#Electric shower repair

[appliancerepairservice3214]

Professional Dishwasher Repair in Cape Town

Dishwashers have become an essential part of modern kitchens, making dishwashing convenient and time-saving. However, like all appliances, dishwashers can develop faults over time, leading to inefficiencies or complete breakdowns. When this happens, professional dishwasher repair services in Cape Town offer expert solutions to restore your appliance to optimal working condition.

Why Choose Professional Dishwasher Repair Services?

Expert Knowledge and Experience Trained technicians have extensive knowledge of various dishwasher brands and models. They can quickly diagnose issues, from water drainage problems to heating element malfunctions, and provide efficient solutions.

Cost-Effective Solution Instead of replacing a faulty dishwasher, repairing it is often the more economical choice. Professional repair services can fix common issues at a fraction of the cost of purchasing a new appliance.

Time-Saving Convenience DIY repairs can be time-consuming and ineffective without the right skills and tools. Hiring a professional ensures a quick and efficient fix, minimizing disruption to your daily routine.

Use of Genuine Parts Trusted repair services use high-quality and genuine replacement parts to ensure the durability and performance of your dishwasher, reducing the risk of recurring issues.

Safety Assurance Dishwashers involve electrical and plumbing components, making DIY repairs potentially hazardous. Professional technicians follow safety protocols to ensure risk-free repairs.

Common Dishwasher Problems and Solutions

Dishwasher Not Draining Properly A common issue in dishwashers, improper drainage can be caused by clogged filters, blocked drain hoses, or faulty pumps. Technicians can clean, repair, or replace the necessary parts to restore proper function.

Dishes Not Coming Out Clean If your dishwasher isn’t cleaning dishes effectively, the problem could be a clogged spray arm, malfunctioning detergent dispenser, or a failing motor. Professionals can troubleshoot and fix the issue efficiently.

Water Leaks Water leakage can result from damaged door seals, a faulty water inlet valve, or a loose hose connection. An expert repair service can identify and fix the leak, preventing water damage to your kitchen.

Unusual Noises During Operation Strange noises during a wash cycle could indicate worn-out bearings, loose components, or a faulty pump. A technician can diagnose and replace any defective parts to restore smooth operation.

Dishwasher Not Turning On If your dishwasher refuses to start, the issue may lie with the power supply, a faulty door latch, or a malfunctioning control board. Professionals can perform a thorough inspection and repair the necessary components.

Choosing the Right Dishwasher Repair Service in Cape Town

Certified and Experienced Technicians Always opt for a repair service with certified and skilled professionals who have experience handling different dishwasher brands and models.

Customer Reviews and Reputation Check customer reviews and testimonials to ensure the service provider has a strong track record of delivering reliable repairs.

Warranty on Repairs A reputable repair service offers warranties on their work, giving you peace of mind in case of recurring issues.

Fast Response Time When your dishwasher breaks down, you need a prompt repair service. Choose a company that offers same-day or emergency repair services for urgent cases.

Transparent Pricing Look for a service provider with upfront and fair pricing to avoid unexpected costs. A professional repair company will provide a clear quote before starting any work.

Conclusion

Professional dishwasher repair services in Cape Town ensure that your appliance is restored to peak performance, saving you time and money. With expert technicians, genuine parts, and a commitment to customer satisfaction, these services offer a reliable solution to any dishwasher-related problems. Instead of struggling with a malfunctioning dishwasher or considering an expensive replacement, trust professionals to diagnose and fix the issue efficiently. Investing in expert repair services extends the lifespan of your dishwasher and keeps your kitchen running smoothly.

[maintracts]

How To Check The Water Pressure In Your Property

At Maintracts, we know how crucial proper water pressure is for your home’s plumbing. In our guide on how to check the water pressure in your property, we provide simple steps to ensure your system is functioning efficiently. Learn how to use a pressure gauge, identify potential issues, and understand the ideal water pressure range. If you suspect problems with your water pressure, our professional team at Maintracts is ready to diagnose and resolve any issues. Contact us today for expert advice and reliable plumbing services.

[stealchain]

on a more disappointing note - we have to move

[solarbattery87]

Moffam Electricals

Website:

https://moffamelectricals.co.ke/

Address:

Westland commercial center, Ring road Nairobi 00100 Kenya

phone number:

+254790384109

E mail:

moffamelectricals@gmail.com

Description:

Moffam electricals is a Nairobi based electrical contractor providing professional , guaranteed materials and services for residential and commercial clients .Our electrician in Nairobi are internationally accredited and can handle any problem easy and fast. We work for house owners, institutions ,factories ,consulates and expatriates from basic apartment or office repairs to building wide upgrade to ongoing maintenance. We offer a level of services and professionalism rarely seen any more. At MOFFAM ELECTRICALS, we work hard to give our clients high-quality electrical services from beginning to end. We prioritize integrity, dependability, honesty, and high-caliber work. The distinction is great service, and we strive for complete customer satisfaction. Please don't be afraid to call us if you ever have an issue. We look forward to doing business with you for a very long time. We want to develop relationships with people, not just business. For any of your electrical needs, get in touch with us.

Hours:

24/7 open

https://ke.linkedin.com/in/moffam-electricals-271722195

[springtexasplumbers]

Spring TX Plumbers

If you live in Spring, TX and are looking for a certified plumber who can help you with any plumbing problems you may be faced with right where you are in the quickest time frame then Spring TX Plumbers is the company for you. From anything you encounter an issue with, whether it is late in the night or early on a Sunday, our talented and professional expert plumbers can deliver peace to your lives when any of these problems arise unexpectedly using only the highest and most advanced methods there are to rid them away. We will let you relax easily again during any of your home leaks and sewage pipe problems. Any time and any place in Spring, TX, we will be ready to offer you the most affordable and efficient toilet tank repair or water heater replacements there is for all of your home systems and pa. Give us a call today if you have any more questions, or if you would like to hear a free quote or schedule a service appointment with one of our expert techs.

[squidcalamarium]

FINAL UPDATE

The goal has been reached! THANK YOU SO MUCH EVERYONE!!!

PLEASE HELP MY FAMILY

My parents well has, despite everyone's best efforts, has broken completely. There is a leak in the pipes that can only be accessed with heavy machinery cutting through the woods and into the ground, with an estimated cost between 2k and 3k.

My black disabled dad, mom, brother, and their four dogs all live together on my dad's fixed income, which he gets through his disability. between the general cost of living and the disability savings cap, gofundme is the only possible way they can make enough to get this fixed.

With Georgia's current hot spring, and even hotter summer fast approaching, the need for ANY water is increasing. Because the house is so far isolated, there are no neighbors to rely on, no stores to even attempt to walk to, nothing within 20 minutes by car. we are doing everything we can to make sure, for the time being, that they all can shower and fill jugs of water to flush toilets and cook. this is not a permanent solution. Please help us

UPDATE

After weeks of struggle, a plumber that's actually good at his job came out and did a more thorough check.

Turns out the problem was largely ELECTRICAL!! We have water again! All they had to do was replace the burnt out wiring and protective boxes and buy ANOTHER pump!

Because of this, the goal has been changed to just $1,500 to cover the cost of repairs and replacements!

THANK YOU EVERYONE!!

[munson-blurbs]

Living After Midnight (Failed Rockstar!Eddie x Motel Worker!Reader)

♫ Summary: Eddie lowered his guard during a late night conversation, revealing crucial details about his past. But was it enough for you to reciprocate? (4.3k words)

♫ CW: slowburn, strangers-to-lovers, angst, drug use, parental conflict, poverty, homelessness, brief mention of neglect, brief mention of sex work, eventual smut (18+ only, minors DNI)

♫ Divider credit to @hellfire--cult

chapter four: show me yours, i'll show you mine

If convincing Eddie to take the job wasn’t enough of a struggle, you still had to explain the situation to your parents.

Hi Mom and Dad, I invited a guest to help fix up the motel. The same one who stole a blanket–but don’t worry, I got it back. Oh, and he’ll be staying here for free.

They were understandably taken aback by your decision, especially without consulting them first, but you’d mustered up a strong argument: Eddie was young, he was easy to get along with, and he showed a basic sense of personal responsibility. Not to mention that the place could certainly use the repairs; peeling wallpaper was just the tip of the iceberg. Lightbulbs needed to be replaced, carpets needed to be scrubbed, and the outside of the building desperately needed to be power washed. 

“Plus, summer break doesn’t start for another few weeks,” you hastily added. “We won’t need to worry about renting out Eddie’s room until then.”

Mom arched an eyebrow at the newfound ascription—not room four, but Eddie’s room—but said nothing, only looking at your father for his seal of approval. 

He breathed out, long and low, trying to do the calculations in his head. Your heart flip-flopped when his gaze dropped to the ground, his signature move when he was about to tell you no. 

“If he doesn’t help out, he can’t afford to stay here anyway. It’s not like we’re losing money if he keeps the room for a bit.” You winced at the slight whine in your voice, the opposite of the infallible exterior you’d wanted to present. 

Dad laughed, not unkindly, but belittlement panged in your chest nonetheless. “Except for the water, air conditioning, and electricity he uses,” he pointed out, ticking off each item on his fingers. “Unless he plans to only sit in the dark, sweat, and never shower.” He sighed as unmistakable disappointment weaved into your eyes and filled them with tears. 

