towels and Mountain salutes her as they head out with their bags. The night air hits them like a soft wall of water, the ambient temperature still warm and humid enough to feel sticky  seconds after exiting the air-conditioned space of the lobby. 

“Nuh-uh” Mountain says, putting his large hand over Dew’s skinny chest when they reach the road. “Look both ways.”

“Mountain, it's the middle of the night.” Dew says with a look of disbelief. He adjusts Mountain’s hand so the palm is fully over his pectoral but he still isn't horny. Goddamn. “This isn't a big city, no one is around.”

“Safety.” Mountain says serenely, glancing left, then right then left again before nodding and pulling away from Dew, who takes a moment to mourn the loss of his hand on his chest and his libido.  They cross the street unharmed to the laundromat, glowing with bright fluorescent lights. 

“We're on camera.” Dew notes, nodding at the faded printout on the door.

“So show’em your good side.” Mountain replies, shouldering the door open. Rows of machines greet them, neatly lined up over the linoleum that is calling out for a decent sweeping. They only look a little bit rusty and Mountain picks a washer out while Dew pulls his wallet out and thumbs out a few bills for a coin machine that promises to take up to twenty dollar bills. He feeds it two fives, ears twitching at the loud clatter of coins in the tray and scoops them up, heading for a similar machine with a detergent selection.

“It's seven dollars and fifty cents for one load on a deluxe machine.” Mountain informs him when he returns, looking frustrated. “I'm not separating the whites.”

“Worth it if it's done faster.” Says Dew with a shrug. He never separates his whites. He doesn't think Mountain even wears white. Aether, maybe. Swiss, for sure. Those paper thin t-shirts that hardly hid anything dry let alone soaked. 

“Gimme the money.” Mountain says, finger gunning him. “Put it in the slot, nice and slow.”

“Noooo,” Dew says with a hint of whine. “Please, I need it to buy cigarettes and porn mags.”

It's so stupid but they burst out into quiet snickers anyway, jostling each other back and forth until Dew’s loaded up the tray and pushed it in. Mountain hits the settings and they leave the duffle bags on the counter for later. Dew flips off the camera as they go; Mountain covers up his hand and mouths sorry and they squeeze through the door at the same time in a half-hearted scuffle.

“Hope they have donuts.” Dew says, kicking a chunk of broken-off asphalt across the cracked parking lot. Mountain does the same, sending a waves of gravel and black top crumbs scattering. “Could go for a jelly Bismarck.

“Belly jismarck.” Mountain says.

“I’ll give you belly jismarck.” Dew mutters, bumping the big guy with his shoulder, shoving his hands in his pockets.”

“Promises, promises.” Mountain replies with the hint of a smile. “My treat, yeah? For the laundry.”

“Guess we'll call it even.” Dew says, easily slipping in ahead of him through the wide open door. There's another printout sign, politely informing them the AC was broken and it was management’s top priority to get it fixed. Lower and in smaller print was a date from several weeks ago. 

Typical, honestly.

A few big fans are set strategically in corners and though some kind of motion sensor rings out bell when they enter, the clerk at the register doesn't even acknowledge them, watching something on her phone and chewing gum, playing with her colorful braids. Dew absently notes the shade as one Sunny had wanted to try. He thinks about asking if it's the same brand to see if she had any tips so he could help Sunshine, but decides it’s just better to not bother her. 

The only other customer is a man in a unzipped hoodie debating over soda brands. He turns around with a orange soda and shuffles over to the candy aisle, giving them a decent look at the rude and bigoted phrase printed on his shirt before he tugged the hoodie close, one that implied he wanted more than just his laundry colors separated. Easy enough to ignore but Dew decides he’ll step in if the guy decides to be a jerk to the cashier.

“Goin’ for the sunflower seeds.” Mountain says, peeling away to shuffle down one aisle. Dew goes a few more down, nabs a little bottle of painkillers because Rain was complaining about his fingers hurting for longer than they should and some chapstick for Aether and the girls because the paint always dried out their lips and they were forever needing more. First aid run done, he picks up some hot chips and a soda before joining Mountain, who apparently can't decide between regular salted seeds and ones that are enticingly pickle flavored.

“Fuck’s sake.” Dew tells him. “Get them both.”

“Okay.” Mountain says. “Hang on, I want cake and then we'll check out.”

Dew wanders over to a rack of magazines and cheap puzzle books, wondering if he really needs another sudoku paperback but Aether enjoys doing them together so there's another fucking thing he has to carry. He's so absorbed in thinking about grabbing a cheap mystery for Cirrus that he barely notices it until he does. Under the hum of appliances, Dew's ear catches a faint hissing sound, like air being let quietly out of a balloon. 

Mountain starts whistling like he always does when he's trying to get away with something and returns to Dew, snack cakes retrieved.

"Would you care for a Swiss roll?" Mountain says, sounding completely solemn with a straight face  but still subtly looking immensely pleased with himself. Dew squints at him, suspicious.  Then the man in the hoodie, who had been in the cake aisle the whole time, starts coughing and after a few moments, airflow from the fans causes the stench to reach them.

"Unholy fuck, Mountain!" Dew hisses, grabbing him by the elbow and dragging him away. "Really?" 

"I didn't like the implications of the slogan on his shirt." Mountain holds out the stale bakery treat in an open palm. "The Swiss roll?"

"And everyone thinks I'm the trouble maker." Dew grouses. 

"They never hear the quiet ones coming." Mountain says like it's some sort of wise statement.

"No shit." Dew says.

"I did not." Mountain replies. "Otherwise this would be an entirely different conversation."

Dew stares at the wall of snacks like it would give him an answer. All he hears is Mountain’s self satisfied chuckle.

He's damn lucky Dew likes him. 

When they get to paying, Dew lays his bounty out and examines the cigarette display behind the counter. All colorful and I exciting ways to give humans cancer. He doesn't know if it'll ever affect his vessel and honestly he doesn't know if he'll be around long enough to find out but that’s a depressing thought. 

That's when he spots it; a familiar white and blue box and he finds himself hit with an odd punch of nostalgia. Mist smoked that brand because it was easier to take a sharpie and scribble out the Y of the brand name, leaving just her name in fancy sea green font: MIST. Easiest way to keep the dicks she toured with from stealing her packs and Dew points to it. He gets it without needing to show ID and wonders if it means anything. Then decides he doesn't care. He opens the pack, shakes one out. Grabs a cheap lighter from the display and fiddles around with it as Mountain pays for their stuff.

"Lighters are one seventy five plus tax." The cashier says.

"I'm just testing it." Dewdrop replies. He lights his cigarette and puts the lighter back. The cashier looks at Mountain, who shrugs.

"He's just testing it."

The cashier's face took on the appearance of someone who suddenly decided they weren't paid enough to deal with this shit as Dew puts the lighter back and heads out to smoke while Mountain deliberates over stupid waiting line purchases like cheap plastic sunglasses that will break when he sits on them after forgetting he put them in his back pocket.

The guy with the hoodie is still hanging around with his purchases, hovering a few feet away from the door like he plans to sidle out with them, sans paying as he pulls at the hem of his sweatshirt.  A dual side eye from two glamoured demons makes him step back. Not that they really care about shoplifting but like hell they want company.

They only take five steps before stopping, admiring the night sky. Mountain's chewing his way through a pack of seeds he's pulled out of the bag already. Dew thinks back to the man and the way he reeked of nerves and rancid sweat. The way he kept hanging out like he was waiting for something. The way he kept plucking his hoodie.

"Guy had a gun." Dewdrop says, exhaling a long stream of smoke.

"Yep." Mountain replies.

"You have any sunflower seeds left?"

Mountain side-eyes him, expression carefully neutral.

"Yop."

Dew grins and tosses his cigarette down, grinding it out with the heel of his shoe.

“You feel like playing superhero, big guy?”

____

Dipshit is already threatening the poor girl when they enter the store again. The motion sensor goes off, alerting him to their presence and he swings around, pointing the gun at them.

“Hey.” Dew says, addressing the shaking cashier. He struggles to remember the name on her tag. Something related to cats? A singer? “Miss Kitt, I changed my mind. I think I’ll pay for that lighter after all.”

“Get on the ground!” Dipshit says. “Or I swear I’ll shoot!”

“You can.” He says to Mountain, who is already starting to kneel, bag of seeds clasped in his sweaty hand. “I still want to pay for my lighter.”

He isn't going to shoot. Dew knew the second he clocked the weapon the guy was banking on the threat more than any action he might take. So he approaches the counter, hands up as the muzzle remains trained on him.

“You can shoot me if I make any sudden movements.” Dew tells the would-be thief. He prays to Belial he’s as invincible as he feels on stage because now would be a bad time to find out otherwise. Ignorance is bliss and if he believes he's bullet-proof then, well, who's to say he isn't? He could be. His belief could make him strong enough. He's fire-retardant, at any rate. Should count for something.

He really really hopes Dipshit doesn't clock the way Dew’s own hands are trembling as they hand over a few measly dollars to Kitt. She takes them in a hand that's shaking just as hard and taps in the amount on the register. They all jump at the sound of the drawer sliding out for change and Dew could laugh if he wasn't just as scared as any other human would be, the barrel of a nine millimeter trained on him. 

He thinks it's a nine millimeter, at any rate. That's always the gun those detective novels have so it's all he has to go off of.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Mountain flicking seeds over the floor, aiming for Dipshit’s boots.

“Twenty five cents.” Kitt says, eyes rapidly flickering between the crazy person trying to rob her and the crazy person acting like the robbery isn't happening. Dew stares at her, tries to communicate it's going to be okay with his eyes alone but he's no quintessence ghoul. For all the good he’s doing, she could might only see even more violence in his unblinking eyes. Dew takes his quarter.

“Thanks.” He says, keeping his tone warm and even. “Hey, you wanna see a coin trick?”

Before anyone can react, he turns swiftly, flicking the quarter straight at Dipshit's skull, terminal velocity but not terminal impact. It nails him square between his eyebrows and he yells, free hand flying to his forehead and that's when Dew moves. He grabs the arm holding the gun and aims it up, yelling for Mountain who snaps his fingers and all Dew sees is thick green stems bursting up, growing rapidly, twining around anything they can reach for support. One sprouts up between their bodies, pushing Dew to safety and deftly wrapping Dipshit up in sturdy greenery, a comically large blossom blooming as it grew up and up.

