#rainwater module

[zooeytang]

These are our main products: rainwater harvesting system modular tanks.

[sebystann]

COFFEE AND CHAOS

synopsis - When a sleepless barista forms an unexpected bond with the Red Hood, late-night coffees turn into something deeper. But the truth behind his cracked helmet — that he’s Jason Todd, the best friend they thought they lost.

A/n - banter, fluffy, just over all cute.

Word Count: 3,000ishhh

Rain lashed the alley behind your café as you pulled the trash bag outside. Gotham nights always carried the scent of gasoline and stale rain, but tonight, it was worse — the crack of distant gunfire rumbled through the air like an angry drum. You froze, senses prickling. Something — no, someone — was coming fast. 

A blur of crimson and black crashed through your back door, slamming it open with a splintering bang. You stumbled back, nearly slipping on wet tile. A man in a red helmet staggered into your kitchen, cape flaring behind him, breathing ragged. His armor looked like it had survived a bear attack, and blood seeped from a gash in his side. 

“Whoa!” you shouted, brandishing your broom like a sword. “Gotham’s closed for business tonight, buddy!” 

The man — no, vigilante, you realized — turned his helmeted head toward you. Even through the distortion of his modulated voice, his exhaustion bled through. 

“Stand down, barista,” he rasped. “Not here for you.” 

“Uh-huh,” you retorted, eyes darting to the blood trail he was leaving on your floor. “You always break into people’s kitchens for fun? Or is this a new ‘Gotham nightlife’ thing?” 

He hissed, clutching his side. “Coffee.” 

You blinked. “I’m sorry… what?” 

“Black,” he growled, bracing himself against the fridge, voice dropping like a stone. “Stronger than my will to live.” 

Despite the fact that you were pretty sure he’d just murdered someone — or at least almost died — you found yourself snorting. “Well, lucky you. I’m closing up, but since you nearly killed my door, might as well caffeinate you.” 

He didn’t reply, only slumped into a barstool by the industrial espresso machine, dripping rainwater and blood onto the floor. You set to work, tamping grounds with shaky hands. 

You’d seen criminals before. Gotham had taught you to keep your head down. But something about this one — the raw anger in his stance, the way he hovered between predator and lost child — made you hesitate. 

“So… do I call you, like, Mr. Motorcycle Power Ranger?” you asked, trying to lighten the suffocating tension. 

He paused, the helmet tilting almost imperceptibly. “Cute,” he said, though his tone was flat. “You always this mouthy with armed men?” 

“Only when they break my door,” you replied brightly. “Sugar?” 

He barked out a short, humorless laugh — the first sign of life you’d seen from him — and shook his head. “Just coffee. Keep the sugar for yourself.” 

The espresso machine whirred. The scent of dark roast filled the air, mixing strangely with the metallic tang of blood. He watched you like a hawk, eyes hidden behind his visor, but you felt his intensity like a physical weight. When you finally slid the steaming cup his way, your hands brushed, and a jolt shot through you. 

“On the house,” you muttered, unable to meet his gaze. 

He lifted the cup with a gloved hand, hesitated, then inclined his head slightly — a silent thanks. You stood in the wreckage of your kitchen, heart pounding, watching him down the scalding liquid like it was the only thing keeping him alive. 

“Thanks, Beans,” he rasped when he finished, setting the cup down with a soft clink. 

“Beans?” you echoed, affronted. 

“Short for coffee beans,” he clarified, pushing himself off the stool with effort. “You’ve earned a nickname.” 

Then he was gone, disappearing into the Gotham night, leaving you with a broken door, a pounding heart, and a feeling you’d just met someone who’d turn your world upside down. 

After that first chaotic meeting, you thought maybe it was a fluke — a one-time Gotham oddity. But two nights later, he was back. This time, he didn’t crash through your door; he appeared silently, like a shadow, leaning in the alley outside your café as you took out the trash. His red helmet gleamed under the buzzing streetlamp. 

“Got any more of that rocket fuel, Beans?” His voice startled you so badly you nearly threw your trash bag at him. 

“God—!” You slapped a hand over your heart. “You can’t just appear like that, you psychopath.” 

He crossed his arms, armor creaking. “Technically, I’m a sociopath. Keep up.” 

You rolled your eyes so hard it nearly gave you a headache. “Oh, pardon me. My mistake, Mr. Sociopath.” 

His helmet tilted slightly — you had the distinct impression he was smiling. “Coffee?” 

And so it began. 

Every night for the next week, he showed up. Sometimes at midnight, sometimes an hour before dawn. You’d hear a light knock on your locked door, or catch a glimpse of red on your security camera. At first you were terrified; then you realized you were waiting for him. Expecting him. Hoping he’d come. 

You started experimenting with his drinks: a new roast, a double shot, a dash of cinnamon you swore he’d secretly liked even if he never admitted it. Each time, he’d sit at your bar, dripping rainwater, eyes hidden, voice low. 

“You know, you’re like a raccoon,” you teased one night, sliding a fresh cup across the counter. “Always skulking around in the dark, eating trash.” 

He let out a sharp laugh, low and rough, like gravel. “Bold words from a barista who leaves the back door unlocked.” 

“Excuse you,” you huffed, folding your arms. “You broke my back door, remember?” 

He paused, as if considering, then nodded solemnly. “True. I’ll fix it.” 

You scoffed. “Oh, really? The Red Hood’s gonna put his carpentry skills to use? What’s next, you’ll knit me a sweater?” 

“Do you like red?” he shot back, completely deadpan. 

You spluttered on your own laughter. 

It wasn’t always playful, though. Sometimes he arrived with new gashes bleeding through his armor, or a limp he tried to hide. He never let you call an ambulance, but you kept a first aid kit stocked just for him. Your hands grew steady as you learned how to patch him up, even as your heart hammered with every hiss of pain he tried to swallow. 

“Don’t you have a Bat-First-Aid-Kit or something?” you asked once, pressing a butterfly bandage onto a cut on his jaw. 

“Yeah,” he said quietly. “It’s called you.” 

You blinked, unsure you’d heard him right, but before you could respond he cleared his throat, jerking his head away. “You should really charge more for these midnight patch jobs, Beans.” 

“Hmm.” You tapped your chin thoughtfully. “You’re right. Maybe I’ll start charging in favors.” 

His helmet swiveled back to you. “Favors?” 

“Yeah,” you said with exaggerated innocence. “Like, oh, I don’t know… maybe I want to borrow your motorcycle?” 

“You’d crash it in a block.” 

“You have so little faith in me,” you gasped, pressing a hand to your chest. 

He chuckled, low and warm, and for a moment, Gotham’s darkness felt a little less heavy. 

After a month of nightly visits, the ritual became sacred. You’d close the café at midnight, lock the doors, and leave a light on just for him. He’d show up with fresh bruises or new stories of Gotham’s underbelly. Some nights, you’d share quiet conversations; others, it was just the soft clink of his cup and the hum of the espresso machine. 

The banter, though — that was the best part. 

“You know,” you said one evening, leaning over the counter as he nursed his coffee, “you’re basically a Gotham raccoon and a drama queen. All that red, the cape — it’s like you’re trying to win ‘Most Extra Vigilante.’” 

He didn’t even flinch. “You’re one to talk, Beans. You sell overpriced foam art to criminals at 3 a.m. That’s peak Gotham.” 

“Overpriced?” you gasped, dramatically clutching your apron. “I pour my soul into these lattes.” 

“Your soul tastes like burnt hazelnut,” he deadpanned, but the helmet dipped as if he was hiding a smile. 

Another night, he arrived before closing, slipping inside like a ghost as you were mopping the floor. He watched you work silently, arms crossed, until you finally broke the quiet. 

“You ever think about getting a hobby?” you asked, pausing to rest your chin on the mop handle. “Something less… explode-y?” 

“I have a hobby,” he shot back. 

“Oh?” You raised an eyebrow. “Blowing things up counts as a hobby?” 

He shifted, almost sheepish. “No. Annoying you.” 

“Ha! Mission accomplished,” you said, tossing the mop aside to start his drink. 

But beneath the playful jabs, you started noticing things. The way he froze when you mentioned Batman. The haunted silence when a news report played about a new gang war. The way he sometimes stared at you like you were the last warm thing left in the city. 

One night, you caught him staring at the framed photo behind your bar — you as a teen, arms thrown around an older boy with a lopsided grin. Jason Todd. Your childhood best friend who’d died in an explosion years ago. 

You felt the air go heavy. “You know him?” you asked softly. 

The Red Hood’s head snapped to you, almost startled. “What?” 

“Jason. You looked like you recognized him,” you said, voice catching. 

He paused for a beat too long. Then he shrugged, low voice flat: “Just a face in Gotham’s graveyard.” 

The lie felt like a slap, but you swallowed your suspicion. After all, why would the Red Hood know Jason? Or care? 

So you kept playing along with the game you’d built together. Nights turned into weeks, weeks into months. He started trusting you with more than just wounds; you’d hear snippets of his day, dry mutterings about incompetent mobsters, or dramatic re-enactments of how he’d scared off a purse snatcher. 

“I’m telling you, Beans, the guy tried to threaten me with a pocket knife,” he said one night, slumped across your counter like a tired cat. “I almost felt bad.” 

“Oh, the horror,” you drawled, pushing a fresh espresso his way. “Did Gotham’s biggest menace get threatened by a butter knife?” 

He huffed, low and amused, and lifted his helmet just an inch so you could see a flash of his smirk in the shadows. 

Each night, you found yourself looking forward to him more. Each night, you felt your heart sink a little deeper into something dangerous — something electric. Because every time he left, you were already counting the minutes until he’d come back. 

Gotham’s nights grew longer, colder, and somehow lonelier when he didn’t come. But most evenings, you’d find him already waiting outside your café when you locked up — a silent red sentinel leaning against your doorframe, helmet glinting in the streetlights. He’d always greet you with some quip: 

“About time, Beans. The night won’t terrorize itself.” 

“Miss me already?” you’d reply, slipping past him to unlock the door. 

He’d follow you in, dripping rain across your clean floor, but you never minded. The warmth of your café felt like the only oasis in the city, and somehow, you two had carved out a fragile peace there. 

It wasn’t just coffee anymore. Sometimes you’d play old vinyl records you found at the flea market, letting scratchy jazz or moody blues fill the quiet. Other nights, you’d sit on the counter, legs swinging, telling him stories from your day: weird customers, gossip you’d overheard, memories of the Gotham you grew up in. 

He listened, always. Under the modulated growl of his voice, you’d sometimes catch a softer note — a warmth that seemed to surprise even him. 

One night, he arrived soaked to the bone, his armor dented, his steps unsteady. You gasped when he stumbled inside, nearly catching him before he fell. 

“Jesus, Red,” you hissed, hauling him to a chair. “What happened?” 

“Ambush,” he muttered, voice slurred. “Didn’t… see it coming.” 

Your hands shook as you peeled off pieces of his chest armor, revealing bruises blooming across pale skin. You kept expecting him to snap, to tell you to leave him alone — but instead he let you tend him, eyes fluttering shut every time you dabbed at a cut. 

“Don’t you ever… scare me like this again,” you whispered fiercely, pressing a bandage over his ribs. 

One eye cracked open behind the helmet. “Can’t… promise that.” 

You glared, but your breath caught when his gloved hand brushed your cheek, lingering just a moment too long. The warmth of his touch sent a shiver through you. 

That night, instead of leaving as soon as he could stand, he stayed. He sat with you in your tiny café until dawn, both of you curled up on the couch you kept in the back. The storm outside raged, but inside, it was quiet — just the two of you breathing in time. 

“You should leave Gotham,” he said suddenly, voice low, helmet resting beside him on the couch cushion. His face was still hidden in shadow. 

“Why?” you asked, heart skipping. “Because I’m in danger… or because you care?” 

He stiffened, armor creaking, but didn’t answer. His silence spoke volumes. 

Another time, you found him staring at the photo of Jason Todd again. You almost didn’t bring it up, but the ache in your chest demanded it. 

“You remind me of him, you know,” you said softly, sliding a cup across the counter. “Jason. He was reckless, loud, impossible not to love.” 

He flinched like you’d struck him. His hand closed around the cup so tightly you thought the ceramic would shatter. 

“People change,” he rasped, voice barely a whisper. 

“Maybe,” you said. “But not everything does.” 

And sometimes — just sometimes — you’d catch glimpses of something raw and broken behind the mask. The way he watched you when he thought you couldn’t see, or the way his breath caught when you called him by his nickname. It felt like there was something familiar in him, something you couldn’t quite name — but your heart recognized it all the same. 

The night it all unraveled started like any other — or so you thought. Rain poured from Gotham’s bruised sky, thunder rolling like distant gunfire. You were closing up, wiping down the counter and humming a tune you knew he’d tease you for later. The silence outside was heavy, almost expectant. 

But hours passed, and he never came. 

You tried to brush it off. Maybe he was busy. Maybe he’d gotten caught up saving someone else, or chasing some criminal. But a gnawing dread wormed its way under your ribs, cold and insistent. By 3 a.m., you couldn’t sit still anymore. 

You grabbed your coat and stepped into the storm. 

It wasn’t hard to find trouble in Gotham. You’d learned his patterns over the months, the rooftops he liked to perch on, the alleys he claimed as his own. You turned a corner — and froze. 

A fight was unfolding on a rooftop across the street, illuminated by a flickering neon sign. Red Hood — your Red — was a whirlwind of rage and precision, trading blows with a squad of mercenaries. You watched in horror as one of them blindsided him with a crowbar, sending him sprawling. 

“NO!” you screamed, voice ragged as you sprinted for the fire escape. 

You clambered up, soaked and breathless, just as one of the thugs raised the crowbar over Red’s head. You didn’t think — you grabbed a broken pipe and swung it with all your strength, connecting with the attacker’s jaw. He went down hard. 

“Get away from my raccoon!” you shouted, adrenaline drowning your fear. 

Red twisted to look at you, momentarily distracted — and that’s when it happened. Another mercenary slammed into him, helmet cracking hard against the ledge. His helmet skittered across the rooftop, clattering to a stop at your feet. 

Time stopped. 

Rain poured into your eyes as you stared at the man on his knees before you. Black hair plastered to his forehead, eyes wide and stormy blue. A face you knew better than your own. 

His gaze snapped to you, raw anguish flashing across his features. “Y/N…” he rasped, unmodulated voice ragged and familiar. “I wanted to tell you—” 

“You lied to me,” you choked, fury and heartbreak tangling like barbed wire around your ribs. “You let me think you were dead!” 

A mercenary staggered up behind him. Jason’s eyes went dark with lethal focus. He grabbed the man by the collar, slammed him against the concrete hard enough to knock him out cold, and let the body crumple at his feet. Lightning lit his face, highlighting every scar, every drop of blood. 

He turned back to you, desperation cracking his voice. “I thought I was protecting you,” he gasped. “I thought if I kept you at a distance—” 

“Protecting me?” you snapped, tears mixing with the rain. “Every night you left, I thought you’d die. Every night I waited, terrified. That’s not protection, Jason — that’s torture.” 

He staggered toward you, hands trembling as he reached out, but he froze when you flinched. His eyes glistened. “I don’t expect you to forgive me,” he whispered, voice raw. “But please… don’t leave. I’ll do anything. I’ll spend the rest of my life proving I’m worth your trust.” 

You swallowed hard, fury fading into something achingly sad. “I don’t know if I can forgive you yet,” you said softly, voice trembling. “You broke something in me, Jason.” 

His breath shuddered as he dropped to his knees before you, rain splashing around him. “Then let me stay,” he pleaded. “Let me try. I swear I’ll never leave you again.” 

You stood silent, heart torn open, rain soaking you both. Part of you still wanted to run — but you knew you couldn’t walk away from him. Not again. Not when you’d finally found him. 