Now you’d have to tell Eddie that the offer was off the table, that he was shit out of luck, that you’d let him down. You never should’ve opened your big mouth in the first place. Captain Save-the-World, except you only ever made things worse. If you wore a cape, it would get snagged on tree branches each time you tried to fly.

“You have a good heart,” Mom spoke up, trying to nurse your wounded feelings, “but kindness doesn’t pay the bills.” She glanced at Dad again, her mouth set in a straight line. “Maybe we can discuss this further.”

You fought to ignore the hope that bloomed from her words, but the corners of your mouth turned upwards before you could rein it in. “Thank you,” you murmured, offering them both a grateful smile. 

People called you a ‘bleeding heart,’ teasing you about your constant attempts to solve problems beyond a reasonable scope. At last year’s Thanksgiving dinner, your uncle had informed you—unprompted—that he would never vote for you for President because “you’d just give all my money to the poor.”

While your parents were more realistic with their goals than you were, they did their best to encourage your compassionate spirit; there was no doubt that you got your sense of morality from them. After deliberating on Eddie’s fate for a few hours, they had finally relented—with one stipulation. 

“Your mother and I are not going to supervise him, so he’ll have to work night shifts with you,” Dad had said sternly. 

“Really?” You clapped your hands in celebration. “Thank you! I mean, um, Eddie thanks you.”

Dad gave your shoulders a quick squeeze; it was his version of you’re welcome. “Yeah, well.” He played it cool, keeping his tone breezy. “It’ll be good practice for when you take over the place.”

You’d nodded in response, your insides twisting in a clashing mix of excitement and shame. Eddie wouldn’t have to live on the street, but it required you to continue lying to your parents. 

I’ll tell them the truth once Eddie finds a real job and gets his own place. I can only handle one crisis at a time. 

That was how you’d found yourself spending your Tuesday evening with Eddie Munson. The motel was otherwise empty, save for your parents, a middle-aged trucker in room 7, and Phyllis in her usual digs.

You and Dad had spent the end of his shift covering the floor with giant flimsy drop cloths. They hadn’t been used in years, evidenced by the thin layer of dust that coated them when you’d dug them out from the back of the supply closet. You’d tried your best to shake it all off but instead sent yourself into a sneezing fit. 

Eddie sauntered into the lobby at a quarter after ten. Gray sweatpants sagged at his waist, the drawstring noticeably missing from the elastic band, and his white cotton undershirt had a tan stain that spread across his left pec. 

“Coffee,” he explained with a shrug, rolling a hair tie off of his wrist and pulling his curls into a messy bun at the nape of his neck. He looked at you blankly and waited for you to instruct him, but you had already dove into your schoolwork. “Um, is there a ladder? Tools?” He pursed his lips and scanned the room with indifference.

“Oh! Right, yeah.” You could have smacked yourself for not having everything set up for him. “We don’t have a ladder per se, but this step stool should work fine.” You pulled it out from behind the desk along with a scoring tool, a spray bottle filled with a vinegar and water solution, and a putty knife. “I also grabbed the clock radio from my room if you wanted to listen to some music. Might help pass the time.”

Eddie nodded, watching carefully as you switched the radio on and tuned the dial to a Top 40 station. He shook his head the moment the electric beat of Haddaway’s “What is Love” played through the tinny speakers.

“Absolutely not,” he said with a scoff, dropping the supplies right where he stood, footsteps heavy even with the cloth underneath him. Without another word, he spun the knob past the static until the sound of an electric guitar crackled through. He bobbed his head a few times, finding the rhythm. “This’ll do.” 

“Not a Eurodance fan?”

His back was turned to you as he returned to the task at hand which left him unable to see the sarcastic smirk you sported. “Fuck no.” He stepped up on the tool and began cutting into the old wallpaper, puffing out an irritated laugh. “I can’t believe—scratch—you voluntarily—scratch—listen to that–scratch–shit.” His biceps flexed with each flick of the blade in a consistent rhythm. 

Drumming your fingernails on the desk, you twirled your pen in your free hand as you reread your own handwriting. You’d stayed at the library and filled notebook pages with bullet points about early childhood development until a squirrely librarian kicked you out at closing time. The choppy sentence fragments begged to be fleshed out into a fully-formed essay, but you couldn’t bring yourself to focus.

Write words. Make edits. Add a comma. Do something, anything, dammit.

Almost an hour passed without you making an iota of progress on your paper. The words swam on the page until they just looked like inky squiggles with no real meaning, your brain blank as if you’d never written anything in your life. Cool air tickled your nose as you exhaled through your lips. Why couldn’t you just concentrate?

“It’s this music,” you muttered to yourself, too low for your company to hear. Your temples throbbed with frustration, and you reached over and snapped back to the previous station. 

Eddie’s head whipped around at the sudden change, frowning when he heard pop music instead of the metal that had just been playing. “Seriously?” He leaned one hand on the wall and threw the other up in exasperation. 

“Yes, seriously,” you bit back, teeth clenched in annoyance. “I can’t focus on my writing with that on.”

Eddie grumbled something unintelligible but went back to work, the scratching serving as a strange backdrop to the song. 

Janet Jackson faded out to a too-chipper deejay. “You folks know what time it is!” His voice reminded you of old-school toothpaste commercials, over-exaggerated and unnaturally polished. “That’s right; it’s time for Rad or Retch—where I play a song from a new artist, and you call in and let me know whether you think it’s rad or if it makes you wanna retch!” 

Eddie rolled his eyes, adding an exasperated “Jesus H. Christ,” under his breath. 

“This one’s called ‘Watch Me Leave’ by Death’s Echo, a grunge group from—”

The announcement came to an abrupt end as Eddie nearly leaped from the stool to the desk and yanked the plug out of its socket. The two-pronged head hit the floor with a soft thud. 

“Hey!” Your eyes widened in confusion and then disbelief, flickering over to where he stood. You expected him to wear a scowl that matched your own; instead, he looked like he’d just taken a knife to the gut, and you took a step back. “Whoa, you okay?”

Eddie tensed the moment he detected your sympathetic tone, shoulders pinched and jaw rigid. “‘M fine.” He pressed the heel of his left hand atop his right knuckles until they cracked. “Sorry.” He bent down and gently plugged the cord back into the wall, but you immediately flicked the power button to the off-position. 

It was silent for a full minute, save for the scorer against the wall and the scratch of pen on paper. When Eddie finally spoke, his voice was so soft that you barely heard it.

“That was my band.”

Confusion creased your brows. You set down your pen and stole a glance at him. His body remained facing the wall, but he was no longer working, hands lamely at his sides. “What?”

“Death’s Echo was, uh,” he shook a rogue curl from his eyes, “that was my band.”

“Oh.” Awkwardness seeped into the room and filled every crevice as you wracked your brain for a suitable response. “But…not anymore?”

Eddie clicked his tongue. “Nope.” The p sound popped softly as though signaling the discussion’s end, but there was a pregnant pause before he started removing the wallpaper again.

“Why not?” The question sprang from your tongue, curiosity getting the best of you.

A hesitant chuckle accompanied his sigh. “I thought you didn't make small talk with strangers.” He climbed back on the step stool and ripped off a strip of paper.

“I thought we weren’t strangers anymore,” you quipped back, not missing the smile that ghosted his lips.

“Fair enough.” Eddie conceded easily, not at all angry to be proven wrong. He bit the inside of his cheek and stared up at the yellow-tinged lighting overhead before slicing into the wallpaper. “Sometimes you think you want something, but it turns out to be a steaming pile of horseshit.” The last word was punctuated by a grunt, and the last panel of wallpaper fluttered to the ground. “That’s the music industry in a nutshell.”

You nodded in agreement despite an obvious lack of knowledge.

“They sign your band,” he continued, aiming the spray bottle nozzle at the wall and pulling the trigger, “and you think it’s because they like you. Or at least your music, your sound, whatever.” He wrinkled his nose as he got an unexpected whiff of the vinegar solution’s pungency. “But you’re really just a front for whatever they want to sell. Which, apparently, is grunge.” 

You had too many questions. They probably referred to record producers or agents or some other bigwigs, you surmised, but what did they do that made Eddie so cynical? 

That was far too loaded to ask, at least in that moment, so you opted for a more humorous follow-up. “You mean it wasn’t all sex, drugs, and rock ‘n roll?” you joked, but Eddie didn’t share in your lightheartedness. 

“At the beginning, when we first got signed, yeah.” His brown eyes exuded wistfulness, remembrance of better times. He blinked twice and snapped himself out of it. “We put out a few albums that didn’t completely flop, I guess. And we were the opening act on a couple of tours. Got a good chunk of money in the bank.”

That explained the Calvin Klein underwear he was wearing on that first night. You capped your pen and leaned in, trying not to be overly inquisitive but unable to contain yourself. “So…what happened?” What led you here?

“We get called into a meeting, and we’re all thinking that the label’s gonna tell us we’re headlining, right? Maybe not, like, The Garden, but bigger venues than we usually played. But, uh…” he trailed off and rubbed the tip of his nose with an open palm, “it was an ultimatum: shift from metal to grunge, or get dropped.”

You listened intently as Eddie relayed the ordeal. The label executives had cited the increasing popularity of Nirvana and Pearl Jam along with decreasing interest in heavy metal bands. “Cobain’s selling; Ozzy isn’t,” they’d explained. If Death’s Echo wanted to play to packed arenas and have their music on mainstream radio, they had to adapt to the times.