Something clicks above his head and Dew realizes it's the trigger. He feels like dying of some strange emotion; the cylinder is empty, there was never a threat to begin with.

“Oops.” Mountain says as it pushes harder and harder on the ceiling tiles until the cheap boards give way and the plants can grow, breaking through the wiring, lights flickering before going out. More and more of them, choking out every artificial advertisement, knocking over shelves and stands. 

“Go!” Mountain yells, scrambling up and they go; two through the main door, Kitt through some employee entrance to the side. They run to the street, still, miraculously empty and turn around to watch mother nature's reclamation in awe.

“We're so fucked.” Dew mutters as they survey the gigantic ic greenery only grow larger and larger, mutant blooms bending on pillar-thick stems in search of sunlight.

“It was the adrenaline.” Mountain says defensively.  "Let's blame it on Poison Ivy." .

"The," Dew splutters, turning to him.  "The fucking DC supervillain? Mount, you know she's not real."

"Real to me."

"She's in love with that mannequin girl."

"Harley Quinn. I would never come between them, I just want to be near her."

"Fuckin' weirdo."

"Weirdo fuckin'." Mountain replies cryptically, reaching into his pocket for a fresh and unopened packet of seeds. The pickle flavored kind, Dew notes, some part of him wondering if the experience would have been any weirder if the flowers reeked of pickles.

You know you're supposed to spit the shells out, right?" He asks as Mountain eats a handful.

"Oh please, you love it when I swallow." 

"Don't come crying to me about your torn asshole then." Dew crosses his arms. Mountain leans in close, nudging him so hard he has to brace himself to keep from falling.

"Mmm, delicious wood chips, I love fiber."

“We should go.” Dew says, hardly caring if Mountain makes fun of his wide grin. This is the best he's felt without a cheering audience involved. They saved the day. He helped a human. For being a demon, this whole “selfless” thing actually felt pretty good.

Mountain rummages around in th bag again, pulling out his stupid novelty shades and placing them on his face. Electric blue, with a yellow squiggle pattern and orange triangles.

"Sunglasses at night?" Dew asks with a raised eyebrow.

"Don't switch a blade on the guy in the shades." Mountain says, unwrapping a Swiss roll and taking a big bite. His other hand offers up the twin to the chomped one. Dew scoffs and grabs it, taking a bite and doing a very good job at hiding the way he gags over the stale spongy cake and old sugar of the frosting, thank you very much.

They get back to the hotel, sliding the key card into the door as the first police car drives up. As quietly as they can, they tiptoe back to their room and slide into bed, snuggling up together under the sheets. One minute passes. Two. Dew feels his eyelids finally grow heavy with sleep and sighs, cuddling up close to Mountain in a way he'll vehemently deny in the morning when it hits him.

"Mountain?"

"Sup." 

"We forgot the fucking laundry."

[yiiiiiiiikes25]

had a wip wednesday tag many weeks ago from @garagepaperback, whose gorgeous a barely lit path will astonish you, and who came to my front stoop yesterday to talk about fic for three hours 💅🏻

trying to force myself to finish this thing, so:

Adam scrapes his chair close enough to put down the coffee and waits, but Dick just looks around the patio, one penny loafer ticking a stately beat. Moths leer outsized shadows up the walls, and the brick vibrates with the drone of the HVAC. The silence pushes past awkward into daunting. It’s possible this is a real weird bummer of a dream.

Fine, fuck it. Adam has to rub his face for a moment before he can deal with whatever’s about to go down here; when he feels his jaw give a baneful spasm, he lets his hands fall upturned on the armrests, though he doesn’t know whom he’s asking for mercy. “How can I help you, Dick?”

Gansey rounds on him and revs the smile again. It takes him a breath or two to get going, but his tone stays light. “I do have to apologize for the trespassing theatrics. I texted a few times this afternoon and evening in hopes we could get a drink, or even take the train together tomorrow.”

Ah. With a moment to orient himself, Adam recognizes the passive aggressive symptoms of a WASP enraged. He pulls his phone from his pocket; he’d built new do-not-disturb settings Friday night so just work stuff could come through, bypassable if someone knew to call him twice, but it had been nice, the peace from push notifications. Everything important goes to his watch. Clean. He flashes Gansey the Focus screen. “DND, sorry. Not a great idea for me to come up, though. I let Ronan know this morning.”

“Isn’t something you can be coaxed into, hm?” Gansey’s gaze is direct, untroubled, his drawl unhurried.

“I don’t… no, it’s not. We’re talking on Tuesday night.” The coffee tastes like it’s from the decent Nespresso in the ICU RN break room, an ominous clue as to the depth of Gansey’s charm getting himself backstage. “Sorry, you came to get me to go to the Open?”

Gansey re-crosses his legs, this time ankle over knee. “No. A bit, maybe. No. Have you thought about what you want out of Tuesday?”

Adam lets his mouth fall open for a disgusted half-second. “That’ll stay between me and Ronan, actually. Gansey, what can I do for you this evening?” Of its own accord, his tone has dropped into the register he uses to speak to insurance companies.

What’s the look on Gansey’s face, now? Something deflated, downturned. Sorry, maybe. Adam can’t parse it. “Right. That’s right. I should try not to keep you,” Gansey says. His brow hardens, rueful mouth resolving to a grim line. “Actually, I’ll be out of here sooner if you can do me a favor, will you?”

@flightspathfic @whatimages gimme your fragmentiest fragments

[kickthecan-revolution]

Last week was a lot. I told my team that I was leaving for another experience. They are sad and processing but also very happy for me. We cried a little at the end of the meeting. The initial support structure I had in place was OK but a few parts were confusing/concerning so I adjusted those and I think they feel better. My boss isn't sure where they will officially report into yet but I just made the call and confirmed who their direct manager will be. I've let all of my partners across the company know which has been weird, but OK.

The work in the new role is SO intense, I'm learning everything as fast as I can but also have to apply new learns to what I really don't understand yet to a plan that has to be localized into multiple languages by next week. It's nuts but there's no option not to do it, so I'm working a lot this weekend. I was experiencing such a confidence crisis but a few meetings on Friday validated I am moving in the right direction. For the first time in so long, I had anxiety dreams about work which in a weird way is a good sign - I was just kind of....dead, going through the motions, not super busy, not really caring about anything. My brain is waking up. It's where I am at my best. There will be a time for another way of moving through the world but right now for this next year/last experience, I want to be driving something hard and seeing the impact. I want to push myself to take risks and not be an invisible middle manager. Shirley said that I am like a little joey (baby kangaroo) - I am mostly comfortable living my emotions through animals and I have a tendency of hiding like a little joey. I already see this job will make me deal with conflict, stand in the strength of my opinion instead of being accommodating and malleable, afraid of making someone upset. There's such personal growth here for me.

The Alki remodel continues to provide a number of surprises. After we found so many concerns in the electric wiring in the lower unit, I asked the contractor to have the electrician check the upper unit as well. He couldn't even do much given the electrical panel is over 30 years old, so I had it replaced. We also repaired some cracks in the roof and an HVAC person is coming out to assess what I should do to upgrade the 30 year furnace. It's a lot but I am comforted to know these upgrades will make everything so much stronger and safer, I'm much more confident in renting it now. Another fun thing, the contractor found an outdoor shower on the side of the house so we're going to replace it with this and create a little area with a sauna, so someone can do a cold plunge in the ocean, and then wash off in the shower and take a sauna. It's actually not expensive and the contractor can build it for us. I'm excited!

Health-wise, I signed up for a service that will make it easier for me to get the updates to my health that I need. I got 16 vials of blood taken on Friday for a number of tests - a full panel including a lot of early detection stuff.

This is going to be such a good year. It already is. I trust it. I trust that good things are here, that I deserve them and I am going to meet every moment with new strength, new capability and create more silence so those that are guiding me can be heard even more clearly.

[edenfenixblogs]

Love you all (personal)

Leaving my phone in another room for awhile. I'm not ignoring any of you, and I have seen and will respond to all your EXTREMELY KIND messages, even if it takes awhile.

I was attempting to take a break from all this over the course of the week, because I felt myself growing weary and needed a recharge. Then my ceiling collapsed in heavy rain and I had to turn off my "Work Hours Focus" setting on my phone. It was supposed to silence all notifications and alerts from non-work and non-family phone numbers and block all non-work apps.

LOL...not really possible to have that setting on when coordinating with a bunch HVAC/Roofer dudes I've never met before.

But still. Jewish law commands us to find joy somewhere even when we're miserable. And while I know that is a sentiment that does not work for a lot of people, it has always been helpful to me.

So, despite all this, I am grateful for the shift in my plans this week for several reasons.

I'm grateful we were able to band together to help @rabid-catboy with an actual urgent issue. It feels very good to do something that you know helps someone. If my phone was in work mode I never would have seen this message in time to do anything about it. I had a similar experience in high school and I still think about it often. I get upset at how much was being asked of me and how much I was expected to know so that I could educate my peers and educators to do better. I didn't have the words to describe why something was so upsetting to me and why I know that it was wrong. Years later, I found the words and was so angry that I was expected to have them even when I was a child. It's an unfair burden, and I'll always be grateful that, even though I didn't find the words in time, I could help someone else find their words.

I am glad to have seen how active allies have been over the past week. I'm pretty emotionally drained by this all the time, so I may not say it as clearly or as often as I should, butt you give me hope. I am not used to relying on other or sharing my grief. It's actually a big problem. I don't tell people when I'm upset, because I'm afraid to inconvenience people or seem dramatic. that's part of the reason I struggled through undiagnosed PTSD for 13 years before reaching out for help. With the help of my BFF and my therapist, I chose to start being more open about my emotions with people. It's been a mixed bag. The people I knew would be here for me have continued to be here for me, thank goodness! But all (except 1) of the people I THOUGHT I could trust have simply stopped interacting with me at all. And I'm a lot less pushy/aggressive/vocal about all his suff IRL than I am when I have time to compose my thoughts and answer questions on here. It's been cataclysmic and devastating. To see so many people I've never met IRL not only lend emotional support to me personally but also provide emotional and temporal labor into fighting antisemitism and supporting Jews more broadly has gone a long way to restoring the faith in humanity that this conflict is trying to erode within me. I know I'm not he only Jew who feels this way right now. Please never underestimate the impact you have just by visibly existing in this space with us.

