#solar panel in series

[artisticgryfess]

the peanut butter cult, who live in the peanut butter desert, summons the peanut butter god by sacrificing a member of each of the 3 races (teddy graham, peep, gummy worm)

note the cult leader pictured in the first image, the altar visible in the second image, the frontal view of the peanut butter god in the third, the crowd of onlookers (and horror of the peanut butter god) in the fourth, and the summoning circle most clearly visible in the fifth and final photo.

this is what my family does to celebrate mother's and father's day: we make horrifying cake creations. the plan initially was to do a beach episode but now we're gonna do that next year

[solarpowernewz]

SunPower Solar Review 2023, M X U-Series solar panel Costs & Differences

In this article, we will discuss SunPower Solar Review 2023, M X U-Series solar panel Costs & Differences. Since 1985, SunPower has been a leader in the solar business and works to give customers a secure and dependable experience. The solar panel manufacturer and installer, situated in San Jose, California, currently provides services in all 50 states. The BBB rates SunPower with an A+, which is…

[evilgwrl]

TF 141 x Reader (Apocalypse!AU)

Immune: Four

WARNING: This is a 18+ Poly!141 series (MDNI)

CW: Drinking, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), orgasms!!! MDNI

Side note: The house has solar panels and though probably unrealistic, for the story they have some electricity

Masterlist

Price could see it. The nerves bubbling in your stomach, cheeks flushed with an ample shade of red.

He watched you turn, wet clothes drawn to your subtle curves, the swell of your hips outlined as you jogged away. He continued sweeping, smile evident through the crinkle of his eyes with an occasional glance at the door, hoping you would come back and tell him that you did in fact, need help keeping warm.

As soon as you stepped foot inside, you were darting past Gaz, tumbling straight to your bedroom. Your clothes were uncomfortable, sticking to your skin like a disease as you peeled them off and slapped them against the tub, a large thump ringing out.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, your upper half visible as you cupped the brassiere, Price’s words replaying in your mind as you stared, pushing your breasts together in an attempt to feel sexy before letting out a soft groan and unclipping it.

For the most part, you had made do with clothes, having brought a couple when things went to shit and you were somewhat glad that the woman who lived here before you wasn’t completely out of touch with her style. You smoothed the long sleeve down as you brushed your drenched hair out, ringing it into a bun.

You looked at yourself in the mirror, pulling at your cheeks before you began to talk in an attempt to see what they saw when they looked at you. You posed in the mirror before freezing, realising how ridiculous you were being before you plonked downstairs, the sound of your footsteps barely visible thanks to the massive socks you were wearing.

You rummaged through your bag that you had thrown to the side, stocking the cupboards with the tins you had found at the store and the large bag of sugar that you would hopefully be able to bake with, almost tempted to swallow a raw spoonful right now.

You heard the back door shut, a much wetter Price trailing in, stripping off his jacket. Your gaze faltered for a second, taking in the way his clothes clung to his frame, like he did to you, before you looked away.

“Need help?” He asked, his tone almost soothing.

“Didn’t get much, just some tinned vegetables and a bag of sugar. The rest is personal.”

Blue eyes flickered to your bag in curiosity, the hint of a black lid poking out through the top as he raised a thick brow at you. His laugh was almost dry as he walked over and grabbed it, holding it up to the light as the caramel hues swished around.

He muttered something along the lines of, ‘I’ll be damned’ before placing it back on the counter. He paused for a moment, taking you in, the way your lips slightly parted, eyebrows slightly clenched, almost like you wanted to look intimidating and the way your eyes would drop when he looked at you for too long, struggling to find something in the room to focus on.

“You let me know if you need any help with your personal issues, yeah?”

He was talking about drinking the whiskey, you know that, but the way his eyes flickered to your chest, shirt slightly clung to you, the gentle outline of your nipples coaxing through the thin material had your heart pumping faster.

Time passed as you continued to sew, holding the fabric up to yourself, a row of pins stabbed into a tiny cushion to your side. Gaz had settled in the lounge room next to you, eyes occasionally darting to watch you before returning to the page of his book.

You yelped, a loud thump bellowing from outside as you took in the burly frames of two men… and the dead deer laying on the porch. A small buzz sounded through your ears as you looked down, your needle winced through your skin, a shock jolting through you as you picked it out, the instant welcoming of blood streaming down your finger.

Gaz looked at you and then down to your finger, blood evidently slithering down it as he jumped up. “Shit, you ok?”

You nodded, clutching it as you walked over to the sink, an evident wince jolting your frame as you held it under the tap.

“Ay bonnie, didn’t mean to scare you. Y’ alright?” The Scotsman said, stepping inside the house as he shook off like a dog.

“I’m fine,” you muttered as you felt Gaz’s hand grab yours, holding a wet wad of toilet paper to the tiny, yet painful, wound.

“You got bandages?” He said, voice almost a whisper, like it was only meant for you to hear.

“Inside the shared bathroom upstairs, under the cabinet.” Your tone was gentle, it almost felt unusual to use. You watched him nod, bolting upstairs as Soap rushed over, his mohawk extra pointy due to the rain causing a light laugh to pass your lips.

“Aye lass, I’m sorry,” he said, hand wrapping around your finger as he pressed tightly on the wound to constrict the bleeding. Your body twitched slightly, as the pain began to subside at the pressure.

Gaz walked back over, gently unwrapping the makeshift cotton bud as he wrapped the plaster around it, a small prickle of blood quickly disappearing under the sticky beige. You rustled away from the pair as you walked back over to the couch.

Ghost stood there, eyes focused on your every move.

“You’re dripping all over the floor,” you muttered, his gaze dropping to the small puddle he was forming at his feet before he grunted, heavy feet stomping up the stairs.

“Y’ making a skirt?” Soap asked, tone curious as he held up the fabric before plonking down next to you, his weight causing u to sink further into the old couch.

“Trying to,” you replied, taking the skirt from him and placing it on the plush mannequin you found hidden away in the basement months ago.

“Looks good,” Gaz interjected, taking a seat across from you both.

You frowned, suddenly overwhelmed as you looked at the carcass on the porch. “You should prepare that before flies get to it,” you snap, voice coming off more harsh than you intended it too as you glanced at the deer, Soap agreeing with a smile before him and Gaz disappeared out the back door.

It was strange, you weren’t used to sound, especially not the sound of four men. It made your toes curl, heat coiling in your belly both in anxiety… and in more, yet you couldn’t quite place it.

You felt out of place in your own home as you managed to slink out of your room before walking back and forth infront of the stairs, overthinking your entrance.

You weren’t sure why it mattered so much. None of this was permanent. Sure, you had four giant (and good looking) military men laughing and talking in your kitchen. Nothing major.

Your feet graced the stairs as you braced yourself, stomach in tight fits of heat as you entered the kitchen, their voices hushing as they looked at you.

“Hope you don’t mind that we cooked,” Soap quipped, bright smile on his face as he gestured towards the prepared food.

“No, that’s good, thank you,” you say, voice shallow, almost hesitant. They led themselves to the dining room as you paused, glancing towards your half open bag. With five glasses in your hand and a plate of food in the other, you looked down at the heavy bottle wedged in your pants pocket, almost nervous they would drag them down.

You entered and hesitantly placed the glasses on the table along with your food before sitting. Everyone paused for a moment, the room silent before you awkwardly held up the bottle of whiskey, shy smile on your face as they erupted in bashful cheers. You could even almost notice a small smile under Ghost’s mask.

The night felt more fitting now, your body feeling more relaxed and loose as you took a swig out of your glass. Your throat burned for a second, eyes welling with tears as you forced the mixture down your throat before you sighed, heat spreading through your chest as you passed the bottle to Gaz.

“You ain’ told us much about yourself bonnie, let us know who you wer’ before all this shite occurred,” Soap slurred, accent heavier in his slightly drunken state.

You hiccuped, the whiskey making you feel more comfortable as you tried to remember what life was like 297 days ago. “Um, well I turned 24 just before everything began and I worked at a, um, medical centre about four hours from here I guess. My dad owned a restaurant so I worked there occasionally when he needed it but for the most part I lived with my, uh, bestfriend.”

“An’ what happened to her?” Soap blurted as Gaz nudged him, noticing the way your eyes looked down for a second.

“She didn’t make it. She actually,” you paused, “She actually shoved me into a crowd of zombies to escape but uh, I guess it didn’t really work out for her.” You debated telling them that somehow, for some inapplicable reason, you were invisible, immune, to the walking dead. But you didn’t.

“How’d ya survive that?” A gruff voice said as you snapped your eyes to Ghost.

“Don’t know. She had cut her hand open and she was making a lot of noise… guess she looked more edible,” you said, letting out a dry laugh to lighten the mood.

“Doubt that,” Price grumbled, taking a swig as you blushed at his innuendo.

“Um, what about you guys? You were in the military, how was it?”

They laughed.

“It was what it was. We were damn good at it, all of us, I’ll tell you that much,” Price laughed, a hand clamping Ghost’s shoulder for a second before they turned back to you.

You smiled before you looked outside, the dull light above you imposing a low glow across the room. The wind was harshing, rattling against the windows as rain poured down. They followed your gaze as you cleared your throat.

“I can’t send you guys out in that weather,” you began, almost losing your confidence as they looked at you, hopeful gleams on their faces, “you guys are welcome to stay another night, AS LONG as someone wakes up tomorrow and feeds the animals. I would like a sleep in.”

“Aye lass, I’ll do it,” Soap cheered, harsh hand slapping the table as he poured another shout out for everyone. You watched him hold his glass in the air, gesturing that he wanted to cheers before you reluctantly clinked the glasses together, another rowdy chorus coming from both him and Gaz.

You weren’t quite sure what time it was, all you had known was you had been sitting down here, huddled around the dining table drinking and talking for hours. It was calm, entertaining almost.

Gaz was rambling on about a mission they had done a while back, something about terrorists as you slightly zoned out, eyes fixated on the bulging veins running up Ghost’s forearm.

Price cleared his throat as you looked up. “Don’t be zoning out on us bonnie, I was asking if you had a boyfriend,” Soap hiccuped, drunk out of his mind.

“Okay,” you said, dragging out the y, “it is time for me to head to bed. Goodnight everyone.” You heard a chorus of groans as you waved while exiting, subtle smile laced across your face as you stumbled up the stairs.

You changed, tucking yourself in slightly as you closed your blinds. You stilled at the soft knock on the door, the familiar face of Price peaking through before gently opening it fully.

“Hey, love,” he murmured, “Sorry about Soap, lad gets a bit too confident when he’s drunk.”

You looked at him, the heat of the alcohol still pulling in your chest, nestling in the crevice of your belly as you offered him a polite smile.

“It’s okay, wasn’t uncomfortable by anything, just thought it would be my queue to head up.” He nodded in reply. You could feel his hesitation, one foot in the door, the other out as he attempted to conjure something to say.

You stood up, looking up at him as you let out a low breath. No one said anything, both barely moved, bodies parallel, eyes locked. You felt Price push a strand of hair behind your ear, delicate eyes landing on your lips before looking back up.

Your pupils flickered back and forth, looking at him, almost waiting as he did the same before you licked your lips, coating them with a layer of saliva before gently nodding. You didn’t even need to say anything, he knew.

His lips tasted of whiskey, soft beard gently scratching against your cheeks as your teeth kissed. You felt the door shut, his hands reaching down to grope your ass, fingers nimbly digging into the flesh as you both tumbled backwards, lips interlocked.

Your back fell flush against your pillow, rough hands sliding underneath your shirt, mauling at your tits before resting on your nipples, hardened buds puckering through your shirt as he groaned. His hands were desperate as he pulled your top up, sucking in a deep breath as he took in the sight of your bare chest.

“Jesus,” he whispered and you would’ve missed it if you weren’t so focused on his swollen lips, your hands pulling him by the back of the neck into you again. You both groaned against each others mouths, tongues lapping up the taste of each other and the taste of the alcohol that stained your mouths.

Price’s hands grabbed at your chest, fingers rolling your nipples in between each other, a soft gasp leaving your mouth before you watched him pull away, bending down to take one into his mouth.

You let out a guttural groan, your hand slapping across your lips to conceal yourself from making too much noise. He didn’t break eye contact, cerulean voids staring back at you, hands pawing your free breast and your waist, rubbing and kneading.

You felt his hands tugging at your pants, hips raising automatically for him to remove them. Thank God you shaved earlier. He let out a dry laugh, the evident patch of arousal staining your panties a darker shade of grey as you felt his thumb press against the middle, smearing it around.

“Do you want this?” He asked, thumb stilling for a second as he looked at you for any signs of hesitation. You nodded, head bobbing desperately as you bucked your hips for some friction before his hand crashed down, holding you in place.

“I need to hear you say it.”

“Y-Yes, yes, I want this,” you rushed out before you let out a gentle whine, thumb pressing against your clothed clit, applying a teasing amount of pressure. You relaxed against the pillow, your neck on display as he took initiative, lips grazing against the tender skin as he sucked and licked, no doubt leaving an obvious mark, a claim.

“Gotta take these off,” he spat, hands gripping at the lace, practically burning the fabric against your skin as he ripped them off. You shut your legs instinctively, a harsh slap landing on your thigh as you yelped. “Keep em open sweetheart.”

Your lips were a mix of breathy whines and soft pants as you felt his lips against your thigh, the prickle of his facial hair adding to your desperation as you bucked your hips, his veiny hand landing on your stomach to hold you in place.

You almost screamed in need as you felt his lip against your clit, merely kissing it before you felt his hand touch over it, your heat most likely radiating off of you before two fingers spread you apart, slick clinging to your sex as you let out a muffled whine of humiliation. You were so bare to his eyes, so exposed. You heard him shudder, eyes looking up at you before back down to your pussy, clit throbbing in anticipation.

The guttural sound that escape your mouth when you felt his tongue lick a stripe of your slit was borderline embarrassing as your thighs clamped around his head. Price’s tongue was impetuous as he licked, slurping up whatever he could taste of you as you bucked and whined.

Clammy hands pawed at your tits as he watched your face scrunch up in pleasure, eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he lapped like a madman. You felt him everywhere, the taste of him in your mouth, his hands on your chest and his lips on your wet cunt, eating as if it was his last meal.

You hadn’t felt this good in - ever. It took 24 years of your life and an apocalypse to finally get your pussy ate right.

You mewled at the overwhelming sensation, the coil quickly building up in your belly, aggravated to release as his lips wrapped around your clit, sucking, as you nearly screamed in pure ecstasy. You were a sight of pathetic moans, hips greedily grinding against his face as you reached your high.

“Don’t stop, please, don’t stop,” you whined as you felt his tongue dive back down, plunging at your leaking hole, nose rubbing against your sensitive bud as you whined, the overwhelming feeling of him pulling at your nipples sending you into an overdrive as you threw your head back.

Your back arched, head throwing itself back along with your eyes as your legs shook. You could feel your pussy clenching around his tongue as rough skin met your clit, pinching slightly as you squealed, your body wracking with overstimulation.

“That’s it baby, take what you need,” he groaned against your sex, tongue continuing to lap at your newly spilling juices, strings of your slick coating his beard and moustache just like you imagined it that first night.

You felt his fingers prodding at your entrance before you gasped, the stretch of his two fingers (equaling probably 3.. maybe 4 of yours) burned through your body as you felt his other hand moving circles around your twitching clit, the need to orgasm already coaxing through you again at the overstimulation.

His fingers moved slowly, feeling around your gummy walls, searching for your sweet spot before your body jerked. There it was.

It was a continuous movement, rubbing and nudging continuously at the place that had you practically gnawing into your fist. His fingers almost scissoring you open before his mouth latched down again, licking greedily at the flowing slick.

A strings of expletives left your mouth as you gripped his hair, tugging at the roots, your spare hand toying with your own nipples as you watched him fuck you open on his massive digits.

