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kirlicues · 3 months ago

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Townhomes for Large Families | Sims 2 Apartment Lot Download

500 followers! Wow! Thank you to all of you who have given this page a follow. I'm glad that you are enjoying the homes and hope they are making your neighborhoods prettier and happier places. 😊

As a little gift I've put together my first official apartment lots: Mapleview Terrace built on a 5x3 lot, and Hydrangea Court built on a 4x3 lot. These lots are free of CC that is not Maxis made. The Season Pre-Order bonus swingset is included in the larger lot, but if you use the Sims2Pack Clean Installer you can opt not to install it if you don't want it.

These townhomes were built especially for your larger sim families. Each home comes with 3 bedrooms--the larger lot even has one with a 4th bedroom!

The down side is that this means they are on the more expensive end of things and they aren't even that fancy looking in my opinion! The Mapleview Terrace apartments come furnished and will cost $3590-$3822. The Hydrangea Court Apartments are unfurnished except for the kitchen and bathrooms and will cost $3874-$3884.

But, let's take a short tour and you can decide if they are worth it for you.

These apartment lots were meant to be a set. They are fairly simple and non-descript on the outside, and you can line multiple lots up for a whole community of cookie-cutter apartments. 🤣 Feel free to paint them different colors though if you wish.

I originally built the shell on the larger townhome lot shortly before Apartment life came out. The goal was to have a place to stick the Maxis families that came in the sim bin so that they would have access to a telephone and not be unreachable except for as "walk-bys".

Here's what they look like at the back. These apartments are nearly identical in floorplan layout, one has 3 units and the other only has 2.

Mapleview Terrace:

Hydrangea Court: Putting solar panels on the roofs can help off-set the cost of rent I discovered, thanks to the helpful members of a Sims 2 Facebook group. 😊 The other lot has them too, but they just didn't make it into the picture.

Let's take a look at the floorplans!

Mapleview Terrace - 1st Floor:

Mapleview Terrace - 2nd Floor:

You might notice a slight theme to each home. But feel free to remove the furniture and redecorate if you want.

Here's what Hydrangea Court looks like. The layout is pretty much identical to Mapleview Terrace, but I did put nicer appliances in downstairs:

One more thing, The neighborhood view for the larger lot has the maple trees seeming to do a little "wave". It's just because I rotated them when placing them, but they should all be in a perfect row on the lot. :)

If you notice anything "off" about these apartments please let me know and I will try to fix the issue. If it's something that can only be accessed in build mode and the option is greyed out you can use this cheat and fix the thing: 'boolprop AptBaseLotSpecificToolsDisabled false' ...Just don't forget to turn it off by typing 'true' in place of 'false' when you're done!

A huge thank you to the folks in one for the Sims 2 groups on Facebook for letting me know what apartments needed or didn't need. 🎉

500 Followers Gift - Townhome Apartments Set: MF | SFS

All EPs and SPs are required.

*I highly recommend that you have the PerfectPlants mod from TwoJeffs*

I’ve run this home through the Lot Compressor so any random references to sims that aren’t there should be removed. I have also run it through the Lot Cleaner to remove any bits of buggy code. This lot comes with a shiny custom thumbnail so it has even more curb appeal in your Lots and Houses bin! 😄

This home uses 1 piece of CC, which is a Maxis pre-order bonus item from Seasons that you may already have in your game. It can easily be replaced or omitted if you don’t want it though.

CC List (Included): -Seasons Pre-Order Bonus “Garden Swing of Bliss and Harmony”

Default Replacements Shown: -More realistically colored Hydrangea shrub from @peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Hydrangea shrub’s flowers will look neon blue. Purple Lupin shrub from Peppermint-ginger If you don’t have these in your game your Lupin will be blue. -White Wall Top Texture Replacement by Maranatah at Mod the Sims -Neon panels removed on the Forbidden Fruit bar/island default by Shastakiss. Pay attention to the special instructions. If you only want the Maxis counters adjusted with no additional new recolors you'll only need to pop "shasta_CEP_nl_nightclub_island_bar.package" in your downloads folder. -FreeTime bedding defaults by CuriousB

I ALWAYS recommend using the Sims 2 Pack Clean installer to install lot files.

Want to improve the look of your game, or grab some “Lost & Found” Maxis objects? Check out this post.

#dl: lots #residential lot #lot #sims 2 maxis match #ts2 #ts2 cc #sims2 #s2build #ts2 build #sims 2 lot #sims 2 lots #lot download #sims 2 house #ts2 screenshots #sims 2 build #ts2 download #sims 2 download #the sims 2 #thesims2

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isthlsfate · 1 month ago

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⌞ 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐨𝐟 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐰𝐞 𝐛𝐮𝐫𝐢𝐞𝐝 ⌝

‧₊˚ ⏾ ༉‧

𝐰𝐚𝐫𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬: rafe cameron x black!kook!reader, girl dad!rafe, angst, slow burn, mild language, mentions of alcohol consumption, implication of unprotected sex (wrap it b4 u tap it), & pregnancy

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭: 1.9k

‧₊˚ ⏾ ༉‧

november mornings in poguelandia are crisp. clean, like the salt in the air is trying to scrub you of everything you’ve ever been.

you’re restocking the minnow lures when sarah walks in with your daughter on her hip, both faces pink from the cool air.

“you’re late,” you tease without looking up. your daughter squeals at the sound of your voice, arms outstretched as she reaches for you.

“only five minutes!” sarah laughs, passing the toddler over. “i had to stop for breakfast. she saw a chicken biscuit and almost dove out of the car.”

your daughter wiggles against your chest, tiny hands patting your cheeks as you tickle her sides.

“my baby’s got taste.”

sarah chuckles, moving behind the counter.

the shop is slow this time of year, only the occasional fisherman passing through, but you don’t mind, and neither do the pogues.

it’s peaceful.

after everything you all lost and found again on that godforsaken island, peace is sacred.

even still, there’s the low hum of life in poguelandia. the faint clang of pope fixing the solar panels, jj hollering about a busted cooler, kie dragging a chalkboard out to scribble the day’s specials. it’s home. makeshift, salty, stubborn—but it’s home.

you hold your daughter close, pressing a kiss to her curly crown.

“gonna be a long day, huh, baby?”

“fishy, mama!” she giggles, showing all her teeth.

“yes, fishy.” you set her down gently, and she toddles over to sarah, who immediately scoops her back up onto her hip like she’s part of her own.

the bell above the door jingles. you don’t look right away, thinking it’s just a customer.

then you hear the voice.

“uh…hey.”

your spine stiffens. you turn, slowly.

rafe cameron stands in the doorway, his hair buzzed low, jaw sharper, like time had something to prove against him.

he looks older, but still like himself. still blue-eyed, broad-shouldered, and carrying that same cocky tension in his stance like he never quite learned how to relax.

he sees your daughter in sarah’s arms and falters.

“didn’t know you two were working here.”

“didn’t know you were still breathing,” sarah mutters behind you.

you ignore her, focusing on how rafe’s eyes can’t seem to leave your daughter. the slow shift in his expression, from awkwardness to something unreadable. his mouth opens, like he’s going to say something, but then the toddler lets out a little hiccup-laugh and the spell breaks.

“i was just—i heard about this place,” rafe says quickly. “wanted to check it out.”

you nod once. curt. you move past him to grab your daughter from sarah, setting her down with her toys. her tiny curls bounce as she bounces around, and you feel rafe’s eyes following her the whole way.

you don’t say anything. neither does he.

one look at him, and every memory you buried claws its way back to the surface.

you’re drunk. dangerously so. so is he.

you’d been friends your whole lives, running barefoot through figure eight and spending summers drenched in saltwater and secrets. you’d known the bad parts of him, but were fortunate enough to see the good parts too—the parts his father tried to beat out.

the real rafe.

and tonight, the drinks had turned to laughter, and the laughter soon turned to silence; thick, heavy, laced with everything unsaid.

“don’t look at me like that,” you whisper, but he doesn’t stop.

you shove him playfully. he grabs your wrist.

“i mean it, rafe.”

his hand trembles against your skin.

“i haven’t stopped.”

“what?”

“looking at you,” he breathes, voice rough. “wanting you.”

your body is inches from his, his lips already too close. your heart pounds.

you’re not supposed to do this. it’ll ruin everything. it’ll break the last thing in your life that makes sense.

but when he kisses you, you let him.

and when he begins to unzip your dress with shaking fingers, you let him.

somehow you ended up in the backseat of his car—limbs tangled, mouths greedy, drunken giggles replaced by moans. it was messy and clumsy and desperate.

and when you wake up in his bed the next morning in silence, his back to you, unsure how you got there, you gather your things and leave.

you didn’t plan to sleep with your best friend. you didn’t mean for your goodbye to feel like that.

but you knew it was the end.

you ghosted him the next day. changed your number. didn’t look back.

and six weeks later, the positive pregnancy test made you sick to your stomach.

rafe starts showing up more.

he doesn’t say much. sometimes he buys bait he doesn’t use. sometimes he pretends to talk to pope about fishing gear. other times he stands around and asks kie questions he clearly doesn’t care about.

mostly, he just watches you.

you avoid him, try to ignore it, but you feel the pressure building like a wave pulling back before the crash.

your daughter warms up to him quickly.

she waves, offers him cheerios, even tries to give him her pink stuffed dolphin. rafe doesn’t know what to do with that kind of love. it stuns him every time.

“he’s got balls,” sarah says one day, watching him through the window. “showing up here like nothing happened.”

“he doesn’t know the half of it,” you whisper.

“but he’ll find out. and when he does…”

you nod, knowing all too well.

jj notices your discomfort.

“yo, what’s he doing here again?”

“don’t know. don’t care.” you shrug.

but you do, and jj can tell.

“just say the word,” he mutters, cracking his knuckles.

“not yet.”

you were five months pregnant when sarah found out.

you cried for hours. she didn’t ask questions, just held you.

“you gonna tell him?”

you shook your head, numb.

