#Air Conditioning Innovation

[havellsindia001]

Lloyd GLW18I5FWBMZ Window AC – Efficient Cooling for Your Space | MyLloyd

Discover the Lloyd GLW18I5FWBMZ Window Air Conditioner for powerful and energy-efficient cooling. Explore advanced features, sleek design, and reliable performance. Enhance your comfort with MyLloyd's innovative window AC technology

[wachinyeya]

470,000 Glass Bottles Turned into Coating for Slashing Heat – Just Won a 2023 James Dyson Award https://www.goodnewsnetwork.org/470000-glass-bottles-turned-into-heat-reducing-coating-for-hong-kong-facades-wins-2023-james-dyson-award/

[reasonsforhope]

Green energy is in its heyday. 

Renewable energy sources now account for 22% of the nation’s electricity, and solar has skyrocketed eight times over in the last decade. This spring in California, wind, water, and solar power energy sources exceeded expectations, accounting for an average of 61.5 percent of the state's electricity demand across 52 days. 

But green energy has a lithium problem. Lithium batteries control more than 90% of the global grid battery storage market. 

That’s not just cell phones, laptops, electric toothbrushes, and tools. Scooters, e-bikes, hybrids, and electric vehicles all rely on rechargeable lithium batteries to get going. 

Fortunately, this past week, Natron Energy launched its first-ever commercial-scale production of sodium-ion batteries in the U.S. 

“Sodium-ion batteries offer a unique alternative to lithium-ion, with higher power, faster recharge, longer lifecycle and a completely safe and stable chemistry,” said Colin Wessells — Natron Founder and Co-CEO — at the kick-off event in Michigan. 

The new sodium-ion batteries charge and discharge at rates 10 times faster than lithium-ion, with an estimated lifespan of 50,000 cycles.

Wessells said that using sodium as a primary mineral alternative eliminates industry-wide issues of worker negligence, geopolitical disruption, and the “questionable environmental impacts” inextricably linked to lithium mining. 

“The electrification of our economy is dependent on the development and production of new, innovative energy storage solutions,” Wessells said. 

Why are sodium batteries a better alternative to lithium?

The birth and death cycle of lithium is shadowed in environmental destruction. The process of extracting lithium pollutes the water, air, and soil, and when it’s eventually discarded, the flammable batteries are prone to bursting into flames and burning out in landfills. 

There’s also a human cost. Lithium-ion materials like cobalt and nickel are not only harder to source and procure, but their supply chains are also overwhelmingly attributed to hazardous working conditions and child labor law violations. 

Sodium, on the other hand, is estimated to be 1,000 times more abundant in the earth’s crust than lithium. 

“Unlike lithium, sodium can be produced from an abundant material: salt,” engineer Casey Crownhart wrote ​​in the MIT Technology Review. “Because the raw ingredients are cheap and widely available, there’s potential for sodium-ion batteries to be significantly less expensive than their lithium-ion counterparts if more companies start making more of them.”

What will these batteries be used for?

Right now, Natron has its focus set on AI models and data storage centers, which consume hefty amounts of energy. In 2023, the MIT Technology Review reported that one AI model can emit more than 626,00 pounds of carbon dioxide equivalent. 

“We expect our battery solutions will be used to power the explosive growth in data centers used for Artificial Intelligence,” said Wendell Brooks, co-CEO of Natron. 

“With the start of commercial-scale production here in Michigan, we are well-positioned to capitalize on the growing demand for efficient, safe, and reliable battery energy storage.”

The fast-charging energy alternative also has limitless potential on a consumer level, and Natron is eying telecommunications and EV fast-charging once it begins servicing AI data storage centers in June. 

On a larger scale, sodium-ion batteries could radically change the manufacturing and production sectors — from housing energy to lower electricity costs in warehouses, to charging backup stations and powering electric vehicles, trucks, forklifts, and so on. 

“I founded Natron because we saw climate change as the defining problem of our time,” Wessells said. “We believe batteries have a role to play.”

-via GoodGoodGood, May 3, 2024

--

Note: I wanted to make sure this was legit (scientifically and in general), and I'm happy to report that it really is! x, x, x, x

[allfifaworldcup]

Mike Leach dies at 61: Mississippi State coach, 'Air Raid' innovator had complications from heart condition

Mike Leach dies at 61: Mississippi State coach, ‘Air Raid’ innovator had complications from heart condition

Veteran college football coach Mike Leach, 61, died Monday night after complications from a heart condition. Leach, who led Mississippi State through 2020, was taken to the University of Mississippi Medical Center in Jackson on Sunday for treatment of a medical incident that occurred at his home. Leach was last seen in public Saturday night at a local holiday party. The Leach family released a…

[dearlyya]

TIL’ WE MEET AGAIN | Young!Silco x Fem!Reader

Chapter One-Persistence; When a coward turns hero.

Warnings; Angst, pre-canon, hurt/comfort, Zaunites, Piltians, revolution, violence, blood, gore, drinking, smoking, gambling, swearing, sex, brothels, drugs, slow burn, the reader is a coward at first, original character (Wynn), strangers to lovers, bittersweet, Old Silco being weirdly sentimental, Jinx being noisy, and major character death.

A/N; I don’t do taglists, sorry. I also want to thank my friend for supporting my writing, proofreading, and character creation of Wynn. Love you, bro.

PREVIOUS CHAPTER | NEXT CHAPTER | MASTERLIST

Undercity is considered an industrial stain nestled beneath the grand city of Piltover.

With air that hangs heavy, and its people feral. Towering smokestacks belch black smoke into the already smog sky, casting long shadows over the cramped alleyways and buildings. The streets are strewn with discarded scrap metal, chemical waste, and other debris of the relentless production that drives the Undercity's economy. 

The warm green glow of the gas lamps casts an eerie, shimmering light over the buzzing market stalls and their wares. Cautious eyes dart about, gripping the crate tightly, as your knuckles white with tension. You trudge through the damp, uneven cobblestone path. Your heavy boots thud, but the market muffles the sound. Wynn strides ahead of you, his boysenberry hair reflecting the green making his hair almost black.

Both of you carry large, sloshing crates of alcohol that clink and bounce with each jostle from the crowded lane. Your tattered cloak draped your form, the hood pulled low to fight against the season's coldness and obscure your face from the lingering enforcers.

You instinctively glance at the enforcers standing near a stall, their voices raised in angry conversation with the stall’s owner, who appears equally irritated. They are likely issuing citations for illegal imports or contraband. Detailed by the other armored man holding up a list and pointing at the merchandise. However, when the vendor suddenly shoves one of them, you quickly avert your gaze, choosing to ignore the escalating commotion and focus on navigating the crowded marketplace.

Fighting wasn’t something you could do against the enforcers unless you’d want a hefty prison sentence or killed. So, you allow them to conduct their inspections and searches, gritting your teeth if their hands linger on your body for far too long.

You did dream of something better, a fictional land where all is peace and harmony, but that's wishful thinking. Life gave the Undercity people the short end of the stick, so now all you want is to keep your life, provide some aid to wanders, and of course keep the tavern: The Last Drop. Afloat.

Some vendors attempt to grab your attention, but you politely shake your head. Keep your eyes trained on Wynn who glides through the people with ease. You stumble and slip between people straining to keep up with your friend. Cursing under your breath at the fact that you could’ve gotten your supply runner to fetch the cargo, but no. Coins have been getting slimmer and slimmer at the drop. One of the many reasons why your resentment, once directed at the enforcers, began to shift towards the rebels who fought against them. While their cause was just, their tactics often made life even harder for the ordinary citizens of the Undercity. Strikes, protests, and their thievery disrupted supply lines which left families and businesses like yours struggling to make ends meet. Of course, this is only rooted in fear. 