“This what you needed, huh? Needed to be fucked out on someone’s fingers? Did yours make you feel like this baby?” He cooed, tongue lapping lazily against your clit as he watched you shake your head furiously, pants leaving your lips like a dog without water as you chased your second high.

“I’m gonna-“ you began before you practically screamed out, his lips sucking against your clit again, fingers fucking into you at the perfect speed, filling every corner with pure bliss before you were coming again, hips bucking as your legs vibrated against his shoulders, a small line of drool pooling out of your lips as he fingered you through your orgasm.

“Just like that love, such a good fucking girl.” His voice was almost a growl, fingers slowing down as he slurped, his head resting against your thigh as he watched your fucked out expression.

He didn’t stop, his movements only becoming more gentle before you whined, nudging his head away at the overstimulation. You felt empty when he pulled his fingers out as you looked down at your pussy, your clit swollen, the crevice of your ass coated with your slick, a soft pool leaking onto your blankets.

The bed jerked as he got up, the leaky sound of the tap opening almost startling you before he came back. “Open em love,” he murmured as you obliged. The damp towelette soothed you as he wiped you up, cleaning you up before chucking it in the bath. “Can wash that tomorrow,” he hummed before looking at you, still standing.

“Did you want me to le-“

You shook your head, cutting him off. “Need to take you up on that offer of keeping me warm. Is that ok?”

“More than.”

[a-reader-and-a-writer]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 1

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: When you try to surprise your brother with a visit in the hopes of mending your strained relationship, it does not go as planned. Rudely dismissed by Scott, you decide to get a little revenge. And who better to do it with than the head Tornado Wrangler himself... Word Count: 3509 TW: Family Conflict, Brief Mention of Reader's Clothes/Breasts, Unsucessful Flirting, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Grabbing your backpack off the seat beside you, you stood and joined the crowd of passengers making their way to the front of the bus. You stopped to let an elderly couple join the line in front of you and used the momentary pause to glance out the window at your destination. A small diner in need of a fresh coat of paint and a good window washing sat off to the left while several rows of gas pumps were lined up on the right. Trucks, vans, campers, and SUVs filled almost every parking spot and spilled into the grassy field around the lot. Some vehicles were ancient, rusted machines that barely looked driveable while others were so fresh and high-tech they could have just been driven off a lot. Those were the vehicles you were looking for.

Stepping off the bus, you headed towards the group of four shiny new vehicles on the other end of the parking lot. On the way, your head was on a constant swivel as you took in everything around you: a middle-aged couple arguing loudly about who forgot to tie down the lawn chairs the last time they stopped, a somewhat familiar-looking man in a cowboy hat unloading a piece of equipment from his huge red truck while another long-haired man filmed him, a woman with dreadlocks fiddling with a remote control only for a large drone to drop out of the sky a moment later and land at her feet, a few children racing towards the diner with their exasperated mother trailing behind yelling at them to watch where they were going. 

It was utter chaos and you loved it already. 

As you approached the vehicles, you saw the Storm PAR logos printed on the sides and breathed a sigh of relief that after this sixth bus stop, you had finally tracked them down. You still didn’t see who you were looking for, so you walked up to a man with dark curly hair wearing a white button-down Storm PAR shirt who was currently crouched down examining a weird solar panel-looking piece of equipment set up next to one of the vans. As you cleared your throat, he looked up from the machine and blinked, as if he was shocked to see someone standing there despite the crowds of people around him. Glancing around, he asked, “Um…can I help you?”

You guess you shouldn’t be too surprised by his reaction. In your cut-off shorts, boots, and halter top, you looked like you should be hanging out one of the trucks you passed when you first got off the bus, not the polished, company polo shirt-wearing tech heads milling around the Storm PAR vehicles. And you didn’t even want to know what your hair and makeup looked like after four hours on that poorly air-conditioned packed bus. 

So, instead of taking offense at this guy’s slightly dismissive tone, you smiled as you adjusted the backpack on your shoulder. “Hi. I’m looking for Scott.”

The man glanced over his shoulder but made no move to stand up. “He’s here but he’s in the middle of some data calculations. Can I help you with something?”

“Not really. I had time off college and he mentioned you guys were having a really active season so I figured why not come out and see all this in action.” The man was still looking at you like he couldn’t understand why you were talking to him and you suddenly realized you hadn’t explained the most important detail. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I should have mentioned, Scotty’s my older brother.”

Instantly, the man’s demeanor shifted and a huge toothy smile spread across his face. “Oh! You should have led with that. Nice to meet you.”

Rising to his feet, he stuck out his hand and you shook it, officially introducing yourself. When he said his name was Javi Rivera and it was your turn for things to click into place. “Javi! You’re Scotty’s business partner, right? He’s told me about you.”

Javi let your hand drop and his eyes shifted towards his equipment once more. “Really? Well, um, you know, I’ve, uh, heard great things about you too.”

You grinned, grabbing onto the straps of your backpack. “Scotty never even mentioned he had a sister, did he?” Javi gave a slight shrug, still not looking directly at you and you laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Never wants to get personal, everything’s about business with him. To be honest, I don’t see or hear from him that much which is just another reason I figured I’d come surprise him when I had the chance. Plus, I read some research Scotty left lying around last time he came home and it was really interesting. I’m excited to be able to see what you guys do firsthand.” 

“Well, I’m sure Scotty will be glad to see you. Let me go grab him.”

Javi turned and disappeared into one of the vans. A moment later, he returned with your brother following closely behind. “Javi, I was in the middle of some important calculations. Why did I have to–” Scott stumbled to a stop as he saw you standing there.

Since he was a teenager, Scott had mastered the art of keeping his emotions hidden. He could be fuming mad, joyously happy, or heartbrokenly sad, and in each case keep the same perfect mask on his face. However, you knew his one tell. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his eyes. And right now, you could practically see flames burning within them. 

For the first time, you wondered if coming to see him had been such a good idea. Shifting from one foot to the other, you tried to force a smile as you half-heartedly held out your arms. “Surprise.”

Scott remained rooted to the spot, his only movement the constant forceful chewing of his gum. Javi glanced back and forth between the two of you, the smile slowly draining from his face. Hesitantly, he explained, “She said she was your sister so I figured…”

A cultivated smile spread across Scott’s lips but it didn’t reach his eyes as they continued to burn into yours. “No, it’s all good. I’m just surprised to see her.” Without breaking eye contact, he held his tablet out to Javi who took it from him. “Give me a few minutes to talk to her and then I’ll get back to those numbers.”

Javi started to protest, assuring him there was no rush and he could take his time, but Scott had already closed the distance between you. Grabbing your arm tightly to the point of slight painfulness, he guided you past the rest of the Storm PAR vehicles and into the empty field. 

Once you were far enough away that you knew none of his co-workers could hear you, you wrenched your arm from his grasp, snapping, “Get off of me!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, his mask finally slipping as his nostrils flared and lips curled into a snarl.

“Well, hello to you too!” You examined your arm where he had grabbed you, massaging it gently. “Can’t a girl come visit her big brother?”

“Not when she wasn’t invited or even asked if she could come beforehand! What were you thinking? This isn’t one of your wild party vacations. This is my job!”

“I know that. I wasn’t expecting you to drop everything and take me sightseeing. I just thought I could hang around and watch you guys in action. I’ve read some of the research you left at Christmas and I was hoping maybe I could learn a little more about it.”

Scott shook his head, his hands on his hips. “This is our busiest time of the season. I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“What do you think I am? Eight? I don’t need you to babysit me. I told you, I’m interested in what you do and thought I could just hang around and see how it all works.” You shrugged, “Maybe you could even take me on a chase or two.”

“Hell no. I won’t have you getting scared and causing us to have to turn around in the middle of a storm run. Javi and I have worked too hard to get this company to where it is and I’m not going to let you ruin that because, on a whim, you thought it would be fun to see a storm.” Scott scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “It’s so typical of you to still think that just because you want something or because Mom and Dad will pay for it, everyone else will bend over backward to accommodate you. Well, I don’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore.”

You took several deep breaths and tried to keep your anger in check. This was not at all how you thought this would go, but lashing out right now would only make things worse. So, in a calm, steady voice, you tried to shift approaches. “Scotty, we haven’t spent any real time together since you left for MIT. And back then…I’m not proud of the person I was and I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. But I was a kid who didn’t know any better! I’ve grown up since you left. And this trip isn’t just something I thought would be fun to do ‘on a whim’. I worked hard to save up the money to come here because I wanted to see you and spend time with you—however little time you may be able to work into your schedule. And I promise I won’t get scared or make you stop your chase. If I don’t like it, I’ll suck it up until it’s over then not ask to go again.” Taking a step forward, you gently placed your hand on his arm and gave him a timid smile. “Let me show you who I am now…how much I’ve changed. Please, Scotty.”

But Scott yanked his arm away and took a step back. “I don’t care where you go, but you need to stay away from me and Storm PAR. Now, I have work to do.” He took one last look at you, and, for just a moment, you thought maybe he felt bad for what he said and was reconsidering things. But then, he blew a small bubble with his gum and popped it loudly in your face. You jumped slightly, the sound sharp and startling, before glaring at him. He had been doing that since you were kids and he knew how much you absolutely despised it. Shooting you one last smug smirk, Scott turned and walked off towards the cluster of Storm PAR vehicles. 

You turned to look out into the open field, lip quivering, as you fought against the tears that were burning your eyes. Things between you and Scott had been pretty bad when he left for college, but you hadn’t realized he still really thought so poorly of you. The last few holidays or family events he had been forced to come to, things seemed to be getting a little better. You thought that maybe you had reached a turning point in your relationship. But now it was clear you had been very wrong.

Looking back at the diner and overflow of vehicles, you wondered what you should do now. You had no idea when the next bus came by or how to get a ticket home or if there was a motel nearby you could stay in for the night or how you would even get there if there was or what you would do in the morning or—

UGH! The longer you stared at the Storm PAR logo on the side of the van Scott had disappeared into, the less hurt you felt. Instead, the pain began to shift into outrage. How dare Scott treat you like this? You had spent a lot of money and wasted two weeks of your summer vacation to take this trip to see him. You knew it would involve listening to him drone on about numbers and graphs you could barely comprehend for most of the time, but you were willing to smile, nod, and seem interested to show you cared about what he did. But no! He didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself or prove that you weren’t here to interfere with his work. He had just torn you down before turning his back on you and walking away. That asshole!

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky and you realized standing here fuming about Scott wasn’t going to help your situation. You could do that once you found a bus schedule or a place to stay for the night. However, as you stormed back through the parking lot, something caught your eye. 

When you had come through the first time and passed the familiar-looking man and the long-haired guy with the camera, you had only seen their truck from behind. But now that you were looking at the front, you noticed the distinctive metal logo attached to the front of the truck’s grille: a tornado with horns jutting out the top of the vortex. And you realized why the man in the cowboy hat looked familiar. 

Scott might not talk to you very often, but during the instances that he had, you had heard plenty of complaints about Tyler Owens and his group of Tornado Wranglers. Everything they did was the complete opposite of how Storm PAR operated and it drove Scott crazy that while he was out there doing the “real work”, this group of amateur YouTube chasers were the ones getting all the attention and acclaim when all they were really doing was getting in Storm PAR’s way. 

And Scott seemed to have another level of hatred for Owens himself.    

Out of curiosity, you had looked up the Wranglers’ YouTube channel and found it pretty entertaining. While Scott viewed every aspect of his work with complete seriousness and professionalism, these guys tackled the same work like they were having the time of their lives. They were still informative, explaining to their viewers how tornadoes formed and the types of destruction they can cause, but they would then drive straight into the center of a funnel or take chat requests of crazy things to do in the storm. It honestly seemed like a great way to get people excited about learning about tornadoes while also keeping them entertained. And it seemed like their nearly 850,000 followers would agree. No wonder Scott hated them so much. 

Suddenly, you had an idea—the perfect little act of revenge.

Changing directions, you made your way over to Owens’s truck. You could see he was now alone, tinkering with the equipment attached to the bed of his truck. He had traded his white cowboy hat for a faded backward cap and had pushed his sleeves up above his elbows as he worked, his sun-bronzed skin on full display in the dying light.

Though you had only watched a handful of the Tornado Wranglers’ videos, you had a pretty good idea of the kind of man Tyler Owens was and how you could persuade him to help you. After all, these narcissistic, jacked-up truck-driving, overcompensating pretty boys were all the same. The kind who had been fawned and swooned over their entire adult lives just because they flashed a charming smile or a playful wink in the right direction. However, with just a little stroking of their ego or a bat of your eyes, they could become putty in your hands. All you had to do was introduce yourself.

Reaching the side of the truck, you tucked your hands into your back pockets so it thrust your chest forward and, biting your lip, called out coyly, “Hey there, cowboy.”

Owens glanced up, a curious smile curling across his lips as he saw you, his eyes traveling from your head to boot and back up. “Well, hello there.”

Giggling softly as you placed your hand on the side railing, you asked in a sing-songy voice, “You’re Tyler, right? The big...bad…tornado wrangler?” With each word, you walked your fingers across the railing, your eyes locked on his.

He leaned back, wiped his hands on his jeans, and said, “I might be. Depends on who’s asking.” He was still looking at you but his smile had slipped slightly and you realized you might not have grabbed his attention as well as you thought.

Placing both hands on the railing now, you pushed yourself up slightly, your chest pressed together, and you looked up at him from under your lashes. “What if I’m asking?”

Owens stared at you for a long moment, his eyes still examining you thoughtfully, though you were shocked to see they stayed locked on your face and didn’t dip down to your breast like you had expected. Then, finally, he said, “You seem like a nice girl, sweetheart, but I don't think I'm what you're looking for. Good luck though.” He gave you a kind, yet dismissive nod, and went back to whatever he had been working on.

Your jaw dropped, lips moving silently as you tried to figure out what just happened. This kind of thing always worked on guys like him in the past. Show a little skin, stroke their egos a little, and they would be wrapped around your finger in no time. But he hadn’t even given your act more than a passing glance. It was possible you weren’t his type or maybe he was in a committed relationship, but neither of those things had exactly deterred guys in the past. 

You turned around—properly dismissed—and were just about to walk away when another thought crossed your mind. What if…what if you had misjudged him? What if he wasn’t the kind of guy you assumed he was? From what you had seen in his videos, he was cocky and overconfident and a huge flirt, but what if that was all for the cameras? During your very brief interaction, he seemed polite and respectful even as you tried to throw yourself at him, something no other guy had ever done in that situation. 

Maybe you had gone about this all wrong. Maybe you needed a different approach. A more honest one…

You hurried around the other side of the truck so you were in front of him once more. Dropping all the over-the-top flirtatiousness from your voice, you said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I thought…it doesn’t matter what I thought, but the point is I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve had a really shitty day and approached this situation all wrong.”

Owens didn’t raise his head, but his eyes drifted back in your direction. Feeling like he was offering you a chance, you explained, “Listen, the deal is I came here to surprise my brother with a visit, and as soon as he saw me, he told me he doesn’t want me here and I should fuck off out of his way.”

That got his attention. Looking up, his brow furrowed, Owens asked, “Your brother said that to you?”

You rolled your eyes and hit the heel of your palm against the side of the truck. “Well, not in those exact words but the sentiment was there. The point is, he told me he didn’t care where I went as long as I left him and his team alone. So, I plan on respecting his wishes…and wondered if I could hang out with your team instead.”

“Well–” He leaned back, clearly not interested in your request, but you cut him off before he could turn you down.

“Please! It’ll just be for a day or two. I promise not to get in the way or mess with any of your work. I just know he has a problem with you guys and seeing me with you will drive him insane.” 

Putting down the wrench he was holding, Owens shook his head. “Back up…who are we talking about now? Who’s your brother?”

You realized you needed to get better at introducing people into a conversation before jumping right in. “Scott? He works for Storm PAR?” He hesitated so you sighed and turned towards the other group of storm chasers at the other end of the lot. With one hand on your hip, you pointed lazily with the other, “The surly tall one who never takes off his stupid baseball cap?”