“he doesn’t deserve this. not when he couldn’t even care enough to look for me.”

sarah didn’t argue. she just stayed.

you had some weak moments, ones where you thought you’d come clean. every time you saw his name in your contacts, your thumb hovered and quickly chickened out. you’d start to type, then delete.

the words didn’t come easy: she looks like you. she has your eyes. she laughs like you used to, before everything went wrong.

how do you tell someone they’re a father when they haven’t even figured out how to be a man?

he catches you on a quiet afternoon.

your daughter is napping in the back, and sarah’s gone for a supply run.

you’re shelving tackle boxes when he corners you in the back aisle.

you spin around, nearly colliding with his chest.

“jesus, rafe—”

“is she mine?” his voice is low. deadly quiet.

your heart slams. you stare at him.

“w-what?”

“ramona.” he says her name like it’s sacred. like it hurts. “is she mine?”

“rafe—“

“don’t lie to me, please.”

his eyes are burning. his jaw’s tight. you’ve never seen him like this.

“you don’t get to ask me that,” you whisper. “not now.”

“then when?” his voice breaks. “you were my best friend. you disappear, and now—now there’s a kid, and she looks like me, and she smiles like me and—fuck, you think i didn’t know something was off?”

you clench your fists.

“i was alone, rafe. you don’t know what that was like.”

“you didn’t even give me a chance.”

“because you didn’t care!” you shout, and it echoes off the wooden walls. “you didn’t look for me. you didn’t call. you went back to your life like i didn’t matter.”

he flinches.

“i was messed up.”

“i was pregnant,” you scoff. that shuts him up.

you wipe your face roughly, angry that you’re crying.

“she’s yours,” you finally muster.

he sways like you punched him, sitting down hard on the bait freezer.

“how old is she?”

“two.”

“and you didn’t think i deserved to know?”

“i didn’t think you could handle it,” you snap. “you were spiraling, rafe. drugs. fights. your dad was dead and you were trying to self-destruct. i had to protect her.”

“you had to protect yourself.”

“maybe.”

the silence is brutal.

“i wanna see her.” he stands, slowly. “please.”

you hesitate, searching his eyes for something insincere. when you don’t find it, you sigh, leading him further into the back where she’s resting.

ramona wakes up groggy. she sees him and clutches your leg.

rafe crouches to her level, careful not to get too close.

“hey,” he says softly. “i’m rafe.”

your daughter blinks at him. he picks up one of her fallen crayons and hands it to her.

she takes it, then offers him another.

you watch them color on the floor of the bait shop. his big hands awkward around the tiny crayon, her giggles bubbling with each misshapen heart he draws.

he glances at you, eyes soft and scared. you’re sure your own expression is just the same.

for the following week, he shows up with all types of gifts for ramona: snacks, crayons, a stuffed bear.

you try to stay annoyed.

but when he’s holding her—her head tucked under his chin, his arms sure and gentle—you feel something crack.

and when he whispers to her, thinking you can’t hear:

“i’m gonna be better. for you. for her.”

you run off to cry in the stockroom.

months have passed, and although your personal relationship with rafe is still rocky, he and ramona have become two peas in a pod. he’s gone so far as to start picking her up and taking her home with him to give you some much needed time to yourself.

you’re locking up when you see them outside on the dock.

she’s holding his hand, pointing at fish in the water.

he’s kneeling beside her, nodding seriously like every word she says is gospel.

you step out, arms folded.

“shop’s closed.”

“just visiting.” he smiles.

you sit beside them, something you’ve refrained from doing, afraid you’ll fall all over again from seeing him step up as a father.

ramona climbs into his lap, yawning.

“you good?” you ask.

“better than i’ve ever been,” he says.

he reaches for your hand. to your surprise, you let him take it.

his thumb brushes your knuckles. a silent apology. a quiet promise. and for the first time in a long, long time, it feels like home.

you don’t notice john b and the others until he whistles from the porch of the bunkhouse.

“damn,” he calls. “should we start setting a place for rafe at dinner now or wait till he moves in?”

you roll your eyes, but your smile gives you away.

“shut up, john b,” you and sarah both groan in unison.

ramona perks up.

“john b-b-b-b,” she giggles, repeating it like a song.

“that’s uncle john b to you,” he teases, walking over and ruffling her curls.

she leans into his touch, then turns to rafe and pats his cheeks gently, just like she does to you when she wants your attention.

“dada,” she mumbles absentmindedly, pointing at the sky. you freeze, heart in your throat.

rafe doesn’t say anything at first. he just smiles and kisses her temple.

“yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “i see it too.”

you glance at him—really look—and for the first time, the ache in your chest feels a little less sharp. a little less lonely.

from the porch, kie watches the three of you and smirks.

“god, we’re so back.” she mutters under her breath.

___

꩜ taglist: @chromeheartsbaby , @qveendiorsworld , @mygologyv, @purewhines

starting a rafe taglist, pls lmk if you’d like to be removed ❤️

#reader insert #black reader #x reader #outer banks #rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron x black!reader

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neolithicsheep · 9 months ago

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Ok so you're looking at the aftermath of Helene and you're thinking "shit, how would I keep my phone charged? What about my neighbors?" and you have some outdoor space and some cash. Your friendly formerly off grid sheep farmer is here to help.

You need this set up right here:

To that you will need to add:

Y connectors:

The 100aH (amp Hour) deep cycle battery of your choice - lead acid AGM will be cheaper, lithium (LiFePo) is more expensive but lasts much longer.

Finally, you need a small pure sine wave inverter like this one: https://a.co/d/70vRd79

Plug the panels into the Y connectors then into the single wire to run to the charge controller. They are now connected in parallel. Take them outside to a sunny spot and face them south and prop them up at about a 45 degree angle. This isn't perfect but it will be good enough.

Connect your battery and charge controller. Connect the panels to the charge controller. All of the places to do this are labeled and all you need is a Phillips screwdriver. I recommend doing it once in a non-disaster situation so you know you can do it but you'll be fine. Boom, you are getting electricity from the sun!

The inverter draws power even when it's not running so don't leave it hooked up when you're not using it. When someone needs to charge their phone, put those alligator clips on the matching color battery posts, turn the inverter on, and plug in the phone/radio. Voilà! A single 100aH battery is not going to run a bunch of things but it will help keep cell phones charged without using up the gas in your car.

The panels are weatherproof but everything else needs to be protected by the way so you'll need to set this up in a shed or garage or in the house. Lead acid batteries can produce hydrogen gas when being charged but just having one isn't a big risk.

FAQ:

Yes, you can permanently mount the panels to your roof if you own your home etc. They're designed for that!

It is true that places sell "solar generators" - those are a charge controller, battery, and an inverter in one box at a very high price point. When a component goes bad you will be unable to replace the component and must replace the entire $1000 box. They are also not upgradeable or expandable, this is.

You do not have to buy Renogy, I recommend them because they kept me in electricity for the years I was off grid.

You do not have to buy the kit, you can buy the components of it as and when you can afford them!

Remember to keep your battery on a trickle charger.

#natural disasters #disaster preparedness #solar energy #solar power

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highprettybabyy · 2 months ago

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Seeing Red

Part 9 - The Villa

jenna ortega x fem!reader apocalypse au

summary: house hunting part II

warnings: enemies to lovers, typical apocalypse stuff, violence, blood, zombies, gore, maybe angst... some fluff...

AN: is it time?? will they have peace?? a safe home?? 😈

word count: 3.5k

Part 8

—//—

The living room was hushed, soaked in the soft glow of candlelight, and smelling faintly of honey and burned wick. The dishes from dinner were still drying on the counter, a quiet testament to the rare peace of the day. You sat on the couch, a steaming mug of chamomile tucked between your palms. The ache in your abdomen had dulled to a slow, persistent pulse, but you could finally breathe through it again. Your ankle still twinged now and then, especially if you turned too fast, but it was manageable. You could walk. You could move. You could feel the weight of your own body without crumpling under it.

Jenna sat beside you.

Not across the room. Not perched in a corner, eyeing you like she might need to bolt. Right beside you. The kind of close that made the couch feel smaller than it was - not touching, not quite, but one shift of balance and your thighs would brush.

Your eyes flicked to the stack of house flyers between you. Most of them had been crossed out. "No roof," "smelled like mould," "already burned down." One was folded open in her lap - the villa.

You both stared at it like it might disappear if you blinked too hard.

You sipped your tea. “Four point six million.”

Jenna hummed low in her throat. “Pre-apocalypse inflation’s a bitch.”

You smiled faintly, letting the candlelight catch the edge of it. She noticed.

“I keep trying to find a reason it’s too good,” you admitted. “But it’s fenced. Far enough from the woods. Has space for a proper garden.”

Jenna nodded. “Garage looked massive. Could convert part of it into storage. Maybe even raise solar panels on the roof.”

You tilted your head. “We?”

She went quiet.

The silence stretched.

Finally, she said, “If we’re doing this... we should do it right.”

You didn’t reply at first. Just shifted slightly, letting your thigh brush hers - barely - and tried not to flinch at how deeply your body still ached. Her breath hitched almost imperceptibly, and a second later, she turned to look at you fully.

“Your side hurting?” she asked, already leaning forward slightly.

You nodded. “More when I sit still. Weirdly.”

“Let me check?”

You hesitated, then nodded again. She set her lavender tea down and moved closer, only a breath between you now, before gently lifting the hem of your shirt to look at the edge of the bandages. Her fingers were careful, deliberate, tracing no closer than needed, but it still sent your heart sprinting.

“It’s healing,” she murmured. “Still a little red on the edges, but it’s closing.”

“Good,” you said softly. “That’s… good.”

She lowered your shirt again, but didn’t move back right away.

The space between you still hummed.

You reached slowly toward the flyer again, fingertips brushing the corner of the page. “We could make it work, right? You and me?”

She nodded slowly. “You’d do the garden?”

You smiled. “Garden. Chickens. Rainwater collectors.”

“I’d maintain the panels,” she said. “Figure out the filtration stuff. Keep the lights on.”

“Then we’d both cook.”

“You cook,” she corrected, voice light. “I supervise.”

You laughed - a soft sound that didn’t hurt for once.

It was quiet again. But the kind that felt full of something good this time.

Jenna reached for the flyer and smoothed the crease down the middle. “We could make it ours.”

You looked at her.

She was already looking at you.

There was something open in her eyes - unguarded in a way you’d never seen. No smirk. No armour. Just that steady, burning gaze.