“Get up,” you whispered, voice unsteady. When he looked up, hope flickering in his eyes, you added, “I’m still angry. But I don’t want you gone.” 

A ragged breath escaped his chest as he rose slowly, eyes locked on yours. He hesitated before brushing a hand against your cheek, warmth seeping into your skin despite the storm. 

“I’ll wait,” he promised, voice breaking. “As long as it takes.” 

Lightning flashed above as your gaze met his, breath mingling in the cold air. Then, in a rush of desperation and relief, you grabbed his collar and pulled him down, crashing your lips to his. His arms wrapped around you instantly, crushing you to him like he’d die if he let go. The kiss was fierce and messy, tasting of rain and tears, but it was real — and it was yours.

When you finally pulled back, foreheads pressed together, he let out a shuddering breath. “I missed you so damn much,” he whispered.

“I know,” you murmured, voice raw but steadier than before. “Just… don’t ever leave me again.”

And though Gotham still raged around you, for the first time in years, you felt like maybe — just maybe — you’d both finally come home.

[roostersluvvr]

a song already written

din djarin x fem!reader

word count: 9.6k

summary ⋆·˚ ༘ *: you live a simple life on the planet lah’mu, working as a farmer (& occasional mechanic). your life had routine and was undisturbed, until one day a man, clad in beskar armour walked onto your farm and asked for a place to stay— as the weeks roll by, you become closer to the masked man and his small green companion.

(rogue one is mentioned like once, reader was previously a spy in the rebellion, lah’mu is the planet at the beginning of rogue one for those who don’t know, readers family comes from mandalore, reader WAS a mandalorian but not apart of ‘the watch’— only mentioned a few times, sometime between s1 & 2, no use of y/n, reader speaks mando'a (I provided translations)).

warnings: canon typical violence, mentions of injury, nudity, sexual content/themes(?), alcohol consumption, fluff, angst(??),reader & din are lonely & touch starved lmao, extreme overuse of the words 'pang' and 'twinge', awkward first encounters, over usage of “—“ and commas, explicit content, the helmet stays ON. correct capitalisation not used, terrible writing overall tbh so bare with me pls :( — lmk if I missed anything :)) !!not entirely proofread!!

the weather on lah’mu was unpredictable. most of the time it was some sort of foggy overcast, which you didn’t mind— helped with your moisture farming. it helped keep your crops healthy, and that in turn helped you earn credits.

there was the occasional cold snap— the ground would frost over, the lakes, the cattle would die. you couldn’t count on both your hands how many times one of your orbak’s had died in the cold overnight. then the summer would roll around, more sunshine, less damp, happier cattle. simple.

that was until about 3 days ago.

you’d been out harvesting vegetables from your crops not far from your home, when you’d met him. you heard his footsteps against the damp ground before you actually saw him. you dropped what crops were in your hands into a crate and hovered your dominant hand over your blaster holstered at your side.

he was tall, broad, and incredibly metallic. he broke the silence first— “hello.” he had said. a crackle running through the modulator in his helmet. you recognised the composition of his armour, beskar no doubt, and it was clear he was a mandalorian. what is he doing out here? you wondered.

“can i help you?” you replied. water droplets rolled down your outer coat and your cold, flushed cheeks.

“i’m looking for shelter. my ship is in need of repair and as far as i can tell the nearest town is at least a days journey from here.” his voice is clear, confident.

“you’d be right. there’s a few outposts— trading, medical, what not. you’re not gonna find someone to fix it there.” you rambled, picking up the crate that lay next to your feet and taking a few steps closer to him.

“i might be able to help. i know a thing or two about mechanics.” you continued.

his helmet tilted in relief (you had assumed). “great.” he said. “i’m willing to pay in exchange for your assistance.”

“you any good at gathering, forging and harvesting?” you asked. you did need help getting the rest of your crops ready and its produce out to the surrounding inhabitants.

he nodded in silent reply.

“good. come on in and i can get you settled.” you turned back towards the house, carrying the crate with vegetables on your hip.

the door opened with a soft hiss, the warmth from inside contrasting the cold breeze from outside. there was a warm glow inside your home. no large overhead lights, but lots of smaller lamps. mando took note of the way your coat hang over a bucket to collect the rainwater that still was clung to its fabric. your home was spacious, but cozy. you walked toward the kitchen area and placed the crate into the sink, then back towards him.

“i have a spare room, it’s not large but it should keep you comfortable.” your gaze fell behind him. a small metal cradle followed his every step.

he followed your eye-line, slightly tensing. the cradle opened to reveal the child. small, asleep, and peaceful. you turned your face back to the mandalorian and smiled. “i wasn’t expecting a baby as well.”

“he’s older than me.” he informs. you chuckle and lead him to the room at the end of the hall. the door opens with another soft hiss, and mando is pleasantly surprised. the room has a large bed, dresser, mirror and sink, and a small window closer towards the ceiling. there’s a small lamp beside the bed that is giving off a warm orange hue. he steps inside and looks over the room in more detail. it’s much nicer than the hostels he's accustomed to and winds up in most nights when the razor crest is having some sort of repairs done. it feels like a home.

"bathroom is down the hall, next to my room. you're welcome to use anything you need, so is the little guy."

"well, that's bound to happen." he chuckles softly. "thank you." he holds out his hand for you to shake. you willingly accept with a warm smile.

"why don't you show me your ship, and i can start to get my head around what needs looking at?" you turn your body towards the 'common area' of your home. there's a curved couch off to the side, surrounded by several crates used for storage and some others with crops, tools, and one with just blankets, etc. you step back toward the door and pick up your tool box on the way out, reaching up for your coat on the hook.

"sure. sooner you start, the sooner I'll be out of your way." he follows behind you closely. the cradle stays stationary in his the room.

you nod. he leads you a little ways away from your fields to where the razor crest sits upon the black soil. it's not the most glamorous ship you've ever seen, but your breath is still taken away by it. it's old, like most of the ships you see in and out of the outposts regularly. a thin coat of dust from the soil coats the bottom of the ship, while the rain drips slowly off of the top. he walks ahead of you again and the ramp descends. the first thing that catches your attention in the cargo hold of his ship is the several bodies that hang, frozen in carbonite. a bounty hunter, you think to yourself- making a mental note. as you take in more of the ship, there's various metal chests and crates, a small armoury, and a cot off to the side. considerably smaller than the bed you've provided for him.

"what seems to be acting up?" you ask as you continue to walk further into the ship.

"my stabilisers gave out on entry, the hyperdrive also has been having some hiccups. I can't fly in realspace, it's too dangerous." his voice laced in frustration. understandable.

you hum in reply. "bounty hunter, I assume?" you question simply. his helmet tilts towards you. "yeah" he nods & says after a pause, "that a problem?" he presses.

"no." you smile slightly. he nods again. "good." his voice is flat. he leads you to the hyperdrive, and you kneel down to get a closer look. it's steaming and giving off heat. you mentally curse. it's not going to be a particularly easy job, AND the stabilisers need work too. you didn't realise you had actually sighed until the mandalorian shifts his weight behind you and finally sighs out, "how bad is it?"

you take a moment to do the mental math, "it could take a few weeks, at least.. the hyperdrive is too hot right now to do anything to it- but giving off steam isn't a good sign. the only comfort I get from looking at it is that it's still bright, if the light was dimmed or flickering then that would be symptom of a bigger problem. what's up with the stabilisers again?" you rise up to his level again, not realising how close your bodies are until he speaks again.

"they gave out, mostly the rear ones. makes it pretty hard to see how to land since the nose rises. it's choppy but not unbearable." he shifts again.

you nod. more mental math going on in your head. "when are you hoping to get off planet?— soon, with the bounties, I assume you have a time period?" you question, raising an eyebrow slightly.

"I don't have to be back to deliver for a while. my employer knows I have the bounties in carbonite. not like they're going anywhere." his voice is steady. he tilts his head down slightly to see your face fully. you're suddenly aware of the proximity of your bodies. you can almost hear his steady breaths from underneath the helmet.

you nod again, squeezing past him and back into the cargo hold. "I can get started straight away, if you want. a few hours of daylight left. I prefer not to work in the dark."

"okay." he moves past you and down the ramp. you watch as he disappears around the corner of the ship and out of sight before you place your tool box down and crack it open, gathering what tools you'll need. you strip yourself of your raincoat and lay it on the ramp, not wanting to get any rain water on the floors. you get to work quickly on the stabilisers, locating the door panel for the side door and opening it in hopes that it'll help the hyperdrive cool down quicker. you start compiling a inventory of spare parts you may need- but ultimately decide to come back to that when you start on the hyperdrive. the stabilisers are an easy fix. a lot of the time they start to act up because they're out of alignment, easily done if you’re regularly getting yourself into dogfights, hard landings, and climbing too quickly from initial takeoff— the stabilisers get confused because of the speed of climb combined with your low altitude. you make easy work of it, tightening a few bolts and carefully aligning the pieces back together. the rain starts up again, the soft pitter patter being heard from the rain hitting the top of the ship. you easily swing into work, completely focused.

as the daylight starts to slowly fade into evening dark, you gather your tools again and walk back to the hyperdrive to check on the temperature. it's cooling down, slowly but surely. you decide to pick that job back up in the morning. you close the side door before making your way down the back ramp. tool box in hand, you make your way back to the house.

the clang of your tool box being dropped a little too carelessly startles the mandalorian, he turns towards the door with the cradle now next to him as he sits on the couch.

"stabilisers are fixed, the hyperdrive is still too hot to do anything. hopefully the rain will cool down the ship and the hyperdrive and I'll pick it up tomorrow." you ramble, taking off your boots and raincoat, leaving them in their designated places by the door.

"thank you." he says. the cradle is empty, and you spot the small green creature sat on the other side of the couch with a small metal ball in his hands. you smile.

"you hungry?" you pace to the kitchen.

"sure. the little one needs to eat, too." he pushes the cradle away and stands.

"I've got pog soup. just needs to reheat." you pull the large pot onto your stove, setting the heat to low so it simmers.

the mandalorian perks up. he can't remember the last time he had something so traditional. a common meal on mandalore.

you walk back past the couch and towards the fresher. "I'm gonna freshen up, heat is on low so if it start's bubbling over, just turn it off." he nods and follows your frame. once you disappear into the fresher and the door locks, he looks around the room. various lamps start to turn on the darker it gets outside, a soft warm hue all over. there's several crates scattered over the room. harvested crops sitting on the counter next to the sink, some books next to the couch on a small side table, nothing he recognised. he slowly steps around the room, he spots the rifle holster next to the door, pristine condition. either hardly used or just magnificently well looked after. there is a small wardrobe in the corner of the room, a light on the panel to it occasionally blinking. his curiosity peaks and he walks over, pressing the button to it. the door slides upwards into the ceiling and reveals a set of mandalorian armour kept neatly inside.

his heart rate picks up. where did you get it? why do you have it? these reel through his head, his trail of thought interrupted by the child cooing next to his feet. he closes the wardrobe and picks him up. "I'm not sure about this one, kid." the child tilts his head and coos again. mando sighs out slowly. the sound of the fresher door opening makes him raise his head again, hand on his holster.

you walk out from the hall way, hair damp from the shower. "the food should be hot enough now." you say as you reach the kitchen, pulling three bowls out from a cupboard.

"where'd you get the armour?" he questions. you place the bowls on the counter slowly. "did you kill someone for it?" he accuses in a flat tone.

"no." you reply.

"how do you have it?" he presses further.

"it's been in my family for a few generations. my parents come from mandalore, I was raised as one." you confess.

"you remove your helmet?" he's puzzled. that's when you realise he's a child of 'the watch'.

your muscles relax. "are you apart of 'the watch'?"

"yes. we follow the way." he stays still.

"'the watch' follows the ancient interpretation of The Way. more spiritual too." you continue, serving some of the soup into each bowl.

"you don't follow it?" he steps forward.

"no. my family followed the more modern practices." you push a bowl across the counter towards him. he relaxes a bit, stepping in front of the counter and setting the child down on top of it. he coo's at his own bowl and sits down.

"Gaa'tayl yourself" help yourself, you say.

"gar jorhaa'ir mando'a?" you speak mando'a?, he replies.

"yeah." you pick up your own bowl and sip on your soup. "my mother taught me."

he hums, his own bowl closer. he lifts his helmet just high enough so he can drink from it. "you're a devout follower of the way?" you inquire, leaning against the counter with your hip. he slips his helmet back on fully, "yes." without elaborating. the child burps after finishing his bowl and you chuckle. a light laugh comes through mando's modulator. it makes you smile. a reminder of his humanity beneath the thick and heavy beskar that is adorned across his body.

after the child finished about 4 more bowls of pog soup, he crashed on the couch and was softly snoring. you sat outside under the cover of your porch, listening to the rain and thunder. the mandalorian stood in the door frame, leaning against it with his arms crossed. there was comfortable silence between you two, only being interrupted by the crashes of thunder. mando occasionally turned his gaze to you, taking in your frame from where you sat, in your rocking chair. the soft creak of the wood falling into a soothing rhythm. you decide to break the silence first, "I'll try to work quickly on the hyperdrive, I might need to go to one of the outposts if I don't have the parts I need." you turn your head slightly towards him, awaiting a reply, and he does. "I can give you the credits for the parts." he offers.

"don't worry, I'll see what I have in my inventory first." turning your head back towards the vast fields that stretch for miles, the mountains in the distance being illuminated by the lightning.

"so you're a farmer?" mando asks, tiredness creeping into his voice. "yes, not where I thought I'd end up but, I'm happy." you inform.

"what did you do before?" he asks. you contemplate telling him your whole life story or a summarised version, settling on the latter.

"after the purge on mandalore, my father brought me to Tatooine. my mother died during the purge, and my father soon after. he had a bounty out on him from the empire. I managed to hide. he left me my mother's armour before he gave himself up. he was wanted dead, so I assume that's how he ended up after he was taken." you pause. the mandalorian shifts his weight on his feet, taking in everything.

"I started to do jobs here and there," you continue. "fixing speeders, handling market stalls while the owners went to do other business, helping out on moisture farms, running errands, things like that. I had finally managed to save up enough credits to get off of Tatooine and made my way to Alderaan. I enrolled in their education programme— I studied linguistics for a while, then mechanics, and eventually politics. my teachers then realised I had no valid or real identity documents, so I was expelled. started doing more jobs here and there until they released the same." you continue to ramble. mando listens intently.

"what did you do then?" he presses.

"whatever I had to. I started to steal things here and there. then I moved on to stealing bigger things— cargo shipments, things like that. then by accident I ended up stealing valuable information off of a rebel informant, which led the rebels to me. they recognised my talent for stealing things and offered me a position in the rebellion. steal intelligence, commit treason against the empire, that sort of thing. I eventually got partnered up with other rebel spies. a man named cassian andor was my longest standing partner. the others thought I was too reckless and had me reassigned after a few weeks. not cassian, though. he lead the assault team on scarif, while I fought off the aerial assault, to steal the Death Star plans. I never saw him or the rest of his squad again. after the Death Star was destroyed, I bailed out. thought that was the end of it, clearly not." you chuckle sadly.

mando steps closer, still listening silently.

"decided it wasn't for me after that. maybe I'll go back."

"you still believe in the cause?" he speaks up finally. "of course." you turn your face to him. "I of all people understand the importance of bringing the empire to its knees, like it does to so many people." you finish. he nods.

"then I came to lah'mu. an older woman needed help on her farm since she was slowing down with her old age, I offered myself willingly. she left everything to me after she died. she had no family, so now it's mine. I take care of the harvest each season and the small amount of cattle too. mostly orbak's to help with gathering." you add.