Instantly, Owens straightened up and you knew you had piqued his interest. Chuckling, he asked, “Wait, so you’re telling me Mr. Clipboard and Chewing Gum is your brother?” You nodded. “And you want my help messing with him?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up. So, will you do it?”

The cowboy leaned over the side of the truck and gave you a wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve come to the right place.”

Part 2 coming 8/19!

Tag list: @green-socks, @mayhem24-7forever, @blue-aconite, @hederasgarden, @writercole,

@ryebecca, @heart-0n-fire, @nerdysuperchick, @ohtobeleah, @slightly-psycho-multifan,

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@hopeurokays, @lonelysoul50, @bobfloydssunnies, @rebra1863, @mirrorball-6,

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@how-what-why-huh, @axolotllover225, @holybatflapexpert, @princesssterek, @autumnleaves1991-blog

@cevansbaby-dove, @mrsyixingunicorn10, @fandomprincess1994 

[a-reader-and-a-writer-for-all]

Sweeter Than Revenge Part 1

Fandom: Twisters, Tyler Owens, f!reader, Scott's Sister!reader Summary: When you try to surprise your brother with a visit in the hopes of mending your strained relationship, it does not go as planned. Rudely dismissed by Scott, you decide to get a little revenge. And who better to do it with than the head Tornado Wrangler himself... Word Count: 3509 TW: Family Conflict, Brief Mention of Reader's Clothes/Breasts, Unsucessful Flirting, Language Notes: A massive thank you to @blue-aconite and @green-socks for reading this over for me and for all the constant support! And to @mayhem24-7forever for always answering my late-night panicked messages

Divider created by me (please ask/credit before using)

Series Masterlist

Grabbing your backpack off the seat beside you, you stood and joined the crowd of passengers making their way to the front of the bus. You stopped to let an elderly couple join the line in front of you and used the momentary pause to glance out the window at your destination. A small diner in need of a fresh coat of paint and a good window washing sat off to the left while several rows of gas pumps were lined up on the right. Trucks, vans, campers, and SUVs filled almost every parking spot and spilled into the grassy field around the lot. Some vehicles were ancient, rusted machines that barely looked driveable while others were so fresh and high-tech they could have just been driven off a lot. Those were the vehicles you were looking for.

Stepping off the bus, you headed towards the group of four shiny new vehicles on the other end of the parking lot. On the way, your head was on a constant swivel as you took in everything around you: a middle-aged couple arguing loudly about who forgot to tie down the lawn chairs the last time they stopped, a somewhat familiar-looking man in a cowboy hat unloading a piece of equipment from his huge red truck while another long-haired man filmed him, a woman with dreadlocks fiddling with a remote control only for a large drone to drop out of the sky a moment later and land at her feet, a few children racing towards the diner with their exasperated mother trailing behind yelling at them to watch where they were going. 

It was utter chaos and you loved it already. 

As you approached the vehicles, you saw the Storm PAR logos printed on the sides and breathed a sigh of relief that after this sixth bus stop, you had finally tracked them down. You still didn’t see who you were looking for, so you walked up to a man with dark curly hair wearing a white button-down Storm PAR shirt who was currently crouched down examining a weird solar panel-looking piece of equipment set up next to one of the vans. As you cleared your throat, he looked up from the machine and blinked, as if he was shocked to see someone standing there despite the crowds of people around him. Glancing around, he asked, “Um…can I help you?”

You guess you shouldn’t be too surprised by his reaction. In your cut-off shorts, boots, and halter top, you looked like you should be hanging out one of the trucks you passed when you first got off the bus, not the polished, company polo shirt-wearing tech heads milling around the Storm PAR vehicles. And you didn’t even want to know what your hair and makeup looked like after four hours on that poorly air-conditioned packed bus. 

So, instead of taking offense at this guy’s slightly dismissive tone, you smiled as you adjusted the backpack on your shoulder. “Hi. I’m looking for Scott.”

The man glanced over his shoulder but made no move to stand up. “He’s here but he’s in the middle of some data calculations. Can I help you with something?”

“Not really. I had time off college and he mentioned you guys were having a really active season so I figured why not come out and see all this in action.” The man was still looking at you like he couldn’t understand why you were talking to him and you suddenly realized you hadn’t explained the most important detail. “Fuck, I’m sorry. I guess I should have mentioned, Scotty’s my older brother.”

Instantly, the man’s demeanor shifted and a huge toothy smile spread across his face. “Oh! You should have led with that. Nice to meet you.”

Rising to his feet, he stuck out his hand and you shook it, officially introducing yourself. When he said his name was Javi Rivera and it was your turn for things to click into place. “Javi! You’re Scotty’s business partner, right? He’s told me about you.”

Javi let your hand drop and his eyes shifted towards his equipment once more. “Really? Well, um, you know, I’ve, uh, heard great things about you too.”

You grinned, grabbing onto the straps of your backpack. “Scotty never even mentioned he had a sister, did he?” Javi gave a slight shrug, still not looking directly at you and you laughed. “Yeah, that sounds like him. Never wants to get personal, everything’s about business with him. To be honest, I don’t see or hear from him that much which is just another reason I figured I’d come surprise him when I had the chance. Plus, I read some research Scotty left lying around last time he came home and it was really interesting. I’m excited to be able to see what you guys do firsthand.” 

“Well, I’m sure Scotty will be glad to see you. Let me go grab him.”

Javi turned and disappeared into one of the vans. A moment later, he returned with your brother following closely behind. “Javi, I was in the middle of some important calculations. Why did I have to–” Scott stumbled to a stop as he saw you standing there.

Since he was a teenager, Scott had mastered the art of keeping his emotions hidden. He could be fuming mad, joyously happy, or heartbrokenly sad, and in each case keep the same perfect mask on his face. However, you knew his one tell. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t keep the emotion out of his eyes. And right now, you could practically see flames burning within them. 

For the first time, you wondered if coming to see him had been such a good idea. Shifting from one foot to the other, you tried to force a smile as you half-heartedly held out your arms. “Surprise.”

Scott remained rooted to the spot, his only movement the constant forceful chewing of his gum. Javi glanced back and forth between the two of you, the smile slowly draining from his face. Hesitantly, he explained, “She said she was your sister so I figured…”

A cultivated smile spread across Scott’s lips but it didn’t reach his eyes as they continued to burn into yours. “No, it’s all good. I’m just surprised to see her.” Without breaking eye contact, he held his tablet out to Javi who took it from him. “Give me a few minutes to talk to her and then I’ll get back to those numbers.”

Javi started to protest, assuring him there was no rush and he could take his time, but Scott had already closed the distance between you. Grabbing your arm tightly to the point of slight painfulness, he guided you past the rest of the Storm PAR vehicles and into the empty field. 

Once you were far enough away that you knew none of his co-workers could hear you, you wrenched your arm from his grasp, snapping, “Get off of me!”

“What the hell are you doing here?” he growled, his mask finally slipping as his nostrils flared and lips curled into a snarl.

“Well, hello to you too!” You examined your arm where he had grabbed you, massaging it gently. “Can’t a girl come visit her big brother?”

“Not when she wasn’t invited or even asked if she could come beforehand! What were you thinking? This isn’t one of your wild party vacations. This is my job!”

“I know that. I wasn’t expecting you to drop everything and take me sightseeing. I just thought I could hang around and watch you guys in action. I’ve read some of the research you left at Christmas and I was hoping maybe I could learn a little more about it.”

Scott shook his head, his hands on his hips. “This is our busiest time of the season. I don’t have time to babysit you.”

“What do you think I am? Eight? I don’t need you to babysit me. I told you, I’m interested in what you do and thought I could just hang around and see how it all works.” You shrugged, “Maybe you could even take me on a chase or two.”

“Hell no. I won’t have you getting scared and causing us to have to turn around in the middle of a storm run. Javi and I have worked too hard to get this company to where it is and I’m not going to let you ruin that because, on a whim, you thought it would be fun to see a storm.” Scott scoffed as he rolled his eyes. “It’s so typical of you to still think that just because you want something or because Mom and Dad will pay for it, everyone else will bend over backward to accommodate you. Well, I don’t have to put up with your bullshit anymore.”

You took several deep breaths and tried to keep your anger in check. This was not at all how you thought this would go, but lashing out right now would only make things worse. So, in a calm, steady voice, you tried to shift approaches. “Scotty, we haven’t spent any real time together since you left for MIT. And back then…I’m not proud of the person I was and I can’t imagine what that must have been like for you. But I was a kid who didn’t know any better! I’ve grown up since you left. And this trip isn’t just something I thought would be fun to do ‘on a whim’. I worked hard to save up the money to come here because I wanted to see you and spend time with you—however little time you may be able to work into your schedule. And I promise I won’t get scared or make you stop your chase. If I don’t like it, I’ll suck it up until it’s over then not ask to go again.” Taking a step forward, you gently placed your hand on his arm and gave him a timid smile. “Let me show you who I am now…how much I’ve changed. Please, Scotty.”

But Scott yanked his arm away and took a step back. “I don’t care where you go, but you need to stay away from me and Storm PAR. Now, I have work to do.” He took one last look at you, and, for just a moment, you thought maybe he felt bad for what he said and was reconsidering things. But then, he blew a small bubble with his gum and popped it loudly in your face. You jumped slightly, the sound sharp and startling, before glaring at him. He had been doing that since you were kids and he knew how much you absolutely despised it. Shooting you one last smug smirk, Scott turned and walked off towards the cluster of Storm PAR vehicles. 

You turned to look out into the open field, lip quivering, as you fought against the tears that were burning your eyes. Things between you and Scott had been pretty bad when he left for college, but you hadn’t realized he still really thought so poorly of you. The last few holidays or family events he had been forced to come to, things seemed to be getting a little better. You thought that maybe you had reached a turning point in your relationship. But now it was clear you had been very wrong.

Looking back at the diner and overflow of vehicles, you wondered what you should do now. You had no idea when the next bus came by or how to get a ticket home or if there was a motel nearby you could stay in for the night or how you would even get there if there was or what you would do in the morning or—

UGH! The longer you stared at the Storm PAR logo on the side of the van Scott had disappeared into, the less hurt you felt. Instead, the pain began to shift into outrage. How dare Scott treat you like this? You had spent a lot of money and wasted two weeks of your summer vacation to take this trip to see him. You knew it would involve listening to him drone on about numbers and graphs you could barely comprehend for most of the time, but you were willing to smile, nod, and seem interested to show you cared about what he did. But no! He didn’t even give you a chance to explain yourself or prove that you weren’t here to interfere with his work. He had just torn you down before turning his back on you and walking away. That asshole!

The sun was starting to dip lower in the sky and you realized standing here fuming about Scott wasn’t going to help your situation. You could do that once you found a bus schedule or a place to stay for the night. However, as you stormed back through the parking lot, something caught your eye. 

When you had come through the first time and passed the familiar-looking man and the long-haired guy with the camera, you had only seen their truck from behind. But now that you were looking at the front, you noticed the distinctive metal logo attached to the front of the truck’s grille: a tornado with horns jutting out the top of the vortex. And you realized why the man in the cowboy hat looked familiar. 

Scott might not talk to you very often, but during the instances that he had, you had heard plenty of complaints about Tyler Owens and his group of Tornado Wranglers. Everything they did was the complete opposite of how Storm PAR operated and it drove Scott crazy that while he was out there doing the “real work”, this group of amateur YouTube chasers were the ones getting all the attention and acclaim when all they were really doing was getting in Storm PAR’s way. 

And Scott seemed to have another level of hatred for Owens himself.    

Out of curiosity, you had looked up the Wranglers’ YouTube channel and found it pretty entertaining. While Scott viewed every aspect of his work with complete seriousness and professionalism, these guys tackled the same work like they were having the time of their lives. They were still informative, explaining to their viewers how tornadoes formed and the types of destruction they can cause, but they would then drive straight into the center of a funnel or take chat requests of crazy things to do in the storm. It honestly seemed like a great way to get people excited about learning about tornadoes while also keeping them entertained. And it seemed like their nearly 850,000 followers would agree. No wonder Scott hated them so much. 

Suddenly, you had an idea—the perfect little act of revenge.

Changing directions, you made your way over to Owens’s truck. You could see he was now alone, tinkering with the equipment attached to the bed of his truck. He had traded his white cowboy hat for a faded backward cap and had pushed his sleeves up above his elbows as he worked, his sun-bronzed skin on full display in the dying light.

Though you had only watched a handful of the Tornado Wranglers’ videos, you had a pretty good idea of the kind of man Tyler Owens was and how you could persuade him to help you. After all, these narcissistic, jacked-up truck-driving, overcompensating pretty boys were all the same. The kind who had been fawned and swooned over their entire adult lives just because they flashed a charming smile or a playful wink in the right direction. However, with just a little stroking of their ego or a bat of your eyes, they could become putty in your hands. All you had to do was introduce yourself.

Reaching the side of the truck, you tucked your hands into your back pockets so it thrust your chest forward and, biting your lip, called out coyly, “Hey there, cowboy.”

Owens glanced up, a curious smile curling across his lips as he saw you, his eyes traveling from your head to boot and back up. “Well, hello there.”

Giggling softly as you placed your hand on the side railing, you asked in a sing-songy voice, “You’re Tyler, right? The big...bad…tornado wrangler?” With each word, you walked your fingers across the railing, your eyes locked on his.

He leaned back, wiped his hands on his jeans, and said, “I might be. Depends on who’s asking.” He was still looking at you but his smile had slipped slightly and you realized you might not have grabbed his attention as well as you thought.

Placing both hands on the railing now, you pushed yourself up slightly, your chest pressed together, and you looked up at him from under your lashes. “What if I’m asking?”

Owens stared at you for a long moment, his eyes still examining you thoughtfully, though you were shocked to see they stayed locked on your face and didn’t dip down to your breast like you had expected. Then, finally, he said, “You seem like a nice girl, sweetheart, but I don't think I'm what you're looking for. Good luck though.” He gave you a kind, yet dismissive nod, and went back to whatever he had been working on.

Your jaw dropped, lips moving silently as you tried to figure out what just happened. This kind of thing always worked on guys like him in the past. Show a little skin, stroke their egos a little, and they would be wrapped around your finger in no time. But he hadn’t even given your act more than a passing glance. It was possible you weren’t his type or maybe he was in a committed relationship, but neither of those things had exactly deterred guys in the past. 

You turned around—properly dismissed—and were just about to walk away when another thought crossed your mind. What if…what if you had misjudged him? What if he wasn’t the kind of guy you assumed he was? From what you had seen in his videos, he was cocky and overconfident and a huge flirt, but what if that was all for the cameras? During your very brief interaction, he seemed polite and respectful even as you tried to throw yourself at him, something no other guy had ever done in that situation. 

Maybe you had gone about this all wrong. Maybe you needed a different approach. A more honest one…

You hurried around the other side of the truck so you were in front of him once more. Dropping all the over-the-top flirtatiousness from your voice, you said, “Okay, I’m sorry. I thought…it doesn’t matter what I thought, but the point is I shouldn’t have done that. I’ve had a really shitty day and approached this situation all wrong.”

Owens didn’t raise his head, but his eyes drifted back in your direction. Feeling like he was offering you a chance, you explained, “Listen, the deal is I came here to surprise my brother with a visit, and as soon as he saw me, he told me he doesn’t want me here and I should fuck off out of his way.”

That got his attention. Looking up, his brow furrowed, Owens asked, “Your brother said that to you?”

You rolled your eyes and hit the heel of your palm against the side of the truck. “Well, not in those exact words but the sentiment was there. The point is, he told me he didn’t care where I went as long as I left him and his team alone. So, I plan on respecting his wishes…and wondered if I could hang out with your team instead.”

“Well–” He leaned back, clearly not interested in your request, but you cut him off before he could turn you down.