You swallowed. “You want that?”

A long pause. Then:

“I think I’ve wanted that for a while.”

You didn’t say anything. Just leaned your head against her shoulder.

And for the first time in weeks, she let her head rest against yours.

You didn’t talk about tomorrow. Or what the road would be like. Or how many more houses you’d need to check before you reached it.

You didn’t need to.

You’d picked a home.

And each other.

The road was quiet. Not safe - it never was - but quiet in a way that made you think, for a moment, that things were okay. That maybe the world had stopped spinning off its axis long enough for you to just breathe.

You could walk again. You weren’t fast, and every few steps reminded you that your ankle still hated you, and your side was a little too tight beneath the bandages, but you could move.

Jenna kept pace beside you, rifle slung across her back, her smaller handgun now holstered comfortably on her hip. She kept glancing sideways - not quite at you, but just past. Watching your balance. Watching your face. She never said anything, but every few minutes, she’d casually ask something like, “How’s the ankle?” or “Need to stop?” You always shook your head. And she always kept asking.

The sun was already warming the top of the trees by the time you turned onto the gravel path that curved toward the estate. It was a good sign - sunlight kept the shadows at bay, and the walk had been blessedly uneventful. You were just starting to feel a little too confident about that when you heard it.

A soft rustle. Then a low groan.

Jenna’s hand moved before her head did. Her fingers wrapped around the handle of a curved blade strapped across her thigh. She didn’t speak - didn’t need to. The second the snarl came from the brush, she stepped forward without hesitation.

It was fast - one of the newer ones. A teenage boy, maybe. Hard to tell. His hoodie was still half-zipped, a badge from a summer music festival flapping at his side. His eyes were still a little too human. But they didn’t slow her.

She ducked the first lunge, twisted, and drove the knife into the side of his head so fast you almost didn’t see it. He dropped without a sound.

Jenna wiped the blade on his jeans and looked up at you. “Still got it.”

You blinked. “Yeah,” you said quietly. “You really do.”

The neighbourhood was too quiet.

You stood beside Jenna in the middle of a wide cul-de-sac flanked by overgrown hedges and abandoned cars, staring at the villa that loomed just down the lane, the - very - long lane. It looked untouched from here - all clean, white brick and dark wood beams, the garden fence still intact. The surrounding fields rolled gently beyond the tree line, and a gravel path twisted toward a garage that looked… elegant, almost. Expensive. Still.

But it was too still.

Jenna had one hand on her rifle, eyes fixed forward. You knew she was listening for the same things you were: the wet gurgle of a throat that shouldn’t be working, the thump of slow footsteps on decaying wood, the chitter of fingernails scraping down stone.

But there was nothing.

You shifted your weight from one foot to the other, trying to favour your good leg. The stitched wound at your side pulled tight with every step, a constant reminder that even winning came with a price.

“It looks clear,” Jenna murmured.

You didn’t believe her.

Not really.

But you nodded, and together, you moved.

The two of you approached slowly, boots crunching softly against the gravel. Each step was measured. Deliberate. You scanned every window, every angle. Jenna raised her hand in a silent signal, and you dropped back, slipping to the left flank while she covered the right.

It should’ve been reassuring how easily you moved together now. Like a unit.

But something wasn’t right.

There was something about the front door - not the door itself, but the space beyond it - that made your skin crawl. You tilted your head slightly, trying to catch a glimpse through the frosted glass panes along the side.

And then you saw it.

Movement. A flicker of colour.

Red.

Not just red - sequins. Glitter. Dresses.

You froze.

You didn’t speak. Just raised your hand and pointed, two fingers low.

Jenna crept forward, following your signal. She peered through the gap, squinting into the dim interior of the villa’s front hall.

Her whisper was barely audible. “Party guests.”

You counted quickly. At least twenty.

They weren’t packed tightly. They were scattered, swaying, idle, twitching. All dressed in half-formal wear: velvet jackets, cocktail dresses, one with a feathered hat askew on her scalp, another with a plastic champagne flute still stuck between what remained of their fingers.

A party.

This had been a party.

And now?

Now it was a massacre that hadn’t finished rotting.

You backed away slowly, motioning Jenna with you. Once out of earshot, she leaned close.

“We can’t take them all inside,” she murmured.

You shook your head. “Field. Open ground. I’ll draw them out.”

“I’ll cover you from the tree line,” she said. “Same as the mall.”

You hesitated.

Her eyes met yours. Steady. Focused.

This time, she knew the plan would hurt you. That your body was still healing. But she also knew there was no other way.

“Alright,” you said quietly.

She helped you find a decent vantage point - a stone bench tucked behind the trellis near the gravel path. From there, you could make a wide run across the field, enough to lead them away from the front door and give Jenna the shot she needed.

You grabbed a small metal toolbox you’d found discarded on the side of the drive and gave it a solid rattle.

The zombies inside twitched.

Their heads snapped toward the sound with bone-cracking urgency.

You took a breath.

And then you bolted.

The scream of squeaky hinges as the front door was thrown open was the last thing you heard before the groans erupted.

They came spilling out - stumbling, flailing, dressed in rags of glitter and crushed velvet, eyes long rotted out but ears sharp as ever. You ran, knees burning, your boot skidding once on a patch of loose gravel, nearly toppling you. The wound at your side screamed with every stride, but you didn’t stop.

Behind you, you could already hear the first shot.

Jenna’s rifle cracked through the evening air - clean and precise. The first body hit the ground with a thud.

You didn’t look back.

The ground flattened out into an open meadow, the grass high and dry around your knees. You weaved through the tall blades, keeping your head low, hoping the distraction would hold. You could hear them behind you - the rustle, the groaning, the sickening slap of rotten feet against soil.

Another shot.

Another.

A pause. Reloading.

You reached the end of the clearing and veered sharply left, ducking down into a slight ditch that would shield you just long enough for Jenna to pick off the rest.

Except your ankle twisted.

You cried out - sharp and loud - as your leg gave way and you hit the ground hard, elbow scraping through packed earth and thistle. Pain flared white-hot in your side. The stitches - fuck - you felt them pull, at least one of them tear.

You gritted your teeth and started crawling.

One arm forward. One leg dragging behind. You felt every tremor in the ground as the undead approached, the last of the partygoers, lumbering closer. You could hear their breathing. Wet. Open-mouthed. Hungry.

And then, a click.

Gunfire again. Louder. Closer.

Jenna had moved.

The next three shots were faster - controlled, but urgent. You rolled to the side just in time to see her advancing down the hill, rifle raised, feet steady, eyes blazing.

Her magazine clicked empty.

She didn’t stop.

She drew her Glock and fired twice more - head, chest - before slamming it back into its holster and pulling the old Magnum from her boot.

It hurts.

By the time she reached you, you were half-conscious and shaking.

She dropped to her knees beside you, hands already reaching, already checking. “Hey. Hey. You with me?”

You tried to nod. You weren’t sure if you managed.

“Jesus, Y/N, don’t- don’t do that again.”

You gave a breathless laugh through tears. “Which part?”

She didn’t answer. Just got under your arm, lifted you gently, and helped you limp the rest of the way back to the villa.

The villa felt different once the bodies were gone.

Not better. Just emptier.

Jenna helped you up the porch steps and through the front door with a gentleness that surprised you. Her fingers were firm under your arm, but not demanding - like she was more worried about bruising you than rushing. Once inside, she let you lean against the banister near the stairs while she checked the corners.

You watched her sweep the rooms again, just to be sure. One gun in hand, the other ready at her side. She didn’t speak. She didn’t need to. She was clearing this place for you. For both of you.

The bodies had been left where they fell, you hadn’t had the energy to drag them. That could come later. For now, you just wanted the doors shut, the windows curtained, and the scent of rot to start fading.

Jenna double-checked the lock on the back door, then moved room to room, opening closets, tapping on walls, testing every hinge. She even pulled open the laundry chute and checked the pantry floor for loose panels. You could hear her footsteps above, clearing the upper floor. It was strange - in a way - how thorough she was. As if she wasn’t just looking for threats, but making sure this place was real. Making sure you were both allowed to have this.

You shuffled into the kitchen on your own, using the counter as support. Someone had thrown one hell of a party. The kitchen island was covered in stale nuts, sticky spills, party hats tipped over like casualties. You gathered everything into a cracked serving bowl and dumped it in the bin without ceremony. The fridge was humming faintly - but you didn’t trust the food in it. The pantry was better. Cans, dry rice, some oil, and - blessedly - a couple of cartons of long-life milk.

You lit the lantern and got to work.

A simple meal, nothing fancy. You warmed up a can of chickpeas, mashed in some herbs and oil, sliced bread from the loaf you'd brought, and cracked open a tin of smoked salmon. It smelled surprisingly okay. You even found salt - fancy, flaky stuff from a half-used jar on the spice rack.

By the time Jenna came back down, you were plating the meal: bread with warm chickpea mash, salmon, and a few sprigs of something dried you didn’t recognise but hoped wasn’t deadly.

She blinked at the lanternlight.

“Is this-”

“Dinner,” you said, holding out a plate. “Best we’ve got till I can stand long enough to cook proper.”

She took the plate. Sat beside you on the couch. Didn’t speak for a while.

You ate in silence, both of you too tired to fill the space with anything clever. But it wasn’t empty. It was full of small things. The way your knees brushed. The way Jenna’s fingers lingered on your wrist when she passed the salt. The way she watched you wince and shifted so you could lean easier against the pillows.

After the last bite, Jenna set her plate aside. Her eyes flicked to your side.

“Let me change it?”

You didn’t argue. You lifted your shirt slowly, teeth grit, while she opened her small pouch of supplies - fresh gauze, antiseptic ointment, bandage wrap.

She worked in silence.

Her fingers were gentler now than they’d been even two days ago. She dabbed the ointment on in soft, slow motions, watching your face for every wince. She took care with the wrapping, securing it neatly.

“You went out,” you said suddenly. “For that.”

Jenna paused.

You turned your head toward her. “Didn’t you?”

She didn’t deny it. “I had to.”

“You could’ve died.”

“I couldn’t watch you suffer like that.”

You stared at her. The words dug under your skin and stayed there.