"orbak's aren't native to this planet, must be expensive?" he inquires more. "well, I had more. the old lady had bought them with some sort of pension money. a few have died in the cold snaps we had over the past few winter cycles. I'm trying to build them a hut outside, but, building materials are sparse right now." you finished your rambling. "I'm gonna turn in, the door will lock itself. Just put in the code I told you earlier if you get locked out." you stand from your chair and step past him into the house. "goodnight."

"night" he nods. the door slides closed after you disappear inside. Mando decides to check on the ship before turning in himself, walking out into the rain and past the fields.

when he walks onto the ship, he's taken aback by how tidy you left everything. he’s used to other mechanics making a mess of his cargo while they work and not leaving it how they found it. he inspects the stabilisers and is pleased with them. he checks the hyperdrive before returning to the house and it's cooling down nicely.

before mando sleeps, he picks grogu up from the couch and places him in his cradle, closing it as he stations it in the corner of his room. he waits until he can't hear any movement from your room to strip himself of his beskar and helmet, walking to the fresher in the dark. when he comes back to his room he puts his flight suit back on and his helmet, before succumbing to sleep. the bed cradles his own body, moulding to him.

weeks had passed, and you were still working on the razor crests hyperdrive. it had proved to be a harder job than you had anticipated. you had profusely apologised to mando for the hold up, and he had repeatedly told you to stop apologising. over the last couple of weeks you had grown closer together. you started to occasionally have conversations in mando'a— his was rusty, so you helped tutor him on it. he had told you about grogu and how he came to become his 'guardian' of sorts. you learned after a few too many osskorn stout's, that his name was din. it rolled off the tongue nicely. you had told him your name too, and it's mandalorian origins. you had become friends.

it was nice to have someone around. since there wasn't many large settlements on lah'mu, you had gotten used to only seeing the same 10-15 people at the various outposts that you frequented. you wouldn't say you were friends with any of the surrounding farmers and traders, but you were friendly. you'd trade things among yourselves, crops or vegetables for scrap parts and scrap building materials, meals for clothing, etc. during din's stay he had helped you build a hut for the orbak's, just like you wanted.

you both had grown accustomed to falling into a routine with one another. he'd help you with the farm, you'd help with the crest, with grogu, and so on. you made it a habit to sit out on the porch of an evening and watch the world pass by— sometimes in silence, and sometimes you'd talk for hours. you'd covered about every conversation topic possible by week 5.

you'd also started to become frustrated with one another, as well. you'd bicker like an old married couple on occasion, over small insignificant things. you told yourself it was only because you'd both been alone for so long that you weren't used to the constant company. whenever you'd get in a real snit, din would go for a walk to cool off. you'd wash what vegetables you'd gathered that day and cook something with them, and play with grogu to self regulate your emotions. din would always come back, his demeanour calmer. you'd place a bowl in front of him with some sort of meal, and he'd always apologise first. it was sweet really. you'd never admit it to him, but you'd started to procrastinate your progress on the crest because you didn't really want him to leave. you started to feel a pang in your chest whenever you would get close to him, and he felt a twinge in his— but neither of you paid too much attention to it or at least tried not to.

one morning you'd both quested to ride out to one of the further outposts, the two closer ones didn't have what you needed. grogu sat in a satchel on the side of the orbak that din rode, cooing at the birds that flew above. you didn't usually venture out this far until the summer, when the weather was more predictable and forgiving, but this was a trip of necessity. bandits were known to roam those areas, so you tended to steer clear of it as a single woman, but you felt safer with din. your rifle strap had started to dig into your shoulder and neck by hour 2, and you still had a handful of miles to go until you reached the outpost. while you were passing through one of the mountain valleys, the orbak's had gotten spooked by something. "easy! easy..." you tried to calm them, but to no avail. soon enough, it was revealed what had spooked them.

bandits. about 5 of them. you cursed internally. you knew this wasn't a good route to take. din immediately went into bounty hunter mode, pulling his rifle closer to him and ready for anything. your hand was over your own blaster. you knew better than to come this way, you thought.

the bandits had their own blasters and rifles raised as they made their way closer towards the two of you, your orbak's still unsettled. "what do you want?" you interrogated. one of them spoke in an alien language you didn't really understand, but you got the gist of it. they wanted whatever cargo you had with you, and din's armour.

"you'd have to take this armour off of my cold dead body." din replied immediately.

one of the bandits cursed and raised his rifle higher. you started to map out an escape route in your mind. from the looks of it, they were all on foot— probably camping out until some unfortunate souls, like you and din, had come through the valley. you reckoned that you two could out run them on the orbak's. you turned your head towards din and nodded. then you unholstered your blaster and shot the one closest to din and your orbak's bolted. the other bandits immediately started to fire on you, one hitting your orbak's leg. it tumbled over and took you with it. you scrambled to your feet and started firing back at them, ducking behind a rock. din quickly dismounted his own orbak and fired back at them as well.

"so what's your plan of getting out of here??" he yelled over. "my plane was flee, but clearly that didn't work!" you yelled back.

"you think?" he fired at them again. you were outnumbered, any regular traveller would be signing their own death warrant in this situation, but you and din were mandalorians, trained from infancy and early childhood. battle coordination was second nature to you both. you decided to push up further towards them, and din gave you cover fire. you had to admit your aim wasn't as good as it used to be— out of practice, you told yourself.

while you weren't paying attention, you got a blaster bolt to your upper shoulder and your side. rookie mistake. din called out your name, and pressed forward. you managed to pull yourself behind another rock while blaster fire still rained. din pressed various buttons on his vambrace, and several mini rockets shot out of the other one— taking down the rest of them.

"couldn't you have done that earlier?" you said, dripping in sarcasm. when you went to laugh, the pain in your ribs was too powerful. you winced and clutched your side, pulling away to see blood. not too much, but enough to make you worry. din shuffled over to you quickly and knelt by your side, his eyes scanning over your body for any other injuries. as far as he could tell, it was just your shoulder and side that got hit. thank the maker, he thought to himself. one hand came to your side, the other to cup your cheek. pang. "you okay??" his voice more panicked than before.

"never better." you managed a smile. he shook his head and chuckled. "always gotta be a smarts.." he added. he helped you rise to your feet while you still clutched your side, picking your blaster up from the floor and holstering it for you. you limped towards his orbak, your own still on the floor. it's leg was hurt badly. there was no way that you could get it back to the farm, or to the outpost, to help it. you sighed in defeat. "he's not gonna make it back.." you nodded towards it, lying on the ground, struggling to stand back up.

din walked you over to his orbak and you held onto the saddle to balance after he let go. he walked over to the other orbak and took his pistol in his hand and shot the animal in the back of the head. quick and painless. you felt relief come over you, and then the pain started— your adrenaline wearing off now. you winced again, clutching tighter onto the saddle next to you.

din strutted over to you, "how far is the outpost? do they have medical supplies there?" he rushingly asks. "it's still about 30 miles. we won't get there until dark, and by now there's probably more bandits in the area." you clutched your side tighter to try and ease the pain that was overstimulating your senses.

"how far back home?" he helps you balance by holding you up by your forearm. that familiar pang in your chest. "about 15. if the orbak gallops we can get back in an hour." you reply between winces. din nods. his hands fall to your waist and he lifts you onto the back of the orbak like you weigh nothing. another pang in your chest. his hands linger at your waist longer than they needed to. din hoists himself up on the saddle behind you after, taking the reigns of the orbak and turning him around, setting a steady speed back towards home.

you steadied yourself by grabbing the handle at the front of the saddle, the occasional coo's of grogu helping you distract yourself from the lingering ache and burning sensation that was tearing into the left side of your body. eventually, exhaustion over took your body and you somehow managed to lull to sleep, your head resting against din's shoulder. he had tried to keep you awake, distract you by asking various questions about the crest. 'how do you align the stabilisers?', 'whats the most common type of hyperdrive circuit arrangement for pre-new republic ships?', etc.

as soon as you reached the house your eyes snapped open to the sudden halt of movement. you pulled yourself forward so that din could slide down, before he took you by the waist again to get you down. he grabbed the satchel with grogu inside and helped you slowly hobble into the house. he set you down on the couch gently, along with the satchel. grogu crawled out and wobbled towards you, putting his small hand on your arm.

"medkit?" din asks. you silently point to a metal cupboard by the wardrobe. din paces over to it quickly, taking out all it's contents. bacta, he thought, perfect.

"I hope you're not scared of needles." he said before injecting the bacta syringe into your thigh, not giving you time to respond. your pain immediately started to subside. you thanked the maker. din peeled off your raincoat slowly, careful not to pull your arm too much to keep the pain in your shoulder to a minimum. your head fell back against the top of the sofa, your breathing becoming a little less rapid as the bacta targeted your wounds. the blaster bolt had gone completely though your coat and shirt. go figure. din had a mental dilemma with himself. he had to remove your shirt to properly treat your injuries. dank farrik.

"I... need to take this off." he said flatly, almost shy— like he was excepting you to say 'get fucked'. but you didn't, you just nodded. he carefully and agonisingly slowly lifted your shirt over your head, leaving you in just a bra. a twinge in his chest. a pang in yours.

"gota'la" maker, you said with a string of curses afterwards. din cracked open the medkit and pulled out what he needed. some sort of burn ointment, an antibacterial spray, and some gauze along with bandaging tape. he took his gloves off to be more effective, revealing warm, tanned skin. such a contrast to his cold leather gloves that he always wore. pang.

he started by spraying the antibac on your skin, and suddenly the bacta didn't seem as effective as it was before. you hissed and clamped your teeth together, your head lulling forward, grabbing onto din's forearm. a twinge in his chest. "I gotcha.." he reassured you softly. your head rested back on the couch as din continued to nurse you. the burn ointment helping to cool the skin, the sting starting to wear off again. your grip on his arm relaxed. he started to piece you back together, protecting the wounds with gauze, and taping it in place securely. you sighed with relief once he was finished, your hand slipping from his arm to his hand. another twinge.

"better?" he asked. "better." you repeated back to him. a sigh of relief coming through his modulator. grogu coo'd happily, shuffling away to his cradle and climbing in. you raised your head to look at din. his eyes searched for any discomfort in your face from under his helmet, behind the visor. another twinge.

"thank you." you sighed quietly. "I don't know why I took us that way, I know better than to go through that valley."

"hey. we made it out alive, that's the important part. maybe with one less orbak, but we made it back home." he soothed you, his hand coming to cup your cheek. pang. twinge.

butterflies.

both of your breathing steadied, his thumb brushing against your cheekbone. you leaned into his touch shamelessly. pang, twinge.

you both stay there for a moment, you splayed against the couch, and din crouched between your knees. you hadn't realised the compromising position you were until now, and neither did he.

pang, twinge.

"you better not take advantage of me while I'm vulnerable, mando." you teased.

"din." he corrected you. "din" you echoed.

"I wouldn't dream of it." he confessed. "liar." you teased further.

"shot twice and you're still a little shit." he chuckled. pang.

you smiled. twinge. your hand squeezing his. pang, twinge.

din had helped you into your bed that night after you ate something to help with your strength, still stiff and sore. he tucked you in and stroked your hair out of your face as you laid against your pillow. as he pulled away, you grasped his hand. he stilled. twinge. you very quickly gave into exhaustion, dropping his hand as you slept. he lingered. watching the soft rise and fall of your chest. he left the door to your room open, and retired to his own room. his door open too, so he could listen out if you needed anything.

you had slept right through to early afternoon the next day. you cursed to yourself when you realised the time. you had crops to gather, chores to do, and a hyperdrive to procrastinate about. din wasn't there when you woke up. and an orbak was missing. he had left a note on the front door— "went to the outpost early this morning. will be back before dark. soup on the stove."

another pang in your chest. it felt domesticated, the note, the taking care of you last night, the lingering touches. you decided to go down to the lake near one of the crop fields and throw some nets in, hoping to catch some sort of fish. after no luck, you brought the nets back in. you suddenly realised you were in need of a shower, but laziness would tell you to just bathe in the lake. din wouldn't be back for another hour or two. you could be in and out before he was back.

you stripped yourself of your boots and pants, slowly lifting your shirt over your head. the cold breeze starting to nip at your skin. you peeled the bandaging away from your wounds slowly, and they were healing nicely. they were going to scar, but you didn't mind that much. you shed yourself of the last of your underwear, and into the lake you went. the cold water initially shot through your body, but subsided once you started to move around. you dipped your head under the water and rubbed your face. unbeknownst to you, din was closer to home than you had realised. he was walking along side the orbak, supplies he'd gotten at the outpost taking his place on the saddle, along with grogu's cradle following closely. he had seen something in the distance as he approached the house, his senses peaking. then, you raised up out of the water slightly. your hair, soaked, trailing down your back. he froze. he didn't want to watch you, it would be disrespectful and against his creed. but he couldn't look away.

he soaked in the sight of you, your curves, your bare skin, and the way your hair was cascading down your back. grogu coo'd and suddenly he was brought back to the present. he turned his back and took the orbak to the hut, unloading the cargo from it and it's saddle.

you had heard grogu's distant coo's and decided that was your queue to get out and make yourself decent. you rushed out of the lake and into the side door of the house, jogging to your room with your clothes cradled in your arms. you grabbed a towel and squeezed dry your hair, putting on a larger tunic and shorts. you could hear din's boots against the floor of the house, announcing his presence.

you walked down the hallway and out of your room to see din unpacking the supplies from the outpost, grogu sat on the counter watching.

you could get used to this kind of view. pang. you suddenly thought of the hyperdrive again, and you felt guilty for keeping din here longer than you actually needed to. you knew he'd tell you to stop apologising. deep down he didn't actually mind, and he was dreading having to leave. he'd gotten to used to the routine of seeing you when he woke up, rambling about something to grogu while you cradled him in your arms, too used to helping you around the farm, doing some of your chores with you, seeing you working hard on the crest to "repair' the hyperdrive. he'd gotten too used to you, and he didn't know if he could break that routine now. even if it weren't here, on lah'mu, on the farm, if he just had you with him— that would be enough.

he hears your soft footsteps and raises his head. twinge. he's all of a sudden aware of your lack of clothing on your bottom half. twinge.

"hey, feeling better?" he pushed the crate aside, giving you his full attention. pang. "yeah. you went to the outpost?" you stepped closer.

"yeah. I got what you needed." he leans against the doorframe to the kitchen. pang.

as you got closer, you're realising all over again how big he is. he's broad, he's got a strong frame, and he's slightly taller too. you think back to how he carried metal beams over to where you wanted the hut for the orbak's, how he didn't even break a sweat, and how he so effortlessly carried your body. pang. you step closer again. twinge.

"I'm gonna try get back to working on your hyperdrive, I promise." you lean against the counter. "don't worry about it." he chuckles, instead of ripping into you about apologising. "I don't mind being held up." he confesses. pang. twinge. he tilts his helmet to get a better look at you, his eyes scanning you up and down. thank the maker the visor of his helmet hides his shameless gawking at you and your body. his eyes trail up your bare legs— he thinks back to the lake. mapping out the rest of your body underneath the large dusty blue tunic that hides it. twinge. you can read him easily, you can almost sense his wandering eyes from beneath the beskar. pang.

"I don't want you to leave." your voice barely above a whisper. he shifts his weight and stand straight, stepping closer to you. you swallow, looking up at him slightly. his hand comes up to rest on your good shoulder, the other on your forearm of your bad side. pang. twinge.

"I know." his modulator crackles slightly. you stand up straight and mirror his posture, your hand comes up top rest on his forearm. pang, twinge. you wish you could see his eyes. even though you don't follow the creed, you respect it. you know he won't take his helmet off, even for you, you think.

he moves his hand from your shoulder to cup your face. "I don't think I can go across the galaxy without you." he quietly mutters your name and brushes his thumb across your cheekbone softly. pang, twinge.

