#dc air pump

[dcwaterpump]

Effective Methods to Reduce the Noise of Miniature Diaphragm Pumps

Miniature diaphragm pump is widely used in various fields such as chemical processing, medical devices, food processing, environmental monitoring and ect.. However, as we all know, the noise generated miniature diaphragm pumps during operation has a negative impact on the working environment and the health of operators.

For example, in the medical industry, micro diaphragm pumps are used to transport medicines, liquid medicines, biological products, etc. Its precise delivery ability and protection of liquids make it an important part of medical equipment. However, the hospital environment usually requires quietness, and the noise generated by micro diaphragm pump may interfere with the work efficiency of medical staff and even affect the rest and treatment of patients. So in this article, we will discuss the source of noise and how to take effective measures to reduce the noise level of diaphragm pumps, thus ensuring production efficiency and the safety and comfort of the working environment.

Like most machinery, micro diaphragm pumps inevitably generate operational noise during operation. Usually, it is crucial to distinguish between actual loudness in decibels and perceived loudness, which depends on the sound characteristics of each component when it is working, such as sharp sound (harsh and unpleasant), noisy sound (multiple mixtures), vibrating sound, etc.

Miniature diaphragm pumps are usually composed of pump heads, diaphragms, valve plates, motors, bearings and other components. Any component may produce a certain amount of noise during operation.

For example, when the motor is running at high speed or under heavy load, the motor will generate running noise and mechanical noise caused by friction with bearings and other components. The opening and closing of the valve under high-frequency operation will also generate vibration and noise. We will discuss feasible measures to reduce noise based on the structure of the pump:

1. Optimize the design structure

The design structure of mini diaphragm pump directly affects its noise level. By optimizing the design, the noise generation can be reduced.

1) Reducing the bearing gap

In miniature diaphragm pumps, the bearing gap in the motor and compressor housing is often the main source of noise. Bearing gap refers to the spacing between the inner and outer rings of the bearing. When the bearing gap is too large, it will cause unstable vibration and friction of the bearing during operation, thereby generating noise. Using higher quality bearings with tighter tolerances can help reduce the noise of the pump.

2) Choosing the right diaphragm material

The elasticity and softness of the diaphragm are crucial to the stable operation of the pump. If the diaphragm is too stiff or not elastic enough, it may cause unstable operation of the pump, increase vibration and noise.

The diaphragm needs to maintain good sealing performance during operation to prevent fluid leakage and pressure loss. If the sealing performance is poor, it may cause the pump to generate additional noise during operation.

Therefore, choosing the right diaphragm material and thickness can minimize vibration transmission and thus reduce noise.

3) Customizing valve material

The valve controls the flow direction and flow rate of the fluid in the diaphragm pump. Its design and working principle directly affect the performance and noise level of the pump. The faster the pump runs, the higher the frequency of the valve hitting the valve seat.

TOPSFLO is committed to optimizing the diaphragm structure, valve plates with excellent sealing performance, and precise bearing structures. TOPSFLO carefully select a series of high-performance materials, such as PP, PPS, PTFE, FKM, FFKM and EPDM. For customizing the core components of the pump, such as diaphragms, valve plates and pump heads. Which ensures that the installation and operation of each item meet the design requirements, which can effectively reduce the contribution of the internal structure to the noise.

2. Adjust working parameters

Adjusting the working parameters of miniature diaphragm pump can effectively reduce noise. For example, reducing the working pressure and flow rate can reduce the vibration and injection sound of the liquid; adjusting the working speed so that it works within the appropriate speed range can also reduce the noise.

3. Use low-noise materials

The housing and pipes of mini diaphragm pump are also one of the sources of noise. Therefore, it is very important to choose low-noise materials to make these parts. Common low-noise materials include rubber, silicone, polyethylene, etc. In addition, sound-absorbing materials such as foam and plastics can be added to the inside of the diaphragm pump housing to further reduce the spread of noise.

4. Reasonable installation

Reasonable installation of miniature diaphragm pumps is also an important measure to reduce noise. When installing the pump, choose a suitable location, away from work areas and crowded places. Take effective sound insulation measures, such as setting up soundproof covers and sound-absorbing walls, to prevent the spread of noise. Ensure that the foundation and supporting structure of the motor are stable and reliable, and reasonably install shock-absorbing devices to reduce the vibration and noise of the diaphragm pump. By adding a silencer at the inlet or outlet of the pump, the sound will be suppressed when passing through the porous material layer, thereby reducing noise and slightly reducing the pump flow.

In summary, the noise generated by diaphragm pumps can be effectively reduced through optimizing the design structure, adjusting the working parameters, using low-noise materials and reasonable installation. With the advancement of science and engineering technology, it is anticipated that the noise issues associated with diaphragm pumps will be further mitigated, leading to an improved working environment and better protection for employee health.

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[amc321-r]

Tire Inflator Portable Air Compressor Air Pump for Car Tires - Car Accessories.

[omsaisolarpowersystem]

Control Panel Manufacturer in Delhi

Om Sai Solar Power System is one of the most well-known Control Panel Manufacturers in Delhi. We have neglected the numerous electric panel kinds in our more than ten years of experience. Because we value and uphold quality for our clients, many of them have been working with us for many years. Additionally, the strong demand is a result of the same. The control panel, which houses all of the circuit breakers and safety devices, functions as the system's "heart and brain" and is therefore of utmost importance. We are Control Panel Manufacturer in Faridabad as well. To keep them operating, industrial machinery, equipment, or home control circuits need total management.

Address: E-46/3 Lajpat Nagar Sahibabad Ghaziabad U.P. Pin Code - 201005       

Phone: +91 9999596127        

Email: omsaisolarpowersystem12@gmail.com

Visit our website: https://www.omsaisolarpowersystem.co.in/control-panel-delhi-ncr.html

[shojizbae]

Rave Baby

Spencer Reid x Reader

After a long case, some of the team pitstops at your apartment, and Morgan takes the liberty of searching through some memories. He comes across some scandalous photos that light a fire in Reid.

This last case was challenging. To make it worse, the power had gone out in DC due to a blackout. With a chirp, I told the team that I always had a generator and that we could cool with some coronas in my fridge. Hotch had declined, stating the necessity of returning to his wife and son. I had thrown open all the windows and cranked the AC, attempting to push out all the hot air. With my permission, Derek had distributed beers from my fridge and found a bag of chips.

A battery-powered radio was located, and my CDs were run through to find something to unwind with. With a sigh, Emily sank onto my couch and sipped her beer.

"Uhh, I can't tell you how nice your apartment is."

"Yeah," JJ groaned from the corner, holding her hair up and sticking her face in the AC vent. Derek was still looking through my belongings when he came across a Scooter CD.

"Well, well, well, where did a girl like you find this type of music?" I looked at the album cover.

"Oh, that's from my college days." I tried to dismiss it. This isn't the sort of stuff I would share with my coworkers.

"Really? Let's go ahead and pop this in."

"No don't!" I tried to launch it at him before he could open it, but it was too late. A few photos I took the night I bought that CD slipped into his lap.

"Woah ho ho!" Spencer, who had been content to sift through my shitty romance novels, peaked his head up like a prairie dog at the sound of Derek's chuckle. "What do we have here?" He held up one photo, and I hid behind my beer bottle.

"That was years ago," I whined

"What is this?" Spencer came to the group, attention fully peaked

"It's (Y/n). At a rave." Spencer snatched the photo out of Morgans's hand like a cat but Emily nearly yelled

"Shut up, let me see." she slammed her glass bottle on the table and grabbed one of the photos from him

"No way," JJ stated, following Spencer into the circle to look at the evidence. "I could never imagine you at a rave. I've seen you get upset that you left your clothes in the washing machine."

"They'll get moldy," I whined

"Holy shit. Where was this?" Emily inspects a photo of me in a bikini, fluffy leg warmers, and a matching bucket hat. "Look at your butt where were you hiding this." She makes an attempt to check me out, but I sink further into my couch

"I don't know, I was never sober in the 72 hours around a rave."

"Oh yeah? What did you take?" Morgan begged

"All sorts of crap, mostly hallucinogens. My rave mentor told me music is better when you're high."

"So why'd you stop going?" Emily asked

"I grew up."

"You grew up?" JJ asked, putting the photo on the table

"Yeah," I rubbed my hands up and down my thigh and sighed. I wasn't entirely ready to trauma-dump the team, but here I was. "My uncle, who basically raised me, passed on Thanksgiving in the sophomore year of my bachelor's. Hallucinogens made it easy not to grieve, and loud music blocked my ability to think. I would dance around and tell everyone that 'tonight was the night,' and I was 'finally free,' but I would just see him after a while. He would ask me, 'Why are you doing this, my dove?'. I couldn't ignore him anymore, so I just stopped. Put all my teeny bikinis in a box and put it past me." I cleared my throat, realizing that I had put a damper on the mood

"We could play the CD. I think I'll still remember the rhythm." I switched in the discs and let the synth radiate through my living room. Immediately, I felt the groove, letting it carry my limbs airily around me. I felt myself disconnect as the beat continued to pump. Before I could drift away wholly, Emilie's voice brought me down to earth.

"You packed all this away? That means you still have it?"

"Yeah, in a box in the back of my closet." before I could discover my mistake, she darted to the back of my apartment, and JJ took off with her.

"Oh hell, I gotta see this." Derek got up and dropped the last of the photos. Reid dutifully packed them up and sifted through the photos, stopping on one.

"What did you find, Spence?" I crawled toward him slowly. I gasped at the photo. My Rave mom, Zoe, who was only 4 months older than me, and I were posing together. He sifted through the images with it and stacked them. I gasped at the image. The photo on the top was of Zoe throwing up a peace sign, showing the neon pink paint on her palms, and a green hand was playfully on my throat. Both of our bodies had been splattered with neon ain't, but noticeably, I had two big hands brink on the triangle bikini we wore. One pink, one green.

The picture below was of Zoe and I very dramatically kissing. Zoe had made smudged hand prints on my ass. I had a leg up on her hip, and you could see drool and lipstick around each other mouths.

"I hardly even remember that night, and I thought it was trendy to act gay." I pulled the pictures from his hand and returned them to the case. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"Why are you apologizing? Y-you had fun."

"Yeah, but you're my colleague. This is embarrassing and you probably are ashamed of me."

"Actually, I'm jealous. In college, I had no friends and didn't go to parties. I was, I am, a loser. You had fun."

"Did you not hear my spiel about using drugs not to think?"

"Yeah, but you were hot." That shocked you. He was only two beers deep, and Reid was spilling his secrets.

You laughed in shock.

"Spencer, you can't say things like that." I slapped at his chest playfully.

"WELL!" I could hear Derek's strained voice. "This!" he put the giant plastic tub on the floor next to us. "This is one heavy bucket of slutty clothes."

"I want to try something on!" JJ greedily popped the snaps on the cover. With giggles, JJ and Emily started pulling out bikinis that looked like they were made out of spider webs.

"Woah ho ho!" Derek giggled, holding up a low-rise thong. "I hope you wore a jacket."

"Alright, that's enough!" I grabbed it from his reach

"Hey, could I borrow one of these?" JJ asked. "Will has been asking for something new."