“…Thank you,” you said eventually, voice rough.

She didn’t answer. But her hand - after the bandages were done - lingered on your arm. Just for a moment. Warm and steady.

After the meal, everything settled into a kind of quiet neither of you wanted to disturb.

The villa creaked faintly with the wind outside, a soft whistle through the trees and into the corners of the house. You sat together in the warm lantern light, your bowl scraped clean, Jenna’s placed empty on the floor nearby. She had checked your wound again without comment - her fingers gentle, her expression focused - and now, you were both simply sitting. Breathing.

You didn’t know what time it was. Just that the air felt different.

Like a full stop had been placed at the end of a sentence.

You stood slowly, teeth clenched against the dull ache in your side, and she was up a second later without needing to be asked, one hand hovering, just in case.

“Let’s find beds,” you said softly.

The hallway stretched ahead, the shadows deeper now, but less frightening. You passed what must’ve been half a dozen bedrooms - each with unmade sheets, signs of a life that had once filled these walls. Shoes still lined neatly against skirting boards. A stuffed elephant left in the corner of a child’s room.

You and Jenna paused outside the last two doors.

They stood opposite each other - one slightly ajar, the other closed but not locked.

Neither of you moved.

Then, carefully, you said, “Would you mind if… we just picked one room?”

Jenna looked at you, her expression unreadable for a moment.

Then, quietly: “Yeah. I’d like that.”

You pushed open the door to the master bedroom. The lantern light spilled in first, revealing the massive bed, still made. A thick, high-quality duvet. Pillows lined neatly at the head. The walk-in closet was cracked open, and the room smelled faintly of cedar and something sweeter - like old perfume, long faded.

Jenna closed the door behind you both. She didn’t say anything as she moved to wedge a chair beneath the handle and then dragged over a small desk to block the entry entirely. You watched her work with quiet appreciation.

It didn’t matter that you were exhausted. Watching her do something so… deliberate, so calm, had a grounding effect. As if the two of you could actually pull this off.

You crossed the room toward the closet, your lantern bobbing gently in your hand. “Might be some clothes we can use.”

“I’m not wearing a cocktail dress to bed,” Jenna warned.

You pulled the door open - and grinned.

Inside was a full wardrobe, organised meticulously: warm clothes, thick jumpers, and to your utter delight… novelty loungewear. Hanging in pride of place was a bright red panda onesie, complete with ears on the hood. And next to it: a panda-patterned oodie and matching sweatpants.

You didn’t hesitate.

“Dibs on the oodie.”

Jenna narrowed her eyes at you, then looked at the onesie.

Her lips twitched. “You just want to see me in that thing.”

You shrugged, already pulling on the massive hoodie. “Prove it.”

She changed without shame - stripped off her jacket, unbuckled her belt, stepped into the onesie with the deadpan seriousness of a soldier preparing for war. She zipped it up, flipped the hood over her head… and looked up at you with the little red ears poking upright.

You almost burst out laughing.

Instead, you said, “You look adorable.”

“I will throw you out a window.”

You handed her the bag of candy.

“Truce,” you offered.

Jenna rolled her eyes but took the bag anyway, climbing onto the bed and sitting at the edge opposite you. She opened it and pulled out a handful of sweets, chewing one while her legs swung off the side like a teenager avoiding a real conversation.

The room settled around you both. Soft. Warm. Safe enough.

Neither of you reached for the light yet.

Eventually, you pulled back the duvet and slid beneath it, wincing a little but making it work. Jenna joined you a moment later, curling on her side - not close, not touching - but close enough to feel the shape of her next to you.

There was a long, comfortable silence.

You’d almost drifted off when her voice cut through it, barely above a whisper.

“…Goodnight, Y/N.”

You let out a slow breath. “Goodnight, Jenna.”

The moonlight trickled through the high window above the bed, soft silver stretching across the floor like something sacred. The wind outside had calmed. You could hear crickets in the field beyond the trees.

You slept better with her next to you.

--//--

AN: so what if they woke up cuddling..

Part 10

#jenna ortega #jenna ortega x fem!reader #jenna ortega x reader #jenna ortega fanfic #jenna ortega x you #jenna ortega x y/n #lesbian fanfiction #wlw fanfiction #lesbian #wlw #sapphic #hpb.fanfics #hpb.jenna #hpb.seeingred

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dandelionsresilience · 8 months ago

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Dandelion News - November 8-14

Like these weekly compilations? Tip me at $kaybarr1735 or check out my Dandelion Doodles!

1. Agrivoltaics for sustainable food, energy and water management in East Africa

“[… C]ertain crops […] thrived under the partial shade provided by solar panels. The shade also helped to reduce water loss through evaporation, leading to more efficient water usage. Additionally, rainwater harvested from the panels could be used to supplement irrigation needs.”

2. The world’s largest wildlife crossing is now standing in California

“The structure crosses a 10-lane freeway and has been built to help protect all sorts of wildlife[….] And it’s not just for fauna: some 5,000 plants grown from seed collected within a five-mile radius have been nurtured in two specially created nurseries. The bridge will be topped with wildflowers, shrubs and native grasses that will also benefit insect populations.”

3. Judge rules the military must cover gender-affirming surgery for members' dependents

“[Judge] Torresen found that [gender-affirming] surgery is indeed medically necessary and that the Defense Department had not shown that any important governmental interest was advanced by denying the coverage.”

4. Social Media Can Boost Caracal Conservation

“The team found that searches on the species doubled after the project [using “social media to educate about the caracal”] launched. […] ”The research demonstrates how a public interest in urban ecology and the global phenomenon of ‘cats on the internet’… can be harnessed to leverage conservation action.””

5. US Labor Board Bans Captive Audience Meetings to Ensure 'Truly Free' Worker Choice

“[T]he National Labor Relations Board on Wednesday ruled that employers cannot force workers to attend anti-union speeches. [… W]orkers will no longer have to take part in so-called "captive audience meetings," which employers often use as a union-busting tool and a form of coercion.”

6. Study links grazing with plant phenology and abundance

“In general, plants where caribou or muskoxen were present experienced earlier green-up and greater abundance later in the growing season. “We're used to thinking of the timing of plant availability as impacting the productivity of grazing animals, but not the reverse," Post said.”

7. Frog populations once decimated by disease mount a major comeback

“"These results provide a rare example of how reintroduction of resistant individuals can allow the landscape-scale recovery of disease-impacted species, and have broad implications for amphibians and many other taxa that are threatened with extinction by novel pathogens."”

8. California Announces Special Session To Protect Trans People

“Newsom’s directive is clear: safeguard reproductive healthcare, support immigrants, and shield LGBTQ+ people from what is viewed as existential threats to civil rights and democratic norms. […] California has a unique opportunity to set the blueprint for other states in resisting a Trump administration[….]”

9. When ‘OK, Boomer’ Means ‘Let’s Go Protest’

“Youth activists across the country recognize the efforts of their eco-minded predecessors and welcome them as mentors, role models, and collaborators in their battle against the climate crisis. […] “The idea that Boomers don’t care, he said, is “just misinformation.””

10. How Aussie Waste Warriors are Redirecting Excess Food to Those in Need

“A growing movement is working to reduce perfectly good food going to waste by redirecting it to homes and charities. [… C]haritable organisations [… are] transforming fresh produce that would otherwise have gone to waste into millions of cooked, nutritious meals for people in need each year.”

November 1-7 news here | (all credit for images and written material can be found at the source linked; I don’t claim credit for anything but curating.)

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revelboo · 5 months ago

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He's here! A little shaken but in great condition! Another fun assembly~

I love the tiny mega vehicle...

Another TFO Star! My tracking fell off the face of the earth 4 days ago 🥲 He’s somewhere.

But aaaaaah!

No Strings Pt 2

Rainmakers x Reader

• Sliding you down into the box with the rest of your supplies since he’s almost sure you can’t climb back out, he heads back to his own transport ship. Can hear you chirping at him from inside the box, distressed at not being able to see out? “Sorry, but I’m busy right now,” he murmurs. Because he’s not sure he can pilot, keep a hold of you, and suppress his outlier abilities all at once. Not entirely sure what his toxic nature might do to something as soft as you are, but he can’t imagine it’d be good. Hears you rattling around in the box, chirping insistently and he reaches to tip the box, startling you as you slide, indignant eyes staring up at him when he fishes out Swindle’s little bottle and subspaces it so you don’t get into it by accident.

• Listening to the big monster grumble at you, his voice is low and gruff when he reaches back in and rubs a servo against your jaw. And the urge to swat him is there, but staying on his good side seems like a good idea for your continued survival. Stumbling when he withdraws his hand and the box rocks back down flat, you find and yank a blanket free to wrap around yourself, turning your attention on the rest of the stuff. And holy crap, is that a fun sized bag of Reese’s cups? Your captor had been force feeding you gray, tasteless bars and water. And he’d had candy the whole time? Another reason to hate him. Ripping open the package, you stuff one in your mouth and start digging through the rest of the supplies.

• Setting the ship on auto once he’s free of Swindle’s ship, he looks in on you and stifles a growl. Because he’d left you alone for barely a klik and you’d gotten into your training treats. Big eyes stare innocently up at him as you chirp your sweet nonsense at him and shove another treat in your mouth. So much for not handling you. Scooping you up, he shifts you to a thigh, gently tugging at the blanket you’ve wrapped around yourself and you tug back, giving up when he almost lifts you off your feet trying to get it away from you. Little shoulders hunching when he brushes a servo against soft skin, examining you. “I can’t believe Cybertronians are fragging you guys,” he says, venting softly. “You’re too fragile for that, aren’t you?” Tapping his servo against you to make you chirp and grab him. Of course, you’re just a gift. A little pet to hopefully distract Nova from his new duties. And the restrictions placed on their whole Trine as high-risk former Decepticons. Peace or no peace, outliers are an endangered species now. Monitored and tracked. Controlled. Touching the little leash dangling from your harness, he carefully unhooks it and you look from it to him. “I don’t like being caged or bound, either.”