“I told them we weren’t sellouts and to kiss my ass,” Eddie said to you, huffing out an annoyed breath. “But the rest of the band didn’t give a shit about that; if those suits told them to jump, they’d say ‘how high.’ So, I quit and waited for them to come crawling back.” 

He didn’t elaborate after that. He didn’t need to. Because if they’d done as Eddie had hoped, he wouldn’t be performing manual labor just to live in a struggling motel, basking in the gloominess that he wore like a second skin.

“If you could go back and do it differently, would you?” You grimaced at your own intrusiveness. “Sorry, that was—”

“It’s fine.” Eddie didn’t give an answer right away, his teeth grating against his lower lip. “Y’know, I’d like to say no, but losing your record deal, your apartment, your girlfriend, your so-called ‘friends,’ and every nice thing you own can make a guy kinda cynical.”

Girlfriend?

It was far from the most dire item on that list, but it needled at you. Maybe it was the mental image of Eddie watching everything get taken from him and then adding heartbreak on top of it all. 

“How about you?”

His voice yanked you from your thoughts and had your heart in your throat. “Huh?”

“You. Your whole deal.” He gestured at you with the scraper. “Why you’re always doing homework like a little nerd.” You couldn't detect a note of taunting in his teasing, only playfulness, just as it had been that very first night. 

You scowled for only a second before a smile broke through. “Don’t you have wallpaper to remove?”

Eddie snorted out a laugh. “I see how it is: when it’s my shit, I’m free to talk. But when it’s your shit, I’m a lowly employee.” He held up both hands in mock surrender. “My deepest apologies, Heiress.”

You didn’t bother to argue, choosing instead to pivot to a new subject altogether. “How long does this take, anyway?” Walking out from behind the desk to inspect his work, you ran your finger down the wall. Once you got past the stench of vinegar, he was actually doing a pretty good job.  

“You think you could do better?” He saw your gentle ribbing and upped the ante, holding out the putty scraper as if saying, be my guest.

Plucking it from his grasp, you smirked and chose a spot right at eye level. Challenge accepted. 

Though the glue had softened considerably, removing it still required decent muscle. You put your bodyweight into it and pushed through the resistance, but you only managed to pull off a little bit. 

You heard Eddie laugh through his nose as he stood behind you, watching you struggle. “Harder than it looks, huh?” He ignored your middle finger and stepped a half-inch closer. “Let me help.”

One calloused hand dwarfed yours, his fingers wrapping around where your fist held the scraper. The other found purchase on the bicep of your free arm where your T-shirt’s cuff met skin, stabilizing without entrapping you. You could easily get out of his grasp if you wanted. 

You stayed there. 

He tightened his grip around yours and made short, downward strokes, admittedly taking off far more glue than you had. “There ya go,” he murmured. His breath was warm on your neck, gooseflesh rising when he spoke. You hoped he wouldn’t notice. “Just like that.”

Butterflies beat their wings in your stomach, a result of the unexpected proximity compounded by an unmet need for connection that starkly contrasted the night shift’s normal solitude. A loose tendril of his hair tickled against your ear, and the realization of how close your bodies actually were shattered whatever spell had been cast. 

Eddie pulled away quickly, the air cooling where his hand once rested. Did he also feel that sudden loss of contact, or was it all in your head?

With a shaky breath, you stepped aside and silently returned the tool to him. “Should probably leave this to the expert,” you muttered, forcing nervous laughter. “I have to get back to writing anyway.”

His eyes bored into you as you walked back to the desk, but neither of you said another word. You glanced over at him every so often, noting the perspiration dampening his collar and under his arms as he toiled away at the glue and wished you had a water bottle to offer him.

Maybe next time. 

You got halfway through the first body paragraph when Eddie spoke again.

“You’re really not gonna talk?”

You looked up to see him swipe his forearm along his brows as he shot you a tired grin.

“We just had a whole conversation,” you pointed out, returning your attention to your essay. 

“About me,” he said. He wiped his palms on his pants, leaving behind a sweaty print, and traipsed over to you. “I mean, every time I see you, you’re either going to school or coming back from school or doing work for school…” 

You shrugged, no big deal. “Okay, yeah, I go to school.”

“For what?”

Shit. “Hospitality and hotel management.”

“Really.” Eddie leaned over and snatched up your paper. You reached out to grab it back, but it was too late. The bridge of his nose scrunched as he read the opening paragraph to himself. “Doesn’t look like hospitality to me.” Amusement raised his brows. “Care to explain?”

It was the last thing you wanted to do, but you felt strangely obligated. He’d confided in you, so you should at least moderately indulge him. 

“Fine,” you relented, “I’m studying psychology.” That might have been the first time you’d ever said those words aloud in the motel lobby; it was oddly freeing. 

Eddie nodded and continued to scan the paper. “You wanna be a shrink?”

“Social worker.” 

He let out a low whistle. “That’s a tough gig. Especially if you’re working with kids.” He shook the essay pages for emphasis. 

“Yeah. I know.”

“Right.” He shoved one hand in his pants pocket. “What made you decide to be a social worker?”

You breathed out a laugh. “You want the easy answer or the real one?”

He didn’t hesitate before answering. “Real one. Always.” He returned your essay and rested his un-pocketed hand on the desk. Inquiring eyes beckoned you to continue.

With less trepidation than you’d anticipated, you tell him the story of that fateful day in the summer of 1987, just two years after you’d graduated from high school.

You were still working the afternoon shift, and summer break brought its usual influx of guests. People came and went in blurs of luggage, but there was one particular patron who had made her presence known.

“Hi!”

You peered over the desk to find the source of the lively greeting. A young girl, no older than five, stared back at you, syrupy grape stickiness surrounding her lips. The cause was most likely a popsicle, as evidenced by the purple stained stick clenched in her right hand.

“Um, hi,” you said with a smile that was, for the first time in a long while, not encased in customer service insincerity. “What’s your name?” And where did you come from?

Unfazed by your bewilderment, she introduced herself as Izzy and asked you if you wanted to play. “We just have to stay here, or else my mommy will get mad,” she explained with urgency.

You nodded slowly, sorting through the information without raising any alarm. “And where is your mommy?”

Izzy’s hazel eyes darted back towards the hallway. “In our room. She’s with a friend so I can’t go in.” She dropped her voice to what she considered a whisper, but it was still clear as day. “Her friend is a boy.”

Your stomach turned. Of course. Instead of watching her child, this mother was probably shooting up with her boyfriend of the week. 

“I can’t play right now, but you can sit here with me until your mommy and her friend come back out,” you said. “I have paper and pens if you wanna draw.”

This satisfied her, and she plopped down on the floor and patted the spot next to her. That day hadn’t been particularly hectic, so you obliged and sat.

“What’re you gonna draw?” Izzy asked, reaching for a blue pen. You didn’t have time to answer before she proudly announced, “I’m gonna draw a flower. Do you like flowers?”

“Mhm.”

Izzy smiled as she surrounded a circle with swirling loops. “You can draw a flower, too. Maybe a rose. Or a sunflower!”

Her excitement at the latter option was all you needed. “Sunflower it is, Miss Izzy.” You drew a circle of your own and filled it with a cross-hatched pattern, curating pointed-tipped petals around it. 

“D’you have crayons?” she asked, not looking up from her own flower.

You put down your pen and offered a pitying frown. “No, I’m sorry.”

“S’okay. You should get some, though. ‘Cause you can draw prettier flowers with crayons.” 

The two of you stayed on the floor for ten minutes. All the while, she quizzed you on your favorite color, animal, food, and TV show. She was halfway through a heated explanation of why Friend Bear was superior to Share Bear when a frantic voice called out her name. 

“Mommy!” Izzy practically flew into her mother’s arms. You watched as the woman’s entire body sagged in relief, pulling her daughter in close. A man trailed behind her, discreetly zipping up his fly and walking out the front door. 

“Izzy, I told you to sit in the hall and eat your ice pop,” her mom gently scolded, words muffled by her lips being pressed to Izzy’s scalp. 

Izzy scrunched her nose in confusion. “But I finished it.” She pointed at the empty stick, now on the ground where she’d been sitting, as proof. In true childlike fashion, she jumped to a new topic without waiting for the first conversation to conclude. “Mommy, you wanna see what I drawed?”

“Of course, baby.” She easily feigned excitement as Izzy presented her with a series of scribbles that were meant to be various flowers, people, and farm animals. “Wow! I think you’re gonna be an artist one day.”

The little girl continued chatting, blissfully unaware of the panic she’d inadvertently caused. Her mom allowed herself to look away for just a moment to glance at you, mouthing a tiny “thank you” and blinking her tear-filled eyes.

“And…I don’t know,” you lamely supplied as you wrapped up the story. “I guess I realized that I had all of these assumptions, this sort of preconceived notion that this woman was a deadbeat parent, but she obviously loved Izzy more than anything.” You picked at your thumbnail nervously. “No one should have to sell their body for money just to survive. She deserved better than that.” 

Eddie stayed quiet for a moment, absorbing everything you’d thrown at him. “And you wanted to help her,” he finally said.

“Yeah.” You thought back to the way her gaze simultaneously held gratitude and guilt. Her daughter was safe, but she knew that this was not the final time she’d be in this predicament.

