#hvac screening

[sesakamonster]

Charlotte Container Garden Patio Patio container garden - medium-sized, unprotected concrete paver patio container garden idea for the backyard

[ovalnews]

Reset Pivi Pro, Reset Infotainment Screen for Range Rover, Defender, Discovery

Adding this for reference since things changed with the MY24 physical controls purge. For Pivi Pro vehicles prior to 2024, with central volume knob 1 –  Select Park (P). 2 – Hold the media power button down, AKA the central volume knob 3 – Continue to hold the media power button(volume knob) down, until the touchscreen goes blank, followed by the brand logo screen being displayed. 4- Release the…

[crow-aeris]

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, he focuses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

So, what could he do?

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

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

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

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

[copperbadge]

Hi! Just wanted to say you're a really cool person, a great writer and friend, and a positive presence in every space I've seen you in. People like you make the world a better place.

This came in yesterday and Anon, I gotta tell you, it was extremely well-timed. I appreciate it! I do my best to be all of those things. Probably don't always succeed, but how boring would life be if I did.

I'm pretty open about my mental health here -- more open than most expect, really, which always surprises me -- but one of the things I struggle with in a kind of ongoing low-grade way that I don't really talk about is knowing, or not knowing, what others think of me, and fretting about that in pointless ways. And I'm mature enough to know that asking for validation in the ways and at the frequency I'd want to isn't appropriate, especially since I know intellectually, if not emotionally, that yes of course people like me and care about me. I do okay with it all, and actually being clinically diagnosed as charming when I got my ADHD screening helped a great deal, but it's still just always there, lurking.

So it's...IDK, it's nice to hear from someone randomly and without any real reason to that they think I'm a cool and likable person. And yesterday between the HVAC flooding and some other personal stuff was a rough day, so it was super helpful. Thank you :)

[echofromtheabyss]

Thought living rent free in my head:

The future of space travel belongs more to the person with the 50 Bad Dragon dildos than it does to anyone resembling a midcentury test pilot.

The person who can live in 24/7 HVAC while staring at a screen, *that* is what golden age writers couldn't envision when they imagined that generation ships would just fall into disorder.

It's gooners that are optimized to be the middle generation on a gen ship.

Gooners are the future.

[belles1011]

Today’s Updates From Off Track (idk why I keep doing this cos no one asked but here we are)

- They talked about the chaos of Talladega and the big crash

- Alex would have gone to watch Pato race if he’d done the F1 rookie race this year and seemed genuinely sad that he wouldn’t 😭

- James likes matcha lattes now and Alex says he’s not an idiot

- Alex’s screen name today was “arson is annoying” and here’s why: his power obvs went out last week, he had a bachelor party in Montreal this weekend (he was the youngest by a lot) - got woken up in the middle of the night and there was a huge fire a few doors down with casualties. Alex went back to bed, and then got woken up cos the fire was in the rafters and sat in the foyer and ate sandwiches, then the power went out. Then they finally got back in, went back to bed but still no power - turns out it was a slum lord Canadian real estate guy, and it was arson with a lot of accelerants (some kind of gang war) - still no power and no HVAC but it’s a WILD story

- Alex got called a dumb bitch and giggled

- Alex has filed a claim with Airbnb because of course he did

- Alex didn’t used to get hangovers, he would just go to the gym the next day then to bed early the next night “and everything was fine” but now he’s in his 30s not so much

- They used hangover patches and they seemed to actually work but they genuinely questioned if they were adderall cos they worked so well (b vitamins in a patch format which you can actually buy - about 33 minutes if you want the details and a promo code haha)

- Tim has a new couch

- They talked a lot about scotch, whisky and bourbon but they lost me a bit there (James was hungover after the wedding but didn’t have any patches on him)

- James reminded Alex it was his wedding anniversary soon which thankfully he knew (they’re going to an island apparently ooooo)

- James has Petit Le Mans this weekend (hasn’t driven since March tho, hasn’t done this track since 2008) and is also doing NBC comms when he isn’t in the car

- Alex has his ECR test tomorrow

[carolmunson]

love language four

happy love language sunday. this episode brought to you by me having the 'another scorcher!' sears hvac commercial stuck in my head. (if she doesn't know this commercial she's too young for you bro!) there is a description in here for a 'confetti glitter cup' and i need you to know i don't mean the ones you know of today. i mean these ones from the 90s.