• Deciding he’s not going to molest you, you turn and crane your neck toward the control panel. Breath catching when you see the window above you and the huge world you’re approaching. That’s not earth. You’d guessed that you’d been beamed up, that they were aliens, but having it confirmed sends tremors through you. How far from home are you? How can you get back when they can’t understand you? He’d taken the harness off, though and you flinch when he drapes your blanket over your head. Aware that those red optics are watching as you wrap it around yourself, because you’re so sick of being cold and naked.

• Head resting in his hand, Nova Storm scrolls through the list of rules and restrictions being levied on his trine. At least they’re not being outright imprisoned, but this isn’t really a lot better. Hearing the door to their shared habsuite opening, he vents. “We’re to report for monitoring implants within the next solar cycle,” he calls out, head lifting to see if it’s Ion Storm or Acid Storm returning. “Where were you?” Because sneaking off now? If it was noticed, their energon allotment will be cut. Again.

• “I thought we needed something to liven up our habsuite,” Acid Storm murmurs, shifting the box with you in it in his hands. He’d been toying with names the trip back, finally settling on Rain Storm since you’re as soft as rain. Hoping the name will help endear you to Nova as part of their trine, because they need something. Their purpose, their hopes and even their freedom slowly being stripped away. Watching Nova’s optics narrow, he reaches in and pulls you out, setting you on your tiny feet on the desk and Nova leans back with a frown. “It’s cute right? I named it Rain Storm.”

• There’s another one, almost identical to the big green one who’d taken you, but almost a burnished golden color. Twins? Can giant, alien robot monsters be twins? Looking from the new one to yours, it’s the frown on Goldie’s face that you fixate on. Because those alien faces are eerily human and you’re almost positive this one isn’t happy with you or Green. What happens to you if he won’t let Green keep you? Do you go back to the cage and the porn vids? Or do you just get turned loose on a strange alien world to fend for yourself. Terrified at that thought, you wonder closer to Goldie. Not knowing what they want from you, what’s expected, you reach and touch the back of his hand. “I really, really don’t want to go back to the cage,” you whisper, smiling weakly. “You’re warm.” Pressing your palms more firmly against him, because he’s a lot hotter to the touch than Green is.

• “Rain Storm,” Nova mutters, staring at those tiny little hands on his. And looking at his brother’s hopeful expression, there’s no denying him. You can’t be that much trouble. Chirping up at him, you bare tiny teeth at him in what almost looks unsettlingly like a smile. “Please tell me this thing isn’t sentient.” Relaxing when Acid shakes his head, because getting caught keeping another sentient as a pet? They’d lose what little freedom they have. “Alright, but you’re cleaning up after it.” Turning when Ion Storm returns, arms loaded with energon cubes and their brother pauses spotting the organic, wings lifting. “Come meet our new pet,” Nova says tiredly.

#transformers x reader #rainmakers x reader #acid storm x reader #nova Storm x reader #Ion Storm x Reader

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the-garbanzo-annex-jr · 6 months ago

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by Seth Mandel

Electricity has been one of the main challenges in Gaza, because Hamas refuses to do the one thing that would solve the problem almost overnight: stop its forever war against Israel. Now, it’s possible that HTS is planning to launch semiannual wars against Jordan and sabotage its own power supply, but I consider the possibility unlikely. That is, however, what Hamas does daily.

Here’s how the electricity in Gaza works. Israel provides 50 percent of the enclave’s power—and I do mean “provides.” Technically, Israel is selling electricity to Gaza, and the Palestinian Authority is supposed to pick up the tab. But they very often don’t, and certainly Hamas doesn’t pay, and every so often Israel threatens to cut off electricity for lack of payment—the debt is usually somewhere in the neighborhood of half a billion dollars. But Israel always backs down or accepts low partial payments.

How much does Hamas value that electricity? Well, it is not uncommon for their own rockets to hit the power lines and cut off parts of the grid. Usually, Israel just fixes the lines when Hamas destroys them. (Israel is terrible at doing genocide.) But on Oct. 7, 2023, Hamas knocked down more than half of their own power lines and Israel did not fix them; it had, if you remember, a few other priorities.

The other half of Gaza’s electricity is split into two main categories: 25 percent comes from Gaza’s diesel-run power plant and the other 25 percent comes from the sun. Gaza has a high concentration of solar cells, because there are lots and lots of roofs and lots of sun. Some of the solar power comes from Israeli companies, much of it from EU and UN projects (meaning, in part, the American taxpayer).

Some Gazans with solar-power systems sell electricity to their neighbors. Some who have their own diesel generators do the same. And the hospitals have been known to set up diesel generators in their bottom floors for public use.

What this means is that about a quarter of Gazan power doesn’t, in general, require the main grid. There’s a problem, however: in addition to Hamas and Palestinian Islamic Jihad rockets knocking down power lines, the fact that these groups operate from private homes means that the return fire from Israel knocks out solar roof panels. Hamas fires from civilian homes with the intent of getting those civilians killed, but doing so also kills the lights. Hamas is indescribably evil.

#electricity #gaza #hamas #israel

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dilemmaontwolegs · 2 years ago

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Bee Stings and Butterfly Kisses || SV5

Pairing: Sebastian Vettel x wife!reader Summary: Your husband takes nesting to a whole new level with the paradise he’s found to start his family. Warnings: established relationship, pregnant!reader, fluffiness WC: 1.4k

The property Sebastian had chosen to raise his children upon was everything you could have dreamt of and more. There were rolling meadows full of fragrant flowers, forests of conifers and evergreens, and even a lake with an abundance of trout. The house he had designed was built using recycled material and was sustainable to run with the dozens of solar panels on the roof. He had truly future proofed everything to live a life as environmentally friendly as possible.

“Did you know honey is the only food that doesn’t spoil if you store it properly?” Sebastian barely looked up from the old set of drawers he was upcycling into an apiary. “There were pots of honey found in ancient tombs in Egypt, around 3000 years old.”

“I still don't see why we need bees at our home.”

“Because, my love,” he said as he placed his hammer down and pulled you into his arms, “this is our future we are building. Without bees there’s no pollination, with no pollination there’s no flowers, or fruit and vegetables.” His hand splayed across your swollen belly, feeling his son’s kicks against his palm with a smile. “It’s our responsibility to protect our future.”

The outdoor sofa where you were reading was a current favourite place of yours. It was tranquil and warm and allowed you to get off your feet for a little bit while your husband pottered around in the garden. With only a few weeks to your due date everything ached from your neck to your ankles so you kicked your feet up and listened to the birdsong.

The hiss of pain was one you had come to know well recently and it only took a minute for Seb to appear at the edge of the garden, the metal gate squeaking on its rusted hinge. He cupped one hand over his cheek, one eye closed with a wince as he ascended the stairs to the deck.

“You wouldn’t get stung if you used the smoke, love,” you softly reminded him as he took a seat and pulled his hand away. “Oh dear, that’s a big one.”

“We don’t know the long term effect the smoke has on them, it could be poisoning them,” he said as he turned his head so you could use your nails to pull the stinger out without squeezing more toxin into his cheek. “They will recognise me soon and realise I’m not going to hurt them.”

“If you say so.” You loved your husband but you weren’t so sold on the trust building exercise he found himself in. More often than not after going to check the beehive you found yourself in this position, grateful he wasn’t allergic. “How is your queen doing?”

His lips pulled up into a smile and he sat down on the edge of the seat, pulling your feet onto his lap and massaging your swollen ankles. “You tell me, my sweet, how are you doing?”

Emotions swelled in your chest and you cursed as he laughed, leaning closer to wipe away the tear that escaped. “Damn these hormones. You should really stop being so nice so my poor tear ducts can have a break. Can’t you just be a jerk?” His laugh grew and with it the kicks increased. “Yes, yes, daddy’s laughing at me.”

“I would never laugh at your mother,” he chuckled, lifting your shirt to press his lips to your belly. Stretch marks littered the skin and you dared not to think about the other changes that you couldn’t see below the swell, but he still made you feel beautiful. “Everything she is going through is my fault.”

“That’s right,” you agreed with a smile. “Daddy spent a lot of time romancing and seducing me, and now here you are.”

Seb looked up, his long hair hanging in naturally soft waves around his face. “How could I not? You were the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. I could hardly concentrate on the race after seeing you.”

“It couldn't have affected you too much,” you said as you tucked his hair behind his ear, “you still won.”

“I had to make a good impression somehow, since I could barely speak a word when we were introduced,” he admitted as he looked out over the garden he tendered.

You followed his gaze knowing he was going to be a great father considering the care he gave to the garden, and you. “It was your eyes I fell for anyway, they looked sweet and kind.”

The rows of plants were just flowering and you traced them to see the little bursts of yellows that all too soon would become bright red ripe tomatoes. Next were the beans, too many varieties to count, all climbing the trellis Seb had made from the wood of fallen trees in the forest. Further beyond were your favourites, the bushes that were brimming with berries of every flavour. Each morning you would amble your way to them with Seb and a bowl, pointing out the juiciest looking berries for him to pick for your smoothie.

Patting his good cheek, you shuffled to sit up and swing your legs off the couch.

“Where are you going?”

With a groan you pulled yourself to your feet and rubbed the straining skin at your sides. “To get some ice to stop that swelling,” you said as you pointed to his face. “You need to be able to see properly if you are thinking about getting back in a race car this weekend.”

“I can get it, you rest.” He followed you into the house even after catching the roll of your eyes and watched you struggle to bend down to reach the ice tray at the bottom of the freezer. Unable to stop himself, his hands caught your waist and straightened you up before he grabbed the tray. “I don’t want you hurting yourself,” he said with a kiss to your temple.

“I said the same thing, but you still went and got stung.”

“But that’s because I have you to kiss me better.”

You smiled at the softness in his tone and gave him the gentlest of kisses to his swollen cheek, barely the touch of a butterfly's wing. “There, is that better?”

“Yes, I don’t even need this anymore,” he said as he turned to put the tray away until you stopped him with an amused look.

“Nurburgring,” you reminded him, grabbing a tea towel to wrap the ice cubes in.

He had been excited since he got the call from Christian Horner to drive the historic track, and in a car modified to run on eco-friendly fuel no less. He was not going to do anything to miss the opportunity to return to the racetrack, even though he enjoyed retirement and the quiet life he had built in the rural settlement. So, he quietly accepted the ice pack and carefully pressed it to his cheek.