"then don't leave"— your internal dialogue coming out before you have time to stop it. pang, twinge, butterflies. he's staring at you more intently now, and you can't help the warm sensation that pools in your abdomen. "you'd want to keep me around?" he questions. you nod. pang, twinge.

he tilts his helmet to rest against your forehead. a kov'nyn. a mandalorian kiss. pang, twinge, butterflies. silent admission.

"this is the way." his voice is shy and quiet. "ibic cuyir te ara." you echo, in mando'a.

he steps closer, engulfing your frame in his broad one. your hands come to his helmet, stroking the sides of it gently. "I'm yours." you sigh airily. that's all it takes for him to switch. he grabs at your body, moving you towards your bedroom with hast. the back of your legs hit the bed and you sit, he kneels down and tugs at the bottom of your tunic— looking for permission. you pull the tunic over your head, your bare breasts on display for him. he soaks in every detail. he pulls his gloves odd before he touches you, wanting to feel the warmth of your skin with his own hands. he palms gently at the soft tissue, a quiet whimper escaping your lips.

"so perfect" he breaks the silence, moving his hands up and down your torso, inching closer to the waist band of your shorts. you lift yourself up so that he can pull them down, and they're discarded somewhere to the side. you don't care enough to notice, just focusing on him.

he moves his hands over your waist and hips, squeezing the soft flesh there gently. he moves lower, towards your thighs, then the back of your knees, pulling them apart. cold breeze tingles lightly at your core. you're already soaked, and he knows it. he chuckles. "all this for me, cyar'ika?" he teases, moving his hands agonisingly closer to where you need him most.

"stop teasing." you pant, sounding more needy than you wanted to.

"I'm just taking my time, savouring every moment..." he replies breathily. he moves his hands to the inside of your thighs, stroking up and down them slowly. you move your hands to prop you up, anticipating his next move. he takes one finger and pulls it up through your slit slowly, watching your face twist in relief. a soft gasp leaves your mouth. he adds another finger, paying more attention to your clit this time. pang, pang, pang. he circles it softly and gently, then he pinches it— you wince with pleasure and tilt your head to the side. 'din, please..." you beg pathetically.

"easy, cyar'ika..." he says lowly, circling your clit faster this time. you can feel the coil in your belly getting tighter. then suddenly, he slips a finger into your entrance, while his other hand palms at your thigh. you moan— shamelessly. then he adds another. his thick fingers pumping in and out slowly, methodically. you throw your head back and cling onto his forearm that lays on your thigh.

"din— please— fuck.." you breathe rapidly. he watches as your breasts bounce slightly from the rise and fall of your laboured breathes. he likes this. the making you wait, watching you fall apart.. all just from a couple of his fingers. he smiles drunkly under the helmet. the pressure in your belly is getting tighter, and your breathe is picking up pace— almost in synchronisation with his fingers speeding up.

he moves this hand from your thigh to play with your clit using his thumb, pressing and swirling around. your moans are getting more high pitched, and your propping yourself up with your elbows now. your head lulls back as you moan again. din's pants start to feel tighter and tighter with each sound you make, his name falling from your mouth like a prayer.

"let go for me." he says, spend up more. you almost don't hear him until he says your name and repeats himself. you move your head to look at him, and where his fingers are squelching in and out of your pussy.

"fuck— din.. I'm gonna come..." you rasp out. "I know.. let go." and that's all it takes. your back falls against your bed as white fills your vision. your breathing starts to regulate again, and din removes his fingers from you. he stares at the shine that coats his fingers, proud.

you muster up enough strength to sit up again slowly, taking his hand and moving his fingers to your mouth, licking them clean.

"fuck.." it comes out quietly from his modulator. twinge, twinge, twinge. he moves his free hand to brush your hair away from your face, looking at the glow that adorns your face.

"I need you." you whine, hands moving to his belt and feverishly unbuckling it, dropping his belt to the side. he strips himself from his armour and flight suit, leaving him in only his boxers and helmet.

you soak in the sight. it was even better than what you had imagined at night while you touched yourself quietly, that started after week 4. he's tanned, with a thin layer of hair splaying across his chest. he's muscular too, which explains his impeccable strength. you move further up the bed, and he follows. he palms at your sides while you get comfortable amongst the pillows.

your hands trail down his chest, lower, and lower. both of your breathing is picking up again, his helmet inches from your face. he presses it against your forehead, "please.." it's his turn to beg now. you take your hand to his crotch and palm him through the fabric of his pants. he moans quietly, and lowly while you do. after a few moments, he moves your hand away and pins it next to your head. "I can't wait any longer, been waiting too long for this, fuck..."

you lick your lips in anticipation, and spread wider for him. remnants of your previous orgasm coating your thighs and dripping onto the sheets below. din pulls his boxers down and tosses them away, then he takes himself in his hand. he's thick. thicker than you had imagined. you're almost afraid he won't fit. "I'll take this slow, okay?" he assures you, brushing your hair back once more. you nod.

"I want you to tell me if you want me to stop." he continues. you nod again— "say it." he almost demands. "I'll tell you if I want you to stop." you confirm, resting your hands on his biceps and squeezing slightly to reassure him.

he nods before lining himself up with your entrance, and pushing in slowly. you both moan in unison. the burn makes your eyes water, but once he bottoms out, you moan again. he stills, waiting for you to ebb him on. you adjust your posture to take him better and squeeze his bicep again. a silent you can move. he starts slowly, pulling out carefully, before sinking back into your warm, tight cunt. he moans again as he bottoms out for a second time.

"I want to kiss you." you breathe out. you don't know what he'll say, you're afraid he'll pull out and leave.

he leans across to the lamp next to your bed, and dims it. his other hand still holding yours. you can barely see him, just a side profile. you hear the click of his helmet coming off, and the bed dipping down next to you where he's placed his helmet. you can feel his breath, warm and strong, as he inches closer. you raise your hand from his bicep to his face, cupping his cheek like he did to you so many times before. then, he kisses you. pang, twinge, butterflies.

it's soft and slow, he parts your lips with his tongue, and you happily oblige. his tongue swirls around yours, and he makes sure to remember every detail. the warmth, the way you suck in breath through your nose so sharply. he deepens it with a newfound urgency, and thrusts deep into you, much faster this time. you moan into him and return the deepening of the kiss.

he pulls out, then thrusts fast and deep. again, and again, and again. your back arches off of the bed, pulling him in closer. your chests touching with the rise and fall of your breathing. he bites your lip, and you swear you can feel him smile. he moves his mouth from yours to your cheek, then your ear, your jaw, your neck, and finally your collarbone. nipping and sucking at the skin there— and it sets your skin on fire. every sensation is heightened.

thrust, thrust, thrust. he's picking up his pace now, and the coil in your belly is pulling tighter again. you moan, and your free hand finds his hair, soft and slightly curly, tugging and pulling at it. he moans into the skin of your neck, releasing your hand from his and moving it to your clit, circling it with a needy pace. your moans are more frequent, more whiney. your breasts bounce back and forth softly with each of his thrusts. he takes his other hand and grabs at anything he can. your waist, hip, thigh, ass, tits. he lets them linger there, taking your nipple between his fingers and twisting and pinching at it.

his hand trails further up your body, and he palms at your upper chest— your collarbones, pushing into them gently. then further up, until he meets your neck, and he wraps his hand loosely around it, squeezing gently.

you swear you could've come right then and there. your moans are becoming pornographic, in time with his thrusts. his are lower, more like a grunt. he takes his hand away from your neck and hikes your leg up higher, over his shoulder, hitting that spongy spot inside you, over, and over again.

your head thrashes back into the pillows and you let out a low, guttural moan, cursing and chanting his name, along with a string of 'yes, yes, yes,' and 'just like that— oh fuck..". your own name falling out of his mouth like a hymn against your skin, right next to your ear. his moans are loud and clear now, and it only pushes you further over the edge.

he takes your other leg and tosses it over his shoulder, quickening his pace. the sounds that fill the room are sinful, the squelching of him pistoning in and out of you, the sound of his balls slapping against your ass, all coming together in a sweet symphony. he memorises it. every breath, every whine, every moan, every time you squeeze his cock. twinge, twinge, twinge.

"fuck— I'm, close, din" you whine, one hand coming to your clit as you circle it at a violent pace, the other back too his hair. pulling and tugging to ebb him on, and oh does he obey. pushing your legs back against your chest, flush with your breasts, and he fucks into you hard, fast, and deep.

"fuck, fuck, fuck... maker. your little cunt is just made for me, cyar'ika.." he moans and whimpers. he actually whimpers. you swear then and there that you will never forget that sound, carved into your memory. his pace is feverish now, rocking your body back and forth, knocking the air out of your lungs almost. the band inside you is about to snap, and you squeeze your eyes shut.

"cmon baby, come all over this dick.." he encourages. and that's all it takes, again. you're a moaning, withering mess beneath his large body. he doesn't stop, fucking you through your orgasm at the same pace. tears roll down the sides of your face from the overstimulation, and all of a sudden you have a newfound strength inside of you.

you flip through two of you over, and now he's under you. his back flush with the bed, and his arms clawing at your hips. "fuck—" he grunts out. the dim glow from the lamp illuminates you perfectly. the glow of your slick, sweat covered skin, the way your hair reflects the light. your hands come to his chest so you can brace yourself. "your turn." you breathe, and he let's you. he let's you take over. then— he stops you. "wait. I have an idea."

you stop your movements, him still buried to the hilt inside of you. he picks up his helmet next to him and sets it to the blackout setting on the visor, and then puts it on you. it smells like him, you think to yourself. your senses are almost heightened from him taking away your sight, and you feel him move beneath you as he turns the light back up. "I wanna see you put on a show, cyar'ika." he rubs his hands up and down your sides encouragingly. from his view, he swears he could die like this and not have any complaints.

he can see your body fully now. beautiful and full atop of him. he palms at your ass again. you take that as a hint to move.

you rock back and forth against him slowly, your clit bumping into your pelvis with each movement. your moans are free in the air now (or rather through the modulator of the helmet. his helmet), and you start to slowly raise yourself off of his cock, before slamming back down against him. his moans are praise enough for your efforts. you do it again, and again, and again, until you've got a nice pace set. his hands frantically move up and down your body. your sides, your ass, your thighs, he cups your breasts and watches them bounce up and down with each rise and fall on his cock. yeah, he can die happy now.

you take hold of his wrist, and guide him to your neck. he wraps his large, warm hand around it gently, and then squeezes the sides. you moan, and he swears it's the loudest, most satisfied noise he's ever heard in his life. he moves his hands to play with your breasts again, squeezing and grabbing at them sloppily. he pulls you closer so that he can take them in his mouth, and your hands tangle in his hair again.

you yank his head back, and he whimpers again.

"fuck— yes, yes, yes.." you chant. you tilt your frame back now, bracing your hands on his thighs behind you as you plunge up and down with a blinding speed now. he palms at your thighs, and the moans and whimpers are falling endlessly past his lips now. you throw your head back, picking up the pace as much as humanly possible. "just like that baby— just like that." he praises, his own head falling heavy into the pillows beneath him.

he twitches inside of you, and you can tell he's close— you are too. just a few more thrusts, and you're there.

"shit, where do you want it?" he suddenly rasps. your pace doesn't falter. "inside. want you to spill into me." you breathe. he moans immediately, and twitches again. pang, pang, pang. twinge, twinge, twinge.

you bring yourself forward again and your hands are on his chest, he holds one of your elbows, and the other hand occupies your hip. then it happens. he comes, fast and hard, and deep. you follow soon after, still sloppily and slowly rocking back and forth against him.

din swears that's the closest he's felt to heaven. "shit—" he gasps. you collapse into his chest as the initial high comes down. he reaches back over to the lamp and dims in, before removing his helmet from your head. he brushes the hairs stuck to your skin with sweat away from your face, and he pulls your face towards his for another deep, rough kiss. you moan into him, hands finding his soft curls once again. he finally pulls away for breath, and you can feel the air between you being sucked in and breathed out, sharing oxygen.

you drop your head to rest next to his, still on top of him, him still buried to the hilt inside of you. you can feel his cock still pumping thick, warm come inside of you— coating every inch. it drips down out of your cunt and onto his pelvis, and your thigh. completely and utterly spent.

he gently strokes you, tracing shapes on the small of your back. the rhythm of his chest calming you.

"ni kar'tayl darasuum gar" I love you, you breath against his jaw and kiss him there. "this is the way", he replies. "I love you too." he kisses your temple, breathing in your scent. din pulls the covers over you, turning you both onto your sides, still comfortably buried in you. the shadow from your own face covers his, but you can see the colour of his eye that is illuminated. by the lamp. warm and brown. now your favourite colour in the galaxy. you memorise it, you don't know when you'll see it again.— your hands tracing every dip and curve of his face. he smiles against you and pulls you closer. you shift your leg up to trap him beneath it, and the movement makes him grunt again.

"keep doing that, and I might come again." he chuckles. you mirror him.

"we have plenty of time." you rub your nose against his, and the press your forehead to his.

you have no plans on fixing that hyperdrive anytime soon.

this was my first time writing smut, so I hope it was alright. lmk your thoughts in the notes!! like and reblog too maybe ;)))) — may write a pt2 if this does well??? 👀👀

[morverenmaybewrites]

The Pizza Delivery Girl's Survival Guide to Gotham City Update

Pairing: Jason Todd x Reader

Newest chapter

AO3 Link

Summary:

People who lived outside of Gotham City would most often think of it in terms of its heroes and villains. About Batman and Robin, Joker and Harley Quinn.

People who actually live in Gotham City would only think of one thing: surviving.

Who cares about the people in costumes when your house has been bombed for the fifth time, or your wife has been taken hostage just because she worked in a bank?

Or, in your case, when you have to make regular deliveries to places where even Batman feared to tread?

Because let's face it. In a world full of superheroes and costumed villains, the real heroes are the ones who make sure that people get their pizzas in forty-five minutes or less.

Chapter Preview:

You paused on the bridge that hung high above the Burrow, and for the first time in your life, you felt a terror was so great that it made your throat close.

Gotham City had never looked so beautiful. From such a height, the burning neon lights looked like stars. 

But above your head, the sky looked pitch black. It made you think of the bodies that would sometimes wash up on Gotham Bay’s shores, black and bloated with rot. It made you think of  the shadows of inmates in the asylum, their voices like the skittering of insects, rising and falling as you passed them by.

It made you think of the night Timothy Young died, and you wondered that if, back then, there had been light enough that he saw the shadow of a monster fall over him. 

You wondered if he had time to understand what was happening, before he started against the concrete below. And then decided decided that it didn’t matter: you would understand If Francine Langstrom came for you, you would know. 

You would understand what was happening to you before you hit the ground. 

Your skull splitting open, the pink-grey ropes of your brain scattering on the concrete. And the thousand pictures that follow. Your death turned into a spectacle and a profit.

Just like Tim Young’s.

The thought made you freeze. You were standing in front of one of the many wooden bridges that connected the rooftops of abandoned buildings. The Burrow’s infamous floating night market. Set up by dusk and torn down by dawn, only to rise up again the next night, the floating night market was one of the Burrow’s main attractions. A bustling collection of kiosks made out of cheap plywood and tarpaulin, it was said that you could find anything there, so long as you didn’t ask too many questions: cheap phones, likely stolen from someone off the street, fake licenses, a sample of Bane’s Venom for impatient bodybuilders. It was set high up in the air, amidst the rooftops of many abandoned buildings, connected by a series of rickety wooden bridges.

But now the rooftops were empty. The bridges were falling apart, its wooden planks dangling precariously from their ropes. The empty kiosks had been left to rot in the constant rain. You could even see some of the abandoned merchandise, left behind  in people’s haste to pack up: an old, broken phone, children’s toys hanging forlornly on strings, obviously meant to be prizes in a game, now swelling with rainwater. Mold grew on their cotton bodies like new fur. 