Fear of losing more.

The mines that delve deep into Runeterra. Extracting precious minerals to fuel the insatiable demand. Workers in harsh conditions, their health and safety were often sacrificed for the sake of profit. Stark contrasts the cutting-edge innovation of Piltover ‘coexisting’ with the rampant corruption and exploitation they cause the city below them.

Down in the fissures, where deep cracks in the earth have split open, a treacherous underground network of tunnels and caverns caused by the relentless mining and drilling operations. Was bustling with the activity of workers, faces smeared with grime.

You and your father worked in those mines, and many families did. Your life narrowed down to one moment. A vivid horrible memory. You knew you should’ve put up a fight, and struggled against the enforcers alongside the others. When the tears finally spilled over, streaming down your face in hot, bitter rivulets. You couldn’t help but cower. You remember his body and the way the world seemed to tilt and spin around you.

When you pushed yourself up, letting go of a rusty pickaxe. A strong arm shoved you roughly back to the ground. It sent shockwaves through your malnourished body. Your coal-covered glove scraped against the unforgiving, rocky ground as you trembled uncontrollably, shaking like a frightened animal.

A cacophony of screams and desperate cries pierced everyone's ears like shards of glass. Through ‘The Gray’ smog you saw people–workers–were fighting against the enforcers with a fury born of desperation, their voices raw as they tried to reach your father, who was knelt on the ground, clutching the back of his head. Blood, vivid red against the rocks, drips steadily from his fingers, staining the earth beneath him. A macabre work of art. The sight of it sears itself into your mind, something you still see to this day.

Your wide eyes locked onto your father, drinking in every detail of his face, committing it to memory, as the screams and shouts faded into a distant, muffled hum.

He met your gaze, his expression was steady and calm despite the chaos that raged around you. He's trying so hard not to look frightened, putting on a brave face for your sake. He gulped, and in that tiny gesture, you saw the truth of his fear reflected in his eyes. But there's something else there too, a silent message of love and reassurance that told you that everything will be okay, that he'll protect you no matter what happens to him. 

But the man behind him, the one through the smog, the one who raises his gun high above his shoulder–tells a different story. The gun glints harshly reflecting off the gold on the enforcer. Quick to get to your knees, a firm kick sends you forward along with a harsh boot on your back keeps you in place. You cried out at the pressure, as you squirmed to get closer to your father. 

It's a swift blow, brutally efficient in its execution. The butt of the gun connected with the back of his head with a nauseating crack, and he crumpled to the ground. He fell face-first onto the unforgiving rocks. His body would twitch, but the last sliver of life drained away in an instant. You barely heard the final, choked-off words that he never got to finish. His last confession of "I love you" was stolen away by the cruel hand of fate.

Your breathing gets heavy when you remember, each intact a painful reminder of the life that still flows through your veins, even as everything else feels cold and numb. You shakily grip the case. It takes a special kind of strength, and true courage to stand up despite others bringing you down, to crush your hopes and dreams beneath the weight of their fears and insecurities.

You're not sure what you believe in anymore. That day the foundations of your world were shaken when the very ground beneath your feet shifted and crumbled, leaving you feeling lost and adrift in a sea of uncertainty before you were taken by the hand and brought up to a raft. You’ll always be grateful to Wynn. Though, all you know is that life is rather unfair, especially in the Undercity, and all you want to do is survive. Is that selfish? 

Perhaps you are one of those pushovers.

You were too lost in thought when you got pushed to the side, sending you to your left, and letting go of the crate to catch your fall, gritting your teeth you look up but notice it’s those same enforcers now carrying off that vendor's supplies. The one that shoulder checks you, gives you a look, and even with its helmet on you can tell that they’re testing your reaction. You look down at your crate. It’s open and bottles–thankfully not broken–have rolled out.

Maybe you've always been that way, content to let others make the decisions, to follow the path of least resistance rather than forging your way forward. But with the aftermath of your father's lifeless body that laid before you and the weight of powerlessness bearing down on your shoulders, you can't help but wonder if there isn't more to you than that.

Maybe, deep down, buried beneath the layers of fear and self-doubt, there is a spark of courage waiting to be ignited, a flicker of determination that just needs the right circumstances to flare into life.

You carefully lift each bottle to the crate, ensuring they are securely packed. Reaching for a bottle of scotch, your hand accidentally brushes against its neighbor, sending the bottle rolling away. It clicks and clanks across the cobblestone path before disappearing into the shadows of a nearby alley.

You pause, considering whether to retrieve the wayward bottle, but the risk of Wynn ringing your neck for wasting good money has you sighing. A broke bitch during inflation is someone you don’t want to mess with. You continue to pack the remaining bottles and get back to your feet, crate in arms.

No one notices you entering the alley, with your head hanging low. 

The ground is littered with discarded metal scraps, used needles, and unidentifiable substances. Peering from beneath your hood, you scan the area for any sign of the missing bottle, but your search becomes useless. Instead, you hear labored breathing and pained grunts from further down the narrow way. 

Your breath catches in your throat as you take in the scene before you. The glint of gold and blue uniforms mingles with the tattered red of the man's clothing. The sight is all too familiar. The enforcers’ figures huff up and down, laughing at each other in cruel satisfaction as they rain down blows on the man. Their boots connected with sickening thuds against his bloodied body. You can’t tear your eyes away from them. 

The right circumstance is all someone needs.

“Look at you, pathetic like the rest of those revolutionaries. You’re nothing but a filthy rat scurrying in the gutters and trash of refined people.” One of them coo, tilting their head at the body, you step closer.

You should move on, and let them take this man’s life if need be, so you can slip by unnoticed. It would be far more understandable than helping someone out of the kindness of your heart, but you have never felt such a surge of emotion before. The impending doom that bloomed in your gut yelling in your ear with a booming voice telling you that if you didn’t help this man you’d truly be the vermin that topside thinks you are. You can’t explain it to yourself, all your bitter-laced words and morals clashed when you heard them throwing those humiliating remarks. 

The right circumstance is all she needed.

The enforcers continue to beat him. You don’t think very much, the few thoughts that pass your mind are typically about personal survival, so thinking about beating these men into a pulp like they are with your fellow scum has you dropping the crate and racing towards them. Your heart is in your ears, bile backing up in your throat, as your coat flies off you. The knife you grip sinks into the nearest Piltie. Into their exposed armor between the helmet and chest plate. An honest, lucky blow to the neck.

He yelps, stopping his assault to cradle the wound that spurts blood between his gloved fingers. He staggers away as the other enforcer finally grasps the situation. With your dagger in the side of the other guy's neck, you quickly skimmed around the alley looking for a possible weapon, you spotted the bottle but you weren’t quick enough. The intact enforcer rushed at you and slammed you against the brick wall of a building. Your head hits it roughly dazing you. Your windpipe closes up when the enforcer pushes your throat with his forearm. His metal suit cuffs dig into your skin. You're frantic now. 

Shit–you didn’t think this through. Death was now a concrete possibility, and dying next to the man you tried so hard to save felt like the greatest irony. The pain shooting through your neck grew unbearable, causing tears to well up and cascade down your cheeks, despite the insults being thrown your way.