love language set list

sticky. melted popsicle on toddler hands hot. running to the ice cream truck hot. public pool day for the kids with some pocket money, home made sprinkler with the hose for the kids without it hot. every shriek of their laughter peirces your ears and you smile. you sit on an almost broken beach chair, the lounge kind, blue, green and white plastic suspending you in place. a trailer park duchess on her throne in her yellow polka dot bikini and cut off shorts. the tinny echo of the radio plays across the way where mrs. milly plays with her kids, beach ball in one hand over her head, baby milly on her hip in the other. her husband took the car for work so they couldn't have the pool day they wanted. you would've driven them if eddie hadn't been going to and from home depot all morning for parts.

in the cacophony of the tinny radio, the woosh of hoses, the bubbling laughter of kids, you hear the clang of metal on metal just a few feet away -- followed up by a grunt of frustration you knew all too well. that HVAC unit needed fixing at the end of winter but he forgot about it. forgot until it started to get too hot. kicking off the sheets hot. cold showers at night hot. 'don't touch me, it's too hot' hot. the moment you said it he knew it had to get fixed, the sun isn't gonna get between him and whats his. "you okay over there?" you ask, sipping your lemonade through a curly straw, the ice cold drink making condensation build on the confetti cup you inherited from your aunt. you cross your legs, losing a flip flop in the process. "mhm," he grunts. you look over, his messy curls tied up on the top of his head, tongue poking out of his lips. his tattoos glisten in the sun, covered in a sheen of sweat and sun screen. he's been stripped down to a pair of black jean shorts all morning and early afternoon, bandana dangling from the back pocket that he's been using to wipe off his face. the soft definition in his arms, back, and chest makes you feel girlish -- giggly. the park's mr. fix it -- all yours, all the time. until it's too hot. broken hvac during a heat wave hot. "do you want me to help?" you ask. you see his eyes peer over the top of the machine and give you a look that can only be understood as 'please stop talking'. you sip your lemonade again. mrs. milly's beach ball hits you on the top of the head with a soft 'bop!' and you laugh. you look back over to eddie holding back his own, desperate to stay focus and annoyed at the task at hand. if he giggles, the hvac will know and won't take him seriously anymore.

"sorry!" her four year old says, her seven year old waves his hands to get the ball back. you spike it over like you know how to play volleyball. you don't. another twenty minutes and the sounds of the park mix with your boyfriend's cussing, the clang of metal on metal, of wrenches and bolts being thrown against the side of the trailer. "hey, hey," you say, getting up off the nearly broken lounge, "stop that." you hurry over in your half way on flip flops, the strings of your bikini tickling your back. he takes in a deep breath through the nose and it's just too hot and humid for it to soothe him. you offer him your lemonade and he blushes over the sunburn pink on his cheeks. the ice cubes jiggle against the plastic, the confetti in the cup catches the light while he forgoes the straw and chugs it. he breathes heavy after, passing the cup back to you, empty. "thought i could fix it," he says softly between breaths, "wayne could always fix it. this stupid piece of shit." "fuck the hvac," you say with a smile. he laughs, taking the bandana out of his pocket and wiping the sweat from under his bangs, dampended and curly. "yeah, fuck it," he smiles back.

"fuck it!" you say again, giving it a little kick. something clicks and clinks inside of the machine and it roars to life. you both look at each other, eyes wide. the sun beats down on your both -- a reminder of the heat. 'can't believe a kick in flip flops fixed the hvac' hot. "you gotta be kidding me," he says, half mad, half surprised, "i've been out here all fuckin'' day." "maybe you did need my help," you smirk. he collects his tools, tossing them in the box, muttering an annoyed 'don't talk to me.' you head into the house, shutting the windows to keep the air in while you feel it start to fill the kitchen and living room. not quite cold, but the air flow was welcomed in the stagnant heat. you pour more lemonade for yourself and your mr. fix it boyfriend. your aunts recipe that just tastes better in confetti cups. he comes in, tossing the tool box on the table and sighs at the feeling of the air flow in the room. not cooled yet, not conditioned. just the flow. he sees your offering and smile spreads across his face. he's delicate in his sips now, using the curly straw you put in there, a clear blue -- shiny. "hm," he he says in relief, feeling the drink revive him now that the worst was over. he stalks over in his black cut off shorts, hands dirty, cupping them behind your thighs to lift you onto the counter. "hey," you protest, but not really. his fingers reaching behind your back to pull at the strings of your bikini, "s'too hot." "that's why i'm takin' it off," he smirks, knowing it won't be too hot in a half hour. you feel the scratch of his five o'clock shadow brush against your jaw while his tongue collects a stripe of sweat from your neck. lemonade and salt, margaritaville skin. "hm," you mumble at the feeling. "hm," he mumbles back. dirty hands on your waist. your relief at the blinds on the storm door being shut. too hot. neck kisses on the counter hot. bikini top on the kitchen floor hot. can't complain about it being too hot, hot. lemonade sips off your skin, hot. sticky.