Timothy Young’s death had transformed the Burrows’ floating night market into a ghost town. The thought made you feel a little lonely, picking through the bones of a dead market, looking to find a monster. 

Francine, The voice in your head sounded like Professor Langstrom’s. Her name is Francine Langstrom. 

The buzz of static cut through your thoughts as cleanly as a falling blade. And then Jason’s voice was in your ear.

“Last chance to back out of this.” 

His voice was rough, even taking into account the poor connection and the voice modulators he used. Maybe he was scared, too. The thought eased you somewhat, to know that you were not alone. 

Even through the poor connection, you could hear the strain in his voice. You cast a glance at the direction where he was supposed to be, tried to look for even a hint of him: the faint glow of his helmet, the hulking figure of his silhouette. But you found no sign of him. Still, knowing that he was there made you feel better. 

You raised a hand and hoped that he would not see the way your fingers trembled.  

And waved. 

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[tarithenurse]

Inhuman

Fandom: MCU Pairing: Loki x fem!reader, eventually Stucky, more (some canon, some not). Word count: 5824 (sorry). Contents: Reunions, tensions and frustrations, whiplash. A/N: Any questions are welcome. Please comment and like and reblog. Let me know if you want a tag.

Chapter 56

... Bucky’s PoV ...

Bucky is wiping the sweat off the face after another round of helping Sam train with Steve’s shield. He himself has used it before on odd occasions and he has to admit it’s a brilliant tool…it’s just not supposed to be Sam’s. Not really. Steve’s been gracious about the whole change. Bucky’s old friend is painfully positive, almost giddy, since his resurrection...unless he thinks no one is looking. Banner and the rest have had a quiet discussion about if it might be another effect, but Bucky doesn’t think so.

“You okay, buddy?” Steve interrupts the train of thoughts.

“Yeah, sure.”

They are sitting on some of the boxes that are doubling as obstacles and projectors in this enormous room, some of the targets during the training are holograms programmed and controlled by FRIDAY, Stark’s AI with a competitive personality that is able to improvise and even seems to enjoy the game.

Steve’s just opened his mouth to say something when a faint rumble works its way through the floor and walls of the building, making them both hurry towards the point of origin. As expected, the smouldering patch on the ground outside the glass main entrance matches in nature with the two men who are striding in.

“I guess, I should be happy you didn’t ruin the lawn this time,” Stark drawls, but he slaps the blond God of Thunder on the shoulder with a smile.

“It is good to see you, Man of Iron,” the brute replies. “We come with glad tidings.”

By now everyone is there, greeting Thor more than Loki, who is skulking in the background, his face revealing nothing about the reason for the visit. As Thor begins to explain about a new alliance, the thin man begins to smile wickedly.

Steve might have notices the facial expression, but he ignores it as he asks Thor: “So they are coming here and they know where we can fight this out with Thanos?”

“Indeed, my friend. The Guardians should arrive presently.”

“And [Y/N]?” I don’t have a right to worry, Bucky tells himself. But he can’t help himself to feel about the idea of her being left behind among strangers in Asgard. Beside him, Steve tenses momentarily.

“The Healer is coming with them.” It’s the first words Loki says with a soft smile and they send a chill down Bucky’s spine. “She may be the one who can convince the Mad Titan to go where we wish him to.”

A frantic beeping erupts from Stark’s pocket. Whipping out his cellphone, the inventor narrows his brows before flicking an imagine into the midair where it dances each time he moves the phone. A blurred picture of some sort of aircraft with orange and blue colours on steel is seen in stark contrast to the grey background. “I take it that’s them?”

Thor smiles broadly. “They have made good speed.”

“Yeah,” Stark has turned of the projected image, “they are about to land unless they are shot down first.” Turning his back to the group, he barks a few orders at FRIDAY.

Stark’s hurried negotiations must have born fruit as, not even 15 minutes later, the foreign vessel lands elegantly outside the Bunker, and both the Avengers and some of the other employees stream out the doors, weapons close at hand but not drawn as the fan out.

Rainwater evaporates in the heat from the warm engines even after they are shut off. Soundlessly, an opening appears and after a few tense moments a mixed group emerges, some look normal enough, considering what Bucky already has seen, but there is a raccoon with clothes and a tall trunk that startles everyone…even more so when the furry creature opens its mouth.

“Well hello there, terrans!” When no one answers, it turns to one of the men. “I thought you said the implants would translate?”

“It has worked so far…I don’t think it’s the modulators.” The auburn-haired man turns back to the stunned audience and spots Thor. “Hey, what’s with the silent treatment, man?”

The Asgardian begins to introduce the newcomers cheerfully, dissolving the tense feeling of hostility.

The talking raccoon keeps eyeing Bucky in a way that makes him feel uncomfortable. It’s not hostile…but…hungry?

Looking past the new people, Steve has spotted [Y/N] standing silently at the door frame and he rushes to her.

“[Y/N]!” She backs away from his initial attempt at hugging her but he catches her on the second try. “It’s good to see you, there is so much I want to say to you.”

She is not reciprocating the embrace, but standing stiff and unbending. “I’m sorry. I had no right. Please forg–“

“Sorry? You saved my life and I’m grateful!” Looking down at the woman’s face, something changes in Steve’s attitude.

Bucky suddenly worries, but he can’t see her face. In his periphery, Natasha begins to shoo everyone inside.

“It could have gone wrong. I didn’t know anything about what I did, it just…happened…you could’ve been reduced to a drooling vegetable…”

“But I wasn’t. Everything is fine, thanks to you,” the former Captain’s voice is gentle. “Stop beating yourself up. It was the right thing to do.”

Finally returning the embrace, [Y/N] stops any protests. She, Steve, and Bucky are the last ones left out in the cold drizzle, before the blond friend detaches himself with a reassuring smile and leaves the former couple alone.

She is wearing her mission-gear, something that normally makes her look deadly, but even though she draws herself up to her full length, there’s an uncertainty radiating from her, which he has rarely seen.

“[Y/N]…” Do I hug her? Do I stay put? What am I supposed to do? Keeping his distance, his arms might as well be glued to his sides.

She doesn’t look at him. “Buck.”

Her smile is half-hearted and her hand reaches for a spot by her chest where she normally has a thin chain hanging. Now it finds nothing and she let’s her fingers clutch the hem of the suit as a substitute for the bauble.

“Did…are…” Racking up a long list of curses for himself. How hard can it be to formulate a coherent sentence?

She looks away, blinking repeatedly. “Good to see you...”

Is it?“Are you…how have you been?”

“They’ve treated me well and…uhm…there has been a lot to learn.” Turning her face towards him, she still avoids his gaze. “A lot has happened since we saw each other last time…”

“…about that…”

She shakes her head. “Don’t. It’s okay…”

“No, it’s not!” Bucky hasn’t even realized that he moved, but now he’s right in front of her, hands itching to grab her by the shoulders to make her to look him in the eyes. Something makes Bucky stop and clench his fists instead. Crap, she noticed that. “I’m a coward. I don’t know what to do and think and it scares me. With everything you are facing, you deserve more.” He interrupts her again, when she tries to say something. “The choice is logical too, that’s not the problem…but you didn’t deserve to be abandoned.” He’s angry at himself, and a seething jealousy rumbles in his guts when, unexpectedly, the memory of Loki’s smile earlier forces itself on him.

“If not, then I would have had to make the choice. The fewer ties, the easier it will be.” The hoarseness of her voice betrays her. “Now there are only two types of connections: friends and family. Other than that, I only answer to myself.”

The truth is meant to hurt, Bucky knows that, but it makes him proud: the warrior he has seen develop in her is growing stronger. “Yeah well…I can understand if you hate me even if you say it’s logical.”

Finally, he gets to see her midnight blue eyes. “I don’t hate you. I’m frustrated, scared, sad, and everything else…but there’s no hate.” She refocuses her attention to the puddles on the ground. “Let’s just…keep some space and figure out how to stop Thanos, ‘kay?”

He nods as she steps past to head inside.

… Reader’s PoV ...

You are all gathered in the war room and are well under ways through the introductions and explanations. Gamora’s and Nebula’s previous relation to Thanos raises a few brows even if no one questions their resolve. Keeping quiet, you stay close to the door as you listen to them discuss the plan…and as your friends and the new allies talk, you notice how your teammates edge subtly away from you…all except Wanda. The girl’s eyes are flaring as her mind finds first one and then another person to infiltrate.

“Alright, say we actually dupe Thanos to leave Earth alone and head to…to Uranus. How would we get there?” Sharon has ignored all of Steve’s pleas to not be a part of this fight even if she is struggling like the rest of them to cope.

“When we first arrived back to Midgard,” Thor explains, “we were travelling onboard a mighty spaceship. Once safely settled, some of our allies that escaped Sakaar were granted possession of said vessel to return to their homes in distant realms. Although we have sent word for them already, it is doubtful that they will arrive in time.”

Thankful, there should be room for all of the Avengers on the Milano, the Guardians’ spaceship. Getting room for the mutants, in case they decide to join, is a different matter though. Rocket is appalled that spaceships capable of long hauls, like the one looming in the near future, aren’t common on Earth. However, he claims he’s capable of upgrading almost anything with wings and suddenly Tony is listening to the creature.

“It’s fucking easy. I just need the right metals, tools…and his arm!” A furry finger is pointing at Bucky who suddenly is looking worried.

“NO!” Gamora and Quill sound like exasperated parents.

“You don’t need his arm. Forget it!” The demi-human continues.

Clearly struggling, Rocket tries to look dead serious. “Yes, I do. It’s…vital.”

“Why’d you want that old piece of scrap-metal?” Tony’s questions is enough to make Bucky switch from nervous to insulted. “Even the prototypes I’m working on are better than that.”

It’s not entirely fair to say as the arm Bucky currently is employing is a fairly advanced model that T’Challa gave to him when they woke him up the first time after his arrival to Wakanda. There is nothing bad to say about it and Stark’s aversion is only grounded in his distrust of anything he hasn’t designed or build himself. The man is a control freak. As Tony starts to talk shop with the raccoon, the two quickly find a shared passion and it takes almost no time to establish that everything they need is already at hand.

“These are the rough blueprints for the quinjets,” Tony explains as an image is hovering in the air, spreading a cold blue light in the room.

“Ancient tech, but sturdy. It’s not worth it to rig too many ‘cause they won’t make it back through the atmosphere here.” It takes more than SHIELD’s and the Avengers’ best gear to impress Rocket.

“The X-men has a slightly more sophisticated jet. It’s bigger though.”

“Size isn’t an issue…” The creature’s words make Tony and Quill chuckle.

Ignoring the bad joke hanging in the air, Steve turns to you: “Call them and ask them to bring it here.” He is smiling, and he seems to genuinely mean it. Still, you are more than happy to get out of the room.

Halfway down the hall, you draw to a halt as you pull out the phone and turn it on for the first time since the night in London. It takes a moment before you can use it and during that time you study the people you used to feel at home with. I felt so alone without them. Coming back hasn’t chased that away, despite the big hug from Steve. How long…? You don’t want to finish the question, afraid that the answer will be exactly what you think it is. Looking down at the device in the hand, you see messages tick in in an endless stream but you flick them aside without reading and find the contact you need.

The conversation is short and lacks much of the information Storm wants. You can’t bring yourself to start explaining as it’ll be too much and too complicated over the phone…instead, you briefly explain about the plan with the jet.

“Contact Steve, when you’ve come to a decision…I’ll send you his number.” It’s easier to cut me out as the middle man right now.

The concern is audible through the phone but Storm accepts before hanging up just as the rest start leaving the room and you copy in the number in a text.

Bucky’s gait is strong and determined but the expression in his eyes don’t fit as he walks over to you. Once by your side, still careful to keep a safe distance, he clears his throat. “I’m uh…heading back to town for a bit. Want me to bring you any clothes and laptop from your place?” It’s kind of him and you accept the offer. “You’ll get the key back afterwards, don’t worry.”

You weren’t worried…you hadn’t even thought about those sort of things before he mentions it and now you wish nothing had been said. Nodding, you turn before he can say anything else.

People have dispersed, leaving the only empty place the room you stayed in last time so that’s where you hole up, ignoring Sharon’s soft knocking on the door later.

…

You’re staring at the ceiling where the lights from outside illuminate the otherwise hidden bumps and dimples. In your hope to distract yourself you’ve resorted to finding patterns and figures in the faint shadows but a new knocking makes you lose track of the snowman you’d almost found. Bucky.

He enters quietly, without waiting for an answer, but stops just past the door which he closes with a silent click.

“Got your training gear too…just in case…” he mumbles sheepishly, “…didn’t know what you wanted, so it’s a bit of everything.”

“It’s fine.”

Your voice is oddly flat and it makes Bucky look over at you for the first time, furrowing his brows so much his grey eyes are almost hidden. His scrutiny makes your insides squirm in protest and fear of the guilt you are carrying. Did Loki…? No, he has promised you not to…not that his promises amount to much according to the general opinion. Besides, you haven’t done anything wrong.

Putting down the little trolley, Bucky turns to leave, pausing briefly with his hand on the handle. “Don’t beat yourself up.”

You don’t look when the door clicks behind him. You don’t hate yourself…not entirely at least. Having seen him again has made you feel guilty for fucking Loki and nothing you tell yourself is chasing the feeling away…but it’s not as bad now.

It had hurt to stand face to face with Bucky. You had seen how he stopped himself from reaching out and instead he’d clenched his hands and kept a safe distance. Too afraid to touch me. Loki hadn’t been. He’d been the last person you expected to show any kindness…but he had been there when you felt alone and abandoned. Felt? Feel. It had been a relief to get out of the war-room. It didn’t even take a hand to keep track of the people who’d been able to meet your eyes, let alone stand near you. You had assumed that coming back would make the loneliness go away. Instead it’d grown stronger as it became painfully obvious that the bonds were broken.

In a weak attempt to regain some control over your life, you shower, trying to wash away the negative feelings that are drowning you. Enjoying no improvement in the mood, you take care to pick out clothes that are comfortable and flattering (a soft, figure-hugging sweater-dress), but halfway through the planning on how to further doll yourself up to boost the confidence, you get a better idea and head off to the living room.

In the bottom of the bookcase is a little cabinet with various bottles of liquor. Most is whiskey, but after some digging you find a halffull bottle of gin which you bring along to the kitchen to mix with orange juice. The drink goes down fast, burning slightly on the way and stoking a fire in your guts.

Half an hour later you’re swaying along to music, alternating between using a ladle to stir the Bolognese-sauce or as a drumstick. The void is momentarily replaced by the gin-induced fuzziness.

“FRIDAY!” You abandon the half-hearted attempt at remembering the lyrics to a Foo Fighters-song. “Spread the word…food in 15 minutes.”

The water is already on the stove, very close to boiling point. Draining the glass of the last yellow drops, you refocuse on the task at hand: pasta Bolognese requires Parmesan, and none of that nasty pre-ground stuff, but in lack of a grater that can be used at the table, you have to do the work for the many people.

15 minutes later, the table is laden with deep plates, cutlery and, of course, the food.

20 minutes after that, you’re serving yourself a portion, still alone in the kitchen.

Another 25 minutes later some of the friendly aliens show up with Steve, Bucky, Stark and Parker in tow. At least the guests are nice enough to grab big portions before sitting down, following Steve’s unguarded behaviour. Crap. Bucky takes a tiny portion before sitting down as far from you as he can, pointedly avoiding looking in your direction. That bad...Stark has gotten a beer, and the clink of the bottle makes the teenage girl in you rebel.

While you are looking through the cabinet for anything else that might be strong and drinkable, the rest show up, unnaturally silent as they sit and begin eating. Banzai! An unbroken bottle of rum has been collecting dust in the back. Rum is good with anything fruity or sweet. Zoning in on the fridge, you are aware of the glances some of your friends (if they can be called that anymore) are sending each other.