On this final night alive, you admit to yourself that you might have cared about the revolution after all. Your body was lifted off the ground, dangling up near this blue and gold-clad man. Both of your hands grip his gloves, trying to cause any damage by digging your nails into him. More tears roll. You weren’t crying because your own life was flashing before your eyes, but because you couldn’t save a symbol. A figure of hope.

The enforcer that you stabbed lays slumped against a gross dumpster, his hand weakly clawing at the stab wound in his neck. Crimson blood seeped through his armor, staining it a dark, glistening red. He twitched and spasmed as blood continued to spurt from the exposed injury. Despite everything a pang of guilt flickered in your chest. You had never taken a life before. Your gaze drifted to his neck, and realization dawned on you–your dagger was missing. As you slipped in and out of consciousness, the grip on your neck loosened.

The enforcer collapsed on top of you, pinning you beneath his weight as he sank to the ground his body took you with it. You coughed and gasped, and with a wave of nausea rising in your throat and bobbing pain around it you pushed the body off you. Looking up, you met the gaze of the man you had ‘saved’. He was huffing heavily, his eyes wide and wild mixed with shock on his pale face. 

Drenched in blood, sweat, and sporting bruises all over. His long hair clings to his face, some falling out of the low ponytail. His dark red tunic under a dirty gray cut-off vest. His body quivering on the brink of exhaustion. His gaze was glossy, only fueled by the last dose of adrenaline. With a final stumble, he crumpled to the ground. The knife in hand slipped away as he fell. You stare. Watching him lay defenseless, a newfound courage stirred within you, and for once in your life you know your stance. Now not cowering and licking the boots of those higher than you. You own up to the consequences, yet you still tremble. Your chest rose and fell with the rhythm of your heightened adrenaline as the footsteps of additional enforcers echoed.

You crawl to him, lowering yourself to his chest, and pray you still hear a heartbeat, and you do, it’s faint. Now kneeling, you carefully hoist his right arm over your shoulder, providing support for him to lean on. He was heavy, but his weight wasn’t overwhelming, allowing you to walk slowly with him. It was clear that he needed medical attention, and so did you. You can feel the cold blood dripping down the back of your head and the tight, painful bruise forming around your neck. You aren’t some hero, a normal citizen in a position of life and death—you’ll never become a foundation of hope in your city like in your childhood. 

And she never does. 

Your experience as a kid had given you an edge, as you used to steal from stalls and run away as they tried to chase you. Now, at the age of twenty, you thank your young self for your knowledge of the best shortcuts. It comes in handy when you hide with the unconscious man by your side, evading the enforcers who finally notice their dead brothers. From around the corner, you watch a group of them trek down the main street. You make your dash to the other side, going unnoticed.

“I got you, we’re almost there” Your voice croaks, not sure if you are trying to reassure the blacked-out man or yourself, probably the latter. There's a sign, not from Janna, but from The Last Drop. Dipping into the alley next to the tavern you head around back. Your arm that is wrapped around his slim torso is drying with his blood. More blood pools on your shoulder from his broken nose. You have to prop him up on the wall to open the cellar doors, and you both descend. 

Storage racks and unopened boxes flitter the basement. However, in the corner is a cot and stool. It’s the small medical area that you would use to aid people, usually, it was for small wounds like someone with a busted lip because they got into a fight in the bar.

So, with an injured rebel who hangs on your shoulder, you are well below practice. You manage to push the battered man off you and onto the cot. He slumps halfway off the bed, so you gently roll him back, carefully lifting his legs one by one to fully position him on the cot. Your hands tremble slightly as you work, the adrenaline running thin. 

You run a hand over your hair, feeling the back of your skull. As you bring your hand back to your eyes, you’re met with deep red staining your fingers. Your wound hits you, and you finally grasp the pounding headache you have. You slowly sit on the stool beside the cot.

“Shit” You mutter, your voice barely above a whisper, despite your possible concussion your priority is the very wanted rebel to your left. Take a deep breath to steady yourself and assess him.

His chest heaves in sparse, and uneven breaths through his busted nose. He’s still grasping onto the little energy his body has left to give. You rub up the bridge of your nose. The gravity of harboring a wanted revolutionary is not lost on you. Though at this moment, all that matters is saving his life, and not falling over while doing it. 

You lean onto your elbows while sitting, glancing at the empty bucket and washcloth, getting ready to work.

[whencyclopedia]

Ancient Persian culture exerted a powerful influence throughout the Near East, and beyond, for over a thousand years between c. 550 BCE - 651 CE and many aspects of their culture continued to influence others afterwards and up through the present day. The first Persian polity was the Achaemenid Empire (c. 550-330 BCE) which fell to Alexander the Great and, after his death, the region was held by the Hellenic Seleucid Empire (312-63 BCE) founded by one of Alexander's generals Seleucus I Nicator (r. 305-281 BCE). Persian culture continued under the Seleucids, however, and again became dominant with the rise of the Parthian Empire (247 BCE-224 CE) and continued, at its greatest height, throughout the Sassanian Empire (224-651 CE) until the Persians were conquered by the invading Muslim Arabs. From the earliest days of the Achaemenid Empire till the last of the Sassanians, the Persians introduced a number of novel concepts in innovations and inventions which are often taken for granted today or whose origins are largely unknown. Literary motifs, the custom of daily teatime, care for dogs, refrigeration and air conditioning, and many other established aspects of daily modern life originated or were developed by the ancient Persians. The Persians held to an oral tradition of transmitting information, however, and so much of their history, until the Sassanian period, comes from others. A large part of whatever written records of the Achaemenids did exist was destroyed by Alexander when he burned the capital city of Persepolis in 330 BCE and the Parthians retained the oral tradition of their precursors and so much of Persian history was preserved by the Greeks and, later, the Romans. These writers did not always represent Persian culture accurately but provide enough information, coupled with archaeological evidence and what Persian sources remain, to recognize the power and vision of the culture and its enduring legacy. Below are ten contributions and historical facts relating to the Persians which are often overlooked or largely unknown. These are only a notable few, however, and do not begin to address the vast scope of Persian achievement.

[mynicosensesaretingling]

A change of mind

Jenson Button x fem!reader

summary: (Y/N) is Hertz Team Jota‘s physiotherapist at Le Mans. However, there seems to be a mutual sense of dislike between her and Jenson Button.

warnings: none.

note: I wrote this immediately after the race ended ( state of brain is error)

Hope you enjoy x

——

The sun had just settled over the Circuit de la Sarthe, casting a golden hue across the track and surrounding pits, as the air was buzzing with anticipation for the Le Mans 24 Hours race. Teams and drivers were running through their garages, making final preparations, striving for perfection in the gruelling endurance race.

Among the sea of mechanics and engineers belonging to the Hertz Team Jota, (Y/N) stood with a confident expression on her face as she oversaw the final checks on her equipment. (Y/N) was the lead physiotherapist within the team, renowned for her innovative approach to sports medicine. Her methods were a blend of traditional techniques and cutting-edge science, a combination that had earned her respect in the male-dominated field.

Noting down some tactics, the girl was determined to ensure her drivers were in peak physical condition and ready to tackle the gruelling demands of the race.

As she checked her equipment one last time, she noticed Jenson Button, the former Formula 1 champion, making his way towards her. He was surrounded by his entourage, exuding confidence and charisma. (Y/N) couldn't help but feel a twinge of irritation. During one of her physio sessions, a fellow teammate had offhandedly mentioned Jenson's scepticism towards her rather new methods – making her silently feel offended by the fact that the former F1 driver was so quick to judge her work, without ever scheduling a session himself.