“It’s a dangerous track, Seb,” you murmured as you took over holding it, cradling his other cheek with your palm. “Please be safe and come home in one piece.”

His hands came to rest on your stomach, nearly covering it all as he splayed his fingers apart. “Of course, my love. And you need to stay in one piece until I get home.”

You giggled and felt the strong kick responding to his voice. “I have a feeling your son will take his time. Would you resort to one of those dreadful planes if he decides to come early?”

His lips twitched in amusement, used to your jibing over the consciousness of his carbon footprint. “I could probably drive home faster, with a few speeding tickets along the way, but I might be able to lower myself to boarding a plane for him.”

“Ah, that’s a father’s love,” you giggled. “He doesn’t even know what a sacrifice that would be.”

Sebastian lowered the ice pack so he could dip his head and kiss you. “There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for the two of you.”

“Except get rid of the bees.”

His lips curled against yours in a smile you felt. “Except that.”

#sebastian vettel x reader #sebastian vettel x you #Sebastian Vettel fanfic #sebastian vettel imagine #f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine

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wachinyeya · 4 months ago

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An intuitive piece of hardware is collecting days’ worth of renewable energy from airplane engine exhaust before take-off from a Dallas airport.

“Boarding is completed” is a common refrain heard over the intercom system in the moments before taxiing to the runway.

At that moment, the pilot will begin a series of engine tests and pre-flight checks during which time the turbine engines are idling with their ferocious noise and exhaust fumes.

A company called JetWind has realized that all that idling force is like the strong winds needed to power a wind turbine, and has built a series of pods that can capture it during the 5-10 minutes the aircraft is sitting at the gate waiting for clearance to taxi.

“The main goal of our project is to harness the consistent wind created by jets and convert it into an eco-friendly energy source,” JetWind’s founder and president Dr. T. O. Souryal told Interesting Engineering.

“What was once considered wasted energy can now benefit energy grids, ultimately promoting smarter and more sustainable infrastructure across the globe.”

Three years of testing between 2021 and 2024 have informed the official deployment of JetWind’s flagship product at Dallas Love Field airport. 13 sets of pods will sit beneath the gate hooked up to external batteries that connect to the grid the airport uses. Solar panels add to the energy generation, and the whole set can create about 30 kilowatt-hours of renewable energy, enough to power a family home for a few days.

While on its own it isn’t nearly what the average airport will consume during a day of operations, when combined with 12 other systems just like it, it can make a serious difference in reducing the carbon footprint of the building.

“Dallas Love Field has always been a hub of progress, and the introduction of JetWind’s Energy Capturing Pods reinforces its position as a testing ground for innovative technologies,” said former Dallas Mayor Tom Leppert.

“By converting man-made wind into energy, we are highlighting Dallas as a leader in sustainable solutions and proving that cities can take significant steps toward tackling global energy challenges.”

The debut of the JetWind pods at Love Field has attracted attention from around the globe, including companies and governments from Switzerland, Brazil, Saudi Arabia, Ecuador, the UK, France, and Australia.

#usa #texas #airports #airplanes #aviation #green aviation #energy collection #energy efficiency

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reasonsforhope · 5 months ago

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"Seventh graders at Thurgood Marshall Middle School in Rockford, Illinois are learning about STEM — but they’re also learning about real-world challenges.

The students have taken on a new project: assembling “solar suitcases” to help bring electricity to schools in Uganda’s Bidi Bidi Refugee Settlement, which is home to 270,000 South Sudanese refugees.

It’s an initiative led by We Share Solar, a nonprofit that provides science and technology learning projects for students that then go on to benefit other students in low-income areas of the world.

The project introduces middle schoolers to fundamental electrical concepts, like positive and negative charges, voltage, amps, and wiring, ultimately producing a 12-volt DC solar power system that will be distributed among the refugee community.

“We’ve learned many things like positives and negatives, amps, volts, all that stuff, and how to wire stuff together,” Pratham Mehta, one of the Thurgood Marshall students, told WIFR News.

“We’re taking all this stuff for granted, and other countries don’t have all this stuff, like electricity.”

The suitcases will bring electricity to 40 schools in the refugee settlement, which provide education to over 12,000 students. They are designed to be easily transported (thus the suitcase design), which makes them ideal for off-grid locations, like a refugee camp.

The panels in the suitcase collect sunlight and harness the energy in a built-in battery. It can then provide power to up to five light bulbs for 50 to 60 hours a week. Depending on the capacity of the system, it can also help power small electronics like phones or radios.

For people in the Bidi Bidi settlement — one of the largest refugee settlements in the world — this kind of power can make an enormous impact.

In fact, We Share Solar has deployed over 1,000 suitcases to “energy-scarce locations” across the world, with more than 500,000 students and teachers benefitting from the power they provide.

“The We Share Solar education program serves youth twice,” Hal Aronson, co-founder of the organization, said, “first as an educational experience for American youth and second as a renewable power and lighting system for youth in parts of the world that lack electricity.”

Along with connecting students to learning opportunities, the organization ensures each device is tested by a professional to ensure it is built to withstand energy demands. Then, the suitcases are installed by trained partners in destination countries, and students and teachers alike learn about the new clean energy technologies they have implemented.

At the start of the 2024 school year, the We Share Solar program was implemented in 13 Illinois schools, training educators in the curriculum and setting up the project across the state.

“This is just the beginning,” a Facebook post from We Share Solar states. “These passionate teachers will now guide their students in building solar cases, providing a hands-on STEM experience with real-world impact.”

-via GoodGoodGood, January 16, 2025

#electricity #solar power #united states #illinois #uganda #north america #africa #stem learning #refugees #good news #hope

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petercapaldi-press · 5 months ago

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Peter Capaldi: 'You don't just play the Doctor, you represent him' The Telegraph

INTERVIEW

12 September 2015 6:00am BST

Chloe Fox

'What do you say we have dinner in the Tardis?’ Peter Capaldi, aka the 12th Doctor, is looking at me from over the top of his Wayfarer sunglasses with a bird-like intensity; head cocked to the side, a mischievous light in his beady blue eyes.

Fresh from the set (a nearby solar-panel factory in Cardiff that has been dressed up as the kitchen of a spaceship where a monster has been trying to eat everyone in his path), dressed in skinny black jeans and a T-shirt, with his trademark Dr Martens boots, Capaldi crackles with exactly the same combination of fierce intelligence and nervous energy as his Doctor – a darker, edgier, slightly more unpredictable version of what has come before.

This will be Capaldi’s second season at the helm of a sci-fi television show that, now in its 52nd year (with a 16-year hiatus from 1989 to 2005), is the longest-running in history. Distributed to more than 200 territories worldwide, viewed in the UK alone by an average of six million per episode, adored by its legions of obsessive ‘Whovian’ fans, Doctor Who is nothing short of a global phenomenon.

Capaldi, 56 at the time of casting (he’s 57 now), was the oldest Doctor to debut since the very first doctor, William Hartnell, did so aged 55 in 1963. To some, his was a slightly left-field casting. His immediate predecessors, David Tennant and Matt Smith – 34 and 26 respectively when they got the job – were younger, twinklier, more user-friendly versions of the Time Lord. And yet, Capaldi’s older, more volatile incarnation – who shows zero tolerance towards all things romantic – very quickly won his way into Whovian hearts across the spectrum. ‘A class act’, declared The Daily Telegraph. ‘A fantastic, fascinating lead performance,’ said Digital Spy.

By the time series eight (his first) ended – with a thrilling denouement in which the Doctor was made President of the World and his arch-nemesis, the Master, was reincarnated as a woman (brilliantly played by Michelle Gomez as a sort of malevolent Mary Poppins) – Capaldi’s rightness for the role was established.

‘What I wanted to do, I suppose, was remind people of the alien-ness of the Doctor,’ Capaldi says. ‘Doctor Who isn’t a human being, you see. He’s a creature of the cosmos. His social skills aren’t great. He doesn’t care very much if people like or dislike him, because people aren’t his thing, you know?’

We are now sitting in the Tardis – surely the most thrilling interview location of all time – where Capaldi, who is nearing the end of nine months of filming series nine, looks touchingly at home. Often, between thoughts, he gazes reverentially up at the ceiling as if it were the vaults of a church. Long legs crossed, jacket off, vampirically pale, thin hands wrapped around the pot of Wagamama noodle soup that is his supper, you can see glimpses of the boy who penned endless fan letters to the show’s producers and who applied for presidency of the Doctor Who Fan Club aged 14.

In person, Capaldi is a much gentler, more rarefied presence than you might expect, especially if you were a fan of his brutally funny spin doctor, Malcolm Tucker, in Armando Iannucci’s Bafta-winning political satire The Thick of It. He speaks quietly, with an elegant Glaswegian drawl. Questions are answered thoughtfully and with a real interest, even though they are probably questions he has been asked dozens, if not hundreds, of times before. ‘Am I enjoying myself? Hmm, let me see… Am I enjoying myself?’ he says, looking around a set that has been specifically customised to suit the personality of his more retro, 1960s-style Doctor – a glass table here, a hexagonal window effect there. ‘Well, just look at this place,’ he says, with a sweep of a long arm. ‘How on earth can I not be enjoying myself?’

Capaldi concedes, however, that the first season was ‘terribly nerve-racking for me because not only was the job new, but I was also getting a level of attention that I simply wasn’t used to’. And in filming the second series, the challenges, he admits, have morphed – in true Doctor Who style – into something else.

‘I don’t feel I’ve nailed it yet – from an acting point of view, I mean,’ he says. ‘I don’t yet feel that I know how to do this. Quite who the Doctor is remains mysterious to me – which is of course as it should be – but one of the biggest challenges that I’ve found, and am finding, is that you have to sort of be able to spin on a penny. You have to be able to go from pantomime to tragedy, from domestic to epic, within a single scene. You have to keep the ball in the air, and you have to remember,’ – and here he grins wryly – ‘that The X Factor is on the other channel. You have to remember that there are people watching in America, you have to remember that, as much as you want to apply your mature acting instincts, there are actually lots of children watching. You’ve got to cover all these bases, and make it exciting and interesting too. It’s a great challenge – and, by the way, I really don’t say that lightly – and one which I care very much about getting right. Because it’s big, isn’t it? It’s really big.’