“Please! It’ll just be for a day or two. I promise not to get in the way or mess with any of your work. I just know he has a problem with you guys and seeing me with you will drive him insane.” 

Putting down the wrench he was holding, Owens shook his head. “Back up…who are we talking about now? Who’s your brother?”

You realized you needed to get better at introducing people into a conversation before jumping right in. “Scott? He works for Storm PAR?” He hesitated so you sighed and turned towards the other group of storm chasers at the other end of the lot. With one hand on your hip, you pointed lazily with the other, “The surly tall one who never takes off his stupid baseball cap?”

Instantly, Owens straightened up and you knew you had piqued his interest. Chuckling, he asked, “Wait, so you’re telling me Mr. Clipboard and Chewing Gum is your brother?” You nodded. “And you want my help messing with him?”

“Yeah, that about sums it up. So, will you do it?”

The cowboy leaned over the side of the truck and gave you a wide grin. “Oh, sweetheart, you’ve come to the right place.”

Part 2 coming 8/19!

[mostlysignssomeportents]

Circular battery self-sufficiency

I'm coming to DEFCON! On FRIDAY (Aug 9), I'm emceeing the EFF POKER TOURNAMENT (noon at the Horseshoe Poker Room), and appearing on the BRICKED AND ABANDONED panel (5PM, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01). On SATURDAY (Aug 10), I'm giving a keynote called "DISENSHITTIFY OR DIE! How hackers can seize the means of computation and build a new, good internet that is hardened against our asshole bosses' insatiable horniness for enshittification" (noon, LVCC - L1 - HW1–11–01).

If we are going to survive the climate emergency, we will have to electrify – that is, transition from burning fossil fuels to collecting, storing, transmitting and using renewable energy generated by e.g. the tides, the wind, and (especially) the Sun.

Electrification is a big project, but it's not an insurmountable one. Planning and executing an electric future is like eating the elephant: we do it one step at a time. This is characteristic of big engineering projects, which explains why so many people find it hard to imagine pulling this off.

As a layperson, you are far more likely to be exposed to a work of popular science than you are a work of popular engineering. Pop science is great, but its role is to familiarize you with theory, not practice. Popular engineering is a minuscule and obscure genre, which is a pity, because it's one of my favorites.

Weathering the climate emergency is going to require a lot of politics, to be sure, but it's also going to require a lot of engineering, which is why I'm grateful for the nascent but vital (and growing) field of popular engineering. Not to mention, the practitioners of popular engineering tend to be a lot of fun, like the hosts of the Well That's Your Problem podcast, a superb long-form leftist podcast about engineering disasters (with slides!):

https://www.youtube.com/@welltheresyourproblempodca1465

If you want to get started on popular engineering and the climate, your first stop should be the "Without the Hot Air" series, which tackles sustainable energy, materials, transportation and food as engineering problems. You'll never think about climate the same way again:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/01/06/methane-diet/#3kg-per-day

Then there's Saul Griffith's 2021 book Electrify, which is basically a roadmap for carrying out the electrification of America and the world:

https://pluralistic.net/2021/12/09/practical-visionary/#popular-engineering

Griffith's book is inspiring and visionary, but to really get a sense of how fantastic an electrified world can be, it's gotta be Deb Chachra's How Infrastructure Works:

https://pluralistic.net/2023/10/17/care-work/#charismatic-megaprojects

Chachra is a material scientist who teaches at Olin College, and her book is a hymn to the historical and philosophical underpinnings of infrastructure, but more than anything, it's a popular engineering book about what is possible. For example, if we want to give every person on Earth the energy budget of a Canadian (like an American, but colder), we would only have to capture 0.4% of the solar energy that reaches the Earth's surface.

Now, this is a gigantic task, but it's a tractable one. Resolving it will require a very careful – and massive – marshaling of materials, particularly copper, but also a large number of conflict minerals and rare earths. It's gonna be hard.

But it's not impossible, let alone inconceivable. Indeed, Chachra's biggest contribution in this book is to make a compelling case for reconceiving our relationship to energy and materials. As a species, we have always treated energy as scarce, trying to wring every erg and therm that we can out of our energy sources. Meanwhile, we've treated materials as abundant, digging them up or chopping them down, using them briefly, then tossing them on a midden or burying them in a pit.

Chachra argues that this is precisely backwards. Our planet gets a fresh supply of energy twice a day, with sunrise (solar) and moonrise (tides). On the other hand, we've only got one Earth's worth of materials, supplemented very sporadically when a meteor survives entry into our atmosphere. Mining asteroids, the Moon and other planets is a losing proposition for the long foreseeable future:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/01/09/astrobezzle/#send-robots-instead

The promise of marshaling a very large amount of materials is that it will deliver effectively limitless, clean energy. This project will take a lot of time and its benefits will primarily accrue to people who come after its builders, which is why it is infrastructure. As Chachra says, infrastructure is inherently altruistic, a gift to our neighbors and our descendants. If all you want is a place to stick your own poop, you don't need to build a citywide sanitation system.

What's more, we can trade energy for materials. Manufacturing goods so that they gracefully decompose back into the material stream at the end of their lives is energy intensive. Harvesting materials from badly designed goods is also energy intensive. But if once we build out the renewables grid (which will take a lot of materials), we will have all the energy we need (to preserve and re-use our materials).

Our species' historical approach to materials is not (ahem) carved in stone. It is contingent. It has changed. It can change again. It needs to change, because the way we extract materials today is both unjust and unsustainable.

The horrific nature of material extraction under capitalism – and its geopolitics (e.g. "We will coup whoever we want! Deal with it.") – has many made comrades in the climate fight skeptical (or worse, cynical) about a clean energy transition. They do the back-of-the-envelope math about the material budget for electrification, mentally convert that to the number of wildlife preserves, low-income communities, unspoiled habitat and indigenous lands that we would destroy in the process of gathering those materials, and conclude that the whole thing is a farce.

That analysis is important, but it's incomplete. Yes, marshaling all those materials in the way that we do today would be catastrophic. But the point of a climate transition is that we will transition our approach to our planet, our energy, and our materials. That transition can and should challenge all the assumptions underpinning electrification doomerism.

Take the material bill itself: the assumption that a transition will require a linearly scaled quantity of materials includes the assumption that cleantech won't find substantial efficiencies in its material usage. Thankfully, that's a very bad assumption! Cleantech is just getting started. It's at the stage where we're still uncovering massive improvements to production (unlike fossil fuel technology, whose available efficiencies have been discovered and exploited, so that progress is glacial and negligible).

Take copper: electrification requires a lot of copper. But the amount of copper needed for each part of the cleantech revolution is declining faster than the demand for cleantech is rising. Just one example: between the first and second iteration of the Rivian electric vehicle, designers figured out how to remove 1.6 miles of copper wire from each vehicle:

https://insideevs.com/news/722265/rivian-r1s-r1t-wiring/

That's just one iteration and one technology! And yeah, EVs are only peripheral to a cleantech transition; for one thing, geometry hates cars. We're going to have to build a lot of mass transit, and we're going to be realizing these efficiencies with every generation of train, bus, and tram:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/02/29/geometry-hates-uber/#toronto-the-gullible

We have just lived through a massive surge in electrification, with unimaginable quantities of new renewables coming online and a stunning replacement of conventional vehicles with EVs, and throughout that surge, demand for copper remained flat:

https://www.chemanalyst.com/NewsAndDeals/NewsDetails/copper-wire-price-remains-stable-amidst-surplus-supply-and-expanding-mining-25416#:~:text=Global%20Copper%20wire%20Price%20Remains%20Stable%20Amidst%20Surplus%20Supply%20and%20Expanding%20Mining%20Activities

This isn't to say that cleantech is a solved problem. There are many political aspects to cleantech that remain pernicious, like the fact that so many of the cleantech offerings on the market are built around extractive financial arrangements (like lease-back rooftop solar) and "smart" appliances (like heat pumps and induction tops) that require enshittification-ready apps:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/26/unplanned-obsolescence/#better-micetraps

There's a quiet struggle going on between cleantech efficiencies and the finance sector's predation, from lease-back to apps to the carbon-credit scam, but many of those conflicts are cashing out in favor of a sustainable future and it doesn't help our cause to ignore those: we should be cheering them on!

https://pluralistic.net/2024/06/12/s-curve/#anything-that-cant-go-on-forever-eventually-stops

Take "innovation." Silicon Valley's string of pump-and-dump nonsense – cryptocurrency, NFTs, metaverse, web3, and now AI – have made "innovation" into a dirty word. As the AI bubble bursts, the very idea of innovation is turning into a punchline:

https://www.wheresyoured.at/burst-damage/

But cleantech is excitingly, wonderfully innovative. The contrast between the fake innovation of Silicon Valley and the real – and vital – innovation of cleantech couldn't be starker, or more inspiring:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/05/30/posiwid/#social-cost-of-carbon

Like the "battery problem." Whenever the renewables future is raised, there's always a doomer insisting that batteries are an unsolved – and unsolvable – problem, and without massive batteries, there's no sense in trying, because the public won't accept brownouts when the sun goes down and the wind stops blowing.

Sometimes, these people are shilling boondoggles like nuclear power (reminder: this is Hiroshima Day):

https://theconversation.com/dutton-wants-australia-to-join-the-nuclear-renaissance-but-this-dream-has-failed-before-209584

Other times, they're just trying to foreclose on the conversation about a renewables transition altogether. But sometimes, these doubts are raised by comrades who really do want a transition and have serious questions about power storage.

If you're one of those people, I have some very good news: battery tech is taking off. Some of that takes the form of wild and cool new approaches. In Finland, a Scottish company is converting a disused copper mine into a gravity battery. During the day, excess renewables hoist a platform piled with tons of rock up a 530m shaft. At night, the platform lowers slowly, driving a turbine and releasing its potential energy. This is incredibly efficient, has a tiny (and sustainable) bill of materials, and it's highly replicable. The world has sufficient abandoned mine-shafts to store 70TWh of power – that's the daily energy budget for the entire planet. What's more, every mine shaft has a beefy connection to the power grid, because you can't run a mine without a lot of power:

https://www.euronews.com/green/2024/02/06/this-disused-mine-in-finland-is-being-turned-into-a-gravity-battery-to-store-renewable-ene

Gravity batteries are great for utility-scale storage, but we also need a lot of batteries for things that we can't keep plugged into the wall, like vehicles, personal electronics, etc. There's great news on that score, too! "The Battery Mineral Loop" is a new report from the Rocky Mountain Institute that describes the path to "circular battery self-sufficiency":

https://rmi.org/wp-content/uploads/dlm_uploads/2024/07/the_battery_mineral_loop_report_July.pdf

The big idea: rather than digging up new minerals to make batteries, we can recycle minerals from dead batteries to make new ones. Remember, energy can be traded for materials: we can expend more energy on designs that are optimized to decompose back into their component materials, or we can expend more energy extracting materials from designs that aren't optimized for recycling.

Both things are already happening. From the executive summary:

The chemistry of batteries is rapidly improving: over the past decade, we've reduced per-using demand for lithium, nickle and cobalt by 60-140%, and most lithium batteries are being recycled, not landfilled.

Within a decade, we'll hit peak mineral demand for batteries. By the mid-2030s, the amount of new "virgin minerals" needed to meet our battery demand will stop growing and start declining.

By 2050, we could attain net zero mineral demand for batteries: that is, we could meet all our energy storage needs without digging up any more minerals.

We are on a path to a "one-off" extraction effort. We can already build batteries that work for 10-15 years and whose materials can be recycled with 90-94% efficiency.

The total quantity of minerals we need to extract to permanently satisfy the world's energy storage needs is about 125m tons.

This last point is the one that caught my eye. Extracting 125m tons of anything is a tall order, and depending on how it's done, it could wreak a terrible toll on people and the places they live.

But one question I learned to ask from Tim Harford and BBC More Or Less is "is that a big number?" 125m tons sure feels like a large number, but it is one seventeenth of the amount of fossil fuels we dig up every year just for road transport. In other words, we're talking about spending the next thirty years carefully, sustainably, humanely extracting about 5.8% of the materials we currently pump and dig every year for our cars. Do that, and we satisfy our battery needs more-or-less forever.

This is a big engineering project. We've done those before. Crisscrossing the world with roads, supplying billions of fossil-fuel vehicles, building the infrastructure for refueling them, pumping billions of gallons of oil – all of that was done in living memory. As Robin Sloan wrote:

Did people say, at the dawn of the automobile: are you kidding me? This technology will require a ubiquitous network of refueling stations, one or two at every major intersection … even if there WAS that much gas in the world, how would you move it around at that scale? If everybody buys a car, you’ll need to build highways, HUGE ones — you’ll need to dig up cities! Madness!

https://www.robinsloan.com/newsletters/room-for-everybody/

That big project cost trillions and required bending the productive capacity of many nations to its completion. It produced a ghastly geopolitics that elevated petrostates – a hole in the ground, surrounded by guns – to kingmakers whose autocrats can knock the world on its ass at will.

By contrast, this giant engineering project is relatively modest, and it will upend that global order, yielding energy sovereignty (and its handmaiden, national resliency) to every country on Earth. Doing it well will be hard, and require that we rethink our relationship to energy and materials, but that's a bonus, not a cost. Changing how we use materials and energy will make all our lives better, it will improve the lives of the living things we share the planet with, and it will strip the monsters who currently control our energy supply of their political, economic, and electric power.

If you'd like an essay-formatted version of this post to read or share, here's a link to it on pluralistic.net, my surveillance-free, ad-free, tracker-free blog:

https://pluralistic.net/2024/08/06/with-great-power/#comes-great-responsibility

[wonders-of-the-cosmos]

Mariner program

The Mariner program was conducted by the American space agency NASA to explore other planets. Between 1962 and late 1973, NASA's Jet Propulsion Laboratory (JPL) designed and built 10 robotic interplanetary probes named Mariner to explore the inner Solar System - visiting the planets Venus, Mars and Mercury for the first time, and returning to Venus and Mars for additional close observations.

The program included a number of interplanetary firsts, including the first planetary flyby, the planetary orbiter, and the first gravity assist maneuver. Of the 10 vehicles in the Mariner series, seven were successful, forming the starting point for many subsequent NASA/JPL space probe programs. 

The name of the Mariner program was decided in "May 1960-at the suggestion of Edgar M. Cortright" to have the "planetary mission probes ... patterned after nautical terms, to convey 'the impression of travel to great distances and remote lands.'" That "decision was the basis for naming Mariner, Ranger, Surveyor, and Viking probes."

Each spacecraft was to carry solar panels that would be pointed toward the Sun and a dish antenna that would be pointed at Earth. Each would also carry a host of scientific instruments. Some of the instruments, such as cameras, would need to be pointed at the target body it was studying. Other instruments were non-directional and studied phenomena such as magnetic fields and charged particles. JPL engineers proposed to make the Mariners "three-axis-stabilized," meaning that unlike other space probes they would not spin.

Mariner 1 and Mariner 2

Mariner 1 and Mariner 2 were two deep-space probes making up NASA's Mariner-R project. The primary goal of the project was to develop and launch two spacecraft sequentially to the near vicinity of Venus, receive communications from the spacecraft and to perform radiometric temperature measurements of the planet. A secondary objective was to make interplanetary magnetic field and/or particle measurements on the way to, and in the vicinity of, Venus.

Animation of Mariner 2's trajectory from August 27, 1962, to December 31, 1962. Mariner 2 · Venus · Earth.

Mariners 3 and 4

Sisterships Mariner 3 and Mariner 4 were Mars flyby missions.

Mariner 3 was launched on November 5, 1964, but the shroud encasing the spacecraft atop its rocket failed to open properly and Mariner 3 did not get to Mars.