"Morning, Button," (Y/N) greeted him with a professional nod. "Morning," Jenson replied, his tone polite but guarded. "I hear you're the chosen miracle worker who's supposed to keep us in one piece for the next 24 hours."(Y/N) raised an eyebrow. "There are certainly no miracles required. All it takes is me doing my best and you trying to follow my advice, and we should get through this without any major issues." She huffed, focus falling back to her notes. Jenson smirked. "Ah, well. We'll see about that. I've been doing this a long time, you know." "I'm aware," (Y/N) replied coolly, not bothering to spare him another glance. "But endurance racing is a different beast. You'll need all the help you can get."

Jenson chuckled, though there was a hint of tension in his eyes. "I guess we'll find out soon enough." With that, he walked away, leaving (Y/N) to her preparations. Despite the clash, (Y/N) couldn’t let his scepticism distract her. The race was about to begin, and she needed to be at the top of her game.

The engines roared to life as the starting signal was given, and the cars took off, speeding down the track. The energy was electric, with fans cheering and cameras flashing. (Y/N) watched the cars disappear around the first bend, her mind already focused on the next 24 hours. This race was a marathon, not a sprint, and she knew that her role was crucial for the entire team.

The physiotherapist’s first patient was Norman Nato, another driver for Hertz Team Jota. He came in for a quick massage and some muscle taping before his stint. “How are you feeling, Norman?” she asked, her hands expertly working on his tight muscles. “A bit nervous, but ready,” he replied, wincing slightly as she applied pressure to a particularly tight spot. “You’ll do great,” she reassured him with a gentle voice. “Just remember to stay hydrated and listen to your body. If you feel any discomfort, let me know immediately.”

Norman nodded, his confidence bolstered by her calm demeanour. He quickly thanked her before being ushered back to the front of the garage. As he left to take his position, (Y/N) couldn’t help but let her eyes wander through the garage, when suddenly her ears picked up the familiar tone of Jenson's voice. “You really think a massage and some tape will do wonders for you?” the blonde’s tone wasn’t mocking rather amused, yet still annoying enough to earn an eye-roll from (Y/N) as she overheard the two drivers conversing.

Stretching her arms above her head, the woman let herself fall back into her chair, propping her legs up on a crate, as her eyes wandered to the screens displaying the Hertz Jota drivers’ vitals. “I gotta admit,” oh no, there he was again “a good old massage and a roll of tape- you’re TRULY revolutionising your field.” the sarcastic voice which previously had been at a safe distance, now was too close to her for comfort. Sighing, (Y/N) glanced up, finding Jenson leaning against the wall beside where she was sitting in her chair. “Just because my methods are rather modern, doesn’t mean I completely abandon the fundamental basics of my occupation.”

“Mhm.” the former champion hummed, arms crossed above his chest as he turned his head to look down at her. “Then I really don’t get what the fuzz is about.” His lips moved into a nonchalant pout, as he shrugged and kicked off the wall. “ Now,I’m even more certain that I am completely fine to manage without your ancient magic.” His eyes held a mischievous glint, as he glanced back at her before leaving the medical area. “God, I hope you don’t drive as unserious as you behave!” (Y/N) called after him. The rather unprofessional outburst earning her a few glances and the occasional chuckle from her fellow team mates.

Hours passed, and the race took its toll. The drivers rotated in and out of the cars, each stint pushing their physical and mental limits. (Y/N) was constantly on her feet, treating cramps, managing hydration, and applying her blend of traditional and advanced physiotherapy techniques to keep the drivers in top shape. In between treating several members of the team, (Y/N) couldn’t help but glance towards the monitor showing Jenson’s car. He was performing well, his experience evident in his smooth handling and strategic maneuvers.

Jenson’s first break came after a particularly grueling stint. Squinting at the bright lights withing the garage, he walked into the medical bay, his body language a mix of exhaustion and frustration. “Y/N,” he said, dropping into a chair. “I hate to admit it, but I think I could use some of that magic of yours.”

The physiotherapist who had previously stretching her aching muscles, stopped in her tracks and put her hands on her hips. "Oh, so now the great Jenson Button suddenly believes in my 'ancient magic'?" she replied, a hint of annoyance and sarcasm in her voice. Jenson gave her a rather tired smile in return. "I appreciate the flattery. Let's just say I'm open to trying new things." With a sigh, (Y/N) approached him, her demeanor professional but her irritation still simmering underneath her skin. "Alright, sit tight and let's get you sorted."

Jenson settled into the chair, stretching out his legs as he tried to hide the full extent of his exhaustion. Rounding the chair, (Y/N) began working on his muscles, the tension between them was almost palpable.

"You don't have to look so annoyed," Jenson muttered, wincing as she applied pressure to a particularly sore spot. "I'm not annoyed," (Y/N) replied, her tone clipped. "I'm just focused." "Right," Jenson said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Because you're always this charming." (Y/N) paused for a moment, her hands still on his shoulders. "Look, Jenson, I don't know what your problem is with me, but I don't have time for this right now. It’s who knows how late at night and I have a job to do, as do you." The driver sighed, running a hand through his hair. "I don't have a problem with you. I just... I don't know. Maybe I underestimated you." "Maybe?" (Y/N) arched an eyebrow at the man’s words, resuming her work. "You're a real piece of work, Button." "Yeah, I've been told that before," he admitted, a hint of a smile playing on his lips.

As the minutes ticked by, the silence between the pair grew more comfortable. (Y/N)'s hands moved expertly over his muscles, and Jenson found himself closing his eyes in relaxation despite his initial irritation.

"You're good at this," he said quietly, almost as if it pained him to admit it.

(Y/N) didn't look up. "I know." Jenson chuckled softly. "Confidence is key, I guess." "Confidence and skill," she corrected, finally meeting his gaze. "Which, believe it or not, I have plenty of." Jenson stared at her for a moment, a flicker of something in his eyes that she couldn't quite place. "I believe it," he said finally, his voice softer than she'd heard it before. "I guess I've been too quick to judge."

(Y/N)'s hands paused for a moment before resuming their work. "Apology accepted, but you're going to have to do more than just talk to prove it." He nodded, eyes darting back to the front of the garage, a determined look crossing his face. "Fair enough."

The hours of the night ticked by, the demanding weather testing everyone’s endurance. (Y/N) was a whirlwind of efficiency, moving between drivers, ensuring they were in the best possible condition to tackle their next stint. She had little time to dwell on Jenson, though she couldn’t deny a newfound respect (or was it even fondness?) for him as she watched him on the track.

During one of his breaks, Jenson found himself sitting next to the female physiotherapist yet again. "How's it going?" he asked, his tone more genuine than before. The woman shrugged, exhaustion starting to creep into her voice. "Busy. But we’re holding up."

He gave her a once-over, noticing how she kept flexing her hands and rubbing her shoulders. "You should take a break too, you know." (Y/N) scoffed. "I’m afraid the only break I’ll take , is when the race is over." Jenson shook his head, a small smile tugging at his lips. "Stubborn." "Takes one to know one," she shot back, but there was no malice in her voice.

As the night wore on, the grueling nature of the race became evident. Drivers, engineers, mechanics and several other crew members came and went, each stint pushing their physical and mental limits. Leading (Y/N)’s hands to seemingly never stop their movement, her mind laser-focused on her job.