The experience had awakened a realization in you: working at the motel was never your dream, but it kept a roof over your head and food in your belly. You weren’t left to navigate the world on your own. Independence was a privilege, not a mandate.

“For what it’s worth,” Eddie broke in, “I think you’ll be a great social worker someday.” He rapped his knuckles on the desk twice and slipped back to the awaiting task; despite insisting that you talked to him while he worked, he hadn’t touched any of the tools while you spoke.

Your smile was a thank you, and you tuned the radio back to the metal station Eddie had chosen earlier. He didn’t say anything else, but you noted the subtle tap of his toe against the drop cloth.

Eddie worked for a few more hours until he’d stripped the wall of all paper and glue. “All right,” he said, balancing the step stool on two fingers. Sleepiness softened his own smile, all lips and no teeth. “Let me know when the new wallpaper comes in. You, uh, know where I live.”

“Will do.” Your thumb absently grazed against the words you’d just written, smudging them. You rubbed at the black ink seeping into your skin, silently chastising your own carelessness. “Good night, Eddie.”

He stretched and scratched at the U-neck of his collar, exposing a sliver of chest hair. 

“Sweet dreams, Heiress.”

--

taglist:

@theintimatewriter @mandyjo8719 @storiesbyrhi @lady-munson @moonmark98 @squidscottjeans @therealbaberuthless @emxxblog @munson-mjstan @loves0phelia @kthomps914 @aysheashea @munsonsbtch @mmunson86 @b-irock @ginasellsbooks @erinekc @the-unforgivenn @dashingdeb16 @micheledawn1975 @yujyujj @eddies-acousticguitar @daisy-munson @kellsck @foreveranexpatsposts @mykuup @chatteringfox @feelinglikeineedlotsofnaps @sapphire4082 @katethetank @sidthedollface2 @eddies-stinky-battle-jacket @mysteris-things @mrsjellymunson @josephquinnsfreckles @the-disaster-in-waiting @eddielowe @hugdealer @rip-quizilla @munson-girl @fishwithtitz @costellation-hunter @cloudroomblog @emsgoodthinkin

[appliancerepairservice3214]

Extend the Lifespan of Your Appliances with Routine Maintenance in Cape Town

Home appliances are integral to the smooth operation of any household. From refrigerators to washing machines, ovens, and air conditioners, these appliances make daily chores more convenient and manageable. But just like any other piece of equipment, appliances need proper care and attention to continue functioning at their best.

In Cape Town, where we face a unique combination of coastal weather and fluctuating temperatures, routine maintenance is essential to keeping your appliances in top condition. Regular upkeep can prevent breakdowns, reduce the need for costly repairs, and even help extend the lifespan of your appliances.

In this blog, we’ll take a closer look at how you can extend the lifespan of your appliances with simple and effective top appliances routine maintenance practices, saving you time, money, and stress in the long run.

Why Routine Maintenance is Essential for Your Appliances

Routine maintenance isn’t just about fixing things when they break; it’s about being proactive and taking steps to ensure that your appliances stay in great working order over the years. Regular checks and simple upkeep can help catch small issues before they develop into major problems that could cost you a lot more in repairs or replacements.

Here are some of the key benefits of routine appliance maintenance:

Prevent Costly Repairs: By addressing minor issues early on, you can prevent them from escalating into expensive repairs. For example, a small fridge leak or washing machine imbalance can be fixed easily before it causes significant damage to the appliance.

Maximize Energy Efficiency: Appliances that are not properly maintained can consume more energy, leading to higher electricity bills. Regular cleaning, lubrication, and part replacement can help ensure your appliances are running efficiently, which reduces energy consumption.

Improve Performance: Routine maintenance helps your appliances work at their optimal level. This means faster cooking times, better cleaning results, and improved overall performance for everything from your washing machine to your oven.

Extend Appliance Lifespan: Proper maintenance can significantly extend the lifespan of your appliances, meaning you won’t need to replace them as frequently. This is especially important for larger appliances like refrigerators and dishwashers, which can be quite an investment.

Ensure Safety: Faulty or neglected appliances can pose safety hazards such as electrical fires or gas leaks. Routine checks can identify potential safety issues before they become dangerous.

Simple Maintenance Tips to Extend Your Appliances’ Lifespan

Now that you understand why maintenance is important, let’s explore some easy and effective tips that can help you keep your appliances in excellent condition and extend their lifespan.

1. Keep Your Refrigerator Clean and Well-Ventilated

Refrigerators are some of the hardest-working appliances in your home. They run 24/7, keeping your food fresh and safe to eat. However, they need regular maintenance to continue working efficiently.

Clean condenser coils: Dust and dirt can accumulate on the coils, forcing the refrigerator to work harder to cool. Cleaning them every 6 months with a vacuum cleaner or coil brush can improve efficiency.

Check door seals: Ensure the door seals are airtight. If the seals are damaged or worn out, your fridge will have to work harder, consuming more energy.

Keep it well-ventilated: Allow enough space around the fridge to ensure proper airflow. Don’t place it too close to the wall, as it can cause the appliance to overheat.

2. Regularly Clean Your Washing Machine

Washing machines are subject to heavy use, and without proper care, they can accumulate detergent residue, dirt, and mold. Regular maintenance can keep your washing machine in top condition and prevent unpleasant odors.

Clean the drum: Run an empty cycle with hot water and vinegar to clean out detergent and mold buildup.

Check hoses for leaks: Inspect the water inlet hoses regularly for signs of wear or leaks. Replacing damaged hoses prevents leaks that could damage your floors.

Leave the door open: After each wash, leave the washing machine door open for a while to allow moisture to evaporate and prevent mold growth.

3. Maintain Your Oven and Stovetop

Your oven and stovetop are essential for daily cooking, and with frequent use, they can accumulate grease, food spills, and other debris that impact performance.

Clean oven racks and trays: Clean oven racks regularly and wipe up food spills to prevent burning and unpleasant odors.

Check burner caps and grates: If you have a gas stovetop, check burner caps and grates for food buildup or grease. A clean stovetop not only looks better but also works more efficiently.

Self-cleaning feature: If your oven has a self-cleaning function, use it regularly to help remove grease and grime from the interior.

4. Service Your Air Conditioning Unit

In Cape Town’s warm summer months, your air conditioning unit can be a lifesaver. However, to ensure it continues to cool your home effectively, it requires proper maintenance.

Change the filter: A clogged filter makes your AC work harder, reducing its efficiency. Change or clean the filter every 1-3 months.

Clean the condenser coils: Dust and dirt can accumulate on the coils, reducing your AC’s cooling capacity. Clean the coils at least once a year.

Schedule professional maintenance: Have a professional technician service your AC unit annually to check for refrigerant levels, inspect the ducts, and ensure it’s running at optimal performance.

5. Don’t Forget the Dishwasher

Dishwashers are one of the most frequently used appliances in the kitchen, and without proper care, they can develop clogs and unpleasant odors.

Clean the filter: The dishwasher filter traps food particles and debris, so it’s important to clean it regularly to prevent clogs and maintain efficiency.

Check spray arms: Ensure the spray arms are clear of debris so they can effectively clean your dishes. If they’re clogged, they won’t spray water evenly.

Run a cleaning cycle: Run a cleaning cycle using a dishwasher cleaner or vinegar to remove soap scum and mineral deposits.

6. Address Small Issues Before They Escalate

Small issues with appliances can often go unnoticed until they lead to bigger, more expensive problems. By paying attention to warning signs and addressing them early, you can prevent costly repairs.

For example, if your dishwasher isn’t draining properly or your fridge is making strange noises, don’t ignore the problem. Call a professional technician to inspect and repair the issue before it turns into a major malfunction.

Professional Maintenance Services in Cape Town

While regular maintenance is essential, it’s also a good idea to schedule professional inspections for your major appliances once a year. Trained technicians in Cape Town can thoroughly check your appliances for issues that may not be visible to the untrained eye. They can also carry out deep-cleaning tasks and provide valuable advice on how to improve the efficiency of your home appliances.

Conclusion

Routine maintenance is the key to keeping your appliances running smoothly and efficiently for as long as possible. By investing a little time and effort into regular care, you can extend the lifespan of your appliances, improve their performance, and save money on energy bills and costly repairs. Whether it's cleaning your fridge, servicing your air conditioner, or inspecting your washing machine, regular maintenance is an easy way to protect your investment and ensure your appliances continue to serve you well for years to come.

If you’re unsure where to start, don’t hesitate to call a professional in Cape Town for advice or assistance. Taking care of your appliances today will save you time and money tomorrow!

[farthest-harbor]

Hey, I heard you have Nick Valentine HCs?

I really like to hear them! 😄

It can be anything, just go ahead. What is the first one, which comes into your mind?

I love you for asking, thank you!

Here are a few:

All the patches on is coat he mended himself. It's one of the ways he fills the lonely hours when everyone else is sleeping, It's something human Nick never learned to do, but our Nick taught himself after his first few scuffles in the post-war world.

His metal hand doesn't have any sense of touch. I think his skin is probably full of minute wires that function as nerves, so when he lost the skin on his hand, he lost feeling in it. Now he has to rely on his vision to confirm that his hand is moving the way he wants it to. It took him a long time to get used to but he's mastered it now.