Mariner 4, launched on November 28, 1964, was the first successful flyby of the planet Mars and gave the first glimpse of Mars at close range

This archival image is an enhanced contrast version of the first Mars photograph released on July 15, 1965. This is man's first close-up photograph of another planet -- a photographic representation of digital data radioed from Mars by the Mariner 4 spacecraft. Data was either sent to Earth immediately for acquisition or stored on an onboard tape recorder for later transmission.

The pictures, played back from a small tape recorder over a long period, showed lunar-type impact craters (just beginning to be photographed at close range from the Moon), some of them touched with frost in the chill Martian evening. 

Mariner 5

The Mariner 5 spacecraft was launched to Venus on June 14, 1967, and arrived in the vicinity of the planet in October 1967. It carried a complement of experiments to probe Venus' atmosphere with radio waves, scan its brightness in ultraviolet light, and sample the solar particles and magnetic field fluctuations above the planet.

Mariners 6 and 7

Mariners 6 and 7 were identical teammates in a two-spacecraft mission to Mars. Mariner 6 was launched on February 24, 1969, followed by Mariner 7 on March 21, 1969. They flew over the equator and southern hemisphere of the planet Mars.

Mariners 8 and 9

Mariner 8 and Mariner 9 were identical sister craft designed to map the Martian surface simultaneously, but Mariner 8 was lost in a launch vehicle failure. Mariner 9 was launched in May 1971 and became the first artificial satellite of Mars. 

Mariner 10

The Mariner 10 spacecraft launched on November 3, 1973, and was the first to use a gravity assist trajectory, accelerating as it entered the gravitational influence of Venus, then being flung by the planet's gravity onto a slightly different course to reach Mercury. It was also the first spacecraft to encounter two planets at close range, and for 33 years the only spacecraft to photograph Mercury in closeup.

Venus in real colors, processed from clear and blue filtered Mariner 10 images

Mariner 10's photograph of Venus in ultraviolet light (photo color-enhanced to simulate Venus's natural color as the human eye would see it)

This mosaic shows the planet Mercury as seen by Mariner 10 as it sped away from the planet on March 29, 1974.

source x, x | images x

[dronebiscuitbat]

Oil is Thicker Then Blood (Part 77)

Khan was looking over a blueprint of the bunker, taking note of every empty hallway, abandoned room, and silent space.

There used to be so many more of them, a population over several thousand strong, living on the surface, it fell a bit when they retreated into the bunker, people locked outside when the doors shut for the first time, but there were still so many of them.

And yet… their population had fallen and had kept falling, a joint effort from the disassembly drones hunting and a falling birthrate, nobody wanted to have kids with a looming threat over their heads, and despite the bunker being safe, there were reasons people would go outside, the bunker ran on solar power, and those were outside… you do the math.

That was something they didn't have to worry about anymore, but now there was so much space that was left unused that he didn't know what to do with. A part of him wanting to keep these places accessible… in hopes that eventually the bunker would be full again. But another wanted to make use of the extra material, perhaps to reinforce the sections that were being used.

He was interrupted by a loud and urgent knock, pulling his head out of the sprawling blueprint with a jump. He sighed as he took a final sip of coolant before stretching, every gasket in his spine decompressing with a loud hiss.

He left his home office and made his way to the door. Expecting another visit from Dale, that man was exceptionally not happy with N and V moving into the bunker, and had been complaining to Khan ever since he'd found out about it.

He understood his qualms, Dale had lost his entire family to them over the years, it was why he dedicated the rest of his life to the protection of the bunker from the outside. But since day one, the man had been extreme.

Dale suggested that they booby trap the first door so that any drone that tried to get in would be summarily lit on fire, and it took too much convincing from both himself and Hal on why that would be equally dangerous to anyone needing to do maintenance on the doors or the solar panels.

Dale then moved on to outright demanding that they send an armed force to attack the disassembly drone “nest” (his words, not Khan’s.) head on.

Hal about strangled Dale for that, “We've lost enough people! Are you outta ya mind?!” He screamed, pressing him up against a wall, gripping Dale's shirt.

Hal had chilled out quite a bit in age, but when younger he had a little bit of temper problem.

He opened the door not to find Dale wanting to go on another drunken tirade, but his daughter, stress present on every feature of her face, his granddaughter (oh that was still exciting to say) tucked in her arms protectively, with N in behind her looking grim.

He immediately knew something was wrong.

“Uzi, N. What's the matter? Is everything okay?” His first thought was that, somehow, Uzi had lost the baby, but another minute of looking at the both of them took that thought away, they both looked more concerned then heartbroken.

“Sorry for barging in dad but… this is kinda urgent.” Uzi explained and Khan moved to the side to let them in. He noticed the way N's tail was arched around Uzi, not quite wrapping around her, but being angled in a way that he could pull her into him at a moment's notice. What has got him so on edge.

“It's not a problem. What's wrong dronelette?” Khan’s voice was as soft as he could make it, difficult due to how deep his voice was naturally, but it was an attempt all the same.

“Okay. Sit. I have a presentation for you, and I don't think you're going to like it.” Uzi led him down to sit on his own couch, a small wary smile breaking onto his face.

“I feel like that's become a pattern.” He chuckled, and for a moment she smiled back.

“For once, it's not about me.” And then the moment was over, stress lines returning as she sat Tera up next to him, his granddaughter smiling and belting “Pop Pop!” At the top of her lungs.

His core felt like it had been punched, and he immediately took her into his lap, he noticed her fangs, but said nothing, Nori had them too, it wasn't that strange.

In a moment, N had made a projector with his hand, displaying a slightly fuzzy, yellow tinted hologram onto his coffee table, his immediate thought was if N would allow him to take a look on how that functioned, but that thought was immediately taken away by Uzi's voice.

“Okay so N and I were outside, uh -” She didn't want to freak her father out by telling him about the nest N made, so she stammered slightly. “-Scavenging, for old times sake, when he found this.”

The blank hologram fizzled into the figure of a drone, limping and acting erratic, strange tendrils snaking up it's back, before it's head came off, and a thick black appendage was released from it's cavity.

Khan’s eyelights went hollow immediately, equal parts disgusted and horrified. What the hell was that?

“Before you ask, no, that's not the worst part.” Uzi seemed to read his mind as the hologram fizzled again, this time into a fairly accurate model of Copper-9 itself.

“This, is the worst part.”

A huge hole opened up on the side of the holographic planet, exposing the nonexistent core, tendrils snaked out of it before it fizzled into a closer, more detailed view of flesh and bone from the ground and slightly above.

Yeah, that was way worse.

“This… thing. Opened up not too far from here, N and V already scouted it, it's too big to burn, and any explosive would put the rest of the planet at risk.” His eyes turned to his daughter, her body language erratic, her tail was free without her notice, twitching like it was irritated. Despite her composed speech, she was on the verge of falling apart.

“We need to evacuate the planet, a-all of us, because this thing is spreading, and if you touch it it turns you into that.” The hologram switched back to the drone with the tentacle for a head.

“And you are literally the only drone I know who everyone would actually listen to if you told them to. So…”

Khan was speechless for a moment, all the information bouncing around in his head like an arrant pinball. Eyelights frozen hollow and his mouth agape.

She wasn't wrong, that hole looked like it went straight to the center of the planet, and if that was the case, more holes would surely follow, like a worldwide sinkhole.

But.. leaving the planet?

He had respect sure, and he was certain he could at least get all of his team of engineers in board, they were all itching for a challenge. But he knew getting everyone on board wouldn't be easy…

“That's a lot to ask… even for me.” He finally found some words, even as they came out choked. “This is our home Uzi, we don't know anything else.”

He was including himself, logically, she was absolutely correct, evacuation was the best course of action. But he'd been built here, built, worked, loved, lived an entire lifetime on this planet. And leaving it - that was scary.

“Dad, if we don't leave we're all going to die. There's no… hiding from this. There won't be a planet to call home anymore.” Uzi stepped towards him, almost pleading.

“I-I don't know, m-maybe if we vacuum seal the doors-” He stammered, looking for another solution, a familiar one instead of one so bathed in uncertainty.

“Please Dad, just trust me!”

And suddenly he was back in that dreadful moment, Uzi panicking, bladed wing impaled through her shoulder, pleading with him to just point and shoot and to trust her. Where his body was trembling watching that murder drone - N, drool all over the floor in prep for his next meal.

His greatest regret. And a chance to redeem himself.

He looked down at his granddaughter, all smiles, looking up at him with such wide eyes, eyes that reminded him so much of his little girl… that was now pleading for him once more.

He'd listen this time.

“I-I, Okay. We'll try.”

Next ->

[cityof2morrow]

NetworkMAT: Solar Build 001

Published: 8-14-2024 | Updated: N/A SUMMARY The Network Materials (NetworkMAT) (Simmons, 2023-2024) series includes assets for building modern road networks in Sims 2. Use these items to enhance your city’s streets, walkways, highways, skyways, bridges, and so on. Lay the way to the future with the Solar Build 001 (Simmons, 2024) collection. The set comes with solar-themed building accents including walls, overlays, tunnels, and floors. This is especially useful for those who might want to make a solar/power plant which matches the in-game solar panels. Use the #co2networkmat tag to find related CC on this site.

DETAILS Requires all EPs/SPs. §9-25 for walls/flrs and §2000  for tunnels | Build > Walls/Floors/Architecture You need the BBNiche1Master from the Repository Pack (Simmons, 2023). Objects are center-aligned and meant to be used with 1-story or 2-story walls. Rain/Snow will fall through them unless you add floor tiles on top. For the road overlays, get the meshes from the links below.  ITEMS 3 Niche Recolors 9 Solar Walls/Floors (they match my Streets of 2morrow set HERE) 10 road overlays (for CuriousB’s road overlay rug, included in the Streets of 2morrow set) 10 road overlays (for the Modern Future Highway road pieces HERE) Large Solar Tunnel (12x20 ) (780 poly) Small Solar Tunnel (6x9) (780 poly) DOWNLOAD (choose one) from SFS | from MEGA CREDITS Thanks: Simming, Blender and Cities Skylines Community. Sources: Beyno (Korn via BBFonts), Solar Tunnel Highways (LoM, 2015 via Cities Skylines), Cities Skylines (Paradox Interactive and Tri Synergy, 2015), EA/Maxis, Nooks & Niches (BuggyBooz, 2012), Offuturistic Infographic (Freepik), Road Overlay (Wedingo, 2017; CuriousB, 2012).

[seat-safety-switch]

SO-LAR-FUCKING-POWER. Or, as the appearance-obsessed image consultants want us to refer to it now, "photovoltaic energy." Yeah, okay, nerds. A lot of people have been shit-talking solar in the press, because they're afraid that individuals will set up their own power generation facilities in their backyards, roofs, sheds, community centres, what have you, and start pumping out electricity. That will make the big electricity corporations sad, so they've paid all these handsome people to come on the news and yell about it.

Let me put it this way: if there were a magic machine in the sky that shot out a bunch of candy bars every day, like an absolute shitload of Milky Ways, and you were hungry, would you run out into the backyard with a bucket? Or would you feel bad about it because Bob Milky Way, up there in his hateful Cadbury tower, is no longer able to perpetuate his existing business model?

Personally, I've gone big-league on solar, mostly because the utility company disconnected my house after decades of non-payment. Now, I can't afford the new stuff: even the cheap panels that the proud people of China throw onto AliExpress are too costly for my budget. What I've done instead is dig through the landfill (after hours, of course) for several hundred solar desk calculators.

These calculators are electronic devices that we used to use before smartphones in order to compute numbers. And they ran on the sun, because replacing batteries is annoying. After breaking open the calculators, I looped their solar cells together in series, and eventually built a big enough panel to cover my entire roof.

When I say it like that, it sounds easy, and this is the myth of engineering progress: it was actually a lot of stop-and-go stuff, bumps in the road. Rooftop fires. Wiring fires. I fell off the roof a few times. The cops came by at one point and were idling in front of my house, waiting to see if I'd come outside so they could bust me for stealing all those calculators from the dump. In the end, though, I am now able to charge my phone for free, and even run my coffee maker if it's a particularly sunny day. That coffee is the best-tasting coffee I've ever had, because it tastes like billionaire tears.

And I won't stop there, either. Things are going to improve dramatically at the old Switch Family Solar Array as my bougie neighbours throw out their old panels in order to upgrade to the latest and greatest. Pretty soon they'll be paying me to take them – I have it on good authority that the dump charges you like minimum $20 this weekend. If you flip to the last page in my investor deck, you'll notice that I have projected to be able to run my refrigerator by 2025. You better get in on this shit, or we'll bury you with the coal.

[cetaceous]

Solar Park, Lac des Toules, Valais, Switzerland Photograph by Luca Locatelli from the series 'The Circle' Lac des Toules, a reservoir at Bourg-Saint-Pierre, hosts a high-altitude floating solar park, with solar panels mounted on 36 floats. image credit: Luca Locatelli via: The Guardian

[victusinveritas]

Writing advice from Nick Mamatas.

Some science fiction/fantasy creative writing students I have encountered, a field guide

1. World-Savers: these are generally older students, have no real interest in SF/F, are writing a book to express political or metaphysical ideas they consider to be radical and necessary for the future of life on Earth. In reality, they're writing long Platonic dialogues about their ideas, and authority from various culture and pop culture tropes (aliens, noble savages, fairies, resurrected presidents)–to the extent that their work has a plot at all, it involves a Christ figure transforming the world via a sacrifice. The ideas aren't very radical either: "pollute less" and "love your neighbor, unless they're a dick" are common. Occasionally the message for the world has to do with something more prosaic: reverse budgeting, the evils of Affirmative Action, the importance of installing solar panels, how dare Eileen divorce me and fuck like three guys in the six months after she moved out, etc. These students are utterly confused by actually existing SF/F stories they read, and often interpret them in bizarrely sexual ways. They don't believe in numbering the pages of their manuscripts, and often attempt to submit work in PDF so it won't be stolen.

2. Children with Money: recent college grads, or drop-outs, these people have read Harry Potter, Twilight, and perhaps three or four other best-selling young adult series and nothing else. They are easily upset, especially when someone suggests reading more. Their main interests are YouTube personalities, video games, and a sort of Puritanical pansexuality that actually makes smut boring. They often "forget" to read the work of other students, and have no idea how to use a printer. They warn the other students that their story might be "too intense" because it contains, for example, a depiction of a car accident. Their stories are routinely awful, and always contain a character named "Aidan." Sometimes their parents come to class to make sure I am "not a serial killer", as though they could possibly tell from looking at me. (Oh, "Mamatas" IS a white person name...I guess?)

3. Anointed Ones: They contact me, or the people running the workshop, beforehand, to make sure that "the class is right" for them. They have file cabinets full of their stuff, and after many decades of toil, they are ready to reveal their work to the world. They just need a mentor, and an ally—could I be the one they've been searching for lo these many years? Prior workshops were full of callow teachers and jealous students. Why they were only allowed to submit ten pages a week! Some of them have actually read fairly widely, but you wouldn't know it from their work: three adjectives per noun, a fetish for speech tags other than the word "said" or no tags at all. Often these stories include as characters philosophical prostitutes with very sensitive nipples. They never miss a class and often show up more than thirty minutes early. One time, I had to hide in a closet to avoid an extensive pre-class conversation with one.

4. Frightened Proles: These have read Stephen King and Dean Koontz and sometimes even horror writers from this century. They generally have working-class jobs and write about working people who encounter the supernatural on the late shift. They really hope they can sell their novel soon, but they know it'll take a lot of work. (Ten more drafts oughta do it!) They wear baseball hats to class and look like enormous eight-year-olds. They get very excited when I mention professional wrestling or do a taiji move in class. Their significant others are often nameless—"my girlfriend" "my wife." They buy my books and bring them to class for autographs. Some of them get published after, especially flash fiction.