Jenson’s final break came as the morning faded into noon. He was exhausted, every muscle in his body screaming for relief. His mind was set on autopilot to the medical area. Upon seeing him making his way over to her, (Y/N) wordlessly guided him to the chair with a gentle touch.

"Alright, Button.” she almost clapped her hands, but refrained from doing so upon remembering that some of the crew members were napping in the garage. “Let’s see what we can do," she exclaimed, her tone almost teasing.

Jenson, who was by now slumped in the chair, let out a tired laugh. "Do your worst."

The girl chuckled amused , as she stood behind him, starting to work on his neck. The former Formula 1 champion closed his eyes and let out a low satisfied hum upon feeling some of the tension leave his muscles."You know," he said, voice low,as he tilted his head to give her better access. "I never really gave you a chance. And I regret that."

Keeping her eyes trained on the movement of her fingers, she hummed. "You’re not the first one to underestimate me. But you actually might be the first to apologize."

Jenson sighed, one of his hands dragging over his face as his voice took on a sincere tone. "I mean it, (Y/N)." She paused, her hands moving from his neck to his shoulders, giving them an appreciative squeeze. "I appreciate that, Jenson. And I’ll hold you to it." He nodded, craning his neck to look up at her, a small smile playing on his lips. "Deal."

The race continued, the track conditions continiously deteriorating as the final hours ticked away. Jenson’s last stint was slowly coming to an end and (Y/N) almost felt annoyed with herself, as she caught her eyes once again wandering to the monitors in order to watch over Jenson’s vitals, as he navigated the treacherous course.

When afternoon arrived and both Hertz cars came into the pit, after successfully finishing the race, (Y/N) joined the rest of the team in gratulating the drivers outside of the garage. Despide the crash during hyperpole, Hertz Team Jota had managed to secure points by making an incredible comeback. The celebrations were loud and joyous. The happiness of her teammates infectious. She found herself surrounded by the jubilant crowd, laughter and cheers filling the air, as the adrenaline slowly started to vanish from the grounds of Le Mans.

As she was making rounds congratulating the other drivers, she spotted Jenson making his way towards her, his eyes sparkling with a mix of exhaustion and triumph, lips pulled into a satisfied grin and his hair an absolute mess.

"You did it," she cheered, her voice carrying a mix of pride and relief.

"We did it," Jenson corrected, stopping in front of her. "You were right. I needed all the help I could get." (Y/N) felt a smirk forming on her lips,as her eyes met his. "I'm glad you finally realized that. All it took was a 24 hour race to humble you." Jenson chuckled, his right hand resting above his heart as he looked down at her. "I have to admit, your methods truly worked wonders. I still feel like I owe you an apology for doubting you."

Upon hearing his genuine words,(Y/N) just waved a hand dismissively. "Let's just call it a learning experience." He nodded, his expression turning serious as he softly took hold of her arm. "I mean it, though. You kept me in top shape, and I appreciate it more than I can say."

"You're welcome, Jenson," she replied, her tone softening. "I'm just doing my job."

"Still," he insisted, "you went above and beyond. How about I make it up to you? Dinner, maybe?"

(Y/N) blinked, surprised by the offer. "Dinner?" "Yeah," Jenson said, a hopeful, almost sheepish, smile on his lips. "A chance to start over and get to know each other without all the bickering."

"Alright. Dinner it is." she accepted his offer, excited to explore where that new understanding, which had formed between the two, would take them.

[ghostboneswrites2]

Daryl × fem reader

Reader accidentally breaks her glasses cause she pressed her face too hard in the pillows while Daryl was fucking her from behind

(I don't know how to make requests lol)

I love your writing <3

Spectacles

18+ MDNI || Warnings: smutty intro, profanity, generally suggestive content

        All you could do was drop the sheets and surrender to the animalistic noises that escaped you every time his pelvis connected violently with your bare ass. 

        He loved you like that — completely limp and sex drunk. He was a man who enjoyed having control, and it translated into the bedroom frequently. Especially when he had a bad day or just hadn’t got his hands on you the way he needed to in a while. 

        You were both completely lost in the moment. He was almost seeing double as his eyes lost focus, barely managing to watch your body react to his movements as he neared his high. 

        He sped up and hit harder and harder until he unloaded completely, crashing down over your back and panting with exhaustion. After some time he rolled off of you and you rolled over to face him, only to realize your glasses had come off.

        You sat up to find them. When you did, they were split down the middle, right where they would attractively sit over your nose. You held them up and stared at them in disbelief. 

        Daryl sat up behind you and looked over your shoulder. 

        “That just happened?” He asked softly. You sighed.

        “Yeah, probably when you were rearranging my guts just now.” You quipped. He chuckled and reached over, taking them from your hand and looking them over quickly. 

        “I’ll fix ‘em.” He promised, with a quick peck on the forehead, before he jumped off the mattress and disappeared from the room. You resorted to climbing in the shower and washing yourself off instead of waiting around or falling asleep.

        The water was warm and comforting over your sweaty flesh, and when you got out, you felt fresh and crisp in the cool conditioned air. 

        You were surprised to find Daryl in your room when you went to get dressed, looking accomplished. You thought he’d gone home for the night. 

        “Oh. You’re still here?” You asked casually as you rummaged through your drawers for something comfortable and clean.

        “Told ya I’d fix ‘em.” He floated. You threw your clothes on and walked over to him, climbing in his lap and straddling him. 

        You took your mended spectacles from his grasp and looked them over. It appeared he had melted the plastic and stuck the two halves back together. You were impressed. 

        “Innovative.” You commented. 

        “Uh-huh.” He rolled his eyes a little. “Try ‘em on.”

        You slid them over your ears and adjusted them on your nose with a shrug. 

        “Fits just the same.”  You smiled.

        “Good, now take ‘em off so I don’t break ‘em again.” He smirked. You giggled and set the glasses on the night stand as he rolled you over onto  the bed and planted erotic kisses over your exposed neck.  

       “Daryl.” You whined. “I just took a shower.”

        “Didn’t have to shower for me.” He groaned into your shoulder, pressing his hard clock against you. 

        “It wasn’t for you, asshole.” You lightly slapped his shoulder. “It was for bed.”

        “I’m in your bed.”

        “For sleeping in my bed.” You clarified. 

         “Mm. Not gonna work, sorry.” 

[deezee112]

The child Doll

Chapter 2

Yandere!Twisted Wonderland x GN!Reader

A/N : I got inspired by @kansetsu001 on Twitter while I was reading the pictures he used to draw. I got this idea. But this is just something I thought of for fun. I hope you like my little idea.

Warning : This story contains themes of psychological tension , unease , an unsettling relationship dynamic between a protagonist and a mysterious humanoid object , y/n is a hot-tempered and tall person.

English is not my first language.

you sighed, pinching the bridge of you nose as the clock ticked past 6:00 PM. The office, dimly lit and mostly deserted, hummed faintly with the sound of ancient computers and the distant clicking of a few remaining coworkers' keyboards. You leaned back in you chair, you frown deepening.

Four years working under Dire Crowley had conditioned you to expect little in the way of fairness and less in the way of sanity. He was a man who thrived on chaos, throwing his subordinates into bizarre, ill-defined projects while swooping in at the last minute to claim the credit—or shift the blame.