When Capaldi speaks of the weight of responsibility that comes with such an iconic role, he shifts imperceptibly into the second person, as if distancing himself from its magnitude. ‘It can be quite intimidating when you look down, do you know what I mean? Because Doctor Who exists on quite a big scale, in terms of its importance to the BBC and to its fans. You don’t just play Doctor Who; you represent him. You represent the 50 years in which he has meant an awful lot to an awful lot of people. And the weight of it – and I really would never want to seem ungrateful – is that it is continual. It is very, very nice because people always greet you with a certain affection, but it is basically every day, everywhere you go.’

When Capaldi got the job, one of his first actions was to pick the brains of his predecessors. ‘I knew David a little bit but I didn’t know Matt at all,’ he explains. ‘They were both very kind, very generous and refreshingly honest. They both made it quite clear to me that the role would bring, shall we say, a greater visibility, and they gave me very good advice as to how to handle it.’

First and foremost, retain a sense of humour at all times. ‘It’s all showbiz silliness really,’ he says, laughing. (On the day his casting was announced on a prime-time BBC special hosted by Zoë Ball, he was given a codename – Houdini – and bundled, gangster-style, into a chauffeur-driven car with a blanket over his head.)

‘Peter has a large anti-bullshit-ometer inside him,’ says his friend, the actor Richard E Grant (who starred in the short film Franz Kafka’s It’s a Wonderful Life, which Capaldi wrote and directed and for which he won an Oscar). ‘And because his fame and recognition have come relatively late in his career, his hilarious cynicism about the yo-yo nature of showbusiness abides.’

Take Comic-Con, for instance. A couple of weeks before our meeting, Capaldi – along with his co-stars and the Doctor Who writer Steven Moffat – flew out to the convention in San Diego for a promotional event. For the two days before the convention started, Capaldi was doing press in his hotel. Wherever he went, he was accompanied by six security guards. ‘Six! Can you believe it?! And they all kept telling me that I couldn’t leave the hotel because, if I did, I’d be mobbed. And then I’d look out of the window and all I’d see would be this little Yoda walking down the street. So eventually I’d had enough and I said, “Come on, guys, you’ve got to let me go,” So they did – although the heavies came with me, of course. And, do you know what? Not a single person recognised me. Not one.’

Unsurprisingly, this wasn’t to last. The group sat down for dinner and, before long, queues were forming for selfies. Which was when Capaldi’s second code for coping came into play: ‘Just enjoy it.’

He understands the obsessed fans, because he himself was one of them. Teased at school for being a sci-fi geek – he was given the derogatory nickname Moon Man because of his obsession with the moon landings – the young Capaldi was far from cool. Not that he cared too much, because he was also very loved. ‘It was very safe, full of delights,’ he says of his early childhood in a tenement block in the Springburn region of Glasgow. His parents – Italian-born Gerry and Irish-born Nancy – ran a cafe in the bottom of the tenement, from which they operated an ice-cream-delivery business.

Family were everywhere: both grandmothers, plus uncles, aunts and cousins all lived in the same block. There was lots of noise, laughter, spaghetti, a Beatles soundtrack and, of course, Doctor Who. ‘To me, it was like a fairytale,’ he explains of his childhood obsession. ‘It had that quality of darkness that you find in a Grimm’s fairy tale: this strange creature of a man who takes you on all these adventures, but who always keeps you safe. That’s absolutely what I want the children who watch my version to feel.’

For Capaldi, Doctor Who is inextricably linked to his childhood. ‘It will always be a part of me,’ he says. Earlier this year, just before he was due to start filming the current series, Capaldi’s beloved mother – who had sent him the Doctor Who annual every year, well into his adulthood – died. It was a source of great pride to her that his visits to her hospital bedside were always accompanied by the happy squeals of just about every nurse in the hospital, coming to catch a glimpse.

Growing up, he didn’t really know what he wanted to be; he just knew he didn’t want to join the grey ranks of ‘depressed-looking souls standing at the bus stop in the rain every morning’. In those days there was only one place to go if you didn’t want to be like everybody else: the Glasgow School of Art.

Submerged in an ethos of creativity, Capaldi embraced the beginnings of punk. He was lead singer of a band called the Dreamboys – who mercifully changed their name from the Bastards From Hell (and whose members included Craig Ferguson, of The Late Late Show fame) – and he also began to harbour dreams of becoming an actor. One night, in 1983, he got home drunk to his Glasgow flat to find his costume-designer landlady chatting to the film director Bill Forsyth, who saw enough promise in Capaldi’s innocent charm to cast the 25-year-old opposite Burt Lancaster in his Scottish seaside fable Local Hero.

A decade, and a few bit parts later – most notably as John Malkovich’s manservant in Dangerous Liaisons – Capaldi wrote and directed the aforementioned short (in which his actress wife, Elaine Collins, co-starred with Richard E Grant) and, totally unexpectedly, won an Oscar.

For a brief, glittering moment, Hollywood beckoned (the couple bought a house in Crouch End, London, with the proceeds from a Miramax option on a feature-film idea) but then, as so often happens in Hollywood, the lights went off again.

When, after the best part of 15 years spent taking whatever hand-to-mouth acting jobs he could get – a Ruth Rendell Mysteries here, a Foyle’s War there – Capaldi got the call to audition for Armando Iannucci, he didn’t get his hopes up. In fact, the whole audition experience was so turgid and long-winded that, by the time he actually met Iannucci himself, Capaldi was simmering with rage; a rage that was to change his life by landing him the part of Malcolm Tucker.

Contrary to common belief, Malcolm Tucker was not based on Alastair Campbell. He came instead from Hollywood, from the American agents and producers – ‘malevolent forces in Armani suits’ – that Capaldi had witnessed, first-hand, barking foul obscenities down the phone at people. His ‘failure’, it turned out, had not been for nothing.

If the success of The Thick of It was a door opening for Capaldi, Doctor Who has been a floodgate from which there is no going back. ‘Would I have appreciated it as much if it had happened 20 years ago?’ he muses. ‘Almost definitely not.’

Happily, the timing of his success suits Capaldi’s life. With his wife now working as a television producer (she gave up acting for a more financially reliable line of work) and their daughter, Cecily, at university, Capaldi can be based in Cardiff from Monday to Friday and return to family life at weekends. ‘And it’s a shock when I do,’ he jokes. ‘Because I’m certainly not allowed to be number one on the cast list there. Here I spend all week with people taking me everywhere I need to go, checking I have everything I need, driving me the three minutes to and from my lovely waterside apartment to the studio, making me endless cups of coffee, loving me wherever I go; and there I am expected to have my feet on the ground. But I don’t want my feet on the ground, goddammit!’

He is too gracious to say it, but Capaldi is definitely tired and homesick. With 13 episodes a year, not to mention the promotional whirl, being the Doctor is more than a full-time job. He has even developed the same knee complaint that had Matt Smith – ‘who is about 12, for God’s sake!’ – on crutches at their first meeting. ‘It’s something to do with running down corridors and turning round very quickly to deliver lines,’ he says, laughing.

Nevertheless Capaldi is uncomplaining. ‘All this will come to an end, you see,’ he says, looking around him at the Tardis. ‘It might just be my Scottish melancholia, but the very first day I found out I’d got the job, I started to feel sad that one day I would not have it; that there would come a day, in the not too distant future, that I wouldn’t be Doctor Who any more. And that is why I try really hard to get as much out of it as possible. Because one day I’ll just be an overweight has-been, trying to get a meeting with Jenna Coleman [Clara, the Doctor’s companion] and being ejected from a Doctor Who Convention in Bolton for being drunk and disorderly. I mean, this is surely my high point, isn’t it?’

Doctor Who returns to BBC One on September 19

#peter capaldi #interview #doctor who #the telegraph #2015

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hometoursandotherstuff · 6 months ago

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This historic 1890 home in San Antonio, TX was meticulously restored with a modern aesthetic modeled after a serene wellness-inspired retreat. 3bds, 2ba, 1,682 sq ft, $415k.

Plenty of built-in storage was added to the homey entrance hall.

The sitting room, directly off the hall, is a large, light-filled room featuring a corner wall of windows with a view of the deck.

Here's a roomy dining room with lovely shelving and what looks like a little craft corner.

The kitchen is a lovely cook's kitchen with lively 2-tone orange cabinetry.

Love the color. It's different.

They made a walk-in closet before entering the bedroom.

I don't know why, but the Cookie Monster on a stand kind of creeps me out.

The ensuite has an industrial farmhouse vibe.

This bedroom is currently set up as a playroom. Love the peachy wall color.

It also has an ensuite shower room.

The back hall to the garden doubles as a storage area.

Neat patio and garden.

There's a shed, but the listing doesn't mention if the trailer is included.

Look at this feature- there's a private, secluded Bamboo Grove.

The home is on an oversized .27 acre lot and features solar panels on the roof.

https://www.zillow.com/homedetails/418-Burleson-St-San-Antonio-TX-78202/26110262_zpid/?

#historic homes #restored homes #old house dreams #houses #house tours #home tour #homes under $425k

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writing-girlie · 6 months ago

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𝚆𝙾𝚁𝚃𝙷 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚁𝙸𝚂𝙺 ★ 𝙹𝚘𝚍 𝙽𝚊 𝙽𝚊𝚠𝚘𝚘𝚍 𝚡 𝚁𝚎𝚊𝚍𝚎𝚛

Story Summary: Fate had thrown you back into Jod Na Nawood’s orbit, and despite your history with the captain, you found yourself pulled into his reckless mission. A treasure map, precious cargo, and an entire galaxy chasing after it—everything about it screamed trouble but what wouldn't you do for him. WC: 1,372 Note: I don't know if I should write more chapters so if you're interested let me know

You were on your way back home from another successful job. No matter how many times you had flown through the galaxy, you still couldn’t help but admire it. The sharp crackle of your comms interrupted your thoughts, followed by the familiar voice of one of your bosses.

"Hey, Patch." The nickname drew a faint smirk to your lips. “I’ve just had a transmission come through, and you’re the closest. Do you mind checking it out for me? They don’t know what’s wrong, so you’ll just have to figure it out once you’re there.” Your job didn’t really excite you like it did at the start; it was just another paycheck, another ship, and another faceless crew who needed you to patch up their mess.