5. Repairables: decent writers, often involved in the SFF "scene", who need to be fixed after a bad experience with Clarion or another workshop or an overeager editor at a semipro magazine who told them some idiot nonsense they decided to believe because they were told it was "unprofessional" not to consider editorial feedback. These either get published...or lost to MFA programs, video game jobs, fandom, podcasts, or other writing-shaped pursuits. Most of them are ferocious name-droppers; the ones who heard of me beforehand know to keep quiet though.

[solarpunkani]

Solar Powered Community Fridges - Concept Art

So one of my grad school classes is a 8 week long group project to essentially come up with an artistic solution to a problem. Of course, my pitch was solarpunk in nature, and my group actually really liked it! Basically, the concept is to design a series of solar panel-powered community fridges, to help address food insecurity and build community in different areas without having to rely on a specific host building to provide power. What better time to show my concept art than Solarpunk Aesthetic Week?

Originally, I was just drawing up ideas with what usually comes to mind when I imagine fridges--upright fridges. Here's my concept art!

In these sketches, my main concern was imagining how these fridges would fit into the community alongside their power sources--I didn't want them to be too bulky, but I also wanted them to be available for easy access. I also figured they'd need shelter for the fridge's longevity, as well as to protect any users from the element. It'd also be nice to have them alongside other mutual aid sources like little free pantries, little free libraries, the like. One of my favorite designs is the sheltered community space on page 2, with the fridge, the seat, the pantry, and the library all in one protected structure with solar panels on the top. Having a table near the community fridge would also be nice to give people a place to rest as well.

However, around this time, I started trying to find out just how big of a solar panel would be needed to power a fridge like this, and the results were... a bit discouraging. Until! I was informed that chest freezers use way less energy to keep cool--cool air sinks, so opening an upright fridge releases most of the cold air that's been building up and makes the machine work harder to keep cool, whereas a chest fridge doesn't lose nearly as much cold air. In addition, some people have converted chest freezers into chest refrigerators for as little as ~$30 USD. Due to the insulation in a chest freezer, converted chest fridges use way less energy than their upright counterparts to keep cool, making it way more feasible to power them with solar.

So of course, I had to get to drawing again!

Since I'd already concepted a variety of structures for upright fridges, for the chest fridges I mostly focused on their design and possible convenience/accessibility concerns I had been worried about, one of the main being having to reach inside vertically instead of horizontally--several of my family members have difficulty bending, so I was worried having a chest fridge would make things more difficult for others like them. There are likely other ways to address this concern that I haven't thought of, but for now I've concepted putting a grabber tool inside of every fridge so people with trouble bending can still get things. How well it'd work in reality, I'm not sure...

Buuut these are my concepts so far! I hope you like them, I hope they're cool? Let me know what you think! I think these would be cool to have in a solarpunk future--whether they're entirely possible today or will have to wait until a somewhat-distant, 'solar panels can generate more energy with less size and fridges are also way more energy efficient' future I can't say, but it's cool to think about!

[Image 1: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. An arrow points to a magnet caddy on the freezer door with markers and stickers, saying "Markers + labels for dating donations". An arrow points to a battery-structure at the base of a solar panel system saying "Doubles as charging station for phones & stuff". An arrow points to a slanted roof structure over a fridge saying "Bus stop-esque structure." An arrow points at a glass door grocery store-style fridge saying "any kind of fridge, any size."

Image 2: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. An arrow points to a fridge under a slanted roof structure, saying "Paintings on the fridge itself." Over a portion of a brick wall is written "Murals can be on accompanying walls or on the shelter structure for the fridge." An arrow points to a wheel-mounted solar panel saying "solar panel". A community space is named at the top "The Free Community Space: Open 24/7" An arrow points to the outside wall of a community space structure saying "mural on outer walls". Items inside are labeled 'Freedge, Little free Library, Seeds, Pantry'. An arrow points to a couch, saying "Maybe a bench instead?" Written on the inner wall is "mural inside." An arrow pointing at the space says "Community built space w/ lights, solar panels, little free library, freedge, seed library, little free pantry, couch (???). Solar battery stored behind or on top. Plastic magnet door to protect from elements? Like those magnet curtains?"

Image 3: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. An arrow points to a slanted structure over a mini fridge, saying "Solar panel on roof?" Another arrow points to the side saying "Chalkboard paint--anyone can art here." Underneath says "variety of sizes/energy needs mean wider availability". At the top of a curved shelter on a pole is written "solar panel", along the sloping sides is "curved solar panels" and "Or solar voltaic glass?" On the underside of the structure is a label saying "Could be in a park or smth (something)". An arrow points to a box at the base of the structure, saying "charging station" and another arrow labels a table and chairs.

Image 4: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. Along the top of a slightly-curved roof structure is an arrow saying "curved solar panel roof. renogy curved 4ft x 2ft for example". To the side of the roof is written "4 panels each side, 0.45 kWh x 8 = 3.6 kWh/h". A chest fridge is labeled "converted chest fridge", and a glass-front box is labeled "Old cabinet/case now Little Free Library". A box sitting between them is labeled "I hear car batteries are good solar storage for cheaper?" A standalone chest fridge has the following labels: "Could paint on fridge exterior" "solar panel on top of fridge?" "most chest freezers are 22-28 in wide &24-38 or 54-68 in long. The longest wattage panel needed would be ~50 in long & ~26 in wide"

Image 5: Pencil sketches of refrigerators connected to solar power. The annotations on them are as follows. The inside of an open lid has an arrow pointing to a grabber object saying "Grabber for accessibility for those w/ trouble bending". A label points at a strap fastened to the inside of the lid saying "straps to help shorter people pull the lid closed." A variety of arrows point to a drawing of an open, decorated chest fridge saying the following: "Counter-balanced lid" "Baskets/crates for storage -> can slide or be removed to access underneath" "Murals on front & sides (not back)" ]

[transhuman-priestess]

A High Place in El-Bariyah

The crew of the Huntington grieves the loss of one of their own, while a malevolent force in a distant corner of the solar system forges its newest weapon.

The highly anticipated continuation of The New Flesh is here.

This story contains graphic violence, sexual content, depictions of surgery, brainwashing, identity death, dismemberment, implied rape, abusive parents, firearms, anti-queer slurs, and healthily moderated but melancholy consumption of alcohol.

As always, this story is for adults 18 years of age or older, it's also the third in an ongoing series. Get caught up before you read it!

Chapter 1: The New Flesh Chapter 2: The Third Law

Remember, if you like it, reblog it, and tell me what you liked! I thrive on feedback and shares. I write this stuff for the joy of sharing it with others. Your reblog puts validation directly into my gay little soul.

January 24, 2253 1800 Earth UTC

The Hildas, 530 million kilometers from Jupiter

7 hours. It had been 7 hours since the Huntington had escaped her assailants, and Chester Silvera, First Mate, hadn’t seen the Captain in 6.

He’d just gotten out of the shower. The entire crew was in shock. Most of them had served with Jenna Powell for years. She was their friend, and despite the frequent clashes between her and Holder, Silvera knew that the crew respected and liked both of them.

Silvera surveyed his quarters, a moderately-sized suite of around 20 square meters, containing a modest bed, a small galley, a lavatory, and the shower he had just vacated. The Huntington’s crew accommodations were far from palatial, but they were home.

Chester walked to his dresser, donned a black band T-shirt (The Carowells, Jovian Tour 2250), khaki shorts, and sneakers. He grabbed his portable radio off the table, clipped the handset to his belt and the remote mic to his collar. It chirped reassuringly as he turned it on.

Keying the mic he said, “This is Silvera, anyone seen the Captain?”

A moment later, Jill Campbell’s voice crackled to life on the speaker. “Door logs say she’s still in her quarters. Her radio’s off, want me to ring her?”

“No, I’ll just walk right over, thank you.”

“No problem.”

He opened the door to the hallway outside. The corridor was well-lit, and lined with short-pile navy blue carpet and fake-wood-grained wall paneling that had probably been quite fashionable 20 years ago, but now gave the ship a hopelessly outdated look. Chester actually quite liked it. The old girl was past her prime, but she had a sense of style, and you had to admire her for that.

Holder’s quarters were 10 meters down the hall, on the same side as Silvera’s, adjacent to the bridge entrance. Between their rooms was a corridor that led to the now-vacated Engineer’s quarters, the mess hall, the rec room, and the crew dormitories. As he passed the hallway, Silvera caught a glimpse of Powell’s door. It was closed, and unadorned. He thought about peering inside, but decided that wasn’t his place, and instead he continued to Holder’s room.

Silvera knocked a syncopated pattern on the Captain’s door, and was greeted with a dull, “Enter.”

He turned the knob and swung the door open to reveal the darkened bedroom beyond. A window faced out towards space, looking aft over the ore holds. The #3 bay was still open, its massive door blocking the view of the engines’ yellow-white exhaust plumes.

The captain was lying in her bed, eyes open, staring at the ceiling. She hadn’t shaved her face yet today, and her stubble was creeping in. Silvera never liked to say anything, but he always thought it gave Holder a dashing, roguish look. Right now though, she just looked exhausted.

“Can’t sleep?” Silvera asked, casually, as if this were a normal cruise under normal circumstances, and he had not a care in the solar system.

Holder just lay there, still staring at the ceiling. Silvera waited for her response. When none came, he asked, “Mind if I come in?”

“Sure,” was all she said.

He turned the lights on to their lowest setting and closed the door behind him. This was the first time he’d managed to get a good look at the captain’s quarters. She hadn’t yet put up any decorations, but she had managed to situate a small bookshelf, her favorite armchair, and a small table that currently held a laptop terminal.

“Love what you’ve done with the place,” Silvera joked, “Feels just like home.”

“Chester,” said Holder, without looking at him, “can you fucking not right now?”

Silvera smiled, though Holder didn’t see that. He knew his captain, and he knew he had to get her on her feet to keep her out of trouble. Holder was a problem-solver. She needed dirt on the tires and grease on her hands or she got restless. With the ship moving and no burn scheduled for another 10 days, Silvera had to become that problem.

“Terry, the crew needs to hear something from you,” he said, “They’ve just been through hell. They’ve lost a friend. Now they need a leader.”

“Some fucking leader.” was Holder’s bitter reply.

“You can’t be everywhere at once,” he said, “It’s not your fault Powell didn’t put the tether on.”

“Tell that to the court martial.” the captain said, rolling to face away from him.

“I will,” he said, “and so will the rest of the crew.”

Holder sat up and looked at him, “Are you sure about that? They knew her for years. They met me last month. You don’t have to be a physicist to figure that one out, Chester.”

“The crew will stand by their captain.”

Holder stood now, apparently she’d lay down to sleep in her blue khaki work uniform, “Why? Why will they stand by me? I got Powell killed, Chester. She is dead, because, I fucked up.”

“And how did you do that, hmm?” he asked, “By not breathing down her neck and by treating her like a responsible member of the crew?”

“Chester,” Holder’s voice got louder and she began pacing, “You just told me, right before all of this,” she waved her hands in front of her for emphasis, “that I had to drop my grudge against her. That we’d been butting heads for a month and that I was too hard on her.”

“Terry,” Silvera kept his voice even, “you are not the first Captain to lose a crew member to that crew member’s carelessness.”

“Her carelessness?” Holder said, incredulous, “Chester, I am the Captain, everything on the Huntington is my responsibility, the cargo, the safety of the crew, the integrity of the ship, everything!”

“You are one person.” Silvera could feel his fist clenching

“Who is tasked with maintaining discipline and order,” Holder shot back, “I failed in both. Jenna Powell is dead because I couldn’t control her,” Silvera thought he saw tears in her eyes, “I should have supervised the EVA, I should have checked the suit inventory,” she was shouting now, “I should have turned back and looked for her!”

“And gotten yourself and the rest of the crew killed?”, it was Silvera’s turn to shout now, “With all due respect, shut the fuck up, Theresa!”

Holder was momentarily speechless, incandescent with rage. Finally, she found her voice. “If you ever speak that way to me again, Silvera, I will personally make sure you’re-”

“Yes, yes,” he cut her off, tired of the show, “you’ll personally make sure I’m cleaning out waste reprocessors on Io until I’m old and gray, I’ve heard it before.”

“What is your problem?”

“You! This!” was his response, “Your crew just suffered a trauma and you’re sitting in here feeling sorry for yourself like some first-year cadet when you should be out there, tending to your crew as a captain should.” Holder collapsed into a sitting position on the bed and buried her face in her hands, muttering something Silvera couldn’t quite hear.

“What was that?” Silvera asked.

“I said,” Holder brought her hands away from her face, and Silvera could see the tears lining her cheeks, “That they deserve a better captain than me.”

Chester Silvera had been friends with Holder for half a decade. They’d met on a cargo hauler, the Venture, where Silvera had an engine technician. She’d stayed up helping him study for his command examine, and he’d been her first mate ever since he’d gotten his commission.

“Terry,” he said, choosing his words carefully, “I have served under,” he counted in his head, “4 captains, including you. Now, maybe it’s just my incredibly wise influence,” he paused briefly, and Holder cracked a tiny smile, “but I would say that you are, by far, the best.”

“Yeah, well, that’s just, like, your opinion, man.” Holder said, bashfully.

“I wasn’t finished,” Silvera continued, “I’ve never had a truly bad captain, but the ones who’ve impressed me the most have never been the ones that put on a stone face and hide behind their command. The best captains are always those who suffer alongside the crew, who laugh and cry with them. You need to be out there. They don’t need you to be their rock, they need you to be beside them in the flotsam while they’re adrift, so that when someone spots land, you can lead them back to it.”

They sat in silence for a long moment. Finally, Holder grabbed her radio, keyed it, and said, “This is the captain. We’ve had a bad day, probably the worst any of us has ever had. Let’s all meet in the mess hall at 1930. Drinks on me.”

* * *

Time Unknown

Location Unknown

Jenna wasn’t sure if she was in hell yet. She couldn’t possibly be alive in this state. Every signal her body sent was telling her that she should be dead. Her face felt like it was still on fire, her shoulder was in pieces, and she was pretty sure her rib cage was caved in, too. Every breath was agony. She had long since stopped trying to move any part of her body. Even with concerted effort at stillness, though, new pains danced and bloomed throughout her.

Time was behaving strangely, too. She was dizzy, like she’d had too much to drink. Her stomach felt like it was being twisted on an auger. Through the haze of it all, in the back of her engineer’s brain, she knew that if she wasn’t dead yet, she soon would be. She’d taken at least 50 grays of hard fusion radiation. By all accounts, she should have been dead by now.

And yet, she lived. The thing—for that was all that Jenna could call it—that had taken her from the emptiness of space had carried her over its shoulder to some kind of medical facility. It lay her on a cruel-looking steel table and cut her suit off, injecting her with a syringe of some oily substance that filled her mouth with a rusty taste she couldn’t shake. Even now, what had to be hours later, it remained.

She drifted in and out of consciousness for some time. Each time she woke, her head felt slightly clearer. After what felt like half a day, she woke and found that she could move her neck without feeling the crunching of bones beneath it. How long have I been out?

No sooner had the thought crossed her mind than a wave of intense nausea swept over her. Though the pain had dulled slightly, it still felt as if she might shatter when she reflexively rolled onto her side, and wretched. Nothing came out. She braced herself with her right arm and was surprised to find that she could bear weight on it. She marveled at this only a moment before another convulsion gripped her stomach. This time, she threw up. The room was dimly lit with a warm light, but even the yellow glow could not hide the contents of her stomach as it spilled onto the floor.

Blood. Lots of blood. Some clotted, some not. Some was bright red and some was nearly black. Jenna heaved again. More vomit, more blood. Her engineer’s brain chimed in again. Sodium-24.

The deuterium-tritium fusion that drove the Huntington’s main engines took two hydrogen atoms, one with an extra neutron, the other with two, and smashed them together to form helium and heat. The helium atoms, technically they were alpha particles, were of little harm to the human body normally, though the sheer quantity of them in fusion exhaust posed a danger. The real problem, however, was the neutrons produced as a byproduct. It was them, she knew, that would seal her fate.