" Y/N, can you come to my office? " his voice crackled over the intercom, interrupting you train of thought.

you rolled you eyes, muttering, "What now?" before dragging youself to you feet. you tall, imposing figure and perpetually frowning face had earned you a reputation as someone you didn’t mess with. Yet, despite you intimidating demeanor, you prided herself on efficiency and pragmatism—qualities Crowley never seemed to value.

The walk to his office felt unnecessarily long. you wasn’t in the mood for whatever nonsense he’d concocted this time, but you curiosity was piqued when you noticed the odd stillness in the air. Normally, Crowley’s office was a hub of noise—papers rustling, phones ringing, his voice booming with unwarranted confidence. Today, it was eerily quiet.

Pushing open the door, you found Crowley seated at his desk, a smug smile plastered across his face. Beside him stood a large, ornate box.

“ Ah, Y/N! My most reliable employee! ” he exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

You raised an eyebrow. “ What’s this about? ”

Crowley gestured theatrically toward the box. “ I have a very special task for you. One that requires someone of your… unique disposition. ”

You crossed her arms. “ Get to the point, Crowley. ”

His smile widened as he lifted the lid of the box, revealing what appeared to be a doll. But it wasn’t like any doll you had ever seen. It was life-sized, with eerily realistic features—soft skin, glassy eyes that seemed to follow you every movement, and hair that looked and felt disturbingly real.

“ What the hell is that? ” you asked, you with suspicion.

“ This, my dear Y/N, is a revolutionary creation! A child doll unlike any other. It’s capable of eating, sleeping, and reacting just like a real human child. And you, lucky you, have been chosen to take care of it! ”

You stared at him, incredulous. “ You’ve got to be kidding me. ”

“ I assure you, this is no joke. It’s an important project! Top secret! And who better to handle it than my most dedicated employee? ”

“ Dedicated or expendable? ” you shot back.

Crowley chuckled nervously. “ Oh, don’t be so dramatic. This is a marvelous opportunity! Think of it as…..fostering innovation! ”

You narrowed her eyes at him. “ What’s the catch? ”

“ No catch! Well, apart from the fact that you’ll need to keep this little one with you at all times. It’s crucial for the experiment, you see. ”

You pinched the bridge of you nose again, you patience wearing thin. “ Let me get this straight. You want me to take care of this creepy, overly realistic doll— ”

“ child doll ” he corrected.

“ Whatever. You want me to play house with this thing, and you think that’s a normal, reasonable request? ”

Crowley waved dismissively. “ Oh, Y/N, don’t be so cold-hearted. Think of it as a new challenge! You’re always saying you want to expand your skill set. ”

“ I’ve never said that ” you deadpanned.

But Crowley wasn’t listening. He was already bustling around, preparing to hand over the doll. “ Now, its name is—well, it doesn’t have one yet! You can name it whatever you like. It’s designed to adapt to its caretaker’s habits and preferences. Isn’t that fascinating? ”

You stared at the doll. Its eyes seemed to glimmer with an unsettling awareness. you didn’t trust it or Crowley but you knew arguing was pointless. He’d either guilt you into accepting or find a way to dump the task on you regardless.

“ And if I refuse? ” you asked, crossing arms.

Crowley’s smile faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “ Oh, Y/N you wouldn’t leave poor little me in a bind, would you? This is a once-in-a-lifetime project! Think of the company’s reputation! and Think of your reputation! ”

You sighed heavily. “ Fine. I’ll do it. But only because I don’t want to hear you whining about it later. ”

“ Splendid! ” Crowley beamed, practically shoving the doll into you arms. “ Now, take good care of it. I’ll check in periodically to see how things are going. ”

You scowled but didn’t bother arguing further. You glanced down at the doll cradled awkwardly in you arms. It was heavier than you expected, and its skin felt disturbingly warm to the touch.

“ This is going to be a nightmare ” you muttered under you breath as you left Crowley’s office.

Back at your apartment, you set the doll down on you couch, glaring at it as if it were responsible for your predicament. You barely had time to process the absurdity of you new task before you phone buzzed with a message from Crowley.

Don’t forget! It needs to be fed, bathed, and put to bed on a strict schedule. Oh, and don’t let anyone else see it! Confidentiality is key!

You're groaned, tossing you phone onto the coffee table. “ Great. Just what I needed parenting advice from a man who can’t even manage an office. ”

The doll sat eerily still, its glassy eyes fixed on you. Despite you frustration, You couldn’t shake the feeling that it was watching you.

Shaking you head, you grabbed a blanket and threw it over the doll. “ Out of sight, out of mind. ”

But as the night wore on, you found youself glancing at the covered figure more often than you cared to admit. Something about it unnerved you, though you couldn’t quite put you finger on why. ( She's just a little tsundere🥺 )

When you finally crawled into bed, exhaustion tugging at you, you muttered to youself, “ It’s just a doll. No big deal. Tomorrow, I’ll figure out how to deal with this mess. ”

But deep down, you knew this wasn’t going to be as simple as Crowley had made it sound.

You woke to the faint sound of something rustling in the living room. You froze, Had you left a window open? Was it a burglar?

You Grabbing a heavy book from you nightstand, you crept toward the noise, you heart pounding.

When you entered the living room, you stopped dead in you tracks. The blanket Your thrown over the doll was on the floor, and the doll itself was sitting upright, its head tilted slightly as if observing You.

You grip tightened on the book. “ Okay, that’s creepy. Did Crowley install some kind of remote control in you? ”

The doll didn’t respond, of course, but its lifelike appearance made you unease grow.

You approached cautiously, picking up the blanket and draping it over the doll again. “ You stay put. I don’t have time for your nonsense. ”

As you turned to make coffee, you phone buzzed again. Another message from Crowley.

Don’t forget to check its morning routine! It’s designed to respond to kindness and care.

You scoffed, pouring youself a mug of coffee. “ Kindness and care, my ass. He just wants me to babysit his creepy science experiment. ”

But as the minutes passed, you couldn’t ignore the nagging feeling that you should at least check on the doll. Begrudgingly, you set your mug down and returned to the living room.

“ All right, let’s get this over with. ”

You lifted the blanket again, half expecting the doll to have moved. To you relief and mild disappointment it was exactly where you left it.

Still, as you looked into its unnervingly realistic eyes, you couldn’t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning of something far stranger than Your signed up for.

[responsivethoughts]

The Grumman X-29 Experimental Aircraft

The Grumman X-29 was an experimental aircraft developed by the United States in the 1980s, aimed at testing advanced aviation technologies. One of its most unique features was its forward-swept wings, which improved maneuverability and reduced drag. However, this design introduced significant aerodynamic challenges, such as the tendency of the wings to twist under stress. To address this, the X-29 utilized advanced composite materials, which provided the necessary strength without adding excess weight.

The X-29 was inherently unstable due to its forward-swept wings, necessitating a sophisticated digital fly-by-wire control system. This system allowed a computer to continuously make adjustments to keep the aircraft stable during flight. Additionally, the aircraft featured canard control surfaces, located in front of the main wings, which enhanced control and maneuverability, particularly at high angles of attack.

Another key feature of the X-29 was its variable-geometry engine inlets, designed to optimize airflow into the engine across different flight conditions. This design allowed the aircraft to maintain efficiency at various speeds and altitudes. Together, these innovative design elements made the X-29 a complex and advanced aircraft for its time.