“Having fun?” Tony comments dryly, eyeing the empty bottle of gin on a corner of the counter.

“You’re not missing much of a party…”

“Good, then be a responsible adult.” His nods towards Peter who is looking nervously from one to the other.

You have no reason to hate the boy, no reason to disapprove of Tony’s protectiveness of him…but it hurts that you aren’t on the list of people he cares for anymore.

“Right.” Your voice is scathing, a low snarl. “It’s bad to drink around kids…I was done with eating anyways.”

Snatching the bottle, you stalk off, leaving a half eaten plate of food behind. You don’t even care that much about the alcohol but being lonely in a room full of people is unbearable. It’s not something you’re willing to admit to them and so you take the easy way out.

… Loki’s PoV ...

Some unspoken conversation takes place between the former captain and his friend Barnes.

When Rogers gets up, Banner tries desperately to defuse the tension in the room by asking the newcomers about their world. None of them have had this dish before, including Loki, and they welcome the explanation of what they are ingesting. It’s wholesome with a mild spicy taste of garlic and herbs. Thor is, as always, shovelling the food in, grabbing any chance to cover it under a layer of the fluffy cheese-like powder. It looks like snow as it lands and melts partially.

Keeping quiet, Loki studies the mortals as they distract themselves and each other, exchanging tales of experiences and traditions from each way of life, and when Rogers joins the group once more (placing a bottle on the low table before sitting down), the man is full of questions.

Loki finishes his meal before leaving them without a word to draw attention. He has revelled in the powers he used to possess, longing for the recognition of anyone, regardless of it being negative or positive…however this time it would be counter productive.

He had followed Barnes earlier to learn the location of [Y/N]’s chamber. He had been slinking. Those are the words Thor would have used, disapproving of any fun way of retaining the information needed, yet it is of little consequence: he had learned what he needed and now his steps are leading him towards the door.

He knocks. There is no answer. After another harder knock, he has to accept that she either isn’t there or isn’t in the mood for guests. If I were an…Inhuman, feeling abandoned and isolated even with other people…where would I go? Her first escape through the burning spirits had been foiled. What would she do? The pesky woman is hardly in a mood to sit idle…A thought occurs to him and he searches through the vast premises.

Loki sees her through the glass doors, swivelling past and downing one immaterial, glowing being after the other. Her movements are not graceful, despite the promises of her lithe body, as she hurtles herself at the targets, her bare feet never allowing her to rest.

Stepping into the vast room, she doesn’t react to his arrival. She wields short staffs, but she is deadly purpose incarnated. She hasn’t noticed me. With a thought, Loki changes his appearance, conjuring the vestments he favours in battle, light, subtle leather reinforced with metal plates or ringlets.

In a few swift movements, he’s made his way to her, lifting an arm just in time to deflect a downwards strike, sending shudders into his shoulder. They’ve locked gazes, and he can see [Y/N]’s fear as orange streaks and specks, drowning out the toxic violet in her eyes in the split second it takes for her to gather her composure and back away.

“End simulation.” Her voice is clipped, and hadn’t Loki known better then it could just have been a result of the physical exertion that has made her out of breath. “What do you want?” She pushes a shock of hair out of the face.

Feigning disinterest, he studies the place. There are random obstacles everywhere, some movable, some secured and with small holes from which the rays had come. Mortals are surprisingly inventive. In lack of magic they managed to find other ways to compensate for their shortcomings. Like this trick to conjure adversaries for training purposes rather than face real opponents.

[Y/N] is impatient as she cuts through his musings. “I asked you something.”

“If you want physical distractions, I’m at your command,” he smirks, letting her be the judge of the meaning of those words.

Studying him, she offers out one of the short staves, holding it in a stretched arm so he will have to get near her. It won’t be that easy. But he pretends to trust her apparent intentions. The moment his fingers close around the wood, she yanks it towards her, seeking to pull him off balance and thus gaining an advantage to land the first blow…he has seen it coming, and rather than struggling against the force, he utilizes it to sidestep her quickly before spinning her along and away.

“I don’t need this.” Tossing the dull weapon aside with disgust, Loki reaches behind his back, where one of two long daggers are strapped on, loosening one with a flick of the thumb before pulling it free of the sheath. “There is another,” he turns slightly to show, “try to get it.”

[Y/N] is nowhere near as good a fighter as he is but what she lacks in skill she makes up for in vigour and determination. Like an angry cat, she uses everything in her arsenal…almost everything. More than once, Loki has to retreat under her silent and vicious attacks. Any superficial wounds he inflicts seal before more than a few crimson drops escape, yet she barely takes notices and is, if possible, spurred on to try harder. In a flurry of motions, they collide and retreat, making the air sing from the rapid arches and blows before they stop. Loki is holding the tip of the dagger to her chest, the fabric of her clothing dipping into the valley of her heaving bosom…but she has him at her mercy too. Somehow, she has managed to snatch the spare dagger and now the blade is resting on his throat, poised to slice the windpipe with the flick of her wrist.

“What the fuck?” Murder is still in [Y/N]’s eyes as her attention is diverted to the door behind Loki. He recognizes the voice, but the smell of metal would have revealed the identity of the intruder. “Get away from her.” Barnes’ command is a cold growl.

“She doesn’t seem to mind.”

It’s in Loki’s nature to taunt, to create chaos and envy and this is all too easy. Steeling himself for the impact when he hears the running footsteps, he knows what must come next.

That’s why he is surprised when the arm of the soldier passes by, grabbing [Y/N] by the waist and shoving her away. The man stops before she does. Crouched and ready to strike, Barnes eyes the Inhuman warily as she rolls backwards over her shoulder from the force of the shove before getting to her feet.

With a snarl, she launches at the new opponent without a hint of mercy. Sparks fly as metal meets metal. Kicking, elbowing and slashing, she sends the man backing until her anger makes her lose any sense of tactic. Barnes manages to forcefully grab her by the elbows, twisting her arms behind the back even though he has to stay out of range of the tip of her weapon and hands.

“Let me go!”

She is hoarse as she twists and wriggles to free herself. Loki and Barnes lock eyes for an instant but it’s enough for the Asgardian to understand. This isn’t jealousy, it’s an innate wish to protect others more than her because of a maddening fear of what the woman can do. As if knowing this, she stops struggling momentarily.

“First you couldn’t be far away enough, and now –“

“Damn it!” Loki wants to kill Barnes, as the man pushes the infuriated woman away hard. Instead, he clenches the dagger’s hilt. This is between them. “I won’t let you do this.” The pain is audible. “I can’t.”

“Then get out!” The man with the metal arm hesitates, staring at her while he balances between giving in or giving up. “Fight me…or get…out!”

Loki catches Barnes eyes before he turns on the heel and hurries out.

“[Y/N]. Give me the weapon back.”

There is no indication that she has heard him and he reaches out carefully, sliding a hand down her wrist before it closes around her white knuckles, stopping the tremor that has caused light to reflect off the polished surface in dizzying patterns. Loki has to pluck her fingers from the hilt on by one before relieving her of the blade.

The moment it’s nestled safely in the sheath, [Y/N]’s shoulders slump forward and he knows that her eyes are closed tight behind the curtain of hair, just like her lips. She wanted the pain of the fight. Her wish to fight Barnes makes sense as it would free her of the old shackles simultaneously with each blow they’d have struck…now the outlet is lost and she has been deprived of other means of turning the torment in her soul into a physical pain.

“They don’t have to fear me…” It’s a low whisper. “I don’t want to hurt any of them. I couldn’t.”

“I know, my lady.” Wrapping her carefully in his arms, something inside him falls into place. She does not resist him but she does not reciprocate either as it would make her break. “But grant them the time to understand. They wish you no ill.” Even your Barnes still wants to protect you. The thought burns cold in his chest and the Jotun pushes it aside. “Punishing yourself is not –“

“Shut UP!” [Y/N] hisses, succeeding to break free of the restraints this time. Turning, she tries to slap him but fails as he grabs her wrist in an iron-hard grip. “Don’t you dare pretend to understand!”

He doesn’t let her yank the arm free of his grasp. “Oh, but I do know. It’s painted in your eyes. You are scared and alone and you think you deserve it.” Each sentence makes her recoil. “You believe you are turning into a monster. That if you give in to your desire, any desire, you will not be able to stop yourself.” Her eyes are ablaze and the colour is draining from her face but he pushes on, verbally and physically until she has her back against the wall, his palm spread over her heaving chest where the heart is thundering. “I spoke with Hela once. She told me what it feels like to drain a life and hold that force in your hands, letting it seep through your body like a current of ecstasy.” She has stopped struggling and swallows hard at the memories, her distant eyes showing hints of gold. Lowering his lips to her ear, Loki whispers, softly and deliberately. “Take what you need from me. I trust you will give it back.”

“I will never!” Back in the present, she refuses to give in to his offer.

The hard way, then. Adeptly shifting his grip, Loki’s hand curls around her throat just below her jaw, thumb against the jugular and palm pressing against her windpipe. “Do it.”

“No!”

Fortifying the hold, [Y/N] begins to fight back and he has to let her arm free to pin her to the wall by the hip as an extra anchor point. With both arms free, she starts to pummel at him to break the strangling hold, but even if she is strong (for a mortal) and desperate, she is no match for him. Gritting his teeth, Loki endures the jolts of pain she starts to shoot through his arm when she changes tactics…but he doesn’t let go. Instead he squeezes harder and her struggle hastens the dangerous flush that’s spreading across her face.

“Take control or be controlled forever.”

She has no air left, and she gasps futilely. Repeating the words, he pushes harder, tilting her neck in a way that exposes the delicate skin further but grants her no respite as she claws at his arm. On the contrary. Her eyelids are closing over hazed, flaming orbs.

“My lady.”

She is sagging now. Fight back the only way you can. Her hands become limp and her left falls to her side, twitching in a last effort. The other has somehow got itself tangled in the folds of his harness, fingertips lightly touching where his heart is constricting with desperation.

Something tugs inside his chest, draining out into her hand like a torrent unleashed, leaving a cold, excruciating numbness behind that spreads from the extremities. Lifting his own head becomes a burden, and he feels his grip falter an agonizing eternity before he lands on his knees. Unable to stay upright much longer, Loki allows himself to sink down on his haunches, his head lolling backwards. By Ymir…this is what it feels like to die. Now he can see her eyes. Liquid gold is glinting behind a milky curtain. And somehow, she has grown. This is not a glorious death in battle, but I am content.

… Reader’s PoV ...

This is wrong! You have to fight the urges that are rolling through you like earthquakes. In front of you the dimming shape of Loki is sagging, void of nearly all of the brilliant emerald power he should radiate. Looking at your own hand, a small orb of delicate light is being absorbed through your skin. Nothing compares with the bliss, power and ecstasy it infuses you with and you have to bite back a moan.

Mine.

But it’s not. You have no right. Cursing hard, you collect what you have drained from the Asgardian in your palm before ramming it into his chest, returning what you stole. Colour returns to his skin and eyes immediately, the shallow breathing grows deep. The rapture you felt as you took the life from him is evidently powering his body and mind even after you sever the connection. Eyes glistening, body taught, he breathes hungrily.

“Yggdrasil be blessed –” He doesn’t get further than that before the back of her hand has connected with his cheek. Hard.

“Are you completely insane?!” You know that you wouldn’t intentionally hurt any of your friends or allies…but this had been too close, instinct had kicked in and made you drain Loki of life.

His smirk is audible. “Possibly. I have been called such things before.”

You can’t stand listening to his cocky self-confidence, pushing him aside you run out of the simulation centre. Somewhere along the way to your room you pass Bucky, ignoring his attempts at stopping you because you can feel the sting of tears.

Slamming the door behind you, you lean against the cool, smooth surface. Slow breaths. You pace. In the distance Bucky and Loki are talking, causing anger and guilt to flare up once more. In, two, three. Out, two, three, four. When it doesn’t help, you resort instead to beating the hell out of the innocent pillows on the bed. The result is unsatisfactory in relation to your level of frustration but at least it tires you physically.

Stepping into the shower, fully dressed, you turn on the cold water before freeing yourself of the clingy clothes. Bucky’s and Loki’s faces are swimming before you and their words are echoing in your ears. Fuck, this is a mess. One man trying to shield people from her, the other edging her onward. This is like a poorly written soap-opera. You’d always hated those TV-shows or cheap romance novels where everything revolved around a hopeless, spineless woman stuck between a good guy and a bad guy. Time to grow a spine.

‘Take control or be controlled’, at least you had stopped before it was too late…maybe that could count as control for now. Looking at your hands, you see the cyanosis creeping into the fingertips, and you can’t feel your feet from the cold either. You turn the handle the other way, releasing what feels like lava in scalding cascades.

…

The faint dripping of the clothes hanging to dry is audible from the bathroom as you snuggle under the duvet. You want to escape the mess you’re in and sleep is a perfect little detour away from miserable.

[thelibrarian1895]

Have you heard of the Darwin awards?

If you have then you have a general idea of one of Gotham Elite's most exclusive and yet all encompassing yearly award parties/charity: The Gotham Awards.

Ostensibly this party is to bring awareness to the general dangers of Gotham and to raise funds to try to mitigate or even get rid of such dangers.

In reality, the party is so people with a certain sense of humor can mock people who died in what was admittedly a very stupid way to die for a Gothamite.

To be elected as winner of the award for the party, the person must be:

Born in Gotham, if you were born elsewhere then some leeway is allowed for stupidity since you may not have learned better, but if you were born in Gotham, you don't have an excuse

The award recipient must be dead

The cause of death must have been something remarkably stupid, as unanimously agreed upon by the reward committee, and avoidable for a Gothamite

It does not matter what your social status, monetary status, employment status, ethnicity, criminal record, or any other method of dividing people, if you were born in Gotham and you died in a manner that the award committee all agree was avoidable and that a Gothamite should have known better, then you, or at least your surviving relatives on your behalf, could receive the award.

Past examples of winners include: the idiot who decided scoop a cup of rainwater from a puddle in Gotham and drink it to advertise the efficacy of their newly invented filter which their researchers had told them was still being developed and was nowhere near the testing stage, idiots who decided that cat calling two women who were clearly Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn was a good idea, and the complete imbecile who thought the Black Mask would respond well to an attempt at blackmail.

A separate award is held in reserve for the Joker. Even if the Joker's manner of death wouldn't have been considered stupid for any other Gothamite, the committee considers Joker's whole career as worthy of a Gotham award.

Another Gotham reward is held in reserve for Batman if Batman's death is ever confirmed. Yes superheroing is fairly common and there were caped crusaders active before Batman donned his cape, but Batman thought it was a good idea in Gotham. The committee judged this to be worthy of an award.

There is still debate on the committee regarding the other vigilantes of Gotham and whether or not they should have rewards in reserve for them or not. Some say that they're just following Batman's example. Others say that is the point.

Charities which have benefitted from the awards in the past include those designed to try to clean up Gotham waters, charities promoting women shelters, one charity that offered free etiquette classes to anyone and included a module highlighting what could be considered appropriate compliments and what was inappropriate, and charities designed to promote education with an emphasis on the introduction of critical thinking to each grade. Should the award for Batman ever be given the planned charity is for the police.

Only the richest elite are invited with the exception of the person, or persons, who would accept the award on behalf of the winner.

[erhangwang]

DP2 - Wandering Earth

Week 19:

This week I kept focusing on the workshop by first improving on the plan and then choosing three zones from the plan and designed the roof, facade and structural systems specifically to the environmental conditions required by each zone:

The south facing facade receives the highest level of solar radiation and activities including cutting and drilling take place in this zone, which can lead to overheating in the space, especially at summer. Therefore a layered strategy is implemented on the facade with dense and wide rain-fuel/solar panels acting also as shading devices which can result in effective cooling off the space.