"Yeah, but don't borrow it. I don't want it back." I made a face of disgust

"Yeah, I might want to just wear one around my apartment?" Emily held something balled up

"Take as many as you want. I won't wear them again. I should sell them. I could finally go on vacation."

"Woah woah woah, if you sell these, what will you wear on vacation?" Derek joked

"Clothes." I snatched another piece of hosiery from him. My knees cracked as I stood and got another beer from the kitchen. "Now, get out of my panties." I swatted him with the bottoms as I walked by

by some stroke of God, the lights flicked back on, and across the street, I could see the surrounding building come back to life.

"Well, I've got to get to my house before my ice cream spoils." Emily stood and collected a few pieces of fabric.

"Yeah, and completely unrelated. I have to call Will." JJ juts out her lip in an admission of guilt. They snuck out the door, giggling and tucking crazy fabric in their bags.

"I should get going too, wonder boy. You need a ride home?"

"No, I should be fine. There's a train in the next hour." Reid was still immersed in the photos.

"Well, don't bug her too badly." He left with a wink

"Why are you still looking at those? They're ancient."

"The date on the back says 1998, making you 20 years old. You're 28." Finally, he puts the photos down. "I'm having a hard time picturing you going to a rave. You only read sappy novels from the seventies. I saw three copies of Tuck Everlasting on your shelves." All the talk from my coworkers and the five beers in my system made me more than angry and bold.

Stupid ideas were my biggest export when I was inebriated.

"Well, I know the FBI has kept me in shape. I'm going to my bedroom and try these on." I gave a coy smile as I took a handful of sets and strutted off to the back of my place.

"W-what do you mean you're going to try them on."

"I've gotta see if they still fit."

[whataperfectwasteoftime]

The Rift - Chapter One

Pairing: Marcus Moreno x Marcus Acacius x Marcus Pike x f!Reader

Rating: Chapter is T, overall fic is E (18+ only, explicit smut)

Word Count: 1.5k

Warnings: Unrequited crushes, yearning, questionable science

Summary: Two weeks after the Rift appears, Marcus Pike and the Art Crimes team have been inundated by black market artifacts, and Marcus is more than happy to use this as an excuse to get closer to the curator who is helping them identify the items. Meanwhile, the perpetrators enlist a supervillain to cause a blackout around the Rift in order to steal even more. Hopefully that doesn't cause anything bad to happen!

A/N: We're building toward something big! One thing that I am doing in this fic, for my sanity and for yours, is identify the POV character whenever it changes. I don't usually do this, preferring to rely on narrative, but when three of your characters share the same name, this gets complicated.

Masterlist | Prologue | Next Chapter>>

(Pike)

Marcus Pike takes the steps to the National Gallery of Art two at a time. At the top, he catches his reflection in one of the large font windows and pauses to attempt to flatten his windswept hair before dashing through the revolving doors. He flashes a smile–and his badge–at the security guard, who recognizes him and nods. Rather than funnel through the ticketing counter with the rest of the guests, Marcus instead ducks through a door labeled ‘MUSEUM STAFF ONLY,’ hops down the stairs–three at a time, this time–and opens another door to the curation department, making a beeline for the now-familiar office.

“I’ve got another one for you,” he announces breathlessly, forgetting to knock.

The occupant startles, sending a novelty coffee mug full of pens and highlighters scattering across the floor. 

“Marcus,” you hiss, pressing one hand over your pounding heart. “Oh my God, you can’t keep doing that!”

“Sorry,” he grimaces. “I, uh, guess I got a little excited.”

“Two thousand year-old artifacts will do that to a man, I guess.” You take in his heaving chest, askew tie, and mussed hair. “Did you… run here?”

Marcus feels heat flush to his cheeks, and he grins sheepishly. Oh, if only he could say that it’s 

not just the startlingly well-preserved bronze comb now sitting in the evidence locker right next to the carefully cataloged Roman coins, ceramic glazed urn, ceremonial dagger, and a scroll of papyrus, all in pristine condition. No, it’s not just the flood of bizarre artifacts suddenly entering the black market that has Marcus’s heart pumping with excitement.

It’s the far-too-cute-for-her-own-good Museum Curator at the National Gallery of Art that has been indispensable in these cases, identifying and verifying the authenticity of each new artifact recovered by him and his team.

“Like you said, ancient artifacts really get the blood flowing,” Marcus grins, daring to chance a wink in your direction. “I dunno if you can really call them ‘artifacts,’ though. Or even ‘ancient.’ Weird times we’re in, right now.”

His thoughts drift to the Rift again–common knowledge, not just in DC but throughout the entire globe now, still less than a month into its existence. Heavily guarded, of course, and entrance is strictly prohibited. Hell, even loitering in the vicinity of the Rift earned Marcus a stern telling-off that even his FBI credentials couldn’t override. He couldn’t get the sight of it out of his mind, though. It was as though the empty space around the Rift simply… broke. Like the universe as he knew it was, and then suddenly was not in the space of around ten feet wide. He tried to look through the hole, through the bit that ‘was not,’ but it was like looking through warped glass. The air itself bent and swirled, and through it he swore he could hear the sound of hooves on cobblestone, snippets of language he had read his fair share of in graduate school but had never heard spoken aloud.

“So you uh… want me to come take a look?” you ask, sounding almost shy.

“I thought you’d never ask.” 

“I’m not running, though, so don’t even try.”

Marcus laughs joyfully. He can’t seem to stop smiling whenever he’s lucky enough to be in your presence, and of late, that means he’s smiling a lot. 

“Walking sounds perfect,” he agrees. “Plus, that was enough cardio for me for the whole week, I think.”

You grin back, and Marcus wonders if you can feel the electricity that seems to descend whenever the two of you banter, or if it’s only him that’s affected. Sounds about right, he muses ruefully to himself. You old sap. Still, the silence stretches out just a beat too long, and it sends his imagination whirling. Coffee dates, long walks through the city, cozy drinks on his sofa oh shit how do you even ask someone out in the age of Tinder–

“Lead the way, Agent,” you smirk, and Marcus feels himself melt.

You click your tongue thoughtfully as you examine the comb. “Bronze, Imperial, I’m gonna guess somewhere around… 500 BCE?”

Marcus whistles through his teeth, impressed. “How do you know that?” 

You pick up one of the coins. “Numismatics. Anyone with a working knowledge of Roman history can place one of these babies within a few decades or so.” You flip it over, revealing the stark profile of the Emperor. “This was around the height of his rule and he died in 504 BCE. Knowing that, the coins are from around 510-ish, so everything else that comes out of the Rift, well…”

“You think all of it’s from around the same time,” Marcus offers. 

You shrug. “They’re all coming from the same hole in space and time.”

“What I don’t understand,” Marcus mumbles, more to himself than to you, “is how the hell people are getting in and out of the damn thing, it’s so heavily guarded.”

“I’ll say,” you comment wistfully. “They’ve got that whole perimeter set up now, you can’t go within a quarter of a mile. Wish I could see it… I mean, talk about a curator’s dream, right?”

“It’s incredible,” he says softly. 

“Wait. You’ve seen it? How?”

Marcus smiles and holds out his hands, feeling slightly guilty. “Managed to hoodwink a few people with my credentials, but I barely got within eyesight before I was politely asked to leave.”

“By politely, I’m assuming you mean ‘with an assault rifle.’”

“Maybe a little.”

“Okay, now I’m pissed at you. And don’t flash those big brown puppy dog eyes at me,” you snap, right as Marcus begins to do exactly that. “Throwing your FBI Agent weight around, and you couldn’t even bring along your consultant.”

“Oh yeah, because I really wanted to put you at the end of some Heroic bigwig’s assault rifle as well,” Marcus laughs. “It was stupid, I let curiosity get the better of me. What can I say?”

“You can say you’re sorry by buying me a coffee. Not the swill they’ve got here, a proper latte. And while I drink it nice and slow-like, you have to tell me everything.”

Marcus can’t think of a single better way to spend the rest of his afternoon. 

Electricity crackled at his fingertips. Even if the paycheck hadn’t been enough to convince him, the ultimate test of his powers was enough for him to agree to something so petty as theft. For that’s what it was, when you took away all the other factors. The Rift was simply a complication. A variable. 

A challenge. 

Giving things power had always been his strong suit. Taking it away was another thing entirely, like flexing an unfamiliar muscle, or wiggling your ears. His biggest undertaking before now had been to shut down electricity to one wing of a building, but a whole city block?

Intriguing. 

Lurking in the shadows, at a safe distance from any of the Heroics security, the man known only as Voltage flared his nostrils, drawing the electricity back up into his body, and then… he pulled. Extracting the electrons from the world around him, his fingers flexed and strained as the current flowed backward, like forcing a waterfall to run in reverse. All the lights within a four block radius from the Rift–from cars, streetlights, personal flashlights, mobile phones, and screens–cracked and popped ominously before shattering and bathing the entire area in darkness. 

(Pike)

Not two miles away, the fluorescent light above Marcus Pike flickers, the unpleasant sound of electricity causing the hairs to rise on the back of his neck. Pulling a face, he rubs at the sore muscle with one hand, sits back in the uncomfortable metal chairs of the evidence room, and yawns loudly. 

“What I find interesting is that there doesn’t seem to be any residue on any of the items,” his partner remarks, seemingly ignoring the yawn.

“What kind of residue?” Marcus asks, curious.

“I dunno, like… time residue?”

The Agent laughs good-naturedly. “Time residue, huh? What the hell is that?”

“Haven’t you ever seen any SciFi movies?”

Marcus shoots the other Agent a skeptical look. “Last time I checked, this wasn’t a movie.”

“Exactly. So we have no idea what kind of thing we’re dealing with. I mean, come on. Black hole guns? Holes in space-time? And you’re drawing the line at residue?”

Marcus laughs again, shutting his laptop with a sigh. “Jesus, I had no idea how late it had gotten. Let’s take a break and start again in the morning, yeah?”

“D’you think anything else has come out of the Rift?” his partner suddenly asks.

“Other than the artifacts they’re smuggling? Dunno,” Marcus answers. “They’ve got that place locked down pretty tight. I’ve been wondering how the hell they’ve been getting this stuff out of there,” he remarks, repeating what he had said to you earlier that day. 

“If a bunch of coins are able to get out, it’s only a matter of time before… other stuff does, too.”

Marcus pauses, one hand reaching toward the door. The statement troubles him more than he cares to admit.

“Above my pay grade,” he tries to joke, but it doesn’t land. “Those Heroics guys have to have a handle on things.”

[chainemails]

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[sunb1eeder]

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Bonus (🦴BONER🦴) round🆗 for the P🅾️🅾️Pulated territories📍👮‍♂️❕

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Send this to 1️⃣7️⃣7️⃣6️⃣ quizzical🤓 jizzical American🇺🇸 CUMPATRIOTS👯👙👠❕ If you👇🏻 get 0️⃣🔙, your little 🥵pent-up ❤️‍🔥Puritan PUSSY will be 🧴😳GLUED SHUT😭🙅‍♂️⛔️‼️❕ If you👍🏻 get 🔟➕🔙, you’ll be 😍filled to the 🤤BRIM with 🇺🇸🏈PATRIOTISM🦅🔫 as you 💪🏻STUFF ALL your 🕳️HOLES⛳️ with 🗣️🌭WIENERS🗣️🌭‼️❗️❕

[bluejaysandblackbats]

It Takes A Village

Fandom: YJ98, Flashfam, DC Comics

Summary: After witnessing Bart murder someone, his friends scramble to cover Bart's tracks and stumble upon an international scandal as a result.