It's been nice being able to channel my anxiety about my ceiling into something productive.

Reminder: I love you all. Sorry for delayed replies. I'll be back. <3

[mememanufactorum]

Badger’s Best of 2022 sentence starters

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* All lines are from this video made by content creator TheRussianBadger.

“I didn’t come here to fuckin’ read!”

“I will carpet bomb your house.”

“No, we’re not going in the direction of ranch.”

“I don’t want to see another video of [name] killing a wasp with ranch dressing.”

“Fuck you, you’re going to the ranch dimension.”

“It’s Ezekiel torn, the Lord is coming back for us. Take me, God!”

“What alcohol do you think [name] would drink? 100% malt liquor.”

“Pass me that travel size Jack Daniels.”

“Yeah, I cleared the house. Off the fucking map.”

“Doctor tried to give me Tylenol instead of percs so I punched him in his fuckin’ face.”

“Your voice is so bassy that my subwoofer keeps shaking my entire fucking wall and I’m scared.”

“You smell like fuckin’ beans, dog.”

“What did I just hear? That doesn’t even sound like an insult.”

“Hey, fall over, break your neck. It’ll be funny.”

“You deserve a bullet.”

“How about you immerse yourself in a shower, bro?”

“I might be 29 years old with dementia, ‘cuz I forgot entirely what the fuck I was gonna say!”

“You did not find your jaw under your bed.”

“The tooth fairy should give you a Dodge Charger if you put your jaw under your bed.”

“Kentucky is literally just farming coal, fried chicken, and horses.”

“Physics wasn’t lying, that particle can exist upon observation.”

“If I hear another ‘swas’, I will fire my Kar 98k into oncoming traffic.”

“I’m showing these mortals what’s good.”

“Even your exhale was autotuned.”

“You sound like a Decepticon charging up.”

“That’s not the pitch moving, that’s just me existing.”

“Yeah, this is going great. Suck my fucking dick.”

“The ocean is a soup. Well, it’s filled with microplastics, so I hope you’re hungry.”

“I hit critical mass, bro. My computer just died.”

“I don’t see how you can hate from outside of the club. You can’t even get in.”

“Michael Jordan’s classic punchline when he sunk it from three: Shabingus.”

“What the dog doing? Literally crushing an entire metropolis.”

“My wife is the greatest, I really love her. First thing I hear? ‘Cringe’.”

“Parry this, you stupid fuckin’ lizard.”

“I land an 86-hit combo, he hits one haymaker and I just fuckin’ DIE?”

“Go left, you fuckin’ rat.”

“Why are you giggling like a goblin?”

“The rule of God is incoming.”

“Now I know what you meant by ‘the blast radius is YES’.”

“I rob literally everyone I know on purpose.”

“You can’t call me mommy either. You guys are fucking weird.”

“I’m not even shooting that guy, that was so impressive.”

“My brother in Christ, you are witnessing our extinction.”

“That’s him, officer, he wasn’t using the Wii wrist strap.”

“That is, like, the ultimate form of spawn camping.”

“Yeah, because we can barely fuckin’ hear you. Shut the fuck up.”

“That shit was actually giving me a headache a little bit.”

“You are blind in your left eye, don’t talk to us about not having RGB.”

“I’m blind in both eyes, don’t feel bad.”

“Your cat stole your radiator? How does a cat steal a radiator?”

“Nah, bro, he do be certified in HVAC.”

“If you don’t like the dollar fifty hot dog at Costco, you belong in a jail cell. I have nothing else to say to you.”

“I pour the milk, I pour the cereal, and then I get out the bowl.”

“It don’t really matter which one’s first. The bowl is last. Everybody knows that.”

“Blunt force trauma to the head is what killed the very hungry caterpillar?”

“You just made me uncontrollably sneeze.”

“I did not stand a chance. The game was rigged from the start.”

“The fucking brain on this kid!”

“When vehicles are the only thing tethering you to the earth.”

“This silence got me fucked up.”

“Damn, that’s sad as hell. You gotta light up your dinner with a BIC?”

“Nah, it’s been going good these last few months, I got a fourth lighter.”

“I take some chicken noodle Campbell’s soup with me, right? I stick it in the fire and I let the ash get in the soup, and you mix it around, and, I swear to God, it makes it taste better.”

“You know what I do? Not fucking that.”

“That just woke me out of my nap, bro. That brought me to reality.”

“Turn that bullshit channel off, bro, I’m trying to go back to bed.”

“I will fucking kill you if you change the hot dog.”

“It’s really funny when you have to explain what Hamburger Helper is to your wife. She does not understand what it is.”

“Y’all be eating? Shit, I’m over here just breathing, that’s all I get. Good old bowl of air soup.”

“I’m pretty sure [name] had to pay his rent with beans this month.”

“Yeah, I’m gonna go drink a gallon of rat poison, I’ll be right back.”

“I’m about to turn you into a fucking Hot Pocket.”

“That lizard took one sip of the McDonald’s Sprite and I was DONE.”

“Why do you laugh like a fucking hyena?”

“Did someone just say unemployment rate falls to zero when you commit genocide on a fucking planet?”

“You can’t glass a fucking planet and say ‘I did it because it solved the unemployment problem’.”

“I now understand why he’s so pissed, bro. That motherfucking bird was outrunning his ass for YEARS.”

“I would be so pissed if all I heard every day: ‘MEEP MEEP’.”

“Make it make sense, dude.”

“Y’all gonna kill me the way y’all talking, bruh.”

“What about that... Mother-motherfucker 43?”

“Ah yes, the ultimate trait in a sniper rifle: A glaring lack of accuracy.”

“You zigged when you should have zagged, my boy.”

“Head empty, only bullet.”

“Give me all the flash grenades you have.”

“Bitch, I’m back out my coma.”

“I am not accepting that reality.”

“Google’s gonna call you an idiot like the fucking computer from Courage.”

“Why am I getting in trouble for speaking the truth?”

“He’s already in jail for second rate shaboingery.”

“Are you talking about the kid that actually went to jail for shaboingery?”

“Imagine being brought in on felony tomfoolery charges.”

“I will admit I was fully aware and cognizant of what I was doing. This was not an accident.”

“You know [name]? He’s allergic to water, dumbass was a fisher for eight years.”

“He’s allergic to water? How? He IS water!”

“Damn, that’s pretty hydrophobic of you. Why would you say that?”

“I need you to put ONE BALL in the hole and you couldn’t land shit!”

“Y’all the type to put fifty dollars down for that stuffed animal, huh?”

“For a second there, I became that meme of that dude sitting in a fast food restaurant just glowing orange.”

“You can’t say the word ‘hamster’ without laughing. ‘Hamster’ is a real word.”

“You’re going to heaven, big boy.”

[spenglercore]

Sharing a WIP from later in When Protons Collide. No major spoilers, but I'll add a readmore just in case, and there are some notations in brackets. Egon gets tapped to crawl through the HVAC ducts in a commercial building in pursuit of An Entity and things get wildly embarrassing.

Bit of context: Victoria does roller derby almost every weekend, and she also lifts in her spare time to maintain core strength and she is also only 5'4".

"Well…shit. We don't have a ladder do we?" Vic asked as she stared up at the vent grate the ectoplasm was dripping from. "Not unless you have one in your pocket." Ray sighed. For a moment, nobody said a word as they all wracked their brains for a solution.

"I could always give one of you a leg up, no problem." Victoria offered with a shrug. "That would work. Who gets the honor of crawling through commercial ductwork?" Egon asked, half-sarcastic. Usually these sorts of things fell to Peter by default. But this time, as the silence stretched, he caught movement out of the corner of his eye and when he turned to see Ray and Winston looking at him expectantly. "What." "Well, you're the tallest." Peter shrugged. Egon raised an eyebrow. And? Then it hit him. "No." He turned and jabbed a finger at Peter for good measure, but then Ray spoke up. "You're also the lightest of us, if I remember right," He pointed out. "No," Egon repeated as he turned back to Ray. "Oh come on, you're built like a two-by-four! Not like you'd get stuck." Winston said. He'd been called unattractive in far worse ways, but having attention drawn to his body type in front of Victoria made him self conscious and he could feel his face go red as he glared at Winston and opened his mouth to protest again, but he was interrupted by Ray. "Hell, you'd probably have enough room to send a trap back out once you nab the wormy little critter." The more he thought about it, the more he realized he couldn't argue; he was best suited to go after the [need name for lil worm dudes] where it was hiding. Despite Victoria being more than capable of lifting any of them, it would be easier for her to heft the lightest person there, whom she'd also already proven she could pick up without breaking a sweat, and the odds of getting stuck somehow were definitely not in his favor. "And hey," Peter said as he clapped a hand on Egon's shoulder. "I always get tapped for this kind of thing, usually by you wanting me to gather some kind of snot for you to analyze and quite honestly? I'm starting to think you have a fetish." Egon had never wished so badly that he could vaporize the man with his mind. Instead he settled for channeling as much 'fuck you' into one look as he could. "Fine." He acquiesced reluctantly. "Hoo, if looks could kill!" Winston laughed. [add more; after a mildly awkward face to face boost into the vent, Egon catches The Thing and then has to worm his way out backwards and things go sideways]

He felt his left boot connect with Victoria's shoulder, and took a moment to make sure his footing was solid. "You're good!" Came the tinny reply. He braced his arms against the top and bottom surfaces of the duct, then slowly lowered his right foot, and a hand gripped the bottom of his boot around the arch. "Okay I got you, just let yourself down slow!" Easier said than done, there wasn't exactly anything to grab ahold of inside a commercial duct made of smooth sheet metal. Once he started to bend his left knee, he felt his right foot take his weight as it settled into her interlocked hands, which meant he no longer had to support himself entirely by his arms and shoulders wedged into the sides of the duct. As he slowly lowered himself further, he felt Victoria jostle and quickly tried to pull himself back up. "Oh fuckssake get your junk out of my face!!" At first, he thought that one of the items attached to his belt had hit her as he lowered himself out of the HVAC system, but it didn't take him long to realize that positioned as he was would put the jumpsuit's fly at face level. That junk. He was glad that his top half was still obscured inside the duct; he could feel his face burning and he wanted to disappear. But his only choice to resolve the situation was to keep going and get down as quickly as possible. Egon tried to lean back, so as not to violate Vic's personal space more than he already had. This in turn pushed his foot forward, which put him off balance. He tried to compensate by bending his leg, but that just shoved his kneecap into Vic's sternum. And just as he decided to try and straighten his leg again, his hand slipped. And there was nothing to grab to arrest himself. "Shit!" As he tried to reposition his left hand, his right slipped. "Shit, SHIT!" To her credit, he felt Victoria crouch down as he slipped backwards out of the vent in attempt to minimize his fall. But having one foot on her shoulder and the other in her hands caused his weight to further shift away from the wall, and several things happened in quick succession. As he fell down and back, Victoria let go of his right foot, and the lack of support caused his left foot to support more weight, which in turn meant that his mass shifted still further from the wall and out into empty space. Her left hand snapped out, and somehow she managed to grab the front of his jumpsuit in an attempt to stop him from hitting the ground. It didn't work. He already had enough momentum that all Victoria did was get yanked down with him. As he hit the ground, all he could think of was Newton's Principle of Inertia. This was going to hurt.