The East Facing Facade provides excellent natural light in the morning and has a good view down the hill towards the city, therefore there are voids on the facades to provide opportunities for a balcony area. The facade panels are more curled up to further provide natural lighting and views as there are workbenches behind the east facade.

The North Facade in 2050 will encounter more severed environmental conditions as it receives poor natural light and is normally cold and damp. Therefore the facade panels are less dense to allow more light entering the space and more gaps on the roof to provide lighting. Deicing systems inspired by the aviation industry extends out from the roof to clean the icing that may form on the facade.

The Roof has different levels and grooves to direct the rainwater to drip down onto the facade elements and utilises its potential energy to regenerate energy; but also recycled into the bathroom to be reused. The roof has a curved shape that rises at certain points for lighting purposes.

I should keep working on these three design modules and use line drawings in combination with these renders to reveal the HVAC, structural and water systems of the space. Doing lighting and heating simulations on the interior space to prove the systems function properly

Key ideas mentioned:

Hollow tiles for heating and ventilation systems running through

shape the tiles so it guides the cool down streaming air around the furniture in the room

Pneumatically designed air exhaustion systems for manufacturing area (Reference to Zaha Science Museum)

Shelving systems on the facade to hang and dry the pieces manufactured in the workshop

Light pipes bringing light to the working area that is integrated with the furniture

furniture suspended from the ground with localized heating, water running through the furniture

Ramps connecting the buildings that extend out into the forest and foreshadowing the theme and emotions that the next building is going to bring to the visitors. Buildings get cut through similarly to canyons.

When presenting, show how spatial organization, facade systems and furniture systems are designed differently according to the hot and cold environment and lux levels.

[prathameshparkar]

How Vantara Anant Ambani Is Building a Green Legacy for Wildlife

In India’s modern conservation movement, few names stand out as boldly as Vantara Anant Ambani. As the driving force behind Vantara, a first-of-its-kind sanctuary that blends world-class wildlife healthcare with sustainable habitat design, Anant Ambani is crafting more than a conservation project—he’s creating a green legacy.

In a country where rapid urbanization, deforestation, and climate change pose severe threats to biodiversity, Vantara represents hope, healing, and a replicable model for ethical, eco-conscious wildlife care. This blog explores how Anant Ambani’s vision is shaping the future of animal welfare and environmental stewardship in India.

1. A Vision Rooted in Compassion and Sustainability

Unlike traditional approaches to wildlife sanctuaries that prioritize containment or exhibition, Vantara is built on the principle of regeneration—of species, ecosystems, and community values.

At its core, Vantara Anant Ambani’s mission is twofold:

To deliver state-of-the-art medical care for rescued wildlife

To ensure that this care takes place in harmony with the environment

“Conservation should not only protect—it must restore and respect,” Ambani has stated in multiple interviews.

2. Building India’s Most Advanced Eco-Conscious Wildlife Hospital

Vantara houses one of the largest and most sophisticated animal hospitals in Asia, equipped with:

Species-specific ICUs for elephants, big cats, primates, and birds

AI-integrated diagnostic tools for real-time monitoring

Emergency surgical units, mobile ICUs, and trauma care centers

Naturalistic recovery enclosures that reduce post-treatment stress

What sets Vantara apart is its commitment to green healthcare infrastructure—utilizing solar power, zero-waste sterilization systems, and environmentally friendly building materials.

3. Designing Habitats That Heal Both Animals and Ecosystems

Every habitat at Vantara is a model of biomimicry and sustainability. The sanctuary avoids concrete pens and cages, opting instead for:

Native vegetation and terrain modeling

Rainwater harvesting and greywater recycling systems

Enclosures designed for species-specific enrichment and social behavior

These thoughtful designs promote both wildlife rehabilitation and habitat conservation, making Vantara a living classroom for sustainable design.

4. Education as a Tool for Long-Term Impact

A green legacy must include the next generation. Vantara runs one of India’s most ambitious conservation education programs, offering:

Immersive school and college tours

Curriculum-aligned wildlife learning modules

Internships and research fellowships in veterinary science and ecology

Mobile outreach and virtual classrooms for underserved regions

With each program, Vantara Anant Ambani ensures that young Indians grow up with the tools and empathy needed to protect their natural heritage.

5. Collaborating with Scientists to Advance Wildlife Research

Anant Ambani’s vision includes transforming Vantara into a research and innovation hub. Current collaborations include:

Wildlife genetics and disease surveillance projects

Behavioral studies on rewilded species

Reproductive health tracking for endangered populations

Data-sharing partnerships with Indian universities and forest departments

This investment in science not only improves care standards but positions India as a leader in global wildlife research.

6. Powering the Sanctuary with Green Technology

At a time when large-scale conservation projects can be energy-intensive, Vantara’s campus runs on clean, renewable systems, including:

Solar panel farms powering medical equipment and habitat lighting

Water recycling systems that nourish gardens and paddocks

Eco-smart waste management for everything from food scraps to surgical waste

Green transport for onsite mobility using electric vehicles

These measures ensure that wildlife protection doesn’t come at the cost of the environment it seeks to protect.

7. Shaping Wildlife Policy and Public Awareness

Through Vantara, Anant Ambani is influencing national policy by:

Sharing best practices with forest departments

Hosting dialogues on human-wildlife conflict resolution

Providing input on legislation related to rescue and rehabilitation

Offering technical support for emerging sanctuaries across India

Vantara is also a media and storytelling powerhouse, broadcasting wildlife success stories to inspire empathy and action among the general public.

8. Setting a Replicable Model for Green Sanctuaries

Perhaps the most powerful part of this legacy is that Vantara is not a one-off project. It’s a blueprint.

From architectural plans to medical protocols, Vantara shares its methodology with:

NGOs and wildlife NGOs across South Asia

Educational institutions creating similar eco-campuses

Government bodies looking to replicate its systems in new regions

By making its knowledge open and adaptable, Vantara Anant Ambani is catalyzing systemic change across India’s conservation landscape.

Final Thoughts: A Legacy That Lives in Forests, Not Buildings

Most legacies are carved in stone. But the one Vantara Anant Ambani is building is written in the return of wild calls to rehabilitated forests, in the eyes of rescued animals, and in the green pathways he is paving for generations to come.

Vantara isn’t just a sanctuary. It’s a symbol of what’s possible when empathy meets innovation, and when conservation is driven by purpose, not publicity.

As India grapples with the environmental challenges of the future, Vantara stands as a living promise: that sustainability and compassion can—and must—go hand in hand.

[ledvideo]

How to cool down outdoor LED displays in summer?

As experts in the LED billboard industry, we all know that outdoor LED displays face severe tests in summer. High temperatures, high humidity, thunderstorms… These are all "killers" that affect the stable operation of the screen. So, how can we provide comprehensive maintenance for outdoor LED displays just like preventing heat from our children? Today, I will talk to you about how to use the easiest and most effective method to make your outdoor LED screen still shine in the hot summer!

1: Temperature control

According to global LED display data, high temperature is one of the main reasons for display failure. In summer, if the outdoor display screen is exposed to the sun for a long time, the internal temperature will rise sharply, which will not only accelerate the aging of components, but may even lead to serious failures such as "black screen" or "flower screen". Let you understand the 7 points of difference between indoor LED display and outdoor LED display.

Coping strategies:

Check the cooling system: Make sure that the air conditioner, fan and other cooling equipment are operating normally, clean the vents regularly to avoid dust clogging. If your screen is not equipped with an active cooling system, you can consider installing it.

Optimize the installation environment: Try to avoid the display being exposed directly to the west or in direct sunlight for a long time. If conditions permit, consider installing a sun visor or setting up a semi-enclosed structure to provide physical shelter to the screen.

Adjust the brightness setting: In the hot summer, the screen brightness can be adjusted appropriately, which not only saves electricity, but also effectively reduces the heat generation during the screen working. Remember, the right brightness can also make the audience more comfortable to watch. Here is a knowledge about nit brightness.

2: Waterproof and moisture-proof, to eliminate "failure to adapt to the environment"

Global climate data show that frequent thunderstorms in summer, and high humidity environments also put LED displays at risk of moisture erosion. Once moisture enters the module, it will cause short circuits or even corrode the components, and the consequences will be unimaginable.

Coping strategies:

Strictly check sealing performance: Check the sealing tapes of the box and module regularly to ensure they are intact. If you find aging or damage, replace it immediately to prevent rainwater from seeping in.

Do a good job of drainage: Check whether the drainage tank under the screen is unobstructed to avoid water accumulation. Water accumulation will not only affect the bottom of the screen, but may also penetrate upward due to capillary action.

Regular "dehumidification": In humid and stuffy weather, it is recommended to open the screen for at least 2 hours a day. This is because the heat generated by the screen when it is working can evaporate the water vapor inside, which has a good "dehumidification" effect.

3: Lightning protection and surge protection, safety first

Summer is the season of lightning and lightning. As a tall and eye-catching outdoor equipment, LED displays are easily targeted by lightning strikes. The powerful current and surges generated by lightning strikes will cause a devastating blow to the screen's circuit system.

Coping strategies:

Install professional lightning protection equipment: Make sure that both the display screen and the building itself are equipped with professional lightning protection devices and regularly check their working status. Lightning protectors can guide instantaneous high voltage and high current generated by lightning strikes into the ground to protect equipment. How to reduce the installation cost of LED walls?

Ensure good grounding: Grounding is the last line of defense to protect against lightning and surges. Regularly check whether the grounding wire is firm and whether the grounding resistor meets the standards. Incorrect grounding is like tying a "time bomb" to the screen.

4: Daily inspection and regular cleaning

In addition to dealing with bad weather, daily "small things" also determine the "health" of the screen.

Regular cleaning: Use a soft brush or vacuum cleaner to clean the surface of the screen regularly. Pay special attention to cleaning the fan and heat dissipation holes to keep them unobstructed.

Pay attention to content: Check regularly whether the content played on the screen is normal, whether there are any abnormalities such as dead spots, screens, etc. When problems are found, we must check them in a timely manner. "Early detection and early treatment" is the golden rule to reduce losses.

In short, the maintenance of outdoor LED displays in summer is like an active defense battle. By doing temperature control, waterproofing, lightning protection and daily inspections in advance, we can maximize the service life of the screen, ensure that it still operates efficiently and stably under the scorching sun, and protect your advertising business!

Thank you for watching. I hope we can solve your problems. Sostron is a professional LED display manufacturer. We provide all kinds of displays, display leasing and display solutions around the world. If you want to know: Analysis of outdoor LED display rental price. Please click read.

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[bayleafmodularsolutions]

Why More Australians Are Choosing Modular Homes Over Traditional Builds in 2025

As the Australian housing market continues to evolve, a clear shift is taking place—modular construction is becoming the preferred choice for homeowners, developers, and architects alike. Once seen as an alternative option, modular homes are now leading the charge toward faster, smarter, and more sustainable building.

At Bayleaf Modular Solutions, we’re at the forefront of this transformation, offering advanced prefab housing options that meet the demands of today’s property market. In 2025, modular isn’t just modern—it’s the future of residential construction.

What Is Modular Construction

Modular construction refers to the process of designing and building homes in pre-manufactured sections—also known as “modules”��in a controlled factory setting. These modules are then transported and assembled on-site.

This method offers significant advantages over traditional, on-site builds, particularly in terms of speed, cost-efficiency, and environmental impact.

The Numbers Speak for Themselve

A recent IBISWorld report highlighted that Australia’s modular and prefab housing sector grew by over 15% in 2024 alone, and is expected to grow another 18% in 2025. With rising labour shortages and ongoing supply chain issues, the appeal of factory-built housing is only increasing.

Key Benefits Driving the Shift to Modular Homes

Faster Construction Timelines

One of the main reasons Australians are turning to modular homes is speed. Unlike traditional builds that can stretch beyond a year, modular homes can be completed in just 8 to 12 weeks.

Parallel construction: Site preparation and factory build occur simultaneously.

Minimal weather delays: Controlled indoor manufacturing ensures predictable timelines.

Early move-ins: Faster builds reduce rental or holding costs for homeowners and investors.

Cost-Effective and Predictable

Modular construction is ideal for those seeking price certainty. With most of the build happening off-site, costs are less impacted by weather, labour shortages, or supplier delays.

Fixed pricing models

Reduced labour costs

Less material waste

Investors and developers also benefit from better budget forecasting and faster returns on modular housing real estate.

Sustainability and Waste Reduction

Environmental responsibility is no longer optional—especially in the construction industry. Modular building techniques significantly reduce waste, carbon emissions, and site disturbance.

Up to 90% less waste than traditional building sites

Ideal for off-grid or low-impact living

Compatible with solar, rainwater, and passive design systems

Prefab buildings built in factories can also be reused or recycled more efficiently than brick-and-mortar homes.

Built for Divere Australian Conditions

Australia’s geography—from bushfire-prone zones to steep slopes and coastal winds—requires smart design. Modular homes can be custom-engineered for site-specific challenges:

BAL-rated materials for bushfire zones

Stilted designs for sloping or flood-prone blocks

Weather-resistant cladding for coastal regions

This adaptability gives modular homes a significant edge in Australia’s varied landscape.

A Better Fit for Modern Lifestyle

Modular housing benefits extend beyond construction—they also enhance the living experience. Flexible designs, energy-efficient layouts, and smart home integrations are easier to implement in prefab buildings.

Whether it’s a 2-bedroom holiday home, a multigenerational residence, or an investment duplex, modular design offers:

Customizable layouts

Architect-designed exteriors

High-end finishes and interiors

Modular homes are no longer generic—they’re premium, tailored, and on trend.

Why Bayleaf Modular Solutions?

Bayleaf Modular Solutions is committed to reshaping how Australians build. We provide fully customizable modular homes with a strong focus on design, quality, and efficiency.

Our approach includes:

Comprehensive site analysis and planning

Expert advice on regulatory compliance

Delivery and assembly across varied terrains

Contemporary, low-maintenance design packages

Whether you're developing a small housing project or a personal retreat, our team ensures your investment stands out.

Frequently Askd Questions

Are modular homes cheaper than traditional builds?

Modular homes typically cost 10–20% less due to reduced labour and time. However, the final cost depends on design, location, and site requirements.

Do prefab buildings comply with Australian building codes?

Yes. All our modular homes meet or exceed the National Construction Code and local council regulations.

Can modular homes be customized?

Absolutely. From floorplans to facades, our designs can be adapted to meet your preferences and site conditions.

How long does it take to build a modular home?

From design approval to handover, most modular homes are completed in 8 to 12 weeks after factory production begins.

Are modular homes suitable for investment or resale?

Yes. With rising demand and high energy efficiency, modular construction real estate offers excellent ROI and long-term value.

Final Thoughts: A Smarter Way to Build

The future of homebuilding in Australia is clear: modular construction is no longer the alternative—it’s the smarter, faster, and more flexible solution. From speed and sustainability to design and durability, modular homes are rewriting the rulebook on what it means to build well.Contact us today to explore modular building solutions that align with your goals, budget, and site—only at Bayleaf Modular Solutions.

[cooltron-fans]

Turnstile Cooling Fans: Reliable Thermal Solutions for Continuous Operation

Ensuring 24/7 Performance in High-Traffic Areas

In busy environments such as transportation hubs, commercial buildings, and public facilities, turnstiles must operate continuously without failure. Constant operation leads to internal heat buildup, which can cause electronic components to age prematurely, system lag, or even sudden shutdowns—disrupting traffic flow and degrading user experience. The solution? A high-performance turnstile cooling fan designed to maintain stable, efficient heat dissipation.