It was the sort of thing that had captured her imagination as a young boy in Dublin. A particle so small and nonreactive that it could pass right through solid objects. Except sometimes, it didn’t. Sometimes, the neutron would hit an atom’s nucleus square-on, and stick there. The nucleus would become unstable, rippling like a drop of water falling from a cloud, and then it would break apart. Do this to the right substances, and you could generate power, build a bomb, trace the flow of blood through the human brain. Do it to the wrong substances, the ones that made up your body, and you became a bomb in slow-motion, destroying yourself, unable to prevent your own demise.

Much of the sodium in her body had absorbed neutrons, changing from stable sodium-23 to radioactive sodium-24. While fusion exhaust had neutrons and alpha particles, both of which penetrated relatively little, sodium-24 emitted gamma rays, and those gamma rays could pass through almost anything short of lead, including the human body. As they did, they stripped the ends off her chromosomes, shredding her DNA and leaving her cells unable to replicate themselves properly. The result was that she was dissolving. As the fastest-dividing cells in her body reached the end of their lifespans, they died. Rather than being replaced, her organs were simply shutting down.

But it didn’t make sense. She had taken so much radiation she should have died within an hour. Why hadn’t she? She was pondering that question when the thing that had brought her to this room stepped through the door.

Jenna’s head was clearer now and she was better able to absorb the figure’s appearance. It had a human shape. Bipedal, standing about 180cm tall. The basic outline of it implied that it was, or at least, had been, female. Cybernetic prosthetics were not unheard of but this lay outside the extreme end of that. The thing’s joints were covered in layered segments of metal with a dark oxide coating, tubing ran over its limbs. The only skin that Jenna could see was its face. The face was almost human. Dark lines ran as veins underneath the skin, the lips gunmetal gray, as if the blood inside had rotted. There was hair, a short tangled mess of raven black. One of the eyes was distinctly mechanical, a bright, electric blue. The other was green, and looked natural.

“You are awake,” was all the thing said.

Jenna made a dry croaking sound as she tried to speak. After several seconds of halting attempts, she finally found her voice, “How...how am I alive?” It hurt to speak. She thought she might have burns on her larynx from inhaling fire.

“We have been able to repair your DNA to a degree,” the figure replied, “However the process is not sufficient to ensure survival. Do not be afraid. We will make you one with us.”

“Let me die.” Jenna begged.

“You have been selected to become an assimilator unit for the hive.” was the figure’s flat reply.

“It hurts.” Jenna felt tears running down her face, “Please, let me die.”

“Your body will be modified and augmented to assimilate others into drones for the hive.”

“Like…you? No...no...”

“Do not be afraid. Your body will be altered surgically and mechanically. Due to the extensive mechanical and radiation damage your body has endured, most of it will need to be replaced with a synthetic chassis.”

“No...god, please”

“You will remain conscious during this process.”

Jenna tried to scream but all that came out was a dull rasp

“You are afraid now, but you will enjoy it, soon.”

The figure placed an anesthesia mask over Jenna’s face.

“As your external tissue is so damaged,” it said, in that flat, synthetic voice, “we were unable to administer the nanites in the usual manner. Instead we have given you a 10cc intravenous infusion.”

“Please,” Jenna whimpered, “please kill me”

Her pleas fell on deaf ears, however, “Usually,” the figure continued, “The surgical procedures would have begun immediately, but the nanites needed time to stabilize your biological processes. We will now begin.”

It grabbed Jenna’s wrists with shocking strength and fixed them to cuffs on the table. She struggled and pulled and twisted, trying to break free, but she wouldn’t have been able to, even with all her strength in her. And she was so tired. Her heart had been racing since the thing had come in, and the adrenaline had worn her down. It wasn’t so much that she resigned herself to whatever happened, she just couldn’t keep up the fight anymore.

Jenna heard a hissing sound come from the mask as the figure reached beneath the table and twisted something. A sharp, sweet chemical aroma curled into her nostrils. As she inhaled, she could feel herself relax. For a moment she almost forgot about her troubles, but her engineer’s brain started sounding alarm bells. They’re drugging you. It had to be that.

“Please,” said the figure, its voice friendlier, more familiar now, “do not resist the gas.”

“I...I don’t,” she croaked out, “I don’t want this.”

“You do not know what it is you want.”

Don’t I? Jenna thought to herself, Maybe, maybe it’s right.

It was like falling into the arms of a lover after a long day at work. Warmth, softness. Jenna’s mind wandered to an encounter she’d had with a young naval officer she met at a Titan bar not that long ago. How her consort’s uniform had glided so effortlessly off as soon as Jenna’s quarters door closed. How her soft fingers had wrapped around Jenna’s cock at the same time she’d suckled at Jenna’s tits.

Jenna realized her pain had subsided greatly. She also noticed that she had an erection.

“Subject arousal maximized,” said the figure beside her. Jenna looked over her again. She was female, decidedly. Broad-shouldered, but delicate. An artisan’s body. How had Jenna failed to see the beauty there before? “Initiating neural reroute.”

The pain quickly came roaring back, different than it had been before. Before, it felt like her body was on fire. Now it felt like tiny teeth were chewing up her insides. She tried to scream but even as she opened her mouth, it subsided, a beautiful warmth replacing it. It was like falling into the softest bed after the most filling meal in the coziest house in the world.

The world took on a brighter, sharper appearance. Jenna could hear people talking, but couldn’t make out any words. Next to her, the figure spoke, “See, isn’t that better?” As she spoke, the woman ran a mechanical hand up Jenna’s leg. Jenna couldn’t help but curl her body up in pleasure. She closed her eyes and let herself fall into the pleasure.

Oh, she thought, I guess you know how to treat a girl.

We have much experience in providing pleasure. Jenna’s eyes shot open. She had heard the woman, not with her ears, but in her head.

The neural transceiver is already functioning? The woman said, You are a promising candidate.

Jenna’s engineer brain was working double-time in thick, deep mud. Neural transceiver?

Jenna could hear the voices again, more clearly now, and realized that they, too, were inside of her. Though every rational fiber of her being screamed to pull away, her curiosity overtook her, and she reached out.

It was like stepping through a door into a crowded amphitheater. Sights, sounds, smells, textures, tastes, movement all seemed to stream into her head from everywhere at once, as if she were both infinite and singular. She flew around the ship, it was smaller than the Huntington. She saw dozens of people and yet felt only one presence. Her mind flicked through them all, letters and numbers appearing with each figure before finally slowing to a stop in the room where she was. The assimilation chamber. Sigma-26 stood above her, warmth on her face. The nascent drone on the table, what had it’s name been?

Deep within Jenna’s mind, a part of her began fighting, kicking, screaming that this was wrong, that there were people out there who missed her. Jill and Karl. Iris and Phoebe. Chester Silvera and Jack Thorton. And Theresa, her captain. Holder hadn’t left Jenna out of spite, or anger. She had been doing her job. She had been trying to keep the others safe and alive.

And yet, the drone now in her head thought, she didn’t even try to save you, did she? She could have tried to scoop you into an ore bay, or given you a few more seconds to make it to the airlock. Instead, she left you out there, adrift. The hive found you. The hive took you in. The hive healed you. Shouldn’t your loyalty lie with them?

Jenna didn’t care. She knew that it wasn’t Holder’s fault. She resisted, trying to pull herself back from the warm light of the Hive. She could feel them working their way into her head. She felt the Hive push into her memories. No, not those!

She was 10, a boy in a flat in Dublin. Her mother has taken her sister, Penny, to the doctor. Her father is asleep, and she’s snuck into Penny’s room. She’s trying on Penny’s dresses when her pa walks in. She’s never seen him so angry.

She was 14, in the boys’ locker room at school. Everyone is showering but she can’t bring herself to take off her shirt. 3 of the other boys corner her. She hides the bruises from her parents.

She was 20, a student at University College Cork, sitting in a doctor’s office. The doctor is writing her a prescription for estrogen. He seems uncomfortable, but says nothing.

She was 21, seeing her family for the first time since starting hormones. Her mother opens the door. She’s confused, but polite. Her father sees her and screams to get out of his house, that he won’t have a faggot for a son. She leaves. It’s the last time she sees her family.

She was 27, on shore leave at Olympus Station, orbiting Mars. She’s leaving a bar, alone, again. After a few minutes of walking, someone hits her hard in the back of the head, knocking her to the ground. The man shoves a chrome handgun in her mouth and says if she makes any sound he’ll blow her tranny brains all over the decking. She thinks about her mother.

She was 28, assigned to MV Huntington, her first posting as chief engineer. The crew are kind to her, but none seek her out. She never grows close to any of them.

She was 30, her new captain wears a nickel-plated .45 on her hip. Jenna’s heart races and suddenly she’s back on Olympus. She runs to her quarters and vomits. The new First Mate knocks on her door. She opens it with tears running down her cheeks. He asks her what’s wrong. She cries for 10 minutes before she can say a word. When she finally speaks, she begs him not to tell the captain. He promises he won’t.

She’s 30. Her face is burning, she’s floating through an abyss, abandoned and alone.

Thinking back on all of these things, the last bit of Jenna Powell, the part that was fighting and screaming for her humanity, grew weary. She had never desired power, or money, or the secrets of the universe. The only thing she’d ever wanted was home. She’d never had it.

The last part of her let go of the cliff it clung to. It fell, backwards, through an infinite abyss. And where it had been, only the drone remained.

“I am a drone of the hive.” she said, “Shape me to a razor’s edge.”

* * *

1930 Earth UTC

MV Huntington mess hall

Captain Theresa Holder stood just outside the entrance to the mess hall. The crew was seated in 2 rows at the long table, nine on a side. Chester was sitting on the left side nearest the empty chair at the head.

The Captain had not told the crew to wear anything special. She didn’t like the formality, and the crew, in turn, had donned their ragtag Sunday best. Jill Campbell wore a navy blue polo. Karl Miller had tied his hair, normally past his shoulders, into a tight bun. Iris Owens was actually wearing a dress. A bright, neon-pink dress with a skull printed on the front, but a dress nonetheless.

Holder, for her part, was wearing her blue dress uniform. Deep navy wool with brass toggles, her captain’s pips on her shoulders. The Civil Navy did not award medals to be worn with dress uniforms, and so on her left breast was a patch that simply said “HOLDER” in light grey letters above the embroidered silhouette of a Shinkelobwe-class ship.

As she entered the hall, Silvera stood, “Captain on deck!” he barked. The crew stood with him. Holder stopped half a meter beyond the threshold. Funerals at sea were one of the times that regulation permitted her to wear the pistol strapped to her hip. Despite this, she made a show, while the crew watched, of removing the belt and hanging it on a hook next to the door. She pulled the pistol from its worn leather holster, and racked the slide back. She had not loaded it prior, and so manually locked it open before replacing it in the belt and turning to the crew. “At ease,” she said, and the crew sat.

She walked, not to the head of the table, but to the foot. She remained standing, and spoke.

“We are here, tonight, our number one too few,” she began, “We have lost our colleague and friend, Genevieve Powell.” She paused, she hadn’t written anything down and was struggling to remember the bits she’d thrown together in her mind as she’d shaved and showered.

“Look,” she said, dropping the air of pretense she’d held before, “Nobody comes out here expecting to die. We didn’t join a combat fleet. We didn’t sign up to be shot at or blow up troop depots or raid supply outposts. We’re miners.”

She looked around at the crew a moment before continuing, “And miners die. It’s been happening ever since humans started digging holes in the ground. Tunnel collapses, methane explosions, tidal shifts. But what happened today, that’s not something, I think, that any of us expected.

“Jenna and I didn’t exactly get along. It feels a bit ghoulish to be up here, praising her, to tell you the truth. Like I’m taking credit for something I didn’t earn. But I need you all to hear this. What happened today, it’s my responsibility. You all performed admirably in a situation that none of us was prepared for. This morning, you were asteroid miners. This evening, you’re heroes, all of you. None more so than the woman who should, by all rights, be sitting at the head of this table.”

Holder gestured in the direction of the empty place setting, “Jenna Powell died trying to get you all to safety. When you tell your friends and families about today, don’t sing praises of your captain. Heap your praise on Jenna Powell, whose loyalty and courage cannot be disputed. Chester, the bottle.”

Silvera stood, grabbing a bottle of whiskey that he had placed on the floor next to his chair. He walked towards Holder, and handed her the thick, ornate glass vessel.

Holder broke the seal and uncorked the bottle. She walked around the table, gently pouring a finger of the amber liquid into each crew member’s glass. When all had been served, she poured herself a glass, and holding it in her left hand, raised it. “To Jenna.”

“To Jenna,” the crew replied, smiles and tears all around, and drank.

After downing her glass, Holder placed it on the table and picked up the bottle. She held it high and said, again, “To Jenna.”

“To Jenna!” the crew said once more.

And with that, Captain Theresa Holder silently drained the rest of the bottle out onto the floor of the mess.

Timecode Error: Format Not Recognized

Hive Interdictor K-14

The drone lay on the table, no longer restrained. Her tired flesh would soon be discarded, replaced by metal, composite, and plastics.

Sigma-26 stood above her, “The radiation has severely damaged your body,” she said to the new drone, “your augmentations will be rather more extensive than most.”

The new drone silently confirmed receipt of this information. 26 began hooking life support tubes into the new drone’s neck. The plan was already clear in her mind. She was eager for it, eager to leave behind the flesh that had confined her and become one with the hive. To feel the electricity run through her wires and hear the thrum of motors and pumps.

26 approached, pulling down an armature from the ceiling that held a large band saw. Wordlessly, she turned it on, and began lowering it towards the new drone’s hips. The blade bit into the damaged flesh of her right leg first, right where the femur met the ball of the hip.

The new drone heard the hive through the wire, It is not clear yet how much of your body will need replacing, it said, the process will proceed in stages to ensure stability.

The blade ground through the new drone’s leg, spitting bits of meat out to the side. As it struck bone the motor bogged down slightly, and the drone felt a high-pitched vibration through her entire being. Waves of pleasure overtook her, the ecstasy of death and rebirth. The nanites in her system worked to seal off the femoral artery and other blood vessels, protecting the brain from losing its precious supply of oxygen. The external life support systems were not yet needed, but that time would come soon.

26 removed the severed limb from the table and began amputating the other leg. Another fine mist of gore sprayed out. It felt so good, the new drone felt itself grow hard as the last bit of skin was severed.

In order to assess tissue damage, the hive spoke again, we will need to access your abdominal cavity. The life support systems will take over now.

Wordlessly, 26 plunged a scalpel into the new drone’s abdomen, just above the pubic bone. She worked it around to the right hip, then back and down almost to the table. She turned then and cut upwards, under and around the lower segment of the rib cage. The new drone’s cock was nearly bursting now, and she gave in, releasing herself, firing juices all over her stomach.

When the scalpel had circumnavigated the new drone’s belly, 26 reached in just under the sternum, and peeled the skin back. It pulled and twisted and sucked, a mass of skin, fat, and muscle a few centimeters thick. It, too, was tossed aside. Another drone came in the door and retrieved the severed legs and the skin flap, whisking them away to a reprocessing terminal.

26 examined the new drone’s organs. The new drone could not see them, but could hear the hive as it wordlessly assessed the situation. The radiation damage was too severe. Her body, even with most of the skin and organs removed, was too damaged to remain.

Full submaxillial amputation necessary, the hive declared.

26 grabbed a port with several needles on the end of various bores. She gently cupped the new drone’s head in one hand, lifting it up, before gently pushing the cable in to the base of the skull. Nanites in the port flooded in, connecting themselves to nerves, building microducts to carry oxygenated blood to the brain after the next step.

When the connection was complete, 26 reached into the open abdominal cavity and began paring out organs. She started with the bladder and intestines. The new drone watched as meters of glistening tubes were removed from her. She could feel herself becoming lighter. The stomach came next, along with the pancreas. Each cut was like an orgasm in and of itself. A blast of pleasure that washed over the new drone like fire consuming kindling.