(Minor background: Bart took a gap year, and Conner did two years of community college. This starts shortly after Bart's 19th birthday. So, Conner and Jenni are 20, Bart and Cissie are 19, Tim and Cassie are 18, I made Greta 17 for the sake of the fic, and Judy is 15. I decided to make Owen 22 and Thad 16 for plot reasons. Clark and Conner are brothers in this fic, and Clark is 12 years older for the sake of this fic, so he's 32.)

Chapters: 11/?

Characters: Bart Allen, Conner Kent, Judy Garrick, Jay Garrick, Joan Garrick, Cissie King-Jones, Cassie Sandsmark, Tim Drake, Greta Hayes, Jenni Ognats, Thad Thawne, Owen Mercer, Meloni Thawne, Clark Kent, Wally West, Linda Park, Courtney Whitmore, President Thawne

Relationship(s): KonBart, CissieCassie, WallyLinda

Additional Tags: Serial Killer AU, No Powers AU, Angst, Dark Comedy, Bart Allen Kills in This Fic, Minor Thad Thawne, Separated in Childhood, Some Smut in This

Chapter Eleven: The Road to Hell

Bart lay motionless for nearly an hour, staring upward with laser focus. His mind played over everything he’d planned, and he kept his breathing even and slow. The door opened, and he heard a weak cough, Bart waited for the car to go dark as he raised up. His arms rested on his chest as he used his stomach to raise up, gently and quietly to keep from shaking the car. By the time the man noticed him, it was too late. Bart pulled the cord tight around the man’s neck, He leaned back, bearing down as he tightened his gloved grip on Dr. Donnovan’s neck. The man struggled for air and a grip on the cord, fighting for nearly two minutes before he lost consciousness. Bart held on for several minutes before he finally let go. The man was dead. Undeniably dead. Bart got out and opened the front door. Bart took a melon baller and scooped the man’s injured eye out. He set it on the dashboard, a tongue in his back teeth as he focused on the act. He shut the door with his hip and quickly shoved his hands in his pockets as he walked out the opposite end of the alley before placing his soiled gloves in a plastic zip-sealed bag. He walked to his grandfather’s office and washed the coveralls and gloves in the washing machine twice while he showered. 

The ice-cold water kept him calm while his adrenaline pumped. He slowly turned the water up as he deep cleaned. Despite wearing gloves, Bart still insisted on scrubbing his hands. He conditioned his hair, trying to calm himself down, but he was giddy and warm inside. The warm water didn’t help, so he turned the water down again, rinsing and scrubbing his body under ice water until he started shaking violently. Bart moisturized his skin, putting powder on, and lightly spritzing himself with cologne.

He stashed a few pairs of underwear in the locker and dressed in another one of Barry’s sweatsuits. He put the coveralls in the dryer. His sweatpants fit baggy and the sweatshirt swallowed him, but he left in them as soon as his coveralls were dry and put away. Bart’s car was parked out front with his travel bag in the car, so he drove straight from there to Conner’s. 

He was a day early, so Conner didn’t expect him. His hands shook and his heart pumped as he approached Conner’s dorm apartment. He called Conner, so he wouldn’t wake Cassie and Greta. And Conner crept to the door, half-asleep and smiling. “You said you’d be here tomorrow mor—.” 

Bart kissed Conner’s neck as he reached underneath his shirt. “Take your clothes off,” Bart whispered as he kissed Conner's neck, up his jawline to his lips. He rubbed the front of Conner’s shorts as he begged. “Please…” Conner pulled away. 

“Not here… You’re gonna wake the girls up,” Conner whispered. Bart let his teeth graze Conner’s neck as he breathed on him. “Let me show you my room.” 

Bart followed Conner to the bedroom where he dropped his bag and stripped down to nothing, and he lifted Conner’s shirt, kneeling on his uninjured knee as he kissed Conner’s stomach, his lips dragging against Conner’s belly button down to his waistband. Teeth caught Conner’s waistband, and Bart pulled his basketball shorts off with his mouth, his chin grazing Conner’s bulge on the way down. Conner stopped him. “What are you doing here?” Conner chuckled. 

Bart looked up, blinking hard as Conner pulled him to his feet. “I couldn’t sleep… I got so hard on the drive here just thinking about you—.” Bart stopped mid-sentence to pull Conner’s shirt off. “Why do you still have your clothes on?” 

Bart lifted him up before falling onto the bed. Bart kissed Conner all over, his mouth open and hungry, tongue tasting skin, teeth gently biting tender flesh. “Don’t stop,” Conner whispered. 

Bart nodded, spreading Conner’s legs to kiss his inner thighs. He lay on his stomach while he did it, grinding against Conner’s sheets as he came up for air. Conner reached into a tin lunchbox and gave Bart a condom. Bart was impatient, returning to Conner’s inner thighs. He sucked and kissed them, and Conner spread out on the bed, reaching out to clutch the sheets. Conner accidentally grabbed the remote, turning on the TV, and it drowned out his moans. “I missed you too… but if you don’t slow down—.” Bart pressed a knuckle to Conner’s taint as he took Conner into his mouth. Conner’s toes curled, and he arched into Bart’s mouth. Bart bobbed a few times before rising up for air. 

“You can cum. It’s okay… Whenever you want…. Wherever you want,” Bart whispered, almost begging. 

“I—.” Conner patted the bed, searching for the condom he dropped, and he touched Bart’s chest with it. Bart gripped his thighs, pulling him close as he thrust inside him. “Bart—. Fuck.” 

Bart pulled out, unsatisfied with their position, and he flipped Conner onto his stomach. Before Conner could catch his breath, Bart grabbed his hair, pulling him up by wrapping his arm around Conner’s chest, and driving into Conner by rolling his hips and stomach. Conner gasped, surprised at how fast and rough Bart moved. Bart wrapped a hand around Conner’s dick, licking Conner’s neck as he pumped into him. Bart grunted. “Cumming,” Bart groaned. Conner fell onto his palms, and Bart stroked Conner faster before stopping to spit into his hand. Conner reached for a towel with just seconds to spare before he collapsed into the pillows. 

Several minutes passed in silence. Conner lay on his stomach, his eyes drooping, and his body warm. Bart caught his breath, but he couldn’t turn off his mind. As soon as Conner started to nod off, he felt Bart grinding against him. “Bart?” Conner chuckled. 

“Please… More,” Bart mumbled as he kissed Conner’s shoulder. Conner lay on his back, gently stroking as he looked at Bart. “Can you—?”

“I can…”

**

Conner trembled as Bart kissed his neck and shoulders. “Okay,” Conner sternly whispered. 

“Okay?” Bart asked.

“I’m exhausted,” Conner answered. Bart lay on his side, pushing Conner’s bangs out of his face. 

His eyes softened as he looked Conner over. “Did I hurt you somewhere?” Bart asked. He could make out a few bruises on Conner’s thighs, and he frowned at Conner’s ruddy and sweaty appearance. 

“No. No, you didn’t hurt me… I just didn’t expect—. It was crazy,” Conner laughed as tears streamed down his cheeks. Conner couldn’t catch his breath, his body and mind were completely overstimulated by their exchange. Bart sat up. “Oh no, I’m not… I just need to cool down. You didn’t hurt me. No… I’m just a little overwhelmed. Let me catch my breath for a minute.”

Bart grabbed his sweatshirt off of Conner’s desk and offered it to Conner to keep him warm. “I’m sorry. Maybe I could get you—. I won’t do this—.” 

Conner pulled Bart into his arms, and he kissed Bart’s cheek. “You didn’t hurt me. I promise. You didn’t do anything that I didn’t like. I promise… How are you feeling? Do you feel better?” Conner questioned as he wiped the sweat from Bart’s brow. 

“I feel better… I couldn’t stop thinking about you,” Bart replied. “You’re so soft.” 

“That’s because I’m sleepy,” Conner whispered. 

“Okay… Goodnight,” Bart whispered. Bart got up, searching his bag for a sleeping pill, and he took one with water. Conner was fast asleep before Bart returned to the bed, and he climbed in, closing his eyes as he allowed sleep to flood in. 

**

Bart woke up before dawn, stretching out and glancing down at Conner who hadn’t moved an inch since they fell asleep. He pulled the blankets over Conner’s shoulders before going to shower and brush his teeth. 

After he got dressed, he joined Conner, sitting beside him. Conner smiled, still half-asleep as he reached for Bart. “You smell so good,” Conner mumbled. 

“Thanks,” Bart whispered. He traced the line of Conner’s jaw. “Gorgeous… Good morning.” 

“It’s morning?” Conner questioned. 

Bart chuckled, reaching under the covers to rub Conner’s back. “Do you want breakfast in bed?” Bart offered. Conner opened one eye. 

“Why are you being so nice to me?” Conner grinned. Bart scrunched down beside him, looking him in the eyes as he moved close enough to almost kiss him. Close enough for Conner to lose his breath. 

“I just want you to know how important you are to me… And I want bacon,” Bart replied. Conner laughed. 

“Eggs and pancakes too?” Conner asked. Bart smiled, his lips brushing against Conner’s. 

“Keep talking like that, and I’ll never leave,” Bart teased. “Go shower. I’ll start breakfast.” 

**

Greta yawned as she left her room, smelling the bacon, and she shuffled toward Bart with her eyes shut. Greta’s head drooped forward drowsily against Bart’s back. “Good morning,” Greta mumbled. 

“Are you hungry?” Bart asked. Greta opened her eyes and squealed as she embraced him. Bart chuckled. “I missed you too.”

Bart turned toward her, pressing his cheek to the top of her head. “When did you get here?” Greta asked. 

“Two-ish. How’s school?” Bart asked. 

Greta stood on her tiptoes, looking at the bacon sizzling in the skillet. “School’s fine. I’m taking a film class. I think you’d enjoy it. We’re in this unit called Elements of Genre. It’s a two-term class. At the end of this unit, we have to write a paper on our favorite genre and pick a few key elements from a movie of our choice. Conner said you were a good writer, so I was wondering if you’d proofread it for me when I’m done,” Greta requested. Bart turned the fire off and turned his attention to the eggs. 

Bart grinned at her. “I’ll do you one better... When you pick a movie, I’ll watch it with you. How about it?” Bart offered. Greta nodded excitedly before she noticed something… And she always noticed something. Even if she didn’t say anything. She cocked her head, letting her pursed lips tilt to the side. “What’s wrong?” 

“You’re different… Why are you different?” Greta asked. 

“I was sick last week… But I’m better now,” Bart answered. 