The X-29 first flew on December 14, 1984, under the management of NASA and the United States Air Force. Two X-29 aircraft were constructed, and they accumulated over 400 test flights. These tests focused on exploring the aircraft's unique aerodynamic and flight control characteristics, providing valuable data on how forward-swept wings performed under various conditions.

The primary objective of the X-29 program was to investigate technologies that could be used in future fighter aircraft, with a particular focus on improving maneuverability and control at high angles of attack. Although the X-29 was never intended to enter production, the insights gained from its development contributed to future advancements in aircraft design.

While the X-29 did not see operational service, its legacy is significant. The technologies it explored, including forward-swept wings, composite materials, and digital flight controls, paved the way for innovations in fighter aircraft. Today, the X-29 is remembered as an important milestone in the study of unconventional aircraft designs and aerodynamics.

An interesting and lesser-known fact about the Grumman X-29 is that, despite its radical design, the aircraft reused components from existing fighter jets to save on development costs. Specifically, the fuselage of the X-29 was derived from the Northrop F-5A Freedom Fighter, and its landing gear was taken from the General Dynamics F-16 Fighting Falcon. This blending of cutting-edge technology with proven components from earlier aircraft helped keep the project within a more manageable budget, demonstrating a creative approach to experimental aircraft design during that era.

[doumadono]

Hello Dear Author,

I would like to state that I am a new follower and I already love your style and representation of the characters.

I don't know if your requests are open, but If it's not please feel free to not reply!

Can you do a Scenario or headconans for this.... whatever you prefer.

With Izuku or Bakugo or Shoto , whichever you prefer also.

With a reader who sometimes gets suddenly dizzy in summer because of the heat. Like sometimes her heart beat is fast and other times it quite low and she's unable to stand or talk because of dizziness, specially when they're outside, and how will they deal with her.

It's summer and the weather is too hot, and as a person who feels hot even during winter and the coldest weather, I can't with heat and I feel dizzy most of the time or when I stand up, The only thing that can save me is the AC🥹😭

Sorry for the long text.

Thank you in advance dear Author ❤️

Have a good day/night🩷

A/N: I've chosen to fulfill this request because I love boys, and the topic seemed interesting but in the future, kindly check my pinned post before dropping a request. Please note that I'm currently only accepting emergency requests. Any requests not labeled as emergencies are being immediately erased

MASTERLIST

Bakugo

Initially annoyed and frustrated by your dizzy spells in the heat.

Finds it hard to express his concern directly due to his temperamental nature.

Reluctantly keeps an eye on you during hot days, secretly worried.

Would never admit it, but he starts carrying a small water bottle for you.

If he notices you feeling dizzy, he might roll his eyes but will still help you find shade.

"Tch, can't even handle the damn weather... Here, drink this and sit down."

Shows tough love, but his concern becomes evident through his actions.

Keeps a close watch on you during outdoor activities, ready to intervene.

Might grumble, "Quit being such a hassle. Chill for a bit."

Surprisingly good at fanning you with a piece of paper or his own hand.

Secretly plans outdoor activities during cooler parts of the day to avoid your dizzy spells.

"I ain't gonna babysit you, but I'm not letting you pass out either."

Shoto

Observant and empathetic, notices your condition quickly.

Gently offers his arm for you to lean on when you're feeling dizzy.

Suggests finding a shaded area and doesn't mind if you want to rest for a while.

Always carries a small handheld fan or a damp cloth in his bag for your comfort.

"Don't worry, take your time. I'm here with you."

Keeps track of weather forecasts and suggests indoor activities on extremely hot days.

Will use his ice Quirk to create a comfortable temperature around you if necessary.

Takes note of patterns in your dizziness to anticipate and manage it better.

Offers his own water bottle without even having to be asked.

Asks gentle questions to understand how you're feeling during dizzy spells.

Suggests activities like strolling through air-conditioned museums on hot days.

His calming presence helps ease your dizziness when it occurs.

"Don't worry, I've got you. Let's find somewhere comfortable to sit."

Izuku

Immediately worried and wants to find a solution to help you manage the symptoms.

Researches the possible causes of your dizzy spells and preventive measures.

Encourages you to stay hydrated and offers water bottles regularly.

Carries a mini first aid kit with pain relievers and electrolyte packets.

Suggests taking breaks in air-conditioned areas to cool down.

"I read that staying hydrated and keeping a wet cloth on your forehead can help."

Will always have a backup plan in case you start feeling dizzy unexpectedly.

Shows deep concern, researching medical articles and talking to professionals.

Suggests keeping a diary of your symptoms to identify triggers more accurately.

Carries a small notebook with tips to manage your condition, just in case.

Offers to hold your hand during dizzy spells, to help steady you.

Comes up with innovative ideas like a handheld portable fan with a mister.

"I've been reading about different ways to manage this, let's try a few together."

Enthusiastically tries out relaxation techniques to help you stay calm during spells.

[wheelsgoroundincircles]

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

1969 Holden Hurricane Concept

Holden has gone back to the future, restoring its very first concept car - the 1969 Holden Hurricane Concept.

The futuristic research vehicle described as an experiment "to study design trend, propulsion systems and other long range developments" has been restored to its former glory as a labour of love by a dedicated group of Holden designers and engineers.

Code named RD 001; the Holden Hurricane is a mid-engined, rear-wheel drive, two-seater sports car which incorporates a remarkable array of innovative features and technology, much of it way ahead of its time.

Features such as electronic digital instrument displays, station-seeking radio, automatic temperature control air conditioning, rear vision camera and an automated route finder were all showcased in this ground-breaking vehicle 42 years ago. Many of these technologies have only recently made their way into mass production, demonstrating Holden's remarkable foresight into both design and engineering technology.

The Holden Hurricane stole headlines and dropped jaws nationwide when it debuted at the 1969 Melbourne Motor Show.

Michael Simcoe, Executive Director GMIO Design, said it was fantastic to see such a significant vehicle restored.

"At Holden we have always prided ourselves on our ability to look into the future through our concept cars," Mr Simcoe said.

"It's amazing to think that the features we take for granted today were born out of creative minds over 40 years ago."

As its code name suggests, the RD 001 was the first product of the GMH Research and Development organisation, staffed by a small squad of engineers working in conjunction with the Advance Styling Group at the Fishermans Bend Technical Centre in the 1960s.

The team that designed and built the original Holden Hurricane employed some advanced technologies and techniques when it came to the powertrain. Powered by an experimental 4.2-litre (253 cubic inch) V8, this engine was a precursor to the Holden V8 engine program which entered production in late 1969.

The Holden Hurricane's V8 engine featured many advanced design components such as the four-barrel carburettor - a feature which wouldn't be seen on a production 253ci Holden V8 until the late 1970s. The end result was approximately 262hp (193kW), a towering power output in 1969 and one that ensured the Holden Hurricane had the go to match its show.

But perhaps the two most innovative features were the "Pathfinder" route guidance system and the rear-view camera.

The "Pathfinder", essentially a pre-GPS navigation system, relied on a system of magnets embedded at intersections along the road network to guide the driver along the desired route. A dash-mounted panel informed the driver of which turn to take by illuminating different arrows, as well as sounding a warning buzzer.

The rear-view camera was also a ground-breaking innovation.

Engineers using a Closed Circuit Television (CCTV) system with a camera mounted in the rear bumper feeding vision to a small black-and-white TV mounted in the centre console.

Former Holden Chief Studio Engineer Rick Martin led the modern-day Hurricane team in researching the vehicle's components, systems and history in order to restore it.