[yiiiiiiiikes25]

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

trying to force myself to finish this thing, so:

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

@flightspathfic @whatimages gimme your fragmentiest fragments

[procrazedfan]

Fanmily

Minnie Mae Murderface was the kind of gal who didn’t let anything stand in her way. Whether it was running from Johnny Law for blowing up illegal explosives in a swamp, drinking booze to numb the back pain, or outright diving in the lake to noodle for a catfish dinner, she never hesitated on any decision she made. The way she saw it, it was a waste of time hemming and hawing. It was better to take action than to sit around and wait to ask for permission. For right or wrong, at least something would be done.

That was probably why she didn’t hesitate to put in a little somethin’ extra in her Pa’s beer before she gave it to him.

Or why she didn’t look back when she crawled out the back window of the broken screen of Daddy’s trailer with nothing but her usual overalls, sneakers and tool kit.

Or why she didn’t stop walking when the sun rose again over the horizon of the ten-mile marker on the road.

All she knew was that she had better get free or die trying. Cause it was either that, or she'd have to go back to Pa.

Granted, he was alright for a Pa. He was nice enough to let her keep wearing overalls and play with the other boys her age when she was a youngin'. Taught her how to fix the truck, along with HVAC units, and all other things that would need fixing at the trailer or the junkyard. They even watched NASCAR together on Sundays.

It wasn’t until that preacher fella done come by their little ol’ nowhere town of Mount Pantera that her Pa went crazy. Suddenly, he’d gotten funny about what she should wear, was told to do less “men’s work” and more “women’s work”. Even the NASCAR on Sunday went away in favor of hearing that same preacher man on the pulpit.

If that was the only thing he was trying to change she could have tolerated it.

Trying to ignore the growing pain in her lower back, and took a swig out of the bottle of beer that she saved for herself for the trip.

The question was...where was she gonna go now?

Her Ma was buried six feet under, not that she remembered much of her. Her aunts and uncles nearby would just turn her back in to her Pa as soon as they could. And the rest of her extended family was Lord Knows where.

She chewed her red hair from her right pigtail, trying to think of a solution. It was a shame she didn’t have her fiddle on hand. That was useful for thinkin’. But she reckoned she had to travel light on an occasion such as this.

Minnie tried recalling any relatives that were out there in the world, far away from the quaint little ol’ town of Mount Pantera. The only place she knew her whole life. Who was at that family reunion last year?

A beat up car in the parking lot of the diner she was walking by had been blasting some kinda music she never heard of.

The rhythm was...heavy. The sound of the drums were consistent, and the sound of the guitars were low, like a war song for a march. The singer must’ve had a frog in his throat, because she could barely make out the words from the sound of his growling.

"Hungry and tired the frigid plain yields little

  We trudge on further, eating pride and snow that's brittle

  We ride

 We ride"

She grinned a little to herself with her tooth gap showing, imagining what it would be like if she had a horse to ride out of town on instead of her own mismatched feet.

-That was “The Lost Vikings” a Dethklok Classic, stay tuned to 5184MTL for metal hits old and new -

Where had she heard of Dethklok befo- her hazel eyes widened in revelation as she slapped her knee. It was Cousin Willy’s band! She remembered Granny Murderface braggin’ about it after she had one too many beers at the reunion last year.

Everyone called her Granny on account that she was the Murderface clan’s oldest living matriarch. And when she put her foot down, that meant her word was law, even though she retired to Florida some years back.

If anyone could get her out of this situation, it was Granny Murderface, she was sure of it.

Minnie Mae walked through the doors of Flotsam and Jetsam’s Diner with a spring in her step and a wrench in her hand.

“Got anything need fixin’ round here for a plate and a phonecall?”