She shook her head. The distinct glimmer in her downturned eyes told Bart everything he needed to know. Greta saw the shift in his behavior, but she couldn’t attribute it to anything he’d seen or done. He pinched her cheek and turned away from her, trying to keep her from digging further. “You’re happier today. A lot happier,” Greta whispered. Bart pinched her cheek between his pointer finger and middle finger knuckles. 

“Does it scare you?” Bart asked as he leaned forward. Greta shook her head. 

“You don’t scare me,” Greta grinned. It set Bart’s heart at ease. “Cassie’s still sleeping, but I can wake her up.” 

Bart turned the fire low, and he shook his head. “Do you think she’ll mind if I go in there to talk?” Bart asked. Greta shook her head. “Can you do me a favor and watch the eggs? I’ll come back.” Greta took the spatula from him, and he left the kitchen. 

He entered Cassie’s room and nudged her. She opened her eyes and jumped. “Bart, oh my—. When did you get here?” Cassie asked. 

Bart scrunched his nose up as he grinned. “Two. I didn’t wanna wake you guys up, so I texted Conner. I couldn’t sleep, so I got on the road... If you don’t want me here, ” Bart teased, “Sorry, Cissie couldn’t come. She had a game.” Cassie hugged him. 

“That’s alright. How are you? You were sick,” Cassie replied. 

Bart softened. “I’m good. It was an overexertion thing,” Bart replied. Cassie frowned and nodded. “If I rest any more, you’ll have to put me in a coffin. I’ll bring you guys breakfast in a minute.” 

**

Bart typed his paper for class while Conner did chin-ups in the doorway. The news played in the background, and Conner watched quietly. Bart’s phone rang, and he answered. “Hi, Thad,” Bart greeted him warmly. 

“My doctor is dead… Dr. Donnovan was—.” 

“Which one is that?” Bart interrupted. He hated lying to Thad, but he refused to pull him into a mess. 

“I want to talk to you. I have to tell you I’m scared,” Thad cried. 

Bart sat up straight. “Don’t be upset. I’ll get you a ticket here if you need me. I’m not home until Monday, but you can come here then. Will you be okay until then?” Bart questioned. Thad sobbed and gasped. “Thaddeus, breathe. I promise you can come with me as soon as I get home.” Conner dropped down from the chin-up bar, and he cocked his head. 

“I can wait,” Thad cried. 

“Good… Now, give the phone to Helen or Max. I gotta explain this to them,” Bart gently commanded. It hurt his heart, and he had to step up and do something to make it better. 

He listened as Thad gave his phone to someone, and he could hear Helen’s boyfriend in the background. “Bart, what’s going on? Thad won’t explain anything to me, but he’s been hysterical since he woke up this morning,” Max asked. 

“He wants to stay with me for a little while, but he’s afraid you’ll say no. I told him I’d fly him out on Monday if it’s alright with you. I’ll take him to class with me,” Bart offered. 

“What’s going on?” Max questioned. 

Bart sighed. “I’m not sure… He sounds like he’s freaking out, though. I don’t want him worrying himself sick. Let me fly him out on Monday, Max,” Bart pleaded. 

“Okay… How long do you plan on keeping him?” Max asked. 

Conner wiped his face with the bottom of his shirt before kissing Bart’s temple. “Um… I don’t know. Maybe a week. I’ll call you beforehand if something changes,” Bart answered. Max hummed.

“You know what, Bart? I’m proud of you. I’m glad you’re offering to look after your brother,” Max whispered. 

Bart lay back on the floor. “It’s good… Let me give him the good news,” Bart replied. His stomach was in knots as he listened to the exchange. 

“Max said it’s okay… I’ll pick you up from the airport Monday afternoon. I’ll send your ticket tonight. Don’t talk to Mom about the doctor who died. Why’s that got you in knots anyway? Stupid sprokking doctors were evil. I hope they all—.” 

“Bart, don’t… Grandpa might—. I think Grandpa’s going to send people to look into it. Retrieval people,” Thad whispered. He seemed much calmer, but Bart could hear the fear in Thad’s voice. 

“What the hell do you mean? What do you mean retrieval people?” Bart asked. 

Thad didn’t say anything for a long time. “The people that killed our father and aunt… And people from the observatory. Lawyers and doctors. Scientists. I think it’s an observatory kid. It has to be. What if they—?”

“No one will ever hurt you again. Do you hear me?” Bart asked. “I will never let anyone do anything bad to you ever again. I love you, and I won’t let anyone hurt you anymore. Go pack. I’ll call you again before bed.”

“Okay,” Thad replied, “Bye.”

“Bye,” Bart whispered before hanging up. He groaned and pressed his palms to his eyelids. 

Conner leaned over him. “What’s the matter, hon?” Conner asked. 

Hon. That was cute. Bart smiled, but it didn’t take away the anxiety of Thad’s situation. “My brother’s freaking out. He wants to stay with me for a little bit. I said yeah,” Bart mumbled. 

“Do you regret it?” Conner asked. 

“Nuh uh… He’s my baby brother. I knew he’d end up staying with me once I moved out this way… He’s just a kid. I just—. I didn’t realize how much I cared. I just offered to fly him out. I don’t know why I did that,” Bart mumbled. 

Conner pulled Bart up into his arms. “I love you. I sometimes forget how big your heart is. I need you to know that,” Conner whispered, “You’re gonna be fine.” 

Bart didn’t say anything as he let his weight drop into Conner’s arms. Conner kissed Bart’s cheek, pressing his nose to the side of Bart’s face. “Can you tell me again?” Bart asked. Conner smiled. 

“You’ll be fine… And Thad will be, too. You know, this makes me think about Clark and the little bit of time that I stayed with him. Bart, take it from me. Sometimes younger brothers just want to know they mean something to you,” Conner whispered, “I try to pretend I don’t care, but I look at Clark like he’s perfect. I try to look for the flaws sometimes, but I know it’ll just—. Sorry. It’s not—.”

“No. Don’t apologize. I want to hear it,” Bart whispered. Conner smiled against Bart’s cheek. 

“I’ve been through so many phases because of Clark. At first, I wanted nothing to do with him. I was hit with so many comparisons that I was convinced I had to be his polar opposite to be seen as my own person… And then some... stuff happened that made me want to—. I didn’t want to be me, but he figured it out pretty fast. I think it made us close. We both had stuff going on at the time, and Clark was really understanding when I finally told him everything I’d been going through,” Conner explained. Bart didn’t press for Conner to elaborate. He worried that it would only open up old wounds. Without words or any idea of an appropriate response, he took Conner’s palm and kissed it. 

“I—. I feel weird like I’m keeping a secret from you… But, I—. I don’t know how to talk about what happened without feeling like—.”

“Is it something I have to know?” Bart asked. Conner looked down, pondering over Bart’s question. 

“No,” Conner answered. 

“Would it help me treat you better?” Bart questioned. Conner shook his head, timidly pressing his forehead into Bart’s shoulder. “Then, it’s none of my business… And until you feel comfortable, I’m okay with that. You’ve never forced me to talk about anything I didn’t want to.” And he meant it. It was an accidentally transactional agreement. A perfectly expressed and partially selfish loophole, but he thought his heart was in the right place.

[mysteriousanderfels]

They don't really care about us

On a normal morning day, Leon Kennedy is ambushed by a strange man in a suit...

Setting: Following RE8's epilogue.

***

“Hello?”

“Hi, mom. How are you?”

“Oh, hi, honey! I’m fine! How are you?”

“I’m fine, too.”

“Oh, it’s good thing you called, I’ve meaning to do so! Mike’s birthday is coming soon, you know! He’s planning this big party at home and I really want you to come! Don’t bring your swimsuit though, I’m planning to drain the pool, hah! He doesn’t want a chaperone around so I will not deal with the shenanigans of three dozen college students!”

“Hah, yeah… Mom, do you remember what we talked about in Switzerland?”

“… Oh. Yes…?”

“Good. Remember it well?”

“… Yes… So it’s that time, then…”

“Yes.”

“Aah… your brother will be so upset. He’s been planning this party since he became the star of his football team with that final touchdown or whatever. Do you know just how many cheerleaders will be here? And he also wanted you to be here so much.”

“I know, but would you rather have him get his birthday party or have him by your side for a few more decades?”

“… I know. I understand very well.”

“I’m sorry mom. To be honest I could have given you more leeway but then it was your birthday last week and I didn’t want to spoil your spa day with your girlfriends.”

“Oh honey. I see. Well, at least I have more than a day to work with.”

“I can talk with Mike if you want.”

“Oh please, I raised a little 007, I think I can handle your little brother.”

“Heh, I have no doubt. I’ll try to keep in touch but as you know, it won’t be as often from now.”

“I know. You just… watch over yourself. That’s all I want. You be careful. Very careful, alright?”

“I will. It’s all… been coming down to this moment.”

“Then that’s all I need to hear, I believe in you, Kólen’ka.”

“Love you, mom.”

The nickname is a slip up, he knows, but it’s fine. They’re already being extra careful with the burner phones and they’re about to set the plan into motion. It would too late for someone to do anything about it.

And anyway, it was nice hearing it. 

***

If one can take a full scope of DC, they will see millions of things happening at once on that indolent autumn morning of September, where the air is crisp, the weather clear and mostly sunny despite the few gray clouds shrouding the sky on that particular day.

What you’ll see is people wearing boxy suit jackets and women wearing sensible skirts, pantsuits and pumps, milling about fake flagstones and ads-ridden subways. Some are carrying suitcases filled with cunning lawyers-crafted contracts about to make someone’s life amazing or miserable, and others are rolling backpacks to fend off the evil of scoliosis enumerated by those same subway ads...

You’ll also see more armored barricades because of the increase in impromptu protesters. Their hoarse-voiced chants drown the perimeter but never carry far enough to the monster in power and its minions. It only hurt the ears of the police officers in body armors, underpaid to deal with the zeal of a bunch of college students pumped on kale juice and coffee shakes so early in the morning.

The whole show is overcast by oversized windows streaked with night rain, humidity and tears.

Yes, for millions of people, DC is the city of better opportunities. The city of powerful monuments that inspire more awe than contemplation. The city that doesn’t take any risks. The city where you can’t get lost in because there’s nothing to lose yourself in.

And as a man observed from outside one of those oversized windows fixes his sleeve garters, It’s been decided it should be in DC where they should finally meet – where everyone is the same kind of nasty: feds.

***

Leon yawns as he walks the shortcut path to his appartement – the one with the liquor store in the way - grocery plastic bag in hand. It was Sunday and blissfully, nothing came from his meeting with Hunnigan at the office. Well, mission-wise at least; but if you take into account the heavy, cranky conversations and meetings he’s started getting from DSO’s hierarchy, he won’t be too quick to stamp ‘blissfully’ on the day just yet.

Something shifty’s going on there. Something has them on edge for a long while now and they can’t seem to just cut the shit and spill it. Chewing the fat with a bunch of feds in suits has never been Leon’s favorite part of his job. Leon snorted to himself. He should be counting his favorite parts of his job - he’d be wrapped up quicker than the other way around.

All depression-induced thoughts aside, something’s not sitting well for a couple of years now and it just keeps on getting more and more fishy - like a decaying corpse about to get finally busted.