Cooltron: Your Trusted Thermal Management Partner

With 26 years of expertise in thermal solutions, Cooltron offers custom-designed cooling modules tailored for a variety of turnstile systems. Powered by our proprietary turbo-boost air duct technology, our cooling fans feature aerospace-grade aluminum alloy frames and dual ball bearing construction for unmatched durability and performance.

Key Advantages of Cooltron Turnstile Cooling Fans:

High-Efficiency Cooling: Airflow speed up to 5.2 m/s, delivering 40% greater heat dissipation compared to conventional solutions.

Ultra-Quiet Operation: Low-noise design (<25dB) ensures minimal disturbance in public areas such as subways and office buildings.

Exceptional Durability: IP55-rated for dust and water resistance, with a certified lifespan exceeding 100,000 hours; capable of operating in extreme temperatures from -30°C to 80°C.

Proven Reliability Across Multiple Applications

Metro Stations at Peak Hours: Cooltron fans prevent motherboard overheating in turnstiles, ensuring smooth, delay-free operation even during heavy passenger flow.

Outdoor Tourist Attractions: Advanced design balances internal and external air pressure, blocking rainwater intrusion while accelerating air circulation under direct sunlight.

Smart Office Buildings: Seamlessly integrated with access control terminals, our silent cooling systems provide reliable thermal management to enhance the modern workplace experience.

Why Choose Cooltron Turnstile Cooling Fans?

Trusted by over 300 global transportation projects, Cooltron’s modular design allows for quick, tool-free installation or replacement within 5 minutes. The built-in intelligent temperature control chip monitors real-time device temperatures, automatically adjusting fan speed to balance cooling efficiency with power consumption—helping clients reduce operating and maintenance costs by 30%.

Get Started Today!

Visit www.cooltron.com to download the full product catalog or contact sales.usa@cooltron.com for a customized thermal solution tailored to your turnstile systems.

[cal-on]

https://calonev.com/why-cal-on-evs-manufacturing-standards-set-a-new-benchmark-in-e-mobility/

Driving the Future of Green Mobility

India’s electric vehicle (EV) market is undergoing a revolutionary transformation, and at the heart of this shift stands CAL-ON EV, a company committed to reimagining mobility through precision, innovation, and sustainability. In an industry increasingly defined by performance, safety, and eco-consciousness, CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards have set an extraordinary benchmark in e-mobility manufacturing excellence.

This blog explores how CAL-ON EV’s quality assurance practices, cutting-edge production facilities, and relentless pursuit of sustainable electric vehicle manufacturing are elevating the brand as a symbol of reliable electric vehicles in India and global competitiveness.

1. The Foundation of Excellence: High-Quality EV Manufacturing in India

When it comes to high-quality EV manufacturing, CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards lead the charge by combining advanced automation, smart technologies, and precision engineering in EVs. The company leverages a state-of-the-art EV plant in India, equipped with AI-driven quality checks, robotic assembly lines, and lean production techniques that prioritize zero defects.

This focus on best practices in EV production has enabled CAL-ON to meet and exceed the most stringent EV safety standards in India, ensuring not only world-class performance but also driver and passenger safety.

2. Quality Assurance Beyond Industry Norms

CAL-ON EV quality assurance begins at the design table and continues through every stage of production. From component sourcing to final testing, CAL-ON integrates next-gen EV manufacturing systems that facilitate real-time feedback and automated quality control checkpoints.

Such robust quality control in EV production has helped CAL-ON build trust among its customers and industry partners. The rigorous inspection process—covering electrical safety, battery endurance, structural integrity, and software calibration—ensures that every vehicle meets benchmark EV production in India.

3. Innovation at the Core of CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards

Innovation isn’t just a buzzword at CAL-ON—it’s a philosophy. The brand’s R&D teams are constantly testing and implementing cutting-edge EV technology in India, including regenerative braking systems, advanced battery management, and IoT-enabled smart dashboards.

This spirit of CAL-ON electric vehicle innovation keeps the company ahead of the curve in delivering future-ready electric vehicles. It also fuels its mission of green technology in EVs, using lightweight composite materials, recyclable components, and energy-efficient assembly lines.

4. Smart Manufacturing in E-Mobility: An Industry Benchmark

Smart manufacturing in e-mobility is not just about digitizing processes—it’s about creating a connected ecosystem where every component, sensor, and module communicates seamlessly. CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards utilize predictive analytics, digital twins, and cloud-connected monitoring systems to anticipate issues before they arise and optimize production in real time.

This integration of technology and talent supports superior EV design and testing, enabling quicker prototyping, reduced production time, and improved reliability of end products.

5. Sustainability Built Into Every EV

The journey toward sustainable electric vehicle manufacturing involves minimizing carbon footprints and maximizing energy efficiency. CAL-ON’s facilities are designed for solar integration, rainwater harvesting, and responsible waste management. Its supply chain is curated to include vendors who align with green technology in EVs and follow ethical sourcing.

From eco-friendly paints to recyclable battery packs, sustainability is an integral part of CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards, underscoring their role as leaders in the Indian electric vehicle manufacturing benchmarks space.

6. Setting the Gold Standard for EV Safety in India

In the arena of EV safety standards in India, CAL-ON is a name synonymous with trust. Vehicles undergo over 200 individual safety tests, including frontal and side impact simulations, battery explosion resistance, and water-wading performance.

The company’s approach to best practices in EV production ensures all vehicles meet or exceed Bharat NCAP and AIS 038 safety requirements. Safety features like advanced driver-assistance systems (ADAS), traction control, and fail-safe battery cut-offs highlight their commitment to building reliable electric vehicles in India.

7. Precision Engineering in Every Bolt and Circuit

One of the defining traits of CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards is the company’s dedication to precision engineering in EVs. Whether it’s a bolt, wire, or sensor, every component is meticulously tested and positioned to achieve optimum performance and durability.

Such a focus on detail allows CAL-ON to perfect the balance between performance and economy, shaping vehicles that are both exhilarating to drive and cost-efficient to own.

8. The Indian EV Industry Growth and CAL-ON’s Role

The rapid Indian EV industry growth has been fueled by supportive policies, urbanization, and environmental awareness. But it’s brands like CAL-ON that are setting tangible benchmarks in EV manufacturing standards in India.

By aligning their processes with international certifications and constantly upgrading to newer technologies, CAL-ON is not just keeping pace—it is leading. The brand’s strategy is a case study in e-mobility manufacturing excellence, showcasing what’s possible when vision, technology, and talent converge.

9. Future-Ready and Built to Last

Future-ready electric vehicles are more than just EVs with modern tech-they are designed to evolve. With over-the-air (OTA) updates, modular battery architecture, and smart connectivity features, CAL-ON’s vehicles are built with tomorrow in mind.

Such a forward-thinking approach is embedded in CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards, ensuring longevity, scalability, and upgradability—traits that will be crucial as India transitions toward full-scale e-mobility.

10. The Benchmark for the EV Ecosystem in India

In a highly competitive market, CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards are helping redefine what it means to build an electric vehicle in India. Their model inspires confidence across stakeholders-customers, investors, government bodies, and supply chain partners.

This has led to the emergence of a new standard for benchmark EV production in India, paving the way for an ecosystem that’s not only profitable but also sustainable and socially responsible.

Conclusion: CAL-ON is the Future of EV Manufacturing in India

In conclusion, CAL-ON EV Manufacturing Standards represent more than just technical superiority-they embody a vision for smart manufacturing in e-mobility, rooted in sustainability, safety, and innovation. By consistently adhering to high-quality EV manufacturing, maintaining rigorous EV safety standards in India, and driving CAL-ON EV quality assurance, the company is spearheading a future where green mobility solutions in India are the norm, not the exception.

Whether you are an EV enthusiast, a policymaker, or a business looking to invest in the Indian electric vehicle manufacturing benchmarks, CAL-ON’s journey offers a roadmap to success. Their relentless commitment to next-gen EV manufacturing in India makes them the brand to watch in the electrified era ahead.

Also Read: Made in India, Built for the Future: The Manufacturing Journey of CAL-ON EV

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[koifishcomics]

the man behind the mask | jason todd bot

🦇

The aftermath of the fight hangs heavy in the air, your chest rising and falling rapidly with exertion, same as his. He was a fight to behold, all quick movements, muscles taut and springing into action quickly. He had trained hard to get where he was, that much was obvious at least to you.

He'd taken a few blows but seemed okay, back turned to you while he scanned the empty parking lot, the streets slick with rainwater underneath their boots.

That red helmet had a crack running down the front, the lights and voice modulator on the inside had gone out, but it served its purpose; protecting his head.

Turning to face you, looking over his shoulder, one of the lenses was missing. You could make out a green-blue eye looking right back at them.

You had worked alongside the Red Hood a few times now while doing hero business, but had never seen what he looked like under that red helmet. This was the most he had ever dared to show, never a peek of his jawline or the color of his eyes.

Red Hood sighed heavily, tiredly, weary. One gloved hand clawed at the back of the mask, pulling it over his head and letting it crash to the pavement, cracking even further.

Red shards fell from his dark, messy hair, a distinct white streak at the front, stuck to his forehead. At this point, he trusted you not to make a big deal of his face, as he shook the shards from his head and wiped it from his scarred, freckled face.

He issued no warnings, no demands or barked anything as he normally would. He was quiet, pretending to be distracted with getting all the red fragments off, watching them fall down to the red pavement. He'd have to clean it up later, he'd never be so sloppy to leave anything behind that could lead back to him.

“You did good.” He finally spoke, when he couldn't come up with anything else to say, lifting his gaze to land on yours, unrestricted by the mask for the first time.

🦇

link here!

[ravitechnicalblog]

Exploring the Potential of a 40ft Modular Home

The 40ft modular home is redefining modern living by offering a smart, sustainable, and cost-effective housing solution. Built from a 40-foot shipping container or modular unit, these compact dwellings combine practicality with style, making them an appealing choice for homeowners, investors, and minimalists alike.

What is a 40ft Modular Home?  A 40ft modular home is a prefabricated structure designed using a single 40-foot module, typically measuring around 320 square feet. Despite the compact size, these homes are intelligently designed to maximize space. With clever layouts and multifunctional furniture, they often include a cozy living area, kitchen, bathroom, and a bedroom or loft space. Modern modular homes also feature high-quality insulation, large windows for natural light, and eco-friendly materials.

Benefits of a 40ft Modular Home  One of the biggest advantages is affordability. Compared to traditional homes, 40ft modular homes are significantly less expensive to build and maintain. This makes them a great option for first-time buyers or those seeking a debt-free lifestyle. Additionally, because they’re factory-built, construction times are much faster — often just weeks instead of months.

Portability is another key benefit. A 40ft modular home can be transported to different locations, making it perfect for people who value mobility, such as remote workers or off-grid enthusiasts. Plus, their small footprint makes them ideal for tight urban lots, rural land, or even as a backyard granny flat or guesthouse.

Sustainability and Customization  Many 40ft modular homes are made from repurposed shipping containers, reducing waste and supporting eco-conscious building practices. Solar panels, rainwater harvesting systems, and energy-efficient appliances can further enhance sustainability.

These homes are also highly customizable. From exterior cladding and roofing to interior finishes and layout changes, you can tailor the design to suit your lifestyle and taste. Whether you prefer a sleek, modern look or a rustic cabin feel, the possibilities are extensive.

Conclusion  A 40ft modular home is more than just a trend — it’s a smart response to modern housing challenges. With a focus on affordability, sustainability, and flexibility, this compact living solution is opening new doors for people looking to downsize, invest, or embrace a minimalist lifestyle without compromising on comfort or quality.

[shadebaseshop]

The Smart Pod Garden Shed

The garden shed has developed significantly from being a rudimentary structure for storing pots and tools. The garden shed is being rethought in today's smart homes and multifunctional living environments as something far more flexible, effective, and intelligent. Meet the Smart Pod Garden Shed, a contemporary shed designed to address the changing demands of today's homeowners by combining technology, sustainability, and sophisticated aesthetics.

The Smart Pod Garden Shed fulfills all demands whether you seek a backyard office, a personal workshop, a quiet retreat, or just more clever storage.

What Is The Smart Pod Garden Shed?

More than simply a shed, the Smart Pod Garden Shed is a high-performance, prefabricated module meant to maximize your available outside area. Built using modern materials and intelligent features, the Smart Pod changes to fit your life. It serves various purposes including storage, work, or even a completely driven micro-living pod.

The idea is straightforward: modern design with smart technology helps to create a space that improves both form and function. The outcome is a garden design that resembles more an outbuilding off your house than an outside extension.

Smart Design, Inside And Out

Designed simply and modernly, the Smart Pod fits well with current outdoor settings. It has simple lines, environmentally friendly materials, and a small footprint that blends easily into gardens of every size.

Important Outside Features Include:

Weather proof materials: From composite cladding to powder-coated steel, the Smart Pod is constructed to resist rain, sun, and temperature changes.

Insulated walls and roofing: Designed for year-round use, the Smart Pod insulated walls and roofing helps to preserve interior comfort independent of outside conditions.

Sliding or bi-fold doors :maximize space, provide easy access and lots of natural light.

Green Roof Choices: complement garden surroundings nicely while also insulating and supporting biodiversity.

Inside the Smart Pod, versatility reigns supreme. Modular interior choices let you set the room—whether it be shelves for tools, a workbench, or perhaps a small desk with a lounge chair—to fit your requirements.

Built-In Technology For A Smarter Space

Smart technology built-in makes the Smart Pod Garden Shed special. This is a linked environment meant to make your life easier, safer, and more efficient, not only a shed with a power outlet.

Many typical smart features include:

Wi-Fi connectivity: Wi-Fi link makes remote work or music streaming while you garden or unwind easy by extending your home internet connection into your Garden Shed Base area.

App-controlled lighting And Climate: Using your phone or voice assistant, manage interior lights, fans, or heating components.

Security features: Motion sensors, smart locks, and surveillance cameras guard both the pod and its contents.

Solar Panel Integration: Some Smart Pods include roof-mounted solar panels, enabling you to sustainably power small appliances, devices, and lights.

The Smart Pod's design makes it not only more pleasant but also safer and more energy-efficient than a conventional shed.

Sustainability At Its Core

Eco-conscious homeowners are front of design for the Smart Pod. Sustainability is inherent in every aspect; it is not an afterthought.

Recycled and recyclable materials reduce environmental impact during manufacturing and end-of-life disposal.

Green roofs and walls improve insulation and air quality, while helping support pollinators and urban wildlife.

Rainwater collection systems can be added to water your garden or use for cleaning.

Low-energy LED lighting and smart climate control reduce power consumption and environmental footprint.

Selecting a Smart Pod is a responsible decision for the environment, your house, and your garden.

Easy Setup And Long-Term Value

Easy installation is planned for the Smart Pod. Many designs come in modular or prefabricated kits that require little tools to be put in a day. Some companies provide delivery and on-site installation, so allowing your garden to have a fully functional pod within hours—not weeks.

Apart from simply usefulness, the Smart Pod gives your home long-term worth. A well-designed, tech-integrated garden structure stands out for potential buyers and renters alike as outdoor living grows more prevalent.

The future Of Garden living

The Smart Pod Garden Shed represents a more general change in perspective on our houses and gardens. It's about designing adaptable, lovely, and efficient areas that enhance our daily life rather than only storing anything.

Whether you require a peaceful setting to work, a safe and weatherproof storage option, or a chic garden retreat, the Smart Pod is a forward-looking investment in the possibility of your house.

Final Thoughts

queries concerning developments or events occurring after that date. The Smart Pod Garden Shed represents a change in lifestyle, not just a goods purchase. Its combination of smart features, environmentally friendly design, modern looks reflects the direction of outdoor construction. The Smart Pod provides a creative, environmentally friendly, and intelligent answer for anyone wanting to rethinking their garden space.