“Sure. I can do that.”

“The ship’s called Solar Spear. I’ve sent you the location, and as always, contact me if you need something. The comms crackle back out, and the screen in front of you chimes and flashes up with coordinates. You set the course and go on your way. Once you arrive, you see that there is no active power signature, and one side of the hull is caved in slightly, scorched and crumpled as if it had been scraped by something much larger. Your brow furrows as you assess the damage the best you can. Ships like this usually limped to a station after taking hits like those, but here it was, silent and adrift.

“Solar Spear, This is RPR-18. I received your transmission for help—you’re expecting me.” You tap into their comms, hoping that they're working. It takes a few moments, but eventually a response comes through.

“Yes, we have a small docking bay at the back right. Thank you.” You pull the ship up and land in the small space. The docking bay was small—only just fitting your ship. The clamps lock it into place, and the door behind shuts, so you power your engines off and get out, leaving your tools for once you knew what you were dealing with. When your feet hit the ground, the entry doors hiss open, and a young man is standing there.

"Thanks for coming," he said with a polite nod, hands clasped in front of him. "The captain’s expecting you. I’ll take you to him."

You follow him, walking through the ship and towards the bridge. The ship then starts rumbling slightly, and you hear someone call out that the backup supply has been engaged. The bridge door then hisses open, and you step inside. The room glowed softly as systems came back online, control panels lighting up one by one. The faint murmur of the crew and the hum of technology returned. But none of that caught your attention. Not really. Because standing right there was him.

Jod Na Nawood

The years hadn’t really changed him. His coat hung loose over his shoulders, a blaster was strapped at his hip, and that same cocky half-smile curled at the corner of his mouth. His hair was now streaked lightly with silver at the temples. And then there were his eyes, locked on you the moment you stepped into view, like they always used to be.

“Sunshine” His voice was soft, as if he were testing the weight of the word, but hearing that name on his lips again was like a punch to the gut. It was from another version of yourself—one who had trusted him, laughed with him, loved him. You force down the lump in your throat and steady your breath.

“Captain Nawood” Your eyes glance around the bridge, noting how the crew kept their heads down, busying themselves with their tasks, pretending not to listen.

“Captain?” He repeated “You never used to call me that unless we were off duty.” His smirk deepened, voice laced with teasing nostalgia. He stepped closer, his body just within your personal space, the heat of him unmistakable. “I always did like how you used to say it.”

Heat pricked up your neck and onto your cheek, but despite your best efforts to not show how it made you feel, Jod caught it. His smirk stretched wider, eyes flickering over your face, down to your mouth, then back up.

“What am I doing here? You’ve got the backup supply; that should be more than enough to get you to a planet for repairs. So is there anything else, or can I go?”

“There’s no time for that; we have important cargo that needs to be delivered quickly. Can you just have a look at the main system and see if you can work some of your magic?” Yesterday you could’ve sworn that if you saw this man again you would’ve killed him, but now, with him in front of you, that wasn’t even a thought.

“You’re telling me that you’re working for someone?” you said, crossing your arms tightly over your chest. “Since when do you answer to anyone?”

“Since someone paid me well enough to make it worth my while.” He could tell from the look on your face that you didn’t believe him. “You make it sound like I’ve never followed the rules before.”

“That’s because you haven’t.” You say plainly. He laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar. For a moment anger bubbled inside of you again; you hated him—not just for the past, but for the way he could still make you feel. The bridge door hissed open, and a woman entered. She had the kind of confidence that came from being both good at her job and knowing it. Her eyes immediately found Jod, the faintest of smiles curving her lips.

“Captain,” she said smoothly, ignoring you entirely. “The cargo is accounted for and secured. Credits, jewels, a few relics—enough to turn heads.”

“So definitely not your ship; otherwise you’d know what you’re carrying,” you said, eyeing Jod sceptically.

“I never said it was. And thank you, Verya,” Jod replied with a smirk. Just as you opened your mouth to retort, she cut you off.

“It doesn’t matter who the ship belonged to. What matters is that it’s ours now, and we need to stay ahead of anyone who thinks otherwise.” Her gaze flicked to you briefly, as if measuring whether you were worth her time. Apparently deciding you weren’t, she turned back to Jod. “Anyway, we found it.”

Verya handed him a rolled parchment, her movements deliberate. Jod unrolled it carefully, the fragile paper crackling in the quiet. It was a map—an old one, by the look of it.

“What is it?” you asked, leaning in despite yourself.

“It’s a map,” Jod said flatly.

“I can see that,” you shot back, your tone sharp. “What’s it for?”

“It leads to a planet,” Verya answered before Jod had the chance, her voice steady but laced with excitement. “The stories say it’s filled with treasure. Enough to make someone the richest person in the galaxy.”

“Great. So you’re chasing a legend?”

“I’m chasing an opportunity,” Jod countered, his smirk returning, though this time there was an edge to it.

“An opportunity to do what? Get yourselves killed?” you asked, your tone heavy with scepticism.

“Some risks are worth taking,” Verya interjected, her gaze flicking back to Jod. “Especially when the reward is this big.”

“And what’s the plan?” you pressed, forcing your voice to stay even. “Hope no one else figures out what you’re carrying.”

“Oh, they already know.” Jod’s tone was maddeningly casual. “That’s why you’re here—to make sure we don’t fall apart before we get there.”

“Great. So you’ve got a massive amount of treasure in the hold, a map everyone in the galaxy would kill for, and no real plan. Sounds solid.” You clenched your jaw and pinched the bridge of your nose, resisting the urge to throttle him.

“Don’t worry. The captain knows what he’s doing,” Verya said, placing her hand on Jod’s bicep with an ease that grated on you.

“That’s debatable,” you muttered, shooting her a glare before glancing pointedly at her hand, then back to her eyes.

“I always figure it out, Sunshine. You should know that by now,” Jod said, his chuckle low and infuriatingly self-assured. His gaze lingered on you, filled with amusement.

#jod na nawood #star wars fanfiction #skeleton crew #jod na nawood x reader #skeleton crew fanfic #jod na newood fanfiction

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heartfullofleeches · 1 year ago

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hhhrggrhrgrg NL Darling feeling a sort of kinship with mono right off the bat because oh?? not human?? metal bits?? all alone??? :)) friend

Mono 🤝 Nightlight Darling

Lonely Bots with a space theme who long for someone to hold- [just gonna use this ask to slap on the full blurb I made with these two cuties]

Mono finds Nightlight abandoned in a scrap yard on what would've been their last evening on earth for some time - searching for the perfect item to bring with them until they returned. Throughout their travels, Mono had developed an affinity for collecting souvenirs from the planets they stumbled upon. Though its time was often brief - Mono felt a certain homesickness for every planet as they no longer had a home of their own. When they reached earth, their little hobby gradually escalates to a borderline addiction. So many treasures left for grabs in places like junk yards or antique shops simply because humans no longer see their worth.

If it were up to Mono, they would've taken everything they set their eye upon, but all that weight may not be good for their ship. They needed to find the perfect treasure to bring back with them..

And so they did.

"H..he....hello?"

When Mono found Nightlight - the poor android was in a terrible state of repair. Their dominant arm was nowhere to be seen, body covered in dirt and small scratches. Mono knew from the moment it saw Nightlight they'd do anything to fix them. Never had they'd seen such gorgeous craftsmanship from humans - only for them to be abandoned in cold, awful place like this. Mono carries Nightlight and the blanket they found the android in to their ship. What Mono thought to be a final gesture of kindess from the humans who cared for them would later be revealed as the cruelest act by far.

"They didn't even bother to shut me off properly... My last owners... They just put me in a blanket and made sure my solar panels were covered...I still remember...everything..."

The energy draining from their body. The loss of mobility in their limbs, unable to move even if they tried after being left in idle mode. Their former owners couldn't even give them the mercy of powering them down completely or wiping their system.

Nightlight isn't their usual self when they first meet Mono, but it isn't long before they're back to their cheerful self with how considerate and caring Mono is. Hints of their former self presented whenever Mono offers to leave their former owners to rot in filth or to rip off the arms of thieves who stole their arms. They haven't known them long, but they can tell Mono would never hurt they soul which they wouldn't.....at least not in front of their new crewmate. It's also hard for Nightlight to feel down when they can see earth right outside their bedroom window.

"Whoa! Is that earth?! It looks so small from up here... Look, I can hold it in my hands!"

Nightlight's energetic self is exactly what Mono's ship needed for it to finally feel like home to the alien. The android's lights are quite useful when the light surrounding the ship are on the fritz again as well. When it's time to repair nightlight's arm, Mono sneaks in parts of their metal into the limb during its construction. Unbeknownst to Nightlight, in Mono's culture that means they're already lovers.

Tiny human sized nightlight rides around on Mono's shoulders or clings to the larger bot's arms, legs, or hip whenever they're exploring. Anyone they meet along their journey can see how quick to iteration Mono is without their Starlight hanging off of them.

As some may know, Mono's native language best translate to Morse code. What some may not know - and something Mono was clearly unaware of is that Nightlight can understand them perfectly-

"Wow....I knew stars were beautiful, but seeing them up close... it's amazing."

"It is true they are a marvel to see in person...."

Mono trails off, sliding their fingers over the collar around its neck.

"-… ..- - / .. / -.- -. --- .-- / --- -. . / - …. .- - / … …. .. -. . … / -… .-. .. --. …. - . .-."

"Oh! Are you talking about me? You're so sweet, Mono - i think you shine bright too."

".-- …. .- - ..--.. -.-.-- ..... You can understand me? How long have you been able to..."

"Forever? You talk a whole lot in your sleep, y'know. It's cute... I love you too by the way."

The embarrassment may temporarily shut Mono's systems down, but hearing Nightlight reciprocates their feelings is what kills them.

[Translations: But I know a star that shines brighter, What?!]

#Mono my oc #Nightlight Reader #yandere #yandere imagines #yandere x reader #yandere headcanons #yandere scenarios #yandere x you #yandere oc #yandere insert #yandere blurb #yandere alien #yandere android #yandere drabble

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