He doesn't like to take off his hat around strangers. I think he's a little self-conscious about the fact that he can't grow any hair. I think human Nick had a full head of hair and synth Nick can't help but compare himself. He'll take his hat off in the agency around Ellie, or around Sole if they get close with him, but if anyone he's not close with steps in the room, the hat goes back on.

He totally wears suspenders under that trench coat. 'Nuff said.

I think he carries around a small repair kit in his coat with a couple small tools and some spare wire/screws/bolts/electrical tape but it's only enough for minor temporary repairs. He uses this kit for quick patch jobs when he gets hurt on a case, just to hold him over till ge hets back home and can do a full repair.

He's an excellent dancer. Human Nick went dancing pretty often and synth Nick inherited some of that "muscle" memory. He's got rhythm and an elegant, sophisticated style. He's a little rusty at it, though, because he doesn't go out dancing on his own, and he's got no partner to practice with. Perhaps sole could take him out to the Third Rail sometime so he can show off his skills...

He's been subtly trying to get Ellie and Travis together for years. He thinks they'd be sweet together, and has encouraged Ellie to talk to Travis a few times. Nothing ever seems to come of it, but Nick hasn't given up yet.

You know his file cabinets are a hot mess. It drives Ellie nuts when he puts files back out of order, since she always tries to rearrange them alphabetically. When she brings it up to him, he just shrugs and smiles and tells her that he put it back in the correct year, so it's no big deal.

Obviously, he doesn't need to shower or bathe, and doing so would probably ruin all his processors. If he gets dusty/dirty on a job, he'll wipe his face and hands down with a wet rag when he gets home.

While the cigarettes do nothing for him chemically or physically, the ritual of lighting one and smoking it brings him comfort when he's stressed. An old habit from human Nick. It does leave a slight sooty residue on some of his internal parts and probably clogs a few fans/vents, but he just patiently cleans them with a rag during his repairs sessions. It's worth it to him for the comfort of smoking.

Although he's friendly to Piper, he doesn't actually like her that much. He thinks her newspaper is pretty disreputable, more spreading rumors than actual news, and her inflammatory articles about synths and the Institute have drastically escalated the hostility he's faced living in Diamond City. Still, he empathizes with Piper and the fears people have about synths, so he keeps his mouth shut. She still gets on his nerves sometimes, though.

I have so many more, but I'll stop here for now. I am quite thoroughly obsessed with this guy, so if anyone wants to hear more hcs about him, or hcs about some specific aspect of his character, my asks are always open. I could talk about this guy for hours.

[moog-rt]

Man or Monster

[Frankenstein’s Monster!Shigaraki x Reader]

♡ ♡ ♡

The moon is full, but the village below is none the wiser as black clouds blanket the sky, moonlight replaced by lightning, streaking and cracking endlessly through the night. Beyond the village is a steep, rocky hill, and atop that hill sits a lonely stone tower, teetering on the edge of collapse.

Metal rods protrude from the rooftop, creaking and groaning as they’re thrashed by the harsh winds, and they lead to a large complex machine within. At its center is a glass tank filled to the brim with pigmented fluid, which, occasionally, spills over the rim as gusts slip through gaps in the stone walls. It produces a subtle glow, illuminating the room just enough to see the Doctor’s expression–lips taught, creases between his brows, lower eyelids squinting slightly, framing his intense stare.

It mirrors your own but for very different reasons, you’re sure. The Doctor is leaning forward, propping himself up with a splintering wooden chair. His grip on it is tight, but his fingers continue to fidget. Then there’s you, slightly shrinking into yourself, holding your writing paper to your chest as if it's a shield. Your pounding heart is intensifying by the second.

This isn’t the first time this experiment has been conducted, and at this rate, you’re fairly certain it won’t be the last. Every attempt so far has failed. You’re used to that being the case by now, but it’s those few times…those few times where a ‘failure’ gets a little further than the others. That is the outcome you stress over most.

That outcome means you won’t be leaving the laboratory unscathed.

The silence between the two of you is filled with the howling and rumbling of the storm outside. Each bolt of lightning lights up the chamber, and your heads jerk up to stare intently at the murky tank. Each time, you’re plunged back into the dark with only the slightest bit of light emanating from the vat of chemicals.

There’s a flash and crack so loud you feel it in your bones. The floor is shaking beneath your feet and you barely catch the jagged streaks of electricity coursing through the metal rods and into the machine. It fully illuminates the tank to reveal the silhouette of a man suspended within, back arching as the lightning rushes through it.

The machine groans as metal grinds against metal and smoke puffs from the joints in the piping. The various parts appear to slump as they make one last creak before going quiet.

The tension in your body dissipates–another failed test.

Your back straightens, and you release a shaky breath as you look down at your papers. You’ll have to write up a report identical to a dozen others. You think you prefer it that way. Slouching, the Doctor slowly lets go of the chair and mutters curses as he turns around to go back to his work desk.

The silence returns, this time filled with both disappointment and relief.

The next few days will be filled with repairs. You walk forward to disengage some of the mechanical components, releasing some of the built up pressure within the pipes. The rusted knobs are cold and rough, and they squeak loud and unpleasantly as you turn them.

Maybe that’s why you don’t notice the massive glass tank judder behind you.

You’re walking back to the Doctor when you hear a deep pop followed by a crack from behind you. You spin around just in time to see the tub falling from its metal frame. The pipes that were previously attached to it are showering the room with chemicals, filling it with a pungent odor–sulfuric.

Alarmed, you shout for the Doctor as you rush forward in an attempt to stabilize the tank, an absurd decision on your part. The only way that ends is with you being crushed beneath it.

It crashes against the floor before you can even reach it. The liquid spills over the rim just before the glass shatters. You step on the pieces and slip. The ground is hard and cold when you collide with it. Your head is spinning, and you get to your hands and knees just to be knocked onto your back by the body–the failed Nomu.

You’re sprawled out, clothes and hair thoroughly saturated as the body lays across your lap and lower abdomen. As you prop yourself up a harsh chill racks through your body from the feeling of the naked hodge podge of corpses on top of you; it’s cold and stiff. You hesitantly reach out to push it away but pause before running your thumb across the deep stitched up incisions that wrap around its arm. You remember how it felt to weave a needle through the tough, dead skin, much more difficult than working with something still alive.

A low moan emits from the Nomu, your hand freezes, then it shifts in your lap, head rolling to the side to face you. Its eyes blink open to reveal blood-red irises, a slight haze of white film making them appear cloudy. You get the sense its looking through you until they flicker up to meet your gaze, and you go tense.

Then it winces and curls in on itself, releasing an even louder, strained groan. Your heart is battering against your ribs, but you gentle rub the creature’s arm in an attempt to soothe it. Its arm lifts to grasp onto your shirt.

You hear loud footsteps splashing over to you, and the Nomu is yanked off and away from you.

“It’s–I–I think it’s–”

“It’s alive…” the Doctor finishes your sentence for you, face alight with excitement.

You don’t get even a moment of reprieve as he ushers you into action, ordering you to take his place as the Nomu’s crutch. Eyebrows pinched, those red eyes never leave you, even as soaked powder-blue hair falls in front of them. You find your place against its side, arms wrapped around its waist to keep it from teetering. It’s shivering.

The Doctor is talking to himself, boasting about his success and how eager he is to report the good news. He examines the Nomu as you keep it from collapsing, and you startle when you feel its arm press against your back. You get the sense that it’s trying to mimic the way you’re holding it, and your eyebrows twitch.

You’re too focused on the creature to realize the exam is complete and the Doctor is taking his leave. You only snap back when he orders you to move his new creation somewhere it can be contained.

He also gives it a name. Tomura.

You do as you’re told, carefully shuffling the weak Nomu–Tomura–out of the lab and down the narrow staircase. The first few steps are challenging to coordinate, and your bodies bump against each other as you struggle to stay in sync. Gaps in the wall meant to let in light during the day now allow gusts of wind to blow through, whipping your hair against your face.

Gradually, you make your way down to one of the few unoccupied chambers that isn’t actively crumbling away. It’s cold and damp from the gaps in the stone wall that fail to separate indoor and outdoor conditions. There’s a constant whistle from the wind sweeping across the exterior of the tower.

You don’t recall a time when this room was in use, so it is no surprise that there are no lamps or candles to shed light across these dingy walls. The only things you in here with you are a wooden bedfram and a secretary desk, both rotting away.

You lead Tomura to the bed for him to sit, and as you bend over to make the transition a little easier, he becomes off balance. He stumbles and, because of the way you’re latched onto each other, so do you. The wood creaks, giving way slightly as you collapse onto it together in a heap.

Tomura releases a soft groan as you attempt to clamber off of him, careful of your hand placement as you do so. You adjust him so he’s sitting up, albeit a bit slumped, and watch him for a moment.

His skin is a mosaic of stitched-up incisions, each piece a slightly different shade, but everything about him contains a sickly undertone. His head hangs but his eyes are open and staring back at you. You feel small and vulnerable under his gaze, and your breathing is shaky as you shift closer to move him so he’s lying down instead.

You’ve done as you were told, so there’s no reason for you to linger–part of you is eager to leave and let this night be over with–but you decide to sit with him for a while longer, for observation purposes. At first, you feared he would be hostile, but from what you’ve seen thus far, he appears to be docile.