[dollsahoy]

In case no-one told you since that post was made 9 years ago

in which I express a series of disagreements with a very old post that still circulates largely unchallenged

Bras last longer when they're air-dried, yes, and they last even longer when they're hand-washed. Chuck 'em into a sink of warm water and detergent, swish them around a little, then leave them for a few hours; drain the sink, refill a little, and swish the bras--repeat this a few times until the water is clear, then hang them to dry

If you have a 'problem' with frizzy hair, you may actually have curly or wavy hair. The internet is full of advice for how to treat it (be aware of the "no chemicals!!!!!" approaches and their overzealous adherents)

White laundry stays whiter when you wash only whites in a load, even with cold water

You can kill a lot of the bacteria in a kitchen sponge with microwaving or a dishwasher cycle, but there aren't that many dangerous pathogens in there to begin with. If the idea of dirty sponges still icks you out, consider using knit or crocheted dishcloth scrubbies, which you can wash in the regular laundry after every use

All the top search results I looked at that talk about he benefits of airing out your home seem to be websites that are directly trying to sell you windows/screens or HVAC service, and they don't include sources, often repeat the false idea that houseplants filter air, and don't at all mention the idea that airing out your house will keep insects from coming in. (This isn't saying not to air out your space--my window is open right now--just that it may not have the miraculous benefits promised. Open your window if you want to, but not doing so won't lead to infestation and doom.)

Hair does not need to be "sleek and beautiful" (see the second point above)

Dryer sheets, and fabric softener in general, only give the sensation of soft clothes because they coat the fibers with a substance, which eventually forms a build-up that can't be easily removed (both on the clothes and in the machines, and, no, vinegar is not a good substitute.) I'm actually not clear on how the act of removing lint from the lint trap takes so long that you need a dryer sheet hack to make it go faster, which was the advice given in the post...unless lint from fabric softened laundry is...stickier?...than otherwise? I haven't used fabric softener for a very long time, so I genuinely don't know. I can quickly roll the lint off of our dryer lint trap screen with my fingers.

Washing your face every day may not be the best approach for everyone, as skin varies wildly among people, especially when aging is considered. (Removing make up is important, though)

(not a rebuttal to the post, but the above applies to hair, too. Washing every day may not be optimum for everyone.)

Take your laundry out of the dryer when it's still warm whenever possible to avoid wrinkles, yes, but don't fold it when it's still warm or the folds will be set in as they cool. I drape/stack the clothes on the dryer door as I take them out, then lay them on top of the basket until I put them away, folding then as needed.

Again: there are always multiple approaches to a lot of everyday activities, and none of them are going to work for everyone, not even the things I presented here. If you've never thought of something before, the first way it's presented to you isn't necessarily the best way.

[writefinch]

FRIENDLY CHAT

Hey! Sorry to pull you in here before your break, we just need a quick chat. So, long story short, uh, a customer complained that you point-blank offered him a condom.

This isn't the first time. You know it's against company policy. You're only supposed to get them if the customer requests it first. Like, you're not even supposed to have them on display. I know that part is stupid, but if the regional manager checks the tapes and sees condom bowls in plain view, I'd still get written up.

No, no, absolutely not, I'm not going to write you up. I don't think it's necessary and you know it goes totally against my management style. I want to talk through your concerns.

I wanna remind you that we take all the recommended industry-standard precautions. In fact we go above them! First off, you're fully vaxxed, and that's the end of ninety percent of things to worry about, period. You've got an IUD on the company health plan, even though your T-shots probably suppress it. The customers get a physical screen in the waiting area. All us boys and girlies get tested every three weeks, twice as frequent as the industry standard.

That's already extensive, it makes you safer than the vast majority of people in our line of work. If we did any more, customers will get the wrong idea. They'll think we're an unclean brothel with unclean customers. It'd remind them too much of all the you-know-what from the past few years.

Yes, you're not wrong about that. Breakthrough infections happen, and people get sick. But you know what I'm gonna say? You're very robust, you know that? You've been here for what, eighteen months, you've been pulling long hours and beacoup extra shifts and you've barely caught a sniffle. The testosterone must be helping!

Now you might not stay this lucky forever, that's why we have six paid sick days and a flexible admin rota. Usually when you catch something it'll be a mild itch and trouble peeing. You won't even wanna rest, and yeah you won't get the full rate for paid clients, you can still get paid to do the laundry and the paperwork for a week while it clears up.

Every year I get a couple of colds from my kids and take three or four days off, and every year I always get a VD from one of the clients and spend a week washing sheets and cleaning dildos. You know what that gives me? Two or three days rolled over into vacation time!

Yes, you can get unlucky. You can get a couple of back-to-back infections. I tell every boy and girl who starts here the same thing: before they take out a loan on a new car or move out of their toxic roommate situation, make sure to get two weeks pay in a savings account. Even if you do have to dip into your rainy day fund, you know full well that there's always extra shifts to pick up around here.