Hitting the ground flat on his back was bad enough, but hitting the ground and then immediately being hit in the midsection by a couple hundred pounds of his coworker succeeded in completely and utterly knocking the wind out of him. He let out an undignified strangled noise and tried to curl up, but he only succeeded in giving Victoria a very awkward hug as he gasped repeatedly to try and catch his breath. "Egon?! Are you okay?" He felt Victoria sit up on her knees, which now meant his legs were on either side of her torso. He squeezed his eyes shut as he silently cursed his psyche for supplying approximately 17 much more intimate scenarios that involved the sensation of her hips pressed against the inside of his thighs. "Fine," he half-wheezed. He hadn't quite gotten his voice back yet.

Egon gasped again and coughed, then felt Victoria shift against his legs. Assuming she was going to extricate herself from him, he pushed himself into a halfway sitting position braced on one elbow, his other hand pressed to his chest just below his ribs as he took another deep breath. "You sure?" He went to nod 'yes', but his eyes snapped open at the sudden and unexpected feeling of hands on either side of his face, and what breath he'd gotten back seemed to get stuck somewhere in his chest; Victoria's face was less than two inches from his, and suddenly all thoughts seemed to disappear, except for one. Kiss me. Please… He felt his face go hot, and hoped that it would just be taken as a side effect from his recent exertions and not his brain suddenly being fixated on the concept of kissing with a ferocity he was not prepared for. Don't forget to breathe, imbecile! He exhaled a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding, and nodded. Maybe he was just seeing things, or reading too much into Victoria's own physiological response to strenuous physical activity, but she seemed just as pink in the face as he probably was, and she wasn't saying anything, just….looking at him… "Are you guys gonna make out right there on the floor, or can we leave now?" Victoria let go of his face as Egon started and twisted one way, then the other, just in time to see Ray give Peter a pained look. Any and all interest he had in kissing evaporated, and an intense embarrassment took it's place. "Can it, Venkman!" He almost yelled. Egon cringed mentally as soon as he spoke; his response had been far too defensive, especially considering how rarely he rose to his friend's usual provocations. Peter's response was to raise his eyebrows and laugh. "Ooh looks like I hit a nerve." He said in a teasing, sing-song tone before Ray smacked him in the back of the head.

[ruvviks]

Chapter >> 19 [x] Characters >> ??? Total >> 7.7k words Warnings >> Alcohol mention, death mention, family / parents, injury mention, smoking

‘More information has been released on the explosions in Charter Hill from a few days ago. The office building in question was supposedly in use as a hideout by the infamous fixer known as “the Broker” on the streets. The explosion itself did minimal damage, but most of the building has been consumed by the fire that broke out on the lower levels.

The NCPD has yet to confirm the number of casualties though emphasizes that no innocent civilians have been caught in the crossfire. The Broker has presumably died on the premises. Their mercenaries have scattered across town and thus far, no further incidents have been reported.

It appears that peace has finally returned to the streets of Night City. And with that, the weather.’

It was the end of August.

The streets were dark. A pitch black sky hung over Night City, heavy rainfall threatening to pour down and a hint of static in the air though not quite enough yet for a full storm to break loose. Nearing the evening hours- the sweet spot right before rush hour where the whole city seemed to be holding its breath, roads left eerily abandoned as restaurants and bars began opening their doors and people packed up their things to leave work and go home.

The run-down apartment building cast a dark shadow on the streets of the Glen, curtains of windows behind bars and grids closed and apartments left unilluminated and cold. The graffiti-covered entrance hall was abandoned- the sound of heels clacking softly on the faded and cracked tiles leading up to the concrete staircase, a single bright fluorescent ceiling light flickering and swaying from a strong breeze blowing in from the hall.

It was one of the older buildings in town. Its initial purpose had been to become a beautiful and bright home to working class families- affordable housing close to work, with stable electricity and HVAC and everything else needed to be able to live comfortably and safely raise a kid or two.

An idea, a dream; exactly how many projects in Night City often started, a vision easy enough to make reality yet halted halfway through because of financial reasons, corporate interference, gang territory expansion, a cyberpsycho incident, economic or political interests or a cocktail of several- or all- of those reasons.

Which is how the building had instead ended up as a derelict ruin with barely working electricity and apartments in the possession of shady owners- some going for triple the rent it was worth and others cheap but in such poor condition one might as well be sleeping on the streets.

Home, sweet home.

The seventh floor stood entirely abandoned, its apartments burnt down after a fire a few years back. All except one; in the far back, safely tucked away from the main street and overlooking the outskirts of Vista Del Rey, though the windows had not been cleaned in who knows how long leaving not much outside to see.

It was small, cozy. A single room apartment with a tiny bathroom in the corner, the door only half in its hinges and never repaired. It held barely any furniture, an old couch with coffee table that missed a leg marking the living room with a mattress on the floor behind it as bed, and a small kitchen on the left next to the front door made out of mismatched cabinets and an old oven and stove that looked like it was as old as time itself.

Despite the clear absence of a resident, the place was not as dirty as it could have been. Recently dusted and the kitchen counter was clean, fridge in working order running on an external generator and stocked with basic foods and some liquors. A safehouse, presumably; or at least a temporary refuge for someone who needed desperately to hide, or simply needed the solitude from time to time.

Cold, grayish blue eyes slowly trailed the dark room, the silence inside nearly deafening. Who had known Night City could be so quiet? Everything else was so far away, an aura of loneliness weighing down on the stuffy interior air making it harder to breathe. Searching hand found a light switch- flicked it on, and a string of colored lights along the top of the window on the other side of the room turned on, bathing the apartment in a soft, reddish pink glow.

Home, sweet home.

It did not feel like it.

He slowly took off his coat, holding it under his arm as he carefully walked further into the room. Ran his free hand through his short, slicked back hair- it was a little damp, still, caused by the humidity outside as well as inside, and he exhaled a little sharper than he had meant for as he quickly dried his hand on his pants.

The place made him uncomfortable, despite the warm and inviting atmosphere the colored lights created. It was too heavy with history- too much hardship had happened between those four decrepit walls and too much of it lingered still and it left him with so many questions; questions he clearly already knew the answers for, but questions that would not leave him alone either way.

Matvey had lived in an apartment like that himself, too.

Many, many years ago; when he had been in his early twenties, only recently escaped his parents’ home, struggling to find balance in the multitude of aspects of his life and struggling to get by.

His eyes trailed the walls, over pictures that had been left there, faded by the decade that had passed but showing people, friends, at parties and roaming the Night City streets after dark, smiling brightly at the camera with closed eyes and scrunched up noses.

And his gaze lingered on one boy in particular, present in nearly all of them- bleached blond hair that reached his waist, some freckles covering his forehead and cheekbones, pale grayish blue eyes above a wide smile, and a small gap between his front teeth.

Oh, Vitali.

Matvey carefully took one of the pictures from the wall, only barely able to contain his irregular breathing and heartbeat as he slowly scanned the faces of both his son and someone unfamiliar next to him; a boy with light brown hair and golden eyes, face full of piercings and a tattoo peeking out of his shirt on his neck.

They were kissing in the picture. Matvey had never even gotten the chance to meet him.

The howling of the wind outside made him shiver while he quickly put the picture back, hairs on his arms standing up straight as the cool breeze blew through cracks and holes in the outer wall of the apartment.

It did not feel right to stand there. It did not feel right to exist in the space Vitali had once existed in, struggling to get by, struggling to survive in a city that was so desperately trying to swallow him whole. And if Matvey could go back in time to change it- any of it-

But it was far too late for that now.

‘Vitali?’

Matvey stood motionless as he watched his son enter the house- flashlight of his phone illuminating the dark hallway- coming home from one of his classmates’ infamous parties while Matvey himself was already getting ready to go to work.

‘Party lasted a little longer than I had thought,’ Vitali instantly blurted out, and Matvey glanced at his watch; nearly five in the morning, and Vitali would have school in only a few hours- but most importantly, Nadya had not even given him permission to go in the first place.

Matvey lowered himself on the couch and exhaled sharply, the memories washing over him like a tidal wave slamming itself into the coastline. Memories of an easier time; but now he was not so sure anymore, wondering if it had truly been as simple as he had always thought, wondering if perhaps his own judgment was clouded, unreliable.

Matvey slowly walked closer to Vitali, trying to think of anything to say; scold him, perhaps, punish him for his recklessness and misbehavior-

But something stopped him from doing so.

Something on Vitali’s face- the way his eyes widened the second his father began moving closer, the way he clearly tried to find the right words to say- the way he swayed on his legs and could barely keep his phone in his hand and the way his eyes almost glossed over when Matvey got close enough-

He simply reached out and plucked a half smoked cigarette out of his son’s hair.

Nadya had not needed to know.

The lights along the wall and ceiling lightly flickered as another strong wind caused the glass of the window to rattle in its frame. A late afternoon dust storm blowing in from the Badlands, leaving the city streets in a thin layer of sand once it would settle down again; the one time anyone would be glad to have a roof above their head, no matter how run-down.

Matvey clasped his hands together, frown decorating the upper half of his face, the howling of the wind the only thing breaking through the silence surrounding him alongside the ringing in his ears the explosions from a few days earlier had left him with-

His eyes fluttered shut and a shaky exhale left his chest.