You brush his wet bangs out of his face to look closer at his eyes. At some point the white film faded, leaving his irises more vivid than you imagined. You’re disappointed and confused when he shuts them. You notice your hand is still entangled in his hair and quickly draw back. Tomura grunts, and his eyebrows slowly press together. It almost looks like he’s frowning.

The room is cold. You can’t imagine how Tomura must feel without any clothes, and you wonder just how much he’s capable of processing external stimuli. You should get him something to cover up and stay warm with, just in case he’s cold, too.

Opening his eyes, Tomura finds the strength to push himself up and groans out when you stand up and walk to the door. It’s hard not to notice the way the rise and fall of his chest quickens the further away you get. He starts shifting to the edge of the bed.

“No,” you say quickly, and he pauses. “I need to go.”

His eyebrows knit together, and he makes a disgruntled noise in response before sliding a leg off the bed frame.

“No,” you repeat and walk over to move him back. “I’ll be back.”

You wait for any sort of response from him, but he’s silent and still even as you leave the room. You hurry further down the tower, your footsteps echoing through the staircase, until you reach the room the Doctor has lent out to you as you help him with his research. It’s smaller than the one you found for Tomura, but you don’t mind much. You pull a basket holding a stack of extra linens out from underneath your bed and gather them into your arms.

You try to be swift as you ascend back up the tower to return to Tomura’s chamber, but the sound of clattering urges you to go even quicker. You come to a clumsy halt when you see Tomura stumbling past his doorway. His eyes are wide and his facial features have contorted into something harsh and unpleasant. A shiver crawls its way down your spine.

You’re hesitant to call out. “Tomura.” His eyes dart over to look down at you, and you frown. “You need to go back inside.” You’re not sure how much he truly understands, but you try to reason with him anyway.

His hunched shoulders heave as he sucks in a deep breath and takes an unsteady step in your direction. His legs buckle, and he crumbles against the stone wall but continues to inch in your direction. The hairs on the back of your neck rise, partly due to the cold that creeps its way through the halls of the tower and partly due to your nerves.

Tomura huffs as he reaches the first step leading down to you, and you urge yourself to do something other than just stand there. Your quick steps echo off the stone as you rush to him before he stumbles closer.

He pauses when you stop just in front of him, reaching out as far as you can without letting the linens drop to the damp floor. He copies you, hand hovering in the space between the two of you. You stare at it then look up at him. At some point, his expression softened, eyelids more relaxed and lips lifted from their earlier grimace, the closest thing to a smile you’ve seen from him.

You take his outstretched hand and move around him to give a gentle tug towards his room. He doesn’t put up a fight and lets you direct him back inside. You let him go to close the heavy wooden door behind you and place the stack of blankets on top of the desk, giving them a soft pat to flatten them out.

You don’t need to hear him to know Tomura is looming behind you, his presence thick and potent. Taking a sheet from the top of the stack, you face Tomura and hold it out, offering it to him. He looks down then back at you.

You raise your hands a little higher and say in a soft tone, “These are for you.”

He raises his arms up in a way that makes you think he’s mirroring you rather than understanding what you want from him. Still, you place the sheet in his hands and grab another for yourself, walking over to lay it across the bed frame for cushioning. Tomura follows you over and drops his sheet onto the bed in a crumpled ball on top of the one you neatly laid out.

You cover your mouth to stifle a surprised laugh and glance up at him with crescent eyes. He looks back at you, and the corners of his mouth twitch into an unnatural grin. His lips are dry and look as though they might crack if he smiles any wider.

You continue to make him a bed to the best of your ability, handing him a few more blankets as you go just for him to toss them like he did with the first one. You wonder if it’s to get a reaction out of you like before, but last you checked, the Nomu aren’t supposed to have that much cognitive freedom. The Doctor is creating them to take orders, and that’s it.

As the wind continues to whistle across the exterior of the tower, you can’t help but think it might be nice to have another person to talk to. It’s only you, the Doctor, and whoever the Doctor reports to here. Socializing is a foreign thing within these walls.

It’s lonely.

“Tomura,” you say as you lay out the final thick blanket across the rest, “Do you want to sit down and try it out?”

He looks at you, then the bed, then you again. You sit down to show him what you mean, and he follows suit, the bed creaking under his weight.

“How do you like it? Comfier now, isn’t it?” You smile at him, even though it’s likely you’re just talking to a wall. You can still see goosebumps across his forearms and decide you’ll wrap him up next. It’s a little awkward being around a naked man anyways, regardless of his condition.

“To—To—” his voice comes out as an unsteady rasp. His vocal chords were stripped from a corpse, so that doesn’t come as much of a surprise. What does, however, is that he can talk at all.

“Tomura,” you finish hesitantly, assuming that’s what he’s trying to say. You stay quiet for him to respond, but he doesn’t.

You breathe out a soft sigh and grab one of the wadded blankets he dropped earlier. As you rise to your knees to wrap it around him, you feel heat radiating from his body. As you adjust it, his skin gives, no longer stiff with rigor mortis.

Your brows furrow, and you don’t miss the way he does the same. You purse your lips before sitting back, earning a huff from Tomura. He frowns, bottom lip pouting, subtle enough for you to miss.

There are a few uncomfortable moments of silence where the two of you stare at each other and do nothing else. You’re each waiting for the other to act first, and eventually, you give.

“Tomura,” you repeat, glancing to the side. He takes in a sharp breath, and when you look back at him, his features have relaxed some. You release a shaky exhale and reach towards him to adjust the blanket so it covers his lap for modesty. Your hands linger as you elaborate, “That’s you.”

His chest swells beneath your fingertips. “You.”

You lean back again, and his eyes narrow. It’s unnerving, and you retract a hand but leave the other to press firmly against him—against his chest, where his beating heart hides behind skin, bone, and muscle.

“You—” Your fingers give a gentle tap. “—You are Tomura.”

He frowns again, and this time, you copy him, hand slowly pulling away.

“You,” he says again with a voice that puts the wind and thunder to shame. Your heart lurches when he throws a hand into your chest, knocking you backwards onto your palms.

You figure the moment of peace is over and begin scooting away. The Nomu before him, the ones who also had brief moments of life, were mellow at first, too.

Until they weren’t.

He leans forward to grab you by the shoulder and pull you back to him as if you weighed nothing. Your breathing is rapid and your heart pounds in your ears as you clutch to his arm with trembling hands. You’re trying to pry him away, but he doesn’t so much as budge. He glowers down at you through his tangled bangs, eyes wavering between yours.

“You.” There’s nuance behind his voice, a demand, maybe even curiosity. Your eyes widen and lips part. He does understand.

He does…

Your vice-like grip on him loosens as your body relaxes. You tell him your name, and his eyebrows rise.

Then, he says it back. His hand releases you and glides down to hold your arm so gently you almost can’t feel it. His breathing slows in sync with yours as his rough thumb brushes against your skin. He repeats your name once more under his breath, eyelids lowered and a ghost of a smile on his lips.

[corellianhounds]

Some headcanons for Mando:

Anything he uses to shower or wash his clothes with is unscented. Those scent-neutralizer dryer sheets keep his clothes from smelling like anything that can be detected while he’s on a hunt. Very few species are exempt from being unable to detect him

He keeps a clean ship and a strict schedule. He’s been self-sufficient and on his own for long enough he knows how to cook and take care of himself. Keeping your tools, gear, weapons, armor, and ship in clean, efficient working order means you’re less likely to have to spend time fixing one of them when it breaks from your lack of routine maintenance, and his body is just another tool in his arsenal; sleep, food, necessary medical care, staying limber and getting vitamin D at some point all go a long way towards ensuring he can last longer in the field. You can’t run something ragged every day and expect for that to be sustainable.

That also means he’s well-equipped to handle long stints without different necessities when needed from time to time; you can push yourself pretty far when you’re already in prime condition.

Wilderness survival skills were some of the first things he learned while being brought up by the Mandalorians. Being aware of your surroundings, setting up and breaking down camp, foraging and hunting for food, building impromptu shelters, purifying water, navigating and tracking, having a variety of general and specific medical knowledge— All of those skills are building blocks for self-sufficiency. You never know when you’re going to be alone or thrust into survival scenarios, so it pays to be prepared.

That also means he’s capable of stomaching a wide variety of what some might consider inedible. Beggars can’t be choosers, and it’s rude to decline someone’s offer of food or hospitality so in any scenario where food is in short supply and/or it’s been offered to him, he’s taking it. As long as it’s something he knows humans can digest, he’s open to whatever cultural or regional dishes his travels have to offer, and he’ll muscle through the less pleasant tastes or textures of food he’s had to make do with when he didn’t have other options.

He does know how to make food taste good, but that more often than not requires more spices and ingredients and hardware than he can afford or spare the room for, so he makes do without. Once the kid comes along he branches out a bit more to make sure he gets some variety.

Along the lines of self-sufficiency and independence, he has a lot of general repair skills: you may not always have somebody who can fix things for you, and he obviously isn’t going to pay somebody else to do something he’s capable of learning, except for when he’s short on time or resources. We see him working on the interior circuitry of his armor in the second episode. He knows how to bypass and pick locks. He has the electrical, mechanical, and structural know-how to fix his ship and would know how to weld and use a torch cutter and a variety of other tools, but it also means he’d know how to sew and mend his clothes. Soft goods are just as necessary as hardware.