What if I’m the decayed corpse, though…

They’re sending him on confidential ops and mission but still want him to never stray too far. They want him to investigate things but also never ask too much questions. To sum it up, it comes back to what he hates to admit and what everybody who knows him is aware of : They want him on an even tighter leash.

Leon grits his teeth.

Well fuck them. Leon is also having his own fishy thoughts. Thoughts about the DSO’s secret dealings with shady agencies, about Blue Umbrella not so squeaky clean and about what he heard from a certain on-going mission in Europe.

He’s drawing his conclusions, he’s cross-referencing his clues and mapping out his exists on the big pinboard inside his mind where it’s safe—since he can’t hazard having one in the privacy of his own flat.

Privacy… is what a goldfish probably have more than him.

"My obsession is to break away from all of this."

It’s a confession he uttered in the dead of the night once.

Is this what’s rattling them? Do they suspect something? Did Leon let something slip up on his glassy façade?

He is so caught up in his train of thoughts, he doesn’t notice the figure standing still twelve feet away in the middle of his path.  

It’s man in a suit.

Leon halts, perplexed for a minute by the stock-still stance as he takes him in because the individual is looking straight at him.

The beginning of a frown mars Leon’s features because it’s getting weird, but still doesn’t open his mouth yet for some reason.

The man starts fucking blinking at last and with that comes a smile that slowly brings life to a static face.

 “Leon Scott Kennedy?”

“… Who’s asking?” Leon starts fully registering his surroundings now.

light blond hair pomaded back. Medium length. Symmetric complexion, high cheekbones, high nose. Light eyes, blue or green, can’t tell from the distance. But freaking pale he could feel the icicles dripping from them as they bore into Leon.

Black suit, red tie, dress shoes – disadvantage there – and… metallic briefcase in the right hand.

The man is capable of facial expression as his eyes crinkle with his smiling reply. “My name’s Nicholas Wentworth.”

“Rings no bell.”

He smiles again with soft huffs, this time showing off a perfect row of teeth. “It won’t.” His voice carries like the music of rills. “But you on the other hand, you’ve been ringing every bell in my life.”

Huh? “Excuse me, what?”

“I’m sorry, I’m just,” the stranger shakes his head, looking almost embarrassed as he smiles to himself in a way that looks so youthful, Leon remembers to ponder the age of this weird as hell bloke who seems to want something with him.

And what a mistake that is. The guy looks rather young which puzzles and rattles Leon even more for he can’t evaluate the situation to a perfect turn. He’s got a fluffy blond mane but slicked the way it is, he reminds Leon of all the pompous new-money his superiors love to invite annually for some more funds and tax-deductible donations.

Maybe he was trying to make himself look older with that hairstyle and that obsidian fabric so expensive it’s probably an offense to refer to it as a ‘black’ suit. Nevertheless, he clearly has some years under Leon – what’s with that clean-shaved, glowing skin even in the dim alley he seems to have oh-so-coincidentally stumbled across Leon in.

“Just so thrilled to finally meet you in person.” His grin is actually so freaking genuine Leon wants to recoil. Is this what celebrities feel when they come across a groupie? What’s the procedure in these kinds of situations? Leon can’t seem to recall a training for that.

But all of a sudden, all smiling lines drop and the pale eyes round into something akin to worry. “Oh, are you still favoring your left arm after that clean up job in the Bahamas?”

 Leon goes under water right then. His surroundings lose volume and his breath catches; he dares not glance down at his left hand holding the grocery bag—he dares not twitch.

Whoever this is, is officially a hazard.

And whoever this is, is not done being a hazard. “By the way, I’m sorry about Mathilda. I know you lost her on that last job. Such a shame. She went through quite some adventures with you.” The stranger talks as if he’s been chewing the fat with him for at least an hour!

“Who the fuck are you,” Leon demands with a flat tone.

The stranger gives him another one of his poised smiles as if everything is clear and simple and Leon is the dense one. “I’m your co-worker,” he allots with a dimpling smile, “we work in the same agency.”

At that moment, Leon doesn’t know if he should feel relieved or betrayed; all he knows is that he’s puzzling at breakneck speed. “Never seen you before.”  Of that he’s sure of. He’s always been good with faces - no way a quaint mug like this would slip past his attention.

“You wouldn’t,” the other confirms his doubts, “after all, only five people know of my existence there. Well, nine, if you count the people that know me without knowing what I do. The pilot, the janitor, Bobby from the cafeteria…”

“And what the hell do you do?” Leon cuts him off, unimpressed by the minute.

“You,” he says flippantly.

“What?”

“I do you.” He flashes his teeth again for a second, almost proud… Definitely proud.

What has he said again? He was thrilled to meet him? Yeah, he wasn’t lying about that bit. That’s ‘thrill’ if Leon’s ever seen it splattered on a face and it’s probably not the fun kind.

“I’m flattered but riddles don’t do it for me anymore. Try getting to the point and maybe you’ll get lucky.”

A small chuckle. “Too bad. I was being honest. You are… everything I do.”

Leon’s furrow deepens.

The stranger takes a visible inhale and close his eyes with it. When he opens them, a new expression is staring at Leon: firm, unsmiling, colder if that’s even possible by now. “I was hired to study you,” he states without preambles. “Every day for ten years I was served Leon Scott Kennedy for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” He tilts his head, narrow his eyes a smidgen and adds almost contemplatively. “I know everything about you.”

The phrase resonates inside the agent’s head like the vibrations of a bell.

Leon always thought nothing can shock or surprise him much anymore and yet, he never thought one sentence could hold its own weight against two decades of bioterror horrors.

“Who you are, what you are. How you fight, why you fight. How you walk, how you talk,” he raises an index finger to his temple, “how you think.” Then he shut his eyes and keeps on going as if in a recital. “I know about your missions, their wins and their casualties. I know what sets you off,” he opens back his sharp, pale eyes, “and what calms you down. I know your friends and your enemies and the ones in-between . I know the drinks you enjoy and the company you enjoy them with,” the man intimates with a cynical smile.

Leon is rooted to the spot with dread. A dread weighting cold in his gut and winding up around his esophagus, stealing away his repartee.

He stares at the man with wide eyes before finally uttering in one full breath, “You’re full of shit.”

“No, you’re full of shit,” the other man returns instantly and evenly, that cynical lip-quirk still plastered on his face like an animatronic on pause. “I can see the fear in your eyes but you know what real dread is, agent Kennedy? Real dread is knowing your thoughts lie to you even when you think you’re being honest. What you’re thinking right now, that this is bullshit, that I’m full of shit – it’s a lie and you’re slowly realizing it. No need to hide behind your own smokescreen, agent Kennedy.”

“I’m not hiding anywhere. You on the other hand, you look like you’ve been holed-up somewhere like a little stalking creep, doing your homework and waiting for the day you finally get to shine. Yeah, you look like you didn’t see a lot of sun. Were you kept in some crypt under a church or somethin’?”

The other man smiles and says with a lilt, “No, I was right under your nose. We actually crossed path once in the White House. It was during the thanksgiving celebration dinner when you were assigned to guard detail for the late President.” He scoffs. “That one didn’t turn so well, right? Don’t worry, I was there once and it was the only time I allowed myself to be that close to you. You looked… sulky.”

“You fucking creep…”  He doesn’t understand who or what the fuck is going on right now but Leon doesn’t even want to think about it; the only thing he knows for sure is that he’s going back from where he was coming from for some well-deserved answers.

“I get your anger. I’d be angry, too if I found out the very people I work and risk my life for pulled a clandestine operation behind my back. Then again, you never really trusted them either, did you? Why is that I wonder? Is it because they never stopped using you and abusing you like a fucking dog?”  

What did the Bible say again? The devil will look appealing to the eye; and in that moment, Leon has never been made more aware of that truth.

“And what does that make you? At least I wasn’t hired to spend years hiding somewhere, watching the life of someone else, if I even was to believe you. I think there’s a word the teens use for that: a nolife.”

“You’re wrong. I’m nothing like you. I know exactly what I’m doing while you never had a say in the matter.” His voice slowly takes a turn for the acerbic - still calm and composed but with an underlying venom that has always been there, waiting to be outright spewed. “Do you know what you’re called in the reports that aren’t meant for you? A great weapon. Or better yet, a pawn.” He shrugs as if to drive in the amount of disregard that last word carries on its own. “To be honest, I sympathized with your story. After all, you were literally kidnapped into this life? Your hand twisted by the president himself? And yet you never tried to jump ships?”

Leon balls his fists, nose flaring and feeling the red tendrils of rage overtake his senses.

“Ah, of course you couldn’t before because they had a bargaining chip over you head. But Sherry Birkin is all grown up now. An itsy-bitsy government agent herself. Hah, this life really does choose you and not the other way around. So what’s holding you? Do you like being their little pet so much? No, you wouldn’t be on SSRIs and Jack Daniel if you were. Or maybe… nothing’s holding you now and that’s why you’ve been snooping around and making calls here and there.”

When he finally stops talking, and Leon makes sure he’s really finished, he evenly snips. “What’s in the briefcase?”

The blond man narrows his eyes for a second as he scans Leon’s posture and shift a hand into his pants pocket. Leon carries but his gun is beneath his leather jacket zipped up to the neck. The man will beat him to it no matter what so Leon gets ready to dodge—only for it to be a pair of handcuffs, and Leon watches as he handcuffs the briefcase to his wrist before finally retorting, “None of your fucking business.”

And for once, Leon returns his scathing smile because that’s exactly what he wants to hear.

He just wants an excuse to lunge at this hazardous motherfucker.

To hell with methodical reasoning, he’ll deal with who and what the fuck this is later. For now—

He springs in with a readied punch that is instantly grabbed by one hand and knocked off with the other. Leon dodges the slap coming his way and goes for a knee in the crotch that is bluntly blocked, too. The blond man seizes the momentum of pushing away Leon and his knee by throwing two consecutive hooks, making Leon cross his arms over his face in the defensive.

The fucker is definitely a trained agent, Leon registers in the back of his head as he sustains the rapid onslaught of unrelating counterpunches. Finally, in a fresh impetus, the man swings and misses, making him slightly spin, which Leon immediately seizes up and drives for a kidney punch.

The wince he gets out of it is the best sound in the universe in that moment; Leon revels in it and follows instantly with his elbow dying to meet that smug face, too, but it’s caught before impact—so fast?! —and that bastard even dares to seize the opportunity of the hand clasping Leon’s forearm to try and toss Leon away.

But they seem to be of the same built and it turns into a deadlock of flailing limbs that has Leon aiming for a kick in the knee to throw off the man’s hold on him—kick that works in making the asshole hunch over but Leon doesn’t expect the retaliation to be so quick as he takes the – metallic – briefcase like an uppercut to the chin with enough force to make him spin.

That’s all the momentum the other man needs to effectively throw him off, this time with blunt kick to Leon’s small back, making the latter stumble away.

Mandible aching and ears ringing with adrenaline, Leon reaches for his zipper jacket—but the other man beats him to it as if not only in the business of meeting Leon even-steven but also in the business of reading his mind, and Leon is shocked with a bullet to the shoulder from behind, efficiently bringing him down.