"There are some genuinely remarkable ideas and technology in the Hurricane," said Mr Martin.

"From the automatic air-conditioning and magnet-based guidance system, to the inertia-reel seat belts and metallic paint, this was a car that was genuinely ahead of its time.

"The hand-picked team of engineers and designers who built the original Holden Hurricane worked in strict secrecy and began Holden's now proud tradition of ground-breaking concept cars."

RD 001 stands just 990mm high and has no doors in the conventional sense. A hydraulically-powered canopy opens upwards and forward over the front wheels, combined with twin "astronaut type" power-elevating seats which rise up and pivot forward, along with the steering column for ease of access. Occupants are then lowered to a semi-reclining position before the roof closes over them.

The wind tunnel-tested fibreglass body consists of three segments; the canopy, the engine hood and body shell and was finished in an experimental aluminium flake-based metallic orange paint.

Safety innovations included a foam-lined fuel tank, integrated roll-over bar, digital instrument readouts, ignition safety locks, interior padding and a fire warning system.

The project to restore RD 001 began in 2006 and has been a genuine labour of love for some very dedicated Holden employees. The entire restoration process has been driven primarily by volunteer labour from Holden designers and engineers in their spare time.

But the Hurricane first entered Holden Design in less than immaculate condition. RD 001 had a residency in a trade school where apprentices practised their welding on the priceless concept.

After being returned to Holden in 2006, the Hurricane restoration project has taken many thousands of painstaking man hours to lovingly restore RD 001 to concourse condition.

Holden's Manager for Creative Hard Modelling, Paul Clarke, has been largely responsible for managing the restoration of RD 001. He ensured as many of the original parts as possible have been used or remade using modern techniques to 1969 specification, in order to preserve the authenticity of this hugely important Holden.

"The entire team has done a fantastic job in bringing this beautiful concept back to life," Mr Clarke said.

"The talent we have within the Holden organisation is simply outstanding. Every time we take on a project I'm constantly amazed by the passion and talent in this company, making it a genuine pleasure to work on these projects.

"The Hurricane plays a crucial role in Holden's story and the company has such a great sense of history and heritage that it was very important to bring RD 001 back to life. It's been a challenging but incredibly rewarding process."

Since the debut of the Holden Hurricane Concept in 1969, Holden has continued to build a global reputation for envisioning and executing world-class concept vehicles. Holden is recognised globally within General Motors as a centre of excellence for concept vehicle and show car development and is one of only three GM design studios that is capable to design and build concept cars.

Michael Simcoe added that the Hurricane holds a particularly special place in Holden's history as it kick-started Holden's long love affair with concepts that has since seen the likes of the iconic GTR-X, Torana TT36, Coupe 60, the GMC Denali XT (which was requested specifically by GM for the North American market) and the award-winning Efijy.

Holden Hurricane Concept (1969)

[probablyasocialecologist]

Ripping up concrete sidewalks and parking lots and instead planting urban forests and using less cars can all help to decrease indoor and outdoor air temperature. In cities with an abundance of water, “soft cooling” techniques using fans and pools can also greatly reduce extreme temperatures.

Many architects today are also changing how they design buildings: only providing AC in specific rooms instead of through a central heating system. This way, people can choose to open or close their windows if they want, while reducing the energy needed to cool the hallways and lobby areas.

If you face photovoltaic panels westward, you can time the peak electricity production from solar energy with peak electricity demand for cooling. Using better glass on buildings, external shading, increasing air movement and installing ceiling fans—all of these further reduce reliance on AC.

In the longer term, we can cool our streets by narrowing them, using less dark colors that absorb heat, and aligning streets to prevailing winds. There are also ways we can overhaul the way we do air conditioning itself.

Many cities already provide air-conditioned public spaces as a public health services; we could also redesign apartment buildings with social spaces for people to hang out, by, for example, transforming the much cooler basements into lounges.

We could build cooperative housing that is ecologically and efficiently designed, so that people can together manage their energy use and decide on their own innovations to lower temperature. Toronto has a district cooling system that uses cold water from the bottom of Lake Ontario, and then uses the warmed up water for the drinking water supply.

[historia-vitae-magistras]

i’d never even considered how the civil war would affect alfred during ww1, that’s a really interesting idea. would you mind expanding a bit more if you haven’t already?

fuck yes I can expand on that. TW for historic nastiness.

Okay to prelude— I don't typically do 1:1 state/gov to character but considering the cession of the south into a separate state and the US itself is the Union, my boy is in blue. In this blog's universe there is no schizophrenia or split personality or Doppelgänger or any other representation of the south. It gutted him and he lost feeling in a lot of his usual area and it severely weakened him but he represented the United States and that means union blue. And considering the north really doesn't have all that much moral leverage on the south especially in matters of racism, it's not much of a jump. If you aren't crazy about that, look away now.

So. Trench warfare. It's as old as humans bashing each other's heads in. Defensive ditches are an archaeological feature across the applicable world. But it's the American Civil War that might hold the gold medal for largest gap between how technology designed to kill had advanced spectacularly over any innovation that might save lives. I won't say deadliest because you do have the Taiping Rebellion around the same time but a lot of that was sièges and counter sieges and river based naval engagements. But anyway— rifled artillery and direct fire techniques had changed the game and soldiers were driven underground behind parapets and sandbags. Around Petersburg especially. And it's towards the end of the war when the Confederacy is increasingly desperate and hand to hand fighting is getting more common and more brutal. Entire regiments were lost in hand to hand mêlée. And if a soldier didn't die instantly, it was off to a field hospital. Guts ripped open by iron shells, lungs hanging from the tips of bayonets, wounds so infected they glowed, limbs hacked off by a surgeon who hadn't washed his hands in six days and sepsis rot so foul someone can taste it on the air even with the mouth closed. Malaria and typhoid so fucking bad the army cots would literally shake apart from how bad men shivered when the chills aspect of the fever cycle hit. I know it's fashionable right now especially on vintage fashion YouTube to say people in history weren't disgusting but like, I've been in archives for years. Yeah it fucken was. Never was medicine so far behind the ability to kill.

So Alfred's probably died a solid dozen times half of which from shitting himself because he's probably riddled with parasites. He's been shot, stabbed, slashed. Shaken, rattled and absolutely steam rolled. And the final part of his almighty trauma is this is happening just up the river from where he was born in Jamestown. Alfred is on his belly in the earth beneath the feet of the people that bore him and then rejected him, begging his Protestant God and any of his own people listening and the very earth itself to protect him, to keep him alive as shell after shell lands around him.

When every battle is over, the dead rot in piles across the fields and trenches. The famous photos of the Antietam and Gettysburg dead are days old, you can see some of the bodies had been looted. There were so many dead and so many dying that upon its tardy entrance into world war one, the US had a more coherent body management and disposal program than any other of the entente powers. Who had already been at war for nearly four years.

So yeah, in my opinion he got ten steps into a front line trench where the British and especially the French were just causally walking on bodies, he vomited so hard New York felt California rattling around in there and said fuck it. My boy was either off to cleaner pastures like Belleau Wood or the air corps. It was too much too soon and he just couldn't keep it together in those conditions. They knew what bacteria were by WW1 and he was a burgeoning world power. So he probably only went full himbo with dysentery twice in France so it wasn't as bad as his civil war flop era but oof. That smell, the screams, pressing himself into soil that is not his own yet again is too recent and too vulnerable. He can't do it again so soon.