Injuries where he genuinely needs professional medical care are few and far in between partially because he’s very good at what he does, and partially out of necessity. Though it is by choice, him tending to his own wounds may not necessarily be because he is neglectful or prideful or has a penchant for pain; medcenters cost money, and submitting to that care means he is vulnerable and at risk of somebody breaking his creed by force, or doing more damage when he can’t fight back. It’s why he likely refuses anesthesia or anything that will put him under and make him unaware of what’s happening while he’s asleep. Either he will find somebody he’s close to to help him, or he will find a way to muscle through self-administered medical care yet again, or he will die from his injuries (which means he will have gone down because of a fight)

Though he has a few physical reference materials and logs he’s written down important details in, a vast majority of his knowledge concerning trade routes, ballistics, geography, maps, various customs and cultures and languages, Guild bylaws— anything he could possibly need to know for a hunt— is committed to memory. He travels light, and the Mandalorians have an oral history more than a written one; belongings and archives can be destroyed, but their people live on and carry the knowledge that’s been passed down through centuries. It just makes more sense to him to commit everything to memory.

That being said, he does a significant amount of research before each hunt anyway, though the bulk of it is centered around the target themselves. Having all of your prep work done means the acquisition itself will go smoother.

He’s mathematically sharp: engine repair, manual piloting, vector calculus, electrical work, ballistics, basic engineering, weapons maintenance, financial management, and navigation by maps or by stars take a lot of mental acuity to understand and apply as quickly as he usually has to use them.

He’s not going to back down from others who purposefully encroach on his personal space, but he dislikes being in close proximity to strangers for extended periods of time. So much of his life is spent evading threats and fighting off challengers it’s hard to trust anybody to be that close. It’s not an aversion so much as it is an irritation that makes him tense. When you’re always looking over your shoulder, it’s just reflex to act defensively.

He doesn’t drink alcohol or caf unless he has sufficient time and he’s secure in the Crest without worry of attack; both impede his marksmanship and reflexes, neither of which are things he can afford while he’s working, so it’s usually only when he’s traveling through space that he’ll indulge

He doesn’t sing, but once the kid comes along he’s found that it’s easier to get him to sleep when he hums as he holds him and walks around the cargo hold.

[m4rv3l-girl]

A Confession

Bucky x Y/N

An awkward encounter leads to some exposed feelings…

Requests Open!

Warnings: None. Some fluff

The evening air was crisp and cool as you returned from your jog with Bucky, breath visible in little puffs as you exchanged laughs and easy conversation.

You'd fallen into this comfortable rhythm over the past few months. What started as two friends going on runs together had quickly become one of your favorite parts of the day, a time where it was just you and him, away from the chaos and noise of everything else.

He grinned as he held the door for you, his cheeks tinged slightly pink from the cold, that subtle warmth of his smile lingering as you headed into his apartment to grab a towel.

“Thanks, Buck,” you murmured, giving him a grateful nod.

“Anytime. I’ll be right here, just getting my water, let me know if you need anything, Doll ” he replied, that gentle glimmer in his blue eyes making your heart flutter, though you quickly pushed the thought aside.

Once inside, you kicked off your shoes, relishing the quiet.

Bucky had let you borrow his bathroom while your apartment was getting some long-overdue repairs done, and the routine had somehow settled into something comfortable. The cold morning left a chill on your skin that only a hot shower could fix, so you slipped into the bathroom, set the water to just the right temperature, and stepped under the stream.

With your eyes closed, you let the warmth soak into your skin, humming a quiet tune as you started to unwind.

In that moment, the world seemed to melt away, just the sound of water and your own soft humming filling the room.

Meanwhile, Bucky had downed his water bottle, already looking forward to the breakfast you usually cooked together after your run. He moved toward the bathroom to ask if you’d wanted him to start on coffee, but as he got closer, he noticed the faint sound of water running and stopped, remembering you were in there. Normally, he would’ve just waited—but there was something about that humming. He paused, catching himself leaning in just a bit closer than he probably should have.

Without thinking, he lightly tapped the handle, the door opening a few inches before he could stop himself.

The scene caught him entirely off guard. There you were, the mist swirling around, head tilted back under the stream. The blurred outline of your body arched under the water was almost ethereal. The moment felt like something from a daydream he hadn’t realized he’d been having, and every instinct told him to look away, to back out silently. But for one suspended heartbeat, he didn’t. He felt his shorts tighten at the mere sight.

And then you turned around.

"Bucky?” Your voice snapped him out of it instantly.

His face flushed a deep, instant red, and he yanked himself back into the hallway, letting out a mortified laugh. “Oh my God, I am so sorry, Doll—I didn’t mean to… I just… uh…”

The door clicked shut, leaving you with wide eyes, an embarrassed chuckle escaping your lips.

Later, the moment replayed between you both as you cooked dinner together.

The silence that usually sat so comfortably between you was now charged, heavy with an unspoken tension neither of you could ignore.

Bucky, nervous but unwilling to show it, tried to bring it up casually. “About earlier—I swear, I wasn’t trying to, y’know, walk in or anything. Just wanted to check if you wanted coffee,” he said, his eyes flickering to yours before quickly turning back to the stove.

You couldn’t help but laugh, the tension melting a little. “It’s okay, Buck. It was… an accident,” you murmured, though even as you said it, you couldn’t shake the feeling that something had shifted. His gaze lingered a little too long, his cheeks a little too flushed.

The days that followed felt strangely electric, like you were each waiting for the other to say something that was always left unsaid. The stolen glances, the little laughs, the familiar touches—all took on a new weight.

One night, after a particularly long day, the two of you ended up sprawled on his couch, feet propped up on the coffee table as you laughed over some random show.

Somewhere between jokes and casual conversation, you realized Bucky was watching you, his gaze soft and filled with something you couldn’t quite name.

“You’re staring,” you teased, giving him a light nudge.

He didn’t break eye contact, didn’t laugh it off like you’d expected. Instead, he took a breath, voice quiet but firm. “I know, Kitten. I think… I think I’ve been staring for a long time.”

The sudden intensity in his voice caught you off guard, your heart skipping a beat as you looked back at him. “Bucky…”

“Let me get this out,” he said quickly, as if afraid you might brush it off. “You’re… you’re more than just a friend to me, Doll. I’ve been pretending that it’s fine, that I could just be around you every day without it meaning something more, but I…” He paused, searching for the right words. “I want to be more than just the guy you go jogging with, or the guy who cooks you breakfast, or who’s there just to laugh with. I want… I want all of it, with you.”

The room felt still, his confession hanging in the air like a secret finally set free.

You swallowed, heart racing as you looked into his eyes. “Bucky, I… I’ve been wanting the same thing. But I didn’t know… I didn’t want to ruin what we had.”

He let out a soft chuckle, reaching out to take your hand, fingers lacing with yours in a way that felt as natural as breathing. “Doll, you couldn’t ruin it if you tried,” he murmured, his thumb gently brushing over your knuckles. “You’re my best girl. I’ve known it for a while now. Just didn’t know how to say it.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, letting the weight of those words settle between you. Then, slowly, he leaned in, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that was soft and tentative, yet filled with everything that had been building up for so long. The world faded away, leaving just the warmth of his hand on your cheek, the taste of his lips on yours, and the gentle strength of his arms pulling you closer.

When you finally pulled back, both of you breathless and grinning, he brushed a stray hair from your face, his smile warm and easy. “Guess that means no more awkward bathroom encounters?”

You laughed, the sound light and free. “I mean, it wouldn’t be the worst way to start a morning…”

“Then let’s start tomorrow morning together,” he murmured with a mischievous smirk, pressing a kiss to your forehead, his voice soft. “And every morning after, if you’ll let me.”

……..…………………………………………………….……………………………………………..

Welcome to my imagination. Hope you liked it!

[gears-twisting-and-turning]

Hello, you’re writing is very cool!

I wanted to ask, if you could write Bochum GB and Electra reacting to falling for a steam engine? I think it would be funny!

Im sorry for any mistakes/lf it is not understandable, English isn’t my first language,,

This one was so juicy! Oh I love it thank you for requesting and I hope you love your request :D

---

Greaseball

This man would be so conflicted with himself, what do you mean he’s into a steam engine?! Like on one hand you’re super cute and pretty and handsome and cute and he wants to make you his so badly. On the other hand you’re the one thing he swore some kind of weird war against

Like Rusty is one thing, but now he actually is into one of these rusty engines? Yes he would call you rusted even though you’re kept in perfect conditions

He would have random anger outbursts where he just punches a wall or something else. Just because he doesn’t know how else to regulate his emotions properly especially not about something as conflicting as this to him

Let’s just say it’ll take a very long time before he comes to terms with it and after that he’ll most likely chase after you (which is shocking, because people usually chase after him. It’s rather awkward, but it’s cute :])

Electra 

Throws an absolute temper tantrum. You cannot convince me otherwise. They’d stomp around and ramble to themself about how he should be ‘better than this’ and ‘how could I love someone so far in the fucking past?!’

Your existence makes her question what she's ever stood for. Congrats :D 

First that stupid rust bucket being better than him in the races and now this beautiful engine coming along and throwing a metaphorical wrench (the tool not the repair truck) into her plans?! What has the world come to?!