 “Argh—” Leon jerks back, holding his bleeding shoulder.

“Go ahead, see how much time it’ll take you to zip down your jacket and take out your gun before I put at least four bullets in your head,” the man says with his silencer still pointed at Leon, his suit jacket open, now, revealing the holster’s strap across his white dress shirt and tie.

“Go ahead then. Have a feelin’ you could’ve done it many times before,” Leon huffs derisively, “but I guess the leash you have on is cut from the same cloth.”

“I’m nothing like you,” he replies back with a venomous smile. “How can I study you for ten years and make the same mistakes. No, you’re in this on your own. I’m just the one who’s about to put a real end to your streak of good luck.”

Leon glowers at the silencer, trying to keep his head high despite the bleeding pain and the stiffening fear.

Is that it? Is this how he’s going to die? As a fed killed by another asshole fed?  

Well shit.

The fucker returns his glower just as much, his smiling pretenses long gone. If Leon doesn’t have other urgent things to process, he’d notice how weird that is. Leon would’ve sworn he was the type to smile or laugh psychopathically in a moment like this. But this guy looks like he’s acting on a personal vendetta.

It’s slight but Leon can see the fingers actually trembling around the gun – as if he’s trying very hard to withhold himself.

Leon doesn’t understand.

“But I’m not supposed to do so; at least not right now. Right now… you seem like you could use a friend.” The gun stays pointed at him as the other hand fetches inside the suit jacket for a…is that a satellite phone?

“How about I call for one?” The man asks with a renewed smile and start taping numbers on the device. As long as the gun is pointed at him, Leon can’t do much but stare in stark confusion and put pressure on his bleeding wound.

The stranger put the phone to his ear and wait, his icy eyes gleaming knowingly.

Just what the actual fuck is goin—

“Hello? Is this Chris Redfield?”

Leon’s eyes all but fall out of their sockets.

“… Who is this?”

“Hi, my name’s Nicholas Wentworth. I'm really sorry to bother you but do you know a certain Leon Kennedy?”

“… Leon?”

“Yes, I believe he’s your friend?” the man asks with a sympathetic tone while his eyes are piercing through Leon like arctic winds, leaving Leon’s frozen in shock.

“How did you—what’s going on?”

“CHRIS!” Leon shouts out, snapping out of his stupor. He can’t hear Chris but he’ll be damned if this motherfucker is bluffing at this point. His voice downright cracks with the sheer ferocity of his distress. “DON’T TRUST A WORD OF THIS SONOVABITCH!”

The uproar doesn’t faze the man on the phone in the slightest as he continues, “I think he needs your help. He’s been badly wounded from a gunshot and I thought you’d be the best person to contact.”

“Leon?!” Chris startles as he hears the unmistakable deep tone of voice. “Who the fuck is this?! Put Leon on!”

“CHRIS, HANG UP!”

“Of course. Here you go.” And he tosses the phone right away, stopping short of Leon’s legs. He then withdraws his gun and give Leon an obscure smile. “You’re welcome,” he says before turning away and walking away!

Leon is left watching the straight back retreat with big, wide eyes as he finally hears Chris’ bellows from the satellite phone. Leon reaches out to cut the transmission but Chris’ distressed voice pulls at his heartstrings in the last moment.

He doesn’t have it in him to leave him out in the cold and so distressed like this.

Pain flares up inside him again from all the physical and mental turmoil he went through in the span of all thirty minutes and clicks on the speaker. “Chris…”

“Leon!”

“In the flesh,” he tries to sing-songs but it comes as just a pitiful groan. He starts to stand up to finally tend to his wound.

“Are you alright?! What the fuck is going on?! Talk to me!”

“’M talkin’. Don’t be a worrywart now. It’s in the shoulder, I know how to deal with it. Kinda having déjà vu, right now,” he says the last part as a grumble to himself.

“What? What’s in the shoulder?!”

“The bullet. Didn’t you hear anything that was said?”

“Don’t start with me, Leon, I’m completely out of my depth right now!”

Aw. Cute.

It may not be actually so bad to have Chris’ voice droning as background noise while he gives himself emergency first aids. 

“Okay, okay. Hold on a sec, lemme get—ugnh, comfortable.” He snatches his grocery bag and leans against the wall, hidden behind a dumpster.  

“Leon, call 911, get an ambulance!”

“No, it’s a bullet so they’ll want answers. That’ll bring me to the DSO and I can’t have that.” Speaking of, Leon asseses his wound and notices that the bullet is still inside. “Fuck—” he grits angrily. That’s going to be a bigger pain in the ass. He fetches the vodka from the bag, thanking the gods for swift openings. First, a big swig.

“What? Why? What’s going on with the DSO?”

The strong alcohol sets his nerves down at least. “You know we’re having this nice chitchat on that sonovabitch’s phone, right?” He opens his jacket and fetches his key chain first. It’s made of a pocket knife.

“The—is it a satellite phone?”

“Mm-hm.” They both know satellite phones are not full-proof either, not without the right precautions.

“Fuck, how did they know?!”

“He knows.” Leon corrects without delving too much, trying to focus on even breathings and tearing a good stripe of his henley with the blade.  

“Who is he?”

“No fuckin’ clue. I hope you’re packing from wherever you are right now. Tracking people down seems to be this fucker’s forte.” He can hear Chris’ famous unhappy grumbles and grouses made under his breath as he soaks the stripe of cloth in alcohol and close it on his wound.

The hiss he makes seems to tear Chris away from his barrage of questions. “Okay, Leon, listen to me, I don’t know who this bastard is or what’s his motive, but I’m gonna find a way to reach out—”

“Chris, no, you’ll compr—”

“No, listen to me, I’ll find a safe way. Then we’ll finish this conversation. Got it?”

“Ngh… Whatever you say, boss...”

“You see to your wound and heal yourself. That’s the most important right now. Understood?”

Leon can’t help but smile. Chris Redfield sure is a leader of troupes through and through. Somehow, even if Leon never likes being patronized around by hierarchy, it never feels the same way when it comes from Chris Redfield.

Yeah, ‘somehow’. Just say you’re fucking biased Kennedy because you fucked the man a few times and you liked it every time it happened.

But Chris’ care always feels overwhelmingly genuine – even when it’s only an inflection in a voice coming from a thousand miles away. He knows Chris cares about him. That’s his only certainty when it comes to their ‘situation’ after all.

And so Leon smiles despite the burning pain because the flutters in his gut is pretty hilarious giving his current situation. “Sir yes sir.” When nothing from the phone comes right away, he feels obliged to add more seriously—more softly, “Okay, don’t worry about me, you know I can handle this.”

Seems like that’s what the other end of the line was waiting to hear because a reply is finally heard. “Good. I know you can, Kennedy. Remember what you told me that time about your obsession?”

My obsession is to break away from all of this.

“Yeah.”

“Remember my answer?”

Well, I’ll be here. Whenever you need me.

“Yeah.”

“Kill this phone now, and stay sharp.”

“Roger.”

Leon can hear an intake of breath—shaky.

“Over and out.”

Leon turns off the satellite phone but keeps it close. He feels a sense of levity despite the sweat dripping off his forehead and he knows it’s all because he got to talk to Chris. Chris Redfield is everyone’s rock and he desperately needs something like that right now. He’s a man of his word, too and he’s alive – which is actually a deep-seated worry he’s been carrying within his bones for God knows how long.

So all must be good, right?

He’s not alone.

Leon bites another stripe of cotton and uses his knife to rip it from his poor, tattered shirt.

Scriitch.

He’s not fucking—

He rolls it on top of the first bandage to stop the bleeding and makes a tight knot using his teeth.

—Alone!

“Hah… Hah… Fuck.”

Leon knocks back another mouthful of vodka and gathers his stuff. He needs to get home now as quick as possible before the bandages lose their pressure. He also needs to wait for whatever Chris’ going to do and think things through and he can’t do the latter in the comfort of the cobblestones beneath his ass.

This ain’t over, motherfucker.

[milquetoad]

this man i do not know just rolled a 22 to beat a wish spell dc of 21 and im screaming and pumping my fist in the air like my team just won the super bowl

[machine-saint]

there's a rhetorical thing i've noticed in the way people talk about resource consumption (especially in the context of technology) where people will talk about large absolute numbers but not bring up the context.

as a concrete example: this AP article mentions that microsoft's yearly data center water consumption in 2022 was "nearly 1.7 billion gallons, or more than 2,500 Olympic-sized swimming pools", up 30% from 2021, likely due to an increase in AI usage. that's a lot! ... and then you look at the total US water withdrawl in 2022, which was 322 billion gallons per day. so microsoft's data centers (worldwide?) are using less than 1% of 1% of the total US water usage. (note that this isn't strictly an apples-to-apples comparison, since microsoft's number subtracts water returned to the municipal water system but the US number doesn't. but it's still a valid order-of-magnitude comparison.)

of course, this is massively complicated by the fact that water usage is localized in a way that electricity generation isn't. so we look at this paragraph near the end:

In July 2022, the month before OpenAI says it completed its training of GPT-4, Microsoft pumped in about 11.5 million gallons of water to its cluster of Iowa data centers, according to the West Des Moines Water Works. That amounted to about 6% of all the water used in the district, which also supplies drinking water to the city’s residents.

(note that water usage is higher in the summer since during cooler times, air conditioning is good enough)

6% is certainly nontrivial; this should have been near the start of the article, but 11.5 million gallons isn't as eye-catching of a figure ar 1.7 billion gallons.

also note that the article is clearly trying to tie together Microsoft's Iowa DC water usage with OpenAI training GPT-4, but doesn't have any actual numbers on how much of that water usage is due to OpenAI! we know OpenAI used Microsoft for training, but we have no clue how much compute they used, what data centers they used, and so on.

[dcwaterpump]

What Advantages Does a Customized Diaphragm Pump Offer?

Among many pump brands, Topsflo pumps are favored for their excellent performance and wide range of applications. The key behind this is the unique advantages brought by customized pumps. So what are the unique advantages of custom miniature diaphragm pumps?

Miniature diaphragm pumps have to deal with a series of stringent requirements when performing specific tasks. To meet these needs, Topsflo specializes in providing custom pump services, ensuring pump performance is precisely matched to the specific needs of each application. From material selection, design concept to setting of performance parameters, every aspect of the pump can be customized according to the specific needs of customers. This article analyzes in detail the unique advantages of deeply customized pumps compared to standard pump series, helping you gain a deeper understanding of the value and importance of customized diaphragm pumps.

1.Accurately match the working point:

Most application scenarios have specific requirements for flow, pressure or vacuum levels. Topsflo is committed to providing pump solutions that are highly tailored to customer needs by adjusting pump parameters such as speed, flow and pressure to more accurately meet customer needs. This not only helps to improve production efficiency, but also significantly reduces energy consumption, achieving a cost-effective and environmentally friendly win-win situation. In order to help customers find the most suitable custom diaphragm pump, Topsflo offers a variety of pump sizes and offers a variety of solutions to achieve the precise operating point, including the digital customization of the motor and the selection of carefully optimized eccentric, etc., to ensure that each pump can be precisely matched to the operating point, providing stable and reliable support for customers' production activities.