Yeah, you can catch something nasty. You can have a bad reaction. We all remember how scary it was before the vaccines were available. But here's the thing: you drive to work, right? You're on the freeway twice a day. Forty-thousand people die every year in car crashes, and tens of thousands more get life-changing injuries. You don't spend every day worrying about that, right?

You just get on with it and live your life.

Look, I'm really sorry about this whole thing. You're really special to me, you know that? You're a genuine friend to me, I mean that. We get on really well, all the girls love you, you're a hit with clients and that's why I jumped on this y'know? This job is only as fun as the people here make it, and I don't want to see you written up for something that can be talked out.

Discipline here is so stupid. I'm fucking sick of the owners hassling girls, and boys, out of working here and then crying and bitching when we can't meet customer demand.

I said I'd be out of here as soon as I get my HVAC cert but if they put us all through that again I'll just quit on the spot. That's why I want to look out for you. You've helped me through some really difficult times, on shift and off. I wouldn't have been able to get through junket season without you. I'm serious, if you hadn't joined when you did, there'd be gun laws named after me.

Thanks for listening, and again, I'm sorry for even bringing this stuff up. Just promise you'll keep what I've said in mind? We've all got to look out for each other here.

Hey, once you're back from break, can I have your help with something? I've got a no-refusal client and well, all the other girls refused. What? No I don't want you to take him, c'mon man I'm not gonna let you off a written warning to guilt you into picking up my shit, honestly! No, I'm the supervisor on shift so it's up to me.

Anyway he's not into boys, even pretty ones like you, sorry. But he's a real charmer, so would you mind sticking close in case he starts throwing up or throwing hands? If I have to hit the panic button I think Sergei will throw him out of a window, and nobody needs that headache.

Thanks, I really appreciate it. We'll be in the spa room, so let me know when you're ready to play pool boy…

[some1s-sista]

240v has been run out to the smokehouse (guesthouse) so we now have working HVAC! Completely rentable now; I just need to put a fire extinguisher out there and install a smoke detector and we’re done. There are other things we’d like to do - add a screen door and a little porch, but they’re not absolutely necessary.

Now we have to run water out to the bath house, buy a toilet, and I still need to glaze the tub, but I need this warm weather to hang out for a week to do that cuz you can’t glaze under 55 degrees for 24 hours beforehand and at least 48 hours after so that it cures properly.

Meanwhile, inside the main house I have painted the kitchen window frame, broke for lunch, and am about to go back for the second coat.

Projects in this old house are never done.

[thegatesofsilverandbone]

The city skyline glimmered in the night, its lights flickering like a restless sea. Inside a towering high-rise office building, Ethan sat hunched over his desk, his tie loosened and his sleeves rolled up. The dim glow of his computer screen reflected the weariness etched into his face. He was the last person still working, again. The office was a maze of cubicles, sterile and silent, save for the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the occasional creak of the HVAC system.

Ethan leaned back in his chair, rubbing his tired eyes. He had spent the last twelve hours wrestling with spreadsheets and deadlines, tethered to a job that paid well but left him feeling hollow. Every day was the same: wake up early, commute through traffic, spend endless hours on tasks that seemed to matter only to people he never met. He was trapped in the rat race, a cog in a machine that never stopped.

He glanced out the window at the city below, his mind drifting to thoughts of escape. He longed for something more—a life with meaning, with adventure. A life where he wasn’t just another suit behind a desk, slowly fading into obscurity.

With a sigh, Ethan decided to call it a night. He shut down his computer, gathered his things, and headed to the elevator. The office was eerily quiet now, the once bustling workspace a dark, empty shell. He pushed the button for the ground floor, watching the numbers light up one by one as the elevator descended. But as it moved, something strange began to happen.

Ethan’s skin prickled, an unfamiliar heat radiating through his body. He felt his muscles tense, his bones creak as if something was trying to break free. His breathing grew ragged, his heartbeat pounding in his ears. He stumbled back, clutching the mirrored walls of the elevator, watching in horror as his reflection began to change.

His face contorted, jaws widening and teeth sharpening into feral fangs. Thick, dark hair sprouted across his chest and arms, spreading like wildfire. His fingers twisted into claws, his nails sharpening into jagged talons. He felt his feet bursting from his shoes, twisting and reshaping into powerful, cloven hooves. The discomfort and confusion faded, replaced by an exhilarating surge of strength.