Her liver and lungs were removed. The new drone could feel her brain stem panicking, trying to force her to breathe with lungs that could not draw air. It was driving her mad, she could feel pressure building up behind her genitals again, and once more she fired off, her glistening seed spurting into the now-empty cavity.

At last, all that was left was her beating heart. It was pounding so fast, and her body was so much lighter now, that she actually thought she might be popping off the operating table under the power of its palpitations. The new drone met 26’s eyes as the latter reached for the band saw. 26 switched the tool on, its blade accelerating to full speed almost instantly. In anticipation, the new drone opened her mouth wide.

26 brought the saw down between the new drone’s jaws. It first caught her cheeks, tearing into them and spraying blood inside her mouth and out the side. She could taste it, the hot, metallic taste of her own body, the last thing she would ever taste. As the blade continued downward it met her mandible, the blade shrieking inside the new drone’s head. It passed out the back side of the bone and immediately dug into the drone’s throat. Blood spurted down it. The pleasure of it all was overwhelming. Finally, 26 angled the blade to pass up through the top of the spinal column, just below the brain stem.

As the blade exited at the end, the new drone felt her body disappear. A nuclear bomb of pleasure went off in her, her eyes rolling back in her skull. The few muscles that remained, as well as the stumps of mandible that had not yet been removed thrashed wildly, for 12 minutes and 22 seconds. When the last wave of orgasm subsided, the new drone opened her eyes.

26 was standing above her, smiling. She felt her hivemate grasp her on either side, and lift her up. It was a curious sensation. She felt so light, so free. Wordlessly, 26 strode over to a person-sized case standing in the corner of the room.

Behold, said the hive, your new form.

The mechanical body was slightly taller than the new drone’s old one. It was sturdier too, with a more muscular look. On top of the neck sat a mechanical mandible. There was no skin, that would be artificially grown over it after assembly. 26 carefully placed the new drone atop the stack, and, using a scalpel, cut away the last bits of her original jawbone.

The artificial mandible responded without command, screwing into the joint sockets on her skull and connecting artificial muscles to mechanical ones. Soon, the drone could feel small actuators gripping the blood vessels inside her and making permanent connections. 26 stood back and watched the process. Finally, she reached behind the new drone and removed the life support tube from the plug. The new drone became momentarily dizzy during the changeover, but 26 was quick to connect the body’s hookup to the port on the skull.

Step forward, came the voice of the hive.

The new drone complied. Wordlessly, she turned around, facing herself away from 26, who began fixing armor plates to the back of her skull, covering up the sensitive port. When 26 was finished, the new drone turned back to face her. She stared down at her new hands, sleek and metal. She flexed her fingers, feeling the power of them. A full diagnostic ran automatically, the results appearing in the corner of her vision, confirming all systems were functioning as designed.

“What is your designation?” 26 asked the new drone.

The new drone looked at her, and said, “I am Sigma-38, assimilator unit.”

Welcome, Sigma-38, came the voice of the hive, we will do great things together.

[paintyoureyeswithavividmind]

close to home | chapter thirty seven

close to home | chapter thirty seven

plot: the reader's new life at Alexandria surprises her further

series masterlist

Pairing: Eventual Daryl Dixon x f!reader Word Count: 1,825 Warnings: violence, blood, typical twd A/N: thank you for reading!!!

You woke up to Daryl snoring and an ache in your neck. You were facing away from him, curled up on your side. His arm was outstretched, and you’d been using it as a pillow. Slowly you turned, blinking the sleep from your eyes. 

Daryl looked beautiful as he slept, and you couldn’t stop yourself from reaching out and gently caressing the side of his face. His soft yet coarse facial hair hid away his skin. The few wrinkles he had that you didn’t show the decade or so that spanned between you two. Not that you cared. You liked that he was older. 

You moved closer to him, your hand on the expanse of his chest now. You wanted to shower him with affection. You wanted to press kisses all over his face, squeeze his cheeks, and show him how much you cared about him. But you didn’t want to make him uncomfortable, which kept you from doing all that. You’d have to think of other ways to show him you cared. Ways that didn’t involve physical affection. 

But still, you hoped that with time, he’d relax at your touch instead of tense. 

“Stop starin’,”

You smiled at the sound of his voice. You didn’t care that you’d been caught red-handed. You were just happy to hear the sound of his voice. 

“Good morning, old man,” You whispered. 

Daryl sighed with sleep and turned to look at you, placing his hand on the small of your back. The only window in the room, nearly at ground level but at the top of the wall inside, had lit up the room significantly. 

You curled your hand around his shirt to avoid touching his face. 

“Ain’ an old man,” 

You chuckled and moved so you were lying on your stomach but still in his arms. “Sorry, good morning, handsome,” 

“Stop,”

“What? You don’t like being called what you are?” You teased. Daryl shook his head and looked up at the ceiling, then sighed and closed his eyes. Your eyebrows furred together. “You okay?”

“Just ain’ used to it,”

You knew exactly what he was talking about. “Bad thing?”

Daryl hummed and shook his head. “Good thing,”

***

An hour later--after successfully getting Daryl to engage in a decent conversation--you snuck upstairs to get dressed. It was still early, but you heard your family preparing for the day. 

You did the same, dressing in jeans and a deep V-neck that you found at the bottom of a bin. It was worn in by someone who wasn’t you, but it fits comfortably. You put on socks but left your shoes upstairs. 

By then, Michonne and Maggie sat at the kitchen table, drinking something from a mug. “Where is everyone?” You asked. 

“Their jobs. There was a supply run for parts to the solar panels today. Carl’s still asleep, though,” Michonne said. 

You sat down at the table and looked between the two of them. “Daryl and I had sex last night.”

Maggie choked on her drink and looked at you wide-eyed while Michonne immediately laughed. 

“You what?” Maggie asked. 

You nodded and looked around the room, even though no one was there. “Don’t tell anyone. I need advice. He finished inside of me by accident, and I’m worried about getting pregnant,” You said. 

Michonne laughed harder, and Maggie gave you a look. “(Y/N).”

“Spare the lecture, Mom,” You said. “Surely you and Glenn have been in this situation before. What do I do?” You nearly begged. 

“See if Pete has a morning-after pill?” Michonne asked. 

You bit your lip and slowly nodded. It wasn’t the worst of ideas; you could run by before meeting with Olivia. 

Maggie reached out and grabbed your hand. “The waiting sucks. I’ve been through it once or twice. Just try and breathe.”

“Okay, okay. But if I get pregnant, promise one of you will throw me down the stairs?”

***

You spent the rest of the day with Olivia, working the inventory. She went over a few more things, but for the most part, the two of you sat around for the day. You thought it was completely pointless and didn’t know why Deanna thought two people were needed for this. But you didn’t question anything. It allowed you to sit and relax for once, a feeling you weren’t used to. And you intended on volunteering for guard duty. 

You’d managed to snag a few condoms that you hoped Olivia would overlook. She was too busy paying attention to Tora, who came with you to work today. You felt at ease with her there, and Olivia even brought out an old pillow and made a makeshift bed for you. You’d think it was a throne, the way Tora sat up there all day. 

After Olivia dismissed you with a basket of rations for the house, you walked slowly to the new home you found yourself in. A few of your neighbors waved at you, and you were able to place a few of the faces but couldn’t remember the names. 

The house was empty except for Carl, who you only knew was home because of the loud music playing upstairs. With a smile and a sense of normality, you put the items Olivia gave you away before you walked around the living room. Some movies were on one of the shelves behind the TV, but they didn’t interest you. And you didn’t care for it anyway. It felt too much like the old days, and you couldn’t get yourself to turn it on. 

So you sat on the couch with a book you hadn’t read since high school and started reading. Tora jumped up to curl on your lap while you did so, and it almost felt like everything was how it should be. 

When the door opened, you had just reached the third chapter, and Michonne walked in. By the look on her face, your stomach dropped, and you closed the book. “What happened?”

“Noah.”

“Is he…?” You asked. 

She leaned against the center island and nodded. “Tara’s in the infirmary. She hit her head really hard.”

Your heart sank at the news, and you sighed deeply. In just weeks, you lost the prison, your uncle, Beth, Tyreese, and now Noah. You rubbed your hands together and stood up. “I’m going to see Tara.”

“I’ll come with you,” She said quietly. 

The walk to the infirmary was quick, and your stomach dropped when you saw Tara lying unconscious. Rosita was with her, and she gave you guys a tired smile. Eugene was sitting in the room too, but he didn’t say anything. 

“What did Pete say?” You asked, looking at her pale face. 

“She’s out. She’ll probably have a concussion. But she should pull through. He’s hoping she’ll wake tomorrow.” Rosita said. 

You nodded and sat down, looking at Eugene. “I’m sorry.”

He gave you a nod but didn’t say anything. 

You all waited in silence. Not for her to wake up, of course. But it felt like the right thing to do. You weren’t sure how long you’d been there when you heard a commotion outside, and you all went out to see what was happening. 

The last thing you expected to see was Rick fighting Pete. Your mouth dropped at the sight before you and you couldn’t believe what you saw. They were both covered in blood and had significant wounds on them. 

When a few people approached Rick, he pulled a gun. You grabbed Rosita’s arm, needing something to tether you to this moment. She seemed to need the same because she didn’t back away as Rick ranted about Alexandria and how they weren’t prepared. 

Michonne moved quickly and knocked him out before he could say anything he couldn’t take back, and then tension around the block seemed to diminish. 

You glanced around for Daryl, but he wasn’t there. 

***

You spent the next hour patching up Rick in a makeshift self without anyone from Alexandria knowing and getting him settled in the room. You left food and water to make sure he had something to eat. A part of you felt guilty about what happened. You didn’t notice how much he was struggling. Rick always noticed when you were, and you hated that you didn’t return the favor. 

Starting tomorrow, you would. 

After that, you helped Carol make spaghetti for dinner. It was mostly a quiet dinner, and Glenn didn’t join you. You found it hard to eat too, but you forced everything down. Then, you sat with Carl for a while to make sure he was okay. He showed you some of the comics he found and read with you for a while before you both went to bed. 

The next morning, you checked on an unconscious Rick before heading to work. Olivia was a tad bit awkward with you before she lightened up. You helped her man the shop for a while before you got wind that Tara was up, and Olivia let you go to her. 

Since Pete wasn’t there, you did a quick check-up on her and told her how thankful you were okay. Someone already told her about Noah, and you did your best to keep her mind off it before she fell asleep. 

When you heard about the meeting that would decide Rick’s fate at Alexandria, you had anxiety about it the rest of the day. You heard from Michonne that Rick was up and about, but she thought it best if everyone kept their distance for a little while. 

As the sun set, Maggie collected you, and you followed her to the meeting. 

“Do you think they’re going to kick him out?” You asked her as you walked. 

“I don’t know.” She said. 

“What do we do if they do?”

Maggie looked around before looking at you. “Then I guess we take this place.”

No other words were exchanged because you didn’t disagree. If they dared exile Rick, they had another thing coming for them. You’d fight tooth and nail to make sure that didn’t happen. Not after everything Rick’s done for you. 

The meeting didn’t start for a while, and when it did, nice things weren’t said. Jessie and Maggie were the only ones sticking up for Rick. You let your cousin talk and stood with her, but you weren’t nearly as good with words as she was.

When Rick appeared out of nowhere, dropping a dead walker at everyone’s feet, you knew you had enough surprises, so when Pete appeared drunk, you started to get worried. 

Maggie grabbed you as Pete went after Rick, and you both watched in horror as Reg tried to step in before his throat was slit. 

Deanna started screaming, cradling her dying husband. Abraham apprehended Pete, and you grabbed your machete, waiting for something to happen. 

But all Deanna had to do was say Rick’s name before he put a bullet through Pete’s skull. 

In the silence that followed, you all felt the presence of additions to the group. Daryl and Aaron were back with a stranger that seemed to know Rick. 

[disneytva]

20th Television Animation Brings Animation To San Diego Comic-Con 2024

Animation fans will have a lot to keep them busy and entertained at this year’s Comic-Con. Disney just announced its plans for its Hulu and 20th Television Animation festivities and panels set for the San Diego.

Friday, July 26

Solar Opposites, 2:00-2:45 p.m., Indigo Room. The popular animated series returns to San Diego Comic-Con ahead of a new season packed with new family values, mayhem in the Wall and some all-new Silvercops adventures. Join executive producers Mike McMahan and Josh Bycel, and cast Thomas Middleditch (Terry), Mary Mack (Jesse) and Sean Giambrone (Yumyulack) for an advance screening of a never-before-seen episode, and a discussion of the hilarious and out-of-this-world upcoming fifth season premiering Aug. 12 on Hulu.

The Great North, 3:00- 3:45 p.m., Indigo Room. Embark on an exhilarating journey to Lone Moose at Comic-Con. Catch an exclusive look behind the scenes of this animated comedy series that follows the quirky Tobin family as they navigate life together. Get to know the creative minds behind the series including creators and executive producers Wendy Molyneaux, Lizzie Molyneaux-Logelin, Loren Bouchard and the voices behind the Tobin family including Jenny Slate, Dulcé Sloan, Paul Rust and Aparna Nancherla to gain fascinating insights into the production of the show, its unique setting, and the colorful characters that inhabit the world of the Tobin family.

Bob’s Burgers,  4:00-4:45 p.m., Indigo Room. Join the Belcher family and the creative minds behind Bob’s Burgers for a can’t-miss panel. Creator and executive producer Loren Bouchard, executive producers Nora Smith, Holly Schlesinger and supervising director Bernard Derriman will break news about the upcoming season. The cast including H. Jon Benjamin, John Roberts, Kristen Schaal, Eugene Mirman, Dan Mintz and Larry Murphy will have the audience howling with laughter through exclusive sneak peeks, a lively panel discussion and Q&A.

Saturday, July 27

Futurama, 11:00-11:45 a.m., Ballroom 20. Neither snow nor rain nor cancellations nor pandemics nor Hollywood strikes can keep Futurama from blasting back into existence. Please join Matt Groening, David X. Cohen, Claudia Katz and “Futurama” superstars Billy West, John DiMaggio, Lauren Tom, Phil LaMarr, David Herman and Maurice LaMarche for a live sneak preview of the all-new season premiering July 29 on Hulu. They promise to spill the maximum legal dose of spoilers. Plus, there is the chance to walk away with debatably precious door prizes!

The Simpsons, 12:00-12:45 p.m., Ballroom 20. Show creators give an exclusive spooky sneak preview of “Treehouse of Horror 35” – the scariest 35th Halloween Special ever. Join panelists Matt Groening, Matt Selman, Rob LaZebnik, Tim Bailey, along with special guest moderator Kevin Smith and surprise terrifying guests for original drawings, prizes and more.

American Dad! 1:00-1:45 p.m., Ballroom 20.  Celebrate the enduring success of the show at Comic-Con with hilarity, hijinks and heartfelt moments. Dive into the quirky world of the Smith family and their eccentric friends and foes as this beloved animated series celebrates its ongoing success with stars Wendy Schaal, Scott Grimes, Rachael MacFarlane, Dee Bradley Baker, Jeff Fischer, and executive producers Matt Weitzman, Kara Vallow and Nic Wegener.

Family Guy 2:00-2:45 p.m., Ballroom 20.  It’s time to look back at 25 years of laughter, satire and iconic moments with the long-running show at this must-attend Comic-Con panel. This milestone event will bring together fans, the iconic cast including Alex Borstein, Seth Green, Jennifer Tilly, Gary Cole and Mike Henry, and executive producers Rich Appel, Alec Sulkin, Steve Callaghan and Kara Vallow to honor a quarter-century of hilarity, irreverence and unforgettable moments in Quahog. Whether a long-time fan or new to the Griffin family’s antics, this is the ultimate event to honor one of television’s most beloved and enduring animated series.