2. Excellent chemical compatibility:

In the face of challenging media unique to certain industries, such as corrosive, explosive, sensitive or environmentally hazardous substances, ensuring fluid integrity and safety is critical. To this end, Topsflo offers a range of highly screened, high-performance materials such as PP, PTFE, FKM, FFKM, EPDM and PPS for customising key components of miniature diaphragm pumps such as diaphragms, valves and pump heads. In harsh working environments, more corrosion-resistant and wear-resistant materials and structural designs can be used to reduce the failure rate and maintenance costs of the pump. Our goal is to provide you with custom diaphragm pump solutions with superior chemical compatibility to ensure the reliable operation of the entire system in a variety of complex environments.

3. Extend service life and optimize costs:

For some critical applications that rely on long-term continuous operation of the pump, Topsflo can provide high-quality brushless DC motors. Not only does this motor last long, but it also provides the custom pump with exceptional robustness and reliability, significantly extending the pump's service life. This means that, despite being a custom pump, it does not necessarily mean a higher cost. However, in some applications the pump may not need to be run for very long periods of time. For situations like these, we offer our customers the more economical and simpler option of brushed motors. Brushed motors have a relatively short service life due to brush wear, but they also offer excellent reliability.

Through this flexible customization strategy, Topsflo not only demonstrates the performance advantages of customized micro diaphragm pumps, but also highlights its great value in cost control. Through reasonable customization and selection, customers can optimize costs while meeting performance requirements and find the most cost-effective pump solution.

4. Lower maintenance costs:

Customized micro diaphragm pumps fully consider customer needs and usage scenarios during the design and manufacturing process, so their structure and material selection are more reasonable, which can reduce maintenance costs.

Imagine that many systems require adapters to connect when in use, which not only increases the complexity of installation and debugging, but may also cause leakage and resonance problems due to improper adaptation. However, custom micro diaphragm pumps are designed to fit perfectly into the customer's system without the need for additional adapters. This means the size, weight and installation are just right, avoiding potential performance issues and dramatically reducing the cost of repairs and replacement parts.

5. Enhance market competitiveness:

When customers choose Topsflo's customized pump services, they will receive the pumps that closely match their needs and enjoy strict confidentiality of specifications, which gives Topsflo customers a valuable advantage in the market competition. Competitors cannot easily imitate or understand the exact specifications of a custom pump, making it difficult to discover the core details of a customer's system. We are fully aware of the importance of business confidentiality and therefore solemnly promise not to disclose relevant details of customized pumps to any third party under any circumstances without the express written consent of the customer. Choosing Topsflo means choosing the most trustworthy partner.

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[usafphantom2]

Major Tom Pugh(Pilot) and Major Ronnie Rice(RSO) were airborne in SR-71 #978 on May 15, 1972, whenever everything you can think of that could possibly go wrong went wrong.

They are flying a routine giant-scale mission when Tom becomes concerned about a strange hum in the interphone system. The system seems to go back to normal. The flight continues. Tom maintains a Mach 3.8 at 79,500 feet when a generator fails. This failure was a mandatory abort; just over one minute later, the other generator failed, and then they were in real trouble. Emergency AC/DC power did not come online; the fuel pumps stopped pumping the JP7 fuel to the engines without electrical power and lacked pump pressure to pump the fuel. Both engines stopped, causing them to flame out.

To add to the crew's grief, the inlet spikes went full forward, and the 978 Began pitching and rolling; they knew that the aircraft was approaching the limits of the supersonic flight envelope.

Tom instructed Ron to get ready to bail, but the intercom system failed.

Tom held the stick gently while struggling to control the jet without causing further pilot-induced oscillations. While also trying to reach the all-import standby electrical switch located on his right-hand panel. To reach that critical switch, he had to move his left hand off the throttles and onto the control stick to free his right hand so he could restore some of the electrical power to the airplane. Tom miraculously pulled the switch to retain power. Mission accomplished! Having descended to 41,000 feet slow to Mach one, he managed to get the generator back online, and both engines relit. 🔥🔥

Tom crossed Laos to recover at Odorn RTAFB without further problems. Post-flight analysis showed that Tom and Ron overflown Hanoi at 41,000 feet! They had been fortunate, considering the number of SAMS that circled the city. It appeared that the Vietnamese radio operators and their Soviet advisors had been asleep at the switch during the 978 mid-altitude pass over one of the best-defended cities in the world,

Tom and Ron were each awarded air medals for successfully landing their disabled aircraft.SR-71 #978 “The bunny” had pulled off a lucky escape from what appeared to be an easy shootdown situation. The SR 71 with the bunny, her luck wouldn’t last for long as her days were numbered 😞 She was lost on Thursday, July 20, 1972, while attempting to land at Kadena AFB during extreme crosswinds.

Linda Sheffield Miller

Source, Lockheed Blackbird: Beyond the Secret missions, The missing chapters by Paul Crickmore

Picture #three is Ronnie Rice with his wife, Kathy, talking to my Dad, Butch Sheffield. The next photo is Tom Pugh when he was wing commander at Beale Air Force Base. .

@Habubrats71 via X

[ashbrat488]

Flower In The Desert - Chapter 13

Captain Syverson Fanfic

"Vi," Syverson's fingers traced a gentle path along her back in the morning, evoking a soft whimper from her. He chuckled as she rolled over to face him, finding him already dressed. "Time to get up. No special privileges, remember?"

"I'm going to sleep for a month when I get home."

Syverson laughed, his eyes fixed on her as she hastily dressed. "So, where's home going to be? Back to DC with your dad? Or Texas?"

"Well, I plan on going to Texas to visit Chutsky's parents, and after that..." She looked up at Syverson, sensing the hidden meaning behind his question. "Oh..." She finished lacing her boots and then approached him, placing her hands on his chest. "Eddie, be explicit. I can go first... I want to be with you."

"Me too." Her response brought a warm smile to his lips, and he cupped her cheek, locking eyes with her. Gently, he tilted her chin up with his thumb. "I want to come home to Texas, with you..."

"We may get along just fine in the bedroom, but outside of that, we still have a lot to discover about each other, Eddie."

He sighed in agreement, his expression softening. "Or maybe we already know each other better than we think."

"Maybe," she conceded, smiling against his lips as he leaned in for a kiss. "Okay. Texas it is." She followed him out of the room and met up with Matt and Harper as their Iraqi workers showed up to help work on the pump.

"There you are." Harper playfully bumped her shoulder as she sighed. "It was a rough night. But at least we have our workers back. Sooner we get this pump down, the sooner we can leave."

"Right," she agreed, feeling conflicted. There was nothing she wanted more than to slide into a nice warm bath. But that would mean she would have to leave Syverson for an undetermined amount of time. "Let's just get to work."

***

Violet spent most of the morning under the relentless sun alongside Matt and Harper, digging out the hole to fix the pipes for the water pump. By lunchtime, they headed back to their truck to grab yet another MRE. She sighed, looking at the silver bag in Harper's hand, and muttered, "I can't wait to have a nice juicy steak."

Harper laughed, handing her the silver bag just as an explosion ripped through the air behind them, throwing them to the ground. For a moment, she lost consciousness, but as her senses slowly returned, she found herself on her knees, facing where the water pump had stood just minutes ago. She attempted to stand, but the shockwave had left her disoriented, and she fell back to her knees as smoke filled her nostrils.

"V?" Syverson's voice cut through the chaos, and he ran towards her from amidst the dust and debris. He gripped her shoulders, shaking her slightly, his eyes filled with concern as he met her shocked, zoned-out expression. "Violet! Baby..." He smacked her face gently but firmly to snap her out of it, her tear-strained eyes meeting his. "Are you okay?"

"Yes," she whispered weakly, her voice trembling as she nodded.

"We need you, flower. Pull yourself together." Syverson held onto her shoulders, urging her to regain her composure. She nodded, wiping away her tears as best she could. He sighed, watching her take charge of organizing the casualties as Harper called for additional support.

Violet approached Matt, who sat beside one of the trucks. She squatted down in front of him, concern etched on her face. "Matt? Are you alright? Are you hurt?" She watched him shake his head, his gaze distant. She patted his shoulder and gave him some space to process the shock and chaos.

***

The sound of raised voices and crashing noises echoed through the hallway as Syverson climbed the stairs, making his way to the room where Violet and her unit had bunked. When he entered, he found Violet in a state of turmoil, tearing the room apart, with Matt and Harper standing by, helpless.

"Vi!" he called out.

Startled, she spun around to face him, her tear-stained cheeks and the look of despair in her eyes breaking his heart. "It was all for nothing! Chutsky died, for nothing! Burton died, for nothing!"

He sighed deeply, hands on his hips, letting her vent her frustration. Then, he moved forward and firmly grasped her arms, forcing her to still in front of him. "I'm sorry," he said, his voice full of genuine regret. He cupped her face in his hands, making her meet his gaze. "I'm so sorry, flower. But you have to stop tearing up my base."

Her anger softened into a rueful chuckle, and she nodded, her racing emotions calming slightly. He guided her back to his room, where he began undressing down to his underwear with a weary sigh. "This means that I have to leave you even sooner than we planned."

"Lay down and let me hold you until you have to leave then..."

She followed his lead, sitting on the edge of his bed before he climbed under the covers and pulled her into his arms. They lay there in silence, wrapped around each other, finding solace in each other's presence as sleep gradually enveloped them both.

Chapter 14

[givemewallywestorgivemedeath]

The Lost Children mini has the potential to be so good actually.

I know I've been rambling a lot about Judy Garrick but even beyond my Flash fixation the entire idea of this is just exciting.

To kick it off you have Emiko and Courtney headlining this thing as the leads which is fantastic.

A) Stargirl is the JSA's kid and I always love whenever she's involved with JSA stuff

B) Geoff Johns is writing her and, regardless of what you think of Johns or his writing, I'm always interested to see what he does with Courtney. You have to remember that he created her character and he made her in the memory of his dead sister, Courtney Johns, who tragically died at 18 in an explosion. Stargirl, as far as I'm concerned, is Geoff's character and there is no doubt in my mind that he will always treat her with the respect she deserves.

C) Emiko is Seven Soldiers legacy babey~ I love that we are recognizing the rich golden age lore and their modern day legacies. It's amazing. I find that the Flash fam, the GL's and the Beetles are really good at recognizing the legacy aspects of their mantles but it doesn't seem to be super common in general. So hell yeah! I'm pumped that DC actually remembers that Green Arrow was around in the Golden Age doing stuff!

And then beyond that? Bruh the deep cuts are 10/10. Jimmy Martin? Secret? Helena Wayne? (not that she's a deep cut but still)

I'm so down to see Greta in comics again! Why is she dead! Why is she a golden age hero! Idk but I'm excited to find out!

And yo, Jimmy? My boy Jimmy? Hell. Yes. Baby boy. Baby. Also if he comes back I'm pretty sure he'd be Jesse Quick's step son. Because I'm pretty sure Rick would have to be Jimmy's guardian. And sign me TF up for that. Add him to Flash family hell yeah.