Oh, Vitali.

It had not been worth it.

Months of planning, months of fighting- months of losing sight of what was right and what was wrong and everything in between and most of all losing sight of what it had all been for in the first place. Revenge? Trying to prove a point? Trying to be good enough for a woman who had lost interest somewhere down the line, to the point she had started to become more of a stranger to him than his own wife?

And where had it led him?

Where had it all led any of them?

‘Perimeter is clear. You should be safe here.’

The familiar voice was comforting, in a way.

It sounded different now; the years had not been kind to him, but still Vitali had grown up to become a fine looking young man radiating more confidence than he had ever done at any point in his childhood, and Matvey would be lying if he said he was not proud of his son for getting to the point in his life he was at now.

He opened his eyes again and watched as Vitali entered the apartment, cane lightly clacking on the old wooden floorboards with every step he took. His eyes trailed the room- though too fast for anyone to be able to fully take in any of the smaller details, and the white-knuckled balled fist along his body told Matvey he would rather be anywhere else.

‘Thank you, for this,’ Matvey quietly said in Russian, but Vitali cut him off with a single shake of his head. He couldn’t even look him in the eyes- gaze fixed on the photos on the wall as he took a step back, wincing lightly and putting his hand over the patched up wound in his side.

‘I don’t want your gratitude,’ he coldly replied. ‘Words mean nothing. Not anymore.’

Matvey understood.

Nothing he could say would set things right. Nothing he could say would change what had happened, would make it all go away- and as far as Vitali was concerned this could easily be part of his plan, still, trying to get closer to him in a vastly different way; try to gain his trust and strike when everyone would least expect it to come out victorious at the end of it all either way.

It would have been a genius plan, Matvey had to admit- well within his capabilities too, he could have pulled it off.

But that was not who he was.

Not anymore.

‘You have- a long way to go,’ Vitali quietly continued, taking out his cigarette case, flicking one out and carefully lighting it, the flame of his lighter softly illuminating the space around him.

‘Make things right. Somehow. Prove to me that you are better without Nadya. And I can’t help you with any of that, so- good luck figuring it out for yourself. I have nothing to win or lose in any of this anymore, so do whatever you feel like doing.’

A nonchalance to his voice, but the words he spoke were heavy. As if all of it was a burden to him- and Matvey knew exactly why, having had enough interactions with Vitali’s friends thus far to know that they did not fully support his son’s decision.

His actions would speak louder than words.

Of course Vitali did not know that Matvey had come with him to that tiny ripperdoc shop- Viktor, I believe his name is- and had stayed with him all that time, refusing to sleep, agreeing to let himself be handcuffed as humiliating as it was just to ease others’ minds.

Of course he didn’t know that Matvey had helped that fixer, Rogue, put together a fake profile for the Broker to get that poor excuse of a Council’s attention away from the both of them entirely and to make sure the NCPD had a name to settle on to put the case to rest in their archives, never to be seen ever again.

And of course he didn’t know that Matvey had willingly allowed some netrunner he could not remember the name of wipe his own entire existence from Arasaka’s database, to make sure they would never find out the truth but at the same time rendering him incapable of ever returning to the corporation, even if he for whichever reason so desperately wanted to.

But what difference would it make if he knew?

‘I won’t let you down,’ Matvey finally answered, lowering his gaze to the ground. Not out of shame, or dishonesty- but if anything out of fear, fear of what he would see on his son’s face, fear of his words being taken with a grain of salt despite how heavy they weighed on his tongue, despite how sincerely he meant them, and he clenched his fists on his lap as a sharp exhale left his body.

A long way to go.

But at least Matvey knew where to start.

‘Hey, Vito.’

The interior of Misty’s shop was comfortably warm, gently illuminated by a few lit candles scattered around. A welcoming sight as always- the interior colorfully decorated but not too clashing or too bright on the eyes, and Vitali would be lying if he said it didn’t make him feel at home.

She hadn’t closed yet; though no one else was inside at that time of day, most of Little China’s residents seeking shelter from the dust storm passing over elsewhere in either the Megabuilding or one of its many diners or restaurants. Misty herself was stood behind the counter, leaning on top with her elbows and softly humming a song.

Vitali wiped his feet on the doormat and quickly took off his mask and glasses, stuffing them in the pocket of his long coat before giving Misty a wave and a smile as he walked closer. She smiled back at him in return; and reached out to ruffle his hair the second he got within her reach, sand and dust falling out of it like snowflakes and sticking to his clothes on the way down.

‘Is Vitya still here?’ he asked, setting his cane down beside him and leaning on the counter as well, eyes fixed on the deck of tarot cards in Misty’s hands she was shuffling.

‘Of course,’ was the response, as usual. ‘City never sleeps.’

‘Neither does he, it seems.’

‘And neither do you.’

Vitali scoffed, a smile lingering on his face as he lowered his gaze to the floor beneath his feet. He couldn’t even argue with her; had not slept at all last night despite recovering from a shot that could have killed him- that should have killed him- only a few days ago.

‘Got time for a reading?’ Misty asked, reaching out to place her hand on Vitali’s before he could pull back to make his way outside, to get to Viktor’s shop. ‘Startin’ to become kind of a tradition at this point, I think.’

‘Hm- with V, maybe.’

Vitali paused, reaching out to the tarot deck in his friend’s hands- she fanned them out near automatically for him, a slightly questioning look in her eyes- and he picked one out, turning it between his fingers and clicking his tongue upon seeing the result.

‘Your cards do not like me very much,’ he finished his sentence with a wink and a smile, and he grabbed his cane again while dropping the tarot card labeled “death” face up on the counter as he made his way around it through the back door of the esoterica.

He had walked down those stairs many, many times before; knew the route to Viktor’s ripperdoc clinic as intimately as the route between his office and his home. Perhaps even more so- visits albeit sparingly going back years in time to long before his time as a fixer, long before he had moved into the penthouse he lived in now.

The familiar smell of sharp disinfectant entered his nose halfway down the steps. The familiar struggle to open the gate to get inside- the familiar sight of Viktor mid drying his hands on a hand towel on the other side of the room, giving him a warm smile as he slowly walked over.

‘Was wondering when you’d show your face again. How’re you feeling?’

‘Tired,’ Vitali bluntly answered, closing the gate behind him. ‘My whole body wants to lay down in bed and never get out, my skull feels cracked and I have not had an appetite since I woke up, but- what can you do.’

Viktor reached out- a gesture that nearly caused Vitali to flinch, a rush of adrenaline locking up the muscles in his neck- and gently cupped his cheek, slightly tilting his head around as he checked his eyes; then placed his hand on Vitali’s forehead, a soft hum that could have both been of approval as well as disapproval leaving his throat.

‘It’ll settle soon enough,’ he finally spoke. ‘You were-’ A pause. ‘You were close to-’

‘I know, Vik,’ Vitali quickly interrupted the old ripperdoc. ‘I know.’

Vitali could not remember much of any of it anymore.

He remembered feeling the cool night air on his skin, the very same slight breeze that had later caused the fire inside the building to spread rapidly from floor to floor. He remembered being lifted into a car- being held by several people at once, staring up through the half opened car window to the dark sky and heavy clouds and the blinding city lights flashing by.

They had brought him there. To Viktor’s shop. He had no longer been conscious by then, and it had taken him a while to wake up after being stabilized; and even then he could still not remember when and how exactly he had gotten home, and the previous day was by that hour also mostly a blur to him.

Vitali’s gaze met Viktor’s again and he instantly took notice of the expectant look in his eyes; no words leaving his lips, but the question was crystal clear to him either way. And in hindsight, Vitali was not entirely sure anymore why he had gone to Vik’s in the first place, when there was really not much else to say.

‘I brought him to the safehouse today,’ Vitali sheepishly said, fumbling with the handle of his cane and lowering his gaze to the floor. ‘He will be staying there for- well, I don’t know. Until he has figured out what to do next, I suppose.’

‘Good.’ Short response. Vitali nearly wished he had just gone home instead. ‘Did it ease your mind?’

He absently nodded, Viktor’s words taking a moment to settle in his brain and as they did the light bobbing faltered and faded into a sigh, shoulders slumping forward as he reached out to grab a chair from beside him and he slowly sat down.

‘I thought it would, but… I don’t know anymore,’ he answered honestly, barely able to look Viktor in the eye as the man sat down on his own stool nearby and wheeled closer. A comforting move- and Vitali’s heartbeat settled down a little as it happened, glad he did not have to cut the conversation short.

‘Did I-?’ he started, frowning as he reconsidered his words and momentarily searched for something else to say. ‘Shouldn’t I have-’

‘Hey- no. Don’t start doubtin’ yourself now, kid.’

The soothing tone of Viktor’s voice seemed everlasting with his patience, and Vitali closed his eyes and dropped his head as the ripperdoc put a reassuring hand on his wrist.

‘Not after everything you’ve been through,’ he added to the statement, and fuck, how Vitali wished he hadn’t- if he had just made a couple of different decisions somewhere along the way then he wouldn’t have had to-

‘But what if I was wrong?’ Vitali blurted out, the words lingering inside his head for much longer than necessary and rendering him unable to keep his mouth shut, like many times before. ‘What if-’

‘You’ve made plenty of mistakes in your life, V,’ Viktor immediately interrupted him. ‘Just like all of us. Just like me.’

Well, that was unexpected.

Vitali frowned and looked back up, Viktor slightly averting his gaze to a point right behind Vitali to not have to look him in the eyes.

‘One of my biggest mistakes?’ he continued, a sudden instability to his voice that had not been there before and he gave Vitali’s wrist a soft squeeze. ‘Not listenin’ to you. Trying to tell you to not join Arasaka after you’d already let me know there was no changing your mind. Pushing you away like that.’

Vitali could not help but wonder how long the other man had been sitting on that one.

Wind blew in from up the stairs, rattling the gate behind them and causing the orange cat curled up in a little makeshift bed next to it to jump up, hiss, and skitter across the floor to sit between Vitali’s legs instead. He absently reached down to give him a few scratches on the head- Jack, he believed Viktor had named him- and used the moment to let the words settle in his head again.

Fuck, he was tired.

‘You were right,’ he finally replied, vividly remembering how desperately Viktor had tried to convince him to not sell his soul to the corporation so many years ago.