Also takes a long time to terms with the fact he’s in love with you. A lot longer even than Greaseball because whenever they think to give in because of an interaction with you, she goes back to her stubborn electric engine self and refuses it all over again

You eventually get them to properly fall for you with your amazing charm and they’ll finally be fine with it. Be prepared to be showered with gifts though, because they’re rich and you’re going to get the best of the best. Only if they would get rejected would they stop, but let’s face it, would they ever get rejected? 

[queeranarchism]

Hej, I just came across your post about carbon emissions and energy and may be I am wrong but it seems to me to be the entirely wrong approach to reduce consumption on the indivdual level. Because for instance I can't reduce my energy any further in a meaningful way with out compromising my wellbeing. Maybe if I shut down using my computer - which I can't for occupational reasons, plus it would isolate me for good. Well we can go of course the full way and declare electricity a mistake. Would inconvience a whole lot of people, kill plenty of them too and so on. But hey! there's been some emission avoided! Well that is just my opinion and may be I am just too negative

It is aboslutely 100% true that we can not meaningfully reduce CO2 emissions by reducing consumption on an individual level.

Of course we can do some things, like 'eat plant-based and local when possible' and 'don't fly' and 'repair instead of replace' but the impact of these things is minor compared to the total CO2 output and it isn't realistic for most of us.

Simply put: I can not get rid of my car if there is no bus service. I can not repair my phone if companies are allowed to deliberately make phones that can not be repaired. I can not eat local if everything is monoculture mass-argiculture for walmart. I can stop flying, but it is no good if all the private jets stay airborne. I can take shorter showers, but it's no use if the massive digital billboard next to my house is using more energy per month that i use per year.

The real massive reduction that we need requires a full societal transformation. Which means ending capitalism and going from a profit driven economy to one that is based on meeting collective needs while reducing CO2 wherever possible. Which means that when it comes to electricity and battery use, we prioritize human needs like medical care and accessibility devices, NOT the latest gaming platform or super car.

This will be a society without private jets, without fossil fuel mining, without advertising, without unnecessary plastic trinkets, without fast fashion, without mega-farms, without cryptocurrency, without bullshit jobs, without the military-industrial complex, without a constant stream of more wireless and battery operated gadgets. But it will be a society with broadly available and affordable public transport, with locally organized and sustainable food production, with medical care for all, with worker control over the workplace, with free repair-workshops everywhere, and more.

I can't imagine every aspect of that world because I am only one person with limited knowledge of all aspects of producing the things we need, but I know it starts with moving from a society organized around profit to a society organized around meeting human needs, including our very immediate need to stop climate change to prevent even more suffering than has already been caused by climate change so far.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

AITA for wanting my mother to stop making so much noise in her own house when I’m staying here?

So me (22M) and my mother (62F) have a complicated relationship. She is very very toxic and always has been - she used to induce illness in me and make my pre-existing disorders worse so that she could keep me with her when she separated from my father, she never let me leave the house because she would tell me I would be harmed or something would happen to me if I was away from her, she would control everything I did and what I ate or drank, where I went, etc. The house she and I lived in was an incredibly bad environment for me. It’s not taken care of, it’s dirty and unhygienic, I was constantly ill and having allergies set off, she would try to feed me dirt-covered food I watched her pick up off the floor, the shower didn’t work and she wouldn’t let me go elsewhere to bathe. I kept talking about moving out, especially once I got into a serious relationship with my girlfriend (26F), but it would always devolve into an argument with her telling me I wasn’t going anywhere, that my girlfriend would leave me, that she’s the only person who’ll stick by me, and so on.

All of that is basically background context to counterbalance the (fair) preconceptions of “you’re guests you’re imposing on her you can just leave” etc you’re about to have.

So I finally moved out this year and in with my girlfriend and it was wonderful. However, my mother was blowing up BOTH of our phones 24/7 telling me to come back, and it reached the point she was contacting Other people (family, our friends) to get Them to tell me to move back in with her and asking where I was at all hours of the day, who I was with and what I was doing. I was ignoring her as best I could. Then a couple of weeks ago mine and my girlfriend’s house flooded after our upstairs neighbour burst a pipe in the building and water began fountaining through all our electrical sockets and lights and pouring from the ceiling. We had nowhere else to go except to stay with my mother until the house was repaired and made safe again, especially because so many of our belongings were ruined.

So we’ve been back here since. We’re forced to sleep on the couch together in the living room because in the time I was gone she somehow let bugs infest my old room and her cat pee all over the mattress of the bed.

Now, my girlfriend and I are both very non-confrontational and I’m usually super hard to annoy, but I’m also autistic and highly sensitive to noise. And my mother is. Very noisy. She blasts the TV at full volume all day even when she leaves the room and gets angry if you turn it off even if she’s not watching it, she’s a chainsmoker who’s constantly hack-coughing, she’ll have the radio playing OVER the TV, she shouts out the windows to her neighbours, she keeps all the windows and doors open, she’ll play music at full volume without headphones on, etc. I have noise-cancelling headphones from when I still lived here but she’s often so loud it doesn’t muffle it at all.

Recently it’s reached the point where she’ll wake up during the night, say 2-4am, come through to the room we’re sleeping in where the TV is, and just turn the TV on, turn the radio on, start singing along to music, slam doors, VACUUM. For the past 2 weeks she’s been waking me and my fiancée up every single night, often several times, and we’re at the end of our rope with it.

We can’t afford a hotel and have nowhere else to go, when we try to ask her to keep it down at LEAST during the night she says she can do whatever she wants because it’s her house and says we’re being ungrateful, and when we’ve offered to try to clean up my old room so we can sleep in there she snaps at us not to touch anything of ‘hers’ and gets mad because we’re implying her house isn’t clean, that we don’t want to be near her, that we must be telling everyone her house is shitty, etc.

Yesterday I got into an argument with her because I was having an extremely bad sensory day, my girlfriend said she had a migraine, and my mother responded by turning up the TV. When she saw I was holding onto my headphones and my girlfriend was near tears, she turned it up even louder and smirked at me. The argument basically ended in her screaming at me that if she was so bad we could leave, I impulsively said okay we would, and then she got physically aggressive and barred the doorway and told us I wasn’t going anywhere because she’d make sure of it.

It’s just. Exhausting! GF and I are constantly sleep-deprived, drained, grumpy, tired, and dealing with headaches on top of the stress of trying to financially recoup from the house flood and deal with getting everything fixed, and half of me is mad at my mother for not having even basic respect for us sleeping or our issues when half the time she is not even watching the damn TV or in the same room as it, while the other half of me feels conflicted because it’s her living room and we’re sleeping in the TV room and she’s putting us up when we have nowhere else.

AITA (/are we the assholes) for wanting her to accommodate us despite being guests?

What are these acronyms?

[creedslove]

Oh, Mari, help! I need a living heater in the form of Joel. It's been damn cold in my country, it's 11 degrees (it was 27 a week ago). And my furnace broke down (so my radiators are cold) and the repair guy won't come until Saturday 😭

Also, this song gave me "Heartless" vibes today: Stephen Sanchez - Until I Found You

Post outbreak!Joel Miller x f!reader

A/N: aww baby, I know this ask is a few months old now but I hope things are alright for you! We are also dealing with drastic temperature change, I mean a week ago it was more than 30° but today the max temperature is like 17° so I could definitely use Joel to keep me warm too 😭🫦

• Winters during the outbreak are possibly one of the worst and most depressing things mankind had ever faced, lacking sources of heat, electricity and basic things such as warm clothes, decent blankets and hot water, surviving that weather became one of the many other things someone would need to survive in that world

• no matter if you lived in a QZ, or if you were on the run over the long abandoned roads, winter was hard and that was the time people usually drank the most in order to keep themselves warm and numb to how bad things were

• and even if everything was terrible, you were still so lucky you had Joel, because that man would do anything he could in order to protect you from any danger and of course, from the cold weather as well

• if we are talking about the time you live in the QZ, he would use his smuggling skills in order to offer you the best he can find: jackets, coats, sweaters, blankets, booze, anything really

• and of course you will both snuggle so close in bed, it's funny how Joel is the little spoon even if he's bigger, but he can switch positions whenever you need his body sheltering you

• fucking to keep warm is also a possibility you both really enjoy

• when you guys escape the QZ, he knows nights out in the open are also cold, even if it isn't the winter, and you can't take space in your backpack to carry big, thick blankets, so you will both have to handle sleeping bags

• Joel would always make sure to find shelter and start a fire, so you can spend some time as warm and cozy as possible and of course you would both cuddle so you wouldn't lose heat

• when you get to Jackson, you can barely believe there is such a place, where you can actually have lights on, warm baths and decent, comfortable beds

• while you are both in awe, after eating a proper meal for the first time in months, you decide to share a hot shower together; you could've done it separately, but you are doing it together, because you want to have feeling of running your hands through Joel's skin, the warm water pouring over the two of you, as you both soap and shampoo each other

• then, after changing into new, clean and warm clothes, you go to bed; now there's a heating system in the house that actually works, you won't have to feel that excruciating, painful cold wind that seems to reach your bones, but you will still both hold each other at night, as if your lives depended on it, because deep inside, you know it's not just to keep warm you slept like that

• Joel buries his face into the crook of your neck and pulls you closer, his hand holding your hips and stroking your skin up and down, he's able to sleep peacefully, knowing he can finally offer you the protection you need and that you'll be safe in his arms

____