Ethan’s tailored suit shredded, unable to contain his expanding frame. Leather breeches materialized over his legs, and a sturdy harness wrapped around his broad, muscular chest. His vision sharpened, and he could feel the weight of dark, curved horns growing from his brow. As his transformation completed, Ethan looked down at himself, no longer the weary office worker but a hulking, powerful warrior—a beast with the heart of a conqueror.

The elevator dinged softly as it reached the ground floor. But when the doors slid open, it wasn’t the building’s sleek lobby that greeted him. Instead, Ethan found himself staring into a wild and chaotic battleground. The sky was dark, streaked with bolts of lightning that illuminated a landscape torn by war. Armored warriors clashed swords, monstrous creatures roared, and the air was thick with the smell of smoke and blood.

Ethan stepped forward, his hooves thudding against the ground. His senses were alive, every fiber of his being thrumming with purpose. There was no hesitation, no fear—only the thrill of battle. Gone were the memories of late nights at the office, of deadlines and spreadsheets. He was no longer Ethan, the disillusioned man trapped in a mundane life. He was a warrior, primal and proud, born for this world of chaos and conquest.

With a deafening roar, he charged into the fray, his massive form plowing through enemies like a force of nature. Every swing of his claws, every strike of his horns, felt right—like he was finally where he was meant to be. The battlefield erupted around him, and he reveled in it, lost to the exhilaration of combat.

There was no going back. Ethan had found his adventure, his purpose in the heat of battle. The man he once was was gone, replaced by a creature of power and instinct. As he fought, there were no lingering thoughts of the life he’d left behind—only the roar of war and the glory of the fight, his new reality forevermore.

[copperbadge]

[ID: A photograph of a corner of my living room; in front of a white screen, a fake Christmas tree is covered in ornaments. The tree itself is bare branches with small white bulbs on it, and lest you think this is rather sad looking, know that I love this tree because despite its creepiness and slight instability, it is the perfect way to show off my ornaments.]

The tree is trimmed! And with that, we bring National Clean Your Home Month to a close.

Dearborn was unimpressed by my tree-trimming and, after one of the ornaments suffered a tragedy, hid in the coats. She is our resident Grinch, but she's cute.

[ID: Two photos; left, my hand with palm open, holding a baroque crescent moon ornament. It is in several pieces after I dropped it on the ground, but I'm pretty sure I can fix it. Second image, my coat closet, with two large fabric bins on the floor; sitting on the top bin, mostly hidden by a number of jackets and hoodies, Dearborn the tortie peers up pensively at the camera.]

I didn't get everything done on my cleaning list, but that's okay; I did get a lot done, and I realized stuff like "clean the bathroom" needs to wait anyway, since the HVAC system is in the bathroom and I'll just have to clean after that gets replaced in any case. Meanwhile, I've decluttered, hung shelves, ridded myself of a bug infestation, organized the tupperware, cleaned out the closet, learned how to use a carpet shampooer, and more.

Thank you all for a) participating or b) tolerating my antics or at least c) quietly blacklisting the tag during NaClYoHo; this was the fifth year of the event, and we had definitely our largest turnout of participants yet. I hope you all feel great about the work you've put in and the accomplishments you made!

Remember: if you can't do a great thing, do a something.

Keep the Salty Pirate in your heart year round, and I'll see you next year for Salty Pirates 6: The Winter Scrubber.

[transienturl]

my method for installing a replacement screen protector on a smartphone without messing it up more than 50% of the time? oh, yes. it's really quite simple. all you need is:

the alignment tool for that phone model, which may not come with the replacement screen protector, so I hope you kept the one that came with the/an original screen protector kit

a microfiber cloth (these generally do come with the replacement. I ignore the cleaning wipes—I once got one with lotion, absolutely do not—and the sticker thingies)

a bright light source (another phone flashlight works fine. clean the phone first)

a bottle of isopropyl alcohol

a sheet of Bounty™ or other high-quality paper towel, torn into a few pieces

a Giottos™ Rocket Air Blaster or similar blower tool designed for camera lenses

a hair tie (optional, depends on hair length)

an N95 mask

an air purifier that exhausts horizontally at the approximate height of your table; this is preferable over "a box fan with a pleated hvac filter taped to it" due to significantly better airflow velocity

right, that should be simple enough to collect. everyone has all of these just lying around, I'm sure. anyway, once you've gotten your supplies together, all you need to do is—okay, actually, you know what. you can probably figure it out from the list, honestly. the list might be the important part