‘Doesn’t matter if I was right or wrong,’ Viktor cut him off again with a single shake of his head. ‘I wasn’t there for you the way you needed me.’

‘You’re not my dad, Vik.’

‘But he wasn’t there either, was he now?’

Silence washed over the room and a pang of anger tightened Vitali’s chest; though he managed to shrug it off with ease, knowing the frustration was unnecessary since Viktor was merely stating facts. He lowered his gaze again, staring at Jack who was slapping his ankles and attempting to bite through one of his shoes- and for some reason it caused a small smile to take shape on his face, despite the rest of the circumstances he’d found himself in.

‘Look, kid,’ Viktor quietly said, ‘I can’t tell you whether you made the right call or not. Truth is, I don’t know. I don’t know what I would’ve done. But I trust your judgment. And I’m not gonna let history repeat itself.’

‘What if I am wrong?’

‘Then we’ll find out soon enough. What else are you gonna do about it now?’

He was right.

Of course he was- what else was there for Vitali to do? He could lock Matvey up, and then what? Accidentally turn him into a second Ravager because of it? He was not leaving the man to his own devices. Was not trapping him but would keep an eye on him either way, make sure the things that had happened would never ever happen again-

‘Every decision you’ve made along the way has led us here. You did the best you could.’ Viktor stood up again, giving Vitali a gentle pat on his shoulder before turning around to tend to the mess on his desk, grabbing a stack of papers and shoving it into one of the drawers.

‘You’re just one man, Vito,’ he continued, ‘and you know what? Him too. What’s wrong with this city is that too many folks have this- this “kill who you can kill” mindset. Let’s be honest here, what real difference would it have made to take this one man’s life?’

‘Others have died along the way,’ Vitali bluntly fired back, reaching down and barely reacting when Jack instantly attacked his fingers, pupils dilating upon spotting Vitali’s rings and trying to pull one off his hand. ‘It would’ve been better to save them.’

‘And you tried, didn’t you? Had you killed him, would things have been different? Who else would have lived? Who else would have died?’

It was impossible to say.

Too many external factors at play- Ravager and Dupoint as rogue variables, as well as each and every single one of his father’s mercs. Nadya’s influence had changed so much; what would she have done if Vitali had successfully killed Matvey at any point in time? Would she still have wanted to remain on the sidelines?

‘Sometimes, living is a punishment,’ Viktor suddenly quietly said and Vitali looked back up at him, needing a second to realize he himself had stood up as well and had followed Viktor further into the room.

‘The human mind punishes itself more than enough- and death just… puts an end to that. It’s what makes it so appealing to some when life gets very difficult for them.’

His words were carefully chosen and Vitali could feel his chest tighten again, a lump in his throat making it harder to swallow. He knew Viktor was just putting out general statements, but he couldn’t help but take notice of the slightly targeted remarks dripping down from between the lines, the backside of a coin presented to him visible through a reflective surface behind it.

‘I don’t think the others understand,’ Vitali absently mumbled, a poor attempt at changing the subject.

‘And I don’t think that matters all that much,’ was the ripperdoc’s straightforward response. ‘Nothing’s been forgiven. Nothing’s been forgotten. You simply spared his life and gave him a temporary place to stay, an opportunity to better himself. What he does with that is out of your control.’

He made it sound so easy.

Vitali rarely worried about his reputation among others, knowing very well he could not satisfy everyone and attempting to do that would be as useless as trying to rid Night City of all crime. Sure, he tried his best to stay on the good side of at least the Council- even during all of this he had done nothing to anger them on purpose- but he did not let his worries about it stop him from doing what he felt was best for the situation, or for the parties involved.

But accusations were starting to stack up rather rapidly now. The belief some had he had joined Arasaka again for a while- unaware of the brainwashing, or simply refusing to believe it had happened- the belief some had he was the Broker himself, and now the doubts people had in him because of the outright refusal to kill his father despite the man being just one person in the bigger picture of things.

‘Do you think it will work out?’ Vitali carefully asked, watching as Viktor began setting some tools back on a shelf- and for a split second he was twenty years old again, swaying on his feet with his head completely elsewhere begging Viktor to tell him it would all be okay, to tell him it would be worth it, only to be met with deafening silence and an averted gaze.

‘Of course it will, kid,’ Viktor quietly said and an involuntarily, relieved sigh left Vitali’s chest.

‘It always does.’

Everything would fall in place in time. Viktor was right- of course he was. Vitali had no idea how long it would take, what it would take, but he wasn’t one to give up so easily and neither were any of his friends and for any of them to walk away now after everything they had been through together would be the most unrealistic scenario he could think of.

Of course it would be fine, in the end.

‘Can’t say I’ll ever like him, though,’ Viktor suddenly jokingly added to his statement. ‘But- s’pose we can coexist in peace.’

Vitali huffed in response, taking a step back to lean against the wall. ‘Can you imagine.’

‘Not in a million years.’

They were quiet for a moment, Vitali’s mind wandering off a little as he considered the possibility.

‘I mean,’ he quickly added- not entirely sure why he felt the need to, but it was already too late to stop the words from leaving his lips- ‘he’s a boxer. Like me. Like you.’

Viktor stopped what he was doing to turn to Vitali, and in his eyes where Vitali had expected to find judgment he instead found a softness that gave him just enough courage to keep talking.

‘Makes the worst jokes I’ve ever heard,’ he softly continued, ‘worse than Mikhail, if you can believe it. We used to… We used to watch those horrible hospital tv shows together every Sunday night when Nadya wasn’t home. We would rank all the male doctors from most to least attractive… We never settled on a winner.’

His voice finally trailed off and so did his gaze, glossy eyes trailing over the concrete floor and settling on a small stain near Viktor’s feet.

‘I’m sorry, this is- this is probably too soon, I didn’t mean-’

‘No such thing as too soon.’ Soothing, still, despite it all, like the strong hand he reached out and rested reassuringly on Vitali’s shoulder.. ‘You’ve had to carry that with you for years. Through all of this.’

He had.

Not at any point in time had Vitali stopped seeing Matvey as his father.

‘It feels like a lifetime ago,’ he mumbled, and his eyes fluttered shut when Viktor stepped forward and pulled him in for a hug, a sense of comfort washing over him and taking away any worries he’d had when he had entered the shop.

‘You think things will go back to how they used to be?’

‘No,’ Viktor replied without hesitation, but his voice lacked any hostility.

‘Absolutely not. And that’s for the best.’

The penthouse was not yet dark when Vitali came home, a couple of lights from the living room dimly illuminating the hallway leading up to the front door. A welcoming sight; his years in solitude had not done him well and Vitali would be forever glad to no longer have to live alone.

Mikhail and Vincent were curled up on the couch together under a blanket, quietly laughing about a joke one of them had made. The TV was still on, and Vitali’s eyes trailed over the coffee table- drinks and the remnants of snacks scattered across the marble tabletop.

Movie night. He had missed it a lot in the past few months.

‘Hey baby,’ Vincent said as Vitali walked closer and he reached out to gently grab both of Vitali's hands to drag him on the couch next to him. ‘How’d it go?’

‘Good,’ Vitali answered, leaning in to press a soft, slightly hesitant kiss on the corner of Vincent’s mouth. ‘Good, I think. He’s at the safehouse, everything is settled. For now.’

A short pause, as he sucked in a shallow breath and took a moment to scan both their faces. Vincent had not stopped smiling since he had entered, still looking up at him with a sleepy look in his eyes; but Mikhail refused to make eye contact, visibly biting the inside of his cheek as he instead played with Vincent’s hair. He was notably holding back all of his tics.

‘And here?’ Vitali quietly asked, gaze lingering on Mikhail a little longer until he finally looked up to answer.

‘Rogue called,’ he said. ‘Council has…mostly calmed down by now. The fake profile and “evidence” was enough to convince them and- well, streets are mostly back to normal. Which is really all they ever wanted in the first place.’

‘No ties to me? Or my-’ He stopped to swallow his words. ‘Or to Matvey?’

‘None at all,’ Vincent replied, and carefully brushed some of Vitali’s hair out of his face. ‘Don’t expect an apology from them, but- it’s over now.’

Vitali huffed. ‘All I ever wanted.’

It would do him good to finally no longer have to deal with them. The feeling of their eyes on his back had been a constant annoyance throughout the whole ordeal and all of that could have so easily been prevented if they had simply listened to him from the start.

But Vitali found it was best not to dwell on the Council’s behavior and decisions for too long. As Vincent rightfully said- expecting an apology would be as stupid as expecting to get any financial compensation or support from them for the resources and supplies lost along the way.

At least it would secure his spot out of their direct line of fire during the next Council meeting, whenever that would be. The thought alone already made him shudder- he’d never been all too fond of the gatherings in the first place, but they had gotten significantly worse since, well, recent developments.

‘What about Rogue?’ he finally asked, pushing his own thoughts aside.

‘Mostly just sounded very relieved that it is all over now,’ Mikhail said, shrugging as he grabbed the TV remote to turn off the still rolling credits from whatever movie they’d watched. ‘Will you- Will you go see her?’

‘Did she say anything?’

‘No.’

‘Then I should probably just stay out of her way for a while. Best for all of us.’

That finally got a smile out of Mikhail, glancing over to look at Vincent who had kept his mouth shut but was furiously nodding and Vitali gave him a playful poke in his side, causing his boyfriend to snort and accidentally headbutt Mikhail in the arm in his delayed attempt at dodging.

‘You know what we should do?’ Mikhail asked, playful sparkle in his eyes as he jokingly pulled Vincent closer to hold him in a headlock. ‘Go on vacation. Get out of town for a little bit.’

‘Hmm- Sounds lovely,’ Vitali said with a smile, kicking off his shoes and pulling his legs up on the couch as he moved closer to the both of them and allowed Vincent to drag him in for a hug. ‘Where to?’

‘Panam and Judes are going back to Arizona for a while, meet up with Saul and the others there,’ Vincent said, holding on to Mikhail’s arm with one hand and placing the other on Vitali’s waist. ‘Could go with ‘em- or the east coast.’ He glanced up to look at Mikhail. ‘You still got family there?’

‘I do.’ His eyes briefly lingered on Vincent before moving back to Vitali, and a few soft clicks of his tongue left his lips before he continued. ‘They still want to meet you, by the way.’