Also do people understand the implications of Helena existing? This is main universe Helena Wayne. She's from a decade in the future. She's like 10 a decade in the future. You guys realize that means Bruce and Selina are having a baby, like, now, right?

There's also Hal Jordan aka Air Wave. Yeah his name is Harold Jordan and he goes by Hal and he flies. Sounds familiar, right? Good. It should. Because he's Hal Jordan aka Green Lantern's little cousin.

And these are just some of the kids. There are so many kids.

This is gonna be great

[jensensitive]

The Homoerotic Subtext of Dean and Cas in Early Season Four (pt. 1)

4x01 Lazarus Rising

Note: I don't agree with Eric Kripke about a lot of things. That man is my nemesis. But I do see and appreciate hella gay subtext (key word subtext. I don’t how much of it was intentional and I don’t think he had any plans to go anywhere with it. I also don’t think there’s anything intrinsically wrong with that but will leave it up to everyone else to have their own feelings ♥)

[Warnings for references to rape that are made within the episode and Dean's racist porn and the theme of compromised bodily autonomy]

Cas is an angel who saved Dean from Hell, which, to quote Dean, “Is Fabio on that paperback?” The build up and expectation that Cas is going to be monstrous and bad only for the dramatic rug-pull that he’s an angel who sees Dean for who he is and thinks he deserved to be saved, who tells him good things do happen, is very epically romantic in its structure.

We also have to remember that Cas is not framed strictly as a good guy at first. He's on par with Ruby, and in the same way, it’s ambiguous as to whether he’s good or bad, right or wrong; we’re meant to be suspicious of him in a similar way to how we are Ruby. and Dean and Cas and Sam and Ruby are very much cast in parallel right from the beginning, as I’ll point out.

Our Season opener song being "You Shook Me All Night Long" by AC/DC– we hear this directly before Dean wakes up in his coffin fighting for air, crawls out of his grave and sees he’s at ground zero of what looks like an explosion or natural disaster of some kind. I think the song can apply to both Dean and Cas and Sam and Ruby.

Taking more than her share, had me fighting for air She told me to come, but I was already there 'Cause the walls start shaking, the Earth was quaking My mind was aching and we were making it And you shook me all night long Yeah, you shook me

(RUBY: Sam, human souls don't just walk out of Hell and back into their bodies easy. The sky bleeds, the ground quakes. It's cosmic.)

[images:]

Dean breathing heavily on his back on the ground in the grass

Dean in his t shirt walking towards the gas station that says "Lubrication"

Dean with his mouth open and breathing heavily in the gas station

Dean lifting his shirt in front of the mirror

Dean seeing the handprint in the mirror

A handprint branding into his skin. Dean had Cas’s handprint branded onto him.

Shir Hashirim / Song of Songs 8:6-- Place me like a seal on your heart, like a seal on your arm, for love is as strong as death, zeal is as strong as the grave; its coals are coals of fire of a great flame [Tanakh]

Set me as a seal upon your heart, as a seal upon your arm; for love is strong as death, passion fierce as the grave. Its flashes are flashes of fire, a raging flame. [NRSV]

Anna puts her hand on the brand when she and Dean have sex in 4x10.

[images:]

Dean's oral fixation, he has a candy bar in his mouth

Dean's porn, with the word "Love Potion"

straps that say "Strap-on" behind Dean at the register

"In the Shadow of the Valley" by Lost Weekend Western Swing Band playing on the radio when Cas tries to talk to Dean in the gas station.

A service station/gas station/filling station/pumping station whatever you wanna call it being where Dean and Cas first “meet,” and Cas first tries to talk to him. Gas stations were popular for gay cruising spots, and because of this, there are gay bars and clubs named things like “The Pumping Station.” This was especially true in 2008 before hookup apps.

Cas rebuilt Dean’s entire body-- BOBBY: Dean. Your chest was ribbons, your insides were slop. And you've been buried four months. Even if you could slip out of hell and back into your meat suit-- DEAN: I know, I should look like a Thriller video reject.

[image: Dean showing Bobby the handprint]

DEAN: And then this. (He strips his jacket, pulls up his sleeve to reveal the brand.) BOBBY: (standing) What in the hell? DEAN: Yeah, it’s like a demon just yanked me out. Or rode me out.

--

(gay joke illustrating Kripke’s frame of mind

Secret Ruby when Dean and Sam hug: So are you two like... together?

the rape references also really start to escalate in season four after Dean comes back

DEAN: (advancing) So what now, I'm off the hook and you're on, is that it? You're some demon's bitch-boy? I didn't want to be saved like this.)

Establishing his lack of faith in good forces so that it can be dramatically challenged by Cas in the fourth act. DEAN: (grabs SAM by the front of his shirt) There's no other way that this could have gone down. Now tell the truth!

--

SAM: She’s gonna eat you alive. DEAN: I just got outta jail. Bring it. (DEAN in act four: What do you say we ring the dinner bell?)

Pamela flirts with Dean and gropes him and then has her eyes burned out by Cas.

Pamela is a psychic saying Cas touched Dean somewhere intimate-- PAMELA: And I need to touch something our mystery monster touched. Dean jumps. DEAN: Whoa. Well, he didn't touch me there. PAMELA: My mistake.

--

Dean sarcastically suggesting he was brought back to life because he’s hot or the creature has some sort of infatuation with him-- DEMON WAITRESS: So you get to just stroll out of the pit, huh? Tell me. What makes you so special? DEAN: I like to think it's because of my perky nipples. (Cas: Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them.)

(Another rape reference from Dean DEAN: So go ahead. Send me back. But don't come crawling to me when they show up on your front doorstep with some Vaseline and a fire hose.)

--

[images: Dean sleeping]

Cas coming to talk to him again while he's laying in a vulnerable position. He’s alone again and asleep in a bed with mirrors on the ceiling. I believe the motel room is the honeymoon suite.

--

BOBBY: How you doin', kid? DEAN: Aside from the church bells ringing in my head, peachy.

This is clever foreshadowing, but also church bells bring to mind weddings.

Dean starting his relationship with Cas by lying to Sam about trying to summon him, in parallel to Sam lying about Ruby-- DEAN: Bobby, whatever this is, whatever it wants, it's after me. That much we know, right? I've got no place to hide. I can either get caught with my pants down again, or we can make our stand.

The reveal that the woman Sam was sleeping with is Ruby and reveal of Sam lying to Dean about not using his powers is directly before the Cas reveal, with the two brothers cast in contrast, one with a demon and one with an angel. Would only be more obvious if Dean summoned Cas alone, but even so, Cas puts Bobby to sleep so they can talk alone.

[image: Cas with sparks raining down on him]

Sparks flying when they first meet.

DEAN: Who are you? CASTIEL: I'm the one who gripped you tight and raised you from perdition. DEAN: Yeah. Thanks for that.

Dean penetrates Cas with his knife.

CASTIEL: We need to talk, Dean. Alone.

-

CASTIEL: I'm an Angel of the Lord. DEAN: Get the hell out of here. There's no such thing. CASTIEL: This is your problem, Dean. You have no faith.

He knows him already. Dean’s relationship with faith has been previously established as related to his mother and her belief in angels and his losing her as a child, his greatest trauma.

(2x13 DEAN: I'll tell you who else had faith like that — Mom. She used to tell me when she tucked me in that angels were watching over us. In fact, that was the last thing she ever said to me.

DEAN: What's to tell? She was wrong. There was nothing protecting her. There's no higher power, there's no God. I mean, there's just chaos, and violence, and random unpredictable evil that comes out of nowhere, and rips you to shreds. You want me to believe in this stuff? I'm going to need to see some hard proof. You got any?)

We also later learn how Dean idealizes angels in 4x10 (also written by Kripke)-- (DEAN: You guys are powerful and perfect. You don't doubt yourselves or God or anything.)

CASTIEL: I warned her not to spy on my true form. It can be... overwhelming to humans, and so can my real voice. But you already knew that. DEAN: You mean the gas station and the motel? That was you talking? Buddy, next time, lower the volume.

Again drawing another parallel between him and Ruby, thinking Dean is “special” and has important abilities.

CASTIEL: That was my mistake. Certain people, special people, can perceive my true visage. I thought you would be one of them. I was wrong.

Calling attention to his appearance, commenting on his clothes, drawing another parallel between him and Ruby in that they’re both possessing someone, while attempting to lessen the moral issue of it--

DEAN: And what "visage" are you in now, huh? What, holy tax accountant? CASTIEL: This? This is... a vessel. DEAN: You're possessing some poor bastard? CASTIEL: He's a devout man, he actually prayed for this.

[deleted lines: DEAN: Uh-huh. Y'know, it might've been easier to show up like this the first time instead of all the burning bush crap. CASTIEL: Finding a human vessel durable enough to contain me... it's not easy. DEAN: I have that same problem with women.]

DEAN: Well, I'm not buying what you're selling, so who are you really? CASTIEL: I told you. DEAN: Right. And why would an angel rescue me from Hell? CASTIEL: Good things do happen, Dean. DEAN: Not in my experience. CASTIEL: What's the matter? You don't think you deserve to be saved?

Cas seeing right through him, seeing dean for who he is, knowing him immediately.

4x10 (also written by Kripke)-- (ANNA: Maybe I don't deserve to be saved. DEAN: Don't talk like that. ANNA: I disobeyed. Lucifer disobeyed. It's our murder one, and I knew it. Maybe I got to pay. DEAN: Yeah, well, we've all done things we got to pay for. ANNA: I got to tell you something. You're not gonna like it. DEAN: Okay. what? ANNA: About a week ago, I heard the angels talking... About you... What you did in Hell. Dean, I know. It wasn't your fault. You should forgive yourself.)

"I don't deserve to be saved," Dean arguing that maybe he doesn't either and Anna saying he does deserve forgiveness, this echoes "you don't think you deserve to be saved" (and later "I'm not here to judge you, Dean" in 4x07)

The parallel between Cas saying they have work for Dean, and Ruby and Sam working together–

(SAM: I don't know if what I'm doing is right. Hell, I don't even know if I trust you. But what I do know is that I'm saving people. And stopping demons. And that feels good. I want to keep going.)

DEAN: Why'd you do it? CASTIEL: Because God commanded it. Because we have work for you.

--

Kripke on who Dean would be attracted to– "In hindsight, Dean wouldn't be attracted to [Jo]... He'd be attracted to someone who walked in the door, slaughtered everybody and walked out and then he would say, 'Who's that?'" - Kripke; Supernatural Companion Season 2, pg 15 (published April 2008)

Misha imagined Cas looking into Dean's soul (asylum 8 2012)

Misha: Kripke wanted to base the look of the character on the comic book character ‘Constantine’ I don’t know if I’m ever going to change clothes.”  (Hollywood Insider, 2008)

Wikipedia: Constantine is bisexual, which was first established in a 1992 comic that referred offhandedly to his having male and female exes. Early stories exclusively showed him dating women, although Ashes & Dust in the City of Angels showed him as having relationships with men, as well.

Kripke using a similar scene for Hughie and Annie in The Boys with sparks raining down from lights and it being intended to be epic and romantic. (The Boys 1x08)