Vitali softly smiled back and lowered his gaze, chest tightening a little as Mikhail spoke. He had often mentioned his extended family in their childhood; had often asked Vitali to come with him one day, and how Vitali had wanted to but had never been allowed to travel outside of town because of Nadya and her general dislike of his friend.

Things are different now. She’s not here.

He couldn’t help but wonder where she was, though. If she was doing well.

‘I’m going to bed, important day tomorrow at office.’

Mikhail finally let go of Vincent and kissed him on the head, then reached out to ruffle Vitali’s hair- receiving a fake groan in return as response- and he leaned in to give him a hug, hands on the back of Vitali’s head and running in circles on his back as Vitali dropped his head in the crook of Mikhail’s neck and briefly closed his eyes.

Everything is fine. You’ve not ruined anything.

Mikhail gave him a kiss on his temple and then finally got up from the couch, stretching and yawning before making his way toward the hallway on their left.

‘Good night, you two.’

‘Night,’ Vitali replied in unison with Vincent, who immediately mumbled ‘jinx’ after it and instantly received another poke between his ribs from Vitali. He giggled and shuffled closer, pressing his face against Vitali’s shoulder as he carefully wrapped his arms around his waist.

‘Took you long to get home,’ he murmured against Vitali’s neck, softly pressing his lips against his skin.

‘Had some things to do,’ Vitali absently replied and hooked his arm under Vincent’s leg to pull him on his lap, quickly glancing into the hallway to check if Mikhail was out of sight.

‘Nothin’ I wouldn’t do, I hope?’

Not a surprising question- and Vitali could not blame him. He’d be lying if he said he hadn’t considered it; stopping by a bar on the way there, or on the way home, couple shots wouldn’t hurt him- on a surface level, at least- and at least it would cause his anxiety to settle down for the time being.

But he couldn’t do that to Vincent. Not again.

‘I went to see Vitya,’ he quietly explained himself, gently cupping Vincent’s cheek to make him look up at him, and gave him another soft smile. ‘That’s all.’

Vincent blinked a few times and then leaned in to Vitali’s touch, cheek pressing against his palm- slightly turned his head to kiss it, before turning back and gently fixing the collar of Vitali’s shirt for him. Keeping his hands busy; he was nervous.

‘I’m sorry,’ he mumbled, one of his fingers hooking into Vitali’s shirt a little bit and brushing past his collarbone. ‘Shouldn't've doubted you.’

‘Hey,’ Vitali gently interrupted him and placed his hands over Vincent’s, waiting until his attention was back on him. ‘It’s okay. I get it.’

‘No, no- it’s- I just-’

‘All of it.’

He almost startled himself with it; but it was the truth.

No amount of attempting to justify himself and his actions would take away the fact it made sense people had started to doubt him somewhere along the way. If anything, Vitali’s stubbornness had made everything ten times more complicated than had been necessary and he was surprised it hadn’t caused any bigger arguments to break out in all the time that had passed.

‘My family has always been complicated,’ he quietly continued, lowering his gaze and softly running his thumbs over Vincent’s hands. ‘I- I don’t expect you to ever understand and I know what it looks like from the outside. I do. And I can’t blame you at all.’

‘Vito-’

‘I don’t know if I’m making a mistake with this.’ A brief pause, a shaky inhale. ‘I don’t know what is going to happen next, what he will do. What I will do. But I just- I couldn’t kill him.’

‘I know, baby.’

Vincent carefully cupped Vitali’s face in both his hands and leaned in- a brief moment of hesitation, as if they’d been sent back in time and suddenly had only been together for maybe a month or two- and kissed him as sweetly as he always did, the familiar taste of his peach chapstick spilling into Vitali’s mouth as he pulled him closer.

Vitali would be lying if he said he hadn’t been scared he would never get to experience that ever again.

‘Suppose it was complicated for him too,’ Vincent quietly continued, slightly pulling back and brushing his nose past Vitali’s, ‘considering- well, you know. And… I won’t fully understand it, but I understand that. Can’t fuckin’ stand my piece of shit oldest brother but if I’d find him bleeding out I- I also- you know. A little different, of course, but- I get it. I do.’

‘I never meant for any of you to get dragged into all of this,’ Vitali mumbled, keeping his eyes closed as he softly pressed his lips against Vincent’s again. ‘I’m sorry.’

‘You keep apologizing, but none of this is your fault. He started hunting you down- that’s on him.’

‘I should have dealt with things differently-’

‘How?’

Vincent pulled back a little further and Vitali finally opened his eyes, barely able to see his boyfriend through the blur of his own tears.

‘What would you have done differently if you could go back in time?’ Vincent asked, running his thumbs over Vitali’s cheeks. ‘What would you change?’

‘I would… I would’ve…’

He couldn’t finish his sentence.

‘Bit late, don’t you think? Or should I say early?’

Vitali’s eyes fluttered shut and he exhaled deeply, slowly dropping his head against the front door as he closed it with a soft click and reluctantly turned around to face his father- once again already dressed to leave for work, arms crossed in front of his chest.

‘They really wanted me to be there,’ he quietly mumbled in response, wincing slightly when Matvey reached out to grab his jaw and gently run his thumb past a large bruise on his cheek.

‘I can tell,’ he replied. ‘What happened?’

‘Nothing for you to worry about.’

‘Are you alright, at least?’

Vitali clenched his jaw and could not force an answer out of himself.

He wouldn’t have done anything different. And he knew. And he knew that Vincent knew.

Perhaps foolish, or naive- but it had paid off in the end, as messy as it had been. Death happened each and every day in Night City and even fixers weren’t safe from that; a somewhat morbid reminder of that to mercenaries and the Council alike, and if anything it had finally woken them up after who knows how long of being so certain of their own untouchability.

Who knows how it all would have ended, had Vitali done something different? Who would have lived? Who would have died? He was no longer sure what had caused the dominos to fall in the first place- and there had been no way to prevent it from happening, years of events setting it in motion out of itself- and no one had been able to predict where the chain reaction would lead them in the end.

‘Family’s fuckin’ complicated,’ Vincent said, kissing Vitali on the forehead before getting up and walking over into the kitchen to pour the both of them a drink. ‘I’m just glad that it’s over now. And that you’re still with me.’

Vitali absently nodded, gaze wandering off to the large windows along the wall behind him, looking out over the balcony and the pier of Wellsprings, the vast ocean blending in with the dark horizon far outside the city.

And for a brief second, he could feel his entire body freeze, eyes locked onto the darkness ahead and breath caught in his throat; it felt familiar, too familiar, swallowed whole by the endless void with the feeling of eyes staring right back at him, waiting, expectantly.

‘Hey.’

Vincent had walked back to him, concerned frown decorating his brow as he sat back down next to him and gently cupped his cheek to force his gaze away from the ocean and back on him, the warmth of the light above the coffee table causing the uncomfortable feeling in his chest to settle down- but it did not vanish entirely.

‘I love you,’ Vitali quietly said, the words heavy in his mouth as he spoke and he could only barely stop a tear from escaping the corner of his eye when Vincent smiled at him and pulled him closer to his chest, the warmth of his arms finally making Vitali feel at peace again, and at home.

‘And I love you, baby. Not ever gonna change.’

Life in Night City moves fast.

Its endless crowds are an overwhelming presence during every hour of the day, under the sweltering west coast sun as well as under the blinding city lights long after dark. An ever-growing playground for corporations, fixers and fortune seekers alike- the city of dreams that swallows everyone who does not know what they’re getting themselves into whole; without remorse, and without hesitation.

A city where tragedy strikes too often for people to concern themselves with it anymore- most have grown numb after years and years of hearing the same news on the radio, and most know it’s a waste of energy to even try to care. Cut off one head and two take its place; and one seed planted can infect many at once, leaving the source of the problem nearly irrelevant in comparison to what has grown in the meantime.

Impossible to predict and impossible to control. Many have tried- many have failed- from corporations attempting to get inside people’s heads and control their every move from within to a single man taking matters into his own hands to try and rid the streets of its corruption, starting with its intricate network of fixers and mercenaries as a whole.

But in all of that, there are still people who do care. Who choose each other over and over again- who choose life, over and over again- who refuse to be stripped from their humanity and hold on to it as tightly as they hold on to each other through it all.

The city itself might never change. But people can.

That’s what makes us human after all, isn’t it?

[braindamagedboykisser]

So I'm in therapy for my ADHD and depression/anxiety and my therapist has told me exactly what I see in a lot of posts here, like how happiness is a feeling, not a goal and it's never constant and that if we don't face our fears then we let them control us, but it's never helped me because I already know, but the issue comes when I try and do anything about it. I don't expect everyone to like me or even want everyone to like me, but when there is a near weekly social beatdown because I simply lack the ability to understand social cues, tone of voice or volume control, that leaves me fucked up, and when I try to work on that, it gets to be nearly impossible to ever make any progress, and it never gets better.

Every time someone tells me that I shouldn't expect to be happy all the time and that life just sucks and I need to get used to it it makes me want to put my head through the drywall because I already fucking know that, but clearly it sucks more for me, even if it looks like I'm fine or like I should be happy because the root issue is not material, but psychological, which can't be fixed with a simple "cheer up." The issue has never been me expecting to always be happy, but never being happy. What really makes it suck is that people only see me when I'm having a good time, so maybe in that moment I'm fine, once I'm at home I go into withdrawals from just being normal to the point of suicidal thoughts. I love being with people sometimes and Christmas, birthdays, Thanksgivings and other events like that are almost always a great time *until* the day is done and I lay down at night, because then the good time is over and there's nothing to distract me from the depression which hits hard and all at once right then. What should be me riding the high of having a good time with friends and family is instead me holding myself to my bed to keep myself from either killing myself or finding some substance to dull the pain.

I think what makes the depression so bad is the fact that I don't think I really have anything to be truly depressed about, I'm just depressed because I am. If I had something to actually be this miserable about, at least there's a reason, but I'm just sad about being sad. It just makes me feel like I'm faking it, which only creates a negative spiral of self doubt and self loathing.

So that was all a pretty big downer, and I'll admit that I'm not in a good place, but after all that I feel like I should end on a high note, so here's a few.

I turn 17 in January, which is a checkpoint of sorts for me. On one hand I'm stressed as hell about the fact that I'm almost 17 and about just how much I still have to grow mentally and emotionally in just the next few months because of how early I'm moving out, but on the other hand, holy shit, I'm amazing, I made it, and I get all these opportunities and options. It's a lot and there's a lot of strong and swinging emotions, but as long as I have the friends I have I think I'll make it.

I've also made new friends and cut out cancerous ones, and I've built what I think is a good support group and in general a good friend group.

I got myself out of my high school, which was definitely a toxic and unhealthy environment, and into a dual enrollment program where I do work from home and go to a college class in the evening where I can pretty much just sit in silence. Also since my hyperfixation has been in HVAC, I have been shining in that class.

I know that post went all over the place with little or no cohesion, and if you made it this far you're more dedicated than me, but I honestly needed to put all this out, and doing this has helped in the past.

[e-kitabi]

A practical Guide to Noise and vibration control for HVAc system🥰

Over the past few decades, building design teams have become more aware of potential noise and vibration problems from HVAC Sys.ems. Mechanical engineers have design a ted sound traps (duct silencers), acoustic louvers, sound-absorbing duct liners, and anti-vibration devices, while architects design mechanical room walls and slabs with high sound transfer class (STC) ratings. Despite the addition of these noise and vibration control features in more and more building designs, excessive HVAC system noise and vibration complaints are still common.👌

[the-writing-mobster]

| The Most Dangerous Game | Chapter 6 Excerpt | 💙 🔪 💔 |

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Tack, tack, tack, tack… 

Frisk sucked in a weary breath and reached for her mug. The porcelain was cold against her chapped lips, the murky coffee inside disgustingly lukewarm on her tongue, but she swallowed it anyway. Her eyes burned. The words on her screen blurred beneath her and it took everything in her to stifle the yawn threatening to come over her. 

Crickets chirping. The soft sigh of the HVAC breathing cool air through the grates in the floor. The hum of her computer screen. Lines of dotted color swimming in and out. 

Tack, tack, tack, tack, tack… 

Unfortunately, one could believe that her loneliness and her noble effort to see the best in people, is what led her to her brutal end. ｜

She rubbed her eyes, the sounds of the night buzzing in her aching head. A dark kaleidoscope of color swarmed the back of her eyelids and sent her briefly to another world connected only by scarlet string and madness. 

Frisk sucked in a long breath she refused to admit was a yawn, the incessant noise going silent as her breathing roared in her ears. 

A low moan escaped her as she came too and was greeted with true silence. She mused that the AC must have switched off for a moment. That was fine, she told herself. It’d been getting pretty cold. Even now, she could feel the prickles of goosebumps creeping on her arms and down the back of her neck. 

The words on her computer screen swam across from her. I need to step away. Look over my notes, the thought sent her careening to her feet. 

Each step she took sent pins and needles through her and she seethed through her teeth. How long had she been sitting there? She counted the hours to herself. She’d been writing ever since she’d gotten home from her meeting with the editor in chief so that meant… six hours straight? Was that right? That couldn’t be right. Ibrahim would’ve stopped her… unless he’d also been writing and in that case… 

Frisk smirked at the realization that they must have both been in a flow state. Who were either of them to wreck each other’s process?

“I’m almost done,” she said aloud as if trying to ward off the uncanny silence of the witching hour and give herself some company. 

 

The only other company she had were the pictures of Sarah’s carcass staring at her from her cork board. The acknowledgment of those dead, brown eyes sent Frisk searching the floor for lent out of some desperate attempt at avoiding them, if only briefly.

When the floor truly had nothing of substance to offer her, she was dragged by the chin back to that board. How dare she look away. Look upon me and see how I’ve suffered, whispered her own, morbid guilt. 

“Look at me!” 

She blinked hard at the invasive memory of her own small voice. The photos were blurry in the dark, unfocused in the ghoulish blue glare of her distant computer. She blinked again as if that would fix them. 

It seemed to work, though, and Sarah gazed back at her when she opened her eyes. Only… her eyes were larger. Lashes thicker… skin shades darker if not a tad ashy from the cool embrace of death. Lips plumper. Bruised.   

Familiar. 

Frisk furrowed her brow and sucked in a breath of stale air. Her feet swayed towards the board, pins and needles biting up her leg. She plucked the photo off the wall, a distant clack of the thumb tack falling to the floor. 

Pale, dead skin. Small, glazed eyes, angular, hollow cheeks. Nothing about the photo or about Sarah had changed. I need to call it a night. 

The crickets certainly had.

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Chapter Theme:

Read the full chapter here!

Also, next chapter drops tomorrow!

[crow-aeris]

The first part of Tim's POV :3

Tim watched; his eyes glimmered with an awe-struck light as Batman and his Shadow soared through the sky. The pair weaved through the air, their dark-clothed forms momentarily blotting out the streetlight as they descended upon the cluster of criminals.

The edge of Shadow's blade flashed as a criminal's scarlet blood spilled across the ground. The wounds were shallow and non-lethal, but Tim still captured Batman's disapproving look.

"Tt," Shadow scoffed before flaring out his dyed wings, the criminals shrieking before scrambling away from the teen, only to end up in the grasp of the looming Batman.

Tim raised his camera and snapped a photo, his teeth digging into his bottom lip to silence his excited hums.

Click.

Batman tied the criminals together before leaving them on the side of the road and contacting the GCPD. Shadow glared at the criminals, "Tt. In the League, dissenters would have their wings sawed off as a warning to other potential traitors."

The criminals stared at the Bat with wide, fearful, and pleading eyes. Tim winced, ruffling his still-fresh flight feathers.

"But we aren't in the League," Batman sighed. It sounded like the pair had had this conversation multiple times, and Tim wouldn't doubt it.

Shadow narrowed his eyes behind the domino mask, pivoting before launching himself onto the roof Tim was on. The falcon stifled an undignified squeak before ducking behind the HVAC unit. The sound of heavy wingbeats filled the air as Batman chased after his son.

"Everything would be easier if you adopted the League's teachings as Mother suggested," Shadow growled, unconsciously ruffling his wings in a manner glaringly similar to Batman's.

"We've been over this," Batman sighed, sounding more frustrated than ever, "Talia left you with me. You're not in the League anymore, D- Shadow. You need to follow my rules, which means no killing. No Maiming. And no lethal use whatsoever."

Shadow hissed in irritation, but he didn't bother to argue.

Tim hummed. What was Batman about to say?

As the fledgling watched the pair leap off the roof to continue their patrol, he prepared to procure a list of names that began with "D."

=====

you can find the rest on ao3, here!

[dr-archeville]

This Friday (November 10th, 2023) night at the Carolina Theatre of Durham, a retro film series extraterrestrial double feature:

David Lynch’s Blue Velvet (1986)

Jonathan Demme’s Silence of the Lambs (1991)

$12.00 [plus tax] to get in, movies start at 7(-ish).

“Along with the City of Durham, we have made major investments in the Carolina Theatre for the comfort and safety of our guests during our closure,” says Randy McKay, the Carolina Theatre’s President & CEO. “That includes tens of thousands of dollars in new state of the art HVAC upgrades from Global Plasma Solutions (GPS) that remove biohazards, pollen, and other contaminants to make our air as pure — and sometimes purer — than outdoor air.”  The theater has also earned a Global Biorisk Advisory Council® (GBAC) STAR™ accreditation for its cleaning practices to ensure that guests have a safe and enjoyable experience.  “Together, these cleaning practices and advanced air filtration make the Carolina Theatre one of the safest spaces to attend a film or live event in the region,” says McKay.  [source]

Carolina Theatre of Durham 309 W. Morgan St., Durham, NC http://www.carolinatheatre.org/

[thebizza]

ISS was similar for me, except they dialed up the room temperature to Arabian Summer so the pendulum swung all the way back to unbearable again because we were Bad Kids who didn't deserve adequate HVAC.

Looking back, I'm 99.99 percent certain that the overheating part was illegal and/or life threatening, but hey, we were Bad Kids scolded into silence, and even on the rare occasions when one of us spoke up, who is going to take the word of a Bad Kid?

All this to say parents, pay attention to your teens' high school experiences, ESPECIALLY if/when they inevitably get lumped into ISS with the rest of the Bad Kids. It could be a low-key indoctrination into silently accepting institutional injustice/abuse.

in-school-suspension was honestly so extremely funny because i had undiagnosed Problems Disorder and unironically i LOVED being sent to ISS.

average day of ISS (sent there for 3 days because i was late to a class three times within a 9-week period):

arrive at school and say a silly dramatic farewell to my besties

stop at each of my classrooms to receive makeup work from my teachers which always ends up being some bullshit worksheet or textbook busywork

arrive at ISS portable and go through the daily rigamarole intro of "you are Bad and you should Feel Bad. welcome to Bad Class, a confirmation that you will never make anything of your life, you horrid creature. you are not allowed to speak, eat, or feel joy. no doodling or reading, if you don't have makeup work or homework i will assign busywork to you. fuck you. *spits*"

spend the next 4 hours doing my busywork. it is QUIET. i can CONCENTRATE. the work gets DONE EARLY.

the work only took 2 hours maximum, i spend the other 2 hours writing fanfiction manually in a composition book pretending that I'm doing textbook work. i am having the time of my life.

our lunch time is the 10 minutes between the two lunch periods. there is no line, because there's only ever 5-15 ISS students. i get to EAT instead of STANDING IN A LINE for half an hour and only having 4 minutes to scarf down my garbage.

at the end of lunch, we are led in a big duck line through the school and we each get to stop off at our usual classes and pick up work to do. i already did this in the morning, so i use my time to say hi to my friends and figure out what the homework will be tonight.

for the last 2 hours of the day i do my homework. IT GETS DONE. this is the ONLY time during high school where homework gets done. zero exaggeration. i never did homework unless i was actively in a classroom with no choice but to do homework.

we get the usual outro of "this has been your day in Bad Class, because you're a Bad Child. some of you will be here tomorrow, some of you will not, but i'll see you again in a couple of weeks, because you are Bad and will always be Bad."

the school day is over, i did not encounter any of my bullies, i did not have to 'participate in class'. i got all of my work done and then some. i got to work on my fanfics. i hang out with my friends after school and talk to others on myspace/facebook.

it is the best three days i have in recent memory.

i will be there again, probably on purpose.

[nzdepot]

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